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Authors: Eden Night
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of release.
I feel hot breath on my neck and I shudder under the sensation.
“You are so beautiful, Charlotte,” Alexander whispers.
Immediately my body responds to the familiarity of his voice. Relief mixes a potent cocktail with desire and I push my hips out as far as I can from within the confines of leather cuffs.
Alexander enters me hard, pulling at my chin and neck to shower me in kisses. The thought flits through my mind that it is the most affectionately he has ever kissed me. As he thrusts into me, my hips crash into the post, creating a delicious hardness both in front and behind me.
As we come together in a shuddering, moaning, knitting of flesh and soul, I bathe in the achievement of a secret knowledge – a knowledge that transforms mortals into angels.
*
Alexander has spoken with Quentin and he has already found a buyer for the film. Alexander has titled it Bohemia and the buyer is very impressed, praising Alexander’s understanding and subtlety of form. He is willing to pay over sixty thousand pounds for it, with the hope that it will be the beginning of a long-term business relationship.
I still can't get my head around why someone would pay so much for the film but Alexander explains that there is a whole network of private members’ clubs and societies who will pay the man to ‘loan’ it to them. He tells me that it isn't an act of charity; that the buyer is a broker of erotica who has a good nose for business. People will pay a lot to feel something.
Alexander and I spend Friday on a date. We go to the National Gallery to look at the medieval icons and then have lunch up in China Town, where we stuff ourselves on Dim Sum and drink cheap Saki. Mildly intoxicated, we head through Soho, revelling in our youthful beauty and sense of reckless freedom. I wonder how long this feeling of youthful invincibility will last. I think about my mother and wonder if she ever felt this too. I can’t accept that she did, because then I have to acknowledge the fear that I too will one day end up in chintz worrying about the cost of meat in Tescos.
The phone call from Quentin comes mid-afternoon and before the close of the banking day, Alexander checks his bank account to see that we are both considerably richer; although I still don't know how much of it actually belongs to me. We stop at a wine shop and buy several bottles of champagne and a bottle of Absinth, then grab a cab to Fortnum and Mason, buying lobster, Caviar and Fois-gras, artisan breads and anything else that promises to delight.
The weekend is lost in alcohol and fucking and feasting. I am Alexander’s muse ‘to shape and mould for his pleasure’. The camera is no longer and invisible spy. Every aspect of my existence is filmed. All I do, all I am. He dresses me, poses me, binds me. We don't leave the flat for three days; it's a lot of time to play. Games escalate. Rules are invented and trashed. We are children with momentary tempers and selfish needs. The further we go, the more I learn how far there is to go. But there are things I won't do - not even for Alexander and so he asks me,
"How do you feel about us getting a pet?"
My first thought is a kitten. It's not the kind of kitten he is thinking of. I don't like the idea of inviting a stranger into our bed. He offers a list of options but I hold firm and say that it is not the way it's going to happen; I want the challenge of enticing someone in. I want my own muse. Some pleasures aren't to be bought. I can see by the way he twists his mouth that he is frustrated by my unwillingness to offer him instant gratification, but another part of him is intrigued by the idea of delayed pleasure.
By Sunday night, we are both beginning to suffer the mild effects of cabin fever; we head out to the cinema and watch a horror film. We look on the surface like any other pretty young couple on a date.
When it comes to Monday morning, I refuse to get out of our bed. Alexander is already showered
I feel hot breath on my neck and I shudder under the sensation.
“You are so beautiful, Charlotte,” Alexander whispers.
Immediately my body responds to the familiarity of his voice. Relief mixes a potent cocktail with desire and I push my hips out as far as I can from within the confines of leather cuffs.
Alexander enters me hard, pulling at my chin and neck to shower me in kisses. The thought flits through my mind that it is the most affectionately he has ever kissed me. As he thrusts into me, my hips crash into the post, creating a delicious hardness both in front and behind me.
As we come together in a shuddering, moaning, knitting of flesh and soul, I bathe in the achievement of a secret knowledge – a knowledge that transforms mortals into angels.
*
Alexander has spoken with Quentin and he has already found a buyer for the film. Alexander has titled it Bohemia and the buyer is very impressed, praising Alexander’s understanding and subtlety of form. He is willing to pay over sixty thousand pounds for it, with the hope that it will be the beginning of a long-term business relationship.
I still can't get my head around why someone would pay so much for the film but Alexander explains that there is a whole network of private members’ clubs and societies who will pay the man to ‘loan’ it to them. He tells me that it isn't an act of charity; that the buyer is a broker of erotica who has a good nose for business. People will pay a lot to feel something.
Alexander and I spend Friday on a date. We go to the National Gallery to look at the medieval icons and then have lunch up in China Town, where we stuff ourselves on Dim Sum and drink cheap Saki. Mildly intoxicated, we head through Soho, revelling in our youthful beauty and sense of reckless freedom. I wonder how long this feeling of youthful invincibility will last. I think about my mother and wonder if she ever felt this too. I can’t accept that she did, because then I have to acknowledge the fear that I too will one day end up in chintz worrying about the cost of meat in Tescos.
The phone call from Quentin comes mid-afternoon and before the close of the banking day, Alexander checks his bank account to see that we are both considerably richer; although I still don't know how much of it actually belongs to me. We stop at a wine shop and buy several bottles of champagne and a bottle of Absinth, then grab a cab to Fortnum and Mason, buying lobster, Caviar and Fois-gras, artisan breads and anything else that promises to delight.
The weekend is lost in alcohol and fucking and feasting. I am Alexander’s muse ‘to shape and mould for his pleasure’. The camera is no longer and invisible spy. Every aspect of my existence is filmed. All I do, all I am. He dresses me, poses me, binds me. We don't leave the flat for three days; it's a lot of time to play. Games escalate. Rules are invented and trashed. We are children with momentary tempers and selfish needs. The further we go, the more I learn how far there is to go. But there are things I won't do - not even for Alexander and so he asks me,
"How do you feel about us getting a pet?"
My first thought is a kitten. It's not the kind of kitten he is thinking of. I don't like the idea of inviting a stranger into our bed. He offers a list of options but I hold firm and say that it is not the way it's going to happen; I want the challenge of enticing someone in. I want my own muse. Some pleasures aren't to be bought. I can see by the way he twists his mouth that he is frustrated by my unwillingness to offer him instant gratification, but another part of him is intrigued by the idea of delayed pleasure.
By Sunday night, we are both beginning to suffer the mild effects of cabin fever; we head out to the cinema and watch a horror film. We look on the surface like any other pretty young couple on a date.
When it comes to Monday morning, I refuse to get out of our bed. Alexander is already showered
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