a cup of tea, a boiled egg and some toast and seated himself on the other side of me.
“Good morning, ladies. How are you?” He oozed charm.
Adele’s cheeks grew pink. “Good morning,” she gushed. “I’m fantastic, thank you very much.”
“And you, Ms Gladstone?” There was that mocking tone, teasing me, making me weak.
“Adele knows about us, Geoffrey.”
He let out a hearty laugh. “I told you that you should be quieter! But never mind. That’s just fine. I had been thinking that it was about time for me to claim you publicly.”
He slipped one arm around my shoulder and pulled me into a robust kiss. I tried unsuccessfully to keep it decent. His tongue wormed its way into my mouth and tangled with mine. After a moment, I gave up any resistance and let his scent and taste carry me away the way it always did. His hand cupped my breast. I was bra-less under my blouse, as he required. One finger flicked over my jutting nipple, sending bolts of electricity racing to my pussy. I jerked in his arms as the pleasure struck deep.
When he finally released me, I was breathless and damp and Adele’s eyes were like saucers.
“From now on, I want everyone to know that you’re my girl.”
I was grateful he didn’t say, “my slut.”
“You are, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I managed to croak. “I am.”
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Five
* * * *
It didn’t take long for everyone to view Geoffrey and me as a couple. Adele told me that cast relationships were pretty common in summer stock. In fact, once she saw that Geoff was taken, she hooked up with Harry, the bespectacled, intense grad student who was our prop-master.
Geoff and I didn’t spend every night together. He told me that I needed time to recover from our sessions, and he was right. That didn’t stop me from wanting him all the time. I lived in a sort of dream world, constantly aroused. I could hardly remember what it had been like to wear panties and have a dry pussy.
Each time we met, Geoff pushed me further. I came to know the bite of those silvery clamps constricting my nipples, and the agony of the blood rushing back when they were removed. He introduced me to his flogger and his paddle. One night he shackled me hand and foot to the headboard and drizzled hot wax onto my breasts and belly. Another evening, he blindfolded me then stroked me with various articles, making me guess their identity. Every incorrect answer earned me three lashes from the crop.
He kept up the psychological pressure too, forcing me—inviting me—to share my darkest fantasies. We’d sit in his bed while he toyed idly with my pussy and grilled me about my reactions to public punishment, group sex and knife play.
After a week or two, he moved our games out of the bedroom. I never knew when he’d come up behind me backstage, raise my skirt, and wiggle a finger into my ass. Keeping his promise, he had his chauffeur drive us to Boston for a shopping trip. I spent practically the entire trip with his cock in my mouth and returned with a black satin corset and a red lace garter belt. When the theatre had its Fourth of July picnic at Lake Mansfield, he dragged me into the woods, tied me to a tree, and fucked me within fifty feet of the beach and the barbecue pits.
He was outrageous, unrelenting, insightful. He knew what I wanted before I knew, myself. Usually he’d make me ask—no, beg—for it. Even when drunk with his own power, though, he was never cruel. He let me come at least as often as he did. He praised my willingness, my endurance and my honesty. Without being told, I knew that I pleased him, but he didn’t hesitate to say so.
Never, though, did he say he loved me.
As for me, I tried to live in the now and not worry about the end of the summer. It wasn’t too difficult when I was in his presence. Lost in submission, in thrall to his will, I found that time had no meaning. Had he been beating me for minutes or hours? I couldn’t tell. Alone in
“Good morning, ladies. How are you?” He oozed charm.
Adele’s cheeks grew pink. “Good morning,” she gushed. “I’m fantastic, thank you very much.”
“And you, Ms Gladstone?” There was that mocking tone, teasing me, making me weak.
“Adele knows about us, Geoffrey.”
He let out a hearty laugh. “I told you that you should be quieter! But never mind. That’s just fine. I had been thinking that it was about time for me to claim you publicly.”
He slipped one arm around my shoulder and pulled me into a robust kiss. I tried unsuccessfully to keep it decent. His tongue wormed its way into my mouth and tangled with mine. After a moment, I gave up any resistance and let his scent and taste carry me away the way it always did. His hand cupped my breast. I was bra-less under my blouse, as he required. One finger flicked over my jutting nipple, sending bolts of electricity racing to my pussy. I jerked in his arms as the pleasure struck deep.
When he finally released me, I was breathless and damp and Adele’s eyes were like saucers.
“From now on, I want everyone to know that you’re my girl.”
I was grateful he didn’t say, “my slut.”
“You are, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I managed to croak. “I am.”
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Five
* * * *
It didn’t take long for everyone to view Geoffrey and me as a couple. Adele told me that cast relationships were pretty common in summer stock. In fact, once she saw that Geoff was taken, she hooked up with Harry, the bespectacled, intense grad student who was our prop-master.
Geoff and I didn’t spend every night together. He told me that I needed time to recover from our sessions, and he was right. That didn’t stop me from wanting him all the time. I lived in a sort of dream world, constantly aroused. I could hardly remember what it had been like to wear panties and have a dry pussy.
Each time we met, Geoff pushed me further. I came to know the bite of those silvery clamps constricting my nipples, and the agony of the blood rushing back when they were removed. He introduced me to his flogger and his paddle. One night he shackled me hand and foot to the headboard and drizzled hot wax onto my breasts and belly. Another evening, he blindfolded me then stroked me with various articles, making me guess their identity. Every incorrect answer earned me three lashes from the crop.
He kept up the psychological pressure too, forcing me—inviting me—to share my darkest fantasies. We’d sit in his bed while he toyed idly with my pussy and grilled me about my reactions to public punishment, group sex and knife play.
After a week or two, he moved our games out of the bedroom. I never knew when he’d come up behind me backstage, raise my skirt, and wiggle a finger into my ass. Keeping his promise, he had his chauffeur drive us to Boston for a shopping trip. I spent practically the entire trip with his cock in my mouth and returned with a black satin corset and a red lace garter belt. When the theatre had its Fourth of July picnic at Lake Mansfield, he dragged me into the woods, tied me to a tree, and fucked me within fifty feet of the beach and the barbecue pits.
He was outrageous, unrelenting, insightful. He knew what I wanted before I knew, myself. Usually he’d make me ask—no, beg—for it. Even when drunk with his own power, though, he was never cruel. He let me come at least as often as he did. He praised my willingness, my endurance and my honesty. Without being told, I knew that I pleased him, but he didn’t hesitate to say so.
Never, though, did he say he loved me.
As for me, I tried to live in the now and not worry about the end of the summer. It wasn’t too difficult when I was in his presence. Lost in submission, in thrall to his will, I found that time had no meaning. Had he been beating me for minutes or hours? I couldn’t tell. Alone in
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