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  Lydia felt little pulsations in the head of the cock that meant Marcus would flood her mouth in the next few seconds. He was on fire, and she knew she’d be disappointed if this didn’t turn into a long, long night.

  She knew she was stunning. Her model-perfect looks and bearing stood out in any crowd, and men competed for her attention. Lydia had always got what she wanted. It wasn’t just the body, the sharp dress sense. Privately, she knew that part of her success, early in her career, had been down to her uncanny skill of picking the right boyfriends. But, at the same time, she had raw talent. She was driven, frequently working 16-hour days and weekends. She’d sacrificed a lot to reach the top of her game, running her own art gallery and making it pay.

  And she’d become used to making others play by her rules. It bugged her that Marcus had refused.

  They’d met at a party. The host wasn’t one of her pet artists; his work was too transgressive to have a wide appeal, though she’d found a few buyers for it. Lydia had planned to drop by, network a little and have a quiet night. But the first person she’d met was Marcus, and his lean body, rock-star looks, long dark hair and lopsided, bad-boy smile gave her a physical sensation almost exactly like the little buzzy bullet vibrator that lived discreetly in her handbag.

  Lydia did some mental gear-shifting and changed her plans. The world wouldn’t stop turning, her gallery wouldn’t collapse, if she decided to have a little unscheduled fun. Yet when she’d made her offer, he’d just shrugged and said he was probably ‘too nasty’ for her.

  She’d asked around, got confused stories. No one knew exactly what Marcus did, no one had seen him wearing anything other than his trademark leather trousers. He was some kind of artist; he worked a lot with metal; he had a mysterious past. He kept people at a distance.

  All of which explained why Lydia taken this afternoon as all-too-rare personal time, leaving her assistant in charge of the gallery. She’d gone home, changed into something a little shorter and heels a little higher, and slipped into the leather interior of her Merc. The cool leather seat against the back of her legs had given her a faint sensation of risk, of exploring the unknown. Aware of her heart pumping, blood moving in her veins, she decided it was something she did all too rarely. Turning the key in the ignition, she’d gone in search of Marcus’s workshop.

  Which is how she had ended up sitting in a metal cage, suspended six feet above the floor. She was experiencing sudden insight into the unconscious needs that lay behind her motives. The more disreputable needs.

  ‘Why do I have the feeling,’ Marcus asked her, ‘that you’re quite used to looking down on men?’ Reaching up, he spun the cage around. It bucked from side to side as her weight shifted, and Lydia yelped in alarm.

  Damn. She’d sworn to herself she wouldn’t do that. Marcus’s chuckle, though, was delicious.

  ‘I have some welding to do,’ he announced matter-of-factly. ‘But when you’re ready to go to the next stage, just drop all your clothes out of the cage.’

  Watching him at work was entertaining, but Lydia was impatient. She wanted to push the situation along. On the other hand, she wasn’t ready to play by Marcus’s rules. Instead she took time to look over the workshop. One corner held sculptures, twisted figures with elongated limbs that looked unmistakeably female – and frozen in mid-orgasm. Dotted around were large pieces of what looked to Lydia like medieval dungeon equipment: a large X-shaped frame; a long table with a winch at one end that must be a rack and; a complicated structure with leather slings hanging from it. At the back of the space, receding into gloom, was industrial shelving that contained lengths of steel, while – fairly banal in comparison – a black rucksack and chunky leather jacket hung on a hook by the door.

  Lydia had chosen a bright red dress that was more clinging and strappy than she’d normally wear in the daytime. She peeled it off slowly, hoping that Marcus would notice the act. It was the kind of dress that needed to be worn with no bra and no knickers, so that’s exactly how she’d worn it.

  Her dress floated to the floor. And the bastard kept on with his welding. She pouted. He clearly wanted to make her feel vulnerable, hanging naked in a cage and he’d succeeded.

  Eventually he turned off the welding torch, looked up at her and nodded in approval. ‘You kept your shoes on. I like that. Naked except for the heels always looks sexy.’ He wound the crank that lowered the cage, stopping it a foot off the floor. Her eyes were level with his.

  He was obviously a control freak, but those green eyes looking into hers made her mouth water. She wanted to be controlled by him – but her own spirit of independence meant she had no intentions of giving him an easy conquest. She moved towards Marcus, expecting that he’d open the cage door to free her.

  No such luck. Turning on his heel, he headed for the industrial racking – and her jaw dropped as he returned with a fistful of metal shackles!

  Without speaking, Marcus gave her that lopsided grin and made a circular motion with his finger. Lydia spun away from him and felt her wrists yanked behind her back, then the cold steel closing over them. She shivered as the process was repeated on her ankles and then, to her consternation, around her neck. This guy meant business. She felt her face flush as she realised how powerless he’d made her.

  Marcus’s fingers reached through the cage bars, dancing across her breasts, stroking and teasing. Lydia’s immediate reaction was to sigh and close her eyes, allowing the sensations to sink under her skin. But no, this was to be a competition of control freakery. Instead, she bared her teeth in a half-snarl and pulled back until the cold iron bars pressed against her shoulders and buttocks.

  The effect was, however, simply to make the cage sway from side to side again and Lydia had to brace herself as best she could to keep her balance. Marcus took the opportunity to close his thumb and forefinger firmly on Lydia’s left nipple, not enough to hurt but certainly demanding her full attention. And create a certain warmth between her thighs.

  ‘I don’t think,’ he observed, ‘that you have the slightest idea of how to be nice to a man, unless it’s on your terms. Am I right?’

  She glowered.

  He grinned. ‘I am right, and you know it. And that’s why you’re here now: you wanted to find out exactly what it feels like when you don’t have that control.’

  She paused. Then: ‘Yes...master.’ In her mouth, the word sounded sarcastic, as though she was just playing along with him for the fun of it. Wasn’t she?

  That grin again – it was almost insolent. It annoyed the hell out of her but made her feel hot at the same time, and annoyed again at having that reaction. ‘I’m not your master yet,’ Marcus observed. ‘And you’ll call me a lot of bad names first, before you can say the word ‘master’ and really mean it. First, I’m going to turn you into a slut. Then, in true chauvinist, double-standard style, I’m going to punish your sluttiness.’

  He pulled on her nipple, forcing Lydia to arch her body forward, and looked into her eyes. His gaze seemed to hollow her out. ‘That posture does emphasise your breasts,’ Marcus noted.

  Suddenly her right nipple flowered into pain. ‘It’s a clamp,’ Marcus explained mildly. Her left tit felt the same sudden flair of hurt. ‘Two clamps, actually, connected by a short chain. If you struggle too much, the chain becomes taut and the clamps will tighten.’

  Lydia closed her eyes, fought to bring her breathing under control and ignore the insistent sharpness of the clamps. Dully, she felt Marcus moving around her. He seemed to be fixing the fetters on her feet to the bars of the cage. Then his hand, unexpectedly warm, pressed between her shoulder blades as she felt her wrists, already shackled behind her, being raised. He seemed to be forcing her to bend at the waist, which meant her arse now pressed against the bars on one side and her face against the opposing side. Her wrists were now high above the small of her back, forcing her to brace and maintain th
e position. There was one small mercy. The chain on the nipple clamps moved easily up and down the bar Marcus had wrapped it around, so there was no additional pull on her nipples.

  Even so, they throbbed in time with her heartbeat, and her heart was racing.

  The floor – the main thing in Lydia’s field of vision – seemed to be moving. Marcus was talking, but focusing on her stance, her ragged breathing and the attention-grabbing clamps used up most of her concentration.

  ‘...feel free to scream,’ he was saying. ‘Eventually you’ll decide that it’s better to give in and tell me how much of a slut you really are.’ And with that, the room spun viciously. For the first time, Lydia was actually pleased she’d been restrained. Otherwise she’d have been flung around inside the cage, no doubt finding the clamps were capable of delivering a supernova of agony. A small, rational part of her brain told her he’d twisted the cage around on its support, and the chain was now rapidly unwinding.

  Feel free to scream, he’d said.

  She screamed.

  Just before all the breath left her lungs, Lydia decided she couldn’t cope any more.

  ‘I’m a...I’m a...’ The word stuck in her throat. Why? It wasn’t real; it was a codeword that would make the roller-coaster sensation stop.

  ‘...slut. A fucking slut. A horny slut. Please?’

  ‘That’s good. Very good.’ Clanking above her. A grating sound. Marcus was lowering the cage. The feeling of safety, of being on a floor that didn’t move, was a huge relief. Lydia whimpered.

  Damn. She’d wanted to be in control. Being chained and played with was a new experience. Yet despite the pull on her wrists, the tortured nipples, hell, even despite her nudity and being caged, her moistness told her she was finding it strangely exciting to be controlled.

  Marcus was behind her now. Grinding her arse against the bars, she presented herself to him, demonstrating her desirability. And her desire.

  She was expecting him to enter her. His length to fill her up. Instead, the slap of his hand echoed around the workshop. Dimly Lydia understood that a hand’s width of her flesh protruded through the bars and was now being rouged by the spanking.

  To her own amazement, she began to laugh.

  ‘Ah! You’re a giggler...The endorphin rush takes women in different ways, you know? Some like to squeal and struggle. Some go silent, their minds take them on a journey somewhere. Some just get rampant. And then, some giggle. That’s OK. I can work with giggling.’

  Marcus’s hand continued its work on Lydia’s rump, and gradually the giggles were replaced by deeper, more guttural sounds. She’d never thought about, or experienced, how a spanking could flood her whole body with feelings of such erotic intensity.

  The phone on Marcus’s workbench warbled. To his credit, he didn’t withdraw his hand while speaking. Instead his fingers probed, found, then gently massaged Lydia’s swollen clit. She was almost in a trance state, hearing Marcus’s end of the conversation as though the words were fingernails gently grazing her ribs.

  Yes? It’s ready...Now? OK, about 20 minutes...See you.

  ‘This will be fun,’ he said. It took Lydia a few seconds to realise he’d put down the phone and was addressing her. ‘The customer I made this cage for wants to come and collect it.’

  Images flashed through Lydia’s mind. Being naked and chained in the cage when strangers arrived. Being exposed to their view. Being casually toyed with unfamiliar fingers, lips...maybe even being taken away, still in the cage, to some unknown destination...The thought appalled her, scared her – but, at the same time, she felt a thrill run from the top of her spine, through her cunt and turn her legs to jelly. Her heart was racing and she found herself gasping for breath.

  Then she gasped again, but this time because Marcus’s fingers had been replaced by his cock, its swollen head pushing against and then into her moistness. ‘We have 20 minutes before my friends arrive,’ he was saying. ‘I think we should use them well.’

  Trapped inside the cage, Lydia could barely move – but her restraints inflamed her even more. A wave of pressure was building up inside her. Each thrust filled her more forcefully than the last, pushing her further and higher towards...Towards what? She lost all sense of time and space, allowing the hurricane of sensation between her legs to wrap her entire body in its blind force.

  The fucking became more urgent, more needy. She had to come – had to. And when Marcus finally gushed inside her, it released her own pent-up energies like an explosion of molten quicksilver.

  She slumped in the cage, sweaty, trembling, and incoherent. It felt like she was being supported purely on Marcus’s still-stiff cock. If it hadn’t stayed inside her, she would have been hanging, semi-conscious, by her wrists.

  Incongruous thoughts flittered through Lydia’s mind. This is wrong. I didn’t know he’d make me feel like this. I shouldn’t be feeling like this. That was incredible. But he’s a bastard. I’ll make him pay. No – no I’ll make him do it to me again...

  When he did, finally, withdraw she felt hollowed-out. Her legs wouldn’t support her and the cuffs on her wrists took all her weight. Marcus cupped her chin in one hand, drew her mouth towards him and kissed her through the bars.

  ‘My friends will be here soon. I’m guessing you don’t want to be in the cage when they take it?’

  Lydia could barely move, didn’t know whether to nod or shake her head.

  ‘So to get you out of the cage, the first thing we need to do is...this!’

  ‘Eeeeiouahh!’

  He’d chosen a moment when she’d exhaled, yet there was enough air in her lungs for a piercing scream. Her nipples burned as though he’d lit a match under each of them. She bounced weakly against her restraints, helplessly trying to get away from the pain.

  That lopsided, stunning smile again. ‘Sorry about that. I should have warned you – nipple clamps always hurt more when they come off.’

  Opening the cage door, he scooped up Lydia’s body. Tenderly, but effortlessly. There was no strength left in her to resist, and, surprisingly, she didn’t want to.

  He carried her behind the tall metal racking at the back of his workshop, and deposited her on her knees, on a square of folded sacking. She raised her head, looking up at him as he stretched her arms to each side and clipped her cuffs to thoughtfully-placed chains. It occurred to her that her mouth was now exactly level with the flies on Marcus’s leather jeans.

  ‘You’ll be comfortable here,’ Marcus observed. ‘Of course, if you want attention, just rattle the chains. I’ll probably send my friends over to see what kind of attention you need.’

  With that, he produced a blindfold from his hip pocket.

  Surrendering to the warm afterglow of the fuck and the darkness of the blindfold, Lydia heard noises. An engine. A knock at the workshop door, the squeak of the hinges as it opened. Belatedly she remembered that all through their sex, the door had been unlocked. Anyone could have walked in!

  A voice she didn’t recognise: ‘That’s a nice dress lying on the floor. Not yours, I take it?’

  Marcus’s voice: ‘I was having a little fun earlier. A woman who came to visit. It, um, got overlooked when I was tidying up afterwards.’

  ‘Lucky lady! And you were mean enough to send her away naked?’

  ‘I’d say she’s still close by, somewhere.’

  Sounds of laughter. Then the scrape of metal on concrete, presumably the cage being picked up and moved. Van door being slammed shut. An engine.

  Silence.

  Lydia endured the quiet for maybe two minutes. For all she knew, Marcus had gone with the others and she’d been left in the workshop alone. She came to terms with the fact that in this battle between control freaks, she’d lost. She accepted that she’d been shown, forcefully, the pleasure to be gained in submitting. She’d become int
imately familiar with the fact that there can be a point where pain is pleasure. And all of this had come about because she’d been intrigued by a lopsided smile.

  On the other hand, being ignored wasn’t something Lydia was used to. She rattled the chains.

  Footsteps. The blindfold meant she didn’t know whose – it must be Marcus, surely?

  Fingers gently raked through her hair, pulled gently. Lydia realised she must have relaxed, settled back into a full kneeling position. The tug on her chestnut mane brought her forward, still on her knees, which meant that her mouth would be level with...Obediently she opened wide, pushing her tongue forward to rest on her lower lip.

  Arms pinioned either side of her, and unable to see, Lydia did the only thing she could. She took it to the back of her throat, because the grip on her hair allowed no other option. She curled her tongue the way she knew men liked. And she felt pulsations in the head of the cock that signalled a flood of spunk in her mouth. The man was on fire, and she knew she’d be disappointed if this didn’t turn into a long, long night.

  * * *

  Much later, Marcus had taken her to his house, a small bungalow in the hills above the town. Not that he’d finished with being Master for the night. While locking up the workshop, he’d made her wait by his car, dressed in his leather jacket – dressed only in his leather jacket, which barely covered her. As she shivered in the chill night air, her dress stayed on the workshop floor. It belonged to Marcus now.

  His place was studenty and bookish, yet in the living room, there were a couple of pictures by the transgressive artist whose work Lydia sometimes sold. In the bedroom, aside from the huge, wrought iron bed, there were bullwhips hanging on a nearby hook.

  ‘So,’ she said finally. It was late, maybe four in the morning. She’d been roundly used, and lay spreadeagled on – and still cuffed to – Marcus’s bed. Marks on her breasts, belly and thighs attested to the use of one of the bullwhips. The marks stung when she moved, and yet she was strangely proud of them. Her descent into submission had been a short but fierce journey.