See, I haven’t forgotten poor Charlotte! But I have been stupidly busy, am getting very excited, and hope to share more with you very, very soon now!
However, to Charlotte and her rather disastrous sex life: If you remember, she had locked herself to the bed with a bike chain on the insistence of the Chessmaster, had begged her friend Mike not to come and rescue her, made a total cock-up of all of it, and found herself in bed with him instead. And, just as they were about to have a jolly nice time indeed, up popped a voice from Charlotte’s iPad, telling Charlotte, “Make your Master cum to the sound of you fucking”. And so, Part 9 begins…
As always, I welcome your comments.
Happy reading! x
I go rigid; bite my lip, hard, until I can taste blood. The look on Mike’s face as he bolts upright makes me want to hide myself away and never come out. I just look at him, at the sudden greyness of his face, contrasting markedly with the boiling crimson of my own skin. The sweep of utter pain across his eyes, landing on the open quiver of his mouth leaves me in guilty agony. I want to—I don’t know. What do I want to do? Smash the iPad? Hold onto Mike and just desperately pretend he heard nothing? Wind back time so that I never answered that first email? What can I do now? I’m not in a position to do any of it.
Mike throws himself over to the end of the bed and stands there, already grabbing his clothes. His words stab in the pit of my stomach, and I just feel sick:
“What the hell do you think you’re playing at? Have you got me here to play some kind of idiot?”
“No! Mike, I’d never—I don’t know what it was. Will you come back? Please?”
It’s a pointless, pathetic plea, and I don’t even know why I bother, except that—except I felt something between us. Something I’d never known was present before. He’d looked at me with such care in his eyes, and he’d been so thoughtful about the condom and whether sex was what I really wanted. And he was so warm, pressed close to me, and I so wanted to feel loved, just for a while. And I would have done. With him, I would have. But now—I can’t bear the pain in his eyes, and I don’t have any idea how to make this right.
“I don’t know what game this is, Charlotte. I actually thought—. What the—?”
His eyes are on the little table. On the iPad, laying there, flat, and with its screen still turned to the ceiling. And the voice coming through the speaker, totally turned on.
“Fuck her, you tosser. I’m wanking at the very thought of it. I want to hear her moan. Make her moan.”
My hands clasp my nose and mouth. Maybe I can stop myself breathing, or something.
“On—on the iPad? Who is it? I don’t believe—.”
Are those hands still twitching on the screen? Is he actually going to stare straight at Mike? My eyes screw up at the instant Mike heads across the room, opening only when I feel the iPad landing hard against my knee. Instinctively, I pull the sheet up around me, clutching it under my chin.
“Mike, I—.” I have no words. No breath. One look at him deflates any possible excuse I could make.
“I don’t understand. I don’t get how you could do this, whatever this is? What was the plan? To record us fucking? To make the wanker on the end of that fucking machine live up to his name? Who is it, Charlotte?”
I want to cry, but I can’t.
“Were you—was this going to be blackmail?”
He makes me gasp. “No, Mike. The thought hadn’t ever crossed my mind. Why would I want to do that? I—think the world of you.”
“Yes. I can see that.” The sarcasm spits out all over the bed, and I just can’t bear it. “All right. Were you only going to fuck me because he says so, this creep, whoever he is? Tell me who he is, Charlotte.”
I can’t. I can’t tell him. It’d break his heart. He’s never forgiven him for the way it was before. “I’d never make love to you on someone else’s say-so. Mike, I wanted to. I want to. I—oh, what a fucking mess.” I struggle to even look up at him.
“Make love? Is that what we were going to do? You know how I feel about you. I’d have been making love. But you, you’d have been performing for Mr Creepy, wouldn’t you? This was never about me. You and me. Was it?”
“You should never have come, Mike. I told you on the phone that you shouldn’t.” I know I’m lashing out. There’s no way I should apportion blame to him. If he’d only listened. If only he wasn’t so lovely…
“But you were in trouble, Charlotte. At least—or was that all deliberate, too?” The crack in his voice splits me in two; that, and the thought of all the excellent engineering that has gone on, with me as a brainless pawn.
“I swear—not deliberate. Not on my part. I promise.”
“What does that even mean?” He looks at me, not with anger, not even with disappointment now, but with total confusion written across his face. “I can’t stay. I need to get out. Don’t call me.” My eyes well up with tears, as he begins to disappear through the bedroom door. Then he pauses. “Don’t call for a few days, at least. Charlotte—.” He turns and his face contorts with his gritted teeth. He shakes his head, and walks through the doorway. His feet pad slowly to the door, and I hear it pull closed behind him, quietly and firmly.
I just sit on the bed, statuesque, numb. I’ve just ruined a relationship with the only man who seems to care, because I’m an idiot. I just feel—oh, I don’t know—as if I’m floundering in a quagmire that’s sucking me in and pulling me under, and I’ve no way of getting out, and even if I did, I wouldn’t know where to start. I don’t know how long I must sit there like that.
“What a shame.”
My heart ends up somewhere at the back of my throat, and my entire body suddenly begins to quiver beneath the cover. His voice shakes me to the core. The silence of the room afterwards is excruciating; I can hear him breathing. It’s getting louder, heavier, or at least I think it is. Should I pelt the iPad so I can’t hear it? I pick it up, pointing the screen to the ceiling so that there’s no way he can see anything other than white emulsion. I don’t want him knowing the state I’m in. The thought that he might get satisfaction from seeing me upset burns in my stomach, and my finger hovers over the ‘off’ button. Why can’t I press it? What’s wrong with me? With one almighty sob, I fling the thing back down, and manage to spit out:
“What is, you arsehole?”
His voice goes soft, strange. It takes me by surprise.
“That he didn’t stay. You wanted him to, didn’t you?”
What am I supposed to say now? Does he seriously want me to explain how I felt? That, right at that moment, I realised that Mike was—is—? I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. It’s a pathetic little voice that replies with a “Yes.”
“Then, next time, I’ll make sure I stay quiet. I want you to enjoy what you do. It’s important my little love slave is happy. And, because hearing you fuck would please me. It’s a long time since I’ve heard it. Do you still have that breathy little whimper when a man comes inside you?”
I grab the iPad, not caring that I look like hell on earth, and stare straight at the empty screen.
“How do you know what I sound like?”
“It’s wonderful. Just the thought of it makes me so fucking horny. Do you want to see? Do you want to see what just the memory of hearing you does to me?” His voice is rasping, breathy whispers that echo in my room. “Tell me you want to, and I’ll show you. All you have to do is say ‘yes, Master’.”
My mouth has gone dry. My head doesn’t know whether it’s coming or going. What the hell do I think I’m playing at, with Mike, stripped, and kissing me, and ready to make love, and the moment he’s gone—because of him—I’m sucked straight back into this screen, this nonsense, this—oh, I don’t know what this is! It’s a mess. And there’s only one answer I can offer him.
Raspiness and throatiness combine in a dirty chuckle.
“Close enough. For now. Let me see your face. I want to watch your eyes. And your mouth. Come up to the screen, both hands round it.”
I balance the iPad back where it was in the first place. Everything suddenly feels like it’s come full circle, a reality only we know, and which has strangled any notions of actual, real life that got caught in the centre. I lay there, grasping the sides of the device because he says so, my breasts and my pussy pressed into the sheet, my eyes wide at the screen and my lips apart because it feels like the only way I can get any air. The screen flickers, moves, and my entire body shakes with the bolt of lightning he aims at me. There he is—not all of him, but his hand. And it grasps on tightly to the shaft of his cock. He’s already well into stroking it, and I can see his pre-cum covering the end that has already begun sliding out of his foreskin. I gasp; it becomes a helpless whimper. My first time seeing. He’s—oh, I don’t have the words…
“Fuck, woman. Make that noise again.”
I can’t help it. I do it again as I screw myself into the sheet, watching his hand stroking a bit faster, his crown almost completely out of its casing as he slides his hand up and down.
“Your mouth’s dropping open, Kitten. Purr for me. And bring your mouth up, close.”
My face is almost touching the screen. I grind myself round and round, trying to find a way to release this ache that pummels at my clit, and all I do is succeed in making it worse. A crop of tingles lash at my back, as I try hard not to mist up his cock. Fuck! He’s pointing the end right at me.
“Put out your tongue. Touch your Master’s cock with it.” I hears his short, sharp groans as he strokes furiously until he’s drowning the end, and it’s dribbling down onto his fingers. “Taste my juices. I want to see you lick me.”
I manage to kick the top bedsheet into a good enough position that I can bunch it up between my thighs. Everything—thinking I was going to be fucked by him, Mike, feeling a hot body on me—all this craziness impales itself in my head as I lap like a devoted puppy at my screen. His murmurs float around the room, as I throw my imagination into my desperation, tasting the salty stickiness that hides behind the glass that suspends all disbelief.
“Open wide, my little love slave. Take this for me.”
My pussy is in such pain, thrashing around against the fabric. I find an angle that feels good; work on it hard. My orgasm is rising to the very tip of my clit and my mouth opens wide. He groans, louder than I’ve ever heard before.
Four large spurts hit the screen and spread violently in front of my eyes. I jump, yet my mouth is instinctive and eager, and my agony fires itself into the cotton between my legs. I can’t speak. My eyes seek out his shape through the mess that separates us. All we have is our recovering moans, and the sighs that come after release. Everything is silent; it’s like the world has stopped.
I’m still trying to catch my breath, and I hear his still heaving hard, but he talks through it.
“You’re ready. Watch your letterbox. It’ll be obvious what you need to do. Send me a text when you’re doing it, and not before. Be a good girl, and your reward will be huge.”
“What do you mean?”
I can count the seconds; the milliseconds, too, probably. Forty-three seconds exactly.
“Don’t question me. Just watch the post. And have a jiz n’ tonic on me. I’m going to deal with it now. Turn your iPad off.”
My nerve ends are bristling on my skin. My heart is banging. What am I supposed to make of that?