Part 5a: The Most Dangerous Game
Elizabeth wasn’t entirely sure how she’d gotten here. She was bent over the leather arm of the wingback chair, completely naked with her ass high in the air, standing with straight legs on the balls of her feet, her calf muscles stretched taught. William stood behind her, also naked, admiring her perfectly curved ass as her thighs trembled to hold her position.
She remembered bits and pieces, really. She remembered them waking up and taking their showers, and then a rigorous debate about what the day’s activities would be. She was open to suggestions, but when William suggested this particular game, she had balked. Which led to a there’s-no-spanking-before-breakfast argument, to which he had argued that this technically wasn’t ‘before breakfast’ since they had woken up far closer to noon than sunrise. Elizabeth had replied that she wasn’t sure there was spanking before lunch either, to which William reasoned that since they didn’t know which time zone they were in, it wasn’t necessarily ‘before lunch.’ And besides, it was always four o’clock somewhere.
He had been winning that particular disagreement until Elizabeth’s stomach expressed its opinion with a loud growl. She looked at him defiantly, as if to say See! He chuckled and had to concede the point, allowing her to drag him down to the café for a quick bite.
She remembered that much, sure, but as to how exactly they went from eating to doing this, she was drawing a blank. All she knew was that when William gave her a certain look, touched her in a certain way, she could refuse him nothing. Especially when it was what she really wanted, too.
* * *
William stared, entranced, at the naked flesh that quivered under his gaze. His eyes swept from the floor up over her raised heels, the tight muscles of her calves, her muscled thighs, and the swell of her ass. He feasted upon the sight of her bent over, her sex weeping for his touch.
He trailed one finger up one thigh, across the curve of her buttocks, and back down the other leg. She whimpered, but said nothing aloud and held her position on her toes. He rewarded her with one pass of his thumb over her slit, and again she trembled but said nothing. He smiled. She was learning, and learning fast.
“Hold that position, pet.” He swatted her lightly on one cheek, and when she flexed into the movement instead of pulling away, he grinned. Kitten not only has claws, she doesn’t mind being scratched herself.
He crossed the room, retrieving an insulated champagne bucket from where he had left it in the bathroom. Elizabeth heard the ice rattling against the silver, and dropped her head, mentally steeling herself. She didn’t know what exactly he had planned for the ice, but she had the distinct feeling that it was going to be both awful and wonderful.
William swatted the previously neglected cheek with his free hand, making sure he hit her with slightly more force this time, and still she moved with him instead of against.
He smacked her once more, hard enough to leave a nice rosy palm print on the evenly tanned skin. That time she arched her back, emitting a long, low moan, and began to sink back onto flat feet. He clicked his tongue in warning, and she remembered herself, rising back up onto the balls of her feet again.
He rewarded her with a soft, gentle caress of the reddened area, and as soon as she started to relax into his touch, he retrieved a single icy crescent from the bucket and ran it over her ass, tracing the edge of his handprint as the ice melted, dripping down over the curves of her shapely legs. She shivered as the water left cool trails over her heated flesh, and he pressed the remaining sliver of the ice cube against her nether lips, rendering it into water immediately.
She let out a startled “Oh!” and then turned her head to look guiltily over her shoulder at him, certain he was going to punish her for her loud noise.
He smiled and worked one leg between her thighs, widening her stance. “It’s okay, luv. Whimpers, moans, and sighs are definitely allowed. And for the next part, cries are encouraged too.”
Before she could question what he meant, his hand came down again onto the ice-dampened section of her ass, the wetness of her flesh making the contact sting far more sharply, and indeed Elizabeth did cry out then. He had been careful to avoid her most sensitive flesh, but she could still feel the burn rising off her skin where his hand had come down.
He gave her a moment to collect herself, and when she did not protest, he began a steady series of increasingly stronger spanks, her reactions becoming more heated with the force of his blows. When he readjusted his hand, she was unprepared for the feeling of his flattened palm slapping her pussy, and she quaked with a sudden mini-orgasm.
He grinned and stepped back for a moment, watching her trembling swell and subside with great pleasure. Even when he could not see her face, her body was beautiful in her moments of release, going rosy with a full blush before the tensing and release of her muscles. It took her a minute to recover, and he waited patiently. He was pleased to be able to instinctively bring out what she had wanted most, even in the things she had not asked for.
Which is why he was more than a little surprised to hear her clear voice ring out through the room, “Break!”
It took William a minute to realize she had said the safe word he had given her, and when he did, he had a moment of panic. Had he hit her too hard? Was this too much? Bloody pillock, you should’ve never improvised!
In a panic, he pulled her back up into a standing position and spun her to face him, searching her expression for answers as to what had gone wrong. Elizabeth must have seen the barely contained fear in his face, for she stroked one cheekbone with a light caress. “It’s okay, William, I swear. You didn’t hurt me.”
While slightly reassured, he was still perplexed and as he gazed down at her, he saw something shift in her expression, something unfathomable.
She looked at him for a long minute and then said, so softly he could barely hear her, “I want to do something different tonight.”
He cocked his head sideways at her, sensing the sudden weight in the room.
“I want to… can we just…” Words failed her, and he took her hand, stroking his thumb over the inside of her wrist in gentle reassurance.
“Can we make tonight, like, a date? A real date… with dinner and conversation and such?”
William stared at her for a moment. Just stared. Awed, and a little bit scared, at what she was asking him.
This would be different to anything they had done this far. Far more intimate. Sex was well and good, but the further they let each other in, the harder it was going to close the doors at the end of this all.
But after a long minute spent contemplating, he rationalized. He had, after all, never been very good at choosing what he should do over what he wanted. In fact, he was piss-poor at it. Sometimes it worked out in his favor, and sometimes it ended in tears, but it was his fatal flaw, and he owned up to it. At least that was how he justified it to himself.
Elizabeth was awaiting his answer tensely, aware of just how much she was requesting. She breathed a sigh of relief when he brought their joined hands up to his lips, brushing kisses over each knuckle individually.
“Sweetheart, it would be my honor to take you to dinner tonight.”
* * *
When Elizabeth had made her request, she had forgotten one very simple thing. It was very difficult to prepare for a date when you’re sharing a room—a bathroom, especially—with the person you’re trying to date. She was really going for the ‘Wow’ factor, and didn’t want him seeing all the preparation that went into it. She merely wanted to be able to emerge, perfectly made up and coiffed, on the top of a sweeping staircase. Which was a difficult illusion to maintain when you’re darting around in front of your date in desperate search of a hairdryer you know you packed.
Since William didn’t need the bathroom mirror as much as Elizabeth did, he relinquished bathroom rights entirely to her, electing instead to stand in front of the elaborate mirror over the credenza while he dressed and styled his hair. He watched Elizabeth reemerge from the bathroom at least three times, wrapped in a fluffy robe, obviously having forgotten something essential in her luggage. On the third return trip, she gave up and growled, dragging the entire suitcase into the bathroom with her, slamming the door on his soft chuckle.
A discreet knock at the door drew his attention, and he padded over to the entrance barefoot, letting in a tuxedo-clad server with a rolling trolley. The server rolled the cart into the veranda where William indicated, and then disappeared as quietly as he had appeared, pausing only to flick the recessed lights around the patio on, bathing the entire area in a soft glow.
William stood silently for a moment, reflecting. When Elizabeth had requested this dinner, he had known one thing for sure: they could not eat in the dining room they had been relying on for their sustenance. Over their last two meals there, he had noticed the wait staff, although low-key, seemed to be keeping an eye on their interactions. When Elizabeth laughed a little too long, or when his hand dropped to cover hers on the tablecloth, he realized it had not gone without notice. And over their brunch this morning, he had seen their waiter sneaking glances at them throughout the conversation.
It had taken him a little while to suss it out, and then he realized:
Rule 3. No falling in love.
He had to stop himself from smacking his own forehead when he realized. Of course. The staff of this entire enterprise had undoubtedly been put on notice to watch for patrons that looked to be breaking the rules. And while William was pretty comfortable with the way the intimacy between himself and Elizabeth had grown since the first day, he knew it was something The Island frowned upon. This was a place that thrived on anonymity and freedom from emotional entanglements. It was what the bloody business had been built upon. So, naturally, they would have come to someone’s notice.
Hence, this had to be a stealth date. He reasoned that it seemed more intimate this way anyway, away from prying eyes. He wasn’t sure what course the evening was going to take, but he could be certain that whatever happened, it didn’t need witnesses.
He transferred the food and place settings from the trolley onto the veranda table, moving things around several times before he finally decided on the perfect arrangement. Looking around the area, he saw that the beautiful foliage was keeping the majority of the wind out, and decided to add the shielded candles provided on the trolley to the arrangement.
He had just stepped back to admire his handiwork when he heard Elizabeth call his name from inside the suite.
He stepped back through the curtains into the room, and his breath caught in his throat.
Elizabeth was dressed in red. Crimson, really. A halter dress that wasn’t too tight, too short, or too revealing. It should have been just a dress, but it flowed around her body like liquid sin, shaping and molding itself to her curves in a way that had to be illegal somewhere. Her bare shoulders gleamed in the soft light, and like him, she had chosen to remain barefoot. She had twisted her hair up into a soft knot, held in place by black lacquered chopsticks with gold Chinese characters engraved in them. She was a vision, a bloody epiphany standing there before him, and he realized he was staring.
* * *
For what it was worth, William looked absolutely amazing. He was dressed in lightweight charcoal slacks and a white dress shirt with sleeves rolled up just below the elbows, and a tie hanging loosely around his neck. When Elizabeth’s gaze came to rest on the tie, he realized he had forgotten to tighten it, but when he reached up to do so, she closed the space between them, stopping him with a soft hand over his.
“Don’t. It’s sexy like that.” She smiled softly up at him, and he felt himself starting to slip under the power of her touch.
I’m so fucked.
* * *
The dinner itself was fabulous, and by the time they had cleared the salad plates and moved on to their entrees, they had reached a comfortable pattern to their conversation.
Obviously there were certain things that could not be revealed, identifiers like real names or current cities, but they learned to navigate through this by talking about their lives up until the last few years. Family and careers were talked about in broad strokes, but as the night drew on, the strokes got more and more narrow. The reality of their situation--and the danger they were flirting with--was shut out as they worked their way through filet mignon, some kind of buttery potatoes, half a bottle of a very heady merlot, and lightly steamed string beans.
As William stood to clear the dinner plates, he noticed Elizabeth had grown quiet. He carefully scraped the food detritus all onto one plate, the gentle clanking of the silverware filling the emptiness left by her silence.
When he placed the goblet of chocolate mousse in front of her and she didn’t immediately dig in, he knew it wasn’t from lack of appetite. He slid back into his own seat, studying her face as the candlelight flickered over it. Her expression was unreadable, and she seemed to be struggling with words.
He had just picked up his own dessert spoon when she finally spoke.
“I’m not damaged, you know.”
William set his spoon down and removed the cloth napkin from his lap, studying her intently as he waited for her next words.
“I’m not damaged, and I’m not broken, I just… like what I like.” She seemed to be gathering strength as she went on, and he listened carefully, not wanting to distract her from what she was obviously having a hard time getting out.
“I don’t have ‘Daddy Issues’ and I’m not secretly in want of a domineering man in my life…” she was really starting to gather steam now, her voice becoming more strident and focused as she went on, and the knot in William’s stomach grew as he realized not only where this was going, but where it had probably come from. “I’m not a freak, I’m not damaged, and I’m not fucking broken!”
She spat out the last words as if they were poisonous, and William guessed that to her, they probably were.
He reached across the table, taking her nearest hand in his. She resisted at first, so caught up in wherever she was in her head that she could not allow herself the slightest bit of comfort, and it was only after William had been stroking the web of skin between her thumb and forefinger gently for a full minute that she came back to herself.
He soothed her, letting her gather herself, and when she finally relaxed under his grip, he stood, needing a moment to choose his own response.
“More wine?” She nodded. He busied himself pouring more merlot into their glasses, and when he sat back down and motioned for her to join him on his side of the table she willingly let him draw her down into his lap, curling up crosswise before tucking her head under his chin.
He smoothed the few stray blond locks that had escaped the chopsticks back into place, reveling in the softness of her hair as he searched for the right words to respond to her. He decided ultimately that she seemed to be a woman that would respond better to directness than placation.
“Luv, can I ask you something?” He felt her nod under his chin. “You’re pretty successful at… whatever it is you do professionally, right?”
Another nod.
“And you’ve probably been taking care of yourself, out on your own, for a long time, longer than most your age, right?” Affirmative again. “So you’re used to having a pretty high amount of control in your life, correct?”
She pulled her head back to look up at him. “…yes.”
He took it as a good sign that she was verbal again. “Well, fantasy’s about having what you don’t have in real life, right? I mean, if you had it, it wouldn’t be fantasy… I think, maybe, it feels good for you to let go… and everything we’ve done is a way for you to lose control without really losing it. Like I said, even in submission games, bottom still controls by reaction. So you can both lose control and still have it at the same time.”
Since she seemed receptive to his ideas so far, he decided to push his luck.
“Can I take a stab at this, kitten?” She remained silent, contemplative, and he took that as permission to continue.
“Since the moment we met on the first day here, I’ve been wondering why a beautiful woman like you would need to pay to do this,” she flinched but he continued, determined now to get this out, “and it’s been driving me crazy, why you would have to go out of your way to secure a fantasy that practically every red-blooded male in the States would be more than happy to help you fulfill. I mean, while your tastes are probably not mainstream, they’re not extreme either.
“And I think I finally just figured it out, pet. You had someone, probably a while ago now, that you finally trusted enough to ask what you wanted of, and he was disgusted. Pulled away, accused you of all those things you just said, and just in general made you feel like a freak for asking?”
She nodded, her eyes slightly wet even by the soft light. She worried her lower lip for a moment, choosing her words carefully, then explained.
“My college boyfriend. We were together for about four years. When I finally got up the courage to ask him to… well, for what I wanted… he told me that I was sick, that I needed therapy, and he stormed out of my dorm. He broke up with me not too long after that, because he told me he could never look at me the same again.” The bitterness was back in her tone.
“Elizabeth.”
She looked at him, startled out of her memories. He had fallen into a comfortable rhythm of using pet names instead of the pseudonyms for her, so when she heard her name, or her assumed name, she knew it meant he had something important to say.
“There’s nothing wrong with you. Not one bloody fucking thing. Just because some vanilla college boy couldn’t handle what you needed, it doesn’t mean that there’s anything wrong with you. I’ve been a willing—actually, an ecstatic--participant in these games for the last three days… do you think there’s something wrong with me?”
She studied him for a moment and then the tension eased out of her and she slid slowly back against his chest.
“So what about you?”
“I thought we covered that, luv, any red-blooded—“
“No, I mean why are you having sex with me for money?”
William was pole-axed for a moment, and then realized what she was really asking him.
“It’s my first time doing this… my only time. My brother-in-law… has a vested interest in this business, and he needed a favor… truth be told, I think he could’ve found one of his… umm… professionals, for this job.
“But I’ve been having some… confidence issues lately, kinda needed to get out of my head, regain my stride and whatnot. Series of bad business decisions, couple failed relationships… Honestly, I think he picked me out just for you. Or picked you out just for me. Not really sure.”
When Elizabeth gave a soft sigh of contentment and wrapped her arms more tightly around him, he realized that she had been worrying over the answer to that particular question for quite a while before she had gotten up the courage to ask it.
The winds were gradually starting to pick up, extinguishing the candles as it swirled around them where they sat entwined. The gentle rustling of the palm fronds had become a dull roar around them, and they could hear waves starting to pound the shoreline.
The temperature was starting to drop, and William tilted his head to glance up at the sky. Sure enough, huge gray clouds were rolling in, dropping in front of the moon and blanketing The Island in an eerie light.
“Storm’s coming, pet.”
Still she didn’t move until the first fat drops of rain started to splatter the patio.
Unhurriedly she rose, unfolding off of his lap and pulling him wordlessly to his feet and back into the suite behind her, shutting the French doors behind them, closing the weather out as the first bolt of lightning split the sky.
TBC
A/N1: Please read and review. My muse is a feedback whore.
A/N2: This chapter had to be split because, once again, I suffer from an excess of wordage.
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