The Closest Thing To Heaven

As Demi moved towards the innocuous black-painted double doors, Patricia’s words echoed in her mind. ‘Honestly, Dem, it’s an experience that’s out of this world. It’s the closest you can get to heaven without actually having sex. What have you got to lose?’ Nothing, Demi supposed, hesitating outside the doors. Nothing whatsoever. She could certainly do with some heaven in her life, particularly of the erotic variety. But now she was actually here, her courage was failing her. She hadn’t taken her clothes off in front of a man for a very long time – particularly not a strange man. Even if he did look, as Patricia put it, like something out of the Arabian Nights. Her fingers closed around the leaflet in her bag. She didn’t need to read it – she knew it off by heart. Treat yourself to an afternoon of pure pleasure. Step beyond the threshold of desire. Satisfaction guaranteed. Hardly original, but Patricia had told her the experience had exceeded her wildest expectations. And Patricia could get pretty wild. What if I don’t like it, she thought, pressing the doorbell in the same heartbeat? She could always change her mind. Stepping over the threshold didn’t commit her to anything. Not this threshold anyway. She shivered with delicious anticipation. Patricia had told her about the other threshold with a wicked gleam in her eyes. A man, who looked nothing like an Arabian knight, let her in, consulted his appointment book and gave her a slightly unnerving smile, as he slipped her credit card through his machine. ‘Go through, Miss Hargreaves. You are expected.’ She found herself in a room exactly as Patricia had described. Opulent – the walls were d****d with rich gold silk and the room was scented with lilies, which were on a small table close to the door. She’d always associated lilies with funerals, but then, weren’t orgasms sometimes described as ‘the small death’? A red carpet, which felt thick beneath her feet, led towards another door, which had a small plaque in its centre. Demi bent to read it. Once you pass through this door, there is no turning back. Only those in search of the ultimate sensual experience should step over the threshold. Feeling slightly reassured, because sensual didn’t sound as scary as sexual, Demi opened the door and stepped inside. This room was smaller and taken up mainly by a changing cubicle, similar to the ones in expensive boutiques. The door clicked shut behind her and a man’s voice filled the room. ‘Welcome, Miss Hargreaves. You will find a robe and undergarments in the drawer to your right. Please put them on and, when you are ready – step through the connecting doors ahead of you.’ The man’s voice was rich and deep with a hint of the exotic. Demi wondered if he was the Arabian knight. With trembling fingers she opened the drawer. Underwear was such a functional term and didn’t do justice to the exquisite black lace bra and thong. They were both in her size, which she’d been asked for when she’d made her appointment, and were obviously brand new – their labels still attached. A pair of scissors, presumably for removing the labels, lay alongside. Feeling suddenly shy, and knowing it was far too late for shyness, Demi took off her clothes and hung them on hangers, also provided. A full-length mirror in the cubicle reflected her image back at her. She’d prepared for her visit by going to the gym three times a week for the last few months, and she’d had an allover- tanning session yesterday. She was pleased she’d made the effort. The lace bra moulded over her breasts and left little to the imagination. The thong left even less. Her black hair tumbling over her shoulders made her look wanton. Oh my God, was she really going to parade in front of a strange man dressed like this? Remembering the robe, which was black silk, she slipped it on, tied the belt tightly around her slender waist and then, taking a final deep breath, stepped through the connecting doors. She gasped. The previous rooms had been opulent, but this one put them in the shade. It was seductively lit and smelt of roses, which were in crystal vases on low glass tables. Cream carpet, so soft it felt like walking on velvet, covered the floor. Heavy scarlet silk throws adorned the walls and, as she gazed, she saw other colours within – threads of gold running through the fabric, which formed into patterns. It took a few moments to see they weren’t patterns, but pictures – couples making love, in every conceivable position, their faces serene and bodies beautiful. At first sight the room appeared empty, but as she stood drinking in the beauty of her surroundings, a man detached himself from the shadows at the far side of the room. He wore scarlet robes that contrasted perfectly with his shaven head and caramel skin. He did look Arabian, Demi decided with a shiver of excitement. He was very tall, and she could feel the power exuding from him, even from here. He was the most amazing-looking man she’d ever seen. And as these thoughts passed through her mind, he moved towards her, each slow measured step bringing him closer, until there were only inches between them and she could hardly breathe. He smiled, revealing white teeth and she was reminded of a panther moving in for the kill. His black eyes were unfathomable, but he must be aware of the effect he was having on her. She half expected him to rip off her flimsy robe, but all he did was to hold out his hand. ‘Are you ready, Miss Hargreaves, for the ultimate sensual experience?’ She nodded, unable to speak. His fingers closed around hers. Good God, she was practically having an orgasm on the spot. What would she do when he did – whatever he was going to do? Suddenly panicking, because Patricia hadn’t told her what he actually did – just that she’d love it – she tried to pull her fingers from his. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he turned, his eyes questioning. ‘You have to trust me, Demi.’ He lingered over her name, as if it were something special. ‘Do you trust me?’ ‘I don’t know you.’ Her voice trembled. ‘Then it must be an act of faith – this trust of yours. It will be worth it, I promise you.’ They’d been walking while he spoke and were now standing at the far corner of the room. He turned her around so she had her back to the wall. Then, to her surprise he knelt in front of her, and undid the knot of her robe with his teeth. Rising leisurely, he slipped it from her shoulders so it lay in a silken pool at her feet. His eyes were mesmerizing and never left her face. She couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. When he lifted her left arm above her head and she felt the touch of silk at her wrist, she didn’t protest. He did the same to her right arm and she realized he’d tied her wrists to silken thongs in the wall. Silken, but very strong, she discovered when she tested them and found them to be immovable. ‘Silk is what the spider weaves to make its webs, it is the strongest material on earth,’ he murmured in a voice that was strangely elemental. Like the rumbling of a volcano, just before it pours molten lava across the land. Demi didn’t argue with him. She was trapped and she didn’t care. There was a strange sort of freedom in being this helpless in front of a beautiful man. In knowing he could do anything to her – anything he liked – and there was nothing she could do to stop him. This thought barely had time to register when she realized he was kneeling again. ‘I will need you to spread apart your legs,’ he murmured, and she felt his touch on the inside of her calf, moving downwards, feather light to her ankle. Wordless, she let him move her ankles into position, until she was tied, legs and arms wide apart, held fast by the silken thongs. At least she wasn’t naked, she thought, her heart pumping lust and adrenaline around her body. Although she wouldn’t have much cared if she was – suddenly, she ached for him to see her – all of her. She could feel her nipples straining against the black lace and a delicious ache had started between her legs. He was standing again. For the first time he let his gaze travel down across her body. He looked at her erect nipples, a half smile on his face. ‘I think perhaps – you are still a little overdressed,’ he murmured, reaching forward. He was going to have trouble there, she thought, raising her eyebrows. How could he remove her bra when her hands were tied? But she hadn’t noticed it was the kind with clip-on straps, which took a matter of seconds to release and remove from her slender shoulders. As if aware of her thoughts, and with another smile, he brushed the palms of his hands over her nipples, then reached behind her and unfastened the final clip so her breasts were exposed to his gaze. Demi thought she might die with pleasure, as he traced the outline of her nipples with his thumbs, saying with a faint trace of huskiness, ‘I see you are beginning to trust me, after all.’ Once more, he stood back, this time his gaze lowering to the tiny thong that covered what was left of her modesty. ‘But you are still a little overdressed. Do you not think?’ Demi closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe she was letting him do this. Wanted him to do this. Not that she had a choice. He was right about the strength of her bonds. His hands were on her hips now, slipping beneath the knotted ribbons – oh my God, knotted ribbons. That’s all that protected her from his gaze. And they didn’t stay knotted for long. He untied them and slowly, tenderly – removed the last trace of her clothing. A small moan escaped her lips as his fingers traced the outline of what he’d uncovered, caressing her pubic bone, moving downwards to her labia, and then spreading her still further so she was fully exposed to his gaze. Even though she ground her hips away from him, in a strange mixture of terror and lust, she couldn’t get away from his touch. And he wasn’t in any hurry. Slip sliding his fingers over her and into her – with infinite gentleness, so she ached for it never to stop. But just as she was on the point of exploding, he did stop. ‘We have the afternoon ahead of us,’ he murmured, standing once more and cupping her face with his hands, so she caught her own scent on his fingers. ‘I think we have much to do – much to explore.’ And then he left her – spread-eagled, naked and helpless, while he strode away across the room. The waiting was agonizing. What was he going to do? He could do anything to her. It occurred to her that there might be hidden cameras, her body fully on display for dirty old men all over London to lust over. The thought appalled her, but there was nothing she could do. He returned, a black velvet bag in his hand, which he set down beside her and unzipped. He removed what looked like a cat-o’-nine-tails – its cords made of silken material. ‘No,’ she said, frightened for the first time since she’d stepped into the room. ‘I’m not into…’ He interrupted her with a swift shake of his head. ‘You do not know what you are into – until you try it.’ And with that he drew the whip lightly across her stomach. She tensed, expecting it to hurt, but it didn’t. It was like being flailed with silk – too soft to sting, but hard enough to titillate. He acknowledged her surprise with a slight nod, and then the flailing began in earnest. He lashed each breast in turn, using the cat hard enough to caress and arouse, but not to hurt, until her nipples were so hard, she thought they might explode. Then he shifted his attention to her ankles, moving the whip slowly up her legs, across her calves, and up still higher to her inner thighs, until she was squirming in ecstasy. He spent a long time between her legs – he was very gentle here – checking her face from time to time, to make sure he wasn’t hurting her. But he must have known he wasn’t hurting. Once more, just at the point of orgasm, he stopped what he was doing and she moaned in disappointment. ‘It is bringing you lots of pleasure – is it not?’ Demi knew she didn’t need to answer. That much must have been obvious to him. He had a very good view of exactly how much pleasure he was bringing her, from where he knelt. He unzipped the bag, once more, she suspected to draw forth more implements of sweet torture, but all he did was put away the cat-o’-nine-tails, before turning back to her. ‘It is time,’ he said softly, ‘for the finale.’ With these words he reached to untie her bonds and when she was free, he massaged the muscles in her arm and legs, as though he knew about the ache that had grown in them from being tied apart so long. ‘You come,’ he said, with a wicked grin, so she knew it was a demand she accompany him, not an enquiry as to her level of satisfaction. And even though he was still clad in his robe, Demi didn’t bother to get dressed – it would have seemed senseless now. They crossed the room, but not to the door through which they’d entered. He pressed a button on the wall and the whole panel slid silently backwards to reveal a room done out entirely in white marble. Steps led down to a shallow pool, from which steam rose gently. Demi glanced at him enquiringly and he smiled again, untied his robe and let it fall with a soft swish to the floor. He was naked below it – and he was magnificent, just as beautiful as she’d imagined. His chest and arms were lightly muscled and his caramel-coloured skin gleamed with a slight sheen of sweat. She wondered if it was brought on by exertion or lust. Was he happy in his work? As her gaze dropped lower, she saw he was indeed happy in his work. His erection sprung proudly from dense black hair. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. She longed to kneel and take it in her mouth. To lay, legs apart for him once more, to feel it filling her, stretching her – and it would certainly do that – despite her overexcited state. Of that there was no doubt. He watched her face, his delight in her pleasure evident, and she sighed, a little wistfully. The one thing that both the brochure and Patricia had said was that there was categorically no penetration. Full sex was off the agenda. It was a pleasure house, not a brothel. What a pity. He reached for her hand and together they stepped into the pool, the warmth of the water caressing their skin. It had been treated with something and was scented. She breathed in the steamy air, recognizing jasmine and something else in the mix she couldn’t identify. ‘Sit down. Enjoy,’ he commanded. There were two marble seats beneath the water, moulded so that they divided her buttocks and her thighs. Once more she was f***ed to sit with her legs apart. He sat beside her, pressed a button at his side. The pool was a giant Jacuzzi. Beneath the water, a hundred tiny jets fizzed into action. She gasped, understanding the reason for the legs-apart seating, as a jet of water hit her clitoris. So he wasn’t about to personally finish the job he’d so expertly started – she was half-disappointed. But she could no more have moved away than if she had been still tied. As the water inched her nearer and nearer to orgasm she arched her back, giving herself up to it, lost in sensation, loving it, never wanting it to end. Her eyes were closed so at first she barely noticed the soft touch on her face. But when she opened them she saw he had shifted position, his expressive eyes watching her, his finger infinitely gentle as he traced the outline of her jaw. It was a touch of such tenderness, and his expression was so full of longing that in that brief moment of ecstasy she would have given up the whole afternoon of pleasure, everything he’d made her feel – just for one kiss. But it seemed kissing too – was out of bounds. He held her as she came, sliding his fingers inside her at the moment of orgasm, feeling her clenching and unclenching, riding the waves with her. If she’d been cynical she’d have thought it was quality control – a check to make sure she had indeed experienced the ultimate in sexual satisfaction. But there was something in his eyes that told her it wasn’t quality control. He was revelling in her pleasure, glorying in her release. ‘So what did you think? What was it like? Did it exceed your wildest expectations?’ Patricia’s excited voice trilled in her ear. The phone had been ringing when she’d unlocked her front door. ‘It was amazing,’ Demi breathed. ‘He was amazing. Thank you so much for recommending him.’ ‘No probs. Did he do the tying up thing? – my God, I thought I would die when he took off my knickers with his teeth.’ ‘He did indeed.’ ‘And how about the whipping thing with that silk contraption?’ ‘That too.’ ‘And the Jacuzzi? Those water jets are something else, aren’t they?’ ‘Mmm,’ Demi purred at the memory. She would never forget the water jets, or what had happened afterwards. Although she had no intention of telling Patricia about that bit, or anyone else come to that. It would be their secret – hers and his. But she knew now he didn’t have to rely on elaborate games to arouse or satisfy. He was the perfect lover. A lover with the body of a God and the mind of the Devil – that is – if you considered sex to be a sin, which she didn’t: most certainly not. He had the kiss of an angel, too. She’d been right about that. Placing her hand over the mouthpiece, she turned towards him. ‘More coffee? More of anything?’ He winked. He was dressed in jeans and tee-shirt, but looking far from ordinary, he was making coffee in her kitchen. Demi said one last heartfelt thank-you to Patricia and put the phone down. It was time for round two. But this time she would be in charge. An evening of pure pleasure with an Arabian knight in the dungeon of her bedroom, where the silken bonds, swiftly transferred to the bedposts, awaited them. Tonight the cat-o’-nine-tails would have a new master – or rather a new mistress. Demi, the dominatrix – she 204 licked her lips – or if she used the full version of her name – Demetria the dominatrix. It had a certain ring to it…