Under My Thumb

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

One morning she called him. “Can you meet me in town?” She gave the name of the largest department store. “I need your advice.”

He met her at the café in the basement.

“What sort of advice?”

“I’m going to buy some underwear,” she said. “I want it to be for you.”

They went up to the lingerie department on the third floor. Matt thought he had never seen such a cornucopia of corsets, a plethora of panties. Silks and satins cascaded from hangers, tables were festooned with lace and lycra.

Elizabeth picked out a bra and knickers in purple satin trimmed with black lace. There was a tiny suspender belt to match; it looked almost too delicate to hold up stockings.

“What do you think?” she smiled.

He rolled his eyes.

“You don’t like it?”

“Yes, I like it.” But he’d caught sight of the price tag. No one could pay that much for underwear.

She picked up another matching set. He saw the label: La Perla. It meant nothing to him, but he could see the luxury in the workmanship. He put out his hand and felt the glossy black satin.

“Come,” she said.

She disappeared into a changing booth, drawing the curtain across.

“Don’t go away,” she called out.

He heard the sound of zippers and fastenings. Her head appeared round the curtain.

“Come in and see,” she said.

A few yards away a female sales assistant was watching him. He slipped into the booth, blushing. Elizabeth stood in the purple satin. He saw how the bra pushed up her neat, round breasts. It was cut so low he could see the top of the aureoles.

“What do you think?” she said.

“It’s gorgeous. But isn’t it expensive?”

“It’s just money,” she said. It was almost arrogant.

She took off the bra, then put on the other one. It fitted snugly. God, she’s lovely, he thought.

“OK,” she said. “Let me get changed.”

When she came out he thought they were finished. But with a cry of delight she rushed up to a rack of red silk corsets.

“It’s me, don’t you think?” she said, picking one out, her eyes shining.

He hated himself for looking at the price tag but he couldn’t help it. For that much he could have kept himself in artist’s supplies for six months.

She found a size to fit and went back to the changing booth. Again she invited him in to look. The corset gripped her waist and raised her breasts, offering them. Below the line of her hips she was naked, the roundness of her bottom accentuated by the tightness of the waist. She twirled round for him, flaunting herself. There’s something of the w***e in her nature, he thought; perhaps there is in every woman.

As he came out of the booth he saw a middle-aged man standing across the way, staring. On an impulse Matt pulled back the curtain. Inside the booth Elizabeth had her back to them. She was unhooking the fastenings at the back of the corset, her arms twisted behind her back, above her naked bottom. Suddenly she turned, saw the watching stranger and grabbed the curtain to pull it back across. Matt held it open. He stepped behind her, holding her arms, turning her to face outwards, displaying her naked belly to the watching man.

“Look at him,” Matt hissed in her ear. “Let him see what you are.”

She was still for a moment, then pulled away from him, drawing the curtain across once more.

“What the hell were you doing?” She looked at him fiercely.

“Don’t play the modest maiden with me,” he retorted. “I know better.”

By the time they got back to her apartment she’d mellowed.

“Sit down. I’ll give you a fashion show.”

She modeled each set of lingerie in turn, first the purple satin, then the black, finally the red silk corset. It had a pair of tiny matching briefs, no more than a cache-s*x. She’d put on sheer black stockings and a pair of high-heeled shoes. If she was a w***e, she was the very best, most expensive one he’d ever seen. One I could never afford, he thought.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You don’t approve?”

“It’s sensational,” he said. “I’m just not used to such extravagance.”

She stood in front of him, her weight on one leg, her hand on her hip in the classic streetwalker pose.

“You think I’m a spoilt, rich b***h, don’t you?”

“Or something else.”

“If that’s what you think, say it,” she said. “Don’t be so f*****g polite.”

“Sometimes,” he said slowly, “I think you need reining in.”

“And you’re the man to do it?” She was looking at him with fire in her eyes – defiant, insolent almost, but underneath there was something else. She was daring him to seek it out.

“The other night you wanted me to hurt your nipples.”

“Yes,” she said, in hardly more than a whisper.

He stood up and took off the thin leather belt around his waist.

“What are you going to do?” she said nervously.

He went up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders, turned her round and pushed her hard up against the wall. She struggled but he was too strong. He pulled her elbows together and wrapped the belt around them tight, buckling it fast. Then he led her over to a straight-backed chair.

“Sit down,” he ordered.

He went into the kitchen and came back with two wooden clothes pegs. He stood behind her and pulled down the straps of her corset. He took hold of her breasts and lifted them up above the top of the red silk. Carefully he opened the little wooden jaws of one peg and positioned it over her right n****e, then let it go. She gasped with pain. With equal deliberation he placed the other peg on her left n****e.

“Oh, Jesus,” she said. “It hurts. Really, it does.”

“You thought to provoke me by throwing money in my face,” he said.

She hesitated before replying. “Something like that.”

“And are you sorry?”

“No. Yes, I don’t know. God, it hurts. Take them off.”

He stood over her, watching her face.

“I’m going to teach you some respect,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “Respect. OK.”

He put his hand out to one of the pegs and twisted it slightly. She caught her breath.

“I’ll do anything,” she said. “Please. Just take them off.”

He twisted the other peg, a little harder. She gasped.

“You want them off?”

“Yes, oh please, yes.”

“You have to beg.”

She got off the chair, down on her knees and kissed his shoes.

“I beg you. I beseech you. I’m pleading with you.”

He lifted her to her feet. She grunted with pain as he took the pegs off, one at a time. Then he led her over to the couch and pushed her face down onto it, her arms still bound behind her back. He sat beside her and put his hand between her legs. Juice was seeping out of her. He found her c******s and began to circle it slowly with his finger. He knew by now just how she liked it, rubbing against the base, gradually a little harder, a little faster. He held her back for a while, listening to her. He could tell just how close to coming she was from her breathing.

He began to stroke her bottom with his other hand, luxuriating in the silky smoothness of the skin. He bent and kissed her there, first one cheek then the other. He spread her a little with his hand and looked down at the damask-colored little mouth nestling between the buttocks, so prudishly pursed. He kissed it, then ran his tongue around the edge of the opening.

“Oooh,” she sighed.

He pushed against her with his tongue. She was tight, but she relaxed a bit as his tongue insistently nudged against her. He pressed harder, trying to roll his tongue into a funnel and inch it inside her. He could feel her getting wider, accepting him, but he was continuing to work her c******s with his finger and suddenly there was no holding her, as her thighs clenched and her hips trembled and her orgasm swept over her.

He let her rest for a moment. Then he stood up and unzipped his trousers. He lifted her up to her knees and knelt behind her. Still her arms were bound. Slowly he slid his c**k into her sodden cunt. He moved it in and out several times, and then pulled out again. She groaned with disappointment. He put the tip of his now slippery c**k to her asshole. Nothing happened at first when he pushed, but then the head suddenly slipped into her. He waited for a while, feeling the incredible tightness, exulting in the mastery he felt, entering her secret forbidden place. He wanted to debauch her, make her the slave of perverted lusts, and make her his slut. But in a part of his mind he knew it was the other way round. She was the one who was leading them into the dark places.

She was tight, so tight he was afraid of hurting her.

“Open for me, Lizzie,” he said. “Take it in, my little Beth, right in. You’ve got to take it all.”

He could feel her give a little. He eased his c**k into her further, just an inch at a time. At last he was up to the hilt. He began to slide in and out, not pulling fully back and thrusting in, just moving the shaft up and down inside its skin, so she could feel its strength and hardness in her bowels. It was such a wonderful sensation he wanted it to last forever, but she was gripping him so hard it was like it was being squeezed out of him from deep inside, and his ejaculation poured forth in a flood.

“You see?” she said as they lay together, her arms unbound at last.

And he thought, yes, I am beginning to see.

He still didn’t think he could beat her. It was such a taboo, to strike a woman. But if she provoked him again, and it seemed that indeed she would, then he would show her he was not to be trifled with.

One afternoon he was walking in a part of the city he rarely passed through. Down a seedy side street he came upon a s*x shop. Always before he had shied away from such places, their air of furtive sleaziness, the garish pictures of women with impossible breasts, the tacky, cheaply made garments. But today something drew him through the door.

Inside were shelves of videos and books, with a couple of men leafing through them. At the far end were rows of s*x toys, dildos eye-wateringly large, and vibrators of all shapes. Next to them was a selection of bondage gear. He looked with a more than passing interest at the leather cuffs for ankles and wrists, spreader-bars to hold the legs apart, leather collars and gags. In a box lined with black velvet was a pair of handcuffs, chrome-plated, gleaming brightly in the neon light. He picked them up. Unlike most of the goods they were well-made, carefully finished. He looked at the price. He was glad they weren’t cheap. He couldn’t have bought anything he thought she’d look down on.

He paid for the cuffs and watched as they were wrapped.

The sales assistant gave him a leer. “This should keep her under control.”

Matt said nothing. Outside, he was surprised at what he had done. But he felt a surge of excitement in his loins.

When he got home he put the handcuffs away. Over the next few days he forgot about them. One evening Elizabeth offered to come round and cook dinner for them. Matt didn’t cook himself, but he wasn’t averse to her doing it for him.

She arrived with a bottle of champagne and a bouquet of red carnations. He took them both, thanking her. He opened the champagne and poured them each a glass. Elizabeth got busy in the kitchen. He sat and sipped his champagne, gazing out of the window into the woods.

She brought the dinner in, duck breasts in a plum sauce. It was good, no question. They ate for a time in silence, the candlelight flickering on the glasses and silver.

“Oh,” she said suddenly. “Where are the flowers? Did you put them in water?”

He shrugged. “I guess not.”

She looked concerned. “You didn’t like them?”

“Where I come from,” he said slowly, “women don’t buy men flowers. It’s the other way around.”

“Oh, that’s so silly!” she cried. “Why shouldn’t I buy you flowers? Men can like beautiful things, can’t they? Don’t you have a female side?”

“If I do, it’s buried deep. Unlike your masculine side.”

“You think I’m too in your face?”