Ecstasy in the White Room

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Book: Ecstasy in the White Room Read Online Free PDF
Author: Portia Da Costa
Tags: Fiction, Erótica, Short Stories (Single Author)
A
watcher who’s able to rise up out of my body and hover somewhere near the smooth
white ceiling and take in the proceedings, noting everything. These secret eyes
of mine see the avid audience around us, the admiring attention of men and
women; libertines all, but still impressed by the natural skills of this pair of
new faces. The carefully aligned blows of the handsome disciplinarian. The lush
bottom of his submissive and the way it marks so vividly. The way she fights her
desire to cry, and moan and writhe about. Not always achieving a state of
perfect decorum, but always striving for it.
    Perhaps these connoisseurs would like to see a sterner
punishment? The submissive put across the bar, beaten with the crop, the lash,
the cane? Maybe they’d like to see her shackled and tormented, fucked and played
with, plagued with toys, with plugs and dildos?
    The submissive herself isn’t sure. Perhaps she does want those
things, perhaps she doesn’t? It’s possible that she’d relish them, but only
alone in the privacy of her own white room in the presence of the man she
loves?
    Simon whacks me harder now. The pain knocks the breath out of
me. A hand can do anything a device can, and the intimacy is stunning. I’m
panting now. My head’s gone light, my bottom is all flames. I know there’s silky
fluid oozing down my thighs, my brimming arousal plain for all to see.
    Suddenly, the blows cease. Simon leans down low, right over
me.
    “What do you want, love?” he whispers, for my ears only.
    “More. Everything.” My chest is heaving, and I can hardly form
words. “But just with you...just with you. Back in our room.”
    His answer is to place his hand flat on one of my buttocks,
like a strange benediction. It’s the conclusion to these proceedings, the very
public show. When his hand retreats, I make an attempt to rise, tottering. Simon
helps me, supporting my elbow as he stands too. A thoughtful onlooker retrieves
my bag and hands it to him and, unconcerned, he carries it as we walk from the
room, my hands still secured and my skirt still rucked up around my bottom.
    Part of me sighs with relief when, at the door, Simon puts my
clothes to rights, unfastens my hands and returns my bag to me. But another
insane, enraptured part of me thrills to the idea that he might not have done all that, and that he might have
compelled me to cross the foyer with my red bottom on show and my hands still
bound behind my back with his tie.
    We don’t speak. Not in the foyer. Not in the lift. He does draw
me close to him though, hard up against his body, so I can feel his erection
while he squeezes and massages my buttocks through my gown, stirring the
soreness and making me squirm. In retribution, I massage him with my pelvis. His
lips are against my neck, just brushing the skin below my ear, his breath
hot.
    My own breathing is ragged. He clasps me hard and I groan,
jerking my hips and parting my thighs, trying to get off on him. If I could just
rock my clit against his hipbone...
    “No,” he says in a soft, calm voice. “No orgasms until I say
so. Not until I grant you one.”
    But still I can’t pull away. I stand against him, contiguous
but still. Fighting for breath as he pinches my tender bottom cheeks, again and
again.
    Back in our white room, he permits me a moment to myself, but
his eyes warn me about any funny business as I head for the bathroom. It’s
difficult, but I obey him. Even so, as I return to the bedroom, my cheeks are
pink with the effort of resisting the call of
masturbation.
    Simon is lounging in a chair, watching the television. The
lights are down low and he’s viewing what we’ve discovered is the channel privé, again accessed by the white card, which one
sticks in a key slot on the console. The screen is filled with a high-definition
feed from the private party downstairs. A young woman in heels and an
eye-wateringly tight black vinyl corset is shackled to a chain that appears to
have been let down
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