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Her World of Submission
Justine Elyot
The third book in the series, following HIS HOUSE OF SUBMISSION and BY HIS COMMAND.When private lives become public, can intimacy survive?Sarah Wells barely had time to get used to the idea of being in a committed relationship with dominant film director, Jasper Jay, when a newspaper exclusive broadcast their business to the world.Jasper is comfortable with being out and is proud of his dominant inclinations, but Sarah has reservations, especially now Jasper is determined to cast her in his kinky new film. The light of public scrutiny begins to prove too bright and revealing for their growing intimacy. Salvation might be close through her friendship with fellow kinksters, Dimitri and Rosie, who believe they can show Sarah another way of embracing her inner submissive.
Her World of Submission
Justine Elyot
(http://www.mischiefbooks.com)
Copyright
Mischief
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
77–85 Fulham Palace Road,
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.mischiefbooks.com (http://www.mischiefbooks.com)
An eBook Original 2014
Copyright © Justine Elyot 2014
Justine Elyot asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © 2014 ISBN: 9780007579488
Version: 2014–08–21
Table of Contents
Cover (#u174954f8-8d72-524a-9ac1-c9e968399dfb)
Title Page (#ud70a6349-f2f7-5d20-9e3e-221c7f72fd3e)
Copyright (#u06fa8568-6f03-5ea2-a52a-4adfe2170f6e)
Chapter One (#u2be35a19-4aa9-5062-ac27-a55e6def4dae)
Chapter Two (#u9b1571df-549b-5773-aded-62c1e939aaeb)
Chapter Three (#u5f1e0fde-8ad8-5efe-b57e-010fba1a66a3)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
More from Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)
About Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_4f71c3b3-dba4-5286-a1ad-ae606fd4682a)
There was snow on the lawn and on the window ledges. Looking out from the drawing room, I imagined myself standing in the driveway, looking up at the house. It must resemble an old-fashioned Christmas card: holly wreath on the bright red front door and all.
In the distance, I saw Jasper appear from the pine copse over to the left of the driveway. He dragged behind him a netted fir tree, pulling a trail through the snow, covering his tracks. The tree was easily as big as Jasper was, probably bigger. But nothing stopped Jasper when he put his mind to something. He’d drag a tree the size of Big Ben’s clock tower if the mood took him.
I put my hand to my throat, feeling again the delicate silver chain with its key lock. I’d repeated the gesture countless times since he’d given it to me, a few weeks before at his mother’s house. Collaring. It was a formal thing, he told me, a commitment – lacking the legal clout of marriage, but with every vestige of the emotional significance.
Now that I wore this elegant little version of a collar, I belonged to Jasper lock, stock and barrel. The lock bit was particularly appropriate, I thought, twisting a fingernail in the tiny keyhole.
He saw me at the window and stopped to take a rest. I could see the steam coming from his mouth as he took panting breaths. He lifted a gloved hand to wave and I waved back.
I moved away from the window, ran into the hall and pulled open the handsome, wide front door.
‘Do you want a hand?’ I called from the porch.
‘No, love,’ he called back. ‘Get back inside and keep warm. You’re not exactly dressed for backwoodsman duties.’
True enough. I had forgotten, until a blast of frigid north wind struck my thighs, that I was wearing nothing but a basque and stockings, a light silky robe covering my shoulders.
This was the way, when Jasper and I had no reason to leave the spacious environs of his house. Our house, I mentally corrected myself, still unable to accept my status as co-resident there.
The museum where I worked had closed for Christmas and Jasper had little to do but kick his heels and wait for a call about funding for his next feature film. There was a bit of online ordering for festive fare to do but, besides that, our time was our own. Consequently, I spent the days either dressing for sex, having sex or cleaning myself up after sex. I was as brightly lit as the festive displays around the village and in the town centre. I felt permanently charged up, ready to spill white heat from my skin the minute Jasper gave me one of his looks.
I skipped back inside the house, but kept the door open for Jasper to enter with the tree. High-heeled marabou mules weren’t the best footwear for finding a planter tub from the back yard, but I managed to drag one in from the cobbles and manhandle it up through the kitchen and into the hall. Where would the tree stand to its best advantage? By the staircase, I thought, and I put the tub there in readiness.
A few minutes later, Jasper was in the hall and the tree lay on its side on the black and white tiles, dripping melting snow into a puddle around it.
‘That’s a big one,’ I commented.
‘As the actress said to the bishop,’ he deadpanned, before meeting my eye with a familiar wicked glint.
‘Do you think this tub will be big enough to hold it?’
‘You know, I’m giving serious thought to that kinky Carry On film you mentioned that time. You’re practically writing the script now.’
‘You’ve just got filth on the brain.’
‘And in my bed.’ He winked and lunged over to scoop me into his arms for a long and icy-wet kiss.
The wool of his long dark coat was rimed with thin shards of ice that ran into my skin and the light silk of my underwear, making me shiver and squirm in his grasp. I knew he would have no intention of releasing me, though, especially when he wound his scarf around my shoulder blades, pulling me in even tighter. His tongue, shockingly warm after the chill of his lips, pushed into my mouth, signalling his possession of me. It was a possession I welcomed and I tried my best to show it, unbuttoning his coat and sliding my arms inside, my hands creeping up the back of his sweater and tugging the shirt beneath up out of his waistband. Now there was bare warm skin to be found and touched and caressed. I clung to it, pushing my body into his cold façade, knowing that heat lay behind the sodden wool.
This was the essence of Jasper. Contradiction. Heat and chill, playfulness and severity, boyishness and authoritativeness, all in one attractive package. I had known him half a year now and my fascination hadn’t abated one little bit.
‘Naughty fingers,’ he admonished, reaching behind him to remove my hands where they tried to push their way down inside his jeans. ‘I’m supposed to be seeing to this tree, not you. You’ll have to wait your turn.’
I pouted as he gently prised me off him, and hugged my own scandalously attired body instead.
He unwound his scarf from his neck and shrugged off the long coat before shutting the door against the snowflakes that threatened to blow in and powder the mat.
‘OK, we have the tub,’ he said, surveying it, his head on one side. ‘What we need is stones and earth to pack in it before we pot the tree. You really aren’t dressed for that. Why don’t you go and put some outdoor clothes on?’
Mildly disappointed, I ascended the staircase, my mule heels clacking on the highly polished wood.
My disappointment didn’t last long. Jasper’s heavy tread pursued me. I looked over my shoulder, squealed and picked up my pace. He was chasing me.
‘It’s just occurred to me,’ he said, panting heavily as he shut the bedroom door behind him, trapping me inside, ‘that you put that gorgeous underwear on for nothing. And I can’t have that. Such a shame.’
‘I put this underwear on because I haven’t got much else,’ I said, whooping a little as he took a stride nearer. I backed away, past the bed. ‘You keep buying me the stuff. And everything else I own is old and past it.’
‘Are you saying,’ he said in a soft undertone, prowling ever closer while I skipped manically from defensive position to defensive position, ‘that I’m deliberately making sure that you’re always dressed for filthy, kinky sex?’
‘Well … aren’t you?’ I uttered a screaming laugh as he caught my elbow and pulled me hard into him.
He tumbled me without ceremony on to the still rumpled bed, manoeuvred himself over me and pinned me at the wrists.
‘Yes,’ he confessed, hissing it into my ear. ‘I am.’
‘You’re not in denial, then?’ I teased, jerking up my pelvis, making as convincing a pretence as I could of trying to get away from him.
‘Oh, Sarah, you know as well as I do that denial isn’t in my repertoire.’
Yes, I knew that. Jasper denied himself nothing – nor did I, when it came to it. Except …
‘You liar,’ I said, biting his lip. ‘What about orgasm denial?’
‘Oh, well, that’s different,’ he said. ‘That’s fun.’
‘For you, you bastard.’
‘Oh, now, did somebody use some disrespectful language just then? Oh, dear. Someone was very, very foolish, weren’t they?’
He clamped his knees either side of my hips in order to keep me restrained while he let go of my wrists and removed his chunky Arran sweater.
I mildly regretted this; he looked so good in that outdoorsy, rugged kind of way when he wore it, but now he was down to the plaid shirt beneath, and the deliberation with which he unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled the sleeves up his forearms made me melt into wetness between my thighs.
This meant only one thing …
‘I didn’t mean it,’ I wheedled. ‘It just slipped out.’
‘As the bishop said to the actress,’ said Jasper with a smirk. ‘Come on.’ He smacked at my thigh. ‘Turn over.’
I rolled my eyes but there was no getting away from what was coming – and that was the way I wanted it. A relenting Jasper would not be the man I knew and loved, and I would spend the rest of the day craving that spanking that had never been.
He loosened his knee-grip on me, in order to let me roll on to my stomach. I lay there, my flaming face buried in the duvet, while he stood and went over to a large lockable chest beneath the window. The chest that had led to all this …
I wondered, as I lay in my basque, thong and suspenders with the silky robe whispering over the cheeks of my bottom, what he would choose.
An impromptu playful scene meant nothing too heavy. No canes or whips. Something leathery, perhaps. Hopefully not a wooden paddle. I hated those.
I kept my eyes stubbornly off him, not wanting to know until he chose to reveal it.
Rummage, rummage, rummage, then a low chuckle.
Oh, God, what did that mean?
‘OK, naughty girl,’ he said. ‘Get up on your knees. Let’s see that arse nice and high in the air.’
I drew my legs up until I was on all fours, then pushed up my bottom, leaving my elbows on the duvet and my hands flat in front – a position of obeisance, of humility. It was a position that never failed to shame and arouse me. As I perfected my attitude, the short silky gown lifted clear of my thighs, its hem rising to bring what lay between them into view.
Jasper pushed it higher still, crumpling it around my waist so that my bottom was bare, unless you counted the narrow strip of black lace bisecting my cheeks.
‘I like this outfit,’ he said quietly, running a palm up and down the back of one thigh top, ‘because it’s so practical for punishment. The parts it leaves uncovered are the parts one wants and needs to redden. It’s so wonderfully functional. Look … here.’ He rubbed the back and inside of one thigh, then the other, before raising his hand to my quivering cheeks. ‘And here. All black and white now, but it’ll be black and red by the time I’ve finished with you.’
He put a finger inside the lacy strip of thong and used it to pull it suddenly upwards, so that it lodged rather painfully tight inside my crease. The gusset stretched around my mons and started to work its way into my pussy lips. The friction was welcome in a way, but also uncomfortably scratchy.
Jasper held the thong taut, almost to snapping point, until I began to whimper and squirm, then he let it ping back down. I breathed out.
‘This can stay for now,’ he said. ‘But I have a feeling it might outlive its practicality, once I’ve dealt with your bottom. Speaking of which … up. It’s not high enough. I want it high and ready as you can get it. I want those little cheeks to beg me for the strap.’
Ah, the strap. I felt a twinge in my shoulder blades, a slight relaxation. The strap was good. Sharp at first, but its bark was worse than its bite and it always ended up giving more pleasure than pain.
‘That’s better.’ Jasper approved. ‘But I want your legs wider than that. I want to see what that lacy little scrap is hiding.’
I widened the gap between my thighs, knowing that he would want them well clear of each other so he could flick the leather over my tender inner skin. Perhaps he would aim a couple of snaps at my pussy. The lace might protect it a little, but not much. I wiggled, remembering the delicious fire a previous attempt at this had sparked. I had been so wet, so hot …
‘Now that’s a view,’ said Jasper, appreciative as ever. ‘What a still that would make. I’d have it for the poster. What’s the movie title? Hmm. “Sarah’s Submissions”. And on every billboard, every bus, along the sidebar of everyone’s facebook page, there you’d be, in this position, and maybe the strap would be laid across your bottom just to make it absolutely clear what’s happening to you in this film. What do you think? Shall I approach some backers?’
‘No, thank you, sir.’
The ‘sir’ came out easily now, no longer a painful prickly thing staining my lips for minutes afterwards. It was natural. It was what he was to me.
‘Well, I suppose I am still waiting to hear about funding for the other project. Let’s just say it’s on hold, shall we? And in the meantime, you need to rehearse. Twenty strokes, hard ones, you know the drill.’
