Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Sophie & The Society
by Fidelis Blue
ISBN: 978-1-942331-28-5
A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication
Copyright © 2015, All rights reserved
Original Copyright © 2003
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.
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USA
Chapter One
The man seated opposite on the tube train had been looking at her for some time now. At first the train had been crowded, and his sight of Sophie obscured, but once they passed Baker Street there were fewer passengers. He had stared at her openly, arrogantly even, his eyes moving from her face down over her body and back up again. It was a warm day and Sophie was lightly dressed in a white T-shirt, rather tight, accentuating her breasts, were supported by a natural-line bra which held them in position without unsightly seams showing through. Below she wore a flared skirt, very short, in a flimsy cotton printed with a bright flower-pattern. As she sat, the skirt rode up her thighs, but she was careful to keep her legs close together. On her feet were high-heeled white sandals. Her toenails, painted scarlet, showed through the opening of the shoes.
At Paddington most of the remainder of the passengers got off. At her end of the carriage there was only herself, the man and an elderly woman engrossed in a paperback. The man continued to stare at her. He was about fifty, suavely dressed in a dark suit with expensive shoes. His tie had some sort of badge on it, a club or a school she supposed. She didn’t want to look him in the eye, but as she was wondering who he might be, she saw him open the palm of one hand, and with the index finger of the other trace the outline of a letter S. In the pit of Sophie’s stomach she felt a tingling, as if some electric current were passing through her, a sensation caused in equal part by fear and desire. She knew she had no choice; that she must now go with this man and do his wishes. One part of her wanted to run, one part was held in thrall. Was this how the rabbit felt when cornered by the fox?
She knew she must respond. She held out her right hand, opened the palm, and with her finger wrote an answering S. She glanced around; no one was paying them any attention. Just then the train slowed and stopped, at Warwick Avenue. The man stood up and got off the train, not bothering to look behind to see if Sophie was following. He had seen her sign of acquiescence and was confident that she would come with him.
On the escalator she stood a couple of steps behind him. Once out in the street, the man set off at a brisk pace, Sophie trotting behind, her sandals clicking on the pavement. They arrived at a mansion block and the man entered. He strode across to the lift and held the gate open for her, without looking at her. When they got out of the lift he led the way down the corridor, finally stopping in front of a door and opening it with a key.
She stepped through and stood in the hall as he closed the door behind them.
“Follow me,” he said. His voice was emotionless. He walked down the hall and into a room with a large window at one end. He drew the curtains across it, and switched on a lamp standing on a small table next to a large leather armchair. The room was expensively furnished in traditional style, with a heavy mahogany dining table and matching chairs at one end, and a large plush sofa covered in deep red velvet.
He sat down in the leather armchair and pointed to the floor in front of him.
“Stand there,” he said.
Sophie did as she was told.
“Lift up your skirt,” he ordered.
She did so, raising it almost to the top of her thighs.
“Right up to your waist,” he said.
She pulled her skirt up high, revealing her knickers. They were white satin, very brief, the front little more than a triangular cache-sexe, the sides mere strips of elastic, though the back did cover her bottom. The knickers were decorated with tiny satin bows around the edge. He reached forward and pulled them down just far enough to give him sight of her pubic mound, and through the screen of hair the beginning of the cleft beneath, its framing labia showing pinkly through the dark thicket.
“Turn around and bend over,” he said.
She bent double, almost touching her toes. The man pushed her skirt up over her buttocks, then pulled her knickers further down, as far as her knees. She imagined him inspecting her, his eyes minutely focused on the tiny-pursed opening of her rear orifice. She thought he would touch her but he didn’t. She looked up and gazed around the room. All down one side was a large bookcase constructed of polished wood. It was filled with old volumes, some bound in leather. It was a very masculine decor, showing no evidence of a feminine touch. He must be unmarried.
Then she felt his hand touch her, his finger tips running lightly up the inside of her thigh, over her rump, till his hand cupped around one of her buttocks. He put his hand between her legs, and taking in his fingers the soft folds of flesh around her sex, he squeezed her hard. She caught her breath and, fearing she might overbalance, shifted her position slightly.
“Keep still,” he said curtly.
He took hold of her right labia between forefinger and thumb. Now he found what he was looking for, the little steel stud representing a snake curled in the form of an S which was the Society’s insignia and which all Subjects had inserted into the labia, just below the clitoris, upon initiation. He toyed with it for a while, twisting it, pulling it this way and that.
He took his hand away. Leaving Sophie bending, her skirt raised over her bottom, her knickers about her knees, he went to the far end of the room, where there was a round pouf in black leather, matching the armchair. He pulled it to the centre of the room.
“Kneel on this,” he said.
Sophie had to pull up her knickers to walk across the room. She knelt on the pouf. The leather felt cold on her knees and hands. The man went over to a chest of drawers and opened the top drawer. From it he took a long thin cane. It had a wooden handle with a silver knob on the end. The cane itself was made of some flexible kind of wood; he swished it a couple of times as if to check its efficacy for the task in hand. Then he pushed Sophie’s head down till it rested on the pouf. She was aware of her raised bottom, vulnerable now. He moved behind her, out of her line of vision, and pulled her skirt back up around her waist. He pulled her knickers down again, just below the curve of her buttocks. Something cold went between her legs, the handle of the cane. He pushed it against her sex, not attempting to penetrate her but just holding the handle, hard and cold, against the soft cleft between her legs, prodding her.
“Don’t move. And don’t make a sound,” he said.
Then she heard the swish of the cane and the smack as it landed on her rump. There was a sharp, searing pain. The cane came down again, this time a little harder, and in just the same spot. She gasped, and trembled slightly.
“Keep still, I said,” the man snapped.
The cane landed again. The pain was not quite unbearable, but it would become so if there were many more blows in store. She tried hard to think about why she was submitting to this ordeal. She wanted Roberto to be proud of her, she wanted him to say how well she had behaved, how much she pleased him. But right now she wished the man would stop.
She lost count of the number of blows. It must have been ten or a dozen, maybe more; it seemed to go on and on. But at last he was done. He put the cane back in the drawer. Sophie remained kneeling, her naked bottom burning with the aftermath of the beating. The man stood in front of her. In his hand he had a length of black silk. For one awful moment Sophie thought he was going to strangle her. Instead, he placed the material round her head so as to cover her eyes and tied it at the back, not too tightly. She was aware of him standing close in front of her, and she heard the sound of a zipper being unfastened. She knew what was coming. She could smell the unmistakable odour of a man’s erect organ just under her nose. Smell has the power to go straight into the brain, setting up powerful emotions. The scent of a man’s cock, no matter in what circumstances, always gave Sophie an urgent tug of excitement.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered.
She did so and he inserted his cock, pushing it right in to the back of her throat so that she almost gagged. Then he pulled it out almost completely, before pushing it back in, this time not quite so far. He held her head with both hands to keep her steady and began to fuck her in the mouth, in a slow but steady rhythm. She didn’t know if she was supposed to help by licking or sucking. He seemed to expect nothing of her except what he ordered, but instinctively she had closed her lips around him. She knelt there passively, letting him use her mouth, his cock pushing in and out. She could feel the rhythm gradually increase and he began to breathe heavily. He fucked on, pulling her head more towards him. Suddenly he grunted and she felt his sperm spurt into her mouth, hitting the roof of her palate. His cock continued to buck and kick in her mouth as the last of his cum, thick and hot, ejaculated. Then he withdrew. She heard him zip himself up again, then he pulled the blindfold off her. He handed it to her.
“You needn’t swallow,” he said. “Spit it out in that.”
She did so, the cum white against the black silk. With an oddly tender movement he took the cloth from her and carefully wiped her lips.
“You may use the bathroom if you wish, before you leave. You should find a new toothbrush in there if you need it.”
He spoke more kindly now that he’d finished with her. But he seemed to want her to leave quickly. In the bathroom she peed, washed her hands and brushed her teeth. Standing with her back to the mirror, she pulled down her knickers and twisted round to see what marks he had left. Across her buttocks were several parallel lines, red weals that would leave bruises.
When she came out he was standing in the hall.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Sophie.”
“Goodbye, Sophie,” he replied. “Perhaps we may meet again.”
He opened the front door and closed it after her without any further word.
Chapter Two
When Sophie got to Roberto’s apartment he was sitting on the sofa waiting for her. As she came in the room he looked at his watch.
“You’re late. I said seven, on the dot.”
“Yes, I know,” she replied. “But I encountered a Member on the way home. He wanted to use me.”
“A Member?” Roberto sounded sceptical. “Which Member? Where did you meet him?”
“On the tube. I know it doesn’t sound very likely, but he must have had some sixth sense about me, or maybe he just recognised me from the database.”
“There are three hundred women on that,” Robert countered.
“Don’t you believe me?”
“Turn around,” he said. “Now lift up your skirt.”
He bent forward and pulled her knickers down to her knees. Delicately he traced the thin red weals across her buttocks.
“Poor Sophie,” he whispered. He kissed her behind tenderly, then pulled her knickers back up. She turned around to face him. She could see that he was aroused, as always when he found that another Member had used her. He put his hand between her legs and squeezed her softly through the thin satin as he asked her more questions. She was wet already, and she knew that he could feel it. What had she been beaten with? Had she been penetrated? In which orifice? She became increasingly excited as he continued to manipulate her while questioning her. She wanted him to punish her for her lateness or because she’d let herself be used, and then she wanted him to take her, as he usually did at such times. But somehow there was a different mood on him this evening, whether he had been genuinely irritated by her lateness, or whether there was some other reason, she couldn’t be sure. He didn’t offer to beat her, nor did he lay her back on the sofa to fuck her, or bend her across one of its arms to penetrate her from the rear, as he often did. Instead, he made her kneel beside him and required her to satisfy him with her mouth. This she was not at all reluctant to do, on the contrary, but when she had finished he stood up, adjusted his clothing and left the room. There was apparently to be no complementary relief of her own pent-up desires.
He came back a moment later. “I’m going to take a shower and dress for dinner,” he said. “You remember we’re going out. I said we’d be there at 8.30. You must hurry.”
While he showered she went into the bedroom and chose her clothes from a selection she kept in the apartment. They were meeting two of Roberto’s business acquaintances at a new restaurant in Knightsbridge. It would be quite smart. She laid out a black velvet cocktail dress she had bought only two weeks ago. It was cut tight across the bust and the hips, with a low neckline. From her underwear drawer she selected a basque in black satin. It was boned to give firm support to her breasts while squeezing in her waist. It came with a little matching pair of black knickers, a thong which would leave no visible panty line.
She went into the bathroom. Roberto stood naked, dripping water onto the bath mat. She gazed at him openly. It still gave her such pleasure to see his body, firm and smooth except for the few curls of dark hair between his nipples and the thick triangle around his cock. He pretended he didn’t notice her looking, though she knew he did. When he was dry he went back into the bedroom to dress and Sophie stepped into the shower. She let the warm water cascade over her body. She rubbed her nipples, feeling them grow hard under her touch. She put her fingers between her legs and felt how slippery desire had made her. She wanted to spread the lubrication upwards and over her clitoris, to stroke it gently as it swelled. But there wasn’t time. Quickly she rinsed herself clean. By the time she was toweling herself Roberto was already back in the bathroom, shaving in front of the mirror. As he did so, she could see his eyes flicker back and forth as he watched her, and she deliberately stretched her arms upwards, slowly patting herself dry under her arms, then under her breasts.
She knew the power of her body. At the age of thirteen her bosom had begun to swell; by fifteen she had breasts that were the envy of her schoolfellows, and a fixation for the boys in her class. Now, in her mid-twenties, they had lost none of their shape and firmness. Her nipples were dark brown, almost black. When erect they stuck out nearly an inch long, hard as hazelnuts. Her belly was taut and flat, and below was a growth of jet-black pubic hair, so luxuriant that before she met Roberto she had to trim it weekly to preserve the sharply defined delta she preferred. But Roberto did not like it trimmed; had forbidden her to curtail it in any way, so that now it was a thick unruly bush. Her legs were long and perfectly tapered, and the extremely short skirts currently in fashion allowed her to show them to advantage. Her bottom was well-proportioned in a womanly way, not the tight little boy’s bum of the models, but, as Roberto put it, a real woman’s ass, round and ripe and juicy, though sleek and firm with no hint of fat on it. She had naturally glossy black hair, which when young, she had worn as a long mane down her back, but which now was cut in a simple but sophisticated bob. Her face, she knew, was not that of the conventional beauty. Probably her mouth was too wide and her nose too long. But her eyes were huge and dark, and men stared at her in the street. She knew they longed to kiss her lips, so full and red and succulent. Even after three years, Roberto couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Nor his hands.
Back in the bedroom she dressed quickly. She put on a new pair of sheer black stockings; then she drew on the basque, taking a deep breath as she fastened its little metal catches up the back. It was tight, almost too tight, but it gave her a wonderful feeling, combining a masochistic sensation of being constricted, regulated, and the pleasure of exhibitionism. The garment thrust her breasts upwards and outwards while accentuating the contrast between her waist and her hips. The little thong covered her pubic triangle, but little else. The dress slipped on over the underwear, a perfect fit. She stepped into strappy black patent-leather heels and went into the bathroom to fix her make-up.
Roberto’s dinner guests were, like most of his social acquaintances, business associates. Bruce was an investment banker from New Zealand. His companion was a blonde called Sharon. She giggled a lot, especially when Bruce made remarks about her bosom, which it had to be admitted, was spectacular, and generously exposed above a clinging low-cut gown. Sophie had thought her own dress a bit on the daring side, but she was demureness itself compared to Sharon. Clearly she was not Bruce’s wife, and Sophie assumed she was an escort Bruce had hired for the occasion.
The other guest was Anthony, a young analyst with an American stockbrokers. He had no companion. Over dinner the conversation was chiefly of money matters, a subject in which Sophie could more than hold her own. Anthony listened intently to whatever she had to say. Bruce, on the other hand, seemed more interested in looking at her than speaking to her. As they were leaving the restaurant Anthony whispered in her ear. “I’ll call you next week so we can meet.”
Back at the apartment, Roberto poured them each a nightcap.
“You didn’t tell me Anthony was a Member,” she said. “He is, isn’t he?”
“Yes. Do you like him?”
“I’ll let you know. He wants to see me next week. I was a bit surprised. He didn’t try to come on to me.”
“If he’s a Member he doesn’t have to,” Roberto replied. “What about Bruce?”
“He kept trying to put his hand up my skirt. Didn’t you notice? And right in front of that woman. I suppose she’s used to it, though. I take it she was a hooker.”
“I don’t know if I’d put it quite like that. She works for the bank.”
“Doing what?” Sophie demanded. “Does she dress like that at the office?”
“You seem very censorious.”
“I’m not sure I care to be taken to dinner with prostitutes. I don’t think it’s very respectful.”
“I expect if she knew what you were she might think you’re not too respectable yourself. At least she’s getting paid to be a whore.”
“I’m not a whore,” Sophie replied indignantly.
He looked at her silently. She knew that look. It sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine.
“You’ll be a whore if I say so,” he said slowly. “Or are you going to argue?”
She said nothing. She stared at him defiantly. A muscle twitched at the corner of her mouth.
“We haven’t yet resolved this afternoon’s disobedience,” he said, “and yet here you are being difficult again.”
“I thought we did resolve that. I took a vow to obey every Member of the Society. If that man wanted me this afternoon I had no power to refuse.”
“But I told you to be here at seven.”
“Yes but surely that Member’s command took precedence.”
“Did it? Who says so?”
“Well, I can’t obey two contradictory orders,” she said indignantly. “I can’t be in two places at once.”
“That is true,” Roberto conceded. “But I’m afraid that does not absolve you of the consequences of being late.”
“But that’s not fair!”
“Fairness has nothing to do with it. The lesson you must learn is that disobedience leads to punishment. If at times the punishment seems arbitrary or unjust, then there is another lesson to be learned; that you are punished not only because you have done wrong or have displeased me, but sometimes because I choose to punish you. Punishment is ultimately a consequence of your subjection. Do I take myself clear?”
Sophie was silent. Inside she was seething, but she knew he was deliberately provoking her, and that defiance would make it worse.
“I’m going to punish you now for three reasons,” he said. “One, you were late. Two, I don’t care for your tone in discussing my choice of dinner guests. Three, as I have just said, I shall punish you because I can. You are a Subject. You have no say in the matter. Now follow me into the bedroom.”
In a cupboard in a corner of the room he kept a wooden bench, about a foot high and four feet long. At each corner was a leather strap. Roberto took the bench and laid it across the bed.
“Take off your dress and kneel over the bench.”
She did as she was told. He fastened each of her wrists to a strap, then pulled her legs apart and buckled the remaining straps around her thighs, just above her stocking tops. He went to a drawer and took from it a leather tawse, about two feet long. She felt it swish in the air then heard the crack as it smacked against her buttocks, landing with precision straight across the middle. Before the pain had properly sunk in she felt it smack again. The noise was disconcertingly loud. She herself made no sound; she still felt some resentment at his unjust and arbitrary treatment of her, and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out. He raised his hand again and brought the tawse back down, this time a little harder. After a few more blows she ceased to be aware of the sound it made. Her consciousness was confined to the searing pain across her rump. The bruising from this afternoon redoubled the effects of the blows. And at each blow now she whimpered, despite herself.
After perhaps a dozen blows he relented, just at the moment the endorphins began to kick in and the pain was becoming more bearable. It wasn’t to be a real beating then, she thought, just enough to make a point. He untied her.
“Undress and get into bed,” he said quietly. “But keep your stockings and knickers on.”
Quickly he threw off his clothes and took her in his arms. He lay on top of her and pushed his cock inside her, not bothering to remove the tiny thong. He began to fuck her, just the way she liked, pulling himself almost out of her with each thrust, then pausing slightly before thrusting back in as deep as he could go. She didn’t always come during intercourse but she knew she would tonight. The memory of being used that afternoon, then of fellating Roberto, the thought of the sex she would have later that week with Anthony, and most of all, the excitement first of defying Roberto and then being subjugated by him, all conspired to sharpen her desire. Since he had already ejaculated but a few hours ago, Roberto had no difficulty restraining his own orgasm until he felt Sophie move under him and heard her familiar little cry as she came. After he ejaculated, he fell quickly asleep with his arms around her.
Chapter Three
The next morning they were up early. Roberto had to fly to Frankfurt for three days of meetings. Sophie took the chance of an early start at the office. At nine as she sat at her desk there was a call.
“Anthony,” said a voice.
“Yes,” she answered. “How are you?”
“Lunch tomorrow,” he said. “Then take the afternoon off.”
For all her vows and the satisfaction of obedience to Roberto, she still felt resentment when summoned by the Members in such peremptory terms. Arrogant men, she thought. She toyed with the idea of resistance, of answering back or even of downright refusal. But the consequences might be more severe than she could cope with.
“All right,” she answered. “Where do I meet you?”
She strode into the China Flower Restaurant at one p.m. the next day. She thought it might be amusing to wear a Chinese dress she’d once bought in Hong Kong. It was cut high to the throat, slit up the thigh, and tight across the bust, and very tight and short in the skirt, so short she had to go barelegged. Under the dress she wore a sheer pair of Calvin Kline white knickers, semi-transparent, with a matching bra.
She’d been to the China Flower once before, on a special night with Roberto. It claimed, quite blatantly, to be the most expensive Chinese restaurant in Europe. Well, she wouldn’t be the one paying. They had fragrant roast lamb, Peking duck with aromatic sauce, oyster rolls and thousand petal vegetables. Sophie drank a single glass of chilled rosé. Anthony asked her about her job. He was knowledgeable about the latest dedicated systems in the field of financial information, and they talked animatedly about the markets. But at two-thirty he looked at his watch and announced they would now go to his apartment. They took their taxi ride in silence. When put his hand on her thigh she could feel its warmth through the thin material of her skirt. Then he moved it down to touch the bare skin of her knee.
When they got to Anthony’s apartment he offered her Chinese tea. While the tea brewed he took her by the hand and led her into the bedroom. Quickly he removed her few clothes. He caught both her hands and held them while he looked at her naked body.
“Stand there till I return,” he said.
He came back with the tea and poured some for her. He set in it on a small wooden table beside the bed, which was a simple futon, set upon a wooden base and covered in a red cotton mattress. He told her to sit down with her legs crossed in front of her. He stripped off his clothes and seated himself opposite her. She saw that his cock was half-erect, just emerging from a mass of thick black curls.
He leaned forward and placed a hand across her forehead. His touch felt cool.
“Breathe in slowly.”
She felt her chest rise as she took in air. She was aware of her nipples, hard little beads perched on the tip of her breasts.
“As you breathe out, say “ah”, and feel the air pass through your throat.”
She felt a little self-conscious, but it was pleasing to feel the vibration of her vocal chords against his hand, still held against her head.
“Repeat it.” She did so.
“I was in Japan for two years,” he said. “I became interested in oriental sexual disciplines. I studied with many masters of the Tantric way.”
He took his hand away from her head. “Lie down, on your stomach.” She stretched out, resting her head on her hands, spreading her legs slightly.
“I will show you the way of shiatsu.” He placed his two hands on the back of her neck and began to exert pressure. At first it felt rough, as if he were trying to hurt her.
“Relax into it,” he said. “Don’t fight it. Go where it is going.”
She tried to do as he said. After a while the pressure changed from being harsh. She felt as if energy was going into her. She let her body spread, allowing his hands to channel his force into her. He began to intone a low chant. At first she had an urge to giggle, but soon she found the sound of him infusing into her body. He moved his hands to her shoulders. She felt her back widen and lengthen as he pressed against her. Then he moved his hands again, this time pushing his fingers into the flesh on either side of her spine, digging deep into the tightly stressed muscle. She felt it soften and relax. It was so different from other massages she had enjoyed. There was no soft friction over her skin; no smooth touch as hands spread oil across her body. Instead there was a magic energy, a tingling that started from his fingertips and penetrated down into the secret centres of her body. His hands now were on her buttocks. He gripped them firmly and moved his hands in a circle, all the muscles in her bottom being pulled and stretched as his hands revolved. She felt the energy spreading outwards, making its way slowly over her whole body, even into her fingertips and toes. Then his hands moved down her thighs, and took hold of her feet. He squeezed her feet in the palms of his hands, then shifted position slightly to push his fingers hard into the soft tissue in the middle of the foot. Usually she was very ticklish on her feet, but now she had no urge to giggle. Instead she felt extraordinary sensations arising in all parts of her body. Deep in her solar plexus there was a tingling, and on the top of her skull a sensation as if her hair were being lifted by electricity.
“Roll over on to your back,” he said.
She lay quite naked and open, looking up at him. He sat astride her. She could feel that his cock was at least partly erect as he leaned down on her. He took her breasts in his hands, squeezing them slowly and gently, pulling them round in a circular motion. Then he rested his hands on her torso while he took each of her nipples between his fingers. He pulled on them, lifting them upwards and outwards. She was afraid he would hurt her and she lifted her chest upwards.
“No,” he said. “I promise I won’t hurt. It’s just a stretching exercise.”
She relaxed back and he continued pulling. At a certain point she grunted, fearful again that he was about to cause her pain. He relented and released her. Her breasts tingled deliciously. He moved his hands down on to her stomach. He pressed down firmly on the big muscle down the centre. She felt his energy going into her belly, and then down lower. He moved his hands so that now they were pressing on her pubic bone. A feeling of warmth and strength spread into her vulva. She could feel her vagina opening, it seemed as if its lips were swelling. The perineum between her vagina and her anus grew soft; the muscles that usually kept it tight and tense relaxed. Her anus too felt as if it was expanding, opening like the soft pink mouth of a sea anemone. Her mind now was utterly empty, she was conscious only of her feelings of wholeness, of an energy spreading a sense of well being into her vitals. The pressure on her pubis grew and he moved his hands in a circle again. She began to feel a new sensation, one she had no prior experience of and could find no exact word for. It was as if a tide was rising in her, as if she were a tree with the sap rising. It rose and rose and spread right over her. She felt as if she were swooning, her body falling through space till it fell gently to ground. He took his hands away and she looked at him.
“What was that?” she asked. “I felt something I haven’t felt before.”
“Did you come?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But not like I usually do.”
Roberto had once told Sophie she came like a man, with violent pelvic convulsions as if she were expelling something from her body, as the man ejects his sperm. And after she’d come she always felt satisfied, like a man did, she didn’t want to go on and on. He’d told her how some women came quite differently, instead of convulsions it was more like a ripple effect, which kept sweeping over them. They seemed able to keep this sensation going almost indefinitely. Subsequently Sophie had spoken to one or two friends and confirmed that it was indeed the case that women’s orgasms could vary greatly. Now she’d had something like the other kind, quite different from the violent contractions she usually experienced.
Anthony pulled her up into a sitting position, her legs parted, her thighs hooked over his. Lifting her up slightly, he put his cock so that it rested just at the opening of her sex. Keeping it there, he leaned forward and kissed her, then put his hand on the top of her head. He pushed down while telling her to push up. Then little by little he pushed his cock into her, until it was buried up to the hilt. Once he was there he kept quite still, holding his hands around her neck to keep her upright. Then slowly he let her fall back till she was resting on the mattress, her legs around him. Still he did not move inside her. He put his hands on the top of her feet and sat quite still. She could feel his cock rigid inside her; she could even feel, she thought, the blood pulsing inside it. Usually she would have been impatient by now for stimulation, she would have wanted him to fuck her. But she felt quite calm and complete. Her body seemed to hum from the echoes of the waves that had risen over her.
They stayed that way for maybe half an hour, until she began to get stiff and had to change position. He took his cock from out of her.
“Don’t you want to come?” she said.
“I don’t very often,” he said. “It’s part of the training. Some Tantric masters don’t ejaculate more than once every five years, though they may have intercourse twice a week. After a while you get charged up with energy. Just like a battery.”
“Isn’t it bad to keep it in?”
“We don’t think so,” he replied. “We think there is more benefit in evacuating the mind than the genitals. There are even reputed to be some masters who can come and then immediately suck the ejaculate back up inside themselves.”
“Oh, come on,” Sophie laughed. “You don’t believe that?”
“There are many things which people practice in their sex lives which others find incredible. Don’t you think many would be surprised that you voluntarily renounce your right to choose your sexual partners? Or that you derive pleasure from being beaten?”
“Do I?” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“There are marks across your buttocks,” he said. “I assume you consented that they should be made?”
“Do you do that?”
“No, not beating. Though there are certain Tantric exercises which involve a submission to pain. But they are things you do to yourself, not to others.”
“That sounds intriguing. Will you show me?”
“One day, perhaps. I think the sex act is complete for today. You can get dressed.”
As she put her clothes on she turned to him and said, “Who is your sponsored Subject in the Society? Does she live here?”
“No, she is Japanese. She lives in Tokyo. She’s called Miko.”
“You can’t see her very often.”
“No, but we communicate much through the Internet. We send each other videos and other forms of virtual reality. And she sends me physical evidences of herself.”
“What do you mean?” Sophie was intrigued.