As Good As Guitars Ch. 01

Her voice sounds amused. "That wasn't so bad, was it? Time for the questions." I feel her move away and I straighten up, wondering what she will ask.

"What's your name?"

This is easy enough. I reply with the first name that comes into my head. "Tony."

"Untrue." She swings, harder than she has before. "Your middle name?"

My mouth twitches with a grin. "Algernon."

"Untrue." She swings again. "What day is it?"

"Monday."

"Untrue." The paddle lands. "Do you speak Russian?"

I sigh. "Yes." As she hits me, I promise myself that I'll never lie again about skills I don't possess.

Olivia carries on, relentless with both the questioning and the paddle. I'm determined not to show weakness, but I'm having to bite my lip as each blow lands. After a few more questions my buttocks are burning, and in my head I'm begging her to stop.

"What's the name of the stripy African animal beginning with Z?"

My mind goes blank. All I can think is "zebra". In fact, the more I try to think of anything other than a zebra, the more the word zebra shouts itself at me. The silence stretches out and I know I've lost this round.

"Oh Mark, and you were doing so well. Am I being cruel?"

I don't know if this is a question or not. I risk it. "No."

She laughs. "Untrue. And you also earned a strike for not answering the previous question." She swings hard, twice, and this time I can't stay silent. Almost immediately I feel her hands on me again, gentling the sting, and I lean back towards her.

After a moment she steps away again. "Four more questions – here's the first. Is this hurting?"

My brain has unscrambled itself. "No."

"Untrue." She swings, and I prove her right by groaning in pain when the blow lands. "Is it turning you on?"

"No." This time she doesn't swing straight away, but instead reaches for my cock. I groan again, but this time in pleasure.

Her voice stays calm, as it has been throughout. "Untrue." Her hand moves away and she swings. "Are you embarrassed that being beaten makes your cock so hard?"

"No." I blush even as I answer the question.

"Untrue." She swings. "Are you glad that this is the last question?"

My buttocks feel like they're on fire. "No."

"If that's not untrue, it should be. You'll be bruised tomorrow." This time the blow feels heavier than ever and I cry out properly when it lands. For the first time the pain completely overrides my libido.

I hear her put the paddle down, and then Olivia is standing in front of me again. "The game's over, Mark, no more trick questions. You're hurting, aren't you?" I nod. "Good, you're supposed to be. This is your one and only lesson on the subject – I don't keep clients who can't be honest. Can you abide by that rule?"

I swallow, afraid that she might not want to keep me. "Yes."

She puts a hand on my chest and I wonder if she can feel my heart racing. "Then we've got nothing to worry about. But we're not done with the questions just yet – now it's time for the fun bit."

That sounds interesting. "What d'you mean?"

"The flip side of associating lying with pain is to associate honesty with pleasure. You tell me the truth, I give you pleasure. Would you like that?" She drops her hand to my cock, which immediately rises to greet her.

"Oh... yes. Yes please."

"I want to look at you first." Olivia steps away, walking around me slowly. The sensation is strange – I feel totally powerless but not self-conscious.

She smoothes a hand down my arm, squeezing my bicep. Then I feel her run her fingers through my hair, which makes my scalp prickle. Her voice is quiet. "You know, you have a very nice back. I wouldn't have associated a strong back with cycling." She trails a finger down the full length of my spine, and I know she can see my shiver in response.

Her hands move gently over my buttocks, which are still smarting from the paddle. I bite my lip, trying not to react. I don't want to break the spell. She kneels down. "Of course, everyone knows that you need these for cycling..." She runs her hands up my calves and then inner thighs.

Taking her time, she stands up and reappears in front of me, looking at my torso. "Are your abs as strong as they look, I wonder." She rakes her nails across them gently and I tense, making her smile. "Is the rest of you as reactive?" I watch her pinch my left nipple, and a flash of electricity darts to my groin. She does it again, making me gasp.

"Hmm, it seems so." She looks up at me. "Are you enjoying today?"

"Yes."

"Have you done anything like this before?"

"No, never."

"Why are you here?"

The feeling of being powerless intensifies. Answering questions on that form was one thing, but discussing them with Olivia as she watches me is very different. "Because I wanted..." I stop, trying to work out what to say. "I saw what you were doing with that guy at the party, and I wanted..."

Her voice is quiet. "Go on."

My mouth is dry and I have to swallow before I can answer. "I wanted you to be doing it to me."

"What was I doing to him that you liked so much?"

My voice is a whisper, and I know I'm blushing. "You had him tied up... and you were whipping him..." The image flashes into my head and my stomach knots in pleasure.

"Anything else?"

"I don't know... I didn't see."

"I put a butt-plug in him – in preparation for fucking him later." She places a hand on the small of my back, and my cock twitches. "Do you like that idea?"

I nod, not wanting to speak.

"Proper answers, Mark – don't make me paddle you again. Have you ever had anything inside you?"

I'm silent for a long moment. "I've used my fingers once or twice, but nothing else."

"You've never experimented with a partner? Never been pegged?"

"No." I'm concentrating less on what she's saying than on her hand, which has moved back to my cock.

As if unaware of it, she continues the questioning. "Would you like to be? Would you like me to fuck you with a dildo?"

I glance down and watch her stroking me, her rhythm slow and tantalising. My cock is oozing pre-cum, and I'm so hard and so horny that I can't think.

Her voice is teasing. "Answer the question, Mark."

I try to gather my scattered thoughts. "Oh god... yes..."

Unhurriedly, Olivia lets go of me and reaches up to release my wrists. She guides me to lean forward onto the stool and I rest there, watching as she crosses the room to the chest of drawers. Deliberately showing me what she's doing, she puts on a pair of latex gloves and picks up two items before returning.

"Man's best friend – lube." She shows me the bottle, then lifts her other hand so that I can see the dildo she's proposing to use. I don't know what to think. It doesn't look huge, but I have no idea what I can take. I'm not sure whether I'm excited or afraid.

Her voice is reassuring. "We'll take it slowly, don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you. Okay?"

"I think so." My voice is a croak.

The lube is cold as it drips onto me, and I gasp when I feel Olivia stroking me where no-one has ever touched me before. She presses a finger inside me and I jerk forward reflexively, hitting the padded rail. Being unable to move away somehow makes everything feel even better, and when she starts sliding her finger in and out of me I hear myself whimpering in pleasure.

After a moment she removes her hand and I hear the snap of the bottle lid again, then feel her reach round to take my cock and simultaneously slide her fingers back into me. I've never felt anything like it before and I don't want it to end.

"Do you like that? Will it make you come?"

My heart's racing and it takes me a second to catch my breath. "Yes... please..."

"Not just yet." She withdraws both hands and I can't stop myself from moaning in protest.

The next thing I feel is the dildo touching me. Despite the reassurances, I'm afraid it will hurt me, and I flinch away from it. Her voice is calm. "Trust me, Mark. Concentrate on your breathing – nice and steady for me."

I take a breath and let it out slowly, trying to do as I'm told. Olivia pushes it into me, not very far, letting me get used to the sensation. I try not to move away, and gradually it begins to feel less intrusive. She reaches around to my cock again, and as she strokes me, distracting me, I begin to relax. Sensing it, she slowly pushes the dildo into me, each inch making me more excited despite my nerves.

Just as slowly, she begins to move the dildo in and out, stroking me in time with her hand on my cock. Without thinking about it I start thrusting back against her, trying to make the feelings more intense. She gradually speeds up, occasionally withdrawing it fully before pushing it back into me. It feels incredible, and I'm soon lost in my own little cosmos of sensations.

After a long moment I become aware that she's lifted her hand from my cock, and I don't think that the dildo in me alone will be enough. I can't bear to be this close to the edge and unable to go over. When she brushes her fingers against my cock, teasing me, I can't stay silent. "Olivia... for god's sake... do that properly..."

To my relief she closes her hand around me. "Like this? Is this what you want?"

I moan. "Oh god... yes... that feels good..." I feel the tension building and know it won't be much longer.

And then she pulls the dildo out of me and steps away, stopping everything.

I can't stop the wail of frustration. At first all I can think of is how close I'd been to coming, but the fog clears as I hear footsteps in front of me.

"What did I tell you downstairs, Mark? Are you in charge?"

I look up, suddenly afraid. "No."

"No, you're not. It's not your place to tell me what to do, and I don't appreciate being ordered about, however distracted you might be. Perhaps you need to learn that lesson properly. You'd remember it if I punished you by denying you this orgasm, wouldn't you?"

The words spill out. "I'm sorry, please don't... You don't need to... I won't do it again, I promise. Please...?" I hold my breath.

She looks at me. "If you ask nicely enough I'll consider it."

I've never begged for anything in my life, but the words come easily. "Please, Olivia, I'm so sorry... please let me come. I've waited four days for you... I'll do anything..."

She walks around behind me again, but doesn't touch me. "Please!" I slump onto the stool in despair.

"Is this what you want?" I feel the dildo push into me. "And this?" Her hand wraps round my cock and I let out a shaky sigh.

"Yes... please don't stop, please fuck me... please let me come..." I trail off as she starts moving both hands. I'm gripping the stool so tightly that my knuckles are white, feeling the sensations rising and praying that this time she'll take pity on me.

I can't stop myself pushing against her. She matches my movements and then suddenly, at last, I'm coming, yelling out in pleasure and relief as I spurt again and again, finally releasing all the pent-up frustration and tension.

After a moment, Olivia pulls the dildo out of me and unbuckles my ankles. My legs are trembling, and I'm grateful that the bar and the stool are holding me up. I lie there, listening to her walk away and then a tap running as she washes her hands. When she reappears, she's smiling. She hands me a warm damp flannel. "Here you go – you'll want this. The bathroom's round the corner, and then you can get dressed."

I look down at myself. There's semen all over my stomach and it's dripped off me onto the floor. I push myself vertical and wipe everything clean, feeling self-conscious as I follow her directions. She watches me quietly as I get dressed, and I see her smile again as I re-thread my belt through its loops. Now that it's all over I'm not ready to leave, but I don't know how long she will allow me to stay.

As we walk downstairs, she glances at her watch and my heart sinks, but she surprises me. "The sun's over the yard-arm. Would you like a drink? I'm going to have wine."

"That sounds good, thank you. Can I do anything?"

"No, I won't be a second. You go on through."

I'm browsing at the bookcase again when she reappears with a bottle and two glasses, and she brings my glass to me. I take it. "Thank you. We had a lot of books at home but not much fiction – I like looking through other people's collections. I didn't expect sci-fi in yours." She doesn't reply, and after a second I realise that she's waiting for me. I turn to give her my full attention.

"Mark, was this afternoon what you wanted? Would you want to do it again?"

She's giving me no clue as to which answer she would prefer, and I bite my lip, suddenly nervous. "Yes. Yes please."

She smiles. "Then come and sit down – I'd like us to talk. The more open you are with me now, the more quickly I'll get to know how you tick."

When I sit down I realise how sore my backside is, and I hope Olivia doesn't notice my wince. To my surprise, she chooses to sit on the sofa with me. She kicks her shoes off and tucks her feet up under her, turning towards me. "How are you feeling?"

"Very glad that you let me come." I take a sip of wine, smiling at the memory.

"I shouldn't have really, and if you try and boss me around again, I won't. But everyone's allowed a couple of screw-ups in their first session."

My face feels warm. "Was I that bad, then?"

"Oh Mark, I'm sorry, I phrased that badly. You did absolutely fine, I promise you. May I make an observation, though?" I nod, wondering what she's going to say.

"I'd rather you weren't quite so stoic. It's okay if something hurts you – I won't think less of you if you say something. You're in pain now, aren't you?"

I don't speak, not wanting to admit that she's right. She looks at me steadily, until eventually I sigh. "Yes. I think you were right about the bruising. The thing is..." I'm not sure what she will think of me making excuses.

"Go on?"

"At work – cycling – we hurt all the time. Lactic acid, stiff muscles, road rash, cramps... Complaining about it just pisses people off – you're expected to deal with it. So I'm used to not saying anything."

She looks at me. "I understand. But will you at least promise to tell me if something is getting too much? I don't want to cause any real damage because you're trying to be a hero."

"Okay, I promise."

"Good. Now tell me, what was the most fun bit for you upstairs? Apart from coming, obviously." She drinks, watching me over her glass.

I think back, remembering how I'd felt. "It's not very exciting, but when you were inspecting me. And making me answer your questions. It felt like I couldn't hide anything from you. It was scary, but good at the same time."

"And the least fun?"

That doesn't require any thought. "You telling me off. I don't like it when I've gotten something wrong. Not just here – ever."

"I have a suspicion that you'll be a fast learner. And it's really not that difficult to please me, so don't worry too much. Is there anything you'd like to ask me? Or tell me?" Her questions surprise me, and it must show on my face. "You didn't expect me to want your opinion?"

"No. I thought... well, the stereotype is not being allowed to speak unless spoken to, that kind of thing. You're not like that at all."

She laughs, but not unkindly. "Would you rather I was? I can order you to strip off and act as my foot stool, if that's what you'd prefer?"

"Um, no, not really. I like the way you are. It's just that I thought a Domme would be... scarier. And wear more leather." Now I know I'm blushing, and I drink more wine.

When I look up, she's watching me. The laughter is gone and her voice is cold. "Mark, just because I'm friendly, please don't think that I can't scare you." I stare at her, wide-eyed, wishing I'd not said anything.

She smiles at me suddenly, and I let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding. "You see? As for the leather... I've always thought licking boots clean must be so impractical. You'd have to wipe them down again afterwards. What was I wearing at the party – do you remember?"

I close my eyes, picturing the scene. The man had been wearing a black hood, but when I think about Olivia, the answer is unexpected. "I remember a green top, and trousers. No leather."

"There you go." She pours herself more wine, leaning forward to pass me the bottle. "Did you want to ask anything else?"

"Well... This is going to sound really stupid. But, how do I know I'm not going to end up in the papers? Or blackmailed? Sasha knew who I was."

"It's not a stupid question at all – I'd think you were pretty naïve if it hadn't occurred to you. The short answer is that you don't, you'll just have to trust me. But think about it. You're not the only person to visit me here, and you're certainly not the wealthiest or the most famous. This is my job, and I've been doing it a while. I have a reputation. I don't want to lose clients, so discretion is as much in my interest as yours. As for Sasha – I've worked with him for years and I trust him. I'll take full responsibility if I've got that wrong. Does that make you feel better?"

I nod, still feeling stupid despite her reassurance. But there's still one other thing bugging me, and I don't know how to raise it.

Olivia does it for me. "In that case, it's time to talk about money. Do you have any idea what my normal rates are?"

This is what I'm worried about. I'm broke. "No."

"Do you remember that one of those forms you filled in for me asked how much you earn?" I remember – it embarrassed me to give the honest answer.

"You can't afford me, Mark. Not unless you have a private income that you didn't mention."

I shake my head. I wait for her to tell me that I can't see her again, and I feel sick. "So why did you...?" I can't finish the sentence.

"Why did I let you come here today?"

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

"I've been doing some research." I look up at her, confused. "How much is winning the green jersey worth? Or the World Championships? Six figures? Seven?"

I think about the kudos, the sponsorship deals, the advertising. "Six, easily. Maybe more, I guess. But I don't have any of those things. I know I won a stage, but that was mostly luck. I didn't make it to Paris." I can hear my despair.

"No, maybe not. But people who know what they're talking about have tipped you for success. Winning something big is a very real possibility for you, isn't it?"

I wonder what she's thinking. Is she going to tell me that I can't see her again until I've won a points classification? That could be months away – years if I'm unlucky. I don't think I can bear it.

Her voice is gentle. "Don't look so sad, Mark. What I'm trying to tell you is that I'm willing to waive my fee for a while, until you can afford me – and I don't think that will take you very long. We'll need to agree the details, but that's the basic idea. How does that sound?"

I stare at her. "Why would you do that? I mean, I don't want to sound ungrateful, but why?"

"I just have a feeling." She thinks for a moment. "I think sending you away would be... unnecessarily unkind. You were so desperate to spend time with me at the party, when most people would have run a mile. And you've not once questioned anything I've asked you to do. Have you?"

"Why would I? You're in charge."

She laughs. "That's exactly what I mean. You're the client, Mark. You're the one hiring me to give you what you want. Look, I might be completely wrong about this, but I don't think it really matters even if I am. So, do we have a deal?"

My gloom evaporates, and I want to turn cartwheels around the room. Instead, I hold out my right hand. "Deal."