The Primrose Thrills (Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

Part 11

The past week had been absolutely insane. Actually, It hadn’t even been a week since Harry and I had gone public and I’d already been subject to more newspaper and magazine articles than I’d probably read the past year. Some were flattering and quite complimentary whereas others had been downright invasive and unnecessarily mean. Old drunken university photos were published and I was passed off as an irresponsible party girl, as well as another irrelevant girl to add to Harry’s list of ‘conquests’, which in reality wasn’t really much of a list at all. Harry was flipped off as being a womaniser and a lady’s man, supposedly having slept with over 400 women, but it was a load of rubbish mostly conjured up by desperate journos trying to fund next week’s coke habit. Okay, perhaps that was a little harsh, but still. The amount of attention and speculation surrounding Harry’s private life was discombobulating. He was sought after, far more so than your average celebrity. People cared about what he was wearing, what he had for breakfast in the morning and whether he preferred cats or dogs. People cared about the things that, if he wasn’t famous, would be deemed completely irrelevant. They were trivial but somehow made to seem important. So of course, when something more serious comes along, i.e. a relationship, a feast is laid out for both the media and public. People love to gossip. People love to think that they’re part of that person’s life and in turn, they forget that there are real people actually involved; real people with feelings and lives that exist away from what the media allows people to see. I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t been affected by the attention. Some articles hurt me and it hurt even more that I couldn’t do anything to defend myself, even though I knew they weren’t true. It was completely out of my control and ironically, I found that difficult to bear. For a short while, I realised how easy it would be to crumble at the hands of gossip and scrutiny, but with some comforting words from my mum (and Harry) I was reminded that I knew better than to take notice and that the best thing I could do was keep my head above it all.

As a result of magazine articles and invasive paparazzi, I’d completely forgotten about Christmas. With just six days to go, I found myself rushing around Oxford Street in my lunch break and after work to buy some last minute presents for friends and family. I hadn’t a clue what I could get Harry. The subject of Christmas had come up once in the past few weeks and that was just us disagreeing on turkey being the best Christmas meat; with his saying yes and me arguing that beef was much nicer. Exactly. It was irrelevant and gave me no further idea as to what to buy for him. Or do for him.

Whilst in the queue for some coffee, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.
“Hello, Emilia Jacobs.”
I answered my phone without looking at the caller I’d, or thinking. I was still set in ‘work mode’ despite having finished over an hour ago.
“Hello, Miss Jacobs.”
Harry’s thick voice sounded amused and I could tell that he was smiling. I felt myself blush and I laughed.
“And what can I do for you today, Mr Styles?”
“I have a few questions for you…”
“Hit me.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed at my unintentionally provocative choice of words.
“Do you prefer pink or black?”
“Black, always.”
I wasn’t sure what it was in reference to but black was one of those colours that went with everything. I’m pretty sure that the majority of my wardrobe is black. 
“Thought as much… Glass or silicone?”
I quirked an eyebrow, dumbfounded.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, do you prefer the feel of glass or silicone?”
“I’m still not with you…”
Harry laughed. “I’m not giving you anymore. Just pick one.”
Harry had me completely confused and curious (as per usual) and I hummed before choosing silicone for no particular reason apart from the fact that I liked the sound of it better and that I had an amusing image in my mind of Harry holding silicone implants. I heard a female voice in the background and then Harry muttered something that I couldn’t quite work out.
“Hello?” 
“I’m still here,” I laughed. “Where are you?”
“Out.”
“Well I gathered that,” I laughed again.
“I’m taking you out to dinner tomorrow.”
I couldn’t help but grin as butterflies exploded in my stomach. I didn’t care how ridiculous I looked in front of a shop full of people and I completely forgot that he’d avoided my question.
“I’ll pick you up around 7. Is that okay?”
“Yes,” I smiled.
“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”
“Before you go,” I spoke hastily just as I sensed him about to close the conversation. “Is there anything you want for Christmas?”
“I can think of something…”
“Oh? Go on…”
“You.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, though the deep drawl of his voice reached the very pit of my stomach.
“I’m being serious, Harry.”
“So am I.”
His response was quick and his voice was firm. There was no hint of amusement to his voice, no kink to his lips as he spoke. My heart began to beat a little faster and I could feel my cheeks heating. The rush of blood was so loud in my ears that the noise of clinking mugs and chattering city dwellers was drowned out almost completely. It had only been a few days since he’d touched me and I was yearning for him. I was yearning for his fingers in mine and his lips on my skin. I was yearning for him to take me to those places in which only we went to. 

“Just wait until tomorrow and then we’ll see.”
There was something lingering in the tone of Harry’s voice; as if he knew something that I didn’t. I could tell that he was smirking, undoubtedly entertained by his own mystery. I knew better than to ask. It would just end up with him being amused and me left feeling infuriated. Either way, I knew that I’d end up being part of whatever he had planned; caught like a fly in a spider’s masterful web. But this fly walks willingly into a web of wicked mystery each and every time, ensnared by the dangerous need for more.

And it was dangerous. I wanted to be pushed and tested. I wanted Harry to cane my mind and tease my needy flesh. And somewhere very deep inside of me, a part of me, albeit a very timid part, wanted him to cane my bare flesh. I wanted to feel the sting of his power. I wanted to absorb everything about him and everything that he could give me, to feel him in every possible way. It was a thought that both terrified and excited me.

When I arrived back at my flat that evening, there was a package waiting for me at my door. It was dark, mysterious and nothing gave it away, which is ironically what gave Harry away. With eager anticipation, I ripped the black paper from the box and pulled it apart to reveal a set of luxurious crimson underwear. It was bordering on what my mother would have called ‘tart red’, the type of red that made you feel slutty just looking at it, and as I took each piece from the box, I could see that it had been designed with that exact intention. The cups of the bra were made from silk satin with a fine lace across the top of the bra, which was a half-cup at best, designed to reveal the nipple. The bra was adorned with two small bows either side where the straps met the cups. The briefs were just that; brief. They had to be the smallest pair of French knickers that I’d ever seen, so small that I was certain any smaller and they’d disappear. They were the same silk as the bra, so delicate, and as I studied them in my hands I came to realise that there was a slit right along the length of the crotch. No stockings and no suspenders, just the bra and knickers. It was a stark contrast from the beautiful babydoll that Harry had bought me last. I was turned on just looking at them and even more so from knowing that he’d be able to fuck me without even taking them off. Undressing me was usually part of his tease, but not this time. I wondered what would take its place.

‘A little something for tomorrow evening.

X

P.s. No tights or I’ll pull them down and take you over my knee for everybody to see.’

Christ. I almost came right there and then, picturing myself sat opposite Harry at the dinner table in the silk garments with my nipples and modesty so uncovered, unbeknown to everybody else sat around us. I then went on to imagine the scenario if I were to wear tights… I imagined him hauling me from my chair, eyes darting up from bowls of soup and glasses of wine, silence falling as he pulled me over his lap and lifted my dress up before yanking my tights down to my knees, telling me how disobedient I’d been and how everybody was going to see how naughty and wet I was. I shut my eyes as the sound of Harry’s hand on my exposed flesh echoed through my mind. In my head, I cried out and begged him to stop, apologising over and over again for not listening to him. But he didn’t stop until I was red raw and sobbing on his lap with people continuing to watch on in complete awe and disbelief. And then I was on my knees in front of him, taking him in my mouth as his hands pulled my hair and he pulled the straps of my dress down to reveal my breasts before releasing himself all over my front and leaving me there as he excused himself.

I awoke from my fantasy world with my heart pounding erratically. Sometimes my own imagination surprised me and this was definitely one of those times. I couldn’t quite work out why I found the thought of degradation and humiliation so arousing. I’d had my first taste of it when I was tied to the chair in Harry’s dining room. Despite my frustration, he knew how much I’d enjoyed it. The tease, the denial, the manner in which he’d spoken to me. Me calling him Sir didn’t automatically make him my Dom but it certainly enhanced the dynamic of the power shift between us. The fantasy that I’d just conjured up in my mind reinforced the fact that I was curious what it would be like to submit to him in that way. I wondered if I could. I wondered if there was part of me that would willingly sacrifice all of my self-possession, my independence, my dignity for the sake of pleasure and desire… and ultimately, for him. There were elements of submission that I was still yet to explore, some that I probably wasn’t even aware of, and even though having Harry spank me in a public restaurant was pretty much out of the question (let’s face it, we’d probably end up in a cell as well as making worldwide news), I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d ever come close to it. After all, we were no longer strangers to playing in front of others. And I still wasn’t going to wear any tights.

I pulled on my coat before going to meet Harry outside of my flat. The Audi had begun to make much more of a regular appearance, much to my horror (not), and I gladly sank back into the warm leather seat as his lips met my cheek. They were soft and warm and I turned my face to kiss him properly, laughing as he sponged a series of single kisses on to my lips and both corners of my mouth.

“Better,” I smiled and he hummed against my lips.
As he looked me in the eyes, he stroked his hand up my bare thigh and I shivered. His mouth ends flickered upwards and I blushed in the darkness of the car, embarrassed that even after all this time, the smallest of his touches managed to provoke such a response.
“No tights or stockings,” he whispered into my ear. “I can’t say that I’m not a little bit disappointed.”
“You wouldn’t have…,” I challenged with a whisper.
“Wouldn’t I?”
He lingered over my ear for a few moments before leaning back into is seat and taking his hand with him, leaving my breathing heavy and uneven. His eyes caught mine in the rear view mirror and he smirked, revving the engine and pulling the car away from the kerb. 

Just as I’d expected, Harry and I were photographed as we walked from his car to the small Italian restaurant located down a hidden road in central London. As we walked hand in hand, I was completely dwarfed by his height. Even in my highest heels he was a good three or so inches taller than I was, so as I walked next to him in a pair of black heels that elevated me just a couple of inches or so, he towered over me. I felt small and safe. I felt like I belonged to him, reinforced by the warm and tight grip of his hand. The place itself was small and discrete, illuminated by a dim light that hung over the front door. Fortunately for us, once we entered the restaurant the paps left us alone. It was obvious that they were just after a snap or two to keep the papers ticking, and unlike the previous time they’d been no trouble, albeit a little annoying with the relentless flashes that continued to star my vision even after we’d gone inside.

Beneath Harry’s coat, he wore a crisp white shirt with the top two buttons undone and black skinny fit jeans. He looked both smart and casual and I couldn’t stop myself from staring at his flexing muscles as he ran his fingers through his quiffed hair. I shrugged my shoulders and he took my coat from me, handing them both to the waiter that then showed us to our seats.

“You look lovely,” he smiled, and I of course blushed.
I was in a black dress that exposed my shoulders, though not enough to show the straps of my bra; sleeves down to my wrists; lower half skirting at the waist. The material was thin and clung to my torso and I knew that if it weren’t for the warmth of my coat as we braved the cold, my nipples would be on show for the whole restaurant to see (with no thanks to Harry and his skimpy choice of underwear). I felt giddy. It was our first real date since going public and all eyes were on us as we took our seats in a candle lit corner at the back of the room.

We talked, laughed, ate and shared a glass of wine each. Harry would need a clear head for driving, as well as for whatever he had planned for when we got home. As would I. We talked work, news, joked around and flirted outrageously like uncontrollable teens. I was happy. Inexplicably so. His eyes glimmered as he stroked his thumb over the top of my hand, leaning over the table to whisper into my ear.
“Are you wearing what I bought you?” he spoke lowly as the waiter walked away with our plates.
His hot breath kissed my cheek and I nodded silently.
“I thought as much.”
As Harry spoke, he flicked his thumb over my nipple and I flinched, suddenly very aware that they were hard beneath my dress, unhidden by my very small bra. My usual instinctive reaction would be to cross my arms over my chest, but for some reason unbeknown to me, I kept them still at my side, letting Harry stroke his thumb over them. I stole a glance to my left to see if anyone was looking over to us. They were, of course, engrossed in their own meals and own conversations, oblivious to our little show. I shuffled in my seat and edged back slightly, blushing as Harry kept his eyes on me. He laughed quietly, smugly, and kissed the area of skin just before my ear.
“Now open your legs for me.”
I wondered if I’d heard him right. Judging by the amused smirk on his face as he sat back, I knew that I had.
“Now?” I questioned, unable to hide my surprise.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “Now.”
His voice was quiet, yet firm. I hesitated for a moment, frozen, then without thinking, I slowly parted my legs beneath the cloth of the table. As I opened them wider, I could feel how wet I was. It didn’t help that I was wearing such sexy underwear. The air of the restaurant was cool in comparison to my burning flesh and I sat still with my legs wide, eyes set on Harry. He knocked his fork to the floor and looked at me as if to say whoops, though we both knew that it was anything but an accident. My heart was pounding, a rhythm that echoed heavily right between my legs. He bent down to the floor to pick up his fork and as he did so, he lifted the table cloth and peered beneath. I could feel the same hot blush in my cheeks now surfacing on my chest and neck and I could feel Harry’s eyes on me, staring right between my legs. He was fucking me with his eyes. I didn’t have to see him to know it. I whimpered quietly as I felt a finger run up the inside of my thigh, so slowly, right until he was stroking the edge of my silk underwear. I couldn’t help but lift my hips towards him and I knew he’d be amused by my desperation. The situation was entirely inappropriate, which of course, made me want it even more. I glanced around the room frantically, wondering whether anyone had noticed how pink my cheeks were and how heavy my eye lids had become. I was slipping into another world, biting my lip to stop myself from moaning out at his soft touch, wondering how far he was going to go. His finger came from me and he resurfaced and placed the fork back in front of him, looking at me with a raised eyebrow and wicked smile. I couldn’t hide my disappointment. I expected him to say something; to comment on how wet I was or how little self control I had. Instead, he teased me with his silence and said nothing, and in many ways the silence was much worse.

The rest of the dinner was spent with me feeling restless and distracted. I wriggled and squirmed in my seat and had little appetite for the dessert that we’d ordered. I picked at it with my fork and even though my eyes were fixed firmly on the plate in front, I could feel Harry watching me.
“Are you okay?”
Smug bastard.
“Fine,” I shot back, slightly more aggressively than intended.
“Are you sure? You don’t look fine.”
I lifted my eyes to his face, plastered with amusement.
“I’m fine. I’m just not very hungry.”
“Well I can see that,” he laughed. “Is there anything else bothering you?”
I forced a smile and shook my head. Even I wasn’t convinced. Truth was, I was hot, wet and desperate for him to take me home and have his way with me. But I wasn’t going to tell him that; that was exactly what he wanted me to do.
“Good. Would you like some coffee before we leave?”
No.
“Coffee would be good.”
I lied with the same forced smile that I’d just given him. If he wanted to play, I could play. I wanted to show him that I had self-control and that I could resist temptation, no matter how wicked and sweet.

I somehow managed to make my coffee last for even longer than it had taken me to eat dinner. Harry watched me at all times, making me feel uneasy, on edge and bloody turned on all at the same time. It meant that my pulse never settled.
“Are you done?” he asked as I put my cup down on the table.
“Done,” I smiled.
“Shall we get the bill?”
“If you’re ready to go.”
Despite my determination at sounding casual, there was an unwavering plea behind my words. Within five minutes, we’d settled the bill and were back in his car, driving away through the central London roads. Even though the time had passed 10.30pm, the roads were busy and our journey was slow and tedious. Traffic lights worked against us and I couldn’t help but sigh each time we hit a red.
“You’re sensitive tonight,” Harry remarked, briefly taking his hand from the gear stick to run it along my thigh. My leg jerked and I tensed, keeping silent as I focused on the stop light in front. The roads seemed to clear a little after that and after another fifteen minutes or so, we were parked outside of Harry’s flat and making our way inside.

“Shall we have a drink?” Harry grinned as we walked through his living room and to the kitchen. I knew exactly what he was doing; trying to make me wait it out as long as possible, probably with the hope that I’d snap and start begging him.
“Sure,” I answered through tight lips, thankful that his back was towards me as he reached up into the cupboard and pulled out two wine glasses. I was certain that I was glaring. His back muscles pulled tightly beneath his shirt and I so desperately wanted to run my palms along them, to trace his defined blades and hard physique. Harry handed me a glass of red wine and I took a large gulp.
“Thirsty?” Harry laughed.
“Very.”
“Your lips are pink,” Harry commented before sweeping the very tip of his thumb between my wine-tainted lips. “And wet.”
My entire body quivered hopelessly at the double-entendre and I hummed as his thumb collected a tiny drop of red liquid from the corner of my mouth. He smirked before pressing his thumb to his own lips and running his tongue over it, tasting the sweet wine.
“Let’s play a game,” Harry announced.
“What sort of game?”
I watched as he took a sip of his own wine and then placed it back down on the counter. 
“Let’s play the game where you go up to my bedroom, take your dress off and wait for me there.”
I swallowed harshly as I absorbed his words. I knew that it was an order rather than a suggestion, and as I met his eyes I saw them shift, just as they did each time he wanted to play with me. It was both unnerving and exhilarating.
“Okay,” I whispered almost inaudibly, struggling to string together a coherent sentence of any sort. “How long will you be?”
Harry ignored my question and instead took a step towards me, hovering his lips over my ear.
“I want to find you facing my bed, bent over with your hands around your ankles. Do you understand?”
At that point, I lost my voice completely, giving him a small nod. I could barely think straight, though that didn’t stop me from walking straight to the stairs and up to his bedroom.

My hands trembled as I unzipped my dress and stepped from it. I placed it on the back of Harry’s chair and quickly tiptoed over to his mirror. I didn’t want to risk him hear me walking around over the laminate wooden flooring. In the dim light of his room, my breasts spilled over the tops of my bra, nipples on show. Bent over in the way that Harry wanted me to would leave very little to the imagination, if anything at all. I did as I was asked, stretching upwards to elongate my spine before bending at the waist and lowering my hands to my ankles. I could feel the stretch in my hamstrings, though the position wasn’t impossible and I was certain that I could bear it. My breasts fell from the flimsy cups as I leant over, bearing my backside and wet centre to the door. I knew that I could easily stand up and get into position when I heard him coming up the stairs but that would defeat the point of this. The point was that he trusted me to do as I was told and I wanted to do as I was told. There was no fun or challenge in sitting comfortably on his bed until he came up the stairs. I watched the digital clock flicker at the side of Harry’s bed, and it was seventeen minutes before I heard him coming up the stairs. By then, my legs were trembling and my back ached. The area between my legs was even more swollen than before and I could feel the wetness on my flesh. I was almost certain that a tiny drop of moisture ran from my cleft, absorbed by the silk of my knickers.

It was another six minutes before I felt Harry’s presence in the room, shadow creeping up behind me. I could feel his warmth, fingertips so close to my skin as I listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing. He drew a line with his finger from the top of my thigh and over the curve of my backside, then back down the other side.

“Well,” Harry spoke softly as he slid his hands around my waist and pulled me upright, back flush against his chest. “What does one have to do to have a night with this lovely slut?”
He whispered the words into my ear so quietly. They were words meant only for me. He then kissed my neck and a shudder ran through me, holding my waist against him so firmly that I couldn’t have moved if I’d tried. The bite of the t as he said slut made my hairs stand on end. It was a word used to shame females about a promiscuity that’s praised amongst men. It was insulting and derogatory. I’d never particularly liked the word but there was something so incredibly erotic about the way Harry had said it, and right now, stood here with his hot breath on my neck and his finger tips dancing over the tops of my thighs, I was wet and I was aroused. So needy. So desperate.
“Hmm?” 
The question at the end of his hum made me realise that his question wasn’t rhetorical. He wanted me to talk to him; to tell him what I wanted him to do to me.
“Tie her up.”
My mouth was dry and my voice croaked as I spoke.
“Play with her,” I whispered. “Touch her.”
His lips brushed over my neck, then caressed the hollow behind my ear. 
“I think she might be my favourite present of all time,” Harry smirked against my skin.
“And how does she want to be tied?”
“Tightly.”
“Does she want to be tied to my bed?”
“Yes.”
My breathing was ragged and I whimpered as he tweaked my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Hands up, legs spread?”
“Yes.”
“Hm, she sounds dangerously tempting.”
“She is,” I whispered.
Harry slid his hand between my legs and began stroking the very top of my clitoris.
“Does she know how easy it would be for me to slide myself into her and fuck her?”
His erection pressed into my lower back and I pushed myself back against him, hips grinding on their own accord.
“Yes.”
“She’s been wet all evening, hasn’t she? Desperate for me to fuck her.”
I hummed.
“Hasn’t she?” Harry reasserted much firmer.
“Yes,” I breathed out.
“I wonder what she’d do to come right now…”
He slid his finger between my cleft, spreading my arousal all over.
“Anything,” I whispered.
“That’s a big word, Emilia… And I’ll hold you to that.”
He kissed my neck softly, grazing his nose over my skin. I could smell the musk of his aftershave and the wine on his breath. Everything about him smelt divine.
“Luckily for you, I don’t have the patience to find out what that means right now. Especially with you dressed like such a slut.”
He paused for a heartbeat, as if waiting to see if I’d react to him using that word again. But I didn’t. I held still, waiting, though not quite sure what for.

“What would everybody have thought if they knew what you were wearing underneath that dress of yours? If they knew how wet you were sat at that table…”
I swallowed loudly, hands trembling over his as they stroked my waist.
“Because you were. You were so wet that I wondered whether I’d have to apologise to the waiter for the mess you left on the leather.”
Harry turned me around so that we were face to face, a foot or so apart, waiting for me to look at him before he spoke again.
“Would they have thought you were a horny slut that can’t go a few hours without getting her knickers wet?”
“Yes,” I croaked, lowering my eyes to the floor.
He lifted his hand to my face and tilted my chin up to look at him. The erotic charge that pulled between us was almost palpable.
“Say it properly. Tell me what you are. Tell me what you need.”

I suddenly felt completely tongue-tied. I could hear the words in my head but I couldn’t seem to form them in my throat. This kind of domination and submission was something that Harry and I had touched upon in conversation but acting it out was an entirely different matter. Since visiting the club and going to Mark’s party (or whatever you want to call it), I’d seen elements of domination and submission that hadn’t even visited my wildest fantasies. I was enthralled, enraptured, ensnared. Each time I thought back to situations that I’d seen, I felt an inexplicable pang of jealousy; a jealousy that made me realise that I wanted to try some of these things. Now I’m talking about things that I never thought would arouse me. The girl knelt at her Master’s feet, for example. Something about her subordination had me fascinated. It had hit an erotic nerve. Harry being Harry hadn’t pussy footed around and when he’d asked me about the things I’d found arousing from both occasions, though feeling shy at first, he’d worked them out of me with little difficulty and with a smirk as he did so. I’d talked, he’d listened. He’d asked me questions, watched how I reacted to them. Caning, name-calling, corsets, anal sex, crosses, restraints, role-play, threesomes, humiliation. We’d covered them all. We were at that point in our relationship where we could talk about these things openly. Some of them made my heart race with excitement. Others made my stomach lurch with fear. There wasn’t much that either one of us was strongly adverse to, though we’d set a few hard limits, including knife play and asphyxiation. These were things that neither of us ever wished to explore. Knowing that Harry was curious too made it much easier for me to open up. It was comforting. It was a step forwards in our relationship that we were both a little unsure of, but a step that we both wanted to explore. How far could we go? How much could I take? How much could he give? We’d already learnt so much about ourselves but there was still so much more to learn. They were questions that neither of us would be able to answer until we tested them. As a wise man once wrote, ‘You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.’

So here, now, looking straight into each other’s eyes, we’d stepped onto a new path. Part of me felt riled up with the need to defend myself, to protest that I wasn’t a slut and to bite back that he was the one that had chosen the underwear that I was wearing. I wanted to tell him that it was his fault that I looked like a slut. Harry knew that as well as I did. But another part of me, a much larger part, wanted to submit to him in this way. It was new and it was exciting. Besides, it would be pointless to deny that I was wet and turned on. I took a few deep breaths before telling Harry what he wanted to hear. It took every ounce of my being to tell him that I was a wet slut that needed to be fucked. My voice was feeble and wavered. I barely even recognised it. I sounded crude and felt demeaned, but in spite of that, I could only think of a handful of other occasions where I’d been as turned on as I was at that point in time.

Harry lifted his hand to my left breast and cupped me. It was slow and sensual, despite the words that we’d just exchanged.
“These are one of a kind,” Harry spoke softly as he traced his finger over the top of my bra. “Made just for you.”
He rubbed his index finger over the one of the bows and my eyes followed the trace of his finger. I hadn’t noticed the tiny initials E J embroidered carefully into the silk just beneath the bow in the same red as the bra itself. Even though they’d been made with the intention of making me look and feel unchaste, I couldn’t deny that they were beautiful. Because they were. They’d been made with such incredible skill and delicacy. I felt both slutty and beautiful, but the latter was probably more so to do with the way Harry had been looking at me all evening.

“Now go and lie on the bed for me,” he nodded. “On your back, right in the centre. Arms up and legs straight.”
I instantly did as I was told and laid back with my hands above my head and feet outstretched, toes pointed. I watched as Harry walked over to his wardrobe and pulled out a small box that I hadn’t seen before. The suspense made my heart pound and he placed it on the end of the bed before walking over to his drawer and taking out four thick strands of white nylon rope that I was no stranger to. Within minutes, my knickers had been removed and my wrists were bound to the metal rail above my head. With the remaining two strands of rope, Harry tied one of each to my knees. He pushed my left leg to my chest and tied the loose end of the rope to the corner of the bed head. He did the same with the other so that both of my knees were pulled apart, held closely to my chest. It was potentially the least dignified way that I’d ever been tied and Harry had pulled the ropes so tightly that there was no way for me to bring my legs together. I had no choice but to have them spread open wide with my backside half on display.

“Are you comfortable right now?”
“As comfortable as I can be,” I half laughed.
“Good, because I plan on keeping you here for a while.”
I strained my neck to see Harry’s hand disappear into the box. He laid out two toys that I hadn’t seen before on to the bed; a love egg and a slender black silicone dildo. Ah. Suddenly his cryptic questions from the previous day made sense. He looked up at me to gauge my reaction and smirked, and it was then that he pulled the final surprise from the box. My stomach clenched and mouth dried out instantly as I laid eyes on a pair of nipple clamps. They looked so harmless in Harry’s hand, encrusted with small red diamantes along the chain that held them together, but I knew that they’d have a good bite on them. My breathing shallowed as Harry shifted forwards and settled between my legs. I’d never been subjected to nipple clamps but I knew that they’d hurt. I wasn’t scared of the pain. It was more so the anticipation that made my palms sweat.
“Have you been clamped before?”
I shook my head. “No.”
Harry pulled the cups of my bra all the way down and pinched my nipple with his thumb and forefinger, bringing it to a hard point. They ached as he pulled them roughly, pinching and twisting them mercilessly as he alternated between my left and my right.
“They’re going to hurt,” I murmured warily through stilted breaths as the pressure of his fingers around my nipples sent jolts of pain throughout my body.
“They are,” he answered with a touch of amusement to his voice. “But nothing you can’t handle.”

Harry opened up the first clamp and held it over my right nipple. My heart was beating like a steam train as he held my stare, slowly and carefully releasing his grip on the clamp so that it tightened incrementally. I whimpered as he let me feel the full force of the clamp. It hurt much more than I’d expected to and I could feel my eyes watering. He attached the second one just as carefully as he had done the first, making sure that the pressure was slow and gradual so it gave me time to adjust to the new sensation. I inhaled sharply through gritted teeth, focusing on the heavy throb that each of my nipples was enduring. However it wasn’t long before the pain subsided into more of a numbness. I could tell that the bite of these clamps was for a novice and that Harry had chosen them carefully as to not inflict an unbearable amount of pain, nor cause any damage. Alongside the numbness, it felt strangely pleasurable and as he brushed his fingertip over my nipples I let out a quiet moan, to which he smirked and leant forwards.
“Merry Christmas from you,” Harry whispered as he pressed a kiss to my right shoulder, “to me.”
He finished with his lips on my left shoulder before kneeling above me. I looked up at him looming over me, bound tightly, helpless, yet with complete and utter adoration. I wondered if anyone had ever loved him as much as I did.

“My favourite thing about unwrapping presents is the suspense…”
Harry smirked wickedly as he got to his feet and walked around the bed, studying me from every angle. He looked right at me and for a brief moment, I felt self-conscious. The position was anything but flattering and I knew that there would be rolls to my stomach. But seeing the look on Harry’s face and his erection straining beneath his jeans reminded me that he didn’t care, or perhaps he didn’t even notice these things. 
“Perhaps I’ll leave you here until Christmas morning.”
“You’ll be back in Manchester then…”
“I’ll ship you special delivery and have you put under the tree.”
The look that crossed his face was so wickedly enigmatic that I wouldn’t have put it past him. 
“You look incredible, Emilia. You always do, but right now, you look so untouchable.”
He stopped in his tracks, stood at the right-hand side of the head of the bed.
“I’m going to play with you like you’ve never been played before. And I’m going to make you come until I’ve decided that you’ve had enough. Would you like that?”
I hummed and he tugged on the chain between the clamps, pulling my breasts together and I yelped.
“Would you?”
“Yes,” I breathed out, spellbound by his words of promise.
He smiled and walked over to the toys that he’d laid out.
“Hmm, I wonder…” He stroked his fingers over the toys, contemplating which one to use, then taking the love egg in his hand and shifting on the bed to position himself between my legs.
“Just a little warm-up for you.”
I whined as he pushed it inside of me. The silicone was smooth and cool and fit snugly inside, though it far from stretched me like Harry did. Harry had something else in his hand and pushed a button, and it was then that the vibrations began to course through me, surprising me enough to make me gasp out loud. He moved from the bed again and pulled his chair at my side, sitting back with his legs spread and his hands in his lap, as if preparing to watch a show. 

“I wonder how long it will take you to come with that in,” he smirked. “I say… ten minutes. What do you think?”
I mumbled something incoherent that came out as more of a moan.
“Or maybe even five…” Harry teased.
My breathing had shallowed significantly in just those few short moments and all I could concentrate on was the vibrations pulsing through me and the tightness of my walls around the egg as I tried to create some sort of friction against it.
“Shall we put some music on?”
“Mm,” I hummed, watching him pick up the iPod by the side of his bed, scrolling through.
“How do you feel about Mozart’s Requiem?”
I breathed out a laugh. “Intense.”
“Exactly,” he smirked.

Moaning and writhing as much as I could in the position that I was in, I turned my head to the same clock that I’d watched earlier to see that nine minutes had passed since I’d last looked at it when Harry sat down. He was watching me closely, completely still, but I could see in his eyes that he was amused as well as enthralled. He slipped his hand beneath his jeans to readjust himself. I knew that he must be uncomfortable. I contracted my muscles around the egg over and over, desperate to reach my release. I was ready to come but I needed that little bit more.

“I need you,” I breathed out.
“What do you need?”
Harry’s voice was steady and calm in comparison to mine.
“I can’t come without you touching me.”
He cocked his eyebrow, hands still clasped firmly in his lap.
“Where is it you need me to touch you?”
“You know where.”
“I don’t think I do.”
I sighed frustratedly before shutting my eyes, forcing myself to say the words he wanted to hear.
“I need you to touch my clit.”
“Now say that again with your eyes open and looking at me.”
I opened my eyes and turned my face to look at him. I could only imagine how flushed my cheeks were and how desperate I looked but right now, my mind was on one thing and that was reaching my orgasm. 
“Touch my clit,” I mumbled. “Please. I need to come.”
“Need?” he questioned, reaching to his drawer and pulling out the small vibrator that I’d come to know very well. “Or want?”
“Need,” I moaned out desperately.
Need. Want. Right now, there was no difference between the two. I both wanted and needed. Harry switched the small bullet on and pressed it to my clit and I cried out in complete relief. In no time at all, my climax had peaked. As pleasure exploded from deep within, my muscles spasmed violently and my orgasm forced the small object from me and to the sheets below, followed by a wetness that only ever came with my most intense orgasms.

“I love it when you come like that. You’ve soaked through my sheets. And shirt.”
My entire body shook uncontrollably as he switched the vibrator off and stroked the insides of my thighs. I was nothing more than a bundle of sensations, dizzy from my own pleasure. It was then that I felt him stroking my centre with something other than his fingers. I glanced down to see the other toy he’d laid out earlier on, rubbing languorously between my cleft.
“I wonder how many times we can have you coming like that…”
I dropped my head back to the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, biting down on my lip as he teased my wet entrance. He then sucked my swollen clit into his mouth and smirked against my flesh, making me shudder and mewl helplessly, before taking a few long licks.

He eased the toy inside of me so slowly, inch by inch, teasing me torturously until he decided to really give me something to moan about. I wanted to straighten my legs, pull on his hair and thrash above the sheets but I was bound to almost complete stillness. He penetrated me with the toy until I came again, just as hard as the last time, if not more. I was hot, wet and trembling, and the time between my second and third orgasm was practically non-existent. Harry knew how to work me and he knew how to give me multiple orgasms, something that I was entirely grateful for. He knew my g-spot better than I did and he knew exactly when and where to touch my clit and how much pressure to give. As I panted atop the messed up sheets, he came between my legs to kiss me. It was the first time I’d tasted him all evening and though it was rough and hard, I revelled in the affection. As he kept his lips on mine, kissing and teasing me with his sweet tongue, he began playing with the toy again. Through my hypersensitivity, it was becoming increasingly difficult to bear and I bit down on his lip so hard that I drew blood from him. The metallic taste tainted my tongue yet he made no effort to pull away. Instead he just pushed the toy in harder and faster until I was whispering his name amidst breathless moans and coming again, in spite of my exhaustion.

After that, I lost track of time. I lost all sense of myself. I thrashed against my restraints and begged with him. What for, I couldn’t even tell you. He was relentless, pushing and pushing, even when I was pleading that I couldn’t come again. He rubbed me hard and fast and then slapped my clit three times in succession. I cried out at the sudden force, three yelps to match each slap, but then his tongue was on me, circling, soothing, tasting what he’d done to me.

“Again.”
“I can’t,” I breathed out exasperatedly.
The rope was pulling tighter than I’d ever felt, as if the entirety of my body weight was acting against it. I could feel it wearing my skin away with each passing second as I struggled. My muscles ached and I knew they’d ache even more so tomorrow, and the day after that. I was desperate to move but I could do nothing but clench and unclench my fingers as I absorbed every little ounce of pleasure and pain. The sheets were wet beneath me from both sweat and the orgasms I’d had that I’d lost count of long ago. I was a mess. A wet and wearied mess. The toy came from me and Harry slid his long and warm fingers inside of me.
“I thought you couldn’t come again,” he smirked as he used his fingers to stroke over my g-spot. “But you’re milking my fingers like you’re going to.”

It was as if he had some magical command of my body because despite my protest, I did. He began using the toy again, adamant that I still wasn’t done and that I would come again. In many ways, this was worse than the time he wouldn’t let me come. With that, my focus was my orgasm. It was my reward at the end of everything and something that I knew would happen eventually. But with this, my end was reached before we’d even really begun. Being told to come when you feel like you physically can’t is frustrating, but knowing that there’s somebody else that knows your body better than you do is one of the most incredible feelings in the world.

I was in purgatory; a limbo between pleasure and pain. I could feel my body preparing to come again but at the same time I was so hot and sensitive and sore and my wrists and knees burned from the friction of the rope. Over and over in my head I was telling myself not to say the word. I would not give in. I wanted to please him and show him that I could take everything he had to offer me. I wanted to prove to myself that I could. This wasn’t just a game; this was us doing what we thrived on.

“Come on, Emilia. Give yourself to me.”
“I can’t, I can’t!” I protested hopelessly.
He yanked on the chain dangling between my breasts and I cried out as the harsh bite of the clamp rang through my body.
“You can and you will.”
Words abandoned me and I could do nothing but moan and whimper. I looked up into wild eyes, blazing with a dark primal lust. My chest heaved as I struggled to draw breath and my head was light and dizzy, as if I’d inhaled too many toxic fumes. It was then that I felt like I was about to pass out. The feeling was unmistakable and as black and white spots clouded my vision, Harry’s voice began to slip away from me. I let my eyes fall shut and focused on my breathing as I tried to bring myself back, adamant that I could. I was just conscious enough to hear Harry’s voice telling me to open my eyes and breathe. I was still there, just about, lingering between reality and darkness. That was the last thing I remember before my mind went black. Within a few short seconds and in spite of my stubborn determination, everything had come to an end.