“What happened on the night of July 12th Mina?” Little Missy asked me for the umpteenth time. Her name was quite fitting considering that she gave it to herself before the cognitive part of her brain was fully formed.
Ten years ago I learned that my new best friend was brought into the world when a rebellious fifteen year old girl from old Alamond Orgam decided that life on the streets was better than life at her foster home. It had only taken three hours into the night for the unruly teen to realize that freedom came with responsibility. She would later tell the girl she conceived that fateful night that she was the worst mistake of her life, her exact words – I swallowed from the wrong hole. And so she gave the girl an old century name that had no business being anywhere near a girl born in her time – Béatrice.
Missy was exactly the same age as her mother when she decided she would rather face the wolves outside than deal with the ones her mother brought home with her from her stripping job. On that day, little Beatrice became Little Missy. That’s as far as her fate would mirror her mother’s because where the latter had been consumed by the wolves the moment she truck out, the former became leader of the pack.
At five foot one, what else could she have called herself, and what better disguise for a dynamite waiting to explode? To most people, Missy was a ripe-age teenage girl begging for someone to turn her into a woman, what with that involuntary innocent twinkle in her eye and a generous bosom that appeared to have stolen the rest of the inches originally intended for her height. I was yet to meet another female with such a glorious pair of tits. They were the sort of tits that sealed the fate of anyone who gazed upon them: heaven or hell. And I’ve always had a weakness for things that burn. Fortunately, I was one of the few people who knew that apart from her petite frame, there was nothing little about Missy. She couldn’t have it any other way.
“What do you think happened?” I retorted, taking off my t-shirt and throwing it on the floor as I made my way to the bathroom. The little vixen beat me to the door, her tiny frame and ample bosom filling up the space to keep me out. “You really shouldn’t have done that,” I said, feigning a menacing tone. After everything I had just been through, I couldn’t trust myself with her. She might be the wolf to every male out there but I was her kryptonite. She knew it. I knew it. I might have been her best friend, but I was the only woman…or human she had ever truly loved.
“Please, talk to me,” Missy begged, her eyes turning a shade she very well knew would give her the advantage. “Fine!” I turned back around and plummeted into her red cushy finger shaped sofa. For a girl who ran away from home at age fifteen, she sure had a state of the art home…. I would love to take credit for her taste but it was all Missy. She needed something to make up for her poor taste in lovers.
“What happened Chaminey? I thought you were in-love with him.” The only time Missy called me by my full name was when I or we were in real trouble. To say I was in trouble in that moment would have been an understatement. I was six feet down in deep shit, literally.
“He took everything from me!” I snapped to my feet and walked to the window. It was suddenly too hot, just like it was that afternoon three years ago when I met Nigel and sealed my fate. I was already down to my bra so there was little else to do but crank up the AC. I was about to reach for the remote control when Missy stepped in front of me, blocking my way yet again. “I’m burning, please,” I begged her, my eyes looking past her shoulder to the remote sitting on the tiny coffee table on the side of the ottoman chair. I was furiously fanning myself with my hand.
Missy walked over to the table and grabbed the remote control, a determined look in her eyes. She wasn’t going to do it. “I’ll crank it up, but you have to tell me what happened first.” Bitch, I knew it. “Mina, your husband is in jail, for killing you!”
“That was always part of the plan Missy and you know it. What do you want me to do?” I sat down in the sofa furthest from her, untying my lose bun and retying it tighter, this time scooping all the loose hairs into the center. I couldn’t handle the pitiful look in my best friend’s eyes. All the years I had known her, Missy had never given me that look, even in moments when it was called for. She knew me, I accepted nobody’s pity. I had learned to smile through pain and dance in storms. This was not going to be different.
“Was it part of the plan to fall in love with him?” There it was, again. As if I needed the reminder. She was right, falling in-love with Nigel Bedingfield had never been part of the plan. It had all been a game: bait him, make him fall for me, then rip his heart out from right under his nose. But then that morning happened, the one that completely changed the game.
“What are you doing?” We were back in Alamond Orgam, many many nights before the 12th of July. It was 5 in the morning and I had woken up in a very cheerful mood. For three weeks I had let Nigel lead the game. As far as he was concerned, he had me exactly where he needed me to be. But I was about to throw him a curve ball, record one for team Alamond. My sudden movements from the bed must have woken him because he steered awake just as I was tying up the knot on his other hand. His eyes moved from one tied hand to the other. “What do you think you’re doing Mina?” He asked again.
I leaned my side against the bed post and watched him writhe about in bed, his movements causing the bedsheet that had been covering him to slip from his body to the floor. He really was an exceptionally beautiful man. If not for the mission at hand, I would have counted myself lucky.
“Wipe that smirk off your face and untie me right this minute woman.” He grumbled. I could bet my small fortune that this was the first time Nigel Bedingfield was tied to a bed, worse, by a woman meant to be his submissive. Every muscle in his body was bulging in protest. It was a sight to behold. I moved closer to him and slowly ran my finger from his neck down to his shaft. I felt his muscles clench and unclench beneath my touch. My hand came to a stop right where I knew it would hurt him the most. He might not enjoy being in this position, at my mercy, but every bone in his body wanted me to touch him there, desperately. His brain on top might be fighting this, but the one below was throbbing and begging for my attention at full mast.
“What, you don’t like tasting your own medicine, sir?” I teased, pressing a button on the side of the bed and stepping back to watch it rise. The panic in Nigel’s eyes causing a tsunami between my legs. I was enjoying this way too much. “Mina, you’re making a very terrible mistake here,” he warned. “What’s happened to you? Did I turn you into a monster?” You would think, but I no. I had turned monster way before my existence crossed his radar. He just didn’t know it, yet.
I pressed the button again and brought the bed to a stop just slightly below my waist. This was perfect. From this position, I didn’t have to bend too much to execute my plan. Nigel was way too intimidating to try and best him in a crouching position, even if both his hands were secured. “Didn’t you tell me that it’s the one who’s tied who has absolute control?” It’s what he told me the day he officially made me his sub. Until him, I had never been anyone’s sub. In the real world where I came from, the one Nigel knew nothing about, I was the reigning dom. But in this world, his world, I was a woman on a mission.
“Don’t you feel very powerful right now Nigel?” I leaned forward, placing my tongue below his navel and as his muscles twitched infinitesimally. He gasped, seething through his teeth as my pussy clenched in excitement. Smiling triumphantly, I slid my tongue all the way down, wet and slowly over his member and ghosting his tip with my breath. I lingered there for a bit, my breath hot and moist over his skin, causing him to squirm in both pleasure and pain. His release was only a hairbreadth away, but so was my revenge. All it would take was a second to put him where he longed to be – in my mouth, all the way deep to the very back. It was one of the places on my body he had come to call home.
“Mina-” He drew an even breath. He was not going to make this easy for me. I snickered. If only he knew, I liked to work for and earn my pleasure.
Pearls of my laughter filled the room. “What Nigel ?” I said to a seemingly reticent Nigel. I nipped at his skin, right at the tip, barely tasting his precum, and watched him come alive, violently throbbing in protest and desire. “Are you feeling as powerful as I felt four hours ago?”
It was cruel of me to torture him like this and use his own words against him. Except, he was right. As a dom, I was very much aware of the fact that it was always the sub who had the ultimate power. A single word or phrase from them, maybe even a single movement could consume or quench a fire. How many times had Nigel done this to me? How many times had I done this to others? Countless. All Nigel had to do was say the safe word and it would all be over. But we were too much alike, two peas in a pod. We craved control as much as we craved succumbing to it. Anything less would be surrender, and we never surrendered, especially not so early in the game. Like me, surrender was not part of his repertoire, which is why I was determined to make him use his safe word, or die trying.
I was only twelve when I learnt that pain in itself could be a form of pleasure. Not physical pain, the kind you inflict and then see blood. No. I’ve never had time for that kind of useless pain. At age twelve I had fallen in love with a different kind of pain, un irrésistible torture that formed on the skin and ran all the way down deeper into the belly. I was prisoner to its unspoken power. You can make a man happy by giving him all his heart’s desires at a go, but such a man will never know the value of a gift easily earned. Show him the gift, you can even let him touch it, but withhold it from him a while longer and he would have learned the true value of a gift sweated for. And instead of giving him just a gift, you would have given him an experience, for gifts have an expiry date, but experiences are forever.
I was about to immortalize myself in the memory of a man whose life I planned on ending, soon. His was going to be an epic fall from a heavenly high. And so I braced for take off, wrapped my hand around his member, letting his heat fill every pore in my hand and sending shock waves straight to my veins. I felt him shudder at my touch, every inch of his body begging me to bring him home where pure undiluted pleasure awaited.
When I finally did, there was no going back.
Wanna know how the story of Nigel and Chaminey unravels? Look out for The Alamond Affair on Kindle. Coming Soon. Subscribe to my blog right here to get instant updates.
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