Fancy a free erotic read? As promised, here’s the first instalment of The Garden of Earthly Delights - a tale about sexual submission (and coming to terms with it).
What’s the significance of the title? If you’re unfamiliar, The Garden of Earthly Delights is an oil-on-oak triptych (a three-part work) by the Dutch master, Hieronymus Bosch. Painted some time between 1490 and 1510, the centre panel depicts a kaleidoscope of human figures engaged in various sexual acts. American writer Peter Soyer Beagle once described it as an ‘erotic derangement that turns us all into voyeurs, a place filled with the intoxicating air of perfect liberty’.
Well, that sounds great to me. If you, too, like the idea of erotic liberty, then read on …
THE GARDEN OF EARTHLY DELIGHTS – PART ONE
‘Lift your skirt.’
The quiet command was delivered in a neutral tone but the power behind it was unmistakeable.
It was appallingly awful. Appallingly embarrassing. But the compulsion to obey was undeniable. It was hard to curl her fingers around the hem of her tweed pencil. Even harder to pull the fabric above her waist and hold it there – but she did it.
She stood, wearing a pair of purple cotton knickers and her soft white blouse, the skirt bunched around her waist. Absurdly, she wished she was wearing sexier underwear, and not the utilitarian pair she’d grabbed in her hurry to get ready for work that morning.
‘Tuck the hem into the waistband, remove your underwear, and kneel on the table.’
Grace jerked her head up, her eyes briefly meeting Nick’s piercing green ones before skittering to the two men sprawled on the leather sofas. She hesitated and, in that instant, Nick’s expression hardened. With his jet-black hair he resembled an avenging angel.
‘Did you not hear me?’
Surely he couldn’t mean that he wanted her to expose herself so … blatantly? In her head she’d been okay with Tristan and Caelan watching her and Nick – the idea of it had actually made her feel safer – but in reality?
‘Grace!’ Nick’s voice was sharp. ‘You will take off your underwear and kneel. Now.’
The command was unmistakable. Her face flushed a violent red, yet she inserted her fingers into the waistband of her underwear and drew them hurriedly down her legs. She cupped her trembling fingers over her mound to shield her pussy.
‘Remove your hands and kneel.’
It was so difficult. So difficult. Knowing the men were watching. Knowing she would be completely exposed to their gazes.
‘Grace.’ She jerked her gaze up to meet Nick’s. ‘Drop your hands and kneel on the table.’ His eyes, despite their command, held sympathy. It was an impossible combination.
Gathering her courage, Grace took a deep breath and relaxed her arms, somehow managing to move her hot palms to rest against her hips. Her legs wobbled slightly as she made herself move towards the low oak bench in the centre of the room. Despite the blouse covering her torso, she felt totally exposed. Having her top half covered made her bottom half seem a hundred times more vulnerable.
‘Good girl.’
Her pleasure at Nick’s approval was ridiculous. His voice praising her obedience. How could it mean so much?
Carefully, she climbed onto the table and let her naked bottom sink down onto her the heels of her red suede shoes.
‘Spread your legs and place your hands on your thighs. Palms up. Eyes down’
Again. The compulsion to obey was incredibly strong. How could she want to do this? It was totally degrading. Wasn’t it? To submit to a man’s demand. And yet she found herself inching her thighs apart and placing her hands exactly as Nick had ordered.
She dropped her head.
‘Very lovely, pet.’
She shuddered. And couldn’t decide whether in disgust at herself or because of the excitement that was coursing through her.
Nick moved closer and suddenly he was unbuttoning her blouse. Instinctively, she raised her hands to stop him – which was quite ridiculous really considering her sex, the most intimate part of her, was completely exposed – but was stopped short by the shock of his growl.
‘I appreciate this is difficult, Grace, but you need to remember you agreed to please me. I’m in control, not you.’ He paused for a moment, and she could feel him studying her. ‘Unless you want me to stop?’
Did she? Even as she asked herself the question, Grace became shamefully and acutely aware that she was beginning to feel damp between her legs. No, as much as her reaction embarrassed her, she didn’t. She somehow found it in herself to shake her head and, after a slight pause, Nick’s fingers resumed their work on her blouse. He stepped away, and then ‘Tristan, if you would?’
Unable to prevent herself, Grace bought her head up and her eyes locked on Tristan’s tall frame as he rose from the sofa and moved towards the cabinet on the far wall. Placing the glass he’d been drinking from on a side table, he proceeded to open one of the drawers, rummage about and pull out a number of items. Unfortunately, his broad back prevented her from being able to see exactly what he had in his hands.
‘Did I say that you could raise your eyes?’ The cool calm she heard in the question wrenched her attention firmly back to Nick.
‘N-no. I’m sorry.’ She hurriedly tilted her head downwards.
‘I’m sorry … ?’
Her tongue felt numb. She hated saying this word. It made her feel ridiculous. But she swallowed and forced it from her lips. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’
‘Very nice.’ Again, that warm feeling from having pleased him. Which unfortunately was very short-lived when she realised Tristan had moved away from the cabinet and come to stand next to her. She began to tense. What was he holding?
‘Grace.’ Tristan’s hard voice made her start but she forced herself to keep her eyes down and utter the response she knew he expected from her.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Do you remember your safe word?’
‘Red, sir.’
‘Use it, and we stop.’
‘But what are you-’
‘Grace.’ The way he said her name was enough to draw her up short. ‘You will close your eyes and place your hands behind your back. If you talk without permission from now on, you will be gagged.’
Grace swung her gaze to Nick who stood silently beside her. But Nick stood with his arms crossed, a grim expression twisting his lips. He looked … disappointed. With her?
Grace forced herself to look back at Tristan. Their eyes locked momentarily and she let herself look searchingly into his blue ones for a few precious seconds, trying to read him, before her eyelids to drift downwards. At the same time she moved both of her hands behind her back, her wrists gently touching one another.
‘Thank you.’ Tristan’s voice vibrated through her and she couldn’t help the small tingle of pleasure that shot through her at his approval and slightly softer tone. ‘The next time I ask you to do something, you’ll do it quickly and without arguing.’ A pause. ‘Do we understand one another?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good.’
Grace heard a slight movement and then warm hands gently but firmly gripping one of her arms. Something was placed over her left wrist. There was a firm tugging sensation and then the wrist was released at the small of her back. The hands moved to her other arm and the same thing happened. Something had been placed around each of her wrists. Cuffs, she realised. The hands disappeared completely and as Grace relaxed her arms she felt they’d been fastened together.
She’d barely had time to register the fact that her hands were bound when she felt something silky brushed against her closed eyelids. Startled, she jerked, instinctively trying to bring her cuffed hands forwards to push away whatever was touching her face. In tandem, her eyes flew open.
Too late she realised her mistake. She squeezed them shut as quickly as she could, hoping against hope that Tristan and Nick hadn’t noticed.
The ensuing silence was deafening.
‘Did I or did I not tell you to keep your eyes closed?’ Tristan’s voice when it came was soft and quiet.
Grace swallowed, her throat dry with nervousness and … anticipation.
‘Y-you did, sir.’
‘And you opened them.’ A statement of fact, not a question.
‘Yes.’ Another dry swallow. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’m going to give you a choice, Grace. You will allow Nick to administer a punishment of his choosing – within the bounds of what you have agreed – or,’ he paused, ‘you will accept five strokes from his hand.’
Grace vaguely registered a throat clearing on the other side of the room – Caelan? – and barely managed to stop herself from opening her eyes. Tristan wasn’t serious … was he? She’d told Nick how badly she wanted to give away all control. Confessed her desire to explore how pain and pleasure mixed together would make her feel. To discover if it would be like she imagined. But now that the reality was in front of her, as a punishment, no less, it was all infinitely more frightening. The logical side of her brain kicked in. This was crazy. She was partially naked before two, no three, men. She had let them restrain her, expose her, order her about, and now she was going to allow Nick to punish her for … not keeping her eyes closed? This was insanity, surely?
Yet even as the thoughts collided in her brain and she parted her lips, her safe word on the tip of her tongue, a tiny more tremulous one stopped her.
You want this.
She remembered how she had felt that evening three weeks ago when she’d first voiced her desires to him. He hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t judged. He’d simply watched her handle his flogger and paddle and then calmly offered to use them both on her. An electric jolt had shot through her as she imagined it, almost crippling in its intensity. And hot on its heels feelings of embarrassment and shame at her reaction.
Yet, here she was. With a man who was more than willing to give her what she wanted – or thought she wanted – and she was hesitating. Why? Was it because Nick was, relatively speaking, a stranger? The fact that she felt so helpless and out-of-control? Or that she was struggling to accept her instinctive reaction to the situation. Arousal. And desire.
You’re not normal! screamed a voice in her head. People don’t do this sort of thing. They don’t ask others to control and punish them.
‘Grace, look at me.’
You’re a freak!
‘Grace, open your eyes. Now.’ Caelan’s voice somewhere close to her. Calm, commanding and oddly comforting. She hadn’t even realised he’d moved from the sofa. She slowly opened her eyes and raised her head.
Nick’s face swam in front of her. Was she … crying? Even as the thought registered she became aware of warm hands gently stroking her neck and the top of her spine. Caelan, she realised. For a split second she felt a deep calm as her brain registered the focussed concern on Nick’s face and in the other man’s touch and voice.
It was short-lived, however. Seconds later shame washed through her. What must they think of her? She was both abnormal and a crier. Grace tried to bring her hands forward to wipe the tears from her eyes – tears that seemed to be flowing faster by the second despite her best efforts to stop them – completely forgetting that her wrists were secured behind her back. The restriction was a shock. Adrenalin shot through her. She panicked and began to struggle, lurching sideway, nearly toppling from the oak table.
Before she could fall, strong, gentle hands gripped her shoulders. Then a warm chest was flush with her back and set of strong, warm arms were wrapped around her. Another set of hands cupped her chin and a pair of thumbs gently wiped the tears from below her eyes. A sob, unbidden, wrenched itself from her chest and wracked her body. The arms enfolding her tightened fractionally.
‘Grace.’ Caelan’s voice, calm yet commanding. ‘I want you to open your eyes and focus on Nick.’
Dimly, Grace became aware she’d shut them again. Without thinking, she responded to the firm authority of his words, the instinctive need to obey him overriding the urge to struggle.
When she did, she realised Nick’s face was inches from his, green eyes locked on hers.
‘Good girl.’
Approval and concern laced his words and his thumbs continued to sweep gently across her cheeks.
‘Nick, release her wrists. Right now.’
His hands dropped away from her face and she felt herself being turned around towards Caelan.
She felt her face flush with heat as she looked at him and knew she’d gone crimson.
‘I… I want to leave. I … ’ The panic hit again, full force. ‘Undo my hands!’
‘He’s doing it Grace. As fast as he can.’
‘Just undo me! I need them undone!’
‘Grace–’
‘Red! Red, red, red!’
She felt Caelan stiffen. The pressure on her wrists slackened as Nick managed to unclip the cuffs.
She began to tremble, great wracking shudders ransacking her body.
‘Grace. Try to calm down. I’m going as quickly–’
‘Just get them off! Now! Get them the hell off me!’
She was screaming, and she didn’t care.
It was almost like an out-of-body experience. Her right wrist was free of the cuff that had encircled it, then the left, and suddenly her arms were loose. She stumbled sideways, away from Nick and Caelan, her knee hitting the edge of the table hard enough to leave a bruise and she was running from the room. Her skirt was rucked up at her waist, her blouse hanging open but she didn’t give them more than a passing thought. Through the foyer, through the door.
She stumbled across the parking area towards her old Golf, fumbled for her keys in her handbag, which she’d somehow had the presence of mind to grab from the foyer table as she’d bolted past.
The sound of footsteps on gravel sounded behind her as she jammed her car key into the lock of the driver’s door and wrenched it open.
‘Grace!’
Caelan. Startled, she paused briefly to look over her shoulder to see him jogging towards her.
‘Grace, stop. You’re in no state to drive. Let me take you home.’
Her surprise didn’t last long. She threw herself into the car, locked the doors, and shoved the key into the ignition.
The Golf sputtered to life just as Caelan skidded to halt next to it and placed both hands on the driver’s side window.
‘Grace!’ His voice was slightly muffled by the closed door but Grace had no trouble understanding him. ‘Grace, please. Let me drive you. You’re upset and the last thing we want is for you to be hurt.’
No way was she opening that door. She shoved the car into reverse and hit the accelerator. Caelan jumped backwards to avoid having his feet run over.
‘Grace!’ He slapped his palm against the hood as the car slid backwards. ‘Grace, stop!’
She missed Nick’s Defender by inches. Foot on the brake, a messy gear change, and the Golf was barrelling down the driveway, Caelan growing smaller in her rearvision mirror.
Her heart felt like it was about to beat out of her chest. She took great, sawing breaths in an effort to calm herself but it only seemed to make things worse. The air felt like acid in her lungs.
What had she been thinking!? How was she ever going to be able to work with Nick again? She was going to have to call Jack and ask him to take her off the project. Oh, God. And then he was going to want to know why.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
The only time in her life she’d allowed herself to break her cardinal rule and get involved with a client – her boss’s best friend, no less – and it had all gone to custard … And it wasn’t like Nick wasn’t going to tell Jack what had happened. They were best friends, for Christ’s sake. But … Oh, fuck. What was he going to say? That he’d had his senior architect cuffed and on her knees in his living room and she’d decided to freak the fuck out and run out of his house half naked?
Breathe. Breathe.
Maybe … Maybe Jack didn’t know about this side of Nick’s life. They’d known each other for a long time but BDSM wasn’t the sort of thing that people talked about with their friends … was it? Hell, she’d never had the guts to confide her desires to anyone, not even Elsie, and there was no way in hell that she’d ever tell her about this debacle. But … Perhaps Jack was into it, too?
With a start, Grace realised that she was driving about 20 miles an hour over the speed limit and going in completely the wrong direction – away from her house rather than towards it. Her skirt was still swimming around her hips, her bottom was bare against the driver’s seat and her face was wet with tears.
She pulled over.
It was a good twenty minutes before she was able see well enough to turn her car around and drive home.
…….
Like it? Click here to read part two.
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