The woman reached up into the air. She touched my belly just above the base of my cock. And I fell out of the sky. The world spun around. It contracted. And darkened.

I was in my room, lying on my back. In my bed. And my cock was erect, as I’d dreamt I was. There was a hand stroking my cock, and then a tongue touched the underside, just below the head. My cock jumped, like a rising trout, and I found myself taking my weight on my heels and the back of my head. I shook my head, still waking up. I said, “whaaaah?”

A mouth took my cock, my cock disappearing past a barrier of teeth, though she was trying to keep them out of the way, into a warm and wet abyss. Her lips pressed on the shaft of my cock about halfway down, so I made a comfortable mouthful, not too challenging. She began to suck, moving slowly up and down that shaft.

I said, “ahhh, good.” I sounded hoarse, even to myself. “Good gi-“

Sa’afia said, “shhhhhhhhh.” She put her hand on my chest and pushed me gently back. I relaxed, and apart from pushing slowly back and forth in her mouth, I let myself be served.   

I woke up in the dark. It was two or three in the morning. I’d been having a dream, with preternaturally bright autumn leaves, yellow and black and pale and hectic red, gliding in unnaturally orderly formation over a glowing green lawn. It meant nothing. It was beautiful and faintly sinister. I was floating over them, so I was happy. The leaves were weird, but I like dreams with flying. 

There’d been a woman walking through the grass. Naked,  arms folded under her breasts. She was dark, although she wasn’t Sa’afia. Or Ana. her body was more mature than theirs; she was probably over thirty. At that time in my life I’d never had sex with a woman of that age. I’d had the odd flirtation, but uncertainty and cowardice had stopped me from making the move. Ah well.

She’d lain down on her front, idly drumming the fronts of her feet on the ground. Her bottom bobbed with the rhythm. I lost interest in the leaves while I watched her buttocks and thighs. So this was a flying and sex dream. Those are the best of all. 

She’d become aware of me floating above her, looking down, and she slowly turned over onto her back. She sat up, saw me, tilted her head, and smiled. She had her right knee up, her left leg relaxed on the ground. Then she lay back, knees apart. She had made her invitation, and she had no doubt it would be taken.

Dreams sometimes do treacherous things. I was still gliding. I couldn’t control my flight. I couldn’t get down. 

We kissed, and Sa’afia reached down to hold and stroke my cock. I was semi-hard, and in her hand I got harder. But I was falling asleep. 

Eventually I took her hand off my cock, and kissed her fingers. “Good night, little love.”

Sa’afia looked at me, and kissed my nose, then my throat. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Oh, you will. Sleep tight.” 

Although I thought I was more tired than Sa’afia, she fell asleep first. I lay beside her, reaching over to cup a breast in one hand, and listening to her breathing. 

Perhaps twenty minutes later, well after midnight, I heard a sound from the living room. Ana had dropped something, or The Saragoza Manuscript had fallen off the covers. It occurred to me that perhaps the sound-proofing was not as good as I’d thought it was, but then I’d only caught that at the very edge of my hearing.

A few minutes later I heard a cry, half suppressed. That was Ana: was she okay? Then a grunt. Oh. That was Ana, coming. 

I smiled, more or less benevolently, and made myself not think about quite a long list of things concerning Ana, particularly avoiding her body (the breasts she flashed at me) and her sexual responses. But I was glad she’d come: she’d had a rough day. I kissed Sa’afia’s neck, and she sighed, comfortably, but did not wake. 

I stood while Sa’afia knelt, as we’d said we would. I was still wearing my suit, while Sa’afia was naked, holding onto my thighs for affection and support, with her mouth on my cock, earnestly sucking. Her face rubbed on the woollen hems and zipper of my fly.

My hand rested on the back of her head, still holding her hair. That controlled her movements, though I mostly let her choose how deeply she took my cock, moment by moment, and set her own rhythm. But sometimes I pushed her head onto me, and held her until she showed discomfort, for the pleasure of making her feel compelled. 

I don’t think anyone can be truly unhappy in my situation. But I was finding it quite lonely up there. 

Sa’afia was fully engaged with my body. With my cock in her mouth, my hand on her head,  my thighs to hold and lean on, and her ass and upper thighs glowing warm with the stripes I’d given her with my belt, she was surrounded in me. I was all around her.

But Sa’afia wasn’t all around me, only my cock. She was doing her best, and she had every right to expect to be appreciated, but I wasn’t going to come.

I pulled on her hair. Sa’afia made a questioning noise. “Up. Get up, girl.” 

Sa’afia stood, and looked, questioning, in my eyes. She was wondering if she’d disappointed me. If she thought she had, she’d want to be punished. That’d be fine, and fun, usually, but there was still the problem of not wanting Ana to hear. I whispered, “I don’t want to come  too quickly, girl.” Sa’afia smiled, but only for a second. I pushed her onto her back, on the bed. She squawked, a little too audibly.

“Ah.” Part of me wanted to raise the belt, order Sa’afia to hold position, and carry on with her strapping. Sa’afia had been keen to show her marks to Ana, and Ana knew exactly how her cousin got them. Sa’afia had apparently told her in considerable detail. So she could hardly claim to be bashful now. I wanted to say something along those lines and continue Sa’afia’s leathering. It was my job to be immoveable.

Then I said, “Ah,” again. Maybe I didn’t want Ana to hear Sa’afia getting strapped, or fucked. Life with Ana was difficult enough. Worse, I didn’t know the effect it would have on the balance of power between Sa’afia and Ana. That was the sort of thing I wanted to leave alone. 

And if I continued, there was no way round it: I’d enjoy Sa’afia’s embarrassment. That meant I’d be using Ana as a participant, if indirectly, in the sex between Sa’afia and me. That seemed bad, a bad thing to do.

I pushed her head down so she looked down at her body. “You should have thought of that before. Keep still.” But I said it quietly. I gave her three more strokes, but across the backs of her thighs. They were meant to hurt, and I was sure they did, but the belt didn’t make the pistol shot sound it made when it landed on her ass.

The sound couldn’t be audible out of the room, unless Ana had her ear to the door. And Sa’afia should be able to feel that she’d been been mercilessly treated.

Sa’afia was puffing silently, with the effort of not moaning or crying out. Those stripes on her thighs had hurt her.

I put the belt to Sa’afia’s mouth. She kissed it, and glanced at me. She was happy. I said, “Now.”

Sa’afia dropped to her knees. 

Sa’afia said, “Nnnnnn,” again. Her eyes had closed and her bottom lip was between her teeth. I still had her left arm gripped above the elbow. I swung the belt down, medium hard, letting it slap diagonally down her arse. The tip slapped at her right hip, making her gasp.

It took nearly a second for her to decide that it hurt more than she’d expected.Her ass shook, like a horse trying to throw off its rider. I watched in admiration until she came back into position, thighs a little apart, ass arched up.

I spoke to her, then, in the voice that a man uses to calm a skittish horse. “Good girl. That’s good. Now hold still, darling. I’m going to hurt you.” Nobody talks to an independent woman like that, and that was one more way of emphasising that she wasn’t free. I turned the buckle over twice to shorten the length of belt, and swung it again. It smacked across her arse, but this time the tip landed flat across her right buttock. Sa’afia made a sound that was part pain, with a trace of luxury in it. This stroke had  had hurt, but in a good way. She kept still.

I applied more strokes, slowly making them harder, until I was getting raised marks with each one.

 But there was something not quite right. Sa’afia should by then be floating, riding a sea of endorphins and lust, but she looked uncomfortable. It may seem odd to worry about the comfort of a woman being thrashed with a length of thick leather. But she should have been calm and happy with the pain I was giving her, and just then she wasn’t. I stopped. Sa’afia swallowed. “Jaime. Jaime?”

I took a step forward so my body touched hers, and held her hip and thigh against my legs. “You okay, love? What’s the matter?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry, sir. I can’t. It’s loud. Your belt. It’s so loud. I don’t want Ana to hear.”

Sa’afia smiled. “Should I say, ‘yes, sir’?”

I smacked her again. “You should do as you’re told. And shut up.”

Sa’afia looked down and touched the bed, ready to lower herself to the floor, but I grabbed a handful of her hair. “No. Too late for that.” 

Ahsoka Tano as slavegirl. Like DC’s Harley Quinn, Ahsoka Tano escaped from corporate ownership, and now leads a complex, internet-based sex life..

I remembered her reaction, last night, when I’d pushed her mouth onto my cock after I’d placed a fresh set of stripes across her lower buttocks. She’d closed her eyes and focussed on something inside herself while she sucked me. It seemed that pleasuring me while her ass burned was exciting. She could think of herself as a slave princess, or something else she wanted to be.

I pulled Sa’afia’s head up and back, so she looked into my eyes, and held her gaze while I took off my belt. It slithered, rustling, the sound rising abruptly as the belt pulled free. Her mouth fell open. I whispered, “You recognise me taking my belt off. You know it just from the sound.”

Sa’afia said “Nnnnn.” She would have nodded if I’d let her move. She was breathing hard. I took the belt in my right hand, by the buckle. I didn’t double it. I held Sa’afia’s arm while I pushed her forward, so she couldn’t quite fall forward over the bed. She bent forward and held her hands up and out, with her elbows close to her sides.

There was something immensely feminine, though not graceful, about the pose. My heart thumped suddenly, as though it had missed a step. For reasons I’ve explained before, I said, “You’re lovely.”

Sa’afia put her hands on her head when I opened the door. She did it quickly, startled and vaguely guilty, though I hadn’t told her to have her hands on her head. I stopped and looked at her. Sa’afia was silent. She didn’t turn her head, but goosebumps appeared on her shoulders and upper arms. There were indeed bruises on her ass, from last night’s sex.

With the bed-making and the dodging of Ana, I must have kept her waiting  for nearly half an hour. Sa’afia had been patient. I wanted to apologise and explain the delay. But the best way to show my desire for her was to demonstrate it, not speak it. And the apology would only make me feel better, not her.

It would define her time waiting as wasted time, which would be boring and insulting. The best thing I could do was act as if she’d been set a trial, a small test, and she’d passed.

Or maybe it’d be more fun if she’d almost passed. There was the way she’d started when I opened the door. I walked to her and took a handful of her hair. “I saw that,” I said. “I told you to wait ready for me.” On the word “ready” I’d smacked her bottom, twice. Then, still holding my handful of her hair, I kissed her.

She said, “I could have got dressed and gone home.”

“No, you couldn’t.” More kisses. “But I’m very happy to see you.”

Sa’afia moved closer. “I’m happy to see you. But you’re overdressed.”

“I’m dressed. You’re naked. I mark you. You get marked. I stand. You kneel.”

“Mmm-hmm. Yes, I like that.”

“No, I mean you kneel. Get down on your knees. Now.”

“Yeah, they can’t control how we feel. But we can control what we do about it.” 

“But you want to fuck me, though, don’t you?” 

I sighed. “What do you think? Or are you just fishing for compliments?” 

“I think you want me. I want you. You can have me whenever you like, you know.”

“Well, that’s the thing. I can’t, not really. And right now, I need to be with Sa’afia. So you sleep, pretty Ana.”

At the door Ana called again. “Jaime?”

I turned back. Ana had pulled the sheet down. Her breasts were a little smaller than Sa’afia’s, paler brown than the rest of her skin. But they were very nicely defined. I thought of how they’d feel, in my mouth. Then, after half a second, she pulled the blankets back up and disappeared.

She lay very still and silent under the covers, legs together, arms at her sides. She’d be fighting back giggles. 

I thought of the explosion of Ana limbs and blankets there’d be, if I poked her in the tummy. I thought about the things, including the epic spanking and the long-delayed, hard but oddly loving fuck, that would follow from that. And I thought of things to say. I shook my head. No, there was nothing to be done, and nothing to say. 

I stepped into the hall, towards Sa’afia, and closed the door behind me.    

Ana patted an area of the couch. She wasn’t being flirtatious any more, or not exactly, but she was still only half-heartedly wearing my shirt, and she was distracting. I sat down, and said, “What is it, Ana?”

“I know I tease you, a lot. All the time. And you, you just do good things for me. Like today. You don’t deserve all my teasing. Do you hate me for it?” 

“God no. I couldn’t hate you for anything. Anyway, if you stopped teasing me I’d probably miss it.” 

Ana giggled and sat up a bit. The shirt opened a little, showing the undercurve of her left breast. “Would you really?” 

“All right. I wouldn’t miss it a bit.” I lied, and she knew it.

“So why won’t you fuck me?” 

“Awh.” I looked annoyed, and looked away. 

Ana said quickly, before I got up, “No, I’m not teasing. It’s a serious question. I want to know the answer.”

“Oh. Ok. First, they’d fire me. It’s totally against the rules. Second, there’s a code of ethics, and not fucking your clients is definitely on it. I signed it. It’s not like an oath, but in a way it is. I’m not going to break it.” 

“But why do they have that rule? You already care about me, more than just my being a client. You’d still care about me if you fucked me. You’d care even more.” 

“Um. I’d find it hard to put you in prison if you stopped coming to appointments. And that’s part of my job, doing things like that. And I have to be objective about what’s best for you. I can’t do that if I’m also thinking about my cock and what I want from you.” 

“But isn’t that true anyway? You already want me. And you already break the rules for me. I know it. So what difference does it make?”