‘Life is more fun if you play games.’
– Roald Dahl, My Uncle Oswald
It’s Smut Marathon voting time again! I’m so proud to be through to round 8 – the quarter finals – and while the voting continues, here is my entry for round seven.
Just as last year, the prompt for this round was a photograph. Do look back at the stories it inspired. They’re really very good!
So please do head over to the voting page to choose your favourite – one of the 17 is mine!! And in the meantime, why not read about this game…
***
He knew it was what I wanted. We’d talked about it for so long after all. He knew it was important to me, but he was still choosing to tease me.
‘What do you think?’
Harry looked infuriatingly proud of himself. More infuriating because he looked so damn hot when he was smug and he knew it.
‘I’m supposed to pick?’
‘No. You’re supposed to guess.’
He had brought me to the bridge in the neighbouring town that was weighed down by hundreds of padlocks – large ones with engraved names or more delicate ones that barely fitted over the wire.
As we walked, Harry running his hands over the different sized padlocks, he handed me a parcel wrapped in brown paper. Inside was a collar. It was perfect – made of the softest leather, it was a deep midnight blue that matched my eyes. It was everything I’d wanted.
Except there was no way to close it. The clasp had been replaced by two rings with no mechanism to hold them together.
‘I’ve hidden the lock somewhere on this bridge.’ Harry told me, ‘I want to give you a collar. I want to claim you and own you and show the whole fucking world that you’re mine, but I don’t want to just give it to you. I want to play a game first.’
He pulled a small box out of his pocket.
‘The key is in here. I can give it to you now if you wanted and tell you where the lock is. Or…’
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so torn. Seeing the beautiful collar that Harry had chosen for me made me want to wear it straightaway, to feel it circling my neck and holding me, displaying my love and his ownership, but I was intrigued.
‘Or?’
‘Or you can wait. I’ll give you clues when you’re good and we can come back next week. If you guess first time, I’ll give you the key. If not, we wait another week and you can work for more clues.’
A shiver ran through me.
‘So I’d have to earn it? It’d be like a competition?’
Damn, this guy was good. He knew me almost too well.
~
Later, as he held me over his knee, Harry reminded me of our deal.
‘Count them for me, my love. The higher you go, the better the clue.’
Starting slow and gentle but building to blows that shook me to my core, I gasped out each number in order.
‘8…9…10…’
Bathing in pain and pleasure and endorphins as he worked, I counted higher until tears flowed from my eyes and all the tension had been knocked from me. I felt free.
Scooping me into his arms, Harry comforted and praised me until I recovered.
And then he handed me a map, with labels in code.
~
The next day, under the watchful eye of my camera, I slid the glass dildo deep inside me. The shock of the cold made me tense, exaggerating the swell of pleasure I’d built by stroking my clit with my thumb. Alternating between playing with my nipples and my clit, I worked the dildo in and out, feeling its inflexible length against my G-spot until I thought I might explode.
He had asked to see me come and the knowledge that he would watch this later made it feel like he was watching now. Looking into the lens, looking straight at him, I rubbed my clit harder until I came, a gush of ecstasy that washed through my whole body.
‘Good girl.’ His text arrived a few hours later and I flushed with pleasure again.
And he sent another clue – a maths problem. I had enough to work it out now.
~
I walked confidently onto the bridge, looking back to check he was following. Counting along the fence panels, I came to the one his clues had suggested.
There, hidden among the others, was a small silver padlock. It was decorated with engravings of vines and leaves, and reminded me of secret gardens or lost towers in fairy stories. It was beautiful. I reached for it, running my thumb over the raised patterns.
‘Good choice.’ His eyes were alight as he handed me the key to free the padlock.
Lifting the collar from its package, Harry looped it around my neck and hooked the lock into place. It closed with a satisfying click and he placed the key into his wallet.
‘Now you’re mine.’
***
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My stories from last year are collected here.
