Chapter 2

The Villa

For a superficially distant and cruelly sardonic man Conan Steel was a surprisingly generous and attentive lover, at least away from the Rumpo Room. There he is the hammer and she the anvil, he dominant she submissive, but here on the king-size bed in the master bedroom of his exclusive luxury beach front villa in Fleetwood they are equals. He is gently fingering Alexandra’s wet pussy and licking her clitoris as she runs her scarlet fingernails through his leonine blonde hair. She is moaning softly, her long sinuous legs hooked around his broad muscular shoulders, in a transcendent state of ecstasy. Of course, with Conan being her only lover, Alexandra has no one to compare his sexual prowess to, but she cannot imagine another man measuring up to him, not least in the cock department. She regards his dick as a beautiful thing, a piece of flesh art, circumcised and vein less, of considerable girth and length, as if carved from the finest marble by Michelangelo. Conan kisses her stomach tenderly and works his upwards until they fuse in a passionate kiss, tongues deep in each other’s mouths, his hand still on her cunt, rubbing her clitoris, transporting her to the dizziest heights of pleasure.

They are both dripping with sweat, from the sex and the electric blanket he had to put on due to the inclement summer weather. Alexandra is begging him to enter her but he refuses, till she is feverish with cock hunger. Finally he mounts her, and even then he is a cunt tease, keeping the tip of his cock just inside her pussy and working it in and out before she digs her nails deep into his back and practically pulls him into her. Her eyes (she has two of them) roll upwards and she nearly loses consciousness as the monster schlong ploughs her. Conan now moves up a gear, pounding her mound relentlessly, pausing now and again to wipe his dripping brow on her stiff nippled tits. Alexandra is now so dong delirious she has entered into a shamanistic state, speaking in an alien tongue, begging him to lob his load up her in fluent Urdu. Conan moans. Alexandra groans. The cock carnival has made her eyes cross in a manner suggestive of the silent film actor Ben Turpin. Conan’s eyes (he also has two) are now cobalt erotic laser beams burning his initials onto her undulating breasts. Her legs are now so far up his back she is stroking his ears with her toes. She has been training her pussy to have a tighter grip all week by inserting a fountain pen up her vagina and clenching it with her cunt muscles (when her mother had walked in on her doing this she did not seem convinced by Alexandra’s explanation that she was composing a shopping list; her father later told her she could keep hold of his pen). Her super tight super bad sex swamp begins to work its magic and Steel’s almost supernatural sexual self control begins to waver. Alexandra is frenzied, having orgasm after orgasm and she is in almost a catatonic state when Conan comes deep inside her, they are merged at the groin, melting into each other’s bones, becoming as one.

They lie satiated side by side, gazing intently into each others eyes (all four of them, now not rolling upwards) communicating profound inner truths without so much as a word ... they had come a long way since the first time she had entered the Rumpo Room...

The Rumpo Room Alexandra had been full of trepidation the first time Conan had taken her to the Rumpo Room. They had driven there in near silence in Conan’s top of the range Nissan Micra. It was located in an erstwhile retail unit in a largely abandoned industrial estate on the outskirts of town. Getting out of the car, on a bleak November evening, Alexandra had smiled nervously at Conan who had remained sullenly impassive. “We are now master and slave,” was all he offered. She pissed a little in her lace panties. The ones her mother had lain out for her. “This...” she had offered, pointing at the windowless concrete bunker. Conan nodded and pushed her towards it. For a moment she wondered if she was in the company of a sociopath and if she would ever make it home. They entered the bunker in complete darkness, his breath heavy on her neck. He flicked a switch. Fluorescent strip lightning flickered before casting a yellow glare. Alexandra gasped when the Rumpo Room was finally revealed to her. Conan switched on the electric heating to combat the midwinter chill. The walls were covered with red padded leather. Attached to the far wall was a metal St Andrew’s cross, with a spanking bench positioned directly in front of the saltire. Above the X frame was a canvas print of a Triskelion.

The Rumpo Room was full of objects and contraptions that fascinated, scared and repelled Alexandra; whips and chains, paddles, a titty twister machine, a strappado, handcuffs and a variety and dildos. They stood in silence until the room was suitably heated and then changed into Victorian period costumes, which took the best part of an hour. Alexandra texted her mother to say she’d only be back late which drew a stern rebuke from Conan and the promise of ‘An extra swish of the paddle.” Conan looked dapper in a white linen shirt, calf length frockcoat and stovepipe hat, but the fact he was trouser less leant his appearance an incongruous aspect, his mighty erection poking out from the folds of the coat. Alexandra was sweet and demure in a poke bonnet and tea gown. “Be seated child,” said Conan solemnly, gesturing at a hard wooden bench in the centre of the Rumpo Room. Obediently Alexandra sat down. “I shall now read to you from the bible of the damned,” bellowed Conan, taking a copy of De Sade’s The 120 Days of Sodom from one of his frockcoat pockets. He reads to her in a monotone voice for about half an hour and Alexandra soon zones out, stuff about newborn babies being killed in front of their mothers and some old bastard wanking off while young girls were tortured washing over her head. She became increasingly uncomfortable on the bench and her legs had become numb. Alexandra felt a surge of relief when Conan barked ‘Assume the position.” She bent over the bench and pointed her buttocks upwards. “You must now learn what happens to bad girls,” said Conan, patting his left palm with a paddle. He raises it high and then slaps her bottom hard. “Are you grateful for your first lesson in pain my child?” “Yes ... my arse was asleep.”