This is a print version of story The Closest Thing To Heaven by KDG from

The Closest Thing To Heaven

As Demi moved towards the innocuous black-painted
double doors, Patricia’s words echoed in her mind.
‘Honestly, Dem, it’s an experience that’s out of this
world. It’s the closest you can get to heaven without
actually having sex. What have you got to lose?’
Nothing, Demi supposed, hesitating outside the doors.
Nothing whatsoever. She could certainly do with some
heaven in her life, particularly of the erotic variety. But
now she was actually here, her courage was failing her.
She hadn’t taken her clothes off in front of a man for a
very long time – particularly not a strange man. Even if he
did look, as Patricia put it, like something out of the
Arabian Nights.
Her fingers closed around the leaflet in her bag. She
didn’t need to read it – she knew it off by heart.
Treat yourself to an afternoon of pure pleasure. Step
beyond the threshold of desire. Satisfaction guaranteed.
Hardly original, but Patricia had told her the experience
had exceeded her wildest expectations. And Patricia could
get pretty wild.
What if I don’t like it, she thought, pressing the
doorbell in the same heartbeat?

She could always change her mind. Stepping over the
threshold didn’t commit her to anything. Not this
threshold anyway. She shivered with delicious
anticipation. Patricia had told her about the other threshold
with a wicked gleam in her eyes.
A man, who looked nothing like an Arabian knight, let
her in, consulted his appointment book and gave her a
slightly unnerving smile, as he slipped her credit card
through his machine.
‘Go through, Miss Hargreaves. You are expected.’
She found herself in a room exactly as Patricia had
described. Opulent – the walls were d****d with rich gold
silk and the room was scented with lilies, which were on a
small table close to the door. She’d always associated
lilies with funerals, but then, weren’t orgasms sometimes
described as ‘the small death’?
A red carpet, which felt thick beneath her feet, led
towards another door, which had a small plaque in its
centre. Demi bent to read it.
Once you pass through this door, there is no turning
back. Only those in search of the ultimate sensual
experience should step over the threshold.
Feeling slightly reassured, because sensual didn’t sound
as scary as sexual, Demi opened the door and stepped
inside. This room was smaller and taken up mainly by a
changing cubicle, similar to the ones in expensive
boutiques. The door clicked shut behind her and a man’s
voice filled the room.
‘Welcome, Miss Hargreaves. You will find a robe and
undergarments in the drawer to your right. Please put them
on and, when you are ready – step through the connecting
doors ahead of you.’

The man’s voice was rich and deep with a hint of the
exotic. Demi wondered if he was the Arabian knight.
With trembling fingers she opened the drawer.
Underwear was such a functional term and didn’t do
justice to the exquisite black lace bra and thong. They
were both in her size, which she’d been asked for when
she’d made her appointment, and were obviously brand
new – their labels still attached.
A pair of scissors, presumably for removing the labels,
lay alongside. Feeling suddenly shy, and knowing it was
far too late for shyness, Demi took off her clothes and
hung them on hangers, also provided. A full-length mirror
in the cubicle reflected her image back at her.
She’d prepared for her visit by going to the gym three
times a week for the last few months, and she’d had an allover-
tanning session yesterday. She was pleased she’d
made the effort. The lace bra moulded over her breasts and
left little to the imagination. The thong left even less. Her
black hair tumbling over her shoulders made her look
wanton. Oh my God, was she really going to parade in
front of a strange man dressed like this?
Remembering the robe, which was black silk, she
slipped it on, tied the belt tightly around her slender waist
and then, taking a final deep breath, stepped through the
connecting doors.
She gasped.
The previous rooms had been opulent, but this one put
them in the shade. It was seductively lit and smelt of roses,
which were in crystal vases on low glass tables. Cream
carpet, so soft it felt like walking on velvet, covered the
floor. Heavy scarlet silk throws adorned the walls and, as
she gazed, she saw other colours within – threads of gold
running through the fabric, which formed into patterns. It
took a few moments to see they weren’t patterns, but

pictures – couples making love, in every conceivable
position, their faces serene and bodies beautiful.
At first sight the room appeared empty, but as she stood
drinking in the beauty of her surroundings, a man detached
himself from the shadows at the far side of the room.
He wore scarlet robes that contrasted perfectly with his
shaven head and caramel skin. He did look Arabian, Demi
decided with a shiver of excitement. He was very tall, and
she could feel the power exuding from him, even from
here. He was the most amazing-looking man she’d ever
seen. And as these thoughts passed through her mind, he
moved towards her, each slow measured step bringing him
closer, until there were only inches between them and she
could hardly breathe.
He smiled, revealing white teeth and she was reminded
of a panther moving in for the kill. His black eyes were
unfathomable, but he must be aware of the effect he was
having on her. She half expected him to rip off her flimsy
robe, but all he did was to hold out his hand.
‘Are you ready, Miss Hargreaves, for the ultimate
sensual experience?’
She nodded, unable to speak. His fingers closed around
Good God, she was practically having an orgasm on the
What would she do when he did – whatever he was
going to do?
Suddenly panicking, because Patricia hadn’t told her
what he actually did – just that she’d love it – she tried to
pull her fingers from his.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ he turned, his eyes questioning. ‘You
have to trust me, Demi.’ He lingered over her name, as if
it were something special. ‘Do you trust me?’
‘I don’t know you.’ Her voice trembled.

‘Then it must be an act of faith – this trust of yours. It
will be worth it, I promise you.’
They’d been walking while he spoke and were now
standing at the far corner of the room. He turned her
around so she had her back to the wall. Then, to her
surprise he knelt in front of her, and undid the knot of her
robe with his teeth. Rising leisurely, he slipped it from her
shoulders so it lay in a silken pool at her feet.
His eyes were mesmerizing and never left her face. She
couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. When he lifted
her left arm above her head and she felt the touch of silk at
her wrist, she didn’t protest. He did the same to her right
arm and she realized he’d tied her wrists to silken thongs
in the wall. Silken, but very strong, she discovered when
she tested them and found them to be immovable.
‘Silk is what the spider weaves to make its webs, it is
the strongest material on earth,’ he murmured in a voice
that was strangely elemental. Like the rumbling of a
volcano, just before it pours molten lava across the land.
Demi didn’t argue with him. She was trapped and she
didn’t care. There was a strange sort of freedom in being
this helpless in front of a beautiful man. In knowing he
could do anything to her – anything he liked – and there
was nothing she could do to stop him.
This thought barely had time to register when she
realized he was kneeling again. ‘I will need you to spread
apart your legs,’ he murmured, and she felt his touch on
the inside of her calf, moving downwards, feather light to
her ankle.
Wordless, she let him move her ankles into position,
until she was tied, legs and arms wide apart, held fast by
the silken thongs. At least she wasn’t naked, she thought,
her heart pumping lust and adrenaline around her body.
Although she wouldn’t have much cared if she was –

suddenly, she ached for him to see her – all of her. She
could feel her nipples straining against the black lace and a
delicious ache had started between her legs.
He was standing again. For the first time he let his gaze
travel down across her body. He looked at her erect
nipples, a half smile on his face.
‘I think perhaps – you are still a little overdressed,’ he
murmured, reaching forward.
He was going to have trouble there, she thought, raising
her eyebrows. How could he remove her bra when her
hands were tied? But she hadn’t noticed it was the kind
with clip-on straps, which took a matter of seconds to
release and remove from her slender shoulders. As if
aware of her thoughts, and with another smile, he brushed
the palms of his hands over her nipples, then reached
behind her and unfastened the final clip so her breasts
were exposed to his gaze.
Demi thought she might die with pleasure, as he traced
the outline of her nipples with his thumbs, saying with a
faint trace of huskiness, ‘I see you are beginning to trust
me, after all.’
Once more, he stood back, this time his gaze lowering
to the tiny thong that covered what was left of her
‘But you are still a little overdressed. Do you not
Demi closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe she was
letting him do this. Wanted him to do this. Not that she
had a choice. He was right about the strength of her bonds.
His hands were on her hips now, slipping beneath the
knotted ribbons – oh my God, knotted ribbons. That’s all
that protected her from his gaze. And they didn’t stay
knotted for long. He untied them and slowly, tenderly –
removed the last trace of her clothing. A small moan

escaped her lips as his fingers traced the outline of what
he’d uncovered, caressing her pubic bone, moving
downwards to her labia, and then spreading her still
further so she was fully exposed to his gaze.
Even though she ground her hips away from him, in a
strange mixture of terror and lust, she couldn’t get away
from his touch. And he wasn’t in any hurry. Slip sliding
his fingers over her and into her – with infinite gentleness,
so she ached for it never to stop.
But just as she was on the point of exploding, he did
‘We have the afternoon ahead of us,’ he murmured,
standing once more and cupping her face with his hands,
so she caught her own scent on his fingers. ‘I think we
have much to do – much to explore.’
And then he left her – spread-eagled, naked and
helpless, while he strode away across the room.
The waiting was agonizing. What was he going to do?
He could do anything to her. It occurred to her that there
might be hidden cameras, her body fully on display for
dirty old men all over London to lust over. The thought
appalled her, but there was nothing she could do.
He returned, a black velvet bag in his hand, which he
set down beside her and unzipped. He removed what
looked like a cat-o’-nine-tails – its cords made of silken
‘No,’ she said, frightened for the first time since she’d
stepped into the room. ‘I’m not into…’
He interrupted her with a swift shake of his head. ‘You
do not know what you are into – until you try it.’ And with
that he drew the whip lightly across her stomach. She
tensed, expecting it to hurt, but it didn’t. It was like being
flailed with silk – too soft to sting, but hard enough to

He acknowledged her surprise with a slight nod, and
then the flailing began in earnest. He lashed each breast in
turn, using the cat hard enough to caress and arouse, but
not to hurt, until her nipples were so hard, she thought
they might explode.
Then he shifted his attention to her ankles, moving the
whip slowly up her legs, across her calves, and up still
higher to her inner thighs, until she was squirming in
ecstasy. He spent a long time between her legs – he was
very gentle here – checking her face from time to time, to
make sure he wasn’t hurting her. But he must have known
he wasn’t hurting. Once more, just at the point of orgasm,
he stopped what he was doing and she moaned in
‘It is bringing you lots of pleasure – is it not?’
Demi knew she didn’t need to answer. That much must
have been obvious to him. He had a very good view of
exactly how much pleasure he was bringing her, from
where he knelt.
He unzipped the bag, once more, she suspected to draw
forth more implements of sweet torture, but all he did was
put away the cat-o’-nine-tails, before turning back to her.
‘It is time,’ he said softly, ‘for the finale.’
With these words he reached to untie her bonds and
when she was free, he massaged the muscles in her arm
and legs, as though he knew about the ache that had grown
in them from being tied apart so long.
‘You come,’ he said, with a wicked grin, so she knew it
was a demand she accompany him, not an enquiry as to
her level of satisfaction. And even though he was still clad
in his robe, Demi didn’t bother to get dressed – it would
have seemed senseless now.
They crossed the room, but not to the door through
which they’d entered. He pressed a button on the wall and

the whole panel slid silently backwards to reveal a room
done out entirely in white marble. Steps led down to a
shallow pool, from which steam rose gently.
Demi glanced at him enquiringly and he smiled again,
untied his robe and let it fall with a soft swish to the floor.
He was naked below it – and he was magnificent, just
as beautiful as she’d imagined. His chest and arms were
lightly muscled and his caramel-coloured skin gleamed
with a slight sheen of sweat. She wondered if it was
brought on by exertion or lust. Was he happy in his work?
As her gaze dropped lower, she saw he was indeed happy
in his work. His erection sprung proudly from dense black
hair. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. She longed to kneel
and take it in her mouth. To lay, legs apart for him once
more, to feel it filling her, stretching her – and it would
certainly do that – despite her overexcited state. Of that
there was no doubt.
He watched her face, his delight in her pleasure evident,
and she sighed, a little wistfully. The one thing that both
the brochure and Patricia had said was that there was
categorically no penetration. Full sex was off the agenda.
It was a pleasure house, not a brothel. What a pity.
He reached for her hand and together they stepped into
the pool, the warmth of the water caressing their skin. It
had been treated with something and was scented. She
breathed in the steamy air, recognizing jasmine and
something else in the mix she couldn’t identify.
‘Sit down. Enjoy,’ he commanded.
There were two marble seats beneath the water,
moulded so that they divided her buttocks and her thighs.
Once more she was f***ed to sit with her legs apart.
He sat beside her, pressed a button at his side. The pool
was a giant Jacuzzi. Beneath the water, a hundred tiny jets

fizzed into action. She gasped, understanding the reason
for the legs-apart seating, as a jet of water hit her clitoris.
So he wasn’t about to personally finish the job he’d so
expertly started – she was half-disappointed. But she could
no more have moved away than if she had been still tied.
As the water inched her nearer and nearer to orgasm she
arched her back, giving herself up to it, lost in sensation,
loving it, never wanting it to end.
Her eyes were closed so at first she barely noticed the
soft touch on her face. But when she opened them she saw
he had shifted position, his expressive eyes watching her,
his finger infinitely gentle as he traced the outline of her
It was a touch of such tenderness, and his expression
was so full of longing that in that brief moment of ecstasy
she would have given up the whole afternoon of pleasure,
everything he’d made her feel – just for one kiss.
But it seemed kissing too – was out of bounds. He held
her as she came, sliding his fingers inside her at the
moment of orgasm, feeling her clenching and unclenching,
riding the waves with her.
If she’d been cynical she’d have thought it was quality
control – a check to make sure she had indeed experienced
the ultimate in sexual satisfaction. But there was
something in his eyes that told her it wasn’t quality
control. He was revelling in her pleasure, glorying in her
‘So what did you think? What was it like? Did it exceed
your wildest expectations?’ Patricia’s excited voice trilled
in her ear. The phone had been ringing when she’d
unlocked her front door.
‘It was amazing,’ Demi breathed. ‘He was amazing.
Thank you so much for recommending him.’

‘No probs. Did he do the tying up thing? – my God, I
thought I would die when he took off my knickers with his
‘He did indeed.’
‘And how about the whipping thing with that silk
‘That too.’
‘And the Jacuzzi? Those water jets are something else,
aren’t they?’
‘Mmm,’ Demi purred at the memory. She would never
forget the water jets, or what had happened afterwards.
Although she had no intention of telling Patricia about that
bit, or anyone else come to that. It would be their secret –
hers and his.
But she knew now he didn’t have to rely on elaborate
games to arouse or satisfy. He was the perfect lover. A
lover with the body of a God and the mind of the Devil –
that is – if you considered sex to be a sin, which she
didn’t: most certainly not. He had the kiss of an angel, too.
She’d been right about that.
Placing her hand over the mouthpiece, she turned
towards him.
‘More coffee? More of anything?’ He winked. He was
dressed in jeans and tee-shirt, but looking far from
ordinary, he was making coffee in her kitchen.
Demi said one last heartfelt thank-you to Patricia and
put the phone down.
It was time for round two. But this time she would be in
charge. An evening of pure pleasure with an Arabian
knight in the dungeon of her bedroom, where the silken
bonds, swiftly transferred to the bedposts, awaited them.
Tonight the cat-o’-nine-tails would have a new master –
or rather a new mistress. Demi, the dominatrix – she
licked her lips – or if she used the full version of her name
– Demetria the dominatrix.
It had a certain ring to it…

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