Spice Box: Sixteen Steamy Stories

by Raine Miller

He smacked her ass with the leather paddle, searing her bare flesh with yet another form of stimulation. “Answer me when I ask you a question,” he growled ominously.

  Her mind was spinning, her pulse racing, her body liquefying from the pleasure/pain he was inflicting. “Yes, sir,” she replied breathlessly.

  “Now, I want you on your knees,” he ordered as he wrapped warm, strong fingers around her upper arm to help her down since she had no use of her hands, until she was kneeling on a soft cushion of some sort.

  “Perfect,” he murmured, and stroked his fingers along her jawline. “The men in the other room are getting so fucking hard watching how well you obey me, and now they get to see what a talented mouth you have.” His thumb skimmed across her bottom lip, then dipped inside, and she automatically licked the pad of his finger.

  He exhaled a hiss of breath as his hand fell away. A moment later the pleasure orb still nestled inside of her began a light, sensual hum, just enough to bring those nerve endings back to a heightened level of awareness. Her sex throbbed, and the tips of her breasts tightened even more beneath the pinch of the clamps.

  “You may not come,” he said, that deep, authoritative tone to his voice magnifying the tingles rippling over her skin as the echo of his zipper lowering rang in her ears. “This is all for me, not you. Open your mouth, baby girl. Show everyone how much you love sucking my cock.”

  She licked her lips before parting them, suddenly eager to do exactly as he asked, to take him to the brink and make him wild. It was the only power and leverage she had over him, and she planned to use it to her advantage.

  His fingers slid into her hair, then curled around the nape of her neck in a gentle but firm grip as he guided her forward. He pushed the plump crown of his erect penis into her mouth, and she dragged her tongue across the crest then sucked just on that swollen head, savoring the salty-musky taste of his pre-cum, and teasing him in the process.

  He swore beneath his breath and twisted his fingers tighter in her hair so that her scalp prickled, adding another element of pain that felt oh-so-good. “Take all of me,” he commanded, and pushed deeper into her mouth, giving her no choice but to accept every last inch of him until tip of his cock pressed against the back of her throat.

  She managed a convulsive swallow as he remained buried to the hilt, and she felt a shudder wrack through him. Having that little bit of power over her husband was intoxicating considering he had her blindfolded and restrained, but it didn’t last long. He withdrew, then pushed back in, fucking her mouth in long, slow, steady strokes that eventually grew rougher, more demanding.

  “So fucking good,” he uttered, his voice as rough as steel wool as he continued to thrust, filling her mouth again and again. “Suck me harder . . . deeper. Give me what all those men out there want. Make me come with that hot, wet mouth of yours.”

  His words excited her, and she did everything he asked, losing herself in his dominance, his aggressive demands. She was equally turned on, the vibrator inside her rasping against nerve endings, making her desperate for her own release. Her nipples ached, the heavy knot of desire throbbed incessantly between her legs, but she knew her orgasm wasn’t going to happen until Dean allowed it to.

  And right now, he was more intent on satisfying his needs and lust, and she doubled her efforts to push him over that edge. She sucked, hard and deep, and he swelled against her tongue so that she felt every ridge of his cock and the pulse of semen beneath the taut skin. Another demanding pull of her mouth and he stiffened, a harsh, primitive sound unraveling from his chest as the hand at the back of her neck tightened, holding her in place as he climaxed with such force she had no other choice but to swallow everything he had to give.

  He pulled out of her mouth, giving her the chance to breath, though the relentless hum of the orb kept her body primed and ready . . . a constant, arousing buzz that was driving her insane with the need to climax.

  With a gentle touch, he smoothed her hair away from her face. “You are so amazing,” he said, his tone warm and appraising as his fingers trailed over her flushed cheek, right along the edge of the mask covering her eyes. “I’ve never seen so many envious men before, all of them wishing they were the lucky bastard getting sucked off by you. Most of them were stroking their cocks, or getting blown by their partner while they watched you get me off — you’re that sexy and desirable.”

  There was a certain rush in knowing other men found her so enticing, but it was the pride in Dean’s voice, along with the fact that she’d pleased him, that brought her the most joy and pleasure.

  “Are you ready for me to reward you for being such a good girl?” he asked.

  She nodded, much too eagerly, and hoped his reward included an orgasm, because she couldn’t remember ever wanting or needing one so badly. “Yes, sir.”

  “Stand up,” he said, and helped her to her feet. He guided her a few steps away, then stopped. “There’s a chair right behind you. Sit down.”

  She lowered herself to a flat, hard, wooden surface then leaned back against the rungs of the chair. She sat with her knees pressed together, much too primly considering she was still naked and blindfolded, her hands still manacled to her thighs, and her tight, straining nipples still trapped in those tiny torture/pleasure devices.

  “Open your legs,” Dean said from right beside her, his breath hot in her ear. “Show all those men in the other room what a pretty, pink pussy you have. How smooth and bare it is, and how soft and wet you are. Make them lust for it.”

  A hot flush suffused Jillian’s entire body, and a moment of uncertainty gripped her. Oh, God, could she really do this, show other men the most intimate parts of her that only Dean had known before this moment? Knowing she only had seconds decide, she separated her thighs a few increments, a paltry attempt that didn’t go unnoticed by her husband.

  “Wider, Jillian,” he growled the demand, a thread of warning in his voice just as the leather paddled connected with the tender inner skin of her upper thigh.

  She jumped at the unexpected sting of pain that radiated upward, toward her sex, which mingled with the buzz of the orb tingling oh-so-subtly against her g-spot. Swallowing hard, she parted her knees another few inches, unable to bring herself to open them all the way.

  Dean sighed heavily, impatiently, and she heard him walk away, then return to where she sat. “Obviously, you’re going to need a bit of help to keep those legs spread,” he said as he encircled one ankle with a leather cuff, repeated the process around the other, then pushed her knees so far apart she was completely, indecently exposed. He connected the manacles around her ankles to something so unyielding it forced her legs to remain stretched wide apart. Closing them was impossible.

  She felt so vulnerable, and another wave of doubts crashed over her again. “Dean?” she whispered in a quivering voice, seeking her husband’s reassurance.

  “It’s a steel spreader bar,” he explained huskily, clearly aroused by the sight of her trussed up in said device. He stroked a gentle hand up her calf, calming her. “Are you okay?”

  He was giving her the opportunity to use the safe word, to stop everything if she couldn’t handle what he was asking her to do. Trust me, he’d said. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, or us, he’d promised, and she believed him. He wanted this, had thought about it and planned it out even to the point of knowing he’d need to use a spreader bar with her.

  “Are you ready to end this, Jillian?” he asked softly, still caressing her lower leg with the strum of his warm, strong fingers. “Because it’s about to get a helluva lot more intense.”

  She shivered at the thought. Everything about this was over-the-top intense, but she wanted to see it through, for Dean. And because, yeah, she was curious to know where all this was about to lead. She exhaled a deep breath and relaxed once again, readjusting her mindset so that the tension eased from her body, so that it was all about the pleasure and the forbidden thrill her husband was providing.

  “I’m
good,” she said, and meant it.

  “What you are is perfect,” he said, and she heard the smile in his voice.

  He stood up and came around the chair so that he was behind her, his hand gliding gently along her jawline. “So, which one of you men wants a taste of the ripest, sweetest peach, and the finest, richest cream?” he announced to the males in the viewing room. “And yes, my wife’s pussy tastes that decadent.”

  Jillian’s breath hitched as she realized what he was doing, what he was offering. Holy shit. Instinctively, she tried to close her legs to all those hungry eyes on her, but the steel rod prevented her from executing the action.

  “Umm, we have quite a few volunteers, not that I’m surprised,” he murmured in amusement, his mouth near her ear as he spoke, clearly enjoying the power and control he held over her, over the situation. “There’s a man, all by himself. He’s been watching you so intently. I’m going to let him come inside, allow him to go down on you, and make you come while I watch.”

  Her entire body tensed all over again, and her pulse raced with a lick of panic as Dean walked away and she heard the door open, then close . . . then more footsteps toward her.

  Oh, God, was he really going to let another man pleasure her while he watched?

  Her mind spun, and her heart raced so hard it drowned out any other sounds in the room. Inside, she was shaking, trembling, torn between fear and yes, even excitement, because it was a fantasy she’d entertained before . . . but only in her mind. Never would she have ever believed it would become a reality.

  Trust me. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, or us. She silently repeated those words, chanted them in her head like a mantra as she felt the touch of fingers glide along the inside of her thighs, stroking softly, seductively, over and over again, turning her panic into something more provocative . . . like heated desire.

  Not being able to see or touch and being completely restrained stripped away her control, and she gave herself over to this erotic scenario, let herself feel and respond to the brush of fingertips up her spread legs followed by the hot, damp touch of firm, sensual lips on her skin . . . sucking, licking, nibbling toward her pulsing sex.

  She bit her bottom lip, which did nothing to contain the moan of pure surrender that escaped her throat. His thumbs parted her slick flesh, exposing her every secret, and she shuddered hard as the rasp of a hot tongue dragged across her sensitive folds.

  Her hands tightened into fists at her sides, and her head fell back on a gasp as he slowly laved her mons again before his mouth covered her and his tongue lashed her clit — toying, stroking, inflaming her in a way that was intimately familiar, in a way that only one man knew her body well enough to know what she liked, what turned her on the most, and knew exactly what it took to make her climax . . . or keep her right on the sharp, sweet edge of release.

  The eroticism of a stranger fantasy mingled with the safety of reality allowed every last bit of reserve to fall away. Her mind embraced the illusion, as did her body. As the mouth on her sex continued to devour her, the vibrations inside her increased, the pleasure orb fluttering against her inner walls. The dark ache of desire rippled through her blood stream, her orgasm so close, so close . . . and then the mouth and fingers between her thighs were gone and the sensation ebbed.

  She panted, whimpered, and tears of frustration leaked from her eyes behind the blindfold. She wanted to curse Dean for leaving her so bereft, but knew that wouldn’t change a thing, except earn her another smack of the leather paddle.

  “Hang on, baby girl,” he said, his voice deep and rough with his own desperate need. She could hear him moving around the room, the sound of him quickly shedding his clothes filling her ears then he was back, helping her to stand for a moment so he could sit behind her on the chair. He wrapped a strong arm around her middle, guiding her back down until the tip of his cock, coated with warm, slick lubricant, slid between the crease of her ass and nestled against her back entrance.

  “Tell me you need it,” he demanded aggressively as that thick crest slipped inside her a teasing inch. “Beg me to fuck you right now and I will.”

  She whimpered, far beyond needing it. She was delirious with lust and frantic to feel him thrust deep inside her there, while the vibrator worked its magic against her g-spot. “Yes, please,” she said on a strangled moan, uncaring that strangers watched her submit completely to her husband, and plead wantonly for him to take her. “Please fuck me, now.”

  Gripping her hips, he pulled her down to his lap in one quick motion, her back to his chest. She cried out as his searing width invaded her channel and he filled her with a ruthless, demanding upward thrust that made him grunt against her shoulder. The muscles in her spread thighs clenched and quivered as Dean began pushing in and out of her, stimulating those forbidden nerve endings and making her forget that they had an audience.

  His hands came around and unclamped the vices biting into her nipples, and she groaned in relief until he pinched and tugged both tender, sensitive tips between his fingers, sending another shockwave of white-hot pleasure straight down to her sex. The sensation was both agonizing and electric, and she went a little wild, bucking her hips back against his groin . . . the only thing she could manage in her various restraints.

  “Oh, fuck, yeah,” he gruffed out, clearly enjoying her unbridled thrashing that lodged him deeper and caused a breath-taking friction. But not enough to allow her to come, and that’s what she wanted most of all.

  He slid a hand down to her pussy, strummed his fingers across her swollen clit and wrapped his other hand tight in her hair. He pulled her head back, arching her body as he flex his own hips, riding her hard and deep. Dominating her like a stallion would a mare — powerful and relentless in his pursuit to claim and possess.

  “Tell every one of those men out there that you’re mine,” he rasped into her ear, holding her climax just out of reach until she complied with his order.

  “Yes, yours,” she whimpered, her need a blazing inferno burning her up from the inside out. “Only yours.”

  He grunted his approval, turned her head toward his and sealed his mouth over hers, taking what he wanted, and all thoughts of being watched vanished from her mind. His kiss was hot and purposeful, his tongue as greedy and aggressive as the fingers plying her clit, as ruthless as the orb humming inside her sheathe, and as fierce as the cock impaling her. He touched her everywhere, filled her everywhere, and the onslaught of unrelenting pleasure had her flying into a million sizzling pieces. She cried out against his lips as the unmerciful orgasm raged on, the maelstrom of ecstasy she achieved absolutely unmatched in that moment.

  Behind her, she felt Dean’s big body shudder hard as he climaxed at the same time, his unraveling groan of satisfaction vibrating through his chest as he came, too. Utterly spent, and completely boneless, her entire body sagged back against his, the only thing she could do considering her legs and arms were still manacled.

  In a haze, she felt Dean shift behind her, then he was carrying her, and she sighed as he laid her down on what she assumed was a soft mattress, and her head settled on a plump pillow.

  “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have such a passionate wife as you,” he murmured huskily as he gently released her ankles from the leather cuffs and spreader bar then unbuckled the restraints around her still quivering thighs — taking care of her in a way that was so tender and sweet. “Thank you for allowing me tonight’s fantasy. Your submission and trust is one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever given me, and I will always treasure that. You mean everything to me, baby girl.”

  His words, so filled with love, made her own chest tighten with deep emotion. Her skin flushed when she thought about how many people, strangers, had witnessed her total surrender to her husband at his most sexual, his most powerful, his true self no longer held back by his fear that he’d hurt her, or scare her with the intensity of his primitive, dominant needs.

  “I know I pushed you way beyond your com
fort zone tonight, but you were absolutely stunning,” he said as he kissed the inside of each of the wrists he released from the leather cuffs before settling onto the bed beside her, his big hand splayed on her bare belly, so warm and comforting. “Are you ready to take a look at your surroundings?”

  She honestly wasn’t sure if she wanted to look out that window where dozens of people had gotten off on Dean fucking her. Where prying eyes had been privy to the intimacy between them. While she’d definitely enjoyed every erotic, provocative thing her husband had done to her, the blindfold had made it so easy to let go of all those inhibitions and succumb to the pleasure.

  But she had to face reality at some point, and she nodded, allowing Dean to remove the black silk mask. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, and she turned her head to look around. They were in a small, private bedroom, with an adjoining bathroom. The wooden chair she’d sat in was situated in the center of the room, and she forced her gaze to the wall facing that seat. She frowned when she realized that there wasn’t a large window for spectators, and quickly glanced back at Dean, who wore a very sexy, knowing smirk.

  “This isn’t a viewing room,” she said, stating the obvious as her mind replayed all the things they’d just done, and how the thought of being watched had elevated and heightened the thrill. Yet she couldn’t deny that a part of her was relieved to discover it had always been just the two of them, no one else.

  “No, it’s not,” he replied, the amusement in his eyes darkening to something more fierce and possessive. “You’re mine. I know that some men like to share their wives, but I don’t, and I won’t, ever. No man is going to see you naked, or go down on you, or watch me fuck you. That belongs to us.”

  Her husband wasn’t a romantic poet, but his words were the sweetest, most profound that she’d ever heard. “So, you planned all this, and wanted me to believe we were being watched?”

  “You liked it,” he stated matter-of-factly. “But it was all just a hot fantasy, a heady illusion that turned both of us on. I certainly didn’t get us an invitation to The Players Club to try something mundane or vanilla.”