All of Me: Liam & Sophie

by Callie Harper

  “I want you to feel good, Sophie. I’m going to teach you how to feel so good.” It was tempting to bring my fingers down to her pussy, feel her wet heat, make her cum in a heartbeat. I could picture it on her face, the flush. I’d make her open her eyes when she did it so I could look into them, watch her cum for me. But not yet.

  I brought my fingers to one of her nipples and gave it a slight tweak. Nothing hard. She gasped, so sensitive. Then I dipped my mouth down and licked, sucked, kissed as she moaned. My teeth came next, sinking into the tip, my tongue laving her nipple as she tossed her head back and moaned deeply. I did the same to the other side, biting harder, working her up into a fevered pitch.

  “You want more.” I read her answer all along her body, quivering and glistening with sweat.

  “Yes, more, please Liam.”

  No shyness anymore. I liked this Sophie, her lust overcoming her reticence. I’d give her a reward. I decided to use my fingers so I could watch her reaction. The sounds she made were golden, but I loved watching her face, too, as I brought my fingers to her aching, stiff tips and pinched them hard. She screamed out, straining against the bindings, arching her back toward me even as it hurt so she could feel more, be taken even deeper into the sensation.

  “You like that,” I instructed her, twisting them more, harsh now, demanding her punishment.

  “Yes, yes, Liam,” she moaned, panting with exertion and need.

  I took her abused nipple into my mouth, swirling it with my tongue, bathing it in liquid heat. It made her moan again, deeper, as I soothed the pain, making it better for her.

  Then, with a quick movement, I reached up and untied her from the shower rod. I led her over to the sink and placed her hands, still bound, on the faucet.

  “Stand here,” I commanded. Right in front of the mirror, she could see her breasts in the reflection, see me standing fully clothed behind her.

  I reached around and grasped her breast in my hand, massaging it in the mirror. She watched me, fascinated, aroused, her fingers gripping the faucet.

  “You see how you respond to me?” I asked, pulling lightly on her nipple. She blushed, self-consciousness taking over. That wouldn’t do. Tugging her hair, I forced her head up so she’d see in the reflection.

  “Watch,” I ordered, her hair still tight in my grip. She gasped, eyes wide and watering slightly, mouth open. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she panted and I let her hair go. She kept her head where I’d showed her I wanted it.

  I moved my mouth close to her ear, taking in a slow, deep breath. “Now watch how much you like this.” I moved my hand to her pussy, so slick and warm and inviting I wanted desperately to stay right there for the next week, month, year. But I held back, sliding my thick fingers along her slit just enough to coat them. Then I took them away.

  She bit her lip, still watching the reflection as I’d told her.

  “Keep your eyes on the mirror,” I reminded her. “Watch how much you like it when I do this.”

  I brought a slick finger to her asshole. Her eyes widened as I did it, her breathing picking up even faster. Her whole body tensed, fighting what she now understood I planned on doing.

  “I’m in control here, Sophie,” I reminded her. “You’re going to watch yourself in the mirror and see how much you like this.”

  She whimpered, confused, scared and trembling with arousal. I circled her pink asshole, so tight, so forbidden. Making it slick with her arousal, I slowly pressed, just my index finger. Next time it would be my thumb, but I’d start with index, and just the tip. Slowly in, slowly out. Fascinated by the sight, all my attention fixated on that one point, in her asshole, out again, sliding, slipping, centimeter by centimeter, little by little feeling her body let me in.

  When I looked up again into the mirror, she was doing as I’d told her, watching me standing behind her and her own flushed face, eyes bright with arousal.

  “That’s good,” I praised her and her lips parted in a low moan. “You feel how good that is, taking my finger up your ass.”

  “Yes,” she panted.

  I shoved my finger up farther, rougher with her now that she’d accepted my whole finger into her asshole. “You’re tight,” I growled, making her open for me. “But your body wants me in.” She moaned her agreement.

  I brought my other finger around to her breasts, massaging, rubbing, tweaking. “I knew you’d like it,” I groaned as I fucked her with my finger, in and out of her ass faster now. She grunted under the assault, mouth open, taking and wanting all of it. “Tell me what you like,” I ordered.

  “I like it,” she admitted. But that wasn’t enough. I demanded more.

  “Tell me.” I fucked her faster, my finger slick ramming into her asshole. “What do you like?”

  “I like your finger up my ass,” she admitted, choking out the words.

  “Good, I like hearing you admit it.” Primal male satisfaction coursed through me, feeling her submission to my dominance. “Tell me again.”

  She panted and whined, but didn’t comply. I stopped, finger still, waiting until she followed my orders.

  “I like you fucking me with your finger up my ass,” she moaned.

  “Yes, that’s a good girl. Admit it all to me and you’ll get what you want.”

  “I love it,” she sobbed, panting and pressing her ass back into my hand, consumed with need. “I love you fucking my ass.”

  “Someday I will,” I promised her, thrusting my finger deep up inside of her. “Someday I’ll fuck you so hard, Sophie, you’ll come apart you’ll love it so much.”

  “Yes,” she sobbed.

  “Do you need to cum now, baby?” I asked, slowing down my finger, feeling her quiver and shake. I didn’t think she could take much more.

  “Yes, please, Liam. Please, I need to cum.”

  “Good girl. See, I didn’t even have to ask you twice.”

  “Please.”

  “Good girls get what they want.” I brought my finger around to her dripping wet pussy. She’d been pressing it against the cold porcelain rim of the sink, grinding against it for friction, but it hadn’t been enough for release. Plus, she probably already realized she needed me to tell her to cum. Only when I gave her permission would it be so good.

  I found her warm, slick clit and worked it while I finger-fucked her ass. “Watch yourself in the mirror,” I reminded her. She found the strength to push herself up. Flushed, hair flying wildly around to frame her face, lips parted, she looked into her own reflection.

  “See how hard I make you cum,” I ordered, pressing hard down on her clit. “Now.” She came apart at my command, screaming with pleasure, bucking back into my hand to take my finger all the way into her ass. She used all her strength to keep herself where I’d told her so she could watch herself cum, me standing behind her with my fingers in her pussy and ass.

  “Liam! Oh God!” she groaned.

  “Yes,” I soothed her, letting her ride it out on my fingers until she dropped to her elbows on the sink, nearing collapse. “I’ve got you,” I assured her, sliding my finger out of her ass, rubbing my palm at her lower back. Gathering her in my arms, I carried her toward the bed, laying her down on it gently. I untied her wrists, kissing her where her skin bore marks.

  “Liam,” she called to me, her body still quivering with aftershocks from her intense orgasm.

  I held her in my arms, smoothing her hair, kissing her forehead. I’d fantasized about her more than any other woman. But the look, sounds and feel of her cumming hard on my hands surpassed any fantasy I’d ever imagined.

  “I don’t know…I’m not sure I understand…” she murmured.

  “Shh,” I soothed her again, holding her against my chest. “You don’t have to understand it. I’ve got you.”

  Her eyes fluttered closed, emotionally and physically exhausted from giving herself to me. I held her, arms circled tight as I felt her body slowly relaxing, growing heavy. I’d drained her, and she was f
alling asleep.

  I held her tight until she drifted completely, sleeping soundly and heavily. And then I left.

  11

  Sophie

  I woke up at four o’clock in the afternoon, the sun streaming in through my window. Liam was gone, though he’d left a note on my pillow: call you tonight. What the hell had happened?

  Maybe aliens had landed. Or I’d just come out of a coma to discover that my name wasn’t Sophie Douglas. Maybe the world was actually flat, not round. That’s how disoriented I felt, propping myself up on my new bed and looking around the empty room in my new apartment.

  The morning had started off perfectly normal. Sort of. I had put on a dress, like Liam had said he wanted me to. But I’d excused that as simply what I might have done anyway, regardless. Probably not since the plan was to haul moving boxes around, but it had enough plausibility to let me convince myself. From all my dance years, I’d grown accustomed to pulling on a simple dress, easy on and off over tights and a leotard. It was no big deal. It wasn’t as if I was actually thinking about everything we’d talked about over the phone.

  He’d shown up and I’d felt nervous but he’d gotten right to work, helping me with boxes and talking about his trip like we were just buddies. I’d almost started to relax. Then everything had shifted, like a switch flipped or a match lit. First we were just standing at the window. Then the electricity between us grew nearly palpable. And then the embarrassing and highly implausible actually happened.

  Masturbation had always been intensely private for me. It wasn’t something I did unless I was completely alone, no threat of interruption. And it honestly wasn’t something I did that often. My days as a professional dancer were so long and intensely exhausting that most of the time I fell into bed, passing out the second my head hit the pillow. My nights were dark and dreamless, the sleep of the completely exhausted.

  But that afternoon? That had been different. If someone had asked me in the abstract, would you lift up your dress and touch yourself in front of someone? I would have said no fast. That wasn’t me. I’d be way too embarrassed. Hell, I didn’t even consider myself that sexual of a person. It had been a problem in my relationships. Not with Liam, of course, but other boyfriends had gotten impatient with me and frustrated, claiming I never wanted to have sex. And they were right, I wasn’t into it with them.

  So the fact that I’d touched myself for Liam? That was a first. And not only had I done it, I’d loved it. It had turned me on so much to masturbate in front of him. When he’d ordered me to spread my legs, that had made me throb. Telling me to slowly finger-fuck myself? Hell, thinking about it made me want to touch myself all over again.

  Well, I was living on my own and Liam was gone. I walked up over to the door, stark naked, bolting it from the inside just to be sure. Then I returned to bed. I had a lot to process. It might go better if I touched myself while I did it.

  Back between the sheets, I let myself remember. I’d been frightened when he talked about doing things to me I’d never done before. But I didn’t know how to explain the instinct I had to trust him completely. As if I didn’t even need to know what he wanted to do. Maybe I even liked it more with only him knowing.

  It made no sense. I was usually a high-anxiety planner, the more information the better. But something about letting go with him nearly drove me crazy it felt so good. Letting him have control made me feel so free.

  The feel of having my wrists bound, my arms stretched over my head? I sighed and stroked myself, my pussy still dripping wet from earlier. I throbbed, pressing my thighs together, rubbing the slick arousal all over, working my clit. Oh, he’d made me feel so good. Who knew it would feel so exhilarating to be bound like that? I’d felt so alive and sensitive, hyper aware of even just the way he looked at me. Standing so close, inspecting every inch of my highly aroused body, I swear I’d felt like I could cum from it. Maybe it was that I’d been repressed for a long time, my desire unexpressed for years. Maybe it was our history together, how well he knew me inspiring the depth of connection.

  I’d never tried anything like bondage before. If any of my previous boyfriends had suggested it, I would have refused. It would have offended me and turned me off. We didn’t have that kind of relationship.

  But with Liam? It felt electric, like sparks flew off my body as he tied me up. I felt so completely vulnerable, but cared for and safe at the same time. Feeling his gaze roam my body, knowing I was revealing everything to him, no more secrets, every inch of my naked body had broadcast my need. The more he’d observed me, the higher it stoked my flames. He had me moaning with desire before he even laid a hand on me.

  What was interesting, too, was not just how arousing it was when he touched and kissed and sucked on my breasts. That nearly made me pass out it felt so good. But there was more to it. I loved how he’d made me admit what I wanted. I didn’t understand why it felt so good to have him make me confess, force me to tell him what I really needed. Was it finding my own voice? Could that even be possible, as technically he’d tied me up and was coercing me, denying me the pleasure I sought unless I complied? But the way he got into my mind felt almost more intimate than anything else. He seemed to know my cravings, my desires even more than I did and it made me feel so deeply connected to myself and to him.

  My fingers working fast, I moaned into my pillow remembering how we’d finished. He’d finger-fucked my ass. Another first. No one had ever touched me there before, not in any way. I’d heard of other people doing it, of course, but I had to admit I’d never even felt slightly curious. Again, now I realized that had to do with the men I was with, not the act itself. Because the second Liam touched me there, it was as if every nerve, every sense was dialed completely into that one spot on my body. I’d never felt anything so intense, that mix of the forbidden, with fear and some pain, but then it began to feel so good. Yielding to him, giving him entrance, the pressure he built up in me, the feeling of him pushing, taking me and forcing me to watch my own arousal.

  Even before he’d made me cum, I’d already become more aroused than I ever had before. Then came the orgasm, so intense I’d passed out cold for several hours afterward in the middle of the day. Remembering it made me shudder and climax, crying out into my pillow, twisting in the sheets as I called out his name.

  Liam. What he did to me. But then he’d left. What did any of this mean? What was happening between us? We hadn’t even had a conversation yet about what had happened in the past. There was so much I wanted to tell him, explain to him. What I’d learned about myself, about my family and especially my mother. I’d been young and easily malleable and I was so sorry I’d hurt him.

  Getting out of bed, I decided to take a shower and go grab something to eat. I could easily spend the rest of the evening dreaming of him, waiting for him to call, over-analyzing everything. But I was also hungry, really hungry, and after years of denying that call I wanted to go get myself a pizza.

  Back in my apartment with food, I started unpacking, realizing I’d need to buy myself a couple pieces of furniture. A bureau for starters. I’d sold the few pieces I’d owned back in Manhattan, not particularly attached to any of it. I’d never spent much time in any one spot, the dance company’s rehearsal space more my home than any apartment. But now, I should probably at least buy some more hangers. For the time being, I just folded things as best I could and stacked them in the closet. At least then I knew where all my clothes were and they were out of the way.

  I’d left a lot of my dance memorabilia behind. My mom kept way more of it than I did, so many framed programs and signed professional photographs. The only one I put up, resting it against a window sill, was a candid black and white of me and my favorite dance partner, Geoffrey. He’d pushed me to do more, express more of my soul, take more risks than anyone else. He’d been heartbroken when I’d told him I was leaving dance. But, interestingly, he’d also understood.

  “It tears you up,” he’d agreed, hugging me good-by
e. Where he fed off the ambition, the competition, the constant search for the next role, I simply couldn’t do it anymore. His latest Instagram post showed him and his partner in Paris. He seemed to be doing all right.

  The other photo I took out was of me and my sister and brother. We were all just kids, me around four, Ian six and Margot eleven. We were playing on the beach, wind and sand in our hair. I didn’t remember who’d taken the picture. It certainly wasn’t my mother because she’d never want to capture a moment when we all looked like wild animals. I loved it, though, because we all looked really, truly happy. Margot was laughing hard, probably at something Ian had just said or done. He had a mischievous gleam in his eyes, clearly up to no good. And I sat in the middle, between them both, a huge smile on my face as I examined a seashell.

  Somehow, the moment captured the three of us as kids. Margot was always up for a laugh, wanting to enjoy every second of life to the utmost. Ian pushed boundaries, devilish and full of energy. And I’d just loved being around them, their laughter and even their squabbling keeping me company even as I lost myself in the artistry of nature, each swirl of that seashell mesmerizing me with its perfection.

  I sighed, recognizing the pull I felt to pick up the phone and call either one of them. I’d love to hear Margot’s voice, even jacked up on something that made her talk so fast I barely understood what she was saying. She was always such a bright spark. Except when she wasn’t. And right now I was sure she was going through hell in rehab, stone cold sober and engaging in rounds of soul-searching, gut-wrenching therapy. I just prayed this time it would stick.

  Maybe she and Eloise could spend the year on Naugatuck, too? Eloise was just about to start kindergarten. It would be so fun to have them around. But I couldn’t call Margot. Rehab had strict guidelines and limited hours for phone time. She still had another three weeks. Maybe I’d wait and see how she was feeling when she got out.

  I sent Ian a text, for what it was worth. It was the middle of the night in Scotland, but he’d never been big on sleeping.