by Mia Jae
My hands were caught between our bodies, and I worked them toward the buttons of his shirt.
Shouldn’t be doing this.
We’d met a couple of years earlier. A brief face-to-face at a conference—I was the speaker, he was in the audience—followed by emails and a few phone calls. My card was in the conference packet. The attraction was strong from the beginning. The call of forbidden fruit likely a part of the appeal. Forbidden fruit.
That was him. Forbidden.
Married.
Shit.
I pushed back. “No.”
“We’ve talked about this forever,” he breathed into my ear.
“Alluded to it,” I countered. We’d never really talked about it, just teased and flirted. Now, he was here. In my entryway. Standing real and strong and powerfully sensual in front of me.
His scent drew me in. While I should retreat, I leaned fully into him.
His hands went to my neck; his thumbs caressed my jaw line. Lifting my face, I looked deep into his eyes for the first time since he’d crossed my doorstep.
Dammit. I am crossing my personal threshold. I don’t cheat with married men.
But his eyes. Blue. Piercing. Wanting.
“It’s wrong, Rand.” I licked my lips. “Why are you here?”
“I’m in town. Almost didn’t come. Couldn’t…”
Couldn’t help yourself. I know.
Every inch of my skin tingled. Cupping my face in his big hands, he leaned closer and covered my mouth with his. His lips, moist and hot, seared over mine. I clung to the placket of his shirt to steady myself. With a gasp, I broke away and buried my face in his neck. He held me.
I’d been infatuated with him from the get-go.
He commanded a presence of authority and danger. Ex-military, now FBI.
Danger.
“I figured you were a big tease. All talk, no action. Looking for a quick thrill through email or phone.”
We’d shared sex talk on more than one occasion.
“Would it help if I said I am as surprised as you that I am here?”
No. Doesn’t help at all.
“I couldn’t not come,” he whispered.
My knees buckled. Thank God he still had hold of me. At once, he swept me up into his arms and headed down the hallway. I didn’t say a word, just pointed toward my bedroom.
* * * *
The whisper of Egyptian cotton was cool against my hot back. I wondered if a plume of steam went up as he laid me there and draped his body over mine.
Naked.
Both of us.
Dammit.
He lay over me with heat that radiated from deep in his hard-body center and bathed me with searing flesh.
Moments earlier, he had peeled my clothing off me, one agonizingly slow piece of fabric at a time; my pussy ached and throbbed with anticipation. When he covered me, I was lost in a dizzying gyration of warmth and powerlessness and desire.
I could not have moved if I had wanted.
He molded his lips over mine, and I tasted of him as wholly as I could. His lips were thick and wet and devouring mine.
Hurry. Do this. Before I back out.
His pelvis ground into me, and I could feel the length of his thick cock against my thigh. The thrill of being so intimate with that part of him took over, and my primal instincts of matching his thrusts against me took hold.
I wanted to spread for him. Oh, so badly did I want to open my body for him, let him inside, allow him to plunge over and over into the stuff that made me, me. Made me a woman.
Shouldn’t.
But am.
Take the gift. Just for tonight. This night, no more, my brain cried out just before my libido took over, and all reasoning left my body.
Gift. No more.
“Goddamn, you are sweet and hot. I knew you would be,” he whispered. “Knew it. All this time.”
Not quite sure where he found the energy to speak, I returned simply by threading my fingers into the hair at his temples and urging my mouth upwards into his.
“Fuck me,” I breathed against his teeth. “Fuck me now, Rand.”
He didn’t delay. The taking was fast and furious, starting out with me spreading wide for him while he took me mission style and pumped me full. Long and quick strokes, ramming me until I begged for more. Impaling me with his flesh while I raked my fingers over his back and shoulders, clung and dug in, scratched and clawed and waited for my body to explode in passion around him and for him to answer with his own pleasure.
He did. Very soon after I came. For a while, we lay there on my bed, spent. Wet and sticky. Breathing hard. Eyes closed, savoring.
After a moment he spoke. I looked at him, and his eyes were still closed, his face pointing toward the ceiling. “Now that we have that over with,” he began, “you must know that this is the last time you will tell me to fuck you, Claire. Do you understand me?”
I watched his unmoving profile.
I did understand. It was exactly as I had told myself. This was one night. A gift. He understood that, too.
“Yes,” I told him.
He turned onto his side, eyes open, looking at me now. “I am not sure that you do.”
I must have shot a puzzled look his way because there was a slight twitch in his right eyebrow. Other than that, his face remained stoic.
“What?”
“You enjoyed that.”
I nodded.
“As did I.”
That pleased me to no end. Insane, I knew, but it pleased me that I pleased him.
He peered deeper into my eyes, leaning further into me. “The pleasure that I can give to you can be four times or more what you experienced tonight, my pet, if you want it.” He reached to tease a nipple, lazily dragging his finger around the hard pebble.
If I wanted it?
“I… I don’t understand. I thought you were going to say this was our only time. That there would be no more after tonight.”
His head began a slow shake back and forth. My stomach clutched.
“I can provide you with pleasure untold,” he said again, “and the only thing you have to do is accept.”
Not understanding, I opened my mouth to speak.
Rand placed a forefinger over my lips.
“Do not speak.” He leaned closer, and his hot breath steamed against my cheek. “Do not say a word until I say, until I allow it.”
There was something strangely exhilarating and frightening about what was happening. The way he said those last words… I knew he had not said them casually, but with intent. I was not to speak until he said.
I was to…obey?
Stroking my face now, he traced from my temple to my chin, one side and then the other. His touch was light, sensuous, and the mere stroke of the pads of his fingertips against my skin turned me on.
“Lay still,” he told me. “Close your eyes.”
My eyes were already heavy-lidded, so that was no problem. His fingers took a dip lower to my chest and trailed the valley between my breasts. He moved lower as if he were painting with feathers on my belly, progressing to the vee between my legs.
That was when the feather light touches were no more.
“Spread.”
I did. I was still sticky with his cum. He palmed my pussy and rubbed the sticky stuff all over me. He slipped his middle finger inside and pumped me some more, priming more of his cum out of me. Tucking my right thigh underneath his torso, I was now wide open to him. Not to mention immobile and vulnerable.
“Eyes closed.” His words were sterner than before. An odd sensation raced up from my pussy to my breasts.
“Your pussy was bad.” His voice was a pitch higher than before and a little ominous. “Wanting to be fucked so soon.” And without delay, Rand slapped me right between the legs with the flat of his palm. “Bad pussy. Have to get this pussy under control.”
I reacted by lurching forward at the sting with an “Oh!”
He responded with h
is left arm pushing me back against the pillows and his body leaning into me. “I said do not speak!”
Then he spanked my pussy again. Hard. And again!
The thrill that scrolled up through me with each swat of his hand against my now hot pussy flesh was foreign and pleasant and, dammit, I didn’t want him to stop.
“Bad pussy! Bad. Bad. Bad!”
Over and over. My pussy flesh stung with the slap of his hand. My clit felt like it was as big as his thumb, almost ready to burst. The more he slapped me the higher the intensity of my growing orgasm. I huffed out breath after breath and relished in the feel of his hot and heavy body pinning me against the bed and the stinging of his hand against my pussy.
I balled up the sheets in my hands, and my body clenched. I was close. So close to a powerful orgasm, and for the briefest moment, his words flashed through my mind.
Pleasure untold.
Ah. Is this what he meant?
I was on the brink, just ready to go over the edge… Then he stopped.
All at once, he rose from the bed and suspended touching me. I writhed with frustration and words that wouldn’t come. Wha—Wha—?
“Look at me.”
I struggled to open my eyes. My body needed release.
“Look at me.”
I did.
“Go take a shower,” he said. “Clean up. And if you touch yourself, I will leave and never come back.”
“Wha—?”
“Do not talk. Take your shower. Make a choice. Touch your pussy and give yourself pleasure for tonight, or refrain and submit, and the pleasure will be forever yours. Your choice.”
He walked away.
I lay on the bed, my breathing coming faster than I realized, my brain devoid of thought. Couldn’t…think. After a moment, I rose and went to the shower.
Submit.
Shouldn’t.
I paused as I stepped into the shower and turned to take in my reflection in the mirror. My tits flushed, much like my cheeks, sporting a light pink glow. They were full and heavy, my small, dark areolas peaked and taut.
Hair disheveled, of course, and makeup smudged, I squared myself in front of the mirror to get a full look at myself, slowly perusing from the tips of my areolas to the small patch of hair at my pelvis. I felt the strange cross-sensation of orgasmless and stinging flesh. The area all around my pussy was red, and there were definite handprints where he’d slapped so hard against the juncture of thigh and pubic area.
My pussy lips were swollen and I knew if I investigated further, spreading my lips apart, I would likely find that swollen nub between them.
I touched myself then quickly drew away.
No.
Think, Claire. Think. Get in the shower and think.
The stream of water was hot and pelted against me like tiny punishing pellets. They rained against my skull and back, and slowly my pent-up body relaxed. My brain cleared as I stood and let the beating water erase the cacophony of thoughts and conversations going on inside my head—all conversations with myself.
Do not give up who you are, Claire, for an orgasm.
But I’ve been so lost the past few years.
Not lost enough to give up your freedom.
He’s not asking for me body and soul, is he?
Who knows where it might go.
No, surely he’s only looking for occasional diversion. Don’t think about the wife. This would be different, wouldn’t it?
How so?
It would not be a relationship. I would not be a threat. I would know the terms.
No, it would be a possession.
Possession.
Somehow, that does feel different. Different. Right?
It did feel different.
With urgency now, I lathered the soft soap into my hands and smoothed my palms over my skin, taking care to only slightly skim over my pussy enough to wash it and nothing else. Out of the shower, I dried and applied lotion to my legs and arms, pulled a comb through my wet hair, and stared a moment at myself in the mirror.
This will be okay.
Naked, I stepped into my bedroom. Rand was nowhere to be found. Uncertain, my body pulsed with anticipation. Had he left? Was he still somewhere in the house? What was I to do now? I stepped more fully into the room and glanced toward the door. Should I?
No. He’d told me to shower but had left no further instructions.
I should stay here. I returned to the bed and lay down.
Wait. I’ll wait. Be patient.
Turning to my side, I closed my eyes, my mind playing over the past couple of hours. Somehow, the waiting felt like the right thing to do. Pressing my thighs tight together, I strained to ignore the growing sensation there as my body and mind stilled and my pussy hummed. Mind over matter. Easy to say yet the matter between my legs would argue.
* * * *
I woke to an awareness of someone near. My eyes snapped open, and I was instantly awake.
Rand stood over me, staring down, his hands on my knees.
Leaning closer, he breathed, “Good girl, Claire. You waited.”
I nodded.
He smiled, one corner turning up. I decided right then and there that I’d do just about anything to have that smile flashed back at me on a regular basis. I liked having his approval.
He rolled into the bed on top of me. “Do as I command, Claire, and the pleasure is all yours.”
Somehow, I knew that wasn’t quite the truth. He got a helluva lot of pleasure out of being the dominant male that he was.
I, well, after living an assertive and borderline control freak life for most of my years, was extremely happy to give up the control in this one area.
I lowered my gaze and didn’t look him in the eye. It felt like the thing to do.
“We shall grow into this, Claire. Together.”
I nodded.
“Close your eyes.”
Within seconds my wrists were cuffed and bound overhead to my iron headboard, my ankles followed soon thereafter. I lay spread-eagle on the bed, open, exposed and ready to receive.
“I will never hurt you, Claire,” came the hot, whispered breath at my ear.
Hurt was the furthest thing from my mind.
That’s when Rand settled between my thighs, and he pleasured me with his tongue and fingers all night, continually bringing me to the edge and back again, playing my body like it was a finely tuned fiddle…stringing me out until my orgasm was on the edge of spilling over, then pulling away his pleasure for several agonizing minutes until he started again.
Finally, deep in the night, he allowed me to explode. My body broke into a trillion tiny pieces as it did so; the convulsions seemed to go on forever.
Forever.
It was the longest, most intense orgasm I’d ever experienced.
Once my body decided to calm, Rand undid the straps at my ankles and wrists and gathered me into his arms. He pulled the covers up over us and wrapped us into a tight cocoon. His big hands splayed over me, holding and caressing as he cooed into my ear.
“You’re mine now, Claire. Mine,” he said softly, over and over again.
Shouldn’t. But am.
I am his. Yes.
“You will need to be trained.”
“Yes. Yes, sir,” I whispered, relishing in the feel of this warmth that radiated between us. I felt not only warm, but safe. Very safe.
“No turning back now.”
“No. No turning back.”
Nodding, he pulled back and looked at me with the same stoic expression as before. The intensity of his gaze drew me to him like nothing I’d ever experienced.
I was his, and I liked it. Welcomed it. Somehow, I felt strangely secure and protected because of it. Perhaps that’s what I needed more than anything.
There were no more words. I slept in his arms until waking and lay there until he told me it was okay to rise.
I need someone physically stronger than me… I am always on top. It’s really unfortunate. I a
m begging for the man that can put me on the bottom. Or the woman. Anybody that can take me down. ~Angelina Jolie
Pussy-Whipped
Cats fascinate me.
I believe that if one were to do a study on cat behavior, and then apply those principles to everyday living, the world would be a better place. Or better yet, perhaps as individuals, we would be much healthier beings.
For example, cats wake every morning with a wide yawn and a thorough stretch. They move slowly from their bed, wander to their dish, perhaps linger in their cat pan for a while, then mosey to another spot in the sun and lay down again. Morning nap.
Life as a cat.
As opposed, I jump out of bed, dash to the shower, (yes, sometimes I pee in the shower and brush my teeth there, too, to save time—I know, gross), then reheat yesterday’s coffee in the microwave and rush with ten-thousand others toward the office.
Life in the rat race.
I long for a warm spot in the sun.
* * * *
I’ve been watching my cats a lot of late. Perhaps, in a way, I have been doing my own study of sorts. They are kittens, actually, and the longer they are together, they more they appear to be one being. The vet told me when I brought the second one home from the shelter to rub one with a towel, then the other, and back and forth, so their scents would mingle. I did that. Once. They took it from there.
They often lay entwined, lazy, sated and content. Sometimes it is difficult to tell where one kitten begins and the other leaves off, their coloring so similar. Black, white, orange, tan. One is a calico, a beautiful cat with large splotches of color, sporting a striking white chest and a black freckle on her cheek—the other a tortoiseshell, with all the same colors but her markings make her look more like a lovely tweed coat. She does boast of one solid tan leg. When napping, their languid postures with paws and legs wrapped around each other, the kittens, both female, sleep together without regard to anything but comfort and pleasure.
Watching them, I begin to wonder if that is how it is with women lovers. Their scents mingled, their limbs entwined, lazy and languid, content and sated. Never a care to whether their laying together is right or wrong.
Just is.
