OnLocation

by Sindra van Yssel

  “Wow,” he said and she glowed. I did it. But without his hands, I would have pulled back. I can do things with his help that I can’t do with anyone else. She didn’t want to think about the fact that it would all be over in two more days.

  He pulled out and knelt on the sand next to her, his knees between her legs. Then he kissed her. No man had ever kissed her after a blowjob before. She smiled against his lips impishly and then kissed him deeply, wanting to see if he’d pull back from his own taste. He kissed her back with ferocity, holding her head in place again. When he let go, her lips felt bruised. She bet his did too.

  Seems I like a little pain. But it didn’t feel like a hurt. It made her feel alive.

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out something silver before closing it again in his fist.

  “Arch your back, love. Chest out.”

  Her breasts tingled as she followed directions. He reached for a nipple with his empty hand, tracing a finger around it. It hardened in response. His fingers closed around it and squeezed. His gaze locked with hers. She felt he could see right through her. She took a breath and nodded. He squeezed harder, until it stung. Both peaks tightened.

  Now he pulled at the other as well, squeezing and stretching, using two fingers while concealing whatever was in his other hand. He was tugging on a line that led straight to her pussy, flooding it and making her clit ache for a touch. She squeaked in pain and then bit it off, hoping it wouldn’t make him slow down or stop. She dropped her gaze for a moment. His cock was hardening again. Whether it was from what he was doing or what he was about to do with whatever was in his hand, she didn’t know, but that didn’t matter. “Please don’t stop, Sir.” The desire had become more fervent now that she knew that what he was doing was turning them both on.

  He let go of one nipple and she looked up at him, unable to resist a frown.

  “Don’t worry, love. Watch.”

  She looked down at her breast and saw what was in his hand now. Two complicated-looking clamps attached to a chain. He squeezed one, causing it to open, and positioned it over her nipple.

  “This is going to hurt,” he said.

  “Please, Sir.”

  He let it close slowly. It squeezed around her hard peak gently at first, gradually increasing until it was tighter than his fingers had ever been. And he still hadn’t let go. Her eyes widened.

  “You can take this,” he told her.

  “Yes Sir.” She wasn’t sure.

  “For me.”

  She managed a smile. “For you, Sir.”

  He let go and she shrieked. It smarted more than she thought it possibly could and she wanted to pull it off. But she didn’t, and slowly the sting started to soften slightly to an intense ache.

  “Now for number two.”

  “I don’t know how long I can take this, Sir.”

  “You won’t decide that. I will.”

  Unless I say pineapple. But she knew she wasn’t going to. She was too turned-on to let the scene stop. The clamp hurt, but it fed her arousal too. It was hard not to fidget because she wanted to be touched so badly, but there was nothing to rub against anyway. And keeping her pussy away from the sand seemed like a very good idea.

  Taking the same time with the other clamp, he let it close slowly.

  “Get it over with,” she said, biting her lip.

  He loosened it instead. “Excuse me?”

  “Um, would you please just let it go, Sir?”

  He shrugged. “As you wish.” He did. She screamed as white-hot pain shot from her nipple, disorienting every other sense, blotting out even the aches in her pussy and the pain in other breast. She barely felt the hand he placed on her shoulder, or the other one on her thigh. Her legs closed around his hand.

  “Next time perhaps you’ll trust me to do it my way. Lesson learned?”

  A tear ran down her face. That really hurts. “Yes Sir.”

  He brushed the tear away. “Now then. Legs apart, as I’ve showed you.”

  She looked down and saw them tightly closed. Aware of his gaze on her pussy, she opened them as far as she could. She kept going until her thighs hurt, letting that pain distract her from the pain in her breasts.

  Sliding his fingers along her pussy, he gave her clit some much-needed and sadly brief attention before sliding two fingers inside her. “You’re even wetter than you were before. Why is that?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.” Every breath she took, every rise and fall of her chest, reminded her of the tug on her breasts.

  “Do you enjoy giving blowjobs that much?”

  She blushed. “I did like it, Sir. It did turn me on.” She knew that wasn’t the entire answer though.

  “Is that all?”

  Dammit. “No Sir.”

  He slid his fingers back, teasing her clit again before plunging them back inside. “What else, Teresa?”

  Somehow his using her name seemed almost too intimate. Especially when she had to call him Sir. But she bit that back. Maybe it was intended to be. He knew this dance better than she did. “Your hands on my breasts, Sir.”

  He smiled. “My hands are free now. Not on your breasts.”

  “No Sir.” The clamps were stinging less, aching more. She wasn’t sure anymore whether she wanted less or more. She looked down and saw the chain dangling between them. It was kind of pretty, actually. She arched her back more, trying to make her breasts sit up better.

  “Do the clamps make you wetter, Teresa?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Having my hands free has its advantages.” He thrust his fingers inside her, and this time turned his hand so that his thumb could move on her clit at the same time. Somehow it made her nipples hurt less. Squirming, she pressed herself into his thumb. Pressure was building inside her core, aching for release. And the pain made her feel the way the crop had the night before, as if she were floating.

  “Good girl. There’s nothing wrong with getting turned-on by pain. It’s a wonderful gift. And it arouses me that you do.”

  She took a peek. Yep, still very hard.

  “I could get you off with just my fingers right now, couldn’t I?”

  She nodded, biting her lip.

  “If you can take more pain for me, I’ll fuck you instead.”

  It seemed all wrong as a proposition. He could bring her off right now, or he’d delay it, get pleasure for himself—and she was supposed to take more pain to make that happen? She hesitated to answer only because what she wanted made no sense to her. “Yes, please. I can take more pain for you.”

  He didn’t stop moving his fingers, but his thumb slowed on her clit. She hadn’t realized how close she’d been to coming, but now she knew she’d been right on the edge—and he was keeping her there.

  With his other hand he held the chain that ran between her breasts. “If I pull on this the clamps will tighten. That’s how they’re designed.”

  Tighter? Yikes. She braced herself.

  “But I’m not going to pull on it.”

  “You’re not? Sir?” Am I disappointed?

  “Nope. I’m more sadistic than that.”

  Uh-oh.

  He smiled. “You’re going to do the pulling. I’m going to hold this chain taut right here. And all you have to do is lean back.”

  She stared at him, thinking there was no way she could do that. If he did it to her, sure. But his eyes were bright and full of lust. She remembered how hard his cock was. Was it aching the way her pussy ached? He wanted this.

  She started to lean back. For a second, nothing much happened. The small slack in the chain was taken up. Her breasts lifted. She leaned back farther and felt her nipples start to stretch. And then the clamps bit harder, as he said they would. She moaned, thinking any sane woman would stop. But she didn’t want to be sane. The pain was making her feel almost high, the way she had before, when he’d been striking her ass with the crop. She pushed her still sore bottom into the ground and absorbed more pain from that. She
reached out with her hands, digging them into the sand so that she could keep her balance, and then leaned back some more.

  It hurt, but that didn’t seem like a bad thing anymore. She pulled back, wanting it to sting ever more sharply. More. More. He was moving his hand with her, following her. That was cheating. How could she get them tighter if he did that? She wanted to be overwhelmed with it.

  He let go of the chain entirely and pulled his finger from her pussy. That wasn’t good. “Please, Sir,” she said, feeling drugged. He lifted her and then settled her on top of him, his rubber-sheathed cock filling her pussy in one thrust. She felt soft, liquid. Her skin was covered with sweat. Her pussy was wet with desire. When he thrust up inside her, her breasts bounced and the chain bounced with them. When the chain dropped again it pulled deliciously. Her arousal climbed higher until her whole body felt as though it was on edge.

  He tugged on the chain and she screamed. First the pain blinded her, then a violent orgasm ripped through her body. She shuddered and pulsed around him. Wave after wave of pleasure tore through her. He held her tight, stopping her from falling backward, and then covered her mouth with his. Her lips yielded to the invasion of his tongue. She felt utterly possessed.

  His breathing grew ragged and he swelled inside her. He was close. He unclipped one of the clamps and she shrieked as the sensation rushed back into her tender peak. It felt as if it were on fire. The pain wasn’t for her pleasure anymore, but his, and she was determined to take whatever he wanted to give. Still, it took her a few seconds before she turned to offer the other breast to him.

  Grinning, he gave another hard thrust and snapped open the other clamp. She screamed again, offering her pain to him. He shuddered and called out her name, and she knew he was coming as his cock pulsed deep in her pussy.

  “Holy fuck,” she said. She had no idea that they’d hurt worse coming off than they had going on, but she knew she’d take it all over again for the pleasure he’d given her and the way it turned him on.

  At last he let go and wrapped both arms around her. Spent, they lay down in the sand, letting it stick to their sweat-soaked bodies. In between breaths he kissed her behind the ears and she nibbled on his neck.

  I love you, she almost said. What they had done was so intense it felt strange not to say it. There had been a moment as he came when she didn’t care what he did with the chain, or her, as long as it pleased him. That was a kind of love, wasn’t it? But it didn’t mean they had what it took to be something more than a hot fuck, or to last past a few days.

  Not unless he felt something too. She searched his eyes but couldn’t read them other than to tell that he was satisfied and tired. He really must not be sleeping well. Then again he’d come twice. Most men would be ready to roll over and fall asleep.

  “We should get going,” he said. “Just give me a few minutes.”

  “Uh-huh.” She didn’t have any place she’d rather be. She scooted along the sand until she could cradle his head against her chest, ignoring the yelps her bottom gave. For a moment he relaxed there, his face nestled between her breasts. His eyes closed. She stroked his hair.

  Then he jerked bolt upright and pulled away. “This isn’t a good idea,” he said. He took the condom off, then tugged up his pants and zipped them.

  She glared at him, bitter that she’d been feeling so tender toward him. “I know you don’t love me,” she said, her voice rising more than she intended. “But it seems as if a few minutes after we’re done having sex, you don’t even like me very much.”

  He blinked, clearly taken aback. He looked vulnerable, and that was something she hadn’t expected. She would have been less surprised if he’d admitted it.

  “I do like you,” he said. “Very much, in fact.”

  “So what is your problem?”

  He sighed. After a moment, he sat down beside her. “That’s a long story. Let me sit with you for a while. But don’t let me fall asleep.”

  “You’re tired. It’s okay. Lots of men fall asleep after sex.”

  “I need you to promise.”

  She nodded slowly. “I promise.”

  “Thank you.” He reached for her hand and held it. His hand felt warm and strong. “Where are you from, Teresa?”

  “America.”

  He laughed. “I knew that from your accent. I don’t pretend to know where every state is, but I’ve a broad general idea. Where from?”

  “I was born in upstate California—a place called Crescent City.”

  “And how’d you get in the movie business?”

  “I majored in film at UCLA, got an internship, and the rest is history. I wanted to be a director once, but I found I liked traveling even more than I liked movies. No job is perfect, but this one seems pretty close.”

  “I get the feeling you don’t respect your boss.”

  “Stegner? No, I guess I don’t. But I don’t have to spend a ton of time with him either, and he’s not the only one I work for. Either way, I’ve been in a lot of exotic places.”

  “Do you watch the films you’ve scouted for?”

  She smiled. “Usually. Film is never as good as actually being there though, so it’s usually disappointing. Of course there’s more adventure in a movie than there is in my stays—good thing too. But my memories are sharper than the pictures. Still, it’s interesting to see what they do with it. I’ll even watch this train wreck of a movie.”

  He nodded. “I probably will too. If it makes it to this part of the world anyway. Might even be worth going to the mainland for.” He looked out over the ocean.

  “Whatcha thinking?” she asked.

  “I’m thinking it’s an hour until sunset and I want to watch it with you. If I’d planned ahead, I would have packed something for us to eat for dinner.”

  “Isn’t it Gallagher’s turn to cook?”

  “So?”

  “I think his plan is for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I’m willing to go hungry to watch a sunset with you.”

  He chuckled and squeezed her hand. “I’m beginning to think you like me too.”

  “Hmm. Maybe I do.”

  He looked at her oddly.

  “What, is that so strange?” she asked.

  “Actually, it is.”

  “I know I’m not the only woman who likes the things you do.” She didn’t add that it annoyed her.

  “No. But that’s different than liking me, isn’t it? Just as me liking the way you react isn’t the same.” He kissed her cheek. “I’m going to miss you when you’re gone.”

  Well, that’s a start.

  She put one leg over his and settled back to wait for the sunset, content.

  Chapter Eight

  It was dark when Kyle and Teresa finally got back. As predicted, there were peanut butter sandwiches on the table. What Kyle hadn’t expected was a bottle of shiraz in some melting ice in a bucket on the table and two wineglasses.

  “PBJs with style,” remarked Teresa.

  He didn’t understand why anyone put peanut butter and jelly on a sandwich, personally. Americans were strange. They didn’t even like Vegemite. But the wine bothered him more. When Teresa and Gallagher had arrived, Gallagher quite clearly wanted to jump Teresa’s bones. He didn’t strike Kyle as the sort of man to bow out gracefully. Admittedly the sandwiches did kind of sap the romance of the wine, but still, it seemed he’d made an effort.

  Kyle picked up the bottle suspiciously, but it was still sealed. It was the less expensive of the brands Roger bought, so it presumably came from the wine rack in the kitchen. The good stuff was in the dungeon. Kyle set it back down.

  “I’m starving,” said Teresa, reaching for one of the sandwiches.

  “Enjoy your tucker, I’m going to make my own.”

  “They’re good sandwiches,” she said.

  He nodded. “Glad you like ’em.” He walked into the kitchen, aware again how very tired he was. Teresa probably assumed that he would spend the evening with her. He wanted to, but
he doubted he’d be much company. He’d averaged two hours of sleep for the past three days and that wasn’t enough even for him. He didn’t know when the last night he’d gotten a solid six was.

  Drinking any of the wine would only make that worse.

  He made himself three sandwiches out of Vegemite and cheese, piled them on a plate and went back to sit with Teresa. To his surprise, Gallagher was there. I must be tired if I didn’t hear him.

  The man caught his hostile glance. “Don’t worry, I’m not staying.” He lifted the wine bottle and for a moment Kyle considered taking the bottle away with him. It would be worth it to be alone with Teresa again. That feeling too was strange. He’d never objected to playing in front of an audience. In fact, he liked the way it made subs squirm. He looked over at Teresa and grinned, imagining.

  Gallagher tore off the seal, popped the cork and then poured wine into the glasses, setting one in front of Teresa and the other where Kyle had sat the evening before. Then, true to his word, he went away—not up to his room but outside.

  Teresa watched him go and then lifted her glass. “To you and me.” Maybe she thought “us” was overstating the case. Kyle felt he should at least drink to that. He sat down, lifted the wineglass and clinked it to hers. Together they took a long sip.

  It had been a while since he’d had any wine—he was usually a beer-drinking man—so he wasn’t sure, but it seemed to him the taste was a little off. He’d checked the bottle though, and had seen Gallagher uncork it. Maybe it was just old. He looked at Teresa.

  “What do you think of the wine?” he asked.

  “Tastes good. Seems y’all make pretty good wine.”

  “I thought only Southerners said y’all.”

  “Well, one does what one can to cover for English’s lack of a second person plural.”

  He laughed. “That sounds like my UCLA girl.”

  She looked inordinately pleased by that, and it took him a moment to realize he’d said “my”.

  Well, damn straight she’s mine. At least for a day or two more.