Twisted

by Alison Tyler

  “Did I say you could stop?” he asked bluntly. I shook my head no as much as his grip allowed and started to move my hips again. Being pressed against him made it nearly impossible to maneuver and after a few moments of struggling, he stilled my movement. Pulling me up slightly, he arched his hips away before thrusting into me. Slowly. Maddeningly.

  “If you can’t fuck me properly, you’ll need to learn.” His tone was impatient, bored even. I bit my lip to stifle a moan as he casually prodded my G-spot. “You’ll learn to give as good as you take. Do you want more?”

  His hips crashed against mine, filling me completely, and I choked out, “Yes!” I could feel his smile against my neck as he nibbled my skin. He sped up the pace, fucking me harder but keeping me bound against him. Whispering lusty commands and thoughts at me the entire time. We rushed to climax together and by the end of it, we settled on our terms.

  He would watch me when I let him. I would let him more often than I’d planned to. I started to bring home more men. Sex was better with his voice in my head and his covert control over me.

  Which is why I’m sucking David’s cock in my kitchen. Well, it isn’t the only reason, but it does make it more tantalizing. In my reminiscing, I missed the change in his moans from pleasant to urgent. He’s close to coming but I’m not done with him yet.

  Lifting my mouth from him, I pull my dripping fingers from my cunt and slide them over his cock. He looks down, watching as I tug my dress off my breasts, exposing them to the cool air. My nipples harden, light pink but still vivid against my pale skin. I shift so I can nestle his wet dick between my breasts, pumping him back and forth slowly for a few minutes.

  He lowers one hand to cup my face and I relent, knowing I’m just making it more difficult for him to hold on. Standing up slowly, he drops his lips to mine and kisses me with a hunger that belies his shy attitude. In a whirl of movement, he lifts me in the air and onto the edge of the kitchen counter. Pushing my dress up to my waist, he takes his turn on his knees and laps at me greedily.

  Oh the exuberance of youth. He’s trying his best but is obviously new to this act. I give him a few minutes, reaching into my nearby purse to grab a condom before pulling him back up against me. He seems a bit confused by my actions but catches on quickly as I unroll the condom down his cock in one smooth motion. My counter is the perfect height for him and he prods the entrance of my pussy excitedly before using his hand to guide.

  He slams into me and I gasp, filled by him immediately. He cups my face again and worriedly asks if I’m okay. I nod, savoring the feel of him. The fullness. I slowly open my eyes though I don’t recall having closed them. My nails dig into his shoulder and side as I respond.

  “Harder.”

  He grins and the true, mischievous man hiding under the shy exterior shows himself. He thrusts again, wrapping his arms around my lower back and ass to stop me from sliding back on the counter from the force of it. I bite my lip. It’s almost too much but as I’d suspected, he’s much more talented with his cock than he is with his mouth.

  His pace is slow but hard, every thrust making me cry out louder than before. Connor’s voice returns, tormenting me.

  What a good slut you are. Taking every inch of his cock. Over and over again. Isn’t it time for you to come? Fucking come for me.

  I’m sent over the edge in a matter of moments, clutching at his body as my muscles shudder their release. David looks surprised but content when I’ve come down enough to open my eyes again. He’s slowed his pace and teases me with just the tip of his head drifting inside me.

  I moan and shift toward him. He seems to decide he likes this turn of events, where he’s able to make me squirm instead of vice versa, and he pushes me down onto the cool counter. He holds my hips in place and reaches over to grip my breasts occasionally as he builds up the pace slowly. He still teases me with shallow thrusts but after a few minutes of squirming, he’s back to pounding me hard and deep.

  The counter is not quite long enough for my entire body and my head hangs over the side. My breasts bounce with every thrust. I turn to look out the window and see Connor. Watching me. A thrill runs down my spine. He’s sitting in a chair, in shadow but lit enough I can see him running his hand over the front of his pants. If you weren’t looking for him though, he’d be hard to spot.

  I watch him watch me and listen to David’s grunts growing louder. I’m close to the edge again, my pussy throbbing from the pounding he’s giving me. My clit is on fire. Connor watches and smiles, mouthing the word, “Come,” at me.

  I do. Screaming with pleasure, tightening around the turgid cock pumping into me. It sends David over the edge as well and he clutches on to my body as I buck beneath him. Our cries echo throughout the kitchen before the stillness sets in. He’s draped over my body, his head near mine as we recover, breathing heavily. I look at him and he notices a few moments later, his expression back to the shy and embarrassed mix.

  “Don’t,” I state plainly with a smile and he understands. He smiles in return and looks confident for a moment, despite the shy dip of his head away from me. Looking past him I see Connor has vanished from the window.

  I lie on the counter as David tidies himself up. Propping up on my elbows, I watch him and wait for his next move. Once his pants are back on, he stares at me incredulously before ducking down for a tentative yet simmering kiss.

  We pull apart and I break the silence.

  “Thanks for the delivery.” I quip with a smile, eliciting a laugh from him.

  “Anytime,” he responds and starts to move away. “I have to...” He trails off and I nod. He backs away, still staring at me until he bumps into the wall, and with an embarrassed wave, stumbles out the front door. I lie back on the counter and smile contentedly for a while before going back to uninteresting daily chores.

  When I come downstairs later on, my landlady is pretending to dust the table in the foyer but stops as soon as I reach the last step.

  “Your friend left this for you,” she spat with a venomous tone as she handed me a small white envelope. My friend? I thought, curious as to whom she meant while hoping it was Connor. My watcher. I felt a tingle between my thighs as I opened the sealed envelope. Surprised she bothered to pass it along but even more so that she didn’t take a peek, I smile thinking of how persuasive he could be, as I pulled the card out.

  On a simple white piece of card stock he’d written:

  Very good, girl. Tuesday. 8:00 p.m. Wear nothing. I’ll be by.

  I stared at the words and felt my legs go weak, my well-sated pussy throbbing as if it had not been touched in years. Looking up to thank my landlady for passing the note along, I found myself alone in the foyer. She must have slipped away while I was paralyzed by his words.

  Turning to go back up to my apartment, I smiled and whispered aloud, “Yes, Sir.”

  A KEEPER

  Sommer Marsden

  What do you call this color?” John asked. He rolled the brownish, greenish, tanish paint onto the wall. His dark-blue shirt was dotted with paint. His surfer-boy blond hair was speckled with it, too. And his big chunky glasses were smeared with some more.

  “Did you roll in it?” I laughed.

  “Nope. I’m just a bit messy is all.”

  “The color is called, I-have-no-clue-it’s-on-the-can. But I saw it in my cousin’s clubbed basement and fell in love. It’s one of those colors that changes with the light. One minute it looks green, then taupe, then silver...weird.”

  “Like you,” he said, turning his back.

  “I—what?” My throat grew a little tight. John was a bad-ass friend, a good guy, a fierce lover, but poor little me—burned by love one too many times—could not decide if he was a keeper. And yes, I say that poor little me with my tongue firmly planted in my cheek.

  “Nothing.” It wasn’t a passive-aggressive kind of nothing, where he wanted me to coddle and pry and cajole. It was a straightforward, never mind—let it go—nothing. Another reason I l
iked this man. He was no drama and that was refreshing.

  So many check marks in his favor and yet, I kept holding him at arm’s length.

  “Thanks for helping me paint,” I said, suddenly shamed.

  “No worries. You promised me some cold beer, your stellar company and pizza if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Fuck!” I pushed my hand into my hair and only caught myself when John chuckled. “I just smeared mystery-color paint in my hair didn’t I?”

  He grinned. It was a lupine grin that made me think of arousal tinted with danger, and my pussy went wet. It was swift and consuming—that flash of want. And it startled me.

  “Don’t worry, Starr, it works for you.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him and patted my pockets for my phone. No phone.

  “Careful, don’t stick that out unless you intend to use it,” he teased.

  There it was again. A lightning bolt of arousal searing me from my bones outward. I was losing my mind, or maybe I was coming to my senses. I found the house phone and dialed Dante’s Pizza.

  “I have an order for pick up...” I recited my usual order for when John came over. Two extra-large cheese pizzas, two fries, one salad—just for show.

  I felt him take my wrist and squeeze, but the guy was talking. Giving me a total and a pick-up time. I heard the tape and paid it no mind. Do you know how much painter’s tape I’d used in the last few days? It was only when blue tape kissed the thin skin at my wrists, that I turned to look. By then I was saying good-bye. John caught my other wrist before I could react and was swiftly taping my wrists together in front of my body. My instantly trembling body.

  “What—?”

  He plucked the phone from the crook of my neck and shoulder and put it down. “I just want to plead my case while we wait,” he said. He kissed me and it was the boldest kiss he’d ever delivered. Warm lips and rough tongue and it shot right from my mouth to my cunt as I tried to process, smiling laughing John with intense and sexy John.

  My John...

  The thought was so pure and so instant I rejected it immediately. I would not be wooed into changing my stance. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t able. I wasn’t suitable to love or be loved. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  And yet, when he unbuttoned my painting shirt—an old button-down that was speckled with a rainbow of paint colors—my nipples pebbled eagerly, begging to be touched. My stomach rolled with anxiety mixed with a brilliant excitement. We had fucked before, a lot, but something about this—about now—had me practically vibrating with urgency.

  Whatever he was doing, whatever he wanted to do, the answer was yes. And it all stemmed from the look on his face. Cute and adorable had turned to sexy and wolfish. Dark-brown eyes seemed darker, smiling face now intent, relaxed brow now creased by focus. My hands were taped in front of me so he simply peeled back the halves of my shirt. When he gazed at me, I felt scrutinized and on display and my cunt flexed wetly at the emotion it caused. Joy.

  “Your case?” I swallowed hard and tried to wrangle my mind into paying attention to his words and not the hypnotic way he was dragging the rough roll of tape down the very center of me. From my collarbone, past my navel, to the very top of my hip bone that was barely peeking from beneath my ratty old gym shorts.

  “I think you have this...idea of me. And that man, the one in your head, is not worth you taking that risk you don’t want to take.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Ready for love, yeah, yeah,” he said. “You know, right about now I could totally start singing some bad-ass eighties rock.”

  His half grin struck me in the solar plexus and a snort of unexpected laughter burst out of me. “Please don’t.”

  “Okay.” He leaned in and almost kissed me. But he didn’t. He brought his lips so close to mine I could feel a tingle of imagined energy, but there was no kiss. At the last moment, he diverted from my mouth and latched on to my nipple. The heat from his tongue lit me up from the inside. A single suck had my insides pounding steadily with my runaway pulse.

  He brought me down to a feral place in that one moment. I wanted him to fuck me. In fact, I’d passed wanted minutes before and had swiftly veered into needed. I needed John to fuck me.

  “Now you may wonder why I have taped you up, pretty Starr. And the reason is, I think you need to see me for who I am. All of it.”

  Why did that almost scare me? Why was there a flicker of unease in me? From the heavy hint of predatory glee in his voice? My heart wanted to be a tiny bit scared, but my body leapt to attention.

  “Like what?”

  “Like I am the nice guy who does nice things.” As he spoke, he pushed my shorts down. I was as bare under them as I’d been under my buttondown. He grunted appreciatively when he saw me and that sound set off a rush of fluid between my thighs. That sound that said he liked what he saw made my craving for him worse. Much worse.

  I shifted restlessly in place, rubbing my thighs together and finding no relief in the action.

  “You are a nice guy,” I agreed.

  “But I think bad things sometimes,” he said, slipping a finger between my nether lips. And here we were again, like with the kiss that wasn’t a kiss. He was touching me but not. He’d slid that finger between my lips and had it rested over my clitoris. But he didn’t press and he didn’t rub. He just left it there, not moving, so that I had to fight the insane urge to move my body against his finger.

  I refused.

  I chewed my lip before saying, as calmly as possible, “Like what?”

  “Like showing you how it displeases me that you don’t consider me worth... more.”

  I swallowed again, feeling breathless.

  “I’m—”

  “Don’t say you’re sorry,” he said, flexing that finger. But only once, just briefly.

  Warmth flooded my pelvis and I sighed. It was so good—that small movement.

  “But I am.”

  “I am,” John said. “Worth more, I mean.”

  “Of course.”

  Something in his voice had me standing ramrod straight. My nipples were hard knots of traitorous flesh, signaling to him exactly how turned on I was. There was no denying that this version of John made me hot. And a bit nervous.

  “So I’m displeased.” He pinched one of those rudely pointing nipples hard enough to make me wince. It was just a shade too hard and that knowledge had me practically panting.

  “I’m sorry.” I said it anyway. We both knew by the way I said it that I meant I was sorry for his displeasure.

  He circled me slowly, moving behind me so that his breath, as he spoke, whispered across my neck. I shivered and my open shirt fluttered around my breasts and belly, tickling me. I almost didn’t register what he said.

  “I think you need to be more sorry.”

  I didn’t turn when I heard him move. I was nearly afraid to, not just because I might see what he was doing, but because I was afraid of more displeasure on his part. As insane as that sounded. I was a bit bewildered: we’d played in the bedroom, him bossing me...me bossing him, no one ever taking it too seriously, but something in this John...

  My John...

  Something about this whole thing was different. I rubbed my legs together and felt the slick moisture at the very tops of my thighs. In my mind, I had a brief fantasy of him rushing me from behind. Bending me over, looping one of his big paint-speckled arms beneath my waist and taking me that way. Fast and hard and yes, boys and girls, rough.

  Again, I’d drifted off and almost didn’t hear him. “What’s a fair number for treating me like the invisible man?”

  I turned my head to ask him what he meant and saw the stirrer he held. A tremor started in my stomach and worked its way down into my cunt. What I was feeling was a mystery emotion—it couldn’t decide if it was exhilaration or terror.

  “Why do you have that?”

  “Oh, this? Remember this?”

  It was the only stirrer they’d had when we’d picked up the pa
int. The clerk had joked it was a stirrer on steroids. Actually it was meant for industrial cans and it was huge. At least two feet long and four times as thick as a normal stirrer, we’d taken it as a joke. But John—this new John—was holding it and it didn’t look like a joke.

  “I remember,” I said past a dry tongue. But god help me, my pussy tightened greedily around nothing at all. I liked a bit of pain, real pain, not play pain. And I had never ever admitted it to John, because I didn’t think he’d be around long enough to need to know, truth be told. But now, here we were.

  “So, I’ll ask you again, Starr. How many do you think is fair? Can you see me now?” He waggled that chunk of wood at me and grinned.

  “I can,” I said.

  “Good. Now give me a number, or I’ll choose.”

  I studied him. Same kind face, brown eyes, chunky glasses. Same pretty, wheat-colored hair; same broad shoulders, flat belly, long legs. Same low-slung jeans and worn-out tee and big hands and... He slid the stirrer along the terrain of one of my bare asscheeks and goose bumps studded my thighs. I shivered.

  “Five,” I said.

  “Come on now. Five? That seems pretty light for a girl like you.” He tapped me on the hip with the stirrer and each tap reinforced how hefty the stirrer was. John watched my face and moved to stand in front of me. Then he slowly slid the piece of wood between my thighs. Inserting it an inch at a time, but never ever coming near to where I wanted him. Where I needed him. My merrily thumping clit.

  I sighed. “A girl like me?” I managed.

  “A girl who likes pain—”

  “I never—”

  “You never told me because you figured I’d be gone soon,” he whispered. One time, for just a heartbeat, he rapped the narrow side of the stirrer to my clitoris and I cried out. I was so far gone that one hard tap had put me in an odd head space. Nearly desperate, definitely humbled.

  I bit my lip.

  “But I could tell,” he said, pulling the stirrer free and stroking my thigh with it. “I watched your eyes when things got a bit rough. And the way you sighed when I’d lay those little love bites on you.”