“That’s a lot of thinking.”
“I have a fast mind. And do you want to know what else I was thinking?”
She sipped at her drink, then nodded.
“I keep getting distracted,” he said. “I look up and catch those eyes and it throws me completely, then I catch my line of thought again and I remember what a thoroughly strange situation this is. When I can tear my eyes away I can see him, your husband, sitting on a bar stool. He’s chatting to the barman and ever so often just glancing across here. Just like a complete stranger who’s just happened to notice the most beautiful woman in the building and can’t help looking.”
“I think I might need to kiss you,” said Christina.
She stood, and leaned across the low table. As she moved his look fell to her cleavage – she knew exactly what she was doing.
She put a hand to his jaw, the skin soft with a fuzz of fine stubble.
His mouth tasted of bourbon, their first contact tender and hesitant. Then his hand stole up to the back of her head and he took over, his tongue pressing, exploring, withdrawing, and he pulled away.
“This really is strange,” he said. “I’m not used to this. To being so turned on by a woman like you.”
“A woman like me?”
“Strong and direct, like that. It’s novel for me: I’m used to being in control.”
§
They didn’t rush things, even though Christina would happily have straddled and ridden him like a bucking bronco right there in the bar. When she’d first talked about this with Adam, she’d said she wanted to get to know someone, she’d wanted to be seduced. Right now, though, she was done with that: she knew exactly what she wanted from this enigmatic stranger with the enchanting eyes and that fuck-me voice.
They talked about travel. While his profile had been cautious and minimal, he’d been telling the truth about his love of travel. He’d been all around Europe and the States; he’d hiked the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, kayaked the Amazon, camped out at the foot of Uluru in the heart of Australia.
Christina had traveled widely with Adam, but they had been together for less than three years and there was so much more she wanted to see; Steve’s accounts of his travels spoke clearly to that adventurous part of her and she loved it. For a time, they lost themselves in talk and in that time the encounter changed. From the outset this had been a man Christina wanted to fuck. She knew already that he was hot and charming, and she understood herself well enough to know that that was enough. She was a highly-sexed young woman and she had come to have no hesitation about exploring her needs – and she had a husband who loved that in her, and encouraged it.
So yes, she had come here tonight to fuck this man.
But talking, laughing together, all those little things that made her relax in his company... Now she wanted to make love to him. She wanted to do things that turned him on and she wanted to understand his responses and she believed he wanted to do the same for her.
She didn’t want romance, or – perhaps – even anything beyond this one night. But what she wanted now was a different kind of encounter to a simple fuck.
Late, as her husband still sat at the bar, she leaned close to Steve and put a hand on his thigh.
“I think we’ve talked enough,” she said. “Don’t you?”
The bar was still busy, and one thing she had learned was that sometimes you can find the most privacy in the busiest surroundings. If the bar had been half-empty she would never have let that hand slide up his thigh as she leaned in; she would have felt too visible, too exposed. But now, with so many people here – who cared, who even noticed, if that hand strayed? If her fingertips encountered that delicious semi-hardness of a dick just starting to fill out? If she let those fingers stay, press, find the contours and squeeze before withdrawing, sliding back down his thigh?
She wondered how much Adam could see from his vantage point by the bar. If he’d seen her leaning in close, he would know what she must be doing, even if he could not see that straying hand.
“I have a room,” Steve said, his eyes locked on hers.
She stood, enjoying the way his look explored her hungrily.
He stood too, then stepped past the table to join her, and they walked out of the bar without a backward glance.
§
The room was in some anonymous business travelers’ hotel a couple of blocks from the bar. It didn’t matter what hotel it was, only that it was nearby.
They walked side by side, not even touching, managed to keep all that urgency at bay right up until he had swiped his keycard through the elevator reader. That was when Christina found herself swept up and turned, her back now against the elevator doors, her body slotting into his tall frame as if they had been carved from the same wood.
There had been other people in the hotel lobby... An older couple with a mountain of cases. A guy at the door. A man and a woman staffing the reception desk. But she didn’t care, wasn’t aware of anything other than the force of nature that had swept her off her feet and driven her up against those cold metal doors.
His arms wound around her like vines, and even as his mouth found hers and his tongue drove home, she felt hardness against her belly, her ribs, his erection unmistakable, like a rolling pin against her.
A bell pinged somewhere miles away, and then she felt the doors moving behind her. They tumbled inside, lucky that the elevator had been empty.
Steve paused to fumble at the buttons, finding his floor, and the doors slid closed behind them.
Now, he took her, held her against the wall, his long legs bent so that his erection ground against her crotch. She clung to him, ground against that hardness, thinking that at any moment her pencil skirt must tear under the strain, but all she cared about was that delicious pressure on her clit.
How many floors? She had no idea, but they could only have ridden that elevator for a matter of seconds.
Long enough, though.
Long enough for that pressure on her clit to blossom, to spread through her belly, through her entire body.
Long enough for her to suddenly buck against him, thankful that she had had the foresight to hold on, and that he had her in such strong arms.
Long enough for an incredibly intense orgasm to rip through her senses, for her to slump against him, press and find another wave of tightening, of stabbing pleasure. To ride out that orgasm against him, until finally it was over. To gather herself enough to wonder where that had come from, how it could possibly have been so intense, how there could possibly have been enough contact in all the right places to make that happen.
And then the doors slid open, he stepped away, and it was all she could do to stay on her feet, to follow him out into the corridor and to his room.
§
Of all the experiences she’d had, since she and Adam had started plotting her sexual exploration, that orgasm on the ride up to floor seven was the most intense yet.
Now, Steve pinned her against the wall, even as the door swung closed. One hand cupping her chin, forcing her head back, the other gripping her ass.
He kissed her, that eager, hungry kiss once again. The kiss of a man totally in control. A kiss to give yourself up to, to melt into.
He was a man of so many hard surfaces. That driving tongue, the tight grip on her chin, her jaw, clamping her head in position. His ribs, hard and ridged against her full breasts. Long legs, spread a little to enclose her, to drive that other hardness up into her belly.
So damned hard!
She fumbled at his belt, freed it, pulled it clear. Found a button, a catch, then a zipper.
Hand sliding down, her knuckles encountered that hardness and she slipped her hand inside his pants, found his erection and teased it out to stand clear of the elastic waistband of his shorts.
Her questions were answered: yes, he was in proportion everywhere, his dick long and slender like his body. She folded fingers around it and started to pull and twist, the skin sliding fre
ely over its hard inner core.
He grunted in response to her touch. When she found the wet head, wrapped her fingers around it and twisted, he cried out.
Then he reached down, enfolded her hand in his, and shook his head.
“Not now,” he said, through gritted teeth. “It’s my turn. My turn to be in control.”
She peered up at him through her lashes, what Adam called her innocent hooker look. “So tell me,” she said. “Just how much control do you like? Do you like it when a woman gives herself to you completely? When she says you can have her any way you like? Does that work for you?”
§
She’d never been tied up before. All those times she’d cuffed, chained and tied Adam – to the bed, or to the loops set into their bedroom wall – neither of them had ever suggested that she should be the one restrained and dominated.
Now, she lay on the wide hotel bed, her arms tied securely above her head. Neither of them had come prepared, so they had no cuffs; no coarse ropes that would leave their mark; no cotton cords or silk scarves that would be more kind to the wrists and ankles. Instead he had used her stockings to bind her wrists together, and his belt to loop through that and down to something at the head of the bed that held her secure.
He left her legs free. “I like to be able to move you,” he said, and with a strong grip on her ankles he flipped her over onto her front, a well-practiced move. This new position yanked her bindings tighter, and her wrists stabbed with pain. Was this how it felt for Adam? When he was bound and chained, his body contorted into impossible positions...
“You like this?” Steve said, his grip still tight around her ankles.
She twisted so that she could look back at him. “I’ve never been tied up before,” she said. “But I’ve fantasized about it. I’ve played while I’ve imagined being tied up. Having men standing around me, their dicks in their hands. Having them take turns to fuck my face and fuck my cunt. I’ve imagined what it must be like to have them coming all over me, to–”
“Enough.” He was over her, suddenly, that hand gripping her chin again, forcing her mouth closed.
After a few seconds he relaxed, let go, and she said, “You don’t like it when I talk dirty? You don’t like me being bad?”
That was when he hit her. Something in his eyes, a sudden glint of mischief and she sensed what was about to happen, she understood, and she raised her eyebrows, her come and get me look. He raised his hand, paused, then swung down and struck her ass in a sharp smack that rang through the room.
The pain was like a sudden, sharp burning and then over, replaced by a tingle, a feeling of heat that spread.
She gasped. She didn’t know if she liked it or wanted him to stop. She met his look, saw that glint again, and said, “Hit me. Hit me again. I’ve been so bad.”
The second smack was harder, and this time the pain lasted longer, but it wasn’t just pain, it was something else, something like that intensity of sensation she’d felt in the elevator. How could pain transform in that way? How could something that hurt and humiliated become indistinguishable from feelings that had driven her to orgasm only minutes before?
With the third smack there was no mistaking it: the pain connected with something deep inside, a hot pressure, a tensing of muscles. It was a thing that joined everything together: the aching pain in her back and shoulders from the way she had been tied; the raw pain in her wrists from the stockings pulled tight; the sharp stinging blows to her ass; and that inner heat, the tightness that was making her so damned wet!
“Fuck me!” she cried, meeting his look again. Challenging him and demanding of him, even as he was dominating her. “Fuck me now.”
He hooked his hands behind her knees and flipped her again. The strain on her back sent more pain coursing through her body, and then she forgot everything as he pushed her legs up flat against his chest, her feet over his shoulders and her ass lifted off the mattress.
His dick towered over her, slipping between her parted thighs like a long, hard serpent.
He reached down then, pushed it so that the head pressed against her opening and then he thrust himself inside her, abrupt and brutal.
Instantly, she was close to climax again.
She thought he must be almost entirely inside her, but when she peered down between their bodies she saw that there was still so much more of him to take... He pushed, sliding deep until she thought she couldn’t take any more of him inside her and still he kept pushing.
She gave a strangled cry, and still he kept pushing until finally she was impaled on his full length, his balls pressed hard against her ass.
He started to thrust, shallow movements, withdrawing only a little before slamming hard into her again. That incessant pounding against her was so intense...
“Oh God,” she groaned, throwing her head from side to side. And then, when she met his look again, there was that glint. He paused, held himself deep, took a long swing and smacked her raised ass once again. Now there were more sensations: the pain and burning, but also... it reverberated through her body, through his dick in her body, a feeling she’d never known before.
He swung again, smacked her hard, and she thrust herself up against him as tightness swept through her lower body and her pussy clenched tight around his long dick.
He gasped, tipped his head back, held himself still so that he must be able to feel every tightening of her cunt around his shaft.
Her breathing ragged, she felt as if her arms would be forced from their sockets, and that pain only intensified everything for her, until finally, those tightenings became lesser, and the waves of orgasm began to diminish, to recede, and she was spent.
Then, with all the strength left in her, she met his look and gasped, “Fuck me. Fuck me and punish me!”
He started to thrust once more, long sweeping movements, withdrawing almost his entire length and then driving home again. And as he drew close to his own climax, he raised a hand again and brought it down sharply across her raised ass.
Again.
Again, and that thrust was deeper, he held it there, and she felt a wet heat blossoming deep within.
“Fuck me,” she gasped, pushing up against him, wet and filled and spent, and then he slumped down on top of her, that long dick starting to soften inside her.
§
Now she lies with Adam, the roles reversed. Her husband is cuffed and bound, his arms and legs starfished, and Christina is on top.
His dick is hard, buried inside her.
Neither of them move.
The sense of being filled is all the more intense for them as they hold themselves motionless, so that every sensation is magnified, every slight movement one to be savored.
“He hurt me,” she says.
She looks down at the parallel welts running down her husband’s chest.
A pulse, deep inside her and she gives a soft gasp. Is that a twitch in his dick, or a tightening of her own inner muscles? She can’t tell; it’s as if they are truly joined.
“I know what it feels like,” she says. “To be tied so tight you can’t move, so that you feel as if all your joints are being pulled apart.”
She leans forward and kisses those claw marks on his chest, tastes the metallic tang of his blood.
“I know what it’s like to be hurt,” she says, straightening, enjoying how Adam’s eyes roam her body.
That pulse again, that tightening.
She reaches forward, runs her fingers softly down those claw marks and feels another twitch in response.
“I know what it’s like to be hurt, and I like it.”
A sudden heat, a sensation of being filled, a throbbing deep inside, and now Adam gasps as orgasm takes him.
She pushes against him, changing the angle of her hips subtly so that now her clit is pressing against his pubic bone, and suddenly she is there too, an abrupt clenching of muscles sweeping through her body as her climax peaks.
When the tightenings start to e
ase, she slumps against him, and that shift in position takes her over the edge again, a second wave of tightenings, an easing, and now, truly spent, she melts into his embrace, his body still stretched taut by his bindings, a feeling she now knows well.
Back to Basics
Selena woke to sunlight slanting in through the window and a naked man in her arms, and for once she knew immediately who it was.
Her leg was drawn up across the bare body next to her, her thigh across the man’s lap, her pussy pressing lightly against the hard, jutting bone of his hip. Beneath her leg, his dick was soft, and when she shifted slightly soft hair dragged across the smooth skin of her inner thigh.
Her arm lay across his chest so that she was conscious of its rise and fall. Sparse black hair drew a broad line over the center of his chest and down across his flat belly. She moved again so that she could lay her head on the block of pectoral muscle between chest and shoulder, hear the steady thump of his heart.
So many times she’d woken like this and not known who she was with, but today she knew this was Martin, her partner and lover. This was one of the few private rooms in their house – a house that had somehow become a swingers’ club – and Martin was the only other person who would be here.
Any other bedroom in the house and it might be different. The previous morning she’d woken spooning her occasional lover Christina, and behind her, his hard dick lying along the crack between her buttocks, had been Sylvester, one of the club’s regulars. Other days she’d woken with one or more of the club’s members, sometimes with Martin and sometimes not; people whose names she knew – she vetted everyone before they were invited – but often people she’d only met for the first time a few hours before.
The Swingers' Club Boxed Set: All eight cuckoldry and swinging stories in one volume Page 12
