by Olivia Myers
He runs his hands across my ass briefly, and then moves to the front. One of his hands pushes into my panties, his hand searching for my pussy. He finds it, wet and ready, and pushes two of his fingers in roughly and without much care. They fit in easily, and I groan. This pleases him, and he forces a third finger into my slit, pushing in as far as he can go even though it’s a tight fit. His fingers are big and I’m small. I feel full already and I look at him, my eyes wide. He looks back. His eyes are a mix of fire and lust and emotions I can’t recognize, and he runs his thumb over my clit. I feel myself tighten around him, and I moan.
He keeps his hand stuffed in my underwear, but his other hand plays at the front of my jeans. He undoes the button, and then the zipper comes next.
Abruptly, his hand leaves my pussy, both of his hands going to my hips where he pulls my jeans off of me hard. I squirm, moving my legs in an attempt to make it easier for him. I need his touch. His hands go to my hips again, and he grabs at the thin fabric of my panties. He pulls them down so fast and so roughly that they rip, and I gasp.
“Fuck,” he says.
He mutters something else, but I’m not focusing on his words.
I want to touch him. My hands move, shaking in their bounds. I need to… I try to pull myself free of the rope so I can touch his chest, touch him, or direct his hands. Do anything. I can’t. Blake is good at tying knots, and I’m not going anywhere.
We both know it.
He doesn’t go back to my pussy like I wish he would. Instead, he goes to his zipper, undoing his fly quickly. He doesn’t pull off his jeans like I thought he might, though, and for a second, that confuses me. But then I notice it.
He’s not wearing any boxers.
His cock springs out of his jeans, like it’s been waiting—hard and wanting. I can’t drag my eyes off of it, even as I feel Blake’s eyes scanning my face. I can’t drop my head in shame; I feel none of that emotion. Only lust. One of his hands goes to his dick, holding it and pulling the rest of it free from where he still stands, almost entirely clothed.
“Wait,” I say.
He doesn’t respond. He just looks back up at me, his cock still in hand and pushing closer to me still.
“Take your shirt off,” I say. I haven’t seen any of his skin, and I’m standing here naked. Bound. His fingers have been in my pussy, and his mouth and hands have been on my tits. He’s getting ready to fuck me, and I still only know what his cock looks like. But he makes no move to take his shirt off. “Please.”
He stops moving entirely. He looks at me, and for a second I think he’s not even considering it. But one of his hands goes to the back of his shirt, and he pulls it off over his head in an instant. He’s hard and muscular all over, and my gaze drops to the definitive lines of his abs.
Goddamn.
He doesn’t let me look for long. He grabs my jaw, moving my head so my eyes are once again focused on his cock. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a foil square—condom—which he unwraps and rolls onto his length. Then he’s pushing forward again. The head of his dick moves closer to my pussy, and I hold my breath in anticipation of his hard length inside me. He rubs the head of his cock over the entirety of my slit, again and again, and I wriggle, trying to get him to push deeper inside of me.
No dice.
Finally, an inch of his cock pushes inside me – just enough for me to feel it in there, and to want more, but not enough to do anything besides drive me crazy. I close my eyes, opening and reopening them. Eventually, I just keep them closed entirely, my breath held in wait. When I open my eyes again, he’s looking right at me. And then he pushes forward, the rest of his cock pushing into me as his mouth goes back on top of mine.
He muffles the sounds I make with his kisses. His cock is huge, and stretches my insides as he pushes into me.
He thrusts into me, again and again, and finally I feel that he’s buried himself to the hilt. My lips go to his, pressing for kisses. I meet a wall. He doesn’t kiss back. He growls, grabbing my hair and pulling on it as he pulls his mouth away from my face. He pulls his cock completely out of me. For a second, we stand there, chest to chest, just panting. My head almost falls to his chest, but I’m held still by his weight keeping me here, by the ropes forcing my arms up and leaving my wrists sore, and by his hand in my hair making me look at him.
He adjusts my head, and my eyes fall down to where his cock joins with my pussy. He pushes his dick into me slowly this time, inch by inch, and I watch as his length sinks into me. He pulls out of me and does this again. And then a third time.
I want more, and I moan in protest.
He gives it to me. His hand falls from my hair and down to my neck. He squeezes, choking me as he rams his cock into me again and again. My pussy squeezes around him, and I feel every shock of him hammering into me. All I can do is give. He takes and takes, and I explode around him.
He doesn’t stop even after I come. His hands fall away from where they are on my body, going to my sides and pushing me toward him as I fall limp from my orgasm. He fucks me until I feel his hard cock start to shake inside me, and then he comes. My pussy squeezes him for every drop of it he can give me, and I gasp at the feeling of fullness.
He keeps himself inside of me until he’s done, and he’s sure every bit of his semen is released. He pulls out slowly, deliberately. I love how he feels inside me, though, and I hate to see him go.
He picks my ruined panties up off of the floor. Taking both of my legs in his, he adjusts me so that my panties come up onto my thighs easily. He adjusts them so the torn gusset traps itself just above – and slightly inside – my pussy, where it chafes in the most lust-inducing way possible.
“Don’t move,” he says, and I gulp. What the hell just happened? Why do I want this to happen again? I close my eyes to think about it again, and then I hear the soft sound of Blake’s feet walking through the room. Does he need another tool to untie me? Did he tie the knots too tight? “Stay here. I’ll come get you later.”
And then the door closes, and I’m left in darkness, my nude body sore and used –
And wanting more.
***
He eventually untied me. He had to. Days go by, and work is work between us. We still fight, and there’s still something about him that I want—but there’s something about us now that I’m starting to mind. I look over to where Blake eyes me, watching me from his side of the bar. Is he getting possessive? I can’t be owned. I can’t even get into a relationship, for Christ’s sake! I watched too much fighting between my mom and my step-dad. I can’t risk any of that.
Blake is making me start to wish I would.
But, all at once, it’s fucking annoying.
I drop my gaze from him. I’m running a rag through a glass on a table, making sure it’s clean before I set it down for another customer to use. I set the glass down with a rough “clink” and then toss the rag onto another table, just a few feet away from Blake. He raises his eyebrows at me in angry shock, and I raise both shoulders at him in response.
I will not deal with this.
He was good sex. That’s all I can let him be. I submitted to him that night, and I’m coming way too close to submission as a whole with Blake.
I don’t even know his last name. Whatever. I know just the trick to get over that tool: finding a new one to hop on. That’s always done me favors, even though I’ve never had to deal with this fluttery feeling that takes over my stomach whenever I catch Blake watching me. What is the deal here?
Time to find the next tool. I look from table to table. It’s pretty early today – six in the evening, but still early for a bar—so there aren’t that many people here. None that I’d be particularly interested in.
I’m about to decide to wait for the night when he catches my eye. A guy. Maybe in his mid-twenties, sitting alone at the farthest table from the door. He looks like he’s waiting for someone, some type of shady meeting or something. I don’t care. I decide he’s waitin
g for me.
My hips sway as I make my way through the bar. I don’t want much from Blake, but I like the feeling I get when he throws all his attention on me. I don’t even have to look behind me to know that he’s stopped doing whatever he’s doing back at the bar. He’s probably just staring at me now, his jaw taut and the line of his mouth tight. Pissing him off pleases me, greatly.
And this guy over here will be a great help, for more reasons besides that.
He’s blond, unlike Blake. His eyes are light but he’s still got some stubble going on. He’s muscular. That’s good enough. His face is baby-ish, though, and I can’t get past how it bears no similarities to Blake’s at all. Whatever. I lean across the table with a smile on my face.
“Hey there,” I say. “What can I do for you today?”
Unlike so many of the others, this guy doesn’t immediately start looking at my chest. I flash a glance down to it to see why not; my cleavage isn’t showing. Of course not. I’m not angled the right way. I slide across the table a little more, giving him an eyeful.
This time, he looks. Good.
“Well,” he starts. He doesn’t get very far into his sentence before his head slams across the table. I roll my eyes and look to the side before glancing up. I already know what I’m going to see there—Blake.
Blake stands behind the guy, his fist balled in the fabric of his shirt. He lifts Blondie up out of his seat, setting him on his feet unevenly. “Get out,” Blake says.
The young man—who I now realize might be more of a boy—leaves without a fight.
Not so good. Ugh.
I sigh. “You keep doing this.”
“Doing what?” he says. “Kicking guys out of the bar before they can fuck you over? And under? And sideways? I’m doing you a favor.”
“You’re a fucking liar,” I retort. I can’t help it. Blake just makes me want to swear and lash out at him, and then go to him to make it better. Like I’ll ever do that again.
“Right,” he says, drawing out his words slowly. “I’m obviously insanely jealous.”
“Clearly,” I say. “Why do you have to keep doing this? I told you we’re not going to get in a relationship.”
“Why do you keep having to flash random guys? I think maybe we should get you a more concealing uniform.” He flicks his gaze down to my chest and leaves it there. “Not that I don’t enjoy the view.”
“Fuck you, Blake,” I say. We’re getting loud and eyes are on us, but that’s not like it’s anything new. We’re too explosive to get in a relationship. Why am I even thinking about the qualities we’d have in a relationship, anyway? I don’t do relationships. Plus, “I don’t know anything about you anyway, you asshat.”
“You know what? Fine. Fine. Come here,” he says, but he doesn’t wait for me to come anywhere. He just grabs my hand and drags me behind the bar, out into the storage room I’d first found this uniform in—not the one we’d had sex in that one time. The only time. The only time it’ll ever happen, despite the raunchy fantasies I keep having. “What do you want to know about me?”
“We’re so not playing this game,” I say. Fuck this guy. He thinks he can just play me around and then give me details about him after making me ask? And that we’ll somehow end up together because of it? Douche! “I’m leaving.”
“No, you aren’t,” he grabs a crate and pushes it in front of the door. Then he sits on it. I glare at him, but begrudgingly do the same, setting my crate down in front of his like two chairs at a table. “Ask me something.”
“You should know by now not to tell me what to do.” I cross my arms over my chest, but it doesn’t do anything. There’s no fire in it. I don’t know why I keep fighting him. Maybe I should stop.
But I won’t.
This time, he rolls his eyes at me. “That’s a blatant lie,” he gestures. “Your question.”
Only one? Wow. Okay. “The first time we met, someone grabbed me and you guys ended up in a fight,” I say, recalling what happened just a few days ago. Why does it feel like it’s been forever since we’ve known each other? “You asked him if he knew who you were before you beat him up. What gives?”
He pauses and sighs, breathing out before he starts to answer. I look at his arms; the muscles in them are tense, like he’s stressed. But he answers anyway. “Ex-navy SEAL,” he clarifies. “The boys around here should know not to mess with me by now.”
Oh. Okay. “Got it,” I say. I stretch, raising my arms over my head. Blake’s eyes go to them, and I bring them down quickly, knowing full well that he’s staring at them and thinking about me being bound in front of him. I wonder how I looked to him. I bet I looked good. “What’s your favorite hobby?”
He’s caught off-guard and his laughter is delicious. “Rock climbing, thanks,” he looks like he’s about to ask something but thinks better of it. Good.
Raising an eyebrow, I remind him, “I’m the one asking the questions here, remember?”
He lifts his hand like he’s holding a glass of booze, and holds out his imaginary toast to me. “Aye, you torturer,” he says. “Go on.”
“Why rock climbing?” I’m curious. It is technically a physical sport, if you’d call it a sport, but that seems like such a weird thing for a guy like Blake to be into. I would have expected something like wrestling or basketball or football.
“I specialized in it in the Navy,” he says. That explains almost nothing, but I take it to mean that that’s what he was into as a hobby – he probably focused on that in a training center, or something, on top of his other work getting into the SEAL program. “Anything else?”
He leans forward with his hands on his knees. I can’t help but lean forward too, and soon our faces are so close that if I leaned forward just an inch, we would be kissing. I move closer to him. I can only imagine what his mouth will taste like, what the warmth of it against mine will feel like—
Someone tries pushing the door open. The crate Blake put in front of it and sits on blocks it, though, and the door only opens a few inches before jamming. The person outside knocks. I turn to Blake, full of confusion. Who could be knocking at the door? We’re the only people who work here! And no customer would just go behind the bar to get to this door and knock on it. Would they?
Nah. No way. Not even if they were really desperate for another round. Blake’s too intimidating for pushy customers.
The knock comes again, and Blake starts to stand. He’s in the middle of moving his crate away from the door when a voice comes, “Blake, this is your accountant. We need to talk.”
Blake raises a finger to his lips to tell me to keep quiet. He moves his crate back to where it came from. He moves his hand around to gesture that I should get up from my seat, and then he places my crate on top of it and walks away. I move back to the door immediately, craning my head against the door to listen to the two talk.
“Mr. Roe,” Blake says. “What’s going on?”
“Shotguns is losing money, Blake,” he responds. “Do you want to talk about this here? I really think this shouldn’t wait.”
There’s some mumbling that I can’t make out as both of their voices dip lower. I hear the flick of papers as they go through what sounds like a huge stack of them. Numbers are mentioned.
“I’ll make some changes,” Blake says. Their seats scuffle as they’re moved, and I jump away from the door. Blake comes in a minute later without knocking. He gives me a look, and I nod back to him. I have a feeling about what he’s going to say—that I’m going to need to help him with whatever going’s on—and I don’t bother to ask what it is.
His accountant.
You know what, actually, I do have to ask. If I’m wrong and actually have no idea what’s going on, that’ll be pretty embarrassing.
“The bar’s losing money?” I ask, raising a hand and placing it on his shoulder. I probably shouldn’t be touching him, and the shiver that runs through my body at the brief contact does me no good. But still. I leave my hand there for a s
econd, in the hopes that it’ll make him feel better.
“Yeah,” he says. “How are we going to deal with this?”
I survey the room with a quick glance. The tables are in disarray, and some of them aren’t even the same model. More of the tables are uneven than not, and the chairs can’t be seen as better because some tables don’t even have chairs. Of those that do, broken legs abound and sit in slanted slopes. The bar doesn’t have that many stools in front of it, although there’s plenty of alcohol behind the bar. And for all the cleaning Blake does, some specks of dirt and dust have landed throughout the bar. The dim light of the bar does a little to hide it, but not much.
And that lighting…it really is an issue.
“It needs to be brighter in here,” I say.
“So we change out the lights,” he says, looking around the room and nodding as he thinks. “The furniture has got to go. We need it fresher, more modern. Then we’ll be better off, I think.”
Or maybe not. Originally, I started working here because I wanted to be around the “rough and tough” types and get shots at kinky sex with them. Not that I don’t still want that, but… I look to Blake. If I was into relationships, he would be the man I’d want more than anything.
“It might be the clientele you’re attracting,” I manage to get out. I don’t know how Blake is going to take it, because while he doesn’t fit in entirely with the bikers, he’s no gentleman. Hell, actually, he’d probably have to try not to seem like one of the types he attracts. He’s definitely the sort.
“And?” he says. He doesn’t sound offended, not like he seems the sort to get offended. I let out a silent sigh of relief. “What do you have in mind?”
I bring my hands out in front of my face, like I’m taking a picture with a camera. “Well… You’re into rockclimbing, right?”
