by S. Walden
“I thought you liked it,” he said, pumping me gently. He leaned over and whispered, “You’re wet.”
“Shush!” I cried, and lifted myself up on my knees.
“Hey, where’re you going?” he asked.
“I’m getting off this table. I’ve had enough,” I replied curtly.
Reece grinned like the devil. “You get off that table and I’ll paddle your ass all night.”
“This isn’t fair! Why don’t I get to punish you for stuff?!”
“Fine. What do you wanna punish me for?”
He waited, arms folded over his chest while I considered his question.
“Well, I dunno,” I mumbled.
“Exactly. Now assume the position,” he ordered.
“My knees hurt,” I whined.
“God, Bailey. You make the worst sub,” he replied.
I laughed. “We’re in that kind of relationship?”
“No, but if we were, it’d be terrible.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “Now just trust me. Get up on that table and let me make you feel good.”
I did what he asked and waited to feel his tongue on my ass again. But it went to my pussy instead. He teased me open and explored me with the tip before running his tongue up my crack to my ass. And then back down again. And up again. And down again until I had a difficult time remembering why I was being punished. Or rewarded. Or both.
The whole experience was invasive and embarrassing, and I didn’t want him to stop. I suppose this was Reece’s way of owning all of me. I’d never been wholly wanted, not even by Brian. My OCD was always an issue, always a reason he stayed just the slightest bit distant. But Reece wasn’t like that at all. He wanted in on everything about me, all my secrets—the secrets in my head, the secrets in my heart, the secret places on my body I’d never shared with another man.
I cried out when he slipped the tip of his finger in my ass.
“Hold still,” he said. “Relax.”
I felt my muscles spasm around his finger and tried to relax. But I didn’t know how.
“How?!”
“Calm down,” he said gently. “Just calm down.”
If I screamed at him to remove his finger, I knew he would. Reece played games with me, but only if I wanted him to. The real issue I had to confront was the dawning realization that I didn’t want him to move his finger. At least not out. I wanted him to push it farther into my body.
I couldn’t ask him. I would never live it down. And a part of me wished he’d tie me to the table and violate me however he wanted. Not ask for permission. Not worry about my feelings. At least then I could pretend to be offended while secretly reveling in his touch.
“Rock back,” he said.
I heard that rumble deep in his throat as I pushed my ass back, encouraging his finger to slide farther in. It burned. I loved it.
“That’s it,” he cooed.
His other hand went to my pussy, and he worked my clit to the rhythm of his thrusting finger—careful, slow. I moaned and writhed against his hands, no longer feeling the sting of humiliation on my face. It still burned, but now it burned with a dangerous sexual desire. I wanted to get off. But I was afraid of what I didn’t know.
My knees dug into the hard table, pinching and shooting painful sparks up my thighs. Rocking my body against Reece’s hands didn’t help, so I tried not moving. That proved to be excruciating—the intensity of his ministrations immediately doubled. I whimpered and rocked again. It set my knees on fire but lessened the pleasure-pain exploding between my legs. God, my knees hurt! I froze again, and they stopped screaming, but the pressure in my ass built to an unmanageable degree, and I was forced to rock back again.
This was reward/punishment, I learned. Screaming knees or screaming ass and pussy. I was trapped in a gilded cage—the bird who could have flown away. He always gave me the choice. But I was tempted every time by the beauty of those golden bars. And I always chose this.
“Sweet Bailey,” he said softly. “Stop fighting it.”
He knew I was. He could feel my muscles contracting around his finger, signaling the need for release. And I was fighting, trying to distract the building orgasm by holding still. Then moving. Then holding still again. I didn’t trust myself. I sure as hell didn’t trust my body. How would I come? What would it feel like? Would it be humiliating—his finger deep in my ass?
His hand left my pussy and pushed against my upper back, forcing my face and shoulders flat on the table. The position naturally pushed my ass higher in the air and gave me little freedom to rock my hips.
“If you move, I’ll tan your ass,” he cautioned. “And I mean it. I don’t wanna see you move an inch when you come for me.”
My eyes went wide. I couldn’t do that! It was impossible.
“Reece!” I begged.
“Close your mouth, Bailey,” he ordered.
He resumed his work, tickling my pussy with the tips of his fingers before settling on my clit once more.
“Spread your legs wider,” he said, and I slid my knees farther apart.
Now my inner thighs burned. There was no avoiding the pain. It’s as though he knew it. Knees, thighs, it didn’t matter. He was going to put me in a position to make something burn.
“My thighs!” I gasped, bucking as best I could against his brutal hands.
“Bailey.”
“My thighs burn!”
His hands were gone in a flash. I winced at the sting in my ass that he left behind from pulling his finger out so quickly. I thought it unwise to turn around. Plus I was too afraid. I kept my cheek suctioned to the table, only just then noticing the sweat sliding down my forehead in beaded currents. My whole body was drenched.
I stiffened when I heard him return. He grabbed my wrists roughly and tied them behind my back.
“Reece, it hurts!”
“Stop whining,” he said into my ear, “or I’ll give you something to whine about.”
Motherfucker.
“I know what you were thinking the whole time,” he said, moving directly behind me again. “You were thinking how much you wanted me to get you off like this. But you’d never say it. You’d never say it because you’re not that kind of girl, are you? But you’re thinking it. You’re thinking how much you want it to hurt when you come. Well, guess what?”
“Untie me!” I demanded.
“I’m gonna give you exactly what you want. And I’m gonna make it hurt far worse than your pretty little head could ever imagine.”
“REECE!”
What the fuck was he slipping around my knee? I couldn’t see, but it felt like rope. This guy was crazy! He pulled it tight around the table leg, then moved to my other knee. Once he had me sufficiently bound and spread open, he left me there. To get a bowl of cereal. Apple Jacks, to be exact, because he was a sick fuck.
He pulled a chair up to the table and munched while he observed my face.
“You enjoying this?”
I couldn’t suppress the grin. “You’re such a jerk. And something’s wrong with me that I let you do these things.”
“You think this is reward or punishment?”
“Well, my inner thighs feel like they’re about to snap, so I’d say punishment.”
He swallowed. “I think you’re right.”
“You said you’d give me both,” I reminded him.
“Oh, I will, but tell me this first.”
I couldn’t wait to hear what was about to come out of his mouth.
“Did you like my tongue on your asshole?”
“Fuck you.”
“Hmmm.” He stood up and slapped my ass. I howled. “Did you like my tongue on your asshole?”
“Yes! Okay?! Yes, I did!” I turned my face away from him.
“Bailey?”
“What?” I snapped.
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he replied.
“Maybe not for you, but I grew up in the South, buddy. And shit like that is not acceptable.”
>
He chuckled. “I grew up in the South, too.”
“You grew up in Maryland,” I countered.
“That’s south of the Mason Dixon Line,” he explained.
“Whatever, Reece. My thighs are on fire!” I squealed.
“You’re supposed to beg me for more,” he teased.
“Reece!”
“But the punishment portion of this kinky session is over.”
I sighed relief.
“You want your reward?”
I nodded.
His hand went to my pussy. I’d never been spread so wide before, tied down, completely vulnerable to his sexual whims. He trapped my clit between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed it gently. I bucked, but it was useless. I really couldn’t go anywhere. I think I was just trying to ease the pressure.
“Soft little clit,” he cooed. “Does she like this?”
I let out a ragged moan as another finger slipped inside me, pumping me a few times before moving to my ass. He traced the rim of my hole a few times before slipping his finger inside oh-so-gently. I squirmed and squealed, but he kept up his assault. Thrusting slowly in and out of my ass while he rubbed my clit.
I was knocked underwater by the wave. I couldn’t stand up on the board in time and missed my opportunity. The water swirled over my calves and thighs, bubbles bursting between my legs and on my face—the final crescendo to this delicious watery score.
I didn’t scream. Not at first. I groaned—a sound that bubbled up from the depths of my basic self. Animal. Raw. Naked. Wanting. I couldn’t move because of my binds and was trapped in the painful ecstasy of feeling every pop, swell, shoot, burst of orgasmic undoing. And then I screamed. I screamed long and loud to ease the wicked pleasure, but my cries merely heightened it.
“Stop!” I shouted.
The spasms kept coming—assaulting my legs and belly, my heart and brain. He wouldn’t move his hands. He was determined to draw it out until I begged for mercy. He pumped my ass and rubbed me incessantly between my legs as all the pleasure petered out, leaving nothing behind but pain.
“Please, Reece!”
My clit burned then shifted to acute sensitivity. His finger barely grazing it was enough to make me scream until my throat went raw. I stiffened and cried out again.
“PLEASE!”
He moved his hands, and I panted relief. A sheet of sweat blanketed my body. My thighs had given up the fight, but I knew once he released me and I moved, they’d yell at me all over again.
I shook as Reece untied my hands. My shoulders ached, and I stretched out my arms above my head in a sort of child’s pose. He untied my legs next, and once I was free, I rolled over slowly onto my side, wincing at my angry legs.
Reece sat down in the chair again and looked me over.
“I’ve never belonged to anyone,” he said. All the playfulness was gone. “No one’s ever belonged to me.”
I was too vulnerable to hear this. I knew I would cry.
“You’ve made me so happy, Bailey. Happier than any man deserves.” He thought for a moment, smiling to himself. The tone in his voice changed. “I think I like to tie you up and do these things because you let me. You trust me. You belong to me.”
I nodded.
“I’ll never abuse that. Do you believe me?”
I nodded again.
“I’ll always be faithful to you. Just you. The things we do here? These secret things between us? They’re special to us. They’re expressions of our love for one another. I don’t ever want you to think they’re wrong or dirty.”
I blushed.
“Because they’re not.” He paused and scratched his cheek. “I just wanna study you like a specimen under a microscope.”
I giggled.
“I know that’s freakin’ weird. But it’s the truth. I can’t get enough of your body, and I’m sorry if that scares you.”
I sat up slowly and crossed my legs.
“It doesn’t. I like it.”
He smiled.
“I like letting go. I like that you help me let go.”
“Bailey?”
“Hmm?”
“I’ll always be faithful to you.”
“You already said that.”
“I know,” he replied. “But I need you to really hear it and understand it.”
“I do.”
“This right here? What just happened? I don’t want you thinking I’ve done this with lots of other girls or something. I’ve never done it with anyone but you. I’m not a crazy sex freak in general. I’m just a crazy sex freak with you.”
I smiled. “I understand.”
All that time I thought I was the one on display—open and vulnerable to my boyfriend. In reality, he was baring himself just as honestly to me, hoping I would accept the love he was so desperate to give.
And I did.
I should have known this day would come. I couldn’t very well coast along indefinitely, ignoring my rituals, relinquishing control of my schedule, laughing in the face of my anxiety. Please. Reece was good, but he wasn’t that good, and I should have prepared myself better for the big day. Not my big day. Her big day. Her wedding. The wedding. The wedding of the century.
He discovered me at the kitchen table, cardstock scorer in one hand and a shot of vodka in the other. I was a frazzled mess: hair sticking out in all directions (I stopped counting the number of times I tugged on it), eyes wild with fear, sweat-stained shirt.
“Bailey?” Reece said carefully, placing his gym bag and basketball in the corner of the living room.
“I should have paid attention. I should have checked this weeks ago.”
“What is it, honey?” Reece sat down in a chair across from me.
“I made a mistake.” I lifted my face to his, eyes swimming with panic tears. I hate panic tears. They sting worse than regular tears.
“Impossible,” he replied.
“Look at these place cards!” I screamed.
I waved one in the air, then threw it at him. He picked it up and looked at it. And then I watched his eyes move from side to side, looking for an answer to the right, and then an answer to the left. Side to side until he realized there was no answer. He didn’t know what was wrong.
“Please don’t yell at me, okay?” he began. “But I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The crease, Reece!” I spat out impatiently.
He suppressed the urge to laugh.
“Oh, it’s funny?”
“Bailey, you rhymed. Come on.”
I huffed and watched him study the crease of the card.
“Bailey?”
“What?”
“I’m not seeing it, honey.”
“The cracks! The cracks in the crease because those dipshit bridesmaids didn’t use a scorer!”
“Huh?”
“Oh my God. Look it: You have to score cardstock, Reece. It has to be scored to fold pretty. To fold crisp.” I held up a brand new card I recently scored beside the botched one in Reece’s hand. “See?”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “Yours looks way better.”
My stomach flipped. “Oh my God. Oh my God! My sister is gonna freak out, okay? Freak the fuck out!” I cried.
“But she’s not the perfectionist,” Reece pointed out. “You are.”
“Exactly! And that’s why I’ve gotta redo all these. All 150 of them!” I gulped. “I’ll be up all night cutting and scoring and printing and tying and . . .” I took the shot that was still in my hand.
“I’ll help,” Reece offered. I watched him glance at the clock in the kitchen: 8:44 P.M. “We have plenty of time.”
I halfway listened as I tapped the pointed end of the scorer against the table.
“Bailey, stop.”
I kept tapping.
“Honey, think about all the progress you’ve made,” Reece said.
“She’s getting married tomorrow!” I wailed. “I should have been a better maid of honor!” I threw the scorer like a d
agger across the room. It barely missed Reece’s eye as it whizzed past him. He had a right to yell at me, but he didn’t. Because he’s Reece. And he’s very nearly perfect.
“Breathe,” he said gently.
I inhaled.
“Now out.”
I exhaled.
“Keep doing that while I get your scorer,” he said, standing up. “And don’t count.”
How’d he know I was counting? God, you’ve no idea the urges crawling everywhere inside my veins. I wanted to “tic” all over the fucking house. I wanted to turn the knobs on my stove top so many times they’d fall off. I wanted to stand at my front door and twist the lock for hours. Just stand there, twisting. Like a maniac! I wanted to count my steps to every room, divide the number by two, and hope it came out evenly.
“I have the creepy crawlies,” I admitted to Reece when he returned to the table.
“Bailey, Restless Leg Syndrome isn’t a real thing,” he replied.
“My urges,” I said desperately.
“It’s okay. That’s why I’m here. We’re gonna get all this done, and we’re not gonna freak out, and you’ll have plenty of time to get your beauty rest,” he replied. “And you’re gonna be the prettiest girl on that beach tomorrow.”
I didn’t deserve him. I knew it when he handed over the scorer with all the trust in the world that I wouldn’t fling it across the room again.
“Show me how to set up the printer for the names,” Reece said. “And I’ll work on that. You cut. And score.”
We worked into the night, past the midnight point and into the early morning hours. He forced me to go to bed at 2 A.M. and promised he’d take care of the rest.
“Give up control,” he urged, pushing me into the bedroom.
“But Reece . . .”
“Have a little faith in me, okay? I watched you do it. I’ve got this. Go to bed.”
I acquiesced, thinking I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. Not unless I knew the place cards were completely finished and perfect. Surely the uncertainty would keep me awake. But as soon as my face hit the pillow, I passed out. I don’t remember when Reece came to bed. I don’t recall him whispering in my ear, “Perfectly straight lines.”
***
You wanna talk about a beautiful bride? My sister was a beautiful bride. Almost too beautiful. She’s the only woman I know who looks airbrushed in real life. I stared at her more than I wanted. I couldn’t help it. She glowed and beamed and all the other stuff brides do on their wedding days. I suppressed the mild jealousy; I didn’t want to entertain any negative feelings on such a beautiful day. Light ocean breeze. Full sun. Everyone and everything sparkled. It was the fairytale she wanted.
