I pulled back slightly, and looked up at him. His eyes met mine. They were clouded over in need. I kept eye contact, and very slowly reached my tongue out and licked his head. I wasn’t really giving him a blowjob. I was just exploring his body, varying the speed and the intensity, from hard to slow to fast to soft and back again. Ryan’s eyes shut in need. This felt good; I loved knowing that I could do this to him.
“Kitten, you are killing me here,” Ryan grated.
“Mmm,” I said. I looked at him and winked. “That’s sort of the point.”
Ryan shook his head at me in rebuke, but his eyes were amused. His hands tightened in my hair, and he pulled me forward on his cock. “I’m going to set the pace now, kitten,” he said.
Gods, he took charge so well. My pussy gushed again in response. I moaned into his cock, as he slid my mouth up and down his hard length. His dick hit the back of my throat, and I fought not to gag. He gave me a second or two to recover, and then resumed. My eyes watered, yet my nipples were hard points, and my entire body was tingling in arousal.
“You’ve got to learn how to control that gag reflex, Maya,” Ryan remarked conversationally. “Here.”
He pushed the full length of his dick deep down my throat, and held still. I fought to breathe. My hands balled into fists behind my back.
“Breathe through your nose. Relax,” he instructed. Warm water ran all around us, unnoticed. I struggled to obey.
One of Ryan’s hands balled my hair up into a ponytail; the other moved to my chin, holding it at the precise angle for him to thrust down my throat. He looked at me, all warmth and caring. “This is going to be intense; use your hands to stop me if you need, okay?”
I nodded. I didn’t want to stop him. I wanted to please him.
He smiled in response, and then his eyes shuttered, and he pushed straight into my open mouth, thrusting hard, as I fought to remain steady, to breathe, to relax my mouth and let him penetrate it. He was right, this was intense. I was drooling, mixed in with the water from the shower. My throat was being fucked at the pace he wanted; it was powerful and forceful and passionate and extreme, and I hated it a little, and loved it a lot.
He paused, and pulled back. I gasped for air, struggling to even my breathing. He looked at me intently. “Too much?” he asked, with a touch of concern.
I shook my head. “Mostly in a good way.” I had regained control of my breath.
He nodded. “In that case, Maya, back again.”
And so it went. He controlled my body expertly, stroking into my mouth, setting the pace, pausing when he could tell it all got a bit too much. Everything was reduced to simplicity. Breathe. Accept his cock in my throat. Relax. Breathe.
He didn’t touch me, other than the one hand in my hair, and the other holding my chin at the angle he wanted, but I was shuddering in arousal; I was entranced at the effect I was having on him, and it was sending shock pulses through my body. I was teetering on the edge, so close to an orgasm.
Ryan stopped. He shut off the water, and looked at me. His eyes were glazed with lust as he contemplated me. I still knelt on the bathtub, my hands obediently linked behind my back. I looked back at him in utter need.
“I want to be in your pussy, Maya,” Ryan growled. “Come.”
A quick rub of the towel; the weave of the fabric raising goose-bumps all over my body. Then, I was carried to the bed in the playroom, tossed down on it. I lay on my back, and I met Ryan’s eyes. “Ryan, please, I want you in me,” I begged.
“Soon enough,” he murmured.
He quickly cuffed me to the headboard. My arms spread wide, tied to the two ends. My legs, raised over my head, also tied next to my arms. I silently gave thanks to my yoga classes in San Francisco.
“You are so very helpless right now, Maya.” Ryan grinned at me. “So, tell me again, the jam, was that a good idea?” His eyes twinkled at me.
I giggled, and tried for the appropriately serious expression, but my lips couldn’t stop twitching. “No, Ryan, the jam was a very poor idea,” I said, with my best attempt at contrition.
Ryan winked at me, as he grabbed a condom and rolled it on. “Naughty Maya,” he said, amused. “That was not convincing at all.” He thrust into me. I moaned. Gods, in this position, he was so deep in me, it was almost painful.
“I think I’ll have to punish you.” Smack. His hand smacked my exposed ass, as he continued thrusting. I bit my lip to stop from crying out aloud. This was so incredibly erotic. The spanks mixed in with his deep strokes; pleasure layered upon pleasure; heat rising. Again, I was clenching my fists, my hips were rising to meet Ryan’s strokes, my moans mixed in with his grunts, and then, he was coming in me, his face clenched in passion, his fingers touching my clitoris, demanding response, and my response was instantaneous and passionate, and I exploded in a sea of colour and sparks.
He pulled out, and quickly uncuffed me. I straightened with a moan. “Thank heavens for yoga class,” I groaned. He laughed. “Indeed,” he said in agreement.
We lay next to each other, recovering.
“Ryan,” I asked hesitantly, as something struck me. “In the shower, was that punishment?”
He raised himself on one elbow, and looked at me. His fingers reached out to smooth a tendril of hair back. “Did it feel like punishment?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
“You were very in control,” I responded. That wasn’t really an answer to his question. I tried to put words to the feelings. “It was good, and I was turned on, but…”
He raised an eyebrow. “But what?” His fingers still stroked my face though, and I felt brave enough to continue.
“In the shower, when you were fucking my mouth; it felt a bit, umm, impersonal.”
Ryan’s hands were now on me, and he pulled me into his body. “I’m sorry,” he said, softly. “It’s not meant to be impersonal. But I forget how little experience you have.”
“It’s all just a game, Maya,” he said, quietly. “The game has some guidelines, but at the end of the day, it’s just a game. There’s no such thing as punishment, if you think about it, because you are a grown-up, and I have no right to punish you. So when I threaten to punish you, it’s always just a game.”
“I know that,” I interrupted. I did know that. I trusted Ryan. “I always feel safe with you.”
“Good. Anything I do to you, either in bed or in the playroom, anything you do to me, it’s always about pleasure. I’ll stretch your limits, maybe, there’ll be some pain sometimes, but it should always be primarily about pleasure. If it isn’t, at any time, say no. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want either.”
I contemplated what he said. “What if I’d hated the whipping yesterday?”
“Then we wouldn’t have done that,” Ryan said, without hesitation.
I shifted, uncomfortably. “But Ryan, you like the whipping, right? If I didn’t like it, wouldn’t you have been bored?”
Ryan laughed, but without much humour. “Oh, sweet Maya, you still have no idea how hot you are.” He kissed my shoulder. “Maya, a few of the women I’ve slept with have no interest in the whips and the chains. And so we don’t. It’s still pleasurable and good, either way. Whips, no whips, it’s all good.”
My heart twisted at the thought of other women in Ryan’s bed, but for the moment, I firmly ignored that.
“Kitten. You’ve got to understand. You are not my slave. I’m not your master. We are two consenting adults having sex. Sure, there’s whips and chains involved, but at the end of the day, you should have fun, and I should have fun.”
I bit my lip. “I didn’t have fun with Anthony,” I said, softly.
“And you took it personally.” He didn’t word it as a question.
I nodded. “He’d had sex before, I was a virgin. I thought I was doing something wrong.”
Ryan turned me towards him, and kissed me softly, with infinite tenderness. “Trust me, kitten, you aren’t doing anything wrong. You are so responsive, you are driv
ing me insane.”
“Really?” There was a thread of disbelief in my voice.
“Oh Maya, I’m breaking every rule here. I slept with you at the cottage – I’ve never done that before. I invited you to stay here, when every sensible bone in my body is telling me that you need to date someone your own age. I find you utterly irresistible; I can’t keep my hands off you.”
My heart lifted with every word, I was practically singing at the end of it. “Really?” I said again, and this time, there was hope in my voice.
“Yes indeed, Maya.” His voice was wry. “Now if you want to go to the Eiffel Tower, you better get up and get dressed.”
Chapter 10
I rummaged through my suitcase in increasing despair. I’d been a confused, sleep-deprived mess when I packed for this trip, and it showed. I had serviceable jeans, plain t-shirts, warm sweaters. Boring cotton bras and panties. I’d brought nothing with the slightest bit of allure whatsoever. Crap. I needed to go shopping.
I got on the phone with Nina. She was in Moscow, two hours ahead, which made it about 4pm. She picked up the phone on the second ring.
“Hey Maya! Found everything okay in the apartment?” Her voice was cheerful.
“For sure,” I said evasively. Nina could not find out I was staying at Ryan’s. “Listen, I forgot to pack some stuff. Do you have any suggestions for lingerie stores?”
“Lingerie?” Her voice was speculative.
“Mmm-hmm.” The less I said the better. Nina was both perceptive and chatty, the worst possible combination for the present.
Thankfully, there was a voice in the background on her end, and a bit of commotion. “Crap, I’ve got to go. I’ll email you a list in 5 minutes, Maya, okay? Merry Christmas!”
“You too,” I said, to an empty receiver. I wondered what was going on with Nina.
Okay. Boring clothes were going to have to suffice today, but I was determined to wake up early tomorrow and go shopping. Whatever Ryan said, I didn’t think the allure would survive if he saw me day after day in jeans, t-shirts, and the plainest of plain cotton bras and panties.
I dressed hastily, grabbed my purse, and made my way to the living room.
“Sorry about the delay,” I apologised.
Ryan looked up from the book he was reading. He was draped across an armchair, all easy elegance. “No worries,” he smiled at me. “Traffic and parking are always hell near the Eiffel Tower – you okay with taking the Metro?”
“Not a problem.” My phone buzzed. I took a quick look; it was Nina’s promised email with a list of lingerie stores. Excellent.
Ryan’s phone rang at that point. He took a quick look, made an apologetic face towards me, and picked it up.
“Hey Gayla, when did you get back?” he said into the phone. I moved away; I was a tiny bit jealous of the mysterious Gayla. I didn’t really want to listen to this call. Trying to ignore the conversation, I took a proper look around Ryan’s living room for the first time.
The overwhelming impression was of warmth and comfort. The room was beautiful; high ceilings; large windows; there was a couch on one end, and a couple of battered leather armchairs on the other. One wall was entirely filled with books, and odd little knick-knacks. I don’t know what I thought Ryan’s apartment would be like, but this was filled with personality. I really liked it.
“Hang on,” I heard Ryan say. He covered the receiver with a hand, and looked at me quizzically. “Maya, if you aren’t doing anything else New Year’s Eve, want to go to a party?”
“A party?” I repeated.
“Yeah, Gayla’s throwing a party. She promises it’ll be fun.” His voice sounded resigned.
“I’d love to,” I said cautiously. It was going to be interesting to meet Gayla.
He smiled at me, and spoke into the phone. “Okay, Gayla, I’ll be there. And I’m bringing a date.”
I could hear her squeal on the other end, and start talking. Ryan shook his head in bemusement, and cut her off. “Galya, got to run, okay? We’ll see you next week.”
“Women,” he muttered to me, putting his phone in his pocket. “Okay, kitten, ready to go?”
The Eiffel Tower was magnificent, and thankfully, not too crowded. I was lucky, the day was clear, and we had spectacular views of Paris. We stayed and watched as dusk crept over the city, and the lights twinkled on. It was magical. I leaned backward into Ryan’s chest as I gazed.
Be careful, Maya, my sensible side said. He’s not your boyfriend, stop treating him like one. But Ryan didn’t move back, his arms snaked around my waist, and he pulled me closer. “If you are cold, I can think of ways to warm you up,” he whispered in my ear.
I blushed. His hands were on my waist, and my body knew his touch, even through the layers of clothing I wore. “The playroom then?” I asked hopefully.
He laughed. “Ah, to be twenty-one again,” he grinned. “Maya, I need to eat if you insist on having your evil way with me in the playroom. Dinner first?”
I laughed with him. I liked this version of Ryan. When we’d played at the cottage, he was tenser, curter. Here, he was more relaxed, more open. I turned towards him and kissed him briefly on the lips. “If you insist,” I mock-pouted.
He chuckled. “Do you like Moroccan food? One of my favorite restaurants is in the Marais – want to try it?”
The restaurant was lovely. It was small and intimate, busy, but not excessively so. Ryan was clearly a regular; he was greeted warmly by the smiling hostess and we were seated instantly with menus placed in front of us.
Ryan offered me the wine list. “They have a great selection of local wine here,” he said. “Anything strike your fancy?”
I shook my head. “I know nothing about wine,” I confessed. “It’s embarrassing for someone who lives close to Napa Valley, I know. I’m much more of a craft beer person.”
“Really?” Ryan asked with curiosity, as he quickly ran his eyes down the wine list. He said something in French to the waitress who’d appeared at his elbow. She smiled and nodded.
“Craft beer? Tell me more.”
“California has a lot of excellent microbreweries,” I said. “I spent a summer a couple of years ago being a grunt at a brewery once, trying to learn how to brew on the side. It was loads of fun.”
“They let you work in a brewery when you were nineteen?” Ryan looked surprised.
“I had fake ID,” I confessed, slightly embarrassed. Ryan burst out laughing. “What’s so funny?” I asked, a bit indignantly.
“Sweet Maya,” Ryan chuckled. He was trying to hold back the laughter, but he wasn’t succeeding very well. “Most people use their fake ID to drink, not work, you know.”
The waitress brought us the bottle of wine, interrupting the smart-ass comment I was going to make. Probably just as well. Ryan took an exploratory sip, and nodded his thanks to the waitress. She filled our glasses and left.
“Ryan, can I ask you a question?” I took a sip of wine, and looked at Ryan.
“I think you just did,” he said, grinning. “But please, ask away.”
“How’d do get into the whole whips and chains thing?” I wasn’t sure if he’d answer; I was prying dreadfully.
He took a sip of wine. “Like most people, I’d imagine. I slept with someone who wanted me to spank her, I liked it more than I expected; the rest is history.”
“That is the vaguest of answers,” I snapped.
His lips quirked. “Precisely how much more detail do you want, kitten?”
“How long ago was this?” I asked. I was so very curious about Ryan. I wanted to know everything – what made him tick; why he kept his distance from almost everyone; why he refused to be in a relationship.
“Seven years,” he said, sipping his wine. “Drink your wine, kitten. I promise you, it’s excellent.”
I took a sip. It was indeed excellent. “How long did you date this woman?”
“I don’t date, Maya,” he answered reflexively. “But we slept together for ab
out six months.”
“Does she live in Paris?” I hated my curiosity, but I couldn’t stop the inquisition.
“Not anymore, as far as I know. I think she moved to Lyon? I’m not really sure, we haven’t kept in touch.”
“Why did you stop sleeping with her?” I lowered my head, sipping my wine. This was the heart of it, knowing how and why the end came about. Was I trying to understand, to forestall what was going to happen with us?
Ryan shook his head at me, and sighed. “Why’d you care, Maya? Its old history, not relevant to the here and now.”
He sipped his wine, choosing his words carefully. “Her name was Emily. I think she’d been in a proper submissive relationship before, and she missed it. She asked me to spank her, which I enjoyed.” He paused, looking pensive. “But then, things escalated. First, spanking. Then, whips. Then, canes – raising welts on her skin, sometimes, breaking skin. More and more, it seemed like pleasure wasn’t the main point, it was about pain. When she wanted me to try needles on her, I broke it off. I’ve told you the way I play; what Emily wanted was too much for me.”
I took a large sip of my drink, as I processed what he just told me.
“But you kept playing, with the whips and chains,” I said, trying to understand.
“I like being in charge. I don’t like causing pain. The needles, the blood – that was too much for me,” he said easily. “But the whips or the spanking, or even the clothespins – has it ever been more pain than pleasure for you?”
“No.” My answer was emphatic. It had indeed always been about pleasure. Sure, there had been pain mixed in with the pleasure, but the pain had just served to highlight the pleasure.
The waitress had been hovering in the background as we talked, but she came forward when there was a pause in the conversation. I took a quick look at the menu, it was all in French. Crap. “Ryan,” I asked, “would you order for me, please? I’m going to take forever if I have to read the menu.”
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