Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play

by Sydney Jamesson

  He picks up the pace again and I come close. He stills.

  “Don’t do this Ayden.” I plead, tears stinging my eyes.

  “Beg me.”

  “Please.”

  “Again.”

  “Ayden, why are you doing this?”

  “Because I can. I’m teaching you a lesson, remember?”

  I meet his stare but see a stranger with soulless eyes starved of light, reflecting domination. Nothing more. Fear grips me by the throat.

  “You tease and seduce me with your words and disarm me with your gentleness, I have no defence and I love your for it. But, right now I want you to know how it feels to be powerless, because that’s how you make me feel.”

  “Ayden.” I don’t like this game. Where is he going with this? “Romeo,” I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. “This isn’t you pleasing me, this is you punishing me for loving you.” I turn my head to the side and feel him pulling out of me. Here I am, tied up, turned on and being punished for ... what?

  “I’m trying really hard to submit. You have no idea how hard it is for me to do this, you don’t know.” I look into his eyes and, thank God he’s back; the disturbing hues of blackness have morphed into the colour of kindness. A cerulean sea of sadness ripples and glistens before me. This dominant man is forlorn, lost and contrite.

  My naked Adonis reaches for his neck and then for the scarf tying my hands to the bed head. He unties me and rubs my grazed wrists with his thumbs. The silence is suffocating.

  “Come here.” I reach out my arms and he falls into me.

  “I’m sorry.” He mutters, holding me tight.

  “I had no idea you felt like this. When I’m teasing, it’s because I assume we’re close enough to be like that with each other. I don’t do it to emasculate you, quite the opposite. I do it knowing you’ll win.” I kiss his hair over and over. “You break down all my defences too.”

  His grip tightens around me; he’s listening to every word.

  “Think back Ayden, I made you a promise. I said I would take care of you in whatever way you wanted me to and, even if the sub thing was a ploy, it was a promise made and one I intend to keep.” I kiss his hair one last time and wait for his response.

  Five minutes later, I’m still waiting.

  In one swift movement, he sits upright, eyes flickering, mouth twitching: he has a plan. “Go and get dressed.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, go and get dressed.” He brushes the hair from my face and points to the bathroom.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Don’t question me Beth, go and get some fucking clothes on.” He’s swearing but his eyes are bright and alert.

  Is this a game?

  I do as I’m bid and sidle off to the bathroom, throwing my shredded nightie in his face as I go. I decide to take a quick shower, before brushing my hair and applying a little lip gloss and tinted moisturiser. The clothes I travelled in are hanging over the towel rail and, as they are the only clothes I have close to hand, I put them on. Fully dressed and utterly confused, I re-enter the bedroom.

  To my horror, I find Ayden is also fully dressed. We’re going home. He’s sitting in darkness on the edge of the bed, exactly as he was earlier in the evening before our disastrous sexual liaison.

  “Go and stand in the pool of light and take off your clothes,” he commands.

  Pardon me?

  Ah … I see where he’s going with this, he has us on replay. Only this time we’re going to do it right. I stride over to my spot and start removing my boots. I throw them in his direction and, even though his face is only a silhouette, I know he’s smiling.

  Next I unbutton my blouse, recalling the fun we have had with buttons. Now I’m smiling. I place it on the nearby chair. My trousers slide to the floor and I’m left standing in my black underwear, waiting for my next instruction. There’s the rustle of clothing and I just make out his iPhone in front of his face. Realising he’s about to take a photograph, I turn side on, buckle my knees and pull my hand to my mouth coyly. A blinding flash illuminates the darkness and my modesty if forever compromised.

  “For my eyes only,” he states. “Come to me.”

  Slowly I approach him, feeling sexual tension fizzing between us. When I reach him, his face is next to my breasts and I want to pull him into me, to wrap my arms around him, to say I get it. But I don’t.

  He lifts his eyes to mine and I catch a glimpse of melancholy behind those cloudy, cerulean spheres. It pains me to see it.

  “I made a terrible mistake before. You’re much too delicate to be subjected to the glare of bright light and exposure. I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

  This is unexpected. I lift my hand and brush back his hair, losing my fingers in his curls; he’s dressed quickly and it’s wonderfully messy. My fingertips float across his cheek and I caress his handsome silhouette in the darkness. I don’t need to see him to know his eyes are closed and he’s falling into my embrace. The heat is radiating from his clothes. I want him.

  “Don’t apologise, there’s no need.”

  “I can’t keep fucking this up. It’s too important.” Desperation oozes from every syllable.

  “It is, but nothing’s changed.”

  He bows his head in disgrace. “How long can you keep saving me from myself?”

  “Oh Ayden, I’m not. You’re the one who’s saving me.” I search his face for signs of relief.

  “There was a time when I thought that. Thought I’d be your knight in shining armour, but I’m not. You’re a purifying force Beth and, God knows I need purifying. I’m not a good man, in spite of you believing otherwise. I’ve never been worthy of you. We are the sum of our deeds and, for my sins, I amount to nothing compared to you.” He folds a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ve been pushing you too hard, forcing you to step out of your comfort zone.”

  I won’t have that. “You’re wrong! There was no comfort in my zone. Not until you came along,” I scoff, offering wordplay as a kind of rebuttal. “Before you, I was a mess. I was cursed with bad luck or bad karma or something. I couldn’t have imagined a life like this, a life with someone like you. When we met and your lips touched mine it was as if the curse was lifted, I was free, free to love, free to be loved, by you.” I’m shaking my head, stressing the point, watching gratitude flicker in sad eyes. “You’ve been very gentle with me, I know that Ayden, but now it’s time …”

  Our eyes lock. A powerful connection binds us to one another: it’s intense.

  “You said you wanted to do things to me, with me? What kind of things?” As hard as he tries, he cannot conceal a startled look. That look will stay with me forever.

  He turns away, unwilling to elaborate. “You’re not ready to hear.”

  Gently I cup his face, seeking out his stare, witnessing the faint glimmer of something, maybe the embers of a glowing fire. “Now you’re making assumption about vanilla being my favourite flavour again. I don’t expect that from my naughty boy, not when I’m enjoying being your very naughty girl.”

  His eyes are alight with expectancy. “What are you saying?”

  I place my hands by my sides, signalling my compliance. “I’m saying, stop pretending. Show me.”

  “Are you sure, I want you to experience everything, with me.”

  “I’m sure. I trust you to take care of me.” I feel his hands stroking mine, thumbs over knuckles a tightening grip. “So what are you waiting for, permission?”

  “Yes.”

  I glance around the room. “Where do I sign?”

  “Right here.” He places my hand over his heart and smiles triumphantly, and that’s ok. He’s showered me with the most expensive gift of all, his love, and paid for this victory tenfold.

  He stands abruptly and unfastens his belt. Flatfooted, I glance up at him, trying to decipher his expression. It’s one I’ve not seen before: potent and persuasive. To my surprise, he pulls the leather belt out from his jeans and stretch
es it out in front of my face.

  “Do you know what I want to do with this?”

  I shake my head, wondering if it’s something that will sting or leave a mark. That thought causes me to moan unconsciously.

  He picks up on my reaction and scrutinises my face for clues. “You want this?” He asks, watching me purse my lips together, preventing another moan from escaping. He tips his head to the right and an infectious smile finds its way to his lips.

  What a turn-on?

  He places the belt around my neck and pulls my mouth onto his, teasing me with his mischievous tongue. The sensation of leather on my skin and his hot breath on my lips does something to me. I’m not sure why.

  Moving to my rear, he unclips my bra and slides his hands underneath it, cupping me from behind, fondling, rolling my nipples between his forefingers and thumbs until they are hard and erect. The straps slip and he lets them fall somewhere near my feet into a black puddle of lace. His warm hands sweep my hair into a make-shift pony tail and hold me in place. I let another gentle moan escape from my mouth.

  “You want this?”

  To make his point he pushes his erection into my derriere; even through his jeans I feel the twitching mass of hard muscle. Knowing he could fuck me at a moment’s notice excites me further. I reach behind to pull him into me, wanting more.

  His hands release my hair and splay across my shoulders, wrap around my arms and come to rest at my hands. He’s looping the belt around my wrists. “You want this?”

  I do.

  It’s like he has a sixth sense, we are so connected; he can perceive my arousal. I’m an open book.

  “Kneel down.”

  I fall, slowly, resting my knees on the plush carpet. I feel him straddling my body from behind; legs spread wide, knees against my shoulders, I’m held fast. I like this, so much my heart is racing but not as fast as my imagination.

  He finds my ear and explains. “You’ve been very naughty Beth, you’ve been teasing me and had me thinking about doing this to you at the most inconvenient of times. I’ve jerked myself off more in the last week than I’ve done in the last year, and I think I deserve some recompense for my troubles, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” That sensual thought makes me smile.

  “Yes, Mr Stone.” He says with his breath steaming into my ear.

  Now this is a game I do like. “Yes Mr. Stone. What can I do for you ... Sir?” I say softly, surprising him with my willingness to improvise.

  “To begin with, you don’t have to call me that.”

  “You want me to, don’t you?”

  There’s a weighty pause: he’s thinking. “Yes.” That breathless word floats around my head like a satellite.

  “Then I want to say it. What can I do for you, Sir?”

  “Baby, you can trust me, that’s all I ask. Lean over the bed.”

  With my hands tied, getting up is a struggle. I feel him lifting, easing me onto the sheets, head first. He’s a moving shadow, towering over me, enveloping me. I feel incredibly aroused and, for some reason, relaxed at the same time. His clever idea to replay the scene has worked: we have discovered a way to satisfy both our desires.

  “Now we’re going to begin a game I know you’ll want to play.” The sound of the drawer opening causes my eyes to widen: I know what’s in there.

  He turns the device on. “You know what this is?”

  Of course I do, it’s mine.

  “Yes.”

  “I want to use it on you. I want you to find your voice, and I want you to come calling my name. Do you want to play?”

  “Yes. I want to play.”

  “Good.” He whispers into my ear. “Me too.”

  Under his skilful direction, the smooth egg shaped toy vibrates against my shoulder blades and my spine, causing my skin to tingle. He skates over my anus and inside my panties and I flex involuntarily, willing him to continue. My breathing is ragged and whimpers are leaking from my mouth. I want to straighten out my legs but I cannot. I want to free my hands but I cannot. I push into his vibrating palm, trying to contain the throbbing wave of heat building in my overheated core.

  Fuck!

  I bury my face into the bed to smother my cries. The vibrating object touches the lips of my sex and I clinch and pull in my stomach muscles, craving more. The intensity of the vibration causes electrifying impulses to fire like static energy through my groin, making the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I rock into him, lift up my head and open my mouth. “Oh.”

  His other hand caresses my throbbing cheeks, playing with the lace on my panties, sliding in his thumb and testing the tension in the elastic around my thighs.

  “You want this, but you know what I want … to pleasure you like this but to get you off with words. It’s my voice that has you creaming, isn’t it?”

  How does he know that?

  I have to set myself, to control my breathing to answer. “Yes, it’s your voice.”

  For a second he stops and I soon realise why. He’s turned up the intensity of the vibrator and now it’s humming, making my whole body sing. “Oh God.”

  “That’s it.” Using skilled hands he settles the soft toy against my clitoris and eases his thumb into me, bending it slightly to stroke the front wall of my vagina, finding that illusive G-spot.

  Yes!

  Inside I’m clenching and igniting; outside I’m melting. My hair is sticking to my forehead, my mouth is dry from sucking in too much air. The vibrations are beginning to spread outwards like ripples on a pond: I’m flying, soaring to the edge of infinity.

  “That’s more like it … find your voice. Come for me.”

  Just as he said they would, his words spear their way to my core. In need of no further instruction I keen until the loud, gasping cry of relief transposes into his name. “… Ay-den …”

  I’m sagging into the sheets, boneless and exhausted with barely enough energy to smile. The leather belt is holding my hands fast behind my back, but both his hands are free and the sound of his zip being lowered excites me further; to the extent my body is quivering with lust. I need him inside me, now.

  But … I feel the sudden sting of his hand on my bottom. He has spanked me! I cry out, not in pain but because the sensation has left me feverish with need. I made him promise to do it and this is what I get for teasing.

  “Now I know you want this because you made me promise to do it.” His words linger in the air like a prayer.

  He spanks me again, hard, making me call out.

  “This is for the three occasions when you have brought me to my knees, in your bedroom, in my car and in my fucking jet.”

  A third and final slap has me gasping for air. Behind me, fervent fingers are pulling down my panties; strong hands are between my thighs, bending my legs at the knees, parting me. Leaning into me, he utters the words he knows will tip me over.

  “I’m going to take you now.”

  His sweater lands on the nearby chair and immediately I hear the sound of the condom packet being torn. Oh, how I have missed that sound. He’s over me. I smell cologne and manliness mingling on his skin. I feel the thickness of his erection against my bottom.

  “It has been three days, eleven hours and 45 minutes since I fucked you and I don’t intend to ever wait that long again.”

  With that, he takes hold of my hips and nudges the tip of his rigid cock against my saturated folds and doesn’t stop until he’s buried deep inside me. I utter a high pitched cry and feel a delectable tightness as he thrusts, powering his way towards ejaculation.

  At first his movements are controlled, but thirty seconds in and he’s lunging and clawing at my skin, undulating his hips to penetrate me further, pounding frantically on. Possessing me.

  Enraptured he growls, “Feel me.”

  I can, and it feels too good. Just when I think he might tear me in two, a deep throated roar echoes around the room, followed by uncontrollable hisses.

  “Holy fuck!”

&nbs
p; He falls onto me like a hot, steaming blanket. For several minutes we are fused together; a smelted mass of human flesh and bone.

  Once I’m unbuckled and we’re naked, we crawl beneath the sheets without feeling the need for conversation: we are well and truly expended. I snuggle beneath his arm.

  A goodnight kiss presses into my hair and a firm right hand squeezes my shoulder possessively. “Sleep well baby.”

  The steady beating of his heart lulls me into a restful slumber. Sleep comes easy.

  ***

  It’s four thirty in the morning when I wake, needing the bathroom and something to drink. I tiptoe out of the bedroom in the direction of the kitchen. There’s an array of beverages in the fridge and I settle for a small bottle of fresh orange: I’m in the mood for something sweet. I can hear a strange pipping sound coming from the study. Gaining my bearings, I head in that direction to investigate.

  Ayden’s phone is flashing. When I click it on, there are six missed calls and three messages. It would appear Jake has some news for him and, by the number of calls, it’s unlikely to be good. I’m tempted to read one of the texts but decide against it, I turn away feeling very curious and place the phone back in the same position.

  Ayden is in a deep sleep, his breathing is shallow and even. Sipping the orange juice from the bottle, I sit on the chair facing the bed, pull my knees to my chest and gaze at him lying there.

  I see his leather belt discarded on the floor, the buckle catches the moonlight and draws my eye. The memory of it rekindles my craving for physical contact and I quickly settle my gaze on something else, something less evocative. But, everything in the room has significance, nothing more so than my silver scarf carelessly tossed onto the bed. I close my eyes and visualise myself splayed out, laid bare and I feel my cheeks burning. Even now it embarrasses me to think of myself that exposed. Perhaps that’s why Ayden’s replay worked so well; it was dark, I could retained a little of my modesty. Even though I was bound and pinned, I had something of myself left in reserve. Maybe I am too delicate for bright light?

  And what of the toy, sitting unhatched by the bed. I’m not sure what I feel about that. It’s amazing how, in the right hands, something so small can induce so much pleasure: that and Ayden’s words, of course. Who would have thought in less than a fortnight, I’d be playing these kind of ‘games.’ Ayden’s games.