by Maggie Marr
My hands are in her hair. I hold the side of her head. Eyes closed, I absorb every bit of this pleasure. Concentrating on controlling my slow, steady rhythm because I want to slam my cock hard into her mouth.
The muscles in my back tighten. Heat rolls up over the muscles in my legs and my balls draw close to my body.
She sucks harder and faster and the muscles in my belly quiver. I’m close. Her hand gently clutches my balls, and heat sears from inside me and shoots from my cock hard and fast, and the pleasure sprays from me deep into her mouth.
She swallows and sucks, taking every drop of me, and it is sexy as fuck. My body shudders and tightens. I bend forward, unable to stand with the force of my orgasm. Slowly, she slips my cock from her lips and her tongue flicks over the head of me.
Fuck. That felt good. Better than good. The first orgasm I’ve had since the last time I was with Tara. Now the edge is off. I step away from her and look down. Her gaze is on me and she has a slight smile on her lips. She should. She gives great head. She’s beautiful, and she’s just pleased me and made me come.
She glances at my cock and her eyes widen.
Because I’m hard again. Nearly erect. I can feel it. I know.
A quizzical expression passes over her face.
I haven’t fucked in nearly two weeks and my body wants this, my body needs this, my body and my mind know that the only thing that keeps me even halfway sane is fucking. Wonderfucking. Right now, here with Tara, is my one chance to get my Wonderfucking quota in.
My smile is wicked. A smile that acknowledges Tara’s about to have a night she will never forget. Panic in Tara’s eyes. Not because of fear. She isn’t afraid of me. She knows she can stand, dress, and leave whenever she likes. Ladies choice. Always. No matter how badly I may need or want to fuck her, everything is her decision. Those are the rules. The woman always gets to say yes or no. There are no other ways to play.
No. That panic is because my refractory time is infinitesimal and my hunger never-ending.
I take her hand and Tara stands. I press her back onto the plush bed, ready to give her the night of her life.
I don’t feel generous. I don’t feel giving. I don’t feel what I normally feel when I Wonderfuck. A heavy thick mix of anger and want and need and love pounds through my body. A toxic mix of emotion that leads me to think only of my desires. I want to do to Tara whatever the fuck I want.
She will have pleasure, but Tara enjoying tonight will be a side effect, not my primary goal. My primary goal is to fuck away this pain, this anger, this sadness, my betrayal, and to fuck it away with the only woman my cock seems willing to fuck. I walk to the closet where I’ve unpacked a bag and some…toys.
I know what I want and it has very little to do with her desires and everything to do with my frustration. I pull out two ties. I packed belts too, but belts leave marks. Fuck it. I grab the whole damn bag and drop it at the edge of the bed.
“What’s that?”
“I brought some—” I lift my eyebrow. I do not smile—“things.”
“What kind of things.”
Fuck the silk ties. Here come the leather belts. I grab two black beauties from the bag and stand beside the bed. I let the leather tip slide down the side of her body guided by my hand. She shivers.
“Spread eagle.”
Not a word, and she does what I command.
Glorious. Her body is glorious in this position. Her legs down toward each corner of the bed and her arms above her head. A stunning X across the bed. Her sex has tight curls and they glisten for me. She is wet. I lift one of her arms and I fasten it to the bedpost. She closes her eyes and a flush climbs over her skin. I place my body over hers and lift her other arm and fasten her wrist to the bedpost.
She wiggles both wrists and opens her eyes. A wicked gleam flashes in her eyes. “It’s not very tight.”
“I can make it tighter.” My voice rasps out over my desire, over my barely-contained anger that covers my pain.
She leans up and nips at me, her teeth flashing and catching my bottom lip. I pull back. Surprised. A slight metal taste in my mouth. I lick my lip and feel a sting where my tongue worries a bit of torn flesh. Nothing much. Gone in an instant.
Fire flashes in her eyes.
“No need,” she says. Her body is beneath me and I’m on my knees straddling her. In this position, I’m reminded of how physically imposing I am in comparison to her, how easily over-powered, how dominated, how vulnerable she is beneath me with her hands tied. How vulnerable, how trusting, and my heart starts to soften and ache, and a warmth akin to love courses through me.
Her hips shift and roll and I’m pulled back to the insistence of my cock.
“Safe word?” I ask.
“What’s yours?”
I’ve had the same safe word since I became Wonderfuck. The one word that I’ve always known. No matter how deep I was into desire, how hard, how mindless things became, if I uttered this word while Wonderfucking, I was in too deep.
“Susie.”
Her eyes go from excitement to pain. Sadness. Not the emotions that will help keep my cock hard. There is no jealousy in her gaze. Her gaze reflects back to me the permanent pain etched in my heart.
“And you?”
I slide my fingertip over her pubic bone, through her curls and rub her clit. Her hips hitch upward in response and I press two fingers of my other hand deep into her sex.
“What is your safe word?” I press in and out of her sex and lean forward, closer to her, the hugeness of my body hovering above her. “Because you may need it.” An edge to me, an anger that is leashed, but pulling hard at the chain.
“Violet,” she says.
I don’t know what this means to her or why she’s chosen it, and while this seems unfair for the slenderest of moments because she knows about Susie, honestly I don’t fucking care.
That’s a lie.
I don’t want to care, but I do. I shift the thought from my mind, about what this word means to Tara, because I’ve got a hard cock, something I can’t take for granted because it only happens when Tara is around. This cock desperately wants to sink hip deep into Tara while she’s tied up and spread eagled on the bed, but instead I simply continue with my one finger stroking her clit, and two fingers on my other hand sliding through the warmth and wet of her sex.
Her hips roll up and down with each stroke. Her wild-eyed gaze latches onto me. Her face flushed with desire and her nipples tight. Her entire body a taut string seeking the release I can give.
“Please, oh my god, Jake. Please.” Her sex tightens around my fingers and I slide my fingers from her sex and pull away just as she reaches the moment of release. My body stays between her spread eagled legs, but I don’t touch her.
“No, no, no,” she moans, her hips continuing to roll as though she can reach me and force me to provide her the pleasure she so obviously desires.
I don’t want to simply provide her pleasure. I want to see her moan and wail and need. I want her to feel a deep-seated need that only I can satisfy. Much like me who has been emotionally castrated by this woman, I want her to know not only desire but need. She is the only woman I can get erect with. I can’t even jack my own self off. I have to be with Tara. The one woman I loathe. The one woman I love.
I lower myself to just above her. A push-up above her flesh, a plank pose that causes my arm muscles to tighten and tremble. My mouth just above her mouth. The heat of desire between us. The live wire energy of pure lust sizzling between us.
“You want me to fuck you.”
“God, yes.”
“Too bad, sweetheart. I’m taking my own fucking time.”
Her hips jut up and I feel the heat and wet of her sex so close to my cock, touching it and making my body fucking tighten, and my thoughts of taking it slow grow hazy with a wild lust overtaking and fogging my brain. I pull back from her. I’m between her legs and I press my lips to her and pull my tongue down over the curved flesh of her st
omach and to her curls. Her body hitches upward. I cup my hand over her hip bone and still her rolling hips. I part her with my fingers and stroke my tongue over her clit. I start with the W that I edge out over her clit and keep spelling. I don’t get to the U before she is moaning and writhing. I pull my face from her sex.
Another wail, another long moan, because I have again left her unfulfilled, unsatisfied, on the edge of her orgasm.
“Why? Jake, please.”
Unfortunately for me, her moans do exactly what they are meant to do, they strip away my resolve to sexually taunt this woman for the rest of the night. I move up her body and pull her nipple deep into my mouth. I don’t touch her sex because with one touch I’ll send her over the edge into the pleasure she seeks. She’s close and every touch, every taste, every bit of what I do to her can catapult her to orgasm.
Tonight, Tara will orgasm when I decide to make her orgasm, and not before.
Her body is mine for the taking and in her inability to move, I regain some bit of strength I’ve lost being unable to fuck. I enjoy that she can’t move, she can’t grab, she can’t control or demand. This is not me Wonderfucking away her pain and giving her everything I have to give. I did that and she nearly destroyed me.
This is me taking.
This is me demanding.
This is me fucking in a carnal, wild way that is for me and my pleasure and my pleasure only.
I release her nipple and pull my lips across her chest to her other nipple, taut and erect and begging to be sucked. My body is above her and now I settle myself between her legs and let my cock, hard and long, rest in her cleft.
“Oh fuck, I’m going to—”
I pull my body off her. The pressure of my cock against her clit is enough to send her over the edge.
Fuck.
My balls pull up tight against my body and I know that I don’t have long. That I too am going to fucking come all over her body if I don’t fuck her soon. I reach past Tara to the nightstand and pull out a foil wrapper.
“I’m going to fuck you.” Hard words. Hard tone. She writhes. My words, my tone, my command, my dominance makes her want me all the more.
“Yes, please, yes, yes,” she says, her entire body thrumming. “Fuck me, please fuck me.”
I plant my hand on either side of her head and the head of my cock rests at her entrance.
“You are mine.” I thrust my cock deep into her sex.
A loud shriek of pleasure comes from Tara.
I pull back and thrust up again. She’s so hot, so turned on, so ready for me, that two thrusts and her body tightens around me. My control is gone and I’m thrusting in and out of her and our skin is slapping. Hypnotized by the connection between our bodies, where my cock sinks into her body over and over and over again.
Heat flashes through me and down the shaft of my cock. I pull my head back, look into her eyes and let out a roar, releasing my rage, my pain, my pleasure, and surrender to that bitch named Love.
Chapter Six
Mr. Reynolds, it’s my understanding that this altercation took place on the street, in front of a bar, after you’d been drinking.”
I say nothing. I don’t even nod.
Judge Williams peers over her glasses at me. I know she knows who I am, that I’m her colleague’s little brother, but it feels as though instead of my being related to a Los Angeles County judge being a benefit to me, it may actually make this whole thing a lot worse.
“Your Honor, the police report fails to state that Mr. Reynolds came to the aid of a woman that had just been assaulted by her former fiancé.” Cassidy glances toward the seats behind us and toward Tara. “She’s here today to show her support for Mr. Reynolds.”
The heat of Tara’s gaze is on my back. I feel her presence as though it were her skin against mine.
“Mr. Reynolds, you’re willing to take the offer presented by the City Attorney?”
“I am.”
Judge Williams glances from me to my attorney, and then to the prosecutor standing behind her desk in the courtroom.
“Very well.” She reads through a spate of legal mumbo jumbo, which my attorney has spent nearly an hour explaining to me before my court date.
“Your sentence will be deferred pending completion of your community service hours, as well as restitution and medical expenses.” Judge Williams leans forward. “It would seem he lost a tooth.”
I’m surprised it was only one. I don’t say it, but I think it. McDouche-nugget got the benefit of my rage that night in front of Taggerts after he grabbed Tara and then knocked her to the ground. Douche-wad is a no-show today. Coward.
“Mr. Reynolds, I’m also adding on anger management therapy.”
“What the fu—”
Cassidy grabs my upper arm. Her grasp is tight.
“Of course your honor, Mr. Reynolds will comply with all the court’s orders.”
“Therapist of his choosing to be approved by the court and paid for by Mr. Reynolds.” She glances at the papers in front of her. “It would seem he has every financial advantage.”
She’s right. I do. I’ve worked for it, but I do have every advantage. I’m irritated and pissed at myself for losing my cool enough to end up in a courtroom in downtown LA. But after watching people in orange jumpsuits being led in and out of this courtroom for an hour this morning, I realize that the existence I lead is pretty fucking privileged.
I may have earned my money, but I didn’t earn my privilege. That came for free. No way is justice blind or fair after what I saw in this courtroom today.
“Thank you, your honor,” Cassidy says.
“Thank you, Judge Williams,” I say, and I mean it. She could have thrown my ass in jail with the damage I did to Douche-muffin’s face.
“Nothing, Mr. Reynolds. Nothing, for the next two years, are we clear?”
I nod. “Yes your honor.”
I follow Cassidy through the gate toward the back of the courtroom. Tara isn’t sitting in the cheap seats any longer. I’m good with that. I didn’t ask her to come here, and really, I don’t want to see her. Not now. Not here. Not as Jake. Not anymore.
“Find a therapist this week, send me the name and address. I’ll get it to the court. Pay the money. Probation will contact you about your community service hours.”
I nod.
I walk out of the courtroom and turn the corner.
Tara.
Still, even after fucking on multiple occasions, I haven’t resolved my anger, her anger, our combined rage. My eyes glance over her body, the only place I can find solace anymore.
She’s not alone.
Douchenozzle did show up today after all.
My jaw muscle twitches. They’re talking. He’s smiling. She smiles back. Now she’s touching her hair in that very female ‘I’m flirting with you’ way that is completely un-Tara. What the actual fuck? Is she flirting with Sir Douche-a-lot?
How could that be?
She’s smarter than that.
Isn’t she?
What the actual hell?
Heat threads through my chest like an electrified wire hanger. I’m having a hard time believing what I’m seeing. That Tara is actually being friendly to the guy she caught banging his colleague on his desk.
Fuck.
Was the entire thing bullshit….from the beginning?
Her smile.
Her eyes.
The way she touches her hair.
Did she set me up from the first moment in the hall…did she know? Has she known since before that…
Sure the break up might have been real, but was anything else?
I turn. I walk. I don’t look back.
Fuck or fight. Unfortunately for me, today, without Tara and because of Douchey, I can’t do either one.
***
“I can’t remember, did you dye your hair or was this the actual color when you were in high school?”
Rachel stands beside me and tilts a faded picture in a frame toward m
e. Baseball circa 1999. Me with twelve other guys all in Pali High uniforms.
“Where’d you find that?” I reach for the photo and run through the faces of these guys. We were out getting high, drunk, and laid, when we absolutely should’ve been home locked in our rooms.
“Were we ever that young?”
“There’s evidence that you were. So far I can’t find any pictures of me while in high school.” Rachel sighs. “Do you think she burned them? This one of you was in the time capsule that is Dad’s office.” She nods toward the far end of the downstairs where Dad’s office is located.
“Seriously, it still smells like him. You know that Old Spice meets bourbon scent?”
I nod. I do know. I remember. Dad’s sacred space. We didn’t enter that room unless we were summoned, and the only time we were summoned was when we were in trouble.
“You know how we never went in there? Well it seems neither did anyone else. Even after he died.”
I’m willing to continue in the garage if Rachel will go through Dad’s study.
“Anything…” My words trail off because I don’t want to ask but I have to.
“Incriminating?”
I nod.
“Not yet, but I haven’t gotten to the locked drawers.”
Deep breath. Who knows, we could have siblings in Sacramento. Not kidding. Not in the least.
“Speaking of incriminating, how did your court date go?”
Rachel uses the big sister voice she reserves for when she feels morally superior and I’m the younger brother fuck up. Like now.
“Okay.” I stop there. My form of torture. I’m guessing that her buddy Judge Williams filled her in, off the record of course, on what happened in court, but now Big Sis wants to hear it from me and assess whether I’m repentant or on my way toward another fall.
“That’s it?”
“You already know. Restitution. Fine. Community Service.”
I pull out a garbage bag form the box and shake it open.
“And…”
I look over my shoulder.
“And a therapist of my choosing. Okay? Happy? A therapist. You’ve been angling for that for going on five years.”
