She spreads the blanket out in front of her, parallel to one side of the bench and its curved metal armrest.
This is the part of the script about which she’s the most nervous.
Once she turns the flashlight beam off, she’s got ten minutes.
Once she turns the flashlight beam off, she’s committed.
Unless, of course, she decides to use one of her safe words once they’ve started. But the ten things she has to do before the scenario starts—that’s what they’ve agreed to call it, apparently. The scenario!—those have to be perfect! Otherwise, the whole thing will turn into either a colossal joke or a huge embarrassment. Or both.
God save me, she prays silently. Save me from feeling like an idiot. The other stuff? I might be beyond hope in that regard.
She kills the flashlight.
She slides out of her panties and kicks them to one side.
She drops to her knees on the blanket, and then, just as she practiced back in the cabin, she laces the T-shirt around the bench’s armrest until she’s tied it loosely around her hands. She tugs gently with both wrists until the cotton’s tight enough to give the illusion she’s handcuffed.
Then she waits.
She waits as the cool night air kisses the cheeks of her ass and everything in between.
She waits as the fear—of wildlife, of discovery, of mortification—turns into a feeling of exhilaration. A feeling of taking all of the rules and limitations and lectures she’s endured all her life, all the finger-wagging nonsense abut what good girls are and what good girls have to do, and blowing them into the air like they were nothing but a handful of sand.
Footsteps approach, cracking twigs. Fast at first, then slower. Then Caleb lets out a long, slow whistle.
“Well, well, well, well, wellllll,” Caleb says. Only for now, he’s not Caleb. He’s just some random cowboy who emerged from the dark woods to find her half naked and tied to a bench. And he’s playing up the accent too, just like she asked. “What have we here? Lord!”
“Sir, could you untie me please?” she asks.
Her voice sounds like someone else’s. She’s speaking words she’s imagined countless times while pleasuring herself with a showerhead or her fingers, all while her husband slept in the other room. Or lied to her about staying late at work so he could bang his mistress.
“Untie you?” he asks, feigning shock. “Are you tied up, ma’am? Is that what you are?” He reaches down and tugs at the makeshift handcuffs. Pretends as if they’re locked in place. “Well, you most certainly are, aren’t you? Now how in the heck did a pretty little thing like you get tied up out here in these dark woods?”
“It was my husband…”
“Your husband did this?”
“Yes and then he left me here. We were playing a game and he freaked out and he left me.”
“A game, huh? What kind of game? The kind of game where you gotta turn this pretty ass to the woods?” A light touch. Feather light. Torture light. Just a graze of his finger from the very top of the crack of her ass up into the small of her back.
Oh, God, he’s good at this. He’s. So. Damn. Good. At—
“And, uh, whose idea was this little game?” he asks.
“Mine,” she answers, sounding as sheepish as she can. Which isn’t all that hard. Because she’s in this, gripped by it. Feeling the boundaries between the scene and reality blur into a kind of blinding heat.
“I see. So it wasn’t your husband’s idea?”
“No. He said he was into it, but he freaked out. And he called me all kinds of names and ran away.”
“Really?” There’s concern in his voice now, and a bit of protective anger. “What kind of names?”
“He said I was disgusting. He called me a filthy, dirty whore.”
“And then he just left you?”
“Yes, sir. He just left me.”
“With no way to get free,” he says as if he’s realizing the implications of this for the first time. The implications for him.
She hasn’t looked at him once since he crouched down next to her. She knows if she looks at him, her juices will start to flow. And it’s way too soon for her to do or say or look at the things that will induce a moist inclination toward surrender. That’s his job. If he follows the script. If he plays his part.
So far, he’s doing an Oscar-worthy job.
“Sir,” she whispers. “Please. If you could just untie me so I can get home to my husband.”
“So why are you in such a rush to get home to your husband when he called you all those rotten names and left you out here in the woods all by yourself?”
“I just… Please, sir.”
“Yeah. I don’t know.”
“Don’t know what, sir?”
“Well, it just doesn’t make much sense, is all.”
“What doesn’t make sense, sir?”
He traces several fingers along the crack of her ass, then down, ever so lightly across her mound. A quick, furtive, stolen motion that still manages to touch the most intimate part of her. “When you find a pretty little pussy like this out in the woods, you don’t just take it straight home,” he growls.
Home run, she thinks. Home fucking run. They’ve been improvising the rest of the dialogue but this is the exact line she wrote out for him earlier that night, the line that’s electrified her fantasies for years. A line that makes her feel both degraded and celebrated, captured and set free. And his tone, his delivery. Both were perfect! But all she says is, “Sir, please. You have to take me home.”
Or fuck me. Right here. Right now. I can’t wait.
“Tell you what, little lady. I’ll make a deal with you.”
“Okay,” she manages.
“You’re gonna let me put my hands all over this body of yours. And if that pussy of yours stays dry, or if those cute little nipples stay soft under my fingertips, I’ll take you home to your husband. But if you’re a dirty slut just like your husband says, and you get all hot just from the feel of my touch, well, then, honey, I’m going to fuck you right out here in these woods. Does that sound like a deal?”
“Yes, sir. On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You can’t touch my…”
“Your what, honey?”
“My clit, sir.”
“Okay. Sounds fair. I won’t touch your pretty clit, but I’ll touch the rest of you. Every last inch of you. Does that sound fair?”
“Yes, sir. But only with your fingers.”
“Well, alright, then,” he says, lips to her ear. “Sounds like a deal. Let’s get started.”
He sinks down onto the blanket behind her, the denim of his jeans scratching the skin of her ass. He reaches around her and under her T-shirt, cups her bare breasts as if the sheer weight of them were a pleasure in and of itself. Grazes her nipples with his fingers.
“Bet you want to lose, don’t you, little lady?” he rasps into her ear. “Maybe if I win, I won’t fuck you out here. Maybe I’ll take you back to my cabin. With my buddies.”
“Buddies?”
“Yeah. Maybe I’ll take you back to my cabin and me and my buddies will take turns on you.”
Yeah, uhm, I didn’t write a word about your buddies.
“Leaf.”
“Maybe I’ll take you back to my cabin and make my buddies watch while I have my way with you.”
Much better.
“Whatever you say, sir.”
“That’s right. If I win, you do whatever I say. That’s the deal.”
He bends forward so he can dip one hand all the way down to her mound. He keeps his word, avoiding her clit, running his fingers gently down her folds instead.
“I don’t know, honey,” he drawls. “Feeling pretty hot down here.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. Sure is. Now we made a deal, isn’t that right, honey?”
He’s using his palm now, rubbing it across her folds, back and forth, stopping just shy of her swo
llen, aching nub. Teasing it so well she’s aching for him to touch it.
“Yes, sir. We made a deal.”
“So if I free these hands of yours, you’re not gonna try to run away on me now, are you?”
“No, sir. I’m not going to try to run.”
“Good.” He rips the T-shirt away from the bench’s armrest. “Because I’m going to have to examine you up close now to see how you’re responding to my little test here.”
Suddenly she’s on her back and he’s lying on the blanket beside her. He’s pulled her T-shirt up and over her breasts. Now she feels even more exposed to the night, to him. And this time, when his fingers pass over her folds, there’s no ignoring the wetness there, even though she’d like him to. Even thought she’d love to draw out this teasing for another hour. Hours, even.
“Oh,” he says with a start. “Oh, my. You’ve got a wet pussy here, girl.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, ma’am. A nice, hot, wet pussy. For the life of me, I just can’t figure out how a man would leave a pussy this hot and wet all the way out here in these woods. But I guess I shouldn’t complain. Because now it’s all mine. Ain’t that right, little lady?”
His desire for her, real and authentic and unscripted, makes his voice shake. She stares up at him for the first time since they started. He’s got his Stetson on and his light leather jacket and his Levi’s. Being practically stark naked and under his control while he’s still fully dressed only makes her hotter and wetter.
“And since we had a deal,” he says as he tugs her T-shirt up over her head. “It looks like it’s time to pay up.”
He fingers the box of condoms she dropped on the blanket when she first got there.
“I’ve got your husband to thank for a lot of things, don’t I?” he says, then tears the condom wrapper open with his teeth.
“How about you stop talking about my husband and take what’s yours?”
“Yeah,” he says, sliding out of his jacket and unbuttoning his plaid shirt. “Well, he was right about one thing.”
He unbuttons his jeans, frees his cock, slides the condom on with one hand. His tone is calm and collected but his speed is all horny, desperate teenager. The combination of the two makes her feel as if she’s the one who's got him under control, not the other way around.
“You really are a filthy little girl,” he growls.
He closes one hand gently around her throat. With the other, he drags the head of his cock back and forth over her folds, then in a slow circle over her clit.
He’s free to touch it now that she lost.
Won. I won. I so won.
“But right now, you’re my filthy little girl.”
Slowly, he pushes inside her. As he drives himself deeper, his lips hover inches above hers. There’s wonder in his expression, the joy at being inside of her for the first time. Not inside the character she was playing seconds before. Inside of her. Amber Watson.
He’s so big. So much bigger than any man she’s been with. But he’s taking his time, thank God. Kissing her neck the way he did in her front hallway the night before. Palming her breasts the way he did in the motel room that morning. It’s like his desire demands that he tend to every inch of her in any way he can. Stroking, teasing, tasting, gazing.
He’s also dropping the role, becoming himself once again now that they’re joined in a way they’ve never been before.
“You like that?” he rasps. “You like getting fucked by a stranger in the woods?”
She wraps her legs around his waist and squeezes. His eyes pop open. He seems unsure of what she’s doing until she starts to sit up. This gives him no choice but to rock backward onto his haunches under her shifting weight. She’s still impaled, but sitting up now, clutching the sides of his face in her hands.
“You’re not a stranger, not anymore,” she says, even though they never planned to drop the fantasy like this. “You’re Caleb.” She kisses his cheek, the line of his jaw. “Be Caleb.” She pulls back, grips his face again. “Fuck me like Caleb wants to fuck me. Like you’ve always wanted to fuck me.”
A groan escapes him, the sound of the role dropping away, the sound of the man who’s wanted her for years melting into her, driving himself into her, tasting her nipples as he thrusts with his powerful hips. His Stetson slides off the back of his head and thuds softly to the blanket behind him. The cool night kisses her everywhere now, except in those spots where the heat from his hands and his lips and his powerful arms set her skin aflame.
“Amber.” It’s a plea, full of equal parts pleasure and resistance.
“Yes, baby.”
“Amber…I…”
“Yes.”
She grabs the side of his face. His thrusts intensify. His eyes shoot open as he stares up into hers. There’s that plea again. He’s seeking permission to let loose inside of her. “Anything,” he gasps. “I will be anything for you.”
“Be the man who comes inside me,” she whispers.
That does it.
His jaw goes slack, his mouth a near perfect O. The waves of his climax pulse through his hard, powerful body as he drives himself deep inside her with a frenzy of hard thrusts. His bellows become shudders. He wraps his arms around her, holding her against him as tightly as he can, which in their current position, places his face just above her breasts.
Well, I got mine last night, I guess, she thinks.
Suddenly, he tilts her backward, one arm curved around her lower back for support.
Once he’s laid her down on the blanket, he reaches down, grips the base of the condom and pulls himself gently from her folds.
As he kneads and massages her thighs, his fingers drive waves of pleasure up into her sex. Before Caleb, every man she’d been with had rolled off her as soon as he’d peaked. Now, without pausing to free himself from his condom, he goes to work on her with his tongue. It’s slow and languid but also perfect. Not the divine oral assault he’d subjected her to that morning. Something different and more careful. Having come allows him to pursue her pleasure in an unhurried way.
“Waited so long for this,” he whispers. “Waited so damn long for you, for this.”
In the past, her orgasms have been long, slow builds. Sometimes too long and too slow. This one comes on sudden as lightning, triggered by the power of his tongue and his whispers working in tandem. She grips the back of his head. Pleasure curls her toes and makes her hips feel liquid. He refuses to release her clit from his sucking lips even as she lets out gasping, stuttering cries. She bucks against him, fights the urge to flail her limbs, and still he doesn’t relent.
She’s not sure which way is up or down until he settles down next to her and takes her in his strong arms.
It takes her a while to remember how to breathe.
“Well,” he finally says, lifting his head up off the blanket so he can look into her eyes. “How’d I do?” he asks with a broad, goofy grin.
“Damn,” she whispers.
“You only had to use the safe word once. Pretty successful, if you ask me.”
“Yeah, and it was the light safe word. Not the, you know, red alert.”
“True.”
“You don’t really want to share me with your buddies, do you?”
“I’d sooner rip their damn faces off. Forgive me. I’d never acted before. I got kinda carried away.”
“Okay. Good.”
“I mean, I was just trying anything ’cause I couldn’t wait for you to get wet. Hell, I would have put on a goddamn Kermit the Frog costume if I’d thought it—”
“Okay, okay. That’s enough. Thank you.”
“Seriously, though. Were you happy with my performance?”
“Baby, happy’s not the word.”
“Good.” He kisses her gently on the tip of her nose. “I like it when you call me baby.”
“Do you? I’ll call you baby anytime you want.”
“Good. Do it again.”
“Baby,” she whispers.
“Now do it while you give me a kiss,” he whispers.
“Baby,” she whispers and kisses him on the cheek.
“Awesome. Now do it while you lick my balls.”
“Shut up, jackass!” she cries through her uncontrollable laughter.
He’s laughing as hard as she is. When she goes to slap him across his chest, he grabs for her hand and the ensuing tussle lands them in a new position, spooning like lovers snuggled up together in bed.
“I guess we’ll have to do one of your fantasies soon,” she says. “It’s only fair, right?”
“Aw, you don’t have to worry about me.” Her back is to him, but she can hear him trying to suppress a smile. “I’m easy. My biggest turn-ons are wine and conversation.”
“Are you always a sass mouth after you get laid?”
“Also, stuffed animals. Love me some stuffed animals.”
“Alright, well, I’ll make a note of that.”
“Seriously, though. I don’t have any big fantasies.”
“Interesting. I’ll remember that.”
“Although…”
“Oh, boy. Here we go. What’s it gonna be? French maid or schoolgirl?”
“Well, I was gonna say now’s a terrible time to ask me this question.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I can’t think of a better fantasy than being with you now, just like this.”
She rolls over so she can see his expression. He’s not being sarcastic, not in the slightest. In fact, he looks a little nervous to have answered so directly.
“Do you have any idea what you did for me tonight?” she asks. “Do you have any idea the shame you lifted from me, from my body, from my heart? And the fact that you were the one doing it, the man I’ve always wanted. The man I’ve always loved…I mean, I can’t even…”
“Of course I do, darlin’. Why do you think I did it?”
She snuggles up against his chest because for some crazy reason, it feels like this position will allow her to hold his words more closely to her heart.
After a while he says, “I do kinda have a thing for librarians, though.”
1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Nine Page 43
