I met Regan for drinks that night and told her all about Cash. Almost. I didn’t tell her about the screams or his sadistic inclinations. She told me to just be careful, that she wasn’t going to help me move again.
“It’s not that serious. I’ll be okay,” I laugh.
“But it’ll get that serious. Why are you screwing your neighbor? Don’t shit where you eat. Or sleep, in this case,” she warned.
“Because he is incredibly, incredibly sexy. I couldn’t help it. I slipped and fell on his dick,” I joke, which incites uproarious laughter from Regan. “What if we were just fucking,” I asked with a grimace.
“Seriously? That’s kind of trashy, Lil. Don’t be slutty. I’m the slutty one. Stop seeing him if all he wants is sex,” she said, sipping her drink.
“I think I’m the one that just wants sex,” I replied.
“No! Don’t be a ho,” she jabbed.
“Some things he says makes it seem like he wants to date me, other stuff makes it seem like he doesn’t. I think I’m just going to see what happens and not expect too much. In the meantime, I’m just going to enjoy getting fucked within an inch of my life,” I replied. Regan rolled her eyes and beckoned me to follow her to the dance floor.
Regan ended up going home that night with a greasy clump of hair gel and axe body spray in a pressed oxford. And she thinks she has any room to weigh in on my life choices. I stared at my phone on the cab ride home, as if I could just will Cash to contact me. This indifference was easier said than done. I decided to text Regan and tell her to text me her location so I could give the police a lead in case she went missing. She told me to eat a dick.
The rest of my weekend was lazy and uneventful. I didn’t hear from Cash, even though he was all I could think about. I thought about his lips on mine when I touched myself in the shower. I thought about his head in between my legs while I made myself dinner. I thought about him behind me, pulling back on my hips to push himself deeper, as I fell asleep last night. I’m a damn mess.
It was Sunday night, and I’d built myself a pillow nest in my bed to do some work on my laptop. I was supposed to have an event calendar for the following month turned in by Friday, and my department head had emailed me about it earlier this afternoon. I needed to finish it and pretend like it had been done the whole time and I was just too sick to remember. Northstar’s Pollyanna pumped through my headphones, and I sang along at the top of my lungs. My phone vibrated on my leg, making me jump. It’s Cash.
Keep your day job.
I responded by singing even louder. I wonder if my defiance drives him crazy. If my strong will and sharp tongue makes him want to string me up and show me the back of his hand. I wonder if my smart-ass remarks make his belt hand twitch. I want to follow him into the dark. I switch tabs on my web browser, and Nick Torres’ voice fades out as grunts, moans, and nasally shouts of “yeah” pour through my headphones in its place. I grab my phone and text Cash back.
Sorry. But hey, I’m finally doing some of that research we discussed.
The seconds waiting for him to reply felt like hours.
Come over and tell me more
I have to be at work in 9 hours. That’s not happening. I can’t call off again.
It’s too late. I have to work in the morning.
Ellipses appeared and disappeared on my screen, and then popped up again. Real time messaging is so bizarre. It felt kind of exposing that I could see the process of him typing something, changing his mind, deleting it, thinking a moment, and then typing again.
Tomorrow, after work? Come over. I want to see you.
That’s kind of a demand. It makes me quiver a little.
What about our “real date?”
It took him a while to respond. I wondered if he was having the same internal conflict I was having; if the date was really that important or if he wanted to get me back in bed and keep me there.
I guess we’ll have to wait then. It will be worth it, I promise. Don’t make plans Saturday night. Or Sunday, for that matter.
Pangs of need shot through my pelvis and radiated up into my stomach and down into my legs. Now I’d have to wait a week to have it satisfied. I turned to my side and fell asleep imagining myself on my knees, dolled up in leather straps.
Chapter Eleven
Monday morning, I walked out of my door to find Cash leaning on the banister in the hall.
“Were you waiting for me?” I asked.
“Maybe,” he said, looking up from his phone.
“I thought you didn’t want to hang out until we could go on a date-date,” I said, blushing.
“This isn’t hanging out,” he responded.
We walked together to the elevator in silence. He glanced at me while we waited for it to arrive, and smirked.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head.
We stepped inside. When the doors closed, Cash grabbed my ass and pulled me into an impassioned kiss. He picked me up, pushing me into the wall. The elevator dings to announce we had arrived at the ground floor. He sat me down, and had moved away by the time the doors opened.
“Have a good day at work,” he said as he walked away. I was speechless. I walked to my car in a daze. I drove to work in a daze. I worked all day in a daze. I needed more. I decided I couldn’t go the rest of the week without satisfying this need. I decided to text him.
Tonight. Take me out tonight.
My phone buzzed instantly with his reply.
Ok. Be ready at 7.
I left work a little early and rushed home to start getting ready. Getting date ready is like, a four hour process, minimum. I had to deep condition my hair, shave every strand of body hair, vigorously exfoliate, and moisturize. 15 pounds of foundation, eyeliner, mascara, highlighter, bronzer, and lipstick later, I can blow dry my hair. Then I have to tease it, and curl it, and flat iron it until it rises and falls correctly, stays put and bounces in the right places. I pull on the sexiest dress I own; it’s short, red, skin tight, and cut obscenely low. I feel like a million bucks in it. I step into black pumps, spray a little more hairspray, and dump the contents of my purse into a black clutch. It’s 6:55 by the time I’m done. I grab my phone to text Cash.
Ready when you are.
I expected him to text me back to have me meet him in the hall, so I was surprised when I heard a knock on the door. When I opened it, Cash’s face lit up in surprise.
“Wow. I feel really underdressed. Should I go put my suit back on?” he teased. He was holding a single Easter lily. “Oh, this is for you. Seemed like a really good idea at the time, but now I realize it is ridiculously unoriginal so let’s just not talk about it. Just, take the lily, Lilly,” he stammered. I think I was making him nervous. This was a welcome change of pace, as he was usually the one that made me stutter and shake.
“Thank you,” I muttered as I put the lily in a coffee mug of water, grabbed my clutch and headed out the door. It was a sweet gesture if not embarrassingly corny. We don’t have to talk about it.
We didn’t talk much on the ride to the restaurant. Spring was turning into summer, and my legs stuck to the leather seats in his car. His silence worried me. He may have been thinking about what he wanted to do to me; peeling me out of this dress, fucking me against the wall, or bent over the kitchen table. Or, we may just have run out of things to talk about. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable; I just didn’t know how to break it. I decide it doesn’t matter. I’m just along for the ride. He parks on the street, and walks around to open my door for me. A perfect gentleman. He extends his hand to help me out of the car. As always, his touch is electric.
Inside, we order our meal and sip wine. I try to make small talk, complaining about my day at work. He seems disinterested and a little on edge. This goes on through half the meal, until he finally looks me dead in the eyes and breaks his silence.
“I’m sorry, I’m being really weird,” he apologizes.
“Really? You are? I
didn’t notice,” I tease, taking a sip of my wine.
“Funny. I just… I don’t… I can’t…” he trails off.
“You can’t what?” I asked.
“I can’t…. focus. I really wanted tonight to not be about sex. Well, not just sex, anyway. I am definitely fucking you tonight. I just really don’t want this, us, to be just sex. But it’s all I can think about. I can’t stop thinking about where your research led you. What you want to try. What you want me to do to you,” he whispered. This sent desire shooting through me. I shifted in my seat.
“Well, I’m not talking about it here. You know, we could have gotten this conversation out of the way in the car and moved on to talking about embarrassing family stuff or fourth grade teachers by now,” I replied.
“I know. I’m sorry. I was just really, really trying not to bring it up,” he said. I told him it was fine, and promised I would tell him all about my foray into the world of BDSM porn on the way home. He finally loosened up, and conversation flowed a little more easily.
It was dark by the time we made it back to the car. Once inside, he turned to me and said, “Okay. So I’m dying. Tell me.” I blushed. This was kind of hard to talk about. I suddenly understood why he was so reluctant to verbalize his fetish the night I asked him, why he had to show me instead. It’s one thing when you’re in the moment, turned on and ready. It’s another to speak about it candidly.
“Well. I don’t know,” I muttered. “I guesss… Uh… I mean… Fuck. Well.”
“Spit it out,” he laughed, starting the engine.
“This is all probably going to sound pretty mundane to you, since you’re so experienced and all. But. I know I am more into the physical aspects than any of the humiliation stuff,” I rambled.
“Oh, so you don’t want me to call you a whore and spit in your face?” he said sarcastically.
“No, I would really rather you didn’t. What else, uh, being restrained looks incredibly hot, but that kind of goes with the territory. Um. Hot and cold sensations. Hot wax, ice cubes in, uh, delicate places seems like something I could get into. Clamps…”
“Nipple or genital,” he interrupted, excitedly.
“Um. Both, probably,” I continued, “Also, I’m intrigued what the sensation would be like for you to… like… strike me. My nipples. Maybe my clit. That might be too much though, I don’t know. Would have to play it by ear. That’s all I’ve got. And the stuff we did that first night. That was incredibly hot. If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.”
“I can definitely accommodate all of that. Did you want to try this tonight?” he asked, licking his lips and glancing back and forth from me to the road.
“I’m down,” I responded. I was weak in the knees.
Back at his apartment, he led me to his bedroom. I sat on the edge of the bed.
“You should probably take off your dress. If I do it, I’ll probably destroy it. I kind of want to tear you apart,” he whispered in my ear.
“Do I have to call you ‘Sir’ or something?” I asked.
“No, please don’t,” he laughed, “but do leave your heels on.” He walked out of the room. I slithered out of my dress and draped it across the chair in his room. I left on my lacey bra and panties. He could tear those apart if he wanted to. I positioned myself seductively on the bed. He burst back into the room with his arms full. He sat several candles on the nightstand and lit them, and then turned off the light. “Are you ready?” He asked. I nodded and bit my lip.
“Take off the rest of your clothes,” he demanded. I complied silently. He pulled my arms above my head and tied them together with red twine. He reached to the nightstand, pulling several cubes of ice out of a glass. He touched them to my skin. Sharp, stinging cold traced its way down my collarbone. He let the ice graze one nipple, and then the other, making them even more erect. He let the ice slide down my abdomen, and stopped to run it in circles around my clit. My legs jumped as several cubes slid inside of me. He pushed against my pussy with his palm to keep them inside. He picked up one of the candles, and hovered it above my breasts, letting me feel the heat from the flame. He blew it out, leaving a sickly smoke to linger in the air. I watched with anticipation as he gently tipped the jar, allowing liquid wax to trickle out the side, onto my exposed chest. I cried out. The sensation made the top half of my body jolt as I tried to sit up. He grabbed my hair to push my head back down onto the pillow, covering my mouth. “Don’t move,” he whispered. He now held my head down by my hair as he reached for another piece of ice.
He ran his thumb across my lips, smearing my dark lipstick across my face. He traced the outline of my lips with the piece of ice and let it fall into my mouth. He kissed me, taking the ice back with him. He let go of my hair as he pulled away, pushing my legs open, using his mouth to stimulate me with the ice cube. He used his tongue to push it inside me. I was numb.
“I can’t feel-“ Cash, shoving my panties into my mouth to gag me, interrupted me.
“Be quiet,” he warned. He began twisting and pulling my nipples, making the wax that covered them flex and crack. I let out a muffled moan. He reached beside the bed, picking up jingling clamps. I winced and squirmed as he attached one to my nipple.
“Too much?” he asked. I nodded my head no.
“Then be still,” he cautioned. I tried to remain motionless as he set the other. He gently tugged at the shiny metal chain connecting them. He pulled out my makeshift gag and kissed me, maintaining tension on the chain.
He reached down beside the bed again, this time bringing back a black leather flogger. He dragged it across my neck, grazed each breast, and brushed it lightly across my stomach. He raised it and let it crack back down on my hip. I jumped. He tugged on the chain lying limply across my chest, and struck me again. I twisted my hips down into the mattress. I was building to a completely new plateau. There was no ball of light. There was only a raging fire that burned hotter and hotter with every blow. I moaned with each strike, as I wriggled in anticipation for the next. He reached up and untied my hands.
“I want you to hold yourself open. I’m going to strike you three times. If you move your hands, or cover yourself, we have to start over. Do you understand?” he asked, calmly. I nodded my head in agreement. “No, say, out loud, that you understand,” he insisted.
“I understand,” I choked. I reached between my legs and spread open my lips with my fingertips. He brushed the whip across my pussy, allowing the dangling tendrils to tickle my glistening clit. He must have remembered my request to tread lightly in this area, because he hit me very gently. It made me moan and twist my pelvis. He hit me again, a little harder. I gasp. My legs are shaking. Only one more. He reared back, and let the tool crack down on my delicate flesh. I jerked my hands away, and used them to muffle my scream. Cash pulled my hands away from my face and pinned them at my sides. He told me again not to move. He inserted the handle of the flogger into me, rubbing my clit with his thumb as he rocked it back and forth. My hands clenched the sheet below me. I’m burning from the inside out. He tugged the chain attached to my nipples, forcing me to pull myself upright. He used my hair to pull me off the bed, making me stand in front of him, with the handle of the whip still inside me.
He pushed me to my knees. He stood before me, undid his belt, and pushed his pants to the floor. He took out his cock, and rubbed the head across my lips, covering it in what’s left of my crimson lipstick. I eagerly open them and take him inside my mouth. He regained his grip on my hair, and used it to guide my head along the length of his dick. I began to gag as he forced it down my throat. He pulled out and forced me to stand. He put a hand on my hip and pushed down on my head, making me bend over the side of the bed. He pulled the whip out of my pussy, and laid a firm blow across my ass. He pushed down on the small of my back and slid his cock between my lips, and pushed it inside me. He smacked the whip across my back while he smacked his bare hand across my backside. The fire inside me burned through the back of my eyeba
lls. I crashed into orgasm hard and fast. Cash didn’t slow to catch my crests and waves; he kept his own tempo, forcing me to experience it as he dictated. I screamed myself hoarse as he fucked me raw. When my screaming turned to heavy breathing, Cash moaned and slowed. I felt him pulse as he came inside me.
He landed one more solid smack on my ass as he pulled away. I was shaking. I couldn’t stop.
‘’How… How do I take these off?” I stammered.
“Here, let me. Taking them off is going to hurt, the blood is going to come rushing back. Are you ready?” he explained. I nodded yes, and he unclipped them both at once. It stung. I winced. Cash pushed my hair out of my eyes. My hands were still shaking as I started to peel wax off of my chest. He took both my hands in his and pressed them to his lips.
“Are you okay?” he asked. I don’t know if I like how often I have to be asked this.
“Yeah, I just… I just need a minute,” I replied. I felt like I was in a fugue. My thoughts were muddy and incoherent. I was rattled to my core. I felt like I’d been on a weeklong bender and the coke finally ran out.
“What can I do?” he asked, with a furrowed brow. This is probably precisely why he said he didn’t want to deal with inexperience. I felt like crying. I’m not sure why. I don’t know why I was so shaken. In the moment, I was lost in the experience, and I enjoyed myself, thoroughly. I came with a fury. Now that it was over, I feel like someone pulled a hood off my head and left me standing in blinding daylight.
Ricochet Page 5
