by Solace Ames
He finished tightening more straps somewhere above, then looked down on her with a pleased expression. He didn’t disapprove of her question. This was a real conversation. Bizarre, intimidating, intense, but real.
“Not now,” he said. “I did have a relationship with a woman that ended about six months ago. She wouldn’t want me calling her a girlfriend, though. She knew what I did for a living when we started. It didn’t end well, but we still keep in touch.” He stepped down from the mattress onto the floor. The next time he spoke, their eyes were almost level. “Did you tell the truth when you filled out the list?”
“Yes,” she hissed, angry at him for the first time, and wanting him and immensely confused. A monosyllable was all she’d give to this question, damn it.
He slipped two stiff fingers into her.
A wordless, shocked crying noise—she’d made that sound. Fuck, his hand. He’d tested how open she was to him and she was open all the way, his pretty trussed-up toy. He probed deeper, his knuckles dragging past the wet, stretched lips of her aching, throbbing cunt. Her arms strained, trying to pull up her weight and failing. Falling—not falling. She was floating.
“That made you a little upset, didn’t it? And tight. Very tight.” His voice was dispassionate and terrifyingly even. “I don’t believe you lied. Keep talking.”
“Oh. Oh.” She was rocking in the air and he was inside her. Feeling her from the inside. Her body. Her mind. How could she—keep talking. “Yes. I told the truth. I—” he crooked his fingers and she almost screamed, “—Oh God. Oh. What do you think about me?”
“I think you don’t have a lot of shame about your needs, and I like that. I think you have perfect pear-shaped breasts, and I’m having problems deciding whether to take off that bra so I can look at them while I fuck you or leave it on because it’s—well, symbolically appealing.” He abruptly withdrew his fingers; she bucked and moaned at the absence of heat. He licked his forefinger, then slotted both fingers back into her, a key fitting into a lock. The pleasure provided was immediate and brutal. “I think you taste fantastic. I could go on like this for a while. What do you like about anal sex?”
The fingers of his other hand traced the inner curves of her vulva, gathering wetness. Then he moved his fingers downward over the sensitive, totally bared skin of her perineum. Suddenly, she knew where the twisted feeling in her stomach came from, because this perversion of a medical examination shouldn’t feel as fucking good as it did.
He circled her hole, teased at the puckered center, pushed gently, not penetrating, not yet.
“I don’t know,” she gasped. “It feels...softer. Harder. I don’t know. Sometimes it helps me come. I’ll try...” Relax. Let him in. He’s in you already. This is more. Give more. Relax.
He kept circling, pushing, easing, pushing, and the rhythm of it lulled her and comforted her. There were no more challenges to be met, no more games, no more questions.
Only pure sensation.
She threw her head back and opened for him.
When she spasmed tight a second later, he was already inside. He circled the interior contours of her ring with the same spiraling motion as the outside, but now the friction was all-consuming, sending signals through the secret nerves her body kept hidden from her mind.
She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even cry out. Little, needy sounds flowed out with every shallow breath.
The shock faded.
She raised her head again—the only motion left to her anymore—and opened her eyes. He anchored her focus, her world, her flesh. The motions of his hands had her swaying back and forth, impaled to an automatic rhythm.
“Do you want to come now, or do you want my cock?” His voice was still even, lips still set into a remote smile.
Another easy answer. Almost ritual. “Anything—” forward deeper “—you—” again again “—want. Anything.”
“I never get tired of hearing that.”
He pulled away. She was lost, unanchored, swaying, but secure in knowing she pleased him. It was enough. For now.
When he came back, he was naked except for the harness. Her hazy, swimming vision sharpened as she stared into the small metal ring in the center of his chest. He gripped her thighs from the inside, pushed her weight back, changed the angle of his hips so that his blunt cockhead rested against her slit, and released her to fall.
His thickness split her open and drove her outside of herself, crying at the violence and the need he’d filled. The harsh fucking shook something inside her, something tender and hurting at the deepest point, before he pushed her back away and let her fall again. The hurt came in spikes and then waves and then faded to a welcome ache, as if he’d rearranged her body to fit his own.
At some point he halted the swing’s arc, pushed a finger coated with slippery, cool lubricant into her ass, then started up again. She opened for him straight away, proud of herself and proud of the sigh he let out as he pressed up and stroked his cock through her. That pressure and the stretch were hard to bear but they didn’t hurt, and even if they did, well—
“Two holes filled. You just need something down your throat now, you dreamy little fucktoy whore, don’t you?”
She nodded very quickly and licked her lips. She wouldn’t beg unless he asked her to but Jesus fucking Christ did she want another mouthful of his come.
“Goddamn, you’re good for me. God—fuck.” He took a deep breath and pulled out his cock; it pressed and slid wetly against the tendons of her inner thigh, so agonizingly close to where she really wanted it. He still stabbed his finger in and out of her ass, rhythm gone a little ragged, and she clung to that sense of fullness. “I’m holding back for your mouth, Adriana.” Names. That was her name. Yes. “Time to slow down for a while.”
“Oh, nn—” She didn’t want to say no to him. “Please. Can I—can you make me—”
“Whore. Yes.”
She wondered if he’d use his mouth or his hand but he had a vibrator resting somewhere nearby, a powerful and ugly thing he pressed down hard against her clit. It roared into life and dragged her to bone-shuddering orgasm in seconds, making her clench helplessly around his finger.
She thrashed in her bonds and whined like a mindless thing, but she didn’t cry. The feeling was so pure and warm, sweeter than sunlight or honey.
She didn’t cry yet.
That was for later.
Chapter Seven
Adriana would be home at some point. Jay angled the bedside clock away so that he wouldn’t watch it obsessively.
She’d be fine.
Maybe there was something wrong with his mind, or his heart, for him to not feel particularly torn or jealous. But he just couldn’t bring himself to care about whatever flaw it was. As long as she was happy, the whole issue was academic. Boring, even.
He took a sip of tea and attacked a Roberto Bolaño novel. After a few pages, he abandoned it—the tiny black letters kept swimming off the lines. He adjusted his current reading level drastically downward, put down the brick of a book and started skimming through the pretty pictures in a shopping catalog instead.
The phone rang. Adriana. His heart, his above-it-all heart, leaped in his chest. Why would she call? He answered quickly.
“Hi, baby,” she said. Her voice was a little high and breathy, but otherwise normal.
“Is there anything wrong?”
“I just needed to talk to you about something. It’s nothing bad.”
“No dungeon accidents?”
“No—what?” He heard her giggling, and then her voice grew fainter, “Is this a dungeon?”
He heard Paul answer. “It’s a studio dungeon. Hi, Jay.”
“Hi, Paul,” he said reflexively, then muffled the phone under a pillow for as long as it took to draw a deep breath of relief, because h
e didn’t want to sound like a dying fish on the other end of the line. “So I guess you guys aren’t having sex now?”
“We’re taking a break,” Adriana said. “I’m still tied up.”
“I’m not sure if that’s too much information or not enough information. But it’s definitely something.”
“He has an electrical stimulation...umm, machine. But it’s supposed to attach to—well, there’s a problem. I’m not shaved. It doesn’t work that well if you’re not shaved.”
“Oh my God,” Jay said. “It’s like a TENS unit, right? Some guy on the spinal pain message board said he used one on his dick and it felt great. And then he got banned.”
“Is it—Yes, Paul says it’s like a TENS unit. And that you can try it if you’d like. But anyway, I was thinking I’d go ahead and do that. He’d be doing it, really. Shaving me. That’s kind of a big thing, so I wanted to talk to you. If you did that—”
“You’d want me to talk to you. Sure. I understand. I don’t have a problem with it. The stubbly phase is awful if you don’t keep it up, though. Just warning you. Can I talk to Paul?”
“Speaking,” Paul said. Damn. Jay could handle the concept of Paul in the abstract, but hearing his voice was difficult. Not bad, but difficult. It brought back memories of being held and kissed and that final click of the door as Paul walked out.
“Have you done this before?” Wait, that was a stupid question. Paul was shaved himself. Or maybe he waxed. “To a woman? I’m sorry, it’s not rocket science, but it’s a little nerve-racking.”
“That’s okay. Yes. And I have a very sharp, safe razor. I could set up a webcam if you and Adriana—”
“No thanks.” The original idea had seemed so neat and simple, and now he was falling into confusion. He imagined running his fingers over Adriana’s newly depilated skin, pornographic and smooth as satin. Amazingly, that helped to clarify matters. “I’m not saying it’s not...exciting. But it’s really her session. Tell her I hope she has a really good time and I love her, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Bye, Paul. Talk to you later.”
Jay ended the call.
He only meant to rest his heavy eyelids afterward, but he slipped halfway down into sleep, one hand curled around the warmth of the phone and its photo of Adriana. If she called, he’d be there for her. He had that much strength left, even if the rest of him had been chipped away.
Had he told her he loved her? God, he didn’t remember anymore.
She’d be home soon, anyway. They had...they had time.
* * *
“This is a new blade.” Paul massaged the gel along the outside edge of her labia with small, swirling strokes of his fingertips. Then he picked up the razor, stretched her taut, set metal to skin and waited, listening.
Her breaths had gone shallower. The easy mood disappeared. He’d enjoyed it while it lasted. Pressing the phone to her ear. Edging one foot out of the role to laugh at himself. And hearing Jay. All enjoyable.
Although he enjoyed getting back to work, as well.
He stroked the razor upward and outward.
She sighed and twitched, but he was ready for that and pulled away. He dipped the razor into a bowl of water that he’d placed over a towel on the mattress. “Skin on skin,” he said, and rubbed the pad of his thumb over that naked, nearly smooth strip. “How does it feel?”
She breathed quietly, her eyelids almost closed. His half-hard cock stirred at the sight of her, the way he’d laid her out. Passive, pretty things always called to him, but she called deeper than most. He hadn’t lied earlier, or exaggerated in the slightest.
He rose from his knees, grabbed her by her hair, and gave her a sharp, four-fingered tap high on her cheek. “Focus,” he warned while staring into her rapidly blinking eyes. He watched the word and the harsh touch soak into her and bring her forward. It felt as good as penetration.
“I—what?” she murmured.
“How. Does it feel?”
“Oh. Nice. Keep talking?”
“Definitely. Tell me about the first time you and Jay had sex.” He let go, knelt down again, spread her flat, and shaved another strip. The razor made a faint but forceful sound; his own skin prickled in an interesting response.
“Okay.” He heard her take a deep breath. “Would you believe on our wedding night?”
“No,” he said flatly as he dipped the razor in the bowl and stroked again.
“I’m kidding.” Her laughter was light and giddy and very sweet. “Way before. It’s a great story. But I don’t know if I can tell it real well now...”
“Tease.” He massaged more gel into the top of what had once been a neat triangle of pubic hair. Another few strokes. Then he laid a wet towel on top of her mound, pressed down, and cleaned her slowly—exploring, with his fingers, the contrast between rough, wet cotton and the warm, suedelike texture of her skin. “You’re shivering.”
“The towel. It’s cold. Have—” A pause and a little moan as he spread her on the other side. “Have you ever done any porn?”
A reasonable question, considering they lived in the capital of the industry. “I’m friendly with some people that do it. So I’ve been involved on the sidelines on a few gay BDSM shoots. Nothing with my clothes off.” He slid the outer edge of his hand down her vulva and got lost in the feeling for a while, the tenderness and strange sense of touching flesh that was incomplete, in process. Then he went back in with the razor. “If we lived twenty years ago, I would’ve done it, but now everything’s online, permanent. It’s a question of exposure. And I’m almost done. I’m going to put a metal probe in you, and it’s going to be very cold.”
There was something funny about that warning, he realized, and smiled to himself, looking forward to her reaction. Maybe she’d even laugh from the shock, when he inserted it.
“Oh, I—if you...” She wasn’t laughing now. She was fading again.
That was all right, at this point, he decided. He completed the last stroke, took up the cloth and cleaned all the little folds and valleys until every hair was gone.
He applied moisturizing cream, white slick stuff with almost no fragrance except for a faint undertone of almonds.
Her sex looked like a pale orchid blossom. Delicate. Vulnerable. He leaned down and puffed a breath of air right above where the hood of her clitoris centered the soft cleft, and her body responded instantly, thighs tensing and trembling, a high, broken note escaping from her throat. And then he kissed her mound, more to feel her new skin against his lips than in the service of any conscious goal.
“I was just thinking how delicate you look now.” He rose, opened the electric stimulation case and started pulling out everything he needed: the control box with its buttons and dials, the cheap stick-on electrodes, the very expensive (not to mention vicious and gleaming) metal bipolar electrode probe. “But you’re really not. Delicate, I mean. We’ll see.”
He pulled on a pair of latex surgical gloves. They were practical for insulating his hands and also added nicely to the mood. The snap of a glove tended to trip an atavistic trigger—Something is about to happen. Stay still. Be afraid. And yes, there was her flinch. Tracing her slit with the tip of his gloved forefinger brought the opposite response: she sang out wordlessly and tried to thrust her hips upward.
He cupped her mound and pressed her back down into the sling. It was so easy to hold her, to be her axis.
The small electrodes with their adhesive backing, he placed on her outer labia. When he turned the power on, the current would run between them. The probe was about half the length of his hand and shaped like a blunt torpedo. He’d thought about soaking it in ice water first, but it seemed cold enough, and he was getting impatient to start.
He coated it with lubricant and slipped it inside her with no other preparation or warning.
<
br /> The chains made clinking and scraping noises as she thrashed. “Cold. It’s cold. It’s—fuck.”
With his left hand, he turned on the power.
Dead silence. She hung in her bonds like a rigid statue; the only part of her that moved was her hair, spilling down like a curtain and gently swaying.
“Did you think it would hurt?” he asked, still pressing her down, two fingers crooked halfway up her cunt to keep the probe from slipping out. Insulated, he didn’t feel anything, at least not physically. On the aesthetic level, he couldn’t imagine any sight more beautiful or richer in personal meaning. The stylish fabric that cupped her breasts was the final touch, the bittersweet reminder of his message: he wanted me to tell you that he loves you.
Her mouth twisted, her full lower lip moving very slightly in time with the pulses. “Yes. But it doesn’t. I feel like I—it’s really good.”
“It’s on a low setting with an even rhythm. I’m going to turn the level up slowly. It’s going to feel better, like you’re getting fucked with a vibrator, and then it’s going to start feeling worse. Tell me no or stop, and I stop. And then I start again, unless you tell me not to. Safe signal stays the same, if you can’t talk, because I might be gagging you. Remember it?”
She raised her head and nodded. Tapped the two fingers of her right hand against her chain.
“Good. This way I get to mess with your mind a little. Push you. But there’s no reward and no punishment, only different levels. Here’s the next one.” He twisted the dial.
“Oh God oh God oh God—”
A button tap changed the pattern to sharper, higher waves of electrical signals. The new intensity stole her words and set her thrashing. He could tell she’d orgasmed again by the transparent fluid that welled from her inner lips and dripped downward, the consistency of warm honey.
