Getting Naked: A Romance of Bondage and Discipline

by Reese Gabriel

  She sucked in a breath as he opened his pants and slipped them down over his muscular thighs. He probably jogged or played tennis. He seemed to be an overall athlete, the kind of man who cared for his body the way she did for hers. His cock was thick, medium in length. Her pussy clenched at the sight of it, thinking of it inside her. He was all she'd dreamed he would be and more.

  "Nick, god, you're a beautiful man."

  "No, you're the beautiful one.” He came to her crawling onto the bed like a tiger. “Open your legs, Morgan, the time for looking and teasing is over."

  She scooted back on her cuffed hands, digging her heels into the velvet. “Yes, sir,” she spaced them apart, wide as they would go.

  Morgan didn't expect him to dive between them, applying his tongue to her dripping wet opening. She'd had sex three times in her life and never had the males presumed to do anything so thoroughly geared toward her own pleasure.

  "Nick ... wow,” she managed to sigh. “Are you sure you want to do that?"

  "Are you crazy? I've been wanting and needing a taste of this pussy all afternoon."

  He wiggled his tongue into her wet folds, pushing, just hard enough to graze her clit. She clenched her cuffed fists. She was at his mercy, in more ways than one. Back and forth he went, each time managing to hit the clitoris at yet another new angle, more devastating than the last. At the same time, he was thrusting down, simulating the actions of a tiny, vigorous cock. The two actions together had the simultaneous effect of making her feel totally overwhelmed while leaving her aching for more. On and on it went, till she had no recourse but full release.

  "Oh, jeezus, Nick, I'm gonna come,” she declared.

  Nick wedged a finger in, making it clear that was exactly what he wanted from her. Morgan felt like an uncoiled whip, in slow motion snap. She was a wave, one big wave with lots of little waves inside. Arching her back, she let the sensations arc through her, high voltage pleasure direct from his core to hers, via his expert tongue. The fact that she was so helpless only added to that feeling of her being a conduit for sex. The orgasm was multiple, though it was hard to discern where one ended and the other began. She was just aware of bucking on the heart-shaped bed in appreciation, pushing her pelvis up into his face again and again in expectation and appreciation.

  "Nick,” she cried his name, giving him the credit for everything it took to get her there. She wouldn't trade any of it now, not even the frustrations.

  He reached his hands up in supplication, laying them on her breasts, the warm heat of his fingers immediately sending fresh tendrils to every pleasure receptor in her body. With his head still in place, he began to massage her breasts. Teeth clenched, she prepared for the big one, the ultimate payoff.

  She was dimly aware of screaming, but no sound came out that she could discern. Her thighs were clenching him so tight she was afraid she would injure his head. But he wasn't showing any signs of distress or of slowing down.

  If anything, he was going faster, trying to give her the friction to flat out combust. And combust she did, this time up like a volcano, mind blowing and searing. Her consciousness blasted sky high only to pour down as lava, thick, hot, unrecognizable.

  Some time later, who knew how long, she was lying there, covered in sweat, Nick's gorgeous body looming above her. He'd unhooked the handcuffs, giving her free reign with her hands. “Do you have any idea how fucking impossible it is to take pictures of you without needing to jerk off?"

  "I thought that was the idea of them,” she offered raspily.

  "After they are done, yes, but not before.” Nick pushed his swollen and healthy cock home, making full and natural use of her feminine opening. It was a perfect fit. She felt tight to him, like a virgin.

  "Distinction noted...” She ran her hands over his muscular chest, the one she'd needed so badly, from the moment she'd laid eyes on that stupid fishing photo. He felt firm, hard, but soft and incredibly human at the same time. It was like they were communicating, through touch.

  Oh, yea, she squeezed her pussy muscles to hold him fast, she was going to come again, this time with him.

  Nick's cock surged in size, testing her muscles elasticity. She could feel the heat pouring off of it. With each thrust he was grunting more deeply. His hands were braced alongside her, maximizing his piston power. Just seeing the pleasure on his face was sending her; he was like an angel, a majestic creature of the outer void, and yet so entirely down to earth.

  The king of beasts, claiming her as his prize. Nude underneath him, subdued after an unmistakable battle of wills and souls. Unmistakable symbolism. His scent roaming through her nostrils, she clawed at his strong back with her silly fake nails. She could almost taste him in the air, the electric anticipation; the elemental manhood enveloping her fully opened femininity.

  "Oh ... Morgan...” He sounded her name in deep guttural tones as he released the flood of warm semen, spurt after spurt. Deep inside her, up into her womb, filling and making her, marking her even. It was what she'd wanted and waited for, the ultimate sign of his wanting her and needing her. And desiring her.

  "Nick ... yes, take me, Nick."

  He was calling her name, making it real, solidifying this moment, this fuck, hallowing it and her above all other things. Their bodies pasted and glued and melted. She bucked underneath him, meeting him in a space outside time, a space outside creation, like she was being born in this very moment, with and in and through him.

  She could not pull him close enough into her, she wanted him devoured and consumed, hers forever, never to be seen or taken by another and yet wanted in him, too, wanted hid manly power to overarch her, to give her meaning and place and purpose as a woman.

  "Nick ... don't let it..."

  Don't let it stop ... that's what she'd wanted to say. She was so very afraid, of that abyss on the other side, of what would happen when and if they awoke, strangers once more, two human beings with no shared history, no story together on the mundane, temporal side of things. Only a few short bursts of comic anger, a bare blip on the screen of relationships.

  I don't want to lose you...

  "Nnnn.... baby, baby, baby,” he rasped. She tried to hold them aloft, but he was deflating. There was no way to hold on, strong as he was. She tried to read into every nuance of his words, to read permanence, to find things to convince him, to convince herself.

  Screw it, maybe it was just the sex she'd needed. The generic after all. But what if ... there was more?

  Their hearts separated out eventually, as the sweat drips collected, her on him and him on her. They just laid there for a while, on opposite sides, fingertips brushing, not looking at each other or talking. She watched the white ceiling, thinking, remembering. How many times had she orgasmed? Had he come more than once? Did they stay in that one position the whole time? She wasn't aware of rolling or spinning, but look how tussled the sheets were, and how soaked, too. And through all that, not to mention everything leading up to it, they'd managed to stay together.

  Interesting.

  "Where are you going?” She asked at a certain point.

  Her voice was wary, the way a woman's always is when she senses a man disengaging prior to proper debriefment.

  "I'll be right back,” he promised. “I'll get you a towel."

  Her heart sank. One look at his face said it all. His body would be back, but not the rest of him. Sure enough, he returned a few minutes later, hair combed, lips flat, like a stranger's. He'd come to offer her the towel, all right, as compensation for the heart and soul he'd just locked back beneath that coldly handsome exterior of his.

  "I will give you all the film,” he said. There's no reason anyone needs to know this happened."

  Morgan sat up, running her fingers through her hair. She felt like crap now, inside and out. “But I'll know and so will you."

  "That's true,” he conceded. “But there's no need for it, to ... affect us."

  Wham. There it was. The cold hard slap in the face tha
t inevitably followed every act of intimacy with this man. She'd known it was coming. So why hadn't she been better prepared?

  "Affect us,” she repeated scathingly. “You make it sound like we were mugged; we just made love here, Nick. The best lovemaking I've ever had in my life, I don't mind saying. And unless you're some really great actor, it didn't exactly suck for you either. Don't you think we should see what that means? Look into it a little further, maybe?"

  "I think it speaks for itself. We are both adults. We have certain biological urges."

  "You mean like the sudden urge I feel to come over there and pound some sense into you?"

  "A confrontation will serve no purpose, Morgan."

  "I'm afraid it's a little late for that. I have something to say and you are going to listen.” She was on her feet, in his face. She could feel him pulling away and she couldn't let that happen. She'd endure anything, anything at all but his indifference. “You can't just play with people's minds, Nick..."

  Or their hearts ... she'd been about to say with their hearts. But what sense did that make? She hardly knew this man.

  "Damn it, Morgan, what do you want from me?"

  Emotion ... she'd elicited genuine emotion.

  "I want you to be fucking real,” she challenged. “Stop hiding behind a lens."

  "It's what I do, Morgan, haven't you figured that out?"

  His eyes were flashing. He was standing there, almost pathetic, wanting her to buy into his self-pity, or whatever it was, and excuse him for being such a prick. Well it wasn't going to happen, not on her watch.

  "Grow up, Nick.” She pointed at his face, eyes narrowed to laser beams. “If you're old enough to play with that cock of yours, you're old enough to take responsibility for the women you involve yourself with. Either that or you can plan on growing old with your jerk off pictures for companionship."

  "Screw you, Morgan."

  "You already did that, babe, remember?"

  Her point more than made, she retrieved her clothes, dressed and headed for the door. He was throwing the camera across the room when she came out.

  Well that was promising, she thought sardonically. “Goodbye, Nick. It's been real ... oh, wait, no it hasn't."

  She shook her head a final time and left. She'd have been better off with Wally Evers. He might have bruised her ego a little, but this man had hurt a lot deeper.

  Down to her heart as a matter of fact.

  "Morgan, what's wrong?” Of all people it was Merilee, standing in the entrance to the building, heading back in, most likely for another shot at finishing her session.

  "It's nothing,” Morgan held back the tears. “I'll be right as rain ... as soon as I remember I'm not blonde and stop trying to get anywhere in life."

  "What on earth are you talking about?"

  "Your boss ... your devoted admirer, the man who's so infatuated with you."

  She blinked, curious. “Me? But he doesn't have a thing for me. Not even close."

  Morgan begged to differ; explaining about how he'd grabbed her photos while he was there and how he'd been all hard when she got to the studio today.

  "Honey, he wasn't hard for me,” Merilee insisted. “It must have been for you. I've never done it for him. Not me or any of the girls, for that matter."

  She swallowed hard. “You mean he doesn't ... fool around with the girls?” She picked as discrete a word as she could manage to cover the man's obviously disgusting though as yet unconceited practices.

  "Fuck them, you mean? Never. Gosh, I can't even picture it. Can you?"

  Morgan flushed red. “Well..."

  Her eyes went wide. “He didn't?"

  She nodded gravely. “Just now, actually."

  Merilee grabbed her arm. “You and I need to go talk ... and drink."

  "But aren't you going back in there?"

  "Hon, if what you say just happened really happened, then I don't think Nick Tremaine is going to be in the mood to be taking any more pictures today."

  "Okay, but you'll have to buy, cause I haven't a penny to my name.” She reached in her pocket. “Unless you count this one last piece of the check he gave me."

  "Nah, we'll find other ways to pay. Much more fun."

  Morgan walked with her, side by side. Could this day get any stranger? Best not say that, she thought grimly. I'll only jinx myself even more.

  Chapter Four

  Nick knelt over the broken pieces of the camera. At the moment they looked a lot like his life. Damn it, how could everything fall apart so fast? He was the envy of everyone in his business, not to mention to the male population in general. Single, just thirty-four years old, financially independent and working in a field that surrounded him with the most beautiful women in the city day after day.

  Metro Male magazine had called him “the guy you'll most envy this year.” Erotica Today had him on the top ten of most eligible bachelors, two years running. There'd even been feelers put out by one or two folks from the non-erotic business community, looking to work with him on some projects.

  He had everything in his corner. Until Morgan had come along. Now he was looking at the empty shell, the case cracked, revealing nothing but a hollow space. What was he really? A man between thirty and forty who'd all but forgotten his soul and had lost the very desire to keep it.

  What did a man work for? He needed a dream, a real dream. A plan to leave something behind him. Real accomplishments. A woman to love, and a family. Morgan had drive. She would do something with her life. It was written all over her. The world would bow to her, having no choice but to let her make a difference. And some man, if he were lucky enough and smart enough would be privileged to stand by her side, to support her in times of trouble and to receive her support in return.

  Nick was not that man. Nick was the kind of man who'd put a woman in handcuffs and fuck her in his studio. Under the guise of photography no less. Not even Wally Evers seduced his own models. It was practically rape, taking that kind of advantage of a young woman looking to do nothing but support her grandparents and put her way through school so she could save dying people in Africa.

  Christ, he'd just screwed the next Albert Schweitzer.

  What did she expect, though? Hadn't he made it clear from the get go she didn't belong in this business? That he and his kind where wrong, all wrong for her? A body like hers should belong to one man, who'd love her fiercely all night long and who'd sooner die than see another man ever see her naked beauty.

  Whoever married her would certainly have his work cut out. As smart and strong willed as she was, but without a clue how dangerous and devious men really were. If she were his woman he would know to protect her, he'd be the kind of wolf she needed to keep away the other wolves.

  And they'd make babies, too. Pretty girls or handsome boys. What beautiful children she'd make, though ... with her looks and her good health. He tried to picture her genetics crossed with someone else's, whatever doctor or aid worker or whoever finally did marry her.

  The thought made him frown. He snatched up the pieces of the camera and brought them to the trash. It was time to get dressed, time to get on with his existence. Such as it was. Making a note to find a way to get Morgan the money she deserved, he gathered his clothes. She wouldn't take his checks, of course. But what if he found some other way? He could pay money to her school, or better still, he could help those grandparents out directly. Might take a little research, but Carmen was more than up for the job.

  Feeling a little closer to human, he pulled on his underwear and pants. It was strange, he thought, how he'd just found his one scrap of happiness devising a plan to help Morgan. Must be I'm anxious to do right by her, so I can lay my conscience to rest. It couldn't be anything else.

  He wouldn't let it even if it were.

  * * * *

  Carmen joined them for margaritas at a little sports bar near Tremaine's office. Morgan couldn't believe it was after five already. Basically, the entire day was a blur. Her pussy was s
till tingling, spasming with the aftershocks of what the man had done to her. He was quite simply the most phenomenal lover she could imagine. His words hadn't been bluff as he'd built her sexual heat the day before. He'd been able to deliver. In a huge way.

  And yet again, afterwards he'd pulled the old switcheroo, leaving her reeling emotionally.

  "Do men do it on purpose,” Merilee wondered over the rim of her fishbowl sized blue slush beverage as Morgan finished relating the strange tale of her and Nick. “Just to fuck with us, or is it some biological thing they can't help?"

  "My father seemed to have a genetic aversion to making my mother happy,” said Morgan, amazed at how comfortable she was with these two very different women after such a short time of knowing them. “I know that much. It was like the moment he sensed she was feeling at all peaceful or stable in life, he had to run right out and find the nearest floozy."

  "I never knew my dad,” said Merilee, soaking in the sanctity of their corner booth, as far as possible from any ogling male eyes, “but if he's like the men I date, I'm better off not. I suppose it's my own fault for getting false breasts, though. That's what men see when they look at me, and it's all they want to interact with, too. Sometimes I'm like, here, take them with you, have a nice time, just bring them home by two and I'll just watch a video."

  They all laughed at this one, though it was clear Carmen wanted to offer another side to the picture. “My father is not like that,” she said. “For all his marriage, he has honored and respected my mother. I know, no one will believe me, but it's true."

  Merilee put her hand on Carmen's. It was warm and brown and delicate on the rough wood surface of the table. “It's not that we don't believe you, Carmen, it's just that your story is like this one of a kind thing compared to what we're used to, you know?"

  "But I don't think it is,” she shook her head, differing politely but firmly. “I don't mean to argue, but I think there are other men. Good men."

  Merilee snickered, a little less tactful than Morgan would have wished. “In books maybe."