by Alex Algren
“Yeah. Look, I’d even offer to pay you guys,” Will interjected, “but I can’t, just yet. And I’d really, really appreciate this.”
Jesse was still shaking his head, but she turned to Will.
“Just tell us when to be there. He’ll show,” she said.
“Saturday, anytime between two and three is good. I’d like to get at least three hours of daylight to work.”
“I’m not doing this…”
“He’ll be there,” she said to Will.
“You ready yet, Ari?”
“Just about,” she called back. She stuck a final hairpin into the loose twist of hair atop her head and surveyed the effect. Not period correct, but it looked close enough for Will to get the right effect. And close enough to be becoming for the eyes of her fellow model. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, and wondered if Will had told him yet that this was to be a nude study.
Evidently not. She walked out of the bathroom in slippers and nothing else, and felt the gaze of both men turn her way—one cool and appreciative, one hot with shock and unspoken lust. Color stained Jesse’s cheeks, but his expression remained unchanged as he lifted his eyebrows and turned to Will.
“Please tell me we’re covering up somewhat.”
Will looked away from her, and at Jesse with an expression of perfectly innocent surprise.
“Oh, no. This is the seduction, where Selene comes to Endymion as he sleeps. But don’t worry, you have your eyes closed, since you’re supposed to be asleep.” He looked down at his brushes with a grin, as Jesse stood quickly from the stool where he had been perched.
“I really can’t do this…” he said, but he was still looking at her, his eyes fixed on her face. He always made a point of looking at her eye-to-eye when they were at work, and she wondered why. Perhaps he didn’t trust his gaze to venture anywhere else, but how could he possibly avoid it now?
Her nipples stood erect from the touch of the cool wind blowing through the windows, as well as from the attention of her companions. The upsweep of her hair left her neck and shoulders bare, and the trimmed, dark triangle sheltering her womanhood did more to entice than conceal. She was in her element. Grinning, she tilted her chin at him.
“Go on, get undressed.”
He shook his head. “This is a bad idea.” But he took off his shirt, and his sandals, and his jeans, and finally his briefs.
“Sorry,” he said, red-faced.
“It happens,” she replied with a dismissing wave. “Don’t worry, I won’t touch.”
“You’d better not,” he said with a smile. “Lisa would kill me.”
Ah yes: Lisa, the girlfriend; the unimaginative, painted arm-trophy. Another necessary part of the corporate executive uniform.
She laughed. “And that would be bad. Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
She knelt on the metal and glass table that on Will’s canvas would become her cloud-tipped mountaintop. The edge of the table felt cold under her bare torso as she stretched out and peered down to where Jesse reclined beneath.
“Hello down there in the mortal world!” she cooed.
He smiled up at her, one arm curved in position beneath his head. With his other hand he reached up around the table’s edge and gave her fingertips a friendly tug. “Hello, goddess,” he called back. “How are you?”
“Hmm. Olympus is boring and uncomfortable.”
He laughed, and shook his head. The pretense of reserve had been abandoned a few weeks ago, as the long afternoons in the lazy intimacy of the studio progressed—a chaste, prolonged foreplay that soothed her secret craving while fueling it even more. She could flirt with him, let her gaze drink in the sight of his nakedness, and imagine what would happen if this table were no longer between them, if his hand strayed to his cock, soft and still deliciously full, waiting to be awakened and to fill her…
“Where is Will, anyway? Still on the phone?”
She blinked. “Yes, I think so.” Lifting herself on her elbows, she directed her eyes through the studio doorway. “I can’t see him. Oh, wait, here he comes.”
Will stuck his head through the studio door and gave them an apologetic look.
“That was my mother. I have to pick my sister up at the airport. John was supposed to do it and he bailed. Figures.” He shrugged.
“That’s fine, go ahead…”
“Yeah, that’s no problem.”
“I’m really sorry about this. But hey, you two can have the studio to yourselves now.” He grinned. “Just clean up afterward, and lock the door when you leave, OK?”
“Yeah. Right.”
“Just for that, we’ll be sure not to clean up,” added Jesse as Will’s head retreated. They heard him laugh as he walked down the hallway, and then the jingle of keys and wallet before the front door slammed shut.
Neither of them moved. They listened to the muffled roar of the car engine, the sound of Will driving off. Her heart beat so hard she was sure he could hear it. No excuse remained for them to be here like this, so dangerously close, without even the modesty of clothing to serve as deterrent.
He was staring up at her as she sat, uncertain, on her pedestal and tried to sort through her thoughts. Wasn’t this what she had wanted all along? A perfect opportunity? And it didn’t get much more perfect than this. So why was she hesitating again? Not because of their positions; certainly not because of any practical consideration. Because she had wanted this for so long, and because the conquest had not been an easy one. She wasn’t sure, this time, that desire alone would be enough. But neither did she want to lose.
“So, are you going to leave now?” she asked softly.
In answer, he slid out from beneath the table and got to his feet. He stood beside the table, looking down at her.
“That all depends on you, goddess.”
She had imagined this a thousand times, but the reality of it still overwhelmed her, put her in awe of his body and her own lust. She reached out and closed her hand around his width, her fingertips just barely touching her thumbtip, and she stroked him to fullness. Sticky droplets ran down her fingers, and she felt an answering wet, heavy heat between her legs.
She stood and circled one arm up behind his head, her other hand still moving along his cock. There wasn’t much hair to grab, as he kept it short and spiky, and she liked it that way. The less time a man had to spend combing his hair in the morning, the more time he had for getting the job done the night before. But she managed to gain enough of a grip, and tilted his head down.
She would wager he hadn’t been kissed like that in a long time, perhaps never. The act was an art, one that few people bothered to take the time to master. But she had. This time she chose to be slow and deliberate, and after a moment of hesitation he kissed her back in kind, running his hands along her waist and over her hips, and then back up to cup her breasts.
He pinched her nipples hard, to the point of pain, of unbearable, unsatisfied hunger. She gasped and broke the kiss with an “Oh!” of pleasure, and he lowered her to the table, pulling her hands away from his groin and moving them up above her head.
His mouth closed around one nipple and then the other, leaving a trail of tiny bites across the curves of her breasts. She had said once, amid the blushing babble of some long-ago, inappropriate water-cooler conversation between them, that she liked biting. All this time, and yet he had remembered; he had been paying attention. She laughed in triumph and pushed down on his shoulders.
He understood and obeyed, lifting her legs and moving to capture her aroused clit between his lips. His tongue moved like witchfire over her sex, teasing the entrance to her slit, slick with her desire, and then moving back up to her clit, and then down…and over and over. His mouth coaxed sweet, pulsing pleasure from her, more than she could have imagined that she would feel lying on the hard, unforgiving studio table. And still she was greedy. She wanted more.
“Fuck me,” she murmured.
He lifted
his head, and fixed that blue gaze on her. “What? I didn’t quite hear that.”
“You heard perfectly damn well. I told you to fuck me!”
He smiled, and continued to rub one finger between her nether lips as he bent down to bite each nipple in turn, till she moaned and arched shamelessly against his hand.
“Please, Jesse.” Her voice was enticing, pleading, and she was running her nails over his back, and shoulders, and down his chest. “Now.”
“God, Arianne, you’re too damned hot. It isn’t fair.”
He grabbed her ass and pulled her toward him. His cock pressed into her, overcoming her body’s resistance, and she felt herself opening up, stretching to take him in; painful at first, and then growing softer, moister. She flowed over, and inside, and all around him. His hands were around her waist and he rocked her back and forth with his need.
She closed her eyes, and her body abandoned its form, became nothing but feeling and heat. She was the moon, a center of glowing white light; a wild, rising, rushing elation; and with each thrust of his cock she split into prisms of light. No wonder the ancients thought sex an act of magic, of power. Light splintered all around her in a thousand colored shards.
“Oh, Jesse!”
He leaned his forehead, cool and damp, on hers, breathing in her breath, and lying still, now that the ritual was ended. Purple shadows filled the studio. The sun had been swallowed up by the horizon while they spent their desire.
Now, she thought, would come the awkward separation, the fumbling in the half-dark for artificial light and clothing, while he would look at her with guilt and worry, trying not to meet her gaze.
But instead he only shifted his weight, rolling to lie on his side, his warmth slipping naturally and easily from her body. She sat up and hairpins clattered to the table. He reached back and brushed his fingers through the long tangle of her hair, discarding stray pins that marred the soft waves.
“She was famous for her lovers,” he said after a long moment, looking up at her. Even in the poor light she saw his mouth curve into a sensual smile.
“Selene? Yes, she was. But she favored Endymion best of all.”
“Mm-hmm. And she kept him around forever, didn’t she?”
He tugged gently at her hair and she lay back, marveling at the beauty of his silhouette.
“But he had to choose eternal slumber.”
“Can’t say that I blame him. I think I would have done the same,” he replied. His hand parted her legs and he stroked her still-tingling nexus, sticky now from lovemaking. She was glad she had been wrong this once. He understood that the world of mortals could be left behind, that such lovers as they were created their own immortality. He accepted…
The moon was rising in the sky beyond the windows, climbing to the peak from which it would rush, falling, back to earth again. She was rising.
“Will’s probably going to come back soon,” he said, pausing, his eyebrows raised in question.
“I know,” she said with a wicked grin, and wrapped her arms around his neck again.
NOT WITHOUT PERMISSION
Sinclair Sexsmith
My girl, Kristen, is on her knees on the hardwood floor next to my desk for a full minute before I realize she’s not petting the cat or tying her shoe: She wants my attention.
I stop typing and turn toward her slightly. “Yes?”
She hands me her collar, eyes downcast. “It’s Tuesday night.”
“Yes?” I take the collar from her palms. I know what she wants, but I want to hear her say it.
“You said I could…” She hesitates. “You said I could come tonight.”
“I did, huh?”
“Yes.” She brings her eyes up to mine, searching: Didn’t I remember? Of course I did.
“I think I said you would have the opportunity to come tonight.”
She looks hopeful, grateful.
I finger her collar. “When I put this on, our play starts. You know how it works. Are you ready for that now?”
“Yes, Sir.”
I consider. I’m in the middle of a project, but it is getting late. I can wrap this up for tonight. I did promise her the chance, and I like to keep my promises, especially to her. “All right. Give me twenty minutes to finish up, then meet me in the bedroom. Strip, and wait for me on your knees.” I fasten her collar, the thin metal hoop with the heart-shaped lock, and pocket the key before cupping her face in both of my hands for a moment, kissing her, sweet and slow and light.
When we pull away, she nods and rises. I watch her go and attempt to turn my mind back to my work, but find myself daydreaming, plotting what I’m going to do, how I’m going to use her sweet body. I want to push her. This will be her first orgasm in almost a week; I want to make it good.
The twenty minutes seems to take two hours, but I manage to send a few e-mails and finish enough that I can leave it for the night. I dig into the toolbox I keep in my office and pick a long cock of medium thickness, good for fucking and sucking, before I go into the bedroom. I wait until the twenty-second minute, because I know she’s been on her knees since the eighteenth, and I want her to wait. To want it. To be thankful when she gets it.
When I enter the bedroom, Kristen is facing me with her head down, hands clasped behind her, on her knees on top of a small folded throw blanket. She wears nothing but her collar on her neck and the thin star ring I gave her on her left ring finger. She straightens a little when she hears me approach but does not look up. I grin.
“You look lovely, waiting for me.”
“I’m…ready.” She swallows.
“I’m sure you are.” I finger her hair and run my hands through it. It is past her chin now, baby-fine with a golden shimmer. She leans into me a little. I touch her cheeks and chin and jaw and lips, she parts them to suck one of my fingertips into her mouth. She is turned on already, tongue swollen as she flicks it against the crease in my finger.
I lean in next to her ear. “I’m going to beat you for a little while first. I want to leave some marks on you. If you get to come, I want you to remember who does this to you, who lets you, who makes you feel good. Then I’m going to fuck you—” I haven’t decided how yet, I’ll figure that out by the time I get there. “If you can make me come, pretty girl, you can come after that. But not before. Understand?”
She nods, sucking two of my fingers now.
“Good.” I remove my hand and take her black leather ball gag from the top drawer of our tall slender toy dresser. “Since you like something in your mouth so much,” I say, and kiss her, tonguing her mouth as she sighs, before I slip the gag in and buckle it behind her head.
She shudders a little and her body relaxes, already giving in. That shudder shoots right through me and I feel sparks climb my spine.
“All right, up,” I say, then tug on her elbow when it takes her a moment to register. She scrambles to her feet. I shove her, hard, quickly, to the bare patch of wall next to the closet and pin her there with my body, one hand on the side of her face to press her cheek into the plaster. I hold her there a second and we both breathe.
“Ready?” I ask, at her ear again. She nods. “Hands on the wall.”
She reaches as I unbuckle my belt and whip it from the loops of my jeans. She tries to say, “Oh, God,” but it comes out as a whimper through the gag. I can hear the syllables, the vowels.
I let my arm be loose, let the leather be soft and supple as I warm up her ass and thighs and back. She gets supple too, her body relaxing and releasing already, muscles easing up their tight grip on her bones. She leans into the wall for support.
I get a little harder and see a thin line of drool start to fall from her mouth and chin. She tries to wipe it with her shoulder but keeps forgetting about it when my belt reconnects and snaps her into the sensation. She breathes deep. I widen my stance. Her back is striped with lines, her ass and thighs red and splotchy. I take a few full-winged swings with my legs spread, back spiraling, pulling up as I feel my coc
k’s extra weight pulling down between my legs. She gasps as it hits, once, then a pause, then twice, then again as I wind up and throw. She collapses a little into the wall on the third and I know she’s almost done. I press my body against her sensitive backside and she gasps, arches her spine like a cat, lolls her head back on her neck to rest against me.
She leaves her hands on the wall, never moving them. She must really want to come tonight.
I gently run my hands along the sweet curves of her body, resting on her ass before letting my fingers travel down between her legs.
She is wet, dripping down her thighs.
I touch gently, soft as I can, just the slightest stroke, and she softens, knees buckling, before she jerks up and pulls away from me, twisting her face around to plead with her eyes. With the gag in her mouth she can’t tell me, but I can understand her: She’ll come if I keep touching her. She is already that close.
I take my hand away and move both up to unbuckle her gag. She moans as it comes out of her mouth and she swallows, wipes her chin on her shoulder, not moving her hands, and manages to say, “Thank you.”
I drop the gag. “Turn around, give me your wrists.”
She turns and drops her arms in front of her, offers herself to me. I loop the belt around both wrists and pull it tight, then snake the end back through between them so she’s locked in handcuffs. I pull on the end of the belt and bring her toward me, bring my arm around her tender back, lightly brushing my hand along her spine as I kiss her mouth, cheek, jaw, neck. I could devour her like this: she is liquid and soft, and holding her, entering her, is like diving underwater.
Little murmurs of pleasure bubble up through her lips and I pull her close to me, delight in the feel of our bodies pressed together. But she’s got me all hard, too, and wanting, still edgy, hips tight and ready to buck.
I push her gently. “On the bed.”
She lies down face up and scoots back onto the bed. From between her legs I push her wrists above her head with one hand and struggle to rip the button open, get the zipper down on my jeans, to get my cock out. She pushes with her legs against the bed and keeps moving herself back. I slide to keep up with her, and by the time I pull my cock free, she’s got her hands against the wall, pushing back against it so I can press into her, and I sit up to grip the tender flesh of her inner thighs as I guide my cock inside her with my hips. It slides in perfectly the first time, her hips wide and open, knees pulling back, and I tear off my T-shirt before dropping down on top of her, thrusting all the way in.
