‘Comfortable?’ He tests his ink-stained knuckles against the ridge of my jaw, putting just enough pressure into the action to nudge my chin upwards. ‘I asked you a question.’
As if I can reply with my mouth sealed with tape. Well, I suppose I could nod my head. Not that I am comfortable. I’m distinctly uncomfortable, knowing neither why I’m here nor what’s to come. When I struggle, ropes bite into my wrists and ankles, the coarse fibres unmercifully irritating the bare skin. Yep, uncomfortable – just as I like it.
‘Freya – t-t-t.’ He clicks his tongue as if he’s faintly amused by my wriggling. Certainly it will take far more than a dainty shuffle to release me. His smile stretches impossibly broad, showing off coffee-yellowed teeth, as he snatches up a clipboard and leafs through the notes there. ‘What a bad girl you’ve been, siphoning money from the company tea account, cheating all your fellow employees of their daily brews. Shame on you.’ He throws the clipboard aside and it skitters across the concrete floor. ‘So, what’s it been going on … shoes, this rather fetching dress?’ We both glance down at the stretchy red fabric that hugs my skin, and I finally understand who left me the note and why I was asked to dress so provocatively. I’m playing the corporate thief, caught with my hand in the cookie jar. I guess it’s nicely grounded in reality, since I have borrowed from the fund recently.
A trail of sweat chills the space between my breasts as Saul’s fingers creep across my cheek. He rips the tape from my mouth.
‘What do you want? Ouch! That hurt.’
Saul stands tall again, and slowly shakes his head. ‘You know it’s lucky for you that it was me who found out about your little siphoning scheme and not one of the other pen-pushers, who’d have gone straight to the management.’
‘You mean they don’t know?’
More sweat prickles across my shoulders as he holds my gaze, neither confirming nor denying whether he’s snitched to the higher-ups. The regular management will have my arse for this. I see the word ‘thief’ stamped across my employment records and the dole queue looming.
‘What do you want?’ I repeat my earlier question, my voice softer now, as I slide into the part. Although I already suspect I know the answer. I’ve seen the way he ravishes me with his gaze whenever we meet. Sexual favours in exchange for his continued silence.
‘You know, I’ve always wanted a playmate,’ he says, not entirely answering. ‘Someone I could use entirely for my pleasure. Someone I could be entirely selfish with.’
Suddenly, he’s right up close again. The hiss of his warm breath troubles the sensitive skin of my ear, so close that I imagine the brush of his whore’s lips and maybe the catch of a tooth to snag my already heightened senses. I’ve frigged myself to sleep at night thinking about his lips and seeing them wrapped around one of my nipples. I’ve even added the detail of being handcuffed and his to utterly possess. Keeping him sweet will hardly be a chore, assuming the odd blowjob is what we’re proposing here and nothing more.
One strong hand settles upon my shoulder as Saul circles behind the crude wooden chair to which I’m bound. He breathes in the scent of my hair, presses a kiss to the crown of my head and then licks the sweat from the back of my neck.
‘Free me, and I’ll work some magic on you now.’
He laughs at that. ‘I daresay you can work plenty of magic, Sugar Lips, but being at your mercy ain’t the plan. I think I’ll stick with calling the shots. It amuses me to see you trussed up and unable to stop my hands wandering anywhere they choose.’ He folds his fingers over my right breast and squeezes hard. Lust shoots through my sex in response, making everything clench. Most guys are too gentle with my nipples; not Saul. His rough manipulation sends sharp spikes of pleasure through my breasts, so they are left tingling and steepled. Fear combines with anticipation as he works the nipple roughly between his thumb and the side of his index finger.
This isn’t how I like to play the game. I like to be in control of my submission. Blowing him would have left me on my knees in a position of power. This just leaves me helpless.
How far does he intend to go? Will he hurt me? Will I enjoy it?
I tell myself that I won’t lie still. I won’t let him do anything I don’t want him to do, but, with him positioned behind me, I can’t even rock the chair enough to free myself of his hold upon my breasts. Instead, I’m forced to endure.
There’s only one steep flight of steps up out of the cellar. It’s an escape route, but it won’t solve the issue with the money. I could claim he took it and is trying to frame me. The bosses are probably more amenable to the more typical forms of sexual persuasion. Things I can control.
Saul’s lips slide along the length of my collarbone, so softly at first that I barely notice them – until he finds the pulse point and sucks. The whiff of his aftershave coupled with the musky scent ensnares my senses. I can’t breathe. I can’t act. Instead of picturing my flight up the age-worn stairs, I’m envisage myself on my knees, still tied, lavishing attention on his cock, as he slides it first in and out of my mouth, and then between my cupped breasts.
‘Like it when it gets a bit rough, do you? Don’t worry; it’ll get a lot rougher yet.’ I feel the pinch of his teeth. It hurts … It hurts so good that I can’t stop the croon escaping. My back arches, pushing my breasts up and out, my lips open, gulping air, and seeking kisses.
‘Stop.’ The cry that escapes my lips makes no impact on his motion.
‘I’ll decide when we stop.’ He delicately traces with his tongue the bruise he’s left upon my neck, and leaves a wet trail of saliva up to my ear. ‘I’m not ready to stop yet. I’ve barely begun. I’m going to fuck you, Freya. I’m going to get you all worked up and stretch your pleasure out so that you’re not sure you’ll ever find release.’
‘You can’t do this. I won’t keep still for it.’
He moves fast, circles to face me again and presses our brows together. ‘I can and I am. And I sincerely hope you won’t lie still. I hope you’re going to scratch and scream and fight. I do like a good fight. And you know the more you fight, the harder I’m going to fuck you, and the more I fuck you, the harder you’re going to fight. Understand?’
Oh, I understand. But mind and body aren’t entirely in agreement over my reaction. I try for aloofness, while my body melts at the thought of his touch, and of rough sex on the bare floor. I imagine the feel of his cock thrusting inside of me, the heat of our bodies sliding together in perfect, violent harmony. I see myself out of control.
Damn, his knots are good.
My attempt to work a hand free prompts a snigger from Saul. He holds me still.
‘Shall we start? Shall we see what goodies are on offer?’ He meets my gaze, green eyes twinkling. Then he pulls a knife from a sheath on his belt.
My heart-rate soars, my body goes into nuclear meltdown as he slices open the front of my dress. The stretchy fabric gapes, revealing the milky tones of my skin, and a vibrant scarlet-and-cream bra-and-panties set. Incredible, how the appearance of one item can change the atmosphere so quickly. I’ve been too blasé up until now. I’ve relied on my instinct that Saul is a decent guy, but knife play is moving into territory that makes me squeak with fear.
‘It’s a shame, but it has to go.’ The blade slices through the front of my bra. Then he slides the point downwards across the plane of my stomach. I don’t make a sound. I hardly dare breathe as the cold steal kisses my skin.
‘Saul …’ The glint in his eyes is impossible to decipher. Is it arousal, or just sadistic pleasure?
‘There’s no need to get jumpy now.’
No need? I tug at the bonds again, but there’s no give. There’s no running away from this.
The pounding thump of blood in my ears almost drowns out his whisper: ‘Careful, now. We don’t want you to get hurt.’ Deliberately, he nicks me with the tip of the blade, so that a single ruby bead is wept onto the curve of my belly. I stare at it in speechless alarm, while he neatly slices the side
s of my knickers so that I’m rudely exposed.
Saul shoves my knees apart, and inserts one of his between them to prevent me closing them again. It makes the ropes around my ankles pinch, but my attention is drawn away from the discomfort as he curls his hand over my bush. One large finger prods its way between the lips of my sex and jabs at my clit.
Dear God!
His finger slides smoothly, as if it’s coated with oil, but it’s not oil that lubricates his touch but pooled moisture drawn from my body. I’m on edge. The pungent scent of my arousal rises in the air between us. Hell, I think I’m going to come just from his touch, I’m wound so tight. My clit aches, it stands proud and my pitiful attempts to recoil from the infuriatingly sweet stimulus don’t change things one bit.
‘No.’
‘No?’ His fingers don’t cease their motion. ‘But your body is saying otherwise. I think you want me to continue. In fact, I think you want me to draw this out, hold you right on the edge until you’re almost crazy with it. But should I let you come?’ His lips quirk into a malevolent smile. ‘I think you’ll have to earn that release, don’t you?’
I ought to demand that we play safe, but we’re beyond the realm of agreed safe words and fuck-buddy antics. Instead, I’m ensnared in a world made entirely to his liking.
‘Cry out if you like,’ he says, knowing that I’ll hate to make a sound. I bite my lips, but the sparks that kindle in my clit and thread out across my body make me want to scream and thrash about in pleasure. His fingers torment me with the promise of climax, but never quite deliver. I’m right on the edge of a delicate sexual precipice when he pinches my clit, bringing numbness and frustration in place of release.
‘Bastard!’
‘Yes, yes, that’s right.’ He releases his fly and palms the rosy head of his cock. ‘Repentance before absolution.’ He draws back a little way, and slumps onto an ancient sofa. His legs stretch out before him, the tips of his mighty boots almost touching the toes of my shiny red stilettos, and his hand and wrist work.
He’ll come, and I won’t. I’ll be forced to rouse him from a state of slumber after the fact.
‘Don’t do this,’ I plead.
Does his gaze soften a fraction? Perhaps. Perhaps it’s just a trick of the light, or desperate wishful thinking, for when I look again there’s only glassy hardness and an irritable, unfathomable, sense of restraint.
‘My hands are tied. I can’t do you without permission and I don’t have that permission.’
‘What? Permission – what permission? What are you talking about?’
‘I’m not the boss, Freya, just the understudy.’
Of course, I should have realised. This is Jason’s house. He has to be aware of our presence. He’s probably around somewhere. That somewhere is far closer than I thought. I catch the faint trace of his aftershave and realise that he’s here with us in the room, watching. Saul’s gaze slips over my shoulder to the inky shadows beyond. With a series of ungainly jerks I somehow manage to shuffle the chair around.
Jason is slouched in a chair beside a tripod-mounted video camera. His long legs are hooked over the arm of the chair.
‘I can’t let Saul fuck you. That wouldn’t suit his punishment at all.’ Jason’s voice is silky but there’s a purr of strength behind his soothing tone, which for some reason further sets me off balance.
‘Why is he being punished?’
Jason’s smile lights his whole face. ‘You might not be able to keep your fingers out of the cookie jar, Ms Thief, but Saul here has a rather more severe habit. He thinks it’s OK to fuck on company time. He seems to see my desk as the perfect trysting spot. How many secretaries have you shagged there this month?’
‘One or two.’ Saul mutters the reply. From the slick sounds I can hear, he’s still working his cock.
‘More than one or two.’ Jason meaningfully rests a hand upon the camera. ‘I think I have at least six on tape.’
‘If you do, it’s your fault.’
‘How is it my fault?’ The boss flicks aside his hair, which is long and dark but streaked with strands of silver.
‘You wouldn’t let me have her.’ Saul jabs a finger in my direction.
That impossibly bright smile of Jason’s further widens. ‘Oh, yeah,’ he says as if that detail had somehow slipped his thoughts. ‘Couldn’t have you enjoying yourself too much.’
For a moment we do nothing but stare at one another. I want to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. Instead I wait, but Jason seems content to leave us all hanging.
‘Why?’ I eventually ask. ‘Why wasn’t he allowed to have me?’
‘Ah … Why don’t you tell her?’ Jason says.
The sound of Saul’s wanking grows faster. ‘Why don’t you? Maybe I’m about to do it again.’
‘Stop,’ Jason snaps, and the sounds of Saul’s cock-stroking immediately cease. Instead, he sits grimly on the sofa, his fingers curled into the upholstery and his teeth gritted. He gives an inarticulate cry as Jason sweeps towards him and draws a single lick over the ruddy helm of his cock. ‘Tell her.’
‘Wanted you,’ Saul hisses through clenched teeth.
‘He had the temerity to call your name while we were having sex.’
I have to smile at that. What else can I do? We all have our fantasies, and sometimes they win out over our physical lovers. Frankly, the dream is often a more effective turn-on than all the subtle endearments fed to us by our partners. I look at the two men anew. I’ve heard the rumours, I’ve seen the evidence, but I still brand them both as straight in my own mind – curious, since they’ve no hang-ups about touching one another.
While Jason returns to the camera, I leapfrog my chair backwards to where Saul rests upon the sofa. ‘Did you really?’
‘I fuck you in my dreams every night.’
‘Silence!’ Jason swipes a lantern off the table beyond the tripod, leaving speckled dots of blood-red wax across the floor. The shattered glass crunches beneath his boots as he turns to us again. ‘No consorting among prisoners.’
‘So I’m a prisoner too now, am I? Are you going to tie me up?’ Saul holds out his wrists.
‘No. You’re going to sit there and sweat while I fuck your dream lover.’
‘Hey,’ I protest. ‘Don’t I get a say in this?’
Jason shrugs off his leather coat, beneath which he’s wearing black jeans. He’s shirtless, his torso ripped with hard-earned muscle. His smoothness is the perfect opposite of Saul’s hairy ruggedness. He cradles my chin in the V between his forefinger and thumb. ‘You took without permission. I’m going to take without permission. Later, you’re going to make Saul come, and you’d better make sure that it’s my name he screams when he does, or we’re going to be here a very long time.’
‘You’re insane.’
‘I prefer to think of it as mildly delusional.’ He presses his lips to mine, slowly building the pressure, to which I willingly yield.
‘I’ll cry out,’ I warn him.
‘Fuck, I do hope so. I hope you scream.’
‘Someone will hear. You can’t just take what you want.’
‘Saul will hear. The camera will hear. Beyond that …’ He brushes his lips against mine again. ‘I don’t think you’ll call out. I don’t even think you’ll run.’ He unfastens the knots that bind my wrists and ankles. On shaky legs, I stand. And he’s right: even as the blood floods back to my limbs, I don’t run, not even when he gives me the space to do so. I’m too intrigued, too excited by the idea of what’s to come. Besides, I’m free now. I’m in control. And running into the street with my clothing ripped up and my body exposed will likely gain me a whole lot more attention than I bargained for.
‘Suck him.’
Saul’s gaze fixes upon me as I drop to my knees between his legs. ‘This is my fantasy,’ I say, and it’s the absolute truth. ‘Why didn’t you want me to suck?’
He breathes hard through his nose. ‘I was supposed to be punishing you, and i
t’s not a punishment if you’re enjoying it.’
Jason shoves me towards my target. ‘Less chatting – suck!’
He can think whatever he likes, but from the moment my lips hover over the crown of Saul’s cock, Jason is no longer in charge. I am. Saul’s every breath hangs upon my actions. I dab at him with the tip of my tongue, barely touching the skin, which is berry-red and drawn so tight it seems to have outgrown its collar. He whimpers when I cup him and add the stimulus of my thumb to the mix. Still, I make him wait, just as he intended to make me await my release. I think the only reason Jason let’s me get away with the delay is that he’s as enraptured by the spell I’ve woven between myself and Saul with two tiny touches as we both are.
‘Please … touch me, Freya.’ Saul’s large hands form a fist within my hair. ‘Please … be kind.’
I’m not sure kind is truly in my nature. Besides, it’s heady knowing I could tease this man, with his scarred and rugged profile and his army boots, until he cried.
I scratch a fingernail down his shaft. ‘I don’t think kindness is what you’re really after.’ The cap of his cock is so smooth. I want to circle it over and over.
‘Don’t come,’ Jason instructs Saul. ‘See he doesn’t,’ he adds to me.
‘He’s a big boy, he can control himself.’ Of course, just me making mention of it implies otherwise. Saul is perhaps thinking the same. His thighs are trembling as I lower my head and take him in, all the way into my throat, right down so that my nose nuzzles into the root.
‘Fucking hell!’ he moans. ‘That’s hot.’
Easy up again. Now the impressive visuals are out of the way, I let my hands do the work along with my mouth, circling the shaft, tugging at the pulsing flesh. Slow, then fast – faster, bringing him quickly to the edge, and then drawing him back again. He croaks, and draws his bottom up off the sofa as everything pulls tight.
Come Play With Me Page 2
