by Frankie Love
I’m coming, hard, and the whole time Cooper is not letting up.
“Oh my, oh, oh, oh yes,” I cry, my breath ragged and my pulse quickened. If I was nervous before, those thoughts are long gone -- right now I am blissed out. “Oh, my god.”
My pussy walls stop shuddering, and my body stills and Cooper slides out from under me, looking up at me.
“Gracie, congratulations.” He sits up, slapping my ass playfully. “That is a proper orgasm.”
He uncuffs me as I search for words. Thank you? Anytime. Nice tongue? None of them seem right.
“Are you speechless?” he asks, taking my wrists, and kissing them softly. They are red, but not raw.
I nod, utterly at a loss for words. Free, I pull off my shirt, unclasp my bra.
“Whoa, ready for round two so soon?”
I nod my head, not through, not even a little.
“If you’re still at a loss for words we can also try the ball gag,” Cooper says joking.
But I’m not.
I’m type-A. I don’t do anything halfway.
I get off the bed, ignoring the part of my brain that says slow down, honey. Instead I walk to the dresser, grab it, and hand it to him.
“Gag me, and then lick me like that again.”
5
Jerking One into The Stands
February 2017
The night Gracie came all over my face for three hours straight, I swear to God I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Not that I deserve heaven. Hell, I’m no saint.
I’m a greedy motherfucker who wants it all.
I’ve had a lot of pussy. Probably more than my fair share. It’s always been easy, getting laid. In the small town where I grew up, I was always the one girls gravitated to.
It helped that recruiters were out watching me catch baseballs since I was playing in junior high. Eyes were always on me.
And I ate it up. Why wouldn’t I? I never had much else going on. I wasn’t exactly a genius. My heart and soul belonged to a glove made of leather. So, I gave it my all.
I got drafted out of high school, played in the minor leagues for a few years and now I’ve been playing for the goddamn New York Yankees for the past three years. What the hell can I complain about? I’m living the American dream.
And that’s not even accounting for the fact that I live across the hall from Grace Lithe.
That girl has been a constant for three years, and she has no fucking clue. She’s the one who collects my mail when I’m on the road. Who feeds me bacon and eggs when I’m hung over. Who raises an eyebrow and asks if I remembered to mail a Mother’s Day card.
And up until New Year’s Day, I also thought she was a straight-laced, way-too-good-for-me, know it all. A sexy know it all, but a know it all, just the same.
She’s a fucking Women’s Studies major for Christ’s sake--I’ve seen the way she’s scowled at me over the years as I’ve brought home dozens of women.
With her pursed lips and crossed arms, I’ve always assumed she was either a closet lesbian or had some lover, who was MIA because he was going to Oxford wearing three-piece suits and gold cufflinks. A trust-fund boy because that’s the sort of guy a girl like Gracie would end up with.
A guy like me, from Middle America, whose daddy drove a tractor and whose mama baked casseroles for Sunday supper?
I’m not the guy for her.
Gracie grew up in stick-up-your-ass Connecticut. Old money and long bloodlines.
So yeah, my gig with the Yankees may afford me this classy apartment, but it doesn’t buy me the sort of backstory a girl like Gracie would be interested in.
But then Gracie showed me her Kinky List. Or, her not-so-kinky list, and I helped fix it into something filthy. And she told me she was game for what I thought was a joke. A tease. A flirtation.
She wasn’t flirting.
And maybe I should have known that straight away. Gracie doesn’t do shit half-way.
She has these notepads all over her house with lists. Groceries to order, homework to complete, bills to pay. And she makes little red checks next to each item as she completes them. And then she completes them. All of them.
Which is something I understand all too well myself. You don’t get to the pros by slacking, by cutting corners. I’m all in, too, one hundred and ten percent.
And so, when Gracie decided that she wanted this list to happen when our conversation on New Year’s went from silly to real, I knew she wouldn’t back down or back out. She was a finisher, just like me.
And damn, seeing her on her couch that day, blushing so hard in her little pink fuzzy slippers, her wavy brown hair falling over her shoulders, her collarbone protruding from under her sheer white tee-shirt–it gave me an instant boner. I wanted to make that list happen more than anything in my fucking life.
Which is saying something. Considering my dream has been MLB since I was seven years old.
But I have that. And at the end of this year, I’ll be a free agent. The future is mine for the taking.
And in one conversation, Gracie’s body became mine for the taking, too.
See? I’m a greedy motherfucker.
After making the list with Gracie, I left town, went home to see my parents and siblings, like I’d been planning for months. The winter is a good time to travel, so I had time to think through the list.
Starting things with a blindfold felt right ... but I had no idea the night would be so damn good.
And we didn’t even fuck.
“No way,” Gabe says after I explain the list to him. He’s eating nachos at the bar down the street from my apartment building.
I’m eating a fucking Caesar salad with grilled chicken. Like I said, I take my career fucking seriously, and staying in shape is nonnegotiable.
He’s pressing me on why I haven’t been hooking up with anyone. “This girl who never gets laid, just let you cuff her to the bed?”
I don’t usually kiss and tell–and hell, I’m not telling Gabe everything. Shit. No way would I tell a soul what happened when I put that ball gag on Gracie’s perfect heart shaped face.
How she was stripped down to nothing, her soft skin slick with sweat, her eyes full of desire... her pussy... hell, she was wet and writhing. Her back arched, ass in the air, her tits bouncing as I got her off with one finger, then two fingers, then three.
She was so willing -- vulnerable. That gag didn’t scare her; I swear to God it empowered her. And she looked like a fucking angel. If anyone was going to heaven, it was her, the devil dressed in white.
“I know, right? Handcuffs?” I shake my head, thinking about how many times I’ve jacked off the last few weeks thinking about Gracie. Too many to fucking count.
“I never do shit like that with women,” I tell him. “I may fuck around, but I’m an asshole. I take them hard and fast and don’t ask anything besides permission. Handcuffs and blindfolds require some level of commitment. I’m a one-night stand kind of guy. No woman you hook-up with after a game is going to be so ... open minded.”
Gabe shakes his head. “Fuck, man. So, this girl trusts you enough to do this kinky list with you, thinks you’re some fucking Christian Grey, when what you’re really saying is that you’re probably just as vanilla as her?” Damn, he hit the nail on the fucking head.
I want to order another round, but spring training is around the corner and I’ve gotta nurse this drink all night.
“What, Gabe, you’re telling me that you do kinky shit after picking up a girl at a bar? A girl you’re never gonna call again?”
He laughs. “I don’t know man, this is some strange locker room talk considering we’re at a bar in mid-town.”
“Be straight with me,” I say. “Have you done any of that stuff on the list?”
Gabe raises his palms hesitatingly. “I may have made a video. And hell, who hasn’t sent a dick pic?”
I blow air from my cheeks. Fuck. I’m so over my head with Gracie. She trusts me to be her fucking guru–my wo
rds, not hers. And yet all I do is fuck often and with some variety.
Sure, I can do plenty of positions, but that’s mostly due to my core strength, not my adventurous spirit.
“So, what’s next on the list?” Gabe asks, picking up his pint.
I jab him with an elbow, laughing. “No fucking way am I telling you any more. I don’t want to discuss dick pics with you ever again.”
“Understood. But dude,” he says, still trying to understand, “you aren’t actually with this girl–I mean beyond these seven nights– yet you aren’t seeing anyone else... like all year?”
I shrug, noncommittally, not wanting to come off as pussy-whipped by a woman who isn’t mine.
But the truth is, last month when Gracie spread her legs and let me taste her... I couldn’t bear to fuck her. It felt like too much, too soon.
And why was I the one feeling like that?
Shouldn’t the girl who was blindfolded and handcuffed be the one who felt out of control?
6
Sex and other Forms of Public Humiliation
Valentine’s Day 2017
I sent Gracie a dozen roses and a note.
Be ready at 8. Wear something hot. Tonight, you’re my date.
I haven’t seen her in weeks. After our night together, as we stood in the hallway between our apartments, she told me she was leaving town for three weeks. Going to be with her parents in Connecticut while she did a three-week long internship with the YWCA in her hometown. Apparently, her program requires a few of these gigs with a women’s non-profit over the course of the year.
“I did two weeks there back in October, and I have a third, two-week session in May.”
“So, when will you be home in February?” I asked, trying to get a lay of the land. There are six other items on the list and I knew that as soon as the second half of February came around I’d be off in Tampa for spring training until April.
“I’ll be home the twelfth.”
“I leave the fifteenth... so we should make a plan for when...” I didn’t want to come off as too eager. But hell, this girl had given me an unforgettable night... and she hadn’t even touched my cock.
“So, you’re okay with us going forward with the list?” she had asked, leaning in her doorway the morning after.
“Yeah. I’m not a quitter.” I shrugged, hoping it came off as confident. The truth was I had to see the list through. No way in hell could I imagine Gracie doing anything on that list with a man other than me. “On the 14th then. You and me.”
“You’re asking me out for Valentine’s day?” Her voice screeched in confusion. Like going on a date with me wasn’t part of the deal.
Like, this list wasn’t about her and me... being anything. It was about exploring her untapped sexuality. Plain and simple. I needed to play it cool.
“What? You have plans?”
She laughed. “Not me. You. Coop, last year you literally took two different women out on Valentine’s.”
I blanched at the memory. Yes, I had gone out with two women the same night. But it wasn’t my fault my first date got sick and had to leave early. But it was Valentine’s Day, I didn’t want to be alone, so, of course, I called in my backup.
“No, I want to take you out. Not like, romantically. But we can eat before we check another item off the list.” I pull out my phone. “Valentine’s day is Tuesday this year. If you’d rather, we can do our thing on Monday?”
She pursed her lips thinking. “No, that won’t work.”
“Oh, so your social calendar is full on a random Monday?” I know this girl never goes out. Especially a weeknight.
“It’s The Bachelor,” she said, shrugging as if it was obvious.
I scoffed. “You’re skipping a date with me for a reality TV show?”
“I thought it wasn’t a date?”
I exhaled, trying to not let my ego get too bruised, but the truth was, she wasn’t giving me any indication that she wanted more than seven isolated hook-ups. I wasn’t about to force myself into her life further than the Kinky list required. The last thing I wanted to do was scare her away.
“Call it what you want. Valentine’s Day Gracie, you’re my arm candy, understood?”
She nodded and went to close her door.
But before she did, she ran back across the hall, stood on her tippy toes, and kissed my cheek. “Until next time.”
I knock on her door, wearing a charcoal grey suit, a tie. Looking like a fucking douchebag. Hoping Gracie likes it.
“Wow, Cooper, look at you,” she beams, pulling open the door and letting me inside.
“You’re the showstopper,” I say, taking in Gracie. She looks like head-to-toe trouble. And I fucking love it.
“Bridget helped me pick it out and it feels like it’s two sizes too small. I can’t really breathe.”
“Well, it looks amazing,” I tell her, kissing her cheek before walking past her into the apartment. Her skin is as soft as I remember, her hair smelling like roses and rain showers.
“Well, I needed help. Obviously. I only have one little black dress and everything else I own is this Tori Birch color-blocked stuff my mom bought me. Nothing that screams, Cooper’s-arm-candy.”
I don’t understand any of Gracie’s words, but watching her talk is fucking cute as hell, so I nod and let her keep going.
“Anyways, I needed something more... chic. And so, I called in my backup. Bridget’s my girl... but she knows I’ve never gone out on Valentine’s Day... so now she knows about our not-really-a-date-date.”
“Does she know about the Kinky List?”
Gracie’s eyes go wide. “No way. I mean, I’d die if she knew about that, Coop. You haven’t told anyone, have you?”
I run my hand over my jaw, not wanting to lie... but also not wanting to freak her out. “I told Gabe that we were doing this resolutions thing, yeah.”
“Really?” Her perfectly done up face crumbles. I’m talking red lips, dark eyes, her brown hair swept up on her head, tendrils loose around her face. “I guess we didn’t exactly make ground rules.”
“Gabe’s a solid guy –– besides, I didn’t use your name.”
She seems heartened with that detail, and I swallow, wondering why she wouldn’t want to have her name connected with mine. Am I that sketchy that she doesn’t want someone to know her and I are doing this... thing?
“Well, from here on out, can we just keep this thing we are doing between us?” she asks, picking up her clutch from the dining room table. The red roses I sent her spill out of a vase beautifully.
“Of course.” I smile, continuing to look her over, she’s in a tiny pink, strapless dress, looking like a piece of candy, so fucking sweet. “You like the flowers?”
“You didn’t have to send them,” she says, not thanking me.
“Well, maybe I’m trying to sweeten you up so that you’ll be more open-minded tonight for what we are doing.”
We walk towards the door to go, but before opening it, she turns to face me. “I’m scared,” she says.
“You still trust me?” I ask.
She presses her lips together, then smiles up at me. “I do.”
“Then we got this, Gracie.” Knowing the night is going to get hot damn fast, and that if we are going to get where we need to go, I need to start ramping things up.
I pull her to me, my hand on her chin, pressing my lips to her. Her mouth parts and I pull her closer. My tongue finds hers and then my hands are on her tits, pressing her against the door, drawing her closer to me.
Her body responds, her hand is on my ass, drawing me near, and she softly moans, and I’m remembering her naked little body, primed and ready, getting off so hard, so much.
We kiss until there are only two choices. Fucking here and now, or stepping away.
“Gracie,” I say, looking at her bruised lips, her breasts heaving as she remembers to breathe. “You make me insane.”
She smiles at me, biting her bottom lip, her eyes hood
ed and full of desire.
“What are we doing tonight, Cooper?”
I grin, pulling open the door and dragging her with me. “Public sex, which is why we need to get the hell out of your apartment if we want to check it off the list.”
Out of all the things on the list, this one felt most do-able.
But that was before Gracie sat down for dinner and she told me she made a mistake letting Bridget help her shop for this dress.
“Too tight?”
“Yeah. I mean, I can hardly sit down, Cooper.” She does look uncomfortable, and I just thought it was that I’d picked a bad restaurant.
“Can I help?”
She laughs sharply, dismissing the idea, and the people around us turn to look at her. She picks up her water goblet and takes a sip avoiding their gaze. The waiter comes over and tells me he’s a huge fan and recites the specials for the evening. We order, and when he walks away I try to think of something to say to calm Gracie. I’ve never seen her flustered before, though, mostly because we’ve never actually hung out anywhere besides our apartments.
Before I can say something, a couple stops at our table and asks for my autograph. I oblige, wish them well, then turn back to her.
“Does that happen a lot?” she asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess. I mean, New York fans are pretty loyal.”
“Are you loyal too? To the team, I mean.”
I shake my head, this is not a conversation to be having at a restaurant in public. In NYC. On Valentine’s Day when the house is packed.
“Sorry.” She covers her mouth. “I didn’t think. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her, reaching over the table for her hand. She looks so uncomfortable. “We can go if you need to change.”
“No.” She frowns. “You’re leaving tomorrow and we need to get the item checked off.”
“Okay,” I say, picking up my salad fork as the waiter descends with our wedges.
