by Violet Blue
“You look a little pale,” the girl said, eyes twinkling, “why don’t you have a little sit-down over there.” She pointed to an armchair in the corner of the room. “I can’t join you, I’m afraid.” She raised her hands, revealing long, thin, silver chains attaching her to the faucet taps. “I’m tied to the kitchen sink at the moment.” As she laughed, the dark pigtails that hung down her back bobbed against her bare flesh.
“Um, well, I…” Will stumbled over his words as his eyes scanned every inch of her. “Where’s…?”
“Ben?” she finished for him. “At the pub. He thought you would enjoy your birthday present more if he wasn’t here. I’m Karen.”
“Karen?”
“Are you okay? Ben seemed to think that I was exactly what you wanted for your twenty-first. If not, perhaps you could unlock me.” She indicated a small pile of keys on the table, conveniently placed next to a pack of condoms. “Ben said that you had fantasized about finding a woman tied to the sink.” She looked up through her fringe with mock shyness.
Will was torn between thoughts of simply walking out, or untying the girl, or…who was he kidding? His head swam with erotic images. She was real. He’d already pinched himself and this was not a dream. His dick stirred as he stared at her.
She was tall and slim, and her tanned skin shone against the dull kitchen units. Will focused on the soft flesh that emerged from the top of her killer boots. He could almost taste her already.
“Who are you?” Will took a deep breath and walked toward the sink. Why the hell not? he thought. A gift is a gift….
“I told you, I’m Karen.” She sighed as he trailed a finger around her neck. His hard, denim-encased cock rubbed against her arse as he stood close behind her. “A friend of Ben’s. You thought I was a hooker?”
“Well I…”
“You aren’t the only one with fantasies, you know.” She stroked his cheek with her polished silver nails. “I’ve seen your picture on his mobile.” She turned as much as her tethers would allow and ran wet hands over his thin shirt. “Now, I think that’s enough questions. What would you like to do for your birthday?”
She looked at him beseechingly. “Are you going to leave me tied here to do all this awful washing up, Sir? Or are you going to let me have a little lie down on that nice table? Or maybe a rest in that armchair?”
Will smiled; obviously, Ben had explained his friend’s fantasy to her. He was in charge. He stripped off his damp shirt and stood next to her in just his jeans. “I think you should stay exactly where you are until all that work is done, don’t you?”
“Oh, but Sir, I am in so much need here, and the water is making my skin all dry.” Karen looked up at him, playfully batting her eyelashes.
It’s like acting out a bad porn movie, Will thought. Fantastic. Karen turned her back on him and continued to wash up the dirty dishes that Ben must have ignored for days.
His hands shaking slightly, Will mentally thanked his friend before he reached around the girl; tentatively placing a hand on each firm breast, he let his fingers gently circle them. He smiled as he felt her body shiver. “I think it would be best if you didn’t make a sound. Do you understand?” Karen inclined her head, and managed to stifle a cry as Will began to flick his fingers hard against her nipples.
Will stepped back and ran his hands down Karen’s smooth back. Dipping his fingers into the top of her boots, he began teasing the skin between them and her rounded arse. Suddenly, he badly wanted her to be less perfect. She was too neat, too willing. Looking around the room Will spotted a tub of cooking utensils. His eye fell on a wooden spoon; he grabbed it and started rubbing it against her flawless buttocks.
Karen shifted back slightly toward the feel the wood. Will could see she ached for more attention; the skin around the top of her legs glistened with the sticky liquid oozing from her pussy. He swung the spoon and hit her hard. If she wanted to get closer to the wood, then so be it.
Karen yelled out, earning herself a second smack. “I told you to be quiet.”
“Sorry Sir, you took me by surprise, Sir.”
Will admired the crisscross of red marks that the spoon was making on her creamy skin. Each time he connected the wood with her arse she groaned, but to the satisfaction of his straining cock, she didn’t move away—in fact she was pushing her arse out further and further, making it an easier target. He gave her one final strike.
Will took several steadying breaths. He would have loved to rip his jeans off and thrust into her there and then, but as much as he wanted to fuck her, he didn’t want it to be over, and he didn’t think she did either. Anyway, he hadn’t completed his fantasy yet.
There was a splash of water and foam as Karen dropped the saucepan she was trying to clean; her legs were shaking. He could see she was as close to the edge as he was. Right now he wanted to see just how close. “Keep working, miss.” Karen obediently thrust her hands back into the water, the chains clanking against the contents of the bowl. “Whatever happens, I want you to keep working.”
He knelt behind her and cupped a hand between her legs, pushing them open slightly, and felt them quiver against him. When he took his hand away Karen moaned as if feeling the loss. Will no longer cared about her being silent, and he quickly replaced his hand with his tongue, taking one long, leisurely lap at her pussy before kissing her clit over and over again.
The contents of the sink clashed together as Karen dropped whatever she’d been cleaning. Her body bucked against the cupboards as she came against his sucking mouth.
Will tore off his jeans; he couldn’t wait much longer. She was willingly making herself his birthday present, and he was damn well going to enjoy every second of this fantasy time with her. Pulling on a condom, he pulled her back toward him and slipped inside her. “Oh god,” he groaned into her ear. He felt her tighten around his cock as the last moments of her orgasm ebbed away. “Ready for another one?” he whispered against her ear.
“May I talk, Sir?” Karen asked quietly.
“Oh yes.” Will began to move painfully slowly against her, his balls gently swaying as he glided in and out of her soaking snatch.
“Then please, Sir, when you have shot your load inside me, may I be untied? I have something for you.”
Will couldn’t reply; what the hell could she have for him that might compare to this? He increased his pace, thrusting faster and faster, banging into her with all his might, his hand reaching between her legs. When his fingers found her clit he was rewarded with a scream of satisfaction as Karen thrust herself back against him, frantically trying to keep pace. Finally, Will let go, grunting into her hair, his weight forcing her as far down as her restraints would allow as she shuddered against him.
It took a few seconds before he could move; the force of their fuck had made his head spin. He pulled away, easing Karen back to her feet and resting her against the cupboard whilst he disposed of his condom and grabbed the keys for her chains. He undid the tiny padlocks, and Karen rubbed her wrists. “Happy birthday,” she said as she walked away from him. Reaching down underneath the table she pulled out a neatly wrapped present. “I think you should have this now,” she said as she perched on the edge of the table.
Will looked into her lust-filled eyes before attacking the wrapping paper. Inside there was a long candle and a small box of matches. He looked at her, confused. She smiled up at him. “It is traditional to have candles on your cake. However, Ben didn’t get you a cake, he got you me. I wonder,” she said as she lay back onto the table, spreading her legs out in front of him, “if we can find anything around here that could be used as a candleholder?”
THE BUTCH, THE BOY AND ME
Andrea Zanin
He’s an interesting kind of guy, my lover. He’s small, barely five foot five, and not exactly what you’d call beautiful. But my friend Dag describes him well: “Rob smells like sex,” she says. And he does. There’s a certain something that just radiates from him, an air of intellectual in
tensity, a sense of style, the way his frown frames his piercing blue eyes from under his long hair. When he shakes your hand, he touches your skin just a little deeper than most, and when he brushes by you in passing, he leaves invisible trails of inadvertent desire.
Although Rob has never outright mentioned any interest in men, and has quite a fervent appreciation for women, I can’t help but think of him as somehow queer. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s a gender bender, although he might not see himself that way—he actually wears tights when he puts on his kilt and combat boots, and occasionally, the sparkle of a pretty necklace can be seen at his throat. His femininity adds an exciting complexity to his very masculine energy; he’s an unusual blend of spices, a paradox, a binary wrapped up in one person. I like the way he can talk my kind of politics and he understands that just because I am in his bed a couple of nights a week doesn’t mean he has any claim to my body or my identity—something that most of the straight boys I’ve been with tend to forget after a couple of mind-bending orgasms.
So Dag and I were having dinner the other day. She was looking her usual hot self—there’s something about wide shoulders under a crisp shirt, the perfectly sculpted line of a supershort haircut at the nape of a smooth neck, soft skin over the strong lines of a jaw, the hint of wrinkles forming at the corners of an intelligent mouth, the faint cologne, the perfectly worn jeans. Dandy butch, she is, and a beautiful one.
Out of the blue she said to me, “You know, I’m almost thirty years old and I’ve never slept with a man.” She paused, toyed with her fork. I waited. Where was she going with this? “It’s not that I’m doubting myself as a dyke,” she went on, “but sometimes I’d like to know what it’s like, you know?”
“Sure,” I answered, noncommittal. “A learning experience.”
Dag got a wistful look on her face. “But I wouldn’t even know where to start. I never really thought of it before, but all my friends are women. Hell, even my car mechanic is a chick. And I can’t cruise a guy—what would we do, talk about hockey? Arm wrestle?”
The waiter came by and asked, “Ma’am, sir, can I get you anything else?”
“No thanks,” she said, not even blinking.
“Dag, not all guys are jocks. Whoever you end up exploring this with needs to be someone who makes you feel comfortable, who you feel a connection with.”
“What kind of guy would I feel a connection with? That’s just the problem. He’d have to be pretty unusual. You know, someone like…like…”
“Rob,” I said, a warm feeling of anticipation beginning to spread through me.
Saturday night. The dinner was rich, the wine flowed freely, and there was old jazz playing on the stereo. The conversation was full of double entendres and subtle flirtation. There was nothing planned; we were just going to see what would happen.
Dinner was over; we moved to the living room, and brought a bowl of grapes with us. I snuggled into the couch with Rob on my right side and Dag on my left. Dag slipped her arm behind my shoulders; Rob fed me a grape, a burst of sweetness on my tongue. I fed one back, and one to Dag. I put a grape in my mouth, and held another one between two fingers. Something shifted in the air. Rob leaned in to bite the one from between my teeth, and Dag took my fingertips into her mouth, eating the small fruit and running the tip of her tongue over my nails, around the sensitive pads of my fingertips, trailing the edge of her teeth softly over my skin. Her hands rose to hold mine, and she held up each finger in turn, teasing with her teeth. The scent of her shampoo, her clean shirt, her leather boots swirled together with the smell of Rob’s skin, his jeans, the hint of cigarette smoke clinging to him, the wine. I breathed deep and tasted them.
There’s a particular kind of energy that can be created by three people when they have pleasure in mind. Magic swims through the tension between them, breaking boundaries, softening inhibitions. Rob kissed me full on the mouth, the kind of kiss that makes your heartbeat rise into your eardrums and your body quiver. His kiss pushed me slowly backward; I rested against Dag’s shoulder and felt her breath send tingles along my neck. In that moment, the world was reduced to sensations and small sounds, slow movements, skin, hot mouths. Rob kissed me deeper, reaching to support himself with a hand on Dag’s thigh. I felt Dag’s palms warm on my sides as I reached up to touch Rob’s chest, feeling his small, well-formed body under the soft cloth.
The kiss broke off, leaving me breathless. Rob looked up. He and Dag were inches away from one another. I felt a moment of suspense—was she comfortable enough with all this? Rob, ever tuned in to these things, simply waited. I could feel her heart beating fast behind me; I covered her hand with mine and held it, weaving my fingers through hers. She breathed in, reached up and kissed him. She was tentative at first; he followed her lead, their lips just barely touching in exploration. I shifted so that I could watch—my beautiful butch, my sweet boy—two masculinities, worlds apart, figuring out how it might all work between them, tasting one another’s difference.
I saw Rob’s eyes close, his nostrils flare ever so slightly, as Dag pulled him into the kiss, reaching up to bring him closer, her fingers tightening in his hair. I couldn’t turn away; I was riveted. Rob’s hand came up from her thigh and moved slowly, exquisitely, from my hip; up my belly, the hot skin of his palm slipping against the thin nylon of my shirt over my breast. He began to tease my nipple through my shirt, his expert fingers stroking gently, sending waves of excitement through me. I made a sound of pleasure and Dag’s body responded instinctively; she pushed her hips against me as Rob explored her mouth. I felt the seam of her jeans hot against the small of my back, her belt buckle pressing into my spine. I watched her take Rob’s lip between her teeth, worry it, as Rob closed his eyes and let his mouth open slightly. I was so close to them, I could have joined their kiss just by raising my lips, but I let them enjoy it alone for now.
Dag’s hand moved up to my breast, and she started in surprise when she touched Rob’s hand there, breaking off the kiss with a chuckle. The logistics of threesomes are always fascinating to negotiate. I wriggled out of my warm spot between them and stood as Rob leaned in to nuzzle the side of Dag’s neck, the soft skin leading up to her ear. I unbuttoned my shirt partway as she moved to feel his tongue against her neck, and then I straddled Dag’s muscular thigh and held my breast to her mouth. She began to suckle it hungrily, and I ground my crotch into her leg as her talented teeth made my pulse race.
Small flowers of blood bloomed under Dag’s skin as Rob’s mouth worked her throat. I pulled away from her lips and quickly began to undo her shirt. My fingers fumbled in my urgency and Rob took over, gently unhooking each button from its hole. Dag was pinned under the two of us; I ran my fingers through Rob’s long hair, pulling against his scalp as he deliberately undid the last button. Modest about her breasts, Dag wore a simple sports bra to keep them out of her way—she’d once told me that her ties lay much better when her chest was minimized under the men’s shirts she wore. But despite the incongruity of a man’s fingers brushing against her nipples, they were visibly hard through the stretched cotton, and he spread her shirt open to thumb them with both hands. Dag writhed under me, letting out a low groan as I kissed the corners of her mouth and Rob rolled her nipples between his fingertips, ran his nails over them through the stretchy material. The silver of his thumb rings glinted in the low lighting against the square, solid joints of his small hands.
Rob, I realized, had a hard-on straining against his jeans. I moved my attention to him for a moment, sliding down so that I was kneeling on the floor. I ran my finger up the inside of his thigh and he spread his legs; I pressed my knuckles into the bulge at his crotch and rocked my hand back and forth. He raised his hips to meet me, his torso still turned toward Dag and his face now buried in her breasts; he was tonguing one stiff nipple and then the other. With my free hand, I did the same to Dag as I had just done to Rob, and she too spread her legs to let me rub her through her jeans. I got into a rhythm, my hands against
the twin spots both pulsing with the heat of their bodies.
Dag cupped her hand under Rob’s chin, bringing him up to attack him in breathless, open-mouthed kisses before she pulled his shirt over his head. She gripped a handful of his hair, and brought his throat toward her, biting and kissing from his face down to his collarbone, then down his chest, smooth with just a small patch of fine hair down the hollow of his sternum. She ran her teeth over the fine links of the thin silver chain around his neck, and began to chew his nipples. He let out a ragged moan, and I felt his cock jump under the denim.
Keeping one hand on Rob’s cock, I started to unbuckle Dag’s jeans with the other as she leaned into Rob, running her short fingernails over the skin of his rib cage while she mercilessly worked at his tender flesh. I quickly realized that their positions would make it almost impossible to get anywhere, so I decided to break the moment.
“Guys,” I said. “Let’s go to the bedroom and get some clothes off.”
Rob’s hair was messy and Dag’s face flushed. We hurried to the bedroom, where Dag quickly removed her boots and shucked off the remainder of her shirt. I stripped and hopped onto the bed. I sat against the headboard with my legs spread and motioned for Dag to sit with her back to me. She leaned against me and stretched out her legs; Rob kneeled over her, slipping the end of her belt out of its clasp and popping open the buttons of her fly, one by one. She tensed for a moment—second thoughts? No—maybe—but I could see she didn’t want to stop. I could smell her cologne in the short hairs on the back of her neck, and as Rob gently pulled her jeans and boxer briefs down her thighs and dropped them on the floor with her belt clanking, I whispered in her ear, “Beautiful boy—my boy, he’s going to taste you.”
Rob was kissing up the inside of her ankles, up the smoothness of her calves, rubbing into the tender spot behind her knee. He breathed the scent of her, worked his way up her thighs. His long hair spilled over one of her legs as he bent his head to her center, breathing, warming her still more with his hot mouth, almost touching her but not quite. I kissed the side of her face, smoothed my hands over the soft curves of her wide shoulders, cupped her small breasts. Rob’s hands pressed her thighs further open, the shiny mother-of-pearl and obsidian of the rings on his middle fingers gleaming against her creamy skin. He dipped his face down, tasting her gently, parting her folds with his tongue. She breathed in sharply through her nose and moved up to meet his mouth, letting him dig deeper into her, feeling him lap at her clit, spreading further to let his tongue probe into the parts that had never been penetrated by anything male.
