by Aven Jayce
“I’ve had enough, Jules. Get the key.”
“I’m not giving you control over this situation. Not this time. And I’m talking about control over your freedom and my dad.”
“This is a load of shit.”
“No, it’s what you did to me last night.”
“Wrong. I cuffed you because I didn’t t-trust...” I stop, not wanting to say it.
“Yes, I understand.”
I try slipping my hand out of the cuff, but no-go. “You’re better than this.”
“Not really. I thought I just mentioned how alike the two of us are.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I huff. “Come on. We can talk without my hands being confined.”
“We can? Only last night we couldn’t? Not with little, harmless me?”
“I get it... ha-ha, now uncuff me.” I stand, turning around for my release.
“Mark, sit.”
“No. I need to piss. I’m serious. My bladder’s gonna explode.”
“Make it quick.”
I feel sweat beading on my forehead from the restraint. “You’ve ruined me. A fucking badass woman has destroyed my life!” I walk to the bathroom with my hands behind my back. “I love and hate the danger of being with you! It’s the dead of winter and you’re making me sweat!” I grunt, lifting the toilet seat with my foot and quickly realizing I’m in a jam.
“Hey, beautiful?”
“I’m not helping.”
“I’m not amused. I can’t position my erect cock toward the bowl. It’s bad enough when I try to do this in the morning without any limitations.”
“I hope it hits you in the face.” she calls out.
“You’re such a bitch!”
“No, I’m not. I bet many men have urinated with an erection while their hands were tied. Join the club.”
Fine... I’ll just... no, I’ll... I’ll try this... fuck. I move around the bowl, having no choice except to sit like a fucking girl. This is one of the lowest forms of humiliation... and fuck, my dick won’t go under the damn... oh, come on... please.
I slide back and forth, stand and lower... stand and lower, until I finally get my dick under the front of the seat and below the rim. Uh, this sucks balls.
“Payback, Mark. Suck it up.”
“By now, it should be obvious how much I love your ass!”
“You’ll be rewarded tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? On top of all of this, we’re not going to fuck and make up? I have to wait?”
She cackles like a witch, spreading her legs apart when I return to the room.
“I’ve figured it out, Jules. Being confined so I get an impression of how you felt last night isn’t my real punishment—being treated like your submissive is. My woman controls my whole world, but it’s supposed to be the other way around.”
“Women rule the entire world, not just yours. Took you long enough to realize that... though it’s good you finally figured it out and can admit it, considering some men never begin to see the light. Those are the guys who’ll be alone forever.”
“No more cutting remarks this morning, are we gonna fuck, or what?” I say hotly.
She points to her clit and says, “kiss,” and I want to point to my dick and say, “suck,” only I can’t.
“Kiss,” she repeats.
“Fuck,” I say.
“No.” She smirks. “We’re not fucking until tomorrow night.”
I look at my erection. “Then suck me off.”
She jerks her head, no. “You proved your commitment and trust the moment I snapped the cuffs shut, now the rest of this is about punishment... “Kiss.”
“Wait... did you say we’re not fucking until tomorrow night? Says who?”
“Cove and Sophia.”
“What the hell? They don’t control my dick.”
“I talked to them this morning. They’re sleeping in separate rooms until the wedding. Isn’t that romantic? I think we should do something like that to show our support.”
“Are you fucking crazy? Release me so I can throw my hands in the air. I need to gesture my frustration. Cove would never go for that crap... come to think of it, Soph wouldn’t refrain from sex either. Is this a joke? Another part of my wretched morning?”
“Of course not. Think of it as practice for when we get married. We should refrain too.” She guides me to the chair by my cock. “You said you didn’t beat off when you went to Philly. One day isn’t going to kill you.”
“You weren’t in eye-sight when I was there... and you fucking believed me?”
“I’ll forget you said that. Now think about this. It will be fun to wait...”
“No it won’t.”
“Can I finish my sentence? It’ll be fun. We can get wasted tomorrow at the reception and fuck like it’s our wedding night. That’s how Sophia’s looking at it, something a little different from the rest of her life, you know? She said she wants this to be old-fashioned, and what she means by that is normal.”
“Old-fashioned means behind the times, and I don’t need to practice celibacy. I did that for the first fourteen years of my life. How about we fuck now, get wasted tonight and fuck, then get wasted tomorrow and fuck again. Just do it, go ahead and yank it. Whack me off.”
“Mark,” she whines.
“Jules,” I complain back. “We live together. We’ve been fucking for over a year. I shouldn’t have to wait.”
“No.”
“Okay, okay... then we get to fuck three times tomorrow night... don’t... don’t laugh. I can do it! Four times. We’ll shoot for four. Four big loads in your face and on your tits!”
She sits on the desk with her arms crossed and legs open, looking at her twat and back at me. Twat. Mark. Twat. Mark. Up. Down.
“Kiss it,” she demands. “But no sex, just a little play, then we’ll stop until tomorrow.”
“Stop? That sounds dreadful.”
She touches her pink pussy lips, snubbing my words to get right down to the seductive performance, replete with fluttering eyelashes and a puckered mouth. The sight and sounds of her moans make me salivate, inciting a lick of my lips and a drip of pre-cum on my cock. She’s so fucking skillful at making me desire her all hours of the day.
With fingers holding her folds open, and a hand on the back of my head, I’m drawn closer for the tongue action she craves.
“The only thing missing from my life at this moment is a bottle of whiskey,” she says.
I open my mouth slightly, enough to bring the core of her arousal spot between my lips.
“Oh.”
Hold steady.
“Fuck, that first touch is sensational.”
Possess her. Don’t move.
“Please... more.”
Cradle the flesh between my lips.
“You’re teasing.”
Endure. Hang on. Warm breaths.
“Lick.”
My tongue meets the sensitive area, swirling once, twice, while hearing another passionate sound. I stop, holding the tip of my tender tongue over her clit. Not moving... not breathing... waiting... a small twitch arises... waiting...
“Oh, Jesus. Move!”
I’m the master at making sweet love to her pussy. My tongue fucks start with a casual taunt, leading to lively lunges to find the most responsive places, then exploring each one until she says her head’s going to explode. Nibble and flick. Kiss and lick. Glide in and out. Whatever she wants, I obey. And the ‘add-ons’ make me a god. I bring her close to arousal, stopping short, and leaning back to watch her hands clutch at the desk and her legs shake. When she catches her breath, my hair is pulled and my face forced back between her legs. I fake her out a few times by scarcely touching her clit before it gets twirled and caressed.
“You’re so good at that.”
“I know.”
She lowers onto my lap taking my head in both hands. My eyes close when her nose brushes alongside mine, l
eading to the words, “I love you,” coming from her soft lips before we kiss.
“Wait,” I complain. She’s leaving me.
“We should get ready for work. It’s after nine. I’m late, and you’re always late.”
“This is my hotel, I’m never late. I could show up next week and still be on time... and I need to cum. Look at me. Look at it. He’s a throbbing, jerking fiend.”
She gives it a once-over before reaching under the bed, finding the key to unlock the handcuffs. Once I’m free, my Jesse Jane Fleshlight and a bottle of warming lube are set on my lap.
“What gives?”
“Do the deed while I get ready.”
I survey her tits, peer at my cock, and look at the toy. “Ugh.”
She pulls a bra from the dresser and hustles to the closet.
“Aren’t you going to do it for me?”
“Ha!”
“I’m serious.”
“No way. This is the last part of your punishment. No sex together until tomorrow... have fun masturbating.”
I pick up the toy and get the lube set... “Fuck, okay then, big buddy. Looks like it’s you, Jesse, and me this morning. We haven’t had a date with her in months. Bet you missed... oh, hello. Look at how happy my massive dick is to see you, precious Jesse Jane. He’s smiling... you’re smiling...”
“Mark?” Her head pokes out of the closet. “You’re lucky I get your sense of humor, any other woman would be running out the door the moment her man started talking to a sex toy.”
“Hey, I’m busy. Don’t disturb us... Jesse Fleshie doesn’t like hearing another woman’s voice during playtime.”
She flees my whack off session, taking her clothing to the bathroom and shutting the door. Her blow dryer turns on, giving me five minutes of privacy to grunt and cum.
Five minutes.
Five, lackluster, lonely minutes of suction sounds, ending with a jizz shot into a porn star’s fake pussy.
What a dreadful way to kick off the day.
“Mr. Jameson?”
The voice comes from my cell phone watch that’s sitting on the dresser. The device is something I’m using now to communicate with my head staff members, and only if there’s an emergency. I realize immediately there’s a problem.
I drop Jesse, sprint to the dresser, and hit the talk button.
“What’s going on?”
“Mr. Jameson, the police are in the lobby. They’d like to speak with you.”
My heart tightens and blood surges through my veins. “Be right down,” I say in a shooting breath, sure they can hear my response on the intercom app.
I toss the watch and dress quickly, demanding Jules stay put. She’s too involved to come with me, especially if they start probing about Mera or the guy missing from the bar. The last thing I need is for them to put her on the spot if this has something to do with the dead.
Fuck. What is it about?
I’m out the door without her protesting or tagging along, and there’s no doubt in my mind she’ll be spying on the security cams anyway. In a near sprint, I have just enough time to button my dress shirt and finger comb my hair on my way to the lobby.
“Shit.” I feel my chest and hips, searching for my gun—relieved it was left in the suite. I don’t need to show up armed. The decent, law-abiding citizen façade is crucial for getting through this.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise when I round the corner, seeing two officers admiring the thirty-foot pine. I’m noticed straightaway and they head in my direction. One extends his hand and we shake.
“Mr. Jameson?”
“Yes sir. Is there a problem?”
“How’d you get this tree in your lobby?” one asks.
I point to the double doors and he studies their width and the size of the tree before taking out a pen and flipping a notepad open.
“Again, is there something I can help you with or are you here because my tree’s in violation of a city code?” I say with a playful smile, acting friendly, yet eager to get them the hell off my property.
“Is there a place we can speak in private?”
Holy Mother of God... it’s the private conversation request. This can’t be good, but there’re only two of them, and they haven’t pulled their weapons or presented a warrant, so as far as I can tell, this isn’t an arrest.
I lead them to the main office and ask my hotel manager to give us some privacy. He closes the door on the way out and I gesture for the men to have a seat; both in uniform, wearing black snow boots and heavy winter coats. The cops from Fargo come to mind as they sit before me doing nothing more than scanning the room. I swivel nervously in my chair, waiting, but not pushing them with any questions until they’re ready.
“Nice hotel.” The shorter one with the buzz cut says—the same dumbass who asked about the tree. “My wife keeps asking me to bring her here for dinner, only we never seem to have the time... you know, kids and stuff... you have any kids, Mr. Jameson?”
“You can call me Mark.”
The older one’s eyes bore into him, causing him to seal his mouth and lean back. Okay, it’s obvious who’s in charge.
“Mr. Jameson, do you own a gun?”
“Yes. Two. And they’re both registered. I keep them in my suite. Never been fired.” Fuckin’ A, I haven’t cleaned the one I used to beat Abram’s face in. I’m sure his flesh, blood, and DNA are all over that weapon.
“Are you carrying now?”
“No sir.”
“What’s their main use?”
“Protection.” I open the security cams for the grounds and turn the desktop screen in their direction. “This is a vast property. I have hundreds of guests who come and go each night, over two hundred rooms, a restaurant, pool, weight room, and a bar, plus a few private areas, like the tanning bed rooms, and acres of forest... nothing but pines for miles. It’s a five-minute drive down the driveway to the main road and another ten minutes to any form of civilization... my hotel is similar to a chateau that sits on a mountaintop. Total seclusion. Yes. I own guns. Legally. They provide me with a sense of security in case something goes wrong out in the woods. I’m in need of a form of defense since it would take the police at least twenty minutes to arrive in an emergency.” I turn the screen back in my direction, wishing they’d get to the fucking point.
“Alrighty then.”
Jesus, they are Fargo cops, and they should’ve introduced themselves when we shook hands. “Can I see your badges and ID’s?” I want their names, just in case this turns ugly. Though right now, they seem as useless and non-threatening as a couple of sidekick characters, like Robin and Aqualad.
“George Patterson and Handy Luke?” I look at the badge numbers and ID’s, flipping their cards over, dumbfounded by the names parents give their children. I need to take a second look to be sure it’s not a joke. His name is Handy? The guy from the bar was Lucky? I wouldn’t be surprised if the two weren’t brothers.
I slide the items across the desk while noticing Jack on one of the security cams, walking toward the lobby.
“Mr. Jameson.”
“Like I said, call me Mark.”
Cops who are on the level and state their purpose and intentions the moment they arrive are tolerable, but when you wait minutes for these slow, chatty ones to get to the point because they’re trying to feel you out, you end up wanting to stab and bury them with the rest of the asswipes who’ve crossed your path.
“Mr. Jameson.”
The fucker won’t say my first name.
“Do you own a revolver?”
“A revolver? No.”
He looks at the younger cop and they both nod. “You see; we’re here because we received a call from one of your guests that a juvenile was observed entering your suite in possession of one.”
“A juvenile?”
“I’m sure you’re aware it’s illegal for anyone under eighteen to carry unless it’s for marks
manship training purposes or hunting, not to mention having it openly in his hand in such a populated setting. The situation is grounds for arrest.”
“I don’t know anything about this.” Fuck, that kid of mine is screwed this time. I check the screen and see he’s sitting in one of the club chairs by the door, wearing his snowboarding jacket. Where the fuck does he think he’s going?
“This is the photo we received of the incident. A guest took it with his cell.”
I don’t need to see it, but I pretend that I’m curious and feign surprise at the image.
“It’s my son,” I sigh, drawing my lower lip between my teeth, trying to think of an explanation for the kid—a clarification so they’ll leave at once, only I’m not a fool when dealing with law enforcement. I have no idea where the gun came from and if I lie, it’ll come back and bite me in the ass. Think, Mark, think.
“Were you aware he had a revolver in his possession?”
“No sir, I wasn’t.” Motherfucking fuck. I can tell what’s coming next.
“Mr. Jameson, as a parent, my children are my whole world, from morning ‘til night they’re on my mind and in my heart. I worry about their every encounter and the decisions they make from day to day. So believe me when I say I hate this part of my job. Dealing with crimes committed by teens is never pleasant for the family, but unfortunately, you’ll need to call him down here. We need to interview him.”
“In my presence,” I insist. “Not downtown at the station when he’s isolated and coerced into saying anything and everything because he’s scared shitless.”
“Yes, a parent must be present for the interview.”
“Here. You question him in my presence, here.”
“That’s fine. This isn’t... it’s not that extreme of a situation. He’ll be arrested for illegally possessing a weapon, but as a minor, and if it’s his first offense...”
I swivel in my chair, glaring at the older man while he speaks, my finger tapping my lips as I mull over the thought of paying them off, or better yet, a torture session. Except making them disappear will cause more cops to show up looking for these dimwits, and then I’ll have to take them out too... all so Jack doesn’t have a record at the young age of sixteen... so he doesn’t suffer through community service, a rehab program, or the worse case scenario, six months to a year in jail.
