Wild Licks

by Cecilia Tan

  “We might do a follow-up video at some point. It’s great having you in the family so we’ll always know where to reach you,” she said with a smile. “Oh, one more thing.” She reached into her blazer pocket for a business card. “This photographer wanted you to contact him. Says he has some great portfolio shots and his work’s often in EW.”

  I looked at the card but didn’t recognize the name: Beau Lavern. His phone number and e-mail were printed next to a generic logo of a camera. I tucked the card into my purse. “Is he here?”

  “He said he couldn’t stay.” Thalia shrugged.

  “Well, speaking of not being able to stay, I’ve got to go off to my next stop. Don’t wait up for me, Ricki.”

  She chuckled. “Do I ever?” She suddenly looked at me. “Who are you meeting again?”

  Thank goodness I had cooked up what to tell her in advance so it came out smooth. “Oh, a college friend who’s in town!” I embellished it a little. “Recently broke up. I don’t know if we’re going out partying or if she’s looking for a shoulder to cry on.”

  “Well, have fun either way, I guess.”

  * * *

  The new hotel had private villas with high-walled patios, each with an outdoor Jacuzzi tub. A note from Mal on the bed told me to remove the chastity device, “prepare myself,” and await him on the “altar.” I searched the suite for what he might mean by that and didn’t find anything…until I went out onto the patio. Beside a hot tub large enough for eight was something altar-like draped in dark cloth. Under the cloth I discovered a massage table. The cloth had an odd feel to it, like it had been waterproofed.

  I also found there were Velcro straps attached to the legs of the table and a blindfold with an elastic strap sitting on top. I unhooked the chastity belt and set it on the edge of the hot tub and then climbed onto the table. Did he expect me to put the bonds on myself? It felt like he had left me a puzzle to solve. What did I think would please him most? And should I be faceup or down? I went back inside and reread both his instructions and the scene on my phone. Faceup, I decided, although the text was a little ambiguous. Then I stowed my phone and all my clothes in a drawer and put the see-through lingerie on.

  After I finished applying my makeup, I set about pinning the wig up on top of my head as he’d specified. Imitating Thalia’s hairdo turned out to be the right thing, twisting the dark locks into a single curl and pinning it at the crown of my head.

  Now to solve the self-bondage puzzle. On the “altar” it was easy enough to strap my ankles down and my left hand, but how should I do my right hand? If I looped it around my wrist loosely, I found I could “tighten” it by wrapping it around my arm a few times. I took one last look at the scant pinpricks of stars in the dark sky before I slipped the blindfold over my eyes, lifting the elastic strap easily over my pinned wig. Then I lay back on the table, put my hand back through the last of the Velcro loops, and made the necessary twists of my wrist.

  Bound. Ready. Trying to be calm but heart racing and clit throbbing.

  I had been lying there on the table for only a few minutes when I heard the glass door from the suite slide open.

  I heard the creak of leather as he walked across the stone patio.

  And then I felt the brush of a finger along my lower lip. I tipped my chin upward reflexively and felt the sharp metal of the claw-tips he wore.

  “Sacrifice,” he whispered, and I found myself nodding, as if that were a question to be answered.

  And then: “Mine,” and I nodded again as he began to tear open the lingerie. He was not gentle, rending and ripping, occasionally catching my skin with his claws until I was laid bare to the sky and to his gaze, his touch.

  His hot mouth upon my nipple. Yes! I could feel the points of his claws as he gripped my rib cage, holding me still so his tongue could rasp across one nipple and then the other, and his mouth could wander up and down my breasts, suckling and biting while I fought to keep myself silent. He hadn’t said I should be quiet, but what if there were other guests on the patio next door?

  He dragged his claws down to my hips as his mouth traveled down my stomach. And then his tongue was teasing my clit out from between the inner lips where it usually hid, until he could suck it between his teeth and grip it, trapping it for his tongue tip to torture.

  The sweetest torture ever. So much for staying silent. After a few minutes of that I couldn’t keep my voice quiet and whimpers began to escape me, then moans, and as I drew close to the peak of orgasm, outright cries.

  But he pulled back before I could climax. I heard a scissors snip and felt the last shreds of the lingerie being tugged away. Then his hands—without the claws this time—running up and down my torso, caressing me all over while my legs shook with the need to close, to clamp down on my clit. I was that close to coming.

  “I’m going to set you on fire now,” he said.

  I was startled into saying, “Really?”

  He chuckled and kissed me on the pubic mound. “Yes, really. I am a dragon, after all.”

  I felt him moving around beside me, preparing for whatever he was going to do.

  “It’s very important that you don’t make any sudden moves,” he said.

  I decided this might be a good time to bring up this fact: “Um, my right hand is bound kind of loosely.”

  He made a grunt of acknowledgment and untangled my arm, reattaching it with the Velcro snug around my wrist.

  The next thing I heard was the unmistakable sound of a lighter—chttt, chttt, chttt—and then I felt something warm near my face.

  “Open your eyes,” he ordered softly as he lifted a corner of the blindfold.

  I looked up into a blazing orange flame on what looked to my lust-addled brain like a marshmallow on a stick in a campfire. I sucked in a breath, more excited than truly afraid—if I feared anything, it was the fear of the unknown. What was that going to feel like? He’d promised no permanent damage, so that thought hadn’t even entered my mind. The only thing in my mind was whether I would be able to stand the pain or not.

  The first place he touched me was on my stomach and all I felt was a moment of coolness, then warmth, then the caress of his palm. I sighed as he petted me.

  Several more touches like that followed and I realized he was swiping me with the flame, leaving a dab of lit fuel behind and then extinguishing it with his hand before the heat could build up in intensity. I groaned with pleasure. He worked his way down my stomach onto my thighs and then up to the swells of my breasts, letting the fire burn longer and longer, until I began to let out little gasps of pain. And yet it still didn’t really reach the point of actually hurting.

  When he yanked the blindfold off, it got caught partly in the wig but then came free, and I found myself looking up at him. He tapped the flame with his fingers and then tapped his tongue, the flame burning momentarily there before he closed his mouth. I stared in amazement.

  Dragon. Like the tattoo on his back. He had stripped out of his clothes and I drank in the sight of his bare skin, muscular chest, his hair up in a topknot.

  He did the flame trick again, transferring it to his tongue with his fingers, this time closing his mouth around my nipple, just a moment of heat and then wet. I groaned again.

  The place I was wettest though, by far, was between my legs. He slid his fingers into me and then pulled them out, sucking them clean and then transferring the flame to his tongue again before snapping his jaw shut.

  When he positioned himself between my legs, I wondered if I knew what was coming.

  Yes, I did. He spread my labia with one hand, tapped my clit with the fire wand, and doused the flame with his mouth against my flesh. He did it again, letting it burn a moment longer and then soothing the pain with his incredible tongue. He brought me close to orgasm again, then returned to teasing me with the flame, sometimes setting me on fire, sometimes his tongue, but always dousing it with his tongue against my clit.

  My cries were loud echoing off the stone
.

  But again he didn’t let me climax. Next, he knelt down out of my sight and rummaged in a bag—I sensed he’d put the flame out even though I couldn’t see him do it. I missed its cheery thrill, but not for long: When he stood, he was holding a wicked-looking black and green dildo, carved with ridges like a dinosaur’s tail.

  He let my legs free and lengthened the bonds that held my arms. “Bend your knees.”

  I did, trembling with anticipation. “I…I…”

  Mal slipped a finger into me and wiggled it. “Speak. Does something concern you?”

  “Just, you remember I’ve had nothing inside me for weeks, right?”

  “I know,” he said with a serious nod. He held up the dildo and examined it. “Do you think it’s going to be hard to take this?”

  “I do.”

  He looked me in the eye. “Good.”

  When he said that, my entire insides gushed with need. It was like my pussy said to my brain, Screw you, we need that thing more than we’ve ever needed anything before.

  Without breaking eye contact, he began wetting the thing by rubbing it between my lower lips. Before I knew it, he was pressing the angular, ridged head against my opening.

  The tip went in easily, of course, but the thing felt like a ziggurat, widening quickly from the top. It went in until it stuck, not from lack of slickness but from the odd shape and size.

  “Take it,” he murmured, and pushed harder.

  It went in another inch, another ridge, and then I tightened around it reflexively, panting.

  “I know you can do it,” he encouraged, brushing my clit with his thumb, which made me tighten even more but only for a second. When that wave of arousal let go, he pushed in even more.

  “Oh God.”

  “And heavenly angels,” he said, as if answering me. “Almost there. It’s almost in.”

  It felt huge and strange and that only increased my craving for it. I wriggled my hips, trying to will myself to open up.

  “Knees up,” he said as he pushed them toward my shoulders.

  I sucked in a breath as that tightened everything between my legs and made the thing sticking out of me sharply visible to me. “Oh God,” I said again.

  And then a new wave of longing swept through me as I held my legs where he had put them while he rolled a condom onto his cock. He slipped a lubricated finger into my ass and I groaned, wanting something more.

  He teased me mercilessly, slipping fingers in and out of me for several minutes. Oh, I knew he was making certain my ass was stretched enough to take his cock, but it still felt like merciless teasing.

  Mal climbed onto the massage table and then crooked my legs over his bent knees, one hand on his cock, steadying it for entry, the other on the dragon dildo, keeping it in place.

  “Oh, fuck,” I said as he thrust, thrusting both his cock and the dildo into me. He gave me a moment to adjust, to savor the wave of pleasure that poured through me on that penetration. “Oh, fuuuuck.”

  When he drew back, it was slow, tantalizing, and then he thrust again, and I wrapped my legs around his back out of reflex. It felt amazing but overwhelming at the same time.

  “Down,” he commanded. “Lie still. Let me fuck.”

  Three simple words that thrust into me as hard as any penetration: let me fuck. I relaxed my legs and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. When I let it out, I whispered, “Sacrifice.”

  “Yesss,” he said, and rewarded me with a kiss on the heart.

  Thus began the hardest fucking of my life.

  I loved it.

  * * *

  MAL

  The look on her face was incredible as I plowed into her and matched the explosion of euphoria I was experiencing. She looked like she was seeing God and I don’t mean that in some self-inflated dom sense; I mean it in the sense of the revelation of miracles. Perhaps we have the keys to heaven, to divinity, locked deep inside us, and it takes going deep to reach them. I’d made an altar, after all, and here we were atop it, worshipping together under the open sky.

  Her cries of ecstasy only egged me on to take her harder, faster, driving relentlessly toward my release. Everything that had pent up in the weeks apart, everything I had been holding back tonight as I’d played with her and teased her, I let loose. I roared when I came, and it echoed from the stone, sounding as loud as any dragon I could imagine.

  When my hips ceased moving, I opened my eyes. My hair had come loose from the topknot and hung in sweaty strings over my eyes. One of my hands was clamped so hard around her upper arm I had left bruises.

  I eased out of her but held the dildo in place. I could manage only short, brutish words. “Did you come?”

  She shook her head.

  I twisted it back and forth. “I did promise to always leave you satisfied if you would submit to whatever I inflicted,” I said.

  A final round of licking her and fire play would do for a finale. I eased the dragon dildo out of her and set it aside, massaging her pussy with my fingers until she purred. Then I uncapped the fuel and soaked and lit the baton again.

  She was beautiful, sweat-soaked, radiant, clearly pushed to her limits but still eager to comply with any command of mine. Who could resist that? It was beyond human endurance to expect not to be moved by such a sight. That baffling protective urge welled up again; it felt as if the more severe the pain she suffered, the stronger that urge became. My beautiful treasure. Surely there could not be another woman like Gwen in the world.

  I swiped the flame across her belly, putting it out with my palm. Sweet tender lover, her skin, her life, in my hands. I held the flame off to one side while I licked her, thrusting two fingers into her with my free hand.

  She built to a crescendo quickly and in mere moments she was coming, much more quickly than I expected.

  Accidents don’t happen because a single thing goes wrong. Not when you’re careful. No, when you’re careful, a whole host of things has to go wrong, and when they do, people get hurt.

  I had forgotten her legs were no longer tied down. One knee jerked up as she spasmed in her climax, bumping the arm that held the fire baton. That in itself wouldn’t have been harmful except having been so recently loaded with fuel, the baton jerking forward threw a gout of burning flame onto the fireproof cloth. Which wouldn’t have been dangerous if that had been all. But when I’d removed her blindfold, I accidentally unwound a lock of her wig.

  Her flammable wig. I felt a twist of dread lance through me as I saw what was happening in that split second. The stray lock caught fire and even as I hurriedly flung the baton into the hot tub and reached to smother the flame with my hand, she screamed and jerked her head in fear. My dread exploded into horror as her motion jerked the flaming lock onto her own face and set the rest of the wig on fire as well.

  I grabbed the lock, pulled it away from her skin, the melting strands of wig burning my palm, but I could not have cared less about that. With the other hand I tugged the wig from her head—the damnable thing was pinned on!—and then tossed the entire partially melted mess into the hot tub as well, leaving a searing pain in my palm and a very blond Gwen under me.

  I patted out the last bit of fire guttering against the flameproof cloth with my other hand and then ripped open the Velcro holding one of her wrists.

  Her hand flew to her face and then we held still, both panting, me looming over her, the pain in my palm starting to register dimly in my brain.

  “Are you all right?” I heard myself ask.

  “Yeah. Think so. That was…that was close. I think.”

  Oh, Gwen, dear nerdy innocent Gwen, are you sure? I climbed carefully off her and discovered my hand would not open on command. It wanted to stay clenched tight.

  I released her other wrist and she sat up immediately. “Are you all right?” She was reaching for my hand.

  I pulled away. “I’m fine. I’m much more concerned about you.”

  “I’m fine, I told you. Let me see that.”

 
“No.” I cradled my hand to my chest and realized how petulant that sounded. “That is…let’s get inside and assess in better lit surroundings.”

  Inside the suite, we decamped to the bedroom and then into the attached bathroom where the light was best. She examined my still-closed fist. “I’m going to get some ice,” she declared.

  She pulled on the T-shirt I had shed on my way through the suite earlier and my long leather duster and out she went.

  When she returned, she had a bucket of ice. She added some water to it and then set it on the bathroom counter. I dunked my hand into it without any urging and held it there until the ache of the cold was stronger than the pain. Then I gradually unclenched my fist.

  That was a mistake. I nearly screamed and I think came close to cracking a tooth. I closed my fist again.

  She looked rather worried. With my good arm, I pulled her close to me, still addled by the scent of sex coming off her skin mixing with the savory essence of the leather she was wearing. “I’m afraid your wig is ruined.” The burn mark on her cheek sent my blood roiling, as if I could rush out to seek revenge on the scoundrel who’d harmed her, and met the heavy stone of dread in my stomach that was the knowledge I was that scoundrel. I swallowed hard, trying to think of what to say, trying to keep my anger at myself well in check. “And you should get some burn cream onto that.”

  “Onto what?”

  I reached up and ran my thumb close to her cheek, but not actually touching the dark red mark, a crescent shape like a downward frown that might have been starting to blister. Sweet angels, let it not leave a scar. I felt bile rising at the thought I had broken my promise never to damage her.

  She looked in the mirror. “Oh. Oh my.”

  I handed her an ice cube and she pressed it to her face as she sank down onto the side of the bathtub.

  “Gwen,” I said, and she looked up sharply, her eyes wide, her other hand flying to her hair.

  “Did you…How long have you known?” she demanded. Then before I could answer, “Please tell me you only just figured it out?”