Wild Licks

by Cecilia Tan

  At last I deemed she’d had enough. “Bend over the edge of the bed and spread your legs.”

  I ran my hand over the tracks the cane had left and then began a new round of spanking, swatting her cunny as often as her thighs, pausing only to flick her clit hard with a fingernail, until I could hear she had reached a plateau of arousal, but remaining there was itself becoming a torture. I swiped a finger around her clit in a quick circle and was greeted with another needy wail. So close, so close, but she could not go over the edge without me giving her more.

  I slicked myself with the ring of my fingers wet with her juices and positioned myself behind her, one hand on each buttock. I scraped my fingernail across her welts again and then spanked her, once, twice, thrice. I insinuated the head of my cock between her cunny lips but held her still so she could not drive herself back onto me and then alternated striking her with one hand, then the other, driving the desperate note in her cries up the scale, up and up, until the moment was right.

  And then I drove into her and loosed her cry of sweet release.

  She came, screaming, clawing at the bed, fucking herself on my staff and crying out my name. Angels and devils, it was all I could do not to explode into orgasm myself at that moment, but I felt the promise between us—pleasure for pain, that I would never leave her unsatisfied—was sacred. I turned her over to face me and let her come twice more on my cock before I allowed my own release.

  And then it was over. I covered her face with kisses and was rewarded with her triumphal laughter as she lay spent beneath me, unable to move a muscle after all she had been through.

  My own feeling of triumph was short-lived, though. As my flesh softened and slipped from her, it was as if the walls I’d erected in my mind to keep me from thinking of anything outside this room, outside this city, also began to wither away. My goals had been reached, and everything I had been burying began to stir with unrest.

  I tried to ignore it at first, cuddling with her, praising her, trying to enjoy the moment. She was so beautiful, so perfect, and had surpassed my every expectation. But my thoughts grew stormy. She had fulfilled every promise and yet a gnawing feeling ate at me from inside. A demon, maybe.

  “I’m hungry,” I declared. Would she drop her role now that she had reached that state of perfection? “Let’s go out looking for something to eat.”

  “Should I wear your duster again?” she asked, looking somehow shy and sly at the same time. So much for the idea that she might be ready to leave her role on a high note.

  I remembered the unease I’d felt on our last trip to the outside world. Had that been a reminder to me of all the issues I’d buried for the sake of these two weeks? “Yes, it’s in the closet,” I said. “Let’s go back to the poutine and smoked meats place.” Perhaps if I returned there I could meet my demons head-on.

  * * *

  GWEN

  Walking through the chilly night air with only Mal’s duster on was an experience. My boots stopped at my knee so goose bumps crawled up my thighs, and the coat’s slick lining rubbed against my bare nipples. I felt flushed with success and the warmth of the man I loved beside me. Such a perfect match. Could I have even imagined it in my wildest fantasies? No, the real thing was so much better than role-playing.

  With Mal I felt a kind of contentedness in my heart I’d never felt before. I’d read a lot of blogs and articles by submissives on the Internet recently, and I believed it wasn’t simply love. It was a bond that could only exist between dom and sub, or master and slave, or owner and owned, no matter which words you used for it. Knowing that I was his I felt fully alive and fulfilled in a way that I hadn’t before I’d come to Montreal.

  At the deli meats place, the host indicated we could sit wherever we liked since it wasn’t crowded; Mal chose a booth toward the back where it was warmest.

  In contrast to my bursting with contentment, though, Mal appeared to be having troubling thoughts. He was always quiet, but he seemed quieter than usual, his brows drawn downward in a concerned expression. He was curt while ordering and neither of us said much until our food had come.

  “Did the recording go all right?” I asked after we’d eaten a little and his mood still didn’t lighten.

  “Yes, yes, it’s been fine.” He gave me a half-smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. He had eaten only part of his food and he pushed his plate away, uninterested in finishing it. “Apparently Axel and the boys were right: I needed my gonads wrung dry on a regular basis to keep me docile enough to work with.”

  Somehow I doubted that “docile” was a fitting description, but I didn’t pry. “Last session is tomorrow, isn’t it? Are you done with what you need to do?”

  He drew a slow breath. “I believe we are close enough that if overdubs are necessary we can do those in Los Angeles.” His eyes darted around. One waiter was wiping down tables nearby. The other was standing to one side, appearing to add up a check. There were only two other tables with customers at that point.

  Is something wrong? I almost asked. But with Mal these past two weeks, being patient had usually brought me the answer to what I was wondering. Was he upset our two weeks were coming to an end? If so, couldn’t we always plan to do it again? I made a gentle foray into the subject. “This trip has been blissful for me.”

  He nodded in agreement, his eyes wandering the edges of the coat lapels where my bare skin was exposed.

  “They want me to film a new promo video for WOMedia when I get back to LA,” I said with a sigh, and then joked gently, “I suppose they’re going to want me to wear clothes for that.”

  His eyes were dark but his voice was calm. “I suppose many things will go back to the way they were.”

  “Oh?”

  “You don’t genuinely think we can keep up this charade of you being my captive?”

  His words, though spoken calmly, tore through my heart. “Charade?”

  “Come now, Gwen. This has been nothing more than a scene. A long one, a deeply involving one, but a scene nonetheless.”

  Nothing more…? I had to swallow rising panic, trying to tell myself we were just talking past each other and if I stayed calm and talked this through, I’d find out we actually meant the same thing. “I…I thought what we had was…the real us.”

  “Role-playing idealized versions of ourselves that would never exist in the real world is still role-playing,” he said.

  “I…” My mind spun and I had to take a deep breath, trying to straighten out what I meant, what I felt. Was he trying to say he agreed with me, or not? Was it my imagination that we’d grown so close? “I haven’t been playing, Mal.”

  His face was closed, his eyes narrow. “You don’t understand.”

  “I understand that I want the real Mal. I want the Mal I’ve had for the past two weeks. That’s the man I’d do anything for.”

  “Anything?”

  “Anything.”

  He glanced behind him at the waiter and then focused on me again. “Flash your inner thigh at the waiter behind me.”

  I swallowed. The last time we were here I’d told him I’d do anything he said, including that, even though I wouldn’t like it. Did he mean for me to prove it? “You’re sure?”

  He gave a curt nod.

  “Yes, Mal.” I licked my lips and extended my foot into the aisle, then my bare, bent knee, making eye contact with the waiter and then looking away with a blush as I pulled the coat aside for a few moments, then closed it again without checking to see if the guy reacted.

  “He remembers you.”

  “It would be hard to forget us,” I pointed out, trying to think of how this related to our argument. “How many naked sex slaves wrapped in nothing but a leather coat do you think they get in here?”

  Mal huffed, a humorless laugh, then took a pile of Canadian money from his wallet and laid it on the table. The waiter hurried over with our tab. Mal beckoned for the fellow to lean down and said something softly into his ear. I think he said it in French.
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  The waiter answered in kind. “Oui.” He then called out something to someone in the back. A third waiter came out from the kitchen and Mal gestured for me to get up to go.

  But then he beckoned me toward the restrooms.

  He steered me into the men’s room. The two waiters who had recognized us were right behind him. One of them put the “closed for cleaning” sign out and then latched the door shut.

  Mal’s eyes were dark as thunderclouds. “Give me the coat,” he snapped.

  My fingers were shaking as I unbuttoned it. What was he going to have me do? These were total strangers. Had he set this up with these guys earlier in the week? Had he checked them out somehow?

  I shrugged the coat free and one of the waiters swore. They were both dark-haired, one a little taller than the other, in identical white shirts and black pants.

  “Show them your cunt,” Mal said, putting the coat on himself and then rubbing his erection through his jeans.

  I moved my hands to my thighs, then spread my legs a little, pulling my lips apart with my fingers. “Like that?”

  “Put a foot up on the sink,” he said. “Give them a better look.”

  I put one of my booted feet into the sink so it wouldn’t slip against the wet ceramic, my thighs splayed and everything on display. Everything.

  “I put those bruises on her tonight,” Mal told the two men. “She likes it rough.”

  One of them made a comment in French to the other, who laughed.

  “Pinch your nipples and then touch your clit,” Mal ordered.

  I did as he said, telling myself to trust him. He stepped close to me, saying something to the other men in French. He put a finger into me and continued talking to them as if he weren’t paying attention to me.

  It suddenly clicked: The Story of O. He’d talked about how the only scene he remembered was one where O’s lover converses with other men while he has his finger almost casually inside her. They were even speaking French! It made sense now.

  Mal sawed his finger in and out while talking. I don’t even think he was aware he was doing it. I let myself sink into a pleasurable, submissive haze.

  A touch I didn’t recognize jerked me back to alertness. A hand on my breast. The other two had come close now, one fondling my breast while the other, behind me, ran a hand over my ass. I tried to meet Mal’s eyes but he was resolutely staring at where his finger disappeared into my body.

  Mal, is this really what you want? Do you really want to…share me with these men?

  I yelped as the one behind me pinched my ass. The one in front pulled on my nipple. I put my hands on Mal’s shoulders, the sudden sweat of fear breaking out all over my skin. How far was he going to let this go?

  The one behind me kissed me on the back of the neck and I tried to pull away from him but that only pushed my upper body against Mal.

  Then a finger was pushing at my ass. “Is that you?” I whispered, hoping.

  “This is me,” he said, and thrust his own finger harder.

  “Oh,” was all I could think of to say as the man in back kept touching me, trying to figure out how to get a finger into me. When I’d said to Mal, right here in this restaurant, that I’d suffer anything he wanted me to, did that extend to this? When I flashed the guy earlier, was that my signal that I remembered I’d said that? But we never negotiated this.

  The one in front at least had lost interest in trying to get at my breasts when they were pressed against Mal and had pulled his cock out of his pants and was masturbating instead. I heard the man behind me wetting his finger with his mouth.

  “There are three of us,” Mal said to me, “and you have three holes.”

  “No!” It came out before I could stop it. “No, Mal, this…I can’t. I can’t.”

  “This is real, Gwen. You said you wanted it to be real. Feel how real.” He put my hand onto his fly and I could feel how hard he was.

  All four of us jumped then as someone banged on the door, and a male voice yelled in English, “Hurry up in there!”

  The waiter with his cock out cursed and zipped up quickly and the one behind me stepped away. I practically had to tear the leather duster off of Mal and before I could put it on, he pulled me into one of the stalls and latched it shut. I could hear what sounded like the two waiters washing their hands—thank goodness. Mal sat down on the toilet and pulled me into his lap as the restroom door flew open.

  Someone came in, presumably the impatient customer who had been banging on the door, pissed noisily into the urinal, belched, and then exited.

  I put my feet down. My voice was shaky. “I want to go back to the hotel. I’ve had enough of this.”

  Mal stood and helped me to put the coat on properly but said nothing. He paused at the sink to wash his hands, and then we made our way quickly through the restaurant onto the street.

  Mal stayed silent but kept his arm around me the whole way back to the hotel. I kept everything bottled up until we were in our own room.

  Then I let it all out. “What the fuck was that about! Mal!”

  “Merely trying to demonstrate to you the difference between reality and what you think you know about me.” His voice was cold, with an edge of fury in it. “Apparently you desire a fantasy after all.”

  “I thought I belonged to you! I never thought you’d actually want to share me with anyone!” I burst into sudden tears.

  “You certainly let it go quite far before you protested.”

  “I thought you were re-creating your Story of O fantasy! I was trying to do what you wanted because I trust you!”

  “I’ve told you the real me isn’t as noble as you think.” He sat down heavily on the corner of the bed as if the strength to remain standing had suddenly left him. He was shaking his head and looking down.

  I sank to the floor in front of him, the leather coat pooling around me, so I could be in his line of sight. “Mal—what is going on in your head? Can you clue me in at least a little?”

  “Let me show you something.” He stood and took off his belt, unzipped his pants, and bared his erection.

  “I’ve seen that before, you know,” I said, crossing my arms and not moving from my spot on the floor.

  “This is everything that’s wrong with me.” He sat back down. “A good dom would never have allowed total strangers to have their way with his submissive. You’re right. I hate the thought of another man touching you or even looking at you.”

  “Then why—”

  “Yet, look at what my body did in response to it.” He smacked his cock with his open palm. “This is the reality I live with every day.”

  “Mal, that’s not that weird.” I tried to give a sexologist-type answer. “States of arousal including anger, fear, revulsion, they can all be kind of wired close together, you know?”

  He was shaking his head. “I am not a good dom. I’m afraid when you dig down below the veneer of consensuality, what you will find ultimately is…” He shrugged helplessly. “For lack of a better word, evil.”

  “Mal, you’re not evil. What the hell gave you that idea?”

  “Being sexually aroused by the wrong and perverse? As if being driven to expose the woman I love to danger isn’t evidence enough?”

  My mouth hung open, my next words unspoken, because I didn’t want to erase the sound in my ears of him saying the words the woman I love. Please don’t just be saying that.

  He brushed my cheek with his fingers and then gently brought my chin up until my teeth touched. “I told you before that I loved you too much to expose you to the danger that is me. I’ll hurt you.”

  I got to my feet and grabbed him by the shirt collar. “Guess what, Mal, that’s the definition of love. The person you love, the person who loves you, that’s who can break your heart.”

  “I told you I would.”

  “So you’re saying, what, you have to leave me to prove yourself right?”

  He pushed me away from him and got up off the bed.

 
“Think, Mal, think,” I said, trying to keep myself calm, but it was difficult given what I’d just been through and the sudden rush of emotions that fighting with him brought out. “If we’re together for any length of time, of course you’re going to eventually push me beyond my limits.”

  He turned away from me toward the window, but I knew he was still listening.

  “You say you’re afraid to hurt me. But…but look at what happened tonight.”

  “I would have let those dirty ruffians traumatize you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t, because I said no. The fantasy is that when I’m being your slave, responsibility for my well-being is one hundred percent on you, but the reality is I am still actually responsible for myself.”

  “If I hurt you because my lust drives me to cross your boundaries? I’ll never forgive myself, Gwen.”

  “You’re hurting me now,” I said, my voice starting to shake again, tears blinding me. “With all this talk of throwing away everything, of throwing me away!”

  He was there suddenly, his arms around me. “I don’t want to do that. I don’t.”

  “Then how do we get past this?” I sobbed, and pressed my face against his shirt. I really thought he’d changed his mind over the past two weeks, that I’d finally proved to him that it could work. But he was right back where he’d started, hating himself deep down for the very thing that I needed so very much from him.

  “There’s one way we could stay together,” he said, his voice quavering with emotion. “Quit kink.”

  “What?” The words shocked me so much I literally pushed him away like he’d changed into a total stranger. I could also hardly breathe. “You can’t…you can’t…”

  He tried to embrace me again and I found myself stepping back.

  I saw the anger flare in his eyes, the disbelief that I’d defied him, then the defeat as he realized he could not order me to do anything and still “quit kink.” He zipped his fly instead, settling himself uncomfortably in his too-tight jeans. “That right there, that I’d take a step toward forcing you, was the proof I should not be trusted as a dom.”