Unrestrained

by Hill, Joey W.

  Going down the stairs and walking back through the junkyard was an entirely different experience. The stimulator teased the petals of her sex and her clitoris as she walked. It altered her focus, and though she was still unsettled, the unbalanced feeling wasn’t unwelcome at all. When she came into his view, the way his intent gaze logged everything only sharpened her response. Her nipples were tight against her bra, the flesh between her legs now slippery.

  She put the basket down in front of him and he lifted a hand, keeping her on her feet. “Give me your panties.”

  Fingers still twitchy, she slid them off, handed them to him. He closed his hand over her wrist, ran a thumb over her wrist pulse. Then he nodded to a Lincoln Town Car about ten paces away. “Go and bend over the trunk. Tuck your skirt up into the waistband so I can see that butterfly and your gorgeous ass.”

  His look was direct, his tone uncompromising. He was settling all the debris of the morning in a way all her rationalizing seemed incapable of doing. She moved toward the Lincoln, gathering up her skirt.

  “Actually, just get rid of it. I want you naked from the waist down. If I had my way, I’d keep you naked all the time.”

  She imagined Dale sitting at her dining room table, her kneeling naked next to him as he ate his meal, seemingly detached yet so aware of her being there, waiting on his desires while her own overflowed. Hour after hour of being accessible to his every demand. Her pussy became even wetter.

  She stepped out of the skirt, set it aside, and then put her elbows on the trunk. Bracing her legs shoulder-width apart, she lifted her ass and was rewarded with a blast of heat from his gaze when she dared a look over her shoulder.

  “Little tease. Hook your fingers in the edge below the rear window. I want you stretched out over the trunk, your hips pressed to the back bumper. Legs spread wider so you feel that clit stimulator tight against you.”

  As she did it, she heard him rise. He’d taken away her ability to look over her shoulder in the elongated position, which she was sure was his intent. He ran his hand down her back, over her backside, checking the straps holding the butterfly against her. He slid his fingers beneath her, verifying it was firmly in place, making her shiver again.

  “You stay like this unless you get physically uncomfortable, and then you tell me what’s going on. If I ask you a question, you answer it, no matter what else is going on. Got it?”

  “Yes sir.”

  His firm swat left a tingling print on her buttock. “I don’t think sir is going to cut it today.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Better.” He put his hand between her legs again, and the stimulator began to hum against her clit and labia. She caught her lip between her teeth as he made some other adjustments. With her own vibrator, she usually focused on the clit, the hard and fast climax that direct contact could deliver. This stimulator proved how responsive the slick inner walls of her labia were, those nerve endings building toward the same end, only with a slower, fiercely sweet build that made her shudder in the restrained position he’d imposed.

  “The longer it’s on, the more the intensity will increase. Eventually it goes back to the original setting and starts over again. Since it divides its time between clit and labia, and I can adjust it so the antenna also tweaks you under your clit hood, I can spend the whole morning watching you go fucking mindless, Athena, your cunt gushing over and over. All while eating this great breakfast you made me.”

  He gave her another stinging slap, then moved back to the couch. She couldn’t see him from where she was, and the angle of the window provided no reflection. But she could hear him taking a seat behind her to eat his breakfast and stare at her naked, exposed body. Her legs were already shaking, responding to the stimulation of the vibrator.

  “So what did you do in the middle of the night? Read a book?”

  She nodded, then remembered. “Yes, Master.”

  “Tell me about it.” He was eating, because he sounded a little muffled. “Title, what it’s about.”

  The man was a sadist. He’d likely endured interrogation torture as part of SEAL training, but he was no slouch at administering it. As she became more and more aroused, he demanded detailed answers about the book, her job, her childhood, the fucking weather. The intensity of the vibration grew, just as he’d predicted. She started pressing against the bumper in a coital rhythm, rotating her hips, unable to resist the stroke of that stimulator.

  “That’s nice,” he said, his voice husky with heat. “Keep doing that. Lift your ass, show me that my girl wants to be fucked by her Master. Beg for it with your hot little body.”

  Her nipples were stiff points against the trunk lid, her fingers in a death grip on that edge. “Dale . . . Master . . .”

  Roy had told her men liked food, beer and fucking. Combine all those things? Heaven on earth. She should have brought Dale a beer.

  The orgasm was too close. “I’m going . . . to come.”

  “Yes, you are. Try to fight it, girl. I want to see you fight and lose.”

  She did her best, but the stimulator won without much of a contest, her body too revved and eager. She screamed out her pleasure, working her hips against the metal, feeling the sun’s heat on her back, in the steel she gripped, but it wasn’t yet so hot she couldn’t bear it. When she came down, she was jerking, because of course the stimulator changed settings on its own schedule, and for a few excruciating moments it was on the same accelerated intensity. She let out a relieved sound when it at last settled down to the original hum. Even that was almost too much, but Dale didn’t seem inclined to stop the device.

  He didn’t, not until she came twice more. By that third time, she’d lost her grasp on everything but the car. When he came to her, he had to unhook her hands, massage the stiff fingers. She was making little gasping noises like sobs, only she wasn’t crying this time. When he opened his jeans, she adjusted her legs, lifting her hips automatically. He made another approving grunt as he slid into her from behind and pressed his big body down on hers, taking her right there against the car.

  He was even thicker than usual, proving the effect her performance had on him. He came in less than a dozen thrusts. He had one hand tangled in her hair, the other sliding under her shirt to fondle her breasts in her silky bra. He lifted her off the car enough to spread one hand over both, grip the flesh to hold them together. One nipple was caught between his fingertips where they’d tunneled beneath the cup, the other pressed beneath the heel of his hand.

  “There she is. That’s my good girl. Sweet, gorgeous woman.”

  He slid out of her, adjusted his clothes, and then guided the clit stimulator off of her. When he lifted her upper body off the hood and turned her so her hips were propped against the bumper, she watched him slide her panties back onto her legs, then her skirt. He nudged her to her feet, guiding her hands to his shoulders to steady her as he restored her clothing to its proper place. He plucked open the buttons of her shirt, though, so he could continue to caress her breasts, tease her cleavage and trace the lace edges of the bra.

  She swayed at the power of that simple sensation. In answer, he made another soothing murmur and drew her to him. As she leaned against his strength, he slid his arms around her, held her close, spoke in her ear.

  “What woke you up in the middle of the night, Athena? What had you all wound up this morning?”

  When he did this to her, it was easy. She gave him everything, no reservations. Which underscored what a leap of faith it would be when and if she could do it all the time, as he demanded.

  “A dream.” She mumbled it against his chest. “We were at Release, and you had a collar and leash on me. It felt good, but then . . . Jimmy was pointing, and the female Dommes, they were pointing at me, being unkind. Like I was a fraud. You disappeared, and there were all these male Doms, closing in on me, like they could all have me, because I’d lost con
trol, given it away. I was scared, and . . .” She didn’t know how to continue from there.

  He sighed, held her closer. “Okay. We’ll deal with it, all right?”

  “But not today.”

  “No, not today.” He touched her face, guided her gaze up to him. “At some point, we will go to Release, and you will go there as my sub. Even if we only go once, and never go again, that’s going to happen. If you want me as part of your life, that means you let me into all of it. I don’t need it all today, but I want to start meeting your friends, becoming part of your day-to-day life, the way you’re integrating yourself into mine. Deal?”

  She nodded. “I think I need to sit down.”

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m a bastard, not giving you any breakfast before putting you through all that.”

  “Did you eat all of it?” Her words were slurred. Like being drunk, only much better. No hangover. Unless one counted how she kept crash-landing into her doubts and worries on the other side of such euphoria. She was going to work on that, though. That was one of her resolutions from this argument, wasn’t it? He’d almost made her forget they’d had an argument, and that wasn’t such a bad thing.

  “I was tempted.” He chuckled. “But I managed to have some manners and save some for my girl. I’m going to put you in my lap and make you eat it from my hand, though. Teach you to trust me for everything, one step at a time.”

  She had no problem with that at all. She’d be happy to stay in his lap forever. If only she never had to face anything beyond this blissful state of being he could give to her. However, if there was one thing she knew, it was that a love worth having required courage. She would find the courage to reach for what she wanted—as soon as she figured out once and for all what that was.

  FOURTEEN

  Over the next few weeks, she discovered what it was to have a man as a constant, regular part of her life again. Dale wasn’t living with her physically, but he was in the forefront of her mind even when he wasn’t with her. His words, his touch, his expressions, and all the things they were learning about one another.

  They spent one afternoon gardening together. She’d had Hector transfer some azaleas from an area where larger shrubs were crowding them out, but she hadn’t yet done anything around the relocated azaleas to blend them into their new location. Hector knew she liked to do that part of things herself, unless she indicated otherwise.

  When she mentioned it at breakfast one morning, teasing Dale with the mock accusation that he was making her neglect her gardens, he said he’d help her with it. They came up with a plan together, walking the gardens and thinning out plants to fill in the azalea area.

  As they were finishing up with that, Dale leaned on a shovel and glanced down at her, a half smile on his handsome lips. She patted soil around the last edging plant and braced her hands on her thighs, squinting up at him with a warm smile of her own. “This works really well. I think you have a future as a landscape architect.”

  “So do you, Mrs. Summers.” He nodded toward the area she maintained for Roy’s marker. “That freestanding wooden picket fence you have over there? I have some wildflower specimens that would make a great accent for it.”

  The decorative piece of fencing was set at an angle to a rustic-looking bench, the place she sat when she was visiting Roy. Shedding her garden gloves, she tucked her hair back behind her ear. “Oh? What color?”

  “Several. Yellow, white and purple. They bloom their heads off every time it gets warm, which, down here, is pretty much year-round. Want to run by my place and grab a few? We can get some lunch while we’re out.”

  She agreed. He didn’t let her clean up beyond washing her hands. Instead, he lifted her into the seat of his old junk truck, both of them sweaty and dirty, and took them through a fast food drive-thru. He found them a spot at one of New Orleans’s many parks so they could eat the greasy food while watching ducks and toss a few fries out the window to them. He wiped a touch of mustard off her mouth, then kissed it away before putting the truck in gear and trundling onward to his place.

  She helped him dig up the wildflowers and check on the dogs. While she was there, she made another couple of suggestions for his own plantings out by the front gate, and then they were back at her house. After a quick stop at the Dairy Queen, that is, because he wanted dessert. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed a chocolate-dipped cone, and Dale gave her the cherries off his banana split.

  Back at her house, Dale laid out a couple of towels and drew her down against his side on the grass next to the bench and freestanding picket fence. They enjoyed a short siesta, the newly turned earth nearby a pleasant perfume among the garden’s many smells. He tangled his fingers with hers on his chest and she answered his questions about Roy’s marker, the golfing statue. It was surprising how comfortable it felt to her, being in that area with Dale. It was almost as if Roy was giving them his blessing. The sense of peace and quiet companionship they shared working side by side seemed as natural as the flow of water from one of her fountains.

  By the end of the afternoon, she had a new design for the fence and bench area to enjoy when she came there on pretty days to read and talk to Roy. Later that week, Dale brought her a family of concrete pigs. They placed them amid the waving stems of the wildflowers, a perfect addition.

  During their times together—watching a movie at night, going to the French Market, playing with the dogs, Dale meeting her for lunch at the office—he also told her more about his experiences with the SEALs. He couldn’t talk about mission specifics, but even still she received a harrowing picture of the cold, the danger, the hardships, though he treated those things with the matter-of-factness she applied to preparing a memo with Ellen. It was when he spoke of the men with whom he’d shared those experiences his strongest emotions came through. The sharing of such things had forged a bond he valued highly, a vital extension of the principles that had driven him to commit his life to the SEALs.

  He also shared his impressions of the countries he’d visited. In return, she told him about her visits to temples in Vietnam and gardens in Japan, the churches in Barcelona. “When you look up at the ceilings, it’s like looking inside a beautiful, scrolled teacup,” she said, and he smiled at her.

  He did that a lot. She would turn around, find him simply looking at her, and when she noticed, he would smile in that way that made things flip-flop in her stomach. They spent an afternoon in Audubon Park together and went to the zoo. She found out he liked the flamingos. When she suggested it was because of their propensity for standing on one leg, he laughed.

  The Master-sub thing was also unfolding in an interesting way between them. She supposed every sub first explored it as a surface thing, a purely sexual expression, but as time went on, she recognized that as symptomatic of deeper cravings inside her, ones met by the fact his Master side ran just as deep. When they were working in the garden, things might be casual, but still, if he told her to bring him a spade, or to take a break, she’d detect that tone in his voice that she locked onto instantly and obeyed.

  Of course, the sexual was still a delightful component of it. They might be cooking something in her kitchen¸ after the staff had left for the day, and he’d press up behind her, take over slicing the tomato. He’d order her to stand there inside the span of his arms as he wiped the knife, then ran the blade along her throat, down her side, up beneath her skirt. He’d give her thigh a tiny prick with the tip before he set the blade aside and replaced its cool touch with his far more heated one. She’d forever associate the smell of tomatoes with sex, since he’d taken her right there, thrusting into her as her fingers curled helplessly against the cutting board, getting the sticky juice of the tomato and its seeds on them. He’d licked all of it off.

  Getting used to having him in her daily life, being under his command, put some of her demons to rest. It was the morning that he was read
ing the paper and he absently told her to get him his coffee that it finally clicked, what he’d told her about not being his maid or nurse.

  It wasn’t that he couldn’t get his own coffee. He was underlining what lay between the two of them, as if between their more heated, sexual interactions, he was tugging on an invisible leash, reminding her that he was her Master, and she was his willing sub. It was provocative, distracting, and because he did it randomly, she was always eager for hints of it.

  Testing it, she’d brought him the coffee. He put his hand on her arm, holding her in place until he took a sip and nodded his approval, telling her it was to his liking. Then he let her go. She let out a pleased sigh, quietly delighted that it was starting to make sense.

  Even better, the more he recognized that she was grasping the concept, the more he allowed her to serve him. Her understanding expanded even further then. The act of her bringing the coffee to him reinforced both sides of the coin they each needed. Master and sub.

  One roadblock remained. Well, two, if she counted the club, but she still shied away from that topic. They’d not yet slept in the master bedroom. They always ended up being somewhere else. Several nights it was in the living room, where he’d take her on the couch and they’d fall asleep there. Another night, he chose the west guest bedroom. He put her on her elbows and knees and tied her wrists to the iron railings of the headboard. Sitting behind her, he lifted her knees to his shoulders, holding her with strong, sure hands as he brought her to climax with his mouth, her balanced only on her elbows.

  That night he introduced her to another first, something she’d never suspected could be as wildly pleasurable as it turned out to be . . .

  —

  As she came down from that oral-induced climax, still gasping, heart pounding, he eased her knees back to the bed. It was obvious he wasn’t done with her yet. She knew enough about him now to know the man’s stamina and control were terrifying. There’d been nights he brought her to climax three different ways before he thrust inside her and gave in to his own orgasm. Seeing her get aroused and go over was apparently as vital a pleasure to him as his own release, and it built his own, to push her to that edge again and again. A woman’s fantasy for certain, though a little scary in reality. In the thrill-ride kind of way.