by Solace Ames
I remembered I could say whatever I wanted, as long as I didn’t ask what he wanted. Strange rules. But I loved his rules and I loved his game. “This position—it’s a frogtie?”
“A simpler version. I’ll leave your legs loose.” He looped the rope around the back of my left ankle, and a tickly-scary jolt shot up my leg to my inner thigh. “You’ll be in this for a while, so I want you comfortable. And very open to me. Do you have good memories of this, or bad?”
I didn’t want to bring those movie girls, my alternate selves, into the room, so I almost dodged the answer, but Emanuel’s calming presence reminded me those girls were me as well. Just like his past—his tragic, epic, improbable past—was a part of him. I didn’t need to be scared of them, or ashamed. “Good. It was a good shoot. Two men, and I came with a vibrator, near the end. We hugged goodbye. Did you see it?”
He smoothed his palm along my calf and made a minute adjustment to the knotting. “No.” The word, how he said it, sounded open and full of promise. I wondered what it would be like watching myself on video with Emanuel beside me. As eerie and tempting as staring into a hall of mirrors? “Your legs are just the way I want now, but they present a geometry problem. I need to slip through them. Hmm.” He raised a translucent eyebrow and bit at his lip with mock concern.
My mood whirled from nostalgia for the past to delight in the present moment, and I giggled. He was such a serious man that his sly humor always took me by surprise. “You have big shoulders.”
“Tell me more about myself. I’m vain, and your voice is sweet.”
Me, with the plainest of suburban California accents. But I believed him. He’d never lied to me, had he? “You know so much. You learned from everything.”
He slipped one arm through the circle of my bound legs, then followed with his head. I wanted to rub my fingers over his close-cropped hair so badly I could feel the tendons in my wrists tightening, twitching. I couldn’t move my hands. I couldn’t move at all. I threw my head back and moaned, the sound thrilling me from the inside, making my bones ring. I made the sound for him. And your voice is sweet.
He stretched my limbs as if I were a precious doll, testing me, calmly discovering how far I’d bend. I felt every caress, every grip, in a way I’d never done before, because I was allowed. Looking at him was so intense I had to close my eyes, because I had illicit visions of magic summonings, a supernatural being climbing through a magic circle, pale eyes blazing with mystic hunger. Onryō, Chiho had named him.
But his hands were human-warm.
When we joined, the heat piercing me was unbearable, delirious, all-encompassing. No hint of pain, I was so wet and ready. My legs were locked helplessly around his hips. We couldn’t be closer if we tried. I was a planet and he was my star, swallowing me down, and we were burning together.
“And now I know you,” he said, and thrust, filling me deep inside and bringing me to the edge of pain. Only the edge. He kept me there, the place I loved, as he rocked into me again and again, hard and slow and so fucking good I knew I was going to cry.
It’s all right. I’m allowed.
The rope captured my wrists and ankles while the belt had me front and back, pressing against my hipbones and squeezing against my cheeks. And him raising me up, bearing my weight, splitting me open—too much. My body could take this, and much more, but everything else—mind, soul, I didn’t even fucking know the name—was shattering into pieces, too fragile.
It’s all right. He’s holding me. It’s all right.
I cried.
“Cariño.”
“Don’t stop.”
“I won’t.” His fingertips brushed against my ruined, aching eyes, gentle as rain against glass. Below my waist, he wasn’t so gentle, giving me just what I needed, a brutal fucking that pounded my pussy into grateful submission.
Something always came over me taking this kind of sex, and I knew it wasn’t just me, because I’ve heard other people yearn for it too. Not pleasure, not pain—those were just steps along the path. It was transport. It was going to another plane of existence, not out of your body but along with your screaming, shivering, lovely body, traveling together all bound up in one whole.
We took that path.
He kept me there for a long time. My climax—his clever guitarist’s fingers quivering my clit into a glissando of pleasure—wasn’t even the best part, although it was fucking amazing, long and luscious and dirty-sweet in a way that only happens when I strain and fight against the ropes right at the crest. I couldn’t separate out the moments, couldn’t know what was best, because it was all so good, so right, so whole.
I whirled in darkness, not dizzy anymore, gliding without falling. He slowed and lowered me down, his hands smoothing over the leather around my hips, the leather that must be the temperature of my heated flesh. My inner thighs were locked around the pillar of his body. His come trickled out of my well-used cunt—I could tell by the feeling, how it was thicker than my own juices, and I loved it.
“I love it,” I said, my voice raw because of the tears I’d cried, and when I swallowed, my throat hurt even more. “Please. Put your hands around me. Around my throat. Don’t squeeze. I just need to feel.”
“Yes.” His thumb was against my pulse, the curve of his palm smoothing away my pain, relaxing the taut cords of tendons and arteries. “You cried. You should not be ashamed. Ask for what you want, cariño, always.”
“Was I good for you?” I asked, not yet daring to open my eyes.
“You come dangerously close to disobeying,” he warned. “But yes, you were everything I dreamed. And I’ve dreamed of you wrapped around me every night since we met.”
“Sorry,” I said, and opened my eyes to meet his own, heavy-lidded and glazed with only partly satisfied hunger. Oh yes, I’d been very good for him. “I won’t ask again. I won’t ask what you want, or if I was good. You’ll tell me, like you said.” The rest of his words sank into my lazy mind. “You dreamed about me? Thank you. I never have nice dreams, so I didn’t dream about you, I just thought about you all the time I was awake.”
He growled, a hint of playful anger as he massaged his hand against the throat I’d bared to him so willingly. “I wish we’d met under better circumstances, so that you would have never doubted I valued you. Know it now, Amy.”
“Yes.”
“I feel you when you speak.” With his left hand, he gripped my inner thigh, gloriously slick with sex, and massaged me there too, fingertips firmly gliding along my wet and tender flesh. “Do you like to be choked?”
I smiled blissfully up at him. “Not all the way. What you’re doing is perfect.” If that was what I wanted, he’d do it for me, and the power and love sent a thrill straight to the hollow of my throat. “I could stay like this for hours. Oh, but I guess we’d get stuck together.”
“You’re a practical woman,” he said approvingly. “Imaginative, full of wonder, but practical.” He gracefully slipped out of the locked circle of my legs, weaving his bulky shoulders diagonally out and bringing my legs to rest down against the mattress. “And perverse in the most delightful ways.”
I stretched my aching body, my muscles relaxing nice and easy like I’d swum from the dark waves into sunlight, and brought my legs straight together for the first time in what seemed like ages. “You should hire me as a companion,” I whispered.
“Perhaps I will.”
“Do you think this is going to work? I mean, the band getting back together? Me, going on tour? I don’t know.”
He sighed as he laid himself down beside me and kissed the curve of my ear, then the hollow of my throat still warm from his hand. I shivered with the slow pleasure of it. “I don’t know either. Have you ever played backgammon, and heard of the backgame?”
“Yes. I used to play backgammon with this man all the time.”
&
nbsp; “Not a good memory.”
He could tell from the distant tone of my voice, maybe. Or the phrase I used. This man. “He’s not important enough for a name. I ran away when I was sixteen, although it wasn’t really running away, just...leaving. I didn’t go far. For a while I was living with this older man who had a beach house in San Diego. I guess you could call him my sugar daddy. He didn’t like me talking to other people, so we played a lot of board games, because I’d get bored out of my mind. After a few months, I left and tried to make a living on my own. But yes, I know about the backgame. I think people say Hail Mary pass more often, though. It’s a football thing.”
“I’ll remember the idiom.”
I had no doubt he would. He remembered everything, learned from everything.
“The odds were always against us. I told Fausto and Juan Carlos as much—they were still willing to try. And Miles...” He sighed again. Miles produced that reaction a lot, in a wide variety of people. I kind of felt like sighing myself. “I thought the public life would kill him, the worship he receives and handles so badly. I grew to realize he’s going to die regardless. At least this way, he’ll have a spot in the sun again before the end, and leave something for his child.”
“That’s really fatalistic. But you’re right. Being a rock ‘n’ roll suicide isn’t the worst way to go. I saw a parody headline once, something like, ‘nightmarish spiral of drugs and alcohol wasn’t so nightmarish.’”
He laughed, a low, rich rumble I’d never get tired of hearing or feeling, and smoothed the hair from the side of my face. “The slums of Bogotá took away all trace of my pity. I still hold a lesser emotion for the self-destroyers in this country. Perhaps you could call it sympathy or empathy.”
“I don’t want to be pitied anyway.”
“I would not, cariño. Do you believe you’re ruined?”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe. It’s what the world believes, what most of my family believes. I did what I had to do. I’d do it all over again, if I had to make the same choice.”
“Then I’ll be ruined with you, and make you my queen of hell.”
I buried my face in his chest, rested against the smooth planes, and let his heartbeat lull me. I couldn’t absorb what he’d said. I just couldn’t. I drifted away to a restful place instead. “I’m not sleeping,” I slurred. “Just resting my eyes.”
He held me for a long time, and slipped off the bed only when he asked if I was thirsty, and I answered with a nod, my forehead rubbing against his shoulder, skin against skin and wishing we could move even closer.
The water he brought was fresh and cold. He leaned over me, raised the back of my head with his palm and tipped the glass to my lips. I swallowed greedily, not caring about the unladylike gulping noises I made. Energy came pouring back into me.
“Your wrists? Your ankles?” he asked when I was done.
“They’re fine.” I smiled up at him and wriggled my fingers and toes as proof. “What do you w—oh, I almost forgot.”
He smiled. This close, I could actually see he had eyelashes, fuller and longer than my own short stubby ones but almost invisible, like spider silk. Sunlight would shine right through them without leaving a shadow. “I’d call you a good girl for remembering, but the praise seems too faint.”
“You can call me a good girl if you like. It’s traditional, I guess.”
“Well, then. Good girl.” His voice was so deep, I hallucinated we were underwater for a second, drifting to the resonance of those few, simple words.
“Thank you...Sir.” I tried a simple word myself, and it rolled nicely out of my mouth and fell into the space between us like an intricately wrapped gift. I wasn’t sure if either of us needed to open it, but it was there.
He nodded in solemn acknowledgement. “I’m going to turn you over now.”
“You make me sound like a pancake,” I said, giggling. Maybe I had bubbles in my brain. Taking bedroom orders usually turned me on like crazy, and this was no exception, but with Emanuel there was an extra level of something I’d never experienced before. Lack of self-consciousness? I wasn’t even in sub space now and I felt a touch of that strange abandonment even while I laughed and joked about pancakes.
“I love pancakes.” He flipped me over in one swift effortless movement, then pulled my waist up by the belt and folded my knees underneath me. “I’ll make them for you one day. When I can think of anything besides sinking into you again and again. I’m not sure when that will be.”
Hearing him say that was almost as good as getting fucked. The blood rushed to my lowered head, colors exploded behind my tight-squeezed eyelids, beautiful paisley kaleidoscope pinwheels of color, and every other part of my body turned hot and liquid and boneless. My thighs ran wet with his come. He grabbed my cheeks and spread them apart, thumbs massaging my crack until I moaned and wriggled back and forth in ticklish confusion, not knowing where I needed to receive him.
“Patience.”
“Please. Please. More.” If he wasn’t hard again yet, I’d beg for his fingers or tongue, although the words were already escaping me. Now. Now, or I’d die of the wanting.
“So eager.” Cool liquid trickled onto my asshole. I rocked back toward him, blindly craving more touch, but his hands cupped me hard, held me in place, anchored my spasming cunt in the fucking air. My toes dug into the mattress. I bit at the sheets. Clawed at my ropes. Now. Now. Now.
But I was in his hands. He’d let me rage exactly as much as he wanted. No more, no less. When he relaxed his hands, well, that must be what he wanted too, so thrusting back against him wasn’t a mark of disobedience, oh no. I was still his good girl. I worked my hole against his held-firm thumbs until they both popped inside me, pushing the lube deeper into my ass. “Oh God. I’m—I’m ready.”
“I know. I’m going to make a mess of you.”
“Yes. Please please please...”
He traced me from the inside, sweeping half-circles, forcing the tight ring of my flesh open, conforming me to his will. I was on the path to my special place again, even without the pain to rocket me there. When he withdrew his thumbs and pushed into me with the great big slick head of his cock, the bitten sheets couldn’t muffle my scream. Too much, too hot, too everything, and just right at the same time, a fucking carnal miracle.
He grabbed the belt at my hips and pulled me onto his cock, the whole length of it. He drove me, rode me, made me into his vessel.
I fought myself to stay open for him. I fought the ropes until my wrists hurt—the pain was distant, barely registered. I fought everything but him. He ruled over me, my writhing body and worshipful mind. The only force faster than his brutal strokes was the pounding of my heart, faster than a drum, faster than cocaine.
He slowed, then stopped, although every part of me still echoed to his rhythm.
“Pain,” he said, a warning and a promise. The sharp shock of his hand against my ass followed. I could barely hear the slap over the roaring of my heartbeat. He’d hit good and hard, glancing over me at the harshest angle, no warm-up.
I couldn’t speak.
I wanted more.
And he gave it to me. Until the sheet was wet with my tears and everything below my waist felt burning numb and oh God I was almost there, almost hollow and empty and perfect...
“Pleasure.”
The orgasm dragged me screaming backward into fullness. He’d bent over my bound body, reached around between my legs, and fucked into me so that my cunt roughly straddled the thick bar of his wrist and forearm. The friction of his flexing arm against my clit, his cock in my ass...
I forgot where I ended and began in the liquid rush of ecstasy.
When I tightened, my ring clenching uncontrollably around his width, it fucking hurt but the hurt was sweet—wherever he took me, I let him take me. My body clock went
wild. I couldn’t tell time by my heartbeats or breaths. Couldn’t remember whether we’d just begun to fuck or we’d been doing it since the universe began.
He might have said something like you or tú, guttural and growling, when he came, his softening shaft still deliciously hot and slick and anchoring me.
“Thank you, Sir,” I moaned, the part of me that was a slut for come mouthing well-practiced words that I meant this time, really and truly and wholly. Knowing his seed was deep inside me. Jesus.
“You,” he said, this time unmistakable. “You. Are—” He growled in frustration, not finding anything in five languages, and let his hands speak instead, tracing my spine, sweeping over my shoulder blades, caressing my aching muscles.
He slipped out and untied me. I knew what was happening but couldn’t process it—I was too exhausted and happy. So all the while he unwound me I didn’t move, didn’t change position, just pressed my forehead against the bed and hummed softly to myself, harmonizing with the echoes of his rhythms. Everything below my waist was wet with lust, lube and come and sweat and sex fluids mingled together, and in a few minutes it would be a filthy mess, but right now, still warm from our bodies, it was fucking sacred.
“I’m still searching for the word,” he whispered in my ear, and then we wrapped our bodies around each other and kissed.
And kissed, and kissed. It seemed easier to keep going than to stop, the perfect warmth and closeness carrying us along like a magic cloud.
“Magic?” I asked, when we finally drifted somewhat apart, his cheek still pressed against mine. “That’s what I think, when I think of you.”
“No. Something stronger. Sweeter. I’ll keep searching.”
He unbuckled the belt and laid it aside. We kissed again, then got up in silent mutual agreement and headed for the shower. I stumbled once, with my wobbly knees and ankles, so he walked me into the bathroom, arm around my shoulders.
