Packaged

by S. E. Hall

  I know it’s insane, and he’s far from my boyfriend—I’ve yet to see his whole face—but we talk all day about so many things. I laugh aloud in between the smiles and deep thoughts our conversations provoke. He’s weirdly starting to feel like the person I’d spend my weekends with.

  One more night and we meet finally. Without masks. Without pretending. The thrill at just the thought of it gives me enough patience to endure the wait.

  I take a long shower and make sure my body’s ready for him, primped bare and smooth, then fall into bed with his latest gift, The Tropic of Cancer, which found its way to my desk on Thursday afternoon, wrapped discreetly, accompanied with a note—”credited by the NYT as the book responsible for the free speech we now take for granted in literature.”

  The more I read of the work, the more I understand its place in his thesis. The sexual details are graphic, but thus far, all of age and consensual. Prostitutes, pimps and “free love” still exist today, Miller just dared to write about it first. I’m beginning to see certain things in a new light, actually feeling my mind opening.

  Have you heard some of the rap songs lately? At least these books have more words with greater than four letters than not.

  Me: Should I expect Tropic of Capricorn next?

  Elliott: If you’d like, but it isn’t referenced in my paper. Once you’ve notated Cancer, the other seems lackluster, the point of his influence already made.

  Me: What are you doing?

  Elliott: Planning.

  Me: For?

  Elliott: Tomorrow night. I’ll send your instructions. Do you trust me to do what I say, exactly?

  Me: Do I have your word I’ll be safe at all times?

  Elliott: Positively.

  Me: Then yes.

  Elliott: Rest now, Beauty. Until then, sweet dreams.

  I’ve been edgy all morning, well into the afternoon, anxious and deliriously curious. My apartment has never been cleaner—the Pope could eat off my floor.

  I straightened my mocha hair so it lays down my back, shiny and fragrant, my blue eyes wildly bright with expectation as I check the clock what must be twenty times.

  Nearing six pm, I dress in a short, form-fitting black dress, all delicate pink lace underneath, and four-inch heels.

  Which was a complete waste of time.

  Elliott: No bra, no panties, a dress. No lipstick. No hosiery, bare legs. Nothing in my way, blocking what’s mine besides the dress.

  All helpful information—an hour ago! But floating in a dream-like trance, I re-dress as he’s instructed. With every step I take, my unrestrained breasts bounce and sway, a gush of cool air wafting up to entice my uncovered pussy. I feel bravely extravagant, more so than if I was draped in Dior and diamonds.

  Elliott: A car will arrive to pick you up at exactly 7:30. Make the driver say “Beauty,” then you’ll know you can accept the ride. Bring nothing but your phone, key, and driver’s license. A small handbag is fine. Can’t wait to receive you, my precious gift.

  Anxious flurries spike up through my limbs as I look down from my window, stroking Lucy as she paces along the sill until a sleek, black car pulls up right on time.

  “Wish me luck, Lucy.” I inhale a final breath of courage and head out.

  “Good evening, Ms. Hill,” the driver greets me from his perch beside the open back door.

  I wait to hear him call me Beauty, which he doesn’t. I replay Elliott’s command, blushing. Am I really going to have to ask?

  “Thank you. Is there something else you need to tell me?” I ask boldly, brow raised.

  All business, the driver holds my gaze and replies, “Yes, that this evening is a beauty.”

  There it is. My nerves ease at the word and I smile, a wild thrill once again ignited. Like a carnival, I’m strapped in, waiting for the ride to begin. I’m really doing this, hanging on for what I know will be an unforgettable plunge.

  “It is indeed,” I say softy and slip in upon the plush leather seat.

  In front of me sits a bucket with champagne chilling, one flute perched beside a note card.

  Have one, you’re nervous.

  A giggle erupts at how well he knows me and anticipates my needs. Without the slightest hesitation, I help myself to a drink, the bubbles tickling my nose.

  Fluffing my hair, unable to fully relax during the drive, I’m pleasantly caught off guard when I hear my phone trilling from my bag. Grinning like a silly teenage girl on her way to prom—except I wore a bra and panties to that—I pull it out.

  Elliott: Is the car acceptable for my Beauty?

  Me: Yes sir.

  Elliott: You’re being driven to a club, Amelia. Not the kind in your books, no yearly memberships and naked women on their knees. Simply an establishment owned by a friend where certain favors are granted me. Understand?

  Me: Then why mention it?

  My brow furrows, tension building at the ominous warning of, according to him, nothing worthy of a warning.

  Elliott: You’ll see.

  The car comes to a stop a few minutes later and I hear the driver exit, then my door opens. I slide to the edge, attempting to exit as decently as possible, but with the combination of no panties a dress, it’s not an easy feat.

  I manage well enough and am lead through what appears to be a back door. Creepy much?

  No, no, this isn’t working for me; the dark hallway and the vibration of loud, pulsing music under my feet are enough to make me shiver. I swallow, harsh and painful, my throat suddenly bone dry, ready to turn and run when my phone sounds.

  Elliott: Come to me, Amelia. Keep going forward, two doors up on your left.

  Okay, he sees me—as always—and swore no harm would come to me, right? I will my legs to move and turn the knob on the door he’d designated. Stepping cautiously inside, the room blanketed in black, the only light a muted glow courtesy of a few candles spread around the space.

  A hand to my back causes me to jump and gasp, pushing me slightly forward, the lock on the door sounding behind me.

  “Do not turn around,” he orders in a commanding growl. With no warning, my eyes are abruptly covered by a silky piece of fabric that he ties securely from behind. “Too tight?”

  I answer no with a shake of my head, stiffening when his lips press a modest kiss on my temple.

  “That’s my girl.”

  The praise elates me, something I’d be ashamed of if it weren’t for the ravenous, sporadic flutters in my stomach. He runs his large, warm hands from my shoulders down my arms to grip my own, moving them behind my back.

  “I want to tie these,” he groans against my neck, his breath warm and minty.

  “No!” I croak. “I’m…I’m n-not ready for that.”

  “Shhh.” He massages back up my arms. “Okay, we’ll go slow.”

  With my hands still free and hanging at my sides, he begins to lower the straps of my dress, letting it fall to my waist.

  “No bra. Good girl,” he murmurs his approval, reaching around, barely brushing his knuckles across my erect nipples. “Step out of your heels.”

  Easiest part yet; I’m eager to comply.

  “Now this.” He helps slip my dress down over my hips, where it pools at my feet.

  And just like that, I’m standing in a sparsely lit room, blindfolded and completely naked, with a man I believe I know but have never met pressing himself against me.

  “Even more flawless than I imagined, Amelia.” He presses kisses along my spine and across my shoulders, eliciting goosebumps to flare over my skin. “Follow me.”

  He steps around me and grasps one of my hands, blindly leading me further into the room. He places my palms flat on a slick, wooden surface, the edge of which I feel rough against my abdomen. A desk.

  “I want to bind your hands, Beauty. Complete control.”

  Again I feel fabric delicately brush against my wrists as he draws them together and begins to bind them. My heart races, pulse throbbing in my ears. I’m really doing th
is. Here, alone, in the back of some club where no one but a mystery driver knows to find me.

  “Stop!” I yell out, knees threatening to buckle from under me.

  My breath spurts out in sharp, trembling gasps.

  I want this, him, so badly, but how do I completely surrender my ability to see, or punch, or anything…having never experienced the sincerity in his eyes?

  I test him is how, which I just did. My shrill scream, demanding he stop, still echoes around us.

  He pauses, halting immediately, going still and backing away. “Stop because of your mind or your body?” His question is gruff, agitated.

  “I-I had to make sure you’d listen,” I murmur through an assertive sigh, defenses deflating. “I’m okay now, you can bind them.”

  I lift my hands out in offering. I feel him move closer again, his rigid erection snug against my ass as he leans over me, his massive torso lowering until it touches every inch of my bare body.

  “If you say stop again,” he huffs in my ear, nipping at its lobe, “I most certainly will, but this night will end. Understood?”

  I nod, unable to help the loud gulp. He’s proven he’ll heed my refusal, now I’m all in, open physically and mentally for this secluded, exotic rendezvous.

  He ties my wrists together snuggly but not painfully so, then raises my arms, stretching them above my head as he gently turns me around, picking me up to sit more comfortably on the desk. Maneuvering my shackled hands to lift over and around his neck, he finds my mouth, kissing me with an indescribable fervor that rivals my own.

  This meeting of our mouths is different than the last—his baser, mine bolder—a testament to our shared knowledge that this night is going further.

  His head dips to my chest, a stream of hot breath tickling my nipples. “I think I made you a promise,” he says, seconds before his searing mouth covers my breast, creating the perfect suction, swirling and flicking the hardened nipple with his tongue.

  When he switches to ravish the other, his hands travel down my sides, finding the inside of my thighs. He spreads my legs wide apart and pulls my ass to the very edge of the desk until I fear falling off, all the while lavishing attention on my chest.

  My moans can’t be silenced, my head falling back as a continuous purr vibrates out of me. “Elliott, more,” I mewl.

  “Well, that’s far from stop.” He chuckles lightly then attacks my mouth again, biting my bottom lip when he pulls back, kissing his way down my torso until he’s no longer a delicious mass in front of me but on his knees. I know this because my arms, still around his neck, lower until I’m completely bent at the waist.

  He inhales audibly, his face mere centimeters from my pussy, heated puffs of his breath tantalizing the slickened flesh. “I will never tire of this scent,” he rumbles, then pushes his face into me, one leisurely lick from opening to clit and back down again. “Or this flavor. I won’t tell you it’s like honey.” He laughs. “It tastes like pussy; fresh, unused, and only mine. Juicy, womanly pussy,” he says, jarring me with the friction of his staccato and stubble, triggering prickles of need racing rampantly through me.

  I tug against my trapped arms and scoot ever forward, bringing us closer together.

  “And greedy,” he mumbles into my wetness as I shudder.

  “I want to see you, touch you,” I whine like a petulant child, far too young to be forcing herself harder upon his tongue.

  “Come on my face, Beauty, and I’ll untie your hands, but the blindfold stays on. Understand?”

  “Yes, yes,” I wail, eager to take even the tiniest crumb he offers.

  Like a starved beast, he devours me, gentle then harsh, desperate then taunting, fast and yet slow. His long velvety tongue spears into me time and again until I’m quivering, then he switches, fingers gliding in to curl and stroke my upper wall as his teeth and tongue dance with my clit.

  It’s magical. I’ve had three lovers and only one of them ever attempted this act. He failed then, and now I know he was downright pitiful at such a pleasurable act…nowhere near the same realm as the man in front of me.

  I soar as though above my own body, and even blindfolded, I clearly picture in my head the top of his soft, wavy brown hair, thrashing as he brings me to the pinnacle.

  “Awww,” he hums, mouth wholly consuming me, no part left neglected.

  Tremors threaten to overtake me. The slide of his masterful tongue accompanied by the smooth strokes of his fingers have me brazenly erupting, a raging outpour, falling limp and forward, my brace as I ride the delicious wave.

  Either I’m really appreciative of all his “studies” now, or the man was born the natural God of Go Down. Either way, I’m a grateful recipient.

  He stands, taking my arms from around his neck and untying me. As he massages out the stiffness in my wrists, arms, and shoulders, he offers me a taste of my pleasure, zealously finding my mouth with his. The slight tang on his tongue does nothing to deter me, rather opening my mind to something else I find lewdly arousing.

  “And now,” his hungry growl thunderous, “I take.” The last syllable is joined by an unyielding, single thrust, punishing steel into lubricious velour, fully piercing the depth of me.

  “Cond—”

  “Already on,” he grunts, bucking in and out of my pulsing center mercilessly.

  My hands are free registers and I quickly get acquainted, running them wildly over wherever they land. Ripping open the shirt, hindering my frantic exploration, over his expansive, toned chest, a light sprinkle of hair tickling my fingertips. I explore southward, moaning and licking my lips as I imagine the sunken dents of his abdominal muscles I tangibly pleasure in.

  Each brutal dive into me displacing, I latch onto his broad, thick shoulders for leverage, wrap what I can of my legs around his waist, and arch back with a slight tilt up, guiding him to hit where I need him most.

  With no way for my mitts to possibly reach, I rub my calves over his ass, flexed hard as granite. A blind girl, which I am, knows a glorious body when she feels it. He’s magnificent. And I’m sure of his endowment, stretching me almost painfully so, no area—top, bottom or sides—left uncaressed with each thrust, thick as he is long.

  “Amelia,” he hums, the sound of anguished pleasure. “Amelia, fuck me back, get there for me.”

  His deep, sultry timbre and explicit demands awaken a second storm low in my pelvis and I meet each plunge, rolling my hips, gripping and releasing around his thickness.

  “Beauty, catch yourself, hands back.” He grabs under my ass, pulling it up and off the desk so I fall flat onto my back. His thumbs alone push my thighs even further apart.

  I’m as wide open as possible.

  “I can’t get deep enough. You’ll feel me forever, Beauty.”

  “Yes, more.” I reach for my clit and play it, my orgasm instantly brewing, fiery and fast.

  “Feel that. Goddamn!” he howls, strained and raspy. “Go. Now. Come!”

  Euphoric gratification flows out of me, harsh and primal but soothing and indulgent, his name a constant shriek as my entire body convulses. The instant I crest, then start to descend, he abruptly pulls out of me, rubber snapping barely a second later.

  He firmly grabs my head. “Coming in you somehow,” he barks, bumping my lips with the wide head of his dick. “Suck this cock, Amelia. Hard and fast, take my seed, now.”

  Fumbling, disoriented, I find him…hell yeah, built. I stretch my mouth, let my jaw go slack, and insist his release. Brutally rolling his balls with one hand, pressing rhythmically into taint with the other, I bob all the way down and back up the longest, thickest dick I’ve ever felt. My tongue pokes into the hole, swirls once, then I deep throat him, again and again.

  “Fuck, Beauty, ah fuck, you’re unbelievable.” His compliment is strained and gravely as his powerful legs shake and that perfect cock swells in my mouth. “Coming for you! Suck it all down. Swallow it.”

  He holds both sides of my head still, vigorously fucking my
face. “My mouth, my Beauty,” he pants, spurting hot, thick ropes of heaven down my throat. “You suck me like you know it, you love it, my cum.”

  I slide off him slowly, quickly licking the perimeter of my lips and flexing my jaw. I’ve never swallowed, but nothing could have kept me from blowing this man’s mind. The taboo, animalistic passion and lust clogging the room catapulting my desire to make sure I’m the rendezvous he remembers.

  The sound of his zipper punctures my ears, my senses on high alert, which makes it almost painful when I hear him move away, then return to dress me.

  “You all right?” he asks quietly, one hand stroking my hair.

  “Mmmm, more than,” I whisper.

  “Can you still feel me everywhere? In every part of you?”

  I lean into his hand, longing for tender afterplay. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He delicately suckles my lips. “Count to 100, remove the blindfold, and your driver will be outside the door.”

  “Wait,” I mutter, collecting my thoughts.

  “Goodbye, Amelia. Thank you.”

  I shiver as his once-comforting body heat disappears.

  What the fuck was that?

  I’ve never felt so used and insignificant in my life! Especially not while tingly, exhilarated, and satisfied at the same time. I’m torn. Is he the most callous bastard on the planet or simply perpetuating the allure in his enthralling game of slow seduction we’ve been playing?

  Doesn’t finally fucking like banshees end the scheme?

  Wait…maybe finally fucking like banshees does end the scheme. As in he got what he wanted and now he’s done.

  The possibility infuriates, humiliates, and disappoints me simultaneously. I spent more time fearing him than enjoying him! I’d just started to play, let my guard down, and he moved his Bishop to Queen Five, ending it before my panties had time to dry!

  In an embarrassed daze, I remove the blindfold, tossing it to the ground, and gather myself, donning a brave face before opening the door. Sure enough, my “driver” awaits and I glumly trudge behind him, once again sliding into the back seat.