unStrapped

by Nina G. Jones

  Taylor puts his iPad aside and passes me a ramekin of fruit. “There’s something I want to discuss with you, Shy,” he says. My appetite immediately evaporates.

  “What is it?” Even I am tiring of discussions for today.

  “I don’t want you to worry, this isn’t anything bad. It’s just something I have been thinking about these past couple of weeks and now that I have your attention, I am ready to think aloud with you. Or more precisely, tell you what’s on my mind.”

  “Okay,” I say, sitting fully at attention and not feeling any less nervous despite his disclaimer.

  “I feel I haven’t been responsible with you. I’ve been selfish and have lacked discipline.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “Regarding the BDSM aspect of our relationship.” My appetite goes from non-existent to repulsed. This topic always makes my stomach swim and I can’t remember really having a sit-down about it since that dinner right after he confessed his lifestyle to me. We kind of just dove into it, quickly and desperately. I gently place the fruit on the nightstand beside me, hoping he won’t notice I haven’t taken a bite. “I lost control pretty much as soon as we met. Shy, you have to remember, as much as you think of me as someone who is very experienced, what we have is completely new to me. I can’t think of an analogy other than having a new toy, but that diminishes you far too much.” He adjusts his position to better look me in the eyes. “What I am saying is I was so desperate to have you, and have you in every way, that once you said you wanted to try, I went in full speed. I didn’t train you, I didn’t help you set proper boundaries. I allowed my emotions and urges to control the situation. That is not what I should have done. I should have been more careful.”

  “It’s fine, really.”

  “No, it’s not fine. It’s not fine for you and it’s not fine for me,” he declares. “I—“ Taylor pauses for a second to collect his thoughts. It is so rare for him to not find words. He is usually so eloquent, every conversation sounding like a prepared, well-thought out presentation. “I struggle with my urges and how to treat you. Because, I want to make you feel good, and I don’t want to hurt you, and I also want to be a Dom. But I believe with you, that title might mean something different than it once did. Strangely, it used to mean nothing to me. My dominance was a way for me to feel in control in a sexual relationship. To have the perks without ever answering to another person. To make my sub my subjugate, my plaything. To inflict the pain I felt onto someone else. That was all it was. And I have been trying to force some of my old ways, because it was what I knew. But instead, I should have been adapting to our unique relationship. And the main reason was because I wanted you so urgently; I didn’t think straight. And because I truly had no idea what the fuck I was doing. I didn’t know how to navigate all these new emotions. I was—and still feel—like an animal in heat around you. No woman has ever clouded my judgement like that, has challenged my control with her mere presence. But I believe that this may have contributed to your recent detachment. Because I felt that I needed to get you into my grasp and I think I might have pushed too far too fast.”

  “Taylor, you can’t blame my depression or whatever this is on that. It’s from a host of things.”

  “And I think this might have been one of the factors.”

  “So, what are you saying? You don’t want to do it anymore?” I ask, surprising myself with the immense disappointment in my voice.

  “No, no,” Taylor says softly, veiling a thin laugh, as if the concept of stopping entirely is ridiculous.“I love being filthy with you. I love that you trust me enough to lead you in this. I love that you are strong enough to let me take control. It’s part of who I am, and I believe who you are. I love it with you more than I ever have with anyone. But I want to start over. I want to train you properly. I want you to be an active participant of the process. It will actually become a more consistent part of our lives. Before I was always battling between only vanilla or only BDSM because I never had to juggle the two before. They were such disparate concepts to me. We have to pave our own way here now.”

  “I know you think you’ve pushed to far, but the past few months have been the most exhilarating of my life. I like when you push me. I like when you are so freaky it almost scares me.” I pause, realizing what I have just admitted: that to some degree, he scares me.

  “And trust me, we will go to all those places and then some. But I want it to be a more open part of us, not something we hide in a room. I want you to carry it around with you like a badge. I don’t mean publicly, but I want that aspect of our relationship to be part of its fabric, not just something locked away in a box. I think you want that too, but you don’t know anything about that. How could you? It’s my job to teach you.”

  “What did you mean by ‘train’ me?”

  “How to live the lifestyle together. Not like you are some toy for my pleasure, or that it happens randomly. Or that it only exists for your punishment. I will help set expectations, guidelines. That way it’s not some strange unknown. We’re doing this together now. You’re not just blindly following me, we are learning together.”

  “Rules?”

  “Yes, but as always, you can tell me if something is out of bounds for you. Anything we can explore, you can set limits to, as you always have. I tested you, and your limits are broader than I ever could have hoped for. And who knows? You may want things far beyond what we have done. I just want to take what we have to the next level, make it something that has staying power. In fact, I already established a rule we can practice with. We’ll work on that one for now.”

  “You did?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “No.”

  “I should bend you over and spank you right now, but technically you haven’t broken it yet.” The abruptness of his scolding makes my skin prickle.

  “Well, what’s the rule?”

  “I think I am going to let you ponder that. Hopefully you’ll remember before I have to reteach it to you. Maybe you’ll learn to be a better listener.”

  “That is so unfair.”

  “So, have I been clear?”

  “I think so. But I am always one who learns by doing,” I say, grabbing my fruit and popping a pitted cherry in my mouth.

  “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t incredibly aroused by the thought of starting with you all over again. Teaching you how to be a good little girl. And setting you straight when you’ve misbehaved, which is far more often than the former.”

  He leans over me and reaches for a plump, dark-red cherry from the ramekin on the nightstand. The heat radiating from his tall stature envelops me, and I stiffen underneath his shadow. His wicked, crooked smirk emerges as he rubs the moist cherry on my lips and I wait in breathy anticipation. His “talk” was supposed to clarify things, yet I feel more confused than ever. But I promised to surrender that first night at the club, to trust him and his intentions with me. I can’t keep giving, and then pulling away. He has answered my questions. He has loved only me. He protected me as a child. He killed for me as a woman. It’s time I let him have his way. If I am his queen, then he is my king, and I will submit. If vulnerability is strength, then giving myself to Taylor is the ultimate show of power. For Taylor cannot be a leader if I do not follow. He cannot be the king if I am not the queen. He cannot be forceful if I will not be vulnerable. He cannot be a dominant if I will not be submissive.

  His power lies in my ability to relinquish my own. I am finally understanding: He is not trying to beat me down or take from me. He is trying to make us our most true selves. And he can’t do that unless I allow it. My force lies in my surrenduring it all.

  “And what’s this?” I ask. “Is this part of my training?” eying the fruit as he draws it away from my pout.

  “Right now,” Taylor responds, “I just want to taste you, all over.”

  My breath trembles, he is that Taylor right now, the one who is all sexual tension and energy. The one who
makes me feel small and powerful, shy and sexy, all at once. He slowly pulls up my t-shirt, allowing the fabric to tickle my midsection. Goosebumps erupt all over my stomach so that I suck in reflexively. My nipples harden before he even reaches them.

  “Close your eyes, and do not open them unless I say so. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “It would be wise to not disobey. Lay your head back.” I lean back on the pillow, realizing it is so much harder to keep my eyes closed than it is to use a blindfold. The amount of discipline this requires is far greater. “You are not permitted to touch me, only yourself.”

  My hands clench the bedsheets beside me; these small rules, seemingly pointless, are proving extremely difficult to obey.

  He rubs something wet and cold on my nipple, and I recall that he has a cherry in his hand. I writhe underneath the cool, slick firmness. The cherry works a slow path down my stomach and in between my legs. Then Taylor pulls apart my soft lips as his warm breath comes and goes on my clit. Without seeing him, he is showing me how close he is, teasing with small puffs of air. He is so slow, so sensual right now, and it’s like he’s trying to torture me. Then the cold firmness appears again, against my clit massaging with gentle pressure, while his tongue makes long, patient strokes along the entire entrance of my pussy. I almost reach out to thread my fingers through his hair, but stop myself, instead raking my fingers through my own like someone who’s gone mad. His tongue stops, and its path is followed by the cherry, it gliding up and down my wetness, teasing, enticing, but not giving.

  I want to beg that he give me more, but I know he is doing what he wants with me now. However, my body speaks without my consent, as I elevate my pelvis towards him. He remains steady and simply continues to tease, flicking his tongue ever so slightly on my clit.

  “Listen to me,” he commands. His voice is a low hum. I swallow slowly and let out a lingering breath, then I focus in on the rich notes of his voice. “I want you to picture yourself through my eyes. Right now, your pussy is so wet, it’s creaming in anticipation. I smell the scent of your arousal. Admittedly, it makes it very hard for me to be patient. The little button of your clit is swollen; the entrance of your pussy is juicy and dripping.”

  The pad of his thumb massages me playfully. He is doing so little, but every touch takes me to the precipice of the edge.

  “It’s so easy for me to slide my fingers in and out of you. There’s hardly any resistance. Your pussy is begging me, getting wetter every time I touch you.”

  He slides a finger into me, drawing it out so that I can feel every millimeter drag along and tickle the edges of my entrance. Then he lazily glides his moistened fingertips along my labia. He doesn’t say anything for a few beats, and then there is the distinct sound of his lips puckering onto something. “I love sucking your taste off of my fingers.”

  Hearing him purr those words makes me bloom like a flower. A surge of pleasing heat rolls out like a wave, coming from deep within and cresting at my lips, pleading for Taylor’s touch. “I know you want to come, but you are going to wait until I say you can. Right now, I want to take my time and savor your juices, taste your desperation. Your supple breasts and soft nipples, your dark wild hair, the sweeping curves of your hips and backside…your plump lips and doe eyes that look so innocently seductive while you take the length of my cock inside your pretty mouth. The way those pretty brown eyes water when you choke as I hit the back of your throat. You were made for fucking. You were made for me to put my cock inside of you. God, your pussy is so fucking perfect. Like a fucking gift from the gods.”

  Taylor’s shadow hovers over me and I feel his weight shift. The tip of his cock rubs against my stomach as he glides over me. I scrunch my eyes tightly so they will not betray me. Then his fingers slide into me, effortlessly, and he rubs his fingertips inside of me for a few strokes. His touch triggers me to bite my lip and desperately grab at a pillow above my head. Then he slides out of me tauntingly, and runs his fingers along my mouth, which he has yet to kiss. Like a gloss, my juices spread all over my pout, which is plumped with arousal.

  “Lick your lips. Taste yourself.” And I obey, slowly gliding my tongue and sampling the flavors of my sexual desires from my lips. The cherry finds its way to my mouth, it too is coated with my wetness. “Purse your lips open, just slightly,” he whispers into my ear, his warm chest muscles grazing my nipples. Then he slides the cherry between my lips, but only halfway in. His lips cover mine, the sweet taste of his saliva mixes with the cherry as he bites it, causing its juices to trickle into my mouth. The flavors of my pussy juice, his mouth and the cherry all collide on my tastebuds at once. They unleash a perfect chemical reaction, as if our body chemistries were designed for each other. Taylor uses his mouth to play with mine. It’s just another tease. Only his lips touch mine, his teeth tug on my lower lip, but the rest of my body has been abandoned by his touch.

  “Good girl. You’re doing very well, keeping your eyes closed. I know it’s harder than one would think.”

  “Do I get a reward?” I ask playfully.

  “Tell me something,” he begins, completely disregarding my question. “How to you feel about breath play?” he asks, his voice low and entranced as he kisses and bites a trail down my stomach.

  “Breath play?” I ask, squirming under the sensations of his lips along the curve of my hip.

  “Like when I do this,” he says, running his warm mouth back over my pussy while extending his hand over my nose and mouth. It catches me off guard and my eyes open for a second, but he doesn’t see it happen. Taylor removes his hand to allow me to speak.

  “I like it,” I say breathlessly.

  “Tell me why.”

  “Because, it…” he sucks on my clit, rendering me an complete imbecile for a second.

  “Go on…”

  “It makes me feel outside of myself.” I take a deep inhale as he rhythmically rolls his tongue on my clit and guides one of my legs over his shoulder. He stops.

  “Keep talking.”

  “Like everything is more intense, and…” he slides his tongue deep into me, and I grab my breasts, rolling my nipples between my fingers. “It helps me…lose…control,” I say as quickly as I can between gasps of pleasure as he devours me. “I like feeling you control…” He sucks on one of my pussy lips “…me. Your hands are so large and I love when they control me.”

  “From now on, you will ask me if you can come.”

  “Whuh?” I ask, partly curious and partly because my comprehension is severely compromised.

  “Because I own your pussy.”

  Something about the way he says that, sends a jolt down my spine, electrifying me. “There may be times I will not grant it, depending on whether or not you have done something that requires withholding.” His breath tickles me as he speaks. “Don’t worry, today will not be one of those days.”

  “Thank god,” I sigh. I feel him smile. Again, I resist the urge to curl his thick, silky hair between my fingers, instead, frantically running my hands along the pleasant softness of my own skin.

  Taylor’s fingers spread my lips open again, exposing my pussy to the cool air of the plane. The darkness behind my eyelids makes every touch, every breath against my skin the sole focus of my heightened attention. With the slightest hint of pressure, he flicks his tongue on my clit. It’s almost imperceptible, but the repetition builds until it becomes a mountain of sensation.

  “May I come? Please?” I ask.

  “No,” he stops. “Remember? I’m greedy. I want to feel your wet pussy contract around my cock. I want to watch my cum drip out of you, because it fucking belongs to me. And don’t you fucking open your eyes again or you won’t be coming at all today.” My breath hitches. How the hell did he know?

  Taylor presses his firm body over mine, grabbing both of my wrists in one of his hands and pinning my arms over my head. He takes the engorged head of his cock and glides it up and down my wetness. Then he drives his swollen me
mber into me; it enters so smoothly as he has readied me to perfection. He fills me up completely and I gasp at the arousing pain I feel from his size.

  He snakes his hips against me, coaxing my clit and the muscles inside so that everything builds together in unison.

  “Please, please. Let me come,” I beg.

  “Please who?”

  “Taylor? Sir? Master? Whatever the fuck you want me to call you?”

  Taylor laughs “You want to come?” he asks in his smoky sex voice.

  My loud moans are my reply. “Shhhh…” he says steadily. That poor flight attendant.

  Then he whispers in my ear. “Come. Hard. Choke my fucking cock.”

  And I release it all at once, arching my back, unable to use my hands, the rest of my body under the grip of his weight, my vision stripped from me by his command. The release of my orgasm is the only thing I control, but even that is under his will. Despite the many times he’s asserted his dominance, here on this plane, with just a cherry as his prop, I have never felt so under his spell.

  Chapter 8

  Of course as soon as we make it to customs, the jig is up. We land in Reykjavik, Iceland and I nearly tackle Taylor to the floor when I discover our first stop. Taylor wisely packed a parka for me, but hid it until the surprise was revealed. Months ago, I had revealed to him that one of my dreams is to watch the northern lights and bathe in volcanic hot springs. Being early November, it is the beginning of the aurora borealis season. I guess my nervous breakdown was well-timed for a Nordic getaway!

  A car waits for us at the airport to take us to our penthouse at The Black Pearl Suites for one night in Reykjavik and then we depart to another part of Iceland. Of course, Taylor won’t disclose where.

  “Taylor, thank you. Really, this is a dream come true for me.”

  “I just wanted to make you smile,” he says earnestly. How could I ever have believed this man would want to hurt me? “So there are a few dining options, but I thought you might want to pick, so I have made several reservations.” He usually takes the lead in arranging reservations, or even ordering our food, so something as mundane as his desire to have my input surprises me. Before I can respond, his phone rings. He glances over and ignores it.