Fast Friends: Reunion

by Turner, Stacy

  She said goodbye and made her way to the checkout. The line was long and moved as slow as molasses. She hoped no one noticed how much she was fidgeting. When she finally got to the front of the line, the cashier kept making mistakes and having to rescan items. Either it was his first day or he had a lot on his mind, because it took twice as long as it should have to ring her up. Finally, Tara made it out the door and to her car. She stowed the groceries on the floor behind the passenger seat and climbed carefully into her car. She tried to find a position that didn't press the plug further into her, but once she started driving, all bets were off. Every time she switched from gas to brake, her butt shifted. The most embarrassing thing was that a part of her wanted to stop the car and rock her hips against the seat so that instead of the teasing, intermittent sensation, she could get a sensation approaching what she had felt that morning when Mark had stroked the narrow end in and out of her before he seated it all the way. She wondered what a good samaritan might think if they came to check on her parked car and saw her humping the seat with her head buried in the steering wheel.

  Somehow, Tara made it home without getting in an accident or touching herself. She still had two and a half hours to go before Mark was due for dinner and she still had to cook, clean up a bit, shower and change her clothes and do her hair and make up. How severe could Mark's punishment be, anyway, if she took the plug out or masturbated? Could she take the chance? Would he even know?

  But there wasn't time, anyway. By the time everything was ready it was almost 7:30 and she had just enough time to light a few candles and chop a tomato for the salad before the doorbell rang.

  Tara took a deep breath and smoothed down her dress. She had debated what to wear and finally settled on a fitted winter-white sheath with a deep neck-line and quarter sleeves. It fell almost to her knees and showed off her toned figure to good effect. She paired it with black heels and a garnet pendant and matching earrings. Her make up was light, but she accented her eyes with dark mascara and eyeshadow. Running to the bathroom, she refreshed her dark-berry lipstick and checked her appearance in the mirror. She looked good, a little flushed, but in control. Pushing her shoulders back, she went to the door. No way she was going to let him know how uncertain she felt.

  Mark was dressed to go out in dark slacks, a light colored shirt and a sport coat. His face was freshly shaved, and his dark hair was glossy. He smiled lazily, taking Tara into his arms and dropping a kiss on her mouth. With a flourish he handed her a bouquet of yellow roses wrapped in green paper. They smelled wonderful. It wasn't until he stepped into the apartment, that Tara noticed he was carrying what looked like a small gym bag. It was made of black leather. Was it a change of clothes? Tara was intrigued and nervous.

  “It smells great in here,” Mark said. “What did you make?”

  “Nothing fancy,” Tara said, looking for a vase. “Just some roasted vegetables. I have a couple of steaks to throw on the broiler.”

  “Sweet.” He made an obvious show of looking her up and down. “You look gorgeous.”

  “Thanks.” A warm feeling swept through Tara. She couldn't help smiling. She put the flowers in water and placed them on the coffee table in the living room.

  He followed her and dropped a kiss on the nape of her neck. “You smell like honeysuckle,” he said. “And roses.”

  Tara laughed.

  “I like it,” he said. “Very innocent. So misleading.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “Well,” he said, lightly touching the small of her back, “I don't think anyone would guess you've been wearing a sex toy all day.”

  Tara pulled away, a little smile playing across her lips. “How do you know I'm wearing it?”

  She turned on the broiler and picked up the bottle of wine he had brought the night before. When she opened a drawer and pulled out a corkscrew, he took it from her gently. He picked up the bottle of wine and opened it.

  “Wouldn't want any wine to spill on your pretty white dress,” he said, setting the bottle on the counter.

  “How am I going to drink it, then?” Tara asked.

  “I think we can solve that problem by removing the dress,” Mark said.

  “You're kidding right?” Tara said. She took her apron down from the hook in the pantry cupboard and put it on. “See? There are alternatives.”

  “Really?” he said. He seemed amused more than anything else. Tara couldn't think why.

  “Can I help with anything,” he asked.

  “Sure,” Tara said. She had him finish the salad while she broiled the steaks. He told her about his day as they worked. He had looked at a dozen or so apartments and believed he had found one, though he would have to wait until Monday to know for sure. Mark set the table while Tara finished up the steaks. She sauteed some mushrooms and set the steaks on the stove to rest. When everything was ready she brought the food to the table, but right as she was preparing to sit down, Mark stopped her.

  “Take your dress off,” he said, smiling softly. Tara sighed.

  “Don't be silly, Mark,” she said. “I'm not going to spill anything on my dress.”

  “Don't be silly, Tara,” he said, imitating her, “I'd like you to take your dress off.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Tara blinked. He wasn't kidding. He was sitting in his chair, completely relaxed, but there was no mistaking his command for a request. He fully expected her to comply. Tara didn't really like it, but she went into the bedroom and took off her dress. Underneath she was wearing a matching set of white lace bra and panties and pull up thigh-high white stockings. She shivered a little. The thermostat wasn't set high enough for going naked. Embarrassingly, her nipples hardened. She told herself it was from the chill in the air, but the slight flushing of her face and chest told another story. Could she really be enjoying this?

  She went back into the living room, walking as fast as her reluctance would let her. It probably took her a full minute cover the fifteen feet from the door of her bedroom to the table. He hadn't moved. He was still fully dressed. He hadn't even taken off his jacket. She could almost feel his eyes on her as she approached, skimming her long, toned legs and lingering on the white lace that did little to protect her modesty. Shakily, she sat down and reached for the wine bottle. She dropped her hand when his head gave a subtle shake.

  He stood up and poured her wine, then served her a portion of each item on the table. She waited for a signal, but he seemed to enjoy making her wait. He served himself, sampled the wine and tried his steak.

  “Perfect,” he said. “You're a good cook.”

  Tara blushed. Why did his praise have this effect on her? She had never been the kind of woman who needed a man to validate her abilities, not even when she was younger. Why did she feel such a desire to please him and such fulfillment when she did. All she'd done was make a simple dinner and yet his approval made her feel like she'd done something incredible.

  “You may eat,” he said, finally, after he'd sampled everything.

  A bit tentatively, Tara began eating. He was right. Everything had turned out well. The vegetables were tender and a little caramelized. The salad was crisp and the vinaigrette she'd made complimented it well. The sauteed mushrooms were a perfect compliment to the steak. She was too nervous to eat very much, and when Mark had cleared his plate, she was still picking at her food.

  “Not hungry?” he asked, when he was done.

  “Not really,” Tara confessed. Her mouth was dry. She'd had a glass of wine and didn't want more. She already felt a bit lightheaded from the whole situation. She didn't need to get tipsy on top of it. She took a sip of water to moisten her lips.

  “Come over here,” he said. He turned away from the table without getting up. Tara stood up and went over to him, willing the trembling in her knees to go away. Her high-heeled shoes clicked on the laminate floor. His face gave nothing away when she stood in front of him. Only a hint of color along his cheekbones betrayed emotion.

>   “Turn around,” he said, meeting her eyes. Tara did as he said, her eyes registering the ordinariness of her apartment. The green numbers on the back of the stove read 8:15. It seemed as though more time should have passed.

  Tara shivered as his cool fingers moved up from her knees to the tops of her thighs, unable to suppress a shudder when skin touched skin at the top of her stockings. One of his hands slipped between her legs and teased her through the thin lace material covering her mound. The other went to the small of her back and bent her gently forward. Her ass was thrust back and instinctively she spread her legs for better balance. She struggled not to move when she felt him pull her underwear down to her knees. She was completely exposed. Her butt cheeks tightened, causing the plug to move a few centimeters inside her. His lips brush her flesh not two inches from where the glass stem protruded and she couldn't help trembling.

  “You've been a very good girl, Tara,” Mark said. “I'm very pleased with you. You may say thank you.”

  “Th-thank you,” Tara said, huskily.

  “I can think of many naughty things I'd like to do to you right now,” he said, “but I think you deserve a reward for being so obedient, don't you?”

  “Yes,” Tara breathed, not knowing what to expect.

  “Don't move,” he said. Tara steadied herself and stayed in position, bent at the waist, her bare hips thrust backwards. She didn't try to see what he was doing, but she heard the clink of glass and china behind her.

  He stood her up straight and guided her to the table, helping her up into the spot where his dinner had been. The plates, food and wine and been shoved towards her end of the table or moved onto the counter space. He'd dispensed with her panties, but she was still wearing a bra, stockings and shoes. He sat down again and spread her legs, his eyes dark as he locked in on the smoothly waxed apex of her thighs.

  “You're very red and swollen, Tara,” he said gripping her hips and sliding her loser to the edge of the table. Tara fell backwards onto her elbows, one of her wrists pressing against the salad bowl. “I think you liked our little experiment today. Did you like having that toy up your ass.”

  “N-no,” Tara said.

  “Why not?” he asked, stroking the top of her mound.

  “It was embarrassing,” she said. “I felt weird.”

  “Did you go anywhere today?” he asked.

  “I went to the grocery store. I ran into a couple of people I knew.”

  “And you didn't like how the plug felt?”

  “I liked it,” she admitted. “I mean, I liked how it felt, but it was embarrassing.”

  “I think a part of you might have liked being embarrassed,” Mark said, meeting her eyes across the length of her body. “It's that same part of you that likes to do what I tell you. Isn't that right, bitch?”

  “No,” she protested.

  It was almost as if he had been waiting for her denial, because as soon as she voiced it he dropped his head to her slit and began kissing her. His tongue teased the oversensitive flesh and snaked into her opening. The wet sounds he made were deeply embarrassing and Tara was sure that was why he did it, to draw attention to the juicy mess that constant arousal had made of her pussy. He used his hands to spread her legs obscenely and buried his whole face between them, letting his nose rub against her clit as he ate her like she was a juicy orange. Too quickly, Tara felt her arousal mounting, the tension in her hips winding tighter an tighter. He sucked on her clit and Tara started coming, humping his face with her hips and mewling in a combination of embarrassment and joy. After a whole day of holding back, the sheer carnal pleasure of the experience was overwhelming. She couldn't hold back as wave after wave of ecstasy overcame her.

  When Tara regained possession of her senses, Mark was standing over her with a smug expression. He was holding a small brown paper bag casually in one hand. Tara could feel moisture in her hair. What was she laying in? She sat up, feeling something gooey ooze down her neck. Mushrooms? Embarrassment came rushing back, replacing the post orgasmic relaxation. A blob of goo fell to the table with a soft plop.

  “Messy,” Mark said. “Not good.

  “Why don't you wash up and meet me in the bedroom,” he said. “Here.” He handed her the bag after she'd climbed off the table. “Follow the instructions, okay.”

  Tara peered into the bag. There was an odd shaped bottle inside with a nozzle on the end, a piece of paper and a smaller bottle of clear fluid. He tipped his head towards the bathroom and Tara didn't hesitate. She was anxious to get clean.

  Inside, she turned on the light and read the note. The instructions made her cringe with humiliation, but she did what they said and then took a quick shower. After cleaning everything thoroughly with hot water – including the butt plug – she dried them off and put them back in the bag. She left the bag in the bathroom, but took the smaller bottle, which she now knew contained lube, with her. The last part of the instructions were almost as bad as the rest. Stark naked, with the lube in one hand, she got down on all fours and crawled into the bedroom. The wood laminate floor in the hallway was cold and hard on her knees. It had taken almost half an hour to do what he asked and he had used the time to find candles and place them on the bedside tables. The room was lit with a soft golden flicker. The plush carpet inside the bedroom was soothing after the hallway floor. She could have gone faster on the less uncomfortable surface, but she was apprehensive about what was coming next.

  When she entered the room, Mark came to stand over her as she crawled the last few feet to the bed. He stayed to the side of her when she stopped a few inches from the bed and got into the pose he had liked so much their first night together, on her knees with her torso upright and her hands behind her back. She suspected she looked a mess with her make up washed off and her towel-dried hair a bedraggled mess around her shoulders. He picked up the bottle of lube from the floor next to her and placed it on the bedside table. She knew better than to lift her head, but she could see that his feet were bare.

  “All clean, bitch?” he asked. In the periphery of her vision she saw him settle onto the bed.

  “Yes,” she said, blushing at his words.

  “Yes, Alpha,” he corrected, clucking his tongue.

  “Yes, Alpha,” she said.

  “I have another surprise for you, bitch,” he said. “Stand up.”

  Tara was surprised to hear him say that, but she did as he said, rising to her feet. He came behind her and nudged her feet about three feet apart.

  “Interlace your fingers,” he said, “and clasp your hands behind your head. That's perfect.”

  She felt even more exposed than she had been spread-eagled on the table. Maybe it was because her breasts were thrust forward, but more likely it was the unnaturalness of the pose. This was purely a display for him – a pose designed to give him visual access to her entire body.

  “Lift your head,” he said.

  Tara looked at him. He was still dressed, except for his shoes. He was holding something in his hand.

  “Do you know what this is, bitch?”

  “Yes, Alpha,” she said. “It's a riding crop.”

  “Has anyone ever used one of these on you?” he asked.

  “No, Alpha.” Tara swallowed nervously. He was tapping the slender wand against his palm. The leather tongue on the end of it jerked with each tap.

  “Do you want to try it?” he asked.

  Tara hid her surprise at the question. She knew she wasn't going to do anything she didn't want to, but she was really glad that he checked in before they did anything new. Did she want to try it? The uncertainty must have shown on her face.

  “How about you use your safe word if you don't like it,” he suggested.

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  “What's the word?” he asked.

  “Carrot,” Tara said, relieved that she had an out if things got too crazy. She didn't know how much it would hurt, but it looked pretty scary.

  “Good girl,” he said. “Bi
tch, remember this isn't meant to hurt you. If there's some pain it's ultimately meant to give you pleasure. If the things I do didn't make you wet I wouldn't do them.”

  “Yes, Alpha,” Tara said, blushing. He was right, of course. She was eating up everything he dished out. As confusing as she found this side of her personality, there was no denying that submitting to him always led to a great deal of physical pleasure.

  “Close your eyes,” he said.

  With her eyes closed, Tara felt helpless. She couldn't see what he was doing and for long minutes nothing seemed to happen. She was on the verge of opening her eyes – and no doubt earning herself a good spanking – when she felt something soft trail across her abdomen. The contact only lasted a few seconds. There was a rustle of fabric and then another touch, this time moving up the inside of her leg, but stopping short of the top of her thighs. The teasing pressure came again, along her arm and over her buttocks, against her toes, her underarms. Tara couldn't predict when the touch would come or on what part of her body. She stifled a sound when the tip of the riding crop played over her nipples, bring the too little buds to attention.

  The first light tap fell on her butt. It wasn't really painful, but definitely not a caress. A few more light taps followed, randomly mixed in with the light strokes that had come before. She cried out when the stalk lashed against her buttocks hard. That hurt, but not as much as his open hand had when he spanked her. He went back to gentle taps with the tip, but the intensity was rising. She could hear his breathing now and she could tell that using the crop on her was exciting him. The tip came down a bit hard on one of her nipples, and she moaned, fighting the impulse to drop her arms and cover the aching flesh. Again, it hadn't really been painful, but it was close. He repeated the action on her other breast. Tara wanted to squirm. She wanted to see his face. Was he smiling or intense? He tapped her nipples again one after the other, a bit harder this time. Tara's flesh felt hot and sensitized. Could her body really be enjoying this.

  “Open your eyes, Tara,” Mark said. He was standing a few feet from her, his eyes almost black. The riding crop was on the dresser across the room. He came close and pulled her arms to her sides. She was grateful. They had begun to ache from the position she was holding them in. “If I don't stop now, I'm going to whip you until you're all welts and then you're never going to let me touch you with a riding crop again.”