Spice Box; Sixteen Steamy Stories
Page 111
“Make all the noise you want, sweetheart. Music to my ears.”
He stood alongside the bed, admiring his handiwork. Then his smile broadened into a chuckle. “I should have told you to take off the panties, hunh?”
“You could untie me, take them off, then tie me up again?”
“No, I feel it’s my mistake. I’m still learning as a Dom. I have to make the best of my mistakes.” He stripped, then got onto the bed, kneeling between her splayed legs. His cock was huge and he palmed it absentmindedly as he considered the problem of her panties being in the way.
“Let’s see. If I pull them down—” He tugged the stretchy sides down her hips and into the crease made by her thighs. “That gives me some access to your pussy.”
He tucked his thumb into her crease. He could rub her clit but he couldn’t get near her cunt. Sara swallowed her disappointment.
“Damn. That’s not far enough.” He tugged on the panties. They stretched, but almost immediately they were as wide as they were going to be. They pulled her thighs together while the restraints pulled her ankles apart. That, in turn, closed her sex when she really, really wanted it open and available to him.
He leaned down to lick at her labia. “Nope, that won’t do.”
“You can cut them off. I don’t care.” Hell, he could burn them off at this point.
His grin was diabolical. “I think I have a better idea.” He pulled them back up onto her hips. “See, I can push them to one side.” He demonstrated this, using one hand to yank the placket over to the side of her left leg. “But I want my hands for other things and as soon as I let go—” He let go. “The damned thing snaps back. What I need is something to keep them to one side.”
Oh God, she could see where this was going. Yes. Yes, please.
“I think I’ll use my cock.” He winked at her and she smiled back.
He held the panties to one side, then thrust all the way in.
“Of course, as soon as I let go, your panties are going to stop me from moving my cock a lot. So we’re going to see how long it takes for things to get interesting.”
“Just don’t pull out, please,” she whimpered. Even still, his cock was huge and felt so good it took her breath away.
“I can’t,” he teased. “Your panties won’t let me.” He pulled back about an inch and sure enough, she could feel her panties stretching to stay with his cock. She knew that feeling, of wanting to cling to him.
He thrust back in. An inch out and an inch back. Even just that small shift made her clit ache and her nipples throb extra-hard.
She wanted to help in some way, but the restraints prevented it.
He withdrew and slammed back in.
She arched up with the impact. “God, that’s good.”
He stuck his thumb back under the panties. With his next surge into her, he let his thumb snag her clit.
“Sorry, that’s about all I can do there as well.” There was so much laughter in his voice, Sara couldn’t help her own giggle.
But when he coordinated it—pull, thrust, brush—it felt extraordinary, as though everything was concentrated in a small but powerful package.
Another. And another. And another.
She started to pant, her arms and legs rigid, her back taut. What little movement was centered on meeting his cock and thumb.
Another.
She could feel her orgasm building.
Another.
Ah, almost there.
Another.
Another.
Then he pushed in hard, his thumb ground against her clit and she went off, pulsing around him. Her nipples felt so good, her clit even better.
Then he kissed her, pressing down on her. The weight of his chest on top of her set off a mini-tsunami in her breasts. His kiss smothered her scream as he made sure her clit had more stimulation.
She lost track of things for a moment. When she opened her eyes, Cal was calmly unfastening the restraints. One at a time, he replaced each nipple clip with his mouth, gently soothing the pinched tissue. She closed her eyes again.
When she next looked for him, he was spooning her from behind, one hand rubbing her belly, the other cupped around her breast.
“Mmm.” It just felt so good.
“You awake, sleepyhead?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Well, we should probably get some dinner. Did you want to go out?”
“Just a sandwich. I’m not that hungry. Well,” she said with a laugh, “I was but you’ve taken care of that appetite, thank you, Master.”
CHAPTER 12
The Club was a completely different place on the weekend. Maybe there weren’t that many more people, but the atmosphere was like sex on steroids. Cal kept reminding himself not to stare, but when a woman walked past in head-to-toe black vinyl with a rigid dildo as part of her costume and a naked man at the end of the leash on her arm, well, it was hard not to look twice.
Cal concentrated on Sara instead. The black lace corset was perfect—sexy but not too exposed. She had sheer black hose attached to the garters, fuck-me pumps and a black satin thong.
“There you are.” Mac appeared from nowhere. He shook Cal’s hand, and kissed Sara on the cheek. As if they’d met at a five-star restaurant. “I’ve reserved a space for you. Over here.”
Mac led them into a room Cal hadn’t seen before. The ceiling was lower than in the other rooms, the exposed brick walls and dark tiled floor suggested it might be older than the rest of The Club.
“It used to be the vault during Prohibition,” Mac explained. “Here, this is where you’ll be setting up.”
“Here” was a solid wood support, maybe a foot wide and running from floor to ceiling, with a ring at the top. With her arms raised over her head, Sara was going to look like an errant slave girl, ready for her punishment.
“What’s your safe word?” he asked her in a clear voice.
“Red, Master.”
Cal sensed Mac’s interest in Sara’s use of the “M-word,” but there was no time to get into an explanation.
“And if you need me to slow down?”
“Yellow.”
“Good.”
He opened the leather toy bag and took out some black velvet restraints and matching padded cuffs. He directed Sara to stand facing the column, her legs slightly spread. The thong meant her ass was almost entirely bare.
He could tell a cluster of people had joined Mac, ready to watch the scene, but Cal tried to zone them out, the way he would ignore the audience before conducting. No one existed in the room except Sara. He’d mentally picked out music, a rhythmic piece by Philip Glass, to run in his head as he demonstrated impact play. He took out the devices—a strap two inches wide and more than a foot long, a classic black leather riding crop, and a cane.
He and Sara had agreed on a simple signal so he’d know she was ready. He touched her hip as though he needed her to move. If she moved, she wasn’t ready. If she didn’t move, he could proceed.
She didn’t move.
Cal let the music in his head dictate the tempo. Slow at first, spanking one cheek then the other. Back and forth, from the top of her ass slowly down to the tops of her thighs. He got a nice warm pink color going, then ended that section with five strong blows to the roundest part of her ass.
Pause. He touched her hip. She didn’t move.
He picked up the riding crop. He didn’t want to build up the pressure, so he treated this as the slow movement. Ten solid blows, like rungs on a ladder. He took his time and when he was done, he just stopped. No flourishes.
Another pause, a bit longer. When he heard the audience rustle, he knew it was time. Another touch on Sara’s hip. She was solid.
This time, the cane wasn’t a punishment. It was painful, but Sara was in a place where the pain would also carry pleasure. She’d be horny as hell when they were done, so he fully expected her to be impatient for him to get her off in the car. But she wouldn’t suffer the way she did the other nig
ht.
Four solid whacks, evenly spaced on her body and evenly administered in tempo. Dark red lines marked where he’d hit her. Nicely parallel. Mac would be proud, given how he’d stressed the visual aspects of impact play as he was teaching Cal. Everything had to feel good, look good, sound good.
Now for the crescendo. Cal’d been practicing this part. He paused just long enough for people to wonder if he was done, then he administered three final blows with the cane. Sara went up on tiptoe but she didn’t cry out.
When he looked, he’d done it—he’d placed the stripes in between the earlier lines.
The music in his head stopped and Cal could hear polite applause. A rush of relief hit him. He felt like he’d just aced his audition to Juilliard.
He released Sara. She had tear streaks on her face but also an unholy light in her eyes—she really would attack him in the back of the car.
“You did great,” he whispered. Then he kissed her, gently at first then more passionately.
When he released her, she whispered. “So did you.”
***
The next morning, Sara woke on her side, clutching Fossie, and avoiding rolling onto her ass. Cal had treated it before she went to bed. In fact, he’d sat on the side of this bed, massaging her ass and soothing her. She’d fallen asleep, it had felt that good.
He must have taken Fossie from the bookshelf and handed it to her, even in her sleep.
She buried her face into the pillow. Why didn’t she want him to stay? Her reasons had been so clear a few weeks ago, but now she wasn’t sure. Everything that had been settled and certain with Bruno was unraveling with Cal. It made her nervous. Change always worried her.
She rolled onto her other side, dragging Fossie with her. Life hadn’t always been easy. The foster families—well, they’d tried, more or less. It wasn’t their fault that Sara could remember her parents enough to miss them, but not enough to realize how chaotic their lives had been. Drug dealing, group sex, arrests. Then, one day, they were gone and some large woman with breath that smelled of mint scooped Sara up and took her away.
She’d wanted her real mommy. It took Sara nearly twenty years to realize that she’d been missing a fictional mother, one who was sober and who hugged her when she cried. Frankly, Fossie was more demonstrative than her birth mother had been. It had been a sad day when Sara accepted that she had to relinquish the hope that her parents really had loved her.
Bruno straightened her out, taught her how to work, how to focus, how to accept pleasure, how to give pleasure.
But Cal… Cal was teaching her something else, something hard and painful even as he himself was nice and—compared to Bruno—soft.
She pulled Fossie tighter to her chest.
Cal. Tall, gorgeous, compelling, talented…and probably just dabbling with BDSM. He had the chops. Last night had proved that. Did he have the desire to continue?
Sara imagined him with some willowy artist, someone who created fantastic sculptures by day and gave glittering parties by night. Not a CPA who crunched numbers by day and cowered in her solitary bed by night.
“Sara? Are you okay?” Cal mock-whispered outside her door.
“Yeah, I’m fine. You can come in.” She started to sit up before she remembered why that was a bad idea.
He had on jeans and held a T-shirt in one hand. The sight of his chest brought back the memories of them fucking on this bed on Friday. Maybe the lingering scent of that encounter was responsible for her fevered dreams of fucking Cal every way she could think of.
She stayed on her hip but pushed up on one elbow.
He lifted his chin. “I figured you could use some help getting up out of bed.”
“No, I’m okay. This really isn’t that bad.” Some of Bruno’s sessions had left her in a fetal position for days, it seemed.
“Nonetheless.” Cal scooped her off the bed like she weighed ninety pounds and barely topped five feet.
She giggled. “You’re very strong.”
“I was a piano mover in my youth.” He started to carry her to the bathroom.
“Really? That’s weird.”
“Not really. I got to play the pianos in the showroom when no one was around.” He set her down on the fluffy bath mat, then fiddled with the shower knobs to get the water hot. “D’you need help scrubbing your back?” He gave her a wolfish smile.
She was about to say no when something in his face stopped her. He wanted to do this for her. “Okay.” She felt shy about him seeing her—there were some early-morning realities she couldn’t avoid—but he was her Dom. She shouldn’t hide anything from him.
She nodded and he stripped off his jeans. He’d gone commando and was already pretty hard.
She thought maybe it would be a sexy shower, but Cal was very focused on getting the wet heat on her ass.
“Doesn’t look too bad,” he pronounced, running a soapy hand over her bruised cheeks. He positioned her body so the hot spray hit just at the small of her back, then he soaped her front. It was sexy, but it was soothing too. Before long, Sara’s head was resting on his chest and his arms were around her body.
“Did you enjoy last night?” he asked.
His large, elegant hands were spreading soap suds over her back and shoulders, relaxing her and making her eyes close.
“Mmm-hmm. You’re very good.”
“I’d worked it out to some music I had in my head. But I couldn’t have done it without you.”
She looked at him, her eyebrows raised. “That’s clearly a true statement.”
He laughed. “No, what I mean is, you were so still. I’d practiced being precise in my placement with the cane, but if you’d moved even an inch, that would have screwed things up. Apart from going up on your toes, you were rock solid.”
She put her cheek back on his chest. She could hear his heart thumping, slow and steady. She didn’t want to move.
“Shall I wash your hair?”
She shook her head. Time to rejoin the real world. “Nope, I’ll do it.”
“Mind if I watch?”
“Not at all.” Ooh, a sexy shampoo scene.
Cal leaned against the far wall of the shower, crossed his ankles and folded his arms. He could have been waiting for a bus.
Sara positioned herself under the shower head, letting the water stream down her hair. She loved the light in Cal’s eyes as she squeezed shampoo into her palm and then lifted both arms to scrub the suds through her hair. His gaze fell to her tits. She closed her eyes, reveling in her power to please this man.
The hot water on her scalp matched the heat from having Cal as an audience. She rinsed the shampoo out, then stepped forward so she could apply conditioner.
Her eyes flew open when she bumped into Cal—well, his erection. “Oh, sorry.”
His eyelids fell slightly. “Nothing to apologize for.” He moved closer. “Is this what you’re looking for?” He held up the conditioner bottle.
“Yes.” She reached for it, but he’d already lifted it up so he could apply some to her hair. He returned the bottle to its shelf and used his fingertips to give her scalp a firm massage.
She closed her eyes again. “Oh,” she groaned. “Don’t stop.”
“Never,” he breathed in her ear. He pulled her up against his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck. Using his hands under her thighs, he fit her onto his cock. It felt better than ever.
She tucked her head against his, and sighed into his neck. It felt wonderful with nothing between them but a few stray soap suds.
All she had to do was cling to his shoulders, her legs curved around his hips. He did all the work, lifting her up and letting her fall back down, impaled. The shower spray beat down on her head and back. She tipped her head back, enjoying the sluice of water through her hair.
When he pulled them out of the water, she looked up at his face. His jaw was set, his eyes huge and dark, a cave beckoning her to enter and get lost. She realized then it was too late—she was already lo
st, so far gone she’d never regain the simplicity of her old life with Bruno.
He dipped his head and kissed her, locking his mouth to hers. Maybe it was the emotion, maybe it was the drag and pull of his cock inside her or the way her nipples grazed his chest hair—whatever the combination of sensory explosions, it pushed Sara over into an orgasm. When it was done, she realized her tears were washing away in the shower.
He let her down gently, until her feet touched the tile floor.
Oh, God. She couldn’t be in love with Cal Raynes. She wasn’t that girl, the one who got a happy ending.
CHAPTER 13
The dining room table was covered with printouts of case law, briefs from past Supreme Court cases, and Mac’s handwritten notes. He got up to refill his coffee mug. A rainy Sunday afternoon—perfect for getting work done.
The doorbell rang.
Mac rolled his eyes. Never good to get unannounced, uninvited visitors. He was tempted to ignore them, but that was the downside to living in a modern house with tons of windows—way too easy to tell when he was home.
He opened the door to Cal. “Hey.”
“Hi. You got a few minutes?”
Mac shrugged. “I guess so. Come in.”
Mac took Cal’s jacket and hung it up in the closet. Cal slipped off his sneakers and socks and left them on the sisal rug.
“You want some coffee?” Mac asked, heading back to the kitchen. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Thanks. Cream, no sugar.”
Mac handed him a full mug and pushed a creamer over. “Let me guess. Sub troubles.”
“Yes and no.”
“You did great last night. Having second thoughts about BDSM?”
Cal took a sip of the coffee. “Hits the spot. Thanks. And to answer your question, yes and no.” He put the mug on the counter, staring at it like it could speak for him. He raked the damp strands of hair off his forehead. “Which doesn’t answer the question at all, I guess.”
Mac groaned silently. This could take a while. “Let’s sit.” He led Cal over to the sectional. Before he could make himself comfortable, the doorbell rang again.
“That’s either Sara or…well, I have no idea who it could be. Have a seat, I’ll be right back.” Good thing he’d brewed a full pot.