We dozed through the rest of the movie. I blamed my torpor on jet lag, but the truth was that I liked the way she held me. When the credits rolled, we straightened our clothing and left before the others. The streets were completely empty, and we walked in silence the few short blocks to my hotel. In the darkness beneath the awning, she leaned down and kissed me, the same knowing brush of lips with which she had first greeted me.
“Good night,” she said softly.
I watched her walk away until the billowing edges of her coat became only the shifting shadows of the night. Then I turned and walked inside. It was not the Grand Hotel, and no grand passion awaited me here. But when I finally laid my head upon the crisp, white pillowcase, I felt her body next to mine, and her breath against my cheek. I closed my eyes, knowing I would not sleep alone.
WHAT SHE NEEDS
Jac Hills
The phone rings. It’s a familiar voice: “I’m in town. Come to me and bring your toy bag.”
I dress with care. It’s important. I know what she likes, what she needs. Black silk boxers, black silk shirt, no bra, black leather trousers, and heavy black boots. I bring my toy bag as requested. I have some new toys—I know she’ll like them.
This is not a date. There will be no predinner drinks, no meal. I arrive at the hotel and give her name at the front desk. I’m told to go right up, room 220. She opens the door. She’s dressed in a crimson silk robe. It must be hers—this hotel is far too miserly to give its guests robes of any sort, let alone silk. It clings in all the right places. My mouth waters as she walks away from me toward a small table. The sheer fabric slides across her skin, outlining her breasts and buttocks. I can tell she’s naked beneath it.
There are two bottles of beer in an ice bucket on the table. Clever girl. She hands me one of the bottles. No words are spoken; none are required. We sit and drink the beers. When we’ve finished them off, she stands and slips the robe slowly from her shoulders and onto the floor. She kneels beside the head of the bed, and I know it has begun. She has given me total control.
I open my toy bag and spread its contents over the room’s other bed. I haven’t brought everything, just what I know she likes—plus my two recent acquisitions. The first: a new flogger, not leather like my other ones. This one is latex. The braids are thinner, its sting sharper—lighter and very erotic. I know: I’ve felt its blows caress my shoulders and back. That’s where I love to feel it when I switch and play the sub. But there won’t be any switching tonight. She needs a complete domme. Beside the whip I place a glass dildo, yet untried, but tonight we’ll christen it. I take three candles—special ones, not the sort your local corner store sells. I light two and place them on either side of her bed, then turn off all the lights.
Should I order her to strip me? Or should I restrain her and give her a slow striptease? I pick up my leather restraints with the fur-lined wrist-cuffs and look at her. I can read in her eyes what she wants, but I haven’t given her permission to speak, so she’s biting her lip. I hesitate and consider giving her permission—maybe asking her what she wants—but I don’t. She really is the total sub; if I ask her anything it’ll spoil all of this for her. I don’t want that. I want this to be good for her. So instead I fasten the cuffs around her wrists and point to the bed. She climbs onto it and looks at me to see whether I want her on her back or facedown. I press her shoulders slightly so she knows to lie on her back. Then I tie the restraints to the headboard and turn her head to the side so she’ll have a clear view of me.
I stand back and strip for her, very slowly. First my boots, then my silk shirt. She bites her lip again as the soft candlelight glints off my nipple piercings. If she’s good maybe I’ll allow her to play with the rings later. I can see she wants the leather trousers to stay for a while, so I leave them, just opening the zipper a short way, enough to show the black silk beneath.
When I take out a blindfold, she whimpers. Ah-ah, naughty girl. She knows better than to make a sound without permission. I knew she wouldn’t want to be blindfolded while I still had my trousers on. She’ll have to be reprimanded for that. I tie the cloth over her eyes and fix restraints on her ankles, spreadeagling her completely. I can tell she’s into the scene: she’s glistening with arousal.
And I’m as wet as she is.
Now I can start in earnest.
I lean over her and blow gently across her chest. Her nipples, already firm, grow harder, more erect. She loves this—knowing something will happen but not what or when or where. I let her feel my leather trousers as I draw my right leg lightly over her thigh and pull myself around so that I can drag it over her abdomen. She can feel the leather but not the pressure. Then I pull back. Oh, she’s very good—she doesn’t make a sound.
I reach over and grab a mitten. This one is soft velvet. I prefer the velvet to fur, finding it more sensual on heated skin. I run my velvet-clad hand over her body, brushing her thighs, her hips, her breasts. I stroke across her engorged nipples very slowly, very softly. She’s twitching already. She’ll break soon. She must really need this.
Stepping back, I light the third candle and take some ice from the bucket that held the beer. I’m careful to make no noise, giving her no warning of what’s to come. Starting at her shoulder, I allow the candle to drip onto her. As each drop of hot wax lands, I follow up with ice. Hot, then cold, as I work my way down her torso. No wax on her breasts, though, just ice. The first bite of cold on her nipple catches her by surprise and she gasps. More chastising will be required. When I reach her clit I rub what’s left of the ice cube across it. Her body jerks, and I speak for the first time. “Did you come?” She shakes her head. “Good,” I tell her, my voice a low growl. “You’d better not do that without my permission.” She shakes her head again and shivers.
I remove the blindfold, and she watches as I finish stripping. I pull down the zipper with agonizing slowness, its sound loud in a room in which both of us are holding our breath. My body sings with tension. If I’m already this aroused she must be desperate to come. I’ll let her, but not yet. She has some punishment coming first.
I release the restraints and roll her facedown, then fasten the cuffs again. I retrieve my new flogger. I know she likes it over her buttocks and hips. I trail its braids across her and then begin. Softly and gently at first I allow it to caress her, and she moves into its kiss. It’s a good flogger—it has a beautiful sound. I can tell from the way she twitches that it feels good for her too. As my blows grow faster and harder I tell her, “You have my permission to make noise.” She gasps. In relief? I don’t know. And then she starts to moan, her sounds making me even wetter.
When her ass is nice and hot, I slow down again, ending as I started with a soft caress of the whip. I turn her face up again and decide to tease her really, really well before I let her come. It’s what she likes best.
“Watch,” I tell her. I lean back against the other bed and spread my legs. With one hand I open myself for her, giving her a clear view. She can see how wet she makes me. With the other I gently stroke myself along my slit. One finger dips just inside to gather moisture before returning the way it came, back up to my clit. I don’t make a sound. I don’t want to break her concentration—I just want to break her. My breathing hitches, though. I can’t help it. With that one finger, I slowly circle my clit, putting the lightest of pressure on it. I’m not sure if she’s still breathing, she’s so still, but then she moans again. I desperately want to come. But I consider, what would tease her more? Stopping short. So I stop. Christ, it takes all my willpower. But this isn’t about me. It’s about what she needs. All the same, it takes a moment or two before I can stand and move to her again.
I’ve brought a linked pair of nipple clamps with me. The kind with teeth. I clip them to her nipples. Swollen as they are, it must hurt, but she groans in pleasure not pain. Or perhaps it’s the pure pleasure that sometimes springs from pain. The chain between the clamps is long enough to put between her teeth. So I do, and
I tell her not to move her head. I take the restraints from her ankles. She’s so into what we’re doing, I can control her without them. “Keep them spread,” I tell her, tapping her legs to emphasize my meaning. And then I touch her. I run my fingers across her clit exactly the same way I did my own. She moves slightly, but she keeps her legs where I put them. I stop just before she can orgasm, and she whimpers again. I’ll allow the sound; I did give her permission to make noise.
I get the glass dildo and show it to her. I can tell she’s interested. It has to be held by hand and not strapped on. It’s long and fairly thin and oh so smooth and cool. Just right against overheated flesh. I run the tip down, across her clit and as far as her opening. God, she’s good. She’s resisting pushing into it. I can see by the way her thigh muscles clench how much of an effort it is. But that isn’t the game we’re playing. She wants to break, she needs to break, to be unable to resist. And it’s my job to take her there, to make her beg, to break her down until she’s only need and heat and want.
I dip the tip of the dildo into her, just the tip, then move it around in a circle. She moans. I pull it out and she moans again. She twitches, almost giving in—almost but not quite. I lay the dildo along her length and leave it there, letting go. The tip rests against the edge of her hole, the dildo itself stretched along her slit and sitting on her clit. Holding myself up by spread arms and toes, I suspend myself over her as much as possible without actually touching her. I nip, lick, and bite my way up her abs until I reach the beginning of the chain that links her nipples. I tug it gently with my mouth and she gasps. Then I rest one leg slightly on her—and on the dildo. Her hips move a little more.
It is enough.
“Please,” she says.
“Please, what?” I lean and take my weight off her.
“Please, Master, fuck me. Please let me come. Please, I need to come. Please, Master.” She breaks.
That’s what I’ve been waiting for. That’s what she needs to make this really good. I grab the dildo and slip it into her. It slides in smoothly—that’s the beauty of glass. I fuck her with it, slow and smooth and deep. She’s begging me the whole time. “Please fuck me. Please make me come.” I do, and she does, shuddering and crying out. When she slumps down, spent, I slowly slide out the dildo and hold her.
She’ll need more. She always does. And I need to come. I really, really need to come.
I take off her restraints. Neither of us needs them now. With my words alone I can control her. And she needs to let me. She needs to obey because she has no choice. With the illusion of compulsion gone she faces her own desires, acknowledging that this happens because she wants it. She is a bitch in heat because she needs it, not because I force her.
When she’s ready I tell her to kneel on the bed with her head on the pillow and her ass in the air. I tell her to spread her legs and show herself to me, shameless yet vulnerable. Because she needs that too. She does as she’s told. I fetch the harness—the heavy-duty studded leather one—and my Nexus double dildo. Sliding the smaller end into myself takes great control. I’m so close, so ready. God. But I do it, for her. I look at her as she displays herself to me. Her arousal glistens in the flickering light as her wetness seeps onto her thighs. “Touch yourself,” I command, my voice thick with need. I watch as she strokes herself. She won’t make herself come. She knows better than that. But before it gets too difficult for her I make her stop. I fuck her from behind, hard and fast and deep. By now, fending off my orgasm is pure torture, especially since I won’t let her come until she begs again. She does beg, and I let her orgasm explode from her. She groans, shaking uncontrollably. As her orgasm overtakes her, I finally let mine claim me. If there’s an earthquake report on the news tonight, think of us.
We rest for a while before I withdraw from her. She’s ready to be eaten now. But before I start, I drip a little diluted peppermint oil into my mouth. I press the flat of my tongue against her cunt, and the heat of the oil takes her by surprise. Her breath catches, and she arches her back, almost coming. Her willpower impresses me as she fights to hold it back.
Then I lick her, letting my tongue slip along her folds as I taste her. I push the tip of my tongue inside her, just the tip, mindful of the peppermint oil and that she’s probably sensitive from the fucking. I sweep my tongue over her, the flat of it dragging along her lips then the tip flicking swiftly from side to side. I circle her clit, tease it, taste it. I let my teeth graze it, but I don’t bite—she’s too sensitive for that—and she gasps. I could do this for hours, but I feel her build toward release again. I keep flicking her clit with the edge of my tongue. She’s ready. I suck in her clit, draw it between my lips. Her body rises from the bed, balanced on her heels and the crown of her head, as massive shudders ripple through her and a single word is forced through clenched teeth: “Christ.”
I let her rest as I clean the toys and put them away. When she’s back in her body—and in this world where walking and talking are possible again—we shower. I wash her and pat her dry with the hotel’s fluffy towels. I gently massage lotion into her skin, noticing again how soft she is.
We curl up together on the bed as the first signs of dawn lighten the room. In a little more than two hours I’ll leave for work. I’ll kiss her good-bye and she’ll blush shyly, as if we’re strangers to raw sexuality and have never spent time wrapped together in this sensual haze. And she’ll smile and say, “See you in six months or so?”
I’ll grin and reply, “Sure.”
But for now I’ll cradle her in my arms and let her sleep. Because that’s what she needs.
GEEK CHIC
Gina Klein
Never in a million years did I think I’d pick up the girl of my dreams at the Apple store, that geek Mecca in Soho. But that’s exactly what happened. I have to admit, I’m the furthest thing from a computer nerd you can find. I know how to check email, use iTunes, and visit the latest gossip websites, but when it comes to anything more heavy-duty than plugging in my laptop, I’m clueless. I only use the Apple store to check my email and use the bathroom, hustling past lines of avid shoppers and technologically savvy customers.
Upstairs there’s a tiny theater where the store sometimes holds classes or panels. I’d walked past it dozens of times on my way to the restroom, with nary a glance at the instructor. This time, though, a voice caught my ear, and I looked to find an exquisite-looking woman leading a class of interested students through the ins and outs of building a website. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous in the usual sense, but something about her completely drew me in, something tough and alluring. She was olive-skinned, probably Hispanic, and her black hair was cropped short, almost boyish but with a feminine twist, a studied diagonal swath across her forehead. The ends of her hair brushed across her neck, teasing me with the skin they left uncovered. She wore a black leather cuff around her wrist, a simple black tank top, and jeans. I couldn’t tell her age; maybe she was in college or, like me, in her early thirties. All I knew was that my heart beat a little faster, and suddenly I was intent on learning everything I could about HTML. I raced to the bathroom, then returned and took a seat on the side so I could stare at her without her noticing too much.
I watched her work the room, and as words like operating system, browser, hyperlink, and search engine left her lips, I pictured those lips being put to a much better use. I shifted in my seat, afraid everyone could tell my interests were far more than technological. The woman, whose name tag said SONIA, led the class through creating a simple site, took questions, and seemed made for the stage. She didn’t talk too fast or too slow, and she altered her lesson based on what people seemed to want to know. I was half-listening—since she made the material actually interesting—and half-watching the way her jeans clung to her ass perfectly, not too tight, not too loose.
Her breasts were on the small side, but that just made me hunger more to touch them, and I was lost in thought, imagining her naked, her ro
sy nipples begging to be tasted. I must have gotten more lost in my daydream than I’d imagined because all of a sudden I heard applause. The class was over. I gathered myself together, trying to think of an intelligent question that wouldn’t make me sound like a total idiot.
I waited for everyone else to finish asking questions, then finally approached Sonia, figuring inspiration would strike me at the moment. I fingered the pendant on my necklace, a simple amethyst stone, for good luck. “Hi,” I said, trying to hide my nervousness. “That was really great. I’ve never thought much about having my own site, but it sounded so easy during your presentation. I think I might try it.”
“Great,” Sonia replied enthusiastically. “I really think it’s one of those things anyone can do.” Her voice was husky but not too deep, sexy without even trying. She reached out and lightly touched my arm. “And if you need any help, I’m always here.”
After Midnight Page 5
