Fluff

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  Dale frees my thoughts and assumes responsibility for everything. I had forgotten how quickly spoiled I can become being with him. It is good, and I can only imagine what it would be like to write under these conditions. I may be his kinky slut at night, but it is his servitude to his princess during the day that insures the addiction.

  Don’t get me wrong, the sex is good.

  But it is his constant adoration and attention that is downright worthy of an award. He enjoys caring for me. He bathes and feeds me. I can remember before when he would dress me. He would pull out my clothes for the day and bring me coffee as I put on my face. He would hold my cigarettes and pamper me with massages. He would send roses and boxes of candy to my dressing room, next door to his.

  I became Cyclone Blonde’s spoiled brat.

  I shake my head at the memory, wishing everything had been different. I hear the lock undo on the door and don’t move. The door shuts quietly in the dark.

  With his years in the SEALs and security forces – I am a writer, I research everything, including my ex – he is as quiet as the tenebrous room. He becomes the darkness.

  His strong hands grip my feet and spread my legs, placing them on either side of his hips. I am naked. If I know him, so is he. He is here to fuck me.

  This is not punishment.

  That is yet to come.

  Dale Archer is a horny ass bastard and wants my wet hole instead of his hand. I willingly accept the request because I would be stupid not to. He is a hell of a good time, I will never deny that.

  He has probably already stroked his cock hard and realized how much better I would feel. He is right. I will feel good. And he will be amazing especially after the day I had.

  Immediately, my pussy soaks at the thought of D taking me in the dark. His hands grab my hips and slide my body the edge of the bed. He lifts my ankles to rest upon his shoulders. I smile that he remembers how much I love this.

  With one swift thrust, D sinks deep inside of me. My fingers fist the sheet, twisting and pulling. His cock is hard as stone as his breathing intensifies. He wastes no time, going in for the kill. He pumps into me like I am the vehicle for his release, using me for his own needs. I don’t object. He feels too good.

  But then he does something I don’t anticipate, an unknown move in our repertoire. He slows down, rocking gentle in slow circles. I feel my own orgasm on the cusp, deep within. He is aware, too.

  Suddenly, his hands are on me. Fondling my breasts and sucking on my peaks, Dale is making love to me. In that moment, I am the deer in the headlights. This move is new and unknown. I don’t like it one bit. I squirm, trying to writhe out from beneath him.

  With my arms tethered above my head and chained to the wall, I fight as best as I can. I don’t want this. I don’t trust this. This passionate love making. I want him to stop. I want him to quit and just fuck me already. He can come; I can come and this will be over.

  “Dale,” I cry. He isn’t hurting me or doing anything wrong. To a normal girl, this I am sure is wonderful. To me, it is pure fucking terror. “You can’t.”

  My pleas are useless as he does the absolute worst thing imaginable—he kisses me. His mouth presses to mine as his tongue requests my appreciation.

  I want him.

  But I can’t do this. It occurs to me, I don’t have a choice and the tears come without hesitation. Free-flowing and abundant, I sniffle as he continues the pursuit of making love to me. His fingers stroke over my arms and tuck under my shoulders and head, pulling me into his hold.

  I am his.

  His mouth devours my neck in a pleasurable sucking seduction. The slight nip and taut draw give me something to focus on as he continues to do the unthinkable. I want to run, but the prick and tingle against my collarbone is too much to handle. I succumb, bucking my hips up to meet his in this deliberate dance of synchronicity. I come willingly and able as I feel his warmth ignite inside of me.

  He stays inside of me uninvited, yet welcome. I want to beg him never to do that again, but as my swollen puss clenches on his cock, I realize I cannot. His lips drift to my nipples, kissing the delicate skin as he avoids the peaks. His mouth returns to my own and his cock jerks inside of me, disturbing my stability and causing a leap within my equilibrium. I am off-balance with his new technique. I do not understand them as my body shuts down and my mind freezes, repeating the question—What did I just do?

  I need an answer, but it doesn’t come. His lips caress over the mark upon my neck, the salvation in the rough seas that he made me endure. I hate him. He knows I do not trust. He knows I need it rough. I do not want to feel his gentle; I do not deserve it or him.

  He kisses my lips solid and his mouth meanders to press against each cheek. Removing his dick from my body, he breathes into my mouth, “I love you, Amber Leigh.”

  * * * *

  If I would have known I would have ended up in front of the camera, I don’t know that I ever would have left Arkansas. I was a nervous wreck as the glam squad attempted to make me into something I was not. I felt fake and overdone, everything blown up and out of proportion.

  Big eyelashes. Big lips. And ever bigger hair.

  We had an hour before our shoot began. My wardrobe – a scanty negligee – hung from a clothes hanger that I could see in the reflection of the mirror.

  Cy sent two dozen long stemmed red roses and a box of chocolates—the kind with the nasty creamy middle that no one liked. I loved them, but I was so nervous I couldn’t think about eating.

  Alone in my dressing room, I sat on the pretty cream colored velvet couch. I tried to read, but my mind wandered to the anxiety of having to do – that – in front of people. I had no worries about the cameras, but the idea of people watching made me want to puke.

  A sudden knock at the door shifted me away from my panic struck mentality. Before I could get up, the door swung open and Dale strutted in. Shirtless and greased from his earlier scenes, he looked dreamily good like Cyclone Blonde, the porn star should.

  “How are you?” he said, lifting my legs and sitting down beside me. “Are you okay?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “You look fuckin hot, babe.”

  I mumbled, “I look like a prostitute.”

  “No, you look less like a girl and more like a grown woman.”

  “I don’t understand that. If my big selling point was my youth, why do they have all this shit on me?” I pointed to the lace outfit and said, “And why do they have me wearing that?”

  “Would you like me to go plead your case?”

  Thinking about the offer, I paused for a moment. I had an inside with Cyclone Blonde. If I wanted, I could influence certain decisions. Before thinking about it too long, I said, “Yes.”

  “Alright. I will,” he continued with a smile. “In ten minutes.”

  I was confused and tilted my head questioningly. “Why ten minutes?”

  “I have to get you in the right frame of mind.”

  “Oh,” I acknowledged.

  “Come here. Get on your knees and suck my cock. Don’t stop until you are swallowing my come.”

  Immediately, my nighttime lessons kicked in as I responded, “Yes, Sir.”

  Standing up, I let the robe fall to the floor, revealing my genetically predisposed near perfect silhouette. His hand brushed my thigh, and I briefly wished he would have asked me to get up on his bad boy cock. I would have fucked him good on that sofa.

  Moving between his legs, I nestled down on my knees and undid his jeans. My grotesquely overdone eyes batted and blinked in suggestion. I licked my lips and bent my head.

  There was a very distinct reason Cyclone Blonde was a porn star. He had been blessed with a damn fine looking dick. His substantial girth complemented by a decent length, he hung slightly to the right. He had a decadent head, not overly mushroomed, but a splendid fit to my mouth. His balls weren’t bad either – tight and almost equal in size – the pillows offered the reigning king a proper seat.


  I loved to deep throat this son-of-a-bitch. And he knew it. Weeks together had been a fast track course to learning each other’s bodies. Lucky, we were both quick studies. Every fucking time his fingers twirled in my hair, my pussy searched for his cock and drenched my thighs. It was a cue. I flicked my eyes up and he smirked, grabbing fistfuls of my hair and directing my movements.

  God, I wanted to get on his dick.

  Letting my lush lips lead, I took his whole length relaxing my throat. I played with him, licking up the sides and diving down in a hard suck. I wasn’t the only one who liked it rough. He moaned at the gentle scrape of teeth and tensed his grip on my locks. It hurt good and brought tears to my eyes.

  I figured he would stop, not wanting to ruin my pretty face. I continued my focused blow job and his fingers pulled my hair—hard. Tear drops passed through the cluster of black causing my mascara to run. His jaw strained as his excitement increased. He growled, “Get up here.”

  I went to straddle his cock, but he captured my arm and pulled my over his lap. My breasts pressed into his damp rod. With one decisive open-handed strike, he welted my bottom. Closing my eyes, I gasped.

  “God fuck, you look gorgeous.”

  I begged, “Please do it again.”

  “Jerk me off on your tits, slutbaby.”

  I smiled at the new name I earned. They were like badges of honor to me. I caught his smirk. He knew.

  “Absolutely, Sir.”

  With my makeup ruined and stained across my cheeks, Cy spanked my ass red with his hand for the first time. The next day, my skin would be black and blue as I vainly pranced in front of the mirror—my marks of honor. He loved me.

  My ass stung good as I stroked his dick. I rubbed his head over my nipples, and he pushed two fingers inside of my swollen cunt. He pulled out quick and yanked my body onto his. Sitting on his lap, I could see us in the mirror.

  His dick thrust into me as he rolled my nipples between his fingers, bringing on a delicious burn. He smiled his million dollar grin at me in the mirror. “Look at us, Mae… You and I, we are perfect.”

  Lifting my hand, I longed to touch the reflection. My blonde hair strewn about and the black streaks under my blue eyes, I finally understood.

  He didn’t need to break me.

  Because I already was.

  DALE

  SHUTTING THE DOOR, I know she is going to crash. I accept it and walk away. I fall asleep on the sofa, but wake up before sunrise.

  I peek in on Amber, sleeping sound. I cover her with a light blanket and sneak out before she wakes up. I pull on some clothes and head into town for provisions. I need to go before any crowds form. I don’t want anyone recognizing me. I am not easy to hide—big, red-haired goon. I grab a ball cap, wallet, and keys.

  Taking the truck Serene leaves on the property, I decide to go the extra distance to the larger store for the better selection. I grab meat, fruits, vegetables, and a few other things. Within twenty minutes, I am back to the truck.

  Before heading to the cabin, I make one final stop. I fill up the tank and buy a carton of smokes on the outskirts of town. If we need to take the truck to get away, I damn sure want her tank topped off. I’ve chased enough scum to know how embarrassing it is when they run out of gas.

  Stupid asses.

  The closer I get to the property, the more alert I become. Checking each direction, I assure I am not followed. Frankly, it is dead out here. I have wondered many times why my sister kept the property that belonged to her family. The land is remote—really remote—in the mountains and not easy to find.

  The second I walk in the door, I peek in on Amber. She is curled up with the blanket and breathing lightly. I bring in the groceries and make a pot of coffee. I grab a cup, my bag of surprises, and head into the bedroom. Her eyes flicker open reluctantly. With the room dark, she wants to keep sleeping.

  Unfortunately for her, I have other plans.

  Helping her sit up, I hold the mug as she takes a few sips. I follow suit and give her a genuine smile. “Good morning, gorgeous! How did you sleep?”

  “Horrible, you motherfucking bastard,” she scowls, grabbing the cup and downing the contents. “When are you going to be done with me?”

  “Not yet!” I smirk. “We are having a day of beauty.”

  She huffs. “I would prefer if you took these damn heavy chains off me and let me go home.”

  I shake my head. “I cannot let you go home. Home is with me.”

  Tilting her head back, she clenches her jaw in anger. I don’t really care what she says she wants. I know this woman. I also understand she didn’t want me to make love to her last night, but she didn’t have a choice in that one either. All Amber wanted was a fuck—the way she is used to—but I think we should be expanding, growing, and changing.

  Her limits need to be pushed, or we are going to end up right back where we were fifteen years ago. Removing the contents of the bag, I catch the glimpse of a smirk. Not one she wants me to see, but I do despite her tirade which follows.

  “No. No. No. You are not bleaching my hair!”

  “That’s where you are wrong. I absolutely am,” I inform with a menacing glare. She knows I am not playing. “Answer me this, Ms. Rosen, when was the last time your hair was blonde?”

  If her eyes were daggers, I would be a dead man. I cackle as she didn’t want to say it. “Let me tell you—Mae East.”

  “Fuck you!” She screams, pulling hard against the chains. I don’t mind if the bruises are mine, but fuck if she will put them there.

  Grabbing her arms, I hold them down, pushing her hands to the table. She strains against me and spits in my face. I should be angry, but all I do is laugh. She hates this almost as much as silence. “You can calm down,” I soothe in a confident whisper. “And give it to me or I can take it, but either way—you are not winning.”

  Her eyes lift up, glaring at me as dark as the night. She is raging beneath the surface, her muscles tight with the anticipation. She is expecting an assault, but I’m not going to give her what she wants—a fight.

  The silent choreography between us has existed this way for years. Her job is to flee or fight; my job is to catch and punish her good. While I love my role and would love to give it her, I can’t. I need more than just her sweet sex can provide.

  She sighs deeply, rolling her eyes and knowing I mean business. “You can do whatever you want to me now, but we are through when you let me go.”

  Shaking my head, I assess with a cackle, “We are never going to be through, Amber.” I lean in close to her face, almost touching. “I have seeped into your soul, so much so that you reek with me. Every tear down your cheek and every kiss from your lips belongs to me.”

  Dropping my hand to her thighs, I skim my fingers along her delicate skin. My touch runs closer to her sex, dangerous with the suggestion of drifting into the intoxication of us. “Every time your precious puss throbs to life with the pulse of your heart and the dampness of desire, you are mine.”

  Her blue doe eyes flash at me with a hint of the girl of the past, merging our history and the possibility of a future into the now—the present. The words come reluctant in the divulgence of a hush. “Yes… Sir.”

  “That’s better. Keep yourself calm. We will get through this. Focus on me,” I assure, pulling items out of the bag and preparing to bleach her hair. I am not a fool, she may try to bolt or fight again. It’s her chosen role from long ago.

  Pulling a cable tie from my back pocket, I put it between my teeth as I unlatch her cuffs. She cannot physically overcome me, no matter how hard she tries. I hope she doesn’t—for her sake. Releasing her wrists, I rub the marks from the restraints. She has pulled too much, bruising the thin skin. My cock twitches awake with the sight of them, but I keep to the task at hand, zipping her wrists behind her back.

  She moves to the edge of the table, ready to move to the other room. “Not yet,” I caution, pulling out a pretty chain with clips from my other pocket.
Her expression changes from a raging acceptance to one of lust and longing. “You want this?”

  She bites her lip and nods once as I attach the clamps. They look beautiful dangling between her tawny peaks. Chubs goes into a full blown baton as I lead her to the kitchen.

  Pulling out a chair, I offer her the seat, understanding she will not have the plethora of comfort. I yank my shirt off, showing off muscles, scars, and ink. Her eyes are curious, giving me the clue that she needs to say something. Stirring the powder and the solution together, I offer, “You can talk to me, you know. I don’t bite.”

  “What do you want me to say Dale? I missed this… I need you? What will help you sleep at night?”

  “You on my arm,” I declare, grabbing the brush and combing through her hair. The strands are long to the middle of her back. The natural curls tangle easily, but I am careful—this isn’t about hurting her.

  “You pushed me away,” she murmurs low, staring at her feet.

  Pivoting in front of her, I squat to the floor, staring into her precious blues. She is beautiful, my perfect dirty angel. “I did what I thought I needed to do to keep you safe.”

  In an instant, her calm dissipates to a fiery blaze as she roars, “From what exactly?”

  Closing my eyes, I set my hands on her thighs and lower my head. I don’t want to do this with her, I don’t want to go back here. I want to pick us up from the good parts where we left off, not rehash the terrible end. But I know, sometimes you gotta go through hell to get to heaven.

  “From me, darlin. From me.”

  * * * *

  After two weeks working in front of the camera, Amber relaxed enough to find her groove. She was a natural and the camera loved her. She was a hit on and off camera. The crew adored her kind, quiet demeanor and her sweetness resonated onto the film and positioned her to be the next up-and-comer.