by JR King
“I’m so very proud of you, kitten.” He rubbed my behind and blew a stream of crisp air on my roused flesh. “I’m sorry, baby,” he cooed, regret heavy in his voice. I felt him pressing his lips to my seared skin, and then the flat of his tongue pressed directly against my soreness. The duality thrilled me, the heat of his mouth pricking at my skin, and the same hand that’d beaten me was comforting me.
Awash with pleasure, the first of the anal beads—metal, given the chill and weight—pressed against the rosebud-like seal. “Open up, baby.” Gradually, he pressed the small end into my flesh, and my muscles started to yield. The stimulus was alien, slightly disconcerting, and yet there was some minor pleasure. What affected me most was the excitement at being pleasured in a slightly forbidden way. As the smallest bead passed through the rings of muscle, he stroked my behind, kissing the backs of my thighs. The second, larger bead nuzzled at me. Again, there was a vague mixture of discomfort and pleasure, underscored by the thrill of taboo. Three more, and once they were inside me he spent a few seconds caressing my back, allowing me to become accustomed to the intrusion.
He eased my thighs further apart and his tongue raked my sodden cleft. I cried out into the sofa, smearing my lips against the smoothness of leather. His fingers drew me open, and I felt his warm breath against the hypersensitive flesh between my legs. For a long time, the tip of his tongue traced the very edges of my sex, and then it slipped inside me, pressing firmly into the wet flesh. As he licked me, he slipped two fingers deep into my wetness, fucking me in accompaniment to the dancing of his tongue.
One hand on my butt cheek, claiming possession, “Come on, give it to me,” he hissed against my flesh.
I climaxed, and one by one, the beads were drawn from me. Each time one slipped from my flesh, the passage itself triggered a minor explosion of ecstasy that prolonged the intensity of my orgasm.
“On to the…best part,” he chuckled.
On to the bed, he meant. His one hand cuffed my hands to the headboard and the other grasped my chin to hold me in place. Being accustomed to the warmish silk of bedclothes, I gasped when I felt my bare behind slither against the cool red leather. He used a navy Charvet necktie to bind my wrists behind my back, the one that had tiny lavender square patterns. Once fastened, I looked at him expectantly.
Very slowly, his lips quirked up into a smirk. A dirty, roguish kind of smirk. “Spread your legs.” Maybe it was the damn color of the playroom that made me surrender to my basic instincts and open up for him.
“I won’t be gentle.” His fingers combed through the wisps of hair on my forehead, his other hand winding my hair around his fist. He tugged my head backward to force me to look at him. “Mine.” A spark flashed through his eyes as he mauled my nipples, without any compassion whatsoever. “Open wider. Much wider.”
Unsolicited sensations zinged through me. Trembling, I spread my legs wider onto the tips of my toes to give him full access.
One of his eyebrows rose, as if mocking me.
He pulled a small amber glass bottle out of his trouser pocket. This type of bottle was suitable for storing essential oils so they didn’t oxidize or began to lose their aroma and therapeutic properties. And, the light brown glass helped protect the contents from exposure to light.
Expensive. Precious. Elixir.
Innocently, I asked, “What’s that, sir?”
“Menthe Poivrée.”
Realization dawned on me. Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata—1st Movement—was playing in the back as he gently smeared drops of oil over the hood of my clit and around my puckered asshole, using the excess to circle my nipples and coat my inner thighs.
“You stretched my muscles to better torture me,” I grumbled.
“Of course I did, pet.”
He gave me the sweetest of touches and the smallest of tweaks before stepping away. Returning with a glass of bourbon or whiskey, he sat down in the sofa angled before the bed, seemingly very interested in the naked, hurting girl on the bed.
Sweat broke out on my forehead and chest. My sex was tingling. No. It was burning and stinging. What was initially supposed to be prickly enough to soothe achy muscles was working its magic on my most sensitive flesh.
This was barbarian. “Alex, please,” I yelped, fighting as hard as I could to live through this ordeal. Raw heat penetrated deep into my inner tissues, igniting sensations that shocked me.
“Poor thing,” he chuckled childishly. “There’s no need for you to put a sock on your moans.”
“Argh! Make it stop!” I shouted, squirming, suffering from the most humiliating predicament as it stung my ass.
He smiled at me, pleasure-stoked. “It’ll wear off. Don’t worry, kitten.”
It was burning. My clit and nipples were fiery pinpoints demanding coolness—and sexual relief. Pulling on my bound wrists didn’t help, and rubbing my thighs together only made things worse.
“Open your legs, pet. Closing them will prolong the torture. Not that I mind.”
An equal amount of disgust and anger bloomed in me. “You fucking bastard!”
My chest was heaving, tears threatening to spill as I thrust my hips upward, hoping for the cool air to ease the burning. Alexander just sat there, ignoring me.
“Alex? Please make it stop?”
He laughed while watching me hump the air in search for relief. Perspiration was pouring off me, my sweat-dampened hair clinging to my forehead. I had only the dulcet strains of classical music to comfort me.
“Oh, for crying out loud.” I let my face rest against the leather headboard, rubbing a cheek against its smoothness. Nice and cool.
“You’re very wet,” he observed.
Sadistic fucker. I was beyond wet. Treacherous muscles rebelled and submitted concurrently. “You monster!”
“Then why, my little pet, are you aroused?”
Sweat dripping, moans stockpiling in my throat, I was barely able to concentrate. “Yellow,” I told him in earnest.
At this, he moved over and sat down before me, and blew the softest, crispest breath over a nipple. His breath was like cool ice, making me shudder. My strength rekindled, I pushed my chest toward him.
His fingers reached for the nipple, skilled digits pinching it. I started to lift my hips, but instead of rubbing my clit he landed a sharp smack on my sex.
“Oh my God, yes,” I screamed, bucking my hips.
That brought a full smile to his face. “You weren’t lying to me at all the first time we had phone sex. See how much you’re enjoying this?” To emphasize his point, he delivered another smack.
He repeated the torture over and over again, pinching a nipple then smacking my sex. I was incapable of counting how many times.
“Look at the mess you’ve made on my hand.” I could smell my arousal when he lifted it to my face. I was trembling like a leaf. “Wanna come, baby girl?” He nibbled, soft first then harder, at the curvature of my neck.
“Please, Alex.”
“Ride my fingers.”
His words made me come undone, pushing me over the edge of sanity. I pressed the soles of my feet deeper into the mattress, heaving my body up and down as he whirled and flickered his fingers inside my wet folds. I watched his hand work between my legs, then I let my head fall back, pushing myself harder against him to find my release. Blood rushed faster, the muscles of my abdomen tightened, and my legs twitched as the wave of tension built and crashed down on me. Detonating ecstasy within me. I garbled profanities, my hushed yips becoming pronounced shouts as my vision ruddied.
My toes curled.
“What do you say?”
Without any prompting, I exhaled: “Thank you, sir.”
“Good girl.”
“And sir, can I please get a blanket? To make things cozier.”
“Such a polite girl. Of course, sweetheart.”
Alexander Turner
The Black Swan
My carefully planned-out life was crumbling, and Elena was responsibl
e for this malice. Lust and anger rolled over me like a swelling tide, flooding every bit of my goodness.
Tied above her head, Elena balled her little hands into furious fists, surely threatening her elaborate French manicure. Her gasps and moans were punctuated by merciless slaps across her buttocks. “Please, Alex,” she cried hoarsely.
“You will like it any way I choose to give it to you,” I snarled. “You’ve been very naughty, Elena.”
“I shouldn’t have kept—,”
“Zip it,” my growl interrupted. I pulled out fully and rammed my cock back in. “I won’t tolerate such behavior in the future.” I slapped her ass bitingly hard. “Will you lie to me again?”
“No…never…no…I’m sorry, sir,” she babbled, panting as I began to hammer my cock rougher into her soft flesh.
“Damn right, you’re sorry,” I muttered. “I think you like being punished. You like a rough fucking from your master.”
When I came, my semen spurted in hot jets over her naked, ruddied derrière. I released her from the restraints. She was framed in the center of the bed by tangles of silky black rope and a black counterpane, beautiful against the red leather. She stretched and flexed her wrists for a moment, arranged a pillow behind her, and leaned back with her head on interlocked hands. She smiled the cheeky smile she always wore in contentment, looking relaxed and dreamy, her rope marks erotically compelling.
“Can you face Christopher?” I asked.
Her eyes stayed locked with mine. What I read in them fluttered a chill in my chest, that’s how I can describe it.
First thing in the evening, as he stood before her, the ribbon she forced out of duty uncoiled with a deep sigh. She lifted the lid of the gift box and looked inside it.
“Enjoy it while it lasts.” Christopher’s eyebrows shot up, waiting for her to react. He’d brought her lots of the limited-batch Schweddy Balls Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.
“Thank you, Chris. You really shouldn’t have.” Her lips were glued in a smile, sunniness smothered in her voice.
“Very well. You and I, Elena, we gel. Next time you want to know something, extend me some fucking courtesy to explain myself. I have neither the time nor the inclination to steal evidence from safe deposit boxes. Why would I?”
“I thought…maybe it was you.”
“You’ve lost me.” His voice was cold.
“My mother was having an affair.”
“Wait. Meaning all these years, I waited, then sent my nephew to seduce you in order to open a box? Seems rather thin, doesn’t it? Far-fetched, even.”
“I know, right?”
I swept her up in my arms for a quick kiss. To my profound relief, Christopher didn’t insist on a formal apology. I was happy to see them abuzz with excitement.
While Elena took out the sheet pan with rosemary-parmesan gougères from the oven, I whipped up apple martinis. We all sat down on the deck and watched rush-hour gridlock spread to the streets around busy thoroughfares. This is the life. Chewing the fat off with Christopher and Elena after work seemed so natural.
“Passable cocktail,” Christopher teased me.
“Hey, don’t you diss my effort! I put blood, sweat, and tears into it.”
Dazed by the crepuscular scene unfolding, we enjoyed a second round of happy-hour drinks, trying out lurid names for the concoction.
We watched high-rise buildings artificially light up, and, as the curtain of night closed in on the city’s sky, Elena gushed about her father’s writing. With puckered coral lips and bright eyes, she quipped one effusive praise after the other in regard to his poetry.
I’d learned to read her moods.
Once we were on our own, I pressed her against the sliding glass door to reassert my ownership, delving a hand into the dark tangle of her hair. My lips slanted over hers, kissing her in an urgent way to reveal my intentions. I growled lowly and licked into her mouth while plumping the petite globes of her breasts. She circled my tongue, attempting to suction it, soft moans becoming deeper in her chest. I lowered her onto my hardness at the very moment I dropped on our bed and she rode me with slow, sensual abandon.
Watching her saunter off after the quickie, I perceived she’d added more strut to her stride. Her lean limbs reminded me of a graceful swan, revealing the real gravity of the situation. Much like a dangerous black swan, I jogged my memory.
Elena Anderson
The Insecure Girl
Tonight I was supposed to be going to this really great new restaurant with Sara, but I had a headache brought on by induced angst. Alexander went solo to Hollywood for an interview with Jay Leno, and the taping of a skit with Victoria’s Secret Angels.
One too many gin and tonics made my headache reach a painful crescendo. I dozed off on the sofa. I woke up sometime in the night, confused and delusional and heartsick over Alexander. Tears had dried in streaks across my cheeks. Barefoot, I stumbled toward the bedroom. I wanted to lie in our bed and be comforted by the smell of him on the linens, but I knew it was impossible because the sheets had been changed.
I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Crept in and fell on the bed slantways, the soft thud it left pulling me in its wake to confront a dream.
“Ariel?”
When I opened my eyes, deep grey pools greeted them. Before I could come up with a good position, warm lips were on mine, working against them.
“Open.” He pressed his tongue against my lip. I opened my mouth and his tongue immediately went in, pushing against mine. Our mouths slid desperately across each other. He tongued me deep and fast, making love to my mouth at first, then fucked it. I drank in his taste, licking and savoring, moaning because of my own insatiable need.
He sucked on my lower lip, teased my tongue, the circle of his lips moving along it. I was wet and aching for him, nearly frantic with the need to feel him filling me, to feel he was mine and mine alone.
“Spread your legs. Need to fuck you.”
I burst into thousands of flames. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I wanted more. I wound my fingers through his hair and pulled, making him groan into my mouth. I sighed into the kiss and heaved my breasts into his chest. His hands settled on my waist, his lips traveling down my throat. Right at the slip of skin between my neck and chest, he sucked and kissed until I was sobbing his name. Only when he was satisfied, did he pull back and blew air over my damp skin.
“Touch my cock. I need you to touch me.”
“I will touch you,” I gasped.
He lifted his hips. I stroked his hard cock. Then he bore down on me, shoving it hard inside me. I squeezed him between my thighs and writhed beneath him, grinding against him. He buried his head into my hair and whispered things I couldn’t understand. My hands tightened in his hair, my body thrumming with alcohol and pure pleasure. When it was all said and done, he didn’t vanish. He tore himself away from my body and rested on his back, covering his eyes with his arm. “I’ve missed you, my drunk little kitten.”
Alexander was back.
Things would be fine as long as he stood in control, and guided me.
On the day of the Masquerade Ball, there was a presentiment of catastrophe. Jax was lying in wait, but I didn’t know this yet.
Alexander spent all morning with some professional event photographer. At first, when I approached his office, I heard their voices: Alexander’s smooth baritone making the vacuum of Carla’s bland personality laugh. It sounded like they were bantering. The door was left ajar, so I stood there listening to them for a few seconds. To be hiding behind a door and spy on my man felt wrong, my cheeks burned with embarrassment. Where was my self-respect?
I wasn’t unprincipled.
I pushed the door wide open, and all but fell into the room. My heart sped up a few beats. They were standing side by side, forming a striking portrait as they looked at something on an iPad. Carla was more like a black-billed magpie looking to line her nest. Her upper arm—flawlessly bronzed and bare in a beaded spaghetti str
ap dress—grazed his Tom Baker pinstripe vest. Alexander looked up as I walked in, closed the iPad’s case, and stepped away from Carla with a tight smile.
“Good afternoon, Elena,” he began, and to Carla, “gorgeous pictures, sweetheart. Would you excuse us for a minute?”
Was she naked in the pictures? It wouldn’t surprise me, not in the least. Carla’s eyes were almond-shaped, plump heart-shaped lips, eyebrows arched arrogantly with that blend of evident nobility but also earthiness.
“Of course, Alex.” She came to me and murmured, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Elena. I look forward to seeing you at the ball.”
I smiled at her and murmured something unintelligible back as we bussed each other’s cheek. With a heavy heart—and unable to cope with the sudden jealousy I felt, I shut the door and turned to look at Alexander. He was leaning against the edge of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest, looking like he was posing for the Sexiest Man Alive.
My lips tightened as I tried to remember the reason why I’d come. Ah—it was to tell him I wanted to get spanked, but the incriminating sight of Carla’s bare arm against his chest had thrown me off balance. “I’m sorry I interrupted you,” I stated stupidly.
“That’s a lovely dress,” he pointed out, lust etched across his face.
Les jeux sont faits. I inched closer to the desk, staying silent.
His eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong, Elena?”
“I’m feeling abandoned.” I paused, making sure there was no quaver in my voice. “Will you take a bath with me? I want you to fuck me until I can’t breath in a Jacuzzi full of sweet scented bubbles.”
He hooked his thumb into the waistband of my backless dress, which was low and dipped down with a vee in the middle. “Marvelous idea,” he smirked devilishly. “Draw it, I’ll be right there.”
