by Harper Bliss
“Better work on your core strength, Charlie,” Ava said the first time she made me do this. I had toppled over face-first into the duvet, to Ava’s great delight. Back then, she was still much more easily distracted and we’d both burst out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. She untied me and allowed me to roam my hands all across her body while she fucked me. Not even if I fall over in the most comic fashion will she let me do that tonight.
The way she is with me now has been a gradual evolution of her pushing a tiny bit more every time we do this. The tone of her voice has changed from hesitant to incontestable. The touch of the paddle she sometimes spanks me with has grown from gentle grazing to determined smacking. Sometimes, in moments like these, when I clumsily shuffle onto the bed and try to find a position to sit in, overly aware of her eyes catching my smallest movement, I wonder where it will end. What she’ll have me do a year from now.
I’ve tried fighting her for top, most times playfully but sometimes with such heartfelt passion it warranted a long discussion after, but in this combination of her and me together, this is how it is. And I’ve grown to enjoy balancing on that thin edge of curiosity, between wanting her to have her way with me in any which way she pleases, and the struggle that remains within me to resist. I’m by no means naturally submissive and we both know it—both get off on it.
“You can open your eyes now,” Ava says.
I blink when I do and see nothing. I sigh, both with contentment and frustration.
“You’ll figure out soon enough why I had to tie you up for this,” she whispers in my ear from behind, then lets her teeth clamp down on my earlobe.
I’ve somehow managed to cross my legs underneath me and the touch of her teeth against my skin makes my clit pulse heavily.
Ava makes her way to the other side of the bed and I glue my gaze to her. She’s still wearing the tank top and shorts she had on when she tied me up. I have no idea what her next move will be. She might delve back into the drawer, but she doesn’t have me in the right position for a spanking. She might just leave me here to ponder her next action on my own for fifteen minutes, until my head is so full of possibilities—and my clit so engorged with lust—I’ll be struggling to get my restraints off and put myself out of my horny misery.
Today, she does neither. Instead, she brings her hands to the bottom of her top and, slowly, pulls it over her head. I already knew she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath, but the sight of her breasts being liberated, her nipples growing hard just by the feel of the air, unleashes another round of throbbing in my clit.
“It’s really a courtesy to you that I’ve tied you up,” Ava says. “You know what I’d have to do to you if you touched yourself of your own volition.” There’s that crooked grin again, accompanied by a wicked sparkle in her eyes. “I’m all about doing you favors, Charlie. That’s how much I love you.” With that, she hooks her thumbs underneath the waistband of her shorts and just stands there for a few seconds—mute and utterly delicious.
She’s definitely doing me a favor by, ever so slowly, sliding her shorts over her hips and baring herself to me. As she bends over, her breasts fall forward and, by god, she was right to tie me up because if my hands had been free I would have grabbed for them in a split second. The combination of my impaired mobility and the sight she has me behold has me gasping for breath already. And I know her quick striptease is not where this will end, because that’s not how she’s wired. Not anymore. If I’m sure of one thing, it’s that my hands will remain bound behind my back for a good while longer.
Amused and incredibly aroused, I watch her, waiting for what she’ll do next. Even in the bedroom it’s so clear that Ava was born to entertain—born for the bright glare of the limelight. She usually refuses to switch off the light when we make love, a decision I can always only wholeheartedly agree with because I’m at my happiest when I have my eyes on her, when the light—any light—catches in her glance and I can see how much pleasure she gets from sexually torturing me.
Ava now stands naked before me, her hands on her hips, a grin so triumphant on her lips it makes me fear the worst—or the best. I fully expect her to dig up that nasty flogger she bought a few months ago and have a go with it at my attention-starved nipples. Or maybe she’ll go for the nipple clamps. She has that kind of look on her face that’s not interested in mercy. Between my legs, I feel myself go wetter.
Instead of reaching for the drawer again and introducing another prop, she gingerly hops onto the bed and sits in front of me.
“How badly do you want to touch me right now?” Her face is a mask of mock-seriousness. As if she doesn’t know the answer to that question already. As if it’s not written all over my face that I want my wrists to be freed and my hands all over her magnificent body.
The only response that will preserve my dignity in this moment is complete silence. It’s all part of the game. I purse my lips together, as though keeping them tightly shut will prevent any pleading words from spilling from them. I look into her eyes, trying to gauge her, the way I’ve done so many times before, but today, I truly have no idea what she has up her sleeve.
“Come on, Charlie,” she spurs me on. “I’m not above letting you know that I really want to fuck you right now. Meet me in the middle here.”
I remain silent, still fiercely braving her gaze. Though I’m getting distracted by the finger she brings an inch from my chin, by the promise of touch I know she won’t deliver on. Not yet. She cleaves her finger through the air, the tip of it dangerously close to my nipple now, but our skins don’t meet. Though for my nipple, she might as well just have pinched it hard the way it reaches upward, trying to catch her touch.
“Fine.” She drops her hand and starts scooting backward. “But remember you asked for this. You know how I feel about these silences of yours.” She pushes herself all the way to the other side of the bed, then clasps her arms around her knees chastely, her lips pressed together, as though giving great thought to something—like she didn’t plan every single second of this before we entered the bedroom.
And there we sit. I on one side of the bed, hands tied; she on the other. My blood beats with anticipation. My clit feels like it might explode any second now.
Then, slowly, Ava lets her arms drop from around her knees and she spreads her legs, putting herself on full display for me. Instantly, my mouth goes dry. My heartbeat picks up speed. Because now I know how she’s going to make me suffer. She’s going to make me watch. We’ve done this over Skype a few times, but the big difference then was that my hands were not tied behind my back and I could take full advantage of the slew of stimulating images unfolding in front of me.
Her knees drop onto the bed and, her eyes pinned to mine, she inserts a finger into her mouth. She sucks it in deep, making a smacking sound when it leaves her lips. Then she drags it over her neck, in between her breasts, down her belly button, and holds it still in front of her sex. And it feels like she’s doing this to me. In my tortured state, I can feel her wet finger drifting over my skin, halting a hair’s breadth away from my clit.
Involuntarily, my wrists wriggle against their restraints. I want to break free. I want to do to myself what she’s doing to herself. I want to mirror her actions and take the pleasure she’s getting from them. But I’m not in charge of my own pleasure. Not tonight. Not yet.
She’s not even moving her finger. It just lies there still. The only sound is the one I’m making trying to free myself and I know she must be getting off on the twitch of my muscles, just as I know that she has bound me tightly enough in order for me to not be able to set myself free. This pains me more than any smack she has ever delivered to my ass. The view in front of me is so sexy it hurts. My wrists ache from being bound, my shoulders from trying to wriggle free, but, most of all, my clit throbs so violently, I’m afraid I might climax just by sitting here. Just by exposure to air and the image of Ava spread open for me, about to touch herself. And that would be the worst sin of a
ll. Not only because it would go against our unspoken rule that, in this particular situation, I am not allowed to come without her explicit permission, but, even more so, because for me, it would feel like a wasted orgasm. A quick shudder of relief that would not deliver on the anticipation that’s being built up and up. I don’t want a shudder from this, I want a dazzling thunderstorm.
I try to steady my breathing and, behind my back, clasp my fingers together solemnly instead of fidgeting with the fabric around my wrists. I focus on my breath and, when I look into Ava’s eyes again, I see she’s waiting for me to calm down. To enjoy this in a way that doesn’t ruin my eventual pleasure. Oh, how I will explode when she frees me and finally touches me. One flick of her finger and I will fall apart underneath it. But we’re not there yet. I take another deep breath and try to tap into the stamina that I’ve built up being Ava’s lover.
Then, her finger starts moving. She slides it over her nether lips, into the wetness that has gathered there. Her other hand joins the party and, with it, she spreads her lips wide, opening up her most intimate spot, for me. Though we’re a world away from touching each other, we’re so close in this moment. So wrapped up in each other. So completely devoted to each other.
Ava’s no longer wise-cracking. Her mouth has drooped open. Playing with me the way she’s been doing must have aroused her greatly and now, in the smallest way, it’s my turn to enjoy her torture. Because she’s actually touching herself and how can she not surrender to that? She will come under my gaze. My eyes on her will make her climax much faster than she’d want to. Inside of Ava’s mind, a war is waging now. I can tell by the intensified motion of her finger around her clit. And, oh god, she brings a finger of her other hand inside herself and the groan that subsequently fills the room doesn’t come from her side of the bed.
“Jesus,” I moan. This is too much. The desire to touch my clit is so overwhelming I fear I might pass out. But then I would miss out on the spectacle she’s giving me. One finger circles, while the other dips in and out of her, until she wants more and she adds another finger and delves them deep inside, as deep as they will go. I wish those were my fingers feeling the warmth inside of her, giving her this pleasure. I wish it was my tongue circling her clit. I wish so many things, until all my wishes are drowned out by the sight of Ava’s stiffening limbs.
She’s coming in front of me. Even though I’m not the one delivering her climax, the fact that she’s giving herself up to me this way, showing her most vulnerable side as the orgasm claims her, I feel it power through me. The river my pussy has become will surely leave an irremovable stain on the sheets—a memento to remind us of this night forever. Her two fingers go deep inside of her as her muscles spasm, as her pussy contracts around her, and she furiously strokes her clit.
When she comes to, opens her eyes and finds my gaze, there’s no sign of triumphant Ava. Her smile is soft, barely-there, her eyes narrowed in what looks to me like compassion. Because I had to witness this while imprisoned by her control over me.
This moment is a culmination of everything, because it’s the instant before she will release me, but it’s also the aftermath of her climax she had me watch, it’s what this entire night has boiled down to. She knows it. I know it. It’s why I don’t mind her waiting a few seconds before she pushes herself up and gazes deep into my eyes, affirming our love, and this chemistry between us, and what our sex life has become as opposed to what it was when we first met. It’s a recognition of the journey we’ve been on, inside and outside of the bedroom.
Then, finally, she comes for me.
She cups my jaw in her hands and kisses me as the smell that lingers on her fingers penetrates my nose.
“Untie me,” I beg, when we break from the kiss, because I don’t care about the game anymore. My skin sizzles with need. My clit aches with unmet desire. My entire body has become an extension of the want between my legs. I need her now.
Ava doesn’t speak, just brings her hands behind my back and, as though she bound my hands together with the most uncomplicated knot, sets me free. My wrists are numb, but I don’t take the time to shake some new life into them. Instead, I throw my arms around Ava’s neck and pull her to me. Our breasts crash together, her skin on mine is hot.
I let myself fall backwards, pulling Ava on top of me. “Fuck me now,” I say in between heavy breaths. “Please, fuck me now.”
Not even Ava has the gall to not immediately honor my request. There’s no more room for exerting control over me now. Time has run out. I’m sure, next time, she’ll push me farther, but tonight, I’ve earned my climax.
She plants a flurry of kisses on my jaw, neck, nipples on her way down. I let my legs fall wide, allowing her to see the full extent of my arousal. I’m so wet I feel it trickle down my behind, coating my inner thighs. My clit is a pulsing heart of dire need, evidence of how her actions have aroused me. Wisely, she doesn’t kiss it immediately. It would set me off straight away and she knows what I like when I come. One of her exquisitely long fingers inside of me at the very least. Or two or three. Wet as I am, three shouldn’t be an issue at all.
I feel her breath move over me down there, feel her fingers skate up my thigh, along my lips, spreading my pussy wide. She plunges in two from the start, quickly adding a third, and I’m starting to lose it already. I’m in Ava heaven. Images of how she delved her fingers into her own pussy earlier pop up on the backs of my eyelids. Oh, those fingers and what they can do. They instantly connect with something deeper inside of me, with the need she has created by tying me up and making me watch her, by the desire that’s been running in my veins since the day we met. Already, I’m starting to crumble under her touch. But my neglected clit is still thumping wildly, still waiting impatiently for the touch of her tongue.
When I don’t feel her tongue touch down as expected, I open my eyes and see her glancing at my face, her lips trembling with focus, her dark eyes glimmering with love. I don’t have to say anything because how could she not know. I love her and I want her tongue on my clit right now. I need release. I’ve been tortured enough.
Then, at last, she bows her head and, a split second later, her tongue is where I want it. Her fingers are still pumping, still bringing me to new heights, but the addition of her tongue, finally, lets me really break free. My hands are in her long, fanned-out hair. My pelvis is bucking up, trying to find some rhythm. My clit is melting under her tongue’s caress. The sensation spreads through me. When my muscles start to shudder with orgasm, I relive the image of Ava sucking her own finger deep into her mouth. The same finger she’s fucking me with now. It all blends together. What has come before and what’s happening now. The touch of her tongue and her fingers. The smile with which she undressed earlier. The memory of the ribbon of red dress cutting into my wrists. And I erupt under her touch. My body gives itself to her completely, resulting in a loud, syncopated moan from my lips.
I’m free and I’m hers as she claims me with her fingers and her tongue, as the orgasm dances through me, reaching every extremity, saturating my blood, singing under my skin. When I come down from the cloud I was just on, the one that transported me out of my body and kept me firmly locked in its pleasure at the same time, I know that it would never have felt like this—this liberating, this earth-shattering, this all-consuming—if she hadn’t played me so expertly from the very beginning.
With a contented sigh, I sink into the mattress, as Ava’s fingers retreat. That victorious smile is back on her lips, but there’s a subtle difference with the one she painted on earlier. A tenderness has crept into it. A tenderness that emanates from her entire body as she drapes it over mine and whispers in my ear, “I love you.”
Latin Lessons
Lise MacTague
Carmodie sat on the hard wooden chair and fidgeted, her thoughts turning wistfully to the sunshine outside. If she craned her neck, she could make out blue sky through the heavily-leaded panes of the room’s small window. It was cracked open eno
ugh that the sweet smells of summer wafted to her on a gentle breeze. Distant laughter floated on the wind, mocking her confinement.
It’s not fair. Her inner voice sounded petulant even to herself. How did Father find a new tutor so quickly? She’d only just run off the last one, a dried-out old stick of a man with a nasal voice and an unfortunate nervous tic that had only grown worse the longer he taught her. When he’d finally run screaming from the room, left eye twitching uncontrollably, she’d looked forward to at least a month of freedom.
It wasn’t to be. There she was, barely a seven-day later, trapped in the same stuffy room waiting for the newest tutor. Even more alarming was her complete inability to winkle out the tiniest bit of information about this mysterious teacher. No one would tell her the least little thing about him, though her old nurse had smirked when she had professed her ignorance on the subject. Not even the palace maid-servants would fill her in.
She crossed the room and pushed the heavy window open far enough to look down. Laughter came readily to her ears. It seemed to be coming from the south lawns. Try as she might, Carmodie couldn’t make out what was going on. Even on her tiptoes, she couldn’t see over the small rise directly behind the palace. She gathered her skirts in both hands and contemplated the windowsill. It seemed wide enough and if she were on it, she could maybe see over the hill. Only the previous evening, the young women of the court had been talking about putting on a mock-joust.
Carmodie had attended plenty of jousts, and thought them a terrible bore. Men dressed like metal lobsters on horseback didn’t really interest her. A mock-joust, where one boy sat piggy-back upon another as they ran about and tried to pull each other down sounded much more diverting. It would be diverting, watching the boys embarrass themselves for her amusement.