Marsha giggled at the sight of him. “I guess you liked it,” she said softly, leaning down to flick his jism off her calf. “But now what?”
“Now what?” Bob repeated. “Now, I get to do things to you.” He pointed at her solemnly, and she giggled again.
“It's going to take a little time,” she said mischievously. “Since you couldn't wait…”
Bob pushed himself up and ended up on his knees in front of her. “Fucking isn't the only thing I have in mind for you, sweetie.” Suddenly, he pushed her back onto the bed and grasped her right hand as she fell. She struggled a little, more out of confusion than fear, and her struggles allowed him to get that hand under her body, at the small of her back, where he held onto it with his left hand. Then, firmly shoving her thighs apart, he ripped the front of her soaking panties down, bent into her, and took a long, loving taste of her.
Marsha's breath exploded from her in a moan that almost seemed loud enough to wake the kids. Bob thrust his tongue deeply inside her, washing her inner lips with broad strokes, lathering the sides and the sensitive top, where her pleasure nub was prominent and awaiting attention. She moaned and squirmed, his firm hand holding her down more in her imagination than in reality. But she arched her back and pretended he was holding her down all the same, and when his lips and teeth finally found her aching center, she was totally unprepared for the thrust into ultimate pleasure. Her hips moved against her will, and a spurt of new wetness met her husband's tongue as she thrashed and came into his mouth.
It was a sudden, swift, and harsh orgasm, and as she found herself on its wave, she also found herself crying out to her husband over and over again, as though his name made it better for her, taking her over the top. “Oh, Bob, Bob, do it baby, do it!” And as her pleasure peaked and her body shook in the tremors of passion, Bob pulled himself up onto the bed, dragging something with him. He left his crumpled trousers on the floor. Before she knew it, heavy rope was looped around one wrist. Too weak to move, she let him drag her other wrist out and up, and smiling, he tied them together.
“You…you cheat…” she managed to say, as he pulled his knots tight. “You got me when I was too weak to fight.”
“That's the idea. Come on, my lady love, up to the head of the bed. I'm not finished with you yet.” With that, he proceeded to tie her wrists to the wooden headboard. Then he pushed a pillow under her ass and running the rope under the bed, he tied her ankles spread apart. Casually, he untied her robe and spread the sides, letting them fall. Pushed up by the pillow, her loins were on display, partially hidden only by her wet and crumpled panties.
He reached over to her and pulled those panties back up, and she emitted a sad groan. “You kept mine on for quite some time,” he explained, smoothing the cloth over her. “Now, it's my turn.” She moaned in anticipation and tried to arch her back even more to get pleasure from the touch of his fingers. But he pulled them away, and thrust one hand under the remaining pillow at the head of the bed. When he pulled out the scarf, she trembled.
“This one is for your eyes.” Awkwardly, he managed to blindfold her, tying the knot by her ear. Then, he pulled a chair near the bed and sat to look at her.
He had been honestly shocked at the enthusiasm she displayed while she was spanking him. The feeling he got when he sat down was a reminder of that. But he had never taken the opportunity to really look at her like this, her body bare and on display, waiting for him. He loved the gentle swell of her full breasts, the roundness of her thighs and the way the dark golden hair, now hidden under those soaked panties, curled upwards toward her belly. She was every bit as beautiful as she was when they first began to go out together. He sat still, admiring her, and remembering the feel of her hand against his bare ass, until he felt a stirring that signaled he was getting close to full recovery, and then he slowly moved toward the bed. Without warning, he reached out and pinched her nipples.
Marsha bit back a scream. She had been lying there, loving the wait, loving the feeling of him still in the room, watching her. But at the same time, she was itching for his touch, wanting to beg for his cock. She had kept silent because she couldn't decide what to do. The sudden sharp feeling in her nipples scared her and excited her at the same time. She moaned her appreciation as Bob gently kneaded them, bringing them to little twin erections. She felt his body settle near her on the bed, and gasped as he leaned over her and took one nipple, then the other, into his mouth to suck and nibble on. Then, he began to run his tongue against the sides of her breasts, under her collarbone, and around to her shoulders. Wherever he left this trail of wetness, she shivered. He worked his way across her face, nibbling on her earlobes, kissing her lips and the curve of her cheeks, until her moans began to intensify with urgency. He brought his body far up on the bed and planted his knees on either side of her chest, his cock now hanging inches over her gasping mouth.
“I want you,” she declared, writhing in ecstasy. “Stop teasing me!”
“I'll tease you as long as I want to,” he replied, settling into position. “Maybe all night.”
“Damn you! Please, Bob, please…” She shuddered as he reached behind his back and pinched her right nipple with one hand. His hand brushed his still hot ass cheek, and his cock stiffened immediately, almost drawing him down to ease into her mouth. But still, he held himself back.
“Please what?” he asked, balancing over her. “Tell me what you want…and make it dirty.”
“Let me suck your beautiful cock,” Marsha moaned instantly, shocked at how easily the words came to her. “Let me have it in my mouth, let me taste you, let me please you, oh, God, Bob, please…”
“Whatever you say.” Bob lowered his waiting cock into his wife's open mouth and she immediately wrapped her wet lips around him, engulfing him in hot, soft pleasure. He gasped as she drew him in, swallowing him to the root in one delicious slurp. Ecstasy flooded his nerves and almost made him cry out. He gently began to slide his cock past those tight lips, back and forth, back and forth, rocking, holding himself up by grasping the headboard.
“Oh, yeah, that's it, baby, take it all…so nice!” He groaned in delight at her eager mouth- and throat-work, the way she pulled and caressed him, and the way she followed his movements as though she were afraid he would take this treat away from her.
“That's good, sweetie, so good. I love your mouth on me like that…I might let you do this all night. Wouldn't you like that?” Bob was also getting off on the sheer power of the situation; having Marsha helpless under him, yet so hot for him she was taking him in like a pro. She gasped and he drew his cock back for a moment.
“Yes! Yes, give it back, I'll take it all night, I'll make you feel so good! Oh, Bob, this is so hot! Please, and Bob…make it hard! Fuck my mouth, make me feel it!”
He cut her off by thrusting his impossibly hard cock straight into her mouth. No gentleness here; only hard, fast face-fucking. He couldn't take it anymore, Marsha's overwhelming erotic response and her willingness to take even more from him. He shoved his cock neatly to the back of her throat and felt the contraction around the head that meant she had gagged. He eased back slightly, to let her breathe, but then shoved his way back.
She made muffled, sharp sounds of pleasure as he plundered her throat in a way he never had before. Could this be her gentle but imaginative lover? Her partner and the father of her children? She gulped him deep into her mouth and lavished all the attention she could on that relentless piece of flesh that battered and so wonderfully filled her. Finally, he pulled back all the way, and drew his cock from her lips, glistening with her spit.
“No, no, give it back!” Marsha pleaded, bending her head up, seeking it. “Don't stop, please…”
“I told you I'd do what I want, right?” Bob asked, moving down the bed. “Well, now I want to fuck you. Any complaints?”
Marsha only moaned, and he reached out to grasp the waistband of her panties and tugged at it until they tore off, exposing her delicate but soaki
“Oh…yes…right there…” Marsha pulled and strained against her bonds, amazed at the intensity of every touch. “I want…I want you to fuck me! Come on, Bob, give it to me! I'm so hot…so ready!”
“Oh…you want this?” Bob slid down the bed and lowered himself to her, then edged just the head of his throbbing penis into her. She gave a sharp, high-pitched squeal of pleasure, and he felt her close around him, spasming in pleasure. He pressed his thumb against the engorged nub poking out from behind its protective hood, and forcefully, skillfully, brought her to levels of pleasure she had never even imagined before. She thrashed against the bed, her hips churning, and when she had spent all that energy, he thrust his cock into her as far as it could go.
If she had the breath, she would have screamed. Instead, she gasped and tightened around him, and as he began to fuck her in earnest, she brought her hips even higher, to meet each thrust. He was unstoppable, hard and eager, and he soon forgot he had already come not so long ago. Her furious passion drove him, harder, faster, deeper, and she met him with a loving acceptance that brought him immediately to the brink. There would be no trying to hold back now.
“I love you, sweetie,” he gasped, driving into her, the taste of her on his lips, the feel of her spanking still burning his ass. She groaned even as she nodded and began to convulse in yet another pinnacle of pleasure. The feeling of her tightening and kneading his manhood was just what he needed. With one final push, he emptied himself into her, shooting with a raw strength that left him gasping, stretched out over her body.
It was at least ten minutes before either one remembered the ropes. And as they finally slept, wrapped in each other's arms, they both realized the kids had blissfully slept through the whole thing.
Chapter Two:
Sappho's Solution
Jennifer and Lisa lived together in a two-story walk-up in Park Slope, and on this Friday night, their trip home on the subway was more tension-inducing than usual. After walking away from Lisa in front of the theater, Lisa slowed down as she usually did, and allowed her lover to catch up. But there was an insistent wedge between them, and all the way home, Jen kept wondering how long they were going to last if they could never disagree without it turning into an argument. They could never argue without it turning into a highly personal and hurtful fight.
On top of it all, damn it, Jen found herself thinking about some of the scenes in that stupid movie she had dragged Lisa to see. That part of Lisa's complaint was true; Jen was often the one to suggest new things to do and see. Lisa was more of a steady person. She liked things to be comfortable and predictable. But even she had admitted they could only rent Desert Hearts so many times. Jen closed her eyes briefly and remembered the leather harnesses, the silvery image of chain, a black glove casually slapped across a man's startled face—and absently substituted Lisa's pouting face in that man's place. Surprised at her own fantasy, she opened her eyes and shook the memories from her mind. She had something that had to be dealt with tonight, or else the two of them would slide helplessly into that cold “we're not fighting” mode where they just stopped talking to each other.
As the train rumbled through Manhattan into Brooklyn, Jen found herself silently watching Lisa as they stood near the doors of the subway car, occasionally swaying with it like the native New Yorkers they were. They made a good couple. Where Jen was a dark haired—length kept short for convenience—deeply tanned, and curvy woman, Lisa was tall and willowy, with long, straight blond hair and flashing green eyes. Right now, Jen was wearing her beat-up motorcycle jacket and boots, and Lisa was wrapped in a colorful down ski jacket. Their differences were part of what made them work so well together, except for this one thing.
They could never settle a fight.
When they reached their stop, Jen purposefully took Lisa's hand in hers so they could exit the station together. Lisa tensed for a moment, then tightened her grip on her lover's hand, and as they walked through the street she said softly, “I told you I wouldn't like it.”
Jen frowned. That wasn't what she had hoped to hear. Would it be too hard to say you're sorry? she thought angrily. But she said, “You never know until you try, hon.”
“I knew.” Lisa took her hand back. “You just didn't listen.”
“Oh, come on, Lisa, give me a break!” Jen stopped walking and stared at her. “Are you telling me you didn't like one single minute in that entire movie?”
Lisa hesitated, then said, firmly, “Yes, I am.” Her mouth was set in the way that betrayed more storms ahead, and for a moment, the two of them looked about to square off. But then Lisa turned and began walking fast again, and in that fashion, the two of them got home at last, in silence.
Jen slammed the door shut, knowing Lisa hated when she did that, and the two young women headed off to different ends of their one-bedroom apartment. Jen went to the kitchen, where she pulled a beer out of the refrigerator and sat by the window to drink it, ignoring the plaintive meows of Lavender, one of their resident cats. Lisa headed off to the bathroom, and in a few minutes, Jen could hear the shower running.
The running water reminded her of several scenes in the movie, especially the one that took place in and around an old-fashioned Victorian style bathtub, the kind with feet. Although she always called herself a plain and simple lover—”I stick with what I do best” she used to say—she knew about all sorts of variations, and water sports was not a new idea to her. She'd always thought of the actual practice as a little sick, though. Dirty. But somehow, the scene in that movie made it hot.
Jen leaned back and stuck her legs out, inviting Lavender to climb up to her lap. As she stroked the purring animal, she imagined Lisa in the shower, her small, perfect breasts covered in creamy lather. Water running down the center of her back and down her long legs. Closing her eyes, she could see Lisa's body twisting under the showerhead, trying to get the soap off. Her hands wiping water away from her body in long, slow strokes.
If I were there, Jen thought, taking another drink, I'd watch her through the curtain first. Then, I'd ease it open slowly, and surprise her. She'd give me a “how dare you” look first, but then she'd see the look in my eyes, and she would reach to turn the water off. But as she bent over, I'd just step in behind her, and push her down on her knees, under the stream of water, do it just like a waterfall.
Just thinking about it made Jen aware that fights or no fights, no one in the world got her hotter than Lisa did. If only she were more—amenable. Open to negotiation. Because if she were, Jen thought, still stroking the cat, she'd just go down for me and look up, trusting and hot for me. And I'd spread my legs and pull her in tight, and let her love me right there, under the water…and then I'd pull away, and make her watch as I…
“Do you want the shower?” Lisa stood in the kitchen doorway, wrapped in a towel, another one around her head. Her voice was low and slightly sulky. Jen sat up, startled, sending Lavender streaking away in the petulant fit only a cat can have. She had been so lost in her fantasy, she hadn't heard the water stop or the door open.
“Yeah,” she said simply. She would have said more, or tried to, but words just wouldn't come. So instead, she left her half-full bottle of beer on the table and stiffly walked toward the bathroom.
As Jen started to strip off her clothing before ducking into the steaming bathroom, Lisa stood by the kitchen and watched her. The shower had done wonders for her stiff muscles, partly from the cramped theater seat and partly from her indignation during the movie. But there was still a kernel of annoyance at the entire evening. Why did they have to go to see that movie? And why did Jen have to be so stubborn about everything? Lisa knew deep down that she had been unfair and rude to her lover. But she buried those feelings as well as she buried the feelings that had unwillingly run through her body during certain moments of that sicko, perverse film. People really didn't do those things, did they? And enjoy them? They couldn't enjoy them. It was wrong to enjoy them.
Why couldn't Jen just let things be? There was nothing wrong with the way they did things, especially in bed. They didn't need all that weird dress-up stuff, and they certainly didn't need dildos, or high heels, or whips, or men for that matter! That kind of film is just made for men, Lisa decided firmly. Maybe Jen thinks she hasn't been interesting enough. Maybe she thinks we need to spice things up a little. Well, I'll have to tell her I like things just the way they are.
She went into their bedroom and found Lace, their second feline houseguest, curled up in the middle of their futon. That was nothing new. Both cats liked to sleep with them, and in the winter, two girls and two cats made a nice warm combination. She doffed the towel around her body and put on an oversized T-shirt, then sat down to comb out her hair. In a few minutes, Jen walked in, without the benefit of a towel anywhere, and casually looked through her drawer for a similar T-shirt.
Lisa looked at her lover in the mirror, admiring, as she always had, the tattoo on Jen's right shoulder: a stiletto thrust through a bunch of red roses and the words, “Sappho's Brigade” on a ribbon wrapped around it. Jen had sold her bike and given up the open road several years ago to settle down and find a steady job and a steady lover. Lisa remembered her last ride as Jen's passenger. Treasured it because she knew Jen had partly given those things up because of her, and the apartment they were going to get together, and the life they were going to share.
Lisa looked over her shoulder and said, “Would you feed the cats?” and then almost bit her tongue. She should have said something lover-like, not something so common. But Jen merely grunted, tossed a T-shirt over her head, and stalked back to the kitchen, the cats chasing her as she went.
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