S is for SEX

by Scott Hildreth

  “What did you bury with the rose bush?” I asked.

  He shifted his eyes upward, met my gaze, and grinned.

  “Something we’ll dig up together on a rainy day,” he responded.

  “What are we going to do with these guys?” I asked as I kicked my toe against one of the pots.

  “Don’t get mad because they’re going to die, Em. Everything dies. Everything has a beginning and an ending. Just be glad you’re allowed to enjoy them while you’re able,” he said as he picked up two of the pots and placed them into the wheelbarrow.

  “Where are we taking them?” I asked.

  “Well, they’re best in low sunlight, so maybe if we take them to the north side of the house and plant them over there…”

  “Which way’s north,” I asked.

  He shook his head, “Where the front door is.”

  “Oh,” I said with a nod.

  “There’s a planter over there under the window outside the kitchen, we can put them in the planter, it’ll look nice,” he said.

  “A what?” I asked as he picked up two more of the pots.

  “A wooden fucking box affixed to the side of the house, Em. You probably didn’t notice it because it’s empty. Grab those two and come on,” he said as he began to push the wheelbarrow toward the gate.

  “You can’t go out front with your shirt off,” I said as I bent over to pick up the flowers.

  He stopped the wheelbarrow and turned to face me. “Oh no?”

  I shook my head. “Neighbors will complain.”

  He cocked one eyebrow and stared. “About?”

  “Uhhm. Half-naked bikers?” I shrugged.

  The thought of another woman walking by, driving by, or peering out her window at him made me angry. I would have never described myself as a possessive person, nor had I ever been the jealous type, but with Jackson, things were much different. As comfortable as I was in his presence, and as pleased as he made me with his treatment of me, I lived in constant fear of losing him. I really had no reason to believe my fears were warranted, and in fact, they weren’t, but I harbored them nonetheless.

  “Well, can I take off my shirt?” I asked.

  “Sure,” he shrugged as he pushed the wheelbarrow through the gate.

  “Don’t think I won’t,” I said.

  He stopped, turned to face me, and stared for a moment. Standing with a flower pot in each hand, I wondered what I might have gotten myself into. As I stood knowing he was going to do or say something to make me regret my smart assed remark, he grinned and lifted his chin slightly.

  “Take it off,” he said.

  I gazed around the yard. The back yard was protected slightly by a privacy fence, but it in no way prevented everyone from seeing in the back yard. The neighboring homes were two story houses, and anyone from a second story could see right into the yard if the wished.

  “Come on, let’s get these planted,” I said as I took a few steps in his direction.

  “Take off your shirt, Em,” he demanded.

  I lowered the flower pots to the ground, glanced around the yard, and lifted my shirt up and over my braless boobs. Now standing shirtless in the blazing sun, I felt slightly embarrassed, but the embarrassment only lasted for a few seconds.

  As the sun warmed my bare skin, I began to feel sexy and increasingly horny with each passing second. With the shirt dangling loosely from my fingertips, I waited for further instructions. I had learned over the last few months I wasn’t only acting as a submissive to fulfill Jackson’s desire, but I was doing so for myself. From what he had explained, and it made perfect sense, I desired pleasing him as much as he desired being pleased.

  In short, I yearned to make him happy with me, and knowing he was pleased with my actions, decisions, or thoughts pleased me to my core.

  After a few minutes of admiring me, he waved his arm toward my shirt-filled hand.

  “Put it back on,” he said flatly.

  I pulled the shirt over my head and down along my sweaty torso. Surprised my hardened nipples hadn’t shredded the fabric as I pulled it past them, I situating it along the waist of my shorts and waited for his next demand.

  He pointed toward me and wagged his finger up and down.

  “Take ‘em off,” he said.

  “My shorts?” I asked.

  “No, your fucking Chuck’s, Em. I want you to take off your shoes. Jesus H. Christ, yes, your god damned shorts. And if you’ve got on any fucking panties, I’m going to drag you in by your heels and paddle that ass of yours until you can’t walk for a week,” he said.

  I had found out he preferred I not wear panties, but it certainly wasn’t natural - at least initially - for me to do so. I had worn panties with every outfit I had ever chosen to wear, and the thought of not wearing them had never really crossed my mind - pre-Jackson, that is. Although I had acquired quite the collection of panties over the years, I now found not wearing them a guilty little newfound pleasure. As I unbuttoned my shorts and pushed them down my hips, I twisted my mouth to the side and acted as if I didn’t want to take them any further.

  “Off,” he demanded.

  I kicked my ragged shoes to the side and continued to play the hesitation game as I watched him become more anxious. Eventually I pushed my shorts down my thighs and dropped them to my ankles. As they came to rest at my feet, I stepped through the leg with my left foot and kicked my right foot upward. My shorts flew in a perfect arc toward where Jackson stood. Without expression or changing his stance, he reached up and plucked them from the air as if it were a daily occurrence.

  Now standing in the back yard with my cleanly shaved pussy out in the open for all to see, I waited eagerly to see what his next instruction was going to be. I suppose I should have felt embarrassed, or maybe even slightly guilty, but I didn’t. My only concern was what Jackson expected of me. As I stood twenty feet in front of him naked from the waist down, my pussy began to tingle as I thought of the possibility of him fucking me in the grass.

  As he stood and gazed at me, I focused on the crotch of his jeans. The shape of his zippered area changed from flat to full, and then slowly began to rise.

  Score!

  “Get your little ass in the kitchen,” he demanded as he pointed toward the door leading into the garage.

  “Yes, Sir,” I responded as I slowly walked toward the garage in my best sexy runway model impersonation.

  As I stepped over the threshold of the door, I feigned stubbing my toe, and bent over as if to grab my damaged digit. With my ass in the air and my pussy pointed directly at him, I winced in non-existent pain and waited for him to scream.

  “In the kitchen, you little shit,” he bellowed.

  I stood, hobbled through the garage as if damaged, and ran into the kitchen as soon as I was out of his eyesight. Once in the kitchen I waited eagerly for what was sure to be some insanely satisfying sex for us both. As I leaned against the kitchen counter waiting for him, I did my very best to arch my back and thrust my non-existent ass in the air.

  Although I initially expected all of our sex would include some version of me being bound, gagged, or mildly tortured, I was proven wrong. I learned the BDSM acronym stood for Bondage, Discipline, Dominance, Submission, Sadism, and Masochism. With Jackson, his satisfaction wasn’t so much about any one of the aspects of the acronym, it was about control.

  He enjoyed variety, and in fact, we had sex on many occasions that was pretty conventional. Regardless of the flavor or intensity of the sex we both enjoyed it very much; but he was always in control, even if it was something as simple as telling me to get my ass in the kitchen. The control satisfied him, and me relinquishing control, and my living in the unknowing world of what was next satisfied me.

  He told me in the beginning he was different that anyone else I could ever encounter in life, and he was sure right.

  “Stand on your fucking tip-toes,” he barked as he entered the room.

  The sound of his voice startled me.

/>   “Yes, Sir,” I gasped as I stood on my tip-toes and peered over my shoulder.

  “You didn’t stub your fucking toe, you little shit. You think sticking your little pussy in the air is enough to fluster me?’ he asked as he walked toward the sink.

  As he washed his hands, I responded.

  “No, Sir,” I said over my shoulder.

  It wasn’t necessarily the truth, but it was without a doubt what he wanted to hear, and therefore what I needed to say.

  “Face the other direction,” he demanded, “and don’t turn around again.”

  I turned away, wondering if he was really upset over the toe thing or if it was just a show. Most of the time, I never knew for sure. I guessed it was probably best that way, and although it often caused me slight grief, I realized it was exactly what he wanted.

  I rested my elbows on the kitchen counter and anxiously waited for him to call the next shot. After a few seconds, he leaned forward, pushing his massive chest against my back. His forearm slid against my right elbow, and his mouth moved alongside my cheek, resting at my right ear. His warm breath against my ear sent chills down my spine.

  “Put these in your mouth,” he whispered as he held three ice cubes in front of my face.

  What the fuck?

  As I reached for the ice cubes, he placed a small glass bowl of ice on the countertop in front of me. The ice wasn’t the square or rectangular cubes, but the half-moon style the ice machines on refrigerators typically make.

  I slid the three cubes into my mouth and began juggling them with my tongue. About the time I realized my mouth was much fuller than I was really comfortable with, and as I hoped the ice would quickly melt away, his freezing cold finger pressed into the folds of my pussy and caused me to jump.

  With my mind focused on the mouthful of ice, I was beyond startled by his half-frozen fingertip being shoved into my twat. I immediately jumped, banging my hips on the edge of the countertop. I then gasped from the pain, choked on my mouth full of water, and immediately coughed. Water shot out of my mouth and all over the counter. As I wailed in pain from my soon to be bruised hips, a piece of the melted ice escaped my mouth and slid along the length of the kitchen counter.

  “Did I tell you to suck on that shit for a minute, and then spit it across the fucking kitchen?” he asked as he continued to finger fuck me.

  “No, thir,” I said over the pieces of remaining ice I was shuffling with my tongue.

  He reached for the bowl and plucked two more pieces of ice from it.

  “Here,” he said as he held them in front of my face.

  Oh, fuck.

  Luckily, the previous pieces were almost melted away. I poked the other two in my mouth and sucked on them like a mad woman, hoping my desire alone would melt them instantly. After an amount of time I’d be incapable of guessing, I realized once again he was fingering me and had probably never stopped. My sole focus had become getting rid of the ice he was making me suck on, which left little room for me to enjoy the sex.

  As the small pieces finally dissolved, I opened my mouth and sighed.

  Finally.

  “Here,” he said as he handed me two more.

  Son-of-a-bitch.

  I poked the two pieces of ice into my mouth with much reluctance. I considered chewing them and allowing him to spank me as punishment until his arm was too tired to swing the paddle, but opted to at least attempt to entertain him.

  As I sucked on the cubes and became all but hypnotized with his fingering of me, the sound of his belt unbuckling caused my eyes to widen slightly. I bit my lower lip in anticipation and pressed the ice against the roof of my mouth with my tongue.

  He pushed his finger downward, stretching my pussy open from the force. While I leaned forward, pressing my chest into the countertop and wondering just what the fuck he was doing, his cock slowly slid inside and joined his finger as an instrument of my pleasure.

  Now finger fucking me and shoving me full of cock at the same time, but on alternating cycles, his cock slid out as his finger slid in, and vice versa. With my mouth full of ice, and my mind trying to decide what in the hell was going on, I felt as if I was being fucked by at least two people at the same time.

  After several strokes of preparation, he was now fucking me with full force, sliding his cock all the way out and slowly pushing it in until his hips pressed against my ass. His finger had been swapped with what I was pretty certain was his thumb, and the web of his hand was wreaking sexual havoc on my swollen clit. I swallowed the little remaining ice, and closed my eyes as I rested my head on the countertop, doing my best to focus on the fabulous feeling of having him fuck me.

  He leaned forward, pressing his chest against my back and forcing my boobs into the countertop. As I opened my eyes his hand gripped my jaw and turned my head to the side.

  “When you reach climax, I want you to scream. Is that understood?” he breathed into my ear.

  “Yes, Sir,” I responded through my tightening throat.

  He released my jaw, pressed his hand against my back, and slowly but rhythmically began to steadily fuck me into the edge of the countertop. Feeling his cock inside of me was so much different than anything I was used to, and although I wasn’t sure of the difference was purely from his increased girth, or if it was a result of me being more in tune with my feelings, I felt no real need to determine the answer.

  I simply enjoyed every minute that Jackson was fucking me.

  As every one of my muscles slowly tensed and my clit began to develop the itchy feeling, the sound of his hand in the bowl of ice shifted my focus for a split-second. After a second or so of no demand on his part for me to eat another piece of ice, I assumed he must have eaten it himself. I sighed lightly and attempted to focus on my quickly approaching climax.

  His cold fingers in between my butt cheeks startled me slightly, but the piece of ice he slid in my anus caused me to immediately inhale a choppy breath.

  Without any other indication of his action, he continued to fuck me while his thumb worked immediately below his throbbing shaft, and the web of his hand pounded against my clit. All things considered, it was just too much.

  The ice cube in my ass was an oddly satisfying sensation, but was one more thing demanding my focus, and prevented me from allowing myself to relax. I desperately wanted to concentrate on him fucking me, and, ultimately, reach climax.

  While he continued to slap his hips against my ass and force himself completely inside of me, the freezing sensation in my ass eventually subsided. Now completely focused on being fucked, I once again clenched my eyes closed and relaxed onto the countertop.

  I opened my eyes slightly as his finger fumbled between my butt cheeks again. The freezing cold water dripping along my inner thigh was all the proof I needed that he was going to do it again.

  And he did.

  One ice cube in my ass, and another in my already full pussy…

  My freezing cold ass was soon forgotten as my pussy became my only focus. Everything he had done before continued, but the water from the melting ice worked against my natural lubricants, causing the act of fucking to become much more brutal, create far more friction, and in turn, arouse me even more.

  Incapable of even understanding all of what was happening, my mouth was agape and my mind was reeling. The sound of his hips slapping my ass echoed throughout the small kitchen, filling it with the sounds of nothing but sex. My eyes widened and I stared into the dining area searching for answers to my question of what was happening to me.

  His hand gripped my neck, forcing my head to the side. As his mouth pressed to mine, his hand grasped my neck tighter. Our tongues tangled together became yet one more thing my mind had to dissect, and it was beyond full of sensations, feelings, and his previous shallow demands.

  Kissing Jackson was beyond pleasurable, and almost incapable of putting into words. As he continued to kiss me deeply and squeeze my neck, my pussy began to throb from deep inside.

  It was
coming.

  He clenched my neck a little tighter as he bit my upper lip.

  And that was it. I began to shudder from head to toe. I raised myself onto my tip-toes and moaned into his mouth. He released my lip from his teeth, turned my head to face forward, and growled into my ear.

  “Scream, you sexy little bitch. Let it out,” he growled into my ear as he thrust himself into me.

  “Whaaaaat…”

  “The…”

  “Fuck…” I bellowed into the room as the equivalent of small electric shocks pulsated throughout my body.

  His hand still gripping my neck, he turned my head to the side and kissed me deeply. As I continued to have more slight mini-orgasms with almost each slowly decreasing stroke of his cock, he proceeded to kiss me.

  After a few more strokes, I was done. It was obvious he realized it, as he stopped fucking me at the exact time my pussy went into some hyper-sensitive state. As he flopped free of my throbbing muff, he leaned to the side and gazed into my eyes. As I did my utter best to force myself to smile, he picked me off of my feet and plopped me onto the countertop.

  And it was at that moment, while he stood directly in front of me gazing into my eyes, his body covered in sweat, muscles tensed, chest flaring from his heavy breathing, and his biceps still littered in the soil from our having planted flowers together, that I realized I wasn’t only being fucked by Jackson Shephard.

  I was deeply in love with him.

  HUNG

  (Selected Sinners MC Romance Book IV)

  Buy Hung Here

  BISCUIT

  Many years in my younger days were spent wondering if something was wrong with me. I had never been in a relationship, and never really wanted to be for that matter. As far as I was concerned, trying to tie myself down to fucking one woman was like deciding which one food I wanted to spend the rest of my life eating on a daily basis. If the world offered me various foods, eating only one seemed senseless. Consequently, if there were women who were willing to fuck me, forcing myself to be satisfied with only one made absolutely no sense what so fucking ever.