"He's not a machine-gun fucker," I laughed. I had had a machine-gun fucker in my life too. She was right; they sucked. Bangbangbangbangbang. Nothing interesting, nothing unexpected, nothing fun. Just a cock slamming into a pussy. Lame. I appreciated way too many variations of sex to settle for that long-term. "It was hot. A little demanding. He likes to talk."
Her lips pursed carefully, brow raised. "Was he good at it? There's nothing worse than a bad dirty talker."
That was the damn truth.
"He was good."
"You lucky bitch. He's hot, sweet, funny, good with animals, and can dirty talk? Oh, wait. Was his cock small? Or all sharp angled?"
"His cock was perfect," I said with a big smile.
"I hate you," she declared, sighing dramatically. "You're welcome, by the way. I had to go and sit and listen to Ronny bitch about his boyfriend for two and a half hours to give you that alone time."
"Thank you," I said, meaning it, knowing that if she hadn't pushed us together, I would have woken up pissy from tossing and turning in sexual frustration again all night.
"You owe me a carton of that wine he brought over."
"Done."
"So when are you seeing him again? Since we know you're not a one-and-done girl."
"I agreed to fucking-friends," I admitted. "And we exchanged numbers. We didn't set up a date. Whenever our schedules line up, I guess."
"I didn't get a chance to tell you where I caught him walking out of."
"Where was he walking out of?" I asked, curiosity piqued. I knew I wasn't supposed to be grasping for tidbits of information about a casual sex friend, but I couldn't help myself.
"The gallery. Apparently, and I know this because I stalked their Facebook last night while Ronny went on and on about how Iggy never uses the right lube, no matter how many times he demands he use the warming one, he is getting a wall at the next show."
"That's awesome. He's really good." I only knew this because he did the one portrait of me forever ago. If he kept improving, well, I had to imagine he was pretty amazing by now.
And good for him. I loved seeing people doing what they loved in life. It was why I was thrilled when Peyton told me she was going to become a librarian even though 'libraries are in the toilet' and 'I won't have two pennies to rub together most of the time.' She loved alone time. She adored the library. And she ate up books faster than most people I knew. So what if she wasn't rolling in dough? She was happy. That was what mattered.
An artist sounded a lot more fulfilling than a loanshark enforcer.
Plus, you know, it was legal.
When he was on parole for the next year, legal was a really good thing for him.
I wouldn't go on opening night - unless, of course, he invited me - but I was going to go and check out his work. I was too curious not to.
"So, did you need to wash in bleach?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Little Miss I-Can't-Fuck-Without-Connection just fucked without connection. Do you feel all dirty or something like that?"
"It was never that I felt dirty," I objected immediately. "You know me better than that. I don't believe in that crap. It's just... I like sex better when I give a shit about a person."
"Ah, see. Therein is the issue here. He isn't some rando. You do give a shit about him as a person. I get it now. This is good, right? Like you're happy with it? Even if it doesn't go anywhere?"
"Someone very wise once told me that most relationships wouldn't go anywhere, but that doesn't mean you can't enjoy them while they last."
"I am brilliant, aren't I?" she asked, giving me a wink as she climbed off the bed. "Come on. Let's go for bagels. With egg and cheese. I think you will be needing extra protein for a while. And fluids."
I had a feeling she was right.
But I didn't realize I would be getting a second session quite so soon.
But then there he was in my store, paying my customer to get lost. To be fair, that customer had been hemming and hawing freaking cock rings for almost an hour. But still... a customer.
I knew immediately something was wrong.
Gone was the man I saw at the coffeeshop six years ago, and the man who had brought me coffee, who had made me see stars against a wall down a side street, who had shown up at my apartment with wine, and shared a meal, then shared some amazing orgasms.
This man was another beast entirely.
Beast.
Yes, that was apt.
I finally understood.
When he talked about rage, about it being uncontrollable, this was what he meant.
He meant it burned in his blood. It vibrated into the air around him.
It consumed him.
Truly, if you looked in his eyes, you barely saw the light of the man who usually lived there. They were hooded with something darker.
It was Eli, yet it wasn't at the same time.
And this Eli, he wanted to hurt me.
No, strike that.
He needed to hurt me.
I had learned enough from experience and from research into the matter, that for some, rough play was just about fun, just a good way to spice things up. For others, though, it was necessary. Like therapy. The dominants needed to exact control, needed to purge something. The subs needed to give over power, to trust, to relax and let go. It was catharsis for both involved.
Sex could be - and, for many, often was - like therapy.
We gave and took and exposed and released.
That was what Eli needed from me right then.
And, quite frankly, I was more than happy to give it to him.
Belly a mix of fluttering and swirling - excitement and trepidation - I led Eli behind the counter and through the door that led to the back where I had a very mini kitchen, bathroom, and a decent-sized, dark, mildly creepy storage room full of built-in metal shelving units and a few tables for laying out merchandise.
The heavy, metal-bar-enforced door slammed behind me, making me jump and turn on my heel.
And there he was, just as tense as he was a moment before, holding the items he had selected off my shelves. Items I knew exactly how to use, exactly how he would use them on me. There was no denying the thrill inside, mingled with just the slightest trace of hesitation. Not because I didn't want to explore, just because I hadn't gone that deep before. There was always a push and pull inside when trying something new. That was where the trust needed to step in.
Did I trust Eli that much? This man I hardly knew.
"Red," he said, putting a few of the items on the table beside the door, opening the biggest one with his hands.
"I'm sorry?"
"Safe words are bullshit. Green. Yellow. Red. That's all you ever need. They're self-explanatory, and you'll never forget them."
Green means gogogo.
Yellow means slow down or this is going too far too fast.
Red means stop now.
It was elementary.
And he was right, no one could ever forget them.
"Okay," I agreed, watching as he methodically moved to the next product, opening the unnecessarily thick plastic with his bare hands. That shouldn't have been sexy, but I had trouble opening those damn things with heavy duty scissors, so it somehow totally was hot.
"Take off your clothes," he demanded, the words sending a shiver through me. "Now, Autumn," he added when there was a moment of hesitation.
With an undeniable tightening in my sex, my hands went for my shirt.
Bossy Eli. I could get used to him.
A part of me felt an instinct to play, to tease, to, well, strip for him. But something was telling me there was no room for that in this dark back room with a pile of toys he wanted to use on me.
So I didn't tease.
I took off my clothes as he demanded.
Shirt. Pants. Bra. Panties.
And then there I was, stark freaking naked to his fully dressed.
My nipples tweaked from a mix of anticipation and the coldness in the room, making me shiver
as his eyes raked over me.
"Up on that table," he demanded, ignoring me as he took a few items over to a small utility sink and started scrubbing.
Even as lost as he was in that moment, he was still managing to think straight. Maybe the focus of having tasks to complete was helping him rein it in slightly.
I looked over at the table, long, rectangular, slightly lower than hip-height because the previous owner must have been a tiny person, and cold, unforgiving stainless steel.
I was shivering at the idea of touching it even before I raised my leg and got my knee up, the rest of my body following. "Turn away," he said without looking. "Hands and knees."
I wouldn't be able to see him at all.
Why that was absolutely thrilling was beyond me.
It should have been scary.
It should have bothered me that I would never see coming whatever he planned to do to me.
Metal slammed down on metal behind me, making me jump for a moment before I felt the cuff slip around one ankle, closing tight.
"Spread your thighs all the way out."
I did.
Then the next cuff closed.
I knew what was coming.
"Shoulders to the table, hands between your legs."
Forced posture bar.
They held the legs spread wide and cuffed your hands to the center of the bar, preventing any movement whatsoever. You could pull. You could squirm. But you weren't getting free.
I lowered down, only mildly embarrassed at just how exposed the position was making me.
That being said, when it came to forced posture, this was the kindest kit. He could have chosen the arched back one that included a collar that attached down your spine to a curved, ball-topped hook that was inserted into your ass so if you tried to move, the ball pulled in a somewhat unpleasant way inside you, forcing you right back into position.
So, yeah, if he wanted me face down, ass up like any normal dom and didn't plan to put a hook in my ass, I was more than willing to get into position.
My stomach dropped slightly as I felt the cuffs slide around my wrists, as I felt my freedom taken from me.
I would be lying if I said panic didn't seize me for a moment, that self-preservation didn't rear its head. It did. My belly swirled; my air got caught in my chest.
But that was the thing.
You had to submit.
You had to trust.
While I knew he planned to hurt me, I also knew he intended to make me feel good too.
And I knew I could more than trust him with my pleasure.
I was willing to take the gamble that I could trust him with my pain.
Red means stop.
I was safe.
He said nothing, but I could feel the air as he moved away, then came back.
There wasn't a hint of what was to follow, so a whole body shiver racked through me when all I felt was the gentle whisper of leather strands over the skin of my back. Then my ass, a few of the edges sliding between, very nearly touching my pussy that was already getting wetter by the second, a fact I knew he could see very well with the position he had me in.
It traced over the backs of my thighs, my calves, the ticklish undersides of my feet.
Through this, he was silent.
Focused, was likely more accurate.
Keeping control, but also letting it go little by little.
The flogger moved back up, leather brushing my shoulders.
Whack.
Used to the softness, the sudden sting made me arch and whimper, my body instinctively trying to fold away, but the binding making it futile even to try.
Another brush.
Then a strike, right across my ass, making my hips jolt up. Then another, before I could fully register the sting of the first.
And another.
Over and over and over.
Across my ass, my upper thighs, my back, my hips.
Until there was more burning, stinging, inflamed skin, than there was not.
"Breathe," Eli commanded, making me realize he was right, I had been holding my breath, anticipating the blows.
Even as I was releasing it, though, I felt the cool liquid slide down my ass. And I knew what was coming. Because I saw that package.
The tip of the plug pressed against me, a firm pressure hinting at more, as the flogger moved gently over my skin once again, until I felt another shiver move through me, and arched my ass just a little higher.
He pushed it in, and it settled with a heavy pressure. My pussy ached with the need for fulfillment, and no matter how much the urge was there, I couldn't press my thighs together to ease the pulsating need.
His finger flicked the plug, making another surge of need course through me, wondering if he was going to work me with the plug, pull, twist, anything.
But then there was that low, rumbling noise in his chest, something akin to desire, but mixed with something else too, likely the part of him that was still raging.
There wasn't even a bit of surprise when the flogger came back, this time a little harder, a little more frantic.
Just when I was sure I wasn't going to be able to take any more, I felt the braided leather handle slide between the lips of my pussy, pressing into my clit, sending a completely unexpected orgasm shooting through my body.
This time, when he growled, it was pure desire.
There was a zip.
A swoosh.
A crinkle.
Then still on the waves of my orgasm, ass still plugged, he surged inside me.
Hard.
Burying to the hilt.
I couldn't even get used to the new sensation of getting penetrated while plugged - something akin to a pressure on the pelvic wall that which I had never experienced before - before he started fucking me.
The second thrust nearly sent me flying forward.
But his hands landed at my hips, holding me completely still, fully at his mercy, as he pistoned into me hard.
"Oh my God," I cried out as he started using my hips to push me away, then drag me back just as he thrust, forcing my body to take him deeper than I had ever taken anyone before. "Eli, I..."
One of his hands slipped between my thighs, pressing into my clit.
And that was it.
That was all it took.
I would likely never be sure if the intensity was just from the triple-zone orgasm, or the pain that was somehow pleasure as well, or thanks to being fully at someone's mercy, trusting them with you completely. All I did know was, I swear I very nearly blacked out from it. My pussy spasmed, and I could feel it in places I was sure I never had before. My vision went dark as the waves kept crashing, as he kept fucking, dragging it out before he finally found his own release.
Even after, thighs shaking, body weak and boneless, I felt only half-present, like a part of my brain was on disconnect.
Eli slid out of me.
The plug came next.
A short pause as he walked away.
Then my wrists, my ankles.
I could feel Eli drop down on the table in front of me before his hands were reaching out, pulling me toward him, resting my ass in his jean-clad lap, pulling my head under his chin, and wrapping his arms around me somehow both tightly and gently at the same time.
"I'm sorry," he murmured with his lips against my hair.
Sorry?
For the orgasm of a lifetime?
For giving me a new experience I couldn't have possibly known I would be into if he hadn't shown it to me.
I wanted to say these things, but found the act of speech just slightly out of reach.
"I'm such a fuck," he added.
The rough, tortured sound to his voice seemed to be what I needed to force the words from somewhere deep.
"No, you're not," I objected, my arms sliding around his back, holding on as well as I could with their jelly-sensation.
"If you saw your back right now, you wouldn't be saying that. I didn't even fucking rea
lize how red you were getting."
"I might not be able to see my back, but I can feel it," I assured him. "And it's fine, Eli. I'm fine. I could have stopped you if I wanted."
"You feel fine because of the endorphins from the pain and the orgasms, sweetheart. In an hour, you're gonna fucking hate me."
"I'm not going to hate you."
"I don't do shit like this."
"Shit like what?"
"This BDSM crap."
He was pretty good at it for an amateur. But, then again, all you had to do was watch a bit of professional BDSM porn to know how to use all the toys properly.
"I don't like hurting women," he added at my silence.
"But it's not really hurting them. It's different."
"You have red marks over your back, ass, and thighs that I put there, Autumn."
"Yeah, but it wasn't--" How did you describe it? "It wasn't a bad pain." He said nothing, but his body was still tense, still - I imagined - full of self-loathing, which was unfairly placed. "It was cathartic for both of us, Eli," I assured him.
"How?" he asked, fingers sifting through my hair gently, so softly that I was sure he was worried about getting his finger caught in a tangle and hurting me even slightly more.
"You got to get rid of that anger." And it was gone. Every inch of him was less rigid. The air around him didn't seem to be vibrating. His speech was softer because his jaw wasn't so clenched.
"And you?"
"I got to let go."
"Of what?"
"Of... everything." It was hard to explain, especially because I didn't exactly know how it worked either. I had heard subs at conferences talking about how being tied down, having your power taken away from you, was freeing. Mostly, these women were the types who were powerful in their daily lives, who micro-managed and had iron-fisted control over every aspect of their daily routine. So giving that up to someone, having all your control taken away, it was a release like nothing else they had known before.
And while I wasn't exactly a control freak, I did have to take care of everything in my life and work. I didn't have someone else to put it off on. I was in charge of everything. So not to be in charge, even just for a couple minutes, to just have to submit and take, it was therapeutic in a way I didn't fully understand, but was thankful for.
Even just sitting there in his arms, I felt more relaxed than I had in years. Or maybe ever.
Eli (Mallick Brothers Book 4) Page 12