At first she just thrummed her fingers rhythmically, barely moving, savouring the building tension. Her motions were discreet, controlled, hardly visible. Before long, though, this was not enough. She began to rub herself more roughly, pinching and kneading her clit between her finger and thumb. Her breath came in little gasps. She brought her other hand down between her legs and tried to penetrate herself through the damp cloth, frustrated by the resistance it offered.
Through it all, behind closed eyelids, she was acutely aware of Gregory Marshall’s gaze. It felt tangible, concrete; she could tell when his eyes were resting on her breasts, her thighs, her busy hands. The weight of his attention inflamed her still more. She moaned softly as she ground one fist into her sex.
Marshall spoke. “You may touch yourself inside your clothing, if you wish.” There was that edge of mockery again. Clearly he knew how excited she was, how she craved more direct stimulation. She dared to open her eyes.
He was sitting forward in his chair, drinking her in eagerly. His blue eyes flamed with eager lust. But his voice remained almost dispassionate, totally controlled. “You know you don’t need to be shy with me, Kate. Go on, do it.”
She did not hesitate further. Stretching the waistband of her briefs, she slithered her fingers through her pubic curls to touch the slippery knob of flesh at the heart of her sex. At the same time, she pushed aside the fabric covering her crotch and thrust three fingers deep into her vagina.
Now she twisted and pounded her clit, sensation building on sensation. Her other hand stroked in and out, fingers spread wide. She was very close to climax. She tried to ignore her audience, to lose herself entirely in the explosion of her senses. Instead, she found herself fantasising, imagining his coarse face above her, thinking about what it would be like to have his cock inside her instead of her fingers.
She began a low keening, feeling her orgasm just out of reach. Then she heard his voice, his tone sharp. “Stop. Right now.”
She would not have thought it possible to obey. Yet somehow, for some reason, she did. She opened her eyes and looked at him blankly, breathing heavily, both her hands still inside her panties.
“Good,” he said softly. “Very good. It’s not time for you to come yet.
“Take them off,” he ordered. Kate removed her hands, shimmied the damp garment down her thighs to her ankles, and stepped out. Suddenly, incongruously, she felt incredibly exposed. Her sex gaped hungrily, her lower lips swollen and red.
“On your knees now.”
Once again she felt a flare of resistance. Part of her, though, wanted to follow his direction. She felt a strange pleasure as she sank to a kneeling position across from him. She looked at the floor, not daring his eyes.
“Pick up the panties in your mouth. Using just your mouth. Then bring them to me.”
Awkwardly, still in her high-heeled shoes, she bent down and took the discarded briefs in her teeth. Her nostrils filled with her own musky scent and she felt a new surge of lust.
Somehow knowing that this was what he wanted, Kate put her hands down and crawled the short distance to the chair where her tormentor lounged comfortably. With her ass in the air, she felt even more vulnerable, and more aroused. He sat up, thighs apart, and gestured to her to come closer. Finally, she was at his feet, between his spread legs. She sat up, leaning back on her heels, offering him the garment in the manner of a family pet offering the newspaper.
Gregory gave a little laugh, of delight more than mockery. He took the panties and held them to his face, inhaling deeply the womanly perfume with which they were soaked. “Wonderful!” he said, “even better than I had hoped.”
He leaned forward, cupped her chin in his hands, and searched her face. “Are you all right?” he asked, quite serious. Kate nodded, revelling in the fact that finally he was touching her. She focused her attention on him, silently begging him to handle her breasts, to stroke her ass. But instead he sat back in his chair, still regarding her gravely.
“Shall we continue, then, my little Kate?” he asked.
“Yes,” Kate almost whispered, not knowing to what she was agreeing. “Yes.”
Marshall rose from his chair and stood towering over her, almost straddling her. He took another sampling of her scent, and smiled down at her. The mocking tone had returned. “Undo my fly, then,” he said. “And give me your mouth.”
Kate tried to be gentle and careful unfastening his jeans. Tight under normal circumstances, his erection stretched them to the point that the zipper would hardly operate. Every time her hands brush that taut organ through the denim, a shiver ran through her own flesh.
When Marshall’s cock finally became visible, she stifled a gasp. His member was on the same scale as the rest of him. It pulsed with heat, as if this were the heart of his fevered self. She ran her tongue delicately down its length, tracing the raised veins, tasting salt and bitterness.
“Open yourself,” he said. As she did so, he slid his penis into her mouth, slowly, steadily. “Wider,” he murmured. “I want you to take all of me, every centimetre.” He pulled back slightly, then pushed in further.
Kate fought rising panic as she felt herself choking.
“Relax, Kate. Open to me, receive me, honour me.” His voice, husky with lust, reassured her. Waves of warmth flowed through her limbs as she allowed her facial muscles to go limp and let go of the constriction in her throat. He pushed even deeper; she willed herself to open more. Then she realised her chin was against his pubic hair, that in fact his entire penis was inside her mouth. Pride surged through her, even as he began thrusting, out and then all the way to the root once again.
His rock-hard flesh battered her lips, yet somehow the pain did not reach her. She marvelled at the silky skin that covered that hardness. As he slammed his hips against her, the rough denim of his jeans grazed her nipples, which were just as hard, sending electric spasms through her body. Kneeling, legs apart, she felt her own juices running down the inside of her thighs. Her clit throbbed in rhythm with his thrusts. Somehow Kate knew she did not have permission to touch herself.
His motions quickened. Kate felt a premonitory contraction in the rod of flesh that had taken over her mouth. Exultation filled her. Let him come, she prayed to herself, let me taste him, swallow him, serve him. She closed her eyes and focused on becoming the perfect receptacle.
Contrary, as always, he did not do as she had hoped. Clearly just on the brink of orgasm, he stopped. He slid his penis out of her mouth. Kate stared at him, her mouth still open, disappointment flooding through her.
“Now, Kate,” he laughed. “You mustn’t be greedy! I will decide when you taste my cum.” He leaned closer. “Don’t worry, though. You will.”
Kate looked down at the floor, embarrassed by her own need, chagrined at how well he discerned her motives.
“Time for the next scene,” said Marshall lightly. Before she knew what was happening, he had swooped down and picked her up. Her shoes fell off with a clatter, but Kate hardly noticed. She relished the strength in his arms, the iron muscles rippling beneath his shirt.
He carried her over to the bed and laid her down on her back. “Lift your arms above your head,” he commanded. As she complied, her hand brushed against something, dangling from the headboard. She turned to look at the braided ropes of red silk, fastened to the rattan spokes, and suddenly understood why Gregory had disappeared when she first arrived. A few things to attend to, he had said. So he had left her with his lady co-conspirator, trusting his comrade and the performance to inflame Kate’s senses and imagination, while he came and installed these bonds.
Gregory watched the comprehension dawning in her eyes. “Yes, Kate. I prepared these for you. Only for you.”
He leaned closer. “I want to tie you here, hand and foot, so that you will be more completely at my disposal. I believe that you want that, too. But you must tell me so. I will not do this without your permission.”
Kate was silent. She had never been so
unsure in her life. Fear, suspicion, shame, and distrust warred with curiosity and desire. In his arms she had felt both sheltered and helpless, and she longed for those feelings again. Yet he was essentially a stranger, she reminded herself, a stranger with a shady profession and an unsavoury reputation.
When she looked him, though, she saw concern and attentiveness in his eyes, even though his cock still pulsed hugely from his fly. The sight of his manhood sent a delicious weakness through her limbs. I must be crazy, she thought to herself, as she nodded her assent.
“Do it.,” she murmured, and did not trust herself to say anymore.
With expert skill, he bound her wrists with the silken braids. “Silk is a marvellous substance,” he commented. “So soft, but incredibly strong. Like you, my little Kate. I know that you can endure much, Kate. Much more than you would believe.”
Kate shivered, wondering exactly what he meant. He was working on her ankles now, in a businesslike fashion, leaving her knees bent and open so that her sex was spread wide. Every time he touched her, heat travelled through her to that burning centre, still sensitive and hungry from her earlier ministrations. She squirmed a bit, involuntarily pushing her pelvis toward him.
“Be still,” he said sharply. “Be patient. You must learn to wait.”
Finally, she was bound, restrained from all but the most subtle movements. She found she was panting. Gregory stood at the foot of the bed, admiring her, or his handiwork.
“Excellent. Just as I imagined.”
He began to remove his clothes. Her eyes followed his every gesture. When he dropped his shirt to the floor, Kate sucked in her breath. Marshall’s left arm, from shoulder to wrist, was elaborately and beautifully tattooed. A pattern of multicoloured flames writhed over his flesh, scarlet, green and turquoise. A trick of the flashing neon, or perhaps simply the motion of his muscles, made the flames dance across his flesh as if they were consuming him. A similar flame flickered in his blue eyes as he pulled off his trousers.
He mounted the bed and straddled her with his thighs. His engorged penis hovered above her body. Despite herself, she writhed a bit below him. In response, he leaned over and pinched both her nipples, hard enough that she cried out.
“Still, I said! You are mine now, mine to do as I wish. I will fuck you, or not fuck you, as I please.
“But,” he added, smiling, “I do please.”
The bonds already held her wide open. Her sex was already drenched with arousal. Never taking his eyes off hers, he sank his penis into her, into the heart of her, depths she had not known existed.
She had never felt anything like it. It was fire and knives, hot and sharp, a blazing sun in her cunt. She was filled, stretched, split open, it seemed, pinned to the bed by his rod of velvety steel.
For a long moment, he stayed there inside her, his gaze riveted to hers. She felt him throb and swell, as if he was willing himself to grow larger still. She tightened her muscles around him, but otherwise tried to remain motionless, even as her flesh ached to thrash and thrust herself against him. She kept her eyes open, held captive by the weight of his gaze. She knew her own lust showed clearly on her face; she did not care.
He pulled away, to the edge of her lower lips, and she bit her tongue so as not to cry out with the loss. Then he came crashing back into her, hard, deeper than before. The flames surged. He withdrew and thrust again and again, always harder, almost brutal. Kate found that the edge of pain only sharpened the pleasure, made it stronger and more complex. And she saw no cruelty in his face, only a kind of fierce delight.
She strained against her bonds now, fists clenched, still struggling to follow his prescription of stillness as he fucked her, as the knot of sensation within her womb drew tighter and tighter. Yet somehow climax seemed far away, even as she climbed to higher and higher levels of arousal.
She whimpered a little. Gregory’s eyes bore down on her. Then she swore she heard his voice, though his lips did not move. “You are mine, Kate, mine. Admit it to yourself and to me. Let go, give yourself to me. Let me give you the satisfaction you crave.”
She looked at the man looming above her, felt him probing her with his cock and his mind. Something in her loosened. Her hands opened and she let the ropes support her arms and legs. She relaxed her inner muscles, allowed herself to be opened and stretched even further. Gregory responded by grinding his cock into her, filling all that she offered to him.
Then she felt the wave coming, as if from far off. A thundering crest of pleasure swept over her, casting her mind and body adrift on an electric sea. As her consciousness slipped away, she caught a final glimpse of Gregory’s face, with its expression of mad triumph.
He was dressed, when she came back to her senses, though she could still see the flames graven on his skin, peeking from beneath his rolled-up sleeve. He had pulled the chair to edge of the bed and sat there, watching her. She could have sworn there was a look of worry on his face, but it evaporated when she smiled at him.
“Ah, Kate,” he said lightly. “I’m glad you’re back. I think that’s enough, for tonight. Don’t you agree?”
Kate felt dazed. She didn’t know how to respond. However, the question must have been rhetorical, because Marshall began to untie her ankles, and then her wrists. Still she lay there, deliciously exhausted, languishing in the perfect passivity of her climax.
“Get up. Get dressed now. I’ll get you a cab to take you home.”
As if in a trance, Kate followed his instructions. She refastened her bra over her still-aching breasts, zipped up her skirt, buttoned her blouse up to its high neck. She looked around for her panties, and saw that Gregory held them in his hand.
“I’ll keep these, if you don’t mind,” he said with a mischievous grin. “To remind me of you. Until the next time.” Kate felt the starched fabric of her skirt brushing against her bare ass, and smiled back, a bit weakly.
Marshall stood before her now. He bent down and kissed her deeply, his tongue as probing as his cock had been. She found herself responding with equal passion, the taste of him re-igniting the fires in her still-damp sex.
“You did well, Kate, very well.” he said, almost tenderly. “You were born to this. You may not understand, yet, you may not believe. But I will teach you.
“Do you want that?” he asked, pulling away so he could see her face.
Kate blushed and lowered her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m so confused.”
Gregory raised her face to his. “Think about it. Think about me.
“And if you decide that this is what you want, here is your first assignment. Since you are leaving your panties with me, I want you to go to work tomorrow without any. No underwear, or pantihose. And every time that you sit down, let the sensations in your flesh remind you of me, of us, of who and what you are.”
Kate did not answer, too lost in embarrassment. But she knew, somehow, that she would obey him, tomorrow, and in the future.
Chapter Four
Reclining Buddha
Kate slept deeply, and woke late. She lay in bed, her brain still foggy, some half-formed thought tickling the back of her mind. Merely some dream image, perhaps, but it had left a sweet taste in her mouth, and a feeling of voluptuous relaxation in all her limbs. She stretched like a cat, spreading her fingers toward the sun-dappled ceiling.
Then recollection slammed into her: the bar, the bonds, her shame, her passion. Gregory Marshall, with his damned knowing smile and granite cock. She blushed and shook her head, as if to clear away the mists of her temporary insanity. How could she have done such things, behaved in such a way? She felt angry and ashamed at her own weakness.
Yet even as she berated herself, she also felt aroused. She studied her wrists. The silken ropes had left no marks, but she could still feel their rough caress on her skin. Her hand strayed to the warmth between her legs. She discovered that she was wet, almost as if she had just left Marshall’s presence. One finger only she allowed to rest on her clit,
but even that was enough to make her squirm.
Stop this, she told herself sternly. It was nearly ten o’clock. She was late enough for work as it was.
Briskly, she rose, showered, began to dress. As she reached for her underpants, she suddenly remembered Gregory’s instructions. Go bare-bottomed to work! Did she dare? He would never know, so why should she follow his orders?
Still, she hesitated. He had given her what she wanted, ultimately, what she needed, sexual release such as she had never known before. If he made this request, should she not honour it? Wasn’t that part of keeping the bargain?
What bargain, she wondered. What promises had been made? She remembered Gregory’s tattooed inferno, and smiled to herself at the quaint notion that she might have sold her soul.
Finally, she chose her longest skirt, a paisley silk that flowed to mid-calf, and a white pique blouse. She tiptoed down the spiral stairs, not wanting to encounter Ae and her questions. At the door, Kate slipped on her sandals, grabbed her purse and briefcase, and closed the door softly behind her.
As she waited on the sidewalk for the bus, the light breeze blew her skirt against her legs, between her thighs. The smooth, cool fabric brushed against her skin, as the wind seemed to whisper, “remember…”
When she reached her office, she was disappointed to find no word from Marshall. There was, however, a long, chatty email message from David. He had spent a weekend in Maine with some friends, hiking and eating lobster. There was a new Mexican restaurant on Mass Avenue that was excellent. He had managed to get tickets to see the Bolshoi Ballet next month; he was sorry that she could not join him.
The tone of his note was light and cheerful. In the last paragraph, though, he became more serious.
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