Power Play

by Stein, Charlotte

Dear God, did he really just say that? He did, he definitely did. And so casually too!

  ‘But then I realised – I wasn’t fantasising about him doing it to you. I was fantasising about you doing it to me.’

  Or maybe Woods doing it to him.

  Because let’s be honest here, that’s what he’s just hinted at. And though I really, really want to concentrate on the parts that make this happy, soaring sort of feeling go through me, I can’t. I’ve got to skip right by the idea that he’s been thinking about me for a long, long time, and go directly to the scarier stuff.

  ‘Did he … actually aim to get you worked up?’ I try, while my heart beats far too hard, somewhere really high up in my chest.

  ‘Well … yeah,’ he says, and for the first time he looks just a touch embarrassed. ‘Come on – you think he was telling me that stuff because we were best buds for ever?’

  I don’t know, in all honesty – but I do know I can’t ignore that unfamiliar flush on his face. Or the slow ache that’s starting up again between my legs. I mean, it’s one thing for Woods to have shared some salacious detail with a colleague in a way that’s probably designed to humiliate me. It’s quite another if he was using said salacious detail to turn someone else on.

  Someone who is not a woman.

  ‘Did you ever …’ I start, but I’ve got no idea what question I want to put on the end of that. All I can see behind my eyes is Woods getting Benjamin over a desk. Woods forcing his cock into Ben’s incredibly tight and extremely hot little arsehole.

  And I pray, dear Lord I pray that Benjamin can’t see it all over my face.

  ‘Are you asking if he fucked me?’

  OK, so I guess he can maybe see it all over my face.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Oooh, do I have, like, a little dirty secret? Are you excited to hear it?’

  He’s practically bouncing on the bed, which makes this whole matter much more comfortable than it probably should be. I should be mad, I know, that he had these conversations about things I thought were private, but instead I’m just suddenly wet and wanting, eager for more.

  ‘Just tell me. You owe it to me.’

  ‘Oh, because he told me about you? Now you get to hear all about him and his secret proclivity for big, clumsy men?’

  ‘Is that what you think you are?’

  ‘That’s what I know I am.’

  I wonder if he also knows how beautiful he is right now. He’s telling me all of these terrifying things, and most of them seem to be about how little he thinks of himself, but he hasn’t stopped being lax and loose on my bed. He’s still smiling in this soft, faint way, and it’s touching his eyes so keenly I can almost feel the light in them running over my skin.

  And it prompts me to say something I don’t mean to.

  ‘You’re not, you know. You’re more than that,’ I tell him, then can hardly believe I’ve done it. The urge to vomit rises almost immediately afterwards, and really it’s only his suddenly gushing and obviously excited words that keep it down.

  ‘I think you totally just gave me goose bumps. Was that a compliment? Can I give you one now? Your breasts look in-fucking-credible in that robe – I mean, seriously. Those jackets you wear don’t do your body justice … you’re like Bettie Paige or something –’

  Good Lord, his babbling. I have to hold both hands up and cut him off at the pass before it swamps us both entirely.

  ‘Stop. Stop, all right? Let’s just … return to what we were talking about previously,’ I say, but he’s not entirely content with that. He has other things to point out for me first.

  ‘You really don’t like people telling you nice things, do you?’ he says, and I’ll admit – I kind of hate him for it. I mean, so what if it’s true? He doesn’t have to go ahead and state it outright. And if he does state it outright, he has to know that I’m going to respond in a rather indignant sort of manner.

  ‘I like you telling me whether or not my former lover shoved his cock in your ass,’ I say, and then just for good measure, I strap a little bolshy ‘That’s what I like’ on the end. I jut my chin out, and wag my finger at him, and feel kind of stupid about doing both, afterwards.

  Though naturally, he doesn’t seem to think I should feel that way. He almost licks his lips on the words cock and the word ass, and when I get to the part about me liking it, his hips jerk upwards, just once. Like I was saying I actually enjoy thinking about him getting fucked, rather than what I actually meant, which was … fuck knows. I can’t remember now, and I recall even less when he gives me a little heavy-eyed suggestion.

  ‘Make me tell you,’ he says, and of course I picture the marks on his ass. The marks on his back. The marks that are probably now all over my immortal soul.

  ‘I’m not going to spank you again,’ I say, but I know I don’t really mean it. I’d mark him from head to toe if it meant he told me what I think he’s going to anyway.

  ‘You don’t have to. Just –’

  ‘I’m not going to finger your ass either.’

  ‘Really? I was kind of hoping you would. Felt so good when he … well. I guess you’ll just have to figure out the rest.’

  I clench my fists at my sides.

  ‘You’re a goddamn tease.’

  A roll of pleasure seems to go through his big body when I say it, followed by a grin that shows his just ever-so-slightly too pointed incisors. They don’t ruin the effect of his perfectly white, perfectly straight smile, however. They just give it a little edge, that goes very well with him fucking with me.

  ‘Ohhh that’s right. Call me names.’

  ‘You like names?’

  ‘You know I like names. Call me a cocksucker – I’ve always wanted to hear that one. Sometimes, when he was stood over me, I used to imagine what I’d do if he told me to get on my knees and suck him off.’

  I think I’m holding my breath. I don’t want to be holding my breath, because that means I’ve somehow gone all the way from his Boss to someone he can effectively hold on the edge of astonishment with barely any words at all.

  But it’s happening anyway.

  ‘And would you have?’

  He licks his lips, slow and slick and so unsubtle I want to chide him. Doesn’t he know it’s better if you keep it reined in, just a little bit? Just eke it out, one tiny thing at a time. Keep me waiting, keep me begging for more, oh God which way around are things now?

  I don’t know. I just want to hear him say: ‘Yeah. Yeah, I would have,’ while my mind floods with the visual.

  Strangely, however, it isn’t Woods I imagine fucking his cock down Benjamin’s throat. It isn’t anyone at all – the man doing the honours is faceless, formless, nothing but a driving, thrusting force. Rough hands tight in all of that lovely thick hair. Words on his lips that Woods would never utter, like fuck and yeah and oh you little whore.

  You little cocksucker, I think, and then my legs don’t want to hold me up any more. Even after he’s put the idea to rest with an unsurprisingly disappointed sounding ‘but he never did’, I can’t help being a little breathless when I next speak.

  ‘He never fucked you?’

  ‘Never. No. I told you I hadn’t had anyone touch me there. I wouldn’t lie.’

  ‘And you never … touched him … or … or … did stuff with him of any kind?’

  ‘Apart from the talking, no,’ he says, with just a hint of disappointment in his voice again. Lord, I’m going to be thinking of that low tone for a long, long time afterward. ‘But then, I understand that’s pretty much how he was with you too. Never tried to fuck you, or go down on you, or have you go down on him. Right?’

  It’s strangely sad that I wish I had something else to tell him. But of course I don’t.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, simply, and then he shakes his head. I understand why, however, I mean, it’s the kind of thing most people would shake their heads over. I had an odd, detached sort of relationship with Woods, and now he’s going to tell me that I’m an odd, detache
d sort of person.

  It’s why I can’t be with him the way he wants someone to be with him. He probably wants a girl who’s much more open and warm, and who can do something other than just stand there while he lies on her bed.

  Or at least, I think that’s what he wants until he says:

  ‘It’s the only thing I never understood about him,that he had you … he had you right in the palm of his hand. And yet somehow he didn’t want to spend every second of every day touching you all over. He didn’t want to make love to you.’ He pauses and flicks his gaze back up to me, genuine confusion all over his perfect face. ‘Don’t you think that’s weird, Ms Harding?’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘I can’t help noticing that you haven’t said anything for a really, really long time.’

  He’s right, you know. It’s been at least a minute – probably roughly around the amount of seconds it took me to come all over his face. There’s nothing I can do about it, however. He’s just said something that plucked at heartstrings I don’t have, and he doesn’t seem to know he’s done it.

  He’s just … laid there, cock still impossibly hard. And when I say impossibly I mean the actual literal meaning of the word because seriously, how is he still aroused? Shouldn’t it have gone down by now? I just stood here in silence for an eternity – it’s not right that he’s still got an erection.

  Even though I still seem to have my ladyboner. I keep counting down all the things he’s just said in my head: me and Woods, him and Woods, him and me … making love. And then something just sort of clasps my pussy in a warm, wet hand, and everything I wanted to do or say runs right out of me.

  ‘You OK? Where did I lose you? It was the word “love” in there, right?’ He points at the door and near-mouths his next words. ‘I’ll just get my coat.’

  I swear, I actually let out a little amused sound when he does it. And though it’s funny – God, he’s funny – it’s also sad at the same time, because I can’t remember any man making me laugh. Literally: I can’t name one.

  It’s just him, with his too-big gestures and his future career in mime. He makes me grab his leg and say, ‘No, no’, while doing something weird, like giggling. I’m giggling like some girl I never was, and reeling him back in even though he’s still trying to escape. He’s halfway over the edge of the bed when I finally manage to get a grip on his body – though the grip isn’t exactly a good one.

  I’ve just sort of curled myself against the back of him, arms around his middle. And he takes note of this, in a very particular sort of way.

  ‘Oh, so you are going to fuck me – oh OK then,’ he says, and here’s the thing – I laugh again. It’s easy to, when I get to hide my face in his shoulder-blades and listen to him laughing too.

  It vibrates against the side of my face when I press said place to him. When I hold him for just a second, like this, and feel how soft his skin is. How furry he is in front, and so big too. It’s sort of like hugging a really lovely bear, only without the word in there that I’m absolutely not doing.

  I’m not hugging him, all right?

  ‘Are you … holding me?’

  I’m not doing that either.

  ‘No. I’m just getting ready to fuck you through the mattress.’

  ‘I see. Building up to it, huh?’

  ‘I’m drawing it out until you go insane.’

  ‘Well, you’re pretty close to that right now. Fairly sure I can feel your breasts pressing into my back.’

  ‘You can’t. I just have really weird elbows.’

  He tries to glance at me over his shoulder, but it’s hard because I barely make up half of him. It’s like he’s got a knapsack on his back, in all honesty.

  ‘I don’t think it’s healthy to have such pillowy arm joints. Plus, you know, I think I can see your elbows. They’re right here with the arms you’ve got wrapped around me.’

  ‘They’re not my arms. They’re someone else’s.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Are we playing sexy stranger now?’

  I rub my face against his back in a way I can only describe as contented. Even though I don’t want to describe it as anything of the sort.

  ‘Is that what you want to do? You want me to be some chick you picked up in a bar?’

  He laughs, long and low.

  ‘You think I pick up chicks in bars? My God, you don’t know me at all.’

  ‘OK then,’ I say, as something very specific flutters through my mind. Something very specific that he said – about how he didn’t, with Woods. But that he would have, if asked. ‘Some dude in a bar.’

  ‘That … that wasn’t exactly what I was saying.’

  ‘No. You were saying that you’re about as smooth as granite and couldn’t pick up a girl to save your life. But I’m saying: so would you fuck a guy, if the opportunity arose?’

  I almost feel him hesitate – just like he did when the topic first came up. Just a hint of embarrassment there in him, even if it’s not enough to make him silent, to make him dodge the question the way I probably would if he asked me just about anything.

  ‘If you told me to, yeah,’ he says finally, and Lord I don’t know how to respond to that. I was imagining a simple yes, and had planned my reply accordingly. Now I have to come up with something way, way better.

  ‘Would you do anything I told you to?’

  And that was totally not it. I should have said something more sensitive, I think. Something with poise and understanding, that encompasses the depths our relationship has apparently gotten to.

  Instead I just jerk some words out and hope for the best.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You know how badly I could take advantage of that, right?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he says, and ohhh that word he practically purrs, on the end. It still has the ability to make me absolutely boneless, even after we’ve cuddled and laughed and been generally more relaxed about things.

  ‘I could just … I don’t know … make you take off all your clothes …’

  He lets out a little amused breath, as though to say – huh, that’s not so bad. But I have a feeling he’s going to regret doing so in a moment. Oh, he’s going to regret it all right.

  ‘And then once you’re naked, I might … tease you a little,’ I continue, and as I do I give him a little preview of that said same thing. I just … slide my hand down his solid belly until I encounter the thick root of his cock, and encircle it with my thumb and forefinger. Gentle enough to get him to buck, tight enough to make him hold back just a little.

  And of course he moans. He always moans. He moans so loudly that the urge to push myself against the curve of his ass becomes a bit too much for me to take – so I do it, slow and like I’m hardly doing anything at all. I’m really just scratching an itch or making myself more comfortable, and if either of those things ruffles the silk of my robe up between my legs and just kind of strokes it over my clit, that can’t be helped.

  Not even if he says to me that he knows exactly what I’m doing.

  ‘Yeah,’ he tells me. ‘Rub yourself on me.’

  And then I don’t know. Maybe I die or something. I certainly lose track of what I was saying, at the very least, and I’ve just got to chastise him for that. How dare he throw me off with his catalogue of wildly arousing things to do, said in that syrupy, lowdown voice of his!

  ‘Did I say you could talk, Ben?’

  He shakes his head once in lieu of a real answer, but I know why. And it’s not because I’ve just told him he needs to be silent either. It’s because I’ve just found the sensitive and very slick spot just underneath the head of his cock, and am currently circling it with my thumb.

  ‘Where was I again? Oh – that’s right. You’re naked, and probably slippery with oil, and definitely very aroused. None of which should be very hard to achieve, because as you’ve told me before: a stiff breeze could get you hard.’ He trembles violently against me, but this time I can’t tell why. It could be the humiliating things I’m saying
. It could be the fact that I’m now rubbing all of the lovely pre-come he’s produced over the slit at the tip of his cock. ‘And then once I’ve got you like that, I’ll just … I don’t know. Maybe invite all of my friends over for cocktails, with you as our diligent waiter.’

  ‘You – OK. OK. Can I talk now?’ he asks, and oh the urge to grin is huge. I can’t get enough of the way he makes mistakes – blundering into them before attempting some sort of rectification five minutes too late. It’s like he wants me to collar him for stuff, though even as I’m thinking such a thing I realise how stupid it is.

  Of course he wants me to collar him for stuff. No one could forget that they’re not supposed to talk ten seconds after being told just that. He’s not stupid. He’s as clever as fuck.

  ‘No. In fact, I’m not sure you should ever be allowed to talk again.’ And yes, I’m absolutely lying when I say that. If he was suddenly rendered mute tomorrow I’d be devastated – where else would I find someone who actually enjoys telling me about that one time he came all over himself? ‘Which is why I’ll probably gag you before everyone comes over. You know – just in case there’s something filthy you want to say to a group of refined businesswomen.’

  This time he just gives me a long, low groan, in response to what I’ve said – though I can’t help noticing that it directly coincides with the word businesswomen. Which just makes me wonder what he’s picturing exactly.

  Is it the same as the image I’ve got in my head? Several stern-faced women in tight little suits as crisp as a new day … all of them sat around with drinks in their hands. Some discussion about something inconsequential going on between them.

  As my glistening, nude little man-toy serves everyone margaritas.

  ‘But by then I think I’d have you well trained anyway. Even without the gag you wouldn’t dare say anything to anyone – not when one of them fondles your undoubtedly stiff cock as you do your best to pour her another drink.’

  I’ll be honest: I doubt he could say his own name while a stranger jerked him off. But we’ll leave that for now, because oh this fantasy’s so delicious. And I know it is for him too, because when I tell him about the fondling he stops pretending he’s got any restraint at all. He just turns his face into the bedspread and starts fucking my hand in earnest.