“Look at yourself. Tell me you aren’t.” She is fucking herself harder now, just a little, and a little grunt emits from her nose with each deep plunge of the dildo. I am wet under my skirt, my own cunt throbbing with need.
I know instinctively not to disagree, but, moreover, I realize she is right: if she is paying attention to me, there is something special. Not only that, it’s indicative of something larger than her, larger than me.
I moan, leaning closer to the desk, my fingers pressing hard but my wrists still where she assigned them, my imaginary bonds keeping me in place. I wish they were actually there, wish the harsh rub of the fibers was what kept me in place outside this sudden burst of heavy, needy obedience.
Her moan catches the end of mine, as if we share a brain, body, voice. My eyes pop open with the desire to see all of her, to not miss a second. The dildo is now slick, her cunt full and purple, and I can see her knees trembling ever so slightly. I want to fuck myself, but the only relief I have is baring down, rather futilely, on the side my calf, where only the slight pressure gives me any sensation at all. I can feel my own cunt pulsing, grasping at the nothing in the air, and whine just as she all but explodes, her ass rising up off the chair with her orgasm, her hand still working the dildo hard and deep inside her.
Her cunt shines, and I lick my lips, imagining the taste of her on my tongue. Her face contorts with the sensations, and then irons out, sweet, like she might fall asleep right there with her body exposed to me and the camera, as if she is perfectly safe before me. She is—of course she is.
“You’d clean me up, if you were here,” she says after the silence, punctuated only by both our rapid breaths, has gone on long enough.
“Y-yes, Mistress.” I still fumble over the word, even as it feels more natural on my tongue. I want to whisper it in her ear, I want to sit at her feet and purr like a kitten with her fingers in my hair. I don’t notice the hard floor under my knees anymore; I am absorbed in the electricity that is flowing through me, the dampness of the skirt between my legs, and her gaze upon me.
“I like you there,” she goes on, setting the wet dildo aside. “I like you watching; I like that you want it but can’t have it. Do you like it too?”
I nod before I’ve even formed the thought in my mind, but know she is right. She is plucking the knowledge right from my brain, with only the way her eyes stare through the camera and into me.
“I’ll call again, kitten,” she says. “Next time, I want you to start on your knees.”
I open my mouth, but the screen goes black. Now the only sound is my heart slamming in my ears, my breath coming in gasps out of my slack-jawed mouth.
Unsteadily, I get to my feet, shut down the program. Some nights, I work well into the morning. Tonight, it is not even midnight. I stand before the computer, in the confines of my little space, and rub my wrists, which feel bruised. I stare at them, wishing the purple to the skin, yet only able to imagine the coarse sensation of rope rubbing a path, endless circles, keeping me in place.
STUCK ON YOU
Jenne Davis
Jane watched in silence as Mike moved across the room. She loved to watch him move, his strong and powerful arms now braced and all muscle as he hauled the steaming bucket of hot water toward her.
“Do we have everything now?” he asked. His voice had a certain authority that she’d always been attracted to.
“I think so,” she replied, looking down at the tools that seemed to have spilled across the entire length of the room. “It feels like we brought most of the store, to be honest.”
“Yes, yes it does,” Mike replied, glancing at the myriad of toys that filled the room. “I think we’re all set, hon. Ready, steady, go…”
Jane picked up the wallpaper scraper and got to work at his command, but a part of her felt guilty as she began to score the old paper that surrounded and encased what was once her parents’ bedroom. So many good memories had been made in this room, but they’d been marred by the last one: the passing of her father. She had lain next to him as he’d slowly sunken into a coma from which he would never return.
Her father had given her permission to do with the house and this room as she saw fit. She knew that the time was right to erase not only the decor that was so familiar to her, but also that sad memory. She was ready to move on, and as she looked at Mike, she began to scrape a little more furiously.
Mike had been there through the worst days and the best nights. He’d made her feel a little better as the light had dimmed from her father’s eyes each day, held her in this very room when he passed, and now he was helping her create new memories.
“You okay, babe?” The concern was evident in his voice as well as his eyes when she glanced his way.
“Yeah, I’m fine…just, well, you know…” She wanted to finish but somehow couldn’t find the words.
“I know this isn’t easy, but I’m sure it’s what he would have wanted.”
“Me too,” was all she could manage before the floodgates opened up and the tears came forth.
“Oh, babe, it will be okay.” Before she could think of anything to say, he was holding her in his arms. She took strength from those arms, the arms that had held her after the funeral, the arms that had captured so many of her tears over the years, the arms that she relied upon.
“I know, I’m okay. I promise.” She looked up at him and found his lips rushing to meet hers. It was a kiss she didn’t want to stop, a kiss she could get lost in, and yet she knew that there was work to do so she pulled away from him.
“Let’s get this done, shall we?”
“Yes, let’s! This is gonna take a lot of hard work but it will be worth it in the end, I promise.” He released her from his comforting grip, and stood beside her, his own scraper raised and ready to go to work.
Once more she took her scraper and began to score the paper. This time, she felt a new sense of achievement with each small piece of wallpaper that left the death grip of the wall.
“Boy, what did they put this stuff up with?” Mike asked.
“Something very, very sticky,” she replied with a giggle. This was proving to be much harder work than either of them had envisioned at the beginning of the day. Jane stopped for a second and reached into the bucket for the large sponge and began to apply it to the two-by-two piece of wallpaper she’d just scored. Despite the fact that they had been on the job since eight, all they’d achieved was stripping about one half of a side of the room. Even that had more than a few spots of the old floral wallpaper remaining. “It’s sure not as easy as they made out in the store,” she mused, giving him a sideways glance. “Coffee?”
“Sounds like a plan to me. I’ll put the kettle on.” He dropped his scraper on the floor and proceeded to the kitchen.
Jane stood back and admired their work, pleased they were making progress but at the same time annoyed that they hadn’t gotten more done. She turned her back on the bare piece of wall and sighed upon looking at the pieces that remained. As she made to move toward the door, Jane found herself falling backward against the bare but very sticky piece of wall they’d been working on. She tried to right herself but couldn’t. The sticky residue held her in place.
“Mike? Mike? I could use a hand here,” she called as it became apparent to her that getting out of this mess wasn’t something she could accomplish alone. Each time she tried to pull away the glue seemed to hold her tighter, tugging painfully at her skin.
Mike ambled back into the room, his eyes widening at the scene that greeted him. His wife was all but spread-eagled in front of him. His eyes instinctively traveled down her body before taking in the camel toe that had formed between her legs. Her bare breasts—she didn’t wear a bra for this kind of work—were fighting against the fabric that was apparently as stuck to the wall as she was. He began to chuckle, but caught himself as he noticed the fear in her eyes.
“You think this is funny?” Jane asked, but even as she did, a small part of her appre
ciated the way he’d just looked at her—almost like he was glad she was stuck, at his mercy.
“What the hell? How did you manage that? Try moving.”
“What do you think I’ve been trying to do?” A slight tinge of desperation rang out in her voice.
“Okay, let’s try this.” Mike took her arm and carefully tried to remove it from the sticky mess.
“Ouch, that hurts.”
“Sorry, baby, you know I’d never hurt you, but we have to do something.”
He stood back and looked deep in thought for a moment, before reaching forward and plucking the large soapy sponge from the bucket. Gently, he began to apply it behind her right hand.
His closeness warmed her once more, and a familiar sensation began to build between her inner thighs. His nearness made her warm once again, the sensation building up from between her legs. Slowly, the gummy paste that held her began to give way, but she was starting to think maybe she didn’t want it to, at least not yet.
“This is gonna take a while,” he announced as he dipped the sponge once more into the bucket.
She felt so vulnerable as Mike moved across her body applying the soap, slowly peeling her from her prison, yet that same vulnerability was strangely sexy. With each stroke of the soapy water, each time she managed to peel herself a little freer, her inner thighs began to moisten. With him so close, she wanted nothing more than to touch him too, but she was afraid to move in case she got stuck once more. Being immobilized, even under these circumstances, was in fact turning her on more than she would care to admit.
She could smell his familiar aroma as he reached forward and kissed her gently. “You’re doing fine. We’ll have you out of here in no time.” The words reassured her, as did his gentle kisses, but suddenly she wanted more. She couldn’t explain it to herself and she couldn’t say it out loud. Instead, she showed him, her tongue reaching into his mouth and almost devouring him. He’d always been able to read her before and this time was no exception; there was no mistaking what she wanted him to do. He took his cue, meeting her lips with the same ferocious fervor.
Still grasping the waterlogged sponge, his hands began to travel across her body, this time with an altogether different purpose. His breath came fiercely, filling her ears as he used the sponge to leave a sloppy, soapy mess on her breasts, her nipples hardening at the exposure to the now slightly cold substance. Giving her a sly smile, he reached between her legs with his free hand, his smile widening as he felt the wetness that definitely wasn’t caused by the water running down from her T-shirt.
Feeling exposed like this, waiting for Mike to free her—or not—and knowing she could do nothing about it, turned Jane on to the point where reason left her. She all but screamed as his wet hand reached her inner thighs. She couldn’t move away from the wall, but she didn’t want to. Once more he kissed her deeply, signaling his own need for some kind of release. Before she could utter the words that were on the tip of her tongue he pulled away from her. He had tugged, pulled and torn the skimpy fabric of her shorts away from her body, leaving her stuck and exposed, but oh so turned on. He turned his attention to her already ruined T-shirt and ripped it in two with one pull.
Her breasts spilled forward, no longer held by the formfitting material. When the cool air hit them, she caught her breath. Mike stood back, admiring his handiwork for just a moment. All thoughts of getting free had left her brain, instead replaced by pure lust. She could see his desire in his eyes, as he wielded the sponge once again, as if it were a unique toy.
“You look like a masterpiece.” His eyes were smiling as the words left his mouth, before he began to strip off his own clothes. His rugged chest, powerful thighs and glorious dick came into view, making her hunger for him even more. Now all she wanted to do was reach forward and touch him. Instead she just stayed stuck in the same position, spread-eagled against the wall, waiting for his touch, to feel his naked skin against hers. She knew resistance to the sticky glue was futile, but still her body tingled, her nipples hardening and mouth watering at being so close, yet so far, from the only man who could make her feel this way. Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long.
In mere moments, cool water ran from the sponge down the length of her body. His hard dick brushed against her leg, causing her to sigh. The water ran in rivulets between their hot and sweaty bodies. He ground against her, pushing her deeper into the wall, holding her tighter than any glue ever could. Would he take her right there, leave her pinned, captive between his hardness and the wall? Did she want him to? Jane moaned at this delicious dilemma, trying to shift her body to ease him inside her.
Then, without warning, Jane found herself free as the glue let go all at once. The soapy water had done its trick. They both tumbled forward onto the carpeted floor. Jane found herself underneath a hot, soapy and very horny Mike, grateful to once again be sandwiched between her true love and a hard surface, unable to escape. In their brief encounter, she’d come to appreciate the thrill of being stuck, caught, captured.
In what seemed like seconds he was inside her. For so long she had been wrapped up in this room, stuck on its contents and all the bad memories that it contained. Now, as he filled her very existence, she forgot the pain and anguish of the past few months. They washed away as easily as the old glue that had bound her to the wall. With so much buildup, her body was more than ready for him, primed for a release of the most powerful kind. As the orgasm washed over her, she wrapped her arms around his and let go, embracing freedom in more ways than one. Mike moaned as he looked down at her, maintaining the connection that had sparked this impromptu coupling as his wet, slippery body ground against hers. The look in his eyes made her feel as she had when she’d been stuck to the wall—he would take care of her, no matter what. When she felt him climax inside her, her own pleasure rose again, joining his.
As they both came down from their respective orgasms, she looked into his eyes, giggled and said, “I’ve always been stuck on you, but never like that. Don’t put the sponge away. I think we’re going to need it again. We’ve got a whole room to finish.”
IN SUSPENSE
Shenoa Carroll-Bradd
Before they began, all was silent. Christie and Mac entered the stain-proof room together, fingers entwined in solidarity.
Christie’s stomach tightened, and her skin flushed and tingled, just as it had when she’d first met Mac almost a year ago. She wanted this, and there was no way she’d let nerves stand in her way.
Mac closed the door behind them before leaning in to kiss the spiral of rings up her earlobe, his breath teasing and warm.
Her nipples hardened as his kisses sent tingles up her scalp and down her spine. Christie leaned back against Mac and tilted her chin up, giving him better access to her neck and raising her gaze to the chains hanging from the ceiling like glowworm strands with bright steel hooks at their ends. She could do this, damn it.
Everything Christie loved had come hand in hand with pain, whether it was her Akita, Ponzy, who had only been adopted because her previous dog ran off, or the dozen tattoos adorning her skin. Those carefully inked designs had taken hours in the chair. This would only take minutes.
Mac wrapped his arms around her waist. “Hey,” he said between kisses. “It’s okay. We’ll start off slow.”
Christie raised a hand to fondle his zero-gauge earlobe before leaning in for a kiss. His lips parted, and she darted her tongue inside, playing with his silver stud.
He kissed back, harder, sliding one hand down to cup her ass and pull her against him.
She ground against his pelvis, feeling an erection swelling behind his jeans.
“Tell me when you’re ready.”
Christie nodded, moaning against his mouth, but did not answer. Not yet. She pulled back to peel his shirt up over tight abs and past his pierced nipples, exposing his chest piece: the MacMillan family crest bordered with thistles and bookended by a pair of intricately detailed raven’s wings. She ran her hand dow
n it just once, though she’d seen it almost every day for months now. Still, the familiar design made her smile. Christie thought of it as a link between Mac and his ancestors, tracing ink back through the years to his distant highland predecessors, whose fiery coloring he still wore in a stripe down his scalp, and on the end of his chin.
He grinned, mischievous as ever, and tugged at the buttons on her blouse, pulling it open, letting air in over her flushed skin. Mac slipped a hand inside, massaging her right breast while he worked on the other buttons.
She kissed him in little bursts, darting in to press her lips to his, then pulling back before he had a chance to respond, teasing him into trying to follow when she retreated.
Mac slipped the last button free and her shirt slid down her arms, dropping to the floor. He cupped her face and pulled her into the deep kiss she’d been withholding.
Christie laughed against his lips, reaching down to unbutton her jean shorts. She hadn’t put on underwear that morning, a decision she hoped she wouldn’t regret later, once she was exhausted and sore. The denim was already damp from her growing excitement.
Mac hooked a finger into the waistband, helping to tug them down. When the denim hit the floor, Christie stood naked before him, wearing just her tattoos. They helped her feel brave, like little flags proclaiming, I’m no stranger to pain. I have no fear of it. I take it in, and the pain makes me more beautiful.
They stood together, her face cradled in his hand, just breathing. Mac’s muddy green-brown eyes held hers, and after a moment he asked, “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
Christie pressed her lips together and nodded. “Absolutely. I’ve always wanted to try suspension, but it never felt quite right with anyone else. It requires a specific kind of trust.” She leaned forward to playfully run her tongue across his lower lip. “A trust I’ve only felt with you.”
Mac kissed her, smoothing a hand down her flat stomach, curling two fingers up to stroke between her slick lips until she rocked back and forth to his rhythm.
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