by Lucia Jordan
“Unicorns,” she parroted.
“Good girl.” His hands turned hard and harsh. He gripped her breasts, grasping them almost viciously. Sandra’s feet kicked out and he laughed. Then her ankles were secured by the cuffs that hung from the bedposts at the bottom of the bed. Trussed and helpless she lay there.
Time passed, she had no idea of how much. Her legs were spread widely open, her vulnerability and nakedness made her feel shy, awkward and a little frightened. The darkness behind the blindfold had become almost stifling and her fingers clenched into fists as something cool and metallic pressed against her sphincter.
The balls slid into her, the smallest ones first. Connor had used lube on them so they slipped in easier than she would have imagined but they still hurt a little. They were also heavy, and the last ball on the string was large, wide and round. Her breath became a harsh and ragged pant long before he had finished inserting the chain, leaving the small finger loop dangling at the entrance of her tight tunnel.
Sandra strained to hold the balls within, despite the instinct to bear down, to expel them. Taking long breaths helped. Connor’s tongue, tickling along her upper thighs, took her mind away from the intrusion as well. His tongue slid into her pussy, tasting her sweetness. She sobbed as her pleasure soared higher and higher but went unfulfilled.
The riding crop came down softly at first; it tapped on her thighs, danced across her sopping mound. Gasps born of desperate desire came from her lungs, she writhed below those light strokes, wanting more—needing it.
The crop came down harder. It left a thin stinging pain in its wake. Her thigh ached in misery and her fingers curled, her nails digging into her palms as she struggled to hold her safe word behind her lips. She was not ready to stop although her mind insisted she was.
How much of his delicious torment could she bear? She did not know but the riding crop rustled as it hit the floor. Her body strained upward as she sought to listen to his footsteps as he once again approached the wall where the implements hung.
There was a soft rattle. What was he bringing back? The whip? One of the heavy leather floggers? Would it hurt? Her nipples pointed at the ceiling, the pointed peaks trembling as a light touch ran across them. She knew it was leather tantalizing her body, but what that leather had been fashioned into was anyone’s guess.
The flogger, she recognized it for what it was when the tips of it brushed against her nipples. They ran over the hardened buds, flicked and danced but never hurt. His teeth came back, biting and nipping at her neck and aureole.
The flogger slapped down, it was heavy and made a thud that caused her flesh to shrink in response even as her body arched higher to receive more. She lost count of how many times he let it hit her, it struck her legs and belly softly, her outstretched arms and even her mound. None of the blows ever grew harder but they nevertheless made her ache.
She ached with need, not pain. Every cell in her body cried out for his. She needed him inside of her, wanted to feel him. Her moans had grown weak and thin as she drifted farther away on a haze of lust and wanting.
His body lay above hers and he entered her. He thrust into her, hard and fast. He fucked her roughly while his tongue slid into her mouth and he gave her a kiss so demanding that she sobbed aloud in a mixture of breathless wonder and yearning.
His cock filled her, stretched her walls and sent more juices running down her ass crack. She felt him come and she cried out, straining to reach that elusive height herself as his seed flooded into her but he withdrew, leaving her spread open, empty and nearly insane with the need to come.
Connor was feeling merciful it seemed. He pressed one finger to her clit and began to circle it. Sandra’s body shuddered and then she screamed as the first ball popped out of her ass. The long chain unfurled with each ball that left her.
Her body shook as she was wracked with pleasure. “Oh God,” she groaned as sweat rolled down her body. The chains that the cuffs were attached to swung wildly as she sought relief and when she found it, it swept over her in an intense and violent wave that left her coming time after time.
“Come home to me sweetie,” Connor whispered in her ear as his body pressed hers deeper into the mattress. His voice pulled her back from the unbearable precipice of pleasure, soothed her as his hands did as they stroked her soft hair.
Sandra wanted to cling to him but she was bound still and unable to do so. Her body shook helplessly and involuntarily as the last few aftershocks rolled through her. He released her ankles and wrists then pulled the blindfold away. She blinked at him, her eyes slit tightly against the dazzle of the overhead lights.
When she spoke, her voice was groggy and hoarse. “That was quite interesting.”
His body shook with laughter as he curled her body into the hollow below his arm. “Interesting is hardly the word I would have used.”
“It is the only one I can summon at the moment.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is,” she snuggled into him, her nose pressed into his neck. She could smell a faint tang of perspiration below the faded scent of the seawater and his cologne.
“Could you learn to love it here?”
Her heartbeat quickened. “I do love it here.”
He brushed kisses across her forehead and down her neck. Then he kissed her eyes and cheeks, dribbled kisses across her eyebrows, making her giggle. “Then stay.”
**
The weather had warmed again. The spring brought thaws to the campus and water ran off the roofs of the high buildings. Connor swore as a long stream of filthy melt ran down the collar of his light jacket and down his exposed neck.
To make matters worse, one of the icicles that had broken off from the roof of his on-campus house had nearly killed him just a few minutes earlier, his face still bore a faint scratch from that close call. His mood was foul to say the least as he stormed into his classroom and faced the pale-faced students who sat at their desks.
He felt as grumpy and bored as they looked as he launched into a discussion of fiction writing in the modern age—after about ten minutes he lapsed into silence, stared out the windows at the sunny day and said, “Let’s go outside. I cannot stand a single minute more in this room.”
The students exchanged startled glances but grabbed their books. It seemed they were all suffering from a malaise as well. Spring fever often hit campuses and when they went outside Connor headed for the lake, walking in long strides, his hands shoved into his pockets, his head up and the students straggling behind him.
Looking out of her classroom window Sandra saw him and paused. Whimsy struck her; Connor looked like some kind of odd Pied Piper. She had the craziest urge to whistle a tune down at him but since she knew the reason for his irritation, she decided it would be wiser to remain silent and allow him to walk off the frustration, literally.
She turned her attention back to her students, none of whom looked very impressed with the task she had set them for the week. Most of them were buried behind their laptops and tablets or staring down at their desks to avoid her eyes.
She did not blame them. Spring brought a restlessness coupled with tough tests and the longing for warmer weather and the parties and excitement to be had in those months. The dripping of water and the endless slush that heralded the arrival of warmer weather often made her feel both depressed and invigorated and she had no doubt that was the same thing her students felt at the moment. No wonder Connor had taken his students outside.
She was keyed up and nervous as well, though the weather was playing only a part. There was a much larger reason.
The day passed slowly and she was often guilty of daydreaming and inattentiveness. Her students did not notice, or at least they pretended that they did not and when her last class was over she escaped as quickly as possible.
Sandra wrapped her scarf around her neck and set off walking across the campus. Her bright red rain boots struck the puddles and splashed water. She laughed, kn
owing that it was silly to be playing in puddles at her age but she did it anyway every year. A figure up ahead caught her eye and she hurried to him.
“Hello Father.”
Thomas Eckhart blinked at his daughter like he was waking from a dream. His light green eyes were mostly hidden behind huge glasses that magnified the whites of those eyes, making him look even more myopic. “Oh, hello Sandra, how was your day?” He had a surprisingly deep baritone voice, it was incongruous coming from his thin chest, and it often shocked students.
His singing voice was also amazing and often heard in the Baptist church right off the campus, the same church Sandra had accompanied him to when she was a little girl.
“It was…”
How had it been? “About the same as always.”
“That’s good.”
She knew he honestly meant that. For Thomas change was something to be avoided at all costs. She had a feeling she knew why but she needed to hear it from him. “I need to ask you something.”
“Are you in need of research sources?”
“No. Yes. Sort of.” She sighed. “I need to ask you about Mother.”
“I had rather thought you would have questions when she came to see you but you did not seem to… surely you have not been thinking about that for this long.”
Sorrow lay on Sandra’s heart. She had always loved her father but in a remote and distant way, the same way he had loved her. They had never had the best communication style either. “Did you love her?”
He managed to look surprised. “Why of course I cared for her. Why would you ask?”
“No, did you love her? I mean…did you ever feel your heart pound faster when she got near, did you…”
Her questions were cut off by his hasty reply. “I have told you before that love is actually a chemical reaction. The body and brain do create sensations that are similar to what you describe, yes, if that answers your question.”
“But did you ever…ever really love her, Father? Did you ever just love her?”
The daylight had gone translucent and hazy. The trees swayed in the wind and a sharp wind picked up a piece of forgotten rubbish, swirling it into the gutters where it floated on a riptide created in a flow of dirty melt water.
Thomas took his glasses off, rubbed his eyes and then carefully polished them on his scarf. “Yes, Sandra, I loved her. Of course I did, she was exciting and beautiful and so different from everything I have ever known. She came on to this campus like a gust of air, a warm hot wind that blew over everything in its path, including myself.
“If you are asking because you are hoping I will say something that will make this affair you are having with Connor make sense I cannot help you. If anything he reminds me of your mother, he is…different than anything you have ever known. I do not know if that is a good thing for you or not.”
“He is not Mother.”
“Nobody else is your Mother.” The emotion in his voice made empathy rise in Sandra, and a sudden sharp understanding. Her father had never dated again because he was still in love with her! Or so she thought but his next words halted that thought so quickly she was left speechless. “I thought she would be the one to help me to stem the things I felt for Calvin.”
“Calvin…Reynolds?” He was her father’s oldest and best friend. They spent most of their free time together. What does that mean? It made sense, all of a sudden and she asked, “Are you coming out to me?”
“Yes, I suppose I am.” They had stopped in front of his neat little home and he gave her a wary look, “You are not going to cause a scene are you?”
“Of course not. “
“You can fight love all you want but eventually it has its way you know.”
Sandra leaned forward and kissed him, impulsively, on his withering cheek. “You are so very right on that one.”
He looked even more startled but managed to say, “I have work to do this evening. Come by Saturday, I am making roasted chicken and new potatoes.”
“I will be here.”
“Good, have a nice evening.”
“I will, I am meeting Connor for dinner.” The reason for that dinner made her stomach flutter with trepidation and hope.
**
The candlelight played along Connor’s cheekbones and Sandra sat looking at him, thinking she could watch his face for the rest of her life—watch it change and grow older, watch it as she aged as well.
The phone lay on the table between them. Both of them stared at it with growing anxiety on their faces that kept their waiter from asking them if they wanted refills on their waters or if they were ready to order.
“It’s six thirty.” Sandra knew her voice sounded querulous.
“I know,” Connor’s voice sounded tense. “Maybe we should call him.”
Just then, her phone rang. It was the call that they had both been waiting for and they were both too afraid to answer it. Sandra pushed the phone at Connor and he answered it, listened, scowled a few times, said thank you a few times then hung up. Sandra, panic showing in her face asked, “Well?”
“Well…you won’t be drinking wine with dinner.” A grin split his face nearly in half.
Sandra’s breath came to an abrupt halt but her heart sped up. Tears spurted from her eyes even as she laughed. That laugh was shaky but genuine. “I’m pregnant.” She repeated it, this time with more authority, “I’m pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“We are going to have a baby.” She gulped and grabbed the glass of water by her empty bread plate. “Oh shit. I mean, you do want to be a parent don’t you?”
“Sandra, we have discussed this. I want to be in this child’s life. I want to be a father. What is more I want you to move in with me. I want us to raise this child together.”
“I will not marry you just because my birth control failed.’
“That is not what I meant when I asked, any of the times that I asked.”
“I know that.”
“Then why do you feel the need to reiterate the same things over and over again?”
“I do not know that I want to get married.” She knew she sounded stubborn and that she was being incredibly difficult. She wanted to marry Connor, wanted it with all of her heart but she had a horror of trapping him more than she feared a child already would.
“You are not your mother, or your father.”
“He came out to me today,” she blurted.
“Oh, is he still seeing Calvin?”
She stared at him, “You knew?”
“Everyone knows,” Connor replied casually. “You honestly didn’t?”
“Of course not!”
“Are you angry?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I wish he had told me long ago. It would have made so many things make sense. Calvin is such a physical person. You know he believes in empiric everything. Calvin had to be the one to tell him that nonsense he has been spouting my whole life about love being a biological function.”
“Like going to the bathroom? There might be something to that. I have had some shitty relationships.” Connor chuckled.
“You know what I mean.”
He took her hand. “I do. I think you spent your whole life watching someone who was afraid to love the person that he loved, or at least love him openly, hide himself away from that love and the entire world.”
Sandra wiped tears away, “I guess I am a little angry because I spent all these years living my life emulating him without knowing why he lived the way he did. I thought he just …I just…”
Connor knew why she was at a loss for words. Sandra had been raised to lead the life she had without ever questioning why her father lived the life he had raised her for. She continued, “I never thought that he would simply not leave the campus because he was in love with someone else on it.
“I mean, if it had been a woman he could have followed her, or would have anyway. He would not have been afraid to really live. All those years, wasted.” She shook her head.
“You are not your parents any more than I am mine.” Connor took her hand. “We will not make their mistakes.”
“You do not know that.”
“No, I do not.” Connor admitted. “But I can help you remember the lessons.”
“Will that be enough?”
“Yes,” he said sincerely. “Just wait and see.”
**
Connor went into the water, his body plunging into the waves and his arms moving in long confident strokes. He could see Sandra ahead of him, swimming parallel to the shore, her dark head bobbing above the white capped crests.
He knew he should tell her to get the hell out of the water, it was late September and she was due any day but he did not have the heart to. Sandra had already given up sailing for the moment and this would likely be the last good day for swimming.
It was a beautiful day. He could see the hills in the distance, their tops rising above the gray ribbon of the highway that wound around them. Clouds rolled across the sky, the breeze was warm, and the scent of pine hung over the odor of the sea.
Boats moved along the water farther out and he spat a mouthful of the salty stuff from his mouth while the gratitude that always swamped him every time he stepped into the water filled him yet again.
Sandra had taught him to swim. He rolled onto his back, floating on the waves, drifting there. He looked up at the sky and smiled, “She is a good one Gina,” he said and then he blew a kiss to the woman he had loved, but who had never been able to show him how to let go and trust enough to float in the endless ocean. It was not a reflection on Gina, or the love that they had shared; it was simply a testament to the new one.
Sandra, swimming ahead, felt the cramp strike her back and belly again. She swam a few more feet and counted until it came back. When it did her she knew her suspicion was correct, she was in labor.
She spotted Connor afloat a wave and she swam over to him. “We need to go.”
He lifted a hand, “Go, nobody will care.”
Sandra, a little frightened at that point and fighting not to show it could not keep the edge out of her voice when she asked “What?”
“If you have to pee just do it.”