Made For Sex

by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd

  Chuckling, he immediately shortened his pace. “I’m really sorry. I guess I’m suffering from a certain urgency.” He sighed, his breath making a cloud of vapor around his face. “I want you very much.”

  “We have time,” Fran said, amazed at her boldness. But it felt good. She wasn’t going to be a wimpy follower. She had made a decision and she was going to be a participant. “We have all night.”

  He looked at her and smiled. “Wonderful,” he said, his breath making frosty clouds in front of his face. They walked the few blocks in silence.

  O’Malley’s building was a high-rise with terraces on the upper levels. They crossed the patrolled lobby and took the elevator to the seventeenth floor. Fran expected him to make a move in the small confined space, but he merely kept her arm beneath his. They crossed a small hallway and he used his key to open the apartment door and they stepped inside.

  The entranceway was small, and they quickly made their way past the living room. “I’ve turned one of the bedrooms into a sort of sitting room. It’s my favorite place to relax so I leave the living room pretty much unused.” He guided her toward a small, homey room with overstuffed colonial-style furniture in shades of dark blue and cranberry with lots of light wood. “I wouldn’t have expected this from you,” Fran said.

  “I know. Actually most of the furniture was from the house my wife and I vacated after the divorce, but I liked it and kept it. It’s comfortable in both look and feel and that’s what I always considered most important in a room for just me.”

  O’Malley put Fran’s coat and his on a side chair, then, true to his promise, lit five slender white candles. Then he flipped off the light and turned on a CD player. Soft music filled the room and he opened his arms and willingly Fran stepped into them. He reached around and clasped his hands at the small of her back and just held her. She tipped her head back and his lips found hers. His mouth was soft and warm. It didn’t possess, as she had expected, but shared, giving as much as it took.

  The kiss was totally involving, leaving her no room for thoughts of any kind. She parted her lips and his tongue delved into her mouth, tasting and reaching, joining with hers in a primal rhythm. She slid her arms up his chest and around his neck, one hand coming to rest on his hair and one against his cheek. His skin was warm and she could feel his muscles moving as his mouth moved against hers.

  His lips moved to her jaw and he placed long slow kisses down her throat. As he lightly bit down a shudder shook her entire body. “Oh God,” he murmured against her neck, “you’re so responsive.”

  So responsive? After sex her husband had always asked her whether she had enjoyed herself. “I can never tell whether you’re enjoying yourself,” he would say. She tipped her head back to give O’Malley better access to her neck and he took full advantage, kissing and nipping at her tender flesh. She felt his hand move up her back and his fingers comb through her hair, massaging her scalp. His lips traced a damp path down her breastbone and into the valley between her breasts.

  Suddenly Fran didn’t want to be a passive participant, she wanted to feel him. She backed up slightly and slid her hands beneath his jacket, sliding her palms over the hard planes of his chest through his shirt. She was Nichole, free, independent, able to do everything that she had written about in her stories. She slid her hands up to his shoulders and tugged at his lapels. “Take this off,” she said, not recognizing her hoarse voice.

  O’Malley slipped his jacket off and unbuttoned Fran’s blouse. Suddenly they were all hands and clothing, pulling, dragging, stripping until both stood naked in the middle of the living room. He was even more masculine without clothes, she realized, and it was very obvious that he was very excited. His cock stood out from his groin, hard and needy. Nicki had done that, Fran thought. Nicki, the attractive, the anxious, the wanton. In the split second in which each gazed at the other, she wondered about her own body.

  “Oh Lord, you’re beautiful,” he growled.

  “You’re looking at me the way the wolf must have looked at Little Red Riding Hood,” she said. Where had this lightness come from?

  “The wolf was thinking about devouring Red Riding Hood.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her against his heated body. “And I’m going to devour you.” His mouth found hers and it was as though he was devouring her entire being. One moment she was almost kidding with him, the next she was enveloped in his carnal embrace. She felt his erection pressing against her belly and all thought was extinguished.

  “Right here, right now,” he moaned against her mouth, and he picked her up and lay her down on the sofa. He knelt beside her and took one erect nipple in his mouth. The feeling was electric, waves of heat and tiny sparks traveled in a direct path from her breast to her already-sopping pussy. Her back arched and she scraped her nails up his back and heard him groan.

  Then his hand found her. Unable to get a breath, her body moved of its own accord, reaching for his fingers until he inserted one into her channel. She heard moans, screams and realized that they came from her. “Oh God, don’t stop” she cried, reaching, needing, driving upward.

  His mouth moved to her other nipple and his fingers moved between her legs. He rubbed her clit, then pushed two fingers into her again, stretching and forcing her to feel. “Yes,” she yelled, “oh, yes.”

  Unable and unwilling to control her actions, she raised her hips and, as O’Malley drove two fingers into her cunt, she came. Spasms overtook her and filled her. She cried as she felt his fingers leave her. She dimly heard him take a condom from his pocket and then he was on top of her, his hard cock probing between her thighs. She opened to him and wound her legs around his waist.

  Then he was deep inside her body. He drove, and relaxed, then drove again. She was unable to breathe, unable to think about everything she was feeling. There was just her pussy and his cock and nothing else in the world.

  It was only a moment before he roared, arched his back and poured himself into her, then collapsed, panting. They lay silently in the aftermath of the whirlwind they had just experienced. Finally his mouth found hers and he kissed her long and slow. “I’m sorry. I’m really embarrassed,” he said eventually.

  Puzzled, she held him and said, “Why?”

  “I acted like a fifteen-year-old, all hunger and hormones and no sense of your pleasure. I never do that. I just got carried away.”

  “I’m flattered,” she said, feeling wonderful.

  “You should be. I knew that you wanted me to go slowly, show you everything, and I will, but this time…”

  “Who says I wanted you to go slowly,” she said, grinning. “I wanted just what I got. You.”

  “But there’s so much more.”

  “And there’s lots of time.”

  He rolled off, stood up and disposed of the condom. Then he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. He placed her on the bed, then asked, “Are you cold?” Without waiting for an answer he grabbed an afghan from a chair in the corner and, lying beside her, covered them both. He cradled her head in the crook of his arm and kissed the top of her head. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve been with in a long time.”

  Unbelievably flattered, she said, “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

  “It’s not just talk, you know,” he said, taking her hand. He placed it on his penis, already getting hard again. “I’m no kid, yet I’m hungry for you already.”

  Beneath his hand, she wrapped her fingers around his hardening cock. He’s getting excited again, and it’s just because of me, she realized. She squeezed slightly and felt him react. Her grin was uncontrollable. She was like a child who’d discovered Christmas. She had always wanted to touch Eric but he had always been in too much of a hurry. Now she allowed her hands to explore. She tangled her fingers in his pubic hair, felt his testicles, ran the tip of one nail up the under surface of his cock. Everything she did seemed to give O’Malley pleasure. She stroked the inside of his thigh and his belly, feeling the muscles tense.

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nbsp; “I’m supposed to be the teacher,” he whispered, “but you don’t seem to need any lessons.” He grabbed her hand. “But you’d better stop unless you want a quickie like we just had.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” she said, pulling her hand away and scratching her nails up his thigh.

  He playfully slapped her hand. “I want more this time, for both of us.”

  He grabbed her wrists and rolled on top of her, pulling her arms until they were stretched high over her head. “You know what happens to naughty teases, don’t you?”

  “No,” Fran said, suddenly breathless.

  He paused, as if considering, then said, “They get theirs back.” His eyes locked with hers. “I told you that I like to play.” His grip tightened on her wrists. “Do you want to play with me? If not, tell me and I’ll stop.”

  Fran wanted to play. She wanted to experience all the things she had read about. But she couldn’t ask.

  “I’ll take your silence as an agreement.” He jumped off the bed and rummaged in the bottom drawer of his dresser, dumping a handful of fabric onto the floor beside the bed. Then he captured both of Fran’s wrists, again stretching them tightly above her head. “I think you want this, but if I’m wrong, you have only to say daffodil and I’ll stop. Do you understand?”

  He was playing yet he was entirely serious. “Daffodil?” she said. A safe word like couples agreed to in the bondage stories she’d read. Her breathing quickened and she could feel the moisture flow from her pussy.

  “And I’ll stop. I promise. Promise me in return that you’ll say daffodil even if you merely think you want to. I can’t share this pleasure with you unless you agree.” He took one wrist in each hand and spread her arms wide, pressing his chest against hers so she could feel his weight, the power of his body. “Trust is an overused word these days but I need you to trust me. If you don’t we will stop right now.”

  Her entire body trembling, Fran said, “I do trust you.”

  “Do you agree? You will say daffodil at any time? Promise?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. Her heart pounded and the sound was a rushing in her ears. “Do it.”

  In only moments her wrists were fastened to the headboard with the soft strips of velvet that O’Malley had found in the drawer. Then her ankles were stretched wide and tied to the footboard. He seemed to know just how hard to pull the ropes so she was stretched to the edge of discomfort but not over it.

  “Has anyone ever done anything like this to you before?” he asked.

  She stared up at him, feeling both totally vulnerable and totally trusting. “No,” she said softly.

  “How does it feel? Tell me.”

  Fran swallowed, then said, honestly, “It is incredibly exciting. I don’t have to think, just feel.”

  His grin lit up his face. “Exactly. Just feel.” He returned to the drawer and Fran could hear the sounds of things being pushed and pulled around inside. Then he was beside her, a furry mitten on his hand. “Are you ticklish?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He rubbed the soft fur over her belly and all her muscles tightened. He stroked her stomach, ribs, thighs, but not any of the places she longed for. Her breasts and her pussy remained untouched. Then he took a piece of rough canvas and rubbed, making her skin tingle. Then he used his tongue, licking and lapping at her flesh, always avoiding her nipples and her groin. “Please,” she moaned, moving as much as the ropes would allow. But as she moved, he reacted, staying just out of reach of the aching. “Please,” she groaned again.

  “You want me to touch you?”

  “Oh yes,” she said.

  Then he bit her left nipple, hard. Pleasure and a small amount of pain knifed through her. “That hurts,” she whined.

  “I know. And you know what to do if you want me to stop. The word is daffodil.”

  “But you’re hurting me,” she said, begging him with her lack of use of the word daffodil, not to stop. His teeth fastened on her nipple and the pleasure almost made her climax. And when his teeth moved to the other nipple and bit down hard, she felt little ripples of pleasure flow through her pussy.

  As if he knew how close she was, he moved away. “Not yet, my love” he said. “Not yet. I want to play, to show you all sorts of sensations. I want to see how high you can go without coming.”

  Fran groaned as O’Malley took a three-inch-wide strip of elastic from the foot of the bed, slipped it beneath the small of her back and fastened it tightly around her waist. The feeling of both entrapment and further loss of control was explosive. Grinning, he fastened another strip over her breasts, pressing it tightly against her erect nipples.

  Fran didn’t think it was possible to feel more excited yet not climax, but he seemed to know exactly how to drive her higher. He encased her thighs in more wide elastic strips until most of her body from her armpits to her knees was tightly encased. But not her pussy, which was wide open and devoid of any sensation.

  Then, while she watched, he crouched between her knees. “You’ll come now,” he said, “and I won’t even have to touch you. I control your body and I know exactly what will give you pleasure.” He leaned over and blew a thin stream of cool air onto her clit and she came. Unable to move, all her senses were concentrated on the hard spasms. “Oh my God,” she screamed. “Yes.”

  “And I can fill you, make it go on and on,” he said, driving three fingers into her steaming cunt.

  He was right. It seemed as though the orgasm lasted for hours. Her hips writhed and drove upward but his fingers never left her. She came and came, wave after wave of pure ecstasy washed over her. Even when his fingers left her for a moment, the orgasm continued.

  He turned and stretched out on the bed beside her, his head against her thigh, his penis level with her mouth. She turned her head and, experimentally reached out her tongue and touched his erect cock. She had never had her mouth on a man’s penis before but that didn’t seem to matter. His cock still tasted from his previous orgasm, a bit tangy and sticky, but wonderful. “Oh baby,” he groaned. “You’re perfect.”

  She panicked for a moment, worrying about whether there was something she was supposed to know about licking a man’s cock, then she thought, I’ll just do what I want. I’m not in control anyway. He’s calling the shots. She ran the tip of her tongue up and down the underside of his shaft, unable to move to reach anything more.

  With one hand, he stroked her thighs as she came down, and with the other he reached down and held his cock, rubbing the tip over her lips. Then he crouched over Fran’s face and again rubbed his cock over her lips. “Have you ever sucked a man’s cock before?”

  “No,” Fran said with the small part of her that could think. “My husband just wanted to fuck.”

  “Will you take me into your mouth?” he asked.

  “Oh yes.” And she wanted to. Not for her own pleasure. She had come so hard that she was totally used up. But she wanted to give him as much pleasure as he had given her. She wanted to take his cock in her hand and slide it into her mouth, but she couldn’t with her wrists tied. “Do it for me,” she growled.

  O’Malley straddled her and grabbed the headboard, his cock suspended over her open mouth. Slowly he lowered it until she could wrap her lips around the tip. Make it feel like he’s fucking me, she thought, like the women do in all the stories I’ve written. She created a vacuum in her mouth and drew his cock in. Her tongue surrounded the head and she felt him pump into her as if her mouth were a pussy. She watched him, his head thrown back, his elbows and shoulders straining, his hips driving into her mouth. Her joy was no less because it was his, not hers. It was impossible to tell where his pleasure ended and hers began.

  She wondered whether she was ready for him to come in her mouth, but she needn’t have worried. He suddenly pulled out and she watched as he held his cock while semen spurted onto her neck. He quickly and silently unbound her and curled against her. Together they dozed for a while.

  Later there
was little conversation while they dressed. At one point he whispered, “So good. I never imagined you’d be so wonderful.”

  “It was amazing,” she said.

  As he held her in the cab that took them back to her apartment, he said, “I have a business dinner tomorrow evening that I can’t get out of and it will probably last quite late. Can we make it the following evening? Dinner somewhere? Maybe Le Cirque?”

  “Yes,” she said, wondering whether she would enjoy spending time with him when it was just a prelude to what they both wanted, good hot sex.

  “You’re chuckling,” he said. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m wondering how difficult it’s going to be spending time with you outside the bedroom.”

  She felt him sigh. “Me too,” he said. “All I want to do right now is ravish your body. To hell with dinner.”

  “Why don’t you call me and we’ll see whether we can talk on the phone without being able to grab each other.”

  He laughed. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat. I’ll call you late afternoon on Thursday and we’ll make plans.” He walked her to her door and then kissed her good night. “You know,” he said, “if I weren’t so exhausted, I’d push you inside and do you right on the floor.”

  “And if I weren’t so exhausted, I’d let you. Call me.”

  He kissed her again. “You know I will.”

  Fran walked through the apartment and into her bedroom, dragged off her clothes and fell into bed. She wanted to sleep, yet her mind was whirling. After half an hour of tossing and turning, she got up, turned on her laptop and, with the evening’s events swirling through her head, she wrote.

  THE CHAIR

  by Nichole St. Michelle

  Anne was sitting on a straight kitchen chair in the middle of the living room, wondering what her boyfriend Tony was up to. All he had said was, “You know I’d never hurt you and I can guarantee that even a prude like you will eventually get into what I have planned for this evening.”

  “Prude!” she had yelled. “I am not a prude.” Was she?