Blackestnights

by Cindy Jacks

  Our bodies united, the sweet, slick sound of our lovemaking filled the air. For the first time, I heard him moan. A shudder darted through me. Taking satisfaction from my pain was one thing—something I loved about him, but his enjoyment from pleasuring me took our relationship to another level. In making love to me, he forged a bond that both bound me to him and unnerved me. What would happen if he broke the bond?

  Banishing the thought from my mind, I focused on the here and now. On the ecstasy rippling through me. Lips to my neck, he rocked against me, our bodies slick with sweat. My thighs shook, my pussy clamping harder against his cock. Tremors spread through my entire body. I locked my legs around his waist and let the orgasm break over me, whimpers and gasps on my lips. A few more strokes and I felt his cock twitch, his climax drawing his muscles tight.

  I clung to him, even as my trembling quieted. I never wanted to let him go. All too soon, he gently withdrew, releasing the hand he’d pinned to the bed. A soft kiss marked the end of our lovemaking.

  Opening my eyes, I drank in his brown skin, almost the color of cinnamon with the flush of exertion. We lay in silence until his breathing slowed, his thumb brushing over my lips. I kissed the fleshy pad at the tip.

  “You never cease to amaze,” I murmured.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Honestly, I didn’t expect this sort of tenderness out of you.”

  His posture stiffened and I worried I’d said the wrong thing, but I was only being honest. He’d told me to voice my feelings.

  If I’d offended him he gave no more indication. Instead he replied, “There’s sex and then there’s affection. I do know the difference.”

  “Does that mean you have affection for me?”

  Black sighed, stroking my cheek, but he didn’t answer. I didn’t press him, his actions speaking louder than words.

  “Get dressed, little Red. We’re going to breakfast then we should buy you some more clothes.” He scooted out of bed.

  Beautiful moment over. I set my jaw, blinking away the mental residue of his caresses. He never ceased to amaze nor did he cease to confuse. The emotional jerking around seemed to be part of his regime of control—a sort of Stockholm syndrome lite, though I wasn’t here against my will. I could leave at any time. But I wouldn’t, at least not right now.

  I put on the jeans and shirt from yesterday, finger-combed my hair and brushed my teeth, then pulled my makeup bag from my purse. I intended to put on a little foundation, lipstick and maybe some mascara, but Black appeared next to me, shaking his head.

  “You don’t need that stuff. You look beautiful the way you are.”

  I inspected my reflection, hating the freckles dotting my nose, my pale complexion disrupted by more freckles on my cheeks.

  “When you put on makeup, your freckles still show through. Why not let them show in their natural state?”

  I pursed my lips, narrowing my eyes. “I think they’re ugly.”

  “The only thing ugly is your hatred of them.” He put his arms around me. “You’re a beautiful woman, little Red. Naturally, honestly. Stop trying to fit some ideal of beauty created by corporations to sell you makeup in the first place.”

  Smiling wistfully, I closed my eyes and leaned against his broad chest. Didn’t he understand how long I’d hated my reflection? I couldn’t change the way I felt overnight. Ignoring his objections, I put on a layer of foundation, a little mascara and lipstick. He watched, interfering no more.

  With a kiss to my forehead, he left the bedroom then returned with a bomber-style leather jacket.

  “It’s too big, but it’ll have to do. It’s chilly out and I don’t want you to catch cold.” He draped the coat over my shoulders.

  “Thanks.” I kissed his cheek and followed him to the garage.

  He owned two cars, both luxury brands. One sporty, one more conservatively styled. Both were painted black, of course. Black steered me toward the sports car.

  “We could go clothes shopping before breakfast, get you a properly fitting coat.”

  “No. It’s all right. I’m starving.”

  “As you wish.” He opened the passenger-side door, ushering me inside.

  During the car ride to the upscale section of the city, I stayed quiet, considering what he’d said. I’d started this exploration because I wanted to cast off the conformity I’d allowed to take over my life. Flipping down the visor mirror, I inspected my face, the complexion I’d been at war with my entire life. Aside from the freckles, my skin was milky smooth, a pink undertone to it. Lips the shape of a cupid’s bow, slightly exotic almond eyes. Still, I thought the smattering of freckles over my nose downgraded me from pretty to merely cute. Just as I told Black, it would take some time to shift my opinion of myself.

  He pulled into the valet parking area in front of the restaurant. A young man in a red vest opened the door for me and I stepped out feeling a bit like a rock star or a socialite. Ridiculous delusion of grandeur, but Black had chosen one of those white-tablecloth places I would admire whenever I visited this section of the city, but that I could never afford.

  Once he’d exited the car and handed the valet the keys, Black offered me his arm. I took it, clinging to him for support.

  “I’m underdressed,” I murmured to him, noting his tailored slacks, dress shirt and woolen overcoat.

  He shrugged. “Who cares? It’s the job of the restaurant staff to impress us, not vice versa.”

  True, but still. I could see all the fashionably dressed women inside and I regretted that I hadn’t taken Black up on his offer to go clothes shopping.

  Holding the door for me, he entered the restaurant as if he owned it. Hell, he might have owned it for all I knew of his enterprises, but if the maître d’ knew Black, the man gave no indication that he did.

  I followed the maître d’ to a secluded table toward the back, choosing the seat facing the window. After all, Black clearly dined at places like this all the time. I, however, did not so I was going to enjoy every second of it.

  As he had before, Black ordered for both of us and again his choices were perfect. We lingered over the food until the brunch crowd had dwindled to only a few stragglers.

  “Did you enjoy your meal?” he asked, taking me by the hand.

  “I did. Thank you. Are you ready to go shopping?”

  “Not just yet. I was thinking we could have some fun. I want you to slip under the table and give me head.”

  I chuckled, sure he was joking. Casting my gaze around the restaurant, I noted that we were practically alone, but still…

  Blinking at me, he tented his fingers. “Well?”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Yes.”

  Looking at the partition that separated our section from the larger dining area, I realized we did have a certain amount of privacy. Plus the tablecloth was long enough to conceal me, at least until I crawled out from under. All that aside, did he really expect me to give him a blowjob right here, right now?

  His expression indicated he expected just that.

  I squirmed in my seat, my pussy tightening at the thought of doing something so shameless. If I hadn’t been able to slip him my panties in public, did he really think I could do this? I wanted to submit, but fear of being caught held me back.

  “Black, I can’t.”

  “You can and you will or you will be punished. It’s that simple.”

  But it wasn’t simple. While I longed to please him, to do whatever he commanded, we were in public and I didn’t want to cross that boundary. Well, I did want to cross it, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

  Shame heated my face and chest. My inhibitions were silly and childish.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.” My shoulders sagged as I admitted defeat.

  With a sigh of annoyance, he fished out his wallet and peeled off several bills, tossing them on the table. He rose, grabbing me by the arm and jerking me to my feet.

  “You’re hurting me,” I murmured, sure the wa
itstaff was staring at us.

  “I haven’t begun to hurt you.”

  He marched me out of the restaurant and several blocks down the street, stopping in front of a fast food restaurant.

  Furrowing my brow, I tried to figure out what he had in mind, but as soon as he pulled me through the dining area and into the men’s restroom, I understood. He shoved me into a stall and slammed the door behind him, locking it.

  “Is this better? Is this what you want? To suck my dick in a bathroom stall like a five-dollar crack whore?”

  “No.”

  “I took you someplace nice and gave you a command, which you refused to carry out. Now you’ll do it here.”

  I met his gaze, pleading with him. “No. Please, Black. This is demeaning.”

  “It didn’t have to be this way.”

  He pushed me to my knees, the hard tile cutting into my skin. One hand clutching the back of my head, he freed himself from his trousers and shoved his cock in my mouth.

  The salty taste of pre-cum coated my tongue. I tried to remember what he’d taught me about giving head. Covering my teeth with my lips, I took short breaths as he moved his shaft in and out of my mouth. At first, I struggled to keep up with the fast, deep rhythm of his thrusting, but little by little I could take him farther into my throat.

  His cock now slick enough to suck harder, I increased the pressure, proud of my improved technique. I relished giving him pleasure, a feeling of power rushing through me.

  The main restroom door opened and closed and I heard someone walking around. I froze, but Black caught the back of my head and forced me to continue the blowjob. Rendering me unable to control the pace, he shoved his cock farther down my throat than I could bear. I gagged, trying to contain the sound.

  Whoever had entered the bathroom washed his hands and left, but Black wouldn’t relinquish control. He continued to fuck my face, tilting me back so that I was off balance and powerless to resist. Placing my hands on his thighs, I struggled to remember the stop signal. As he gagged me with his cock again, I panicked a bit, shaking my head as best I could.

  “Stop it.” He slapped my cheek but he eased up on the depth of his penetration.

  I imagined him thrusting in and out of my pussy, slapping my face as he just had. My cunt pulsed, need claiming my core. Relaxing as best I could, I focused all my arousal on pleasing Black. The heady feeling of power over him returned and I sucked at his cock, greedy for his orgasm.

  After several more thrusts, he came without warning, his cream flooding my throat. Again I choked, unprepared for the rush of cum. He ceased thrusting, holding my head still. I gulped down his sweet juices, drawing in as much air as I could. Once his cock stopped contracting, he withdrew from my mouth. My eyes watered from the repeated gagging.

  Black helped me to my feet, offering a handkerchief. I took it and dabbed my eyes and lips. Arms wrapping around me, he pulled me into a warm embrace. I rested my head against his broad chest, his heartbeat soothing and hypnotic.

  One finger beneath my chin, Black tilted my head upward, his mouth passing over mine. Tongue darting between my lips, he seemed to savor the taste of his cum.

  As we parted, he murmured, “The inhibitions that kept you from doing as I commanded in the restaurant are the same fears that keep you from achieving your goals in life. You must learn to be fearless.”

  I furrowed my brow, unsure I bought into the parallel. “There are consequences to getting caught performing fellatio in public.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s illegal.”

  “You really think the maître d’ would call the police and cause a big fuss at the restaurant?”

  “Okay, fine, but I’m sure they’d ask us to leave and never come back.”

  “And what’s so horrible about that?”

  “Well…” I felt a blush creep up my chest and to the roots of my hair. “They might be mean about it.”

  Cradling my face in his hands, he said, “Do you believe I’d allow anyone to treat you rudely?”

  Swallowing hard, I shook my head. Aside from his imposing physical size, Black’s dominant nature would never allow anyone to be cruel to me in his presence, of that I was sure.

  “I feel stupid.” I cast my gaze at the floor.

  “You shouldn’t. Little by little we’ll get rid of those inhibitions holding you back from doing what you want.” He kissed my cheek. “Go freshen up. We have shopping to do.”

  He escorted me out of the men’s room and I skittered through the ladies’ door, hoping no one saw me. Okay, so I had plenty of work to do on those inhibitions Black mentioned. My reflection in the mirror silenced my self-doubt.

  Mascara ringed my eyes and my lipstick had smeared. Dabbing at the smudges with Black’s handkerchief, I took off a good deal of my foundation as well. Freckles stared back at me, but my cheeks glowed with a pink flush. My hair perfectly tousled and my eyes alight with daring, I suddenly saw what Black saw—a beautiful, curvaceous woman filled with spirit. At least I thought that’s how he saw me.

  Reapplying only a little lip balm, I hurried out to meet him.

  “I get it.” I hugged the arm he offered me.

  As if he understood exactly what I meant—and most likely he did—Black kissed me softly. “I knew you would sooner or later.”

  Chapter Eight

  The boutique we visited was “by appointment only”, which I could only assume he’d had his assistant arrange since Black waved away my questions. A personal shopper had picked out items in advance—a couple of dresses, more jeans, some stylish blouses and tasteful but damn sexy undergarments. All fit perfectly and flattered my complexion and figure.

  Black left without paying, flipping a casual wave at the attendant. Again, I could only imagine what arrangements he’d already made in advance.

  Once he’d retrieved his car from the valet, we headed home.

  “Do you like the clothes? You didn’t say much at the store,” he noted.

  “I do. They’re beautiful.”

  “You can leave them at my place and bring more of your things later in the week.”

  The statement struck me as presumptuous. “Am I moving in?”

  “Not immediately, but I expect that you’ll be spending lots of time at my place.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Yes or no. Do you want to or not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Indecision and inhibition.” He clucked his tongue.

  Staring out the window, I attempted to sort out my feelings. While I’d enjoyed every second that we’d spent together thus far, I wasn’t sure where I wanted all this to go. Then it struck me that his admonishment was true. I was absolutely indecisive and inhibited. Especially about speaking my feelings.

  A pebble of annoyance worked its way to the surface and I blurted it out before I had the chance to think better. “You have to stop buying me things after we… You know.”

  “I don’t know. Say what you mean.”

  “After we fuck.” I gripped the handles of the shopping bag.

  “I thought we’d been over this.” He sighed, rolling his eyes. “It’s not my intention to make you feel like a whore. If you don’t want the clothes, we can stop by the nearest thrift store and donate them. Doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Well, you did call me a five-dollar crack whore earlier.”

  A grin broke through his serious expression. “No, I didn’t. I asked if you liked being treated like a five-dollar crack whore. There’s a difference.”

  Touché.

  “For the record, I wasn’t crazy about the blowjob in the bathroom thing,” I said.

  “Then why did you do it? You could’ve stopped me at any time.”

  “I wanted to try it, but I don’t think it’s my thing. Sex in public.”

  “Boundary noted.” He kissed my hand, arching an eyebrow. “So, should I stop somewhere to discard your payment for services rendered?”

 
Black rustled the bag for emphasis.

  “No. I like the clothes. I’m just trying to figure out how I feel about all this.”

  He dipped his head as if conceding the point. All this was new for both of us. It would take some time until we understood each other completely.

  * * * * *

  When we got to the house, Black said he had some work to do and told me I should try to write some more.

  Sitting in front of the laptop, I stared at the blank open file, every blink of the cursor mocking me. Finally I typed the word “Black”, but couldn’t come up with much more than that.

  An hour later, he walked through the dining room. “How’s the writing going?”

  “It’s not.”

  He stood behind me. “One word. My name. That’s it?”

  I sighed. “I know. I’m pathetic.”

  “That you’re calling yourself pathetic is pathetic. Stand up.”

  “It’s not playtime,” I reminded him.

  “Enforced availability,” he hissed in my ear. “Stand up or I will pick you up and force you to assume the position.”

  The threat sent a pulse of arousal straight to my pussy, the aching throb he elicited with ease pounding between my legs.

  I stood, facing him, his warm breath grazing my nose. Would he kiss me? Though we’d done everything else on the planet, he rarely kissed me during playtime and I craved the taste of his mouth and tongue.

  As though he’d read my mind, he eased forward, pressing his lips to mine, his tongue playfully stabbing. Melting against him, I prayed the kiss would never end, but all too soon he pushed my head back, skimming his mouth over my ear and neck. I shivered, the contact with such sensitive skin tightening my nipples to tiny buds.

  Boosting me onto the table, he didn’t break contact, lips still teasing my earlobe. One hand slid up my back, cradling my head as he laid me back. He wasted no time stripping off my jeans and casting them aside. Once he’d freed himself from his trousers, he pulled me to the edge and thrust into me. I cried out, not yet wet enough to accommodate his length and girth, but he didn’t stop. He shoved deeper inside me. I yelped again, which only elicited a growl. After several painful thrusts, he got my juices flowing and the agony turned into pure pleasure.