Bound To

by Sionna Fox

  “You don’t come without permission, understood?”

  Not answering would get me another smack on the ass. I was so wound up, torn between chasing the orgasm he’d been on the verge of giving me and the buzzing, needy heat that last smack had left on my skin, I seriously had to consider what I wanted, a spanking or a fucking. In the moment I had to choose, I decided I wanted the fucking more, and choked out a shaky, “Yes, sir.”

  “Good girl.” He growled deep in his throat as he slid into me. His palms held me down at the hips and pushed me into the couch as the tips of his fingers found purchase along the crests of my pelvis.

  My pussy was almost unbearably full in that position with his cock buried to the hilt. He gave me time to adjust before he began to thrust. He started slowly, with long, smooth strokes that made me whimper and moan and wriggle my hips trying to achieve more friction. He was going to reduce me to begging for it. Again.

  It didn’t take long before I started whining, “Please. Please, sir.”

  “Please what, Jolene?”

  I groaned but couldn’t form words.

  “Please what, Jolene? For a girl with an English degree, you’re not being very good at using your words.”

  How is he making jokes right now? I moaned and mumbled, “Please,” into the cushions some more, but it didn’t satisfy him.

  “Say the words, Jolene. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you want.” He slowed the pace of his thrusts to a crawl, teasing me with every inch of his cock from root to tip in a maddening display of control. “Tell me you want me to fuck you, Jolene. Tell me you want to clench your sweet, little cunt down around my cock while you come for me.”

  How he expected me to respond coherently to the magnificent filth coming out of his mouth, I don’t know. “Please, please fuck me, sir.”

  “What else, Jolene?” He pushed into me harder, but with no more speed.

  He was going to make me say all of it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Please fuck me, sir. Please fuck me so I can clench my cunt around your cock while I come.”

  It was enough. As soon as I got the words out he shifted his hands to my shoulders, using my body for leverage to piston into me. I arched my back into his thrusts as his cock stroked in and out of me over and over until my muscles started to tense and ripple, hurtling toward an orgasm.

  Almost at the point of no return I remembered his injunction against coming without permission and cried out, “So close. Please, please, please, please.”

  “You can come, Jolene.” He tucked a hand under me and found my clit. My body went rigid, teetering on the precipice. “You can come right…now.”

  He pinched my clitoris between his thumb and forefinger, and I screamed into the couch cushion. I did, in fact, clench down around his cock, hard enough that he came with a yell before he collapsed on my back.

  I don’t know how long we lay like that, me with my face pressed into the couch and Matthew sprawled over me, breathing into my neck, but I mumbled and snuffled in protest when he finally moved to get up and go to the bathroom.

  When he came back, he pulled me upright, dropped me into his lap, and held me against his chest. I absently ran my fingers through the dusting of dark hair, mesmerized by the feel of his skin against mine. My mind was quiet, cocooned in his arms in a post-orgasmic haze, simply enjoying being held. We stayed snuggled up, not speaking, until his stomach rumbled and broke the spell.

  I giggled into his shoulder and levered myself up off the couch. I held out my hand to help him up, but he pulled me back down. I straddled his hips as he pressed his face into my cleavage.

  I leaned away and mock-glared at him. “I was promised breakfast, sir.”

  He sighed and looked thoroughly put-upon before he lifted me up and set me on my feet. “Demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

  “You did promise,” I pouted. “And we’ve both expended quite a bit of energy, you know.”

  He cupped my cheek and kissed my forehead. “Fine. Go sit.” He pointed to the breakfast bar and I started to reach for my borrowed T-shirt. He snatched it away. “Nope.” He shook his head, wicked half smile in place. “Go sit.”

  I raised my eyebrows but didn’t protest as I scampered into the kitchen to await my breakfast. Naked. And not even worrying about it. A niggling voice piped up from the back of my mind to tell me it was too easy to last long. The other shoe was going to drop, and it was going to suck when it did. I chose to ignore it, propped my chin in my hands, and rested my boobs on his cool granite counter.

  He rounded the corner, dressed again in a T-shirt and boxers, and laughed. “Do you want breakfast, Jolene?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered with the straightest face I could muster.

  “Then get your tits off my counter.” He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice as he picked a spatula out of the utensil jar and swatted my breast with it.

  I yelped and giggled. “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter Six

  He made me scrambled eggs and toast, poured me another cup of coffee, and when we were done eating, took me back to the bedroom. It was mid-afternoon by the time he dropped me off at my apartment.

  He gave me a lingering kiss over the center console when we pulled up in front of my door. To hell with butterflies, a flock of birds had taken up residence in my chest with all the fluttering going on behind my ribs.

  “Will Wednesday and Saturday evenings continue to work for you?”

  Words failed me, looking into his face, lips flushed from kissing, the shadow of a beard coming in along his jaw, so I nodded. Like I had other plans to interfere, anyway.

  “I’ll pick you up. Will you be home by six?”

  I nodded again. “Yeah.”

  “I’ll see you at six on Wednesday, then.” He looked at me seriously. “If you need anything, please call me. I know there’s a lot to take in, and I don’t want the internet warping your brain.”

  “Like it did yours?” I grinned.

  “Exactly,” he deadpanned back. “I know you’re going to go searching for information, and you should, but please come to me with your questions, okay?”

  “Is that a request or an order?”

  “Do I need to make it an order?” He raised an eyebrow and gave me a stern look I was learning to recognize as his dom face.

  “Maybe, sir.” I smirked. Something egged me on to try to make him as flustered as he made me.

  “God, I would never have pegged you for a brat.” He ran a hand through his hair and rolled his eyes.

  “A brat?” That meant something slightly different to him than it did to me, and I didn’t want to leave the bubble we were in.

  He cut me off like he knew exactly what I was thinking. “A conversation we can have later. Right now, you need to go.” He leaned over to kiss me again before he opened the door and unbuckled my seat belt.

  I got out and let myself into the building. My heart sank, suddenly bereft at having to enter the real world again, but that was foolish. We’d had one night. One seriously amazing night and most of the day after, but still. No matter how eye-opening, toe-curling, screaming-orgasm-inducing the experience had been, it was only one night.

  The voice in my head came back now that I was home. I leaned against the wall and thumped my head, trying to beat it back. I wanted to enjoy this for a while before it all came crashing down. Was that so much to ask?

  I pulled myself up, trudged up the stairs, and braced myself to see Izzy. How the fuck was I supposed to even begin to explain this? I turned my key in the lock, cringing in anticipation as the door swung open. I made it two steps into the kitchen before Izzy tackled me.

  “Dude! I want to know everything!” She cackled gleefully. “You look like you’ve been fucking your brains out. What the hell happened to your hair?”

  “It’s not that bad,” I said, patting the snarled mess into something possibly resembling order. “I need to take a shower.”

  She snort-giggled. “Come on, Mouse.
You can’t leave me hanging. I’ll detangle it for you while you tell me all about it.” She sat me down in front of the couch and grabbed my brush from the bathroom. She plopped on the cushion behind me and waited.

  I sighed. “Iz, I don’t even have words to tell you about the last, what,” I glanced at the clock, “eighteen hours of my life?”

  “Find them, my friend. Find them now.”

  “Why do you even want to hear this? He’s your friend’s brother.” I didn’t think my attempt to discourage her from wanting the gory details would work, but I had to try.

  “Yeah, Molly’s ridiculously hot brother. And you haven’t had sex since, what? Andy? That was senior year. Now spill it.”

  She undid my bun and began to carefully brush out the rat’s nest so I could wash it without it being cemented into a single mass. I opened and closed my mouth, starting and stopping, gaping like a fish, as I tried and failed to gather my wits.

  Izzy nudged my shoulder. “Speechless bad or speechless good, can you at least tell me that?”

  I sighed again. “Speechless good, Izzy. Oh my god, speechless good.”

  She squealed and I winced at the sound. “Thank god!” She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my shoulders in an awkward hug. “You so needed this. You’re welcome, by the way.”

  “I know, I know. Never again will I question your unerring wisdom in trying to set me up with guys.” I rolled my eyes.

  She swatted me on the arm with the back of the brush, which brought up all sorts of blush-inducing memories. Izzy continued to brush my hair, the gentle, repetitive tugging lulling me half to sleep.

  “Are you going to see him again?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Izzy gave my hair a firmer tug. “Are you going to tell me what happened or what? I’m dying here.”

  Now that I was marginally more relaxed, I took a deep breath and started to tell her about the night before. Some of it, anyway. I told her about his compulsively precise cooking, how cute he was dorking out about his work, and the way I found him weirdly easy to talk to. It had been so long since I’d had one of these stories to tell, and I’d definitely never had a story like this.

  In college, morning-after recaps were more likely to be comically awful, full of drunken fumbling and whiskey dick, than actual, honest-to-god, hot sex. Commiserating with Izzy over bad sex was different than trying to describe the best sex of my life. It felt slightly disloyal, talking about it. The details were between him and me.

  She didn’t press too much when I refused to tell her anything much more than, yes, he looked amazing naked, and he gave good spoon. I brought her up to kissing in the car and making plans for Wednesday.

  “Man, I never in a million years would have put ‘Matt Ward’ and ‘great in the sack’ in the same sentence.”

  “What was he like in high school?”

  “He was a senior when I was a freshman. It’s not like I knew him. To me he was always Molly’s nerdy older brother. We only thought he was cool when he would give us rides places.”

  Izzy had finished deconstructing the sex-hair disaster on top of my head while I was still talking and was running her fingers over my scalp. I was on the verge of falling asleep, and although taking a nap sounded like a brilliant idea, I knew I’d regret it if I couldn’t sleep later when I was supposed to.

  I hoisted myself off the floor. “Thanks for dealing with my hair, Iz.” I stretched and yawned. “Okay. Taking a shower before I fall asleep.”

  I shuffled off to my room to shuck last night’s clothes. On my way into the bathroom, it occurred to me that I should have asked Matthew if he planned to have me stay over on Wednesday and if I should pack a bag. I’d ask later. Or he’d probably have figured out by now that was the sort of thing I’d worry about and he’d tell me what, if anything, I should bring. It was comforting, in a weird way.

  Matthew would take care of it. He would take care of me. I said the words to myself, testing them out. It was probably too soon to think that way, but it felt right. Like it was the truth. He’d asked me to trust him, and I had. I did. He wouldn’t hurt me, not intentionally, anyway. It was going to hurt like a motherfucker when it was over, though.

  I stepped under the water and scrubbed my hands over my face. When I had washed away the sweat and sex, I got out of the shower warm and clean, if not entirely relaxed. I bundled myself into sweats and my fuzzy slippers to do what any good nerd would do in the face of the unknown. I researched. Or I tried to.

  Matthew hadn’t told me not to go searching for more information, only that he didn’t want me to freak out without talking to him. Not that I had a clue where to start. I was alone in my room, staring at my computer, trying to formulate a search query that would lead me somewhere other than straight-up porn, when a message popped into my inbox. Matthew, saving me from myself. He had sent me a list of links, some informative and some meant to titillate, along with a message.

  I can hear you thinking from here, Jolene. Please consider the information in the links below. I have plans for you Wednesday evening that do not involve talking you down from something you found on a porn site.

  My interests are fairly tame in the grand scheme of things. I’d like you to keep that in mind. We can discuss on Wednesday, or before if you need to. Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you’re feeling overwhelmed, confused, or upset. Any of those feelings are normal and understandable, but I can’t help if you don’t talk to me. Remember your instructions from earlier.

  On the one hand, I could be insulted that he thought he had me all figured out. On the other, he did. Was I that transparent in my anxiety or my tendency to overthink things? Or was he that perceptive? He did study neurological disorders for a living. Did it even matter? I followed the links and was reassured that, if this was a fair representation of what he was into, it didn’t seem like anything I absolutely couldn’t handle. Honestly, I was intrigued, and intrigued was quickly followed by turned on.

  Based on what he had sent me, I discovered that Matthew was apparently primarily interested in what the initiated referred to as sensation and impact play, and what I would have called varying degrees of tickling, scratching, spanking, whipping, and temperature play. There were videos where what looked like a brutal beating with a whip had the person on the receiving end moaning in unmistakable pleasure or even howling with fits of laughter. I was mystified by how the human mind and body turned what had to hurt like hell into orgasms and giggling. But then, I’d been as susceptible to the weird workings of pain and pleasure when Matthew had slapped my ass, my breasts, and my feet.

  Then there was the rope bondage. Ranging from functional to rendering the human body into sculpture, I scrolled through images of gorgeous, unbelievably flexible bodies tied and bound into incredible shapes. What struck me the most—aside from holy crap, if he wants to do this I’d better get my ass to a yoga class—was how serene the models’ faces were. Bodies spread open, tied down, twisted in impossible shapes, hanging from the ceiling or even the trees, they exuded a sense of stillness and bliss. I knew they were more than likely all professional fetish models, but they made it seem real.

  God, I wanted it. I wanted the stillness. I’d tried everything to shut up the running monologue of anxiety doom that took up most of my waking hours and somehow, within minutes, Matthew had been able to make it stop. Even from afar, his calm control of the situation, his ability to predict that I would be searching for some way to understand what had happened between us and what he wanted, was keeping the voices at bay. It had been less than twenty-four hours since I’d had what amounted to a life-altering sexual experience, and I was mostly calm and centered, not spiraling into panic land. I wanted more.

  If this was the world he wanted to show me, I was in. I needed to know. Was this what I needed all along? Was it him? I was determined to find out, come hell, high water, or a broken heart.

  Chapter Seven

  I didn’t expect to hear from Matthew until
Wednesday, so when he checked in at lunchtime on Monday, I was pleasantly surprised. I hadn’t gotten anything done all morning. Slowing down my work speed was easy with my mind firmly planted in the gutter. I’d even broken my masturbatory moratorium lying in bed earlier, not that it helped tamp down on the desire that had come roaring back to life. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to tell him about it. I felt almost compelled to, though we hadn’t discussed what, if any, rules there would be outside of the time we spent together.

  My evening down the internet rabbit hole of kink had left me with the impression there would be rules, and it was not uncommon for them to include an injunction against self-love. I’d had to ask for permission to come, which could have been because he liked watching me beg, or it could have been about discipline and owning my orgasms, I wasn’t sure. Until that morning, the distinction would have been beside the point. But I’d woken up wet and throbbing from a dream of being suspended at waist height so I could suck his cock while he spanked my ass with a riding crop.

  Given the swirl of dirty thoughts in my mind, it took me a while to compose a response to his text. I finally managed to tell him I was fine, a little distracted, but not thinking about running away screaming. Then he shocked me.

  Matthew: Are you free tonight?

  Years of bad dating advice columns in women’s magazines I’d read as a teenager told me I should say no, play it cool, even if it meant sitting home alone when I could have been with him. That seemed plain stupid. What was the point supposed to be of rejecting him when he’d been the one to lay it out there that he wanted to see me? I had to keep reminding myself that he wasn’t that guy. The games he wanted to play didn’t involve my head. Not that way, anyway. Might as well see as much of him as I could before the other shoe dropped. I did a quick mental catalog of the fridge and texted back.