Keeping the bustier and heels on, you climb on to the bed and straddle him. Looking down at him, you run your tongue over your lips and rotate your hips, swinging your pelvis just above his cock.
“Ask nicely,” you say cheekily as he arches up at you frantically.
“Please,” he begs, all restraint gone.
But you have another idea. He’s been the one teasing you all night—now it’s your turn. So you shuffle on your knees up toward his head, clambering over his torso until you’re squatting over his chest.
“Miles,” you inform him. “You did a very bad thing when you hurt me. So now it’s payback time.” And with that, you spread your thighs and sink down onto his face.
His tongue is ready for you and the next second, you’re the one groaning. The soft, wet lips of your pussy meet his firm ones, which feel phenomenal against you. His tongue pushes firmly up into you, parting you, sliding in and up, making you cry out.
You rock gently as he moves his face slightly from side to side, tongue scorching you, licking your clit, pulling your lips into his mouth, tugging gently at them.
You hold on to the headboard with both hands and use it to lever yourself up and down, so you can alter the intensity of his attack. Until you realize that you’re so close to coming, you either need to move away or surrender yourself to your orgasm.
You remember there’s still that glorious penis waiting for you to enjoy, and there’s no way you’re missing out on that. So you brace yourself to pull away, and you both moan as you slide away and down his body. You pause to roll the studded condom onto his magnificent erection, marveling at the smoothness of his heated and clean-shaven skin.
By now he’s thrashing a little, so you administer a smart slap to his flanks. “Hold still!” you say, using your sternest voice. “I intend to take my time!”
You position yourself above his penis, and rub the head languorously against your opening, teasing both of you. You’re so wet that you know he’s going to slip inside you effortlessly, and you can’t wait for it. His breath is coming in sharp gasps, and he’s begging you again.
You clamp a hand over his mouth, and he nips your fingers, but the truth is you can’t hold back any longer, and so you slide down the length of his thick cock with a drawn-out sigh of relief mingled with shock as he stretches your wet pussy to the limit. You bounce gently a few times, getting yourself accustomed to his size, and then you manage to take control again, aware that you need to keep a huge impending orgasm at bay. You sit still, gripping him tightly between your thighs.
“Look at me,” you say, “I’m still in charge here. These are the rules. You can have four thrusts inside me. But that’s it. Do you understand?” You can be disciplined and restrained, too, you decide.
He swallows. You’re aware he has the perfect view of your breasts spilling out of the bustier, both nipples having escaped the low-cut cups.
Then you allow him to pound up into you four times, grinding hard back down on him each time, before pulling yourself off and nipping at his neck. You can hear him panting. After a minute, you straddle him once more: “This time you can have ten thrusts,” you tell him. “Only ten!”
He nods vigorously, clearly desperate for you. Slowly you lower yourself back down onto him, your eyes rolling back as he fills you up again, and then you count the thrusts you allow him out loud, one by one. By the time you reach the tenth thrust, it takes every inch of your control to slide off him again. And he groans again with lust and frustration.
You bite down on one of his nipples, running your hand up his rock-hard chest, the softness of his skin a contrast to the muscles underneath.
“I need you, now,” he says in your ear, and the feeling is mutual.
“Fuck it,” you say, your voice breathy, and this time when you straddle him, you brace your thighs and start to ride him, moving up and down slowly, with a circular swing to your hips, not counting the thrusts, just letting go and feeling the rhythmic pressure building inside you. The studs on the condom add a wicked new dimension to his penis, and you ride it as hard as you can, gripping his body between your knees, both of you rapt with pleasure.
You’re the first to reach orgasm, in a series of noisy shudders, bracing your palms on his chest as you convulse, but you keep going and by the time he finally arches under you like a bow, you’ve come again, almost limp with the satisfaction of it.
It takes a long time before your breathing slows down, and for you to finally slide your sweat-slickened body off him and lie beside him. Then when you kiss, for what is astonishingly only the third time, it’s long and gentle and slow.
You untie the shirt, so he has one hand free to stroke you with, but his other hand remains handcuffed to the bedposts, and he shows no desire to be released.
“Well, that certainly wasn’t what I initially had in mind,” he murmurs.
“Are you complaining?” you ask, pretending to reach for the ruler again. He laughs and pulls you back toward him. “I’d hate to have to gag you,” you add, “especially considering the magic you can do with your mouth.”
“So how did you like your first little foray into the dark side?” he asks, burying his face in your hair and kissing you on the top of your head.
“I may not have liked being on the receiving end as much as you’d hoped,” you say. “But I have to admit I really enjoyed dishing it out.”
“I enjoyed you dishing it out, too,” he says, running the fingers of his available hand over your nipple.
You stretch and yawn. “It’s getting late,” you say. “I think I’d better get going.”
“So soon? But I’ve still got a whole suitcase full of tricks.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.” You swing your legs off the bed and stand up. The bustier is getting hot and uncomfortable, and you reach behind yourself and unlace it, making sure to face him so he can get a good look at you as you strip it off. You may as well continue to torture him—that seems to have been the overriding theme for the night—so you take your time putting your clothes back on.
Then you crawl back onto the bed and kiss him long and hard, loving the feel of his tongue taking control of your mouth. When you feel his free hand starting to snake under your dress, you pull away. He’s insatiable.
“I think I’d better leave you restrained like this,” you say, eyeing his handcuffed wrist. “To prevent you using your hands to try to persuade me to stay.”
He pulls briefly against his bonds as he reaches for the key, which is only just out of reach on the bedside table. Then he lies back, and you’re rewarded by the flare in his eyes.
“Sexy and smart,” he says. “If I can’t convince you with my hands, I don’t suppose begging would persuade you to stay?”
“Thank you, but no.” You bend over him and kiss that sensual mouth one last time.
“Wait!” His voice is hoarse. “There’s one thing I want you to do for me before you go. Please.”
You turn back toward the bed. Now what?
“There’s a paddle in my case. I need you to get it out for me.”
“Okay.” You delve into his suitcase, a little puzzled. “Do you mean the one that looks like a Ping-Pong bat?”
“Yes. Have you found it?”
You fish it out and waggle it at him. “Here it is. What do you want me to do with it? Surely not more spanking?”
He shakes his head.
“What then?” You hold it by the handle and examine it more closely, trying to work out what other possible uses it might have.
“Here’s a hint,” he says. “Try the other way up.”
You turn the paddle around and peer at the dildo-shaped handle, which you notice is slightly ridged—and suddenly you get it.
“You want me to put this . . . up there?” Your voice emerges as a shriek.
He nods.
You contemplate him, slowly slapping the paddle against your thigh. You’re in unknown territory here, way beyond your comfort zone
—surely this is a sign that it’s long past time to leave? But then it’s been a night of new adventures, so what have you got to lose by giving him a little parting gift?
If you decide to accommodate his request, click here.
If you just keep on going out the door, click here.
You’ve decided to go along with Miles’s request
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! ARE YOU OUT of your mind? No way are you doing that!
Click here.
You’ve decided to keep on going out the door
“I’M SORRY, BUT MY work here is done. Good night, Miles, I’m sure you can manage on your own from here.”
You shift the handcuff key a little closer to him so that, with a bit of effort, he’ll be able to reach it. Then you walk to the door, swinging your hips. You’ll never be able to look at a ruler in the same way again. Or play Ping-Pong, for that matter.
As you get into a taxi outside Miles’s house, you marvel at the night you’ve had. Who would have thought when you were getting ready earlier this evening that this is where you’d end up? You yawn and stretch, completely satisfied. It’s definitely home-time, you think, giving the taxi driver your address. Or there’s that coffee shop close to your home; you could always ask to be dropped off there. Hot chocolate would be a decadent way to round off a decadent evening . . .
If you go straight home, click here.
If you stop off at your local late-night coffee shop on your way home, click here.
You’ve decided not to go home with Miles
“YOU KNOW WHAT, IT’S getting late. I think I’d better call it a night, after all,” you say, glancing at your watch. This man is magnetic, but perhaps it’s better to keep him as a fantasy. Besides, he is Melissa’s boss—you don’t want things to get awkward.
Miles’s shoulders sag briefly, but then he’s back to his polite and composed self.
“Of course, I completely understand,” he says. Then he slips his hand into his pocket and takes out his wallet. For one horrific moment you think he’s going to offer you money. But instead he pulls out a business card.
“In case you’re ever in the mood for something different,” he offers with a small smile. “I’ll get you a taxi.”
Always so bossy, you think. Sexy at first, maybe, but now it’s starting to wear a little thin. “I’ll be fine, thanks. I’m just going to head back inside to use the bathroom, and then I’ll ask Katsuko to call me a taxi.”
At that moment, a car pulls sleekly up to the curb in front of you, the back door perfectly aligned with where Miles is standing. Everything always seems to fall in this man’s lap. Why should you do the same?
He kisses you on the cheek like a perfect gentleman, and before he’s even closed the taxi door, you head back inside the restaurant.
Inside, it’s almost empty; the lights are low, and there’s no sign of Katsuko, so you wander back between the tables toward the sound of voices chatting and laughing.
You find three men sitting at a table at the very back of the restaurant, playing cards. You recognize two of them: the sushi chefs you were watching earlier. The third guy is also in a chef’s uniform—he must work behind the scenes in the kitchen. You clear your throat, and all three heads turn toward you. The handsome one, who was doing the showy knifework earlier, leaps to his feet.
“Hello,” he says, smiling, his voice slightly accented. “Can I help you? Did you forget something?” His eyes dart toward the counter where you and Miles were seated earlier.
“No, but I was wondering if it would be okay to stay here while I call a taxi and wait for it to arrive?”
“Of course,” he says warmly. Then he cranes his neck, looking past you. “Is your boyfriend with you?”
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my best friend’s boss.”
The chef raises an interested eyebrow before reverting to courtesy mode.
“Of course. Make yourself comfortable.” Then a thought strikes him. “You don’t play poker, do you? One of the waiters, Takumi, is usually our fourth, but he had to go home early. We were going to call it a night, but maybe we can still play a couple of hands.”
The other two guys look friendly, and one of them nods keenly, shuffles the deck of blue Bicycle cards and deals out a hand. You notice that he automatically deals you in, without waiting for an answer.
“What are you playing?” you ask.
“Texas Hold’em,” says the handsome chef, holding one of the chairs out for you. “You know how to play? It’s not difficult, I think you can pick it up fast.”
“I used to play back in the day, but I’m probably really rusty.”
“That’s okay, Makio isn’t much good, either,” he jokes, and one of the trio snorts out a laugh. The one who must be Makio looks inquiringly at his friends—he probably doesn’t speak much English.
You’re no pro, but you’ve played before—sign of a wasted youth—so you’re not a complete novice, and with luck you won’t disgrace yourself. So should you stick around and play a couple of hands? They seem like nice enough guys, especially the head chef, and it doesn’t hurt that he’s so easy on the eye. But you don’t want to intrude—what if they’re only inviting you to be polite? Maybe you should just head home and unwind with a DVD and some popcorn.
To stick around and play poker with the chefs, click here.
To go home to a DVD and some popcorn, click here.
You’ve decided to stick around and play poker
“OKAY,” YOU SAY. “I’LL stay for a few hands, if you’re sure I’m not intruding.”
All three of them cheer as you take your seat at the table. “I’m Koji,” says the head chef, and you shake hands, his fingers strong against yours. “That’s Makio—he doesn’t speak any English—and this is Benjiro. Watch out for him: he’ll try and look at your cards.”
Both men remain seated but bow their heads politely, and you offer a quick wave and introduce yourself. Koji slips behind the counter to fetch a cup for you and pours out some sake. They chat among themselves in Japanese as you take a sip.
“Big blind is two hundred, small blind is one hundred,” Koji explains. He’s referring to the automatic bets you have to make before playing each round. It’s coming back to you, and you stack the chips Makio has pushed in front of you into some kind of order, then toss a few into the pot. You reach for your first two cards laying facedown on the table and look at them, careful to hold them as close to your body as possible. A jack and a seven.
Benjiro is dealing: he burns the top card in the deck, setting it aside, and then lays three community cards down in the middle of the table. You try to keep your face neutral as he turns over a four of clubs, a six of diamonds, and then another jack. That means you have two jacks. This could work, and your pulse quickens. You’d forgotten how much fun poker can be. You reach for your sake casually as the dealer burns another card and then turns the fourth communal card. It’s another jack. It takes every ounce of self-control not to break into a huge grin.
Benjiro burns one last card, then turns the fifth and final community card, which is something useless, but it doesn’t matter—what you’ve got is good enough to win, or at least not come last. You don’t have to know a lot about poker to know how good a three of a kind is.
You’re careful not to give anything away, betting conservatively through three or four rounds, until Makio eventually calls and you all turn your cards over on the table. Everyone leans forward to look at what’s there, and it takes you a second to scan the cards, do the math, and realize that you’ve won. You want to punch the air and do a victory dance around the table as the three guys look at you in wonder.
“I thought you said you weren’t very good!” Koji says, beaming at you. Benjiro claps his hands, and Makio scratches his head.
“I’m not—it must be beginner’s luck,” you say, sweeping up the pile of chips you’ve won with no small amount of glee.
The next two hands are a bust, and you lose nearly all the
chips you won in the first hand. You fold early in the following hand, and then lose to Benjiro, who manages to pull out two picture pairs.
But you find you’re settling into the mood at the table and enjoying yourself. Who would have thought when you were dressing up for a girls’ night out on the town that you would end up in a discreet Japanese restaurant, playing poker with three sushi chefs?
Your companions chat on, slipping seamlessly between English and Japanese, and Koji makes a point of translating as much of it as possible. You can’t help sneaking sideways glances at him. He has jet-black hair cut short at the back, with a slightly longer fringe, along with thick, dark eyebrows, a long, aquiline nose, and full lips. If he wasn’t a world-class sushi chef, you’re sure he could cut it as a ramp model.
He makes a point of keeping your cup of sake topped up, and smiles every time you catch his eye. Once or twice you can feel his eyes on you when he thinks you’re focusing on your cards, and it makes your heart rustle in your chest a little.
You play another two hands without winning. And then on the next hand, something miraculous happens: you get a nine and a king of clubs in the initial draw, then Makio, who’s dealing, draws a ten, jack, and queen of clubs as the community cards. Your eyes widen—you know that the hand you’ve been given is just about the Grand Prix of poker hands. You play it cool, trying to remember everything you’ve ever heard about bluffing, so as not to tip off the guys. You bet as cautiously as you can while still keeping the pot growing.
Benjiro folds almost immediately, followed two rounds later by Makio, who shakes his head and drops his cards facedown. You and Koji face off, and you can see by the glint in his eye that he also has good cards. You scramble to remember the rules, trying to guess what cards he would need to beat your hand, but you’re pretty sure yours can beat any competition. You pretend to weigh up your options, fiddling with your chips and acting conflicted about whether to bet more.
A Girl Walks into a Bar Page 10