Cutting his hair would probably be a time saver, but hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it for a couple of years at least. Chalking it up to laziness and a distaste for change, Steve had realized that it had all been for a reason the instant Megan had slid her hands into it, though. He closed his eyes and let the memory wash over him, like he had at least a dozen times a day since. The prickle of awareness, the way the tiny hairs on the back of his neck lifted, the blood that rushed to his cock. It all felt so freaking good it was almost better than sex. Almost.
From thinking about her hands in his hair it was only a small jump to think about Megan’s hands on his cock.
Shit. He’d never get things ready on time at this rate. Steve could just imagine Megan walking in on him fisting his cock. And explaining that he was fantasizing about her sounded even worse.
He combed his hair quickly, leaving it to dry in the still-warm evening air while he pulled on his favorite blue and gold Hawaiian shirt. Besides liking the colors, it had the advantage of not fitting too tightly. The piercings that felt so amazing during sex could be a dead give-away in a snug knit shirt. He figured Megan would have enough clues to how turned on he was. But there was no need to spell it out for her.
Involved in pulling the take out containers from the oven where they’d been keeping warm, Steve nearly didn’t hear the knock on the door. Trying not to look too eager, the anticipation he’d had building in his system all week nearly boiled over when he pulled the door open and saw her.
Megan, while technically still on his doorstep, was leaning over the railing—peering into his living room window. The short sundress she wore rode up the backs of her toned thighs, a scant few inches of flowered material blocked his view of heaven, while what he now recognized as her favorite blue backpack hung from one tanned shoulder.
“Hey, there. If you want the tour, come on in.”
She turned, smiling her rare smile that never failed to turn him inside-out. “Hey, yourself. I was about to give up. If you didn’t want me to come over, all you had to do was say so.”
“Fu—, uh, hell, uh, I mean…” Suddenly his tongue wanted to do anything but form words. “No. Absolutely I wanted you to come over. Come on. I’ll show you around.” He stood to one side, motioning Megan inside.
She walked in and something primitive turned over in Steve’s chest. She was in his home. He’d had women over before, of course. But this felt different. He wanted her to like where he lived. He wanted her to be comfortable here. He knew instantly that he would be taking mental note of her reactions to everything. What she liked and didn’t like. He’d never much cared one way or the other, before, what a woman thought about his place. But he sure as hell cared this time.
“Mmm. Smells good. What’s cooking?”
“I picked up dinner from Mama Rosa’s. Lasagna and Fettuccini Alfredo. Everybody loves lasagna. And fettuccini in case you don’t eat meat.”
They were standing close. It would take only the smallest hint from Megan and he would fold himself around her. He’d always been partial to tall, leggy girls before Megan. But he thought he might have permanently changed his preference now. He liked the feeling of being physically larger. Her protector.
“You’re talking to a chef. The only thing chefs like more than cooking is eating. There’s not much I don’t eat. Hey, this is nice. Did you have help decorating?” Megan did a slow turn and Steve tried not to beam. It was stupid. All she’d done was compliment him on his furniture and he felt like he’d just won a major award.
They were in the hallway, with a good view of the living room and dining area. The entertainment center dominated the living room, with the big flat-screen TV and kick ass stereo. He’d might have gone a little overboard on it but, hey, he liked sports. He liked being able to see the droplets of sweat flying off the athletes in high-definition. So what? He didn’t have to answer to anyone. If he wanted to spend big bucks on state-of-the-art electronics, he would.
“You mocking my he-man club house?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good. You’d better not be playing with me. A man doesn’t appreciate having his big-screen mocked.”
Megan’s eyelashes made a slow sweep downward before eyes like bittersweet chocolate flicked him with a sidelong glance. “Oh, I’ll play with you, alright…”
Time shifted into slow motion. The measured beat of his heart echoed in Steve’s ears, while the breath he’d been drawing skidded to a halt at the back of his throat. He had the eerie sensation of his blood halting its flow through his veins.
Only his eyes moved, and they locked on Megan’s—
“…later. Let’s eat first, though. I’m Starvin’ Marvin.”
Megan had purposely kept things light while they’d eaten their food. Although they had met twice since their evening at Goldie’s, this was their first real ‘date.’
The two times she had seen Steve since that night had both been at the restoration project his company had going. It hadn’t been hard to rearrange the lunch truck’s route to end up in the neighborhood of the old Swann mansion, with its large white and green sign proclaiming it “Another Quality Restoration by Eriksson and Sons” boldly planted out front.
Megan had never understood other women’s fascination with construction workers. Never understood the appeal. But after walking in on Steve stripped to the waist, a fine sheen of sweat highlighting the ridges and valleys of his sleek musculature, she was learning. He had been stretching for some wires just barely within reach and then pulling them through a hole in the plaster wall. Watching him standing up on his toes, arms outstretched, Megan had spent a delightful thirty seconds imagining the rest of his clothing gone, his arms tied. She decided later that he could leave the boots on.
The meetings had served a purpose, though, giving them both an opportunity think and evaluate. Strong as the attraction was, it was important to find out if they liked each other aside from their obvious physical compatibility. Did they like each other for who they were? Was the other someone they would like to spend time with in the outside world? Megan often thought that dating in the D/s community was a lot like dating in the so-called vanilla world. The characteristics desired, like honesty and integrity, were the same. There were just a few bonus questions at the end of the questionnaire.
While she couldn’t speak for what Steve felt, Megan was positively smitten. Not only was he so close to her physical ideal that the differences didn’t matter, but he was a good guy. He held down a responsible job, spoke of his family with obvious affection, and probably even helped little old ladies across the street.
Like right now, for instance. He was picking up the plates they’d eaten their dinner off of.
Megan called his name and he looked up.
“Yeah?
“Steve, you’re scaring me. I’ll tell you right now—if you rinse off those plates and put them in the dishwasher I’m walking out of here.”
“What?” He actually stopped what he was doing. “Why?”
“Because it’s unnatural and it’s freaking me out, that’s why.”
He grinned. “But is it impressing you? I’ll go back to burping and scratching my nuts as soon as I’m sure of you.”
Rising from the beautiful oak table Steve had confessed over dinner to having made, Megan moved around it until she stood in front of him, inches away. Reaching out, she gripped him through the denim of his shorts, squeezing a handful of his cock and balls.
When she knew she had his attention she told him softly, “You’ll do exactly what you’re told, Steven. You’ll start by licking my pussy until I tell you to stop.” His eyes widened and his breathing hitched erratically, whether from excitement or pain Megan couldn’t be sure. “And if you’re very good, I might—and I stress ‘might’—allow you to come, too.”
Let the games begin.
Thankfully it was a big table and Steve had already cleared most of the debris of their dinner, because Megan h
ad plans for it. Made of hundred-year-old oak salvaged from one of his jobs, it bore marks of use and the unmistakable patina of age. But, more importantly, the legs looked sturdy enough for what she had in mind. After taking the plates from his now paralyzed hands and ditching them in the kitchen, Megan had returned to the dining room where Steve still stood, frozen to the spot. Hoisting herself up onto the table, she spread her legs and took the hem of her dress in her hands.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. You start by taking off your clothes. For every item you take off, I raise my skirt. That was a wonderful meal and I’m feeling generous, so we’ll say I raise it two inches for every piece of clothing. Does that sound fair?”
His Adam’s apple did a double-clutch as Steve swallowed, then nodded. Megan shushed him when his lips parted as though to speak. “Ah ah. You speak only to say ‘no’ or ‘I don’t understand.’ You don’t need to say ‘yes’. Just do as you’re told. Say ‘no’ at any time and the game stops. Do you understand, Steve?”
He nearly forgot himself immediately, and Megan realized she hadn’t made enough allowance for Steve being new at the game. When the first ‘ye—’ sound came out of his mouth, she reminded him. “Just do as you’re told.”
Fingers reaching for the top button of his shirt, Steve fumbled the first one, working it free only with difficulty. Having the same problem with the second, he huffed a snort of impatience, grabbed the shirt by its hem and pulled it off over his head. A beautiful pattern of gold hibiscus on a blue background that did wonderful things for his eyes, the second he had it off and Megan could feast on the sight of his naked torso, she was nevertheless delighted it was gone.
“You are so beautiful. It’s a crime for you to wear clothes. If I could, I would take you to a desert island and you would never wear them again.” Her voice was choked—constricted with emotion. The words came from her heart, but she struggled to get them out. Clearing her throat, Megan nodded to his shorts. “Keep going.”
Steve didn’t speak—good boy!—but his eyes darted to the edge of her skirt.
He was right, she needed to keep her part of the game going. But she needed to reinforce who issued the commands and who was the willingly commanded.
“For that little piece of insolence you’ll be punished later. Now you’ll be begging twice as long before you’ll be allowed to come. And for being slow to respond to an order you forfeit half the distance I raise my skirt. One inch instead of two, this time. Now, do you want to risk any more or are you going to take off those shorts?”
Megan thought she detected a faint hint of movement, as though he wanted to shake his head. But Steve obviously had a feel for the game and stopped himself, instead stripping off his shorts and underwear, until he stood in just his socks and running shoes.
Long and flushed with a deep rose tint to its head, Steve’s erection curved a little to stand tall against his belly, nearly reaching his navel. Beautiful in its arousal, it bobbed teasingly, as though calling to her. Megan wanted to kiss it like a shy boy’s first experience. She lusted to suck on it and treat it like her favorite ice cream cone, swirling her tongue around it until the sweet syrup trickled down her throat. She wanted to hold herself above it, her juicy slit poised for the long, slow glide down it.
The anticipation was killing her.
Raising her skirt well past the two inches the game called for, Megan could feel the heat of Steve’s gaze on her barely covered pussy. She’d begun creaming the moment she’d grabbed his jewels and hadn’t stopped since. The thought of that delicious mouth glued to her swollen clit had her hotter than a firecracker and it took a major effort on her part not to squirm.
Instead she rewarded him with a small smile. “Too bad you’re not wearing your work boots. I seem to have developed quite a fantasy of you in them and nothing else.” She heaved a little sigh. “Go ahead and take your shoes off.”
Steve obeyed faster than Megan could remember seeing a man move before and it was finally time to give the nice man his reward.
Hiking her skirt the final two inches revealed a pair of Megan’s tiniest thong panties. So small they barely qualified as a garment, the miniscule scrap of daffodil yellow eyelet was held to her body by delicate filaments no thicker than the floss that gave them their irreverent nickname.
“Come here, baby.” Megan called softly as she indicated the chair in front of her. “Help me off with these. It’s time for dessert.”
Chapter Seven
Yes, ma’am!
As though released from a spell, Steve practically dove for the chair Megan indicated. Holy Mary, mother of God, was she trying to kill him?
He hoped so.
Like a lighthouse calling to a lost ship, the scrap of yellow that shielded her sweet flesh from his view beckoned.
“Sit down and make yourself comfortable. You’re going to be there a while.” Her voice was a velvet whisper, like fine old scotch. Her thighs were beautiful. Long and toned. And, like the gates of heaven, Steve knew paradise lay just beyond them. His hands slipped along their smooth length, reverential lest he be expelled before he’d even entered. When he reached the tiny strings holding the material in place, he slipped his thumbs under them and tore his gaze away to find hers.
Steve watched as her eyelids drooped low, then lower still, before she gave a brief nod and lifted her bottom to allow him to slide the material away. But before discarding them, Steve took a moment to raise them to his nose and draw the exotic perfume deep into his lungs. Like a connoisseur appreciated the first hint of a fine wine by its cork, so Steve’s own eyes closed briefly as he savored the unique medley of scents that was Megan.
Placing the panties safely aside, Steve reached for that sweet bottom, intent on sinking his fingers into its satin flesh and losing himself in her.
“Since when do you eat with your hands? I’m going to have words with whoever trained you. Hands behind your back, Steve. Grip your forearms.”
Megan issued orders like an old-school drill sergeant. How she managed it without raising her voice, though, escaped him. She never spoke above a soft conversational tone and always sounded like such a lady. But the authority in her voice was unmistakable.
Steve hadn’t figured it out yet, but something about it got him so fucking hot.
He didn’t know what kind of sick fuck that made him, but with that plump little kitty—all nicely shaved with only a neat little ruff showing, thank you, Jesus—staring him the face, Steve didn’t much care. He’d drown in her flesh tonight and sort out the details tomorrow.
Leaning forward about to make contact, Steve was leading with his tongue when hands gripped the back of his head. Threading her fingers into his hair, Megan let him know that this would be done at her pace. Her way.
She guided him the final few inches until, at last, his mouth was on her. Hot and spicy, a little salty, Steve let the flavors roll around on his tongue. Tasting. Savoring.
Truth was, he loved going down on a woman. Everything from the throaty sounds of passion, to the unique flavor every woman had, to the texture of their skin in their most secret place, Steve loved it all. His own aching cock faded into the background noise of his consciousness and he was alone with his awareness of her. Aware only of how natural, how incredibly good, it felt to be filled with the taste of her—to be surrounded by the scent and feel of her—something deep inside him was satisfied. He wanted to freeze the moment in time and never lose it
He slid along the slick channels to either side of her pussy, circling her clit before drawing that tender flesh into this mouth. Eyes closed, mouth working, drinking her juices like a man dying of thirst, Steve realized that was exactly what he was. A man dying of thirst and he had finally found a woman who could quench his craving. Why the realization settled on him with such ease, he didn’t know.
Steve didn’t have enough brain cells left active to figure out why, so he gave up the fight and lost himself in the moment.
So fucking good! Her hips
were pumping steadily now and the only thought Steve could identify, repeated itself over and over inside him. So fucking good! He licked and sucked, first circling around Megan’s hard little clit, then sucking her labia into this mouth where he worked them gently with his teeth. Using suction, he drew on her clit, then thrust hard with his tongue into her slick pussy. Back and forth, clit then pussy, over and over.
The hands that had been tugging rhythmically on his hair suddenly grabbed hold and pulled hard, mashing his face and nose into her slippery flesh. Megan gasped and drew in a series of short panting breaths, each deeper than the last. Just as Steve thought he might smother, the hands in his hair went slack. The table reverberated with the thump of Megan falling backward in a boneless heap.
Steve couldn’t hide the grin that spread over his face.
He was a god!
He had slayed her with just his tongue.
Now, if only someone would tell it to his aching cock and balls.
“Not bad. You lick pussy pretty well, in fact.”
Megan had recovered quickly. Steve had given half a thought to picking her up—she was just a little thing, really—and carrying her to bed. He’d been mulling his options, with every second that ticked by punctuated by the pulsing of his neglected dick. He hadn’t checked, but he was pretty sure if he did his balls would be turning a lovely shade of blue by now.
Megan had shoved herself up until she rested on her elbows, though, and awarded him the equivalent of a C+ in pussy licking. He didn’t think so. That had been an A performance in anybody’s book. His outraged ego wouldn’t stand for it.
“Not bad? That must be one hell of a curve you grade on. That was—”
“Steve.” Megan interrupted what was shaping up to be a pretty good rant. Fueled, as it was, by one-third bruised ego and two-thirds frustrated lust. “Unless you want this game to stop right now, your options are still ‘I don’t understand,’ or do as you’re told. Now, which is it going to be?”
Cruel to Be Kind Page 5