Cruel to Be Kind

by Stephanie Vaughan

  “Do you remember that first night when I asked you about your fantasies? I want to hear more about that.” Crouching low over Steve’s outstretched body, Megan let the tips of her breasts brush Steve’s. Already tightened in anticipation, when they touched his they beaded even more tightly into aching little points. To see his skin, that she knew to be so tender and sensitive, penetrated by hard metal did something primitive to her. Shaking off a shiver, she went on. “And about what you’ve never done, but always wanted to.”

  “I want to fuck your pussy. Hard. I’ve never done that.”

  “So noted. We’ll put that on our list of things to do.” Grabbing a pillow, Megan lifted Steve’s head and shoved the pillow behind it. “There. That should give you a better view.” It raised his head just enough for him to be able to see what she had planned next. After taking a quick tug on the ropes again, she moved on.

  Megan turned, taking a slow deliberate visual tour of the man stretched out before her. His color was good. His breathing was a little quicker than normal, a little more shallow, but that was to be expected. Eye contact was good.

  “And your ass, too. That’d be sweet.”

  She adored the way those chiseled lips curled up at one corner in a bad boy grin of anticipation. It only added to his appeal. Steve had so many sides to him. The last thing she wanted was a one-dimensional relationship based solely on a man’s need to be dominated. Sure, it made her hot as hell that he was turning out to be the most natural sub it had ever been her pleasure to know. It lit her up like Founders’ Square at Christmas time to be able to give him an order and see him submit—to see the pleasure he took in being controlled. To know that his need coincided with hers and that, together, they could find a rapturous pleasure they could never hope to find separately.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  Megan wanted more than that. She wanted something she wasn’t even sure existed. Something the lack of which had destroyed her last relationship, surely, and probably every one before it, too.

  “Oh, really?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Hmm. I’ll have to think about that one. You’d have to be an awfully good boy to earn something like that.”

  Slithering backwards, Megan kneeled between Steve’s knees and, pushing her breasts together with her hands, used them to press on his straining cock. The tang of sweat on his belly calling to her, Megan took a swipe with her tongue and tasted saltiness as she rocked back and forth, using her own flesh to stroke his.

  Megan accepted the tribute of the low growl that rumbled up from Steve’s chest without comment. It meant her plan was working. She wanted him mindless with wanting.

  “How about it, Steve? You a breast man?” She loved teasing him. “Would you like me to keep this up for a while? You could fuck my tits—give me a pearl necklace. What do you think, babe?”

  “Fuck, yeah.”

  Giving him a few last strokes for good measure, Megan sat back a little and took his shaft in both hands. The big plum head of it was stretched tight and beaded with fluid again. Her self-control went down without a fight to temptation. Another few swipes of her tongue took care of the pre-cum and had Steve flexing his hips, trying to drive for the solace of her mouth.

  Megan pursed her lips and let the satiny skin push past the entrance of her mouth. But only a little. Using her double-fisted grip on his cock, she made sure only the tip entered, and that just barely. She swirled her tongue around and around, using it to stimulate the sensitive spot just below the bulging mushroom-shaped head.

  As Steve groaned, Megan dropped one hand to his scrotum, and beneath it to massage the area behind. Slipping lower still, she held his cock in the firm grip of one hand and let the fingers of the other drift into the crease below. She kept her strokes short and light until she reached the small, puckered opening of his anus.

  “What about this, Steve? How do you feel about ass play? Have you ever explored how good it feels to have your P-spot stimulated?”

  If his vehement “No! No way.” hadn’t been enough for her, the way his ass cheeks tensed up and his whole body jerked away from her hand confirmed it. His eyes that had been squeezed shut, lost in his own pleasure, popped open.

  Although she didn’t take time to pout, a little frown of disappointment still found its way to her lips. But she backed off immediately.

  “That’s okay, babe. Maybe some other time.”

  Still working his cock with one hand, Megan tore open a condom with her teeth. Sheathing him quickly, she drew herself up until she kneeled over Steve, her slick opening poised above him, and stared hard into his eyes.

  Aiming him, Megan lowered herself until she could feel his warm flesh begin to nudge her drenched channel. She’d been wet and ready for this moment for what seemed like her whole life. As slowly as she could, she pushed gently down over him, her murmured “Easy, babe” the only sound in the suddenly deafening silence. Like a bull rider settling onto the back of a particularly unruly bull, she eased cautiously downward. Her inner muscles parted as Steve’s meaty cock forced its way in, inch by inch. Until at last he was in to the balls and Megan would swear she could feel him kissing her womb.

  Finally.

  Belly to belly, gazes riveted, time ground to a halt.

  Hands outstretched above him, mouth pulled back in a grimace, muscles straining to keep from thrusting—Megan’s heart turned over in her chest at the picture of wild masculine beauty before her. He was perfection.

  She wanted to hold the moment in her hand forever, never leaving, eternally caught in this intricate dance.

  “Now fuck me, nasty boy.”

  Chapter Nine

  Holy Mary, Mother of God and all his cousins. So good. So good. Tight and hot. She gripped him like a closed fist that clamped from all sides and somehow managed to touch every single nerve ending he had. Just being inside her was fucking incredible. She was so damn hot. She knew what she wanted and she wasn’t afraid to take it.

  Take him.

  Hands and legs tied like a pagan sacrifice. Teased until he thought he would explode. Then used for her sexual pleasure. Shit, yeah! Woman-on-top had always been his favorite position. But it had never been like that before. She was sexier than any woman he’d ever been with. Riding him like it was her right. Like he was her sex slave, born to serve her.

  “Hey, numb-nuts! How much longer is it going to take you to wire that chingazzi? Yeah, Steve-o, I’m talking to you.”

  Steve shook his head and the job at hand faded in as the vision of Megan faded out. That had been happening to him a lot the past couple of days. Since that night at his house, he’d relived that moment a hundred times. In one night he had set three new personal-bests with her. The table. The blow-job. The … he didn’t know what to call it.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ve got it, Robert. Go back to playing with yourself for a few. I’ve got a couple more connectors to tie off.”

  Pulling his face back from the hole in the floor he’d shouted through, Steve wiped the sweat from his face. It was hot as hell on the second floor of the Swann Mansion where he was finishing up the wiring for an elaborate chandelier the crew was ready to hang. The restoration on the old house was a long way from complete and the fixture wouldn’t stay up long. But a mixed group of baby-kissers from City Hall and history wonks from the historical society were coming through tomorrow for a look-see and Catherine wanted as many of the big pieces in place as they could make happen on short notice.

  Ms. Catherine Thompson of the Oro County Historical Society was one hard-assed bitch when it came to getting things right on the resto’. That she was also his brother’s fiancée as of last week made it hard to say no to her. That he could still remember what her lips felt like wrapped around his dick made it just that much trickier.

  Man, had that only been six months ago?

  His brother Rick had met Catherine in this very house. They had come together like fire and gasoline and on one memorable afternoon Steve had very nearly gotten caugh
t in the inferno. Funny how the memory of the day, that had been so vivid in his mind until recently, was fading fast. His sense memory had been rewired like he was rewiring the old bordello. Something had yanked out the old and replaced it with new.

  The last of the wires capped off, Steve headed down to the first floor, using the bandana he had tied over his hair to wipe the sweat from his face and neck as he went. Descending the staircase, he twisted the square of colored cloth to wring the moisture from it as he went. But just the action of stretching the handkerchief between his hands brought to mind Megan’s hands as she had used a similar motion when she had bound his hands and feet. That quickly, the tingle of blood rushed to his groin, reminding him that he was working and hardly in a position to do anything about it.

  Steve rounded the corner into the foyer area where his brother Rick stood talking to a smaller, dark-haired man. In his early twenties, slim and wiry, Robert Karabedian had done the cleaning and refitting on the chandelier Eriksson and Sons Construction had pulled down from the rotting ceiling. Steve’s theory on Robert’s success could be boiled down to ‘sink or swim.’ Smaller than either Rick or Steve, Robert had the personality of a wolverine coming down off a crack binge and the people skills of a burnt out DMV clerk. Steve maintained that the little man knew he could never hold down a job that depended on anyone actually liking him and threw himself into his one-man lighting restoration business body and soul.

  Rick and Robert had had enough go-‘rounds that Steve had lost count of the number of times Rick had sworn never to use him again. So it shocked the hell out of Steve to see the two men talking and laughing like old buddies.

  “Dude, so I’m telling you, she goes into the other room to get her coat and I’m, like, standing by the door waiting. And I, you know, I look over at the DVD’s and tapes all piled up by the TV. I’m, like—she had the stuff laying out, okay? It’s not like I went pawing through her wallet or anything.”

  “And? What? You found out she has a secret addiction to Lord of the Rings videos? So you dress up like an elf while you’re banging her. It’s a win-win.” Catherine must not have shown up yet, Steve decided, if Rick was using his full adult vocabulary. Steve had noticed a tendency in his brother to tone things down a little when his now-fiancée was in the room.

  Robert gave a nod, acknowledging Steve’s presence, and went on with his story.

  “So, she didn’t have any fucking Lord of the Rings videos, okay? She can call me Legolamb all night as long as she follows it up with ‘Can I swallow now?’ No, I coulda’ handled that. She has a little something called ‘Babes Ballin’ Boys’ on hand for her viewing pleasure. And right next to it on the shelf is another gem called ‘Bend Over, Boyfriend.’ Dude, if I want to get poked up the ass I’ll do something illegal and get sent to prison. At least there I’ll get three hots and a cot.”

  Rick was laughing his butt off. “Oh, that’s beautiful. ‘Babes Ballin’ Boys,’ huh? So did you search her purse for any strap-ons? Make sure she wasn’t carrying?” His brother could hardly get the words out, he was laughing too hard.

  “Fuck that!” Robert didn’t have much of a sense of humor when it came to his manhood. Sensitive and with a hair-trigger, both brothers knew it and weren’t above needling him. “If anybody’s getting fucked up the ass, it ain’t gonna be me.”

  Winking at Rick behind Robert’s back, Steve couldn’t resist getting in on the ragging. “Well, I don’t know there, Robert. Maybe you’d like it. I hear that after you get used to it, it feels pretty good. You know. ‘It’s only weird the first time.’”

  “Yeah, I guess if anyone would know it would be you, Steve-o.”

  “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean, Robert?” He wasn’t pissed. But his arms unfolded from their formerly relaxed position across his chest. He was just flexing his fingers, that was all. He wasn’t going to hit the little cocksucker.

  “Nothin’, man. Just, if it’s got hair like a chick, and tit jewelry like a chick…” The little shit was enjoying himself way too much. The smirk on his face made Steve itch to put his hands around ol’ Bobby’s greasy little neck and squeeze. “No shame in being a catcher in a world full of pitchers, man.”

  Rick’s face was suddenly in Steve’s and his brother was holding him back. “Don’t do it, Steve. It’s not worth it. C’mon, you shit bigger than he is.”

  When had he moved? Steve didn’t remember reaching for Robert, but the piece of cloth in his hand corresponded with the dark patch indicating a pocket missing from the other man’s shirt.

  Without turning away, Rick dismissed Robert. “Robert, I think we can handle things from here. Why don’t you take off?”

  “Hey, I’m sorry if your brother doesn’t like looking in the mirror. I’m just surprised it took him and Manly Megan this long to hook up.”

  “So how’s the romance going?”

  Megan looked up from the yellow summer squash she was slicing into half-inch pieces. Her sister watched from a chair nearby as she cut the last of the vegetables she was chopping to make a Ratatouille.

  “What romance?” Trying hard for an innocent look, Megan concentrated on slicing the various vegetables into bite-sized pieces.

  Christa had called as Megan was finishing clean-up from the day’s rounds with the catering truck, claiming an uncontrollable craving for the spicy vegetable stew that was a summer favorite in the Mussina house. Megan had stopped at her favorite produce market for the ingredients she didn’t have on hand and headed to Christa’s. Besides wanting to go over the week’s receipts, Megan was looking forward to the chance to prepare something more challenging than tuna salad.

  “Don’t play coy with me, girlie. I may be under house arrest but I still have contacts in the outside world. I made a few calls. I know what you’ve been doing.”

  Megan’s stomach turned over at her sister’s comment and she nearly blurted out the truth. The off-hand tone gave Christa away, though. It was a little too relaxed. A hair too studiedly casual. It was an old trick of her sister’s, Megan remembered, to pretend more knowledge than she actually had and wait for the victim to spill.

  Catching herself just in time, Megan parried. “Oh. Well, there’s no use denying it, then.”

  “Nope. None at all.”

  Years ago she might have fallen for it. When they were both still kids living in their parents’ house she had. Many times. But she’d been around the block once or twice since then and, this time, used some of her hard-won calm. She picked up the last zucchini and sliced it lengthwise first, then into quarters. “Well, then.”

  Christa was a seasoned campaigner, though. She only gazed back at Megan and rubbed her charmingly round belly. “Indeed.”

  Adding oil to the big pan on the stove, Megan scooped up the vegetable mixture and dropped it in by handfuls. She adjusted the heat slightly and watched her sister stew. “You don’t have squat, sis. Nice try, though. By the way, I’m using turkey ham instead of Tasso in this. You don’t need the extra salt.”

  “Megan!” The pitiful wail would have never passed Christa’s lips in the old days. Marrying Doug, having babies to look forward to—it had softened her sister to a degree Megan never would have believed. “I’m stuck here in this house. I don’t see anyone but Doug, you, and sometimes Mom or Dad. And the mailman. And he only comes by because he’s forced to. Give me some details. I need to live a little, even if it’s only vicariously. Please?”

  It was the last plaintive request that cracked the armor of Megan’s reserve.

  “It’s too soon, Christa. I … It’s only been a couple of weeks. Just a few dates, really. But—” Her mind flashed back to another kitchen. Steve’s face across the table from her. His expressions as they’d eaten and talked. “I really like him. He’s different. Special.”

  “Wow. It’s serious then.”

  Self-conscious at how much her sister had divined, Megan could feel the weight of Christa’s gaze on her as she stirred the vegetables sautéing in th
e pan. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You don’t have to. I can see it on your face. You are gone, girl. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this. What about him? Is he serious?”

  Megan opened her mouth, but no words formed. She tried again with the same result. On the third try she got it. “I don’t know, Chris. How do you know what a man is thinking?”

  Her sister laughed. “That’s easy—they’re usually not. As a veteran of nearly five years of marriage, I can say this much about what’s on a man’s mind: sex, cars or sports. In that order. Or nothing. If you ever make the mistake of asking and he says ‘nothing,’ believe him.”

  You’ve reached Steve Eriksson’s phone. I’m not available to take your call right now. Leave a message and I’ll call you back.

  The tone signaling that it was time to leave a message jarred Megan out of her trance. She’d been busy going over her last conversation with Steve in her head while she listened to the business-like tone of his voice on the machine. Not at all like she remembered him in her head. In her favorite mental image he was swearing and begging. “Please, baby. Please.”

  But what to say?

  “Hi, Steve. It’s Megan. We must have gotten our signals crossed—I thought we were meeting at my place. I’ll try you at the restaurant. Talk to you soon. Bye.” She didn’t bother to leave her call back number. She knew he had it.

  Twenty minutes later, driving down Sutter Street—Remington’s version of Main Street, USA—Megan searched for a parking space. Not as bad as in high summer when their sleepy little town in the Sierras was packed with tourists. A Tuesday night this time of year shouldn’t have been a problem. She puzzled over her bad luck until she spotted the hand-painted A-frame sign in front of the Elks Lodge. “Tuesday Night Bingo! 7:00PM until ???” That would explain the heavier than usual accumulation of cars.

  As she circled the block for the third time a spot opened up near the new Ph restaurant Steve had agreed to try with her. Megan had been introduced to the Vietnamese noodle soup while she’d been attending culinary school in San Francisco. Delicious, healthy and—best of all—cheap, she had become a near addict to the stuff. Coming back to Remington, with it’s abundance of diners catering to the tourist trade and featuring ‘down home cookin’,’ had meant going cold turkey on her passion for ph. Until she had seen the sign go up for Phat Phuc’s, as she had discovered it was called. Megan was still cringing at the unfortunate name even as her mouth had watered.