Bound for Trouble

by Alison Tyler

  I suppress my timidity and study her figure just as she’s poring over mine. Both of us just a hair shy of six feet, of Amazonian build, though I would definitely qualify as more of a glamazon. I’m all things girly—painted eyelashes and petticoats—a softness in stark contrast to Lux’s solid, athletic physique. She’s the type of warrior who wouldn’t hesitate to remove her right breast should it interfere with her weapon of choice. Still she takes great pride and pleasure in her body. As do I. Such great, overpowering pleasure she inflicts upon me. She need not remove a thing in order to command the sharp piece of steel in her hand.

  I find it impossible to be in her presence without brimming con amor propio—this love of mine elevates my pride to new levels. I feel as though the earth is moving too swiftly; I’ve tripped and stumbled into the sea—the adrenaline coursing through my veins from the fearful lust is only a small part of the swaying sensation. Lux has a dizzying effect on my sense of balance and reality; I feel myself slipping away.

  She’s shaking her head back and forth. Slowly. Ever so slowly. Staring into me with eyes that say, Fuck, yes to every last turn my body takes, todas las curvas de mi cuerpo. Something about it—an action that traditionally reads as no when she really means just the opposite—consumes me with desire. She devours me with that look. Captivating in every sense of the word—I am her captive. After our first several days spent together, I felt like watching her do that was so imprinted on my clit that I could come just from having her shake her head at me from across the room. And at the very least, it made my knees give out. It always does.

  Lucky for me, she likes me on them.

  Lux is detail orientated, as am I; her focus makes it abundantly clear that none of my efforts while down there are lost on her. She relishes the sensuousness of the senses—the wet, lustrous noises of the head of her cock hitting the back of my throat; the sight of me thrusting enthusiastically against the shaft, crimson red lips wrapped around the length of her; the pressure of me fucking her back while she fucks my face; the essence of my ravenous cunt wafting up. She opens her mouth to breathe in every last note, tasting metallic.

  The arc of her cock is just a continuation of that of her thighs. Its bulge against the fly of her jeans whenever she packs—the perfect complement to the cleavage continually spilling out of my lacy-edged, demi-cup bra. When her quads flex under my palms, all that magnificent energy billows up, pulsing through her cock, and into me. Her stare still as heavy and restrictive as ever, my tongue bound under the invasion of her instrument. Lux swells and shudders; I work harder and faster. Sucking her off, making her moan, “Oooooh, yes… That’s it, garotinha, take it all.” (Lux just loves to throw her bits of Portuguese around, as she does her weight—fully knowing both can pin me in an instant. She may not be fluent, but hell, my Spanish could use some cleaning up and my cunt certainly doesn’t seem to discriminate.)

  “So. Fucking. Good.” She punctuates each word with a thrust, testing just how much abuse my vocal cords can take.

  What gets her off more than how I deliciously pique her senses is her ability to pierce me with that gaze. Lecherously peering, Lux pries into the depths of me, the heart of me, her dick growing harder at the discovery of something so depraved and pure. Her orgasm mounting hastily at my naive nescience in letting her in. As she pierces me farther, the metallic flavor wraps around her tongue and spills down her throat, filling her up.

  I want so badly to watch her watching me, to see the story her eyes tell of how pleased she is with everything happening below, to witness how she possesses me so thoroughly with just a look. But I can’t. My eyelids refuse to open when I’m choking so on su verga tan larga that I can hardly suck in any air while I suck her down. I suppose it’s a question of bodily physics and mine adhere to the shut-eyed-cock-choking phenomenon. I pull her out just momentarily to steal a peek and witness the glorious look of dominating satisfaction carved into Lux’s face.

  “Well done, baby girl.” Warmth and pride on her breath. “Now get up.” I long to dig my nails deeper into her luscious cheeks, clutch at the meat of that divine ass while I’m swallowing her whole; but knowing better than to argue with that tone, I rise. Markedly laconic, her words are sparse at times like these but always poignant. Pointed. As sharp as her stare and steel. “Facedown on the bed,” she instructs. Later the words will pour off of her tongue and spill all over me. Flood my mind and my senses. This moment exists almost entirely in the unspoken desire that blazes from her eyes; she descends farther, filling me with more than I thought possible. I’m voluntarily enslaved.

  Words cannot circumnavigate these waters.

  I hear the sound of her spit hitting her palm and I swear I can almost feel her ease it down the length of her polla tan magnífica; oh, how I adore that dick of hers. Then she’s brusquely grabbing me by my love handles—I knew there was a reason for such an aptly named part of the female body—and pounding mi chocha into next week. Just as I begin to think that a fuck couldn’t get more exquisite, Lux shifts her angle ever so slightly, and an entirely new sensation washes over me. My pussy is gushing with the feel of her violent tempest gaining speed, threatening to tear me apart. I sneak a glance over my shoulder, delighting in the sweat gathering across the arch of her bicep, over the top lip of her upturned snarl. She frees up one hand, keeping the other firmly gripped around the flesh of my right hip, and rakes her fingers through my hair while she rams me from behind. Making a fist around the strands just above the nape of my neck, she pulls my head back with just enough force to hear me whimper, then pushes against me, getting even better leverage. My face takes on the creases of the pillow.

  She won’t let me come. Not yet. La tortura. She revels in it. So she pulls out. Leaving me wanting yet again, despite my protests. “No, no, no, no…por fas, cariño…” Not acknowledging a single word I’ve uttered, though I know she understands me perfectly. Sometimes she likes to back off of me even farther when I beg like that. Unfortunately, now is one of those times. All part of the game we play.

  She regards me with such intensity I feel desperately vulnerable and still somehow safe enough to let her in. Though she needs no invitation. Lux fully knows this is hers for the taking. So she takes it and I accept my role as a willing sacrifice, laying my body down before her. I allow her to forge away at her own pace; accept whatever is left when she is done. Her eyes taste every last curve.

  She takes her time and drags the stainless steel slowly across my skin, trailing where her gaze left off, the tip occasionally digging into the plumpness of my thighs, my ass, testing their give. And, oh, do I give. The cold, keen edge gives rise to a chill blushing across my surface and I feel her lust tear into me, shredding any last lingering defenses. I only wish her blade could penetrate me so deeply. Before I can finish wishing and just as I gasp loudly enough for the neighbors to hear, my remaining lingerie hits the floor in pieces and I wonder if I didn’t perhaps wish too hard. Lux’s knife is too sharp for this kind of play, too near to breaking flesh. And if I don’t take control of my involuntary shaking, she will.

  She retracts her blade and flips me deftly. I sink into her pervasive gaze. Instinctively she holds court in two opposing spaces—easily reigning over me as the outsider peering in while simultaneously occupying an expanse within, cutting to the core of me. Lux has set her sights on me y no me suelta. There’ll be no letting up until she’s taken all she needs and I’m left barely breathing. I inhale one last time as she crashes over me, crashing into me with those eyes. Those eyes that see me, that search me out. Those eyes that take me under.

  DEEPER

  Beatrix Ellroy

  Grace crossed her legs and glared at the other people in the café. The table was currently empty save her gear, but it wouldn’t be for long if the crowd got any bigger. She churned through her work as face after face mercifully turned away from her. As she finalized the urgent bit of code that had hauled her from home in search of a decent cup of coffee, one of the men in th
e masses caught her eye. He walked over, coffee in hand, and she studied him as he came closer. She’d seen him at the café before, admired his body, but had never been able to work out why he was familiar; she couldn’t remember his name, or even why she might have known him. Not until he spoke.

  “Do you mind if I sit here?”

  His voice was dark; sweet bourbon with a hint of gravel and it took her right back to her awkward teen years, spent in tiny, illicit clubs listening to an ever-changing list of little bands trying to make their mark on an indifferent crowd. He’d made his mark, cut a few albums, then dropped off the radar. She’d followed his career the whole way through, even as an adult who really should have known better. He’d starred in her fantasies for far longer than was strictly appropriate.

  He was different now, that was true, but still magnetic. Still handsome, but his arms were bulkier, shoulders broader. His entire body had filled out (her mind whispered matured) and he looked like he could do anything he put his mind to. His hair was shorn close to the scalp, but still thick, and dark but for the streaks of gray and silver at the edges. His eyes were as intense as they’d ever been. He was still hawk nosed, still full lipped. Her mind raced with those old desires, awoken by his closeness. She looked him in the eye and smiled.

  “Not at all. Miko isn’t it? I used to watch you play.”

  His eyes widened slightly. “Really? I wouldn’t have taken you for being nearly old enough to have seen me at a club.” His smile was automatic, insincere, with his eyes already drifting to watch the stream of people outside the window.

  “Flattery, particularly the empty type, will get you nowhere.” She sipped her coffee, waiting. The silence stretched, almost awkward, but Grace was no stranger to waiting. He turned to her, as if startled by her response. He let his eyes roam and after a long moment, he smiled.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s somewhat of an ingrained response to meeting such a pretty lady. Doesn’t change the intent. Shall we start again?”

  He reached one broad hand over the table. “I’m Miko, as you’re apparently aware. My thanks for sharing your table, but I don’t believe you’ve given me your name?” His smile was tilted, but genuine. Grace reached out in response; his hand engulfed hers, calloused against the softness of her skin.

  “Grace. I’m just finishing up actually.”

  He held her hand for a beat too long, then lingeringly let it go. Her stomach fluttered at the contact and she almost wanted to squirm; she had lusted after Miko incredibly badly for years and here he was. She had never imagined he smelled so good. Coffee and vanilla, sweet and bitter with hidden depths.

  “Stay awhile, if you can. I gather compliments on your looks aren’t going to keep you interested though. No matter how lyrical I wax about the curve of your leg, or the depth of color in your eyes?” He seemed amused, the skin around his eyes creasing as he smiled and shifted his chair closer to hers. “Should I compliment your choice of tech then? Coffee? Or maybe your taste in music?”

  “It’s been a while since I listened to your band, Miko. A good long while.” Grace began breathing just a touch too rapidly. His proximity was simply too much. His hand, curved around the mug, led to a muscled and hairy forearm, flexing as he swirled his coffee. A sudden image flashed through her mind, and she almost blushed. Almost. She hadn’t learned self-control for nothing though. “I did notice you released your entire back catalogue online last year. Nice move that was. A bit of increased revenue in the non-digital goods and no skin off your back since your albums were out of stock anyway.” She smiled then, thinking of the first album she’d ever bought, close to ten years ago now. It was one of his and she was sure it was still tucked away somewhere. The pictures on the liner, his body crossed with leather and strapped down and bound, had fueled her fantasies for years.

  Miko shrugged. “It made sense at the time. I’m busy with other business avenues now, so releasing the back catalogue did nothing but introduce us to a whole new fan base.” He raised an eyebrow. “Nice of you to keep track though. Just how big of a fan are you anyway?” This time, Grace did blush, her cheeks burning. His laughter was loud, and honest. She laughed too, caught out by her own desires.

  Desires that didn’t seem quite so unobtainable anymore.

  “Oh I’m a big fan, no doubt about that. You starred in many a daydream when I was young.” His eyebrows shot up at that.

  “Did I now? Let me try and guess since I’ve heard enough of these. Did you save me from my hellish ways and marry me, or did you follow me into debauchery?” He paused. “If it was the latter, please feel free to elaborate.” His grin was wicked.

  Grace sipped her coffee too, trying to slow her breathing. “A little from column A, a little from column B. The best ones had a bit of both.” She smiled and startled a laugh from Miko.

  “Really? Please tell. The reality was not nearly so fun, I have to say.” His tone was light but his eyes held hers. Dark, almost black in the dim light of the café. She felt adrenaline singing along her spine, her skin tingling, joyous abandon rising up as if to carry her onward.

  She took a breath and plunged.

  “The old fantasies aren’t nearly as interesting as the new ones. The old ones were all variations on a theme—I was inexperienced, malleable, so they were all about you teaching me. Dominating me.” Her voice was low, and dark. He leaned forward, unconsciously, shifting to the edge of his seat to face her. She shifted too, then reached a hand across, slowly, and curved her fingers around his neck with her thumb resting lightly on his throat. “Nowadays I know what I want.” She leaned in closer, pressed her thumb down and felt his breath in her hair then murmured. “I want to take you home, I want you naked in my bed and I want to fuck you.” Grace eased back into her seat. “Your choice of course. We could sit here and finish our coffees if you like. Talk music and revenue streams, then say good-bye.” She took a sip of her coffee. “It’d be a fascinating conversation I’m sure. Not as fascinating as what I’ll do to you when you’re on your knees though.”

  He leaned back and pushed his coffee to the side. He looked at her, obviously weighing up the offer. She smiled back, open and daring, radiating that self-control she’d developed over the years, that confidence that seemed to draw a certain kind of man to her. And to his knees for her.

  “Let’s go then.” His voice was dark, and fierce with promise.

  The short walk back to Grace’s apartment thrummed with tension; they barely touched but were never more than a breath away from each other. She could feel desire pooling in her bones, making her swell and slicken. They barely got into the elevator before she pushed him against the wall and kissed him. Hard and vicious, she tasted and bit and sucked at his lips. Her hands framed his face as her body pressed his against the wall, his hands grasping her hips. The doors opened and they broke apart; Grace turned and strode down the hall, leading him to her apartment. She got the door closed before giving in to the temptation and kissing him again. She bit her way down his neck and left a trail of reddened flesh in her wake.

  “You know, I almost wish for your long hair back. I would have loved to drag you by your hair to my bed and then pin you down with it while I fucked you in the ass.”

  Miko moaned. Loud and desperate.

  “Yes, fuck, yes.” His voice was rough and his hands were still pressing into her hips, pinpoints of bruising pain. She ran her nails down the length of his arms, and then brought the palm of his hand to her face.

  “I want to fuck you, Miko; I want you naked and splayed and open.” Grace murmured into his palm then bit, not gently, at his wrist. “Are you okay with that?”

  Miko pulled her firmly against his body, his cock hard and huge behind the denim of his jeans. “Yes, I am so okay with that. Christ, I want you inside me.”

  She felt herself quiver and contract as he spoke. She led him through to her bedroom, gripping his wrist. Her bed was low, the sheets black and the light coming through the window was bright. She pushe
d him toward the bed and began to unbutton her shirt. “Take your clothes off. All of them.” She was gratified to see him obey, pulling his shirt over his head, revealing the lines and patterns of muscles and ink-stained skin; a small tattoo ran over one shoulder blade, a line of hieroglyphs contained in a cartouche. She watched him slip his shoes and socks off, then unbuckle his belt.

  His jeans dropped and she took a deep breath. This was really happening. Miko was here. In her bedroom.

  She pulled her shirt and her skirt off and kicked them under the bed, along with her shoes and her stockings. Miko turned to her, still in his underwear, and glanced uncertainly at the window. Grace laughed then pressed a button and a decorated screen lowered, dulling the light slightly, throwing shadows across the room. Only then did he slip his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and slide them down his thighs.

  Grace felt dizzy for a moment, caught between two desires. She wanted him, fucked and splayed open and hers. She also wanted him inside her, driving into her. His cock was heavy, thick and long and hard already.

  She sat on the bed, still in her knickers and bra, and beckoned him closer, pulling him to stand between her legs. His cock stood firm as she ran her hands up his legs, dragging her nails over the skin of his thighs. She brushed her hand over his balls, pushing his cock to one side, and nuzzled the skin over his hip, dragging her teeth over the bony jut of it. She paused and reached beneath the bed to pull out a small case and place it on the chest beside them. She flicked open the latch and drew out a small tea box filled with condoms, then leaned forward and licked Miko’s cock from base to tip, tracing a circle over the end before she rolled a condom down his length.