“Yes…”
Jamaica shot Nelson an icy glare. “The table is fine. Thank you.”
“Your server will be with you shortly.”
When the hostess was out of earshot, Jamaica scolded him. “Don’t speak unless granted permission. Understand?”
“Yes,” Nelson mumbled, loving how domineering Jamaica was.
“Good.”
The pair scanned their menus briefly before the server, a tall, bronze man, stopped at their table. He greeted them before serving traditional Berber whiskey poured from a silver kettle into two small glasses. “I’ll be back to take your orders.”
After a few minutes of silence, Nelson couldn’t contain himself. He needed to hear each sordid detail of her evening. “Please, Jamaica, don’t keep me in suspense like this. It’s killing me.”
Her eyes shot up from the menu. “I warned you. Speak again and I will tell you nothing.”
He suppressed the urge to smile at being completely controlled and lowered his eyes with a slight head nod.
The waiter returned then and asked if they were ready to order. “He’ll have lamb, prune, and almond tagine. I’ll have vegetarian couscous. Thank you.”
After the server disappeared, Nelson raised his hand.
“You may speak.”
“Please…tell me something…anything…”
She smiled, acknowledging that she’d stalled long enough. “As soon as I entered, he took me. Lifted my dress up, ripped my panties off with an angry fist, and jabbed his massive meat in my pussy.”
“At the door?”
“Yes. He pinned me against the door and fucked me with a hand over my mouth.”
Elbows on the table, Nelson leaned forward. “Did he at least speak first? Offer you a drink?”
“No. He literally pounced and knocked the wind out of me.” Jamaica pulled back the shoulder of her dress to reveal several marks. “He was so rough, biting my neck and my breasts. He even choked me from behind after he threw me over the luggage rack.”
Nelson felt himself stiffen below the table. He could vividly picture the brute fucking Jamaica throughout the hotel suite. He lowered one of his hands and rubbed it over his throbbing bulge.
“‘Scream if you like it, bitch,’ he said. And I did, especially when he…”
Nelson realized he hadn’t been breathing as he listened. “When he what?”
“He used my juices to coat his dick when he put it in my ass.”
“Wait. What?” He almost choked on the whiskey. “You let him…”
“With the way he fucked my pussy, I couldn’t deny myself the pleasure. He was so big and skilled. I needed him to stretch me out in a way I hadn’t been in a long time. Plus he promised to be gentle with my tight little asshole.”
Nelson leaned forward and whispered. “Was he?”
“Hell no.”
The waiter returned with their meals. He refilled their whiskey glasses and vanished.
“Did you come?”
“Did I?” Jamaica grabbed at one of her breasts.
“Repeatedly.” “Did he?”
Jamaica nodded. “All inside me.”
Nelson wiped his forehead, wet with sweat, with the back of his hand.
“If you behave for the rest of dinner, I may allow you a slice of my Jamaican cream pie.”
“Please don’t tease me like that.” The thought of tasting Jamaica, and the conquest who had ravished her both anally and vaginally, excited Nelson beyond words. He would obey each directive of hers for the remainder of the meal…but first he needed a release. He couldn’t contain himself any longer.
“May I please be excused?”
A smirk appeared on Jamaica’s face. “You may, but hurry back. There’s so much more to tell.”
PLAYING WITH A BEAST
Salome Wilde
Lee narrows his eyes, hardly blinking now. He knows how hard I’m reaching for it and that I won’t shift my gaze from his until I come. Maybe not until after Jeff does.
I feel the butterfly humming away on my clit, pressed in by Jeff’s body on top of mine. His cock fits me as perfectly as we fit each other. I know, as I always do, that the hubs will last only a bit longer than I do. I’ll wrap my legs around him and hold him tight and feel his muscles lock and then release. Even with Lee watching, Jeff is Jeff and we are us. I love that.
I also love the sounds of Jeff’s panting as he pounds away inside me and Lee’s groaning from across the room as he doesn’t. Lee is tied tightly to the armchair in the corner, ornate with pretty knots that crafty Jeff has had to get so good at recently. Jeff’s always liked rope play, but he’s had to up his game since Lee moved in next door and then into our sex life. Lee’s so buff, he quickly busted out of our first efforts to tie him down so he could—at his request—“watch you fuck without being able to do a damn thing about it.” We tinkered with swinging in the first bloom of our marriage, but now—a few gray hairs and kids finally off to college—we’ve suddenly returned to youthful kinks and added new ones to the list, thanks to Lee.
His thick dishwater hair, slightly damp at his temples, falls into his face as he watches us. He doesn’t try to flip it back, and his hands aren’t free to let him do anything else with it. We call him a “hair farmer” because he loves his locks almost as much as his body, but I personally call him my “Beast.” To his face, I use his name, though he rarely uses ours. When he comes for one of his late-night visits, he says something like, “How’re my favorite nerds?” (which we are, but the sexy kind). Then he kisses us, usually Jeff first. He gets so intense so fast that he leaves us breathless before we can even guide him to a beer and the bedroom.
As Jeff’s panting turns to grunts, I know Lee’s big dick must be achingly hard, straining against the rope that binds it to his thigh. I don’t know if he’s wishing he were fucking me or Jeff or someone else or no one at all. But I hold those rich brown eyes, and I feel as pinned by them as by Jeff’s pistoning cock. I feel flushed and dizzy at the combined sensations of the familiar and the new, bound together as closely as Lee’s thighs are bound apart, ankles held neatly to the heavy round feet of our sage-green armchair. It’s the one I usually read in. Now, before I sit in it, I smell it. I’d bet money Jeff does, too, but I don’t ask.
Suddenly, I’m there: trapped beneath the man I love, held by the gaze of a man I crave, connected by the fiery thread of desire to both. I’m soaring through and away from them at the same time, coming so hard I have to howl it out until Jeff can’t help but hit it, too, yelling, “Yeahhhh!” like a sports fan, cheering me and himself on at our moment of shared ecstasy. “Fuck yeah,” I echo, throat dry and a little sore.
After my breathing slows, I switch off the vibe and disentangle myself from it and sweet, sweaty Jeff. I’m only aware I’ve looked away from Lee when I hear him suddenly hiss through his teeth.
“Beast!” I snap, so upset that I’ve failed to keep him on task that I let my pet name slip out. I sit up and look over at him, feigning outrage to cover my embarrassment. “You came on my favorite chair!”
Lee nods his shaggy head, letting more hair fall across his beautiful eyes. “Gonna untie me and make me clean it up?” he asks, voice menacingly low. He runs his tongue across his teeth. He’s fucking hot, and he knows it. It’s why, tied up or not, he dominates our relationship.
Life is short. I take a risk. “Maybe,” I answer. I lick my lips, hoping I match an iota of his oomph while I look at his half-erect cock, still wrapped up but, for the moment, spent. “But first Jeff and I are gonna clean you up.”
Lee’s eyes sparkle as he makes his prick jump and leak a little more. Jeff chuckles as we make our way off the bed together. I may be the happiest nerd in the world.
WE ARE MAGIC
Giselle Renarde
Body parts gleamed like polished bone as Parker lifted them from their cardboard crates. “I love hanging out with you,” Nabila said. She picked up a sheet of Bubble Wrap and draped it around h
er waist like a miniskirt. “What do you think of my new look?”
He handed her a legless torso. “Here, hold this for a sec.”
She dropped the Bubble Wrap before hugging Parker’s mannequin to her chest. The plastic was so slippery she had to squeeze it hard. “You’ve got the coolest job.”
He snorted, laughing. “If you say so.”
“You get to be alone in the store after dark, when the mall is closed. It’s so exclusive.”
Parker’s smile fell as he flicked his bangs out of his eyes. “It’s not like I went to design school to become a window dresser.”
“Nobody ends up doing what they went to school for. I didn’t get my masters so I could sell cheap denim to teens.”
His gaze bore into her, like he was seeing something internal, something private. “You’ll find a better job.”
“I’m not even looking anymore.”
“Yeah. Me neither.”
Parker popped in one leg while Nabila gripped the body.
“What do you think of the new mannequins?” he asked.
“They sure are white. Did you order them?”
“No. Corporate picks the dolls.”
“I wonder if there are any brown ones.” Her skin looked darker than usual against the mannequin’s shiny plastic whiteness. “When I was a kid, I watched a children’s show set in a department store after hours. Ever see that?”
Parker found another leg and worked it into the empty socket. “Doesn’t ring any bells.”
“One character was a window dresser. She always wore a pink and red jumpsuit. Then there was a guy who was a mannequin. He came to life when you put on his magic hat. That’s what I think of every time I stay after hours with you.”
“I’m sure we could find you an ugly-ass jumpsuit,” he said.
Nabila let go of the mannequin once it could stand on its own two feet. Grabbing a sunhat off the rack, she set it on Parker’s head. “There’s your magic hat.”
“Am I supposed to come to life?” Parker asked. “Because I’ll need a serious dose of coffee before that happens.”
Nabila watched Parker sort through packing peanuts until he found a head. “What about the arms?”
He said, “It’s easier to put them on after she’s dressed.”
Nabila played with the new summer stock while Parker flipped through his sketchbook. The mall was on a conservation kick, which meant most lights were turned off. Fortunately the place was built with so many sunroofs and windows that the moon and parking-lot lights kept their shop front pretty bright.
“You’d look great in this,” Nabila said, holding up a sundress.
He barely looked up from his sketchbook before saying, “Not all fairies prance around in florals.”
“But if you’ve got the body for it…” “Who says I do?”
There wasn’t exactly a glint in his eye, but she saw something impish in him.
“Do you believe in magic?” she asked.
Before he could answer, she sang Olivia Newton-John at him, dancing with the dress, hopping over scattered body parts.
“Well,” he said, “I didn’t believe in magic before, but that performance convinced me.”
“Then you believe me when I say your hat’s magic? And if you take it off you won’t be able to move?”
His brow furrowed. “Nabila, I’ve got work to do.”
He set down his sketchbook and started across the window riser. When he arrived center stage, Nabila plucked the sunhat from his head. “Abracadabra! Without your magic hat, you can no longer move!”
She expected him to either yell at her or ignore the gag, but he didn’t say a word.
Nabila moved around front to get a look at his expression. It read blank, even when she waved a hand in front of his face.
“Haha, Parker. Very convincing.”
He didn’t even twitch.
“Okay, then.” She tossed the sundress over one shoulder and took hold of his top button. “Time to dress my mannequin for summer.”
She slowly unbuttoned his shirt. She figured he’d knock her hand away before she got all the way to the bottom, but his body remained stiff even as she pulled out his tucked hem.
She’d undone his shirt and he hadn’t reacted in the slightest, not even to the cool mall air creeping inside his shirt, tickling his sides.
“Time to take off your top,” Nabila said, hoping he’d break. “Here I go…”
When he didn’t respond, she felt challenged to follow through. She took hold of his collar and pushed his shirt across his shoulders, then pulled it down. His arms were like tree branches hanging at his sides. He was right—this process would be easier without the arms.
His chest was lean, white. Tight pink nipples. Sparse golden hairs leading to his belt.
“Next I take off your pants. And without your magic hat, you can’t stop me.”
She expected him to laugh and say, “Okay, enough of this.”
But he didn’t say a word. Eyes forward, two glass beads.
“Here I go.” She took hold of his belt, slowly slipped leather across leather. Unbuttoned his jeans. They were loose-fitting enough that they started sliding down his narrow hips even with the fly done up. She wasn’t prepared for that to happen. She almost pulled them back up as they travelled the length of his shorts. The weight of his belt carried them down his legs.
No, not legs. Leg. One leg. And one prosthesis.
Nabila would never have guessed. “I didn’t know you were bionic! So that’s why you walk with a limp.”
He didn’t laugh, didn’t even flinch.
“Parker?” she asked. “You’re scaring me. Say something.”
She watched his slender body for signs of life. His chest didn’t expand. His eyes didn’t blink.
Cupping his cheeks in her hands, she said, “Breathe! Why aren’t you breathing?”
She stood just a whisper away. If he’d breathed, she’d have felt warmth on her lips. But she didn’t feel a thing.
She pressed her mouth to his and breathed into him. Her breath disappeared inside his body.
“Stop screwing with me, Parker! Breathe!”
But no matter how many times she planted the kiss of life on his parted lips, he remained stiff and still.
Tears welled in Nabila’s eyes as she spotted the sunhat discarded on the riser. She scooped it up and placed it on his head and his whole body jolted.
“Oh thank goodness,” Nabila cried, wrapping her arms around his nearly naked body.
“Did you strip me?” He stepped out of his pants, then plucked the sundress from Nabila’s shoulder and put it on. It clung to his skin with sweet insouciance. “There. Satisfied? It even matches my hat.”
“Good,” Nabila said, panic stricken, amazed by the powers she apparently possessed. “Because you can never take off that hat. It’s magic.”
“Magic is just another word for obedience,” Parker said, flinging the sunhat across the store. “Now help me with these mannequins. A window dresser’s work is never done.”
ROOM 253
Iris Ann Hunter
She knelt on the carpet, in position, naked except for the white silk scarf that hid her eyes. Her knees ached, but she didn’t dare move. She knew He was watching her. He’d said as much in the note He’d left for her to find. It had been waiting for her on the bed, the scarf alongside.
Finally, a soft click at the door broke the silence. She heard the door open and close, followed by the sound of footfalls across the carpet. They stopped a short distance away.
She inhaled the air, seeking out the scent of her Master. A faint aroma welcomed her. It should’ve excited her, thrilled her, but it didn’t. Instead, it terrified her, for one simple reason—it wasn’t Him.
A small whimper left her lips.
“He said you were beautiful. He was right.” The man’s voice sliced through the air, cutting her deep. It was a compliment, but all she heard was confirmation that her owner had sent som
eone else in His place, something He’d never done before. In that moment, the fear blossomed, only to fall away like a spent flower, replaced by something else. Anger.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
The man chuckled softly. “He also said you were a handful.”
She felt the air shift as he moved past her, ignoring her question. Off to the side she heard things being placed on the dresser—a wallet perhaps, and keys. He moved back and sat on the bed directly behind her, settling himself so she was nestled between his legs.
Her entire body trembled, but that didn’t stop him from running his touch up her arm and along her shoulder. “Hair like the darkest night,” he whispered. “Skin like newborn snow.” She closed her eyes, recognizing the words that had first fallen from His lips. Now He had passed them on to another, just like her.
His hand fisted into her long waves and gently pulled her head back. “I wish I could gaze into those green eyes of yours—eyes he said were the color of wild emeralds. But it appears he has chosen to keep them hidden.”
An abundance of warmth exploded within her core, a caress to go with the slap. She had assumed the blindfold was for her, but it wasn’t. It was for Him. To keep something for Himself, despite giving the rest of her away.
A smile played along her lips.
“You think that’s funny?” he asked, sounding slightly amused. “Shouldn’t I tell you why I’m here? Shouldn’t I tell you that you were the sweetener to a business transaction?”
The smile fell away. “If you’re trying to hurt me,” she snapped, “then you’ll have to try harder than that.”
She expected retaliation, but all she felt was a caress along her shoulder. “I don’t want your pain. That is his, and his alone. He made that clear. But I will take your submission.” His hand slid down between her legs and without warning, two fingers entered her, forcing a gasp from her lips. “You will obey me.”
“And if I choose not to?”
She felt him smile against her cheek. “Then it won’t be me you have to answer to, will it?” She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. They both knew the answer. “He doesn’t seem the type to take disobedience lightly. Aside from using your safeword, it would seem you have no choice in the matter.” She groaned when a third finger slipped inside. “I am afraid that for now, until dawn takes back the sky, you are mine.” A sound at the door drew her attention. “Or perhaps, I should say…ours.”
Big Book of Submission Volume 2 Page 13