by Cindy Jacks
Wilder’s Fantasies
Cindy Jacks
Fiona Wilder’s name didn’t fit her at all…until she met Marcelo. Introducing her to a world of BDSM sexual play limited only by their imaginations, he unlocks Fiona’s wildest fantasies.
http://cindyjacks.com/
Wilder’s Fantasies
By Cindy Jacks
Copyright© 2013 Cindy Jacks
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Cindy Jacks
Electronic book publication 2013
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead or places, events or locations is coincidental.
This book is intended for personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold, given away or loaned out other than as allowed by Amazon.com. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work.
Wilder’s Fantasies
Cindy Jacks
Fantasy One
Master and Servant
The silken blindfold cooled Fiona’s eyelids; her heart beating out a powerful cadence. Leather bindings cut into her wrists and ankles, winding across her body and snaking around her waist. More ropes held her legs akimbo.
How did I get here? Fiona asked herself. Tricky question, that one. Did she mean “here” as in stripped down to her slip and bound in the bedroom of a man who fascinated and frightened her at the same time? Or could it be that she wondered how she had evolved from Ms. Fiona Wilder, CPA and hopeless singleton to Marcelo’s preciosa, a woman who caught fire at the thought of giving over to his every desire.
No, she corrected herself, they are my desires. Marcelo made himself clear on that point. He had wined and dined her for months, putting ideas in her head that at first she found alarming. Their time together tonight wasn’t about what he wanted, but about how much she wanted to push herself. Thus far, Fiona had surprised herself with where she had allowed herself to go.
The night started with a light meal. Wine, an assortment of cheeses, artisan bread—a little snack to sate the need for food so no other physical needs interfered with the sexual appetite. Then, he took her hand and led her to the master bedroom. A darkened hallway led from the living room of his mid-town condo
She had allowed him to undress her. Taking his time, Marcelo unfastened the buttons down the front of her dress one at a time. The sleek fabric slipped over her shoulders and into a pile on the floor. Reaching beneath her slip, he slid her panties down her legs and pushed them aside with the dress. Fiona’s cheeks and ears heated at the sight of her white cotton underwear, embarrassed she hadn’t thought to buy something sexier, more sophisticated.
Marcelo freed her hair from the single pin that held it in a bun and cupped her face in his hands. His lips brushed against hers. “Are you ready?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“Do you remember what to say if you want me to stop?”
She looked into his cool blue eyes, studied the black waves along his hairline. Disbelief took hold of her very time she stopped to consider the stunning features of this man. How could someone so handsome want her? Plain, unremarkable Fiona. Ignoring the doubts that plagued her, she answered, “Strangelove.”
“That’s right.” He traced her cheekbones and jaw line with a fingertip. “If you feel at all frightened or uncomfortable, you say the word and we’ll stop.”
With great care, Marcelo set about tethering her to bronze rings that lined the wall of his bedroom. First, he hoisted her onto a barstool. Adjusting and readjusting her pose, he worked her into the perfect position: buttocks on the edge of the seat, legs and arms splayed wide open. Once satisfied, he secured various bindings, slings and clips to hold her immobilized.
Confronted with the reflection her half-naked body in the wall of mirrors across the room, her most private parts glaring back at her, she closed her eyes. Whether by design or as a reaction to her obvious discomfort, Marcelo gave her the luxury of a blindfold. Fiona relaxed a little, no longer aware of her brazen display.
And so, she found herself here, adrenaline coursing through her veins, cunt pounding a violent tattoo, dying to know what Marcelo would do next. Though she couldn’t tell what he see his movements, she could smell his fragrant skin and feel its heat shift around her. When warmth retreated and she knew he had left the room. Struggling to control a burst of panic, Fiona took several deep breaths, but for the life of her she couldn’t get that Stephen King book from her head. What if he didn’t come back? There was no way she could get free.
“Chelo?” she called to him, using his nickname.
Footsteps in the hall announced his arrival. “I’m here, preciosa. Don’t worry. I just ran to the kitchen for a few things.”
The bulk of his muscular form moved between her legs. Bare skin at his waist touched the inside of her thighs, a pulse of arousal tugged at her core. A lush, tropical scent filled her nostrils and he pressed something sweet to her mouth. Fiona parted her lips and bit into the fruit. Juices streamed down her chin and her neck. Marcelo’s tongue laved the droplets from her skin.
She took a shaky breath, her voice faltering, but managed to say, “Passion fruit?” The golden delicacy had become one of her favorite treats. He had introduced her to a rare variety over dinner one night, feeding her from his plate.
“Mmm…that’s right.” He covered her mouth with his, tasting more than kissing. Fiona longed to touch him, to run her hands over his strong shoulders; the denial of this delight sparked a flash of desperation. When he broke away, she pulled against the ropes holding her wrists.
Marcelo chuckled, not in a cruel way, but clearly amused at her reflex to reach out for him. “It’s difficult having no control over when or how I touch you, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“But exciting?”
At this, Fiona smiled. “Yes.”
His warm laughter filled the space between them. Moving closer, he dabbed something creamy onto her lips. Licking at the substance, she moved the rich flavor over her tongue. “Chocolate frosting?”
“I can’t stump you, can I?” He peppered her with kisses, cleaning away the sticky residue.
Entwining a hand in her hair, he pulled her closer and pressed his mouth against her lips. The kiss deepened, their breath caught between them. Fiona yielded to his tongue as it searched out hers. He strayed to edge of her jaw, down the curve of her neck and settled at the cleavage that peeked out the top of her slip. One hand skipped its way along her thigh to her already wet cunt. Though she wanted to give herself over to however the night progressed, instinctively she stiffened against the intimate touch.
He didn’t speak, though she half expected a reproach. Instead his hand retreated, moving up her body to her breasts, the caresses gentle and unhurried. Finally, the kisses tapered off and he backed away from her again.
Marcelo worked the knot that held the blindfold in place.
“No,” she murmured. “The mirrors…”
“What about them?”
The black fabric fell away from her eyes and once again she saw herself, her body opened, vulnerable. Faced with her dusky pink cunt, legs spread akimbo, she flushed with both arousal and shame. He stood next to her, watching her try not to look at herself.
“I’ll be right back,” Marcelo said.
Fiona thought to object, but his retreating form gave her no opportunity to do so. She let her gaze wander around the room. The austere space gave her little distraction. A king size four-poster bed of a simple design sat off to the side, leaving most of the room as empty space except the small table next to the barstool.
She sneaked looks at her reflection. Working up the courage, she finally stared straight ahead. The sight of her own arms and legs trussed up like a marionette sent a wave of heat throug
h her core, need drawing her pussy tight. Marcelo could do anything to her and she would be powerless to stop it. He could even ignore the safe word if he wanted to, but Fiona knew he wouldn’t. She trusted him. Still, the edge of uncertainty added to the adventure.
He returned with a bucket of ice and large candle. Once he had set them on the table, Marcelo drew a lighter from the pocket of his linen slacks. Fiona’s pulse quickened.
“What’s that for?” she asked.
Offering no explanation, he lit the candle and put the lighter away. His hands reached inside the neckline of her slip and scooped out her breasts. Stroking and nibbling at them, he worked each nipple until they drew into taut, sensitive buds.
A plume of gray smoke rose from the candle once Marcelo blew out the flame. Holding the candle several inches above, he dripped the melted wax onto her skin. At first, along her shoulder and chest, then down to her nipples. A little warmer than was comfortable, the liquid stung for a moment until it cooled and hardened. He traced the path of the candle wax with an ice cube. Her chest shuddered, trying to catch the breath stolen by the exquisite juxtaposition of fire and ice. Again, her cunt contracted, sending a frisson of pleasure through her entire body.
Replicating the process, he drizzled the hot fluid along the crease of her thigh. Her pussy throbbed at the rush of heat, then constricted against the cold that followed. Marcelo left an ice cube nestled against her labia. Melted water pooled around slit and asshole. Fiona panted, unable to contain her exclamations.
He stripped off his pants and nuzzled up to her, pressing his hard shaft against her hipbone. She moved to capture his lips, but he dipped his head away.
“Getting impatient?”
“I am,” she answered, voice thick with arousal.
Placing his cock against her clit, he teased her. The velvet soft head rubbed the swollen, sensitive bud. He took one nipple in his teeth offsetting the pleasure between her legs with aching pressure at her breast.
Marcelo kissed her, moving his hand to her tuft of pubic hair. In soft circles, he spread the mixture of her juices and ice water over her mound and between her pussy lips. Would he finally enter her? Desire drove her to a space in her mind where shyness and reticence no longer existed.
“Chelo,” she whispered.
“Si, preciosa?”
“I want…” Words failed, never having uttered such a sentiment in her life. “I want…you. Your body, all of it. I want to touch you and lick you and―”
“But this is what you asked for. You wish to stop?”
“No, not stop, but I need a release.”
His hand stroked the back of her neck and his breath grazed her cheeks as he spoke. “You can hold out a little longer, then I promise I’ll give you what you need.”
He pushed a finger deep inside of her slit and fondled the softening wetness. Marcelo eased another finger into her, but as he tried to include a third, an exhalation stuck in her throat.
“Relax,” he said, twisting his wrist to open her wider. His fingertips touched a spot deep inside that shook her to the core. She moaned and squirmed, the stroke repeated over and over until her juices covered his hand. Her tight sheath gave way and the third finger slid into her. And then a fourth.
Fiona writhed against the restraints and choked back a gasp. The sweet agony of his hand prying its way into her cunt unleashed more wantonness.
“Please…please fuck me.” She trembled.
A hint of a smile turned up the corners of his generous lips. He withdrew his fingers, leaving her empty and throbbing. Palm scooping under her ass, he drove his thick shaft into her cunt. Marcelo kicked the barstool from beneath her, his arms and the leather ties bearing most of her weight, but not all of it. Gravity left her impaled on his cock. The bindings pulled tight, biting into her skin while he thrusted forward and up, their bodies slapping together.
She cried out at the rapture and pain he inflicted at the same time. Abdomen tight, breath rasping, cream dripping from her sodden pussy, Fiona didn’t fight against of the sensations overwhelming her. She reached a point where she could no longer distinguish pleasure from pain, where her body stopped and his began. In the mirror, she saw the rapture on her face, the rippling of Marcelo’s ass as he pumped harder and faster. Every thrust brought her closer to climaxing.
Thick musk hanging in the air, she breathed him into her lungs. Not only had he invaded her cunt, but he seems to seep into her pores, flow through her veins. He possessed and controlled her. He owned her, perhaps not only in this moment, but completely.
Loosening his grip, he allowed her bound limbs to take more of her weight. Exquisite agony shot through her. His cock delved deeper, her inner walls spasming. Her entire body quaked. Rivulets of sweat streaked down her body, tears wet her lashes. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take, but she had to try. Her cunt ached with the need for release and more than that she needed to please Marcelo, needed to garner his affection and admiration.
He thrust his cock up to the hilt and held her still, pulsing his pelvis against her clit. Ecstasy exploded inside her. Pleasure blocked out all other sensation. She clamped her eyes shut, tears trickling down her face. She heard herself crying out, yelping and moaning, but it was as if she were listening to some other woman coming. Her cunt clamped around his shaft, massive tremors spreading out from her core to her extremities. The rings holding her restraints clattered against the wall with the force of her contractions.
Marcelo grasped her hips, pumping in and out a few more times. His smooth motions broke with the twitches and jerks of his muscles tightening and going slack. Hot cum seeped down Fiona’s thigh, her own climax ending with ripples of aftershocks. A little at a time, the tremors receded, the storm inside her quieted.
Worn from the emotional journey she had completed with the man who had proven himself her master, Fiona let her body slump against his. He held her close with one strong arm and unfastened the clips the attached her lower half to the wall. Her legs dropped to the ground, quivering and unable to bear her weight.
Still bolstering her, he freed her arms. With ease, he cradled her and carried her to the bed. Limp and exhausted, she lay motionless while he untied the leather bindings and discarded her slip, now drenched with sweat. Marcelo covered her naked form with a quilt and kissed her forehead before he made his way around the room to tidy up.
Playthings properly stowed, he returned to the bed, his wide, sculpted silhouette accented in dim light. Fiona huddled against the warmth of his skin beneath the sheets.
“Did I serve you well?” she asked, gripped with insecurity that he had seen the darkness inside of her and found it lacking.
“You did beautifully tonight, preciosa.” He wrapped his body around her and stroked her hair. “But you have much to learn. It is I who serves you in this thing of ours—not the other way around. And when you’re ready, you can tell me what fantasy you’d like to explore next.”
Electricity crackled in the pit of Fiona’s stomach; she snuggled closer to him, enveloping herself in his embrace. Ideas she had never dared to indulge swirled around her mind. With Marcelo’s guidance, she imagined a whole new world of passion, her desires no longer burdened by inhibitions.
Fantasy Two
Strangelove
The ropes Marcelo wound into a neat coil differed from the restraints he had used the first time he bound Fiona. Soft, worsted cotton instead of leather. Adrenaline coursed through her as she thought of their first encounter. Almost a month had passed since then.
At first she thought she might never return to Chelo’s bed, and in the weeks that passed he had given her room to figure out what she wanted. She soon discovered that the fire he had started could not be extinguished. Flashes of memories came to her at the most inconvenient moments: during meetings at work, in the middle of dinner with her parents, even in church, for God’s sake.
Every time she dared to think of him, of what they had done, her skin turned crimson and gre
w hot to the touch. Her cunt tightened to the point of aching, her pulse echoing between her thighs. She burned with a heat she had never before experienced. No prior lover even came close. There was no denying it. They had forged a singular bond of trust, of desire and of requirement. Simply put, she needed him—and only him—to play out her wildest fantasies.
An urgent kiss snapped her attention back to the man before her. He shimmied her blouse over her head and unzipped her tweed skirt, then let it fall to the floor. Goose bumps dotted Fiona’s bare skin, though the room was not at all chilly. Her nipples tightened to the point of pain, brushing against the silk of her bra. But soon enough he had stripped her of that and the matching black panties.
Forbidden to move, she struggled to control her breathing as he walked around her. One finger traced her jaw and her neck then slid down her torso, barely grazing her mound before it swiped over one hip to tickle the cleft of her ass. Her cunt spasmed with need, but she knew it would be a while before he would allow her release.
The first knot he made looped the rope around her waist. He ran the cord up her stomach, just beneath her tits, and made another complex knot. Continuing up her body, the binding bisected her breasts and arched over each shoulder. After he joined the ties that circled around her ribcage, he wound the ends together, down her back, and secured them with a square knot to the rope around her waist. Marcelo stood back to admire his handiwork. A mountaineer’s clip fastened in back completed the harness.
Fiona inspected her reflection. The smooth rope pressed into her skin differently than the leather had. It made a decorative pattern, turning her into a live work of macramé. Thus far, the cord proved more comfortable. She imagined the way he could take charge of her by changing his grip.
Marcelo skimmed hands along her shoulders, down her belly, and then stroked her aching mound. She shivered―an involuntary response, but one that she knew would he would choose to punish her for. Grabbing her by the hair, he bent her forward and smacked her ass several times.