Between the Cheeks

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  I stopped, right hand still wrapped around my shaft, which stood hard and straight.

  “You’ll get used to it. Now, on the dining table you’ll find a set of wrist and ankle cuffs. Put them on.”

  I found them. Fitting with the theme, they were white leather. I couldn’t see how to fasten them on because there didn’t seem to be any buckles or locks.

  “Just wrap it around your wrist.”

  I did as I was told and felt the ends come together with a strong magnetic pull. I gave it a yank but it refused to budge.

  “Magnetic restraints. I told you.”

  When I had them all fastened, another voice told me to go pick out a movie and put it in the DVD player. My hard-on hadn’t subsided yet and the cuffs were adding to my arousal. I don’t know what it is about cuffs, but you feel somehow more naked when you’re wearing them, or at least, I do.

  The movies didn’t have any titles or cover pictures but each was numbered. Which should I choose? I opened a box and found a white DVD with a number corresponding to the box cover.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, just put in number twenty-three.”

  “I suppose we’re going to have to tell him everything.”

  “So many pretty boys are indecisive.”

  “It’s all right, Pretty, we didn’t choose you for your brains.”

  “Oh look, now you’ve gone and hurt his feelings!”

  “She didn’t mean it, Pretty. We’re all sure you’re very smart, aren’t we, ladies?”

  I turned beet red to choruses of, “Yes, yes,” “Sure,” and, “Of course we do,” while I put the requested DVD in. They had me go back to the couch and sit down again. This time I remembered to sit with my legs apart. As the opening credits flashed, they told me to put my hands behind my back and as soon as I did, I felt my wrists snap together in magnetic restraint.

  It was a porn movie. It figured. It was okay, but it really didn’t do that much for me. It had mostly attractive women with fake boobs swimming together nude. Then some guys came over and fucked ’em in a few different ways. Pretty standard fare, really. So I leaned back and watched while my cock wilted. They freed my hands and had me change the movie a few times. I guess they were trying to get to know me, or at least my taste in porn.

  Each time I changed the movie, they’d restrain my hands again. Eventually, I came across a movie I liked, as evidenced by my returning hard-on. Surprise, surprise, it was about some ball-busting women tying some guy up and fucking him in front of an audience. See, he didn’t know there was going to be an audience until he was already tied up, then they opened some curtains and he could see a room full of people watching. I really liked that part. I told you I was an exhibitionist!

  Then three different women fucked him with strap-ons. I didn’t think I’d like that part, but I did. Or at least my cock did. That kind of disturbed me a little bit—that my cock seemed to like that so much—but I wasn’t too scared because I knew I was alone and no one was going to come in and do that to me.

  The voices made all sorts of comments about what I liked and what they should do to me and about all the precome dripping from my cock. They put a close-up of my cock on the TV screen for me to watch in an inset box alongside the movie. That was kind of cool. You never see yourself like that. I mean, even if you watch yourself masturbate, the angle’s different, you know?

  At one point in the movie, this one woman was scratching the guy’s balls with these long metal clawlike things on the ends of her fingers. I guess my legs started to come together and the woman who seemed to be in charge barked, “Keep those legs apart!” The next thing I knew, my feet were rooted to the floor, with my legs really wide apart.

  “There are magnetic points in strategic places that we can activate, Pretty. Why, what sort of fun would it be if we couldn’t tether you to something when we wanted to? Yes, there are points like this all over, not just in the floor, but you’ll see. It seems we have a live one, girls!”

  The movie I was watching ended but another came on right after it. This one showed a guy attached to a wall, again with an audience. There was only one woman in it. She was beautiful but really mean. You could tell she liked hurting the guy. Like when you watch a horror movie, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.

  “Mmm, Pretty, Pretty. You like that, don’t you?”

  I almost hadn’t heard her. No, I didn’t like that. I wasn’t into that sort of thing. I stole a glance at my cock on the screen and saw it bobbing and dancing. They unfastened my wrists and the woman told me I could touch myself. My hands raced to my shaft and started pumping.

  “Stop!”

  It took me a second, but I managed to stop.

  “I’m going to let you come, but I’ll tell you when. There’s a part coming up here that I think you’ll really like. It’d be a shame if you came too soon and missed it, don’t you think?”

  They freed my hands. “Press PAUSE on the remote.” They freed my legs and told me to open the drawer in the coffee table. Toys. There were lots of different kinds of toys. There were things in there I had no idea how to use or what they might be meant for.

  “Now Pretty, you see that sweet little red butt plug?”

  I suppose I hadn’t really been thinking when I looked in the drawer that these were for me to use—on myself! Whoa, butt plug? And it wasn’t “little” either. Somehow, I gave myself away.

  “What’s the matter, Pretty, never used one of those? Ooh, I think you’ll like it. Don’t you think he’ll like it, girls?”

  Once again, there were choruses of, “Oh yes,” and, “You know it.”

  “And besides, it’s always so much fun watching a sweet little anal virgin trying to insert his first plug! Here’s what you’re gonna do, Pretty; you’re going to pick up that bottle of lube and the red plug, close the drawer, and walk around the table so you’re standing between the TV and the table. That’s right. Now, you’re going to bend over and put your hands on the tabletop. Yes, that’s nice. Now, take your hands off the table—no, no, don’t stand up—grab your buttcheeks and spread’em. We want to see that lovely virgin hole of yours. That’s right.

  “Okay, you can let go. Now, squeeze some lube on your right index finger and rub it over your anus. Yes, now get some more lube and do it again. Push your finger in a little bit. Doesn’t that feel nice?”

  And you know what? It did feel good. I wasn’t going to tell her that, but it did kind of turn me on. I’d never done anything like that before. I never thought I’d want to. I mean, I’ve fucked a girl in the ass before and I really liked it, but I never wanted to put anything in my ass. It kind of sent a chill down my spine, into my balls.

  “Answer me, boy, doesn’t it feel nice?”

  “Uh, no.” It wasn’t a total lie, but it wasn’t the total truth either.

  “Well, that’s a shame. I guess you’ll be pretty uncomfortable for a while then. Squeeze some lube on the tip of the plug and coat the whole thing. You need more than that.” I followed her instructions, slicking the plug with the liquid. “That’s better. Now, reach back and pull your cheeks apart with your left hand and find your asshole with the plug.”

  There was some giggling while I tried to locate the right place. I started sweating. My hard-on was gone and I was getting more and more embarrassed, but also more and more aroused. Finally I found my asshole. Listen, it’s not that easy when you’re doing it for the first time and people are watching.

  “That’s it. Now slowly push it in. Keep going.”

  It hurt. I thought it might feel good, and it did, slightly, but it also hurt, straining my unused anal muscles to the max. I told them it hurt and they said it wouldn’t hurt for long and to keep going. I finally got it in; I felt my ass close over the bump and the plug sort of got sucked up and held tight. She was right, it didn’t hurt anymore. It felt all right—nice, actually. The longer it was in there, the less I felt it.

  “Stand up, Pretty.”

  I felt it then, like
an electric shock straight to my cock, which wasn’t so soft anymore, by the way. She told me to walk around to the couch again and take a seat. Walking was an interesting experience. Sitting down was an even more interesting experience.

  “Press PLAY and put your hands behind your back again. That’s right, squirm all you like, but open those legs.”

  I felt the magnets lock as the movie started again. It was hard to concentrate on the movie with the butt plug in. I couldn’t keep still, and every time I moved, another foreign sensation would take hold of my cock or my balls.

  It wasn’t until the bitch in the movie shoved a big plug into the guy she’d been tormenting earlier that I was drawn back to watching. I realized my hands were free and they were wrapped around my cock. I have no idea how they got there, but there they were. She started smacking his balls with a riding crop and his cock got harder and harder. So had mine. I was riveted to the screen and whacking off for all I was worth. I think I’d forgotten where I was.

  When she told me to come, I almost didn’t hear her. I probably would have come anyway and I bet she knew it. The woman in the movie gave the guy a really hard smack on the side of his cock and he just exploded. So did I. Holy shit, I’d never felt anything like that, and you’ve got to remember, this was just the first day, the first few hours!

  Oh fuck! I wasn’t going to tell you what it was that turned me on that much….

  I’ve only been home a few days and I still can’t believe all the stuff that happened.

  You know what she said before I left—the woman who made me do most of those crazy things? She said she was also the woman in that video I was watching. That same woman was in a lot of the videos, at least a lot of the videos they made me watch. I think she lives here. Yeah, well, probably not in Staten Island, but I bet she lives in the City.

  Listen, actually, that’s why I’m telling you all this stuff. See I got this idea. I really have to find her. I guess maybe I’m a little obsessed, you know? So I was wondering if I could borrow your gallery space. I mean, I know you only get to show there once a year and all, but it would be perfect, and besides, I’ll make it up to you, man. But, a lady like her—I bet she goes to lots of art openings. Anyway, she’d want to see this one. There’s no way she would pass it up.

  It would be just like at the loft, only this time it would be open to the public. Don’t they still do that performance art stuff? It’d be like that. People could come in and watch me and tell me what to do, but only the ladies. And then when she showed up to see what all the noise was about, well then I could talk to her. I could tell her I wanted to do…I could tell her I wanted to be her slave, or… Okay, that sounds lame, but you know what I mean.

  So could I borrow your space? Please? I can’t stand it; I just have to find her. I think this would really impress her. I know she liked me and if I could only see her in person, just once, I know everything would work out right.

  PLAYING THE MARKET

  Angela Caperton

  Who knew you could lose your ass in bonds?

  Jessie sipped her second gin and tonic, making it last. Twenty-seven years old and until a week ago a millionaire on paper, now she had to hope the quinine would keep her healthy because she didn’t even have medical insurance. How the fuck was she going to pay her rent?

  Smartest girl in the office, Robert had called her—Mister Sure Thing, guaranteed 18 percent annual interest, now doing eighteen months with at least eighteen people ready to kill him when he got out, herself included in the happy ranks. She should have smelled the bullshit the minute he claimed the investments were absolutely safe, a no-brainer, and it was government guaranteed. Sure enough, somewhere at the bottom of a big stack of imaginary paper the government guaranteed something but that guarantee got lost in three or four layers of leverage that had folded up like a lowball poker hand in a game of hold ’em.

  How the fuck am I going to pay my rent? she thought again and smiled, turning at the bar to scan the big, smoky room full of tables and people. Funny thing, ever since the world went to shit, nobody paid much attention to the smoking ordinance. Jessie had never been in Waxy’s before and she wondered if the crowd was typical—a little older than the places she usually went, better dressed, like the downturn hadn’t hit them as hard yet.

  She crossed her legs, smoothing her stockings, shoulders back, chin up, looking for the right guy. A gray-haired, fat man in a Lauren sweater tried to catch her eye but she pretended she didn’t see him.

  God, she felt like she was back in high school as she looked over the boys, knowing exactly what she wanted from them. She’d had standards even then and she’d prided herself on being picky until she found the right one. Tonight was no different. She knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted five hundred dollars to make her rent.

  She knew Waxy’s management would frown upon her new profession but Jessie knew if her plan was to succeed, she needed to be in a place where men had money. She remembered the punch line of an old joke: which one of the cheap bastards gave you a quarter? All of them.

  No. It would just be this one time, one good fuck with a guy she might have slept with anyway, and she would never do this again. She just needed a stopgap.

  She shifted on her stool, letting her skirt ride up just a little, not slutty but casual, and she looked down the bar to a man three stools away to her right. Not bad: midthirties; thick, dark hair; serious around his eyes, but his lips looked scrumptious.

  He looked at her as if he sensed her appraisal. He moved with fluid ease to sit beside her, his smile confident and warm. “I’m Derrick,” he said. “Derrick Johns.”

  “Jessie,” she nearly purred as she broke his gaze and looked down, a little shy but not sure why. His eyes were deep blue and very direct.

  He tapped the bar to attract the bartender. “You work in the district?” he asked, his voice like cognac.

  “No,” she lied. “I’m a stewardess.”

  He grinned. “No offense, but you look smart enough I figured you’re a trader, and I thought you might have lost your job.”

  She swiveled to face him, a little shaken.

  He smiled. “Drinks are on me.”

  They fell into easy conversation; he was funny, quick and intelligent. She liked talking to him. When he touched her hand as they worked on their third drink, she liked that, too.

  As she finished the drink, he leaned close and thrilled her. “I have a room at the Alpine. Will you go back there with me?”

  She found exhaling hard all of a sudden. “Sure,” she said, trying for a gaze that left no mistaking her intentions, hoping for a hard and mercenary shine. “For five hundred dollars.”

  He laughed but she held her expression, the faintest twitch of a smile, exactly as she had rehearsed.

  “You mean it?” Derrick remarked, his voice a little breathless. “I’ll be damned. All right. Why not? But let’s make this interesting, shall we? Five hundred cash, but you have to do whatever I say. Fair?”

  She wavered and hoped her weakness didn’t show. “I don’t like pain,” she stated flatly.

  “What kind of sicko do you think I am? No, no pain. Nothing bad at all. First thing is, we go someplace else. Come on.”

  They left Waxy’s, caught a cab, and he gave the driver an address on North Water Street. He did not seem inclined to speak and she stared out the window at the light-splashed boulevard, wondering what she had gotten herself into and if she might find a refrigerator box to live in if she had to bail out of the cab.

  The bar was called La Fontaine d’Absinthe. She appraised Derrick and begged fate that he wasn’t some kind of secret goth, but her concern faded as soon as they cleared the leaded-glass door. The establishment was exquisitely furnished in authentic belle époque wood, lit with flickering flames from candles and a fire inside a massive stone hearth, and rich with the scent of leather and money. Jessie reined in a giddy laugh. This was the Promised Land.

  In the dim light, she saw perhaps th
irty people scattered among tables and a few leaning against the bar. The murmur of conversation and laughter soothed her, and the mildest of examinations imparted the understanding that inside the bold walls, no one was a stranger for long. She knew that by the end of the evening, she’d either be welcomed back as a regular, or she’d never pass through the glass door again.

  A tuxedoed waiter showed them to a table near the bar, then nodded with familiarity at Derrick, confirming Jessie’s assessment that this wasn’t the first time he’d been here. Derrick ordered wine and a little pang of disappointment clipped her heart. “I’ve never had absinthe,” she told him.

  “Maybe next time. Here’s what we’re going to do. Look around the room.”

  She obeyed him, her gaze passing lightly over the well-dressed men and women in the bar—far more men than women, she realized. From the way the men looked back at her, she knew this wasn’t a gay place. Most of the men were older, forty all the way to geriatric, but their clothes might as well have been sewn from hundred-dollar bills, and all the women looked like they had stepped out of Elle.

  The waiter brought the wine. Derrick gave it a casual look and nodded, so the waiter poured each of them a glass and vanished discreetly.

  He took up his wineglass, tipping the bowl in an almost hypnotic rhythm. “Have you ever had two men fuck you at the same time?”

  The question didn’t shock her, but she took a long sip of wine to buy time before she replied. Did he want her to say yes? She’d seen porn and wondered what it might feel like but had never in her life actually thought about such a thing.

  Until tonight.

  “No,” she said. “But I think I’d like it.”

  “For five hundred dollars, you’d better at least pretend to like it.” An edge of controlled agitation dusted his reply and to Jessie’s surprise, her pussy slicked. “I want you to pick a man in this room. A man you’d like to fuck. Any man.”