by Violet Blue
His hands closed on my shoulders and he pulled me close. I felt a second of exhilaration, some kind of primal response to being held so possessively by such a handsome man. In that second, I could understand Rose—and maybe Mrs. Demos.
A second was about as long as I wanted to feel like a quivering mass of submissive femininity. Then I performed a tidy little judo move that got Max down on his back with me standing over him.
All my fantasies came back to haunt me.
As sexy as he was on his feet and taking control of the conversation, he looked even sexier in the position he was now in. The look of confusion on his formerly assured face was priceless as it dawned on him. “You’re partly right. You’ve been on my mind ever since I had that enlightening conversation with Ms. Perez. But I’m no submissive.”
Then I considered my options.
The smart one would be to walk away from the situation. Leave before I did something stupid enough to ruin my career and possibly my whole life. Give Melissa Demos back the retainer, come up with some excuse to mask the fact that I had a bad case of kinky lust for the person I was supposed to be investigating.
Instead I reached down, took his tie off, and ripped his shirt open. You know, they just don’t sew buttons on the way they used to. Max’s eyes widened, but to my surprise, he didn’t say a word, or even try to move from the position he’d ended up in.
I’d like to think that if he’d protested, even a little, I’d have stopped.
I’d like to think so, but I can’t be sure, because as soon as I touched him, the blood all rushed from my brain to my crotch and I started seeing everything through the black-and-blue lens of my own desire. I’d never wanted anything as badly as I wanted Max Shaw tied up and ready for my use.
His pants and underwear were a little harder to deal with, but when I barked, “Lift your hips, bitch,” he complied wordlessly.
He looked even better naked. I do appreciate a man who makes the effort to keep in shape.
When I pulled the belt free from his belt loops, he whimpered like a scared puppy, a surprisingly small noise from such a big man. At the same time, though, his cock stirred for the first time. Up until now he’d been compliant, but only as if he were too confused to react otherwise. This was different.
I considered using the belt as he obviously expected me to but decided to put that off until I had him secured. Better safe than sorry—the evidence of his cock said he was getting into it, but he was big and despite my judo training, small and skillful wouldn’t necessarily overcome big and angry. I used the belt to bind his feet together. He put up a perfunctory fight, but I threw my weight across him and kept him still. I’d have preferred a classic spread eagle, but the office just wasn’t configured for it. His silk tie went to tie his arms across his broad chest, wrist to forearm.
As a finishing touch I shoved his underwear into his mouth, making the gesture as dramatic as possible while taking care not to choke him. The green briefs drooped out either side, making him look like a retriever puppy who’d been practicing “retrieving” from the laundry pile. He rolled his head back and forth a few times, but didn’t make a real effort to get rid of them.
“I don’t know which is funnier,” I said with my best affected sneer, “the psychic who didn’t see this coming or the top who’s getting a hard-on from being tied up and humiliated. You’re loving this, aren’t you?”
He nodded tightly, just once. There was a feverish glow to his face—fear and desire and amazement—that made him look even more handsome. His fat cock was getting harder by the second.
No doubt about it, I was loving this too. I’d gone from merely slick to drenched right through my jeans. Looking at this hot, muscular man trussed up for my delectation, it was all I could do not to strip down, straddle that nice big dick and fuck myself senseless.
Tempting, but in the end too easy. I might never have an opportunity like this again. There was a decent chance I’d end up facing a whole slew of charges for this adventure—I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.
Max’s office wasn’t the well-equipped dungeon of fantasy, but I’m imaginative. A quick rummage through his desk drawers yielded a wooden ruler, a spare phone cord, rubber bands and a handful of really nasty binder clips. And a few clothespins. I couldn’t figure out what they were doing in his desk until I remembered some of the things I’d seen on line the night before and grinned. Apparently the man liked to be prepared. He probably had some other toys stashed somewhere, but I wasn’t feeling patient enough to look. My own possessions weren’t too useful but I did have a claw-style hair clip in my bag that had some potential. And of course, I had my own belt.
“The question, of course,” I said out loud, walking around his bound form, “is where to start. What would you do in my position, if you had a woman tied up like this? Would you kick her a few times, just to show her who’s boss?” I nudged his hip with the toe of my boot as I said it, hardly a kick, but enough to make my point. “Or torture her nipples a little?” I swooped down, knelt next to him, and put clothespins on his nipples. “Or cause a little pain elsewhere?” I put binder clips on his inner thighs, one on each side near the groin. He winced so prettily that I added two more. Those were going to leave marks. Nice.
I surveyed my handiwork so far. “You might do something like that. But then I bet you’d beat her.” That was when I got out the ruler.
I started with light blows on the pecs, concentrating on the area close to his nipples. I’d never done anything like this before but it felt right, like I was born to watch red streaks form on a man’s skin, born to watch him squirm as best he could while tied up, born to rake the nails of my free hand across his chest hard enough that welts rose behind them.
Born to watch his hips twitch up and down, helpless in his lust.
“Which is better?” I asked. “This”—a slap with the ruler—“or this?”—a gouge with my nails. He tried to answer. Since he couldn’t really do it around the underwear in his mouth, I repeated the question, and the demonstration, several times. Finally I decided that he was saying they were both good. It seemed that way from his reactions, anyway.
His chest was nice and rosy now, so I moved on. A flurry of smacks on his well-toned belly made him jump. Then I traveled to his thighs, where I figured I could step up the intensity.
Two good wallops and Max made a noise that I could distinguish through the underwear gag as “Oh, yeah.” I’d have found it hard to believe—I certainly wouldn’t have liked being hit that hard—except that a pearl of pre-come was glistening on the head of his cock.
“Now, dear,” I said, “we can’t have you enjoying yourself too much. I’m not done with you yet.” I placed the open hair clip around his cock and then ever so slowly closed it. I didn’t figure it would be all that painful, but I had to imagine it was nerve-wracking, especially with me closing it so slowly. He was clenching his teeth around the underwear, lines of strain on his face, but his hard-on didn’t falter.
Again I surveyed my handiwork. Max was a sight all right—red-faced, tied up with his own accessories, damp briefs in his mouth, ordinary household objects decorating his flesh and a purple plastic hair clip on his dick. It should have been ridiculous, but it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen. The marks I’d left on his skin only made it better.
“Where was I?” I murmured, falsely absentminded as I brought the ruler down with a resounding crack across his thighs. Then I had an idea. I remembered reading that you had to take tight clips off after a while. What if I thwacked one off?
I heard the yelp through the gag.
The yelp and the throaty growl that immediately followed it. Pain and pleasure, perfectly balanced.
The power of it reverberated right through me, making my insides quiver as it passed to my clit. His eyes had gone very dark and seemingly far away but I knew he was in the moment about as intensely as it’s possible to be. I knew it because I was too, and right now we were connected as
I’d rarely been connected to another man, even ones I’d loved.
Psychic? Maybe there was something to it. At least I knew damn well what he wanted right now, and it was what I wanted too.
Another carefully aimed smack popped off the other binder clip. They left behind angry welts where they’d pinched his skin. I hit him a few more times for good measure. Then I repeated the procedure with the clothespins on his nipples.
“What now?” I mused out loud.
He muttered something into the gag. Suddenly I was tired of that joke and pulled the underpants out of his mouth. “What was that?”
“Let me eat you,” he begged, his eyes bright and appealing. I’d never heard a guy so eager to lick my cunt before, and I’ve been lucky enough to have some lovers who really liked it.
Very tempting. But there was something I wanted to do first. “Patience,” I said, not sure if I were talking more to him or to myself. “Your chance will come, Max. And your chance to come will come. Just not yet.”
I took the clip off his dick. His sigh of relief changed to something quite different when I replaced it with a few loops of phone cord. I’m not sure how to describe the noise but both yes and no were involved, with yes winning out.
“Roll over,” I commanded, and was thrilled by how quickly he obeyed. It couldn’t have been the most comfortable position to lie in, especially with parts of him rather tender, but he didn’t flinch.
He did flinch when I doubled my belt over and brought it down hard on his ass. Then he said, “Thank you,” in a voice that was choked with pain and lust.
I liked that simple “thank you.” I liked it almost as much as the powerful thrill of leather snapping against skin. How could I have reached my midthirties and not known how right it felt to get thanked for turning a man’s ass red?
Hmm, it wasn’t red yet, just sporting one nice pink mark. I’d have to work on that.
Twenty blows later—I had him count—his ass was red all right. In fact, some parts were purple and welted and looked like they’d stay bruised for a while. But that wasn’t why I stopped. I needed some release, needed it to the point that it hurt. And unlike Max, I don’t like to suffer.
I had him roll back over—I could almost feel him wince as his butt came into contact with the rough carpet—and shucked my clothes. “Now, Max,” I purred, “you’ve been a very good boy. Here’s your reward.” I straddled his face, then leaned forward for balance as I ground my dripping crotch against his mouth.
I can’t honestly say whether Max was gifted with great oral talent or just a lot of enthusiasm. At that point, I was so wrought up that a few licks were all it took to reduce me to screaming, twitching ecstasy.
I kept him going for more than a few licks, though. When you have a captive cunnilingist, you might as well take advantage of it, right?
When I’d finally had enough, I slithered off him and collapsed on the floor next to him, too spent to move at first. Then I realized there were a few things I had to do before I let myself pass out.
First the phone cord came off his engorged, purple cock. Then I untied his arms. “I promised you a chance to come, Max. Now play with yourself for me.” There was a second’s hesitation—I don’t know if it was shyness even after all I’d done to him or just trouble convincing his hands to move. Then he obeyed.
“Don’t hold back,” I urged. “I want to see your come squirting all over the place. Do it. Come for me.”
He didn’t need much encouragement. Like me, he’d been holding back for a long time.
It was the first time ever that the sound and sight of a man coming triggered a mini-orgasm in me.
For a while we lay there side by side on the coarse rug. I was too drained to think about why I was in Max Shaw’s office at all, and I suspect he was further gone than I was. I think I dozed off for a while, then woke with a start to find him undoing the belt around his ankles.
Everything refocused into painful clarity—the Demos case, my impulsive actions, all the very good reasons Max might want revenge. No matter how much fun it had ended up being, it still had started out more like rape. I started scrambling away.
“Relax,” he said. “I’m not angry. Far from it. I knew what you wanted and needed from me, and I was more than happy to give it.”
I snorted. “Psychic powers. Right.”
“No.” His voice was very serious, serious enough that it compelled me to listen. “Not in the way people usually mean it. I do think there’s a sixth sense—call it intuition. Practically everyone has it, but in some of us it’s more developed. It makes a good psychologist, a good detective—you’d know about that. Or a good psychic. I can figure out a lot about what a person wants and needs from clues she isn’t even aware of herself. The rest might be guesswork or maybe there’s really something more to it, but I’m right more often than not. It’s not magic. And it’s not a con. People want guidance and advice. I provide it. And I try to make it useful to them.”
“How did you know…?”
“That you were a detective? That’s easy. Google. Same way you knew how to find my office.”
“That’s cheating.”
“That’s research.”
“You’re supposed to be a psychic! Anyway, I meant how did you know about…?” I was suddenly tongue-tied, a far cry from the confident dominatrix I’d been a little while before.
Max laughed. “Practice and intuition and in the end a lucky guess. A person in the scene learns to look for certain clues that someone else might be of like mind. I just seem to be better at it than most.”
We laughed. And then we both fell silent, aware of the weight that still lay between us.
He brought it up first. “Did Melissa Demos hire you?”
I nodded. Somehow after what we’d just done, I couldn’t treat him like a suspect.
“It figures. I had it coming.” He sighed, hesitated, then continued. “Melissa and I were lovers. Normally I’m a top, but as you’ve seen, some women bring out the other side in me and Melissa was one of them. She played me like a guitar, and I fell in love with her. And that’s what got me into trouble.”
I nodded. It might all be a lie, but I could see Melissa being toppy, and then using it to manipulate people. It would be nice to think I hadn’t just disliked her because she was beautiful, but because I knew instinctively that she was a bitch.
Now I had another reason to dislike her. I’d really enjoyed feeling like I was the first to make Max want to submit.
“Melissa said she’d be my Mistress full-time if I could help her siphon enough money away from her mom that she could live in the proper style. And like a fool I said yes.” His face was a mottled red, and he looked away from me as he continued. “I’m not a bad person. You’ve seen what I charge for readings. This isn’t a get-rich-quick scam—it’s a way to make my own hours and sometimes meet women. But for a while there, I wanted to live with Melissa, to serve her, to obey her in every way, even with something as shady as that. You have no idea what stupid things will go through your head when you’re in love with a twisted top.”
“So why did she hire me?”
“Because I actually got to know her mom. Kate Demos is a wonderful woman, far more intelligent and creative than anyone has ever given her credit for. She married very young and her husband liked having this cute little innocent wife. She’s finally coming into her own as a widow, but she’s still unsure of herself, and it would have been really easy for me as the ‘psychic advisor’ to rip her off and then hurt her terribly. I couldn’t do that—and when I realized Melissa could, to her own mother, the lust-blinders came off. I broke up with her. She must want revenge—and probably to get me away from her mother before I let Kate know what an evil bitch her daughter really is.”
“Melissa said you were going to marry her mom.”
“Well, I did say I’d rather marry Kate than her any day. And she may really believe I’m after her mom’s money. Melissa’s greedy herself, so I thi
nk she’d have a hard time believing I wouldn’t take that opportunity if I had it.” He smiled. “I can’t honestly say I’d mind marrying an attractive, wealthy older woman, but there’s nothing like that between us. Between you and me, one of the things she wanted to talk with a psychic about is that she’s fallen for this wonderful lesbian and wanted to know if she should pursue the romance.”
“And you said?”
“I said it’s always scary exploring a new facet of yourself, but you miss out on a lot if you don’t.” He reached out, took my hands. “And Carla, I’d say the same thing to you. That’s not some psychic thing, that’s just advice from someone who’s been there.”
I left Max Shaw’s office with almost as many questions as I came in with, but they were different questions. With my whole body buzzing with hormones, I would have liked to swallow Max’s story, but my instinct—what he called my sixth sense—suggested that what he’d told me was an oversimplification at best. If Melissa had known I’d find nothing particularly incriminating, she had nothing to gain by hiring me except the petty pleasure of annoying Max. Either she was just too suspicious for her own good, as Max implied, or Max was lying through his teeth about something.
I’d have to investigate a little further, I decided. And the investigation would involve some very stringent interrogation of Max Shaw.
TIED TO THE KITCHEN SINK
Kay Jaybee
Hi, you must be Will; happy birthday.” The girl smiled a dazzlingly white set of teeth in his direction, as she turned her head away from the washing up.
Will stopped dead. He had gone through Ben’s back door into the kitchen expecting it to be deserted as usual, but it wasn’t.
It wasn’t her smile that caused Will’s feet to feel as if they’d become super-glued to the floor, and his trousers to tighten. It was the fact that she stood there in long, black high-heeled boots and absolutely nothing else.