After a bruising pummeling, he dried off at the edge of the walk-in shower and finger-combed his hair. He heard the programmed coffee maker making his first pot of the day. He wasn’t big-time into luxuries, but he liked his showers big, with lots of pulsing heads, and he liked his coffee rich and flavorful. He had a Gevalia coffee maker at both residences and a whole cabinet devoted to a variety of their best seasonal coffees. He’d experimented with a Keurig system but found he preferred having a whole pot at his disposal.
Strolling out to the living area, he pressed down on the space bar to wake up his laptop before continuing on into the kitchen. While the last gurgles and hissing pops heralded the final fragrant cascade, he stooped and rummaged through the cabinets for some lubricating oil—Wesson, peanut, even a can of Crisco—anything to soothe and coat his sore member. He needed something to lessen the friction because no way was he not reading the rest of that story.
Chapter V
Rand helped her make dinner and then later, over dessert and coffee he suggested, “Let’s go to Myrtle Beach, it’s only a few hours from here. No one will know us there. We can check into a motel right on the ocean; maybe run through a few bondage scenarios,” he said with waggling brows, exaggerated à la Groucho Marx. “We can cohabitate—with benefits.” They’d shared a bottle of wine and both had a
giddy buzz.
Her eyes glazed over and she shuddered at his words. He could tell she was thinking of saying no, but the words that tumbled out instead were, “Yes, let’s
do that.”
“I hear hotels on the beach are giving a patriotic discount for active military and I have back pay just sitting in my account.”
“It sounds wonderful. I’d love to go to the beach.”
“Say please, and kiss the tip of my cock,” he said as he leaned into her and kissed the tip of her nose.
“My pleasure,” she purred as she knelt, unzipped him, pulled his erection from his pants and kissed the tip, then bent again to lick the drops that began oozing out. He groaned, dug his fingers through her hair to massage her scalp and direct her away.
“Please,” she whispered, when he tried to pull her up. She bent again taking him all the way into her mouth, feeling him nudge the back of her throat. She arched her neck, relaxed her throat and took him deeper, stopping only when her lips met his curls. He hissed, grimaced and let her tug his pants down and then drop them to the floor. She moved her lips up and down his impressive length taking him in until he touched the back of her throat and then she slid back slowly releasing him. When he could stand it no longer, he withdrew, stood above her, wrapped her hair around his fist and lifted his cock out of the way while he fed her his shaved sacs. She flicked her tongue over them enjoying the rough texture when she sucked each testicle into her mouth and gently cupped her lips around it. When he felt his ejaculate ready to explode from him, he pulled her head away using her hair. He wanted her to watch, he wanted her to see what she did to him. He pumped his cock twice and she opened her mouth in supplication. He groaned at the sight and then came on her tongue, her lips . . . her chin.
“Jeezuusss, Callie! Who taught you to suck a dick like that? God woman! You are amazing!”
“If it’s worth doing . . . ,” she said as he gripped her elbows and pulled her to her feet. She rubbed her face on the line of fur running down his belly. “Come on, let’s clean up so we can pack. I can hardly wait to get to the beach!”
Her childish enthusiasm overrode his curiosity about her cocksucking capabilities. He knew Clint watched porn and quite likely it was something they did together. But still . . . she was exceptional and it made him wonder. He helped her clear the dishes then left to go back to the Barracks to get his gear.
When he returned an hour later using the key she had given him, she was asleep on the sofa. He took the time to sit across from her and watch her. She was so beautiful and she looked so peaceful. She reminded him of Snow White with her fair coloring, dark hair and lashes, and rosy red cheeks and lips. She was perfect. He couldn’t believe she was going to be his for a month. That he’d have her all to himself. He thought of her mouth and her special talents and shook his head and sighed. Dear God, there would be nothing left of him.
He leaned over to kiss her cheek and saw the letter she was clutching in her hand. The way it was folded he could read the words:
… satisfy each other’s needs. Of course, when I come home, I will expect you to prefer me to him. So, sate yourself for a while, but when you hear that I am on my way back to you, send him away. Now . . .go play.
Your loving husband,
Clint
He hung his head in his hands, between his knees. Shit! He had all but forgotten she wasn’t his, that he was just borrowing her.
He gently lifted her and carried her to the bed then stripped and slid in behind her. He snuggled up to her and tucked his knee between her parted thighs. With his arm around her waist holding her against his chest, he kissed the back of her shoulder. How did a man thank his best friend for a gift such as this?
Chapter VI
They took Clint’s old 1978 Camaro Convertible. It was a beautiful aquamarine color with pristine white vinyl seats and a white convertible top, and so clean it could have been parked in an operating room. She let him drive, saying she believed that he should be in charge. He thought it might be code for I want to be your submissive; he could pretty much read it in her eyes and in her manner as she deferred to him in all things. Clint had trained her well.
As they prepared for their trip this morning she’d asked a lot of questions. What did he want her to fix for breakfast? How did he want his coffee—regular or decaf? What should she pack? Should she shower now or later? What would they be doing? When he had just looked at her with that all-knowing look, she had smiled and said, “Oh. Of course.”
He packed the trunk with their luggage, three small cases for her, a large duffle for him, and a heavy bag that she assumed had liquor in it because it clinked when he carried it. She knew it was heavy because she’d tried to move it aside to make room for her cosmetic case and couldn’t budge it. He’d easily lifted it to the side with one arm and she remembered that Clint used to have a flight bag like that. His had contained sex toys. She suspected Rand’s might, too. She shivered in anticipation of the things to come as she settled into her seat.
He started the car and asked, “Do you mind if we ride with the top down?”
“No, I would like that. Just give me a moment to secure my hair or it’ll look like a rat’s nest by the time we get there.”
He watched as she sensuously braided the long, shiny tresses into one big fat braid, then wound it around her fingers before pinning it at her nape. The sun made the auburn highlights gleam as he lowered the top.
“Good?” he asked, as he ran the gearshift grid, familiarizing himself with the pattern.
She nodded. He put the car in gear and they were off.
After they left the base and were on Route 17 headed south, he leaned over and stroked her thigh. She was wearing a short spandex skirt and it was easy to move it up further.
“So, tell me what you like,” he said with an all-knowing smile and a raised eyebrow to make sure she understood his meaning. “Tell me everything.”
“Well, you already know most of what I like. And of course Clint had to have coached you on some others. With the assignment he gave you, I know he would have.”
“Well yes, as a matter of fact he did.”
“Tell me what he said.”
He thought for a moment. How to phrase it? Just say it, he told himself. Go for it. Put the cards on the table. “He said you liked to show off your beautiful pussy. And believe me, he groaned mightily when he said that. Then we heard gunfire over the hill and we ran for cover.”
“Is it?” she aske
d. Like all truly beautiful women, she doubted her attraction.
“Is it what? Beautiful?”
He knew what she was asking for, fishing for. She needed his approval, his validation that she was lovely and desirable. Despite the physical evidence he had shown of the immense pleasure he found in her, she was still insecure. Most women were. They required frequent praise of their bodies to allay their fears and to make them feel comfortable; for all her beauty, she was no exception. Clint had said as much, indicating she could actually be shy at times and that she’d often have to be coaxed to exhibit herself. But Clint had reiterated that Callie was one of those rare women who derived insane pleasure from being the object of voyeurism.
“I don’t really remember,” he said and knew she would know that he was lying. The image of her in his lap yesterday while they were on the sofa was forever burned into his memory. She was delectable. “Slide your panties off and show me.”
“I can’t do that now!”
“Sure you can. Slip your underwear off, pull up your skirt, turn toward me and then spread your thighs wide. I promise not to wreck.”
“People will see me.”
“Only a truck would be tall enough to see anything. And if I see one coming I’ll give you ample warning. Unless, of course, you wish to share the view.” He winked and smiled to encourage her.
Clint had said Callie had this exhibitionist thing tugging at her, but not at all times, he’d back off if she wasn’t receptive. Knowing submissive women as thoroughly as he did, Rand suspected it was more that her acquiescent tendencies were connected to a humiliation thing she had going on. One she probably didn’t even know about.
A lot of submissives needed shame—or its related partner—humiliation, to be included in their sexual scenarios. Somehow it was interwoven into their pleasure make-up. And it was the touchiest thing—so easy to misread, and even easier to take too far.
And no woman, at least none he’d ever met, was honest enough or perceptive enough to know just how much was the exact right amount she needed. For a man, it was like showing up without a script to play a part in The Three Bears—no one knew upfront what would be too hot or for that matter, too cold. In order to have it “just right” you had to have read every single sign along the way. Every sigh meant something, every shudder, every flinch. Only the best attempted a shame scenario as so much could go wrong so easily. But the rewards for getting it “just right” could set a woman free. Rand knew he was one of the best. Clint knew that, too. He gave her a big smile and nodded his head at her lap. “Come on, you can do it. Show me.”
He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she reached up and slowly tugged her tiny thong panties down her legs and then unwrapped them from her ankles. “That’s a good girl. Now sit back into the corner and pull your skirt up to your waist.” The thought of her obeying him in this was beginning to fill his body with need. Hot surging need.
When she had squirmed into position, he murmured, “Go on, you know what to do next.” He kept his voice soft, husky, but gently encouraging. “What lovely long legs. I want to see what’s at the top of them. Let me see you.”
He was at a stoplight now and no one was around so he turned, put his arm on the back of the seat and watched her as she settled her back into the corner between the seat and the door. She kicked off her sandals and gingerly swung her feet onto the sides of the bucket seat. She looked over at him then, and he arrogantly raised an eyebrow. She needed to know that he expected her to do his bidding. And he needed her to be fearless. She knew what he wanted to see.
He watched as she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Then she put her feet together against the console and let her thighs open. He about lost it. His penis came to full attention and slammed into the barrier of his zipper, filling the already tight crotch of his O.P. corduroy shorts to the max. He had to reach down and adjust himself, situating the burgeoning length so it shared the opening of his shorts with his leg. Copious amounts of pre-come oozed from the tip, drenching his thigh. He’d have to remember to clean these seats.
“Sweet Mother of God!” he murmured as his left hand gripped the steering wheel. His eyes bore into her, seeing every fold, every crevice, every pink-coated surface as she completely exposed herself in the bright morning sunshine. A honk behind him forced his eyes to the rear view mirror then to the windshield as he shifted the car and eased out the clutch. He thought the sound of a horn behind them would make her close her legs, but it hadn’t. Her eyes were half closed, her teeth scraping lightly on her bottom lip. If he didn’t know better he’d think she was already going under.
The next time he was able to tear his eyes away from the road and look over at her, she had her hands on either side of her labial lips, pulling them apart. “Is it pretty,” she asked, “is my pussy pretty?” Her eyes were glazed over and he saw that she was in a good place, a wanting-to-please and tease place, not an I-need-you-to-humiliate-and-degrade-me place. He’d seen women pushed beyond this barrier before but only because they were the type that required pain or belittling, and substantial amounts of it to go along with the degradation in order to get off. Callie only needed his approval, he could see it in her eyes. She needed affirmation that she mattered to him; that another woman didn’t measure up—to whatever standards he’d decided to impose. For this scenario, she needed to know she was lovely—down there. And by God, she was.
He groaned as she slipped a finger inside her vagina. He stole as many glances as he could while getting up to speed—55 miles per hour was not the best time to be a voyeur with a view such as this just off to his right.
He heard the high-pitched whine of a truck downshifting as he slowly cruised to another stoplight. He looked in his driver side-view mirror and saw a big semi getting ready to pull alongside. “Unless you want this trucker to see your sweet little vagina, you’d better sit up. And fast.”
His eyes left her moist center and slick fingers to flick up to her face. He saw a moment’s hesitation before she removed her hands, closed her legs and tugged her skirt back into place. But sitting as she was, sideways, facing him with a red face, it was impossible for the trucker not to imagine the show he had just missed. The trucker used his air horn to protest her clothing rearrangement and she saucily blew him a kiss.
“Christ! Are you trying to force me to do hand-to-hand combat here? That guy’s likely to run us off the road and demand a show of his own.”
“Show’s only for you,” she said with a coquettish smile.
“Are you sure? Because for a moment there I thought otherwise . . . heard otherwise.”
There was a long silence.
“What did he tell you?” her voice was suddenly harsh.
He had made a serious tactical error and he knew it. What a stupid blunder. Nothing to do about it but tell truth he decided, knowing that he was a terrible liar and incapable of a quick rejoinder anyway. Damn! He was mad at himself for he had read her right, absolutely positively right. She was wet and slick for wanting. Another minute and she’d have begged to be fucked—right there on the side of the road. And he’d have found a way to accommodate her.
But he’d blown it, he’d taken her over-the-top desire to please him, and put it right back on her, making her feel cheap—sleazy. A wicked idea struck, a way of softening the blow. “He said you and he often go to bars on the strip where you sit on the counter with your legs splayed showing all the patrons your furry bush; that you love to go bowling on league night with a short skirt and no panties so all the men can see your lovely derriere and juicy cunt; that a walk in the park for you means flashing all the men who walk by, standing with your legs wide apart in case they desire to kneel and see more.”
She gasped. “He did not!”
He gripped her hand. It was flailing in midair and he was afraid it would hit him if he didn’t. He chuckled, �
��No, he didn’t. He said you were lovely, prettier than any porn star, and sometimes, just as uninhibited. And I agree.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed each fingertip. “Your body is far lovelier than any I have ever seen, be it in pictures, on film, or in real life. I have never seen a more gorgeous woman anywhere, ever. I swear it.”
He turned slightly and his eyes met hers over the tips of her fingers. There were tears rimming her eyes and her lips were spread in a big, quaking smile. She looked pleased—inordinately pleased. Knowing that she pleased him seemed to make her happy. Yes, she definitely needed affirmation of her loveliness, like most women since Eve. It was such an important and such a needy thing for some. They needed to know they were desirable, and being told that kept them secure in their relationships. Many never got the affirmation they so desperately needed—few got to know they were beautiful where they believed a man cared most for them to be beautiful.
He turned off the highway onto a single lane country road. “We have a long, lonely stretch for the next few miles.” He stated in his most commanding, gruff, military voice, “Pull your skirt up and get back into position. I haven’t had enough of seeing you. I demand to see more.”
Flash Drive Page 6