by Alison Tyler
Still fully clothed, Graham took my naked body in his arms, pulling me close for another deep kiss that tasted of whiskey and was laced with dirty promises. He traced his fingers down my arms, ending at my wrists, which he pulled behind my back and held fast with one big hand. I squirmed against him, feeling trapped and thrilled all at once.
Graham trailed his lips along my jawline, the rasp of his stubble causing my skin to pebble with goose bumps.
“You like this,” he hissed in my ear. “I can tell. You like being at my mercy.”
Graham nipped at the tender skin of my neck, and I moaned softly as his free hand stroked my bare ass.
“That’s what I like to hear, darlin’. You’re going to look so sweet tied down to my bed.”
My loud gasp gave away all my secrets. But even if I hadn’t uttered a sound, Graham’s fingers slipping between my parted thighs easily determined my truth. My pussy was wet and slick, dripping at the thought of being made his captive, of having every one of my filthy fantasies become pulse-quickening realities. My knees felt weak as Graham stroked his fingers along my slit, picking up my moisture and smearing it over my swollen clit. His slow, sexy circles teased me as he continued to croon, “You want it bad, don’t you, Josie?”
I let out another moan that was cut short by a hard slap to my ass.
“Answer me when I ask you a question,” he insisted.
“Y-yes, I want it,” I managed to reply.
“Want what, baby?”
Oh, god. Don’t make me say it.
Another harsh slap on the other cheek encouraged me to find my voice.
“I want you to tie me down, to blindfold me,” I whispered, eyes downcast. In a way, this conversation was more difficult than the one I’d had with Roger. Probably because I knew Graham would follow through.
“And what else?” he asked, his voice warm and smooth—he was the devil in a pinstriped suit. His fingers flitted across my bare ass again, and I found myself not wanting to hold back any longer, even though the thought of admitting my desires terrified me.
“And then I want you to punish me—with your belt,” I uttered in a hushed whisper.
“Jesus, Josie, you’re even dirtier than I’d hoped.” His voice was heavy with lustful admiration.
Graham released my hands and stepped back. I looked up and saw him gazing at me hungrily as he loosened his necktie.
“Eyes closed,” he said softly, before wrapping his red silk tie around my head and tying it snugly.
I found comfort in the darkness. It let me escape from the world and focus on nothing but the desire within me.
Graham helped me up onto the bed, wordlessly laying me down on my stomach. I stretched out against the cool sheets, my body limp with surrender as I let him position me how he wanted. I felt more soft fabric being wrapped around my wrists as they were tied together; he must have attached my bonds to his headboard because when I tugged my hands, I felt resistance. I heard the swish of his belt being pulled out of its loops—just like I’d imagined in my fantasy—and my skin prickled with fear as I realized I couldn’t get away.
“Your ass is going to look so pretty after it’s been striped by my belt.”
A split second later, I felt the leather snap against my skin. The spark of pain cleared my head, and I groaned into the mattress. Graham didn’t give me a chance to fully absorb the belt’s impact before landing another blow. I arched my back and raised my hips as the pain blossomed into heat that spread to my cunt and made me ache even more for him.
My hands balled into fists as I pulled and tugged, but the bonds held me fast. Meanwhile Graham’s unforgiving belt laid down layer after layer of heat, crisscrossing my ass and thighs. My cries of abandon were interspersed with whimpers of longing as I felt myself growing increasingly aroused.
After a dozen strokes of the belt, I was squirming wildly on the bed, tilting my hips toward the sheets and trying to give my clit the friction it needed. In the haze of my lust, I heard Graham chuckle softly and say, “Such a greedy little slut.”
Still surrounded by darkness, I focused on what little cues I could hear and feel: the rustle of Graham stripping out of the rest of his clothes and the pitch of the mattress as he climbed onto the bed with me. I arched my back as he palmed my heated cheeks, lewdly exposing me. But I was too turned on to be embarrassed. Graham groaned into my slick flesh as he tricked his tongue along my dripping slit and discovered how wet I was. I squirmed against his face, so hot and ready to come, and Graham indulged my desire. Locking his lips around my clit, he swirled his tongue around that puffy button, sucking and licking until my body stiffened with pleasure.
I was still crying out from my sudden and overwhelming climax as Graham rose and shoved his cock into my quivering sex. With bold, forceful strokes, he rode me toward another climax, which soon triggered his own.
Afterward, Graham loosened my bonds and removed the blindfold, holding me possessively in his arms. And just like that my world had changed. But I guess, in reality, it was simply that I had changed.
All you see is nothing. Dana’s false words echoed in my head. I could never explain it to her in a way she could understand.
Rather than nothing, I’d seen sparks of red and gold shimmer against my eyelids as bursts of pleasure lit me up from the inside. I’d seen the fulfillment of so many years of fevered dreams. And I’d seen what my future could be and knew that there was no way I would ever go back to the way things were.
Nothing? No, I’d seen everything.
BROKEN
Alison Tyler
Lifeguards can stay young forever.
Dean didn’t want to grow up. He coasted in the type of lifestyle that fit his immature personality. He worked the pool circuit—the country club, the park rec—and he spent his free time at the gym. Staying young. He had sandy blond hair that he wore thick and slightly shaggy. His muscles were more intense than when he’d been in his twenties. At home, he had posters on his walls, even though most of his friends had traded up to framed artwork. There was something college boy about every aspect of his life. That’s how he liked it.
And each year, he went to Spring Break.
“Can’t believe you’re still heading to Florida,” his friend Tommy said. “You’re twenty years older than all the bikini babes.”
Dean looked at himself in the mirror behind the bar. Did he look forty? He didn’t think so. Maybe there were a few creases around the corners of his eyes, but that’s what sunglasses were for.
“I can do two hundred crunches a day,” Dean said.
“Fine,” Tommy responded. “But how much you got in your 401(k)?”
A long time ago, Tommy had been fun. Around the frat house, they’d had good times with lots of broads. Now Tommy was married with a mortgage and a wife named Susan who didn’t like Dean. She was still pissed about the bachelor party, and that was what? Seven years ago? Tommy had to lie to see Dean, meeting after work at a pub. Dean swore he’d never hook up with a woman who kept him away from his friends.
“Our buddies are all getting married,” Tommy told him. “Look around, man. The group has grown up. You’re like one of the fucking Lost Boys.”
Dean took that as a compliment. He let Tommy pay, because Tommy had the cash, and then he said, “I’ll call you when I get back from Miami.” He knew that somewhere deep inside, his friend was jealous. Wouldn’t Tommy like to pack his swimming trunks and favorite tees and go for a week to a place with no worries? In Miami, you could make eye contact with a pretty bikini and be in bed with her in less then fifteen minutes. And then you could go back out into the lavender evening and meet up with another girl, even prettier than the first, and do the same thing all over again. As long as you could get your dick hard, you could find some warm, wet place to stick it in.
The flight was actually one of Dean’s favorite parts of Spring Break, because the anticipation by this point was almost overpowering. He flirted with the stewardesses, almost randomly
. One seemed interested in him, and he had the inclination to tell her, Sorry sweetheart, you’re too old for me. He was looking for those hard bodies in the thongs and the tiny triangles, looking for the bars on the beach where a sarong was overkill. But he played the lothario until landing, and when the flight attendant gave him her number, he took it and winked. She didn’t see him toss the paper into the garbage as he exited the chilled airport into the muggy heat of Florida.
He was staying at an old college buddy’s house to save money. 401K, my ass. He spent what he brought in, saving only enough to splurge on this one vacation every year. Brad was out of town, and Dean was supposed to have the place to himself. So when he turned the key in the lock and came face-to-face with a woman holding a baseball bat, he was beyond surprised.
“What the fuck?” they both said at the same time. Dean dropped his bag and put up his hands. He said, “I’m a friend of Brad’s.”
“How do I know that?”
“Would he tell me where the key was? How would I know to look under the potted chicken?”
The brunette stepped back but did not drop the Louisville Slugger.
“Look,” he said, “I’ll show you the letter from Brad. It’s in my suitcase. We went to school together. I’m Dean.”
“Dean.” She squinted her eyes. He took the time to really look at her, summing her up the way he did all women, automatically. Tall and slim, about his age, good tits, very attractive actually if she would drop the fucking bat. He grabbed the letter from the pocket of his suitcase and showed it to her. She set the weapon down and then sat on the sofa.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m jumpy.”
Yeah, clearly, he thought. But who the fuck are you?
She exhaled, seemingly defeated. “I’ve had a rough couple of nights,” she said. “I just broke up with my boyfriend, and I had nowhere to go. Bradley said I could stay here. He must have forgotten to tell me that you were coming.”
Dean kept quiet, watching as she poured some Jack Daniels into what appeared to be a glass of lemonade, then thought better of it and drank from the bottle directly. After sipping, she handed the bottle to Dean. He took a sip gratefully and sat across from her in a wicker basket chair trying to calm down.
“Breakups suck,” he said, although he didn’t really mean it. He’d never experienced a painful breakup, hadn’t ever dated long enough to care about anyone seriously.
“Yeah,” she said. “And this was a big one. Ten years. A house.” She put her hands to her face. Dean looked up at the mantel, and then he stood and walked over. There were pictures of this woman with Brad. Shit. She was obviously family.
“Are you one of Brad’s sisters?” he asked the question tentatively, and she set her hands down and nodded.
“I’m Connie,” she said.
“I went to college with Brad,” he told her.
“You’re that Dean?”
He didn’t know what that Dean meant, but he nodded.
“You must want to unpack, take it easy.” She looked like she felt bad she’d unloaded on him. He let her show him to the room he’d be staying in, the guest room in the two-bedroom bungalow. As he set his suitcase down, she said, “Would you like to go out later? Have dinner or a drink?”
No, he fucking wouldn’t. He wanted to pick up some little chicklet and let her ride his cock all night long. Or at least half the night. He’d been waiting for this all fucking year. But this was Brad’s sister, and she looked sad. He said, “Sure.” He could always go out after.
Except, “after” didn’t turn out the way he’d expected. They had dinner at a little seafood restaurant on the water, candles in lanterns making patterns on the table. Connie told him all about her ex, and what an asshole he’d been, and how she’d found him in bed with...wait for it...his fucking secretary. Dean inserted the different sighs and oh nos he felt were appropriate and he watched as she out drank him. He’d have her back at the pad in no time, still able to hit the clubs by midnight.
But when they got back to Brad’s, Connie was clinging to him. “You’re nice,” she said. He wasn’t. But alcohol will do that to you. “Take me to bed? It’s been so long.”
Jesus. Here was a girl offering it up to him. She was thirty-six, thirty-seven, about fifteen years past his internal expiration date, but she’d feel good to fuck. He could go out after, right? “Sure,” he said again, his mantra for the evening.
Pity fuck or not, drunk or not, she was amazing in bed. She sucked his cock and looked up at him with her big, brown eyes. She rolled over and spread her legs and he gripped her hips and sunk inside her. Damn, that felt good. They both seemed to be sharing the thought at the same time. The look she shot him over her shoulder was pure bliss. He was certain his own expression echoed hers.
“This isn’t how I usually like to fuck,” she whispered.
“No? You like being on top?”
“Something like that. Maybe tomorrow.”
But tomorrow he’d be banging the bikinis, he wanted to say. “Sounds good,” was all he managed, as he touched her clit and felt her shiver beneath him. She came quietly; he followed a beat after. The dozed together for a little while, and when he woke up, she was asleep at his side. Perfect.
But when he tried to sneak out, she caught him at the front door. She didn’t seem drunk at all now. “Where you going, Dean?”
“I was all hopped up,” he said. “I thought I’d take my energy for a walk.”
She had a white silk robe tight around her body. God, she was pretty. He didn’t know what it was about her. The long black hair, full lips, the sad look in her eyes. He reached out and touched her face, and he felt a tightening in the pit of his stomach. The bikinis could wait until the morning. He returned to the bedroom with her, and he was surprised when she pushed him forcefully down on the bed.
“What we did before...” she started.
“Yeah?”
“That’s not really my style.”
He found himself interested. “What do you mean?”
She had cuffs in her hand, as if magically, and she dangled them in front of his face. “You want me to tie you to the bed?” he asked. He’d never played like that before.
“No,” she said. “I want to tie you down.”
His cock responded as if she’d spoken directly to it instead of to him. What was going on? He’d never even thought to do things kinky before. Most of the girls he dated were so young that simply the act of fucking was exciting to them.
“Are you game?” She put one hand on his dick. He was rock hard. “You seem game.”
“I was going out,” he said, to give himself a second to think.
She nodded. “I know. You were going out. Take off your shirt.”
He could stop this charade at any second. He could tell her she was over the top, rebounding, using him to get her aggressions out. But he took off his shirt anyway. He was proud of his six-pack, of the rippling muscles of his arms and chest. She put one cuff on his left wrist. He didn’t fight her. He could leave at any time, he told himself. She strung the chain through the headboard, and then put the cuff on his right wrist and clicked the lock shut. Dean tested his bindings, and realized that he’d have to take the bed with him now if he were going anywhere without her permission.
Connie continued, “You were going out, and then you were going to pick up some little sunscreen-scented sophomore and screw her senseless.”
Dean started to say, “No, no, I was just going to take a walk around the block. Clear my head...” but Connie put a hand to his mouth to quiet him.
She climbed on top of his body, her pussy to his cock through his pants, and he could feel her heat even through the layers of fabric. “And then you were going to go out again and pick up another one, a carbon copy, and fuck her just the same way. Does it ever get old for you, Dean?”
“How do you know all that about me?”
“You’re Dean. You’re legendary to Brad. He talks about you all the tim
e. How you come out here every Spring Break. How you notch your belt with your kills.”
In spite of himself, Dean was flattered. Brad had talked about him. Of their frat boy crew, Brad had been the shy one. Picking up girls had never come easy to him.
“You never stick around long enough to see whether you actually could like a girl or not, do you?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Like, you don’t even remember me.”
He squinted at her. What was she talking about? “We just fucking met six hours ago.”
She sighed and undid his shoes and pulled them off, then undid the buckle on his belt and pulled his slacks down. He felt odd to have a woman undress him, but his cock responded the way it had when she’d talked of tying him down. He could not remember ever being this excited before.
“You’re as hot as you were in college,” she said, and then he thought back. Graduation. The party. He would have been twenty-two, and Connie would have been eighteen. Constance. He saw the pert brunette in his mind, remembered fucking her in her parents’ pool. Jesus, a lifetime ago.
“You were my first,” she said. “You always remember your firsts.”
He felt a pang. She hadn’t been important to him at all. A number. A notch. A nobody he’d used, like he used all the others. What was Connie doing now? He watched as she pulled the belt free from his slacks. What was the point of that? His pants were already off. She snapped the leather, and the pang he’d felt a second before turned to anxiety. What was she going to do?
Connie bent and sucked his cock. He groaned and rattled the handcuff chain. Metal on metal. He begged her with his hips.
“We taste good together,” she said. “I can taste my own juices on your cock.”
The girls he dated never talked like that. They were cookie-cutter girls, all almost the same, like Barbies on a shelf. They let him fuck them. They let him use them. But they didn’t talk like that.