Healing Talia: a RiverHart short story (The RiverHart Chronicles Book 2)

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Healing Talia: a RiverHart short story (The RiverHart Chronicles Book 2) Page 2

by Adira August


  Roland's head dropped back and the color returned to his face. "You're going to kill me." His head came up. "Okay. How do you 'sort of' see a therapist?'"

  She told him about meeting Gen at WalMart.

  "Let me get this straight," Raymond said. "The bigshot 500 dollar an hour expert Hart got to see you in Denver, gives you the names of more bigshot experts here, which Hart's offered to pay for. But you pick up a bargain shrink at WalMart?"

  "Thing is, she doesn't want to be my therapist. She said she'd rather stay friends. And I'll need a friend, anyway, if I do the therapy with someone else." She took a deep breath. "I really want to, you know? I hate myself like this. I hate what I'm doing to you."

  "I'm fine," he told her.

  "Rolly," she said softly. She hadn't called him that in weeks and she saw him tear up at the sound of his nickname. "Let's not start lying to each other, now, okay?"

  He took a pull from his glass. "Talli. The thing I need to be okay, is to find a way to help you be okay. To help you get out of pain. It's being helpless that has me messed up."

  "But you do help me. You work so hard to make me feel safe. You're so patient. It's like you trust me. Like you know I'll get there. And that's been great because I feel like a crazy person most of the time, but you act like I'm not. I'm just …"

  "Broken," he said.

  "Yeah," she agreed, the tears running. "Out of order." She wiped her face and drank some more brandy. "But I have an idea, now."

  Roland frowned and looked around. "Wait. Where are the boys? They're usually jumping all over me, by now."

  "Sleepover. Phyllis' church is having a pre-Halloween safe trick-or-treat party. And sleep-over. In the church."

  "Okay, that's just scary," he said. "Don't churches have graveyards?"

  "Not since the forties. And we need a night for ourselves," she said.

  "We do?" He asked. She almost cried again at the hope in his eyes.

  "Yeah, so let me explain." He nodded and pressed his lips together. Goof.

  "So. Gen explained that I have to talk about it. To a therapist. And people don't want to because it's like reliving it and it can be pretty horrible. But after, you feel better. So you do it again and again. Until you aren't reliving, you're remembering. And somehow, it makes you better."

  She said this all in a rush because it scared her to think about.

  "Okay," he said.

  "Okay. And I want to. I need to get better. I need to find myself again. But, I can't do it without you. I need to be able to sleep with you and have you hold me and feel safe and connected. I'll have a therapist and maybe a group. I'll have Gen I can talk about the gory details with, if I need that. I can't tell you that stuff. But," she wept some more. "But I need to be with you, Rol. I need you to hold me …" She stopped and sobbed a few times. "I miss you," she whispered.

  "I miss you, too," he said quietly, desperate to take her into his arms and comfort her. Knowing he couldn't, yet. "Tell me how to help."

  She nodded and moved to his desk where she found a box of tissues and blew her nose. "I want to try and have sex with you, tonight. But - I think I can only do it if - I mean, you know, I have to be on top."

  "Do you mean on top or in charge?"

  "Both." She went to the closet and brought out a large, rectangular wicker basket. It was the gift basket Hart had prepared for them, back when they were supposed to be having a fun week in Denver, meeting Avia's new boyfriend. It had been in the back of his study closet since they'd come home.

  Talia hauled it over to the couch and sat on the floor next to it. "I found some stuff that might help," she said. She opened the basket and handed him a pair fur mittens. Thumbless. He examined the long silvery gray fur.

  "Is it fox or something?"

  "Chinchilla, it says," she answered. "Could you try them on?" She was looking at the floor, being this close to his hands while he was moving them around made her nauseous. "I just want to test something."

  Roland pulled one on easily, but then he had no fingers free to help put on the other. Finally, he used his teeth on the cuff to pull it over his hand.

  "What do you think?" He asked her, laying his hands on his thighs.

  Talli scooched around and stared at them. "Can you move a little?" He slid his mufflered hands up his own stomach and chest. Slowly. She never took her eyes off them.

  "It kinda works," she said, happily. "Wait."

  She scurried off toward the utility room and came back with a fat roll of industrial strength duct tape and scissors. Taking a long section of tape, she wrapped it around his wrist, winding it around and up, taping the glove to this shirt sleeve. She tugged on it. Hard. The glove stayed in place.

  Roland was happy to let her do anything she wanted. It was the first time she had voluntarily touched him in weeks. He waited patiently while she taped the other hand.

  "Is it too tight?" She asked.

  "Seems okay," he said. "Can you explain why this helps you?"

  "The trigger, I think, is hands and … digits," she said avoiding the word "fingers." "Rolly, I was fine before this. I wasn't a screwed up person, you know? My - whatever you call the logical part of the brain - I think it just needs some help for a while. I need … I need something good to replace all the horrible. But I have to cover up the trigger things. So thinking me, can be stronger than scared-to-death me," she said. She looked worried. "Does that sound stupid?"

  He shook his head. "Nope. What does your friend Gen think of this?"

  "She thinks I need a really strong support system in place before I do the therapy."

  "Okay. You think we can have sex if I wear these?" He asked. Now he was looking openly hopeful.

  "Well," she dropped her head. "Um, not - no." She went back into the wicker basket and brought out more items. She laid them on the couch next to Roland.

  Roland looked curiously at the items Talli laid out. His stomach went hollow. A thrill of fear spread from his chest to meet the warmth of anticipation rising from his groin. Restraints. Black leather. Padded. His mouth went dry.

  "We've never done this," he said quietly.

  It wasn't that they hadn't played at restraint. They liked to switch roles. Some called it Dom/sub. Or Top/bottom. They called it "who's in charge." Submission was a voluntary thing. If the one in charge told you to do something, you did it. ("Hold onto the headboard and don't let go.")

  They'd never needed safewords. They knew each other. Roland could tell in an instant the difference between Talli's oh of sexual pleasure and her "oh!" of "I have a cramp." Their trust in one another had always been total.

  But Roland was a little bit claustrophobic. And along with that seemed to come a ... fear? … call it resistance to being restrained. Only looking at the bonds now, it was fear, no doubt.

  Stop looking at them, and look at your wife.

  Talia regarded him solemnly, waiting. She was the one waiting now. But she was something else, too, he saw.

  For the first time in weeks, his wife was aroused. The fingers of one hand touched the leather cuffs. Unconsciously stroking, fingering the straps that lay tangled on the cushion. Hard nipples poked the rich, glossy fabric of her top.

  Her eyes were dark, her cheeks flushed. Talli licked her lips and he imagined himself spread before her, her mouth on his aching cock.

  Then she touched him. She reached out and put her hand on top of the incredibly soft fur that covered his hand and pressed.

  "You can say no, it's okay."

  In the weeks that she hadn't touched him, she'd told him she didn't want to tease him, accidentally turn him on. It wasn't fair. But now, it seems, she did. Her words said he could refuse. Her actions said she wanted his compliance. Permission. Submission.

  "This will make you feel safe?" He asked.

  "I think so. I'd have to try it," she said. "Rolly. I can't promise. I might have to stop in the middle. But - I don't want to. I want you, is what I want. I want us. Back like we were." Tears. He kn
ew she couldn't help them. But each one was like acid on his skin, a pain he had to stop.

  She needs this. His cock seemed happy to cooperate in spite of his fear. His head nodded, almost of its own volition.

  "Where?" He asked.

  He could feel her excitement, like heat through an oven door.

  "Here," she said. "Pull out the bed."

  He held up his mufflered hands.

  She grinned. "Sorry. Maybe you should just wait in the chair."

  He moved to his armchair and watched as she opened the bed. From behind it, she brought out a blue bath sheet. She smoothed the large towel over the mattress, on top of the sheet already there. He realized she'd been fully prepared. She'd planned.

  "Take off your shoes," she said. Only it sounded like an order. "But just your shoes." He slipped them off as she placed the restraints on the bed. Something that looked like massage oil on the end table next to the duct tape and scissors.

  His cock twitched, trying to rise, trapped. Roland thought about reaching inside his pants, the feel of the fur on his dick as he adjusted himself. He reached down.

  "Don't," she snapped out the order. He froze. He'd seen this before. Talli in take charge sex mode. She amazed him. She just as easily had a carefree girl sex mode. A sexy siren vamp mode. A total submissive, suck him off on her knees mode. She was every woman he could want and she'd taken him to places he'd never imagined, with joy and delight.

  Admittedly, as an academic only concerned with sex as it was practiced by people dead for thousands of years, he hadn't imagined much. Until Talia. Talia who loved him and wanted please him and loved to make him feel - oh how she made him feel.

  He'd do anything for her; so he did nothing now. She attached the straps to the two top corners of the metal bedframe. The foot restraint straps she attached to the side legs and ran them under the bottom and up to the mattress.

  It was the only way to place the restraints so he couldn't move the bed frame. Lift the bottom up. If he struggled.

  She's been practicing. While I was at work, she practiced.

  The cuffs lay open on the mattress, waiting for him.

  "Lie down," she said, pointing to the towel. He hesitated. She waited. He complied.

  When he was settled, she attached his right ankle to the cuff. She slipped a finger inside to make sure it wasn't too tight. She picked up his foot to make sure he didn't have too much play.

  She repeated this with each of his wrists. Her hands shook, and he realized she was afraid, being this close to his hands for so long. It made his heart stop pounding. He tried to remember, he was doing this for her.

  When both hands were secure, when he pulled on them himself and only felt the restraints tighten further around his wrists, she nodded.

  She leaned over and undid his pants. "Lift up for me," she told him. She worked his trousers over his hips and down, ("Put your legs together.") below his knees. ("Pull your left leg out.") She left his boxers on, his semi bulging. She averted her eyes, and attached the left ankle cuff.

  He was spreadeagled and helpless. His pants bunched around one lower leg. Talli put two pillows under his head, forcing his head up, bending his neck, his chain almost on his chest. He had a perfect view of his own body. Of the black bands around his ankles. She stood at the end of the bed in his sightline and unbuttoned the satin shirt that glimmered in the light.

  It slid to the floor. She reached behind and unhooked her lacy black bra and let it fall. The satin pants hung on her hips. Barely clinging to her below the gentle curve of her belly. Her breasts were full, swollen. He nipples furled and dark red.

  Looking at them he could almost feel them between his lips. Or fingers. Each breast filled his hand, and he'd pinch her nipples between thumbs and fingers and she'd moan and writhe. ("Harder, Rolly, please …") His cock wasn't at half mast, anymore.

  "Do you want to fuck me?" She asked staring at the tent of his boxers.

  "Yes," he answered.

  "But you can't," she said.

  "No."

  "Why not?" She asked, her face hard, her mouth twisted. "Tell me."

  "I can't -" Shit. "I can't move."

  "Prove it," she snapped.

  No. He'd been handling his anxiety by keeping his hands and feet still, the tethers loose, pretending it was like other times she was in charge. When she'd told him to hold still. Pretending it was voluntary, that he could move any time.

  "Prove it or I will," she threatened.

  He nodded and swallowed. Gave a tug with his hands and feet. "See?"

  "What bullshit," she said and quickly, and, as if she had to do it before she thought about it, ripped off his socks.

  He saw her intent. One thing he never indulged in was tickling. He was incredibly ticklish, especially his feet. It wasn't funny to him. It was torture.

  "Talli, no! No! I can't move, I swear to you - "

  Her fingers moved lightly over his left instep. "No!" He jerked hard against the restraint, the bed shook. But she just kept on, using her fingernails, lightly, fluttering them over his instep, up and down, following the useless movements he made to get away. Giving him no escape or respite.

  He screamed a tortured sound that some might have called laughter. She moved to his other foot. His hands and feet jerked again and again against the restraints, his body bowed and twisted. She dropped to her knees and stretched out her arms so she could reach both feet at the same time.

  He couldn't even beg, his laughing screams used all his breath. The bed shook and shuddered. The restraints held.

  After a minute that seemed to him like an eternity, she stopped. She walked around and rechecked his bonds. He lay gasping and, being honest, frightened. He wasn't sure, anymore, who it was he'd given all his power to.

  As she leaned over him, he felt a warm drop on his cheek. He turned to her. She was weeping. "I'm sorry," she said in a voice so low he could just make out the words. "I had to know. For sure."

  She sank to her heels and opened the wicker basket again, taking a small object from it. She stood and regarded him seriously. Talia picked up the massage oil from the side table.

  She dropped the object between his legs. He didn't quite see what it was. Something with a short handle, he thought. But he was distracted from the line of thought by her attention to his dick, that had worked it's way through the fly of his boxers during his agonized gyrations.

  His cock was huge. The head shiny and stretched. She sat on the bed next to his hip and flipped open the top of the oil. Holding it over his engorged glans, she tilted the bottle and began dripping the cool oil onto him.

  "Hold still. That's what you do," she said. "You hold perfectly still. All over. You don't pull away or twist or writhe. You hold as still as if four huge strong people had hold of your arms and legs and had you flat on a table and there is no way to move. Tighter than leather bands. Fingers digging into your flesh."

  Talli put down the oil and unbuttoned his shirt. She spread it open, then pushed his t-shirt up and across his neck and collarbones. Standing back, she considered him. Shook her head. The oil wasn't for his chest, apparently.

  She stared at his erection, the head now slick with the drops of oil. "You be still because I said so. So I won't have to prove to myself I'm in charge again." Her conversational tone horrified him.

  No, please, don't prove anything else.

  She reached out with one hand and rimmed the ridge of his cockhead with her finger. He gasped and went rigid, all his concentration on not moving. He was slick with the oil and her fingertip made lazy figures eights. Then she used the pad of her middle finger to tease his frenulum and slipped her thumb over his slit.

  His breathing was harsh panting, loud in the silent room. He wanted to shove his head back, open his throat, but the two pillows kept his neck bent. He tried to shut his eyes, but she saw this.

  "Watch!" She ordered. His eyes flew open. He would not disobey her.

  She began using both hands, smoothin
g the oil down his shaft, fingers pressing firmly, sliding up and down. Then she reached down further, feeling his balls through the fabric of his boxers. His sac was tight, the well of fire behind them aching and huge.

  "You're so tight," she observed, rolling his balls only slightly. He groaned and choked. "Are you desperate yet? Desperate to come?"

  "Yes. Yes, please." He answered her.

  She bent down and picked up one of his shoes, unthreading the shoelace. He'd worn his Nikes. He always wore them to class. The ones with the seven pair of holes and the 60" laces.

  He watched in fascination as she tied the end of his shoelace around the top of his erection just under the coronal ridge. She only used the end and left a long tail. Reaching back between his legs, she lifted the object she'd retrieved from the basket, shaking it out.

  It was a flogger. Short-handled, leather tails. The fall looked to be about a foot. The tails thin, but pliable.

  Using her left hand, she lifted up the shoelace and pulled his cock away from his body. He felt the lace tighten around the head of his dick, under the rim. He let out a thin whine he couldn't stop.

  "You have to be still," she said. "I practiced the last few days but, you have to be still." She moved her arm back and flicked her wrist. The tails kissed the side of his thigh. He gasped. "Stings, doesn't it?"

  She pulled the lace tighter and swung her arm, the falls fanned out and laid themselves along the column of his erection. She followed through and they slipped off before the ends wrapped around him. She took a step to the side and laid the flogger on him again.

  "Talli! Oh, God, Tal!" He called out in … in what? It wasn't pain, exactly. Not yet. It was just ... he watched, he had to watch. He was still, he had to be still. She was whipping him, whipping his cock. No, flogging me, he thought and a hot ball of need bloomed and he poured precum.

  She was standing back, holding the lace end high, her arm swinging rhythmically, her wrist undulating, the falls a tracing gracefully back and forth in a figure eight, each tail leaving a heat over his heat, pressure against hardness. Constant, consuming … I need to come, I need to now …

 

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