Play

by Melissa Young

  She stands before me, with her arms folded and the expression on her face changes.

  “What was that you said last night? When you didn’t hold the limo door open for me?” She pauses and playfully flicks her bottom lip with her index finger before pretending the light bulb has gone off in her mind. “Oh, right!”

  We lock eyes as I wrestle with the restraints around my wrists and I have this feeling I’m not going to like this very much.

  “I think you can handle yourself.” She flashes me a devilish smirk paired with this wink that burns a hole right through me. “Darling.”

  She uses my own words against me - verbatim, no less. I laugh because what the fuck else am I going to do right now? “Oh, I hurt your feelings, did I? How about you come back here, untie me and I’ll make you feel better.”

  She starts regrouping herself, adjusting her dress and slipping her feet back into those sexy black patent pumps. This was all fun and games until she starts reaching for more of her belongings. Panic starts to wash over me as I realize she might actually be leaving me like this.

  “Wait, wait. You’re not actually leaving, are you, love?”

  “Goodnight Oscar,” she turns around to meet with my gaze once more before exiting my bedroom. “I had a lovely evening.”

  “Red! Red! Red!” I call out after her, my voice nearly cracking.

  Her curiosity gets the better of her, thankfully. “What did you say?”

  “Yesterday, you said you wouldn’t sleep with me because I didn’t know your favorite color,” I swallow, soothing my strained throat. “So, blue?”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “You just don’t know when to stop, do you?”

  “Right. Yellow?”

  “Goodnight, Oscar.” She turns slowly and exits the room. “And thanks for the pizza. I like it best when it’s cold.”

  “This is bloody highway robbery!” I continue to struggle with the restraints, sure that I’m turning red in the face with frustration.

  “Orange!”

  I hear her giggle and her heels clicking on the floors, becoming more and more faint with each step.

  “Green!”

  The elevator dings and the doors slide open.

  “Purple!”

  I listen as the doors slide shut and then its complete silence up here on the 68th floor.

  “Oh just piss off for fuck sakes!”

  thirteen

  Un-fucking-believable.

  However, also not-fucking-surprising.

  Although a very hands-on approach with our first encounter, it was foolish of me to assume that Jane’s drunken inhibitions would translate to her willingness to ride me like a bucking bronco. I knew better and yet, I still fell for her trap.

  Sometimes, I wish my brain and my dick were able to think independently of each other.

  In this moment, completely starkers with my wrists and ankles bound to my four-poster bed I realize no matter the amount of pounds in your bank account, or the accolades to your name, you are never immune to the trials and tribulations of dating.

  We are all just shit out of luck.

  This is albeit a hilarious but harsh reminder of why I simply don’t date.

  The most fucked up part? I know myself. The horse and pony show Jane is putting me through is just egging me on further. It makes me yearn for her even more so now. Before, it was simply a piqued interest. Now, I need to fuck her, just to get it out of my system.

  I look up at the knots around my wrists. The more I struggle, the tighter they become. A classic noose knot and I’d be lying if I said that this didn’t turn me on more. She knew that it would too. She knew her knowledge of restraints and shibari would impress me and be enough to keep me interested.

  That little corker.

  Dear Jane Smith, this isn’t over. It’s just the beginning.

  I must try to shift my attention from my potential revenge plot for Jane to a more important task on my docket – this massive family gathering I have this evening with Michael Nichols and his clan and in order to make the notable impression necessary, well, I have to be there and not tied to my bed.

  Thankfully or this is just my optimism speaking, I have been left in rather precarious situations before, so I know my escape is inevitable. Regretfully, my knight in shining armor, the only other person with access to my apartment, is my housekeeper Adeline.

  As always, I thank the heavens above for the invention of voice recognition software and call out to my phone to commence The Great Rescue of Oscar Rose Part Twenty-Three or whatever it may be now. I have honestly lost track and I’m sure Adeline has as well.

  “Call Adeline Torres.” I watch as the screen comes to life and begins placing the call. I fight with the restraints on my wrists and ankles further, trying to bring my body closer to the device since I’m unable to reach it and press the speakerphone button.

  It rings.

  And rings.

  And rings.

  “Oscar. It’s 1:00am,” her voice is groggy on the other line.

  Relief washes over me. “Yes, darling. I’m aware and terribly sorry to boot. It’s just that…”

  “Who is she and what did she stick up there this time? A vibrator? Or a more shocking surprise like last time. Another light bulb from a Christmas tree?”

  Okay, so I have a confession to make. Regretfully, this is not the first time Adeline has come to my rescue. When you are in the spotlight like I am or in the company of it always, you have to be very careful what kind of information might leak about you. Therefore, I like to keep emergencies or in the particular scenario she is reminiscing about, emergency room visits, very low key.

  Besides, how we are supposed to have a yearly laugh at all of the little or big things that might find their way into our bodies? Someone has to take one for the team?

  I’m doing us all a favor here.

  Adeline is an ex military nurse. She gave 30 years of her life to this country and now, she is cleaning my house and rescuing me from my questionable escapades. Fortunately, she is being compensated handsomely for her time; much better than what she would have received from her pension.

  She gets vacation time galore to take road trips to her country home in her beautiful 60’s cherry red convertible with her husband and I get my ass saved from embarrassing headlines on the regular. A fair trade, in my mind.

  “I’m happy to report it’s nothing nearly as invasive as last time,” I smile into the phone. “I’m just a little more restrained than I usually am.”

  “And she left you. What did you to do her, Oscar?”

  Adeline, my guardian angel and a real proper woman, but please spare me the bullshit lecture on how any of this is my fault. I just want to jack off and fall asleep comfortably. Is that too much for a man to ask?

  “Just come save a bloke, would you darling?” I plead.

  She laughs. “I’m on my way.”

  Bless her soul.

  ***

  I must have fallen asleep, for the sound of the elevator arriving to my apartment causes me to come to. I look around, still in the same familiar and restraining surroundings. So this wasn’t some sort of a kinky dream. Got it.

  My bedroom is still dimly lit but the lights to the foyer and kitchen of my loft are still brightly shining, which brings me a touch of comfort in this precarious situation.

  I clear my throat and swallow, preparing to welcome and warn Adeline of what she is about to see, simultaneously. I shake my head a few times, trying to regain my focus and just as I’m about to speak, I hear an unfamiliar sound.

  Are those heels on my marble floors?

  Now, Adeline, although an attractive woman, is the type who would prefer sneakers over a pair of pumps any day of the week and the last thing I would expect her to wear coming to rescue me in the middle of the night, are a pair of heels.

  She’s ex-military. I’m half expecting her to fucking torpedo through the window in my bedroom from a chopper in the sky. So obviousl
y, this isn’t her.

  “Hello? Who’s there?” I call out, helplessly and then instantly regret it.

  If shit is about to go down, why did I just make myself known?

  I need to start reading again.

  The footsteps grow louder and perhaps faster. It’s hard to tell with the echo in my open concept apartment. I can see a shadow forming near the door to my bedroom. It looks quite large in stature and I can feel my body freezing.

  In one split second, I start rifling through the worst possible scenarios in my mind. Do I owe anyone money? Have I done anything that illegal? Is someone’s boyfriend breaking into my apartment to beat me to a pulp?

  “Jane?”

  Okay, I must be dreaming.

  I blink a few times to try to remove any lingering blur that might have plagued my vision. However, the proof is in the pudding. She’s back and she’s standing at the door of my bedroom, in what appears to be a long trench coat.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She doesn’t say anything and keeps walking toward me.

  “How did you get in?”

  She chuckles. “I think Gregory has a crush on me.”

  “Well wait until he finds out that you like to tie up blokes and leave them hung out to dry for kicks.”

  “Yeah, about that,” she stops just before the foot of the bed and drops the trench coat in one fell swoop. Hidden underneath that trench coat, a mouthwatering lingerie ensemble.

  “Can I make it better?” She toys with me as she stands, decked out to the nines in black lace and mesh. I get my first uninhibited view of Jane’s body, in all its glory and it’s even more fucking unbelievable than that little black dress ever lead on.

  She’s tight and lean and I can feel my dick hardening again at the visual. Her breasts are barely shielded by the black lace bra that comes to a halter tie on her neck. The barely there thong she is sporting leaves little to the imagination but just enough to have me practically salivating. Her legs are embellished with darkened stockings, complete with the entire garter ensemble and I just cannot take my eyes off of her, no matter how hard I try.

  So, I didn’t try that hard. Fuck it.

  My mind is telling me this girl is bad news and not to trust her but my very, very hard dick is essentially begging for Jane to sit on or play with it. My mind usually loses this life-long battle.

  “If you think showing up looking like that is going to fix this,” I cannot even lie. “Then you’re absolutely right. Just untie me, would you?”

  “Just shut up and fuck me,” she literally pounces on me on the bed and I feel completely powerless. I try not to get lost in her luscious skin and the intoxicating fragrance coming off of her. I try not to get fazed by the sensation of her thong rubbing against my throbbing cock. I try not to get lost in this, painfully sexy moment.

  I try to stick to my guns. “Nah uh, missy. Untie me first.”

  “You’re seriously saying no to me right now?” She challenges me.

  “No,” I try to settle this. “But don’t you think a man deserves to have some feeling back in his wrists and ankles before partaking in what I’m predicting to be a very serious sexy fuck session?”

  She huffs. “Fine, but only one hand?”

  Not the time, Bossypants.

  She grabs one of the knots and slips it through, finally giving me the sensation back into my hand it has been longing for. I quickly finish the job, reaching for my ankles immediately. I know her type of knot well, since it is one of my personal favorites also, so it’s a breeze for me to unleash both my ankles in a hot second.

  I’m a free man!

  “Hey, I only said one hand,” she tries to stop me, but it’s too late. Before she even had the opportunity to comprehend my movements, I’ve already escaped.

  “Darling, all I need is one hand, I reach for the back of her head, balling her hair up in my grasp and I pull her in hard, forcing her lips to meet with mine.

  While she’s distracted, I reach over and untie my other hand, finally able to have total reign over my body again and let me tell you, it could not have come at a better time.

  I instantly flip Jane over onto her back, refusing to allow any more time to pass before my cock can get the satisfaction it has been craving. I reach down with my hand, over her tight and smooth as silk flesh and over the black lace, until I’m finally between her legs. I want nothing more than to relish in each touch I am blessed with, but I feel this sense of urgency.

  I need to be inside of her. I need to be inside of her with the desperate urgency of a man who needs water after a week in the Sahara.

  Hungry, she moans and melts into my skin. She paws at the back of my skull and digs her claws as deep as they can go into the skin of my back. It sends my entire body ablaze and I cannot help but also let a moan escape my lips as well. An audible moan, that is not only mildly embarrassing but also a first for me. Fuck.

  “Fuck me now,” she cries out, before she bites on my bottom lip.

  We are going at each other like ravenous wolves, scratching and biting flesh. It’s wild but it’s purposeful and I am absolutely lapping every second of this up.

  I break from the intensity briefly, reaching for a condom from my bedside table.

  “Oh my god!” Jane screams out and pushes me off of her.

  “What’s wrong?” I try to console Jane, but also myself, seeing as how this reaction has literally come from nowhere.

  “I am so sorry!” Adeline, bless her heart, is standing in the doorway.

  “Adeline! Fuck!”

  “Well sorry, but you fucking called me!” She shrieks back at me, shielding her eyes with her hands and taking a step around to the outside of the room.

  “No, darling, not you,” I call out after her in frustration.

  I just cannot fucking win.

  It’s a flurry of fucking freak-outs. I’m trying to grab a sheet to cover my dick, while Jane is trying to locate her trench coat on the floor somewhere and Adeline is yelling gibberish to herself out in the hallway.

  If I weren’t so pissed off right now, I’d be pissing myself laughing.

  “What the hell is going on?” Jane hisses at me, collecting her coat off the floor.

  “Jane, Adeline and vice versa. She’s my housekeeper. I called her to rescue me before… well… before it all blew right the fuck up!” I remain siting on the bed, absolutely gutted and speechless.

  “I, uh, … Bye.” Jane calls out as she darts out of the room like a bloody missile, nearly colliding into Adeline, who still doesn’t know what the fuck is going on.

  “Jane!” I call out after her but it is too late, for by the time I’m able to regain my ability to speak, I can already hear the elevator doors closing.

  “Fuck!” I yell out and it’s sharp, riddled with anger and frustration. I beat my hands on either side of the mattress and yell out random profanity more.

  Does it solve anything? No. Does it feel good? Fuck yes it does.

  Adeline turns to me in the middle of the doorframe with her hands on either side of her cherub face; her withered fingertips buried in her salt and peppered dark hair. She has on a housecoat at best and nearly the slippers to match, not even bothering to dress herself before coming to my rescue with this look on her face that just begs for me to forgive her.

  “I am so sorry, Mr. Rose. Did I ruin it?”

  I can’t even be mad at her. She did exactly what I asked of her and well, I will just chalk this up to some terrible timing. “No, darling you didn’t. I’ll just look at it this way. That’s the most amount of women I’ve had in my bedroom at once in eons.”

  Fuck. Sakes.

  fourteen

  How many dick pics can you send someone before it becomes redundant?

  Your best bet is to ask Jane Smith, because her and I have been exchanging the most torturous texts to one another like it’s the sexy texting Olympics for fuck sakes. Each one out doing the previous and each text like a challenge to the
other, always trying to be the one to drive the other more and more insane. And this has been happening all fucking morning, no less.

  I swear I have jacked off more in the past 12 hours than I have ever in my previous 32 years of existence.

  No matter the amount of orgasms I have inflicted upon my body this morning and the amount of times I have tried shoving my dick in a variety of objects, anything to feel something as remotely close to how Jane would have felt when she was inches away from riding me last night, I still have no relief.

  Adeline, bless her soul, how I fucking despise her right now.

  Biggest. Cock block. Ever.

  With Jane teasing me to the point of actual tears it’s any wonder I was able to wash and clothe myself today, let alone make it to this dinner reservation on time.

  Alas, business must always be the top priority, so here we are.

  I pull up to the front of the restaurant and shift my car into park. I check my phone quickly, to see if Jane has served me another curve ball with which to reciprocate, but nothing and much to my relief, or chagrin, depending upon how I’m feeling in that split second, nothing in the past hour or so.

  The valet steps around to fetch my keys from me.

  “Don’t touch it,” I warn the valet.

  “I’m sorry sir. I have to touch your car in order to move it?”

  “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.” I laugh.

  The valet employee, stands before me, flabbergasted. He doesn’t say another word and just stands before me.

  “Is this a fucking joke?” I question him, wondering what the hell is going on.

  “You told me not to touch your car, sir, so I’m not sure what to do here. Do you not want valet service today?”

  Bloody hell. My dick is so hard; I think I’m losing blood to my brain. It’s just brilliant timing for a very important meeting.

  Apologies in advance, Mr. Nichols and to my mum, for my tombstone is about to read:

  Oscar Rose

  February 11, 1985 – September 30, 2017

  Death by Boner

  “Apologies,” I hand the valet the keys as I step out of the car, hoping the crisp air will snap me the fuck out of this and force me back to reality.