BARE HANDS - A Bad Boy Romance Novel

by Gabi Moore

  With his other hand he pushed my shoulders down and my head flopped onto the bed, hair curtaining over my eyes. My hips were angled up high, my most vulnerable parts completely on display to him, but he forced my knees open further still. With expert fingers he split open the folds of my pussy and caressed the pool of wetness there, teasing over my clit and circling around the hollow. My body recognized him and knew what it wanted.

  “Yes?” he said, barely audible.

  “Yes!” I cried, the building heat in my thighs and pelvis tormenting me.

  In went a single finger, and I whimpered appreciatively. Anchoring my hips with his other hand, he explored and probed me deeply, feeling out every corner of me, feeling how I quivered around his firm caress. In went a second and then a third finger, my slit now streaming milky sweetness over him. I breathed hard into the veil of hair that fell around my face, and everything went dark all around me except for this thrilling glow of warmth and pleasure radiating out from his fingertips.

  Before, it had been painful to press the full length of his cock into me. We were both inexperienced – he had pulled out, kissed the tender cleft between my legs and tried again, but it had hurt, and we eventually managed only a few painful, swollen thrusts before we both came, giggling and shocked at what we had done.

  Right now, though, I was more than ready for him. He had worn away the last edges of my resistance, and we had both patiently pressed through the hesitant, sore places of our first fuck. My body hadn’t been ready for him before; my heart and mind were tinged with fear, with trepidation. Now, with that long behind us, I wanted to let go and love him more deeply. I wanted him to fuck my brains out. His hand streaming with my wetness, he knew what he had to do.

  He placed his tip at the entrance of my cunt and with a soft push, settled the head into me. Before I could beg him to go further, he thrust the full length of his shaft deep into me in one hard, quick movement. I screamed noiselessly into the bed, my tied hands curling uselessly around each other. He stroked soothing fingertips over my butt, played with the goose bumps there and greeting my clenching hands.

  Immediately he drew back and plunged into me again, my entire body singing out with sparkles of hot, sticky pleasure. As before, it was overwhelming to have him inside me like this; a new and carnal sensation. Impaled on his dick this way, my hands tied, I felt how utterly at his mercy I was, how every part of my body, even the most fragile inner rooms and passages, even my soul, somehow, could be reached and dominated by this wonderful instrument, this cock that could open and enter me so completely.

  Soon, his thrusts became fluid and rhythmic, and with each pump my body melted and submitted around him. I tried to raise my head to gasp for air, but it was swiftly yanked back down again by the cord around my neck. Arched like this, he fucked me forcefully and with a beautiful, masculine violence that seemed to feed on itself, that seemed to witness me there, yielding and open, and thrust with even more savageness.

  He pounded into my aching, plump pussy, seeming to drive right into the core of me. Out the corner of my eye I saw how tightly he clutched at my hips, one foot and one knee on the bed to give his own hips the fullest range of force. The stars behind my eyes had blended into one buzzing sheet of white; my entire body was ringing and aching with every stab, and my wrists were raw from being yanked and pulled. He slapped an open hand down hard on one cheek, then the other, and my flesh shuddered, sending ripples through me. Every thrust was a claim: this is mine. This is mine. This is mine.

  “Good girl” he said suddenly. “You’re learning. You’re going to make a good little fuck slave one day.”

  Just hearing these words nearly threw me over the edge and I clenched my toes and froze, desperately holding on. Through gasps, I managed to whisper, “You’re too big for me” and I heard him growl under his breath and fuck harder.

  “What’s too big?” he said with a sneer.

  “Your …your …” my head was spinning; my body close to being engulfed by the relentless waves of pleasure beating through me.

  “My what?” he said louder, never pausing for a moment, slamming his hips into mine over and over and over again.

  “Your…”

  The quivering edge of an orgasm peaked inside me and I felt my body clamp down hard onto him.

  “Your cock! Your fucking cock is too big for me!” I screamed out and one then two cruel lunges sent my body into a frenzy and I came, intensely, my hands nearly ripping themselves free of their restraints. The force of my convulsing cunt quickly expelled him. He moaned with approval and slapped my ass again, hard, the flesh stinging.

  “Too big? You’ll have to learn to take it.”

  He plunged his fingers into my still shuddering pussy, as if to survey the damage there, then laughed and immediately entered me again. The trailing pulses of my orgasm seemed to catch on his dick and he stirred them up again into fresh pleasure.

  “Try again now, but this time, don’t come so quickly, little slut”

  I lost count of the orgasms that night. I lost track of my body, and my mind. Hours, or maybe years later, my limbs were raw with leather strap marks, faint red patches in the shape of outspread hands, teeth marks, and a wet patch on the bed the size and shape of an enormous, many armed beast. I had given him everything. By the time we were done there was not a single atom of my being that wasn’t his.

  Chapter 15

  Yes, bruises can be romantic, in their own way.

  I looked down at the marks round my upper thigh, like the scattered blue petals of a strange flower. If they had been put there by anything other than his loving hands, they would have seemed ugly to me. But they hadn’t. And so they didn’t.

  There were signs of him all over my body, if you knew what to look for. In the same way you can stare at the forest floor and pick out the trail of an animal that has passed through, you could look at my body and tell that he had been there, on me, in me. After we had sex, I felt like I buzzed for hours, that my skin stayed hot and prickling for a long while till it calmed down. My hair was always tousled into a big mess, my cheeks were always unevenly flushed the moments immediately after.

  But there were other changes that went deeper, and lasted longer. After David and I closed the door on the world and opened the door to our own, I changed. I become more fluid, less sane. I was thrilling and irresponsible and delicious beyond belief. And when we finished and got to pulling our clothes back on again, there was still some of that deliciousness lingering on me. I swore more often now, as though my tongue had been loosened. I was clumsier, and laughed louder when I dropped something, or forgot what I was saying mid-sentence.

  My training, as David would have it, was well underway. I was learning. He wouldn’t have admitted it, but I was teaching him, too.

  We tried everything together, and found that no limit and no boundary was any match for our shared curiosity. I gave in more and more and he took over more and more, and eventually I learned to trust him implicitly. He began to understand what each little shudder, each little sigh meant. He knew to watch the tension in my hands and slow down if they showed I was scared; he knew how to read the undulations of my hips and thighs; he knew which sounds meant “more, please”.

  Sex has its own momentum, and we were both carried off with ideas we had started months and months ago, when I first sent that fateful email. That thread was now long buried amongst all my other emails. I checked my inbox one day, though, to discover something curious:

  Violet,

  You might not remember me – we met once briefly at David’s 18th. I was chatting with David the other day and he was telling me some interesting things about you. He mentioned that your anniversary was coming up, and that he wanted to do something very special for you.

  Naturally, remembering you and thinking how awesome it would be to be a part of that, I told David that I would be more than happy to help.

  Do you know what I’m talking about?

  What do you t
hink?

  Jessie

  I think I must have stopped breathing. I read the email over and over again. Millions of possibilities fanned out before me. I knew that David had been pushing me, asking for more and more details about one particular fantasy, one that we had spelled out clearly when we were David and Annie, but had so far skirted round as David and Violet. It had always been there, this idea, on the outskirts of our imaginations, but now here it was: a totally naughty suggestion. Surely not?

  Two things suggested themselves:

  One: It wasn’t Jessie (who I scarcely remembered) at all, but David, pulling a massive joke.

  Two: It was Jessie.

  This second possibility gave me the most pause. Curiously, I searched my heart and mind found nothing that was resistant to the idea. So great was my trust for David that I simply could not imagine that he would lead me into something that wasn’t going to be wonderful. What would really happen, if I agreed? Was it really just David writing to me or was this actually Jessie? Did I even care?

  I wasted no time:

  Jessie

  I know exactly what you’re talking about.

  I’m eager to do whatever David wants me to do. You have my enthusiastic consent. If he says so, everything is permitted.

  Violet

  I hit send. Sure, it was a little dramatic, but again, what did I care? It felt delicious, to let go like this. I was safe, and had been from the very beginning. I felt freed. There was nothing that I could do with him, or for him, that would be unacceptable to me.

  Chapter 16

  MY HOUSE

  19:30

  THE FRONT DOOR WILL BE UNLOCKED - JUST COME INSIDE

  IMMEDIETLY REMOVE ALL YOUR CLOTHES

  PUT ON THE BLIND FOLD AND CAPE

  THEN WAIT FOR INSTRUCTIONS

  DO NOT REMOVE THE BLINDFOLD

  DO NOT SPEAK A SINGLE WORD

  I stared long and hard at it. Ah, David, my goofy boyfriend, who had made it to 21 years of age without learning how to spell a damn thing. I smiled internally, wanting to show the whole world this note but at the same time relishing the secret it carried. He had slipped it to me on the way to classes that morning and hurried off.

  Tonight was the night of our anniversary. I had been waiting, half expecting it to blow over, half expecting the unexpected. After all, “Jessie” had never replied and I actually began to doubt my memories of him and his email. Butterflies had gradually started to build throughout that day, and they kept on building as I carefully shaved my body from top to bottom, did my nails, took time applying lotion onto every little bit of me.

  I could prepare all I wanted – but it was all in his hands now.

  And I liked it that way.

  David was hopeless at spelling, but a master at knowing exactly what I needed, seemingly before I even did. I had only ever mentioned this fantasy in passing, as though it could never be realized, but I guess he had been listening closely, looking for ways to bring it to life.

  By the time I arrived at his house, it was 19:23. I was way too early. Trying to calm myself down, I paced up and down outside his front door, wondering if I would spoil anything by being early, and also wondering what kind of idiot turns up early to her own… her own …? I didn’t even know what word to call it.

  But it had the feel of a rite to it. Something dark and ritualistic and forbidden. A cape? That was a nice touch. I had never mentioned a cape before, but the second the idea was in my mind I was sorry I hadn’t. It was perfect. A cape. And a blindfold.

  19:30 exactly. I drew in a deep, jagged breath and let myself in, closing the door with an obvious click so that it could be heard, if that proved necessary. The foyer was dark. Everything was still, still enough that I could believe nobody was home. I let my handbag drop softly to the floor and locked the door behind me, sealing myself in. As my eyes adjusted to the light I made out a large swath of black cloth hanging off a hanger on the door. Draped over the hanger was a blindfold, also black.

  With shaking hands I took off each item of my clothing, all the scents and smells of my shower just a moment before vivid in the semi-darkness. I put the cape on, and was surprised by how heavy it was. This was no junk Halloween item, or something made of cheap cotton, but something genuine, heavier, made of a dense, plush velvet material and so black it was hard to make out its contours. I lay this on me and relished its weight on my shoulders. The blindfold went on next, and I tied it carefully over my loose hair, which now hung long down my naked back, inside the cape.

  I stood there, head gently lowered, the desperate knocking of my heart the only sound I could detect in the darkness. Was I beginning to sweat with nervousness? Was I already wet?

  I stood there, waiting, for what seemed my entire lifetime. I was ready to think that I had never done anything in my life but waited there, like that, for whatever it was that I was waiting for. Still, I dared not move, and eventually, my instructions did come.

  Something distant rustled. I heard a door click softly open and then close again. I nearly jumped out of my skin as someone touched my hand and then grasped my fingertips. I was being guided somewhere, so I followed, slowly, trying not to bump into anything. I had been to this house a million times before but now I was totally unaware of myself, losing all sense of space.

  The fingers were anonymous. David’s? Could I really know that for sure? Briefly touching my hips and shoulders, the hand angled my body and then pushed me down to my feet. My bare toes touched another luxurious fabric – this time, it felt like fur. I knelt down and collapsed onto my haunches.

  My eyes were blindfolded, but I felt that my other senses had been muted, too. The room was deathly silent, and I felt like the blackness all around me was more comprehensive than my blindfold would have me believe. Only one sense came into sharp relief, and it was touch: the cape, the warm fuzziness of the thing I was kneeling on, the almost electric touch of the mystery fingers …all of this seemed to swell and fill my whole field of awareness.

  I kept expecting someone to say something, for my fate to be announced, but I began to understand: my “instructions” were all to be non-verbal. The hand disappeared and I was alone again, resting my hands on my knees.

  All at once, I felt the sweet fullness of lips against mine, and I was being kissed deeply, hurriedly. My head fell back and my neck was propped there as a tongue made its way over mine. In my delirium, I imagined that it wasn’t David – but was it? I tried to pin the sensation down, to determine whether these were his lips, his tongue, but all I could determine was that it felt good, and I wanted more of it. I kissed back hungrily, hands still on my knees, an obedient pose.

  The lips pulled away and came back again. Or was it a different pair? The idea that it could be anyone was deeply thrilling to me. I kissed back again, this time hesitating a little, noticing that familiar twitch and ache between my legs. I was wet. I vaguely sensed a slick of dew spreading out over my inner thighs. I opened my mouth and kissed, unafraid. This went on for some time, silently, and I kissed what was put in front of me.

  Naturally, something else was soon put in front of me. I could detect it a mile away: the smell of a hot cock was unmistakable. When it was pressed against my lips in suggestion, I opened my mouth immediately and sucked, the folds of my cape now beginning to gape open in the front.

  Was it different? Was it a slightly more metallic taste? Slightly wider at the base? Shorter? It was pulled away from me and another took its place, and I sucked it too. Was this David’s? I couldn’t tell. There was only the smell of warm skin, and the faintest sound of air entering and leaving a body. We were alone, me and some unknown number of other people, here, in this dark temple, in this weird chamber, me in a second chamber of my own that was draped over me and drawn across my eyes, rendering me helpless.

  The blackness was a soothing blanket all around, something that nullified me and blotted me out, so that all that was left was my open, receptive mouth and my pleasure, which was gr
owing and hardening deep at the base of my spine. It went like this for a while, nameless and faceless dick after dick thrust into my unknowing lips, and I pleasured each one dutifully with my tongue and lips.

  Then they disappeared, and the room was dark around me once more. I sat patiently, my stomach no longer filled with butterflies; instead, I was calm. Surrendered, even. I would accept my fate, whatever it was, with grace and submission. I placed my hands again on my knees and lowered my head.

  A hand went to my throat and undid the tie of the cape, which was then pulled away from my body. I gasped at how cold it was all of a sudden – the cape must have been keeping me quite warm. Goose bumps sprang all over my naked body. It was quiet again, and nothing happened.

  The hand returned, this time caressing my bare breasts. This time, it was unmistakable: this was not David’s hand. I had been holding out for the very real chance that none of this was really real; that I could whip off my blindfold any time now and find nobody but my dear sweat boyfriend in the room with me. But something in the size of this hand, in the weight of it against my skin, and its roughness told me in no uncertain terms: there was at least one person in this room that I didn’t know.

  My heart jumped and suddenly the butterflies were back again. I began to panic.

  The hand traced tentative lines down the rest of my body, over my hips and the curve of my stomach, leaving a trail of tight, nervous skin behind it. Something at the back of my mind was pushing its way to the fore: these people, whoever they were, were going to do things to me. Soon.