Pretending to Be Us

by Taylor Holloway

  My hands fumbled with his bowtie, but he growled and pushed them away so he could maneuver me on top of him instead. He pulled up handfuls of the gorgeous silk charmeuse with rough motions, ripping the train and pulling me at just the right angle to feel his cock between us, already hard. Ready.

  Whatever animalistic need had seized him was in me as well. Because the moment I felt his throbbing physical need for me, something deep down inside me answered. I lost whatever was left of my own composure. I gasped, fingers fumbling for his fly, suddenly hating all the formalwear and its endless layers of cloth. I needed him. And nothing was going to stop me.

  I found him. My hands knew what to do, more or less, even if my brain was two steps behind. My eager grip worked up and down his cock and he panted into my throat as he pawed at the top of my dress enough to pull it down and reveal my chest. His pupils dilated wider even in the dim light of the limo. He looked as overcome as I felt.

  He nipped at my chest, not bothering with a gentleness I couldn’t appreciate anyway. I wanted it rough. We’d been apart forever. But that ended right now. A throbbing ache had started between my legs and every time he pinched my nipples harder between his teeth it got worse. I was still wearing underwear and we’d done exactly nothing in the realm of foreplay, but there was no time for that. None. I couldn’t wait.

  The driver probably knew what was up. I mean, how could he not? But I didn’t care. He could listen to us fuck or turn on the radio and drown us out. Lust had made me shameless.

  “Now,” I moaned as Peter continued to lavish attention on my nipples. He kneaded my ass with his hands. His eyes were mischievous. The man knew what he was up to. My voice was husky and unfamiliar. “I need you.”

  His hands cupped my ass harder. One hand held me still while the fingers of the other sought and pulled aside my panties. He made a pleased noise in his throat when he felt how soaking wet I was for him.

  “I’m going to do so many things to you tonight,” he growled. “We’re going to put whatever remains of that guilt complex of yours to good use.”

  I was panting. “Peter...”

  “We’ll put those lips that lied to me to better use around my cock.”

  “Okay.” That sounded great.

  “We’ll find out whether you like being punished in bed as much as you do in real life.”

  “Now?” I whimpered. I’d do whatever he wanted. I wanted to. As long as it was right now.

  He looked up at me teasingly. “No. Not right now. I shouldn’t let you come right now,” he whispered, fingers still working between my legs to tempt me closer and closer to coming from just his hands alone. He flicked my clit with his thumb, and I worried I might die. “I should make you wait like you’ve made me wait.” He laughed. “How does about three weeks sound to you?”

  I just whimpered again. He had to be messing with me. He couldn’t be serious about denying me. He couldn’t. There was no way I could wait. I’d pass out. I’d burst into flames. I’d collapse into a black hole style singularity of orgasm denial.

  He just kept on looking up at me, smirking. He was holding me just high enough that I couldn’t work my pussy down on him and take what I needed.

  “Are you going to run away again?” he asked, squeezing my ass tighter as I struggled to get us lined up.

  I shook my head. “No. Never.” I meant it. I’d learned my lesson. I’d been stupid and stubborn and prideful and unsure if anyone would ever forgive me. I’d put myself, and him, through hell.

  “Do you love me?” He asked. He was looking at me like he knew the answer.

  “Yes. Always.” I hoped that was obvious.

  He made that pleased-growl noise again. “Good.” He dropped me, letting me finally, finally, join us together. I worked myself down him inch by greedy inch. The feeling of fullness was almost too much. This angle was more intense than anything I’d done before. But at the moment I wanted too much. I wanted all the sensation I could absorb and more. His hands gripped my hips instead, punctuating his words with a thrust. “I’m glad to hear that, Lucy, because I’m not going to let you leave me ever again.”

  We moved together, seeking connection, friction, and heat. Our bodies’ movement erased the weeks of constant tension. The pointless pain. The random bouts of pathetic crying. The sleepless nights that I’d spent worried that I’d never figure out what to do with myself now that I’d wrecked my life. None of it mattered.

  Only we mattered. Our hearts and bodies were in sync now. There was nothing between us and the pleasure we were making but time and effort. And we had plenty of both. My body was still unfamiliar to sex. I knew that I’d be sore tomorrow. But I wanted it. I wanted to be sore because it would mean I’d earned this.

  When my climax finally hit me, I rocked into it, desperately riding Peter for more, more, more. My vision narrowed to a single point, and the feeling wiped out all the last vestiges of doubt and confusion from my brain. This was where I belonged. Peter’s name was on my lips when he finished a few hard, slick strokes later, holding me tightly enough to leave red marks on my arms, and whispering that he loved me in my ear afterward.

  We came down slowly, realizing distantly that we’d been stopped for some time and the driver had stepped out for a smoke. We righted our clothing as best we could and got out of the car.

  “Where are we?” I asked Peter.

  There was a giant mansion in front of us. I’d been expecting the motel.

  He looked at me, surprised by my surprise, and shrugged. “This is my house.”

  52

  Lucy

  The house was huge, luxurious, and at least for the moment, entirely uninteresting to me. Because the moment we got inside, I’d asked Peter if we were going to finally do all that kinky stuff he liked. He’d looked at me with an expression so scorching hot that my mouth went dry and my knees went weak. Like he’d been waiting for me to ask for weeks, which, maybe, he had.

  “What?” I stuttered, suddenly equal parts nervous and excited. I was holding his hand and I looked down at it bashfully. “I thought you wanted—”

  The second half of my sentence was lost when he unceremoniously scooped me up and threw me over his shoulder. All of a sudden, my ass was up in the air and I was staring at the backs of his legs.

  “Hey!” I chirped, which earned me a light swat on the butt.

  “This is not how you’re supposed to do this,” he grumbled to himself, taking me up the stairs.

  “Do what?” I asked, confused. “Where are we going? Do you have a freaky sex room full of… toys and whips and stuff? Do you have mirrors on the ceiling?” I giggled nervously and got another little swat.

  And I liked it. So. Damn. Much. The little jolt was much more exciting than painful, and the heat his hand left in its wake made me feel needy, desperate, and weak. I wiggled insolently back and forth, hoping for another, but no dice.

  “I have a bedroom,” Peter replied instead. I couldn’t see his face, but I was sure by his tone of voice that he was smiling. When he set me down on the bed a moment later, I was proven correct. “Were you expecting a freaky sex room full of whips?” he asked, fighting back laughter.

  I looked around myself at a plush, totally normal looking bedroom. Not a whip to be seen. The closest thing to a torture implement was an ordinary treadmill in the corner.

  “This is a lot less intimidating,” I admitted.

  “Did you want to see riding crops and pillories?” He asked, clearly trying to figure me out. He appeared to be in no hurry, which was frustrating. I was in a huge hurry. My body felt electric. However, I also didn’t know what a pillory was, or whether I should be afraid of it.

  “Are you saying you can arrange that?” I challenged instead of admitting ignorance. My heart was pounding nonstop, but I was game, so game, for whatever was about to happen here. I had nothing to guide me but my trust in Peter and boundless, eager curiosity. That would be enough, right? I hoped so.

  “I can arrange a lo
t of things, Princess. You’re just gonna’ have to tell me what you want to try and what you don’t. Role playing isn’t safe unless we both know what to expect. It’s as much about trust as it is about sex. I don’t want to hurt you for real, and believe me, you don’t want that either. It’s no fun.”

  I squirmed. That made perfect sense. The only problem was that…

  “I don’t know where to start.” Thoughts of being tied up and spanked danced in my horny, overwhelmed brain. I’d like that, right? I was pretty sure that I would. A lot. A whole lot. And I wanted it right now.

  Peter raised an eyebrow at me and then sat down next to me.

  “You said you wanted to try the kinkier stuff,” he said patiently. “But I don’t think you even know what that means. I’m not going into this with no communication.”

  “Well, I watched—” I’d been about to say ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ but his expression convinced me not to. “Okay, yeah, I don’t know anything about this.”

  Peter cocked his head to the side, clearly pleased I was, at least, admitting that much. “Okay. Then let’s start from zero. Do you want to be tied up, punished, told what to do?”

  Yes! For sure yes. A thousand times yes. “Maybe.”

  “No maybes,” he said, pulling out a medium sized toolbox looking thing from under the bed. I didn’t get a good look at the contents, but just knowing about the presence of Peter’s toolbox made me feel excited and breathless. He produced a pair of padded Velcro handcuffs. “Okay. How about this. Do you want to wear these while I spank you, hard, ten times and then fuck you, nice and slow, from behind?”

  My mouth dropped open. I stared at the cuffs, then Peter. Then back at the cuffs. Hell yes. I’m sure it showed on my face because Peter smiled. “What will happen if I say yes?” My voice sounded high and breathy.

  “Exactly what I just described. If it gets to be too much, then you say, ‘Peter stop right now.’ And you mean it.” He brushed my hair back from my face to get a better look at me. I nodded at him. “That last part is really important,” he said. “I want you to practice it.”

  “Which part?”

  He smiled. “Peter stop right now,” he said. “Repeat it.”

  “Peter stop right now,” I whispered.

  “Louder,” he ordered. “Like you mean it.”

  “Peter stop right now,” I said more confidently.

  He nodded approvingly. “When do you say that?”

  “When I want you to stop, right now,” I said somewhat insolently. I wasn’t a child. I understood that I was being given a safe word.

  “If you say ‘stop’ or ‘ouch’ or ‘please,’ will I stop?”

  “No.”

  “When will I stop?”

  “When I say, ‘Peter stop right now’.” I rolled my eyes. This was all a little much.

  “Are you going to have this bad attitude the whole time?” He asked. Something about the tone in his voice convinced me the answer should definitely be no. I swallowed and shook my head meekly.

  “Good,” he replied, standing up and in front of me. “Now, if we’ve gotten the consent part out of the way, let’s get started. Get naked, on your knees, and give me your wrists.”

  I stared up at him. The change in his demeanor was abrupt and total. Just like that? Something in me that wanted to submit woke up and took notice.

  “Now,” Peter added. His expression had turned bossy and impatient. My breath hitched.

  My heart, which had been galloping away all this time, squeezed in my chest. We were really doing this. Peter’s green eyes were on me, heating me, promising yes. Promising more. I shrugged out of the dress, which wasn’t exactly in great shape anyway, and got on my knees in front of Peter.

  He was clothed, I was naked. He was standing, I was on my knees. I was starting to get how this was about power. I shivered, delighting in it. Giving up control only made me more excited. In a way that I didn’t know how to articulate, it was comforting. Although I felt vulnerable, another part of me felt very secure in this situation. Like it was necessary. I didn’t understand it, but I decided to go with it. I held my wrists out in front of me, palms up, and stared up at him. He affixed each soft Velcro cuff securely to my wrists. They looked like weird, thick bracelets.

  “Hands behind your back,” he told me.

  I obeyed and he affixed a padded cord with a clip, binding them together. On my knees now, with my hands bound behind me, my balance was not the greatest. So, when Peter sat down a few feet away on the bed and told me to come lay across his lap for my spanking, I paused.

  “I’m waiting,” he said. “Don’t make me wait, Princess.”

  The cool of the room made my nipples tighten as I crawled over on my knees. I went as quickly as I could without toppling over but getting up enough to lie across his knees was hard. I managed eventually, settling in at his direction on top of Peter’s lap with my head at his left hand and my ass on his right leg.

  “You look nice like this,” Peter told me, rubbing my ass cheeks with his palm while his left hand rested on the back of my neck. “A man could get used to this view.”

  I breathed, waiting. I knew he was going to spank me soon, that much had been promised, but he seemed in no hurry.

  “And you’re being so quiet too,” he remarked. “What a good girl.”

  His hand brushed between my thighs, feeling the wetness and heat gathered there already. I could feel his arousal too, pushing hard against me. I sighed and spread my legs wider, whimpering a little when he flicked my clit with practiced fingers and reminded me that he could make me come like this, too.

  “You want this, don’t you?” he teased, rubbing me eagerly.

  I nodded, trying to grind myself into his fingers. I wasn’t in an ideal position with my hands bound behind my back, but if he was offering… “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Good,” he replied. “Then wait.” His fingers stilled and he returned his palm to my ass. I whined. “Ready huh?”

  He didn’t wait for me to say yes. The first swing of his palm against my ass stung, but in the best way. He wasn’t playing around with this spanking. He was rough, and I wanted it. The heat between my legs doubled. The second hit was just as darkly satisfying. I was falling. By the third, I was flying.

  Four.

  My ass burned between hits, but I was only half aware of any discomfort at all. I was in another dimension. I was just feeling. I breathed, I felt, and I was whole.

  Seven.

  Peter took his time, pausing to rub my ass or between my legs, and I was totally at his command. My body didn’t belong to me anymore. I was his. My experience of time was fucked, but not nearly as fucked as I wanted to be.

  Nine.

  When we hit ten, I wasn’t ready for it to stop. I whimpered for more, but Peter wasn’t listening.

  Distantly, and still from my other dimension, I knew I was being moved around like a ragdoll. Peter put me over the edge of the bed, face down. I spread my legs, waiting, and wondering how obscene I looked from this position with my ass and pussy on full display. Peter paused to admire the view for a long moment. I heard him breathing hard behind me and caught the distinctive sound of a zipper and belt being loosened.

  Yes.

  When he finally pushed into me, putting pressure on my pampered, probably bright pink ass, I almost came then and there. I made a noise that sounded nothing like me and breathed into the oblivion of the mattress. I pressed back against him as best I could, but I wasn’t in control. Far from it.

  Like the spanking before, Peter was calling the shots. He took me slowly, pressing inside me and holding my hips firmly to keep me where he wanted. I was on the verge of coming already, and he kept me there, slowly pushing in and out in a teasing, torturing rhythm. I needed pressure on my clit, but there was none.

  My only choice was to submit to him. I floated on the edge, desperate to come but needing friction on my clit so badly I could cry. I craned my neck around to look at him, seeing s
atisfaction and control on his features as he took me from behind. His expression only drove me higher, but still not high enough.

  “Are you going to come for me, Princess?” he panted after what felt like ages.

  I whimpered and pulled at my restraints. Peter’s eyes widened as he figured out what I needed.

  “Do you need to touch yourself?” he asked. “Should I let your hands go?” His threat from the car to keep me waiting for three weeks flashed through my brain, and I prayed he wouldn’t remember it now.

  I nodded. “Please.”

  He released the clip that was keeping my hands together behind my back and my hands fell free. My shoulders felt hot and sore from the sudden change of position, but I ignored it. I pulled my hand weakly between my legs and finally, finally, pushed myself over the edge. After so long waiting for it, my orgasm ripped through my body like a riptide, lasting on and on and leaving me trembling in its wake.

  Now freed, I was still loose-limbed and pliant when Peter pulled back and turned me around again. I was back on my knees. He was standing again. I was suddenly reminded anew that we weren’t done.

  “One more thing, Princess,” he told me. “You’re not done yet.”

  His hands guided my mouth to his cock, and I stared up at him wide-eyed. Yes. This was exactly what I needed now. To give him something, anything, that could equal what he’d given me. I sucked his cock eagerly, lavishing attention back on him with my tongue after all he’d given me. He fucked my mouth with heavy hands on the back of my head, showing my gag reflex that it could obey him just as well as the rest of my body. I was probably no pro at giving oral sex, but I was damn enthusiastic. Peter didn’t seem to mind; his expression was one of total satisfaction. He came straight down my throat in a way that made me wonder if I wasn’t the one in charge for just one moment.