Thursday, 15 October 2015

love is...

He gripped her ankle and swung it to one side, pinning it to the bed while he searched underneath the wooden bed base.
“You bastard!” Fiona struggled to get away, pushing him, but he was too big. It was like trying to move a really determined wardrobe.
John winked, and with a final tug, drew out the long bar from under the bed.
“You’re so beautiful when you’re angry,” he said.
“Fuck you!” with one giant shove to his shoulder, Fiona freed her ankle and darted off the bed, but John was too quick for her. Scooping her around the waist with one arm, he chuckled as he dragged her, kicking and yelling, back to the bed.
“Let me go, you fucker – let me fucking go!” she yelled, still working her feet, slamming his fists into his broad back.
John chuckled as he undid the thick Velcro bands on one end of the pole. As she leant in to slap the back of his head, he rolled her over onto her back and leaned across her legs. With one hand on her chest, he looked into her eyes. He waited until she stopped fighting.
“You will stop this,” he said.
“I fucking won’t –”
“You will stop this, and lie here like a good girl.”
“I’m not a fucking child!” Fiona screamed at him.
He laughed, throwing back his head, but he didn’t let go of her. He knew her too well. Instead, he moved his knee to hold her down to the bed, and with one hand, he bound the first end of the pole around her left ankle.
“Go on, fight me,” he teased her. “I dare you.”
Her bright green eyes flashed, but she bit back her words. Instead, she waited, and as he leaned down to get the other end, she whipped around her hand and grabbed the pillow from under her, slamming it onto the back of his head.
John didn’t look around.
“You didn’t want to do that,” he said, with his voice, low.
“It should have been a fucking brick, you mean,” she spat.
With a sigh, he twisted around on top of her, grabbing both her hands. She screamed as he yanked her arms up, above her head, but he was done hearing her. With one hand on her wrists, he drew another strap from behind the bed head, a thick band of Velcro attached to the wall. Wrapping it around her wrists he didn’t stop to check if she could move. He didn’t stop to listen as she screamed obscenities, biting and cussing. He grabbed a roll of duct tape from the top of the bedside cupboard, ripped off a strip, and with one hand holding her head still, he stuck the tape over her mouth.
Fiona froze. Her big eyes looked up in fear and her breath came quickly through her nose.
He touched the tape with his thumb, then ran his fingers down, over her jaw.
“You didn’t want to do that,” he said, again.
She moaned, a little fear mixed in with the heat, and he shook his head as he ran his hands over her body, never grabbing, never hurting, just slowly up and down, over her breasts and her stomach, over her hip, back up to her breasts, feeling her contours with his fingers.
Slowly, the fear eased from her eyes.
He reaching for the other end of the bar, but this time he opened the strap slowly, enjoying the promise of the thick velcro.
“Open your legs,” he said.
He watched her clench her thigh muscles as she tried to glue her knees together.
“Open them,” he said again, running his palm over her stomach.
Fiona quivered, her body rippling under his touch, but she shook her head, her eyes pleading.
His hands traveled up, over her stomach, over her chest, to her neck.
“Open your legs, darling,” he said, as he caressed the sweet spot at her throat, as he stroked with his fingers. She breathed in fast, but he smiled, and opened his fingers to grip. It was a second, just the quickest tightening. With a strangled cry, she pulled herself as far away from him as she could get. Her face flushed red, her eyes blinking on horror, and her whole body shook as she pushed herself further into the bed –
And then, trembling, she opened her legs.
John smiled. He licked his lips and bent to kiss her mound, resting his lips on her. He reached down, took the end of the bar. Using both hands, he wound the strap around her right ankle, and then stood up from the bed.

She forced herself to breathe slowly, not to snort air. His cock was harder than she’d ever seen it and the first drips of pre cum wept from it. She knew how much he liked to see her there, helpless, but this time he’d pushed her. This time, as he promised, he wanted more.
She wriggled her middle. Her feet were pinned but he hadn’t tied the bar to the bed so she could still move. Her shoulders ached but her hands were tight to the wall, taking her choice away.
But as uncomfortable as she was, inside she burned. She watched him looking down at her, she saw herself in his eyes, displayed – tied – and the fire raged in her core. With his eyes on hers, he put his hand to her cunt and opened her lips, and he let his finger travel around and around her clit, never touching long enough, never quite where she wanted it. Oh God, she needed him to fuck her – she needed to be pounded, to be thrown – she needed him to slam into her - but she’d made him angry and now it was his turn to play.
He walked around the bed and over to the wardrobe. Opening it, he slid his hand under a pile of clothes. He drew out two bags.
“I would ask you which one,” he said. “But then, you couldn’t answer, so what would be the point?”
He opened one bag, and she strained to see what was in it, but he shook his head.
“I think this is for me to know,” he said. “And you to find out. Wouldn’t you agree?”
She scowled as hard as she could, her eyes burning daggers into him. He raised one eyebrow, and she knew he was getting off on her anger – she knew his body as well as he knew hers.
“Fuck, you’re sexy,” he said. “Stay right there.”
He laughed as he went to the door, leaving it open as he walked around in the other room. He hummed to himself, a tune she vaguely recognized from years ago. She couldn’t place it, but then he sung a few lines and it was there in her mind – the dark, sordid little club in the city, the sounds of skin on leather, of cane on skin, the sound of her own voice reaching out and crying as she came and came.  Her chest pumped as the music filled her ears, as her body craved to remember how it felt, but when he came back, he held his camera.
The first flash surprised her and she tried to cry out, uneasy, but the tape held her voice, made a fool of it. Again and again, he took her photo, standing back then moving forward – her face, her breasts, her cunt - and then the whole of her, tied to the bed, her legs spread, her nipples standing to attention like two tiny rocks. She edged away as far as she could go but he simply reached down, took the bar in his hand and slid her back to the middle of the bed.
“God, I love you,” he whispered.
She let out two short bursts of noise behind the tape and he laughed. He leant forward, one hand on the camera, and dipped his finger into her. She jerked back, unready, but there was nothing she could do to stop him. Again, he played her, just enough touch to drive her crazy, just enough to tease, but as she clenched around him, as her muscles begged for his cock to fill her, he stopped. Her cunt flamed with need. She was wet, wetter than she’d ever known she could be, and as he pulled his hand away, he photographed how the thick juice of her need covered his finger.
He set the camera on the floor and his eyes burned into her as he slowly licked his finger, sucking it, down to the bottom. Gripping his cock, he moved to her side. He nudged her breasts with his cock, stroking it over her nipples, icing her skin until she bucked her hips and stared up at him, showing him everything she had, everything she wanted.
“When I’m done,” he said. “I’m going to leave you here forever, keep you right here, like this, so I can use you any time I like.”
He bent down and kissed her neck and she let out a smothered moan. He ran his hands over her breasts, over her body and down, but as she moaned, as she pushed her hips up to meet him, again, he stood back, reached down and lifted the bar, pulling up her legs. She let out a muffled cry in surprise, but he didn’t stop.  In one smooth curve, he lifted the bar, pulling her legs up and up.
“If I had a hook in the ceiling, I could pin you here,” he said.
With one hand holding up her legs, he let the other hand travel down the inside of her thigh, to find her clit. He jolted the bar, bringing her eyes up to his, and then slowly began to circle her clit again, around and around. She was so wet, she could feel her juices sticky all around her cunt, but again, he only stopped to dip in one finger, very quickly, before circling again, around and around. She sucked in her stomach, feeling the stretch in the back of her legs, feeling his finger, feeling the naked, empty space inside her where she needed him -
His cock strained, but he wasn’t done with her yet.
“So, how’s the yoga going?” he said, jolting the bar again.
She looked up, questioning, but then in one quick movement, he swung the bar up and over her head, pulling her feet to the wall. Her body rolled, her cunt lifted high, her butt off the bed – exposed, displayed. He reached for the Velcro strap around the middle of the bar and wound it around the other strap, holding her hands and feet to the wall.
Doubled in two, Fiona drew her breath too quickly. The tape was too much – unable to move, unable to speak, she could only watch as he stood up and picked up the camera, again. She tried to shake her head, but he didn’t listen – he took picture after picture, from every angle. Her heart crashed in her chest, bang-bang, bang-bang, like it was too loud, like surely he’d hear it from where he stood over her. She sucked in air from her nose, but she could no longer hear the sounds of the camera, no longer see the bright flash that went off all around her. Her legs shook - her body shook - she was helpless in his power -
And then he ripped the tape off her mouth. She gasped in air, sucking and panting, but before she could speak, he had starting prodding at her mouth with something, something black and hard. He prized her lips open with one hand and steadily fed the thick dildo into her mouth, in and out.
“Suck me,” he said.
He gripped his cock, but it was the thick black dildo in her mouth, not him. She tried to pull away, but he pushed harder, deeper. She gagged. Bound up so tightly it was impossible to take in the breath she needed, impossible to think, to focus, to do anything except feel.
She opened her throat and let herself take in the dildo, let it caress the back of her mouth. Her eyes watered, she cried out, but then he took away the toy, leaned forward, and softly, gently, kissed her. He let her breathe, pulling back between his kisses, but his eyes burned wild.
Moving like a cat, like some kind of wild lion, he crept onto the bed. Kneeling in front of her, he blew on her skin, his hands playing on her legs, on her butt, until he leant forward, on top of her. He gently pressed her legs even further into her body as he crushed her with his weight. She whispered his name, but still his kisses were slow and steady. His tongue played over hers as if they had all the time in the world, as if they were the only two people in the universe, and their moment, their time, was paradise. He closed his eyes as he ground his cock over her mound, pressing himself onto her.
He moved his mouth to her neck, tracing her jaw with his finger as he kissed her.
“You hanging in there?” he said.
Despite herself, she laughed.
“You can call time out,” he reminded her. “Any time.”
“Not even close,” she whispered.
With a wicked grin, he reached down for the other bag. “I’m so pleased you said that,” he said.

…to be continued…

Monday, 12 October 2015

in the dark

It was dark. The only streetlight flickered, casting a rhythmic lick of light over the alleyway, like an old-fashioned movie.
Julianne pushed her hands deep into her pockets and glanced back toward the main road. She wasn’t that late, only a few minutes. He’d told her to wait but she wasn’t going to stand there like some target in the night, ready to get mugged. She was hardly dressed for running away.
She shifted her feet, feeling the pinch from her sky-high heels. A little shiver danced up and down her spine. She looked good, underneath her light silk coat, and there was something exciting about being hidden there, waiting for him. She leant back against the wall, feeling the cold brickwork hold her safe. Strange, how reassuring the night could be, how tender the darkness felt against her skin.
He’d said wait there, and she’d wait. He’d said that she would see him.
The broken light played over the cobbles. She found herself watching for the jump, the brief pattern as the light bounced on and off the alley walls. The flicker of the light played with the flicker inside her, the knowledge that he’d be with her, again. It was like her body could already feel him, inside her. Her nipples hardened and ripples of excitement ran over her stomach, and with each faint picture of light, she needed him more, but as she watched the patterns on the cobbles, she became aware of another light, a window in the basement of a building a little further down the alley, away from the streetlight.
Curious, Julianne moved a closer, unseen in the night. There was no sign, no house number, and the railings along the top of the steps looked old, like the ones in the tall Victorian houses.
She stumbled, her heel catching one of the cobbles. With her heart in her mouth she grabbed for the wall as the sound of her movement seemed to scream up and down the alley. With both hands on the wall, she found her balance, but under the heat, under the knowing excitement in her body, there was something new.
What if he wasn’t coming? What if someone saw her?
She hesitated, but he had said to wait. He’d told her to be there. As the hammering in her chest calmed down, she peered through the dark to the little basement window and realised there was someone there, behind the glass. Moving almost silently, careful of her feet, she stepped a little closer.
The window was naked, without curtains to soften the line. Inside, the room was bare, just wooden boards and plain walls, with a low red couch and a high backed chair, and in the middle of the room, a woman danced. She wore a red halter neck dress and her thick hair fell in unruly curls around her face. Moving forward, forgetting her fear, Julianne could hear the soft beat of the music, a low New Orleans blues. The woman moved with her hips, catching the beat with her whole body, and there was someone else there, too, a little away from the window. His body was hidden in the darkness but Julianne could see the outline of his legs, the edge of his hand. He cradled a glass. Ice moved in the amber liquid, catching the play of the light.
The woman turned, a slow smile on her lips, and as he watched, so did Julianne.
The woman ran her hands over her hips and the thin fabric of her red dress pulled up over her thigh. Julianne breathed in sharply as she saw the pretty lace of the woman’s stocking tops but the woman moved as if she knew how good she looked, as if she knew the power she had in her soft curves, her tiny waist, and her plump, round breasts.
She brought her hands up to her hair and turned to the music. Julianne edged closer, pulled forward by the woman’s dance, and as the woman ran her hands up over her body, teasing, touching, Julianne felt the touch on her own skin.
The woman laughed. She beckoned the man to come a little closer but he stayed where he was, and as she danced, her fingers went to the ribbons that held her dress around the back of her neck. She turned to the window and it was almost as if she was looking right at Julianne as she slowly pulled the ribbons, but then she closed her eyes and let the dress fall.
She was naked. She was perfect. She kicked away the dress and danced on in her stockings and shoes. She let her hands travel over her stomach, up, tracing the lines of her beautiful breasts. She pinched one nipple and then opened her eyes wide and laughed, again, and Julianne felt the heat burning through her own body. Her mouth was dry and she ran her tongue over her lips. The man lifted his drink and she could almost taste the bitter twist of the whiskey over the cold ice. Without knowing what she was doing, Julianne took hold of the railings. The woman turned, a perfect slow spin. Her nipples were darker than Julianne’s, her breasts fuller, her waist a little tighter, and she had kept a neat triangle of hair at her centre, and with every sway and turn of her dance she was touching herself, letting her fingers dance with her body, displaying herself to them. Her mouth was wide, her lips slick with deep red lipstick, and she smiled the slow, sleepy smile of a cat that knew what she wanted.
She lifted one arm, stretching out to the window, and beckoned.
Julianne gasped. She looked behind her, all around her, but there was no one else there in the dark, only her – then the man stepped out from the shadows, and even before she saw his face, she recognized the sharp outline of his chest, his broad shoulders, and the single tattoo on the top of his arm.
He moved into the light, beside the woman, and looked up at Julianne, and he nodded.

Thursday, 8 October 2015



She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes but the darkness in the stairwell did nothing to cool the flame inside her.
He’d looked at her.
She put her hand to her throat and traced the line of heat, down, over her chest, to the low dip of her shirt.
He’d looked straight at her. It was a second – no, it was a hundred seconds, she thought. It was forever, as his soul burned into hers, as she felt herself give everything she had.
It was a hundred thousand seconds.
Alone in the stairwell, she slid her fingers under her shirt, felt the button pop undone.
Had he known?
She wet her lips with her tongue and let her head turn to the cool of the wall, but she didn’t see the pale cream white of the walls around her or the dated iron railings, she saw the clean cut shape of his shoulders under his suit, the bright white of his shirt, the long grey tie. She breathed in, smelling the rich spice of his aftershave.
She gathered her skirt in her other hand, fisting the light fabric. There was no one there to see her, no one to know how he burned inside her, how she needed the touch, how desperate she was to feel him fill her.
She caught her fingers against the top of her stocking, the place just above the lacy trim, where her skin was at its softest. She stroked her leg, under the suspender, and up, searching for what she knew she had to have.
He would know how to take her, she thought. He wouldn’t hang back, unsure. He’d rip away her clothes and push up her skirt.
Her breathing came quicker and the sweet scent of her honey drifted up, teasing her, but just as she slid her fingers inside, as she sighed with her need, there was a noise on the floor below. She froze, her heart crashing in her chest. She whipped her hand away from her body.
“Don’t stop,” he said.