Authors: Selena Kitt
Alternating back and forth, she
groaned. The bed squeaked with her active thrusts. She panted and bit down on
her lip. It was right there on the edge, but she couldn’t make herself tumble
over. She stopped, shook her hand out and tweaked her nipples through the
fabric.
The toy was pulled from her and she
opened to see Max pulling his shirt over his head. He came down, slipping into
her and covered her mouth with hers. Their tongues danced as they slapped
against one another. She wrapped her legs around him and planted a hand against
the headboard when he pulled his mouth free to ride her hard and fast, the way
she wanted him too.
His head came down and he took a
mouthful of her breast and bit into it. She shuddered. He bit harder. “Yes!
Yes!” Her body gave way to convulsions and he bit the other breasts and emptied
his balls into her.
Before she could begin to recover, he
pried her legs off and slid down and laved her nub repeatedly then sucked it
into his mouth. Her hips flew off the bed, legs flexed while her fingers
tangled in his hair and held him to her groin. She felt him slip inside her
easily. He pushed her leg up then out and realized he wasn’t just finger
fucking her, he was buried to the wrist, maybe more. He let her clit go and
watched her. She couldn’t watch him. The marvelous tightness, the sensations of
fisting drug her down into euphoria. Inner muscles worked, tightening around
him, letting go and gripping his arm. She grabbed her tit and pinched the tip
as hard as she could and pulled. Her belly jerked. Milking her breast, she
relished in the twitches as he brought her near another orgasm.
“Oh, baby,” she panted, her head
helplessly moving side-to-side as he thrust in time with her rise and fall.
Max flicked her button and latched,
toppling her over.
Lying there half asleep, he eased from
her tunnel, but couldn’t move her leg to put it down.
A short while later, maybe, she wasn’t
sure, he slipped alongside and pulled her close to him.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“Tomorrow the jewelry goes back on.”
“And punishment?”
“Severe.”
She nuzzled his neck. “Thank you.”
About Bekki Lynn
Bekki loves writing contemporary
sub-genres, seeing how this is the era she knows. How could she not, she’s
lived in it for a long time. While her real life isn’t quite as lively or
dramatic as the scenarios she writes, her stories tend to stem from bits of
daily events and night terrors.
By Colin
When Steve had known her in college,
her name had just been Julie—no “Mistress” or whatever other titles she claimed
on her website. Back then she had plastic-framed glasses that, along with her
height and an explosion of frizzy hair, made her look nerdish, or at least
eccentric. The impression had been strengthened by penchant for certain books
and movies, and countered by a husky, sexy voice. The first time Steve invited
her to sleep with him, he had frankly thought of it as a mercy-fuck; he had
been pleasantly surprised, when the sheets were turned down, to find the sexy
part of her had won out.
But he wasn’t sure which part of her
was winning just now; she stood just out of sight behind the half-open door of
her townhouse, a looming, unreadable presence. He pushed at the door, expecting
her to reveal herself. She pushed back, so firmly that Steve was forced a step
or two backwards.
“You read my e-mail?”
“Well, sure, yeah, but…” Steve
frowned, then tried to smile reassuringly. As he remembered the email in question,
the smile grew wider. “You weren’t
serious
with all that?”
“I was. As a heart-attack, my dear. Remember,
you’re the one who proposed this meeting, with full knowledge of who and what I
am now. Do I show up at your home and try to undermine
your
identity?”
Steve decided to play it silent. Julie
returned the favor.
“Sorry,” he said finally. He wouldn’t
have classified Julie as someone he knew
well
, but their time together
as lovers had acquainted him with her quirks, which definitely included
stubbornness. This behavior was in no way strange or un-Julie; very much the
contrary. He was faced with the choice of either walking away or playing the game
on her terms. He had never much liked being ordered around, but he was
intrigued. Her voice was as sexy as ever, and he found himself remembering
specific evenings with her; the way she sucked cock, for instance. Those
memories went surprisingly well with this new show of assertiveness (dominance,
she would no doubt have called it), and he found himself wanting to see more—or
at least as much as she was willing to show him.
“I should have read the email more
carefully,” he went on. He was prepared to continue, but Julie cut him off.
“Yes, you should have. I’ll overlook
it, but be careful, Steve. I’m very pleased to see you, but I’m a different
person now. “
“Yeah, well, I’m a different person
too.”
“I’m certain you are. I would have
assumed nothing less.”
She stepped away from the door, but
the room behind her was lit only by a flicker of candlelight and Steve, just
out of the afternoon sun, could still make nothing of her but a general
impression of height, as well as a spicy perfume, pleasant but a little too
strong.
“Well?”
Steve bridled. “Well what?” he shot
back, irritated because he had not been offered a hug or a drink.
Julie sighed. “I’ll indulge you one
last time, Steve. You said you read my email. If so, you know what you have to
do.”
Smiling tightly, he kicked off his
shoes, began wrenching open, one by one, the buttons of his shirt.
“And you want me
completely
naked, right?”
She didn’t answer; Steve knew very
well that this was because the e-mail had specified complete nakedness; Julie
wasn’t going to dignify his question with comment. He had, as she had noted,
spent his last indulgence. But he knew what was going to be required of him
next, assuming they continued with this ridiculous script, and he wasn’t sure
if he could bring himself to do it.
Nevertheless, when his skin was
entirely bare and rough with gooseflesh, he did in fact go on his knees to her.
He did it readily, with a smoothness that took him aback a little. Julie’s
hand, soft and long-fingered, pungent with that strange perfume, reached down
and caressed his cheek. As though that had somehow granted him permission (he
suspected that was the impression she intended him to have), he looked up at
her.
He could see her clearly now. He
hadn’t been sure what to expect; something involving a lot of black leather,
presumably, with little silvery chains and zippers. Instead, Julie—Mistress
Domino, as her website now named her—was barefoot in black slacks and an
open-throated white blouse. The explosive hair had been tamed and lay sleek and
night-colored on her shoulders. Her skin was darker than he remembered, her
cheekbones higher, her large eyes every bit as solemn as he remembered.
“You look great,” he said, meaning it.
She hesitated half a second, the tips
of her nails pressing into the soft skin under his chin. “Thank you,” she said,
pleasantly, but with a casualness that piqued him oddly. He felt like an
infatuated child who spent weeks planning and rehearsing a compliment on how
pretty Teacher is, then is crushed by a less than effusive response. He didn’t
much like the feeling.
“What now?” he asked.
“You might kiss my foot, for a start.”
He heard a soft noise as her foot was pushed forward on the carpet.
He felt his lip curling. “You’re
kidding me.”
“I promise you I’m not. You don’t have
to, of course. I can’t and won’t force you. But the other option is for you to
put your clothes on and leave. I won’t see you again, either. “
Steve said nothing, merely continued
gazing up at her. He’d be damned if he was going to kiss her foot.
“Alright, then. Don’t. But this,” she
added, after a brief silence, “is one more, one
final
indulgence. I
don’t often contradict myself, and I promise you I won’t do it a third time.”
“Why? Why are you doing all this? I’m
not here for a session, or play-party, or whatever you people call it. I’m not
one of your little pussy slave-boys.”
“If you say so. I notice you still
haven’t gotten up off your knees, indignant as you sound.”
He smiled a little at that. “Touche.”
“Go into the receiving-room and make
me a drink. A small brandy. You may have a glass of white wine. I’ll be in
momentarily; I just have something to attend to.”
Steve got to his feet and strode past
her, into the darkened room behind her. He saw no whips on the walls or framed
portraits of evil-looking women. Instead, he found comfortable chairs and
coffee table containing a cut-glass decanter of brandy, two opened bottles of
white and red wine and glasses. He was tempted to the small rebellion of
pouring himself red instead of the specified white wine, but knew it would only
make him feel childish. He even poured Julie her brandy first.
If anyone had told him that morning
that the afternoon would find him doing this—standing buck-naked, playing slave
in Julie Parson’s house — he would have laughed in their face. Had the person
mentioned the fact that he would have an erection while pouring Julie her small
brandy, he might have asked them to step outside.
But he did. And—loathe as he was to
admit it to himself—he had had another, even larger erection that morning, when
he had found Mistress Domino’s web-site. He had run into an acquaintance from
his Seattle years in a bar; the guy had been a bore in the old days, and hadn’t
much improved now, but his chance remark about a web-page with “some dominatrix
who looks a hell of a lot like Julie” had immediately gotten Steve’s attention.
He was in town on business; the idea of hooking up with Weird Julie was itself
perversely appealing, but the idea that she might be a practicing dominatrix
had gotten him — there was no other word for it — hot as hell.
That his body would respond so
emphatically to the knowledge that Julie had taken up the profession had
surprised him; he had odd fantasies of submission from time to time, but more
often he laughed at the idea of women in black leather ordering guys around. There
were one or two photos on the sight of naked male “submissives,” but nothing
overly exploitive or in outstandingly bad taste. Steve rolled his eyes
determinedly at the list of peculiar services on offer, but he found himself
unable to come up with much to really laugh at. Instead, he found himself horny
as hell.
He had finally called the number on
the page, expecting to get voicemail that might help him confirm if that was
really his Julie. He had been surprised when the woman herself answered. She
hadn’t seemed at all surprised to hear from him, and responded to his offer of
a drink with a counter-offer for him to drop by her place. Steve had thought he
had heard a dare in her voice, and that, he told himself, was why he had
accepted. Perhaps it was also the reason he had gone immediately into his hotel
room’s bathroom and jerked himself off into a handful of toilet-paper.
Would they end up fucking tonight? Would
she come in behind him in a moment, grab his wrists and handcuff him before he
could react? Beat his ass? Or slide those long, strong fingers over the cheeks
of his ass, fingering his sphincter while pulling at his cock with her free
hand? She might bite his shoulders or his nipples. Slap his face…
He began playing with his exposed
cock; at first just an idle stroke or two while he stood waiting for her to
join him (he might have sat down, but he found he didn’t like the idea). After
another moment he had his shaft gripped firmly in his hand, squeezing it
rhythmically, staring defiantly at the doorway.
He stopped abruptly, realizing that he
was not alone in the room. A shadow in one of the corners had moved slightly. When
nearly a full minute had elapsed, with Steve feeling increasingly stupid as he
stood frozen in place, cock in hand, the shadow coughed, a small, almost
apologetic sound.
A tangle of emotions, ranging from a
totally irrational surge of jealousy to an equally irrational tingle of fear,
took control of Steve. He felt incredibly vulnerable, sublimely embarrassed—then
angry.
“Who the hell?” he whispered. He
wasn’t sure who the shadow was; some associate of Julie’s, presumably. Another
dominatrix? Julie’s boyfriend? Her lesbian lover?
The shadow stepped forward to meet
him, changing into a tall, slender young man about five years Steve’s junior.
“Hey,” the guy said.
“Hey,” Steve said, working hard for
the proper tone. The fact that the other was also naked did nothing to put him
at ease. He was uncomfortably aware that his eyes kept shifting downward to the
guy’s crotch. He forced them up, trying to take this potential rival’s measure.