After Midnight (7 page)

I release the restraints and roll her facedown, then fasten the cuffs again. I retrieve my new flogger. I know she likes it over her buttocks and hips. I trail its braids across her and then begin. Softly and gently at first I allow it to caress her, and she moves into its kiss. It's a good flogger—it has a beautiful sound. I can tell from the way she twitches that it feels good for her too. As my blows grow faster and harder I tell her, “You have my permission to make noise.” She gasps. In relief? I don't know. And then she starts to moan, her sounds making me even wetter.

When her ass is nice and hot, I slow down again, ending as I started with a soft caress of the whip. I turn her face up again and decide to tease her really, really well before I let her come. It's what she likes best.

“Watch,” I tell her. I lean back against the other bed and spread my legs. With one hand I open myself for her, giving her a clear view. She can see how wet she makes me. With the other I gently stroke myself along my slit. One finger dips just inside to gather moisture before returning the way it came, back up to my clit. I don't make a sound. I don't want to break her concentration—I just want to break
her
. My breathing hitches, though. I
can't help it. With that one finger, I slowly circle my clit, putting the lightest of pressure on it. I'm not sure if she's still breathing, she's so still, but then she moans again. I desperately want to come. But I consider, what would tease her more? Stopping short. So I stop. Christ, it takes all my willpower. But this isn't about me. It's about what
she
needs. All the same, it takes a moment or two before I can stand and move to her again.

I've brought a linked pair of nipple clamps with me. The kind with teeth. I clip them to her nipples. Swollen as they are, it must hurt, but she groans in pleasure not pain. Or perhaps it's the pure pleasure that sometimes springs from pain. The chain between the clamps is long enough to put between her teeth. So I do, and I tell her not to move her head. I take the restraints from her ankles. She's so into what we're doing, I can control her without them. “Keep them spread,” I tell her, tapping her legs to emphasize my meaning. And then I touch her. I run my fingers across her clit exactly the same way I did my own. She moves slightly, but she keeps her legs where I put them. I stop just before she can orgasm, and she whimpers again. I'll allow the sound; I did give her permission to make noise.

I get the glass dildo and show it to her. I can tell she's interested. It has to be held by hand and not strapped on. It's long and fairly thin and oh so smooth and cool. Just right against overheated flesh. I run the tip down, across her clit and as far as her opening. God, she's good. She's resisting pushing into it. I can see by the way her thigh muscles clench how much of an effort it is. But that isn't the game we're playing. She wants to break, she
needs
to break, to be unable to resist. And it's my job to take her there, to make her beg, to break her down until she's only need and heat and want.

I dip the tip of the dildo into her, just the tip, then move it around in a circle. She moans. I pull it out and she moans again.
She twitches, almost giving in—almost but not quite. I lay the dildo along her length and leave it there, letting go. The tip rests against the edge of her hole, the dildo itself stretched along her slit and sitting on her clit. Holding myself up by spread arms and toes, I suspend myself over her as much as possible without actually touching her. I nip, lick, and bite my way up her abs until I reach the beginning of the chain that links her nipples. I tug it gently with my mouth and she gasps. Then I rest one leg slightly on her—and on the dildo. Her hips move a little more.

It is enough.

“Please,” she says.

“Please, what?” I lean and take my weight off her.

“Please, Master, fuck me. Please let me come. Please, I need to come. Please, Master.” She breaks.

That's what I've been waiting for. That's what she needs to make this really good. I grab the dildo and slip it into her. It slides in smoothly—that's the beauty of glass. I fuck her with it, slow and smooth and deep. She's begging me the whole time. “Please fuck me. Please make me come.” I do, and she does, shuddering and crying out. When she slumps down, spent, I slowly slide out the dildo and hold her.

She'll need more. She always does. And I need to come. I really, really need to come.

I take off her restraints. Neither of us needs them now. With my words alone I can control her. And she needs to let me. She needs to obey because she has no choice. With the illusion of compulsion gone she faces her own desires, acknowledging that this happens because she wants it. She is a bitch in heat because
she
needs it, not because I force her.

When she's ready I tell her to kneel on the bed with her head on the pillow and her ass in the air. I tell her to spread her legs and show herself to me, shameless yet vulnerable. Because she
needs that too. She does as she's told. I fetch the harness—the heavy-duty studded leather one—and my Nexus double dildo. Sliding the smaller end into myself takes great control. I'm so close, so ready. God. But I do it, for her. I look at her as she displays herself to me. Her arousal glistens in the flickering light as her wetness seeps onto her thighs. “Touch yourself,” I command, my voice thick with need. I watch as she strokes herself. She won't make herself come. She knows better than that. But before it gets too difficult for her I make her stop. I fuck her from behind, hard and fast and deep. By now, fending off my orgasm is pure torture, especially since I won't let her come until she begs again. She does beg, and I let her orgasm explode from her. She groans, shaking uncontrollably. As her orgasm overtakes her, I finally let mine claim me. If there's an earthquake report on the news tonight, think of us.

We rest for a while before I withdraw from her. She's ready to be eaten now. But before I start, I drip a little diluted peppermint oil into my mouth. I press the flat of my tongue against her cunt, and the heat of the oil takes her by surprise. Her breath catches, and she arches her back, almost coming. Her willpower impresses me as she fights to hold it back.

Then I lick her, letting my tongue slip along her folds as I taste her. I push the tip of my tongue inside her, just the tip, mindful of the peppermint oil and that she's probably sensitive from the fucking. I sweep my tongue over her, the flat of it dragging along her lips then the tip flicking swiftly from side to side. I circle her clit, tease it, taste it. I let my teeth graze it, but I don't bite—she's too sensitive for that—and she gasps. I could do this for hours, but I feel her build toward release again. I keep flicking her clit with the edge of my tongue. She's ready. I suck in her clit, draw it between my lips. Her body rises from the bed, balanced on her heels and the crown of her head, as massive
shudders ripple through her and a single word is forced through clenched teeth: “Christ.”

I let her rest as I clean the toys and put them away. When she's back in her body—and in this world where walking and talking are possible again—we shower. I wash her and pat her dry with the hotel's fluffy towels. I gently massage lotion into her skin, noticing again how soft she is.

We curl up together on the bed as the first signs of dawn lighten the room. In a little more than two hours I'll leave for work. I'll kiss her good-bye and she'll blush shyly, as if we're strangers to raw sexuality and have never spent time wrapped together in this sensual haze. And she'll smile and say, “See you in six months or so?”

I'll grin and reply, “Sure.”

But for now I'll cradle her in my arms and let her sleep. Because that's what she needs.

 

 

 

 

 

N
ever in a million years did I think I'd pick up the girl of my dreams at the Apple store, that geek Mecca in Soho. But that's exactly what happened. I have to admit, I'm the furthest thing from a computer nerd you can find. I know how to check email, use iTunes, and visit the latest gossip websites, but when it comes to anything more heavy-duty than plugging in my laptop, I'm clueless. I only use the Apple store to check my email and use the bathroom, hustling past lines of avid shoppers and technologically savvy customers.

Upstairs there's a tiny theater where the store sometimes holds classes or panels. I'd walked past it dozens of times on my way to the restroom, with nary a glance at the instructor. This time, though, a voice caught my ear, and I looked to find an exquisite-looking woman leading a class of interested students through the ins and outs of building a website. I couldn't take my eyes off her. She wasn't drop-dead gorgeous in the usual sense, but
something about her completely drew me in, something tough and alluring. She was olive-skinned, probably Hispanic, and her black hair was cropped short, almost boyish but with a feminine twist, a studied diagonal swath across her forehead. The ends of her hair brushed across her neck, teasing me with the skin they left uncovered. She wore a black leather cuff around her wrist, a simple black tank top, and jeans. I couldn't tell her age; maybe she was in college or, like me, in her early thirties. All I knew was that my heart beat a little faster, and suddenly I was intent on learning everything I could about HTML. I raced to the bathroom, then returned and took a seat on the side so I could stare at her without her noticing too much.

I watched her work the room, and as words like
operating system
,
browser
,
hyperlink
, and
search engine
left her lips, I pictured those lips being put to a much better use. I shifted in my seat, afraid everyone could tell my interests were far more than technological. The woman, whose name tag said SONIA, led the class through creating a simple site, took questions, and seemed made for the stage. She didn't talk too fast or too slow, and she altered her lesson based on what people seemed to want to know. I was half-listening—since she made the material actually interesting—and half-watching the way her jeans clung to her ass perfectly, not too tight, not too loose.

Her breasts were on the small side, but that just made me hunger more to touch them, and I was lost in thought, imagining her naked, her rosy nipples begging to be tasted. I must have gotten more lost in my daydream than I'd imagined because all of a sudden I heard applause. The class was over. I gathered myself together, trying to think of an intelligent question that wouldn't make me sound like a total idiot.

I waited for everyone else to finish asking questions, then finally approached Sonia, figuring inspiration would strike me
at the moment. I fingered the pendant on my necklace, a simple amethyst stone, for good luck. “Hi,” I said, trying to hide my nervousness. “That was really great. I've never thought much about having my own site, but it sounded so easy during your presentation. I think I might try it.”

“Great,” Sonia replied enthusiastically. “I really think it's one of those things anyone can do.” Her voice was husky but not too deep, sexy without even trying. She reached out and lightly touched my arm. “And if you need any help, I'm always here.”

“Thanks,” I told her, wracking my brain for what to say next, not wanting our conversation to end. “I'm Gina,” I said, still thinking. “I live nearby, so I'm sure you'll see me again.”

“I hope so,” she said, her voice even deeper as she said those three promising words.

“Listen, I hope this doesn't sound weird,” I told her, “but if you want to get a cup of coffee sometime…” I trailed off, uncertain as ever how to approach girls who made my mouth dry and my pussy wet at the same time.

“Is it really coffee you're after, Gina?” This time her innuendo was unmistakable. Sure, I'd approached her, but when it came down to it, I couldn't muster the courage to seal the deal.

“No, it's not,” I said quietly. Then I just stood there, unable to get the second part of my thought out of my mouth, sure she had to know from my eyes as they darted from her to the floor to the other side of the room.

“Do you want to come home with me, Gina? Is that why you're acting like this?” Her voice was calm as she stared me down. She was so hot I was tempted to run away, unsure I could handle being alone with such a strong, proud, sexy woman. Most of the girls I'd been with were similarly shy and awkward, and we'd laugh about that as we made out. But kissing Sonia was no laughing matter.

It was do-or-die time. I stepped closer so that I could feel her breath on my face. Without touching her, I looked her straight on and said, “Yes, I want to come home with you.”

“Meet me out front in five minutes,” she said, her tone changing, becoming more businesslike, the way it had sounded in front of the crowd earlier. I liked this take-charge Sonia, who seemed to have all the answers.

I went outside, trying not to get hit by the hordes of shoppers rushing past me. I got a soda from the hot dog cart just to have something to do, sipping the soft drink and letting its fizzy bubbles soothe me.

Wearing a light black jacket, Sonia finally emerged, and I followed her. We walked in silence while I checked her out. I wondered what she'd be like in bed, if that's where we were going. Maybe she was just inviting me over to get to know me better? I shook my head, as if to erase the thought. This was New York, and women here, dykes especially, move faster than that.

She led me several blocks away to a tiny studio apartment, nevertheless covetable by Gotham standards for its precious location. The only place to sit was on the bed, so I did.

“Tell me, what was it about me that attracted you today?” she said, putting me on the spot immediately. She sat right next to me, her fingers running along the seams of my jeans, playing with a stray thread. I wondered if she was nervous too.