Bound by Lust (22 page)

I concentrated on her clit, grazing it with my teeth and working my tongue over it again and again as she pulled the pegs off my skin until there were just two left on my nipples. She put one hand on each clip, and I pushed my mouth against her, kissing and licking her pussy and waiting for the irresistible pain. In the same instant she wrenched the pegs off and came in a big squirting gush into my open mouth.

We both panted deep heavy breaths for a few minutes before she moved away from me.

“I enjoyed that so much, I think we should do it again.”

I smiled and sighed and cried out as she put the pegs back
onto my now more tender skin. Somewhere deep inside me was a voice wondering what my German lover would think if he could see me. I buried the pangs of guilt and focused on the wet pussy that would soon be on my face again.

 

I lay naked on my bed with my German boyfriend, watching the tears in his eyes that were falling onto my skin as he ran his fingers over the marks on my body. I'd explained what happened with Rozalyn three times now, but with each explanation instead of reassuring him I was making both of us feel worse.

“It's not cheating or being unfaithful, Wolfie, Rozalyn and I are old friends, we play together now and again. It's nothing serious, just sex. Not like me and you at all, nothing to be jealous or upset about.”

“Are you a lesbian? Do you get more pleasure being with a woman than with me?” His voice was unusually soft. I strained to hear his words.

“I guess I don't believe in labeling people in that way. There's a quote from Simone de Beauvoir that I found and memorized ages ago when I was a student, ‘In itself, homosexuality is as limiting as heterosexuality: the ideal should be to be capable of loving a woman or a man; either, a human being, without feeling fear, restraint, or obligation.' And that kind of influenced me, or it summed up how I felt about relationships. And, oh, I don't know why I'm quoting at you. I know you don't want me to quote at you. I just don't know what to say or do to make this better. I'm not used to feeling like this.”

“Do you love me, Audrey? Can you love me as I am?”

He stared into my eyes. I felt like every beat of my heart would be the last.

“I love you. Forgive me and I'll be better. I can change and learn how to be a traditional girlfriend. I love you and I want
you more than anything else.”

He put his arms around me and pulled me against his chest. “You're vibrant and beautiful and amazing. I don't want you to change for me. Share your experience with me, teach me how to become the lover you desire.”

“I do desire you.”

“I know. And I know you desire more, so show me this more.”

“Would you like to see some of my porn? I've got books and films, it might help you to see the kind of things I do.”

He pushed me away from him and again stared into my eyes in that way that made me feel so vulnerable and so alive.

“I want you to show me. I want to experience the things that excite you, I want you to do to me the things you like done to you.”

I considered how to explain to him that I was the submissive, that I wanted to have my body forced and tied into the most prone positions, to feel the tip of a whip caressing my skin before it lashed against me, I wanted my nipples clamped, my mouth gagged, I wanted to wake up the next morning to a reflection that was covered with scratches and bruises.

“You've got to obey everything I say without question or hesitation,” I said. “And if it gets too much the safe word is Simone, you say that and then I'll stop whatever I'm doing. If you're sure you want to do this, then turn away and let me prepare.”

“Thank you,” he said and he turned his face into the bed while I walked over to my wardrobe.

I put on a red corset, stockings, and stiletto heels. Carefully I reapplied my makeup, choosing dark sultry colors, hoping that if I could create the right look I could become the right woman. I slowly chose a selection of toys, giving him as much time
as possible to change his mind about this thing before it even started. Then I took a deep breath, imagined I was Rozalyn, and turned to my lover.

“I want you on your hands and knees on the floor. Dogs should know better than to get on the furniture. I think you need more training.” I bit down on my lip. Was the thing about dogs too much? Was it too early?

But he obeyed me, kneeling on the floor, resting on his elbows, his naked buttocks presented before me. I wished I didn't feel so nervous. Before Wolfgang moved in next door it wasn't an emotion I was familiar with sexually. Sex was about losing all your inhibitions, it was pure id, the most primal, bestial force. It wasn't about pausing in front of the beautiful body of your lover wondering how to proceed. He was willing to do anything I told him, to obey my every command, and instead of arousing me it made me feel weighted with responsibility. I liked the sensation of having all control taken away from me, the liberation of doing nothing except enjoy, but now I needed to think about his feelings. Standing with him prostrate before me, I realized how important it was that this man who'd become entwined in my life could share this part of my world with me.

I looked at the toys I'd selected, but they all looked too severe for my gentle lover. I slowly walked around him, my heels clicked on the floor. It was a sound that had aroused me many times, bound and blindfolded, shivering in anticipation at the knowledge that someone was approaching me. I looked down at my German, and his figure made my breath stop. It seemed unbelievable that one person could be made so flawlessly. His broad shoulders tapering into that narrow waist and the perfect curve of his bottom. And he was all mine. For the first time I experienced a sense of ownership, that at some level this strong man belonged to me, that he had never done this for anyone but me.

I raised my hand and slapped down on the fullest part of his buttocks. He gasped, but I gave him no time to breathe before I brought my hand down for a second and third time. The
thwack
of my skin meeting his filled the room. My sexual side didn't just awaken; it took complete control of my being.

I spanked him five times on each buttock, creating red blushes on his tight cheeks. But it wasn't enough; my inner beast demanded more before it'd be satisfied. I picked up a black riding crop, one that I'd brought years ago with the intention of employing it for its proper use, but it'd found its way into my first lover's hand and had since become one of my favorite pieces of equipment.

With the tip of the crop I lightly traced the clean line of his spine, down from the nape of his neck to the small of his back, then let it rest in the secret valley between his buttocks. I watched his muscles waiting for him to relax, for the tension in his shoulders to be released, before raising the crop and whipping it sharply down on his ass. My pussy was moist, but I contained my passion. I bought the whip down on his skin several more times, watching the marks form on his toned buttocks, and knew I had to stop or I'd whip his whole body. I imagined his strong thighs and back decorated in the same manner as his ass, and it gave me a sensation of both incredible power and humbleness at how much he trusted me.

He was silent as I whipped him. When I took my punishment I liked to scream out, living the full intensity of each stroke. I pictured him staying in this posture, not uttering a sound, as I fulfilled all my dominating fantasies on his passive body. He might be hating every moment, willing it to end, but he would endure it all for me.

“Lie on your back.” I thought it was better not to look at the tender skin on his ass any longer in case my willpower failed.

He immediately obeyed.

His cock was fully erect. I wanted to smile and hug him, to tell him how happy I was, but the silence between us was intoxicating.

I sat astride him, facing toward his feet, as I knew if I looked into his face I wouldn't be able to maintain this mistress persona. He slid into me, and I felt immediate pleasure enclosing his whole length with my hungry self. I rode him hard with a new freedom. His fists were clenched on the floor, and the sound of his moans mingled with my own. I could feel the tension in him desperate to be released. Another time I'd tease him, only allowing him to come when I was ready, but today I responded by riding him harder, grinding into his groin until the power of his orgasm shot through us both, making me shiver and cry out with animal passion.

We held each other in a tight embrace, whispering our love in secret words. There were things we said and other things that we didn't need to say.

I was exhausted by all the emotions pounding through my body. The sexual part of me was fighting to regain control, desperate to explore more of this dominant side, to force this large gorgeous man to my will, to use all my toys on him right here and now. But this time I gave control to my calmer side. I knew that our future involved us learning and experimenting, always together. And this knowledge filled me with a warmth and peace I'd never had before.

 

Later, as we lay in bed, him sleepily spooning me, I bit down on the pillow to stop myself laughing. I was euphorically happy. All I wanted to do was laugh. And fuck. And spank. And whip. And grind. And laugh.

 

 

 

 

 

W
hether sentence modifiers are a subclass of adverbial is…
is what? Hotly debated? That's probably stretching it a bit. Back up a bit, come around another way.
As the largest class of modifiers, adverbials are
…No.
Modification is essential
…Okay, not essential, but…Well, actually in one sense, it is essential, because…But best to pin down the meaning before the usage.
There are x major classes of adverbial modifiers, as follows:…

Midmorning is usually a good time for me to work, but today I'm blocked. I know what I want to say, so why can't I just say it? I can feel him waiting for me to be done, too, which of course just makes me feel more blocked. If he would just leave the apartment, I could probably work more easily, although I know better than to say so. Especially since it's his apartment.

He comes up behind me now and lightly caresses my neck with his fingers. “That looks riveting,” he murmurs, though I can tell that he's looking at me, not the screen. “What are you working on?”

“Adverbials.” I feel his breath now on my neck; it's a distraction, and I wonder if it's meant to be. By now, he knows my weak spots.

“Adverbials.” He's lifting my hair out of the way, gently, but with that assured possessiveness that normally melts me. “And what are adverbials good for?”

“Actually, a lot of things.” He's not being dismissive, is he? I happen to take my work seriously, thank you very much. I don't bother to explain, though. His hands are now kneading my shoulders, rubbing my upper back.

“This is for that grammar blog?” A kiss to my neck, a definite kiss. “The one you don't have to write?” A hint of teeth now, just grazing the skin. “The one with no deadline?” A bite; not too hard, but firm and with intent. His hands now trace my sides, up and down, a motion I normally love. They pause by my breasts, give an extra squeeze, fingertips playing with my skin through my loosely tied yukata.

“The one that pays me $150 per entry, yes.” Of course, at the rate I'm going today, it's not a very good wage, but that's not really the point.

“Hmm. I'm feeling kind of sexy,” he says, as if there was any way I could have missed that.

“Well, that's nice for you. Go and feel sexy somewhere else, till I'm done.”

His hands freeze in position. He says nothing. A pause, and then abruptly he straightens and walks away. I hope I didn't sound rude, because that wasn't my intention, but I'm a little distracted here. I wouldn't be any good as company, not like this. I know I said that most of today would be for us, but “most” of it is still left, and I'm
working
. (Sort of.)

I can hear him in the next room, picking things up, putting things down, doing something. I'll be extra-sweet to him when
I'm done, I'll make it up to him, I'll get into the mood somehow. But now, back to adverbials.

Suddenly he's behind me, though I hadn't heard him approach. There's a sharp tug on my hair, and my hands fly back instinctively. Immediately my forearms are grabbed; then my hands are pulled behind the chair. I hear the click at the same time I feel metal against my skin. Oh, for…He's handcuffed me. He knows I don't like those things. They look all hot and sexy, sure, but the metal cuts into my skin. “James,” I say, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice, “This isn't really—”

He pulls my chair back from the computer and moves to stand in front of me. Tied only at the waist, my yukata has fallen open, and he reaches for my panties, tugging at the sides. I'm surprised to feel him lift me just a bit off the chair and pull the panties down onto my thighs. This is ridiculous. I clamp my knees shut so he can't get them off. He slips a hand between my legs, and we struggle for a bit. My legs are stronger than they look, from all that riding, but he is stronger still, and I lose the struggle—and my underwear. Now I'm thoroughly annoyed.

“James, after lunch, perhaps, I'd be happy to—”

“You know,” he says, thoughtfully, “I think I've heard enough out of you.” He pulls the tie loose from my yukata. Before I can take in what's happening, he's taken my head in one hand. A squeeze to my jaw has me open my mouth in surprise, and he shoves the panties inside, and then swiftly ties them into place with my yukata sash.