Rough Play (21 page)

Authors: Christina Crooks

BOOK: Rough Play

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He tongued her again, massaging her with hands and mouth.

Right when she thought she couldn’t restrain herself from grabbing the back of his head, making him satisfy her, he stopped. “Your eyes still closed?”

“Yes, damn it.” She squirmed.

He shoved the cotton towel between her butt and the chair. “Good. Hold still.”

His hands played between her legs, caressing, and spreading. Suddenly, she felt a warm, hard link of chain being inserted. It went in so smoothly she knew it was heavily lubed. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t expect him to answer, and he didn’t. He inserted another link, pushing it deeply with his finger. As the remaining links followed, she felt the chain being pushed more deeply inside. It slowly filled and stretched her.

“Comfortable?” Martin pushed another link into her.

“I’m . . . wow. It’s . . . intense.”

He spoke in a lecturing tone. “Though there are few nerve endings in the smooth walls of the vagina, they’re not fully stimulated—woken up—even during sex. I’m waking yours up. The stretching should introduce new sensations.”

“I want . . . oh, God, it’s amazing.”

She heard the smile in his voice. “It gets better.” His fingers paused their link-pushing to toy with her clit. “Just keeping you warmed up.”

“I’m on fire!”

It was the wrong thing to say. He withdrew his fingers.

“Don’t stop!” she complained.

“Patience.” He pushed in another link.

As the chain slowly filled her, the sweet pressure of it touched places she couldn’t have imagined. Similar to a G-spot touch with its deep and stimulating caress, the chain pressed against her more insistently and in more places. Martin was right. It was a sensation unlike anything she’d felt before.

“There. Hold still.”

She stilled her squirming. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t. Martin, please . . .”

“Patience,” he repeated. He flicked his finger against her clit and she cried out. “You’re on the edge, aren’t you?”

“Yes!”

“Good.” He rubbed her clit skillfully and with purpose.

“Oh!”

At the very moment her orgasm began, he pulled the chain out in one swift and continuous motion.

The throbbing bullets of ecstasy pummeled like multiple rapid-fire hits to her insides, intensifying her pleasure beyond anything she’d experienced before. She was aware of her scream and a gushing wetness only afterward, as the quakes shook her.

She became aware of his strong arms holding her steady.

She struggled for breath. “What . . . was . . . that?”

Her body continued to convulse with pleasure. She grasped the intricately carved wooden armrests and felt the pleasure going impossibly on and on. Her vision grayed out, and she had to tighten her grip on the chair to keep from sliding right off. Dampness wet the towel beneath her, and her inner thighs were soaked.

Charlotte didn’t care. She slowly opened her eyes. “Please. What was that?”

Martin gathered the chain links, a smug smile on his face. “A simultaneous G-spot and clitoral multiple orgasm, unless I miss my guess. I do like you saying ‘please’ that way. It’s sexy as hell.” He dumped the lot into a bio-waste bin.

He turned to her. He looked at her sprawled position, took in her still-panting breaths. His erection strained at his pants. “Much too sexy.”

Charlotte gathered her thoughts. They didn’t take much gathering, as she wanted only one thing. “You said a consensual non-consent scene is edge play and has to be negotiated in advance. Let’s negotiate. Now.”

He stared at her for so long she crossed her legs, and her hot skin began to cool. Her body longed for his, but he seemed forever destined to remain aloof. It maddened her, subdued her, and excited her all at once.

The oddly exhilarating feeling was normal around Martin.

“Soon.”

She stared at him. “Soon? Just ‘soon’?”

His mouth quirked into a smile. “There’s a bit more to it. There are hard limits and soft limits. There are safe words. There’s pain and humiliation tolerances to determine, and safety considerations. It’s a lot to cover. Probably best set up for another time.”

“I don’t think so.” She straightened, belatedly realizing her arched-back, cross-legged position thrust her breasts forward. Then just as quickly, she smiled. Let her nipples signal him. Let her round breasts and the tiny glimpse of her dark triangle below drive him beyond all control.

She gave him her most challenging look. “You’re all talk and tease. A bit of strong-arming, a wimpy little spanking, and relying on sexual toys? Though that last one was admittedly pretty amazing,” she muttered. “You’re adept with gimmicks. But you’re not able to keep it up, are you? The old trouser snake gone to sleep? It’s okay, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.” She gazed at his crotch pityingly.

He choked, spoke around laughter. “You’re relentless.”

She grimly fought back a smile. “And you’re not relentless. Too bad for me.” She rose, reached for her jeans. The panties were beyond repair.

She moved to pull her jeans on, hoping he’d stop her.

He didn’t.

She buttoned the top button, looked at him with real disappointment. But she made herself speak with politeness. “Thank you for an incredibly pleasurable time.”

He paused, then nodded. “Yes. I had a lovely time as well.” He cleared his throat. “Ah, I’d promised to hook you up with a few singles of my acquaintance. Referrals for your dating coach business. Some of them are currently actively looking on fetish sites, others are older, wanting to settle down, more interested in vanilla-type dating. And there are a number of women and men who tend to use the weekly munches here at Subspace as a dating service, which is of course not the appropriate venue for such things. So you’ll really be doing me a favor.”

“A favor.” She stared at him. “You’re kind of babbling.”

“Yeah, I know.” When he slicked his hair back from his face she noticed how damp his skin was.

“Are you feeling okay, Martin? You didn’t, you know, sprain anything? While you were doing that with the chain.”

“No.” He backed away from her. “You should probably go now.”

Curiosity rose inside her. Then new awareness prickled her. He was nervous! Why?

“Martin?” she asked wonderingly.

“Just go. Get out.”

“No.”

“Just please do it.”

“That’s my line.” She began to smile. “You’d like nothing more than to do me. Embedded to the hilt. Grunting like a pig at the trough. Until I cry with pain and shame, all wriggling and bucking unsuccessfully trying to get away. Gasping and begging you to stop, please, it hurts . . . yes?”

His lips pressed together. Then: “Charlotte . . . I’m very serious. Your safety is important to me.”

“I know.” And she did. Tender feelings shot through her, circled her heart. This man, the yang to her yin, the only one who seemed to accept and understand her, was trying to protect her. “You said there are hard limits and soft limits. And safe words—mine is ‘red.’ There are pain and humiliation tolerances. My tolerances are high. No permanent damage, like scarring . . . as for safety considerations, I assume you mean condoms. I further assume you will cover that issue. So to speak.” She grinned.

“I can’t believe I’m discussing this with you now. I swore to myself I’d take it slow with you. It’s getting late. You should be basking in my aftercare. I give good aftercare.” He sounded strained.

“I remember. But, Martin. That’s not what I want right now.”

She watched him swallow visibly. “Very well, Charlotte. I tried.” He paced. “I didn’t count on the anticipation making a mush of my brain where you’re concerned.” He took a deep breath. Exhaled. “All right. You forgot one thing though. Hard limits and soft limits. Do you know what those are?”

“I could guess. Hard. Hmm, let me see . . .” She smiled, lascivious.

“No, it’s not funny time right now. I’m quite serious, and you should understand. Limits define the boundaries of what each person is willing and unwilling to do within a scene. Limits apply to activities, roles, intensity of dominance and submission, time duration, and physical activities such as bondage, whipping, or penetration.” He stared at her. She had the feeling he’d assumed a teaching role, and it made her shift with impatience.

He continued. “Hard limits define something absolutely not okay with you under any circumstances. Soft limits mean boundaries that should be respected, but possibly pushed. Charlotte, what are your hard limits with me?”

The words burst from her. “A little late for those soft limits, don’t you think? A lot of those things, we already did.”

“You had a safe word.” He sounded defensive.

“You got carried away.” It was a revelation. “You wanted to play with me enough to bypass those formalities.”

“You’d provoked me into it,” he retorted. “And
you
had
me
at your mercy initially.”

“Doesn’t matter. Master Martin, owner of Subspace, skipped your ‘quite serious’ discussion of limits until now.”

“When we need them most. Tell me what they are. Or, I leave.” He meant it. She’d pushed and prodded him into leaving, still sporting an erection that tented his pants into a mighty mountain.

“Yes, Martin.” She smiled. She’d won! Exhilaration and lust surged and broke throughout her body, leaving her trembling with eagerness. Finally. Oh, finally. “My hard limits? No blood, no brands, no broken bones, no multiple partners, no unsafe sex. And as I’d already said, no permanent damage.” Her hand crept toward her scar.

His hand went to her arm, stopping her. His smile was as warm as his honeyed voice, but his grasp all but ground the small bones in her wrist. “Don’t even begin to consider I’d mar your beauty that way. Now. Keep your clothes on. I’m going to leave the room. Sit before the mirror and brush your hair as if you’re the only person in the building. When I decide to, I’ll come in. There will be a struggle. I will rape you. Is this acceptable?”

Her mouth went dry. Could she really do this?

His grip tightened. “I won’t be merciful,” he whispered. “Or kind. I’m going to fuck you in every possible way, and you will cry. You’ll feel me shoving it all the way to your belly, pounding away, and I’ll enjoy your struggle.”

“Maybe I won’t struggle.” She realized she’d whispered, too. She spoke normally. “Maybe I’ll enjoy it.”

“And maybe you won’t.” He smiled. She shivered.

He released her wrist.

“So. I’m, what? The innocent victim of a home break-in?” She made her voice deliberately light, uncaring. “Completely oblivious, until I suddenly see the man who has invaded my room?”

“That will do.” Already distant, he turned and crossed to the door. Opened it. Left without another word, which was somehow the most chilling of all.

“Oh my God, I’m really doing this.” She paced for a moment, then sat down. The lump in her pocket reminded her of the phone she carried. Good thing it hadn’t rung during the chain adventure.

Charlotte flipped it open, glad for the familiar routine as she glanced down at it to check for messages. Nothing more from Gail. Of course. Gail was otherwise occupied now.

Probably.

Charlotte frowned. Unease pierced the seductive haze. Gail’d said she was tired, but clearly she’d had company. And yet, she hadn’t sounded hot and bothered during that last call, Charlotte realized with the memory of her own response to Martin fresh in her mind. She’d sounded exhausted rather than satisfied.

Charlotte should make one last quick call to make sure of her. It would probably piss Gail off, but now that the worry had entered her brain, Charlotte couldn’t shake it.

Charlotte dialed, already impatient. She’d leave another message when Gail didn’t pick up, then maybe her nerves would give her some peace. They had better things to do, Charlotte remembered with a return of her heat.

Finally, Martin would fulfill his role as her fantasy man.

Gail’s number rang, and rang.

Charlotte saw the door swing open and Martin enter stealthily, but he’d forgotten to turn off his own phone. She grinned as he fished quickly for it, backing out of the room again to answer it.

Rapeus interruptus, Charlotte thought wryly. How modern they both were with phones to their ears. She couldn’t blame Martin a bit. It might be his sick mom. It might be . . .

Her phone clicked as Gail picked up. Charlotte started with surprise. “Hello?”

“Yeah. Disguising your voice won’t help.”

It wasn’t Gail. It was a guy.

Charlotte was too surprised to do anything but listen.

“I need more time.” A male voice. A familiar voice.

“Hello,” she tried again. “I’m calling for Gail. Who is this?” But by then she’d placed the voice. Her body became rigid with shock. “Martin?”