A Kink in Her Tails (28 page)

He wondered if she’d changed to a different flogger, because this one was harsher and rough, and he figured it would be leaving a definite mark as she brought it down on him without pause.

His inner thighs began to receive attention, and the more delicate skin responded to the assault very rapidly.

With quick flicks, Francesca’s tool bit into his flesh, raising his skin into welts and bringing choked off cry from his throat.

“You have the safe word, Jason. Use it if you need to,” reminded Francesca, sounding a little breathless herself.

Jason could only nod.

His focus was changing now, as his body received the blows so lovingly administered. His skin felt like it was hanging loosely from his body, then the next instant became so tight he gritted his teeth waiting for it to split in a million places.

The blows were harder than ever, and the pain they were causing began to numb Jason’s brain. He wondered if he was bleeding profusely and images of sailors’ striped backs as they were flogged before the mast danced through his brain.

Then he noticed something strange was beginning to happen. He was waiting for each blow, but with less fear and more anticipation. The touch of the flogger against him was sharp and stinging, but also arousing.

The line between pain and pleasure was blurring and becoming vague, and he began to need the next lash across his flesh.

His cock was rock hard, rigid as it had ever been, and with each stroke of the tails, it seemed to harden even more.

He wanted to come, desperately, but he didn’t want the flogging to stop.

His head lolled forward as yet another barrage of lashes fell on his heated skin.

He cried out as Francesca laid a strong line of blows down the backs of his thighs.

“Let go Jason,” she shouted. “Let it go, my love.”

He did.

His mind wallowed and shook and then slipped from his body.

He was…he was someplace else.

There were impressions of a blue sky, bluer than he could ever remember seeing. He thought he could see himself, bound to the St. Andrew’s Cross, but it was vague and insubstantial.

Words formed themselves in his brain but he seemed completely unable to voice them, nor did he find that bothersome.

He was flying. Flying in a place known only to him, that was warm, comfortable and filled with a glowing sense of peace and contentment.

He didn’t want to return, just to stay there forever, and leave behind his mortal self.

He drifted, time having no meaning, nor distance a dimension.

He saw places, beautiful places he felt he knew but did not recognize. There were people sometimes, but he didn’t want to speak to them. Just to watch them as he flew past.

“You must come to me, now, Jason,” said a soft voice. He sensed a presence surrounding him, enfolding him in its warmth and love. It was a comforting presence, one he could attach himself to and become a part of without difficulty.

It seemed that he was sinking, dropping, lowering himself into a shell. The shell began to shake.

He opened his eyes to find himself against the cross, with Francesca unfastening his bonds.

His legs were useless, but she caught him and helped him lie down on the soft rug, cuddling him, gentling him, stroking him as his body relearned the process of functioning as a mortal being.

Her hands brought him peace and comfort as sensation returned and the ache in his buttocks made itself known. She ran her hands down his stomach and cradled his cock, which was still hard and distended.

He sighed with pleasure as she lowered her mouth to take him between her lips.

The softness of her tongue against the hardness of his arousal was extraordinary bliss for Jason. Still caught in the mental after effects of his “flight” into enlightenment, this particular experience took on surreal overtones. His balls felt like rocks and he was sure that he could feel each and every hair as it responded to her breath.

Her soft mouth and hard teeth were sharp contrasts in sensation against his skin, and her teasing flick to the little sweet spot just below the tip was a combination of pain and ecstasy. Her strokes were firm and knowing, and coupled with a fierce suckling brought him to the edge within what felt like seconds.

“Francesca,” he gasped, finally finding his voice again.

She glanced up at him, eyes shining, but never stopping her movements on his cock.

He was helpless and surrendered to her with a willingness he’d never imagined.

His buttocks tightened, a shaft of electricity shot down his spine into his balls, and he began to come down her throat, spurting with a cry of pleasure that felt like it had been ripped from his lungs.

She sucked him dry, pulling every last drop of cum from the tiny eye and working his cock as he spurted everything he had, everything he was, into her.

He didn’t know he was crying, until he felt her wipe the tears away.

Tears like the ones her memory invoked.

The ones he was crying now.

* * * * *

His body still ached, as if reliving the punishment he’d received at Francesca’s hands while lashed to the cross. His cock was hard, but he could deal with it.

He hadn’t lived as long as he had without learning control.

Restlessly he stood, fighting against the dizziness that his emotional onslaught had produced.

A glass of ice water calmed him slightly, and he was surprised to find himself damp with sweat as well as his own tears.

Dear God, someone should rename that scotch “Old Catharsis.” A couple of swallows and he’d opened up like a parched flower after a rainstorm.

And in some strange way he felt better because of it. At least he’d faced his memories and let them loose. And he was still alive.

Albeit still alone.

Sadly, he faced something he should have admitted years before.

He needed Francesca Dalton. Needed her with every fiber of his being, every particle of his existence.

And it had been his fault she’d gone and left him.

A stupid thing. A silly thing and the door had closed behind her.

Although God knew she hadn’t considered it stupid. Only
he
had had that pleasure, for many years afterwards.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Donna had called him
.

Donna his ex-fiancée.

They’d been engaged just after high school until wiser heads prevailed and encouraged them both to wait. But the sex had been hotter than hot for both of them, and although they’d gone their separate ways, they had never forgotten those stolen moments.

It had been a huge surprise for Jason to hear her voice on the phone.

“Hi hot pants,” she said, bringing a smile to his face. “I’m in town for a day or so and wanted to say hello and touch base. You got any time free?”

It so happened he did, as Francesca was at a conference at a nearby college all day and into the evening.

He was looking forward to introducing them, believing that everyone in the world would find Francesca as wonderful as he did.

As a matter of fact, he might well hint to Donna that he’d finally found “the one,” the woman he wanted for ever and ever, ‘til death did them part, etc. etc. He wondered if Donna was married.

She wasn’t.

And it was pretty obvious that she remembered their time together as well. She arrived at his apartment, having suggested they meet there as she didn’t want to drive all over town in traffic.

And damn, she looked wonderful.

The old Donna with the long lank hair and the beaded headband had given way to a slim sensual woman with blonde streaked and tousled hair tossed into a sexy mess. Her breasts were unconfined beneath her soft shirt and her legs revealed by a pair of very short shorts.

He could tell right away she was after more than an afternoon of reminiscing. It could have been the way she plastered herself against him when he opened the door, or perhaps it was the thrust of her hips into his groin that clued him in. Or no, wait, maybe it was the tonsillectomy she tried to administer—with her tongue.

Whatever it was, it hadn’t fazed him. Much. Hey, he was a guy after all. And it was the sixties.

They’d shared a beer, or two, followed by a little tequila. They’d laughed as they remembered the first time they’d tried to master the coordinated dance between lemon and salt.

More tequila followed.

Donna politely offered to share a joint, and Jason, buzzing a little by this point, accepted.

They laughed their way through their past adventures as the shadows began to fall outside. Donna’s lips grew pinker and Jason found himself fascinated by her mouth. Had she always had a lower lip that looked made for sinning?

It was the conversation about Francesca that had started the slow slide into disaster. He began to tell Donna about her. About how he felt, what he wanted, his future plans.

Donna nodded and sighed, and fiddled with her buttons, slipping a couple free.

“I’m happy for you, honey,” she said, with a rather wistful smile. “I’m separated, employed, and self-sufficient. A truly modern woman. But I do miss one thing…” She opened a couple more buttons and let Jason see that she, too, had given up wearing a bra. Damn, this new world was making it hard for men to go about their business on a daily basis without a semi-permanent hard-on.

Jason stood, a little high, a little uncomfortable and, yes, slightly aroused. Well, maybe more aroused than “slightly.”

Donna had always had the most wonderful breasts.

And now he could see that they hadn’t changed, since she had discarded the notion of keeping her shirt buttoned at all.

Oh look. She was pressing them against him. And my, wasn’t that a nice feeling?

“Donna, honey,” he said, backing up to the kitchen counter.

“God Jason, just once more, for old time’s sake. Please…”

She’d pulled his T-shirt up and rubbed herself against his bare flesh sending a completely reflex shiver over him.

In a flash his jeans were unzipped and her fingers thrust inside. Since Francesca had long since convinced him that underwear was an unnecessary waste of time, his cock fell straight into Donna’s waiting hands.

And she was more than ready for it.

Hobbled by his pants and numbed by the tequila and the grass, Jason could only watch in aroused confusion as she slid down his body, pressing her breasts around his cock and finally ending up with it in her mouth.

She knew all his weaknesses and used every one of them. Within seconds he was putty in her hands. Or, more accurately, her mouth.

She worked him with enthusiastic skill and he couldn’t help but respond, thrusting his hips toward her and holding the back of her head as she pulled at him with her tongue.

She was moaning and caressing her breasts, as aroused as he, so it was no surprise to find that a few moments later he was on the floor, on his back, with Donna whisking herself out of her shorts.

Within seconds she was astride him, riding him, clutching him desperately with her hands and pulling his head to her breasts.

He half sat up and she wriggled until her legs were behind him, holding him deep inside her.

She sighed with pleasure. “Oh Jason, yeah, fuck me hot pants.” The words tumbled from her lips, turning Jason on as much as her breasts and the feel of her cunt sliding over his cock.

He slid one hand down and found her clit, slick with her own moisture and protruding hard and ready from its hiding place within her folds.

He knew just where to touch.

She screamed and came, orgasm after orgasm shaking her body as it clasped his.

He lost control and erupted, grunting and thrusting deep inside her as her spasms pulled his seed from deep within his balls.

It was all over within moments and one thought surfaced in Jason’s mind, chilling him like a bucket of cold water thrown in his face.

Francesca!

He opened his eyes. Blue eyes stared back at him.

Francesca was standing in the kitchen watching him.

She had seen it all.

The sound of the door slamming behind her was the sound of his life shattering around him, and that life would forever be changed.

He couldn’t have known that
then
, but he certainly knew it
now
.

The soft glow of his monitors brought a twisted smile to Jason’s lips. How simple things would have been back then if he’d had the resources of the Internet at his disposal.

He could have deluged her with emails that she’d have to have accepted one way or another, instead of ignoring his letters and cards.

He could have tried her cell phone as well as her land line and left messages on her machines from here to Tuesday, instead of repeatedly being given the cold shoulder by an endless ring and finally a polite message saying the number was not in service at that time.

He could have traced her movements somehow, instead of letting her completely slip away from him like an insubstantial dream that was never real in the first place. In spite of staking out her apartment, her friends’ apartments, and any other place he could think of, she’d vanished. Just poofed out of existence into thin air.

The last he’d seen of her was her blonde hair flying as she’d fled his kitchen, leaving him on the floor gazing at Donna in a horrified stupor.

It had been so stupid of him.

But was it bad enough for Francesca to walk out of his life forever?

As time passed, the pain had given way to anger. Why? Why had she just dropped him like a hot potato? Why hadn’t she given him chance to explain? Or at least try to apologize, humble himself, grovel, whatever it took to keep them together? Didn’t she care enough? Maybe she had someone else on the side waiting for her.

Wild and furious thoughts had stampeded through Jason’s mind as he tried to pick up the trappings of his life and carry on without Francesca.

Then the offer of an appointment on the West Coast had arrived, and it was decision time. It didn’t take long for Jason Burke to pack up his belongings and set out to start over as a member of a clinical practice specializing in sexual dysfunctions.