Unbound: (InterMix) (15 page)

Her smile grew mischievous. “There’s still time. Sounds like the rain plans to keep
us inside all day.”

Her invitation was a welcome escape from his anxiety.

He gathered the two ropes and closed them in their box on the floor. Joining her beneath
the covers, he turned his full attention to Merry. She shed her shirt, kicked away
her trousers under the blanket. She kept her bra on, as she had the previous night.

“What can I do for you?” He rubbed her side—so soft and smooth. He wanted to do so
much more. He wanted to smother her face and neck in grateful, humble kisses, breathe
the scent of her hair so deeply into his body it became a part of him.

“Hold your hand like this,” she whispered, cupping his palm between their navels and
curling his fingers. He held the shape as she led his wrist downward. He registered
the soft tickle of her pubic hair on his knuckles. Her panties had gone, along with
her bottoms.

“This is kind of weird,” she said, “but just go with it.” She propped up one thigh
and guided Rob’s hand to her folds, so his fingertips just barely penetrated, palm
cupping her mound and glancing her clit.
She’s so wet. From the things I told her.

“Just hold your hand like that. Right there.” And she began to move.

Rob watched with wonder as her eyes shut, features softening with obvious pleasure.
She rolled her hips, stroking her sex against his hooked hand.

He smiled to himself. If this was
kind of weird
, then surely his fantasies were the stuff of a sideshow. Yet he found he no longer
cared. All he wanted was to give her even a fraction of what she’d offered him. Make
her buck and sigh and shudder as he had last night. Take her orders. Give her pleasure.
Be her perfect servant.

He imagined her doing this with his cock—tying him down and ordering him to be still
as she exploited him. Despite the body-quaking orgasm, he felt desire stir, that hot
pressure low in his belly rousing, unfurling.

“Feels great,” she murmured.

“I want to make you feel amazing. Even a tenth as amazing as you made me feel.” Even
that slim facsimile would surely rival heaven.

“You are. And I’m thinking about everything we just did.”

“Are you?”

She nodded, warming him with that mischievous smile. “I loved watching you lose control.
And knowing I was giving you something no one else has.”

All at once, he felt something very queer indeed—a prickling behind his nose. Rob
hadn’t cried in ages. He’d given it up, left it behind with the gin and society and
his ruined marriage and his grief.

These simmering tears were different, though. No despair; only gratitude and relief.
But he held them in all the same, wanting this time to be about Merry. Her sex was
slippery and hot against his fingers, her clit stiff and swollen.

“You did give me that,” he finally said. “No one’s ever made me feel anything close
to what you did.”

Her eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. “Did you ever ask for it?”

“Not like this.” He’d never known how. He’d trained himself since childhood to keep
it a secret, to shunt it into some dark corner and only ever bare it to those strangers,
online, back in his so-called civilized life. To indulge it, only to be doused with
self-hatred the second he came, the blinding light of reality shining to reveal him
as he truly was—a pathetic drunk, one hand bathed in come, wrapped around his limp,
spent cock. The other still on his computer mouse, his screen awash with some incriminating
image, suddenly devoid of its allure; strangers bound and gagged, video of a hog-tied
man being fucked by another man, ridiculous words typed by some anonymous nobody.
Yeah. That sounds hot. That makes me hard,
the nobody might say.
What else?

What else? There
was
nothing else, once Rob came. Shut the offending window, erase his Internet history,
get back to the chore of drowning his self-loathing in a bottle of Booth’s.

Yet here he was, sober. And a real and beautiful woman was with him in his bed, taking
pleasure at the memory of indulging his darkest desires.

“I want to make you come,” he whispered. To be more than a still, willing hand.

“Then keep talking,” she muttered through a smile, seeming to luxuriate in the strokes
she gave herself.

“What about?”

“About the things you want done to you.”

He took a deep breath, and let his deepest secrets escape from between his lips. “Sometimes
I imagine I’m tied down, and there’s . . . there are women, who want my come.”

“They’ve taken you hostage.”

“Yes. They’re different. Like another race of beings.” Rob’s face heated to hear these
stupid words even leaving his lips. But fuck it. “Or maybe a cult. They want to . . .
to keep me hard for as long as possible, so I’ll . . .”

“So you’ll come more?”

“Yeah.”

“Do they fuck you?” Merry asked, and Rob’s last scrap of misgiving burned away.

“Sometimes. Like they need me, to procreate. Or they take turns sucking me. They each
get a minute, maybe, all of them hoping they’ll be the one to get to taste it. Like
I’m a delicacy.”

Her smile turned sinister and she bit her lip.

“What?” he asked, scared she was suppressing laughter.

Her brown eyes opened. “You are fucking fascinating.”

His cheeks heated with embarrassment, flattery, pleasure. “Thank you.”

“What else?”

What else?
Just as that anonymous chat room nobody might demand. Only this was so, so different.

She moved in tighter strokes—tighter and quicker.

“Sometimes I imagine I’ve been drugged. That I wake up in captivity. Just like you
pretended for me.”

“And you’re tied up.”

“Yes. Almost always.”

“What else?” Her voice was breathy, eyes shut. But she was with him, unmistakably.
Not the way Rob must’ve looked to lovers, every time he close his eyes and escaped
into his fantasies when the time came for him to climax. Checked out. Somewhere else
entirely. Until tonight, startling as that revelation was. A surge of excitement rose
in him, making him bold.

“Lots of things. Humiliating things.”

“Being punished, you said. How?”

“Teased, sometimes. Touched everywhere except . . . you know. Or made to lose myself
with my pants still on. Or while being forced to watch, in a mirror. Or . . . or spanked,
sometimes.” That last one made him uncomfortable, tangled up in the same anxieties
he felt about all the times he’d resorted to gay porn. An entire adolescence’s worth
of fear, fostered up north where there was absolutely
nothing
worse you could be than queer. Except perhaps whatever Rob was, he’d imagined. Spanking.
That was something done to girls, because men were the spankers. The punishers. So
what did that make Rob? The question had dogged him for years.

“Have you done that?” Merry murmured. “Been spanked?”

“No.” He’d been far too terrified to ask for it.

“Me, neither. What do you want to get spanked for?”

“For . . . failing. For being worthless.” His throat tightened to say it, but the
constriction eased quicker and quicker each time he shared new secrets with Merry.
“For being a disappointment.”

Her smile was faint and mischievous. “If you were trying to excite yourself, during
what we’re doing now,” she said. “What would you be imagining?”

He shut his eyes, wrapping his wrists in a phantom rope. “That I’m tied up. That you’ve
captured me, and maybe you’re testing me. If I make you come, with my hands, then
my cock might be worthy . . . to please you. Or to . . .”

“What?”

Christ. Even that simplest demand got him hard. “You want to come, then you’ll make
me . . . make me use my mouth. Once you’re . . .” He could feel it against his curled
fingers, all that slick, hot heat.

“Wet.”

“Yeah.” A head rush rocked him. “Like you’re feeding me or something. Some ritual
that’ll make my . . . I don’t know.”
I’m sorry. I’m so unbelievably fucked up.
Yet so unbelievably turned on.

“Like it’ll . . .” She struggled for the words, too, but it looked as though arousal
was clouding her mind, not hesitance.

Tell her what she’s asked to hear. Be obedient. That’s what you want, isn’t it?

“It’ll make my come . . .
right
, somehow. Worthy. Or powerful. I’m not sure.”

Her eyes opened, if only a fraction. “Do you ever resist in your fantasies? Like,
fight back, or try to escape?”

“Not really. Resist, yes. Enough to be punished. I . . . I cower. Or plead. But I
don’t run. I’m too weak. The woman is too powerful.”
You. You’re too powerful.
She had to be, the way she coaxed these scary thoughts from his lips with nothing
more than patience and kindness. And the way her mock-cruelty had coaxed far dirtier
results, not so long ago. He wished he were still wearing his soiled shorts.

“So after I come,” she said, hips lost to their luxurious motions, “what would I do
to you then?”

“Tie me to the bed, maybe. Or just tie my hands behind me and make me lie on my back.
And force me to taste you. Make you come again.” He could practically feel it now,
bindings rasping his hands and the small of his back, chafing exacerbated by his sweat.
Stinging.

“And then?”

“Then maybe . . . maybe you’d suck me off. Or unbind my hands and loop the rope around
my neck, and make me fuck you.”

“Top or bottom?”

“Me on top.” He imagined it, the cruel tug and scratch at his throat, harnessing him
like a bridle. Maybe looped between his teeth, as well. To be treated like a slave,
or livestock. “I’d have to fuck you just as you commanded me to, or you’d get rough.”

“Good,” she murmured, hips rolling quicker, the hand on his arm squeezing, thumb rubbing
in a thoughtless way. It thrilled him, the way she moved and how she took pleasure
from him. Not just his hand, but his thoughts.

“H-how would you . . . make me fuck you?” he asked. As the question came out, he realized
a new threshold had been crossed. He’d asked her to join him in this exploration,
instead of merely telling her about the landscape. “Slow? Or fast?”

“Fast,” she said, and bit her lip.

He wanted those teeth digging into his skin, pain chased by more callous words. “Rough?”

“Fast and rough,” she agreed. “So fast and rough, you could never sustain it.”

“So I’d disappoint you?” His cock was throbbing, shrieking and angry, trapped by his
clothes once more. He could come from this. From her voice, and this exchange. With
his eyes open and no more friction that the wool blanket pressed against his arm.

“You’d disappoint me,” she agreed. “So I’d punish you.”

Fuck. The world reeled, Rob’s consciousness reduced to a boiling, chaotic pressure
rising in his belly. “How?”

“I’d push you off me. I’d be angry. I’d make you wait on your hands and knees, and
pull on the rope, like a choke chain.” She paused, seeming to have crossed her own
line. “Not really. But we’d pretend it was tight.”

“Sure.”
Keep going, keep going.
He fidgeted, cock screaming, pleading.

“I’d hold you like that, and I’d spank you.”

“Oh.”

“I’d spank you until you promised to fuck me the way I tell you to.”

“Yes.”

“Now tell me the rest.” Her pretty face was strained, and the rhythm of her hips had
grown frantic. She was close. The realization made Rob dizzy. She was close, and from
thinking about the things that he liked. That was
insane
.

“I’d promise,” he told her. “And you’d let me try again. You want it so fast, and
it’s so degrading . . . but I want it, too. And I’m scared I’ll come before you tell
me to. Before I get you off.”

She was so close. He felt it in her fevered, slippery, swollen sex.

“I want to beg you please, let me stop, but I know I’ll only make everything worse.”

“Beg me anyway,” she whispered. She cupped his face and drew it close, urging his
mouth just behind her ear. Her hair tickled his lips.

“Please,” he murmured. In his fantasy, his entire body would be shaking from the strain,
so he made his voice reflect that, his muscles too, clenching them tight. “I’m too
close.”

She held his head, fisting his hair. “Not until I tell you to.”

“Please.”

She was pleading as well, with her motions. Rob cheated, moving his hand for her,
meeting each stroke of her sex, deepening the contact, rubbing the pad of his palm
along her clit. He let his fingers dip inside, to help her imagine the penetration.
She groaned, an angry, desperate sound, brows pinched together.

Fuck, yes.
She was coming. She was thinking about the things that excited him, and she was coming.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please, Merry.”

“Oh God.”

His hand turned greedy and frantic, until he was leading the caresses, her body merely
riding his bucking fingers and palm.

“Please. Please.”

And she seized. Pressed hard into him, driving his hand back against his own throbbing
arousal. He could feel so much—her fluttering muscles, squeezing, twitching. He wished
it were his cock, and this an order.
Feed me,
her body was saying, and he’d obey, spilling inside her. Giving this cruel and benevolent
goddess exactly what she demanded.

“Oh, Rob.” She went still, pressing her forehead to his neck and releasing his hair.

He swallowed, willing the mania to ebb. The most wondrous thing had just happened.
He had to drive the madness from his body and wallow in this. It might never—

She pushed him. Not hard, but enough to surprise him, and he turned onto his back.
She was between his legs, plucking at the bow of his drawstring. She tugged his bottoms
down. Fisted his pounding cock.

She offered no demands, and Rob was beyond the role-playing. Her warm mouth enveloped
his crown and he thrashed, elbows digging into the covers, hard and rough enough to
burn.