Animal Parade by DM Sands - part eight of ten

Chapter 8 - House Training (continued)

No doubt relishing my impaired state, he must also love his ruse. He said little scams always satisfied more if he first taunted me with snippets of information I could later piece together. He’d spun the fable about the blinds and innocently showed me the features on his new camera.

I mused over these puzzle pieces, struggling to pull myself onto the bed. Claiming the Manhattan skyline sometimes bothered his eyes, he extolled the necessity of shutters for better sleep. Realizing that I’d never seen him unable to sleep, I snorted.

‘But then,’ my mind crooned, ‘every time you’ve seem him sleep you have always just fucked him within an inch of your life.’

There’d been more, too, not all so direct. Conversely, he’d charmed me with his display of the video camera’s direct to TV capability by a real-time screening of the pigeons on his roof. Their cooing and rustle of wings soothed me, minor spectacle enjoyed from the comfort of his unpretentious sofa. Iridescent feathers improved the cloudy daylight as the flock moved about. It made a pleasant distraction to his newspaper that lazy Sunday morning.

I recalled how whistling from the kitchen made that day decidedly less gloomy. Delicious aromas heightened AM hunger. Soon we ate a breakfast of crispy bacon and his signature crepes smothered in strawberry sauce. I’d all ready sampled some of the homemade whipped cream off of his lustrous skin earlier that morning. Ransacking his refrigerator as he slumbered, I had come back to bed. Waking properly, he acted incensed at my raid. Animated caricature of protest soon fell silent when I distributed two dollops onto the tips of my breasts. I tingled at that memory.

“I thought the cherries were meant to go on top of the whipping cream, not the other way around. But then again, these are more like strawberries, so pink and plump,” he argued with himself comically before sucking the topping off.

And there was the night vision demonstration another time. We’d walked the park after dark, filming feral cats and foraging raccoons. Their presence had been customary during childhood summers on an upstate farm; I got a revealing look at the familiar critters in this urban setting. He’d known I was a sucker for animals, both agreeing they had more of what we laughingly call “Humanity.” They certainly didn’t treat others like the majority of people.

Still in the dark I thought of how he treated me. Rolling over, my effort caused the constraints to ratchet maliciously tighter behind my back. I found the blinking light of the camera and spread my legs to it.

“Your cum is starting to slide down my ass,” I said in a sultry voice, trying to provoke his return. “That dirty cock of yours needs me more than I need it. You can jerk off, or you can have this.”

Murmuring various enticements, I lifted my hips toward that winking little beam. Exposing myself ever further, I tilted my pelvis and spread legs wide. Defiantly I derided him.

“You couldn’t even have me if you hadn’t shackled me to your lousy bed. You call me a dog sometimes because that’s all you could get before you lured me here.”

Struggling at my bonds helplessly, I found my brain responding to the sensory depravation by magnifying the aches settling in major muscles. I fidgeted still more with the rising awareness.

When he did come back, he lifted the camera from its stand so he could hold it close to see me in the blackness. He picked up the leash. Off the bed and kneeling at his will, I heard it rasp across the sheets. And he had lubricant, audible pop of the top informing me. After a long moment the cold liquid dripped onto my backside. Still sightless, I felt the fluid slither down the crevice of my posterior. It seemed to be the only occurrence in the whole universe.

Legs loose and watery, I rested upper body on the bed to support my weight. He snaked the oiled handle slowly within the dark reaches of my behind, powering past sphincter’s resistance. I found myself philosophically unable to pull away from the punishment.

‘How is he holding the camera?’ I pondered crazily, ‘I know he’ll want this on film. At least it’s skinnier than his dick.’

Wildly fragmented considerations choked out another strangled chortle. Hearing it, he asked if I had something to say. He waited for me to signal a stop. I offered nothing but a high pitched whine. Braided cable penetrated past the handle and the supple span made him toil harder. His fingernails pinched viciously as he labored. My bleating amplified with the stunning misery, conscious thought fleeing. I found divinity in the decadent spoilage of corporeal being.

He finally seemed satisfied with his feat and I felt him move to the bed, leaving me violated. Chain jerked hard caused the cuffs to bite into my hands as the links raced up my spine. I groaned loudly, shoulders straining. There was no expression on my face as I waited for his next exhibition of authority. I could hardly stand it, trying to intuit the next fiendish act in this play. The fiery ache in my rectum centered all attention.

“Suck me hard,” he said.

Sleek legs suddenly squeezed my sides painfully. Taking away my breath, he pushed my face to his crotch. The thick span of his penis slapped me as he pushed it up by the base. I eagerly took the soft skin of his semi hard member between my lips, tasting myself.

“Looks like my pet grew a tail.”

Smirk evident in his voice, callous jeer rippled over me in a warm exhalation. I concentrated on breathing, respiration noisy through my nose. He tugged my head up with a handful of hair and stood. I landed on my heels balanced precariously. There was a brief pause before the click of the latch, so I knew he replaced the camera to its former perch. I sneered toward it, over my shoulder, and shook my hips, agonizingly lashing my “tail.” I sensed him, sitting in his recliner, idly squeezing his erection as he watched me. Biding his time, he likely sipped a glass of wine or perhaps some juice. I made a show of acting bored this time, even sighing like I had somewhere else I’d rather be.

My ploy worked and the door burst open. Light flooded the room as he hit the overhead switch. God help me, hurtful light blessedly relieved the disorienting dark. There had not existed so much as a glowing clock face, only that evil red wink. I’m sure he switched his camera over from night vision. But I still adjusted to the brightness and he seemed instantly upon me. I considered that he would make me suck him again, tormenting me with the absence of him inside my pussy.

Handcuffs came off and, blinking rapidly in disbelief, I flexed my arms and rubbed my shoulders for a moment. He lifted me and wrapped my legs about his waist, lowering me firmly onto his cock. I held on tight, arms around his neck. Splayed hands pressed to my back for support, he stepped back to lie on the bed. Directing me not to move, he arched up into me smoothly, making me even more aware of the foreign object with which he sodomized me. One strong hand gripped my chain.

“Turn around,” he directed.

I couldn’t keep my fixation from his sensual lips as I rose up. I carefully gathered my artificial appendage, wincing as it moved within. It was a mystery to me how so many people found this pleasurable. Of course I’d received no preparation. Suffering fulfilled me like no other bedroom activity.

Feet near his shoulders, I held his calves. His length filled me and my wetness spread further over him with the new angle. The black leather strip draped across his stomach in stark contrast to his luminous skin. My breath caught.

But then he tugged on the leash and the air exploded from my lungs. I locked my thighs against him and froze my butt high in the air.

“Good. Now, touch yourself.”

Gasping sides heaved between my ankles. He withdrew the anal penetration another fraction of an inch. I pressed hard to my responsive flesh with impatient fingers. He continued thrusting steadily, almost gently. Overwhelmed with uneven extraction from behind, I shook from head to toe. Tightened chain let me lean into my collar for mild asphyxia.

Wheezing, I came again and again. Handle pulling out at long last, reedy growls rose to a scream upon expulsion. Still he fucked me, his erection fading. I folded my torso over his legs, completed by all that had transpired.

It signaled the end for now. He helped my clumsy fingers release silver buckles. Noting he’d had nothing left for his own orgasm, I extricated myself and expressed my regret. He disclosed to me that he didn’t care.

“It would just have distracted me from really appreciating what I was doing for you,” he said. “It was glorious.”

Wholeheartedly of the same opinion, I nodded groggily in satisfied stupor. We settled side by side snuggling in messy covers.

To be continued...

Excerpt from A Test of Love - Book 2 of the Solitary Knights Series

Excerpt from A Test of Love:

Tom strode purposefully into the bedroom. “Ryan, wake up.”

“Mmmm,” Ryan mumbled, not opening his eyes.

Tom sat on the side of the bed and shook his shoulder. “Wake up, there’s been another note. And they broke my watch. My ring is missing. William’s ring is gone. I was out back, chopping wood. Whoever it was, they smashed my flowerpot, took the ring and left a note in its place.”

Ryan sat up, his eyes now wide open. “What?”

Tom stroked his finger, which felt naked without its silver band. William’s ring, the ring he wore in memory of the one man he’d ever truly loved. Was it merely lost in the grass, or did the asshole who left the note take it? God damn it, what kind of sordid intrigue had Ryan got him embroiled in?

“What haven’t you told me, Ryan?” Tom demanded. “What the hell’s going on? Who’s threatening you and why?” He thrust the paper toward Ryan, aware even as he did so that he wasn’t being fair.

Ryan read the note and dropped it as if it burned his fingers. “I don’t know, I swear. I know as much as you do.”

“Yeah, well, now I’m being threatened too. My personal property has been destroyed and maybe stolen. I’ve been ordered to stop seeing you. I don’t want to do that. But I have to know what’s going on.”

“I told you, I don’t know.” Ryan dropped his head into his hands, running his fingers through his silky blond hair.

“My ring,” Tom persisted, not able to let it drop. “I have to find it. It’s not you’re your slashed tires—something easily replaced—”

“Look, I’m sorry about your ring. I’m sorry about this whole thing. I don’t know what’s going on. Maybe it’s a sign I’m not supposed to be involved with anyone. You’re probably better off doing as the note says.”

“Is that what you want? You gonna turn and run, the second the going gets tough?” Tom snapped. Aware he was being unfair, Tom couldn’t seem to stop himself. It was because of the ring, damn it. The ring had made it personal. William’s ring, lost, possibly forever, because of Ryan’s screwed up past or shady dealings.

Knowing he wasn’t helping matters, Tom found himself saying, “Whatever’s going on, it’s clear this doesn’t have anything directly to do with me. But now, whoever did this knows where I live. Damn it, I’m a professor at a university. I can’t have this kind of dark intrigue shit going on in my life.”

“You’re right,” Ryan snapped, fury in his tone. “Whatever’s going on, we can’t have it staining your pristine reputation at Rutgers.” Ryan jumped up from the bed and began to pull on his jeans. He grabbed his sweater, pulling it over his head. “I’ll see myself out. Don’t forget to close the garage after I leave. Though, since I’m the problem, you should be fine once I’m gone.”

All Tom’s irrational, misplaced anger toward Ryan fell away. “Wait! Don’t go, Ryan. I was being an ass. I’m sorry. Please…” He followed Ryan, who had left the room and was walking quickly through the house, grabbing his coat as he went.
“Ryan, let’s talk this—” The door to the garage slammed shut. A moment later Tom heard the whirring clunk of the electric garage door slowly opening, and the purr of Ryan’s car engine. He sank to the kitchen table, dropping his head in his hands.

Note: Book 1: Finding Chandler, is available as a free download at 1RomanceEBooks. While each book stands alone, your reading enjoyment will be enhanced by reading the prior books in the series first.

I Am the Rain

Another free read from Rowena Sudbury. This will never be published as it is far too short.


It was the wind causing the tears to run down his face as he hurried away from the source of pain. He knew it was the wind, it wasn't the pain. Couldn't be the pain. He was tough, nothing hurt. Ever.

The wind whipped his hair into his eyes. Impatient as he raised his hand to push it aside and he realized two things. He'd left his coat, and there was blood tracking with the tears down his cheeks.

Keep walking, keep moving, and don't give in to the misery looming just above.

Footsteps slowed as he reached the bridge. It arched high over nothing below, one of the mysteries of man, a bridge with no apparent function. He turned and the wind blew full force into his face.

And then the shivering started. This time the tears were real. He gave way and let them pour out.

Heat, pain, humiliation. Closed in.

He wrapped his arms tightly around himself; poised on the brink of the abyss, lacking the bravery to do anything other than just stand there and let the misery ebb over him.

He stiffened immediately when he sensed the presence beside him, knowing they had followed to taunt this breakdown of control. But the hand that touched him was gentle, belying the strength behind it.

Head bowed he allowed himself to be gathered close, wrapped in the overlarge black coat, held against the steadily beating warmth of his savior.

No recriminations, just the comforting scent of protection.

Comfort, and something more.

Everything receded, agony replaced with care. Shivering stilled as a different kind of heat radiated from the solid strength. Eyes closed they breathed as one.

The storm, physical and emotional still raged, but was calmed as strong fingers tipped his face back, and electric blue eyes gazed down upon him. He closed his eyes and allowed his lips to be taken. The kiss was whiskey smooth, liquid warm, overpowering.

Together they turned. He huddled against the larger man, his steps no longer stumbling. Walked down the other side of the arch, toward promises kept.

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part seven of ten

Chapter 7 - House Training

Nipples swelled with his simple touch, fabric rubbing them seductively as I ambled toward the hall lavatory. The simple card on the ornate gift box said in masculine penmanship: My Pet.

My entire comical image of him picking reusable food containers went out the door when I lifted the velour lid. I almost squeaked. Whatever the worth of this, the value appointed me had ostensibly become immeasurable and slightly daunting. Could it be a loaner?

Diamonds sparkled in indirect lighting hidden somewhere above ornate cabinetry. Far from being a piece of elegant jewelry, the necklace clearly designated subservience. Precious stones arranged in a shimmering web of interlocking settings overlaid a heavy black leather collar. The inside padded and lined with velvet, twin outside buckles affixed it.

My hands shook as I lifted it to my neck. I finally managed to fix it in place, adjusting it so the silver D-ring aligned with my spine. Prisms danced over dark blue shirt collar framing it. I was mesmerized. A soft knock on the oak door at my back made me jump.

“How’s it coming? Do you need help?”

“I’ll be right out.”

“Do you like it?”

Muffled question held lurid promise, sending a thrill up my back. Reaching toward the door, I suddenly remembered the underwear. Moist lace indicated what affect simply donning the lovely gift had wrought. I grinned, recognizing how he’d purposely let me experience this first rush alone. He may have missed initial visual; his augmentation would be spectacular. I exited the bath and found him right outside.

Painted fingertips to bejeweled throat brightened his eyes. It made me think of the coldest winter day. Not the chill, I recalled those deep blue heavens from which unclouded sunrays warm the earth. Romantic notion baffling, I discounted it as spurious. Something in doting eyes contradicted my doubt. But it could have been my imagination. He bustled right by.

Unable to comprehend why he stepped past, I noticed the partially ajar cupboard mirror. He withdrew a digital video recorder. A feral leer assured dark delights were yet to follow.

My lover told me what I’d suspected, that he had neither wanted to miss my reaction nor had he wanted it to be influenced by his presence. Spying the black lace at his feet, he picked up the miniscule piece of cloth and sniffed approvingly. Then he whimsically aimed the still live camera back to me and zoomed in toward my face.

“What is it that you want? Today, from life in general, what would you ask for if anything was possible?”

It seemed a night for introduction to many varied sides of him. Stammering, I delivered a short list wishing good health, happiness, and similar banalities. It earned me a penetrating look. Gazing up from the display screen, his intensity bored into me.

“Don’t be obtuse. You’re smarter than that. I want to know what your heart desires.”

“Right now?” I tipped my head and lilted, “I want you to show me the part of this beautiful gift that you’re withholding.”

Glimmering white teeth flashed a grin. In my mind I wondered where this was going. It had to be some elaborate ruse. He stunned me yet again, setting aside the camera and stepping into my embrace.

“It seems you always know just the right thing to say. I want to know you, to learn everything about you. But here I am pushing it. When I decide on something I always take it too fast. I want you to have emotional breathing room, if not physical.”

This last pronouncement punctuated by the production of a braided leather leash, it clipped to the ring under my hair. He gave a wicked smile. I deemed his smugness worthy. I would do whatever he wished and not regret.

“Look at this. Now I can take you almost anywhere. Before I always feared you might try to run off.”

Trilling into my ear, he pulled me into the hallway toward the sofa. When we reached it he turned to me and moved the cloth free from my shoulder. One hand worked to bare my breasts. Leash around the other applied pressure to bruises hidden under leather. I moaned for his biting and licking, the dull throb at my throat.

His fingers brushed savagely down my back and loose silk whispered to the floor. He shivered when I bent to kiss his chest and lips touched his nipple. Encouraged by his speechlessness, I grazed my teeth over the swelling and he hissed.

I saw the length of leather uncoil from his hand and expected it to pile at my feet. Instead, he threaded it between my legs. His hands tugged it back and forth, sliding tight against me. Anchoring myself with a grip on his waist, I worked his flesh aggressively.

The plaited strap slithered out from between my legs and he jerked me off of him. I straightened brazenly. Taunting him, I thrust my tits out and palmed the left. As I pushed it up I squeezed the bullet tip. I wiped the fingers of my other hand across my mouth, wet from sucking at him, and thrust them down to touch myself.

He knew perfectly well I goaded him into whipping me. I wanted it. And we both loved the anticipation inherent in the game.

“Down,” he demanded, slipping his pants over slender hips.

I awaited him, lips parted, as he stepped out of the cloth. Astonishingly, he clamped his hand over my mouth and turned my head. His palm threatened to smother, fingers firmly holding my jaw. He grabbed his erection with a fistful of my red-gold locks. Mad with lust, I darted wild eyes to the side and watched his hand frantically knot slightly damp strands.

“It’s like screwing silk,” he growled.

I struggled and bawled against his hand, desperate for him to fill me. It was futile, his power too great. I felt strands of hair tear out by the roots with the terrible might he engaged. Buzzed from the discomfort, dizziness of desire brought me close to swooning.

‘I’m a teeny bopper seeing Elvis for the first time.’

I snorted with delirious joviality at the unbidden thought. Overwhelmed with frustration and equally excited at the same time, I toyed with the idea of throwing out the hand signal. Ever watchful, he would stop as soon as he saw. Before I decided it he stopped himself and fell back into the sofa cushions.

I slid to the floor. Turned toward him, I looked up at his countenance. His breathing a harsh rasp, eyes closed tight, he obviously struggled to recover from the verge of ejaculation. I lay quiet, immobilized by need.

Dimly I heard him announce, “You want me to beat you. Don’t you?”

Only then did I realize he looked at me. I nodded numbly and pulled myself upright with no small effort. He stood and scooped me from the rug. I lay limp in his arms. Returned to the bedroom, he laid me down.

He unhooked my leash and got a cardboard box from the bottom drawer of his bureau. Out came a length of well-made chain, slim but strong by his grimly displayed test, and two identical padlocks. One lock secured chain to the cuffs still heaped on the bed and he rolled my body over. Deftly threading, he linked fetters through D-ring to second lock. Clicked around a bar of the brass footboard, lock at my side formed the final connection. He could leave me to stave if he wished.

Told to get on my knees alongside the bed, I did so feeling clumsy and out of breath. The first lash struck and I realized he’d gotten out his short stiff riding crop at some point. It struck below my buttocks, licking inner thigh before withdrawing. He had expert aim and thrashes landed within inches of one another, alternating between one leg and the other.

He mounted and vaginally assaulted me, pressing the side of my face into the covers. He wrapped his other hand around my waist, driving in harder and faster. I sobbed, not from pain or despair, but joy at new vibrancy and vitality. He finished with a guttural snarl and heaved off.

Capriciously, I thought, ‘Apparently his epididymis has all ready regenerated and his vas deferens is in good condition.’

Frenzied chortle loomed imminently. I swallowed it, sputtering.

Coldly leaving without speaking, he chose to ignore my hysterical mirth. The room plunged into darkness with the closing of the door. Heavy curtains hid very effective shutters blocking city lights. A momentary brightness alerted me to his return so he could set up the camera on a tripod by the wall. When the room reverted to black, I understood he must have it set on night vision and would watch me on his television via live feed.

To be continued...

Flash Fiction

This bit of flash fiction features characters from "The Perfect Housemate" and "A Perfect Target" by Winnie Jerome

The challenge was to take the words cookie, wrapping paper, and tinsel and incorporate them into a story of approximately 100-150 words. I put in a minor edit, but this is otherwise how it originally appeared.

---
You'd think that Christmas would make Adrian cranky, but one of the advantages of only being part-incubus was that this holiday didn't bother him in the least bit.

What did bother him was the damn tree that Trent had bought. The thing refused to stay upright, no matter how much he wrestled with it. He tried everything he could think of - pleading, bad language, threats of sending it to burn in Plant Hell for eternity - but it kept defiantly listing to the side.

"Fuck this!" he growled out. He whacked the trunk with his hand, which caused the wood to shatter as if it had been made of glass.

Now he was in trouble. Trent was due back soon from Christmas shopping with Carl, and he'd definitely be pissed when he saw what happened to the tree. Adrian squatted on the floor -- he needed to think fast.

***

"Do you think Adrian has the tree up?" Carl asked Trent before he devoured the last of the ginormous chocolate chip cookie in his hand. "I still think you should have asked me to do it."

"Are you high, dude? You'd break the thing." Trent opened the door to his apartment and almost dropped his bags.

Adrian had unpacked the short pole that a student had bought him as a joke gift. He had coiled wrapping paper decorated with tiny trees around the metal length. Pine branches had been glued to the pole, and a plethora of tinsel and ornaments were draped over the greenery.

And hovering near the top was Adrian, dressed in nothing but gold glitter, a fake halo, and a smile.

He purred out, "Who wants to be the first one to mount the Christmas angel?"

Depth Perception

This is not part of any other work, just a short story about some men coming to terms with their relationship. Sex is hinted at, but not specifically spelled out.

Depth Perception

Mark stood along the wall, nursing a drink.  He smiled whenever someone looked at him, but otherwise did not join in any of the myriad conversations that swirled around him.  The objective was to be seen, show that he wasn't pining away at home, but to leave as soon as it was decently possible.

Sean will be there you know.

With a sigh, Mark took another sip of his gin and tonic.  He had to make his escape before that happened.  Sure, he was over it, he told himself that every single day.

The ice cubes clinked against the side of the glass, and smacked against his upper lip.  The drink done, he felt he could successfully depart without it being noticed.  He set the glass down on a table, and turned to leave.

Too late.

Mark's hands clenched into fists, nails cutting deeply into his palms, and he stared.

Sean looked good.  Grey shirt, muted blue necktie, black wool trousers, his hair tousled and wild.  He had the same easy smile he always had, the same infectious laugh.  When he turned to accept a drink, the light bathed his face, appearing to light him from the inside.

A lump formed in Mark's throat.  As unobtrusively as he could, he sunk down into a hard chair, scooting into the shadows, hoping to avoid notice.  All the ugly thoughts roiled around him, and he gave in to the pain.

+++


"And I'm getting a puppy!"  Mark's face shone with happiness.


"Where are you going to keep a puppy?" Sean asked, his face set in a scowl.


"Here silly," Mark said, spinning through the empty room of the apartment.  "There's plenty of place for a puppy to run in here."


"We're not getting a dog Mark," Sean said softly.  He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and walked to the window, gazing down at the street below.


"Oh come on," Mark enthused.  He sidled up behind Sean and twined his arms around his waist.  "They allow pets, and I've always wanted one, and there's plenty of room, and I'll take care of him…."


Sean turned, and pressed himself tightly against Mark's body, pinning his arms to his sides.  "Read my lips Mark, no dog."


Mark tipped his head back, and looked at Sean.  With an impish grin, he whispered, "I can think of things I'd rather do with your lips then read them."


Sean arched a brow, "Oh really?"


Mark smiled warmly and moved closer.  He wormed his arms free from Sean's and wrapped them around him.  "Really."  Keeping his eyes locked on Sean, he moved forward, touching their lips together.


"Mmmm," Sean murmured.


Although the apartment was essentially empty, Sean maneuvered them to a small day bed in the corner.  Mark tumbled back against it, a dreamy half smile on his face.


Standing over him, Sean's fierce expression softened, and he smiled.  He sank down to his knees and whispered, "Take off your clothes baby, let me make you forget all about having a dog."


As Mark complied, he realized that Sean had done it again, had shaken him off the scent of something he really wanted to do.  But Sean's vivid blue eyes danced as Mark shed the last of his clothing.  Goosebumps raised along his flesh, and he scooted back to watch as Sean gracefully shed his own clothing.


"Sexy baby," Sean whispered as he reached down and caressed Mark's knee, then urged it up, spreading him wide.


Mark's eyes slipped closed under the intensity of Sean's gaze.  His body responded eagerly to Sean's touch.  The long accustomed dance between them.  Gentle fingers, soft lips, replaced by hard, insistent flesh.  The multitude of colors that flashed across his closed eyelids, the cacophony of noise as climax neared and then was met.  The cool breeze through the open window after, sloughing across sweat dampened skin.


"Mmmm….Sean," Mark whispered against his solid chest, lips teasing at a pert nipple.  "So good…."


Sean grunted, his finger tracing a lazy pattern on Mark's back.


The shadows lengthened in the small room, and at last Sean slipped from Mark's side and moved to sit on the edge of the narrow bed.  He bent forward, groping for his boxers.


"So," Mark said, making no moves to get up himself, watching the flexing muscles of Sean's back, "When do we move in?"


Sean looked back over his shoulder, "I move in on the fifteenth."


Mark's lips lifted in a half smile, "You?"


Sean nodded.  "Me."  He took a deep breath.  "You won't be living here Mark."


The gasp nearly choked him, and Mark was frozen at first, then he slowly said, "Good one Sean, you scared me."


"I'm serious Mark," Sean said with a shrug.  He turned and began sorting through the pile of clothes on the floor, taking his jeans, socks, t-shirt.  "This is goodbye."


"No," Mark's voice was small and pathetic.  His mouth was suddenly dry, and he could feel his cheeks beginning to tremble.


Sean completed the task of dressing, then stood.  He turned to look down at Mark coldly.  "Get up and get dressed."


"Sean," Mark whispered softly.  "Not like this…."


Hands on hips, Sean said, "Then how?  I told you in the beginning that this wouldn't last forever, that the day would come when we'd move on.  This is that day."


Mark covered his face with his hands, suddenly vulnerable under the cold scrutiny.


"Did you want me to sugar coat it?  'It's not you Mark, it's me,'" Sean said in a mincing voice, "'I need space, I'm all screwed up inside, I don't want to bring you down with me.'  Fuck Mark, I'm not about that and you know it.  It's over, plain and simple.  Now get up and get dressed, or you can stay here and let the super find you this way for all I care."


Mark curled on his side, his face still covered with his hands.  "I thought," he said softly, "That things would be different.  I thought maybe you cared for me."


"You knew my reputation," Sean said, stepping into his shoes, bending to tie the laces.  "This ain't the first time."


Mark remained miserably silent.  It was true, he'd known the risk when the relationship started, but he hoped he had the power to change Sean.  He realized now that he hadn't.


Shoes tied, Sean stood up.  "You have good qualities Mark, you'll make some man a fine mate.  You're good in bed, and you can cook."


For some reason, the words cut deeper than any other Sean had spoken, and Mark began to cry.  "Just go Sean," he said brokenly.


"Look Mark," Sean began.


"Leave me the fuck alone," Mark said fiercely.


Sean stared down at him for a moment, then said softly, "Suit yourself."

++++


The party was in full swing when Sean arrived.  He planned it that way, knowing that Mark would likely be there.

He's a coward, he'll jet before you get there.

Although the flippant words had angered him, he knew they were true.  Mark was many things, brave wasn't one of them.  Sean started on his second bourbon, beginning to relax a bit, pleased to be amongst old friends.

A movement, a shadow in the corner caught his eyes.  Slowly Sean turned, and the breath left him as surely as if someone had punched him in the gut.  Mark looked small sitting by himself along the side of the room, but his eyes were haunting.

The words that had chased themselves around inside his head came to the fore, he felt his hands begin to shake.  You fucked up Sean, letting him go.  You.  Fucked.  Up.

Of their own accord, his feet found their way surely across the room until he stood right in front of Mark.  One word, that would be all it would take.  One word and Sean would relent, open his arms and pull Mark back into his world.

Not daring to swallow, let alone breathe, Sean watched as Mark stood.  Their eyes met, yet the expression on Mark's face never changed.  Without a word, he stepped past Sean, and walked away across the room, never turning back, not saying a word to anyone.

He disappeared through the front door, leaving a trail of CK Obsession in his wake.

From SCORPIO by Mel Keegan

Excerpted by NARC #3: Scorpio by Mel Keegan

Stone drained the coffee and passed the mug back to Paul Estevez with one hand, while the other plucked the white metal datacube out of the machine. “Four hours, Kevin. You want to take a look at Dupre’s file?”

“No,” Jarrat said darkly, but he knew they would look at it anyway, at least the overview. The whole document would unfold in a millrace of video and stats after they boarded the Persephone for the thirty-hour flight to Darwin’s. He stepped back to give Stone space. “Take care of yourself, Paul. Stay the hell out of Aurora, you and your better half.”

“Other half,” Estevez corrected glibly. “I’ll watch out for you in the newsvids. You guys always make headlines.”

The crew quarters were below and aft. Jarrat was silent as the lift went down, returning them to the small, cramped accommodations assigned to them for the training tour. They reminded him too strongly of the Army, and he gave the compartment a glare as he stepped inside. The door locked behind him, and a moment later he closed his eyes, smiled, as Stone’s arms slid around him. Stone’s chin rested on his shoulder, and Jarrat forcibly relaxed back into the bigger man’s embrace.

“Don’t let Jack Brogan get to you,” Stone advised. He feathered a kiss around Jarrat’s right ear. “He’s a sonofabitch, but he’s ... mostly harmless. Starfleet’s full of guys like him. The service is a great way for a kid from the burbs to rise very high and do it while he’s still young. Colonel by the age of thirty-five, if he’s any good. Take the rank back into civvy street, score a job that’ll put him in a penthouse on Darwin’s, or right back on Earth. Think about it, Kevin. Leave the gutters of Rio or Saigon or wherever, return to Earth as an executive. I don’t like Brogan, but you have to respect the man.”

“A social-climbing control freak, so you said.” Jarrat turned in Stone’s embrace, slid his arms around his partner’s waist and laced his fingers at Stone’s back. “What’s that make me?” “A survivor,” Stone said without hesitation. “The only thing Brogan ever had to survive before he got out onto the frontier was mediocrity.” He laid his lips on Jarrat’s, kissed him lightly and then frenched him. “Enough about Brogan. If I never saw his face again, I wouldn’t grieve. You, on the other hand ...”

With deft hands, he broke the seals and plucked open the skinsuit, a few microns of kevlex-titanium to hold pressure, lined with thermotex to hoard heat, laminated on the outer surfaces for radiation screening. Under normal cabin pressures the suits were soft as fabric, but much too hot. Jarrat’s skin was sweat-damp and he made hedonistic sounds as Stone stripped him to the structured jockstrap which safeguarded his balls when the G-forces soared. Stone’s eyes were hot on him, head to foot, and not at all mocking.

He heeled off the boots, kicked away the suit, and stepped into the shower stall. As the strap followed the boots he said, husky and not quite teasing, “Feel free to join me.”

“You trying to tell me I stink?” Stone quipped. The seals on his own suit rasped open.

“Not the word I’d have used.” Jarrat gave him a sultry look over his shoulder as he set the water, and watched Stone drop the suit. He was looking good. The ordeal at the hands of Death’s Head was only a bad memory now. Stone was tanned, supple, his muscles well-worked, the inner man at peace with himself. Blue eyes lingered over Jarrat, bone by bone, and with a deep breath Jarrat ‘opened’ himself to the strange pleasures of another’s sensations.

It was so familiar now, and welcome: the storm in the nerve endings, the surge of feeling which had once been confusing, distracting, even frightening. Jarrat’s half-closed eyes rested on the dark nest of Stone’s groin, and the thick root of him, rosy with growing excitement. They had been too cramped, kept too busy and under too much pressure since they came aboard to be intimate.

The stresses of another assignment were due to begin in a matter of hours, and Jarrat was keenly aware of Stone’s desire to make the most of what little time they could get. In these few hours, before the Persephone docked, they were technically on their own time. They had closure on the Oromon mission, they had officially been recalled from the training tour, yet the Aurora assignment was still no more than a file to view, data to digest.

“Take what you can get,” Stone said quietly as he stepped into the show- er stall. Two large bodies in the stall made for close quarters. His arms wound around Jarrat.

“They own us,” Jarrat growled. “I have a habit of forgetting.”

“Not for the next few hours,” Stone argued. “When we go aboard the courier on Dupre’s orders, we’re on his time. Till then ...”

“Take,” Jarrat echoed, “what you can get.”

And he twisted in the small space, slithering down Stone’s warm, wet body to rest his cheek against the flat plane of his Stone’s belly. Abs rippled, crisp hair tickled Jarrat’s ear and then his lips. He smiled as Stoney groaned, low and deep in his chest, and the flood of sensation rolled through both of them like warm honey. Jarrat’s lips parted. He breathed across Stone’s hard, risen shaft and took the gasp as a kudo. The flashfire of Stone’s excitement thrilled through him, bringing him so close to the edge, his teeth clenched and the breath fluttered in his throat.

“Kevin,” Stone groaned. “Damnit, Jarrat!”

It might have been a warning; it was the last coherent sound in the tiny cabin for some time.


Illustrated by Jade. See the new all-digital Jarrat and Stone here!

Just For You

The following is an excerpt from Just For You by Jet Mykles

©2009 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

“…and then I…” Justin stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing two chatting women to split up to go around him. Ignoring their mild glares as they passed, he stared blindly over the plastic lid of his coffee cup, wondering if he’d just seen what he thought he’d seen.

Ahead, Frank kept walking a few steps before realizing he was alone. He spun, the spikes of his highlighted hair refusing to move in the mild breeze that kept the sunny street somewhat cool. “Hey?”

Justin heard him but couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge the words. He snapped around, eagerly searching for… Oh yes! The hind view of the vision of loveliness that had just passed by him. Slightly rumpled charcoal slacks loosely framed a fine little derriere, and an equally rumpled ice gray button-down dress shirt draped slim shoulders. Waved hair the color of good French Roast almost brushed said shoulders.

“Justin, what are you…?”

Barely hearing his friend, Justin raced back down the sidewalk, nearly spilling his coffee in his rush to catch up to a wet dream come to life. He almost ran over a guy on Rollerblades and just avoided getting wrapped up in a microdog’s leash, but he finally made it to the vision’s side. He reached out to wrap a hand around an arm. Nice, he thought, feeling the biceps. Slim but firm.

Said vision halted and twisted his graceful neck over and up to face Justin.

Oh. My. God! Innocently seductive brown eyes kind of focused on Justin from beneath sinfully full black lashes. Confused eyes blinked up at him, positively enchanting. Elegant and sleek, just like the rest of him. Latino somewhere in his lineage, judging by facial features and gold skin tone. There was a childlike purity in that face even though he had to be in his midtwenties, at least. Justin wanted to devour the generous lips that parted in surprise.

“I’ve just fallen in love with you,” Justin declared, cradling his coffee cup to his chest as he kept hold on the vision’s arm. “What is your name, and please tell me you’re gay?”

“Justin!” Frank caught up with him, grabbing the wrist of the hand that had a grip on the vision’s arm. Frank tugged, but Justin wouldn’t let go. “Justin, please, you’re annoying the nice man.”

Justin blinked at the dumbstruck object of his attention as the breeze puffed a lock of shiny dark hair across the man’s brow. “Nice man, please tell me your name so I know who to dream about tonight.”

“Justin!” Frank scolded, prying at his fingers.

Reluctantly, since the vision didn’t seem to be responding in kind, Justin let Frank remove his hand. But he kept eye contact.

“Please excuse him,” Frank said, yanking Justin away. “He’s not right in the head.”

“How can I be in the face of such beauty?” Justin protested, stumbling backward as Frank tugged.

Said beauty blinked slowly, his gorgeous pink lips still parted in shock.

“I work down the street at Juster’s. It’s a men’s boutique.” Justin wanted to cry. “Come find me, Prince Charming. Please!”

The vision blinked again, closed his mouth, and turned away.

Justin sobbed dramatically, watching a fine ass in shapeless slacks retreat. “There goes the love of my life.”

Frank snorted, forcibly turning Justin toward the intersection so he wouldn’t have to drag him anymore. “You’re a complete nutcase.”

Justin sighed and sipped his coffee. “I know. But you gotta go with your instincts, right?”

“Your instincts are going to get you killed one of these days.”

Justin waved his hand and avoided a group of chatting businessmen. “I’ve gotten beat up over it before. That’s nothing new.” He hummed dreamily as they stopped to wait for the light. “But he was pretty, wasn’t he?”

“He was that,” Frank admitted, pressing the Walk button.

Justin glanced back, but the vision was long gone. “Not gay, though, huh?”

“Not in the least.”

“Damn.”

* * * * *

Kevin returned to his cubicle, still bemused by what had just happened. He’d left to blow off a little steam with an afternoon walk. He certainly hadn’t expected to be hit on. By a guy, no less!

Raoul got up from his chair in the next cubicle just as Kevin sat down. Immediately Kevin was reminded of the reason he’d left. Some of his amusement died.

“She’s gone,” Raoul told him, keeping his voice low. The three people in the neighboring cubicles were all on their side and could be trusted, but beyond that was sketchy.

“Gee.” Kevin checked his watch. “Three o’clock. Must be nice.”

Stacie pushed her chair close. “She’s going to”—she made quote signs in the air with her fingers—“’work from home.’“

All three of them snorted at that.

Kevin shook his head. “The woman never listens.” Staring blankly at his monitor, he balled his fists. “I know we could get that second installation if she’d just present the idea to either Greg or Victor.”

“Fat chance. She’s way too scared of how it went last time.”

Kevin waved a hand in the air. “We’ve fixed those problems. We’ve gone way beyond that. Besides, if we just talked to the customer…”

“Please,” Stacie scoffed, “remember what happened the last time she talked to a customer?”

Snarling soundlessly, Kevin slumped back his chair.

Raoul leaned on the low cubicle wall and shrugged. “What can we do?”

Kevin grimaced. “Unless we can get to Greg—”

“Which we can’t.”

“—or Victor—”

“Yeah, right.”

“—nothing.”

Stacie patted his shoulder before wheeling back to her keyboard.

Raoul gave him a sharp look and glanced at the drawers of Kevin’s desk. He raised his brows, then shrugged, before disappearing around the corner into his own little space.

Kevin knew what the look was for.

He stared at the second drawer of his metallic desk. Inside was the possible answer to their problems, but only if he had the balls to go through with it. No one else does. It was an invitation that a friend had given him to an exclusive party at a popular local club. Kevin was not into the clubbing scene, but it was a sure bet that at least two of the three men Kevin needed to talk to would be there. The club was high-class and rumored to be the place. For homosexuals. Which both Greg Hanson and Victor Chen were.

Kevin Fuller, however, was not.

Kevin blinked, the coincidence crashing into him. He wanted to go to a gay club. He’d just been hit on by an obviously gay guy. Kismet?

**********************

Click here to visit my website’s main page for Just For You

Lola Dances

The following is an excerpt from Lola Dances by Victor J. Banis. Brian and Joshua have spent the winter in a mining camp in Butte, snowed in.

It was near spring. A mighty Chinook had swept down from the mountaintop, scattering woodpiles, overturning privies and turning banks of snow into rivers of mud that still froze over from time to time or got covered with new snow.
Brian came home later than usual from a game of poker at Angelo's. Bored and restless with waiting for spring to arrive, Joshua had passed on going with him this particular occasion, and had spent the afternoon trying to make some order out of the mess that was their cabin. Months of close confinement had meant piles of unwashed clothes, dishes and pots that had been used and, never washed, used again, until they were crusted over with remnants of previous meals.
"There's an Indian squaw in town," Brian said when he'd shed his buffalo robe. He got himself a glass of whiskey and came to warm himself in front of the fire. "Got in yesterday, with a couple of miners from Helena.”
"Is that so?" Josh said, more interested than not. There hadn't been any newcomers in the camp since the fall, before the snows had come so heavy.
"Calls herself Happy Rabbit," Brian said. "Seems like mostly what keeps her happy is selling her pussy." He chuckled. "She was sure one happy injun last night, I'd say. Reckon half the boys in town took their turn."
"I guess you were helping keep her happy?" Josh asked with a grin.
"I did my share." Brian grinned back at him. "Been a while since anybody around here got any tail. Any real tail, I mean to say. Thing is, she's about the ugliest woman I ever seen, and I don't expect she's had a bath since last summer. But it's not a bad piece of ass if you keep your eyes closed the whole time and don't breathe too deep. You ought to give her a poke. Might make you happy too. Sure did me."
Joshua gave him a wry smile. "I think I'll just take your word for that," he said.
Brian gave him a long, hard look. "How long's it been, anyway, since you fucked a woman?"
Josh shrugged. "I haven't been counting. Long enough, I suppose."
"Well, then? What's wrong with fucking this one?"
"Brian, I'm happy—well, no, make that contented—with what I got. Seems to me like it works good enough. For the time being anyway."
"So, what is it then that you think you got, that makes you so contented?" Brian asked, and there was a note of challenge in his voice.
Josh looked hard back at him. They had never actually talked about what they had been doing together for many weeks, but even so, he thought by now they were both surely past pretending it didn't happen. Besides, he was tired of waiting for Brian to say what he wanted to hear. Maybe Brian needed a little push.
"This," he said aloud, "If you didn't know," and in a sudden quick movement, he crossed the room to where Brian was standing, took him by the shoulders, and, to his surprise at least as much as Brian's, kissed him, tenderly.
For all the fucking they had done throughout the winter, it was the first time their mouths had ever come together. At first, Brian stood frozen, unresponsive. Josh might have been kissing one of those Indian totem poles. And, really, he wasn't even sure why he had done it, except that they never had, and it seemed funny not to after everything else they had done together, after six months of fucking one another nightly, and some afternoons too. It wasn't like there was a lot else to do to pass the time when you were snowed in.
Then, as if of their own accord, Brian's arms came around him, and Brian began to kiss him back, not at all gently, the way Josh had kissed him, but hard, fiercely, and Josh, initially surprised in turn, soon returned it in kind, mouths and teeth grinding together and tongues searching frantically, their bodies writhing against one another, so close they might have been a single entity, and trying to get closer yet.
They parted just long enough to shed clothes, each pausing in his own disrobing to take some piece of clothing off the other, neither of them able to get naked fast enough to suit either themselves or one another. Both as hot as if this were their first time and they were just now discovering the other's body.

Deadly Slumber

The following is an excerpt from Deadly Slumber, # 4 in the Deadly Mystery series by Victor J. Banis

Stanley woke slowly. Even when his eyes fluttered reluctantly open, he was still in darkness, total darkness. He lay for a moment, trying to comprehend, blinking. No glimmer of light penetrated the enveloping blackness. He'd never seen a darkness so complete.
He tried to sit up, but he could raise his head only slightly before it banged against something solid above him. He could barely move at all, in fact.
His hands were folded across his chest. He put them out to his sides. Again, he could move them no more than an inch or two before his fingertips touched cushioned silk. He reached up, and felt silk there too.
At first, he could not understand. Or, would not. The reality of his situation was so horrible, his mind did not want to accept it. He lay unmoving, trying not to think, trying not to accept the truth of where he so obviously was.
Recognition would not stay away, however. He knew. Knew and did not want to accept the truth: He was in a coffin. His breath seemed to crowd into his throat. This couldn't be real. Surely it was only a nightmare, from which he would awaken any minute now.
"Wake up, Stanley," he told himself, actually mouthing the words aloud. "Wake up, damn you. Now."
Even as he said the words, however, he knew this was no figment of his dreams.
He lifted his shaking hands again, tried to shove the lid away, but it did not budge. Not just in a coffin, then—sealed in a coffin.
* * *
Calm, Stanley, calm, just stay calm.
He told himself this over and over again, until his breath returned to something approximating normal and his heart had stopped threatening to pound its way out of his chest.
He blinked into the darkness. His cell phone. If he could reach it…there was so little room in which to maneuver his hands—easier to lift them up than to move them at his sides. He pushed against the silk lining with his elbows, strained to bring his hands up to his pockets. His shoulders felt as if they were being dislocated by the effort. His elbows strained against the walls of the coffin.
At last, an eternity later, his fingers brushed the outline of the cell phone in his right pocket. Yes. There it was. Now if he could just get it out of the pocket. He pushed against it, working it upward, slowly upward with the tips of his fingers.
Finally, the phone slid out of the pocket. He tried to clasp it in his trembling finger tips but it slipped away and dropped to his side. He felt for it, straining his shoulders still further. Again his fingers brushed the sleek plastic surface of the phone. He fumbled, managing at last to get hold of it. He lifted it gingerly above him.
When he flipped the lid open, the light from its face blinded him after the complete darkness. He blinked, squinting, trying to adjust his eyes.
The battery was low. He cursed himself for not keeping it charged up, and hit the "contacts" button, praying that the power lasted.
* * *
"Stanley, where the hell are you?"
"I'm in a b-box, Tom, in a c-coffin."
"What?! Where?"
The phone slipped out of Stanley's fingers.
"Crap," he swore aloud. It bounced of his chest, slid down his side.
He fumbled again, wriggling about as best he could, all but wrenching his shoulders out of their sockets. He got his hand on the phone again, lifted it…and found that the battery had gone dead.
* **
What is this world? What asketh man to have? Now with his love, now in his colde grave, Alone,with-outen any companye
The darkness, the lingering effects of the ether, the horror of his situation…Stanley's mind seemed to close down. Not sleep, exactly, but not quite a conscious state, either.
He heard, incongruously, the soft murmur of a fountain, or was he only imagining it, a distant, faint song of water splashing upon itself? It called to his mind the meditation garden at Bartholomew's. He saw the Triton from the pond there, as clearly as if it were in the coffin with him. He was no longer marble, though, and not quite flesh, either, but something in between the two that glowed in the darkness. And the water came not from dolphins, but from the Triton's erect, massive phallus, jetting out of the glans like a monstrous orgasm. Kneeling below him, a satyr opened his mouth to receive the spewing tribute. It overran his lips, his beard, ran down across his shoulders, his shaggy chest. Spilling into a basin in which two pretty young boys cavorted, delighting in the silvery cascade falling about them; and down still further the water ran, overflowing a great chalice, running down the legs of the slaves who held it, down, down, down….
Overwhelmed by darkness and by horror, Stanley sank into something very near to a coma.

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part six of ten

Chapter 6 - Geography(continued)

“You’re mine. Anyone, man or woman, who even shows thought of fucking you is going to wind up in the ER.”

Perversely joyful, I managed to retort spitefully, “How would you stop me if I wanted some other man or woman to fuck me? You leave me on my own for days, sometimes close to a week at a time. Don’t you think I have needs in your absence?”

His eyes aglow, another side showed unexpectedly. Suddenly speechless, taken aback, I just blinked up at him. I didn’t believe I’d heard correctly. He reasserted his offer.

“You heard right. Move in with me. I’m a selfish bastard, but I want to be everything to you. Think about it,” he countered my inanity. “I could always just chain you up. This place actually has excellent soundproofing – the main reason I chose it. Let’s me concentrate, not hearing some neighbor’s brat.”

I closed my eyes with a sigh when he bent to kiss the bruises at my throat. Then he suggested a shower. The large glass enclosure filled with steam as we soaped one another. He washed my hair, massaging my scalp as he held the shower head with its long flexible hose. Then he lowered the stream and, spreading my thighs roughly, aimed the pulsing spray up into me. The suddenness caused my eyes to roll back in my head. Now he knelt, looking up at me. For one insanely anxious moment I awaited marriage proposal.

“Time now to get you clean, and then I can make you dirty all over again.”

Water flooded my relieved self and he bit my thigh. I knew it left small even dimples because I’d seen the neat indentations many times, all over my body. Sometimes they filled with blood. Not today. He soon put the nozzle back in its cradle and we toweled off with soft bath sheets. I took time to soak up most of the water in my hair and comb it out properly before emerging.

Padding back into the bedroom, I picked up his shirt from the floor and slipped it on as he watched. Water spotted the blue silk as I buttoned it and rolled up the sleeves. He told me as always how I looked better in his shirts than he did. Unbuttoning it exposed the even slices he’d put on my stomach and he bent close to examine them. Then he led me back into the warm bathroom. After smearing my skin with ointment, he affixed a square bandage. He surprised me again by presenting a pair of my panties. Left behind at some point, they’d been laundered and secreted in a drawer for my future use.

I took my time pulling them on, sliding them up my legs teasingly. He’d dressed himself in just cotton pajama pants and I liked the way the cuffs pooled around his ankles. It was a pleasure of mine to watch him while both dressing and undressing. In fact, it always amazed me at how sexy he made the most mundane acts. How beautiful on him were even the least exalted parts of the human form - his narrow wrists, overly large Tuscan nose, the shapely feet I was now admiring.

Offering me wine, he stopped a moment to extinguish the numerous wicks still lit. In contrast to his bedroom and office, the apartment’s kitchen sported warm colors and even a more clement temperature. Modern, no kitschy theme or tacky collectibles evident, he cooked in a chef’s showpiece.

He poured a glass of claret. The color reminded me of the gem in his ring and tiny orbs that oozed out behind the blade of his bowie knife. I sat down hard as my legs gave out. It went unnoticed, his absorption in arranging salads on tiny plates and garnishing them with thinly sliced strawberries. After that he ladled cold cherry soup into delicate matching bowls.

Besides doing me, he relaxed by cooking. It suited perfectly an outlet for his exacting nature, all the precision of putting together a combination of correctly proportioned ingredients to make something truly palatable and appealing. He slid open the big warming drawer. The crusty bread he liked to bake and stuffed mushrooms loaded the intimate ash wood table. Spinach and artichoke dip also joined china place settings. My stomach rumbled at the sights and smells.

“Dig in,” he chuckled, “I want to make sure you keep your strength up. Just don’t eat so much that you get sleepy. I’m not through using you.”

He toasted the future with an ambiguous expression. I echoed his words with a lopsided grin twisting my lips. Never quite certain what went on in his head, I’ve never minded. We mainly communicated with sex. I guessed the lack of over-sentimentality made me more comfortable. Uncertainty doesn’t faze me now that I’ve found sexual freedom.

An over simplification, this summation of a complex situation, all the same he gave exactly what I sought. I hadn’t even known what my life lacked until we began discovering our hidden natures together. Not about loss of control, the submissive’s environment is anything but out of control. More orderly than anything, the dominant carefully orchestrates everything and liberates his or her bottom companion.

What defined us? Pure sincerity. We let loose uncluttered passion, lust, and hedonism. We also instituted the greatest mutual respect.

The key is complete and utter trust shared between two responsible and mentally healthy persons. No fear exists besides what my own mind manufactures, perpetuating the fantasy in just the right way. I can’t truthfully conceive that he would carry things further than I wished them to go.

Our union without trepidation or apprehension, I can give myself over to it with no reservation or dread that I will be judged. There was no need to discuss what I could never articulate. With him I am the person forever sought and previously undiscovered.

Today we lingered, recovering our energy and savoring the food. I inhaled the perfume from the spray of roses, displayed in a crystal vase pushed to table’s edge along the wall. They were black, just as always. He’d started the tradition for me. Comparing them to what we share, he explained that they defined for him that disorienting and weirdly likable experience when a place is familiar and exotic all at the same time. He likened it to walking in the rain on a street you think you know in a city at which you’ve only just arrived.

Surprised to see the mysterious blooms in the first place that long ago day, in such a provincial setting to boot, I wondered at their origin. Just as in all that he did, there was considerable forethought involved.

He’d phoned his New York physician for his health report. Knowing him as a longtime buddy from the old neighborhood, he requested an additional favor. A few more calls procured the flowers and off they went, carefully packaged along with the documents. His way to never open a phone book or search the internet, he depended upon his extensive network of colleagues and cronies. He’d happily helped associates in turn and likely will again.

He cleared the table, telling me to relax. Dishwasher loaded, he sealed leftovers in identical Tupperware bowls. I pictured him attending a house wares party, perhaps hosted by the matronly assistant he sometimes employed. In my vision he choose the Deluxe set in Windsor blue and unpacked each piece carefully and meticulously. Washing each one first, he then arranged them in the designated cabinet for upcoming service. A grin tugged at my lips. Trying to contain the laughter threatening to bubble out, I excused myself to use the hall bathroom.

His long tapered fingers caught at my shoulder before he touched my chin, turning my face to his. I felt pulled in by his whisper.

“There’s a present for you on the counter. Put it on before you come out.” Cupping my breast, he continued firmly, “Then keep the shirt but I want the panties gone.”

I could do that. The trick would be walking straight.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part five of ten

Chapter 5 - Geography

I’d first heard him proclaim me beautiful in a dimly lit Minnesota bar. Ideologically speaking we’d travelled about as far from there as you could get. Upon our first meeting I’d looked at him with scorn, most of humanity not worth my notice as far as I’m concerned.

My work, photographing various cultures’ conflicts and hardships, took me on a horror tour of countless countries. I’d seen some of the deepest depravity humanity had to offer: Rwandan slaughter fields, refugee camps with inadequate supplies and sanitation, villages where a third of the population carried the HIV virus and scores suffered and died on lice ridden cots.

Some wonderful people I met along the way made it worthwhile. They kept me going back. My hope to make a difference, their stories fortunately sold magazines. It’s a cold world, I know; at least it ingested a little awareness feeding sensationalistic appetites.

I returned to the States ready for some serious R & R. My camera focused on landscapes and wildlife where I hiked and camped for days along the Temperance River gorge. That night, however, I quietly drank away some memories before attempting sleep.

The curtly nodding stranger ignored my dismissive air and sat at the empty stool next to me. When he neither spoke nor moved away I found myself granting him a grudging respect. Despite myself, I began studying him out of the corner of my eye. When he ordered a vodka martini, my drink of choice, I smirked. This looked like the same strategy I’d seen men try in bars all over the world.

A few had succeeded, I must admit, but the affairs were always short lived. It seemed to always be me, the inevitable purveyor of bad news, to end the fling. Breaking hearts had somehow become a side effect of being me.

That cool night at the bar in Schroeder, my stranger got his martini dirty as requested, sipping it as he watched my reflection in the mirror. Then he left and I actually felt niggling disappointment. I went back three nights in a row, not admitting to myself that I hoped to see him even as I scanned the crowd.

The last night I planned to go, he showed. I had a dirty martini waiting. Dressed again in an expensive suit he still managed to look more relaxed, his silk tie loosened.

“What changed?” He remarked boldly, “The other night you seemed offended by my existence. And tonight you buy me a drink?”

We started off slowly after that. I abandoned my tent for better accommodation and he took me to dinner several times. At the end of each date he would walk me to the elevator of my hotel before bidding me goodnight with a chaste kiss and squeeze of my hand.

He always steered conversation back to me, keeping a great deal of him secret. I had to have him, the realization that I hardly knew the first thing about him increasing my desire. I very matter-of-factly brought up sex, insisting to see a negative AIDS test first. It had been a priority to get my own clean bill of health, practically the first thing accomplished after arriving in New York months earlier.

Fortunately as practical as me, he presented documentation with a flourish the very next night. He held a dozen black roses in one hand and the paperwork in the other. Grateful, I doubted my ability to wait months for results. I would have probably broken my own rule.

It seemed years ago and time had flown by. I landed an assignment in the Big Apple, happy to be close to family. A busy place filled with interesting characters, it was also his base of operations. Flood of memories screened in moments, I let him walk me to his bed.

“Lie down. Relax.”

I’d long since learned not to be deceived, my nipples hardening at his felonious advice. Various aches made themselves known and I knew they would be savored until healed. Some would take days.

He detoured to his bureau and my heart skipped a beat, several beats, when I saw the large knife in his hands. It looked new, like something a hunter might own. It glinted in the light of many flickering candles when he unsheathed it.

He snatched an incongruous canister of cashews from his desk. He fed me a few, chewing a handful. A thoughtful gaze on me, he picked up the blade again. He didn’t bother to dust the salt from his fingers.

“Remember when you bled on my chair last time? You were never properly disciplined for that.”

The scene flashed before my eyes. I could not have disagreed with his account more, argument unspoken.

My period had made a mess of his sheets and he surprised me with an order to sit in the chair. I draped my legs over the armrests and he immediately mounted me again. The chair had creaked complaint at the pounding inflicted upon it. Pulling out swiftly, he told me to look.

“See how slick it is with your blood. Now turn around.”

His dick against my anus, slippery as it was, still took effort for him to work into the tight opening. And the pain was immense, unending, as he forced himself in time after time, holding back his orgasm to prolong his pleasure. I rocked under his unbearable ruination, enduring the punishment without complaint. My low moan and his heavy breathing were the only sounds to be heard under the flat smacking sound of his genitals bashing against my otherwise neglected vulva.

He jerked me back to the present by putting the tip of his weapon to the taught skin of my stomach. I realized he’d sharpened the metal to a scalpel’s edge because tiny crimson drops appeared, no pain yet from the incision. It only began to hurt when he started a third cut and I held my breath, mesmerized.

Stopped at the count of five, they were shallow. Maybe three quarters of an inch long and a mere quarter of an inch apart, each one was ruler straight. He clarified motive for the deceitfully tasty snack when he bore salty fingers onto this latest handiwork. He destroyed oddly beautiful pinprick drops of blood, the salt rubbed in. Tears sprang to my eyes and he brought his hand up, demanding that I lick it clean. I lapped at it, a strange keening emerging from my throat. Erection forming during enactment of this diabolical scenario, he told me to move.

“You took that like such a good girl," he praised, taking my place. "I know what a hopeless slut you are and I want to reward you. Mount me now.”

I did so gladly, emitting the high strangled sound. I dropped to his chest and he allowed me to kiss him. As I tasted his salty lips it intensified sensation from the small precise cuts, compressed now against his hard stomach.

Pushing my shoulders, he got me sitting partway back up so he could suck at nipples briefly before curling up to lick at my wounds. Wanting to rub my clit as I watched, I brought my hand in. He crushed my body to him, dropping his head to the pillow in one fluid movement. Eyes blistering me, speech sounded dangerously soft.

“I didn’t tell you to pleasure yourself. Your purpose is to please me.”

With that he shoved me off, rolling on top of me. He put his hand on my throat, squeezing with alarming strength. For just a moment, he blocked my airway. When he moved his hand I knew that red phantom fingers would remain, later turning purple and finally fading to green and yellow before vanishing.

‘I’ll be wearing scarves and turtleneck sweaters for a week.’

The thought resonated giddy. He ignored it, weighty silence almost tangible, and then rolled away. My eyes followed him as he crouched between my legs.

“I want a close look at what you wanted to play with. You know you’d be worthless without this cunt, you little whore,” he breathed over my nakedness. With that he lowered his head and used his teeth on the smoothly waxed lips hiding my vagina.

The sharp nips caused me to jerk away from his teeth, almost as quickly bucking against his mouth. He told me how swollen my sex was, the lovely deep blush of my flesh, as he sucked my clitoris free from its hood, pulling it between his teeth. I let out a high pitched wail. He drew back his head, slapped my pussy tauntingly, and balled his hand hard against tender flesh. His fist ground deep, not entering so much as punching against me with short firm movements. His forearm moved like a piston and I struggled onto my elbows in order to watch it as if from outside myself. I was transported.

With malevolent glee he aligned the garnet stone of his college ring to punish sensitive nerve endings. Close to another orgasm, I was pulverized until I thought injury may result. This notion excited me still further and I contorted in ecstasy. It forced me to drop back onto the sheets, howling like a banshee. His jaws replaced his fist and he literally ate my climax, lips and tongue working. His constant groan vibrated against and, more importantly, within me all the while.

Beyond contemplation of consequence, I tangled my fingers in his hair. Flaxen curls felt luxurious between my fingers. Without warning he climbed over and pushed me back onto the mattress. Erection haphazardly aligned, it rammed in.

Shrieks were torn from my throat. His flat stomach slapped a frantic rhythm against mine. Tendons straining in his neck called me. I gave in to impulse and licked them, biting down on his shoulder as his cock ground into me still deeper. With a final shove he bellowed, his head thrown back. His entire taut body quivered with tension as he discharged inside of me.

We lay shuddering, silent in each others’ arms but for our labored breathing. When he shifted onto his back, arms behind his head, I caught my breath at the beauty of him, his chest gleaming in the light. I propped myself against him, unable to suppress my joy.

“You amaze me,” he rumbled, “I can’t get enough of you. I ought to hate you for it. I don’t. Why is that?”

“I can’t answer that. Hell, I can’t even begin to tell my family or even friends about you. I don’t know where to start, and so they keep trying to set me up with some investment banker or post grad frat boy.”

The last word died on my lips as he pounced. Pinning me to the bed, he snarled in my face.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part four of ten

Chapter 4 - Eminent Domain (continued)

My softly spoken delivery was less timid than it may have sounded. I loved testing the boundaries. Velvet laughter caressed me, raising the hair on my arms.

“True. I throw you out and you keep crawling back. I can’t decide sometimes if I should screw you or call the dog warden, you little bitch,” he retorted. “Maybe I should put you out of your misery.”

Cuffs clicking open freed my left hand and then my right. He slowly pulled my arms out and down to my sides as if we were a pair of ballet dancers. Gently soothing over the muscles, he gripped the straps again and yanked hard. Having ripped it down the length of my body, he let go. It lay tangled around my feet and he freed it from them, dropping the scrap of cloth.

‘How did the fabric hold? Is it entwined around my restraint where it disappears over the edge of the box spring?’ After this ridiculous hypothesizing another voice in my head said with much more force, ‘WHO CARES? Touch him while you can!’’

I blindly found the bunched muscles of his upper arm. He’d leaned in, licking my navel, and my groping hand prompted him to bite the soft skin of my stomach. Moaning and twisting, I sunk my nails in. I clutched nothing, not even knowing where he had gone. He moved so swiftly that the displaced air swirled over me. Changing quality of the light through my blindfold made me realize that he held a candle. I shivered with dread and delight.

“You scratched me, you worthless slit,” he thundered. “Now I’ll show you pain.”

I all ready squirmed in anticipation when the first drops hit my skin. I heard the first juicy plop. He moved his arm, slowly dripping a trail of hot wax along my hip and over my belly. Absorbed by the line of sweet agony, I didn’t realize he had extinguished the candle and held it the opposite way, poised to penetrate me.

He jerked his hand in and I screamed as the long taper infiltrated me. The shock passed and my cries softened, pussy virtually swallowing the smooth cylinder.

“That’s better; I don’t want you to lose your voice now. There’ll be plenty of reason to scream later, I assure you. The night is so young,” he mocked inches above my mouth.

He bit my lip, a tiny pain. My mouth filled with the sharp taste of copper as his tongue licked at the cut and pushed beyond my lips. His strength became apparent by the way that deep kiss never wavered even as he continued brutalizing me with the candle. One arm steadily supported the body. I aspired to be eyewitness, my perfect acquiescence contending for this prize.

I was at last able to catch my breath, though only slightly. He let his body rest against me, breaking away from my lips. His pulverizing rhythm never faltered. It was another minute (or an hour?) longer before he tossed the object away from us. I made a sound of complaint, so close to orgasm. The penalty/reward instantaneous, he yanked my blindfold off.

A few individual hairs pulled out. This fresh, sharp pain and sight of blood discoloring his chin unhinged my mind somehow. I squeezed my eyes shut but the promise of relief vanished, vertigo spinning me into the darkness. I opened my eyes and they betrayed me. The world spun now, alabaster skin around a crimson stain.

It induced a series of deep flutters, my cervix a giant moth flapping frenetically toward some moonlit blossom. He sensed it, my gasping writhe the clue. The groan escaping his lips showed his excitement at my response to his abuse. That cool exterior was cracking.

I observed the real measure of his arousal when he pushed himself onto his knees – that single fat drop of emission leaking from the tip, nearly ready to fall. He moved close to my face. His organ loomed large, encompassing my world. I thought he might actually let me lick it off. Choosing the alternate, more degrading route, he smeared it on my face. It left a trail across my cheekbone. The head felt so soft and pliant, deceiving silk pressed to my skin. I knew how it could batter more tender parts of the female anatomy and the anticipation drove me even closer to the brink.

My face ablaze with the very humiliation I craved, I was ordered to stand up and face the wall. Ravening, dimly registering his edict, I failed to respond. He appeared truly angry and I felt fear – a sudden, faint terror. His long fingers closed over my wrists and began dragging me toward the edge of the bed.

A scared woman inside asked, ‘What am I playing at? He could kill me and not a soul would know.’

He let go before I would tumble to the floor and I struggled to find my legs in an effort to stand. His hands came to my aid, oddly gentle, untying my ankle and steadying me.

Guided to the wall and pushed into it, my tits were crushed against the surface with a force I found both uncomfortable and alarmingly delicious. He put a palm on each firm curve of my ass and pulled me open so that I thought I might tear in two. His breath came out in animal grunts. My cunt tightened around him, nipples swelling perversely, and my own cries began to drown him out. Heartbeat thundering in my head, I felt him come in a hot burst. As if given permission, my climax detonated a galaxy of stars. I vibrated in intoxicating afterglow.

He collapsed against me, his weight pinning me to the unforgiving wall before he suddenly stepped backward. I crumpled to the floor, blood still trickling from my lip as I turned to lick his ankle. Leaving a scarlet smudge I thought he would make me lick it off. And I would do it without pause. Instead he commanded that I stand.

“Get off the floor. You look like a fucking dog,” he griped.

Collecting my bearings, I took an upright stance. His next move shocked me, nearly unbalancing once more. He grabbed my hair without pulling, placing his hand on my cheek. Wavering on my feet, I expected this diversion to culminate in a violent tug upon my locks. My eyes followed fine tresses trailing between unfurled fingers to drape over his forearm in a translucent wave.

“You’re so beautiful.”

The proclamation spoken now and in this moment surprised me. All the same, I found my thoughts traveling back.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part three of ten

Chapter 3 - Eminent Domain (continued)

His tongue left a wet trail from collar bone to ear, where he tugged on the lobe with his teeth. Then he licked behind my ear, over it, and plunged his tongue into the canal. Over and over it darted inside, the wet sound imitating that which he usually induced from much lower. And then as he started to gnaw on my neck something loosened in me, the marionette’s strings suddenly cut. He let go and stepped back, watching me fall gracelessly to my knees with an impact that didn’t even register.

His dick right in front of my face appeared bigger than life itself. I wanted it in my mouth, to nibble and pull it in.

“May I, please?”

In answer to my plea, he grabbed the back of my head and forced himself in, nearly gagging me but for the fact that I wanted it. A hoped for fulfillment, it was never guaranteed.

He would push me away when I asked to suck him off or rub his erection against my face and neck. I’d pay later for licking. I always licked it, as many times as I could. As penalty he’d inflict some new suffering upon me or just leave me, bound and exposed, to endure his absence for however long he felt adequate. Abandonment by far the nastiest thing he had ever done, nothing worse came to mind.

Now I enjoyed the suede texture of him and started to reach for his hips. He wrenched back, leaving my hands half raised as if in supplication. I nearly drooled and felt my cheeks flush as I rolled my eyes up toward his face.

“What did I say about touching me?”

He told me not to move and I knelt there awkwardly, awaiting reprisal. Apparently he’d obtained new handcuffs. The last pair broke under duress. Technically, the key snapped off in the lock.

That’s when our liaison first showed a humorous element. Returning with bolt cutters he had said he now understood why the police started using plastic strip ties on suspects. He, however, preferred a good old fashioned steel pair.

“I like your steel pair, though I find them far from old fashioned,” I’d wisecracked, inelegantly chained to the desk.

He burst out laughing that afternoon. Then he whipped me with his belt for being facetious. That had become our pattern, seemingly endless rough sex followed by more hours of banter and even tenderness. If he wasn’t gearing up for another programming session, that is. I’d usually not know the situation until the scenario played itself out.

If lucky, I’d find myself lathered within a steamy shower. Perhaps we’d curl up later with books picked from his library, soft music or a smoldering fire as backdrop. Exhibiting plenty of sensual after-play, hands and mouths roamed over barely clad bodies. The flesh willing, bodies weak, desire usually became so unbearable that we’d join in lovemaking yet again right there on the sofa.


Other days, with him so distracted and serious planning a new venture, he might not have even given me time to retrieve my panties. There I would stand on the street, his cum running down my leg, a disheveled figure in the dark trying to hail a taxi. The doorman didn’t quite know what to make of me and called Yellow Cab if I failed finding reasonably prompt conveyance. I always made sure to tip him for his trouble, surprising him every time.

Eyes blazed as he strode toward me, bringing me back to the present from my reverie. He told
me to lie down on the bed. Quickly I complied.

“That’s good,” he sighed, as if he regretting his need to do this. “Get on your stomach. I want to see your pink ass in the air.”

Arms pulled over my head suddenly, his endeavor locking them in place to the headboard pinched narrow wrists. Another set of marks needed hiding or explanation. I’d think of something. Silk brushed my back. It whispered over my skin raising gooseflesh. The fabric wound and tied around my head effectively blinded me. I wondered if it could be the scarf assumed lost.

The reflection melted away upon slap from a rolled up periodical. My ass felt hot where he’d hit more than it stung. I nearly giggled as my cunt throbbed at the familiar, welcome sensation. The next landed with a thwack and I pushed up slightly onto my knees, rising up reflexively. It stung appealingly and I rose still higher. He slapped his hand lightly against my labia majora and rubbed roughly, working deeper. Spreading juices cooled rapidly, soothing burning flesh. He said nothing as he tossed the magazine on the nightstand.

Still not speaking, he got on the bed and I felt the smooth skin of his chest on my back just as his dick tore into me. My thighs spread wide under the onslaught of his and the fine blonde hair on them tickled my skin, inharmonious sensation alongside the brutal way he entered me. Penis buried deep, he twitched his groin muscles. He repeated the move several times, pulling cry after cry from me with each nudge, each minuscule lift inside me.

His breath on my ear told me I shouldn’t have this yet. And with that he was gone.

I whimpered, sensing he sat back on his feet. The weight of him shifted, my only indication. His hair brushed eager skin so softly and pleasantly until he bit my leg just above the knee. I flinched and he let out a low sinister chuckle. I wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.

There had been times when he’d walk out, the door clicking softly shut behind him. Left chained to a clothes rack in the darkened closet, I grieved the lack of him. Long and interminable, the minutes seemed to stretch into hours. As he sat at his computer, the real torment was hearing him describe some dark porn scenario.

Secretly, I guessed his narration came from his own disturbing imagination. And I hoped it was so, that he’d someday work it in with his plans.

Really not making me wait long at all, he’d come back and remove my restraints to take me on the floor or carry me to the bed as I blinked in the sudden brightness. Other times he would mount me where I stood. I’d grab onto the bar, his thrust hammering me against the neat row of suits.

After that I’d be whipped for soiling an expensive suit coat by supposedly sweating on it. He would soon stop to touch and admire the few thin welts left on stomach or legs. He’d seldom mark my back, liking it unmarred. The idea excited him that I could wear something backless while hiding evidence of our sport on neck or wrist with jewelry or cosmetics. Buying expensive apparel just for the purpose, he valued stripes on my stomach and/or legs lurking underneath.

I felt him grab my unleashed ankle. Lifting it to his shoulder, he licked the instep. Quivering as with fever chills, I waited for whatever may come. He let go my leg and let it fall, rolling me onto my back. Wrists twisted in the restraints, cruel metal encircling them in mean jaws.

“The teddy suits you… you’re really just an animal parading as human” he groused, “Just driven by hunger… the need to feed… to mate.”

Phrases disembodied in the air all around, licks and bites punctuated every pause at random places. Contact brought guttural cries, sounds accentuating his words. Fabric clinging to my skin from the water he’d flung, it peeled away as he tugged at the shoulder straps.

“Oh no,” he lamented. “How am I gonna get this off if you’re chained and bound?”

Unsure if I should answer, I offered quietly, “You could free me. I won’t run away, you know.”

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part two of ten

Chapter 2 - Welcome (continued)

Meeting me at the door, he greeted me coolly, wasting no time before escorting me to the bedroom. He knelt on the floor and told me to hold onto his shoulders. They were bare, warm to the touch. The only thing he wore was loose boxers and I could plainly tell he was happy to have me here. I closed my eyes as he carefully untied the ribbons that secured my sandals and then slipped them off, tenderly caressing the soles of my feet as he did so. The shoes were placed side by side under the bed, out of the way.

“Are you ready?”

He’d asked with a hint of a snicker. I was. My replay shaky, it held no jollity.

Next the robe was removed and lay forgotten on the carpet. A collapsed ghost, it glowed in the hall light that lashed across the room, a thin line of brightness in the dim flicker of candles. Not forgotten was the cotton sash from about my waist. This he immediately used to bind my ankle, a little too tightly. Its length just enough so that he could fuck me on either the floor or the mattress, its other end tethered me to the bare metal support leg.

A serviceable blanket was thrown over the bedclothes, sheets of an extraordinarily soft Egyptian cotton. The bed devoid of comforter or quilt, even extra pillows, indicated the whole room. Stark, utilitarian, the only seemingly soft touches were the plush desk chair at his computer station and the dispersed batches of glowing tapers.

I knew better.

The chair’s padding was both for his comfort when working and also to prevent unintentional contusions when he included it in sex. Spots darkened the upholstery in a few places. He’d neglected to steam clean it recently, defying his admission that he did it fastidiously. I did know he owned the machine to perform the laundering of it. It had become too embarrassing to take it anywhere for professional service. And yet I could determine the offending blemishes from where I stood: coffee, catsup, semen, the wine dark stain of menstrual blood.

That last had earned me extra torture, though it was him insisting I be mounted on it that day. I didn’t care; yearning for all that he would give me. It didn’t matter if it were reward or reproach (I often couldn’t tell which was which and it didn’t concern me in the least). My one dread was neglect. Without admitting it to him, I suffered when he failed to call. He was usually unreachable when I gave in and tried contacting him first. By design or carelessness, I could never be sure.

When I didn’t see him, it was due to his obsession with some project. Customizing security software for big corporations consumed him, especially when he got a juicy assignment. His brain craved the challenge that so suited his intellect. He’d barely sleep for days at a time, only eating at his desk.

Finally satisfied with the final product, he’d install it for the latest patron. His clientele list included many Forbes 500 companies. I wasn’t sure how he got so many such good contracts, only that his employer encouraged competition between coworkers. I really didn’t care as long as I heard from him when he was done.

His occasional assistant, hired to maintain his bookkeeping and correspondence, would ultimately get disgusted by the piles of dirty plates and laundry. Starting out by doing some cleaning herself, she would sometimes insist upon a housekeeper if the venture carried on too long.

Even though I’d only met her a few times, I knew this because she insisted he was a better person around me. At our last meeting I was greeted with a litany of just how good I am for him and how I ought to consider moving in. Flustered, he shooed her out the door, something I’d never seen happen. Then I was offered a stammered apology. It didn’t faze me because she sounded like the do-gooders in my own life.

He told me he’d slept for 24 hours straight. I looked toward his bed. The dent in the one big pillow looked as if it would still be warm to the touch. The sheets were a twisted tangle lying half on the floor. A water glass sat on the nightstand, half full or half empty, depending on your outlook.

Half full, I decided, watching silently as he picked it up. Suddenly, he splashed the contents over my front. The tepid water felt cold and my erect nipples stiffened further. I cried out in surprise.

He liked this space very cool, almost cold. He said it helped him focus on the job, and the way he screws me I’d probably suffer heat stroke if it was warm in here.

Now naked, his raging hard on taking all my concentration, he stepped up to me and all the air seemed to have been sucked from my lungs. He ducked his head just enough to lick the water streaming down my chest before it disappeared entirely into lace and satin. I found my breath. He took it away again because I’d tested him, coiling my fingers in his longish rumpled curls. He struck like a snake, grabbing my wrist and hissing venomously.

“Did I say you could touch me? I don’t recall that I did.”

“I don’t care what you said,” I uttered sardonically; “I wanted to touch your hair.”

The tendons stood out in his arm. I watched for it, the subtle display of power always enflaming me. He jerked me closer and I stumbled against the hard smooth swell of his chest.

I had no clue when he found time to work out. He’d once let it slip that he ran, sometimes for tens of miles, clearing his head when he couldn’t get around a particularly difficult design problem. He was firm without being overly muscular, so God alone knew if he lifted weights or if it was just natural.

I wanted to learn his every secret but feared that he’d lose interest if I did; or equally horrible, that I would. Being with him right now was all that mattered.

The carpet was black, lush. It felt luxurious beneath my bare feet. The one time I’d worn stilettos and thought to keep them on, he’d pushed me into his chair and then yanked them off. Throwing them out the bedroom door, he spoke, low and threatening.

“Don’t waste my time. If I want you any way but naked, I’ll tell you.”

Truthfully, they weren’t practical with him. Sure, they made my calves look sexy. We were well enough matched in height that a high heel actually hindered any standing position. I am not tall and he only had perhaps 4 inches on me. I liked that I didn’t have to stand on tiptoe to kiss his lips. That is, if he’d let me.

He trapped me in his arms and I turned my face to look at him, blinking from my lashes a single drop of water. My parted lips begged silently for the feel of his mouth on them. He shoved my head to the side and gruffly brushed my hair off my neck. I moaned, then again, louder, as his powerful fingers clamped my wrists behind my back. They were merciless. I felt a twinge in my shoulders to which I was very much accustomed as he pulled down on my hands. I braced for more, welcoming it.

To be continued...