Bound and Freed Boxed Set (8 page)

John's thumb wiped her hot tears, but more were coming.
Kelly had so many feelings, while he had none. My God she was his opposite in
every way. But the fact she was shedding tears for him touched him, and he
found he wanted to climax for her sake, if not his own.

For her happiness – not his own.

They were unfamiliar feelings Kelly was rousing within,
and they swelled with terrifying uncertainly, but he didn't crush them down or
deny them as he normally would. Like he had with her emotions, he let his own
flow over him, deciding to simply experience them.

The words from his mentor, André
Chevalier came to him then, "You are cut off
mon ami, oui
, but you
are not an evil man. Your past has taught you to hide, even from yourself. But
do not despair. You came to me,
n'est pas
? That was an act of valor.
Continue with such courage,
jeun home.
Life, for all its
trials, is a healing process. Trust in what I tell you now. All will resolve in
the fullness of time."

John recalled Kelly's words, when he had asked her if she
wanted to climax for him. She had said she did, "For you. Only for
you." It was as if she had reflected herself right inside of him, more
perfectly than a mirror, because he felt exactly the same way toward her.

John decided to be brave enough to tell her that.

He withdrew his hands, placing them passively beside his
thighs. "Suck me off, Kelly. You can’t do it wrong. Anything you do will
be right. There's no one else I want. Just you. Only you."

The sound Kelly made was between a sob and a sigh, and
John knew the emotional woman was no doubt crying again. It made him want to
cry, too, which of course was impossible and was just another step he was
taking on the road to total madness.

He leaned against the wall of the elevator, as he needed
the support.
I can do this,
he thought, with this hands clinched in
tight fists upon his thighs. But then she put her mouth to the head of his
cock. In the safety of darkness, with a woman he was fond of, John tried to
forget everything and force himself to
feel.

Kelly softly curled one small hand over his shaft, and
the other caressed his balls. John felt his cock jerk as she brought him to her
mouth. John had never been circumcised, and he wondered if that fact made a
difference to her. Kelly seemed to take this in her stride however, sliding his
foreskin back and licking around the rim, her tongue dipping in delicately to taste
him.

He was hard and dripping and this was no surprise. That
detail seemed to be a product of his age, not his interest. In fact, John felt
incredibly uncomfortable.
Oh God! I can't do this,
he thought
desperately.
No. That's an unproductive thought. Best to wonder, how can I
do this?

The answer came to him, and it was so obvious that he
began to relax. All he had to do was concentrate on Kelly, and on the pleasure
she was taking from giving him a climax. "Your focus should be upon your
sub, John. Your sub's pleasure is your primary concern," André had told
him over and over, and it had been his golden rule ever since. John had given
Kelly an orgasm, and she wanted to return the favor. John subdued an overwhelming
impulse to laugh out loud.

Wouldn't Kelly be surprised to know how much he hated
even the idea of it?

Kelly was humming. She was happy, and this made him happy
– an abnormal circumstance in itself. But the woman was working too hard. Her
need to please him was making him feel an emotion he rarely experienced:
anxiety.

"Slow," he said, and her frantic movements
ceased. Kelly's tongue caressed him languidly then, in a soothing manner.

"Yes. That's right," he said. Somehow, while
relaxing into her movements, John's mind drifted and he thought of his mentor,
André Chevalier.

The memory came back to him and he felt he was there.

John remembered that day so clearly.

It had been a bad morning, a terrible morning. John had
overstepped his bounds with his sub. The woman had been forced to call her safe
word more than once. Somehow with an implement of pain in his hands John simply
became mindless with the need to hurt someone, anyone. It was as if a lifetime
of anguish could be exorcized by causing agony to another.

"It is not about pain, John," André continued
to remind him. "It is all about pleasure." Depressed and defeated,
John doubted if he would ever get it right.

"Come
mon ami
," André said with a
cheerful smile. "We are going out."

John got into the elevator with his mentor, moving down
into the basement where André kept his
Bugatti
Veyron. It was a beautiful red and black sports car. They had both jumped in,
after André put something in the back.

At John's curious look, André explained. "We are
going on a picnic,
mon ami
."

Of course,
John thought, yet he
admitted that the prospect cheered him.

They drove to
Red Rock Canyon
National Park. André had an annual pass, and after they arrived he had gotten
out of the car and let John drive. John had never driven a high powered
vehicle, much less a
Bugatti
,
and he was flattered that André would let him. When he had asked about it,
André had shrugged his shoulders in that French way of his.

"It is only a car, my friend. A very nice car,
vous
comprenez
,
but still a car. You are much more important to me right now, John. Crash it if
you must, but do not kill us both if you do so,
s'il vous plait.
"

The comment had surprised a laugh out of John, which he
knew full well, had been André's intention.

They stopped at Willow
Springs for their picnic, surrounded by cactus trees, sage bush and chattering
ground squirrels. The view was
awe-inspiring. It was
an astonishing contrast to t
he bright lights and hype of the Las Vegas Strip.
The desert had its own dry beauty, with towering red sandstone cliffs.

André's chef, who John was
beginning to really appreciate, had packed everything. André shook out a large
thick blanket for them to rest on, and they enjoyed fantastic French cuisine.
In this open, natural environment John found that he had gotten his often
temperamental appetite back, and had seconds, and then even thirds. André had
laughed over his greed, but in such a way that John couldn't feel insulted.

"It is very pretty,
n'est pas
?"
André asked looking out to the vista, while lounging languidly on his side with
his head propped on one elbow.

"Yes," John replied.

André had laughed again, no doubt amused by how few words
John used. André was forever telling him to stop his constant chattering. Such
was his odd French humor, and John was only beginning to understand it and find
it amusing. John found himself so attracted to the man that his mentor was.
André was such a happy soul. How did he do it? John wanted to be just like him.

John found himself staring at André, and André lay back
with his arms behind his head and shut his eyes. John knew that his mentor had
done this intentionally. His friend had felt John's eyes on him, and wanted him
to go ahead and uninhibitedly look his fill. André was considerate that way,
and when he did little things like this, John did feel something. It was a
little pang in his chest, possibly even his heart. For even though John doubted
it, André had assured him that he did have a heart.

André was about ten years older, but a million years more
experienced than he was. John wondered why the man tolerated him, although John
knew that André genuinely liked him. Why he couldn't imagine. John didn’t like
himself.

Unmoving, John studied his mentor. He was wearing blue
jeans, but on him they looked like Armani. André loved to dress well.
The
man was
very fit
, with
a flat stomach
,
broad shoulder
s,
d
ark hair, cut short around his neck and ears
.
His skin was naturally tan and he had
brown eyes,
and
was always
clean shaven
.

John frowned. Other than his fancy clothes, and fit body
the man looked fairly ordinary.
There were pock marks on his
face, yet they didn't detract
at all. When John looked at
his mentor he didn't see those marks anymore. He only saw André, and he trusted
the man completely.

It was when André talked, or the self-assured way he
walked, he smiled, or he looked at you, John decided. André Chevalier oozed
confidence and good-humor. John didn’t like anyone, but he liked André very
much. How close had his mentor and his Aunt Brenda been? Was André looking
after him for the money or for the love of his Aunt? But John was sure money
would not be André's biggest motivation for anything.

After a while André sat up. John didn't flinch or look
away, but just continued looking at André, absorbed in the man who had already
made his life so much more endurable.

André laughed good naturedly. "
Mon ami
, you
have been watching me for a very long while,
oui
?"

"Yes."

André chuckled. "Well then, tell me what you study
so intently. What do you see?"

"I am curious about you, André. I wish I was more
like you."

He laughed. "This is not a goal I would have had for
you, John. I wish for you to find who
you
are, and be more like
that."

John ignored André's comment. "When I look at you I
see confidence, not arrogance. I've learned to trust you in a very short time,
and that is something I never do with anyone."

"Trust?"

"Yes. I was trying to understand, what is it about
you? Why do I trust you so completely?"

"
Merci.
You flatter
me, John. And what have you decided?"

"You are comfortable in your own skin. Your actions
come naturally, and you don’t second guess yourself all the time. It's
integrity. I am not talking about strong moral principles, although I am sure
you are a man with those. I mean by definition "the state of being whole
and undivided." Honesty, probity. You are not divided, André, – you wage
no war against yourself."

"And you
mon ami
?"

"I am divided in every way, and very uncomfortable
in my own skin. It is not natural to me. My parents didn’t teach me…I never
learned. I don’t know how to do it." John ran his hand through his thick
hair, aware that by such an action he was displaying his agitation. Yet John
was becoming accustomed to being more relaxed around André. Despite his inbuilt
inclination to hide behind an emotionless mask, he was able to expose himself
to the man.

André gestured to John, pointing toward the red and green
plaid picnic blanket. "Look at this fly, John. Do you see it there? It is
enjoying a little crumb of our French bread, I think. Study it now for me, and
then tell me what you see."

John watched the fly intensely for some time. When he
finished he looked up at André.

"And so? What did you see?"

John, ever observant gave André a detailed account of how
it had been sitting, ready to fly off, alert and prepared for danger. But when
the tiny creature had decided that all was safe, it had stretched its long
tongue out, and eaten bread. And after eating, the fly had cleaned its head and
wings in a very exact and particular way, first one side, and then another.

"Have you seen a fly do these things before,
John?"

"Yes. Every fly I have ever seen does exactly what I
just saw this fly do."

"Exactement
!
So, do you think the mother and father fly taught this fly to do these things?
Or do you think these actions came naturally?"

"It's instinct."

"Just so." André sat up. "Your parents had
no need to teach you, John. You were born with natural instincts and inherent
personality. Your parents harmed you. If they had not interfered, you would
have become who you are meant to be. Because of them it will take longer to
find yourself. But the person you truly are is there,
mon
jeun
ami.
There is integrity.
Je vous assure
,
you will become whole, John. And I will help you to achieve this."

Kelly had her hands on him, and the queasy feeling John
initially experienced exploded into full blown nausea, suddenly making him want
to throw up.

No hand! No hands! No hands!
he
thought frantically.

"Stop," he commanded.

She did immediately, and John reached for the club tie he
had in his jacket pocket. Then he found both of Kelly's wrists in the dark, and
pulled them together behind her back, binding them there. His movements were
quick and thorough, because he had to get her hands away from him. But after
she was safely restrained, he instantly felt better.

John cupped her face, and gave her a brisk yet reassuring
kiss, licking and wetting her soft lips. "You are pleasing me, Kelly.
Thank you. Yet I prefer to have you bound. I only want your mouth on me,
alright?"

"Of course, John" she said, "Whatever you
want, whatever you need, I want to give it to you." Then she took him into
her warm wet depths once more.

Kelly's simple honest words struck him more forcefully
than a fist to the gut. They were profound.
Whatever you need. I want to
give it to you,
she had said.
The woman was a mirror again,
reflecting his desires. Because more than anything, John wanted to do the same
for her.

Instinct and integrity,
John thought.
My body wants to climax, and I really want to please Kelly.
This is
who I am. I can do this. It is the natural purpose of a man, to
procreate, and to please the one he loves.
With those few thoughts a
wondrous sensation surprised him - an intense spike of pleasure radiated along
his spine, buttocks and balls. John's mind and body reeled with the heady,
overwhelming sensations which flowed on the heels of that truth.

I really do love Kelly Flynn,
he
realized in a blinding white light of certainty,
and I always have.

Suddenly John connected with his cock and he jerked, his
hips thrusting uncontrollably. At first it felt painful, that odd joining to
something he hated - to something he had cut himself off from so many years
before. But that was then. Everything felt completely different now.
This is
who I am. I need to please Kelly Flynn. I love her
.

An amazing pleasure rolled through John Taylor's body,
all the enjoyable, electric sensation coming from his lower belly and his cock.
Oh!
he thought with wonder and sudden understanding.
This is what my
male subs feel.
John's flesh awakened as if after a long sleep. It was like
bright light flashing on, illuminating the darkness, or opening one's eyes and
seeing the world after a lifetime of blindness.

Awed, John understood for the first time the exquisite
joy of a woman going down on him. The human need for skin to skin contact.
Love, trust, and the sharing of an intimate moment with someone important that
he cared for. Just then John felt he would do anything for Kelly Flynn.
Anything to make her happy. Live for her, die for her – it didn't matter. Kelly
was the most important thing in the whole world to him. Sensations, emotions
and
feelings
woke up, bombarding him, firing his soul: hunger, intense yearning,
excitement, insatiable ferocious bliss.

"Ahhhh, ohhh!" he gasped with astonishment and
pulse pounding pleasure. "That feels good, Kelly." The words were
inadequate, but John was surprised that he had been capable of uttering
anything at all. Not with the barrage of sensation that was currently frying
every synapse he had.

With his response she began to work his cock faster, and
he didn't mind, in fact he welcomed her enthusiasm. Kelly wasn't anxious to
please him now, for she instinctively knew she
was
pleasing him. Kelly
was enjoying giving him actual pleasure, because
she cared for him, too.

John felt his muscles bunch and flex, as a fierce and
violent orgasm took him unexpectedly. With a guttural incoherent shout, John
cried out and lost all control. Hips jerking ruthlessly forward, John drove
hard into Kelly's wet, willing mouth.

John could not stand up to such ecstasy. The man who
mastered others, and had complete mastery of himself, suddenly experienced
helplessness – a sensation he had avoided since he was a child. Right now,
Kelly was in command of him, because he was lost in pleasure - yet somehow that
was okay. John felt safe with her, so he had trustingly jumped off that cliff.
John let himself go – for he knew she was there. Kelly would catch him as he fell.

"Oh my God!" he shouted.

Soundless at all times when masturbating, this
uninhibited expression of sexual gratification was far out of the norm for John
Taylor. Usually he was disconnected from the entire process, quietly trying not
to be a part of it. Yet here in the dark with Kelly, a woman he cared for, he
suddenly found he could experience an orgasm. John's head flew backwards as he
arched and thrust, spurting inside her in violent spasms. John's balls shot
their load and his sperm erupted, jetting from his cock, in blinding pulses of
release.

Nothing in his entire lifetime had ever felt so good.

Nothing. Ever.

Silent now, except for his ragged breathing, John
continued to ejaculate into Kelly's mouth, marveling in the shear, uninhibited
joy of it, and the fact it felt good and right and pure. With her mouth tight
around his shaft, Kelly ravenously continued sucking and swallowing John's semen
as he climaxed. As the last of his cum spewed from him, his happiness
overflowed.

André!
John thought
. André my
friend! I understand now! I understand!

It was the first time John could recall ever having an
orgasm without feeling shame. And for once he wasn't at war with himself – for
once he had simply been there and experienced it.

John went to his knees, embracing and kissing Kelly with
all of the passion and unbridled joy he was feeling, tasting his own musk in
her mouth, combined with the feminine scent and flavor that was uniquely hers.
Arms bound behind her back, Kelly pushed up against him, making small sounds of
what? Triumph? Happiness? Joy? She deserved it. John had never felt so happy in
his life.

Framing her face in his hands he said with absolute
sincerity, "Thank you, Kelly. Thank you."

John was surprised to find that his eyes stung. He never
cried, and didn't think he could even now, but he wanted to - so vast and
uncontained was his joy. John was totally overwhelmed and not a little confused
from discovering how to let go and to
feel.
But now that the dam had
burst he wasn't going to allow anything to push him back into the dark box he
had lived in for so long.

A tendril of fear curled through him, because so much
could go wrong. But right here, and at this moment, Kelly was his. John was
alive, and in love, and no matter what happened, at this exact moment he was
happy.

John came twice more in that elevator, and each time he
had Kelly suck him off. In-between times he fingered or licked her also to
orgasm, but now that he had discovered the key to such natural completion, he
wanted to ensure he really understood and didn’t forget how it had happened, so
that it could happen again.

His need was great, for the more pleasure he received,
the greedier he became, hungry for the physical act that represented trust and
affection and all the finer emotions. At last he had a glimpse of the
joyfulness in the union of love that poets wrote of. Until this night he had
never understood.

John's ever erect cock was hard, tireless and insatiable.
And for the first time in his life he was quite in harmony with the damn thing.

I've had three orgasms,
John thought. And unlike what usually happened, all three felt
good.
No
disgust, no shame – he had only enjoyed ecstasy. At twenty-six years old John
was only just beginning to understand the pleasure and essential intimacy of
the sexual act.

But would it last? What would happen after the firemen
came and he and Kelly escaped their dark sexual haven? John clenched his jaw.

Somehow he had to make Kelly Flynn his, and in a way that
he could keep her forever.

But he had not the slightest idea of how to go about it.

END OF FREED