Love Bound (17 page)

“Do you want me to fuck
you?” he asked. She met his eyes, swallowing hard. Why was it so hard to say
yes? It was exactly what she wanted… and yet her throat didn’t seem to want to
work. “Tell me, Laura. Show me.”

She went up to her elbows,
the tie around her wrists making it impossible for her to get fully up on her
hands and knees. Making a deep, “mmmmmmm” sound, she spread her thighs for him,
rocking her hips and tilting her bottom up in the air.

“Good girl.” He stroked
her ass with his hand as he slid behind her, positioning himself on the bed.
She felt the head of his cock slipping between her wet lips, easing into her
pussy by degrees. His hands gripped her hips, making it a slow, steady thing.

He stopped when he was
about halfway into her and began to make slow, half-strokes. She wiggled back
against him but his hands on her hips prevented her from getting her way. He
continued to fuck her like that, only giving her half of his length, while she
wiggled and squirmed beneath him, wanting more.

“Do you want more?” He
teased her with a little bit more length.

“Mmmm!” She moaned,
nodding against the bedspread as she dangled her head between her bound wrists.
Pressing back against him, her hips rocked in his hands, begging him for more.
He gave it to her, slipping his cock further between her smooth, swollen lips,
driving as deep as he could go.

“Ahhh!” She squeezed all
of her muscles around the length of him. Her pussy was throbbing for release,
and the feel of him filling her was delicious. She rocked back on his cock, but
he held her tight, his fingers gripping her hipbones like handles, using them
to pull her back into the saddle of his hips.

She moaned and twisted in
his hands, her pussy aching for release. Her clit was humming with her lust,
begging to be touched. She didn’t know how to tell him what she wanted without
words and she whimpered her frustration, trying to arch against him, feeling
the weight of his balls against her mound. There just wasn’t quite enough
friction to take her over, and she buried her flushed face into her arms,
almost sobbing in her dilemma.

He was making little
grunting noises as he fucked her, his cock sliding between her legs. The sound
filled the room, a rhythmic slapping of heated flesh, and she knew that his
easing off, his deeper breaths, meant that he was getting close and trying to
hold off for her. She gripped the covers in her hands, twisting and pulling at
them.

Then—
oh, thank god!
She felt his fingers sliding underneath her, searching through her wetness for
her pulsing, aching center, and she sighed in grateful relief, moving a little
to help him.
There… right there…
his fingers moving back and forth over
her clit.

“Mmmmmm!” She moaned,
squeezing his cock hard, making him gasp and thrust deep into her pussy. She
made the noise again, a constant hum now in her throat, her breath coming
faster as he fucked her, the motion of his fingers creating the perfect amount
of friction to send her over the edge.

“Oooooooohhh!” She
shuddered underneath him as she came, the quick spasms of her pussy making him
groan and grab at her, driving in so deep that he collapsed her onto the bed as
he came, filling her convulsing wet channel with his cum. His cock erupted with
sudden, violent force, surging white heat deep inside of her.

“God,” he gasped as he
rolled off her onto the bed, throwing his arm over his forehead and staring at
the ceiling.

Laura pressed her flushed,
hot cheek against the covers, searching for a cool spot. She looked at him
through half-closed eyes, feeling the thick heat of his cum beginning to slip
out of her, as if there were too much for her to contain. Watching his breath
returning to normal, she found herself wanting him, to be next to him, to keep
him with her.

As if he sensed her
desire, he turned toward her, reaching for her hands. He slowly worked the
knots out of his tie, freeing her wrists. Rubbing them, she met his eyes,
seeing something there that she didn’t quite recognize.

“Come here, Wilma.” He
held his arms out to her. She went to him, nestling her cheek against him,
feeling something swelling in her chest. It almost felt like she was about to
cry, but she wasn’t sad. She wasn’t sad at all.

“Fred needs a nap,” he
murmured, kissing the top of her head. She laughed, a bright sound, as she
closed her eyes, listening to him breathe as they both drifted off.

* * * *

“She’ll have the egg white
omelet, no onion, a small orange juice, and a side of fruit,” Rick smiled up at
the waitress. He glanced over at Laura, who was resting her chin in her hand
and looking dreamily over the railing at the clear water below. She lifted her
face to the breeze, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes for a moment.

“Do you want coffee,
baby?”

“Nuh-uh.” She opened her
eyes to him with a bright smile.

“Did you want water with
lemon?” the waitress asked him. It was the same blonde girl from yesterday,
wearing yellow today, a sarong and matching top.

“Sure, thanks,” he said,
his eyes on his wife. The girl took their menus and left. Rick slid his hand
across the table and he took Laura’s hand.

“How’d you like to go for
a walk on the beach after breakfast?” He turned her hand over and traced the
lines on her palm. “I think we’ve got time before we’ve gotta be back in
Bedrock.”

“Mmmm,” she said with a
little laugh at his Flintstone reference.

“Are you cold?” His eyes
moving over her outfit—red bikini top and red flowered sarong. She looked like
the girls down on the beach.

“Nuh-uh.” She shook her
head, squeezing his hand and feeling flushed as she remembered his hands on her
last night, the things he did when he touched her…

“You’re beautiful.” He
squeezed her back.

She just smiled, turning
her eyes back out to the beach that they were going to be strolling along after
a leisurely breakfast. She couldn’t believe the difference twenty-four hours
had made.

* * * *

“So, what kind of
difference did twenty-four hours make?” Gazoo asked, holding the microphone out
toward them.

“It was amazing.” Rick
took it without hesitation. “It took us… me… a little while to get the hang of
it. After I made her apologize yesterday at dinner…”

The audience around them
started clapping and cheering again at that. Laura flushed, but she was
smiling.

“We had some practice in
our room that went… pretty well, I think.”

Gazoo looked at Laura.
“Did he take care of you?”

She nodded.

“Did he let you go hungry,
or walk in front of a bus?”

She laughed and shook her
head.

“Do you trust him to make
a solid decision with your best interests at heart?”

Laura felt tears coming to
her eyes. She looked over at Rick, and he saw the expression on her face as she
nodded and put her hand in his. He looked like he felt ten feet tall.

Gazoo was nodding at them,
looking satisfied. “I think that look said it all. Sounds like your practice
was a success. Give them a hand, folks. It isn’t an easy exercise.”

The sound of applause made
Laura flush again as The Great Gazoo moved on to another couple who had
undertaken a practice yesterday.

Laura leaned in and
whispered in Rick’s ear, “So, Fred… do you still think he’s an asshole?”

He chuckled, shaking his
head. He turned his mouth to her ear and whispered, “No, Wilma. He’s no
dumb-dumb.”

About Selena Kitt

Like
any feline, Selena Kitt loves the things that make her purr-and wants nothing
more than to make others purr right along with her! Pleasure is her middle
name, whether it’s a short cat nap stretched out in the sun or a long kitty
bath. She makes it a priority to explore all the delightful distractions she
can find, and follow her vivid and often racy imagination wherever it wants to
lead her.

This
sassy, outrageous author lives with her husband and children in the Midwest, all of whom she thinks are the cat’s meow. Her writing embodies everything from
the spicy to the scandalous, but watch out-this kitty also has sharp claws and
her stories often include intriguing edges and twists that take readers to new,
thought-provoking depths.

When
she’s not pawing away at her keyboard, Selena runs an innovative publishing
company (www.excessica.com) and in her spare time, she worships her devoted
husband, corrals four kids and a dozen chickens, all while growing an organic
garden. She also loves bellydancing and photography.

Her
story, Connections, was one of the runners-up for the 2006 Rauxa Prize, given
annually to an erotic short story of “exceptional literary quality,” out of
over 1,000 nominees, where awards are judged by a select jury and all entries
are read “blind” (without author’s name available.) She was also a top ten
author finisher in the 2006 Preditors and Editors Poll. Her book, EcoErotica
was a 2009 EPIC AWARD FINALIST and The Real Mother Goose was a 2010 EPIC AWARD
FINALIST.

Pony Play

By J.M. Snyder

I first met Sean when we were both
freshmen in college, eight years ago, but why we’re still friends is beyond me.
He’s everything I’m not—skinny, for starters, with a lingering gawkiness that
reminds me of
Dungeons & Dragons
. Maybe his love of RPGs is part of
the reason he joined a local bondage group. I’m not into whips and chains and
leather, God knows. I like my sex of the vanilla variety—no dress-up role-play
for me. Standing against the wall and taking it from behind are as kinky as I
want to get.

So it surprised me when Sean called me
one evening, all excited about a weekend affair his bondage group was putting
on. More surprising still, he wanted me to go, too. “I’m not into that crap,” I
told him. I almost felt offended that he’d asked.

But he laughed and said, “How do you
know, Drew? You can’t say for certain until you’ve tried it.”

“Oh, hell no,” I replied. “The thought
of someone ordering me around to do degrading shit like lick their toes pisses
me off. No way I’m doing that.”

Sean assured me, “It’s so not like
that. See? You’ve got the wrong idea about the whole thing. It’s not even a
slave weekend. It’s pony play. You’ll love it.”

“I’m not into horses,” I told him.

“You don’t have to be,” he insisted.
“Pony play is a form of S&M—”

“Stop right there,” I said. “That’s
all I need to hear to know I’m not interested.”

“Come
on
,” he begged. “Listen
to me before you say ‘No.’ Basically, all you do is dress up like a pony, okay?
That’s it.”

Skeptical, I asked, “And do what?”

“Whatever your master says.”

That’s the part I had a problem with.
“Look, Sean,” I began, “thanks for thinking of me, really, but I can think of
better things to spend my weekend doing than carrying some fat lard-ass around
on my hands and knees just because he has a riding crop in his hand.”

Sean persisted. “Let me tell you, Drew, some major studs are into pony play. Believe me. Guys who are into cowboys and sports.
Guys like
you
. And you
know
there’s going to be sex. There
has
to be.”

That got my attention. I didn’t have a
steady boyfriend, didn’t even know how to go about
finding
one, and
couldn’t clearly remember the last time I got laid. “You sure there’ll be guys
my type there?” I asked. Maybe I could at least
try
it.

I heard the smug sound of victory in
Sean’s voice. “Oh, yeah. Jocks are totally into pony play, I’m telling you.”

Part of me wondered if he meant to say
jockey
instead, but I didn’t press it. “And it’s not totally hetero?
Because I’m not having some leather bitch boss me around.”

“It’s everything,” Sean assured me.
“Women and men, straight, gay, lesbian, all types. These weekend deals bring
out everyone. So you’re going, right?”

I didn’t want to give him the
satisfaction of hearing me say yes, so I growled into the phone, “All I’m saying
is I better get some dick out of this. You hear me?”

Sean promised, “You will.”

* * * *

Saturday morning found me in line with
Sean and a dozen or so other pony wannabes. There were women with twin
ponytails that made them look like little girls and men barely old enough to
shave. Our line divided the renovated barn that Sean’s group had rented for the
weekend. Tables lined the walls as vendors hawked all kinds of sex toys, books,
DVDs, clothing…you name it, someone here had it for sale or knew how to get it.
People swirled past the vendors, many on leashes that kept them at their masters’
sides like obedient pets, some in full-body sensory deprivation suits, a few
almost naked. Everywhere I looked, I saw black leather. Bearish men wore
assless leather chaps that exposed thong underwear and vests open to naked
chests and pale bellies. Dominatrices stalked through the crowd with bared
breasts and whips folded into their fists, leather mini skirts flaring when
they turned to show crotchless panties. I felt conspicuously out of place with
my T-shirt and jeans, and I glared down anyone who tried to appraise me.
Nudging Sean, I asked loudly, “So where are all the hot guys you promised would
be here?”