Fictions
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Jessica’s perfect form hung just inches from the floor at the slightest of angles, facing the skylight of his loft. Her back was gracefully arched, arms drawn back and down. Her inner wrists were joined behind her, two fists kissing each other, thumb lying beside thumb, and a series of well-spaced, ornate knots linked them to her secured ankles. One set of ropes supported her upper back, gathered above and beneath her breast—accentuating the flawless, full roundness of their form and the ripeness of her hardened nipple without stress, meeting in the center of her chest and looped into the rope that extended from a pulley somewhere above her.
She was balanced by a separate group of roping extended from the same pulley, looped to create what could be described as a simple harness that expertly left her inviting ass bare and available. Her knees were stretched apart and an intricate pattern decorated her lower leg. Her body was a work of art perfectly showcased by veins of rope elaborately placed and knotted seemingly for beauty more than comfort. Aesthetically and asymmetrically perfect, it was Kinbaku-bi at its most mesmeric.
The words happiness and contentment were too shallow to describe how her presence before him felt.
The moon laid its light perfectly across her, and to Arturo the vision was holy. Because of her his demons were silenced and angels whispered in his ears and the words came. They danced across the screen as the tips of his fingers played a series of steady notes; he typed as if he was obsessed for as long as he could. His desk faced her, and he sat at it naked. His strong legs were spread open, his long cock hard, angry and erect. His lean body glistened, not from the regulated heat of the room but from his simmering lust.
She whimpered. Arturo’s cock twitched.
He swore out loud in the language of his father as he leaned back in the leathered chair and pushed himself away from the desk. His eyes lifted and narrowed as they took her in. The natural fibers of the rope were pale against the smooth, creamy chocolate of her skin. The contrast highlighted the tension, the curve and line of every detail. Heaven to him was both in the journey and the destination equally. He never rushed anything, not with his life, not with his art, not with her or even this.
Reaching down, he curled his fingers around the root of his shaft and roughly gripped himself. He began a long, slow, upward tug—over the labyrinth of veins sprouted along his length. He kept his cock close to his belly as he drew his hand up its length. At the top of his stroke, the hollow of his fist met the jutted ridge that encircled the rim of his helmet. He massaged that gathering of raw nerves, that notch at the underside with the knuckle of his forefinger. An opalescent dribble of pearly pre-cum pumped from him and he smeared it over his crown with his thumb.
She was the one on display but he felt every bit the exhibitionist. He wished that she would open her eyes and turn to him. But he knew that he would dissolve under the amber glint of her eyes. She was the source of power here tonight in this room.
Images flashed before him. He could feel himself pressing within her, stretching her tight nether lips wide with his bulbous head as she coated him with her slick heat. More semen emerged from him and ran down his hand. He dragged his fist downward, letting the side of his hand press down on his scrotum.
His Jess, his wild, exotic beauty liked to ride him in reverse. He liked to watch the cleft of her ass as she rode up and down his shaft. She would rise up, letting her rim massage his plinth, teasing with the threat of losing him only to fall back down over him with more urgency.
He angled his cock away and worked himself ever faster. He thrusted himself into his firm hand, felt the weight of his balls swing. His torso was so tight that it hurt. When he rammed his fist down his shaft for…the…last…time…
“Oh shit,” he grunted out, his cock jerking in his hand, thick cum forcing its way out across his keyboard and screen.
He could not stop watching her as he came in pulses. It spewed out, shorter and shorter, until it finally just dribbled over the back of his hand unto his belly and settled into the black hairs of his nest.
“I’m not attracted to white men,” she had warned him from the start--always as fiery as she was sweet, “especially the arrogant ones.”
They were continuously thrown together socially. She was the gifted among the offering. But, on that particular night he could not just watch her from across the room. He stayed close, so close that he could feel the heat of her body as she spoke to him. Her words were a desperate attempt to delay what they both grew tired of fighting.
Arturo had laughed, welcoming the challenge in her eyes. She would not easily forget his coldness.
“Of what importance is that to me?” he had taunted. “I am Brazilian.”
In Portuguese, a sweet and gracious language, he whispered in her ear.
“You feel my spirit as I feel yours, right from the start.”
His voice was like silk and dripped sex. His lips, light like a feather, briefly touched hers for the first time.
“My skin is touched by the sun Gods. Their heat is what keeps my blood hot, but that matters not,” he said, letting his finger play with a curl of her hair.
He gently placed the palm of his hand at the base of her back, just short of where it curved into her lovely bottom. He applied no pressure. And, he continued, “When I claim you, when I fuck you, when I bind you to me, I could be purple with a snout and you would still beg for my attentions.”
“What are you saying?” she asked, breathless.
He smiled down into her upturned face. “Dance with me?”
That was truly the last time he had the upper hand.
Arturo held himself, squeezing gently and watched the last well of cum seep from his slit. His release gave him some relief, but it was only momentary. His cock, still thick and turgid under his hand, was still more than aware that she was near. It would demand attention again.
She did this to him.
He had not fucked her tonight. Arturo had decided early that day that he would not. He told her that he would not. He needed to write. He needed for her to give him that. If he fucked her, he knew that he would be good for nothing for the rest of the night. Once would not be enough. He thought that he could somehow control the magic his muse gifted him with by exercising more self-control.
His Jess had sounded hurt when he had first informed her.
“Then why should I even bother coming over?” she had snapped and then laughed.
He met her attitude with silence.
“Arturo,” she whispered after a while in defeat, unable to hang up the phone.
He had been holding his breath. Deep inside he knew that writing was only a small part of what being with her gave him.
Arturo gave her detailed instructions. He always did. Jessica was new to this. She needed to be led.
At first he was subtle. It took some time for her to understand what he had immediately recognized in her warm brown eyes the first moment she looked into the vast darkness of his own. The muscle in his jaw had tightened. He grimaced at the honest sincerity of her smile, creasing his brow and setting his lips, as they were introduced at the faculty welcoming.
“I am so honored to be a part of your writers' workshop Mr. Salazar. I won’t lie and say that I’ve read all of your books, but I’ve read enough to know how important this opportunity is,” Jessica, the first of the graduate students bold enough to attempt a conversation with him had said, trying to not sound intimidated.
The sound of her voice, the light, velvety wrap of it slipped down his spine. Arturo straightened his shoulders, steadied himself with a slow sip from his cocktail and took in the beauty of her features.
Jessica had to shift the glass she was holding to her left hand before reaching out to shake his. She was nervous and just a little awkward.
Arturo watched as she did so, not missing the line of condensation streaming down the side of her cup and dripping to the skin on the back of her hand. He watched it crawl and dissipate.
He did not shake her hand.
He let his dark eyes lazily drift around the room as he spoke. “Maybe you should have lied.”
His accent was heavy, a sure sign.
It was best that he did not touch her then. It was best that he stayed as far away from her as possible considering who she was and why he was in such close proximity; which he did, at least for as long as it was possible.
He almost made it till the end of the semester, feigning indifference but conscious of her curiosity and confusion as she watched him. He knew that she felt the pull and he feared for her. He read her work and pretended to not be impressed. In their one on one writing sessions, he was often cruel. His lack of control angered him. Their conversations were always charged and bordered the inappropriate.
Other women were only brief, easily found distractions. He dug himself deep in their bodies and sometimes hedonistically in their minds. It only made him think of her more and more.
Why did she not run?
After having her amazing body writhing around his cock and his cum leaking from between her lush lips, he began to write for the first time in a long time. He began to create. She was the answer to so many of his needs.
Jessica’s mind drifted somewhere between consciousness and dreams as she hung there. She felt nothing that could be described as pain. The pleasure that he had fed her senses blinded the body to such a concept. With him, pain could be pleasure and pleasure could be painful. Both could bring her to climax. Right now, her body was still lost in a melodic hum, the afterglow of sensual fulfilment. Her head hung back, her full lips parted, her lids closed and her mass of dark spiraled curls with their auburn highlights flowed toward the floor. But, she was not sleep.
She thought of the shame she should feel, of her past relationships, of her parents, her friends. She thought of a scene a couple of weeks ago.
“Yeah he is fine as hell,” her roommate and best friend exclaimed, “but too fucking intense.”
“He’s the kind of guy you want to grab and slap,” she then added as an afterthought, “then fuck. And, I do mean fuck hard.”
Jessica had been staring out of the window, watching the rain fall. The city buzzed, alive outside of their small apartment. She had not talked to him in almost two days. They had spent several days together and she had come home wholly satiated and exhausted. Sleep, however, had not come easy and images of them together left her with an immense feeling of emptiness. Without him she felt as if she had been dropped off a cliff.
She felt crazy.
“Are you listening to me?” her roommate demanded.
“What?” Jessica looked blankly at her dear friend.
“You know, girl, he has another life somewhere else. He probably has a slew of women too.”
Jessica turned back to the window.
“Jessica?” her friend asked, slower.
Jessica began to cry.
“He’s not the kind of guy you fall in love with boo,” her friend said, holding Jessica in her arms.
Jessica welcomed her own tears. They were overdue. She had shared a few details about her relationship with this man. But for that moment, her tears kept her from having to explain other things about what they shared to her friend. How could she anyway? How could anyone understand what was happening? She did not fully understand it herself. Arturo was not her Dom. She was not his submissive. The two words had never come up in their conversation. He did not leave her feeling degraded. However, Jessica was no fool. She saw what was happening. She recognized it. They had gone far beyond the hinted directives, blindfolds and the hands tied behind the back.
How could she begin to explain the things that she had done, had let be done, or had asked for? How could she explain the way he made her feel? There was a part of her that danced and sang out at just the thought of how alive she became in his care. This man made her feel things beyond her comprehension. He introduced her to a new part of herself. Arturo Salazar showed Jessica her own body, a body she had only thought she knew. He praised it, touched it, made love to it, wrapped it up and presented to her brand new. He called her his. It was erotic, romantic, magical, and spiritual. She was both strong beyond compare and in the deep trenches of vulnerability.
She was no slut, but she wanted to be his slut. She wanted to hear him tell her she was. She wanted to feel the power of it. She was no whore, but she would voluntarily be his whore. She wanted to be whatever he needed her to be. She wanted to be whatever made him desire her because her desire for his pleasure was all consuming. She even desired the pain.
This was not just physical, not just sex. He was her communion.
But how long do things of this nature last? He was just passing through, a favor to a friend, a way to make him forget that he was not writing. Where in the rest of her life could this that they shared fit?
It was sad but true. You don’t fall in love with men like Arturo Salazar. And, Jessica had fallen low. She was that pitiful girl in those simplistic porn novellas.
“Fiction,” she said in a faint voice that she hardly recognized.
Arturo rose up from his chair immediately. His heart beat hard against his chest.
“Jess?” he whispered.
Time stood still.
She moved her head slightly but did not open her eyes.
He pointed the remote and raised her body up higher, reasoning that it did not count. Maybe that was not what he had heard.
Jessica moaned.
Maybe she just needed a little release too.
He stood between her open thighs. Her bare pussy was still swollen and the exquisite pink of the flesh between her folds glistened. A flick of his thumb across the button on the device he carried in his hand introduced the bold hum of vibration. He brought the ball like head of it to the face of her pussy. He teased her with little circles before applying the perfect pressure to the perfect spot.
He watched the rise and fall of her breasts as her breathing became labored. He could see the tremors flow through her body, first the thighs then everything else. Even her sensuous lips trembled. She came quickly.
Just days ago Arturo had met his friend for a drink. They had known each other from his earlier days in New York. He was the reason Arturo had come back to the city and to his alma mater as the college’s visiting writer for a semester. The semester had been over for a few weeks.
“So what’s next?” his friend had asked him.
“I’m working on something," Arturo had volunteered thoughtfully. “I feel like a new man.”
“Is that something or someone?” his dear friend inquired with the rise of one eyebrow.
Arturo looked down at his drink, slightly embarrassed, and swirled the amber liquid around the ice.
“So,” his friend continued happily, “does this mean that you will be around for a while then? Jessica is a nice girl.”
“As long as she will have me.” Arturo tipped his glass, with a rare boyish grin.
Now his words haunted him. "As long as she will have me."
“Fiction,” Jessica cried out as she came. “Fiction.”
Her eyes slowly opened to meet his.
It was their safe word. But when she had chosen it, there had been one stipulation.
“Know that I would never do anything thing to hurt or harm you,” he had said, binding her the first time. “I’m not a sadist. More than anything I want to be your lover.”
He teased her skin with his lips.
“I want to please you. I need your trust. Trust is what is most important. If you use your safe word, then I have failed you. It would mean that you no longer trust my judgement. And, I’m not the one for you. Leave and don’t come back.”
Their time had come to an end. There were no words.
As always, his aftercare was meticulous. Thankful for this gift that she had given him, he undid her slowly, both physically and emotionally. She had experienced a drop once, after a prolonged period together, and spent days in tears. It had hurt him to see her go through such a thing. She had pulled away because of it and he had hoped that they had recovered.
This time he moved slower than most. He cradled her in his arms as he carried her to the bath. He washed and massaged her body. Nothing was untouched or un-soothed.
Maybe he had gone too far, he thought. Had he read her wrong, miscalculated her limits? Had he lost too much of himself and made mistakes? Had he been inattentive?
When he moisturized her body with the cream they had shopped for and chosen together, he let his hands linger. Even with tears falling from her eyes, her body responded to him.
On the day of that purchase they had been like teenagers walking hand in hand, laughing and teasing one another as they strolled in and out of shops. It had been so long since he had experienced that side of himself with a woman. He had not wanted that day to end.
He did not want this to end. Jessica did not refuse when he laid her in his bed.
He entered her slowly, wanting to miss nothing. There was peace in the warm hug of her taking more and more of him. She was always so giving. It made the desire to please her well up within him even more. He rocked into her with a rhythm that they had created early on, a rhythm that was truly only theirs. He knew her body, from every angle and within every opening. This was not about angles. This was intimacy. His kisses were full of emotion, searching and pleading. He held her tightly as she came, shaking in his arms. He filled her and prayed that it would take hold like an anchor.
She was the first to pull away.
His directions had been specific. Jessica was not to wear any panties. He had her wear the dress she had worn that first night they had met, the night he dared not touch her. She had to wear the shoes too. He wanted her hair natural and free. She had followed directions well.
Sadly, it did not take her long to dress. He sat helpless on the side of his bed watching her.
Tears were still in Jessica’s eyes. Her face was soft and void of any makeup, revealing her innocence. Her nose had a slight reddish tint. When she bit at her bottom lip, still swollen from their kisses, it took Arturo’s breath away.
“What are we?” she whispered.
He was relieved when she did not move away from him as he approached her. He stood close in front of her, looking down into the beauty of her features.
“We never speak of us, and even now I have no definition.”
His hand curved at her neck and she closed her eyes.
“No,” he pleaded. “Don’t hide your eyes from me. See me. See this man that worships you. We are one.”
He kissed her gently and then turned his lips to her ear.
His breath was heavy as he spoke. His words were magical. “What is more than dominance, control, rope, submission, devotion?”
She searched the dark lights of his eyes.
“You are,” he said looking into hers and holding her face with both hands, “love is.”
“What are you saying?” she whispered. His foreign words were so enchanting.
“I’m saying that I have found you and I cannot live without you. I love you.”
There it was. He was a nerve open and raw.
“If you love me, please don’t go.”
She reached up and kissed him softly.
Jessica then stepped back, undid her dress and let it fall to the floor. Then she lifted her arms, pressing the face of her fists together and presented her wrists to him.
Arturo Salazar smiled.
“I see you and you see me,” she told him. “That is everything.”
Nothing needed to be explained, not the love, not the kiss, not the touch, not even the rope...
She was balanced by a separate group of roping extended from the same pulley, looped to create what could be described as a simple harness that expertly left her inviting ass bare and available. Her knees were stretched apart and an intricate pattern decorated her lower leg. Her body was a work of art perfectly showcased by veins of rope elaborately placed and knotted seemingly for beauty more than comfort. Aesthetically and asymmetrically perfect, it was Kinbaku-bi at its most mesmeric.
The words happiness and contentment were too shallow to describe how her presence before him felt.
The moon laid its light perfectly across her, and to Arturo the vision was holy. Because of her his demons were silenced and angels whispered in his ears and the words came. They danced across the screen as the tips of his fingers played a series of steady notes; he typed as if he was obsessed for as long as he could. His desk faced her, and he sat at it naked. His strong legs were spread open, his long cock hard, angry and erect. His lean body glistened, not from the regulated heat of the room but from his simmering lust.
She whimpered. Arturo’s cock twitched.
He swore out loud in the language of his father as he leaned back in the leathered chair and pushed himself away from the desk. His eyes lifted and narrowed as they took her in. The natural fibers of the rope were pale against the smooth, creamy chocolate of her skin. The contrast highlighted the tension, the curve and line of every detail. Heaven to him was both in the journey and the destination equally. He never rushed anything, not with his life, not with his art, not with her or even this.
Reaching down, he curled his fingers around the root of his shaft and roughly gripped himself. He began a long, slow, upward tug—over the labyrinth of veins sprouted along his length. He kept his cock close to his belly as he drew his hand up its length. At the top of his stroke, the hollow of his fist met the jutted ridge that encircled the rim of his helmet. He massaged that gathering of raw nerves, that notch at the underside with the knuckle of his forefinger. An opalescent dribble of pearly pre-cum pumped from him and he smeared it over his crown with his thumb.
She was the one on display but he felt every bit the exhibitionist. He wished that she would open her eyes and turn to him. But he knew that he would dissolve under the amber glint of her eyes. She was the source of power here tonight in this room.
Images flashed before him. He could feel himself pressing within her, stretching her tight nether lips wide with his bulbous head as she coated him with her slick heat. More semen emerged from him and ran down his hand. He dragged his fist downward, letting the side of his hand press down on his scrotum.
His Jess, his wild, exotic beauty liked to ride him in reverse. He liked to watch the cleft of her ass as she rode up and down his shaft. She would rise up, letting her rim massage his plinth, teasing with the threat of losing him only to fall back down over him with more urgency.
He angled his cock away and worked himself ever faster. He thrusted himself into his firm hand, felt the weight of his balls swing. His torso was so tight that it hurt. When he rammed his fist down his shaft for…the…last…time…
“Oh shit,” he grunted out, his cock jerking in his hand, thick cum forcing its way out across his keyboard and screen.
He could not stop watching her as he came in pulses. It spewed out, shorter and shorter, until it finally just dribbled over the back of his hand unto his belly and settled into the black hairs of his nest.
“I’m not attracted to white men,” she had warned him from the start--always as fiery as she was sweet, “especially the arrogant ones.”
They were continuously thrown together socially. She was the gifted among the offering. But, on that particular night he could not just watch her from across the room. He stayed close, so close that he could feel the heat of her body as she spoke to him. Her words were a desperate attempt to delay what they both grew tired of fighting.
Arturo had laughed, welcoming the challenge in her eyes. She would not easily forget his coldness.
“Of what importance is that to me?” he had taunted. “I am Brazilian.”
In Portuguese, a sweet and gracious language, he whispered in her ear.
“You feel my spirit as I feel yours, right from the start.”
His voice was like silk and dripped sex. His lips, light like a feather, briefly touched hers for the first time.
“My skin is touched by the sun Gods. Their heat is what keeps my blood hot, but that matters not,” he said, letting his finger play with a curl of her hair.
He gently placed the palm of his hand at the base of her back, just short of where it curved into her lovely bottom. He applied no pressure. And, he continued, “When I claim you, when I fuck you, when I bind you to me, I could be purple with a snout and you would still beg for my attentions.”
“What are you saying?” she asked, breathless.
He smiled down into her upturned face. “Dance with me?”
That was truly the last time he had the upper hand.
Arturo held himself, squeezing gently and watched the last well of cum seep from his slit. His release gave him some relief, but it was only momentary. His cock, still thick and turgid under his hand, was still more than aware that she was near. It would demand attention again.
She did this to him.
He had not fucked her tonight. Arturo had decided early that day that he would not. He told her that he would not. He needed to write. He needed for her to give him that. If he fucked her, he knew that he would be good for nothing for the rest of the night. Once would not be enough. He thought that he could somehow control the magic his muse gifted him with by exercising more self-control.
His Jess had sounded hurt when he had first informed her.
“Then why should I even bother coming over?” she had snapped and then laughed.
He met her attitude with silence.
“Arturo,” she whispered after a while in defeat, unable to hang up the phone.
He had been holding his breath. Deep inside he knew that writing was only a small part of what being with her gave him.
Arturo gave her detailed instructions. He always did. Jessica was new to this. She needed to be led.
At first he was subtle. It took some time for her to understand what he had immediately recognized in her warm brown eyes the first moment she looked into the vast darkness of his own. The muscle in his jaw had tightened. He grimaced at the honest sincerity of her smile, creasing his brow and setting his lips, as they were introduced at the faculty welcoming.
“I am so honored to be a part of your writers' workshop Mr. Salazar. I won’t lie and say that I’ve read all of your books, but I’ve read enough to know how important this opportunity is,” Jessica, the first of the graduate students bold enough to attempt a conversation with him had said, trying to not sound intimidated.
The sound of her voice, the light, velvety wrap of it slipped down his spine. Arturo straightened his shoulders, steadied himself with a slow sip from his cocktail and took in the beauty of her features.
Jessica had to shift the glass she was holding to her left hand before reaching out to shake his. She was nervous and just a little awkward.
Arturo watched as she did so, not missing the line of condensation streaming down the side of her cup and dripping to the skin on the back of her hand. He watched it crawl and dissipate.
He did not shake her hand.
He let his dark eyes lazily drift around the room as he spoke. “Maybe you should have lied.”
His accent was heavy, a sure sign.
It was best that he did not touch her then. It was best that he stayed as far away from her as possible considering who she was and why he was in such close proximity; which he did, at least for as long as it was possible.
He almost made it till the end of the semester, feigning indifference but conscious of her curiosity and confusion as she watched him. He knew that she felt the pull and he feared for her. He read her work and pretended to not be impressed. In their one on one writing sessions, he was often cruel. His lack of control angered him. Their conversations were always charged and bordered the inappropriate.
Other women were only brief, easily found distractions. He dug himself deep in their bodies and sometimes hedonistically in their minds. It only made him think of her more and more.
Why did she not run?
After having her amazing body writhing around his cock and his cum leaking from between her lush lips, he began to write for the first time in a long time. He began to create. She was the answer to so many of his needs.
Jessica’s mind drifted somewhere between consciousness and dreams as she hung there. She felt nothing that could be described as pain. The pleasure that he had fed her senses blinded the body to such a concept. With him, pain could be pleasure and pleasure could be painful. Both could bring her to climax. Right now, her body was still lost in a melodic hum, the afterglow of sensual fulfilment. Her head hung back, her full lips parted, her lids closed and her mass of dark spiraled curls with their auburn highlights flowed toward the floor. But, she was not sleep.
She thought of the shame she should feel, of her past relationships, of her parents, her friends. She thought of a scene a couple of weeks ago.
“Yeah he is fine as hell,” her roommate and best friend exclaimed, “but too fucking intense.”
“He’s the kind of guy you want to grab and slap,” she then added as an afterthought, “then fuck. And, I do mean fuck hard.”
Jessica had been staring out of the window, watching the rain fall. The city buzzed, alive outside of their small apartment. She had not talked to him in almost two days. They had spent several days together and she had come home wholly satiated and exhausted. Sleep, however, had not come easy and images of them together left her with an immense feeling of emptiness. Without him she felt as if she had been dropped off a cliff.
She felt crazy.
“Are you listening to me?” her roommate demanded.
“What?” Jessica looked blankly at her dear friend.
“You know, girl, he has another life somewhere else. He probably has a slew of women too.”
Jessica turned back to the window.
“Jessica?” her friend asked, slower.
Jessica began to cry.
“He’s not the kind of guy you fall in love with boo,” her friend said, holding Jessica in her arms.
Jessica welcomed her own tears. They were overdue. She had shared a few details about her relationship with this man. But for that moment, her tears kept her from having to explain other things about what they shared to her friend. How could she anyway? How could anyone understand what was happening? She did not fully understand it herself. Arturo was not her Dom. She was not his submissive. The two words had never come up in their conversation. He did not leave her feeling degraded. However, Jessica was no fool. She saw what was happening. She recognized it. They had gone far beyond the hinted directives, blindfolds and the hands tied behind the back.
How could she begin to explain the things that she had done, had let be done, or had asked for? How could she explain the way he made her feel? There was a part of her that danced and sang out at just the thought of how alive she became in his care. This man made her feel things beyond her comprehension. He introduced her to a new part of herself. Arturo Salazar showed Jessica her own body, a body she had only thought she knew. He praised it, touched it, made love to it, wrapped it up and presented to her brand new. He called her his. It was erotic, romantic, magical, and spiritual. She was both strong beyond compare and in the deep trenches of vulnerability.
She was no slut, but she wanted to be his slut. She wanted to hear him tell her she was. She wanted to feel the power of it. She was no whore, but she would voluntarily be his whore. She wanted to be whatever he needed her to be. She wanted to be whatever made him desire her because her desire for his pleasure was all consuming. She even desired the pain.
This was not just physical, not just sex. He was her communion.
But how long do things of this nature last? He was just passing through, a favor to a friend, a way to make him forget that he was not writing. Where in the rest of her life could this that they shared fit?
It was sad but true. You don’t fall in love with men like Arturo Salazar. And, Jessica had fallen low. She was that pitiful girl in those simplistic porn novellas.
“Fiction,” she said in a faint voice that she hardly recognized.
Arturo rose up from his chair immediately. His heart beat hard against his chest.
“Jess?” he whispered.
Time stood still.
She moved her head slightly but did not open her eyes.
He pointed the remote and raised her body up higher, reasoning that it did not count. Maybe that was not what he had heard.
Jessica moaned.
Maybe she just needed a little release too.
He stood between her open thighs. Her bare pussy was still swollen and the exquisite pink of the flesh between her folds glistened. A flick of his thumb across the button on the device he carried in his hand introduced the bold hum of vibration. He brought the ball like head of it to the face of her pussy. He teased her with little circles before applying the perfect pressure to the perfect spot.
He watched the rise and fall of her breasts as her breathing became labored. He could see the tremors flow through her body, first the thighs then everything else. Even her sensuous lips trembled. She came quickly.
Just days ago Arturo had met his friend for a drink. They had known each other from his earlier days in New York. He was the reason Arturo had come back to the city and to his alma mater as the college’s visiting writer for a semester. The semester had been over for a few weeks.
“So what’s next?” his friend had asked him.
“I’m working on something," Arturo had volunteered thoughtfully. “I feel like a new man.”
“Is that something or someone?” his dear friend inquired with the rise of one eyebrow.
Arturo looked down at his drink, slightly embarrassed, and swirled the amber liquid around the ice.
“So,” his friend continued happily, “does this mean that you will be around for a while then? Jessica is a nice girl.”
“As long as she will have me.” Arturo tipped his glass, with a rare boyish grin.
Now his words haunted him. "As long as she will have me."
“Fiction,” Jessica cried out as she came. “Fiction.”
Her eyes slowly opened to meet his.
It was their safe word. But when she had chosen it, there had been one stipulation.
“Know that I would never do anything thing to hurt or harm you,” he had said, binding her the first time. “I’m not a sadist. More than anything I want to be your lover.”
He teased her skin with his lips.
“I want to please you. I need your trust. Trust is what is most important. If you use your safe word, then I have failed you. It would mean that you no longer trust my judgement. And, I’m not the one for you. Leave and don’t come back.”
Their time had come to an end. There were no words.
As always, his aftercare was meticulous. Thankful for this gift that she had given him, he undid her slowly, both physically and emotionally. She had experienced a drop once, after a prolonged period together, and spent days in tears. It had hurt him to see her go through such a thing. She had pulled away because of it and he had hoped that they had recovered.
This time he moved slower than most. He cradled her in his arms as he carried her to the bath. He washed and massaged her body. Nothing was untouched or un-soothed.
Maybe he had gone too far, he thought. Had he read her wrong, miscalculated her limits? Had he lost too much of himself and made mistakes? Had he been inattentive?
When he moisturized her body with the cream they had shopped for and chosen together, he let his hands linger. Even with tears falling from her eyes, her body responded to him.
On the day of that purchase they had been like teenagers walking hand in hand, laughing and teasing one another as they strolled in and out of shops. It had been so long since he had experienced that side of himself with a woman. He had not wanted that day to end.
He did not want this to end. Jessica did not refuse when he laid her in his bed.
He entered her slowly, wanting to miss nothing. There was peace in the warm hug of her taking more and more of him. She was always so giving. It made the desire to please her well up within him even more. He rocked into her with a rhythm that they had created early on, a rhythm that was truly only theirs. He knew her body, from every angle and within every opening. This was not about angles. This was intimacy. His kisses were full of emotion, searching and pleading. He held her tightly as she came, shaking in his arms. He filled her and prayed that it would take hold like an anchor.
She was the first to pull away.
His directions had been specific. Jessica was not to wear any panties. He had her wear the dress she had worn that first night they had met, the night he dared not touch her. She had to wear the shoes too. He wanted her hair natural and free. She had followed directions well.
Sadly, it did not take her long to dress. He sat helpless on the side of his bed watching her.
Tears were still in Jessica’s eyes. Her face was soft and void of any makeup, revealing her innocence. Her nose had a slight reddish tint. When she bit at her bottom lip, still swollen from their kisses, it took Arturo’s breath away.
“What are we?” she whispered.
He was relieved when she did not move away from him as he approached her. He stood close in front of her, looking down into the beauty of her features.
“We never speak of us, and even now I have no definition.”
His hand curved at her neck and she closed her eyes.
“No,” he pleaded. “Don’t hide your eyes from me. See me. See this man that worships you. We are one.”
He kissed her gently and then turned his lips to her ear.
His breath was heavy as he spoke. His words were magical. “What is more than dominance, control, rope, submission, devotion?”
She searched the dark lights of his eyes.
“You are,” he said looking into hers and holding her face with both hands, “love is.”
“What are you saying?” she whispered. His foreign words were so enchanting.
“I’m saying that I have found you and I cannot live without you. I love you.”
There it was. He was a nerve open and raw.
“If you love me, please don’t go.”
She reached up and kissed him softly.
Jessica then stepped back, undid her dress and let it fall to the floor. Then she lifted her arms, pressing the face of her fists together and presented her wrists to him.
Arturo Salazar smiled.
“I see you and you see me,” she told him. “That is everything.”
Nothing needed to be explained, not the love, not the kiss, not the touch, not even the rope...
Virginia
- 10.09.2020
- 17
- 0
- Category:
- BDSM
