John was always so mysterious, and I suppose I’d built a silly fantasy around him: who he was, what he’d be like. I read too many true crime novels, always projecting the worst that could happen to me. Still, with this gorgeous tall man, his pale skin and blue eyes, I can’t help but be intrigued.
As soon as I stepped over the threshold and locked the door, he swept the sash over my eyes, leaving me blind but for the bright lights past the courtyard of my apartment complex. They were all so sleazy, those neon lights advertising strippers. It was just the sort of neighborhood that a true crime might happen in. That’s why I’d moved there.
I’ve never had a death wish per se, but there is a certain thrill to taking really huge risks with your life. Even though I’d dated John and spoken with him, he’d never given away much about himself, seeming to prefer a long, slow courtship. I admit that I was frustrated. I’d slide my fingers between my lips, rubbing the middle one over my clit, imagining what his hands would feel like on me there. His hands were always so soft, but so cold.
One particularly adventurous night, I snuck out to the refrigerator to take an ice cube back to bed. The cold felt shocking on my cunt. I’d opened my lips up so that I could run the dripping cube between them, toyed with the hole. I’d never thought of doing it before, not before John and his long dark hair and cold hands. It tingled, cooled, brought sensations to the surface on such a fragile, hot part of my body that I almost couldn’t stand it. Though I’d thought it might make my cunt go numb, it had the exact opposite effect. It made my whole body tingle, prickling with gooseflesh and sweat until I released it into myself, letting it slide slowly over the opening before finally pushing it inside of me.
It wasn’t much, just a cube. It had melted down, but even the fact that it was inside of me was exciting. I supplemented my adventure with a mini-rocket vibrator. Running it over my clit again and again, I squeezed my thighs tightly, moving that sliver of ice cube inside of me, feeling it touching, feeling the cold liquid as it melted inside of me. It was amazing, thrilling, like I was being lifted off of the bed, moving to another plane of pleasure that rocked through my body, leaving me gasping. My cold fingers were on my breasts, pinching my nipples, and all I could think about was John.
John here in front of me, out in the courtyard of my apartment complex. I could hear the car horns in the street not far away. I expected him to lead me to his car, somewhere, anywhere, but he just stood there before me. I adjusted the strap on my halter dress, fidgeting with it nervously. I could feel his gaze. It made me feel small, like a child. I wanted to please him, but I didn’t know how, didn’t know what he wanted of me.
I turned my ankle in, balancing on a stiletto heel, feeling strangely bashful.
“I do not like that dress.” John’s voice seemed to carry in the whispers of the humid Houston air.
I reached for the blindfold, starting to turn. “I’ll change.”
“No.” He was behind me, breathing heavily, arms around me as he started to unbutton my halter dress. It was yellow and flowing, girlish, maybe too girlish. I worried that he thought I was too immature to date. I hadn’t known where we were going, and Houston is warm almost year round. Still, I cursed myself for such a silly choice right up until I felt his warm hands cupping me under the smocking of my dress.
The night was warm; his hands were cold. They were always so cold. But his breath in my ear was hot, and I could feel the heat of his erection behind me, pressing against my simple cotton dress. “Finish it,” he whispered.
For a moment, I was at a loss as to what he wanted of me. He placed my hands on the buttons starting at the waist and I froze. “But we’re outside.”
“I want to see you now. I want to see you naked outside. I want to take in your beauty. I promise, we will not stay here long.”
His words were persuasive, as were his hands. They’d slid down the front of my dress and under my cotton panties. They were so wet already, and I couldn’t help being embarrassed. “You feel ready.”
I blushed and turned my head, but as I couldn’t see anything, I had nowhere to direct my blush. I merely whimpered and hoped I wasn’t degrading myself by twisting around so that he would touch more than my trimmed pubis. His fingers brushed gently over my light down, and one finger slipped between the folds and out again. He brought that hand up and I could hear him sucking his finger. I was so aroused, I was shaking.
“If you want more of that,” he whispered, “then take off your clothes.”
It didn’t take long to comply; I wasn’t wearing much. The dress fell off my shoulders once his hands were out of it and I wriggled my wet panties down past my hips, where gravity took them to the stone ground. He remained silent. I was wearing nothing else, just my shoes.
When he didn’t speak after a few moments, I pulled the straps of my stilettos and dropped them off of each foot and turned around.
Standing before him like this, with the slight breeze in my hair, I felt vulnerable. Anyone from the street could see through the iron gates. My neighbors could see me in the courtyard. But none of this seemed to matter, because what really made me blush and squirm was knowing that he was there. Right there, and he was seeing me. Seeing all of me.
I tried to cross my arms over my small breasts, but he took my hand gently and helped me over to where he’d parked his car.
Classical music played on his radio as I tried to find a comfortable spot on the leather. I worried about how aroused I was; I might stain his seat. He rested a hand on my thigh, stroking it absently, and whispered for me to keep still. As a reward for my obedience, he dragged his fingers over my clit, again and again. He outlined my opening, teasing each fold gently. He let his fingers slide into me and I lost control. I fell back against the seat, legs tense, arching my pelvis upward to make it easier for him to finger-fuck me.
He chuckled but indulged me, moving his fingers inside of me and curling them forward. I did most of the rest of the work as he drove. Shamelessly, I rode his thrusts on that seat, bringing my knees up onto the cushion so I could straddle his fingers and hold the top of the car.
We were at a stoplight when I came. At least, the car was stopped anyway. He could’ve been at a huge intersection with hundreds of people watching me this way. I’d stretched out over the seat, leaning on the dash with my head buried under my arms. I rocked against his fingers, twisting my hips to get him right where I wanted him. And I wanted him there. I wanted him to keep touching that spot. I could picture it—soft warmth around his cool hands, my body taking him, spreading open for him, engulfing his fingers as I whined and moaned and begged for more. I felt like I was going to sob before I finally came. He was expert at feeding me just a little until I thought I might go crazy or lose the feeling and then he’d start again, slowly, methodically.
I was loud when I came. I could feel how close the windshield was, but I couldn’t hear anything but the soft music and my breathing. I wanted to leap into his lap and kiss him, to pull down his trousers and suck his cock. I was so aroused I didn’t know what to do with myself, even after my orgasm. But he said, “Sit now. And wait.”
It wasn’t very long until we’d reached our destination. It felt like hours. Each time I reached to finger myself and relive what we’d just done, he took my hand and set it back on the console. When we finally arrived, I wasn’t sure I could breathe from how badly I needed it.
But that was not to be. Not then.
I thought I heard a fountain and horses whinnying in the background. The grass I walked on was soft and lush, the cobbles uneven, rough. It was a suburb almost certainly, but maybe it was way out in the country.
I hadn’t even told anyone I’d be gone.
The notion thrilled and frightened me, but I did nothing other than follow where his hand guided me into a room of some sort. He took me in a few more steps and then told me to put my hands down at my sides. I thought about asking what he was doing, but we’d come so far and I’d already come once. I couldn’t imagine anything but a good time.
I’d never been tied up before, so I didn’t know what to feel when he dragged his ropes over my body. They stung a little over my nipple but otherwise were surprisingly soft. I might have thought they were silk had he not said that they were his special hemp rope.
“I only use it for special occasions. It means much to me. You cannot buy rope like this. It has to be cured, burned on the outside and worked until it becomes soft like this. It has to be used, warmed and loved.” Something about what he said quashed what little fear I had that he might be tying me up to kill me. He sounded so reverent about his ropes, and I couldn’t help but feel honored that he wanted to introduce them to me.
He ran the ropes over my shoulders. It was like silk pressing along my spine, down my body. He curled the rope around a breast and then pulled it through between my legs. The rope pulled just so, reawakening whatever arousal I’d lost. I could feel the wet spot on the rope as he wound it over my body. It felt so peaceful, so relaxing to just have the rope winding around me. I didn’t even notice when the rope started getting tighter, when it started to take on more thickness.
Slowly, I was being restricted. Rope was tied to rope and twisted around one part of my body and then tied over to another part. My hands could still move, so I felt the octagonal pattern around my belly button and reached down to feel a smartly tied knot of rope between my legs, just above the clit. At my discovery, he lightly pulled the rope and I felt such a gentle tugging everywhere, it made me shiver. The knot pressed against my clit, which made me moan and contort to feel it again. Ropes were bound around my small breasts, pushing all of the blood to my nipples, making them highly sensitive when John turned me around to run his tongue over them.
He always moved me, never moved around me. I was to go to him, never the other way around. His hands felt so light, his rope so strong, that soon I was completely immobilized. He bent me over, untying one section of the ropes only to secure them again behind me. Then I heard a small clatter from the tile floor. Something was being pulled toward me and again I felt that thrill of fear, the fear that something horrible might happen to me.
Instead, I heard what sounded like a ripcord and the snap of a latch. Then, slowly, I was rising up into the air. My feet left the ground and immediately I felt the hard tug of the ropes as I was suspended. The knot at my clit tightened, rubbed. The ropes massaged my breasts, held me in place, made me feel everything more keenly than I’d ever felt anything on my body.
The rope was soft, but firm, not biting into my skin, but not giving way. I was hanging from my whole body. It felt like I was flying.
I heard his zipper and the sound of clothes falling to the floor, then the snap of a condom.
His body was warm between my legs as he positioned himself behind me. I could feel the head of his prick teasing me, but I had no leverage to push back against it, to make him give me what I’d been dying for since we met. I curled my toes and fingers and whined, trying to shift my hips.
“You really want me, don’t you?” His voice sounded amused, maybe a little surprised. “Do I scare you?”
“I should be scared, but I’m not. I want this. I want you. I want you to fuck me and then I want you to fuck me again.” I was drooling with it, head bowed, hair flopping around my cheeks. My whole body felt hot with embarrassment for begging, but I needed it. My cunt was twitching, begging, tightening, grasping, trying anything for friction, for more of that perfection.
“I want you, too,” he whispered. I felt every inch of him slowly sliding into me. I could take all of it, wanted to keep taking all of it until I was filled with him. I tried to grab on to anything I could for leverage to push against him, but I was powerless. I couldn’t do it. Instead, I had to rely on him to move, to slide his cock just there. He read me well, knowing when to squeeze my thighs, when to thrust hard and when to let up. I knew that I could’ve told him no at any time during this. He would have stopped. But I was glad I hadn’t, glad that I could give myself to him this way, which was more than I ever would’ve believed of myself.
Our bodies slapped together wetly, his hands on my hips to keep me moving. I could tell he was going to come by the noises he made, by the way he moved. I focused, working with him, thinking about his cock inside of me, about me floating above the ground somewhere I didn’t even know. Somewhere that there could be people, quiet people, or maybe a video camera. I didn’t know who could be looking at me like this and I didn’t care. All I cared about was coming, about getting off.
I couldn’t remember a time when I’d ever been fucked so hard or so thoroughly. His fingers bit into my flesh as he came and I came with him, my whole body vibrating. It felt like I was having a seizure, a complete out-of-body experience. I saw stars, blinding bright, saw him standing there in front of my apartment with what looked like an innocent black scarf. Thinking of him, I came.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
JACQUELINE APPLEBEE
(
writing-in-shadows.co.uk
) breaks down barriers with smut. Jacqueline’s stories have appeared in various anthologies and websites, including Cleansheets,
Best Women’s Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Where the Girls Are
, and
Girl Crazy
.