Friday, November 29, 2013

Bend Over - Part Two

Brought to You By
Week Four Excerpt - Part Two
Read Part One Here
Welcome back to the wonderful world of NaNoWriMo, where I try to write a novel in a month. As promised, here's the continuation from what I posted for Week Three of this literary adventure. As always, please enjoy.

Phil heard Pip laugh and felt the rough wool of her dress flutter against his back as it went over her head. He felt her press herself—the firm silk of her body and the delicate lace of her bra and panties—against him before she wrapped her hand around his cock.

He let his head fall back onto her shoulder. Fuck. “Yeah,” he moaned as her touch tightened and loosened, her fingers dancing, over his hard flesh. His hips thrust, the oil on his ass making him slide over the cushion and into her fist. “More,” he begged as she tightened her grasp. Oh God. He pumped his hips more, his bound hands pulling against the chair’s back, loosening the knot.

“Oh, God, I’m close,” he grunted. “I’m going to come.” Pip grabbed the towel from his wrists as he gripped the back of the chair.

His hips bucked forward, his balls pulling tight, readying to shoot his load, as he felt her towel-wrapped hand close around his cock. He grabbed her wrist tight in his hands as he came into the terrycloth, shuddering with his body’s release. “Fuck.” Pip. “Fuck.”


Pip kissed the back of Phil’s neck, licking a salty drop of sweat from his nape. 

“Thank you,” she heard him mutter against her cheek, his head bent back and toward her, resting in the crook of her neck. “Thank you.”

She smiled, finding his gratitude novel and oddly endearing. She turned to lay a kiss on his forehead. “You’re very welcome,” she told him sweetly, “but, you know, it was fun for me too.”

“Not quite the same,” he pointed out as he shrugged out of his shirt and turned around in the chair to face her, surrounding her in the warm, strength of his legs. 

God, he looked good. For a desk-jockey geek, Phil looked good without a shirt. Not exactly a gym-buff body-builder, but still slim and flat-bellied. She wanted to run her hands up and down the smooth expanse of him. Her eyes slid lower, inhaling deeply as she saw his soft, exhausted length lay languid and sated between his legs. She smiled. A sign of a job well done.

“But I can change that,” he promised her as he lay his hand against her cheek and pulled her close for a kiss.

Mmm, yes, she was right; Phil Schaffer tasted good. Warm. Wet. And male. His tongue slipped into her mouth, tasting her too. His hand moved to cup her neck, holding her close as his other hand gripped her hip and pulled her onto his lap. He held her against him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. 

Phil kissed her thoroughly and eagerly, loving—adoring—her mouth. He gave her several small, quick, biting kisses before leaning back. “Not that I’m not having fun in the kitchen,” he said, his voice a low rasp, “but where’s your bedroom?”

Pip grinned and pulled him close again as she lay her forehead against his. “You have the best ideas,” she said as she gripped the towel in her hand. Swiftly, she hooked the towel around his neck and stood, dragging him up with her as if on the world’s shortest leash.

“Ugh,” he groaned, wrinkling his nose in disgust, “I can feel the wet spot on the towel.”

“It’s your come,” she pointed out, leading him out of the kitchen and into the living room. “Don’t tell me you’ve never touched it before.”

“Not with the back of my neck,” he pointed out as he followed her.

“Bet that’d be one pretty impressive wank though,” she said with a laugh.

“I’m almost certain the trajectory,” he said sardonically, “is physically impossible for a human.”

Pip laughed. “Mmm, yeah, nerdy dirty talk;” she said, only half-joking, “the best kind.”

“You are the oddest woman,” he murmured as he let himself be dragged down a short hallway and into her bedroom’s open doorway. 

Once in her room, Pip whisked the towel away, tossing it reflexively into the hamper by the door, and gave him a shove onto the bed.

But, before he could fall, he grabbed her hand, pulling her down onto the violent comforter with him. She squealed as he rolled them over, so he was above her, staring down with a look of triumph.

She laughed and pulled him down for a kiss as she wrapped her long legs around his waist, holding him almost where she wanted him. She felt his hands reach for the clasp of her garnet-colored lace bandeau bra. She smiled, feeling his frown against her mouth as his fingers found nothing but clasp-less band. She reached under her breasts and yanked the bra top over her head.

“Why do women do that?” he asked as he watched the cloth’s rise. “Wear all this complicated stuff that just gets in the way of us getting you naked faster?”

Pip laughed and sighed as she kicked him away with her foot, so she could take off her matching lace panties. “Men and lingerie,” she tsked sadly. “Despite what the industry would like us all to believe, it’s a sad, sad truth that women love lingerie way more than most men do. Lingerie exists more for women to get in the mood—to feel sexy and sexual and beautiful and desirable—and less for men, who as a general really probably couldn’t care less and would rather you naked and out of the fragile material that cost too much and they’re afraid they’ll ruin. But,” she said with a shake of her head as she reached for him, the frothy lace still dangling from her fingers and down his shoulder in a tickling tease, “could you guys please—please—do us the favor of just faking it. We fake lots of stuff for you; do us a solid and give us this.”

He grinned and kissed her. “I hope you’re not planning to fake anything tonight,” he said.

“I won’t plan on me faking,” she said with an impish tone, “if you don’t.”

“Is that a challenge?” he asked, raising up on his arms.

“I like to think of it as goal-setting,” she answered.

“Well, then,” he said as he tucked his arms under her knees, spreading her legs, “by all means, let’s see what we can do about meeting it.” Pip sat up on her elbows as she watched him move between her thighs.

God, the way he looked at her. His gaze focused on her cunt as he licked the corners of his lips, making her core clench in anticipation. He looked up into her eyes as he bent low, parting her labia, and closed his lips around her clit.

She moaned as her head fell back and she closed her eyes, the feel of his wet mouth on her so sweet. She felt his tongue lave her in tiny flicks and long licks that made her whole body quiver. “Mmm,” she moaned, “more. You can go rough.” She could take it; wanted to. She swiveled her hips against his lips. 

Pip balled her fists in her comforter as he made a small assenting noise and moved to nibble and suck on her long, dark, sensitive labia. Oh, God, yes.

Her back arched up long as he slid two fingers deep inside her pussy, already wet and ready for him. She bit her lip as he curled his long, capable fingers inside her, only to groan loudly as he began to move within her. She tilted her hips, pushing him deeper into her. 

He lay a restraining hand over her stomach as she bucked while his knuckles thrust inside her. Pip involuntarily grabbed his shoulder, her nails scratching skin. She flexed her hand against his back, so she didn’t dig her long, painted nails into his flesh. She’d marked him enough tonight without adding her claw marks to his back too. So she ground the heel of her hand into his shoulder instead. “Oh, that’s good,” she said, thrashing her head as she pulled herself up only to fall back onto the bed as sensation roiled inside her.

He grabbed her left leg and trailed kisses along her inner thigh, each lick and nip against her tender flesh pushing her closer and closer to her climax. 

Closer, but not close enough. 

“Dresser drawer,” she said as she tapped his shoulder.

He looked up at her curiously. “Dresser drawer?”

She nodded toward her lamp-side dresser. “Open it.”

She scooted up onto her pillows more as she watched him move toward the dresser. He opened it. “Whoa,” she heard him said as his eyebrows shot up.

Yeah, she had an impressive toy collection. In her profession, she had to. She had toys stashed everywhere. In her closet. Under her bed. Even in unopened boxes and packages in her living room. But her bedside drawer was special. A toy had to be her favorite to make it there. 

Her vibrating wand, that tore orgasms from her almost violently. A discreet but powerful bullet vibrator. Dildos of all shapes and sizes, colors and textures. “Pick one,” she urged, nodding toward the drawer. Didn’t matter which one, really. She knew each one intimately, knew how they worked upon her body, knew exactly how to use each one to get her over the edge.

He reached in and pulled out a rubber ducky. He held it up for her questioningly. “Really?”

She grinned. “Flip the switch,” she told him. “On the bottom.”

She laughed as he jumped while the obnoxiously yellow duck began to vibrate in his hand. “Jesus,” he said as he dropped it on her bed, leaving it to rumble mutedly in the rumpled covers. “Who makes stuff like this?” he asked as he picked the toy back up to look it over.

“Puss ‘n Boots,” Pip said. “They send me stuff all the time. I think that’s one of Lyle Martin’s toys. He’s local toy maker—tinkerer, really—who likes altering ordinary objects. Thinks it’s funny to have erotic toys hidden in plain sight.”

“You actually use this?” he asked skeptically. “To get off?”

Pip froze her face in a very serious expression as she blinked, trying not to giggle at his utterly baffled look. “Yes,” she said simply. “But, if you’d like proof, Science Guy, you could always see for yourself.”

Phil chuckled as he studied the duck in his hand and nodded. “I suppose I could.”

“For science,” Pip agreed.

Phil’s gray eyes twinkled. “For science.”


Phil squeezed the plastic toy in his hand. It squeaked. The duck actually squeaked, even as it continued to vibrate against his palm. Now that was one perverted pervertable.

“It’s waterproof too,” Pip said as she stretched out her long legs, displaying her tempting sex. 

Phil’s eyes narrowed on her pussy, looking warm and welcoming. He’d never been with a woman with long labia like hers. He wouldn’t have thought he’d like it—not that he’d thought he wouldn’t; he’d never really thought about it one way or another—but, damn, if he hadn’t loved the sounds she made as he nibbled on her and she squeezed her thighs around his head like a vice, trapping him against her sweet, wet sex.

“Waterproof, huh?” he said as he made the duck squeak again. He grinned. That sounded like a challenge to him. He crawled closer again. She’d gotten so wet for him, soaked really. He’d heard about women who ejaculated—squirted, though he’d never much cared for the crass term—and he’d always thought it was just a myth or some physiological misinterpretation. The women he’d been with had a hard enough time lubricating enough for sex at all; he had a hard time imagining a woman with the opposite reaction.

But he wondered if Pip were such a woman. He bit the inside of his cheek and stared at her, determined to find out. 

Phil settled himself between her legs and stared at the duck, a little baffled. Which part did he use where? It wasn’t as if he’d been giving an instructional manual and Lord knew he didn’t have a clue as to how the rubber duck was supposed to bring her to orgasm.

“You doing all right down there?” she asked, sitting up a bit.

“Sure,” he assured her. Well, she’d said he should do it for science and what was more scientific than some experimentation? He held the duck in his palm, feeling the vibrations pulse into his skin, and thought it was actually a pretty powerful vibrator inside the toy. He wondered what that would feel like on a thigh or a hip.

So he tried it. He slid it up her thigh, making her moan as he stroked it up her leg and down the other. He let it circle her mound and slip slickly over her sensitive labia lips lightly.

She thrust her hips up, pressing herself against his touch as she bit her bottom lip, small sounds of frustrated pleasure escaping her mouth. He smiled as he held his hand back, content to tease her for a while. Just to be cruel, he moved the toy from her vulva to the crease of her thighs as she squirmed and her breath hitched. “Phil,” she begged, “you are a mean, mean man.”

He laughed. Fine, fine. He touched the tip of the toy’s bill with is finger, the puckered mouth of the duck seeming to be built to fit her delicate clit. He tucked the tip between the lips of her sex, just at the mouth of her vagina, making small circles to collect her juices. God, she smelled amazing. Hot and sweet and excited. He thumbed her lips open a bit, so he could watch her sex clench and release in anticipation. God, he wanted to know what that felt like on his tongue, his hand, his cock.

But, first, he drew the bill up and touched it against her clit. She cried out and jerked her hips into the toy, grabbing his wrist so he couldn’t pull away. She didn’t need to. He savored the sight of her as she reveled in the toy’s sensation, her face scrunched as she fought for her orgasm.

“Almost, almost, almost,” she repeated it like a mantra as she tugged harder on his wrist, shoving him against her as she thrust up against him.

On a breaking breath, she came, her eyes slamming open as her whole body bowed, bucking most of her off the bed. With her legs over his shoulders and her grip crushing his grip, Phil felt her muscles tense as her climax claimed her. She sat there, for a long moment, seemingly frozen except for brief, rhythmic shudders that rocked her body just a bit as her system shocked.

And then, with a groan, she collapsed, curling forward as she wrapped herself around him. He turned so her head rested on his belly as her knees bent around his back. He wrapped his arms around her as her hot breath heaved against his middle. “God, that was amazing,” she breathed.

He chuckled. “You sound surprised,” he mused, unsure if the swell of pride he felt was justified. “You can’t tell me that was a first for you.” Pip didn’t seem like the kind of woman who had many firsts left.

“No,” she admitted with a shrug. “Doesn’t make it any less amazing.” 

She moved to sit up, making him instantly miss the loss of her warmth against him. She looked at him, worried resignation replacing pleasure on her face. 

He hated that. Pip had the kind of face that should never frown. If he could manage it, he’d never let anything but a never-ending cycle of desire and satisfaction touch her dark, classic features.

She bit the inside of her cheek, looking anything but satisfied. “Does it bother you that I’ve had past partners? That I’m not some fresh-faced virgin?” she asked. 


Because she couldn’t change it, if it did. 

And wouldn’t. 

Not for anybody. 

She was a product of her past. She wouldn’t be who she was today without, at least in part, every partner she’d ever had. So she refused to be ashamed of her past and she would never allow someone to even try to make her so.

“I know you’re not a virgin, Pip,” Phil assured her with a scoff. “Believe me, I knew it before we started. You’ve probably had more partners than I have.”


“Do you want the number?” She shrugged. Again, she wasn’t ashamed and, if he wanted to know, she supposed he had the right.

“What?” he asked, shocked. “No,” he sputtered, his gray eyes almost panicked. “Why?”

She took a deep breath as she grabbed her pillow and hugged it in front of herself. “You just seem preoccupied by it.” By them. The parade of faceless men and women he probably imagined she had by the group-full. 

And, it wasn’t like she hadn’t had her group-filled experiences, but she didn’t like the idea of being defined by them either. Her frown deepened even as his fingers sought to ease her furrowed brow.

He sighed and grabbed her hand, tugging aside the pillow and hauling her close to him again. She didn’t struggle as he held her, but still held herself back until she heard him said, “I’m sorry.” He heaved another sigh. “I don’t mean to give you a hard time about it,” he said. “I guess it makes me more uncomfortable than I want to admit.”

“Why?” she asked, settling onto his lap as his arms wrapped around her more fully. She wondered if he felt inadequate. She’d met men before who had. Who’d seen her history as a challenge or a threat. Something they had to prove themselves against or was a constant reminder of their limited experience that could never catch up to hers. She bit her lip, knowing that kind of thinking was hard to overcome and rarely left either of them feeling very good about themselves.

He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess, right now, this all feels new to me. Like seeing a new country for the first time or something.” He tilted his head thoughtfully, his usually meticulously maintained sandy blond hair now bed-mussed and rumpled. “And, while it’s fantastic getting to explore that place with a local—who knows the area and speaks the language—I guess, it’s a hard pill to swallow knowing that, while this is all new to me, it’s nothing special to you.”

Pip sat up and stared him in the face. “This is special,” she told him. “It may not be new or novel, but it’s special.” Because it was with him. She had done all this stuff before—with herself, with others—who-knew-how-many times before. 

But she’d never done it with him before now. 

She cupped his face and pressed her lips against his. “It’s special.”


Phil shut his eyes as he let her kiss him, her tongue a sweet stroke in his mouth. He didn’t know why he needed to hear that. Why it made any difference at all. But he had and it did.

He felt her hands in his hair as she pulled him down onto the mattress with her again. She gripped his cock in her hands as they cuddled on the comforter, squeezing his hardening shaft. He groaned into her open mouth. He tried to roll himself over her, but she was quick and stronger than she looked.

She had him underneath her, with her long legs straddling his hips and her hand still firmly around him, before he could so much as think about struggling. She bent low to dig about in her toy drawer. His body jerked, bucking against her, as she pulled out a condom, the shiny wrapper looking as welcome as Christmas morning.

She made short work of the condom, slipping it on him with a practiced ease that made him a little uneasy even as it turned him on. He watched eagerly as she lifted her hips so she could slide him inside her.

He bit back a moan as he fought to keep his eyes open against the intense pleasure of her taking him inside her. She was so tight. Warm. And wet. Her hips swiveled as her body adjusted to the fill before she began to ride him in slow, steady strokes. Up and down. Up and down. The rhythm of it soothing the need inside him. He wanted her to continue doing that forever.

But he needed her to take him faster. 

His hands gripped her waist as he tilted his hips, pushing his dick deeper inside her. He felt her sex quiver, the sensation perfect. He needed that. He began to pump beneath her. Limited by his position, he thrust anyway, that extra quarter of an inch worth every effort as they bucked.

Especially, when she moaned and picked up speed, riding him in earnest, as eager to chase that feeling as he was. He felt her sex clench against him, her pussy squeezing him, pulling as she pumped.

He could feel his orgasm build in his balls, tightening them as he tried to stave it off. He looked up at her as she still climbed her peak. She needed to catch up to him. He reached out his hand and reached for the duck again. He slid the duck between them backward so the upturned tail flicked and pressed against her clit with her every thrust. He bit his lip against the buzz of the duck’s backside bumping against the base of his dick.

She cried out, her head falling back as she ground a little harder down with every push. Yeah, he thought as he watched her, yeah. C’mon, just a little more. He placed a hand on her waist, directing her ride, forcing her hard against him.

When she came, he felt it, her muscles clenching all around him in spasms. He groaned as he let himself go, emptying himself inside her as her pleasure fueled his.


Pip collapsed on top of Phil, resting her head against his shoulder as she felt his cock continue to twitch inside her. Each shudder of his body triggering one in hers. If she were honest, this was her favorite part of sex, where every nerve felt alive and every touch felt like heaven.

She never wanted to move from this spot. Even though her thighs burned from her efforts and her knees were tired and stiff, she’d have happily stayed astride him forever, tucked into the curve of his shoulder. She licked a bead of sweat from behind his ear, the salty taste delicious on her tongue.

“I get the appeal now,” he murmured, his voice a rumble she felt through his chest.

“Of what?” she asked, nuzzling her nose in the soft hair just behind his ear.

“Of all this,” he said, picking up the duck and squeezing it so it squeaked in the room’s silence. “The toys. The games. The kink.”

“Do you?” she said with an obvious tone. She could feel him slowly soften inside her, could hear satisfaction in his voice.

“I always figured that kink was just unnecessarily complicating an already perfect process,” he said. “And, I must say,” he said, a touch of smugness tempering his tone, “the act is still pretty perfect. But the process of getting there…” He trailed off. He shrugged, lifting her a bit with his shoulder as she smiled. “Like I said, I get the appeal.”

“So think you’ll be able to understand Sam a little better now?” she asked.

She felt him squirm beneath her a bit. “Can we not discuss my niece—especially not her sex life—while I’m still inside you?” he asked.

Fair enough. She chuckled as she lifted her hips so he could slide out of her, the feel of it almost orgasmic in and of itself. Yeah, she got that. “Okay,” she said, settling back over him as she threw her leg over his in a tangled sprawl, “what about your sex life? Now that you get the appeal, would you be interested in exploring it a bit more?”

“More experiments?” he asked as he curled his arm around her back.

“Absolutely,” she agreed as she toyed with his nipple, beading the small, pink flesh against her fingertip. “Donovan’s is having a party next weekend; I don’t suppose you’d want to go with me?”

She paused, letting the idea fill the space of her bedroom. They sat in quiet contemplation for a moment before he said, “For science?”

She laughed as she hugged him hard. “For science.”

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Bend Over - Part One

Brought to You By
Week Four Excerpt - Part One
Welcome back to the wonderful world of NaNoWriMo, where I try to write a novel in a month. As promised, here's the continuation from what I posted for Week Three of this literary adventure. As always, please enjoy.

God, Phil would not have thought he was that kind of crazy. A week ago. A day ago. A few measly hours ago. He would have never even entertained the possibility.

And he never would have ever. If it weren’t for her.

He looked at Pip. The hungry look in her dark eyes. The way her teeth sank into her full, plump lips. The way her slim body arched long and fluid in sensual anticipation.

Yes, this was completely insane. He could still feel pain—real pain—sear his skin. He was almost certain he could feel the mark of each individual tine the turner left against his ass like a brand. It throbbed as blood rushed to the spot. He’d likely have a bruise tomorrow. Sitting would definitely be an experience for a while. It was insane. There was no other word for it.

Apparently, he was a little insane too.

Who’d have thought?

But he could feel each hot throb—on his ass, his thighs, his hips—like a pulse to his cock. Even the trail her fingernails had left on his back burned through his shirt with sensation, making the skin all over his body feel electric. Fuck. He hurt, but damned if he didn’t look forward to more.

“You like it,” she said, her low voice a growling purr, as she began to pace the table, forcing him step-by-step in a strange dance around the edge. “I know you do. Just tell me how much,” she said, her tone a sugary plea that made his teeth hurt even as she bared her own in a toothy, taunting smile.

His own back arched in challenge as he grinned. “Make me,” he dared, wondering what she’d do. What more Pip, this unimaginably capable woman, could do.

Laughter bubbled up from her throat, light and infectious, right before she pushed off from the table and chased him, her long legs devouring the space between then. 

Damn. Phil turned to run, but his knees were shaking and his overwhelmed body was sluggish and slow. She caught him by the back of his jeans, her hands hooking around his waistband as she tugged him back. She tossed him  toward the table, her thin, but sturdy frame more than his match at the moment. He tripped over his feet, grabbing at the low-backed chair rocking beneath his weight, as he steadied himself against its back.

He felt her grab his wrists, twining them through the slots of the chair’s open back and wrapping a dish towel around them. He looked at her quizzically as she threaded the terrycloth end through the knitted loop at the top, pulling tight. She tied a quick and dirty knot, cinching his wrists together.

He pulled his wrists a bit. It was tight and firm, but he could pull free, if he really wanted to. Did he want to?

She tutted her tongue at him as she paced around him, striking the turner against her hand, the thwack loud and warning against her flesh. “The Egghead’s got quite the smart mouth, hasn’t he?” she mockingly scolded with a shake of her head. “I’ll give you one last chance; tell me you don’t love this,” she said as she pressed his shoulders down so he bent low, baring his ass to her. “Tell me what you want.”

Phil shook his head, trying to figure out his own muddled thoughts. How could she expect him to answer, when his tongue felt swollen and dumb in his mouth as he panted like an excitable, tail-wagging puppy under her hand? How could she expect him to even know what to say when his head was so lost in this moment that words—one of the few things he could always count on—made no sense? How was this—this moment, this woman—his life?

“Maybe I’ll just find out for myself,” she mused as she reached around his waist for the button of his jeans. 


He hissed as he felt her fingers fumble for his zipper, his cock twitching impatiently beneath the tight confines of his fly. He swallowed hard and wiggled his hips as she tugged down his pants and briefs, eager to be free of the denim and cotton.

He felt her sink to her haunches next to him as she stared at his erection. He squirmed under her gaze, feeling a little ridiculous with his jeans and briefs in a tangle around his ankles. She reached out a finger and ran the tip along his length, barely touching him as she let the sharp threat of her manicured nail run along the sensitive skin. “Looks like I have my answer, huh?” she said as she gave his shaft a brief, soft flick and his body tightened. 

Her finger continued along his hip to his ass. She traced the outline of the turner’s strike. He flinched and clenched as he felt her nail’s scratch on his tender flesh. “You mark well,” she said, making it sound like a praise. “I can see every line perfectly.”

He felt her fingers press and stroke and knead his hot flesh. “So red,” she said as she touched him with rough reverence. “Warm and so sweet.” 

Phil froze when he felt her tongue trail along the top of his ass, right at the bend of his back. God, he’d never had a woman do that before. It wasn’t even something he’d ever wanted a woman to do but, now that one had, he liked it, shivering as his sweat and her saliva cooled against his heated skin.

“Poor baby,” she cooed as she placed a wet, licking kiss at the small of his back, “you’ve been so abused tonight, haven’t you?” She pushed away from the table, moving toward her cupboards for a moment before coming back. “It’s time we took care of you.”

He heard her uncap a bottle before the scent of…something—something familiar and comforting—hit him. He hissed as her hands, now slick and slippery, slid over his skin. He inhaled deeply.

“Is that olive oil?” he asked, the fruity, nutty scent registering now.

She laughed as she massaged his ass, making him moan and press into her hands. “Girl’s got to get creative sometimes,” she said as she shoved up his shirt to work his back, kneading his muscles.

Oh, God, that was good. He arched into her touch as she worked out the knots in his back. He felt the stress of the past few days melt under her thorough touch. 

“Okay,” she said as she slapped his butt cajolingly, “c’mere.” She helped free him from his jeans and briefs, discarding them on the floor, before maneuvering him around the chair until he was straddling it, leaning against the chair’s open back. 

He winced as his ass hit the chair. Yep, sitting was…interesting; the soft pressure of the cushion harsh and unforgiving on his sore ass. He tried to wriggle, to find the perfect balance that would avoid the worst of his bruises.

Pip pushed the hem of his shirt up and over his head, so it rested like a cushion around his shoulders between him and hard wood. “There we are,” she said as she grabbed a chair for herself, sitting behind him—settling him between her parted knees—as she dug her fists and elbows into his tight muscles.

“God, that’s good,” he moaned as he let his weight give over to the chair, his tension easing with every pass of her skilled hands. He felt those hands, balled into fists, press all down his back. His thighs flexed as her oil-coated hands opened to slip smoothly down them. He inhaled sharply as she trailed her painted nails up his inner thighs. He groaned as her right hand brushed his cock and balls, almost accidentally. Just a skid of her knuckles really.

Until she did it again. And again. Over and over. Stroking him lazily from taint to tip. He grunted and tried to shove himself  more firmly into her touch. “Pip,” he said, his voice a graveled beg.

Read Part Two Here

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

You First, Then Me - Part Two

Brought to You By
Week Three(ish) Excerpt - Part Two
Read Part One Here
Welcome back to the wonderful world of NaNoWriMo, where I try to write a novel in a month. Just like last year, here's an excerpt from what I've done for Week Three (sorry it's being posted a bit late) of this literary adventure. As always, please enjoy.

“You think you can do this?” Pip asked, handing over the scraper.

“Yeah,” Phil said, taking the plastic stick. Yeah, he could handle this. He set the errant baking tool aside, even as Pip gave him a quizzical look. He examined the domestic array laid out on the table. The metal was cool in his hands as he touched the toothbrush holder. He picked it up and gripped it, feeling the hatching metal bite into his fingers and palm. It kind of hurt just to hold it; he couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like to strike someone with it. Or be struck with it. 

It was maybe a little advanced for him right now.

He put it back down before touching the slotted, metal turner with its smooth wood handle. Then a long, thin curtain rod that cut through the air with a vicious whoosh as he swung it. Finally, he settled on the large, pink bath brush. 

It was pretty. Almost cute. Something a woman would keep hanging off her showerhead or lying innocently by her soap dish. The curved shape of it was sensual and inviting; the pastel color sweet and non-threatening. He held it in his hand, swinging the light-weight item in the air like a tennis racket or a Ping-Pong paddle. Yeah, he liked this one.

He turned to her, with it in his hand. He twirled his finger, aping her earlier move. “Assume the position,” he said with a smirk.

She chuckled low, the throaty sound rumbling through him and making him heat more as he watched her bend. Pip was thin. Almost skinny. If he didn’t spend a good amount of his time watching her eat, he would have been sure she was one of those women who starved herself thin.

Her ass, like her chest, was subtly curved, almost flat really. But, bent over, it was as if she became all ass and long, firm legs. His eyes narrowed on the vee that formed and disappeared beneath the quirky plaid of her dress. It was magnetic, that line, drawing his eyes and attention. As if that became her center. The focus and heart of her. 

He watched as her every move made the short skirt of her dress ride higher, revealing dark, smooth thighs. He held his breath, wondering—hoping—it would show the lower curve of that ass, that elusive meet between her thighs. But her skirt was just long enough to cover it, keeping it barely and tantalizingly concealed. 

His hand gripped the plastic brush handle harder, feeling the round rigidness dig into his palm. He swung back his hand and tapped the back of the brush against her ass.

“You can hit harder with me,” she told him, her forearms flat against the table as she looked over her shoulder. “I can take it.”

He wished he were certain he could. It was a surreal and dissonant experience, striking her like this. Like any decent human being, Phil had been taught from a very young age to never—not under any circumstances—hit a woman. They were sweet and soft and, before now, he’d never touched a female with anything other than tenderness or, at harshest, stern protectiveness.

His palms were sweating as his mind—in his mother’s voice shrill, shocked  voice—scolded him, hurling every insult and admonishment he’d ever thought at him as he imagined himself. In the middle of her kitchen. Bending her over. And hitting her with a hard, plastic brush.

What was he doing?

“Phil?” Pip asked as she looked back at him. “You okay?” she asked.

He shook his head, her voice, worried and concerned—for him—piercing through his thoughts. “Yeah,” he mouthed. He coughed and tried again. “Yeah, I’m good.”

She wanted this. He wanted this. That was what made everything different. Didn’t it?

He looked down at her as she wiggled her ass at him impatiently. His lips quirked up as he watched her flesh sweetly shift.

Harder, huh? He took a deep breath and choked up on the brush. Okay, he could do harder. He swung again. Hitting her other side harder. 

Her ass jumped as she sighed, the sound practically orgasmic. His body tensed as it hit his ears. God. He struck her again, his eyes widening as he listened for that small moan. A man could get used to that sound. Phil wanted to make it louder. Longer. Wanted to feel it along his skin as it slipped soft and sweet from her throat. He paddled her again and again, just as she had with him, but harder. Like she liked.

Her body swiveled, sometimes arching into and sometimes away from his swings, jerking as he played her. It was an insane rush, knowing that she was writhing like this because of him. Practically, coming because of what he was doing to her.

In that moment, he understood. He keenly knew exactly why people did this. Why they defied social norms and logical conventions. To see this. To do this. Yeah, Phil understood.

He bit his lips and twirled the brush in his hand. What would happen if he flipped the brush? He remembered the feel of the bristles against his skin in the store, the strange novelty of the seemingly ordinary act.

He tested it against his palm, scraping it against the pad of his hand. It was sharp, like hundreds of pins scratching but never piercing his skin. Hmm. Interesting.

He grinned widely. Phil trailed the brush over the skirt, the bristles getting caught on the cloth. He frowned. Trying again, he let it slide lower and ran it along the smooth skin of her sleek thighs instead. Better. He grinned when she spread her legs a bit, the brush scratching along the tender flesh of her inner thighs as she shivered and groaned. “Do you like that?” he asked, his voice gritty even to his own ears as he traced the hem of her dress.

“Uh-huh,” she breathed, her head bobbing wildly. “Higher,” she said.

He arched an eyebrow but did as she asked, sliding the brush upward. He swallowed hard as he watched the brush disappear under her skirt, pushing the cloth up a bit with it, revealing that sweet, round curve. He gritted his teeth, wanting to put down the brush and touch that impossibly smooth skin with his hand. But also just wanting to keep touching her like this, just to watch her squirm. He heard her whimper as she pushed insistently into the bristles’ rough caress.

Without warning, he pulled the brush back, flipped it, and struck her again—hard—right across the middle of her smooth, tight ass.


Pip bucked at the blow, her back bowing deeply as the sting flared and spread from her ass and through her entire body. She blinked furiously, her mouth gaping open as heavy breaths puffed through her parted lips.

Damn, he was a fast learner.

She licked dry lips as she turned around, flipping her body so her back pressed against the table’s edge and her hands gripped that edge on either side of her hips. She looked up at him and bit her bottom lip.

That arrogant egghead was laughing at her, so very pleased and amused with himself!

She tsked as her right hand reached back. “Think that’s funny?” she asked, her tone rumbling low as her hand gripped the handle in her hand.

“Well,” he chuckled as he twirled the brush in his hands, staring at the toy with the same pride a warrior gave a favored weapon, “it was certainly fun.”

Pip let out a rumbling laugh. That it was. That is was. “Let’s have more,” she said right before she pounced, pushing hard from the table to grab Phil’s shoulder. She flipped their positions, her hand on his shoulder firm and restraining. With a devilish grin, she thrust her hips up hard against his. Her smile widened to show teeth. “Still having fun?” she asked, pressing her face close to his.

Phil swallowed, coughed, and hesitated as he stared warily at the slotted, metal turner gleaming menacingly in her hands, shifting his hips a bit nervously—his semi-hard dick rubbing against her. “I’m not entirely sure how to answer that.” 

She smiled; boy, did she understand that feeling. She felt his length press into her thigh as she traced the turner’s edge against the side of her thigh and leaned in close to murmur into his ear, “Turn around.” She bit his ear, her smile widening as his breath choked and his hips thrust at her teeth’s sharp close.

She grabbed his shoulder and turned him easily, her hand with the turner gripping his hip so she could keep him locked close, his ass against her middle. She ran her fingernails down his back, making him shiver. “Can you feel it?” she asked him as she let the turner’s edge slide down his hips and up the back of his thigh. “Everything’s heightened. You can feel every touch and brush,” she said as she gently trailed her fingertips up his spine before grabbing the back of his neck and slapping the side of his thighs with the turner.

He jumped, thumping against her even as she pressed into him, keeping him against the table. “Jesus,” he hissed.

She leaned in close to press her lips against his spine. “Your heart is racing,” she whispered, hearing it—feeling it—pound hard in his chest. She felt the deep rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. She closed her eyes and breathed, the warm, almost spicy scent of heated male filling her senses, drinking in all of him. God, he felt good, sounded good, smelled good. She wondered what he tasted like. She tensed her jaw to keep from stretching tall over him and licking—biting—the back of his neck. 

There was something terribly exciting about having this man—always a little reserved, intellectual, a little above it all—aware and aroused beneath her. Maybe this was why people liked playing with kink virgins. Awakening something hidden inside them. Watching the realization wash over them. Pip nuzzled his back, between his shoulder blades. Yeah, there was something illicitly thrilling about knowing that she was pushing his boundaries, expanding his horizons. 

“You’re so hot right now,” she purred as she stroked his back, feeling heat radiate from his body. “Tell me how hot this makes you,” she said. “Tell me how hard you are.” She let the turner’s handle brush against his hard-on.

“Fuck,” he breathed through gritted teeth as his knees buckled a bit.

“Tell me,” she urged as she smacked him again in the thigh. “Say it.”

“Jesus, Pip,” he said, laughing nervously, “really?”

Yeah, really. She wanted the words. She didn’t know why it felt so important, but it did. She wanted to hear him say it. 

She smacked him again, fiercely this time. He jumped as she thrust against him, pressing him further into the table’s edge. “Yes,” she told him forcefully. “Say it.”

“God,” he groaned as he shook his head, his voice still trembling with almost involuntary chuckles. “This is insane.”

She thwacked him again. “Last chance,” she warned, “say it.”

“Or what?” he asked daringly, his head popping up as he scoffed.

Pip tsked and shook her head. He wanted to test her, huh? 

She grinned. 


She leaned back and swung her arm, spanking him hard and fast across his flank. 

He yowled and bucked her off him, his bigger body thrusting her off him. 

Startled, Pip stumbled back a couple of steps, literally thrown. 


For a moment, she wondered if she’d gone too far. Hit him too hard. She had hit him hard—harder than she’d planned to when they’d begun—but she’d thought he could take it. She’d been sure, with the way he writhed and panted beneath her, that he was ready for it. She bit her lip, less sure now.

She looked up when she heard his breathy laughter. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him—his eyes wide as a bewildered, heaving smile split his face. He scrambled around the table, placing it goadingly between them. “You are one crazy lady,” he said, his voice playful. Daring.

She ought to have been offended. Probably would have been, if she couldn’t plainly see the signs of his arousal—the excited light in his eyes, the heated flush on his skin, the now rigid press of his erection against his pants. 

Instead, she stalked to the table, gripping the table to mirror his stance, responding to the challenge sparking in his gray eyes. “Tell me you’re not the exact same kind of crazy,” she dared him back.

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