Friday, May 13, 2016

Playing With My Partners - Part Two

Short Story – 
Part Two
Read Part One Here

Cara flinched again as that sound—still so familiar like a slow-burning ache—cracked through the room again. He was closer now. She could hear that; the sound louder, clearer this time. 

“So, what do you say, babe?” he asked cockily. “You been a bad, little girl, haven’t you?”

She cried out as he smacked the bench—the sound of wood hitting wood triggering her memory. The paddle, she thought, dread and desire snaking through her while the wood vibrated between her legs.

“Yeah,” he purred knowingly, letting the blunted corner run up the slick side of her inner thigh, stopping just short of her wet, needy flesh, “you’re just a dirty, naughty bitch in heat, aren’t you?” He let the smooth, nicked surface slide its entire length along the sensitive skin of her leg, warning her of what was to come. “I know just how to deal with nasty, little girls like you.”

And he did, she knew as she shivered, remembering. 

“Tell me you want this,” he said, his tone gritty and rough. “Tell me how much you deserve this.”

Cara licked her lips, the skin suddenly so dry and tight. The words rang in her ears, as exciting as they were offensive. Exciting because they were offensive. Taboo and titillating. Wrong and somehow just right. “I want this,” she admitted to him—to herself—her voice brittle and cracked.

“What do you want?” He gave the bench another hard hit.

“I’ve been a bad girl.” Her voice was breathy with need now as she squirmed against the agitated wood. “I’m dirty and nasty and deserve to be punished.”

“Punished how?” He grunted, heat and hunger gripping him.

“However you want,” she answered as she forced her body to relax. To acquiesce. To submit. To him. To his will.

“Too fucking right,” he said before he swung back the paddle—the sound cutting through the air like an audible threat—before he struck her.

Cara cried out, her eyes widening behind the blindfold as her gasping mouth opened on an imploring “o.”

Again, she thought even as her body recoiled, trying vainly to both flinch away from and inch into the next blow.

He laughed, the sound mocking and mean. “Look at that ass bounce,” he whooped before slapping it hard with his hand. “And just look at that pretty pussy.” He touched her slick lips, letting his finger dip into her slit before trailing her wetness down her already slippery thighs. “You’re just making a mess of yourself, aren’t you?” He tsked. “You just can’t help yourself, can you, dirty girl?”

“No.” She could feel the sting from her ass and the pulse of her pussy burn, threatening to consume her.

“Yes.” That one word held so much pride and gratification as he gripped her ass in one hand before he hit her other cheek again.

Cara gasped, her breath forced from her lungs, as her whole body jerked against the ropes and her bonds bit into her bent body. “Oh God,” she sputtered, the phrase tumbling out her open mouth. “Please.”

“Please what?” He tangled his hands in her long, thick curls, pulling so she felt the tug—the straining stretch—from her scalp to her tied wrists.

Cara swallowed hard. “Please,” she started, nerves—both excited and anxious—almost stealing her voice. “Please, more.”

He chuckled. “Like I said,” he laughed, “a greedy, horny bitch in heat.” He pulled again, making her grunt against his grip. “Aren’t you? Say it.”

Her pussy convulsed as pain and pleasure pulsed through her. As the power of those words—those words that she would never accept under any other circumstance—poured through her in a dizzying freedom she couldn’t explain. As if here, in this space, she could be that thing she hated. That thing she feared. Without consequence or judgement. A sexual beast without a cage. “I’m a horny bitch,” she said through gritted teeth. “And I need this.” Please.

“Good girl,” he said, patting her butt like an affectionate owner would a pet. “That’s my good baby girl.”

She almost laughed, thinking of Rob before, but she swallowed it. Choked on it as his paddle landed across her ass again. He hit again from a different angle, making her body arch as the stings spread across her sensitive skin. 

He struck again—harder this time, maybe too hard—Cara almost called stop, her safeword half-formed just behind her lips.

But then his hand, calm and caressing, stroked her burning skin. He cupped and rubbed, easing the sting away.

“Had enough,” he asked, her voice a balm, “or do you need more?”

She bit her lip as she closed her eyes. Even blindfolded, the gesture centered her somehow, sent her inside herself. She could feel the skin of her ass tingle, oversensitive and hot from the warm, welcome attention. Her wet cunt was sloppy, sopping with want. With need.

But for what?

She didn’t think she could handle more of the paddle.

“Your hands.” The thought almost a revelation as she opened her sightless eyes. “I need your hands.”

There was a silence, but Cara could almost feel him nod. “Hands it is,” he said. “Same rules apply?” he asked, his tone hopeful, but resigned.

Play but no sex. Cara sighed, forcing her promise—her vows—to the forefront of her mind, and nodded. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked for now. For Rob’s sake, she could make it work.

“All right.” With his own sigh, he let the paddle drop to the tiled floor in a loud clatter that shuddered through her. “All right.” She listened to him step closer to her—the slide of leather and the fall of heavy boots—before he lay one hand on the small of her back and pulled his other back to spank her. 


His hands hit her over and over again relentlessly. His palm slapping her with a startling sting before the heel of his other hand ground hard into her.

Cara cried out, alternately writhing into and away from his hands. Her mind so lost in sensation, she couldn’t think or feel past the torturously tempting touch of his hands.

God, she needed more. Even though the bonds at her wrists and ankles bit, rubbing raw. Even though her ass ached and her bent body longed to uncoil. Still she needed more. More of this. More of something. Anything.

“Goddamn,” he hissed, his hand still hitting her in a driving beat that seemed to race toward a goal, “you’re so fucking wet right now. I’ll bet you’re so fucking tight, aren’t you? I’ll bet you’re just dying for a good rut right now. A good, hard fuck.”

God, yes. She felt her hips thrust in agreement, gyrating in animalistic rhythms. Rooting. Rutting.

He murmured low as he trailed the handle of the paddle along her hip. Over her ass. And between her legs. “I could just slip the tip of this long, hard, thick wood inside you and you’d just swallow it up, wouldn’t you?”

She felt the handle's smooth, round head toy and press against her pussy, pushing with such heady promise against her slippery lips. A flood of relief hit her as she pressed back into the hardness for a moment, before sense and shock stopped her, holding her still in a firmer grasp than the ropes. 

Cara tried to whip her head around to see—a foolish attempt as the ropes held her harshly immobile against the bench even if the blindfold hadn’t already stolen her sight. But still she struggled. This was wrong; it didn’t feel right. She’d promised. She’d sworn. “Wait.”

She felt Rand’s hands—felt his body, the room, the world—freeze. “What’s your color?”

Her safeword.

Was she calling her safeword?

Cara bit her lip. She’d promised Rob that she wouldn’t sleep with Rand, but what did that mean? Her body held tense and her mind scoured the lettering of her word, wondering exactly what a promise made meant. 

What exactly qualified as “sex” anyway?

“You okay?” Rand’s hand caressed her gently, comfortingly. “You need to stop?”

Did she? Was that what she wanted?

God, no. She didn’t want that at all.

But should she anyway?

“Just say the word.”

Sex was her limit. It was what she’d agreed to. But this wasn’t technically sex.


“Talk to me.”

“I’m good.” She said it fast as if the speed could somehow make her feel more sure.

And, oddly, it did. 

The decision was made. The path laid out there. No taking it back now. “I’m good.”

“Yes, you are.” The paddle was back, a seductive pressure against her sex. “So wet,” he murmured as he slid the hard handle up and down too sensitive skin. “So fucking wet, you dirty girl.”

Her teeth sunk deeper, hard enough to almost draw blood, as he toyed with her, rubbing her clit in insistent strokes. She bit back a greedy groan even as her body thrust into it, grinding against the rough touch. Oh God, just a little more and she would come. She knew it.

He slid the wood back, making her almost shriek at the loss, before positioning the paddle’s handle at her hungry hole again. Her body reflexively reacted, heating as it begged for release. “Do you want it?” he asked as he let the tip dip—just a bit—inside her.

She felt herself contract against the hard wood, her body desperate to pull it—anything—deeper.

“Tell me.”

She wanted it. God, she needed it.

“Say it.”

“I want it,” Cara breathed, the words ripped from her throat by need. Her guilt and wavering—only half-started, half-hearted—died as the hardness slipped inside her in one fast, unflinching thrust.

Shocked, she jolted at the quick invasion, her arousal making it embarrassingly easy. For an odd, uncomfortable moment, the image of herself—bound, bottoms-up, with a paddle shoved deep in her pussy—slapped cold and self-conscious across her mind. Again, she tasted the shape of her safeword, her throat and tongue and teeth and lips trying to find the sound in the addictive, sweeping swirl of sensation.

Before she could adjust, her body still reeling, Rand pulled the handle from her—snatched it away, leaving an odd mix of shuddering relief and empty, clenching disappointment—only to shove it back, filling her fully as the hilt hit her pussy in an almost painful press. She moaned as he fucked her, a rough, rash ride that had her wishing the ropes away and nothing—nothing at all—between them. He fucked her mindless, stealing thoughts and worries and doubt from her. The sounds screeching from her lips and tearing out her throat frightening even her. Their need—the frantic frenzy fighting for pleasure—furious and almost offensive in their fevered fervor.

No longer capable of caring what she looked like, Cara raced toward her orgasm—grunting, thrusting, writhing—almost raging against the ropes as she rode the wooden paddle. Yes. Yes. Yes. She was almost there. She pressed harder, pushed further, impaling herself, sure her end was just one good thrust away.

But, just as she touched the crest of her climax, Rand pulled the paddle away, making her scream in agonized need. 

“Bastard.” The word tripped past her lips instinctively, followed by a string of curses she knew better than to let past her now bitten tongue.

He laughed. “You think I’m going to let you come, you horny, little cunt?” His chuckle cut as her pussy pounded and pulsed, infuriating and frustrating her. “Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” he growled, the low rumble tickling her ear, “your smart-ass wants my wood so bad, you can fucking well take it.”

He grabbed her hip, his hard hand digging into her tender flesh as the other gripped his paddle hard as he spanked her, her burning ass firing with each stinging, punishing strike.

Cara screamed as she came, the riotous sensations overwhelming her ravaged body, dragging her crazed and half-mad over the edge.




In again.



Cara shuddered as slowly her eyes opened again to darkness. She shivered, for the first time, feeling the cold of the room. The wood, warm where her body was still held tight to, was hard and cold everywhere else, her stomach half-comforted, half-uncomfortable as it lay limply against the thin bench that dug deep into her tender flesh.

With her senses, she reached out, desperate as an addict to feel something. 

But she was alone. 

All alone. 

There were no sounds. No scents. No signs of someone else in the room with her.

She would have cried, if she’d had the strength to do so. Instead, she crushed her body to the bench, curled as close as her bonds would allow, trying to hold tight to what comfort she could.

Alone, all the thoughts sensation had kept at bay bore down on her, pressing her breathless and gasping against the bench. Oh God. The things they’d done. The things she’d let them—wanted them, begged them to—do to her.

Oh God. She shut her blinded eyes, shutting even that bit of reality out as her head pounded with unbearable realization. She’d been animalistic. Raw. Savage. Even as she panicked, she still felt her cunt clench, a rhythmic recall that counted her sins.

Oh God. Oh God.

A hand, warm and gentle, wiped a tear from her cheek. Cara recoiled instantly.

“Shh,” a voice as familiar and comforting as home soothed, “it’s okay.”


Cara shook as the tears she tried to hold back broke.

“Hang on, baby,” he cooed as his hands hurried with the ropes at her ankles. “It’s okay.”


In a moment, her hands and feet were free, his hands so tender as they rubbed her raw skin, but still she clung to the bench, her face turned away from him.

“Close your eyes,” he told her as his fingers carefully untangled her hair from the blindfold’s knot.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stave the wave of sadness streaming wet and warranted onto the wood. But still the sudden brightness, as the cloth was pulled free, blinded her, making her tearful eyes sting and her heavy head pound.

She heard him sigh, a worried, guilty sound that made her feel terrible. So she tried very hard to hold back her tears, her teeth biting tight to her lip, as she listened to him move. God, she didn’t want Rob to feel guilty. She didn’t want him to feel bad.

So she let him wrap her up his shirt—a cotton-soft button-up well-worn from thousands of washes that smelled clean and nice and good. She let him lift her up off the bench and settle her secure on his lap. She let him rock her sweetly as she buried her head in his shoulder, absorbing his warmth.

She let him because even though she may not deserve it, he did. As much as she needed him—and she did, more than she knew how to say—he needed her more.

So when he kissed her soft and somehow—after seven years together—new, she kissed him back. She tried to give him back all that he gave to her, tried to give him all the things she didn’t know if she had the right to give.

He kissed her tears, his lips soft as they brushed her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

She kissed the words away, thrusting her tongue deep and pressing too close. But Rob didn’t seem to mind—didn’t seem to notice—as he clutched her nearer, holding her safe and sure against him.

He brushed back her hair—once a lovely cloud of stormy curls that now stuck to her sodden face in a mangled mess—and kissed her again. “You are so beautiful.”

She shook her head vehemently, arching away from him. She wished he wouldn’t say that. Not to her. Not about her.

“You,” he told her, his tone insistent and imploring as he cupped her face in his palm, “are so beautiful.” He sighed, sounding helpless. “Sometimes so beautiful it hurts to look at you.”

She peeked up at him, meeting his gaze. She knew what he meant. Sometimes it hurt her—a cold, stony ache deep in her chest—to stare into her own reflection. 

“I love you,” she whispered as she turned into his palm, the words muffled—swallowed—by his skin. “I do.”

His hesitation—the brief, frozen hitch—hurt, lonely as a lifetime before he cuddled her closer. He didn’t say it back to her—he hardly ever did anymore—but he kissed her, speaking silent words as his lips moved over hers heatedly. His tongue licked the shaky seam of her lips, slipping inside to taste her.

Cara gasped as he grasped her around the waist and lowered her down to the floor. Laying her out on the floor, almost reverently displaying her on the tile, Rob spread her hair out around her. He bent her legs, forcing her feet flat as he lowered himself between her raised knees.

Cara helped him shed his pants, the linen dress trousers easing easily down. She felt him hard and ready as her hand drifted over him before he levered back to enter her sweetly.

Her head fell back and an ecstatic cry escaped. This. This is what she needed. His cock was a perfect fit, a relief and a pleasure. Her hands gripped his shoulders and he pumped inside her, not riding her. Not really. Not driving into her. He was taking her with him, leading her in a dance, partnered and practiced. A lifetime of learned, perfected steps.

His lips plucked at her nipples as her hands roamed his shoulders. Her teeth nipped at his neck as his fingers framed her ribs. Her knees clenched around his hips as her climax peaked. Her back arched as he sank deeper inside her.

She came, strong and steady, a moment before he followed her. She held her breath when he wrapped himself around her tight, feeling so right as he held her close. He kissed her temple, his whole body still shaking around her. Cara held him close too, wondering at how vulnerable he felt in her arms.

She kissed his cheek, his nose, his eyes, and his lips. “I love you,” she told him, her voice barely a breath lost in the sound of their racing hearts.

“I love you too,” he whispered, holding her closer, the soft reply loud in the still silence of the room, filling her completely.

They would have to talk. 

There were still words between them left unsaid. 

But, for now, in this moment, they had each other. 

And, for now, in this moment, that was more than enough.

Please check out this triad's start in my story in The Sexy Librarian's anthology that gives a peek into lust & love from the male perspective!
At Audible

See more from Rob & Cara in my story in Sexy Little Pages' anthology that explores the taboo juxtaposition of holy and sensual!

See more from Rand in my novel Show Me, Sir from Sinful Press that celebrates feminist kink!
Catch Rand in my stories in Coming Together's defiant, charity anthology that celebrates diversity and equality in the face of our uncertain future! Erotica is an expression of rebellion. 
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Check out even more from Rand my story in The New Smut Project's anthology and see how consent makes everything sexier!
Please check out my story in this hand-held library of erotica & explore to your libido's content!

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