complete unhappiness. She didn’t want either option, not when she knew they could be so blissfully happy together. They had been that way once, and they could do it again.
“Yes, Justin.”
He cleared away the dinner plates. She watched as he rinsed and loaded them into the dishwasher. When he dried his hands and turned toward her with a dispassionate expression, adrenaline coursed through her veins. This was it; this was the moment for which she’d yearned.
She wetted her lips.
He crossed the room. The muscles of his thighs straining and bunching under the fabric of his jeans caught and held her attention. When he stopped, she stared at the bulge between his thighs. She’d always considered Justin’s dick the ideal size. It filled her mouth and her pussy perfectly. She couldn’t remember the last time it had been in either place. He’d better do something productive with it pretty damn soon.
“Stand.”
She struggled to her feet, clenching her sphincter so she wouldn’t lose the plug. She had grown accustomed to it, and Justin had used a lot of lubricant. Despite her best effort, it nearly slipped out. Oblivious to her struggle—or perhaps ignoring it—Justin captured her lips in a searing kiss, plundering his tongue inside to master her that way.
Trish melted in his embrace, submitting completely. She followed his lead, participating in the kiss enough to reciprocate but not enough to take over.
When the kiss ended, he held her against his heaving chest. She felt like no boundaries existed between them. He twisted his fingers in her hair, tightening to pull lightly. Trish mewed, breaking the spell.
Justin turned her around and pointed her toward the living room area. The entire decor indicated a dungeon. Even her dining chair had contained places where rope or bindings could be attached. With his hand on the small of her back, he guided her to a piece of equipment she knew to be called a St. Andrew’s cross.
The heavy wooden structure featured cuffs attached to eyelets. Justin ran his hands over her skin, caressing from her shoulders to her feet. When his forays led him back up her body, he lifted her right arm and secured the padded leather cuff around her wrist. He tested the tightness by slipping a finger between her wrist and the cuff. Then he did the same thing with her left arm.
“How does that feel, Trish? Tug on them a bit. See if they dig into your wrists too much.”
She tugged as hard as she could. The wide cuffs dug in a bit, depending on how she moved her hands, but she didn’t find it to be unreasonable. “It’s fine, Sir.”
He swept her hair out of the way and planted a string of kisses along her neck and shoulder. A couple of strategic pulls of her hair told her he had put it up in a ponytail, shortening it enough to keep it off her shoulders.
“Widen your stance.”
Trish hesitated. If the plug slipped out, she would be mortified. The sharp sting of a smack on her ass got her moving.
“I owe you two punishments, Trish. You will do what you’re told immediately and without question.”
One for not listening and one for touching herself in the bathtub. She knew the rules. Oasis had sent her a list, and they’d required her to pass three quizzes on them in the past two months. She wondered whether or not Justin had been made to meet the same requirements.
“I’m sorry, Sir.” She spread her legs and prayed the plug stayed put.
Justin ran his hands down the outsides of her legs and up the insides. When he reversed directions again, he secured the cuffs to her ankles. “I’m going to whip your back, Trish. I know you indicated an interest in having your breasts and your pussy whipped, but that’s something we’ll save for when you’re a little more used to being whipped.”
She sagged a bit in relief, transferring a bit of her weight from her feet to the cuffs holding her wrists. The fantasy of being whipped had brought her to a self-induced orgasm many times, but
John B. Garvey, Mary Lou Widmer