3 comments/ 8880 views/ 9 favorites Frayed By: Just_Jezebel "The Rubicons which women must cross, the sex barriers which they must breach, are ultimately those that exist in their own minds" -Freda Alder CHAPTER 4- LESSONS LEARNED "My apologies, Emily, we can't continue like this." The Man said calmly as he turned on his heel and headed for the door. Her face turned the color of fog. Now would be a good time for her to cut her losses; take the out he was offering and run. Fast. That's what a smart female would do. Apparently she was as smart as a rock. Emily jogged up to him, tugging on his sleeve and stepping in front of him, pulling up short as he almost bull dozed her over. "Wait! What did I do wrong?" "'What did I do wrong' she asks?" he scoffed, shaking his head. "You really don't know? You're a smart girl, I'm sure you can figure it out." He glanced at the hand on his arm and plucked his sleeve out of her hold. "Tell me you, bastard, why are you leaving?" She screamed at him and stomped her foot like an errant child having a temper tantrum. Silence. She cocked her head and watched him eat up space with his long legs, pacing between her and the bar... step, step, stroke of the tie... step, step, stroke ... step, step, stroke ... At what seemed to be his hundredth time of the back and forth he abruptly stopped in front of her; his jaw was clinched tight and lips had tightened into a thin line. "This-" The Man fisted the boy shorts snugly sitting on Emily's waist and yanked them up so high that the crotch disappeared into her folds, "-this is the problem." He snarled, pulling the panties higher into her until the material finally gave way and cleaved in two. Those little lacy boy shorts revealed more than they covered. They melded to her heart shaped ass perfectly and hung low on her hips barely covering her pubic bone. Why did she have to be so damned desirable? She tempted him in a way no other woman had and not being in control of his feelings was not an option. He didn't know what pissed him off more: The fact that she wore them or the fact that he hated his reaction to her wearing them. "I gave you a simple request. Do not wear undergarments." He dangled the expensive rags in front of her. "You couldn't execute even the simplest of instructions." His voice was impossibly cold and the look in his eyes could have frozen the sun. "I thought we had an understanding. I was mistaken. You're free to stay in the room and make use of all the restaurants and shops in the hotel; just give them this suite number. The plane will take you home tomorrow; my attorney will contact you with the details." He dropped the panties on the floor at his feet and continued en route to the door. She shook her head and her heart was pounding loudly in her ears. "Wait! I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." She pleaded, sliding in front of him again and put both of her hands on his shoulders. It was like trying to stop a tank. Emily knew she shouldn't have worn the panties so it shouldn't have come as such a surprise to her that he was angry. This was a man, who commanded respect with just a look; one who had a cool confidence and a don't-fuck-with-me attitude. Since their last encounter, in the Mediterranean, Emily hadn't been the same. Her lover had unlocked her Pandora's Box of inhibitions and released some of her inner demons, now the rest were desperate to join in the escape. Since then her husband had increasingly become concerned for her well-being. It disturbed him that she was growing more and more distant. He loved his wife and wanted her back, though it might already be too late. The Man's attorney/ bodyguard picked up the phone call on the first ring as if expecting it. Two phone calls later the travel arrangements were finalized. She was told not to bother packing anything; any items she needed would be provided to her on her arrival. In that apathetic voice of his the attorney also stressed that she shouldn't wear any undergarments. The request caught her off guard but didn't surprise her. Once the plane landed in Vegas she was promptly taken to her hotel. She thought she'd have time to freshen up before she met up with The Man; she hadn't expected him to be waiting for her inside her room- big mistake. Then again, it was her my-bad to have assumed she'd have a room to herself. She was, after all, there to share her body with him. The room was beyond anything she could have ever imagined. The posh ten thousand square foot suite came with a personal concierge, private kitchen with chef, billiard table, fireplace, and an incredible view of the city. The Man palmed Emily's shaved sex and squeezed hard. Juices oozed out of the folds and trickled on to his hand; she had been wet since she boarded the plane. Pain blossomed between her legs, her hips pushed forward into his hand trying to relive some of the pressure but it only increased as he dug is fingers in more and tugged the heavy mound forward. He looked deep into her eyes as if he were searching for something. "You will not get another chance. Do you understand?" She sagged. "God, yes. I'm-" "Do not speak." He growled in warning. She pursued her lip. Yep... zipped up nice and tight. The Man towered over Emily and herded her back, like an unleashed predator, until her back was flush with the massive sliding glass doors that overlooked the glistening infinity pool adjacent to their accommodations. Placing a paw of a hand on one side of her head and the other at her side; the sheer size of him boxed her in. The nearness of him practically made her dizzy. Wavering as if she had had one too many cocktails she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. He smelt mouthwatering. The intoxicating smell was not from cologne but the fresh-out-of-the-shower smell from shampoos and soaps; earthy with a tinge of a spice that instantly soothed her. There was a slight hint of mint on his breath as it feathered across her cheek. An unbridled sexuality oozed out of him like he was born to please. Growling, he cupped both sides of her jaw; his thumbs under her chin to keep it tilted up and locked in place. The chastising kiss had nothing to do with the fact that he had thought of her to the point of distraction. Nope. Nothing. At. all. He put every bit of his irritation into the mouth-to-mouth action: Nipping at her tongue and lips, his tongue darting in and out from the sword play. He kept up with the punishment until her lips were kiss swollen, her body pliant, and she moaning softly into his mouth. The Man's fingers lightly wrapped around her throat, her carotid artery thumped heavily under his fingers. He melded his big body to hers so tightly that the simple of task of her breathing had become arduous. Then, when their breath finally synced up, it was as if he was breathing for the both of them. "You will do what I ask of you when I ask it." His upper lip curled into a feral snarl. "If I tell you to fuck another woman, you will do it. If I tell you to take your clothes off for strangers, you will do it. And, if I tell you not to wear panties, you will not wear panties." He paused for a long moment, "Nod if you understand." Dropping her eyes she gave him a pitchers nod - and thank God for that. He would have ended up spending the whole day disciplining her with his cock if those incredible green eyes of hers had even so much as glanced at him. And as much as that idea appealed to him he did have obligations that needed tending too. He put his forehead to hers, "Thank fuck." He said on low exhale. The tension melted out of his face making him look ten years younger. His body let out shutter, like a car finally kicking into gear. She probably hadn't even realized that her hands were resting on his hips. But he damn sure did. Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces and he was acutely aware of where every inch of her body touched his. How her breasts were flush to his chest; how her thighs were tangled with his; how his chin could easily rest on the top of her head. Clearing his throat he took a step back and ran his hands down his immaculate tie as if ironing out imaginary wrinkles. "As much as I enjoy watching those luscious tits of yours make Mickey's ears move in that tight little t-shirt of yours-"he winked playfully and flashed rows of straight white teeth, "- I don't think it's appropriate for dinner tonight so I have a few trinkets coming for you." Emily blinked once...twice... three times... Did he just make a joke? Holy shit! Charles Alexander actually made a joke. She felt like a freaking idiot as a smile the size of the Grand Canyon split her face. If she thought he was attractive before she was wrong; the eye action had her melting like ice cream on a hot summer day. But how could she not? The knowing smirk on his face was devastatingly handsome and a promise of things to come. "Now, I have to leave for a bit to tend to some work matters." Work, yeah, he had work to do; that was why he was in Vegas for after all. Before he headed back to the daily grind he had to hit the gym and work off some of his frustration. There were only two things that kept him level... fighting and fucking. And when doing multi-million dollar business transactions one needed to make sure their bubble was dead center. "Pick out your favorites," his blue marbles wondered over her body as if imagining her some of the items. "And wear only those items." He said with a level gaze as if to say do-not-test-me-again. Noted. Charles's warm up had been a nice leisurely ten mile run on the treadmill with the incline jacked to the top and a speed to match. How he was able to run was beyond him. His cock was like solid iron in the flimsy b-ball shorts and he hoped like hell no one noticed. He refused to allow himself to lose control around Emily. But the sight of her in that adorable old school Mickey Mouse t-shirt, and the beautiful way she blushed, practically had him between her thighs tongue fucking her until her honey coated his face and she was screaming for the mercy. And Christ, the way she looked in those panties. He had hardened instantly and almost regretted ripping them to shreds. Almost. He always prided himself on being firm but fair. In the scheme of infractions her little panty episode was a minor act of defiance. She was testing him, as she should. He would have been surprised if she hadn't tested the waters, maybe even a little disappointed if she hadn't. She wanted someone who would take her to the edge, push her sexual boundaries beyond what she thought capable of and not back down. However, earning a woman's submission is a whole other story, true submission isn't just given, it's earned and he had a long way to go before he earned hers. Maybe he was just reading too much into her misstep. It could have been as simple as her thinking he would just enjoy seeing her in those distractedly tight panties, which of course he did. But that wasn't the point was it. Ignoring the screaming muscles in his thighs and the burning in his lungs he cranked the fucker higher. This wasn't the first time he had to walk away from her either- just the first she'd known about it. The first was a few months back at the other hotel. He had left her to her husband and spent the next hour pacing like a caged animal and cursing, in eight different languages, all the while trying to get his erection in check. He spent the full sixty minutes thinking of: cold showers, granny panties, and anything else he found distasteful to make his cock deflate. It didn't work then and it wasn't working now. Apparently, his cock had reverted back to puberty mode with no intention of listening to reason. But, Christ, the way her body responded to him. He shivered at the thought. She had been hot and slick and ready for him the whole time; her body just begging to be fucked, and when she passed out after her orgasm... nothing but smug male satisfaction. As soon as he felt his muscles starting to give out, and not wanting to deal with the humiliation of face planting on the damn thing, he stopped the treadmill and hopped off. Now that he was warmed up; let the real workout begin. Charles headed to the MMA octagon; taking his gear with him. Ducking into the cage he dropped everything but the hand wraps, and quickly mummified his hands and wrists. Padded knuckle gloves next. All standard issued stuff. Mouth guard, yep, not planning on having any dental work done tonight. Open faced headgear, only because he still had business in Vegas to attend to and having a busted up face wasn't exactly professional; not that he gave a shit. Maybe I shouldn't wear any headgear at all; might get some sense knocked into me. Charles popped in his Everlast mouth guard and bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. Nodding to his opponent, the fighter across from him inclining his head back, they both stepped forward and pounded knuckles. Translation: I want a real ground and pound; balls to the walls kind of fight so don't hold anything back- not that Steve ever did. As a professional MMA fighter, with several titles under his belt, Steve always went full tilt and that's why Charles loved the guy. A sharp jab to the face made pain explode across Charles's cheek and he saw stars. Fuuuck that feels good! ******* An overwhelming suffocating feeling slammed into Emily making her lungs seize up. Where did all the air in the room go? Was it possible to feel claustrophobic in a hotel room that was the size of the White House? Apparently so- because Emily's chest tightened, legs turned all wet noodle, and she slid down the doors until her butt hit the high gloss wood. She scrubbed her face with her hands. Charles was so much more than she remembered: More handsome; more intense; more... intimidating. She could have said no to the reunion-should have said no- and told the limo driver to turn the big boat around and take her back to her husband. And, Christ... the look on her husband's face when she drove off was gut-wrenching. He just stared at the limo trying to pull a Yoda and make the thing stop. She didn't have to get on the plane or walk through the door of the hotel room either. But she did. When the bolt on the hotel door latched into place she felt her commitment to Charles lock in place too. She knocked the back of her skull against the wall a couple of times. "Like getting a concussion is really gonna help." She muttered to herself rubbing the back of her head. She rubbed her sweaty palms on her shirt...Ok... Ok... Think of something else. Dinner. Dinner was a safe topic. Where would they go? He'd probably take her to some fancy-schmancy five star restaurant that would have fourteen courses- all the size of a quarter. And considering the mood she was in it would all taste like cardboard. A volley of knocks on the door pulled her out of her thoughts. When she didn't answer right away another series came at her...and a third. The pounding was so not helping her headache. She cleared her throat and swiped her fingers under her eyes collecting the wetness. "One moment!" Bracing her arms against the wall she pushed herself up. Her ass was numb from being perched on the highly polished wood. How long had she been sitting there; ten minutes... an hour... days... hell if she knew. And where were her jeans? She very well couldn't answer the door with her ass hanging out. Looking around she finally found them. How did they get to the top of the steps? A few trinkets my ass Emily thought as she eyed the thousands of dollars' worth of designer duds, and the accouterments that accompanied them, that were neatly hanging from several massive rolling racks. It had taken hours for Emily to complete the evening's ensemble, hair and makeup done, waxing, tweezing, buffed and polished, but it had been sooo worth it. The body hugging little black Versace dress she had been ogling in the store fit her perfectly. And the strappy two thousand dollar Jimmy Choo shoes just happened to be her size. Imagine that. She fingered the pearl tassel style earrings hanging from her ears; Tiffany of course. The matching bracelet had ten rows for perfectly shaped pearls set off by a sterling silver clasp. Simple. Elegant. Beautiful. She had barely glanced at them or any of the objects as her and the bodyguard/attorney walked through the concourse of the hotel. How could Charles have known she'd like them, or was he just guessing? Her husband would have never been astute enough to buy the ensemble for her, even if he could have afforded the ten thousand dollar price tag. Her husband always used the excuse that 'he didn't know what she'd liked'. But really, after ten years of marriage he still hadn't figured it out? She had simple elegant taste; all he had to do was pay attention. Maybe rummage through her jewelry box or check out the accessories she was wearing at the moment. Or hey, here's a novel idea: ask her. She didn't know when Charles would be home but one did not want to keep a man like Charles Alexander waiting. Putting one foot in front of the other she hit the stairs to start her descent. She just hoped like hell she'd survive the crash. Charles was at the well-stocked bar pouring himself a glass of Dalmor when a bottle of Modori caught his eye. The gleaming color was the same as her eyes but she, by far, tasted sweeter than the liquor did. The sharp clip of her Jimmy's had him swiveling his head like an owl. He nodded in approval and set the untouched drink down. "Stunning." She was positively glowing in the 1950's inspired black dress that was just the right balance between sexy and elegant and suited her well. The halter-top style molded to her breasts making them look fuller and higher; the skirt was tea length showing off just enough of her toned legs but not so short as to be slutty; and the back was nonexistent. Taking the hand that was offered she stepped off the last step; her sky high heels clipping loudly on the smooth floor. "I'm glad you like," she answered with a coy smile. "You don't look half bad yourself." Charles looked better than any male model on a runway; breeding and sophistication bleeding out of him. The dove grey two button down Prada suite coat made his shoulders look even wider and slim fit pants taller than his six-three. A tie, slightly darker than the suit, was sandwiched between a light grey mesh vest and crisp white shirt; belt and boots by Ferragamo. Accessories: conservative Rolex wrist watch coming in at a cool five thousand. No Jacob the Jeweler bling for him; men like Charles Alexander didn't need all that sparkle to make a statement. He leaned in and kissed each cheek, European style, then did a three-sixty around her. Fucking Beautiful. He stopped at her back and couldn't resist the impulse to run a finger from nape to hip. His mouth lifted at the corners when he found a particularly ticklish spot and goose flesh dimpled her back. He his arms cinched around her waist and drew her close. "I'm supposed to be ogling you, not the other way around." He said on a warm chuckle. He dipped his head down in the crook of her neck expecting to smell one of the expensive perfumes he picked for her but instead he got a nose full of something sweet and fruity. Delicious. "You didn't like the perfume?" She shuddered when his warm breath breezed across her neck. "Um...no... I prefer something a bit more natural smelling. I hope that was ok. If you don't like it I'll wear the Chanel next time." He inhaled again, skimming the tip of his nose up and down the hollow of her neck. "I like it. In fact I think you should wear it all the time." He said smiling into her shoulder and giving it a little nip. She had no idea how he'd react to her wearing something he didn't pick out. But the fact that there were fifteen fragrances to choose was quite a tell. In fact, he seemed pleased she had chosen her own. So pleased, in fact, that she felt his erection against the small of her back. Frayed End of Space Pt. 01 A short story Trilogy by Ashley Stout "Haven't you heard of the space gypsies? Blue aliens, man. Blue like the genies from old pop culture. We call them Jinsie. Jinn is the name of an Arabic devil or some crap, I think. Right. And they're totally blue. I mentioned that, didn't I? Blue as deep ocean. Blue as fucking...what's blue? Sapphires." He snorted. "That kind of blue. And alien as fucking E.T." "E.T. was an alien, dipshit." "Hey, fuckhole. Fuck off." "Sterling retort, Jeeves." "Can I tell a story to the rookie or what? Huh? Can I tell a goddamn story or fucking what? Shit." "Go for it. Preach the boogeyman to the runt and see if you don't make a complete asshole of yourself. Can I get another beer over here? Or two. You want one, rookie? You'll need it by the time Jeeves is done talking at ya." "Screw you, Tat. And you better buy me a beer, too." "Fine. Three beers." "Alright, as I was saying: these Jinsie, they haven't got any more of their females. The girls are completely extinct because once upon a time, the Jinsie dudes figured out how to wire the genetics so more males were born. You know how the Purple Death on planet Earth killed off a quarter of the human population and scientists tried to fix it with test tubes, but all the manmade children were sterile, and things got even more fucked up? Well, Jinsie soldiers needed more warriors to fill their armies, you see, because they were busy conquering a universe and that requires able bodies, so they went ahead and engineered some that were born twice as fast without the assistance of a womb. Don't ask me how. But the artificially created males only produced male offspring. So the Jinsie have a hoard of armies having nothing but more male babies, and generations have passed with only a handful of Jinsie females born. The unfortunate gals are auctioned off to the highest Jinsie bidder for when they come of age. Never saw one myself but I heard they're goddamn hot, with like, extra tits and a tongue the size of my forearm. Anyway, so these Jinsie, they're flying around a universe, conquering shit, which gets the testosterone flowing, you know, but there's no women for them to fuck. They don't crave earth women, not the natural sex way, because pussy juices are all wrong." "Juices?" "Yeah. A Jinsie cunt juice is acidic and that's what gets a Jinsie cock off. Can't cum without the acid. And women, human women, they haven't got the acidic cunts. Well, I met a few women with pussies I could have sworn could burn a whole through the hull but that's another—" "Christ, dude, get on with it!" "Anyways, after desperately fiddling around with corpses of some humans, the Jinsie figure out that they can, actually, find a way to cum in them. Stomach acid, you see, it's good for getting them off. But they don't go in through the belly, no, like any healthy male they appreciate the tightness of constriction. They fuck through the faces, and their dicks are so long that it hits the stomach acid, and the vomit and spit all gets them going. Because their dicks are so big and stuff, they actually suffocate the person while they're fucking them. They love to skull fuck captives, man. Fuck 'em to death. And they don't care if it's male or female they're wetting their dick into. Oh, no. Stomach's all the same to them." "Moral of the story is don't get caught." "Or keep your mouth shut if you do, hahaha." "You're filth, you know that, Jeeves?" "Fuck you, Tat." "Look, rookie, this is nothing to worry about. Most Jinsie don't leave survivors around for the sake of fucking. They're an aggressive breed and tend to get carried away and murder just about everything they come across. Strong as rabid oxen. Most likely, if you meet one you'll be dead soon and they can't make use of you." "How do you know? How do you know they don't fuck the dead, too? Desperate times being what they are and all." "Jesus, Jeeves!" "Happened to China, y'know." "Wha?" "Yeah, two centuries ago, they ran out of women. Remember, Tat? Largest army on the planet and barely a tit to spare. Forty guys would fight to the death over one squaw." "You're getting cultures mixed up." "Point is: the bastards are already extinct, they just aren't dead yet. And that can make a creature fucking cruel and goddamn fearless. Unfortunately, their planet went to shit the same as ours. Nothing but scrap left or so I hear. So we're out here looking to colonize, but they're just looking for a thrill, killin' time until they die." "You should show a little respect, Jeeves. We're not that far away from that, y'know. How many earthlings do you think are left? Everyone knows the planet is done for. Nothing more than busted rock orbiting a dying star." "Way to be a downer, asshole." "Anyway, rookie: watch your back when you're out there in the great black universe." * * * Aiden, otherwise known as rookie, was one lucky bastard. Always had been. Thought he always would be. Shit just fell into place for him. Stars aligned. Fate smiled. Luck was a lady. He'd come to depend on it, sure, but it wasn't all luck. He was an amazing fighter pilot. Best in the academy. Top notch in battle, never freezing or flipping his lid when there was work to be done. His body was an embarrassingly perfect specimen of the typical golden Adonis. The shimmering curls on his head and the tight definition of evenly distributed muscle inspired the lust of passersby, regardless of their sexual inclinations. People wanted to touch him, take his photograph, catch his eye, watch him smile and generally bask in the glory of his beauty. Oddly enough, this never became annoying or tiresome for him. In his off time, Aiden liked to do what any hot-blooded Earther loved to do: drink and fuck. On account of the military's persistent refusal to endanger women personnel by sending them into the dangerous sectors of space, most of the fucking occurred with equally desperate and horny male soldiers. Therefore, it was no surprise that after plying Aiden with a few disgusting, potent beers, the flight sergeant, Tat, made a move. Tat had a few years on Aiden, and a few pounds, but the extra muscle was all located throughout his shoulders and flanks. When Tat pushed Aiden up against the brick wall in a dark alley and seized his jacket, Aiden drunkenly reveled in the strength and combat experience of the thick man. They didn't kiss because neither of them was truly gay, but they both craved release. Tat yanked the waistband of Aiden's pants, found the clasp, and jerked the flaps open. His meaty hands reached in and grabbed Aiden's cock, which was drink-heavy and slow to join the merriment. Tat shoved Aiden's hips hard against the wall and dropped to his knees. In an instant, his hot mouth gobbled up Aiden's cock: head and shaft, all the way down to his sack. "Nnnnn, yeah," Aiden purred. His dick stirred inside Tat's insistent mouth. Tat dug his hands into Aiden's hips and slammed him harder against the wall. Since Aiden liked it rough, the brutal shove sent another surge to the head of his prick. He bumped his groin roughly against Tat's lips. The wet heat ate him up. Tat rolled his tongue over the satin-wrapped crown, pushing back the foreskin and curling against the hyper-sensitive tip. Aiden bucked his hips before he was shoved back against the wall. Teeth scraped abrasively over his hard length, driving frissons through his entire body. He arched off the wall, jamming his cock into Tat's mouth. Tat slammed him back. One thing Aiden liked about Tat: the man wasn't too concerned about keeping teeth out of the equation, and Aiden liked that additional brutality. So when he thrust even harder, Tat scraped his teeth against the underside of his swelling dick. Tat grabbed the base of Aiden's cock and squeezed it so hard it might pop. "Fuck!" he said, jerking. Tat eased up and worked his hand up and down over the shaft that didn't fit easily into his mouth. With his tongue working the tip and his hand working the base, Tat had that business covered in a sexy, slurpy game of tug-of-war. His superior officer reached down and pulled out his own dick, stroking it to the same rhythm he played on Aiden's shaft. Hearing a sound, Aiden looked up and saw Jeeves leaning against the wall a few paces away, his longer black hair blowing in the breeze as he enjoyed the show. He didn't say a word, and Aiden didn't know if Tat even knew he was there. Jeeves, whipcord slender, reached into his pants and pulled out a cock with surprising girth to make up for its lack of length. He squeezed the head of his stumpy dick, pinching the tip. He wet his finger in his mouth and rubbed the fingertip over the sensitive cleft on his prick. Bucking his hips, Jeeves bit his lower lip and suppressed a groan. Knowing that Jeeves watched while playing with himself made the scene hotter, and Aiden's body rolled with wicked pleasure. Tat removed his hands from Aiden so he could play with his swelling cock and finger his ass at the same time. Aiden took advantage of the new freedom by thrusting deeper into Tat's mouth, jamming his cock all the way against the back of the man's throat. "Ah, yeah," he grunted. He screwed his eyes shut and enjoyed the fantastic sensations of wet, syrupy juice sliding over his dick. He pushed fully into the waiting mouth, working all the way up to the hilt, until he bumped the back of Tat's throat. Tat groaned and the sound vibrated down Aiden's prick, all the way to his balls. He threw back his head and moaned. When he withdrew, Tat's spit met the air and chilled his cock, so Aiden eagerly punched his dick back into the boiling heat of the man's mouth. Grunting, Tat worked more furiously at his own dick. From the corner of his eye, Aiden could see Jeeves madly fisting his dick, poking at the tip and pumping the air with quick, frantic jolts. He bit his lip and tipped back his head as his thick milk oozed from his prick. Panting, Aiden rocked back and forth, stuffing Tat's face with as much of his eager meat as he could. He rolled his head back and forth on the brick wall, feeling the cold, unforgiving face of it as the most delicious shivers clenched his abdomen. He scrunched his eyes shut and imagined his cock as a huge, massive blue rod reaching all the way down inside Tat, filling his mouth, his throat, and touching the inside of his stomach. The fantasy left him shouting, shuddering, and fucking Tat's face with abandon. He looked down and saw Tat's hand working behind him as he plunged his finger into his own ass over and over, faster than Aiden could fuck him. Aiden's grip slipped in the man's sweaty hair, so he clenched the back of Tat's skull with an unrelenting determination. Aiden rolled his hips and crammed as much of his cock as possible into the man's face, over and over, smacking his balls against Tat's wet chin, listening to the sloppy sounds and the panting, desperate sound of their breath. Tat's throat convulsed over the tip of his dick, clenching it as he gagged. "Oh, fuck, yeah," Aiden grunted, then he threw back his head. Blood roared between his ears and bellowed as he dumped his hot load deep inside Tat's throat. Shuddering, he embraced the brick wall and tried not to fall over. Tat pumped his hand over his pulsing dick and thrust his finger into his eager ass, suckled Aiden's shuddering cock and drank his cum. While Aiden panted for air, Tat moaned and shot off, splashing his spunk over the ground. Grunting, they all put themselves back into their pants and walked panting back to the barracks. Morning brought artificial light and new dispatches. Aiden stretched, rubbed his morning wood, and thought about how wonderful it was to have such discrete, skilled friends at his sexual disposal. They had a good thing here, and Aiden was especially cheerful after the satisfying sex and the news that he'd lead his own exploratory squad further into the uncharted sector. Was he a lucky bastard or what? When his station came across a pale purple ship with odd tentacle protrusions and no visible thrusters, he thought: no big deal. All sorts of debris floated around space. Sure, some of it was even sentient and hostile, but so what? He couldn't expect everyone to play nice, and this ship certainly wasn't. An all-out battle ensued. When Aiden's fighter pod blew its last engine and fired its last errant missile and the shuttle ejected, he thought, maybe, this wasn't so lucky. He got to thinking about the stories and thought maybe he didn't want to survive a battle with the odd, plump war ship. Conflicting impulse, to say the least. He wanted to live, of course, who doesn't? But he sure didn't want to get caught alive. The brilliant deep purple of the warship's exterior reflected like a bright jungle beetle. It spotted his little skiff of a ship trying to escape. Guns rotated and blasting ensued, knocking pieces off the hull that drifted through space like dandelion fluff on the wind. He was going to die. At least he didn't have to worry about being captured by the boogeyman. The light, as it flared the last bit of thought from his consciousness, was blue. Frayed Flexing his hands The Man's fingers itched as if they remembered what her breasts felt like and they were eager to get another chance at them. He wormed them into the sides of her dress and around her rib cage until they found what they were looking for. Groaning, he embraced her massive unencumbered globes giving them a good squeeze as if weighing them. Her breasts immediately felt fuller and heavier as he kneaded the flesh like a kid playing with Play Dough. Her body was responded beautifully. Her breathing got getting faster and she was leaning heavily into him. He thumbed at her nipples until the tips puckered into tight peaks. Keeping her on the edge he alternated the pressure between too hard and not hard enough. She was arching into his palms and panting in his ear. His arm climbed up and coiled around her chest; locking her in place. He wanted her good and tight when he slipped his hand under her dress. "Let's find out if you can follow directions after all." He prayed like hell she had followed his orders and not slipped up. The hem of her dress sat on his wrist as he brought his hand up her thigh, the fine silk of the Agent Provocateur stockings felt almost fluid under his fingers, the champagne color with black seams a perfect complement to the dress, until he got to her core. He casually patted the uncovered shaved mound in his hand and she jumped as if his touch was electric. "Good girl. How does it feel not to be wearing any panties, hum? Knowing that any moment I could bend you over and fuck you were you stand." Her spine went stiff as if it was reinforced with steel. Shit... he was losing her already. "Don't think-" his voice smooth and silky, "-just feel." Her mind screamed to stop. Desperately she clawed at his forearm trying to pry off his vice like grip from around her chest. Her chest heaved as she struggled; her breath getting erratic. Can't breathe... going... to... hyperventilate... The Man anchored Emily tighter to his chest, his grip never wavering as she rode out whatever demons she was facing. "Easy, Emily. Just breathe. You have permission to enjoy this." He murmured in her ear. She took solace in his strengthen and sucked in a shuttered breath. With a big FU to her brain she put on her big girl panties and stamped down all her insecurities. All those dark voices in her head telling her that her belly was a bit to round or her ass was starting to resemble Kim K's. Most importantly she told herself that it was ok for her to give up control and enjoy the experience. This handsome intelligent man could have any woman he wanted and he wanted her. The telephone pole sized erection digging into the small of her back was proof of that. Charles felt her body start to soften. "That's right... deep breaths, baby. Just relax." Her legs slowly split. "Good girl." He said nodding against her neck. She was strong, so much stronger than she knew. He felt like a total bastard though. She had just faced down some serious inner demons and all he could think of getting inside of her. What. An. Asshole. But if she didn't want to be pushed she'd be at home with her husband right now. He wasn't here to play nice. His fingers found purchase. "Christ, you are so fucking wet. Do you know what I'm going to do to you when we get back from dinner?" She nodded like a bobble head; felt like one too. Like her body was firmly planted but her head was off in space somewhere. He smirked, and it wasn't pretty. "I'm going to strip you naked, except for the garters and hose, and then I'm going to tie your hands above your head to my bed." She shuddered in his arms. Good response. "Ask me what I'm going to do next. Say, 'Charles, what are you going to do next?'" Her mouth went Sahara dry and her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. She could probably drink the whole Lake Michigan and it still wouldn't be enough water. "W-What are you going to do next?" she whispered. He tweaked her nipple roughly and she let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. "Say it again, just like I said." Fluids rushed to her core and her belly tightened. She cleared her throat. "Charles, what are you going to do next?" "Good girl." He rewarded her with a kiss to the neck and releasing the pressure he had on her tip. She moaned when the blood came rushing back to the sensitive nub. "Then I'm going to run my tongue up your thighs to your sweet spot riiiiiight-"he punctuated the word by circling his finger on her swollen button,"-here." "Oh, God." She groaned. He legs unconsciously scissored. Her pussy pulsed, it was so slick and sensitive that even the tiniest of movements wanted to make her moan. She teetered on her Jimmy Choo's as her knees turned wet noodle and gave out from under her. The only thing preventing her from kissing the floor was the steel armed grip across her chest. He chuckled lightly in her ear as if he knew what she was thinking. "Ask me what I'll do next." "What will you do next?" she asked without hesitation. "I'm going to tongue fuck you until your honey is coating my face and I'm soaked in your juices. Until you're screaming for mercy, which I can assure you, you will not get-"he nuzzled her neck and bit down hard, "Until I'm bored with it- which will never happen." He laughed evilly. "Fuuuuuk." "Yep"- He licked his fingers clean savoring the honeyed taste of her- "That just about covers it." ******* "Stop fidgeting." Had she been fidgeting? Emily glanced down at the cloth napkin in her hand that had miraculously transformed into some origami masterpiece. Guess she was. "Are you nervous?" Yes. "No." He arched a knowing brow but didn't press. "I-"Mercifully, the waiter took that exact moment to step and ask for their order. "Ma'am, may I take your order?" the twenty-something guy in the penguin suit asked; pen and paper ready as if what she had to say would change mankind as we know it. "I'll have whatever he's having." She answered with absolutely no enthusiasm and no idea what Charles was going to order. Blanching, she immediately regretted that decision. He had ordered the sixteen ounce filet, medium rare of course, with glazed root vegetables and potato puree, along with several appetizers and dessert; too rich for her blood. She'd never be able to eat all the food: did someone say doggy bag? And with the case of the nerves she was having all that food probably wouldn't sit well anyway. Charles turned to the waiter, "Can you please give us a moment?" "Of course, Mr. Alexander." The waiter said with a quick nod of the head before getting with the program. "You don't want the filet, do you?" She shook her head, "No, not really." She admitted. "They why did you order it?" "I thought that you'd want me to have the same as you." He hooked his finger and lifted her chin so they were eye to eye and there would be no mistaking the point he was about to make. "It's important that you understand something," he said firmly but gently. "I don't want you to be a "yes man" around me. I don't surround myself with those kinds of people... they bore me. If I ask you for your opinion it's because I want it. I already know what I think; I want to know what you think. I expect nothing less than complete honesty from you even if you think I might not like the answer. Do you understand?" Green eyes just blinked in astonishment and she nodded slowly. "Say the words. I need to know you understand." He coaxed. "I understand." She whispered. "One more thing- My top priority is you; your safety and well-being, and I will do whatever is necessary to ensure that. That includes dropping anyone who has the balls to look at you like our fucking waiter did." He said the word "waiter" the same way you would say dog shit. Had the waiter been looking at her? She hadn't noticed. But then, the place could have been on fire and she wouldn't have smelt smoke. The idea that he'd throw-down for her did make her go all girly inside. There was something to be said about the whole me-Tarzan-you-Jane mentality. She liked the idea of being cherished; that she didn't have to pretend to be strong and just "take care of it" herself. "This is about your pleasure and the satisfaction I find in helping you find yours. It's quite self-indulgent really. I do want to make one thing crystal clear- "he paused for a heartbeat, "I will push you beyond what you think are your limits. I will take you to the edge over and over and when you do fall... I will be there to catch you." The Man let that bit of intel sink in a good long moment before waiving the waiter over to take their orders again; ladies first of course. Charles nodded his approval at her choice of entree and ordered the same. And wouldn't you know it; fly-boy with a man-bun had their cuisine to them in record time. Practically doing a Homer Simpson Emily let out a heavenly groan and had to remember her manners as she downed the rich buttery Ora King Salmon. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until she started eating. Maybe that was why her emotions were all over the place. Going without food all day could do that to a body. Charles chuckled lightly and watched as her eyes practically roll to the back of her head as she took a bite of the creamy polenta. "Good?" "I've never had anything so exquisite in my life. I can't imagine what dessert is going to taste like." "Nowhere near as good as you do I'd wager." He said with a wink. And, as if on cue, the blushing got its groove on starting at her collar bone and spreading to her cheeks. Nice. Her eyes lowered and she bit her bottom lip. She resisted the urge to fan her face by clearing her throat. "By the way, how did you know what size dress I wore?" A self-satisfied look was plastered all over his puss. "I know a lot of things about you." He said offhandedly. "Yeah? What do you think you know about me?" she asked with a playful wag of her eyebrows. "Well, for starters, you are an amazing artist. You paint with the kind of passion I've never seen before. It's a shame you haven't had an exhibition yet." Her fork stopped halfway to her mouth and he watched the playfulness drained from her face but continued on, "Your ass looks amazing in yoga pants when you do palates, and-" he leaned in slightly and smirked, "-I approve of the erotic book of fairy tales sitting next to your bed. Goldie Locks is such a slut." Her mouth opened and closed like a fish. "Wha... how do you know all that?" He shrugged elegantly, "I had you followed. And of course there's social media. We really do need to talk about improving your security settings. "He said unapologetically. Her eyebrows slammed down and her lips thinned. She clutched the linens in her hand until her knuckles turned white. If someone gave her a loaded gun and a "Get out of jail free card" she could have easily pulled the trigger. "Of course you did. What are you? Some kind of fucking..." the word stalker left hanging. His nostrils flared. "Why are you so surprised?" he asked through clinched teeth, slapping his untouched glass of scotch on the table hard enough to make some of the Amber liquid slosh out. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't check you out? When you walked through those hotel doors you consented to be being mine. You intrigue me. I want to know everything about you: What makes you tick, what makes you laugh-" His voice dropped an octave to a slow seductive drawl. "-what makes you... wet" A shiver traveled down her spine and went straight to her core. Damn him. How did he do that to her? She wanted to be appalled; should be appalled. She should be throwing her drink in his face and causing a scene. Instead she was more turned on than ever. Wetness had pooled at her core and she was unconsciously scissoring her legs. The bastard had the gall to actually chuckle as if he knew what was going on under the table. What. A. Dick. Dessert had been a silent series of mechanics as she processed everything. Chew. Chew. Swallow. She was an idiot to still want him. Chew. Chew. Swallow. She could just fake her way through if she had to. He probably wouldn't know anyway, most men don't. Chew. Chew. Swallow. Why was he looking at her like he wanted to devour her? Charles popped from his chair and motioned for her to stand. Oh wait, she had cleaned her plate, practically licking the chocolate off, and the bill was paid. He placed a hand on the small of her back guiding her to the private elevator that would take them back to their hotel room two stories below. They had barely crossed the antechamber when the room spun and she found her back pressed up against the oak with The Man clamping his mitts down on either side of her jaw. His icy eyes were wild and his body was shaking as he tried to control himself. "I need to be in you. Now." Giving into his primitive instincts he went Flintstones on her: lowering his shoulder and putting it into her gut, easily tossing her over his shoulder and knocking the wind out of her. The room did a pirouette as he stomped his way to the master bedroom. She bobbed up and down on his shoulder as her hair and arms dangled down his back both swinging against the tops of his thighs. The couture had bunched up around her waist, in what was sure to become a wrinkled mess. He turned his head and groaned; her amazing heart shaped ass was jiggling only inches from his face. It would be remiss of him to not pay homage to such a spectacular bottom. His palm covered the whole of one cheek as he kneaded the flesh like he was making dough. She giggled and kicked her legs in protest; luckily those pointy toed shoes missed any of his important parts. Though how that happened he had no idea, his cock was diamond hard and straining the fly on his trousers. He clamped down on her knees. "Stop kicking, woman," he growled, smacking her bottom with enough force for her to feel it but not enough to hurt her. "Let me down!" she squealed, pounding her fists on his back. Awww... his kitten has claws. How cute. "Not a fucking chance." Not bothering with the lights he kicked the bedroom door closed with his foot. With the finesse of a steamroller he dumped her in the middle of the California King Bed sitting in front of a row of floor to ceiling windows. Rebounding on the ivory duvet, she took a couple of bounces before finally landing flat on her back, her raven hair fanning out and her appendages flopping to the side like a rag doll. He yanked at the silk around his neck but had no recollection of taking off his clothes. He was, however, acutely aware that his cock was relieved to be freed from its tight confines. The bastard decided to celebrate by bobbing up and down doing a happy dance. The mushroom shaped head was so engorged it look purple, dripped pearly drops of pre-come, and the thick vein on the underside pulsed heavily. Emily's eyes were as big as saucers when his imposing member sprung out, curving gloriously to his navel, and ostentatiously waved at her. Making sure there was no doubt as to the effect she had on him he held his arms akimbo giving her cart blanch to get a good look. While she was getting her look on he did the same, fixating on her erogenous zones like a missile on lock. The front of her dress had shifted and one nipple had popped out while the other was playing peek-a-boo. It was his duty as a male, losing serious man points if he didn't follow through, and a crime if he didn't set the other pink tip free. Grabbing the hem of her dress he roughly pulled it up and off, flipping it over his shoulders. Annnnd... all was right in the world. Bit by bit he herded her back against the mattress until she was flushed with it. Palming her breasts, he sucked one rosy tip into his mouth, then the other, gently biting and pulling the nipple out with his teeth until she groaned low in her throat and her back bowed. The tip of his cock was tingling; aching to enter her he palmed his member and rubbed it up and down the swollen folds. One sure thrust of his hips had him inside her. The sharp, hot pain of his entrance left her breath gasping out of her lungs. He was blunt and rock hard; fat and long enough to hurt even if he wasn't moving. One hand fisted her hair wrenching her head back as he pounded into her womb. The speed increasing with each plunge the sound of flesh meeting wet flesh echoed throughout the room. His breathing was harsh in her ear and his fingers bit into her hips. She knew she was probably going to be wearing his bruises in the morning. Her body was tense and humming, her pussy contracting and on the verge of a climax, when memories of their previous time together crashed into Emily as if she had PTSD: The control The Man had over her; How much she enjoyed just feeling... to not have to think; her husband telling her that he loved her; panic...don't let go... don't let go; the loose feeling of the darkness swallowing her after her orgasm. Emily had all but gone limp under him her eyes vacant and looking everywhere but in his. As if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on him, The Man abruptly stopped in mid-thrust. "Where are you right now?" he growled. His brow was pinched and his stormy eyes searched her face. The look he was giving her was disconcerting; downright livid. Busted. "Right here- with you." She was everywhere but with him: With her husband at home; the waiter; The Man's attorney/bodyguard; the new oil paints she couldn't wait to try out. Unceremoniously The Man hauled her up by the biceps, his fingers biting into her skin, and looked her straight in the eye. "Do not fucking perform for me. I know your faking it. If I wanted porn star acting I'd fuck one." "I'm not faking it!" She was such a fucking liar. She was in such denial that she actually believed what she was saying. And didn't that make her go even deeper in her head. Yep... right where she needed to be. "Don't. Don't you dare fucking lie to me. It cheapens both of us." He pointed a finger at her, "You think I can't tell when a woman is faking it?" Ripping herself away she scrambled away from him until her back was flush with the headboard. "Fine...fine...just..." He watched as she tucked her knees under her chin and curled her arms around her knees, rocking slightly back and forth. She looked vulnerable like a wounded animal and utterly lost. He wanted to reach for her but sensed the gesture would be unwelcome so he leaned back on his powerful arms. "Tell me." He said evenly. Silence. An icy blast shot out of him. One of two things was going to happen: either she started yapping or he'd send her packing; which he didn't want to do. He wanted her to trust him, to know that he'd do right by her, and her obvious refusal to open up chafed him to no end but he understood the why's of it. She was afraid of the very thing she wanted. The only other explanation was that she was just defying him. He could handle the former; the latter was a whole different conversation; one that would involve paddles and restraints. He waited several moments before he barked out the order again. "I can't.. ok. Christ- I've never told anyone this before." She divulged choking back a sob. "I've never had an orgasm with a man before. I can only come by my own hand. The first time with you was a... exception." She admitted. There it was, it was out there and there was no taking it back. It's not like she wasn't passionate, she was. She was just so guarded; the walls around her emotions were like Fort Knox. "I had a hunch based on your reaction last time." The Man cocked his head to the side as he studied her.The question of had she ever had one with a female lover was just begging to be asked. Instead, he opted for the generic, "What about your other lovers?" Frayed She cringed. As if it were even possible she drew up legs up even tighter. Maybe if she curled up tight enough she could just disappear. He must think that she was totally defected. "There's only been a handful and never with any of them either." She said into her knees as she rocked. "Why not?" She wrapped her arms around her stomach and her breathing was rapid and shallow. Her throat worked to swallow back the tears that threatened to spill. How could she tell him the reason she couldn't let him in when she didn't really understand it herself? He could have any woman he wanted why the hell would he want a broken woman like her? One who is so lost in her head that she can't let someone get her off. He didn't need her baggage. Hell, she didn't need her baggage but her Samsonite was packed and more than ready for the trip. Emily uncurled herself and dangled her legs off the edge. She glanced at the door as if measuring the distance. She wasn't sure she'd make it to the door in time for a scene free exit but she damn sure was going to try. One step... two steps... iron grip on her wrist stopping her short. "The hell you will. We are not through yet." His autocratic tone was the equivalent to nails on a chalk board; something that was completely annoying and totally unnecessary. She scowled, "What are you going to do? Tie me up?" She snarled, trying to yank her wrist out of his vice like grip; which got her nowhere fast. He coolly leveled his are-you-fucking-kidding-me-gaze at her, watching her eyes throw daggers at him, and looked like a badass motherfucker who'd use physical strength to his advantage if he had to. "You think I can't keep you in check?" he tsk. "Baby, I'm eleven inches taller and have over a hundred pounds on you. I don't need to tie you up if I wanted to restrain you. " Mentally he cursed. He could work with her emotional baggage but not if she was in fight or flight mode. We wanted this for her. For her to get out of her head and live free of guilt and fear. To stop thinking and just feel, to break free of the self-imposed lock down she had on her emotions. But she had to want it for herself. He could manipulate and control the situation all he wanted, make her come a dozen different ways, but he couldn't make it meaningful unless she offered. A long moment passed before she finally dropped her gaze. She let out a death rattle, her shoulders slumped and her arms fell to her sides. The battle between desire and fear were playing out in every line of her body with panic winning the race. "Relax, baby. Shhhhh... Just relax. Stop fighting it. Stop fighting me." He stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles. "Look at me." he commanded softly. He didn't press when she didn't immediately do as told. This was about her and he needed to give her the head space she needed. And, yes, his cock was protesting- very loudly in fact, from lack of attention but he didn't give a shit. When she finally gave him her eyes he nodded in approval and pulled her in close, circling her with his arms. The look she gave him cut him to the core. He couldn't help but think of how strong this tiny female was. She trusted him with everything she had and he respected her for that. Her walls were not breaking down, not even close, but at least a crack was starting to show.