8 comments/ 10606 views/ 10 favorites A Ghoul, A Nectarine, and Pancakes By: flamekitten Dear Readers, Thanks for taking the time to read my Halloween Contest entry! This story is about a young woman's exploration into the world of bondage; I vacillated between which category to post this under. Ultimately, I decided the story is more about the relationship that develops than anything. Feedback and constructive critiques are much appreciated. Please don't forget to vote! ~kitten * * * * * * * * * * * * Izzy was lying on her back on a smooth wooden table, wearing only her bra and panties. They were not her raciest pair of under things -- the fabric was black, thick and opaque. But the cups of the bra were low enough to show the ample swells of her breasts, and the strings that tied into little bows at the tops of her thighs left only a triangle of fabric covering her mound. She hushed her inner critic -- there were more revealing bikinis on the beach, by far -- but couldn't help but be hyper-aware of her exposed skin as Alex stood over her, brandishing a rusty saw. Plus, the room was cold, and even through the thick cups of the bra, the swell of her nipples made themselves known. "I have a confession to make, Iz," Alex spoke in low tones. The last group had just been ushered out and they had a few minutes before the next would come creeping through. "I've been wanting to tell you all night. Well, I've been wanting to tell you for weeks. And I know it's going to sound bad, but you have to hear me out, okay?" Izzy bit back a laugh. "I don't have much choice at the moment, do I?" Despite his dramatic warning, she wasn't too worried -- chances were, Alex was about to play another prank on her. He wouldn't bring up anything serious now, would he? "Exactly," he said with a hint of dry humor. "The thing is...it's about Brandon," his voice turned uncharacteristically hesitant. If Izzy could have sat up in shock, she surely would have. "How do you know about Brandon?" Her voice rose in volume and pitch more than it should have. Alex looked her in the eyes for a long, heavy moment. It was particularly unsettling because the make-up that he wore made his eyes look gaunt and lifeless. There was no way in the world that Alex -- her roommate, her big-brother-figure -- should know anything about Brandon. Brandon, the man that she'd been chatting online with for the last six weeks, wasn't just some random internet suitor. She told Brandon her most intimate secrets. He was the only person that knew who she ~really~ was. Alex was having a hard time looking her in the eye. She gulped. "I know about him because I am him," he whispered. * * * * * * * One hair-raising breath after those words dropped out of Alex's mouth, Izzy heard faint buzzing from the earpiece hidden behind his wig. He nodded at her. The next group was on their way in. In a way, it was for the better that their discussion was stalled; Izzy didn't have a clue on how to respond. Furious was the first response that came to mind, but there way another emotion just behind the anger that she couldn't understand. She shut her mouth and her eyes and reverted to her role. She was playing a corpse -- at least, almost a corpse -- so the act didn't take too much mental concentration. Great, her inner sarcasm went off, I can dwell. She and Alex were acting in a haunted house. Izzy was lying a on table that was made to look like a steel examination table; she was pinned in place with a shackle around her neck. From where the onlookers stood, it appeared as if her leg had been severed at mid thigh. From the end of the severed limb, gooey bits of bone and viscera dangled, complete with a slow, steady drip of "blood" that collected in a steel basin below. In reality, her leg was wedged through a hole in the table; the prosthetic stump was made to blend in with her living flesh seamlessly. Alex was playing a mad doctor. Naturally an imposing figure at nearly six and a half feet tall, his face was heavily made up to appear not just hollow or sunken, but...empty. He wore a stringy grey wig and a lab coat, and stood at Izzy's far side, facing the groups of Halloween revelers. He held a rusty, large-tooth saw in his hand. The scene was eerily still as the next group made their way into the room. The steady drip of blood, aided by a hidden pump system, made the only noise in the space. The only movement came from Alex, pretending to saw her arm in a slow, methodical motion. The guide led each group through slowly. By the time the crowd was halfway through the "exhibit", the tension was thick, every eye was peeled, waiting and wondering how they would be spooked this time. The crowd was nearer the exit, now, and Alex surreptitiously nudged Izzy into action. Her eyes popped open and she let out her best B-movie actress blood-curdling scream. At the same time, her out-of-sight arm squeezed a bulb connected to the pump, and the slow drip of blood surged to a violent spray. The audience barely had time to process what happened, and in that moment of confusion, Alex lifted up her freshly severed arm, brandishing it as a weapon. He'd perfected a hurried but stiff-legged walk that made him seem both determined and demented. The slow shuffle of the audience picked up the pace and made their way down a hallway to next scare. And then Alex was at her side again, and they were alone. Izzy waited a beat until the group was out of earshot. Because of her staged scream, they were in the soundproofed band practice room, so she didn't wait long. "Please tell me you're fucking kidding," the hard edge to her voice was enough to make him cringe. "Because it is not funny." She spoke in staccato, as if each word were its own sentence. He drew in a breath. "It's not a joke, Iz," he let the breath out. "I swear I didn't mean for it to get this far, but you have to know -- I did it to protect you." "Protect me? I'm not a fucking kid anymore, who the hell do you --" "I didn't mean to be patronizing. And I didn't mean to snoop when I sat down to the computer one day and found a IM conversation you left up. With one so-called "StrictMaster". Izzy cringed. Just when she thought she couldn't get any more embarrassed. Now everything down to her internal organs was blushing. StrictMaster was some idiot she'd met months ago in a BDSM chat room. She was new to the scene, brand spankin' new, and he seemed charming, and smart. At first. "I read it, Iz, 'cause I was concerned. He seemed like trouble, and you seemed...like a novice," he chose his words diplomatically. "And I was pretty damn sure you wouldn't want me confronting you about it, so I thought --" the crackle of the earpiece stopped him short. He sighed and mouthed a word she guessed was "sorry". She could hear the new group approaching -- rowdy adults, likely drunk -- so she closed her eyes and lay down, her body placid, but her mind bubbling. * * * * * * * Izzy did not have a hard time believing that Alex only wanted to protect her. He'd been watching over her since her sandbox years; he cheered for her, defended her, kept her out of trouble. He was the big brother she never had. Later, in a sense, he'd saved her life. Not that she was ever suicidal. But she had been increasingly dead on the inside, those years after high school. Kim -- her best friend, his sister -- had moved hours away, for college, but Izzy's parents had an iron grip on their only child. They were deeply religious and just as strict. Even after she turned 18 they forbade her most anything a "normal" girl her age would want to do. So Izzy took the only work she could find -- a menial desk job in that same rural town she'd lived her whole life. She put pennies away as much as she could, but she was making minimum wage and working part time, and her parents had begun collecting rent -- she suspected to maintain control over her. It would be a very long time before she could make an escape, at that rate. The year of her 20th birthday, both Kim and Alex Cain had come home for the holidays. Despite the cold, the three of them sat in a park on the edge of town. They each took pulls from a bottle of whiskey, passed around covertly in a brown paper bag. It was the most daring moment of Izzy's life, she remembered thinking. They talked all night, and Izzy must have gotten pretty buzzed, because the next thing she remembered, she was waking up in the Cain's guest bedroom and, apparently, Alex had invited her to stay with him in Chicago. She didn't remember the details of his offer, but it didn't matter. She agreed without a hint of hesitation. Then, he did even more than pull her out of that brand of hell. Alex lived in a warehouse that he'd converted to a studio/loft. He was an artist, and he knew that Izzy had always had an untapped creative side. So he hooked her up with some canvas and paint, gave her space and an easel, and made her work at it. He coached her, he encouraged her, he taught her how to deal with galleries and contracts and mission statements. Five years down the road, she had her foot in the art world door. They still shared the same home, and no matter how helpful of a roommate or friend she tried to be, Izzy felt she'd never truly be able to repay her debt to him. Alex tapped her forearm to signal it was time. She screamed and squeezed the bulb in three quick bursts so the blood would squirt like a severed artery. There was an audible shriek from the audience. "So I thought," Alex continued where he left off as soon as the crowd has passed, "that if you had someone to talk with, about safety, someone to ask questions of...I thought it would be helpful. Less dangerous. Dammit, Iz, the thought of you talking to wannabe's like that creep -- I had to do something. I had no choice." Izzy bit her lower lip. "You seriously just...shat all over any kind of privacy, that I might wanted to keep. And why they hell tell me now?" The corner of his mouth turned up. "I thought I might have better luck actually having a conversation with you if you couldn't get away." The way her leg fit into the hole in the table, she couldn't easily get out without help. "Just more proof that you're an asshole," Izzy spat, but her tone lacked venom. "I can buy that you wanted to help keep me safe. I'll even concede that I probably needed some small, tiny amount of that help," she held her thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart, "but --" The earpiece crackled; another crowd. She closed her eyes. * * * * * * * In the silence she realized that her heart was thumping in her chest. The enormity of what had transpired between her and "Brandon" washed over her. It was true, for the first three or four weeks, "Brandon" had spoken with her as a mentor to the lifestyle. They talked about how and why things worked, terminology, standard practices, that sort of thing. He'd spent a lot of time coaching her on the best way to find a Dom, what to look for and what should raise red flags, all in a manner as if he himself wasn't interested in filling that role for her. But the closer they became, the more Izzy knew she wanted to lose her bondage virginity to him. It was Izzy herself who began to change the direction of their conversations. She tried to egg him on. She began to tell him about her preferences. She asked him personal questions, intimate questions. Then it was his name featured as the protagonist in the stories she wrote him, in full blown erotica. For a few weeks, he didn't encourage her, exactly, though he certainly didn't stop her. Finally, he showed a sign of cracking. He wrote: Do you know what I love most about nectarines? I like how they make you wait. You buy one, and it's always still hard when you get bring it home, right? And you have to set it aside, and check it every day until it gets softer. And after a week or so, you know that it's ripe and you can start to get the scent of it. But you also know that if you wait one or two more days, it will be so sweet and ripe that when you bite into it, the juices will roll down your chin, and that perfect scent will fill your nose, and the flesh will dissolve in your mouth like cream and honey. Nectarines are like rewards for patience. Her screen name was Nectarine. Izzy knew in that moment that she had him hooked. Alex signaled her with a tap; her eyes popped open. This time she turned to face him, to search his face for something behind the layers of thick make-up. She screamed and squeezed the bulb, and waited until they were alone again. "Why didn't you stop it?" She blurted out before she could stop herself. Her voice sounded more haunted than the scene they were playing. "Why did you let it go on so long?" His eyes flicked to hers, and then away. He let out a thick breath, and then brought his eyes to hers again. Held them there. "I got carried away... I couldn't stop." There was no trace of jest in his voice, yet Izzy couldn't quite believe what she thought she was hearing. ~No. I must be making it up. My brain must be fevered,~ she told herself. Izzy first developed a crush on Alex when she was a teen. Back then, she knew there was no way a twenty year-old man would be interested in a thirteen year-old girl, so she filed it under fantasy. Later, when she moved in with Alex, she firmly decided that no way, no how would she allow her physical attraction to him interfere with what had to be the luckiest break a girl from her cow town had ever gotten. So, again, it was fantasy realm; she was so resigned to it that she'd practically forgotten it. Almost. "What do you mean?" Izzy's voice was a dry whisper. His eyes were still on hers. Her visual memory filtered out the theatrical make-up and filled in the charming, handsome features of his face. "I realized something, Iz," his voice was warm and steady. She could see he was fighting a smile. "You are mine." The way he pinned her in place with his eyes left her no doubt to what degree he meant it. The rush started in her throat and coursed through her body in a heartbeat. When the tingling waves settled, she felt the heat of her being, centered in the wet flush of her core. A voice crackled in his earpiece. "Dammit," he muttered under his breath. * * * * * * He leaned over to whisper in her ear, quickly, before the next group filtered in. "Only two more groups for the night, kitten." A fresh shiver of heat spread through her body. She was glad that the room was dim and her panties were black, or her wetness might have been found out by a room full of strangers. She shut her eyes tight and willed them to move through quickly. She became aware of another sensation. Her left arm, the arm that was dangling over the far edge of the table, was being touched. Stroked, really. Alex used the tips of his fingers to taunt her with the lightest, slowest sensation, hidden from view by the table. He was tracing the veins from her wrist to her inner elbow. And her every nerve ending was on fire from that simple touch. The nervous part of her mind -- the practical side that, for years, had blocked any thought of Alex in any realm beyond friendship -- was trying to break through the heat of her sensations. But her mind was flooded with drunken fog, her body was swelling alive; there was no place for cold logic amidst the delectable tension of that moment. Too soon, his touch changed to a light tap. This time, her terrified scream sounded more like a frustrated squeal. She was a terrible actress, but it didn't matter. It was a stupid haunted warehouse. And the night was almost over. When the footsteps retreated, and Alex was at her side again, she turned to him. Her eyes darted nervously around his grotesque face. "How much of 'Brandon' was real, Alex?" she asked softly. "Almost all of him." "So you...you are...you like --" She recognized his wry smile even under the face paint. "Are you trying to ask me if I'm as kinky as Brandon was?" Slowly, she nodded. "Every bit as. His words, his tastes, his fantasies -- all 100% mine." After 'Brandon' had broken down, he began to admit his desires in achingly lucid detail. Izzy suddenly knew ~a lot~ more about Alex than she did two seconds ago. Alex traced her collarbone lightly with his forefinger, the touch something between a tickle and a promise. "How does that make you feel?" He asked lightly, but with grin of a smug devil. Her body shivered, she licked her lips. She was searching for the right words when the message came through Alex's earpiece. His hands left her skin; he slipped back into his role with a slight nod. * * * * * * * Izzy could have burst through her skin, right then and there. It was so overwhelming, she briefly distracted herself with the image of it. ~Would literally bursting through my skin create a more terrifying gore than the scene I'm in now? Maybe if I could burst on cue, right in front of the onlookers.~ Oddly, the morbid thought helped her steady her breath, these images lighter and easier to handle than what was really happening. She wasn't afraid of what he might do to her, physically. She didn't doubt that, in this moment, he wanted her as much as she did him. What weighed heavily on her mind, she realized in a sudden flash of clarity, was that this would change everything. Her best friend would become something else. No turning back. She had a choice. She could cower away in an attempt to keep their friendship out of danger. ~Things hadn't gone so far that they couldn't recover, right?~ Or she could be brave and rush forth in what could be a foolish moved based on lust and little else. Her body was already hungry, starving for the next step. Any sort of middle ground she imagined she knew would be a fiction. * * * * * * * Alex tipped his hand at his own eagerness by giving her the cue to scream far too early. He chased the final group of the night out of the room with urgency. Alone. They were alone. Alex lifted the wig from his head to reveal his dark, mopish curls beneath. He bent the arm attached to his earpiece so the mouthpiece was in place. He tapped his foot as he looked at his watch for sixty long seconds. They were the second to last room of The Very Spooky Warehouse of Maniacal Horrors; he was waiting for the guests to be clear of the building entirely. "Okay, that's it for the night," his voice broadcast to the all the crew leaders. "Thank you all, once again, and we'll be seeing you here next Thursday at your appointed times. Just leave the costumes and props behind, I'll worry about tidying up over the week. Cheers." His eyes were plastered on her through the whole speech. Normally, Alex had his crew help with the clean up before leaving for the night. But he wanted them gone, now. He removed his lab coat and switched the channel on the talkie. "Dan? I'm headed to the entrance now to grab the bank, okay?" Alex paused in front of Izzy before he left the room. "Don't move," he teased with a smile. * * * * * * * He'd only be gone for three or four minutes, but still, Izzy cursed him for it. She'd been laying in the same position since the last break, two hours ago. Now he was making her wait longer. She knew he was doing it to tease her, to make her stew in her desire. To let her ripen. Like a nectarine. Her mind swirled with thoughts as her body squirmed, flashing images and daydreams like slides through a carousel. Bondage was something she lusted for since she began to have sexual thoughts, and it was true that Alex had played the leading man in many of her fantasies. She never even dared to hope that he might have the same tastes as she did. A part of her still expected this to be a grand gag. ~No, Alex isn't that cruel~ she thought. The sounds of his foot steps approaching ripped her back to the present. A Ghoul, A Nectarine, and Pancakes This was it. He moved the table without a word. He crouched down and fiddled with the tubes of the pump, first. She heard the metal basin scrape across the concrete floor as he slid it under the table. ~He can probably hear my breathing. He probably knows I'm freaking out and has changed his mind~ her mind spun in circles. Suddenly, he was standing next to her again. "How are you feeling?" his voice was soft, concerned. He unhooked the fake shackle from her neck. The prop was made of plastic, but was pinned down to keep from sliding around. She rolled her neck around, glad for the freedom of movement. "Um. That's a loaded question," she said, only half kidding. He caught the nuance and answered with a short dry chuckle. "Yeah. I bet." He helped her to sit upright, and sat next to her. "I know that I just threw a lot at you, all at once. So I don't blame you at all if you...need time, or, want to talk, or...just aren't interested." He paused to let the words sink in. They made her stomach cramp. "But unless you let me know by the time we get upstairs, I am most definitely going to assume otherwise." The confidence returned to his voice. The piercing stare. The delicious smile. Shyly, the corners of Izzy's mouth turned up in response. Her words were stuck in her throat, but it didn't matter. The light in his eyes told her he understood. He stepped off the table and turned to lift the fake leg stump off her thigh. The latex was as thin as a layer of skin up where it draped over her real flesh; Alex brushed his thumb up and along her inner thigh to carefully gather the film. He shot her a wolfish grin. ~So close, yet so far away~. "You know, of all the times I...imagined you, and me...never once did you have Skeletor face in my fantasies." "I like the look. It instills fear, and respect, don't you think?" He was at her feet now, he gave the table a good tug to pop the halves loose. Izzy pulled her leg from the now-widened hole at once, and sighed in relief. She swung her body around so that her legs dangled from the table; she was about to hop off when Alex boxed her in. "So...you fantasized about me?" He usually towered above her, but because the table was elevated, she was almost eye level with him. A fresh blush bloomed on her cheeks. She cast her eyes down. "Only since I was a teenager," she admitted. "You hid it well," his voice lost all trace of jest. "I never knew." "I never thought --" He lifted his forefinger to her lips, shook his head. "Don't," he whispered. His face drew closer, but then he stopped himself. "I want to kiss you, but I'm a ghoul," he said, remembering his make-up. Even though a trillion butterflies were dancing on every part of her being, she couldn't help herself. "You have a lot of good qualities, too, Alex," she clucked with deadpanned sympathy. He shook his head but his grin was radiant. "Can't stay out of trouble, can you, Iz?" Before she could answer, he lifted her by the waist and slung her over his shoulder. She could have done the kicking-and-screaming thing, but truth was she liked it. He hugged her tightly to his body with his hand on the swell of her ass as he darted up the stairs. Correction. She loved it. He halted before the door to their home, and set her down before he turned the knob. "Last chance," he offered, serious again. She shook her head 'no'. "I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you want me to do to you." It was a challenge, and she knew it. Her mouth went dry. Saying what she wanted out loud was so much harder than typing into a keyboard. Her mind stumbled over what to choose, what to admit. At last she blinked, "Do whatever you want to me. I trust you." The joy on his face was evident, even under the make-up. His mouth was upon hers in a flash, insistent, eager, melting. Her breath stopped and her heart pounded . She whimpered without meaning to, and his lips backed off into something soft and sweet. He pulled away too soon. "Now you're a ghoul, too," he teased, and wiped a smudge of face paint from the corner of her mouth with a broad stroke of his thumb. He unlocked the door to their studio, and he led her to the bathroom wordlessly. It was a big, old industrial bathroom, with several toilet stalls, a row of sinks, and a small-room-sized tiled shower with three separate spigots. Her herded her up against the wall. "Stay," he told her. She blinked up at him with the hint of a smile. Alex walked to the nearest sink and ran the water until it was hot. He soaped and scrubbed his face three times, until it was free of the offensive, caked-on goop. He toweled off and turned to the lovely, nearly naked woman waiting for him. "You know, Izzy, I really love seeing you parade around in your underwear," he said. "But I think, right now, it might be a little much. Take it off," his tone was hard enough to let her know he was serious. Heat flushed her face yet again; she silently cursed her red hair and pale skin. She wanted to be brave and look him in the eye, but she couldn't. Not yet. With her eyes to the ground, she reached behind her back and unhooked the bra. She didn't have the faintest idea how to striptease, so she simply let the straps fall from her shoulders. She plucked the fabric from her chest and let it drop, exposing her perky C cups to his clear delight. Her nipples had been hard all night, hard to the point of aching. Now, exposed, watched, they puckered and stood as tall as she'd ever seen them. Normally a dusty pink, they were now a swollen deep red. Before she could second guess herself, she hooked her thumbs under the strings of her panties. She tugged one side down, then the other, and stepped out of the skimpy triangles of fabric. She was barefoot, jewelery free. Completely nude. Something about standing before him, exposed and vulnerable -- just the act of showing herself, giving herself -- it was enough to make her feel the pointed edges of her ache, and the soft folds her her desire, all the more palpable. She heard the soft intake of his breath and looked up. She had his rapt attention, no doubt. "You know, I thought about asking for pictures. I had to stop myself." he said. "I would have done it," she said. "I know. But I didn't want you to do it for 'Brandon'. I wanted you to do it for me." "I'm glad," she pushed the words out her her throat, "that you stopped yourself. That I'm doing it for you." He took a step closer to her, and tilted her chin up with his finger. "You say the sweetest things. But you can't forget -- I'm in charge, now. We're going to get in the shower in a moment. You don't move, you don't talk, you don't touch, unless I say. Understand?" "Yes." "Yes?" "Yes...Sir." Just saying the word brought a warm rush to her pussy. He nodded with reserve, but his eyes were smiling. "Good girl." He stepped back, and removed his t-shirt without ceremony. She had seen him shirtless before, but it didn't fail to take her breath away. He was tall, so tall, that his body was definitely more lanky than beefy, yet the ropes of muscles down his arms were evident. ~Good lord, the obliques on that man~, she salivated. He wore a nondescript pair of black slacks. He unsnapped the button and let loose the zipper as if he weren't being watched. It wasn't until he pulled off his boxer-briefs that she knew for certain he was very aware of her eyes on him. His cock sprang free, jutting up to touch his abdomen, right where a fine spattering of hair begun to trail down. He was thick, and long; certainly larger than any in her limited experience. "Get in the shower," he told her. "Turn on the two shower heads, at either end, as hot as you can take it. Stand under the spray of one, facing the other, and wait for me." She turned to obey but stopped herself. "Yes, sir." Mmm, the words were still a thrill. She got in the shower and did as told, standing so the water hit the back of her head and upper shoulders. After a few seconds she began to feel anxious. How long would he make her wait? What would he have her do? She felt relieved when he entered the shower not a minute later. Without a word he began to wash himself. She was grateful that he'd taken the responsibility of choice away from her. Given the choice, she didn't know what she would do. Attack him like some shameless hussy? Shyly touch him and wait for his response? Both were equally likely. He finished rinsing himself off and approached her. She stayed still, as she was told to, while he removed the shower head from the wall and asked her to tilt her head back. He wet her hair, then replaced the wand. He lathered her hair with shampoo in smooth, gentle strokes, massaging her scalp with his strong fingers. "I want to do a lot of things to you, Izzy," he growled in her ear. "But above all, I want to take care of you." He rinsed her hair carefully, so as not to let soap get in her eyes. He repeated the process with her favorite spiced peach conditioner, the scent filling the small space. Next he filled his open palms with body wash, and lathered her arms in slow, sensual strokes. He moved to do her back, taking a little extra time to massage her shoulders, the muscles around her spine, and her lower back. He crouched down to wash her legs next, but he clearly avoided her inner thighs on purpose. He came close enough to make her want to squirm, to force his hand, but she reminded herself that her job was to stand still. And she didn't want to disappoint him. Besides, she couldn't complain. All the tender ministrations were sweet and teasing, yes, but they still amplified the heat she felt in her body. Her cunt was still wet, her tits still aching. She just had to be patient. He stood back up and moved behind her. With the tips of his soapy fingers, he washed behind her ears, her neck. His hands dipped further, to her collarbone, and lower yet, to just above the swell of her breasts. Just when she thought his hands were finally going to go where she wanted them to, they were removed. She made an almost imperceptible whimper, but before she could finish the sound, his arms were looping under hers, stroking up and down her sides. He was standing much closer, now, his chest pressed into her. She could feel the hardness of his erection against the top of her ass. His large hands held her waist; he pulled her closer, his cock nestling between her ass cheeks. Without meaning to, she ground against him, but he stilled her with his hands. "Patience," he breathed into her ear. His hands roamed her abdomen in large, slow circles, creeping ever higher, until at last they cupped the undersides of her breasts. He held the weight of them, a perfect handful. He massaged the flesh of her breasts, grabbing them straight on, but letting her nipples fall between the open V's of his fingers. "You have gorgeous tits," he rasped in her ear. "Beautiful." He closed the V's of his fingers to lightly pinch her nipples. Her body almost jolted, but he had her pinned tight. "Sensitive. Mmmm." He took her nipples between his thumbs and index finger and stroked them, squeezing lightly from the base to the tip. She mewled at his touch, her body now officially on fire, her desire now straight-up need. "You like that, don't you, Izzy?" His fingers plucked with just a little more force and she groaned but did not say anything. "Answer me." "Yes, sir," she was panting. He squeezed the sensitive buds again at the same time he thrust his pelvis forward, wedging his cock a little deeper in her ass cheeks. "Yes, sir," she said again and he rewarded her with another pinch and thrust. His right hand traveled, grazing her nipple with his palm as it moved to the space between her tits. Then it changed direction, moving downward in a straight line, slowly over the flat of her stomach, to the top of her mound. Her breath was held, waiting for the touch. "Tell me what you want, Iz," his left hand was still massaging her nipple, the fingers of his right hand dangerously close to the hood of her clit. "Please," she panted. "Please what?" "Please touch...my pussy." His fingers crept a centimeter closer. "Your pussy." Another centimeter. "Your cunt." His middle finger slid down through her outer lips and back up again. Two fingers now slid down, deeper, between her inner lips. They were already slick with her arousal. "My cunt," he growled in her ear. "Yes," the sound came out as a puff of air. His fingers stroked again, slowly up, quickly down, in steady rhythm. As he grazed over her clit, a million bolts of electricity sparked through her, then as his finger moved on she chased the sensation, certain that if he only let her taste it for a moment longer, she would explode. His left hand was still plucking at her nipple, steadily now, just hard enough for her to want it a little harder. His pelvis slowly pumped into her backside and the force of his hand in her cunt kept her pinned beneath his pressure. His slickened fingers teased the entrance to her tunnel on each stroke. There was no doubt she was ready to tumble into abandon, each wave larger and more powerful than the last. She was shaking in his arms, thrumming between gasped breaths, rocking her hips back into his cock, and forth into his hand. "Cum for me, Iz," his voice rumbled. His fingers found her clit and halted, strumming, as the pinches to her nipple got fiercer. His mouth found a sensitive spot on the side of her neck and suckled. Her body was incoherent, flashes of light and heat. Her sticky need poured out of her, thunderous moan after moan, coating his hand in her juices, until she was a bubbling mess, a puddle of a girl, just trying to catch her breath. Alex's mouth, still upon her neck, peppered her skin in sweet kisses as she came down. He held in tight in his arms. "That was beautiful, Iz," he whispered. She turned her head and smiled up at him. "I could say the same of you." He spun her around to face him and captured her mouth with his. This kiss was less anxious, more measured, his lips and tongue exploring hers. They fell into suckling and nibbling each other, his still-hard cock a firm presence between them. He pulled away and turned off the spigots. Then he took her hand and led her out of the shower. He grabbed a towel and dried her off, first. His did so reverently, picking up the moisture with gentle pats, making sure he got every drop. After he toweled himself off, he led her upstairs to the loft, to his bedroom. Izzy had been in his bedroom before, but had rarely spent any time there. Since the rest of the converted warehouse was all wide open space, they'd always respected each others need for a private space. Now, though, Izzy knew that if he were to leave her alone in the room, she would examine the photos on his dresser, and snoop at the books on his shelves. Instead, she became intensely aware that she was standing in his bedroom, naked, unsure of what to do next. Alex was crouched on the other side of the room doing something, she distracted herself by examining the contents of his desk. He startled her by coming up from behind. His lips closed around her earlobe, an instant bolt of pleasure shot through her body. She was about to open her mouth when he surprised her again, this time by slipping a soft, thick piece of fabric over her eyes. He tied it behind her head; she could see nothing. He took her hand in his, led her to the edge of the bed, and helped her climb on. He guided her to lie on her back and positioned her in the center. Then she felt a strap tighten around her wrist, first one, then the other, to either corner of the four poster bed. ~Oh, damn,~ butterflies tingled in her belly, ~this is really happening,~ she thought. Izzy wiggled her arms. The cuffs were wide and the binds were tight; they had a little give, but just barely. "I'm not binding your legs, tonight," Alex said as he climbed on the bed next to her. The realization that this night was just the first of many occurred to Izzy with a thrill. "I'm going to ease you into things. Does that disappoint you, or make you feel relieved?" He nipped at her earlobe while she chewed on her answer. "A little of both," she answered honestly. His fingertips were playing on her skin, tracing invisible patterns. "I can think of a thousand things I want to do with you. To you," the sound rumbled out of his throat. His lips and tongue danced between her jaw and her neck; he had a singular talent to make her body whirl with each touch, each kiss, each lick. Each bite, she added to the list; her mind already floating in bliss. "Tonight," he said, "I just want you. I want to take you and use you and fuck you and make love to you," he punctuated each statement by grazing his fingertips over her swollen nipples. "In the morning, I want to make you pancakes, and over breakfast with you, write a list of those thousand things. So we can check them off, one," he plucked her swollen nub, "by one," he plucked again. His mouth moved from her neck, his lips captured her nipple and suckled. A flood of heat shot straight to her pussy and a mewling moan slipped from her mouth. "Mmm, I love the noises you make for me," he said, and commenced his oral attack on her hard, sensitive nub again. All the while his large, rough hands were making a study of her skin; her other breast, her tummy, her thighs. "Don't hold back, kitten," he instructed as he sucked upon her nipple with greater pressure, toying with its tip with the tip of his tongue. A strangled cry left her lips, and the stray thought ~I must be making a puddle all over his bedspread.~ "Are you wet? I bet you're already dripping," as if reading her mind, his words only served to coax her, ignite her further. The flat of his palm was on her leg, just above her knee, moving up now, up and in. Slowly, over the smooth skin of her inner thigh, his fingers dug into her skin a little. If his nails weren't trim, it would have left marks. It was a possessive gesture of need and she suddenly wished he would be a little rougher with her. ~In time. Dear lord, in good time.~ Her body was too full of heat and need and delight to worry too much about how else he could be. Everything he was doing now felt fantastic, especially his greedy fingers, reaching for the wet, hungry lips of her cunt. He spread her lips open; she could hear how wet she was. ~Holy hell, it's obscene~ the thought filled her with horror, but changed quickly to pride. ~I want to be dirty for him,~ she realized. His long fingers were dipped inside of her, stroking, gliding through her slickness. He pushed a single digit through the tight heat of her tunnel and she rewarded him with a satisfied groan. A second finger joined in, curling up to stroke her inner walls, she felt full but not full enough. Her hips bucked against his hands, anxious for more depth, more action. He curtailed her request by holding his fingers still deep within her, and instead toying with the swollen bundle of nerves at the top of her slit. A sharp intake of her breath, then a soft cry on the exhale, he began to time the strokes of her clit with the pumping of his fingers inside of her. The rhythms began slowly; he had her biting her lower lip and panting, wanting to ask for more but not sure how to get the words out. Of course he knew what he was doing. He was playing with her responses like a master, making her ache for more and more as his rhythm gradually increased. She was moving her hips in time with each stroke, now, unabashedly, the wetness of her arousal spilling out of her. His motions increased in speed and intensity, and he coaxed her, "That's it, kitten, let yourself go." And then his tongue replaced the finger at her clit, and he lapped at her erect little pleasure organ like a man parched for the sweet taste of her cum, and all at once her body let loose around her -- convulsions sang through each inch of her skin, her nerves, her fingers and toes. A Ghoul, A Nectarine, and Pancakes He kissed the topped of her cunt reverently and his weight shifted. Izzy was still trying to catch her breath when she felt her legs being forced further apart, and without preamble, his cock was at her entrance, thrusting into the still hypersensitive flood within. The cry that came from her mouth started as shock and morphed into pleasure. He was huge within her, filling her, stretching her, reaching a depth she had never felt before, and it was the most fantastic thing she'd ever felt. He held himself deep within her, forced himself to be still to allow her to get used to his rock solid girth. He covered her with his weight and licked her nipple; he felt the spasm in the walls her her cunt. He licked again and she cried out, the already-tight walls of her pussy squeezing him even tighter. "You feel like fucking heaven," he told her before he assaulted her nipples with his mouth. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to move within her, he tried to hold off, but the steady pulsing of her pleasure was too much a temptation. He lifted his body off hers and slowly pulled out, so that just the head of his cock was within her. "Tell me what you want," he grunted. His hands were on her hips now, holding her steady. Every muscle and nerve in his body was screaming at him to get on with it; but he prided himself on his control. "Mmm. Please," was the most coherent word she could get out. "Please? Please, what?" ~Say it!~ his mind screamed at her. "Oh, god. Please...fuck. Please fuck me," the words wretched out of her. As he thrust into her they both cried out, intangible noises that met in the air as his cock met the depths of her cunt, again. He couldn't comprehend quite how the walls of her slick tunnel sheathed him so tightly. She couldn't understand how he filled her so full, to overflowing. But it wasn't about understanding, or thinking. Now it was about the pure animal lust that rose between them. He slid out of her only to join her again at once, as if he couldn't bear to be away from home too long. He belonged inside of her; she belonged to him. They both knew this without words, with only the wet, sloppy cries, the bucking and the thrusting of their joining. Together they rose in heat and pitch, as he entered her with loud, wet slaps, as she bucked her hips to meet him. They ground together as she muttered something that might have been, "fuck, fuck, fuck," under her breath and as he sunk his teeth into the flesh of her breast. As the spasms vibrated more wildly with each frantic thrust, he felt her cunt grip him tighter, and she felt his cock swell even thicker. Their noises were just wild sounds, now, the vibrations strumming in concentric rings of ache and lust and she plunged over the edge, cumming hard, milking his cock as he poured his pleasure into her, one thick ropey strand after another, deep within her. As their spasms subsided all that remained was the quick, heavy thudding of their hearts in their chests. He moved off her body, but only to unbuckle the cuffs from around her wrists and loosen the cloth from behind her head. As soon as she was free, he wrapped her in his arms, and her fingers at last got to feel the thick curls of his hair, the lean hardness of his back. He was peppering her with little kisses and she wrapped her legs around him in a need to be as close to him as possible. He was kissing her forehead, her nose, her earlobe. "You see," he whispered. "I was right." "Hmm?" her full, rosy lips were turned up in a smile. She had her eyes closed in utter contentment. "You ~are~ mine," he said. Her eyelids fluttered open, fell upon his beatific face and fluttered back into that blissful smile. "Oh, yes," she agreed. "Every inch of you," he said. "All yours." His lips met hers; she still tasted herself on him, and she sought out the salty sweet tang with her tongue. They lost themselves in their kisses for so long that Izzy had almost forgotten they were having a conversation. "You want to know what else?" Alex asked, holding her close. "Mmm hmm?" "I'm yours," he told her. The grin spread slowly across her face. Her eyes popped open, and she gave him a sassy stare. "Every fucking inch of you," she agreed, then settled back into the warmth of his body, drifting off into happy, sleepy thoughts of ghouls, and nectarines, and pancakes.