Fantasies R Us, page 13
“No,” she cried out.
“Patience, my beautiful slave. I am far from finished.”
The tip of the quill barely brushed her nipple. She arched for more, belatedly realizing her mistake. Would he punish her now?
But he merely brought the feather down on her other nipple. She sighed. He moved the feather back to the first nipple. Was that to be her punishment, to switch breasts each time she reacted? She tested her theory. That’s exactly what he was doing. She smiled and let herself enjoy the sweet torment until her nipples were knotted and aching.
She ached clear to her pussy. She wanted more. She needed more. She cried out half in pain, half in pleasure and drew her knees up in an attempt to increase the pressure on her weeping pussy.
“Bad, slave,” Michael said, drawing the feather down her stomach.
He paused at her navel, dipping the soft tip in and out of the sensitive dimple until her stomach tensed up and her hips bucked.
“I see my slave needs to be punished.”
She could almost hear the smile in his voice. She couldn’t hide hers, either. “Please, master, do not punish me.”
With the sides of the quill, he caressed her hips and her outer thighs. She started to spread her legs.
“Legs together,” he snapped.
She slammed her thighs shut and grumbled. “You call this a punishment?”
“A mere prelude to the lash, my sweet slave.”
He drew that loathsome plume over her ankles and around her toes. He toyed with the soles of her feet until her body strained for his touch as much as recoiled from its torturous tickle. Just when she began to think a lashing would be easier to take, he dragged the quill across her knees and murmured, “Now. Open your legs.”
Gratefully she let her legs fall apart, her muscles quivering with release. He stroked the feather up the soft insides of her knees, its touch light as a whisper. Her muscles nearly went into spasm for want of more.
He continued up the tender flesh of her inner thighs and she spread herself so wide she thought she’d split. Yet he continued to touch her with nothing more substantial than that damnable feather.
Every inch of her skin tingled, burned, ached. She twisted and thrashed for release. He brushed the curls above her slit and she arched violently.
“Aah,” he sighed, the bed dipping between her legs. “Time for the lashing.”
Would he lash her on her inner thighs? Or had he an even more sensitive spot in mind? She drew a shuddering breath, both frightened and aroused her. A week ago, she could not have imagined herself in a bondage scenario. Yet, here she was completely at her lover’s mercy and loving it.
His breath touched her wet folds. She whimpered. His tongue slid into her sopping cleft. She groaned and eagerly lifted her hips. He slid his arms under her and ran his tongue across her clit.
She nearly came with that first lash of his tongue. Lash. This was the lashing he’d promised her. She began to laugh. He lashed her folds harder. He lashed her clit again and again until she tumbled over the edge and her laughter became a howl of ecstasy.
But he wasn’t finished with her yet. He inserted two long fingers into her cunt and began working her slick tunnel. She lifted herself against his hand, rocked against his skilled fingers. By the time she convulsed with her second orgasm, she was convinced she could feel every corpuscle of her being.
His fingers slid from her throbbing pussy and he climbed out from between her legs and off the bed. A whimper was all the protest she could muster. His movement stirred the air over her and the next thing she knew her wrists fell free of their bonds.
He easily slid her to the edge of the bed and onto his long, thick, hard cock. She lifted her hips to take more of him. He raised one of her legs to his shoulder and she felt every inch of him slide the length of her love-swollen tunnel. One more time, they made love.
It was as though strings thin as those that make up a spider’s web reached from his cock to her nipples, her lips, her belly, her toes and fingertips…to every millimeter of her skin. Each outward stroke he took tugged at her entire body until the cords were stretched taut, then her body would pull him back in.
In and out. Cock-to-cunt. Mouth-to-mouth. Tongue-to-tongue.
Yin to yang.
They were one.
Her third orgasm took her to a place she didn’t know existed, a place she’d never even read about in all the books she tended in the library. A place no book could have described. Nothing else but sensation existed, sensation that commanded her full body. All encompassing. Complete.
Perfect.
* * * * *
She woke face down on a narrow, padded table, naked beneath a warm flannel blanket. The room was softly lit with candles, soothing music trickled through the room like a gentle brook and the air smelled of jasmine. The massage scenario ordered in her original package. Jayne smiled and let her eyelids drift shut.
Behind her, a door opened and closed. Her smile stretched. She didn’t have to see to know it was him. Her dream man. Her perfect man.
He was the only man for her and she’d made that clear in her fantasy instructions. His distinct scent filled her nostrils in spite of the aromatic candles. All the aromatherapy she needed was the scent of the man she loved.
Loved?
Jayne’s eyelids flew open and she levered herself up on her elbows.
“Did I startle mein frau?” Michael asked, complete with Germanic accent.
“No,” she said in a tight voice. “No,” she repeated, tempering her tone so she didn’t sound so desperate in her denial…which was no lie. He hadn’t startled her. Her own realization had.
He moved to her side and she glimpsed a chest-hugging black tee and loose-fitting, linen slacks. His hands closed over her shoulders, his fingers exploring.
“Why are you so tense, my little duckling?”
She craned her neck, giving him a sidelong look. “Duckling?”
He shrugged, his grin twitching. “We left the princess and prince behind days ago.”
That they had. She lowered her head onto her folded arms. His thumbs circled against her skin near the base of her skull.
“Let’s see what Gunter can do to relax his little schnitzel.”
“You had better be Gunter,” she muttered playfully.
He laughed and turned toward the shelves where the candle flames glinted off bottles of scented oils. His butt cheeks were eye level to her, twin moons of tan flesh that cast an enticing shadow beneath the thin, pale fabric covering them. She wanted to reach out and touch him. He wouldn’t mind. Her pleasure was the reason he was here and touching him was a pleasure for her. But…
There was that issue of love…which she had no business thinking about…not when the man she loved was a cyborg.
He turned, rubbing his oiled hands together. “Now Gunter will make his little dumpling relax.”
She forced a small laugh as she closed her eyes over the itch of tears. Pitiful her, falling for a manufactured man.
Gunter folded the warm blanket down past her waist, his hands taking its place on her shoulders. Beneath his probing fingers, her skin prickled to life. She was going to die without his touch.
“You are all knotted up, my apple strudel,” he said.
That one coaxed a little laugh out of her. “All these food references, are you hungry, Michael?”
He bent over her, putting his mouth close to her ear. “Only for you, my sugary confection.” Then he straightened and sniffed. “And who is this Michael?”
“My first lover.” And my last.
His fingers kneaded the knots in her neck and he grunted. “Gunter will make you forget that boy.”
“Never,” she murmured, the tautness in her muscles already easing beneath his plying hands.
He worked the tightness from her shoulder muscles and the tension from her neck until she felt limp as a boiled noodle. His fingers walked a path down her spine. Blissful under the magic of his fingers, her mind drifted. So what if Michael wound up her one and only? Fantasy had served her well the first thirty years of her life. It would continue to serve her the rest of her life, especially now that she had someone real to dream about…or as real as a cyborg could be.
His fingers slipped under the blanket draped low over her hips.
“Oh, Gunter.”
“Do you like that?” he asked, his slick fingers slipping in and out of the crack of her butt.
She groaned and parted her thighs as far as the tucked blanket would allow. His hand withdrew and, the next thing she knew, the blanket was settling back over her shoulders. She started to protest. He pressed her back to the table.
“Relax, I am not finished.”
“Damn right you’re not,” she murmured as his hands stroked the length of her back, her butt and her legs, pressing the toasty warm flannel blanket close around her body.
God, he made her feel safe and secure. She relaxed.
“That’s my tasty cabbage roll,” he said.
She heard the smile in his voice and she quipped, “Eat something and quit with comparing me to food.”
“Patience, my succulent plum. I have every intention of eating well this day.”
He flipped back one corner of the blanket and nipped her butt cheek to demonstrate his meaning. She bucked with surprise and desire. His talented fingers kneaded the kinks from her legs, feet and toes. Her juices flowed.
When he’d finished with the backs of her legs, he rolled her onto her back. The blanket fell forgotten to the floor as he drew her to the end of the table where he stood. He draped her legs over his shoulders, bowed to her and she knew he would finally feast.
His breath whispered against her clit and she almost came. His tongue probed her intimate folds and she groaned for release. When his lips closed around her clit and his fingers slid unerringly into her dripping pussy to that wondrous spot inside her, she erupted.
Her legs tightened across his back, her back arched off the table and her juices flooded from her. He rose between her legs and commanded, “Roll over”.
She shook her head. “I want to watch you come.”
He nodded, opened his slacks and replaced his fingers with his cock. He was rock-hard and velvet smooth. She clenched around him. He grimaced, gritting his teeth against his release.
“It’s okay,” she said. “Come when you’re ready.”
He looked her in the eye. “I’m not yet ready.”
He braced one of her legs to his hip and settled the other over his shoulder. The position opened her wider, allowing him deeper access to her. His hip moved beneath her leg, pulling his long shaft back until the head of his penis poised on the brink of her chasm. Then he reversed directions and pushed into her, long and slow and steady, rubbing past her G-spot, making her vaginal walls clutch with need.
But this one wasn’t about her. She forced herself to hold back. It was hard to do while watching his nipples ball up beneath his close-fitting T-shirt. While watching the veins pop out on his neck and arms. While watching his color heighten as he stroked in and out of her. His strokes grew shorter and faster. His eyelids drifted low. His nostrils flared. Sweat beaded his forehead.
He leaned into her, his hips pumping hard now and his breath coming in short grunts. He pressed down on her abdomen just above her pubic bone and her G-spot slammed against his pumping cock.
She was going to come. She was coming.
She fought the all-encompassing sensations enveloping her, fought to keep her eyes open…fought to retain her sanity.
Fought to watch him.
Her orgasm shuddered through her and clenched around him. His strokes short and hard now as her muscles milked him.
The lids of his eyes sank closed and the features of his face tightened. His mouth fell open and he roared as his hot cum pelted her cervix. His body convulsed once, then again and again and again.
His knees buckled and she wrapped herself around him, steadying him against the edge of the massage table—supporting him. She closed her mouth over his and tasted herself on his lips. And she swallowed his breath and gave him hers.
They held each other quietly for several minutes. She’d gotten everything she’d wanted…within the framework of Fantasies R Us. Everything she could have asked for and more.
But in a couple days, the fantasy would end and Michael would be closeted away until someone else requested his services. Oddly, she felt no jealousy, just sadness. Sadness that she could not afford a return visit to him. That he could not leave with her.
That he was not real.
Yet she had fallen in love with him, a cyborg. How crazy was that?
She hugged him tight. He stirred, his breath tickling her neck.
“Have I well served you, my lady?” he asked without lifting his head from her shoulder.
“Very well,” she murmured, wishing she could whisper the words I love you to him and that they would mean something to him.
He nuzzled her neck. “You are an amazing woman, Jayne.”
His praise made her heart swell…even though that praise had been from a cyborg programmed to please her in every way. What would it matter if she said the three little words to him she longed to speak?
This was all fantasy. Unreal. She could say whatever she wanted and not one syllable of anything she said could come back to haunt her. He might even echo the words back at her. Why not give herself the pleasure of speaking those words to one man once in her life—of hearing them spoken to her by the perfect man?
Wrapped in each other’s arms and legs, she turned her head, kissed his temple and sighed. “Aaah, Michael, I l—”
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel. Let down your golden hair?”
Michael’s head lifted from her shoulder and cool air slid between their bodies as he cursed. “What the hell is that?”
Chapter Eleven
“What the hell indeed,” Jayne echoed, gathering the flannel blanket around herself and following Michael to a tapestry draped window.
He drew the drape aside, stuck his head out the opening and shouted, “Who the hell are you?”
“’Tis the true love of the angel-voiced Rapunzel. Who, sir, might I inquire, are you?”
Jayne squeezed into the opening beside Michael and peered down on a princely attired lad, only then realizing they were in a stone tower.
“He is my true love,” Jayne answered, pointing at Michael without thinking.
From the corner of her eye, she caught the jerk of Michael’s face toward her. She looked at him, expecting to see at the very least a pleased expression on his features. Instead, she found him looking back at her with perplexed eyes.
Her cheeks flamed and she dropped her gaze to his lips…those lips that had worshipped her as only a lover’s could. A lover’s…but not necessarily a true love’s. Apparently love was not something programmed into Fantasies R Us cyborgs.
“What have ye done with my fair Rapunzel?” called the princely fellow at the base of the tower.
“Nothing,” she shouted down at him, her naked arm pressed against Michael’s bare one the way she wanted her whole body pressed to his. Maybe that would ease the ache in her belly for him not responding as she desired to her confession of love. “You have the wrong tower.”
“Nay. This is my Rapunzel’s tower. I have been coming here nightly for a fortnight.”
Nightly? Jayne eyed the darkening sky above. Indeed night was falling. That meant—
“The fool is climbing the wall,” muttered Michael.
She glanced down at the youthful prince coming up the wall at them like a seasoned rock climber. Behind him, a wolf called out, “I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down.”
The wolf inhaled a mighty breath and blew. A witchy looking woman pedaled a bike past the window on a whirlwind that blew the words there’s no place like home through Jayne’s ears.
“I told them,” she growled. “No more fairytales.”
An egg-shaped creature fell from the parapets above and shattered against the ground, splattering the huffing wolf. It was an egg. Humpty Dumpty to be precise, judging by the arrival of all the king’s horses and all the king’s men.
“I had better not be responsible for any breakage in this fantasy,” Jayne grumbled, wheeling from the window opening and scanning the room.
“What are you looking for?” Michael asked, turning with her.
“The panic button. This has got to stop.”
“I’ll go for help,” he said, releasing the window tapestry and heading for the door on the far side of the tower.
But just as his fingers closed on the doorknob, a scaly creature crashed through the tapestry, landed on the massage table and flattened it in a blaze of flames. A dragon.
“I’m not paying for that,” Jayne howled.
Ninety-Nine materialized amidst the flames in the center of the room.
“Is there a problem?” inquired the fantasy facilitator, clueless of the flames lapping up the air occupied by her image.
“No more fairytales,” Jayne wailed, using Fantasies R Us’ latest glitch to vent her frustration for all her fantasy could never be.
* * * * *
“That was very forceful of you.” Michael spoke quietly, his words a soft breeze rifling the strands of hair veiling her ear.
“They screwed up my fantasy…again.” In spite of the comforting cradle of Michael’s arms, the supportive brace of his firm chest to her back and the fact that they were together in the bed where they’d first made love…where she’d surrendered her virginity to the perfect man, she was still angry.
He pressed his lips to her temple and murmured, “I think my lady needs another massage to relax her.”
What she needed was for her fantasy not end in little more than twenty-four hours. Hot tears scratched at her eyes.
“I’m proud of you for how you stood up to Fantasies R Us,” he said, his naked legs sliding between hers.
A tear slipped down her cheek. “I should have demanded another day from them.” Even though I’ve used up all my vacation time and am expected back to work day after tomorrow.
