49 - Mixed Emotions

Petey’s heart pounded in her chest, the adrenaline surging too fast through her veins.  She didn’t know how to answer the question.  He was staring at her exuding some type of angry/impatient/confused aura that she couldn’t figure out, and she just didn’t know.

“Four score and seven years ago,” she whispered, lips barely moving.

“No.”  Three strides had him on her side of the table, spinning her around and cradling her head in his hands.  “Dammit, no!”  His thumbs traced across her cheek bones.  “There’s nothing to be freaked out over.”

Didn’t he understand that there was everything to be freaked out over?  He was giving her too much to consider, and no warning that this was going to happen.  She didn’t KNOW what she wanted.

“Our fathers brought forth on this continent -”

“Petey!”  Strong hands slithered down to grasp her shoulders and he shook her lightly.  “You don’t need to recite.  It’s just me.”

Her lips stilled and she blinked owlishly into his eyes.  Even now, with only his hands on her shoulders, he made her body sing with awareness.  She would never allow another man to control her, but this…  this chemistry that exploded between them was addictive.  Like no other rush she’d ever experienced. 

And occasionally – just occasionally – they would stumble upon a flash of something else.  Something new and unexplored that scared the bejesus out of her. 

“Sugar?”

She should sever all contact right now.  Petey knew it was the wisest course of action.  If she didn’t, they would likely end up fighting again before the week was done.  Worse yet, she would end up looking for another job, because the fights kept getting worse.  The next one may be one that they simply couldn’t move past.

“Jesus Christ, Petey!”  He gave her one good, hard shake.  “Talk to me already!”

Regardless, she couldn’t let him go yet.

Maybe it was selfish, but he’d offered her the experience of a lifetime.  She knew their days were finitely numbered, but they hadn’t even gotten through half of them. There was still time.  Time with him.

She couldn't let him go yet, and more importantly, she didn’t want to.  It was completely ill-advised and irrational, but there it was.

“Sex.”  The single word sounded every bit as sinful as it was – as it had the potential to be – when it escaped her lips on a whisper.  “I want to have sex with you.”

“Sex,” he reiterated, rolling the word over in his mouth.  “Your kinky fuckery.  That’s all?”

Petey’s head bobbed mutely up and down. 

“No-holds-barred kinky sex?  We fuck and then we walk away with nothing more.  That’s what you want.”

Was he questioning her over and over because he didn’t believe her?  Or because he didn’t want to accept it?  Worse yet, was he done with it - and her - already?

Her affirmation was more emphatic this time. “Yes.”

“Domination?”

The newly found confidence she’d infused into the last reply faltered just a bit.  “Y-yes.”

“No,” his head swayed in doubt, and his hands dropped to his sides when he took a step back.  “I don’t believe you.  If that’s what you want then you’re going to have to be more convincing than that.”

Petey set her jaw, narrowing her eyes determinedly while never relinquishing his gaze.  “I want to have sex with you.  When we’re having sex, you’re completely in charge of both it and me.”  She looped her arms around her middle, and her voice dropped an octave.  “My body’s yours for anything but pain or kissing.” 

Some days there just aren’t enough curse words in the English language, Jon thought to himself.  The damnably exasperating Petey was inspiration to craft at least a dozen more.  In lieu of that, he was going to give her exactly what she'd asked for.

“Then let’s get it on.”  Hard fingers wrapped around her wrist and she tripped over her feet stumbling toward him.  “Bedroom?”

If he’d had any underlying concerns about ‘performance’ issues, they disappeared when those damn pink lips parted with surprise and color bloomed in her cheeks.  Jon was almost ashamed of it, but his cock swelled as she nodded with wide eyes toward the doorway behind him.

A myriad of adrenaline inducing emotions swirled in his head, but he pushed them all aside and focused on nothing other than lustful anger.  That’s what this situation called for, and he would damn well bring it.

A quick glance told him that she hadn’t made her bed this morning, and the rumpled pink bedding sent another surge of blood below his belt.  He wanted to see her writhing at his hand on top of that poofy, girly comforter and cotton candy sheets. 

Jon smirked cruelly.  Today she would be anything but sweet when he was fucking her in that bed.

He snatched that damn rabbit shirt off of her body, and the curtain of her newly straightened hair swung like a glossy, pink-tipped pendulum as it settled back around her shoulders.

“No more straight hair when you’re fucking me.”  He peeled the leggings down her body and ripped the shoes from her feet while she stood, dumbfounded watching him with dilated pupils.  At least he assumed they were dilated.  Who knew with those ridiculous contacts?  “No more freaky-ass contacts and no more goddamn Goth makeup while you’re in my bed.  If I’m going to fuck you, I want to fuck you, not some masquerade you’re putting on for the world.”

She toppled easily onto the bed when he pushed her, her chest heaving as she silently stared.  Unrelenting, Jon grabbed both ankles in one hand and propped them on his left shoulder while he worked the wispy pink panties off of her bottom and over her legs. 

When they floated to the floor and she still hadn’t said anything, he brought one hand soundly down on her left buttock.  “Do you understand me?” he demanded after the harsh ‘crack’ had faded from the air.

Her sharply inhaled breath gave him pause as he glowered fiercely down at her, naked except for the bra that matched the panties.  The bra that was not only heaving with her breaths, but hopping animatedly up and down when those breaths became more rapid. 

His pause was unfounded when she contritely murmured, “Yes, Sir.”

Green light.

There was no holding back now.  This was his show and, lucky for her, he put on a hell of a show.

“Take your bra off.”  He stripped his jacket and kicked away his boots and socks, quickly scanning the room for something useful. 

There, he thought untucking his shirt and ripping it over his head.  Those should do quite nicely.

Her clothes from the night before were scattered all over the floor, looking like ink smudges against the pale beige carpeting.  Bending, he scooped up first one, then the other of her silky stockings.

Jon kept his jeans on for the time being, and menacingly hovered over top of her, running the stockings through his palm.  The friction was just the right combination of smooth and rough.

“What the hell are those contacts supposed to be?  Vampire eyes?”  The way they glowed at him was annoying, and that misshapen pupil bugged the hell out of him.

“They’re imp eyes.”

The revelation gouged uncomfortably into his sternum. 

His little imp.

She’s not your little imp, dumbass.  She’s a receptacle for your dick.  No more talking.  Just fuck her and fuck her hard, Bongiovi.

“Go take them out.”

She didn’t hesitate, scrambling off the bed and into the bathroom before he’d scarcely finished the sentence.  He watched her bare ass sway – one cheek shining brightly with his handprint – as she ducked into the bathroom.

The stockings were twirled around both fists, the length of nylon stretched taut between them.  He pulled, gauging how much give there was, and if they would be sufficient to accomplish his objective.  They didn’t rip, so he deemed them good enough under the circumstances.

Jon felt her gaze on him and lifted his head to find her standing on the bathroom threshold.  Ice-blue eyes were watching him expectantly, evidently awaiting her next instruction.

He grabbed the corner of the comforter and sheet, whisking them to the floor and leaving the mattress bare except for the fitted sheets and two pillows.  “On your back in the center of the bed.”

When she was situated with her head at the top, near the pillows, Jon crawled close to her left side and dropped one of the stockings, allowing it to flutter onto the sheet.  “All you have to do is say stop,” he reminded her softly as he knotted one end of a stocking around the inside of her elbow.  Bringing that elbow to meet her knee, the other end of the stocking cinched the two tightly together.

“Hurt?”

Her inky hair slithered across the sheets when she silently shook her head.

Jon gave a quick tap to her butt.  “Does it hurt?” he prompted again.

“No, Sir.”

Rubbing a placating hand over the inflicted spot, he nodded and moved to her other side.  There, he performed the same bondage technique.  Once both elbows were lashed to her knees, Petey resembled a turtle trapped on its back.  Her womanhood was blatantly exposed and there was nothing she could do about it.  She was completely at his mercy.

Now that his temper had reduced from boiling to a low simmer, Jon was having second thoughts about the extremity of what he was doing.  Petey wasn’t helping any, because she had adopted a passive facial expression that told him nothing.

His fingers trailed over the alabaster skin of her inner thigh.   “How do you put an end to this?”

“I tell you to stop.”

The other thigh beckoned his touch and he couldn’t resist its call.  It was so soft under his fingertips.  “Do you want to stop?”

“No, Sir.”  Her answer was breathy, but sure. 

Satisfied, he spun her around and put himself between her legs, pleased to see that her sex was already weeping in anticipation of what lie ahead.  He swept a finger through the silky dew, keenly aware of the moment when Petey discovered just how helpless she was.

“You can’t move, can you, Baby?  Can’t clench your legs together when it feels good.  Can’t do anything but accept what I give you.”  The finger that had been gathering honey delved into her opening, where the muscles contracted around him.  “Still okay?”

“Quit asking,” she gritted out between clenched teeth, futilely trying to writhe closer into his touch. 

Jon delivered a prompt smack to her right butt cheek, hand stinging with the impact.  “Wanna try that answer again?”

A second finger joined the first and a groan of pleasure seemed to be ripped from her throat.  “Yes, Sir,” she forced out, trying her best to wiggle closer. 

Jon just chuckled and hooked his fingers to rub against her G-spot.  “This will be one of the most intense orgasms you ever have.”  The nectar began to flow as he massaged the magical spot, and his fingers were swimming in the slickness.  “Because you can’t control it.  You can only let it happen.”

Inching backward, he lowered himself to the bed so that his mouth could join his fingers, hovering close to her womanhood without making contact.  He just allowed his breath to caress her and watched the glistening folds part even further, inviting his touch and expecting more of the same slow and easy teasing.

He dipped his head gradually, the thumb of his free hand stroking the soft flesh of her lower abdomen.   

Little did she know…

Jon roughly sucked her clit into his mouth and began pumping his fingers urgently in and out of her heated core.  Over her cries of surprise and desire, he sucked, bit, invaded, and pounded.  She tried vainly to buck him off, to evade the intensity of his onslaught, but couldn’t gain any purchase in her captive state. 

“God, Jon!  Too much!  Oh god, ohgodohgod.  Ohhhh… almossssst.  Oh God, don’t stop now!”

How quickly she'd gone from too much to not enough, and her pleas to not stop did nothing to stem the swelling of his arousal.  But stop he did, intentionally leaving her to hang by her fingernails on the edge of that erotic cliff.  He levered himself up, wiping his mouth with one long swipe of his thumb.

“Nooooo!”  Petey struggled violently, unable to move more than an inch or so at a time.  Another slap on the butt put a stop to that, and she was reduced to begging.  “Please.  Oh, pleeeease!”

He pretended as though he didn’t hear.  Pretended as though her husky pleas didn’t have his balls drawn up so tight that they were about to invert. 

No.  Jon casually slipped off the bed and dropped his jeans, taking in the enigmatic woman who made no sense except in the bedroom.  He stroked himself as he inched his hips between her splayed thighs. 

In the bedroom, she made perfect sense.  She wanted him as much as he wanted her.  They both wanted the same thing.  They both wanted this.

He swirled the head of his erection in her wetness, holding himself poised at her entrance.  Then he leaned over, reaching for her mouth and pressing a thumb against her parted lips.  “Suck,” he commanded.  In the instant his thumb slipped between her lips, his cock pushed through her lower lips.  Jon hissed with the dual sensation, feeling the vibration of Petey’s moan sizzle through his hand and arm.

“Harder.  Suck harder,” he rasped, the strength of his thrusts directly tied to the intensity with which she devoured his thumb.  She had a direct line from there to his groin, and each pull of her lips tugged somewhere deep inside his balls.

Heat surrounded him.  An insurmountable wanting filled him.  Desperation clawed at him. 

Jon’s eyes drifted downward and watched himself drive into her defenseless flesh, emerging bathed in her wetness.  His thumb ‘popped’ when he tugged it from the suction of her mouth, and was still wet with her saliva when it started working  in earnest against her clit.  He ground into her with every ounce of frustration and desire she’d ever stirred in him, finally forced to loop his free arm around her thigh so she couldn’t slide away.

Her whimpers became shriller as he scraped against the inflamed nerves at the same time he stretched her insides, conforming her to his possession.

“Oh, I want to come.  Will it help if I call you Sir? Sir, please make me come.”  Her butt wiggled against the mattress as much as it could.  Her skin was rosy from breast to forehead and she was twitching with anticipation.

“Hold still,” he grated, sweat dripping into his eyes.  “I can’t make you come if you don’t hold still, Baby.  Be a good girl and hold still…”

“Mmmnnhhfff.”  She tried.  She really did, but Jon knew she was on the verge of insanity, and that's exactly where he wanted her:  on the same plane of insanity that she left him every day.

He added his index finger to the thumb against her clit, but rather than satisfying her, it only added fuel to the fire. 

“Ohhhhh… please… hurry….  So close.  I’ll do anything.  Please…” 

He switched from rubbing to lightly flicking, first one direction then the other as he continued to pummel into her tender flesh.  The change of pressure and touch ignited her. 

“Jooo-onnnnn!”

And that ignited him.

Her muscles clenching around him, Jon filled her with the strangled cry of a wounded animal, convulsing against her helpless body until…  He had no breath, and had been milked utterly dry. 

Both physically and emotionally.

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FYI:  That, my friends, was the deepest dip into the kinky pool that you'll see out of me.  Everything beyond this is...  Well, not this.