Entr’acte

An old story of mine in a new interpretation, and a nod to Trekkers and Mel Brooks fans everywhere.

http://sonicerotica.com/entracte/

Enjoy!

A Fantasy Out of Season

Night comes early in midwinter at these latitudes, but he had left the drapes open and the lamps unlit.  The fierce cold brilliance of the solstice moon illuminated the darkness in shards of white light; the blinking strands of bulbs on the Christmas tree in the corner and the leaping flames in the fireplace provided a multi colored counterpoint to the starkness of the moonlight.  He knew that, despite the gloom, there was enough of a glow to make the interior of the room visible to any one of his neighbors who cared to look through the tall windows that ran the length of two walls.

The thought to take her like this had been impromptu, so he hadn’t used any of the many purpose-made restraints he’d collected over the years.  Being well dressed came in handy, he thought, as he regarded the woman at his feet.

What he wanted most to do was rip the clothing from her, but having her make herself vulnerable was so much more effective an approach.  So, though her resistance was clear in the controlled insolence of every movement, he’d made her strip down to her knickers.

Her knickers were pointless as cover ups anyway, since they were pale and sheer and very brief, but he liked the variety of a clothed and unclothed thrashing.  At some point, once she was whimpering or maybe even squealing a bit, he would remove them and stuff them in her mouth as a gag.

After binding her wrists behind her back with his tie, he grabbed her by the nape of her neck and put her on her knees.  It was his favorite position for her, even more so when she was being so quietly mutinous.  His handkerchief served as a blindfold.  She was a little frightened of blindfolds, and he liked to use this fear to put her more deeply in a receptive frame of mind.

She was already trembling a little under his hand as he pushed her upper body down across the large leather ottoman.  Whether the cause was anger or fear or even anticipation, he couldn’t tell.  It hardly mattered anyway; he was going to do what he wanted regardless.

A small pillow from the sofa provided a cushion for her knees against the hard wood of the floor and raised her ass just a bit higher.  He bent and slipped his hand down inside her knickers.  He rubbed the pale soft flesh in slow circles, then slid his fingers down through the cleft of her ass to her cunt and stroked between her legs.

When she began to move her hips and make small mewling sounds, he stood and unbuckled his thin leather belt.  There was a muffled clink of metal and she froze.  He waited; she knew what the next sound in the sequence would be, and delaying it a bit would heighten her anxiety.  He wondered how long he could leave her like that, whether this might be a tactic to try later –  keeping her in agonized suspense until her resistance broke and she begged him to go on.  She would hate the irony of it, and that would make it infinitely more enjoyable.

The belt made a snappish sound as he pulled it quickly through the loops.  He drew it down through his hand a couple of times, fast, so that the flexing tip made thin whippy noises.  She had raised herself slightly off the ottoman; her entire upper body was twisting back and forth in a silent but emphatic negative.

He stooped and pushed her down again.  With her face turned against the pillowy surface, she could only move her head  slightly, but what she was communicating was still obvious.  It both amused and aroused him that she refused to speak, to beg or plead or even ask.  That would come soon enough, and despite her best efforts to prevent it.

He watched her as he folded the belt, unfolded it, then wrapped the buckle end  around his hand.  She stretched her bound hands down towards her ass, an attempt to protect herself from what she knew was coming.

“Don’t you dare,” he said, and she recrossed her hands and pulled them up to the small of her back.

His cock was rigid, pulsing against the confines of his trousers, and already seeping.  It amazed him sometimes that he could reach this level of arousal without really having touched her in any overtly sexual way.  Knowing that he could put her in this place, her place, by sheer force of will; that he could  drive her implacably into submission despite herself, compelling her to confront her own submissiveness and abandon all that cool detachment and self control; that he could bring her to such a state that she didn’t know whether she wanted him to stop or to go on – just knowing he had such control over her was sufficient to make him crazy hard.

He raised his arm.  This moment of stillness, a tableau of anticipation; it was like that second just before orgasm broke over him.  All that bursting energy poised to come crashing down, roaring through his veins like a tsunami.  She tensed, his excitement brushing her senses like a physical thing.

He moved; then, the only sound was the whistle of the belt as it sliced through the air.

Chapter 1: Some Days, You Get The Bear…

This post and the one below it (Chapter 2) need to be read together for the story to make sense.

She sat curled up on the couch next him, naked, sore and horny, and thinking about her dentist.  Dr. Grossman wore the exact same thick framed half moon glasses as the man beside her.  She did not want to be remembering her dentist; she wanted to be doing something – anything – with the man with whom she had just spent hours in thrashing and fucking.   But, as it was, he was sprawled comfortably, deeply involved in a book and there she sat doing nothing but thinking.  Hence, Dr. Grossman.

She slipped her hand inside his robe, trailing fingers up his belly and chest until she reached his nipples.  She took one of them between her fingers, firmly but gently, rolling it around until it stiffened, contracting into a taut little mesa of needy flesh.

He lay the book down on his lap and, taking his glasses off,  shut his eyes.  He was focusing on the sensation, she knew; his nipples were fantastically sensitive.  She continued playing with them, stroking the skin around them, then drawing them out with the tips of her fingers.  Occasionally she pinched them, and when she did, his breath hitched and his eyelids flutttered.

Moving the book aside, she straddled his hips.  She leaned in to kiss him, her mouth toying with his, her lips touching his eyelids, cheekbones, jaw, neck.  Her fingers were back fondling his nipples.  He brought his hands up to take her breasts but she grabbed him by the wrists and pushed them down to his sides.  Going again to his nipples, she said, “Take off your robe.”

He gave a small snort, acknowledging her direction but ignoring it.

In response, she pinched his nipples, painfully hard.  “Take off your robe,” she said again in the same matter of fact tone, her fingertips gripping like vises.

His eyes opened, wide and quick and he stared at her.  Her face expressionless, she stared back, and she felt his cock twitch through the fabric.  Slowly, he slipped the robe off his shoulders and down his arms.  She knelt up and he dragged the rest of it from his thighs.

“Good boy,” she said, settling down again over him.  “Now put your hands down by your sides.”  He obeyed, his eyes never wavering from her face.

She bent to take one nipple in her mouth, her fingers still handling the other.  She sucked the hard little bud and held it between her teeth as her tongue teased it.  His eyes closed and he let out a sharp breath; his cock pulsed between her legs.

Going from one side to the other she continued to suck and tease him; sometimes, it was the skin and muscle of his chest that she took instead, biting and sucking and leaving angry little red welts in her wake.   All the while,  the pressure from her fingers increased, until he was moaning under his breath, and his cock, slick with arousal, slid between the lips of her cunt when she flexed her pelvis.

Without warning, she closed her teeth on the nipple in her mouth, and twisted and pulled the nipple between her fingers.  He groaned aloud, a long low throaty sound, and his cock jumped under her.

Leaning forward, she put her lips close to his ear and whispered, “What a noisy little slut you are.  I can’t have you disturbing the neighbors.”  She reached behind her to the coffee table where the implements used earlier still lay and picked up the ball gag.

“Open your mouth”, she commanded,  her voice stern.   When he didn’t comply, she leaned back slightly, then slapped him.  Because of their relative positions, it was impossible for it to have been forceful, but it got his attention.  His nostrils flared briefly, and he stared at her.  Again, she stared back; he opened his mouth and she inserted the gag, but left the strap undone.

“Good boy,” she said again.  “Shall we up the intensity a bit?”  His eyes narrowed as she reached behind her again, then widened when she turned back to him with the clamps.  They were minor league clamps as these things go, far less cruel than some, but she knew they still could cause plenty of pain.

She affixed them to one nipple, then the other and he jerked and shook each time.  The clamps were linked by a short chain, and she pulled on this experimentally.   He was breathing more rapidly and had begun to drool behind the gag but seemed otherwise unaffected.

“Hmmm,” she said.  “This doesn’t seem to be bothering you very much.  I think these could be a bit tighter.” She slid the sliprings up, forcing the jaws of the clamps closer together.  He gave a short muffled scream; his eyes closed and sweat beaded on his forehead.  His neck was corded with strain but his cock was like a live thing, swelling and throbbing against her cunt.

She cupped his shoulders and leaned forward.  Opening her thighs wider, she ground down against him, moving up and down over his eager cock.  He was hard and wet and she slid over him easily, the swollen crown bumping against her clit each time.

“Are you close?” she whispered.  “Do you want to come, slutty boy?”  His hips were flexing now, and his cock was rigid and all he could manage was a short nod.

“I don’t fucking think so,” she said.  She moved off his lap to his side and sat on her heels  facing him.  She took his cock in her hand and squeezed it at the base between her thumb and forefinger for several seconds.  When she was satisfied that his orgasm was no longer imminent, she released him.  She tugged on the chain that joined the clamps, dragging his nipples this way and that.

His breathing had become ragged, but not, she judged, quite ragged enough.  She took his cock in her hand again and started to stroke it, hard and fast.  At the same time, she held one of the clamps and squeezed it even more tightly.  His cock jumped in her hand.  His head was thrown back; when she felt his hips start to buck, she again squeezed the base of his cock to prevent him from coming.

By now his face was wet with sweat and saliva and, she reckoned just maybe, tears.  She knelt up and scooted even closer to him.  She looked down his body, over the silver clamps and chain to his erect cock; she thought it looked angry.

She smoothed his damp hair back and stroked his forehead, then took the gag from his mouth.  He flexed his jaws, and his breathing seemed to slow a little.  “Such a good boy,” she crooned.  “Do you want to come?”

When he nodded again, she said “Oh, no.  You must ask,” and flicked the nipple clamps.

“I want to come,” he said, through clenched teeth.

“That’s not asking,” she replied.  “Ask me properly.”

“Please,” he said, “please can I come?”

“That’s better, “ she said.

She took his hand and wrapped it around his cock; she covered it with her own as he began to pump.   She leaned over him and started to take off the clamps.

“God, no,” he gasped, “Please don’t. Not now.”

She looked at him with  big soft sympathetic blue eyes, and pulled off one clamp, then the other.   His body jolted with the pain and he stopped stroking his cock.  Her hand on his encouraged him to start again, and she leaned close to him, talking softly to him, telling him that he was her own slutty boy, that slutty boys had to be kept in line, had to be disciplined if they paid too much attention to their cocks.

Suddenly, his body went rigid.  His mouth opened in an inarticulate cry.  She kissed him ferociously, and his cock erupted, the long ropy spurts arcing up, out, over, again and again.  Eventually his body’s convulsions quieted and his breathing began to slow.  He turned, gathered her close and hugged her tightly.  He growled something to her, but his face was buried in her neck, so it was impossible to make anything out of it.  But she knew what she needed to say anyway.

“Good boy,” she said, smiling.