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I sucked in my breath and waited. He started to spank me. As he did, he said, “Fuchsia’s the hanky for those who like to be spanked. What color is fuchsia for you?”
“Gray,” I murmured.
He spanked me harder and I worked to not buck my hips against the mattress. The friction of the position made me feel as if I might climax at any minute.
“Yellow is for people who like golden showers. What color is yellow for you?”
“Gray,” I told him. I was having a harder time speaking now, and my cock was a living, beating muscle of desire. What would he say if I told him I couldn’t hold back?
“Blue is oral sex,” he said. “What’s blue to you?”
I sighed, “Gray...I’m going to come.”
“Not yet!” He dropped the paddle and climbed onto the mattress behind me. He undid my ankle restraints and pulled me up on my knees. I felt lube between my asscheeks, and I groaned as he slid one finger into my hole. “I’m going to fuck you,” he said, adding another finger, stretching me open. “And then you can come.”
I nodded at his words, thinking, You’d better fuck me quick, then, because this is all too much for me. He finger-fucked me a few more seconds, and then he was in motion, pressing the big head of his fat cock to my back door, giving me a second to grow accustomed to the sensation before slamming all the way home. I was crying at the way that he filled me up, the way he made me his. His cock rode me hard and fast. There wasn’t a hanky color for what I was feeling—taken and used and fulfilled and needed. Or if there were, it would have been a rainbow.
“What color are your eyes?” I asked, suddenly needing to know. “Are they green or blue?”
“Gray,” he said, and he reached his hand under my body and milked my dick for me until I was shooting, coming all over his fist and my belly and his sheets. I worried for a second, since he’d told me he wouldn’t like that, but then I let the worry go. He was making me come after all. He shot his load a second later, filling me up with his spend, then pulling out and staring down at me. I didn’t think he was going to let me go for a minute, but he did, undoing the cuffs and taking me with him into the shower.
“You wanted bondage,” he said. “You came to a big city, looking for bondage, and you were lost, weren’t you?”
I nodded. He was working the soap over me in the shower—his beautiful eyes smiling at me, his big hands roaming over my body.
“Poor baby,” he said, kissing me under the spray, fisting my dick once more as the water rained down on us. “The hanky for bondage is gray,” he said, and he started to laugh. “And when you looked at that wall, all you saw were fifty shades of...”
“Don’t say it,” I begged him, and I silenced his mouth with my own.
STAG BEETLE
Sacchi Green
She touched the little box in my pocket and smiled like an urchin sure of a treat from an indulgent uncle. “Is that my present from Japan?”
I gripped her wrist. “Is that a hand in my pocket, or are you just glad to see me?”
Kit, brow puckered, tried to puzzle out my mood. “Well, of course I’m glad to see you!” She tried to wriggle her fingers against my thigh. My grip tightened.
What am I doing with a girl too young to get a Mae West reference, even by way of Jessica Rabbit? “I’m glad to see you, too, Kitten.” A warm, loving, beautiful girl. “I did bring you a present, but that isn’t it. Careful now. Don’t let the lid come off.” I drew her hand slowly out of my pocket. The white box emerged, still intact, the thick rubber band now perilously close to one end.
“What...” Kit jerked an inquisitive finger abruptly back as the cardboard lid twitched from some inner movement. Her expressive eyes widened as the significance of the tiny ventilation holes sank in.
“Do you really want to see?” Kit had an involuntary horror of creepy-crawly things. “My old students remembered that I’d been interested in their collections when I taught there, and thought it would make a fine present. I couldn’t refuse. It was an honor.”
Kit had met me at the door wearing only a silk shirt, open down the front; now she tucked her hands firmly under her armpits as she hugged herself for comfort. “I don’t know...maybe...” She pulled herself together and let her arms drop to her sides, body taut, scared-kitten face firming until it could have been a smooth stone carving of Bastet. “If I don’t see it, I’ll imagine something worse.”
“That’s my girl.” Warm, loving, beautiful and smart. And eager to please. I opened the box, my hand curved close just in case. The stag beetle, two inches of black shell and another inch of chitinous “antlers,” peered over the edge. Kit inclined her head just enough to get a good view, the trembling of her body barely perceptible.
“They’re quite beautiful, in their way. And harmless. I’ll keep him in a bigger box, a very safe box, and feed him fresh fruit—bananas, mangos, sweet peaches.” Was it accidental that Kit’s shirt slipped aside just enough to reveal the soft peach-glow curve of her breast? A startling inner vision of the black beetle moving across that sweet tender flesh sent tremors over my body, too. “It’s an ancient tradition for Japanese boys to collect and breed stag beetles as pets. They’re quiet and don’t take up much room.” Am I babbling? Don’t overdo it, nitwit!
“It was an honor, wasn’t it?” Her hand came out slowly. “Only boys keep them? It must be their way of honoring you as Jess, instead of the Jessica they knew ten years ago.”
“Yes.” A tangle of emotions gripped me. Pride in her bravery fought with a need to push her limits, to see how much she could bear—and how much I could bear before nothing mattered but fucking her so hard she screamed like a wildcat.
“I want to hold him,” Kit said. “Really.” She held steady, the faintest of shivers rippling across the tender skin of her arm, while the beetle took a few steps along the back of her hand and wrist. She was pale and somewhat breathless, still frightened on a level logic couldn’t reach. “I’m not sure I can hold still. Scary things...sometimes they feel so...so...I don’t know. Maybe you could tie me up?”
“How did you guess the real present I brought?” I picked up my backpack and nudged her toward the bedroom. She lowered herself carefully until she sat on the bed, her back against the brass bars at its head, never looking away from the glossy black presence now innocently exploring her forearm—until she felt the wide silk obi wrap her tightly just below her breasts.
