I blindfolded her and stripped her down to her thong. Before I gagged her, I pressed a large marble into her palm.
"If you want me to stop," I told her, "you drop this, and I'll stop. Do you understand?"
She nodded and opened her mouth for the gag.
I guess I started to lose it then. Something about Hannah's lovely lips parting and her pink tongue, her obedient mouth. Her submission. It drove me mad.
"You really like this," I murmured, "don't you?"
Before she could answer, I fit the gag into her mouth and tied it tight at the back of her head. I laughed and gave her a push that sent her tumbling onto the bed.
She fell across the quilt with a muffled cry.
"You asked for this, you slut," I snarled. I couldn't help myself; I shucked off my shoes and shirt and crawled over Hannah's quivering form. I ground my arousal against her sex, her thighs, her stomach, her br**sts, her face. My slacks were getting painfully tight.
She tried feebly to participate, reaching for me, but I shoved her back and began tying her to the bed.
"You won't have the use of your limbs today, Hannah. I'm going to use you. All you're going to be is a body for me to play with. A cunt, a mouth, and a beautiful pair of tits."
I tethered Hannah spread eagle to my bed, the silk cords bound to her wrists and ankles and extending to each of the four bedposts.
I smiled down at my handwork. I sat beside her and lazily pulled on her n**ples.
"Hnnn! Nnnn!" She made glorious noises against her gag.
"Good girl," I soothed. "I'm testing your bonds. They're nice and tight, I see. You can barely move. Does this hurt?"
I began to twist and yank on her n**ples and squeeze and slap her br**sts. She jerked on the bed. My c*ck was already wet at the tip, I could feel it. My gaze flickered to the hand that held the marble. Her fingers were secure around it.
"Time for your collar, Hannah. We'll get pictures after this."
She groaned.
I fit the leather collar around Hannah's neck, securing the buckle. I tightened the clamps and fastened them onto her n**ples. Hannah started to breathe in short, tiny bursts through her nostrils. At that, I had to undo my slacks and slide them off, along with my boxers.
I climbed over her as I worked, my heavy c*ck resting against her stomach.
"You're keeping me nice and hard," I told her. "I know your n**ples hurt. This is a special collar, just for you. When I adjust these chains—" I did so, shortening the chains extending from the collar to the clamps. They grew taut between Hannah's n**ples and her neck. "—like so, the slightest movement of your neck is going to pull on your n**ples. I know how you love to have your most sensitive spots abused, Hannah. And just so these don't slip off when you thrash..."
I tore away two pieces of black tape and pressed them over Hannah's n**ples and the clamps, deliberately squeezing her n**ples as I secured the tape.
"Mmmnnn," Hannah moaned.
I could tell she was trying to keep her head still.
I rubbed my c*ck against her belly and smirked down at her.
"Why Hannah, I believe you're drooling a bit."
I touched the saliva leaking from her gagged mouth.
I fetched my phone from my slacks and snapped a few pictures of Hannah. I got a nice shot of her thong, the pink fabric soaked through, and her beautiful face blindfolded and gagged.
Her toys were on the bed. I turned on the smaller egg-shaped vibrator, set it to the highest speed, and fit it into Hannah's thong.
"Try to stay still while I position this," I told her. I gazed over Hannah's body, knowing that stillness would be impossible. As soon as the first vibrations tickled her sex, she began to squirm. Her head twisted on the pillow and the chains and clamps tugged so hard on her n**ples that her br**sts trembled.
She yelped around the gag.
Fuck, I wouldn't last long with Hannah like this. Then again, I didn't plan to.
"I'm going to leave this in your thong, Hannah, just like this." I positioned the vibrator against her clit, the soft electric hum of the motor drowned out by Hannah's groans. "And I'll give you a little time to think about your silly play for control at the club."
I grabbed my lube and flopped into an armchair with a view of the bed. Perfect.
Hannah's moans came at irregular intervals. Sometimes she grew still and quiet, fighting the sensations overpowering her body, but soon she resumed shaking and struggling. Her moans became desperate squeals. Her thighs twisted and her back arched. The little lump in her panties kept buzzing away, driving her insane.
I let Hannah suffer for nearly twenty minutes. I lubed my c*ck and stroked it as I watched her. When I couldn't take anymore, I climbed back onto the bed. She twisted her head to and fro as if she could see what I was doing.
"That's it," I panted. "Look around. Pull on your n**ples. Can you feel what I'm doing? I'm right on top of you."
I straddled Hannah's chest. I was jerking off above her face. A drop of lube hit her chin and we moaned together.
"Oh god, Hannah, god," I whispered. "I'm going to come baby, fuck, I'm—"
I gasped and gripped the headboard, coming spontaneously. Pleasure bowed my back. I fought to keep my eyes open as I milked my cum onto Hannah's face.
I had played this way with other lovers in the past, but the memories of it were like ashes. No fire. Not even a spark. No sex in my life touched this level of eroticism.
Hannah began to shudder in her bonds, fighting and making obscene sounds. I checked her hand. She held the marble fast. I felt a surge of admiration for her, and dark gratitude.
"I know," I whispered into her ear. "You wish you weren't gagged so you could lick up all that cum, don't you? Or maybe you'd like to come as well. I told you last night that I would go easy on you if you made a mess for me, and you did. You squirted for me like a bitch in heat."
Hannah's cheeks flushed. I jostled her nipple clamps.
"I recorded that little show last night. I thought about making you watch it today, but I couldn't wait to get you blindfolded. I love you like this. You love it, too. If I wanted to be cruel, I would make you wait for release until I'm hard again. But you've been perfect, Hannah. Now beg to come. Beg for something inside. Do your best, lover."
With a few deft tugs, I loosened her gag and tossed it away.
Hannah sucked in air like she'd been drowning.
"Please!" she sobbed. The word sent shivers through me. I grabbed her long purple vibrator and dialed it up to the highest speed.
"Ins—inside! Inside me, god! Let me come, M-Matt, let me, in... please, I—"
I allowed myself one last look at Hannah bound, Hannah in the throes of desperation, and then I slid her thong aside and plunged the vibrator into her sex. I didn't even need to move it. As soon as I pressed the curve of it up into her G-spot, she began to come.
Pleasure gripped Hannah the way it gripped me—first in a powerful paroxysm, then rolling waves of bliss.
I watched her face as she came. No wonder they called it the little death. Her pain sounded so much like her pleasure, or her pleasure like her pain, and the ecstasy on her face could have been agony.
She moaned and wet my hand with her desire, and I held the toys against her until her struggling ceased.
We slept in a sweaty tangle. The ties and toys lay strewn around the edges of my bed. For the first time, I held Hannah's nak*d body as she held mine. Our hearts slowed together. Our breaths grew even and deep.
When I woke, Hannah was exploring my body with her small hands. I realized I had been feeling her touch as I dozed, like the touch of some curious animal, on my face, my hair and neck, my shoulders, my back. I sighed and she paused.
"Keep going," I whispered.
Her feathery touches grew urgent. She pawed at my ass; she squeezed the lean contours of my torso and smoothed her hands over the hard planes.
When she scooted down to hold my thighs, she began to lap at my cock.
We made love as the evening sun burned away.
We touched all of one another, tasted everything. We were slow, gentle, and quiet. We took what we wanted. We gave it up. Hannah rode my face, I wriggled my tongue into her ass, she pinched and licked my n**ples. My eyes watered with the force of my cli**x. We drowsed and woke again. I mounted her. She mounted me. Our skin glistened.
Again and again we went there together—tumbling over the raw edge, touching the live wire, collapsing, exploding, dissolving like dead stars.
CHAPTER 14
Hannah
I WATCHED MATT sleep in the morning sunlight. He lay sprawled on his stomach with his head beneath a pillow and an arm around my middle.
He was beautiful.
He was more beautiful now than I had ever seen him. My gaze lingered over his long body, the line of his spine, his thighs and calves. I felt the wildest urge to roll him over and kiss my way down his golden treasure trail.
God, I felt amazing. I felt tattered in the best possible way, like our violent passion had blasted me clean. When I eased off Matt's arm and climbed out of his bed, I knew that I was leaving something behind. It was my old skin. He'd taken me for all I was worth.
I pulled on Matt's dress shirt and buttoned it once. I crept down the hall and guzzled water from the tap, then wandered into the library.
Wow, had I ever been right about this guy's reading habits. The room looked like the inside of a professor's office, only larger. The wall-to-wall shelves held reference books, fiction and nonfiction, translations, titles in foreign languages, books on CD, poetry, plays, maps—in short, an abridged library.
I trailed my fingers over the book spines, some so old they were flaking.
I found a large Willa Cather section. I grinned as I plucked My Ántonia off the shelf. Ha! I felt like a detective.
There was the Virgil epigraph, which Matt had circled. I flipped to the end of the book. He had highlighted the whole last paragraph and then, in pen, underlined the last sentence: "Whatever we had missed, we possessed together the precious, the incommunicable past."
In the margin he'd scribbled "epi?"
I frowned.
Epi? Epigraph? This was, I knew, the epigraph to The Silver Cord by M. Pierce.
My frown shifted to a smirk. Was Matt a secret M. Pierce fan? That might explain why he kept hassling me for liking the author—because he was a fan boy and too much of a literary snob to admit it.
I scanned the fiction, my eyes zipping toward the P section. Walker Percy, Sylvia Plath, Thomas Pynchon, Puzo, Proust—huh, no Pierce...
"Hannah."
I jumped.
Matt stood in the doorway. His face was pale and his hair was crazy. A pair of black lounge pants clung to his hips.
"Matt, hey." I gave a shaky laugh. "You scared me..."
Fuck, his eyes were so deadly serious. Girl in a tiger cage. Girl about to be devoured. He looked between the shelf and the book in my hands.
"Your, um—" I cleared my throat. "Your hair is awesome right now."
Matt eyed me a moment longer, then reached to touch his hair. A few pieces stuck straight up. The rest was matted.
"This is the new style," he murmured.
A cautious smile spread on his lips. I laughed too readily. Geez, what was that all about? Mr. Frostypants in the morning? Or did he think I was snooping?
I glanced guiltily at the book in my hand. Okay, maybe I was snooping.