Bedtime stories for sub boys.

[Silverlily]

Thank you


And yes TB, it is a shame there isn't something quite as dramatic for female cds. Still, playing with gender roles is always a pleasure.

 

[Aeroil]

with permission -


Aeroil’s Very Bad Day

Aeroil buttoned the top of his pajamas and flung himself across his bed. Today had been terrible, everything he touched had gone wrong and to make matters worse, the grumpiness that had started as that annoying little twitch had blossomed into full-blown stranglehold. He had smarted off to all the wrong people and even been horribly nasty to a sweet friend. Scowling deeply, he blinked several times. He hated crying. Bad day or not, he wasn’t about to let tears fall.

Curling up into a ball of pure misery, an audible sigh escaped his lips. The Mistress was late, well later than usual. Her schedule was Her own. He knew that. But right now he didn’t much care, everything was awful and She wasn’t helping. It wasn’t fair that he had been alone all day, why wasn’t She here to take care of him? His scowl deepened.

So caught up in his pity party, he didn’t hear the door open. She stood in the doorway, outlined by the light from the hallway. Her soft voice carried across the room, “I understand you’ve been a complete trial today. Why is that?” She crossed the floor and set a bag down next to the bed. “No matter, what’s done is done, and there are consequences for such behavior. Really, Aeroil, picking on a girl? You do realize I am also a girl. Would you pick on Me?” Curling even tighter in on himself, Her words stung. She was right, he had been disrespectful to a woman and he knew better. “I think you need to be taught a lesson.” Her words carried an unmistakable chill.

“Get up, Aeroil, and remove your pajamas. You think you are better than Grace? No, little monster, you are the lowest. If it is a girl you find lower than you, then perhaps that is how you should spend the night.” With that, She reached into the bag and pulled out a soft pink, ruffled nightie and matching panties. His cheeks flushed deeply as he heard Her say, “put them on”.

The earlier grumpiness had not left. He scowled again and glared at the floor. In horror he heard himself say, “no”.

“No? This is worse than I thought.” He felt a firm hand take hold of his shoulder and spin him around. Her fingers grabbed his hair as he was forced, face down, across the bed. The pajama bottoms he had not yet removed were yanked down to his knees. “Do not move”, She commanded. Taking a hairbrush from his dresser, She knelt next to him and brought down the first smack. Without a word, She rained blows on his helpless bum until it glowed as red as Her lipstick. She paused and waited for him to speak.

Aeroil knew She was waiting for his apology, but the rotten day would not let up. He was frozen, unable to speak. He felt Her shake Her head and get up to leave. As She neared the door he felt all the awfulness of the day overwhelm him. His lip shook and a wrenching sob shook through him. “No, Mistress, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t leave me”, he wailed.

In an instant She was next to him, smoothing his hair as the tears fell. Waiting for the sobs to subside, She gently removed the pajamas still tangled around his knees. “Sit up, boi.” She took the nightie and pulled it over his head. “The lesson must still be learned.” She slid the lacy panties up his legs. “Stand up.” He whimpered as she pulled them over his sore bum, the lace scratching his tender skin. “What a pretty little girl you make,” She whispered, smiling as the cheeks on his face burned to match the cheeks on his bum. “So pretty, indeed.”

The plain misery on his face touched Her. He was a good boy most of the time. She had him lay down again and snapped Her fingers, the signal for bottom up. She took a small plug from the nightstand. “My poor boy, so out of sorts. Let Me put you where you belong.” She pulled down the panties and applied a little lube to the plug. Pressing it into his tight anus, She gently worked the plug in. Sliding it, twisting, in and out, She felt him harden. As She slowly fucked him with the plug, She stroked his reddened bottom as he moaned and writhed. When She could feel he was about to cum, She slid his pajamas under him and whispered Her consent. His orgasm shuddered through him, soaking his pjs. “We can’t have you changing before morning,” She laughed.

She tossed the pajamas into a corner, seated the plug in for the night, and pulled the panties up over his bottom. Helping him crawl under the covers, She softly kissed his forehead and stroked his hair until his breathing slowed and at last the horrible day ended with peaceful rest.

*reads story again and goes off to bed*

 

[Private_Label]

I am wearing pants lol, when did I say I wasn't??

Non-regulations ones at that!

Can I hold him down for you Ma'am?

 

[timberwolf05]

water?

SHUT UP AND GO TO BED!!

The first motherfucker who asks for a glass of water is going to bed with no dinner for two nights in a row!

but "I" want a shot o' jack and a cold beer chaser damn it!

hehe
chuckling.

the wolf

 

[Aeroil]

Non-regulations ones at that!

Can I hold him down for you Ma'am?

*rigs up the wires so he can leap out of PL's grasp if she tries.*

 

[timberwolf05]

story?

His lip shook and a wrenching sob shook through him. “No, Mistress, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t leave me”, he wailed.
---------

hmmmmmmmmmm. never been there or done that. and i believe it will be a cold day in hades before anyone can make me sob and tremble. been too macho for too long to break now.

time may tell. we will see. i doubt it. but stranger things have happened....

when pigs fly!!!!!!!!

the wolf

 

[Aeroil]

His lip shook and a wrenching sob shook through him. “No, Mistress, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t leave me”, he wailed.
---------

hmmmmmmmmmm. never been there or done that. and i believe it will be a cold day in hades before anyone can make me sob and tremble. been too macho for too long to break now.

time may tell. we will see. i doubt it. but stranger things have happened....

when pigs fly!!!!!!!!

the wolf

*rigs up some wires for the pigs too*

 

[timberwolf05]

pigs

*rigs up some wires for the pigs too*

ah jeeeeeeez. you play hard ball, huh?

ok. batter up!
lol
the wolf.

 

[dexwebster]

This is actually fanfic that I've filed the serial numbers off of, so to speak. It's a bit more subtly than most what's here, but I thought it might appeal.
____________

"I don't know. He seemed awfully interested in what you were doing here."

James rolls his eyes. He stretches his legs out and plants a foot on either side of her on the ottoman she's perched herself on.

Anne had answered the door in a bruised red dress with her hair down and loose around her face. Smiled and said, "hey," like she was surprised to see him, like they hadn't made plans to come back and meet up before the afterparty. Then she started talking about Will. He'd called just a minute or two before James knocked.

She keeps wondering why, and James keeps wondering why she cares. He rubs a thumb over her ankle where her feet rest in his lap, looking down the clean line of her leg. Her dress is short but not indecent; even with her legs spread this wide he can't quite tell what color underwear she's wearing.

She smiles and throws her legs over each of his shins. "You been holding out on me?"

"Holding out on what?"

"The dirt on you two." She drains her glass. Sets it on the floor with a clink of ice then leans back lazily on one hand. Her other hand rests at the top of her thigh, pulls maybe-accidentally at the folds of her dress. Her panties are the color of a good merlot. "What's it like?"

There's still the party to go to at some point, but they've got a little time, and it's been too long since James has had a lapful of a smile like that. He turns one palm up for her hand. She tips her weight and pulls herself down his legs to slide into place astride his thighs. He asks, "What?" without expecting an answer, just puts both hands on her face and kisses her, tipping his head back as she kneels up. He lets his hands slide down from her waist, then sweep up the backs of her thighs, a buttery soft waterfall of fabric pouring over his hands.

"Fucking Will," she says with a laugh.

"Will?" And that's a mind-bending degree of what the fuck? he's packing into one word, because he hasn't, hasn't even thought about it in--god, it's got to be years--never even told anyone. "I haven't—"

"I don't care if you really have," she says, rolling her eyes like that should be obvious. "Just tell me. Make it up."

The hairs are still standing up on the back of James' neck, but he sounds cool enough when he leans forward to kiss her again and says, "I'll tell you about it later."

She leans back and gives a chiding little, "Ah ah," and her hand is sifting through his hair, once, twice, then three times and halfway through she closes it tight and keeps pulling. Hard.

James sucks in a quick breath, scrabbling awkwardly to get his hand on her wrist. It is small enough that his fingers overlap, wrapped around it. He could squeeze right now, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make her let go. But she's focused on him so intently, disarming in how kind she looks--that sweet, sweet smile.

"I want you to tell me now." She crooks two fingers around his arm and pulls it away from her wrist. It's so gentle it's laughable, the way she folds his fingers over the arm of the chair, and does the same thing with his other hand, untangling it from where he's clutching her dress. Her thumb tickles a little rubbing the back of his hand, and it's just like a girl to coo and pet at him while she's yanking a fistful of his hair. He is so gone.

Anne knows it. From the look on his face, how easily he let her pull his hand away. She cocks her head to the side with a crooked smile and says, "You really like this, don't you?"

Like she has to ask.

But, "It hurts," he says instantly, and means it; he hasn't stopped wincing. He does not mention the way his head is tingling right at his temples or how fast he's breathing.

She laughs anyway, dirty and knowing. "That's not what I asked," she says. Teases, "I think you do," into more syllables than it should be, stretches it out all the way down his throat and ends it with the grating scrape of teeth on his collarbone. She tugs impatiently at the collar of his shirt. "So what's it like? Fucking him?"

"How should I know? Didn't you date him?"

It takes a moment for her to answer. Contending with his shirt was obviously more work than she wants, and she's started unbuttoning it one-handed. "Sort of," she says finally. She sounds distracted. The third button pops. "We made out a couple times and he sent me a few postcards." She doesn't look up, but there's no question that she's smiling. "And he came in his pants once." Two buttons left. "But he was a baby, y'know? I would've busted his little brain if I'd done everything I wanted to do to him."

James almost laughs at that. He can't really imagine a sixteen year-old Will being down for this kind of thing. "So if you want to know so much, why don't you find out yourself?" No more buttons, and then his shirt's flipped open and then there's a warm hand on his chest, fingers twisting and playing over each other across his skin.

"You are so damn defensive. If I wanted to fuck Will on my own I would. What I want is to see you two fuck. But I'll settle for a story." Her voice is warm, too, enough to make him want to push into the hand in his hair. She presses a hard, fast kiss to his lips at the same time she pinches his nipple, and laughs when he gasps against her mouth. "So shut up and talk to me."

The angle's awkward with her kneeling up over him like this, and he has to push back into her hand to see her face. "Girl, you've got a dirty mind," he tells her, but he's smiling. Wanting to watch he can go with. And even if she's not the first person that's ever mentioned it, out of all the girls that have wanted to see them together she's the first one bold enough to demand some kind of satisfaction. He respects that.

"Yeah. So?" She lifts her chin. "Start easy. What's it like to kiss him?"

"It's," it's weird is what it is, the person who hasn't kissed him explaining it the one who has. "It's good."

"Mm. He's got a pretty mouth. I bet it's nice to fuck."

"Yeah." It's not easy to concentrate when her nails are scratching lightly down his side under his shirt and making it hard to think, and he's thankful when she stops moving, possibly to be helpful and possibly as a warning. "He, uh. He likes it when he's on his back," because Will has mentioned that he does when it comes to girls, and James will say almost anything so long as she doesn't stop. "Because he loves deepthroating, you know, but it's the only way he can do it without gagging." He's just telling her what she wants to hear, of course, but it would be just like Will, always going the extra mile to impress someone. Arms wrapped around James' thighs, pulling him in close, "Kneeling over him and just sliding all the way in."

"Does he like being fucked for real?"

James mumbles an agreement against her lips, and she tips her chin down, looking at him like he should know better than to think he can get away with it. But her next question isn't the one he'd expected.

"What about you?"

It takes a moment to answer, blinking away thoughts of Will's mouth and the little wrinkle he'd get in his forehead when James fucked into him. He is lying when he says no, well aware that she's got a tangle of leather and silicone and shiny buckles packed in her luggage somewhere that says differently. The yank on his hair is sharp enough that his heel thumps against the ottoman in surprise even though he was expecting it. He closes his eyes and quickly yelps, "Yeah--all right, yes." The spots on his eyelids throb to the pulse in his temples, dancing on the edge of too painful to enjoy. He doesn't realize he's moved until he feels her catch his wrist in the air, pushing his hand down and spreading his fingers over the arm of the chair again.

She pets at his hand. "So how do you like it? You like being on your back, too?"

"Face down," James says, swallowing. "On my knees or, you know." His stomach does a little flutter. She knows this part as well as anyone--they broke a table once--but it's different to say it out loud. "Bent over something."

"It goes deeper that way, doesn't it?" She sounds innocently curious in a way that brings anticipation fizzing along his arms in goosebumps. Forget asking coy little questions, Anne knows what she wants and she's willing to push harder to get it than most of the people he's been with. She's not afraid to give him a smack now and then or leave marks. "When you get fucked from behind?"

And she always knows just when to be vulgar.

He tries to nod just to feel the slight tug in his hair, enough to hold him but not enough to hurt. Lets her slide the tips of two fingers into his mouth when they press at his lower lip. They taste like her.

"I tell you what, honey." Her voice is cloyingly indulgent, but even that sharp, false sweetness is enough to make him shiver. If she called him a whore right now it would be a pet name. "You come back here with me after the party," she says, and pushes in her fingers in as far as they'll go, "and I will put you on all fours on that bed and fuck you deep like none of those boys ever could."

James slides his tongue between her fingers and gives the most embarrassing moan when she pulls out half way and then pushes back in again, filling his mouth, like she's fucking him now in a promise for later.

"Look at you." She pulls her fingers from his mouth with a slick pop and curves them under his chin. He arches into her with no more than a nudge, up and up, until his head is tilted so far back it's hard to swallow. His head is resting against the back of the chair, and he feels her whole hand spread over his throat before the other one lets his hair go. "Get off on being a fucktoy for girls in their hotel rooms and you say I'm the one with the dirty mind." The material of her dress hisses against itself as it bunches, and he knows why her hand's not in his hair anymore even if he can't see it. "I could probably get you to do all kinds of stuff if I asked nice enough."

He should argue that, he thinks. He's not getting off, because she won't let him. He's getting played with, getting tugged at and worked up and pinned down by the delicate pressure of her fingers along his windpipe. But other than that she's right. It's so much easier to feel good when he just lets her make him.

He's glad Will's not here, because she wouldn't have to ask very nicely at all.

He wonders what would happen if he begged to have her fingers in his mouth again.

Her fingers brush over his jaw and lips and pull him back down and she presses her thumb harder over his Adam's apple. Her lower lip has a tiny dent where she's biting the inside of it. James leans forward to kiss her neck, and she slides her hand into his hair again to hold him there, firm but without the edge of purpose from earlier. He grunts at the shift in weight as he drops his feet to the floor, puts his hands on her waist to steady her when she wobbles. She lets him, scoots closer down along James' thighs and breathes shakily when the hand tucked in her panties bumps against his stomach. She's too busy rolling her hips to pay any attention to where his hands are.

There's a cadence to her pleasure, rhythms in the way she pushes down into his lap and her thighs squeeze his legs, the counterpoint of her hand moving in his hair. James dances with her, rocking into the warm press of her breasts and holding her hips against his. He is wrapped in it, in her heat and in the slow, rolling song her body sings, and when he tilts his face up to be kissed it feels like an offering.

She kisses him until she is too lost to bother anymore, and presses her lips against his cheek, open-mouthed and panting quietly. Her knees clench tight on his hips as she shudders and makes a sound, a tiny, high thing too euphoric to be a whimper. It is absolutely silent for a moment--she's not even breathing, just letting the orgasm shiver through her--before she gives a wispy laugh and exhales a warm breath against James' jaw. She lets her head fall to rest on his shoulder while they touch and stay quiet, only breath and heartbeats. Her fingers stroke his neck; he rests his palm in the small of her back.

James can feel his body protesting when she pulls away, cold now without the warmth of her legs clamped around him, missing the curve of her waist under his hand. And he's so hard. She slides back and gets her feet on the ground in one smooth move, and her dress falls right into place like a magic puzzle, not a wrinkle to be seen.

"Okay," she says when she looks up. She looks way more collected than she has any right to be, with a Cheshire cat smile and the eyes of a well-fed lioness. "We can go now."

He watches stupidly as she buttons his shirt back up, and he asks, "Now?" Everyone at the party is going to think he's high, and he can't say they'll be wrong.

Anne gives his shirt a tug to straighten it out and rubs his arm. "We're still coming back later," she says.

He can hear the endearment tacked on the end of her reassurance even though it wasn't out loud. Baby or honey or slut or something else that means she knows just how far she's pulled him out of his head. That she knows he's standing here with a hard-on that's her fault, feeling like he just got hit by a satin-covered Mack truck. And that she'll take care of him. Later. It is a punishing, blissful promise. He looks at her fingernails and wonders how many marks he's going to have in the morning.

He was gone when he left his hands on the arms of the chair.

"And not right-this-second right now," she adds generously, then twirls and fucking sashays into the bathroom. Her hips move in soft swishes of red, swinging low and moving like they've been oiled. "I have to fix my lipstick first."

______

 

[timberwolf05]

storyline

This is actually fanfic that I've filed the serial numbers off of, so to speak. It's a bit more subtly than most what's here, but I thought it might appeal.
____________

"I don't know. He seemed awfully interested in what you were doing here."

James rolls his eyes. He stretches his legs out and plants a foot on either side of her on the ottoman she's perched herself on.

Anne had answered the door in a bruised red dress with her hair down and loose around her face. Smiled and said, "hey," like she was surprised to see him, like they hadn't made plans to come back and meet up before the afterparty. Then she started talking about Will. He'd called just a minute or two before James knocked.

She keeps wondering why, and James keeps wondering why she cares. He rubs a thumb over her ankle where her feet rest in his lap, looking down the clean line of her leg. Her dress is short but not indecent; even with her legs spread this wide he can't quite tell what color underwear she's wearing.

She smiles and throws her legs over each of his shins. "You been holding out on me?"

"Holding out on what?"

"The dirt on you two." She drains her glass. Sets it on the floor with a clink of ice then leans back lazily on one hand. Her other hand rests at the top of her thigh, pulls maybe-accidentally at the folds of her dress. Her panties are the color of a good merlot. "What's it like?"

There's still the party to go to at some point, but they've got a little time, and it's been too long since James has had a lapful of a smile like that. He turns one palm up for her hand. She tips her weight and pulls herself down his legs to slide into place astride his thighs. He asks, "What?" without expecting an answer, just puts both hands on her face and kisses her, tipping his head back as she kneels up. He lets his hands slide down from her waist, then sweep up the backs of her thighs, a buttery soft waterfall of fabric pouring over his hands.

"Fucking Will," she says with a laugh.

"Will?" And that's a mind-bending degree of what the fuck? he's packing into one word, because he hasn't, hasn't even thought about it in--god, it's got to be years--never even told anyone. "I haven't—"

"I don't care if you really have," she says, rolling her eyes like that should be obvious. "Just tell me. Make it up."

The hairs are still standing up on the back of James' neck, but he sounds cool enough when he leans forward to kiss her again and says, "I'll tell you about it later."

She leans back and gives a chiding little, "Ah ah," and her hand is sifting through his hair, once, twice, then three times and halfway through she closes it tight and keeps pulling. Hard.

James sucks in a quick breath, scrabbling awkwardly to get his hand on her wrist. It is small enough that his fingers overlap, wrapped around it. He could squeeze right now, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make her let go. But she's focused on him so intently, disarming in how kind she looks--that sweet, sweet smile.

"I want you to tell me now." She crooks two fingers around his arm and pulls it away from her wrist. It's so gentle it's laughable, the way she folds his fingers over the arm of the chair, and does the same thing with his other hand, untangling it from where he's clutching her dress. Her thumb tickles a little rubbing the back of his hand, and it's just like a girl to coo and pet at him while she's yanking a fistful of his hair. He is so gone.

Anne knows it. From the look on his face, how easily he let her pull his hand away. She cocks her head to the side with a crooked smile and says, "You really like this, don't you?"

Like she has to ask.

But, "It hurts," he says instantly, and means it; he hasn't stopped wincing. He does not mention the way his head is tingling right at his temples or how fast he's breathing.

She laughs anyway, dirty and knowing. "That's not what I asked," she says. Teases, "I think you do," into more syllables than it should be, stretches it out all the way down his throat and ends it with the grating scrape of teeth on his collarbone. She tugs impatiently at the collar of his shirt. "So what's it like? Fucking him?"

"How should I know? Didn't you date him?"

It takes a moment for her to answer. Contending with his shirt was obviously more work than she wants, and she's started unbuttoning it one-handed. "Sort of," she says finally. She sounds distracted. The third button pops. "We made out a couple times and he sent me a few postcards." She doesn't look up, but there's no question that she's smiling. "And he came in his pants once." Two buttons left. "But he was a baby, y'know? I would've busted his little brain if I'd done everything I wanted to do to him."

James almost laughs at that. He can't really imagine a sixteen year-old Will being down for this kind of thing. "So if you want to know so much, why don't you find out yourself?" No more buttons, and then his shirt's flipped open and then there's a warm hand on his chest, fingers twisting and playing over each other across his skin.

"You are so damn defensive. If I wanted to fuck Will on my own I would. What I want is to see you two fuck. But I'll settle for a story." Her voice is warm, too, enough to make him want to push into the hand in his hair. She presses a hard, fast kiss to his lips at the same time she pinches his nipple, and laughs when he gasps against her mouth. "So shut up and talk to me."

The angle's awkward with her kneeling up over him like this, and he has to push back into her hand to see her face. "Girl, you've got a dirty mind," he tells her, but he's smiling. Wanting to watch he can go with. And even if she's not the first person that's ever mentioned it, out of all the girls that have wanted to see them together she's the first one bold enough to demand some kind of satisfaction. He respects that.

"Yeah. So?" She lifts her chin. "Start easy. What's it like to kiss him?"

"It's," it's weird is what it is, the person who hasn't kissed him explaining it the one who has. "It's good."

"Mm. He's got a pretty mouth. I bet it's nice to fuck."

"Yeah." It's not easy to concentrate when her nails are scratching lightly down his side under his shirt and making it hard to think, and he's thankful when she stops moving, possibly to be helpful and possibly as a warning. "He, uh. He likes it when he's on his back," because Will has mentioned that he does when it comes to girls, and James will say almost anything so long as she doesn't stop. "Because he loves deepthroating, you know, but it's the only way he can do it without gagging." He's just telling her what she wants to hear, of course, but it would be just like Will, always going the extra mile to impress someone. Arms wrapped around James' thighs, pulling him in close, "Kneeling over him and just sliding all the way in."

"Does he like being fucked for real?"

James mumbles an agreement against her lips, and she tips her chin down, looking at him like he should know better than to think he can get away with it. But her next question isn't the one he'd expected.

"What about you?"

It takes a moment to answer, blinking away thoughts of Will's mouth and the little wrinkle he'd get in his forehead when James fucked into him. He is lying when he says no, well aware that she's got a tangle of leather and silicone and shiny buckles packed in her luggage somewhere that says differently. The yank on his hair is sharp enough that his heel thumps against the ottoman in surprise even though he was expecting it. He closes his eyes and quickly yelps, "Yeah--all right, yes." The spots on his eyelids throb to the pulse in his temples, dancing on the edge of too painful to enjoy. He doesn't realize he's moved until he feels her catch his wrist in the air, pushing his hand down and spreading his fingers over the arm of the chair again.

She pets at his hand. "So how do you like it? You like being on your back, too?"

"Face down," James says, swallowing. "On my knees or, you know." His stomach does a little flutter. She knows this part as well as anyone--they broke a table once--but it's different to say it out loud. "Bent over something."

"It goes deeper that way, doesn't it?" She sounds innocently curious in a way that brings anticipation fizzing along his arms in goosebumps. Forget asking coy little questions, Anne knows what she wants and she's willing to push harder to get it than most of the people he's been with. She's not afraid to give him a smack now and then or leave marks. "When you get fucked from behind?"

And she always knows just when to be vulgar.

He tries to nod just to feel the slight tug in his hair, enough to hold him but not enough to hurt. Lets her slide the tips of two fingers into his mouth when they press at his lower lip. They taste like her.

"I tell you what, honey." Her voice is cloyingly indulgent, but even that sharp, false sweetness is enough to make him shiver. If she called him a whore right now it would be a pet name. "You come back here with me after the party," she says, and pushes in her fingers in as far as they'll go, "and I will put you on all fours on that bed and fuck you deep like none of those boys ever could."

James slides his tongue between her fingers and gives the most embarrassing moan when she pulls out half way and then pushes back in again, filling his mouth, like she's fucking him now in a promise for later.

"Look at you." She pulls her fingers from his mouth with a slick pop and curves them under his chin. He arches into her with no more than a nudge, up and up, until his head is tilted so far back it's hard to swallow. His head is resting against the back of the chair, and he feels her whole hand spread over his throat before the other one lets his hair go. "Get off on being a fucktoy for girls in their hotel rooms and you say I'm the one with the dirty mind." The material of her dress hisses against itself as it bunches, and he knows why her hand's not in his hair anymore even if he can't see it. "I could probably get you to do all kinds of stuff if I asked nice enough."

He should argue that, he thinks. He's not getting off, because she won't let him. He's getting played with, getting tugged at and worked up and pinned down by the delicate pressure of her fingers along his windpipe. But other than that she's right. It's so much easier to feel good when he just lets her make him.

He's glad Will's not here, because she wouldn't have to ask very nicely at all.

He wonders what would happen if he begged to have her fingers in his mouth again.

Her fingers brush over his jaw and lips and pull him back down and she presses her thumb harder over his Adam's apple. Her lower lip has a tiny dent where she's biting the inside of it. James leans forward to kiss her neck, and she slides her hand into his hair again to hold him there, firm but without the edge of purpose from earlier. He grunts at the shift in weight as he drops his feet to the floor, puts his hands on her waist to steady her when she wobbles. She lets him, scoots closer down along James' thighs and breathes shakily when the hand tucked in her panties bumps against his stomach. She's too busy rolling her hips to pay any attention to where his hands are.

There's a cadence to her pleasure, rhythms in the way she pushes down into his lap and her thighs squeeze his legs, the counterpoint of her hand moving in his hair. James dances with her, rocking into the warm press of her breasts and holding her hips against his. He is wrapped in it, in her heat and in the slow, rolling song her body sings, and when he tilts his face up to be kissed it feels like an offering.

She kisses him until she is too lost to bother anymore, and presses her lips against his cheek, open-mouthed and panting quietly. Her knees clench tight on his hips as she shudders and makes a sound, a tiny, high thing too euphoric to be a whimper. It is absolutely silent for a moment--she's not even breathing, just letting the orgasm shiver through her--before she gives a wispy laugh and exhales a warm breath against James' jaw. She lets her head fall to rest on his shoulder while they touch and stay quiet, only breath and heartbeats. Her fingers stroke his neck; he rests his palm in the small of her back.

James can feel his body protesting when she pulls away, cold now without the warmth of her legs clamped around him, missing the curve of her waist under his hand. And he's so hard. She slides back and gets her feet on the ground in one smooth move, and her dress falls right into place like a magic puzzle, not a wrinkle to be seen.

"Okay," she says when she looks up. She looks way more collected than she has any right to be, with a Cheshire cat smile and the eyes of a well-fed lioness. "We can go now."

He watches stupidly as she buttons his shirt back up, and he asks, "Now?" Everyone at the party is going to think he's high, and he can't say they'll be wrong.

Anne gives his shirt a tug to straighten it out and rubs his arm. "We're still coming back later," she says.

He can hear the endearment tacked on the end of her reassurance even though it wasn't out loud. Baby or honey or slut or something else that means she knows just how far she's pulled him out of his head. That she knows he's standing here with a hard-on that's her fault, feeling like he just got hit by a satin-covered Mack truck. And that she'll take care of him. Later. It is a punishing, blissful promise. He looks at her fingernails and wonders how many marks he's going to have in the morning.

He was gone when he left his hands on the arms of the chair.

"And not right-this-second right now," she adds generously, then twirls and fucking sashays into the bathroom. Her hips move in soft swishes of red, swinging low and moving like they've been oiled. "I have to fix my lipstick first."

______

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hmm. kind of interesting. as yet doesn't grab my curiousity but okay.

thanks
the wolf