Read Online Safe Word: An Erotic S/M Novel by Molly Weatherfield - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Molly Weatherfield
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She opened her legs wide
and bent her knees, and I-right then what I was feeling was
that I wanted to spoil her so terribly that she'd never, never
go away. It meant making my mouth, my tongue, move so
slowly and so gently. Being so steady and building so gradually. I didn't want her to move away from me, I wanted her
to move toward my tongue, my breath, to dissolve under my
mouth, her cunt and then all of her, helpless with pleasure,
melting beneath me.
Tell her now, I thought. She'll agree to anything.
The thought surprised me. That hadn't been why I'd
eaten her. I'd truly wanted to make her feel that good. To
render her, well-helpless with pleasure was the word I think
you used, wasn't it, Jonathan? Shit, it was too early in the
morning for that sort of conundrum.
No, I wouldn't tell her now. Wouldn't even think about
it for a while. I was tired of strategizing, I thought. Maybe I
needed a vacation too.
"Let's have breakfast up here," I said. "I'll lick off the
croissant crumbs you'll drop all over your tits."
She laughed. "I'm surprised you want to be in the same
room with these sheets. They're pretty rank."
"I can handle it," I promised her. "And anyhow, I kind
of like the idea of being isolated from the world. Well, at least
until the rain lets up a little."
I did like the isolation, the subtle, underwater lightand how easy it would be to grab her right after breakfast for
a quick fuck. Except, as it turned out, I didn't have to grab
her at all. I did lick some crumbs off her, and she grabbed
me, hard, greedily. She pulled me to her, and I pulled her
to her feet, and we fucked standing up by the table, leaning
against the wall-a happy, noisy, silly-looking fuck where I
kept slamming her hips against the wall, and she had a leg
oddly propped against the perpendicular wall to keep her
balance, and we hoped the people in the rooms upstairs and
downstairs and next door were doing the reasonable thing
and having their coffee and croissants in the restaurant
downstairs.
"Come on back to that smelly bed," I said, "and tell me
what happened next.
"Sort of like we were stranded by fire or flood or something, you know, in some old monastery," I continued,
straightening the covers a little, "and had to entertain ourselves by telling each other dirty stories."
"Well, if you really want to..." she said. "I mean, it's
just your basic, redundant, S/M tropes, in which your eternally
clueless innocent gets shown-yet again-which end is up.
Which seems to be more or less how it actually happens to me."
I took her hand. Basic, redundant tropes sounded fine to
me. "Come on," I said. "You were in bed, and Constant had
just fallen asleep...."
CARRIE'S STORY CONTINUES
I woke up slowly the next morning, alone in bed. I was a
little sad, but not surprised. Next time I saw him, it would be
completely different. Maybe I'd be harnessed to a pony cart,
I thought, stretching a little. And then I jumped, as the door
banged open and Stefan marched in. He stood over the bed,
looking at me for a moment, both of us simultaneously recognizing that I hadn't slept on the pallet. It seemed to make
him terribly angry. And then he pulled the covers off me.
"Waiting for breakfast in bed?"
I didn't know what the right thing to do was, so I scrambled off the bed to kneel at his feet. He sat on the bed and jerked
my head up, looping his fingers through the ring in my collar.
"Uh, no, Stefan," I said, as meekly as I could. "I'm sorry,
Stefan." But of course I wasn't sorry, because I figured that if
Mr. Constant had wanted me to sleep on the pallet, he would
have told me to, and I didn't see what business it was of a
mere secretary to get so exercised about it. Even if he was a
bright boy.
Bright enough to know that I wasn't sorry.
"Yeah, right," he muttered.
And then he just looked at me, in a sneaky, calculating,
hostile sort of way.
Oh, shit, I thought. He's going to fuck me-he's been
given
and bent her knees, and I-right then what I was feeling was
that I wanted to spoil her so terribly that she'd never, never
go away. It meant making my mouth, my tongue, move so
slowly and so gently. Being so steady and building so gradually. I didn't want her to move away from me, I wanted her
to move toward my tongue, my breath, to dissolve under my
mouth, her cunt and then all of her, helpless with pleasure,
melting beneath me.
Tell her now, I thought. She'll agree to anything.
The thought surprised me. That hadn't been why I'd
eaten her. I'd truly wanted to make her feel that good. To
render her, well-helpless with pleasure was the word I think
you used, wasn't it, Jonathan? Shit, it was too early in the
morning for that sort of conundrum.
No, I wouldn't tell her now. Wouldn't even think about
it for a while. I was tired of strategizing, I thought. Maybe I
needed a vacation too.
"Let's have breakfast up here," I said. "I'll lick off the
croissant crumbs you'll drop all over your tits."
She laughed. "I'm surprised you want to be in the same
room with these sheets. They're pretty rank."
"I can handle it," I promised her. "And anyhow, I kind
of like the idea of being isolated from the world. Well, at least
until the rain lets up a little."
I did like the isolation, the subtle, underwater lightand how easy it would be to grab her right after breakfast for
a quick fuck. Except, as it turned out, I didn't have to grab
her at all. I did lick some crumbs off her, and she grabbed
me, hard, greedily. She pulled me to her, and I pulled her
to her feet, and we fucked standing up by the table, leaning
against the wall-a happy, noisy, silly-looking fuck where I
kept slamming her hips against the wall, and she had a leg
oddly propped against the perpendicular wall to keep her
balance, and we hoped the people in the rooms upstairs and
downstairs and next door were doing the reasonable thing
and having their coffee and croissants in the restaurant
downstairs.
"Come on back to that smelly bed," I said, "and tell me
what happened next.
"Sort of like we were stranded by fire or flood or something, you know, in some old monastery," I continued,
straightening the covers a little, "and had to entertain ourselves by telling each other dirty stories."
"Well, if you really want to..." she said. "I mean, it's
just your basic, redundant, S/M tropes, in which your eternally
clueless innocent gets shown-yet again-which end is up.
Which seems to be more or less how it actually happens to me."
I took her hand. Basic, redundant tropes sounded fine to
me. "Come on," I said. "You were in bed, and Constant had
just fallen asleep...."
CARRIE'S STORY CONTINUES
I woke up slowly the next morning, alone in bed. I was a
little sad, but not surprised. Next time I saw him, it would be
completely different. Maybe I'd be harnessed to a pony cart,
I thought, stretching a little. And then I jumped, as the door
banged open and Stefan marched in. He stood over the bed,
looking at me for a moment, both of us simultaneously recognizing that I hadn't slept on the pallet. It seemed to make
him terribly angry. And then he pulled the covers off me.
"Waiting for breakfast in bed?"
I didn't know what the right thing to do was, so I scrambled off the bed to kneel at his feet. He sat on the bed and jerked
my head up, looping his fingers through the ring in my collar.
"Uh, no, Stefan," I said, as meekly as I could. "I'm sorry,
Stefan." But of course I wasn't sorry, because I figured that if
Mr. Constant had wanted me to sleep on the pallet, he would
have told me to, and I didn't see what business it was of a
mere secretary to get so exercised about it. Even if he was a
bright boy.
Bright enough to know that I wasn't sorry.
"Yeah, right," he muttered.
And then he just looked at me, in a sneaky, calculating,
hostile sort of way.
Oh, shit, I thought. He's going to fuck me-he's been
given
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