Two Words, Left Unsaid
The following is a fiction from 2008, originally posted to a private sex blog I maintained for a while. It is informed by memories of the past and uncomfortable dreams of the future. It was in intention a story and pornography at once, meant to arouse the readers libido, to explore the writer's and to tell a real story as well.
Be warned, the sex is rough and may be offensive or triggering to some readers.
Two Words, Left Unsaid
All during that long walk from the patio at August and Queen, though they were both guilty of the occasional lurch that found hip brushing hip, shoulder kissing shoulder, David was careful not to touch Lillian deliberately. Even when he finally managed to slip the recalcitrant lock of his Parkdale apartment's sturdy steel door, he only pushed it open and held it wide for her.
Nearly three o'clock in the morning, and I still don't know why she's here!
They had met after some six months knowing each each other online, Livejournal friends. She was in her first year of university, living on her own for the first time. She had a boyfriend, but she had made it clear hers was not a monogamous relationship. When she'd posted a complaint, a couple of months before, about said boyfriend's unwillingness to "throw me on the bed and just fuck me", David had replied that he would be delighted to take care of her needs if she was unsatisfied at home.
He'd ended the remark with a smiley-face, but in his heart of hearts, he'd meant it.
A couple of weeks after that, he'd suggested they meet face-to-face, and Lillian had agreed.
He made sure to arrive early and staked out a place at his favourite table, one with a good view of the street. He still managed to miss her approach until she loomed over him.
"You must be David." Startled, he glanced up to see a strong young woman clad in a clinging, nearly diaphanous tube-top that was only not quite transparent and a loose, casually mismatched skirt that fluttered just above her knees - he didn't know whether there was significance to her outfit or if she had just picked up the first things she'd found among the piles he imagined littered her bedroom floor.
"I am. And you must be Lillian." They shook hands with an awkward formality and he added, "You're even prettier than your pictures make you out to be." He regretted the cliché as soon as it fell from his mouth. He felt foolish; he felt old.
Lillian smiled, self-consciously pawed at her short-cut hair and then saved smiled to save him. "Did you practice that in front of a mirror before you got here?"
"You got me." David grinned sheepishly, but could not help adding, "nevertheless, it's true."
"I'll pretend to believe you." But she was smiling as she sat down across from him.
And despite the initial awkwardness, their conversation dashed along with the erratic energy of a young mountain stream, unfocused and tangential, yet with a clear direction that David could only believe was mutually flirtatious. So much of their talk revolved around sex; Lillian was fairly new to it and was exploring it with all the gusto of youth - but none of the reticence about it that had been so much a part of David's own. As she recounted adventures and fantasies alike, David's tone occasionally lapsed into that of a worried uncle, advising her against this danger and that danger. She indulged him when necessary, cut him short occasionally and gratified him by agreeing at the importance of a having a safeword when she admitted to having submissive fantasies.
"I thought of 'code blue' at one time - my mother's a nurse - but settled on 'red light' with my boyfriend."
"That's what my ex and I used. Short, sweet and almost impossible to make it sound sexy."
"Not that I've ever needed it with my boyfriend. I'm probably stronger than he is, but he treats me like I'm so fragile I might break if he even looks at me too hard."
And they were off again, lost in a summer storm of words.
When the waitress suddenly loomed, announcing last call, David looked Lillian in the eye. "I'm having too much fun to stop now."
"I'd suggest you come back to my place - I've got a bottle of wine on the counter - but my room-mate's asleep and I know we'd wake her up."
"I don't have a room-mate."
"Do you have wine?"
"No wine, I'm afraid; but I have a healthy stock of beer in the fridge.
"No wine?" She considered this, then grinned. "I don't hate beer."
"Then it's a deal?" He offered mock-formal handshake. She accepted it and, he thought, held it longer than formally required.
"It's a deal," she said. "I'll drink your beer."
And now here they were, swaying along the worn, grey carpet toward his apartment door. And yet, he could no more assign a specific signifier to her presence here than he had been able to her style. She liked him; she trusted him - but did she even sense his hopes that she wanted more than to drink his beer? Had she noticed the way his eyes had strayed from hers, to lap up her curves and hollows?
If there were any rules to the situation, he didn't know what they were. While he struggled with the lock, he pondered the rigid behavioural codes of times past, and wondered too if he was only blind to those that had grown in their place.
"Welcome," he said when he got the door open. He swung it wide and proceeded her across the threshold to find the light-switch; he didn't trust himself to guide her inside by touch. He flipped the switched and turned to the door, watched the sway of her hips, the subtle shifts of her breasts as she entered, then half-turned to close the door behind her.
"Is something wrong?"
He hadn't realized he'd been staring, hadn't heard the door catch its latch. "No. No, I'm fine. I was just thinking."
"Must have been one hell of a thought." She looked around, then coolly crossed to his living room and seemed, as if by instinct, to locate the music player and CD collection in the semi-darkness. He could not take his eyes off her unselfconscious beauty, as she scanned the jewel-boxes. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, "You could make yourself useful and get me a beer."
But he just watched as she selected a disk, humphed in approval and popped it into the drive. She turned and shook her head when she saw he still stood at the light-switch.
"Maybe you should sit down and tell me all about it, and I'll get the beer."
He laughed then and shook his head. "No. Sorry. Make yourself at home. I'll get it." He went to the fridge, retrieved a pair of bottles, then joined her on the couch, sitting close but no so close as to make physical contact.
From the corner of the room, a rhythmic based set the groove for a long, sensual jam. She'd chosen a live concert recorded twenty years before she'd been born. He handed her a cold bottle already beading with condensation.
"Cheers." She raised her bottle towards him, and when he heard that crystal kiss, he suddenly knew his own mind. He was weary of the memories of risks not taken; he didn't want to add another to that long list.
"Cheers," he said, "here's to safewords." He quickly drew the bottle to his lips and drank deeply, as if an extra six ounces would provide a gallon of courage.
"Safewords?" She sounded puzzled and looked at him quizzically. He hesitated, then thought, Fuck it. I'm too old for what-ifs.
"'Red light'. Remember?" He leaned forward and set his bottle by his feet. Sat up again and leaned back, draped his right arm over the back of the couch. There was barely a hair's breadth between her far shoulder and his dangling fingers. "A safeword is your friend."
"Safeword," she whispered, as if pondering definitions. David forced his own doubt aside; he eased his hand to her shoulder, spread his fingers over her flesh and and squeezed, turned towards her and laid his left hand on her near leg, just below the hem of her skirt. Her bare shoulder was hot and dry; her leg was softer and so, seemed damper.
Lillian turned toward him even as his fingers advanced beneath the hem of her skirt, her near thigh kissing his palm, the flesh of the far one tugging at the rough skin on the top of his hand.
"David ..." She stared at him, her mouth ajar. He returned her glanced and leaned towards her lips. Between Lillian's legs, David's knuckles already brushed against a silk barrier covering the arch between one leg and the other. The silk was damp to his touch. He raised his index finger and drew a line over the delicate material.
"David!" A spasm stormed through her body - fear? excitement? He didn't know; he told himself he didn't care.
"A safeword is your friend," he whispered and he slid his palm up along the far side of her neck until it settled on her cheek like snare. His lips hovered inches from hers.
"David. What are you doing." But for that brief spasm she had not moved at all of her own volition.
"Whatever it is, I seem to be doing it." Beneath her skirt, his fingers now freely explored the damp, silk-shrouded mound, stroking her until dampness became truly wet.
"David. Please ..." Her drew his fingers up behind her slit and circled his thumb over her mons. She shuddered at his touch. "... don't, please ..."
He pulled his hand way, laid it gently on her soft belly, curled his fingers to find the gap between her top and skirt. She remained rigid beside him, still staring into his eyes; had hers widened in disappointment when he had withdrawn?
He bussed her lips even as his left hand slipped beneath the tight fabric that covered her torso. His fingers ploughed along her flesh they encountered, climbed, settled upon, her small, full breast.
"David. Please ..." She grasped his wrist through her top, yet her nipple stiffened against his palm, and he dug fingers into she surrounding flesh.
He kissed her hard now, fiercely tongued the gap between her lips. And slowly, as if against her own will, her mouth began to open, tasting warm and wet and somehow neither of wine nor smoke, but of green life and desire. Her held the back of her skull like a five-fingered vice, dug those armoured digits into her scalp, then began to twine strands of her hair around his fingers.
Lillian gasped. "You're hurting me," trickled like a frightened stream against his mouth.
"Yes." He pulled on her hair, forced her to look up, then dropped his mouth to her throat and closed his teeth upon the bare, vulnerable skin. She tasted of sweat and of salt, of fear and of a growing desire. He suckled that soft, damp landscape, happy knowing he would leave a mark.
Lillian began to struggle. She pushed against his shoulders. David replied with a further twist on her breast, a harder tug on her hair and by taking the flesh of her throat hard between his teeth.
She swung her hips and pulled her legs from the floor, tried to kick at him but found only air.
David raised his mouth from her neck, sat straighter and let go of her breast. He scooped up her legs with his left hand, swung them across his lap, then turned to push her down upon the couch and straddled her. She squirmed beneath him, but he clamped his thighs tight about her waist. "David, please ..."
David laughed and leaned low by her ear. "That's pretty ambiguous, darlin'." He kissed her cheek, then sat up. She pushed at him again, vainly struggling to throw him off. He caught her wrists and and swiftly pulled them over her head, stretching her out beneath him.
He paused a moment, to catch his breath and simply to look at her. Lillian too was breathing hard, one breast fully exposed, the other nearly so. Both nipples were engorged, as if straining to reach him. Her mouth was curled in an angry sneer, but he chose to believe instead the ambiguity he saw in her wide open eyes.
"Please don't." Lillian's tone was flat, affectless.
David hissed, "'No' means 'yes' now, I think." Then, as in in a final farewell to his civilized self - or a final check that he had not misread, be bent low and whispered by her ear, "Safeword?"
"Please don't, David! Please!" But she nodded, once, even as she struggled to free her hands.
David grinned and pulled her wrists together, took them hard in his left hand and pushed himself upright again. He stared down on her, seeing in her eyes anger and desire, animal lust and human fear.
He raised his right hand high over her head. "If you don't struggle, it won't hurt."
"Fuck you." Lillian suddenly bucked so hard she nearly knocked him to the floor; she twisted her wrists and and her body and it was all he could do to hold her thrashing in check. He pulled her arms straight and squeezed hard around her thighs.
He raised his hand again. Her eyes snapped shut, her head turned to the side, bracing for the expected blow.
He brought his palm down hard across her cheek. His skin stung; hers must hurt more, he knew. Yet he slapped her again, almost as hard. And again.
"I'm going to fuck you," he said, bending low, "but not 'till you beg me for it."
"You'll fuck me! Fuck you!" But she didn't struggle and her body seemed to quivered beneath him.
"So soon?" Experimentally, David released her wrists. Lillian didn't move. He ran his index fingers from her clavicles down to her breasts. Lillian shivered as his nails scraped across her nipples. He continued on, found the hem of her top and pulled it over her head. Lillian arched her back, then raised her head to help him remove it. He let the cloth fall by her head and then gazed down upon her, drinking in the sight of her body's dips and curves, and the soft hillocks whose peaks seemed to stare back at him like impudent, fleshy eyes. David slowly dropped his hands to her breasts again, so Lillian could watch their descent; he took her nipples between his thumbs and fore-fingers, squeezed them gently, twisted and pulled on them. He smiled when she winced and pressed harder.
"I'll give you a blow-job," Lillian hissed. "I'll give you a blow-job; you won't have to take that from me."
David eased the pressure he had maintained against her hips. He released her breasts, swung one leg, then the other, to the floor. He leaned towards her, gently helped her to her feet. He looked down on her, noted the defiant glint in her eyes and saw too the resigned slump of her shoulders.
He laid his hand on her cheek, stroked the side of her neck.
"Just a blow job," she whispered.
His hand fall against her breast. He pressed against her stiff nipple with his thumb, as if to remind her that her body's language belied her actual words.
"We'll see." His cock struggled painfully to escape its denim prison. He took her by the shoulders and turned her toward his bedroom door. He pushed himself against her ass, ground against her and slowly slid his hands from her shoulders and down her chest, until he cupped her bare breasts.
"Just a blow-job," she whispered, yet he felt her press herself against him.
He propelled her awkward to the door and thrust her inside the room that had been his alone for nearly two years. He spun her around and took a step away from her.
He'd left his reading light on; Lillian was not spot-lit, but neither was she standing in utter darkness. She watched him, hands fluttering by her breasts, as if daring herself to cover them from his sight. Then she dropped them to her sides and just stood, waiting and watching.
"You don't have to hurt me." Her lips trembled.
"You want me to." Lillian made no reply. David reached for her and laid his hands on her hips, stepping in close to her. She shivered at the renewed touch.
"But only as much as you need," he whispered, then scraped her sides with his nails, leaving deep red marks in their wake. Lillian gasped, but did not otherwise move. David took hold the waistband of her skirt, crouched before her and quickly pulled it past her knees. Anticipating, Lillian stepped delicately from the skirt, then caught his eye as he stood, as if to ask if she had done the right thing.
He gave her no sign. He merely turned from her and reached for an improvised martinet hanging from a hook on his door. He took it down and slapped the dangling lashes against his palm.
Lillian shrank back, but her feet did not move. Lightly, David played the lashes back and forth over the belly, slowly rising to caress her breasts as well.
"Please ..." she mouthed, but no sound escaped her lips.
"'Please?' 'Please stop' or 'Please don't stop?'" David stopped. David took Lillian's strong round chin in his hand and kissed her deeply; her mouth opened without resistance and he smiled as he kissed her. He dropped his hand to the line of her panties and slipped his fingers beneath the elastic band, cupped her pelvis.
He pulled from her mouth. "You don't shave," he said, and he buried his fingers among the tangled web of the bush between her legs. Lillian pressed herself against him when his fingers brushed her labial lips and he kissed her again, taking her mouth's lips in his teeth.
When he pulled away, she whispered, "It doesn't matter which 'please' I mean, does it." David smiled at the lack of an interrogation mark. He took one step back and suddenly lashed her hip with the flogger.
"No. It doesn't."
"I thought we were just coming back here for a drink."
"Take your underwear off; you won't be needing them for a while." Trembling, she looked at him as if about to speak, then looked away and firmly too her undergarment down, bent to get them past her feet.
When she stood again, she looked him in the eye. Her flesh was winter-pale, her bush an untamed jungle at the arch below her hips. Her thighs were thick and strong. Her nipples seemed to reach for him. And in her eyes was a proud defiance, though whether directed towards him or to herself, David could not say.
"You're going to hurt me, aren't you."
"Quite a lot." David feathered the crop's strands between her breasts, then brought it down harder, a blow strong enough to make her gasp. He swished the tentacled whips along her belly, then lightly slapped them against her cunt. "Until you beg me to fuck you," he said.
"I'll fight you."
"You already have." David suddenly raised the martinet and slashed down hard; the lashes whipped across her thigh and curled to embrace the soft skin on the side of her ass. "You lost."
"Please don't." Tears sprung from the corners of her eyes but still she didn't move. And again he brought the crop down upon her skin.
"Unbutton my shirt." Lillian obeyed without a word or hesitation. Her slender fingers parted his shirt like a curtain and she dared allow herself fingers to trace her hairless chest, until they were stopped by the waist-line of his pants. She looked up up, head cocked, requesting permission.
David could see she heard the satisfied smile in voice. "Go on." And she knelt, ripped his zipper down. His impatient cock spilled, dangled near the corner of her mouth. Lillian leaned towards it, mouth agape, like a chick at feeding time.
"Not yet." David set his hand on her head and twisted her short hair in his fingers, forcing her to look up. He glanced at the mattress in the corner. "On your knees," he said, "go there, lay yourself out on your back."
Lillian nodded and David released her. She turned and crawled to the mattress while David finished undressing himself. When he turned, she lay prone, legs slightly spread, arms at her sides. David knelt by her side. He took her arms and pulled them above her head.
Behind the mattress sat a long low coffee-table with a complex undercarriage of support-beams. A silk tie hung from one he swiftly wrapped it around one wrist, then the other, looped it around the bridge between her wrists and knotted it. Instinctively, she tugged, testing the limits of her sudden captivity.
"You won't escape; I know what I'm doing." He splayed his left hand on her stomach, mid-way between her breasts and her mons. He sensed an excited quiver beneath her skin, spreading outwards like a reverberating chord through her nerves. He smiled and reached behind him for a small basket he had kept - unused for so long - on a shelf by the futon. He came away with two wooden clothes-pegs in his hand.
Lillian shook her head wordlessly and strained again against the tie that bound her. Yet, as David bent over her, pin agape between his fingers, she arched her back, offering her breasts to the device.
Delicately, he took her far nipple between the fingers of his left hand, then placed the peg over the engorged nodule. Lillian gasped and he planted the other peg on her near nipple.
He picked up the martinet again, straddled her, laying his cock carefully over her mons and belly. It throbbed with frustrated desire, but David ignored his body's impatience. Anticipation makes so much sweeter the final release.
He raised his hand and brought the loose whips down upon Lillian's soft belly, began to gently stroke her skin, more a tickling at first, but slowly the blows grew harder as he advanced the pattern towards her encumbered breasts.
Lillian cried out when the straps first stung the soft flesh on the bottom of her breasts; she screamed when they struck the pegs, which vibrated under the blow. Pain flowed from her nipples, an electric wave of sensation the coursed through her body like an overwhelming wave of pleasure and pain. And David sent wave after wave flowing through her, lashing her with ever-increasing force, until she bucked beneath him, twisted and turned in her struggles against her helpless captivity.
At length, he ceased his strokes and Lillian gasped beneath him. He let the lash fall against her heaving belly and leaned close to her, laid his hand on her cheek, whispered, "Was that enough?" He kissed her mouth gently, then pulled away to await a reply.
Red light! Red light!, she thought, and yet she felt her juices coursing between her legs, her nipples straining with pained pleasure against clamps that held them tight.
"Was that enough?" he asked her again, and she saw now that he held his empty hand, threatening, above her cheek.
"You bastard," she whispered, "you fucking asshole!" And yet, her nerves tingled with expectation, and she nodded to belie her words; she wanted to feel his palm against her cheek.
And when it fell, the pain came as a thunderous release, coursing through her body until the sensation exploded between her legs. She screamed as she came.
David settled himself again, his cock now pressing between her thighs, the shaft an invading log thrust between her cunt's wet folds, the head kissing her clit.
"Was that enough?"
"Please fuck me," she whispered.
David sat up. "What was that?" Roughly, he knuckled the pegs still somehow clamped to her nipples.
Lillian cried out again, squirming beneath him. David raised his hand again. "What was that? I didn't hear you the first time."
"Please fuck me, David!"
David grinned and reached for a condom, unwrapped it and reached between her legs for his desperate cock. He covered himself, then lowered himself over her body. He found her knees and pushed them up until they nearly rested upon her belly, then draped her calves over his shoulders.
So wet was her pussy that he slid his cock inside with barely a hint of resistance. Lillian moaned as he begun to thrust, and reached for her breasts, squeezed painfully as he pushed deeper inside her with each stroke.
She cried out again as one of the pegs scraped loose from her swollen nipple. She gasped, then whispered, "Hit me, David. Please hit me."
David let go of her tit. "Not an asshole," he said as he raised his hand. Tears coursed down Lillian's cheeks, yet she angle her face to receive, not avoid, the expected blow. And after it landed, jarring her, she once more turned her head in hopes of another. "Just someone who knows what you need."
He stung her cheeks again and again, even as his cock's head rammed the walls of her cervix.
And when she came, his rhythm slowed for a moment as he pushed himself up and took her hips in his hands. His cock nearly slipped from her and she moaned, "No," and clenched her thighs around him. David thrust once more and was soon deep inside her again.
He laughed as he pumped and pounded her, and gasped, "Or maybe, what you need is an asshole."
"Fuck you," she gasped in return, yet she matched his down-strokes with upthrusts of her own. And it seemed to him that she came again, and then she laughed and tightened the walls of her cunt against his pounding cock, not to evict it now, but to trap it if she could.
How long it was before he came she never knew. All she knew, was that yet another orgasm tore through her, more violent than any before, at the same time as he shuddered and suddenly held himself still, his nails digging deep into her hips as his cocked pressed, shuddering but motionless against the deepest recess of her cunt.
They howled as one, like wolves suddenly beholding the full moon on a stormy night. And then he collapsed upon her, their bodies slick and dripping and so spent for a time neither could distinguish whose flesh was whose.
After a time, he found the strength to unbind her wrists, and he drew her to him, took her with his arms, kissed her gently, stroked her body tenderly, until sleep stole over them and kept them long past the dawn.
And when, the next day, she found she had awoken first, Lillian grinned and found the silk tie that had bound her. Two, she thought, can play the game of domination and submission. She wondered, as she lashed his wrists, whether he would would dare use the safeword.