Page 27 of Twisted

Bastard. She’d paid sixty dollars a yard for that brocade.

He motioned her on with the crop. “Go ahead.”

She delayed a moment, ignoring the exasperation he faked, and looked him over.

She leaned at the waist, spread her legs for him. This was the point. The swollen display that let him know he’d accomplished what he’d intended.

She watched the bells sway on their chains, just a few inches from the floor of the porcelain tub.

She picked up the dildo nestled in the powder-blue towel.

She put her left hand on the edge of the tub.

She grinned just a little and pushed back, just hard enough. The bells swung on their arc, and then crashed into the side of her tub.

Jingle, jingle.

She stayed where she was, bent over the tub, one hand on the side. She heard him rustle, stand, and she waited where she stood.

She heard him move. He stood behind her but didn’t touch.

She held her breath.

She heard the belt buckle, the zipper. The whole mess hit the floor.

The hands rough on her hip.

He yanked her back and positioned himself against her slick folds, his cock hot and his patience betrayed, looking for the wet trap she’d set. He pulled on the chain, and she cried out in pain, desperate for something harsh.

He found what he was looking for, filling her to the hilt, and she dropped the dildo with a clang, bracing herself.

He fucked her roughly, knocking one leg out from under her. She buckled into the bathtub.

“You did that on purpose,” he growled.

“Yes, Sir.”

DEMICA

Tahira Iqbal

Tie me up.” Those three little words had come out of the blue; they had come breathlessly out of his mouth as he’d climaxed inside of me. I must have misheard...surely my lovely fiancé of just over six months wasn’t into anything...kinky. Then, with a quiet determination as he’d kissed me and ground his hips against mine as my orgasm disappeared within, he’d said it again, poised and with utter clarity. “Tie me up.”

Now, one week later, I’m looking down at the card in my hand that John had slid over the breakfast table the next morning with a strong spark in his eyes that I hadn’t seen in a long while. I’d blamed my long working hours for the extinguishing of it. I guess I was wrong...the spark was from sharing a personal secret.

I press the buzzer, the one marked with only a red star, and wait.

“Yes?”

“I have an appointment for two thirty; my name is Eve Nolan.”

The door buzzes; I push it open.

My eyes adjust to the interior after the brightness of the afternoon. I’m faced with a staircase in a stark white lobby; there’s nowhere to go but up. My sneakers stick to the polished wood floor until I hit the gleaming stone stairs. A door opens at the top.

“Welcome, Miss Nolan.” says the smooth voice from the intercom, “Come in.”

I shrug out of my jacket, the apprehension I’d been feeling during my journey to get here is raising my temperature significantly.

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