A Little Spice

The back storm door creaked and fell closed with a crack. The actual door followed behind it with a room-juddering thud. His slow stride. Boots thudding against the wooden floor.

For a second, she had the thought what if it's not him? What if it's not her husband? What if an intruder has made their way into her home, found her like this, what if—

He was finally in the room with her. She heard his sharp intake of breath, the pleasing hum that followed. The heat of his body as he crossed the room and bent over her. Devoid of sight, it was like everything else, every other sense had been cranked up beyond normal. She could smell him. Not his cologne, but the laundry detergent they used. Then faintly, his deodorant. She could sense the gentle examination he gave her. First one side of her body and then the other.

With pressure that made her gasp, he pressed the pad of one finger to her sternum. Traced a line between her breasts. Just having him that close they felt heavier, hotter, her nipples standing at aching points, already begging for his touch. His finger ventured back up, bringing a shiver along with it. It went left and then right, smearing through the red lipstick on her chest. It read, in bold letters: USE ME.

The message was clear: however you want, as much as you'd like.

"Cute," he said. "I think I'll take you up on that."

He squeezed her nipple, causing her to yelp, then pant as he grabbed her whole breast, fingers tightening so she could finally feel the leather. Her instructions, delivered hours before, had been simple: Get ready. Wait for me. And now, he was here, his touch against her skin. Gloves. He was wearing gloves. The leather was smooth and supple as he played with her, as he pinched harder and harder until she arched toward him, gasping already, unsure whether she wanted to ask him for more or ask him to stop.

"Oh, don't make all that raucous," he said, voice too sweet. "I thought I had an open invitation?" She whimpered and he uttered something that sounded suspiciously like so dramatic.

He let go of one and moved to the other, giving it the same treatment, manhandling her until she was lightheaded, and on the verge of tugging at his wrist. He released her just as suddenly as he'd snatched her, and gave each of her breasts a slap.

"There. A matching set."

She felt like she was vibrating from the inside out. It was already so much. Trying to figure out what he might do next with no indicators, no warning. Just rickety excitement.

His fingers closed around her throat, tilting her head up by the jaw. Kissing her. Really kissing her. Taking the kisses from her mouth. Nipping, sucking, pilfered things that made her reach for him. She wrapped her hands around his neck to pull him deeper. To taste more of him. He indulged her for just a moment before chuckling against her lips.

"Alright, desperate girl, alright. Open your legs. Let me see you." It was like her thighs fell open of their own accord, she was so eager for him. He hummed again.

"Desperate and messy. I can see how wet you are from here."

She murmured her surprise when he took another kiss from her unsuspecting mouth. It was an exercise in trust as she went pliant when he tilted her body backward, pulling her ass to the edge of the cushion.

There was no warning when he slid not one, but two fingers inside her. That was okay. She didn't need one. She was soaking, dripping. He usually did this to help her along, to fuck her open, to ready the path for his cock. But even he made a slightly surprised sound at how easily his fingers found their way inside her. How deep, so quickly.

"How long have you been wet like this?"

"All day," she whispered.

He made a tutting noise. "Poor thing. Be quiet and let me help."

She'd had this version of his help before. He played with her cunt like it was just that: a plaything. Something that existed to fascinate him. Or, at least, that's what he pretended, what they both pretended. In reality, the way he moved his deft fingers was premeditated torture. He knew her well enough to make this hard on her. To bring her to the edge long enough to make her think he was really going to let it happen, that he was really going to make her come.

All before pulling away and taking her release with him.

"Listen to you," he said, voice dark and devilish. "Can you hear yourself whimpering? Supplicant?"

She shook her head. As if she could have focused on anything other than the feelings of his fingers moving inside her.

"That's a shame," he said at length, the words stretching along with a hint of saccharine menace. "Because I told you to be quiet." A sigh. "That's okay, I have something that helps noisy girls."

She only had a second to wonder before she felt the glossy wet tap of his cockhead against her lips.

"Open," he commanded.

She let her mouth go slack and imagined the spectacle she made for him: red lips, pink tongue, and wet, another spot all wet for him. He made a soft noise as he pushed the tip inside. The head was as slick as she felt. His precum dripped like seawater on her tongue. The familiar stretch of him filling her mouth was enough to make her shiver. "Hands behind your back."

She did, resting an elbow in each palm. There was a gentle grumble of approval and then her entire world became, for a moment, his cock. Without being able to see anything around her, everything else became more intense: The sound of him hitting the back of her throat. The gagging, the swallowing, his encouraging grunts and words. "Yes, darling, just like that." His cock was all the things they mentioned in books. Thick, heavy, and velvety smooth. Warm and pulsing and hard. Thrusting so intently, that drool pooled in her mouth. Dripped down her chin. Onto her collarbone, her breasts.

She jerked when he slid his fingers through the mess on her chest, and used it to tweak her nipples again. Left them hard and frigid.

"These are too fucking hot. I can't keep my hands off them. A goddamn distraction is what they are." He took a break long enough to slap at each one, a slightly wet sound between her spit and the leather. "That pretty little mouth needs to work a little harder so I can stop thinking about—oh, fuck yes, again like that."

Somehow, she'd redoubled her efforts, to the tune of his encouragement: that's it, messy girl; you're so good at this.

She coughed as he withdrew, trailing thick, sticky strands of saliva and precum that coated her chin. He wrapped each of his hands around her arms and hauled her to her feet. Where she would have stumbled, he bore her weight. Any fear she might have had about moving around without sight, he was able to alleviate. Just by being himself. By being someone who she could trust to lead her away from disaster.

Which was why it was easy to allow herself to sink deeper into the fantasy as he bent her over the arm of the couch. As he sloped her hips, lifting her toes off the floor. She was face-first in the mess she'd made on the cushion. Then, he went perfectly still.

Then, he shoved his knuckle against her sex. "Yep, still fucking soaked," he said with cheeriness. Then without any additional preamble, he put the head of his cock to her cunt and pushed. He was right. Soaked. That meant very little resistance as he went, and he kept going through it. Even so, it always took a moment to adjust to the way he stretched her. The slight, flickering spark of too much before their bodies settled together.

She might have asked him to move, but he didn't make her wait long. The first thrust drew a horrid grunt, the second causing her to cuss: "Oh, shit."

He drove into her, each thrust like kindling. Making the fire burn on longer and longer when it was meant to have burned out. Until she was left gasping, begging, not even his name but simply baby baby baby, a slurred petition for mercy.

A few sloppy, erratic thrusts and then a groan. Loud, caveman-ish; followed immediately by his own orgasm. The familiar throbbing and a flood of warmth she also knew oh so well. He slumped over her back, gusts of warm air ghosting across the back of her neck, her cheeks, her shoulder as he worked to catch his breath behind her. More of that stroking. Sweeter. Over her hair and down the bridge of her nose. Over the curvature of one abraded breast and the soft skin at her hip. Anywhere he could reach without moving from his position, lodged inside her. She wasn't sure how long they laid there, sticking together with sweat and sex and serenity.

Then, his fingers gently caressed the soft fabric over her eyes. "You ready?" he asked.

She barely managed more than a vague mumble and nod, but it was enough. She felt boneless when he drew her up and turned her so that she sat on the arm of the couch, her arms around his neck, and his around her back, keeping her upright.

"Open," he whispered.

Blinking slowly, she let herself come back to sight. The sun had gone down since they'd started and light streamed in from the kitchen, though the living room was still dark. She was staring almost directly into his black-clad shoulder. When she finally tilted her head back to look at him, she was greeted with a black mask that didn't reveal anything but his eyes and grinning, silly mouth.

"What—" she broke off and he shrugged.

"Made it more fun for me. Want a bath?"

She shook her head. "Want to sit here a little longer."

He chuckled. The sweet one she knew from sharing stories and plates of nachos and b grade movies. "Okay, sweetheart. No problem."