May 17, 2013

Anticipation

Posted in Uncategorized at 9:59 pm by littlesubmissions

Hey all, just so you know I am writing again. Some stuff I’ll be submitting for anthologies, some stuff I’ll be putting up here, and some other stuff. I’m trying to build up a buffer before I go for a regular publishing schedule again, but in the mean time please enjoy the Anticipation.

“Okay, if I win this game, I’ll lock torture you and lock your cock up. If I don’t win, I’m going to play another game.”

“You’re serious?”

She looked at him, nodded, and went back to flicking across the screen.

“Well, shit. Are you winning now?”

“No, but it’s really close.”

“Can I help?” He started to stand up.

“No, then I wouldn’t have won the game on my own.”

He sat back down.

“Fuck.” She stabbed at the screen.

He sighed. “Did you lose?”

“Not yet.” She kept glancing over at him, frowned. “Go ahead and take your clothes off, and get me a glass of ice water.”

He shuffled off his clothes, kicked them into the corner, and walked into the kitchen. Filled a glass half full of ice, and added water. He imagined the ice tracing lines of cold pain across his body, would her hot breath go before or after those frigid trails? Would they disappear up his ass one by one, that horrible sensation of numbing cold from the insight out and violation? Or something else, something they hadn’t tried? Did she just want them to make his cock soft, so it would be easier to get the cage on? Were they punishment, or reward?

He padded back to her side, sat the glass of water down and tried to see the score over her shoulder-

“Coaster.”

He sighed, reached over and pulled out a coaster, hoping for a playful slap on the ass.

“Thank you.” She juggled her phone in one hand, took a sip, and put it back down. “Go, sit. You’re hovering. It’s a distraction.”

He walked back across the room, aware of his nudity, the slight breeze from the heater running across his skin.

She stared at the screen, stretched a leg. He swallowed hard, imagined chasing her boots back and forth, his tongue stretched out, following her foot like a marionette, jerked along by imaginary strings attached to the black leather. Spit rolling out the corners of his mouth, saliva running down his skin. The taste, smell, feel of the leather on his tongue.

She balanced her phone, scratched the back of her leg, tucked her foot under her other leg, and went back to the game.

He leaned back, watched her play, smiled slightly as the expression on her face changed back and forth from a frown of concentration to a grin and back.

She took a drink, swallowed hard as the ice swirled around the glass, and put it back on the coaster.

The skin of her throat rose and fall, he remembered being on his knees with her spitting mouthfuls of cold water on his hot, stinging skin. The rush of sensation, the cold that was a relief at first, and then another kind of pain.

Her spitting on him, forcing his mouth open and spitting down his throat, calling him a cheap whore. Warm spit hitting his face, her fingers rubbing across it, smearing it around, over, into his features, drying and turning his flesh sticky.

Her fingers slid across the phone, twitching back and forth. Email and text messages had played major parts in the long distance relationship, and he had often imagined what she looked like as they swapped messages back and forth. What was she wearing when he texted for permission to eat breakfast? Was she masturbating when she reminded him that his cock was locked up, and how many days before he would see her, to beg for it to be unlocked?

Then the fucking, her writhing under him, him clenching muscles to keep from cumming, panting and gasping as she moaned in ecstasy, cumming. Then being locked up without orgasming, ordered down to all fours like an animal.

Her fingers sliding in his ass, milking his prostrate, the hot burning sensation of her forcing the cum out of his cock, pooling at the tip and running out the plastic cage. The humiliation of cleaning it from the floor with his tongue, licking each bitter drop and swallowing.

She stretched her legs, arching her back and pushing out her breasts, still staring intently at the screen. His lips twitched at the thought of kissing between them, licking her nipples, alternatively biting and sucking along the base of each. Remembering the sounds she would make, moans and sighs, before pushing his face down between her legs, holding him there while he flicked his tongue and sucked on her clit.

Holding his breath as her legs clamped tightly around his head, holding him there as her hips thrashed and rolled.

His cock twitched and he shifted his legs, looking down. Looking back up, he saw her looking at him and grinning. Her head jerked back down to the screen, then at him, and she her shoulders bunched up as she laughed.

“Did you win?”

She set the phone down on the table, and took another drink. “Yes. About five minutes ago. Since then I’ve just been looking at shoes and watching your face. My advice is never take up professional poker as a hobby, because whatever you’re thinking is all over your face. And you’ve been thinking some very dirty thoughts, naughty boy.”

He blushed, and licked his lips. Thought about arguing the point, then shrugged and let it go. He didn’t mind anyway. “Congratulations on your latest triumph. Did you still want to…” He left the question hanging in the air between them.

She let it hang a little longer, then nodded. “Yes, I do. But first, I think I want you to come over here and tell me all those nasty things you were thinking about. We might even do some of them, if you’re very good.”

She turned the volume down on her phone, then took a long drink and set the glass back down. The ice clinked, and he noticed there was no water left in the glass, just cold shining cubes.

He walked over to her, wondering what she would do with them when he told her what he was thinking, and just how much she could read on his face.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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