Read Coda Online

Authors: Liza Gaines

Tags: #erotica, #contemporary, #bdsm, #series, #bdsm erotica, #contemporary eroctica, #contemporary bdsm, #contemporary adult erotica, #bdsm free

Coda (2 page)

A snort of horrified laughter bubbles out of
me with that thought and a moment later the shower turns off and
Todd steps out, a curious expression on his face. No doubt he’s
wondering what I found so funny, but he doesn’t seem interested
enough to ask and I’m not going to volunteer the information.

After quickly patting dry and wrapping the
towel around his waist he comes to stand next to me. He looks down
at the ginger I’m holding, peeled but conspicuously notch-less,
then catches my gaze in the mirror. “You’re not finished?”

“No, Master.” I held up the knife so he could
see the tremor that made it impossible for me to proceed without
possibly cutting myself in the process.

“I’ll help you.” He moves behind me and
reaches around me with both arms. He’s pressed close to my back and
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to squirm against his hard body,
still slick and warm from the shower. He steadies my hand holding
the ginger and uses his other hand to cover mine on the handle of
the knife, guiding me through cutting the notch. “See, not so
hard.”

“Right. Piece of cake.” I hate that instead
of sounding lighthearted and jovial, as I’d intended, I sound grim
and nervous.

Todd plucks the knife and ginger from my
fingers and, leaving the knife in the bathroom, guides me back to
the bedroom with one hand on the small of my back. His voice is
unusually gruff when we stop by the bed. “Lie down on your
stomach.”

I scramble onto the bed and ponder his mood
as I listen to him move about the room. I had anticipated that he
would be angry with me and, while his displeasure was evident, this
isn’t the explosive response I’d expected. He seems almost pensive.
I’m sure he’s tired and stressed, both from his experiences
yesterday and, unfortunately, because of me. But there’s something
else about his mood that’s bothering me.

After Lee was shot the first time he was in
the hospital for several days, and the day he was released, he and
Savannah got married. It had been a whirlwind relationship and,
while everyone else was surprised, I was—am—crushed. I’ve spent the
better part of two years believing I love Lee, believing he would
eventually realize he loved me too. It’s hard realizing I was
living in my own delusion.

While Todd would never confirm it, I suspect
I’m not the only one who’s sad about Lee’s marriage. Todd is happy
for his friend, it isn’t in his nature to be anything else when
something good happens to the people he cares about. But they were
so close. Two bachelors fucking their way around the Mid-Atlantic
together. Maybe Todd thought it would always be that way. And if he
did, I can understand why he might feel a little confused or
disheartened now. He feels like he’s losing his best friend. He
isn’t, of course, but things will be different now and that will
take some getting used to for all of them.

And on top of that, I’m leaving him, too.

Poor, Todd
. My heart constricts a
little. I wish it hadn’t come to this. But the truth is, even if I
hadn’t behaved so badly I’d still have to leave. It would be too
painful to stay. At least I can give him this one last scene
together. I resolve to surrender myself more fully to him than I
ever have before. Just this once, for this moment, for however long
this scene lasts, I will leave everything in his hands. He is all
there is and my only wish now is to be perfect. I want us both to
have this last memory.

“Hands behind your back.” Todd leans over me
and binds my wrists together in the small of my back. I recognize
the feel of the supple leather of my favorite cuffs. It’s like
being reunited with an old friend when I wear them. I like being
cuffed, tied down, bound. But I hate having my arms behind my back
like this. I always feel unsteady, like I might topple over at any
moment. Even when I’m already lying down, as ridiculous as that
is.

Even before he does it, I know what’s next. A
blindfold, tied carefully so my hair doesn’t tangle in the delicate
strings securing it to my head. With my vision gone, my other
senses are magnified and I’m keenly aware of his every movement
around the room. I have a brief, but searing, moment of panic when
Todd’s muffled footsteps leave the room. I calm myself pretty
quickly. He wouldn’t leave me alone for long and he wouldn’t leave
me in an unsafe situation. There is nothing to get upset over. And
yet, my nerves continue to thrum with a low level sense of alarm.
It’s part of what makes this kind of play so exciting. The fear,
the pain, the pleasure, the arousal. It all gets so mixed up into
one big tangled ball of emotion and sensation that I couldn’t
unravel if I tried.

When I hear his footsteps coming back down
the hall, I turn my face into the mattress to keep from moaning.
It’s pitiful, he doesn’t even need to touch me. Just listening to
him draw nearer makes my body ache and the small muscles in my core
contract with a rush of moisture.

He’s standing behind me, the damp towel
around his hips rubbing against my legs, and I flex my thighs,
trying to get closer to him. He just pushes me back down with one
hand and then spreads my legs apart as far as he can. My knees are
bent and laughter starts to bubble up again because I imagine in
this position I must look a bit like a frog. An armless frog, but
still a frog. But the mirth catches in my throat, choking me. He’s
put both hands on my ass and he’s roughly kneading my flesh. My
skin is getting warmer, tingling and I want to ask for more. I
don’t dare though. He hasn’t gagged me yet and if he meant to and
forgot, I don’t want to remind him. Not that I dislike the gag. I
love it, actually. It’s nice to have something in my mouth to bite
against when the overwhelming sensations threaten to bog me down.
But today I want him, not a gag, in my mouth.

All that pent up sound finally breaks free in
a throaty moan when he uses one hand to spread my cheeks and
presses the ginger against my anus with the other. Even though I’m
wearing a blindfold, I close my eyes tightly and hum against the
bedspread. It’s exquisite torture, feeling the slight pressure of
the ginger, and I want him to both stop and keep going. From prior
experience, I know you don’t need lube with ginger because the root
is quite moist and because lube will dull the sensations of the
ginger oil on the sensitive tissue. But in the moment before he
pushes it inside of me I’m still wishing he would use it.

 

“Relax.”

I do and with just a little push from Todd
the ginger slides easily into place. I gasp because even though
nothing is happening yet the ginger is cold. It takes a while for
the effects to set in and that’s part of the torment of figging.
You know it’s coming but you don’t know exactly when and there’s
nothing to do but wait. Fortunately, this time, it doesn’t take
long.

The ginger starts to burn a little and I want
to squirm to try and get away from it but that won’t do any good.
I’m stuck with it until Todd decides I’ve had enough. I take a
deep, steadying breath and remind myself that ginger loses its
effectiveness after a half an hour or so. That’s not so bad. Thirty
minutes. I can do that. But even as I silently repeat that in my
head, like a mantra, the sting is intensifying and my eyes start to
water.

“How’s that feel?”

I shudder and I could swear I feel a tight
little spasm in my pussy. I’m so keyed up, so desperate for his
touch, that the sound of his voice is almost just as good. Almost.
But it’s not quite what I need.

“It burns, Master.” I try to sound calm,
collected but I fail miserably, my voice wobbling.

“I’m going to cane you now.”

I draw in a sharp breath, more of a hiss
really. On its own, the ginger hurts but this is the really awful
thing about figging—if you’re flogged or caned or spanked, your
body’s natural reaction is to tense against the impact. But
clenching down on a piece of ginger root transforms what was
previously a mid-level burning sensation into an off the charts
feeling of being scalded from the inside out. The best thing to do
is remain perfectly relaxed during the caning. That’s a hell of a
lot easier said than done.

The first strike of the cane lands squarely
in the center of my bottom and, despite willing myself to remain
still, my muscles spasm and clench in response. I howl with shocked
disappointment. I’d known what to expect and still I did exactly
the wrong thing. I take several deep breaths, forcing myself to
relax and I sigh with relief when the searing pain subsides into an
almost pleasant discomfort.

After that, I manage to avoid gripping the
ginger with the subsequent lashes of the cane. My skin is tight and
sore, my blood thick and sluggish. I’m lightheaded and I’ve found
that place where the pain feels good. Not just tolerable, but
really good. I want it, I want as much as he will give me. I cry
out incoherently, begging for more and soaring when I get it.

It’s almost a compulsion to rock my hips
against the mattress but I resist the urge to do so. Instead, I try
not to think about the way my pussy is throbbing with need, the way
my thighs are slick with my own arousal. It doesn’t work though.
When I’m this lit up on endorphins—like the National Christmas tree
on steroids—it’s impossible to think of anything else no matter how
hard I try. All sense of time and place is gone. All sense of
me
is gone. The only thing my body knows is that it wants
release. It wants everything and nothing and it will do anything to
get what it wants. Nothing else matters but satisfying the need
that can’t ever be fully sated.

“That’s my girl.” Todd must have set the cane
aside because, as I listen to his crooning endearment, he’s tracing
one fingertip over my bottom, following the welts the cane has
left, and admiring his handiwork. Judging by the path he takes,
he’s left a neat row of raised red stripes on my ass. His feather
light caress reaches the lowest welt, just under the curve of my
ass, and I shiver because that one is more sensitive than the
others. But his cool, dry touch is soothing and I lift up, reaching
for more. My punishment for that infraction is the loss of him
altogether because he takes his hand away quickly with a sound of
displeasure.

Seconds later—because it only takes seconds
for me to plummet into insecurity and despair, thinking I’ve ruined
everything and he’s never going to touch me again—he gives my ass a
firm, open-handed smack. It’s not that hard, really more of a pat
than a smack, but it reignites the lines of fire the cane cut into
my skin. I twitch in response. It’s a totally uncoordinated spasm
and I’d feel foolish about it if I were more aware of myself. He
laughs, a deep rolling rumble. It’s like thunder, beautiful and
terrifying all at once, and it sets every hair on my body on
end.

He pulls me off the bed and I’m boneless,
completely unable to support myself, so I just sort of crumple at
his feet. The ginger is starting to lose its effectiveness, either
that or I’m just getting used to it. Either way, the slowly ebbing
sensation has me wanting more. Always more.

Todd fists his hand in my hair and roughly
pulls me up on my knees. He’s still wearing the towel around his
waist and, because I’m eager to express my desire to please him, I
rub my face against the damp terry cloth. With his free hand he
tugs the towel, loosening it and then tossing it aside to be
replaced against my cheek by the taut skin of his abdomen. I open
my mouth instinctively. Still bound and blindfolded, I am at his
mercy. But I know what I want.

He caresses my cheek, an affectionate touch
that has me turning my face into his palm with a contented sigh. It
sounds strange, right? That in the middle of all of this I could be
content. But I am, wholly so. His hand skims to my jaw, gripping my
chin with his fingers and angling my head into just the right
position. All but bursting with anticipation, I need to move. It’s
like a bad case of caffeine high, my nervous system firing in
overdrive, every synapse in my body, it seems, thrumming with
barely contained excitement. Keeping still is a matter of mind over
body, and so far my mind is winning. Barely, but it is winning.

“Deep breath, Jen.” As he speaks, he pushes
into my mouth and then stops with the swollen tip of his erection
lying on my tongue. My breath catches, rattling in my chest, and
just as I exhale he drives forward, forcing himself into my throat.
I gag because no matter how many times he’s done this before, I’m
not ever prepared for that first invasion. Ignoring my distress,
because he knows as well as I do it will be short-lived, he draws
back and plunges in again. This time I’m ready and though some
small part of my brain panics at the restriction to my breathing,
there is no more gagging or choking.

He sets a frenetic pace, fucking my mouth
with both hands gripped in my hair to hold me steady. He’s grunting
with each thrust, his breath coming in rapid gasps. I moan around
his cock because I love being used like this. The tiny muscles in
my center are spasming with need, my cunt throbbing. If my arms
weren’t cuffed behind my back I would surely have one hand between
my legs, stroking my engorged clit. Even thinking about doing that
makes me shiver and cry out, a messy muffled gurgling sound because
I’m drooling badly.

I think he’s about to come and I brace myself
for it, preparing to greedily swallow it all. So I’m surprised when
instead he pulls out of my mouth and lets go of my hair. I’m so
startled by this unexpected turn that I collapse on the floor
again, a heap of miserable longing. I’m so empty I feel hollow and
now he’s denying me his orgasm, too. It’s so cruelly unfair and so
perfectly right.

I’m busy feeling sorry for myself so he’s
already removed the cuffs and is helping me onto my hands and knees
before I even realize what’s happening.

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