Authors: Lilli Feisty
“You’ve been saying that your entire life.”
“And it’s never worked.”
“Maybe that’s because you go in telling yourself the relationship is doomed,” Claire said.
“I dunno. All I know is that I’m thirty-seven and I keep picking the wrong guys.” The gold pattern twisted and turned under her finger.
“You pick guys you know won’t stick around.”
“Not on purpose,” Ruby said. “It just… happens.”
“You’re always looking for the perfect man, but honey, he doesn’t exist.”
“I don’t want perfection. I just want a normal, steady relationship. Is that so much to ask?”
Claire laughed softly. “You want a fifties sitcom. God, remember when we watched reruns of those show every day after school?”
Yes, Ruby did remember. If her parents were sailing or home or at a party, it didn’t matter. Because every day at three o’clock, she could escape into black-and-white perfection. Two reruns in a row. An hour of watching how normal people lived.
Or so she’d thought at the time.
“Anyway,” Ruby said. “I hope you come visit.”
“I will, soon. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” She hung up the phone but remained seated, staring at her cozy kitchen. If the Cleavers had lived in an apartment, it would have looked like hers. Bright, sunny yellow cabinets, white-tiled counter, and black-and-white laminate flooring straight from the 1950s.
Maybe this was it. Maybe this was where she’d spend the rest of her life. Maybe Claire was right and she was looking for a man who existed only on television.
She thought of James Cleaver. He seemed perfect, and yet he’d never made her heart thud. He’d never made her want to tell him her most secret fantasies.
And, at the opposite end of the spectrum, there was Mark. He was so immersed in his music he hadn’t spoken to her all day. As he should be, his music was his job and she respected that. Still, she hated the way her heart hurt with the disappointment that he’d been distracted from her so easily.
Pushing herself up, she tried to drive the feeling away. She’d prepared herself for this, hadn’t she? It was exactly the reason she’d resisted him in the first place. The nature of their relationship had ratcheted up their intimacy level too fast; zero to sixty-nine in under a week.
She pulled a half-empty bottle of chardonnay out of the fridge and poured herself a large glass. And as she drank it, alone in her kitchen, she told herself she wasn’t going to settle for anything less than what Meg and Emmett had. The perfect couple, they were proof that what she wanted was possible.
Right?
M
eg was spying on her husband, and she didn’t even care if she got caught.
They hadn’t had sex in months, ten weeks to the day to be exact. Meg knew because the last time they’d fucked she’d been ovulating. She had it all marked on a little calendar, the possible baby-making days starred with a red pen.
They’d missed several baby-making days.
But she didn’t care about that. What she cared about was that her husband wasn’t interested in her anymore.
Looking back, she could see he’d been distancing himself from her for a while. The question was, what was she going to do about it?
Why, spy on him, of course. She’d briefly glimpsed the porn on his computer, but she thought maybe if she studied it, she could get a real idea of what he wanted. Which brought her here, to his office, to his desk, where she was sitting, waiting for his computer to boot up.
It finally did, and ignoring her damp palms, she clicked the history on his Internet browser.
And that was when she found it.
It wasn’t the pornography itself that shocked her. No, it was the type of porn her husband appeared to be fond of. She landed on one site, the links flashing, a garish neon sign in the dark:
Boy toys for you!
Naked men who clean!
XXX Men who give you what you need!
Meg wasn’t a porn aficionada, but most of what she’d seen in her life featured fake-breasted women who spent a lot of time fondling each other and giving men blow jobs. But the sites Emmett had been browsing boasted naked men. Lots of them.
“Holy shit!” The screen came up with various images of young men surrounding cars. They held buckets and sponges and towels. They were all naked. Many had erections. Some had penises that just bobbed around as they cleaned windshields and bumpers.
She couldn’t stop clicking; she’d never seen such things. Images flashed across the screen: Women lashing men with wet towels. Women forcing men to crawl on their knees as they served the women. One image featured a man tied to the bumper of a Nova, his face buried in the behind of a tall blonde. Meg’s pussy went moist. She couldn’t help it. The images of the naked subservient men made her squirm in her husband’s chair.
She found a video and clicked the Play icon.
Two nude men washing a red, eighties-model Mustang came to life on the computer screen. Her pulse hammered as she watched a curvy woman with a sleek ponytail and a long leather flogger circle the men. Meg’s nipples started to tingle when the woman smacked one of the men’s naked asses. The woman on the screen did it again, and Meg’s cunt throbbed as she watched a red welt appear on the man’s golden flesh.
Meg thought of the paddle she’d bought but hadn’t had the balls to show Emmett, and she was envious of the woman on the screen. And when the men started pleasuring each other Meg closed the window on the browser with a fast click. Her skin was burning and her pussy was aching. She was disgusted at herself. She had just discovered that her husband had a fetish for male porn, and she was more turned on than she was angry.
What was
wrong
with her?
She pushed the chair back and left the office. As she walked up the stairs, she tried to ignore the way her thighs rubbed together and tingled the sensitive flesh between her legs.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the way that woman had smacked the young man’s ass. The image was burned into her brain. And she was turned on and jealous and hurt.
But at least she had figured out why her sex life had gone to shit. Her husband was gay.
On Saturday Ruby was working on catering invoices when a package arrived via courier. It was wrapped in brown paper and had no return address. Mark. She instinctively knew it was from him.
She hadn’t spoken with him the day before, although he’d sent her a text message late last night that said: Sorry. Worked late. See you tomorrow?
She hadn’t sent a message back.
Now she had butterflies as she walked through her apartment, took the package into the kitchen and placed it on the table, on top of the papers she’d strewn about as she’d worked.
Should she open it now?
Just then her phone buzzed and she picked it up. Open it up, the display said.
Open it up. And, as usual, she did.
The box was long and narrow, the type of package roses were shipped in. But when she lifted the lid off this box, she saw no roses inside. Her breath hitched. The dry scent of leather hit her, and she had to smile.
She began lifting items and placing them on her kitchen table: black leather, fur-lined handcuffs. A second set, but bigger: ankle cuffs. Some black nylon straps. And a vibrator. This she lifted and held in her palms. It was different from her little pink bullet; this was longer, wider, and the tip was angled. It was made out of a jellylike material that was slightly squishy. She turned it over in her hands. Through the transparent material she could see the motor, but there didn’t appear to be any way to turn it on.
The screen on her phone showed no new text messages. He knew she’d received the items, obviously, so now what was she supposed to do? She stood there, waiting, but instructions never arrived. Finally she returned the cuffs and other things to the box. What was he up to?
Back on the sofa, she opened her laptop and tried to focus on invoices. But now her entire body pulsed with anticipation, excitement. Her breasts felt heavy and her pussy was tingling. And he’d know this, of course he would. It would be part of what he wanted, to get her going, get her ready, aching.
Finally at seven-thirty her cell phone rang.
“I hope you didn’t start without me,” he said immediately.
She’d just taken a bath and was standing in her bedroom, wrapped in a towel. The air was chilly against her wet skin, but a flash of heat went through her at the sound of his voice. “How could I?” she asked. “The vibrator you sent must be faulty. It doesn’t have an On button.” She unwrapped the turban-style towel on her head and shook out her wet hair. “How was your session today?”
“Great, but exhausting. I don’t want to think about it anymore.”
“Oh. Okay.” She tried not to be disappointed that he didn’t want to share his day with her.
Don’t go there. This is just sex, remember?
After her last phone conversation with James, she’d decided to allow herself this tryst with Mark. To have casual sex, to get it out of her system. Only then, she’d concluded, could she go on with her life, just as things had been.
“All I want to think about is you,” Mark said.
His words made her heart stop, just for a second. This was bad, so very bad; every time he said stuff like that she knew it would be harder to get back to the normal life she craved.
But… there was that flutter in her belly again, telling her she was too weak to say no to him. The excitement was too good, too thrilling, and now anticipation coursed through her, erotically charging her.
“I’m in L.A. or I’d come see you, baby.”
She paused. “L.A.?” He’d never even mentioned he was leaving.
“Some stupid private party—sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“It’s okay,” she said, but for the first time she wondered what his band thought of him agreeing on their behalf to play the Spring Fling.
“We’ll fly back first thing in the morning.”
“You sound tired,” she said.
“I’m beat. You know what’s keeping me going?”
“No,” she said, lifting a leg and resting her foot on the bed. She soaked up the last of the water off her calf with her towel.
“What’s keeping me going is knowing that I’ll be seeing you when I get back, knowing what I’m going to do to you. Knowing how you’re going to submit for me.”
Frozen, she listened to his words.
And then he said, “I can take you there right now, if you’ll let me.”
A shiver raced up her spine. “What do you mean?”
“Ruby, baby. You know exactly what I mean.”
“Mark…”
“Baby, I can already hear the surrender in your voice.”
“I don’t know, Mark.”
“Don’t fight it, sweetheart.”
Hadn’t she been waiting all day for this? “Okay,” she said, even as her gut twisted with nerves.
“Good girl.”
His simple approval cemented the deal, no turning back now. And besides, he was three hundred miles away; what did she have to lose?
W
here are you?” he asked.
“My bedroom.” She hadn’t blown her hair dry; it would be a frizzy mess tomorrow. She tucked a damp strand behind her ear. “I just got out of the bath.”
“Fuck, are you already naked for me?”
“It wasn’t for you, but yes. I’m naked.”
“Baby, I can picture you so well. I can see you standing in your room, with that frilly little lamp of yours turned low. I can see your pale skin glowing like it did on the beach. Have I told you how much I love your body, Ruby?”
His words were like a hot whisper over her skin, melting her. “No.”
“I do. Your breasts fit in my hands perfectly, your legs wrap around me so tight.”
Her legs turned liquid and weak, but she didn’t sit down. He hadn’t given her permission for that yet.
“But you know what I noticed first about you?”
“No.”
“Your hair. I really love your hair.”
She thought he wouldn’t think that if he saw it now, damp and a wild mess. “Really?”
“Yes. Now, where are the things I sent you?”
“In the kitchen, still in their box.”
“Good. Now listen, Ruby. This is what I want you to do. I want you to go into the kitchen.”
The air was chilly against her damp skin as she walked down the hall, teasing her nipples, making goose bumps sprinkle her arms.
“Are you there now?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Standing naked in your kitchen?”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s freezing.”
He paused; she could hear him breathing, and then he said, “Good girl. Now I want you to take out each thing in that box, and, as you do, I want you to tell me what you’re holding in your hands.”
She approached the box, her pulse loud in her ears as she opened it. “I have a leather cuff… another cuff.” She sounded breathless, like someone else. “Two more cuffs. And the vibrator.”
“Ah, yes. The vibrator. But that’s not just any vibrator, doll. It’s a very special toy, one of the better results of modern communication technology.”
She held the pink phallic-shaped implement in her hand, comprehension finally beginning to dawn on her. “No way.”
“Yes, way—and by the way, I didn’t give you permission to talk. Now, are you ready to behave?”
She sighed at the thrill that shot through her.
“Okay, then. Now, pull out a chair and sit down. Are you sitting?”
“Yes.” The vinyl seat was sticky on her bare skin, but she kept that to herself. There would be time for disobedience later.
“Okay, baby. Now spread your legs for me. I need you to straddle that chair, I want your feet next to the legs, got it?”
“Yes,” she said, not quite believing she was in her kitchen, naked, having phone sex with Mark St. Crow.
“Good girl. Now, tell me how you’re feeling.”
“Ridiculous. Horny.”
“Honest enough.” He laughed. “Isn’t that what’s so great about this, though? About you and me? Instant honesty through our dual perversions?”