Authors: Selena Kitt
* * * *
Suddenly, the fake-dungeon's door
burst open, and a costumed man stormed in. The handsome were-wolf cast a
blue-eyed stare at Lacey hanging in her naked shame, —
was that a
look
of real concern
—strutted right up to Phil and shoved him back against the
wall.
"What the hell do you think
you're doing here, Weazel? I'd think it's fairly obvious the lady doesn't want
to play your little...games. Get the fuck out of here—now! You're lucky I don't
haul your ass off to—"
Big, bad, dominating Phil Weazel,
unquestionably the hottest stud at Constance Paine Elementary, was gone before
MacLeod finished roaring. Weazel had been sharp enough to realize he was out
gunned, quaking in the presence of a real predator.
Jamie closed the door quietly, to give
the humiliated woman some sort of privacy. Hearing her begin to dissolve into
tears, he locked it; mostly to keep the curious gossips from poking their heads
in. He tried to avoid looking at the nearly naked teacher; what he'd seen had
nearly driven him wild. Now was not the time. He'd avoided looking at the moon
before he'd come inside.
Stalking across the fake dungeon, his
muscles rippling like those of a huge jungle cat, Jamie removed the
spittle-soaked gag from the lady's mouth first.
The gag looked like silky
panties. Hers? They certainly bore her entrancing scent.
Feeling light-headed
from the heady musk, he absently pocketed her balled-up panties, and tried not
to look at her slick berry-wine lips. So full, wet, and pouting. As if begging
to be kissed.
Trying not to become too distracted by
the Bonnets' kinky treasure-trove of sex toys, Jamie bent to free Lacey's
ankles before she found her raspy voice.
"T-thank you. Oh my god, thank
you s-so much, officer. I don't know what I would have done—"
Her graceful legs free, Jamie resisted
the urge to stroke their smoothness, to part them, and run his tongue along the
inside, up into her hair—he straightened like a little boy with his hand caught
in the cookie jar, and flashed his best bad boy grin. "It's James MacLeod.
Locals call me Jamie. And you're welcome. Wish I'd found you sooner, Miss
Rodriguez. I hope he didn't hurt you. If you want to press charges—" He
moved closer to her, the primal attraction between them shooting actinic
sparks.
Lacey closed her tear-blind eyes,
wishing he hadn't seen her messy like this. She wanted an hour with her hair
and makeup, maybe a week to get just the right dress...
She left her lush lips parted,
waiting, hungering for his first kiss. When it didn't come, she opened her dark
eyes and realized as he pressed his hard body into hers, he was busy undoing
the restraints on both her wrists, seemingly totally oblivious to her urges. All
she had to do was turn her face to his and...
She kissed him. A lop-sided slobber
somehow ending on his lips with both of them going at it like hormone-crazed
teenagers. She might be the teacher, but he was anything but a slow learner.
Lacey found his lips pressed against hers, as his hands helped themselves to
her tender and eager breasts.
"L-leave the one wrist bound,
James. Please. It lets me pretend I'm still a helpless lady instead of a wanton
slut. Oh God! Don't stop doing what you're doing to my nipples! You make me
feel like I'm on fire!"
Somehow in the heat of their passion,
Jamie bit Lacey. Not a little nip either, she swore she felt a pretty painful
prick, like he had a chipped tooth with a very sharp edge or something. Funny,
his smile had seemed full of very white, perfect teeth. Yet, she'd been bit,
and one minute, the coppery taste of blood flooded her mouth, and then it was
gone. Jamie must have licked it up or something, because within seconds the
blood was all gone, and the last thing on her mind was complaining.
She ended up putting her Lady Liberty
costume back on, and asking Jamie to bind her other hand. Somehow, strangely,
completely at
his
mercy, being helpless didn't feel so terrifying.
He'd even retrieved the rest of her
costume and her purse. When she'd shyly put on her glasses to check and make
sure everything was still in her small purse, she'd tried to hide her face.
Jamie had grabbed her hand and spun her around, saying he actually found her a
turn-on with her glasses on. Guessed he'd always had a thing for school
teachers, he'd chuckled.
God, she hoped it was so. Here was a
man she could really fall for. He seemed so nice!
Once she was dressed and bound with
both wrists suspended from the leather restraints overhead, he moved in on her
like a predator ready to seize the bait. He was gorgeous; far more impressive
than the body Phil had been so eager to flaunt at her. Taking hold of the satin
crotch to her costume bottoms, he shoved it aside, and thrust himself inside.
Instinctively, she lifted both red high-heeled boots, and wrapped her graceful
legs around his tight ass. When she dug the heels into his cheeks like spurs,
his thick cock drove deep inside her. Letting a little gasp of pleasure escape,
she smiled through sudden happy tears. Her night wasn't turning out so badly
after all.
Jamie grabbed his captive's plump ass,
and pulled her tight against his loins as he slammed into her again and again,
slow at first, but now with a steadily increasing tempo
. God, she is so hot!
Seems like a real sweetheart too. If only...
His hands began to work across
her generous breasts, gradually untying her bodice, and caressing her dark
nipples to tender awareness. As the fleshy stalks rose high to flaunt their
pleasure at his constant rubbing, he bent his shaggy head to suckle.
God,
she tastes so good...
They kept at it a while longer,
rutting like two mated beasts, fitting perfectly into each other, touching kissing,
licking, as though they'd been in love for years and knew each other's favorite
spots. They came almost together, their hot thick cum flowing together,
blending as though a portent of things yet to come. Lacey certainly hoped so,
realizing she was half in love already.
Too soon it was over; and as Jamie
began to back away, she boldly mouthed, "Again," something shy Miss
Rodriguez would never do. He smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling with
something more than lust, and took her in his arms, tenderly. They made love
again, slowly this time, with Miss Rodriguez free of any restraint, and yet,
before they finished, Lacey felt herself truly bound.
As they dressed in silence, each sorry
their brief time together was over, Jamie decided to take the risk, and ask to
see Lacey again. He'd barely turned around to do so, entranced again by her
innocent beauty, his awkward words jammed up in his throat, when a firm
knocking began at the door, accompanied by jabbering voices. Making sure Miss
Rodriguez was ready for guests, Jamie opened the door to the amused Bonnets'
and Principal Sweetling's sour puss.
"Are you okay, Miss Rodriguez? Is
this policeman behaving himself?"
"Yes sir—I'm fine. James—Officer
MacLeod has been a very nice and proper gentleman. In fact, I think he's
my
super hero."
Sensing there was plenty of juicy
gossip here, but both parties lips were sealed tighter than a holy sister's
knees, the small group dispersed, dragging a scowling Sweetling away last.
"You
are
my hero, Jamie,
you know."
"Aren't you being a little
melodramatic now, Lacey?"
"So you
do
know my
name."
"I'm a cop, remember? I'd really
like to see you again, Lace. "
"I'd love that, James. How about
tomorrow, my house. I live on—"
"I know where you live. The
island's not that big. Seven, okay?"
"Make it seven-thirty. I'd really
like to look nice for you after school. I'll probably spend at least an hour in
front of my closet wondering what to wear."
"From what I remember, seeing you
going into 'Constance Paine', you
always
look nice. "Black
Swan" okay for wine?"
"How much more do you know about
me, Mr. Policeman? If you weren't so damned good-looking, I'd say you've been
stalking me. Can't a woman have any secrets?"
"Everyone has secrets here, Lace.
Some of them are pretty dark. Welcome to Grim Island."
About Jack Osprey
Jack Osprey lives in New England
with his wife, curious calico cat, laid-back husky, and never enough marine
fish. He still believes in rescuing damsels in distress; just not too quickly.
Although he has two grown kids, he still keeps a light burning nightly and a
close vigil on his thumping closet door. It’s only recently that he’s started
letting some of his demon spawn slither forth, manifesting themselves on his
monitor. Expect more; the closet is quite full.
By Selena Kitt
If this didn’t work, Laura
knew she was going to leave him. She sat, making herself even smaller in the
narrow space of an airplane seat, looking out at the clearest water she had
ever seen as they made their approach. It wasn’t anything like the small
Midwestern town where she grew up. She knew she should have been excited, but
it was fear she felt curled up in a ball in the pit of her belly, and she put
her hand there, as if rubbing it could make it go away.
“Are you cold?” Rick
leaned over and tucked the blue blanket around her thighs. She smiled at him,
not saying anything as she turned back to the window. As they neared the
island, she could make out the coastline. She leaned over and started packing
things back into her carry-on—a paperback book, a pair of headphones, the
uneaten bag of peanuts.
“Here.” She handed their
tickets to him. “We’d better start getting ready.”
Rick took the tickets and
stared at them for a moment. “Maybe you should keep them? In your purse?”
Laura sighed, took them
back and tucked them neatly into her handbag. “Do you even know the name of the
place we’re staying?”
He shrugged, putting the
Gameboy he’d been playing into his carry-on bag. “You’re the one who planned
this whole thing.”
“Yeah.” Laura sighed
again, curling toward the window and watching the ground swell, as if it were
rising to meet them. They were over land completely now, and she had a brief
desire to be swallowed up by it. A crash wouldn’t be like that, of course, but
that was the image—the plane just continuing its descent, plunging into the
earth below until just its tail emerged and the passengers inside were all
buried alive.
What’s the difference?
I feel buried alive now.
The dry, stale air of the
plane made her feel like she was suffocating.
“Are you all right?” Rick
touched her shoulder.
She gave him another
half-hearted smile. “I’m fine… Just fine.”
* * * *
“This guy is an asshole,”
Rick reiterated, swallowing his orange juice in three huge gulps and signaling
the waitress.
Laura pierced a grape with
her fork, watching him spread butter on his toast. Then it was on to the jelly.
He ordered another orange juice, and she watched him squirt ketchup onto his
ten dollar omelet. Lunch and dinner main courses were included in their retreat
package, but breakfast and any extras were on their own.
“You know, orange juice is
three dollars.” She crushed the grape between her teeth and made it squirt into
her mouth. It was a bitter one, and she thought that was just about right. “Each.”
“So?” Rick shrugged,
smiling at the waitress and thanking her when she set the juice in front of
him. “We’re on vacation, right? Why shouldn’t we have what we want?”
“Do you need anything
else?” The waitress smiled at Rick. She was a tall girl, with short, stylish
blonde hair tucked behind her ears. Laura grimaced at the girl’s clothes—a
colorful blue sarong that matched her eyes, and a solid blue bikini top that
barely contained the flesh spilling out of it. Clearly island-wear.
“Could you possibly bring
me a lemon wedge?” He held up his water glass, as if that explained his
request.
“Sure.” The blonde reached
for Laura’s empty plate. She had been through her egg-white omelet before Rick
had even started.
She looked over the
railing and down at the beach—clear water, like blue glass, with a white sandy
edge that looked as if it belonged on a postcard. Probably was, somewhere
downstairs in the gift shop, with the words “Welcome to Elysium!” on the front.
She felt far from paradise.
“So why is he an asshole?”
Laura pierced a piece of cantaloupe.
Rick, pouring syrup over
his pecan pancakes, answered through a mouth full of eggs. “Because he is. I’m
surprised you like him. He wants to send women back to the stone age. Is that
what you want? You wanna be my Wilma? So I can be your Fred.”
She remembered the
facilitator who had started the workshop last night. He wasn’t an exceptionally
good-looking man—in fact, he was balding, and she thought he was rather
scrawny. Still, there was something about him. When he looked at her, she felt
like she was being seen into, seen through.