Wicked Angel Page 2

  The note was simple and not from him, but clearly at his direction.

  Please undress fully and put the blindfold on. You’re not to remove it at all. You’re also not to speak unless you want to use the safe word to stop.

  The safe word is crocodile.

  Silk sheets in a whitish-silvery color cover the bed in the middle of the room, and they feel cool and soft against my bare skin. The blindfold left for me is extra wide and red silk. I can’t see anything, not even a glimmer of light from the edges. Even though I feel a slight panic from not being able to see, I’m completely turned on right now.

  Despite the fact the man isn’t even in the room with me.

  My imagination has been on overdrive all day, but my mind is absolutely spinning with the possibilities right now. He told me there’d be rope, and that I should be a little afraid. I can’t help but squirm as I lay back on the cool sheets, trying to regulate my breathing by taking in several slow inhales of air and releasing them just as slowly.

  I’m hoping tonight reveals something important about myself. That perhaps I can learn to trust in a man again, even if it’s only in bed.

  The doorknob rattles slightly, and I go still. My hearing is on high alert, taking over for the loss of sight. Even though the hinges are well oiled, I can hear the whoosh of the door as it opens, and I swear I even feel the flutter of movement it produces along my body. I’d like to say I’m so sensitized it even hardens my nipples, but those tightened up the minute I got naked and put on the blindfold.

  The door shuts and I strain to listen, but whoever has walked in—presumably my date—is making barely a sound.

  But what if it’s not my date?

  What if it’s some stranger—well, more of a stranger than the man I’ve been corresponding with—who has stumbled in on me.

  I almost reach for the blindfold to take a peek, but I remember the instructions. I’m not to remove it at all. I have to bite my tongue to restrain myself from calling out to whomever is in the room with me.

  There’s nothing but absolute silence until the soft tap of what must be dress shoes sounds against the hardwood floors, indicating the man—at least, I think I’ve been corresponding with a man—approaches me.

  I mean… what if it’s a woman? I hadn’t thought about that. The user ID only said @sinemente1. The profile said “male”. At least, I think it did. I don’t recall specifically talking about it. What if it’s a woman here to do stuff to me?

  Do I care?

  I’m not averse to playing with women in a group, but I’m not inherently attracted to them. Regardless, a man is necessary to fulfill this fantasy. It’s all about learning to trust men.

  I dig my fingers into the silk sheets, crumpling them in my fist, only to force myself not to remove the blindfold in a panic.

  When the mattress dips, I realize whoever it is has taken a seat. It dips quite a bit, indicating someone heavy. So probably a man.

  My pulse is galloping, and a sheen of sweat pops out on my forehead.

  But then, something warm and large covers my breast. I suck in air and hold it in tight. When I realize a hand covers my entire breast, I know it has to be a man because I’m fairly full-chested. The fingers are long, and I sense strength as well as a delicate touch within.

  The hand moves, turns, and then knuckles are running down the middle of my stomach. I continue to hold one large breath inside of me, wondering just how far down he’ll go.

  When his knuckles graze over my mons, which are waxed bare, my hips rock slightly upward and the air comes rushing out of me.

  He doesn’t say a word, though.

  Doesn’t react to my reaction.

  Just utter silence before his hand is gone.

  The mattress shifts again, and I know he’s standing. The tapping of his footsteps resounds as he walks around the bed to the other side.

  Then he threads my hand through a rope before something tightens on my wrist. He hoists my arm up and ties it securely to something above my head. It’s not painful, but it’s not comfortable either.

  More tapping against hardwood, then he secures the other wrist.

  I wait for my ankles, but they’re left alone.

  There’s a sound I don’t recognize at first. A repetitive rasping… once, twice, and then it hits me.

  A lighter.

  My body tightens, and I strain to hear something else. Anything to give me an idea of where he is now and what he plans to do.

  When the first bit of hot wax splashes on my nipple, I hiss in surprise before moaning from the slight sting of pain. It’s not bad at all, but then more hits my skin. A flashing burn on my breasts produces a slight sting, then a delicious throb is left in its wake.

  I squirm, pull against the rope holding me in place, and start to undulate my hips as more wax drips across the center of my chest to my other breast to burn deliciously over my nipple.

  I’ve never had this done to me before. Never once considered it. I love to be spanked and spanked hard. Love the combination of pain and pleasure.

  And as the stranger pours wax onto my body, I wonder why I never wanted this. It feels incredible. Soon, I can’t distinguish between where the pain ends, and the pleasure begins. It swirls together, just as the tiny gasps and moans coming from my mouth do.

  The trail of hot wax goes from my breasts down to my stomach. A slow, sweeping pattern left and right, hitting my ribs where I can feel the wax sliding down onto the sheet beneath me.

  Lower yet to my belly button. Once again, I suck in a huge breath in anticipation as he gets closer to my pussy. I’m so attuned to what he’s doing, and I can tell he’s exercising some restraint. There’s no longer one long dribble of wax hitting me but instead, I feel individual drops hitting along my bare mons just to the left and right of my slit.

  My legs spread, a silent invitation to burn me between my legs. I need it there. I think I’ll die without it there.

  No more wax falls, and I cry out in what I think might be actual despair.

  “Not there,” he says, knowing exactly what I need and denying me. My instinct is to curse at him, but I don’t. I remember his instructions. I’m not to speak. He’s in charge and it’s not about what I want, but about what he chooses to give me.

  Right now, I’m completely at his mercy.

  CHAPTER 3

  Benjamin

  I stare at the woman—@elencosti89—and, for the first time, I wonder what her name is. Not that I’ll ask. I’ve never asked for a woman’s name while at The Wicked Horse because it was irrelevant.

  Still is irrelevant. But I do wonder.

  She’s stunning. I can’t see her face because of the wide swath of silk covering it, but I don’t need to. I could tell from her picture she was beautiful, but her body is a work of art. It’s curved in all the right places, and her skin looks oh so soft. I knew the hot wax would be the right choice.

  Those breasts are perfect, her brown nipples begging to be burned.

  After she’d taken the first splash like a champ, her entire body had silently begged for more. She squirmed and undulated. Never have I been more pleased to see a woman with a bare pussy, knowing my wax would go there. Only on the outside because I had better plans for her clit than to desensitize it with pain.

  When her legs spread, I have to admonish her. “Not there.”

  Not ever there.

  Twisting my body, I set the lit soy candle on the small table beside the bed. I don’t extinguish it, but I’m not sure I’ll use it again. The candle they gave me is white, and the wax covering her from breast to groin looks like loads of semen splashed all over her body.

  I push up from the bed, leaving the woman lying there to wonder what will come next. I’ve been impressed she’s following the rules, which means she’s invested in being under my control.

  Removing my suit jacket, I head over to the set of built-in cabinets on the far wall. I toss my jacket on a chair in the corner, then loosen my tie. In the
cabinet, I pull out the vibrator I’d requested. It’s about a foot and a half long with a narrow handle and a bulbous protrusion on the end that vibrates at an impressive speed. To ensure power, it’s electric rather than battery operated, and I’ve seen this tool practically destroy a woman.

  In the best possible way, that is.

  She’s holding perfectly still as I return to the bed. Head raised just slightly and tilted my way as she struggles to listen and perhaps glean what will happen next. I wouldn’t tell her even if I could.

  But I can’t because I have no idea. I’m winging this. Playing it by ear and I’m admittedly slightly off balance. The fact that my dick is hard as a rock right now is disconcerting. It became that way the minute I let the first splash of wax fall on her breast and she reacted so beautifully. Hating the pain, loving the pleasure, and then, in turn, learning to love and anticipate the pain once again. Yeah, my cock thickened and pressed painfully against my zipper and it’s shocking. Despite all the debauchery I’ve experienced in this place in the last few months since I started attending, my body hasn’t quite reacted the way a normal thirty-six-year-old man’s body should. It takes a lot to get me going these days, and I don’t need my own neurologist, psychiatrist, or any other medical professional to tell me it’s all in my head.

  Meaning the one that sits above my shoulders.

  My dick hasn’t worked right since the accident because sex and love were too intertwined for me before. It’s abhorrent they should be entwined again.

  And yet, here I am in The Wicked Horse, risking that again.

  But I have no choice. I have to risk it. Because at least when I’m here, even if it takes me a while to succumb to pleasure, at least I feel something. In the last year of my life, I’ve gone from suffering unimaginable pain to feeling nothing at all. I was so tired of hurting all the time—of missing my family so badly I’d thought of ending things for good—that I knew I had to do something drastic.

  And then one day… I think my psyche just decided to put up a barrier to emotion. Defensively, it learned the best way to protect myself from the hurt was to ignore it. And I did such an excellent job of it I willed it into non-existence. Along with most every other feeling.

  My compassion for my patients seems to have dried up. My camaraderie for my friends is gone. Familial love has gone cold because sometimes I can’t even stand to look at my parents and brother. Food tastes bland. The air smells stale. Even my dreams have no meaning and are boring. The only thing that gives me the slightest bit of satisfaction, and it’s not even joy anymore like it used to be, is performing a successful operation. But hell… most of what I do in the human brain is rote work. Even that has sort of gone to autopilot and while I feel good if I save a patient, I can’t say I feel bad if I lose one.

  I’m fucking broken, and I’m trying to get something back. Some sort of feeling.

  The last few months have been an interesting experiment. My first few visits here were good, and I thought I’d perhaps found a cure. The orgasms were good, but how could they not be with the level of kink pervading this place?

  But then, like with everything else in my life, the goodness faded and the experiences dulled to the point I was about ready to give up my membership.

  Until @elencosti89 and I connected on the brand-new fantasy app.

  And now my cock is harder than I remember it being in the last several years, and I bet it gets harder yet once I make her come.

  I move to the table by the bed, then squat to plug the vibrator into the electrical socket near the baseboard. I place it on the mattress not far from her shoulder and pick the candle back up again. Concentrating on the smooth, olive toned patches of exposed skin among the framework of cooled wax, I splash more of the fiery substance onto her skin. I peel off the hardened pieces over her nipple before dripping more onto them. My cock pulses in response to her moans of pleasure and the way in which her hips keep thrusting upward. When she spreads her legs wantonly, it tells me it’s time to move on.

  I get rid of the wax, take the vibrator in hand, and hold it at the ready. Sitting on the mattress at the woman’s hip, I press my free hand to the warmth of her pussy. The woman groans, digs her heels into the mattress, and pushes against me. With a short turn of my wrist, I’m able to slip my middle finger into her.

  The heat and wetness sucking at my finger causes my balls to tighten painfully and for the first time in forever, I’m looking forward to coming.

  I deftly flip the switch on the vibrator and the hum of its powerful little engine whirring causes the woman’s head to tilt toward it. She goes still again, despite my finger jammed in deep, then starts to tremble as I move the toy closer.

  Ever so slowly, I bring it right to where her clit is hiding under soft bare skin, then press the bulbous, twitching head to her.

  I’m stunned when she screams in graphic pleasure, her hips shooting wildly off the bed and she comes harder than I’ve ever seen before. Faster than I’ve ever seen. Her muscles contract onto my finger, holding me tight within her, and her entire body shakes with the explosion.

  My mouth parts slightly in astonishment at how responsive she is—all from a little hot wax and anticipation.

  Once again, her feet dig into the mattress, legs falling open, and she grinds upward into the vibrator as she seeks more.

  I press it harder onto her, enough to drive her back down, before I pull my finger out and insert three back in to fuck her with them. She starts a keening whine, wanting to come again and before I know it, she’s doing just that.

  Another orgasm—not as long lasting but hitting her so hard her toes curl and her arms yank hard at the ropes while her head thrashes.

  Spectacularly beautiful.

  I flip the vibrator off and toss it carelessly to the floor, not caring if it breaks. I’m done with it for the evening.

  Crawling onto the bed, I push her legs farther apart and settle in between them. I fumble with my pants, eager to get my cock out. It’s throbbing, leaking, and so hard I’m almost afraid of what this is going to feel like.

  I’m fully clothed, but I don’t give a fuck. All I care about is sinking into that slick, dark hole of @elencosti89 and fucking my brains out within her. There’s no need for a condom. We both chose to get medical exams so we could have the fully bare experience. Again, I wanted to feel something.

  I position the head of my dick to her, putting my hands to the back of her thighs to help raise and spread her legs even more. I glance upward at the woman, able to see just her lips and chin. She’s got her perfectly white, straight teeth dug down into her lower lip.

  Fuck, that’s hot.

  There’s no entering her gently, but it doesn’t matter. She said I could do whatever I wanted to her. Said I could fuck her anywhere and as roughly as I wanted. I have no guilt as I punch my hips forward and slam deep inside.

  She finally breaks the rule of no speaking by whispering one word. “Yes.”

  I can’t even admonish her. It feels too fucking good to have her pussy grip me, and my hips start to move.

  I know I won’t last long, and I don’t care if she comes again. She’s got two under her belt.

  Roaming my gaze all over her wax-covered body, I fuck @elencosti89 and I fuck her hard. Her tits bounce around, and she moans when I hit her deep. She even comes again, catching me by surprise and making my balls pull upward for release.

  Ruthlessly, I plunge into her heat and wetness over and over again, not caring if I hurt her, only caring about the storm brewing deep within me. It’s like a funnel cloud twirling, tightening, pulling me in.

  And then it explodes outward, and I’m coming so hard it hurts.

  Hurts beautifully.

  My head falls back, and I roar out my release to the ceiling, my hips still slamming into her to draw out every precious drop of feeling I’m unloading into her.

  I’m gasping when it’s all gone.

  In astonishment, I stare at the woman, wondering wh
at in the hell is so special about her since I’m pretty sure that was the best orgasm of my life.

  Reaching up with one hand, I pull at the slip knot and release one of her hands.

  She immediately brings it to the blindfold, then she starts to push it up.

  “Don’t,” I murmur, locking my fingers around her wrist and pulling it away from her face. “Not until I’m gone.”

  “I don’t care what you look like,” she says, and I suppose it’s okay for her to break the rules now. We both got what we wanted.

  “And I don’t care if you care,” I say stiffly, pulling my spent cock out of her and tucking it back into my pants. I roll off the bed and zip up.

  Hastily, I go to the chair and snatch my jacket and tie up. Without a backward glance at the woman, I make my way out of the room, a little shaken by the experience.

  But also relieved.

  Seems I’m not as dead on the inside as I had once thought.

  CHAPTER 4

  Elena

  Jorie’s birthday party is being held in the grand ballroom at The Royale Casino, which is lavishly ostentatious in the art-nouveau style. The curved windows have stained-glass centers, and oriental rugs in deep reds and navy blues cover the glossy floors. Scrolled wrought-iron chandeliers hang down the center of the room, twenty feet apart, and the furniture is heavy with ornately curved lines and boldly patterned silk cushions.

  Once, Jorie confided she hated how opulent it was, but I suspect that was just a small-town girl trying to become accustomed to living in her new husband’s wealthy world.

  Most people here are Jorie’s friends now, too, but they’re mostly from Walsh’s world of luxury and wealth. Prior to reconnecting with her current husband, she had been living in California coming out of a bad first marriage. She sort of slunk back into Henderson when her asshole husband had kicked her out, having the nerve to tell her she was awful in bed. She showed up on the doorstep to my humble two-bedroom apartment in Henderson, Nevada where we had both been raised, suffering from terrible self-esteem issues because of what that douche had told her. So I promptly made her my permanent roommate and then dragged her to The Wicked Horse to get her back in the saddle—or rather in the bed—and, well… that’s the story. She reconnected with Walsh that fateful night, and the rest is history.