A Ghoul, A Nectarine, and Pancakes

This was it.

He moved the table without a word. He crouched down and fiddled with the tubes of the pump, first. She heard the metal basin scrape across the concrete floor as he slid it under the table. ~He can probably hear my breathing. He probably knows I'm freaking out and has changed his mind~ her mind spun in circles.

Suddenly, he was standing next to her again. "How are you feeling?" his voice was soft, concerned. He unhooked the fake shackle from her neck. The prop was made of plastic, but was pinned down to keep from sliding around.

She rolled her neck around, glad for the freedom of movement. "Um. That's a loaded question," she said, only half kidding.

He caught the nuance and answered with a short dry chuckle. "Yeah. I bet." He helped her to sit upright, and sat next to her. "I know that I just threw a lot at you, all at once. So I don't blame you at all if you...need time, or, want to talk, or...just aren't interested." He paused to let the words sink in. They made her stomach cramp. "But unless you let me know by the time we get upstairs, I am most definitely going to assume otherwise." The confidence returned to his voice. The piercing stare. The delicious smile.

Shyly, the corners of Izzy's mouth turned up in response. Her words were stuck in her throat, but it didn't matter. The light in his eyes told her he understood.

He stepped off the table and turned to lift the fake leg stump off her thigh. The latex was as thin as a layer of skin up where it draped over her real flesh; Alex brushed his thumb up and along her inner thigh to carefully gather the film. He shot her a wolfish grin. ~So close, yet so far away~.

"You know, of all the times I...imagined you, and me...never once did you have Skeletor face in my fantasies."

"I like the look. It instills fear, and respect, don't you think?" He was at her feet now, he gave the table a good tug to pop the halves loose.

Izzy pulled her leg from the now-widened hole at once, and sighed in relief. She swung her body around so that her legs dangled from the table; she was about to hop off when Alex boxed her in.

"So...you fantasized about me?" He usually towered above her, but because the table was elevated, she was almost eye level with him.

A fresh blush bloomed on her cheeks. She cast her eyes down. "Only since I was a teenager," she admitted.

"You hid it well," his voice lost all trace of jest. "I never knew."

"I never thought --"

He lifted his forefinger to her lips, shook his head. "Don't," he whispered. His face drew closer, but then he stopped himself. "I want to kiss you, but I'm a ghoul," he said, remembering his make-up.

Even though a trillion butterflies were dancing on every part of her being, she couldn't help herself. "You have a lot of good qualities, too, Alex," she clucked with deadpanned sympathy.

He shook his head but his grin was radiant. "Can't stay out of trouble, can you, Iz?" Before she could answer, he lifted her by the waist and slung her over his shoulder.

She could have done the kicking-and-screaming thing, but truth was she liked it. He hugged her tightly to his body with his hand on the swell of her ass as he darted up the stairs. Correction. She loved it.

He halted before the door to their home, and set her down before he turned the knob. "Last chance," he offered, serious again.

She shook her head 'no'.

"I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you want me to do to you." It was a challenge, and she knew it.

Her mouth went dry. Saying what she wanted out loud was so much harder than typing into a keyboard. Her mind stumbled over what to choose, what to admit. At last she blinked, "Do whatever you want to me. I trust you."

The joy on his face was evident, even under the make-up. His mouth was upon hers in a flash, insistent, eager, melting. Her breath stopped and her heart pounded . She whimpered without meaning to, and his lips backed off into something soft and sweet.

He pulled away too soon. "Now you're a ghoul, too," he teased, and wiped a smudge of face paint from the corner of her mouth with a broad stroke of his thumb.

He unlocked the door to their studio, and he led her to the bathroom wordlessly. It was a big, old industrial bathroom, with several toilet stalls, a row of sinks, and a small-room-sized tiled shower with three separate spigots. Her herded her up against the wall.

"Stay," he told her. She blinked up at him with the hint of a smile.

Alex walked to the nearest sink and ran the water until it was hot. He soaped and scrubbed his face three times, until it was free of the offensive, caked-on goop. He toweled off and turned to the lovely, nearly naked woman waiting for him.

"You know, Izzy, I really love seeing you parade around in your underwear," he said. "But I think, right now, it might be a little much. Take it off," his tone was hard enough to let her know he was serious.

Heat flushed her face yet again; she silently cursed her red hair and pale skin. She wanted to be brave and look him in the eye, but she couldn't. Not yet. With her eyes to the ground, she reached behind her back and unhooked the bra. She didn't have the faintest idea how to striptease, so she simply let the straps fall from her shoulders. She plucked the fabric from her chest and let it drop, exposing her perky C cups to his clear delight.

Her nipples had been hard all night, hard to the point of aching. Now, exposed, watched, they puckered and stood as tall as she'd ever seen them. Normally a dusty pink, they were now a swollen deep red.

Before she could second guess herself, she hooked her thumbs under the strings of her panties. She tugged one side down, then the other, and stepped out of the skimpy triangles of fabric.

She was barefoot, jewelery free. Completely nude.

Something about standing before him, exposed and vulnerable -- just the act of showing herself, giving herself -- it was enough to make her feel the pointed edges of her ache, and the soft folds her her desire, all the more palpable.

She heard the soft intake of his breath and looked up. She had his rapt attention, no doubt. "You know, I thought about asking for pictures. I had to stop myself." he said.

"I would have done it," she said.

"I know. But I didn't want you to do it for 'Brandon'. I wanted you to do it for me."

"I'm glad," she pushed the words out her her throat, "that you stopped yourself. That I'm doing it for you."

He took a step closer to her, and tilted her chin up with his finger. "You say the sweetest things. But you can't forget -- I'm in charge, now. We're going to get in the shower in a moment. You don't move, you don't talk, you don't touch, unless I say. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes...Sir." Just saying the word brought a warm rush to her pussy.

He nodded with reserve, but his eyes were smiling. "Good girl." He stepped back, and removed his t-shirt without ceremony. She had seen him shirtless before, but it didn't fail to take her breath away. He was tall, so tall, that his body was definitely more lanky than beefy, yet the ropes of muscles down his arms were evident. ~Good lord, the obliques on that man~, she salivated.

He wore a nondescript pair of black slacks. He unsnapped the button and let loose the zipper as if he weren't being watched. It wasn't until he pulled off his boxer-briefs that she knew for certain he was very aware of her eyes on him. His cock sprang free, jutting up to touch his abdomen, right where a fine spattering of hair begun to trail down. He was thick, and long; certainly larger than any in her limited experience.

"Get in the shower," he told her. "Turn on the two shower heads, at either end, as hot as you can take it. Stand under the spray of one, facing the other, and wait for me."

She turned to obey but stopped herself. "Yes, sir." Mmm, the words were still a thrill. She got in the shower and did as told, standing so the water hit the back of her head and upper shoulders.

After a few seconds she began to feel anxious. How long would he make her wait? What would he have her do? She felt relieved when he entered the shower not a minute later.

Without a word he began to wash himself. She was grateful that he'd taken the responsibility of choice away from her. Given the choice, she didn't know what she would do. Attack him like some shameless hussy? Shyly touch him and wait for his response? Both were equally likely.

He finished rinsing himself off and approached her. She stayed still, as she was told to, while he removed the shower head from the wall and asked her to tilt her head back.

He wet her hair, then replaced the wand. He lathered her hair with shampoo in smooth, gentle strokes, massaging her scalp with his strong fingers. "I want to do a lot of things to you, Izzy," he growled in her ear. "But above all, I want to take care of you." He rinsed her hair carefully, so as not to let soap get in her eyes. He repeated the process with her favorite spiced peach conditioner, the scent filling the small space.

Next he filled his open palms with body wash, and lathered her arms in slow, sensual strokes. He moved to do her back, taking a little extra time to massage her shoulders, the muscles around her spine, and her lower back. He crouched down to wash her legs next, but he clearly avoided her inner thighs on purpose. He came close enough to make her want to squirm, to force his hand, but she reminded herself that her job was to stand still. And she didn't want to disappoint him.

Besides, she couldn't complain. All the tender ministrations were sweet and teasing, yes, but they still amplified the heat she felt in her body. Her cunt was still wet, her tits still aching. She just had to be patient.

He stood back up and moved behind her. With the tips of his soapy fingers, he washed behind her ears, her neck. His hands dipped further, to her collarbone, and lower yet, to just above the swell of her breasts.

Just when she thought his hands were finally going to go where she wanted them to, they were removed. She made an almost imperceptible whimper, but before she could finish the sound, his arms were looping under hers, stroking up and down her sides.

He was standing much closer, now, his chest pressed into her. She could feel the hardness of his erection against the top of her ass. His large hands held her waist; he pulled her closer, his cock nestling between her ass cheeks. Without meaning to, she ground against him, but he stilled her with his hands.

"Patience," he breathed into her ear.

His hands roamed her abdomen in large, slow circles, creeping ever higher, until at last they cupped the undersides of her breasts. He held the weight of them, a perfect handful. He massaged the flesh of her breasts, grabbing them straight on, but letting her nipples fall between the open V's of his fingers.

"You have gorgeous tits," he rasped in her ear. "Beautiful." He closed the V's of his fingers to lightly pinch her nipples. Her body almost jolted, but he had her pinned tight. "Sensitive. Mmmm."

He took her nipples between his thumbs and index finger and stroked them, squeezing lightly from the base to the tip. She mewled at his touch, her body now officially on fire, her desire now straight-up need.

"You like that, don't you, Izzy?" His fingers plucked with just a little more force and she groaned but did not say anything. "Answer me."

"Yes, sir," she was panting.

He squeezed the sensitive buds again at the same time he thrust his pelvis forward, wedging his cock a little deeper in her ass cheeks. "Yes, sir," she said again and he rewarded her with another pinch and thrust.

His right hand traveled, grazing her nipple with his palm as it moved to the space between her tits. Then it changed direction, moving downward in a straight line, slowly over the flat of her stomach, to the top of her mound. Her breath was held, waiting for the touch.

"Tell me what you want, Iz," his left hand was still massaging her nipple, the fingers of his right hand dangerously close to the hood of her clit.

"Please," she panted.

"Please what?"

"Please touch...my pussy." His fingers crept a centimeter closer. "Your pussy." Another centimeter. "Your cunt." His middle finger slid down through her outer lips and back up again.

Two fingers now slid down, deeper, between her inner lips. They were already slick with her arousal. "My cunt," he growled in her ear.

"Yes," the sound came out as a puff of air. His fingers stroked again, slowly up, quickly down, in steady rhythm. As he grazed over her clit, a million bolts of electricity sparked through her, then as his finger moved on she chased the sensation, certain that if he only let her taste it for a moment longer, she would explode.

His left hand was still plucking at her nipple, steadily now, just hard enough for her to want it a little harder. His pelvis slowly pumped into her backside and the force of his hand in her cunt kept her pinned beneath his pressure.

His slickened fingers teased the entrance to her tunnel on each stroke. There was no doubt she was ready to tumble into abandon, each wave larger and more powerful than the last. She was shaking in his arms, thrumming between gasped breaths, rocking her hips back into his cock, and forth into his hand.

"Cum for me, Iz," his voice rumbled. His fingers found her clit and halted, strumming, as the pinches to her nipple got fiercer. His mouth found a sensitive spot on the side of her neck and suckled.

Her body was incoherent, flashes of light and heat. Her sticky need poured out of her, thunderous moan after moan, coating his hand in her juices, until she was a bubbling mess, a puddle of a girl, just trying to catch her breath.

Alex's mouth, still upon her neck, peppered her skin in sweet kisses as she came down. He held in tight in his arms. "That was beautiful, Iz," he whispered.

She turned her head and smiled up at him. "I could say the same of you."

He spun her around to face him and captured her mouth with his. This kiss was less anxious, more measured, his lips and tongue exploring hers. They fell into suckling and nibbling each other, his still-hard cock a firm presence between them. He pulled away and turned off the spigots. Then he took her hand and led her out of the shower.

He grabbed a towel and dried her off, first. His did so reverently, picking up the moisture with gentle pats, making sure he got every drop.

After he toweled himself off, he led her upstairs to the loft, to his bedroom. Izzy had been in his bedroom before, but had rarely spent any time there. Since the rest of the converted warehouse was all wide open space, they'd always respected each others need for a private space. Now, though, Izzy knew that if he were to leave her alone in the room, she would examine the photos on his dresser, and snoop at the books on his shelves.

Instead, she became intensely aware that she was standing in his bedroom, naked, unsure of what to do next. Alex was crouched on the other side of the room doing something, she distracted herself by examining the contents of his desk.

He startled her by coming up from behind. His lips closed around her earlobe, an instant bolt of pleasure shot through her body. She was about to open her mouth when he surprised her again, this time by slipping a soft, thick piece of fabric over her eyes. He tied it behind her head; she could see nothing.

He took her hand in his, led her to the edge of the bed, and helped her climb on. He guided her to lie on her back and positioned her in the center. Then she felt a strap tighten around her wrist, first one, then the other, to either corner of the four poster bed. ~Oh, damn,~ butterflies tingled in her belly, ~this is really happening,~ she thought.

Izzy wiggled her arms. The cuffs were wide and the binds were tight; they had a little give, but just barely. "I'm not binding your legs, tonight," Alex said as he climbed on the bed next to her. The realization that this night was just the first of many occurred to Izzy with a thrill. "I'm going to ease you into things. Does that disappoint you, or make you feel relieved?"

He nipped at her earlobe while she chewed on her answer. "A little of both," she answered honestly.

His fingertips were playing on her skin, tracing invisible patterns. "I can think of a thousand things I want to do with you. To you," the sound rumbled out of his throat. His lips and tongue danced between her jaw and her neck; he had a singular talent to make her body whirl with each touch, each kiss, each lick. Each bite, she added to the list; her mind already floating in bliss. "Tonight," he said, "I just want you. I want to take you and use you and fuck you and make love to you," he punctuated each statement by grazing his fingertips over her swollen nipples. "In the morning, I want to make you pancakes, and over breakfast with you, write a list of those thousand things. So we can check them off, one," he plucked her swollen nub, "by one," he plucked again.

His mouth moved from her neck, his lips captured her nipple and suckled. A flood of heat shot straight to her pussy and a mewling moan slipped from her mouth.

"Mmm, I love the noises you make for me," he said, and commenced his oral attack on her hard, sensitive nub again. All the while his large, rough hands were making a study of her skin; her other breast, her tummy, her thighs. "Don't hold back, kitten," he instructed as he sucked upon her nipple with greater pressure, toying with its tip with the tip of his tongue. A strangled cry left her lips, and the stray thought ~I must be making a puddle all over his bedspread.~

"Are you wet? I bet you're already dripping," as if reading her mind, his words only served to coax her, ignite her further. The flat of his palm was on her leg, just above her knee, moving up now, up and in. Slowly, over the smooth skin of her inner thigh, his fingers dug into her skin a little. If his nails weren't trim, it would have left marks. It was a possessive gesture of need and she suddenly wished he would be a little rougher with her.

~In time. Dear lord, in good time.~ Her body was too full of heat and need and delight to worry too much about how else he could be. Everything he was doing now felt fantastic, especially his greedy fingers, reaching for the wet, hungry lips of her cunt. He spread her lips open; she could hear how wet she was. ~Holy hell, it's obscene~ the thought filled her with horror, but changed quickly to pride. ~I want to be dirty for him,~ she realized.

His long fingers were dipped inside of her, stroking, gliding through her slickness. He pushed a single digit through the tight heat of her tunnel and she rewarded him with a satisfied groan. A second finger joined in, curling up to stroke her inner walls, she felt full but not full enough. Her hips bucked against his hands, anxious for more depth, more action.

He curtailed her request by holding his fingers still deep within her, and instead toying with the swollen bundle of nerves at the top of her slit. A sharp intake of her breath, then a soft cry on the exhale, he began to time the strokes of her clit with the pumping of his fingers inside of her. The rhythms began slowly; he had her biting her lower lip and panting, wanting to ask for more but not sure how to get the words out.

Of course he knew what he was doing. He was playing with her responses like a master, making her ache for more and more as his rhythm gradually increased. She was moving her hips in time with each stroke, now, unabashedly, the wetness of her arousal spilling out of her. His motions increased in speed and intensity, and he coaxed her, "That's it, kitten, let yourself go." And then his tongue replaced the finger at her clit, and he lapped at her erect little pleasure organ like a man parched for the sweet taste of her cum, and all at once her body let loose around her -- convulsions sang through each inch of her skin, her nerves, her fingers and toes.