Fish Out Of Water Ch. 02

We proceeded to bump our noses and he held me tight, his breath washing over my face. I’d wanted to kiss him, to thrust my tongue between his lips and drown myself in his taste, while stopping any more words that gave me foolish hope. Based on the pulsing of the vein in his jaw he was contemplating similar thoughts, yet he held himself in check, reminding me that I did not truly know this man, only the ghost of his past. And as he spoke, the words filtered into my brain and cemented my understanding.
Max wanted me to break him.
He’d asked politely, almost imploringly, but the truth was as evident as the shaking of my hand as I held the cooling mug of tea. He loved his wife, he was almost happy, but he’d always felt there was something more. His trip tonight to the club wasn’t his first, but it was the first time he’d seen anything (or anyone) which gave him a reason to hope. Watching me tease and torment that man on the bed upstairs had wakened his lust and also made him jealous of the prone focus the almost pathological focus of the man harbouring my attention, the man reaping the rewards of all my years of learning. Every strikes, every stroke, every word. He absorbed me, my body cocooning him in the extent of my experiences. .
Max, though, wanted even more. He wanted to be taken further, wanted the harsh slap of skin on skin, the sharp bite of teeth, the harsh penetration of a dildo into his arse. He wanted absolution, via handing himself over to someone more skilled than he, to take him further than he could yet comprehend.
I’d stared at him, his pupils huge as he whispered dark words into the early morning light. He wanted to be fucked, pushed, tormented and teased. He needed to be bound by the control he’d seen me demonstrate, and he’d asked me if I would help him.
Ordinarily I would have agreed to a price and whisked him off to the nearest hotel room, but this was Max. I wanted more than anything to give him what he needed, but I also wondered if I was the right woman for this particular job. I knew that I could help him, could breach his sphincter with only the merest hint of pain before driving him to the heady heights of orgasm, knew I could lash his body without breaking the skin, knew I was capable of giving him what he desired. She could do all of that and more. But here, standing close to my long lost love, I suddenly lost my confidence. Could I hurt him, even knowing that he needed it, sought it? He’d shaken his head softly and laughed, apologising for being so blatant.
I’d shrugged telling him it was okay and as the yellow light of an open cab came into view I’d almost leapt into the road to flag it down. Max had hugged me awkwardly and as I settled into the car he pressed a napkin into my hand, his number inked indelibly upon it in his familiar scrawl. “Please... Think about it.”
As the taxi drove off, the light and life in his eyes burnt into my brain, Max’s hope burning brighter than the morning sun.

In the 48 hours since we said goodbye I have rehashed our conversation at least a thousand times. I recalled his face as he asked me to give him what he wanted, as he asked me if we knew each other. I’ve imagined what I would do to him, even down here, with such a limited selection of toys and tools at my disposal. The napkin is now in tatters, scrunched into a ball under my hands yet his number is tattooed into my memory. Even Sarah, running on fumes after an 18 hour shift, noticed my mood. She probed and poked, trying to get me to open up before finally giving up (Or so I thought).
Forcing me to tart myself up, however generically and uncomfortably, for a night on the town, she’d dragged me off to meet some of her friends at a local bar, methodically proceeding to get me drunk. Not as drunk as she was by night’s end, thank heavens, but drunk enough for me to tell her I’d met Max. She’d leapt up, punching the air like a lunatic before hugging me hard, telling me it was fate in action. I’d told her that he was now happily married but she slurred something about Brad and Jen and Angelina and knocked back my vodka and tonic before yelling out for another. She was so drunk I was worried, but as she ran out onto the dance floor and grabbed the nearest body to cling to, I saw the joy in her face and relaxed. She would most likely end up puking in the cab home but for now she was flying high, happy that I was happy. In her alcohol-fuelled bliss she could not realise that meeting Max again was tearing me apart.
As expected, by dawn’s early light Sarah was a mess; quite possibly the world’s worst hangover. She lay pale and miserable on the sofa as I took Elvis out for his morning ablutions. Wandering along the road, the brisk air filling my lungs and no longer feeling like I had been poisoned, I asked myself a series of questions. Did I want to make Max happy? (Yes). Did I want to do this to him, for him? (Yes). Could I do for him what I’d done for countless others, men and women who meant less to me than lint? (Yes). Why was I dragging my heels? (Fear; fear of failure, fear of recognition, fear of falling).
Elvis yowled and began turning in the ubiquitous circles I’d begun to understand meant release and I smiled. It didn’t matter what I did or didn’t do, the world would keep on turning. At best, Max would find his pleasure and I would get to make him happy one last time. At worst, he would recognise me, or perhaps find me lacking, and either way I could just jump on the Night Riviera back to Jules. Elvis squatted and I pulled the baggie out of my pocket along with my phone, preparing for the inevitable.
...
“So now is a good time to discuss boundaries... Is there anything you absolutely do not want me to do to you?”
Max craned his neck to stare at me, his eyes following me as I endlessly paced the hotel room. He was naked, arms and ankles tethered to the headboard at either end of the explicitably requested sleighbed by a pair of Ann Summers faux fur handcuffs, purchased in town, and some bungee cords I’d picked up the day before from the local service station. As me, I would have revelled in undressing him, taking my time to trace each inch of skin as he bared it it was unveiled to me, tasting him and licking up the fragrant desire as it rippled from his body. As me, I would have latched onto his nipples, knowing how sensitive he was there and laved him as I’d done a hundred times before, then slowly kissing down to his pulsing cock, before gently taking him into my mouth and welcoming him home. But I wasn’t me now, I was Her.
“Please... do everything. I want you to... please.”
As he’d stripped, he’d shyly asked me what he should call me and I’d hesitated. Normally I insist on Mistress but everything about this situation threw me off my game. I’d asked him what he wanted to call me and he’d stared, his torso bare and his hands on his fly. “Mia” he’d whispered, “You look like Mia Wallace from Pulp Fiction.” I smiled and motioned for him to fully undress. I leant over him prone, aroused body on the double bed, straddling him to better fit his bonds. He’d struggled a little but I’d hushed him, telling him to trust me, that I wouldn’t hurt him more than he could handle. He’d smiled up at me and I bent to brush my lips over his face, gently sucking the tip of his tongue. I’d wanted to do more, to cup his face in my hands and properly kiss him, to strip the trench coat from my body and sink down onto his hard cock, already burnished with his desire. Never had vanilla sex excited me so much, certainly never to this fevered state in which I found myself. Yet I stepped back, preferring to pace the short length of this pedestrian chain hotel room.
“What about fucking Max? Can I sit on your face? Would you let me ride that glorious erection until I come all over you?”
He sucked in a breath while I held mine. It didn’t really matter, as I rarely screwed my subs anymore, but I wanted, I needed, to hear him say it. Usually my married clients didn’t give a shit about their wives, giving me free reign to do as I wished (Not that I did, but boundaries needed to be set). Max, however, trembled and I moved towards him, wondering if his restraints were too tight.
Holding his wrist he sobbed, “I love my wife... I do. But I need this... for me. I.. I can’t explain it...”
I smoothed his hair from his forehead and smiled, pleased that he was struggling as much as I was. However far apart our true struggles may have come from.
“It’s okay Max. I understand. But this is about you; and me. It’s about what I can give you that she can’t. And it’s not her fault at all, or yours. Maybe after this you can talk to her more openly about what you need.”
His eyes seemed huge in his face as he nodded, but we both knew that conversation would never happen. As brave as he’d been asking me to peg him, asking the mother of his child to do so was a very different conversation.
He shook as I traced my fingers down his sternum and spread them to flutter against his beaded nipples. As expected, he groaned lustily as I rubbed the tiny nubs, using my experience of his body against him. I stroked and rubbed, pulled and pinched, before continuing my leisurely journey down to his stomach, tracing each inch of his body with my finger tips, lulling him into a relaxed dreamlike state.
I stroked him everywhere but his cock, massaging his thighs and calves with firm practised strokes, tickling the soles of his feet, massaging his shoulders as he bucked and writhed beneath me.
Standing, I removed my trench coat , baring my body to his glazed gaze .wide irised gaze. I heard his intake of breath as he perused my body, knowing I’d dressed exactly as he desired, without him having to request it. Thigh high stockings, a tiny black lace thong and a demi cup bra pushing my breasts all invited my audience of one. Max hissed as he ogled the stockings and once again, I wanted to smile at my nerve for playing him like a violin.
As much as I adored him and desired him, Max was a generic man. Everything presented to him as a gift when in truth, I as a woman should be able to wear anything an still bring him to his knees.
“Turn for me Max.”
He stared, his eyes never leaving my lower body as I moved closer. The bungee cords were drawn taut but still had enough give to allow him to move onto his stomach. He shook his head slightly as I forced him over, his head whipping around to focus once again on me. He moaned as his erection hit the mattress and based on the series of wriggles he was enjoying the sensation as much as the view.
I straddled his waist and continued my massage, purposefully gripping him his outer thighs with my own, 10 denier stocking clad as I slid down to sit on his buttocks. He sighed with pleasure as I reached to fill my palm with unscented oil, and proceeded to work the muscles in his back, pressing down hard and digging my thumbs into his spine. He moved lower, surprising me by rearing up and unseating me. I slid my oiled fingers around to pluck his nipples again, delighting in his sobs of pleasure.
“Please suck my nipples... please!”
My right hand struck his buttock at the exact second my fingers pinched his nipple. He yelped and I covered his body with my own, sliding my oiled hands down over his stomach. I felt his cock head brush my hands and slowly circled him, touching him far too lightly to have any effect. Max tried to press against me, to increase the pressure, but couldn’t, leaving him completely at my mercy.
“You don’t give me instructions Max, not even when you say please. Begging won’t work here. Do you understand me?”
“Yes Mia.”
I returned to stroking his back, moving down to tickle the sensitive skin on his sides, then across to his buttocks. He sighed as I dug my thumbs into his cheeks, pulling them apart roughly before gripping each in my palms. Again and again I massaged his ass, kneading and digging harder on each rotation until I was certain he’d beg me to stop but he didn’t. With each stroke, Max seemed to purr, my touches drawing coos and sighs from his lips. His skin was pink, warm from my ministrations.
I cracked my hand down, delighting as the shade morphed into a deeper red. Max trembled but still made no sound and I spanked him again, alternating between his cheeks until both were equally crimson. After 8 strikes on each, Max was rapidly huffing air into his lungs and I stood, pulling him up onto all fours by his hips. His face was flushed, his lips pursed as he stared up at me, but there was no anger on his face, only pleasure.
Kneeling I kissed him, gently nibbling his lips as I told him how good he was, how pretty his ass looked with my hand prints on them. Max sobbed and I stole the opportunity to press my tongue into his mouth, excited when his tangled with mine in reply. We shared wet firm strokes as we tasted each other, our heated breath mingling as his unique flavour permeated my senses.
In another time, a kiss like that would have been the prelude to Max removing my clothes and feasting on my body before burying himself inside me, a memory that still ranked as one of my all time favourites. Pulling back I reminded myself that this time the roles were reversed and that before we parted, I would be buried deep inside him.
I cupped his face and he nuzzled into my hand, his lower body pressing into the mattress. “Did you like me spanking you Max?”
I felt him nod and gripped his chin to make him meet my gaze.
“Words Max; you’re the writer. Use your words when I ask you a question. Did you like being spanked?”
“I did. It hurt... at first. But then it didn’t. It felt warm and tingly...“
“Did it make you feel naughty Max? Like a bad boy being punished?”
He closed his eyes, “It does Mia. And I loved it. I loved feeling naughty even though I know I’m not really.”
I returned to the bed, settling into the space between his thighs and gently rubbed oil into his ass. I’d hit him hard but not enough to leave a mark. “Oh I don’t know Max. Asking a woman you just met in a sex club to fuck your ass is pretty naughty.”
...
I stroked my finger between his cheeks as I spoke and he bucked as I made contact with his ass hole. Pouring more oil directly onto his skin, I continued my massage, far more intimately this time as the oil slid down to his balls and thighs. Slipping my hands between his thighs I stroked his cock, pressing it back against his stomach as my palm rubbed his length with firm strokes. His murmurs increased as I cupped his balls, gently squeezing the heavy sac in tandem with my strokes. Max spread his thighs wider to allow me freer reign over his body and in turn, spread his cheeks apart enough to allow my tongue to lick his crease. Everything seemed to stop in that moment, his pleasure my only focus.
It’s happened before, men who think they want a rim job freak out the second a tongue flicks them. Not Max. His body seemed to swoon as I laved him, small circles directly where he wanted them most before returning to long lavish licks down to his balls, all the while continuing to stroke and tease him with my hands. He grunted and pressed back into me, wanting more than my gentle teasing, but remaining wordless. I imagined it cost him not to plead for more lest I stop. His balls were full and a few more strokes would set him off but he’d been brave enough to tell me on the phone what he wanted and I’d made a promise to give me what he wanted.
Letting go of his dick, I stroked his trembling thighs and pulled his cheeks further apart, blowing air all over and around his exposed anus. Max shivered and I kissed him, a slow series of butterfly kisses over his heated skin. He moaned and his shoulders sagged as his head hit the pillows even as he continued thrusting back his exposed anus back into my mouth .
“Does that feel good Max?”
His muffled response was in the affirmative. I gave his tightened balls a quick tug and grinned as his head flew up, twisting to glare at me, “Oh please Max! That didn’t hurt you!”
His expression calmed as I squeezed him again gently, returning to the slow seduction he blatantly preferred,
“Remember Max, you gave me permission to do whatever I felt you needed, including inflicting pain if I thought it necessary. Whatever happens, you allowed it to happen... Never without your consent.”
He nodded and barked out a breath as I slowly breached his anus with my index finger, “ And I could hurt you Max.”
His body fought against the intrusion momentarily before loosening, my finger slowly corkscrewing into him, “I could hurt you in a variety of ways Max, but I don’t think that’s what you really need. You don’t need pain Max, you need to feel like a bad boy, a naughty boy... a dirty boy.”
He whimpered as I added a second finger to the first, my oiled digits thrusting rhythmically into his arse,
“Am I right Max? Do you want to feel dirty?”
“God yes! Please... Oh Mia, please fuck my arse. I shouldn’t want you to but it’s something I’ve wanted for years. I want to be fucked like the dirty boy I am!”
...
He sobbed as I frigged him, pushing my fingers deep, feeling his anus tight against me. Pressing deep I felt my fingertips rub his prostate and heard his howl of pleasure ripple through the air. Again and again, I stared at the supple skin of his back as I fucked him, my fingers rough against his sensitive flesh and his sighs of pleasure told me I was on the right track. I’d caused pain before, too many times, but now, in this generic room, Max prone and trusting beneath me, every trick left my memory, my body so synched with his I couldn’t function beyond this moment.
“You never answered me Max. Would you let me fuck you hard? Ride your mouth? Bury you inside me?”
He hissed as I rubbed the rough skin of his prostate, my other hand squeezing his full balls, “Everything Mia... Everything!”
...

Unbuckling the dildo, I slid it to the floor. Max was out for the count. Even by my warped standards it had been tame, but never had I felt such a connection. As I’d thrust into him, every wince and hiss had boiled my blood, my body angling to hit him in the perfect spot. Again and again, I’d entered his body, breaching him, holding him tight, angling my phallus to strike him at the perfect angle. He’d screamed at first, his voice a garbled huff before he calmed himself, begging me to take him harder and deeper.

My fingers had left marks on his skin, a schoolboy error, as I’d repeatedly entered him. The strap on was a favourite, a full size phallus complete with a small-ish dildo that hit my overheated pussy in just the right places. I’d fucked him, feeling the pressure against my slit, filling my cunt and imagined the vast pressure inside him as I thrust. Over and over, I pressed, pushing harder and deeper as his cries of pleasure echoed throughout the room. He bucked, crying out, his ass hitched up towards me. I stroked him, gripping his cock in my hands as I pummelled his butt, drawing his orgasm from his body before pressing down on his perineum to slow him down. Over and over, I pushed him to the edge, urged him to plead for his release before starting all over again, my stocking clad thighs pressing hard, forcing his thighs tight against the intrusion of my cock. Max cried out, pleaded for more, for release, for redemption but all I saw was mist before my eyes.
I couldn’t hurt him, couldn’t break him fully despite his pleas. Whatever happened, I had to send him back to his wife intact, yet every ounce of me wanted to bite him, mark him as my own. Gripping his haunches, I pulled him up, fucking him deep and hard, my thighs shaking as I entered his body. My breath hitched, his seemed to scream out of his throat on a whimper and as I fisted his cock tightly in my hand and felt him spill against my skin for the final time, I rocked luxuriously against him, riding him hard as he gushed into my palm.
He screamed out, shouting out my ‘false’ name as the heat shimmered from his skin. Ordinarily, I’d withdraw and leave, but I pressed deep, covering his body with my own as he trembled, his arse twitching hard enough to force the dildo to rock against my turgid clit. His cries of pleasure rippled throughout my skin, my pussy clutching the plastic hard as I yearned for the feel of his flesh. I needed to flip him onto his back and drive myself to completion but he hadn’t allowed it, my body had driven him to the ultimate goal but I waited, silently hoping he’d give me my own absolution.