Like Wildfire

"Is there someone waiting for you?" He pressed.

"No." I answered honestly, feeling emboldened by my anonymity. "Now you."

"What?"

"I told you something no one else knows. Now you tell me a secret."

"Well. I once gave a tourist the wrong directions on purpose." He looked guilty, but with a grin.

"No!" I laughed.

"He was a dick!" He shrugged.

"Jesus. Just think, he's probably still lost out there."

He took a loveseat and gestured to the nearby couch. "Your turn."

"Oh I don't know." I took the seat closest to him. "I've stolen a glass from every bar I've been to." I offered.

"So you're a thief." He looked amused.

"Only of hearts and glassware." There was a pause, I bit my lip. "So is there someone waiting for you?"

He got up and I watched as he crouched and rummaged in the minibar, pulling out small bottles.

"Tiny vodka or tiny whiskey?" He looked back at me conspiratorially.

"Tiny vodka cranberry?" I recalled and he pulled out a bottle of orange juice the size of my hand.

"Settle for the most overpriced screwdriver of your life?" He poured the contents into a mug meant for the single-serve coffee machine on the counter. He settled back on the loveseat and handed it to me.

"Are you done stalling?" I took a sip but locked eyes with him over the rim. I felt a buzz, and it was too early to feel a buzz.

"No. No one waiting for me."

"Your wedding band makes that hard to believe." I pointed out.

He looked down at his right hand and the thin gold ring.

"Waiting? No. Certainly not waiting up tonight."

"So what you brings you to the city? Business or pleasure?"

"For a workaholic? One in the same."

"What's work, then?"

"Legal stuff. Nothing so sexy, right now I'm mostly advising businesses on their internal documents, helping them adhere to different regulations. It's honestly mostly paperwork at this point."

"Sounds boring." I teased.

"Thanks."

"I was a student, but had to drop out." I

shrugged, feeling lame.

"Girls like you should be in school."

"Girls like me?"

"Smart girls like you." He amended.

"That's not patronizing at all."

"You're right, it's more of a compliment."

"I think you owe me another secret."

* * *

As time passed, so with it came the decay of our propriety. His shirt sleeves rolled up, his tie draped over the armrest, my charcoal gray boots unzipped and discarded at the foot of the couch, my legs tucked underneath me. He had a bottle of wine called in from room service. Energy exchanged, inhibitions forgot, words were oil-slick, easy and quick to come. We talked aimlessly into the night. As we meandered off onto tangents, I could feel his eyes lingering on me, atmosphere shifting just so.

We settled into a tense silence. I stole glances at him, he leaned back into the chair, his relaxed posture adding to the casual texture of the air.

"Pour me a drink." A request with an ounce of something else.

"Do it yourself."

He shook his head as though it were a mere misunderstanding.

"No, you're going to do it for me."

I raised my brows. "You seem awfully certain of yourself."

"Am I really asking so much of you, Sasha?"

I opened my mouth for some combative quip and closed it again. He extended his arm, holding the mug out to me.

I rolled my eyes, unfolding myself from the corner of the couch to cross the room. I poured some of the wine and he held up a hand to stop me after a splash spilled into his proffered cup and raised it in cheers.

"To chance encounters." I offered. He echoed the sentiment and drank.

As soon as I was seated, he stood, taking the bottle with him as he walked back over to the counter, placing it there and returned to his chair.

"Now, let's try that again."

I balked, a chirp of a surprised laugh sprung from my lips before I saw the look on his face.

"Are you serious?"

"Walk over to the bar. Pick up the bottle. Pour me a drink. Let's try it without the attitude this time. Do you think you can manage that?"

"I . . . really?" I paused. Certain, suddenly.

"Yes, I really believe you can do as you're told." He pressed.

I pulled myself up from the couch and followed his path, bottle in hand. I felt his deliberation over my performance. I watched the faintest smile grow on his face as I filled his mug.

"Good girl." He nodded.

"Oh, so you're one of those guys." I felt my nerves fray despite my teasing tone.

"One of 'those' guys?"

"Yeah, one of those . . . guys." He nodded in encouragement as I navigated my thoughts. "I had an ex who liked being in control. He liked the good girl/bad girl thing, too."

"And you went along with it, but not really your thing."

I deliberated, feeling a little warm but level headed. It felt like navigating a landmine, but in a way the giddy transient feel to the night made me bold.

"I liked some of it."

He nodded, thoughtful. "I understand that's private, but do you want to tell me what happened?"

"Yeah. I mean. It was sexy, but then he turned out to be way controlling, a real manipulative asshole."

"I'm sorry you went through that."

"Thanks. But anyway, yeah. I liked it, just didn't like him."

I felt his energy vibrating madly from his arm chair, a wild pressure closing in and felt the need to shake it.

"So you're into the local sports team, huh?" I diverted.

"Has anyone called you a brat before?" He raised his brow pointedly.

I shook my head, feeling chastened.

"I have this theory about brats." His light tone held a slight edge that I worried would cut me if I handled it incorrectly.

"Oh?" I quietly pressed, a strange excitement unraveling in my ribs.

"Brats like to push back because they want someone to call them on their bluff. Like your constant sarcastic attitude—awfully disrespectful, isn't it? But I don't think you'd be rude to someone you don't know. I think you reserve your bratty behavior for someone who will help you manage it and correct it."

"That's some theory." I swallowed.

"It is. Would you like me to help you manage your bratty behavior?" He asked.

I nodded without thinking, eliciting a chuckle from him.

"Come here."

"No." It came automatically, before I could check in with myself.

"Then stay there." He shrugged, not missing a beat. "Tell me about your sort-of-ex."

I felt a tug of embarrassment at my stubbornness. I imagined what it might feel like to sit on his lap and feel his close proximity. I tried not to stare at the negative space I would have filled.

"He was older than me, a senior when I was a freshman. He was editor of our school's lit mag so obviously, I was enamored. He was a little standoffish but I liked that."

I felt him study me subtly as I talked, his look intent- a rapt audience. I felt myself grow a nervous energy with his undivided attention, self conscious about my oversharing.

"So I pursued him and we started dating. He was very demanding and dominant in bed and it was fun and exciting until it started bleeding into the rest of my life. I wasn't allowed to see my male friends, or had to check with him about what I was wearing before I left the dorm. It was way too intense all at once. It took a while to realize I wasn't having fun anymore."

He nodded, sympathetic. "Then what?"

"Well, long story short he graduated and moved back home. The distance kind of took care of things." I leaned forward and placed my mug on the coffee table before me. I looked for a coaster and settled for a pad of the hotel stationery.

"I'm sorry you went through that."

"That's alright." I took a breath, suddenly aware that I had been holding it.

"Would you like to come here now?" He encouraged, patting his lap.

I moved without thinking, adjusting my skirt before walking to him, feeling a little foolish as I slid onto his lap, my legs dangling to his side.

"Was that so hard?" A patronizing note hung in his voice.

"Yes, actually." I squirmed, feeling myself blush.

"You're very in your head about this, aren't you?"

I nodded. I could smell his cologne from our closeness. A dark mix of citrus, spice and something else.

"But I bet it feels a little bit like a relief to be this close. Feels good, doesn't it?" He didn't wait for an answer, running his finger over the sole of my sock and up the outside of my thigh, trailing goosebumps at his fingertips. "See, you've gone all quiet. I think it's because you like it? Or no? Tell me what you think."

"I do, I like it."

"You're not feeling like a brat right now, are you?"

"No."

"No, you don't always need to mouth off to get what you want. Tell me what else you like."

He ran his fingers on the skin just above my knee sock.

"I like your hand on my leg." I said quietly, struggling to stay still.

"Of course you do. Go on."

"I like . . ." my voice caught while he ran his fingertips over the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. I parted my legs a little more. "I . . . I like. . ."

He leaned in and kissed the side of my neck. His fingers lingered at the inside of my thigh and the other crawled up my spine to pull my dark wavy hair back like he was parting a curtain. He leaned in to kiss my neck again.

"I like . . ." I cleared my throat and tried to focus, but found his touch to be terribly distracting.

"You like the way I rob the words from your pouty little lips." His voice felt deepened, coarsened.

"Yes." I readjusted myself on his lap, tugging my skirt down a little but his hand remained undiscouraged.

"It's a shame because I like talking to you." His fingers teased up higher, stroking the soft line between my thigh and the fabric of my panties. "I want to keep talking so you'll have to figure something out. You wouldn't want me to punish you." His handsome face was an inch from mine, his breath whispering on my skin. His eyes caught mine and my sharp inhale was met by his lips finding mine in an insistent kiss. A statement to my question.

We came up for air and he assessed me with a sweeping glance. "Or maybe you would prefer that I did?"

* * *

I found straight away that he had a sadistic streak. I enjoyed playing with it, knowing that it got him worked up. It felt like a button I could push and receive instant gratification for the mistreatment that would rain down on me. Harsh words or physical retribution, I reveled in my ability to get him there. Most of the time, it was a reflex. Sometimes I couldn't help but volley a smart-ass remark back at his instructions. Bratty combativeness would escape me before I could stop it.

The lines were blurred when I got him riled up to the point that I couldn't tell if he was genuinely angry at my obnoxious demeanor, or if I was allowing him to adopt a role he relished playing. It ceased to feel like a game and it felt like there was an element of actual danger.

* * *

He had spent the night at the condo and we were rousing to the morning rays glancing into the room. He had gotten up for a glass of water and was setting it down on the the bedside table. I smiled, watching him prowl around in nothing but his boxers. He glanced down at me, evaluating.

"That's a pretty picture." He assessed, my hair fanned on the pillow, my near-nakedness shielded by the single sheet left on the bed, comforter kicked off somewhere out of sight.

I reached my arms out for him to fill the space. "Come fuck me."

"You're making demands now? You've had a little bit too much leash lately, don't you think?"

"I think I want you to fuck me." I propped myself up on one of my elbows.

He grabbed the wrist of the arm supporting me, throwing me off balance. He pulled my limb up to the corner of the bed where he had secreted one of the cuffs running underneath the mattress. He secured the velcro fixture. A spike of adrenaline flooded my system as I watched him stalk to the foot of the bed to clear the space to strap my left wrist down. I reached out and undid my right wrist, grinning back at him. He looked over me, trapping me in his stare. He cleared the space between the bed and the window pouring light into the room, quickly correcting my errant behavior as I giggled.

"Stay." He warned, belittling as though I were a disobedient pet, inciting a small flame of rage in me.

The moment his back was turned I ripped the velcro restraint off of my wrist, stopping him in his tracks. The atmosphere shifted, the energy crackling. He turned slowly, his eyes narrowed.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I froze, feeling his anger filling the room.

I let out a nervous laugh, trying to alleviate some of the pressure bubbling up.

"No. I want to hear what the fuck you think you're doing."

I stammered. "I . . . I just. I was playing." I rationalized.

He walked back to my side and slapped my face in one fluid motion. I blinked back my surprise, staring up at him, jaw dropping.

"Eli . . ."

"No, you're not squirming your way out of this, you selfish little cunt."

He ripped the sheet off of my body and grabbed my hips. He moved me onto my stomach easily, my panties torn violently down my legs, a sharp gasp sprung from me before I could swallow it.

"Give me your wrists." His voice sounded like he was trying to control himself. I stared at the creasing in the clean white sheets.

"Please." I whispered.

"Now." His voice low and menacing. I felt my heart pounding as I meekly offered my right wrist, eyes trained before me.

"Do you think it's wise to make me wait right now?" He growled, pulling my left wrist and folding it behind my back. I could hear him breathing, slow measured breaths as he used my panties as a restraint, twisting and knotting them at my wrists. I tested the hold tentatively and felt a small twinge of panic at the complete immobility.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, you disrespectful little bitch?" His disapproval flooded my senses as he gripped my hips, pulling me onto my knees.

"I'm sorry." I mewled piteously.

"You're sorry?" The tone of his voice drew a tremor from me. He grabbed a handful of my hair, forcing my face into the mattress. "You're unbelievable."

"I'm scared." I whispered.

"You should be." He spat.

I felt my body responding, trembling at my helplessness.

"Do you remember the first time I punished you?" His tone a warning. Footsteps were absorbed by the carpeted floor. I strained to hear him rustling through a drawer.

"Yes." I breathed.

"Tell me what you remember."

"It was the first night we met." I recalled, feeling his presence like a dull heat from where he stood. "You had me lay across your lap and you spanked me."

"Why were you being punished?"

"I was being a brat."

"It's usually your mouth that gets you in trouble, isn't it?"

"Yes." I shifted my weight from knee to knee, feeling hyper aware of my position.

"Do you think you deserve to be punished now?" Tone, measured, a bear trap's teeth wrenched open, clicking in place. Ready.

Eyes screwed shut, I collected myself before agreeing, "Yes."

He gripped my jaw, making me look up at him and his tall proud stature. Fingers pushed into my mouth, he pet my tongue with the pads of his fingers and pushed further, making me gag. I stole a glance at him, looking over in alarm feeling him press on. My mouth was invaded, his fingers pushing back between my lips. I choked and gasped as he retreated from my mouth, pooling saliva on the sheets before my lips and drenching his fingers.

"What a sloppy little bitch." Tone, cruel and measured, he spoke over my gasps for air. "So bad with details, so bad at remembering her place." He administered one, harsh slap to my ass. "I want you to tell me everything about that first punishment. I want excruciating details." Another sharp spank made me gasp.

"You had me on your lap." Recounting the

details made the edges of the room blur, recalling the slight chill to the hotel room, and the way it drew goosebumps to my bare skin. "It was cold in your room. You said it couldn't be helped when I mentioned it. It was broken and did I want you to call maintenance up to the room. I didn't." I focused.

"You didn't want to be found in your state of undress, didn't want to seem dissolute in front of a stranger, did you?" He held a note of mock-pity.

"No. You gave me the choice of greeting them the way I was." I agreed. "And you said you were going to warm me up another way . . . " His fingers ran over what I imagined was a bright pink mark on my pale skin. I could feel my cold spit smeared over the right cheek of my ass.

"Go on." A hard pinch of my tender skin, eliciting a whimper and rushed vowels tumbling from my lips.

"Ohh! A-a-and, and you wanted me to ask you to punish me for- for-" I felt his fingers dip down to my pussy, spread for him to see with my knees forced apart, on display. A single finger probed down the length of my slit, making my hips twist. He teased the sensitive flesh, and reached forward to pull my clit between his finger and thumb, pinching hard.

"Fuck!" I cried out.

"Did I say you could pause?" He ground the pads of his fingers together around the sensitive nub.

"Please!"

"I wonder if I could make you cum like this?" He released his fingers and pinched again, making me yowl in agony.

"No-no-no-please."I pleaded.

"No? Then keep talking, Sasha." He spoke with a tinge of exasperation.

"You had me lay across your lap and pulled

my panties to my ankles." I focused through the pain, feeling his fingers loosen in their grip slightly. "And you asked me to tell you what a bad girl I was." The pinch turned to a squeezing sensation.

"But you couldn't even do that." The disappointment in his voice stung.

"It was hard."

"Oh it was hard?" He mimicked. "Such basic tasks elude you? What worth are you to me as sub if you can't even stay still enough to be tied down?"

I felt the white noise in my head of embarrassment and the fear of his rejection. I swallowed, my vocal cords tangled, expressing myself an unsurmountable task.

"Well?" He pushed two unrelenting fingers deep inside me. "You are absolutely soaked. Your cunt loves when I hurt you, isn't that right? Keep talking." He pulled his fingers out of my pussy to drive them back in.

"Oh! Yes. Yes- I, you. . . you pushed your fingers inside me after you spanked me. They felt way too big and I was embarrassed at how much I responded."

"Stop dancing around it, tell me what you did." His fingers hooked inside me, massaging the inner wall of my clenching pussy driving a spike of pleasure through my body.

"I made your lap wet with my arousal." I admitted, nowhere to hide.

"Like a little bitch in heat." He seemed satisfied with my answer, pulling his fingers unceremoniously outside of me and pushing them back into my mouth.

"Get those nice and wet, slut." He pushed past the sounds of refusal rushing from me, pushing past my sense of control into my throat. I tasted myself on his fingers, the slick wet warmth of my pussy overwhelming me. Flushed with humiliation, I let him choke me with his fingers, gagging helplessly.

"I'm going to force these into your ass." He fucked my mouth with his thick fingers, making me squeal out in refusal, pleading around him.

"What are you saying? I can't understand you, princess." He forced his fingers to the back of my throat. He pulled back, and I gasped for air, coughing. His fingers pressed against the tight pucker of my ass, feeling impossibly large. I squeezed my eyes shut at the estranging mix of pleasure and unease. The sensation itself was pleasurable but I felt blaring air horns of alarm. A squeamish, dirty feeling.

"I know a punishment that will stick." His voice sounded harsh, unlike him.

"Please." My fretful pleading made a feeble attempt to slow the traction of the dangerous momentum that was building.