Tarnished Knight - Pt. 01

My gaze dropped to her long legs, then swept up, over her hips, and to the poorly constrained breasts hidden beneath her blouse.

Had she undone a button when I wasn't looking? When the hell had I not been looking?

"My eyes are up here," she purred.

I couldn't help but notice the way she brushed her finger tips against her breast even as she called me out for ogling her.

"Sorry," I apologized. I was still aware of her fingertips, lightly tracing small circles against what I was certain had to be her nipple.

"And the question is?" I caught her gaze and held it.

The best defense is a good offense.

"He says that, at the heart of it, a man's preferences fall into just three sorts." Her fingers abandoned her breast and began to twirl about in her hair.

I held her gaze, but said nothing. I tried to ignore the growing heaviness in my groin.

She leaned forward ever so slightly, her tongue darting across her lower lip before she continued. "Sodomy, sacrilegious acts, or a taste for cruelty." She shifted on the sofa until her body was pressed against mine; too close for me to look into her eyes. I found myself drawn into the scent of peaches and roses; sweet and feminine. Her lips brushed my check as she continued. "I'm just wondering... which is yours?"

She placed her hand on my thigh, raked her nails across the fabric of my jeans. I became intensely aware of her presence next to me as she raised her other hand and undid the next button on her blouse.

"That assumes that his assessment is correct," I managed.

"I suspect," her lips brushed my cheek, "that you favor one more than the others." Her hand slid up my thigh until she brushed against my rapidly swelling cock. "Few men can say no to a warm... wet... willing... mouth." She punctuated each word with a light brush of her lips against my neck.

I slipped my hand into her coppery mane, lacing my fingers in her luxurious hair.

She purred, deep in her chest and pressed her head into my touch. "Pull my hair and I'll follow you anywhere. If..." She didn't finish the system.

"If?" I let my gaze wash over her.

She responded by pulling away. Sitting up, she snatched the remote from atop the ottoman and then -- pressing me back into the cushions -- settled in closer to me. Her body seemed to melt against mine; a most pleasurable heat.

"Tonight, you may have anything you take," she whispered against my ear. Dropping the remote into my lap, she put her hand back on my thigh, her fingertips right against my erection, and laid her cheek against my chest.

I slipped my arm around her and drew her close, watching as her hand lingered so close to my now rock-hard cock. I slid my hand onto her hip, stroking the gentle curve, then dropping to cup her ass cheek. Absently, I kneaded the firm flesh. She cooed softly and gave my cock a firm squeeze.

Raising her face toward mine, her eyes closed, she whispered softly, "No."

"Sorry," I blurted, trying to figure out where to put my hand.

All the while she held her firm grip on my cock.

I stretched my arm out along the back of the sofa and with my free hand turned on the TV. She leaned into me; my brain fixated on the scent of peaches as her nails lightly raked along my length.

I flipped the channels without paying any attention. I have no idea what I finally stopped on. I couldn't focus on anything other than the beauty beside me. She shifted against me, I turned toward her, wrapping my arms around her and cradling her against my chest; one hand on her side, one hand on her flat stomach. With her eyes still closed, she nuzzled her face against my chest.

I let my fingers drift along her side, tracing small circles against the soft material of her blouse. With each pass I dared to pass closer to her breast and linger longer. When she didn't protest, I cupped her breast. Her nipple was hard and I strummed it gently with my thumb.

"Mmmm," she moaned, slipping her hand between my legs and cupping my balls through my jeans.

I gave her breast a gentle squeeze.

She shifted slightly, squeezing my balls as she did, and said flatly, "No."

Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot. What... The... Fuck...?

She was -- to say the least -- sending me some very mixed signals. I wanted to say something, call her out for her behavior, at the same time there was a beautiful woman lying next to me. All I needed to do was figure out the key that would unlock the puzzle of her behavior.

She grabbed my cock through my jeans again, kneading it as she pressed herself against me.

I cupped her face, raising her lips to mine as I leaned into her. I kissed her lightly.

She whimpered softy, pressing her lips to mine. She moved against me, hungrily. She relinquished her grip on my cock and placed her hand on my face, raking her nail along my jawline. She broke our kiss, pressing her lips to my neck lightly before taking the sensitive flesh into her teeth and nipping it sharply. I cupped her breast as she suckled on my throat.

Her breath caught in her throat as I began to stroke her nipple. Then she exhaled, a needy sound, "No."

"OK, what the fuck?" I challenged, shrugging her out of her comfortable nest beside me.

She sat up. When her gaze captured mine, I saw something I didn't expect; hunger. Raw, passionate desire.

"What did I tell you?" she challenged.

"No," I answered. "Heard that a few times."

"Before that," she snapped.

I was drawing a blank. In my defense, most of my blood flow was south of my belt.

She drew her knees under her, rising up slightly as she took my face in both her hands and whispered, "Tonight, you may have anything you take."

"See, that's where my confusion starts, really."

Still clutching my face, she stroked my cheek with her thumb lightly. "You spend too much time trying to make love to a woman. Just fuck her."

What she was suggesting went against everything I'd been taught.

"Tonight," she pressed her lips to mine, slipping her tongue past my teeth before breaking our kiss to continue. "You may have anything you take."

"Anything I take," I repeated as what she was asking for slowly sunk in.

She nodded, then bit my cheek; the sensation was exquisite. I'd never cared to admit it, had been slow even to share it with Sarah, but a little pain was always a welcome sensation. The touch of a lover's nails against my back... Hell yes!

Fuck, de Sade was right.

Slipping my hand into her coppery hair I knotted my fist in its length and twisted my grip tight.

She shivered, pressing her body against mine as she whispered, "Anywhere."

I stood up, pulling her to her feet beside me. Her chest rose and fell with a panting cadence. My fingers twined into the hair at the base of her skull, I grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. Slipping my hand across her flat stomach, I pulled her close to me. She moaned and rocked her hips as my heavy girth pressed into the crack of her ass.

"Loose the skirt," I growled, rocking myself against the firm, yet ample swell of her ass.

Wordlessly, she undid the buttons and dropped the zip. As she pushed the tight swath of black down over her hips, I slipped my hand under her shirt. She moaned wantonly as I palmed her breast for a moment, before shoving her bra up and out of the way. Her skirt hit the floor and I felt her fingers in my hair as she pressed back against me. The feel of her hard, pebble size nipple against my palm drew another low growl from my chest. She pressed her ass back against my groin.

I pressed my face against the side of her neck, inhaling her perfume as my hand drifted down her body. The little patch of velvet stretched tight over her mound was soft, but not nearly as soft as the downy patch of hair beneath, or the smooth-shaven lips further below.

"I'm going to fuck you." I breathed against her shoulder as my fingertips slipped between her lips.

"Anything you take," she repeated breathlessly.

Wrapping two fingers deeper in the sunset cascade of her mane, I pushed her forward. She dropped to her knees on the sofa. She clutched the cushions and arched her narrow back, pressing her ass against me. Her shirt rose up, exposing the narrow strip of the thong. It disappeared between her ass checks; looking like an arrow pointing the way. I ran my hand over the curve of her hip. As I opened my jeans, I felt her heat against my hand. Grabbing the crotch of her thong, I yanked it aside. I pressed my thumb between her silky labia as my jeans fell to the floor.

A throaty purr rose in her chest as she rocked her hips against my intrusion.

Anything I take... The phrase seemed key to pleasing her. In a moment of honesty, I would have to admit that I found it... exciting seemed to tame a word for my feelings.

Placing the head of my cock against her opening, I found her warm and wet and her hips pressed back eagerly. I didn't make her wait.

Take... The phrase had become a mantra for pleasing her. I lunged against her, driving my cock between her swollen, welcoming lips.

"Oh, fuck," she gasped.

I buried half my thick cock inside her in that first thrust. It might have been painful, had her pussy not been so wet and needy. But I resisted the urge to ask if she were alright. Instead, I pushed relentlessly into her. Taking, just as she'd instructed. Her body resisting even as she pushed back against me. The muscles of her velvety grip clenching my girth both in protest and desire.

Her head was turned to the side and she was watching us in the floor length mirror tucked against the wall. My gaze found hers in the reflective surface as I pushed deeper into her. She clutched the back of the sofa and bit her lower lip as I disappeared into her. She drew her knees together, twisting her hips, and opening herself to me as I felt my hips nestle in against her ass. My full length was inside her.

"You..." she purred. "You're so thick."

My urge was to be sweet, soft, gentle. To say something to praise her beauty, to compliment the way she felt around me. But my instinct -- an instinct that I'd denied on some level -- was simply to fuck her.

To take...

My hand was still in her hair; I pulled her back against me as I gripped her hip and began to hammer against her. Long, violent strokes. She grunted each time our bodies collided. There was no tenderness. No interest in making love to her. I fucked her. Hammering into her again and again; relishing the way her pussy clutched at me.

Her hand was between her thighs, her fingers busy rubbing her clit as I bent myself to a single purpose; filling her pussy with cum. The slapping of our bodies... the scent of her heat, our sweat... the guttural growls and moans that escaped us both... In my mind it all combined into an obscenely pornographic moment.

She braced herself against the sofa, her fingers still flying across her clit, and worked her hips against me. Matching my rhythm until the full length of my cock was pounding into her on each stroke. She was relaxed now, taking me easily on each thrust. Her walls slick yet tight. She shifted slightly, twisting her hips and I felt the tip of my cock brush her cervix.

"In me," she panted. "Come in me."

It was an invitation I wouldn't decline.

Bent over in front of me, her tits bouncing wildly as I pounded into her; she was beautiful. Gripping her hair, I pulled her tighter against my body.

"Use me..." She panted as her fingers worked feverishly againt her clit.

I hammered her relentlessly. My thighs were burning and I was breathing in short gasps as sweat ran down my back. I felt a familiar ache in my balls as they tightened.

"Fuck..." she gasped. "Don't stop."

Her body constricted against itself. Her velvet grip contracting around my thrusting cock. Whatever she'd been saying, it became lost in the noise, lost in the chaos of the moment. The feel of her flesh encasing me. The scent of her arousal. The need to make this last, even as I needed to empty myself into her. Everything else was... unimportant. Secondary to the contraction in my balls. She drove her hips back against me, meeting me lunge for lunge.

My cock was twitching inside her. I felt a warm spray splatter against my thighs as she came, her pussy squirting around my girth. I slammed a last few, desperate thrusts into her, pounding her as hard as my hips would allow. I managed just a few more savage pumps before my breath caught in my chest. Unable to cry out, I slammed my cock deep inside her, leveraged my grip in her hair and on her hip to draw her as tight to me as I could, and held her there, impaled on my cock as it erupted.

"Oh," she purred as her orgasm seemed to fade like a wave from the beach. "That's it. That's it." Cammie moaned as hot streams of cum splashed against the deepest places inside her pussy.

Without thought, my hips were still thrusting. Lost in my own release, I was fighting for my next breath. With each thrust, my cock would twitch and another stream of cum coated her pussy. I stopped moving, unwilling to withdraw from her, yet unable to stand. I crashed onto the sofa beside her. The scent of peaches and roses enveloped me as she snuggled close to me, her arms around my shoulders. She leaned in close, nipped my lower lip, my check, my ear...

She moaned deep in her chest, then whispered, "Hello, sailor."

Chapter Three

"Don't make any plans for Wednesday evening." The last words Cammie had spoken to me before she'd left my apartment on Sunday night.

I'd expected perhaps a repeat engagement. What I didn't expect was to be standing in the foyer of a converted horse barn out in the middle of nowhere in my socks.

When she'd opened the door, I'd immediately noticed the scent of jasmine and lavender. The foyer had a well-finished pine floor; smooth white walls, empty except for a few coat hooks and the set of low cubbies clearly meant to hold shoes. Low benches lined the foyer walls and a hallway stretched out beyond the arched exit.

Without a word, Cammie had hung up her coat and slipped off her shoes -- much more sensible that evening -- and put them in a cubby. I followed her lead.

"Wait here," she smiled and disappeared into the hall.

It'd been maybe ten minutes when I heard footsteps approaching; slow and measured. A sort of casual cadence to the sound.

"Mr. Mearns," Doctor Cabot smiled from the doorway. "Welcome to my other classroom." She was dressed for a long ride through the fields in a white form fitted shirt, gray riding pants, and black riding boots that rose to her knees; all this despite the fact that I had yet to catch any hint as to the presence of a horse. Her hair was pulled back in what had become her trademark bun.

"Doctor," It was the best response I could find in the moment.

"Some housekeeping," she began. "What has Ms. Wright told you about this place?"

"Nothing."

"Good," she smiled, prideful in her assistant. "Follow me." She turned and walked back the way she'd come.

If the foyer had alluded to a dojo, the remainder of the décor declared it openly. The whole place was richly appointed in soft white wood, bamboo, and muted paneling. What would have been the bare timbers and gaped planks of the internal walls were covered in drywall and painted.

Despite the makeover, the lines of its original purpose were still clear. At the end of the hall, the ceiling opened to the rafters above what would have been the groom's work shop. Several chain falls and pulleys were rigged from the beams; hooks, clasps and other rigging - things I was familiar with only by their maritime use - waited just within reach.

A small stage rose against the far wall, and the gates and front walls of the stalls to either side had been opened to create greater space. Opposite the stage, a pine floor gave way to a concrete wash floor; a staple of the barn's former purpose.

There was a large throw pillow in the floor between the stage and the concrete. I was at a loss as to the purpose of any of it.

"What is this place?" I asked, searching for some purpose to the obvious expense.

"As I said, I think of it as a classroom," she smiled. "Though it is also a safe space for people close to me to explore that which they enjoy."

"Cryptic," I pressed my lips together and nodded my uncertain consent.

"Secrets matter here, Mr. Mearns. Which brings us to that housekeeping," Doctor Cabot stopped, turning to face me. "First rule, no street shoes inside."

I looked down at her riding boots and then back to her eyes.

She smiled, "A small concession I grant myself. The floors are quite expensive, but some in our circle find footwear can add to the experience." She smiled and changed the subject. "Remind me, what was it that you did in the Navy?"

"Crytologic Technician," I answered, not bothering to explain the mundane realities behind such an adventurous title.

"And in this job, I assume you were required to keep secrets?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good," Doctor Cabot smiled. "As I said, secrets are important here. This place exists primarily to serve the women who are members of our group; many of whom find that they must keep secret their... passions."

"Passions?"

"I know you and your late wife dabbled in a certain lifestyle, but are you familiar with the broader BDSM community?" She studied my face as if expecting to see something.

"I've leafed through a few magazines and watched a few video clips."

Watched them and committed them to memory.

They were part of the truth I'd kept buried for so long.

She smiled knowingly, "This group caters to those whose penchants run to whips and chains and a taste for pain: passions polite society demands they must out of necessity hide." She moved out into the larger space; the high ceilings gave her voice a slight booming quality as she continued,"Second rule, treat this place like an AA meeting; do not acknowledge any connection made here, outside of here. It could prove difficult for the other person to explain. You understand?"

Aye, aye, sir!I smirked, but nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Makes sense."

"Third rule, while our female members are free to keep their secrets -- where they exist -- men may only participate with their partner's written consent; even if they are here as a couple."

"So, women can cheat," I tried the word out. "But men can't"

Doctor Cabot smiled, her gaze holding mine, "Call it another concession this one made to the women of our circle. They offer themselves freely. Is it too much to afford them an extra measure of certainty in their vulnerability?"

I didn't really have an answer, and I guess it made sense on a certain level. "Fair enough."

"You, as a single man," she continued, "are here only because our ratio of women to men is presently quite high."

"Why would a couple need to be here? Why not..." I looked for the right phrase, "indulge themselves... in their own homes?"

"Any number of reasons, not the least of which is privacy; but for some, simple variety."

I felt my brow arch involuntarily.

Doctor Cabot smiled, a brief chuckle overtook her, "Have I offended your spartan sensibilities?"

I shrugged my way through a struggle to process an idea, that at the time, I equated with swingers. I would come to understand just how wrong I was.

"So," I watched her posture stiffen as her tone changed. "Ready for the test I mentioned?"

I swept my gaze across the room, unsure what to expect, "Sure."

"It's a three-question test, and there are no wrong answers; just truths, truths that will decide if you are right for our group."

As she spoke, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the hall opposite the one we'd used. I can't say I was surprised when Cammie entered the larger room -- the play space -- but I was surprised at how she entered.