Chapter Eleven

Truth or Dare

 

 

 

It was two a.m. Miranda sat cross-legged on the bare floor in Mark’s apartment, wearing her sweat-stained silk dress and nothing else. Mark sat across from her in a pair of shorts. The stripes on his chest and thighs were already beginning to fade. The sight of them made Miranda feel slightly queasy. She could hardly believe that she had inflicted some of them.

The room was lit with a single candle on the low table between them. In its glow, Mark’s face showed relaxation and contentment. Miranda’s feelings were far more equivocal. The evening’s revelations shocked and disturbed her. She was not sure what was more alarming, the pleasure that she had taken in playing the role of Domme, or the fact that her sluttish alter ego had been revealed to someone for whom she cared so much.

Of course, he had known all along, hadn’t he? “Mark,” she began, breaking the long silence. “Did you recognize me, that night at The Fantasy Factory?”

“Oh, yes. I was already quite smitten with you. I would have known your voice and your hair, even if your face had been completely masked. But it was clear that you wanted to remain anonymous. I had to respect that.”

Miranda felt confused. It seemed as though that evening was in the distant past, not just last week. So much had happened since then.

“How could you endure my coldness that night when you made dinner? And why did you resist me, yesterday night at my apartment? And was it a coincidence that we met at The Keep tonight, or did you somehow engineer that? And what about Carla? What’s your relationship to her? I could tell that you’re not strangers…”

Mark held up his hand, laughing. “One question at a time, please! Carla is an old friend. I’ve known her since early in graduate school, in San Francisco. It was she who first introduced me to the D&S scene, after I told her that story about my aunt.”

Miranda felt her sex stir at the mention of his forceful deflowering.

“She recently relocated to Boston, and I thought I should visit her new parlor—for old time’s sake, you know.” Mark was grinning widely. Miranda felt a bit annoyed. He enjoys this game, she thought.

“I was responsible for leaving the ad for The Keep in your cubicle. I thought that it might pique your curiosity. I didn’t know for sure whether you’d be interested in something like that, but I had an intuition that you might be. I didn’t particularly expect you to show up tonight. But I’m glad that you did.”

He reached across the table and touched her cheek gently. For a moment they sat there, unmoving. Miranda felt her heart slamming against her ribs. When he withdrew his hand, she discovered that she had been holding her breath.

“I told Carla about you, warned her that you might visit. Gave her some idea of what I thought you might like…”

Miranda blushed, remembering her abject surrender to the emerald-eyed Mistress, the willingness and joy with which she had obeyed Carla in both dispensing and receiving pain.

“As to your first two questions,” Mark continued, quietly, “my first priority has always been not to hurt you. That very first day in your office, I sensed your conflict, your duality. I wanted you badly, but I could tell that you were going to have to work out this conflict in your own way and in your own time.” He paused, searching her face. “Tonight, I have the feeling that something has changed. That maybe you are finally ready for me.”

He did not touch her, but Miranda felt enfolded by his warmth, his scent, his brash, boyish sexiness. His shorts bloomed with an incipient erection. She became acutely aware of the polished wood beneath her bare buttocks. Her cross-legged position would have provided an excellent view of her naked sex, were it not for the table between them. In any case, Mark was not looking at that shadowy space between her legs. His eyes searched her face, trying to read her response. Emotion flooded in her, admiration, affection, gratitude, spiced with a good measure of lust.

She rose, circled the table, and sat down beside him, taking his hand. “I’m more than ready,” she told him. “But since we are playing Truth or Dare here, I have to be honest about what I have been doing the past few weeks.”

Putting aside her embarrassment, she recounted her amorous adventures since their meeting. He knew, of course, of the ménage à trois, and tonight’s kinks. She told him about coupling in the alley with the Japanese businessman from the subway. She described her experiences with Big Daddy’s discipline, her frightening delight at being spanked and sodomized. Wincing internally, watching his reaction, she confessed her risky debauchery on the billiard table. Mark’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.

“Finally,” said Miranda, “this sexual frenzy is intruding into my work life. You remember that day you found me in the library? If you had arrived only a few moments sooner, you would have found me with my fingers in my pussy, grinding away in orgasm.”

“Yes,” said Mark, amusement in his voice. “I knew about that. But these other tales—Miranda, you amaze me!”

“You’re not angry? Or shocked?”

“Of course not.” He pulled her close to him and whispered in her ear. “I’m delighted that I’ve finally found a partner as adventurous and horny as I am.” He nipped at her earlobe. Sparks leaped up between her legs. Miranda’s whole body sprang to attention, nipples alert, straining to be touched, clitoris equally insistent. His mouth captured hers in one of his fierce, all-consuming kisses, while his hands wandered over her silk-clad torso.

“Let’s go into the bedroom,” gasped Miranda, when she could breathe again. She ached to lay down with this man, to open herself to him.

“I have a better idea,” said Mark. He stood and stripped off his shorts. His erection stood proudly, bobbing in the candlelight. Miranda pulled her dress over her head and tossed it in a corner. The remains of her hairdo disintegrated, ebony locks tumbling over her shoulders.

Moving to one of the windows, he threw it open. Before Miranda grasped what was happening, he stepped through, and held out his hand to her. “Fire escape,” he said with a hint of his usual grin. A thrill passed through her as she understood what he had in mind.

She followed him through the window. A cool breeze off the harbor caressed her bare skin. The wrought iron platform was rough under her feet. She smelled fried batter, rotting fish, incense, anise. A neon sign on a neighboring roof painted her body in lurid reds and greens.

The apartment looked out on an alley. It was nearly three in the morning. Still, if anyone were to pass by, she and Mark would be completely exposed.

She loved that thought.

Mark positioned her with her back to the iron railing. “Spread your legs, and hold on.” He crouched before her, gazing at her moist folds arrayed before him. He blew lightly on the delicate flesh. She twitched and trembled in response. “Oh, Miranda,” he sighed, and buried his hungry mouth between her thighs.

There was no tentativeness here, no teasing touches designed to arouse her. In one swift movement he sucked her throbbing clitoris into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it. Miranda’s knees buckled. She forced a fist into her mouth to stifle her moans. Mark ate her pussy the same way that he kissed—forcefully, ferociously, with a single-minded intensity that left her dizzy and weak.

Now he used his hands to open her labia wide. He fastened his mouth on her inner lips, applying a delicious suction as if he were devouring the sweet pulp of some juicy fruit. Meanwhile, his tongue probed her deeply, setting up echoes of his studded cock earlier in the evening. Mark’s saliva felt scalding hot on her sensitized tissues, still inflamed from their earlier battering.

The memory of his leather-clad erection superimposed itself upon the current scene. She felt his tongue grow longer and thicker, until it seemed to fill her completely. She pushed her sex at his mouth, her hips tensing as she tried to drive him deeper. She smelled his sweat, and hers. Faintly, as if in the distance, she heard again the snap of the lash and the ribald encouragement of the audience.

The iron railing bit into her back, awakening the sting of her welts, but Miranda hardly noticed. All thought, all attention, was focused on the glorious play of sensations between her legs. She sank her fingers into her partner’s hair and pulled his face into her crotch. He changed his technique in response, sweeping his tongue along the length of her crevice, from her clit to the tender edge of her rear hole and back. Faster and faster he stroked, while Miranda felt orgasm coiling within her, wound tight, waiting.

The aching need suffused her flesh. Her body was strung like a harp, every nerve stretched toward elusive release. She was so close. It seemed that the merest touch would topple her over the edge, and yet she hovered there, seemingly forever, while Mark plied her sex with fingers, lips, tongue and teeth. Her pleasure was tinged, however slightly, with frustration.

Suddenly, Mark rose from his haunches and stood before her. He brushed her lips with his. Miranda felt stickiness, knew the salty seaweed taste of her own arousal. “Relax,” Mark murmured, cupping a breast while he nuzzled just above her collarbone. “Just relax, and trust me.” Miranda felt something shift at the warm sound of his voice. A clenching in her chest, of which she had not been consciously aware, loosened and seemed to evaporate. “Give yourself to me, Miranda, all of yourself. Don’t hold back.”

As he uttered these words, he reached down and thrust four fingers into Miranda’s cunt. She convulsed around him, finally released. The orgasm went on and on, waves of delight radiating from her center. Fingertips, toes, earlobes, nipples, tingled and sparked as electric pleasure surged through her. Dimly, she heard herself scream, harsh and shrill as some exotic bird in the night. She would have fallen to her knees on the wrought-iron platform, if Mark had not caught and held her.

Gradually she became aware of the strong arms that surrounded her, the strength and the comfort they brought. At the same time, she sensed his rigid penis, like velvet-covered steel, brushing against her thigh. She opened her eyes and smiled when she saw the blissful expression on his face.

“Thank you, Mark, from the bottom of my heart. I’m sorry that you had to work so hard, though.”

“My pleasure, believe me!”

“Yes, but what about your pleasure?” said Miranda, capturing his cock in her hand and stroking the smooth flesh a few times. She felt slightly guilty, though she had to admit that she had thoroughly enjoyed being the focus of his attentions.

“All in good time.” He glanced around the alley, but found no sign that her cries had roused anyone in the vicinity. The barest hint of dawn had begun to pale the eastern sky, and the wind had picked up, bringing them messages from the sea. “Let’s go inside, and we can discuss the question of my pleasure in more detail.”

Miranda released her grip on his cock and followed him back through the window. Then suddenly she was breathless, as he scooped her up and started to carry her to the bedroom. “You’ll hurt yourself,” she protested, but he seemed to have no difficulty bearing her weight.

He gave a little laugh as he set her down gently on the bed. “I have to stay fit. As you might guess, activities like those you saw tonight at Carla’s require a lot of strength and stamina. And I should warn you, I don’t always play the role of the slave.”

Miranda’s stomach did a little flip at that comment, but Mark did not elaborate. He lay down beside her and, with one finger, traced lazy circles around her breasts and belly. She responded by cupping her hand over the head of his prick, allowing her palm to brush lightly against the swollen knob. Just barely, his flesh grazed against hers. Each contact tugged at some cord that connected her palm to her clit, causing her sex to clench in a delicious spasm.

Meanwhile, his circles spiraled up to her nipple, which grew stiffer and fatter the closer his fingers came. Finally, he captured it between thumb and forefinger and gave it a little pinch. She felt moisture trickling between her thighs as she writhed in response.

“Now, I believe that we were talking about my pleasure,” he said. The slight edge in his voice made Miranda wonder, briefly, whether he wanted to beat her. The thought scared and thrilled her. “As you can see, you have a most impressive effect on me.” Indeed, his cock now stood at an acute angle to his body, straining and bobbing as he sat up. Miranda wanted that cock, wanted to feel it swell and burst inside her again. He leaned over her and stole her breath with another one of his intense kisses. “Since I’ve already come in your pussy this evening, I was wondering if you would consider something a little less traditional.”

Miranda had to laugh at his calling their coupling on the stage ‘traditional’. She sat up opposite him and gazed into his eyes for a long moment. Then, with a little smile but without speaking, she sank down on all fours and presented her buttocks.

“Miranda, you’re fantastic,” said Mark, planting a kiss on each pale cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

She heard him rummaging in what she assumed was the bathroom, for what seemed to be a long time. In her current submissive position, she felt exposed and vulnerable. Not to mention hopelessly aroused.

Memories of her other buggeries swirled through her mind. She could almost see the beefy biker leering at her. She recalled the tearing sense of violation when he had entered her. To feel that again—she wanted it and she feared it.

She heard Mark’s bare feet padding across the floor. Then he was before her, holding up a white silk scarf. “I’d like to blindfold you again. It will make the sensations more intense.” His compact, tanned body radiated sexual charisma. His distended penis, encased now in a condom, seemed almost to glow. Miranda flushed with desire.

“Whatever you want, baby,” she said. “Do it.” She felt the cool silk slide across her closed eyelids, then a small tug as the knot was tied. Suddenly she recalled her dream, the Victorian scene in which she had been blindfolded and punished for her wantonness. She smiled to herself. She would have to tell Mark about that dream sometime soon.

She sensed him moving behind her. He urged her closer to the edge of the bed. His hands caressed her buttocks, leaving tingling trails of pleasure in their wake. Then he grasped the globes in both hands and pulled them apart. She knew that he was gazing at her rear hole. Despite herself, she found that muscle clenching in fearful anticipation of his entrance.

However, for long moments he did nothing but hold her open in that obscene way. When he finally made a move, it was not what she expected. He released one butt cheek, doing something with the other hand. Then she gasped.

Warm liquid trickled down the small of her back and flowed into the crevice between her buttocks. A faint hint of sandalwood reached her nose. Massage oil. Of course.

Mark smoothed the oil over her buttocks, kneading the muscles in his strong hands. Holding her open once more, he began sliding an oily finger back and forth across her taut sphincter. The sensation was exquisite, the purest pleasure Miranda had ever known. The muscles guarding her rear portal began to relax as his fingers danced over them. Soon, he had inserted one well-greased finger into her loosening anus, then two. There was no pain, only complete sensual delight as he stroked and wiggled his digits inside her.

He worked slowly and deliberately. She wanted more. She arched her back, trying to push his fingers deeper into her bottom. He responded by inserting a third finger and spreading them wide. Miranda moaned, unable to contain herself.

“You like that, Miranda? You like it when I play with your ass?”

“Oh, yes. Yes! Oh, Mark! Please!”

“Please what, Miranda?”

“Please, fuck me in the ass. Stick your cock into my butt and fuck me.”

“Happy to oblige…”

Miranda cried out in frustration when he removed his fingers, then in joy as his rigid dick slid into her in their place. It was so easy. There was no resistance, no discomfort. He thrust steadily, burying himself to the hilt in her depths, then pulling out until his knob nudged against the sensitive opening. With each stroke, the pleasure grew, until it was almost unbearable.

In her blindfolded darkness, all Miranda knew was the blaze of sensations in her lower half. Her clit throbbed in time with his thrusting. Her cunt and her sphincter contracted together each time he pulled back. Wetness flowed from her sex down her thighs, mingling with the oil. A funky butt-smell blended with the sandalwood, further inflaming Miranda’s senses.

Mark began pumping her faster, stoking her fires. She wriggled her ass, impaling herself more deeply on his iron-hard rod. More, she thought, harder, deeper, but only inarticulate moans left her lips. She could hear Mark’s breath, coming in short gasps. With huge delight, she knew that he was close to climax. She heaved her butt back at him, sinking him to the very root. It was enough to finish him.

Almost in slow motion, she felt him swell inside her, quiver and burst. He let out a yell that undoubtedly could be heard down the block. His cock contracted again and again, little explosions that, finally, triggered her own climax.

Though neither of them had touched her sex since they had entered the bedroom, Miranda’s cunt shook with the most intense orgasm she could remember. Fire licked through her, searing, glorious, consuming every inhibition, every thought. Twitching in blind spasms, she screamed Mark’s name again and again.

 

* * * *

 

Pearly light filtered through the curtains, making patterns on the floor, when Miranda next knew consciousness. The blindfold had slipped off. Mark lay relaxed beside her, breathing with the steady rhythm of sleep. A faint smile graced his sensual lips.

The condom hung loosely on his shrunken penis. Careful not to wake him, Miranda removed and discarded it. Then she kneeled over him and, ever so gradually, ever so gently, took his organ into her mouth.

He was mostly hard by the time he opened his eyes. She released him long enough to kiss him lightly. “Good morning, lover. I have some ideas for you.”

Mark’s chocolate-brown eyes held a mischievous gleam. “Oh, really,” he said. Before Miranda realized what was happening, he had flipped her onto her back and straddled her, gently but effectively holding her hands above her head. His cock bobbed provocatively above her navel. “Well, I have some ideas of my own, Miss Miranda.” Transferring both her wrists to one of his hands, he rummaged in a drawer next to the bed.

Miranda gasped when she saw what he had fished out. She recognized it only too well, the strap-on dildo from The Fantasy Factory, complete with harness, in all its pink rubber glory. She flushed at the thoughts it suggested. Looking into Mark’s eyes, she knew that her imagination matched his intent.

“How about it, Randi? Do you dare?”

The moisture seeping out of her sex answered for her.