Remember When

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The next morning, Jessica started work on the second book in her series. This one chronicled a week she’d spent at a resort with a high-powered lawyer from New York. Where the story of her romance with Larry had been as sweet and tender as it was sexy, this one was hard and fast and unsentimental. She’d been concerned, at first, that the two books might not appeal to the same audience. Then she’d realized that, like her, readers didn’t live in perfect, consistent worlds. Every relationship was different, but in a sense they were all universal.

She’d met Ken while working as a corporate event planner. They’d hit it off so well during the three days of the event that she planned for his firm that she had, uncharacteristically, agreed to take a trip with him just a few weeks after they’d met. After a week of constant, intense, and creative s*x, they’d returned to their respective homes and she’d never heard from him again.

She smiled, thinking about Eve’s reaction to this book. She’d been shocked when Jessica had told her that she was writing about Larry, but Eve didn’t even know about her trip with Ken. She’d be left wondering not only how much of the story was true, but also who Jessica was writing about—and what other secrets her friend might be keeping.

Jessica was glad she’d had the foresight to tell her friend that not everything she was writing was historically accurate. She would not have wanted anyone, not even her best friend, to know about the night that Ken had carried a long coil of rope out onto the beach, not explaining what he planned to do with it until he was ready to slip the loops over her hands and feet, tying her wrists to the top of the volleyball net and spreading her legs wide with lengths of rope stretching out to the posts. She’d been completely naked standing in the middle of the volleyball net, arms stretched above her head, legs so far apart that she had to hold on to the net to keep her balance.

She’d been acutely aware, then, that she didn’t know this man, that she was utterly helpless alone in a strange place with a man who had bound her nude in a public place and could now do whatever he wanted to her. She liked to tell herself, later, that it was that uncertainty that kept her quiet, that a kind of speculative fear had prevented her from objecting. In truth, though, she’d been incredibly turned on. She’d known that he could do whatever he wanted to her, that he could walk away and leave her there, that she was totally exposed and anyone could walk down the beach at any moment. She was bound so tightly, tied so intricately, that if they had heard someone coming he would have been unable to untie her in time for her to take cover, even if he had been so inclined. Despite that vulnerability—or perhaps because of it—she’d been overwhelmed with s****l craving. She was so stimulated that, had she been able to move freely, she would likely have satisfied herself then and there had he not been willing to do so. She couldn’t move, though. She couldn’t touch herself and, with her legs spread so wide, she couldn’t even create any friction, couldn’t do anything at all to help herself toward release.

Ken slipped his hand between her legs and chuckled softly. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked.

Jessica hung her head, unwilling either to tell the truth or to lie.

He slipped one finger in and out of her. As her body tried to writhe in response to the stimulation, she discovered just how tightly bound she was. His chuckle turned to a hard laugh as she whimpered under his hand, and he withdrew his fingers and stood looking at her. Again, she felt that wave of unease, that uncertainty as to what he had planned for her. Her body didn’t care. Her p***y strained toward him even as she watched him intently and tried to read his plans.

He knelt in the sand in front of her and ran his tongue up her thigh. She shivered, hoping and fearing that he would go further, but he did not. He only continued to lick the insides of her thighs until she thought she would go mad, until she writhed and squirmed and begged him to give her release. He gave no sign that he heard her at all, licking and kissing the soft flesh without response.

She began to believe that she could come without him touching her, that her need was so great that she could simply concentrate on the sensations and continue to rhythmically contract her p***y and she would come in spite of his intentions. She worked toward it but, though he had not responded to her pleas, he was quite conscious of her movements. When she neared the edge of orgasm he stood abruptly and said, “I’m going for a walk.”

“You can’t leave me here like this,” she protested weakly, but he responded with a condescending smile.

“I can do whatever I want,” he advised her. “You’re hardly in a position to do anything about it.”

For reasons she would never quite understand herself, she made no further protest. She simply stood with her legs spread wide, feeling the chill night air brush against her skin. She was more troubled by his abandonment of her p***y than she was by her predicament. Her n*****s puckered in the cool breeze and gooseflesh spread over her raised arms. Alone in the dark, she had no sense of time, could not have guessed how long he was gone. After a time, she began to test her bonds, considering what she would do if he did not return. Her arms were beginning to cramp overhead and the muscles in her thighs burned as she balanced with her legs spread wide.

When at last he returned, he did not greet her but wordlessly thrust three fingers deep into her.

“Still wet, I see,” he noted. “You either have a remarkably resilient libido or you enjoy this treatment.”

Again, Jessica looked down at the sand, unwilling to respond.

He slipped his fingers out of her and rubbed them, wet, over her c******s. Almost immediately, he took her back to the edge of orgasm, but he pulled his hand away.

“Have you ever been taken up the ass?” he asked her.

“No!” The word came out more forcefully than she had intended, but Jessica had no intention of submitting to that particular indignity. She did not like the sound of his responding laughter.

“You can’t do that!” she half commanded, half pleaded.

“As I mentioned earlier,” he said calmly, “you’re hardly in a position to do much about it.”

He moved around behind her and she heard his zipper opening. He did not enter her, though. Instead, his hand came around her waist and once again slipped between her legs. With three fingers inside her and his thumb stroking her c**t, he soon had her writhing again. In retrospect, she liked to pretend that she had intended to distract him, but the truth was that she had forgotten about his threat; in that brief instant she had become so completely consumed by the feelings in her p***y that she had entirely forgotten to protect her backside.

“You will beg me to f**k you in the ass,” he whispered in her ear.

“In your dreams,” she spat out.

He didn’t respond, but returned to stroking her, stopping only when she reached the edge of orgasm. When he’d taken her to the edge four or five times, she was trembling. “Please,” she said softly, “let me come or let me go.”

Again, he laughed. She didn’t know if the tears in her eyes came from anger or frustration or humiliation or unfulfilled need. Her arms and legs ached, and she longed to move around, to stretch, but she wanted to come more. Given her choice, at that moment, between actual release and s****l release, she would have taken the orgasm without hesitation.

“Please,” she said, even more softly, as he ran his tongue just one time from her p***y to the tip of her c**t, leaving her shuddering but not quite taking her over the edge.

“You will beg me to f**k you in the ass,” he repeated, cupping her p***y in his hand and laughing again when she ground against it.

“I will not!” she gasped, but she rubbed against his hand even as she protested. He moved around behind her again, pressing his hard c**k against her buttocks. “As soon as you give me this, you can come,” he told her.

“Never,” she insisted.

Again, he filled her with his fingers. Jessica never knew exactly how long this went on, but he continued to stimulate her and pull back without pause until the first faint gray of dawn tinted the sky. She began to look around, increasingly conscious of how exposed she was. The insides of her thighs were soaked in her own fluids, and her clothes were inside his bag, far out of reach. She longed for him to finish her off and release her. In some dim recess of her mind, she realized that her priorities were wrong, that freedom should come first, but the need for orgasm crowded her brain and made all practical considerations secondary.

“It’s nearly daylight,” he pointed out.

“You’d better let me go,” she said in a strangled voice.

“Did you not understand me?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. “I thought I explained to you that there would be no release until you’d begged me to f**k you in the ass.”

With that, he pulled her tight against him, once again stabbing his hard c**k into the soft flesh of her ass. His hands worked her c**t skillfully, building her almost instantaneously to the brink of orgasm. Again and again, he took her to the edge, but this time the process was not gradual. Each minute she was denied release anew, as the sky slowly grew lighter and the time that people would walk the beach grew nearer.

“Please,” she nearly sobbed. “Please let me come!”

By her best estimate, she had been standing in this position for six hours or longer, and he’d been stimulating her p***y constantly for more than three. Her arms were numb and her legs were shaking, but the need in her between her legs did not subside.

“I’ll let you come,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll take you over the edge. All you have to do is ask me to f**k you in the ass.”

The idea held no more appeal than it had the night before. It was distasteful, and she knew it would be painful, but her need for release clouded everything else. It began to seem a small price to pay if he would only push her over that cliff she’d been hanging from all night.

Far down the beach, she could see people moving around, heading in their direction. They were tiny specs, unidentifiable at this distance, but they wouldn’t remain that way for long.

“Please,” she said softly.

“Please what?” he asked, all four of his fingers deep inside her.

“Please…”

“Please what?” he asked again, this time pinching her c**t sharply as he did. She started, teetered on the edge, but didn’t come.

“Please f**k me in the ass,” she sobbed.

In one swift movement he was behind her and thrusting himself into her ass. The swift thrust, without lubrication, felt like it would tear her open. She burned inside, and a wave of pain rolled up through her abdomen. She felt sick to her stomach, but still she was conscious of his fingers pumping inside her, of his thumb pressing against her c**t. He took his pleasure first and then, when he’d come inside her and she was left with his juices dripping warm and sticky from her ass, with the tiny people down the beach growing ever closer, he covered her with his mouth and brought her screaming to orgasm.