Requisite Vices Read online

  Squeezing my hand affectionately, he leads me around a large, stone fountain in the center of the courtyard. The three tiered basins play home to thin silver threads, which dance, twist, and play in the bright moonlight.

  I’m led to a pair of large white washed French doors set against an impressively thin three story home. The second and third floors cradle balconies wrapped in the same wrought iron reminiscent of the French Quarter homes we’d passed just moments before. I had no idea a house lay just beyond those wooden doors when looking from the street, and certainly did not expect something as impressive as this.

  “After you” he smiles, stealing a kiss to my hand as I slip through the doors.

  I step inside his home and am completely overwhelmed by books; they’re absolutely everywhere. I feel as if I’ve stepped into heaven itself, led by my own personal angel.

  The dark wood floors stretch out from the foyer, bleeding into the kitchen on my left, and an office on my right. A ladder props itself against a wall littered with bookshelves in the office, and leads to a small loft tucked against the high ceilings. It’s shrouded in shadows, but I can see the hint of additional bookshelves just on the edge of the loft space.

  He leads me toward the back of the house, past a winding staircase leading to the second floor, and through hallways with walls purposely scraped down to expose the blood red brick beneath. The house is much larger inside than I had thought while standing in the courtyard.

  A couch rests directly in front of me facing a fireplace, which is pushed into the far wall, and an arm chair situated to the left of the couch. There are books on makeshift shelves against the wall, piled on top of furniture, stacked on the floor in front of the cold fireplace, and carefully arranged upon the its mantle. There are several stacks on the coffee table, so much in fact, that I doubt it’s possible to use the table for anything else.

  He pulls the armchair until it is sits parallel to the couch then turns to me, wrapping his arms around my waist and gazing deep into my eyes.

  “Can you trust me?”

  Trust him? I barely know him! I met him yesterday, but the memories of those sweet hand holdings, and light touches to my hands wraps me in its warm blanket.

  “I…yes. You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

  He laughs, running his fingers lightly through my curls, then kisses my lips gently.

  “No, I’m not going to kill you, or hurt you in any way unless you ask for it. Have a seat, and don’t move.” He commands, motioning his hand to the armchair.

  “I…you know, I’m feeling sweaty and gross. I could use a shower…”

  He grins, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Grasping either side of the chair, he presses me into it, his lips an inch from mine.

  “A shower? I rather enjoy you just as you are, Miss Roman.”

  I sit, obediently, and try my best not to squirm under his gaze. My mind swims, trying to grasp at passing thoughts that flit around my head like hummingbirds. His nose brushes against my neck, his lips leaning in for a quick bite that stirs my body into a swirling, throbbing mess of excitement. God, I want him.

  “You have so many books.” I blurt, instantly regretting the statement. It’s so random; I must sound like an absolute fool, but the words are past my lips before I can restrain them. He pulls back, laughing with such genuine joy that it’s infectious, and I giggle, rolling my eyes at my own comment.

  “You should see the loft, then. In the meantime, as I’m sure you wouldn’t make it up a ladder in your condition, I’m going to mix us another drink.”

  He disappears into the kitchen, the sound of tinkling glasses and closing cabinet doors wafting over the gap between us.

  I look around, giddy at the sight. A complete collection of Sherlock Holmes rests on top of the mantle. The stacks on the floor are made up of books I’ve never heard of, but would love to read either way. And yet, amidst my wonder, my body can’t seem to sit still in the chair. I’m shifting against it, grinding myself against the fabric. He’s wound me up so much that every muscle is twitching in anticipation.

  He walks back into the living room several minutes later with a drink in each hand, and hands one to me. Settling himself into the couch directly across from me, he rests his drink on the floor, and pulls my chair closer to him, then leans back, casually placing his ankle on his knee, and sips from the glass.

  “Now,” he grins, a hungry glint in his eyes, “let’s discuss the rules.”

  I’m aching under his gaze, my mind screaming and hammering against the confines of my skull, begging.

  Take me, please, just take me.

  Leaning forward, and careful to stay seated as per his request, I grin wickedly, unable to keep my voice from dripping with desire.

  “I only have one rule. No marks…for now.”

  A seductive smile dances across his lips, and I can no longer stand the screaming of my own body. Placing my hands on his knees, I lean forward and press my lips hungrily against his.

  He returns my kiss, gently at first, then harder and more impassioned until he’s scraping and biting his teeth against my bottom lip. I crawl onto the couch, straddling his lap as I wrap my arms around the back of his neck, my lips never leaving his. I’m hungry for the taste of his tongue.

  He moans against my lips then draws back, careful to stay mere centimeters from my mouth. I feel his hot breath, labored against my skin, as if he’s struggling against himself to pull away.

  With a deep, shuddering breath, he places his hands on my shoulders, pushing me down his body.

  “Oh Miss Roman; you’re not the demure woman you present to the world after all, are you. What a bad girl, and you’ve gotten out of the chair.” He purrs. “We will have to punish you for that soon, but for now, on your knees.”

  I fall before him, fueled by two parts desire and one part alcohol, and there’s no doubt in my mind that I’d obey him whether the alcohol was involved or not. Perhaps just not in this way.

  The two lives are mixing, and under normal circumstances, I would be scorning his advances with my nose held high. But this isn’t exactly a normal circumstance, it seems. And oh, I want him so badly that my mind is happily driving me toward the edge of madness.

  He takes my hands in his, and then places them on either side of his growing erection, guiding me to rub back and forth on either side on the outside of his jeans. I can feel the desire growing in him, stiffening beneath my palms, and it adds to the wetness between my own thighs.

  “You’re so much more sexual than I imagined.” he moans. “Stand up for me.”

  I stand, a bit shakily at first, but I manage to hold my balance even in these heels.

  “Take off your dress, fold it, and place it on the table.”

  I hesitate, shifting back and forth on my feet. I’ve never taken off my clothes for anyone while the lights were still on. It’s usually a pretty strict rule of mine with my partners, and brought on by my own self-conscious tendencies. However, it seems I’m not really the one in control this time.

  The shutters that guard the large windows against the outside world, are open into the backyard, exposing me to the night air and any curious eyes.

  Slipping off my dress slowly, I fold it in front of him, turn and place it on the table among the towers of books as per his command. And I stand there, exposed and vulnerable, in a black laced bra, matching panties, a sheer pair of nylon stockings and my heels, as he appraises my body.

  He smiles slowly, deliberately, and stands, beckoning me to come closer. He takes my hand and guides me to the chair, then has me kneel on it with my breasts dangling over the back. Reaching down and pulling my breasts from the confines of my bra, he lets them hang free, then lightly tugs and teases my sensitive nipples.

  “You must be spanked for disobeying me earlier. Are you ready?”

  Spanked? Oh yes. This is better than I could’ve ever hoped for. I’ve never been spanked, though I’ve done it to others, and spent countless time
s fantasizing about how it would feel.

  Nodding, I bite my lip, so hard in fact, that I’m dangerously close to tasting my own blood on my tongue.

  I want this, I need this.

  “I want you to count every one of them. Do you understand?”

  “Yes…” I whisper, meekly

  “Yes what?” he demands.

  He leans over my body, his chest pressing against my back. He tangles his fingers in my hair, tugging back roughly. Another pulse through my body leaves me wet and aching as I revel in the feeling.

  “Yes I understand.” I groan.

  He tugs harder, making me whimper in pain, but the pain quickly turns to an overwhelming pleasure that spikes my blood with dragon’s breath.

  “That’s not the response I was hoping for. You don’t look like such an innocent girl, Miss Roman, kneeling here near nude. I’m sure you know what I want to hear.”

  “…yes, Sir, I understand.” I whisper, the wetness between my thighs nearing a full blown flood. I had no idea he could be so dominant.

  “And you will not come without my permission.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Mmm, good girl.” He moans.

  Slipping his hand between my thighs, he lightly rubs the outside of my panties, and coaxes my thighs as far as they will go. As he moves his hand lightly over my ass, he taps his fingers against my skin three times, then smacks.

  My head leans forward as I moan at the feel of my skin, warm and tingling, beneath his palm.

  “One…”

  Smack

  “Two…”

  Smack

  “Three.”

  The wetness from my body seeps through my panties, soaking them…running down the inside of my thighs. Each smack brings more and more force, and it feels heavenly. I can’t think; my mind is fogged, and I feel nothing other than the sting of his hand against my skin, and the overwhelming desire it’s bringing me.

  I have never felt more alive than I do at this moment.

  He continues smacking his hand against each cheek, then rubbing the spot lovingly afterward, working the sting into my skin. Even with the warning, each hit is a shock to my body, drawing out more of the primal desire I normally keep behind careful lock and key.

  Four…Five…Six…

  He manages to hit the same exact spot on each cheek with every slap. My skin is burning beneath his hand, but I don’t want it to stop.

  More. I need more.

  Seven…Eight…Nine…

  He hesitates…and the tenth doesn’t come. Instead, he pulls my panties aside slides his fingers against slickened skin, seeking and finding my sensitive clit. He pinches it lightly then rubs it between his fingers, drawing louder and louder moans from my body as my hips writhe and rotate at his touch. I want him. I need him.

  He rubs faster and harder, bringing me right to the brink of orgasm. Every muscle in my body tenses; my eyes flutter as my breath comes in short, quick gasps. I’m so close…

  “Not without my permission.” he commands. I hear the smile in his voice; he knows he has me.

  He thrusts a finger inside of me, turning my moans into screams that have no doubt penetrated the windows of his neighbors. My fingers grip the back of the chair as I struggle to control my body.

  Not yet. I’m not allowed to.

  “Do you wish to come?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that. What did you say?”

  “Yes please, Sir. Please. I need to come.”

  “You need to? You only need to do what I command.”

  “Yes, Sir.” I manage to say between moans. My voice is shaking…my whole body is.

  “Beg.”

  “Please Sir, please. Please let me come. I’ll do anything, just please. Please let me come.”

  He leans over me, his fingers continuing their assault on my overly sensitive, soaking body.

  “You’ll do anything? Quite a high price to pay.” He whispers against my ear, as his lips brush lightly over my neck. “Come for me, my dirty girl.”

  The heat of his breath curls around my ear, setting my nerves ablaze.

  My whole body shudders; trembling, writhing, and twisting beneath him as I scream until my throat is raw and sore. I clench around his fingers, soaking them completely as I orgasm once…twice…and still, he doesn’t stop until I slump over the back of the chair, weakened by his onslaught.

  He slips my saturated panties off of my body, tells me to open my mouth, and slides them between my lips as a make-shift gag.

  “I do love your screams, my dear, but I also like the thought of you tasting yourself. Now, if you’d like, you may clean yourself up, but keep those in your mouth as you do.”

  He smiles, kisses my forehead, pets my hair gently, and walks out the back door with a cigarette in hand. Stumbling my way to the bathroom just off the kitchen, my hands grip the walls as my trembling legs struggle to keep me upright. I wipe down the sweat and fluids from my body with a washcloth; feeling the faint breeze from an open window play across my damp skin. When I walk from the bathroom, he’s still outside, so I crawl onto the couch and wrap a throw blanket around me to fend off the chilling currents blasting from the air vents.

  He finally comes in, the scent of smoke wafting off his body. Why do I find it so incredibly exhilarating?

  Smiling, he walks up to me and holds out his hand. As I slip my fingers into his palm, he pulls me up and leads me down the hall and up the spiraling staircase. Further and further we go, my blurring vision causing the walls to shift and spin around me, but he holds me firm as we climb to the top floor. The entire third floor is a massive bedroom, with a large bed situated in the middle. On the right is a large, wooden dresser pressed against a wall. Behind the dresser are tall, arched windows that look down onto a backyard garden, complete with its own three tiered stone fountain. To the left is a large black desk with papers scattered across its surface, and a desk lamp hidden behind a few more books. The desk is also pressed against windows, but these look down on the front courtyard, and over the wall that shields his house from the world. They offer a fantastic view of the surrounding French Quarter, glittering in the night like diamonds scattered on the ocean.

  He guides me toward the bed in the middle of the room, slips off his clothes, and crawls between the sheets, drawing my naked body in beside him. The bed is warm against the increasingly chill room, and incredibly soft, like crawling in to take a nap in down feathers after running yourself ragged all day long. I sink into the mattress, and pull the covers over my exposed body.

  I really do hate seeing myself naked.

  Cuddling close, I feel the soft flesh of his body against mine as his fingertips lightly brush over my cheek.

  “Shh,” he whispers as his eyes peer through mine “stop hiding yourself from me…”

  Gathering me in his arms, he cradles my head against his chest and wraps his arms around my shoulders. His head tilts down, heated lips pressing lightly against my forehead. Long, delicate fingers move a stray curl out of my face, then press beneath my chin, tilting my head up toward his as he removes the makeshift gag from my mouth. Placing his lips lovingly on mine, those same fingers trail lightly down my neck, and stroke down my side, playing their way along my hip.

  Turning me onto my back; his hands stroking the inside of my thigh, drawing delicate circles along my skin. His soft, gentle lips move down the center of my chest as he slides a finger inside of me once again, deeper…deeper. I gasp, my body shuddering as my eyes roll back. He adds another, roughly assaulting my already sensitive and aching body.

  What started as something so loving has slipped into something primal and forbidden as he draws moans and screams of pleasure, unrestrained, from my lips. I gaze down at him, my fingers gripping his curls as my back arches. One final, air splitting scream rips from my lips and he smiles, relishing in his conquest.

  As he feels the energy slip from my body, riding on the waves of eac
h orgasm he pulled from me, he rolls onto his back, propping himself against the headboard of the bed, and pulls me on top of him.

  “Do you trust me…” he whispers against my lips, lightly tracing them with his tongue.

  “Yes...”

  “And you will tell me if you ever want me to stop…”

  “Please don’t stop.”

  Leaning off the side of the bed, he rummages through a side table, and draws something metallic sounding from the depths of a drawer. His lips seek mine once again, wrapping me in his spell. The smell of him, the feel of him; I’m hopelessly addicted.

  Shifting my body on him, my legs straddle his thighs and he reaches behind me, gathering my wrists together. The cold snap of handcuffs bind my wrists to one another, and I look down at him, surprised.

  “I really hope you have the keys to these…”

  “Oh don’t worry, my dear.” he laughs, “There’s a quick release switch.”

  He eases me down his body, which is a bit awkward without the use of my hands, and I struggle to keep myself from toppling over to my side.

  Handcuffs; another thing I’ve fantasized about but never had the pleasure of experiencing. They’re a bit more awkward than I had imagined.

  His long, firm erection presses against my belly, then slips between my breasts as he pushes me further down his body. His hips are grinding up against me, and I want nothing more than to feel my lips wrap around him.

  “Would you like to taste me?” His tone is a heady mix of lust and need, wrapped in fire and passion.

  “Yes, please, Sir.”

  I have to admit, I had feared the worst, but it was more than I had imagined. I’m starving for him, craving the touch of his cock pressed against my tongue.

  His hands grip my hair as he guides my lips to the tip. Parting my lips and hungry for a taste, he presses against my eager mouth and eases the length of it over my tongue. Pushing down slowly on the back of my head, he drives it deeper until the tip begins to brush the back of my throat. I open my eyes, cautiously, and notice there’s still several inches of it left, as I fight to suppress my reflex to gag. There’s no way I can fit it all, but damn, if I won’t try. I want to please him, and the only thought in my mind is of his complete and total bliss at my hands, or rather, my lips.