Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play Page 6

  Words don’t come easily. “Of being loved by a Prince, of course.” I feel very unsophisticated right now; I have absolutely no idea what I’m saying. “The Prince Archetype was the focus of my dissertation,” I say much too hastily, trying to regain some semblance of credibility.

  He folds his arms and props himself up against the bedroom door. “Tell me about it.”

  “Alright. Fairy tales are like portals into another world, another reality…”

  “… Escapism?”

  “Yes, for some, but they’re part of our oral traditions, a shared consciousness, a way of connecting the imaginations of living people.”

  “I didn’t know that.” I really think he’s listening.

  “… I’m sure it all sounds very juvenile to you, but these kind of stories go back centuries … they’re full of real emotions and they have a distinct symbolic and metaphoric language. People used to understand that language but these days, all we get is the Disney version.”

  “You’re passionate about this aren’t you?” He scrapes back a stray tendril of hair from my face and so gentle is his touch, I think I may have imagined it.

  “I always have been, since I was little …” That memory makes me smile.

  “Some things stay with us, even as we grow older and mature,” he says with total authority. He reaches out suddenly, grasps my hand and twirls me around, winding me into the carpet like a tight, little corkscrew.

  I stumble into him, quickly regain my balance and point at the bed. Feeling so nervous I fall back on an outdated cliché. “And this is where the magic happens ..."

  He throws me a look I can’t quite decipher, or perhaps it’s better I don’t.

  "Please ..." He walks off into the kitchen but I can tell, just from the angle of his head, he’s smiling. Stifling laughter, he calls out, "Can we have some wine before the magic happens?"

  Oh please God yes, lots of wine.

  He turns his nose up at the inferior wine and hands me a glass of everyday Shiraz. "You look like you could do with a couple of glasses of this stuff." He’s not wrong. "Maybe then you’ll calm the fuck down."

  He’s trying to be firm but his mouth is soft and his irises are sparkling a kind of teal green. In spite of his assertions, he’s relaxed and taking great delight in watching me squirm. I ask myself. In what universe does a man like this become submissive?

  Dismissing my unease, I sense my cue. "I don’t think you should be talking to me like that Mr. Stone, after all I’m the one in charge remember?" I feel more confident now. I’m finding my feet, or it might be the half glass of wine I’ve gulped down. "You shouldn’t be so rude or I may have to punish you." I hear the words, but I’m not sure where they’re coming from.

  I’m about to laugh when I realise I have his undivided attention. He looks crestfallen and I want to go to him, to say ‘I’m only teasing,’ but his body language has altered. He’s less authoritative somehow, less intimidating. His head is bowed and his free hand is hanging limply by his side. I stroll over to him and place down my glass on the counter, I take his and settle it down next to mine.

  I summon up a firm voice from somewhere. "I don’t like it when you’re rude to me Ayden." And before I can finish my sentence he says softy…

  "I’m sorry Elizabeth." His eyes don’t leave the floor.

  My hand rests against my mouth, concealing my horror: what have I done? He’s like a small child who’s been scolded, caught cheating in an exam, broken a window …

  I don’t know what to do, what should I do?

  Here and now I decide to do the one thing I wanted to do from the very moment I saw him at the top of the stairs in the auditorium, that moment when our eyes met and our hands were welded together: to take him to bed. But this is not the time for seduction, it’s about something else. It’s about me making him feel safe and cared for, I think. I lift his face to mine, gaze into those khaki pools of light and take his hand. "Come with me Ayden, we’re going to bed.”

  I turn on the bedside light and watch how it catches his cheek bones, I’m dazzled by his innate beauty, there’s no air brushing here. I stroke his shoulders and push off his jacket, feeling a kind of reverence for him as an air of serenity circles him, mimicking his mood.

  Unbuttoning his shirt, I find myself talking about nothing in particular. I don’t know what I’m doing but I can sense he’s totally relaxed and willing to let me care for him in the softest of ways. I scan my iPod resting in its deck by the bed for something appropriate and settle for the soothing voice of Sade. She sings of No Ordinary Love and I let the album play.

  With nimble fingers, I undo the double buttons on his cuffs and push back his shirt and try to contain a gasp: his upper body is sculpted and toned; washboard abs and that V shape etched into his hips. There’s a sprinkling of chest hair between his pectoral muscles that I can’t help but stroke and rest my cheek upon. How long has it been since I felt this close to someone? I can’t recall a time – never.

  I trace the outline of defined abs with my fingertips and breath him in. He’s every inch the man I imagined him to be. I come to a stark realisation: this is about self-control, his and mine. Willingly, he’s transferred every decision, every ounce of his power to me. He is my submissive and how amazing is this?

  Sitting him on my bed, I remove his shoes and socks, he is content to watch me. I catch his eyes darting from left to right, tracing every tender move I make.

  "Stand please," I ask and he does.

  With nervous hands I focus on the stylish fastening on the top of his trousers, feeling my breath quickening and my pulse racing, but … I can’t undress him. I hardly even know him. What the hell am I doing? I look up to him, seeking permission or is it guidance? He knows …

  “You’re in control Elizabeth.”

  Is he reading my thoughts, is my inexperience so obvious?

  “Go ahead, it’s ok.” His voice is soft and coaxing.

  Our eyes meet and there’s a sensual craving there that’s flickering like glowing embers, I’m fighting to contain myself and I suspect he is too. With shaky hands I pull down his fly and lower myself to pull down his trousers. I stop to take in all his manliness. His erection shifts and strains against his boxers and I feel as if I will climax there and then. I fall to my knees, happy to worship at the altar of Ayden Stone.

  "S... step out please," and he does. I throw his trousers onto the chair by the wall and try to regain some semblance of rational thought but my brain is fried and my clitoris is aching for him.

  Dear God. Why did I ever agree to this?

  The man of my dreams stands before me like an unwrapped gift, perfect in his passivity and aroused state. What’s he waiting for?

  I know the answer: he’s waiting for my command. "Ayden, I want you to get into bed now."

  "Yes Elizabeth."

  He slips under the duvet and lies on his back. Beneath the duvet I can see him rigid and primed and it’s taking every speck of willpower I have not to launch myself onto him. But that wouldn’t be fair, he’s played his part to perfection. Now it’s my turn.

  Against every inclination I have to turn out the light, I leave it on. Taking my time, I remove my shoes and unzip my dress, knowing he is watching me. I thought I would struggle with this but the further down the zip goes, the more I’m getting turned on by the fact that this gorgeous guy with an enormous hard on is lying in my bed, watching me. As I wriggle out of my dress, I feel my pants sticking to my crutch, I’m sodden and stimulated beyond measure.

  I let my dress fall to the floor and start to remove my stockings slowly, scandalously. I’m not just undressing, this is a striptease. I’m the exhibitionist and all the time our eyes are locked together closing the distance between us, intensifying our connection. I throw my stockings onto the chair and they float slowly down and settle on the carpet by the bed. But ... my confidence is failing. I’m almost naked before this stranger: what am I doing …?

  Just as I’m ab
out to lose my nerve, Ayden’s movement draws my attention away from my bashfulness. He lifts up the sheets and holds them up for me. An understanding smile forms and I move towards him willingly, with gratitude and position my body next to his.

  No words are spoken but for all of Ayden’s apparent calmness, I feel his heart racing against my palm. I’m certain he will not touch me, but I so desperately need to be touched. I remember my promise and I know what I must do. I reach over to my stockings and straddle him.

  "Give me your right hand Ayden." He lifts up his arm so I can gently wrap the stocking around it. I lean provocatively across his face, and feel his involuntary jerking as I do so. His breath is hot and shallow against my bra, triggering an aching hunger to be tasted and enjoyed. Once his hand is secure, I sit back down onto him. His breathing is laboured and his chest is lifting but he makes no sound.

  "Give me your left hand Ayden." He does, and I rock forward again trying to find purchase for my needy clitoris on his taught abs. His jerking returns as does my deep craving for his hands on my body, but he’s bound by my stockings to the wrought iron bedhead and I must satisfy my yearning another way.

  I lower myself onto him and his rate of breathing intensifies. Arching myself forward, I push out my breasts so he can taste the perspiration forming between the cups of my bra. He licks and traces the top of each cup with his tongue. The thrill of letting him see me so scantily dressed burns in my throat and finds its way to my groin. Every sensation finds its way to that place, the most sensitive part of my body.

  I lean into him once more, gripping his shoulders for support. His teeth tug at my bra and he rolls his tongue from one breast to the other, seeking hardening flesh. He pulls on his nylon restraints and I long to release him into my arms but I daren’t. I want to say his name. I want to hear him say my name.

  "Ayden, say my name, please say my name."

  In no more than a half whisper, he says, "I’m all yours … Elizabeth."

  The sound of his fractured voice touches me, and his declaration spurs me on. I have to give him what he wants: to be taken. Against my deepest desires I move to his ear and whisper. "I want you to lie still and stay hard while I fuck you."

  Like a powerful aphrodisiac, the words ignite his passion and he begins breathing frantically, arching his back and pressing his throbbing cock into me, desperate for liberation.

  Keeping my hands on his shoulders I lower my thighs so I am perfectly placed to rub myself against him. In quick response, his stomach muscles tense and flex and I place my hands there to experience the undulating movement beneath my fingers. I so want to feel his perfect body against mine and I flatten myself across him, pinning him to the mattress: hot flesh on hot flesh.

  I envelope his face in my hands and suck the steaming breath from his body. My mouth finds his and his hunger for my tongue is insatiable. He rocks his head and tugs and pulls, straining his arms to reach me. I pull away to prolong his sweet agony.

  Watching this remarkable man coming apart before my eyes is too much. I have to taste him, devour him. Without thinking I lower my head onto his chest and lick his flexing muscles, relishing every precious inch. His chest hair tickles my nose and I brush my face against it to savour his faultless physique. I move lower to the firm centre of his core and brush my cheek against soft skin and pubic hair, feeling him quivering under my instruction. I’m not myself, I don’t know how to do this … but Elizabeth does and she is, thanks to this benevolent God of a man.

  “Fuck, this is insane,” he calls out and I have to agree, I don’t know what I’m doing but it feels too good to stop.

  Making it up as I go, I brush against his pubic bone with my nose and nibble the elastic waistband on his boxers. His desire is peaking and he’s groaning and lifting his body in search of my moist tongue. I run my hands across his boxers and become aware of an aching need in him to release. I can’t take him in my mouth, not yet, I’m not ready for that, but I offer him my hand.

  I trace the rigid grooves and the veins with my thumb before folding my fingers around his throbbing cock and begin fisting him, gently at first and then at a faster rate; up and down, from tip to base using seeping, pre cum to lubricate my fingers.

  “Let me come …” he begs, for some strange reason.

  As gently as I can, I acknowledge his neediness with an intimate smile and watch as his breathless panting dissolves into feverish moans of pleasure.

  He calls out, "What-the-fuck!” In broken words, and ejaculates into his boxers.

  After a breathless interval, I sit astride him and suddenly become aware of my semi-naked state. Snuggling down, I pull up the covers, with my hands tucked against my breasts. It feels wrong to touch him now. I ask tentatively, "Are you alright?"

  "Yes, I’m great Beth."

  My change of name takes me by surprise: he’s back and the role play is over.

  "Do you want to untie me?"

  I turn to face him. I’ve forgotten about the stockings. There he is strung out over my pillows like a scarecrow: a gorgeous one at that. Forgetting my inhibitions, I jump up and go in search of scissors. It isn’t until I’m on my way back from the bathroom I catch myself in the full length mirror: I’m virtually naked.

  He follows my approach with a lecherous stare, making me feel awkward and shy, wondering how the hell I’m going to get the stockings off without thrusting my breasts in his face.

  I climb onto the bed. "Excuse me," I mumble as I lean over him. It seems the polite thing to say but clearly it’s inappropriate because he finds it hilarious.

  I sit back down, wave the scissors around and playfully remind him; "Aren’t we forgetting who’s tied up and who has the scissors?"

  He pretends to be silent, "Alright, I’ll be good." But then he bursts into laughter again and it’s a real heartfelt giggle that makes me laugh too.

  "I’ve known people die this way. Their bodies aren’t found ‘till months later, not until the neighbours start to complain about the smell."

  "Is that so, then we’ll have to come to some arrangement won’t we?" He rolls his eyes theatrically. "You set me free and I’ll get you off. How about that?" He means it and the laughter is still visible in his eyes. It’s highly infectious. "Just don’t say ‘excuse me’ again or you’ll crack me up and I’ll have to start renegotiating."

  I cut him free and he rubs his wrists and grabs me by the waist, pulling me down from the top of the bed to face him.

  "I like being around you," he says with a grin, pulling up the covers around me. He’s so warm and that, just ‘come’ look is playing havoc with my libido. "I’m going to clean up. Don’t move." He kisses my nose and jumps out of bed.

  Now it’s my turn to ogle him. I watch him go and inside I saying, please hurry back, but my thoughts turn to more intimate matters: what does he want to do to me? Now the shoe’s on the other foot, I think I prefer him passive and restrained.

  He returns, gloriously naked and excitable. When he positions himself next to me I’m aware of the smell of sex on skin, laced with pheromones. My heart flutters, more with apprehension than desire.

  He wraps his left arm over me and pulls up the duvet to keep me snug. "You’re full of surprises Beth. Who would have thought …” He draws his hand to my face and tenderly brushes back my hair.

  "I didn’t know what I was doing, but you relaxed and went with it, and so did I." Lifting out a crumpled hand from under the sheets, I caress his lovely face. "You know why I used my hand don’t you?”

  "Yes I do: it’s early days." He turns away and a smirk crosses his lips.

  "What’s so funny," I hope it isn’t me.

  "I’m just replaying what you said before. ‘This is where the magic happens’ ... you weren’t wrong." He places a wet kiss on my nose. "I don’t usually get that worked up, but it’s you, you’re exquisite and you don’t even know it. I’ve not been touched like that since ... I can’t remember when."

  I want to return his cheeky smile b
ut modesty prevents me from saying anything.

  “You even smell great." He nuzzles into my neck and it causes a twinge of desire to circulate around my body. "Let me get you off, I want to hear you come."

  What! My God!

  When he says things like that, I start to lose it. "… I’m ok. I’m really tired. Maybe next time?"

  He raises his right elbow to support his head. "Are you kidding?"

  I shake my head from side to side. He has no idea what I’m like or what I’ve been through, and I’m not about to get into that now.

  He caresses my lower lip with his thumb. "Don’t go all virginal on me. You just undressed me and gave me a hand job. You show me how you get yourself off and I’ll improvise. I’m good with my hands."

  I bet…

  The gleam in his eyes makes me want to say yes, but something is holding me back. "I want you to, I do, but not now." I settle me mouth on his and our tongues mingle in wet confusion. My chest is tightening and the sensation of his hand on my back urging me to give in to him is so persuasive ... but I draw back and sweep unruly strands off his forehead. “I know what you’re trying to do Mr. Stone, so stop. Be good."

  Another wet kiss ends his enticement and we lay comfortably together in a kind of afterglow. I place my head on his shoulder and he enfolds me in his right arm and I feel safer than I have for a very long time.

  "I’ve got to go, so I’ll leave you to get some sleep. You’ve been busy, and on a school night too!" I feel his smile on my head and a kiss brushes against my hair. "I’ve got a plane to catch at 7.00 am to New York, so I’ll call you later."

  I nod my acceptance, hoping he will.

  He swivels out of bed and starts to dress; "I’m going commando but don’t tell anyone." He’s so unselfconscious, it’s as if I’m not here. I treat myself to the sight of immaculate manliness. He climbs into his trousers and casually slips into his shirt. "I’ll shower at home, pick up the paperwork and make my way to Heathrow." He has everything under control now but, I suspect, he’s been navigating all night, I’ve simply been following wordless directions.