Drowning on dry land an.., p.1
Drowning on Dry Land: an erotic short story, p.1Megan Hart
Drowning on Dry Land
an erotic short story
Also by Megan Hart
About the Author
Some doors stay open until you close them.
Moving on from a past love, Bette Douglas has discovered a whole new world of satisfaction and contentment with her boy Damian...but when the past comes knocking, Bette's decision to answer it could change everything.
Copyright © 2016 by MEGAN HART
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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He kissed her for the first time in Paris.
On a bench in the shadow of the replicated Eiffel Tower, she’d shivered at the chill she hadn’t expected in Las Vegas. The neon lights sent colored bars and shifting shadows over his face as he smiled. She’d made sure there was a space between them even though she wanted desperately to touch him. He kissed her anyway.
Now, of course, put in that same place, she wouldn’t hesitate, not even for a second.
She would take him by the front of the shirt and pull him close to get at his mouth. She would linger over the taste of him. Now, she would devour him.
But there was no more now. Only memories that clung to her like wet fabric, heavy and tangling around her so that she felt as though she were suffocating. Drowning on dry land. Loving him had killed her, but she was taking a very long time to die.
Bette Douglas came home to the smell of something delicious simmering on the stovetop, the light of candles, and a glass of red wine already poured for her. She toed off her shoes by the front door and hung up her coat and bag in the closet, eyeing the elegantly set dining room table through the archway. The candlelight glinted against the crystal wineglass’s ruby contents. Her stockinged feet whispered on the hardwood floor as she went into the dining room to take a drink, savoring the rich, earthy flavors.
Her boy was not in the kitchen, though the spoon in the rest next to the stove hinted that he’d been there not so long ago. Bette lifted the lid on the pot to breathe in the mouth-watering scent of homemade tomato sauce, thick with garlic and vegetables. She took a peek into the oven, too, which was warming thick slices of Italian bread soaked with olive oil and spices. She pulled the bread from the oven and covered it with the waiting sheet of aluminum foil to keep it warm while she looked for Damian.
She found him in the bedroom. Black lace panties cupped his tight, round ass and bulged in the front, not nearly big enough to cover his thick cock. Through the lace, the metal of his chastity cage glinted. He was on his knees, back straight but head bowed. Arms behind him, wrists crossed. He’d been waiting for her.
“Hello, love,” she said, which was his permission to look at her.
“Ma’am.” Damian’s grin lit up his whole face. “How was your day?”
Bette gestured with a flick of her fingers, encouraging him to rise as she went to the dresser to place her glass. “It was all right. Nothing exciting. Glad to be home. Dinner smells delicious, sweetheart, how did you know I was in the mood for pasta?”
Damian came up behind her to nuzzle the back of her neck. “Lucky guess?”
Bette turned in the circle of his arms to take his face in her hands. Damian stood only a few inches taller than her. His height had been one of the reasons she’d been so attracted to him at first. She’d always preferred tall men, but funny how you could get imprinted on something that changed how you felt. She studied his smile and the light in his pale blue eyes, the color of a cloudless summer sky. Soft blond hair peaked above a high hairline, and he wore it close-cropped, much shorter than she preferred. He would never have turned her head if they’d passed on the street, but he’d become beautiful to her because he was hers.
Her melancholy had been triggered by the walk home under fall-turning leaves, the far-off hint of an old, familiar song and a hint of cologne on a passing stranger. The sadness had hit her with a relentless ferocity, but standing in front of her lover, Bette pushed away the memories of that other man. Why should she spend her time dwelling on the past when she had something precious right here in front of her?
She kissed Damian lightly, letting the caress linger but without pressure. She pushed her face into the curve of his shoulder so he could hold her. He smelled of soap and flesh, never cologne. She’d told him she didn’t like it, which was a lie but one she didn’t feel bad about telling him.
They rocked slowly together for a few moments. She nibbled at his neck and laughed at the sharp hiss of his breath. Then again when she slid a hand up his naked torso to pinch his nipple. Then his hiss became a groan, and when she pulled away to look at his face, his eyes had gone heavy lidded. His lips parted, wet from the swipe of his tongue.
It had been four weeks since she’d last permitted him an orgasm. When she cupped his cock through the lace, the metal of his chastity cage felt warm on her palm. Bette let her fingertips tickle downward over his balls, which were not contained by the device. They tightened delightfully at her exploration.
“So pretty,” she murmured as she slipped down the panties, freeing him to her grasp.
Damian shivered but moved to put his feet shoulder-width apart, giving her ample access to every part of him. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
“I always think I prefer you in lace, until I see you naked,” Bette told him.
He grinned. “I like being naked for you.”
They’d been together for almost a year. He’d moved into her apartment after six months because everything had been working so perfectly. It still did. Maybe one day, Bette thought as she circled around him, a finger tracing a line from his belly to the small of his back, maybe one day she would stop expecting it all to end.
“I’m hungry,” she whispered against his back. She let her lips move over his shoulder blades. Her tongue flickered at the knobs of his spine. Her fingertips pressed the twin dimples above his ass.
“I made a salad.” Damian’s voice rasped. His skin had humped into gooseflesh under her caresses. “We can start with that while the pasta cooks…”
“Perfect.” Bette finished her circle to face him again. “Actually, I’m going to jump in the shower before we eat. It’s been a long day.”
“Are you all right?” He knew her moods the way he’d known she’d be hungry for pasta.
“Fine,” Bette said. Another lie, but also one she didn’t feel guilty about. “Tired. Chilly. Hungry. That’s all.”
Damian knew better, she could tell, but he nodded and didn’t press her for more information. “I’ll go start the water boiling. Everything will be ready by the time you’re finished.”
She assessed him. “First, I want you to go to the drawer and bring me the emerald plug.”
Three inches wide, surgical-grade steel, capped with a pretty cut glass emerald that provided a wide base for the toy and kept it safe. It was one of her favori
“Ma’am…” Damian hesitated.
Her eyebrow lifted, daring him to protest. “Yes?”
“Yes, Ma’am. Whatever you want.” He brought it to her at once, holding it on his palm. She hadn’t told him to bring the lube, but he had, her good boy.
She brought him close again to kiss him, then to whisper in his ear, “It makes me happy to make you pretty for me.”
Damian nodded and swallowed hard. “Then you know it makes me happy.”
He did, putting his hands on the dresser top. He bent at the waist while she took a generous amount of lube on her fingers and slipped them between his ass cheeks to press against his puckered hole. His moan sent a wave of chills through her, straight to her clit. When she breached him, slowly, Damian opened for her with another low, shaking moan.
“Good boy,” Bette breathed.
He took two fingers easily enough. She went deep, curling them to press his prostate. Already, a thick, clear stream of precome was dripping from the hole in the tip of his cage. He might orgasm this way, if she kept it up, but that wasn’t what she had in mind.
No, Bette had plans for more than that.
Damian groaned, long and deep, when she pushed the plug into his ass. Bette admired it for a moment, especially the glint of the jeweled top. She wiggled it a bit to make him moan again, then stepped back to look over his cock, straining at the cage. More precome stretched in a thick strand nearly to the floor where a small spot glistened.
“You’ve made a mess.”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am.”
“Clean it up. Have dinner finished and ready for me when I’m out of the shower.” She pinched one of his nipples to hear him moan again, pulling him closer with her grip, but denying him her mouth at the very last second. She laughed when he made a muffled noise of complaint and flicked his earlobe with her tongue. “Go.”
She took her time in the shower, shaving her legs and underarms. Though she hadn’t planned it, she ended up shaving her cunt, too. Not completely bare — Bette never much liked how she looked without any pubic hair at all. But she trimmed it close around her clit and shaved it clean underneath, then slicked her skin with aftershave to prevent irritation. Stepping out of the shower, she pressed the towel between her legs. She was always so much more sensitive after she shaved. She looked at her full-length reflection, naked except for the small silver key on the matching thin chain around her neck. She cupped her breasts, watching the key disappear between them. She ran her hands down her body, turning from side to side to assess herself in the way most women had — all of her curves and bulges and dips. Her clit had plumped out from the neatly trimmed thatch of hair, and she circled it gently with her finger, then dipped inside to slick herself with her arousal.
Pulling on a silk kimono, her damp hair combed through and tumbling around her shoulders, Bette went into the dining room. Damian had set their places with her good china, which amused her even as it touched her someplace inside that she didn’t want to admit to. Her boy often told her he didn’t see the point in saving pretty things only for special occasions. Pretty things should be used. Appreciated. Loved.
She’d forgotten the glass of wine in the bedroom, but he had poured another for her, which he handed over with a small flourish. Bette laughed at the frilly apron tied around Damian’s waist, the giggle easing into a sigh when he turned around to show off his bare ass from behind. He looked at her over his shoulder, then, deliberately and with a small, secret smile, bent forward to allow the emerald glass to shine at her.
“Bad boy,” she told him, but fondly. “Come here.”
“Kiss me,” she said.
He did that, too.
She let her hands slide down his sides to anchor on his hips, just above the apron’s lacy ties. “Where did you find this?”
“I bought it when I was out last week. I thought you might like it.”
“I do, very much.”
“Sit,” he whispered against her cheek. “Let me bring in the pasta. Would you like me to serve, or…?”
“No, love, not tonight.” She had him do that, sometimes. Be formal. Tonight she wanted to enjoy him. “Tell me about your day.”
He told her all about it as he brought the pasta and sauce to the table. He waited until she’d dished herself a plate of salad before helping himself, a consideration she’d never asked of him, but one she noticed. She watched him squirm a little in his chair as he spoke. The pressure of the toy must be working on him.
“Damian.” She said his name quietly, interrupting his story about what had gone on at his job this morning.
He stopped at once. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Bette sipped wine, both to make him wait for whatever it was she meant to say, and also to give herself time to find the right words. “You make me very happy. Do you know that?”
Damian’s pleased grin made her glad that she’d told him. “Thank you, Ma’am. You make me very happy too.”
She hadn’t eaten very much, but her appetite right now was not for food. Finishing her wine, she set the empty glass on the table. She stood. Without a word, only a quirk of her fingers in his direction, she left the dining room and walked back toward the bedroom. She left the kimono in a puddle of silk on the floor. She didn’t look over her shoulder to see if he was following. She didn’t have to.
Naked, she waited for the soft fall of his footsteps behind her. Without turning, she drew in a breath. Closed her eyes.
There’d been men before this one. There would be men after him, she thought, once this pretty interlude had ended. But there would never be another man exactly like him.
She didn’t open her eyes, not even when she felt his breath on her bare shoulder. “How long has it been?”
“Four weeks, Ma’am. Today.”
She adored that she never had to spell out what she meant. “I’d like your orgasm tonight.”
Damian sighed. “Yes, Ma’am.”
She turned to look at him and slipped the thin chain of her necklace through her fingers. She held up the key that unlocked the cage, watching his face as she did. He looked relieved. A little embarrassed.
“My beautiful boy,” she said.
He laughed, ducking his head. “I’m not sure you can be a boy when you’re just past forty.”
She moved closer. “You’re my boy, that’s what matters.”
“I want to always be your boy,” Damian told her.
She should have kissed him then, but didn’t. Instead, she unlocked him, freeing him from the confines of the metal and taking his cock in her hands. He was hard in seconds, growing thick in her fist. Bette stroked him, her eyes on his. She loved the way his pupils dilated and the way he let his head fall back as his hips bumped forward into her caress.
“Tell me how it feels to be locked up for me,” she said.
Bette had asked him this before and listened when he answered, but every time there was something new to learn from him. She watched Damian focus on her face. She eased the stroking, holding him behind the head of his cock with a firm but gentle pressure. He dripped over the back of her hand.
“It feels different ways at different times. When you’re gone at work and I’m here, or out, or at work, I feel comforted. Being locked for you, knowing that you own my pleasure…that you own me…I feel very peaceful.”
“And other times?” She cupped his balls with her other hand, pressing the seam leading to his asshole with her thumb.
“Other times, like when I’m trying to sleep and I haven’t come in more than a few days, it’s torture. Ahh…” He lifted himself on his toes the smallest bit, pushing himself into her fist. “Oh, Ma’am…”
She smiled. “But it’s a sweet torture, huh?”
She’d never relished humiliation as part of her sexual power, but there was a part of being put in chastity that embarrassed Damian even though he’d been the one to ask if she would lock him up. Before him, Bette had played with tease and denial, and what was this but an extension of that? Complete control over his orgasms. He’d brought it to her as a gift, one she hadn’t expected but was determined to appreciate.
“Do you remember when you asked me if I would consider having you wear a cage for me?”
“Yes, Ma’am. You said you’d never thought about it, and you weren’t sure you’d like it, but you were willing to try it out for me.”
“It’s something I cherish about you,” she told him.
He looked at her, tilting his head, surprised and aroused, but doing his best to pay attention to her. “What is?”
“That you’ve led me to learn new things.”
Another stroke. Another squeeze. He moaned. Bette swallowed a sigh. Watching Damian’s arousal was an exquisite aphrodisiac. Knowing it was all hers to do with as she pleased, even better. There were times when she couldn’t quite believe any of this was real. His submission. His desire for her, and hers for him, discovered and explored in ways she’d never even thought about until they got together.
“Get on the bed,” she said. “Hands and knees. Face down, ass up.”
He did, ever-obedient. Prevented by the metal chastity device, Damian hadn’t had an erection in a month, but now his cock rose, thick and long and hard, the tip of it barely brushing the sheets. It had already gone that gorgeous shade of dark red she loved so much. The head glistened with more clear precome. His balls were tight and swollen, perfectly placed for the tickling trace of her fingertips. He cried out when she stroked him there, and she laughed.
She admired him for a few minutes. He’d turned his head to the side so he could see her, and she took her time to tease him with her gaze. She made sure to let him see her looking at every secret part of him. It made him blush to have her inspecting him that way — particularly when she admired his ass and the anal toy adorning it. He squirmed a little, closing his legs, but at her warning mutter, Damian splayed them open again so she had a nice, clear view.
Drowning on Dry Land: an erotic short story by Megan Hart / History & Fiction have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes