Bound *NC-17* (1/1)
by Audrey Cooper
xf_writer@geocities.com
January, 1998

Summary: A night of passion. 'Nuff said. <g>

Spoilers: Nope.

Classification/Rating: S. NC-17.

Disclaimer: No one is mentioned by name, so... no disclaimer here.

Archive: Yes to Gossamer--everyone else, please ask me first.

Author's Notes follow the story. I would appreciate feedback in any
shape or form.
*********************************************************************
Bound *NC-17* (1/1)
by Audrey Cooper
xf_writer@geocities.com


"Jasmine," she said.

He shook his head. No.

"I trust you," she said.

"I know. But--"

"No buts. Jasmine."

He looked at her for a long, searching minute. "Jasmine," he agreed.

*****

I awake, nude.

<never should have told him, never-->

I tug, hard, at the cloth binding my wrists together <silk, he's used
silk> and am not surprised to find I am held fast, arms outstretched
above my head. I turn my head to the right and rub the side of my
face against my inner arm, trying desperately to dislodge the fabric
<more silk, oh, *God*, I never should have--> obscuring my vision to
no effect.

All the same, warmth kindles in my center, liquefying me, making my
nipples tighten and the blood beat in my cheeks. An answering throb
beats between my legs. I shift them on harsh cotton sheets and I feel
the beginning dampness there.

Every detail complete. A desire <*the* desire> overtakes me, the
desire to be pleasured endlessly, with no compunction or expectation
of having to return that pleasure; the desire to have no control
<that was the point, right?> No control.

A sound. A soft, stealthy sound.

I freeze, <to the left> straining my ears.

Another. <the word, what's the word?> A footfall.

I manage to roll myself awkwardly onto my side and pull my legs up to
my chest, hiding the taut nipples <what's the fucking *word*! never
should have, never--> that would betray my desire, the desire he's
heard of but not yet seen. I bury my burning face in crisp cotton,
the starchy fresh smell of it filling my senses, the sound of my
breathing harsh and quick. <rose? honeysuckle? gardenia?> I have to
stop this.

"The word?" A slight tremor in his voice.

<jasmine> But I do not say it. That tremulousness makes me still:
stills my mind, stills my breathing, stills my heart.

I remain silent.

We wait.

"You're mine." Now, his voice is implacable.

A shudder rips through me <oh God, what have I done?> before I catch
myself.

"I can do anything I want with you." This, breathed into the cup of
my ear, sends a shaft of lightning down my body, centering and
exploding in my core, bringing more of that secret rain.

<yes--anything you want> I've given myself over, given up the
control that keeps my spine so straight and my soul so alone. I've
given it up to him for a time, and am at his mercy. Trust ties us
together as surely as this silk binds me to his bed. I relax
marginally, bringing my face out of the pillow and breathe deeply.
The air is redolent with his scent.

He strokes my hair from the side of my face and gently traces a
finger along my hairline, tracing over the silk, down my jaw, my
neck. His finger, warm, and slightly callused, stops on my pulse.

The touch is reverent.

"I want to fuck you." The words, startling in their coarseness <fuck
you, fuck you> are delivered in a low, silky tone that makes me gasp
in mingled shock and desire. "Fuck you so slow and so deep that you
don't know where you stop and I begin, holding back until you're on
that razor's edge."

Sparkles chase across the blackness that is my vision, and I moan
helplessly at the thought of it, of him <fucking me, slow and deep>
seeing me bound and defenseless before him, of the care he would
take, making me fall into myself, into him, into forever.

"Then I'm going to stop."

I turn in protest onto my back. His light touch on my arm more than
the tether holding my wrists over my head reminds me that I'm not the
one in control here. I struggle briefly with my bonds, the silk
digging into the tender flesh of my wrists, my pulse rampaging
beneath it.

"The word?" Concern edges the question.

<every detail> I stop struggling and open my clenched fists, relaxing
the fingers, feeling the blood beat back into my fingertips, small
crescents of pain from my nails carved into my palms.

"No."

One springed coil of tension unwinds; the relief of loosening my grip
on control as heady as strong mead, drunk from pewter cups.

I can almost picture his wry, wicked grin as I feel him settle next
to me, stretching his long legs beside mine. He does not touch me
with any part of his body, yet I still know it, I know it the way I
know my own face in the mirror.

The dark velvet voice is back as he says meditatively, "I want your
mouth on me first, before I fuck you."

My mouth fills with desire, feeling empty and hollow. I want that,
too.

"Yes," I say, and my voice is raw with hunger.

Oh, but I want to taste him. I lick my lips, anticipating. I ache to
give him that pleasure <to feel his muscles jump and tremble, to hear
him moaning my name> *now* as I explore every inch of him with the
wet heat of my mouth-- <but I *can't*!>

"Soon." He strokes a single finger up my exposed inner arm lightly,
bringing gooseflesh. "I think," he whispers in my ear, "that I'm
going to make you come so hard..."

I shiver, feeling another spear of lightning stroking down my body,
ready to come just from his voice in my ear and his light touch on my
arm. <*God* how does he know exactly what to say, how to touch?>

"Again and again and again. Think about it." His voice, deep and
dark, lingers over the words, drawing them out, letting them splinter
and unwind into images in my mind. "Think about my hands on you.
Touching your breasts. That spot on your back that makes you arch and
moan."

My breasts and that spot on my back are suddenly burning, aching for
his touch, craving the light stroke that continues, maddeningly,
along my arm.

A little frightened now <he *knows*, every thing that makes me hot,
that I want--> I draw away slightly.

"Think about my mouth on you. Kissing your mouth. I could spend all
night just kissing your mouth."

An answering throb between my legs surprises me and I fall back into
dreaminess. <oh, yes, I want that> The silk closing my eyes is
irritating as I strain up, seeking his mouth <*damn* him and his damn
*details*!> but cannot find it. <ask> I bite my bottom lip, hard.

"Please, kiss me," I moan.

His breath whispers warm over my face and his tongue darts at my lips,
soothing the toothmarks I've imprinted in the bottom one. I open my
mouth to him and am lost, held suspended between his palms on my face
as his tongue duels with mine, strokes along my gums, <where did he
learn--> licks at the roof of my mouth. He pulls his mouth from mine
and I bite down on my bottom lip again to keep from asking <begging>
him to kiss me once more, just once more.

His hand goes back to my arm and he picks up the thread, pulling it
tight once more. "Think about my mouth on you. Sucking your nipples."
He nibbles lightly at my ear then withdraws, and I quiver, my nipples
aching points of hardness. Oh, I want his mouth on me <anywhere on
me> I want it so much.

"Yesss."

"Licking and nipping at that place that melts and runs for me like
honey. Are you wet for me now, baby?"

So enthralled am I by the pictures his words are painting in my head,
by the light, almost-not-there touch on my arm, that I am totally
unprepared for his other hand, which slides between my legs, cupping
that betraying wetness; for his fingers gently spreading my folds,
avoiding the tight bundle of nerves at the apex that I really want
<need> him to touch. He slips one long finger inside me to the hilt.

Together, we groan harshly. His name tears from my lips.

"Oh, yeah. Wet. *Hot*. So tight."

He pulls his finger from me slowly, pressing up inside me as he does,
against the top of my sheath on that place I've only recently
discovered myself, that place <oh, yes, *there*!> that makes a long,
low sound break from my throat, and I can't stop the rise of my hips
and the small spasm of my internal muscles clamping down hard to try
to keep his finger there, to keep touching that place, that spot
inside. I have the feeling it will be a long while before he
satisfies that particular urge again, and I whimper piteously.

"Please. Touch me."

I snap my teeth together at the outrage that has somehow escaped my
lips even as I <easy, I'm so easy> twist my wrists against the silk,
rubbing them hard, wanting the slight burn of pain, arching my
breasts up toward his hands, his mouth.

"Oh, I like that. I could listen to you say 'please' all night."
Amusement. "Not yet." A sharp needle of anger <never shou--> stabs
through me then his mouth comes down hard on mine once more and it's
melted away <this is right, this is what I want> by the heat of him.
I moan into his mouth, luxuriating in his soft, silky lips, hard
teeth, velvet tongue and the slight rasp of beard stubble on my skin.

I nibble at his lips, then the salty sweet skin of his neck. He moves
over me and I lick, blindly, down his chest to his nipple. I latch
onto it, nipping and soothing it with my tongue. He grasps the back
of my head, cradling it in his hands to support my neck and holds me
there, moaning.

"That's it, baby. Lick me." I stab at his hard nipple with the point
of my tongue until he pulls my head back, shifting his body over me
as I wait, breathlessly, to discover what he'll do next, dizzy with
the feeling of not knowing what that will be.

He pulls my head toward him and I am confronted with his erection
pressing my cheek. I brush the silk covering my eyes over it and it
twitches as he moans deep in his throat. A delicious shiver racks my
body <show you, I'll show you how it can be> as I savor the taste
<bittersalt> of him, the textures of him: silken velvet over carved
marble, ridged and smooth, rigid and flexible. I suck at him gently,
and then hard and fast, hollowing my cheeks to create suction as his
hands guide me, never pushing too hard or so deeply that my throat
can't accept him.

"Just like that. So good, you feel so good." The words are guttural,
almost unintelligible. My lips stretch wide and curve around the
rigid column of his flesh, moving up and down in the rhythm he needs.
I can feel the pulse of release rising in him, sense the tightening
of his body and slip back into the comfortable zone <even bound and
blind I can still--> and <*no*, wait!> the illusion of control
shatters as he takes it away just as easily as he pulls his hot,
twitching cock from my open, hungry mouth.

I mewl in bewildered <only let me think, never had it, oh, God, I
shouldn't have--> disappointment and disbelief.

"Too good." He skims back down my body, his hands everywhere now,
touching where he said he would. Touching my breasts, my nipples
almost painfully tight, which I thrust up harder against his palms
despite my reeling shock at his refusal to give up mastery of the
situation.

"I know what you were trying to do." His voice is tender.
Understanding. His hands slide down and around to the small of my
back, to the place where back curves out to become ass, to that
sweet <burning> spot that makes me arch against him and moan. "You
tried to steal from me, to steal something that you've given to me.
Do you want to take it back?" He places his hands over my wrists,
over the silk. My heart pounds in my head and I see brightly colored
stars.

"You have only to say the word."

Knowing he'll untie my hands in a heartbeat, I open my mouth, ready
to say it <but he'll never try again, one chance only, I trust him,
trust him enough to let go, really let go this time, I want him to
see, to *know*, this is what I want, what I *need*, oh, and I love
it, love *him*, love that he's doing this for me, enjoying it, yes,
but for me, *me*, and he would do anything for me, anything but stop,
if I don't say it he won't stop, either, won't stop just because I'm
flaming into insensibility, won't stop because I'm burning,
burning--> and I say his name instead.

"Oh, God, do you have any idea what that does to me?" His voice
catches on my name and I realize just how much the gift I've given
<won't make him ask me again, *won't!*> means to him. "Your trust..."
He buries his face between my breasts, nipping and lapping at the
skin over my heart, which thunders so hard with my decision that, for
an instant, I'm terrified.

Then I relax my tenuous grip on control utterly, let that heavy <oh
so heavy> burden go to him and shift my legs sensuously, rubbing them
together the way a cricket does, enjoying the harsh rasp of cotton,
and feel the slick wetness between. I want his hands there, stroking
me <that spot> the way he did before; want his mouth <oh, yes> his
mouth there, licking and sucking and making me come, again and again
and again, the way he said he would; want his cock there, <fucking
me> hard and fast until I'm screaming. Want. But no longer expect. I
don't expect anything but whatever he chooses.

His fingers close on both nipples, twisting them lightly. I press up
against his hands and he drops his mouth to one hard peak and blows
warm air across it. My skin is too hot, and pebbles all over. Then
his mouth <yes, oh, *finally*!> encloses it, nipping sharply, and the
heat of it triggers a surge of wetness as he pushes me over a small
peak and a minor explosive convulsion grips my center.

"Oh, yes!" I moan <made me come from sucking my nipple, that's
never--I can't belie--> shivering.

"That's right, baby. I'm gonna make you come..." He nips it again,
sending another tiny electric arc shooting down <never mind--God, so
*good*--believing> "...and come again."

He raises his mouth from my nipple and kisses me, kisses me so deep
that I spin, seeing black stars now, the only clear anchor his mouth
and the silk holding me to his bed <oh, but is it over me? under?>
until I gasp for breath.

Then he moves down my trembling body, settles between my thighs, and
strokes his hands over my flesh. Shoulders to nipples, nipples to
belly, belly to the notch between my legs. His fingertips comb
through the hair there, tug at it gently as he blows kisses over my
navel, dipping his tongue inside.

"Do you want my hands on you?"

"Yes," I answer immediately.

"My mouth?" He breathes over the hair his fingers are combing.

I arch my hips up, trying to connect with <his tongue> that heat.
"Oh, yes!"

He chuckles against my skin, doing neither thing, but going back to
his slow, light stroking from shoulders to crotch.

I hesitate for a second <your fingers, your mouth, your cock, I want
*everything!*> then husk, "I want you to make me come."

His hands stop, then tighten on my waist.

"Yeah?" His voice is almost <but not quite, not quite> blase. He
pulls me around until my feet dangle in space, hanging off the bed,
legs bent at the knee. I tug at the silk ineffectually, then grasp it
tightly as I hear him shifting, the agony of not knowing what's
coming next whitening my knuckles with anticipation. Then he draws my
thighs up over his shoulders.

I barely realize he's kneeling <like a penitent at an altar> beside
the bed before he spreads open my folds to uncover the hard bud half
hidden within its protective hood that is burning and aching <touch
me>, fiery and hot. I arch up toward his mouth mindlessly, wanting
his mouth there, on my throbbing nub, more than anything I've *ever*
wanted, want it *now*!

I feel his breath on my exposed flesh, but he makes no move to touch
me with his mouth. He only waits, looking at me, perhaps. I wait with
him <will he? oh, please, please, am I saying that outloud, oh>
tossing my head from side to side, truly cursing the silk binding my
eyes for the first time. I want to see his expression as he looks on
me so, and I long to know if it's hungry and hot.

The tip of his tongue flicks delicately, once, at my clit and a short
sharp <oh *God*!> burst of pleasure spreads out along my nerves,
convulsing my hands spasmodically on the silk tying me to his bed as
my heels drum against his shoulders. He doesn't wait for the
contractions to pass, but laps at me, little quick caresses, licking
up <like a cat with cream> the wetness that has gathered.

"That's it, baby. Like this? Here? Right here?" he murmurs.

I chant, "Yesyesyesthererightthere"

His name is a sob on my lips but he doesn't stop licking at me,
sucking at my clit as he holds me steady with one hand and slides two
long fingers into me, pressing up <Jesus God!> in counterpoint at
that spot <yes, *there!*> that sweet place. He is feasting on my
flesh like it is some juicy exotic fruit that must be eaten
carefully, greedily, only with fingers and mouth.

He is crooning something against me, the words muffled and indistinct.
The vibration of the words adds a whole new dimension to what he's
doing <eating me alive> and I come again, my nipples hard and
pulsing along with my sheath, my hands yanking violently against the
silk, my back bowing.

I sigh, shaking with relief, suddenly feeling the burning stretch in
my upraised arms, the pleasantly irritating abrasion of the silk on
my wrists, and I loosen my tight grip on the silk, let my legs drape,
relaxing, over his shoulders.

"Oh, no, you're not done." And he breathes gently, lightly over my
still sensitive flesh <no, I can't> and a faint throb of desire
pulses through me. He gets up, rearranging my limp limbs, drawing my
legs together, back onto the bed and then apart, one finger now
stroking <oh so lightly> between my legs, along my swollen cleft,
gilding me with my own slippery fluid, barely touching.

I can feel every inch of his cock, hot and satiny, as he thrusts into
me; the broad head pushing between my slick folds, the rigid length
of his shaft, plunging deeper, deeper, until his sac is buried
against me, nestling my ass, and his pelvic bone is twisting a half a
millimeter from my screamingly sensitive nub.

"I'm going to fuck you," he says quietly, in that low, silky tone,
"slow and deep." I am drawn in as much by the raw desire in his
voice, by the tender, reverent touch of his hand on my face, pulling
away strands of hair caught in my mouth, as by his slow retreat, his
heat and length pulling out <away>, leaving a cavernous emptiness
shrieking to be filled again, *again*, now!

He leans down and gives me his mouth and I devour it, tasting my own
salt mixed with sweat on his lips, raking my teeth lightly over his
tongue, sucking it. He breaks the kiss and puts his forehead down on
my arm, breathing hard, making a sharp little grunt with each plunge.

Close, I'm so close <going to come again, want to, *need* to, oh,
he's killing me>, even with the way he's drawing out every movement,
taking an eternity with every stroke. I buck up into his slow, steady
thrusts as well as I can, my heels scraping for purchase on the crisp
cotton sheet. A wet slap of sound accompanies each impact of his
testicles against my ass.

The rhythm he has set is maddening <fucking me, slow and deep>; a
long slow slide in, a brief twist and an equally slow withdrawal:
it's too slow, the angle just a shade off from nudging my clit, not
quite enough for me to quite catch the rainbow that's once again
<come so hard> glittering just out of reach but close enough to
<don't stop!> drive me insane.

"Harder, oh, please, fuck me harder!"

His teeth grind audibly. "No."

My whimpers and impassioned pleas seemingly fall on deaf ears as he
continues his slow, deep thrusting. I writhe, trying to change the
angle of his thrusts <almost--oh, damn!> my attempts to get him to
move faster <*harder*!> easily defeated as he grasps my trembling
thighs and spreads them achingly high and wide.

A steady moaning fills my ears. <that's me, that's me that can't keep
quiet, can't keep still, oh God, I'm dying, please stop, please,
pleaseplease-->

"Don't stop," I pant.

He stops, picking his head up from my arm.

A sound very like a wail <no, no, *nopleasedontstop!*> escapes my lips.

"You're there, aren't you, baby?"

"Yes, oh, God, *yes*!"

"Do you want me to make you come?" He's panting now, too, and a bead
of sweat drops onto my breast, but the question still has bite; his
choice, not mine.

"Please," I whimper, breathing hard <there's no air> and fast.

He whispers my name, a caress in my ears.

I know what he wants. I want it, too.

His body thrums against mine, his cock twitching inside me and I flex
my muscles, gripping him hard. "Please, pleaseplease fuck me hard,
fuckme fast, make me come, please, makemecomesohard--

He pulls away, almost all the way out, and I cry his name as he
rams back into me, catching my nub against his hard shaft, the angle
perfect <thereoh*there!*> this time, hard and fast. Out and in, and
he's coming <moaning my name, God his voice, the dark, ragged edge of
velvet, love in his voice> I can feel it, pulsing deep, but he
doesn't stop <sogoodjustrightjustright> out and in and I can feel my
own orgasm approaching in a long and rolling wave <makeyoucomesohard>
like the ocean that surges into the shore--all I can say is his name
his name over and over I say it--breaking apart in phosphorescent
foam audible and visible for long moments before and after in and
away in and away not ending, but tapering off into hitches and moans
--I come so hard, seeing white diamond novas and dwarf rainbow stars
imploding on the blackness of silk.

"Jasmine," he says.

_____
End


Author's Notes: I suppose you could take this as a continuation of
Abandon if you wanted to--it does fit within that universe--but it's
not at all necessary.

Many, many thanks to Deb for beta reading, catching my mistakes and
encouraging my madness. Special thanks to Bob for his continuing
support and inspiration.

This was a new writing style for me. I've wanted to try a first
person present POV for quite a while. Let me know if it worked for
you... ;)

So, please, let me know what you think...

Audrey Cooper
xf_writer@geocities.com

S: "I must remind you this goes against the bureau's policy of male
and female agents consorting in the same motel room while on
assignment."
M: "Try any of that Tailhook crap on me Scully, I'll kick your ass."
The X-Files, Detour