Play Rough

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  • August 22, 2018
  • I take a long sip of my drink, the pungency of olives and alcohol saturating my mouth. “How’d you do?” I ask. “Not even close to as impressively as you.” He shakes his head, as if we’ve just finished a friendly game on my balcony. The bartender slides a tumbler towards him, brimming with brown […]

    I take a long sip of my drink, the pungency of olives and alcohol saturating my mouth.

    “How’d you do?” I ask.

    “Not even close to as impressively as you.”

    He shakes his head, as if we’ve just finished a friendly game on my balcony.

    The bartender slides a tumbler towards him, brimming with brown liquor. I press Max Bet and hold two queens.

    “You know what they say about losing propositions,” I say.

    I land a full house, and suck on my cigarette.

    Diego shakes his head. “Get out before you get killed.”

    I tilt up my chin to exhale away from his broad torso, moving in closer as he leans an elbow on the bar. The current between us surges. He swirls the ice in his glass before downing most of his whiskey.

    “Unless the risk is worth the reward,” he says, placing the near-empty glass on the bar. “Like winning a hundred-fifty-grand pot…on a bluff.”
    He stares at the cut over my brow. “Jiu-jitsu?”

    I gulp down more alcohol, watching his jaw flex from youth and an overabundance of testosterone.
    “Are you looking for pointers?” I ask.

    One of his large well-manicured hands takes the cigarette from between my fingers. He inhales a final drag slowly before putting out the stub, glancing again at my empty ring finger.

    “I want to apologize,” he says.

    When the call came in, he accused my stepfather of purposely scheming to break up our trip. Worse, he claimed that my working for the man was the reason my mother had landed in the hospital.

    I finish my drink and push it away. It’s all I can think to do, to calm my nerves. I stand from my chair. In my heels, we’re nearly at eye level.

    “My mother is out of the hospital,” I say. “Thank you.” I place a fifty on the bar and press the Cash Out button. “But it doesn’t change anything between us.”

    I slip the paper worth a couple hundred extra now into my clutch and sidle up next to him.

    “So fucking hot, aren’t you?” My bare shoulder brushes against his jacket, and my cheek flushes as it inches towards his. “But let me be clear.” My lips brush his ear. “I’m not interested.”

    I let that sink in before pouting like I’m about to blow him a kiss and then strutting away, knowing his eyes are still on me.

    “Hey,” he calls out, but I don’t bother turning around.

    Diego and I…we’re better off as friends. I shouldn’t have given him false hope, again.

    But he’s keeping pace. “Hey,” he says, firmly grabbing my arm.

    My fist whips up and I nearly clock him.

    Reflex.

    He lets go and puts some distance between us.

    “I know you like to play rough, Victoria.” He pauses. “But I also know you’re trying to kill my uncle.”

    I grind to a halt. My heart thumps loudly in my chest.

    “Interested now?” Diego places his hand back on my arm and walks me toward a set of elevators.

    Demanding

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  • August 20, 2018
  • I drag my breasts down his torso towards it, my ass tilting up to give him a view that blows away everything on The Strip. His abdomen flexes as my mouth reaches his cock and laps up the pre-cum dripping from the tip. “I’m not going to kill you, Victoria.” His voice is husky. “There’s […]

    I drag my breasts down his torso towards it, my ass tilting up to give him a view that blows away everything on The Strip. His abdomen flexes as my mouth reaches his cock and laps up the pre-cum dripping from the tip.

    “I’m not going to kill you, Victoria.” His voice is husky.

    “There’s a weapon in every corner of this suite at my disposal,” I say. “Of course you’re not going to kill me.”

    I wrap my lips around his eight-inch steel. Goddamn, that feels good in my mouth.

    “Ay…dios mío…dame esa panocha,” he demands, landing his bound hands on my ass, hard.

    The sting makes me hot. His wet tongue reaching my pussy makes me hotter. And the relief…it’s like gliding into a pool on a scorching summer day. My mouth relaxes, briefly forgetting the task at hand as he wicks around my folds, sucking on that nub as I inch into position and rock my hips back and forth. I could grind on his face all night.

    His hands ply my ass as his thick shaft engorges my mouth, nearly gagging me. But all I can focus on is the growing pressure at my slit. His thumb teases my folds and then moves up that delicate skin to that even-more-delicate opening, popping in just a little. But it’s enough for my body to buck as an orgasm ripples through my core. He drives his thumb deeper, electrifying the peak…

    With the Vegas lights twinkling in the early morning sky, I collapse onto him, mouth still full of his cock, feeling like I’ve conquered something. At least in this moment.

    I don’t come for just every man. In fact, I’ve only given into one other lover like this. Control is a wicked bitch, but it’s as much part of me as it is my dance with Diego since the first time we gave into the heat between us. I rotate my tongue around his shaft, wanting to give him that same amount of pleasure…

    “No. Te quiero estar dentro de ti.”

    Diego likes to speak Spanish when we fuck, and I like to disobey him—sucking harder, swirling faster, and squeezing his sack.

    I also like savoring his juices when they explode in my mouth. That massive load. I can’t swallow it fast enough—like a satisfying dinner you’ve just hunted and killed. And then I have to get him hard again, because I need him hard again. I want him inside of me as much as I want to bite into that fresh kill. Not all men can get hard again. Diego always does.

    “Dije que no, Victoria,” he protests, smacking my ass again with both his palms, lunging me forward.

    I roll to my side. “My suite, my rules.”

    “Fuck your rules.” He strains up, his bound hands now in his lap, sweat on his brow. He’s not getting out of that constrictor knot anytime soon.

    “Untie me,” he says.

    I slide out of bed and reach for the leather whip I’ve put under my mattress for protection, my heart beating loudly, swollen knuckles scraping against the box spring. I clutch the rawhide and pull it out, letting the long coil drop to my side. I smack it against the bed and my breathing hastens.

    “I’ll untie you when I’m ready.” My pussy clenches.

    His secured hands stroke slowly up and down his hardness, his eyes fixed on mine.

    “You have a weapon in every corner,” he says, “but we have a man at every casino exit. I’m the only one who can get you out of here alive.”

    The Dangers Have Always Been Real

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  • August 24, 2015
  • Heather walks over to the chest and leans down to open the latch. She pulls out two large daggers. “I know if I ask Rachel to kill you, she will.” If for a moment I doubted she would take things this far, I know now that the dangers have always been real. She saunters back […]

    Heather walks over to the chest and leans down to open the latch. She pulls out two large daggers. “I know if I ask Rachel to kill you, she will.”

    If for a moment I doubted she would take things this far, I know now that the dangers have always been real.

    She saunters back to where we’re standing and places one of the daggers into Rachel’s opened hand. Rachel smiles wide, as if she’s been waiting to do this all along.

    “Which brings me to you,” she says, thrusting the other dagger against my chest. It lands heavily and almost slips from my fingers.

    “I’ve come to the conclusion that your problem is you’re not sure where your loyalties lie.” She retrieves the key from around her neck. “And that’s not good for business.” She takes a few steps back and hangs the key around Rachel’s neck. “Or pleasure.”

    Moments later, she’s slithering behind me. The fingers of her good hand swim lightly across my shoulders and neck. Her lips brush against my ear. “I love you, Angie,” she whispers, “but I’m ready to let you go.”

    The statement both crushes and relieves me. I almost don’t want it to be true. As much as I hate her for hurting me in so many ways, I still love her too. I’ve experienced more emotional and sexual highs and lows with her in one week than I have in my entire life. And part of me doesn’t want that to end. What is normal supposed to look like after this?

    She turns my head and her mouth finds mine. “You get the key from Rachel, and you can walk right out the door,” she says between kisses that are not telling the whole story. “I won’t stop you this time. I promise.”

    I can see the rage in Rachel’s eyes as she watches an intimacy between Heather and me that I know she doesn’t have.

    “Come with me,” I plead quietly, my mouth more fervent. “It doesn’t have to end like this.” I’m hoping to reach beyond her status quo to that place I know exists but that she’s afraid to tap into.

    She stiffens and pulls away from me. She’s made up her mind.

    “If you can get the key, you can leave, Angie.” She wraps her good hand around Rachel’s torso. “But if I know Rachel…” She stops to nuzzle Rachel’s head into her neck. “You’re going to have to kill her first.” She gives one of Rachel’s breasts a sardonic squeeze. “Isn’t she, baby?”

    Rachel nods.

    “If you’re wondering…” Her gaze locks with mine as she plays with the key on Rachel’s chest. “This key opens the door you need it to open.”

    The statement has cryptic overtones. I scramble to decipher what it could possibly mean as she picks up her camera and takes a seat in a director’s chair.

    “Whenever you’re ready, ladies.” She snaps a photo. “Do try to be dears,” she adds, “and stay on the stage. We wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone.”

    The clicks from her camera reverberate in my ears.

    I grip my hands around the dagger.

    Heather crosses her legs. The tight skirt she’s wearing pulls on her thighs, and her calves flex, trying to locate a sturdy spot on the footrest for the platform of her heel.

    As my toes grip at the leather lining of my wedges, I decide I’ll be better served without them and kick them to the side. I can’t believe she’s making me fight to the death. We could’ve been long gone by now. All she had to do was open that door.

    Unless there’s someone else who wants to see more. The red lights of the video cameras blink in my periphery vision.

    Heather leans forward, enough that her pillowy blouse exposes the mounds of her breasts secured in that black lace bra.

    I should’ve killed her by now. I should’ve pounded a pillow over her sleeping head in the middle of the night, or spiked her drink with too much of something I found in her medicine cabinet, the way she did mine. Or bashed her head in with that bat when I had a chance. Even if I didn’t have the right key, I would have figured out something.

    I should have been brave enough. But in the end, my rage gave way to a greater emotion. Love. But also to the self-doubt I’ve been carrying all my life. Self-doubt brought about by years of conditioning. It was easier to go along unnoticed or yell “Bubblegum.” We are all victims of circumstance—until we make a conscious decision not to be. I touch the blade with my fingers to gauge its sharpness.

    Copyright 2015 by S.L. Hannah

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