Page 36 of The B!tch is Bad

Chapter 11

Creed

Patience’s flavor was the essence of life for me.

My girl was bound but not gagged, wriggling like an eel in a bag. I tantalized her swollen clit with my breath, then flicked out a tongue tip to make her jump and twitch. Squiggling my hands behind the globes of her glorious ass, my fingers sought out the back lips of her slit, playing a light glissando, never touching her quivering button.

Her knees shook, her taut boobs quaked, nipples twitching under the pinch of the pearl clamps. From deep in her chest came sighs, like the sea remembering an ancient grief. I’d done my makeshift shibari well, and her bound wrists behind her stayed tight as she moaned and tugged against them.

Just as I was applying the flat of my tongue to her lengthened clit, her entire body shuddered, and she cried, “Creed! Just fucking do it!”

To maintain my Daddy Dominance, I couldn’t give in to her right away. With my thumbs I spread apart her twat lips, huffing hot breaths on her engorged button. My little firecracker girl lit up, a shimmering cobweb laden with raindrops. Through gritted teeth she demanded,

“Creed! Just fucking do it!”

Aha. I had her in the palm of my hand! “My sweet girl!” I groaned, before giving her a good lapping with the point of my tongue.

Her entire torso throbbed with need, her butt sliding off the table. Her knees wobbled with the force of an earthquake, and I had to shoot out my left hand to nab a dining chair, yanking it close just in time. Patience slid and crashed, but managed to get most of her can into the seat. I renewed my lustful attack.

Now I diddled her stiff nipple, already pinched in the clamp. Her whines elevated a few octaves, a tea kettle whistling urgently. She slipped into her orgasm, I no longer had control over that. To better feel her contractions, I slid my longest finger up her twat, rewarded with powerful spasms that threatened to cut off the blood supply to my digit.

And she quaked. Her whine was high as heaven itself as her whole pelvis shivered with contractions she had no control over. I lapped and lapped, waiting for her to reach her crescendo, which never seemed to come. I’d never felt such a powerful climax in a woman. Forceful ripples like waves surged down her canal, spurting delicious juice over my chin. Her cries were in an African language I couldn’t detect, or maybe something Far Eastern. Maybe she didn’t even know what she was howling, just ancient noises like the bricks of Babylon.

At last she subsided to a dull quake, begging me, “Stop it. Stop. Stop. No. No more.”

As the Dom, I couldn’t obey, but as a human I had no choice. She must’ve orgasmed for five entire minutes, and I was afraid of breaking something inside her. Giving her a regretful few last licks, I subsided. Squiggling my tongue down her thigh, I collapsed into a sit on the hardwood floor. At length, in between pants, Patience opened her eyes and gave me a glance of gratitude. I brushed my thumb perilously close to her clit, and her entire body jumped.

“No!” she whined. Panting like a caged lioness, she fanned herself with her hand. I set her back onto the table where she lifted both trembling legs, rubbing her heels against the backs of my knees.

But she was too weak to even kiss me. I said, “You’ll need about eighteen hours sleep after that one.”

She laughed with surprising strength. “Oh, your humor is the secret to us! You wash away all anxiety.”

I hadn’t known that. I was pleased. “It’s this May December play. You like it.”

Patience gave me a weak, sly smile. “I do. And now I have to freshen up.”

I helped her gather her clothes, and even put my hands under her arms to assist her up. She waved me away. “I can do it.”

I strode to the table to grab our half-eaten plates. Had we had enough? Should I nuke it? I had nothing against nuking leftovers. While pondering this delicate dilemma, a shriek from the bathroom sliced my ears.

Dropping the plate of salmon and broccolini on the counter so the food bounced, I jogged to the bathroom. Unsure how cool it was to open the door on her, the problem was solved when Patience herself flung it open. She pointed at the window like the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.

“Someone—someone—”

I had to shove her aside to go look. Sure as shit, there was a peeping Tom in the bushes! Most of his body was covered with the flowering branches, but his eyes blazed out like two candles.

“Our pieces!” I called to Patience.

She recovered from her panic attack, even buttoning her dress on our race to the dining room. I was the one panicking when Patience seemed to remember her lock code to the sideboard gun safe faster than I did.

“Wait! Wait!” I shouted as she headed for the back slider door. What a fucking fumbler I was, a guy who was normally so smooth!

“Eight three eight eight!” she called to me impatiently. “It’s that fucking narc Joe King! Somehow Slayer missed him!”

When at last I got the loaded 9 mm Springfield into my hand and released the safety, she was halfway out the door. Although one strap of her dress still hung down her bicep and she was barefoot, she was the image of the strong woman action figure.

“Slow down!” I yelled. “Let me!”