I hope this letter finds you well, whether you’re up too late or reading the next day. This story emerged from a dream, and I wrote it down this morning. It’s a bit intense as the title might suggest, and I hope you enjoy it.
Mostly I wanted to give you a buffer between opening this and diving into the story. So, um, yeah. Buffer complete.
Clara lay on the bed rubbing her wrists and licking her lips. She had bruises on her thighs and her ass; a red stripe ran across her mouth from the duct tape.
If sex smells like the ocean, she was a tidal wave.
"More holding?"
"I think I'm okay now," she said, letting me release her. "Thank you for being here and being so sweet. My mind is still reeling, but I'm not lost to sub-space anymore. Or whatever the hell you call that."
"You were so good."
"Did you take pictures? Somehow I didn't notice one way or another."
"I wonder why that is," I said with a laugh. "But yes, I have many, many pictures on my phone when you're ready to see them. Do you want to talk about it?"
Clara lay back on the bed, the soft sheets a nest for her body as she closed her eyes and smiled. As she ran her hands over herself, I rested on my elbow and stared at her with love and admiration.
"It was so fucking hot!" she yelled. "I was honestly scared. I knew it would happen, but still, I was scared. When I walked out of the restaurant, my legs were shaking, and when the van pulled up, I nearly vomited. Can you imagine?"
"You looked so damn hot, but I was mostly worried someone would try and stop us."
When I touched her stomach, she shivered, and as I moved closer to her on the bed, the night came rushing back.
"You were so quick. I swear I was in the van with tape over my mouth and my wrists zip-tied in half a second. Fuck, it was intense. Those two did not mess around. Their hands were all over me the second you pulled out, and when Mark began cutting off my clothes while we were still in Midtown, I didn't know whether to come or scream. I think I did a little of both."
"I nearly crashed the fucking van, looking in the rear-view mirror. All I could see was Mark holding you on his lap with your tits out, while Trey literally cut your panties off. I think I ran four red lights. One for each time he called you a wet little slut who deserved what was coming."
Clara ran her hands down her body, sliding them between her legs and rubbing her sore thighs. Red stripes painted her skin as she slipped two fingers inside herself.