Max and the Knotty Semicolon

"Excuse me miss, but do you need a hand with that?"

Okay, this one was all me. And she really did need and desire help, I promise.

I got a late start leaving Myrtle Beach after my last signing because I got sidetracked by a young vacationer who walked up to me at the hotel pool, bold as brass, and asked me flat out-

"Does this shirt make my tits look big?"

There's no way to answer this question intelligently. Especially when the shirt itself reads 'Sorry You Had A Bad Day. You Can Touch My Boobs If You Want.' stretched across said tits she would like an evaluation on. And not when she's obviously a freshly minted 38D with new silicone maracas she's looking to show off. I tried anyway.

"No. I think it's just the right fit." She sort of frowned at that, then pulled the shirt off, putting herself on full display for me.

"How about now?" she challenged. Understandably, I paused, considering the tableau before me and a suitable response.

"This seems to be that rare occurrence where I ask you to hold whatever I say next against me," I heard myself replying. Seriously, I'm much wittier in writing.

The short version here is, yes, she wanted to get fucked by an older guy and I was more than happy to fit the bill. Granted, I'm only about 10 years older, but she didn't seem too choosy about the exact numbers.

Except her new boobs. She told me a dozen times her new size. She was very excited about them.

She was cute, dirty blonde and willing to do quite a bit as long as I made her new tits bounce and would cum on them. This, however, is not HER story.

Rather, this is to explain why I got a late start leaving Myrtle Beach and ended up in Wilmington an hour late. Naturally, I blamed it on traffic and construction. I couldn't tell a small crowd in a nice bookstore that they had to wait for me because the slut I woke up beside insisted on my nutting on her new chest one more time before I hit the road.

It's a more persuasive argument than you'd think.

No, this story goes back to the Girl Sluts I met at the Exxxotica Expo. Or, more specifically, the hook-up app sitting on my phone.

After apologizing profusely for my tardiness, I did the usual bit where I read an excerpt from the new book. Usually something staid and intriguing from the early chapters to catch their attention and make the book interesting. Much like a straights version of our story hooks up there at the top of the page really.

Today, I grabbed one of the more thrilling bits, one that I was particularly proud of, and did my best to act out the bit while I read it. I practice at home or on the road occasionally before committing a scene to paper or do a dramatic reading for something I'm struggling with to see how it sounds. It's a process that works and don't let other writers tell you they've never done it. They all have to some extent or another.

I had just wrapped up the reading when my phone pinged. And pinged rather loudly at that. fishing it out of my pocket, I could see the 'nearby hook-up' notification quite plainly. Somewhere in the next few blocks, some kinky person out to earn a merit (Or Lack of Merit as the case may be.) badge, needed help.

Yeah, okay. 'Needs help' might be stretching 'wanted to get laid in a specific way' a bit far, but the metaphor still works.

I looked at the symbol and accepted the ping. I would look into it as I had the chance. Stuffing my phone back in my pocket, I looked over at the hapless guy my agent had hired to liaison between me and the store and shook my head.

"I'm already here, Jerry. I can't get here any faster." He blushed and the crowd laughed. And in the back of the crowd, I heard someone's phone ping a very familiar ping.

Not only did they want to get laid, they were right here in my crowd of fans.

(Alright, show of hands. Who DIDN'T see that coming?)

No time to dwell on that now, it was time to start signing books! Plopping down at the arranged table, I made small talk with each person or group that came up, signing whatever they had for me to slap my signature into. Everyone had my new novel, and more than a few had gone into the stacks and snapped up most everything else the store had with my name and face on the dust jacket or back cover.

The one that intrigued me the most was a woman wearing a sweatshirt and baggy jeans in her late 20's early 30's who came up and very deliberately set her phone down on the table before handing me her three books. I was just about to launch into my standard 'witty banter' when I noticed two things about her- a) on the strap of her carryall was a kink patch for shibari bondage and b) on her wrist was the innocuous tattoo of a semicolon.

"Thank you for staying with us miss," I said instead of something snappy and clever. "I know how delays like today's can really tie you up in knots sometimes. I hope, all things considered, all is well, and the little disruptions didn't take away from your pleasure of my reading?" I took my phone out and set it on the table as well.

"Oh no, it was quite entertaining, thank you." She kept looking directly at me, blushing and trying not to glance down at my phone. I quickly signed all three of her books, sliding them back to her with the simple dedication of 'Stay Strong. Eat the Cookies' along with my own quick rendition of the Sluts trefoil symbol, easily mistakable for the other one. She smiled, thanked me, then disappeared into the stacks.

It took me another hour of signing and schmoozing to make everyone happy. Every so often I'd see her drift between racks, casually glancing back at my table, patiently waiting. Eventually, the store made a tidy little profit. Jerry got a gold star for being prepared. I had to excuse myself because my signing hand was pleasantly cramped and I needed to piss.

Just ahead of me and hidden from general view by a shelf, she slipped right into the men's room. By the time I got there, she was fumbling to balance her bag, books and the door to the large stall.

Alright, so maybe the hook wasn't the most titillating line I could have quoted at the top, but it works for our purposes.

I let her in and followed immediately, taking her things and hanging them on the hook on the back of the door. She faced away from me, starting to pull up the back of her sweatshirt and tug down on her baggy jeans. Catching her hands, I stopped her.

"Hold on there, sweetheart," I cautioned, turning her around to face me. Her face red, she refused to look directly at me until I took her chin in hand and made her do so. "Jayne, wasn't it? What are you looking for today, Jayne?"

Biting her lip and trembling, she kept trying to pull up the bottom of her sweatshirt and I kept stopping her until she sighed and relented. I know, I know- just get to the sex keyboard jockey. Patience is a virtue.

Except that one Patience at the Pink Pussycat Club. She is ALL SIN. Capital Letters. But I digress.

"Exhibitionism, Public Sex, Humiliation," she mumbled at last. "I'm a dirty slut and I need to be treated like one." She finally pulled up the bottom of her sweatshirt to show me her belly. Instead of a blouse or a t-shirt, she wore a rope harness.

"Rope Bunny Badge?" I asked, pulling up her shirt to reveal her upper torso from her bound breasts down. There was a masterful network of ropes entrapping her body, including small nooses pushing out on the barbells through each nipple, acting in place of metal clamps. She shuddered when I touched them, nodding in response to my question. My hands slid down her sides admiringly, eventually coming to rest on her hips. The ropes kept going.

I opened the fly of her jeans, pushing them down to her thighs and further exposing the intricate webbing. It travelled halfway to her knee, wrapping around each thigh in a wide band that reminded me of the harness I wore during a rock-climbing course I tried out once.

It was fun, but I found myself staring at my instructor's ass a bit too much and fell. Climbing harnesses, hard-ons and sudden stops in mid-air might work for some folks, but I'm not one of them.

"Did you tie this?" I continued to admire the rope work, passing a finger between her bare pubic mound and the rope. Following it down, I made her gasp when I found the strategically placed knots where I expected them to be.

"Every day," she confessed, panting while I continued to rub where the knots got wet. "I... oh God... I go to work like this."

"Do you now?" I pushed a finger up into her roughly, making her mew out loud. Soon I had two fingers pushed into her slit, with her crotch-rope trapped between them, fingering her roughly. Her eyes rolled back and she was struggling to stand. I helped her by grabbing her tit and squeezing it. "That's some excellent self-care for a dirty slut. Taking this kind of time for yourself every day."

Her lip started to tremble and I HOPED it was because I was humiliating her by praising her work while treating her like a toy. It's really hard to tell and we stupidly hadn't set up a safe word. Instead, I tried backing off me fondling of her, but she responded by pushing her crotch firmly against my hand, giving me the silent encouragement that I was on the right track.

"Your instructor must have loved keeping you late after class," I continued, occasionally bending down to nip at an erect nipple with my teeth or pull on the ropes leading to her crotch. "Did he fuck your slut bunny pussy before untying you? Maybe stretch your dirty ass on his dick?"

"I wanted him to," she whimpered, grinding on my fingers digging into her pussy. Tears started flowing down her cheeks. "I wanted to be a perfect whore for him. Let him us me any way he wanted."

"But he didn't, did he?" I pulled my fingers noisily from her wet, grasping pussy and turned her forcibly around. Pressing her bare breasts against the wall, I admired the second spine of knotted rope running down her back and the thin braid that split her ass cheeks apart. I followed that braid, making her yelp by sticking my fingers directly up her asshole.

"Oh Please pleaseplease fuck me," she quietly pleaded, pushing back on my hand and rubbing her bare breasts against the wall of the stall. "Use me, fuck me like a whore, spank me- just let... make me cum."

"That's what you want huh?" I stopped fingering her ass with both digits buried inside her. I leaned in close to whisper in her ear. "You want to be punished for feeling good? You want a sore ass for being an eager little slut?"

"Please please yes please!" I pulled my hand back, almost leaving her body.

"No." My fingers drove deep into her ass and lifted her a bit. My free hand went from the middle of her shoulders, where I was keeping her pinned to the wall, down to her wrist. Pulling it up beside her head, I turned it until we could both see her semicolon tattoo.

"Not because you don't deserve a good spanking, or that I don't want to fuck your slut bunny brains right out of your ears, but because you need a reminder that the things we WANT in the moment, aren't necessarily the things we NEED in the longer term."

All told, it had been about fifteen minutes from when I left Jerry and the store owner to use the restroom. Just as they were beginning to miss me, I came back around the corner with Jayne walking beside me, her clothes pulled back into place over her intricate shibari harness once more.

"Sorry I took so long everyone," I explained, shifting Jayne's books to my other hand. "I ran into Jayne on the way and we got to talking about mental health and macramé. You guys remember macramé? The art of decorative knot tying? I didn't know that was still a thing!"

That got everyone chatting on a new subject for a few minutes, with the store owner suggesting a few books they had on the shelves for Jayne. Finally, Jerry suggested dinner and I made sure Jayne fell under the blanket invite.

In short, a good time was had by all.

And just so you won't screw yourselves into a tizzy wondering- you better believe that I drove Jayne home at the end of the night and drove HER until early morning. She got her spanking. And I used every toy and trick I had available to me to force orgasm her into making progress on no fewer than six badges.