He Wanted a Story

He Wanted a Story

by Casey Quinn

Sienna, Lexi, and James share a complicated world of love, lust, jealousy, and deliciously dangerous games.

Sienna is beautiful, bold, and accustomed to getting what she wants. James is the man who loves her, even when her games drive him crazy. And Lexi? She's the older, experienced woman who taught Sienna that pleasure and power can be irresistible companions.

Their relationships are complicated, their boundaries sometimes surprisingly flexible, and their adventures rarely go quite as planned.

I knew him. Not well, but enough. He had been at three or four of Lexi's parties, always somewhere near the edge of things, watching more than participating. Late fifties, maybe early sixties, silver starting at his temples, still annoyingly handsome in a way that suggested he had probably been even more dangerous twenty years ago. He had a dry sense of humor I liked and absolutely no ability to hide his reactions to me.

That part I liked even more. The first time we met, I had walked past him in a dress with a slit I probably should have reconsidered. He had looked. I had stopped. He had immediately looked guilty.

"You're terrible at this," I told him.

"At looking?"

"At pretending you weren't."

He laughed. After that, whenever we crossed paths, we played. Nothing serious. A hand on his shoulder as I walked by. Sitting on the arm of his chair for thirty seconds and making him forget whatever conversation he had been having. Once, at the end of a party, I kissed his cheek and whispered, "You behaved beautifully tonight." He turned approximately the color of a tomato. I adored him for that. So when Lexi told me he had asked specifically for me, I was pleased.

"What does he want?"

"A story."

"That's all?"

"A story and you."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Meaning?"

"You perform. He watches. You talk. He listens. No touching you."

Perfect. After James, perfect sounded very good. I chose the dress carefully. Black, long, and deceptively simple from the front. It covered me almost to the throat. The back was another matter. There essentially wasn't one.

The fabric plunged in a narrow V almost to the top of my rear, leaving my entire back bare. When I walked, the material shifted against my hips just enough to make looking away difficult. I put my hair up. There was no point having a dress like that and hiding it. When I entered the room, he was sitting in a wide leather chair with a drink on the table beside him. He smiled immediately.

Then I turned to close the door. The smile disappeared. I took my time with the latch. When I turned around again, he was staring.

"Hi."

He cleared his throat.

"Hi."

I smiled.

"You still haven't gotten any better at pretending."

"I had no intention of pretending tonight."

"Oh."

I liked that answer. I walked toward him, slowly enough to let the dress do most of the work.

"You know the rules?"

"I think so."

"That sounds dangerously uncertain."

He laughed. God, I liked his laugh.

"No touching you."

"Correct."

"You tell me what I can do."

"Also correct."

"And if I misbehave?"

"I stop."

"That seems severe."

"It should."

I walked past him again deliberately, giving him the view he had been trying not to stare at since I walked in.

"You asked for me."

"I did."

"Then don't ruin it."

"I'll try."

"No."

I stopped beside his chair.

"Don't try."

His eyes came up to mine.

"Behave."

That did something to him. I saw it. And because I saw it, something warm moved through me too. This could be fun. I moved to the other side of the room.

"So. You wanted a story."

"Yes."

"What kind?"

"Your choice."

I smiled.

"That was probably a mistake."

"I'm willing to risk it."

I leaned against the wall. One hand rested lightly on my own thigh, fingers tracing idle circles through the fabric.

"All right."

He settled farther into the chair. I thought for a moment. Then the story arrived fully formed.

"It was just me and James in the room."

The name felt different as soon as I said it. I ignored that. My client smiled.

"James?"

"Don't interrupt."

"Yes, ma'am."

I nearly laughed.

"Don't call me that either."

"What should I call you?"

"Sienna."

His expression changed slightly when he said it.

"Sienna."

Better. I began again.

"It was just me and James in the room."

I walked slowly while I talked, the hand on my thigh sliding higher, pressing the soft material against my skin.

"He thought he knew what was going to happen."

"Did he?"

"No."

I ran one hand down the bare curve of my back, then brought it forward, cupping my breast through the dress, thumb brushing deliberately over the nipple until it hardened.

"He was very confident."

"Should he have been?"

I looked at him.

"Absolutely not."

He grinned. I liked him. I really did.

"In my story, there were cuffs attached to the wall."

His eyebrows went up.

"Convenient."

"Very."

"And James agreed to this?"

"I can be persuasive."

"I've noticed."

I pointed at him with the hand that wasn't still lightly squeezing my breast.

"That was almost an interruption."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. Just don't do it again."

He nodded.

"So James let me put his wrists into the cuffs."

I turned away as I said it. I could feel him looking at my back. This time I let him. My free hand drifted lower, gathering the skirt of the dress until I could slip my fingers between my thighs, stroking myself slowly over the thin fabric of my underwear.

"He trusted me."

I paused, rubbing a slow circle against my clit.

"That was his first mistake."

The client laughed softly. I turned.

"You think that's funny?"

"A little."

"Good."

I crossed the room toward him, still touching myself, the motion open enough that he could see exactly what I was doing.

"You may touch yourself now."

His smile vanished. I held up one finger--the one that had just been pressed between my legs.

"But that's all you get."

He stared at me.

"One."

He nodded.

"More than that and the story ends."

The room became very quiet. I stepped away again, hand still working under the dress.

"Where was I?"

"James made his first mistake."

"Right."

I smiled, fingers slipping beneath the edge of my underwear now, finding myself already wet.

"He let me cuff him to the wall."

I slipped one strap of the dress slightly down my shoulder. Not much. Enough. My other hand stayed busy, two fingers sliding through my folds, gathering slickness.

"And then I backed away."

The client's attention followed me.

"I didn't touch James."

Another step, another slow stroke.

"I didn't have to."

I let the strap fall a little farther.

"He could see me."

I turned so the bare expanse of my back faced him again. My hand never stopped.

"He could watch."

I glanced over my shoulder, fingers circling my clit in tight, deliberate loops.

"But that was all."

My client breathed out. I liked that sound. I liked causing it. I moved another few feet away, hips rocking faintly into my own touch.

"And I asked him what he wanted."

"What did he say?"

I looked at him.

"Careful."

He smiled apologetically. I let him wait. Then continued, voice lower now, two fingers pressing inside myself as I spoke.

"He said he wanted me."

Something in my voice changed. Very slightly.

"And I said, 'That isn't an answer.'"

I wasn't looking at my client anymore. Not really. I could see James. Not this room. Another one. James watching me. James unable to reach me. James finally forced to say what he wanted. My fingers curled, finding the spot that made my knees soften.

"So I asked him again."

I took the other strap down.

"What do you want?"

The client shifted. I saw it.

"Stop."

He froze.

"Hands flat."

He obeyed. I walked toward him, still slowly fucking myself with my fingers, the wet sound soft but unmistakable.

"You want me to keep going?"

"Yes."

"Take it out."

His eyes widened slightly. I didn't smile.

"Now."

He obeyed.

"One finger."

I held mine up again--the one glistening.

"That's all."

He nodded.

"If you forget, I leave."

"I won't forget."

"Good."

I stepped back. The dress had loosened enough now that I had to hold it lightly against myself with one hand while the other stayed buried between my legs. The effect was probably better than removing it. My client certainly thought so. I returned to the story, voice softer, fingers moving deeper.

"James was still against the wall."

"He was watching me."

I walked backward slowly, hips rolling against my hand.

"And I told him I might leave."

The thought hit me harder than I expected. Fantasy James looked at me. Real James looked at me. I heard myself say, "Maybe I should." My client didn't know whether I was talking to him. Neither did I. I turned away, rubbing myself harder.

"And that's when James started begging."

I waited. The client was utterly still now. So was I--except for the steady movement of my hand.

"He said, 'Please.'"

I swallowed, two fingers thrusting.

"I said, 'Please what?'"

I wanted the answer before I even gave it to him. Stay. Come back. Don't leave me. Pick one. Any one. Please, Sienna. I need you. But that wasn't what James said in my story.

"Please sleep with me."

I stopped walking. The room suddenly felt colder. My client was watching me. I laughed once. Not because it was funny. My fingers kept moving.

"That's what he said."

I looked toward the imaginary James.

"Is that all you want?"

I waited as though he might actually answer.

"Yes.

I want you."

"No."

My voice sharpened.

"You want sex."

Silence. I walked toward the client again. He watched me carefully now. I think he sensed the change without understanding it. I let the dress fall a little lower. My hand never left my cunt.

"What about me?"

The question wasn't for him. It definitely wasn't.

"What about everything else?"

I imagined James pulling against the cuffs. I imagined him looking at me exactly the way he had the other night. My fingers worked faster.

"I want you, Sienna."

"That's not what I asked."

My client shifted.

"Stop."

He stopped immediately. I stared at him, still touching myself openly.

"Did I say you could do that?"

"No."

"No."

I moved closer.

"You don't decide what happens next."

"I understand."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

I stood directly in front of him. The dress was barely staying where I wanted it now. His eyes dropped--to my hand, moving steadily between my thighs.

"Look at me."

He did.

"Good."

I stepped back again. In the story, James was still waiting. Still cuffed. Still asking for the wrong thing. My fingers were slick, circling, pressing.

"So I told him what he was missing."

I turned slowly.

"My back."

His eyes followed.

"My legs."

I let the skirt slide higher as I walked, giving him a clear view of my hand working under it.

"The way I looked when I knew he couldn't touch me."

I glanced over my shoulder.

"The way I smiled when he asked."

My client's face had changed completely. So had mine.

"And I asked him again."

I faced imaginary James.

"Is sex really all you want from me?"

The answer came immediately.

"Yes."

It hurt. Which was ridiculous. I had invented the answer. I could have changed it. I could have made fantasy James say anything I wanted. Don't leave. I love you. I need you. Instead I made him say:

"Yes. That's all I want."

For a moment I said nothing. Then I smiled, and my fingers pushed deeper.

"All right."

My client's breathing changed.

I didn't skip what happened next this time.

I told him how I walked back to James, how I unlocked the cuffs one wrist at a time while he stayed perfectly still, waiting, cock hard and leaking against his stomach. How I pushed him down onto the bed and climbed over him without letting him touch me yet. How I held his wrists above his head with one hand while I guided him inside me with the other, sinking down slowly, taking every inch until I was seated fully on him.

I described the stretch, the heat, the way his hips jerked upward the second I started to move. How I rode him with deliberate, grinding rolls of my hips, one hand braced on his chest, the other still pinning his wrists. How I leaned down so my mouth was against his ear and told him exactly how good he felt, how full I was, how I could feel him throbbing every time I clenched around him.

I told the client how James's breath had gone ragged, how he kept saying my name like a prayer and a curse at the same time. How I sat up again and put both hands on his chest so I could fuck him harder, rising almost all the way off before slamming back down, the wet sound of it loud in the room. How I reached between us and rubbed my clit while I rode him, chasing my own pleasure first, making him watch.

How I came like that--hard, shaking, cunt pulsing around his cock--and still didn't stop. How I kept moving through it, using him, until he broke and thrust up into me desperately, hands finally free and gripping my hips hard enough to bruise as he came deep inside me with a broken sound that almost sounded like my name.

I let my own dress fall farther as I told it. I let myself imagine James. My fingers were buried inside myself now, fucking in the same rhythm I was describing, thumb working my clit in tight circles. And despite everything--despite my anger, despite the stupid answer I had put in his mouth, despite knowing exactly why I was doing this--I got swept into it too.

For a little while there was no client. No room. No Lexi. Just James. I gave fantasy James exactly what he asked for. Nothing more. And somehow I gave myself to the fantasy with him.

When it was over, I stood very still. My breathing was uneven. My hand was still between my legs, fingers slow now, almost gentle. The room came back slowly. So did the man in the chair. He looked completely overwhelmed. For several seconds neither of us spoke. Then I realized he had finished too.

Following my ridiculous little rule. That should have amused me. Earlier in the evening it would have. Now my first thought was: Seriously? That was all it took? And immediately I hated myself for thinking it. He hadn't done anything wrong. He had followed every instruction. He had trusted me. He had enjoyed exactly what Lexi had promised him. An hour ago I had liked him. I still liked him. This wasn't about him. So I put Sienna back on.

The good Sienna. The professional one. The woman Lexi could trust with someone she wanted to see again. I smiled, withdrawing my hand and letting the dress settle back into place as best it could.

"Wow."

He laughed, embarrassed. I crossed toward him.

"That was incredibly hot."

"Really?"

"Really."

The lie came easily. Not entirely a lie, I told myself. His reaction probably had been hot. I just hadn't been there for it. I had been somewhere else with someone else.

"You were so good."

He looked absurdly pleased.

"You actually followed my rule."

"Barely."

That earned a real smile from me.

"I respect that."

I started pulling the dress back into place. He watched me. This time I didn't correct him.

"You should come back."

His expression brightened.

"I'd like that."

"Good."

I reached behind myself and adjusted the dress. For the first time all evening, I wished it covered more. He watched me for another moment. Then said, "Can I ask you something?"

"Maybe."

"Who's James?"

My hands stopped. Of course. I turned toward him. The answer came before I had time to think about it.

"No one."

He waited. I smiled.

"James was just a client."

That sounded wrong. So I added the rest.

"Just like you are."

His expression didn't change. Why would it? He couldn't hear the lie. But I could. God, I could. I finished adjusting my dress and picked up my shoes. The client smiled at me.

"Good story."

"Thanks."

"I liked James."

I looked at him.

"I didn't."

That made him laugh. It wasn't supposed to. I walked to the door.

"Sienna?"

I looked back.

"Yeah?"

"I really would like to do this again."

Professional Sienna smiled.

"Then you should."

I closed the door behind me. And the second it shut, the smile disappeared. I leaned against the hallway wall. I had gotten exactly what I wanted. I had made James beg. I had made him helpless. I had made him watch me walk away. I had even controlled every word that came out of his mouth. And somehow, in a fantasy where James could say absolutely anything I wanted him to say, I still couldn't make him ask me to stay.

Worse, when he asked me for sex instead, I gave it to him. And I had enjoyed it. For a few minutes it had felt almost real. Now it felt like I had just had meaningless sex with James. At his request. I closed my eyes.

"Fuck."

Lexi's voice came from farther down the hall.

"Good fuck or bad fuck?"

I opened my eyes. She was watching me.

"Long story."

She looked toward the closed door behind me.

"He happy?"

"Very."

"You?"

I thought about lying. Then I thought about James cuffed to a wall that didn't exist, begging me for something I didn't want him to want.

"No."

Lexi's expression changed. I picked up my purse.

"I think I need to go somewhere." But I didn't think I'd be welcome, so I stayed.