Short Story: Crown
The box Larissa brought with her contained black cord, a jar of honey, a silver spoon with a long, spindly handle…and a triple crown cock ring.
The last item K. picked up with pinched fingers, like he was holding a dead mouse by the tail, and examined held out from him as far as his arm could stretched, eyes glancing at it almost sideways.
Larissa giggled, and he looked at her sharply. “No.”
One explosive word, and she stopped giggling. Larissa’s face became hard and serious, and she pulled her clinging navy sweater over her head.
As the sweater fell to the floor, she leaned forward, her breasts pushing together, raising the ruffles of her bright blue bra. K. swallowed; Larissa hadn’t worn that one for a while. He never told her, but it was his favourite. His eyes traveled to her legs – clad in dark denim, stretched tight over her glorious full thighs.
His hand started to shake. “For goodness sake,” he muttered. He tossed the triple crown on the coffee table; it clacked on the wood with the weight of a falling sword. K. crossed his arms, feet rooted to the ground, legs apart. For once, just once, he would take a stand. Larissa could push him to the edge, but she wasn’t going to send him falling off it.
Larissa straightened up, her breasts shifting again to ease. He sometimes wondered how she would look with longer hair, if it would spill over her body like water. Yet…she would not be Larissa without the peroxide spikes, the ruby-red nails sharpened to points. With long hair, she would have been a witch to him; instead, she was all power, pride, strength he used to think he possessed, until he met her.
K. never thought he’d enjoy being beaten in a match of physical skill by a woman. But she’d been taking bets in the bar that night for arm wrestles, he’d sat down with cool confidence, sure of his win.
And damn him if her victorious grin, and those hard, diamond-blue eyes hadn’t made his cock so hard so fast he’d had trouble standing up.
Larissa said, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
K. looked at her askance. “Yeah?”
Her response was faux demure, a mockery of sweetness. “Not today. That’s a promise.”
“What’s that about then?” He pointed at the triple crown.
“We take it off if it starts to hurt.” She spoke flatly, with a finality that suggested he was an idiot for thinking otherwise. Despite the stance he took, K. flinched, and could only look at her from under his eye lashes, apologetic.
“It’s not about hurting you – it’s about challenging you.” She smirked. “The honey is a reward.”
That made him smiled. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Larissa held up the black cord, twined around her fingers. “I want to see how far you can go.” She plucked at the strand that ran between them as if it were a guitar string, and grinned, her teeth a mere sliver of white between her red lips.
Then she said, her voice frighteningly steady, “Take off your clothes, and pick it up again, my sweet.”
The spot at the base of K’s throat pulsed. Damn, he thought, and blood streaked up his thighs and along his now-hardening cock. Still, though his breath was unsteady, he undressed inch by inch. She snapped the cord a couple of times, the heavy pluck resonating, but he didn’t move any faster. When he was naked, he curled the triple crown into his palm, and knelt, hands folded in front of him, just hovering over his hard-on. Heat rushed down his spine as her nails skimmed the back of his neck.
L. clicked her fingers, holding out her palm. She smiled when Kieran obeyed the implicit instruction, and passed her the triple crown. His hands immediately went back to covering his cock.
“Hands behind your back,” she said in a low voice.
Kieran pursed his lips, but did it anyway. It revealed his half-hard cock, and exposed his nipples, two round buds.
L smiled. Had Kieran simply given in, there would be no thrill. His pushing back against her, his resistance, was all to be carefully scraped away by tiny, calculated manoeuvres; the right moment to undress, the way to make her breasts move with the changing angle of her body, the exact pressure of her nails on his skin.
She knew he loved being beaten. Not beaten up, but defeated. Made to yield to the loss as if swallowed by hot steam.
But she had not quite won this one yet.
L. tucked the triple crown into her pocket, and knelt next to him with the black cord. First she tied his wrists together, then looped the cord down, tugging his arms back as she did, and wound it around his ankles. It forced him back, his chest expanding, as his shoulders rolled back. Kieran’s body was tone and definition, almost pure muscle and bone, but this position made him seem wider, larger. Yet perfectly vulnerable.
She stood, and nudged his knees further apart with the toe of her combat boot. His balls eased away from his body to hang between his legs. Kieran’s stomach quivered. L.’s fluttered in response. She could taste his anticipation. As she pulled the triple crown out of her pocket, Kieran swallowed.
L. rolled it around her palms. “I’m going to put this on you now. You stay very, very still, yes?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
Once more she knelt, and she took hold of his cock and balls in one palm, and slid the largest loop down his shaft, pushing each testes through. His whole body was as taut as a bow string, waiting, she thought, for a sharp fingernail to nick his delicate scrotum. But there would be no pain for him. Not today.
Not that kind of pain, at any rate.
When it was done, L. patted the head of his cock. “There. A crown for a prince.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, only for them to fly open and him half gasp, half cough, when she squeezed his shaft.
L. laughed, and leaned forward to kiss him, hand now rubbing up and down his cock.
Larissa’s kiss was soft and brief, belying the strength with which she gripped his cock. K. couldn’t stop for surging forward to try keep them, only to find he was hindered by the cord at his wrists. His breath hitched in frustration, and he rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the constriction, trying to find a way to slide his wrists out. Larissa caught him under the chin, and shook her head. Not going to happen, her eyes said.
The triple crown, now on him, was oddly comfortable. Encircling the base of his shaft and testes, before one ring took in his cock and the other his balls, it was like they were being separated gently from his body. A pleasant drawing back of the skin. It wasn’t sharp, or harsh, as he first thought it would be.
K. wondered if she’d had it custom made, if during her explorations and many victories over him, she was able to ascertain his girth. He wouldn’t put it passed her. He’d put nothing passed it if it meant another way she could beat him.
His cock jerked in her hand at thought, and she sniggered. If only she knew.
“What are you going to do?”
Her mouth murmured at his jaw line, and he was aware, not for the first time, of the fragility of his face under her touch. She didn’t respond. Instead, she sought out one nipple, and flicked it harder than it already was. K. bit his lip, and made a sound like ‘unf’ when she began drawing his foreskin over the head of his cock as well. The co-ordination between her mouth and hands, so practised, so skilled, soon had him panting. His cock grew harder, expanded against the rings, his balls growing heavier, and God, he tried to buck into her hand, but his body threatened to topple He tried to keep his throat open and not make those puppy-dog cries he knew was liable to, but he expelled a whimper when she stopped, and settled back on her own knees, her white teeth sinking onto her red lips, smug and teasing.
“Larissa, don’t – ” he begged.
She blinked at him innocently. “Don’t what? Do this?”
One hand shot forward like a snake strike, hold his chest in place, while the other snatched his cock up again and began pumping, with none of the craftiness from before. This was the purest, most furious hand job she could manage. K. moaned, jerking his head back, eyes rolling to the ceiling, body rocking from side to side. Larissa braced him with the single hold of her palm, and the grip on his cock.
It was when he started repeating ‘yes, yes, yes’, that she change tactics once more.
“Oh fuck!” His neck jerked forward, and his eyes met hers, glaring through his arousal, hating and loving her cunning mouth.
Her hand snaked and squeezed the length of his shaft, cupped the head so her the centre of her palm met the slit of his urethra, rubbing like she was polishing him. Worse was when she left his cock and took his scrotum between thumb and forefinger, rolling over his balls back and forth. His balls in particular felt like they were leaving his body, being drawn away while being desperate to want to lock to him. The metal of the triple crown was now warm against him, as it wanting to blend into his body, to leave his genitals like that – presented and at a distance from him, and forever hard.
K. wasn’t sure how long she jerked him off, how long her hand tortured him with the extensive pleasure. His arms and knees were getting sore, but he wouldn’t complain, and that soon passed when his body began to flush with the realisation he’d come soon. It was so much longer than before, so much more than he’d been able to keep it up before.
As if reading his mind, Larissa said, “You look so tasty like that.” And mid movement up his cock, her hand left him, and K. mewled, trying to wrench his body forward, but Larissa calmly opened the jar of honey, as if his pulsing body and straining cock weren’t there.
When she dipped the spoon into the honey, her eyes met his.
“I think this will be the best honey I’ve tasted in a long time.”
All he could do was nod, and hope she did want he wanted.
K. started to tremble when she let the honey spill down his chest, allowing it to trail down to his cock. The honey was cool, and clung to his skin like come. He was chewing on his lower lip when she pressed the end of the spoon against the head, and pushed his foreskin back just a little. L. grinned, lifted the spoon away, and bent her head to take his cock in her mouth.
It was exactly what he wanted, and it made him scream.
A woman on her knees, before he’d met Larissa, always seemed in submission, meek and compliant. With her hands on his knees, her denim-clad arse in the air, her blonde head rising and falling, it could have been the perfect porn image. But the ferocious clamp and suck of her lips, the way her tongue moved without ever seeming to leave the inside of her mouth, the curve of her back, all said that is was she who was in command, and with his bound body and ringed cock, he was utterly powerless.
He gave himself to her, and he came.
The contractions he expected from his groin turned into the sensation of being split apart, with a scorching delicacy, like his cock and balls were pinned down while exploding. K. made harsh, guttural sounds as Larissa continued to suck and suck. She could have drunk in everything he was. This was the ultimate conquest when the victor eats their defeated. Larissa could defeat him over and over again, and he’d lie spent and devoured, only to rise again the challenge each time, for another cataclysmic fall.
K. was still shuddering when Larissa drew her mouth away. His vision was hazy, but her saw her lash her tongue across her lips, grinning like a lioness. She reached around behind him, and untied the cord at his wrists, though not his ankles. K. stumbled forward, and she caught him, stoking his head, saying his name softly, telling him she loved him and he’d done really well.
When his breathing returned to a steady pace, Larissa nudge him back again, and positioned herself so she hovered above his knees. She unhooked her bra. Her breasts never seemed so pillowy as they did then.
“Now your reward.”
She picked up the spoon again, and dribbled the honey onto her bare breasts. K. knew what to do. He leaned forward to embrace her, and though his body was shaking and spent, paid special, careful attention to her breasts and nipples, licking the honey from her body as his hands clung to her back, and her hands rested above his shoulders. Always her on top, in charge. Beautiful in her victory.
Image found on flickr, by 23dingenvoormusea, used under the Creative Commons License.