Safe Word: An Erotic S/M Novel by Molly Weatherfield

there-well, he'd chosen her at the auction, hadn't he? Tacky though, showing her off to that kid, that
waiter, like that-and I would have punished her for so evidently
enjoying his hand on her. And in her, too, jeez. I like the hotel
part though, lovely, all the fetishes, the tears. I look forward to
watching them work you. Oh, yes, please.
    I'll make love to her now, or in a moment, he thought. She
deserves it. Although usually he masturbated to her stories. Or
thrust himself into her mouth, sometimes just before she finished
the last words. But he was feeling pleasantly affectionate at the
moment-and anyway, they'd fucked so hard earlier that this
time he'd been able to let the buzz build slowly, free of urgency.
But it was getting on time, now, he thought lazily....
    So he didn't comprehend at first when she informed him that
now she'd like a story in return, please.
    He sputtered a bit in amazement.
    "You heard me," she said.
    "But you're the storyteller," he protested, weakly.
    "And just where," she demanded, "is that written?"
    He sighed. A story? My god, what was she going to ask for
next? Still, he couldn't very well wimp out on it. And after all,
there was a lot he needed to tell her. But making a story out of
it-deciding what counted as beginning, middle, and end. The
exposure-one thing to lay your body on the line, but to lay out
your sentences, your sensibility, to scrutiny like that-well, he'd
do it, but just this once.

    "Okay," he laughed. `Just give me a minute."
JONATHAN TELLS A STORY
    There were parties to go to, the nights before the auction.
During the days, I wandered around the city-it had a few good
buildings to look at. Kate had accompanied me on a few of
these walks, when she'd had time for me-when she didn't
have meetings to attend, appointments to keep. She wasn't
going to have any time for me today, though; the governing
board of the auction association would be voting on the coming
year's budget. I was envious of how seriously she took it all.
    I shivered as she pulled away from me, chilly air rushing
in to replace the warm, rosy flesh that had engulfed my body.
I sighed, looking out the window at the lead-colored sky. A
freezing rain was beginning to fall.
    "There's nothing I want to see at the cinematheque
today," I said. "And the museums are closed. Good thing I've
still got a few crappy novels to plow through."
    "You'll get cranky, reading in here all day" She sat back
on her haunches as my cock dropped out of her. Her knees
were still tight around my thighs. "I'll send somebody over to
keep you occupied this afternoon."
    "Thanks," I said, holding onto her ass, trying to keep
her in bed, "but I'm already cranky. Do you have to go?"
    I could see the little vertical line peeking out below the
red-gold bangs falling down her forehead. She gets that line
there when I act spoiled, babyish. I sighed again, letting just a
little too much time go by before I said anything.

    "I'm sorry," I said then, reaching up to trace that line
with my finger, and then tracing her profile, her pure jawline,
the silky curtain of bobbed hair bending against the back of
my hand. "Of course you have to go," I said.
    She swung a leg over me and sat on the side of the bed,
elbows on her knees, letting herself hang for a moment, her
flesh taking on bluish tones, the cynical sag of a Degas whore
squatting over a washbasin. My chest tightened-she doesn't
usually let me see her that way; I'd be insanely jealous if I
thought she allowed anybody else that intimacy. And then
she stood up quickly, belly concave, everything suddenly
tight and pumped and in place. She was pretty pissed at me.
    She seemed to have cheered up, though, after her shower.
She kept the bathroom door open, letting in fragrant steamy
air, and chattered about the silly characters she'd have to
argue down at the meeting. She wouldn't tell me what they'd
be arguing about, though.
    "I mean, it is a `secret