Cherry Ripe

Archived: ask permission before archiving
Characters: Grissom & Sara
Beta: She knows who she is, and how much I love her. Still.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, adjusting the binding a fraction; as if a centimetre or two made that much difference.

Sara peered up at Gil, more bemused than annoyed. “I guess so,” she said. He smiled.

The position was odd, but the yoga she’d taken up after her arm healed helped, and Gil had thoughtfully placed a cushion beneath her tailbone to protect it from the hardness of the table.

“Good.” He tested the bonds holding her arms apart, the backs of her hands pressed to the flat cool surface. She presented a lewd picture; flat on her back, her hair pinned atop her head in a sloppy bun, her legs drawn up and bent to present her nether region in bold display. Sara didn’t know where he’d picked up the harness that held her legs in position; online somewhere, she supposed. She did know that it was quality. He insisted on quality in such things, and she could smell the leather, rich and oiled and supple.

She could also smell herself. Whatever her doubts about this, her body was stirring.

She wasn’t objecting, precisely; it was just that she didn’t see the need for such an elaborate setup. But Gil had offered to swap fantasies, and she - poor love-sotted mortal that she was - had agreed.

Satisfied, Gil turned away to the tray he’d brought with him, and Sara tugged at the restraints, more to check for discomfort than to try to wriggle free. But they were sound, and comfortable. The harness kept her legs from pressing into her chest, suspending them doubled over her, and nothing was too tight or hard.

“Ready?” Gil asked with an undercurrent of amusement in his voice. Sara held back a shiver at his deep silky tone; he only used that when they were in bed, or about to be.

He was setting her up. And she let him.

“Sure.” She kept it casual. This was hardly the first time one of them had tied the other up, or down; and it was always a playful battle of wills, though the victory inevitably went to the captor. The question was how long one could hold out...

Gil hummed acknowledgment and she heard the click of glass on lacquer, but he was standing below her and she could not see what he was doing. His fingers touched her, delicately spreading her open, and then something cool and wet pushed into her - small and round. Sara frowned, and as another followed the first, a burst of inspiration reminded her what Gil had been doing that morning.

Pitting black cherries.

Her frown melted into a smirk. “Isn’t this a little fruity?” she punned at him.

He chuckled, rich, low. “How many do you think you can hold?”

Sara felt herself stretching around a third, a fourth, a fifth. “I get the feeling I’m going to find out.” The alien firm coolness was undeniably arousing; her own juices were slicking out to meet and warm the fruits. A brief, involuntary spasm pulled them deeper into her.

Gil slowly inserted two more, which filled her about as far, she estimated, as she could hold without losing one. “The game is time,” he said, pressing the last sphere home. “Lose one and it’s finished.”

The sudden touch of wetness against her labia made her start, and spasm again, and Gil swiftly pushed the last fruit back into her. Gritting her teeth, Sara schooled herself against another such. “What’s that?” she asked, as something soft stroked over her, top to bottom and back. As she spoke, though, the scent came to her, sweet and strong. Honey.

“I am setting my seal upon you,” Gil said, pleased. “If you hold them until I come back...”

He trailed off, and Sara arched an ironic brow at the ceiling and made an inquiring noise.

Gil leaned in over her belly, his smile satyric. “...I’ll take your cherry, again and again.”

The promise riding on that gave her a full-body shudder of anticipation, her pose of indifference cracking. Gil chuckled again, and slowly circled each of her stiff nipples with the little brush he held, dabbing them with honey. Then he picked up his equipment and left her.

Sara knew two things for certain: he would remain within the sound of her call and come instantly if she summoned him, either to end the game or due to some emergency; and he would not tell her how long he would be gone.

The room was warm enough that she would not chill, and quiet. They possessed no clock that ticked, and the drawn shades let only indirect light into the room. Sara stared upward, excruciatingly aware of the fruits nestled within her. It took a certain amount of concentration to keep her muscles from clenching and spilling forth their contents, and it was part and parcel of Gil’s devilish mind to devise this. Relax, and she lost; concentrate too hard, and excite herself even further, making it that much more difficult to maintain the balance required.

She flexed her hands restlessly; her fingers brushed the edges of her bonds when she curled them in towards her wrists, but she could not do more than work a fingernail beneath the leather. It didn’t matter, though, the point was not escape but endurance.

It was hard not to dwell on the cherries. They were warm, now, an arousing intrusion, a constant tease. Gil’s words ran through her mind again, laying out the terms of their game, and Sara tried to distract herself; picturing a lively lecture, or a walk on the waterfront, or photographing footprints along a stretch of macadam.

It almost worked, too. Until the honey began to itch.

Gil had to have diluted it with something, she realized with an irritated, amused dismay, or it would not be evaporating. The tender skin of her labia was beginning to tighten and tingle, and her nipples - already stiffened from his attentions - were hardening further and starting to ache. Sara wanted to squirm - she wanted to touch them, rub them, soothe them. She wanted to close her legs and ease that exposed flesh.

But she could do little more besides press her shoulders against the table. The harness did not allow her to close her legs, and she knew that if she shifted her hips too far, the last cherry would pop out and she would lose the game.

Sara didn’t intend to lose. Closing her eyes, she set herself to endure. The itch was maddening; making her wetter, making her pussy plump itself around its burden. Sara tightened her jaw and began to plot revenge on her tormenter.

She already had a fantasy in mind for when her turn arrived, but she indulged herself with other ideas, less elaborate and more direct. For instance, tying Gil to the bed and sucking him off for an hour - letting him beg and curse and threaten while she teased and licked. Or sitting him in a chair and forbidding him to move a muscle while she stripped slowly and brought herself off even more slowly.

Oh, yes, that was a good one, maybe she would bring out her box of toys. Surely some of them could be adapted for use on her sweet prisoner; she’d always wanted to see how a man would react to a vibrator applied to his balls. She could just imagine him, every inch rock-hard and sweat pouring from him, quivering and furious as she indulged herself with her choicest playthings -

Her soft whimper was involuntary. This wasn’t helping; it wasn’t helping at all.

Gil’s choice of fantasy was proving fiendish. Sara wanted to squeeze so much; wanted to make those cherries MOVE and give her at least a little relief. But she had to wait and let them sit, heavy and firm, while every part of her was straining for satisfaction.

She realized that she had no concept of how much time had passed. Einstein’s quip about relativity passed through her head and she whimpered again; this was definitely hot stove territory. The seconds were mincing past and each one brought another gossamer layer of sensation and another maddening thought. She wanted to lay Gil flat and ride him to exhaustion, or find him jerking off and take advantage, or just TOUCH herself before she went utterly insane -

“Well done.” Gil’s voice made her start, and Sara lifted her head, glaring over her own body at his figure in the doorway. He was still wearing his jeans and t-shirt, leaning against the lintel with his arms folded.

“Dammit, Gil,” she began, but he laughed and stepped into the room, running a hand over his beard to make her moan. She had a love-hate relationship with that beard; she liked his face better without it, except when it was between her legs. The scrape of his whiskers on her skin was something she had fantasised about for years.

“It looks as though you’ve earned your reward,” he said, and bent to move something from under the table. A low chair, Sara supposed, because he vanished from her line of sight. She felt as taut as wire, humming with desperate need, and when he blew a gentle breath over her pussy Sara couldn’t keep back an inarticulate sound.

“I used to play this fantasy in my head when I was younger and more arrogant,” Gil said musingly, and she quivered with the effort of not shoving herself at him. “Of being in the company of a group of wealthy men, all of us seated at a long table, indulging in a fine meal.” She felt his breath caress her labia, and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Each place had a beautiful woman, naked and bound just as you are,” he went on. “Well, perhaps with cotton rope. But the key was that each woman held dessert - was dessert. Each one different.”

The warm, wet tip of his tongue trailed up the seam of her pussy, and Sara whimpered again. “Mmm. The one with the banana was really something, I’ll admit, even though I don’t like bananas.” He took a longer lick, stroking away some of the honey mixture and leaving her skin tingling. “But that one was over too fast.”

Gil blew again, cooling her skin, and Sara squirmed outright, just barely managing to keep the outermost cherry. Gil laughed once more. “I preferred to go slowly.”

His mouth descended on her, lips pulling lightly at the skin, tongue lapping up the stickiness he’d painted there. His beard prickled delightfully, rubbing against the crease of her thighs; Sara threw her head back and started to pant.

The first cherry was easily plucked; a flick of his tongue and he drew it forth, and she heard it pop between his teeth and the sound of his swallow. The sharper smell of the fruit mingled with her own musky scent, and Sara’s hips moved against the table, helplessly. Gil’s hands braced against her bottom, and she felt his thumbs spread her wider for his delectation.

Her vision was blurring, but there was little to see but the top of his head and the occasional wicked gleam of his eyes. He cleaned her most thoroughly, licking and nibbling and avoiding her swollen clit with careful cruelty. The second cherry he sucked gently out, rubbing it against her briefly before crushing and swallowing it.

She wanted to curse him; but she was beyond words. The third cherry evoked only wordless moans, and Sara lost her grip on rational thought, unable to do anything but feel as he laid tiny nips in random places. For the fourth one he simply teased her until it slid out, centimetre by centimetre; he pressed it back with his tongue once or twice, coaxing it out again with a suckle or a touch. By the time he finally ate it, she was rigid and twitching, and did not recognize the sounds she was making.

“Three more,” he whispered against her flesh. “Fast or slow?”

Sara couldn’t answer him, but at last he took pity on her. His middle finger slid deep inside her, and the flat of his tongue covered her clit, moving in the strong massaging circles that he knew could not be resisted. He suckled once, twice, thrice, each time pressing his finger down, and as each cherry slid free, Sara screamed, the consuming electricity of ecstacy whiting out her sight and sending her tumbling into furious bliss.

It took a very long time to ebb. When her muscles finally relaxed, she realized that Gil was still licking her in a lazy fashion, prolonging the pleasure that made her twitch limply in her bonds. She sucked in air.

Finally he ceased, and stood to release her before bending to lay a kiss on her slack mouth. He tasted like musk and salt and cherries, and looked well pleased with himself. She shook her head a little, smiling and still beyond words.

Gil grinned back and lowered his mouth to her breasts, removing the honey with quick efficiency and making her shiver with aftershocks of pleasure. Sara managed to pull her arms in to her chest and roll onto her side.

“You have an evil, evil mind,” she told him hoarsely, which only pleased him the more, to judge from his smug expression. He slid an arm under her to help her sit up, and offered her a glass of water.

She drank thirstily, and felt refreshed. “What about you?”

His smirk went wry, and Gil took her hand and pressed it to his groin. Instead of the bulge she expected, there was a considerable wet spot. “This fantasy was somewhat more intense than I expected,” he said ruefully.

Sara laughed, and managed to raise her limp body enough to kiss him. “Wait until you see mine.”

THE END