Knowing What To Wish For by Alicia Sparks
part of the Wild Shifters anthology
erotic paranormal shape shifter bdsm romance
Release Date: 01/23/2014
Cover art by Winterheart Design
When Hailey Conrad and her best friends head to New Orleans for her fortieth birthday, she has no plans for a hook up, but the mysterious stranger in the French Market seems to know exactly what she needs to mark the big 4-0. He gives her a wishing lamp with one warning: don’t make a wish. Of course, when she rubs the lamp, her most carnal fantasies come to life in a way she never imagined, leaving her knowing exactly what to wish for.
I awoke bound to a St. Andrew’s cross, my arms stretched out to the sides, my legs splayed so I resembled DaVinci’s drawing of the human form. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to my surroundings as my body began to protest its uncomfortable position. I was not standing. Instead, I was hanging midair with straps securing me at the waist, beneath my breasts and along my thighs. I felt as if I could spin in a complete circle while someone threw knives at my head in a carnival side show. With the exception that I was naked. Mostly.
The strap that ran beneath my breasts attached to a collar around my neck via pieces of Velcro. The sticky end was close to my skin, not touching me, but close enough so if I breathed too deeply, the rough fabric would rub against my tender nipples. I had already learned this, sucking in my breath upon awakening. Now, my nipples felt raw and the pain caused my stomach to twist in a way that was filled with anticipation.
The strap around my waist was similarly fashioned except in this case, the Velcro was firmly pressed against my pussy, rough side facing me, digging into my skin. My labia were stretched over the thin strip of fabric, and my clit was hardened against it. Even the slightest movement caused it to drag against my skin, forcing me to ache in the most exquisite combination of pleasure and pain.
I felt weak, but the weakness was from nothing more than my own lust and the fact that right now I felt like the most desirable person on the planet. Even with the sensations rushing through my body, my blood pooling around my swollen clit and sore pussy lips, I was on fire with lust.
The room was too dark for me to make out much more than a dark table a few feet in front of me. Various instruments of torture awaited me, bringing a smile to my lips. There was the leather whip with nine luscious tails that could tease and torment me, the wooden paddle with no cushion whatsoever, and the clamps that I knew would replace the Velcro rubbing against my nipples.
My entire body was on fire, and I struggled with the straps holding my arms in place. Twisting my hips as slightly as I could, I caused the rough sensation of Velcro against swollen flesh and I almost came instantly. I’m not sure why the pain turned me on so much. It had never been this way before. But then again, the past several weeks were unlike anything I had ever experienced.
My gaze lingered on the table of sexual delight, my mouth watering at the various toys laid out for my perusal, until I finally settled on the one thing that caused my breath to hitch in my throat and my stomach to twist into a knot that had nothing to do with lust.
It sat there, unassuming and made of glass. It looked to be a thousand years old, and I knew that it was in some way connected to my current state. I eyed the two glass bulbs, joined in the center by a metal clasp then fastened into a frame. The sand from the top bulb poured into the bottom one. Any other time, it would seem that the sand was moving too slowly, but I had become accustomed to its purpose over the past few weeks, and I knew it was moving far too quickly.
As soon as the sand moved from the top bulb to the bottom one, this illusion, this world that was holding me captive, would disappear.
I moaned a little, protesting my fate. I don’t know how often I had come here, to this dark place that seemed to exist somewhere between waking and sleep, but I awoke every time stiff and filled with longing. My body ached, and my wrists still bore the impressions of the straps holding me to the cross. I would look in the mirror to see the marks caused by the cat o’nine tails and the paddle. By the end of the day, they would fade and leave me longing for more.
I heard a long, low rumble somewhere in the darkness near the table, and I knew that he was here with me. I hadn’t seen his face yet, but I had felt his touch. Those strong arms had lifted me and moved me into positions I didn’t know my body could reach. Calloused hands had roamed over every inch of me, prodding, squeezing, peeling back my layers, delving deep inside. Another moan escaped my throat.
Would he touch me tonight?