by dmf19841966

Pairing: JB/OFC

Rating: R to NC-17, mild B&D.

Author’s notes: Follows “After-2”, logically enough. Of course it is still a “Mary Sue”. I don’t own any of the CSI characters and am not making money from this. That’s not the point of a PWP, is it?

I’m not sure where this muse is coming from, but she can stay as long as she does the dishes.


It was just a matter of time before handcuffs were involved.

Not Jim’s real cop-version ones, mind you, because he convinced me that those could hurt, even inadvertently. He also convinced me that he wanted to be the first to try this idea. He said something about not being yet comfortable with the idea of restraining me. I trusted him completely; he trusted me completely. Right now, though, the way Jim looked and sounded, I wasn’t sure it was entirely altruism on his part.

Jim Brass was spread-eagled naked on the canopy bed in all of his hirsute glory, his arms and legs bound with scarves to the bedposts, looking rather tasty all sweaty and aroused like that. I was having a somewhat difficult time just now, keeping up my role as the dominant partner, but we’d promised to try it out. The code word we’d agreed upon was “ravioli”. What is it about sex and food metaphors?

“Would you like some water?” I asked him, holding the flexible straw where he could see it. We had finished a bottle of wine at dinner, just enough to relax, but didn’t want to be impaired completely.

His eyes were heavy-lidded, and his mouth partly open. He wet his lips slightly before he answered me. “Yes, please.” I held the cup and straw to his mouth so that he could reach. He swallowed the sip of ice water and breathed out, almost a sigh. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re quite welcome. Now, where were we?” I leaned down to kiss him, forcing my tongue into his mouth, teasing and tasting. But only for a moment. He made a noise of frustration when I pulled away and sat up. “Ah ah ah. Impatient again?”

I could see the muscles in his jaw working, but he didn’t seem upset. “Yes, ma’am. I am impatient, and I apologize.” Jim closed his eyes and breathed out again. He tugged half-heartedly at the scarves that held his wrists. I had to admire what that did for his arms, chest and shoulders.

“I accept.” Swiftly, I leaned down to take his erection into my mouth, coating it with the ice cube I held inside my cheek. He flinched and bucked, and I didn’t have to look to know that his head was thrown back. He gasped and then groaned as I sucked harder, teasing the tip of his cock with my tongue.

“Oh, thank you,” he said softly. “Oh God…” As I continued to suck and lick (lollipop, lollipop, oh lolly lolly pop…), I could feel the tension in his legs as he shuddered with pleasure. He was getting close and so was I to tell the truth, feeling tingly and wet between my own legs.

Not wanting to pop the cork prematurely, so to speak, I sat up again and smacked my lips a little lasciviously at him. He was breathing deeply and the passionate fire was written all over his face. “That was tasty, my little cupcake.” Again with the food metaphors?

He smiled modestly. “For you, ma’am.” Jim deliberately made sure he was using his best “phone sex” voice on me. “Anything.” His cobalt-blue eyes were positively glittering in the candlelight.

“Oooh, and that was very nice of you,” I said seductively, climbing onto his upper thighs and straddling him. “Tell me what should be your reward.” My breasts jutted forward when he eyed them, coveting in the silence.

He didn’t say anything, but tried to lift his hips. His body glistened with sweat and honey (and edible massage oil…yum). I reached down to stroke him, caressing his balls with one hand. But when he still didn’t say anything, I gently scratched his thighs with my fingernails and sat back with my arms crossed. He actually bit his lower lip and squirmed under me.

“Tell me,” I said, more commanding now. I rose up on my knees and positioned myself over him, not quite touching but very, very close.

“Please,” he said in a husky voice. He cleared his throat. “Please ma’am.”

I raised my eyebrows; a question as I took just the moist tip of him into my body. “Please ma’am, what?”

He bucked once and thrust himself fully into me (oh boy). “Please ride me. Hard.” This was really getting difficult. I let him thrust a few more times, before I leaned forward, carefully placing my hands on either side of his head on the mattress, and ground down onto his length. I even remembered how to do my Kegel exercises.

“You mean like this?” I teased, kissing his bare neck as he arched back on the pillow. I licked across his throat toward his ear, and then stopped, holding his throbbing arousal with my own.

He looked at me, somewhat in disbelief, and then he smiled wolfishly and something ripped. Two somethings actually. Soon he had his freed hands on my shoulders as he sat up and pushed into me.

“Oh, yeah. Fuckin’ ravioli; fuckin’ spaghetti; fuckin’ manicotti; fuckin’…”

“Baked ziti?” I suggested helpfully, trying not to snicker.

He laughed as he kissed my neck, probably leaving a mark. “Sure, why not?” His ankles were still bound, but that didn’t interfere at all as we got serious. When the waves of pleasure crashed over us, Jim called my name, filling me and telling me that he loved me.

I woke a few hours later to the feel of his pleasantly warm weight on top of my body, my legs spread apart by his knees. He had pinioned both of my wrists above my head, and I could hear the quiet hum of a vibrator. I came fully awake as he kissed my face, my neck and my chest, nibbling here and there. Jim chuckled as I half-heartedly tried to lower my arms, weakly struggling against his grasp (yeah, sure I did).

“Uh uh, Mary. Your turn,” he whispered, fastening a soft blindfold to cover my eyes.

Lucky me.

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