Chapter 2: A Taste of Submission
The musty scent of decaying paper clung thick in the library basement stacks, a cloying perfume of forgotten knowledge. Ryan moved through the narrow aisles like a ghost, his fingers brushing the rough spines of outdated psychology journals without feeling them. The fluorescent lights above buzzed erratically, casting long, shifting shadows between the towering shelves. He wasn’t looking for a book. He was hiding. Hiding from Cameron’s easy questions, hiding from the bright, normal sunlight of the quad, hiding most of all from the phantom scent of amber, vanilla, and something darker that seemed to haunt his nostrils.
The image wouldn't leave him. The ruby plug, slick and gleaming, disappearing between her lips. The wet pop echoing in the silence of his own skull. The cool, appraising stare that saw everything – his shock, his arousal, his utter fucking helplessness. He leaned his forehead against a cold metal shelf, the chill a brief counterpoint to the feverish heat under his skin. His cock throbbed dully against the denim, a traitorous ache that warred with the nausea churning in his gut. Who feels truly known? Davies’ question mocked him. He felt flayed open, raw nerves exposed to the sterile air.
A soft scuff on the concrete floor behind him.
He froze. Every muscle locked. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He didn’t turn. Couldn’t.
Her scent washed over him first. Amber, vanilla, and beneath it, that intimate musk – stronger now, closer. Then her voice, low and smooth as silk over gravel, cut through the dusty silence right beside his ear.
"Lost, tattoo guy?"
He flinched violently, whirling around. She stood barely a foot away, a silhouette framed by the dim light filtering from the aisle’s end. Her burgundy sweater dress seemed to absorb the weak illumination, making her porcelain skin glow faintly. Her red hair, still in that severe ponytail, looked like a splash of arterial blood against the gloom. Her green eyes held no surprise, only a deep, unnerving calm. That knowing look.
Ryan’s throat closed. He tried to speak, managed only a choked rasp. "Channah… I…"
She didn’t let him finish. Her hand shot out, fingers surprisingly strong, wrapping around his wrist just above the coiled serpent tattoo. Her touch was electric, jolting him out of his paralysis. "Shut up." The command was flat, absolute. "Come with me."
She didn’t ask. She pulled. Ryan stumbled after her, his legs moving without conscious thought, propelled by the sheer force of her will and the terrifying magnetism she radiated. She navigated the labyrinthine stacks with unnerving familiarity, turning corners sharply, pulling him deeper into the basement’s forgotten heart. The air grew colder, damper. The buzzing lights became fewer, replaced by pools of deeper shadow. He saw glimpses of padlocked storage rooms, discarded furniture shrouded in dust sheets.
Then she stopped abruptly before a heavy, unmarked wooden door tucked into an alcove. Old lecture hall? Storage? Ryan didn’t know. She released his wrist only to fumble with a large, old-fashioned key she produced from her dress pocket. The lock turned with a rusty, protesting clunk. She shoved the door open, revealing darkness beyond.
"Inside." Her voice brooked no argument.
Ryan hesitated for a fraction of a second, the primal urge to bolt screaming through him. Her green eyes flicked to his, a silent challenge. Run, they seemed to say. See what happens. He stepped into the darkness.
The door slammed shut behind them with a finality that echoed. The lock clicked again. Pitch black swallowed them. Ryan’s breath came in short, sharp gasps. He could smell her perfume, stronger now in the confined space, mixed with dust and mildew. He could hear her breathing, steady and calm beside him.
Then, a faint click. A single, bare bulb hanging from a chain in the center of the room flickered to life, casting a weak, jaundiced glow. They stood in a small, disused seminar room. Dust motes danced in the feeble light. A few overturned chairs lay scattered. A large, scarred wooden table dominated the center. The air was thick, stale.
Channah turned to face him fully. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes burned with an intensity that pinned him to the spot. Without a word, she reached behind her back, beneath the hem of her burgundy dress. Ryan’s heart hammered against his ribs. He knew what she was doing.
Her hand reappeared, clutching the ruby plug.
It glistened wetly in the dim light, slick with her own juices. The deep red stone seemed to pulse with a dark life. She held it up, letting the weak light catch its facets, her eyes never leaving Ryan’s face. The musk in the air intensified, thick and primal.
"See?" she murmured, her voice a low thrum that vibrated in Ryan’s bones. "Still dirty from class. Needs cleaning."
She didn’t wait for a response. In one fluid motion, she spun around, presenting her back to him. Her hands went to the hem of her dress, hiking it up swiftly, ruthlessly, bunching the soft wool around her waist. The sheer black tights were gone. Only smooth, flawless porcelain skin met his gaze, the curve of her ass breathtakingly exposed. And nestled perfectly between the cheeks, glistening obscenely, was the empty socket where the plug had been. Wet. Pink. Inviting.
She bent forward at the waist, bracing her hands on the scarred wooden table. Her ass arched back towards him, a deliberate, undeniable offering. The ruby plug dangled from her fingers, dripping onto the dusty floorboards.
"Lick it clean," she commanded, her voice dropping to a guttural rasp that sent shivers down Ryan’s spine. "Like a good boy. Lick me clean."
Ryan stood frozen, his mind a white-noise scream. Shame warred with a savage, clawing hunger. The sight of her bent over, exposed, the scent of her arousal thick in the stale air, the memory of her sucking that plug… it short-circuited every rational thought. His cock strained painfully against his jeans, hard as iron.
"Now," she hissed, grinding her hips back slightly, emphasizing the glistening target. "Don’t make me ask twice."
The command shattered his paralysis. A low groan tore from his throat, part protest, part surrender. He stumbled forward, driven by a compulsion deeper than fear or reason. He dropped to his knees behind her on the dusty floor, the rough wood biting through his jeans. The proximity was overwhelming. Her scent enveloped him – musk, spice, the undeniable tang of her sex. He could see the fine down on her skin, the delicate pink furl of her asshole, slick and glistening.
He hesitated, his breath hot against her skin. His tongue felt thick, useless.
She felt it. She ground back harder, pressing her ass against his face. "Lick it, you fucking coward," she snarled, her voice tight with impatience and something else – a raw, desperate edge. "Taste it."
The contact jolted him. The warmth of her skin against his lips. The slickness. The overwhelming, primal scent. He closed his eyes, shutting out the room, shutting out everything but the sensation. His tongue darted out, tentative at first, a shy brush against the wet, warm flesh surrounding her asshole.
A sharp gasp escaped her. Her hips jerked minutely. "Yes…" It was a hiss of encouragement, laced with command. "Like that. Clean it."
Emboldened by the sound, driven by a hunger that obliterated shame, Ryan pressed forward. His tongue flattened, licking upwards in a broad, wet stroke from the base of her cleft, over the puckered, glistening rim, up towards the small of her back. The taste exploded on his tongue – musky, salty, uniquely her. It was filthy. Degrading. And utterly intoxicating. He groaned again, the vibration against her skin making her shudder.
He repeated the motion, longer, firmer this time, burying his face between her cheeks, inhaling her deeply. His hands, trembling, found her hips, gripping the smooth flesh, holding her steady as he feasted. He licked around the tight rim, probing gently with the tip of his tongue, feeling the incredible heat radiating from her core. She pushed back against him, grinding her ass against his mouth, demanding more.
"Fuck yes," she moaned, her voice thick, losing some of its sharp command, dissolving into raw sensation. "Just like that… lick my dirty hole… clean it with your fucking tongue…"
He obeyed, lost in the rhythm, in the taste, in the sheer taboo of it. His tongue worked her asshole relentlessly, circling, probing, fucking it shallowly with wet, sloppy strokes. He felt her muscles clench around the intrusion, heard her breath hitch into ragged gasps. One of her hands left the table, snaking back between her legs. He couldn’t see, but he heard the wet sound of her fingers finding her clit, rubbing furiously.
The sight, the sounds, the taste – it was too much. Ryan needed more. He needed to taste her properly. He needed that plug gone.
He pulled his face back slightly, panting. His lips and chin were slick with her wetness. "The plug…" he rasped, his voice rough, unfamiliar. "Let me… let me take it out…"
Her hand, slick with her own juices, shot back and grabbed his wrist again. Not pulling him away, but guiding him. She pressed his fingers against the wet, glistening plug still dangling from her hand. "Take it," she breathed, grinding her ass back against his face once more. "Take it and lick me properly. Lick my asshole like you fucking mean it."
Ryan fumbled, his fingers clumsy with arousal and urgency. He grasped the cool, slick metal base of the plug. It was still warm from her body. He pulled it gently from her grasp. The ruby glistened, coated in a clear, viscous sheen. He stared at it for a second, mesmerized, before tossing it aside onto the dusty floorboards with a soft thud. It rolled away, forgotten.
Now, nothing obscured her. He leaned in again, burying his face deep between her cheeks. His tongue sought her asshole directly, no barrier now. He licked hard, flat strokes over the tight, quivering ring, then pressed the tip firmly against it, pushing inward. She gasped, arching her back, pushing back hard against his mouth.
"Oh fuck… yes…" she moaned, her voice breaking. Her fingers worked frantically at her clit. "Lick it… fuck it with your tongue… deeper…"
He obeyed, spearing his tongue into her tight heat, fucking her asshole with slow, deliberate thrusts. The taste was intense, musky, deeply intimate. He groaned against her skin, the vibration making her cry out. He felt her muscles flutter around his tongue, felt the wetness dripping down onto his chin. He was drowning in her.
Her hand left her clit suddenly. He felt her fingers, slick and hot, fumbling behind her, searching. They found the waistband of his jeans, the button, the zipper. He froze, his tongue still buried deep inside her, as her fingers deftly popped the button, yanked down the zipper. Cool air hit his aching cock. Then her hand was inside his boxers, wrapping around his shaft.
Her grip was firm, possessive. She squeezed, her fingers slick with her own juices, sliding easily along his hard length. She stroked him once, twice, a slow, deliberate pull that drew a ragged groan from his throat. Her other hand braced harder on the table as she pushed her ass back harder onto his face, fucking herself on his tongue.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" she panted, her voice thick with exertion and arousal. She stroked him again, her thumb swirling over the slick head. "Licking my dirty ass while I jerk your cock? You filthy fucking boy."
Ryan couldn't speak. He could only moan, muffled against her skin, his tongue working her asshole frantically, matching the rhythm of her hand on his cock. The dual sensations were overwhelming – the tight, hot clench of her ass around his tongue, the slick, firm grip of her hand stroking him. Shame was a distant memory, burned away by raw, desperate need. He was hers. Bent over, face buried in her ass, cock in her hand, completely owned. The quiet observer was gone, obliterated by the force of her desire. He licked and sucked at her hole like a man starved, while her hand worked his cock with ruthless efficiency, pulling him towards an inevitable, shattering climax in the dusty silence of the abandoned room. The only sounds were their ragged breathing, the wet slap of her hand on his cock, and the obscene, slick noises of his tongue fucking her ass.