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WARNING: this story may have explicit depictions of sex between men and women, men and men, and women and women.
If you are offended by erotica, explicit sex, or gay porn, please go elsewhere
.

It is LOTR RPS -- it uses the names of real people involved in making the Lord of the Rings movies.

This story is not true. I made it up.

Walking Bakwards (with nienor_niniel)

Pairing: Dominic Monaghan / Christine Astin - LOTR RPS
Rating: NC-17
Author: MSilverstar  and nienor_niniel
Date: June 8, 2006
Feedback: yes please! also constructive criticism of any kind.
Disclaimer: not true, I made it up
Archive: yes, go ahead, but let me know
Notes: Dom loves challenges, Christine is intrigued


Walking Backwards

 

First Day in Hawaii

Christine sighs as she steps off the plane, tilting up her head and letting the balmy Hawaiian breeze play over her face. There's all the difference in the world between this and the midwest, where they flew to leave the kids with her family so they could have some time to themselves. It's been a rough few months since she delivered Isabella-- trying to deal with the new baby, get the weight off, and cope with Sean's constant schedule, which doesn't have room enough in it  , who likes the attention even more than Sean, even though he doesn't let on-- at least, not the same way Sean does. She slopes away towards the cargo hold, where ladders are being wheeled out, and bags tossed onto conveyors. They have more than she's willing to carry, but she can gather it, at least, while the boys sign and mug for the cameras.

Kicking himself for attracting attention, Dom shakes his head and shows the crowd his lei-covered arms, "Sorry, I'm a bit tied up!" He heads after Chris, hoping Sean will meet him there, slightly narked that his secret is out.

Christine catches sight of something scarlet out of the corner of her eye as she is tugging her makeup kit off the conveyor, and turns-- to find Dom incoming, with Sean several lengths back and closing; Dom managed to avoid the press of the crowd, but he didn't.

She smiles at Dom, amused, but not entirely willing to show it, wondering what sort of mischief he has up his sleeves. "Dominic," she greets him, her most motherly tone-- it's the only kind of authority that seems to leave him nonplussed.

"Ms. Christine," he carols back at her. She seems younger somehow, cos she's tired or maybe because this is his new home territory. He loops a couple of leis around her neck, and leans in to kiss her. Something's different, and it takes a few moments for him to realise that she's missing the mum smell. No formula or spit-up or nappy or even baby powder. Just woman, and a little perfume, and sweat from the trip.

Christine covers a smile, ducking behind her hair and covering by lifting a lei to scent the blossoms-- real flowers, thick and waxy, the sort you used to see on "Fantasy Island." Is Dom Mr. Roarke, or is he Tattoo? The thought amuses her, and she can't hide the smile anymore. She hands Dom her makeup case, not giving him a chance to say no, and reaches for the next suitcase as it thumps its way over the rollers. Sean ought to be catching them up any minute now, judging by the excited chatter of the crowd. "Thank you, Dominic." She drops the suitcase and goes fishing for a duffel bag that slides down the incline right behind it. "We brought too much, don't you think? Not that it's all mine-- Sean packed every pair of jeans he owns, I think. We should have brought Jeff to handle it all, but he deserves a vacation too."

Dom laughs at her blithering, suddenly more secure. "Aloha, baby," he purrs, and swings the case in his hand. He catches the eye of a brawny porter who ambles over with a cart and loads up all the cases with a flick of his wrist. Makes Dom feel fragile, though pleased he won't have to carry them all himself. Christine nods approvingly.

Sean comes up and there's all the fuss that seems to surround him, until they're finally in the car and on their way to the house. It's peculiar, they being the first ones to visit, and Dom's trying not to be nervous about the whole thing.

Christine likes Dom's convertible, and likes the way he takes the winding roads too fast, even though it's giving Sean fits. She lets the wind take her hair-- she'll worry about combing it later-- and turns her face up into the sun. Dom is acting strange, almost skittish; maybe he's never hosted guests before, or maybe it's the pressure of the new series getting to him. That's probably it; her sense for that kind of thing is honed sharp by Sean's mercurial moods. "Relax," she tosses over her shoulder to him. "We're on vacation."

"You are," Dom shoots back, but he's grinning into the wind, "I'm making the most expensive TV pilot ever and trying to keep them from thinking my entire vocabulary consists of 'bloody' and 'cor, blimey'." But it's brilliant and he can smell success from here. Sean's drowsing in the back and Dom says "Hang on," before he takes the next corner even faster, just for the thrill of it. "I love it here," he tells her, for no reason in particular.

It's beautiful," she agrees-- the jungle is lush and the water pure crystal blue. She can catch glimpses of sand and surf as they go, and she wants to lie on the pure black sand and let it bake the last of the midwest winter right out of her bones. "Does your place have a private beach? Sean says you surf. He hasn't since New Zealand, except for once when Elijah and Billy dragged  him out."

Dom nods happily, and explains, "Surfing here is fantastic! My bit of beach is better for swimming, but there's a place down the road... fuckin' heaven. I'll get Sean out there somehow." Then, without quite meaning to ask, "Have you ever been? Surfing, I mean. I've seen you ski, and it's a lot like that."

Dom's words have the sound of a challenge, and Christine hesitates-- she doesn't want to back away from a challenge, not in front of Dom, who is all too quick to pounce on any sign of weakness. What's she supposed to say, "No, I haven't surfed; I spend all my time changing diapers?" Saying she'd run a fancy restaurant wasn't much better. She glances back at Sean, who has closed his eyes to ignore the drive. He's probably asleep; he's been on his feet for days again, and when he comes down, he can sleep for 15 or 18 hours at a time. "No, I wasn't much interested in surfing," she laughs, deliberately casual. "I was more into the leather scene when I was that age." There, let him chew on THAT.

That last bit, that little smile, has Dom gaping, but he recovers quickly, "Billy's older, and he surfs..." and maybe it is a bit of a challenge, but only because he has to think about things. Like how she'd look in leather. With spike heels. And gloves, long gloves, to-the-elbow leather gloves. And... maybe a corset. Fuck, he's gone all loopy, thinking those things. You just don't think that about a mate's wife.

She knows she's made a mistake the instant she says it, but there's no taking it back. "So Billy isn't into leather?" She may as well take the ball and run with it. ""It's always seemed to me extreme sports are just a form of sublimation -- channeling frustrated sexual energy to get rid of it." She tosses her hair back and adjusts her sunglasses.

"Adrenaline," Dom confides, slightly relieved to be onto a different topic "Orli pulls all the time, and he loves bungie jumping, and all that." He's silent for a few moments, negotiating curves, and says, "Surfing's not really extreme, not just about the thrill, yanno? There's a whole zen of it, being on the water, balancing, letting the wave carry you along. More like skiing than ski jumping," he finishes up, just as they turn into his drive. Perfect timing, and if he never hears the word 'leather' during this whole visit, he'll be thrilled.

Christine didn't fall off the turnip truck yesterday, and she can spot an evasion when she sees it-- you don't live with Sean Astin for 11 years and not learn to spot one, not if you want to stay sane. She feels the sly smile stretching her mouth and knows it says what she won't say aloud . "Well, if adrenaline gets you off," she contents herself with, "I'm sure that's just fine. Very enjoyable."

Sean wakes up just then, and Dom is bloody grateful. He shows them round, and is glad everything looks reasonably tidy and all the porn is hidden. Before long, though, he lets them stumble to the guest room and nap.

All the talk of surfing and sex has got Dom quite roused, so he has a quick wank and goes out to work the rest of it off body surfing. Not as good as boarding but he wants to stay close. The waves pound him until he finally gets the rhythm, bends with the rush of water, and relaxes.

   

It's still light when Christine wakes up-- an all-too-familiar result of jet-lag. She yawns and stretches, noting that Sean is still out cold. It's not surprising. She tries not to make noise as she gets into the big suitcase and pulls out her bathing suit-- she doesn't wear bikinis anymore, not after two kids, but she has a nice coppery one-piece, strapless for a better tan. She puts it on, adds her sunglasses, and a mesh coverall. Some sunscreen, a towel, a floppy hat-- she's ready to go. After all, the beach is just beyond the terrace.

She steps out, gazing around and drinking in the scenery-- it looks like she has this piece of beach all to herself. Smiling, she steps into her sandals and strolls out onto the sand, breathing deep of the clean air. She can't see Dom, which doesn't mean he's not around, but she has a feeling he'll be a decent host, not smothering them with his presence.

Should be getting back, Dom reminds himself. Rude to just bugger off too long. He leaves the water and shakes like a dog, scratches his arse under his board shorts, and wanders up the beach, squinting in the sun. He's pretty sure both Sean and Chris like sushi, and then suspects maybe he shouldn't take them because somehow thinking of Chris eating sushi makes him think of Chris in leather (is it the seaweed wrap?). Just that thought is boggling, he could have sworn he'd been getting enough sex but maybe not.

Which makes him grunt in surprise when he looks up and there she is, all bourgeois accoutrements, looking back at him with a kind of measuring gaze that makes him quite aware his shorts are riding low on his hips.

"Been surfing?" She is surprised to hear that amused, teasing tone coming from herself; maybe it's the sleek gleam of water on well-tanned flesh-- with no sign of a tan line, not even where his trunks have pulled low. She realizes she is looking at the dark line of hair that vanishes into them, and calmly turns to spread her towel.

"Bodysurfing," he answers absently, pinned by her gaze, willing his prick to stay down because the thin fabric won't hide a thing. She turns and gives him a lovely view of her lovely arse. At that, Dom gives up: he can't pretend any longer, he has a yen for her. Not that he'll do anything about it, but by god he's going to enjoy the fantasies.

"D'you want a hand with that," he asks, walking up beside her.

Christine hands him her bag, feeling a rush of something she hasn't felt in too long-- the power to attract a man who, if not actually dangerous, was at least forbidden. She likes it; she's missed that kind of thing while she was busy with diapers and dishes and keeping the world's most neurotic husband from ruin. She spreads her towel, aware of Dom's eyes on her, making a show of getting it smooth. Then she sits down on the half of the towel nearest the waves. "Pull up some towel, and you can put tanning lotion on my back."

It's a cliché but a good one. Dom grins -- he's been doing that a lot today -- and kneels on the towel behind her, flicking beads of water onto her back to hear her squeak. "M'fingers are are all wet," he explains innocently, drawing a line of water along her shoulder, sees her holding herself quite still. He continues, "Don't want to get the creme all watery." She's a challenge, won't even give a reaction, and he fucking loves challenges. He intends to see her a bit flustered, a bit hot and bothered.

Her eyes narrow as she waits for him to touch her; a gull wheels over the surf and she wonders how birds ever manage to make the trip out here, so far from land. Some of them sleep on the water, she supposes. Dom's hands are cool when they finally touch her, cool and slick and confident; she pretends she doesn't notice them in particular, reaching up to swipe her hair out of the way. "I didn't know you could surf without a board. Isn't that just called swimming?"

Dom's fingers follow hers, up along her neck and across her back, leaving smaller trails of water. He smoothes her hair over her shoulder and says, "No, it's catching the waves, riding them in, then going back and doing it all over again." His fingers, dry now, ghost back and forth along her bare shoulders. Her skin is soft and smooth to the touch: it tempts him to lick it, or kiss it, or maybe bite.

She stretches her shoulders, slow and luxuriant, and considers. "Sounds like something that would be much more fun to do with someone than alone." She catches sight of his fingers out of the corner of her eye-- there are bandaids on them, and it worries her. She's seen signs of several things that worry her-- maybe cutting or burning, maybe drug use-- in his recent PR photos. His hands are scarred. She catches one. "Did you hurt yourself?" She pauses not quite long enough for him to answer. "You aren't shooting up, are you, Dominic?"

"Fuck no!" Dom says, angrily, snatching his hands back. "Was just catching some insects, tore up my hands on the thorns, got a few bites." He's more narked at Chris than he would be at Sean, who sees the worst in everything. And so much for sexual fucking tension.

Christine thinks Dom is protesting too much; his voice has a note of something she can't quite identify underlying the anger. She certainly knows she's pissed him off; probably he doesn't think she's close enough to be privileged to ask that. She looks at him for a long moment, waiting for him to meet her eyes. "Calm down. I'm not a police officer, and I'm not looking to rat you out to Sean. I just wouldn't want to see you hurt yourself. This show is a big break, and even though success is great, the pressure can get ugly." She turns and looks out over the water. "Maybe we'll get you some gloves for Christmas. If your   friends are worried, the paparazzi will have a field day, whether they're right or not, and they won't be asking questions because they care, either."

"Yeah, gloves in Hawaii, they'll think I'm Michael fucking Jackson," Dom shoots back, but he's not quite as angry. He sits back on his knees, and shrugs, "I just do stuff, Chris, I see something interesting and I reach for it, and sometimes, it bites back." All right, he can see the parallels, for fuck's sake.

He's not going to stop with insects just because of the show. It's his new shtick, something besides Hobbits for the press to tag him with, something he can talk about for hours. Fantastic that they came up with it, and being in Hawaii means there's just more to do.

It isn't a denial, and that's enough. Chris sighs, but she's obligated herself not to tell Sean-- not that he hasn't already got a damn good idea what's going on, himself. "You could wear them when you're collecting," she suggest neutrally. "That wouldn't make anyone think of Michael Jackson." A thought strikes her. "You don't have any of those things roaming loose in the house, do you?"

Laughing, Dom answers her last question, "No, they're in cages. There are a few geckos which visit sometimes, but they're cute and they don't bite." She's back to being a mum, shame about that. Nice while it lasted.

"Want some sunscreen now?" he asks, with none of the innuendo of before.

"Thanks, if you don't mind." She thinks it might do Sean some good to be woken out of sleep by something crawling on him-- but then again, she doesn't want to be woken that way herself, to the reassurance is a good thing. "Then maybe you can show me this 'bodysurfing' you do. Is it dangerous?"

Dom stops pouring out the creme, snorts, and shakes his head. "Don't pull that shit on me, you live in LA." He slathers the sunscreen on her back and shoulders, wishing she'd stop with the shite and treat him like a friend, not a kid. His chest hurts a little, like when Cate or Liv looks right past him. Liv, for chrissake, not the brightest light in the bunch.

Christine sighs. This is why she and Dom never warmed to each other in NZ-- he's got issues, and an axe to grind. Or maybe that's not fair; it's maybe more accurate to say he thinks he's got something to prove, and she always manages to rub him up the wrong way-- somewhat like Sean often does, come to think of it. "I grew up in the midwest, not California. I was too busy to take up surfing when I moved out there with Sean." She keeps the words mild, hoping he'll calm down. "I've heard of bodysurfing, yes, and I think I've watched people do it, but I was hinting around hoping you'd offer to show me how."

"Hints don't exactly work with me," Dom admits, "you have to whack me over the head with a spanner, more like." He does feel better, though. "Sure, I'll take you, today or any day." He stretches his arms and back, letting the warm air and sun and sound of the waves relax him. Hawaii is even more paradisiacal than New Zealand. "You can't go as far as on a board, but it's great, like being a fish."

"Don't you have to worry about undertow, or sand sharks, or sharp coral, or broken glass, or jellyfish, or bacteria in the water, or chemical spills, or any of a dozen other reasons Sean says not to go swimming in the ocean?" She flips him a grin and watches, admiring a little, as he moves-- he's bulked up a little since the Merry days. "I think I'd like to stop worrying for a while." She gets up and pads towards the water. "And I'd like to wash off some of the grime from the plane, too. We still have a couple of hours before supper, right?"

Oh-ho, far better. If she's snarking at Sean, she's stopped mothering for a bit. And giving him the eye again. Are they back on to flirting or whatever it is? It's like fucking whiplash, how fast she changes directions.

"Yeah, Sean's a prat, now's great," Dom says, enjoying the view of her curves as he scoots up behind her and heroically refrains from cupping her arse. They walk down to the water in friendly silence.

Dom is close enough behind her that Christine assumes she is on her way to forgiveness, and she relaxes, looking out at the waves. She's seen fair surf in LA, from a distance, but isn't sure what to expect in Hawaii. The waves here look pretty tame, but off to the sides, she can see larger ones. They're in a sheltered sort of cove, with an outcrop of lava and jungle breaking the worst force of the water. "What do we do? How far out should we go?" She's ambivalent about starting here-- it feels like a kiddy pool compared to the area he came from. On one hand, it's good to start small. On the other, she feels like a wuss, and she doesn't like that.

"Let's get wet first," Dom says, half innuendo and half laughter. She's truly nervous, wasn't taking the piss when she said she's never done this. It rather warms the cockles of his heart to be trustworthy enough to teach her. "It's nothing complicated, just letting the waves push you in, it's fun," he says, in what he hopes is a reassuring voice.

They wade out till it's deep enough, a little cool down by their toes but not like LA. Dom dives in, paddles around Chris, clowns a bit to make her laugh and relax. She has a lovely laugh, rich and confident. Not like Evi or Maggie or any of the girls. He'd like to hear more of that laugh.

The water is warmer than she expected, soft and caressing, and the waves wash in slowly, not too powerful once they get past the break point. One lifts her off her feet and she gasps, reaching out for Dom instinctively, but before she can do more than clutch at his arm, her feet are touching the sand again. She flushes, embarrassed. "It picked me up. I guess that's what it's supposed to do, right?" She shakes her head; half her hair is wet now, so she ducks under the surface and comes up while exhaling, letting it stream sleekly down her back. "Am I supposed to try to get on top of it, get horizontal, or just stand here and bob?"

"Whatever turns you on, baby," Dom says in his sleaziest Pulp Fiction voice. He couldn't possibly let a straight line like that go unpunished. She laughs and pokes at him, which degenerates into splashing and tickling, like he'd treat a mate. Only better, cos she's got fabulous tits.

Christine finally ducks under the water to escape the merciless tickling, kicks away, and surfaces a little bit apart from Dom, still laughing at herself as much as him. "I'm very good at all of the above," she tells him, wiping water out of her eyes, but then she realizes her skin doesn't feel quite right, and the feeling of his eyes on her settles a split second before the knowledge that in the struggle, her bathing suit top has slipped down, and is floating around her ribs. She starts to duck under the waves, but some demon imp of mischief likes the way Dom is staring, so she reaches for it casually and takes her time about settling it snugly where it should be. "I've lost a little more weight than I thought," she says, and looks at him, almost daring him to make a smart remark.

Fucking magnificent tits Dom thinks, rather stunned. He's glad his own crotch is under water or she'd see what she does to him. He licks his dry lips, and wishes he could kiss her nipples, could watch her face as he teased and sucked. "Um," he says, not very intelligently. "Right. Bodysurfing. Start by swimming."

"Do I do that now, or wait for you to describe the whole process, first?" She hasn't missed his discomfort-- or his desire, and it gives her a pang of regret that she shouldn't grab that and run with it. To his credit, Dom is being as much of a gentleman as he's capable of being-- for Sean's sake. It's more courtesy than she'd given him credit for, but it's also... oddly frustrating. She likes making jaws drop, and she likes making guys step outside their boundaries so she can lead them around till she's satisfied, and then put them down. Another wave rolls in and picks her up, and she lets it drift her towards him again.

This is a stupid, dangerous game to play with one of Sean's friends, and she needs to think hard about whether she is going to play it, before she does something dumb and gets them all hurt. But.... well, she's no fool, and she's known for a long time that Sean hasn't been 100% faithful to her. Not since New Zealand. Not since Elijah. It rankles, sometimes, that he thinks he can hide the affair they're still having whenever they meet. It rankles that he can make time and she can't. It rankles that she's the mommy, the caretaker-- even the mommy for him, her husband.  

There's something going on in her head that Dom can't possibly fathom, and he doesn't really want to. He's letting go of his old image of Chris, but is not sure what's replacing it. She shouldn't tease him like that, he knows that. Not Sean's wife, for chrissake. There's a coil of desire for her now, centred deep in his groin, and he's not sure what to do. Not that Sean's all that straight-and-narrow: Dom knows who's been shagging Lij, no matter what those gits on the Internet say about colours and shout-outs. Maybe she's a bit more open-minded than he thought. It's a satisfying idea and it settles him somehow.

"Swim first, then we'll try letting the waves push a bit," he instructs, slipping past her like a fish.

Christine does what he says, and soon she masters the art of riding the small waves inside the cove; she enjoys letting them push her, and enjoys the effort of trying to work against them to get back out again and ride the next one in. she feels Dom's eyes on her, and knows she's playing to him, ever so slightly-- turning her bottom up when she dives, standing in silhouette, shaking her hair so the light will catch the water, laughing-- but it's fun! It's fun she hasn't had in too long. She pinches her nipples in secret the next time she dives, so that she'll have headlights when she comes up, and she preens under his stormy grey stare. They've been out for at least an hour, and it won't be too much longer before they have to go in, wake Sean, and have some dinner.

Dom relaxes and enjoys the show she's putting on for him. And if he flirts and flexes his new arm muscles and shows off his flat stomach a bit, that's tit for tat. When she's overconfident and the wave sweeps her away, Dom gallantly rescues her, holds her out of the water, comforts her as she coughs. She feels good in his arms: warm, curvy, sexy.

She loses track of time, gradually edging out of the protection of the ridge that makes the cove, getting stronger waves-- and suddenly realizes, as Dom holds her and she coughs a bit on swallowed sea-water, that the sun is sinking behind the horizon, and the lights are on in the house. Sean is awake, and for a minute she feels a chill from the combination of the evening breeze and being in the water so long. There's a pang of guilt in her belly for having forgotten Sean-- but Dom is warm, and her breasts are against his chest and for a second she looks into his eyes, her lips half-parted to say they should be going in-- and she can't remember what she was going to say.

Her mouth is hypnotising, like a magician's watch. Dom can't look away. He wants to lean down and kiss her hard, suck her lips, bite at them until they're full and red. He knows that he can't, that she doesn't mean to tease him like that, she's his mate's wife. But he longs to, with a jolt of lust that sends his prick hard against her leg.

The feel of him hardening-- very nicely indeed-- startles her from the moment of reverie, and gives her a sense of control again-- his desire is something she knows how to deal with, perhaps better than her own. She doesn't let go, and her voice drops. "We'd better be getting back, don't you think?" she whispers. "I'm starving." She hears a little husk in her voice, and exults in the way the waves bob them, moving them against each other. She smiles, slow and warm, and then rapidly lets go and starts to swim back towards the shore-- long clean strokes between waves, working with them instead of fighting them, the way he's just shown her. She doesn't pause to see if he's following.

Dom stands there, frozen, head spinning. Whatever game she's playing, she's winning. He wants her, and he's going to have her one way or another, but probably on her terms. The hair on his back stands up, tingling. It will be worth it, he's sure of that. He swims back, catching up to Chris just before the water's low enough to walk in easily. Sliding by, he gropes her arse, not too hard, just enough to say he has her number. By the time she's done sputtering, he's far ahead, walking backwards onto the sand, laughing at her.

 The Next Evening    

Dinner the next day is nice, Sean and Chris helping with the chopping for a tofu stir-fry. They don't take the piss about it, unlike Billy or Lij, always asking where the 'real' food is. It's friendly, companionable. They've recovered from jet-lag, apparently, and are fine company. Dom was bored beyond words during the shoot, one of those hurry-up-and-wait days, so it's good to be doing something. During the process, they kill several bottles of Kirin and at the end, with the green tea ice cream, a good bottle of warm sake.

Sean probably shouldn't drink so much, he knows, but there's noplace he has to be in the morning and besides, he's feeling pretty good. Elijah called him earlier, and they had a good talk; that always leaves him in a fantastic mood. And Chris is extra mellow today, too; he doesn't know when he's heard her laugh so much, and she didn't even scowl at him for glancing at the girls on the beach.

All that, plus the wine, gives him Dutch courage, and loosens his tongue. He's babbling, he knows, but he feels comfortable and safe, and when he hears himself start to talk about open relationships, he checks to be sure Chris is okay, but she looks fine, quite unruffled, so he just unplugs his tongue and lets go.

"Sometimes I don't know why laws are like they are. I mean, lots of people are in open relationships, and it's just like gay rights-- partners in a multiple should get benefits too. Like common law spouses. And it would cut back on all kinds of problems-- like Heinlein said." Whoa, he's really in deep if he's bringing up Heinlein. But Chris is sipping wine, looking gorgeous and calm, and Dom is just snickering quietly to himself, and Sean pours himself some more sake. "As long as both partners agree, there's nothing wrong with it. All the partners." He corrects himself. "For the right people, at the right time."

Dom's never heard Sean say that before, never heard him even consider anything besides traditional marriage. "Can it work, though?" he asks, idle curiosity until he thinks of Chris's teasing yesterday. That adds a bit more personal interest to the topic, "Don't people get all jealous and possessive?"

Sean sobers for a moment. "Sometimes they do," he says ruefully, shooting a glance at Christine, thinking of Elijah. "Sometimes they don't understand there's plenty of love. Enough to go around. For everyone! Without ever reducing what the first person gets." He looks at the bottom of his empty glass and wonders where all the wine he just poured went. He pours himself another. "This is damn good sake, and I say this as a man who buys a lot of wine."

"You mean it was damn good sake," Christine interjects, softly, but her tone is stoll tolerant and amused.

"I have more," Dom says, "I'll warm it up if you want." He's hesitant to ask what he really wants to know: would Sean ever share Chris? Or does the 'open' only apply to him and Lij?

Christine nods for Dom to warm the sake; Sean is digging himself a hole and he doesn't yet know how deep. But he will-- what's sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose. That simply, she has decided-- if Sean complains later, she'll recite this to him word for word. And if that doesn't get her off the hook, she'll bring up Elijah. Hoist by his own petard.

She smiles into her sake, satisfied; let Dom get Sean so drunk he passes out, then-- it will clear the playing field for the next phase of the game.

Chris is looking like the cat who ate the chickens, so Dom decides his conscience is clear. Sean's fading fast, and it's a nice night. He puts the next bottle onto the little sake-warmer pot that someone sent the whole Lost cast, and waits while it gets just above body temperature, then offers it round, clinking the pottery cups together. Goes down very easily when it's warm like that.

Dom eyes Chris again, trying to peer down her neckline, but her sundress only teases without exposing anything. Just like her. He wanders off to the loo and takes a long drink of cold water -- bad idea, getting pished, if he's to deal with a hot handful like Chris.

It doesn't occur to Sean to wonder why Christine isn't nagging him about how much he's drinking-- he assumes it's because the kids aren't around. So he pours himself another little cup and sips at it, feeling mellow. Even Dom is less abrasive than usual, so Sean is feeling fine-- until he stands up and the sake hits him within a couple of steps, making him wobble. Chris is at his side in an instant, steadying him. "Time to get to bed before we have to haul you by the heels," she chides him.

"'M fine," Sean insists to the leftmost one of her-- he can see four. This realization persuades him not to complain as she bustles him off to bed and settles him on his side, pulling off his jeans and his shoes before she tucks the blanket over him and lets herself out. He's already snoring by the time she hits the light switch.

Dom tidies up a bit, dumping the dirty dishes in the machine and the rest in the sink. There's a housecleaner who comes most days, and he's happy if he never has to wash another pot in his life. He wanders back to the lounge and then the deck, leaning on the railing and looking at the ocean in the night. 'S not like he's ever been tied to one person long enough to know if it's good for him. "Leave them laughing, when you go," is his personal philosophy, and it's worked all right so far. Though he'd like to have kids someday, before he's too old to play with them properly.

Christine fetches a few items from her suitcase and stashes them in her canvas beach bag, then zips the top. She feels strangely giddy; her heart is beating too fast, and her breathing is shallow. She's had maybe a little too much wine herself, but not so much she'll be unable to think, if she needs to: just enough to make her float. She thinks it's time for a change of venue; motherhood isn't exactly kind to the body, but moonlight should hide the worst of the telltales. And it's so warm outside, all the doors and windows are open. Sean won't stir till ten or eleven the next day, if she knows him.

She goes into the living room, and finds things put away-- Dom is in the kitchen. He's plenty acute; he seems to have an inkling already of what's going on. She's willing to bet he's up for it-- there won't be any painful discussions about marriage vows, if she's confident.

As she steps out onto the deck, she tilts her head towards the surf. "It's stuffy inside. I want to walk on the beach. Are you up for it?"

"Sounds nice, sure," Dom answers, still not sure what she's really asking. A bit deeper than he ever knew, Chris is turning out to be. He doubts she's drunk enough to explain that 'leather' remark from the car, and he knows he's not drunk enough to ask. So he toddles on along with her, glad to be out in the air with the sand in his toes, making up lurid fantasies of blowjobs and sex in the surf.

Christine had never seen a night so beautiful-- her feet shine palely on the black sand, and the foam seems to shine in the moonlight. Even the water shines-- and gradually she realizes, as the moon fades briefly behind a cloud, that the water is shining in ragged strips, a pale green glow from within. Some kind of phosphorescent marine life, maybe. Dom is quiet, letting her choose the path; she picks up a shell and bends to wash it in the surf. It's a cowrie big enough to fill her palm. She shines sand off it with her dress. Ally will love it. She'll have to find another for Lizzie, if she can. "This place is like paradise. I think if you had to be stranded somewhere in a plane crash, this would be the place to do it. It would be a relief, in a lot of ways...."

"Ahhh, the two of you," Dom answers, laughing. "A week and you'll be off your heads, bored stiff, organising soup kitchens or something." He rather wishes he'd not thought about sex, because now he has a boner and she's become the mum again. He finds another cowrie shell and gives it to her, "Give the girls one each, yeah?" He does love them, they're his pets and he'd never hurt them.

"Thank you; I will." She takes the shell and puts it in her bag, next to the other. "Who said Sean would be on the plane? You heard him." She laughs, a little stiffly. If Sean organized a soup kitchen, she knew who'd be stuck doing all the practical work. "Tell me, how is Elijah these days?" She hears the anger in her voice. "And Billy, and the others, of course." She mellows her tone a little, looking sidewise at Dom.

Dom can't follow the twists and changes of her mood. Something's biting arse, and he hopes it isn't him. Well, not in the bad way at least. She knows about Lij's projects -- of course, why did she ask? -- so he expounds on Billy's Scottish films and what he knows of Viggo and Bean. It's all very safe and dull.

Dom misses her insinuation-- perhaps honestly, perhaps deceptively; she can't tell. She sighs and stops, just short of the waves-- the inflated bladder of a jellyfish shines dimly in the moonlight, bobbing just a few feet out, and she knows enough to stay away from the water with this thing nearby; she doesn't want a nasty set of stings. She wishes she'd thought to have him bring some wine out; now that the moment of truth is on her, she feels tense and uncertain. The sky feels very wide, very far away. "And how are you faring?" Her voice drops. "Are you happy here, Dominic?"

"It's fantastic," he answers, wondering what she's getting at. "Not quite New Zealand, so I suppose not quite perfect, but I get a bit more respect, which I can't argue with." He waves at the scene before them, moonlit and warm, "And it's like this all year round, except when it rains and even that's a blast. The lizards come out when it's raining."

"Lizards? Maybe I wouldn't want to be stranded here after all." The wind picks up and whips her dress around her legs. She uses it as an excuse to edge closer to Dom. "They don't come out at night, do they? Do they swim at all?"

Laughing, Dom answers, "No, they're in the jungly bits, not on the beach. And none of them are poisonous!" She seems to expect it, so he wraps an arm round her shoulders. "Didn't Sean do his research on hazards?"

"I tuned him out," she admits, leaning against his arm a little. "Somewhere in the middle of the lecture on volcanoes." She laughs, low and throaty. "Anyway, I don't think he was anticipating the most dangerous thing on the island."

Dom can feel her laugh course through is body, and it's bloody sexy. That line is too, full of innuendo. She's swung back to enticing and he hopes she'll stay in that direction. He slides his arm down from her shoulder to her curvy waist and asks, in the same tones, "And what is the most dangerous thing?"

She can feel exhilaration coursing through her like wine; she's not going to give him the answer expects-- but this time, perhaps, it's the right one. She glances at the sea; the jellyfish is out of sight, left far behind them now. "Me," she says, and before he can react, she reaches for the hem of her dress, skins it over her head, steps out of her panties and dumps her bag on top of the little heap of clothes, then dashes into the ocean.

Fucking whiplash, that's how Dom feels. She's right, she is dangerous, to his brain and his bollocks. But if anyone's going naked in the sea, Dom's going too. His t-shirt and shorts come off easily, and he's following her, again, into the cool water. This time, though, he catches up with her and wraps his arms around her, "You're not the only one who's dangerous," he whispers into her ear.

Christine wriggles against him, pretending to struggle, guessing it will turn him on. She turns her head to his, though, her cheek against his face, even as she moves, to let him know she doesn't mean it. "Well, yes," she admits after a few moments. "I would have listed you as public enemy number two."

Her body moves against his, saying yes and no at the same time. Women, Dom thinks, can't just fuck, have to play games. Time for him to take the initiative again. He holds her tighter, so she can't get away, and growls into her ear, "Last chance to say 'no,' Chris, or I'm gonna give you what you're asking for."

She could still get away, if she wanted, but it would involve hurting him, and she doesn't want to do that. Instead she capitulates, tilting her head, offering him her throat. "I thought you said you were getting enough sex," she says, but her voice says "Yes, what are you waiting for?"

"Wha?" he'd no idea he'd said that out loud. Then he laughs and murmurs, "Never enough, no such thing." One hand starts stroking her shoulder and his mouth opens to feast on her neck. She's a challenge, one that makes him all hot and bothered, and he intends to enjoy every moment.

Christine slides her open hand down his side and around behind his ass, pulling him up firmly against her. "Mmmmmmmmmmm. Feels good," she sighs. The waves surge gently around them, hissing and sighing, and the soft glow of the water ripples around them. "What do you like to do in bed, hmmmmmmm?" She purrs the words, liking the feeling of his hands, wishing they'd wander a little more. "You look like a tiger-- do you like it kinky, or do you go vanilla?" She punctuates it with a skillful little wriggle that leads his cock to nestle in the cleft of her ass.

Dom can't quite believe how fast this is going, once Chris gets started. He slides his hand down her chest to tease at her breasts, and his other hand goes down to her parted thighs, not quite touching yet. He stops sucking her neck before he can leave a mark, no sense overdoing things. His hips rock into her soft arse, almost as good as fucking. He whispers, "I'd like to fuck you till you yell, eat you out and watch you blow me, take it deep, bet you are a fantastic cocksucker...

Christine laughs. "Vanilla, then, for starters." She wriggles out of his hands and takes a deep breath, then slides down his front and takes his cock in her mouth all the way to the root-- it's easy; she's used to Sean's. She fucks her mouth with it, bobbing until the need for air urges her back to the surface, where she gasps another big breath and goes down on him again, literally, salt and heat in her mouth. She manages half a dozen times before she has to take a breather, and wraps him up in her fist, blinking water from her lashes, laughing at the look on his face.

"Fucking God, you're good," is all Dom can say, gasping and wishing he had something to hold on to. He likes a blow job as well as the next bloke but he doesn't want her to drown. So he pulls her up, touching all over as the water streams off her naked skin.

Christine lets him hold her up, wishing she could wrap her legs around him and let him in right here, right now, but especially since she isn't sure he's not shooting up, she doesn't think that's a good idea without a condom. "Well, if you don't want it that way, how about re-enacting 'From Here to Eternity?'" She kisses him with plenty of tongue, hot and slow and nasty. "I have condoms in my bag."

She kisses likes she sucks cock: really, almost the same, 's fucking intense. Dom's rubbing up against her like a boy about to explode. He leads her back to her bag, wishing they had a towel cos nothing fucks up fucking like sand in the crotch. "Kneel down," he growls and pushes up behind her, bending her over, doggy style. He catches her breasts in his hands and they moan together, Dom because they're soft and big and natural. He pushes her legs apart and licks the water off her back, one hand coming down to start teasing her cunt as she moves under him.

"You're so hot, hot for it, want you so bad..." he murmurs, "ya got a condom?"

She reaches in her bag and brings out a little silver packet. "Give it to me hard," she murmurs huskily, pressing it into his waiting hand. "You look like you're plenty rough round the edges, and I like it that way." She squirms against his fingers, liking the way he doesn't hesitate to touch her. She's ready for him; he can get off fast this time, then they'll go back to the house and take it nice and slow-- and she can show him some of the tricks she's got up her sleeve.

Dom moans, he's lost control now, she has it with her dirty talk. His fingers find her cunt slick and hot, even when he's rubbing her clit, she doesn't lose it. All he can do is put the rubber on and shove into her, rough as she wants, one hand squeezing her hanging tits as he rocks back and forth.

She pushes back hard to meet him, and their bodies slam together with satisfying force. "Ohhhh, that's it, yeah, split me right open. So good, fuck...." he's not rough enough with his hands, but he'll learn, and he's got a good angle on the G-spot. She squeezes him tight as she can-- after two babies, kegel exercises are a must-- and keeps pushing back on him, not letting him slow it down. She moans, cursing, and twists her hips a little. "Don't be such a gentleman!" she gasps. "Touch me, dammit!"

"Fuck yeah," Dom pants, pounding into her, hand reaching down to touch her clit again. She's so good around him, so hot and slippery and sexy that he wants to make her wail. He can feel her twitch when he touches just right, and when he times his fingers and cock together, she bucks and moans. It's incredibly hot, feeling her go a little wild.

Christine can feel the fingers of the tide brushing at her toes; it's coming in gradually. She whimpers, encouraging him for a particularly good twist of his fingertips, and lifts one arm, pinching at her nipples, working to speed things up. This is good, but she wants him inside the house on a bed, where they can roll about without getting sand where the sun doesn't shine.

"Wanna feel you come all round my cock," Dom says, twisting his fingers again. He humps her hard, changing angles to find her g-spot, feeling when it's good, when he has her inside and out. They're both slick with sweat, sliding a bit until he pushes her legs even further open so he can pump straight in. "Gonna fuck you until you come, you sexy bitch," he growls, exhilarated. This is so wild, beyond anything he ever expected from her.

She gasps when he finds the angle-- he's got it just right now, and she can feel herself start to sweat, the breeze turning it cool on her skin. She lifts her chin, whimpering, wishing he'd grab her hair and pull her head up himself-- if he wants to top, he needs to learn how, damn it. But it's good anyway, and getting better; his cock curves a little differently from Sean's, and in a very, very good way. "Fuck me, you bastard, do it," she hisses between her teeth. "Make me scream."

Planting his knees in the sand, Dom pulls her up against him, one hand grabbing a tit and the other one tight on her cunt. She brings out the worst in him and he loves it. The girls here are so nice, it's been ages since he had such hot nasty sex. He bites the back of her shoulder and growls, "Gonna ream you till you scream, slut, gonna fuck your brains out and make you beg."

She utters a strangled, satisfied yelp; that's more like it. At the moment, loving the way his teeth feel sunk in her shoulder, she doesn't even care if he marks her. "Hurt me, yesss..." she bucks against him. "Do it... It's good, fuck, so good..." She whips her hair out of his way, the wet tails of it stinging her arm. She pushes back on him; he's hitting her cervix now when he bottoms out, a tease of pain, a nice solid reminder that he's in there. Sean does that even when he doesn't mean to, and she loves it. "Harder, oh god. Please...."

She is, she's begging and that makes Dom so hot he's about to fucking blow. He gives her nipple a particularly vicious twist and jams his fist against her cunt as he pushes his cock hard into her. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you," he chants as he pumps into her cunt. If it weren't so sandy, he'd bend her on her face and slap her ass. As it is he can feel the sand on his hand scraping her breasts as he goes for the other tit, squeezing it until she wails, saying, "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you..."

He's finally on her wavelength, and she abandons herself to it, moaning as he twists her nipple, and grinding herself against his fist. She can't remember when she's been fucked with so much raw energy, and so much desperate need. She whines, her head drooping, and suddenly she's there-- an explosion of pleasure as bright as the sun, and she shrieks with the glory of it, shuddering and clenching around him, her mouth full of the taste of salt. It hits her again and again, swamping her like a tidal wave, wringing cry after cry out of her. All she cares about is the way he keeps driving into her, making her spasm over and over again.

"Fucking fuck, yeah," Dom growls, feeling her squeeze his prick with her orgasm. He's won the prize, risen to her challenge, and it's the pleasure of triumph as much as anything else that rushes over him. He yells when he comes, spurting hard into the rubber, clutching at her, fingers digging into her soft flesh. He strokes into her as long as he can, making it last, milking every last bit of pleasure.

Christine wobbles but struggles to stay upright, gasping air; she holds up half of Dom's weight as he shivers out the last of his climax. The tide runs in and foams around her knees, and she sinks in the sand, faltering a little; as he slips out of her she sags over onto her side. The dark sands still hold the warmth of the sun, where they're dry, and they feel good on her skin. He slumps next to her and puts his arm around her, and she snuggles close, waiting to regain her breath, and feeling the swift rise and fall of his chest behind her. She had expected to feel regret; instead, she feels triumphant and satisfied, her decision vindicated by the energy they made together.

Of all the naughty things Dom's done, shagging a mate's wife on the beach is not one of them. But then, she did as much as he, maybe more. Told him not to be a gentleman, to fuck her harder, begged for more. He'll never look at her the same way again. "Chris," he begins, when he has breath, "that was fantastic, fucking great, but are you... Are we all right?"

She considers dropping the Elijah bombshell, and decides against it. "We're fine," she says, calm. "I'd say better than all right, if you want to know the truth. That was fantastic." She purrs, stroking his arm. "So good I'd like to do it again. As soon as possible, in fact." She smiles, the sand scratchy against her face. "With that much wine in him, Sean will sleep like the dead till well after dawn. Let's go in, get a shower, and see what we can do with a bed."

Again, what an amazing woman! His prick twitches at that, though the rest of him wonders how hard she'll want it this time. "Yeah," he answers, "get the sand off and then yeah, my bed's at the other end of the house." It doesn't squeak, either, which is probably good.

Christine gets up, gathering her things, and sets off towards the house without bothering to put them on, walking with an easy sway. She smiles a little to herself, enjoying the well-fucked feeling that glows in her belly. She stops at the deck. "I'm going to go check on Sean and get a few things," she murmurs, and pulls Dom in for a quick kiss. "I'll join you in a few minutes." She nips at his mouth. She'll have a quick wash and put on a little something special.


Later That Night


Back in the room, Christine finds Sean dead to the world, sprawled out across the pillow with his cell phone on the table. She slips into the bathroom without a sound and ducks under the shower, rinsing off the worst of the sand and just generally getting cleaned up. Her suitcase lies open on the vanity, and after she pats herself dry, she rummages in it, picking up just a few little things here and there-- she had braved the security scans far enough to toss in leather cuffs and a set of nipple clamps, at least, plus some nice slinky lingerie-- a red babydoll silk nightie that suits her shape without clinging too closely. She puts it on and bundles a blouse and a pair of shorts under her arm, just in case Sean gets up before she can get back in here. Finishing, she runs a brush through her hair and sets off to Dom's room, closing the door so softly it barely whispers behind her.

Dom has showered, (thinking of Chris's tits), tidied his bedroom (thinking of her mouth, like a bloody hoover), and wrote a note or two in his journal (about her mum-to-nympho personality change). He changes clothes twice, ending up stripping bare and sitting in his bed, wondering if she'll show up. If she doesn't, he'll have to have a wank.

She hesitates at his door, which is slightly ajar, and sees him sitting in his bed, his chest bare. She takes a moment to look, fluffing her hair. He looks thoughtful, more so than expected, and she finds herself smiling a little; she's taken him by surprise. Whichever way this next scene goes, she figures it's going to be good. She tucks a condom into the top of her babydoll and pushes the door open, slinking in with her best rolling walk, and stops with her head tilted, smiling at him.

Whistling, Dom grins back. She's sending out waves of sex, from the way she's dressed to the way she walks. Whatever game she wants to play, he suspects it will be a lot of fun. "Welcome, gorgeous," he purrs. "I'm at your service."

Christine smiles, letting her clothes drop on a convenient chair; the cuffs dangle from her hand. "Who wants to try these on?" she purrs. "Your headboard looks perfect, and these are leather-- they won't scratch." She smiles, letting the the mischief show. "Wouldn't you like to lie back and watch me ride?"

Dom didn't expect her to take him up on his invitation quite like that. Though given that she's brought the cuffs, it seems more like her invitation. God, the sight of her in red silk and lace makes his cock twitch -- he's just a bit disappointed it's not leather. He stretches out, giving her a good look at him, puts his arms up, and says "As my lady wishes."

Christine chuckles, loving the sight of his lean body stretched out, sheet riding low on his hips. She strolls over and catches his wrist, expertly cuffing it, then catching its mate, making sure he gets a good look at her as she bends over him. When he's fastened there, she stands back, smiling a little, and then twitches the sheet away, leaving him exposed, pleased by the sight of his cock-- already waking up after their last round.

Swallowing hard, Dom watches her move. He's regretting letting her cuff him already, as he'd love to touch her, trace her curves, and slide her outfit off. He stretches again, showing off for her. "C'mon over here, get close."

She lets her smile sink deeper, and steps back instead, reading his desire in his eyes. Slowly she runs her palms over herself-- breasts and hips and waist, making the red silk rustle. "You make me wish I'd brought something in latex-- or leather. I have a corset at home, and thigh boots with high heels." She smiles, and pinches her nipples, sighing with luxuriant pleasure. She lets her hand stray between her thighs, resting there, a deliberate tease. After a moment she steps near him, near enough that he could wrap his arm around her and pull her onto him-- if he weren't bound. She reaches out and runs her fingernails lightly down from his collarbone to his navel, watching his reaction.

"Corset, yeah..." Dom hums with pleasure at the the image. He likes watching her, likes the way she touches herself. Such a lush, womanly body. Makes his mouth water a bit. If he wanted... but not yet, no. "Gonna play with me?" he asks, half-glib and half-yearning, "what do you plan to do with me?"

She looks at him through her lashes, letting power touch a smile to the corners of her mouth. "Oh, I'm not sure yet." She walks next to him and trails her fingertips from the place where his pulse pounds in the hollow of his throat, around his nipple and down his belly, where she doesn't quite touch his cock, which is filling for her. "If you had more experience, I might try a little candle wax." She touches his nipple again, and lets her fingers close, pinching lightly. "But for you?" She leans in and kisses him lightly, teasing at his lips for just a moment with her tongue before she pulls back. "Ice, I think. And maybe these." She holds up the nipple clamps she brought. "I'll wear them, if you don't like them."

Her hands are amazing, strong and soft at the same time. He pushes into them, kisses her back, asking for more with his body. "I'm not a kid, I've had experience," Dom answers, stung that she thinks he can't take whatever she dishes out. He has played with nipple clips before, mostly on girls, but he's tried them. "I like them fine," he challenges her with his tone and his gaze.

She smiles down at him, pleased with how easy he is, and considers. She rakes her nails back up along his belly, slow and a little harder now. "That's good," she says, letting her amusement sparkle in her voice, and then she leans down to test him at his word, letting her hair spill over his belly. She laps at his nipple, then suckles, bringing it to attention so that she can nip at it. She looks up to his face when she catches it firmly between her teeth, tugging a little. Her hand finds his cock and gives it a slow stroke, enough to mix pleasure with the pain and confuse the sensations in his mind.

Dom moans, feeling his abs ripple between her fingernails and her hair. This is fucking great. She's playing with him, and all he can do (almost) is take it. Her teeth on his nipple catch him by surprise, and he has to suppress an 'ow' but her hand distracts him nicely. He tucks his chin in and bends his neck, an awkward angle yeah, but he can kiss her head, nuzzle her hair a little.

Christine runs her free hand along his ribs, not letting up the pressure, testing him. She squeezes his cock a little tighter and speeds her stroke; his lean skin tastes different from Sean's, sharper somehow, and he hasn't got nearly as much hair. She releases his nipple for just a moment to kiss it, then turns her head a little takes it between her teeth again, running her thumb over the tip of his cock, playing with the loose skin there-- that's different from Sean, too. She decides it's time to get the clips on him, so she pulls her mouth away and puts the first one on, setting it tight enough to hold, but not tight enough to hurt like her mouth did, and then settles her lips over the other nipple, bringing it erect and clipping it quickly, smiling up through the ragged curtain of her hair at Dom, watching his face for his reaction.

At her mercy goes through Dom's mind as she plays with him, touches his cock. It's sexy and frightening at the same time. He moans a little more, pushes into her hand, rocks his hips. The nipple clips are weird, like having someone pinch him for longer than he's ever felt before. He can't stop feeling it, can't quite concentrate on     anything else. "I like the way you play," he says, "bring your tits over here so I can get at them." It's half a plea and half an order, but his mouth is watering for her tits, half-hidden under the silk.

Christine smiles and gets both knees on the bed, and then lifts one over him, so she's sitting over his belly. "But I want to suck your cock," she says reasonably. "And your balls. And anything else I can get my mouth on." She smiles at him, tossing her hair back. "Don't you want that?" She wriggles down till she's seated over his cock, the gown between it and her, and then she settles, rocking a little.

"No hurry," Dom says, trying to keep his voice from squeaking. His nipples feel strange -- he gets used to the pressure from the clips when he's still, but every time he moves, he gets a jolt to the chest that goes way down into his cock. "Plenty of time," he offers, cos he fucked her once this evening already and he can afford to take his time now.

"I'll do it," she murmurs breathily, toying with the clips, tweaking the pressure up very slightly. "But you have to agree to do something for me, if I'm going to do that for you." She leans down and licks at the hollow of his throat. "Will you?"

Dom tries to keep still, but she's doing things to him that make that bloody near impossible. "What do I do?" he asks, a bit suspiciously. He's not desperate, so remembers to ask. Then a thought occurs to him: "Bring your c... pussy up here and I'll eat you out."

She smiles; he is quick. "Exactly what I had in mind," she purrs. "Eventually. But I suppose we can rearrange the order of things. I wouldn't want to wear you out-- at least, not before I'm ready to sleep." She wriggles back and leans forward, arranging herself so that her breasts are over his face, and slowly leans down so that the stubble on his cheeks scratches the inner curves.

She's so close Dom can't see anything but skin. Gorgeous titty skin, yeah. He closes his eyes and opens his mouth, mouthing the silk in front of him. "All right to mess up your naughty nightie?" he asks, figuring she's the one with the hands free.

"Show me how determined you are," she purrs in return, bracing on either side of his face and gently swaying, rubbing against his cock. "Then maybe, if you want it enough, I'll help you."

Turns out Dom can shrug his shoulders while tied up. All right then. He turns his head to one side and uses his mouth and teeth to work his way through silk to skin, along towards her nipple. He likes this, feeling her body above his. He pushes his hips up, rubbing against her, enjoying it all.

She smiles and purrs, pushing down against his hips and grinding leisurely; she sneaks her hands between them and tweaks the clips a little while he's occupied, rolling the rubber rings up just a little closer to his nipples to tighten them. His teeth feel good through the silk, a velvet-skinned roughness, and she's definitely looking forward to getting better acquainted with his tongue. She wishes she could tell him to bite harder, but she doesn't want to leave bruises to explain to Sean-- and she has to wear a bathing suit tomorrow, so she lets him take it easy, purring encouragement and writhing against him till one strap falls off her shoulder, and the gown works its way off her breast.

Dom uses his nose and mouth to push the fabric down, and then takes her nipple full in his mouth. He tongues it, plays with it, feeling her reactions in her body, learning how she likes it. Every moan moves through her, so he can feel it where she's touching him on his belly, his cock, his legs. "Taste so good, wanna eat you up."

Christine runs her nails lightly along his chest, mindful of the need to keep from marking him. Irresistible force, immovable object, she thinks, and laughs, realizing she isn't sure which of them is which. She wriggles luxuriantly down so that she can catch his mouth and kiss him, her dark hair falling around his face. She teases his tongue with hers, thinking in the back of her mind about how things have gone this evening-- he isn't into the cerebral part of sex, that much is for certain. He wants her to lose herself the way he seems to. She lifts her head and looks at him, thoughtful. Well, she wanted a break from Sean, didn't she?

"That's very nice," she breathes, and licks his tongue, slow and hot. Then she raises herself and moves up his body, dragging her heat against his skin and watching his face as she goes.

She's thinking too hard, he can tell, and he wants to make her stop that and just enjoy. If he had his arms free, he'd swing her around and lick her till she screamed. "Nice," he scoffs. "Nice is bubblegum. In that outfit, you're far too sexy to be nice." He pushes his body against her, taking the sensations he can get. "You're hot and spicy."

"And you're impatient," she breathes. But it's clear being strapped down isn't turning him on, so she smiles wickedly down at him. Hell, she's this far into it-- what would it hurt to let him take over? It's not like Sean, where she has to keep her bluff in to keep him interested. She fumbles on the bedtable, then reaches to unclip each of the cuffs. "OK, hotshot." She dares him with her smile, curling her fingers into the leather cuffs and bringing his hands to her, then clipping them together and sliding inside the circle. "Show me how you want it."

He lets her move him around, amused and ready for whatever she wants next. And with arms full of hot woman, it's fucking bliss for Dom. He dives for her neck, mouth reaching for the sensitive spots he's found there before, and rubs his body against hers at the same time. "Sexy, you...." He trails down towards a tit, mouth aching to be filled with her nipple and flesh, to drag moans from her.

Christine purrs, rubbing herself against him like a cat in heat. The rough stubble of his beard is different from Sean's; longer and less abrasive. She likes the coarse feel of it against her nipples, and she drags them against his face as she squirms, whimpering a little. Sometime when Sean is gone and Dom's in California, she's got to get him to come over and give it to her nice and rough. Maybe she'll let him tie her up. Maybe she'll let him bring a friend or two. She moans as he moves down her body, her thighs opening to cradle him.

"Fuck, yeah," Dom leans into her and breathes deep, aroused by her smell. He sucks one of her nipples, feels her respond, and sucks harder. God, who knew Christine was this kind of woman? His cock twitches happily, and he slides his hands, still cuffed, down her back to squeeze her arse. No sand to worry about now, bed has its advantages.

Christine arches her back, pressing against his mouth, and cradles his head in her hands. She can feel his cock, full and urgent, jutting into her, and she likes that-- likes the sense of power, even if it's only power to give pleasure. "Do it, yes..." she hisses, sliding her fingers through his tousled hair.

He'd answer with something cheeky but his mouth is full of tit so he just sucks harder, and teases her nipple with his tongue. Bad idea to leave a bruise, so he nibbles his way across to the other side and teases round her nipple until she gets quite impatient. His hands are ranging across her arse, pinching the sexy curves and sliding into her crack. He'd love to have her for a week, fuck her up one side and down the other, and the thought makes him harder and hotter than ever.

Impatient with her nightgown, which has fallen and half-tangled her arms in the straps, Christine struggles with it, impatient and wanting it out of her way. Her toes are tingling the way they do when things are *really* good; by the time she gets the gown off and throws it, not caring where it goes, she's gasping for breath. She makes little urgent cries, throttled deep in her throat, that welcome his hands and beg for his mouth to close over her nipple. She's getting good friction rubbing against him, but it isn't enough; she wants to know what he can do with his wicked tongue.

Dom uses his teeth and tongue on her breast, reveling in each twitch and moan, backing off only when she pushes him away. He heaves a breath, starved for oxygen, and blows onto the wet place on her chest, giggling a little at her shriek. "Bloody sexy," he says, and dives back in, just for a bit, before he moves down towards her cunt.

Christine guides his head, just to remind him he's not entirely in charge, moaning and getting up on her knees so he can slide his body between her thighs. She likes the cold feel of the metal on the cuffs and chain against her back and her ass; she likes looking down between her breasts and over her belly and seeing Dom's stormy, smoky eyes staring up at her, challenging her. She likes knowing that he's going to have to open her up with his tongue. She reaches for her breasts, rubbing them, pinching her nipples, and letting him watch. They're still slick and wet from his mouth, and she shudders at the sensation of his breath on her belly.

When Christine plays with her tits, it's the hottest thing Dom's seen since his first porno, and he thinks he might bloody explode. If his hands were free, she'd be on her back with her legs wide open before she knew it, but he can't, not all tied up like this. It's like being her boytoy. He growls at her, nips at her stomach, and slides down into her cunt with no finesse, just pure hunger.

She cries out as he works his way in, his tongue leading; she fumbles to help him, all her plans forgotten in her haste-- it's a lot more urgent to have his tongue in the right place than it is to play headgames. She has to force herself not to grind down against him before he's ready, but the feel of his tongue is sending lightning up and down her spine. She cries out again, unable to bite it back. "Fuck," she gasps, shuddering against him. His tongue lashes against her, swift and knowing. "Oh, fuck, yes." She digs her nails into the bedding and hangs on for dear life,

Dom's triumphant, hugely pleased that he's made her lose control. He angles back for a breath and leans in again. She drives him mad, he wants to make her come so hard she screams. He uses uses everything he knows: tongue and lips and teeth on her swollen clit.

It's too soon after the last time to come fast, but she's ultra-sensitive, and he really knows what he's doing. He's not as slow and solicitous as Sean; there's a tease of teeth just barely sheathed behind his lips and tongue. Her toes curl, and she can feel herself starting to sweat; if she didn't know Sean was passed out, she'd be terrified he could hear. She can't hold the cries in, short and sharp, urgent, torn out of her with each deft stab of Dom's tongue.

She's close, Dom can tell, and it's fucking frustrating that he can't seem to make her come. He changes tactics, pulls back and licks along her lips, tongue-fucks her for a while. When he gets back to her clit, she'll appreciate it so much more.

Christine gasps and moans as his tongue dips deep; it's not bringing her any closer to getting off, but she loves it when a guy really likes what he's doing and isn't afraid to go for it and get good and messy. "Please," she moans, writhing and feeling her nails scratch along the smooth cotton sheets. "Oh, please." She bites her lip hard, whimpering, but the words are already out.

Yes, Dom exults in hearing her beg, after she'd reduced him to a puddle before. He pulls back a little and attacks her clit again, teasing at first and then more seriously.

Christine clutches the pillow, then loses her balance and slowly topples forward onto it; he seemed to be waiting for that, because he's working her for real, now. The change in position doesn't hurt things, either. Christine buries her face deep in the pillow and shrieks; the fluffy pillow half-suffocates her, and that drives the pleasure deeper, sending it radiating out through her whole body. She shudders, lifts her head for a gulp of air, and then buries her face, shrieking again as he finds just the spot and molten fire explodes, surging through her again and again, interminable and glorious, leaving her throat raw and ragged.

Dom laps at her gently, bringing her down slowly. He's quite pleased with himself, even smug. But the air's teasing his cock, and he wonders what he'll have to do to get off, if she'll just sit on him and ride him, or make him do something more.

Christine struggles to get her breath back, shuddering through the aftershocks, gentled by the softness of his tongue. That was fucking good, but she knows now that she's got to top it-- as soon as she can scrape her brains off the walls and pour them back into her head, then shake some order into them again.

"Holy fuck," she murmurs, and tugs at him, bringing him up to cuddle. His cock is hard, drilling at her thigh. "You're something else, aren't you?" She leans in and delicately laps at his face, liking the taste and the scent of herself mingled with the masculine tang of his sweat.

She's gorgeous like this, all damp and unselfconsciously satisfied. Her comment makes him snort, cos he's certainly not Sean. Before he gets too distracted though, he gives her a big smacking kiss and says, "Get moving, woman, don't tease me any longer." If something doesn't happen soon, his balls will explode, or he'll rub against her like a lad.

Christine raises an eyebrow; an order like that is more like a challenge. She reaches for his arms, running her hands along them sensually, and smiles. "Put your arms over your head," she says softly. "Then I'll see what I can do." She lets her smile sink deep, loving how wicked it feels. She's spotted the decorative knob at the center of his headboard, and if she can finesse him for just a moment longer, she'll have him right where she wants him.

Dom grins and puts his hands up, showing off his biceps and his toned chest. "Yeah, babe, ride me," he purrs, still smug at bringing her off like that. He can picture it, her on top of him, arching and bowing. Though not as much fun if he can't touch her, can't hold her tits or play with her nipples.

Christine deftly hooks the chain between Dom's cuffs over the headboard and smiles down at him. "I haven't even had a good look at you yet," she purrs, and leans in for a slow kiss with lots of tongue. "I think it's about time I got one." She leaves his mouth and slides down along his chest, kissing and nipping as she goes, liking the feel of his skin between her teeth. He's tightly muscled and lean; his hipbones are sharp. She mouths softly at his navel and nuzzles her nose through the coarse hair there, heading straight for his cock-- but she has a surprise or two in mind for him yet. She lifts it in her hand for a slow, sensual stroke, examining the tight-straining skin; he's not cut, and she hasn't seen many of these up close.

Enjoying the attention, Dom leans back and closes his eyes. He feels thoroughly exposed, more naked than naked, as she explores his body. "Like what you see?" he asks, trying for a casual voice.

Christine quirks a smile at him, and feels it touching her eyes. She curls her hand around his cock, sliding the loose skin about the tip. "Sean's cut," she says simply, but her eyes caress his flat, taut-muscled belly. "And he's built a lot different than you." She doesn't mean to insult Sean-- she loves him-- but he is different. He's a big cuddly teddy bear, but Dom? Dom's more like a race-horse, built for speed and endurance in the homestretch. "He's sturdy, and Elijah's fragile, and you? You're wiry." She strokes his cock slowly, and wets her lips with her tongue.

Dom did not need to think about the others right now. Truly, it takes a bit out of the moment. Even though Chris seems fine with it, and Sean was pontificating about open marriage and sex and everything. But that doesn't mean he wants it in bed with them. Especially Lij, quite unexpected. He covers with, "All that time in the gym and the best I get is 'wiry'?" but he can't keep from deflating a little.

She can sense that she's said the wrong thing-- and she knows this is why she's Sean's wife, not married to someone like Dom. She decides to revert to the kind of communication she and Dom seem to manage best; actions speak better than words, it would seem. "And sexy as hell," she finishes briefly, then puts her mouth to better use, licking softly around the head of his cock and teasing at the slit with her tongue.

"That's better," Dom says, trying to concentrate on her mouth. And it's a bloody fantastic mouth, not the least bit shy. She plays him like a flute, far more boldly than the girls he's been shagging. Her tongue is like a snake, far longer than it seems it should be, and teases him in all the best ways.

Christine has to remember not to lose herself doing this; Dom's easy for her, compared to Sean, who's more than a mouthful, and she gets to really show off the artistry she's developed. But she wants to shake him up a little, so after a couple of minutes, she pulls off and gives him a wicked grin, then gets her hands behind his knees. "Lift up for me," she coaxes softly, dropping a kiss on the tip of his cock.

The fuck? Dom misses her mouth immediately, pushes up into her kiss. He's not entirely sure what she plans, and if he'll like it, but she has him by the balls, literally. He lifts his hips and arse, and asks, "Like that?"

Christine purrs approval, nuzzling down to his balls, and props his legs up so she can get at them properly. "Perfect," she murmurs huskily, and mouths very gently at his balls, getting a feel for how sensitive he is and being sure not to hurt him. "You look hot like this," she purrs, turning aside to kiss and nip at his inner thigh, shielding her teeth behind her lips. "I could eat you up."

Dom moans, "Oh yeah." She's amazing, fantastic, fucking brilliant. He rocks helplessly, his cock thrusting into nothing but air. He's sweating hard now, hands grabbing at the chains, nipples sore in a good way.

Christine smiles, and turns back to his balls, softly sucking at the loose skin, letting her tongue slip out to cradle the weight of the sac. She purrs, humming deep in her throat, and then gently takes one inside her mouth, then the other. She strokes her hands up the backs of his thighs, enjoying the quiver of his muscles as she lets him go, then kisses and nuzzles some more, enjoying his musky scent. "Lift higher," she murmurs.

Not quite sure where she's going with this, Dom obeys with a little a shiver. She's kinkier than he ever expected and now he really wonders about Sean. Do they fuck like this every night? Is she on top or him, or do they switch off? His mind flickers through a porno of various possibilities and they're all very hot. His cock is lonely though, and he tries to decide what's the best approach. "Fucking hot," he murmurs, "want you to touch my cock."

"Be patient," she chuckles, and presses a kiss to the flat spot behind his balls, tickling them with her nose. She needs both hands right now to open him up, and she does, then darts in fast before he can panic, swirling her tongue around the opening without warning, just as hot and wet and nasty as she can make it.

Dom yelps, "Fuck!" as his brain wraps round the idea. She is licking his arse and it's... weird but hot. Or hot but weird. Or something. He's not sure and he finds himself jerking like a caught fish. Not that he hasn't had it up the arse, 'cos he has, twice, both times with a bit more warning, a lot more alcohol, and a fuckload of lube. But her mouth... He can feel his brain fizzing like bacon in a pan. "God, please, touch me, my cock," he begs, cos really, he can't handle this without a little help.

Christine is settled, so she takes mercy on him and wraps his cock up in her hand, stroking him deftly, with just a little twist at the top. She focuses on that, swirling her tongue slowly, giving him some time to settle and get used to things.

That's better, Dom can relax and let himself feel it, really feel it. Still weird -- and he's glad he's not had beans tonight -- but kinky-good. Not like he can do anything about it, being tied up and all. He wonders if she'll want him to do it to her, later. Though he'd have better things to do, if she's helpless.

Christine takes her time, keeping track of how tense he is, watching out for the tell-tale signs that he's getting close. She waits for him to relax and enjoy what she's doing, wondering if he'll ease up enough to take a finger while she sucks him off. She teases at the opening a little harder, watching to see how he reacts, keeping up a firm steady stroking on his cock.

Dom sinks into the sensation, rocking gently forward into her hand and backward into her mouth. The motion nudges the nipple clips and he gasps, "Oh yeah, bloody amazing." She's like an orgy all by herself.

Christine smiles, and adds a little bit of fingertip to the tease of her tongue; she can feel him tensing, and she figures it won't take too much longer now. "That's it," she murmurs, with a final lick. "Relax."

Dom thinks she's bonkers, he can't possibly relax when she's doing all that to him. It's fantastic, but not relaxing. He wants her mouth on his cock, but he can't figure out how to convince her. Still, he's not in a huge hurry at the moment.

Christine rearranges herself, her finger taking the place of her mouth, and draws a long slow line down his cock with her tongue. Just as slowly, she traces the vein back up, and then fits her mouth over the tip. She sinks down inch by inch, all the way, until his coarse hair brushes the tip of her nose, and rises up as slowly, pressing and petting with her finger. He isn't any more tense for it than he was for her tongue. "You taste good," she purrs as she pulls off, and gently blows a stream of air over the gleaming tip.

She's the devil incarnate, she's a succubus who knows how to drive him mad. Her mouth and hand this way are beyond pleasure, blowing his mind. "Please," he whispers when she pulls off and teases with her breath, "Don't stop!"

She smiles and settles in for the long haul, working her finger in with patient, subtle skill, and sets the slowest rhythm she can manage, sucking hard and sinking down, then holding him in her throat for three long, undulating swallows, then back up ever so slightly faster, to swirl her tongue around the tip and push back down, fucking her mouth and her throat with him. She can feel herself getting wet again just listening to the rasp of his breath and feeling the restless shifting of his body under her.

So she didn't quite stop, but she's still bloody teasing. Her mouth is slow pleasure and her finger's filling his arse, making him shiver and shake in the most peculiar way. Dom tries to speed it up, rock into her mouth faster, to get more of what he needs so much.

Christine is patient, speeding up a little, if not quite as much as he wants. She's looking for something, her finger gently pressing inside him. She swirls her tongue and sinks again, swallowing and rising up, patient and steady, until she feels a warm, hard spot under her finger, and he shivers. Success. Christine presses lightly, and moves faster, tightening the suction and leaving out the leisurely tongue-work.

Dom loses it then, the sensations fore and aft overwhelming him, like a wave he hadn't seen. "Fuck, oh bloody fuck!" he yells, pumping into her mouth as he comes uncontrollably. It's amazing, great, almost painfully good, the hardest he's come in ages. He can see why people might get addicted to this.

Christine can feel it starting, maybe even before he does, and she rides it out, pulling off just in time to let him send a last spurt across her face. She milks him gently as he comes down, sliding her finger out, then licks the bitter, salty fluid off the tip of his cock, so that he can watch.

"So good," Dom pants, watching her, wishing he could touch her. He wonders if she wants him to get her off again -- he probably could, though he's a bit tired. He tries to unhook his arms off the bedstead, then asks, "Get me off of here, will ya?"

Christine quickly finds the key on the bedtable and uncuffs him, then snuggles down to nuzzle at his neck, her head on his shoulder. "Sleepy?" she breathes. "I can go now, or I can go when the sun comes up. Your call."

Dom considers it, and says, "Better get back to Sean, don't want him to notice you're gone." He grins and tweaks a nipple, "Now I know why he holds on to you, he's a lucky bastard." If Dom had met someone like Chris, he might have settled down ages ago.

Christine gives him a sweet smile and lifts herself out of bed, luxuriant, stretching a bit and gathering her things. "I'm glad you think so." She lets her voice dip low, and looks through her lashes at him. "Maybe you'll continue being a lucky bastard, too, if you play your cards right." She gives him a wink and lets him watch her hips sway as she walks out. She's pleased with the results of her experiment, and as she steps into her own room, she finds Sean there, snoring peacefully. She steps into the bathroom and turns the shower on hot for a bath before she joins him. She's looking forward to the future rather more than she has in some time.


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