Independence

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Independence | Clare London 2

“WHAT?” I said. I stood in front of the open wardrobe door and looked back over my shoulder at the bed, my fingers hooked inside the top of my new black panties. I paused, my hands at my hips. “Do you have a problem with my choice of underwear? I seem to remember you once liked the idea of my crossdressing.” He was propped up against the headboard: naked, relaxed, watching as always. When he shook his head, the thick, messy black curls fell over his forehead. His dusky skin glowed with the faint sheen of sweat, and his eyes looked almost painfully wide. The gaze was steady, though. That was as always too. “No problem at all,” he said, his voice low. Any softness was deceptive; I should know that by now. His gaze had slipped away, but now darted back to meet mine. “I’m sure I can be… tolerant.” He’d been looking at the place where the black lace edging nestled into the top of my inner thigh. I smiled very gently. “Fine. I’ll continue, then.” I stretched lazily, turning my back to him again. “It’s important that I wear my best for you. From the very basics up.” The cool air through the bedroom window brushed between my bare shoulder blades. It teased at the loose links hanging down from my collar, and they chinked softly. Cool silver metal; warm, tanned skin. He liked the contrast of

Independence | Clare London 3 colors and textures. And the touch of it, of course. I braced my legs a little farther apart and lifted a hand to my mouth. He couldn’t see everything from this angle, of course, but he’d know what I was doing. He’d hear the sucking sounds as I licked my fingers. When I slid my hand down to my chest, he’d also know how it looked, my saliva-slicked fingertips teasing at my nipple rings. I’d performed many times before, in front of him. “Just deciding on a shirt,” I murmured, though I didn’t reach any farther into the wardrobe. “Just browsing.” I ran my fingers down over my belly, enjoying the way the muscles clenched up underneath my touch, even though I expected it. Goose bumps followed the line of hairs, and the skin tightened with anticipation around my groin. Under the soft silk of the panties, my cock started to swell. A damp patch appeared on the front of the fabric, the size of a penny, staining it a darker black. I knew the back view would show the panties tightening across my ass. He coughed. It might have been a groan, choked back at the last moment. “Maybe not this color.” I made myself sound thoughtful. “I may change again.” I put my hands back on my hips, slipping a finger in under the elasticized top. I teased down one side of the briefs, tugging them a few inches over my hip. The cloth bunched unevenly at the back, catching between my buttocks. I clenched my cheeks, swung my hips gently from side to side, and wriggled it out again. That was definitely a groan behind me. Couldn’t mistake that pained sound. The bed creaked gently, too, as if he shifted awkwardly on it.

Independence | Clare London 4 I smiled again. “They must fit well,” I whispered. “I need to feel good, as well as look good.” Instead of pulling the panties down on the other side as well, I slid my whole hand inside them, cupping my crotch. I bit back a gasp, the flimsy lace brushing over my palm as I rubbed my hand in between the front of the panties and my dick. From the back, he would see the movement of my wrist, and his imagination would supply the rest of the picture: my fingers curling greedily around my cock, the shaft thickening. “Feels good.” I nodded and sighed. “Feels free.” My other hand stroked almost absentmindedly against my thigh, caressing the skin, moving down into the valley between my legs and under my barely-covered balls. The panties shifted down again, no match for my indulgent, twohanded activity. I glanced down, and I could see the head of my cock easing out of the top of them. It was purple, glistening, hungry. My knuckles nudged at the cock ring around its base, the burst of pained sensation even sharper. I was impatient, despite the illusion of control. My groin ached, the blood throbbing along my dick, the pulse of my skin insistent. I finally pushed the lace down at the other side, the panties now snagged around the top of my thighs. I clenched my buttocks and flexed my shoulders. He liked me lithe rather than musclebound, but I knew the ripple under my skin would look good from behind. A single drop of sweat trickled down from the small of my back into the channel between my cheeks. It was warm. I heard the mattress squeak as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. His strength was always graceful too. I listened to his footsteps until he paused a foot

Independence | Clare London 5 or so behind me, maybe waiting for me to speak. I wouldn’t be allowed any protest, of course. But I didn’t speak. Instead, I tightened my hand around my cock and started pumping lazily. I let my head drop back and the links around my neck chinked like coins in his pocket. My other hand slid over my hip and down my back to grasp at my ass, squeezing the flesh and tugging the cheeks apart. A deeper groan this time. He’d moved very close, because I could feel his breath on my neck. He placed a hand on my ass and his knee nudged between my spread legs, his skin a little warmer than mine. The movement tugged the lace of the panties even farther down my legs. It felt good, to feel the delicate silk creeping down over the taut muscles of my thighs toward my knees. “I can wear what I like today, you said,” I murmured. “My choice. My day of independence.” I licked my lips. My head still hung back, my hair brushing the nape of my neck. He liked me to wear it long, unstyled. “No problem, you said.” “Yes, that’s what I said. Don’t challenge me too far, boy.” I was startled at how close he’d come, how hot his torso felt at my back. Both of his hands were on my ass now, spreading me. Then one finger slid down my crack to nudge a knuckle against my hole. He was making the slow, firm, circular movement that stimulated the muscles there, making the pucker flex open and relax with its need. It was making me damp too. At some point, he’d covered his fingers with lube.

Independence | Clare London 6 “So I’ll just… continue getting changed,” I said. I was a little breathless now. When his finger teased inside my hole, I leaned forward, landing both hands on the wardrobe frame to stabilize myself. He fingered in and out of me, his breath shallow, any answer or order from him deteriorating to a grunt in my ear. He knew just how far to reach, to make the excitement spark deep and dark in my belly. The panties slipped down past my knees, hanging loose now. He didn’t speak, but his breath hitched. “Please,” I whispered back. He put a hand against the small of my back and pushed me down, more gently than I’d expected. I bent over at the waist, my head hanging down between my outstretched arms. The fingers of his free hand curled around my collar and grasped it tight, holding my head in place. His groin bumped at my ass, his cock thick and heavy and pushing for entrance. The panties slid down to my ankles and I lifted one foot out of them. I opened my legs even wider, tilting my hips up. He slid into me, pushing not slowly, not fiercely. Just right. My turn to groan. “I told you, you can do what you like.” His tongue flickered around my ear; his voice was hoarse. “That’s what I promised.” He was pressed against my back, fingers gripping the flesh of my hip, thrusting hungrily in and out of me. His skin was covered in sweat, and parts of it stuck to my own, making soft, sucking sounds as we moved in rhythm. “I can’t…” I gasped, and he understood my plea,

Independence | Clare London 7 reaching under me and releasing the ring. “I’ll come,” I cried. I felt his head nod, the bristle of his jaw against my neck. He’d promised, no permission needed today, but I craved it regardless. I came. I was already thick-tongued with desire, my flesh too sensitive to bear more than a couple more strokes of my palm. I groaned, the seed spitting out of me, dripping over my fist and arm. I looked down through heavy-lidded eyes, watching a thin rope of it dangle from my wrist, then drop in slow motion onto the small heap of lace at my feet. Behind me, he cried out, a guttural, involuntary sound. His hips clenched tightly against me, driving more deeply inside than my muscles could cope with, just for that second. I shuddered against him, gasping, making myself relax, welcoming the feeling of him swelling inside me, climaxing into me. I leaned against the wardrobe door, waiting for my heart rate to steady, and he lay against my back, panting heavily. I sighed in contentment, and he shifted, releasing his full weight off me, though he still clung. His cock was softening quickly inside my ass, and when he moved a small trickle of come oozed out, tickling the soft hairs at the top of my thigh. “The day’s not over yet. I can still wear what I like?” I teased, clenching around him, reminding him of the pressure there’d been inside me a mere moment before. “I said so, didn’t I?” he grumbled, maybe regretting his indulgence of me. Yawning, he straightened back up, loosening his hold. I knew when I looked down I’d see

Independence | Clare London 8 shallow fingertip-shaped dips where he’d gripped my flesh. “I don’t care what you wear….” I opened my mouth to thank him again, but then he chuckled, a warm, breathy sound, his pleasure tickling my ear. “…as long as it’s the black pair!”

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Clare London took her pen name from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fueled family home, she juggles her writing with the weekly wash, waiting for the far distant day when she can afford to give up her day job as an accountant. She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic, and sexy characters. Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter three stage and plenty of other projects in mind… she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fueled family home. Visit Clare’s web site at http://www.clarelondon.co.uk and her blog at http://clarelondon.livejournal.com/.

Independence ©Copyright Clare London, 2011 Published by Dreamspinner Press 382 NE 191st Street #88329 Miami, FL 33179-3899 USA http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover Art by Anne Cain [email protected] Cover Design by Mara McKennen This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 382 NE 191st Street #88329 Miami, FL 33179-3899 USA http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ Released in the United States of America October 2011 eBook Edition