May 22, 2015

Friday Free Read: "The Shed", Audio Excerpt

This recording is NC17 and contains graphic sexual content. You may want to listen with headphones!

(If you aren't able to listen to the audio, the text version is posted below)


Rebekah was watching him.

She played it cool: lounging on the porch, mulling over tea, holding it to her lips to blow on it. She was watching him, though.

Reid worked in his yard next door, trenching weeds. Shirtless and shamelessly beautiful, but that wasn't why she paid attention. He'd brought the weed twister from the house. It might not be so strange, except he'd installed a perfectly new shed, near the path down to the river. Rebekah summered by the Feather River every year. She knew gardening was handled between renters, and by gardeners who brought their own tools. Reid put in the shed when he bought the property though, and tended the yard himself. So why store his tools in the laundry room?

He caught her staring and his dark brown eyes narrowed. As he lifted an arm to brush his blond hair from his eyes, he didn’t look amused. Rebekah blinked and glanced away. Did she imagine it, or did he thrust the weed twister into the soil with a little extra force this time?

She supposed she should be thrilled to find her new neighbor was a looker, with a strong summer tan and a delicious, lithely muscled grace. She'd enjoyed an eyeful of him down at the river: sparkling water on his skin, swim trunks clinging. He wasn't very nice, though. When they  met for the first time he barely offered a polite hello over the fence. This early in the season, there was just the two of them in the neighborhood. What a shame her only neighbor had to be a grouch. She could live with it, at least, until more pleasant company joined them. 

Then, the screaming started.

It shook her out of her sleep—desperate screams, coming from the river. Someone hurt, or maybe drowning; Rebekah rose in a panic to run down to the bank. She couldn’t see it from her yard—she had to snake down a winding foot-path and duck under tree branches before she could look out over the black, glassy water.

Nobody there. She ran her flashlight over the surface, afraid the screamer might already have slipped beneath the water. Then another scream rose, wild and hoarse.

This one came from behind her.

From her own yard.

She froze. It took several moments—and another anguished cry—to finally drive her back up path, flashlight shaking.

Nobody in the yard. She stood alone, barefoot in the wet grass, dumbfounded. 

Then she jumped: another sound—a violent thump—came from nearby. 

From the shed.

She stared. Another thump. She heard rough cries, and then...begging? 

Enough. She raced inside to call the police.

When they came, she craned her neck to look out the window. There were trees in the way, but she caught the sound of the officer’s knock, and saw the slant of light when Reid opened his door. 

The police spoke with him. Did she hear a woman's voice? One of the cops? Reid gave a chuckle, and the officers returned it. Then they went back to their car. The door shut. Everything fell quiet.

Rebekah stared.

What did he tell them? Maybe that he'd had the TV up too loud? Or he'd forgotten he had a neighbor to be bothered by the noise?

A horrible thought crossed her mind. She'd called 911 anonymously—it seemed smart at the time—but, of course, who else would have heard the screams?

And thumping. It had come from the shed. She knew she heard it out there.

So…what had Reid been doing?


By morning, she decided she'd been mistaken. She went into the yard in sleepy distraction, searching for a warm spot of sun. There was a sudden bang, and she jumped.

Reid stood in the doorway to the shed, a cleaning rag in hand.

"Sorry," he murmured. "Wind makes it bang sometimes."

That was it. No apology. No confrontation over the cops. He kicked the door shut and walked away.


There were more screams—and moans—three nights later. Rebekah called the police again; though they assured her of an officer, none came. Now, as Rebekah watched him tearing up weeds, she made up her mind. She would find out what Reid was doing in that shed, for herself.

She waited until the evening, when he went to the river. He liked night swimming, she'd noticed. She expected he'd be away for a good while, and when she imagined he’d be far enough down the path not to hear anything, she hurried over the fence.

Pausing only to check for movement on the path, Rebekah crept to the shed and tried the door.

It swung out. Inside...pitch black.

"Hello?" She whispered. She inched in a little, searching for the light.

Oh…but what if she turned on the light and found—

She groped blindly. Why hadn't she brought her flashlight?

An arm reached past her, tugging the chain of an overhead bulb. Rebekah shrieked and spun, backing up until she hit something hard and had to halt.

It was Reid. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'm sorry!" Rebekah squeaked. Her neighbor stepped toward her and she flinched.

She could smell him as he leaned close: the sharp, mineral tang of the river water. She sensed one hand rest on the surface behind her.

"Well, now," he rumbled. "Feeling left out?"

"What?" she whispered, glancing up. Reid smiled. It was a hungry, cocksure look. Though he was still dripping from his dip, he gave off a palpable heat.

"If you're interested in my shed," he murmured, "I'm happy to let you have a look around."

Her heart thumped. She stared at him and then, when he said nothing else, she glanced around her.

He kept it clean. Obsessively clean, it seemed. The walls and shelves were all arranged in neat order, and lined with—


Her eyes widened. No wonder the tools stayed in the house.

Toys. Dozens of them. Some impeccably lifelike, some stylized. Some appeared to have multiple uses.

One rack near her held a paddle lined with fur, a leather crop, and one mean horsewhip next to another made from soft cords. Across the shed, in a more open space, stood a sex swing and an apparatus with shackles at the top and bottom.

Above her dangled two steel bracelets, hooked to the wall. She'd backed against a table, where Reid could—

"Oh!" she said, heat rising to her cheeks. "I'm so sorry! I thought—"

He took her wrists and raised them, clear with his intentions as he coaxed her hands into the bracelets and made her take hold of the chains. Their bodies were nearly touching as he stared into her eyes, dropping his grip.

He hadn't closed the bracelets, though. Giving her a chance to refuse.

She stared back at him, silent. Something balked against remaining, some fearful part of her still certain Reid got up to no good in this little prison…but another side said maybe she should give no good a chance.

"What to do with a nosy girl?" he mused. He closed the cuffs, giving her plenty of opportunity to say no. She didn't.

He slid his hands to her hips and turned her around.

"I think...a spanking."

His open palm came down on her ass, stinging through pajama bottoms, and Rebekah yelped. He gently rubbed the cheek where he'd hit her.

"How's that?" he whispered.

She hesitated.

"Answer me."


"Have another."

He spanked her again and she arched with a cry. Then, rubbing.

"More? You did sneak onto my property."

Again, she caught his scent. Clean and coppery. Like the river. It eased her shaking a little and she closed her eyes. Where exactly did he mean to go with this?

It’s like floating down the water. Let the current take you.

She wanted to find out.

"Yes," she whispered. "More, please."

He slid down her pajamas, stroking the stinging, naked flesh, and then abruptly gave her another smack. She jumped.

"Good girl," he purred. "Hm...three more? Six for a first offense."

She nodded. When the strike came she cried out, the sound turning into another moan.

The fifth slap came, and this time he squeezed her ass, the bright pink pain melting into sore, sweet pleasure.

"Good girl. One more."

She writhed as the last slap sang hot against her bottom. He rubbed her with more vigor, agitating the pain, and then it wasn't his hand pressed against her but damp, dripping trunks, and underneath, a rock-hard cock.

"Oh!" she gasped. He reached under her shirt to find her nipples peaked: he twiddled with them, teasing, pinching. Rebekah groaned; her pussy grew tight with anticipation.

"What else?" he asked, pressing his urgent erection against her with unmistakable purpose. He tugged her breasts, tweaking as his cock dug against her.

"Calling the cops on me..."

He reached for one of the thick dildos. She closed her eyes, leaned into him, and heard him pop the cap on a bottle of lube. A few cold, slippery spatters spilled onto her ass and between her cheeks.

“Let’s see you spread those legs. That is, if it was you who called the cops. If you really deserve it, I mean.”

Again, a subtle escape clause. She could tell him she hadn’t called the police at all—he knew she had, but this way she could refuse if she didn’t want to continue.

“Yes,” she whispered after a moment of debate. “Yes…I called them.”

She spread her legs as he instructed. The toy slid into her pussy and she shivered with surprise. So cool…so slick. It pressed into her tight channel, coaxing her open, slipping deeper.

"Well," Reid murmured. "You gobbled that up! You've got a hungry pussy."

He slid it deeper, and drew it out. He did it twice more; Rebekah felt sticky lube and her own wetness drip down her thighs.

"How about your ass?" he asked. His thumb circled her tightly resisting hole, pressing gently, teasing it. She opened her mouth to answer but he cut her off with another sharp slap on her reddened cheek. Instead of speaking, she arched herself to present her hot, stinging bottom, nodding her assent.

The head of the toy replaced his thumb, cold and slippery. Rebekah's breath hitched. There was a stinging, beautiful pain—then it slid in, filling her in a strange, inescapable, deeply satisfying way. She groaned and wriggled, mewing with delight.

"Punishment enough for you?" he growled in her ear. Rebekah moaned.

"You want to know why the women scream?"

"Yes," she gasped.

The cock inside of her worked forward and back, forward and back. She felt full, shamefully full and wicked and slutty, as she rocked back against his motions.

"Yes, what?" he asked.

"Yes, please?"

He withdrew the toy and she felt bereft, empty and yearning. Reid unhooked the chain of the handcuffs and bent her over the table. He held her down with one strong hand on the back of her neck.

"Ass or pussy?" he demanded. She tried to lift her head but he pinned her.

"Ass or pussy?" he repeated. "Decide, or I will."

"Pussy!" she said.

He bobbed hips against her hot backside and reached into a drawer on the table. "Stay," he commanded as he released her. She heard a foil wrapper tear and the quick sounds of latex unrolling. His hand came back, holding her down again as he guided his cock against her entrance.

"Are you sorry?"

"Yes," she pleaded. "I'm sorry."

"Are you going to call the cops over one of my dates again?"


He whispered in her ear.

"Last question: is your hungry cunt ready for me?"

"Yes!" she gasped. With a pleased grunt, he thrust it in.

He was hard as iron and slid in deep. His strokes were smooth but vicious, thumping her against the table and making her sore ass ache. Her breasts were pressed to the wood. She liked it; the swell and throb of them drove her higher, making her lightheaded. He drove in until she thought she couldn’t accept any more, and she moaned loudly, wriggled desperately. He fucked her into a high, hard, violent pitch, and she came with a scream, her pussy going tight around him. He wasn't done, though, and despite her hitching, dazed cries, he fucked harder. His pace grew frantic and then he plunged in, buried in her; his cock throbbed and throbbed inside her as he came.

"Good girl," he panted. Her thighs were hot and slick when he withdrew, and she trembled.

"You might not feel like walking," he said offhandedly. "You can stay here, of course."

Her only response was a weak, low moan. He pulled her pajamas back up, gave her a teasing pat on her sore rear end, and hoisted her up on one shoulder.

She noticed he hadn't removed the handcuffs.


A week later, there was a knock. Reid was rubbing cool lotion on her aching bottom, red from the vigorous spanking he'd just administered; he moved her off his lap to answer it.

It was a patrol cop. He greeted Reid and explained a complaint had been made—suspected domestic disturbance.

"I'm sorry, officer." Reid gestured for Rebekah to join him and she did. She leaned up against him and smiled.

"We're having a...romantic evening," Reid said. "As you can see, my partner is quite all right."

"Very all right," Rebekah replied.

The cop looked unamused. "Well," he grumped. "Be a little considerate. Folks think you've got her tied up and are killing her, for Chrissakes."

Reid waved a hand. "Happens all the time. We'll keep it in mind."

Once he was gone, Reid smiled and closed the door.

"Wanna see if we can get a second car sent?" he said.

She did indeed.

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