by Xavier Neal
There’s no warning to him relinquishing his possession to inquire, “Safe word?”
“Taffy.”
“Do not hesitate to use it.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“In piedi.”
Like a puppet on a string, I slink my body back to a standing position.
“Molto bene, Mia Bella,” he purrs, mouth hovering a mere inch away from my pussy. His large hands caress up the back of my thighs towards the curve of my ass at the same time he asks, “Has Dr. Gregory signed off on sex at this point in your recovery?”
I mindlessly tease, “You don’t already know?”
The spank that’s delivered deliciously stings.
Sweetly singes.
Gets my heart racing and breath catching.
“Il tuo atteggiamento ha bisogno di un aggiustamento lo darò felicemente.”
Your attitude needs an adjustment. I will happily give it.
A mixture of a moan and whine linger behind my sealed lips.
“Now,” Beni drags the tip of his tongue over the material covering my clit, “Risposta. Mio. Domanda.”
“Yes,” I instantly retort. “Yes, she has, Sir.”
“And, Doctor Ybarra, the OB-GYN who is assisting with the pregnancy portion of your health. Does she approve of you having sex at this point?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He repeats the previous action a little harder to apply more pressure. “Will it harm o futuro figlio?”
Our future child.
“No.”
My lack of a proper term of respect receives another swat to the other cheek. The whimpering is barely heard over his growling, “Rispetto, Mia Bella.” Another hard pop pushes me to the tips of my toes. “You will show me respect, or you will be punished instead of pleased.” He executes a second hit on the exact location of his last, and the bite of discomfort fusing with delight has my knees knocking together. “Do we have an understanding, Mia Bella?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Meglio.”
Better.
Beni gradually guides his mouth over towards my hips, teeth teasing the skin during every new centimeter conquered. His eventual arrival is proceeded by him curling his tongue around the string of my thong and tugging it downwards. The salacious action is swiftly repeated on the other side with just as much vivacity. Back and forth his movements oscillate, making me wetter and wetter while panting harder and harder. Each time his teeth scrape across the goosebumps littering my delicate flesh, my eyes threaten to fall shut, but the periodic slaps to my ass ensure that they don’t.
That they can’t.
That I watch the man I gave permission to have power over me use it to its fullest capabilities.
The instant it becomes too low for him to continue letting his mouth assist, he skates one finger along the crack and the back side of my drenched lower lips to finish the job. Trembles tear through my system like a succession of tornadoes determined not to leave me standing. I struggle to catch my breath and stop my mind from spinning out of control while wetness leaks down my inner thigh.
“Passo. Su.”
Step. Out.
My feet that feel wrong to call my own complete the command in spite of my brain being unable to fully comprehend it.
Beni lifts the fabric up, drapes it over his shoulder, and demands, “Slacciare.”
I immediately lean over to undo the belt to his pants.
He shoves his fingers into the locks of my dark hair, roughly grabs a handful, and yanks my face to where the material is resting. “Smell what it is I do to you, Mia Bella.”
The dark, gruffness of his tone only makes me weaker.
Needier.
“Apri la bocca,” open your mouth, “and fucking taste it.”
Without reluctance, my tongue fully extends to follow the order. The lace scratches in an unideal fashion, yet feeling his body vibrate in satisfaction from me doing what I’ve been told instantly makes me forget. I clamp my mouth completely around it. Bite down, clipping his shoulder. He hisses and adjusts his handful of my hair. My fingers blindly fumble to work the accessory blocking my path to the undoing of his pants at the same time I vigorously suck the material into my mouth. Pungent flavors pierce my senses, yet each additional tasting of myself inspires me to have another and another. I moan and groan. Gather more fabric into my mouth. Moan louder. Beni provides more for me to devour by leaking growls so delectable there’s no stopping me from becoming intoxicated on the paired combination. Somehow, I finally finish unfastening the belt and move onto the button that is, thankfully, easier. It’s popped open, and the zipper is swiftly ripped to the bottom.
The instant that it’s there, my fiancé purrs, “Take me out, Mia Bella.”
I nimbly work to free him; however, my movements aren’t careful or gentle.
They’re clumsy.
His dick is jerked around.
Scraped against the boxer briefs I know he’s wearing.
Nervousness that I’m not ready, that maybe I’ll never be ready, begins to power through my system, prompting his free hand to assist in the process. There’s no scolding or insistence we should stop or possibly slow down. No interrogation of how I’m feeling. Not even a worried stare shot my direction. It’s as though as soon as I gave him my consent all other concerns vanished.
It’s like as soon as I presented him with that trust, he gave me his in return.
He trusts me to speak up about my needs, just like I have entrusted him to take care of them.
Rather than crumble under my own crippling doubts, I push his hand away and accomplish pulling out his dick on my own.
The action receives a brief smile from the way his face muscles twitch against me. “Sedersi.”
My legs instantly widen in the process. I grunt in minor discomfort of the way my knees are wedged in the seat that isn’t intended for this particular behavior yet mewl in pure bliss when I pierce my pussy with his cock.
His head turns slightly towards mine to growl closer to my ear, “There’s the welcome home I’ve come to expect.”
Wetness cascades down his dick while my tight muscles struggle to accommodate the savage guest. Pain battles pleasure for the principal reaction, and all other thoughts are swept away.
Both hands suddenly grip different areas of my hair to help him yank me down to his base. I whimper from the sensation being too much, from feeling too filled, but am reminded of something almost instantly. “Puoi gestirlo.”
You can handle this.
Beni roughly readjusts me so my ear can be feathered by his lips, panties still dangling from my mouth. “Mi puoi gestire.”
You can handle me.
The proclamation persuades my pussy to swell.
My body to shake.
His voice transposes to one that’s much more unforgiving and, therefore, much more delicious to hear. “Comportati così.”
Act like it.
With my head pressed tightly against his, he commands, “Bounce.”
Dragging myself up to his tip causes his cock to throb, and the pulsing immediately ignites a round in my pussy that warns of what’s waiting closely in the wings. I clench my teeth tighter, moans still muffled by the material. At first, I slowly slide myself down and back up, pussy gently stroking his shaft, but the lack of heavy groans and crude grunts encourages me to abandon the cautious actions.
To abandon cautiousness altogether.
I suddenly slam myself down a little harder so that my ass cheeks are caressed by the cold metal. We both carnally moan at the more turbulent behavior, and I quickly repeat it. Beni barbarically bites down on my earlobe like a wild beast refusing to give his prey any room to move. To my surprise, he doesn’t thrust. He doesn’t rock his hips. He simply uses me to fuck him. He maintains his harsh hold on my body and forces my pussy to do all the work. It isn’t long before my thighs burn and my toes curl so hard that they cramp, yet I don’t stop bobbing. I merely moan through the aches. Whimper ove
r the woes from my hair being yanked so harshly. Stickiness is sloppily smeared along my thighs and his pants. It eventually seeps down inside to tease his balls, and the sensation sends shivers throughout his system. Beni relinquishes his hold on my lobe to dive his tongue into my mouth. The fabric that should be a barrier is anything but. Instead of being a sound blockade, it takes on the form of a sexual aid, adding a level of lewdness to every sweep of the tongue. Each continuous crash against him feels like I’m carving out orgasms for us both, and that level of responsibility is, oddly, inebriating. Our mixed moans and groans and struggles to grab enough air are echoed so profusely by my pussy, it doesn’t take long to reach the point where it’s ceaselessly weeping for reprieve.
Beni abruptly breaks away to verbally bite, “You don’t fucking come until I say so.”
The reminder only increases the need to.
“You know that.”
I force myself to nod.
“Non dimenticarlo.”
Do not forget.
Before there’s time to nod again, my fiancé ruthlessly presses a finger past the rigid ring of muscles of my ass. The unexpected invasion starts to shoot me to the tip of his dick; however, Beni uses the hold he still has on my hair to not only prevent that from happening, but to execute the opposite. He forces me down onto the digit that’s thrusting despite the fact his dick isn’t. He grumbles in Italian for me to move. For me to keep moving. For me to never stop moving until he says so. New rounds of burning sear throughout every fiber of my being. My chest heaves from the need for air. There’s howling from my knees over the bruising and endless pleading from my lower lips to be given the release they’ve worked so damn hard for. His calloused finger ferociously works to the same rhythm of his grunts, and tears start to collect along my lower lids. He shoves his appendage deeper and deeper, determined to reclaim every inch of temporarily lost territory. Being completely filled in every orifice by him – his bare cock, his long middle finger, his favorite panties – breaks me into blissful tremors that have me breathlessly begging for permission to come.
“Please, Sir,” I mewl around the thong in my mouth. “Please, may I come?”
He sucks in a breath so hard it shakes us both. “Belle maniere.”
Beautiful manners.
“Come, Mia Bella,” Beni instructs in a gravelly tone. “Come for me.”
Acknowledgement to let go feels like a blessing in itself, yet knowing it’s for him has the intimate action feeling more like a privilege.
Like a powerful reminder that no one else will ever have that bestowed upon them.
Only. Me.
My head tips backwards to release an ear shattering scream and is thankfully met by no resistance. The fabric flutters down to the space between us as his name falls from both sets of my lips. Up top, it reverberates around the room, possibly even down the hall, while the bottom happily screeches around his swelling shaft. Orgasmic rushes drench his dick, again and again, until he’s left with no choice but to give them back. Blazing bursts collide into the surging waves creating a storm so euphoric it almost collapses me backwards. Beni swoops me up by both arms. Traps me against him. Comes and huffs. Huffs and howls with his face buried between my tits. The two of us tremble into the tiniest shards that only we know how to weave back together, and for the first time since I’ve been back here, I finally feel like everything is going to be okay.
That I am going to be okay.
That we are going to be okay.
And, that feeling is the one I think I’ve missed the most.
Chapter 15
I tuck my hand behind my head and fight for the energy to open my eyes. The trite phrase of no rest for the wicked waltzes through my mind, insisting that I put laziness back in its rightful place and get to work.
The week in Prague wasn’t exactly a vacation.
Conference appearances were rescheduled to this coming one; however, emails were still tended to.
Emergency calls still answered.
Paperwork corrected.
Even business on the other end of the spectrum seemed to require more attention than normal. There were a few odd discrepancies regarding the request to move more weight and additional backlash over taking out one of the best fences in the country. That moment of weakness sparked rumors of my loss of control that have yet to die down. Those, in combination with the speculation on why me and my wife to be haven’t arranged an engagement party or set a date, have added to the pile of tasks that need to be dealt with to properly return order before it can blossom into further chaos.
Dominance needs to be flexed.
Flashed.
It would be best done so in either a massive act or series of swift smaller sequential acts that will silence the disturbance.
I need more time to deliberate.
I need more time to assess.
I simply need more time in general.
Yet, now that Chantal is…more lively, I don’t foresee myself having more of that. Our life together will actively require more of my attention. Between our pending nuptials and pending child, I don’t expect many spare moments.
Nor will I put either of them on what she has called “the back burner”.
Yesterday evening, after a long, hot shower in which I washed her from head to toe before fucking her over the bathroom counter, inevitably creating another need for us to get back into the glass enclosure, we had dinner on our patio. She told me what she had done in my absence. There was baking. Baby books bought and written in. Yoga and walks with Jazzy, Tank, and Mamma. It was impossible not to be jealous that I wasn’t a part of the healing process, but hearing how my mother was, how easily they bonded together, eased much of the pain. Her lack of a motherly figure, as well as the abrupt removal of her only parental guidance left, made connecting to Mamma almost crucial to her existence. I believe having an aid to present her with advice and assist her in preparation for her own child was exactly what she needed. Having space from me to learn to fend for herself, to recall that she can fend for herself, was also necessary. Seeing her not treat herself so delicately forces me to remember that I fell in love with a woman who is stronger than she fucking looks.
She is stronger than the world will ever realize.
I got to enjoy her twice more post dinner prior to us passing out in a tangled mess of limbs and sweat.
This is actually the first time I’ve let her go since then.
And, I’m only doing it because she damn near hit me in the nuts with a balled fist.
No middle of the night nightmare screams, though, so I’ll consider our first night back in bed together a success.
All of a sudden, there’s shifting beside me followed by unpredicted weight on my lap.
The instant my lids lift I’m exposed to the heart stopping sight of my future wife giving her tangled hair a lazy ruffle on a sleepy, dazed smile. Everything inside me stills. Serenity that only she’s ever been able to slip me into overpowers me to the point I mindlessly coo, “Dio, mi è mancato vederti sorridere così.”
On a wide mouth yawn, she requests, “Translation?”
“God, I've missed seeing you smile like this.”
Her grin grows brighter. “Good morning to you, too.”
“Buongiorno, mia futura moglie.”
“And, I would say…?”
“Buongiorno, futuro marito.”
“Buongiorno, futuro marito,” she promptly repeats on a sigh prior to complaining. “Why does husband sound prettier than wife? What the hell is that about? Shouldn’t wife be a prettier word than husband?”
I let the corner of my lip kick upward. “You do know I did not invent the language, sì? I simply learned to speak it.”
Her eyes narrow to slits.
“And, quite well might I add…while you, Mia Bella,” the index finger of my free hand softly skates down the space of her cleavage, “are still struggling to…,” it glides over to her nipple where my thumb joins it on a pull, “grasp i
t.”
She needily moans at the same time she rocks her hips forward.
I leisurely roll my thumb around the hardened nub and ask, “Would you like to play before I head into the office?”
“Yes,” her breathing starts to miss beats, “Sir.”
Just that sound is enough to cause my cock to rise to the occasion. “Aggiungi le tue buone manière.”
“Please.”
There’s no stopping the groan of gratitude that escapes.
The fact she hasn’t hesitated or used her safe word further proves her mental progress that I was, unintentionally, hindering.
I love having our play time returned to us.
I honestly feared it wouldn’t be granted resurrection after what she endured.
Tidbits of information slipped out between sessions when her mind was at its most relaxed. Learning what the girls participated in instilled regret on not murdering them as well, yet hearing their behaviors illustrated added merit to them being victims who needed help themselves.
Nonetheless.
I may still skin them alive if we ever cross paths again.
“Lean over to the nightstand.”
“And, take out what, Sir?”
“I’ll tell you once you’re there.”
Chantal leans her frame over to complete the task, dangling her nipple over my mouth in the process. I touch the area with just enough of the tip of my tongue to be teasing as opposed to pleasing. Wiggling it back and forth inspires her hips to lower themselves back to my lap to do the same. The curling of my tongue lures her to resume her leaning nature, falling forward on an airy mewl. My mouth closes around the nub and immediately sucks. More whimpers are expelled; however, the sound is amplified when the suction is increased. I roll my tongue in circles to a similar unhurried speed that I did my thumb, while my free hand cups her ass and pushes her towards the nightstand.
She fights for her focus.
Struggles to keep her movements going.
Damn near collapses into the wicked combination of my tongue flicking and my teeth clamping.
