by Xavier Neal
I casually glide two fingers over to the wetness that’s already beginning to soak her pussy and slip them inside. She gasps at the intrusion at the same time her muscles constrict in objection. On a heady grunt, I force her forward again, exchanging the gentle nature I began with for one much more brutal.
Above my head, loud clamoring begins as she attempts to open the drawer with a shaky hand. Her hips rock back into the shallow thrusting in a silent imploring for more, creating a sopping symphony in our room that I want to wake up to every morning. Various unknown objects crash to the floor, like symbols being added to the melody, and the sounds of her out of control already have my dick drizzling precum onto my stomach.
Finally, Chantal airily announces, “I’m here, Sir.”
The reluctance to release her nipple is evident in the two tiny nips that are delivered prior to me stating, “Grab the ball gag.”
She instantly trembles from just hearing the article mentioned.
I untuck my other hand, grip it roughly around the other plump territory, and present it with the harsh sucking I was delivering before. This time I give a little more teeth. Grate them a bit harder. I sync the curling motions around her tit to the one being done against her muscles and growl into every coil. Wetness soaks past the pair pushing inside, down my palm, and onto my wrist. The delectable dripping sensation sparks rumbles in my chest that I know are about to get even louder.
I don’t allow her to do more than grab the accessory. As soon as it’s within her possession, I use the digits that were fingering her to transfer it to mine. My mouth unlatches from her nipple and that hand anchors itself to her hair, tugging so that our stares meet. I keep our gazes locked while dragging the ball along the backside of her pussy, steeping it in her juices. Shock spreads her mouth and eyes wide in tandem. Seeing the area so open and ready spurs my actions faster.
I wedge the soaked silicone object between her teeth and instruct, “Tenere.”
Hold.
Chantal’s mouth immediately closes the best it can around the 1.875-inch red, round blockade.
Her obedience receives the approval I know she adores, “Molto bene, Mia Bella.”
Pride and excitement collide in her gaze threatening to make me come too soon.
Rather than get lost in how gorgeous she looks or how incredible it makes me feel to be the one creating the response, I dedicate my attention to securing the strap in place.
Once it’s there, I flop back onto my back, another command given. “Suck.”
She slowly attempts to complete the task of tasting her own flavor, a task that’s being made deliciously difficult due to the gag. I intentionally watch despite the fact I can’t see her actively working for a taste. The tightness keeps the ball from moving; however, the sight of her cheeks clenching is the perfect display of my order being met. It takes several long stretches before the spit starts to seep past the noise suppressor, but the minute it does my dick thumps in preparation to provide more reasons for the frothing to continue.
I steal a swipe of the collected spittle and smear it along my shaft. Chantal’s barely given time to watch or react. One minute her head is trying not to fall forward to catch a glimpse of the primitive action and the next I’m slamming inside her. Muted screams are accompanied by her nails sinking into the skin along my ribcage. I happily grumble over the bite of pain. Hold her hips harder. Thrust harsher. Each hit is sharp and precise. Every stroke executed with fierceness and ferocious force. Wetness unrelentingly trickles down to my nuts while I pound upward to greet it. Her head bobs around lifelessly in the midst of her determination to hold on, and her devotion to withstanding brutality only causes more of it. Sweat and saliva slither their way across her brown skin visually seducing me into surrendering. The skirmish to concentrate on her pussy contracting around my cock – as opposed to the ball that has her own spit dripping down her neck – is one I refuse to lose. Gagging sounds bounce off the ball in tandem with her bucking around on my dick. She cries for mercy and taps my chest for it. Cries louder. Shakes and shudders to the point she can barely hold herself upright. Logically, I know I should reel it in.
Soften some of the heaving.
Logically, I know this is all too much for us to only have been back in bed for less than twenty-four hours.
Yes, all of those things are fucking obvious when I’m not dick deep inside the woman I swear I live to see scream.
While the ball in her mouth is somewhat large, it’s not the largest one we have, nor is it one where if she were to say her safe word, I wouldn’t be able to understand it or one where her breathing is obstructed.
That knowledge and the dedication to making her come so hard she crashes out again while I’m working in my office, propels my dick to drive into her harder. To rapidly rub my thumb across her clit. The swift strokes that have risen to the top of her list of favorites while she’s in this position have her clawing up my chest to get away from the overwhelming sexual sensations.
My balls swell tightly in warning that they can’t handle the irregular quivers she’s presenting, prompting me to proclaim, “Scream my fucking name as you come, Mia Bella. Fucking. Scream. It.”
Her entire body suddenly vibrates on top of mine.
In spite of the accessory stifling the sound, the intensity of my name can be felt tenfold. She shouts on bed-breaking trembles. Creams on my cock again and again. Bathes it and blesses it in a primitive poise. Her pussy perpetually pulses until my dick unleashes a breath-ceasing round of coming. Hard spurts splash against the tempestuously twitching muscles, barbarically branding her body on the inside as my fingers bruise her body on the outside.
Our amalgamation begins to leak past where we’re joined, becoming the cue for Chantal to crumple forward in exhaustion. It instantly knocks the small air I had managed to collect out of me yet doesn’t stop me from grinning. Her drained demeanor plants pride in my chest, and keeping the feeling beats the fuck out of the need to breathe.
In a strange, weird way it allows me to breathe in another sense.
I unbuckle the strap from the back of her head before carefully moving her face around to remove the gag. She happily hums at the new freedom to which I lovingly remind, “Allungare, Mia Bella.”
Her eyes remain completely closed.
Body still.
If it weren’t for the fact I can feel her heart beating against mine, I would be worried she’s not alive at all.
“Allungare, Mia Bella,” I sternly repeat. “Stretch. The last thing we want is that beautiful bocca of yours broken.”
“Ha-ha.” She slowly waggles her jaw around prior to sending it through the previously discussed cycles. I prepare to scold her about her attitude when she unexpectedly shoots up. “Ohmygod!”
The abrupt nature scares the shit out of me. “What?! Che cos'è? Cosa c'è che non va?”
“I knew, I knew that voice!”
“Che cosa?” Bewilderment rips through my expression. “What voice?”
“Ohmygod, I need Miko!”
Possessiveness of new proportions pierces through my voice. “What the f-”
“Ohmygod!” Chantal leaps off of my lap, still ranting to herself. She reaches for the dress shirt I wore yesterday while rambling, “Gia was right. God, your mamma was fucking right!”
Not sure if hearing that while my dick was still inside her would’ve been better or worse than her shouting the thing about needing my best friend.
“Mia-”
Some sort of squeak cuts me off and is followed by her darting to the door after not buttoning enough buttons.
I fumble out of bed, clumsily tug on my black boxer briefs, and hastily pursue my fiancée, who is now shouting my best friend’s name at the top of her lungs.
What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening?!
Thankfully, her roaming is, promptly, redirected by one of my maids, who points the direction of the main kitchen.
Chantal sprints in such a nature I can feel my ent
ire body tensing more than it already was.
Fuck.
I’m going to need to schedule a midday massage to rid myself of these fucking knots.
I’ve barely entered the kitchen behind her when she screeches louder, “Miko!”
He fumbles around the bottle of mustard he was grabbing from the fridge prior to turning around. “Santa merda donna!”
Holy shit, woman!
“Mi hai spaventato a morte!”
You scared the shit out of me!
I wanna tell him she’s scaring the shit out of me, too, but am not given the chance.
“Miko I-”
“You don’t have on any pants,” my second casually observes creeping over to his food that’s sitting on the island.
An unhappy grumble grows in my chest as I move closer to the same area.
“I-”
“Why don’t you have on any fucking pants?”
Through gritted teeth, I growl, “Perché abbiamo appena finito di scopare.”
Because we just finished fucking.
A small grin grows on his face yet is swiftly washed away by my fiancée screaming again.
“I know that voice!” Chantal chirps and, needlessly, moves closer to him.
My bite is on the heels of her proclamation. “Fai un passo indietro.”
Take a step back.
“Yeah,” Miko mumbles doing what he’s instructed, “and I know that one. That’s the ‘my woman is misbehaving and I’m gonna take it out on some poor unsuspecting waiter during lunch’ voice.” He darts his humor-coated gaze my direction. “Sappiamo entrambi che c'erano abbastanza capperi su quel salmone.”
We both know there were enough capers on that salmon.
There weren’t, which is why I spent twenty-two minutes explaining that to the waiter and then the chef.
It had nothing to do with the fact I had, specifically, told Chantal never to order delivery pizza to the estate – an insult to our hard-working kitchen staff – and she did it anyway to prove that just because she wasn’t allowed to leave the property didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to enjoy food off of it.
Just a couple days ago, I feared I’d never see that level of defiance again.
And, now, it’s happening.
In the fucking kitchen.
With her practically naked.
She darts forward and places her hands firmly on his cheeks, stopping him from adding mustard to his sandwich, “I-”
A much louder growl pierces past my closed lips, prompting my best friend to mutter, “You probably shouldn’t touch me while I can see your nipples.”
“Non guardare i suoi dannati capezzoli!” I instantly roar.
Don't look at her damn nipples!
“Non è colpa mia!” It’s not my fault. “They’re basically trying to fucking attack me!”
“I swear to God-”
“Hey!” My fiancée screams in his face at the same time she anchors her grip into his cheek. “Pay. Attention. To. Me. Not my fucking nipples!”
“Apprezzerei se tutti smettessero di fare riferimenti ai capezzoli della mia futura moglie.”
I would appreciate it if everyone stopped making references to my future wife's nipples.
Miko chortles until her nails dig in deeper. “Fuck, that hurts!”
“I heard a voice-”
“During sex?” he helplessly taunts. Regardless of the fact our eyes don’t contact, my best friend slyly states, “Ti applaudo per averla scopata così bene che ha avuto un'esperienza soprannaturale.”
I applaud you for fucking her so well she had a supernatural experience.
Fighting the urge to smirk is significantly harder than it should be.
“Mia Bella, I am asking you politely to let go of him.”
“Not until he listens!” Her head shoots over her shoulder to give me a scowl. “Not until you both fucking listen!”
“I will have a much less difficult time doing that when my futura moglie quasi nuda,” I wave my hand wildly, “nearly naked fiancée is no longer touching my best friend in a way that has me contemplating should I use a steak knife for efficiency or a butter knife to brutally pry his eyes out for seeing something intended solo per me.” My finger stabs my chest. “Only. For. Me.”
Chantal sneers, lets his cheeks go, and retreats two steps.
It’s not enough.
Not nearly enough.
But it’s better than the bloody mess we were rapidly headed towards.
Her arms fold across her chest. “Better?”
Miko rubs the side of his face with one hand and returns to adding mustard on his sandwich with the other. “For my face? Sì. For hiding a view of the aforementioned tatas who are still pointing at me? Nope.”
Another growl escapes me on a glare. “Guarda altrove.”
Look elsewhere.
My second snickers and diverts his gaze to the untouched potato chips on his plate.
“Dr. Gregory says sometimes people repress their trauma. That even if they feel they’re ready to face it and work through it on a conscious level, subconsciously they’re not. They’ll struggle to recall details or valuable information.”
The two of us remain curiously silent.
“Gia said that sometimes the information will just come to you when you’re not even thinking about it. It’ll just hit you out of nowhere because you’ve let your mind…your…self…hit that level of tranquility that you achieve clarity that wasn’t there before.”
Another desire to grin touches my lips.
“Late at night…when I can’t sleep or I’m, unfortunately, woken up by a nightmare, I wrack my brain trying to remember anything that could possibly be helpful from my kidnap-”
The grunting at the terminology is immediately met by an apologetic palm.
“From my unapproved game of hide and seek,” she sasses in a way that makes all of us smirk. “Nothing new was coming to me. Everything I remembered, you already knew or handled, but post sex, it felt like I was just…floating. Like I was so high and so centered that I just reached a state of Zen.”
Her gushing adds the smallest flush to my cheeks.
“Which reminds me on a different note, I really think we should invest in a Zen Rock Garden. There were some interesting theories on it that I made notes about in one of the baby books I’ve been reading.”
The fact she’s writing shit down again – even if it’s just in the margins of what she’s reading – is worth beaming brightly about.
“You can grow rocks?” Miko’s confusion is presented between chews. “Is that new technology shit?”
Chantal rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “You cannot be allowed to be left alone with the baby.” She shoots him a teasing expression. “I’m not sure who would be watching who.”
After my cousin swallows, he grunts out, “Dannoso.”
Hurtful.
“Anyway, I remember hearing a voice when they were moving me from the yacht to the island. It was on the phone. And, it was a woman’s voice.”
Perhaps the same woman that hired Franklin.
“Mathew McConaugnay-”
“Who?!” Miko and I croak together.
“Oh! Right,” she mumbles to herself. “You don’t have any idea what I’m talking about. Okay, so, we all know my thing with faces.”
We nod.
“I gave the men around me names based on who their voices reminded me of, but with a small twist, like Mathew McConaugnay, like negative, no, I object to you as a person type of thing.”
Amusement arrives in both our expressions.
“After I took out another one of Mathew McConaugnay’s men-”
“That we heard about,” I interrupt on a smirk. “Mi ha reso orgoglioso e acceso.”
It made me proud and turned on.
Chantal winks my direction – clearly aware of what I said – before continuing, “The price for delivering me doubled because of my little stunt. He had a conversation over the phone with a w
oman. Her voice is one I recognized! I couldn’t remember exactly where I heard it from then, but it hit me just now!”
“Where?”
“Here!”
Instantly, I open one of the nearby drawers on the island, pull out a pistol, and cock it in tandem to Miko retrieving the one that’s holstered on his hip.
Chantal’s messy hair whips around as she squawks, “No! Not here, here, but-” She abruptly ceases her sentence to shoot me a perplexed stare. “Is that an island gun? Did you really just pull a gun out from the kitchen island?”
“Your father kept one in the same cabinet he kept his coffee mugs. How is this different?”
Her lips purse to one side on a slow nod. “Fair point.”
“What do you mean not here, here?” Miko quickly questions.
“I mean, it wasn’t the staff,” she announces, allowing us both to lower our weapons, “but I heard the voice while I was here.” Our gazes lock, again. “That night you were preparing to film an episode of Young and The Desperate.”
My best friend loudly chuckles at the comment.
“The voice I heard was one of theirs.”
Uneasiness begins to trek through my system.
“And, if you can pull up that footage, Miko, I can tell you exactly which one!”
He holsters his weapon and shakes his head. “I can’t do that because of the way the feed is set up to delete. That shit was gone months ago, and we don’t keep any digital record of the estate that long.”
Disappointment drops her shoulders.
“But,” he slowly smirks, “those bitches are social media sluts at their finest.” My second removes his cell from his pocket. “Couple of clicks and I can show you each one with even less effort than searching through old footage.”
“Do that,” I demand on the way over to him, taking the longer route to wrap an arm around Chantal in the process.
We arrive together at his side, and he clicks away on his device.
The first girl pulled up is Aspen Acker. Her blonde hair, blue eyes, and soft young feminine features provide the angelic, prim and proper nature many men in powerful positions crave; however, her obsessive need to pout in photos makes it impossible to forget her barely legal drinking age. As soon as he hits play on one of her posted videos, I cringe at her constant giggling nature.
