by Xavier Neal
Coffee, lunch, and dinner dates with my best friend have resumed – both on the property and off. The fact her and Sherrod did what they did that night proved a level of devotion I never thought I’d know from them. While they insisted they didn’t need any sort of compensation, Benicio agreed to have their dream house built, ending the search, once and for all. It’s in a new, developing, private neighborhood that they both love. To my surprise, as well as her boyfriend’s, she’s given up on the wedding fever and moved on to the baby craze, wanting our kids to be the same age in the same classes and absolute best friends. Sherrod isn’t against the plan of starting a family, nor is he against how much sex they’re having now that they’re actively trying. Whenever him and Beni join us for a meal, there’s always juvenile jokes that make me feel like I’m listening to frat bros enjoying beers rather than grown-ass men drinking wine. I will say I like that they’ve bonded. With Miko leaving at some point in the near future, my fiancé is going to need more male companionship, even if he won’t admit it.
Aside from the freedom to see my best friend basically whenever, Benicio’s resumed traveling for work. It isn’t as frequent as it once was due to the desire to be around for all of the pregnancy moments we’re crossing, but it is happening. He allows himself up to two days away from me before he has to come home. Worrying what constantly flying will do to me and the baby is what prevents him from insisting we go with him. Having his mother, his stepfather, his aunt and uncle still in town until after we leave on our honeymoon helps soothe the fears of my wellbeing while out of his sight.
The best part of everything is that neither of us are prisoners of our home anymore.
We don’t behave that way.
We dine out.
Go shopping for the baby.
Enjoy movies in an actual theater with Miko and have even begun to clear out my dad’s home – a process that will take me quite a bit of time, considering how I can hardly stay in there longer than an hour without crying.
Sundays are still reserved to be his day.
At some point on each one, I find myself sitting on the bench, gushing about my week. Sometimes I take my journal and scribble away my feelings. Others, I fidget with my Rubik’s cube that’s kept there and pretend I can hear him giving me advice on how to deal with Beni’s too sensitive nature about my increased sugar habits.
Is it the same as having him one phone call away?
No.
Is our connection still alive when I feared it would be buried with him?
Absolutely.
All of a sudden, cold rubber is clamped around my hardened left nipple. The combination of pressure from it being tightened and startling temperature cause me to anxiously gasp in pleasure.
Being pregnant means no breath play. Our alternative to that has been increasing the number of things I put in my mouth during our sessions to suppress the sound, delivering a similar effect; however, it’s not the same. He misses the power of controlling me by the throat. Feeling the way my very life would pound against his palm. I miss the euphoric feeling that came with every hard squeeze. In addition to losing that, certain other bondage activities have had to cease due to the need for a certain amount of circulation and positions not being possible without lying on my stomach. We’ve done our best to explore other avenues of pleasure to compensate for the adjustments, my new favorite being nipple play.
The increased sensitivity in them has me damn near coming if he so much as sucks on them too long.
A matching crisp hold is applied on the other side, pulling another excited gasp from my lips.
“Tu sei felice, Mia Bella?”
You’re happy, Mia Bella?
“Yes, Sir.”
“In Italiano.”
“Si, Signore.”
“Così bello.”
So beautiful.
Before I have a chance to say anything else, the same delightful sting is attached to my clit.
Three identical amounts of titillating tension begin building as my fiancé gingerly strokes his thumb along my sopping wet lower lips. “The next time I take you here, you will officially be Mrs. Bennett.”
Objection leaks out in the form of a mutilated moan.
“Non mettere il broncio.”
Do not pout.
Beni drags his touch forcefully along my crack until it’s kneading my back hole. “It just means I will be taking you here instead.”
There’s no time for questions or objections.
He pushes the slick digit in further, forcing my back to bow off the bed and the tantalizing twinges to instantly increase in an intoxicating way.
Airy whimpers spring from me as my fingers curl into the covers for leverage.
“I want you to feel me every,” he pushes in the appendage deeper, “time,” another portion is added prompting me to arch upwards once more, “you,” the remainder is wedged past the resisting muscles, “move, today.”
With an unexpected swiftness, he removes the intruder causing my contorted frame to collapse back onto the bed. I rush to collect enough air to soothe the crackling in my chest. Unfortunately, I’m a fraction of a second too slow. Cool liquid coalesces with the juices dripping from my pussy to properly coat the entrance for the next infiltrators. This time, two fingers are thrust past the rigid ring, prompting every fiber inside of me to twist into knots. Instead of easing the momentum of his movements, he escalates them. Grunts on each shove in a silent command for me to take it. Rearranges his hand so that every hard heave not only bounces me against the palm of his hand but the bed. The jerking around of my figure results in ripples of pain from the jewelry serving its precise purpose; however, the waves of discomfort quickly fade into oceans of pleasure. Just when I’ve managed to adjust to having two guests in an area that I’m not usually accustomed to hosting past the one – or, on occasion, a plug – a third invites itself. It’s lubed like the others yet more demanding in the widening. Beni works in a mind reeling oscillation of pumps and pulls, groans insisting any agony felt surrender to the more powerful delectation. Burning sensations singe every nerve ending, from my straining neck to my curling toes.
The tiny tugging on my nipples is enough to have me panting, but the way the clamp slightly yanks on my clit, creating more of a constant overstimulation like a consistent rubbing rather than a dull ache, has me begging for relief. “Please, Sir. Can I…,” another breath is choppily expelled, “come?”
“Una volta che sono dentro di te, Mia Bella,” my fiancé growls, deep nudges not stopping. “Once I'm inside you…you may come whenever you like.”
Both sets of lips whine for that moment to be now.
He arrogantly chortles, “Sei ansioso per questo.”
You’re anxious for it.
Ugh.
He would be, too, if the situation were reversed and I had his orgasm literally at the tips of my fingers.
“Rispondetemi.”
“Si, Signore.”
Hearing me answer in Italian works like I hoped it would.
Beni abruptly exchanges the thrusting of his fingers for that of his cock.
Regardless of all the early stretching of the tight territory, I’m still left ill prepared for the wider, deeper piercing. His diving isn’t gradual. He doesn’t even momentarily entertain the idea of being gentle. The tiny hole is viciously torn in two, while his hold on the accessory takes a turbulent turn. Anchoring my ankles into the small of his back is the only leverage I’m able to grasp prior to my first orgasm hitting. Palpitations erupt in my pussy, squeezing desperately onto nothing, and being unfilled there provides me with new reasons for groaning.
“Non puoi avermi lì,” Beni declares between his savage pounding.
You can’t have me there.
“Non finché non sarai mia moglie.”
Not until you're my wife.
His refusal, for some reason, only adds to the next round of bliss already underway. I collect the tiny fractions of the sheet I can into my
clutches and buck into his ferocious plunges. Each collision causes tugging and toying at my nipples. My clit. Rapture-worthy rubbing occurs against the taut muscles in such a rapid, ruthless succession that my pussy relentlessly weeps, slathering wetness around the base of his cock and thighs. I inch closer and closer on every pump, hunting after the orgasmic thrill that continuously swears it’s only one stroke away. Breath play takes on a new meaning as I abandon the very act of inhaling during my unrestrained pursuit of coming again.
Finding myself right on the cusp all over again pushes me into pleading, “Per favore, Signore…Just…” I fight against my shaky vocal cords to choke out, “un dito?”
There’s a heated grumble from my future husband followed, promptly, by the request being filled. “Fine. Just. One. Finger. Mia Bella.”
Beni abandons his possession of the chain attached to the connected clamps to slide his thumb inside. Instantly, my pussy swells around the welcomed guest, worshipping its appearance, bathing it in thick, torrid orgasmic streams. I instantly scream out his name in gratitude.
Gratification.
He harshens his hold on the area, causing all the muscles he’s dominating to tremble in heavenly defeat. Benicio releases a beast like roar behind gritted teeth at the same time scalding surges splash deep inside. Pulsations present themselves in both holes being filled, rapidly working to gulp down the hot, heavy reward bestowed upon them for a job well done. We quiver together through the additional quakes and shaky efforts to settle our senses back into place.
Afterwards, he slides himself free on a satisfied sigh and disappears from my presence.
The loss of him immediately leaves me feeling slightly empty, yet the instant I place a hand on my slightly rounding stomach the sadness is alleviated.
I’ve really started to love being pregnant. Small adjustments to my diet and sex life aside, I adore feeling this connected to the person I’m ready to spend forever with. I love constantly carrying something around that we created. I love the way it’s continuously bonding us and solidifying our unity in ways I wasn’t imagining it would.
Weight returns to the mattress and is promptly proceeded by the gentle removal of my blindfold. There’s immediate rapid blinking from my eyes as they fight to adjust to the light in the room. Benicio patiently waits for the adapting to occur and strokes the side of my cheek in the process.
Once he’s no longer a beaming blur, I offer him the same grin I’m receiving.
“I love blindfolding you, Mia Bella. You’re much more reattiva – responsive – when one of your senses is restricted, by mio Dio, how I miss staring into your eyes…”
It’s impossible not to swoon over the statement.
“Are you alright?” He inquires during his removal of the clamps. “I know your tits have been rather tender on and off lately.”
Another sigh of satisfaction is given when my body is finally granted its freedom from the accessory.
“Was it too much?”
I cock my head to the side on a crooked smirk. “Did you hear me use my safe word?”
Beni smiles wide, shakes his head, and begins to delicately apply cream to the area we’re discussing. “You’re lucky there isn’t time to spank you over that mouth of yours.” Relaxing sensations swiftly overtake any lingering soreness caused by the clamps. “Mamma has requested your presence for a special bridal breakfast she’s hosting for you.”
“It’s a little weird for you to be rubbing my nipples while mentioning your mother.”
“Is it any stranger than you yelling you need my best friend while I was still balls deep inside of you?”
An awkward cringe is immediately given.
“Precisamente.”
Precisely.
“How do you feel, Mia Bella?” His gentle massaging moves to the other side with fresh cream. “Nausea? New aches? Swelling?” Every caress of his fingers has me melting into the mattress. “You sleep alright?”
I’ve come to not only expect the morning interrogation but appreciate it. The intention isn’t to be overbearing so much as informed of the situation he can’t completely govern. For a man who craves control like a ten-year smoker craves that first cigarette of the day, it’s quite an adjustment not being able to solve all of the issues that arise. He’s doing his best to cope by cooking pregnancy-approved entrees whenever possible and investigating for abnormal details he can do something about, such as rubbing me down in a hot shower to combat body aches.
“I slept great,” my smile softens, “and I feel amazing.”
Relief ripples through his expression.
“We’re getting married today,” I happily announce. “How could I feel any other way?”
Beni’s fingertips travel away from my nipples to allow his knuckles to brush my cheek. “Mi sento esattamente allo stesso modo, Mia Bella.”
Hearing him say he feels the exact same way is proceeded by a sweet kiss on the lips. Our tongues only manage to indulge in a couple of presses due to the sudden knocking at our bedroom door.
“Master Bennett, Mrs. Ricci is requesting the future Mrs. Bennett’s presence in the parlor.”
My husband’s head tips back in minor irritation.
I quietly whisper out, “How did she know we were awake?”
“Most likely your screaming.”
“You have a problem with my screaming?”
“Mai.” Never. “It just makes secret morning sex impossibile.”
We engage in a round of snickers, insist to Walter we’ll be out shortly, and resume the aftercare process.
Benicio takes his time cleansing my body of our sexual secretions. Every wipe is of the utmost gentleness and given with the greatest amount of love. He litters my skin with soft kisses. Coos sweet sentiments to me directly. To my stomach. More lotion is spread across my body until I am at the pinnacle of peaceful. He even helps me get dressed into appropriate breakfast attire and the custom “Bride” robe he had made for me to wear today.
Gia’s thoughtful buffet breakfast includes Felia, Cerise, and Walter, who technically has the day off to partake in the family festivities, yet is struggling to shift out of servant mode. Beni is banished to get ready for the wedding at our honeymoon suite with Miko, Antonio, Gianozzo and Dario – despite his best efforts to stay behind. Cerise insists Sherrod will meet them there but warns she doesn’t want him tipsily trying to walk her down the aisle.
Post breakfast the rest of the morning and early afternoon is filled with pampering. Another massage – though this one is by a licensed professional. Pedicures and manicures all around. Eventually, hair and makeup arrive to only doll me and my best friend up since Gia and Felia insist on doing their own.
I get the feeling that after decades of living like this, she cherishes every ounce of independence she has.
I hope like hell Benicio stays committed to the promise of not treating his wife the way he watched his mother be treated.
I’m not interested in permanently being the prisoner Gemma and the others temporarily turned me into.
Cerise admires her completed appearance in the mirror of the guest room that has been transposed into a bridal party prep area for the day. “Why can’t I look this fucking fabulous every other day of the year?”
My gaze travels to her reflection on a mirth-filled smirk. “You do look this fucking fabulous every other day of the year.”
“No…,” she denies while touching the waves of her dark hair, “this is cover of Vogue shit.” Cerise leans forward and presses her lips together, admiring the subtle, but striking, shade painted on them. The kissing sound that springs free has me shaking my head in amusement, yet she seems unaffected. “Would it be tacky to use a selfie of me and Sherrod in our wedding shit for a Christmas card photo?”
“Yes.”
“But, like…,” her body turns around in its champagne gold gown to face me, “how tacky?”
“Extremely.”
Cerise’s tiny, pierced nose scrunches upwa
rd. “On a scale of one to ten?”
“Nine.”
“So, there’s some wiggle room?”
Laughter launches up the back of my throat as I reach for the jewelry waiting to be put on.
At least she’s not complaining about this never happening for her, like she did at my engagement dinner.
I was actually worried they might not make it out of that weekend still together.
Memories of that haunting experience threaten to take hold; however, Gia’s unexpected voice prevents it from occurring. “You look stunning, Cerise.”
“Thank you!” My best friend squeaks instantly. “Did you see these fucking heels Benicio ordered? They’re gorgeous.”
Gia grips the object in her hand tighter and slowly saunters into the room. “Sì, mio figlio has impeccable taste when it comes to fashion.”
“Did he get that from you or Benedict?” I curiously ask.
“Appreciation for the power cultivated by a good suit, from Benedict. Appreciation for high fashion and wielding it as a weapon in our social circles…me.” Her smile is warm. “Setting the standard or shifting it is a power play of its own.”
My stare steals a glimpse of my wedding attire that I’m sure will send that exact same message.
“Cerise, do you mind if I have just a moment with Chantal alone?”
“Go ahead,” she immediately insists, snatching her phone and clutch purse. “I’ll just go take a few pre-wedding selfies before the photographer arrives.”
Her exiting spurs me to stand up from the chair and turn towards my future mother-in-law. “Is everything okay?”
“Oh, sì,” she hastily reassures, “I just…I wanted to offer you something borrowed to wear today.” Surprise is swiftly splayed on my expression seconds prior to her presenting me the object in her hands. “I wore it when I got married.”
I carefully open the case to reveal a breathtaking pearl necklace.
“They were my something new.”
