"Fuck!" he groaned, gripping my by the head, impaling my face on his cock as he unleashed stream after stream of cum, of that familiar seed. I swallowed it greedily, hungrily, slurping up after last bit, as if to show him--yes, I would be a good wife to you, so don't fuck this up.
Finally, I let his cock slide from my mouth, softening, but still thick. To my surprise, he picked me up, and picked me up easily--it must have been his own workouts with Sven that allowed that--under the arms and tossed me on the bed. I tumbled into a pile, giggling, still swallowing the thick, salty-sweet load in my mouth.
"Tom!" I cried as he dove between my legs, spread me apart. I found myself blushing. To be totally honest, I couldn't remember the last time someone had eaten me out. Mario hadn't liked to do it, and the guys I cheated on him with--well, it hardly felt appropriate to expect them to lick my pussy. I don't know why. Maybe I'm a bad feminist, but I was fine to let them just rail me--slam, bam, thank you, ma'am.
But here, Tom's mouth was eagerly hunting its way up my trembling thighs, tasting my soft flesh. I gasped and bucked my hips as he worked, lapping up the juices that were clinging to the sides of my inner thighs. I had been leaking wetness for a while now, and he was encountering all over it as he ran his tongue tentatively over the tender inner part of my thigh. I bucked my hips once more in delight and anticipation.
"Oh, fuck, Tom! Right there--I'm so sensitive right there!" I gasped as he teased my tender flesh in that crease, running his fingers lightly over it, teasing my pussy by purposely coming close to it but then avoiding it at the last moment.
"Please, Tom, please..." I moaned, not really sure, ultimately, what I was begging for, what I was needing. What did I want from him? God, but I had no idea--in the short term, sure, I wanted him to get me off and then fuck me silly. But after that? In the morning? What happened in the morning?
All thoughts, all rational human thought, disappeared from my mind as his tongue passed over my quivering pussy, lapping at my wetness, rising slowly, slowly, getting closer and closer to my throbbing clit. I gasped, bucking my hips yet again, trying to drive my little nub of pleasure into his mouth, trying to get satisfaction... And then, finally, he was lapping away at my clit, passing his tongue around it in a circle several times, and then suckling on it, sucking on it hard, even nibbling on it. I whimpered and gasped and moaned, my hands finding their way to my breasts as he slid a finger and then another and then another inside of me as he lapped at my clit. I writhed in delight, grunting and groaning the entire time, my body feeling like it was on fire...
And then, I was cumming--just like that. My body shuddered and released as he finished me off, and I gasped, shaking and thrashing beneath his talented touch...
Before I knew what was happening, he was inside of me. Our bodies collided in a heavy, traffic jam of passion as he took me, over and over again, and for once, I was able to look him in the face as we made love, able to see the look of bliss and ecstasy on his face as he fucked me--no, as we made love.
Finally, he came inside of me, releasing deep into me. I sighed in delight as I took it, as my insides tightened around his seed...
We held one another and fell asleep together, there in the bed, in his bedroom--the room I had never been allowed in. But finally, I was here, finally--with him. I didn't know what my future with Tom was promised to be... But I did know that I would be with him--with a man who had loved me for years, long before I knew it.
I dug my fingers into his flesh and he held me back, tight, warm, cofmrting. I sighed. Happy sighs.
"I love you..." I whispered to him as I drifted off to sleep. I immediately started to regret saying that, but then I decided against it. What was the use of lying anymore? Why bother not saying it? After all… After all…
That was how I felt.
I waited, with bated breath, to hear him say it.
"I love you too, Tara..."
And that was that. We fell asleep together. Entangled in our bliss. Ready to go forward as one.
Things moved fast after that—well—no, I guess they didn’t. Not compared to how quickly things had been moving up till that point. It was slower, in fact, by now.
Boss—Tom, I mean—I still do that, still catch myself calling him Boss, even though he’s made it clear that his “title” (so to speak) is only to be used in the bedroom. And when I say in the bedroom, I mean—well, wherever he wants me. That hasn’t changed. I don’t want it to.
Sorry, I got a little sidetracked. Where was I? Tom paid for me to go back to law school. He didn’t want me modeling anymore and I was secretly relieved. After all my healthy living alongside him, filling myself with whatever I wanted to eat and working out and fucking hard—the idea of going back to starving myself thin, to spending hours sweating alongside other dangerously malnourished waifs while trying to look disinterestedly sexy all seemed too much to bear.
Of course, law school was grueling but in its own way. Some days, I preferred the old times, starving myself, over memorizing the details of case law and learning just what, exactly, torts were and how they could make my life miserable. But somehow, some way, I got through law school. And did pretty well this time, if I do say so myself. I suppose maturity really does come with age.
I knew I didn’t want to practice corporate law. I had dated or hooked up with a few lawyers back in the day and I knew how miserable they were. But, as Tom pointed out over breakfast one morning, I had first hand knowledge of an industry where human trafficking is a major problem. Of course, it made perfect sense: I knew dozens of girls whose terrified eyes told me more than their words, half-garbled broken English, could ever tell me: what they had seen, what they had done, what they had been made to do, and what they would be forced to do again that very night when they went home to whatever flophouse they were being kept at…
Now, I work for a small firm representing trafficked women. It pays approximately squat diddly, but I’m obviously not in it for the money. Tom has more than I’d ever make in my life, even if I were still modeling. I don’t need the cash, but there’s still something satisfying about making an honest day’s wage working with my mind, instead of my body. And I get a thrill every time the judge refers to me as “counsel” instead of “the next girl.”
But I won’t lie, an honest day’s wage feels even better when you know there are about a hundred million honest days’ wages sitting in your husband’s bank account.
Oh, yeah, that—we got married. Are you surprised? I hope you’re not—not after how I made him mine. Did you really think he was in charge this whole time? Honey, I knew what I wanted from the first moment I walked into that apartment.
It took me a while to figure out that Boss was Tom, of course. But I’m afraid I lied to you. I figured it out a hell of a lot faster than I let on. As soon as I realized he had a thing for masks, I knew it was Tom. I just did: you see, as a little boy, he had always had a fascination with monster masks. He would make his parents buy him multiple for Halloween, every year, and he’d spend hours agonizing over what to go as: the Creature from the Black Lagoon? The Wolfman? Pinhead, from Hellraiser? When we were little, I often offered him advice about what he should be. Sometimes something to complement my costume.
Because, you see, I had a crush on Tom from when we were little. It definitely morphed and dissipated as we grew apart in high school, but back when we were kids, I could imagine no better future for myself than playing Pokemon with him for the rest of our lives.
It took some convincing to get Tom to agree to have the wedding back in Wisconsin. I found out he hadn’t really been back since he’d made his fortune. He tended to fly his parents out to New York a few times a year instead. He still felt vaguely embarrassed for how awkward, how nerdy he had been.
Of course, imagine the reactions when we walked into our high school reunion, me in a slinky black little dress on his arm, tumbling out of a Porsche he had bought just for the occasion. He later gave the car to my dad, as a “Surpri
se! I’m marrying your daughter!” gift.
Our high school friends had been shocked, to say the least. He’d barely seen anyone we had gone to school with and he was unrecognizable now. He was in way better shape than he had been in high school, wasn’t wearing his glasses, and wore something besides a stained t-shirt with a scantily clad anime girl on it.
But, I could tell that he loved the way the jocks—former football players and basketball stars—gawked when they realized who he was, who I was. Most of them had stayed around Wisconsin. Not a few of them stayed in our hometown, were working for their parents or not at all. They’d put on weight. They had poorly considered tattoos and their pickup trucks looked like they wouldn’t last until they’d made the last lease payment. I think, for Tom… It was a victory, in a way.
It was hard to find a venue big enough for the wedding: Tom had lots of business colleagues, clients, even foreign officials who all expected to be invited. And me? Well, I wasn’t interested in inviting too many people from my old life—from my modeling days, which already seemed so far away.
But I did invite Nora. After all, in her own strange way, she had brought me and Tom together. I felt like I owed her that much. She was positively seething with jealousy.
We finally found a huge, restored barn about forty miles away from the town where we’d grown up, specifically remodeled to accommodate huge, luxurious weddings. Need I mention that no expense was spared? A certain folk musician, native to Wisconsin, who had collaborated with Kanye West, played the event: that had been the most expensive part of the whole soiree, but Tom paid for it, of course.
A friend of Tom’s, the university chaplin from his undergraduate days, performed the ceremony. I was amazed at how absolutely unimpressed with Tom he was, rolling his eyes and casually teasing Tom when my fiancee tried, equally casually, to mention his fantastic wealth. Watching them, I realized how much more I had to learn about Tom. And that I would have a lifetime to explore him.
Oh, I can’t forget this… One last thing. Underneath each guest’s chair was a special little gift. It had been Tom’s idea.
A mask. After all, you never know what’ll happen when you hide your identity—if only for a bit.
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Copyright © 2017 by Sophia Desmond
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