by Joey W. Hill
She could go see him at any time, and he’d welcome her company, but she liked giving him his space and time to pursue his projects. She worked in the garden, or on her painting, since she was taking a watercolors class. Sometimes she meditated, watched a favorite TV program, called and chatted with Dana… No matter what she was doing, and he was doing, she felt connected to him.
The comfortable domesticity was balanced with the pleasure of being his submissive. He exercised his Dominance over her in myriad ways, both expected and spontaneous. However, every Friday, which was her half-day of work, they shared a pure service ritual that she anticipated, a way of grounding and reminding her of her core self.
He’d leave her instructions to prepare him dinner, with precise directions on what she should wear, and how he wanted everything laid out, even down to the polish on the silver and the fold of the napkin. Often, she became so absorbed in the process, it was a form of subspace.
When he came home from work, she’d be waiting by his chair at the table, ass on her heels, hands clasped at her back, head down, wearing nothing but a pair of heels and his collar. Every time, she held her breath as he sat down at the meal and surveyed everything with careful attention. When he’d touch her cheek, stroke, it was a sign of his approval. That subspace feeling would return, a euphoric cloud on which she floated as she served his meal.
It didn’t stop with dinner. He took care to lay out every detail, including how to clean and put away the dishes after she cooked, how he wanted the bed prepared for when he would take his sub to it and she’d serve his pleasure there. Sometimes it was merely fresh linens. One time, during the gardenia blooming season, he had her cut a few blooms from the bushes around the outside of the house and scatter the petals over the sheets. The strong fragrance had wound around them as they moved together on the bed.
Whatever variances occurred with the bed preparation, what happened in it always involved pulling four earth-shattering climaxes from her.
One by suckling her nipples, his body laying upon her, her hips rising to rub her core against his ridged abdomen, if he allowed that. One with him in her mouth, while a vibrator hummed between her legs until she was moaning against his cock. Then, leaving the vibrator on, he’d push his well lubricated member into her rectum, taking her deep there.
After that, he’d tie her to the bed, spread out. The vibrator was removed and replaced with one of his diabolical little inventions. The latest one had been inspired by a toy belonging to Cass and Lucas’s cats. A little soft ball with metallic slender threads, creating a spiky surface.
He’d balanced his version of it on her clit, and told her she couldn’t move, couldn’t let it fall, when he went into the bathroom to clean himself. As her body heat was conveyed to the device, the threads had started to move, delivering tingling little shocks to that sensitive bundle of nerve endings. Finally, when she thought she’d lose her mind, Jon had returned. Setting the toy aside, Jon had lain down upon her fully, and slid himself into her once more slippery pussy. He’d stayed that way a long moment, elbows braced on either side of her head, their eyes close and full of one another.
Then he started to move, and before long the fourth orgasm gripped her, the most powerful one of all. It was the one driven as much by the heart and soul as the body.
Afterward, he untied her and they went to sleep, him curled protectively around her, breath upon her neck.
The message of their Friday ritual was as arousing as the act. She belonged to him, and he’d claim every orifice, every part of her, every week, to reinforce the message.
“Did you like that, last night? With the feather.” He brought her back to the present, his voice a melodious rumble against her ear. The deep timbre always reminded her of a midnight DJ, speaking to his listeners in the loneliest part of the night, reassuring them he was there with them. Sometimes his voice alone could make her wet, tremble, need.
“Yes.” Goddess, she had. But…
“But you liked it even better when it was just my mouth.”
She put her hands over his, still curved over her breasts. He was kneading again, lightly plucking her nipples, which tagged her words with breathy little notes. “I love the things you can create,” she managed. “I love you using me to test them. But the in-between times, when you use only your hand, your mouth…your body…it’s like you step inside of me so deeply.”
She thought of the dinner ritual, the last time he took her body, when they were pressed skin to skin, the weight of their love held between their gazes. She closed her eyes again as his hands slid to her upper abdomen, his arms crossing over her to hold. It only reinforced her next words. “I feel so safe and loved.”
He turned her toward him. As she gazed up into his dark blue eyes she thought how they, too, were sometimes like the darkest part of night, only over a sea, where even the night picked up the blue and held it. When she slid her hands up toward his shoulders, he gripped one wrist and dipped his head to drop a kiss on her knuckles. “Such pretty nails,” he observed. “But I’m going to risk them. I want to have you in the grotto, and see if I can make you lose your mind enough you’ll rake those pretty nails up my back.”
She smiled, even as she trembled. Sometimes it scared her, how much she loved their life together. She’d never had what she had with Jon. But she knew how quickly time passed, and what it could take away from a person. Every moment needed to be valued, instead of its loss feared. He’d helped her with that, because sometimes the fear came back. Like now.
If she could change anything about their first several years together, it would be that. As much as she loved Jon, and wanted to be his wife and submissive more than anything, the emotional fallout of two decades of psychological abuse and the attendant destruction of her confidence and self-esteem, couldn’t be eradicated overnight or merely by wishing.
She had healed, grown stronger, but it hadn’t been a short road. She needed to touch his mouth. Her fingers flexed in his hold and his eyes darkened. “What is it, Rachel?”
“Just…ghosts walking over my grave.”
He knew it frustrated her, how those specters of the past could still ambush her, though admittedly far less than before. She hoped. That distracting mouth firmed, and he cradled her face, a thumb stroking along her lips. “I’ll have to talk to them about doing that. Into the pool.”
She stepped in obediently, taking his hand to steady her as she went up the steps on one side and down the opposite, into the pool. The water was blissfully warm. When he was with her here, there was another ritual they observed, one that went all the way back to the first time he’d made his feelings for her known.
There was a raised platform on the pool floor that looked like rock, blending in with the rest, but the rock was a sturdy foam that cushioned the knees. She sank down on it, and clasped her hands behind her back, straightening her back and raising her chin. The posture lifted her breasts, the shoulder-width kneeling position opening herself to him however he desired to touch her.
She remembered his words then as if he’d just said them.
“You’d stay in that position, knowing nothing was required but to sit like that while I took my fill of viewing what was mine. And it would drive you as crazy as it would drive me, until I’d be so hard I’d have to fuck you against the wall.”
Jon stripped off his clothes. Though her lashes were lowered as was appropriate, she could feel his gaze upon her. Fortunately, she could see his naked torso from feet to waist. The light coating of dark hair on calves and thighs, around his sex. He was already partially erect and growing harder, thicker.
He stepped into the water. For the next few moments, he tended to himself, using the soap and shampoo from those convenient niches to clean his skin, wash his hair. When he ducked beneath the water and came up, she dared a short peek to see him slick his dark hair back against his skull. When it was wet, it came past his shoulders. He was not as broad or muscular as the others of the K&A team, but ev
ery inch of his lean body was taut, and she knew firsthand the strength in it. He could hold yoga positions almost as long as the masters under whom she’d trained.
He had pale skin, smooth like marble. Though he worked out regularly, running the paths around and near their property daily, he was a nighttime exerciser, and his work and hobbies all centered around the extensive shop where he invented things not only for work, but for pleasure. Like that incredible oil.
“What are you thinking about, sweet girl?” He had drawn closer to her, his hand settling on one of her knees. He feathered his touch over her skin under the water. When he found her cunt, she caught a moan in her throat as two lubricated fingers slid in. He also kept a water-resistant oil in one of those crevices, and had apparently utilized it to counter the water’s non-lubricating effect.
How can I please you? It was the first thought she had when he touched her, driving everything else away, but since she knew he was wanting what she’d been thinking about a moment ago, she pulled those thoughts back to the forefront, with effort. He didn’t like to repeat himself, and though the consequences of him having to do so could be quite memorable in the right ways, she didn’t brat on purpose.
“Your skin. How pale it is, but how smooth, like a marble statue.”
“Lucas says he always expects me to burst into flame at the touch of the sun.”
She smiled, but a whimper escaped her as he rubbed her inside with those partially curled fingers. Sensation unfolded in her, making her hands tighten in their clasp on one another on her lower back. “Master,” she breathed.
“I can make you come the first time just like this. It would build slow, and you’d be making those little pleading noises in your throat I like so damn much.”
His voice got even deeper, rougher, when he took control of her, and she could get lost in it.
He slid his fingers from her and took her elbow, bringing her off the dais. He moved her to the pool wall and put a palm on her back, exerting pressure to bend her forward.
“Hands where you know I want them.”
There were two stones at shoulder width, the perfect size to mold her palm over each one. No restraint this time. He would require her to restrain herself, which was far harder.
He slid his palms down her arms to her wrists and gripped them, a brief reinforcement, before he continued down her sides to her waist, her hips. “Gods, I love touching you.”
His cock nudged her backside. “Close your legs. Bring your feet side by side.”
When she did, he slid his cock in the small triangle of space the stance caused. The ridge of his head rubbed against her labia. When she shuddered, he snaked an arm around her waist and held her firmly against him, pelvis pressing against her backside.
“You’ve had girl-girl fantasies, haven’t you?”
The subject change took her off balance, but her Master had asked her a question. He also had a low tolerance for hesitation when he was in certain moods. Moods that usually happened when she needed him to be tougher with her, to knock her out of the wrong headspace, and he’d already noted the mood shift she’d tried to pass off as ghosts.
She knew her stories of that side of him surprised the other K&A women. They most often saw the gentle, patient type of Dom that Jon could be, the Master who had a gift for creating lovely toys. It wasn’t incorrect. But Jon could also be ruthless and a disciplinarian, and those sides opened a lot of crazy things in her. Things he helped to heal, no matter how often the wounds might break open.
“Rachel,” he said, a quiet warning, and she realized she hadn’t yet answered his surprising question about girl-girl fantasies.
“Some.” Far more since she’d been part of the K&A inner circle, where so many temptations and ideas in that vein presented themselves on a regular basis. Particularly Dana. Dana was her closest friend among the K&A women, and she enjoyed women, though those desires were subordinate and intertwined with her love for Peter, her husband and Master.
“Hmm.” Jon slid his cock slowly into that triangle of space again, arm tightening around her waist, his body pressed flush against the back of hers. “You know, you might be surprised to know we have girl-girl fantasies.”
By we, she knew he meant the K&A men. Matt, Peter, Lucas, Ben. Himself. “Really?” She bit her lip as another spasm of sensation rocketed from between her legs through her upper body. “Five straight males with girl-girl fantasies? I’m shocked.”
He molded his hand around her breast and captured the nipple between thumb and forefinger, increasing the pressure so she sucked in a breath and fought to keep from jerking back in reaction. The pain had another component to it, one that had her lifting her hips to take his slide into that narrow space between her thighs again.
“My sub has learned to misbehave,” he said reprovingly, but with a smile in his voice. “I like that she trusts her Master’s love and care enough to do that.”
He slid back, shortening the strokes so the ridged head was rubbing the base of her clit and sensitive petals of her sex. As he did, he set his teeth to her shoulder, and spoke again, his voice a husky murmur.
“But I also love her obedience, how much she wants to please me. I want to reward you for that.”
She sensed it wasn’t just pillow talk. He was headed somewhere with it. Jon was an extraordinary multi-tasker. He could put together engineering drawings, think about re-designing their garden, answer a phone call, and plot the next way he would surpass all her wildest sexual imaginings, all at once. The idea that he was about to spring one of those plots on her had her body responding even more fervently to him.
“So back to our girl-girl fantasies,” he said. “The five of us have quite a few of them. Peter came up with a way to explore them. Unanimously, we decided that you and Dana are the two of our women best suited to serve those needs. Who could be better to execute our girl-girl fantasies than the two who have fantasies about that, and each other?”
Amazement and trepidation wound together into one tingly ball in her stomach and chest.
“Rachel? Are you still breathing?”
She bit back a sound between a chuckle and a girlish giggle, another new thing for her in this life. The chance to be playful, celebrate the inner child, while exploring all the marvelous things that being a woman with such a hot, gorgeous Dom and husband could bring to her.
She turned when he withdrew and put pressure on her arm to allow her to do that. She looked up at him. His expression was always a wonderful mix of things. The firmness of a Master in the set of his lips, the abundant love of a husband in the glimmer of his dark blue eyes. “Yes,” she said. “Thank you, Master. I’m honored to be in one of your fantasies.”
“You’re in all my fantasies,” he corrected her. “And I owe you this one. You two didn’t have your acceptance into our circle in the board room, the way Cass and Savannah did. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. I know you four share everything.”
Her lips curved. “Not everything, Master. Just the things that confirm how entirely perfect our four husbands are.”
“Uh-huh.” He touched her nose. “That aside, this is a gift long overdue. I meant to give it to you on our first anniversary.”
At her questioning look, his expression sobered. He stroked a lock of her hair back from her ear, his gaze a little too piercing. “I’ll explain more that night. Not now.”
His tone became lighter. “It’ll be a dual celebration. Peter is giving this to Dana for a special birthday gift. What were you thinking about, when I first came down and you were changing the water temperature?”
She thought back, finding the memory easy to retrieve this time. “Making Friday dinner for you.”
A smile touched his lips. “Friday is one of the highlights of my week, too. It tempts me to do it far more often. Often enough you’d decide I’m an ogre, making you do all the cooking and clean up.”
She chuckled and threaded her fingers through his black hair, wet on his should
ers. “My Master is never an ogre. You’re kind and ruthless, the combination I most need.” When his eyes flickered and mouth firmed, she saw both traits there again, as well as a deeper reflection. He was trying to figure out something. Something about her.
She lowered her lashes. “You drove all the ghosts away,” she said in a whisper. Her heart was unsettled, as if it knew he needed something from her, and she wasn’t sure what it was. “They can’t touch me when you’re here.”
He nudged her face up and kissed her, long and deep. As he did, he pressed her against the wall, his body hard and urgent.
“I’m also an animal,” he muttered. “Want your cunt now, beautiful sub.”
He snaked an arm around her body and lifted her up against the stone, his strength and flexibility taking her right where he desired. She clung to his shoulders, her nails digging in, just as he’d also wanted, as he drove into her, filling her. Demanding that she lose all thought of anything but this, holding on for the ride, and giving him as much of herself as he desired.
“All of you,” he said, and she wondered if she’d said it aloud. “I want all of you. That’s what I’m taking, and what I’ll have.” His gaze was suddenly even more fierce, turned upon hers. You need to always remember that, sweet girl. Those ghosts can’t have you. Not now, not ever.”
As she lay in bed with him that night, his even breath was against her ear, his arm around her waist. He cupped her breast with pleasurable possession, even in his sleep.
She wasn’t far from sleep, either, but her gaze drifted to the walls. To the gift Cassandra had given her for her last birthday.
It was a random assortment of frames, different sizes, different styles, that had been welded together in a pleasing arrangement. The frames were filled with pictures from her past and present. Unexpectedly, Cassandra had put one of Rachel as the center picture. It was a photo that had been shot during her and Jon’s wedding. She was standing on the second-floor balcony of Lucas and Cassandra’s plantation house, about to throw her bouquet.
