by Falls, K. C.
Mouth against the tender skin at my waist, he worked my breasts in his big hands. There was no gentleness in the way he twisted my nipples, no tenderness in his conquering of my flesh. This was to be a claiming, possessive union. His hands already told me so.
When his mouth finally reached my pussy I pulled my legs apart and moaned my need. He showed me no mercy. He circled and danced his lips everywhere but my clit even as I strained to present myself to him. An insanity of desire gripped and held me.
Finally he locked on to me and set me free. I pushed into him, grinding into the exquisite pressure of his tongue against my throbbing clit. I knew he could sense how close I was to climax because he began to incite my orgasm with muffled groans that commanded me to let go.
It was swift and sharp. I cried out at the intensity of the contractions that took over my body as he claimed me. Tristan sucked me hard, urging me to give him the prize of my release. Even after it should have been over, his insistent mouth pulled more from me until, too sensitive for touch, I pushed him away.
My chest was still heaving with ragged breaths when he pulled me to the edge of the bed and turned me onto my stomach.
"Put your knees on the edge of the bed," he told me. I was soon ass-up for the taking. He stroked his cock up and down over my slickness. "You're wet, my sweet. Wet, slick and swollen. Oh, God yes."
I shifted my body, presenting myself to him. "Take me. I want you to take me now."
Slap! The sting reverberated in my ear and in my flesh. "I will take you, Raina. In my time. When and where I desire it." He continued to spank the globes of my ass and I remembered how the pleasure of that burn excited me. His cock poked at my entrance and I tried to thrust back at him, to take him in deeper.
Slap. Slap. Slap. "Not yet." He ran the head of his cock from my clit to my asshole, again and again spreading the slickness of my arousal all around.
I grunted with animal pleasure when at last he thrust his cock into me. My channel sucked him in.
"Greedy pussy," he growled as I pushed back taking him into me as far as I could. I could feel the hair at the base of his shaft tickle my tingling ass cheeks. He drew himself in and out of me ever so slowly, not yet in a rhythm, not yet abandoned.
Once again he withdrew from me and placed the head of his cock against my asshole, tight and puckered. He had promised me that he'd go there and I wanted him to. I wanted to know how it would feel to be fucked where no one had ever fucked me. I wanted the secret and forbidden; the intimacy of barely imagined desire. Most of all, I wanted to give everything my body could give to him.
He stroked my skin tenderly now as he played his cockhead against my sphincter. I was a little afraid and the fear only heightened my excitement. I pushed back against his probing member and held my breath, anticipating the unknown.
It took my breath away when he forced past the crinkled ring. My body recoiled with the sharpness of his penetration and I cried out with a gush of air.
"Relax . . . just relax," he told me as he stood behind me, motionless. Soon, I felt a far different sensation as my resistance eased. God, what a feeling. He hadn't started to move but already this incredible fullness swept me away. It was the idea that seared me. I hardly knew myself. I wanted to be taken in the most wanton way, an animal way I once considered base--something for porn movies and male fantasy.
I thrust back against him, stretching the delicate flesh of my tender muscle around his girth, feeling him widen and occupy me. Tristan let out a sound of furious heat and grabbed my hips, pulling me hard down onto his erection. He pumped himself into me with restraint at first and I could sense that he was almost shaking with the effort not to bury himself to the hilt in my ass. Soon, my body cleaved to his desire and he was slapping flesh to flesh, claiming me.
"Touch yourself," he told me. I could hardly have kept from doing so. I wanted to come around him and know what it felt to have my asshole tighten around an exploding cock. I almost came at the first touch of my fingers on my clit. I groaned and writhed against him inside me and his arousal matched mine. I couldn't recognize myself. My body shook with the enormity of the new woman I had become. Each time I thought he could go no further, each time I imagined our intimacy had reached its zenith, he pushed beyond.
"Come with me . . . come with me now. I want to feel your ass milk me dry."
I needed no more encouragement. I ground my clit hard and felt the waves begin to crash on the shore of my sex. He thrust deeply and held my ass against his body as the spasms took over. Each time my ass contracted, I could feel him jerk against me as he emptied himself into my bowels.
He collapsed against me, our legs hanging over the edge of the bed, chests heaving. He slipped out of me softly and pulled me to my feet. I expected to feel ashamed; embarrassed by my complete loss of self and my utter abandonment. I looked into his eyes and saw the sheen of satisfaction. I couldn't feel anything but joy as he held me tight against him.
"Beautiful. You are such a beautiful gift."
Five
We both woke up starving. Neither one of us had eaten much dinner on the plane. We had worked up the kind of appetite that mind boggling sex tends to create. We wrapped ourselves in the hotel's cozy robes and scrutinized the room service menu together. Tristan decided on steak and eggs and I ordered a Belgian waffle.
He finally had the front desk send up our things. I still thought it was a little silly to have all those clothes for two days, but I was getting used to Tristan's strange ways. The only possible reason for him to have them all hung up like that on the plane was so that I could see what he had chosen for me. Otherwise he could have had them all packed in a suitcase like his own clothes were. But, he wanted to make sure I knew that I was going to be pampered again. If it took some invisible someone to do all that hanging and packing, what difference did it make to Tristan?
After we finished our breakfast, we showered together in the big etched glass enclosure. It was one of those showers that had jets all over the place--two in each corner, a detachable shower wand, and a big rain-water head above us.
We took turns soaping each other. I loved the feeling of his smooth skin under my slippery hands. He leaned against the shower stall wall with his back to me as I scrubbed his strong broad back. He moaned a little when I reached his ass. I paid special attention to the crack there, poking around his asshole just a little before I slipped my hand forward to wash between his legs. When he turned around for me to tend to the other side, his cock was about half erect and growing harder by the moment. My hands traveled all over the beautiful distance of his long limbs. His hands and feet, so perfectly formed and graceful got extra attention. I reasoned that if he thought to bring pleasure to me through my fingers and toes, he probably liked to be touched there too.
"You have evolution toe." I had his foot in my hand and looked up at him with a smile.
"What the hell is 'evolution toe'?"
"It's when the second toe is longer than the big toe. It's supposed to be a sign of intelligence." That got a big chuckle out of him.
He stopped laughing when I stood up and began to shampoo his crotch. He closed his eyes and sighed as I soaped his golden curls and massaged his balls in my slick hand. I moved on to the shaft and the soap made a perfect lubricant that allowed me to slide both hands up and down his rigid cock. I watched in fascination as it twitched and engorged. I could see his pulse in the swollen veins along the length of him and I thought, not for the first time, that I had never seen a more perfect man.
"Oh God that feels great." He began to move a bit against my hand and then stopped. "I think I'll save that for a little later. The poor guy needs a little rest period."
He brought my hands up and took his turn washing me. His touch was soft and gentle, then firm and insistent against my muscles. There was no tension left in me, but he massaged my shoulders anyway and my flesh relaxed in gratitude against his hands. I was completely clean and in an almost trance-like state when he f
inished.
As we dried off, Tristan told me about the plans he had for the day.
"I'm going to take you to Oak Park so you can see the house I grew up in." He shot me a sidelong glance, gauging my reaction.
First his father, now his childhood home. He wasn't kidding about opening up about his past. I was thrilled, but now that the moment was finally upon me, it was a little frightening. Tristan was serious about showing me what made him tick. He expected it to make a difference in the way I dealt with him. I wasn't so sure. It could answer the questions, perhaps, of why he felt the way he did but what difference would that make? If the rules remained the same, we'd be back to square one.
"I'd love to see it," I finally answered him.
As we waited for the valet to bring the rental car around, I looked at the expanse of Lake Michigan, angry with autumn winds that were threatening off shore. Above our heads the sky was brilliant and cloudless and the air had a comfortable morning nip to it. Chicago rose from the lake shore boldly, brash and modern. It seemed somehow . . . cleaner than New York. Maybe it was the effect of the lake washed air or the glint of the thousands of silver windows glinting in the morning sun.
It was rather odd to see Tristan slide into the driver's seat. The last time I'd seen him take the wheel was in the Berkshires and I had become accustomed to Kwan driving us around.
"No Kwan today?" He had been on the plane and I assumed he'd be shadowing us as usual.
"No, I sent him to go prowl Boystown. He's probably boinking in the bath house by now. I think we'll be fine on our own. This was a very spur-of-the moment trip. No one knows I'm here." I was reminded once again that 'security' was a perpetual and permanent part of his life. How easy that was to forget in the heat of Tristan's arms.
The Bentley convertible had the top down so I wound my scarf around my head as we took off down Michigan Avenue.
"This is known as the Magnificent Mile. It's every bit as great a shopping district as Fifth Avenue and frankly, I think it's a lot prettier."
"I agree. I don't know why I pictured Chicago so differently. I didn't expect to find it so elegant."
"You're seeing the elegant parts, but you'll see the other Chicago now as well. I'm going to skip the Eisenhower expressway and take Madison all the way out to Oak Park. That way you'll get to see the city more. It'll take a while even though we're only going about ten miles. Are you in a hurry?"
"I do have a hot date tonight." I smiled. I thought how considerate it was to want to show me the city and then I recalled that his mother had died on the Eisenhower. I found myself wondering what his real motivation for the route was until I got caught up in watching Chicago roll by.
We passed through a gritty industrial area when we left the downtown 'Loop'. "Looking a bit less elegant now, isn't it?" The industrial area gave way to a rather depressing residential area with plenty of vacant lots, boarded up buildings and just plain slummy looking brick buildings that had seen better days.
"This is known as the near west side. We'll pass through several miles of this before we move a little more up market. The sixties and seventies hit this area hard. Chicago did not bend easily to desegregation and there was a lot of white flight."
We passed through a beautifully maintained park and on the other side, the condition of the buildings improved a good bit. When Tristan announced that we had reached Oak Park, I expected mansions, but what I saw were mostly quite middle class looking older homes. Earnest Hemingway was born in Oak Park and Frank Lloyd Wright had begun his career as an architect there. The Kings had bought one of his early masterpieces.
As we got further into the obviously most well to do area, the lots got bigger and the houses a little grander, but still nothing even I would have called a mansion. The streets were immaculate and there were majestic hardwoods approaching the peak of their autumn color. We pulled over to the curb in front of a two story brick house that I recognized as the 'prairie style' architecture that made Wright famous.
Tristan hadn't said more than 'uh-huh' and 'hmm' to any of my comments since we entered the village. He sat in the car for many long moments before he spoke. "This is the century old 'Arthur B. Heurtley House'. It is a very good address."
"It's an amazing house. That brick work is fantastic." I marveled at the way Wright had woven bands of different shades of brick into the design. The whole building had a texture all its own.
"The main living area is on the second floor. My parents threw some great parties in the rooms up there. But my favorite place was my very own playroom on the lower floor." Tristan got out of the Bentley and came around to my side. He opened my door and took my hand. Then he leaned back against the car and drew me to him. I looked up at his face as he studied the house that rose from the expanse of green lawn in front of us.
"When Wright designed this house in 1902, he broke a lot of rules. The style at the time was the Queen Anne."
"Like the Victorian homes around here?"
"Yes, exactly. Wright did away with tiny rooms, he opened up the interior space with all those windows you see, and by putting the living space on the second floor he gave a measure of privacy you don't get otherwise. Notice there aren't any curtains? None needed."
"Is this what gave you your yearning for the house in the woods that you described to me when we first met? The one designed with lots of glass so you could 'run around naked in the trees'?"
Tristan laughed out loud and I was happy to hear it. "You know, I never even thought about the connection, but I think you've hit on something. I can't believe I never thought about how this house influenced me."
"Well, I'm glad it did. Running around naked suits you. You should do it often."
"I intend to. You kind of like it, too, don't you?"
"More than I could have imagined."
"You should be naked as much as possible."
"But you seem to have so much fun dressing me up like your own personal doll."
"Only because society demands it."
"Society and the weather. It's a little chilly right now for naked." I looked at the house. "That's a huge chimney on the roof. You must have had a massive fireplace."
"It was one of my favorite parts. I used to think it was magic when my mother would stand between the firelight and the moonlight coming in the stained glass windows."
I was hoping that the visit to the house would be more than a lesson in architectural history. Tristan took my hand and suggested we take a walk around the neighborhood.
"I . . . " he started and stopped."I want to try to make you understand what happened after my mother died. But first, I guess I need to tell me how it was before."
I squeezed his hand. I didn't want to say a word for fear he might not continue.
"This neighborhood is mostly professionals. There are lots of doctors and lawyers. Mostly prosperous folks who want to live near enough to the city so that the commute isn't a killer. My mother was one of a few stay at home mothers left. She and a couple of other moms baked all the cupcakes, went on all the field trips, and always made sure that our classrooms had the best parties. I was so proud of her. Even as a little kid I knew how special it was to have her around. Plenty of my friends didn't see their mom until she got home from work at dinner time." He laughed and went on. "One time a friend had come over after school and Mom was cutting potatoes for French fries. She'd cut the potatoes and soak them in ice water and double fry them. God they were good. Anyway, this kid asked her what she was making. She said 'French fries'. The kid said 'That's not the way you make French fries!' Mom asked him how he thought French fries were made. He said 'You take the bag out of the freezer and then you bake them.' Can you imagine? The kid didn’t know fries were made from actual potatoes."
A breeze picked up and blew an eddy of leaves around our feet. The trees were so pretty. Not stunted city trees, but old country-looking ones. "I think fall is my favorite season. I guess I associate it with the excitement of going back to school.
Summer was great for a while, but got hot and stale in the city after July."
"Halloween was a real event around here. Mom made all my costumes. She'd take weeks to put them together. Other kids wore cheap plastic masks and those crappy mass market things. I'll never forget the year she made me a Teenage Mutant Ninja turtle costume. She hand sewed a padded shell out of green felt."
"Which one were you?"
"Michelangelo. I liked the nunchucks."
I tried to imagine a carefree Tristan, nunchucks in hand, trick or treating down that perfect suburban street all decked out in a homemade turtle costume.
"Christmas was like a fairy tale. The house was decorated from top to bottom. There wasn't a room in the house that wasn't garlanded and every window had a candle in it. Of course, Santa always brought me everything I asked for and more. I guess I was a spoiled kid, but I don't think I acted like one."
"The Christmas of . . . when my mother had the accident, the house was already full of the spirit. There were tons of presents under the tree, mostly for me. She'd always have a 'theme' for the wrappings. One year it was gold and silver, the next green and red. And one year she did everything in brown paper with dried flowers and string. I disapproved of that motif. It wasn't shiny enough for me."
"I can't really remember exactly how my father told me or what happened that night or even the next few days. I don't know what happened to Christmas that year, either. It seemed I went from one life to another without a transition. I was probably in shock and I'm sure I was very depressed, but no one ever took the time to comfort or council me."
"My father, who was never a very warm and fuzzy man, withdrew even more. I wandered around the new apartment lost and lonely and . . ." He stopped and I could see he was fighting back tears. "Nobody cared."
I pulled him against me and felt him breathe deeply, fighting for composure. It was so sad, so wrenchingly sad to think of the empty, cruel world his life had become.
