by Ward, Deena
He said, “Sit on the edge of the bed.”
It was a tall bed, so I had to climb up onto it before I could sit back down on the edge. Gibson came forward and told me to lie back until I was lying flat with my legs dangling over the edge of the bed.
He said, “Lift your legs. Spread yourself for me as wide as you can. Use your hands to hold your legs out if you have to.”
I didn’t have to. My natural flexibility allowed my legs to bend and fall open to either side of me in a position that wasn’t difficult to hold. Lying there splayed open for him, unmoving while he studied my bare pussy, was exceedingly more difficult to maintain. I throbbed with wanting him.
His eyes never left my mound as he calmly unbuttoned his pants and pushed them, along with his boxers, down his thick thighs. I licked my lips, my mouth having gone dry at the sight of his rock-hard cock standing out proudly from his body.
He held his dick in one hand and slid the smooth head up and down my slit, gathering up my moisture as he went. I moaned. I wanted this man so damned badly I nearly forgot to breathe.
He pushed the head just inside my pussy, settling it inside the opening, barely stretching me, but enough to hold it in place as he leaned down over me. He slipped his arms under mine and clasped his hands around my wrists, pulling my arms up over my head.
His grip on my wrists was like iron bands. The pressure of his cock in my entry was a maddening threat. My body thrummed.
He looked into my eyes. I quivered at the contained ferocity I saw there.
He said, his voice deep, charged like a growl, “I’m going to take you now, without preparing you. It will hurt you, but it won’t harm you.”
I said, my own voice like a reedy whisper, “Yes, please.”
He made a harsh sound in the back of his throat. He took a steady breath. I took an unsteady one.
Then, in one ferocious, body-jarring shove, he drilled his cock inside of me, all the way to the back of my womb.
I yelled out at the impact, my entire frame shaking from the force, my muscles shrieking in pain. Too big, too much, my body cried. The pain billowed within me like a dark wave, rushing out into the rest of me.
All of that in an instant.
And in the same instant, the sound of Gibson’s harsh voice claiming me, the biting sworn, “Mine!” when he thrust home.
And with that, the dark wave of pain engulfing me stopped moving, turned back in on itself, and roared back toward my center. It crashed inside me, and transformed into a spike of pure pleasure that made me scream even louder than the pain had done.
Gibson pulled out of me, almost all of the way. Then he drilled into me again. I cried in pain, again he claimed, “Mine!” and again the pain boomeranged back into me, becoming a sharp stab of ecstasy.
Again. Again. Mine. Mine.
The intensity drove me over the edge faster than I could have imagined possible. I came then. There was no stopping it, even if I had tried. Gibson began rapidly hammering into my pussy now, my body twitching and shaking under him, my pussy in orgasmic spasms, throbbing under his assault. My orgasm passed through every nerve ending in my body.
I cried out, over and over, barely registering Gibson nipping on my breasts, little bursts of pain as his teeth closed on tiny bits of flesh, over my nipples, on the edges of my areolae, sensations that added to my release.
When I came down from the high, Gibson was still fucking me steadily, but not hammering me as he had been. My muscles had made their adjustment, and he filled me perfectly now, as he always did. This was the first time I had felt him inside of me without a condom. His smoothness, warmth, everything about him. Bliss.
He raised his head, leaving off torturing my breasts with his love bites to look in my eyes. I held his dark gaze as he moved over me and kissed me, his lips gentle on mine, then harder. His eyes were open, and we watched one another while his tongue claimed me and I opened for him.
Then he released my wrists, stood up straight, and grabbed the back of my thighs. He watched his cock push in and out of my pussy, and he was soon fucking me ferociously again. I clutched the bedspread and grunted with each pounding thrust.
He reached down, plucked up one of my hands and shoved it onto my mound. He demanded, “Rub yourself until you come.”
I rubbed my fingers over my swollen clit, around and around, over and around. I clamped my muscles down hard, making Gibson groan.
I gasped, grunted, forgot to breathe until my head pounded, then grabbed huge gulps of air. I was close, so close. And the pressure of it inside me swelled with the force of Gibson’s fucking.
I let it build until there was no stopping it, and I came, hard, my body jerking and twisting.
Gibson said, “Yes! Come for me.” and his words added to the immensity of the pleasure.
I was barely coming down from my orgasm when Gibson pulled his cock out of me and grabbing my legs, turned me over onto my stomach. He yanked my legs apart and stood between my thighs, keeping me spread open.
He pushed two fingers into my pussy and twisted them around inside me. I groaned. He landed a hard, resounding swat on my ass cheek and I cried out. Then he pulled out his fingers and slipped them through my slit, up to my asshole. He pushed against my tight little hole.
I groaned a different groan this time. A groan of dismay.
Gibson leaned over me, shoved the tip of one slick finger inside me and said, “You don’t like this?”
I gasped, “No.”
“But you can bear it.”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He pushed his finger farther inside me. He twisted and worked his way inside me until his finger could go no farther.
I panted and told myself I would be okay. This was nothing. Just a bit of discomfort. Why did I hate this so badly?
He pulled out most of the way, then began working a second finger into me. I groaned again. Couldn’t stop myself.
He slapped my ass, hard as hell. I jerked and cried out. He pushed his second finger farther into me. Another groan from me. And another hearty slap on my ass.
That’s how it went for a minute or two, until his two fingers were as far up my ass as they would go, and my butt was a fiery tangle of stings and tingles.
I heard Gibson take a deep breath and give a powerful exhale. I turned my head enough so I could see his face. His features were impassioned as he looked at my ass. I felt a thrill, then, at what I saw there.
He twisted his fingers around inside me, then he began fucking my ass, slowly at first, but soon becoming more forceful and picking up speed. He swatted my butt with his free hand and he grunted and I gasped on each impact. Soon, too soon, he was finger-fucking my ass with powerful thrusts that threatened to push me into calling out my safe word.
But I held back. As long as I could see his face, I could take this. Maybe turn it into something. The heat of his hand on my ass cheek, the resounding smacks and stinging burn a welcome respite from the focus of his fingers moving inside me.
He grunted again and again. My gasps grew louder as his assault intensified, until they became cries.
Then it was over. Just like that, he pulled out his fingers and didn’t shove them back in. He gave me one last fierce swat and didn’t strike again.
His breathing was harsh and swift now. He grabbed my legs and turned me over onto my back again. Then he shoved his hands under my butt and pushed me farther back on the bed. He climbed up after me, pushed me farther into the center of the bed, and settled between my thighs.
He guided his cock into my slit, rose over me, and shoved himself inside my pussy. He had me wrap my legs around his waist while he fucked me. Supporting most of his weight on his elbows, he stretched out over me, his forearms under my shoulders, his hands tangled in my hair.
He pounded into me with renewed vigor and I squeezed him with my legs and raised my hips to meet his thrusts. Yes, this was what I wanted, yes. His every thrust sent sparks of pleasure through me.
I would have thrashed my head, but his fingers in my hair held me tight in place. His gaze locked with mine as he loomed over me. He lowered his head for a kiss.
He was breathing hard now, as was I. He was close, I knew. I was close again. His groin ground against me and sent my pulsing clitoris into overdrive. I clamped down on Gibson’s cock and readied myself.
The pressure built as Gibson kissed me, looking into me as if he were seeing everything I was, everything I could be. I clamped down harder.
He moaned.
And that was all it took to push me over the edge. I gloried in the feel of the warmth spreading outward from my pussy. Gibson moaned again, fucked me hard, then he kissed me.
Except it wasn’t a kiss. He bit my bottom lip, clamping my flesh between his teeth and pulling his head back, stretching my lip as he pulled. He bit hard enough to make me gasp. Then he bit down harder.
I cried out, the pain of the bite fighting with the waves of my orgasm.
Then he bit down even harder, so hard that I thought surely he was drawing blood. I cried out, tried to pull away, but his fingers held me tight and I couldn’t escape.
Gibson jerked and shuddered, finding his orgasm then. I sought mine that had been lost in the pain of his bite. I felt him come inside me and I heard him cry out, his teeth still locked on my crushed lower lip, his dark eyes gleaming.
And everything folded into one then. The sound of him, the pleasure of my orgasm, the agony of his bite, his twitching cock in my pussy. It all became one thing and that one thing was an upsurge of such intense pleasure that it rocked my body from head to foot.
I shuddered under Gibson and closed my eyes and rode my climax to its end.
When my cries of passion faded to panting, shallow breaths, Gibson finally released my poor lip. He untangled his fingers from my hair and touched my bottom lip, checking it inside and out. He grunted in what could only be described as satisfaction, then licked over my aching skin, and sucked gently at the swollen flesh, taking away some of the lingering pain.
He wrapped his arms around me and rolled with me, leaving him stretched out on his back and me cuddled up next to his side. I flopped a weak arm across his chest and lay there panting. His breathing wasn’t all the way back to normal either, but he held me tightly, stroked my back and arms, asking me if I was okay. I told him I was.
Once he recovered more fully, he gave me a quick going-over to reassure himself that I wasn’t injured in any way. I snuggled back up against him when he finished. I felt like purring, and would have, if I knew how.
I don’t know how long we lay there. I would have preferred it had been longer but the phone rang. Gibson sat up and answered the phone on the nightstand. He only said, “Okay,” then hung up again.
He said, “Our dinner’s on its way. Are you ready to eat?”
“I don’t know.”
He grinned. “Start thinking about it then. You’ll need your strength for what’s ahead.”
I smiled a lazy smile. “Mmm. If that’s why you want me to eat, then lead me to it.”
He stroked my calf, gave a little shake of his head and said, “You get cleaned up and I’ll go out and meet the food cart. No clothes, understand? Just some washing up. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out.”
I stretched and then winced at the pull of the skin on my still-heated bottom. I rubbed my ass and asked, “Can I eat lying on my stomach?”
“No,” he answered. Then he slid off the bed and I nearly giggled when I realized his pants were still around his ankles. He managed to get them untangled pretty easily, though, considering.
I watched him head off to the bathroom then I flopped back onto the bed. Gibson told me I couldn’t wear clothes. Now, if only I could figure out a way to keep him the hell out of his own clothes. But there was time.
It was still early, and we had hours and hours ahead of us.
Chapter 12
I was rinsing off in the shower when Gibson found me, telling me dinner was served. He held out a towel for me, and rubbed me down briskly from top to bottom. I had pinned up my hair so it wouldn’t get too wet in the shower, and he took his time removing the pins and running his fingers through my snarled locks.
I said, “I think a brush would work better.”
He glanced over my hair and dropped his hands. “No, I like it the way it is, a little messy. The just-climbed-out-of-bed look.”
He took my hand and pulled me toward the dining room. I gazed longingly at the bed, thinking time spent there was far more appealing than food, but it wasn’t for me to say, I supposed, and got a thrill from the thought.
The dining table was lovely, spread with a pristine white tablecloth and covered dishes. A pair of candles served as a centerpiece, and added illumination since the overhead lights had been dimmed. Soft strains of gentle jazz filled the room from hidden speakers.
Gibson sat me near one corner of the table, helping me into my chair, which he had covered with a towel. Then he sat down at the end of the table, close to me.
I picked up my napkin and started to lay it on my bare lap, then stopped, finding the act vaguely amusing since I had no clothing to protect.
Gibson said, “Just keep it next to your plate. I want you to spread your legs, wide, hook your feet around the legs of your chair.”
He leaned over to check my position. He smiled, “Yes, that’s it.”
I said, “Not exactly ladylike.”
“I know.”
“I’m already naked, and you’ve got all your clothes on. Did you have to put your jacket back on, too? Makes me feel kind of slutty.”
“Interesting,” was all he had to say.
He lifted the cover off our plates, revealing our meals: steaks with some kind of sauce, small potatoes in another sauce, and buttered asparagus. It looked delicious. He uncovered another plate in the center, displaying a tray of flaky-crusted bread and two small bowls of butter.
He put one of the bowls and a small plate next to my setting then said, “Simple food, well-prepared though. I hope you like steak.”
I answered, “Everyone likes steak, don’t they?”
“Not vegetarians. I had them bring a pasta dish just in case, if you’d prefer.”
“Nope. I’m definitely a carnivore. And I’m suddenly starving.” I glanced around. “I don’t have any silverware.”
Gibson picked up his own knife and spread some butter on a piece of bread. “That’s right.”
I was stumped for a moment. Then I said, “You’re not going to let me have any silverware.”
He laid his bread on his small plate and said, “Exactly.”
“So, I have to eat with my fingers.”
He met my eyes. “Yes, you do,” he said, then he began cutting a piece off his steak.
I exhaled loudly. “You’re going to sit there, looking all proper and civilized in your clothes, eating with utensils, while I sit here naked and have to eat with my fingers. Is this supposed to make me feel like a savage or something?”
“No, if I wanted you to feel like a savage, I’d have you on your knees, on the floor, eating out of a bowl with your hands tied behind your back.”
My heart gave a loud thump in my chest. “Uh ... okay.”
“If you’d prefer, I can make that happen for you.”
“No, not necessary.”
“As you wish. I cut your steak into strips, by the way, so you should be able to manage it.”
I reached out and picked up an asparagus spear. I leaned forward, over the plate, but Gibson told me to sit up straight, demanded that my shoulders be pressed against the chair back. I obeyed without understanding why.
Gibson chewed slowly and watched my lips close over the vegetable. He watched every bite I took, his expression as inscrutable as I had ever seen it. A drop of butter from the asparagus landed on my chest and when I picked up my napkin to clean myself off, Gibson said, “Leave it.”
Now I knew why I wasn’t allowed to lean forwar
d. I left the butter on my chest.
I took up a piece of bread, tore it in smaller pieces and dipped it into the butter before popping it into my mouth. Okay, this wasn’t so bad.
The steak, though, proved more difficult to manage. It was impossible to get the whole strip to my mouth without dripping sauce all over myself, from my chest down to my stomach, and once again, Gibson wouldn’t allow me to clean it off. And when I tried to cup my other hand under the steak, he told me to put my hand down, that I wasn’t allowed to use it.
He did, however, allow me to wipe my mouth with my napkin.
I reached for my wine glass and said, “I guess I should be grateful you’re letting me drink out of a glass.”
He nodded. “I considered pouring it into your hands whenever you wanted a drink, but that would be far too messy.”
I raised an eyebrow and looked down at my spattered chest and stomach.
He said, “That’s an acceptable level of messiness.”
I took a drink. “I see. The Gibson Reeves Scale of Mess. Ratings from one to ten, with ten being wine drunk from hands and a six being dribbled sauces.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t say anything. We ate in silence for a while, his eyes on me most of the time, and me feeling self-conscious under his watch, but trying to brazen it out.
The food was delicious, some of the best I’d ever eaten, but I only knew that in a vague sort of way, my attention focused mostly on Gibson and my situation.
I said, “Can I ask you some questions?”
“Of course. You can ask me anything.”
“Does this excite you, watching me right now?”
His lids lowered slightly. “Yes. Does it excite you?”
I shrugged a little. “I don’t know. Yes, I guess. What excites you about it?”
“For one thing, you’re naked. That always excites me.”
“Anything else?”
“I like watching you put your fingers in your mouth, the dainty way you suck them clean. You have beautiful lips, and your lower one is swollen, from my bite, making it all the more beautiful. I like that you’re favoring it and trying not to touch it much.”
