by Ward, Deena
A twinge shot between my legs. I asked, “Are you a sadist?”
He appeared to give the question some thought, then answered, “In some ways, yes, in others, no. Are you a masochist?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
I remembered that Michael asked me that question once. I answered, “Because I don’t get off on pain. If I hurt myself, it just hurts, it doesn’t excite me.”
“I see. But I’m not talking about pain in that sense. I’m talking about it in a sexual, sensual way.”
“I didn’t know there was a difference.”
“There definitely is.”
“So what is it?”
“I think that’s something we should explore later tonight. Showing is a much more effective teaching tool than telling.”
My stomach clenched. “I think I’ve lost my appetite.”
He chuckled, a low sound with more than a hint of promised menace in it. “You haven’t eaten enough yet, so try to get it back. Unless you’d prefer that I feed you.”
“No, that’s okay.” I drank a big gulp of wine.
He said, “You did say you wanted me to do as I pleased with you, did you not?”
“I did.”
“If you’re having second thoughts, tell me now.”
I shook my head. “It’s just, I’m nervous.”
“Good.”
I managed a few more bites of steak and bread, a few bites of potatoes. As always, he watched me.
Then I asked, “You said you’re a sadist in some ways, but not in others. What does that mean?”
“It means that I enjoy giving some pain to a woman who knows what to do with it, but not to a woman who doesn’t. The delivery and acceptance of pain can be an exciting tool in several ways, with the right person.”
“And you think I’m someone who knows what to do with pain?”
“I think you have an ability that you don’t understand yet.”
“You’ve called me special before. Is that what you meant?”
“That’s part of it.”
I chewed on some bread and thought for a few moments.
Gibson studied me and asked, “What happened when I bit you during your orgasm?”
“I screamed.”
“Why?”
“Because it hurt.”
“Is that all?”
“Yeah, what else could there be?”
He raised his eyebrows for a split second, then returned to his meal, not saying anything else.
I had eaten all I could manage. I sipped on my wine and watched him watch my lips and mouth, my breasts. Try as I might, I couldn’t calm my thudding heartbeat.
When he finished his meat, he asked if I were going to eat any more of mine. When I told him no, he speared my steak with his fork and put it on his plate. Something about him eating my food made me feel warm. Perhaps it was because that was something couples did, finish one another’s food.
He asked if I wanted desert, saying he had a wonderful chocolate desert, similar to a tort, that he thought I might like. I declined, telling him perhaps later. I was too wired to eat anything more, even chocolate.
He finished off my steak then leaned back in his chair, a manly gesture of satisfaction. He said, “Well, I want some desert,” then he stood up and walked behind me.
He pulled out my chair and when I stood up, he moved the chair to the side and asked me to turn around. He leaned around me and grabbed up my plate and other items, stacking them over where he had eaten.
When he had a space cleared, he picked me up by the waist and sat me on the edge of the table. I clutched his shoulders for support. He spread my legs wide and looked me up and down. I was warm everywhere.
He lowered his head and began to lick up the droplets of sauce and butter on my chest. I sighed loudly. Slowly and deliberately, he licked my chest and breasts clean, then he leaned lower and licked over my stomach.
I groaned when his tongue grazed the top of my pussy. He pulled my hands from his shoulders and placed them on the tabletop slightly behind me, telling me to arch my back. I did, and he laved my breasts again.
His fingertips stroked my mound, around my wet slit, tickling my labia. Then his fingers slid inside me, two of them, into my pussy in a smooth and silken entry. With his other hand, he dragged the chair underneath him and sat down, trailing hot kisses down to my stomach as he descended.
When his head lowered and he closed his lips over my clit, I shuddered. Heaven. His mouth on me there. I threw back my head and closed my eyes.
His fingers moved inside me, slow and steady, twisting and rubbing inside me, sending thrills through me. And his tongue flicked over my clit, soft and slow, then harder and faster. Soft and slow again. Hard and fast. Around and across.
I wondered at the glory of his mouth on me. His fingertips rubbed against a spot inside of me that made me want to wrap my hands in his hair and grind my hips against his face. I tried to control myself, tried to make it last, tried to keep from going so quickly. But I couldn’t do it.
I came, crying out at the release of all the tension that had built up over the long dinner, over the way he had watched me.
He stroked me until my orgasm passed into twitches of aftershocks, taking long licks up and down my slit, then he stood and picked me up into his arms. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders as he carried me to the bedroom. After he put me down next to the bed, he pulled back all the covers, tossing them halfway across the bed, before settling me onto the mattress, curled on my side.
He pushed my hair off my face and ran his thumb over my swollen lip, a gentle smile on his face. I sighed.
He walked over to the dresser and with his back to me, took off his clothes, one piece after another. I admired the defined musculature of his back and the smooth, firm contour of his fine ass. My fingers ached to explore him. Maybe he would let me, some time tonight.
After opening a drawer in the dresser, he pulled out a pair of thin, white cotton pants. He stepped into them, unfortunately cutting off the view of his fabulous ass. While he tied the drawstring waist, he turned back toward me. I could see the clear outline of his hard cock making a tent of the front of his pants.
My mouth watered. I sat up, looked pointedly at his dick and said, “I’ve changed my mind. I want desert, too.”
He gave a short laugh. “Maybe later.”
I collapsed back onto my side. “That’s mean.”
He smiled and pulled a small black bag from the drawer. I remembered that black bag from our time together at the hotel. His toy bag. I shivered.
He said, “If you think that’s mean, I don’t know how you’ll manage what’s in store for you tonight.”
I shivered again. Delicious, my fear, the intensity in his eyes, the anticipation ... and the trust I felt in him.
He crawled into bed behind me and dropped the bag in front of me. After spooning up against my back, he put one arm under my head and the other around my waist, pulling me closer to him, nestling my butt against his hips.
He asked, “Are you cold?”
I closed my eyes at the pleasure of his smooth chest against my back. “No. I’m perfect.”
He kissed my ear. “You are.”
I sighed and found his hand, wrapped my fingers in his.
He lay his head down on the pillow behind my head while his free hand stroked up my side, then down over my hip and thigh. Soothing touch, thrilling, too, the gentleness of it, raising goosebumps on my arms.
He splayed his hand across my stomach and rubbed his way up to my breasts, where he cupped my flesh and tickled my nipples before moving down again, over to my hip and up again.
I was hypnotized by his touch, his roaming hand and fingers, the sound of his breathing mingling with the music, the warmth of skin on skin, the clean smell of the pillowcase, the spicy scent of my lover, the scent of my sex on his lips.
I floated, awed at how easily and quickly he aroused me. Already, a low burn
gathered in my belly and pussy. My breasts tingled. My bitten lip began to pulse slowly.
He caressed me until I moaned and pushed my hips against him. He slid his hand over my bare mound, cradling me, making me want more. Then his hand traveled up over my hip and down over my ass, his fingers pushing between my thighs, seeking out the moisture in my slit. I lifted my upper leg slightly, to give him more access.
He swept his finger through my juices, then back toward my rear, between my ass cheeks, where he pressed the tip of his finger against my tight asshole.
I groaned. I couldn’t help it. Why couldn’t he keep his finger in my pussy where it belonged?
Gibson raised his head and kissed my neck. I shivered when he nibbled on my ear lobe.
He didn’t say a word, or stop nibbling at my ear, when he took his hand away from my rear and reached for the black bag. One handed, he opened the bag and pulled out a small bottle. I groaned again. Lubricant.
He made a quiet “shh” sound. He flipped open the bottle and passed it off into his other hand, which released my own hand to take the bottle. He squeezed some of the slippery liquid onto his finger.
I held my breath, waiting while that finger found its way to my ass, worked up against my tight ring of muscles, and pushed some of the lubricant inside me. Three more times he loaded up his finger, pushing the stuff farther inside me each time, then he closed the bottle and tossed it back into the bag. His free hand squeezed around mine once more. His other hand returned to my ass.
All the while he was doing this, he never stopped nuzzling my ear and neck, making soothing sounds that nonetheless failed to calm me. I was terrified of what he might be readying me for.
When he pressed a second finger against my tight hole, he said, “Push against me when I enter you, with your muscles. It will make it easier.”
I pushed, and his second finger slid into me much easier than it had before, with less discomfort.
“Better?” he asked.
I nodded, returned a breathy, “Yes.”
His fingers moved inside me, stretching me, gently sliding in and out, never coming out all the way and I was grateful for that at least. I closed my eyes and told myself to bear it.
Gibson said quietly in my ear, “So hot and tight. I can’t get enough of you.”
I had longed for words of praise from him, like these, but I wished they didn’t have to be about this act. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
He whispered to me to relax. I couldn’t. He removed a finger and asked if that was better. I said it was, but when he asked if it felt good, I had to tell him no. I didn’t like it.
He stopped moving, but left his finger deep inside me. He kissed my neck then said, “Tell me what you don’t like about it.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “I don’t know.”
“Yes you do. Tell me.”
“It’s uncomfortable.”
“We’ve done things together that were far more uncomfortable for you than this.”
“I know. This is different.”
“Tell me how it’s different.”
“I’ve never liked it. It feels like I have to go to the bathroom.”
“That will change, the more time I spend inside you. It will change quickly, if you let it.”
My memory flashed on Kamun in Michael’s dungeon and the beer bottle and what almost happened. I wanted to tell Gibson about it. But I couldn’t. Didn’t want to admit to it.
I wasn’t a victim, and I didn’t want to sound like one. And anyway, I’d never liked “anal play,” Kamun or no Kamun. I had simply learned to put up with it.
I said, “It’s gross. Dirty.”
He pulled his finger out of me and said, “Open your eyes.”
I did. He held his hand in front of my face, showing me his shiny and slick, but otherwise clean finger.
He said, “I’m not far into you. Nothing’s on me.”
“Still ...”
He put his finger against my asshole again, told me to push and slipped his finger inside me as far it would go. I shifted uncomfortably.
Gibson said, “Anything else you don’t like about it?”
“Nothing I can think of at the moment. Maybe if you took your finger out of me I could think of something else.”
I heard a smile in his voice. “No, I’m not taking it out yet. I like how it feels inside you too much. Push. Here comes my second finger again.”
I groaned, but did as he asked.
He said, “I’m going to tell you some things I want you to do, and you’ll obey me, won’t you?”
“I’ll try.”
“That’s all I can ask. First, I want you to stop thinking about that place as dirty. You saw for yourself that there was nothing on me. Whenever you feel disgusted about it, stop yourself. Can you try that?”
“I suppose.”
“Good. Second, I want you to shift up a little bit, there, so I can reach your clit with my other hand. Right. There.”
He stroked through my still-wet slit, gathering moisture, then ran his fingers over my clitoris. I stiffened.
He said, “Third, I want you to relax your muscles. All over your body. Go limp. Like that, yes. I’m going to start moving my fingers inside of you, so don’t tighten up again. Focus on relaxing. Yes, very good.”
He kissed my hair and played feather touches over my clit. “Lastly, I want you to think about this from my perspective, from what I’m feeling.”
His voice dropped even lower. “I have my fingers inside you, I’m fucking you in your ass that’s so tight and hot and slick it’s like torture. I’m moving slowly and carefully and savoring it, even while my natural impulse is to pound into you until you scream.”
I shuddered.
His voice was quiet still, but growing harsher. “I want to spread your sweet little ass and watch your hole stretch from my entry. I want to go deeper inside you, as far as I can go, stretch and widen you, make you take more and more until you’re truly ready for me, ready for what I want of you.”
My heart rate quickened. His fingers working over my swollen clit distracted me from his fingers sliding in and out of me.
He said, “Because that’s what I want. I want to fuck your ass, Nonnie. I want my cock inside you, to claim that ass as mine, to take what no one else has taken. Right now, I’m imagining what it will look like, your head and shoulders pushed down on the mattress, your pretty ass up in the air, waiting for me, the head of my cock pushed against your tight little hole, slowly spreading you open.”
I began to pant and my hips twitched. I couldn’t deny the power of his words, the fierceness in his voice. The passion.
His fingers picked up their pace, both inside me and on my clit. “I’m imagining what it will feel like to cram my dick inch by inch inside you, how even for me it will be a mixture of pleasure and pain, you’ll be so tight around me. I’m thinking of how it will look when I’m all the way in, can’t go any farther. I’m thinking of the noises you’ll be making, of your muscles contracting and releasing around me.”
His breath was hot on my ear and cheek, and his fingers were fucking me quickly now, rapid fire in short strokes. My clitoris thrummed under his touch. I squeezed.
Gibson growled. “Yes, that’s it, beautiful one. Feel it. Feel the difference. It’s not what you’re used to.”
I gasped, “Yes.”
He said, “Come for me. See my cock in your ass. Relax your muscles and come for me.”
I moaned and obeyed. He was right. This was different. It didn’t feel the same as when his fingers were in my pussy. This was something else. Something not necessarily better, but higher pitched, centering from a new place.
The pitch rose higher, and he thrust inside me with more speed than ever, and it drove me upward, upward, until I cried out as the full force of my orgasm broke over me.
I called out Gibson’s name, and arched up against him, captured by this new thing, this different thing that was rolling over me and
through me.
I had barely crested the peak when Gibson moved with graceful speed, turning me onto my stomach, lifting me at the hips, lowering his pants and pushing his huge cock against my asshole.
I didn’t have time to react before he said, “I want to take you right now, but I won’t. You’re not ready yet. Know though, when the time’s right, I’ll be the one to take it. It’s mine.”
With that, he moved his dick down to my pussy and drove inside me with a ferocious push that made me gasp and sent me scooting forward a few inches from the force. His fingers dug into my hips and held me in place while he fucked me hard and harsh.
He pushed a finger in my ass. His thick cock pumped into me, slamming into the back of my womb. God, I was going to come again. Felt it growing again, before the last one was truly over.
My orgasm struck, and I yelled out. Gibson pounded into me, his balls slapping against me, then with one last mighty thrust, he came inside me, my pussy undulating around him, his cock twitching as he released himself into my depths.
I felt as if I were being lifted out of my body, taken elsewhere, a place of pure bliss and sparkles, pulses of splendor. I hung there, suspended and bound in pleasure. I would have stayed there forever, if I could have.
But I fell back down into myself, and the weight of Gibson collapsing onto me was fine, too, perfect in a different way. I turned my head as far as I could to reach him, to accept the kisses he laid on my neck and cheeks. His lips closed over mine, so fervent, so wonderful.
I would have stayed there forever, too, if I could have.
Chapter 13
Much later, we sprawled together in the Jacuzzi, contentedly watching the lights of the city beyond the glass walls. The chemical tang of the treated water battled with the enticing aroma of the chocolate cake which Gibson had set beside the tub, but had yet to offer to me.
I sat crosswise from Gibson, at the corner of tub, and played my toes over his lap as he stroked up the outside of my leg. The water was hot, but not too hot, the pulsing jets on a gentle setting, and I was comforted by it all, and by my lover’s touch. I admired the way he relaxed in the tub, his head tilted back, his eyes closed.
