CeCe shrugged. "I-I don't think I've discovered many of them. I like sex. I enjoy both parts of oral…"
"And anal? Are you a virgin there?"
"Yes," she answered, so softly he could barely hear her.
"Speak up, Celia, or you will be punished for not doing so. It is your responsibility to speak clearly and concisely. I will not be drawn into having to harangue you for answers you should immediately provide to me."
She tried again. "I have not had anal sex."
"Does it interest you?"
Her blush was so extreme she thought she was going to faint, and his knowing chuckle didn't help that feeling any.
Before she could open her mouth to answer him, he held up his hand. "I think you just gave me quite enough of a non-verbal answer. And I think I have more than enough to go on, at least for the moment." Nick looked down at Celia sternly. "You'll find me strict and hard. Your bottom will probably never feel as well as it does at this moment."
This was well? she thought, riding the crest of panic again.
"And your privates are no longer private. They, I can guarantee you, will be perpetually sore and achy, too." He caught her jaw in his hand, holding it still. "I crave you, girl, and I will have you any time I want you."
He turned her suddenly and pushed her onto the bed on her back, coming to stand between her legs, being deliberately intimidating. "I will do with you as I please, Celia. I will use you for my own pleasure. Yours will be strictly controlled and only experienced with my express permission. I will expect you to stop me only when you absolutely need to – a medical emergency or something like that – but you do not want me to suspect that you're trying to avoid the frequent, rightful punishments you will undoubtedly endure at my hands." He paused, saying very pointedly, "And if you come to a point at any time that you think this is not what you want, all you have to do is say so, and that will be that. This has to be something that you acknowledge that you want."
"Yes, Sir." He sounded very old school – almost like the cruel master in many of what purported to be Victorian porn stories online. "It is."
"I have to admit I like that little unconscious habit of yours, calling me Sir. It sounds right, somehow, from those proper little lips of yours. That is how you shall address me from now on, whether we're alone or in company."
She swallowed hard, hoping she could remember to – she had been entirely unaware that she was doing it until he just mentioned it to her.
"Yes, Sir."
"Good girl. Put your heels up on the edge of the bed and spread your legs wide for me. I want to inspect what is mine."
Her second of hesitation was her downfall. She found her ankles caught in one of his hands and raised up and back, lifting her hips off the mattress and completely exposing her already well-lathered behind, to which he added another truly vicious round of slaps that brought her safe word immediately to mind – but she managed not to say it.
Barely.
When he finally let her go, he reiterated, "Now get those knees as far apart as you can make them, unless you'd like a taste of my belt." His hand rested threateningly on said belt.
"Yes, Sir," came her watery reply.
He wasn't kidding about inspecting her – he actually brought a straight-backed wooden chair from a dark corner of the room, which she hadn't noticed, and sat directly in front of her, bent a bit over her because of his height. CeCe had never been so humiliated – or aroused – in all her life. He noted exactly that aloud to her, comparing her weeping eyes to her weeping cunt. "Neither condition will sway me one way or the other about your punishments or your pleasure, you should know," he advised.
"On your hands and knees, girl," he ordered, slapping her behind as soon as she rolled over to do as he bid, causing her to yowl at both the pain and the indignation.
"Head down, bottom up, arms folded behind your back, and keep those knees as far apart as they were when you were on your back or I'll get out the crop. And I wouldn't move from that position, if I were you."
She could hear him undressing finally, but she couldn't get much of a look at him from her position, even with her cheek turned. She wondered if he had planned it that way.
Once naked, he came to stand behind her, leaning over her easily – making her feel just that much more submissive to him that he could envelope her with himself that way. Each big hand claimed a breast that easily filled it near to overflowing, and she felt him prodding boldly at the entrance to her body.
With nothing more than a swift, ruthless thrust, she was his, pinned, split, and thoroughly invaded, with her body's complete cooperation.
It wasn't at all what she expected. She felt somewhat cheated. She had wanted – had expected, somehow, despite how their relationship was unfolding – him to make love to her, to lay her on the bed and look her in the eye as he slowly joined their bodies together.
This was…not that.
Not that it wasn't hot. She was almost annoyed to realize that her body loved it. Regardless of how stark it was, how used she felt, as he didn't waste a second before he began to pump violently in and out of her. Withdrawing his considerable length completely before slamming it back into her, giving her no time to become used to that hard spike invading her repeatedly, giving her no choice but to accept him, his painful grip on her breasts keeping her in her place, right where he wanted her.
"Ah, God, you're tight!" he groaned.
CeCe tried to move, to escape, to regain some semblance of control over her body and what was happening to her, but she failed miserably. Not only was he everywhere around her, that broad, muscular chest crushing her folded arms against her back as well as the arms that were wrapped round her torso so that those hands of his could cruelly squeeze the breasts that he was using as handholds, as restraints with which he could ruthlessly control her, pinching and pulling her nipples. He'd even cleverly set his knees between hers, so that she couldn't close her legs for the way he spread his between them, keeping her obscenely open for him.
She was well caught and being very well fucked, whether she wanted to be or not.
And her body wanted her to be, permission or no. Every powerful thrust knocked a groan out of her – her safety valve forgotten in the furor of what it felt like to submit to a man like this, in a manner that was straight out of one of her own fantasies.
And it didn't end quickly, despite how close he had claimed he was. The man had incredible control, and he rode her hard and relentlessly, that club between his legs cleaving her vigorously each time he plunged it into her.
Nick could feel that she was on the bubble about what he was doing, and normally he didn't worry much about that. But he wanted more from Celia than he did from any one-night stand or even a friend with benefits.
So his right hand left off torturing a turgid nipple, which he was quite sure would remain very sore for quite some time, to find its way between her legs.
For some reason, that had her actively fighting against him again, when she had almost come to accept – and her body had always enjoyed – what he was doing to her and how.
"No!" she yelped, struggling mightily and achieving bupkis for her efforts. "No! Stop! I – don't – want –"
He laughed heartily. "I think you like saying that word, my darling, because it helps you think that you have some modicum of control over what is happening to you. But I can assure you," he whispered into her ear as he continued to hammer into her. "That you do not, I want you to come, and so you will be made to come by my finger." He pressed it between the top of her folds. "Rubbing right here while my cock has its way with you here –" He gave a thrust that stabbed his rigidness into her. "And I will not stop until I hear you scream."
He was as good – or better – than his word.
"I think you're very aurally stimulated, which is good because I do love to talk about what I'm doing or am going to do to you, or how I think you feel about what I'm doing. I think that you love being forced just like this �
� force fucked, force pleasured, punished, with a big dose of humiliation in there, too. I think your body likes it better than your mind does, but that will change. I've seen it happen."
Nick could feel her body tightening around him and knew she was going to be totally overwhelmed shortly, and, although he couldn't wait, he forced himself to slow both the rhythm of his cock and his hand between her legs, to draw out that twilight just before an orgasm, wanting to make it absolutely sublime for her.
She tried again to struggle, but this time not to get free, but instead to encourage him to pick up his pace.
And he knew exactly what she was doing, knew that he had won the battle – although probably not the war. She wanted to come, and she was trying to achieve that goal in any way she could. "No, my girl. Everything happens in my good time now. Relax. Let go. You've already lost. Give in to it. Give in to me. I can bring this to you any time I like – and I will, I promise you that. Much more pain than pleasure, but still, sometimes, I'll make you feel like this. I'll draw it out, make you wait, make you beg for a release that's so infrequent you will always taste the ghost of it whenever I touch you. Whenever I look at you, you'll know what I can reduce you to with so little effort on my part."
But it was his whisper that put her over the edge. "I'll make the pain pleasurable, too. You'll see. I'll make you crave the pain, too, whether you want me to or not."
It was the only time in her life that she truly thought she was going to, at the very least, faint when the feelings roared over her, blotting out all sanity or sense – at the worst, she was going to die from it, but she frankly couldn't imagine a better way to go.
Nick continued to fuck her, finally allowing his own pleasure free reign as he spattered her insides with his spurting cum, but he kept his head and kept his fingers right where they belonged. He wasn't about to allow her to get away with just one orgasm. She was entirely too much of a sensualist not to have multiples of them – and if she hadn't before, she was going to now.
He tempered his touch, doing his best to tailor it to her needs. Every woman was different, and he prided himself on being able to quickly and easily learn about her tastes and desires. Some liked a furious frigging after that first explosion, some needed a butterfly light touch, so he settled somewhere in between and set himself to listening for every hitched breath, every gasp, every gulp, making himself ultrasensitive to the way her body jerked if he did that, the way she sighed if he did this.
Within a few short minutes, he brought her to another screaming, crying peak. Then, he backed off a bit, big, rough fingertips slipping over that still swollen bud slowly. Almost not touching her at all, then, when he felt she'd come down enough, he slipped his index finger around one side, his ringer finger around the other, leaving his middle finger atop the crest and began to rub her with the aid and comfort of her own juices.
CeCe couldn't find the words to stop him. She'd never felt quite so helpless in her life as now, when she was the most vulnerable, held perfectly still as he coaxed her body to what seemed like infinite, wildly pleasurable peak after peak.
And he didn't show her the slightest bit of mercy until she finally collapsed beneath him, literally hanging in his arms.
As much as he wanted to simply fall to one side and hold her, he lay her gently down then scooted quickly around and made things tidy first, so that she wouldn't trip – in what was already unfamiliar territory – over his clothes or his shoes on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
But as soon as he could, he returned to bed, drawing her into his arms at the top of the bed, arranging the covers over the both of them, feeling her sinking bonelessly against him.
He held her tight, knowing that sometimes provided a sub with a feeling of safety, wrapping every bit of himself that he could around her small body, realizing with a start that he might never get enough of her.
She lifted her head from his shoulder, barely, and it wobbled like a bobble head. "Thank –"
"Don't you dare finish that thought, darlin'. Tuck your head against my shoulder and try to sleep. You've been through the wringer tonight, and I cannot say how impressed I am with you." She did as he said, a small, exhausted smile on her lips, as he hugged her even tighter, making her practically disappear into his embrace. "I'm not at all sure I'm going to be willing to give you your clothes back, come Monday morning. I might just have to kidnap you and keep you in my bed forever."
CeCe gave a weak chuckle, too tired to worry about whether or not he was kidding.
Truth was, after that, she didn't much care. If he made her come like that, he could do whatever the hell he wanted to with her.
Not that she was ever going to say that aloud to him, of course.
Seconds later, she was snoring softly, leaving Nick to stare down at her as he stroked her hair, leaving him alone with the terrifying realization that he was holding his own heart in his arms.
Chapter Five
It turned out to be weekend that CeCe would never forget. She knew better – intellectually, at least – than to think that just because they were so sexually compatible they nearly killed each other every time they came together that it meant this was going to be anything more than what it was on its surface, a weekend out of time where they both had an excruciatingly good time.
He was as good as his word about everything. He never let anyone interfere with them – any time the phone rang, he answered it, and after one or two extremely short calls, during which he reamed whomever it was a new one for daring to do so, the phone stopped ringing. Their cells remained, untouched, in her purse, and her clothes remained locked in his closet.
She didn't know how things like this went for or with anyone else, but he was magnificent the entire time, as if she had written him for herself. As he had promised he would be, he was very strict and stern, and she spent a horrible amount of time being punished in varying ways, usually with him blistering her ass with one or more implements, of which he seemed to have a truly vast collection. But she'd also been put in the corner, had her breasts spanked, and was left blindfolded, naked and bound, spread eagled, to his big bed while he was out of the room.
He hadn't gone far, though, because that – out of all the things he'd done to her – had instigated the use of her safe word.
And he had made his bones with her by being there almost before her first mournful cry for her father had died out within the room.
Nick freed her immediately, hauled her into his arms and brushed the soaking wet blindfold away from her eyes. He could feel how cold and clammy she was, and he wondered if she was coming down with the flu or something.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she chanted under her breath as she clung to him like a limpet.
"Stop, stop, stop, baby," he crooned, rocking the two of them back and forth. "Are you hurt? What wrong? How can I fix it?" Nick tried to lean a bit away from her, but she wouldn't let him.
"No, please, don't go."
"I'm not going anywhere, baby," he soothed, gathering her to him again. And then he realized. She wasn't hurt. She was terrified, trembling uncontrollably in his arms.
"Darling, if you're scared of something, you must let me know," he admonished very gently, settling back against the headboard and keeping her curled up on his chest like an orphaned kitten.
"I-I thought I could do it – I haven't – I don't – I'm not a baby; I'm an adult."
"Everyone is afraid of something, honey."
"N-not you," she whispered against his chest.
"Oh, yes, even me."
"What are you afraid of?" she asked doubtfully.
"Heights. Terrified of heights. That's why I was never a second story man."
She snorted, not knowing whether she really believed him or not, but she clung to him still.
Nick stroked her hair, holding her uncomplainingly until he could see that she had relaxed and had almost recovered.
Then he pulled her hair back so that she had to
look at him. "I should take you over my lap for that, you know. You should have told me as soon as you began to feel uncomfortable. I will definitely be the impetus of you feeling afraid sometimes, but is never what I intended."
She surprised him by agreeing meekly, "Yes, Sir. I know. I really did think I could do it – I knew you were near, but it didn't seem to help."
But he couldn't bring himself to punish her, although he knew he should. He was too damned relieved that it was something relatively innocuous; something easily avoidable now that he knew it was a trigger for her.
Instead, he drew her down onto her back and pressed himself into her, adoring the way her breath caught as her body strove to accommodate his imposing presence within it, despite the fact that it always seemed to welcome him by slickening his way.
He proved himself – repeatedly during that weekend – to be an amazing caretaker, as well as a sometimes-cruel dominant. The morning after their first night together, when he thought he had practically killed her, and yet he hadn't been able to keep himself from reaching for her multiple times during the night. She never balked, never complained, even though he knew she had to be achy in more than one place.
When she awoke, before she really even had her wits about her, he appeared with a tray loaded down with delicious tidbits for breakfast – homemade waffles, sausage, bacon, eggs, home fries, slices of fresh, ripe pears, coffee, fresh squeezed orange juice and blueberry muffins. He wasn't sure exactly what she liked for breakfast, but he knew she liked food, so he tried to cover all of his bases.
And then he proceeded to feed her himself, and they ended up having to change the sheets because of just how surprisingly sticky maple syrup was, even after it was rather diligently licked of some very tender skin…
He had an in-ground pool installed when he'd moved into the place, something he'd always wanted as a kid but never got, and they spent some time in there. The water was cool, and it felt wonderful on what seemed to be her perpetually roasted – or thoroughly used – parts.
Lion Page 5
