by Love Belvin
I just have to mentally relax.
I stood at the side of the bed like a nimrod, anxiously awaiting my nerve to kick in.
“Come here, Elle,” I heard the yearning in his throaty command.
Jackson, my lover, had arrived and so had my arousal; jetting. Crawling on my hands and knees to him, I could smell it. Smell what he pulled from me. I instinctively responded and yielded to the very persona of Jackson who desired me and beckoned my pleasure. The moment I neared him, he rapidly grabbed me against his bare chest and wrapped his mouth around my left nipple. I shuddered at the rushing pleasure that followed the sharp pain of his pull. As we faced each other on our knees, Jackson sucked, gently scraped and applied chaste kisses on my engorged apex in succession then paid the same blissfully torturous attention to the other. I was used to this play, had grown in favor of it among many others Jackson bestowed.
When his fingers swiped my dripping wet lips, I was embarrassed at my level of arousal in no time. My pelvis swayed, on its own accord inclining to him as he stroked my clitoris with measured swipes. Stirring heat built in my groin and already I was about to explode, grabbing him at the back of his head, feeding my breast to him and riding the wave of pleasure from the expert thrumming of his deft fingers. Just when I thought I’d coiled tightly and could only blow from here, Jackson plunged those fingers inside of me, breaking the tension. In no time, insidious sensations started growing below in a powerful cyclonic motion. My sex greedily clamped around not two but three of his fingers and I was riding his hand again. When the first moan erupted from the back of my throat, Jackson’s fingers were gone and I was turned on all fours, curving my back for him.
His mouth was at the top of my spine, lips dancing wickedly down my back as my lungs sloughed air violently. I needed him bad, never recalled being so damn stimulated.
“Jax…” trundled into the air like a helpless cry.
“Shhhhhhh…” He tapped my left cheek affectionately.
When his tongue reached the opening of my cheeks, both his hands were splayed on each, heating me feverishly. Jackson’s mouth and face were inside, touring my pliant tissues until his tongue hit my throbbing nub again. That’s when I felt his fingers applying the lube at my rear opening. His touch was gentle, though no amount of caress could cure the discomfit of his actions. As his tongue sparred with my clit, his finger circled my rectum, twirling back and forth at the same rhythm. I could do it. I could explode with my butt plugged, I’d done it for him before and just as I was about to do it again, his face disappeared.
I whimpered. Jackson didn’t allow much time for my bereavement when he pulled me into his chest while I remained on my knees. Then his lips were at my ear, the musk of my sex aroused me even more as I struggled to focus my eyes.
“You control the pace this way,” he whispered with virile sensitivity.
Damn! I should’ve had a shot or two to prepare for this.
Then I felt the impression of his head pushing into my rectum. My stubborn sphincter was no way allowing something of that size in.
“You have to relax, doll,” he vocals strained.
Relax? I couldn’t breathe from the mounting intrusive pressure. How this act proved my trust for Jackson was beyond me. There were other things I could do to demonstrate it, but it was too late. I’d already embarked on something and backing out now was impossible. Jackson’s fingers went back to my clitoris, rubbing until it was once again engorged. That distraction of my building arousal that he didn’t allow to plateau earned half of his head in.
“We’re almost there. Once the vortex is in, the pressure will let up,” he attempted to sooth as his left hand went to kneading my breast.
Heat flushed my skin pushing sweat through my pores. Jackson’s familiar scent spurred my courage to continue. He bit into my neck then licked the aching sting away. That single move earned him another half an inch, so it felt. I felt the muscles of his hard legs vibrate with strained patience beneath my ass and under-thighs, sweat sprouting from our skin creating a miscellany of erotic scent.
Shakily, he coached, “This can only happen with trust.”
Trust.
The stupid phenomenon that had my ass burning in that moment! I felt tears stinging in my eyes. But even deeper, was this thing I secretly pledged to him. Trust. I had to do this. I had to give this to him. Taking in a deep shaky breath, I relaxed my thighs and pushed back past the ripping sensation. After a few seconds of impossible stinging, Jackson’s head was in. I could feel him pulsating within. He took me at my waist and began thrusting inside, at this point the discomfit was subsiding. His fingers increased speed on my clitoris and breast.
The vortex was once again upon me. And in no time, I couldn’t decide which sensation to focus on: the stinging or the magnificent brewing in my belly. I couldn’t ride his hand like I wanted to, fearing the stiffness of my rectum, so I remained at his mercy for my release. As it built, I heard his labored breathing escalating. In garbled messages he praised my courage, told me we were there. Those groaned acts of commendation tipped me over the edge.
I cried out helplessly, undulating waves of pleasure spreading throughout my limbs. Seized by the most forceful delayed orgasm, my body jerked violently, oblivious to the pain behind. I ascended into mind-numbing realms, leaving every discomfit behind.
“Goddamn, Elle, you feel so fuckin’ goo—”
As my body jerked violently, Jackson shuddered behind me, wailing his pleasure.
When our shakes subsided—Jackson’s well after mine—his bear-like grip on my small frame, resembling desperate need of me, loosened. Absent of his hold, my body immediately shifted forward, collapsing.
“Whoa, baby!” Jackson shrieked, grabbing me back into his chest. “You’re going to hurt yourself. I’m not down yet,” he warned in my oblivion, as my release worked toward its nadir.
He was still lodged inside of me, still stiff as a board. Then he leaned forward, widening my arms to hold myself up against the mattress as he gingerly pulled out of me. I shrieked my aching, finally collapsing fully onto the bed, completely depleted. I felt Jackson leave the bed before I dozed off, body throbbing in both pain and reverberant pleasure. I could feel being flipped onto my back and carried off into the bathroom that was dimly lit. Then I felt the flash of coldness on my cheeks and thighs.
“You need to empty your bladder and…anything else loose,” he cleared his throat as he stood cautiously over my swaying torso.
Within seconds, I felt trickles from below alerting my brain of the act of me peeing. Once that was done, Jackson waited a little while longer before handing me tissue. I was zombified; partially coming to terms with the unnatural evasion and partially coming down from an earth-shattering orgasm. Jackson lifted me again and then we were being lowered into his tub when my eyelids collapsed from sheer exhaustion. The sting from being wiped below with soapy water jolted me.
My eyes flew open to find his head popped up in reaction. “Sorry, baby,” he murmured.
Though too tired to my keep my eyes open, I grunted at the pain of his careful care of my now swollen rectum. I don’t know how long we were in there. I recalled being lifted, dried and placed in his bed. There was successive movement on the mattress, sounds drowned out by my receding mind, shutting down. But while being engulfed by urgent sleep, I could hear a faint outcry of his baritone.
“I wish you could’ve trusted me beyond your body, sweetheart. I wish you trusted me enough to stay.”
I also felt Jackson chastely against my lips before he pulled me into his arms where my mind drifted into a deep sleep.
When I stirred the next morning, the throbbing from behind tarried. I glanced around the bed and my heart joined in. Jackson was gone. After my ultimate demonstration of trust in him, his timely absence left hollowness in my chest.
On my way to the door, the sound of heavy pelts of gallops against the floors halted my steps.
Shit. Bella.
That qui
ckly she appeared on an onrush toward me. My heart hiked and my breath caught in my chest.
“Oh, no,” I groaned, too fatigued and emotionally battered to take on an exuberant oversized hound. Oddly, she stopped and paused. Her head angled to the side as she observed my weary state.
“Please. He beat up on me enough last night,” I murmured, being sure to deliver my tone moderately, not knowing if Madeline had checked in yet.
Bella growled her acknowledgement. Then she did the most amazing thing. She retracted, lying completely down, somehow sensing my enfeebled state.
Feeling a cry bubbling up from my belly, my shoulders dropped as I breathed, “Thanks, Bella.” My voice cracked. “Th-thanks, girl.”
That unusual connection…communication with something close to Jackson provided a smidgen of strength to walk out of his door, somehow sensing what was metamorphic for what I needed to do in his life.
When I made it into work that morning, there was a gift box waiting for me. Upon opening it, I found a rendition of the “Jack and the Beanstalk” fairy tale. My mind raced with the possible analogies that could be extracted from the title. This was getting to be all too much.
Jackson returned to the office two days later. I made sure I was away from my desk from that day until the weekend.
We rounded the boundless curved roads in silence, only the humming sounds of the engine purring floated in the air of Jackson’s father’s Austin-Healey. The sun had already disappeared back in the city and darkness was now upon us. I’d never been to the Catskills, and couldn’t believe I was up in the mountains. In fact, I was surrounded by them along with naked trees, topped in white matter. The snow was still prominent the last weekend in February here in upstate New York.
Jackson and I were alone and although we rode in uncanny silence, I could hear the cogs of his mind working. I could admit to having my own reservations about this trip myself. Last week, he sent a text asking to get away together. I was hugely reluctant initially feeling it would be in total contrast to my efforts to end our relationship. I was moving to California for an undetermined amount of time. That alone was good reason to neutralize our affairs. But something in me…that magnetic force that I could never decipher or fight against had me acquiesce to a final emprise with him.
Finally, we pulled off the road and onto one that was obviously private until we met a black wrought iron gate. Jackson punched a code into a keypad and the gate slid open and the property illuminated from sensor lights, giving us access to a downhill property. It was an ultra-modern log cabin with tall panes of glass walls giving direct views inside where I could see art deco furniture boasting about. Immediately, I was in awe of the technology of the structural design.
We pulled aside the cabin and Jackson collected our bags then led me inside. The place was softly lit and invitingly warm. As we traveled deeper inside he pulled up the lights. When all were on, I could see thick planes of wood suspended in the cathedral ceiling. The living room was so large it had two colossal coffee tables separating adjacent non-identical suede sofas of the same motif. From the living room I could view the second landing in the open space. There was a wood-burning fireplace off to the side of the room. The place was spatial yet with undeniable intimacy.
While taking in the digs, Jackson turned to face me. His preoccupied orbs filled with concern.
“Are we good?”
I bit my top lip as my eyes roved over the place. “Yours?” I didn’t mean to let my intimidation slip.
With his eyes stapled to me he murmured, “Quincy.”
He didn’t answer in the possessive form: Quincy’s. And that let me know it was yet another tangible possession his father left to him. Things went quiet, but Jackson didn’t move. It was like he was ready for me bolt to the door, as ridiculous as that sounds. I was there of my own volition. I wanted to be with Jackson though I knew I didn’t deserve the privilege.
“I was hoping to dump our things and catch the local sporting goods store to have you fitted for ski gear before dinner, but you look exhausted, doll.” I allowed myself to lean into his caressing of the side of my face.
I was exhausted. It was a Thursday and after back to back meetings, I went to the gym to work off the anxiety of this weekend getaway with Jackson. I’d taken a spin and stepping class, driving myself to exhaustion, only to go home to shower and pack before Jackson was due to pick me up. Now reflecting back, my actions were overly ambitious. I wore myself out.
“Why don’t you go freshen up and I’ll get dinner started.”
“You brought food?” I didn’t see him bring in groceries.
He chuckled softly. “I had the place opened and stocked for the weekend. There’s food in there for us.”
“Oh,” I uttered, feeling foolish.
Not losing his amusing smile, Jackson informed, “I can show you to the bedrooms, but have to ask first: Are we sharing a room or would you prefer your own?”
I rolled my eyes, trying to hide my nervous smile. “Jackson, don’t be ridiculous. We’ve shared beds dozens of times.”
“I just want you to know there are no expectations of that nature. That’s not what this weekend is about.”
I frowned in confusion. “Then what is it about?”
“For the first time, it’s not just about sex and work with us. I know that was the agreement, but I can feel you slipping from me. You’re pulling back from that arrangement and before I lose you completely, I’d like to show you a different side of me.”
“Jackson…” I hesitated.
I was pulling back. It was purely for his benefit and it pained me that he couldn’t see this. My feelings for him were toppling and I couldn’t allow it to continue.
“End bedroom all the way down the hall.” He pointed up in the loft of the apartment.
Exhaling my duress, my eyes focused on the floor as I nodded.
Once fresh from a shower, I felt even more tired, but excited about what Jackson was cooking. The place smelled divine. He served me wine as he continued with dinner, commentating his culinary actions in the kitchen. I was impressed as I sat contently, allowing the red fermented grapes to course through my bloodstream. We ate in the dining room overlooking a frozen picturesque pond where Jackson shared about his ski adventures with his family as a kid. His animation was appealing, never before had he been so free with sharing. Perhaps because he focused only on good memories, it was easier to regurgitate.
That night we listened to jazz as we played a few rounds of Casino. Jackson’s competitive antics were comical. He totally lost himself in the games, winning only half. Before we knew it, midnight was upon us. We called it quits when Jackson shared our early agenda for the following day. I sighed contently in his arms as I fell into peaceful slumber under his calming scent.
The following morning, I didn’t feel any better. Though I had no nightmares, I still woke up groggy yet no less excited about Jackson’s itinerary. We started out early at the sporting goods store at 7 a.m. after a hearty breakfast. I was not only sized, but suited for ski gear and out on the slopes by 8:30 a.m. Jackson arranged for an instructor, but totally took over the lesson.
“We should start her off with walking first,” Jackson interrupted the kid, who could be no more than in his early twenties. He bent to my knees, pushing at my calves. “You just slide one ski over the other, honey. That’s right. We can do this for a few feet before moving on.” I obeyed his instruction, feeling bad for poor Peter who basically watched Jackson take over his lesson. “Good job. Now, keep in mind, the majority of your weight should be between the heel and the arch of your foot.” My eyes stayed ahead as I felt my way into the steps he provided. “Good, baby!” That bit of praise expanded my chest with warming pride. And boy was he a hot pseudo-instructor! Even fully clothed, Jackson’s athletic frame was on full display.
“Let’s start with a straight run,” Jackson led me to a small slope. I wobbled on the way, but used my thigh muscles to stay upright. “Your
shoulders and hands should face down, toward the hill. And your skis should stay sideways.” He demonstrated next to me. I soaked in his expertise, aroused by his knowledge in the presence of my lack of experience. Jackson was a natural teacher, skilled in many areas. “With small steps,” he continued, “point your skis downhill and apply your weight to the poles. Bend your knees and lean forward just a bit while applying marginal weight on your poles. Lift your poles off the snow and just glide. Got it?”
In spite of my grogginess, I nodded with pointed eagerness. Jackson went first, his slope was smooth and evenly paced before he rounded with precision to face me below.
“Come on, baby!” he called for me.
Recalling his tips, I began my glide down the hill. My descent not as smooth as Jackson’s, but I didn’t fall. My halt was abrupt, but I caught myself and swayed until I was steady.
“That’s my girl!” Jackson cheered as he glided over to me and placed a moist kiss on my lips.
I almost dropped my poles at the surge of endorphins that burst all over at the feel of his pliant lips on me. He pulled back, sported a larger than life smile. Jackson was happy, in his element. Why did my sentiment mirror his? Why did his mood affect me so?
We immediately moved on to different maneuvers. Jackson went over the gliding wedge to stop and linking wedge turns, all of which I failed miserably, but not Jackson’s patience for me. He remained calm at all times. We broke for lunch just after noon. I ate very little, still not feeling myself. While I allowed the little I did take in to digest, I insisted that he get a few rounds in without me slowing him down. That’s when I let Peter earn some of his pay for the day by assisting me with the wedge to stop move. Jackson didn’t stay away for too long. Within half an hour, he was right by my side, stepping on Peter’s expertise all over again.
Jackson called it quits around three, saying my posture had changed and it bothered him. I didn’t notice it, but didn’t fight. I was tired after all. We went back to the cabin where I showered and he tucked me in bed for a nap. I slept hard for three hours and woke more fatigued than that morning. My body was chilled, bones sore and mouth pasty. I drug myself into the bathroom to relieve myself, wash my face and brush my teeth. I slipped on a plush robe and headed out. A glorious aroma floated in the cabin and for once, it didn’t excite me. It was official. I was sick.
