Fractured Crystal: Sapphires and Submission

by M. J. Lawless

  There was almost a spark from body to body as she came close to the warm fields that surrounded his flesh, and her sore, hurting vulva began to open again, moistening at the memory of him holding her down, pressing her face to the hard surface as he penetrated her so deeply that she screamed. Then he had dragged her upstairs to the bed, literally tearing at her clothes as she pulled at him, falling on top of her and holding down her small body as he slammed into her and she scratched and clawed him in utter desperation.

  She hurt now, but it was the most delicious pain she had ever felt. Not much of an athlete or gymnast, she wondered with a wry smile if this was how an Olympian felt after their greatest achievement. Amused by the folly of her own notions, she moved her fingers down Daniel’s spine, softly stroking towards his buttocks.

  “You’re awake then.” His voice was deep and she smiled.

  Slowly he turned, raising his arm and placing it on the pillow next to her. As he did so, she felt a flutter again in the pit of her stomach as his cock came into view. Fucking hell, she thought again, and the flowering between her legs made her hungry once more.

  “Yes,” she replied. Her greedy fingers, which had been moving towards his buttocks now felt out for the thick shaft which, while now flaccid and nothing like the monstrous thing that had penetrated her before, was still more magnificent than that of any other man she had encountered. Before she could grasp it, however, he took hold of her hand in his large, strong fingers, not allowing her to move. She frowned a little.

  “I want it,” she told him, leaning forward to kiss him. To her shock, however, he turned his head away.

  “And do you always get what you want?” he asked, turning his eyes up towards the ceiling, not looking at her now.

  Kris was somewhat confused, troubled by his response. “Have I done something wrong?” she asked.

  “Answer the question.”

  It was her turn to drag herself back. For a second, his own fingers resisted her movement, holding her still, but then he relented and she pulled away. “No,” she said, sitting up in the bed, her breasts hanging down, the weight of them suddenly vulnerable against her chest. She scrabbled forward for a sheet which she pulled up towards her chest, seeking to cover her nakedness. This was all wrong.

  “Why not?” he asked, leisurely turning his head back to her, sunlight catching the hazel irises of his eyes, suddenly making them flash with an iridescent fire that transformed one to green, the other to a deeper shade flecked with amber. “It’s a simple question. Do you always get what you want?”

  “Of course not.” Now her prickliness, the armour that encased her body from morning till night (and then, she suspected, in her dreams), had returned, a freezing all along her limbs and across her torso. It constricted her chest, preventing her from breathing freely. This wasn’t how it was meant to be: she had just had—literally—mind-blowing sex. Now they were meant to lie next to each other and whisper sweet nothings. “Who on earth gets everything they want?” Her voice sounded shrill to her ears.

  “I do—well, that’s what most people think. I get everything I want, except the one thing I really want.” She looked away from those eyes, which suddenly seemed to be filled with accusation.

  “Well, what is it that you want?” Her tone was petulant. This really wasn’t what she had expected at all. The truth, of course, was that nothing that had happened today was what she expected, but this was the worst bit of all.

  Then he threw her again, smiling at her with a generosity that surprised her, still watching her intently. “At the moment, you. What do you want?”

  Was he fucking with her mind, she wondered, moving between moods so rapidly that she had no time to comprehend them? Her breath was coming in rapid motions again—that was always a bad sign, something that she hated more than anything. She thought to play him at his own game.

  “I told you,” she replied, trying to control her breathing and letting her body snuggle next to his in a faux example of coquettishness.

  “And will that make you happy? A fat cock in your cunt?”

  This wasn’t working at all well. The sudden unexpected crudity of his words drew her up short. Again, she nearly panicked.

  “Well, it’s a start.”

  “I suppose it is.” He leaned back on muscled arm, gazing up at the ceiling of the bedroom. Without looking at her, he asked: “How long are you here—at Dalrigh, I mean?”

  “Ten days.” She was unsure whether to sulk, cry or simply walk out of the room. Who the hell did this Daniel Logan think he was?

  “Ten days,” he repeated softly. “An awful lot can happen in ten days.”

  She started to move, and he grabbed hold of her hand, once more entrancing her slightly with those eyes of his, the scars of his face pale in the light. She struggled to pull away, but he dragged her flat on the bed, rolling one of his legs across her thighs.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  She was getting tired of this game. “I told you,” she replied sarcastically, trying to catch her breath and genuinely a little frightened now, but also strangely excited. “I want to get fucked. Nothing more.”

  “You sure?” he asked, and there was suddenly a glint in his eyes.

  “Yes.” She bit her lip after she spoke this word, suddenly realising that—yes—that was just what she wanted at that moment.

  When he lifted himself up over her, he was already hard. Christ! His erection must have been some ten inches in length, and when Kris reached down with her small hand she couldn’t entirely circle him with her fingers. When he began to penetrate her, it hurt, a deliciously sweet pain that made her cry and bite his arm hard. His movements were firm and assured, he holding himself above her on his outstretched arms, his eyes gazing down at her face, watching her as an orgasm built up again.

  Lifting her legs, her thighs rotating outwards, she slid her feet along his thighs and up towards his buttocks while her nails dug into his arms, gripping him tightly as he stretched and filled her. Her face was burning red, the blood surging to her cheeks almost as intensely as the burning sensation in her sex which was already soaking once more, flooding the sheets as it had poured out so often already.

  After only a few moments her own body began to undulate with a natural rhythm, breasts rising and falling, her breath at last coming freely and she gripped onto him as she came.

  “Oh God,” she muttered softly at last, holding him as she finally felt him softening within her, the walls of her vagina clinging to him as he gradually fell away.

  Now he kissed her, before removing himself completely and sitting with his back to her on the edge of the bed. Almost the position from where they had started—and this time, as she reached out to the nail-scarred back, her touch was more tentative, unsure of what would happen next.

  “I’m... I’m a difficult man,” he said at last.

  “That’s okay,” she replied quietly. “I’m a difficult woman.”

  He half turned to face her and smiled, somewhat sadly she thought. “That’s not quite what I mean,” he told her softly. “A lot can happen in ten days. You need to know that, if you’ll stay.”

  She nodded, but did not reply for a moment. “Do you want me to stay?” she asked at last.

  “Yes,” he replied. “But more than that, I want to find out what you really want.”

  This made her smile. “I think you know,” she said, letting her fingers fall along the muscles of his shoulders and biceps. His reply, however, slightly chilled her.

  “I think I do. But I’m not sure you do—not yet.” Again he turned that intent, serious gaze on her, watching her face, searching. “Go home,” he said at last. “For your own sake go back to Dalrigh—for tonight at least. If you come back tomorrow... Actually, it would probably be better for you if you didn’t return tomorrow. But if you do, then you’ll find out what you really need.”

  Chapter Six

  Daniel’s final words had shaken Kris a little when she prepare
d to return to Dalrigh. Pulling on her clothes, she noticed with both amusement and some concern that her T-shirt had been well and truly torn in the earlier struggle (her concern arising from the fact that she suspected this was hardly a community that would approve of orgiastic ecstasies, the kirk dominating this town in a way that her Catholic family would have appreciated).

  Driving back to Dalrigh was itself an uncomfortable experience for another reason: her groin ached in a way that was far from pleasant now, and spreading her legs apart in even the smallest degree was somewhat painful. Good God! She hadn’t been fucked like that since... Kris realised that she had never been fucked like that.

  That in itself made her nervous: she was on holiday for another ten days, and if Daniel Logan took her like that every single day she seriously wondered if she’d ever be able to walk again. Fuck! That thought alone made her start to become damp once more and she trembled as she drove home very, very slowly. Damn it! Her body was rebelling against any sense that she may try to instil it. Her cunt—and that was precisely what it was at this moment: an evil, selfish, demanding, hungry cunt—knew what it wanted. It wanted to be filled and fucked and commanded. It didn’t seem to mind the pain.

  Shaking her head, Kris couldn’t believe what she was thinking, nor, indeed, how lascivious and crude those thoughts were. In fact, the entire experience was one that made her grin like the proverbial cat who had got her cream. At that moment, it occurred to her that she had not had a single thought about Mark Travis—ostensibly the cause of her current woes—for nearly an entire day. When she compared Mark’s podgy body to Daniel’s powerful frame, and her boss’s pseudo-alpha status to the stranger’s undoubted confidence, she burst out laughing like a maniac in the car.

  There was no one around when she returned to Dalrigh, which suited Kris just fine as she felt a complete wreck, though in the very best sense. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she went immediately to the bathroom and began to fill it with hot water. Stripping off as the steam curled up from the rising water, she looked down at her body. Shit! Her breasts were covered with love bites and, when she observed herself in the mirror she saw several of them like bruises on her neck. And those actually were bruises on her thighs where Daniel had smashed his body into hers—and she, to be honest, had more than willingly reciprocated. Turning her arm, she saw that the flesh was marked with a series of fingerprints where he had gripped her more tightly than anyone ever had before.

  For any sensible woman, those signs would have perhaps been markers that this, after all, had been a very enjoyable one night stand (or one day, at least). Kris herself was a little concerned at the battering her body had taken, but immediately at the thought of Daniel holding her down and penetrating her so deeply her legs began to tremble and she had to sit down on the edge of the bath. Feeling somewhat flustered, she raised one thigh and placed her foot in the hot water before easing in the rest of the body, grateful at this moment for a soft as well as sensual embrace.

  She did not even bother to dry herself when she had finished her soak (and also the wine that was much appreciated). Instead, dripping wet, she went to the bedroom and lay down on the bed, enjoying the sensation of the water from her body drying in the warm air and the damp sheets beneath her. She had not felt so good in months, she realised, probably years—not since the death of her father at least. The thought of her father inevitably made her feel somewhat sad but... but today she could take it.

  She let her fingers run along her collar bones and down her sternum before parting her hands along each of her breasts. They felt comforting and heavy in her fingers, and when she squeezed them she felt a warm, soft thrill in her loins. She immediately moved one hand down to her sex, sliding her finger to her clitoris but it was burning and too tender. This evening was for a different kind of exploration.

  Instead, while massaging her left breast gently with her fingers, she let the other hand rest for a moment on her belly. She thought of the contrast between Daniel’s body—older than hers, certainly, but also harder, leaner, firmer—and her own. Like too many women she thought herself fat, though in her objective moments she realised it was more the case that she wasn’t so much fat as simply not a size zero, stick thin model. There was so much about herself that she would change, given the chance, but tonight she was simply happy to be herself. She idly raised one leg, letting her thigh fall outwards while she lazily pulled at the tuft of dark, pubic hair, enjoying the tickling sensation in her abdomen and loins.

  Her mind started to drift, going over aspects of their lovemaking, making herself horny in a sluggish and indolent way. For a moment she had an all-too-familiar moment of self doubt and anxiety that almost ruined her mood, wondering what on earth it was that a hunk like Daniel Logan saw in a small, ordinary woman such as herself. Then she remembered the photograph. Although he had changed considerably, the photograph was clearly of a younger Daniel (unless, by some chance, it was a brother perhaps). And the woman? Was she his wife?

  Despite the fact that she had only been able to glance at it very briefly, Kris’s visual memory was literally photographic, and the shades and lines of the image had been engraved in her mind. As such, she was able to call up the other woman almost perfectly. As she turned the mental object over in her mind, pored across it, she realised there were differences. The woman was thinner (a fact that caused Kris not a little envy, jealousy even), but also her nose was a little more pinched, her lips slightly less full (which made Kris somewhat glad). From her position, assuming that she was standing up more or less straight, both of them would be about the same size—the other woman perhaps an inch or so taller if she was leaning back into Daniel—and their hair was of a very similar colour and texture.

  Drifting languidly, Kris continued to feel around her breasts, her rib cage, stroking her sex very gently without penetrating, musing and daydreaming as the room became ever darker.

  When she woke, it was light and she was still on the surface of the bed, having drifted into sleep without even pulling back the sheets (which now felt clammy and discomforting beneath her back). She knew that she had been dreaming, and though she felt rested something was still tugging away deep down in her unconscious.

  As she stood, her body aching in a delicious manner, her eyes fell to the drawing pad that lay on the table. It was open at one of her charcoal sketches of a bird soaring through the air and she smiled. She might as well take the pad with her: she had a suspicion that whatever it was that had blocked her from working previously was beginning to disappear. If Daniel’s words and behaviour had caused her any doubts the day before, they were completely gone now. Whatever happened, she was determined to be fucked at least one more time by that strange man with his huge cock before she went home.

  After a hasty breakfast, she pulled together some clothes and toiletries, as well as her drawing pads and artist’s materials. She had not exactly been expecting to get laid on this holiday, and her outfits were intended for comfort rather than sexiness, but she had a suspicion that this didn’t really matter. Whatever else Daniel Logan was interested in, fashion did not appear particularly high on his agenda.

  Driving towards Comrie, she could barely contain her excitement. Her evil sex was already trembling at the thought, and while she wondered just how much punishment it could take (not that it deserved any better, she mentally chided it: bad cunt! naughty pussy!) she also knew that as soon as she saw Daniel naked she would be completely and utterly his to do whatever he wanted with.

  As such, she was somewhat surprised and not a little disappointed when she turned up to Comrie and found that the Land Rover was gone. Grumpily, she got out of her Toyota and walked to the front of the croft, knocking on the door and trying the handle. Where was her new friend with special benefits? Goddamit! She only had nine more days and she didn’t want to waste any more time!

  The door was open and, for a few seconds after calling through, Kris stood there wondering on the wisdom (and, indeed, the etiquet
te) of entering a stranger’s house—even if that stranger had given her the best seeing to of her life the day before. It didn’t take her long to reach a decision and she entered.

  Looking into the kitchen, she could see that the stove had been filled with wood that morning to provide hot water, and there were a few signs of breakfast things cleared away. “Hello! Daniel!” she cried again, but there was no sound and she went into the living room, placing her bag on the small table.

  It struck her again just how Spartan the arrangements of Comrie were. Dalrigh was hardly blessed with the latest mod cons, but at least it had electricity and oil for heating and cooking, while the internal walls were plastered. The only concessions here were running water (at least she had seen running water in the kitchen, but she now wondered about bathing arrangements) and... actually, that was it.

  This caused her some momentary consternation and, pretending to herself that she just needed to check that Daniel was not, indeed, upstairs, she climbed to the upper floor and consoled herself that although the bathroom was minimal it did have running water at least—actually, with the stove downstairs, rather hot. She looked into the bedroom where she had been taken so completely the day before, and her legs almost gave way for a moment at the memory.

  Entering the room, she noticed the large wardrobe that dominated one end. She had not paid it much attention previously—her mind was very much focused on other things. It was large and wooden, but though simple something about it looked expensive. Curious, she pulled at the door. It was locked.

  Returning downstairs and crossing between the battered old sofa and chair, she stood beside the fire and looked at the two shelves of books. She realised that she knew more or less nothing about Daniel Logan, and indeed her presence here indicated that she had been overtaken by a kind of madness. The photograph he had taken from her had not been returned to the mantelpiece and there were no other images around the room, so for the moment her best chance of forming any opinion about him would come from the literature on his shelves.