The Bride (The Boss)

by Barnette, Abigail

  “Merci, Monsieur.” If he only knew how much more there usually was in that cabinet. I heard a wrapper opening; surely he didn’t mean to fuck me right now?

  Perhaps he’s putting a condom on the plug, I reasoned.

  “Spread for me,” he ordered.

  I reached behind me to comply, trying not to think about how utterly vulnerable the position felt. Embarrassing, even… I thought of all the times I’d given Sophie similar commands, and reconsidered; I’d never once found Sophie awkward or ridiculous in this situation. Just thinking of her in this context sent more blood pounding to my groin. I ached to be touched.

  There was a click, and a few drops of something frightfully cold landed between my cheeks. I waited for the touch of the plug, wondered if he would be gentle or simply forge ahead. Perhaps I should have told him that it had been a very, very long time since I’d been the receptive partner in anal intercourse. It had been… good lord, it had been before my relationship with Elizabeth, over five years ago.

  But I’d be damned if I let him think I was some kind of… well, wuss.

  When the dam touched me, I nearly shot straight up from my bent-over position. When his face pressed into the cleft of my ass, I rolled my lips between my teeth to hold back my moan.

  He leaned back. “No, no. You’re not going to stay quiet tonight.”

  Then his tongue swiped over me, coated by the dam, aided by the lube he’d drizzled onto me. He could have shocked me with a violet wand, and I would have been less jolted. This was a rare pleasure; I wasn’t used to being on the receptive end of this particular activity.

  He rolled his tongue lazily over the dam, alternating long strokes with a gentle tapping that sent a stuttering current of electric pleasure straight to the root of my cock. And then his tongue slipped in, stretched the tight ring of muscle, teased it from the inside, and I made a noise so pathetic that it startled me. My nerves were so raw and excited, I felt as though I could come just from grinding my cock against the edge of the bed. That I didn’t could be seen as a testament to my admirable willpower.

  He worked at me for a long time, prodding and swirling, withdrawing to repeat the actions externally. The lubed rubber glided with his every flick and suck. All the while I held myself open for him, my fingers digging into my flesh as I writhed and humped, moaned and begged.

  Begged. I actually begged him, though I didn’t know what I was pleading for. My favorite word that crossed Sophie’s lips during our play was “please,” and the more desperate the better. Now that I knew how heightened her need must have been in all of those moments, I was only more aroused by the memories.

  Pumping my hips against the bed, I rasped, “Please.”

  He lifted his head, and I groaned in disappointment. It hadn’t occurred to me, somehow, that he would have to stop using his wicked tongue on me to respond.

  “Please? What is it that you think you need?” He slapped my ass, not hard, but in my heightened state of awareness, I jumped.

  “I need… I…” Nothing. I needed nothing else. I should have been content to lie there for hours and let him do that to me, if he would. But the anticipation of what he might do next wound me up, made me dizzy from excitement. I didn’t want to stop, but I did, just to see what would happen.

  He got to his feet behind me, and I heard the rustle of the bin liner as he tossed the dam into the basket under the nightstand. My stomach clenched in disappointment and eagerness, a strange conflict to feel in the height of desire.

  “Get on the bed.” His voice sounded different now, darker and far less humorous than usual. I knew the same happened to me when I focused during a scene. I had no doubt that in Emir’s head there was a plan, fully formed but constantly changing, a list of what he wanted to do to me with small adjustments here and there to make sure we omitted nothing; that he wouldn’t push me past the point where I couldn’t continue.

  I got up, grateful for the reprieve to my knees, and laid in the center of the bed. My cock bobbed against my stomach, frantic for contact. Emir nudged my legs apart with a knee and knelt between them, dropping a handful of gloves and condom packets to the bed. In the other hand, he held a bottle of lube, and he checked that the top was firmly on before dropping it onto the duvet. He reached between my thighs to lay his hands on either side of my scrotum, then dragged his nails down the insides of my legs. Not so hard that he risked drawing blood, but with enough pressure that it scored my skin in delicious, burning trails that tickled in spite of the slight pain.

  “Bend your knees. Put your feet on the bed,” he said, his voice still so low and serious.

  I did as he asked, without hesitation. One by one, any worries I’d had during the day melted away. There was no need for me to be anywhere but here, laying back as Emir balanced my need and my pleasure, controlled every response from my body. I closed my eyes and pushed back the slightest notion of panic. What was the point of panic, when I was enjoying myself?

  He held up one condom, in a gold wrapper, and raised an eyebrow. “And you’re sure even these are big enough?”

  My laugh sounded more nervous and giddy than amused. I watched him, my breath short stabs in my chest as I registered what my eyes were showing me: Emir reaching for my straining penis, the condom in his hand. When he finally touched me, even to just roll the condom down, I moaned in relief.

  There was another snap of latex, and he poured more lube between my cheeks. The touch of a gloved fingertip against my anus brought me momentarily out of myself; I’d made far too many bad memories in the past year to think kindly of latex gloves.

  Perhaps it would be nice to make some new associations, I decided. He pressed one finger gently forward, rocking his fingertip back and forth, loosening my resistant opening. “Is that all right?”

  “Oui, Monsieur,” I gasped, wriggling my toes. Every muscle in my body tightened, and I willed myself to relax as he slicked more lube over me and slipped a bit deeper. His gloved fingertip stroked gently over my inner flesh, until he found his mark and a strangled noise wrenched from my throat. My cock twitched; it felt as though his finger were inside it as he stimulated my prostate.

  I heard him chuckle in response to my whimpered breathing. Then he reached for my cock.

  There had been a reason he hadn’t put any lube into the condom before he’d slid it onto me. As he worked his finger over the sensitive gland inside me, my cock leaked copious amounts of pre-cum, enough that I worried the rubber might slip off entirely while he pumped his fist up and down.

  “Open your eyes, Leif, and look at me,” Emir ordered, working another finger in. I did, and his hungry gaze caught mine, sending electric shivers through me. He was focused entirely on my pleasure, taking as much enjoyment from doing this to me as I was from allowing him to do it. Sophie had suggested that the D/s dynamic was unfair to the Dominant, but now I knew it was truly equal, even if not quite the same. If this was how much Sophie enjoyed submission, it matched the burning need and unrelenting pleasure I got from Dominating her.

  The sharp bursts of sensation from his fingers and his hand intensified, and I pumped my hips involuntarily. “Oh, fuck, I’m going—,” I groaned. Before I could finish my warning, he released me and slid his fingers out. Left hanging at the edge of release, I worried for a split second that I would come anyway.

  Oh, the bastard was good.

  He sat back and reached for the butt plug he’d chosen: stainless steel, curved like a comma, with a vaguely cock-shaped head and a flared handle. He poured some lube onto it and pressed it against me. It was a tighter fit than his finger, but it slipped in, snug and secure. The chilly metal rubbed me with every involuntary twitch of my muscles.

  Emir disposed of his glove and got up to strip off his jeans. When he joined me on the bed again, he pushed my legs closed. Straddling my thighs, he opened another condom and sheathed himself. “It would almost be worth it to get you off right now. Like this.”

  He scooted forward and brought o
ur cocks together in his hands, then reached for the lube and poured a generous amount over both of us.

  “I wouldn’t argue if you did, Monsieur,” I gasped, an attempt at levity. But his erection was rock hard against my own, his hands tight around us as he slowly glided them up and down. He’d left me so close to the end that I seriously worried I might come, and then where would we be?

  I almost warned him that it would be unlikely I’d be able to go again, but he seemed supernaturally adept at keeping release just out of my reach. Denial was one of my favorite torments to inflict on a partner, and I was absurdly pleased, despite my own predicament, to know it was something Emir and I had in common.

  “I think I’ll wait, and make you come while I’m fucking you,” he groaned, his slippery hands twisting around and around us both. The head of my cock was swollen and hard as a billiard ball. I was glad I hadn’t taken my pill on an empty stomach. If I had, I’d probably have ruptured a blood vessel by now.

  Time slipped away from me under his expert hands. The pleasure of one moment teased into the next, our breathing and the obscene squelching sounds of the lube between his fingers drowning out every thought from my head like a pornographic white noise machine.

  “Do you like this?” he asked, and it took me a moment to find my voice.

  “Oui, Monsieur.”

  His breathing was labored, though not as obviously as mine was. That was a part of the Dom in him, fully in control of even involuntary physical responses.

  He rose on his knees, but kept a firm grip on my cock. Reaching between my legs, he found the handle of the plug and twisted it slowly. “Are you ready for me to fuck you?”

  I’d been ready for what’d felt like hours. There’d be no denial of my climax at that point; merely the grip of his hand and the hard pressure of the plug had brought me close.

  “Oh, oui, Monsieur,” I groaned as he eased the plug out, then in again. He rocked the widest part over my opening, and I forced myself to relax. Giddy anticipation was fun, but total body rigidity did little to ease anal intercourse.

  He took my hand and guided it down to touch the handle of the butt plug.

  “I want to change the condom, just to be safe.” He swung his leg over me. “You will fuck yourself with that until I tell you to stop.”

  “Merci, Monsieur.” I tried not to think of how I must look, lying on my back, knees bent and wide apart. I knew my face was flushed and felt the sweat on my brow. And I knew that this was exactly as Emir had designed it; there was an undeniable pleasure in watching a sub share something so intimate, without hesitation. Because he’d given me no reason to mistrust him, I wanted only to please him. The exchange was so powerful, for a moment I forgot that I wasn’t always, or didn’t consider myself, a submissive.

  He slid on a new condom and slathered himself in lubricant. He used far more than I suspected we would actually need, and I appreciated his consideration. Then he knelt between my legs and slowly twisted the plug free from my body.

  “How would you like me, Monseiur?” I asked through parched lips.

  “Like this. I want to see you. I want to play with your beautiful cock while I’m fucking you.” He leaned down, planting one elegant hand on the bed beside my ribs. The other he used to guide himself to my ass, and I felt only the slightest pressure before he asked, “Are you ready?”

  “Go slow,” I cautioned him.

  “Always.” He pushed forward, I inhaled deeply, and the burn of his width stretching me stole my breath. It’s easy to forget how a sexual act feels until you’re doing it again. The shock almost caused me to use the safe word, but Emir’s murmured encouragement allowed me to continue.

  “If you want me to stop, I will. There are so many other ways I could get you off.” Even his reassurances held the promise of pleasure.

  “No, let’s keep going.” It may have been a while since the last time I’d done this, but at least I remembered that whatever discomfort I felt now would be paid off in full. He moved forward easily, halting now and then to allow me to adjust. I closed my eyes, surrendering total control to the dual sensations of pain and pleasure that zinged along my nerves. Whatever happened was all in his hands now; all I needed to do was feel.

  When our bodies met and I’d taken all of him in, he ordered, “Open your eyes, Leif, and look at me.”

  It was perhaps the most difficult thing I’d ever done, sustaining eye contact as a submissive partner. It was a defiance of every principle I had built my life around: control, authority, confidence. Submitting to Emir, a younger man, fit, healthy, in his prime, successful beyond even my astronomical good fortune, had possibly been the most threatening thing I’d ever done in my life.

  His free hand found my erection, and he slowly stroked me in time to the leisurely, shallow movements of his cock in my ass. “Does that feel better?”

  “Oui, Monsieur.” I wanted to direct him, but I bit my tongue and held back. It was his place to steer this encounter, and I was his willing passenger. He would take me faster, harder, but I would have to be patient.

  He withdrew, then slowly, steadily sank into me again, and I gasped, still unused to the sensation.

  “You feel so good.” As if to illustrate his point, he leaned down and licked me from sternum to collarbones, his tongue burrowing through the hair on my chest. I lifted up from the bed, taking him in just a bit deeper, hoping he would understand that it was all right to move.

  And move, he did. Emir had a command of his body that seemed preternatural. Every motion had purpose. The slightest adjustment of his hips produced some new and torturous sensation, a fluttering of his fingers around my cock forced groans from my throat.

  The unrelenting chill of the sweat on my skin, the sharp, edge of pain as he fucked me, and the rapid, tightly-gripped strokes of his hand up and down my length all combined into one writhing, mindless force of pure pleasure. I felt his cock as though it stroked the root of mine, and I matched my breaths to his unconsciously.

  Emir’s mouth curved in a satisfied grin, but his eyes held a glint of strain as he fought to control his reactions. “Look at you. You love getting fucked, don’t you, Leif?”

  “I do, Monsieur.” It came out without a second thought.

  “You’re going to make me come,” he hissed. “I’m going to fucking come.”

  “Please, Monsieur,” I rasped, so close to my own release that my nerves felt raw and exposed. Whether he granted me permission or not, it was inevitable, but I begged him, “May I?”

  “Oh, yes,” he moaned, and though I didn’t know if it was permission or simply an exclamation as he pounded into me, I couldn’t stop myself. I went rigid beneath him, thrusting into his hand, the intense, bone-deep throb of my release taking me out of myself for a blissful few seconds. My cock jerked, spurting into the already slippery latex. I felt the force of my orgasm from the bottoms of my feet to the prickles along my scalp. I may have shouted.

  With a hungry growl, Emir grabbed my wrists and pushed them against the bed to steady himself. In my post-orgasmic state, I was too exhausted to be frightened over such a minor restraint. He drove deep, hunched over me with his sweat-damp hair dripping on my chest. Then he threw his head back, and I gritted my teeth against my own ragged, overstimulated nerves as he pulsed inside me.

  He withdrew immediately, before the condom could slip off, and rose from the bed.

  “Stay here. I will return in a moment.”

  Stay? I wasn’t sure I still had the musculature to get up and leave.

  I grimaced when I rolled the condom off my penis; the poor fellow was exhausted. Lifting my head resulted in a moment of dizziness, and I closed my eyes until it passed. In contrast to the energized feeling Dominance gave me, submission was physically and emotionally draining.

  Emir came from the bathroom, bearing a stack of wet flannels, still folded. He knelt beside me on the bed to gently wash me. How strange, the way context shifts the meaning and associations of an act. Wh
en I’d been in the hospital, it had been another reminder of my lost dignity to be bathed by the nurses. Now, it was a relief to give up the responsibility, to let Emir care for me when I was far too tired to care for myself.

  “Shall we go to the shower?” he asked, dabbing the sodden hair at the base of my cock with the last flannel. “Or perhaps I could join you in that lovely bathtub of yours?”

  “No, if you don’t mind, I’d like to phone Chloe.” I knew what he meant to provide me. More tenderness, reassuring conversation, so that I wouldn’t be left with any confusion or doubt that could lead to sub drop. “It isn’t that I don’t appreciate the aftercare, but…”

  “She can do it better,” he finished for me with an amused smile.

  “Is that all right?” I wondered how I would feel if a sub refused aftercare. Negligent, at the very least. “If you need it, of course—”

  “No.” He waved the suggestion away easily. “This was fun for me. But I think it was something much more between you and Chloe. You should call her.”

  When he left the room, I picked up the cordless handset from the beside table and dialed our New York number. Sophie answered on the first ring. “Neil?”

  “Yes, darling, it’s me.” I wondered, could she hear the relief in my voice that came from simply speaking to her?

  “Is everything okay? How did things go?” I heard the descending volume of the television in the background.

  “Wonderfully. It all went wonderfully.” The adverb was hardly sufficient to describe all that I’d experienced. “This trip has certainly given me some new perspective.”

  “Wow, I’m glad to hear that. Perspective on what?”

  On the fact that I’m only truly happy when I’m with you. On the fact that the world won’t stop turning if I surrender a modicum of control. On the fact that I never understood what I was making you feel, and now that I do, your submission is infinitely more precious to me.

  Those weren’t the types of things to say on the phone from an ocean away.

  “I’ll discuss it with you when I come home. I promise. Right now, you need to get your sleep, and I do, too.” There were too many hours between us. “When I get my hands on you, we’re going to make up for lost time.”