by Penny Wylder
“You’d be surprised how nice it can be,” Meredith is saying, leaning against Joe as he loops one arm around her shoulders. “The quiet might seem suffocating when you first come from the big city, all that hustle and bustle. But give it enough time to get into your bones and…” She sighs, smiling. “You can really get used to a life like this. A slower life. A sweeter one.”
“Careful, honey.” Joe squeezes Meredith’s shoulders. “You’ll give the girl a cavity with all that sweet-talking.”
She elbows him, and I grin at their interplay. Which reminds me. I glance past them, but can’t find a clock anywhere in this tent. Still, my five minutes are probably almost up. “I’ll be back,” I tell them, and I don’t miss the telltale smirk that Meredith sports when I step away, toward the tent flap.
I have a feeling the two of them know what Grant was doing when he proposed that bet over the pool game.
Hell, most people here must guess. That only makes my cheeks flare hotter when I slip out into the cool night air and circle around toward the back of the tent. There’s a few people dotted across the grass back here, some smoking, others just standing around chatting, beers in hand. I weave between them, farther and farther away from the tent, until I recognize a familiar shape leaning against the side of the small farmhouse out beyond the little tent village set up for this party. That must be the Johnsons’ actual house. To my surprise, I recognize it. Well, not the house itself, but the porch out front with a big rocker swing on it, and hard-to-forget neon orange cushions. I’ve sat out here with Mama before, visiting.
“If you’re aiming for inconspicuous, this might not be the best place,” I call as I approach Grant. There are still plenty of people around us, chatting, hanging out. I can practically feel the gazes following us.
But when I reach his side, Grant just tilts his head toward me, a sly look in his eye. “Who said we’re stopping here?” He reaches out and slaps my ass before he walks away, past the house, toward the backyard. “Try to keep up. I only have an hour with you. I plan to make the best of that time.”
I jog after him with a huff. “Some of us didn’t plan on hiking through yards in our outfits for the night,” I protest under my voice as my heels threaten to sink into the muddy ground.
He heaves a sigh. Then, without another word, he scoops me up into his arms, even as I squeal in protest.
“I’m in charge now, Sasha,” he reminds me, his voice a low rumble against my chest, cradled as I am against his. “And you won’t deny me what I want, will you?” His voice thrums with promise, all the things he wants to do to me.
I have to admit that I’m getting wetter just thinking about it. “No,” I murmur, my protest subsiding as he continues pacing across the grass, far beyond the house. I want to ask where we’re going. The party isn’t in sight anymore, though neither is much else out here, alone in the moonlit fields.
But then he turns away from the grass, toward the edge of the lawn, where there’s a copse of trees, and my eyes widen.
There’s something in the trees. A squat little construction that’s hard to make out from here. Until we cross into the shadow of the canopy ourselves, and my eyes adjust to the dim. Then I recognize the outline, and my jaw drops.
There’s a tree house here. Not a little play tree house either, like the kind we’d goof off in as kids. This one is shaped like an actual house, only held about 15 feet off the ground, with a staircase leading up to it that winds around the trunk of the tree.
“What…?” I ask, trailing off as Grant starts up the steps without even breaking his stride.
“Airbnb,” he explains, as though that tells me anything. I blink at him. He laughs. “Johnsons make extra renting this place out. A lot of people come to this area looking for escapes from cities, you know. A rustic country experience.” We reach the door, and he shoulders it open easily. “A taste of country life.”
It dawns on me, and my eyes widen. “You planned this,” I accuse him, chin jutting out.
He swings me down and lands me on my feet lightly, amusement dancing in his gaze. “Not exactly. Not everything.” He tilts his head and raises a brow. “I didn’t know you’d accept that bet.”
“You didn’t know you’d win the game either,” I point out, crossing my arms.
He shrugs. “I was fairly confident.”
I snort.
He steps closer, eying me. “Even if you could’ve won, you wouldn’t have.” His eyes trace over me, so hot I can practically feel his gaze like a touch, even though he’s still a foot away. “Because you want to be mine, Sasha. You want to know what I’ll make you do.”
My pussy tightens at those words. I can’t exactly deny it. It’s exactly what I was thinking when he made that bet. Still, I have some pride. I cross my arms and raise my chin. “What makes you so sure?”
He steps closer, and reaches out a finger to trace it up my arm. He trails it all the way up to my shoulder, then across my shoulder to cup my neck in his palm lightly. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to lean into that touch right now. “I can see it in your eyes. How much you want to be mine. My slave for the night.”
I swallow hard against a tight lump in my throat. I’m soaking wet now, damn him, and he fucking knows it, to judge by his confident smirk.
“Isn’t that right, city girl?”
I bite my lip. Hesitate. Then I finally inhale sharply and catch my breath. “I was curious, country boy.”
“That’s master to you. For the next hour.” He grins, a spark in his eyes.
“I was curious… Master.” I lean into the word, emphasize it with sarcasm. But there is something sexy about calling him that. Submitting to him completely.
“Kneel down,” he says, and I glance down at the hardwood floors of the tree house. It’s surprisingly cozy in here, a little bed in one corner, a cushy couch nearby. But the hard wood floor doesn’t exactly look appealing. Grant follows my gaze and leans past me to grab a pillow from the couch, which he tosses at my feet.
I follow his order and drop to my knees on the pillow.
“Undo my jeans,” he says.
I reach up for the button, toying with it for a moment, gazing up at him and memorizing this view. He towers over me from this angle, and something animal and instinctive in me loves that.
I undo the button and tease the moment out, taking my time pulling down his zipper. I can already feel the hard line of his cock through the thick denim. I draw the zipper down slowly, and his cock is so thick it pushes his boxers forward even before I pull his jeans down his hips.
“Take off my jeans.”
I yank them down, until they puddle on the ground between his feet.
“Boxers too,” he says, and I glance up to make eye contact before I slide those down, an inch at a time, slowly, taking my time. When his cock springs free at last, though, I have to catch my breath all over again at seeing him this close up.
His cock truly is fucking glorious. I reach up to touch him, to trace the veins that bulge along his sides, standing out against his rock hard shaft. But he clicks his tongue and stops me in my tracks.
“I didn’t say to touch me yet,” he scolds, and I sit back on my heels with a little pout, stealing a glance up at him. “Apologize.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, holding his gaze.
He raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m sorry, Master.” That word sends another shiver into my belly, another rush in my veins.
“I want you to taste me, Sasha,” he says, his voice low with suppressed desire.
I lean forward, my lips hovering an inch from his tip.
“Lick my cock.”
I lick the tip of his cock with the flat blade of my tongue, and my whole body goes stiff with want. Fuck. He tastes good. Salty and earthy and all him, like his scent but magnified. I want more. I trail my tongue down the side of his shaft, first one, then the other, keeping my eyes fixed on him all the while, enjoying the view up
along his washboard abs, visible through his tight T-shirt. Even better is the way he watches me explore him, his eyes hooded with desire as he focuses on what I’m doing.
“Play with my balls while you lick me,” he says, and I’m all too eager to raise both hands and cup his balls between them, rolling his balls through my fingers as I continue to lick up and down his length, making him slick with my saliva.
“Slowly take me into your mouth,” he says, and I know I’m not imagining the tightness in his voice, the way his control teeters on the edge. I want to make him lose control.
I part my lips and take his cock into my mouth. Fuck. He’s huge. My jaw stretches to take him, but I just part my lips wider and swallow him deeper, pushing him inch by inch into my mouth. I want his cock inside me, as much as I can take. I want to get him off.
I lift my hands to encircle the base of his cock, and it takes both hands to wrap around him. I finally have him as deep in my mouth as I think he’ll go, and I start to rock backward, but he reaches down and wraps his hands through my hair, tangling his fingers in my curls and pinning me in place.
“Have you ever tried deep-throat, Sasha?” he asks.
It’s hard to reply with his cock in my mouth, but I manage an uh-uh, my voice muffled. He inhales sharply as the vibrations around his cock send shocks along his nerve system, and I make a mental note of that for later.
“Do you want to?”
Mmhmm, I agree, making sure to let the sound last, my mouth buzzing around his shaft. His cock jumps in my mouth, and I press my tongue along the underside of his shaft to keep up the pressure.
“Relax your jaw.”
I do as I’m told, at least as much as I can. He presses forward, and I reach around to grab his ass with one hand, holding on as his cock slides toward the back of my tongue. My body tenses, and I feel my gag reflex start to kick in, but Grant is slow, patient. He draws back a little.
“Really relax, Sasha. Give me control.”
I try to do that. This time, when he presses forward again, I take him deeper, deeper than I’ve ever been able to take any guy before. I let my jaw go limp, surrender control to Grant, to the taste of his big cock in my mouth, the feel of him filling me up. He hits the back of my throat, and I reach up to grab his ass with both hands, taking a deep breath before he presses down, into my throat. My lips almost touch his base, and he’s as far down my throat as he can go, his head falling back, his teeth gritted.
“Fuck, Sasha,” he hisses, and my stomach tightens at that sound, the sound of him lost in pleasure—because of me.
He draws back again, and I breathe in deep as soon as I can, his cock wet from my throat and tongue. I circle my tongue against his underside as he pulls out of my mouth, then slowly back in.
I can’t get enough of this. Looking up at him and catching him watching me hungry, gaze hooded, his cock at attention in my mouth, his whole body taut with tension as he starts to rock back and forth, his hands tightening in my hair.
I can tell he’s getting close as his muscles tense, and I lean into his motions, tightening my mouth around him, eager to make him lose control the way he makes me. A low groan escapes his mouth, and I moan in response, loving how he tenses, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth.
But just when he’s about to finish, he presses his palm against my forehead, halting me in place. “Not yet, Sasha.” There’s a strain in his voice—it’s taking him effort not to let me finish. I stop moving, but I keep pressing my tongue along the underside of his cock, tracing the veins with the tip of my tongue. He inhales again, sharper.
“I want to enjoy you for longer,” he murmurs, slowly drawing out of my mouth. When his cock passes my lips, I let out a soft sigh of protest, and he chuckles. “Eager to finish already?”
I shake my head, meeting his gaze. “I want to taste you.”
He raises an eyebrow, pointed.
I swallow, catching his meaning. “I mean, I want to taste you… Master.”
He grins. “Maybe I’ll reward you after this with a taste of my cum. Would you like that, City Girl?”
“Yes, Master,” I reply, not even hesitating this time, getting into character. There’s something thrilling about this, about submitting.
His smile widens and he steps back. “Stand up.”
I push myself to my feet, eyes still on his body, his cock at attention between us, demanding all of my attention.
“Take off your dress.” I reach for the hem, but he stops me with a lifted palm. “Slowly.”
So I lock eyes with him and take my time, sliding my dress up inch by inch, revealing more skin tantalizingly slowly. I step closer to him, making sure to lean into my step, sway my hips, and his gaze drops to them obediently, his eyes lingering on my curves with clear appreciation.
I drop my dress beside us, standing just an inch from his chest.
He raises his brows. “Now your bra.”
I reach behind me with one hand to unclasp it, and let it inch down my arms until my breasts fall free. I love the way his eyes darken with hunger, focused on my chest.
He steps closer and lifts his hands to cup my hips gently, his skin white-hot against mine, his palms rough and calloused as they tug me against him. His cock digs into my stomach as he pulls me against his body, and slides his hands down, down, to the edges of my panties, where he hooks both thumbs under the sides.
“These I want to remove myself,” he murmurs, face bent to inches from mine.
I tilt my head back to meet his eye, and he leans down to kiss me, hard. My lips part with surprise, and his tongue slides between them, tangling with mine, hungry, searching. I lift my arms, wrap them around his neck and sink into the kiss, letting him taste me, claim me, as he pushes my panties down my thighs. When they reach my knees, they drop to the floor, and I step out of them, still kissing him, as he pulls me backwards, lifting me up easily and walking us toward the bed.
When we reach it, he stops and sets me on my feet again, my heart still pounding from the close contact with his bare skin, the press of his cock along the smooth skin of my stomach.
“Turn around,” he murmurs, and I suppress a little shiver of excitement and do as I’m told.
He wraps something soft around my face, blocking my sight. His shirt, I realize, as he ties it behind my head, blindfolding me. His hands slide down my back, caressing me, reaching down to cup my ass and squeeze gently, massaging my cheeks as he stands behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin.
“Climb onto the bed, Sasha,” he says.
I drop forward onto my knees, and crawl a few paces along the bed, until I’m kneeling facing away from him. I feel the weight of the mattress shift under me as he climbs on behind me and positions himself at my rear, his hands still on my ass, as though he can’t get enough of me, can’t stop touching me.
I fucking love that.
“I’m going to fuck you now, Sasha,” he murmurs, even as he traces his cock along the backs of my thighs, then between my legs, with slow strokes, letting me feel every inch of him, the velvety smooth skin over his hard shaft turning me on.
“Please fucking do,” I manage to say, distracted as I am. Then I lick my lips, turn my head a little so he can see me smile, and add in my best sultry tone, “Master.”
“You like that, don’t you?” I can hear the answering grin in his voice. “You like submitting to me. Knowing that you’re mine. Knowing I’m going to do what I want with you.”
“I do, Master.”
“Good. Because I intend to keep having my way with you, Sasha.” He presses his cock between my thighs, right along the length of my slit. I’m soaked already, and he chuckles a little as he notices this, sliding his cock back and forth along my slit to coat himself in my juices. “I’m going to have my way with you for a long, long time.”
I spread my legs a little to grant him better access, breath coming hard and fast, my heart racing. But he keeps going slow, so slow it’s ag
onizing, almost torture—he takes his time parting my ass cheeks with his hands, squeezing hard enough to leave marks, and tracing his cock along my lips, one after the other.
“Fuck,” I hiss, when he’s still teasing me far too long later.
He laughs again. “Anxious, little slave?”
“Fuck yes I am.” I bite my lip, frustrated.
“You want me to fuck you properly now?” He slides a hand between my legs and fingers my clit, rolling it gently between his thumb and his forefinger, adding just enough pressure to set off fireworks in my veins.
I can only nod.
Without warning, he thrusts his cock into me, deep and fast. I cry out with pleasure, feeling him stretch my walls, fill me completely. He grabs my hips and pulls me back against him, his cock spearing deep into my pussy.
I fall forward, my forehead pressed into the bed as he draws back out of me, then thrusts back in, faster this time. This angle makes his cock feel like it’s even bigger, pushing in deeper. I’ve never felt so full before, and it’s driving me wild. I try to thrust back against him, but Grant holds my hips tight, pinning me in place as he starts to rock back and forth, building momentum.
“You like that? You like my fat cock inside your pussy?”
I moan with want, bucking against him as he starts to fuck me faster.
“Tell me how much you like my cock inside you, Sasha. Tell me what it feels like.”
I bite my lip to draw my brain back into itself, because otherwise it’s too hard to get lost in the sensation. Still, forming words is difficult when he’s doing this to me, making me crazy with lust. I swallow hard and force myself to think around the swell of pleasure growing deep in my belly. “It… feels like you fill every inch of me,” I manage, my breath coming harder, faster, as he continues to fuck me. “Your cock is so fucking big and hard and… fuck,” I cry out as he thrusts into me again, his balls slapping against my clit at this angle. “I love feeling you inside me, stretching me out, making me ache with want. I love it when you come in me.”
“You like that? You like when I pump my cum into your tight little pussy, fill you with my seed?”
