His Muse's Fidelity

by Linnea May

  He gives me a few moments to gather myself. I instinctively hollow my back, which intensifies the feeling of the vibrator. Then, he starts walking. He heads towards the hallway in wide steps, with little consideration of me hurrying behind him. It is impossible for me to keep up with him.

  “Cedric, stop!” I utter. “Not so fast.”

  I expect him to turn around and frown at me, but instead he slows down his steps and casts me a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure that I am okay.

  Crawling on all fours with the vibrating plug in my ass is a challenge, to say the least. It is a constant tease on my core as well. I fear that even the slightest touch of my clit would send me over the edge right now.

  Just as I expected, we head towards the second bedroom, the one that is usually used for playing.

  “On the bed,” he orders once we are inside.

  I comply and climb up on the bed, positioning myself as he usually wants me, on all fours, with my ass high up and my face down on the silk sheets.

  I am breathing heavily and just now realize that my mouth is half opened with my tongue sticking out as a desperate token of my agitation.

  Of course, Cedric notices. He leans forward and grabs my face with one hand, squeezing my cheeks as he turns my face around to his.

  “This,” he hisses. “This is what I like to see. My cute, little bitch in heat. You have no idea, how beautiful you are right now.”

  I blush and close my eyes in shame.

  “No,” he warns. “Don’t hide from it, beautiful.”

  I open my eyes again and look up at him.

  “Who is doing this to you?” he asks.

  “You, Sir.”

  “And what do you say?”

  “Thank you,” I slur. “Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

  He smiles at me and loosens his grip on my face to kiss me. “You perfect girl.”

  My eyes follow him as he straightens up and proceeds to tie my hands up at the bed post on the left side and the right side respectively. The rope that he uses for this is always tied to the bed posts with loops ready to quickly fasten them around my wrists and ankles. When my feet are secured as well, Cedric pauses for a moment and assesses his work. I am bent over, tied and dizzy with lust while the vibrator continues to do its work inside of me.

  He approaches the bed and detaches the leash from my collar before he moves on to place himself between my legs, facing my exposed and plugged behind.

  Soon, his hands are on my behind again, massaging and stretching my cheeks like he did before. I moan, terribly aware of my exposed wetness. I am torn between wanting him to touch me and fearing that I might explode instantly if he does.

  But instead of teasing me with his fingers, he uses the leather leash on me. I had almost forgotten about it until the sharp stings on my flesh remind me of its existence.

  I yelp in surprise and pain but find myself hollowing my back even more, inviting him to continue. He notices and unleashes an array of blows on my behind that has no equal. The leash is rather thin, and its blows sting like little fiery cuts.

  I start screaming in pain; tears are soaking the sheet below my face, and I migrate to erratic panting to proceed the stings.

  He keeps serving me, but slows down, leaving more time between each stroke.

  “Should I do this until you come?” he asks. “I know you could.”

  I gasp with indignation. That is impossible. How could anyone ever come just by being spanked? It cannot be true.

  But then, it is. The pain of the leather strokes almost lead me to forget about the vibrating toy that is still placed in my ass. But now that Cedric decreases the sequence of the spanking, I rediscover its effect.

  Before I can gather a vocal reply to him, he changes the location of his lashes. He is hitting me at a lower spot now, moving closer to the back of my upper thighs.

  I know what to do without him telling me to. I reflexively hollow my back even more, lifting my ass up and exposing my wet lips to him.

  “Oh, I see!” he exclaims.

  That’s when the leash hits my folds for the first time. I moan, aching for more, spreading my legs and hollowing my back so much it hurts, just to reveal my center even more to him.

  It works.

  The leash continues to come down on my skin in short, but intense inflammations, and each sting adds to my impending climax.

  “Come!” he orders. “I know you can.”

  I hate it when he is right, but there is no denying that he is this time. My moans grow louder and more desperate, almost turning into desperate exclamations.

  His strokes grow in intensity, only slightly changing position until one lands directly on my clit. The pain is so intense that I let out a shrill scream, as the first wave of my orgasm rolls over me. My eyes open wide with disbelief as the next blow hits the exact same spot, hurting just as much, but only increasing the climax. Wave after wave, blow after blow, I am blinded by my release. I am panting and groaning, trying do understand what is happening to me while surges of pleasure rush through my body.

  My climax is just about to fade away when he stops hitting me. He throws the leash away and grabs me by the hips. I am too dazed to react in any way but groan with pleasure when he shoves his hard member inside of me. I am so wet that he slides inside of me with ease, stretching me together with the still vibrating toy. I have never felt this full before; the sensation is maddening.

  Cedric joins into my moans and fucks me harder than he has in a long time. His pelvis thrusts against my behind again and again in fast, deep motions. Wild, animallike.

  When I try to reposition myself to be able to proceed his brute shoves, I almost fall over to the side, only supported by him as he drags me back in front of him, ramming his considerable length inside of me. He takes and uses me like a puppet, his possession. His hands dig into my sides with such force that it hurts, reminding me of his strength.

  His motions start to slow down, revealing his approaching climax. He groans as he finds his release deep inside of me, lifting me up from the sheets so that my knees are up in the air while I can feel him pulsating inside of me.

  There is one more greedy thrust before he collapses above me, both of us panting and drenched in sweat.

  Chapter Nine

  “It’s starting!” I yell through the living room.

  I am curled up on the couch, wrapped in my favorite blanket and munching on some potato chips. My eyes are glued on the giant television in front of me where parts of the recording of Cedric’s interview at the press conference from earlier are about to be shown.

  He is rummaging around in the kitchen behind me, obviously not in a hurry to join me on the couch. Despite his disinterest, he promised that he would at least try to watch the interview with me.

  “Cedric!” I shout again, unaware that he is already standing behind me.

  “Calm down,” he says, placing his hand on my shoulder. He circles around the couch and drops down next to me with a beer in his hand.

  “Beer?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “Where’s your whisky?”

  “I’ve grown to like the taste,” he says. “Tom introduced me to a few brands that I actually care for. Besides, it would not be a good idea for me to drink hard liquor tonight.”

  “Why is that?”

  He looks at me, looking confused for a moment before he winks at me. “I’m a little dehydrated.”

  “Oh.”

  I place my hand on his knee and turn back to the TV where I spot an earlier version of him. It is so weird to see him on the screen while he is sitting right next to me.

  “Look at you,” I say, grinning like a little kid. “So handsome and eloquent.”

  He clears his throat and takes a sip of his beer. We don’t talk for the rest of the TV show. They don’t show the entire press conference, but only little bits and pieces that are cut together so that some of Cedric’s words don’t even make sense in the end. He is cut short a lot of times, and the answer
s are placed at the wrong places. It is frustrating to watch.

  “I told you,” he says after the show ends.

  “How annoying,” I comment.

  “It’s a normal thing to do,” he explains. “They do that every time, with every topic, every interview.”

  “Mhm.”

  I continue to munch on my potato chips while he starts flipping through the channels. It is still early, at least in our world, too early to go to bed.

  “I’m sorry,” he suddenly says, without looking at me.

  I turn around to him, my eyebrows raised in question. This is coming out of nowhere.

  “Sorry?” I ask. “For what?”

  “For earlier,” he says. “I might have been a little too rough on you. In the end, I mean.”

  “Mhm,” I make. “Maybe a little… but I enjoyed it.”

  “I know you did,” he says, casting me a naughty smile. “That was quite obvious. Nevertheless, I did go a little overboard there. But I needed the release.”

  “I think we both did,” I say.

  I glance over to him, hesitating to ask the question that has been forming inside my head.

  “It’s your way of coping, isn’t it?” I dare to ask eventually.

  He turns around, placing one arm on the backrest as he leans over to me. “What do you mean?”

  “With the stress, your anxiety…” I utter, unsure whether I should let him know that I saw him wandering around in here last night. Talking to himself in a frantic, almost scary voice.

  He might know about that anyway. After all, he did talk to me when he got back to bed, so he must have figured that I was awake.

  Our eyes meet, and his look tells me that we are thinking about the same thing, again.

  “I mean, it is extremely stressful,” I add. “A book release… How could you not be out of your mind? All these appointments, interviews…”

  “The readers,” he says.

  I look at him questioning.

  “The readers,” he repeats. “They are the ones I fear the most.”

  “Oh,” I make. I have never heard him say that he fears anything - or anyone. His openness and honesty hit me by surprise.

  “Sure, this media presence is exhausting and tedious,” he says. “I don’t like being on display like this. But the interviewers are not what bothers me. Those events are just a tiring necessity. But the readers and reviewers, they are different. They are the ones who count. The ones who will judge and criticize me.”

  “You cannot please everyone-”

  “I know that,” he interrupts me. “But I would like to keep the number of people I disappoint as low as possible. I hate being insufficient, failing. And that risk is present every time I have a new release.”

  I nod and softly squeeze his knee. “I understand.”

  We both remain quiet for a few moments. The TV is still running, some kind if sitcom reruns. The tinny laughter of the screening audience sounds through the living room while we look at the screen with apathetic eyes.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “For what?”

  “For sharing this with me,” I explain. “I know it is not easy for you.”

  He doesn’t say anything but just reaches down to take my hand, gently squeezing it.

  “You know I saw you last night, don’t you?” I ask.

  He nods. “Yes. I do.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to sneak up on you ag-”

  “It’s okay,” he interrupts. “It really is. You have done nothing wrong.”

  He lifts his arm and puts it around me, pulling me closer to him.

  “In fact, you’re doing everything right,” he whispers as I lean against his strong chest. “You’re all I could ever ask for.”

  His words are followed by something very unusual happening; his phone rings.

  I furl my eyebrows and look up at him. “This late?”

  For a few moments, Cedric doesn’t show any kind of reaction and just sits there with his eyes glued to the TV. The phone keeps ringing. It’s his landline, which makes me wonder all the more. He has a phone in the kitchen and one in the office, and they barely ever ring. In fact, I think the only people who call him on there are his publisher and some otherwise work-related persons.

  “Aren’t you going to answer it?” I ask. “It might be an emergency.”

  Cedric sighs and shakes his head as he jumps up from the sofa, leaving me behind with worry and confusion as he scurries to the phone in the kitchen. He picks it up and hisses a ‘Hello’ while he quickly disappears through the hallway into his office, closing the door behind him.

  My eyes are glued to the archway. What was that all about?

  He obviously doesn’t want me to eavesdrop on him, and he looked so distraught by the call. Maybe he knew who to expect at the other end?

  He is not gone for long. I look at him with expectant eyes as he returns to the living room. He sits down next to me, puts his arm around me, and avoids eye contact.

  “Who was-”

  “No one,” he interrupts me. “Wrong number. That happens sometimes.”

  “It has never happened before,” I interject.

  Cedric clears his throat. “Not while you were here, but in general, it has. My number must be similar to someone else’s.”

  I look up at him. He is lying. It is written all over his face and his suspicious demeanor.

  But whoever the caller was, I will not find out tonight.

  Chapter Ten

  Things do calm down after a few days. Cedric’s book does receive a lot of great reviews on storefronts and feuilletons. It must have been years since I bought an actual newspaper, but these days I do, only to read the review sections. My face widens into a proud grin every time I read the laudatory parts of the reviews, and I chose to skim the parts that are more critical.

  The book sells well, too. It is doing better than his last release did during its first week. Cedric is still on edge and tense, scanning through the arts section of some major newspapers in the morning.

  Some voices have been less kind and criticize him for switching genres again. He is not considered a dark romance author, after all.

  I wish I could keep him from checking reviews so obsessively because I don’t see how it does him any good, but he wouldn’t listen to me. Also, who am I to talk?

  Instead, he asked me to go back to work and focus less on his stress than on my own.

  Thing is, my job-related stress seems so mundane compared to what he is going through. I am behind deadline because I took a few days off. I figured that I would be able to catch up on the project, but now that I have to do it, it seems close to impossible.

  I am not deeply invested in this project, but I also don’t want to disappoint anybody or let my coworkers and my boss down. In that regard, Cedric and I seem to be very similar.

  Except that he loves his work.

  I still don’t.

  Days like today cause me to be dangerously doubtful about my career. Why am I still doing this? I don’t want to live off Cedric’s money, but I know I could. He wouldn’t mind supporting me, especially if it was only for a while until I know what else I could be doing with my life.

  I would probably take this offer if I had even the slightest idea of what that could be.

  A realistic idea. There are some silly thoughts that have been circling inside my head for a while, but none of them are reasonable.

  “Renee!”

  I startle and look around. It’s my project leader, my immediate boss. He is leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed in front of his chest, rolling his eyes at me.

  “Come on, princess,” he says. “Time to go home, even for you.”

  I hate that he calls me princess just because I am the only woman on our team. I have told him that more than once, but some habits are hard to break.

  He is right about the time, though. It is after 8 p.m., and all of my coworkers have left already. I am the only on
e still here, the only person who managed to do so little during the day that she feels the need to catch up during a time when most people have called it quits already.

  “Yeah,” I utter and start packing my stuff. I will have to do better tomorrow.

  “You know I don’t mind this extra effort you’re putting in,” my boss says while I am packing. “But I have to close up.”

  “I know,” I say.

  Extra effort seems to be the wrong word. All I am doing is trying to catch up, after all. But he doesn’t have to know that.

  I hurry out, just to find Craig waiting for me in front of the building. I knew he was going to pick me up today, but I still feel sorry for making him wait this long. I told him I would be done more than an hour ago.

  “I’m sorry!” I exclaim as soon as I have taken a seat on the back seat. “I should have told you it’d take longer. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s alright,” Craig mumbles as he puts away his tablet. I know he keeps himself busy with reading or playing silly little browser games when I - or Cedric - make him wait like this. But I still feel bad.

  It’s a Friday night, and Craig brings me home to Cedric’s place to spend the weekend with him. Again. I must have spent two-thirds of the month at Cedric’s place. It has come to a point where my plants are starting to die at home. Not that I ever had many, but even the few that carve out a miserable existence in my quarters are starting to show brown leaves.

  Craig drops me off at the driveway and drives off again as soon as I am out of the car because he has to pick up Cedric from the other side of town, where he had yet another appointment thanks to his overzealous publisher.

  The neighborhood around Cedric’s building is not known to be crowded with pedestrians. It is not a densely populated residential area. Most of the surrounding high-rise buildings contain offices, which causes the neighborhood to be more populated during the day when people are getting to and off work or out strolling around during their lunch hour.

  Even on the premises of Cedric’s home, I have hardly ever seen people walking around. It is usually deserted whenever I leave or enter the house.