by LK Shaw
“Don’t move.”
Coldness spread down my crack and across my anus as I realized Connor was dribbling lube on me. He must have grabbed some while I was still unaware he’d entered the house. He withdrew his finger and spread the wetness around, coating every inch of my hole before pushing it back in to spread it around inside. More lube was poured and then a small stretch followed and I knew he’d added another finger. I forced my body to remain still as he thrust his fingers in and out of me. His thrusts quickened, and I bit my lip as a moan of ecstasy escaped. All my nerve endings were firing, and all I wanted to do was move.
I could feel my body tightening in preparation for a glorious climax when Connor suddenly removed his fingers. I had to hold back the groan of disappointment. I heard rustling behind me, but I remained still. I didn’t want to do anything to distract Connor from his task and remind him that I’d only recently been injured. It didn’t matter that I was feeling much better. If he thought he was hurting me in any way, he would stop what he was doing immediately. I refused to allow that to happen. I missed feeling him inside me.
The bed dipped and warmth surrounded me as Connor cradled my hips in his, his leg hair tickling the back of my thighs. He gently pushed forward, his cock positioned in my crack where it slid up and down with each forward thrust of his hips. His upper body was bent over mine and he was flush against my back. I couldn’t stop the slight flinch and sigh of disappointment as the fabric of his shirt separated our flesh. Connor stopped moving at the sound.
He lowered his head, and I felt petal soft kisses across my shoulder. I was continuously surprised by how gentle he could be. It was a contradiction to the power he housed in his body. It often seemed he was holding back, restraining his body’s urgings to plunder and ravage.
“Your skin is like silk, soft and supple. Your body deserves to be worshipped and treated with the utmost care.”
He’d placed his hands next to mine on the bed when he leaned over me. He moved them until they were on top and he laced our fingers. He didn’t move; it was though he wanted to savor our physical bond. He nuzzled my hair and inhaled deeply, breathing in my scent.
Briefly, Connor untwined our right hands. I felt him reach behind me to grasp his cock and with excruciating slowness, he pressed it against my puckered hole. He began a gentle thrusting motion, pushing his cock farther and farther into my ass. I relaxed my muscles as best I could to help ease him inside. Inch by inch he entered me, until, finally, his hips were flush against mine.
He locked our hands together again and remained motionless while I adjusted to the fit. No more words were spoken as Connor tightened his grip on my hands and initiated again the gentle in and out motion. He kept a slow pace, torturing me with my need for him to go faster. But Connor wasn’t having any of it. This was his show, and he was the one in control.
He reached up with his left hand to cup my breast, lightly tweaking the nipple. His fingers then trailed down my stomach until he reached my mound. He cupped my sex in his large hand and curled his fingers until they pressed against my pussy. He didn’t enter me, just rubbed the tips up and down my slit, causing more cream to drip down my thighs. He adjusted positions so he hit a new spot inside my ass as he began circling my clit. The dual sensations had me panting in arousal.
I could feel his heartbeat against my back through his shirt, and soon, mine matched his rhythm. Our connection was visceral. My climax continued to build with each thrust of his cock and with each flick against my clit until I couldn’t control my release. It exploded out of me. Connor groaned behind me as he peaked immediately after I did. I felt his seed fill my ass. I collapsed in exhaustion. Connor slowly pulled out of me and rose from the bed. I continued to lie there as I heard him enter the bathroom and turn on the water. He returned and bathed me with a warm cloth as I replayed our encounter. Physically, he’d satisfied my needs. Emotionally, I was bereft. I needed to make him understand what I needed from him as my Dom.
Bridget
Instinctively knowing it was now or never, I flipped over and moved up on my knees, ignoring the twinge in my ass. I had a feeling this was my only chance to get through to Connor.
“I wish you would stop hiding from me. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere, Connor.” I cupped his face and stared into his eyes, hoping my sincerity and the depth of my feelings shone through. An eternity passed where neither of us moved. I truly thought we had built more trust between us, but apparently, I guessed wrong. I sighed in defeat and removed my hands. I sat back on my heels in the now awkward silence. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I laid back down, my back to Connor. Tears burned behind my closed eyes.
I don’t know how much time passed when a gravelly cough sounded behind me. “My dad died when I was five. He hadn’t been feeling well for a few days so he laid down to take a nap while my mom and I went to the grocery store. He was dead when we got home. The doctors said he’d had a massive heart attack.”
I started to turn, but Connor stopped me. “Stay there. I need you to just lie there, please. Otherwise, I’ll never get through this.”
I heard the pain behind his words, and it broke my heart. This beautiful, strong man had been broken at one point, and I wanted to kill the person who hurt him, because it was obvious someone had. I couldn’t imagine the struggle it was for him to splay himself open to me. I knew he kept things bottled up, but I never would have imagined what he would tell me next.
“My mom remarried within a year. She had never been alone before, and I don’t think she knew how to cope with that. The guy she married was all right. I never called him my stepdad, because he was no kind of dad to me. He pretty much ignored me, until he was injured at work one day when I was eight. He got hooked on alcohol and pills to numb his pain. Unfortunately, for my mom and me, he was a mean drunk. Nothing either of us did was right. It started with a slap one time. Of course, he was penitent and begged my mom for forgiveness. But then it happened again. And again. Only each time, it escalated.
“I had recently turned thirteen when everything came to a head. I finally found the courage to fight back. But it was no use. I was too weak and small, and my mother’s husband was so far gone nothing could have stopped him. It was like he’d been possessed by the devil himself. In his rage, he dumped a pot of boiling water on me, giving me second and third degree burns over a quarter of my body, the majority of it focused on my back. I blacked out from the pain. When I came to, the paramedics and police were there and my mother was dead. He’d stabbed her to death with a kitchen knife. He was sent to prison, and I bounced around from foster home to foster home until I turned eighteen.”
I didn’t bother to stop the flow of tears cascading down my cheeks. I held my breath as I turned back toward him, hoping he wouldn’t stop me. I needed to comfort him, and perhaps myself, because I had a feeling he’d received very little comfort in his life. When I finally faced him, he sat stone-faced looking neither left nor right. There were tension lines around his mouth, and his fists were clenched at his sides.
Hesitantly, I reached out and clasped his hand in mind. I slowly sat up and enfolded him in my loving embrace. I didn’t say anything, not wanting him to run scared. I held him in my arms until he slowly began to relax. Finally, I couldn’t hold back any longer.
“I’m so sorry, Connor. You know none of that is your fault, right? I mean, you were just a child. There was no way you could have stopped him. And I’m so sorry you’ve been holding the pain in for so long. Thank you for trusting me. It means more to me than you know.”
Connor
I pulled away slightly, forcing her to loosen her arms, and I couldn’t quite look her in the eye. Telling her what had happened to me was only the tip of the iceberg. Actually showing her scared the shit out of me and required more trust than I’d ever shown anyone. I inhaled deeply, trying to breathe in the control I needed to keep going with my confession. Now came the true test of Bridget’s feelings. With trembling hands, I slow
ly began to unbutton my shirt. Her eyes followed the movement as more of my chest became bared to her regard.
I kept my gaze on her face, anticipating the moment she would turn away. Finally, my shirt was entirely unbuttoned and I peeled it back and down my arms, fully exposing my front to her. Tears that had only recently dried, welled in her eyes and threatened to fall. I watched as she blinked them back. Bridget’s eyes darted up to mine, and I refused to look away. Maintaining eye contact with me, she hesitantly reached out and laid her hand on my chest, right over my heart.
Her stare dropped back to my chest as she began tentatively tracing the scars that decorated it. Each one burned, but none more so than the ones on my back. Before I could guess her intent, Bridget leaned forward and laid the softest of kisses directly on the largest scar. It was as if a butterfly was dancing across my skin. It tingled and sizzled, and a different kind of burn developed. She dropped kiss after kiss, each one a little longer. I even felt the flick of her tongue and a shudder of arousal flowed through me.
Bridget’s hands never left my body, and her eyes stayed locked on mine as she scooted next to me. She then moved slowly off the bed, and I lost sight of her as she stood behind me. A sharp gasp was the only sound in the room as she finally looked her fill of my mangled back. I tensed as I visualized exactly what she was seeing. The mottled skin varying from shades of pink to shades of brown. The shiny, puckered skin in some spots and the long, ropey, thickened strands of scar tissue in others. The doctors had done multiple skin grafts to try and even out the skin, but my back still looked like a war zone. I could hardly bear to look at it. I didn’t want to imagine what Bridget thought.
I was startled from my musings as wetness streaked down my back. I couldn’t take the silence anymore.
“I’m sorry. I know they’re ugly.”
Naked flesh was suddenly pressed up against me as Bridget again engulfed me in her arms. Her entire body shook, and a strangled sob sounded behind me. She squeezed me tightly, as if she would never let me go.
“God, Connor. I can’t begin to imagine the pain you must have felt. And don’t you dare say your scars are ugly. They’re a part of you, and there is nothing about you that is ugly. You are the most beautiful person I know, both inside and out, and I refuse to allow the man I love to degrade himself like that. Do you understand me, Connor Black? Every mark and scar is a testament to your strength. You survived the worst sort of abuse, and yet you’re here. You persevered and overcame something most people would never dream of. I am so humbled by you. I know how hard this must have been to show me these. To open yourself up and be vulnerable like that. Thank you for trusting in me. In us.”
Her cheek was flush against my back, and I felt her tears on my mangled skin. In my mind, I played back every word she said, trying to decipher her words that somehow didn’t make any sense. She wasn’t cringing in disgust. I wasn’t ugly in her eyes. I tried to take that all in, because my world had just been flipped upside down. And I was pretty sure I’d heard somewhere in there that she loved me. That floored me the most.
“You love me?”
She hiccupped and reined in the tears. I felt my muscles tense as I waited on her answer. She grasped my shoulders and guided me until I was turned around and facing her. Her eyes shone brightly with tears.
“I think I’ve always loved you, Connor. Even when I didn’t have it in me to love someone. You mended a heart I thought broken, never to feel again. A heart that will forever belong to you.”
Bridget’s words broke the dam of emotions I’d been holding back for years. They flooded my heart and burst through as I grabbed her to me and crashed my mouth down on hers in a bruising kiss. A fever unlike any other came over me, and I couldn’t control it. With my hands under her ass, I lifted Bridget and gently laid us back on the bed with her underneath me. Her hands roamed my naked back, and the sensation was out of this world. I was, and always would be, numb in some places where nerve endings would never heal, but here and there, a spark ignited where her hands touched.
I broke the kiss and scanned her face, flushed with arousal. Fuck, I loved this woman. I waited until she opened her eyes before I spoke. When they fluttered open, I stared down at her.
“I can’t be gentle right now. I need to fuck you hard, to mark you.” Without waiting for a response, I lined my cock up to her wet pussy and thrust to the hilt. Bridget’s legs wrapped around my waist, and she pushed herself upward, matching me thrust for thrust. I reached down for one leg and threw it over my shoulder, hitting inside her cunt at a new angle that had her gasping for breath.
“Fuck me, Sir. I’m yours to use any way you want. My body, heart, and soul are yours to do with as you see fit. Fill me. Mark me. Love me.”
I couldn’t stop, and I couldn’t get inside her far enough. I wasn’t going to last long this time. I’d more than make it up to her. Each time I withdrew, she squeezed down on my cock, making her pussy tighter. Stars and colors flashed behind my eyes when she did that. My cock swelled, and my balls drew up. I knew I was about to climax. I wanted her to reach her peak with me. I reached between us and rubbed her clit. My jaw was clenched so hard I hoped I didn’t break a tooth as I forced my orgasm back. I continued fucking her with an almost punishing strength and then she was screaming her release, her gaze never leaving mine. With one final thrust, my seed erupted inside her and I groaned in satisfaction that I was able to see to my sub’s pleasure before mine.
My come dripped out of her soaking wet cunt as I pulled my cock out. I dipped a finger into her, scooped some of it out and began rubbing it all over her gorgeous tits and down her stomach. Bridget was mine, and I wanted everyone to smell me on her skin. I wanted to permanently be a part of her. She grabbed my hand and, staring intently into my eyes, brought my fingers to her mouth, sucking them and licking away every last drop of come. I couldn’t stop the words from escaping.
“I love you, Bridget. I want to fuck you raw every night. I want to collar you to show everyone who you belong to. And as much as it scares the fucking hell out of me, I want to make babies with you. I want everything with you.”
“I want that too, Sir.” she smiled, sleepily.
I lay down and pulled her to me so her back was to my front. I wrapped my arm around her waist and reached up to cup her breast while dropping kisses along her shoulder. After shedding that burden, I was mentally exhausted. I breathed a heavy sigh and finally relaxed, falling into a deep sleep.
Connor
The young boy sat cross-legged on the living room floor playing his video game while he waited for his mother to finish cooking his favorite meal, spaghetti and meatballs. He had been riding his bike outside earlier and had removed his shirt due to the stifling heat and was wearing only shorts to help cool off.
He jumped when the crash of the backdoor slamming open sounded from the kitchen, followed by a gruff yell. “Goddamn it. You’re not done cooking yet, you stupid bitch?” He’d been conditioned to fear that voice. His heart rate spiked; his palms began to sweat, and tremors racked his body. There was no use hiding. It only made the punishments worse. Best to wait it out and “take it like a man” as he’d been told time and time again. Besides, if it wasn’t him, it would be his mother. And he would do whatever he could to protect her.
He’d started growing taller when he turned thirteen last month, but he was still skinny as a rail. Every few nights he would sneak downstairs and eat a little bit of everything. Not enough that someone would notice how much was missing, but enough that he took in more calories in an attempt to grow big and tall so he could protect his mother. But it was no use. No matter how much food he snuck when no one was looking, he was still too small and weak to do anything but survive.
It all started five years ago when his stepfather hurt himself on the job. He started drinking to ease the pain. Once he was healed he went back to work, but didn’t stop drinking. He lost job after job because he was drunk. The boy’s mother had always been a stay-at-h
ome mom, even before his father died. She had no resources and no way to raise a child, so she said yes to the first man who offered to take care of her. The boy didn’t resent her for the choices she’d made.
At first, only his mother had been the recipient of his stepfather’s blows. A slap for dinner being late or his clothes not pressed to his liking. The boy, then only eight, tried to intervene, but was then also punished. It began escalating after that. His stepfather drank even more heavily at night and the tiniest infraction set him off. Soon, open-handed slaps turned into fists. Then belts and a few kicks here and there.
When things got really bad, punishments resulted in deep, jagged wounds from belt buckles, small burn scars from cigarettes that marred the boy’s chest and back, and striped marks from a switch wielded by a rage-driven hand. The boy never told anyone. Not teachers and not friends who had slowly stopped coming over to play. He was too ashamed and scared. His stepfather threatened to kill his mother if he told. The boy wasn’t willing to take that chance. He would do whatever it took to protect her, even accept punishments on her behalf. In the end, though, it hadn’t mattered.
Raised voices and then the crack of flesh against flesh sounded from the kitchen, along with a woman’s muffled cry. The boy jumped up and raced to the other room, fearful more for his mother than for himself. He skidded to a halt just inside the door. His mother cowered on the floor holding her face, the redness evident through her fingers.
“Leave her alone,” the boy yelled. His stepfather’s head snapped in his direction, and he could smell the alcohol in the air. The man laughed maniacally, sending chills down the boy’s spine.
“What are you going to do about it, boy?” The man taunted, stumbling drunkenly toward the boy. Something inside him snapped at that moment. He’d had enough. He charged the drunkard, ignoring the possible consequences, and head-butted him directly in the gut. The air escaped the man with on “oomph”, but caused no more damage than that. Unfortunately, it now left the boy vulnerable and within arms’ reach.
