Refuge

by Vonna Harper

  And, insane as it seemed, she needed to be those things.

  Still, pressing her thighs around his cock left her feeling more in control than she had through countless corporate board meetings. She held this magnificent man’s sex organ with her own body—never mind that he could easily free himself. He might have command over her ability to move, to see, maybe even to breathe, but she made him feel like a man. He’d never forget that; neither of them would.

  For a moment, they didn’t move. Then he clamped his large, athletic hands over her hips and straightened. His cock slammed up against her labial lips and flattened them, trapping her aching clit beneath hot flesh.

  Because her damned shorts remained around her knees, she had little freedom of movement, but if he was intent on pressing, she’d press back. Barely aware that he’d pulled her pelvis toward him, she increased her grip on his cock and stood on tiptoe.

  They held together. The longer the connection, the less she could separate her body from his. His fingertips pressed into her buttocks and would probably leave bruises. Her thigh muscles burned and ached to be freed from the tension she’d put them under, but if she slackened off, she might lose hold of his cock, and she couldn’t bear to have that happen. Neither could she relax the strain in her shoulders, arms, hands. Had she ever fought for freedom before—ever wanted to be a man’s possession and gift?

  Suddenly, unexpectedly, he pulled free. Gasping, she opened her eyes. He loomed over her, and his fingers continued to grind into her flesh. “Wh—” she started to say, then remembered his rule. Still, she couldn’t make herself close her eyes.

  “I rule, Megara. Don’t forget.”

  Rule.

  “Do you understand?” He lifted a leg and drove his knee between her legs and against her pussy.

  She stared. Her mouth opened.

  “Do you understand? Right now your body belongs to me.” He ground his knee against her weeping sexual core.

  Tears leaking again, she nodded.

  “Good.” After shoving into her one more time, he removed his punishing knee and slid his hands slowly, lovingly, over her hips and down her outer thighs. When he took hold of her shorts, she tried to watch but couldn’t get her eyes to focus.

  He wanted to fuck her and surely knew how hungry she was to feel his cock deep inside her. How could he be so sadistic?

  Or was he?

  Her heart leaped when he drew her shorts off and tossed them aside, but much as she wanted to open herself to him, he hadn’t given her permission so she remained with her legs together and her pussy dripping.

  “You have much to learn about compliance,” he informed her. “Ideally, I’d keep you with me for as long as it takes for the lessons to be learned, but neither of us has the luxury.”

  Why did she feel on the brink of crying? And, damn it, why did he have to remind her that this was a one-night stand?

  Looking grim and determined, he ran his hands under her breasts and lifted them. To her discomfort, he clamped his thumbs and forefingers over her hard and sensitive nipples and pulled her breasts apart. Beyond anything except reacting to the mix of pain and pleasure, she threw back her head and thrust her pelvis at him. He increased his grip and pulled down, then up. She started to pant.

  “Have I given you permission to make a sound?” Punctuating the question, he abruptly and ungently flattened her breasts against her ribcage. “Have I? Have I?”

  Feeling as if she was strangling on her breath, she vigorously shook her head.

  “No, I haven’t.” He pushed her against the confining pole. “So much to learn. So much—for both of us.” He gave her no relief but continued to press. To make it both worse and more sensual, he began a circular motion that took her captive breasts along with his hands. It wasn’t painful, not really, and the sensation transferred to her clitoris. The heat and energy there kicked up a notch and then another.

  She had—had to move!

  Gagging on a groan, she opened her stance so her pussy became more accessible to him. He ignored her offering; she began rocking from side to side.

  Without warning, he released her throbbing breasts and stepped back.

  Don’t! Please, don’t!

  “Hungry, are you?”

  She nodded, then waited, on fire, for his next touch. Instead, he turned his back on her and faded into the night.

  * * * * *

  Megara was still shaking when Lon returned what seemed a lifetime later but probably had been no more than three or four minutes. At first she’d been terrified he intended to leave her hanging on the brink of a climax. She hadn’t been worried she couldn’t free herself, but she didn’t want to be rid of her bonds. She wanted, needed him!

  “You lack restraint,” he informed her. “A slave without self-mastery is of limited value to her lord. Do you understand?”

  She hated him! Loved him! Even as the warring thoughts raged through her, she realized he had one hand behind his back. His cock had lost some of its erection but was far from flaccid.

  “The most vital element for a well-trained subject is the ability to control her sexual response. She must respond to her master’s wishes and manipulations, nothing else.”

  I can’t do that! I can’t possibly—

  “We have a long way to go.” He sounded as if he was proposing a new way to track interoffice memos. “I’ve been trying to decide how to best make our time together the most productive for both of us.”

  He’d been standing in the space between night and the path’s lighting, shadows caressing his magnificently muscled naked body. Now he took two steps toward her. She still couldn’t see what he held. “I’m not going to ask whether you agree with my assessment because it’s my decision. We’ll do it my way. Tonight I call the shots. The tables have turned.”

  Are you trying to terrify me? Maybe you want to see if your words will bring me to climax? The latter seemed a distinct possibility as witnessed by her pussy’s reawakening. Damn it, while alone, she’d begun to believe she could regain her sexual equilibrium. What a fool she’d been!

  He walked closer, his steps slow and deliberate. He wasn’t smiling, but neither did he look fierce. She stood normally with her thighs just touching. How long would that last?

  “I found something,” he informed her. “A training tool. Not bad for someone who has never contemplated BDSM.” With that, he brought his hand forward and let her see the delicate looking, three-foot long fern. “It didn’t take long to decide this would be perfect.” He ran his over the slender leaflets, demonstrating how easily they bent, how quickly they sprang back. “Soft. Surprisingly strong. I cleaned it in the restroom.”

  What are you—?Oh God, what are you—?

  He surprised her by running his fingers over her cheek, and she leaned into him. Then he cupped her chin, lifted her head, and kissed her. At the moment she would have died for him.

  “I don’t want you afraid of me,” he whispered with his mouth still near hers. She responded by reaching out and brushing her lips over his. “Good,” he said.

  He stepped back, left her alone. Alive, she watched as he displayed the fern. She loved its rich green color, its vibrant life. Then he ran the tip over her collarbone, and her skin acknowledged he’d been right. It was both soft and strong. He stroked the base of her throat, and she lost herself in the gentle caress. She’d gladly spend the night having him massage her with the leafy plant. As long as he used it as if it was a feather, she could—

  Lower. Painting the tops of her breasts.

  “Close your eyes again,” he said. She did, locking herself inside her body. The fern made a slow, wonderful circle around the base of her breasts. The next circuit softly branded her breasts’ fullness. The third—the third centered around her nipples which instantly became so hard it was painful. Her head again sagged against the post and began rocking back and forth, back and forth. He stroked her breasts over and over again until she existed nowhere else. She floated on a sensual
sea, caught in the night, in his world.

  The fern was the same temperature as the summer night, and when she felt something hot and wet close around a nipple, for an instant she couldn’t identify it. Then she realized he’d pulled her nipple into his mouth. Arching toward him, she struggled to keep up with the sensations. He sucked and bathed her, ran his teeth over her flesh. At the same time, he continued to brush her other breast with the fern.

  Much as she loved what he was doing to her, especially the unexpected tenderness, her sexual response to a lover had always depended on clitoral stimulation. When she masturbated, she concentrated on her clit; the right pressure at the right time and place led to mind-exploding climaxes. Could she, somehow, let him know without speaking?

  She again tried to draw his attention to her pussy by tilting her pelvis toward him. With his mouth still on her breast and the frond over the other, he pressed a hand against her mons. Maybe he wanted nothing to do with her vagina, but unless he roped her hips to the stake, she’d do what she had no control over. She pushed back.

  With a growl, he stepped away. “You’re a slow learner, Megara.”

  “I can’t help—”

  “Silence!”

  He slapped her breasts repeatedly with the fern. It stung but didn’t hurt—and added to her sexual excitement. The more he lashed, the more wildly her hips rocked from side to side, back to front.

  “No, no, no,” he chanted. He switched his punishment to her belly, but she still couldn’t make herself hold still. Then he ran a hand between her legs and forced them apart. He ground his feet against the inside of her ankles until she was widely splayed. Then he reached behind her and pulled her pelvis toward him.

  Her pussy dripped.

  Chapter Six

  “Think only of me.” Lon’s voice became a chant as well as a command. “I’m the only person in your world, and you are all that exists in mine. There’s just the two of us.” He dragged the fern up the inside of her right thigh, then down the other, avoiding her vulva. “Our time together will last forever—not in a physical sense because soon we’ll return to our individual worlds—but neither of us will ever forget what happens here.”

  No, no, I won’t! Oh God!

  He reversed direction with the soft-as-silk fern and slowed the tempo. She kept her eyes closed but imagined he was massaging his cock with his free hand and was as close to losing his mind as she felt.

  “People look at the physical nature of what I do for a living and believe there isn’t anything I can’t accomplish.” He flicked the fern over her clit, causing her to jerk and sob. “But they’re wrong. I’m a pawn, a bargaining chip. A tool to be discarded when I’m no longer useful.” The fern brushed her hot and hungry clit, the touch so brief maybe she’d only willed it. “Tonight is different, Megara. As long as we both want this, I own you.”

  Yes! Oh yes!

  She felt his wet and wonderful mouth on one breast and then the other, the sensations coming so fast that once again she couldn’t keep up. Her whole body quivered and became a feather caught in the wind. Then—oh Lordy—then he stroked her mons, labia, and vagina with the fern. Her head felt about to explode; she couldn’t think how to breathe. And the heat—the heat!

  Barely aware of what she was doing, she struggled to close her legs in a desperate attempt to give herself the relief she needed.

  “No!” He again rammed a knee up into her and all but speared her with it. “Remember what I said. I command you—especially your sex.”

  She sagged against his knee and tried to satisfy herself on it.

  “Not yet. Not yet.” He pushed more firmly against her until pleasure threatened to become pain. “Not until I allow it.”

  Some civilized part of her knew how insane this was. Any other time, she would have sent him packing or had him charged with—with something. But she’d willingly surrendered to him and whatever spell the refuge had cast. She wanted nothing else. Was nothing else.

  “That’s better,” he said when she again opened herself to him. “Where was I? Oh, yes, this.”

  The fern again, stroking, dancing, kissing, familiarizing itself with her pussy and claiming it. Her vagina ached with the need to have Lon’s cock fill it, and her clit felt so sensitive she feared the next fern-touch would make her explode. It was torture, hell—wonderful!

  “You’re close.” He didn’t sound particularly in control himself. “On the brink.”

  “Yes,” she admitted. After that she couldn’t close her mouth.

  He’d been brushing her with the tip of the fern, but now he switched direction and used the leaf’s length to stroke with a long, slow, barely discernable touch. “Pissed because I won’t let you step over the edge.”

  “Yes!”

  “But if I released you right now, if I took my toy and walked away, you wouldn’t like that either, would you?”

  “No,” she whimpered. Where had the fern gone? Please, please, she needed—

  “I can’t hear you.”

  “No.” If she had the strength, she’d kick him where it’d get his attention.

  “So, the question becomes…”

  She felt his fingers on her inner lips and froze, waiting. He used his forefinger to separate her lips, then guided the tip of the fern into her and swirled the leaf around and around, going deeper with every turn. Flames licked at her.

  “Whether this will satisfy you.”

  “No!” she screamed although she’d never felt anything more erotic.

  “No?”

  She felt his breath on her forehead. He was manipulating her, bringing her closer and closer to a climax, giving her an experience she hadn’t known she’d spent a lifetime craving. If she died before morning, she’d die—

  “What’s the problem?”

  “It isn’t enough,” she managed. Her throat throbbed. She existed only between her legs and the fern—skewering her, stroking, bathing and being bathed. “I need…”

  “What do you need?” he asked and kissed her.

  “You. Please, I need you.”

  “What? This?” He kissed her again. The fern continued its swirling upward journey.

  “No,” she said from somewhere deep inside her being. “Your cock. Please, give me your cock.”

  Everything went still. The fern remained in place, but it no longer moved. She felt Lon’s presence on her skin and in her hair. He even touched her heart. If the night creatures were about, she could no longer hear them. Maybe the breeze had stopped.

  “Just my cock?”

  “No. I-I need all of you.”

  “Sex? Fucking?”

  The words were magic, but they didn’t go deep enough, didn’t expose enough. “No,” she managed. “I want to make love with you.”

  “Love?”

  “To connect. To become part of each other.”

  More silence. A single, soft chirping, maybe an insect, maybe a bird. She felt something she never had and wondered if the refuge might have started breathing. Maybe it had been for a long time.

  Then Lon stepped behind her and untied her wrists. She hadn’t lost feeling in them, but it took a moment to remember how her arms moved. Eyes open but unfocused, she reached for him. Her arms went around his neck, and she pressed her breasts against him and lifted her head. Their mouths came together, gentle at first and then wild and demanding. She drank in his naked heat through her pores, and her cunt—the fern still buried in it—felt joyous.

  Their kiss went on and on, growing deeper and more vulnerable. Earlier, she’d wondered at his iron self-control, but now she wasn’t the only one who trembled. His cock remained caught between them, huge and promising. Gathering a sense of purpose she hadn’t believed herself capable of, she removed the fern, then sank to her knees in front of her lover, her Master. He stood with his fists at his side staring down at her.

  Opening her mouth, she closed her lips over the head of his penis. After familiarizing herself with the size and taste and texture
of it, she took in more until she sheltered the entire tip. She turned her head to the side, taking his cock with her. The fire in her belly and pussy banked down enough for her to concentrate on what she was doing. This was her gift to him, a gentle housing of his most important organ.

  Not long ago he’d held her immobile. Now it was her turn, but she wanted him to know she was a kind and compassionate Mistress, one who truly cherished her subject.

  Deep in her fantasy, she cupped the shaft and held his cock in place while she feathered kisses over it. She loved his taste, his size, the promise of an organ both simple and complex. And when droplets of moisture filmed his slit, she lapped at the pre-cum.

  Thinking to adjust her hold on him, she briefly released him. Before she could take him again, he dropped to his knees beside her and leaned toward her. She gave way beneath his greater size, a surrender that soon placed her on her back on the wonderfully soft and warm carpet of greenery. A small part of her considered the possibility of insects, but before she could either accept or dismiss them, he slipped his hands under her buttocks and lifted them into the air. When he scooted closer, she wrapped her legs around his waist, grabbed him around the neck, and arched her back.

  He shifted his grip until he held her at the waist and quickly, wonderfully ran his cock into her waiting and willing vagina.

  The wilderness held still as if watching and waiting. Only the back of her head remained on the ground. The rest was in his grip and around him. His cock rested inside her, full and hot.

  “Now?” he asked.

  “Now.”

  He pumped, retreated, pumped again. She felt the slick stroke along the length of her pussy. Her nerve endings—there seemed to be millions of them—surged to life. She imagined her clitoris as one continuous nerve. The small organ ruled her. Became her.

  She felt helpless, a slave caught in her master’s grip. He controlled her body, and she reveled in, not just her helplessness but the strength that came from being a woman. His thrusts came faster and faster. Rocking under him, she felt her flames growing, taking from the refuge’s summer heat. She became fevered with the heat centered in her filled-to-bursting cunt.