by Lily Harlem
“Yes, Sir.” My legs were trembling. I was grateful I was lying down.
He trailed the back of his finger over my stomach, circled my navel then fluffed over my pubic hair. “I would also bet, judging by a few poorly concealed gasps and a blush to your cheeks, that you’ve been trying to hide the fact that deep inside your perfect little chut a storm has been raging all day long.”
I opened my mouth to speak but he quickly pressed his finger to my lips.
“No, don’t tell me, I want to find out for myself if I’ve been right.”
He shimmied down the bed, lay between my legs and shouldered apart my thighs. For a few tormented heartbeats he just stared at my pussy, at the damp, pink folds and the little white loop of string nestled against my flesh. I whimpered and squeezed my eyes shut.
“Yes, I was right. You have been a very good bride to accept this gift so graciously.”
“Yes, Sir,” I managed, tensing my splayed legs against his shoulders.
His thumbs traced the tops of my thighs before dipping into the folds of my sex. I didn’t know whether to push down for more or squirm away from the light torment. I ended up rocking my whole pelvis.
“Keep still.” He placed a hand over my mound, pressing down and somehow increasing the stimulation inside me all the more.
“Ah, ah,” I panted.
He continued to explore me with his fingers. “You are so wet. You enjoyed sucking my lavDa, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Sir, I wanted to give you pleasure.”
He gave a small huff. “That is your job in the bedroom.”
“Yes, Sir. Oh…”
He’d found my clit and teased it from its hood. Pulses of sensation were rippling to every corner of my being, and the balls, as he touched my clit, seemed bigger than ever. As if they were rolling inside me.
“You want me down here, don’t you?” His hot breath washed over my nub, which jutted forwards for his touch.
“Yes, very much, Sir, please.”
“Well, first we must make room for me, don’t you agree?”
I guessed it was a rhetorical question because at that moment the balls began to tug within me. He was pulling at the string and drawing them down my tormented channel.
I bucked upwards, searching for pressure on my sweetest spots inside and out. “Oh, please,” I said. “Please, now.”
“Not until I say.” His voice was sharp, as if he were running out of patience. “And it’s not time yet.”
With a soft popping sensation, the balls slipped from me. I groaned and twisted my head on the pillow. It was a relief they were out, but I missed them like I would miss a limb.
Glancing down, I saw him lean forwards, extending his tongue the same way he had for honey and yogurt, the tip pointed and angled. In a sudden flurry of movement, he drew a circle around my clit.
“Oh, yes, yes.” I stretched my legs wider and fisted the sheets. This was beyond my wildest fantasies of what I thought tonight would include. He lowered his tongue to my slit, dipping into my hot, aroused pussy. The feeling was blissful, sinfully blissful, and I groaned as he supped at my juice, my arousal, then explored my labia with his tongue, licking, then nibbling with lips and teeth.
“Please, my…” I begged, wanting him to lick my clit again.
He ignored me and instead carried on devouring my sex, leaving no fold undiscovered with his nimble tongue. When he slid it along the smooth stretch of skin between my pussy and my anus, I thrashed my head and called out incoherently. The depravity, the ecstasy of him loving me there, left me devoid of words and thought.
He flicked his naughty tongue back to my clit, circling it then suckling. I jabbed my hands into his hair—I was getting ready to orgasm, on his mouth, his tongue. Another second and I would soar. “Oh, don’t stop.”
He stopped. He raised his head and wiped his mouth on the back of his arm. “Do not give me instructions unless you want a spanking.” He loomed above me, hands on either side of my face and his hard cock nudging at my entrance.
I wanted to cry. All day long I’d been searching for release.
“Do you want a spanking, my bride?”
“Yes, no, I don’t know.” My heart was thudding so fast I feared for its ability to sustain the rate. “Sir, please, just do what you need to do, I am yours.”
“Yes, yes you are.”
He brought his mouth down hard on mine, ravishing my lips and my tongue. He tasted of me, spicy and musky, his lips slippery and soaked in my moisture.
I pulled my knees up to his hips, tilted my pelvis, and the first inch of his cock stabbed into me.
“Ah, ah, yes,” I panted into his mouth.
He grunted and shoved in a little more. Running my hands over his shoulders, I could feel him vibrating with tension. I suspected the urge to bury himself fast and hard was creating the deep shivers, and somewhere in my lust-addled brain I was grateful for his self-control. He was big, his cock thick and long, and it would take a conscious relaxing of my pelvic muscles to accommodate him.
“Oh, you feel so good inside, hot and wet and tight,” he groaned, burying his head in my neck and peppering kisses around my earlobe. “We are going to be a perfect fit.”
“Oh, Damon, I mean, oh, Sir,” I gasped, as he drove in deeper still. “Yes, perfect, oh, yes, yes.” I willed my pussy to give in to the extreme wideness of his cock and allow penetration. His crown smoothed over the spot the balls had been harassing all day, and I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated on the pleasure of having that small pad of flesh stroked. I was greeted with flashing neon lights. It was as if my body were no longer mine. He was owning me, invading me, taking me to a wonderful place where only pleasure existed.
“Ah, Siyàra, the balls have prepared you well.” He lifted up, locked his elbows and stared down at his cock spearing into my dark pubic hair. “I will reward you for your obedience and for making sure you were ready to take my lavDa.” He nudged in a little farther. “Would you like that? Would you like me to reward you?”
“Sir, I want to please you.” My breasts jiggled as his hips jerked forwards then retreated. “If it would make you happy to reward me, then that is what should happen.”
His eyes flashed down at me, approval and love glowing from deep within them. Reaching up, I touched his cheek, ran my fingers over soft skin onto sharp stubble. This man was all I would ever need, and to be able to give him this was making my heart swell with happiness.
He tugged on his bottom lip with his teeth. “Get ready, I’m going to take all of what is mine.”
In a sudden, fast thrust, he rode deep into my body.
I cried out, but it was muffled by his kiss. Scorching and open-mouthed, he devoured my shout of both pain and ecstasy as his cock shoved up against my cervix. He was so big and in so deep. I had never imagined being fucked would make me feel so chock full of cock. It was glorious, it was agony. Pain and pleasure were linked so closely, there was no border between them.
“Oh, yes, now you are mine,” he groaned, sliding his forearms beneath my shoulders and holding me tight against his chest. “Now you are mine, inside and out, for all of time.”
“Yes, yes, I am yours.” I dragged my long nails down his back, and he sucked in air as if the sensation thrilled him.
He began to pump his hips, pulling his cock almost out with each withdrawal then forging back in, deep, so deep I didn’t know where he stopped and I began. My nipples were rasping against his chest hair, and I had wrapped my legs around the backs of his thighs, pinning him tight.
“You may take your pleasure,” he said, his voice strained and hot in my ear. “That is your reward, I am giving you permission to come, Siyàra. Come for me now.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you, Sir.”
His pubis bone was rubbing wonderfully against my clit. Firm and steady, building it up, the pain-pleasure in my pussy was all pleasure now, nerve endings, desperate for stimulation, finally being driven to climax.
“Yes, yes, yes, that’s it,” I wailed as I hovered on the blissful precipice of orgasm. Suddenly, violently, it crashed through me, ravaging my pussy and sending out bolts of bliss to every nerve in my body. I shook within his tight embrace and shouted incoherent words of gratitude. My first orgasm with my wonderful, masterful husband had blown every climax at my own hands out of the water.
“Oh, fuck, fuck,” he gasped, lifting up and withdrawing his cock. He grabbed it in his fist and with sharp, furious movements yanked it from root to head. Over and over, faster and faster.
With fascination I watched his slit widen, then, as he groaned long and loud, pearly spurts of cum began to shoot out, covering the flesh of my abdomen and flooding my navel.
My body was still juddering through the aftershocks of my climax as he drained his cock. When it seemed no more was to come and his breathing was under control, he lifted from me completely and stood at the side of the bed.
I looked up at his handsome face, at his hair, so neat all day, now messy and tumbling over his forehead and temples.
“You are truly mine, I have marked you as such,” he said with a warm, sated tilt of his lips.
“Yes,” I said, reaching down and dipping my fingers into the warm cum in my navel. “I’m glad I’m yours. Many brides fear their wedding night, but with you, Sir, it has been amazing.”
He dipped his head and brushed his lips to mine. “Thank you.”
Straightening, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a small, white flannel. With gentle movements he wiped me clean then lay back on the bed, folding me carefully into his arms. “I am your master in here, but I am also your protector, your carer. Since you are my most prized possession, I will treat you well.”
“I know you will.”
We fell silent, our embrace tangled and needy. His hot, male scent enveloped me, and as I shut my eyes I couldn’t remember ever feeling happier or more satisfied.
Chapter Three
The next morning, Damon made us a wonderful breakfast of dosa served on banana leaves. We sat on our new patio in the early sunshine, drinking tea and discussing the success of his family’s catering business. He was also keen to hear about my editing work, which kept me busy as my publisher took on more and more stories without employing more editors.
As I moved to clear the plates, Damon asked, “My Siyàra, would you like to take a walk to the Kamala Nehru Udyan this morning? I have to visit my brother this afternoon, but we could stroll in the park before the midday sun.”
“That sounds lovely,” I said with a smile, thinking how proud I would be walking with my handsome husband amongst the lakes and coffee houses. I just knew other women would look on enviously and wish they were me.
But if they knew Damon’s secret, our secret, could they handle it? Would they still want him?
He grinned and pushed his chair back. “Then that’s settled. We’ll go to the park and tonight…” He paused and gave me a sinful grin. “We’ll retire early, for I think I may be tired after all that walking.”
He winked, and although I didn’t know all of Damon’s expressions yet, I knew full well he was not thinking of going to bed and sleeping. Oh, no. Damon had more plans for domination up his sleeve, that much I did know.
I could hardly wait.
* * * *
Damon gave me a long, hot kiss goodbye when he went to visit his brother. In fact, it was so long and getting so steamy, I wondered if he might abandon his plans and drag me into the bedroom early.
Sadly he didn’t, and for the first time I was alone in my new home. The rooms were very quiet, so I turned on the radio and began unpacking my bags of clothes. I set out my makeup and jewellery on the dresser and filled a shelf in the bathroom with my nectarine-scented shampoo and olive-rich shower gel.
Wandering through the rooms, studying unfamiliar pictures and ornaments, I came across a small filing cabinet in the study. I tugged at the top drawer.
Locked.
Nibbling my bottom lip, I wondered what on earth Damon had in there. What didn’t he want anyone to see? I had my secrets, but did he also have his?
Shrugging, I turned away. It was probably just his financial documents kept safe from intruders. I had just started for the door when my gaze settled on a row of folders. ’House’, ‘Insurance’, ’Banking’.
Mmm, so not documents.
I looked at the drawer again. One thing I’d always known about myself was I was nosy. It was why I’d studied journalism at college then gone on to work in editing. I liked to know details. I liked to know what was going on.
Behind the drawer, on the windowsill, was a bronze statue of a bird of prey, wings stretched wide open and its claws hooked onto a branch. I don’t know what made me do it, but I lifted it. The figure was much lighter than I’d expected, and I turned it over, knowing it would be hollow.
There was a tinny rattle as something clattered within it. I returned it upright, and a small brass key fell at my feet. Quickly I replaced the bird and reached for it.
For a second, I hesitated. How would I feel if Damon snooped on my laptop and discovered Harita? Heat rose in my chest. I would hate it, I would be furious with him for delving into my personal business. Harita was a secret I did not dare share—at least, not yet.
But I knew the closer we became, the more pressing it would be to confess my weekly column and own up to the healthy amount of money in my bank account. I twisted my hands together and nibbled at my bottom lip. How could I be the other half of a person’s soul and keep something as important as my erotic writing hidden? Harita was deeply personal, an expression of my own sexuality, and my husband, with whom I was intimate, had a right to know, didn’t he?
But what if it made him angry? What if he didn’t want my fantasies shared with the world? What if he wanted them kept private, solely for him?
As my mind spun, I stared at the key. Perhaps I should just ask Damon about the drawer and let him show me what was in it? That would be the right thing to do. After all, this was his secret. I could approach him later, when he came home. If it were something private, he could choose whether or not to tell me the truth or lie.
My feet twitched, and I shuffled from foot to foot. A bubble of impatient anticipation grew inside me as my curious, my downright nosy, streak surfaced and argued its case.
What would be the point in waiting until Damon came home? It couldn’t be anything much if the key were so obviously hidden. I hadn’t even been looking for it and I’d found it. What would it hurt to have a peek?
Stooping quickly, before I changed my mind, I twisted the key in the lock and caught the handle as it sprang open. I widened my eyes.
Not what I had been expecting. Not in a million years.
Inside the drawer were magazines.
Ichchha magazines.
I gasped and touched my fingers to my lips. In Damon’s drawer there were literally hundreds of episodes of Harita’s adventures. My adventures, fictitiously speaking. He read Ichchha. Not only did he read the racy mag, he also hoarded it—secretly. This put a whole new—and disconcerting—perspective on me telling him I wrote it, not least because he kept his stash under lock and key.
I lifted the top one. It was this week’s edition. Flicking through it and racing past pictures of scantily clad women and adverts for watches, cars and sex toys, I found The Unwholesome Adventures of Harita. I’d only seen it in print once before. There was no way I could buy the magazine, and I wouldn’t want to. I just fired off an email each week with Harita’s latest adventure attached, and they sent me a cheque in return. We were a well-oiled team, me, Harita and Ichchha.
Glancing at last week’s adventure, I noticed it was the spanking episode. Harita had teased Madan when they’d been out in public, and when they’d returned to his house he’d bent her over his knee and spanked her until at first she’d wailed and then she’d come—spectacularly. My eyes scanned the words, and my bum tingled as I remembered imagining his paddle coming down
on her pale, sweet flesh. Marking her, branding her as his. He’d fondled her pussy in between strikes, building her up, teasing her in retaliation.
A small shudder snaked from my pelvis and up my back at the memory of my first orgasm with Damon.
I was just about to replace the magazine and reach for the next one when I noticed the top corner on Harita’s page had been turned down. I went to smooth it but stopped myself. That would give away the fact I’d been snooping. Snooping in his personal drawer and, as it turned out, ballooning my already huge dilemma about confessing to Harita’s existence in my imagination.
Sifting through the next few magazines, I saw that Madan had taken Harita to a club, a club with a dungeon, and he’d tied her up, naked, and let others watch as he’d fucked her over and over. The previous week he’d treated her to silver love balls and taken her out to dinner, enjoying watching her squirm on the edge of climax as he’d spoken dirty words to her over the candlelight.
Mmm, that had been fun to write. I’d been fascinated with the idea of love balls and how they would feel inside. Funny that Damon had presented me with some as a wedding gift.
I lifted my head as a car went by on the road outside. Heart fluttering, I willed the vehicle to keep on moving. I needed more time alone to sift through the new information about Damon and what Harita meant to our relationship.
The car kept driving.
I reached for the next copy of Ichchha. This one also had the corner turned down on Harita’s adventures.
I remembered writing this one, too. I’d researched pole dancing moves on the Internet then had to remember to delete the history on my browser. It was instalment 166.
“Unzip me,” he growled. “Take my lavDa into your sweet mouth. Don’t stop sucking until I tell you to.”
The cogs of my mind turned, and a memory flooded my thoughts. Damon had said those very words to me last night. Unzip me. Take my lavDa into your sweet mouth, don’t stop sucking until I tell you to.
They were words I’d written!
I flicked my thumb over the folded corner. Had Damon enjoyed some of Harita’s instalments so much that he wanted to act them out? And if so, what did my discovery mean for the future? Our future?
