I don’t look at him as he approaches the bed because I’m not sure if I’m allowed. Whatever game he’s playing, I’m not sure of all the rules, only the ones he’s told me so far. And I doubt that’s all of them.
I have a feeling this game has rules he’ll omit just so I can be punished.
Is that fair? I don’t care. So far, everything he’s done and everything I hope he’ll do is play I’m willing to take part of.
Although he’s given me an out, a safe word, I hope not to have to use it.
I’m sure he hopes the same thing.
Pineapple. Odd, but effective.
I knew his soul was dark. I knew he had demons. I did not expect any of this from him, though.
I’m not disappointed. Not at all.
This is something new to me. Something exciting. I’ll take this day, this night, these next few days to do something that will cut through my boredom, my every day hum-drum life.
Operation End Dry Spell has veered off into something else. And I can’t wait to find out just what it’s become.
I keep my eyes pinned to the headboard as the bed dips behind me. His weight shifts the mattress as he moves on—what I can only imagine—is his knees.
“Grace, with intimacy, communication is key. Whether it’s using body language, words, or even a look. I want to give you what you need. Build a trust, a closeness. But to do that I need you to listen carefully to everything I say. I need you to obey.”
Obey.
I draw in a shaky breath. I’m tempted to look over my shoulder, to see what he’s doing. But I want to obey. I want to be what he needs.
I want him to be what I need.
The heat of his body touches me, along my legs, my ass. He’s right behind me, close. My heart pounds faster as I now think I’m going to finally get what I want, what I need.
When he strokes my back with his long fingers, I sigh. His touch is soothing but stimulating at the same time. My nipples long for those fingers, my pussy clenches for his cock. He continues to brush his fingers along my skin, down my spine, over my ass cheeks, up the cleft of my body, only lightly brushing my labia, my anus, as he moves up all the way to the back of my neck. Then he snags a handful of my hair and pulls my head back, bowing my neck. He leans over me as he sucks on the skin at the side of my throat. His teeth rake gently against my flesh, his erection presses against my slick, plump lips. Just a shift...
A shift and he’ll be inside me. I’m tempted to push and press to encourage, but again... I want to obey and he has not given me permission… yet.
Not yet.
So I remain in place, I remain where he wants me as he tugs on my hair, traces the curve of my ear with his tongue, back down my neck, down the center of my spine, until he reaches the cleft of my ass again. He doesn’t stop there.
No.
With a shock, he circles my tight rim with his tongue, flicks, teases me there and I can’t help but groan. My former encounters have been boring, nothing like this.
I have never had any man approach me there.
Not there.
But the more he licks and kisses, and prods, the more I relax, appreciating his skill. Until he releases my hair abruptly and separates my ass cheeks, and I hear him make a noise. One of appreciation.
“Beautiful,” he whispers.
He makes me feel just that. Beautiful. Even in this vulnerable position.
He’s right about intimacy and communication.
His words make me trust him, make me open to him. His touches, as well.
“Do not move your hands. Separate your knees a little more. Not too much. That’s it. Right there.”
And then he’s quiet... because his mouth is against my mound, pressing against my clit, his tongue plays with me, circling, flicking, stroking my sensitive nub. I struggle to remain still. To keep my hands and knees in place.
I want to drop to my back, grab his head and hold him in place as he eats me until I come. With or without his permission.
But I don’t. I play his game.
I wait.
His tongue, his mouth, then his fingers, draw me to the edge. I’m close to coming and I can’t. Not yet. I haven’t been told to come yet.
I hope it’s soon.
My nipples are hard and aching, my anus clenches, almost in need, and my pussy throbs as he tastes all of me, savors it, savors me.
He groans against my swollen flesh and the vibrations make me whimper. I bite my lip to contain it.
I’m on the edge of orgasm but he hasn’t told me to let go yet and I struggle to convince my body to behave. To wait.
“Not yet,” he says, as if he can read my mind. But he can’t, he’s probably just reading me, my body. “Soon, but not yet.”
He shifts and reaches for the items on the nightstand. Within seconds, I feel the cool gel of the lube against my heated flesh. It dribbles down the crack of my ass, and with his thumb, he massages it around the rim. More drips, more circles made. And then pressure.
Not his mouth this time. No. A finger, long, strong, determined to take my virgin ass.
Slowly, he works the digit to the first knuckle, past the tight ring. Then the second knuckle and I’m blown away by a sensation I’ve never felt before. One I never thought I’d ever want or need.
But I want this. I need this. It’s like this man knows everything I need. Everything I crave.
Then he’s moving inside me with a rhythm that could very well drive me mad. And when he buries his mouth against me again, sucking my flesh between his lips, his teeth, I almost scream “pineapple.” Because I can’t take any more and not climax.
His torture is not allowing me to come. And I can’t ask him, I can’t beg.
I’m not allowed.
He must allow it.
I need him to say it.
But his mouth is full of my sex, my sensitive flesh, and he’s not saying anything.
I want to give up.
I want to scream for mercy.
I’m done.
I’m done.
I’m done.
“You may come,” he says so softly that I almost think I imagine it. And when his mouth finds me again and now two of his fingers fuck my ass, I no longer care if I’d imagined it.
I let go.
My mind spins. My body convulses.
I clench around his fingers and a sound I’ve never heard before escapes me.
A wail. A cry of release.
Finally.
And before the last of the orgasm ebbs away, he’s inside me. Taking me hard, deep, and rough, slamming his hips against my ass. The slapping of our skin, our ragged breathing, and sounds of ecstasy filling the small cabin.
With one hand still working deep in my tight canal, his other grabs my hair again, pulling my head back roughly until my neck can bend no more.
“That’s it, Grace. Ride my cock. Feel me deep inside you. That pussy’s mine. That ass is mine. Your mouth will soon be mine, too. You do not come until I tell you to. Tell me you hear me.”
“Yes, Nick. Yes, I hear you.”
“You fit me perfectly. Like you were made for me. Were you made for me, Grace?”
“Yes. Only for you.”
“Who do you belong to?”
No hesitation. “You, Nick. I belong to you.”
“Do you want to come?”
“Yes,” I hiss. Because it’s true, even though I just came, I’m ready to come again. His words, his smooth like butter voice, turn me on like nothing ever before.
It’s insane. But I love it.
This is how I’m meant to be fucked. I’m not meant to be pushed off the cliff, I’m meant to be thrown.
“Are you ready to come again?”
“Yes,” I force myself to say, because thoughts are difficult, words even more so.
“When I say ‘now,’ you will come.”
His fingers curl inside me, stroking, and his cock slams me even harder, deeper until there’s nowhere else for it to go.
He tenses, his body hiccups. Then he groans, “Now,” and I fall with him. Over the edge, into an endless space below. I can’t tell who is throbbing. Him, me, both of us.
I only know one thing...
This was the man I was made for.
Him. And only him.
Jesus. I feel like I’m losing myself. How could this man have become my everything in the matter of under an hour?
“How long has it been?” he asks. His arm is curled around me, holding me tight against his side.
We lay naked on top of the sheets, the seasonal chill drying the sweat from our bodies, cooling our heat. I shiver and he gives me a little squeeze.
“Too long.” I should be embarrassed by my answer, but I’m not. I’ve got nothing to hide. “How long has it been for you?”
“Too long,” he echoes me.
His answer gives me some satisfaction. Especially since he chose to break his own dry spell with me. I press my cheek harder into his chest.
A thought hits me, making me shift my eyes to his face. “Did you plan this?”
“Yes.”
A small smile curves my mouth. “So did I.”
His wide-eyed gaze pins mine in surprise then he throws his head back and laughs. His laughter sounds deep and masculine and it makes me want to throw my arms around him and squeeze out whatever demons he has left.
Because I think they’re still there. Lurking.
I want to ask him about it, but the timing isn’t right. I’ve known him for a long time, but I really don’t know him at all. And I certainly don’t know him well enough to ask what haunts him.
If he wants to tell me, I’ll listen.
If not, I’ll respect that decision.
But my curiosity about other things, more intimate things, gets the best of me. “I thought you were going to tie me up.”
“I said restrain, Grace. Not tie you up.”
I’m confused and he must read that in my expression.
I love how observant he is. Like he said, communication consists of more than words.
“You need to listen to my commands carefully. I will tell you once. If I need to tell you again, you’ll get punished. If you follow my commands, then you’ll get rewarded.”
He piques my interest. “What kind of punishment?”
His hand cups my jaw and his thumb brushes idly over my cheekbone. “You might like the punishment and push me to do so. You might not like the punishment, but if you don’t, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of afterward. Is that a deal?”
“But you never said what kind of punishment.”
“Test me and see.”
He’s not threatening, instead he’s challenging me.
I’ve always loved a good challenge. They help push away the boredom, help pass the time in a place where monotony and the slow movement of the clock rule my days.
My attention slides down his body, down his belly to his groin. His cock, spent from our actions not long before, lays quiet, soft amongst trimmed, dark hair. My fingers follow my gaze, but skip his dick, and instead, I cup his warm, full sac in my palm. I feel its weight and squeeze slightly.
His thighs tense. Maybe because he knows that if I clasp him any harder, it will become painful. I roll his balls along my fingers. I’m tempted to take him right now into my mouth. When he’s soft like this, I’ll be able to take him fully.
My body automatically moves, slides down his, and I settle between his legs, which he spreads farther to accommodate me.
I press a kiss to the spot where his root meets his sac, then I suck him into my mouth.
He stays soft long enough so that I can swirl my tongue around him, tasting him fully. And then he begins to grow, to lengthen, to harden. I circle two fingers around the base and squeeze, my teeth scrape along the crown, my lips suck along his length.
His fingers slide into my hair, curl, and pull so hard my scalp begins to burn. But I continue my machinations of coaxing him into an erection, even so soon after his release.
“I didn’t give you permission to do that,” he says firmly, but his voice isn’t as powerful as he’d like, I’m sure. My mouth weakens his reserve, his power. The harder he tugs, the harder I suck, lick, scrape.
“Grace,” he warns.
I don’t care. For the moment, I want to disobey. I want to challenge him. To discover what punishments he will mete out when I’m obstinate, when I don’t follow his rules.
“You will get the tawse,” he warns again, his fingers clenching and unclenching in my hair, though not relenting on the pull of my scalp.
Once again, I don’t care, since I’m ready to take whatever punishment he sees fit. Though, I have no idea what a tawse is. It sounds medieval. Wicked.
Maybe I should be worried. But I’m not.
While in this cabin, I am his and he can do to me what he likes.