by Aya DeAniege
“Oh,” Mr. Wrightworth sighed out. “I get it. You devious little creature. I thought mincing words was beyond you.”
“It’s not beyond me. I just don’t understand what you two were trying to say. And that’s just frustrating.”
“Knows we were trying to say something, but not what,” he said quietly, a hand sliding up my neck and caressing my cheek. “Most hear it and just don’t know what to think, but the fact that you picked up on that? Your mind was wasted in the slums.”
And then he kissed me again.
Who knew a brain could be so arousing?
It wasn’t just a kiss this time. It was possessive, needy even. As he kissed me, his hands roamed over my body. His chest pressed close to mine. This was only the second time a man had pinned me with his body, something that made me writhe even as his fingers made me shudder. My hips ground against his leg, still between my legs.
I whimpered with need as he turned his lips to my throat. When he turned back to my lips, a hand wrapped around my throat possessively. The hand was tense but didn’t tighten. It was my anchor point in a storm of emotions that I didn’t know how to handle.
He would caress me and, when the motion elicited a shudder of response, would explore the area. With tongue and tooth and nail he brought me to that edge but never gave me enough to push me over. I never could decide whether he was just that skilled, or if he was inept in a way that was oh so good. He balanced me on that cliff as he took his time exploring my body.
His hand settled on my breast.
You know how, growing up, you hear all these stories about young men touching the breasts of women? How boobs are like man-magnets?
Well, before that point no one had just full on grabbed a handful of breast. It was like men were afraid I’d eat them if they did.
Ass? Sure, handful of ass by the...ass...who ran me over.
But my breasts just never ended up getting involved in sex.
Thankfully, he didn’t just grope. His hand was almost large enough for my breast to be held. The fingers of his hand worked gently into my breast, eliciting the most disturbing, delicious feeling I had ever had. He kissed downward, surprisingly me even more as his lips, then teeth, found my nipple. His teeth grasped me firmly, tongue darting over my flesh.
When I moaned, he pulled away.
For just a second I wondered if making sounds was a bad thing.
And then he blew a cold breath over my nipple. The wet flesh reacted, hardening and yet so sensitive. That one little breath was wonderful and yet tortured me all the same. As I writhed and whimpered, he turned his attention to the other side.
My breasts are one thing that does not have to be ‘even’ as it had been called in the past. However... making them even made me cry out loud enough that the hand around my throat moved to cover my mouth.
“Shhh,” he said. “No one’s heard you before, hearing you now might raise questions.”
His hand shifted back to my neck as his leaned forward, capturing my lips with his own. This time, I thrust my tongue into his mouth. The kiss deepened as we pressed tight against one another. He slipped between my legs, pushing against me. He ground as I writhed. I could feel his arousal through his sweatpants.
Hard, long, needing release. But he didn’t go right for the goal. He took his sweet time.
I was already on that edge and needing release, willing to do whatever was necessary to be given what I needed. With every kiss and caress, he pushed me just that fraction closer.
Yes, I needed this man, I wanted him to slide into me, but our little tryst changed.
I was no longer in control. I could not drive us forward any longer. We were working at his pace and not because we had agreed to it beforehand, but because that was the way things had gone. He pressed tighter against me, an action that I believed impossible.
“Please,” I begged.
“Not yet,” he whispered back, untangling my hands. “Put them above your head and keep them there.”
Back to dom and sub?
I did as I was bid, clutching my hands together. He kissed my collar bone, then down, between my breasts. I watched as his head moved ever downward, biting my lip to stop from moaning as he reached my hip. After a moment of consideration, he took my hips in his hands and pressed them into the bed.
He glanced up, his hazel eyes flashing in the dim light as if daring me to ask him what he was doing.
There was no way I’d ask, no way I’d interrupt.
I wanted to know what he had in store for me, what was so important that he would put off sex?
His lips brushed over my hip and downward, causing me to have a frightened moment where I wondered when I had trimmed last was. Thankfully I hadn’t chosen shaved, or my forgetfulness would have been a lot more noticeable. He moved over that area as if it was an everyday thing, no comment or hesitance.
Head lowering slightly, his tongue darted out experimentally. I shivered at the heat and slickness of it.
“So wet,” he grumbled. “Do you want me that badly?”
“Yes,” I moaned, almost lowering my hands.
His eyes narrowing as I looked down at him was the only reason my hands stayed above my head. He waited as I panted, getting my breath under control, before he shifted closer, tongue darting out as we met eyes.
How a tongue can have that much strength, I don’t know. It wasn’t sloppy in the least. It was careful and almost practised.
I was surprised.
Not only by his skill but by my own reaction.
“Oh, oh, what was that?” he said, licking his lips as he pulled away.
Afraid I had done something, I tried to close my legs. Only, he had his hands locked on my legs, keeping me from closing him off.
“The sound,” he said sternly. “That came from your mouth. What was that?”
“What sound?” I demanded.
He was quiet for a moment, then smiled lopsidedly.
“You don’t recall making a sound? Let’s see if I can make you do it gain.”
Did he make me do it again?
“Oh yes!” I cried out.
He pulled away and slammed my legs back onto the bedspread. I had been attempting to headlock him in just the right place. As he sat up, he wiped at his bottom lip and glowered at me.
“That’s not a nice thing to do to someone who is doing you a favour.”
“I’m sorry,” I whined out.
“But your hands stayed where they should,” he responded, reaching for the package on the pillow. “Perhaps I should reward you anyhow.”
“Please,” I pleaded, my hips shifted in an attempt to ease the throbbing between my legs.
He kissed me again, tongue probing my mouth as he fumbled with his pants. I heard the rustle of his pants, but I was so focused on what his tongue was doing, a promise of so much more. The kiss was a distraction, of course. He’s the only man I’ve ever met who actually managed to put on a condom without stopping and stripping the activity of the sexual tension. When he was ready his hands roamed over my body. His mouth turned to my throat as I bent my head eagerly.
There was a hesitance, then his hand slid between my legs, probing me gently. I spread my legs willingly, needing more as he settled between them. He continued to kiss as his hands shifted my legs further, giving him more space. The hand on my hip shifted between us.
I made a very uncomfortable sound as he penetrated me.
Recall, though, he was not a small man by far. Even ready and willing, he was almost too much for me. He hesitated just there, on the uncomfortable side of penetration. As he slipped deeper into me, the discomfort almost entirely vanished.
He filled me, and in filling me, brought on those first waves of release. Buried to the hilt, he hesitated. As if wondering what sensations he was feeling, or perhaps waiting for me to adjust.
Which was kind of him, if that was what he was doing.
The first thrust made me gasp in a breath. The second brought for
th a whine as the breath left me. The sounds I made? Dear Lord. I could have competed for a porn star, except I wasn’t acting. I did try not to make sound, but it was difficult. Just picture your own sounds of pleasure, except mine were better because this is my story.
I bit my lip by the third thrust and tried to move with him. I shifted my hips down with each thrust.
... which did not help the sounds coming from my mouth.
He made a small, almost desperate sound against my neck.
The sound was my only warning as he sped up, thrusting faster, hesitating as he was buried deep inside me, then withdrawing and doing it all over again. With one arm for leverage, he used his free hand to pin me to the bed by my wrists. His face was buried in the crook of my neck as he thrust into me.
I locked my legs around his hips, which kept him from thrusting quite so hard but did nothing to slow him down. Short and fast was just what I needed. I tugged at my hands, pressed into the pillow above my head, but found his hold steadfast. I wanted to drag my nails down his back, to dig them into his shoulders. I wanted to latch onto this Adonis and never let him go.
“Please,” I shuddered out with a breath.
He didn’t slow, didn’t change pace, as he raised his head and looked over my face. His eyes were half-closed, pleasure clouding his vision as it made me whimper with need.
“I’m going to come,” he whispered.
“Please,” I begged.
The cold came over me, the tingling getting worse.
“Please,” I begged, my voice getting a little higher.
“Come for me,” he whispered in my ear.
Why do those words have such control over me?
I cried out but didn’t come. I was almost there. It seemed I balanced on that point. That back and forth moment, the almost but not quite.
Would I ... wouldn’t I... why couldn’t I...?
“And I’ll come for you,” he added after a long moment.
Everything reacted as one.
My body tensed, pleasure rocking through my veins as I tried so hard to meet each desperate thrust. Even as I came, he continued.
That’s not a bad thing.
As each wave of my own pleasure slammed through my body, he thrust into me. There was no stopping it. Everything was just stuck on ‘come.’ It didn’t leave, and it didn’t subside. That moment of oh so much delight continued as he did. It didn’t stop the way it had in the past.
No, my release was not just momentary, it lasted for what seemed like forever.
And then he stilled and groaned out, a tremble rolling through his body.
He withdrew and dropped to the side, tucking himself almost immediately against me and around me. An arm draped across my midsection as his face tucked back into the crook of my neck. His breath was coming in quick, shallow gasps. It slowed, as my own did.
I stared up at the ceiling, wondering what the fuck was wrong with me. Sex with two men in less than twelve hours? Did that make me a slut?
I had come from a vanilla slum, as they put it. One that said sex with one man, one’s husband, was what was necessary. Sex before marriage, yes, it could and did happen. No one judged for sex before marriage as long as it was one man at a time.
Two though. I had had sex with two men in less than twelve hours. Who could boast that number? Why boast that number?
Who is better in bed?
I found myself suddenly wondering that question and couldn’t decide.
The difference clearly being that Mr. Wrightworth was larger and had my full attention. Nathaniel, months before, had had my full attention. The night before was not any less than my time with Mr. Wrightworth.
Certainly, it takes a lesser part in this part of my story.
But never mistake my being short as saying that Nathaniel performed less amiably than he had before.
In the half-dark of the room, I stared up at the ceiling and wondered.
You know that half-dark? Of curtains being drawn but light still filtering in through the curtains. It wasn’t bright daylight but it certainly wasn’t darkness either. Nor was it twilight.
It was the laziness of a mid-day nap. The solitude of an afternoon masturbation session.
The startling realization that I was a person I existed, I had just done something that my family, my slum, and numerous other people and beings would condemn.
And no one would ever know.
“What are you thinking about?” Mr. Wrightworth asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
He sat up suddenly. I could feel his glare even though I didn’t meet his eyes. With a sigh, I stared up at the ceiling, not wanting to ask.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Last night—” I started.
“You had sex with Nathaniel, I know,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “Oh, oh... you’re having an awakening.”
“A what?” I asked.
“You think you’re a slut for having sex with two men in less than a day.”
“W-how did you...?” I asked.
“You’re not the first, let’s just leave that at that,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “But I counter your problem with a question: do you care for us both?”
“I do, yes,” I said without hesitance.
“Then you aren’t a slut, who has sex with anyone for any reason,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “At best you might be considered polyamorous. You have the capability of loving, and therefore having sex with, more than one person.”
“Oh,” I said, suddenly put on a worse tangent. The one that asked how many people I would have to love before I was content enough to love no more than those in my life.
“Thank you,” Mr. Wrightworth said suddenly.
“For what?” I asked.
“Being my first.”
There was a long moment where my mind stumbled over what he said.
Then I said, “Your first woman.”
“My first vanilla.”
Well shit, he has fucked a woman before.
Chapter Twenty-One
We fell asleep in each other’s arms.
I awoke sometime later and all but fell out of bed. It took a moment to get my legs working properly. There was a raw ache between them and a twinging deep in my belly.
If that’s what happens when you poke a sadist, I have to do it more often.
I gathered up a shirt from the floor and slipped it on as I left the bedroom, headed for the bathroom. I had a pressing need.
“Shower,” Mr. Wrightworth called from the kitchen as my hand settled on the doorknob. “Then dress, Nicole is coming over.”
“Okay,” I called back and walked into the bathroom.
I relieved myself, sighing out as I did so.
That was what had awoken me.
After flushing the toilet, I went directly to the shower. The hot water helped relax my muscles but reminded me that my body hadn’t exactly been treated carefully. My back and legs ached as I pulled muscles that had been smacked the day before. The flesh of my back had been recovering from the whipping I had taken a week previously but hadn’t completely healed.
This was a side effect of my choice of lifestyle. There were days when I didn’t like the pain, times when the aching muscles were too much, and all I wanted was a fluffy blanket and a pat on the head. Over long periods of time, the best way to approach things was to alternate the type of play or the area that was used for impact play.
In the end, only rest and due care will help a body recover. Doing impact, abrasion, or knife play every day will result in a continually damaged body. Not my cup of tea.
I washed thoroughly, enjoying the feeling of being rubbed all over. Out of the shower, I dried everything and wound the towel around my hair.
I brazenly walked out of the bathroom with only the towel in my hair.
Nicole and Mr. Wrightworth stood at the door, which was thankfully closed.
Mr. Wrightworth turned towards me as Nicole’s mouth fell open. I shrugged as he raise
d an eyebrow and walked back into his bedroom. My clothing was on the end of the bed, where it hadn’t been when I had woken up. I dressed and towelled my hair dry.
The one plus side of it being so short was that I didn’t necessarily have to brush my hair after a shower. I simply ran my hands through it to tame it in some fashion, then walked back out and into the kitchen.
“How is she still walking?” Nicole demanded as I walked in.
Mr. Wrightworth made a sound and handed Nicole a plate of food.
“I don’t know, why don’t you ask her?”
“She poked the sadists, she spent the night with the two of you, didn’t you...”
“He had an hour with her,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “I also spent some time with her. Darling, food.”
I took the plate and went immediately to the dining room. The other two followed after me. We sat and ate our food. Then Nicole removed the plates and other dishes. Once the table was cleared, she returned to the table and sat. She looked pointedly at Mr. Wrightworth, which drew my attention to him.
“I thought it best if we talk about this with you before anyone from the Program does,” Mr. Wrightworth said quietly.
“Is it about the cover for Nathaniel’s visit?” I asked.
“That wasn’t a cover,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “It just happened that there were two reasons for his visit.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that last night?” I asked. “He was here to make a decision, and you didn’t even give me a warning.”
“If I had, you might have over thought the whole thing, or panicked.”
“What did he decide?” I asked.
“Nathaniel Edwards has decided to extend a one-time contract, a blank slate document with standard lines offering protection and the ability to keep you from abuse by others,” Nicole said.
Relief swept through me, then terror. I felt faint. A hand went to my head as everything just seemed to slip away.
Why wasn’t my response simple and straightforward?
Slowly everything came back into focus. I looked up at Mr. Wrightworth, who sat quietly, without judgment. His hazel eyes roved over my face, then turned to Nicole.