Recovering Maggie

by KT Morrison

  Ken said, “Hi, Keely,” out of politeness, then immediately to her, “You need to come with me. There’s a problem.”

  She gave Keely an uncertain nod, and she returned a worried look, and now she walked with Ken who pulled her along, moving briskly across the grass toward the covered porch. As they ascended the steps together, she pulled back on his grip. “What is it Ken? What’s going on?”

  “Be cool, Maggie, be calm, just come with me.” There was a wild and anxious look on his face.

  “What’s the problem?” she said to his back as they crossed into the dining room of the huge mansion. Guests milled and servers cleaned, the celebration winding down now.

  “It’s Cole,” he said.

  “Is he okay?” she said, and the tight worry in her voice got him to stop and turn around.

  He gripped her arms, said, “Maggie, some … guy showed up, demanded to come in. The staff rejected him but he was mad and now there’s a fight.”

  “With Cole?”

  “Come on,” he said, pulling her again and leading her across the dining room. “They’re wrestling on the lawn out front …”

  “What? Cole is?—Ken? …” But Ken ignored her now, and she struggled to keep up with him in her heels. At the end of the dining area, he stopped, pulled her in front of him, then pushed her toward the passageway to the hotel’s lobby.

  She said, “Did you call—”

  Stumbling into the hall, half-turning, bewildered by this insane development, some vestigial ghost from the past stroking the backside of her memories, seeing a man in the hall, turning back to see Ken’s smirk, Brian’s too, lurking behind him, turning back again and seeing with flooding relief the man in the hall was Cole.

  With his back leaning against the wall next to a bathroom door, he held one hand casually in his pocket, the other at his waist, fingers gripping the long thorny stem of a large and perfect pale rose. The collar of his shirt was undone, two winged halves of his black bowtie slung on either side; head cocked, he smiled at her devilishly.

  “You asshole,” she laughed. “My heart is racing …”

  “Come here,” he said, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes at her, and she felt her feet lift off the floor.

  With his big, strong, warm hand placed on her chest above her dress’s bustier, fingers wide, he said, “It is racing.”

  “Do you feel it?”

  The pad of his thumb caressed the soft flesh of her exposed bosom, tugging at it gently, lifting the weight of her breast, scoring her hardening nipple against the backside of her dress’s liner. He asked, “Why is it racing?”

  “You tricked me,” she whispered.

  A flash of a smile, then he said, “You’ve been a good girl?”

  She nodded, looked over the top of his presented rose and into his endless eyes.

  “You know I’ll be able to tell.”

  She nodded again, but said, “How?”

  His eyes shifted from left to right, watching both ends of the opulent corridor. They were alone. With striking confidence, he gripped the front of her dress and pulled the skirt up sharply, exposing her legs. His hand shoved underneath, and he ran it up the inside of her thigh and it made her fall against him. He snapped the strap of her garter and it stung her sensitive thigh.

  She grimaced and squeaked, and he liked that; snapped it again making her gasp. The tip of his finger traced the crease of her hip, following the natural V to the hot space between her thighs. A tremble worked through her legs. Now his fingers rustled against her growing thatch of pubic hair.

  “Oh please,” she whispered, desperate to be touched.

  Three months of abstinence. That had been his instruction. The wedding night was going to be special, and he wanted her under his control. She’d been good. Hadn’t even shaved herself and had been brief with her touch while she maintained hygiene though this month her fingers ached to linger. But, Cole was not to be disappointed, and she did not let him down.

  “Where are your panties, you little slut?”

  She giggled, her stomach bouncing with excitement, dying for those fingers to stroke just a little lower …

  “In your pocket,” she whispered. She’d snuck them in there while they signed the marriage documents and the pastor’s head was turned. “Did you find them?”

  He nodded slowly, his eyes locked on hers. “They smelled strongly.”

  “It’s been too long,” she whispered.

  “Beg me,” he said, tossing the pretty rose to the floor between their feet.

  “Touch me, please …”

  “Touch you where?”

  “Touch my pussy, please, I’m dying …” Now she bounced on her toes, making Cole’s fingers pluck at her coarse pubic hairs.

  “You’ve been good?”

  “Feel,” she said, her eyes narrowing to lines.

  Her lips sucked into her mouth and she braced herself against him with her hands on his strong chest while his finger ran the split of her sex and stroked over her hot slippery folds. Two fingers hooked up inside her and she cried out, swallowed it, bit her lower lip.

  “Mm-hmm,” he hummed affirmatively. “Mrs. Cantarella, you have one hot, wet, and very tight pussy.”

  “Stretch it for me,” she gasped, that tremble back in her tummy. “Stretch it for me, please.”

  “Listen,” he said, conjuring up wet sucking sounds from her hot, desperate hole.

  “I told you,” she said. “I’ve been so good for you.”

  His hand fumbled between them, bumping against her stomach, then the sound of his zipper being drawn down; she shivered.

  “Have you been good?” she gasped hopefully.

  That devilish smile returned, and he raised his chin, looked down on her, his other hand took her wrist and now she had permission, her grip rushed to circle his cock. She found him huge, hard and throbbing; she glanced down, saw her slightest squeeze send out a pulsing gush of clear and silvery semen that spilled over her thumb, down his shaft, stretching to a swaying thin strand that made it almost to the floor unbroken.

  “Oh God,” she sobbed. “Please, please, can I suck it?”

  He pushed her to her knees with his hands on her shoulders and she glanced furtively left and right. Still alone, she went to her knees and worshipped his huge cock with her tongue. Licking up the wide underside and then enveloping the big glans, pulling his foreskin back with the tight ring of her lips. He streamed beautiful and copious pre-come into her happy mouth. He only let her bob on it a few times before he lifted her under her arms and brought her to stand again.

  “Straighten yourself, Margaret,” he commanded, the look on his handsome face bisecting her; part wanting to laugh in joy and warmth, the other being tugged toward something dark and brutish, a lusting need for that dark thing winding through her to be pulled taut and snap an orgasm out of her, release her.

  She nodded, buttoned her lip, and showed him a steady face. Hands smoothing over her dress, she brought her skirt to hang down properly and Cole watched her, the whole time tucking his erection back into his pants and zipping up, leaving the fly bowed out in a wicked hump.

  “Come with me, please,” he said and took her hand, led her down the hall and out to the hotel lobby. They turned, nodded to the concierge, Cole tugging one side of his jacket over to cover his arousal so the prim young woman wouldn’t see. They mounted the steps together, trotting the lush carpet, turning left as they arrived on the balcony, under an archway then, quickening, making their way to the Bridal Suite.

  Almost there, he stopped her suddenly, and she frowned with frustration. They stood in the hall looking at each other, and she waited for his next game, hoping it wouldn’t take too long, because now he’d got her started she needed to fuck, and now.

  “What is it?” she whined, when he hadn’t said anything.

  “Where are you going, Margaret?”

  “Our room …”

  “The Bridal Suite?”

  “Yes,” she
said, frowning.

  “That’s for good girls, Margaret. Pure girls.” He turned and swiped a card through the door behind him. “Not whores like you. Whores like you get fucked in the Regency.”

  She wanted to burst out laughing, but there was that tug again, snagged on her womb, drawing her to the edge of release; she went weak in the knees. The Regency was the room he’d taken her to the night she selected her wedding dress when she’d been engaged to Max. The first time she’d had real sex alone with Cole, or at least thought she’d been alone.

  Stepping in was like being transported in time, going back six years. The room was the same, wood-paneled in deep mahogany and intricate linenfold, same furniture, couch by a roaring fire, four-poster bed raised up an elevated corner of the suite.

  He’d left her breathless.

  Cole closed the door behind them. “What do you think, Margaret?” he asked, walking past and running a finger up the centre of her bare back.

  “Oh wow,” she sighed, her nipples clenching at his touch.

  “Come now,” he said, offering her a hand.

  She put hers in his and he led her to the small seat at the foot of the bed where she turned then, sat herself and watched him expectantly.

  He watched her sitting, taking off his jacket and tossing it on the bed behind her. When he was close, she could smell his cologne, smell his musk. He stepped back, turned around to the huge armoire behind him, opening both of its doors, revealing it to be empty.

  “Just making sure my Best Man wasn’t in there,” he said.

  She giggled, then slapped both her hands over her mouth.

  He said, “That’s not funny, Margaret. Open your legs.”

  They were crossed now as she sat on the low, backless sofa, and she wound them apart, set both her high heels down on the floor. As she watched his face, she stepped one foot out then the other. Though her skirt kept her covered, the feeling of exposure was powerful.

  He humphed with satisfaction, working the cufflinks out of their slots then placing them on a shelf in the open armoire with a click, then turning and now rolling up his sleeves and folding them just below his elbows. Hands on hips now, he said, “Lift your skirt and show me that dirty slit.”

  She exhaled through pursed lips, took a hold of the fabric and with crawling fingers dragged the skirt of her dress up to her knees, then along the tops of her thighs until her sex had been bared to him.

  He grunted lustily, then recovered, firming his jaw and saying, “I see beads of your wet in your pubic hair. My, what an awful little slut you are.” He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “What kind of embarrassment did I marry?”

  “I can’t help it,” she told him.

  “So sad. Such depravity speaks of a troubled mind, Margaret.” His palm crested the curved bend of his erection trapped in his pants and her eyes fell to watch.

  “So horny,” he said, displeased. “Up on all fours, please. Climb on the bed like a dog.”

  “Yes,” she said, her heart thrumming away. She turned and got her knees on the bench, crawled her way up to the bed.

  “That’s far enough,” he said, and she stopped.

  He was behind her then, quickly whisking up her skirt and throwing it over her back. She was exposed to him now, and she could feel the cooler air of the room touching all her wets seams, and they were quite wet. He grunted again, his finger stroking up her labia, parting them.

  “Please,” she urged.

  His thumb slipped higher, the pad circling her anus, then inserting inside.

  She moaned and reared backward to meet its entry, hungry for it. Two slipped in, the thumbs from both hands going inside her, pulling her passage open and a warm string of spit flowing into the hole.

  “Oh,” she moaned and closed her eyes. Now his middle finger stroked in and out of her anus with the wet of his saliva.

  Then he was gone, backing away from the bed and she stayed on her knees, but put one shoulder down on to the mattress and turned her head so she could see where he’d gone. At the dresser next to the armoire he opened a drawer and withdrew a slender bullet-nosed dildo, and she clenched her toes in her shoes. When he turned he caught her watching. “It will take some tools and a firm hand to relieve you of your burden, Margaret. Are you prepared?”

  “Please, hurry,” she answered.

  In response he twisted the base of the dildo and it hummed with high frequency vibration. “Pull your cheeks away for me, please.”

  Eyes still watching him, she reached her hands down her body, up her thighs, coming to the curves of her rump and pulling her cheeks wider, exposing herself fully to him. Her wetness slipped warmly down the inside of her thighs.

  “Oh Margaret,” he sighed to himself. “So shameful.”

  With that, he was on the bed behind her again, and she felt the hard bullet nose circle her sensitive sphincter, its vibrations shooting through her heart. Cole pushed it till it was inside her deeply, thrumming away at her core. Her pussy spasmed, and her stomach clenched to an iron column, she fell to her side on the bed and cried out with a hot and surprising orgasm. Her knees drew to her chest as she choked and cried, her eyes squinted shut, her features snarling in ecstatic discomfort. One wasn’t enough, and she could feel another orgasm already pushing behind the first.

  A snap of leather sounded behind her, Cole whisking away his belt from around his waist and whipping it next to her. Without being asked, she wormed facedown and hooked both hands behind her back, crossing her wrists at the small of her back. The leather belt wound around, Cole doing it in practiced moves that weren’t rough; determined but not hurtful. Soon he had her hands secured behind her back with his belt wound tightly. The dildo still hummed inside her and she knew he would penetrate her soon.

  “Please,” she muttered.

  “Hold still,” he said in a low commanding tone, nudging her ankles wider so he would fit between her legs. She kept her knees together still, and he thrust her face into the mattress with his hand curled over the back of her head. When he entered her, she cried out. It had been a long time, and he was very thick—but the pain was so welcome. Her cry turned to exultation as she felt her membranes parting but clinging to his perfect cock, her muscles clamping on his large intrusion, wanting to reject it at first. By the time he’d withdrawn and plunged again, her deepest core was ready for him, welcoming with liquid gushing that slopped noisily around his thrusting.

  “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he grunted, and she could feel the tremble that his own abstinence sent through his hand, a quiver in his thighs as well where they pressed her calves.

  She kicked her feet and wailed, wanting it hard and wanting it deep; Cole gave it to her, pounding her wickedly now, the dildo rocked by his thrusts, plunging her asshole deep when his stomach bumped it. She grabbed a mouthful of sheets and clamped her teeth, grunting and snorting wetly.

  Both his hands wrapped her neck and pulled her face from the bed, bracing her so he could fuck her so hard his pubic bones slapped her ass cheeks. Then she was thrown aside, his cock springing wetly from inside her and she wailed complaint.

  She was on her back, her hands lashed behind her, her knees drawn up to her breasts, eyes struggling to focus, pinpointing finally on Cole looming over her. Her thighs opened wide to invite him and he got over her, his cock head finding her gaping and eager hole and his shaft burying itself inside her to the hilt in one stroke that made her scream. His mouth went over hers and she was trapped underneath him, impaled fully, stretched wide, immobilized, her breaths and cries being stolen by his kisses.

  He pounded her faster and faster and as her breaths got short and quick, her heart raced to a staccato, she felt it coming and she opened her arms to it. Three months without her man had made her wild with desperation and she missed his touch, his kiss, his cock, his power over her when he wished to wield it.

  Her orgasm began while she clenched her teeth so tight, they squeaked in her eardrums. Her pussy went into a fluttering spasm
around his girth and she bellowed out joyously, so glad to finally get the release. He chased her down, didn’t let her get a hold of it, his cock still driving deep, his kisses still taking her blubbering lips. She liked him to stop when she came, push it deep and let her grip it with her girl muscles, squeeze it like a totem, rob his male power from it, undulate her wet feminine softness against his wicked male hardness and throw herself on a long riding wave. Only now he was eager to send her past that point, eager for her to get more than she bargained for and also eager to fill her up with the massive volume of his abstinence.

  He roared in her ear, coming while she still came, his forceful eruption deep inside her sending her tumbling over a high wall, tickled and raw and electrified. His cum splashed her walls, splashed her cervix, and it shot from him in strong hot pulses. Eight, nine, ten spasms of his cock against her tight walls, each one sending what felt like buckets of his semen into her. She rocked and writhed below him, feeling a scream building inside her and tightening everything she had to keep it at bay, her body cramped, and her feet bowed to curled arches, heels digging into the backs of his legs.

  She cried out, “Oh shit, oh shit, oh no, oh no, mm, you asshole,” and now she was laughing. Her insides released as a new and slippery chrome orgasm whisked across all her surfaces, pulling a hot sheet of excitement over her, covering her mouth and nose, getting in her lungs and suffocating her. He’d started it and she couldn’t stop it. She tinkled wildly. Hot water pattering from her pussy, all over her bare legs and Cole’s stomach, across the bedding, soiling her wedding dress. Cole withdrew to watch, falling to her side. Through squinted eyes she could see it now sparkling in the lamplight, dancing up in the air in happy, squirting, pulsing arcs. It was out now, and she enjoyed it: pressing with her flexed stomach and spritzing it higher and farther, letting it all go as insane voltages of pleasure rocked her up and down.