by Maren Smith
And he was looking. There was no pretending otherwise when he laughed again, another low chuckle before saying, "Why, Miss Maddy, you've been a bad girl. You let your pussy get wet and now it's all covered in sand."
Releasing her stinging buttock, Dominick shifted his grip lower, invading between her thighs. Tiny grits of sand scoured the heightened sensitivity of her pussy as he squeezed there now, too, digging all that grit in to make her feel the rough scratching all along the tender inner flesh of her labia.
Dominick shifted his weight off his knee. His grip weakened on neither her pussy nor her wrists as he bent over her, bringing the heated brush of his lips to caress the shell of her ear and the prickling slope of her shoulder and neck. "Shall I be gentle, sweetheart? Shall I be kind? Tell me what I want to hear, sweet Maddy… Maddy mine… and I promise, I'll only make it hurt in the right ways."
Sweet Maddy… Maddy mine…
She melted, tiny flecks of ground and crushed coconut fibers billowing out from her breath as she halting whispered, "M-Master Dominick."
His burning lips brushed her shoulder, the most tender of kisses. "With you, little girl, I see no point in using anything but first names. Up." A swipe of his hand wiped away some of the sand. "On your knees," he commanded, giving her little chance for disobedience. He pulled on her wrists, drawing them high up behind her back, in an odd way helping her rise even as he forced her head and shoulders down.
"Ass up," he said and swatted, the clap of his open palm catching her full across the pussy and jolting her almost face-first back on her belly in the sand. Her gasp came out shamefully just like a moan, and damn if his fingers didn't come away as wet as they were sandy. "Your safeword is 'red'. I expect you to use it any time you need to. So long as you're honest, there will be no penalty for doing so, do you understand?"
"Y-Yes, Sir." Maddy swallowed back a moan when she felt him move behind her, the press of his strong thighs cozying up to hers, forcing her legs tight together even as the thickness of his cock squeezed in between them. His hips bumped up against her freshly spanked bottom, turning what little bit of sting still lingered to tingles.
Her eyes widened, her whole body vibrated to the motion of his first slow thrust. He wasn't inside her, but he was full against her. The length of his shaft pressed against her slit, forcing her labia to part, scrubbing at her with what few grains of sand had resisted his attempt to wipe away. The head of him teased her clit, nudging at it with each new gliding thrust. His movements were slow, seductive, and left no room for misinterpretation.
"I'm going to fuck you. Say your safeword if you want to stop, otherwise, I'm going to pound your beautiful little cunt until neither one of us is able to walk straight in the morning. What do you say?" He stole the softest nip at her shoulder, nothing more really than the grazing caress of his teeth before he soothed the faint mark with his tongue. "What do you want?"
She wanted his cock. She wanted it so badly she would have begged for it. It was a one-night stand and she knew it, but it was a one-night stand with a man unlike any she had ever had before. He made her feel wanted, desired. Beautiful.
So no, this wasn't forever or for life or even for a little while, but who was to say it couldn't still be special? Still be something she'd carry with her for the rest of her life? Something she could use to shock the socks off every other little old lady in the senior center when she was old and gray and had nothing better to do with her days that tell bawdy stories.
What did she want?
"Master," she moaned. "Master, please."
He bent and for just a moment, she felt the touch of his forehead resting on her back. She felt his mouth open. Felt the heat of his exhaling breath wash up her spine, building upon the nape of her neck right before he delivered another nipping kiss, then something else: the warm, wet tap of his tongue, flicking at her skin. Licking her. Claiming her.
Maddy's breath shuddered out of her. She drew another, filling her lungs—though it came in no less shaky than the last had left.
She lifted her chin, offering no resistance as the burning caress of his fingers drifted up her back, crossing her shoulder, around her neck, and lightly came to rest upon her throat. He stroked her pulse with the pad of his thumb, his fingers adjusting their grip on the other side of her jugular. He had but to squeeze and he could have controlled her breathing, but he didn't. He simply held her, feeling the thundering of her heart at his fingertips before shifting his grip to her shoulder and bending her all the way down again.
"Again," he told her, taking his cock in hand and guiding the head of him to part the folds of her eager opening. "Say it again."
"Mast—ah!" Her gasp was more a cry when he entered her. The touch of his lips on the back of her neck might have been gentle, but his initial thrust was anything but. He took her, in every forceful nuance of the word, and her body reveled in that force. He was in her so deep and so full, stretching her open, pounding so hard, each slamming thrust beating against her buttocks and pussy and thighs in a way she could feel all the way into her ribs. She was head down and ass up, and she loved it. He held her, one hand on her shoulder and the other gripping her tightly bound wrists, forcing her simply to take what he gave her, one bone-jarring pump after another.
She should have felt battered, but she didn't. Slam after slam, her pussy got wetter, the hupping sound of air caught between them turned into a slippery slapping that began to sound like spanking. It began to feel like it, too—he was both spanking and fucking her and all with his cock. His thick, hard, battering ram of a cock, taking her with the same brutal savagery of a man bent on revenge. Or punishment.
Her pussy spasmed, clamping down in a squeeze of pleasure as intense as any orgasm she'd yet experienced and yet she knew it wasn't that. She was still chasing it, still feeling it tightening inside her like piano wire on the verge of some catastrophic release.
"You want this, don't you?" he growled against her ear. "Tell me you want it."
"I want it," she panted, her body straining, her clit pulsing in time with the relentless pounding of his hips. Trickles of hot arousal flowed from her, coating him, coating herself until she could feel it tickling down the inner slopes of her own thighs. Her face burned. "I-I want it."
"You deserve to be fucked like a little whore, don't you?"
She whimpered, choking back her cries as he pounded harder, deeper, giving her only a second or two between thrusts in which to brace herself for the next. "Y-yes." Those pussy-deep spasms moved through the walls of her sex to her womb. She couldn't breathe. She jerked her head up off the sand, moaning and straining, held in the grip of all those spasms and his unrelenting pace.
His teeth sank into the slope of her shoulder, marking and claiming her all over again. "Beg me, Maddy. Beg me to fuck you like a whore."
Her throat tightened. She started to shake her head until he grabbed a fistful of her hair, not just yanking her head back, but dragging her up onto her knees.
"Fuck me, Master," he growled in her ear. "Say it."
She cried out, her back arching when he suddenly released her hands, but there was no breaking away. She never even tried, not until he hooked her waist and stabbed his hand down between her thighs to seize hold of her clit. When he pinched, her hips shot back, grinding back on his aggressive pumping with an enthusiasm she never would have thought herself capable of. "Please!"
"Say it. Fuck me, Master." His breath was coming faster, harder, rougher.
"F-Fuck…"
"Fuck me like a whore."
"No!"
"Fuck me like a whore, Daddy."
Tiny orgasmic sparks shuddered all throughout her sex. She stammered, "P-Please… fuck m-me… no! Oh!"
His gruff laugh made every nerve in her body sing. "Tropical princess by day; Daddy's little cum slut all night long."
Her face burned. Her whole body burned. His fingers on her clit tightened and rolled, making her hips buck and roll until he almost didn't have to
thrust at all. He just let her do it, impale herself on him over and over again until it was all she could do not to burst into tears. Tears of arousal and humiliation and gratitude and this desperate aching need not to stop—please don't stop—she dropped her head, as if he'd let her bury her shout in the sand. "Puh-please! F-fuck me… l-like a…"
She couldn't make herself say it. Tiny explosions—shimmering like stars—zinged from her clit to her sex to her womb to every place deep inside her that he couldn't help but stroke as he took her, both pounding and fondling while he whispered all the dirty things that she never, not even in her wildest midnight fantasies, would have suspected could have turned her on.
"Whore," he purred, helpfully. "Not for any man, only me. You're my whore. Master's whore. Daddy's whore. The sexual property and plaything of the Castle's one and only Master Gaoler. Cum for me, Maddy." His fingertips slipped back the sheath to expose her clit to his touch. She could feel him all over that sensitive nub, massaging and caressing, stroking with every nudge of his head and the whole thrusting length of his cock. "Cum for Daddy."
The piano wires in Maddy began to snap.
"Cum for your Master."
They snapped hard, one after the other, whipping through her in waves so cutting as to be almost on the verge of muscle-spasming pain.
"Cum for your Gaoler. Not later, now. Right. Fucking. Now."
Maddy had never cum so hard that it made her shout before. She thought that was Hollywood fantasy. Story writer fiction. Bupkis. Bullshit. A fairytale so often insisted upon, but one destined never to be experienced because it just did not exist, and never had. Not for her, anyway. Not with Virgil. Not with Adam, her mostly-friend but sometimes-boyfriend all through high school, the man she had given her virginity to because that was what boy- and girlfriends did on Prom night. She hadn't even experienced it with Gary, the guy who had rocked her socks halfway through college until she'd met Virgil.
Not that sex with any of them had been bad… except maybe Adam, and then only because they'd both been new and neither one had known what the heck they were doing. They just hadn't curled her toes—but her toes were curling now—and they hadn't made her scream or writhe—and here she was, doing both—and they certainly hadn't, not once, not ever, made her cry out in a long sobbing wail, "Fuck me, Master! Daddy! I'm your whore! I'm your whore!" Repeating it over and over while he rode her like a man with something savage to prove… until there was nothing left of her. No strength to raise her head. No voice to gasp or cry out, not even at the very last before he finally—thank God—finally came when it felt like he was trying to bury her in the flowerbed via the force of all that punishment fucking.
It wasn't dark when it all ended, though it took Maddy several long minutes before she realized the only reason it wasn't dark was because solar lamps along the walkway had come on and some of the rooms in the apartment building had lights burning bright in the windows. Somewhere in the distant night, a woman quite clearly said, "Had that been in the brochure, I'd have signed up sooner."
She might not have been talking about them.
Dominick laughed, a low sultry chuckle broken only by the laboriousness of his breathing.
"So would I," he murmured as he flopped over onto his back to lie limp and sweating in the sand beside her. "Fuck… so would I."
He laughed again, little more than breath this time.
Maddy didn't laugh. She didn't have the strength. She couldn't rise, either. They were lying right off the sandstone walkway, in flowers and brush not quite thick enough to hide them. Anyone at all could have walked by and they'd have seen Dominick on his back with his pants half down and his condom-covered cock lying across his thigh, shiny from the fluids of her body and all the light that was reflecting. They'd have seen her, too, stomach down in the dirt and sand, her dress hiked up around her waist, her panties caught on a low-hanging branch of the lime tree, the torn cotton flying on the evening breeze like a flag of surrender, her naked backside covered only by blotches of shadow and sand.
She tried, but she couldn't seem to find strength enough to care about that.
"Give me a minute," Dominick muttered, both amused and content. "We have got to do that again."
Maddy didn't reply. Closing her eyes, a whisper of breeze cooling the sweat from her skin, she fell asleep among the zinnias. She never noticed Tessa lurking on her ground-floor patio just four apartments down, glaring at them both before flouncing back inside. But even if she had, she likely couldn't have summoned strength enough to care about that, either. It simply took too much energy.
Besides, she'd licked him first.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Maddy awoke the next morning, lying stretched out in the flowers next to a softly snoring Dominick with a beetle of some sort crawling on her arm, another (by the prickly feel of it) in her hair, and Emil shaking her shoulder gently.
Waiting patiently until both her eyes were open and fighting to focus, he said, "In half an hour, everyone on this island is going to come tromping by you on their way to breakfast. You don't have to get up, but unless you mean to advertise a certain willingness to entertain the masses, so to speak, you might want to lower your skirt."
A slow burn that had nothing to do with the morning sun moved over her. Shoving to her knees, Maddy hastily rearranged herself back into her dress. Without waiting for Emil to shake Dominick awake as well, she hurried to her room. It took forty minutes and damn near all the hot water before she felt confident that she'd washed the sand out of all her nooks and crannies. It took another half an hour, the last of her antibacterial ointment and a very ginger touch to administer the first aid she needed. Sand would never come as anyone's highly-recommended lubricant, and for very good reason. Every inch of her felt as if she'd spent the night screwing Mr. Clean; brushes first and never mind that he was a cartoon.
The embarrassment, on the other hand, would probably last forever. Maybe slightly less if she managed to avoid Dominick for at least a day. As it turned out, this was not to be that day.
Her galaxy dress being in need of some seam repair, Maddy exchanged it for an outfit that hadn't already spent the night in a flowerbed. In white shorts and sandals and a sky-blue tank top that would have looked better worn by someone who weighed just a little less (she wished she'd noticed that before she'd packed it), Maddy went to breakfast.
Keeping her head down, she got her plate quickly—still no carrots, though she did snag a few strawberries and a wedge of orange melon that didn't quite look like cantaloupe, as well as a few lumps of dill-seasoned scrambled eggs—and found a little table to herself way, way in the back of the employee dining hall. As she passed the center stage, she noticed two female tavern wenches enter through the swinging kitchen door, lugging in equipment for another floor show. Afraid her morning meal might be supplemented by yet another illuminative presentation on the female multi-orgasm, she got up to take her plate back to her apartment. That was when she saw Dominick and, more importantly, that was when he saw her, too.
Smothering a groan, Maddy flopped back down and very nearly leapt straight up again the minute her very tender lady bits made contact with the seat. Wincing, she managed not to yell, but that heart-racing reminder not just of how she'd spent last night but how she'd awakened this morning, was more than enough to light the fuse on her temper.
She didn't want to deal with Dominick now. She needed time to think. To figure out how she felt about what they'd done, not to mention how she wanted to proceed. Not that either of them had done anything wrong. Unconventional, maybe, but not wrong. Still, none of this was normal behavior for Maddy and she—oh God… he was smiling—she needed time.
He was halfway across the dining room already. Damn, and he'd just seen that she'd noticed him. Double damn. That meant she couldn't just grab her plate and run. Not only would he know she was doing it to evade him, but his legs were twice as long as hers. He'd catch up and then she'd have to explain herself. It was better to just
ignore him.
Except, as Maddy quickly discovered, it was very hard to ignore someone who usurped the chair directly beside her and then paused before sitting to drop a noisy kiss on her bangs and give her nipple a tweak for good measure. Her breasts loved it. So did her thighs. She could feel their involuntary tensing in every single muscle she owned down there, because they were all stiff and sore.
It wasn't his fault, but her irritation shot up a notch anyway.
Unrolling her fork from her napkin, she shot him a sour sideways glance. "Would it do any good at all if I asked you nicely to leave?"
"Good morning to you, too," he replied, shaking his napkin out across his lap. "And no, it won't. I thought we might use this time to discuss last night and, more importantly, why it is I awoke this morning to a lovely pair of breast imprints in the sand beside me, but not the Maddy who made them."
"Go away, Dominick," she hissed, lowering her voice so no one sitting nearby might overhear.
"Call me by my first name," he teased, leaning close and lowering his voice as well. Her gaze fell straight to his smiling mouth, framed by the neatly trimmed hair of his beard and mustache. He hadn't shaved today. A shadow of whiskers covered his whole jaw. "I might go then."
Master…
Sensing her dilemma, his smile broadened. "Of course, I might just steal you away with me, too. Have you any idea how aggravating it is to awaken with morning wood and have no one nearby to exhaust it with?"
Her face flushed hot. Her lips pressed tight together. She wished he didn't look so strikingly handsome. It didn't help at all that he was decked out in full pirate regalia—black pants, black boots, a flowing white shirt tucked in at the waist but completely unbuttoned so that it showed everything, all the way down past his ripped and perfectly defined six-pack abs toward the shadowy indent of his navel. Unlike the other pirates she'd seen here, instead of fake weapons on his hip, he wore his signature—a black bullwhip, coiling like a snake, with a strike that was, reputedly, every bit as hard to take.