Sacred Revelations

by Roxy Harte

  Darkness is falling, still they play, and although the rain has stopped, the mud is still treacherous. I think they are continuing to play because of the mud. This is great fun for them. I have sat watching for over three hours, watching with no end to this game in sight, knowing the time I have to leave to be at the club by midnight is near. What would Garrett do if he knew I was here?

  My stomach churns, dear God, is this what it feels like to cheat on someone? I sit here still, what have I become? I am not married, but I feel as sinful as any adulteress who has come before me. I am a sinner and still I cannot bear the thought of driving away without talking to him.

  Talking does not make me an adulteress. Thought is deed.

  Yes, I thought it, but damn it, thought is not deed!

  Sometime between the second and third hour of play, they turned on the headlights to their cars to illuminate the field, continuing to play in the dark. Did I mention that soccer players are insane?

  Finally, at twenty after ten, they start to pack it in. I am elated knowing that I have forty minutes in which I can talk to Lord Fyre before I have to be on the road. Forty minutes…

  All the men retire to their cars, hot, muddy, exhausted, some broken and bruised; all except Lord Fyre. He stands in the middle of the field, looking toward my car. Parked next to his, he cannot avoid me any longer, if that is what he is trying to do.

  I step from my car, walking around it to stand leaning against the hood, not approaching Lord Fyre. He stands centerfield looking at me.

  Just breathe, I command myself, and it is as if the playing field before me breathes with me, expanding on my inhale, imploding on my exhale. I wonder if Lord Fyre feels it, it’s as if the entire universe is waiting with me to see just what he will do.

  Slowly, he starts to walk toward me. He slows halfway to the parking lot to retrieve a stray soccer ball, kicking it back and forth between his feet as he jogs forward, short even rolls, bringing the ball in.

  Kick, step, step, kick.

  I am enthralled by his grace of movement, watching the muscles in his legs contract. Even in the darkness I can see him, the glow of the city reflected off the clouds enough illumination for all I want to see.

  Kick, step, step, kick.

  Muscled and powerful, each step he takes is feral. At the edge of the grass he stops. Lifting his face, he looks at me. Playfully, he kicks the ball forward but stops its roll with a tap of his cleats, and rolls it backward, another cleat tap and it pops into the air behind him, shooting straight up, then plummeting fast, he nails it with a head spike, shooting it straight into me. Surprisingly, my reflexes are quick and I grab the ball to my chest, holding onto it, my heart pounding. He mock applauds me as he walks up to me, spiked shoes clattering on asphalt. Clunk, clunk.

  My heartbeat joins his rhythm and the surrounding night air seems to sigh as he nears, or perhaps it is only me sighing.

  Reaching me, he stops far enough away that we couldn’t possibly touch. “Hello, beautiful,” he says, smiling.

  “Hello yourself.” I smile back.

  “God, that smile.” He sighs, shaking his head. “You could own the world with the power of that smile.”

  “I don’t want the world,” I answer arrogantly. “I want you.”

  “You are Garrett’s now,” he answers strongly, refusing me in that sentence, but his eyes say more than the words. His eyes dare me to refute the words, which I can’t do.

  I can, however, give him the truth. “Yes, I am his, but I am also yours. I didn’t ask for this to happen, but my heart, my soul, is divided. I want both of you equally, when I am with one of you, and without the other, I ache desperately. I love you both. Can you understand that?”

  “Yes, I can understand, but have you explained this to Garrett?”

  “Not in words, but he knows how I feel. He thinks I will get over you, with time.”

  “And you don’t think you will?”

  “I don’t want over you,” I promise, the night seeming to swell and enclose us in her protection. Lord Fyre takes the two steps that separates us and enfolds me in his arms. His body is steaming hot, his skin and clothing damp. He smells of musk, hot, healthy male scent. I close my eyes and breathe him in, wanting to remember his scent forever, hoarding his scent in case he turns me away once I have said what I came here to say. I plant soft kisses on his silk-jersey-covered chest and he kisses the top of my head in return. “I missed you,” we say to each other.

  His arms hold me tighter, trying to soften the blow of the words he is waiting to say, staving off the moment as long as he can. “I’m not a cheating kind of guy, love, what I do is in the open, or I don’t do it.”

  His words don’t have the intended effect if he is trying to scare me off. Through his soccer shorts, I feel his penis hardening, thick and ready, pressed against my hip, and I hear his words for what they really are, a challenge.

  “Do you remember when you told me that I was the one charting the course of how my relationships would play out?” I ask him, remembering that night. I was terrified, commanded by Lord Fyre to make love to Garrett one last time, knowing that the next morning I would be joining him for three months of servitude.

  “Yes.”

  “You were talking about this,” I say softly, stroking his hard length through his silk shorts. “You were talking about opening myself to you, of giving myself to you, of creating a relationship with you; but all I heard was a promise of three months, a promise of darkness filled with pleasure and pain. You wanted to make love to me then.”

  “Yes.” His answer is a sigh caught by the dark night surrounding us.

  “You want me still?” I ask, continuing before he has a chance to answer, “Enough to share me with Garrett?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” I wrap my hands into his damp ponytail and pull him into a kiss, whispering against his mouth. “I’m tired of always wanting what I can’t have. I want you both. Help me make that happen. Please.”

  “What you’re asking will be difficult.”

  “No more difficult than waking each morning only to die a little more each day because half of me is missing! Always missing! If I am with you, I miss him; if I am with him, I miss you. Only the two of you can make me whole. Help me?”

  I watch him nod his head and make him say the words. “Promise me?”

  “Do you even realize what you’re asking for?” he asks incredulously, then, seeing my quick nod, promises, “I’ll help you.”

  “Starting now?”

  He frowns, but he thinks enough like me to understand what I am not saying. He warns, “This will change everything.”

  I don’t know what I expected. Maybe I just expected him to say more, to expand on how to make this work, some compelling argument to take to Garrett. He doesn’t. He takes the soccer ball I’d forgotten I held and tosses it into the front seat of his car. Taking my hand, he leads me into the darkness of the soccer field and again it seems like the field is alive, breathing with my breath, inhaling, exhaling. He turns me to face him and the air seems suddenly too thick to breathe. I hadn’t really thought this through. I hadn’t really thought that he…and I…would…not now…and a small part of my brain screams at me, what are you doing, what about Garrett? Then Lord Fyre lowers me onto the wet grass and muddy center of the soccer field and I feel my heartbeat swell against the earth. My shirt soaks through, wetting my back, the damp earth soaking through my jeans as well. He follows me down, supporting his weight between knees and one hand, as if doing a girlie one-handed pushup. He strokes the side of my face. “I’ve done so much to you, but never this. I’ve never made love to you.”

  If I was thinking about asking him to stop a second before with the intention of cluing Garrett in on my wants, my desires, my needs, that one sentence disconnects all logical thought. He wants to make love to me.

  “Nervous?” I ask breathlessly, feeling a slight tremor in the hand stroking my cheek.

  “Do I loo
k nervous?” he asks casually, striving to look tough.

  “Yes.” I giggle nervously.

  “You can stop this.”

  I pull my lower lip between my teeth, afraid to say a word. He takes my silence as a green light and, pushing back onto both knees, he unzips my blue jeans and pulls them and my panties in one fluid motion down to just past my knees. He leaves the fabric there, wrapped around my legs, I try to kick them free, but he stills my leg with a touch. “No, leave them.”

  Relaxing back onto the damp earth, two sensations strike me at once, water and mud pushing into my ass crack, cold and slimy, and his hands sliding under my shirt, covering me with mud. I look at him and he pulls his hands out from under my shirt, dipping his hands back into the earth with a look on his face that challenges me to try to make him stop. He pulls up two fistfuls of mud, an evil grin twisting his mouth. I smile. It feels like an evil smile, but I have no idea what it looks like, I only know that I don’t want him to stop.

  He slides his hands under my shirt again, this time lifting it above my breasts as he slides his mud-filled hands up my body. Pushing my bra up, swirling his hands over me, he leaves a muddy trail around my breasts. It is cold and slick. Lord Fyre makes it feel erotic and desire shoots through me, soaking my wet pussy even more.

  “Make love to me now,” I beg.

  “After three months of torturing me with the need you’re feeling only now, I think you can wait until I’m ready, sweetheart.”

  I swallow, catching his gaze, seeing the truth for the first time. “You ached for me this badly for three months?”

  “Every moment I was with you, yes, and even before that, perhaps from the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

  He takes my knees and pushes them into my chest, commanding, “Hold your legs.”

  I obey, holding my thighs, mud squishing between my fingers.

  “You are such a dirty girl.”

  “Oh, God,” I moan, responding to his declaration, his words, and his touch, as his mouth lowers over my heated slit, his tongue sliding through my wetness. I feel his hands, covered with fresh mud, and he swirls the mud over the backs of my thighs while he licks me. My eyes close, overwhelmed in sensation.

  More mud is scooped over my thighs and pushed over my ass; I know my lower half is now just as covered as my breasts. I jolt when I feel his fingers sliding along my crack, mud making my ass cheeks feel slimy, dirty, like when I was forced to sit on the floor to release the enema, ending up sitting in my own shit. I am degraded once more. God, what levels will I stoop to for the men in my life?

  Liar! God or my conscience answers back. No one makes me do this. I want this. I want everything that’s ever been done to me and more. Forgive me Father for the sin of this pleasure.

  He keeps licking my clit and I hump against his mouth, wanting to come. He pulls away, commanding, “Not yet, baby, I want you to come the first time when I’m impaled inside you. I want you to be looking into my eyes when you come. So, enjoy the little pleasures I give you but don’t come until I’m inside you.”

  “Yes, Lord Fyre.”

  “I’m going to lube your ass with the mud you’re lying in and then I’m going to enter you, hard and fast, do you understand?”

  I nod, suddenly frightened. Garrett is large, but Lord Fyre’s cock is both longer and thicker. Garrett’s isn’t an easy fit. “That’s not a good idea.”

  Even in the darkness, I can see him arch his brow.

  “I’m scared. It will hurt. Please, just make love to me the normal way!” I beg.

  Lord Fyre chuckles. “Garrett is too easy on you, you’ve forgotten everything you learned with me, haven’t you?”

  “No,” I deny, but it is truth, Garrett compared to Fyre is a cakewalk.

  “What’s the first rule of our relationship?”

  I repeat it automatically. This I know. “It’s not what I want, it’s what you want.”

  “Exactly.” He chuckles again, and I feel his hand smearing mud into my crevices, into my vagina, into my ass, one finger covered in mud, two fingers, in and out. My mind is torn in half, I didn’t come here for this, I never expected this, but at this juncture I don’t want to walk away either. I feel the squish of more mud and then his tongue descends on my clit and the surrounding night swirls into nothingness, too much pleasure, too much.

  “Stop, stop, please, I’ll come if you don’t stop!” I cry out.

  “Then come for me,” he commands, breathing cool air over my clit before his tongue descends, covering my clit with hot, wet heat. I spasm, screaming into the night. He sucks and licks harder in response, making me squirm, making me scream with the pleasurable pain of an orgasm too intense.

  Only when he is ready to release me does the erotic tongued kiss on my clit stop. He pushes my knees higher, forcing my jeans into my face, my ankles still trapped. I am bent in half as he climbs onto me, pressing his cock against my vagina, I imagine the mud, imagine that I am packed full of mud, feeling it gush when he enters me, relieved that he is using my pussy. He thrusts only twice before withdrawing, pulling mini-screams from my throat with the force of his thrusts. He touches my anus with the head of his shaft and I tense.

  “Sh-h, sweetheart. I don’t want to rip anything, but I do want you to feel stretched and used. I want you to remember our first time making love.”

  I giggle, not meaning to, my mind is as mushy as the mud covering my body as I think, how could I ever forget this? “Isn’t making love supposed to be in my pussy?”

  “Says who?” Pushing all his weight onto me, he covers my mouth with his kiss, crushing air from my lungs, stopping my laugh. He is needy and intense and this is not the time for humor. Yeah, I get that. I meet his mouth with equal fervency, tongues dueling, teeth colliding, I grunt, trying to breathe, trying to shift my weight a little, but he holds me, bent double, knees pressed to my shoulders, skull crushed into the mud.

  “Please, Fyre, now! I can’t wait anymore. I need you now!”

  “You want me to fuck your ass?”

  I nod frantically.

  “Beg me,” he demands, his fingers pressing into my tight hole, finding that I am wet, slick. He rims my anus with his fingers, sliding through the mud to push into me, testing my flesh. He repeats the command in a growl, “Beg.”

  I hunch and arch, begging suddenly not a problem as I am shaken with a need more primal than I have ever felt. I beg, not recognizing my own voice, sounding raw, guttural—primitive. “Fuck me! Fuckmefuckmefuckme! Please Lord Fyre, ohgod, pleasepleaseplease, fuck me in the ass. I want you to, I need you to, I want our first time to be special. Please do it, do it now!”

  His penis pushes at my entrance, more than ready to comply, my body is less sure.

  “Relax,” he commands, aiming himself using his hand. I pray to be able to relax enough to take him, gasping when he plunges deep. I rear away, trying to get away from the fire eating though my sensitive hole.

  “Ohmygod, oh my God! Stop, stop, stop!” I cry out.

  His hand comes down hard on my ass, new, stinging pain replacing the fire. I try to buck away again. He grabs my face, forcing me to look into his eyes, his intensity swallowing me. He slaps my ass again, holding my gaze, letting me know without a doubt it is what he wants, not what I want. Like magic, he slides deep, deeper than anything I’ve ever had shoved in my ass. Hallelujah.

  “Good girl, sweetheart. Give me what I want.” His eyes command me in unspoken language, surrender, give over to me, trust me.

  He slides in and out, though I am still tight, I feel full enough to explode, but it is a good full, a good tight. My entire body sighs with pleasure.

  “What do you want?” I ask softly.

  He thrusts in and out easily, building the pressure between my legs that promises an all out explosion of pleasure. Thrust, thrust, thrust.

  Swirls of pleasure run through me, and suddenly it climbs, taking me higher and higher. I arch into him, taking him deeper, whispering, “Harder,”
as I reach to touch myself with my own fingers. He doesn’t tell me to stop, he holds my gaze with that naughty, naughty smile he is capable of.

  “I want this,” he finally answers, pinching and holding my ass. “I want you. You are mine. Don’t forget it!” He barks, throwing his head back, shouting, “Mine!”

  “I am yours,” I echo, screaming into the night air as the promised pleasure explodes through me like a million starbursts, leaving me limp, and very, very satisfied.

  Crushed by the behemoth of a man on top of me, I try to wiggle out enough to breathe, but not enough for him to slide out of me. He feels distinctly still hard, but I’m not taking any chances. I want him inside me, I want him to grow soft inside me.

  “Don’t even dream about asking me to move,” he pants, still breathing hard.

  I wrap my arms around him. “I don’t want you to move, baby.”

  He lifts his head off my breast, mud covering his cheek and part of his beard. “Baby?”

  I smile broadly, giggling at his unbelieving, sarcastic tone.

  “I make love to you, and you think you can call me baby?” he chuckles, digging his thumbs between my ribs. I giggle and scream and curse, wiggling deeper into the mud pit our evening activities have created. It hurts so good, I think I’ll wet myself, but settle for shrieking hysterically, in a good way.

  “Baby, baby, baby!” I squeal as he tickles.

  He finally stops and rolls onto his side, his exhausted penis slipping free.

  “Aww.” I pout. “I liked him inside of me. I wanted to keep him there forever.”

  “That would be a bit hard to explain to Garrett, but I could try.”

  I cringe, thinking, oh God, what time is it?

  “Too late for remorse, love, you’re mine now. I won’t walk away a second time.”