by Sylvia Fox
“I was going to make you wait for this, but you look too good.”
He undid his belt buckle and lets his jeans fall, his thick cock springing free. He tossed his shirt aside and climbed up onto the bed, the muscles in his shoulders rippling as he hovered over me.
He positioned the tip of his erection at my opening, rubbing it up and down, slowly. “Go ahead. Take it if you want it,” he commanded me.
I bucked and wiggled my hips, throwing my legs around him and hooking my ankles at the small of his back, feeling him sink inside me as I lifted my hips from the bed.
His hands rested on either side of my face, and he stared into my eyes.
“Do it. Rut yourself on me, my good girl.”
He knew that word devastated me, sexually. Just hearing it sent a charge directly from my ears to my cunt. I needed to be pounded. Having to lift and work my hips so hard to achieve penetration was frustrating beyond belief. I could get him all the way inside me, but only just; and with nowhere near the battering force that I craved.
He pushed himself an inch back, then another, so that it required a monumental effort on my part just to take him halfway.
I gritted my teeth and struggled to fuck him, but he just shook his head. “You almost had me convinced that you really wanted to get fucked. But don’t worry, I know how to motivate you.”
He reached back and unhooked my ankles, wrapped them in cuffs like the ones that held my wrists in place. The ornate, wrought-iron headboard had bars at the top to which he attached hooks.
He lifted my left ankle first, pulling it back over my head, bending me in half, hooking the ankle cuff at the top of the headboard. He repeated the same action with my right ankle, leaving me on my back in the same position I’d be in if I stood up, spread my legs wide apart, and touched my toes. Except I was supine. And completely naked. And as exposed between my legs as a human being could possibly be.
He set a pillow beneath my hips to provide me some small respite from the stretching ache in my hamstrings, before walking over to retrieve something from his duffel bag. He produced a short, wide, heavy leather strap. He brought it crashing down on the palm of his hand with a loud “thwack!”
I eyed it with terror, and goosebumps broke out all over my flesh. I couldn’t conceive of a more vulnerable position.
He grinned at me and advanced with the strap, kneeling on the bed between my legs. I was helpless, and petrified. My body lunged and lurched in my bonds against my will, fight or flight response commandeering my motor functions.
To no avail.
He gently let the strap lay upon my opening, the width of it concealing my labia completely and the weight making me tremble.
“Shhh,” he admonished me, bringing a finger to his lips. He reached between my legs and caressed my face, letting the strap slide down until I was bare again. He held it above my mound and let gravity bring it down, firm, but not hard, and I gasped at the shock of it.
He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, and I bit my bottom lip and nodded.
The second time, he lifted it and brought it down with just a bit more force, right on my slick, needy entrance. I blinked back tears and nodded.
He gave me two more, in rapid succession, each a bit harder than the last. I began to pant, writhing against my bonds.
He began to spread the punishment around, applying the strap to both cheeks of my plump ass, making it burn and throb. Each time it crashed down, and the pain ratcheted up, my arousal burned hotter.
Satisfied with his work, he went into the bathroom and returned holding a small, round mirror. His erection jutted out obscenely in front of him.
He held the mirror where I could see the deep crimson he’d painted my formerly pale ass. I could also see that my labia had responded my becoming puffy and a similar deep red color, and completely soaked.
Setting the mirror aside, he lay down on his stomach with his face between my legs.
He blew softly on my pussy, cool air soothing the burn. He then did the same between the reddened cheeks of my ass, making me jump nearly out of skin with the jolt. No matter the liberties he’d taken with my body over the past year, the pain he’d trained me to endure alongside the unimaginable, indescribable pleasure, that part of my body remained something of a sanctuary, the last part of me that felt like any sort of secret.
Yet now it was laid completely bare.
His finger dipped and swirled into my pussy, collecting my fluids. I desperately needed him inside me, but this had more the feel of exploration, rather than pene- Oh!
After lubricating his index finger in my sex, he promptly entered my rear end with it. Directly in, no warning, no preparation aside from my blinding arousal. It was only a finger, not his massive cock, but it felt like his entire forearm was inside me. I was so stretched, so vulnerable, my mind so conflicted. The sensations from between my splayed legs threatened to overwhelm me, if unchecked.
His tongue helped to make everything right in my world.
Pushing the finger in my ass all the way to the third knuckle, he hovered a moment, watching my face, before engulfing my pussy with his mouth.
He began to French kiss my sex, his tongue working in time with the finger he’d shoved up my ass to send a swirling rapture up my spine to my brain.
I gritted my teeth and stared down at him with a furious intensity, an orgasm smoldering in my core. The finger inside me circled and probed as his tongue stiffened and slid easily in and out. If anything were to touch my clit, my entire body would probably just burst into flames, I figured. My head lolled from side to side as I babbled and moaned.
He increased the pace of his tongue and slipped a second finger into my ass, and I thrashed as my climax began to hammer away at the innermost doorway in my mind. When the orgasmic beast inevitably splintered the last of my defenses and found its way inside, my soul would surely be shredded by the razors of ecstasy. If only something would touch my fucking clit while he ate my pussy, fuck, fuck, fuck!
Time stopped.
Up on his knees, he sent his piledriving cock down inside me.
The angle was magical. Magnificent. Wondrous. With each thrust, the head of his cock hammered against something in the back of my pussy – my cervix? Whatever it was, it had never experienced such stimulation. An entirely different kind of pain filled my insides, a dull, bruising ache as he battered me.
The ocean of pleasure over which I hung began to bubble and froth, splashing against my face, tormenting me with possibility.
My thighs started to tremble as he relentlessly pounded into me, and the level of the water rose and lapped at my face. The gargantuan orgasm of my young life was upon me, lightning bolts searing my flesh inside and out. I was lost in the maelstrom, craving only to be completely submerged by it.
And then, the cable by which I swung was severed. I splashed and sunk, every inch of my body consumed at once by the orgasm.
Delicious. It drove me to a place I’d never dreamt of, much less visited. He silenced my scream with a hand over my mouth, my eyes flying wide to meet his as every muscle in my body was wracked with violent, simultaneous spasms.
Whatever he’d done to me went beyond climax, past orgasm, into a category for which no sufficient word exists.
He slowed his thrusts and was completely still as I recovered, save for his cock pulsing inside me. My heartbeat synched with his as my body responded to his powerful throbs and the roller coaster ride of sex with him began to ascend toward the peak again.
He started fucking me again, long and slow, the angle of my bondage making my legs and back burn with the strain. It was a more than equitable trade given the places his cock was reaching and the waves of pleasure radiating throughout my body. My hands clenched and feet balled up as I came again and again under his relentless assault.
As exhaustion claimed me, I noticed the change in his breathing that I’d learned signaled his impending climax. The overwhelming intensity of the moment forced my ey
es shut, but he demanded I be fully present for the moment. No retreating inside myself would be permitted.
“My eyes, Liane. Look into my eyes. Now!” he commanded, aggressively. My sweat and his drenched my body, partially blinding me as beads rolled down my forehead and into my eyes. I locked eyes with him as he growled through his orgasm like a caveman, filling me with his come, making the sexiest sound I’d ever heard.
When it finally, mercifully, ended, he unhooked my ankles and guided my legs to fall gently back onto the bed. My wrists were next, and I rubbed feeling back into my extremities as he kissed my face and held me in his muscular arms.
I curled into a fetal position and he lay behind me, his fingertips caressing me all over while kissing my shoulders and the back of my neck.
I fell into a light sleep, awakening sometime later to find him lifting me from the bed and carrying me into the bathroom. He’d drawn a bath for me, wisps of steam escaping from between bubbles atop the oversized tub.
He lowered me into the scalding water, my entire body sighing with relief as I stretched like a cat. The bath was glorious, so hot I could barely stand it, but wonderfully therapeutic to my body after the series of punishing orgasms to which I’d been subjected.
Room service delivered grilled swordfish, veggies, and a sinful chocolate lava cake. I fell asleep in his arms, capping the most perfect kind of day. And night.
The Bay Area awaited two days hence, sold-out shows in San Jose and San Francisco.
How was this my life? What happened to Lia Morris, simple country girl from New Tazewell, Tennessee?
I was a woman now. And his. In every way he permitted.
13
Three Years Ago…
We arrived back home just before the sun rose over the mountains, with Jesse and Isaac arguing over who’d handle the morning chores on their small farm.
My dad had been working overnight, and he returned home shortly after our arrival.
I was sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal when he walked in.
“Mornin’, punkin,” he greeted me. I’d been “punkin” to him for as far back as I could remember.
He walked to the fridge to pour himself some juice and I walked over to hug him. I couldn’t wait to tell him what had happened at the concert, but, in true deputy sheriff fashion, he always knew what was happening before I would have ever expected him to.
“You had yourself quite a night, if I heard correctly,” he said between sips of his drink, before turning to load the toaster.
“What did you hear?” I asked.
“Officer Rylee showed me a video on her phone of a certain concert you attended last night,” he beamed with pride.
“Daddy, it was amazing. I can’t believe you saw it already. How do you think I did?”
He looked at me and began to speak, then his face scrunched up and he dug in his pocket for a handkerchief. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose. The toast popped up.
“I think you sounded just like an angel, Lia. Exactly like that. And I can’t begin to tell you how proud your Momma would have been. I just wish I could have been there.”
I knew he’d say that.
He hated to miss any of my performances, if he could help it. The same unflinching sense of duty that made him a decorated Marine, however, also helped him to become an irreplaceable asset to the Claiborne County Sheriff’s Department. Work came first. Providing for his family and protecting the people he’d been charged to serve had to be his top priority, if he was going to do it well.
But, if you got him started talking to other people about his little girl and her singing, you’d think I was Celine Dion, Adele, and Mariah Carey all rolled up into one.
“Well, some people there were kinda impressed, and I might even get the opportunity to record some stuff in a real studio. I was also invited to sing with a band from Charlotte at the North Carolina State Fair.”
Back in the day, my dad was impressed and eager to join the audience when I’d sing to my assembled stuffed animals, all lined up on the couch and in chairs in the living room. He’d slip in and plop down between my plush teddy bears and ducks and listen intently through every song I butchered. I couldn’t even imagine how he’d react to have seen me in front of almost 20,000 people and then getting the pats on the back I did from all the entertainment industry big shots, although he wouldn’t recognize any of them anyway.
He insisted that I watch the video with him, and we went through half a dozen versions, filmed on people’s phones from all over the Charlotte Music Pavilion. The more I watched it, the more impressed I was at my own poise on stage. We both laughed when I triumphantly dropped the microphone.
“Harold!” A voice outside called my dad’s name, followed by a banging on our backdoor.
We both recognized the unmistakably deep voice of next door neighbor Robert Cavanaugh, but we couldn’t imagine what had him so agitated at such an early hour.
“What can I do for you, Robert?” my father asked, swinging the door open.
“There she is!” Mr. Cavanaugh exclaimed when he saw me. “I just wanted to get one more look at you before you run off to Nashville or Hollywood, or wherever you’re headed. Jesse and Isaac showed me that video. You make me proud to know you. To know your momma and daddy. Hell, little girls are gonna wake up all over Claiborne County this morning dreaming dreams they never dared to before when they heard you sing.”
Robert Cavanaugh was a stoic sort, but when something got him riled, his enthusiasm was contagious and overwhelming. He was a fiercely loyal man, and he’d always treated me just like family. It shouldn’t have surprised me that he’d be proud of my moment in the spotlight.
I walked over to him and we embraced, his bear hug lifting me off the floor and spinning me effortlessly. All three of the Cavanaugh men were blessed with an overabundance of energy, and the eldest of them stood in our kitchen all but bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement.
“I just can’t get over it. Incredible. Harold, you’re gonna have to take early retirement to be this one’s bodyguard, you know that, don’t you? The lawyers and record company executives are going to be snooping around, and then the boys are going to be lined up down to Grainger County for her.”
My dad laughed and ate his toast. “Nah, I’ll hire you for the job. I’ve got my hands full enough with the all the miscreants around here.”
The thought of Mr. Cavanaugh “guarding” my body gave me a tingle. The evening had been filled with sexual tension, from MYB’s racy performance to my proximity to Travis Zane and then meeting Caleb Whatley. Now, my dad the object of years of my forbidden attraction were innocently discussing him being my bodyguard. Didn’t bodyguard mean he’d be working for me? And if he worked for me, wouldn’t he have to do what I said…?
My imagination was putting the cart about eight thousand miles before the horse, especially considering there was neither a horse nor a cart, just some people who said nice things to me and who would probably have forgotten all about me by the next night when they met the biggest fish from a small pond near whichever city hosted the tour after Charlotte.
“Does that mean I could stop breaking up fights between my boys and crack some other heads?” Mr. Cavanaugh asked my father.
Raising his juice glass in his best friend’s direction, my dad nodded. “Absolutely. Whatever you’d have to do to keep her safe and happy.”
I knew just how he could make me happy.
“Somebody’s got to keep the Earl Driscolls of the world away from her. Or keep her from becoming another one,” Mr. Cavanaugh opined.
“Amen to that, brother,” my daddy answered.
“Well, I’ve got work to do. Just wanted to congratulate Liane,” Mr. Cavanaugh said, swatting my dad on the shoulder with his ball cap and heading back out the door, accompanied by the crowing of a rooster somewhere in the distance.
“You must be exhausted, punkin.”
I took my empty cereal bowl over
to the sink and rinsed it out. “Yeah, it’s all starting to catch up to me a little bit. I’ll probably go lay down for a few. But it’s exciting seeing all the Facebook stuff. I’ve never had so many likes and friend requests.”
“I’m guessing they’ll still be there when you wake up, no?”
“I suppose so,” I conceded, trying to hide behind the refrigerator door as I drank milk straight from the carton. “Who’s Earl Driscoll?”
Dad sighed and shook his head. “Earl Driscoll. That’s a name I hadn’t heard in years. He was a year ahead of me in school. A year behind Robert. Earl played guitar. And piano. He was damn good, too. A prodigy. He sang a little, country music mostly, but his real claim to fame was the guitar. From the time he was young, maybe seven or eight, he could really play. All the girls had crushes on him, your momma included.”
I’d never heard the name Earl Driscoll. The way I’d always heard it, my daddy was the only boy my momma had ever had eyes for. I loved hearing stories about her. I sat back down at the table to listen
“I always thought momma only had eyes for you,” I teased.
“I wish. I was third in line for that angel. Earl, with his long hair and that damn guitar, he had the pick of the litter. But for all his musical talent, he must not have had very good eyes. He went after Katie Sullivan. And I’m here to tell you, Katie Sullivan was no Kirsten Grant. No way, shape, or form. But, hey, it was a blessing for me.”
Daddy always softened when he reminisced about momma. The gruff Marine and deputy sheriff gave way to the lovesick little boy deep inside.
“You were third in line, you said?”
“Well, Robert Cavanaugh called on your momma before I did. But your granddaddy, rest his soul, gave old Robert a whipping. And punkin, you know how mean your granddaddy could be.”
I nodded. He was as ornery as a cornered rattlesnake most of the time, except with me.
“After that, boys stayed away from Kirsten Grant. But I was smitten. And the only one brave enough to risk getting what Robert got. So, we snuck around a bit and got to know one another. She didn’t announce it to your granddaddy until I’d left for Parris Island. Once I was a Marine, and his little girl was eighteen by then anyway, he gave his permission for us to date.”