by Kate Gilead
My belly tightens and then loosens and as it tightens again, the most profound orgasmic contraction I’ve ever felt begins.
“Ahhh jesus oh fuck oh fuck,” I hear myself sob, and I’m coming, coming so hard that fluid literally flies from my pussy, splashing Mason in the chest a bit as he works my pussy with his hand.
“Oh fuck yeah,” he cries, and begins growling encouragement. “Yeah…oh yeah that’s right…so fucking hot…come all over me!” and this makes me come even harder, it’s so good that I can’t even describe it; I come so hard it’s as if my orgasm literally turned into hot fluid that squirts from my pussy with every spasm. Jesus! Each spurt is a profoundly pleasurable, mind-blowing spike so exquisite, my body shakes and jitters uncontrollably, each one more intense than the last.
“Oh fuck yeah…oh baby…lemme fuck that sexy pussy…” he growls, quickly kneeling in place between my legs.
His cock is straining upwards, rock-hard and dripping precum.
Shaking with lust, he thrusts himself straight into my soaked and swollen flesh while I’m still in the throes of orgasm. His cock is hot, steel-hard and greedy for me, his teeth bared and his wordless growls like erotic music to my ears.
He pushes my legs back with his hands, holding me all the way open.
Leaning into it, he fucks me hard now, no holds barred. I grab at his hips and his shoulders, moaning and crying, my tits jiggling and my legs trembling.
My pussy feels different around his cock, it feels hotter and tighter as it grasps and grips his shaft, working it like a warm, hungry mouth.
“Unnhhhh,” he cries, thrusting himself balls-deep; and then he’s digging into me, digging it into me, so good, so sweet, his cock huge and hard, drawing my pleasure out with its throbbing, insistent length.
“Unnhhhh…unnhh…” he moans, and his eyes squeeze shut as he erupts into my pulsing flesh, tight and swollen with orgasm, milking his seed from his straining length in wave after wave of pleasure.
“Jesus,” I whisper, some time later. “That was…incredible. I’ve never, ever come like that, not with a vibrator, not with a shower head…that was the most intense, hottest orgasm ever!’
Mason’s lying next to me, sweaty and smelling of sex. My pussy’s still having residual twinges of pleasure, and his cock is still half-hard from the strength of his own explosive orgasm.
“I thought you might be a squirter. I could tell from how you were responding to me.” He laughs, and pulls me close.
“My god, I had no idea how intense that could be!”
“Damn, it was fucking awesome! Samantha, that was the hottest thing ever, making you come like that.” He kisses my head and then we both lay quietly and rest.
He’s quiet for so long, I think maybe he fell asleep.
But when I look at him, he looks back at me, with a devilish glint in his eye.
“I wonder if…would you be interested in helping me with a special project?”
“Maybe? I dunno about that look in your eye. What’s on your dirty mind?”
“I want to build another toy. A sex toy. One that reliably produces female ejaculation. I’m thinking of calling it the The E-Jack-U-Lator. Think you’d be interested in being a test subject?”
Like I need to be asked twice!
“Fuck, yeah! I think we should get on that right away! As soon as possible!” I grin. “But that name sounds like something you’d use on a guy. You should call it the E-Jill-U-Lator. Or, no…no…the Jill-Off. Or, wait, no…how about…the Jill Jacker!”
We’re cackling like fools.
“Oh baby,” he says, laughing. “This thing is gonna be a winner! It has to wait until my current project is done. But we can start sometime next year, early. Maybe right after New Year’s.”
“Darn, that long huh?”
He snorts. “It’s not that far away.”
“Feels like forever. In the meantime, though, I think we should keep practicing with your finger. Just to make sure we don’t get rusty.” I grin.
He guffaws. “You got a deal. Fuck, baby! Nothing could be sexier, nothing could be hotter than making you come like that…you looked so fucking hot…nuclear-hot…words-can’t-describe how hot you are when you’re coming all over me like that.”
I hug him close. “Maybe it’s for the best to build a machine for it. That way, your finger will get a rest. Because, sweetie…I want you to do that to me for the rest of my life. Don’t even think you can get rid of me now!”
It’s one o’clock in the morning, late, past Drew’s normal feeding time. But the monitor is still quiet. We check on him quickly. He’s still sleeping peacefully. After a quick shower together, we pull on clean night wear, change the sheets and fall into bed, exhausted but resigned to waking up at any moment for Drew’s feeding.
But when we hear his hungry cries and I rise to get his bottle, the clock shows an amazing sight.
It’s past seven in the morning!
For the first time, our beautiful baby boy slept through the night.
Christmas time. Six months old, Drew is a happy, alert, healthy and delightful baby boy. I’m living here full time.
I’m home.
I am completely and totally in love with this child and his father, both. They are my world, my life, my family, and I am theirs. No one doubts or questions it anymore and it’s just a matter of time before we get engaged and make it official.
We are completely intertwined now. My parents and brother are back and forth to our place as much as they like, as we are to their house, as well. They’ve babysat Andrew, taken him places and had him for weekend visits. They’re his grandparents through and through.
We’ve had my kid brother here overnight many times. Mason loves him, thinks he’s a hoot. Stevie is showing a promising interest in aviation robotics himself, which fact Mason takes delight in, teaching Stevie everything he can, at every opportunity.
I’m a different person than I was six months ago. Love and responsibility has matured me.
Most astonishing to me is how having a family has freed me, not chained me.
How is this possible? Simple. I am no longer stuck in a protracted childhood, a self-absorbed, perpetual teenager with nothing important to do.
Rather, I feel more free now, free to keep growing and developing and loving my future husband, our child and every other child of the family we plan to start making, as soon as we tie the knot.
I can’t wait until Drew calls me “mommy”.
And I can’t wait until Mason calls me his wife.
My whole family, including aunts, uncles and cousins, are here for a big Christmas dinner, bunking in the nanny’s suite, the spare rooms and the basement.
During the meal, Mason announces that part of his gift to me is a surprise trip.
“Pack up,” he says. “We’re leaving first thing in the morning.”
Literally every one else around the table grins at me.
“Oh, everyone knows this but me?”
They all chorus in the affirmative, laughing.
“All I’m telling you now is that I got your parents to babysit Andrew for a few days, so we can have some much-needed time off, together.”
I look at my mom, who’s holding baby Drew in her lap, and then my dad. “Really? Thanks! That’s awesome!”
“It’s our pleasure! Andrew’s such a good bubba,” Mom croons, kissing his fuzzy head. “Weese doona hab funs, huh, bubba? Yeah! Weese doona hab lotsa funs!”
The baby smiles and babbles in agreement.
“Are we going somewhere special?” I ask.
“You’ll see.”
The next morning.
We board Mason’s private jet for a flight to Italy.
It’s my first time to Europe, my first chance to visit that ancient homeland.
Now, it’s two days later. Mason and I are at his European base, which, to my amazement, turns out to be a castle.
Castello Grimmetti, the family estate in Tuscany. A medie
val castle-fortress built in 1532, it’s fully modernized and extremely luxurious.
At nearly two thousand acres, the property boasts a dozen estate homes housing venerable families from the region, several vineyards growing Chianti grapes, a lake and even a tiny village where some of the Grimmetti employees live and raise their children.
Needless to say, it’s beautiful.
“I didn’t tell you about it because, it’s…well, a lot to take in. Overwhelming. Besides, I thought it was better to show you.”
“I’m glad you only told my family about the trip, and not the…destination.”
“Only your father knows about the estate. You know he won’t say a word to anyone else, not even your mom. So, I’ll leave it to you when to tell her. As for your friends, and cousins, I’d say, give it time. They don’t need to know right now. If at all.” He pauses. “When people know you have money, they can get weird. Some things are better kept secret.”
He should know. Plus, I am overwhelmed. How do you cope with crazy wealth like this?
But Mason’s been coping for years, and he’s still just Mason. The down-to-earth, generous, sensitive, sexy family man that I love.
All I can do is keep being me, plain old Samantha, and let Mason worry about being a secret billionaire.
Right now, we’re in his master suite, a modernized apartment which occupies a set of stone chambers in one wing of the castle.
We’re cuddling in bed. To one side, there’s a roaring fire in a huge, ancient hearth.
On the other side, there’s a long, modern picture window, overlooking a frosty vineyard and the valley below.
Above, a full moon rides high in the velvety sky, casting its gorgeous silver rays over the sparkling vista.
Wrapped in each other’s arms, we raise a toast with a glass of estate Chianti di Mario, vintage 1982, the year of Mason’s birth.
Eyes shining, Mason produces a ring. “Ti amo,” he says, sliding it onto my finger, “vuoi passare il resto della tua vita con me?” He smiles. “I love you. Will you spend the rest of your life with me?”
But a ring needs no translation.
“Sì, sì, amore mio,” I reply in my halting Italian, tears brimming along with my smile.
The celebration begins...with a kiss.
Ten
Chapter 10 Epilogue
Standing on the warm marble floor of the opulent master bathroom, I hold up my left hand to admire my ring.
Caught in a shaft of morning sun, the big diamond is clear, bright and dazzling.
Mirroring the effect in miniature, droplets of condensation on the gold faucets and bathroom fixtures reflect dozens of tiny points of light.
What an incredible place this is!
Almost every wall in the bathroom is mirrored, including the walls surrounding the deep, generous, two-man tub.
I’m thinking all these mirrors in this bathroom might make it a good place for some naughty shenanigans.
Wiping a swath of steam from the ornately-framed, oversized full-length mirror that adorns one of the walls, I look into my own reflected eyes.
Am I really here? Is this for real?
I reach down and pinch my own naked ass, hard.
Ow! Yes…yep I’m here, alright.
Still…I can barely believe it.
My hand touches a few reddish marks on my breast, and another, on my neck. Those light hickies, plus the soreness between my legs, are sweet mementos of mine and Mason’s long night of passion after our engagement last night.
I smile, thinking that Mason has a few hickies of his own this fine morning.
He’s been up for two hours, showered and gone off on his rounds, checking on the business of the estate and all of its many doings.
“Stay in bed, cara mia,” he’d whispered, kissing my cheek as I stirred sleepily when he rose this morning. “Sleep as long as you like. Call me when you get up.”
Snuggled in the downy bed, I’d drifted off back to sleep happily, curled up in the pool of warmth left by Mason’s big frame in the sheets.
Now, padding naked into the spacious dressing room off the bathroom, I quickly pull on a pair of soft, aged-denim jeans, a cozy turtleneck, a light jacket for warmth in the sometimes-chilly castle, and a pair of suede walking shoes. I’m looking forward to spending the day seeing as much of the ancient building as I can.
Finishing up by touching on a bit of mascara and lip color, I dial Mason to let him know that I’m ready.
“Good-ah morning, Sunshine-ah,” he says cheerily. I notice with amusement that his voice carries that inflection today…a very slight Italian accent. I wonder whether this creeps back into Mason’s speech just by virtue of being back home and among his countrymen.
It gives his voice a certain jauntiness…not to mention, ramping up his sexiness by leaps and bounds, as well.
“Bongiorno, Mason,” I say. “You sound like a true Italiano today!”
“Sì, sì” he agrees amiably, “this always happens when I’ve been home for a few days. You can take the Italiano out of Italy, but…”
“You can’t take Italy out of the Italian?” I finish for him.
“You got it, babe!” Now he sounds entirely American again.
What an interesting man the Fates have given me!
“How’s that delicious figa of yours this morning? Still sore?” His use of the salacious slang for the word ‘pussy’ makes me think of all the hot, dirty talking he’d indulged in last night…much of it in Italian, and all of it sexy as hell.
Being back in the homeland is revealing more than one new side to Mason.
In fact, it seems that there are as many facets to Mason as there are to…well, to my new diamond ring.
I’m loving every minute of it. If hearts can be said to be smiling, my heart must be wearing an ear-to-ear grin right about now.
“Only when I walk,” I say, laughing.
Growing serious now, he says, “I’m gonna try to be available as much as I can today. I want to show you around myself! But it’s fiscal year-end and there are many things to attend to.”
“It’s okay, sweetie. I don’t mind.”
“I know. Listen, as I said last night, you have the free run of the estate. Antonio will take you around too, if you like. although you can explore alone if you prefer, of course.”
“Thanks!” Suddenly, my tummy rumbles loudly. “Hey, how about this…have you eaten? I’m starving!”
“Actually, no, I haven’t. I’m hungry too. Why don’t I join you in the kitchen for breakfast?”
“I’d love to! I just have to remember where it is.”
“Oh, just a moment,” he says. “I meant to send this to you yesterday…we have a map of the property, including the castello, that we make available for turisti.”
My phone sounds the text notification. It’s a link to an app that has not just a map, but also displays points of interest with some historical information. The app installs itself on my phone at a touch.
“I’ll meet you in the kitchen in ten minutes, okay babe?” His voice lowers to a murmur. “Take your time, don’t overwork that pussy. Let’s give it some time to heal, okay?”
“Va bene, mio Capitano,” I say, grinning.
My steps make no sound on the highly-polished stone floor of the wide corridor leading out of Mason’s apartments. As I traverse it, I find myself very aware of the weight of the years in this ancient place. I wonder what scenes these stone walls have been witness to; what stories they’d tell if they could.
Apart from a few tapestries and some statues in sconce-lit recesses, this area is undecorated. Since Mason’s wing is off-limits to tourists, it reflects his rather austere tastes instead of the usual ornate decor.
Soon, I come to a long gallery displaying medieval paintings of estate scenes and portraits of the nobility who once owned or lived on this property. These pieces of art were sold with the property when the Grimmettis purchased it from a financially-distressed owner decades e
arlier, and have been part of the estate for hundreds of years.
Some pieces are awaiting repairs or touch-ups and will eventually be hung in the tourist areas of the castello. Some are priceless and too fragile to be moved or handled by amateurs. Those will stay here, protected in the naturally cool, dry and little-used environment of this older wing until such time as they can be handled by experts.
Further along, there’s a long gallery of family photos, both candid and posed, color and black and white, of Mason and his parents, going back to his babyhood; photos his parents’ courtship and wedding day; and even shots of his mother and father in their own childhood and infant years.
Hanging there also are dozens of framed photos of relatives, stretching back through every decade.
Some of Mason’s extended family were wealthy but many were working class. He has inherited or sought out photos of them all, and displayed this, his most-prized collection, along this wall.
Here are shots from the sixties, showing ladies sporting beehive hairdos and Jackie O glasses, and men wearing turtlenecks with hipster-thin pants and ankle boots.
Here too, are shots from the fifties, with girls in poodle skirts and kerchiefs, posing with teenaged boys in thick dungarees and white t-shirts with rolled up sleeves and greased-back pompadours.
Back, back through time go the photos and portraits, back through the forties and thirties, their subjects wearing grimmer and more subdued fashions of those times with their darker colors and more severe lines. And I notice those people are wearing fewer smiles as well.
Now, we come to the nineteen-twenties, the ancestors here represented by fewer and more faded photographs, some photos in sepia tones and some quite damaged. Yet these images appear to show happier times, with some ladies in formal dress and some in flapper attire, wearing beaded and sequined dresses and floppy hats, with the men in tops and tails or bowler hats and wide-shouldered, wide-legged pin-striped suits.
Soon thereafter the photographs become even fewer. Instead, there are daguerrotypes showing the wide-eyed and stiffly-posed people of those times. There are examples of earlier, experimental photography of the eighteen-hundreds, depicting men in uptight, funereal-looking clothing and women in long-skirted and tightly-bodiced dresses, with their buttoned-up necks and ruffles; often wearing comically large hats with gigantic feathers or bows.