by Trent Evans
“Show it to me Elira,” he said, voice thick, one of his hands clasping her hip.
His gaze flicked up to hers at her hesitation. “You know what I mean. You can read minds remember?”
He watched a blush suffuse her face for the first time, then followed her fingers as they made their way down to slip through the silky curls. She eased the hood back, her wet clitoris shining in the low light.
“Very nice. That’s a big one, girl.” He stroked it with a finger, and her breath caught.
Her blush darkened yet more, but he was pleased to see she kept herself exposed to his gaze.
“Clasp them behind your head,” he said, not looking to see if she’d obey. He knew she would.
She gasped again as he worked her with the rough pads of his fingertips, occasionally dipping back into the dripping font of her pussy and rubbing more moisture on the deep red clit. It was big, and he loved it. He worried it until she was crying out, her hips working, despite his admonishing her to stay still.
“Don’t come until I give you permission girl. You’ll be sorry if you do.”
She shuddered with a long, high-pitched whine as he continued, relentless, thrusting three fingers into her sex in time with the ceaseless stroking of her hard clit. He knew she couldn’t fight it much longer, but he kept at her, warning her of the consequences of disobeying him. He leaned in closer and laved her pussy with his broad tongue, licking between the swollen labia, savoring the taste of her while he continued pistoning into her with his fingers. Then he sucked the throbbing clit into his mouth. It was too much for her and she went over, crying out, her hips bucking against his hand, his tongue. He didn’t let up, until she pleaded with him, until it was too much for her over-sensitized flesh.
The room was bathed in the scent of her arousal, its evidence dripping down to his wrist. He licked his fingers with a smile as he looked up at her flushed face. Though she was more malleable now, the orgasm lessening her tension, he could still see it in her eyes. That sharp awareness; a place he couldn’t get at. Something she kept from him still.
He’d worked on that with Mara. He’d wanted her to give him everything - and she had. No secrets, no lies; all of it for him. He’d made her tell him the dark thoughts that she feared sharing with anyone. The things she was ashamed of, the things that frightened her. It was hard for her, but she’d realized that it was part of what made everything work. She gave him everything, and he protected it. All of it. All of her. He was where she could flee. He was where she could lay her troubles, her worries, her frustrations. It was heady stuff for him at first, especially when she told him the things red-blooded women really thought, really desired. He’d realized then that there wasn’t much that separated men and women after all; the two sides of the same coin.
“You disobeyed me Elira.”
Her look was defiant, even as she kept her hands clasped behind her head, the slender muscles of her biceps twitching. She was still holding back, challenging him even.
He sat down on the bed again, his heart pounding in his chest. “Lay over my lap Elira.”
You are the lowest of the low. This was only for her.
It still is.
He jerked his head back, startled, for the last thought was not his own.
She did as he required, and he was unsuccessful in stifling the sigh elicited by the blissful sensation of a soft, yielding female body laid across his hard thighs. It was heavenly, and the view was even better.
He sometimes just made Mara lie there quietly for long minutes, while he devoured her with his gaze, wanting to look everywhere at once. Savoring the fact that he didn’t have to; he could take as long as he wanted. And he had.
He stroked the curves of Elira’s broad, plump buttocks, turning his hand to run his knuckles over her paleness, making her skin break out in goose-flesh. He traced the bewitching twin dimples just below her waist. His fingertips wandered down the crevice of her buttocks, delving into that dark valley. His hand clenched a generous cheek hard, claiming it as he scored the creamy flesh of the other cheek with gentle fingernails; just a light scratching, the feel of her softness under his hands wonderful.
Then he spanked her, the sound a jarring crack in the dim, quiet room. She tensed at the pain, but stayed silent. Just as he liked. He slapped each buttock in turn, leaving plenty of time between blows for Elira to feel them. He laid a hard slap to the base of one luscious cheek, and she clenched with a hiss.
“Loosen them Elira. More - good.”
Her buttocks relaxed as his hand-prints continued to bloom on the smooth, white canvas.
SMACK
A mewling, and she reached back to rub her bottom. He caught her wrist in his hand and pinned it to the small of her back.
“That’s not allowed girl.”
“Hurts!” Her voice was far away, strange.
“It’s supposed to hurt Elira,” he said, delivering another crack to the far cheek, sending the lush flesh wobbling. So lovely.
Mara had had a difficult time with spanking at first. She’d never been spanked as a child, and it was a true shock to her when Jacob had first pulled her over his lap. He’d introduced her to it slowly, showing her that it wasn’t all about pain. His obsessive, exploratory preamble would usually have her writhing with need, his knowing hands awakening her to both the pleasure and the pain of a spanking between a Dominant and his submissive. She’d come to love it, most of all because of the loving (and otherwise) attention he paid to her. He’d taught her, to their mutual delight, that ‘a spanking’, was a lot more than just a spanking!
He quickened the pace, cracking repeated slaps to the bottom of both cheeks, and Elira’s stoicism broke. She cried out at each blow, her struggling becoming more urgent. When her generous bottom was a suitable shade of red, Jacob peppered the backs of her thighs with crisp slaps as well, her keening raising another octave at the harsher sting.
His cock was insistent, digging into her hip, the throbbing becoming impossible to ignore. He moved her off of his lap, taking that simple male pleasure in handling her slight body with such ease. Jacob moved her up the bed to have her kneel on all fours, her head resting on the mattress, that glorious, round ass on mouthwatering display. Her ragged breath was beginning to even as she waited, prostrate. He knelt behind her a moment, and just enjoyed the sight of a well-chastised bottom. Such feminine perfection he’d rarely ever seen.
His wife had loved that position for the intense pleasure it brought her, his deep strokes taking her breath away. But more than that, it just made her feel...vulnerable. It was the position she felt a Master should take his slave in, and though they seemingly tried every position known to man, it was always a favorite for them both.
He grasped each of Elira’s delicate wrists and manacled them again, this time affixing them close together low in the middle of the wrought iron headboard. He wanted her to be able to rest her head on her arms for what was coming.
Jacob moved close to Elira, clasped her hips in strong hands, and rubbed the broad head of his cock over the heat of the spanked buttocks. The labia were swollen, the moisture dripping from her sex, the curls of her pubis matted with her juices. He was surprised to see this, as he’d only ever seen one other woman react so strongly, so viscerally, to being spanked. His wife.
The scent of her sex hit him again, stoking his lust yet higher, and he positioned himself at her entrance, the wetness clutching, pulling at him.
“Yes,” she breathed, her hips moving, beckoning.
He entered her with a single, long plunge, seating himself fully as she gasped. He slapped the curve of her ass as he pulled back only to rush forward once more. Then he took up a steady, forceful thrusting, taking his time for it was his to take. He wound one hand in her hair, pulling her head back sharply so that he could nibble on her earlobe, his thrusts increasing.
“Oh Jacob,” she said, voice strained, the lust drowning her.
“Shh Elira. No talking, just feel. Feel me
.” He delivered a heavy smack to her ass, and she yelped.
His hands wandered over her body as he pounded into her, her body jerking as his hips slapped against her soft buttocks. A hard nipple pinched, rough fingertips circling her clit. He made her suck her juices from his fingers once more, the metronome of his thrusts never ending.
He stopped once or twice, both to keep from going over, and to enjoy the clench of her pussy, the rolling, pleading movement of her hips against his.
“We go together Elira. Don’t go until I say.” His voice was harsh, his control a hair’s breadth from breaking.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
He rocked into her with increasing speed, his roughness with her escalating. His fingers were back at her clit, pinning her between the clever tips and the pounding of his cock. With a groan he plunged into her, thighs close against hers, dragging a cry from her.
“Now, come for me,” he growled through clenched teeth. He knew no more for a few moments, the overwhelming pleasure blocking all else out as he emptied into her. She screamed then as her orgasm took her, the clutch of her pussy an incredible, blissful delight as her spasms clamped over and over. He could feel their combined juices running between their bodies, to drip off of his testicles. The smell of sex filling the room made him want to keep going, make this last longer, forever.
But he was exhausted, and not just physically. His animal instincts had taken over, yes. They’d allowed him to be, to live. Not think. But now his thoughts flooded back to him, the shame of what he’d done.
He untied Elira’s hands as he planted tender kisses on the crown of each scorched buttock, the bumps of her spine.
You bastard. You lied to her.
“No,” Elira said turning to him as soon as her hands were freed. “No more Jacob.”
“I-”
She knocked him onto his back, her movement ridiculously quick, the strength behind the blow immense.
His head swam as he lay on his back, gasping, the wind knocked out of him. The strange woman crawled up his body, the soft weight of her breasts dragging against his heated, sweaty chest.
The defiance in her gaze was back… and something else.
“Now it’s my turn Jacob. This was the arrangement.” Her voice was feminine still, but the force of it vibrated in his chest, like a blown speaker.
He tried to speak, but he had no breath in his lungs. He felt as if a car, a mountain, lay atop him, pinning him to that bed. He was helpless.
She crouched over him, and he could see she’d changed.
Oh fuck.
Her eyes no longer shone any whites at all; they were purest jet black.
The color of her skin had gone the mottled gray of concrete on a cold winter morning. Her slim muscles rippled as she moved over him, her gaze intent. Her lips were the deepest of purple, almost black against the pallor of her skin. She was still beautiful, but the beauty was no longer human - or of this world.
“Elira”, he croaked, the effort to produce speech almost causing him to pass out.
She placed a long finger across his lips, the curved ebony claw at its tip tickling the flesh beneath his nose.
“You won’t be taken Jacob - this time. But there’s more I want.”
She moved down his body again, and sheathed his now erect cock deep within her once again, wriggling her hips down to the base to ensure it was fully seated.
Then she smiled at him, flashing needle-like fangs.
He didn’t know how long she rode him. It could have been minutes, or hours. His cock was in agony, feeling as if the skin had been burned off of it. He’d never come so many times in his life. When his stamina flagged once, she pulled off of him, his cock slapping back at his taut, drenched belly. Then she lowered her head to his groin.
He screamed then, as fangs punctured the flesh of his inner thighs. Once, twice, a third time she bit him, switching to the other leg on the final bite. Incredibly, his balls felt a ballooning, rushing pressure, his cock twitching, impossibly hard once more. He groaned with the need, with the pain of the enforced arousal.
She pumped him further, merciless, her round breasts bouncing with her movement. His pleading fell on deaf ears, taloned fingers scratching furrows into his chest. As she crouched over him, squeezing him into releasing yet another pain-filled, wrenching geyser of semen into her greedy pussy, he could see something else. His vision began to gray out, but in the darkness of the room, he could make out movement above her, behind her. The stirring of air. A rustling.
Wings.
He was so tired. He struggled to draw breath, his heart hammering in his chest, desperate. She was killing him.
The last thing he remembered before blacking out was her hand closing over the base of his tortured cock, the poke of the sharp claws. Her too-long tongue licking up the shaft. Her black, bottomless eyes upon him.
“Life is for the living, Jacob. Nuntium amoris ex Mortuus.”
***
It was terrible news. They were prepared for it. The weakness was back, worse than ever. She couldn’t eat anything; didn’t want to even move. Talk of numbers, odds, alternative treatment options. Somber, frank discussion about what to do … after.
They both knew the day was coming, but they wanted it to hold off just a little while longer. A little while longer to enjoy life, the feel of the morning sun, the sounds of children playing, a lover’s hand clasping your own.
He remembered the last time he and Mara had made love. He remembered it as vividly as his very first time. She was near the end, so fragile, so tired. Her oncologist had wanted to admit her again, but Mara had refused. She’d wanted one last night with him while she still had the strength. One last night together.
Incredibly, she’d been embarrassed at her dryness, apologizing to him that they’d had to use something when she’d usually dripped for him. He’d shushed her, telling her she was just as beautiful and sexy as the day they’d first met. He’d shown her his hard cock to prove it. Her ashen lips gave it a tender kiss, and he’d almost begun to cry.
He’d tried to get her to lay back, conserve her strength, just let him love her. She didn’t want to. She’d wanted him from behind, what she’d called his ‘rightful place’. Her husband, her lover, her Master. He’d eased into her, afraid of hurting her. It had felt so right as it always had, and his heart broke knowing it was the last time he’d feel it. They’d both known it was the last time they’d be that close. One.
He’d stroked the bright cloth tied around the remnants of her beautiful hair, caressed her head. She’d reached back and he’d held her hand. Then they’d made love, and he really did cry as he told her over and over how much he loved her. . .
The snow outside had let up a little, but he could still see flakes falling through the spray of the deck’s floodlight. He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece, the leather of the couch creaking as his head moved.
No. No, you’ve got to be kidding me.
He’d fallen asleep.
According to that god-damned clock, he’d been out for about twenty minutes. Jacob rubbed his hand across his face.
“Just wonderful,” he muttered, wiping the drying tears from his cheeks.
The phone buzzed from the bar, startling him, the glasses rattling a little at the vibration. Old friend Glen waited, beckoning.
“I think I’ll have that drink now. Jesus, this is unreal.”
Yes, you’re right. It wasn’t real. Fuck.
The phone went off again, and he moved to stand up. He yelled at the pain that shot through his groin. He’d once had a cat bite him through the palm of his hand. That bee-stung ache lasted for days afterward. His inner thighs now felt exactly the same.
Then he saw it, and shivers cascaded down his spine.
Mara’s letter.
He stood, ignoring the pain, and walked to the bar. The letter lay folded on the varnished wood, right next to his phone. A fresh black rose, thorns and all, lay neatly over
the folded paper.
The phone buzzed again, and he picked it up.
“Hello Sierra,” he said, voice thick, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I’m taking you home.”
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Interested in writing, or wondering when the next story will be released? Follow Trent’s blog at http://trentevansletters.wordpress.com/.
Coming April 2012
A Lady and a Maid: A Muurland story
Sophie, a simple, beautiful farm girl on the cusp of exploring her first love gains the lustful attention of a jaded, cruel noblewoman. She’s taken to the noble’s manor at Westwood, and there descends into a nightmare of depravity for which her protected upbringing could never have prepared her.
Owen the dashing object of her affection mounts a daring rescue attempt to retrieve the unfortunate girl from the web of passion, lust, and cruelty in which she’s been caught. But larger events are afoot, including the sinister threat of invasion of their homeland, threatening to draw all of them down into an inescapable doom.
Publisher’s Warning: This short novel features explicit sexuality and sometimes severe BDSM, including M/F, F/F, spanking, whipping, bondage, needle play, pony play, sadomasochism and graphic violence. 40000 words.
For mature readers only.
Excerpt:
It was her favorite time of the day: watching Owen. She made a sport of sneaking glances at the broad back of the farmhand as he mucked out the milking stalls. His trousers, stretched tightly over that trim, firm backside drew her eye as well, but she was ever afraid his quick glances back at her might catch her in the act. Her father would stripe her backside himself if he knew she was so much as thinking about glancing at one of the hands.