by Anya Delvay
That excites me—the thought of her sitting in the dark, watching as David and I climax again and again, squirming with frustration or frigging herself to completion. I withdraw from her cunt, slicking my thumb teasingly over the straining clitoris above before removing my hands from beneath her dress.
“Later, darling,” I say as I stand and suck her juices from my fingers. Even fully dressed, her wanton posture, half-reclined in her seat, her feet wide apart, is enough to stir all my yearnings. And her little moan of frustration is music to my ears. “It is time for you to hide away.”
Annabelle rises, sways, and I catch her around the waist, pressing a passion-filled kiss to her trembling mouth. Our tongues duel, and for the first time, I feel her hands sliding over my back, pulling me closer, and I sigh. I lift my lips from hers, letting my hands roam her body in return.
“Come with me, darling. Let me undress you so you may sit in comfort to watch David and me.”
A tremor runs through her, but she makes no demur as we go behind the screen and into the gloom of the dressing room. A small fire burns in the grate, and I lead her into the glow of the flame.
As the clock strikes the hour, I unhook the front of her gown and help her pull the tight sleeves down her arms. Turning her around, I find the tapes securing the topmost petticoat and untie them. Unable to resist, I set my lips to her shoulder, run them up to her neck. She shivers, and I feel her fingers urging mine to rush.
“Hurry,” she whispers. “He will be here soon.”
Three underskirts then a fourth come off to be discarded on the floor, kicked aside in our haste. Her bumroll and under-petticoat swiftly follow. It takes a little more time to dispose of her stays, and I kiss her as the ties loosen, are pulled through the holes. By the time it comes off, we are panting, our arousal no doubt heightened by the knowledge the man we both love will soon be here, and we run the risk of discovery.
We hear the door to my bed chamber open just as I am pulling Annabelle’s shift over her head, and we both freeze.
With a jerk, I pull it off and have only a second to survey her pale nakedness before she whispers, “Go, go!”
I hurry out, right into David’s arms, and terror grips me when I realise he was on the threshold of the dressing room, just at the screen. Another step or two and he would have been inside.
“Who were you talking to?” He holds me by the arms, his eyes searching my face, and he continues to hover at the door, as though to continue through.
“Just dismissing my maid, dearest.” How my heart races, my mind twirls with thoughts of what will occur if he goes into the dressing room. A distraction is needed—an idea forms. “She was assisting me to pack some more of my belongings.”
His face darkens, and he pulls me against his chest, fingers tightening on my flesh. “Do not speak of it, Marianne. I do not wish to hear about what is to come.”
“There is no escaping it, David. You must face this truth—soon I will be gone.”
He picks me up, carries me to the bed and lays me down. When I look up at him, I expect to see anger, but instead the expression of pain—near grief—on his face wrings my heart.
“I know I must,” he says, and although his voice is strong, he sounds somehow broken too. “But not tonight, darling. Do not remind me tonight.”
The heartache I feel is understandable, almost welcome, for it reminds me of what can never be, makes me appreciative of what I have. Yet it should also be a shield, a bulwark against giving too much, losing too much more of my soul in this man. Instead I know the barriers to have fallen, and as I drown in his intent gaze, feel his hands begin to caress my arms, I melt into surrender.
“Oh, David,” is all I can say before his lips claim mine, and the whirlpool of desire begins to spin ever faster, taking us on a dizzying rise.
There is an almost frantic tenderness to his attentions, the soft sweep and plundering of his kisses, the way his hands seek each small section of my skin and learn it anew. I help him undress, but once he is naked, he guides my hands to the headboard and bids me keep them there.
“Let me love you,” he whispers. “In every way I can.”
And he knows a great many ways to do so.
Ignoring my breasts and quim, he first touches and then kisses and licks from my clenched hands down to my feet, finding all the places he knows will heighten my passion. When he nuzzles the crease at the top of my thigh, I hear myself cry out, my body arching as though at the point of climax, and he laughs, low and sweet, before tormenting me some more. It is a sublime sensation—between a tickle and erotic stimulation—and I writhe and moan as he lingers there, moving his lips from one side to the other until I mindlessly beg for surcease.
Pressing my legs wide apart, he gazes down at me and croons, “Such a sweet cunt. So wet and excited. I love how big your nub gets—long to suck and bite it, make you scream with pleasure.”
“Yes,” I plead, even yet knowing he will not fulfill my need. “Yes, please.”
But instead he only brushes the edges with his fingers, closes my legs again and says, “Not yet.”
Leaning over me, his beautiful body only barely touching mine, he licks the undersides of my breasts, following the round contours, tracing the curves. My nipples ache for his attention, but every other inch of skin must be tasted and savoured before he gently touches his lips to first one tight peak then the other. I strain up, wanting more and harder contact, but he only feathers his mouth back and forth.
His cock is heavy against my thigh, leaves a wet trail of desire on my skin as he moves. I lift my hips in an effort to tempt him, and he shifts to one side.
Without warning he sucks one nipple into his mouth, his fingers finding the other, tweaking and pulling. It is a lightning strike of sensation, bowing me up off the bed, my hands finding his head to hold him in place. With lips and teeth and tongue, he drives me higher and higher yet, nipping and pinching so pain mingles with and enhances the delicious pleasure.
By the time he pulls away, I can hardly catch my breath, and it takes great effort to raise my eyelids so as to visually devour his flushed and aroused body. He catches my roaming hands, holding them tightly.
“Naughty Marianne. Did I not tell you to hold fast to the headboard?”
“I want to touch you,” I cry, pulling, trying to make him release his grip. “Look at how hard you are. Let me touch you, take you in my mouth if you will not fuck me.”
“No.” He is emphatic, even as his cock jerks in reaction and another bead of excitement wets the tip. “I am not done with you yet. Roll over.”
I am almost sobbing, lust raking my flesh with avid, needy claws, but I comply with his demand, once more grip the headboard when he places my hands upon it.
And the torture begins anew.
My ears and neck and nape, shoulders, back and legs are treated with the same painstaking exploration of fingers and mouth. Beneath me the linens, fine as they are, abrade my oversensitised skin, adding another layer of sensation. His tongue slicks along beneath the swell of one buttock, loiters at the edge of my quim, sweeping in tiny circles. I try to open my legs, but he is sitting over them, holding them partially closed, and suddenly I recall doing the self-same thing to Annabelle, and cry out, on the verge of release. David chuckles and moves to the other side, repeating the movements, making me sob with frustration.
How long will he make me suffer tonight? How long before he allows me to find the culmination just out of my reach? I cannot recall a time I have been more excited, more in need of a touch, a kiss, to take me to that final explosion of bliss.
“Tonight,” he whispers as though hearing my thoughts. “Tonight I will leave you too satiated to think of anything but me.”
But the image of Annabelle watching, touching herself in the dark, comes to my mind, and I shudder, am almost crying, as I feel him urge me up onto my knees.
Chapter Eleven
I am all sensation, nothing but shivering, aching flesh,
and David knows this, uses it to full advantage. With fingertips alone, he sweeps over my buttocks, teasing close to the centre and then away. I can only moan and shudder, exposed and vulnerable, waiting to see where his desires will take him.
There is a sharp nip of teeth on one buttock, a pinch of fingers on the other, making me start and quiver, and then the feathery touches again.
“Such a lovely arse, Marianne, and so sensitive too.”
Another nip and pinch, more gentle caresses giving the utmost thrilling contrast. His fingers encroach between my cheeks, close to my arsehole, down to the lips of my quim where they linger, playing tenderly with the curls.
Nip, pinch, tickle.
I try to stay still, but instinctively my buttocks rise and fall in silent plea. I want him to slap, lick, suck, bite, anything other than this continuing torment.
Nip, pinch, tickle.
My eyes are tightly closed, the darkness heightening each tiny nuance of our play. It is difficult to breathe, my entire world narrowing until all I know is this moment, all I can long for is the next.
When he spreads my buttocks, inserting his tongue into my arse at the same time, the shock of intense bliss makes me scream, and my knees give out beneath me. David grabs my hips, hoists me back up, burying his face in my arse, fucking, fucking with his inexorable tongue. His chin, scratchy with end-of-day whiskers, rubs my cunt, and I can hardly bear the pleasure of it.
Unrelenting, he holds me there, and I hear and feel his growls above my moans, which are muffled by the pillow beneath my face.
He ceases just long enough to groan. “I wish I had another tongue to lick your sweet nub at the same time.”
Oh, the image that immediately enters my head, taking me to the brink of release. I lie above him, his tongue thrusting into my arse. Annabelle lies above me, her sweet cunt covering my mouth, just as mine covers hers.
Or it could be David that licks my cunt, fills my mouth with his cock, while Annabelle fucks me in the bottom with her tongue or a dildo.
I cry out, shuddering, pressing as hard as I can against his face, taken to the limit by his ministrations and my fantasies. David curves one arm beneath me for support, and when he pinches my clitoris between his fingers, my cries turn to screams of utter and devastating completion.
Covering my quim with his mouth David licks and sucks, prolonging my climax until I am limp, my throat sore from my cries. When he takes my clitoris between his lips, I jerk, try to get away, so tender and sensitive I cannot bear a moment more. But he easily subdues me, sucking and flicking until I am once more hovering on the edge of exploding. Then he straightens, lifting my hips until I find purchase with my trembling legs. His thumb presses against my arsehole, rubbing, and I relax, giving him entrance. There is an infinitesimal encroachment.
“So tight and hot,” he croons, pressing only lightly. “I want to fuck you in every hole, come in your cunt and mouth and arse, but that isn’t possible.” A little more of his thumb slides in, and the burning sensation has me lifting up toward him. “You choose, Marianne, where you want to be fucked.”
“There, darling,” I cry, loving his crudity, lust raking me anew. “In the arse, please.”
David chuckles and retracts his finger, bending to lick a path of fire around the orifice in question before climbing down from the bed to go to the wardrobe. I turn my head on the pillow to watch him, gasping with desire as I enjoy the sight of his glorious back and arse, the muscular thighs in motion. When he turns to come back, the view is even more delicious, for his face is flushed and damp, tight with passion, and his cock is so stiff it hardly moves as he walks.
Returning to take up position beside me, he uncorks the little crock of grease.
“Let me get you ready”—his voice is hoarse—“for I need you prepared to take all of me.” The first cool slick of his finger, coated with the lubricant, shocks my senses, and I shudder beneath the onslaught of his hand and voice. “I’m not going to be gentle tonight. I want to brand you, ensure you never forget me, as long as you live.”
I never shall, I want to say but hold the confession deep inside. Even now, vulnerable and so full of love and desire I could burst asunder, I cannot surrender that final piece of myself.
One finger easily slips into me, slides slowly back and forth. I clench around it, my body trying to expel the intrusion, but I force myself to relax, and he inserts a second to join the first. It burns, and my arse aches, but the sensation makes me moan with yearning rather than pain. I want more.
A third finger has me stiffening, waves of longing pulsing through my trembling body with each thrust and retreat. David bends, kissing my back, murmuring incoherent words of praise as he keeps up the loving assault. Reaching beneath me, he cups my breast, tugging the nipple in time with motion of his hand.
“Oh, David,” I gasp, unable to stop from begging. “Please, please, have me now.”
“Are you sure you’re ready, love?” He’s trying to tease, but his own need makes the words a harsh growl. “Are you ready to take my cock deep into your arse?”
“Fuck me, please,” I cry, squeezing around his fingers, tempting him with the knowledge of what it will feel like to be inside me there. “Now.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
His fingers withdraw, but before he can move behind me, I roll onto my back, drawing my knees up to my chest, opening myself completely, utterly, to him.
“I want to watch you,” I whisper, holding his gaze, showing him with actions what I cannot say with words. “I want to see every moment of your pleasure.”
David groans my name, swooping in to kiss me with devouring, tender force. As he draws back, shifts his body into position, his eyes remain on my face, holding me in thrall.
The act of taking me thus, in a way many consider wrong, should be nothing but a surfeit of lust, a thirst for the forbidden. But as he slicks grease over his cock, bends it to the mark, I feel only loving need overwhelm me.
The first touch makes me quiver, and I force my body to calmness, to acceptance. Even with his prior attempt at preparation, as the head pushes forward, an intense burning has me gripping the sheets in the effort not to wail with pain and joy.
“Let me in, sweet. Let me in.”
His expression is ferocious, but he does not rush this first incursion. Indeed I could not want for a gentler example of his regard. I push against him, taking the head completely, and he pauses, lifting his face to the canopy above, his mouth moving silently, his hands tightening to a punishing grip.
I can feel him pulsing inside me, know he is trying not to spill his seed. Reaching between my legs, I grip the base of his cock, holding it tightly, curtailing the release and yet urging him closer, farther in, until only the part of him I hold in my hand remains to enter.
David is trembling, awash with sweat, his cock going slightly soft in my grip. I tickle his balls with my fingers before letting him go, squeeze him with my inner muscles, and he curses, going instantly hard again.
Lowering his head to smile, he says, “Thank you,” and, before I can reply, he pushes all the way into my arse in one short, hard stroke. “Now I can fuck you for longer.”
Bringing my legs forward over his shoulders, he grips my thighs and begins to stroke.
Filled, burning, dying with love and lust, I can only urge him on with my cries and the writhing of my body. Each slow withdrawal of his cock is followed by a hard forward thrust that has his hard belly slapping against my cunt, stinging and stimulating my clitoris. The twin sensations are enough to make me howl, to strain toward release.
“Yes,” he growls, plunging as deeply as possible, holding there as I twist my hips in wanton bliss. “Spend for me, Marianne.”
And when he finds my clitoris with his finger, begins to rub, I cannot hold back the rush of my climax. David curses again and begins to fuck me with short hard movements, which is all that my arse, which has tightened with pleasure, will allow. The pain is sharper, hotter
, and I let it flow over and through me, driving my release to a new, more intense height. Rocking against him, my heels digging into his shoulders, I force my eyes open just in time to see his face contort, to hear him shout my name and feel the hot rush of his seed deep inside.
Something inside me comes apart, irreparably destroyed by the intimacy of the moment, the closeness and knowledge that Annabelle is observing it all. When David slumps over me, I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck. Burying his face in my neck, his breath rasping hot against me, David trembles, his body wracked by the aftermath of our encounter. His cock is still inside me, the connection still complete.
“I love you, Marianne.” I can hardly hear him, but my heart leaps. “I will always love you.”
“Hush,” I whisper as I fight to keep sadness at bay. That he should say this now, when it is too late for us all, is the worst of heartbreaks. “Hush, my darling.”
And as his cock slips from my body, I feel the heat of his tears on my skin but say nothing more.
What is there to be said?
Lying in bed, watching David wash and begin to dress, I contemplate the tangle that is my life. Behind the screen, Annabelle waits, but the flush of erotic anticipation I felt before her husband arrived has fled. I am tired and heartsick, wanting nothing more than to curl into a ball and fade to nothing. This urge, one I cannot remember ever feeling before, frightens me but is undeniable.
“You are very quiet.” He glances at me and then back to the mirror, tying his stock with the meticulous care I always associate with him.
I smile slightly but keep my eyelids lowered so he cannot see how false is the expression. “Am I usually such a chatterbox, then?”
“No.” He smiles in return, but it is just the tiniest of movements. “But you are usually a little more articulate.”
Does he want me to admit my love for him in response to his declaration? Why, when I never espoused such a feeling before? Perhaps he hopes to hold me in London with his words, but I will not be chained that way—chained, waiting for the soul-destroying end. Better to rip the bandage away cleanly.