by JR King
I licked him clean, then transferred spittle onto his shaft not once, but twice, so he became slick with my saliva.
“Nasty girl.” He smiled down on me. “Clever girl.”
“I am, sir.” I smiled back up at him. “I’ve learned from the best.”
“Take it all in.”
Now I looked down. I eyed his length and his width. Christ, he looked so huge in my small hand. I swept my tongue up the side from the base to the tip then slid my lips down his length, trying to cover him inch by inch. My hands gripped his behind as I pushed my mouth further, holding on just as tightly as he held me. And still, somehow my vocal folds spasmed shut, and my throat constricted and convulsed. I powered through despite the struggle, but gagging seemed imminent.
“Breathe through your nose,” he directed.
To get closer to him, I shuffled on my knees a little. Very gently, he pressed my head down. This time I made a determined effort to swallow him all the way down. I remembered to breathe through my nose, and yet again, it didn’t seem to make a difference. One after the other, spasms crawled up my throat. I suppressed the gagging until a painful cramp gripped my stomach. A violent gag reaction was responsible for making me tear up, and so I squeezed my eyes shut to dislodge the tears from the inner rim.
Roughly, and with calculated precision, Alexander rubbed his thumb back and forth across the bare nape of my neck, soothing me. “Stop crying. Life’s not a bed of roses.” His voice was clipped to the point of being cruel, the guiltless conviction in it clear.
Real tears threatened to spill as self-reproach stroked my back with cold fingers.
“Fuck this shit.” He pulled my head away from him. I glanced up, his cock sliding from my lips. I saw him look down at me with disdain. “I can feel the tension in your neck. It won’t go away unless you trust me and fully submit.”
“I just can’t seem to stop it. Am I that bad at giving head?”
“You’re an outstanding blowjob giver, babe. But this isn’t about making me climax. It’s about surrender and trust. You don’t trust me because you consider you don’t belong to me. I asked you before, didn’t I? Do you think this is some stupid game? Do you think I enjoy seeing and hearing you dream about other men?”
That brought more real tears to my eyes. “I’m yours.” I wrapped my arms around his behind and pressed my cheek to his upper thigh. Warm and muscled and mine, I thought sourly. I blinked the tears out of my eyes. “I’m yours and you’re mine, Alex.”
“Yet your body doesn’t trust me, and so your mind wanders back to your past. Back to people you used to trust.”
The estimation sounded like an assessment for a job evaluation, birthing fear within me. I didn’t want to lose him to another girl. Didn’t want him to resort to the use of prostitutes just because our minds had odd ways of functioning to minimize and cope with stress. I didn’t want him to seek sexual pleasure outside our relationship. He wasn’t a patient man, yet he’d never suggested recruiting a submissive. In my mind’s eye, I had this vision that he wasn’t going to stop wanting what he wanted. And that something, the submission he sought, not only intrigued me, it also scared me. Also, in a sense, he was right. I didn’t trust him the way a boyfriend needed to be trusted by his girlfriend. Due to Peter’s actions, I’d never completely trust any man.
“Alex, tell me what you want,” I began pleading, “how you want it. I’m happy to do anything for you.”
“Give and take, Elena. You’re giving, but I won’t take any of it without your trust.”
Possession and protection, I reflected, was an erotic cocktail. “I don’t understand myself—understand what’s happening. Just do what you feel like doing. I don’t mind. I want to please you.”
“When I tell you to stop, you stop immediately, okay?”
I nodded, took a deep breath. “Let’s try again.”
“Try again? You’re setting yourself up for failure.”
“I will do my best. Just lowering the bar so I don’t disappoint you too much.”
“Elena…this really doesn’t matter all that much.” Seemingly discomfited by my trust issues, he released my neck and vectored the hand away from me. “Especially not to you. Let’s leave it. Give me head the way you want to. Hum for me, baby.”
“No, sir,” I shouted, taking his hand and placing it back on the nape of my neck. “Please, I’ll do my best.”
In truth, I was all aflutter at the prospect of submitting to him.
His hand was warm against my skin, his strong fingers combing through the strands of my hair as he flexed his cock. “Open up and swallow.”
“Promise me you won’t force me. Promise you won’t hurt me,” I demanded softly.
“I would never force you. I promise I won’t hurt you. I’ll know if you can’t breathe. I’ll feel it on my dick.” He pulled my head to his groin, easing his cock past my lips. “Remember the biting session? Relax your body. Let yourself go limp and allow me to take what I want.”
I tilted my head, felt his hand tighten around my neck. “Alex,” I whispered, licking the tip of his cock, “I’m yours.”
His grip was hard enough to make me realize I’d wear bruises later, but I didn’t care. This was what I wanted: pleasuring him with submission. I didn’t gag or tense up, because I didn’t feel the need to fight him for breath. As I went limp, I felt him take over. Felt his cock sliding over the hill of my tongue, felt every bulging vein on its underside as he drew back out. At first I could feel him guide me with his hand, but then he simply held me still as he moved his hips.
I breathed consistently, fighting down the need to do something. Instead, I enclosed him warmly and wetly between my lips, and sucked in a little.
“No, Elena,” he told me quietly, stilling his hips. “Don’t suck at all. Not yet. I don’t want you to service me.” He caressed the back of my head and began to rock his hips again. “Just like this. Your mouth is a fucktoy. Mine to use whenever and however I want.” There was something in the way he uttered these words, something that scared and excited me altogether. However I want. What if he ordered me to suck another man? Ordered me to give head while he fucked me?
A threesome sounded twisted and sickeningly delicious.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “That’s it.” His grip grew firmer, the thrust of his hips a little more insistent. When his cock-head pushed at the far end of my throat, I felt the familiar sensation of an imminent gag rising in my chest.
“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s working, sweetheart. I’m too fucking close. I’ll have to come.” His tone was so encouraging that my momentary urge to gag receded. “Look at that,” he muttered, sounding completely surprised. “All the way to my balls. Never had it so good.” He rocked into my mouth, and the tight, bumpy sensation of him sliding in and out of my throat had me on edge. His hands tightened in my hair and my own hands tightened around his ass. He both cursed and murmured several endearments. Good girl and Clever pet naturally stayed stuck with me.
Suddenly he stilled again, stayed buried in my throat, and hissed: “Suck me. Now, Elena.” Spectacular moment. I sucked, and watched him throw back his head, clenching his teeth, cursing as he tried to hold off to make the instant last. “Now stop.” I did, and in response, a copiously thick, warm flow of semen streamed into my esophagus, flooding my mouth way too fast. I swallowed as best as I knew, then went rigid against him, almost sagging as if relieved.
“Elena?”
My head bowed; I couldn’t hold myself up.
“Good girl.” I needn’t have worried. Alexander’s arms came about me, moving me up to him as he took over. “I fucking love you.”
Finally, he was mine again.
“I want you to submit all night long.” The statement was a petal-soft murmur against my skin, each word punctuated by a lingering kiss. “Can you do that?”
*
Erotic sexual denial, he’d captioned the moment. His sight and his smell, they both acted like
accelerants, igniting my desire until it burned white hot. I begged but got denied. We straightened our appearances, and went back to the patio to finish the wine.
“How long will this last?”
“Orgasm denial is so much fun,” he chuckled.
“Fuck you.”
“Hmm. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, kitten? My cock sliding in and out of you, making you come all over me. You need that, don’t you?”
“Bastard.” I pushed back the irresistible urge to kick him in the balls.
Behind us, there was a knock before the sliding doors moved, Philippe’s head tentatively sticking out. “You kids ready yet?”
“Locked and loaded, sir,” answered Alexander.
For the momentous occasion, his grandfather led us to the largest conservatory-style glass and cedar gazebo with white satin awning overlooking a viewing pool and rock garden. I gaped at the rectangular dining table set for thirty-two. Regardless of the sunnyless weather outside, it felt like spring inside. Deep orange and yellow orchids created a beautiful disparity with the neutral table setting, but what made my eyes pop out of my head was the wide array of two-colored chocolate decorations strewn about.
“Sweets for my sweet.” A wicked grin split Alexander’s face. “Make yourself at home and go all out. Diet-free zone.”
Family members were arriving in dribs and drabs. Turner men were tall, dark, handsome, and educated. Apparently, they only applied their education when necessary, and, judging from the previous generation, they became more attractive with age. The same couldn’t be said for all the women. Botox and fillers, pinched lips, silicone, and over-plucked eyebrows ruined quite a few slender bodies.
“Finally we meet.” The woman who stepped up to me was prettier than my mother—hell, prettier than any middle-aged woman I’d ever come across. Only, her smile reminded me of the sensation ice that’s being rubbed on bare skin brings about. Very cold. Sophia Turner looked nothing like her warm, smiling persona in society magazines. “You must be Elena Anderson.”
My confidence collapsed like a Jenga tower. “Hi…Mrs. Turner,” I meeped.
“Call me Sophia, darling.”
“Elena.”
Her rigid posture and the opaque margarites swaying against her chest brought back the memory of a High School headmistress. We shook hands, and then she moved to kiss Alexander on the lips. “You’ve been busy, I hear.” I watched her non-collagen-injected lips press against his with a hint of jealousy. “Very busy, champ.”
“Busy helping the drowning economy, Sophia,” he murmured, giving her a look that could have melted a big block of ice. Or an entire glacier. “Gotta keep the free-market ticking.”
“How grand of you. Help is a tricky thing, ain’t it? Just ask Dr. Kevorkian.”
Their private joke—because it’s not like You Don’t Know Jack—had them grinning like Cheshire cats. Unconcerned about my outsider status, Sophia looked a cut above me.
Philippe, who was seated at the head of the table, sat me down at his right hand. “Stay by my side.”
“Thank you.” I tucked in my feet prissily underneath the Chiavari chair. At the other end of the table, Cecilia seated my grandparents to her left side. Grandpa joshed as charismatically as ever. His hand motions reduced my guess to the women’s coiffed updos.
“He’s a charmer.” Sophia uttered the acidic words with a dash of admiration. She sat across from me and watched me with shrewd eyes, pointedly cataloguing every movement I made.
“Runs in the family.” Tingles rushed up my legs and my toes curled in my shoes as Alexander sat down beside me. “This one stole my heart. Hasn’t Cecilia told you the story?”
“We caught up.” Her smile congealed as soon as it manifested itself, her eyes fixated on my ring. It was hard to miss, sparkling brightly under the overhead chandelier. “Cecilia is a dyed-in-the-wool purist.”
“It takes one to know one, no?” Alexander flouted. As I maneuvered my hand to hide it in my lap, he gripped my wrist with a warrior’s strength, settling it on the table. Trying to pull it away was like attempting to lift Excalibur from the stone. His attempt at PDA heartened me, also injecting a good amount of naughtiness into my chest.
“It just goes to show what liberals the Turners have raised.” Sophia swiveled her head and fixed her gaze on Philippe. “It’s a square peg and round hole equation, but it’s not entirely impossible to straighten our ungainly ways. One must be firm when fighting fire with fire.”
Their voices full of money and the reek of tea and crumpets, a round of giggles fluttered up my throat.
Philippe neutralized them with an upraised hand. “It’s over. Stow that hubris.”
Like a resigned standing ovation that prompted the stately end of a stage act, Alexander and Sophia quieted down. I wanted to ask what exactly was over, but that would have been out of place. Instead, I ignored the tenderness at the back of my mouth and let the delicious family style feast tickle my taste buds. It was the type of cooking that could effortlessly put Martha Stewart to shame. Featuring traditional ham, turkey, duck, mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, sautéed corn, honey roasted carrots, spicy green beans, different types of Parker House rolls, and topped off with sapid spring-themed desserts like upside-down maple and apple cake, blackberry crumble, and lemon bars. For my part, I was no longer as naïve about skinniness and feeling good in my own skin, so I ate small, healthy portions of everything.
Minutes slid easily over each other, like the pages of an attention-grabbing book. Where Sophia was a cold fish, her husband, Christopher, was the exact opposite. I snuck glances at Alexander, and saw deep focus as he conversed with uncles and aunts. When he openly nuzzled my neck in front of his family, I blushed but felt better. Grandma winked at me, grandpa—duh—scowled. In the end, I set my fork down, squeezed my hands together in my lap, and excused myself. A bathroom break was necessary to empty my bladder, nothing else. Staring at myself in the mirror, a seizure gripped at my stomach. I squeezed my eyes shut, opened them, dislodging matching tears. “I’m not going to throw up,” I told my reflection.
I straggled behind kitchen staff to get back to the dining area, and paused to touch a decoration placed on top of a chest of drawers. It was a smart creation of metal rods that struck against one another, producing a pretentious chime.
Marching further, “She’s riff raff,” I heard. The door to a sitting area was slightly ajar and I couldn’t resist peeping in. “Elena services like a pro.” Sophia was demonstrating with hands and mouth how I was using my body to get my hands on Alexander’s fortune. In all its ridiculousness, the bitter claim was worth a good laugh.
“He never bangs trailer trash, and this girl, he’s very different with her.” That was Henrietta, Sophia’s older sister who, for the most part, was a boozy divorcée. “I think he loves her.”
Sophia sniffed in a way I took to be disapproving. Her features pinched, and when she next spoke, her voice was considerably laced with a maliciousness that could make a kitty crawl into a corner and die. “She’s another Claudia. He gets bored fast. Won’t last. He already looks depressed.”
“That’s a two mil ring, Sophia.”
My heartbeat accelerated. The colorless diamond at the base of my finger glittered with each tremble of my hand.
“A big rock means nothing. Alexander is overgenerous. I’m sure she begs politely on her knees. Removes his belt with her teeth. Grasps the leather between her teeth. Belt tails poking from each side of a woman’s mouth makes men go weak in the knees.” Sophia laughed, her laughter rolling seductively across the trestles of the room. “Most likely she fakes orgasms. The loud type of gold-digging slut.”
All wrong…really wrong.
Swearing is good for the soul, and considering Sophia’s word choice, she was most deserving of my ire. I couldn’t embarrass my grandparents, though, so I skirted the door and trotted away, separating from the group. I sat by the Olympic quality lap pool. My bare feet dangled in it, and I lea
ned back on my elbows and stargazed for a long time. There was a lovely aroma of vespertine flowers and burping of frogs and whooping of nocturnal birds around us, barn owls in overdrive most probably. After a while, I became aware of a presence next to me.
That begs the following question: have you ever stared at something that meant everything to you? A priceless keepsake like an engraved fountain pen that belonged to your father or a pearl necklace that belonged to your mother—people who meant everything thing to you. I don’t know what Alexander was, just that he meant everything to me.
“Too much food, sweetheart?”
Mischief coiled in my stomach. I followed up with a stuttered petition, “Might I ask…could we…like…make out before going back?”
He leered at my neckline. A casual smile softened his features, which didn’t make him look less delicious, now he looked more compelling than ever. “Not in the mood for making out.” Keeping his hands in his trouser pockets, he stalked closer. “I’ll fuck you hard before escorting you back to the dinner table.” The grey in his eyes had darkened, and his face had a hard, focused expression. It was the same look he gave when he wanted something and was fully intent on acquiring it.
Inside me, a tiny, wriggling serpent of wickedness now writhed. “It may raise a few eyebrows if we retreat to the bedroom.”
“Who said anything about going to the bedroom, kitten?”
Alexander Turner
The Vineyard
Life kept piling on with drama. Never a dull moment, huh? Feeling left with a clutter of uncertainties, I’d taken two days off, around Easter no less, to get my head back into the game. My grandparents wanted to meet Frank and Julie, so I bankrolled everything for a quick getaway.
Familiarity engulfed me when the limo rushed up the driveway. Greens of the forest and blues of the sea surrounded my grandparents’ estate. For all its quaintness and authenticity, Martha’s Vineyard was home for me. I loved it here. Loved to smell the fresh cut grass that reminded me of the muggy heat sticking to my skin during summers, to feel the chills going up my spine whenever a sea breeze wisped through the air during winters. And, as a workaholic, it was nice to have a pause, actually.