by Jamie Knight
Eventually, and I couldn’t tell how long, with time passing oddly in the dark, my master started to finger me again, with half as many fingers at half as deep. It took longer than before, but sure enough, I was again at the edge of an orgasm. It was so close, I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t know for sure if he would halt at the last minute. Somehow he managed it again, easing off as I felt the first contractions of what seemed like could be a massive orgasm, coaxing me back down to a resting state.
Then, it happened. Going back in with three fingers all the way in, my sweet master pounded me deep until I was screaming with a body-rocking orgasm.
“Did I say you could scream?” he asked when I had recovered.
“No, master,” I said.
“That was naughty, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, master.”
“You were a naughty girl just then, weren’t you?”
“Yes, master.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, master, I was a very naughty girl.”
“You know what happens to naughty girls, right?”
“They get punished?” I asked.
“Exactly, my pet. I am going to have to punish you.”
“Yes, master.”
I wasn’t sure what he was doing at first. I had never had so many fingers in me at once. All five of them, from what I could tell, though they were in a funny position, as though he were doing shadow puppets. I was already really wet, so they went in pretty easily. What I hadn’t expected, or really thought possible, was just how deep they went, my master continuing to slide in until he was in my tight little pussy up to his wrist.
I bit my lip hard to keep from screaming, especially when he started to move, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. It was almost like he was punching me from the inside, only the movements were a lot smoother and gentler than that, working my pussy until there was a burst of pure white light inside the darkness of the blindfold.
I couldn’t be sure, but I was fairly sure I had passed out. The next thing I could remember, Damien was stroking my pussy.
“You okay, baby?” he asked, coming out of his master role.
“Y-yes,” I said, still not fully recovered.
“It’s always tough the first time. It should be easier, and a lot more pleasurable, if I have to do it again.”
“O-okay,” I said, secretly hoping that he would do it again, wondering what I would have to do to make him want to punish me like that again. I was such a good girl by nature, I actually had to plan my misdeeds.
“Would it help if I kissed it better?” he asked.
“Yes, please!” I said.
Working his way down my body, he got his mouth to my pussy, covering it in soft, wet kisses. I hummed with joy, just wishing I could put my hand on the back of his head to urge him on.
Soon, his kisses turned to long, soft licks, caressing the flat of his tongue down the length of my pussy. I did my best not to squirm, even though I wanted to. I did manage to shift myself down a bit though, pushing my pussy even harder against my master’s sweet, loving tongue.
Gradually, he picked up speed until he was absolutely devouring my pussy in a way that made me want to scream. As though reading my mind, Damien put a hand gently over my mouth, the other still working in my pussy. Taking this as permission, I let it all out, the sounds that came up from me muffled by his hand.
Finally, I came down, having hit the peak of ecstasy, my master kissing my pussy as I relaxed. The kisses continued, down one leg to my foot, and then up the other from foot to hip. He dropped in to visit my pussy a bit longer, smothering it with tender kisses like he had before. My master started moving onward and upwards, blazing a trail of wet kisses from my pussy up over my pelvis, across my belly and between my tits, like marks on a map.
He nuzzled my neck, throwing in the occasional lick to make me hum, the head of his cock brushing teasingly against my pussy lips. I wanted it in me so bad, I could feel it, like a weight in my chest. I was pretty sure he knew that and was putting me though an exquisite torture on purpose, to get me ready with anticipation.
I was so wet it almost hurt, the throb in my little cunt getting to fever levels. Finally, my sweet master saw fit to end my beautiful suffering, sliding the head of his cock inside me. I exhaled in a rush, having learned my lesson about moaning, or indeed screaming, without Master’s permission.
Kissing me hard, shoving his tongue into my mouth, he pushed more of his cock in, getting more than halfway inside me. I gasped around his lips, my tongue more than a little occupied at that moment. He fucked me gently, getting me ready for a hard pounding, which was coming soon.
Working up to it, probably so he wouldn’t shock me, my master fucked me hard, pounding his massive cock in my little pussy so hard the headboard slammed against the wall. I started to cum, feeling it coming up from deep inside me. Damien could feel it too, I guess, because suddenly I could see perfectly well, the room itself dark enough not to leave me blinded by the light.
“Look at me,” he ordered as he pumped. “I want to see your expression as you cum.”
“Y-yes, m-master,” I stammered, trying to keep myself together.
It was as sudden as it was it was intense, a wave of nausea the likes of which I had never experienced before, even when Mama would give me cod liver oil, saying that it was good for me.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, no doubt seeing the weird look on my face.
“I-I feel sick,” I said, blushing even as the words came out of my mouth.
Untying me, Damien got me into the bathroom, carrying me to make things go faster, and held my hair back, still loose from the shower, as I worshiped at the porcelain throne.
I had been feeling sick for days, particularly in the mornings. I was also really limited and pretty random in what I could stand to eat. I did my best to hide it from Damien, not wanting to worry him; a plan that had clearly backfired.
“Better?” he asked, stroking my back, making me feel very good indeed.
“Yes, master,” I said, weakly but with a smile.
“What’s going on?’ he asked, hitting the flusher.
I had hoped to wait for a good time to tell him, but there really wasn’t going to be any such time. He could probably already guess, so I might as well tell him.
“I-I think I’m pregnant.”
It was the first time I had said it out loud, the full weight of the situation coming down on me all at once.
“I-I’m going to have our baby,” I said, between the oncoming sobs.
Damien held me and kissed me, drying my tears, which were absolutely tears of joy. He was crying too.
“I’m going to resign from the firm,” I said, when we had both calmed down a bit.
“Why would you do that?” he asked, seeming truly shocked.
“Well, I just figured it might be a bit awkward. The assistant you were in lockdown with, showing up pregnant. Tongues might wag.”
“Tongues are always wagging. I don’t care, and neither do they. I’ve already called the partners and told them about us. They were a bit grumpy, of course, but then I reminded them what an asset I am to the firm. They couldn’t help but agree and grudgingly give their blessing. We can both keep working at the office until you’re due. Then, I’ll switch to home-based, only leaving to go into court for the first few months.”
“Will they go for that?” I asked.
“They don’t really have a choice.”
We kissed passionately, and he took me into his warm embrace, making me feel safe and loved.
Epilogue
Damien
Time. One of humanity’s oddest and most enduring constructs. Sure, the space-time continuum would exist without human life, but it wouldn’t have nearly the same flavor or importance, particularly if there were no way to follow it. What would clocks be without clock-watchers?
There were many people watching their clocks, most
with great anticipation. The shelter-in-place order that had come with the outbreak was the largest self-isolation in the western world since the Blitz, when the non-evacuated population of London took to the subways to wait out the Germans before going right back out and rebuilding the city exactly as it was. They didn’t know how long they would be there, either.
It started out a month, then two, then six, the rabble becoming even more roused with each addition of time. Humans could be very strange creatures, creatures of habit to the core, reacting with both fear and anger when those habits, those rituals, acquired over a lifetime, were disrupted, even for a life-saving good cause.
Emma and I were fine. We were safely away in our suite and out by the time the lockdown was lifted, when medical researchers finally found a vaccine that had proven to be effective. There were still limits as everybody got jabbed, since there was still a large section of the population that was potentially infectious. Social distancing was still a thing, but masks became optional.
Emma didn’t show very much in the early stages, keeping the potential office scandal to a minimum. Not that anyone was going to say much about it; everyone who might have been spreading rumors though the building had been firmly on my side for years. If anything, they would try and play it up as a good thing, given that the reputation of the firm, more valuable in their business than a transport truck full of solid gold, was at stake.
The quarantine order was lifted entirely a few months after that, just in time for our daughter to be born into a virus-free world.
“Did we ever choose a name?” I asked, looking down with wonder at the tiny new life.
“I don’t think we did. To be fair, we were somewhat busy,” Emma said.
“Too true,” I agreed.
“I’ve always liked Imogen,” Emma said.
“Imogen LeVay,” I said, trying out the sound. “Could work. Sounds like an impressionist painter, but neither of those are bad things.”
“It would also be hard to make fun of,” Emma said.
“Very true. If I had a dollar for every time some smartass put on a demon voice when saying my name, I would have been a billionaire in high school. I seriously doubt any of them had even seen The Omen. So, not only brats, but cultural ignoramuses as well.”
“What is the world coming to?” Emma asked, shaking her head sadly.
Just then, Imogen, as she would soon officially be named, started to move and fuss, as though to say, “I quite agree, Daddy.” It was nice to have consensus.
There were more than enough rooms at home to put in a nursery. It was a mansion, after all. We had to go straight there after we were given the all-clear to leave the hotel that had been home for so long. I drove up there myself.
Emma just about fainted when she saw it. I couldn’t remember if I had told her I lived in a mansion before we left, but her reaction strongly indicated that I had neglected to impart that particular piece of information.
We waited a bit longer for the wedding, not at least for Emma to recover from the rigors of childbirth, and because we wanted very much to enjoy our honeymoon. There was also something of a demand, as weddings, funerals, and every other form of event had been severely limited for most of the year, and there were a lot of people trying to make up for lost time
“When’s the big day?” McKoy asked, leaning on the counter in the break room, cool as the breeze, his tie much looser than company policy allowed.
“Whenever we can get a date,” I said, stirring my latte.
“Are you going to use a wedding planner?”
McKoy dropped his cup, what was left splashing all over the tile floor. I hadn’t hit him. I didn’t really believe in using violence. I had simply fixed McKoy with a look so utterly withering, he actually hit himself.
“What happened to McKoy?” Sandra asked, coming in for her break.
“A serious case of self-chastisement,” I said, casually.
“Looked more like self-flagellation,” Sandra said.
“That too.”
It was the easiest wedding that had ever been planned. Emma and I had put what we wanted most on cards, arranging them in order of priority. Whenever our top priorities clashed, which was surprisingly rare, we would flip a coin to settle things. Our only major point of contention was where to have the ceremony. I wanted a wedding in the woods, close to nature; Emma wanted a big church wedding. She won.
Emma
It was a beautiful old cathedral, built in 1790, or so claimed the cornerstone. Going against tradition, Damien influencing me in more ways than one, we had no flowers or any of the other trappings that usually went with weddings. We had splurged on the dress, however. Practical as I was getting to be, I still wanted to look pretty on my big day. I paced the foyer, trying to keep it together and ignore the circus raging in my head. Happiness and nervousness were a volatile mix, threatening to explode at any moment.
The organ started up and everything cleared; anticipation, more than anything else, had been making me nervous. Putting one foot in front of the other, trying to remember how to walk in heels, I made my way to the front, where Damien and Imogen waited for me. The minster was there, too, but that was not what I was most focused on.
We wrote our own vows; it was one of the priorities on which we absolutely agreed during our planning session. It took all of two hours. Neither of us wanted anyone else speaking for us, not even a representative of the Lord.
My parents didn’t come up for the wedding. I really didn’t expect them to; it was a long flight, and they were getting older. Daddy hadn’t been able to travel very well since the stroke.
We had the reception at home, the grounds being more than big enough. I didn’t say it at the time, but I figured it was a compromise for Damien’s forest wedding idea, the house being surrounded by thick woods. Wedding in a church, reception in the wood, seemed like a fair balance to me.
Parking ourselves at the head table, Damien put Imogen down for a nap in her carrier by his chair. She was a really quiet baby, barely fussing at all, even during the ceremony despite all the sound and strange people.
“Love you, Mrs. LeVay,” Damien said, gently taking my hand.
“Love you, Mr. LeVay.”
We kissed, our breath tasting like wine and bubble gum, as Damien’s best friend from college gave the best man speech.
It wasn’t too long to get back into the city. Leaving Damien’s lovely car at the house, we took a cab to the Seventy, taking the same room as where it had all started. The clerks recognized us as we came in.
“And who is this?” the clerk asked as we signed in.
“Imogen,” I said.
“Imogen LaVey,” the clerk said. “Cool!”
It was like a fog, the sexual tension building to a near fever pitch. We had fucked while I was pregnant, and did what we could while I recovered, mostly oral, but it had been a long time since we had been able to really go at it in the way that we liked. Damien’s hand was already on my ass before we got off the elevator.
We were flying out on his private jet in the morning to go on our official honeymoon in France. We were already packed, and the hotel was pretty close to the airfield, so we would have lots of time.
Getting Imogen to sleep in her travel crib almost immediately, Damien swooped me up, quietly giggling, and carried me across the threshold of the adjoining room, heading straight for the bed.
The dress was more complicated than a Rubik’s cube, though Damien figured it out pretty darn quick, pulling it down and away along my naked, vulnerable body. I hadn’t worn underwear on purpose, figuring he would want to get right down to business. Taking off his tux, he joined me on the bed, getting on his knees between my legs. Closing my eyes, I prepared for what was coming next.
The pleasure struck in a jolt, my sweet master’s tongue lapping lovingly at my wet pussy, pulling all kinds of fancy maneuvers, some of which I had never felt before. Before long, I was coming hard, covering my own mouth to keep from sc
reaming.
“It’s okay, pet,” he cooed, gently lowering my hands.
Switching positions so he was standing beside me, my sweet master gifted me his beautiful cock, letting me take it as far into my mouth as I wanted. Getting it into a comfortable spot, I started to suck, slow and leisurely at first, savouring every moment, gradually picking up speed until I was sucking him off as hard as I could, my head bobbing so wildly that he took hold of my braid to keep me from hurting myself.
I could feel his muscles tense, flexing in my mouth. I knew he was about to cum. Slowing to a more manageable speed, I eagerly waited for my master to bless me with his massive load.
It came in a flood, thick, hot, sweet cum gushing into my mouth in a seemingly never-ending stream. When he finished, I kept his warm, hard cock in my mouth, sucking him gently until he came again.
Taking me gently by the neck to hold me still, using more of a press than a squeeze so I never felt like I was choking, Damien got his pants, removing the handcuffs from his side pocket.
“I figured you were ready,” he said, unlocking the loops.
“Yes, master,” I whispered in my pet voice.
I wasn’t just agreeing because it was him. I really did feel ready to take things to the next level – which was why I had planned a wedding night surprise of my own.
Securing my hands to the headboard with the handcuffs, my sweet master put my legs over his shoulders, taking full control of my body, and roughly mounted me, sliding his cock deep inside me. Kissing me for a moment, he started to move, tenderly pumping my pussy until I was moaning, rising with his every thrust. I thought I might cum right then, but he wasn’t done with me yet.
Putting my legs straight up, he got into a kneeling position and started pounding me with all his considerable might. I writhed beneath him, my cries and screamed muffled by his warm, gentle hand, both of my ankles fitting easily into his other hand.