by Joey W. Hill
"We're going to use the condom for this, because it's lubricated. I'll move slow, girl. You push out against me, releasing those muscles. I want to be all the way in, so my balls are against your pussy, and you'll feel them slap against your clit every time I thrust into that sweet ass of yours. Do you trust me?"
Her fingers curled in her bonds. Her pussy was still throbbing from the climax he'd given her, her body loose and willing. She was all his. Including every orifice.
He wouldn't hurt her. It might sound crazy to the fly on the wall who'd seen him strapping her until she was pleading for mercy. Or watched him do breast bondage on her, keeping the ropes tight until her curves were aching and swollen. When he released the bonds, the tingling pressure was a sweet agony, blood rushing back into them. But he'd kiss those sore places with such tenderness, rub balm into her skin to keep it soft. On the rare nights he wasn't staying with her or her with him, he'd call her and make sure she wasn't overdoing, that she'd taken aspirin and followed all of his aftercare direction.
Still drifting along the course of his question, wanting to be sure she was giving him an utterly truthful answer, she remembered cutting herself on the pruning shears. He'd held her finger under the tap, the cold water running the wound clean, and carefully wrapped a Band-Aid on the cut. He'd kissed it, then given her ass a slap and told her to be more careful with what belonged to him.
But the telling day was when she'd caught a bad head cold. They'd planned to have dinner together, so she'd called him, stuffed up and feeling miserable, and told him she'd reschedule when she was feeling better. When she got off the phone, she tried to shrug off the melancholy. She hated getting sick like anyone else, but she'd particularly dreaded it since Roy was gone. For some reason, it could make her feel a bit blue and alone, even though she knew that was self-pitying drivel. She had plenty of friends and a caring staff.
An hour later Dale arrived bearing chicken soup, several boxes of extra-soft, aloe-infused tissue, and herbal teas infused with echinacea and zinc. He relocated her to the couch in the TV room with ample pillows and quilts. He'd watched a trio of her favorite movies with her while she probably snored like a lumberjack, since she couldn't breathe. He plugged in a humidifier, added a eucalyptus oil to it that helped open her passages. Whenever she surfaced from her dozing, he was either under her, her upper body in his lap, or watching over her from an easy chair as he read or watched television.
"If you're angling to get at my wealth, it's really working," she'd told him, blowing her nose. "At this point, you have the kept-man position in the bag."
He grinned at her, and left the chair to come back to the sofa. He adjusted her pillows on his lap so she could put her head there, then leaned down to brush his lips over hers. "I'm the one keeping you," he corrected her.
--
It was all those moments added together that decided her. "Yes, I trust you, Master."
"Good girl." He added additional oil to her rim and then eased a finger into her, letting her feel the way of it. He teased her with the sensations, then withdrew, his hands gripping her buttocks to knead and massage, readying her for something much bigger than his fingers.
When he pulled open his jeans and put the head of his cock there, she let out a breath, trying to relax every muscle and obey his direction, pushing against him. He went slow, as promised, cupping her breasts, fondling and teasing the nipples as he eased forward. His cock's invasion stretched and burned a little, but it didn't feel all bad. Especially as his clever manipulation on her nipples and breasts, the way he held them with such familiar possession, aroused her anew.
As he moved deeper, the burning increased, but then he stopped again, dropping one hand beneath her to stroke her pussy, play with her clit. He leaned down over her, kissed her nape, her hair pooled on the mattress. The rough hair on his chest and thighs was a welcome stimulation against her back and legs, and she pressed up against the hard body they covered. He sank deeper into her, and she let out a shuddering moan.
"That's my girl. You want your Master deep inside you."
She did. No matter how deep Dale had gotten into her, at moments like this she thought it would never be deep enough.
He'd accomplished what he'd said he would. His testicle sac lay against her pussy, his cock lodged to the hilt in her ass. She was quivering, anxious with the unfamiliar feel of it, but he was over her, his body covering her, reassuring her.
"Perfect," he rumbled. Then he withdrew a small amount, pushed back in, eliciting a whimper and a wriggle. The sensation was different, crazy, and she wanted him to do it again. But when she tried to push back against him, he swatted her.
"You know better than that. I'll move at my own pace. I'm fucking your ass for my pleasure."
Ironically, when he said things like that, it made her spiral all the higher. Surrendering to him, letting him take them both on the journey he had planned, it was freedom within bondage like she'd never known outside it. She put her forehead down on her arm and moaned with frustration and need. He responded to both, continuing that slow move that made her come to pieces as she held completely still, until he was rocking inside her, and she couldn't help but move with him again. But at that point, he let her.
The way his testicle sac was hitting her labia and clit sent little shards of pleasure spearing through her lower belly, but it wasn't enough. She kept making those little pleading noises, not articulating it until he commanded that as well.
"I want to hear you beg for your climax, girl. Convince me you've been good enough."
"Please, Master. I've been very, very good. I want . . . oh God . . . please . . ."
"You are a very, very good girl." Yet still he held it out of reach, working her until she was simply crying out at each thrust in distressed need. At last, he put his hand beneath her, found her clit and started stroking. His middle finger sank into her pussy, adding to the pressure.
"Come for me, girl. Scream."
She did, no help for it, and as she was coming, his thrusts became hard and punishing, him taking his pleasure in the new orifice she'd surrendered to him. She felt the heat as he gushed into the condom, and hoped next time he wouldn't wear it, so he could mark her in every orifice with his seed. The thought made her aftershocks fiercer.
When he slowed at last, her rim was sore. She made an involuntary noise as he eased out, so gently. "Stay in that position," he said.
He went to the bathroom. She heard running water, and laid her head on her forearm again. Her haunches were still in the air, the coolness of the room making her shiver a little, but she wasn't alone long enough to lose the heat of his body entirely. A few minutes later, the mattress dipped as he moved onto the bed again. Sitting on his hip next to her, he parted her buttocks and put a hot washcloth against her rim.
Oh, God . . . it was heaven. She smelled the herbal rinse he used for inflamed tissues. Her fingers loosened in their hold on the blankets as the treatment eased her discomfort. Her limbs were still shaking, so once he finished that part of things, he eased her down to her side and untied the ropes. Setting them aside, he curled around her, holding her against the heat of his body as she drowsily gazed through the sheer panels of the floor-length window. The man-made pond and a section of garden were visible from this view. Beyond it, she could see the tennis courts, the pool house. A pair of rabbits hopped across a walkway, disappearing into her ornamental grass.
"I'd like to invite you to a dinner," she said. She dipped her head, brushing her lips against the forearm of one of the strong arms he had banded over her chest.
"Hmm." The grunt was sleepy, making her smile. She reached back, slid a hand down his thigh. He was still wearing his jeans. Despite that one day, he still tended to stay mostly clothed around her. When he spent the night, at some point--usually after he worked her into exhaustion and she'd fallen asleep--he'd take off the prosthesis and his clothes.
She wanted to feel bare skin while awake, though, so she turned in his arm
span, reached down. He'd left the jeans unbuttoned, so she pushed the zipper down, letting her fingers settle on the boxers beneath, slide down his upper thigh, as far as she could go before the denim became too restrictive.
"Can I take these off of you, Master? Please?"
His eyes had opened at that. She'd added the please before he could say no, wanting him to understand it was important to her. He nodded. She understood now it wasn't a matter of trusting her; he was simply more comfortable as a Master with both legs, so to speak. However, the same way he was helping her understand and accept certain things about herself, she hoped in time she could give him the same gift. He would truly understand there was no difference to her. No, actually there was. She loved his Mastery even more when it was simply, only Dale, no trappings at all to embellish what needed no embellishing.
Shifting to her knees, she worked the jeans down. He helped her then, sitting up and removing his boots, giving the one with a prosthesis a firm, practiced tug to work it free. Now she could remove the jeans all the way off both legs. As she did that, she moved off the bed to kneel between his flesh-and-blood foot and the metal one. Cognizant of how closely he was watching her, she put her hand on the socket.
"How do I remove it?"
He showed her how to release the socket, take it and the liner off the stump, her fingers curling into his warm skin. The slight tension in his shoulders, the frown lines around his mouth, suggested how difficult it was for him, making her appreciate him all the more. He was trying to be fair, giving her as much as he was demanding.
When he was completely naked, that swept anything else away. As she gazed at the whole man, she made sure her deep pleasure showed, her attention sliding over both legs. Putting her hands on his thighs, she lifted herself up so she could place her mouth on his chest. His hand cradled the back of her head as she kissed him, nuzzled, worked her way over to tease a nipple, reveling in the feel of his hand tightening on her hair when she nipped him and he chuckled, a strained sound. She was pressed in between his legs, and his cock stirred against her.
"You never told me about that dinner. I think you have a short attention span, girl."
"Once you're like this, only one thing matters." But she settled against him, linking her hands around his waist and propping her chin on his chest, looking up at him. "It's an annual appreciation thing for our major clients and vendors. There's a charity auction and dancing, and the dinner is usually spectacular, done by the best chefs in New Orleans. Would you come as my escort?"
"Is it black tie?"
She nodded. "Is that a problem? If it is, you and Roy are a similar size. I still have some of his--"
"No, it's not a problem. I can rent a tux, Athena." He touched her face. "Do you still have a lot of his clothes?"
"Not so much, no. I donated most of it to the men's shelter after the first year. But there were a couple of things I kept. He always looked so handsome in a tuxedo, so I kept that in the back of the closet. Along with his favorite around-the-house shirt. It's an old, soft polo. During the first year, I'd wear it when gardening. Now I just keep it hung up in my closet." She studied his chest. "I've actually been wearing yours now and then. That T-shirt you let me wear home the night you ripped my blouse."
"Well, it seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do."
She smiled, lifting her lashes now. "Will you go with me? To the dinner?"
He'd said he wanted to meet her friends, spend time with her associates. So far that had been her household staff and Ellen. She hadn't been avoiding widening the circle because of any concerns about how he'd like them or vice versa. She'd merely been hoarding him, liking the way it felt when the two of them were alone. However, she'd attended the annual dinner the past two years alone, preferring it that way, but this year she couldn't imagine going without him.
"You're not concerned that I may look like a mutt among purebreds?"
"I have a friend who runs a dog shelter. He tells me that the mutt is the most loyal and well-balanced of the dog breeds, because he's a blend of their best qualities."
"Well, that may have been propaganda to get you to take home a couple Rottweiler mixes to protect you when he's not around."
She chuckled, but then she sobered, locking gazes with him. "I would be honored to be on your arm, Master."
"The honor would be mine," he said lightly, but then he clasped her upper arms, lifted her up to meet his mouth. It was a slow exploration, a reflection of the new territory they'd covered tonight, on a couple of levels. "You might have to tell me which fork to use," he said, when he at last broke the embrace.
"Whichever one you like. Roy said that kind of etiquette was designed to make people feel small, and the only thing that proves our size is the way we act toward one another."
Dale shook his head wryly. "It's hard for me not to like this guy."
"Are you trying not to like him?" Her brow creased.
"No, it's not that, girl." He followed the shell of her ear with his fingertips. "Come on back up here."
She obliged, clambering up on the bed and returning to their spooned position. She let out a small sigh of contentment when he snugged her into the cradle of his thighs and groin, his cock pressed to her buttocks. He could relax into her body more without the prosthesis, no worries about accommodating its more rigid structure or accidentally scraping her tender flesh with it. His arm was under her breasts, the other under her head, so she could rest her cheek on his firm biceps.
"It was hard for me to wrap my mind around the idea of a man pushing his wife to dominate him, when it was clear she was a submissive."
"No, he wasn't like that. He was--"
"I know he wasn't." Dale tightened his arm around her, shushing her. "The one thing I know about Dominants and submissives is they're unclassifiable. It's hard to fix one set of rules that fits any one of them, let alone all of them. You obviously loved him, and he loved you. I also think he was more of a bottom than a sub. He wasn't looking to submit as much as he was looking to let go during defined sessions between you. He needed the release of the pain and restraints, the psychological domination, but it doesn't seem like it was an integral part of his personality."
She shook her head. "Not like it is for you."
"Or you." He slid his hand down her abdomen and automatically her thighs loosened, giving him access to stroke her pussy. His fingers came to rest there, sending a quiver through the rest of her. "You can't imagine what it does to me, that shift in your expression, your body language, when I command you with nothing more than a word or a touch. You go into this dreamlike mode, where you let go of everything. It's like your soul is sitting right there, in my hand. It's intoxicating."
"To me, too." She tightened her thighs on his fingers as he rubbed her clit absently, sending those tiny spirals of sensation through her thighs and abdomen. "Master, why . . . I switched out the beds, but you haven't . . . it seems like you're avoiding the master bedroom."
"Not me. You. You're not ready for it yet. You switched out the beds, but you yourself haven't made the suggestion, or pushed it. Granted, you are not a pushy woman, at least not in that way," he gave her a teasing pinch, "but whenever we start in that direction, you get uptight. You start walking slower and doing the nervous-talking thing."
"I--" She stopped, thinking about it. He was right, she did. She tensed now, thinking about what he'd said. "I'm sorry. You said I have to choose. I'm trying. I just--"
"Hey." His fingers spread out to caress her thighs. "I expect you to make progress, Athena, not set speed records. I'm your first since him, and you were with him for over twenty years. I was in the SEALs for over twenty years. Every morning I wake up, I have to remind myself I'm not going to get a call to gear up and head out. And every morning I have to deal with how that feels."
Like her waking up and wondering if Roy had already gone down to start the coffee. Or thinking of things during the workday she intended to tell him. Over time, it had improved, but she
still occasionally had to remind herself he was gone. "Was it difficult, when you first retired?" she asked. Her hand slipped to his thigh again. It was pressed up against hers, and she let her fingers trail down to his knee, feeling the scar tissue there.
"I had some time to get used to scaling down, when I'd lost the leg but was still on active duty. Since I couldn't be in the field anymore, I served out the last few years of my service behind the lines, doing the things I told you about--tactical and occasionally serving as a BUD/S instructor, things like that--but it's never the same. Those first few years after an amputation, the limb shrinks, changes, and so you deal with the constant doctor visits. Though my current prosthesis was a great improvement on the first couple I had, it still required a lot of initial coordination with the docs and the company that let me take advantage of their program. Then there's the physical therapy, gait training, all of it. I don't feel the prosthesis touching the ground, so I had to train my brain to deal with that."
At her quizzical look, he elaborated. "Think of swinging a tennis racket. You get used to how the ball's going to hit it because of muscle memory, so that the racket becomes an extension of your arm, but you don't actually have nerves in the racket. You don't have feeling in the foot, so there's no way to feel for traction. When I carry you up stairs, I always take it slow, relying on that muscle memory, so I don't take us both for a tumble."
"Hence the romantic pace with lots of pauses for kissing. I like it." She was hoping to make him smile, and he did, faintly, but then he sighed.
"It all made me irritable as hell, having this be such a big part of my life. I resented it like a son-of-a-bitch, my body slowing me down when it had been the thing that always kept me running ahead. But you figure it out. I was in my thirties and already starting to feel some of the creaks of getting older when it happened. The guys that face it in their early twenties, when they're still in that invincible stage . . . it can cripple them emotionally. But it does a number on you no matter what. I guess what I'm saying is, good or bad, when I did finally get to retirement, I was better prepared for it than most."