Authors: Tara Crescent
“Such a good girl,” he soothed, his voice close to my ear, as he rained tiny little kisses all down my spine, his hands kneading my ass cheeks. For an instant, pleasure filled me, and the fiery burn in my ass was pushed to the back of my mind, as I felt Patrick’s weight over me, straddling me. But then, he moved away, and the burning came back roaring to the foreground, and I whimpered again. “Patrick,” I begged, “Please take it out.”
“No, baby,” he said. “It’ll sting at first, but soon, it’s going to start feeling really, really good.” I wasn’t convinced.
“Ah fuck,” I moaned, as another wave of burning heat swept my body, and I thrashed my head from side to side. “Patrick, this is really intense.”
“I know, sweetness,” he soothed. “Let it flow through you, open up to the intensity.” I groaned and tried to do as he told me. I could feel the sweat bead up on my forehead as my entire body flushed from the effects of the ginger and Patrick’s slow, soothing strokes. Then his hands cupped my ass cheeks, and he spanked me, right at the base of my ass, and I clenched automatically, and hissed as a fresh wave of burning filled me.
“Don’t clench,” he said, slight amusement in his voice. He spanked me again, and I clenched again, involuntarily, and another sharp heat spiralled through me, and I whimpered. “You keep clenching, Lisa,” he said, threat in his voice, a threat that set my pussy dripping copious amounts of juice onto the bed below, “and I’ll put a slice of ginger right on your clitoris, and then I’ll use a flogger on you, understand?”
I turned to look at him, lust in my eyes. “I’m not sure if that’s a threat or a promise,” I muttered, and he laughed appreciatively.
“You are so perfect, baby,” he said, affection in his tone, and he bent and kissed me gently. “I love playing with you, you are so responsive. So open, so honest. Perfect.”
“Patrick,” I whimpered. “You can’t say these things to me when I have a piece of ginger stuck up my ass, and I’m not thinking straight.”
He laughed and kissed me again. His hands slid down my back, and his fingers pushed the ginger in me deeper, wriggling it around to make further contact with my anal passage. Heat swept through me again, and I groaned. “Patrick,” I muttered. “Please…”
The feeling slowly changed. There was still burning in my ass, but now, it sent still further arousal cascading to me, the initial discomfort kindling for a fire that now blazed bright. “Ah, Patrick,” I groaned, as the warmth took over my entire body, “Please touch me.”
“Touch you where, Lisa?”
“Touch my pussy,” I begged. I could hear the smile in his voice, as he positioned himself so that his mouth was between my legs. For the love of god. He was going to go down on me, and I was going to fall apart.
“Sweetness, no coming without permission,” he said, an edge in his voice.
I wanted to whine and moan and protest, but I’d made the decision to give him control, and I was going to respect it. “Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I whispered into my pillowcase, and whimpered again, as his mouth descended on my pussy, and then, I just shut up and concentrated on not coming.
Ah, I could write poems about the way Patrick went down on me. His tongue explored my folds, and soothed them with sweetness, his fingers pushed into my wet pussy, and he curved them and used them to pull me further and deeper into his mouth, and he did this with an abandon that was such a marked contrast to his usual, calm control. Guttural sounds of pleasure emerged from his throat, and hearing these sounds, understanding that I gave him the same pleasure he gave me; well, it was a miracle that I didn’t orgasm right at that moment.
The ginger was a faint heat now that shimmered on the surface of my skin, and warmed me deep inside, but at the moment, everything in my world had narrowed to his fingers and his mouth and his tongue, and the pleasure he was bringing me.
I closed my eyes, and chanted his name. “Please,” I begged incoherently, as his tongue circled my clitoris before he sucked that erect nub between his lips. “Fuck,” I moaned, as his tongue lapped a leisurely path down my entire slit, making sounds of pleasure at my seeping wetness. Finally, I couldn’t form words, I just moaned and whimpered, and I held in my head only one thought. I was not to come without permission.
His fingers reached out for the piece of ginger, and he pounded it in and out of my ass a few times, and I screamed as a fresh renewal of burning filled me. But his mouth was soothing, and I was soon moaning his name.
Finally, he flicked my clitoris in a steady rhythm; one that was designed to push me towards orgasm. “Patrick,” I begged. “Please. Please. Please let me come.”
“Come for me, sweetness,” he said, lifting his head up for an instant, and kissing my thighs with infinite tenderness. And with his permission, I arched my body, and flailed and shuddered as my climax roiled through me.
Lisa:
I was going to do my best to trust him. No. I was going to do my best to trust myself. This thing with Patrick, it was a good thing. Everything in my body and my mind and my heart and my soul told me this.
In the last month, I’d smiled and laughed more than I had for twelve years with any guy. He had made me find that submissive place inside of me, but when I was submissive to Patrick, it didn’t feel like weakness. It felt like strength.
And outside of the bedroom, we’d teased each other, and enjoyed each other. I was able to joke with him and smile with him without worrying that I was doing something wrong. This thing with Patrick – it was hot, but it was also easy and relaxed. It felt fun and playful, but it also felt right and it felt real.
I was falling in love with this guy. In fact, if I was being perfectly honest with myself, I was already in love with this guy, but wouldn’t let myself admit it.
There’d never been anyone that I had met in the last twelve years that had made me want to surmount the baggage that I carried from those eight months with Nick O’Malley. Until Patrick.
Fuck. I was in love with him. Now, I could only hope he felt the same way.
***
My dad had some errands to run during the day, so I’d cleared my work calendar, and got to the hospital Thursday morning. I was still ridiculously, deliciously happy from last night, from remembering the heat of the ginger, and the sweet way we had made love after.
The first person I saw as I entered the hospital was the red-haired vision. Patrick’s ex-wife. Andrea. But this time, my heart was insulated by Patrick’s warmth last night, and I smiled at her politely.
She smiled back, just as politely. We were both so utterly fake. “How’s the wrist?” she asked, her voice carrying the slightest snide undertone. Bitch.
“Good,” I said, as civilly as I was able to. I loved Patrick. We were in a happy and healthy place. Andrea didn’t have the power to hurt us.
“Did you fall?” I asked her. I gestured to a bruise on her face that was mostly hidden under a thick coat of make-up.
She didn’t reply. She just glared at me, radiating icy Greek goddess perfection, and walked away.
Bitch, I muttered under my breath, and went to find my mother.
***
“Are you sure she’s okay? That she’s safe to go home?” Friday afternoon, Dr.
Janokovic had decreed my mother was well enough to go home. My dad and I were at her bedside, and both of us looked nervous.
My voice was anxious. I was fretting like a mother hen. Funny, the role-reversal. All my life, my mother was my comfort and my rock, and now, I was eyeing her worriedly, wondering if it was okay for her to go home.
“Lisa, quit your fussing,” my mother spoke from her hospital bed. Her voice was still weak, and she still looked tired, but the doctors had sworn that she had turned a corner. “I can’t wait to go home. No offense, young man,” she added. I swivelled around. Patrick was leaning against the doorway watching us.
“Hello Mrs. Preston,” he said easily, coming in and kissing her on the cheek. Since when did these two become such good friends? “Your doctors told me that today was your discharge date, so I just thought I’d come along and see if I could do anything to help.”
I glared at him as my mother beamed. “Patrick,” she said fondly, touching him on the cheek, “you are a sweetheart, you know that? And if I were twenty years younger, I’d be ditching my husband and chasing you.”
My dad grinned at that. No jealousy between my parents; the love they shared was rock-solid. “No dear, you’ve already done too much, and I’m afraid I’ve been too much of a bother.”
“You aren’t a bother, Mrs. Preston,” he said, smiling, “and you know it.”
My mom laughed, her colour a little brighter. Damn it, Patrick, I thought to myself. Stop charming the pants off my family.
“Now Patrick, you are joining us for Sunday lunch next week, aren’t you?”
Sunday lunch was our family tradition. As far as I could remember, the three of us would eat lunch together. When I was a child, we would go out to a restaurant sometimes, which was always a big treat. As an adult, my parents and I took turns hosting Sunday lunch, but irrespective of who cooked or what the menu was, the ritual was unchanged. It was a gathering of family, and for all my living memory, it had been a gathering of the three of us.
“You invited Patrick to Sunday lunch?”
“Of course, dear,” my mother said. “Lisa will bring you, Patrick, else I will email you our address when I get in front of a computer.”
“No computer for you,” he scolded her gently. “Lots of rest. I heard what your doctors said.”
“You are bossy.” She smiled at Patrick fondly, robbing the words of any sting. I snorted, and turned it into a cough. If only she knew.
“I’ll see you all next Sunday then,” Patrick said smoothly. “Lisa, I’ll give you a call later.”
“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said dryly. Our private joke. He flashed a grin at me, and he left.
***
I spent Friday evening hovering at my mother’s side and I spent Friday night in my childhood bedroom. I flatly refused to listen as they suggested I go out with Patrick.
“You have to be kidding me,” was all I said. But Saturday afternoon, my parents kicked me out of the house.
“You’ve spent most of the day here,” my mother said. Her voice was frail but firm. “Go, find that boyfriend of yours, and hang out with him.”
I knew that tone in my mother’s voice. When my mother’s mind was made up, there was no persuading her. I headed to my apartment, showered, changed, and called Patrick.
As always, he picked up on the first ring. “I was just going to call you,” he said. “Are you doing anything this afternoon? Can you meet me by the waterfront?” He gave me an address, but wouldn’t answer any further questions.
I grinned from ear to ear, wondering what he had planned. “I’m on my way.”
***
I pulled up at a marina. Patrick was waiting for me in the parking lot. “Boat ride?” he asked me with a smile.
“You own a boat?”
“A little one,” he said. The boat we walked towards wasn’t quite as little as he’d made it out to sound, but it wasn’t massive either. I knew nothing about boats. This one had a motor, and that was all I knew. He turned the engine on and we speeded down Lake Ontario.
It was cool; it was October, and there was a definite chill in the air. I shivered a little, and Patrick went downstairs to get me a sweatshirt. “There’s a bedroom there?” I asked.
He smirked in response. “A tiny one, just for emergencies. Ever had sex on a boat, Lisa?”
I winked at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I grinned. The answer was no, never, but if he wanted to know, I was going to make him work for it. I’d slept with a lot of men in the course of my life. It wasn’t sex that I ran from, just commitment. If we were going to have that particular conversation, it would be a seriously awkward one.
His lips twitched in response, but he didn’t probe. Instead, after about twenty minutes of travel, Patrick turned off the engine, and turned towards me. “Want a tour?” he asked.
“A tour of the bedroom?” I smirked.
He laughed. “Exactly.”
***
“So I had to see patients this morning,” he said, in the doorway of the tiniest bedroom I’d ever seen in my life. His voice was steel, but I could hear the underlying laughter. “And there they were, asking questions about recovery times and risks and infections, and all I could think about was the way you moved and writhed and moaned with that piece of ginger in your ass. Ah Lisa, you are driving me crazy with desire.”
A smile spread over my face, wide and happy. He looked at me, and shook his head.
“You shouldn’t distract me at work, Lisa,” he chided. There was amusement dancing in his eyes, and lust as well, barely held in check.
“I’m very sorry, Dr. Anderson,” I said, my voice soft.
“I don’t think a verbal apology suffices in this case,” he said, his voice hard, utterly dominant. Oh, the sound of his voice, it sent pulse-waves of pleasure coursing through me. My nipples stiffened under my shirt and my pussy grew moist. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lisa?”
“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I mumbled.
“I think we need a demonstration of what happens when I’m unhappy, don’t we?” His voice was quiet.
“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I repeated. My body started to heat with lust. My eyes shone with need as I looked at his face, waiting for his instructions. He moved towards me and stood so close to me that I could feel the heat from his body.
“I’m going to take off your clothes,” he said evenly. I nodded. His fingers were on me, my buttons were swiftly undone, and then, I was naked. He lifted me off my feet, swung me into his arms, and gently placed me in the middle of the bed.
“I don’t want to strain your wrist,” he said. “So let me know if anything I do bothers it.”
I nodded silently again.
“Cat got your tongue, sweetie?” he asked me, laughing.
I shook my head and smiled at him, but kept quiet. He laughed again. “I want verbal acknowledgement of my instructions, Lisa,” he said, his voice dominant again.
“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I whispered. That voice – it sent a straight, hot flame of arousal towards my pussy.
“Part your legs,” he ordered. I complied.
He kicked off his shoes, and slid on the bed. I made a noise of protest. “Not fair,” I said to him. “You take off your clothes as well.”
He laughed, and his fingers reached to unbutton his shirt and toss it to one side. I openly licked my lips as he removed his belt, and he shook his head at me, laughing. “Already ready for more of the belt, Lisa?”
“Whatever you’d like, Dr. Anderson,” I said, blushing a little.
“Ah Lisa, a bit late to be coy, don’t you think? Tell me what you want.”
I looked at him. “I want you,” I said, my voice steady, my eyes on his face. “I don’t care how. I just want you.”
His eyes darkened for a second and then he smiled at me. “I’m right here, Lisa.” He unzipped his pants, pulled down his briefs, threw them carelessly on top of his shirt, and slid up the bed, till he was over me. The weight of his body crushed me as his mouth found mine, and took it in a searing kiss that left me shaking all over in need.
His cock was erect, nudging at my pussy. “Patrick, please, don’t tease me, just fuck me, please,” I begged. Hot, flaming arousal blazed through my body with shocking speed.
He shook his head. “Patience is a virtue, Lisa,” he whispered in my ear, tracing a line of kisses from my mouth, down my chin, to the hollow of my throat. “Tell me what you want me to do,” he repeated, his voice rough with need.
My head cleared for an instant, and I realized that Patrick had baggage too. His ex-wife wouldn’t tell him what she wanted, seemingly content to let it be about his fantasies all the time. I needed him to keep the dominance in check, to reassure me that ceding control wasn’t something that wasn’t going to extend beyond our sex life into anything else. In the same way, he needed me to express myself, to be honest with him, and tell him what I needed from him.
Warmth spread through me as I realized this. Patrick seemed perfect in every way, and it reassured me that he needed something from me too.
I looked at him. There was plenty that I wanted him to do to me, and I really liked that I could tell him my fantasies. He listened without judgment, and then, he made them come true. Perfection.
“Spank my pussy,” I begged. His lips curved into a smile. “Gladly,” he said, and pulled himself up. He went outside the bedroom for an instant, and came back with a coil of rope in his hands.
“Advantages of being on a boat,” he quipped. “Rope’s always handy. Spread your legs.”
I did as I was told, a big, happy smile on my face. He laughed at my expression. “You look delighted to be tied up, sweetie. Not even a tiny little bit of fear.”
I laughed. “Should I be afraid?”
His eyes softened. “Never,” he said, taking my ankle in his hand, winding the rope around it, and lashing it to the bed. He repeated the motion on my other leg, stretching me wide open, and tying me down so I couldn’t move.
“I’m not going to tie down your hands,” he said, gesturing to the cast on my wrist. “Keep them above your head though, and Lisa? Keep still.” That last instruction came out in Patrick’s dominant voice; quiet and intent, with a perfect confidence that he would be obeyed. My pussy automatically gushed in response.
“Okay,” I said softly. He bent down and kissed the ankle closest to him softly, then reached for his belt.
“Ready?” he asked me.
I gulped. He was going to use his belt to spank my pussy, and tied wide-open as I was, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. Sometimes, I needed to remind myself to think through my fantasies.
My thoughts must have flashed across my face, because Patrick’s lips twitched. “Poor baby,” he muttered. “Tomorrow morning, every single bit of you is going to be sore. Now, no unnecessary talking, please.”
He knelt at my side, the belt in perfect striking position of my pussy. “Ready?” he asked me. I nodded.