Authors: Christa Wick
"Don't, Marie."
My turn to lick my lips, nervously. I force my legs flat and watch the bedding slide over the gown's bottom hem. Seeing the triangle of hair, my thighs tense. I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and close my eyes.
He stops tugging on the bedding. "Eyes open, Marie. I want you to see what I see."
"I know what you're seeing," I bite out, my lids still squeezed shut. Without the fabric's cover, my fat thighs and plump calves are on display, the flesh dimpling and marked with faint lines where there is no natural give left in the skin.
"I don't think you do, baby. Open them."
My head spins and I hope he means my eyes and not my legs. Seeing his lean, beautiful body, I am not quite ready to proceed. I exhale all but the last of my resistance, open my eyes and stare at the ceiling.
"If you won't look at yourself, look at me."
I do and instantly regret it. His lips are parted. Languorous blinks track each inch of the resumed unveiling of my body. His other hand captures my attention as it moves along his torso -- first in a line up that gloriously thick cock, then the slow drag of three fingers across his muscled abs and up to the small, dark red bead of his nipple. Pinching himself, he draws a shuddering breath.
My pussy contracts, the slow, inexorable tightening of muscle refusing to relax. Tighter and tighter my insides pull. With the sheet and blanket on the floor, Luke crawls onto the bed. With his muscular thighs straddling my plump ones, he forces his hands between my bottom and the mattress to capture the hem of the baby doll. He pushes it up over my hips, my body now wiggling in compliance and need as he peels the shimmery fabric from me.
When he has me stripped, he moves toward the center of the mattress. "Spread your legs."
My lungs the only muscles under my control, I breathe. The air sucks and pulls -- shaky in, shaky out.
Luke eases his hand between my knees then gently pulls one leg toward him. When he has me spread wide, he fills the space between my thighs, his broad shoulders ensuring that my legs stay open.
He rubs a stubbled cheek against my inner thigh. His lips follow. His nose brushes my pubic hair and then he repeats the bristly caress against the other thigh. He looks up at me, brown eyes unreadable as each hand pinches one of my labia and pulls them apart. He looks down and a space opens between his lips.
His tongue darts out to run along the edge of his top teeth. "Are you this wet for all your lovers, Marie?"
I close my eyes, certain I will cry if I look at him any longer. He will discover the answer to his question all too soon. If I tell him before then, he might stop. As much as I might try to fool myself or Luke later, I don't want him to stop. My pussy hasn't unknotted, neither has any other muscle in my body. I am one thrumming, throbbing mass of need coiled tight and ready to burst.
He doesn't tell me to open my eyes as I expect him to. Instead, I feel his lips against my clit, the pressure so tentative I think he is deliberately testing my reaction. My mound lifts, my body yearning for more. He gives me more, running his tongue up the shaft and then angling his head to seal his mouth hot against my flesh.
He sucks. The room fills with the soft, moist sounds of his devouring me. His thumbs trail down my needy slit to find the entrance of my cunt. Feather light strokes moving in opposite directions tease its rim until my moans join, then smother, his audible sucking.
My hands, frozen at my sides since he finished undressing me, shoot down. I wind my fingers in his thick dark curls and groan. Luke lifts his head against my hands, as if letting me know he realizes just how very much I am enjoying his efforts.
I look across the swell of my stomach to find him watching my face. Another acknowledgement flickers across the brown irises and then his eyes shut. His head sinks lower, allowing his tongue to make its first, exploratory push inside me. My fingers straighten against his skull and I wantonly push against the crown of his head. He nuzzles closer, unshaven face brushing against the sensitive flesh of my pussy and thighs.
Cunt contracting, I gasp.
Luke pulls back. Wet lips press against my thighs. His teeth gently dent my flesh as he leaves a love bite on each. Fingers stroke the shaft of my clit then slide to where my pussy weeps with need. A finger pushes in, my flesh crazy-sensitive and jerking in response.
"How many lovers have you had, Marie?"
I can hear the slight unease that tinges his voice -- as if he knows the answer and it bothers him. I wonder why he cares -- will my lack of lovers make him stop? Does it make me even less attractive or does he have a conscience buried somewhere beneath his carefully controlled façade?
"None-of-your-business." Each word is a labor to expel because he hasn't stopped slowly stroking his thick finger inside me.
"You're very narrow, baby." He eases a second finger in and traces the edge of something, not the outer perimeter but a very tender inner circle just an inch or so inside me. "You have had a lover, haven't you?"
"Of course," I bite out. My body betrays the lie with a squeeze against his fingers. I shut my eyes, praying he didn't notice.
"How many?" He pushes a little deeper, finding another sensitive spot against the roof of my cunt. He takes a little come-hither stroke inside me that curls my toes and makes answering him impossible. "I can tell it's no more than a few."
Another stroke and I almost pass out.
His lips return to my clit and the sweet suckling restarts. Licking, nibbling, he waits until he has driven me back to the point of distraction before he murmurs softly against my labia, "I bet your brother knows."
He wouldn't really do something like that, would he?
"Don't--" I start.
"Then tell me." His fingers slide back to the inner ring and trace its edge. "Two?"
"Yes…two. " My cunt gives another damning squeeze and I throw my hands over my face. "Please stop asking me questions."
"Mmmm..." His tongue dips back down, filling and stretching my hole as he pushes deeper. With one big hand across my mound, he presses his thumb against the shaft of my clit, just above the hood and the tender glans it holds.
He rubs a tight, continuous circle, bullying the sensitive pearl just below the hard press of his thumb. His tongue fucks in and out. My hips take up the rhythm, my hands returning to his head. Arousal takes control of my muscles, leaving me helpless to stop the unintentional scrape of my fingernails along his scalp as my fingers curl.
Small mewling sounds contort through my throat, shaming me with how quickly I have capitulated yet again. I shake my head, dislodging the shame. His fingers and tongue feel too good -- a hundred times better than my rushed efforts to draw out a quick climax in the shower or the rare moments I have the apartment to myself.
Tension building higher than I can hope to control, something flips inside me. I slam my head against the pillow, my hips pushing high up off the mattress. I grab two handfuls of Luke's hair, worried his sweet mouth will abandon my cunt before I climax.
"Don't stop," I plead softly, the words almost breathless. "Please."
Luke groans against me, inside me, the strokes and rubs of his tongue and thumb dominating my body and mind. He flicks, nibbles, and then I am spiraling down, plummeting hard into my release. He stays with me through every twitch and roll, every shake and shudder, his strokes and thrusts coming faster, more insistent until I collapse to the mattress in a quivering mess.
My pussy throbs with hard contractions around his immobile fingers and even that threatens to set me off a second time. I am sated and insatiable, satisfied yet ready for more. I wiggle restlessly against his fingers and begin to bite my bottom lip.
A plea of
fuck me, fuck me, fuck me
rolls through my mind and echoes across my body, but the words won't leave my mouth. Wanting, undeserving, I can only wait for his next command.
Surging up my body, Luke captures my head, his fingers knotting in my hair with the same possessive intensity with which I just held his. His tongue invades the deeper recesses of my mouth, the curling licks almost as pleasurable as the ones he took inside and against my pussy. His thick cock pushes against my mound and wedges my labia apart.
Small advances and retreats of his body force the shaft up and down my clit. My hands find his hips and fasten around them. I want to cry -- from pleasure, from confusion, from the dozen different emotions whipping through me.
It's not as if I live a sheltered life. I know about sex. I have viewed it on television and in movies, heard its sounds through thin walls, interrupted its early stages far too often in separating Rose from her latest boyfriend when she was a teenager.
But, whatever the medium, I have only and always been the outsider, the viewer, the listener -- until now.
Luke brushes his thumbs across my cheeks then kisses each one in turn. I realize my desire to cry has progressed to actual tears.
"Are you afraid, Marie?"
He sounds concerned again, like he will stop if I admit I am afraid. He has no right to sound tender and gentle. He has blackmailed me into this bed. I shut my eyes, more tears falling as I struggle with my arousal and anger.
His mouth finds my ear, his hand caressing a path down my body. His fingers smooth over my mound then slide inside me once more. I squeeze around him, thighs tightening, hips lifting. A fresh moan curls its way past my lips and I give a little upward pump against his fingers.
I haven't answered Luke's question, but he has ways to make me talk. I don't even have to open my mouth to tell him everything he needs to know.
Afraid or not, I want him.
He rolls onto his side, his hands and mouth leaving me. I suppress the traitorous whine scratching at my throat as I roll with him. I pull my legs up, my arms protectively covering my breasts.
Seeing me curl in a fetal position, Luke smiles. His attempt to flatten the expression turns it wry, just the corners of his generous lips flipping upward. Blinking, he turns away and sits up.
I study his back. Light olive brown and muscled, it makes my fingers itch with the need to stroke the supple flesh. I roll my lips in appreciation, my gaze jumping, as he extends his arm and opens the drawer on the nightstand next to the bed.
I don't pay the slightest attention to the drawer or his interest in its contents. My attention whispers along the slight turning of his narrow waist, the glimpse of his firm, shapely ass as he leans forward, the flex of his shoulder and biceps as he reaches into the drawer.
Mesmerizing.
Withdrawing his hand, Luke places an object on the nightstand.
Seeing the object, I freeze then thaw just long enough to shake my head. Whatever that black, rubbery column of three balls of increasing size is called, it is not going in me. I don't care which direction or which hole. It isn't going in. Period.
Looking from that thing to Luke's face, I see his wry smile split a little wider. He breaks it with a lick of his bottom lip then reaches back into the drawer. He pulls out something I recognize -- a leather flogger, its suede strips cascading over the edge of the nightstand. I press my lips together, my gaze narrowing to ensure my entire face is tightly locked down in disapproval.
"Which part of complete submission don't you understand, Marie?"
There is a tease to his voice, playful and sexy, but I am not about to be suckered in by it or by that charming lift of one brow or the way his eyes glitter when he looks at me. Those are just the effects of light and acoustics and--
My brain comes to a full stop as he pulls out a third item -- something that looks like a metal antenna but narrower and without the little knob at top.
I suck a breath in, the air entering me with a choked, wheezy cry. I blink, my eyes shuttering and opening a couple dozen times in the space of a few seconds as every muscle in my body constricts defensively.
"Marie..." Luke drops the rigid strip of metal and lightly rests his hand against my cheek.
I pull back. He knows how to please a woman, I have no doubt on that point, but that switch, or whatever it is, has nothing to do with pleasure.
"Is it this?" Bending down, he retrieves the rod from where it landed on the floor.
I flinch. His sharp gaze catches my reaction and he slowly brings the tip to rest against my cheek. His eyes narrow in concentration and he moves the switch a fraction of an inch to the right. I know what he is studying so intently. The line of the scar is thin and faint, undetectable with makeup on, but I am not wearing makeup.
"What happened here?" He strokes the tip of the switch over the scar.
I close my eyes. I don't want to talk about it. I won't.
My expression must reflect unrelenting obstinacy because he orders me to roll over. He guides me with a hand on my shoulder until I am flat on my stomach. His hands brush the hair from my back and then his fingers gently explore my flesh. He takes his first long pause at the bottom edge of my left shoulder blade. I screw my eyes more tightly shut, trying not to remember the way my father's belt strap cut into me once as I tried to run.
Luke's fingers resume their slow walk down my spine. He leans closer, his breath light and warm against the center of my back as he inspects two more faded scars. Same belt, different nights. Pressing my face deeper into the pillow, I clench my right hand in a fist.