Trading Tides (11 page)

I could tell there were more of them now, that there was an aching sensation of pressure, of strain when he slipped in and out, but it didn't matter. Everything was pleasure with him, everything made me whimper and wriggle, and plead.

"Please fuck me? Please, Sir?" I found myself panting, my voice sounding strained under the pressure of my legs. "Please? I need you so much, please fuck my ass? Please? It's yours, please make me all yours, please?"

I didn't think he would, but then his hold on my legs lessened and he looked down at me. I could see it in his eyes, the impatience, the pent up need, and then he nodded and pulled his fingers from my ass.

"Get on your hands and knees, now."

I scrambled around. A moment ago I wouldn't have thought it possible, would have promised I hardly had the strength to move at all but it was easy now, propelled by his demand. I heard the sound of his zipper and the plastic tear of a condom wrapper. I pushed my face into the mattress, spread my knees.

I felt a soft breeze on my red-hot cunt and then something large at the other entrance. I held my breath—not because I was scared, though. I held it because the moment felt sacred, and it extended into the silence like a universe from a single point.
 

Then he pushed and with every fraction of every inch, he laid claim to me, body and soul. Hazily, I remembered that first time between us, when he had spoken of religious experiences, and that was exactly what I felt when he stretched that ring of muscle, until I screamed into the duvet, until his balls fell hard against my swollen cunt, and both of us paused to breathe.

"You're mine," he whispered hoarsely; his fingers pressed against my sore bottom.

"I'm yours," I breathed, then I craned my neck back to look at him. "Sir."

His hand reached up over my back, but he couldn't quite reach my face. Our eyes stayed locked a moment longer.

"Why'd you have to be so fucking pretty when you cry?" he whispered. His fingers found my hair and he grasped a swath to hold onto. I felt a shooting sensation all the way down to my clit. Then he pulled my neck taut, and he started fucking me in earnest. I groaned some animal sound against the wall in front of me and then everything went dark.
 

There was lube of course, but it could only do so much to help me accommodate his girth, his driving speed that he'd held back for hours of teasing and touching me. Now it was unleashed, hard and fast and unrelenting. Each time he bottomed out inside of me, he pushed my face deeper into the mattress, as though he was trying to fuck me through the bed, through the floor, somewhere deep into the ground, again and again.
 

Eventually, he let go of my hair for a better grip on my waist. I bit my own my arm to stifle the sounds, to grasp for control as I braced myself against the headboard—and still he went on. He went on until I gave up on pushing back, on keeping myself upright, he fucked me into oblivion, until he could hardly control my body as I moaned and cried, and begged for release.

I can't say that it felt good—it was too complicated for so small a word. It hurt, and there was pleasure—a lot of pleasure, but above everything I had the feeling that it wasn't about either, but about power, about giving up everything to him, so that he could own it, fuck it to pieces and then put it back together again.

I collapsed when he came, an inhuman groan on his lips, his fingers clamping down so hard on my hips, I found soft little bruises later. I hardly noticed at the time. I just dissolved onto the mattress, and a few moments later, he followed me, wrapping his arms around me as he pulled me close and kissed the back of my neck. I felt his hot, fast breath stir my hair, felt the heat of his arms, and I thought that was how I wanted to spend eternity, all wrapped up in him and fucked to pieces.

XI

I don't know if we nodded off for a while, it seems reasonable though. When I opened my eyes again it was dark outside, but I couldn't remember what it had been like before. I was breathing calmly and my body felt warm and sated and exhausted. The immediate need to come had lessened and I relaxed, stretching against him.

"There you are," he whispered. His voice sounded sleepy, too, soft and tender. I turned around to look at him; his face was in shadows, but the lamp left a warm glow in his eyes. Maybe it was his smile, or some magic inside of him.

"How do you feel?"

I nodded first, swallowed, trying to gather my faculties enough to speak.

"Good," I whispered, "really good."

His chuckle was lazy and hardly there at all as he brushed my hair out of my face, then ran the rough pad of his thumb over the sore, puffy spots under my eyes. I didn't flinch, not anymore. I was in a place where everything he gave me was pleasure and I stretched against his touch, like a kitten. He kissed my forehead, then my nose and finally my lips.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispered; his lips landed on each of my cheeks, and something inside me started to tingle, to bubble and glow again as I beamed at him.

"Thank you, Sir."

My cunt contracted at the smile he gave me in return. Then he tweaked my nipple and patted my hip.

"Get up, pet. I'm not done with you. On your feet."

My muscles were rubber, gelatinous and soft as I stretched them, as I all but tumbled out of bed to find my footing. He lay there, beautiful and naked, watching me as I lifted my arms towards the ceiling, then pushed them behind my head as if to see if I was still capable of movement or if all tension had been taken from my body.

"Go to the bathroom. Get yourself cleaned up, sprinkle some water in your face, maybe some cream. And come back with a warm washcloth."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

I should have been exhausted; I should have wanted nothing better than to stay in bed and fall asleep by his side, but he wasn't done with me and that thrilled me to my core. I didn't want him to be done with me, not ever, and I had yet to find a moment when I stopped wanting more of what he had to give.

My knees were shaking when I stepped into the shower, just to wash away the sticky mess around my cunt and thighs, the remaining lube around my crack. The hot water was invigorating, and I groaned at the sting when it hit the fresh welts on my thighs. That, too, felt good—all those reminders he'd left all over my body.

I didn't waste too much time, before I stepped back out and gingerly toweled myself off. I tied my matted hair up in a bun and then washed my face, moisturized and reached for the washcloth he wanted.

Paul was sitting on the bed when I came back. He, too, had moved because he had a fresh glass of wine on the bed stand he'd made for me, already half-empty. I smiled, held up the cloth. When I came closer, he nodded to the floor in front of him and I sank down to my knees.

"I don't like that stuff they put inside condoms, pet, I want you to clean me off—gently. It's still tender."

"Yes, Sir," I whispered reverently. There was a sense of gravity to the moment and I bit my lip as it washed over me. Carefully, I held his softened cock in my hands, weighed it and caressed it, as I brushed the warm water over its length, then down to his balls. Allowing me to touch him in this way, made him feel precious and vulnerable and I was humbled by his trust. My heart went out to him as I touched him, worshipped him with my fingers and the piece of cloth. He hummed his approval from time to time, and patted my hair.

After a while, Paul grasped my wrist and this pulled the washcloth from his cock. He shook his head, his breath came shallow.

"With your mouth now, pet," he whispered, patting my lips. "I'm sure you can fit me all inside your mouth now."

I sucked a sharp breath between my teeth at the soft, thrumming sensation in my clit. I inched closer, tilted my head into his lap, kissing the side of his shaft. He still smelled a little like spermicide, and like me, but I had washed most of it away, leaving only soft and tender skin, rippling in tiny wrinkles. I shivered at the sense of reverence that came over me.

"Yes, Sir," I whispered, exhaling against his shaft. I opened my mouth as far as it would go, then carefully wrapped it around his cock. It was no longer soft, but had started to grow taut and hard under my fingers. I had to hurry, cramming it all into my mouth until my nose rested against his stomach and his fingers threaded through my hair, holding me there.
 

I could feel him growing, faster now as his hips moved back and forth a fraction of an inch in unconscious imitation of thrusting. And still he grew fuller and fuller in my mouth, and Paul held me in place as I choked for air. I didn't struggle, not where I could help it. I couldn't stop my throat from revolting, but I kept the rest of me still, pressed against his stomach.

"Play with my balls, pet."

They felt tighter now as well, and I cradled them in my fingers, massaging them until my airway was blocked completely and Paul angled my face up to look at me, while my throat contracted, fought against the intruder and drove involuntary tears to my eyes. We looked at each other, for seconds I think, but it could have been hours, until my body started to shake. And then he released me and I let my head fall onto his thigh, coughing and catching my breath, never straying from the closeness of his cock.
 

He curled his fingers behind my ears, ran them though my hair.

"Good girl," he whispered, touching my cheek. "My beautiful girl."

One more time he lifted me from the ground. For the first time, I could feel the strain of the evening in his grip, the toll it had taken on both our bodies. When I opened my eyes again, he was leaning against the headboard, and I was straddling his lap, smiling down at him.

"You've been such a good girl," he whispered, lined kisses along my throat and shoulder. "Beyond my wildest expectations. I want to reward you, pet. Sit up."

His fingers on my hips guided me upwards and when he sat me back down, his cock slid inside me so easily, so slippery full that tears filled my eyes again. Tears of rapture or the divine. His hands lifted me up and down, up and down and soon I could adopt the rhythm myself.
 

"There's my girl. Show me how much you've wanted me inside you, fuck yourself on me, harder, there you go..." his crooning voice groaned against my neck as his fingers found my nipples to twist and tweak into hard, aching pebbles that drove me to greater speed. It wasn't long until he pushed up into me, too, until his body was compelled to meet mine stroke for stroke, until he brought my arms around his neck and we moved as one, one body, one entity, one mind.

I lost all sense of time, then, only knew that this was a gift that lasted maybe an hour, maybe all night, in moans and trembling thighs, until he reached between us to rub my clit and I whimpered intelligible pronouncements of gratitude, before I screamed his name and came hard and fast over his cock.
 

I hardly heard his own grunt against the dizzying fireworks in my head, but I felt it when his fingers curled hard against my sore ass, and he held me so tightly against him, I didn't think he'd ever let go.
 

And then there was no time. Or space. Only us. Only jumping, galloping hearts and panting breaths.

"I love you," I breathed against his neck. "I... I love you."

XII

The words echoed like in empty halls. In truth, the pillows, blankets and wardrobes in my room soaked up any noise, nothing threw it back to sound again in the silence. Maybe the echo was in my head, my empty, empty head.
I love you. Love you. Wuv you.
 

Experimentally, I tilted it this way, then that—almost expected my brain to slosh around in there, my head to lose its tether to my neck, snap off and roll away. Maybe it was his hands that stopped it; just then he cupped them over my cheeks. The pads of his thumbs ran slowly over the red, paper-thin membrane that held my eyes. Like synchronized dancers, they moved at the same speed, crossed the same distance, described the same symmetrical figure—a set of wings on my face. They soaked up the tears that had started to leak over, the supply of fresh liquid too fast, too strong to hold.
 

I love you. Love you. Wuv you.
The Echo roared back. In the absence of a response, a counterpoint sound, it seemed to develop a life of its own, growing louder with each rotation. At that point, it didn't even sound like words anymore, or like truth—it sounded like fear. It sounded like a plea for mercy:
Say something. Anything. Please, Sir. I LOVE YOU. Love you. Wuv you.

I closed my eyes then; the motion squeezed a few fresh tears out at the ducts, running down the side of my nose before his thumbs caught them again. I felt this, knew this despite the darkness I was wrapping myself in. He was still warm, still here, and he pulled me closer until my face rested in the crook of his neck. When I inhaled his scent, it clothed me like a blanket against the cold.
 

He didn't smell quite right though, I hadn't noticed that before: like dry cleaners and smog and Indian food, like sweat and like me, but without the salt, without the wind, and the wood. I don't know why that made me want to cry all over again, why it stirred me so deeply.

"I'm sorry," I breathed finally. My eyes fluttered open again. He hadn't moved, still sat upright against the headboard, holding me against his chest. It felt wrong to be straddling him now, but I didn't move until he made me. His hands touched my shoulders and pried me from his skin, inch by inch until he could look at me. He looked ancient, then—just in his eyes—ancient and exhausted.

"Don't apologize."

I soaked it up, the sound of his voice. It wasn't enough; it didn't quench my thirst—it was a drop, just a drop, and it left me aching. How could I not apologize when something I said had made this happen, had created that look on his face.

"I just meant..." I held my breath and a second later it exploded with a hiss when I opened my glottis again, shaking my head in frustration. I was still his pet, I couldn't quite think straight, couldn't figure out where the filters were, what purpose they usually served. "I just missed you so much."