Friday, January 25, 2013


~Chapter 97~

This is the hardest part of the overnight scene for me—waiting for Master’s eyes to open. After the intimacy of last night and our talk afterward, I can hardly withstand the barrier of his slumber. I know I could wake him if I really needed to, but I’d have some serious explaining to do. I close my eyes and let my Dark Prince keep me company.

Powered by my real-life progress into ever-kinkier forays, my heroine has the dubious honor of advancing further into my darkest imaginings.

 “I have a special treat for you today, princess,” he says.

Naked, blindfolded, hogtied and gagged on the concrete floor—I await my fate. I hear the faint creak of the dungeon door and soft footfalls crossing the room. My heart rate picks up and I focus on breathing evenly through my nose.

“She’s lovely,” declares a deep voice I don’t recognize. “May I touch her?”

“Of course,” Master answers. “She doesn’t bite.” He laughs at his own joke, and the blood chills in my veins. I’ve serviced Master’s friends before with mouth and hands, but always when I was in control. If I’ve been touched, it’s been a frenzied palming of a breast or firm hand at the back of my head, not this…not everything.

Fingers are on me, running between the taut ropes, pinching experimentally for responses. “Beautiful rope work,” he says admiringly. “She’s really quite helpless, isn’t she?”

Master laughs again. “Is that not the point?”

“Yes, so it is.” His hands reach between my thighs and I twitch, rocking slightly on my belly on the cold floor but unable to do anything to prevent him from pushing two fingers inside me. I protest the intrusion with a scream that is instantly silenced by the gag and bite down hard on the rubber forced between my teeth. The squeeze ball sits in my right palm, but Master has warned me that today’s scene will require more of me. We’ve discussed my boundaries; Master is well aware of my limits. That alone is enough to allow me to refocus and take a deep breath.

“She’s soaked,” he reports gleefully, thrusting and retracting his fingers harshly and causing me to grunt.

“So what else is new?” responds Master with  more than a touch of pride. “She’s ready when you are.”

I hear a soft rustle of clothing and feel the man settle between my knees. The reality stabs me like an arrow to the heart as the man parts my cheeks and makes his intentions known. I cry out reflexively, my breathing becoming erratic when my opening is breached. I remember the ball and squeeze it. The intrusion is halted immediately, and Master’s voice is next to my ear, pushing hair off my face and gently soothing me.

“It’s all right, princess. I’m right here. I’m going to take off your blindfold now. Open your eyes, princess. Please, sweetheart, open your eyes, Isabella.”

Master’s anxious expression is the first thing I see in the diffused light of morning. His eyes don’t leave mine, but his hands run through their inspection sequence, checking the ropes at my wrists, feeling my fingers for circulation, massaging the muscles in my upper arms to relieve the tension. “Bad dream?”

I blow out a heavy breath. “Yeah. Just the last part. I hope I didn’t wake you,” I cringe at the thought.

Master shakes his head. “Don’t ever be sorry for letting me know you’re in trouble. Besides, you can’t control what you do when you’re asleep.” He starts loosening the knots at my lower back. “I’m untying your hands.”

“Thank you.” My tongue feels thick and furry and there’s a puddle of drool next to my face. “Sorry, Master, not too attractive.”

He smiles. “I beg to differ, my sweet girl. Did you sleep all right on your stomach, until the nightmare?”

“Pretty much. My boobs and neck might be a little sore.”

“Flip onto your back and I’ll give you a good rub.”

I roll toward his warm body and await my Master’s touch. He’s gawking at my pointy nipples. “I think I’m going to need to hear the details of that dream, sweetheart.” His fingers pull and tease before he finally settles into a soothing motion.

“If it would please you, Master, I think it might be more entertaining if I write my next chapter for you later today while you’re watching your football game.”

A grin spreads across his face. “Your Dark Prince did this to you?”

“He did.”

Master’s hand slides down my belly and he finds me wet and wanting. “I love that guy. He makes my job so much easier.” Master teases with light touches before pulling his hand away. “Okay, I’ll wait…but so will you, princess. Go shower—and no unauthorized touching.”

Today calls for the Master’s all-black outfit—tight tee, belted cargos and heavy Docs—she needs to get that no-nonsense Master is in the house. I’ve foregone the boxers this morning, anticipating what’s to come…or more accurately, who. I lift one of the dining room chairs and place it in the middle of the living room floor, tossing a pillow about a foot away from the front two legs. “Lie down on your back and put your head on the pillow for me.”

She scurries into position. I cuff each wrist with chains and lift her arms over her head, fastening each hand to the chair. I lay a heavy, one-foot spreader bar on the floor between her feet and chain the ends around her ankles. Kneeling at her side, I loop the long chain from last night around her waist again and clip it in front, for no purpose whatsoever beyond enjoying the way her skin pebbles at the cool touch of the metal belt. “I love how you look in my hardware, Isabella.”

She turns her deep brown eyes to me. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not putting anything between your legs today.” Her face twists in a series of emotions—relief first, then confusion, followed finally by chagrin once she’s figured it out. Her Master is going to bring her to the brink, but what she doesn’t know is that her boyfriend is going to swoop in and be the hero. After all, Master’s already collared his sub whereas Edward has some winning over to do. In the delicate balance played by my two incarnations, it’s Edward’s turn to be Good Cop.

I take my seat in the chair above her where the view is perfect. Her nipples point like plump arrows toward me, but they won’t find purchase. Poor subbie, nothing will right now. “Eyes to the screen, princess.” She turns her head to the television. “Are you comfortable? How’s your neck?”

“Fine, Master.”

“Good, because I want you to give these orgasming ladies your full attention.”

I click the remote and fire up my “best of” female orgasms, a collection of five-minute clips with girls in heavy bondage celebrating their happy endings—loudly and enthusiastically. It only takes me one and a half on-screen orgasms to strain against my pants, and the swollen bud forcing its way through Isabella’s lower lips tell me she’s similarly inspired.

I lean over to twist her nipples between my fingers and temporarily distract myself from the on-screen action. “Are those dirty girls getting you all hot and bothered, princess?”

“Yes, Master, very much so.”

“Excellent. Then it’s time for you to make us some fajitas.”

Isabella giggles. “I’m sorry, Master. That is so not what I expected you to say just now.”

“I’m happy I can still surprise you! I’m leaving the spreader bar between your legs to keep you from accidentally rubbing your thighs together, so you’ll need to walk very carefully while you get used to it.” Unchained from the chair, she rolls onto her knees and then to her feet, taking a few ginger steps toward the kitchen.

Despite her bondage, she manages to heat up the remnants of the pain in the ass meal. I swear, there are ten separate Ziplocked ingredients to be managed. The tray remains impressively balanced as she carries everything to the coffee table and kneels at my feet to serve me.

“My little geishariƱa,” I say while she assembles my first fajita and brings it to my mouth. I take the first delicious bite and she smiles at my pleasure. She adjusts the tortilla around the fillings and waits patiently until I’m ready to take my second bite.

“Napkin,” I direct her, and she wipes my mouth. I swallow down the last bites of the fajita and lick the juice from her fingers.

“How do you like the soundtrack I’ve arranged for our lunch?”

“Really nice, Master. Thank you,” she grins, peeking at the screen while filling my second fajita.

“I knew you’d like it,” I say, my words muffled by the delicious mouthful of food. “Okay, sweetheart, I’m good for now. Make one for yourself and I’ll feed it to you.”

“Thank you, Master.” She rolls her sandwich quickly, and I can tell she was hungry.

“I think the fajitas were better the second time around; what do you think, princess?”

“I certainly enjoyed the way you fed me today, and I don’t have that nagging presence to distract me from the food…” She stops short of challenging me and smiles.

“You mean Garrett?” I tease.

“That, too. He wasn’t too bad last night, was he?”

“Nah. I give the guy credit for putting himself out there. He was much less hideous this time.”

Isabella smiles. “People have a way of finding their best behavior around you, Master.”

I nod. “As long as you do, princess, that’s enough for me.”

“I try.”

“So far, so good. I don’t suppose you’ve figured out today’s theme?”


“You’re making me wait for my story, I made you wait for lunch. And as soon as you’re done cleaning up, you’re going to take care of my needs while yours wait…indefinitely.”

She smiles at me with perfect understanding. “That will be my pleasure, Master.”

Damn, I believe her, too. She’d asked to experiment with denial, and I’m pleased she’s not becoming resentful with the reality. In fact, she continues to be convincing a bit later, stretched along the couch, pleasuring me with her mouth.

My hand slides along her back to the perfect sway of her bottom. Isabella responds to my touch by increasing her suction, but I warn her off. “I’m in no hurry, princess. Draw it out for me.”

I drop my head back against the couch and lightly grasp her hair so it’s not in the way. “Ahh, that’s nice, sweetheart. You’re so good at sucking me off.”

Poor thing groans at my dirty words and wiggles her hips against the cushions. “Better be careful with that grinding. You don’t have permission to come.”

She calms. I praise her and resume the filthy talk. By the time I blow my wad in her mouth, she’s moaning and humming around my cock. She turns her hungry eyes up to mine and for a moment, denying her feels impossible.

Luckily, the moment passes.

“I really hate taking this off you,” Master says, unclasping the chain at my waist. “It’s so much more powerful than the bracelet, don’t you think? Do you feel more owned in this?” He lifts his sated eyes to my hungry ones, still teasing me even though the scene is nearly over.

“Yes, Master.”

“Hmm, this would look even better with a charm hanging right here,” he teases, brushing his finger cruelly below my navel. “Princess…if lost, return to owner, Edward Cullen. Damn, that hard-on’s not going to do me any good at the gym.”

Nor me, I think, blinded by visions of Edward in his gym shorts with a stubborn bulge underneath—a bulge he’s already told me I can’t enjoy until after the Stupid Bowl.

“Before I uncollar you, I want to make sure you understand the rules for tonight. Repeat my directions please.”

“Once we get back from the gym, I’m allowed to…relieve myself with my fingers only, and only if I do it in front of you, but you’ve promised to make it worth my while if I wait for the end of the game.”

“Perfect.” He smiles and pulls me onto his naked lap. “Kiss me while I take this off.” I lean forward happily and occupy his lips until I feel the heavy velvet slide away from my neck. Our foreheads rest against each other and his voice is a soft murmur.

“I love you, Isabella.”

“I love you too, Edward.”

He slides his thumbs up my thighs and circles wistfully. “Better go get changed.”

I don’t see any reason at all to cause him a moment’s doubt. “Edward…”

“Yeah?” he sighs.

“I’m waiting… for you.”

His lips turn up and he bends forward to kiss me again. “That’s excellent news.”

I’d be the first to admit today is not my best workout. I’m distracted, to say the least. Edward takes every opportunity to touch me while moving through our parallel routines, to smile his dazzling smile from across the room, and to wink knowingly in a way that obliterates any concentration I can manage. By the time he asks me if I’m ready to go, I’m just relieved not to have dropped a barbell on my toes.

“What should we do for dinner tonight?” he asks.

“Anything delivered and not Mexican works for me.”

“Pizza and buffalo wings?” he asks hopefully.

“So much for the workout,” I chuckle.

“It’s the Super Bowl. Eating healthy would be downright unpatriotic!”

“I think you’ve been watching too many commercials.”

“If you ever hear me ask for Miller Lite, you’ll know my mind has been invaded by aliens. Marketing!” he huffs comically.

“Lowest of the low,” I play along.

“What kind of pizza do you want?”

“I’m kind of craving mushroom. Can we do half ‘shroom, half pepperoni?”

“Sure. Why don’t you get showered while I call it in?”

Edward is settled on the couch, fully engaged in pre-pre-game hype, when I emerge from my shower. His third costume change of the day consists of his DeSean Jackson jersey over a pair of seriously lived-in jeans. My eyes are riveted to the light-colored shreds and gaping hole just above his knee and I have to worry at my overpowering urge to poke a finger inside and tickle him.

“Pizza’ll be here in fifteen minutes,” he throws his voice over his shoulder without moving his eyes from the TV.

“Great. Can I get you a beer?”

“Sure, that would be—holy shit! Where’s the rest of your uniform, woman?”

My delight in surprising him is second only to the thrill of making his jaw drop open. I can only giggle in response as I move to the kitchen to grab us a couple Buds. From the way his eyes follow me all the way there and back, I can tell I’ve aroused his interest—and his libido. He licks his lips as he accepts the beer, and I climb over his lap, careful to brush my bare legs against his soft denim. He continues to watch me in reverent silence as I perch against the opposite arm of the couch and pull my legs up onto the cushion next to me. I catch his eyes dropping to the edge of the jersey he bought me for our Monday night football outing.

“Sweet Jesus, no underwear?”

I give my head a quick sideways shake, doing my best to contain my glee.

Edward flops back and raises his exasperated eyes to the ceiling, forcing out a loud sigh. I extend my legs, flattening my feet against his right thigh, and open my laptop.

“Let me get this straight,” he says to the ceiling. “You are going to sit right there for the duration of the Super Bowl, wearing nothing but that flimsy little jersey, and write porn.”

“Except for when I’m eating pizza, yes, that’s pretty much the plan.”

Turning his head my direction, he reaches the hand not holding his beer into his lap and makes no attempt to hide his adjustment. “Well played, Isabella.”

Fine. She wants to wave her bare bottom around, I will just go about my business—drinking beer, swearing at Manning, yelling at Brady, and not dwelling on that occasional flash of pink that catches my peripheral vision.

In fact, I take the first commercial break to email her father.

To:  Charles Swan
From:  Edward Cullen
Date:  February 5, 2012
Subject:  Vacation plans
Attachment: stluciaitin.htm

Isabella asked me to forward you our itinerary (see attached).

On the subject of our vacation, there’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you.
If you could find ten minutes in your schedule this week, I’d be most appreciative.

I trust you’ll keep the contents of this message between us.


Take THAT! I admonish the creamy thighs that open and close, the knees that sway gently but ensure my concentration is divided, the busy fingers that tap away their naughty words on the keyboard. Yeah, who am I kidding? My revenge is no match for her charms.

Funny thing is, by the second half, I’m pretty sure Isabella’s little plan is backfiring on her and my girl is venturing deep into Hornysville. Just to confirm my suspicions—and not, mind you, because I can’t keep my hands off her—I drop my fingertips to her ankle and let my thumb draw lazy circles over her skin. I meet her eyes as they peer over the top of her screen, and I take a long draft off my beer. By the end of the third quarter, that hand has traveled to the back of her knee, but the Patriots are still ahead of the Giants. Life is good.

With five minutes left in the fourth quarter, I ask her how the writing is going, and she smiles and tells me she’s finished the chapter. “Come up here then and watch this with me. Looks like the Pats are gonna need our help.”

She places her laptop on the table, settles in next to me, and allows me to lift her thigh onto my lap. I’m mostly watching the action in Indianapolis, but my hand settles on her knee and starts a painstaking yet steady journey up the inside of her thigh. “So you’re a Pats fan now?” she asks.

“No, I’m an Eagles fan, now and always. The Patriots are simply the lesser of two evils.”

Isabella accepts my logic. When the two minute warning is announced, she notes the narrow margin and says, “Wow. I thought Super Bowls were supposed to be runaways.”

I chuckle darkly. “They usually are. Okay, if the Pats score a touchdown here, they’ll have a nine-point lead and I can breathe for a second.” Brady lets loose a shaky pass to Welker. “C’mon, Wes! Oh…crap. Jesus, the guy was picture perfect all season! Seriously?”

“That didn’t seem like the receiver’s fault,” Isabella states calmly.

“No, it was a crap pass. It’s just that Welker’s been making miracles happen all season.” I’m howling at Brady and Belichik and Welker, but we all have to gather our wits. This game is not over.

“All right, all right, we’re still in the lead. As long as the Giants don’t…oh fucking Manning …no, no, no…shit!” I watch helplessly as the Giants score a touchdown to take a four-point lead with just under a minute left. Isabella’s leg is the only thing that holds me in my seat. Before the punt, I gently slide her knee off my lap so I don’t accidentally break her leg.

“Come on, you guys!” I watch with a growing pit in my stomach as the Patriots are stopped short of a first down, bringing them to fourth down at midfield. I’m on my feet, pacing. “This is it, Isabella. They’ve got one play left…it’s gotta be a Hail, Mary pass…Brady’s got it…oh no, it’s tipped…wait, Gronk’s there…he’s…oh fuck.”

Stunned, I drop back into the couch and stare at the screen with disbelief. The Giants are jumping on top of each other and lifting Manning onto their shoulders and there goes the Gatorade…Jesus.

“I cannot believe I just watched that train wreck. I’m glad I’m not an actual Patriots fan today. That would suck ass.”

Isabella’s fingers play at the large tear at my thigh, effectively bringing me back to reality and my priorities. My eyes slide over to hers. “Sorry, baby,” she says. “Is this going to be traumatic for you?”

“Not even a little.”

She slips her hand to the back of my neck and coaxes my head down to meet her face. “So, I might be able to distract you from your troubles?”

I turn my hips toward hers and lift both her legs onto my lap. “I’m almost sure you can.” I open my lips just in time to receive her kiss. My hands slide up her thighs and disappear under her loose jersey. She returns the favor by twisting her long fingers in my hair and tugging. Soon I’m feeling constricted by my boxers.

I pull back just far enough to say, “I seem to recall your promising me a story.”

Her eyelids appear suddenly heavy as they drop halfway, which has the exact opposite effect on my dick. Isabella leans forward and grabs her laptop. “How are we doing this?” she asks.

“Just exactly like this,” he answers, drawing my back to his chest, opening my thighs, and bending my legs at the knee on either side of his hips. “It’s perfect. My knees are free to hold your laptop and you can read to me while I finger you.”

“Oh my god, you can’t just say stuff like that!”

He chuckles as I open my blog…and my legs. “Why not?”

“It’s too matter-of-fact,” I decide. I turn my head as far as I can, which is only about ninety degrees before it’s blocked by his chest. “What about you?”

He slides one hand up the front of my shirt and palms my right breast. “I’ll get mine after you’ve had your turn; you’ve been waiting patiently all day.”

“Chapter nine…”

Edward laughs at my sudden dive into the story.

“She’s lovely,” declares a deep voice I don’t recognize. “May I touch her?”

Edward stops me as soon as I introduce the villain of the story—the unknown visitor. His fingers are resting at my abdomen, having just begun their descent toward my aching center.

“Your Dark Prince is going to share?” His voice reflects a fascination, an eagerness to know my story without judging its direction.

“Yes,” I answer.

He drops his lips to the base of my neck and kisses me gently. “Go on,” he urges, almost in a whisper.

“Of course,” Master answers. “She doesn’t bite.”

Edward chuckles into my neck.

“Beautiful rope work,” he says admiringly. “She’s really quite helpless, isn’t she?”

Master laughs again. “Is that not the point?”

“Yes, so it is.”

“Diabolical,” Edward says, his admiration evident in his voice.

His hands reach between my thighs and I twitch, rocking slightly on my belly on the cold floor but unable to do anything to prevent him from pushing two fingers inside me.

“Oh shit,” Edward groans, matching the action in the story with his fingers. “I wasn’t planning on going so rough with you tonight, but…what’s a guy to do?”

“She’s soaked,” he reports gleefully, thrusting and retracting his fingers harshly…

I gasp out loud at his sudden thrusting and retraction, damn my evil intruder. Edward pulls his glistening fingers away from my body, awaiting further fictional direction. How I wish I’d written, The stranger slams his thick fingers inside her again and again, drawing her thundering orgasm.

She’s ready when you are.”

When I reach the part about the opening being breached, Edward waits, listening carefully to the plot but ceasing to enact it. Instead, his fingertips leave feathery strokes down my center.

The intrusion is halted immediately, and Master’s voice is next to my ear, pushing hair off my face and gently soothing me.

“This is where I woke you?”

“Yes,” I answer immediately.

“Can you go on?”


“Wait for me outside,” Master commands the stranger. Then softer, to me, he says, “I’m taking out your gag.” His fingers work quickly at the buckle and soon, my tongue is freed. “Talk to me when you are able, princess.”

“I’m sorry, Master.”

“For what?” I can’t see his face with the blindfold still fastened, but his words are gentle.

“I just couldn’t. Not with him.”

Master rocks me backward and wraps his strong arms around me, folding me into his body. “You’ve been with strangers before. Why this time?”

“I think…it was just too much. Your voice wasn’t enough for me this time, Master. I’m sorry. I know I messed up.”

“Please do not apologize again.” Master’s lips brush my neck as he works out the solution. “I let him fill more of your senses than I did. That was my mistake.”

Relief courses through me. He’s not angry or disappointed. I haven’t failed today.

“Isabella,” Edward interrupts insistently. “You haven’t failed—ever. And you most certainly have never disappointed. You know that, right?”

I twist my neck so I can see the intense stare I know is waiting for me. He’s so fierce and so beautiful. “I’m getting there, Edward; I promise.”

He lifts one hand to the side of my face. “How much longer is this chapter?”

“Another couple pages. Do you not like it?” It would be the first time he’d ever expressed feeling that way about my writing, and I’m preparing to be crushed.

“Of course I like it. I just want to reassure you…with my body.”

I am so ready for his body on mine I might weep if it doesn’t happen soon. “So, am I stopping or what?”

“Are you kidding? The suspense is killing me. I’m dying to know how the Dark Prince solves the problem!” His eyes shift to the screen. I take the hint and continue—quickly.

… “Are you able to try again or should I excuse my guest?”

“I can do it, Master.”

“Good girl,” he says, surprising me with a rough kiss. “Your blindfold will stay on, but the gag is out, and you will have more of me.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Get on all fours and wait for my return.”

I track Master’s footsteps to the door, and soon the two men return.

“Princess,” Master says, and I feel him position his unclothed body between my hands and knees, “Lower yourself onto my cock.”

“Yes, Master.” My hand is skilled at locating him and I ease him into my body.

“Now,” he commands, and I feel the intruder’s thighs brush against my own, two unfamiliar hands spread open my cheeks. I let out a gasp, and Master grasps me firmly at my waist.

This is a rough scene she’s written—a forced double penetration with an unknown second man. Isabella is working out her demons here.

“You are mine,” Master affirms. “Mine, mine, mine.” The stranger works his lubed-up finger back into my hole. Master raises his hips and grinds when his entire cock is swallowed up by my body. “Who does that ass belong to, princess?”

“You, Master. It’s yours.”

“Damn right.” The stranger presses his tip inside me. Master slides his thumb to my clit. “Who does your pleasure belong to?”

“Only you, Master.”

The man behind me grunts with the effort of sliding in gradually, dipping and pumping. He’s entering me carefully so he’s not asked to leave again.

I press my thumb to Isabella’s clit and pump her with two fingers while she continues reading the scene. Isabella’s a bit breathless but she manages to read through my heavy petting to the end of the story.  Much of her language comes directly from last night’s scene—she talks about pressure and moaning and tightness—adding feeling so dirty to be fucked by two men at once and how grateful she is for her Master as he brings her off and releases inside her.  Mystery man slips out and away, and the end of the scene is a touching depiction of the princess tucked securely against the Dark Prince’s naked body on the concrete floor.

“That was hot.” My critique is ridiculously simple, but my brain can barely function right now. A threesome is absolutely out of the question for us, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a really filthy fantasy about it, courtesy of my submissive girlfriend, porn writer extraordinaire. “You better move that laptop before I break it into a million pieces.”

Isabella giggles and quickly shuts the computer and moves it to the table. I let out a growl and stand up, lifting her with me until I can properly throw her down along the cushions. I’m more than a little impressed with my own restraint; I actually think I could have come in my pants if we’d kept that up, not that I’ve done that since my teens.

In no time flat, I’ve got her ankles next to her ears and my face between her legs. I moan out loud at her taste; my girl is deeply aroused and I’ve been playing in her juices for a good ten minutes. She gasps as I nibble at her clit and giggles when I swipe my tongue along her opening.

Lower and lower I go, tonguing the smooth pink flesh and lapping up her distinctive flavor. She squirms under my mouth, and I tease her with warm air and feathery light caresses. Isabella lifts her hips impatiently, her whole body begging for release. One meaningful rub and she’ll be gone. But first…an unexpected reward for my girlfriend.

Lower still, my tongue slides below her pussy, slathering the hairless expanse that leads to this spot that has become the focal point of the weekend, by her own choice. Unsure of my motives, she jumps, and I reassure her with two steady hands just inside her widely-spread thighs. My thumbs trace firm circles along the path as my mouth moves lower, lower, until reaching my ultimate goal.

“OHMYGOD!” She tenses as the tip of my tongue reaches her wrinkled skin. Her hand flies down and flails wildly in my hair, which wouldn’t bother me so much except that it allows her leg to flop free. Without stopping, I take her wrist and slide it back up to her ankle and hold it there until I’m sure she gets the message.

I coat her with my warm moisture and play at her opening with my tongue. Her muscles remain clenched until I slide my fingers up through her pussy. She moans and pushes her ass  into my waiting mouth. While her pussy throbs with the long-awaited release of her orgasm, I give her a sweet rimming.

Her ankles drop down next to my ears as she holds me against her pulsating body. I’m more than happy to stay where I am, but Isabella rakes her fingers through my hair and pulls my face up. “Holy hell,” she says, the widest grin breaking across her face. “Don’t you dare kiss me, but get up here now!”

I laugh as she yanks me up by my armpits and wraps her legs around my back. It takes me all of three seconds to scurry out of my jeans and boxers and push inside her. As requested, I keep my lips off hers, but she doesn’t complain when I nibble on her ear as I come hard and fast inside my girlfriend, the boys of the gridiron long forgotten until next year’s draft.

Friday, January 18, 2013


~Chapter 96~

The intercom startles Isabella, and she shoots me an apprehensive look. She needs  a decent kiss before our guests make their way upstairs. I deliver instructions into the brass plate by the door and press the buzzer.

“Showtime, baby. You ready?”

“Yep,” Isabella answers, accepting my outstretched hand and meeting me at the door. She glances warily at my left hand, which is resting by my side, and I can see that I haven’t been clear enough.

“You’ll know when I’m signaling you, as long as you’re paying proper attention. It’ll be a horizontal surface—the table, my knee, your lap—not this.” I wiggle my fingers and give her a reassuring smile. “Okay?”

“All right.”

“I’m about to kiss you and make you forget your own name, and then we’re going to both enjoy a much stiffer drink with our company. Capiche?”

“Sounds good.” Her smile is radiant and delicious. She looks as dazzled as I feel when I finally unwind my tongue from hers. “I love you, baby.”

“You, too.”

“Don’t forget your safe word if you need out of the harness or out of the scene. Got it?”

“Yes. Thank you, but I’m really fine.”

“Good, because I think it’s gonna be a great night.”

“Easy for you to say,” her chagrined expression says just as our company knocks on the door. Since her right hand is free, she reaches for the knob first.

“Ange!” Isabella squeals, crossing in front of me and diving into the hallway to embrace her friend. Angela seems equally excited, bouncing on her toes and giving Isabella a heartfelt hug. Luckily, she releases my fingers on her way out, so I’m able to offer Garrett a handshake.

“Hey, man. Come on in.”

He takes my hand stiffly but gratefully, and offers me the bottle in his other hand. “This is for…you guys,” he says a bit awkwardly, not quite sure if giving it to me was the right move.

“This is really nice…Patron Platinum. How’d you know we were serving Mexican?”

Garrett grins and points his thumb to the girls in the hall and I shoot him an understanding nod. The world wide web has nothing on the information highway traversed by two close girlfriends, and Garrett and I take a moment to share our joint accomplishment—reuniting the two dear friends.

“You ladies coming inside?” I inquire. Isabella drags Angela through the door, where she shyly meets my eye.

“Hello again, Edward.” Giggles all around.

Isabella rolls her eyes at her friend, and I pull Angela into a friendly but very chaste hug. “Welcome to our place, and thank you so much for the tequila.”

“Thank you for having us over.”

“Here, let me take your coat.” Angela spins out of her long down coat, stuffing scarf and hat inside the arm holes. “I’ll trade you.” I hand her the bottle and shuffle off to the closet.

Garrett is finishing up a cautious hug with my girlfriend, and she hands me his coat. I give her a just-because wink. She looks mostly happy and fairly relaxed.

“Shall we break open the Patron?” I suggest.

“Hell yes,” Garrett answers.

“What’s happening in the kitchen, Isabella?” I ask. “Can you sit down with us?”

“For a minute.”

“It seems a shame to muddy up the good stuff with fruit juice. Should we have it straight?”

Garrett rubs his hands together. “I’m game.”



Angela giggles and sidles up to Garrett. Seems all is well in Auditland. “Sure. We’re not driving.”

“All righty then. Isabella?”

She runs her hand down my arm, stopping with her hand on my watch. “Why don’t you just pour me whatever you think?”

Extra credit for the submissive in the front row! Wow. In one fell swoop, she has placed herself in my capable hands, right in front of her friends. I am impressed beyond belief, and I make damn sure she knows it by sending an unmistakable message from my eyeballs to hers.

“Better go easy,” Angela warns me with a giggle, “unless you want take-out pizza for dinner. I’ve seen this girl in action with a few drinks in her.”

Isabella lifts her hand from my wrist and gives her friend a mock slap in the arm. “You know I can hear you, right?”

Garrett helps line up the glasses at the bar while I open the bottle and start pouring. He leans in and says, “It’s great to see those two together again. Thanks again, man.”

I nod and pour three double shots and one shorter one for Isabella. I take ours and he takes theirs and we meet the girls over by the couch.

“To friends!” I offer, winking yet again in a private salute to my girlfriend and our earlier toast.

“Friends!” they all repeat. I take a seat on the couch and place my palm down on my knee. Isabella instantly settles beside me.  Ah, yes. So it begins.

I sip at the tequila, one eye on the kitchen timer and the other on Master’s hand. When the rice countdown reaches one minute, I appeal to my Master. “I should get back to the cooktop.”

Seamlessly, he flips his hand up and says to the others, “That’s my girl. Slaving over hot coals for me, day and night.”

I stifle the instinct to thank him for giving me permission to rise. Instead, I stand up a little too quickly and feel the bite of the plug anew. Master watches carefully and steadies me with a hand quickly wrapped around my knee. “Y’okay there, sweetheart?”

“Yep, just fine.”

His inspection seems to convince him I’m telling the truth, and he lets me go deal with the kitchen. Angela hops up and scurries along behind me, and I can only hope the liquor she’s consumed will be enough that she doesn’t notice my waddle.

“What can I do to help?”

“Take out the corn bread?”

“Sure. Want me to plate it for you?”

“That would be great.” I show her the serving platter I was going to use. I have to admit, as comfortable as I feel here, it’s still Edward’s apartment, Edward’s kitchen, his dishes. No amount of time is going to change the fact that these are the artifacts of his life as a single man. Everything here was purchased either out of sheer necessity or because his mother decided he should own it. It wouldn’t be any better if I unearthed my own things and combined them in, I fully realize. Then it would be some strange melding of his and mine—not an equation that would add up to ours.

Obviously, I’m being foolish and sentimental and who cares about things like Lenox and Baccarat when I’m wearing the man’s butt plug, for heaven’s sake? And yet, for all our commitment and obvious compatibility, I still feel very much like I’m playing house right now—especially in contrast to Angela and her long-standing relationship with Garrett, for better and for worse.

The ridiculous comparison is what finally allows me to shake off my sudden melancholy. That and Angela’s tinkling laughter pervading the kitchen.

“God, Bella, how do you stand it?” She’s standing at the counter holding the spatula over the pan of corn bread, staring at my man. “He is so totally into you. Like, his eyes never leave your body. It’s like a twenty-four-seven eye fuck. And dearbabyjesus, those eyes.”

I swat her with the oven mitt and she squeals. “Oooh! Thank you, sir, may I have another?” sending both of us into folded over fits.

It helps not at all when Edward spins around and regards us suspiciously. “Everything okay over there, ladies?”

Angela loses it all over again at Edward’s show of attention.

“We’re fine,” I assure the men, and Edward grins and shakes his head.

I grab Angela’s shirt and pull her close. “Listen, you. I need to put oil into this hot wok. Are you going to be able to control yourself?”

“Yes…yes, yes. I’m fine.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and resumes plating the corn bread.

I’ve wrangled the onions and peppers and am just about to add the chicken when she asks what else she can do to help. I have her heat up the tortillas and place everything on the table. Edward turns back to check on me, but he doesn’t offer to help or make any comments.  I call everyone to the table and present the fajita fillings.

“Everything looks delicious, sweetheart,” Edward says, drawing my attention before placing his hand flat on the table.

Aye-aye. I toss the oven mitts on the counter and slide into the seat next to his.

“Wow, Bella, this looks amazing,” Garrett comments, reaching for the warm tortilla.

“Oh, shoot! I forgot the sour cream!” I pop up from my seat and get all the way to the refrigerator before I realize I’ve just disobeyed my Master. Shit, shit, shit. He said he’d be lenient, but not a chump. With a wary eye, I pull the sour cream from the top shelf and peer around the door of the refrigerator.

Crap. His palm is still on the table and his eyes are on me.

I spoon the sour cream into a serving bowl and walk back to the table, a lead ball and chain shackled to each foot. I notice Master’s hand is no longer on the table. I’m not meant to sit down yet. I place the bowl in the center of the table and hope I’ll be directed soon. Sure enough, Master takes charge. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he says, “While you’re up, weren’t you meaning to wear that chain tonight? You know, the silver one with the…” his voice trails off.

I recognize that he’s giving me the alibi for leaving the room while in no uncertain terms telling me what I need to do.

I reach for my throat, playing along. “Oh, jeez. I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. Thanks, Edward. I’ll be right back.” He gives me a nod and I’m off to my room.

Shit, shit, shit. I open my jeans and shimmy them down to my hips, just enough that I can manage to unclip one of the links at the front of the chain. This time, the clip doesn’t quite reach back to the waist chain without a slight tug down on the opposite end and a slight tug up on the one I’m holding. The chain is no longer cold to the touch, but it’s tight as hell. Not only is the plug forced further inside me, but my lips are now pulled open. Perverse curiosity gets the better of me, and I turn toward the mirror. I know I’m not allowed to touch anything, but just the sight of me takes my breath away. I’m glistening with arousal despite the added discomfort. There will be no way to set this aside when I’m standing or sitting, or as Master seems to be demanding, doing plenty of both.

I almost forget to grab a necklace before rushing back out to his side.

“Could you help me with this clasp, please?” I ask Edward, pulling him away from the table enough to discreetly slip the disconnected chain link into his palm. He drops it into his pocket and steps behind me to fasten my necklace.

In a hushed undertone I’m certain only I can hear, he asks, “Still green?”


He surprises me with a soft kiss at the nape of my neck, and my whole upper half turns to goose flesh. His hands slide across both shoulders and over the top of my arms. He seems reluctant to let go.

“Food’s getting cold,” he finally says. “We better sit down.”

The thrill of scening where other people are present, of course, is the idea that only you and your submissive know this enormous secret. It draws two people closer, to the exclusion of the rest of the world. Watching Isabella take her seat again, seeing the way she gingerly moves—for me—ranks right up there among my top Masterful moments.

“Bells, the fajitas are delicious! You do this yourself?”

“Yes, Ange. I actually sliced the chicken and stir-fried the veggies all by my lonesome!”

Garrett pipes up. “You’re not into cooking, Edward?”

“My strength lies more in entertaining the chef.”

Isabella chuckle-snorts into her water glass, and I turn an innocent smile her direction. “What? I don’t amuse you?”

“Oh, you constantly amuse me.”

Angela sighs rather loudly and Garrett looks like a guy who’d like to roll his eyes or worse, but wisely he does not. Instead, he changes the subject to something he feels more competent about.

“This chardonnay is a great pick. I’ve been going with unoaked lately. What is the aroma I’m catching…is that Meyer lemon? Very vogue.”

Guys and wines. Why don’t we just pull down our pants and see whose dick is bigger? Garrett is not actually trying to be an asshole right now, so I guess I can roll with it.

“Yes. This one is more on the tropical fruit side, but I like the idea of the naked vats—let the grapes sing their own tunes, you know?”

“Mind if I take a look at the bottle?”

“Not at all. It’s up on the counter. You can open another one if you’d like.”

Isabella shifts beside me, and I’m afraid she’s about to hop up again to serve him. That is unacceptable, and I really don’t want to see her make another mistake so soon. She’s already where she needs to be, and the next link is going to probably ruin the rest of her evening. Before she has a chance to err, I slide my left hand to her right knee and hold it—and her—right there. She doesn’t so much as glance at me, but it’s clear she’s gotten the message. “I’ll have a little more if you’re pouring, Gar,” Isabella says.

Good girl.

“How’s work going, Bella? You doing any more traveling?” Angela asks, folding a second fajita and preparing to hoist it to her mouth.

“Not for work, but Edward and I are about to take a little vacation together.”

“Oh yeah? Where are you going?”

Isabella turns to me. “He’s not telling me.”

Angela sets the food onto her plate. “What? A mystery trip? How romantic! Did you hear that, Gar?”

“Yep, romantic,” he says absently, his eyeballs wrapped around the wine label as he walks back to the table. Fortunately, Isabella stops him from filling her glass beyond a few sips’ worth, and I cover mine when he offers. Master needs to sober up, though I’ve had very little up to this point anyway.

“When do you leave?”

I take over the answering. “Our flight leaves JFK at ten on Friday morning.”

“Your flight? Wow! That is so exciting! Aren’t you even curious, Bella?” Angela is practically bouncing in her chair, while Garrett has adopted that mildly agitated look that guys get when another guy in the room is making them look bad. Tough luck, dude.

Isabella turns to me once more and smiles serenely. “What’s the difference? We’ll be together.”

“Ohmygosh, will you be back in time for Valentine’s Day?”

“Yeah,” Isabella answers, lucky for me. I’d have to look at a calendar for that one. “We have our painting class that night.”

Garrett looks up. “Painting? Hobby of yours, Edward?”

“Actually, no. I totally suck at it, but it makes Isabella outrageously happy.”

Garrett chuckles, and for once, I don’t see a sarcastic retort in his eyes. “That would be the goal,” he says.

“I think you’re starting to catch on, my man.”

He grins broadly and taps a finger at his temple. “I’m slow, but I get there eventually.”

Angela scoots her chair a wee bit closer to Garrett and gives him an adoring look. He stretches his arm behind her chair and spins his wine glass stem between his fingers. I give Isabella’s knee a little scritch-scritch with my fingernails and she looks up at me and smiles.

“I could really go for another fajita. Feel like slapping one together for me?”

“Nothing would please me more,” she responds.

As I watch her reach, assemble, and lovingly package my next burrito, I survey the happy scene. Angela seems pleased with Garrett’s behavior, Isabella is cheerfully serving me—in some capacity, hell, maybe in every capacity—and I can’t remember the last time I had this much optimism for the future.

“I am stuffed!” Angela reports, rubbing her belly for effect. “Your homemade guacamole was da bomb, Bella. I think I must’ve eaten a hundred chips.”

Garrett’s polished off another half bottle of wine and he’s feeling no pain. That makes one of us. “What’s for dessert, Bella?”

“We picked up some churros at La Nueva this morning.”

“Oh noooo! I love churros!” Angela wails, holding her stomach with both hands now, causing Garrett to chuckle at her distress.

“Oh yes, babe. You know you’re going to have to eat one, so just go with it.”

Edward asks, “Anyone for coffee?”

“Aw hell no. Not taking up any room with liquids.”

Garrett eyes Angela’s wine glass. “Not even that?”

She smiles all googly at him. “Oh maybe that.”

They’re a little gross all lovey-dovey, but I’m so pleased he’s jumped through the necessary hoops for her I hardly mind the sickening display.

Edward flips his hand over next to his plate, my signal to rise. “I’ll help you clear, Isabella.” Angela tries to get up as well, but easily acquiesces when I urge her to relax. I get up a bit shakily, having been seated now for about half an hour. I can’t say I was entirely comfortable before, but at least I was used to it. Now, the restraints shift and strain anew. Edward follows close behind, which I take as his way of hiding my ungainly gait from our guests.

I take my place behind the sink and start rinsing the plates. Edward delivers the dishes he’s carrying to the basin and laces his arm around my waist, pulling me in close. His lips are at my ear, looking for all the world like your everyday boyfriend nuzzle, but I know better; he’s checking on me, and I love him for it.


“Green,” I murmur.

“For real?” he asks, pulling back to watch me answer.


“You really are da bomb, Isabella. I’ll heat up the churros while you wrangle these dishes. Leave the rest. You can do them later in your underwear.” Wink.

He turns his back toward the counter behind me and I can’t help teasing, “Will you be entertaining me at the time, Edward?” tacking the non-Master name on the end as a bit of insurance.

He can’t resist the bait, spinning back and pressing his body tightly against my back. “Of course I will, sweetheart. I was thinking of serenading you tonight.”

“Noooo,” I groan.

Edward laughs into my hair. “We’ll see,” he says his sexiest voice. “If you’re a good girl, I might just watch you instead.”

“I will be the poster child for good,” I assure him.

Edward’s thumbs play at my waist, and I feel the chain rolling beneath his fingers. He presses his hips to my ass and hisses a long, soft, “Fuuuuuck,” into my shoulder.

“You guys didn’t forget about dessert, did you?” Angela calls out from the table. Four eyes peer over at us, and I’m hoping they can’t see my blush from there.

“Nope, I’m just giving Isabella a little encouragement with the dishes while the churros heat up.”

“See that, hon?” Angela says to Garrett but loudly enough for us to hear. “That’s how you help a girl with the dishes.”

“Hmm,” Garrett answers in his version of a sexy voice, “perhaps if you’d entertain me like that while I was cooking, I’d help you with the dishes.”

I giggle at the two of them—drunk they may be, but clearly things are on the mend.

I twist my face around to where I can see Edward. “I think you better get the churros heated up before those two end up under the table.”

Edward flexes again, and I can feel how hard he is. “Baby, I can guaran-dam-tee you my churro is on fire for you.”

“You’re killing me here.” I’m not kidding. I’m actually a little worried I’ll just slide to the floor when he steps away from me.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try not to think about what’s going on back here,” rub, rub, “or up front, for that matter.”

“That was ever so helpful,” I say, adding a long sigh for effect.

He finally steps back, leaving one hand lingering on my ass as if it just couldn’t say goodbye.

“Okay,” Edward says brightly several minutes later. “I’ve got hot churros, and I’m not afraid to use ‘em.”

As he walks past me with the dessert, he pauses to whisper, “Eat quickly. I need you.”

I slide the plate across the table inelegantly and sit down rather heavily in my chair, slapping my hands face-down at my place and announcing, “Dessert is served.”

Isabella obeys instantly, slinking quickly into her chair and biting her lip to stifle a giggle. This is the non-sex equivalent of, “This is gonna be quick and hard, baby,” and she better hold onto the saddle while I speed our guests through dessert.

“Oh my god, this is soooo good,” Garrett declares halfway through the donut.

“Would you guys like to take a couple home with you for breakfast?” I suggest, happily planting the idea of leaving in their minds.

“Gosh no,” Angela answers. “This is a rare treat. We’ve both been spending way too much time behind a desk the last few months. We have to watch the sweets.”

“That reminds me, Isabella. We should get up to the rooftop tomorrow.”

She pauses mid-bite and side-eyes me.

“Sorry. Was that politically incorrect of me while you were just about to enjoy that big bite of fried dough?”

Isabella shoots me a mischievous look, then pushes the churro into her mouth as far as it will comfortably go. I laugh cheerily until she bares her teeth and bites into it.

“Ouch. Okay then.” The others laugh, so I take it like a man, but she better never do that to my churro or there will be hell to pay.

“Speaking of fattening food, what are you two doing for the super bowl tomorrow?” Garrett asks.

It occurs to me that Riley and I didn’t even touch upon the subject yesterday. “I haven’t made any plans. You, Isabella?”

“The Super Bowl is tomorrow?”

Garrett and I have a good laugh over that.

“If you’re not doing anything,” Garrett starts, then fumbles. Woops. “Sorry, bad idea.”

Isabella looks at Angela. “Jasper?”

She nods.

Isabella smiles kindly. “Thanks but no thanks?”

“Yeah, well…” Angela stands and places her hand on Garrett’s shoulder. “We should probably hit the dusty road.”

YES! I drop my hand to Isabella’s knee and flip it palm up. She hops out of her chair, and I follow immediately, tossing my napkin to the table in front of me. It’s amazing, really, how quickly we’re able to usher them out without appearing rude once Garrett took a dump with the Super Bowl invite, the stupid fucker.

Coats are presented, goodbyes, kiss-kiss, hug-hug, and finally, the blessed closing of the door with us on one side and them on the other.

I turn my eyes on my girlfriend and watch her morph into my submissive right before my very greedy eyes. “That was efficient,” she offers, a small smirk playing on her face.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, princess. You have five seconds to get those pants off.”

Her eyes go wide and she kicks off her boots while grabbing at the button and zipper of the jeans. I lean back against the wall as the first glint of metal comes into view, feeling myself hardening once again as the pants slide off her feet.

“Damn, you know what? Put those boots back on for me.”

Isabella bends over to reach a boot and immediately realizes her mistake. “Ahh! Crap. Ow.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa there…steady, girl. Here, bend from the knees, there you go.” I hold onto her elbow while she squats down, slower this time. She picks up her boots and stands up.

“May I sit down please, Master?”

I’m pleased how easily she’s slipped back into submissive mode. Extensive hardware can do that for a girl.

“Sure. In fact, why don’t you sit down and I’ll put these on for you?” I offer so kindly she knows there will be a catch. She eyes me as she places her bare ass onto the nearest chair. “Damn, that’s pretty. Maybe next time, we’ll just forego the pants, eh? I doubt they’d see you from the other side of the table.”

She’d like to answer but she knows better.

I hold out my hand. “Boots?” She passes them to me. “Foot one.” I extend my hand at waist height, about a foot above the seat of the chair. She carefully lifts her right foot, making it to my knee before cringing.

“Sit back a little, baby. It’ll go easier.”

She presses her weight onto her palms on the sides of the seat, then tips back in the chair. Her eyes close  as she rolls over the plug, but she opens them again so she can place her foot in my hand.

“How bad is it, Isabella?” I slip the boot over her toes and jiggle it over her foot and around her ankle. The delicate stocking makes an unlikely appearance at the top of the boot, and the contrast is ever so appealing.

“It’s okay,” she answers, teeth grit against the discomfort.

“I’m trusting your answers,” I remind her.

She nods. Doesn’t want to be babied, and I can totally respect that. I can even have a little fun. With her boot-clad heel still in my hand, I draw her leg to the side, opening her up to my view. “Goddamn, that is a beautiful sight. You, bare, chained open for me…I bet the air feels good on your sore pussy.”

“Yes, Master,” she answers evenly.

“Boot.” We repeat the process on the other side, and I hold her legs wide open, just looking. I’m not taking her this way tonight. I lower her feet gently to the floor and hold out my hand to help her stand up.

“Lift your arms, please.” She hisses as I slide her shirt up and over her head, tamping down her static-laden hair as I admire the bra she chose for tonight—midnight blue silk with a white lace trim. I step closer and reach around her back to unclasp it. “This just keeps getting better and better.” I slide the straps down her arms and toss the bra on top of her jeans.

“I gotta tell you, sweetheart, I am really holding back right now. I’d like nothing better than to sink to my knees right now and feast on that sweet after-dinner drink between your legs, but…once in a while, a guy’s just got to stick to the plan. Know what I mean?”

“Yes, Master,” she says. I swear there’s a little quiver in her lips.

“I knew you’d respect that.” I slide one finger between the chain and her soft skin, close to where it’s clipped to the waist belt. She moans out loud at the contact, and I’m nowhere near touching her where she really wants it. I step closer. Her tits are so damn tempting, but I need to let them be; need to let those nipples reach for me but not make contact.

“You did well with the chain tonight. I’m very, very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Master.”

My finger slides down the links, her knees wobble, I tighten my grip at her waist with my other hand. “What do you think, Isabella? Could you have handled another link taken away?”

Her eyes click to mine, fully aware now. “If I’d earned my punishment, I would’ve happily taken it, Master.”

“That’s an excellent answer.” My finger continues to slide, rounding the puffy part of her lip. “Do you think you can hold onto the plug if I take away the chain?”

“Yes, Master,” she answers immediately.

“Let’s see.” I unclip the chain, threading it back through the horizontal chain and letting it fall loose in front before unclipping the opposite end.

Isabella tips forward slightly as the blood rushes back. I spread my fingers over her opening and rub both sides of swollen flesh without touching her middle. “That feel good?”

“God yes, Master,”

“Feel how hard you made me, Isabella. Touch me.”

She reaches out to my pants and rubs her hand over the bulge.

“No, princess. Take it out and really touch me.”

“Sorry, Master.”

“’Tsokay,” I answer immediately, tucking her hair behind her ears while she works open my pants. The instant her warm hands are on my skin, I’m ready.

I spin her around and help her to her knees. “Remember that whipping bench position we did earlier? I want you just like that for me.”

She sinks to all fours and slides her head forward onto folded arms. Her skin is pink from the constant contact with the rough denim, and I twist it experimentally and pump the tip in and out, pleased the plug is not forcing its way out. I line up behind her and touch her pussy for the first time today. She rocks back into my hand and moans, and the sound is so needy I feel myself twitch in response.

“You and your plug seem to have become good friends tonight; you’re nice and wet for me, princess..” I tweak the plug gently while slipping my fingers through her folds, offering her pleasure to offset the challenge. “Go ahead, sweetheart. You can move, moan, beg…whatever you like. When you’re ready, you can even come like gangbusters for me.”

This elicits a very loud, frustrated growl. Her sounds are my roadmap, guiding me through her head space and letting me know as she passes each milestone. While still working the plug, I slide two fingers inside her pussy, testing, measuring. “Does anything hurt?”

“Not pain. Just…pressure.”

I add a third finger inside, tapping the plug, reassuring her with my voice. “Pressure is good, princess. Pressure means I’m taking over your body…everywhere.

“You’re so fucking perfect, Isabella,” I promise her, scooting closer so my thighs receive every backward  thrust. I pull away my fingers and carefully align my tip with her pussy, delicately working the plug all the while. It feels different as I enter her, ever so slowly. “So fucking tight for me…do I feel good inside you?”

“Yesssss…so goooood!”

Methodically, carefully, excruciatingly slowly, I make my way inside. Her voice is a high keening cry, an out of control wail, a complicated reaction of pleasure and pain no human brain would be capable of sorting out in the moment.

“OH, GOD,” she cries in choked sobs.

“Does it feel good?” I beg her one final time, the last of my control slipping away.

“Yes!” she roars. “Fuck me. God, fuck me, please!”

The rubber band snaps and I let go finally, assured that my sweet Isabella is safe.