Chapter 5 #3
He thrusts into my throat one last time before withdrawing. I whimper. Because I want more. I want everything. I was ready to swallow his come and take his pleasure as the ultimate gift. But he has other ideas.
Still holding the back of my head, he pushes me down into the mattress until my cheek rests there against the soft bedspread. “I need that pussy. I need to see if it’s as tight as it looks.”
I whimper against the bedspread. I can’t help it.
I want to beg him, but somehow, I know that isn’t what he wants from me.
He wants me to just take it. He wants me to take it because he tied me up and made me into the gift that he wanted.
I can’t do anything to stop him. And I can’t do anything to change the pace.
To make it better. I just have to lie there.
My teeth start chattering, my whole body trembling as he positions himself behind me and grips my hips.
I hear him tear open a condom packet and I’m irritated at myself that I’m disappointed about that.
When you sign up for the app you have to get yourself on birth control and you have to get STD tests.
I completed all of that. It’s so in theory you can play bare if you want to.
I’ve never had sex without a condom before.
And I’m chagrined to discover that I want it.
That I want feel him empty himself inside of me.
But that’s not happening right now, and I know that if I ask him he’ll end things, and I wouldn’t be able to stand it.
This is about him. His control. His needs. I just have to trust that I can fulfill them.
I don’t even have a moment to breathe between the time he presses the blunt head of his cock against my entrance, and when he thrusts in all the way. I gasp, crying out against the blankets as the feeling of him filling me nearly sends me over the edge.
He so big that I’m aware of every slight shift, every breath that he takes.
I can feel him pulsing inside of me. And when he begins to fuck me— hard and without quarter, without caressing me or kissing me, without teasing me—I find myself racing toward a screaming orgasm that I would never have imagined was possible.
Normally, I need a lot of foreplay. Normally, I need at least twenty minutes with a vibrator and something hot to watch or read to get myself this wet, to get myself this close.
All I need now is his cock.
And I’m taking it. Taking everything that he’s giving me. He grips the ropes, drawing my head back and tugging my braid, the pain mingling with the pleasure as he fucks into me mercilessly.
Then he leans forward and bites my shoulder— this time more than a warning.
More than a test. Branding me as his. I shiver, that shiver vibrating through the core of my body, echoing outward, blooming inside of me, spiraling into the beginning of an orgasm that builds like a crescendo.
Each new wave is bigger, more intense than the last, and I’m certain that it can’t keep going.
I’m certain that it can’t get more intense, but then it does.
My internal muscles clamp down on his cock and I struggle against the ropes, wishing I had something to hang onto.
But I don’t. My nipples are tight and sensitive against the bedspread, and I’m arching against it, seeking friction wherever I can as I come and come in an endless wave.
He doesn’t relent. He pounds into me harder, faster, extracting a scream from deep inside of me as he growls out his own release.
And then I’m left drifting. Floating. Disconnected from reality entirely.
Suddenly aware of the fact that my legs are absolutely asleep, my shoulders feel like pins and needles, and my whole body is sore from being stuck in one position for so long. I don’t even know how long it’s been.
He moves away from me and I lay there, tears flowing down my cheeks, even though I didn’t realize that I was beginning to cry. I’m shaking uncontrollably, and I can’t stop. Which is when I find myself pulled up into a sitting position and held against the hard heat of his body.
“You did good,” he whispers in my ear as he loosens one of the knots in the ropes, the slight give apparent to my extremely sensitized body.
He holds me against him as he methodically undoes each and every knot holding me fast. My hair goes first, the full movement of my neck restored before anything else.
Then he frees my wrists and loosens the binds around my breasts and my rib cage.
It’s almost as slow as the tying. Almost. He does it with one hand, the other splayed over my midsection.
He still doesn’t kiss me. Doesn’t caress me in any intimate way.
But there’s something intense about the way he holds me. Something that feels almost sweet.
Which is a strange word to apply to what just happened.
I don’t think very many people would call it sweet.
As soon as I’m freed he lays me down on the bed, then moves over to the closet, which he opens up and disappears into.
He returns a moment later with a blanket.
He moves to me and wraps me in it, tucking it beneath my body tightly, leaving me feeling swaddled and secure even though he’s not holding me now.
“Wait here,” he says.
He leaves me there, lying on the bed in the silence of the room, the pleasant lavender scent surrounding me and the music still playing.
I let out a long, slow breath, and try to take inventory of my body. I’m having a hard time finding a connection to reality.
I’m having a hard time with just about everything.
I’m buzzing. The aftereffects of my orgasm are still pulsing through me, pins and needles now the dominant feeling in my legs and wrists.
I turn my head to the left slightly, and look out the window. It’s much later in the day. I still have no idea how much time has passed. There is no clock in here, and my phone was discarded somewhere… Maybe the hallway?
Yes, it must’ve been.
I hear his footsteps, but I don’t look away from the window. I feel like if I look at him it’ll break the spell. It’ll make me feel shame. Not the good kind that I felt during the scene. The kind that heightened my desire. But real shame. For what I just did. For what I let him do.
Tears start tracking on my face again, more than a release. Something deeper, and I wish that it would stop.
I hear him set something down on the nightstand to the right. “I brought you water, and a cheese plate.”
I can’t help it, I turned to look then. “You brought me snacks?”
“You need protein. And you definitely need to hydrate.”
“How… How long…” My impulse is to ask how long I was gone. Because that’s what it feels like. I feel like I just spent an unknown amount of time both out of my body and more in it than I’ve ever been. I can’t explain the difference between those things. I can’t explain why it’s like that.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says.
Then he puts his hand on my head and strokes me, like I’m a kitten. This is after care, I suppose. Good doms do it. And I see why now. Because I lost my fucking mind on the journey back to earth after that experience.
I’m stuck in a tangle of weeds. The weeds being my own emotions.
There’s too much happening. The realization that I’ve actually done that and what it says about me, my body, my sexuality—and that it’s him. All those things feel heavy. Feel like just a little bit too much.
Too much is everything we are.
“Sit up,” he says.
I think about obeying him. I think I maybe even do. Except that I’m still lying there. “Avery,” he says.
The use of my name snaps me out of it. I’m angry that he’s called me that. I want to be Dove. Being Avery feels like too much work. But he’s reminded me that’s who I am. And he’s Caleb. He is the prick next door who has created so much of the drama in my life.
I sigh heavily and work my way into a sitting position, drawing my arms out of the blanket. Of course, doing that makes it fall down to my waist and exposes my breasts.
Feeling embarrassed about that at this point would be protesting too much.
“Thank you,” I say. I take the glass of ice water off the tray, and take a sip. It’s lemony, which is nice. And that’s a very inane thought. But my brain feels like a wasteland. There are no thoughts. No conclusions. Maybe that is a gift in and of itself. Maybe.
“This doesn’t have to cross over into our agreement. It’s up to you.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“This, the Dom/sub stuff. It doesn’t have to have anything to do with who we are outside this room.”
That unlocks something inside of me.
Relief. Fear. I’m not really sure which.
It feels easy, though. Much easier than trying to sort everything out. Much easier than trying to figure out where this discovery of me being a submissive, for absolute certain, fits into my life and where this shift in my relationship with him fits.
“So what? I clean your house by day and I’m your sex slave by night?”
“I don’t mind fucking during the day,” he says.
“Obviously,” I say, laughing somehow in spite of myself.
“Or, I’m happy to pretend it never happened.”
He’s happy to pretend it never happened?
I don’t like the way he says that. It scrapes against something raw and vulnerable inside of me.
But of course for him this isn’t a landmark occurrence.
It’s not like a whole rockslide happened inside of him.
He’s an expert at this. I’m just one of many women he’s tied up and done this to.
He’s got it down like a science. It’s obvious.
And that’s good. I benefited from that.
But it’s a good reminder that I’m grappling with something he simply isn’t.
“Okay,” he says. “You don’t like that.”
“Stop it,” I say.
“What?”
“Don’t read my mind.”
“Trust me,” he says. “You don’t want a Dom that can’t read your mind. To an extent, that’s what you need from me.”
“But I don’t like it. I don’t even know what I feel.”
“Okay,” he says. “How about this. As long as you’re working for me, as long as you’re paying off your dad’s debt, you’ll be my sub.
You being my sub is not part of you paying the debt off.
Those are separate things. You can quit being my sub at any time, and it doesn’t affect that agreement. Do you understand?”
I nod slowly.
“But it doesn’t have to be completely separate,” he continues. “You can ask me questions. This is new for you.”
I can’t decide whether I’m being patronized or not.
“Remember what I said about trust?”
I scrunched up my face. “Remember what I said about mind-reading?”
He smiles. Just slightly. I try to remember if I’ve seen Caleb smile before.
“You can stay up here until you’re ready to go home,” he says. “You can come back tomorrow to clean.”
“Are we going to do another scene?”
I’m not sure if I can handle one. I’m also sure that I want to do it again. And I’m afraid that if we don’t do it right away, I won’t be able to have him again. That he might think better of it.
“Message me in the app,” he says.
I nod.
And without any further conversation he leaves me, naked on the bed and still contemplating everything.
I have a terrible feeling that I’ve gotten a whole lot more change than I bargained for.