Epilogue #2
He finishes with the belt and steps back, leaving me naked and trembling and blind, hands tied behind my back.
I wait, breathless.
"So beautiful, mia bella ragazza. Such a sight. My woman, bound and wanting."
His hand slides down the front of my body and between my legs.
"Wider," he orders.
I obey, spreading my thighs wide.
"Very good," he murmurs, and his fingers part the slick folds of my pussy.
My hips jerk at the contact.
"Look how wet you are. Dripping."
"Please," I moan.
He pushes a thick finger inside me, and my muscles clench, trying to keep him there.
But it doesn't last long, and I whine in protest when he withdraws.
"Shhh," he says, his finger trailing down my thigh, leaving a damp path. "Step forward."
My breath catches. “What?”
“Carefully.”
I hesitate, blind and bound, and so worked up I can barely think.
Then his hand is at my waist, steadying me.
“I have you.”
Hesitantly, I take one step, then another.
And another.
"That's it. Just a little more."
His hand is warm on my back, and his words are soothing.
I recognize the cool tiles of the kitchen floor on my bare soles. Where is he taking me?
We have the house to ourselves for the evening, but I'm still not comfortable walking around like this.
Then he turns me.
I don’t know toward what.
I don’t know where the table is anymore, or the candles, or the door.
I only know him.
His hand slides from my waist to my hip, guiding me forward.
“Mario,” I whisper.
“Yes, amore.”
“Where are we going?”
"You will see."
"Can't I see now?"
"Not yet," he says, then presses his lips to mine in a kiss that makes me forget everything.
My hands are useless, bound behind my back, but I arch into him anyway, hungry for his touch.
He cups my ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh, his mouth hard and demanding against mine.
My tongue slides along his, and his low moan vibrates through me.
My core tightens.
He releases my ass, and his mouth lifts from mine.
His hand comes to my waist, and he continues guiding me forward.
Then I hear the unmistakable sound of the back door sliding open.
Cool night air spills over my naked skin.
I stiffen, and a wave of fear washes through me.
The world is dark and scary, and I don't know what is happening.
"M-mario."
"It's okay, amore."
He pulls me against him, one hand going to my head, cupping it and stroking gently.
"Breathe," he says, and his mouth is right by my ear, his breath warm and tickling. "I have you. Just breathe."
My breath comes in short pants, but they even out under his gentle reassurances.
"There's nothing to be afraid of."
His arm wraps around my waist.
"Trust me."
"Okay," I whisper, and my trust is implicit.
He guides me down the two smooth stone steps that lead down to the back patio where we had breakfast the morning after my first night here.
The air is cold on my bare skin, and I shiver.
"You will not be cold for long," he promises.
We cross the patio, and I feel the change in texture under my feet.
The rough stone is replaced by soft grass.
I inhale, and the scent of the garden fills my nose.
I cannot see him. I cannot see where we are or who is around. Someone could be out here patrolling, for all I know.
Someone could see me.
Exposed and helpless and completely trusting.
All I have is his voice.
His hand.
The belt around my wrists.
And the fact that he has never, not once, used my trust carelessly.
Not even when it was new and fragile.
I suck in a shaky breath as he guides me forward.
My breasts sway with each careful movement, my nipples tight and aching in the air. The blindfold turns everything into sensation. His hand at my waist. The brush of his trousers against my hip. The faint sound of a bird calling.
I don't know where we are going, but I let him lead me, trusting him to keep me safe.
We walk further into the garden.
My bare feet pad across the grass, and I feel the cool air against my skin, the heat of his body at my side, the strength in his grip.
"Almost there, amore."
He stops.
"Turn to the right."
I follow his instructions, turning to the right, and I feel the warmth of the sun against my face.
"We are standing in a ray of sunshine," he says quietly.
I close my eyes, though it is not necessary with the blindfold.
"I love the sunlight on your skin," he says, his fingers sliding along my jaw.
The tips trail down the center of my throat, and I swallow.
They slide lower, between my breasts, then over one, his thumb rubbing the nipple.
"I love watching you react," he says, continuing to touch and tease.
"Mario."
"Turn around," he orders.
"Wh-what?"
"Turn around," he repeats.
My breath catches.
"Trust me, amore."
His voice is firm but gentle.
And I trust him.
"Turn," he says again, and this time, his tone brooks no argument.
My body responds before my mind can catch up.
I turn, and his hand settles on the middle of my back.
"A few more steps."
The grass is soft under my feet, and the breeze ruffles my hair.
"Stop," he says, and his hand goes to my shoulders, pushing gently.
"Sit," he orders.
I go down until I feel a soft blanket under me.
Awkwardly, I lower myself with my hands still bound behind my back, useless.
The blanket is soft beneath me, and the sun is lovely on my skin on this unseasonably warm day in Autumn.
He presses on the middle of my chest, and I lean back slowly until I'm lying on the blanket.
It's a bit awkward with my hands behind my back, but I manage it. In fact, my bound hands sit right at my lower back, pushing my hips up.
His hands roam over me, touching, teasing, torturing, and I moan.
He presses his lips to my ear.
"I want to fuck you in the sunlight. I want the warmth on your skin. I want the sunshine and the birdsong and the wind."
He nips my ear.
"I want the world to know you are mine."
My heart skips a beat, and I'm wetter than ever.
His lips move lower, to the side of my neck. He licks and nips, leaving a trail of goosebumps.
His hands cover my breasts, squeezing, kneading.
"You are so beautiful, amore. So perfect. Mine."
He kisses his way down the front of my body, between my breasts, over my belly.
"And this..." he whispers, his hands moving down to my stomach. "This is mine."
His mouth brushes the swell of my stomach, and the sweet gesture makes tears well up in my eyes.
"I want to spend the rest of my life fucking you," he whispers. "Filling you with my come. Seeing you swollen with our children."
"Start now," I beg, spreading my legs wide, desperate to have him inside me.
His laugh is dark and low, and the sound curls through me.
"I will start whenever I please, and you will take it."
His finger trails through the folds of my sex.
"Such a needy cunt," he groans, and his touch is light and teasing. "So ready for my cock."
His hand cups the back of my neck, and his fingers slide into the hair at the nape.
His mouth covers mine, his kiss deep and consuming. He kisses me breathless, and I can't help the way my body responds.
I can't help the way my hips jerk when he pushes his fingers inside me, or the way I arch against him, aching for more.
I hear the rustle of fabric, and a moment later, his cock is pressed against my pussy.
"Do you feel how hard you make me?" he asks, his lips brushing mine as he speaks.
"Yes," I moan.
"This is what you do to me," he growls, rubbing his cock through my slick folds.
"Mario, please," I beg. "Fuck me."
"Do you want my cock, amore?"
"Yes."
"Why should I give it to you?"
"Please, Mario," I moan, lifting my hips.
"Why should I fuck you, sporcacciona?"
"Because I'm yours," I pant, lifting my head and catching his lips in a kiss.
He groans and bites at my lip, his grip tightening in my hair.
"Damn right you are," he growls, and then, finally, blessedly, he thrusts into me.
"God," I moan as he stretches and fills me.
"Tight," he says, his voice hoarse and gravelly.
He withdraws, then thrusts into me again, deeper this time.
My eyes roll back.
"Good, amore?"
"More," I moan.
"Always more," he teases, then sets a relentless pace.
His mouth covers mine, his lips soft but firm, his tongue licking at mine, claiming.
The angle, plus my hands propping my hips up, makes his thrusts harder and deeper, and my breasts bounce and sway with every stroke.
The cool air on my hot skin is delicious, and the warmth of the sun makes it all the sweeter.
Birdsong surrounds us, and the sound of our breathing, the wet sound of him fucking me.
The slap of his balls against me and the soft sound of his groans as he takes what he wants.
What's his.
"Fuck," he curses, then dips his head and sucks one of my nipples into his mouth.
He bites down, and the pleasure-pain has me writhing and gasping.
"I can feel you tightening around me, cara. I can feel your sweet pussy getting ready to milk my cock."
His words are dark and dirty, and my core clenches at the thought.
"You want my cum, don't you? You want to feel me fill you up. Feel me drip down your thighs."
"Yes," I moan.
His mouth claims mine again, his tongue tangling with mine.
I can't touch him, can't wrap my arms around him, or cling to him.
I'm completely helpless.
I hate it.
I love it.
"Mia amore, you feel so good," he says, his words muffled by the skin of my throat. "So tight and wet. Made for me."
His thrusts get harder and deeper, and the sounds of our sex fill the air, filthy and sweet and so, so erotic in the open air of the garden, no walls to muffle it from the world.
The birds sing, and the wind blows, and the fountain sprays, and we fuck. I want the whole world to hear it. To hear what he does to me.
"I want to hear you scream," he says, and it's as if he can read my mind.
His hand slides under me, lifting me slightly, and the angle has him rubbing against that perfect spot with every thrust.
My eyes roll back.
"You like that?"
"Yes, yes, God, yes."
"Tell the world."
"Mario," I moan, and my orgasm builds and builds. "I love it. More. I want more."
"More? Are you sure?"
"Yes," I say without hesitation.
"As you wish."
His thrusts get rougher, and my cries get louder.
"I want to see you," I beg, squirming.
"Why?"