11. Lissa #2
I go to the bookcases, looking along the shelves, and see several similar objects to the one he used yesterday. All of them are standing on their end and could be mistaken for minimalistic knick-knacks. But I know better.
My eyes flick over them, assessing their width and length, nervous suddenly. The one Oliver used yesterday was very small.
Will my body be able to handle anything larger?
As I walk around, I realize he’s removed the one we used yesterday. These are all larger and wider, and some of them splay out at the base at an alarming angle. Eventually, I find one that’s a cylinder with a pointed end. About four inches or so in length.
Jesus Christ, that’ll have to do.
I stop, and without me saying a word, he seems to sense that I’ve made my decision.
“Go to the chaise,” he says, and I turn, confused for a moment, until I see a new piece of furniture in the room. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t there yesterday, and I wonder when it could have been delivered today.
It’s a deep, dark red, undulating shape that looks like the strangest chaise lounge I’ve ever seen.
I walk to it.
“Lie down.”
One of the cushions in the center is detachable, and I place it on the floor. Once my ass is balanced, I finally figure out what this chair is for.
It’s just like the ornaments, ordinary to the naked eye but with a hidden sexual purpose. My heart flutters when I notice discreet fabric harnesses on either side of it.
I settle down, my legs elevated above me, my ass lower than my knees, leaning back in a reclining position as Oliver walks over to me.
He has a tube of lube in his hand and is smoothing a thin layer of it over the toy I chose. The slick sound of his fingers on the metal sends a little shiver through me.
“Ready?” he asks, and I nod. He fixes me with a stare.
“Yes. I’m ready.”
“Good girl.”
Again, there’s a release with those words, as if something loosens inside me.
He comes to stand at the end of the chair.
My legs are crossed together, awkward and unnatural.
I wish I were more sensual like Bethany, exuding confidence.
Instead, I feel as if my body is made of hard lines and edges that won’t cooperate.
“Would you like to be face up or on all fours?” he asks casually, like he’s asking me whether I want coffee or tea.
As I look into his eyes, I think of the intensity of his gaze while he pushed the toy inside me the day before. It was too much and somehow not enough.
“Uh, all fours?” I say, still unsure if that’s the right decision, but the less I look into this man’s eyes, the better.
“Good choice. Turn over and prop yourself up until you're comfortable. Thighs spread.”
I turn over, my breathing uneven as I lean my arms against the highest point of the seat.
I plant my knees on the edges and wait, wondering if he’ll just shove it in without any warning.
Why is the thought of that so hot?
I realize how turned on I am, a wetness between my legs that I haven’t felt for a long time. Well, except for yesterday.
I gasp as a long finger runs down my center, pushing inside in one thrust like he read my mind.
“Fuck,” I lower my head to my arms, embarrassed to feel just how wet I already am. I had no idea I was this kinky.
“Hm, you’re tight,” he says knowingly, his other hand stroking my ass. “Can you take another?”
“Y—yes.”
And a second finger works alongside the first. He pauses and then removes them, and I panic that somehow I’ve done something wrong.
Then I groan as he begins to push them into me in an achingly slow rhythm, which drives me wild in seconds.
The deep moan he makes is addictive, and after a few minutes, my thighs are trembling uncontrollably from being suspended in the same position.
“Stand up.”
I do, placing my feet on the floor on either side of the seat as I feel the blunt head of the toy tap against my entrance.
“Are you sure you’re ready, Lissa?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Then he pushes, and I wince at the width of it. I chose the thinnest one I could find, but after a year of nothing, it still feels like a lot. I moan, letting out broken little sounds as his other hand finds my breast and pinches my nipple. Hard.
“Oh, God,” I breathe, flinching away from the touch even as my body comes alive at the pain.
“You like that, don’t you?”
A zing rips through my body. And it’s divine.
“Yes.”
He squeezes again, gently at first. “You remember your safe words?”
I nod, and he squeezes harder. “Yes,” I clarify. “Yellow and red.”
“You’ll use them if you need to. Tell me you understand.”
“I understand.”
Then his fingers pinch so hard it’s like a vice. It’s so unexpected that I scream, and at the same moment, he shoves the toy in right to the hilt, and it feels so good I almost fall forward onto the seat in ecstasy.
He pulls it out and then begins pushing it back inside me with hard, endless thrusts that seem to go on forever.
Did I say this thing was four inches long? It feels fucking huge.
“You’re so beautiful like this, Lissa,” he murmurs, his voice right beside my ear as his thumb and forefinger torture my nipple with a tighter hold. I know my safe word, I expect to need to use it at any second, but the pain-pleasure is the best thing I’ve ever felt.
“You’re shaking for me, like a good girl,” he says, and then his tongue touches my neck and his hand clamps over my mouth as I come convulsively, violently. How did he know?
My body is shuddering in waves, muscles shivering like I’m standing in the cold outside, but it’s warm in the room. I almost feel high.
Before I can recover, he’s lifted me, flipped me over, placing my head at the lower end of the seat. He’s ridiculously strong, moving me around like I weigh nothing at all.
His long legs straddle the seat, tall enough to stand over me with space to spare.
Finally, he unzips his pants, and I see his cock for the first time, at least eight inches of solid flesh, thick, dripping with pre-cum, and hard as granite.
I want to touch him, but he hasn’t asked me to, and I can only watch as he strokes himself urgently, viciously hard, his eyes on me.
Our gazes lock for what feels like endless minutes as he strokes himself, grunting as he braces one hand on the back of the chair as he goes still, cum spilling from his cock all over my neck and breasts.
“Holy fuck,” he whispers, breathing hard.
Then he stands up, pushes his cock back into his pants, and gives me a small, lazy smile that makes something bright and dangerous wake up inside me like an addictive habit that I’m not going to be able to shake.