Chapter 20 #4
His tongue flicks over my clit and I scream, as my hips buck off the bed. Dom holds me down with one hand on my stomach, his tongue working my bud in fast, tight circles. The sensation is so fucking overwhelming, and I can already feel my orgasm building.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck," I chant, my hands fisting in the sheets. "Don't stop, please don't stop."
"Play with those tits," he orders. "I want to see you squeeze them while I eat you out."
Without hesitation and lost in bliss, I bring my hands up to my breasts, cupping the heavy flesh and squeezing. My tits overflow in my hands, so full and soft. I pinch my nipples, rolling them between my fingers, and I hear him groan at the sight.
"That's so fucking hot," he says, before he sticks his tongue inside of my pussy. "Look at those big tits bouncing. Fuck, you're such a perfect little whore."
I can barely think anymore as he continues to suck me into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves, as my whole body trembles. His free hand moves lower, his fingers teasing my entrance, gathering my wetness.
Then I feel it, as his finger circles my asshole, rubbing around the tight ring of muscle. The sensation is new, forbidden, and it sends a jolt of pleasure through me.
"Oh god," I gasp, my eyes flying open and I stop playing with my tits, fully focused on this new sensation. "Dom…"
"Relax," he murmurs against my pussy. "Just let me play with this tight little ass while I eat you out."
His finger continues to circle my asshole, pressing gently but not entering, just teasing the sensitive skin. The dual sensation of his mouth on my clit and his finger on my ass is driving me insane. My pussy is clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled.
"Please," I beg. "Please, I need more."
He slides two fingers inside of me, curling them to hit that spot deep inside that makes me see stars. His mouth never leaves my clit, sucking and licking with relentless intensity, as his other finger keeps teasing my ass, making me feel things I’ve never felt before.
"You like that?" Dom asks, his voice muffled against my pussy. "Like having your ass played with while I eat this sweet cunt?"
"Yes," I sob. "Yes, it feels so good, oh god."
My breasts are bouncing with each thrust of his fingers, my nipples hard and aching. I play with them myself, squeezing and pinching, adding to the overwhelming sensations flooding my body.
Dom increases the pressure on my ass, rubbing harder, and my whole body tenses. The combination of his fingers in my pussy, his mouth on my clit, and his finger teasing my ass is too much. I’m going to explode.
"Cum for me," he orders, as his fingers pump faster. "Cum all over my face like the dirty slut you are."
The orgasm hits me like an avalanche as I scream, my whole body tensing, as my thighs clamp around his head. My pussy spasms around his fingers, gushing wetness that he laps up until I’m a sobbing mess.
"That's it, soak my fucking face. Give me all that sweet cum."
Holy shit. I’m still shaking when he pulls away, his face glistening with my arousal and I know we’re not done. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and climbs up my body, his cock hard and ready.
"Now I'm going to fuck you," he says, positioning himself at my entrance. "Gonna pound this pussy until you can't remember your own fucking name."
He pushes into me, filling me completely, and I yell out at the sudden fullness. He is so deep, stretching me, and it feels so fucking good that I can barely breathe, let alone talk as I drift off to another planet.
"Fuck, you're tight," he moans, his hands gripping my thighs. "This pussy feels so good wrapped around my cock."
He fucks me with hard, deep strokes, his hips slamming against mine. Both are covered in sweat and exhaustion. Dom balances himself above me, watching my tits as they jiggle with every move, mesmerized, before leaning down to capture one nipple in his mouth.
"Oh god," I moan, unsure of how much more I can cope with. He sucks my nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak, and I go wild. "Yes, fuck me harder."
He releases my nipple and wraps his hand around my throat, squeezing just enough to make me gasp. The pressure on my throat combined with his cock pounding into me is overwhelming, and my eyes roll back in my head. I swear I’m about to pass out with another orgasm.
"You love being choked while I fuck you, don't you?" he growls. "Love being used like a little fuck-toy."
"I love it, I love your cock, please don't stop."
Dom squeezes my throat harder, his other hand moving between my legs, rubbing the nub in hard circles. This is gonna be a bigger orgasm than the last, possibly life threatening.
"Cum on my cock," he says. "Show me what a good little whore you are."
Those words trigger my body with devastating force. My whole body convulses, my pussy clamping down on his cock like a vice. I try to scream but I can’t with his hand on my throat, and the lack of air only intensifies the pleasure.
"Fuck yes," he groans, his thrusts becoming erratic. "That's it, squeeze my cock. Milk every drop of cum out of me."
He lets go of my throat and thrusts one last time before his cock pulses as he fills me with his release. I can feel him throbbing inside of me, his hot cum flooding my pussy. So fucking satisfying.
Dom collapses on top of me, both of us breathing hard, our bodies wet with sweat. He is still inside me, still semi-hard, as I wrap my legs around his waist, holding him close.
"Fuck," he breathes against my neck. "That was intense."
"Yeah," I lazily agree, my fingers tracing the hickeys I've left on his neck and shoulders. "Those women can look all they want. But you're always coming home with me."
Dom chuckles, pressing a kiss to my sore throat. "Always," he says. "Maybe we should get you jealous more often.”
"It's fucked up, Dom, how toxic we are."
"We're definitely fucked up."
I kiss his shoulder, right over one of the bite marks. "I love it though."
"Me too."
We lay for a while, enjoying the calm after an eventful evening.
"Eight pieces sold," I say to the ceiling.
"I counted, thirty-two thousand dollars."
"And Berlin wants the work."
"Yeah."
"I was right there listening to them talk about me and who they think I am."
"What did they say?"
"They have no idea. They're making up theories that I’m a famous artist using a pseudonym, in witness protection, a psychiatric patient. None of them are even close, it’s quite laughable how extreme their theories are."
Dom chuckles beside me, rolling me over until I’m cuddling into his side, stroking my back.
"I’m sure this will work, Dom. Even if Detective Chen traces my art, Sarah Vance doesn't know who I am as she has no details that are legit. So if Chen comes looking and talks to Sarah…"
"She hits a wall, because even the gallery can't identify you."
I turn on my side to face him.
"Exactly. We may have done the impossible."
"You did it, baby. Hopefully we can move on.”
"Yeah. Berlin is in three months," I say quietly.
"You going to go? To the opening?"
"Yeah, I think so. I enjoyed listening to people talking about my work and trying to figure out who I am."
"It could work in our favor as we can build your portfolio while we are there. A new country may give you different inspiration," he says.
"Thats a good idea."
Between the crime scene hunts in San Diego, I've been documenting other subjects, homeless encampments, abandoned buildings, the faces of people who've given up. A second body of work, darker and rawer than the first.
The cycle continues.
"Get some sleep. Tomorrow we fly home and start building the next phase."
I close my eyes, happy in the comfort that it’s all working out.
When we return to San Diego on Sunday, the apartment feels different when we walk in. Smaller. Like we've outgrown it in the three days we've been gone.
As I start to unpack, my phone buzzes with an email from Sarah Vance.
RB,
Final numbers from the opening are 10 pieces sold, $40,000 total. Petra Hoffman from Berlin has formally requested contact to discuss the European exhibition. She's very interested and I’ve explained your situation with anonymity, which she is fine with.
Also, I'm getting inquiries from collectors about future work. Any chance you have more pieces available?
Let me know your thoughts.
Best,
Sarah
I show Dom the email.
"Time for the second portfolio," he says. "We've been building it anyway, you might as well monetize it."
"Berlin first. Then we see what else develops."
"Agreed."
That night, I open my laptop and start researching. Art forums. Reddit threads. Gallery gossip sites.
I search for "RB" and "Void Gallery" and "Sacred Moments." The results are immediate.
A Reddit thread in r/ContemporaryArt, Who is RB?
Saw the exhibition at Void Gallery. Work is amazing but the artist is completely anonymous. Gallery won't say anything beyond "prefers privacy." Anyone know who this is?
Responses –
Probably someone already famous using a pseudonym. The technique is too good for an unknown.
I heard they might be in witness protection. The crime scene photos are too real.
My friend who works in galleries says they think it's someone institutionalized. Creating art in therapy.
Or just someone who values privacy? Not everyone wants to be famous.
But the mystery is part of the appeal. Makes the work more interesting.
I read through dozens of comments, theories multiplying and contradicting each other. No one is even close to the truth. Because the truth is simpler and darker than any of them imagine.
RB is a ghost, a wanted criminal who built a new identity and a solid career from the ashes of who she used to be. A woman who stands in gallery openings listening to people speculate about her identity while she remains invisible in plain sight.
I close the laptop and find Dom in the darkroom, looking at my prints from our San Diego hunts.