Page 10 of Feast of Sparks (Thornchapel 2)
I’ve seen Dominants take their pleasure every way imaginable—handjobs, blowjobs, fucking, even masturbating over a sub’s striped and quivering body—but never have I seen a Dominant so undone, so desperate to come that grinding against a sub’s belly while devouring her mouth is the only cure for the madness.
Then again, I’ve never had a virgin Dom before, never had Auden Guest with his bitterly noble air and crooked smile . . . I’ve never been used and made to serve while my hand still ached from the thorns that had been used to bind me to the land the Guest family owns.
Auden’s kisses are hot, searching—as invasive and possessive as his fingers were—and he’s kissing me the way he kissed me last night by the fire as Delphine fucked me, like he wants to reach into my chest and cup my heart between his hands. Like he wants every single part of me to touch every single part of him, and that there’s no such thing as close enough. We’ll never get close enough until we’re crawling inside of each other, and even then there will be no squeeze too hard, no thrust too deep, no tears too scalding, because nothing will be enough until we’re twined tighter than the thorns around the chapel. So tight that God himself couldn’t pry us apart.
“Look up at me,” he whispers against my mouth. He bands one arm tight around my waist to keep me close. “I want to see those pretty eyes.”
I look up, mesmerized by the intensity I see in his gaze, the lust and the desperation and the vulnerability so raw that it’s almost like anger. His lips are parted, his cheeks flushed everywhere except around the small, barely-there scar under his eye. His hair has fallen over his forehead, messy and tousled, and every muscle in his jaw and neck and shoulders is tensed with something almost like pain.
His erection is scorching the skin of my belly, stiff and wet at the crown, and then he takes my chin in his hand, holding me just a breath away from his lips so that he can look at my face. With a shudder and quiet grunt, he spills against me, his organ giving hard, jerking throbs as it pulses his spend up to my ribs and against his thin shirt and into my navel and onto his opened trousers, making a mess of both of us.
We stay like this for a moment—his hand still cupping my jaw and his hazel eyes burning into mine—panting hard and both of us marked now with the hot proof of how much he needs this. I want to touch it—I want to touch him—because Auden’s come three times with me, and all three times he’s been clothed, it’s been separate from me. Kept from me, my dazed mind thinks. It belongs to me, and he’s kept it from me.
My sides heave with the effort it takes to stay still, to keep myself from mewling for his touch, for the orgasm I know I haven’t earned yet. But haven’t I pleased him? Haven’t I made him happy? Perhaps he won’t be so cruel as to deny me now—
But then he moves back and grates out, “Bex.”
While Auden was consuming me with kisses, she’s been peeling off her jumpsuit with her usual elegance, and now she’s only in her boots and panties, having gone braless under her jumpsuit. Her breasts, small and high, are tipped with dark nipples currently pulled tight against the cool air.
She steps into Auden’s place. “Stay,” she says to me simply. And so I stay.
Her fingers wind through my hair, and while she’s steadier and calmer than Auden, she’s still more worked up than I’ve ever seen her—save for last night by the fire. From my position on my knees, I can see the quick expansions of her chest and the quiver of her belly, I can discern a faint tremble when she pulls my hair tight enough to make me gasp.
She guides my head to the warm apex of her thighs—which is a contrast of textures, of silky skin and rough lace—and presses my mouth to where she wants it without bothering to hook her panties to the side. I part my lips and lick at the lace with my tongue, getting only the barest tastes of her between the whorls and paisleys of the delicate fabric. I know the minute I touch her clit, because she stiffens against me, her hand in my hair tight enough to make my eyes water, and so I redouble my efforts to please her, tracing the stiffened bud until I’ve mapped her fully and then sealing my lips around her to suck on it.
It’s messy—the lace keeps me from sucking properly—and as it gets wetter from my mouth and her arousal, it chafes against us both. But she must like it, because she keeps me held fast against her, and I like it so much that I’m mindlessly squeezing my thighs together to mimic the pleasure I’m giving her. I’d like it even more if I could properly see to her, if I could have her pussy bare and open to me, but also the barrier between my mouth and her flesh is maddeningly enticing, an inflaming reminder of what I want more than anything in this minute and can’t have.
I lick and suck until she’s rolling her hips against my face, until she’s murmuring, “Good, Poe, that’s very good, that’s a very good girl,” and then she finally gives us what we both want, and she pulls the lace to one side.
“Make me come now,” she tells me, twisting the hand in my hair so that my eyes meet hers. “Make me come.”
I nod eagerly, pressing my lips to her exposed mound now, to the clitoris so plump and full that it’s parted the lips it rests between. Her cunt is completely bare, and there’s nothing like the smoothness of it, nothing like the softness of her lower folds when I burrow in and kiss them. And then she parts her legs just that little bit more, just that extra so that I can tilt my face and tongue-stroke her where she’s the wettest and softest of all.
The moment I do, she moans, and I hear an answering noise from right behind me . . . and then I feel the warm press of Auden. He’s shirtless now, his trousers fastened once more, but a fresh erection still presses against my ass. He’s kneeling too, his knees on the outside of mine, his chest flush to my back, and his arms wrap around me as I continue to eat Rebecca.
His arms feel like possession and generosity all at once. Jealousy and encouragement. Like all he wants is to see me being shared, and also all he wants is to be the one who has the right to share me.
I’m too far gone to have any feeling about this other than: yes.
Everything is possible, right? That I might kneel for a selfish man.
That I might feel some measure of peace on the day I first saw the grass growing over my mother’s grave.
Rebecca likes it best when I suck on her clitoris, when I nurse on it, when I flicker my tongue across its needy tip, and I eat up her pleased noises as much as I eat up her physical pleasure. Auden plays with my breasts as I work; he slides a big hand down my panties and cups my pussy hard enough to send jolts of high-octane goodness searing up my spine. And my groan against Rebecca’s skin makes her groan, which makes me wetter and squirmier, which makes Auden groan, and then on and on and on, all of us feeding on each other, stirring each other harder, driving each other to the brink surrounded by the gray velvet of the rainy afternoon.
Rebecca comes with a surprised gasp, a small oh!, like someone has come up behind her and lifted a heavy bag off her shoulders, like she’s suddenly looked up and found the world easier and prettier than she ever remembered. Like she’s been given a gift with no strings at all attached, and that gift was just a moment for herself, a single moment of selfishness and sensation that she didn’t have to earn.
Auden’s middle finger pushes past my swollen folds as Rebecca grinds her orgasm against my face, wet and pulsing and sweet, and it’s so hot, it’s so fucking hot to be played with and used at the same time. I think again of kissing Auden’s feet, and my belly tightens enough that I think it’s going to happen, I know it’s going to happen—
“That was a very good girl,” Rebecca says, stepping back and arranging the lac
e panties so that they cover her again. “Wasn’t she such a good girl, Guest?”
“Very good,” he says.
“And that was only the beginning.” I can hear the wry smile in Rebecca’s voice even though I know better than to look up to see it. “Usually inspections are more, ah, perfunctory.”
I can feel his quiet laugh against my back, and I laugh a little too, and for a moment the only sounds are our laughter and the renewed patter of the rain against the glass, and despite the ache in my cunt and the three floggers waiting for me on the floor and despite the grief waiting for me later on tonight—I’m happy. I can’t explain it, because I shouldn’t be, not after learning that my mother is truly dead and not just missing, and not after being stripped and used as a plaything, but I am. I’m happy that I have Rebecca and Auden, I’m happy that I have friends who love me enough to help me forget and help me cry when forgetting isn’t an option.
