“Fuck, you’re tight,” he said, and in his words was a slender crack in his armored control. He bent over me as he sawed in and out, kissing my shoulders and biting my back in ferocious bites, as if he wanted to devour me whole. I shuddered and rocked into him, his touch driving me wild. He took my hips in his hands and then swiftly kicked my legs apart to widen his access—and to let him plunge deeper. The wider stance meant I could barely touch the floor, and so he held me up by the hips, driving into me relentlessly as my toes scrabbled for purchase on the carpet.
“Ivy, I feel your pussy swelling. It’s getting tighter and tighter and there—your fingernails on the table. You’re about to gauge the surface.” He leaned in and rasped in my ear. “If you come without my permission, I will flay your ass raw and withhold your pleasure for days…or weeks. That trip to York will seem like child’s play in comparison to the deprivation I can wreak.”
His cock was so big—so big and so hard—and the way he had me lifted up meant that the wide head of his dick was stroking the irresistible spot inside. The spot that turned off my brain and made me into a rutting animal.
“I can’t stop,” I said breathily. “You…you’re too good and your cock…oh Julian, it’s making me feel so good.”
“Fuck.”
His name. It was his name that did it. I often forgot it was my best weapon; for whatever reason, it undid him, snagging at the cracks in his control. With a growl that bordered on a roar, he pulled out and grabbed me by the back of my neck—truly like a cat this time, snatching me off the table and forcing me over to the tall windows against the far wall. My bound hands made it nearly impossible to avulse myself from his grip.
He took my silk-wrapped wrists and lifted them high above my head. “What are you—” And then I was pressed—no, smashed—against the cold, cold glass, pressed from my swollen clitoris to my breasts to my cheek, which was turned to the side. The window was a cold shock to my system, and my nipples beaded uncomfortably as goose bumps raced across my skin. My climax retreated, oh so slowly, as painful as withdrawing a splinter from the skin. I whined against the glass, my breath creating fogged clouds that advanced and disappeared, advanced and disappeared, hypnotic in the way they matched the pounding of my heart.
“You will not come until I say.” Another stinging slap across my backside. “Is that clear, Miss Leavold?”
I nodded slowly, feeling almost like a snake under the charm of a pipe-player. My conscious mind tried valiantly to make sense of all the pushes and pulls of Mr. Markham’s will and my own, of the impossibly numerous sensations and tingling nerve endings and thwarted mating instincts. It couldn’t.
“Good,” Mr. Markham said, and then he patted my head, stroking my hair softly. “That’s a good pet.” His words sunk in through my misted mind, strangely soothing. “You want to make me happy, don’t you? You want to please your teacher?”
Yes. God yes. I nodded, eagerly this time. Yes, that was what I wanted. For his wide smile to crack that strict expression, for his faint smile lines to crease around those forbidding eyes. I wanted to hear him say that he loved me. I wanted him to praise me.
I was brought over to the sofa, led by my wrists, and then Mr. Markham sat. His shaft was slick and wet and dark now, though I could still see the blue traceworks of his throbbing veins, veins that fed the monster jutting out from his hips. “I’m not going to come in your cunt,” he told me. “But you are going to ride me until I am ready to. It is your task to make me come.” He reached down and cupped his heavy balls, exposed by his open trousers. “I need to come hard, Ivy, do you understand? I need to drain every last drop.” He leaned back. “And if you accomplish this task well, you will be rewarded after your punishment.”
My cunt pulsed at the thought. Reward. Praise.
Love.
He inclined his head ever so slightly, giving me consent, and I climbed onto him as fervently as a sinner dropping to her knees in church. My tied wrists made it difficult to position myself, and he didn’t help. He rested his arms on the back of the sofa, watching me intently, doing nothing to guide himself inside my soaking wet pussy. Finally, I managed, and I drew in a sharp breath at how good he felt, how good it all felt, and I sank down to the root, wiggling a little to impale myself fully.
“Put your hands behind your head. I want to see those tits bounce.”
I did as I was ordered and began rocking myself on his cock, grinding my clit against him, feeling my orgasm pulse back into life in mere seconds—
His hands shot out and lifted me up, until only the head of his cock was still notched in my
cleft. “No,” he admonished me. “Bad girl.” He let me sink slowly back down. “Up and down only. You are not to come. You are here to fuck me until I spurt, nothing else.”
I knew I was whimpering but my resistance was melting away.
Why fight? Why fight, because when I obeyed, he gave me that look of kingly approval and animal desire, fused into one terrifyingly perfect glance—like he was ready to give me his kingdom and fuck me until I sobbed all at the same moment. No, the fight was fading, leaving nothing left but us, but our true selves and our true souls, and the slick sound of my folds embracing his organ, a sound older than any other human sound.
I put my hands behind my head again and kept moving up and down, my thighs—strong from all of my climbing and running and walking—easily lifting me up and down, up and down.
“More,” he said lazily, leaning his head back. His eyes were hooded. “Faster.”
I complied, my breasts bouncing as I slid up and down as fast as I could, root to tip, again and again and again. He closed his eyes. “Good,” he said and his voice had a quiet hitch in it, like he couldn’t quite control his breath. “Oh, that’s very good. You’re so wet, Ivy. You’re so wet and so warm. I could spend all day fucking you, and I will. Damn it all to hell, I will have you any way I want, any time I want.”
He was swelling, growing harder, and little growls were escaping from his throat. He opened his eyes—the man gone, nothing left but the male, that wild entity that was only unleashed when he was deep within me. He looked down at where we were joined. “Milk me with that cunt,” he demanded. His expression grew harsh and needy and cruel and uncontrolled, and I almost came just seeing his face. “Yes, like that. Just like that. Faster. Goddammit, I said faster!”
A sharp hiss and then I was thrown unceremoniously off, caught around the waist before I truly fell, and shoved onto the floor, facedown. The rug was the best rug in the house, deeply plush and silky against my cheek, but I didn’t have time to think about that. Mr. Markham was on top of me, his wet cock burrowing into my ass. I tensed, wondering if this was it—the thing he’d threatened to do on the road, but then he rocked his hips, his length sliding in between the globes of my ass, and I realized he was rubbing himself off against the soft skin there, pressing my ass tight around his shaft and pumping relentlessly into the slick, snug channel he’d made for himself there.
“Look at yourself,” he said. “Letting me hold you down and use you. I can see the head of my dick peeping through your ass cheeks when I thrust. My cock is so wet…you drenched me earlier with your pussy. Only whores get wet when men use them, Ivy.”
His words should have made me feel debased, devalued, but instead, they had me grinding my mound into the rug, arching my back at the same time, wishing against all logic that his cock would slip and find its way back into me where it belonged. He saw this. “You are so greedy for my cock, wildcat. And you’ll get it. Just not yet…” his voice trailed off as his thrusts became more irregular and frenzied. “That’s it,” he said savagely. “You’re going to feel me spill onto your empty cleft and you’re going to like it. Fuck.”
He stopped moving and pushed my cheeks apart, exposing the small, sensitive ring of my anus. He held his cock poised there, not stroking himself, just holding his root and pressing the velvet head against the thin, virgin skin of my dark entrance. And then he came with a dangerous noise—a noise that sent a shot of adrenaline through me, because it was raw and powerful and it hinted at dissatisfaction and unfinished business. His cum was hot and thick and still more came as he held his dick against my ass, coating me in himself. I wanted to see it, so awfully did I want to see what we looked like right now: me spread facedown on the carpet, him kneeling above me, one hand holding himself as he jetted cum onto my exposed entrance.
And then he was finished, his breathing the only sound in the room other than the fire, which I belatedly realized was very close to my position on the rug. It was warm, so very warm, and I didn’t move even as he stood, which ended up being fortunate for me.
