Authors: Joey W. Hill
mouth was so busy at her
pussy, more hands and mouths on her
nipples. Suckling,
teasing, as other places were stroked,
gripped and pul ed.
She snapped her head back on her
shoulders, then rocked
it forward, her hair tangling around
her face. The book had
changed to match the image she was
feeling. Two men,
taking a woman from the front and
behind, as others closed
in, pressing a kiss along her thigh,
sucking her fingers,
biting her throat.
This time it was a scream he wrested
from her, as those
sensations descended upon her in ful
force, engaging her
imagination and taking it even further.
The tongue was
replaced by a definite penetration, a
sense of a man’s cock
stretching her, his testicles pushing
down on the outside,
his cock stretching her enough her clit
felt the pressure, the
friction. At that same moment, the
finger now deep inside
her rectum withdrew…she
felt
it
withdraw, and then it was
replaced. Burning, as if a thick cock
had pushed into her
from behind, taking her ass at the
same time another man
took her pussy.
The suckling feeling on her nipples
increased, as did the
sense that a hand was closed on her
throat, holding her,
reminding her she was her Master’s
slave, al of this done
by his wil . The stimulation was
incredible, overpowering,
overwhelming. She was vibrating in
the chair, responding to
the thrusts, even if she couldn’t move
much.
The holographic images around her
had changed, no
longer gentle, sensual nature scenes.
It was a crowd of
men, rough-looking, raw, alpha men,
men with lust in their
eyes, watching, waiting, because they
would take her like
this, over and over again, at her
Master’s behest, bringing
her to climax until she was overcome
from too many brain-
shattering orgasms. She could feel
their hot breath, the
heat of their lust, sense the arousals
pressing against
constricted jeans, visualize the flex
of muscles under their
T-shirts. Many were shirtless, an
outright display of virility.
She imagined those muscles rippling,
firm buttocks
pumping as they shoved into her, took
her to ecstasy, again
and again. They would take, because
her Master had
decreed they could, because he fed
off her pleasure like a
drug.
Where was he in al of this? She
needed to see him…
she knew his hands were on the
controls, but things were
so crazy now, had become so
fantastic, she needed to see
him, needed the reality of him.
“Master…” she cried out for him,
again and again, until
suddenly the hologram shimmered to
darkness, the tablet
gone. She let out a glad cry, tears
inexplicably springing to
her eyes as his very real hands
closed over her throat, his
lips on her open mouth. His tongue
tangled against hers
and she shattered in that red and dark
womb of pure lust
and need, sheer feeling. Though the
hologram was gone,
the thrusting, licking, pinching,
stroking never stopped, and
she screamed out the orgasm, so
harshly she felt the pain
to her vocal chords, stil raw from
last night, but she couldn’t
stop. Right now there was no
conscious thought of that, of
anything but how his hands, that flesh
and blood col ar, and
the demand of his lips, made it
all
his demand, his
desire…
It took her past orgasm and into an
even more intense
realm, like a trip to the fairy world
where time passed so
differently. She wasn’t sure if she
ever finished. Her body
simply reached the limit of its
endurance. She continued to
weakly jerk and whimper, emitting
sudden long and
plaintive cries as she was hit by
short, intense aftershocks.
It was as if the cocks were stil
fucking her, the mouths
suckling her nipples, the hands
elsewhere on her skin, but
now they al moved in unhurried, deep
rhythms, the suckling
and caresses a soft squeezing instead
of harder pinches.
Those hands on her back, arms, legs,
were kneading, like
when Jon gave her the massage. She
was limp again,
waiting for the next onslaught with no
ability to resist it. If he
was going to cut her into pieces now,
she had no objection.
At long, long last, everything came to
a slow, teasing halt.
She lay against the chair, her head
back as Jon’s mouth
cruised over her brow, her lips, her
nose. She was released
from the chair, but she had no ability
to do anything. He
stripped the suit off her, leaving her
naked, and lifted her in
his arms. Guided by dim wal lights,
he carried her back up
the stairs. Her eyes were half shut,
her body hanging in his
grip, but she realized he’d ascended
the stairs to the loft
when she was laid in his bed.
Looking up, she saw the
natural twists of the canopy, the
crossed arms of a tree.
Those two tal plates of dark blue
glass shimmered with the
fal of water, a soothing whisper of
sound.
Her arms fel out to either side when
he laid her down,
because she didn’t have any strength,
but she tried to part
her legs, knowing she needed to be in
that position. He’d
told her so, right? Always
accessible.
“Good girl,” he said. His expression
and voice were as
raw and rough as any of those fantasy
holographic images.
Then he was lying down upon her,
and he was as bare as
she was. She made a yearning noise
as his cock,
enormous, hard steel, pushed into her
soaked pussy. The
inner tissues were so stimulated she
kept making the cry.
His size was because of watching her
reaction. Because of
her.
“Just lie there,” he said. “Take your
Master.”
She wanted nothing else, nothing but
to feel him inside of
her, the way his cock’s head pushed
through those tight
wal s, then dragged back, then
forward again. She couldn’t
possibly orgasm again so soon, but
sensations almost as
deep and intense as those aftershocks
rippled through her.
Having him inside her, taking her like
this…there was
something as fulfil ing and satisfying
about it as even the
strongest orgasm she’d ever
experienced. This was the
one thing the marvelous device he’d
created couldn’t
provide, the most important thing.
Intimacy.
“Jon…Master. Please…my arms…”
He understood. He slid his arms
around her waist, up
under her shoulders, giving her the
support she needed to
lift her heavy, quivering arms and
wrap them around his
neck. She gazed up at him as he held
her eyes in his, that
midnight blue, the pupils dilated in
determined lust.
“Cal me that again.”
“Master.” She had no hesitation
about it right now, not
with everything open to him. And he
hadn’t torn her open,
as she’d feared would happen. He’d
simply opened her like
sunlight opened a flower, an
inexorable compulsion toward
life and growth, something no living
thing could truly resist.
The way he reacted to her cal ing him
that—the flex of his
jaw, the concentration in his eyes, the
way his thrusts
became more demanding, asking
more of her body than
she thought possible but wasn’t—
made it al so worth it.
When he came, seed jetting deep
inside of her, she
realized he hadn’t worn a condom.
But there was no need.
Whatever came from this union, she
would want with every
ounce of her being.
Only a fool protected herself from
something sacred.
Chapter Fourteen
Euphoria lingered, a sense that she
was caught in a
dream and happily content to stay
there without questioning
anything. Once they’d both recovered
enough, he’d bundled
her in a thick robe, sat her at the bar
in his kitchen and
cooked her a light early supper—
crepes with strawberries
and whipped cream. He fed it to her
as wel , sitting so her
knees pressed against the inside of
his thighs as he faced
her on a matching stool.
He’d only pul ed on a pair of jeans,
leaving the top
unbuttoned, and he indulged her
desire to touch. She’d
dipped her fingers in the whipped
cream, painted them
along one pectoral, then leaned in to
kiss, lick. Every move
lazy, erotic but not driven to sex, not
right now. Now was al
about feeling every smal moment of
pleasure, and when he
caught her wrist at last, lifted her
hand to suck the
stickiness off her fingers, she gazed
at him, quietly amazed
to see her hand being held in the
grasp of his with such
casual possession.
When he took her on a more thorough
tour of his
workshop, he explained some of his
work-related projects.
She noted he kept her drawn close to
his side, making sure
she didn’t trip over anything in the
clutter. After that, he
helped her back into her dress and
comfortable sneakers
to take her on a short walk of the
property, strol ing through
the woods as he pointed out different
features. He was a
patron of local artisans, she saw,
having instal ed a variety
of natural sculptures off the paths,
interesting shapes and
forms that blended into the
landscape. When they got to the
al igator’s pond, she saw he had a
screened gazebo there
with a hammock inside. They took a
nap, her lying in his
arms, both of them rocking with the
wind that passed
through the gray and green forest, the
cal s of nature al
around them.
As they’d walked through the woods,
her arm had been
around his waist, thumb hooked in the
belt loop of his jeans,
his arm draped over her shoulder.
They walked wel
together, the slide and bump of their
bodies as natural a
rhythm as they’d found during their
coupling. She didn’t
know what she’d been expecting as
an aftermath, but like
his device that took into account al
the many erogenous
points of a woman’s body, a way to
nurture the ful range of
her emotional needs as wel . Jon had
chosen to spend the
rest of the afternoon letting her see
his world, ask questions
and simply be with him, feel how
easy that was. How right.
The uneasiness didn’t start to return
until night drew in
and she knew they would soon be
going to the club. He laid
out the clothes he’d bought for her,
enjoyed watching her
don them, so much that her body, in a
pleasurable languor
most of the afternoon, began to stir
again. He was already
dressed when he told her to finish her
makeup and left her
for a few minutes, saying he needed
to check on something
in his workshop.
Nervous enough already, she didn’t
dare speculate on
what he needed from there, but she
finished her makeup
and hair, straightened up the
bathroom, folded his jeans
and T-shirt and left them on the
dresser before coming
downstairs to the main room. She’d
only wandered among
the Japanese maples for a few
minutes, enjoying the
artwork on the wal s, when he
returned. While she didn’t
see him carrying anything, she noted
he hadn’t yet tied his
tie, the strips of silk lying on his
starched shirt front. For al
that he looked handsome in anything
he wore, she found
his suit was like a knight’s armor in
truth, reinforcing and
underscoring his authority, that sexy
confidence.
It made her smile, thinking of his
earlier exasperation
with the Knights of the Board Room
moniker. When she
came to him, her pulse elevated again
as she noted the
approving way he took in her
appearance, the way her
body moved in what he’d bought her.
She’d loved the dress she was