The Cottage

She groans and pushes her hips up, but he moves his hand away so he still just grazes at her.

"Please, please, please, Sir, please...."

He leans forwards and kisses her gently, wraps a large hand around her throat, then pushes his fingers in hard and fast making her grunt and cry. The build ups been so long and now he's relentless, he's biting her shoulder and she doesn't even notice, just builds up to a crisis that scares her, leaves her wordless, only able to utter bestial sounds and still he's pushing at her even as her orgasm subsides and she tries to squirm away from his touch as she becomes sensitive, almost painfully so.

Now she was chanting, please, please... to make him stop.

He chuckled throatily and took her face in his hand, brushed away a lock of hair that stuck to the sweat on her brow.

"I just can't please you can I?" He mocked gently.

She tried to answer but only managed a short huff of a laugh instead.

He brought his wet fingers to her lips and she sighed, relaxing back and parting her teeth so he could slide his fingers into her mouth.

She moved her tongue around his fingers as he pushed them deeper, felt him move them out a touch before she gagged, and for a moment they lay there, still, peaceful.

Her wrists still bound, her eyes closed, her mouth full of his fingers, her nostrils breathing in her own scent.

He stroked her hair and whispered, "Good girl."

Drawing his fingers out slowly she tried to hold onto him, playfully nipped at him and stuck her lower lip out when her mouth was no longer full.

"Pouting gets you fucked."

She said nothing.

"You want me to fuck you." He didn't phrase it as a question, but instead stood up and deftly flipped her over, arranging her at his leisure so that her rump was in the air, her chest pressed against the bed, her head to one side.

She complained as her shoulders protested against the sudden lack on weight on them, numbness now replaced with burning pins and needles.

Grabbing her cheeks he slapped her hard making her yelp in surprise. She'd almost forgotten how sore she was.

She felt him against her, pressing into her and she shook, need rising up in her again, but as she pushed against him he drew back.

"Ask."

"Fuck me."

"Fuck you?"

"Please" She whispered.

Deliberately he twisted her hair around his hand and slowly pulled her head back so that only her chest and knees where in contact with the bed.

Maddeningly slowly, he slid into her until he was pressed against her, buried inside. He leant forwards and whispered in her ear.

"The last fuck." And pulled almost all the way out before slamming into her.

She cried as he fucked her, almost hurting her, this wasn't for her pleasure, this was his need, his frustration, his rage, his sorrow and he rallied against it the only way he knew how.

"Come for me again." He growled.

She half sobbed. "I can't!"

"Yes. You. Can."

And she was.

It crept up on her, built up without her knowing and now she realised she was helpless, her own body had betrayed her and as it hit all she could do was stop breathing and silently scream as it felt like her whole body contracted then let go in a glorious shudder.

She barely noticed his own climax. Registered that he pushed harder into her, seemed to swell inside her then he was panting, sobbing into the back of her neck, breathlessly whispering her name again and again like a charm against the evils that waited outside for them.

*************

She'd cried when he untied her wrists. Her shoulders protested at being freed and he pulled her into his lap and let her sob into his chest and soothed her with words and soft touches.

After, they had lay together in the dark, wakeful, but silent.

She wondered if he was thinking what she was.

That if the cottage wasn't to be demolished next month would they have carried on like this forever?

***************

In the morning he was gone.

For a moment she let her hand rest on the empty space in bed, then she pulled herself up, wincing at the pain in her shoulders.

Padding through to the kitchen she found her shorts and shirt, pulled them on and stood in the cold silence.

The cottage held its breath.

She opened the door into his work room and stopped.

The walls had been painted.

Every inch.

It was as though the sea had come through the window and filled the room. It swelled into the corners and washed against the window frames.

The sky rose above it and carried on to the ceiling so she had to look up to see the full extent of the work he'd done.

She put her hand to her mouth and stifled a sob.

Written on the ceiling, in angry slashes of blue.

"I mixed tears with my paint, knowing you'd be the only one who ever saw it. I'll be forever half hidden from all but you."

End.