Ninety Days Ch. 02

"Yes, that feels good baby girl, doesn't it," he croons, slowing the rhythm just a bit and then speeding it up. Her moans turn to grunts, and his voice grows strained and husky, "that's it little one, little pet...that's a good....fucking...girl."

"Now...cum for me!"

Her body bucks beneath his hand, the cadence and the command surging through her and sending her screaming over the edge. Her pussy clenches with a slurp so audible she feels him tense behind her even as she throws her head back and succumbs with a feral scream. Each surge rushes from clit to the very heart of her sex, contracting muscles so tightly they hurt. His hand, pulled back from her clit, lies flat on her belly feeling the chaos and tumult within with a crooning chant of encouragement. Sensation goes hazy, her mind blank to everything but the sweeping climax tearing through her.

"Still for me...stay still for me," his words come to her from a million miles away. The surging tide in her body has turned, slowing, but only to turn and build once more, starting deep in her hungry sex and flowing outward. She feels Him behind her, feels the pressure of him against the hard ring of anal muscles and gasps helplessly as he slides himself against them, teasing their tightness, backing off, pressing harder to finally slip through with an ache of pain that takes her breath away and only heightens the building tide in her belly.

"Yes baby....I know....I know..."another croon that smokily sensual, "you're alright, just a little pain," His voice gentles hers, his hand stroking her belly, holding still against her to let her body adjust. His fingers drop to her clit and he chuckles at her sharp protest without stopping. "A little tender, little slut...but soooo receptive. Ahhh...there...there it is..." her initial resistance evaporates as the gentle caress brings an answering heat from her belly and sex, lapping at her mind, demanding more, surging higher as she tries desperately to hold still.

He feels it...the moment...the minute she slips back into the zone, her cries throatier and more primal that the first time. "Jesus, Cyn...fuck," he spanks her clit, voice tense as she inadvertently flinches backward, feeling him slide just a little deeper inside and moaning with it. Then she stills, letting the sensations slide over her and rise to their peak.

"Michael." It is breathless murmur full of wonder and sensual heat as she slips over one more time, the tidal pull of his sensuality and her wanton need to much to resist.

With a growl, she feels him push himself deeper, following the surges in her own body until he's fully within her, bodies pressed tightly together. She shudders with the feel of him, fully and rampantly hard deep inside. Her sex, so woefully ignored, clenches in response and she feels him tense, hears the deeply indrawn breath. She hasn't moved, beyond the natural pulse of her body, and his fingers lay dormant at the apex of her sex, but the feel of him and the sound and knowledge of His own excitement push her, once more, over edge, shuddering his name from between bitten lips.

"Fuck." There is a helplessness to that word and His tone that sends conflicting emotions through her...joy, adoration, lust and a surge of power that is...pure heroin. She feels Him jerk within her, feels the shiver down the length of him, His teeth landing squarely on her right ear, savaging it with his release. His hands land hard on her hips, pulling her to him rather than away for the thrust and she cries out her disappointment, wanting him to pull out and push back in savagely.

"You...are....mine." Each word is forced out of His mouth, bitten, clipped, as His body shudders, releasing Himself within her.

****

Shaking from her head the memories of the past, she grins self consciously, aware of the wetness drenching her thighs and the full taut tension in her breasts. She opens her eyes to the gorgeous glow of a Colorado winter morning, sun pouring through the window like a waterfall of coruscating brilliance, bringing a smile to her lips and a gently seeking hand for her partner.

Sighing, her hand finds an empty bed and she pulls herself up and out from beneath the heat of the sheets before she can have second thoughts. Pausing before the full length mirror in the bath, her hands trail over the marks of pleasure from the night before, bringing a soft, piquant whimper from her lips. A small, almost elegant circle of fierce nips and nibbles adorns the nape of her neck. Each breast eagerly displays a myriad of teeth and finger marks and even, along the full outer curve of her right breast, the small, brilliantly red slice of a knife. She shivers, vaguely remembering the moment, too far gone to beg him not too and Michael's swift strides and quietly voiced "No more" as He took the implement away from Sir Guy. Her fingers stroke the shallow mark, feeling no pain from it, before moving lower. Criss-cross rope marks adorn her wrists, belly, thighs and ankles where Domina had joined Sir Guy, showing him the artful knots of her shibari craft. Turning, slowly, her eyes take in the cascading welts of cane prints that decorate her shoulders, back, buttocks and thighs, the heat between them welling over at the memory of how each mark had been made.

He'd been right again. The ninety days had made her think...really think...about things. It also gave Him the chance to allow her to get to know Sir Guy. Her fingers touch the knife mark on her breast and shiver, realizing how very much she still doesn't know.

She doesn't regret her choice, she'd adored the evening and was looking forward to the rest of the weekend...after she'd finished her journal, of course.

After He'd taken her to bed last night, after making gentle love to her and kissing the marks and the tears away he'd made one last demand. That today, she would put to words the events of the evening and give it to Him.

It was a daunting task, so many emotions, so many new things. And toward the end, everything so hazy, it would be hard to get it right. But she understood, now, why. Getting the events down would help her sort the turmoil and emotional overload she felt this morning. Last night, in the warm circle of His arms, she'd bridled at His demand, wanting to go skiing with them instead. But this morning...this morning she would be glad to have the time to herself.

Pulling herself together, her eyes catch the slip of paper and the familiar bold curve of his writing, picking up the rich linen scrap and sighing. He always knew, she thought, tossing down the paper, its bold figures reading "Come down to breakfast and then you may start your journal."