Rock and Water Ch. 10

Patrick continues his silent, gentle journey over my body - tapping each clip enough to awaken the nerves that had slumbered. I stifle a groan as my body absorbs the pain for him. While he loves my groans and cries, I know through my silence I'm showing acceptance of his command over me. Like an object, he undoes my left ankle and wrist cuffs, shifts me away from the door to gain entrance to the room, then secures me once again. His eyes watch mine as he takes the slack from the collar loop, pulling it until my head could only potentially move a few centimeters in any direction, before securing it.

I'm completely immobile. The new sensation of the collar adds to my helplessness and my body responds by leaking juices over my inner thighs. It no longer surprises me when my body responds in this manner to pain and vulnerability.

"How long have the clips been on?"

"Only about twenty minutes."

He nods, then surprises me by dropping to his knees in front of me. Avoiding the clips on my thighs, he runs two fingers along my slit, splitting the folds as they skim back and forth over my pussy. Slick, wet sounds resound through the room - accompanied by my increased breathing. His hot breath moves over my flesh, occasionally inhaling deeply to take in my essence. Palm outward, he pushes two fingers deep inside my wet cunt, but pulls out just enough to rub against the puffy bundle of nerves. My cunt walls clamp down on him as I can't decide if I have to pee or orgasm. It's all too intense and fast. His thumb pushes hard against my clit and moves rhythmically over the hood, pushing it into the bone below.

"Oh, Patrick, I'm going to come!"

In quick succession the two pegs on my inner right thigh are removed and tossed to the ground. Blinding pain surges through me as the nerve endings awaken and blood flow returns to the deprived flesh. My orgasm eludes me as my body processes the pain, but quickly the urgency arises when he pulls my cunt lips apart with his fingers and uses his tongue to explore every fold and valley. The tip of his tongue becomes firm, nudging against my clit like a finger - up and down, side to side. Juices soak his lips and chin as my climax screams for release. Just in time, and eagerly anticipated, he removes the clips from my left thigh.

"Ow...shit...motherfucker...!"

Patrick looks up at me in amusement, his mouth never leaving its claim on my pussy - quite a feat considering I'm dancing on my toes as fire scorches the tortured flesh. While pain often tips me over the edge, tonight it continues to push me off the crest and leave me free-falling in a zone between pleasure and anguish. My head whips around - the fabric of the collar a constant reminder that I am in his hands - vulnerable to his will.

Once I've recovered, just barely, Patrick changes his tactic by sucking my swollen clit deep between his lips - the touch of his teeth towards the base, trapping the already engorged nub, causes my knees to buckle and my weight be almost completely supported by my arms. The rope attached to my collar gives just enough to prevent any struggle to breathe.

Patrick's mouth is consuming me as it never has before - his tongue penetrating my cunt, fucking it, his lips sucking, teeth biting and pulling. Every nerve in my body needs to release - I need to scream and shout and cry. He reaches up with both hands, removing all of the clips rapidly, from under my arms to down my sides. Pain ignites over the surface of my skin, penetrating into the deeper tissues, colliding with the ball of heat and pleasure rising from my core. When they hit, I'm thrown into an orgasm that threatens to obliterate all of my other senses. Blackness overtakes my visual field and my own screams sound far in the distance as wave after wave of energy and ecstasy blast through my body.

I'm barely aware that he's back on his feet, holding me close against his hard form. I feel weightless and lightheaded as he removes my bindings and carries me to the bed. My body is pliant and receptive as he positions me as he wishes. I'm on my knees resting my belly over two pillows. Arms extended, he binds them together in rope, fastening them together to a carabiner on his headboard. My thighs are spread - attached to ankle cuffs arising from the base of the bed, on either side.

My mind slips into such a peaceful place - where the air between us feels alive and charged and where nothing but feeling him inside my holes will complete me. My body relaxes and becomes open to however he wants to take his pleasure. I hear the familiar buzz - from the smaller vibe in his collection - behind me as the weight on the bed shifts. The heat of his body emanates against mine as he moves between my legs. The vibe begins to run over my soaking, puffy folds - collecting fluid before slipping over my sensitive clitoris.

"Sweet little slut... just look at you. Tied and bound, holes open and greedy to be filled." His voice becomes deeper, more introspective. "If only I could keep you here in my home, in the city that I love." The vibe runs through my folds once more before the tip begins to play against my anal ring, which twitches and clenches in response. In one smooth push, the well lubricated, vibrating toy slips easily inside and quickly ignites my need once more.

"...but everything that I love about you - your ambition, your intelligence... your devotion to Addie - threaten to take you away from me, and I can't let that happen."

My breath catches. I'm trying to listen to every word - fighting for clarity as his cock thrusts deep inside my pussy and both holes are stretched and vibrating from the anal vibe.

"Patrick...," I gasp out. I want to hear his words and my skull feels likes it's filled cotton-balls while all my blood surges to my pelvis.

He leans down and bites my neck - hard. My body bucks against him, driving him deeper.

"You haven't asked me to come to London with you, Corrine. I don't know if out of some fallacy that it's too soon for us to make such a big move, or whether you're considering starting a new life there - I don't think that's it, though. I don't believe in soulmates, but I do believe in us - and goddamn it, we're too good to let it go."

His hips grind slowly against my backside as he talks, he feels impossibly deep within me, stirring every nerve and pleasure zone.

"I... I want you there, Patrick." I want to continue, but he's reached under me and is rubbing small, soft circles around my clit.

"I know you do, love - and I'm going. Nothing could keep me away."

I can't stop the tears that flood my eyes and run down my cheeks. The myriad of emotions shooting through my brain threaten to collapse me, and I'm thankful for the bonds and pillows that support me. Before I can answer, Patrick intensifies his hold - one arm wrapped tight around my waist as the other hand continues to focus on the bundle of nerves between my legs, rubbing, pinching and pulling on it as his hips slam into me with brutal intensity. Initially his strokes are long, almost to the point of pulling out altogether, but soon he's fully seated - his body pressed firmly against my backside. His full body lunges against my ass pushing me into the pillows below - I brace my elbows against the sheets as best as I can. The sounds in the room are primal - wet slaps in tandem with gasps and curses.

He's coming to London.

It's that thought that propels my orgasm over the edge. My heart slams in my chest as exquisite sensations light up my body inside and out. He's holding out and continues to fuck me like he's trying to open me up and crawl inside. It hurts and I love that it hurts. I love his brutality. I love his need to consume me. I love his unwavering devotion. I love his love.

When he comes, he comes hard. His voice cracks and chokes as his cum pulses deep into me. The walls of my pussy sting from the friction, and the vibrations in my ass continue to make my tight passage spasm and twitch. As he pulls out, he removes and turns off the vibe at the same time, tossing it on the floor. Cum and my own fluids begin to leak down my thighs - I've grown to love this moment.

He remains collapsed over me, cocooning me as he kisses the back of my neck and shoulders.

So much love.

Reaching over me, he releases my wrists from the rope binding them, then goes to the end of the bed to remove the ankle cuffs. My body is limp - I remain loosely draped over the pillows supporting me. He jumps off the bed and trots to the bathroom, returning with a warm, wet cloth. He cleans my inner thighs and gently cleans over my tender pussy lips.

Patrick gently encourages me to rise enough for him to remove the pillows, but holds me up to prevent me from collapsing. With the same care, he rolls me onto my back and pulls the covers over us both. Lying on his side next to me, he idly caresses my face.

"You're coming to London." Saying it out loud makes the reality of the news come to life.

"Yes. I'll be a couple months behind you two while I finish up my current projects, but I'll come out at least once during that time."

"Your business... your cabin."

"The nice thing about being a craftsmen, is that my business goes where I go. There may be times I'll need to come back here for some of my clients, but honestly, I'm itching to do some bar restorations in some pubs over there. As far as the cabin goes, Vanessa and Gil have offered to look after it."

"Wow... you've got this all worked out. What about your house?" I wave my arm around the room.

"Marc."

"The bartender?" I can actually say his name now without blushing at the thought of him. We've been to the Market enough times now that memories of my pre-Patrick makeup session with him have become a distant, although still pleasant, memory.

"Yup. He's always coveted the place, and he was the first person I thought of. It's the plan, anyway, for the indefinite future. Should we stay in London past your contract I'll consider selling."

I process what he's telling me - he's thinking of years from now. I can't believe this is really happening. My happiness is soaring out of me and I continue to ply him with question after question.

"Your bike?"

"Oh, that's getting shipped. There are miles and miles of unexplored roads for us to explore."

Eventually we get up to do what needs to be done - let the dogs out, eat a snack, brush teeth. Back in bed, we're both quiet. I'm curled into him, my head on his chest. His breathing becomes deep and slow, and I'm sure he's fallen asleep when he quietly speaks.

"I want to marry you, Corrine. I want to be family. Do you... will you marry me? It doesn't have to be soon, I know you've got so much happening - the move, the new job - but I really ho..."

I cut him off by jumping on top of him, straddling his waist and claiming his lips.

"Yes, Patrick! Yes! I would love to be yours - I'm already yours."

"God I fucking love you woman."

He turns me over and the two of us make slow, lazy love long into the night. I'm still sore from earlier, my pussy as raw as our emotions but as I think about life before him, the hurt is so much better than feeling nothing at all.

***

"Clothes off, slut."

No sooner had Addie left for a week with Frank and Carrie than Patrick takes me by surprise with his order. My body responds before I find my voice - my blood feels warmer as it tracks through my veins, my skin suddenly prickly, needing to be touched.

"Yes, Sir."

It's been three years since we moved to London. There were growing pains, especially between Addie and Patrick, until they found a good balance. The flat Frank had initially found for us was way too small for three people, although the house we're in isn't much better. Luckily, it has a finished basement with its own bathroom - perfect for my now teenager who wants her "space".

My radio show went through some growing pains too - early on it was close to being cancelled but they changed the time of day and modified the scope to primarily focus on health and wellness and since then it's bloomed. Most amusing was when I was encouraged to "investigate" the BDSM lifestyle due to its reported mental health benefits.

Patrick and Luka have had regular, but sporadic, contact since we've arrived. His new father won't allow for Skyping, but emails seem to be okay.

Both dogs are here too. Griffin and Guinness have found their own balance, and their own beds. It's a lot of dog for a little space, but when we take them out to visit Tyler and Alex on most of our weekends, the two go absolutely nuts, often needing the week to recover before heading out again.

Our toys, ropes, and anything that we'd prefer Addie not to come across are safely locked in a small closet in our bedroom. Patrick has learned to improvise without the built in hooks he had grown accustomed to throughout his house - which incidentally were quickly found by Marc who assured Patrick he'd already made good use of them.

Summer is only a few months off, as is our wedding at Tyler and Alex's farm. It'll be small, mostly family traveling from the states, along with Johanna and her husband, Gil and Vanessa. Frank and Carrie, who married two years ago and have become good friends to us will also be there. It's difficult to imagine that I'll feel any more committed to him with the piece of paper that will bind us - I already feel that I belong to him, as he belongs to me.

I was still in the foyer when he told me to get naked, so without delay I remove my clothes there and wait for further instruction. His pale-blue eyes peruse my body slowly - I can almost feel his scrutiny against my skin. Initially his expression is relaxed... but standing there before me I see the subtle shift. His jawline hardens, his eyes darken. My cunt begins to pulse between my legs, the lips becoming wet and puffy.

"Follow me. On your knees."

My eyes widen and I don't move. In all of our years together, he's never asked me to crawl. It was never a limit for me, nor something I ever particularly craved. Years ago, during my phone relationship with Robert, he would instruct me to crawl - overall, I haven't missed it.

Patrick looks at me intently, gauging my lack of response. Calmly he walks over, standing before me with a warm but unreadable expression. He reaches forward, and just when I think he's not going to enforce his directive and embrace me instead, he places his palms over my shoulders and presses down, encouraging me to the floor. Once there, without words he pushes my upper back forward until I'm resting on my hands and knees.

"Follow."

My cheeks redden as naked I crawl behind him into the living room. Each contact my bare knees make with the hardwood floor only amplifies my feelings of subordination and surrender. It's making me very, very excited. My breasts sway under me - my nipples growing tight and sensitive. Cool air contacts my exposed folds, confirming that I'm wet just from this small act of submission.

"Up on the rug - then stay."

I crawl onto the Kilim rug just in front of the couch, then wait. I sneak a glance up just as he's leaving he room. Not sure when he'll return, I remain in position - although it's difficult not to squeeze and rub my thighs tighter - my swollen pussy aches for any contact. To keep myself in line, I spread my thighs to prevent any more stimulation. I hear Patrick return and approach me from behind. The sounds of his footsteps stop and for a moment there is just silence.

"What a beautiful view my little fuckslut. Your cunt and tight ass presented to me - those sweet holes inviting me to use them and fill them - to own them."

My body shudders with lust at his words. He knows I love to feel objectified - to be reduced to a toy for his pleasure. Two fingers swipe back and forth through my cunt lips - wet, slippery sounds fill the quiet room. He paints my exposed asshole with my own juices, not penetrating me yet still stimulating the ring of nerves until involuntarily my body pushes against him. The hand pulls back strikes both cheeks with one hard slap - my entire body jerks forward from the pain and surprise.

"You know better than that, slut. Remain still."

I hope I haven't blown it and he goes back to using his fingers on me, but apparently I have. He passes by me, approaching the couch. I can hear him deposit a few items before he returns to me.

"Up on your knees, back straight, eyes forward."

His voice is crisp, alert, and in command. The confidence in his command makes it easier for me to turn myself over to him. I rise up until I'm on my knees and looking straight ahead.

"Lace your fingers behind your head."

This is a very sexy position. It lifts and pushes my soft breasts with their rosy peaks up and forward in offering to him. In my peripheral vision, he approaches me a large amount of crimson-red rope which I've never seen before. It catches my eyes and I can't help but stare at its beauty.

Patrick kneels in front of me - he looks as in awe with the rope as I am. He pulls it from his shoulder and holds it in front of me.

"Go ahead...touch it."

I smile eagerly at him before running my fingers over rope. It's soft and pliable - not stiff at all. Patrick has always collected the finest rope, but this one looks and feels more sensual than any before.

He takes his time, appearing almost meditative as he begins a series of intricate knots and ties around my chest. My elbows remain raised and my fingers interlaced behind my head - only now they are bound that way. The rope binds my breast above and below, crossing between them until the flesh bulges forward. The building pressure within the confined flesh sends current after current of heat and wetness between my legs.

Two identical long ends of rope dangle from below my breasts. Patrick draws them downwards then one by one, separates my folds until one cord rests snug on one side of my clit and the other on the opposite side. Patrick uses his fingers to pull my clit forward so the ropes rest against the base. Both sections are then passed between my wet folds and ass crack before being cinched and tied behind my back. As they tighten, the ropes pinch my clit - like my breasts, I feel it swell and become engorged with pressure.

Patrick inspects his work, checking for circulation issues or any undue friction or rubbing. He gives a nod, then rises to retrieve a mirror hung near our front door. He holds it in front of me, and I gasp at the beauty of the rope and the design it creates over my torso. My breasts swell from their confines - their faint pink color contrasting with my otherwise pale skin. The crimson color is stunning. My face turns warm when my eyes trace the length of rope down over my belly to between my legs. My clitoris is swollen and red, the exposed head jutting lewdly between its captors.

"Sir...Master, it's beautiful. Can we...would you take pictures?"

A look of surprise passes over Patrick's smoldering expression. Early in our relationship I'd requested that we avoid pictures - mostly to protect my public image should they accidentally get leaked.

"I would like nothing more," he responds, getting up to retrieve his cellphone.

He takes around a half dozen pictures from every angle, then a few embarrassingly close up shots of my breasts, cunt, and ass. Perhaps I'm more of an exhibitionist than I thought, because somehow my body is already catapulting towards orgasm. My clit is buzzing, sending shockwaves up my spine, splintering out to my fingertips. The pressure builds steadily and uncontrollably until I fear the slightest movement may propel me forward.

"Sir! I can't help it - I'm going to come!"

He reaches forward and pulls the rope away from my clit, pulling each side out and away. I'm panting with my eyes clenched tight, attempting to quell the waves of pleasure inside of me.