Roxy Harte (27 page)

I obey, holding my thighs, mud squishing between my fingers.

“You are such a dirty girl.”

“Oh, God,” I moan, responding to his declaration, his words, and his touch, as his mouth lowers over my heated slit, his tongue sliding through my wetness. I feel his hands, covered with fresh mud, and he swirls the mud over the backs of my thighs while he licks me. My eyes close, overwhelmed in sensation.

More mud is scooped over my thighs and pushed over my ass; I know my lower half is now just as covered as my breasts. I jolt when I feel his fingers sliding along my crack, mud making my ass cheeks feel slimy, dirty, like when I was forced to sit on the floor to release the enema, ending up sitting in my own shit. I am degraded once more. God, what levels will I stoop to for the men in my life?

Liar!
God or my conscience answers back. No one makes me do this. I want this. I want everything that’s ever been done to me and more.
Forgive me Father for the sin of this pleasure.

He keeps licking my clit and I hump against his mouth, wanting to come. He pulls away, commanding,

“Not yet, baby, I want you to come the first time when I’m impaled inside you. I want you to be looking into my eyes when you come. So, enjoy the little pleasures I give you but don’t come until I’m inside you.”

“Yes, Lord Fyre.”

“I’m going to lube your ass with the mud you’re lying in and then I’m going to enter you, hard and fast, do you understand?”

I nod, suddenly frightened. Garrett is large, but Lord Fyre’s cock is both longer and thicker. Garrett’s isn’t an easy fit. “That’s not a good idea.”

Even in the darkness, I can see him arch his brow.

“I’m scared. It will hurt. Please, just make love to me the normal way!” I beg.

Lord Fyre chuckles. “Garrett is too easy on you, you’ve forgotten everything you learned with me, haven’t you?”

“No,” I deny, but it is truth, Garrett compared to Fyre is a cakewalk.

“What’s the first rule of our relationship?”

I repeat it automatically. This I know. “It’s not what I want, it’s what you want.”

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“Exactly.” He chuckles again, and I feel his hand smearing mud into my crevices, into my vagina, into my ass, one finger covered in mud, two fingers, in and out. My mind is torn in half, I didn’t come here for this, I never expected this, but at this juncture I don’t want to walk away either. I feel the squish of more mud and then his tongue descends on my clit and the surrounding night swirls into nothingness, too much pleasure, too much.

“Stop, stop, please, I’ll come if you don’t stop!” I cry out.

“Then come for me,” he commands, breathing cool air over my clit before his tongue descends, covering my clit with hot, wet heat. I spasm, screaming into the night. He sucks and licks harder in response, making me squirm, making me scream with the pleasurable pain of an orgasm too intense.

Only when he is ready to release me does the erotic tongued kiss on my clit stop. He pushes my knees higher, forcing my jeans into my face, my ankles still trapped. I am bent in half as he climbs onto me, pressing his cock against my vagina, I imagine the mud, imagine that I am packed full of mud, feeling it gush when he enters me, relieved that he is using my pussy. He thrusts only twice before withdrawing, pulling mini-screams from my throat with the force of his thrusts. He touches my anus with the head of his shaft and I tense.

“Sh-h, sweetheart. I don’t want to rip anything, but I do want you to feel stretched and used. I want you to remember our first time making love.”

I giggle, not meaning to, my mind is as mushy as the mud covering my body as I think, how could I ever forget this? “Isn’t making love supposed to be in my pussy?”

“Says who?” Pushing all his weight onto me, he covers my mouth with his kiss, crushing air from my lungs, stopping my laugh. He is needy and intense and this is not the time for humor. Yeah, I get that. I meet his mouth with equal fervency, tongues dueling, teeth colliding, I grunt, trying to breathe, trying to shift my weight a little, but he holds me, bent double, knees pressed to my shoulders, skull crushed into the mud.

“Please, Fyre, now! I can’t wait anymore. I need you now!”

“You want me to fuck your ass?”

I nod frantically.

“Beg me,” he demands, his fingers pressing into my tight hole, finding that I am wet, slick. He rims my anus with his fingers, sliding through the mud to push into me, testing my flesh. He repeats the command in a growl, “Beg.”

I hunch and arch, begging suddenly not a problem as I am shaken with a need more primal than I have ever felt. I beg, not recognizing my own voice, sounding raw, guttural—primitive. “Fuck me!

Fuckmefuckmefuckme! Please Lord Fyre, ohgod, pleasepleaseplease, fuck me in the ass. I want you to, I need you to, I want our first time to be special. Please do it, do it now!”

His penis pushes at my entrance, more than ready to comply, my body is less sure.

“Relax,” he commands, aiming himself using his hand. I pray to be able to relax enough to take him, gasping when he plunges deep. I rear away, trying to get away from the fire eating though my sensitive hole.

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“Ohmygod, oh my God! Stop, stop, stop!” I cry out.

His hand comes down hard on my ass, new, stinging pain replacing the fire. I try to buck away again. He grabs my face, forcing me to look into his eyes, his intensity swallowing me. He slaps my ass again, holding my gaze, letting me know without a doubt it is what he wants, not what I want. Like magic, he slides deep, deeper than anything I’ve ever had shoved in my ass.
Hallelujah
.

“Good girl, sweetheart. Give me what I want.” His eyes command me in unspoken language,
surrender,
give over to me, trust me.

He slides in and out, though I am still tight, I feel full enough to explode, but it is a good full, a good tight.

My entire body sighs with pleasure.

“What do you want?” I ask softly.

He thrusts in and out easily, building the pressure between my legs that promises an all out explosion of pleasure.
Thrust, thrust, thrust.

Swirls of pleasure run through me, and suddenly it climbs, taking me higher and higher. I arch into him, taking him deeper, whispering, “Harder,” as I reach to touch myself with my own fingers. He doesn’t tell me to stop, he holds my gaze with that naughty, naughty smile he is capable of.

“I want this,” he finally answers, pinching and holding my ass. “I want you. You are mine. Don’t forget it!” He barks, throwing his head back, shouting, “Mine!”

“I am yours,” I echo, screaming into the night air as the promised pleasure explodes through me like a million starbursts, leaving me limp, and very, very satisfied.

Crushed by the behemoth of a man on top of me, I try to wiggle out enough to breathe, but not enough for him to slide out of me. He feels distinctly still hard, but I’m not taking any chances. I want him inside me, I want him to grow soft inside me.

“Don’t even dream about asking me to move,” he pants, still breathing hard.

I wrap my arms around him. “I don’t want you to move, baby.”

He lifts his head off my breast, mud covering his cheek and part of his beard. “Baby?”

I smile broadly, giggling at his unbelieving, sarcastic tone.

“I make love to you, and you think you can call me baby?” he chuckles, digging his thumbs between my ribs. I giggle and scream and curse, wiggling deeper into the mud pit our evening activities have created.

It hurts so good, I think I’ll wet myself, but settle for shrieking hysterically, in a good way.

“Baby, baby, baby!” I squeal as he tickles.

He finally stops and rolls onto his side, his exhausted penis slipping free.

“Aww.” I pout. “I liked him inside of me. I wanted to keep him there forever.”

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“That would be a bit hard to explain to Garrett, but I could try.”

I cringe, thinking,
oh God, what time is it?

“Too late for remorse, love, you’re mine now. I won’t walk away a second time.”

“I know,” I say, rubbing my muddy hand over my brow, making a bigger mess of my face than I know it already is. I say, “I know,” a second time, more for myself than for him, convincing me, I think, more than him that I do understand.

“It is going to be okay,” he promises. “I know you love him and I’m not asking you not to. We’ll work this out.”

“Thank you.” I smile at him, though I feel it is a small smile, not broad, and the corners of my mouth shake. I will not cry, not when I have everything I’ve asked for.

I squish my hands into the mud and bring a handful up to his face, squishing onto his cheeks, pulling it into his beard. “And you promised! So we will make this work.”

“Oh, you are so going to pay for that!” he cries out.

* * * *

We walk to the cars, muddy hand in muddy hand. We are a mess, and it is past midnight by his watch. I don’t wear one, so I’ll take his word for it. It was so much easier to be brave two hours ago, now…worry knots wrap my insides in agony.

I open my car door but Fyre stops me with his hand on my arm, smearing mud. “Come to my car a second.”

I follow him, waiting by his car while he rummages in his trunk. He pulls out two beach towels. “Cover your seat. There will still be mud…but you won’t ruin your seats.”

“Thanks,” I say, rushed to leave. Turning to walk away without a touch, without a second look, knowing every minute past midnight I’m not at the club, Garrett will notice. My mind whirls, trying to think what I am going to say to him. The last thing I want to do is hurt him. A little late for that, my brain argues.

“Wait.” He uses his Master voice, and I stop short, turning to face him. He comes away from his trunk with a bright red loop of rope. “Come here.”

I approach him, but reluctantly, I see that he is already twisting the rope into a series of knots. I stand watching him as he knots, dried dirt coming off his fingers into the weave. I chew my bottom lip, worried.

It looks like the collar he made me wear when I went to him. It wasn’t pleasant and I was thankful when he finally removed it. I didn’t get to watch him make it the first time. Watching him create this new collar, and I have no doubt now what he intends, I am fascinated by the process.

With the collar complete, he pulls me into him, pivoting me around to place the rope to my neck. I try to pull away, panicking, not wanting Garrett to find out like this. He holds my arm, saying only, “No.”

Unsaid are the words he said only moments ago,
too late for regrets
and
you are mine now
.

He loops, ties and finishes off the end. I swallow, knowing this sensation was coming, not liking it any
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more than the first time. My collar is a choker, rough, dried hemp, directly over my larynx. It rubs my skin with each swallow; I will be rubbed raw by morning. I really, really hated wearing this before.

“Why?” I ask, a tear falling onto my cheek.

He lifts the gold circlet of Garrett’s collar so that the ruby dangles, glinting in a street light. It winks gaudily though it is a very expensive bauble.

“You wear this because you are Garrett’s. I made love to you anyway, eating my pride and deeming it worth it to share you. Now, you will go to Garrett wearing my collar, a statement that you are mine—even though you still wear his collar, still his. He’ll figure out the implications fairly quickly.”

Oh, shit.

* * * *

The rough rope around my neck itches, and already I feel my skin burning. Lord Fyre has sent me into war, but this is my fault. I am the worst kind of woman. I don’t know what that is, but a dozen filthy names come to mind and none of them good. My hand trembles as I push the key into my lock. I went home to my quaint Victorian on the hill, needing time to think. I need a plan, getting de-mudded first on the list. No, I need to call Master so he won’t be too worried—I tried calling from my cell to his while I drove here, but hung up hearing his voice on his voicemail. What would I say?

I enter the dark house to the clang of a dozen antique clocks, all clamoring one, two gongs. It is two a.m.
Holy shit.

Turning on the lights, I go straight to the laundry room, adding soap to the washer as I peel off wet, muddy jeans and a soaked tank top. I step out of my cute leather sandals, sure that they are ruined. I toss them aside to deal with after they dry out and turn to go into the kitchen. I am shaking so badly a cup of hot tea seems to be a good place to start, followed by a hot bath. By then I will know what to say to Garrett—I hope.

Chapter 20

“Sex is the only power I know that can defeat the awful pressure of the present.”

-Colin Wilson, Sex Diaries of a Metaphysician

Garrett

I’m drinking cola tonight, shocking even myself when I grabbed it from the bar. I hear Thomas’s voice reprimanding me,
dead brain cells don’t think,
knowing that she is with him. I don’t want to think about him, I do, I especially don’t want to think about her with him, but that too I do.

His voice rolls through my head.

He was also once my Master, so I too easily understand why she is so drawn to him.

When pacing doesn’t produce her, I call her cell phone. When she doesn’t answer, I get slightly worried, but not frantic. After what I’ve gone through over the years, I should be terrified but I’m not and for the sake of knowing Kitten so well and especially knowing Thomas so well, I’m not frantic or
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terrified. Nothing tragic has befallen Kitten. Unless she herself sees this moment as tragic.