The Culmination (46 page)

I bring one of her legs up to her ear and plunge myself into her sweet, warm wetness and fuck the shit out of her until she’s growling like a bear caught in a trap.

“Yes,” she says between gritted teeth, sweat pouring down her face. “
Yes
.”

“Push out,” I say. “Let go, baby.”

She comes again, this time like a roaring freight train, howling and cursing and convulsing. It’s good—it’s very, very good—but it’s definitely not The Culmination. And, tonight, I won’t settle for anything less.

Her hair is matted against her face. Her skin is soaking wet. She’s a ragged, wretched, hot mess. I pull my cock out of her and slide my fingers deep inside her and find her G-spot.

“No more,” she says. “I can’t. Please, Jonas. I’m done.”

I ignore her. My fingers find her G-spot, my usual stomping grounds these days, and then migrate to that delicious trip-chord I’ve only recently discovered. Holy shit. That sucker’s twice as engorged as when I milked her in the nursery. It’s literally throbbing under my fingertip, on the very cusp of releasing. But, shit, I promised I wouldn’t push the Ding Dong button on her vending machine ever again—and a promise is a promise. Fuck me. I go back to her G-spot and stroke her fervently, kissing her mouth as I do, and she writhes feverishly under my touch.

All of a sudden, I hear a subtle whooshing sound from deep inside her and my cock jolts as surely as if she just licked it from ball to tip. My finger inside her physically twitches with yearning. Oh, how I wanna pull on her magic trip-chord and push that delicious Ding Dong button of hers.
Oh, yeah, baby, I wanna make it rain.

But shit. No. I promised not to push that goddamned button ever again. I promised to let her do it for herself, organically. Fuck me. Motherfucking fuck me.

I go back to working her G-spot, getting her ramped up the way she likes it best. And she responds like a champ, like she always does.

But I don’t want what she always does tonight. Tonight, I’m getting The Culmination and nothing less.
Fucksellence.
A brand new peak.

“Oh my God,” she says, writhing under me, clawing at me, beads of sweat trickling down the space between her breasts. “I can’t. Oh,
fuck.
”

I keep massaging her, stroking her with my fingers, teasing her salty breasts with my tongue. Fuck. I know I’m supposed to be cuffing her to a fucking bondage sheet right now, but I can’t bring myself to bother with that bullshit just yet. Maybe, instead of using a tickler on her, I’ll just
tickle
the button on her vending machine? I won’t push it, no, because a promise is a promise, but how about I just
tickle
it enough to coax her into pushing it herself?

I stroke her trip-chord, ever so gently, hardly at all. “Push out, baby,” I groan. “Let go.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” she says, her voice desperate.

I’m about to lose control of myself, even with no direct stimulation to my cock at all. It’s just that good. How the hell is she hanging on right now? Jesus God Lord Almighty.

I touch her magic trip-chord again. It’s so full, one little flick of my fingertip ought to make her blow like a geyser. I flick. And then I flick again. But nothing happens. So I give it the gentlest stroke downward, just a teeny bit, coaxing her to let go, but nope. Nothing again.

Fuck.

“Come on, baby,” I whisper. “You can do it.”

I go back to stroking her G-spot, but this time with a savage vengeance.

“Jonas, no. Oh, fuck.
Fuck
.” She’s gasping for air, involuntarily thrusting her pelvis back and forth, whimpering and groaning as my fingers continue to work her.

I flick her trip-chord again. And then I return to stroking her G-spot. Back and forth I go, back and forth. Luring her to the edge of the towering waterfall and inviting her to jump off all by herself like a big girl. Back and forth. To the edge of the waterfall and away. But she doesn’t fucking jump. She just stands at the rocky edge, her knees knocking, her eyes wide. Oh, she’s on fire, that’s for sure. No doubt about it. Hot as the hinges of hell—but, still, she’s not pushing out and letting go completely.

Motherfucker.

Clearly, she can’t do it for herself. She needs to be pushed.

“Come on, pretty baby. Let go for me.”

I stroke her G-spot again and again and again, kissing her mouth, devouring her, pressing my wet tip against her, and she moans and bucks wildly underneath me. She’s out of her head, so turned-on she can’t breathe, but still no geyser.

Well, fuck.

I’ve never worked her this long and hard before. Normally, I’d have pushed her forcefully off one cliff or another by now and started fucking her, rather than sitting here tickling her fucking Ding Dong button for thirty fucking minutes. But, goddammit, I can’t let it go. I want this. I
need
this. So I keep going.

Half a minute later, another delicious whooshing noise sounds from deep inside her—louder than ever—and that trip-chord strains under my fingertip like a dam about to burst.

I tickle it again and nothing happens.

And then again.

Oh my fucking God.

Fuck it.

Some promises were made to be broken.

I clamp my middle and ring fingers together, tightening my grip around that thick chord right behind her G-spot, push down, up and in, kissing her fervently as I do... and that’s it. Sarah lets out a massive shriek as a river of fluid gushes out of her and all over me.

Holy shit! Oh my fucking God, I’ve never seen so much cum in one place in all my fucking life. It’s five times more than the first time I did this to her—maybe ten times more. Enough cum to fill a small bucket! It’s all over me. All over her. It’s literally whooshing across the marble floor and turning into a slick, glistening puddle of deliciousness.

And the best part? Sarah’s convulsing on the floor with what seems to be the most intense full-body orgasm of her entire life. This motherfucker’s a full-body
seizure
, complete with flailing limbs and rolling eyes. Jesus Christ Almighty, this woman is getting saved at a Baptist revival by the spirit of the lord right now! Any minute, she’s gonna start speaking in tongues. This is the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed, bar none.

Before Sarah’s even done climaxing, I lean in and lap up the wetness dripping off her thighs and pussy, stroking my cock as I do.

“Oh my God,” she says, squirming against my tongue. “Jonas,” she breathes. “Please, Jonas, lord-god-master, whatever.
Fuck me
.” She reaches for my cock and tries to guide me into her, tilting her pelvis up to me as she does.

My cock is gonna explode. Oh God, I’m in fucking pain.

I scoop Sarah’s sweaty, dripping body off the floor and throw her onto the bed with a loud grunt.

“Yes,” she purrs, writhing with her arousal. “
Yes
.”

The Muse song is crashing in my ears, goading me on.

I slip a cuff around her left wrist, my chest heaving. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’re gonna beg me to use that big, fat dildo on you just to give you a break.” I tighten the cuff.

She yanks wildly on her wrist restraint and squeals when it doesn’t budge.

I slip a cuff around her other wrist. “I’m gonna fuck your pussy so hard, you’re gonna gag on my cock in your throat.” I tighten the second cuff.

“Yes,” she breathes. She tugs forcefully on both wrist restraints and they don’t budge. She’s completely immobilized
.
Securely bound to the bed.

I freeze. The image of my mother tugging on rough ropes binding her wrists just flickered across my mind.

Sarah yanks on her wrist cuffs again. “Yes,” she purrs.

My heart is pounding in my ears. Sweat is beading down my back and chest.

I take a deep, steadying breath. I can do this. I
want
to do this.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard... ,” I say softly, but I can’t finish the sentence.

Shit. I just need a second.
Pull yourself together, Jonas.
This is just a goldfish, not a shark. I will not let something that happened twenty-five fucking years ago when I was a goddamned child define or limit my sexuality as a grown-ass man. I can tie my beautiful wife up, fuck her like she owes me a hundred bucks, and enjoy it. Of course I can. Victory will be mine, just like the Muse song says.

Sarah’s thrashing around on the bed, pulling on her wrist restraints, kicking her legs. I grab her right ankle roughly and secure a cuff around it.

My stomach seizes.

I see the big man’s hairy ass, clenching and releasing as he thrusts into my mother, grunting and cursing her as he does.

No. Stop this, Jonas.
Stop
. This has nothing to do with that.

I secure Sarah’s left ankle into a cuff and tighten it, rendering her completely bound and immobilized.

She’s spread-eagle on the bed.

She can’t break free.

She’s completely at my mercy.

I see the big man with the hairy ass shove a knife between my mother’s legs, all the way in until the blade disappears inside her.

I take a deep breath, but I can’t force air into my lungs. I never let myself remember that horrifying detail. Why am I remembering that now?

The walls of the bedroom are warping and closing in on me.

I see the knife twisting and stabbing the ragged flesh between my mother’s legs. She thrashes against her bindings and begs for mercy. Mercy that never comes.

“Jonas?”

The walls are closing in on me. Oh, fuck, is this a panic attack? I haven’t had one of these since I was a teenager. What the fuck is happening to me?

Sarah says something, I think, but I don’t catch it. I’m frozen to my spot next to the bed, staring at Sarah’s bound wrists
—at my mother’s bound wrists.

“Jonas? Did you hear me?”

A deep red stream of blood gushes out from between my mother’s legs and floods the white sheets. Blood on the sheets. Blood on the sheets. She tugs desperately against her bindings, but to no avail. She’s screaming in agony. She’s begging for mercy. She’s begging the big man for mercy.

But mercy never comes.

“Jonas.”

I rub my eyes and take a deep breath. I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m going to throw up.

“Jonas, untie me.”

I blink hard and look blankly at Sarah. She’s staring at me, a horror-stricken expression on her face.

“Did you hear me, baby?” she says, her voice quavering. “I said ‘mercy,’ baby.” Her lip trembles. “
Mercy
, Jonas.
Mercy.
” She chokes on a sob. “
Mercy
.”

Chapter 44

Sarah

Jonas loosens the restraints from my wrists and ankles and sits on the edge of the bed, his broad back facing me, and the moment I’m freed, I scramble to turn off the blaring Muse song and sit beside him on the bed. I lean into his shoulder and rub his back in the silence, waiting for him to speak—and when it’s clear he’s not going to say a damned thing, no matter how long I wait, I stand, take his cheeks in my hands, lean my face down to his, and pepper every single millimeter of his lovely face with gentle kisses.

I lay soft kisses on his eyelids, forehead, nose, and cheeks, and when I get to his lips, he slips his tongue in my mouth and pulls me into him, guiding me firmly onto his erection. As his body burrows into mine, way, way, way into mine, I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, exhaling with relief and pleasure.

Immediately, he’s grabbing my ass with fervor and coaxing my body into rhythmic, sensual movement with his. His passion lights a fire inside me, and I press myself into him feverishly, smashing my breasts into his muscular chest and rubbing myself against his erection in a heated frenzy.

Our kiss is becoming as feverish as the movement of our bodies. He clutches me, pulling me tighter and tighter as I gyrate my hips back and forth on top of him, my excitement building and overtaking me, my eyes locked onto his.

It takes only a few minutes before I’m slammed with an orgasm that has me grabbing at his hair, pulling on him desperately, and shuddering violently. Just as my climax begins to subside, just as I feel like I’m going to melt onto the floor in a puddle, Jonas cries out and grips me fiercely, his body rippling and jolting deep inside me.

When Jonas becomes still and quiet, I kiss his face again, every inch of his beautiful face, the most gorgeous face I’ve ever beheld in my life, the face of the man who loves me like I’ve only ever dreamed of being loved, the face of the father of my children, the love of my life, and I run my hands through his sweaty hair.

He takes a deep breath and pulls me into him, and I put my cheek on his broad shoulder. For a long time, we remain wordlessly pressed against one another, our chests rising and falling together, our hearts beating together, our sweat mingling, before he finally pulls back and kisses my lips gently.

“I wanted to do it... “ he begins, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

I touch his cheek and look into his blue eyes—the sad eyes that captivated me from the first moment I saw them. “We did something way better than that,” I say. I grin at him, but he looks down. “Tonight, we climbed to the top of the highest peak
—
and we conquered it, baby. Together. Just like we always do. Just like we always will.”

“Sarah.” He shakes his head like I don’t understand something basic.

I glide my fingers over the sun and moon and stars covering his chest, my diamond bracelet glimmering in the dim light. “‘Love is the name for our pursuit of wholeness, for our desire to be complete,’” I say, quoting his homeboy to him. “Jonas, we’re whole. You give me exactly what I need
—
everything I can’t do for myself
—
and I do the same for you.” I jut my chin at him. “Baby, tonight you pressed the Ding Dong button on my vending machine, like you always do for me and always will—and I asked for
mercy
for you when you didn’t know how to ask for it for yourself. Like I always do and always will.”