Page 90
Story: Grave Matter
Then I hear him undo his belt, the slick slide of leather. It makes my heart pound against my chest, and my body feels like it’s on fire. I brace myself, waiting for him to whip me with it.
But to my surprise he wraps the belt around my throat, tightening it like a collar. Not enough to choke me but enough to keep me under control, which he demonstrates by giving it a tug.
“There,” he says. “Now it’s a masterpiece. Now you’re truly mine.”
I hear him take off his Henley and his pants. I try to turn around and look at him but he tugs on the belt sharply as a warning. “Stay,” he commands.
I swallow against the leather and nod, though I find it criminal that he’s staring at me all tied up and naked and I can’t even get a look at his body, or his tattoo. At least I already know what his cock looks like.
He positions himself behind me, long fingers curling over the rope around my waist, while his other hand pushes down at it where it hugs the bottom of my ass, making room for his cock. The head of his dick presses between my legs, teasing where I’m wet.
“Soaked,” he says gruffly. “All this for me.” I can hear him smile. “You’re going to need it.”
He pushes inside me with one hard, stretching thrust.
I cry out, stars behind my eyes as his cock sinks in deeper, all the way to the hilt. He groans loudly, his breath ragged as he inhales.
“Fuck, your cunt is tight,” he grinds out, both hands now curling around the rope, holding on.
I am fucking tight. My eyes are watering from the intrusion, his dick shoved in so deep that I can’t even breathe. I’m stretched so far that the pain showers down on me like sparks.
“Breathe,” Kincaid says as he slowly pulls out, his length dragging over every nerve. “Breathe, my pet. Breathe through it. You can take it, I know you can.”
I suck in a breath, holding it in before exhaling, and the pain starts to turn to pleasure, the agony melting until my cunt is throbbing and pulsing with need.
“Fuck, yes,” he rasps, “that’s it. That’s it, sweetheart. Keep taking it.”
He pushes in again and this time I’m ready, expanding around him, the tight, slick glide of him hitting my g-spot, making my core feel like it might explode.
“You’ll let me use you,” he says breathlessly as he starts to pound away at me, his hips pistoning against my ass. “Tell me you’re mine to use.”
“I’m yours to use,” I say through a gasp.
“Tell me to fill you up until it’s coming out your mouth,” he grunts.
Oh, Jesus have mercy.
“Fill me up until it’s coming out of my mouth,” I say, adding, “Doctor, please.”
“Shit,” he swears. “You know exactly what to say. Such a little slut, aren’t you? Just willing to be used like this, used solely for my fucking.”
“Yes,” I cry out. My body shakes on the table, the whole boat now starting to list back and forth from his relentless movement. “Use me, please. Take what you want, I beg you.”
A low, rumbling sound emits from his chest as he picks up the pace. There’s subtle cruelty in his fucking, his movements rough as he plunges into me, his hands yanking at the ropes until they dig deep into my skin. Every now and then he grabs the beltand yanks at it like a leash, pulling my head off the table, and he’s muttering things like, “you take me so well, good girl, greedy little slut, yes just like that.”
Meanwhile my clit is so swollen, so needy for release that I start squirming on the table, trying to adjust my hips so that the hard ridge of his cock rubs against it, but he only pushes me back down.
“Beg me for it,” he growls.
“Please,” I try to say, but my words are weak, trembling, my body trying to break against the ropes that hold me in place. I’ve never felt so desperate before, like it’s a creature trying to crawl out of me. “Please let me come.”
He grunts again and then reaches down, stroking my clit.
I’m so wet, so wild, that it only takes one hard pass of his finger before my orgasm crashes over me. I erupt with a cry that fills the boat, that must soar up into the sky and down into the ocean below. If it weren’t for the ropes restraining me, I am certain there would be pieces of me spread across the waves. I’m sure it would be impossible to put me back together. Where my body can’t go, my mind does, floating and freewheeling as it gathers up a million different emotions like a tumbleweed.
He pumps hard, a couple of short, deep thrusts before he stills and releases with a loud, breathless groan.
“Sweetheart,” he rasps. “You’re too good.”
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