The Virgin
Page 31
With a few shallow strokes he readied her for full penetration. She did love the way Kingsley fucked her. He liked taking his time, making her squirm and beg for release. Even now he moved slowly inside her. Long slow thrusts that filled her and filled her and filled her. He slid his hand under her hips and pressed two fingers into her clitoris. Gently he rubbed the swollen knot until she hovered on the edge of another climax.
“Please,” she gasped.
“Come,” he said, granting her permission. She came with a hoarse cry but Kingsley didn’t. He kept pumping into her long after her orgasm had come and gone.
“Show-off,” she heard Griffin say, and she smiled into the cradle of her arms. Kingsley pulled out and dragged her down to her knees again. Once more she took him in her mouth, laving him with her tongue and lips until he came in her mouth, his fingers digging into her shoulders from the intensity of it.
Spent and exhausted, she sank to the floor, her head resting on Kingsley’s inner thigh. His fingers curled in her hair and caressed the back of her neck.
Griffin held up a nine.
Søren held up an eight.
“You’re worse than the Russian judge,” Kingsley said, glaring at Søren.
“It wasn’t your best work,” Søren said unapologetically.
Kingsley shook his head. “Armchair critics.”
Eleanor looked up and met Søren’s eyes. They were bright and gleaming, full of secret mirth. He whistled at her, summoning her to his side like a master calling his dog. Griffin vacated the seat next to Søren, and she crawled to her owner, her master, her lover, her heart.
“Your turn, sir?” she asked.
“All turns are my turn.” He slipped a finger between her collar and her throat and pulled her to him.
He kissed her and bit her bottom lip until she tasted a drop of blood. The kiss deepened and before she knew it, Søren had her on her back. He kissed her breasts, her nipples, her stomach and thighs and finally brought this attention to her clitoris. She was sore inside from being fucked twice already but it took only a few minutes of Søren’s expert ministrations before she was panting and eager to be penetrated again. Søren ignored her pleas and continued to edge her closer to climax before pulling back again, edging her close again and once more pulling back.
“A master,” Kingsley said to Griffin. “Sadism by pleasure is as vicious as sadism by pain.”
“I’m learning this,” Griffin said.
“Don’t learn from him,” Eleanor said between heavy breaths. “I have all the sadists I need already.”
Søren replied by swatting her hard on the outer thigh, hard enough she knew she’d have a bright red handprint there for the next hour at least.
She flinched and Søren chose that moment to rise up over her, push her wrists deep into the seat by her head and enter her with one hard deep thrust. Eagerly she wrapped her legs around his lower back and locked her ankles together. She was so wet for him by now she could feel it dripping out of her and onto the leather.
Her wrists ached under his viciously strong hands. She hoped she would have bruises from them later. Only the other submissives she knew would understand why she wanted bruises, wanted welts, wanted something on her body to remind her of what had been done to her. But she and Søren couldn’t live together, couldn’t spend their days together. They had only a few nights a week, all stolen, and the bruises made a road map to her memory of everything he’d done to her. She’d be reliving this night for weeks...
Griffin and Kingsley were still in the car, of course. But they might as well have been a thousand miles away for all she cared about them. Søren was inside her and she was underneath him and they were the only two people in the world.
“Happy birthday, Little One,” Søren said in her ear between kisses. But she said nothing in reply. She couldn’t speak, lost as she was in his thrusts, in his kisses, in the moment of being used over and over and over again. “It’s only beginning. You’re ours all night...”
All night. Forever. She didn’t care as long as he kept fucking her like this, as if it was the only thing keeping them alive. She couldn’t stop her hips from meeting his, couldn’t stop taking him deeper and deeper into her. When her orgasm came it was so hard she went silent, her body locked up and she opened her eyes.
Fuck.
* * *
The orgasm from her dream was so strong it had woken her up. Her vaginal muscles were contracting so hard against nothing her eyes watered. She slid her hand into her underwear and rubbed her pulsing clitoris, trying to make the orgasm go on and on.
She collapsed against the sweat-drenched sheets and kicked the blankets off the bed. Her body still buzzed and trembled from the force of her climax. Craziness...she hadn’t orgasmed in her sleep since she was a teenager. But ever since coming to her mother’s convent, it happened once a week at least. It had been a dream, but a dream so vivid it was as if she were there, reliving every moment of her last birthday when Søren had surprised her with that incredible night in Kingsley’s Rolls-Royce. She could still feel Søren inside her. She could still smell Griffin’s soap. She could still taste Kingsley in her mouth.
Elle sat up, found her duffel bag and unzipped it. From the bottom of it she pulled out her collar. She held it in her hands and looked it at. She’d been wearing it the night she lost her virginity to Søren. She’d worn it every night she spent with him and not once since she’d left him. It was the symbol of his ownership of her and despite that, she’d kept it. If she could get rid of it, toss it away, throw it out, then she could be free, completely free.
“Please,” she gasped.
“Come,” he said, granting her permission. She came with a hoarse cry but Kingsley didn’t. He kept pumping into her long after her orgasm had come and gone.
“Show-off,” she heard Griffin say, and she smiled into the cradle of her arms. Kingsley pulled out and dragged her down to her knees again. Once more she took him in her mouth, laving him with her tongue and lips until he came in her mouth, his fingers digging into her shoulders from the intensity of it.
Spent and exhausted, she sank to the floor, her head resting on Kingsley’s inner thigh. His fingers curled in her hair and caressed the back of her neck.
Griffin held up a nine.
Søren held up an eight.
“You’re worse than the Russian judge,” Kingsley said, glaring at Søren.
“It wasn’t your best work,” Søren said unapologetically.
Kingsley shook his head. “Armchair critics.”
Eleanor looked up and met Søren’s eyes. They were bright and gleaming, full of secret mirth. He whistled at her, summoning her to his side like a master calling his dog. Griffin vacated the seat next to Søren, and she crawled to her owner, her master, her lover, her heart.
“Your turn, sir?” she asked.
“All turns are my turn.” He slipped a finger between her collar and her throat and pulled her to him.
He kissed her and bit her bottom lip until she tasted a drop of blood. The kiss deepened and before she knew it, Søren had her on her back. He kissed her breasts, her nipples, her stomach and thighs and finally brought this attention to her clitoris. She was sore inside from being fucked twice already but it took only a few minutes of Søren’s expert ministrations before she was panting and eager to be penetrated again. Søren ignored her pleas and continued to edge her closer to climax before pulling back again, edging her close again and once more pulling back.
“A master,” Kingsley said to Griffin. “Sadism by pleasure is as vicious as sadism by pain.”
“I’m learning this,” Griffin said.
“Don’t learn from him,” Eleanor said between heavy breaths. “I have all the sadists I need already.”
Søren replied by swatting her hard on the outer thigh, hard enough she knew she’d have a bright red handprint there for the next hour at least.
She flinched and Søren chose that moment to rise up over her, push her wrists deep into the seat by her head and enter her with one hard deep thrust. Eagerly she wrapped her legs around his lower back and locked her ankles together. She was so wet for him by now she could feel it dripping out of her and onto the leather.
Her wrists ached under his viciously strong hands. She hoped she would have bruises from them later. Only the other submissives she knew would understand why she wanted bruises, wanted welts, wanted something on her body to remind her of what had been done to her. But she and Søren couldn’t live together, couldn’t spend their days together. They had only a few nights a week, all stolen, and the bruises made a road map to her memory of everything he’d done to her. She’d be reliving this night for weeks...
Griffin and Kingsley were still in the car, of course. But they might as well have been a thousand miles away for all she cared about them. Søren was inside her and she was underneath him and they were the only two people in the world.
“Happy birthday, Little One,” Søren said in her ear between kisses. But she said nothing in reply. She couldn’t speak, lost as she was in his thrusts, in his kisses, in the moment of being used over and over and over again. “It’s only beginning. You’re ours all night...”
All night. Forever. She didn’t care as long as he kept fucking her like this, as if it was the only thing keeping them alive. She couldn’t stop her hips from meeting his, couldn’t stop taking him deeper and deeper into her. When her orgasm came it was so hard she went silent, her body locked up and she opened her eyes.
Fuck.
* * *
The orgasm from her dream was so strong it had woken her up. Her vaginal muscles were contracting so hard against nothing her eyes watered. She slid her hand into her underwear and rubbed her pulsing clitoris, trying to make the orgasm go on and on.
She collapsed against the sweat-drenched sheets and kicked the blankets off the bed. Her body still buzzed and trembled from the force of her climax. Craziness...she hadn’t orgasmed in her sleep since she was a teenager. But ever since coming to her mother’s convent, it happened once a week at least. It had been a dream, but a dream so vivid it was as if she were there, reliving every moment of her last birthday when Søren had surprised her with that incredible night in Kingsley’s Rolls-Royce. She could still feel Søren inside her. She could still smell Griffin’s soap. She could still taste Kingsley in her mouth.
Elle sat up, found her duffel bag and unzipped it. From the bottom of it she pulled out her collar. She held it in her hands and looked it at. She’d been wearing it the night she lost her virginity to Søren. She’d worn it every night she spent with him and not once since she’d left him. It was the symbol of his ownership of her and despite that, she’d kept it. If she could get rid of it, toss it away, throw it out, then she could be free, completely free.
