Page 43 of Truth or Dare

I heard him fumble and his clothes started flying off and then he drove his beautiful cock into me. Hard. So hard. He had his fingers between my throat and my collar and he fisted it, using his other hand to brace himself as he rolled his hips and slammed into me over and over. “Ah fuck, baby, you feel as good as I knew you would. Better.”

“Oh, Master…” I whimpered, feeling a twisting beautiful blissful ache in between my legs and in my chest.

He hammered hard into me, over and over, and over. He let go of my collar and grabbed my wrists and held them over my head. It was like he’d read my mind.

“Yes! Please keep holding me down while you take me. I’m so lucky to be yours.” I was weeping. But I was in ecstasy.

“Mine? Fuck.”

He was fucking me harder, his hands gripping my wrists painfully tight. Beautifully tight. He brought his lips down to mine and kissed me like his life depended on it, plunging his tongue into my mouth, twisting it up with mine.

He was an amazing kisser like I knew he would be.

“Yes, I’m yours, Master. All yours. Please keep me,” I said against his mouth and then I licked along his lower lip.

“Stop fucking calling me Master!” he shouted, making me lock tight.

“Like I wanna be called some name you’ve called every sick fuck that’s raped you, hurt you!” He sounded pained and he’d stopped. He was inside me and still had my wrists pinned, but he was still.

I replied and did it with confidence, clarity. “No, Dario, you don’t understand. Only you. They were Sir. They were all Sir. I waited 22 months, 19 days and ten hours for my Master, the one who would save me from there, make me his, save me from that hell. Please don’t see it as a bad thing that I call you that. I’m so happy it’s you that I can call that. You’re my one and only Master. I don’t even think of you as Sir any longer.”

His body was locked tight. Then he sort of growled and then let go of my wrists and wrapped his arms right around me and held me tight as he kissed me and pumped into me slowly, an inch at a time, just a few times and then threw his head back and moaned, “Angel,” as he came inside of me.

God, he was perfect.

We were breathless. His hands didn’t have my wrists any longer but now his fingers were woven with mine, still pinning me to the bed. His lips were against my collar bone. I wrapped my legs around him tight, kind of hugging him with them. He stayed still for about two or three minutes, just connected with me, and then he slid out of me.

He leaned over and flicked the lamp on his desk on, lifted up onto an elbow and looked down at me, the other hand’s fingers still weaved with mine over my head. He caressed my cheek with a graze of his knuckles and said softly, “Too fast,” then his lips were on mine again, kissing sweetly, softly. I melted into the kiss and moaned.

We made out like teenagers for a while, kissing, caressing, panting. And then after a few minutes groping. He slid back into me, hard again. He started slow, sweet, raining kisses on my face, my ears, my throat, but then he picked up the pace and started fucking me harder, faster, as I arched my back and rotated my hips against his. He was looking down at us, watching his cock enter me over and over. Wow, that was sexy.

Then he rolled and I was on top. He whipped my red nightie off me and began to knead my breasts as I rode him, the sensual look on his face rocking my world as he looked down again, watching my body sheath him. I cupped his jaw with both hands, leaned to kiss him, and put more passion into that kiss than I had with kissing anyone in my whole life.

I wanted to show him what this meant to me. I wanted him to feel something so beautiful that he’d never want to send me away.

He rolled back and now he was sitting up, feet swung over and, on the floor, me straddling him, our connection at the lips and pelvises not breaking. He moaned into my mouth as he picked up his pace and then he grabbed my wrists and put them behind my back, transferring them to one of his hands. He held them there. The other hand grazed up my body to my throat and then he held my collar as we, together, set about a faster, more intense rhythm. Me riding him as hard as I could, him thrusting his hips at me, both of us staring into one another’s eyes in the lit room. He let go of the collar and put his thumb between us at my clit.

“You fuck me so beautifully,” I whispered. “Thank you, Master.”

He came then, his mouth opening and a big, shuddering, masculine moan filling the room. He let go of my wrists and his fingers drove into my hair and pulled my head back as he ran his nose from my throat up to my jaw and then his mouth was on my ear. He took my earlobe between his teeth. Sensation exploded in me, too. It was a high I never wanted to come down from.

He flopped to his back, taking me with him. He was breathless. I was on top of him. I ran my palms up and down his face and then my fingers slid through his hair and I kissed his throat and nuzzled in and I said, “Thank you for saving me.”

“Yeah,” he said, winded.

“Please keep me,” I whispered, equally as winded but pouring as much emotion into those three words as I would if I were telling him I loved him.

“Don’t tempt me,” was his answer and he said it with a fierceness, like he was angry with me, with himself, maybe. But he didn’t let go of me so we both passed out, me on top of him still, his arms around my waist, my cheek on his chest, a little smile on my face, the light still on.

4

I didn’t get hangovers. Not usually. I drank a fuck of a lot last night and it seemed I’d dodged another hangover bullet. Maybe that was because I’d pretty much sobered up before I fell asleep. Not sober enough to leave this fucking futon, though.

She was curled into the back of me. One hand on my shoulder blade, the other wrapped around my waist and against my stomach. She was breathing against the spot between my shoulder blades. Her pelvis was against my backside and her legs curved into mine, her knees against the backs of my legs above my knees. I put my hand on her hand on my belly and her whole body squeezed as she snuggled in closer. I lifted her hand up so I could get out of bed. As I was pulling my underwear on I glanced at her and her eyes were open and on me. I left the room.

I guzzled a bottle of water, dropped two Advils – more for my muscles from that fucking bed than from the booze, and then threw on track pants, sneakers, and a hoodie, grabbed my iPhone, earbuds, and keys, then headed out for a run.

I resisted the urge to weep when he left without a word, barely looking at me. I fell asleep after the second time we had sex feeling safe, feeling blissfully sated and happy. I’d had six orgasms. Six! Three on my own and then three that he’d given me. I knew he was drunk. I knew he’d been beating himself up before we had sex. And now? What would he do now?

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