Page 9 of Heavy Petting

My empty stomach gurgles with need, and my mouth waters with desire for this thing that looks and smells so tasty. I lean closer, and sniff at it.

He nods and presses it to my lips. “Tahg.”

I test it with the tip of my tongue, and my taste buds come alive with the flavor. I open wide to accept his gift, loving the tang of its juicy, cherry-like tartness and full plum-like taste. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted, and I’m so hungry, I can’t savor it enough before I’ve swallowed it down. I reach for my monsters fingers and suckle the juice from them.

My tongue must tickle him, because his laugh is higher-pitched than before, and it’s like music to my ears. It’s so joyful and uplifting, that I slurp and suck at his fingers even harder.

His eyes widen, and he stares at me.

I stop licking between his fingers and slide them from my mouth with a kissing sound. Did I do something wrong? His nostrils are flaring. Is he mad at me?

He pulls me into his arms, and I gasp at his strength and speed when he carries me back into the water. His body is tense and practically trembles with restrained energy. Is he angry? What’s he going to do? I can’t see a whip nearby, but he’s so big, there’s no way I could overpower him if he wants to harm me.

He doesn’t inflict any pain. Quite the opposite. He begins washing me again, holding me close as he does. He slides his soaped and slippery fingers between my legs, cleansing me with firm, circular strokes that have me dropping my head back with a pleasurable moan.

“Mmm. Tah-nes, Spraah.” He rubs at me in the way he built all the special feelings he made me feel in the carriage.

I pant and gasp for breath as pleasure jolts through my body, and I jerk and squirm and writhe in his arms. My womanhood grips at nothing, with a sense of emptiness defined by its longing to be filled. My monster presses at me, his thick finger suggesting it could quell the yearning, and I automatically spread my legs, welcoming him to try. But he only probes at theshallows, and then soaps his hand again, to continue washing me.

He strokes between my legs, as if he knows how sensitive I feel there, and then he washes my bottom, swirling his soapy fingers in hypnotic circles that relax me. Until he concentrates his touch at my tightest hole, rubbing like he needs it cleaner than any other part of me. The things he did to me in the clinic flood my mind. His thick, slippery invasion of my most private parts was thrilling in ways I can’t quite comprehend, and my body is eager to explore those sensations again, but it seems shameful for it to feel so good. It’s naughty to enjoy such a thing, I’m sure of it. I clench my buttocks, to block him from doing it.

My monster grumbles at me, lifts my bottom out of the water, and spanks it. Not hard enough to hurt, but firmly, so I know I’m to do as he bids.

He lowers me back into the warmth and locks gazes with me, as he soaps his hand and begins again.

Trapped in the power of his penetrating gaze, I let him proceed without resistance, and the more he plays with my bottom, the more difficult it becomes to pretend I don’t like it. I’m so hot, I must be flushed all over, and I can’t seem to take a deep breath. He’s creating pleasure inside me again, and every few moments, my sex tugs at my core as if it’s threatening to ripple with more spasms.

It’s increasingly hard to stay still, and the worst part of it all, is that my body wants more.Moreof him making my back hole feel so good. I want to buck my hips and feel him push at me more firmly, and it’s torture to hold myself back, but I don’t want to displease him. What would he think of me if he knew my hope that he’ll wash meinside?

He presses at my puckered hole with his soapy finger and nods. “Surrmahd, mo spraah. Surrmahd fo Mahz-uhrr.”

His name is unforgettable, but I can only guess the meaning of the rest. My body understands him, though. It responds of its own accord, giving zero resistance when he adds pressure with his big finger. My ring blooms around him, and I whimper and pant at the stretch as he pushes inside me.

“Je mo en du, Spraah,” he says with a smile, as he slowly pushes in and out of my bottom. He said something like that earlier, and I think it means he is pleased. I’m also beginning to understand that I amSpraah.

His thick finger dips and drags. I shiver and squirm, and he stretches me further, pushing another inside me. At first, I can hardly breathe, but he’s so gentle and slippery, he soon probes and retreats with ease. The pleasure is incredible, and he makes everything feel even better when he grinds his palm over the sensitive bud at the top of my sex again. He’s pushing me toward a whole new pleasurable destination.

“Mar-zuarr?” I manage to blurt between breaths.

He grins, and his motions get faster and more excited. The water slaps at my skin, heightening the excitement happening between my legs. “Mmm?” he asks, his eyes sparkling.

I tap at my chest and gasp with every breath he’s pumping out of me with his fingers. “Spraah?” I ask.

“Tah-nes, Vah-nyah,” he says with a nod. He bends to speak right near my ear. “Mo Spraah.” He whispers it in a way that makes me sound incredibly special to him, and I can’t really believe it.

As if he knows I need convincing, he says it again and again, adding new words to accompany the same phrase, the meaning of which seems to amplify with the escalating pleasure inside me. He pumps at my bottom and grinds his palm into my sex. “Je mo en foigin du, Spraah.”

My core pulls tight, poised at the cusp of intense pleasure. I tense and gasp at its rapid, inevitable approach, and his tone changes.

He says something with such authority, so much deeper and growlier, I’m driven to obey immediately, but I don’t know what he wants, and I can’t think of what it could be, because his hand has given a similar command to my body. One I can’t ignore. Overwhelmed by the powerful sensation he forces through me, I cry out. I clench and grip his fingers inside my ass, while I slide against his palm in uncontrollable bucking movements.

“Tah-nes, Spraah. En du. En du. Za, za foigin en du.” He murmurs all sorts of things, and every one of them sounds like praise.

So happy with myself for pleasing him, I surrender to all the beautiful feelings flowing through my body, until I grow limp and can do nothing but float in his arms once more.

“Umberree du, Spraah. Mo Vah-nyah,” he purrs and soaps me down. Eventually, he carries me from the pool and wraps me in a giant towel so soft and fluffy, I want to live in it forever.

He gives me another fruity treat, and I suckle at his fingers again, because now I know he likes it. I lick a crimson drip from his thumb, and then take it deep into my mouth, so I can slurp all of the juice from it in one go. Mah-zuhrr makes me feel good, and I want to make him feel good too.

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