He slowly pulled out of me and then began to speed up. With each thrust he filled me completely and the shocks of pleasure from him moving in and out blended into a deep pulsing heat from within me. I blurred into pleasure, losing myself in sensation and soon he was furiously fucking my ass, pounding me back and forth. I felt his hand wrap around me and he cupped my pussy. He held his firm palm against my clit as he fucked me.
"Cum now, slave," Mr. Stone commanded.
I felt my clit pulsing and then I screamed, my ass clenching around him as he fucked me. Each thrust was a new peak and my body tensed and let go each time. I heard Mr. Stone gasping behind me and then felt him cum inside me, pressing his full length into me. His body came down to rest on me as he stroked his fingers against my pussy, prolonging my fading orgasm.
I was boneless and exhausted on the bench, the deep warmth from within me lapping across my body. Mr. Stone finally slowly pulled back out of and I felt my muscles aching and a new burst of pleasure at the sensation.
He freed me from my restraints and then lifted me up into his arms as though I weighed no more than a child. He carried me out of the dungeon and into the nearest bathroom. Soon we were standing under hot water, soaping ourselves clean. I was leaning against him, unable to speak or think or take any action of my own. I felt a deep relaxation and calm. I was his. He owned me.
We toweled off and then he lifted me up again and carried me to his bedroom. Outside the sky was clear and filled with sparkling starts that were mirrored by the city lights below. He lowered me into his bed and then slipped in beside me before pulling me close to him and wrapping his arm around me.
As sleepiness washed over me I tried to put the day into order. Telling it to myself. Getting it right. This morning I'd rushed out of his office, planning to leave Mr. Stone forever. Now I was in his bed once more. Images of the bachelor auction floated through my mind. Mr. Black drunk. Mrs. Stone talking until I mentioned Bedford. The two contracts, one apparently forged. A 20-year-old Mr. Stone with a shaved head up to his knees in red mud, grinning. A red mud-brick house in his garden, vines tangled through it. His ridiculously wealthy childhood home.
It all blurred together into a puzzle I couldn't solve right now. I was left thinking about what Mr. Stone's mother had said about growing up in different environments. We were from two different worlds.
Would we stay together or was I just another girl who would break his heart?