"Does it make you want to be fucked?"
"Everything you do makes me want to be fucked."
"Good answer." I heard the clatter of metal on the floor and a thump. Once again I tried looking back over my shoulder and once again he ordered me to be still. The drawer opened and closed again behind me.
I felt his lips warm and soft against the cheeks of my ass. He nibbled a little at the fleshy crease where my legs joined my body and nuzzled between my legs, teasing at my swollen, dripping folds with his tongue. I groaned and pressed my pussy back against his face, spreading my thighs as far as I could get them. When he licked a line straight up from my clit to my spine I wanted to beg him to please, just please take me right then and in whatever place he chose. But I had been told not to ask until he told me I could.
I felt a warm drizzle slide down my ass crack and then his finger was at my sphincter, teasing wet circles around the tight band of muscle there. He leaned down closer to my head and purred out an encouraging, "Oh yes, so tight, so willing and tight."
"I am not, in case you wondered, what is commonly called a 'dominant'. I consider myself a sensualist. Everything I do is directed toward your pleasure, because it's your pleasure that ultimately satisfies me." He had something in his hand, maybe a dildo, and he was tracing it up and down the crack between my butt cheeks. When he came to my asshole, he applied just a slight bit of pressure. A maddening, teasing pressure.
"I want you to silence the inner police that tell you this is dirty or that is wrong. Whatever we agree to do . . . whatever brings us pleasure . . . is good and right." I felt him pressing the toy harder against my tight resistance. "Oh yes, there's a beautiful ass . . . someday, I'll have it completely, but tonight we free you a little more . . ." I opened easily when he pressed the smooth tip into me and then I pressed back. The stretching sensation felt . . . actually, fabulous. "Tell me what you feel," he demanded in his dusky voice.
"Stretched and . . ." I gasped as I was filled completely and felt my sphincter sort of lock down on something. ". . . full." I could barely speak because he was twisting the thing inside my ass, rolling it against the resistance of an utterly sensitive place newly discovered. "God that feels good," I managed to moan into the pillow.
"Now." I felt his cock ever so briefly tease at the entrance to my channel and then he thrust himself into me, filling every inch of me with his thickness. He held himself still in me for a moment. I let the feeling of having two orifices used at once wash over me. My body felt completely owned--elevated and offered up, his for the taking.
Tristan pulled my hands from above my head and grabbed a wrist in each hand, pulling them behind me next to my waist. He locked his hands around my forearms and I did the same with his. Rocking back and forth, he used our arms to brace our bodies for his thrusts. They came quicker and deeper; his grunts of exertion filled my ears with the sound of lust and need. Hearing him aroused me beyond belief.
Each time his cock moved inside me, I could feel the object in my ass move as well, echoing the fucking he was giving my pussy. After all the preliminaries, my entire lower body was a bundle of excited nerves. My skin danced with warmth as I felt the slap of his thighs against the cheeks of my bottom. Moaning out submission to his utter occupation of my body, I called his name again and again.
He freed my hands and grabbed my hips, taking total control of the pace. I could feel by his rhythm and hear by his urgent, primal sounds that he was near. My hand stole down between my legs. I wanted to come with him, I wanted to know that when his bliss was released my body would drink it in.
I was so hot, so utterly drunk with wanton need that I began to climax as soon as my fingers found my hard clit. I pushed back against him, trying to let him know that it was time. Oh God, was it time. He yanked my pelvis back against his with a thunderous bellow of rapture that came from deep in his very core. I felt him arch back and hold my hips to his as he grunted with each wave of his orgasm. My body responded in kind, gratefully accepting the gift of his very essence.
It was the completion of our need, the consummation of our passion and . . . the communion of two souls. I wanted to stop time.
Six
We stayed away from the beach the next day. Maybe Tristan knew that my whole psyche was working overtime just to absorb my new found sensual capacity. I had a kind of nervous excitement that wasn't at all related to anxiety, but all the same, I felt strange. Never having taken the drug ecstasy, I wondered if this was kind of like what friends had described as its effects. I wanted to touch everything, taste everything, feel everything.
We were taking a day trip to Carcassonne. The medieval city had not been on my whirlwind tour backpacking around Europe and I was delighted to have the chance to see it. I was a little disappointed when Kwan pulled the Landaulet onto an expressway.
"It's almost sixty miles to Carcassonne," Tristan explained when I told him I had hoped for a country drive. "Depending on the time, perhaps we can drive back on the secondary roads. Meanwhile, relax and enjoy the sky above us and this baby's sweet ride."
He wasn't exaggerating about the car. Inside, it was as quiet as a tomb, even with the open roof. I wondered what kind of engineering genius it took to manage that feat. We sipped on café au lait and watched the French countryside speed past the windows.
"It's so beautiful here," I sighed. "Everything looks like it came out of a postcard. I mean, I love New York, but here it seems everything has been around for hundreds and hundreds of years."
"That's because it has. My mother used to say that France was not given nearly the credit it should have been in history. She said the Greeks and the Romans took all the credit and the Gauls were treated by scholars like some abandoned step-child."
"Did your family travel when you were a child?" I saw an opening and I took it. Tristan was a master at avoiding any sort of conversation that would enlighten me about his past. If the quiet morning ride under the clear blue September sky was loosening his tongue, I wasn't about to miss the chance to untie it.
He leaned back and stretched his long legs out in front of him. The vehicle gave even him room to spare. "My mother loved to travel. My father hated it. Still does, I believe. Every summer when school was out, we would spend as much time globe-trotting as she could manage."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"Oh, God yes. My mother was a wonderful teacher. In another life, she could have been a great educator. As it was, I was her only student. She was so brilliant at helping me see the world through her more knowledgeable eyes. I sucked it up. Of course, I think I would have been happy touring a landfill if my mother took me there."