Strong Spirits

* * *

Gen held Arthur’s strong hand as they walked across the fields back to Spencer House. The sun’s heat flowed through the air, drying the grass to sweet-smelling hay. Behind them, the deer were bawling and barking, and wind rushed in the trees.

Arthur wouldn’t have another summer at Spencer House after so many, and Gen wanted to crumple and weep for him again.

But she sure as hell didn’t. Arthur had been comforting her when he was the one who was about to lose everything. That was backward. She had to suck it up for his sake.

For two more days.

Until he was gone forever.

Gen still suspected that his resettlement and witness protection program by MI6 was a metaphor for suicide, and by God, she was going to keep him here on God’s green Earth if she had to tie him down to do it.

Or, alternatively, let him tie her down until he found something to live for.

Whatever worked.

Women often have a lot of reasons for agreeing to have sex, and Gen could list several of her reasons. More lurked in the back of her head.

Yes, she wanted to shore up Arthur’s emotional resources, maybe even give him something to stay for, even if that something was a submissive little sex toy.

And there were the esthetics. Arthur put a lot of time in at the gym and into running, and it all paid off with hard ripples and ridges in all the right places, plus those gorgeous tattoos. Gen could have just stood there and admired his naked body for hours, if he had let her.

Also, when a guy puts effort into making sure you have an Earth-shattering orgasm, it’s motivating.

When they walked into Spencer House, a housekeeper bustled up to them, asking if Arthur was staying for dinner and what he wished to have.

Arthur told the woman that just anything would do, and the woman seemed more flustered by this than by any impossible request he could have made.

Gen dawdled behind Arthur, dropping farther and farther behind, until she turned back and ran after the housekeeper. She whispered to the woman, “If you know of anything that he has a sentimental attachment to, serve that, if you can. You know, ‘comfort food?’ Maybe cookies or something for dessert?”

The housekeeper jetted off to make it happen.

After Ifan retrieved Ruckus from them and took him off for the evening, Arthur took Gen on a tour of the upper levels of the estate, telling her about the art hanging in three and four rows on the high walls. Thirty feet of stacked art like an enormous museum towered and stared down at her.

Arthur knew every painting: whom the portrait depicted, who had painted it, and the circumstances of how the Finch-Hatten family had acquired it.

He mentioned at one point, “I should write these down so that Christopher will know what they are.”

“Maybe you could mail it to him,” Gen said.

He shrugged. “Maybe I could do that.”

His unconvinced tone didn’t fool Gen.

They both went upstairs to shower and change. She changed into the black dress with the short, flirty skirt that Arthur liked. Evidently, she had left it at Spencer House last time, and it had been cleaned and was hanging in the closet.

When they got down to the formal dining room, plates heaped with bread, sliced roast beef and chicken, cheeses, and toppings had been stacked on the sideboard, a buffet of cold sandwiches, which Gen would have never anticipated.

Arthur’s silver-blue eyes lit up, and he grabbed a plate and started slathering mustard on a slice of bread.

Gen did likewise. “This seems to be a popular idea.”

Arthur licked mustard off his thumb and forked slices of meat onto his bread. “My grandparents used to have a sandwich buffet ready for us when we arrived for Christmas and when I came home from Le Rosey. We often arrived late,” he explained. “Sandwiches meant that I was home and could rest.” He grinned. “I used to call my grandfather the Earl of Severn, and he called me the Earl of Sandwich.”

“That’s cute.”

He was still smiling and lost in thought. “My grandmother used to make me clean my plate when we ate. She had survived the War, you know, and wasting food was anathema. She could not abide it. Someone had to eat all the leftovers before we could leave the table. She used to pass around half-full plates until someone obliged because, you know, the War.”

With that, Arthur stopped and stared at his plate. “I guess this will be the last time.”

Oh, no. Gen had miscalculated badly. She should have asked the housekeeper to serve something Arthur hated, something that would have been easy for him to leave.

He shook his head and grabbed a handful of pickles, dumping them on his plate, and laid a slice of cheddar cheese over the roast beef on his sandwich. “One last time, right? One last meal of sandwiches in Spencer House.”

“Right.” She rubbed his back. “One last time. It’s not vegetarian, though. We could ask for some hummus.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “We always had roast beef and chicken when I was a child. It’s traditional. I like meat, and one meal won’t matter in the greater scheme of things.”

He ran his hand down her back, so that they were almost hugging, except that his hand trailed down her spine to the curve of her ass, and his fingers gripped her through the dress.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“That’s my butt,” Gen said, glancing around to make sure that none of the staff was hanging around. They were alone at that moment, but Gen wasn’t sure that would have stopped him.

“Not what I meant.” His hand flipped under her dress, and he ran his fingers under the elastic leg band of the black lace panties she was wearing. “You’re mine for two more days. I told you I don’t like panties.”

“Oops.”

His fingers tangled in the black lace, the elastic creasing the delicate skin of her thighs and waist. “Take them off.”

“Here?”

Arthur set his plate on the sideboard. He yanked them down to her ankles, crouching at her feet. “Step out.”

Gen did. Stepping out of her panties was a step in the right direction for Arthur.

He stuffed the panties in his pocket, and he ran his hand up her bare leg to grab her naked ass again. He leaned in and whispered, “In a traditional submissive training situation, I would use this as an opportunity to punish you.”

Gen’s breath caught in her throat. “What would you do?”

His eyes lit up, and he smiled. “Would you like to find out?”

“Safe words?”

“Yes.”

She bit her lip. “All right.”

“Good.” His smile turned devilish. “I’ll let you wonder what your punishment will be all through dinner.”

And she would let him think about punishing her rather than about losing everything that was important to him, all through dinner.

They sat at the formal dining table, laid with priceless china and crystal, and ate sandwiches with their hands.

Arthur called a butler guy over. “Could you find a nice bottle of wine for tonight? Something we’ve been saving.” He glanced at Gen. “A white wine. A chardonnay, maybe, or a pinot gris.”

Something suitable for a last meal, or one of his last meals, anyway.

Gen almost choked on her sandwich, but she washed the sob down with the water already on the table.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Totally fine.” Gen stuffed the chicken sandwich in her mouth before her stupid brain could add anything else.

Arthur kept going back to the sandwich buffet. He ate six sandwiches and half of the pickle and vegetable trays.

When the serving people brought in the homemade cookies and hot chocolate, Arthur examined the cookies, muttering, “Biscuits,” under his breath and toying with them for minutes before he ate the entire plate except for the three that Gen ate, as if calories and sugar grams didn’t matter at all to him anymore.

Or maybe the comfort food was working.

“I wouldn’t have thought of you as a hot chocolate-kind of guy,” she said. “More like black coffee and whiskey.”

He was inhaling the aroma of the chocolate from the cup. “Le Rosey, the boarding school I attended most of my childhood, was in Switzerland. They served hot chocolate twice a day, at breakfast and at tea time. All anciens roséens, alumni of the school, either love or detest hot chocolate. There is no middle ground.”

When only two cookies remained, Arthur tried to give them to Gen, but she said that he should enjoy them.

They passed them back and forth, both of them trying to be polite, until Arthur broke both of them in half and distributed the halves to their plates.

Broken cookies, fewer calories, right?

After dinner, Arthur led her from the dining room back to the art gallery. He said, “Your punishment—”

“Yes?” she asked, still nervous about this whole concept of punishment.

“—will be—” he intoned, his voice deep in his throat.

“Oh my God, what?”

“—to listen to me prattle on about Spencer House’s art collection for another hour.” He turned, his eyebrows lowered ominously. “Or more.”

Gen laughed and followed him. “Oh, no. Someone save me.”

“A quick stop in my room first.”

“Oh?”

His grin turned menacing. “Don’t be so quick to agree.”

* * *

Gen followed Arthur up the wide, two-story staircase toward his room. She swung his hand the whole way, skipping behind him. Her shoes clicked on the marble steps.

Every time Arthur looked back, he was obviously trying to look glowery and dangerous and not to laugh at her.

He only succeeded in looking cute, so she laughed at him.

When they were in his bedroom, Arthur shut the door behind her and locked it.

“Oh, no,” she said, lounging on Arthur’s bed because she totally could.

The huge, king-sized monster hulked in the corner of the room. Carved enormous pillars were stained dark walnut, almost black, and held up the wooden canopy that soared nearly to the ceiling. It looked like something King Henry the Eighth might have slept in, and considering Arthur’s house and family, he might have.

A few months ago, she would have thought that it looked like a cage, a strongbox to imprison her, but now, it was architecture and history.

Damn. She could do anything.

Gen smiled at Arthur and asked, “What is the big, bad, dangerous man going to do to me?”

Gen said man instead of spy. She had totally wanted to say spy, but the ceiling or the windows might be listening.

Arthur removed a box from his dresser drawer and stripped crinkling plastic wrap off of it.

Another toy? Gen leaned to watch him.

The thing he took out looked like a skinny, chrome egg with a base to stand on. The egg part was squished, though, just kind of a bulge on the post. “What’s that?”

He smiled. “That’s your punishment.”

She squinted at it. “It’s kind of pretty.”

“You won’t be seeing much of it.”

“Oh?”

“Come here.”

Gen slid off the bed and vamped across the room, sliding her feet and wobbling her shoulders because she was trying to be sexy.

Arthur set the thing on the dresser and waited.

When she got close, Arthur grabbed her around the waist with one strong arm and spun her so that her back was to the dresser. He touched her sternum with two fingers and crowded her backward until she stumbled against the low chest. She sat on it heavily, thumping her butt. Her legs dangled off the side, and he parted her knees and stood between them.

When she was sitting down this way, Arthur was a lot taller than she was. Gen looked up when he lifted her chin with one finger. He bent, and she closed her eyes as his lips touched hers.

At first, he brushed her lips with his and was gentle, a transition from the long day to the night, where she belonged to him.

Gen moved, resting against him, leaning on his strength.

Arthur held her in his arms, and his arms tightened around her.

She wasn’t trapped. She was held.

His lips parted from hers. “Amber and red.”

“Amber and red,” she repeated, her lips almost touching his.

He said, “We should have done something about that,” and dove to kiss her harder.

His arms around her body loosened, but his hands gripped her shoulders. He grabbed her ass and scooted her forward, pulling her against him. One hand rose up her ribs to her breast, and he scooped her boob out of her dress and bra. He dragged her dress straps over her shoulders, almost tying her arms down, and released her other boob, too.

His thumb swiped across her nipple, then he rubbed it, and then he caught her peak between his strong fingers and held it until she was gasping and pushing against him while he pulled back and watched her with his burning silver-blue eyes.

When he let go, the blood rushing into her thin skin was a blast of pleasure so intense that she almost felt it as pain.

He brought his lips down on hers again, his tongue stroking hers in her mouth. His hands roamed her body, caressing and grasping her, until she was sure that he was going to take her right there on the dresser. Her panties were already in his pocket. All he had to do was unzip his pants.

His caresses got rougher, pinching her nipples and grasping her ass. She moaned and whispered his name against his lips, and his body bowed as he growled and caught her throat with his teeth.

He backed up a step, his teeth still grabbing her shoulder.

Gen stumbled off the dresser and fell against his chest. His arms were already there, around her, and he spun her so that she faced the dresser and the wall.

The wall didn’t even upset her. She bet that Arthur could shove her up against the wall and take her there and all she would be able to think about would be his huge body deep inside hers.

His hand touched her back, and he pushed, bending her over the dresser. The wood was cold under her bare boobs.

Gen reached across the wood and held on.

Arthur bent over and whispered in her ear, “Are you ready for your punishment?” His voice was rough, almost angry.

She nodded.

He flipped her skirt up over her ass and grabbed her ass cheek with his strong fingers, clutching her soft skin.

“God, I love your ass,” he growled. “I love your curves and your softness. Since that first day, when you bent over that file cabinet in that tight skirt, I’ve wanted your ass. Tonight, that’s your punishment.”

Gen looked over her shoulder at him.

He reached over to a drawer beside her and pulled out what looked like a tube of toothpaste. With his thumb, he flipped the cap up and squeezed a bead of clear gel on the bulb of the thing.

Oh.

Gen laid her cheek against the wood of the dresser and closed her eyes.

He kicked her feet apart, his shoes clicking against the red soles of her Louboutin high heels.

“Let’s see if you like it,” he said, his voice still low in his throat.

He touched the entrance to her core, not her ass, and slowly pushed his thick finger inside her. It slipped in easily.

“So wet,” he said, stroking her inside. “My little pet likes it rough. Duly noted.”

Gen was pretty sure Arthur already knew that, but hearing him say it made her feel small and vulnerable like he might feel free to get even rougher.

Her pussy clenched around his finger, and she almost came at the thought.

He pulled his finger out of her—his rough skin dragging on hers—and rubbed his slippery finger over her clit. Waves shivered up her, and she pushed back against his finger, trying to make him stroke her inside again.

Instead, the wet and cool thing nudged her ass.

His thumb slipped underneath and slipped between her folds, near her clit.

Arthur whispered, “Push back, pet.”

She did, and the thing nudged into her ass. Her body resisted, tightening.

When she moved back, his thumb rubbed lower, nearer her clit.

Her core tightened.

His voice lowered and was harsher. “Take it.”

Gen pushed back farther, and the tip slipped inside her. Her ass ached, but his thumb rubbed lower, almost to her clit. Her core tightened, closer to orgasm.

“More,” he said.

Gen rocked forward a little, letting the thing withdraw a bit, then pushed back harder. The thing drove farther inside her, a slow burn, but his thumb dragged across her clit.

She gasped at the swift bolt of pleasure through the burn.

“Good, pet,” he said. “More.”

Gen rocked, taking more of the thing with each stroke, while his thumb rubbed her hard nub between her folds.

When the thing pressed into her ass, it burned, but each stroke when he pulled the thing out of her was a slow friction of bliss. Her body clenched, nearing orgasm, and she gasped.

Arthur took his thumb away from her clit and pushed her down on the dresser, pulsing the thing until it slid all the way in, her muscular ring catching the post.

Gen panted, holding onto the dresser because her legs wobbled. Her body thrummed, so close to release. “Arthur, please.”

“No, pet,” he murmured, bending over her and kissing her shoulder. “Not yet. You’re being punished.”

“What?”

“Stand up, pet.” She wasn’t sure how that was going to work because the thing was still in her butt, so she pushed off the dresser with her arms, gingerly letting her weak legs take her weight.

The base was soft, maybe silicone, and didn’t poke her buttcheeks. Outside, it just kind of felt like a panty wedgie.

But inside, she felt fullness, like if it would just move inside her, pump into her a little more, she could come.

“Walk to me, pet.”

Gen held onto the dresser, panting. “Arthur, I can’t.”

“Of course you can, pet,” he said, stepping away from her. “Turn around, and come with me.”

She held onto the dresser as she pivoted in her heels.

Arthur was only a few steps away, and he held out his hand to her, palm up, fingers stretching.

Gen took a step on trembling legs, and her ass rubbed around the thing as she walked, almost like she was being screwed but not enough. Her high heels shook under her feet.

She grabbed his hand in the air and stepped close to him.

“Good, pet,” he said, his blue-silver eyes blazing. He fixed her dress, straightening the straps and tucking her boobs back in with care as if she were his little doll. He brushed the hem of her skirt, straightening it over her ass, and smoothed her hair. “Come with me.”

Gen held onto his arm as they walked, slowly, from his bedroom. She caught a glance of herself in his mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were too bright. His bite on her shoulder was turning pale pink.

Outside, in the hallway, Arthur gestured to a painting of a stern woman wearing a dark blue dress. “This portrait of my several times-great aunt, the Countess Kate, is from the seventeen hundreds,” he began.

When he glanced at Gen, his dark pupils were expanded in his pale eyes, and his lips were soft and pink from kissing her.

Her body thrummed.

Gen leaned against his side, and he wrapped his arm around her. He whispered, “Good girl.”

Her pulse galloped at his breath on her shoulder.

Arthur detailed several paintings as they strolled by, discussing the historical significance of the person depicted or of the painting itself.

His hand stroked her side, his thumb bumping over her soft chub through the thin fabric of the dress.

People drifted by as they walked. Staff members were dusting the tops of the painting’s frames or sculpture they passed, but when they saw that he was giving her a tour of the art, they scurried off.

During a moment when no one was on the landing with them, Arthur crowded her back into a niche between hallways. He spun, bringing his own back against the wall, and his strong arm clamped around her waist, holding her to him. He kissed her, his mouth hot on hers.

She clung to him as Spencer House swung around her dizzy head.

When he broke it off, she whispered, “I think I’m okay.”

He said, “I want you to be good, pet. I want you to be wonderful.”

“No, I mean—” She stepped to the side, turning him like they were dancing. “—I think I’m okay with this.”

The wall was hard behind her own back, and he was standing in her only line of escape, far too big to push past.

Gen told him, “I’m okay.”

Arthur’s eyes flared, and he smiled a sultry, devilish smile. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Repeat your safewords.”

“Amber and red,” she said, a flush of control running through her. Amber and red.

He caught her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head, stretching her against the wall. “Good?”

“Wonderful.” She was a little breathless, dying to know what he was going to do.

He kissed her, his mouth hard on hers and pulling at her lips.

His hand crept up her leg, first on her thigh, and then he grabbed her ass. His hand circled around to the front, and his fingers slipped against her clit.

He broke off the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. “I wasn’t going to let you come for another hour or so, but you’ve been such a good girl, pet. How can I resist?”

He held her there, her wrists trapped above her head and his hand under her skirt, while his fingers rubbed over the tense point of her clit and back into her pussy. He stroked, back and forth, over her and into her.

Gen gasped, her head thrown back against the wall. She couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t whimper and couldn’t moan, because any of his staff might be just around the corner, dusting the picture frames.

Arthur pressed more deeply into her, slipping his fingers inside her and rubbing. The butt thing pushed against his fingers, and as he drove her closer to orgasm, the thing filled her up from behind. His fingers rubbed inside her, and the tension broke into a pulse that rocketed up her spine to her head.

She clenched her hands, still locked in his hand above her head, into fists so she wouldn’t scream as the waves ran up her body.

Arthur released her hands. She sagged against him, her arms falling over his shoulders, but he caught her up in his arms and held her against his chest. She buried her face in his shoulder and panted as the waves ran through her.

She rolled her head and pressed her lips to his neck above his collar.

“Still all right?” he asked.

She whispered, “Oh, my God. Do it again.”

He adjusted his arms to hold her closer. “Good girl.”

When her legs would support her weight, Arthur peeked out of the niche, and they resumed the tour.

Dampness clung between her legs, and every step rubbed her excruciatingly sensitive folds together.

The thing in her butt rubbed her inside as she walked, sending little pulses through her.

When they reached the door to Arthur’s room again, he guided her inside because she was still reeling from his hands on her.

In there, he pushed her down over the dresser again, and Gen complied like the submissive little fucktoy that she was. She didn’t want to question him. She didn’t want to know what was going to happen. She just wanted to feel and to be this new, different, and unafraid thing she had become.

After all, toys aren’t afraid. Toys aren’t ashamed.

More plastic crinkled behind her, and a box popped open. Beside where her cheek was pressed to the dresser, Arthur’s hand picked up the tube with the gel in it.

He rubbed her back with his other hand, and Gen relaxed onto the dresser.

She closed her eyes.

Her ass was still in the air, perched high because her stiletto Louboutin pumps pushed her butt up.

The thing in her butt tugged and slid backward, a long, slow slide of pleasure, and it was gone.

She felt empty and collapsed, like after sex.

Arthur whispered, “Breathe.”

Gen relaxed further, willing her body to flop like a sex doll.

Again, cold wetness touched her butt. It slipped farther inside.

And it kept pushing inside her, farther, and bigger.

He pumped it gently, burn and pleasure over and over, until she was panting again, letting him have her body and her mind.

It was bigger and harder than the first one, a deeper penetration and bigger stretch, filling her.

Gen held onto the dresser as Arthur slid it until it finally popped inside, and the soft end touched her butt cheeks.

“It’s beautiful,” Arthur said, his voice breathy.

She looked back over her shoulder again. His silvery-blue eyes were bright, and he was breathing deeply.

Damn, Arthur really liked seeing that sliding into her ass.

Oh, she knew how this night was going to end.

Gen pushed herself up, sturdier on her feet this time, and tugged her skirt down. “Show me the art.”

Arthur offered her his elbow. “Right this way.”

He walked her around the other wing of the landing, pointing out paintings and pushing her into niches for scalding kisses.

His body was practically vibrating with energy, and when no one was around, he pushed her against a wall and reached under her skirt to stroke her clit and push the thing just a half an inch deeper inside her.

Her body was revving up again, and Gen began watching for the little alcoves Arthur was going to shove her into, anticipating it. She followed him like a wraith with no will of her own, letting him kiss her and fuck her with his fingers. She was quivering, dying for the next moment when he would run his thumb across her clit or kiss her while he squeezed her nipple until the sting became hard pleasure.

His bedroom door rose in front of them again, and Arthur pulled her inside, kissed her hard, and told her, “Just one more. Just one more, larger one, then you’ll be ready.”

He bent her over the dresser again, shoving Gen down and pulling the thing out in one smooth slip that left her gasping.

Empty, too empty, and she wanted him to fill her up, harder.

Rustling plastic, the pop of a box opening, and he grabbed at the tube on the dresser.

The cold and hard thing again nudged her ass, and he whispered, “Relax and push against it.”

Gen was a nothing of nothing, a body to be done to, and she relaxed so he could push it into her.

The thing was tapered, so the invasion wasn’t startling. She was open and vulnerable to it. The thing kept going, pushing deeper and thicker inside her, and she panted.

Her fingers grappled at the edge of the dresser.

On and on, and he slid it out and in, deeper and harder and bigger, and it seated inside her.

He pulled her up by her shoulders, and his mouth came down on hers. He kissed her like he was starving, like he was almost out of control. He grabbed her thigh and wrapped her leg around his waist so he could run his fingers through her folds and almost bring her to the edge again.

He whispered, “Last one, then I can have you.”

Damn, that was sexy.

Arthur walked her outside to the paintings, and this turn of the extensive art collection within Spencer House involved only a few notes about paintings and sculpture.

They passed staff people cleaning and working, bustling around in the ancient manor house.

Her legs rubbed together, the dampness slicking her thighs and her sensitive folds. The butt thing filled her like Arthur was taking her right there.

She wasn’t walking around after having sex.

She was walking around in the middle of sex, while he was having her, walking around the house and among the staff while being fucked but they didn’t know it.

It wasn’t humiliating.

It was the naughtiest, dirtiest thing ever, far more so than mere scruffing in a niche or a car in public. She was a submissive little fucktoy who didn’t have to ask and who didn’t have to worry, and nothing could ever be better.

Lots of alcoves jutted out off of the main corridor, and he shoved her into every one of them. His hands gripped her skin, tight on her arms and hips and thighs, and his mouth was hot on her neck. He scraped his teeth over her shoulders, marking her raw skin, and she leaned into his mouth. He slid his rough fingers inside her and against that fat thing filling her ass and pumped until she was gritting her teeth, teetering on the edge of orgasm, but he pulled his fingers out and left her trembling against his shoulder before he made her walk farther.

The tall, double door to his bedroom loomed ahead.

Three paintings separated them from the door, and Arthur pressed her to his side and walked past them.

Inside, he picked her up in his arms, kicked the door closed, and strode to the bed. He dumped her on the sheets and stripped off his clothes, hopping as he struggled to shove his shoes off.

Gen pushed herself up on her elbows. Submissive sextoy or not, naked-Arthur was always an impressive sight.

His shirt fell to the floor, baring the multiple bulges of his shoulders and arms and the ripples of his abs. The watercolor tattoo flowed blue and red over his back, down his arms, and under the waistband of his pants.

He unbuckled his belt and jerked open his pants, shoving them down his slim hips and long, muscular thighs.

One of the tendrils of ink wrapped around his waist and trickled down the deep vee of muscle over his groin. His cock was already hard and erect, tight and curving slightly back against his belly.

In seconds, he was naked and scrambling onto the bed at her.

Gen fell back, limp, and Arthur’s skin slipped over her as he grabbed her, shoving her underneath himself.

He kissed her hard, pushing his tongue into her mouth and grabbing at her flesh. Gen writhed under him, wrapping her legs and arms around him and trying to impale herself on his erection.

Arthur pulled away and grabbed her shoulder to flip her over on her stomach.

He struggled backward. Gen looked back. He found another tube and some other things in his nightstand drawer, and he turned back and grabbed her hips, yanking her into the air.

Gen crouched, her ass in the air and that thing still in there.

Arthur said, “If you want to use your safewords, do it now.”

She said, “I’m yours.”

Arthur groaned and eased the last, biggest plug out of her butt, stroking her ass with it as he did, getting her used to that, too.

The burn going in and the sweet relief and ecstasy pulling out spun her head again, and she moaned.

He pulled it out, and she was open and empty.

Her breath caught in her throat.

A wet sound, like skin slapping skin, flapped behind her. This time, the thing nudging her asshole was warm and wet.

Gen grabbed the sheets in her fists.

Arthur held her hips and pushed the head of his cock inside her, a pinch of pain as he slid inside, and a long, deep burn.

He was thicker than the plugs, and she stretched around him. Gen panted, taking him in like a submissive fucktoy.

Let him have her. Let him fuck her hard.

He slid inside her ass, so long and deep inside her, and she ached inside.

His pelvis touched her butt cheeks, and he slowly pulled back.

Pleasure shivered up her spine with each inch that he pulled back, moments lengthening into long breaths.

He held her hips, pressing in slowly and pulling out even slower. She could hear Arthur’s deep breaths as he fought for control.

His hands left her hips. One strong arm wrapped her waist as he plunged into her, and he hauled her body up so she was kneeling in front of him. Gen reached behind her head, grabbing his shoulders to steady herself. His arm moved up, gripping across her chest and shoulder to pin her body to his chest.

He grabbed something off the bed and reached under her, between her legs.

Gen gave herself up to him.

He fucked her ass from behind, and he pushed a hard thing against her clit.

It roared against her, shivering against her skin and clit. Her body clenched, tightening until she was a shaking knot of need. The vibrator shoved harder. His cock pushed deeper into her ass and throbbed inside her, and the tension cracked.

Her whole body pulsed in a deep orgasm that blasted through her, every nerve singing. Pulses shivered in her core and drove outward, filling her. Long, deep rushes like soaring through the sky and drifting downward spun her, and she gasped and shook in his arms.

Behind her, Arthur jerked inside her and spent himself, falling on her but holding himself up so he wouldn’t crush her. He pulled out of her and stripped off the condom, knotting it and throwing it in a wastepaper basket.

Gen was shaking, a wretched mess, and she curled into his chest. He held her, his arms strong around her. Tears wet her eyes.

He asked, aghast, “Why didn’t you use your safeword?”

“I didn’t want to. Oh, God, Arthur. Oh, my God. I never knew. I never knew to want it.”

Arthur cradled her in his arms, rocking her. “Good, pet. Good girl. You’re mine. You’re all mine.”

When she looked up, he was smiling.