Driftwood Deeds(16)

“There’s something for you to work on,” he said with a gentle smile and patted my cheek. And just like that my cunt started to contract hard around itself, grasping at nothing. It wasn’t quite an orgasm but it made me moan and I showered his cock in kisses, licked all my sticky saliva off the beautifully defined head before he violated my mouth again. This time he pushed slowly, deeper and deeper until I couldn’t breathe and my throat contracted hard around him, trying to fight the intruder. It was the first time I heard him groan in pleasure.

My eyes were leaking by the time he pulled out and I keeled forward against him, gasping for air while he patted my head tenderly, whispering compliments that soothed my soul. I can’t say that I was crying even though tears ran down my cheeks unchecked. I wasn’t in pain or discomfort, I wasn’t afraid or shocked. I just wanted more and the tears seemed like a purely physical reaction, much like my cunt couldn’t stop getting wetter and wetter for him either. He gently brushed my tears away and told me how beautiful I looked like that. Again, I licked him clean and this time, he made me ask him to fuck my mouth again. And again.

Each time, he seemed to cut off my air supply a second or so longer, seemed to enjoy my spasming throat just a little more. After the third time he kissed my sweaty forehead.

“Well, done little puppy. Hands between your legs,” he said. “You can rub yourself until I come.”

I did as he asked and almost fainted with joy when my fingers touched a clit all but screaming for release. When he started to fuck my mouth again, though, hard and fast this time, I could hardly keep a rhythm and all my concentration went into my mouth, into keeping it open, into breathing and controlling my gag reflex.

I didn’t come, but it strangely felt like I did when he sprayed his seed against the roof of my mouth and I swallowed it down like a precious gift. It tasted bitter, salty and harsh like the sea. He pulled out and then lifted me to my feet before he enveloped me in his arms. My limbs were numb and hardly there and I was still panting, exhausted as though a truck load of new emotions, sensations, pain and desire had run me over. It was the most at peace I had ever felt.

He kissed my hair, wiped my face again with a wet towel and then helped me into his shirt, closing just one button across my breasts. Then he took my hand and led me out of the bathroom.

“My poor, beautiful girl. I think you need a little rest.”





IX





“Are you hungry?”

I looked up at Paul, uncomprehending for a moment. My mouth still tasted like him and at first, I could only understand it as a reference to more semen. Something had changed in his face, though, as he led me into his kitchen. It felt far more spacious now than it had upon my first visit here—I attributed that to the cramped quarters of the bathroom. It was hard to accept that the room hadn’t changed at all, when everything else, down to the very molecular composition of my cells, seemed to have been fundamentally altered in the last two hours. But there was the kettle he’d used to boil water for our tea, there the spines of the books I’d spied earlier, there the fresh herbs on the windowsill: rosemary, thyme, coriander, basil. I could smell them from where I stood with senses that still felt preternaturally heightened by the experience.

“I like sitting here while I cook,” he explained with a shrug. I followed his gaze to a leather armchair, squashed into a corner I hadn’t noticed before. It looked slightly greasy but comfortable, with a buttery sheen that came from long years of use.

“Why don’t you sit and I make you something? I wouldn’t want to deplete your reserves completely.”

He grinned knowingly—Paul and his mind reading. I did feel like I had run out of gasoline or battery power during our time in the bathroom. Although, I suppose a simple look at my face and the lack of tension in my muscles would have given him all the information he needed without looking into my soul at all.

When I sat down, the cushion was cold against my bruised behind but just that day, I didn’t care that I was sitting bare-assed on leather. It was still hard to speak and he didn’t push me. Instead, I leaned back and watched him. He looked taller from my lower vantage point, even more luminous and stunning. He had pulled up his zipper but not found another shirt. There was an intriguing symmetry to that: me naked from the waist down, he from the waist up. I could see his muscles flex under his skin when he reached into the overhead compartment to pull down a glass, then soften and realign in their original position.

“Juice?” he asked and I nodded. When he handed it to me, he added. “Good for your blood sugar.”