Strictly Taboo(20)

He wanted more today. Her usual state of post-coital indolence wasn’t enough. He wanted to wear her out. She had to be careless afterwards.



He rose up on his toes and leaned into her. Her eyes sprang open in surprise. She gasped, “Artimis, you’re stretching me.”



“I know, my love. Today is special.” His push penetrated another inch. He did it twice more, moving her legs up to rest on his shoulders after the first one. She panted like a dog in the summertime after the second push.



He checked her pupils and found them completely dilated. He withdrew and plunged in again; slowly for the first few penetrations then faster.



He knew which parts of her body became sensitive and when it happened. After he began the dance, he needed to reach down and twist and pull her nipples; both at the same time. She held her breasts up to his hands. He waited for the next trigger point. She needed to arch her back again and groan.



That milestone came almost immediately. He settled his mind and concentrated. He wanted to bring her almost to orgasm and back off and do it again and again.



He sped up slightly to put stress on her little nub and moved his right hand to her nipple.



He got into a sustainable rhythm and rode it until she bucked against him and pounded her hands on the sheets. He backed off and slowed down to bring her back from orgasm. She groaned in disappointment. He put her through this procedure five times. By the last, she was sweating like a long-distance runner and pleading with him. She repeated the phrase “Oh please, Arty (he hated the word ‘Arty’), let me finish.” Her hips jerked up and down constantly.



He saw that he was going to lose her, that her orgasm would simply drain away if he didn’t act. He increased the tempo of his thrusts again and ground his thumb into her clitoris with increased force. The coup de grace came when he pinched and rolled her right nipple painfully and held it.



She erupted into a record-setting orgasm; rocking back on the top of her head and sending her eyes up out of view. Her arms and legs twitched and flailed without conscious pattern, and she strained to produce the grunts that matched the contractions in her sheath. It ran on for almost a minute. Artimis carefully judged how much more to do. He knew there was another one close, and she needed to have its full effect.



It ran her over like a stampeding horse. She’d settled down into the bed when abruptly she cried out louder than before. Artimis watched the muscles in her chest tighten. He knew the muscles in her back did the same thing at the same time. She struggled for breath, sucking sexually scented air painfully into her lungs. The skin on her chest and neck became mottled with red, pale and pink.



She curled up towards him as if she wanted something. She looked in his eyes for support and found what she thought was love and encouragement.



He stimulated her sensitive places until she lapsed back on the bed and brushed his hands away. She huffed like a steam locomotive going up a steep hill.



He carefully kept track of her eyes. If they started going quickly from side to side, she had another one coming.



Her pupils darted from one wall to the other, and Artimis grabbed her breast and stuffed a hand between her legs and worked her body. She cried out again. He made her body feeling every thrill and shiver it could.



She finally ran out. She let her arms and legs fall to the sheet and tilted her head back. She opened her mouth and breathed deeply and completely. She was done.



He adjusted his penetration so that it didn’t stress any part of her sheath more than another and brought himself to finality. He remembered to grunt and moan, as if in terrible pain, as he pumped his semen inside her waiting and welcoming sheath.



He collapsed down on her and they rested. If he turned his head slightly, he could see the clock on the night stand. He did quick calculations. He needed to keep her resting underneath him for another fifteen minutes. He needed to quell the forces inside her which wanted to mate again quickly and let her fall into the delicious fatigue and limp-muscled exhaustion that would dull her senses.



He rolled off her and used his arm to bring her boneless body against and on top of him. Her head rested on his chest. She wandered close to sleep.



He said, in a casual tone, as if he were a husband making conversation, “How was the office today?”



It took several seconds for her to gather enough acuity to swallow twice and begin to talk. Her voice was far off and reluctant. “Not bad. The boss wants a wife. He’s advertising for one. That’s silly.”



That was it. The bastard wasn’t going to contest the will. He was going to fulfill it.



Henrietta Donnelly had served her purpose in his little universe. He glanced at the clock. “Henrietta, you naughty girl. You’ve made me lose track of time. I have a meeting in ten minutes.”