I moan out at the dark promise of his words and at the slight sting as he pulls out and pushes two fingers into me to stretch me farther. I’m just about used to the feeling when the head of his dick rests against the entrance to my sex, taunting me with possibilities of what’s to come. He leaves it resting there—a tantalizing torture for me to crave—before he begins to move his fingers again at a faster pace.
My head hangs down, my hair tickling my cheeks as it falls over the blindfold, and I absorb everything that’s being awakened within me. I’m not sure what I expected, but I don’t feel much, and then when he thrusts his cock into my pussy and his fingers begin to move again, two worlds of sensations crash together. His forward movements push his fingers in farther and the hum in the back of my throat involuntarily comes out as my muscles begin to loosen and accept.
He rides me in a slow and steady cadence that allows me to feel every ridge of his crest as he slides in and back against my slick walls. I lose myself—my thoughts, my guilt, my resistance—in the calming rhythm of his body owning mine. My breasts jostle forward each time his hips connect with the backs of my thighs and urges the ache to burn a little stronger, a little deeper.
His other hand smooths across my ass, but it’s the feel of a pointed tip of an object firm yet soft that pulls my mind from the haze of mounting pleasure. He runs the object slowly over one side of my buttocks and then rolls it across my lower back so I can feel the unmistakable shape of the plug before he continues down the other side. He then glides the point slowly up between my legs and around his cock and fingers buried within me, a taunting foreplay of what comes next.
My captor continues to trace imaginary lines with the plug over and over, my mind becoming so used to the feeling, the heightened awareness of its course that I begin to fall back under the rhythm of my building orgasm. And it’s when I do this, when I allow myself to succumb to the barrage of sensation within caused by his skillful cock, that he pulls his fingers out and pushes the plug inside of me. Because it’s a little larger, a little harder, it causes the abundance of nerves there to sing in resistance for a moment.
My body tenses at the lasting burn, earning me a tsk from him. “Relax. Don’t fight it, bella.” He stills his hips and presses the plug in even farther until it fits within my rim and my muscles flex around it. My eyes sting from the quick sear of pain, but before I can wriggle my hips away from him, his hands dig into the curves of my ass and squeeze possessively as he slams into me, the slap of skin on skin a mix with his guttural groan. I forget that there is someone else in the room, forget the threat to find pleasure and enjoy, because that option was a forgone conclusion the minute he thrust inside of me.
And this time as he works my pussy over and over, my muscles begin to clench around him and the overabundance of nerves stretched around the plug light everything on fire a little stronger, a lot more intense. The warmth begins to surge through my body, thoughts, desires, and pleasure—all colliding in a perfect storm of sensation that I’ve lost the fight to resist. My shoulders sag, my elbows give way, and my chest and shoulders press into the mattress beneath me, giving him one hundred percent control to manipulate my sex.
And even though I’d felt the buildup of my orgasm, when it hits me, when my body seizes with the catastrophic depths of pleasure that pulse through my core and reverberate through my every fiber, I’m stunned speechless at the unfettered intensity of it. My body writhes uncontrollably, my lips part with a moan, and goose bumps blanket my body despite the heat holding me hostage.
“So beautiful, so responsive,” he murmurs as he stills within me and caresses the curve of my ass. I slowly reawaken from my post-orgasmic coma and recognize the unmistakable sounds of Marco stroking himself beside me. I’m immediately on alert, my synapses firing despite still being drugged from the orgasm’s intoxication. The awareness of his presence, of the knowledge that he is here getting off watching us, leaves me feeling vulnerable, ashamed.
“Are you ready?”
My head jolts up at my captor’s voice, unsure which of us he’s speaking to. I exhale slowly, waiting in silent impatience as my captor withdraws from me. The sudden emptiness is unwelcome and unexpected, but I bite back the groan of disapproval because I have a feeling he is no longer the one in control, Marco is.
“What is your choice? Entrambi sono la perfezione.” His hands leave my skin, the plug still remaining, and I hear the floorboards creak as he steps back. His chuckle resonates in the room in a response I can’t see. “As you wish,” he says and I work a swallow down my throat as I wait to learn the ramifications of that statement.
I cry as my hips are grabbed roughly and jerked up in the air. I instinctively angle my head back to try and see what’s happening—my mind so occupied on what’s next, I forget the blindfold covering my eyes. I feel someone move between my parted legs, and my sight isn’t needed to understand what happens next. I’m forced up on my elbows as a body slides beneath me and up the mattress, bare flesh grazing just barely against my hypersensitive skin. I suck in a breath as he shudders one out when my nipples slide over his chest as he positions himself. I feel tugging at my ankle restraints and then feel the tension ease the strain on my legs. I pull my legs in closer, relieved to have more freedom and find them framing the torso beneath me. I flex my hips, the plug slightly uncomfortable as it remains within me.
Who is beneath me and who is behind me?
My mind works furiously trying to calm myself as nerves hum and anxiety ratchets to new heights. I know what is going to happen next, have always wondered what it would be like, but now that I’m here in the moment, I’m nervous. I never figured I’d actually talk Anderson into trying this, and obviously, I never expected if I did get the chance that I’d be bound and blindfolded.
Chills dance up my spine as my breasts brush against the chest beneath me, and I still as hands frame my jaw. “Are you ready?” my captor murmurs into my ear. I sag in relief, thankful again that he is the one beneath me, the one near my face, because Marco unnerves me. I’ve formed a misconstrued trust with my captor, but in this situation filled with unknowns, I know he may have started all of this, but he has also kept his word to me thus far.
I exhale a shaky breath and nod subtly as I feel Marco brush against me from behind. “Bella, do you have any idea how gorgeous you look right now? How jealous your husband should be that I get to fuck you when you look like this? Nipples tight, pussy dripping, wax hardened, and my marks on your back? Does he know you need this? Need to be tested? Dominated? Filled? Used? Fucked within an inch of exhaustion?”
A strangled sound comes from my throat—part sob, part desperation—when he refers to Anderson. I don’t want him mentioned, don’t want to be reminded of the kindhearted man I am betraying. No, that I’m being forced to betray. My body vibrates for more, but my head begins to win the battle, the guilt returning full force. The tears well and my limbs tremble as his hands run down the sides of my torso, rough calluses against my smooth skin.
He slides his hands down to my hips and guides them forward before releasing one hand. I immediately feel the crest of his cock swipe over my clit, separating the flesh there, and positioning himself at my entrance. Marco’s hands grab hold of my hips from behind, and slowly pushes me down so that my captor’s cock fills me at an agonizingly slow pace. My body shudders at the sensation, nerves raked over, and swollen muscles unable to resist the re-ignition of desire. Fingers reach down and apply lubricant gently around where we are joined and then back up to where the plug still remains.