Sacred Revelations (26 page)

I giggle, not meaning to, my mind is as mushy as the mud covering my body as I think, how could I ever forget this? “Isn’t making love supposed to be in my pussy?”

“Says who?” Pushing all his weight onto me, he covers my mouth with his kiss, crushing air from my lungs, stopping my laugh. He is needy and intense and this is not the time for humor. Yeah, I get that. I meet his mouth with equal fervency, tongues dueling, teeth colliding, I grunt, trying to breathe, trying to shift my weight a little, but he holds me, bent double, knees pressed to my shoulders, skull crushed into the mud.

“Please, Fyre, now! I can’t wait anymore. I need you now!”

“You want me to fuck your ass?”

I nod frantically.

“Beg me,” he demands, his fingers pressing into my tight hole, finding that I am wet, slick. He rims my anus with his fingers, sliding through the mud to push into me, testing my flesh. He repeats the command in a growl, “Beg.”

I hunch and arch, begging suddenly not a problem as I am shaken with a need more primal than I have ever felt. I beg, not recognizing my own voice, sounding raw, guttural—primitive. “Fuck me!

Fuckmefuckmefuckme! Please Lord Fyre, ohgod, pleasepleaseplease, fuck me in the ass. I want you to, I need you to, I want our first time to be special. Please do it, do it now!”

His penis pushes at my entrance, more than ready to comply, my body is less sure.

“Relax,” he commands, aiming himself using his hand. I pray to be able to relax enough to take him, gasping when he plunges deep. I rear away, trying to get away from the fire eating though my sensitive hole.

“Ohmygod, oh my God! Stop, stop, stop!” I cry out.

His hand comes down hard on my ass, new, stinging pain replacing the fire. I try to buck away again. He grabs my face, forcing me to look into his eyes, his intensity swallowing me. He slaps my ass again, holding my gaze, letting me know without a doubt it is what he wants, not what I want. Like magic, he slides deep, deeper than anything I’ve ever had shoved in my ass. Hallelujah .

“Good girl, sweetheart. Give me what I want.” His eyes command me in unspoken language, surrender, give over to me, trust me.

He slides in and out, though I am still tight, I feel full enough to explode, but it is a good full, a good tight.

My entire body sighs with pleasure.

“What do you want?” I ask softly.

He thrusts in and out easily, building the pressure between my legs that promises an all out explosion of pleasure. Thrust, thrust, thrust.

Swirls of pleasure run through me, and suddenly it climbs, taking me higher and higher. I arch into him, taking him deeper, whispering, “Harder,” as I reach to touch myself with my own fingers. He doesn’t tell me to stop, he holds my gaze with that naughty, naughty smile he is capable of.

“I want this,” he finally answers, pinching and holding my ass. “I want you. You are mine. Don’t forget it!” He barks, throwing his head back, shouting, “Mine!”

“I am yours,” I echo, screaming into the night air as the promised pleasure explodes through me like a million starbursts, leaving me limp, and very, very satisfied.

Crushed by the behemoth of a man on top of me, I try to wiggle out enough to breathe, but not enough for him to slide out of me. He feels distinctly still hard, but I’m not taking any chances. I want him inside me, I want him to grow soft inside me.

“Don’t even dream about asking me to move,” he pants, still breathing hard.

I wrap my arms around him. “I don’t want you to move, baby.”

He lifts his head off my breast, mud covering his cheek and part of his beard. “Baby?”

I smile broadly, giggling at his unbelieving, sarcastic tone.

“I make love to you, and you think you can call me baby?” he chuckles, digging his thumbs between my ribs. I giggle and scream and curse, wiggling deeper into the mud pit our evening activities have created.

It hurts so good, I think I’ll wet myself, but settle for shrieking hysterically, in a good way.

“Baby, baby, baby!” I squeal as he tickles.

He finally stops and rolls onto his side, his exhausted penis slipping free.

“Aww.” I pout. “I liked him inside of me. I wanted to keep him there forever.”

“That would be a bit hard to explain to Garrett, but I could try.”

I cringe, thinking, oh God, what time is it?

“Too late for remorse, love, you’re mine now. I won’t walk away a second time.”

“I know,” I say, rubbing my muddy hand over my brow, making a bigger mess of my face than I know it already is. I say, “I know,” a second time, more for myself than for him, convincing me, I think, more than him that I do understand.

“It is going to be okay,” he promises. “I know you love him and I’m not asking you not to. We’ll work this out.”

“Thank you.” I smile at him, though I feel it is a small smile, not broad, and the corners of my mouth shake. I will not cry, not when I have everything I’ve asked for.

I squish my hands into the mud and bring a handful up to his face, squishing onto his cheeks, pulling it into his beard. “And you promised! So we will make this work.”

“Oh, you are so going to pay for that!” he cries out.

We walk to the cars, muddy hand in muddy hand. We are a mess, and it is past midnight by his watch. I don’t wear one, so I’ll take his word for it. It was so much easier to be brave two hours ago, now…worry knots wrap my insides in agony.

I open my car door but Fyre stops me with his hand on my arm, smearing mud. “Come to my car a second.”

I follow him, waiting by his car while he rummages in his trunk. He pulls out two beach towels. “Cover your seat. There will still be mud…but you won’t ruin your seats.”

“Thanks,” I say, rushed to leave. Turning to walk away without a touch, without a second look, knowing every minute past midnight I’m not at the club, Garrett will notice. My mind whirls, trying to think what I am going to say to him. The last thing I want to do is hurt him. A little late for that, my brain argues.

“Wait.” He uses his Master voice, and I stop short, turning to face him. He comes away from his trunk with a bright red loop of rope. “Come here.”

I approach him, but reluctantly, I see that he is already twisting the rope into a series of knots. I stand watching him as he knots, dried dirt coming off his fingers into the weave. I chew my bottom lip, worried.

It looks like the collar he made me wear when I went to him. It wasn’t pleasant and I was thankful when he finally removed it. I didn’t get to watch him make it the first time. Watching him create this new collar, and I have no doubt now what he intends, I am fascinated by the process.

With the collar complete, he pulls me into him, pivoting me around to place the rope to my neck. I try to pull away, panicking, not wanting Garrett to find out like this. He holds my arm, saying only, “No.”

Unsaid are the words he said only moments ago, too late for regrets and you are mine now .

He loops, ties and finishes off the end. I swallow, knowing this sensation was coming, not liking it any

more than the first time. My collar is a choker, rough, dried hemp, directly over my larynx. It rubs my skin with each swallow; I will be rubbed raw by morning. I really, really hated wearing this before.

“Why?” I ask, a tear falling onto my cheek.

He lifts the gold circlet of Garrett’s collar so that the ruby dangles, glinting in a street light. It winks gaudily though it is a very expensive bauble.

“You wear this because you are Garrett’s. I made love to you anyway, eating my pride and deeming it worth it to share you. Now, you will go to Garrett wearing my collar, a statement that you are mine—even though you still wear his collar, still his. He’ll figure out the implications fairly quickly.”

Oh, shit.

The rough rope around my neck itches, and already I feel my skin burning. Lord Fyre has sent me into war, but this is my fault. I am the worst kind of woman. I don’t know what that is, but a dozen filthy names come to mind and none of them good. My hand trembles as I push the key into my lock. I went home to my quaint Victorian on the hill, needing time to think. I need a plan, getting de-mudded first on the list. No, I need to call Master so he won’t be too worried—I tried calling from my cell to his while I drove here, but hung up hearing his voice on his voicemail. What would I say?

I enter the dark house to the clang of a dozen antique clocks, all clamoring one, two gongs. It is two a.m. Holy shit.

Turning on the lights, I go straight to the laundry room, adding soap to the washer as I peel off wet, muddy jeans and a soaked tank top. I step out of my cute leather sandals, sure that they are ruined. I toss them aside to deal with after they dry out and turn to go into the kitchen. I am shaking so badly a cup of hot tea seems to be a good place to start, followed by a hot bath. By then I will know what to say to Garrett—I hope.

“Sex is the only power I know that can defeat the awful pressure of the present.”

-Colin Wilson, Sex Diaries of a Metaphysician

Garrett

I’m drinking cola tonight, shocking even myself when I grabbed it from the bar. I hear Thomas’s voice reprimanding me, dead brain cells don’t think, knowing that she is with him. I don’t want to think about him, I do, I especially don’t want to think about her with him, but that too I do.

His voice rolls through my head.

He was also once my Master, so I too easily understand why she is so drawn to him.

When pacing doesn’t produce her, I call her cell phone. When she doesn’t answer, I get slightly worried, but not frantic. After what I’ve gone through over the years, I should be terrified but I’m not and for the sake of knowing Kitten so well and especially knowing Thomas so well, I’m not frantic or

terrified. Nothing tragic has befallen Kitten. Unless she herself sees this moment as tragic.

Her moral fiber may be what destroys her…

Moral…but not so moral that she couldn’t stop herself from seeking him—and I know that he did not seek her out—I trust him that much because I know him that well. Kitten, on the other hand, is a big throbbing vessel of need. I’ve felt her desire simmering just below the surface. I see the look on her face and know she is thinking about him, remembering what they shared. I know that look because I’ve worn that look myself. Thomas is a hard man to get over, and last night, when their eyes met, the entire room felt the tremor of excitement. She still wants him and the look in his eyes told me without a doubt that he isn’t over her either.

Kicking back the cola, I guzzle what is left in the glass. I swallow hard, trying not to remember the days and weeks following my own self-incarceration with Lord Fyre. I’d wanted him to teach me to be a Dominant, because my boyfriend, Tony, was tired of the role, and truly, Tony was submissive. He could pull off dominant, but he didn’t want to. So I left Tony to spend two weeks with Lord Fyre. I’d ended up staying a little longer than that, not because Lord Fyre had forced me to stay, but because I’d wanted to stay.

Only a year had passed when I saw him again and I’d be lying if I said I’d never thought about him, what we’d shared, him as Master, me as submissive. We were at one of Jackie’s famous parties. She’d given lots of parties in those days. Our crowd had nowhere to go just to hang out in the pre-Lewd Larry days and so Jackie had been filling a need for the community.

I’d approached him while he was filling a paper plate with snacks. Made small talk, and when that had failed, I mentioned my lecture series that I was taking across country. I explained to him that his words were a recording in my head, becoming the basis for most of my series of lectures. I offered to share what profits I’d made using his words, my presentation to the masses, but he hadn’t wanted my money, saying, “You’ve made what I’ve taught you your own. What you teach isn’t my style of dominating, it’s yours.”

I almost felt like I’d offended him with my offer. Then he punched me, hard. We shared a laugh and that was the end of it. Almost.

He’d turned away, his plate filled with little triangle-shaped sandwiches, chips and brownies and taken two steps before turning back to face me. His smile was devastating, evil and so sexually and completely seductive that, for a moment, life stilled. All that mattered was his deep brown eyes locked on mine. The thudding in my heart let me know I still wanted what he could give me.

He took the two steps back to where I stood and ducked his head forward so that his lips were even with my ear. “Nice to know, I can still Master you.” He laughed then and walked away for real.

My heart stayed high and tight, pounding in my throat for a long time. I was shaking because I wanted to follow him, I wanted him to Master me, but a greater moral obligation kept me loyal to Tony.

He approached me from nowhere, wrapping around me, tugging my ear in between his lips for the bite kiss that had become a comfort between us.

“Tony,” I sighed against him, letting him love me, letting him chase away the memory of all that I had experienced beneath Lord Fyre’s hand.

“Take me home?” he asked.

I looked at him hard then, but he was busy stroking my body, making me want to take him home even though going home was the last thing he really wanted to do. He could have partied all night and lasted until midday the following day. He was sacrificing for me. Taking me away from the temptation, giving me a buffer zone to forget in.

I should have been willing to give Kitten the same decency.

I didn’t and now I pay the price with my imagination, my doubts, knowing in my heart that she just wasn’t strong enough to resist the lure. If I find her in time, I’ll take her away. Jackie keeps telling me I need a vacation and time away from here is definitely the prescription for what ails Kitten. Distance and time.

I am overjoyed when I see her car in the driveway and the lights on inside her house. I follow the trail of lighted rooms, parlor to dining room to kitchen. Hearing the automatic cycle of her washing machine, I go straight to her laundry room. She doesn’t see me, doesn’t yet know I am here. Seeing her, it is all I can do to keep from rushing to her to find out what happened, but I don’t because just finding her here at her house, instead of at the penthouse, alerted me to the fact that something is up.