Spirit (22 page)

“Well done, love. You didn’t drop it.”

“What? Drop what?”

“Our little toy. You can let me have it now though.”

“Oh, okay, how should I…”

Allow me.” He parts the lips of my pussy and inserts two fingers to grasp the end of the vibrator. It’s still throbbing as he pulls it out. He says nothing more as he inserts one slick finger into my arse. My sated, relaxed state makes the penetration easier, and I’m beyond any shred of modesty or resistance. Shit hot screaming orgasms can have that effect, I’m learning. Has he more in store for me?

He withdraws his finger and replaces it with the solid head of the bullet, still warm from my body.

“Try to push back against it if you can.” Matt twists the blunt end inside me, easing it inside. It doesn’t hurt, but it does feel strange, more alien than his finger did. I obey him, pushing back in opposition to the gentle pressure he’s exerting. The vibrator sinks in deeper, and I let out a sharp hiss, more of uncertainty than any real protest.

“Okay?”

I nod, grunting as he nudges it a little farther in.

“Enough I think. Now we have some real fun…”

I’m not convinced there is any more fun to be had this side of heaven, but say nothing. I rest my forehead on the rail, acutely aware of the stretching in my arse though the toy is small and slim. Moments later it erupts into life again as Matt activates the vibrate function. I flinch, gasping at the intensity as the shudders rock my core.

“Oh, oh, Matt, it’s too much.”

“Hang in there a few moments, let it happen, love.” His hand on my naked back makes large, soothing circles, steadying me when I might have caved in to the unfamiliar sensations. I draw in several deep breaths, filling my lungs them emptying them slowly.

He’s right, I can do this. I can. I let out another long, low moan as the exquisite beauty of the inner pulsing fills my senses, and suddenly I’m desperate for him to caress my clit some more. I can come again, long and hard and deep, if he’d just…

“Is this what you need?” He’s there, reaching between my legs. He takes my throbbing nub between his finger and thumb to squeeze and roll it, tugging just a little.

“Yes, oh yes…” I sway my hips, rolling my forehead across the rail as I stretch under his gentle ministrations.

Matt’s touch is more firm now, more demanding. My response builds, gathering at my core, blossoming as he strokes and stretches and presses on that sweet spot. I let out a sharp cry as the intensity of the vibration increases. He’s ramped it up a little, then a little more as I keen softly. He slips three fingers into my pussy, stroking the most sensitive spot there too, and I’m lost.

I convulse around his fingers and the vibrator, gyrating my hips hard as I squeeze down on the precious digits and pulsing toy, wringing every last shred of delight from them.

I’m still trembling as Matt flicks the switch to stop the vibrations and slides the bullet from my arse. He drops it onto the carpet then unties my hands. His arms are around me or I would just crumple onto the floor. Instead I’m lifted and laid on the bed, on my back. I open my eyes to see Matt at last removing his jeans.

This is an excellent sign. Truly magical. I’ve seen enough and allow my lids to drift down again. The bed shifts as he lays alongside me. He is warm and hard, angular, and so solid. I roll towards him, snuggling into his side. I kiss his chest, leaning up on my elbow to flick his flat nipple with the tip of my tongue

“Will you fuck me now?”

“Mmm, that’s the plan, though I’m considering spanking you first.”

“Why?”

“For fun, and to get it out of the way. A girl’s first spanking is a big event, I’m thinking you might be nervous about it. Having another wobble maybe.”

“Maybe, but…”

“But?”

“But I’m sort of excited too. I want it to hurt.”

“I see. I can manage that I reckon.”

“But I want you to fuck me as well. At the same time. Could you do that?

“Oh yes.”

“I hoped you’d say that.”

“Get on all fours then. And spread your legs wide.”

I scramble into position as Matt reaches for his bedside drawer. There’s a snap of foil, then the head of his cock is at my entrance. He waits, poised, and I quiver with anticipation.

He doesn’t move, just holds that pose. I wriggle, roll my hips and try to shuffle backwards. I’m rewarded by a resounding whack, and a sharp pain resonates through my right buttock.

“Too impatient, girl. Keep still.”

“Oh, oh Matt…”

“I think you mean sir. I’ve been lax until now, but you need to start obeying the rules.”

“Sir, sir,
sir
!”

“Don’t overdo it. And if you move again, you’ll get another slap. Harder next time.”

“Yes, sir…oh, oh my God!” Matt drives his cock deep into me, right to the balls. My body offers no resistance, so well prepared and utterly ready am I, but he holds still as I stretch around him and I’m glad of the moment’s respite to gather my wits.

He withdraws, then sinks his erection into me again, long and slow. I grasp the duvet under me and cling on tight. My pussy squeezes around him, and he slaps my bum again, this time on the left side.

“I told you to keep still. That means on the inside too.”

“I couldn’t help it. I…oh, oh!!

Two more hard slaps land, the sound harsh in the otherwise silent room. My pussy convulses again, and I tense, expecting more punishment.

It doesn’t happen. I turn my head to look at Matt behind me.

“I don’t understand, why didn’t you spank me? I squeezed.”

“Have I unleashed your inner pain slut? How interesting. But I spank when I choose to. And right now, I choose to fuck.”

He pulls back, almost out of me, then drives his cock forward again, pounding into my cunt. Several more swift strokes and I lurch forward, my face buried in the mattress and my bum held up high for him. He manages to find that perfect angle to hit my G-spot with each hard thrust. My cunt is spasming, my inner muscles well beyond any conscious control of mine. I want him to spank me, and I’m afraid of it too; afraid of wanting it.

Matt drops several more swift slaps onto my buttocks, each one making me squeal and writhe under him. The conflicting sensations are a heady cocktail, confusing signals scrambling my ability to think straight. In this moment though reason seems over-rated. I relinquish any residual hold on sanity and allow myself to sink into a submissive fog where all that matters, all that counts, is what Matt wants, what he chooses to do.

The slaps continue, each one sharp, stinging, the pain beautiful in its purity. My clit is quivering, swollen beyond belief. I want to feel his touch there, but don’t know if or how to tell him. But I need, I need so badly.

“Sir? I, may I…”

“Do it.”

The curt command answers my unspoken question. I reach down to caress my clit, then slide my fingers farther back to feel the fast motion of his cock plunging into me, the lips of my pussy splayed wide to receive him. I let out a groan as I return to caressing my swollen bud, rubbing harder as he picks up a pounding rhythm. He slaps my bottom again, really hard now, and I scream, the perfect blend of agony and ecstasy so intense it fills my consciousness. Suddenly I’m spinning, weightless, my body collapsing into helpless spasming as my orgasm washes over and through me, reaching every corner, every nerve and muscle and melting my bones.

I sag into the mattress as the waves of pleasure die away, and as Matt’s cock jerks hard inside me. In the next instant he shoots a fountain of semen into the condom, his entire body stiffening as the flow fills the latex with wet heat. He lets out a low oath, something obscene, then leans forward to drop a kiss onto my neck, his arms closing around me. He pulls me upright to balance on his thighs, my weight supported by him as I’m beyond such exertions. I lean back against his chest and manage to turn my face towards his to receive his kiss.

He licks at the seam of my lips and I open my mouth. His tongue darts in, tasting and exploring, demanding yet more from me. I should be exhausted, sated, but I swallow my sigh of contentment as he fucks my mouth with his tongue in a sensuous echo of his recent pounding of my cunt. I manage to stretch up an arm and loop it around his neck as I suck on his invading tongue.

At last he breaks the kiss and lifts me from him. He lays me on my back, and I’m conscious of the throbbing tenderness across my bottom. I shift to find a more comfortable position, then decide against that and lay my weight on the tender spot.

Christ, that feels heavenly. Who would have thought the afterburn would be so satisfying?

Matt ties off the condom then takes me in his arms. I crawl onto him, draping myself across his chest. He holds me like that, and neither of us speaks.

Nothing to say really. Except I love you, but it seems a little soon for that.

“I love you.” Matt’s voice is low and sexy, and a little uncertain.

“Mmm, what?” I heard. I’m playing for time.

“I love you. I always did, even back then. It almost killed me when you left. That’s what that spanking was about, sort of. I should apologise I suppose, but I’m not sorry. Not really.”

“I asked for it.”

“You did. But still, are we okay, Beth?”

“Yes, sir, we’re okay. And, I love you too.”

“Now?”

“Yes now. And back then too, perhaps. But I was just too young. You were right about that. I was scared, shocked. I didn’t know what I wanted, what I needed. It was too much. I’m sorry. I wish…”

“Hush, not now. We can talk later. Now, I just want to hold you and know that you’re real, and you’re here.”

“I am. I really am.”

“I need you to stay this time.”

“Here? With you?”

“Ideally yes. But in my life certainly. Will you?”

I nuzzle my face into his chest, inhale the tangy, musky smell of him, so familiar, so solid. “Yes, sir. I think I’d like that.”

The last few months have passed in a blur. For the first few weeks Ethel and I spent most days on the moors above Upper Shay Farm, pacing, measuring, visualising, consulting with Matt’s technical folk. Well I did those things, Ethel mostly chased rabbits and ran away from sheep. I’ve come to know almost every blade of grass and sprig of heather which blanket the bleak slopes. I even recognise the individual sheep who amble around me, watching my efforts with expressions of calm tolerance and Ethel’s antics with thinly veiled contempt. On occasions I’ve found myself chatting to the sheep, and it is at those times I know I really should be heading back to the relative civilisation of Annie’s kitchen for a restoring mug of her tea.

I love this landscape, and I am pleased that MLR feels just as passionate about not impacting negatively on the romantic, dramatic scenery. The moors swallowed up the underground trunking in a matter of weeks leaving nothing to see on the surface. Those works were completed in the autumn of last year, before the winter really set in and the ground became rock hard.

I have left Matt’s engineers and planners to it for the most part, concentrating my efforts on marking out the shape of the mosaic, and the inner component sections and blocks of colour which will give the design its impact. And now, with the advent of spring, the bitter frosts and bleak snows of the winter behind us, we are ready to start installing the solar panels. The first batch will arrive tomorrow, to be trundled across the moors in a fleet of Land Rovers.

I’m so excited I’ve taken to doing little happy jigs around the hillside—the sheep are nonplussed, Ethel looks worried, and even old Annie thinks I’m daft. I don’t care. I can’t wait to see it, my creation emerging like a butterfly from a chrysalis, glorious in her presence across the landscape, dominating yet serene. I have her in my mind’s eye, perfectly formed, waiting for me to give her substance, to unveil her to the world.

I’ve counted down the weeks of winter, the spring couldn’t come soon enough.

I usually end the day at Annie’s and we have become close friends. Even Ned manages more than a word or two for me, which is something of an accolade. I often join them for their evening meal, and Matt too if he’s free. If not, I make my way back across the moors to Hebden Bridge.

I’ve resisted actually moving in with Matt, though he’s asked me enough times. I prefer to retain my independence, to have my own home—or at least the theory of it. That’s what Alice is all about, though I haven’t slept in my camper van for months. She spent the winter in the gracious luxury of Ned’s hay barn, protected from the harsh weather while I’ve been using Matt’s four wheel drive. I feel I’ve neglected Alice—I really should drag her out for an airing soon.

I still have my bolt-hole in Manchester too, though I have agreed with Katie to sub-let it to a pair of student lovebirds who apparently share my passion for star-gazing from their bed. So although I refuse to make it official, in practice I spend every night with Matt, more or less all my belongings are in his house, certainly all the things that mean anything to me, and it is here that my second major project is also coming along well.

George is a hard sell, a surly, disgruntled creature with an axe to grind. However I am not the object of his contempt, and we get along remarkably well. Matt is astonished, he had entirely abandoned all hope of developing so much as an armed truce with the parrot, and he still makes himself scarce when I let George out of his cage. I think that’s wise.

I insist on letting the bird have his freedom when we can. He was designed to spread his wings, he needs it. I was nervous as hell the first time I reached between the bars to scratch his magnificent orange plumage, but George allowed it and I got my hand back unscathed. As the days passed and became weeks, then months, he deigned to allow me to tickle his neck, stroke his back, and eventually he stepped onto my wrist. He’s heavy, and his claws are menacing, but he’s gentle with them. I took to leaving the cage door open, much to Matt’s horror, but even so it was a couple of weeks before George ventured forth.

He likes to sit on top of the cage, watching us and squawking at random moments. He hasn’t attempted to rip Matt’s eyes out, and the two of them circle each other warily. Ethel stays well out of George’s way, sticking close to Matt in these dangerous times.