Coda (Songs of Submission #9)(10)

“Stay still. Stay naked. Speak your mind.”

“I almost died with you a hundred times. That recovery room, they had you in this induced coma, and you looked dead. There were bags of blood. Bags hanging over you, and you were all opened up. And, I’m sorry, I haven’t said this because you’re the one who went through it.” I swallowed a gallon of tears. “I don’t want to see you like that again. But I think about it all the time. I dream about it. I see it when I close my eyes. I want you to live, so I do what I think will make you happy, and I always get it wrong. Stay or go. I give you attention or none. It’s always wrong.”

“What about your happiness?”

“It doesn’t matter. Not as much as yours. It’s not life or death.”

“It is, Monica. It is.”

I shook my head. “You can’t convince me of that. We can do this hurtful honesty thing all day. You’re the priority, and I’m okay with that. Deal with it.”

He nodded, looking down for a blink, then at me. He reached for my wrists. “These go behind your back.”

I did as instructed.

“Now get on your knees.”

I bent them. With my hands behind my back, it was hard to balance.

“Do you need some help?” he asked.

“Yes.”

I thought he’d take me gently by the elbow, but he dragged me down. He was right. I was relaxed, totally submitting and trusting him, loving every bit of discomfort he dished out.

“Spread your knees apart.”

I did, too slowly for him. He kicked them wide.

“Do you remember your safe word?” he asked, unbuckling his belt.

“Yes.” A tingling rush went down my spine with the promise of his dominance and the way it made me forget how fragile he really was.

His cock was out in the next second. “Open. Your. Mouth.”

I parted my lips enough to breathe, and before I could open my throat or prepare, he put his cock between them and pushed my head into him. I choked on the mass of his dick, but the scent of his soap, the taste of his skin, the shape and thrust of him brought a wave of pleasure and a strong desire to please him.

“Take it, goddess. Take it all. Not one inch should be left.”

He pushed forward again, f*cking my face mercilessly. He pulled out, letting me breathe and making eye contact with me. Checking on me. I was safe. I gasped, chest heaving, and opened my mouth again.

“I want you to think about something. While I take your mouth, I want you to think about how its purpose is my pleasure. To f*ck.” He stuck his dick down my throat, all of it in one stroke, and pulled it out as violently as he’d put it in. “To talk.” He jammed it in again before I could utter a word. “Whatever I say.”

He began in earnest, treating my throat the way he’d treated my ass an hour before—as a receptacle for his soap-scented cock. He moved my head by my hair, pulling out to let me breathe but no longer than necessary. My hands were behind me, so I couldn’t wipe the drool off my chin or move my hair from my face.

“I’m going to come down your throat.” He was so strong, so solid, so commanding with a wisp of hair over his forehead, his monster cock dripping with my spit, hanging in the foreground of my vision. “You’re going to swallow every f*cking drop. Do you understand?”

I opened my mouth as wide as I could, looking up at him through my hair. I wanted to tell him to f*ck me anywhere he wanted. To make it hurt. Make it uncomfortable. I wanted to forget everything in our way. The hurt, the stress, the worry. I wanted to break the cycle again, and be nothing more than under him.

But he didn’t give me a chance to beg for it. He cupped my jaw in his other hand and stuck his wet cock in my waiting mouth to f*ck my throat. He could live forever. He could pound my face like this in an eternal grind, never sick, never dying, never at risk. No. This dominant beast was built to f*ck and to hurt and to live.

He pulled out long enough to let me breathe then shoved it back in, coming with a bark, his balls pulsing against my lower lip. His hair-pulling violence turned to stroking and caressing as he filled my throat, slipping out for a breath, and sliding in again.

“Goddess,” he whispered. “Mine mine mine…”

My arms and knees ached. My throat was sore. Thank god I didn’t have to sing the next day. Not that he’d care. Not this Jonathan, my Jonathan, with his come coating my throat as I swallowed, looking up at him. He smiled at me, and when he picked me up and carried me though the door, I forgot to worry about him at all.

chapter 7.

JONATHAN

I could see this would take some time. It had taken me months to figure out we even had a problem; it wouldn’t take me that much less to solve.

The flip side of the loyalty I loved was her stubbornness. She’d fully engaged in her submission when we started out because it was new and exciting. She’d discovered things she didn’t know about herself, and she’d watched me discover my own boundaries as well as hers. Then I got sick, and her world flipped. She had become distrustful, and to her, the stakes were life and death.

All that made me want to f*ck her harder, to drive submission back into her. While my dick was out, she was obedient and subservient, perfect as usual. In the doorway of our house, her mouth open, her chin slick with spit, waiting for me to come down her throat, she was a goddess. But once it was over, she would close her mouth and not talk about what was bothering her. She was going to simmer and worry and seethe, holding it all inside in an effort to protect me.