Coda (Songs of Submission #9)(43)

I expected him to take me like an animal. But he didn’t. He shifted slowly, making sure I felt every inch. He pushed against my clit, angling himself so he rubbed against it, slowly, slowly, in a tortuous rhythm.

“Please,” I whispered.

“You wanted something?”

“Faster.”

He didn’t go faster. If I’d had a metronome to count by, my bet would be on slower.

“Why?” he asked.

“I want to come.”

“Really?”

“Please.”

He pressed into me, breathing the words into my cheek. “You are so good. But you have to wait.”

“I can’t.”

“Do you know what happens when you rush? Things don’t go right. They’re not full. Not complete. If I let you come now, you’ll be conscious. You’ll say thank you and start thinking about music before you even close your legs.”

He pulled out slowly and pushed back in. I moved my hips into him to speed it up, but he adjusted and made it worse. I groaned.

“If I let you come now,” he continued, “you’ll be satisfied. But you deserve better than that. You deserve to have your mind erased.”

“I have a snappy comeback. But I can’t breathe.”

He moved as if we were underwater. The pressure built, and stayed, and built again, never breaking. What should have taken a second took several. My brain told me I was coming, but I didn’t. I stayed in the netherworld between knowing I was going to come and actually doing it. The ultimate mix of pain and pleasure. A tug-of-war between two matched opponents.

chapter 31.

JONATHAN

If I’d told her to add two and two, I didn’t think she could have answered. It did occur to me to ask for a little simple math, but we were treading a wire-thin path as it was. If I pulled her back too far, I’d confuse her body and ruin the orgasm. She wouldn’t be able to have a good one until her body came down fully and her over-stimulated nerves recovered, which could take hours. That was never fun. It made everyone cranky.

But I wanted to see how far I could go and how much pain this caused, because there would be a time, soon, when the bruises and contusions wouldn’t wash, and I would derive no pleasure from hurting her. It was one thing to break and push a consenting adult. It was another thing to spank and grab a pregnant woman until she was black and blue. I would have to find other ways to dominate her or we would both wind up unsatisfied and discontented. Controlling her orgasms to the point of pain was a possibility. She was suffering, and she loved it almost as much as I did.

She was giving herself to me in that microcosm of her pleasure, and especially her pain, because in the macrocosm of her love, she was giving me what I wanted most: a family, a home, roots that were mine completely. Nothing borrowed. Nothing temporary. Through all her doubts and legitimate fears, she was taking a leap of faith into the net of my happiness.

I would live for her, for the family she was about to give me, for the home she’d agreed to create. My orbit around her was going to get tighter and tighter until, for better or worse, we fused into a single sun.

A tear dropped from the corner of her left eye, and I kissed it, still shifting with a slow, grinding rhythm. I had to pull her over the edge. It was the perfect time. Another second would be too late. I gave her no permission to come but got up on my knees and thrust deep and hard. Her eyes opened wide and rolled back with the second thrust.

I had complete control over her.

What that did for me, there were no words. Just a peace. A sloughing off of life and its pressures and worries. I existed only in this corner of the world, and it was mine, fully under my purview. The rush of euphoria that followed was submission in itself, to the act, to her, to the power she’d given me.

“May I come?” she whimpered.

“Yes.”

I took her. Made her mine. I saw the tide coming in her, and I encouraged it. When she was midway, I’d slow down to make it last, then I’d let go and fill her with me.

It was a good plan. But I looked down as she started to cry my name.

I didn’t know what I was looking for. Maybe I wanted to see our connection point when I came or see her cunt pulsing around me. But that’s not what I saw.

I shriveled up. Stopped moving.

My name rang in my ears as I looked at my dick, seeing something horrifying, like the death of joy, and I couldn’t hear my name anymore. Maybe she was screaming in her orgasm, or in pain, or in blame, I didn’t know, but I couldn’t form a sentence or command.

The streak of blood on my dick was unmistakable.

I only had one word in my head.

“Tangerine.”

chapter 32.

MONICA

“What?”

I was pulled so far out of my orgasm that my body went rigid and my mind was soaked in adrenaline. He might as well have screamed Stop in my ear. I yanked my hands against the ties with a motion so violent, I heard stuff clatter and clunk as it fell. He got up on his knees, and I saw the fullness of him.

His cock was streaked in red. It wasn’t supposed to be. Not unless something was broken, and we weren’t doing broken. We were doing celebration. This was wrong. Everything was wrong. I pulled again, even as he reached up to get the scarf undone.

“Monica! Stay still. Give me a second.”

But all my yanking and pulling had tightened the knot¸ and he growled as he tried to pick it loose and failed.