Chapter Seventy-Seven
A Snap! The crack of leather in the air. A warning…
Moments later, another Snap, now of the lash on my cheeks. Supple and soft, the falls bite, licking around me and…
… I scream…
But in the same moment, pussy throbs and pulses.
My heart jabbers and thumps. Trembling uncontrollably, gasping, I sag over the edge of the bed.
“Shhh…” A hand strokes over me, cooling the fire. “Calm down. Relax. Was that too much? What’s your colour?”
“Amber, Master.”
The hand rubs over my blistered rear then withdraws.
After a second or so, the swish of moving air…
… The slash of the tails…
And I spasm, screaming against the gift of fire and pain and…
Again…
And again…
Howling and wailing, I writhe against the cuffs, but all the while, the vibe quakes and quivers inside me, melding with the pain, scorching through my arousal until pain and pleasure and arousal merge and become one…
…
… And it’s gone.
The rustle of movement behind me…
Fingertips run through my liquid folds, parting them, then drawing out the vibe which leaves me with a slick sound, exposing my pulsing cunt to cool air…
… The warmth of breath over my swollen, heated vulva…
…The press of flesh against mine, the slight scrape of stubble…
Lips folding around my tender bud…
A mouth opening over me…
… then the lapping of a tongue… Drawing long and slow from pussy to clit, it winds around my sweet spot, nudging and circling, probing as it spirals. My groan draws out, trembling from my throat, melting into a whimper.
The shiver of the vibe is replaced by the shiver of my own flesh, a shudder which waxes and intensifies. The kiss of fire from the lash is eclipsed by the fire within, which flickers, then flames, burning brighter, hotter…
… then blazes…
Incandescent and irresistible, orgasm carries me away, pleasure racking body and soul in a glorious, shattering… unbearable surge…
Incandescent and irresistible, orgasm carries me away, pleasure racking body and soul in a glorious, shattering… unbearable surge…
“Enough, Master! Stop! Redhead. Redhead!”
Instantly, he breaks away, but within moments, he presses against me once more, his erection to my drenched and gaping pussy. Plunging in, he fathoms me in a stroke, slamming against my inner walls.
And again I scream. Ram-rodding me, his hand ravels into my hair, drawing me up against my restraints, arching me back as he bangs hard into me. There’s no gentleness. No subtlety. This is, pure and simple, a good, hard, fuck.
He’s rock hard and huge, massively erect, and with every stroke, I yell as the breath knocks out of me. Harder he thrusts and harder, his sweat splatting down in fat globules, a hot splash that skitters over my skin while my hair knots tighter, tugging at my scalp.
His breathing is rough and laboured. His thrusting more and more unrestrained until…
… deep inside me, he pauses, his pelvis juddering against my ass…
With a twist and a grunt, he drops down, his chest to my spine, hips grinding as he corkscrews into me. Gasping, he quakes and spasms, his climax intense enough that I feel the pulsing as he spills into me…
… then stills…
…
Done, releasing his grip on my hair, he lies over me, quiescent save for the jabbering from inside his ribs, the heaving from his chest. Equally limp, panting, I collapse, my face flat to the mattress.
Well… I wanted him to let off steam…
“Master?”
“Thank you, Elizabeth. I needed that.”
“You’re welcome. And yes, I know you needed it.”
A kiss plants between my shoulders before, lifting away, he frees my wrists then, scooping me up, dumps me onto the bed and rolls to lie beside me.
I roll too, lying side-on to lay my cheek on his chest. “And now, Master, I would like you to tell me what the problem is. What is upsetting you?”
“My Love…” He takes my hand, kisses the knuckle… “… it is not fair to burden you with my difficulties.”
“Master, your difficulties are our difficulties. Whatever affects one of us, affects both. When we married, we promised to look after each other. To share everything.”
He arches a brow. “In fact, Elizabeth, in my capacity as both your Dom and husband, it's my duty to look after you.”
“Bullshit!” His eyes widen. I assume at my bad language. “We're a married couple. We look after each other. And I can't deliver on my half of that promise if you keep secrets from me…”
“Elizabeth…”
“… And you are keeping something from me. This isn't you. You're worried and upset about something. So, tell me what it is…” The obvious slams me in the face. “… Master, you're not ill?”
His eyes crease. “You've asked me that before. But no, I'm not ill.”
“What then? You say it’s not anything I’ve done. So, it must be the business? What is it? I know the company’s profitable, even if we do go through a cycle of dire warnings of doom on the economy. I’ve been through your books. I know you’re not over-extended with the banks…” His mouth twitches, eyes crinkling to radiate fine lines from the corners… “… so even if there’s a downturn in the economy it’s not going to take you with it. And…”
“Enough, Elizabeth.” He slaps a palm onto my stomach. “… You’ve made your point. And you’re correct. It’s none of those.”
“What then? I can’t think…”
“Very well. I wanted to spare you this. At least until I had it settled…” He glances around. “Do we have any brandy up here?”
“I’ll get it…” Tugging on a robe, I pour two glasses. “… Now, tell me.”
“Very well…” He sips… “Since you insist, I've received notification from the tax authorities that I'm under investigation for tax evasion.”
My mouth flaps for a moment. “But… you haven't done anything like that, surely…” For a moment, doubt assails me…” … Have you? You have a whole tribe of accountants to keep everything in good order. With what they charge you…”
He clicks his tongue, sips more brandy. “I've certainly not deliberately done anything fraudulent. Life's too short. I'm far more interested in making a real profit than in spending all my days cooking the books to create losses I don’t have.”
“So… What? Have your accountants gotten… over-inventive?”
He pulls a face, staring into his glass. “Nooo…”
“What then? What is it you’re being accused of?”
He draws in air. “What is being said, Elizabeth, is… that I married you as a form of tax evasion. As a way of putting assets in your name and avoiding liabilities.”
WTF?
“They’re saying our marriage is fake?”
“That's about the size of it.”
“But…” I’m spluttering… “Where the hell have they got that from? How can they say our marriage is fake? We’re actually married. I distinctly remember the wedding, the service, the big meringue dress.”
He cracks a smile. “Yes, my Love, I have fond memories of that dress myself.”
When you bent me forward over the couch before we’d barely crossed the threshold, then fucked me raw still wearing it…
“So what do they expect? We have a marriage certificate. Witnesses, including the registrar. Wedding photos. Of course we’re really married.”
“Yes, my Love, of course we are. It’s complete rubbish as we both know. And when all’s said and done, what can they do? I live with my beautiful wife in our wonderful home and that’s the end of it.” He pauses, then blows out his cheeks. “I’ll admit to being baffled as to how this arose. I need a serious word with Douglas if my personal affairs are raising this kind of question.”
“Douglas Johnson, your Head of Accounts? You think he’s let something slip past him?”
He sucks at his teeth. Splays fingers, rocking his hand. “It’s not like him. He’s been in post for years and there’s a reason he handles the company tax finances as well as mine personally. He has a standing instruction of course to keep taxes to a minimum but not by playing fast and loose by the law.”
“It smacks of jealousy to me,” I say. My husband’s steel-blue gaze is intense, weighing me. “Our marriage is real and anyone who knows us understands that. So what could it achieve? It sounds like petty spite. You know, the kind of person who’ll scrape a coin over car paintwork because… “ I raise twinned fingers in air commas… “don’t have one, so why should you?”
He pulls on an ear, staring into space, seeming about to speak. But then, he clams up. “But who would it come from? Anyone with the financial nous or stature to compete with me knows better than to play these sorts of games.” He looks back at me, eyes sharp. “You mustn’t even think this changes anything between us. It doesn’t.”
“I don’t think like that, Master. We’re genuinely married, and no one could prove otherwise, so what could be made of it? Surely, whatever this is about, it’s a storm in a teacup? It will simply go away because it’s not true.”
In his eyes, grey steel morphs to blue sea, and his smile blooms, bright and clean.
*****