Obedience (part twelve) - the furs

Wednesday at 07:26 AM

Though the storm has been known, Theo did not cancel your plans. Nothing so vulgar as weather could tame him and now, sure enough, the white flakes fell; a symphony of soldiers.

The cabin he’d rented was small, the heat almost suffocating. You d***d yourself over the comfortable furs, spread before the mantle. He joined you, his voice like silk. There’s no electricity in the cottage, but moonlight and candles become you—and him—exceedingly well, a chance of *** and winter bloom.

Outside, the wind howls. You run out of expensive meat and cheese and bread, and laze together, content in your comfort and his warmth; the safety of his broad chest. Your eyes sink…

His grazing touch awakens you.

“So like a Queen, so very like,” he murmurs, kissing your throat. You smell the wine upon his breath and shudder. His hand cups your breast as you mount him, your little hands in his, riding him against the storm. You are hard, are fast, unyielding; and the moonlight glows upon you; the embers whisper, and you are perfectly impaled on his hard cock.

“Good girl,” he groans. “God, yes!”

He leans forward to pull at your clit, closing his mouth on your left nipple. You whimper, squeezing tighter on him, as he takes your neck in his spare hands, thrusting inside you.

Completion comes, but nobody moves. The velvet night is too serene for disturbance. Tomorrow, surely; you will climb bravely into the little porcelain tub, will bathe yourself free of sweat and semen.

But that’s tomorrow.

Tonight, there is only the storm—is him—and you.