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He stroked a fingertip up and down my slit, humming in indecision. “I don’t know if I want to pour this on you. I love the way you taste, I’d hate to spoil it.”
“Spoil it? With champagne.” I snickered, incredulous.
A sharp slap to my vulva corrected my sassiness. “I won’t listen to you questioning my judgment on this subject.”
He brought the bottle between my legs and pressed it against me. Now that it had been out of the ice bucket for a while, it wasn’t as shockingly cold.
Tilting it slightly, he eyed the level in it, stopped, took another drink, then pressed the mouth of the bottle against my opening.
“Are you going to fuck me with a champagne bottle?” I gasped as he slid the neck inside me.
“’Fuck’ is far too vigorous a word. I wouldn’t want it to create suction and get stuck.” He laughed and dipped his head to give my clit a long, slow lick. My thighs trembled, and my fingers grasped at the leather cuffs. He looked up. “It would be a rather high profile emergency department visit, I think.”
“Yeah, let’s not do that.” I clenched down on the cool smoothness of the bottle, and Neil leaned over me, his tongue burrowing between my labia, over my clit, circling and sucking.
My breath hitched, and I instinctively flexed my thighs— I don’t know what strange mechanism in my physiology makes me snap them closed near orgasm—, and the bottle rocked against the bed.
Neil raised his head in mock alarm. “Don’t spill, Sophie. What are you thinking?”
“I was thinking of coming, Sir,” I admitted. “May I?” I asked, almost certain his answer would be no.
To my surprise, he tilted his head and said, “Oh, please do. Just don’t spill the champagne.”
I stretched my arms higher over my head, relishing the tension that drew me up tight. Since he leaned across my body, instead of lying between my legs, the sensation was different than usual. He swiped over my clit from side to side, rather than up and down, and it seemed like he hit some magical spot he never had before.
“Oh!” I shouted, all the breath deflating from my lungs. I wanted to curl up, but the mouth of the bottle was still just slightly inside of me, and if I dislodged it, the champagne really would go all over the bed. I flexed my feet, helpless to do anything but wait and feel.
Every sensation was new. Every twist and flick of his tongue shocked me. How I would keep from writhing and spilling the champagne, I had no idea. But my orgasm came closer and closer, and my options for exactly how I was going to keep from making an even bigger wet spot than usual were limited.
I clamped my lips together, squeezed my eyes shut, and came. One of my legs jerked, and I clenched down tight on the bottle neck. I couldn’t hold back my cry any longer, and it came out on a high, thin wail.
Gasping for breath, I opened my eyes. Neil sat up and pulled the bottle away. The glass glistened, and he licked around the neck to catch every drip my body had left behind. Then he took a deep swallow of champagne.
“Oh god,” I whispered, clenching my thighs together.
He winked at me, still drinking, then held the bottle out to me. I lifted my head, and he tipped a swallow past my lips. I tasted myself on the bubbles.
It took him just a moment to put on a condom and settle between my legs. I loved the way we fit together now, the way he sank into me easily. I lifted my hips and welcomed him in, and he rested his forehead against my shoulder, his back bowed over me.
If I could have hung onto him, I would have. I settled for winding my legs around his back and moving with him. I was tight from my orgasm, my flesh all pillowy and satisfied, my cunt totally unaware that Neil wasn’t finished with me. I savored every moment. Tomorrow, we would return to the real world, and I wanted to take this with me.
His hands slipped beneath the small of my back, and braced on his knees he pulled me onto his cock, rocking my pelvis back and forth. The exquisite pressure on my g-spot became almost too much, and I sobbed, “Oh no.”
“No?” he asked, catching my chin in his hand. “Did you just say no to an orgasm?”
“Um...” I could barely think of words, let alone figure out a good lie that would keep me from punishment.
“Answer me.” He thrust harder into me, and I squirmed.
“Yes, Sir!” I shouted. “I’m sorry!”
He leaned over and grabbed the vibrator. He pushed the head of it against me and flipped the switch. Then he leaned over me, pushing my face aside, pinning my head flat to the bed. The roughness of his touch made me want to struggle, shoved a spike of fear into me that I’d never felt with him before. I spiraled out of control, my legs bucking, trying to get away from the pleasure that crashed over me.
