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He’s fucking you with it, Mel. That’s what he’s doing with it.
Oh my God. Will the insanity never stop or even slow down for a second with this man?
And the even crazier thing? When his other hand not manipulating the pitchfork handle comes around to play with my clitoris already so sensitized by the grooming brush and his mouth descends to the back of my neck again?
I clench around the pole.
I’m turned on. To my utter goddamned shame and humiliation, I’m getting off on this whole fucked up scene.
“Such a good girl. Look at you squirting your sweet juices for me,” he murmurs in between suckling and nipping at my neck. Your little cunt is so wet for anything and everything I could ever do. That’s right, you’re doing so well. That’s riiiiiiight. It feels so good, doesn’t it?”
His finger toying with my clit is as gentle as the pole inside me is relentless. He circles the bud this way and that, then presses before removing the pressure entirely and focusing on the pitchfork pole. It’s so lubricated with my juices that it slides in and out, the ribbed rubber handle dragging along my walls and driving me crazy with each pass.
“My precious little dirty girl. Look how sopping you are. I’m fucking you with a pitchfork and you can’t get enough of it. Your little cunt greedily sucks it back inside. That’s right, clamp down on it. I know you wish it was my cock, but greedy little girls don’t get Master’s cock until they beg.”
His fingers come back to my clit, rubbing and circling and oh, oh God—
“I can see how much you wish this was my cock. You wish it was Master, bending you over this bench and driving my huge cock inside you. Just like the day when I first took this tight little virgin hole.”
His words, they’re so filthy and wrong. And they’re driving my orgasm closer and closer. I’m so close to the edge with how wrong and fucking hot every second of this is.
“Oh you loved that, didn’t you? You lost your mind from my cock, juicing right up and getting so wet for me. Your sweet little body was so ready from me to come and take what was mine. Just like now. I’m so hard I’m about to bust the zipper on my goddamn pants you make me so fucking crazy—”
The rod lands deep inside me and his fingers on my clit press down and I scream out my orgasm.
I’m still shaking and blinking as I come down when Xavier withdraws the pitchfork and tosses it to the side. Then there’s the noise of his buckle coming undone.
Is he finally going to…?
But when I look over my shoulder, it’s only to see him jerking on his cock roughly, up and down. The next second, he shoves up my shirt and then comes on my back. I can’t look away from his face. His features are knit in the most beautiful expression of pleasure, pain, and relief. Then he slumps over on my back, his long, hard cock sandwiched between our bodies.
Why didn’t he come inside me? It feels like rejection, as ridiculous as that is.
He uses the shirt he pulls off to clean up my back and then he pulls me into his lap a few moments later.
“Why?” I ask as he brushes my hair out of my face. “Why do it that way with the—” I gesture at the discarded pitchfork. “I mean, okay, whatever, you’ve got your own way of doing things, but still—” He’s got everything so jumbled in my head. “I don’t get it. Isn’t the point of this to get a baby?”
I hope he can see my confusion but not my hurt. God, I don’t want to reveal that. And I need to understand.
I’m not sure what I expect his answer to be, but it’s not for him to caress my cheek and then grip the hair at the base of my neck. He looks me in the eye, “Pet, my first priority is to have you out of your mind and desperate for my cock. You don’t get me inside you again until you’re begging for it, so the baby-making will just have to wait.”
Chapter 12
What follows are two and a half weeks of relative calm.
Well, if you call hard ass work mucking out stalls and learning to groom and care for horses calm. Oh, and we can’t forget the part where I’m getting screwed into oblivion every night or, you know, at random points throughout the day whenever Xavier gets a wild hair that it seems like a good time to give Mel an orgasm and or to fuck her with whatever implement he might happen to have on hand.
Of course, never with his almighty cock. No, because apparently, I’d have to beg for that.
Ha. As if. He’s as crazy as he is inventive.
You see, he’s a big fan of improvisation. He always gives whatever object he’s decided to pleasure me with a good washing beforehand and he always sheaths it. He’s even prepared ahead of time and bought several things new just for this reason—such as one riding crop that he’s particularly fond of. He has a special leather bag in the stable full of his favorites. I have my own grooming brush, the crop, a bridle and bit he puts on me sometimes, and several other little toys.
At night inside the house is another story. There he has all different sizes and shapes of dildos he ordered for me. He gets an especially delighted grin every time he pulls a new one out of the box.
Sometimes he masturbates along with what he’s doing to me. Other times he doesn’t.
And even though I come every night, or hell, sometimes multiple times a day, I can’t help the mounting frustration that’s building. I don’t know what he wants from me.
