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The shaft of his cock was harder to take than his three fingers. He was so thick, so stiff…but also so gentle. He went slowly, easing his length into her with the slightest of thrusts. Regan spread herself wider, parting her knees and thighs. She arched her back and he moved in more, filling her to the point of pain, then retreating.
Slowly the orifice relaxed, gave way, made room for him. He applied more lubricant to her and himself and then it was easy going, almost, as he thrust in deeper. Regan moaned, mouth open against the bed. She closed her eyes tight and let herself feel every inch as he slowly speared her, every inch as he withdrew, every inch as he speared her again. Arthur lay himself over her, gathering her to him.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
She answered in all honesty, “Nothing has ever hurt me less.”
“Good,” he said, his voice low and husky in her ear. He kissed the back of her neck, all the while fucking her with the slowest, deepest, most sensual thrusts she’d ever felt. But this was only half of what she’d asked from him, half of what she’d commanded him to do to her, and if Arthur was anything, he was obedient.
With his arms around her, he rolled them both, still joined, onto his back so that she lay on his chest, her knees up, her thighs wide. Arthur had found one of the many vibrators Sir Jack had used on her in the table drawer, and now he would use it on her.
Arthur turned it to a low setting. The moment the tip touched her clitoris, she flinched reflexively.
“I can stop,” he said.
“Never stop.”
His soft male laugh in her ear was utterly pornographic, a laugh that said yes, maybe she owned him body and soul, but it was him spearing both her holes so take that, mylady.
Her clitoris swelled as he ran the tip of the vibrator over it in little circles, swelled and ached, ached and throbbed. Inner muscles began to lightly tremor. She felt the sensations swirling in her lower belly as the deep nerves of her clitoris buzzed and quivered. With his long strong arm, Arthur held her against him, held her tight, as he pushed the vibrator into her vagina, pushed it past the resistance and into the slick passage. Her inner walls clenched the phallus but allowed it in, an inch, then two, then three, all the way to the aching and waiting core of her.
Regan could barely move with one cock in her arse and another in her cunt. She could only writhe in tiny tight circles as Arthur moved under her, with her, into her. She had never felt so full, so filled beyond what she could take and yet she was taking it and taking it and taking it.
Her orgasm built in record time and the pressure brought tears to her eyes. Her stomach muscles tightened painfully and her vagina poured wetness out of her and onto Arthur’s muscular thighs and the white sheets.
From under her, Arthur ground his hips into her, working his cock deeper. She was beyond pain, sobbing almost, panting. He gripped her breast in his free hand and held it tightly, clutching her to his chest as he used both her orifices for her pleasure and his.
Another hand, it seemed, grasped her by the wrists, spreading her arms to each side of the bed. Regan lifted her head–how could that be happening?–and saw a golden cord wrapped around her arms.
She was too shocked at first to react, especially with her body on the edge of orgasm. Another cord found her thigh, then her other thigh, prying her legs apart.
Arthur was able to say only, “What—” before another golden cord whisked from under the bed and wound around his mouth, gagging him.
In seconds, they were both tied down by powerful unseen forces, tied to the bed and to each other. Golden cords wrapped around their hips, locking them together, trapping Arthur’s hand between her legs so that he couldn’t pull the vibrator out of her.
Ecstasy and panic crashed into each other, spurring her to a climax stronger than she’d ever experienced before. Regan tried to fight against the orgasm, but twisting and thrashing against the cords only worked Arthur’s cock and the vibrator in deeper. It seemed every muscle in her pelvis and back contracted at once, every nerve fired, and she arched against the ropes, suspended in place by the staggering force of her release, and she shut her eyes and cried out in ecstasy.
* * *
When Regan opened her eyes,she saw a man slipping out of the shadows by the fireplace and advancing on them.
Sir Jack.
“No,” Regan said in horror, “you’re dead. I buried you.”
It was him, without a doubt—her husband, dead and gone since May. A distinguished-looking man, silver hair receding, eyes glinting hard as diamonds. A king in his own mind long past his prime.
He shrugged. “You fuck this child to spite me as if I were in the room. So here I am.” He lifted his hands and grinned, showing tobacco-stained teeth. “Let’s get on with the show.”
“This isn’t real. Let us go.”
She was terrified, humiliated to be caught like this, Arthur’s cock trapped inside of her, the vibrator still plunged deep, against her womb, silently stoking her toward another climax.
“Look at you,” Sir Jack said, his accent so proper, his tone a cold sneer of utter disdain. “Look at you in bed with a ripe young man and all you can think about is me… How could I possibly be dead? You keep me alive with your hate. How many times did you swear to yourself the second I was in the ground, you’d pick up your paintbrush and start your life all over? Off to Paris, to a studio with north-facing light, that you’d cut your hair like Coco Chanel and never put on another string of pearls ever again?”
The buzzing phallus inside her stimulated her g-spot and Arthur’s fingers brushed her swollen clitoris. The tip of the vibrator pulsed against her cervix, and she contracted sharply around it, gasping, nearly coming again even as her dead and hateful husband watched and laughed.
“If you won’t let me go, let Arthur go,” she said. He was gagged and couldn’t speak so she must speak for him.
