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I nodded, and continued tasting him, not looking up at him.
“Now rub my balls.”
I complied, cupping them gently, tracing my fingertip behind them along the seam. I fingered his perineum. He gasped, thrusting himself forward into my mouth as my tongue continued to curl and swirl around his wide girth, pausing to lick the tip of the head.
Trey had not touched me other than to guide his shaft in my mouth. My sex was wet nonetheless, wanting his erection buried deep inside of me, giving me the carnal release I now ached for deep inside. Trey was fucking my mouth now; if I hadn’t challenged him earlier, he would be pleasuring me now instead of punishing me by withholding his touch. He stilled his thrusting in order to delay his orgasm. Did he plan to fuck my mouth until our company arrived? I looked up and he was gazing down at me, his expression impassive.
“Stop,” he ordered. I obeyed. He removed his cock from my mouth, not taking his eyes from mine. “I’m going to fuck you now, Tylar,” he said.
He scooted back, continuing to straddle my hips. His hands pushed my thighs apart, drawing my ankles upward but still clasped together. His forearms rested on either side of me. He thrust himself into me roughly and deeply.
“Ah!” I cried out, placing my hands on his hips to steady myself.
My natural reflex was to wrap my legs around him but this was impossible. My hands held him firmly, as he rolled his hips around and around, and then plunged in and out of me, slowly again and again. I could hear my wetness each time he pulled in and out of me. He didn’t kiss or fondle my breasts; this was my punishment for trying to deny him what he wanted when he wanted it.
The punishment was bittersweet. The sensitive spot deep within me was responding to his deep thrusts, swelling with intense desire for release and pleasure. He continued to move his hips in ways he knew would bring me what I wanted more than anything. I raised my pelvis up to meet his thrust each and every time, my muscle contracted around him, squeezing his length to draw his orgasm out and into me. My mind was swirling with abandonment, lust, and focused on the deep need for release that was growing with every thrust. I moaned softly, raking my fingernails across his muscular buttocks as it continued to circle around over me.
“Don’t you come, Tylar,” he warned, gritting his teeth. He was close and I knew it. He plunged himself in and out, as his breath became ragged. “I’m warning you, Tylar, if you come, you’ll receive further punishment. I’m going to come now; you cannot.”
He raised himself up straightened his arms out, arching his back for one final thrust, emptying himself inside of me, his cock throbbing in pleasured release. I came as Trey shuddered, biting down on the back of my hand to still my cries. I hadn’t fooled Trey. He knew. His arms circled my hips as my orgasm rolled out. He raised me up, slapping his hand against my backside once, twice, and a third time, the stinging of his palm against my flesh brought tears to my eyes as my orgasm heightened once again to a crescendo.
“Next time, it’ll be my leather belt against your bare ass,” he hissed into my ear, as my ejaculation squirted out around him. Trey rolled off of me, scooting down to my ankles and releasing them from his leather belt. He pulled my panties up, lifting my backside and gently covering my now very pink butt cheek. He lay next to me, his head propped up on an elbow, gazing at me, his eyes warm and satisfied.
“I hate it when I have to punish you,” he said, regretfully.
“I hate it when you punish me Trey,” I replied, answering his kisses with my own. “I’m sorry that I wasn't as enthusiastic as I should've been when we first came up here.”
“I’mnot,” he said, grabbing me and hugging me to him, tickling me until I begged him to stop. We were both laughing now.
“That was definitely hot,” I said, propping myself up on an elbow to look at him, “going all ‘Christian Grey’ on me like that.”
“Who?” he asked, furrowing his brow.
“Never mind,” I laughed. “Hey, next time can you be the naughty boy that gets punished?”
“No,” he said, rolling his eyes, and sitting up. “Let’s shower baby,” he said, holding his hand out.
We were showered and dressed for the Christmas Eve festivities shortly after 2 p.m., our faces still flushed and my hormones thoroughly satisfied. Trey looked gorgeous as usual in black flannel dress pants, a white with grey pinstriped shirt, and maroon silk suspenders. I was wearing a black wool pencil skirt that fell below my knees, with a black scoop-neck tee, and a dark red wool blazer. I wore silk thigh-high stockings and a pair of black passion pumps with skinny medium-height heels. Trey had said no to the ‘fuck me’ spiked heels.
We descended the stairs to the foyer as the limo arrived with Trey’s brothers and Caroline. I felt nervous and jittery. It was easy to be with Trey’s parents, they were friendly and nonjudgmental. I had no clue what his brothers would be like, let alone the dreaded Caroline. Trey and I waited in the living room near the lit Christmas tree, presents arranged neatly beneath its branches.
Susan and Clive greeted them as they ascended the steps to the foyer. I heard Susan squeal and embrace her elder two sons. Thatcher carried their luggage to their suites. Clive took everyone’s wraps, hanging them in the guest closet while Susan shooed everyone into the large and elegant living room.
Trey stood, locking his hand into mine and immediately I saw Tristan. My God, Susan was right. Trey held a striking resemblance to him, though you could tell in subtle ways that Tristan was several years older. They were approximately the same height and build, yet Tristan’s hair was more of a sandy brown, compared to Trey’s darker locks and burnished natural highlights. Tristan wore his hair a bit longer than Trey’s, probably because his chosen profession was more casual—winemaking—than Trey’s. Tristan caught me staring and I blushed. Both of the men made their way over to us.
“Nigel, I’d like you to meet Tylar Preston, my soon-to-be fiancé. And Tylar, this is my oldest brother Nigel.”
I smiled and took Nigel’s hand. He was handsome though he bore little resemblance to Tristan or Trey. Nigel was shorter and built stockier with very dark hair and dark brown eyes. He held out his hand, greeting me warmly. Just then there was action in the foyer. I heard a shrill female voice in distress.
“Nigel,” she whined, “Are you positive I didn’t bring that other case with my suede pumps and matching purse in it?”
Oh wow, that had to be Caroline.
“Darling,” he said, patiently, “you’ve brought more than enough shoes for the few days. One pair couldn’t possibly make a difference. Come say ‘hello’ to Trey and his fiancé.” I could tell that Nigel was used to placating her.
Caroline was tall and thin, almost too thin. Her face had sharp features, which was punctuated with a beakish nose. Her pale, taut countenance hinted that she’d already had a face lift at forty-something. Her grey eyes revealed nothing as she sized me up. She appeared to be taken aback by my appearance. I quickly reassessed my outfit and hair; nothing seemed to be out of place or in poor taste. She wore a casual pantsuit.
Trey stepped forward, kissing his sister-in-law on both cheeks as she tilted her face to him. “Caroline, ageless as always.”
