My lover’s hands took my hips, then the rounded, wide head of his cock pushed at my cunt.

‘I’m going to make you feel this,’ he said. ‘It’s going deep.’

He screwed it into me, and he was right. He seemed to plumb depths previously unreached, stretching me to my limit.

Every thrust made me release a small moan, as if I was surprised, but I was not. It was simply that I had to do it, had to express some reaction to the intensity of the experience, had to make him know the effect he had on me.

The angle of penetration caused each forward sweep to glance upon my G-spot and the tight knot in my lower stomach soon began to unravel, gathering momentum with each hard impalement, each whispered obscenity, each grab of breast or bite of shoulder.

It was almost too late when I remembered I was supposed to ask permission for my orgasm.

‘Are you feeling it?’ Jasper’s voice was hot and evil in my ear.

‘God, yes, I’m going to … may I …?’

‘Come.’

Oh, thank God. I fell forward, but he held me up, one hand on my shoulder, another around my waist, supporting me through the showers of stars and sparks. As it hit me, I remembered my manners and I howled, ‘Thank you, Sir,’ over and over again.

This pleased him; I could tell by the way he began slamming into me, whispering things I could barely make out, pinching his fingers down hard on my shoulder and then roaring over the lake, sending the waterfowl into another flapping panic.

We fell forward in a tangled crush of bodies. His weight pinned me to the rug and I felt his breath, rushes of heat on the back of my neck that grew longer and lighter over time.

‘You must be starving,’ he said eventually, rising slowly to his knees and reaching for the picnic basket. ‘I know I am.’

He pulled out a bottle of champagne and got to work on the cork.

I wasn’t sure I could move, so I stayed prone, resting my head on my hands, trying to work out if my bottom was still sore. I couldn’t really tell. It seemed he was right about it fading fast.

‘You look wrecked,’ commented Jasper.

The cork popped.

‘I am wrecked,’ I said.

‘After one go? That’s no good. You need to get into training, my dear. Build up your stamina. Perhaps you should come running with me.’

Ugh. No thanks.

‘I always hated PE at school,’ I said. ‘Nobody ever picked me because I was so weedy and badly co-ordinated. Terrible ball skills.’

‘I wouldn’t say that.’ He grinned cheesily. ‘I’m sure we can sort something out. Turn over, on to your back. Go on.’

I braved my protesting muscles and rolled myself over. Before I could sit up or register what was happening, Jasper had splashed champagne all over my breasts. I squealed and flapped my hands, but I was too late, for he had bent over me to lick it up. I had no idea how it would taste mixed with sun lotion – presumably not very nice, because he was grimacing when he raised his head again.

‘Forgot about the lotion,’ he said, wiping his mouth with his hand. ‘I need something to take the taste away now.’

I laughed and laughed as he scrabbled through the picnic box looking for something to alleviate his flavour-related distress. He was habitually so cool and suave, it was really cheering to see him at a disadvantage for once.

‘Are you laughing at me, Sarah?’ He took a large bite of a pork pie.

I shook my head overdramatically.

‘I would never laugh at you,’ I lied.

He smacked at my thigh, just hard enough to get my attention and turn my laugh into a squeak.

‘That’s not true, is it? I thought we talked about honesty.’

Tags: Justine Elyot House of Submission Erotic
Source: readsnovelonline.net