Connor couldn’t take his eyes off her. She looked absolutely stunning in the floor length, sheer, navy blue dress he’d purchased for her. The fabric, a soft gossamer gauze, clung to her every curve, the color accentuating her denim-blue eyes. He’d never seen her dressed up before, but it had been well worth the wait. She was perfection. That was the only word he could think to describe her. She reminded him of the frail mythic maidens and fragile nymphs in a John William Waterhouse painting. Sylphlike, so slender and graceful, almost ethereal.
Sylvie was radiant, her face luminous, eyes sparkling as she gazed out over the twinkling lights of the city. She’d been so excited when he told her they were going to Ottawa to find the perfect dress for her to wear for the wedding. You’d have thought he’d announced he was taking her to London, or Paris, or Rome. The same sassy little wench who’d fought him tooth and nail about the arrangements for the wine and the honeymoon, burst into tears of joy and gratitude when she learned she was going to the Canadian capital. She acted as though he were whisking her halfway around the world instead of a measly 140 miles away.
Mrs.Cosgrove had packed an overnight bag for Sylvie, managing to rummage through her few belongings and find enough shorts, tops, and underthings to see her through till the day after tomorrow. Thankfully, she’d also managed to locate the girl’s passport.
Connor was dismayed when Mrs. Cosgrove informed him Sylvie had no wardrobe to speak of and certainly nothing she could wear out to a nice restaurant. He’d always known Sylvie wasn’t a clothes horse, but he hadn’t realized it was that bad. He gave her a generous clothing allowance, but except for the new underwear she’d bought to replace her Granny panties, she hadn’t spent a dime of it. He couldn’t understand her reticence. It wasn’t like spending a few thousand dollars on a couple of outfits was going to break him or send him to the poorhouse.
He’d contacted the manager of a boutique in Ottawa’s ByWard Market this afternoon and told her what he was looking for. She’d been kind enough to send him several photos of the dresses she had in stock. The minute he saw the blue dress, he knew it was perfect for Sylvie. The manager even agreed to have the dress, a bejeweled blue purse, and a pair of matching low-heeled, strappy sandals delivered to the concierge at the hotel.
The Porsche was packed up, gassed up, and ready to go when they headed out to the Watertown Walmart. He waited to tell her about Ottawa until they got out of the car in the parking lot of the store. She was so excited when he told her the news she was literally clapping her hands and jumping up and down. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she threw her arms around him and, pulling his head down, proceeded to cover his face with kisses: his eyes, nose, chin, and cheeks, finally settling on his lips. That kiss was a scorcher. Her mouth claimed his, tongue prying his lips apart. He was startled when she plunged it into his mouth, tickling and sparring with his tongue. They’d put on quite a show for the Walmart patrons.
Sylvie beamed with happiness and excitement. After years of waiting, she was finally going to get a stamp in her passport. She was going to Canada! She danced around, whirling like a dervish, unable to contain her joy. Connor couldn’t help being shocked by her reaction. Especially the stream of woo-hoos and thank yous that poured from her lips. He’d known a lot of women in his time, taking them on lavish trips, squandering money buying them whatever they wanted: costly perfume, elegant clothing, expensive jewelry. But none had reacted to his generosity the way Sylvie did. Oh, they’d thanked him to be sure, but they weren’t really grateful, not the way Sylvie was. They expected to be pampered and indulged. That was the way things were done in their world. For such women, the primary goal in life was to find a rich man and wring every cent they could get from him. Greedy little tarts, they always had their hands out and their legs spread. Sylvie didn’t operate that way. Perhaps that was why he was so taken by her. She didn’t play him like the others did. Sylvie never asked for, nor wanted, anything from him. That’s what made her so endearing.
Connor couldn’t take his eyes off his little sprite. Her shoulders shrugged in a winsome sigh of happiness as she smiled out at Ottawa. She was literally glowing.
Everything about her amazed him. She was kind and accommodating and generous to a fault. Too generous! She’d run all over Walmart trying to do her sister’s bidding. Sara wanted one third of the favors to be teal, another third wine, and the last third wheat or khaki. Unfortunately, the store didn’t have packs of precut circles in all the colors. They had burgundy, which was wine colored in Connor’s opinion, but not Sara’s. The closest they came to khaki or wheat was gold or ivory. Neither of which met with Sarah’s approval. The woman went ballistic over the phone and started crying. Sylvie was ruining her vision for the wedding! After much cajoling Sara agreed that Sylvie should get two 50-circle packs each of the burgundy and the gold which would have to pass for khaki on the tables. But she insisted that Sylvie still needed to find teal tulle. A helpful store clerk eventually found her a bolt of it in the fabric section of the store. But it wasn’t quite the shade Sara wanted. It was too blue! She whined for 5 minutes and only relented when Sylvie told her to take it or leave it. Sylvie would have to cut all the circles by hand. There were six and a half yards left on the bolt and Sylvie took them all, hoping that was enough. After picking up several thirty-yard spools of thin satin ribbon to match each of the colors, she traipsed over to the school supply section and found a compass she could use to draw the circles. She also grabbed fifteen pounds of pastel-colored Jordan almonds. After that, with Sara satisfied that her plans for the perfect wedding hadn’t been thwarted, Sylvie paid for her purchases, and they headed off to Canada.
The ride was fun. They turned down the radio and talked the whole way. The only disagreement they had was when she told him she intended to pay him back for the trip. Hell would freeze over first! He told her as far as he was concerned this trip was work-related. Connor explained that once the first book was done, Sylvie would be accompanying him to New York City on a weekly basis and probably to LA and London too. He expected her to dress the part of his…what? Editorial assistant? Copy editor? Assistant editor? He hadn’t really come up with a title for her yet. But whatever it was, she’d need to wear decent clothes to do her job. Smart-looking business attire, cocktail dresses, and formal gowns. He told her that even the dress she was buying for the wedding would eventually be used for work. She’d wear it at informal press receptions and book launch events. So he insisted on paying for it. She’d tried to argue the point with him but Connor was adamant.
He’d been walking around with a painful woody since he’d seen her come out of the bedroom in that dress. From that moment on, all he’d thought about was climbing on top of her and settling his throbbing member into her warm wet sheath. He was thinking like a sex-obsessed teenager. Ruled by his dick. How humiliating!
He’d managed to book the Fairmont Gold Suite at the Château Laurier for the night. Connor had stayed there many times before and had never been disappointed. The rooms were lovely; elegant yet comfortable. Sylvie was impressed. Like an excited child, she ran laps around the rooms, touching everything. Opening and closing the French doors. Bouncing up and down on the bed, then diving headfirst and doing a belly flop onto the comforter. The mischievous imp then thumbed the buttons on the remote, flicking through the channels at breakneck speed. Giggling as the screen erupted into a kaleidoscope of flashing colors and the room filled with a cacophony of unintelligible sound. Next she flopped on every sofa, chair, and ottoman, testing the degree of cushiness. Satisfied that they were indeed comfortable and would provide her rear with the necessary degree of support, she went on what appeared to be a treasure hunt, opening and closing every drawer, door, and closet in the place. After that she tried out the desk and turned all the lamps and lights on and off. Once she ascertained that everything was working properly, she turned her attention to the bathroom, oohing and ahing at the polished marble and sparkling mirrors. She reminded him of a hyperactive four-year-old. Doing a happy dance as she ran around the rooms touching everything, arms flailing in delight, fists pumping the air with excitement at each new discovery, bottom bouncing and wiggling like a high-strung, overeager puppy.
At first he didn’t understand her exuberance. Then it dawned on him: all the things he took for granted were wondrously new to her. He’d become jaded, used to luxury, to being waited on hand and foot. More to the point, he expected it. This was Sylvie’s first encounter with all the things that money could buy. Up to now he’d never taken her anywhere. Not for a romantic weekend getaway, or to a play in the city, or even out to dinner or a movie. For all intents and purposes, he’d become a recluse. That’s why he moved to the Adirondacks in the first place: so he could keep his own counsel, and hold a miserable world at bay. She’d been cooped up in the house since she arrived. They never went out. Eating dinner at home every night. Watching TV. Then going to bed. It was a pretty boring existence. He was content, but was she? He hadn’t tried to wine or dine her. He’d taken her for granted. But he shouldn’t. That would be a huge mistake on his part. He’d seen the way men looked at her. The way their cocks hardened when she walked by. He didn’t blame them. She was beautiful…even if she didn’t know it. It mystified him how oblivious she was. She had no idea of the effect she had on men. She was flawless: the big blue eyes, soft velvet skin, pouty fuck-me mouth, tiny waist, luscious breasts, and beautiful, bouncy bottom. He had no idea what had happened to her in the past, but somehow she’d gotten it into her head that she was plain and unattractive.
The little snit couldn’t take a complement to save her life. She seemed to have an incessant need to point out what she perceived were her many flaws.
At the top of the list were her breasts. According to her they were way too small! ‘They look like fried eggs…like pimples!’ she’d complain. Sylvie hated them. It was apparent by the way she tortured the poor things. Squeezing and shoving them up and out, with a variety of frightening elastic and wire contraptions. She had a real inferiority complex when it came to her breasts. Sylvie wanted ‘big girl boobies’ as she called them. A ‘B’ cup with plenty of cleavage spilling out. She’d told him, on more than one occasion, that she needed a ‘boob job.’ She thought it would make her look more womanly. No fucking way! He didn’t want her to look like a Barbie doll, with huge artificial plastic tits. He loved those soft little mounds of pleasure. He had no desire to knead or suck silicone. Her breasts fit her slender frame. They were pert and firm, sitting high on her chest. The girl was perfect the way she was. But as many times as he told her that, Sylvie wasn’t reassured. She looked beautiful braless. She didn’t need to even wear one. Her breasts didn’t sag or wobble or jiggle. Tonight, in that dress, with her sweet little nipples visible through the sheer fabric… It made his mouth water just thinking about it.
Her breasts weren’t the only feature she took umbrage at. She whined about not having curves; insisting she looked like a boy. Hardly! She found fault with everything about herself. Her skin: too pale, blotchy, and freckly. Her legs and arms: scrawny, shapeless toothpicks. Her nose: fleshy instead of aquiline. Her eyes: too big, buggy, and bulgy. And her luscious mouth…she referred to as ‘trout lips!’ She even found fault with her cute little ass. One day she’d insist it was enormous and looked like the tail end of a hippopotamus and the next she’d complain it was flat and shapeless. At first he thought she berated herself to garner complements. But he soon realized that she actually believed the crazy things she was saying. Her self-image was abysmal. He tried to correct her every time she went on a self-deprecating rant. But spanking her ass wasn’t going to instill self-confidence or improve her low self-esteem.
He couldn’t fathom why she was so insecure about her looks. How could she not know how pretty she was? Connor had a hard time believing she’d never been out on a real date. Not in high school, or college, or even when she lived in the city. He’d have thought she’d need to beat men off with a stick. But then she was shy and unsure of herself around people she didn’t know…especially men. He sensed that the lack of male attention she’d experienced had a lot to do with her demeanor. She was reserved and ill at ease in social situations. A shrinking violet: head bowed, eyes never straying from the floor. Stuttering and stammering when approached by strangers. She didn’t seem to know the first thing about flirting and certainly didn’t come off as a party girl. The vibes she gave off were more librarian than libertine. Someone who’d tell you to keep your voice down rather than grab your cock. Then again, perhaps they’d been turned off by her intelligence. She was, after all, very, very smart. That would probably wilt the dick of a lot of insecure males. Though she was extremely uncomfortable when trying to make small talk, the girl would let it rip when engaged in a serious discussion about politics, history, philosophy, literature, or religion. He’d met very few women that were her intellectual equal. Her head was filled with factoids about a myriad of subjects which she retrieved at will to score points against her opponent and win arguments. Usually with him! Though timid with most people, she’d been a tiger with him almost from the get-go. He wondered why that was. He intimidated most people. Perhaps she trusted him. His eyes narrowed. She was such an innocent. So vulnerable. He had no idea where they were going, but he knew it would end badly for her. He would take her body and soul, offering nothing in return. Truth was he had nothing to give. He was a man without a soul, devoid of feelings. It was Marisol all over again. ‘Don’t trust me Sylvie! Don’t do it!’ But he couldn’t bring himself to utter the words aloud and warn her.
He walked up behind Sylvie and began nuzzling her ear. ‘So you like Ottawa?’
‘It’s magnificent. Absolutely beautiful! Thank you for bringing me here.’ she said, a catch forming in her throat. He was so generous and so good to her. How would she ever repay his kindness?
‘And Hy’s, did you enjoy your dinner? I always make a point of going there when I’m in town. They have the best steaks in the city. Did you like it?’
‘Oh yes,’ she enthused. ‘It was lovely. The food was delicious. It was the best meal I’ve ever had! The cheese toast, the Caesar salad, the filet mignon with the melted gorgonzola cheese on top, it was wonderful. I ate so much I feel positively fat, like I’ll burst. And the service, the service was impeccable. The staff so attentive.’
‘That’s because they were serving the most beautiful woman in the place.’ He told her, gently kissing the shell of her ear, and then doing the same to her neck. He slowly descended her throat, alternately nipping and kissing, pausing occasionally to suckle on her warm pink skin. He was tempted to give her a love bite, a nice big purple hickey, his badge of ownership, but thought better of it. What would her family think, especially now that Sylvie was in the wedding.
Miss Kimmel had called while they were on their way to dinner to ask Sylvie to be her maid of honor. Sylvie was touched by the woman’s gesture and agreed to stand up for her. There’d been tears in her eyes when she hung up. Connor could only assume she was thinking of her mother. Another woman would be taking her place. It was wrenching for Sylvie, but there was nothing she could do about it. Surely she could see that. She was on such an emotional rollercoaster right now. She’d eventually come to terms with her father’s marriage and accept his new wife, a woman Sylvie admitted she was very fond of. It would just take time. He didn’t want to press her on it. Just wanted her to know he was there for her. Connor had done something very out of character for him: he’d gathered her into his arms and hugged her on the street. He pulled her body against his and just stood there sheltering and comforting her while curious passersby walked around them on the sidewalk. He was not fond of PDAs, public displays of affection. For the most part he saw them as unseemly. Oh he’d grope a breast or massage an inviting ass if he was among friends, but not when he was out in public where strangers could see. On the rare occasions when he fondled or kissed a woman in public, it was to indicate ownership. To send a message to all the males in the vicinity to back off. But this had been different. All he’d wanted to do was take away her pain. Moments before the phone call, he’d had to nearly restrain her from skipping down Queen St. After it, she was sadly quiet and subdued. A champagne cocktail and three glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon helped lift her spirits considerably, and also made her quite tipsy. Sylvie wasn’t much of a drinker. She couldn’t hold her liquor. He was pretty sure she’d never attended a kegger or succumbed to the lure of demon rum. Thankfully, imbibing alcohol didn’t make her maudlin or belligerent. It just made her giggly and happy. Normally he wouldn’t allow her to drink so much, but this was a special occasion. It had also been a very trying day for her.
The smell of her perfumed skin was intoxicating. He sniffed the pulse of her neck. He couldn’t identify the scent: Opium perhaps. Or maybe it was Angel. He couldn’t be sure. He always kept a selection of perfumes on hand for his aunt and visiting female guests to use. But Sylvie hardly ever wore them. This was a pleasant surprise. Not that she didn’t always smell good, because she did. It was just that tonight the fragrance that surrounded her was exotic and sensual. Most of the time Sylvie’s skin smelled of soap and her hair of coconuts. The only scent he’d ever seen her put on came from a little tin she said she’d bought in a Greenwich Village head shop, a mixture of patchouli oil, musk, and beeswax. He kissed her shoulder, soft butterfly kisses. His right hand moved to gently cup her breast. Palm grazing her nipple. It pebbled immediately. Connor couldn’t help smiling; he loved the way her body reacted to his touch. He grasped the peak between his thumb and forefinger and began to roll and squeeze it. Sylvie began to quiver. His left hand caressed her belly then pressed her back against him, his arousal resting at the small of her back. He soaked up the warmth emanating from her body. Then rolled his hips, his manhood throbbing against her spine. He had to have her or he’d explode. Connor rocked against her, his cock swelling and lengthening with each stroke. His left hand grabbed her other breast and began kneading it, pausing every now and again to pluck the nipple.
Sylvie’s breath came in little puffs as she felt her core heat up. Her hips rhythmically undulated against his thighs. Without saying a word, he bent, grabbed the hem of her dress, and pulled it over her head. She tried to turn away from the window, but he wouldn’t let her. She was his and he would have her absolute submission whenever and wherever he wanted. He didn’t give a damn if the whole world saw them. His left hand returned to her breasts. His fingers pinched, twisted, and tweaked the rose-colored buds. It was equal parts pain and pleasure. She winced and moaned as he continued to tug the tender little nubs. His right hand stroked her belly and then descended, gliding over the silken fabric of her sheer thong. His hand gently cupped her sex, his long fingers pushing the thin strip of elastic fabric out of the way so he could slide his finger over the warm wet folds of her pussy. He snarled when the fabric snapped back into place. He’d toyed with the idea of having her go commando tonight. But the dress was too long and too sheer for something like that. Her pretty little snatch would have been on display every time light played on the space between her legs. He didn’t want to show off too many of her charms, just enough to make other men green with envy. A short dress of thicker fabric was more appropriate for the type of sport he envisioned. He liked the idea of leisurely finger fucking her under the table between the garlic shrimp and salad course. Or massaging that sweet little clit of hers while she savored the crème brulee. But it was too early for that. She was shy, especially about anything to do with sex. Sylvie was prudish. She’d be scandalized if she had even an inkling that he entertained such notions. He suspected it would take a few spankings to incentivize her, before she’d acquiesce to a little game of under-the-table titillation. Marisol loved that kind of sex play and the kinkier the better! They’d dined while she had six inches of butt plug up her rear or had dual vibrators inserted in both her nether orifices. Wanton and uninhibited, she’d gotten down on her knees and given him blowjobs under the linen draped tables of some of the best restaurants in New York City. She’d orgasmed while he exchanged pleasantries with UN Ambassadors, oil tycoons, financiers, movie stars, and politicians. But Sylvie wasn’t like that. She wasn’t Marisol. What the fuck was the matter with him? Why was he going there again? Marisol was gone! Leave it be! His finger was poised at her opening; he needed to feel her warmth to drive the demons away. A small triangle of fabric blocked his way. He wasn’t about to be deterred by a fucking piece of elastic. He grabbed a handful of material and tore it off her with a violence that made her gasp in fear and quickly turn to face him. Her smile had disappeared; it was obvious his actions both frightened and shocked her. Her eyes searched his face wondering what she’d done to provoke the outburst. Connor stared at the rent cloth in his hands and threw it on the floor. He had to stop the caveman shit!
‘You do know those were $200 panties, right?’ she said, raising her eyebrow in disapproval, looking at him like he’d gone ’round the bend. They cost enough to feed a family of four for at least two weeks, maybe more. And he just rips them apart? What a waste! ‘They were part of a set. What am I supposed to do with the bra that matches them? Dump it?’
He looked sheepish. ‘We’ll get you a new pair. We’ll get you ten new pairs’ he promised, sounding almost apologetic. Almost, but not quite. Connor rarely, if ever, apologized. He viewed it as a sign of weakness. And he wasn’t a weak man, not by a long shot. ‘I can’t help myself,’ he said, attempting to rationalize his brutish behavior. ‘I turn into a fucking wild man when I’m around you. I have this overwhelming need to touch and fondle, stroke and caress you everywhere! I can’t have anything standing in my way. Not even a tiny bit of silk! I was nearly out of my mind all night. All I could think of was burying myself inside you.’ His mouth came down hot and hard against hers, their mouths melding in a breathless kiss. His tongue brushed the seam of her lips and they parted, bidding him enter.
Sylvie melted in his arms as his tongue explored the recesses of her mouth. She could feel heat pulsing through her veins. Her skin flushed as her ardor grew. A fire igniting between her legs.
His kisses blazed a trail down her hypersensitive skin till they came to rest on the soft mounds of flesh. His hands grabbed her bottom cheeks and lifted her into the air so he could suckle on her nipples. He savored the taste of those rosy peaks, his cock turning to steel.
He couldn’t wait another minute. He planted a hot soulful kiss on her mouth and lifted her higher, his hands tightening their grasp on her ass. She put her arms around his neck as their tongues twirled and tangled in sweet delight. Sylvie instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist.
Connor could feel the heat emanating from her pussy as it pressed against his shirt. Her arousal causing a wet spot on the fabric. His desire rising like a fever, he carried her into the bedroom and threw her down on the bed, climbing on top of her.
Sylvie squirmed beneath his weight, hands clutching at his back and shoulders. She began pulling at his shirt, dislodging it from his pants. She continued kissing him, their tongues sparring as she struggled to undo the buttons. Once undone, Sylvie pushed the fabric off his shoulders and worked the sleeves down, freeing his arms. She threw the shirt on the floor with a satisfied grunt then pulled his naked chest against her breasts, which were glistening, wet with perspiration. She ground her pelvis against his cock and whispered in his ear. ‘Please, please,’ she begged. ‘I need to have you inside me.’ She slipped her hand between them, gently massaging the bulge in his pants. Her other hand struggled to undo his belt.
He lifted himself up on his elbows and Sylvie undid the belt and pulled it off. Next she unfastened the metal hook and pulled down the zipper. Then using both hands, she tugged the pants and boxers down revealing his hard, muscular ass. Her fingers massaged his cheeks then slipped between them and descended down to stroke his balls. Connor was going crazy, ready to explode. He’d never seen her behave this way before. He wriggled his trousers down, then kicked off his loafers, and used his toes to push his pants off one leg at a time. Using his toes again, he managed to push down his socks and free his feet.
Connor’s skin was on fire. Beads of perspiration formed on his brow, chest, and back. The heat was overwhelming, like a blowtorch scorching his flesh. Balancing himself on one elbow, his hand began to stroke her belly, and then crept lower. He petted the soft skin of her mound, slipping his fingers between her thighs. She was wet, her cream bathing the delicate folds. He could feel her little nub peeking out beneath its hood, begging for attention. His finger began to circle the ripe pink pearl, tracing soft whorls round and round its base, teasing her. Sylvie arched her back and lifted her hips to him. She wanted more…much more. He rolled her clit between his fingers. Connor could feel her shuddering beneath his hand. Her breath caught when he began roughly rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth over the little bud then suddenly pinched it hard. She squirmed and moaned as he began rhythmically squeezing and releasing it. She felt another finger press into her. She gasped as it began plunging in and out. She was nearly overcome with ecstasy, writhing in delirium, when she felt a most unusual and unwelcome sensation. What in God’s name? One of his fingers, she thought perhaps it was his pinky, was exploring her bottom hole. No! We’re not going there! Not going to happen! She tried to use her elbows to scuttle back away from his probing digit, but the full weight of his body descended on her, holding her in place. She was going nowhere.
‘No, st…st…stop!’ She managed to cry out before his mouth claimed hers.
She could feel his finger insinuating itself into her tight little hole. She tried to wiggle away from it, then clenched her bottom cheeks together as hard as she could, but the more she resisted the harder he pushed.
Their lips unlocked and he looked down at her, his eyes firm and unyielding. ‘Settle down Sylvie,’ he ordered. ‘I told you that I would take possession of every part of you and that is just what I intend to do!’
Sylvie was wide-eyed and fearful. ‘I don’t like it. It hurts!’ she protested
‘Nonsense! That’s only because it’s your first time, but you’ll like it fine once you’ve gotten used to it. Practice makes perfect or so they say. The more it happens the easier it will be.’
Sylvie vehemently shook her head. ‘No! It hurts!’
‘Enough!’ he said, silencing her. ‘It only hurts because you’re fighting me. If you relax it won’t be so bad. Now be still.’ This was his own fault. He’d been much too lax with her. From the moment he’d realized how reluctant she was to engage in anal play, he should have insisted upon it. Forced her to accept his will. But he’d let it slide, just as he did so many things concerning Sylvie. No self-respecting dom would allow his submissive to get away with the things she did: the mumbled back talk, dirty looks, frowns, pouting, the cursing under her breath, the silent treatment. Sometimes he wondered who was in charge. Him or her? He was supposed to be training her to be his submissive, to be obedient, respectful, and compliant; but he hadn’t done a very good job of it thus far. She was his, his property, and he would take his pleasure with her whenever and however he wanted. There was no room for argument or interpretation. Sylvie didn’t seem to understand that their relationship wasn’t a democracy. She didn’t get to cast a vote or voice an opinion on anything. She would submit! That was all there was to it. Once they got back from the wedding, he would take up her training in earnest. By the time he was finished with her, Sylvie would lay quiet as a mouse and take his ministrations without complaint. She would soon learn to accept more than just his little finger up her back door. He’d remembered to bring the butt plug with him, but forgot to grab some lube. Of course, if he wanted to be a real prick, he could use liquid soap to grease the plug enough to ease it into her. There was a pump bottle of lavender scented soap in the bathroom. But the soap would probably burn like crazy. Soaping a plug would be something he’d use for punishment not training. So it seemed the lady would have a short-lived reprieve; but as soon as they returned from her father’s, her little bottom hole would be at his mercy. He smiled inwardly at the thought. His thumb resumed its torture of her swollen clit.
Sylvie could feel his pinky breaching the tight little pucker, stretching her opening. She tried to rise up, but was pinned to the mattress. He frowned and she lay still. It was useless to struggle. Connor pressed on until his first knuckle disappeared inside her.
She whimpered as he wiggled it. His lips brushed her ear. ‘There now, it’s not so bad is it?’ he whispered, nuzzling her hair. ‘With a bit of lubricant liberally applied to the area, allowing my fingers to move ever so slowly in and out of your sweet little behind, it will feel ever so nice. Quite erotic! It will make you quiver with pleasure and come like gangbusters.’
His words were like an aphrodisiac. His fingers played her, like music rising to a crescendo. She tried to fight it, but she was trapped in a swirling eddy, a pulsating whirlpool of titillation, sensation, and overwhelming arousal. Then suddenly, he stopped. He withdrew his fingers, leaving her empty and wanting.
‘Please! Please!’ she begged, wiggling her bottom into position so that his thick swollen cock lay at her entrance.
He could see the cream dripping from her inner lips. It trickled down the curve of her bottom leaving a wet spot on the bed. Connor pulled back then plunged into her, driving hard and deep into her hot molten core, impaling her on his arousal. He buried himself to the hilt then pulled back just long enough to catch his breath. His cock set a punishing rhythm as it rammed into her hot velvety sheath again and again.
‘Aaaah! Aaaah!’ she cried out as his length repeatedly slammed against her cervix. It hurt and yet…..
Like a jackhammer, he gave her no reprieve; pounding, piercing, and probing her soft flesh with his rock-hard pole. Her back arched with each thrust; her body throbbing, teetering somewhere between torment and titillation. Sylvie panted, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She was almost there. Connor groaned and quickened his pace, pistoning in and out of her, his balls beating against her bottom. He gripped her ass cheeks in each hand, pulling her to him, then drove into her violently, every inch of his manhood seated inside her. She gritted her teeth against the pain as she squirmed and writhed beneath him. Connor felt like he was ready to combust…incandescent, radiating heat. Ripples of passion caused his body to jerk and heave. Like a tidal wave crashing over him. He vibrated and hummed, electricity pulsing through his veins. His cock erupted, pleasure thundering through him. Sylvie trembled beneath him, her core igniting and exploding. She screamed as the orgasm engulfed her. Shutting her eyes, Sylvie felt herself swept into the vortex of a swirling maelstrom of sexual rapture.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Connor silenced her with a torrid kiss. ‘Come for me baby. That’s it. Come hard.’ Her body pulsated round his throbbing cock, caressing and squeezing, milking him dry.
He returned the favor, rubbing and kneading her clit, extracting every last bit of passion from her thrumming body.
Connor smiled in smug satisfaction as she lay spent and sated beneath him. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The tangled hair, the blush-touched cheeks, the full lips swollen and red from his attention. ‘God Sylvie, do you have any idea how beautiful you are? You’re adorable. An enchanting little angel. Sometimes I look at you and can’t believe you’re really mine. You’ve bewitched me.’
Her half-closed eyes opened wide. Had she heard him right? Connor thought she was beautiful? Beautiful…really? No one had ever said that to her before. No one had ever even told her she was pretty or cute for that matter. Was he joking? The look in his eyes said no!
She threw her arms around him, lifting her head to whisper in his ear. ‘I love you Connor. I love you so much!’
Her words blindsided him. He quickly turned away, his body suddenly rigid.
Sylvie was shocked by his reaction. She waited for him to say something, but he remained silent as the sphinx. Connor couldn’t even bring himself to look at her.
‘I love you,’ she whispered again, expecting some kind of recognition or response.
Love? No way! He’d heard those same words from countless other women. Idle pillow talk said in the throes of passion; meaningless for the most part. Women loved his money, not him. He was anything but lovable with his dark moods and testy arrogance. But perhaps Sylvie saw something in him that no one else could. In that regard she was like Marisol. Still, love was out of the question. They weren’t in this for the long haul. He thought he’d made that abundantly clear to her. Their coupling was just a mutually pleasurable diversion. Sylvie stupidly mistook the afterglow from a proper fucking as love. It happens, especially to someone as naïve and sexually inexperienced as Sylvie. He had to nip this in the bud!
He turned back to Sylvie, busying himself brushing wisps of damp hair from her face. When his gaze finally met hers, the look in her eyes took him aback. The realization startled him…he saw love reflected there. The real deal! Kind, enduring, forgiving, all-encompassing love; and it scared the everlovin’ piss out of him! He’d been a real shit, taking advantage of her naiveté the way he had. He’d taken her virginity then kept her sequestered in what amounted to sexual thrall. She was obviously confusing sex with love. He could see how that might happen to a girl like her. She had no point of comparison. Why wouldn’t she think this was something more than it was? All the romance novels she read told her to expect a ‘happily ever after’ ending. She’d surrendered her body to him; slept every night in his bed. It wasn’t much of a leap to think she could have construed that as love. As painful as it was to admit, he’d been playing with her emotions, stoking the fires of love and affection in her, while feeling nothing but lust on his side. She didn’t understand the difference between the two. She didn’t seem to understand that this was a game they were playing; it wasn’t reality. Sylvie had an innocent and vulnerable sensuality that he found irresistible. Connor responded to her on a primitive level, like a rutting male seeking a female of his species…that’s all! It was all about the sex for him, about dominance and submission, mastery and subjugation. It was not about love! It was never going to be about love!
She stared at him sadly. ‘You don’t love me at all do you?’ she said, crushed at the realization that he didn’t return her feelings. ‘I’m just a convenient piece of ass for you. No commitments. No responsibilities. You used me!’
Connor sighed in frustration. ‘I’m in lust with you. Isn’t that enough?’ He was grateful to Sylvie. She warmed his bed and did her best to please him. But that didn’t entitle her to his undying gratitude and certainly not his love. There were a couple of hundred women willingly waiting to take her place. And they wouldn’t muddy the water by demanding that he love them! ‘Look, I enjoy being with you Sylvie. I love fucking you. I want you every minute of the day. You’re like a drug. I can’t get enough of you. I crave you, everything about you: the smell, the taste, the feel of you. But it’s lust Sylvie…nothing more. What do you want me to do? Profess my undying love and devotion? I can’t do that. I can’t love you. I’m not capable of those feelings! We’re good together. Things are fine the way they are. Why do we have to spoil it? Why can’t that be enough for you? I care about you. I truly do. I want to take care of you, protect you, and keep you safe. But that’s as good as it’s ever going to get! I won’t lie to you and tell you I love you when I don’t.’ He raised himself up and slid out of her.
Her lips trembled as tears began to pool in her eyes. She nodded her head, but wouldn’t look at him. As soon as he was out and off of her, she rolled onto her side, turning her back to him.
He could hear her crying softly. He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she shrank away from him. He didn’t know what to do. How to fix this. His conscience, normally nowhere to be found, was rearing its ugly head. Sylvie didn’t deserve this, his inner voice lectured. He’d taken advantage of her. Made her love him, just to prove he could. She was just another conquest on his way to…to what? He had this sweet little girl who put up with his foul moods and his bullshit and he was throwing it all away.
‘Sylvie I’m sorry if I hurt you. I’m all fucked up! Always have been, always will be! I don’t want to lose you. Let’s take it one day at a time. OK? Maybe one day…’ he couldn’t finish, the words sticking in his throat.
What a chickenshit coward! What an unmitigated sleazeball he was! Lying through his teeth. Giving her false hope. Maybe one day what? He’d marry her? Hell would freeze over first! Or pigs fly out of his ass! She was right…he was using her. She wanted love and all that implied: wedding bells, a white picket fence, a vine-covered cottage. He just wanted to fuck her every which way from Sunday. He hadn’t courted or romanced a woman in a long time. His relationships, his love affairs, always ended badly, tragically even. He wasn’t going there again!
‘Get some sleep baby. We’ve got a long day tomorrow. We’ll head over to Red Velvet on Elgin St. first thing in the morning. They’ve a large selection of Canadian and International designer clothes there. If they don’t have anything you like, we’ll check out the ByWard Market. There are a lot of little shops and boutiques there that cater to young women. Three in particular: Manhattan Marque, Victoire, and Trustfund have really nice stuff. I’ve shopped there before. One of them is bound to have a dress you can wear. And I want to take you to Amanda May, this really cool lingerie shop. We’ll get the clothes for you and the lingerie for me. Something very naughty, very sexy, and scandalous.’ He paused to kiss her shoulder. ‘And while we’re there we can have lunch at the Aulde Dubliner Pour House. It’s an Irish Pub. They’re the only place I know that serves a Canadian bison burger. You’ve got to try one!’
Still sniffling, she turned over, her fingers brushing away a stray tear. ‘You mean bison as in buffalo?’
‘The very same! You’ll love it. They’re great!’ Sylvie didn’t look convinced. She gave a sad little sigh and turned away from him, staring out at the lights of the city. He was sure she wasn’t thinking about burgers. Connor grabbed her shoulder and forced her to look at him. ‘We’ll be fine you and I. You’ll see. We’re good together. We’ll work it out. I promise. Don’t let this spoil the trip. I want you to enjoy tomorrow. OK?’
She nodded. ‘Can we go on the double decker tour bus or the sightseeing boat? I want to see the Parliament buildings, the museums, the parks, the Prime Minister’s house…’
‘Sorry Sylvie,’ he cut in. ‘There isn’t enough time for all that. We’ve got to get home and pack so we can drive to your Dad’s.’
She looked disappointed.
‘But I promise we’ll come back here once the book’s done and we’ll spend a couple of days doing the tourist thing. Take the sightseeing tours, visit all the museums, hit the casino, and sample all the restaurants. OK?’
She nodded, but couldn’t help wondering if she’d be the one coming back here with him. It was obvious Connor was very familiar with the city. The maître d’ knew him by name. He was certainly well versed when it came to the local ladies’ shops. Since he wasn’t a transvestite, she could only assume he’d been in those stores with other women. Sylvie felt herself deflate. She wasn’t so special after all! She loved Connor, but she didn’t really trust him. He wasn’t open with her. She had no idea who or what he really was. He cared about her. Or so he said. But he didn’t love her. Was that enough for her? She didn’t think so. God help her. She’d already fallen in love with the bastard. Now what was she going to do?
He snored peacefully beside her while she lay awake pondering her future. She wavered between being hurt and being pissed. She incited his lust…really? That’s it? That’s all? What the fuck was wrong with him? They had mind-blowing, throbbing, erotic, ecstatic, pulsating, pounding, seismic sex. Once, twice, three, or even four times a day. Surely it was more than just a simple case of lust. It was special…no matter what he said! Eventually he’d come to see that…wouldn’t he? Maybe he was phobic when it came to love and marriage. She’d just have to be patient with him. Whatever his problem was, she wasn’t going to fix it by bailing on him. She had to hang in there. Think positive! She closed her eyes and went to sleep.
‘Marisol! Marisol!’ Connor screamed over and over. ‘Oh God, Marisol! Please! Please! Don’t go! Don’t leave me!’
Sylvie awoke to his anguished cries. She quickly turned on the lamp and was startled to see him quaking in the bed, face frozen in terror, looking as though he’d seen a ghost. ‘Connor, are you alright?’ she asked in concern. But the question she really wanted to ask was…who the fuck was Marisol?
