The Lover's Children novel Chapter 33

CHARLOTTE

Richard eases forward…

… then back again… “Charlotte, breathe.”

In…

Out…

“Again. Breathe.”

His body pierces mine, inch by swollen inch, sinking into me. My mouth is filled, my tongue pressed flat. Saliva and tears stream. My nose waters.

Deeper he penetrates, and yet more deeply. The pressure on my throat is intense, but the pain is my gift to him. This man, who has helped me so much, given me so much. And as he moves, easing back and forth, as I relax, the discomfort retreats.

Penetrating me completely now, Richard groans. His fingernails clutch into my scalp, pinpricks of pain, a counterpoint to the softness of his ball-sac pressed to my chin, the fuzz of hair at my face. His breathing is loud and laboured. A trickle of sweat down his belly adds a briny tang to the musk of his groin as he fathoms me.

With a grunt and a loud exhalation, Richard jolts forward, fingers locking around my head, locking me to him as he Comes, pulsing deep into me.

But now, unmoving, Richard’s shaft plugs my airways. I can't swallow. Can't breathe. Something buzzes, almost louder than the banging of my heartbeat, the hammering pulse behind my ears.

It's too much.

Too much.

My vision blackening at the edges, I slap the bed. And again.

And again.

But Richard, still in mid-climax, is already pulling out. Deep inside as he is, it takes a few moments to withdraw his long cock. Eternal-brief seconds pass before I am released. Cum pulses hot and sweet over my tongue, and as he exits completely, spatters over my face and neck.

I drop to my hands, coughing and choking, clearing my airways. Hands lift me from all sides, depositing me to sit on the bed. Fingers work at the strap holding the gag in place, release the curb between my teeth.

My Master sits to one side, patting between my shoulder blades.

“Charlotte?” Richard sounds contrite. “Charlotte, have I hurt you?”

“I'm fine.” I cough again, then massage my mercifully freed jaw, working circles into the muscles with my fingertips. “Really, I'm fine.”

Michael presses a damp cloth into my hand, and I wipe my face and swollen eyes and lips, free of cum and spit and snot and tears, then see I need to clean my chest and breasts.

Feeling foolish now, I sit up. A couple of deep lungfuls of air, and my head clears. Michael gives me a glass of water.

Fingers pinch at my chin, steering me inexorably to my Master's face. He stares at me for a moment. “You’re fine.” Then in dry tones. “You need another shower, Charlotte.”

“Yes, Master.”

*****

GEORGIE

For the fifth time, and without meaning to, I lean back a little to catch my reflection in the mirror behind the bar.

It’s not easy, only a partial view, blocked by ranked bottles of spirits and liqueurs. Besides, I’ve already checked myself over in the bathroom. I know that my make-up is well applied, my clothes look good and there’s no spinach poking from between my teeth. I started the evening with my hair up, fussing with a complicated knot-work of braids for nearly an hour before I decided it looked just too complicated…

Casual venue…

Trying too hard…

… then spending another twenty minutes with comb and tongs smoothing it all out again. Now it drapes over my shoulders, the glossy black of a raven’s wing, catching highlights from the spots.

The door swings, and on autopilot, I lean to see who entered…

Just some stranger…

One eye on the mirror again, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, hesitate...

No, it looked better before…

... then tug it forward again to drape by my cheek. But now, my hair unkempt, I rummage through my bag for my hairbrush, give myself a quick once-over, then stuff the brush back in the bag just as the door opens again…

Is it him?

The Friday night crowd blocks my view, but above the throng, a head of silver-blond hair moves and twists, one way, then the other. The crowd briefly parts…

… Borje pauses, taking in the room, then spotting me, strides forward, breaking into a star-burst smile. Reflexively, smoothing the skirt over my knees, I check my reflection again, just in time for my date to break through the horde. Hands outheld, he takes me by the shoulders, gives me a peck on the forehead. "Georgie, you look beautiful."

My stomach tips. “You’re looking pretty good too.” Patting the leather-topped stool next to mine, "I saved you a place."

"Thank you. But in fact, I booked us a table."

"You did?"