usually i write shorter, but this story begs to be told in one long sequence. Fair warning, this one is verrah long. ~n~
She could hardly believe it! At long last, she was on her way up to interview him. The somewhat uncomplimentary term ‘troglodyte’ floated through her mind, though she would never use it in her story. The talented artist barely tolerated publicity, zealously guarded his privacy, but the gallery had insisted this time. She would interview, and write, a piece on Matt Foxx.
This could *make* her career.
The terse approval, and brief directions she had received in her late afternoon email gave her scant time to gather her things and head up the mountain to meet with Him.
The roads up here had more snow than the slight dusting the valley had received. The tall conifers were gilded with fresh white snow, and the smell of the crisp air blended with the sharpness of pine. It eked in through the slightly open window. She took a deep breath of the freshly scented air, and shivered. It really sucked that she couldn’t afford a better transport, but that was life these days. Besides, if she closed the window, she’d be melted by the heater which was stuck on “high” and blowing merrily across her feet.
* * *
The deer bolted from the thick cover of the woods, catching her unaware. She slammed on her brakes, realizing too late that was a huge mistake, even as her wheels locked and she felt the skid begin. The narrow drive wound upwards, the drop offs, sharp. She knew a moment too late that her car was heading down into the trees.
Like a slow motion scene in a movie, she saw the front end tip down, down and her car slide sideways towards one tall, thick pine. The jolt was sudden, sharp, and unexpectedly quiet, as her head hit the side window and she blacked out.
She woke to the sharp slap of cold against her skin, and the tug of someone pulling her arm. She tried to slap him away, slapped again, was gruffly told to ‘knock it the fuck off’. She rose back to consciousness blinking the fuzz from her brain. Matt Foxx’s sharply chiseled face was bare inches from hers.
“Don’t they teach you stupid city girls how to fucking drive in snow?” He snarled at her.
“Don’t they teach your stupid fucking deer not to run in front of cars?” she snarled back.
He looked down at her, surprised, then surprised her further by grinning. His smile needed to be registered, she thought a bit groggily, as a lethal weapon.
Later, wrapped in a multicolored quilt that seemed quite remarkable for him to even possess, and clutching a steaming mug of cocoa, she offered her thanks.
“This was not how i’d intended to interview You, Mr. Foxx, but i thank you for your timely rescue.”
“Let’s make sure your head is okay before thinking about the interview, little one.”
He had a way, that was for sure. She wondered if what she had heard about him, being part of the BDSM scene back in NYC had any nugget of truth. And wondered too, if that was why Leon had sent her on this particular story. Certainly it would place a big ole feather in her cap, but she was very open about her kink. And Leon was a peach about it, really. He would tease her about it, but in a caring, fatherly way.
Leon was didn’t have a Dom bone in his body, but looking at Foxx…well, he fit the “type” if there was such a thing. Controlling, eagle-eyed, controlling, watchful, controlling.
She laughed to herself. And he was fucking gorgeous. All thick hair and lean-faced. He had “danger” written all over him. Her favorite type, her warming pussy chimed in.
He looked at her. She wondered if it was the man, or the artist whom she was seeing just now. He sipped his coffee, drinking her as much as the warm beverage he held in those talented hands. She tried to imagine them holding a paintbrush, and not a crop.
She shook her head.
“What?” he spoke, and she realized that she’d fallen silent in her musings. A bad thing for a reporter, she knew, and yet, she could lay that to the muzzy headache in her temple.
“oh, sorry, just…woolgathering. Thinking about Your paintings, your studio.”
“Which studio would that be?” His look was challenging. “I’m sure you’ve googled me, heard the stories. I googled you, too. I see we have tastes that run along a similar vein, little one.”
She swallowed, nonplussed. He’d googled her? She’d not even done herself in a long time…like since …high school, she supposed…but she had a fair idea of what He had found.
“So, it’s true then, the New York stories?” her voice, was calm, surprising her.
“Of course it’s true, or you boss wouldn’t have sent YOU to me, would he?”
She blinked. Hadn’t she had that same thought? Damn. Damn. And her pussy was twitching. She rose, her nerves making her hands shake a bit, rattling her.
“Look, Mr. Foxx, why don’t i head back to town and we can reschedule this interview for later…”
“You don’t seem like the cut-and-run type, little girl.” His eyes challenged her. “Besides, your car is fetched up one of my pine trees and the tow company won’t come out this way for quite some time. I told them there was no rush, they could come tomorrow.”
Her heart paused a beat, then rushed headlong into a mix of annoyed anger, and incendiary lust. How dared HE? Then again, considering who, and what He was…why wouldn’t he?
She threw him a glare anyway. “That was presumptuous.”
He grinned. “It was, wasn’t it? You’ll find that is a good summation of my character. I presume, I take.”
“Take? That could land you in trouble, you know.” She wondered exactly what they were talking about, but her pussy knew. Her nipples, hard as rocks under her quilt wrapping, they knew too.
He reached out a hand, which she could no more resist taking than she could stop breathing. There it was again, that little tingle that passed between them. He knew it. She knew it.
“How hard are you going to fight me before you believe?” He asked quietly as He pulled her close.
She shook her head, words for once, gone, fled out into the darkening night.
“You feel it, little one. You’ve been searching for a long time. Maybe it’s time for you to give yourself another try, hmmm?”
His right hand still held hers, but the other hand was slipping up and down her back, and little tangles of lust wove under her skin at the touch. It was true, she’d gone through lovers like water through a sieve. She just never could find the one Dom who meshed with her. The one who controlled, not just through pain and bondage, but with an innate confidence. She looked up into His eyes and read truth there.
How the fuck did He do that? Spin his web around her that fast? She tried to break contact, but he held her, soothing and stirring her with that simple caress up and down her back. When he finally released her hand, she was quiescent, trembling a bit, but still.
His hand fisted deeply in her hair, and he slowly pulled her head back baring her throat. Still he didn’t move in, just gazed at her, drinking in even that small act of submission.
She felt the touch of his eyes like heated darts along her lips, her throat. Her eyes closed, finally under that intense gaze, and as her lids fell shut, His lips brushed against hers. Brushed with the softness of a sable brush. And then it was …more. It was a kiss, it was a taking in. He drank deeply from her mouth, tasting her flavor, lapping at her tongue, her lips, sucking those succulent rounds into his mouth, biting and nipping before releasing them.
She felt her lips swell with the attention his mouth gave, and then He went deeper, taking, pulling her into him, her tits pressing against his chest, her mouth under siege. She felt consumed, and as he released her, and their eyes met, tinglingly, achingly aware.
He took her to his ‘Studio’. The public one, where his work evolved. Canvases were everywhere. Pieces of frames lay neatly stacked on a table against the far wall, blank canvas stored in several boxes. The smell of paint, of thinner, of man, permeated the room. She imagined being up here at dawn, or dusk, not just watching the sun rise, or set, but being part of it. The glass walls let the world outside, in. Despite the press of cold air and star-dotted sky, it was warm up here, and she was enthralled.
She did a slow spin, taking in her first impressions, imagined trying to write this, so that her readers could be in this place if only for a moment, through her. It nearly defied description. The faint glow of the rising moon illuminated the distant, snow-bright peaks. She felt she’d been transported to some magical kingdom.
“It’s fabulous. It’s not all i want to say, Mr. Foxx but truly, i…” He watched her, leaning negligently against a long, sturdy oak table, one foot crossed over the other, hands curled loosely on the edge of the surface behind him. She stuttered to silence as she watched him, watching her. That smile was just killer, she thought, full of charm, and confidence. He knew who he was, and he’d do whatever the fuck he chose. He exuded calm, quiet strength.
oboy did He exude sex.
Her nipples went back on high alert, and her pussy jolted. His eyes cruised down her body, resting a moment on her chest, where her protuberant nipples waved at him, then down her legs, and back up. His gaze was a tease, a caress.
“Come. Here.” His voice was soft, but not gentle. She took a hesitant step forward, and another. All too soon she was standing before his crossed feet.
She couldn’t get closer unless she straddled his legs and moved up him and she for sure wasn’t going to do that. He read her like a book, she thought, as his hand left the table, and curled into the hem of her white sweater. She did not refuse the gesture, though she could easily have stepped back, stepped away. Instead, she left his finger there, let it tease her slowly forward. Slowly up his legs, the brush of his warmth against her own calves, moving upwards to her thighs as she came ever closer. Her pussy tingled, feeding off the heat from his body.
She felt that heat answered in her cunt, burning and yearning towards his belly, imploring silently for his hardness to bury itself into the silken wetness that throbbed between her legs. That selfsame place that had soaked her panties. Finally, he released her sweater, his hand slipping behind her, pressing the small of her back forward those last few inches. Pressed tight to him, she could feel the hardness of his cock pressing into the juncture of her thighs. She imagined that thickness buried deeply up inside her belly. She could not hold back the soft, low moan.
Both arms came around her now, holding her hard, and he spoke quietly into her ear.
“I am going to fuck you, little one. I will lay you here on this table, tying your arms to the legs, keeping you motionless as I fuck you from behind. My cock will fill you, swim deep up into your hot cunt. I feel it, you know. I feel your heat, smell the wetness of you. I will take and take and take, fucking you hard, fucking you deep, filling you, using you until I am sated, and I cum deep within you.”
She shivered and though it seemed impossible, heated further. Her breath was irregular, short gasping little pants, trying to draw more oxygen into her starving lungs. Her pulse was centered solely within her clit.
His hands lifted from her waist, drawing her sweater upwards. Her tits hung free, braless as was her wont.
“Hmmm, nice, nice tits, my little girl. What succulent nipples I will feast upon, later. Much later.”
His words sent a frisson of goosebumps down her spine, speckling her tits, and drawing her nipples into firmly crinkled nubs of intense need.
He pushed her away, gently, then stepped free of the table. He loosened the buttons of her trousers, and pulled them free. He pushed her back to the table, and, hand against her hair, pushed her facedown. The top was smooth as silk, cool as glass under her cheek. She lay, quiescent, as he moved about the room. What was going to happen here was inevitable. She knew it.
She wanted it.
Wanted it more than air. More than cookie dough ice cream. More than her story.
He was on the far side of the table now, drawing her wrists together, tightening every loop carefully, and she watched him work the rope against her flesh, feeling an answer deep inside her cunt. He looked into her eyes as he guided the rope across the table, under it. He ducked beneath the table now, and she felt the movement of air as He moved, unseen below her. He was crossing the rope around the legs on her side of the table; His hand was firm when He grasped her left calf, and wrapped one length of rope tightly around it, and secured it to the thick leg of the table. Ducking back under the table, He retrieved the other length of line, and wrapped that around the right table leg, then hers.
She was spread wide, her legs held open, secured to the legs of the table, her arms yearning toward the far side of the table. If she pulled her arms, she felt a whisper of that tug against both legs. Clever.
“I told you downstairs that I took what I wanted. And so I have taken you, little one.” His hand cracked against her ass. “Your boss and I talked long about you. He was worried for you, you see. Thought you were headed down a bad way. He and I go way back. Went to college together, were dorm neighbors. Two geeky guys, a wannabe writer, a wannabe artist, stuck sitting in the hallway together as our roomies boffed every girl they could.”
She was enthralled, then whistled in another sharp breath as His hand slapped her again. She felt the coil of need grow tendrils through her body. She needed him to fuck her.
She knew better than to ask.
His hand rubbed the reddening flesh, then slapped again.
“When Leon called me with the idea that I meet you, I said okay. We know each other, you see. And he felt he owed me, since I introduced him to his husband.”
She jolted. Leon was gay? Well, he’d hidden that from her for the 7 months she’d worked under him. Sneaky. Just sneaky. The crack on her ass diverted her attention back to her heating ass.
It stung, and was not His hand. A flurry of quick, sharp blows and she arched up. Well, she imagined she did, though He had tied her securely and she moved only a fraction. She felt the sudden sharp tug against her clit as He tugged on the black lace panties He had left on.
“Cute panties, but you will need to purchase another pair, or twenty, little one,” He said. With a sharp tug, she felt the sides give way, and she blushed faintly when He tossed them onto the table. They fetched up near her face, and she smelled the scent of her arousal on them, could see the shiny white streaks where her lust had painted them wetly.
He rubbed his hands against her now bare flesh, gently tapping the crop up her back, down the other side. He was painting her in pain, she thought, smiling at the simile, then winced as He struck her hip harder, sharper than before.
“Yell for me, little one, let me hear you sing out…”
She wanted to be quiet, but He kept swatting, rubbing, repeating. Sometimes her ass, then her back, her thighs. Twice that fucking thing hit her swollen dripping cunt. The third time broke her, and she cried out, loudly.
And felt Him fill her.
Her cunt stung wickedly, and without warning He was just there. His thick heavy cock just slid up inside of her yearning cunt like she was greased.
Which, she supposed, she was.
He took her on a hard, fast ride, his hips banging into her throbbing asscheeks, his cock rubbing her in all the right places. His hand came around her and pinched at her clit, sending her into her first orgasm, then slipped away to grasp her hips as he barreled up and into her, fucking her through her orgasm and into a second, even wilder one.
His hands slipped up her sides, reaching under to pinch and twist her nipples, and she came again. Again, He pinched, twisted, slamming his cock roughly into her. He leaned into her now, his hips beating her, his breath at last losing control, rasping deeply as He hurtled towards his own explosion.
When it came, she swore she could feel the pulsing expulsions of cum sluicing up against her cervix, coating her, spraying her with his life-essence. He collapsed on her, as she came again.
“Only 4 orgasms, little one?” he gasped. “Soon I will teach you to cum even more often.”
“How soon?” she panted back.
His laughter painted her in a warm, peaceful glow.
He was an artist, indeed.