40 - Strawberry Fields

I've fallen seriously behind with the writing.  I can't promise what this week is going to bring, but I'll do what I can.  Hope you find lots of pleasant surprises in your days ahead!!  
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For the first time in the month he’d known her, Jon felt like the field he and Petey were playing on had evened.  Up to this point, he’d always felt that she was somewhere slightly above him looking down.   He was used to having the upper hand, and now he had it once again.

It brought him an inner calm.

This was what he did.  He took charge and made things good, because nobody else could do it quite the way he could.  Egomaniacal?  Maybe.   Control freak?  Definitely.   People didn’t really understand that, in the long run, it was better for everyone that way.  If he was in total control then, at the end of the day, he was the only one to blame if his satisfaction hadn’t been met.

Upon scaling the final step, he paused to look down at the Pixie of Darkness with a knowing smile.  There would definitely be satisfaction from this little venture.   All around.

Wordlessly, he tightened his hold on her hand, guiding her behind him when he took a right turn into the upstairs hallway.  Away from his bedroom.

“But-“  Her brow was furrowed in that Petey ‘what the hell?’ look.

“Yes?”  His steps didn’t falter.   He had known that one was going to throw her for a loop.  “You’re wondering why we’re not going to bed?”

“Well.  Yes.”

Of course you are.  I think you’re one of the few who could safely pit their control freak tendencies against mine. 

“Two reasons.”  They had cut across the near corner of the upstairs entertaining area, which he’d purposefully kept lowly lit.  Enough light to navigate through the room, but not enough to invite her distraction. 

Jon paused in the doorway before them, finding the light control panel on the wall and punching only the bottom button.  “One, I haven’t shown you around up here.” 

They crossed the threshold into the upstairs kitchen.  His selective lighting pattern had ignited only the two ceiling lights than dangled above the huge island in the center of the room.  The effect strongly resembled spotlights against the marble top .

“Two,” he continued, bringing her to a halt before the massive centerpiece of the room.  It was barren except for a carefully folded kitchen towel.  “I don’t want to sleep in a sticky bed.”

He gave her an indulgent smile when her gray eyes – yes, they were gray tonight – widened.  They darted to and fro over the gleaming black surface with concentrated speculation.  Pulling her around to face him, he settled his hands on her hips.  “It drives you crazy not knowing, doesn’t it?”

Her gaze flicked guiltily up to his face, and she bit the right side of her bottom lip somewhat nervously, he thought.

“Yes, Sir.  I’m sorry.”

Dammit there was Vulnerable Petey again.  She sucker-punched him every time she appeared.

He fluttered a kiss against her forehead, saying, “We’re starting out slow, if that helps ease your mind any.  Kind of like Intro to Kink.”  

“Oh.  Okay,” she agreed, staring at a point beyond his right shoulder.  Then, she apparently thought better of it, because her face puckered into a frown and she shook her head.  “No.  It really doesn’t help at all.”

He laughed and slid his hands from her hips to waist, tightening his grip.  “Up you go.”   It was no effort to lift her bitty body onto the surface of the island.  “Now gimme your foot.”

“What are you doing?”

Hand expectantly extended downward for the foot he’d requested, Jon frowned at her in annoyance.  “It was only ten minutes ago that we had the conversation about doing what I say.  Don’t make me bring it up again.”

Petey’s lips immediately pressed together in a flat line and she put her right foot out so that he could cradle her calf. 

“Better.”  Without another word, he untied the long laces and worked the low-heeled, Victorian style boot free, and it made a muffled clatter when falling to the tile.  Waving his fingers upward, Jon gestured for her to give him the other foot, and, this time, he was pleased to note that she complied instantly.

Both feet bare except for the stockings that were unpredictably white, he released them to dangle above the floor.  “Take your dress off, Sugar,” he commanded in a low voice.

“I’ll need to get down.”  She waited for his permission before moving.  Her meekness caused his testosterone levels to spike. 

I hope she doesn’t need much sleep, because it’s going to be a long night.

He dipped his chin in consent, and she bounded lightly to the floor.  One efficient movement had her dress dangling from her fingertips, and she asked demurely, “Can I put this someplace besides the floor?”

Silently devouring her lacy white bra, panties, garter belt and stockings, he silently offered to take it.  “I don’t suppose you have that kind of getup in black?”

She pressed the sweater garment into his hand.  “Yes.”

Blood surged southward.  He never expected to want to see her in black.  She wore it all the time for God’s sake.  But, as pretty as the white was, the contrasting black lingerie and alabaster skin would be sexy as hell. He knew it without a doubt.  “I want you wearing it tomorrow night.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Shit.  He wasn’t going to make it through this without a serious case of premature ejaculation.  His little imp had turned angel, and he hadn’t been prepared for what that was going to do to him.

So Jon did the only thing he thought might help.  He turned his back on her.

“Take them off,” he ordered gruffly, tracking through the shadows to one of the counters along the wall where he spent an eternity getting her dress folded into a relatively neat square.  It was long enough to get his head back under control, and he returned to where she stood, now naked and demure.

“Up.”  Wrapping his hands around her waist once again, he helped her get reseated on the island.  “Lie down.  You can put your head on the towel.  It’s a little softer than the countertop,” he teased with a slight smile, trying to ease the trepidation in her eyes and get himself back on track.  He pushed the long, loose hair behind her shoulders, completely baring her breasts.   “And pull your hair up behind your head.”

Petey shivered at the coolness of the marble against her back.  The way the lights were hung, one was positioned over her ankles, and the other right about her neck.   While the bulb wasn’t shining directly in her eyes, it effectively eclipsed everything around it and she couldn’t see anything.

“You like champagne?” he asked casually from somewhere outside her line of vision.  She heard the suction release around the door as he opened the refrigerator, and the light made new shadows on the ceiling.

“It’s okay.”

The new shadows disappeared when the heavy door sealed shut once again.  His footsteps were silent, but she thought he’d gone to one of the counters at the perimeter of the room.  Maybe the same one he’d taken her dress to?

The air crackled with the brief crumpling of foil, before the slight squeaking and the distinctive ‘pop’ of a cork found her ears.

“Would you like a glass?”  Fine crystal chimed melodically from contact with the bottle, and she heard the bubbles happily splashing free of their confinement.

“No.“  She wanted to get on with this.  The anticipation was killing her, and she had a funny feeling he knew that.  Was that part of his game?

“Do you mind if I have some?”  Damn his quiet feet.  His voice was directly above her, and the sound of crystal perching on marble came from somewhere in the vicinity of her right ear.  Face obscured by the light, he was a disembodied voice, and it made him all the more imposing.

What was she supposed to say to that?  In her state of riddled anxiety, she inadvertently reverted to pure Petey.  “Drinking champagne hardly qualifies as kinky.  In my opinion, anyway.”

“Well.”  A single finger trailed languidly from her shoulder to wrist, and she felt her nipples pucker at the sensual touch.  “I guess that means I’m gonna need to change your opinion.” 

His voice smoothly transformed from contemplative to commanding. “Put your hands out and grab onto the sides of the island.  Under no circumstances are you to let go.” 

Oh God.  Here we go.  I’m naked and at his mercy, spread out like a damn picnic.

Her fingers obediently curled over the rounded edges and clung to the underside of the marble, and Petey sucked in a long breath between her teeth.

What the hell?

Chilled liquid fingers trickled outward from the center of her chest, circling around each breast and down their sides, to leave her lying in two small puddles of what she presumed was champagne.

She barely registered what was going on, before another small splash hit her right nipple and cascaded downward.  Then her left. 

He was covering her in champagne.

Petey’s back arched and her inner muscles clenched with glee at the notion she was about to become erotically sipped upon.

The next cool splash was on the concave plane of her belly.  It held the liquid a little more properly than the mounds of her breast, and she could feel the bubbles tickling around her navel.  Every inch of flesh that the champagne coated was promptly transformed into an erogenous zone.

Okay, probably not the kinkiest thing ever, but holy cow was it erotic.

“Your nipples are hard.  Cold, Sugar?”

The hot honey of his voice dripped over her and she shivered at the same time the cool marble soothed her sweaty palms.  Her fingers flexed around the counter but didn’t release it.  “No.”

“Are you sure?”  Another ration of champagne splashed over her nearly barren mound.  She felt each individual drop skittering into the creases of her legs and the already wet folds of her sex.  She couldn’t withhold a small moan at the intimate invasion.  “Because I can warm you up.”

“I’m…  plenty warm.”  She squirmed restlessly, aching for more. 

He hummed noncommittally, and placed the champagne flute where she thought there had already been one – next to her head.   Then a scraping sound came from somewhere beneath her.  He was taking something from a shelf, maybe?

A glass object bigger than a champagne flute settled next to the two(?) glasses, but still resonated of glass.  Then there were two soft plops, and the sweet hiss of bubbles.

“How about strawberries?  You like those?”

Ohhhh.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Yes, what?” was his seductive whisper.

God, she was going to combust, right here, right now and he hadn’t even touched her.

“Yes… Sir.”

Faint sounds led her to believe he retrieved one of the flutes, but the splashes confused her until he said, “Open your mouth.”

She was hesitant, barely parting her lips, but it was enough for him to ease the ripe fruit through the portal. 

“Bite.”

She did, and the flavors assailed her tongue much as his ministrations had assailed her body.  “Mmm.”

“You like that huh?”  He was clearly amused with her.  “I’ll give you something even better in just a minute.”

The heavier glass slid across the marble and she felt a slight weight on her sternum, then another just below it, and then two more.  Petey lifted her head ever so slightly, trying to see what he was doing.

Strawberries.  He’d spaced out four strawberries from sternum to crotch atop her body.

“Those have to stay right there,” he cautioned, smoothing a palm up her thigh.  “Until I take them.  That means you have to hold very still.  If they fall off, you’ll have to pay the penalty.  Do you understand?”

Petey’s head was going to explode.  She had to calm herself, so she quickly ran through the Preamble to the Constitution in order to detach herself just a little bit.

“Yes, Sir.”  She was calm now.  She could do this.

He picked up the first one and she could hear his teeth breaking the flesh as he bit into it.  She fought to stifle a gasp as the juicy strawberry was placed against her left nipple, then slowly swirled outward until her entire breast had been bathed in its nectar.  The process was painstakingly and thoroughly repeated  with another strawberry and the right breast.

She purposefully made her breaths shallow so the remaining berries would stay in place, but it was getting harder to keep it together.  Everything he touched, he set on fire.

The muffled squish made her think he tossed the remnants of the berries back into the bowl, and then, finally, she could see him.  His face was right there at her chest, and his hot, thick tongue was lapping hungrily at her strawberry and champagne painted breast.  He methodically circled the nipple and steadily moved outward – teasing, taunting, tasting – until her breast was free of everything but the glistening trail of saliva he left behind. 

“Strawberries and champagne taste perfect on your sweet skin.”

She sizzled at both the words and the knowledge that he was only half-way through with his lascivious cleanup.  Petey resisted the urge to press her thighs together, lest she unseat the strawberries.  She was enjoying this too much to risk his ‘wrath’.

The second breast he handled a bit differently, sucking the nipple into his hot mouth and swabbing it clean before licking the rest the fruity topping away.

Another strawberry disappeared, only to dip into the shallow pool of champagne in her navel.  He ate it loudly, humming with approval.  The sound was so raw, and purely sexual, that Petey’s hips reflexively wanted to lift and get closer to it.  The lone remaining strawberry rocked precariously on the swell of her mound, and Jon turned to softly warn, “It falls and you don’t come.  I mean it.”

When had anyone ordering her around been a turn-on?  The answer was never.  But with him…  His voice and presence were so authoritative.  She was torn in two between the want to obediently please and the desire to see if he would enforce his threats.

Right now the desire for an orgasm tipped the scale toward obedience.

The berry stilled, and he went back to leisurely ‘sipping’ his champagne.  He nosed down into the crease of her thigh, devouring the effervescence he’d doused it in.  First one side was hedonistically consumed, then the other.

Petey held her breath, certain he’d be delving into her center next.

But he disappointed her.

Straightening, he plucked the last strawberry up and brought his face near hers.  “I’m going to feed you another strawberry, but it’s going to be sweeter than the last.  Move your legs further apart.”

Sweet Mary, mother of God…

Equally mortified and exhilarated, she parted her thighs to provide the access he was asking for. 

He’s not really going to do this, is he?

Yes.  He was. 

The large, blunt-tipped fruit was slowly worked into the heart of her folds, and once it had been entrenched to his satisfaction, he dragged it slowly upward until it abraded her sensitive clit.  The rough texture of the berry against the tightly furled knot of nerves stole a cry from deep within her throat.  She didn’t recognize the animalistic sound as being her own.

“Ohhhhh, God.  Please.  Please.”

“Hungry, Sugar?” he chuckled softly, still dredging the strawberry through her sex, and thoroughly saturating it with her arousal.  When he dipped it into her core, she nearly came off the table.

“Easy.”  Jon soothed her with soft kisses on her stomach while he twirled the fruit round and round, just inside her entrance. 

“Please, Jon.  Sir.  I need to come.  You’re.  Killing.  Me.”

He didn’t respond, but the warmth of his hand disappeared from between her legs and he was no longer touching her.  Anywhere.  She was bereft.

“You…” The strawberry appeared suddenly, hovering centimeters above her lips while his voice was in her ear.  She could smell its sweetness coupled with something else.  Something else that was her.  “…are about to find out why I was so determined to eat your pussy.  There’s nothing like it, and yours is one of the sweetest I ever tasted.”

I pledge allegiance, to the flag….

“Don’t bite.  Suck,” was his only instruction before pushing the warm fruit flesh between her lips.

The texture scraped against the tender skin inside her mouth as it came to rest on her tongue.  Swirling it curiously around the intruder, she tasted the dry champagne, the sweetness of the berry, and something darker.  Tangier.  She assumed it was her flavor, and it was…  not vile.

“Your lips were made to be wrapped around something and sucking,” he rumbled, inching the strawberry out of her mouth.  “So damn hot.”

She wanted him.  She wanted him hard, hot and filling her.   She’d even go with wrapping her lips around him and sucking.  Anything that was more.

“Please,” her eyes begged him as much as her words.  “I can’t take this anymore.”

The fruit was again pressed to her lips, and he plunged it in abruptly with the order to, “Eat it.”

The juicy burst inside her mouth felt wicked.   But she did as he bade listening as he disappeared to rip off the sleeveless tee and workout pants he’d been wearing.  The strawberry slid down her throat, and one graceful move had him on top of the island and between her legs. 

“Do not let go of that countertop,” he growled, making room for his hips between her thighs.  One hard thrust stole her breath, but had her slick channel humming with delight.  “This isn’t yours to take, it’s mine to give.” 

And give he did……..