way up into her chest, and the feeling of being impaled by a mighty weapon, as silly as it might seem when she wasn’t actually getting fucked by her spec-ops warrior, nevertheless sent her flying off into ecstasy.
Then Ryan’s cock started to pulse inside her pussy, and Charity cried out at the lovely feeling that told her she had pleased the man who possessed her. He shouted with pleasure, and Charity thought she had never heard a sound more wonderful than that. Then, at last, he was still. He murmured, “Good girl. Such a good girl. Thank you, honey.”
Paradoxically, being called a good girl seemed to make Charity feel naughty. “Am I closer to earning my privilege?” she asked, trying to sound a little mischievous.
Ryan chuckled. “Yes, little slut. You certainly are.”
* * *
They slept after that, and didn’t wake again until almost noon on Sunday. Charity opened her eyes to find that Ryan had already risen. When she moved her legs, she realized that her pussy was sore—very sore. Ryan’s cock… well, a dirty part of her had always wanted to be fucked by a huge cock, so she had gotten what she deserved yet again, hadn’t she? And the soreness—it was kind of like the spanking, as long as she didn’t move too suddenly; it made her warm yet again, especially when she remembered how insistent Ryan had seemed to be on making sure she would be sore, and would remember her first day as his girl—her first day of training—for a long time.
“How are you doing, honey?” Ryan said from the doorway. He held two cups of coffee. “I’m bringing you breakfast in bed—here’s the beginning.”
A rush of what could only be the start of love for him filled her heart. He probably didn’t know exactly when to shift between ‘sir’ and ‘Ryan,’ but so far he’d come pretty darn close to perfection. Even the moment the previous night, when he had flipped up her apron and arrogantly started to play with her pussy hadn’t really been a mistake, on that front. Feeling the beginnings of her bodyguard overpowering her resistance, holding her hand in place so that he could do as he wished between her legs, had been as arousing as any experience in her whole life. And his instant shift, his immediate retreat to ‘conventional boyfriend’ behavior had demonstrated even more forcefully to her that she could trust him.
“I’m sore,” she said, pouting as theatrically as she could.
Ryan chuckled and brought her the coffee. “I kind of thought you might be. That’s why you’re having breakfast in bed, like an old-fashioned newlywed bride.”
Charity giggled. “Do you like knowing I’m sore, sir?”
Ryan grinned. “Yup.” He kissed her, tasting deliciously of coffee and toothpaste. “I’ll go get the rest of breakfast.”
He disappeared back through the doorway. Charity thought for a few moments about Alexandropolis, wondering whether she should simply accept—as it appeared she had now begun to accept—that the Temple of Apollo was doomed. But her thoughts kept turning in a very different direction: how could she earn the privilege of anal? What would Ryan’s next lesson be?
Sighing at her weakness as a warrior for cultural heritage, she put her hand to her bottom experimentally, and gave a long, drawn-out moan at the lingering ache of the belt marks there, and at the way, when she moved her cheeks a little, the delicious soreness of her pussy rose up again. As long as she didn’t move those parts too much… Her arousal seemed to build and build with those gentle touches, and her moan became a little whimper.
“What are you doing?” Ryan asked, holding the tray in the doorway. His voice, thank goodness, was amused rather than stern.
“I’m sore,” Charity said again, to cover her illicit activity, and guiltily removed her hands from her lower regions, moving slowly so as not to let Ryan see exactly where they had been.
Chapter Twelve
Ryan did love to know that his
Then Ryan’s cock started to pulse inside her pussy, and Charity cried out at the lovely feeling that told her she had pleased the man who possessed her. He shouted with pleasure, and Charity thought she had never heard a sound more wonderful than that. Then, at last, he was still. He murmured, “Good girl. Such a good girl. Thank you, honey.”
Paradoxically, being called a good girl seemed to make Charity feel naughty. “Am I closer to earning my privilege?” she asked, trying to sound a little mischievous.
Ryan chuckled. “Yes, little slut. You certainly are.”
* * *
They slept after that, and didn’t wake again until almost noon on Sunday. Charity opened her eyes to find that Ryan had already risen. When she moved her legs, she realized that her pussy was sore—very sore. Ryan’s cock… well, a dirty part of her had always wanted to be fucked by a huge cock, so she had gotten what she deserved yet again, hadn’t she? And the soreness—it was kind of like the spanking, as long as she didn’t move too suddenly; it made her warm yet again, especially when she remembered how insistent Ryan had seemed to be on making sure she would be sore, and would remember her first day as his girl—her first day of training—for a long time.
“How are you doing, honey?” Ryan said from the doorway. He held two cups of coffee. “I’m bringing you breakfast in bed—here’s the beginning.”
A rush of what could only be the start of love for him filled her heart. He probably didn’t know exactly when to shift between ‘sir’ and ‘Ryan,’ but so far he’d come pretty darn close to perfection. Even the moment the previous night, when he had flipped up her apron and arrogantly started to play with her pussy hadn’t really been a mistake, on that front. Feeling the beginnings of her bodyguard overpowering her resistance, holding her hand in place so that he could do as he wished between her legs, had been as arousing as any experience in her whole life. And his instant shift, his immediate retreat to ‘conventional boyfriend’ behavior had demonstrated even more forcefully to her that she could trust him.
“I’m sore,” she said, pouting as theatrically as she could.
Ryan chuckled and brought her the coffee. “I kind of thought you might be. That’s why you’re having breakfast in bed, like an old-fashioned newlywed bride.”
Charity giggled. “Do you like knowing I’m sore, sir?”
Ryan grinned. “Yup.” He kissed her, tasting deliciously of coffee and toothpaste. “I’ll go get the rest of breakfast.”
He disappeared back through the doorway. Charity thought for a few moments about Alexandropolis, wondering whether she should simply accept—as it appeared she had now begun to accept—that the Temple of Apollo was doomed. But her thoughts kept turning in a very different direction: how could she earn the privilege of anal? What would Ryan’s next lesson be?
Sighing at her weakness as a warrior for cultural heritage, she put her hand to her bottom experimentally, and gave a long, drawn-out moan at the lingering ache of the belt marks there, and at the way, when she moved her cheeks a little, the delicious soreness of her pussy rose up again. As long as she didn’t move those parts too much… Her arousal seemed to build and build with those gentle touches, and her moan became a little whimper.
“What are you doing?” Ryan asked, holding the tray in the doorway. His voice, thank goodness, was amused rather than stern.
“I’m sore,” Charity said again, to cover her illicit activity, and guiltily removed her hands from her lower regions, moving slowly so as not to let Ryan see exactly where they had been.
Chapter Twelve
Ryan did love to know that his
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