Chapter 4
Kuon Hizuri has me trapped—all of him is entwined in all of me. Our arms, our legs, our fingers—sometimes when I wake up like this, it's hard to know where he ends and I begin. He's beautiful—everyone knows that. But no one else knows how he smiles in his sleep, how his arms tighten against my body just when I'm trying to escape. How adorable his hair is when it sticks up in the morning. The past few days have been hard on my body. We've always made love—often—but this intensity is new. There are bruises all over me—the mark of his mouth on my breasts, on my neck—down where my thighs meet his fingers on my hips. Even around my ankles where I strained against the spreader bar. I pout at him and tell him to keep himself from bruising me, but he knows better. I love wearing his love-marks on my body. And he loves to wear mine.
My legs and hips feel an uncomfortable tightness—not a surprise, really, when you're spread open for your husband's…giant…cock. For his use. For hours. I feel…well-fucked. Not sore, not down there—he's too careful for that. Just…stretched. Satisfied.
Loved.
"Mmm," he says, and nuzzles in closer to me. His arms have a way of making me feel fragile and yet strong—as if nothing could hurt me when he's holding me. I disengage my hand from his to run my fingers through his hair. Destiny has such a grand sound—too big for moments like this. But this quiet moment, the feel of his skin on mine…that aching twinge in my heart whenever I see his face—all of this is destiny. From the moment I met him on the banks of that stream, I've been his. And now…
I feel myself blush as the thought fills me with heat.
He breathes in. My hand freezes mid-stroke, but before I can move it, he captures it in his palm, much larger than mine. His eyes are still closed when he speaks. "Kyoko," he says. "I hear you thinking." His voice is drowsy, his mouth partially obscured by our pillow. His eyes open—I see him peeking out at me. There's gentle bemusement in those green depths. "What are you thinking about?"
"Hmm." His other hand has already moved to cup my breast. "Nothing," I say. "Nothing at all."
"Nothing, she says." His thumb is on my palm, tracing the life line, the head line, the heart. "Nothing at all," he mocks in a sing-song voice. Lazily he brings my hand to his lips and replaces the thumb with his tongue. I giggle as he licks the palm of my hand, smiling into his eyes as I try, again, to wriggle away.
A kiss, on the wrist and then up my arm, which I move away from his pouting mouth and onto his back so I can pull him closer to me.
We lie, face-to-face, sharing a pillow, breathing the same air. "I was thinking of you," I say. "Of us."
"And what were you thinking?" A hand snakes under my shoulder as he moves to cradle me.
"That you're beautiful," I tell him. "That I love you."
His eyes are fully open now, boring into mine with an intensity that makes my stomach flutter. "You love me?" he grins. "Really?" The arms tighten around me.
"Really," I say. "Really, really, really."
"What did I do to deserve that?" he asks.
"Maybe it's your hair," I tease.
He raises an eyebrow at me. "My hair?"
"Your hair. It's so soft and fluffy."
"Hmm," he says. "That explains things."
"Explains what?"
"Remember that time in Karuizawa?" he asks. My mind flashes back, and I'm sixteen again. Tsuruga-senpai is on my lap, because he needs a lap pillow.
"As if I could forget," I tell him.
"You don't remember petting my hair?"
I blush. "No," I say, but he knows I'm lying.
The grin on his face gets bigger. "You do remember—"
"Ok fine." I pout at him through my blush and he laughs. "But you shouldn't have pretended to be asleep."
"I'm not sorry."
"You never are," I say, "because you're shameless, sir…"
"Totally," he says. "Totally and utterly shameless."
He moves to kiss me but I turn my head away—morning breath is a thing, and no matter what my husband says, I am not some goddess who wakes with breath smelling of roses. "Kuoooon!" I wriggle in his arms but he doesn't budge. "I need to brush my teeth!"
"No you don't," he says.
"I do!" I wriggle harder and the grin on his face turns…just a little feral. Harder.
I feel the shift in the air and tremble. Desire courses through me, electrifying my body.
"You don't," he says. I hear the edge in his voice, and I know the cuddling is at an end. For now.
"I don't," I whisper. "Sir." He pins down my hand by my shoulder, rolling over me to kiss me.
I crumple under him, a scant few seconds spent in resistance. "Kuon," I whimper, but his lips are already on mine. Out of habit—or instinct—or necessity—I kiss him back. I let his tongue part my lips and he moves onto me. He's needy, as if we hadn't spent most of last night locked together. And I'm needy too. My body responds to his…I clench my legs together, feeling my desire pooling in anticipation. We both know what's coming.
"I love you too," he whispers when our lips part. "I love you so much." And then he's kissing me again, intoxicating me with everything he does. His body has wedged itself between my legs and I'm parted under him—yes, it aches, but then, it just feels right. "I love your hair," he says, "and your hands, and this face…" His erection juts upward, hard against my pelvis, but he ignores it, focusing instead on the kiss that moves its searing brand from my mouth, to my ear, to my neck. "I need you," he says, and his mouth latches onto my nipple, sucking it in as I clutch at his head. His fingers find my cunt and dip into me, spreading me as my slick coats his fingers."I don't ever want to let you out of this bed—" He moves to my other breast as I whimper under him.
Maybe other married couples stop doing this so often. We never have. "—then don't," I tell him. "I need you too—please—don't let me off this bed—" I tilt my hips upwards to rub against his cock and he groans, his hips responding to mine. My voice sounds like a high, pleading whine. "—I'm so wet for you—I need your cum—"
"Fuck," he says. My slick is dripping now, coating his member as we move against each other, teasing each other in anticipation. "How much do you need me, Kyoko?" he asks. His hips pause against mine, and with a slight adjustment, I feel his cock against my nether lips.
I whine. When we're like this, he knows I can't move away from him. He's pinned me down, thoroughly, unable to do anything except take his cock. He's breathing harder now, I can hear his heart, pounding above me. His eyes are blown wide as he looks down at me, tense as he holds himself still. I try to cant my hips upwards but he moves away and I groan in frustration. "Do you need me?" he whispers in my ear and then props himself up to look me in the eyes. His smirk is infuriating.
"You know I do," I tell him. "Kuon, please—please—"
"Mmhmm," he says, because he knows I know what he wants. "Beg, slut."
"Please fuck me," I whisper. "Please…Kuon…sir…fuck me…I need you to fuck me—"
"Because this hole is mine, isn't it?" he asks.
"Yes—ah—!" His cock is entering me, splitting my lips apart. I'm losing myself in the sensation of being filled. My words pour out of me like a confession—so dirty—but my desire for him is too dark, too rich, too sharp for normal words to capture. "It's yours," I tell him. "I'm yours, your whore—your slut—" I want him to ruin me, ravage me, reduce me to a burning pile of cinder. Sometimes I play the reluctant wife, forcing him to conquer me all over again. But my surrender is never feigned, not in the least—I surrender to him each and every time. Serving him…being used by him…it feels right. His body is an instrument for my pleasure—why shouldn't mine be his? There are days when I simply want to worship each ridge and fold of his body, looking up at him from my knees.
"My beautiful cumslut," he says, "waking up so pretty and ready to take my cum…"
"Unh!" I say, as he takes one, sharp thrust to bottom out. I clutch at his back—I can feel all of him, his sac against my cunt, the way he throbs inside me.
"I love how you take my cock," he says. "I love how you fucking—take—it—all—" He punctuates each word with his cock and I wail at the feeling of him filling me each time. "—and I'm going to fucking breed you—"
I moan.
"—gonna fucking fill you with my cum—"
"Yes—"
"—that's what you want, right, Kyoko? My cum in that fertile little pussy—"
I feel myself clench at him in response and he growls.
"Mine," he says, "Fucking mine." My legs are trembling around him as he thrusts, faster and faster inside. My nails are digging into his back, but the feeling must embolden him, because he grabs my ankles and places them over his shoulder as he fucks me. My hips raise off the bed as he bends me in half. He shows me no mercy—he doesn't ask if I'm ok. He doesn't need to—he knows what I want. What I need. I cry out—he's deep. So deep—so good. "Gonna claim this fucking cunt," he says. "That's what you wanted, isn't it? Make you pregnant…take me…"
I feel the world fade behind the sensation of this. "Y-yes—!" I gasp out. "I need it…please—please—use me—breed me—"
I'm close—so close. I am a rag doll in his arms, each thrust slamming through my body as he ruts into me. I'm sure I'm screaming, but there's nothing beyond him. I feel his rhythm rise to a frenzy, his hips growing erratic.
His hand finds my clit and he rubs as I scream and clench and cum—but he's cumming too, cumming with me, filling my womb with his life. "I love you," he's saying. Over and over again, like a prayer. "I love you, I love you, I love you—"
We collapse in on each other, as entangled as we were when we woke.
He keeps himself inside me, tilting me upwards with his hands on my ass. "You know I can't live without you, right?" he says.
I give him a bemused smile. Back to cuddling, then. "Maybe," I say. "You'd probably starve."
"You're right," he says, and nips at a nipple. "I wouldn't have these to keep me satisfied all day."
I squeal, but a wave of tenderness rises over me. "Sometimes I'm so afraid something will happen to you—that I'd be left all alone—I'm so scared of losing you," I say. "So no, Kuon," I say. "I can't live without you either."
Our bodies part, eventually. Both of us have busy days—our mornings together are a luxury. His hands linger on me as long as they can as we shower…over coffee…in the car.
When we part at TBM, he gives me a soft kiss on the forehead in lieu of the more thorough kiss I know he wants instead. There are people watching.
"Later," he whispers into my ear. "I'll find you."
I shiver at the promise in his words.
Later, indeed.