placing me gently on the seat. I could barely stay awake, let alone haughtily tell him I was a big girl and could get up all by myself, thank you. My body was no longer under my control. My limbs were noodles and I could only passively observe what was happening to me, as though I had been drugged. Perhaps I had. By sex. Maybe Anton had a cock that squirted heroin. A magical cock.
I was feeling a bit delirious by now, so I barely registered when Anton sat down next to me, then pulled me against him in a comforting embrace. Reaching up, he began to run his fingers through my hair, and I shivered. My skin was bare, and my pussy was leaking his cum all over the seat and the dress still hanging around my waist in tatters. I suddenly felt cold, and snuggled into him. His fingers paused in their slow stroking, then started again. He rubbed his other hand over my arms, then gently placed me back on the seat. I protested feebly at his withdrawal.
“Don't worry,” he said, and his shaking voice was like sandpaper over raw nerves. It made me squirm, and it wasn't all pleasant. He must have seen how I was feeling because he didn't say anything more, simply reached behind him and opened the door I had heard him open while we fucked. The sound triggered a strange sensation in me and I inhaled sharply, not knowing what to do with this new information. Swallowing, I tried to focus on him.
Piercing green eyes studied me, gauging my reactions. I saw there was a hidden panel behind the limo's front seat where he had stored all his toys. Reaching in, he pulled out a blanket and what appeared to be a candy bar. I didn't even want to know what horrible orifices he was thinking of putting that candy bar in.
As it turned out, he was only concerned with putting it into my mouth. After swaddling me in the blanket—a luxurious, warm, fuzzy thing that almost swallowed me whole—he unwrapped the candy bar and broke off a piece. Gently he coaxed my mouth open and placed the piece on my tongue with trembling fingers, like a sinful sacrament. Then he closed my jaw and resumed his seat beside me, his arms falling around me and pulling me close. He planted a soft kiss on my hair.
We stayed like that for a while: Anton feeding me chocolate and occasionally kissing the top of my head, and me floating in a strange, indefinable state that I'd never felt before.
Finally the limo slowed, then jerked to a stop, and I roused myself enough to look out the window. We were in an underground parking garage. There was no natural light, and that was fine with me. I didn't want anyone to see what I must look like.
“How are you feeling, Felicia?”
His warm voice startled me, but this time it didn't hurt. For a moment I pondered the question, probing my brain and finding it, surprisingly, intact.
“I... I think I'm okay,” I said, turning to him. “That was, uh... really intense.”
He smiled at me, though it was hollow and strange and didn't quite reach his eyes, and I had the strangest sensation of falling, as though I were seeing an entirely different Anton Waters than the one I knew. Admittedly, I didn't really know him, but it was a startling experience. It only lasted for a moment, though, because I looked away.
“You entered a place we like to call subspace,” he told me, and I realized his voice was still shaking, as though he were nervous. I gave him a sidelong glance and tried to assess his mental state, but I didn't know him well enough to read him.
“ Who calls it that?” I asked him.
He shrugged. “The BDSM community,” he replied. His voice was stronger now, more sure. “I am surprised it happened.”
I'd read about the toys he wanted to use—hell, they were meticulously detailed in our prenuptial agreement—but I hadn't read about anything that sounded like 'subspace.' “What's that?”
He shrugged. “It is simply a state of incoherence and abandon.” His brow furrowed. “You were able to lose yourself.”
Yeah, that felt
I was feeling a bit delirious by now, so I barely registered when Anton sat down next to me, then pulled me against him in a comforting embrace. Reaching up, he began to run his fingers through my hair, and I shivered. My skin was bare, and my pussy was leaking his cum all over the seat and the dress still hanging around my waist in tatters. I suddenly felt cold, and snuggled into him. His fingers paused in their slow stroking, then started again. He rubbed his other hand over my arms, then gently placed me back on the seat. I protested feebly at his withdrawal.
“Don't worry,” he said, and his shaking voice was like sandpaper over raw nerves. It made me squirm, and it wasn't all pleasant. He must have seen how I was feeling because he didn't say anything more, simply reached behind him and opened the door I had heard him open while we fucked. The sound triggered a strange sensation in me and I inhaled sharply, not knowing what to do with this new information. Swallowing, I tried to focus on him.
Piercing green eyes studied me, gauging my reactions. I saw there was a hidden panel behind the limo's front seat where he had stored all his toys. Reaching in, he pulled out a blanket and what appeared to be a candy bar. I didn't even want to know what horrible orifices he was thinking of putting that candy bar in.
As it turned out, he was only concerned with putting it into my mouth. After swaddling me in the blanket—a luxurious, warm, fuzzy thing that almost swallowed me whole—he unwrapped the candy bar and broke off a piece. Gently he coaxed my mouth open and placed the piece on my tongue with trembling fingers, like a sinful sacrament. Then he closed my jaw and resumed his seat beside me, his arms falling around me and pulling me close. He planted a soft kiss on my hair.
We stayed like that for a while: Anton feeding me chocolate and occasionally kissing the top of my head, and me floating in a strange, indefinable state that I'd never felt before.
Finally the limo slowed, then jerked to a stop, and I roused myself enough to look out the window. We were in an underground parking garage. There was no natural light, and that was fine with me. I didn't want anyone to see what I must look like.
“How are you feeling, Felicia?”
His warm voice startled me, but this time it didn't hurt. For a moment I pondered the question, probing my brain and finding it, surprisingly, intact.
“I... I think I'm okay,” I said, turning to him. “That was, uh... really intense.”
He smiled at me, though it was hollow and strange and didn't quite reach his eyes, and I had the strangest sensation of falling, as though I were seeing an entirely different Anton Waters than the one I knew. Admittedly, I didn't really know him, but it was a startling experience. It only lasted for a moment, though, because I looked away.
“You entered a place we like to call subspace,” he told me, and I realized his voice was still shaking, as though he were nervous. I gave him a sidelong glance and tried to assess his mental state, but I didn't know him well enough to read him.
“ Who calls it that?” I asked him.
He shrugged. “The BDSM community,” he replied. His voice was stronger now, more sure. “I am surprised it happened.”
I'd read about the toys he wanted to use—hell, they were meticulously detailed in our prenuptial agreement—but I hadn't read about anything that sounded like 'subspace.' “What's that?”
He shrugged. “It is simply a state of incoherence and abandon.” His brow furrowed. “You were able to lose yourself.”
Yeah, that felt
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