American Queen

“Yes, Sir,” I confirm, heat flushing in my stomach as I remember Embry that night. There had been no looking then, no deliberate teasing. Just hands and mouths and need. There’s something that’s so inherently, deeply right about the way Ash takes his time and exerts his control. Embry treated me like a treasure he couldn’t stop himself from plundering. Ash is treating me like a jewel to be polished and then shattered and then polished again. Like I’m all the more beautiful for the ways he’d like to wreck me.

“I want you to show me what you did when you wrote to me,” he says. “I want to see what it looks like when you fuck yourself.”

I let out a ragged breath. “Right now?”

“Yes. Right now.”

All at once, my bravery leaves me. “I’m just… I’ve never done that in front of anyone. I’m worried I’ll look stupid.”

“For ten years, I’ve been dreaming about you,” Ash reassures me, his thumbs back to rubbing their sweetly teasing rubs. “Just having you here, on my desk and spread open for my pleasure, is more than I ever hoped to have. There’s no earthly way you can disappoint me.”

But, sensing my hesitation, he wraps his strong hand around my own and gives it a squeeze. “I’ll help you get started,” he informs me, guiding my hand to my waiting pussy. I’m bare, and the outer skin there is so soft, so deliciously soft. “Don’t think of it like anything other than what it is. I’m making you do this. You don’t have a choice. It doesn’t matter that it feels strange or embarrassing, because the only things you have to worry about are listening and remembering your safe word. Say yes, Sir if you understand.”

His words relax me, soothe me. There’s no way in hell I want this to stop, and he’s right—the minute I relinquish all control and surrender my body to his wants and commands, the fear of embarrassment slips away. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl. Now show me what you did in that computer chair all those years ago. I want to see you come.”

I do as he says, letting my eyes fall shut as he moves my hand so that my fingers graze the wet folds and then move up higher to my swollen clit. The moment my fingers touch it, I nearly jolt off the table. I’m starved for this, needy, because even though I get myself off nearly every night, having Ash here changes it fundamentally. It’s no longer me and my blurry memories merging with my darkest fantasies, it’s me and Ash and Ash’s hands moving back down to grip my hips and Ash’s pulse thudding above his collar and Ash’s silver tie bar glinting in the dim light of the White House living room. It’s both of us together, and it feels just as intimate as sex, even though we are both fully clothed, even though the hand slowly rubbing my clit is my own.

It only takes a minute for me to find my rhythm, to find that perfect pace and pressure to send my body slowly spiraling upwards. I bite my lip to muffle the tiny moans coming from deep in my throat, but I can’t stop the rocking of my hips as my body wakes up and begins demanding more. I spread my thighs wider, Ash’s pleased hiss rocketing through me like a meteoroid, and I severely underestimated how much I needed this because I’m so close, so impossibly close, and it’s only been a couple of minutes.

“You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?” Ash asks in a low voice.

I nod, panting. I’m wet everywhere, my body hot, my thighs tight, my clit feeling firm and puffy all at once. My other hand, still pulling my panties aside so I can work myself for Ash, begins to cramp, and as if Ash can tell, he hooks the fabric with his thumb, freeing my hand from its task. I place that hand behind me so I can tilt my head up and lean back farther, relishing the feeling of Ash’s hands on me, his hungry eyes on my pussy, and that thought alone is enough to push me right to the cliff’s edge.

“Tell me when,” he orders. “I want to know when.”

“Now,” I manage. “Right now.”

Without hesitation, he plunges two of his fingers inside me. The rough intrusion sends my body convulsing, the orgasm suddenly infinitely more intense for those large, unfamiliar fingers inside me, and I clamp down on them, shuddering out my release.

“Look at me,” he tells me, and I do, meeting his eyes as my climax continues to pull at my stomach and thighs. As I continue to squirm down onto his hand and ride out my first non-solo release in years.

“Oh, that’s good,” he murmurs, glancing down to where I’m still trying to fuck his fingers. “That’s so good. That’s exactly what I need.”

He says it almost like feeling my pussy come around his fingers was some sort of audition and that I passed with flying colors, and the thought prolongs the shuddering contractions until finally several seconds—or hours—later, I’m left loose and tingling on the desk. And then I give a little laugh—incredulous, exhilarated.

I can’t believe I just did that.

I can’t believe it at all.

“Did that feel good?” Ash asks, fingers inside me still.

“Yes,” I breathe.

The fingers twist cruelly, pain flaring up and bringing with it a wave of deep, itchy desire. “Don’t be ungrateful,” the President chides. “What do you say?”

It’s so hard to think with his fingers inside me and pleasure still leaking through my limbs. “Yes, Sir?”

Another twist and I have to fight the urge to start fucking his fingers again. “Try again.”