The First Orgasm
Donovan watched the water batter the rocky Monterey coast as his driver navigated the winding roads. He'd much rather had spent his morning at home, enjoying the luxuries of his estate and the company of his companion. Unfortunately he also had to put a few hours in at work to smooth some bumps that had arisen while he and Megan had been away. Now it was nearly noon and he was headed back to the seaside estate he had purchased ten years before thanks to a generous inheritance and shrewd business sense.
He watched the estate come into view, a sprawling manor that sat on thirty acres of hills and coastline. His personal haven. The driver coded them in through the high front gates, drove up the long drive, and opened his door.
Donovan stepped out of the back of the limousine. He was a long, lean man of thirty-six with a soft European accent and all the style and finesse that went with it. He smoothed the jacket of his Armani suit and nodded to the driver.
The front door was already being opened for him by a dark-suited butler, an older gentlemen who had worked his family for many years.
"Your business went well?" he asked, taking Donovan's jacket and laying it over his arm.
"Very well. Where is Megan?"
"By the pool," he replied.
Donovan nodded at the man absently, his mind elsewhere. He walked through the house, through the richness, the luxuries, of great wealth.
She lay on a lounge chair beneath the warm spring sunshine, naked as the day she was born save for a pair of overlarge sunglasses. There was a drink on the table at her elbow, something frothy and cool. He stood for a moment and watched her from the doorway, appreciating her beauty.
Megan was long and lean, her skin soft and pampered, tanned golden by the sun. Her hair was a sunny, natural blonde tumbling around her face, straight as rain. Her legs were long, her hips slim, her tummy flat, and her breasts high and hard. She had no tattoos, no piercing except for the ones in her ears. She wore diamonds that winked in the sunlight. An anniversary gift.
It had been three years this week since he'd chosen her, a pretty girl on a beach in Georgia. He'd watched her, wanted her, and taken her. He'd brought her back here, to his estate, where he'd trained her, taught her.
She was his submissive. He was her master.
He walked quietly to her, bent down, pressed a kiss to one dark nipple.
She arched, purred like a kitten, and came awake. With one long-fingered hand she tipped up her glasses, smiled up at him with dark, expressive eyes. "Donovan," she greeted, her voice husky from sleep and still gently accented.
"Megan, my love," he murmured, bending to kiss her slowly, deeply. He leaned back, kissed the tip of her nose. "Did you rest well?"
"Very well," she replied, stretching wantonly. "I don't feel the least bit jet-lagged. But what about you? It was so inconvenient that you had to go into work so soon after our return."
He offered a hand to help her to her feet. "It was important, but its settled now." He took the robe from the foot of the lounge, held it up so she could slip into it. It was soft, transparent, white. He lifted her hair out and watched it cascade down her back. "Are you hungry?"
Her smile was sweet. She did love to please him, to surprise him. "I had your secretary call from the office when you left. Lunch should be just about ready. You're favorite."
They sat together around a table in the family dining room. It had big windows that let in the light and looked out over the estate. He poured her a glass of wine and watched her enjoy the meal.
"Is your little present ready, Megan?" he asked.
Her eyes lit up with anticipation, with lust. "Everything's ready. I did exactly as you asked. She's all cleaned and ready. And such a pretty little thing. Thank you, Donovan."
He ran a hand gently up her thigh, watched her lips tremble open on a breath. "She's a gift for both of us. A sister for you, Megan. To keep you company when I have to be away. And a pretty new plaything." His hand slipped under the thin material, fingertips stroking her center, finding her hot and already growing wet.
Megan's eyes fluttered closed as a fingertip gently circled her clit, as the muscles in her thighs went lax.
"You can clear the table now," she heard Donovan murmur. She knew that Williams, the butler, was in the room. She could distantly hear the sounds of dishes being gathered and footsteps. It didn't matter. The fingertip picked up speed, the tempo increasing until she was arched back in her seat, eyes tightly closed.
"Can I cum?" she asked, her voice trembling like the muscles in her long, tanned thighs.
Donovan loved to watch her like this, on the brink. Williams continued to clear plates as though nothing were out of the ordinary at all. "What did you say, my love?" he asked, his voice rough with lust.
"Please. Please, may I cum?" she murmured.
He replaced that circling fingertip with his thumb, gently slid two fingers inside of her so that he could feel her wet, velvety walls. He waited, made her wait, watched her muscles strain and tremble.
"Cum," he demanded simply.
Her eyes flashed open, dark and dazed, as her body convulsed. A low, long moan escaped her throat as those velvet walls contracted hard around his fingers, as his thumb continued to moved in slow circles.
He slipped his fingers out, kept his thumb circling for a moment after she came down. Then let his hand rest on her thigh as she caught her breath, going lax. As her eyes focused on his.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes hot. "Thank you," she murmured.
Leaning over, he kissed her again. "You're welcome. Go on upstairs and wait for me, Megan."
She nodded, and though her legs were still a little weak, she did as she was told.
Donovan took his time. He changed out of his business clothes into a pair of soft linen pants and informed Williams that he was going upstairs and not to be disturbed. It was law in that house that no one was allowed upstairs unless he permitted it. He took the staircase up to the third floor.
He opened the door to one of their playrooms and found everything exactly as he'd demanded it. One wall held shelves and racks of toys. The others were outfitted with chains, hooks, ropes, and pulleys. Megan was naked, kneeling on the cold, hard floor beside a tall padded table. Her hands were behind her back, her gaze diverted down. She wore a black, leather collar around her pretty neck.
Ignoring her, he stepped forward to examine the young woman on the table. They'd chosen her well. They'd spent two weeks watching her, planning her capture. That was why they'd gone to New York on their anniversary trip, to pick out Donovan's new slave.
She was eighteen years old, would have graduated from high school in a few weeks time. Her name was Anna, and she was a tiny fairy of a thing. Her skin was alabaster pale, her features sharp and pointed. He knew that when she opened her eyes they would be soft blue.
