Fractured Crystal: Sapphires and Submission (15 page)

“Here,” he said at last. “Perhaps my greatest treasure at Comrie.”

As he stood to one side, Kris gasped with absolute pleasure. Before her was a pool, not especially large but deep enough to swim in, a gulley between two hills that became almost like cliffs at this point. This was where she had heard the water, for at the far end a thick, foaming stream poured from the hills in a cascading waterfall over the rocks, churning and thundering among the trees.

“It’s beautiful,” she told him. “Simply beautiful.”

His grin was open, almost childlike. Despite their tensions in the car on the way over, he seemed more relaxed now than she had seen him at any time while they had been together. “Follow me,” he said. “The water’s cold, but it’s the best place in the world to go skinny dipping.”

The two of them stripped off by the water’s edge. Daniel dove in expertly, obviously deeply familiar with the spot and full of confidence as his powerful body scythed through the surface of the pool. Kris was more cautious, carefully lowering herself into the water and gasping with shock as the cold liquid rose to her thighs, her belly and finally her breasts.

Eventually, however, she was submerged and slowly kicked out her legs, swimming across to where Daniel was treading water in the centre of the pool. His hair was slick across his head and she could feel hers caressed backwards as she moved towards him. As she came closer, he reached out with one arm, sliding it around her waist and pulling her into him. They kissed deeply as the waterfall poured behind them, then he held onto her with one hand as he kicked back, swimming towards the cascade.

It was shocking, freezing, invigorating as the huge droplets fell upon her, pouring down over her face, her shoulders, her breasts, beating and stinging her with hundreds of tiny cold fists. Her skin was stimulated by the sensation of water pummelling her, and as she swam her body next to Daniel’s her nipples were stiff and sensitive, her face red with lust as she circled him.

His own hands were exploring her as she gripped the shaft of his body, her small hands taking it and masturbating him slowly, a familiar sensation now. They kissed and played with each other in the water, soaking and free, then she led him now to side of the pool, clambering out before him, her buttocks shining and wet, her thighs like those of a nymph as she pulled herself free of the water’s embrace.

She made him lie down then clambered over him, extending her legs across his face so that her sex and anus were exposed to him. He began to kiss her, breathing in her tang, licking her, and to show him that she was ready she reached behind her, slid a finger into her tight hole, rubbing round her anus and pushing it onto his mouth. As he understood and started to lick her there, so she returned her attentions to his erection, taking the large, thick head between her lips, sucking and kissing it.

She was wet now from more than the pool. Her vagina was aching, aching, but that was not what she wanted here. Instead, placing one hand gently on his chest to keep him in place there on the rocks, she swivelled around, lifting up her hips and moving her hand so that she could grasp his shaft, hold it upright.

Her anus was wet from his saliva, but still it was tight. She knew this was going to hurt, but that didn’t matter. His patience was all, and he gladly gave it now, letting her take control as she pushed herself down. She resisted him
—
hardly surprising: it had been a long time, a very long time, since she had been taken this way
—
but she was hungry for him. She wanted this.

She alternated between pressing down and licking her fingers, rubbing her slimy spittle around herself and the head of his cock. Her breasts were heavy, pressed between her arms as she leaned forward a little, her face concentrating, cheeks flushed slightly as she rocked forward, guiding him to that secret spot.

When, at last, she began to open up and he finally started to enter her, there was pain as she began to stretch open, her sphincter swelling more than it ever had before. Her eyes went wide, and one of her hands flailed upwards, seeking his. He gripped her tightly, their fingers interlocking, and for a few seconds she rested there, not moving, simply becoming used to the sensation of him inside her.

“Oh God! Oh God!” she gasped. He said nothing, simply watching her with his keen eyes as her body trembled, her nipples stiff and erect upon her breasts.

At last, used to this first sensation, she slowly began to push herself further down. She was not able to take him in her completely
—
not even half of his shaft filled her now
—
but those few inches were bliss as she rose and fell oh so slowly. She was making strange, inarticulate noises, half whimpers, half groans, and he simply watched her. He was so hard, so stiff now, but he let her take control of him as she impaled herself on him, fucking herself to a trembling, churning orgasm.

After she had fallen forward upon him, her wet hair in his face, he held her tightly to his chest, still inside her. Then, kissing her, he gently rolled her sideways. She grimaced slightly as he came out of her, but she was still hungry for him despite the pain
—
indeed, because of it. Lying on her side, she gripped one of his hands tightly again as he used the other to guide himself to her anus once more.

She was breathing more frenetically now. “Oh God, oh God!” was all she could say at first, then: “Yes, do it! Do it! Fuck me. Please, Daniel. Fuck me!”

She was shaking again violently as he entered her, and she pulled down her free hand to stimulate her clitoris, rubbing all along her slit and sometimes slapping it as he very carefully penetrated her. His movements were slow and gentle, but the size of him stretching her with his thickness was almost too much. She shouted out, her eyes screwed tightly shut, but amidst all the pain came a trembling orgasm. When he, finally unable to hold on any longer, also came, ejaculating inside her, she thought that she would die there, the last sounds she heard her own cries and the water thundering beside them.

Once more Kris’s dreams were filled with visions of the dark bird soaring overhead, a black smudge like charcoal against the deep blue of the heavens. She was lying on her back, naked, throughout her entire body a glorious, warm yearning in her muscles, her body used and completed.

Although in her art this creature was like Loplop, the bird superior, in her dreams it was simpler, a creature completely avian rather than half man, half animal. Whether it was an eagle, however, or a condor, or some other gigantic creature of prey she could not tell. All she could do was look up towards it, the grass and soil at her back, the great longing for it in her belly and loins.

Rolling over so that her face now lay down in the softness, she felt her dream arms searching out her sex, her breasts, her holes. Even in sleep she could not stop the lust that filled her, and she moaned softly as felt and squeezed and masturbated her body, the great bird flying above her, out of her reach.

When she woke, her hands were indeed exploring her naked form, her slender legs stretched out across the sheets that were rucked around her, her face half buried in the pillow. Her clitoris was sore beneath her fingers
—
she could not believe how it had been used the previous week, and she was sure that she would pay later for what must definitel
y be bruising inside her vagina. Added
to which now her anus was also
smarting
.

God! How they had taken each other, again and again. Her free hand groped blindly across the bed, feeling for him, and she was sad when she realised that she was lying there alone. Yet that sadness was nothing compared to the realisation that
yesterday had been
the last day of her allocated freedom. It wasn’t fair!

Pushing herself up wearily and rolling over, her breasts hanging forward slightly as she rested her head on one raised knee, her pussy still somewhat moist despite all its irritation from having been battered so much, she looked around her at the bare, Spartan room. When first she had entered Comrie, she had been disappointed by its emptiness, but now she realised that she cared very little for what possessions she had accrued during her short lifetime.

It was funny, even though she had insisted that Daniel return her phone to her, she no longer particularly desired it. Without anywhere to recharge, and with no signal worth speaking of, what she previously considered her lifeline to friends, social media and all the ceaseless chattering of the world was revealed as little more than an empty vessel.

But perhaps the strangest thing was the realisation that, for more than a week now, she had not drunk at all. Kris was hardly a great fan of alcohol, especially considering what it had done to her father. And yet, more than she cared to admit, it was frequently a crutch throughout her daily life. Daniel’s frugal existence at Comrie, however, meant that she had to do without this and plenty of other daily supports and what previously she had considered necessary pleasures. He had, indeed, told her once that people frequently misunderstood true epicurean hedonism, being not a love of luxury but the fulfilment of pleasure in the simplest things.

And, indeed, with the one pleasure that she found with Daniel, for a crazy time Kris did even wonder whether she needed anything else in life. How quickly, she thought, she could retreat to the state of a noble savage if she was fulfilled so deeply, so often, by this strange man and his large, magnificent body. Simply thinking of how he had taken her again the previous night, becoming more and more dominant once she had finally submitted all parts of her to him, made her shudder and become wetter.

That was it! She settled on a plan. At the very least, she would return to Dalrigh, tell them that she had been overcome with illness, buy herself some more time. Perhaps, if she was lucky, she would find a way to be able never to return. Sod real life. She wanted desire for a change, not necessity.

She was, however, frowning now, wondering where Daniel had got to. Listening carefully, she thought she heard the sound of water splashing in the bathroom and, extending one bare foot onto the bare, wooden floorboards of the room (it had occurred to her that Comrie could be less than idyllic in the depths of midwinter), she carefully pushed her aching body up, bending slightly from the pleasantly excruciating discomfort in her midriff that came from having been so well and truly fucked.

When her legs had stopped trembling and she was able to walk, she slowly made her way to the bathroom. Daniel was standing there, naked and glorious as always, the subtle lines of his torso flexing a little as he moved one hand back and forth, his pre-tumescent cock hanging like a thick tube from his front, the sight of it and his tight buttocks having an effect on her like a salivating Pavlov dog. However, when she saw what he was doing she experienced a genuine shock.

With a bowl of cold water before him, Daniel was staring into a small, round mirror, and drawing a cut-throat razor across his chin and neck. From time to time he dipped one of his perfectly formed arms down to the bowl, shaking the razor free of suds in the water on which, Kris could see, a scum of froth and black hair was beginning to form.

The first time she had met him, she had disliked his beard. It was some mark of backwardness, a sign of his uncouthness. She had partly grown to like it merely because it was a part of him, and any imperfection
—
rather like the scars on his face
—
made him more admirable to her because it was a mark not of uncouthness, but of him and his nature.

More than this, however, she realised that such a change, something that in other circumstances would be of negligible significance, now indicated that a radical disturbance lay ahead of her. She felt a dreadful sickness in her abdomen as she watched him shaving, his chin and cheeks becoming smoother with each stroke. Something in the fool’s paradise she was beginning to create for herself was about to be transformed. Things were falling apart so that the centre would no longer hold.

“W-what are you doing?” she asked at last.

He half turned, his shoulders and back shifting in a delicious chiaroscuro in the morning light, and smiled at her, but said nothing, returning instead to his task of shaving.

“Why are you shaving?” Perhaps he had decided to ignore the idiocy of her question
—
after all, it was quite clear what he was doing, at least physically, even if the motives of his actions remained thoroughly obscure.

Still he did not answer, but concentrated on removing the last traces of his beard. Some of the curls of his hair were wet, plastered to his neck. As he picked up a towel and dried his face, Kris wanted to run across and grab hold of the bowel of water, to begin reapplying his bristles with her own fingers, to push them back into place, all the time telling him to stop.

When he turned to her fully, his chest broad, his abdomen still as rippling as it had been before, his legs solid and his cock dangling down to mid-thigh, all the same as before, yet he was a stranger to her. His mouth, certainly, was more handsome in an abstract way
—
the curve of his lips, their dark red slightly more pronounced
—
while the strong lines of his jaw were clearly revealed to him for the first time. Yet he was a stranger again. The scars had not shifted, and she had grown so used to them by now that she did not notice them
—
certainly with no
repellence
, occasionally drawing a finger across them softly. Why had merely shaving off his beard made such a difference?