Ancilla: SOUNDBITE EDITION. (SERIALIZED, MATURE SECTIONS MARKED)

*The Magus (PART 5, has 912 words)

He lies on top of my back. It doesn't hurt as much as it could. Part of this might be distraction; his hand is underneath me, working the wet spot between my legs. It might also be more accurate to say that yes, it does rather hurt to have him draping himself on top of my backside, given my injuries, which are not major but are just raw enough to sting, but what he's doing to me is distracting enough that I don't really care that it stings to have him lying on top of welts.

And no, I still can't make noise.

He has hardened again. I suppose that shouldn't come as a surprise.

"I will not repeat the experience if you didn't enjoy it; you did say, however, that you were interested in riding crops. Was that... welcome? Or was it too much?" He has that shy sound in his voice again. I think I like it at least as much as the steel that came out tonight. "You have leave to speak."

I smile, although he probably can't see me do it. "Oh, don't worry. It was welcome."

"The other standard use for a riding crop is as a gag," he says as he rises from his position on my back. "Open your mouth. Good. Bite down."

Now he's gagging me? Why not before? Oh, right. Energy.

"Do not make noise. You may, however, move. Lift, please."

He slips a pillow underneath my hips as I rest my weight on my elbows and knees to raise myself. Then he leans down to whisper in my ear, and I feel his hand slide between my legs. God, I'm gushing.

"Ride my fingers."

He has them inside me now - I'm not sure how many - more than two, less than five - I think. Maybe. Maybe he does have all five of them in there. I can feel his knuckles against the bones of my pelvis. Pressure, fullness, my nerves stretched like tightrope. One of his fingers gently massages my clitoris. His thumb? Maybe. No, that's not anatomically possible, is it? I can't tell. For all I know, he might be using both hands. I'm wet enough that the sensation of being stuffed gives me no discomfort, only pleasure. I rock, I rock, and I am drowned in wave after wave of orgasm. Dear God, keep doing that, whatever it is. I'll ask you what and how later. Not now. Oh.

Want to scream. Can't.

Arching back. Biting down; pushing hard against the hand inside me. So good, I want this forever. I don't want it to end. Ever.

When my body relaxes, and I collapse in a heap on the pillow, he says, "Open your legs again. You closed them."

I was expecting him to immediately slide inside me and take me the way he did before, but instead, I feel his fingers, which are still covered with the juice of my orgasms, sliding up into the smaller orifice between my buttocks. Lubricating me. I hope he's gentle. The last time I tried this with a boyfriend, it was somewhat awkward and painful. What he's doing with his fingers is certainly nice enough. It almost seems a shame for him to stop.

When he slides into me, I find myself biting down on the riding crop, but not because of any kind of pain. He's very good at what he's doing. Astonishingly good. I didn't know it could feel this pleasurable. I want so badly to make noise. To move.

Maybe he won't notice if I twitch my hips against him just a little.

Ever so slightly, he groans.

I wonder if I can also get away with making a few small noises. Just little moans. Surely little moans would be all right?

Gasping, he reaches for me with his other hand, the one he did not use to lubricate me, and I do my best to entwine my fingers around his.

Then he shudders and lets out a loud sigh as he spends himself, collapsing on top of me.

His weight is warm and good. Breath hot against my skin. Kisses on my neck and cheeks; he can't quite reach my lips.

"Happy birthday," he says.

He leans in to kiss me on the cheek; I rub my nose against the pillow, because I'm itching again, and his kiss lands on my ear.

"I presume I can talk now?"

I hear him smiling, although I can't see it from this position. "Yes."

"My wrists are starting to get uncomfortable. Could you please let me out, now?"

"Oh. Of course. Sorry." He does.

It occurs to me that I also desperately need to use the bathroom, both to empty my bladder and to clean off; I stumble in that direction, knees wobbly from exhaustion and pleasure, and when I return, it's his turn to use the various facilities.

I burrow myself into his arms when he lies back down beside me.

"Was that what you were looking for?"

"It was what was necessary. I look forward to learning more. That, and... yes. Yes, it was." I pause, not quite sure how to phrase all the words and feelings that are rolling in me like large waves. "Thank you, Master." That wasn't coached. It did, however, seem the polite thing to say.

"Hold me," he whispers. "Hold me."

Rowing in Heaven, ah, the sea; might I but moor tonight in thee.