If you would like to “Buy Me a Glass of Wine,” you can click this link or the ***DONATE*** link at the bottom of the menu on the left.
All previous disclaimers apply.
Episode 13—Beginning the Babymoon Bliss
CHRISTIAN
“I didn’t think I’d even be able to come out here again,” Jason says as he stands behind me in the office of my boat. I turn around to face him and he’s examining the globe.
“I didn’t ban you from my boat,” I say matter-of-factly.
“I’ve never boarded uninvited,” he says, “unless it directly involved my job duties. You know that.”
Yes, I do know that.
“Is everything ready for our journey tomorrow?” I ask. I wasn’t at the prenatal appointment, and I didn’t get to ask Dr. Culley if there’s anything that we shouldn’t do, anything that we need to watch out for with Butterfly heading into her 29th week, but I guess we’ll just play it by ear. If necessary, we will not interact with anybody on this trip to keep her stress levels down and I mean that! It’ll be me, her, security, nature, that cabin, and that’s it!
“Yes, sir, everything’s ready,” he says. “It’ll just be me and Chuck accompanying you. We’ll leave SeaTac at 6am and we’ll be landing in Lebanon, NH at the Lebanon Municipal Airport at or around 4:30pm Eastern time. Your travel concierge will have an Audi Q5 waiting at the tarmac for you and your expecting wife’s comfort, and we’ll have a 40-minute scenic drive to Barnard, Vermont. We’ll arrive just in time to have aperitivo before dinner for you and your wife unless you would rather go straight to dinner. I would think that Ana would want to freshen up and relax after her flight and maybe even take a little nap. If not, you all can always tour the grounds before dinner.”
“You sound like a travel brochure,” I say with a chuckle.
“Just covering all the bases, sir,” he says.
“I thought it was only called aperitivo in Italy,” I say. He shrugs.
“You’re probably right, but you get the idea,” he replies. “You appear to be more laid back than I’ve seen you in a while… if ever,” he adds after a pause. I lean back in my chair.
“That’s a combination of things,” I tell him. “The decision to do more work from home and less from the office was a good one. I thought I would be out of touch—lose the killer instinct, but I haven’t. As long as I don’t abandon my post at GEH completely, I can walk right back into it at any moment…” as proven yesterday with the Rosin Brothers.
“Being able to relax while I work has had a profound effect on me,” I continue. “It’s almost unbelievable how much work I can get done when I’m not stressed or wound up—when I’m left to my own devices. Having the junior and senior executive teams has given me permission to focus on areas that are more important without having to do all this micromanaging that I’ve been doing over the last two years. When she’s finally fully back to work, Butterfly is going to be surprised by how much the load has been lightened on the entire executive team.
“I had to make myself see what was important. I had to re-evaluate what counted most to me. I’ve changed and I know it, even though other people can’t necessarily see it. Yes, I’ve gotten softer, I know that too, but my opponents make the mistake of thinking that I’ve gone so soft that they can take advantage of me. By the time that even happens, I will be comfortably retired and traveling the world with my wife while one of my children will be at the helm of Grey Enterprises Holdings. Since my children are all either toddlers or unborn, that won’t be a concern for quite some time.”
I stand and walk past him into the Skylounge. I go over to the bar and pour myself a single shot of Scotch. I offer him a drink but of course he refuses. It’s business hours.
“I’m not dredging up bad feelings or memories,” I say, “but it was very important for me to finish my twins’ bedroom. It’s because I had never done anything like that before in my life. The closest I had ever come to constructing something that didn’t simply involve writing a check, throwing down some plastic, or giving someone an order was playing with Legos when I was a kid. You don’t even have to be present for that. The biggest ‘buck-pass’ in the world—literally—is to hand somebody a credit card. ‘Here, you make sure this is right. I’m going over here to do something else.
“Finishing my kids’ room gave me a huge sense of accomplishment—bigger than any merger or acquisition I can even remember. With my own hands, I laid their floor, I put together their furniture, I moved in all their things, I even painted a wall even though I originally fucked up. Did you know that I chose that paint color?”
“I think I may have heard something to that effect, yes,” Jason says. I nod.
“I chose the mat at the front of the door,” I continue, “I chose a lot of the accessories. It was one of the most useful things I had ever done, and I just wanted to bask in the glory a little longer.” I take another sip of my scotch.
“Yesterday with the Rosin brothers,” I say, “did you see how quickly I got in that elevator when you told me that they were fighting on the first floor?” He raises his brow.
“Yes,” he says expectantly.
“Out of character, wasn’t it?” I ask.
“Very,” he says matter-of-factly. I would’ve expected you to wait out the commotion until the police had taken care of it. Then, we would’ve left by the underground garage like we usually do.” I pause.
“In most cases, I wouldn’t have cared if those two had ripped one another apart as long as the blood was appropriately cleaned from the marble and they didn’t break anything in my building,” I reply, “but this was different.
“I went down to the first floor because I had just had a conversation with Patrick Rosin about the condition of his company, of his life,” I tell him as I begin my stroll back to the office. “Patrick told me how many endless days and sleepless nights his father had sank into the success of that company along with how many lonely days and nights it cost his mother. He told me how she always put on a happy face and smiled, providing a full life for her boys and the picture of perfection for the rest of the world.
“He told me how they traveled, how they wanted for nothing, how his father was respected by many because he literally built that company on his back. The company was highly successful, and the Rosin name was revered, but at the cost of buckets of blood and sweat from the senior Mr. Rosin and gallons of tears from Mrs. Rosin.”
I take a seat and place the scotch on my desk while Jason leans on the buffet across from my globe.
“He told me that the company was first and Mrs. Rosin was second, and she knew it,” I say, resting my hands on the arms of the chair. “I thought about all the times that Butterfly said those exact words to me. She said that she knew the pecking order between her and my company because GEH was here first. She said that GEH was the wife, and she was the mistress.” Jason’s eyes widen.
“I didn’t know that,” he says. My brow rises. “I mean, I didn’t know that she said that.” I turn around and pick up my drink.
“I was falling into the same thing that Rosin, Sr. had fallen into, and my wife was suffering the same fate. It wasn’t as bad—yet, but it was well on its way.” I scrub my face.
“Do you remember Christmas before last?” I ask. “We were spending long hours at GEH and when we got home, yuletide had shat all over the Crossing?” He nods.
“I remember,” he says.
“I went to work, and my son was crawling,” I declare. “I saw him the next day, and he was walking!”
“I remember that, too,” he says, his tone softening.
“My whole family was crying for my attention, begging for it, and I was too busy at the helm,” I say, shaking my head and looking down into my glass of scotch.
“Rosin said that once his father died, his brother Pierre went on a power trip and went about the business of destroying every bit of goodwill that company had, the reputation that his father worked so hard for. From what I could tell, there were bad deals, bad business decisions, bad faith moves—Rosin is certain that his father is rolling over in his grave. Those were his exact words. Pierre and his attorney came into my conference room so cocky like they had something to bargain with and they were too fucking blind and arrogant to know that they were handing me a rotten peach that I would have to bring back to life.
“Patrick tried to save it,” I say, “tried to undo what his brother was doing as quickly as his brother was doing it, but it was no use. The company was failing with no hope of return, and by the time he figured it out, his wife Becca could see them falling into the same abyss that the senior Mr. and Mrs. Rosin did and she was not having it. She took his kids and swiftly got off that merry-go-round. She only asked for child support, but he loves her so much that he gave her alimony, too.”
“Loves,” Jason says, “present?”
“Yes, present,” I confirm. “I don’t know how long they’ve been split up, but to hear him tell it and watch his reaction, it happened yesterday! If I didn’t hear that he actually had a plan for his life and his share of the money, I would be concerned about his mental well-being.” Jason frowns.
“Bali?” he says. “Becca? Is that what that was about?” I nod.
“He wants to get as far away from his brother as he can, and he thinks Bali is the place to do it. He has plans for how he wants to live and possible income-generating strategies that will take minimal effort from him. His words were, ‘If I can’t get my Becca back, I might as well get the hell outta here.’ All I could think of was Butterfly… how if I lost her and the kids, none of this would be worth it—not the money, not the power, not the respect, none of it!”
I turn around, finish off the rest of my shot, and put the glass on the desk. I suddenly feel so forlorn thinking about losing my family.
“When you told me that he was downstairs confronting his brother, I saw a man who had nothing left but this dime that he had just made, and I had just heard him talk about how that dime didn’t really mean that much to him… that he would take whatever pennies he could get and run as long as he got away from this situation. I heard him mourning the loss of his children and the one woman that he ever loved, and now, he’s in the lobby facing off with the man that he felt cost him everything and almost cost him those few little pennies, too.
“If that were me, Jason, if I felt like someone had cost me my family like that, I would’ve torn him limb from limb with my bare hands. That’s why I had to get down there. I knew he would kill him because I knew I would. I told him to go to his woman, because I knew that he would do everything in his power to convince her that she had nothing to worry about. That she was the most important thing in the world to him and that he would give up everything for her… and he did.” I sigh heavily.
“Boss…?”
“I’m relaxed because I’ve decided what’s more important,” I say. “No matter how much I love the rush, I’d give it up in a heartbeat if I had to choose because I love my family more.”
There are several moments of silence while I rein in my feelings and realize that I’ve made the right decision and Butterfly’s not leaving me. We’re having another baby, and I’m taking her to relax on a babymoon tomorrow. She still with me… She’s still here with me…
“Christian?”
I spin around in my chair to see that Jason has left, and Butterfly stands there in his place.
What did she hear? How much did she hear? What’s the last thing that I said?
She says nothing. She just walks across the office, leans down and kisses me deeply. It doesn’t matter what she heard. She’s here. She’s here with me.
I return her kisses, feverishly lapping into her mouth, our tongues doing a sensual tango. Oh, God, I can never get enough of her. My whole body hardens at the feel of her, the smell of her, the taste of her kisses. I feel like I’m on fucking fire!
She falls gracefully down to her knees, still kissing me along the way. Her fingers begin to undo my belt buckle and I feel like I’m going to burst from my fucking jeans. She continues to kiss me as she unzips my fly and grips my jeans at the waist, stopping only to allow me to raise my hips so that she can lower my pants.
I’m trying not to sit here looking down at my wife like I’m the king of my castle sitting on my throne and waiting for her to service me, but it’s hard not to feel that way with her looking up at me with those big, blue eyes and her lips all pouty as she frees my not quite erect cock. She pulls my jeans all the way down to my ankles and removes only one shoe to release one foot, allowing me to open my legs so that she can move between my knees.
Still looking up at me, she grasps my cock with both hands and takes the head into her mouth. I’m trying to stay cool—powerful, arrogant Dominant Christian Grey looking down at his obedient soumise as she services him while he sits in his seat of power thinking, “Good girl…”
But that’s not what’s happening here.
The moment those soft lips and that hot mouth caresses the tip of my cock, Greystone jerks at the contact and begins to rise. Something catches in my stomach, moving up my diaphragm and taking my breath away—that emotional feeling that I get when I’m about to come, and she hasn’t even done anything yet!
I grip the armrests and hold on, pushing my ass down into the seat so that I don’t float away in ecstasy before I even get my blowjob. I love this woman. I love this woman so much that the sight of her between my legs is enough to cause my heart to explode, and the feel of her hands and lips on my organ threatens to fire me to Nirvana in seconds—not because I’m aroused, but because I’m so overwhelmed with what I feel for her.
She holds my cock up and fellates my head deliciously, each suck causing my dick to harden quickly. It’s veiny in moments—moments—and I’m grimacing, biting my lip, and gripping the seat trying to resist the feeling.
But she knows… she knows what this is doing to me… and she doesn’t stop. She’s instantly merciless. She sucks and sucks—just the head—until Greystone is standing up on his own. Then she puts her hand on either side of my dick, flat on my pelvis, and sucks a little more of the head in with each stroke, just below the rim.
I hiss as her fingertips caress the skin around the base of my cock, on my pelvis, and near the crease of my thighs. She’s still looking up at me. She wants me to watch… and I’m mesmerized. The sight and the feeling, Greystone reaching up to greet her eager mouth—sucking not too slow and not too fast, just a beautiful, fiery, steady rhythm giving me the perfect combination of suction and friction.
Sweet Jesus!
She pops my cock out of her mouth, then sucks it back in again, this time using one of her dainty hands to help with the stroke against her mouth. As her hand strokes my cock while her mouth works my head, I feel fucking fire in my dick and I can hear my teeth grinding from the sensation. I see her saliva start to collect and slide down my cock and once she collects it on her hand, she begins to twist it with each stroke complimenting it with circular movements of her mouth and head.
Holy mother of God!
There’s nowhere for me to go. I’m planted in this chair, now groaning and panting with desire. Will she let me fuck her? Will I be able to fuck her once she’s done with me? Her mouth is magical, but I can’t remember the last time I felt her hands on my cock. She’s so fucking good at this!
Just as I’m thinking how good her hands feel, she removes her mouth from my cock and begins to jack me off. At first, I think that I want her mouth back on me until her masterful hands pull, massage, and rub my dick into a passionate, near orgasmic frenzy.
“Shhhit!” I hiss, with heavy emphasis on the “h,” pushing a heavy breath out of my lungs. She strokes and strokes and strokes my cock over and over and over, her rhythm quickening as my ass begins to rise slightly out of the chair. She brings her mouth back to my cock and matches the furious stroke of her hand, my head disappearing into her hot mouth as she sucks and strokes me closer to imminent release.
Maybe it was the fact that I was thinking about Rosin and his wife, how much I could tell that he loves her, how devastating it would be for me to lose Butterfly and the emotion those thoughts evoked coupled with the relief of seeing her standing in my office door at that moment that causes me to be so weak and vulnerable right now. Whatever it is, everything stiffens, and I cry out as pain and ecstasy wrack my entire body, my shaft thumping so intensely that I feel each orgasmic muscle spasm in my glutes and lower back. She sucks hard, dropping down on my dick and pulling back with force, drawing out my seed like a delicious nectar and groaning with each squirt of my cock and balls.
I sound like a girl as she relentlessly drains my balls and swallows my seed. I hear it and I don’t care. It only makes me come harder. This feeling is just as agonizing and delicious as those cries sound, and I’m not holding back. I’ll sing a falsetto aria to the heavens without taking a damn breath.
I’m tender, and I want to tell her to stop, but she keeps manipulating my now flaccid dick. She takes only the underside of my cock—the tender frenulum—in her mouth and sucks like she’s catching the flavor melting from a lollipop. It’s agonizing and exquisite at the same time.
I allow my head to fall back, once again gritting my teeth, gripping the armrests, and squeezing my eyes shut as she continues with this femdom post-orgasmic dick torture. I growl in my chest trying to withstand the incessant stimulation of my tender head and cock.
After a minute or two, she’s rubbing my balls now, and despite the agony that she’s imposing on my sensitive dick, it begins to rise once more. It’s only now that I realize that this is her goal—a little pain with my pleasure. She’s going for round two.
The thought of her satisfying me this way overwhelms me once more, and she tunes in to the moment my body appreciates her actions. My cock is still a bit flaccid, but she’s determined that it won’t be that way for long.
She takes my entire cock in her mouth and sucks it. I know that she’s able to deep throat me when I’m hard, but when I’m not quite there yet, she can take the whole thing in her mouth and torment me thoroughly with her tongue and the magnificent suction of her jaws.
“Aah! Aw fuck!” I groan. I raise my head to look down at her and the sight of her lips pressed against my pelvis—my cock disappearing completely in her mouth—surprises the fuck out of me. I knew that’s what she was doing, but when I see it…
“Fuck, Anastasia!” I groan reverently as my thigh begins to tremble with anticipation. She raises her eyes to me again, then sticks her tongue out and caresses my balls with it… with my cock still in her mouth.
“Oh, God,” I groan, feeling my cock thicken in her mouth.
Don’t grab her head, Grey.
Don’t grab her head, Grey.
Don’t grab her head, Grey.
She adjusts her stroke to accommodate my hardening cock, but it still doesn’t come out of her mouth. How the fuck does she do that? She explained it to me once, but my fragile mind still can’t comprehend it when my cock is in her mouth being worked like a bitch! There’s a lot of me! Where does it all go? And how can you not scream when you feel that?
I’m losing every bit of my cool as my dick gets harder and I feel it in the back of her throat now. It’s like her pussy—same, but different. The contractions of her core are just as warm, tight, and wet, but they’re involuntary. Her pussy molds to my cock and moves with me. Her mouth and throat are deliberate—intentional suction, movement, and rhythm set on my undoing.
I feel my cock get thicker, longer, angrier, and she just adjusts her stroke and suction, leaving not one inch of my shaft neglected. I want to fuck so badly… fuck deep and long. And as if she heard my thoughts, she adjusts herself so that she’s directly over me and begins the most vicious throat fuck I think she’s ever given me. I can feel it when my cock passes a certain point in her throat and she swallows it, the muscles tensing and contracting around it… and she never stops bobbing on it, never stops manipulating it.
She sucks and sucks and sucks and Greystone is reaching impressively into her mouth, giving as well as she can take it, but she’s determined to come out of this the victor. She never tires and never falters. She sucks and sucks and sucks until Greystone is at his thickest, veiniest, and angriest, threatening a cosmic explosion that promises to cause shockwaves across Elliot Bay!
Now she’s gobbling me, fucking me so deliciously with her throat with deep, powerful sucks and strokes. I’m trying not to thrust into her mouth, but she’s forcing me to… dropping so hard down onto my shaft and pulling off of me imitating a wet, gripping, bouncing pussy. I’m trying to pull back from her, enjoying every searing, hot, blinding stroke immensely, but afraid that I’m going to leave her unable to speak. But she’s got this rhythm and stroke perfectly—sucking me greedily, swallowing me fiercely, and working me into mindless pleasure. Fuck! Oh, God! Fuck!
“God! Oho, God! God!” I scream as she manhandles my angry cock, fucking it relentlessly with her mouth and hands until it’s shining with her saliva and burning with friction. I grab her shoulders as I have to touch some part of her as she fucks me with abandon, sucking so hard and so wildly that the cum spirts from my cock just as she releases it from her mouth. It squirts onto her and she continues to jack my burning, squirting cock wildly, her expression one of orgasmic pleasure as she rubs my cock over her now wet cheeks and mouth.
I’ve never particularly been a fan of facials, but at this moment, this is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. She’s never done this to me before—ever! And I don’t think she ever has to do it again, because this image will last me a fucking lifetime!
I drop my head on the back of the chair, fighting to catch my breath and choking on air while silently begging her to please leave my dick alone. She strokes it a few more torturous times before she grants me reprieve. I hear shuffling as she stands and movement as she leaves the room.
Jesus! Is she going to leave me here like this? I need a fucking nap now!
I realize that she’s gone to the head when I hear water running, and I quickly take a moment to catch my breath. I can’t perform to save my life right now, but I can get my wits about me and lick that pretty pussy…
I open my eyes and she’s standing over me, cleaning my seed from my pelvis and cock with a damp cloth. I must’ve briefly slipped off to sleep because I feel like I’ve lost some time. She puts my foot back into the leg of my pants and pulls them up to my ankles, leaving them there for me to finish the job, then she stands and leans over me.
“You’ve proven more than once that I’m not the mistress,” she says softly and kisses me gently on the lips.
“Don’t be long,” she adds with a smile. “We still have to pack and I know you’ll want to spend some time with the children.” I struggle to raise my head and look at her as she walks towards the door.
“Butterfly,” I say, my voice more strained than I would like. She turns around to face me. “What about you, baby?”
“You’re taking me on a romantic getaway for the entire weekend,” she says. “I’m only too sure that you’ll take very good care of my body while we’re away.”
Damn straight, I think to myself as I gaze lasciviously at her, taking in a deep breath through my pursed lips as I consider all the things I plan to do to that beautiful, luscious, swollen body.
*-*
After what my wife refers to as one of my “crack of dawn” flights, we arrive in Lebanon, New Hampshire in the late afternoon. The flight was nearly eight hours, long enough for us to have two meals—a continental breakfast just after takeoff, and a mediterranean style lunch around mid-flight. Try though she might, Butterfly wasn’t able to get particularly comfortable on the flight. The excitement wouldn’t allow her to sleep, and her eight-month belly wasn’t in the mood to relax… not to mention that we didn’t have any whole, fresh lemons on board. I will make sure that situation is rectified for the flight home.
Driving out of the airport was a typical small-town trip—two-lane, tree-lined streets for several miles until you get into “town” if you can call it that before we hit the freeway on the other side of Main Street. Three miles in, we cross the Connecticut River and we’re in Vermont. It’s amazing to me that the nearest airport to our destination was in the next state.
Twenty minutes down the interstate and we’re back on beautiful tree-lined roads again. We appear to have driven through or past two—maybe three—state parks, and I make a mental note to explore the option of the best one to visit before the weekend is over. Butterfly started out a bit anxious for a little while, but she appears to have loosened up a bit, opening the window of the Audi and leaning out a bit to allow the wind to caress her face and blow through her hair. She’s starting to relax and settle into the solemnity of her vacation getaway, and I’m very pleased with that.
It’s a very relaxing ride. The entire trip is only about 25 miles, but we travel through a cluster of several small towns down Woodstock Road to get there—no connection to the festival. It’s a comforting journey down simple two-lane streets lined with large New England colonial homes or Victorian-farmhouse style buildings and surrounded by lush green landscaping welcoming the newness of spring.
The exception is the town of Woodstock itself. Though not a thriving city like Seattle, you can tell that the municipal heart of the area most likely lies in this little town. Downtown, as it were, boasts wider streets and more buildings, each still exhibiting the New England colonial flavor and none of them more than two stories tall.
A turn off of Woodstock onto Pomfret Rd and we’re back on the narrow roads again. This makes me happy, not only because we’re back in the serenity of the countryside, but also because on Woodstock Road, we were driving into the setting sun. It was irritating for me and not very pleasing for Butterfly. I can only imagine what a trial it was for Jason having to maneuver the vehicle.
Nonetheless, our final stretch is down a quiet country road with little to no traffic, only travelled specifically by people with business here. A house every mile or so or some other lone structure, a small church in the middle of a field of grass… we even saw a covered bridge. The entire scene reminds you of Little House on the Prairie. I’m expecting to see three little girls running down a hill of wildflowers somewhere off in the distance.
Our journey finally takes us to a dirt road surrounded by lots—and lots—of trees, like the road was carved right into the forest, which I’m certain that it was. I can tell that my wife is trying not to feel uneasy, but she’s a lot more alert than she was a moment ago when her head was hanging out the window like a puppy.
I know that Jason is most likely following the GPS, but I hope he has some idea where he’s going. If you don’t know where you’re headed, he’s just driving blindly through the woods… and night is about to fall. I feel a little better when, somewhere down the road, I see a house and a garage on the road with a late model car parked outside. So, at least I know that we’re not down here alone.
We turn off the dirt road and onto the Royalton Turnpike which is partially paved. I’m beginning to wonder if this all-inclusive, exclusive resort is as posh as it’s famed to be. I’m soon to find out just how wrong I am to doubt.
It’s quaint-meets-luxury if you can imagine a combination of the two—fields of rolling green grass and lush green trees as far as the eye can see; lodges and cottages, gazebos, gardens, luxury cabins, a full lake on site. I wish I owned something like this because this place has got to be making a mint for what I’m paying per night for four people. It is all inclusive, after all, with several other attractions nearby.
“Wow,” Butterfly says as we round the drive into this 300+ acre exclusive resort. Twin Farms is a luxury all-inclusive that offers gourmet meals, activities such as hiking, biking, and skiing, and personalized service in an intimate setting. It’s a farm surrounded by farms. Whatever they don’t grow themselves, they get the items from other local farms. So, all the meals are fresh and the ingredients are locally produced.
Dinner is a tailored experience and is different every night. Twin Farms learns as much as possible about the guests before they arrive and attempts to match their tastes as closely as possible. There’s a chef’s table in the kitchen if you’re so inclined to partake of it. It would’ve been perfect for Sophie, but Twin Farms is an adult-only resort with the minimum age being 16. Maybe next year, Soph.
Besides the main lodge, they only have eleven cabins with a total capacity of 40 guests and we took two of them which should accommodate 6 – 8 people. So, we’re taking 10 – 20% of their capacity for the weekend. My wife is awed by the beauty of the main lodge as we climb three short flights of four large stone stairs, each separated by a landing of gorgeous stones, flowers, and other plant life. You’re passing through three terraces of gardens to get to the front door. Butterfly stops to admire the springtime blooms before we go inside to check in.
Our cottages are the Chalet Cottage and the Lodge Cottage—not to be confused with the main lodge. Butterfly and I will take the Chalet while Jason and Chuck are in the Lodge. Both cottages are large enough to be someone’s small starter house, but I want my wife to be comfortable this weekend, only needing to be clothed if she wants to or if utterly necessary.
The Chalet is quite beautiful—two spacious stories with luxurious but comfortable furnishings. Rustic-beam ceilings meet a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace on one side and a floor-to-ceiling wall of windows on the other. The temperature-controlled hot tub in its own sunroom allows cooling of the water to accommodate my pregnant wife. And although there’s an eating area, a sitting area, and an office area downstairs, the bedroom upstairs boasts a king-sized bed facing another set of floor-to-ceiling windows and doors that open to a large terrace in the back of the cottage nestled in the privacy of the trees.
“This is stunning,” Butterfly declares. “I felt like Baby in Dirty Dancing trekking up the stairs to a private cottage in the Catskills right before I sneak off to meet Johnny in his room,” she adds with a giggle. We ascend the stairs to examine the rest of the cabin and find quite the comfy but luxurious bedroom on the second floor.
“Oh, Christian, look!”
She’s pointing to the bed where I see a doll. I think it’s a Cabbage Patch Kid. Jesus, I haven’t seen one of those in decades. She goes over to the bed and retrieves the doll.
“Isn’t it cute?” she croons. “And it’s a little boy. I’ve always wanted one of these… my whole life! Do we get to keep it?”
I chuckle at my wife. She sounds like she just found a new puppy and she’s trying to convince Mom and Dad that she’ll feed it and clean up after it. I retrieve the envelope that she left on the bed that was underneath the doll. Inside is a card and another piece of paper. I read the card:
Dear Christian and Ana,
Congratulations on the upcoming addition to your family. Hopefully, this little guy will keep you company until his arrival. Enjoy your babymoon!
A note from
Guest Experience
“Yes, dear,” I say with a smile. “You get to keep him.” I hand her the card and the envelope with the extra piece of paper.
“Oh my God this is so cute!” she says all in one breath. “Did you see this? It’s a birth certificate! I’ve always wanted a Cabbage Patch Kid and now I have one!”
She hugs her little boy doll close to her and I see that little girl curling up in her bed in Montesano with a new friend. I try not to imagine the scared teenager in Las Vegas clinging to the same doll for comfort at night while singing Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer.
“What?” she asks, noting the change in my demeanor no doubt. I shake my head to shake off the thought.
“You look so adorable,” I say.
“That’s not what you were thinking,” she confronts.
“No, it’s not,” I admit. “But you look so adorable… and we’re not going to talk about what I was thinking, because it’s not worth the energy.”
“Unpleasant domino?” she correctly deduces.
“You know me well,” is all I say.
“Then, we won’t talk about it,” she says. She raises her doll up to her chin and holds it with both hands.
“You can play with my toy,” she says in a childlike voice while sporting a ridiculously large smile. I can’t help but burst into laughter.
Crisis averted.
*-*
Very shortly after our arrival, we take a quick look around our cabin not only to find the adorable little Cabbage Patch Kid, but also to discover that our room has been packed with all types of juices and sparkling non-alcoholic beverages as well as few choice wines and snacks–enough to keep us satiated for the entire weekend. When my wife went to freshen up, they delivered a local meat and cheese plate for a snack. While I’m sure that she will appreciate the snacks and specialty treats, her reaction to that Cabbage Patch Kid was well worth the trip all by itself.
After a snack and a nap, my wife still isn’t quite ready for dinner. Neither am I to be honest. Not to mention the fact that she looks so huggable in her yoga pants and this oversized sweater that comes down to her mid-thigh and nearly covers her hands. She looks so refreshed walking around in her socked feet after her short nap that I just want to sit on the sofa in front of the fire and cuddle her and my son.
So, I do.
We talk about several fickle little things as I cuddle her in my arms, relishing the feeling of her body next to mine. I trail kisses from her collar up her neck and to her ear. When she purrs softly, I make my way around to her mouth. I kiss her gently at first, then firmly, pulling her closer to me and parting her tips with my tongue to explore the softness inside.
I’ve just settled into the warmth of snuggling with my wife and feasting on her soft lips when my hip begins to vibrate.
Oh, fuck! Not now. Everybody that knows me well enough knows that I’m tucked away in the rolling hills and pastures with my wife for a long weekend… so I guess it must be important. Ripping my lips away from Butterfly’s, I groan and fish my phone out of my pocket. It’s Allen. I roll my eyes and swipe the screen.
“I’m on vacation, Forsythe,” I say. “If it’s not on fire, I don’t want to hear it.” I lean down and partake in a few kisses of my wife’s neck, and she giggles softly.
“Oh,” he says, matter-of-factly. “So, I guess you don’t want to hear that your account will soon be $11M heavier.” I pause and raise my brow.
“Come again?” I ask.
“Good news,” Al says. “It looks like you’re going to be seeing your $11M soon.”
“Hot damn, now that’s a fire!” I exclaim happily, straightening up immediately with Butterfly in my arms. “The insurance company?”
“No,” he says, “the FBI.”
“Really?” I say surprised. “How did that happen?”
“Remember when I told you that the insurance company would have to do an investigation?” he says. “The FBI doesn’t want any more investigations, especially not into this particular matter.
“This is how I see it,” he continues. “The FBI are under the impression that Robin Myrick took your money, as were we—but we heard recordings when Mikey was kidnapped that Anton Myrick had your money. Imagine how bad it would look for the FBI if an investigation into the fate of your money revealed that two of their protected witnesses had syphoned millions of dollars from you and had been living on it all this time. Not only that, one of those witnesses baby-napped your kid.
“We all know this is true, but a third-party organization digging into this Pandora’s Box? Ten’ll get you twenty that they don’t even know who all this duo hit, how much money in how many banks Myrick really has squirreled away, and how far back this goes. Trust me, they don’t want the thoroughness of an insurance investigation digging into their mess.”
“Why didn’t somebody else bark before now?” I ask. “I know for certain that they hit other people before they hit me.”
“Nobody knows,” Al replies. “It could be that the people that were hit before didn’t think it was worth it to go public. Did you ever really go public with the hacker situation, or did you just let the feds handle it? What kind of mess would a full-out insurance company investigation discover if they followed the money trail to its final destination?”
Yeah, he’s got a point there.
“They were so concerned with putting you in jail that they didn’t think about seizing this man’s accounts once he was dead,” Al says. “It just goes to show what a bang-up job they were doing in the first place. The guy that I was speaking to was none too pleased to find out that these accounts were still out there, no doubt because he doesn’t know who all may have had access to them.”
How could they not know that I didn’t get my money back? Whoever else didn’t bark about whatever they didn’t get back and why, they should’ve known that I didn’t get my money back. Granted, the other guys may have just gone with the settlement from the insurance company, some if not most of them completely unaware of where their money ended up in the first place, but dammit, 11 million is nothing to sneeze at! How the fuck did these fuckers not know that I didn’t get my money back?
If I didn’t know for sure that Myrick was dead, I would think he was still alive with all the loose ends that the FBI is leaving open. I’m very glad, if you can believe it, that Agent Fuck-up and Agent What-An-Asshole made such a fuss to get an indictment at my pretrial hearing. That drives home the fact that he really is dead. I’m even more pleased that I got pictures of that fucker on a slab, confirmed by my own security.
“You can be assured that you’ll have your money back before your baby is born,” Al confirms. “You can also take comfort in the fact that Agents Fuller and Wright are not very happy at the moment. Wherever they are, they are well and truly carrying around the stench of, ‘I have really fucked up’ and something is going to happen to them because of this. I don’t know what, but I got a ‘heads will roll’ kind of vibe from this guy.”
That fills my heart with glee.
ANASTASIA
Once our snuggle-fest was interrupted with the welcome news from Al that we’ll be getting the money back that Myrick and his son—Ginger Creepy Guy—stole from us, I’m driven to actually become Baby and roam the grounds of our exclusive weekend playground. There’s a firepit that I’m certain I’ll want to partake in before the weekend is over, and there are numerous lawn games to indulge in. I’ll definitely be doing some yoga in the morning, and I’m told that there’s a lake very nearby where we can lounge on a canoe if we like. There’s also the option of a picnic lunch, which sounds utterly divine, and we can partake in dinner until 10pm. That gives us a few more hours before we must go to bed hungry, which is a virtual impossibility since they’re constantly sending goodies and healthy farm-to-table snacks to our room.
This evening, we decide to take part in the Not-So-Newlywed game in the main lodge. We discover that more wives are in the mood for a quickie more often than husbands, with Christian being the one husband that was in the mood more often. None of us get the question right about which aspect was more attractive between brain, personality, and body. There’s quite the variety of mates on the panel, but my husband is obviously droolingly gorgeous and as rich as a Roman emperor. I should’ve gotten it right with the personality—which he guessed.
“How could you not get that right?” Christian asks with bemused mirth. “You hated me when we met!”
“Yeah, but they asked about which aspect was more important in a husband,” I argue. “By the time we got married, I adored all those things about you. So, which one do I pick?” I shrug. He laughs good-naturedly and gathers me into his arms for a kiss, right there in front of all the guests and many of the women coo at us.
The funniest question was the one about NASA—that if they were doing a scientific study in our bedroom last night and someone had shouted out, “Houston, we have a problem,” what would they be referring to? There’s no way in hell I was going to mention our toys and I don’t know what Christian said, so I just answered the obvious.
“Probably that we weren’t there,” I say with a shrug. “We slept on our boat.”
“Yes!” Christian hisses with fist pull and reveals the card saying that we weren’t there. I clap and giggle like a schoolgirl and kiss him.
“Why were you sleeping on your boat?” someone asks.
“It’s a long story,” I say.
“The short version is that our house is undergoing a lot of renovations, and our yacht is like a floating resort,” Christian chimes in. “So, sleeping out there is like a staycation.”
“So, you slept in your boat in the driveway?” someone else asks.
“No,” I say, “our boat is moored in our boathouse on the lake behind our home.”
“Oh,” someone else says, “that sounds delightful. We always have to go to the marina to get to our boat. It must be lovely to have it that close to home.”
After a short conversation about boats and boathouses and marinas, Christian and I tied for first place with the Not-So-Newlywed Game, which is pretty good since a lot of these couples have been married for a long time.
We finally have dinner around 8pm, a delectable spread that begins with a delightfully smooth tomato bisque soup and a fresh house salad made with mixed field greens, julienned carrots, and crumbled Danablu blue cheese tossed with a light balsamic vinaigrette dressing. Our entrée is a boneless grilled rack of lamb wrapped in a puff pastry with spinach and mushroom duxelles and served with bordelaise sauce along with Linguine Puttanesca—Italian linguine tossed with dice plum tomatoes, capers, marinated olives, garlic, olive oil, and a pinch of crushed red pepper. It would’ve been divine with my Cabernet Sauvignon, but alas, young Trevor made that an impossibility. So, the kitchen indulged me with a lemon spritzer prepared to my specifications.
Totally full and completely content, Christian and I do partake in the fire pit for about an hour, lit and stocked with the makings for smores. That works out well since I decided to forgo dessert. We giggle like teenagers and neck for a bit at the fire as we make perfectly messy and delicious smores for dessert, then decide to retire back to our cabin to clean up.
I head straight to the bedroom to strip out of my chocolate-stained sweater. When we get there, he pulls me back into his arms. He kisses me gently but passionately, cupping my face with his hands before he lifts me into his arms. I wrap my legs around him, never breaking the kiss and I feel him carrying me. He sits on the bed with me in his arms and settles me on his lap straddling him. He only stops kissing me long enough to pull my sweater over my head, and then he’s lapping his tongue deliciously into my mouth again.
His head travels down my neck and to my chest, slowly… very slowly. He cups my breasts with both hands and massages them gently before pulling the cups down to reveal my tits. He licks and sucks the mounds while I gently caress his hair. He lathes my nipples then begins to flick them alternately quickly with his tongue. I’m getting hot very quickly… and very wet, as he teases each nipple and I’m trying not to squirm, but nothing gets past my hot, horny husband.
He sticks his hand into my yoga pants and then into my underwear and begins to massage his long, skillful fingers against my clit with the tip of his middle finger slightly breaching my core. Fuck, it feels good and I’m wiggling against his hand. He covers my mouth with his when I begin to mewl and continues to manipulate my clit. Shit, if he doesn’t stop soon, I’m definitely going to come.
As if he heard me, he stops his ministrations and pushes his hands into my pants first cupping my ass then pushing my pants and panties down my cheeks. I have to get off his lap to take off my pants. When I do, he slides them down my legs. He kneels down to my feet and slowly removes my shoes and socks, then my pants and panties. He kisses up my legs then manages to bury his face in my core, quickly licking and flicking my clit.
“Ah!” I mewl, already so close to orgasm from his finger play. I put my hands on his shoulder because my knees will certainly buckle if he makes me come. He licks until I feel my legs begin to tremble and then he stops and looks up at me, my juices coating his mouth.
I’m breathing heavily as I watch him pull his sweater over his head, wiping his mouth with it as he removes it. His T-shirt is next before he rises off the floor and stands before me. He toes out of his shoes while simultaneously undoing his belt, again staring lasciviously at me as he undresses. When he removes his pants, his dick bobs impressively from his underwear. When he sits on the bed again, I can’t resist.
I fall to my knees and take him into my mouth. He gasps and licks his lips. He’s thick and hard in an instant, grimacing with sex face before I even get a chance to get started. His hand moves to my head as he watches me suck him into my mouth—only halfway—and work the tender meat of his head and frenulum. I can feel him begin to thump a bit in my mouth after only a few minutes.
“Stop! Stop!” he hisses, and I stop sucking. He beckons me up onto the bed and I straddle him once more. He kisses me again as he unhooks my bra and tosses it to parts unknown. He reaches behind me, grabs his cock, and guides it to my core. I push against him, welcoming the breach into my ladyparts. He groans quietly and lays down on the bed, taking me with him.
I try to stroke, but I’m so tight that he can barely thrust into me. He grasps me just under my butt cheeks and guides my hips as he thrusts up into me—short, powerful strokes that make my juices begin to flow. My pregnant belly doesn’t allow us to kiss in this position, but he never takes his eyes off me. With my hands on his chest, I examine him lasciviously, relishing the feeling of his strong hands clasped around my thighs just under my ass as he guides me onto his cock. He’s so thick inside of me that I can feel him filling me, but I can barely feel him moving inside of me. I wiggle a bit to see if I can give him deeper penetration.
“Shit!” he hisses, grasping my ass just a little tighter. I sit up a little to see if the angle will assist us.
Fuck! It does!
He slips deeper into me, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out from the sensation. He grabs my ass to take advantage of the deeper thrust, licking his lips and still locking me with a heated, lustful gaze.
Shit, this is good.
He puts his arms around me and loves me, pushing into me and kissing my neck, my chest, my breasts, my nipples, rubbing my back, squeezing my ass, holding me up so that he can get a deeper stroke into me and fingering and teasing my rosette when he does. It’s maddening. It feels so good that I almost don’t know what to do with myself.
Once he gets a good coating of my juices on him, he lifts me off of him and lays me on the bed, somewhat on my stomach but slightly on my side, then he enters my pussy from behind.
“Yeeeeeesssss!” he hisses. His cock is rock hard and I feel him thrusting into me, finally getting the penetration that he needs. He’s so thick and hard that I have to acclimate to him in this position for a moment, but when I do…
“Yes, baby… wet this dick. It feels so good…”
He’s thrusting into me with long strokes and a grunt and a groan with every move. I feel the glide, the veins of his shaft thickening inside of me, and I know that the friction is maddening for him. His hips piston faster, and faster still as he grabs my hip and sinks his fingers into the meat, guiding me against his cock with each stroke.
Slow down, husband. I’m not there yet.
“God, this ass looks so good,” he groans, and his incredibly stiff cock thickens and his stroke quickening even more.
“Fuck!” he hisses. “Fuck!” he hisses again. No, I lament inwardly, not yet! I’m not done yet.
To my dismay, he grabs my hip and I feel him emptying violently inside of me, his dick thumping so hard that I can feel it against my inner walls.
Dammit!
He pauses for a moment, breathing heavily before I feel him withdrawal from me. Sonofabitch!
He climbs up onto the bed—content and sated, I can tell, and I don’t even look at him. I can still hear him breathing deeply and I lay here unsatisfied.
“Come here.”
I try to quell my disappointment as I roll over to look at him. He’s sitting with his back against the headboard beckoning me over to him.
And his dick is still standing at attention.
Oh, yippie!
I try not to scramble over to him, and he instructs me to turn around, facing away from him. I do as I’m told and straddle him once more. He instructs me to put him inside of me, which I do.
“Love me, baby,” he says, his voice low and inviting.
I move, finding the stroke that feels best to me. When I do, I begin the rhythm, rolling my hips over his pelvis and getting the depth and stimulation that I need in this position. I’m in control. I can sex this dick the way that I want to and dammit, I am! It’s delicious, and he’s enjoying it just as much as I am as I hear him groaning mournfully behind me with each stroke.
“Baby, you’re killing me,” he laments between his mournful groans. “Ssssss… shit… ah… ugh…”
I swear to God, if he comes before me this time…
I’m soon to realize that I don’t have to worry about that. While he’s enjoying the session tremendously, he holds out resisting any urge to come. I ride and ride, getting my fill of this hot, thick, hard dick until I’m nearly dizzy with pleasure. Noting my surrender, he leans back on the headboard while I’m sitting on his cock, closing my eyes and loving him, riding that shaft as I lean back against him. I groan as his hands roam my body, caressing our child and squeezing my eager breasts. He pinches my nipples and my pussy signals that it’s about to salute.
“Christian,” I breathe, “I’m going to come.”
“I feel you, baby,” he coaxes in my ear. “Give it to me.”
I try to keep my stroke, I really do, but I feel the orgasm rising in my thighs and I stroke faster, chasing the feeling until…
“Christian!” I call out, freezing and trembling as the orgasm strikes. He grabs my breasts and holds me against his body, continuing the stroke into my core as I lean back helpless against him, my pussy thumping a maddening tattoo around him.
“Baby,” he groans, “you feel so good…”
I’m out of breath as I try to recover from my orgasm and Christian continues to stroke into me, his dick unforgiving. I don’t know if he’s about to come or not, but I can feel him still at grand attention inside of me, stroking with that maddening control he always exhibits.
Once I’ve caught my breath, I fall forward on the bed, leaning on my hands for leverage as I ride him. The change of the angle hits a spot inside of me that sparks immediate pleasure even though I just came.
“Baby,” he hisses, his hands moving to my hips and grasping tight as I ride, “Baby, yes!”
He lets me lead for a minute or two before he takes the reins once more. He pulls me back towards him and now, I’m sitting up again, and he forces my legs open with his, as wide as they’ll go. He’s holding me around my waist and his cock is giving long deep strokes into my pussy. I feel like my fucking brain is going to explode—in, out, in, out, in, out, not too slow and not too fast, but deep so that I can feel every inch of him as he thrusts.
I feel him getting thicker and I can see the reflection of us against the floor to ceiling glass doors and the night landscape of the trees. His dick is beautiful—wide and throbbing, disappearing inside of me and reappearing coated with my juices, that vein on the underside so thick that I’m sure it’ll explode any minute.
My eyes roll back into my head from the pleasure. My legs are open, and I can’t close them with him holding them open with his. My clit is swollen, hot, and sensitive, and my pussy is getting the thrashing of its life while he relentlessly strokes every inch of his shaft in and out of my hot core. I bite my lip and watch some more, my husband and I making our own porno as we chase our pleasure.
He groans as his stroke quickens only slightly, and I can see him bending his knees a bit and stiffening his thighs to get maximum thrust. I can’t see the color change of his cock to the purple, but I can see the veininess becoming prominent on his shaft as his hips roll ever so slightly underneath me to get maximum stimulation and thrust. His dick angles and thrusts in from the right and slides out on an opposite angle to the left. He was loving me before, but he’s fucking me now, and the sight is so fucking hot.
“Christian,” I mewl, and he groans, deep like a growl and grasps my waist firmly as he holds me in place and continues to punish my pussy, now chasing his own orgasm, I’m sure. I’m watching my breasts bounce wildly in the glass. Damn! This is the kind of sexy unscripted abandon that I would pay to watch. It’s spurning me on, watching him fucking me, rolling his hips into me, and watching his cock hit all walls and spots while my tits bounce like a sexy porn star.
I groan as the visual assault and physical pleasure combined become too much for me. My pussy is burning with this masterful stroke, and it looks so good. I want it to last longer, but I can’t stand it anymore. It’s the perfect combination of physical and mental stimulation and I’m not sure I’ve ever had it this good before in my life or if I ever will again.
“Ah!” I cry out in a high-pitched orgasmic cry, closing my eyes and leaning back on my husband’s rock-hard body as I picture him thrusting into me and feel his thickness against all my walls as I come.
“Aw, fuck!” he cries, thrusting hard and mercilessly into me. “Aw, yes! That’s it! That’s it right there!”
He thrusts a few more times, hard and masterful, and I feel him sit up behind me, wrapping one hand around my belly and one around my breast, grasping one tightly in my hand. His head falls onto my shoulder, and he holds me firmly against him while I watch his thighs tremble and he whimpers, his dick thumping hard inside of me. His testicles rise with each whimper and I’m certain that the pleasure must be unbearable. He’s finally silent and he freezes as I watch them continue to rise and fall, that muscle in his perineum pushing every bit of semen that he has to offer into me. If I wasn’t already pregnant, I would be after this!
I want to reach down and torment his thumping balls so badly, but I can’t move—not only because I’m still reeling from my own orgasm, but because he has a firm hold on me while he’s paralyzed in his. I can only gasp for air while he’s holding me against his body and riding out his climax. The thumping in his cock is finally calming and, in our reflection, I can see a bit of our mixed juices sliding down his cock still inside me before he finally lifts his head and takes my mouth in a delectable kiss over his shoulder. I have sweat running into my eyes, but I don’t give a good goddamn.
Watching us fuck like that was insane and delightful. I’m only glad that my belly hasn’t dropped yet, or it would’ve blocked my view.
“You naughty little minx,” he chastises. “You were watching us.”
“I couldn’t help it,” I confess. “It was right there looking at me.”
“Did it look as good as it felt?” he asks, suggestively, brushing his lips over mine.
“Almost,” I confess. “It looked hot and wet and magnificent… but it felt better.”
“Good answer,” he says, covering my mouth with his again.
A/N: CREATIVE LICENSE—Twin Farms is usually not open from mid-March to May which they call “Mud Season.” However, had I waited for them to open, Ana would’ve been about to burst.
I might’ve spoken about Little House on the Prairie before, but it was a series of books and then a television series in the 70’s and 80’s. The opening scene is three girls running down a hill of wildflowers.
Baby and Johnny were lovers in Dirty Dancing. The workers resided in a separate set of cabins away from the guests that required climbing a tall flight of stairs to get to them. The stairs at Twin Farms aren’t as steep, but the scenery would be the same which is why Ana said she felt like Baby heading to Johnny’s cabin.
Ana and Christian’s weekend getaway can be found at Twin Farms—Barnard, VT.
The question-and-answer thread can be found on the left, second from last on the menu or you can click HERE.
If you feel the need to talk, visit the link on the left in the menu titled “Do You Need To Talk” or click HERE. No subject is taboo, but please show respect for those who have concerns as well as those who respond.
You can join my mailing list on the “Contact Me” page. Just click the link and it will lead you to a form to join the list.
“What?” I say. “Did you really expect me not to do my homework? $2B deal and I’m not going to know exactly what I’m dealing with? And you have the nerve to ask for more? You have nothing else to offer me and you’re asking for more? I got a royal flush, spades, and the king has his sword directly at your throat and you’re talking shit to me with two pair?
“Of course, you’ve missed breakfast, but Sophie made these delicious breakfast popper thingies. She calls them hash brown cups. They’re small bites of hash browns, eggs, and sausage. They’re delicious in their simplicity.”
Butterfly Saga 