1. Persephone in Winter - Chapter 11/11


    Date: 11/28/2015, Categories: Wife Lovers, Author: Night_Writer, Rating: 9, Source: LushStories

    longer able to cope rationally with the invading threads Simon had woven into their marriage, into Elyse, and even into himself. He wanted to unravel everything, to return their life to the past, to the ordinary, to make Elyse the wife she was before Simon's meddling. Anger welled up inside him. 'Damn him! Damn her! Damn me!' "So, is this what you want?" He raged at her, stripping off his wet clothes, tearing at them as though he was tearing at his own skin. "To be fucked? Like an animal? Like a fucking whore?" Elyse spread her legs wider, still grinning, quietly inviting his threats. Steven went to her, hitting the ground hard with both knees, landing between her legs. He took her wrists and pulled them roughly over her head, waiting for her to come to her senses, to beg him to stop. Elyse closed her eyes and moaned. "If you want to be fucked like a whore, I'll fuck you like whore! Is that how he does it? Is this how he fucks you, Elyse?" Steven plunged into her, forcing her to take the entire length of him at once. Her body shook as he slammed into her again and again, taking her as roughly as he could, imagining how Simon might have poisoned her against him. But with each stroke of fury came satisfaction, and then excitement. All fear and uncertainty came boiling out of him, and with it, filling the space they occupied, came a feral sexual appetite fired by a bewildering new strength. Then, as their eyes met once more, Steven slowed his pace, moving inside her as he once ...
    did in the comfort and safety of their own bed. Her grin faded, and he recognized the familiar soft features of the woman who loved him. "This is what I want, Steven. I want this, with you, not with him. It's what you want too, isn't it?" Steven kissed her, softly at first, then harder, biting her lip, feasting on her neck, as his pace returned to its former fury. Elyse laid her head back on the wet grass and closed her eyes, feeling the slowing raindrops dance against her face. She spared him nothing. Each moan and whimper was only for Steven now, and she knew he understood that. "Yes - Steven. This - is what - I want. It's - what I've - always - wanted." High above them, the camera turned slowly and silently away, the tiny red light winked out, and the glass eye went still, its watch given up not with discretion or modesty, but with a sense of satisfying completion. Its master drank his brandy from a richly upholstered wingback chair in a walnut-paneled library. At times he'd contemplated whether his talents were God-given, or bestowed by a darker power. It really only mattered that they helped him hit the target, in this case, dead center. He had been alone for so long - countless weeks, months, and years - the emptiness filled by gifts from others, unaware that what he gave, what they took, sustained him. But it was enough. For now. And below the lifeless eye, just outside the gate that spat them from its master's grasp, two new lives were born in the first rain of spring. ...
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