Learning to Trust Part 1 Read online

  I accepted her challenge and that’s how it all started. I quickly found that I loved reporting; uncovering a story could be a beautiful thing. I changed that paper forever, despite the fact that very few people ever read it. I got my first job based on my work with that paper and just climbed the ladder from there. I was obsessed with journalism.

  Suddenly, I felt very alone—and I was. I was alone on a number of levels, but I had to scold myself because I should have planned for this. It was my idea to do this story and I had arranged my itinerary for the trip. I thought about Roland again and how his hands had felt through my blazer, that beautiful hot sensation that spilled right through me.

  I imagined myself sitting there with him, his eyes gazing into mine with that intensity. I felt my inhibitions lowering as I melted into him, lost in that powerful glare. I started to feel wetness pooling between my thighs and actually welcomed it, my fingers parting my robe to provide access to that growing ache. I finally realized how much tension I had bottled up that day and how it was affecting me.

  I imagined Roland taking my arms and pressing them against the couch, holding me there and staring until his cock hardened. He pulled up my skirt and slid into me forcefully, his thickness pressing against the tightness of my walls. I grimaced as my muscles hugged him, lovingly stretching to accommodate his width. My fingers had reached my clit by this point, gently pulling back that tiny hood and circling against my tender flesh. I gasped as my touch sent shocks of pleasure all through my body, causing my nipples to harden and goose bumps to form in quick patches. Even imagining Roland had incredible power, power that I was helpless to fight.

  I touched myself rapidly, imagining his cock pounding into me, his arms holding me in place like he was performing a very specific, practiced maneuver. He wouldn’t let me move as he took me, ensuring that he was in control, owning me in that moment. I pressed my fingers against my moist lips, easing them through my slit to feel the origin of my wetness. I brought them back to my clit and pressed even harder, causing my legs to close tightly around my hand like a bear trap, my nerves awakening in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

  Roland continued to stare into my eyes with such power, his gaze like direct sunlight, scorching me with glorious intent. His cock continued to slam into me and suddenly I came. It happened fast, washing through me like a powerful wave, a tide of pleasure. My fingers were locked down and moving under my legs and I groaned loudly, my back arching as I twisted and turned against the bed. I felt my cream pour onto my fingers, covering them in juices of satisfaction, juices of release.

  Roland was with me the whole time, staring at me with those eyes, rocking his hips to send his hardness into me repeatedly, like a relentless machine. My tension grew and released suddenly—and I was again alone in that bed, haunted by the images of my fantasy.

  “Damnit,” I said aloud, my chest heaving as I fought to catch my breath. I didn’t masturbate a lot, but when I actually did, it was never like that. What had I gotten myself into? I just met this guy earlier today and already I was having fantasies about him, fantasies that I couldn’t seem to suppress at all.

  I talked myself down, doing my best to convince my very weary self that I just hadn’t had any male attention in years—and just having this guy touch me was enough to send me into a frenzy. Yeah, that was it. And he was hot, so it wasn’t that crazy was it? I was mentally and physically exhausted. I still was suffering from jet lag.

  I decided not to over think it and instead prepare myself mentally for our meeting tomorrow. I would do my best to keep an open mind and stay calm, digesting his words slowly and precisely. I took deep, comforting breaths until I started to get sleepy, realizing that I really just couldn’t know a thing until we met again. Assumptions never got me anywhere—and that was a fact.

  More importantly, reporters who assumed things usually ended their careers fast. That definitely wasn’t about to be me. I fell asleep quickly and slept soundly.

  ***

  “Oh, so lovely to see you again!” Roland said as he watched me climb onto the porch. Today he was wearing a lavish silk bathrobe, one that probably cost more than all of my clothes combined. It was casual attire, that was for sure. The second his eyes hit me, I was flooded with that pang of weakness, that tingle that would grow into a roar.

  “Good afternoon, Roland,” I said, the words tight in my suddenly-dry throat. I had to fight to speak. Damnit, Marisa. Get yourself together!

  I had awoken that morning to calm, lounging around in bed watching television, my mind free from the tension of the previous day. I felt good, just as long as I kept my mind a clean slate. I went down, ate some breakfast in the lobby, and noticed the gym. Great, I could start now! I decided that some exercise might be good for me and spent some time on the treadmill. It felt good to jog, even though I didn’t last very long. My body had approved of my decision, releasing a flood of feel-good chemicals.

  Despite my unusual morning routine (I never lounged around; always up and right to work), one thing remained constant—Roland wasn’t polluting my mind. Maybe I had just needed that release last night. I was confident that I had broken his spell, freed myself from his grasp. I’d be able to pull off a beautiful, unbiased report. I’d uncover facts that would change our world! I’d—

  Nope. Ten seconds in and I was already losing it.

  “You look lovely today, much more comfortable than yesterday. I bet you feel more comfortable as well.” He smiled as his hands danced in the air, motioning me to follow him inside.

  “Thank you,” I said, doing my best to suppress the redness in my cheeks. I had worn a black and white day dress, one with horizontal stripes—the most casual thing I had brought along. I hadn’t predicted his insistence upon comfort; I would have to go out and buy new clothing if this wasn’t going to be a quick process.

  “Coffee again?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I blurted out, just responding to him. Actually, his coffee was so good that I didn’t think I’d be able to resist. My instincts had proven to be trustworthy. I sat down in the same place I had yesterday. I hadn’t noticed yesterday, but one of his halls was adorned with framed awards and certificates of accomplishment. I couldn’t see very well, but it looked like most of them were from StarChem.

  “I think we’ll do Irish coffee today,” he said, chuckling as he walked with long strides into the kitchen. I heard the usual clanking of machinery in his kitchen, the opening and closing of the fridge, the steaming sound of boiling water. I hadn’t tried to watch him prepare it, worried that I’d witness a man fumbling around the kitchen, spoiling his aura of precision. But again, just like before, he emerged with two glasses, full of perfectly prepared drink. “Here you are. I hope you like cream.”

  I took it from him and sipped, immediately floored by the sweetness of the cream, the coffee warming me as I swallowed. There were no hints of alcohol at all. “Delicious,” I said.

  “This is a special recipe,” he said, sipping with great appreciation. “Mmm, turned out just right.” He finally sat down, his duties as host fulfilled. “So how are you feeling today, Marisa? You look like you’re doing much better. Still jet-lagged?”

  “I slept well last night,” I said. “Went to bed early. Slept late.”

  “Ah, my sort of night,” he said, laughing. “You’re not out at the bars all night, huh?”

  “I’m too old for that. My professional career has made me feel older than ever.” I was surprised at how quickly I had opened up to him. I sipped the coffee again, finally feeling the whiskey start to hit me. I felt lighter, my nerves softening up.

  “I know how that feels, Marisa.” He looked around at his accomplishments—a giant house, more money than most could fathom, a wall covered in praise and accomplishment—and sat quietly, absorbing the seriousness of it all. He continued: “If you run the show all the time, it burns you out. It tires you, ages you. I had to relinquish some of my control to others that I trust—so that I could enjoy my l
ife.”

  Something about what he said really resonated in me. I had been moving so fast for so long, drowning myself with unending drive, never slowing down to take in anything but the fact that I had more to accomplish. I pushed myself all the time, so hard that I usually didn't even had a chance to think about it. I gazed at him, transfixed by his words. I suddenly felt vulnerable again.

  “Marisa, you’ve fallen silent. Have I struck a chord with you?”

  I suddenly snapped back to reality. “No,” I said immediately. “Well, maybe…”

  “Marisa, it’s best that we don’t lie to each other. I’m in a different position that you in this world, so my decisions carry a different weight than your own. But I still know tension when I see it—you look like you’re going to snap like a twig if anyone pushes you just a little.”

  And again, we had arrived at me being totally vulnerable, open, exposed. I sat in silence, my head hanging low, trying my best to avoid eye contact. I felt like he was reading pages from a diary I never kept, like he had gone through and torn out random pages from the last ten years of my life—and he noticed a theme.

  “We both know why you’re here. We’ll never make any progress if you don’t learn to trust. Clearly I trust you because I’ve welcomed you into my home. This is where I hideaway from the world, my most secure place. You must learn to trust, Marisa. You must trust me. Allow me to help you.”

  I suddenly felt turned on, literally as if he had flipped a switch. My nerves were on fire, my heart pounding, my wetness growing between my legs. I remembered touching myself last night and how it felt, like a blockage had suddenly been cleared and then sleep came over me like a drug—all because of him. It was as if Roland was reading my mind—and inviting me into his world. Whatever his world meant.

  “Okay,” I said, once again under his spell. I tried to come back, fighting it. The whiskey had softened me up, allowed him to penetrate even deeper.

  How did he know that I had trust issues? I had never thought about it that way until now. I worked hard for myself—and I was always hesitant to give up any of my efforts without a fight. I had moved from paper to paper, job-to-job, never settling anywhere for very long, never having an incentive to just stay. I always assumed something better was somewhere else and so I went after it. I didn’t even know the definition of complacency, apparently. Satisfaction was not a word in my vocabulary.

  Was I interviewing him or was he interviewing me?

  Roland finished his drink and rose to his feet, his footsteps echoing down the halls with hardwood floors. He once again towered over me, approaching me in slow motion, his robe flowing behind him like a cape. I felt powerless as I sat there, waiting for him to do whatever he was going to do, wanting whatever it was. He sat down beside me and wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me toward him.

  "So much tension," he whispered.

  I could immediately smell his powerful muskiness, the odor causing me to dissolve into him. I pressed my head against his shoulder and it felt just beautiful. Roland's arm felt hot against me, his warm touch causing the heat to move around freely inside of me like a convection oven.

  How far was I willing to go? It was a question that I had no answer to.

  His hands rose up and gently played with my hair, his fingers running through the soft strands and sending chills down my spine. Even with his moving fingers, he kept that firm grip around my shoulders with his arms, stabilizing me as I felt my muscles quickly turning into Jell-O. And then, he turned my head with some force and kissed me deeply, his tongue overtaking mine with ease.

  No more guessing.

  That curious tongue explored the deepest recesses of my mouth while his fingers moved along my scalp—Roland was tracing my skull as if he was trying to memorize its shape. I kissed him back, our tongues twining, dancing a delicate ballet in our mouths. I locked my eyes closed, doing my damndest to get lost in the act. I wanted to trust and feel, not think.

  Warmth began to grow between my legs, moisture spilling forth without restraint. My mind was just as stimulated as my body, the signals flowing unimpeded to my lower belly. I ached for touch, for attention, for release. He ran his callused hands along my face; they probably burned from the heat in my bright red cheeks. His hardness pressed against my thighs, totally prominent under the soft material that covered it. It felt huge, something that was as titillating as it was terrifying. The fact that I hadn’t had sex in quite some time made him seem even bigger.

  Need continued to burn inside of me as he broke the kiss, nibbling on my ear after gliding along my skin with his tongue. Oh god, it felt so good. I relaxed even more.

  His arm escaped from behind my back and allowed me to settle against the couch. Fingers traced along my body, exploring my curves through the dress. He cupped my breasts through my dress and bra, squeezing them slightly until he could resist no longer and reached in and pulled them out. They rested on the top of my bra, fully accessible to him.

  Roland took my nipples into his mouth one by one, suckling them with his tongue until they pebbled. My body begged for him to go further and further, to touch me, to please me. In that moment, I felt like his.

  “Ah, your breasts are so lovely,” he remarked. His words cut into me in the most beautiful way, inflating my confidence, making me feel womanly. “Your skin is soft—just delectable. Like...porcelain.”

  His tongue pressed into that soft flesh around my nipples, exploring curiously as he undoubtedly felt the powerful beating of my heart beneath my breasts. He buried his face in my cleavage, soaking up the softness like a sponge. Distracted by his face, I barely noticed that his hands were creeping up the tender flesh of my thighs. I gasped when I noticed, almost as if I was surprised that we were progressing to that.

  “Shh, Marisa. Just relax,” he said.

  He got to my panties and lightly traced his fingers along the cloth barrier that soaked up my wetness, carefully ensuring that he brushed against my clit. That light touch made me burn even more, my pussy buzzing with excitement. I was quivering with anticipation, wanting him to move quicker, to take me now.

  Roland’s fingers slid under the elastic waistband and pulled my panties down slowly, ensuring that they didn’t just bunch up at my knees. My core temperature seemed to rise hotter and hotter as he traveled lower down my legs. Wrapped around my ankles, I lifted my feet up, allowing the panties to hit the floor. His finger plunged into me, feeling huge. My muscles clenched around it.

  “Mmm, you’re so wet, Marisa. So inviting.”

  My heart pounded even harder as I saw his erection in its full glory, his robe discarded to the floor like something that had suddenly become totally unnecessary. His body was fabulous and toned, the hair trimmed and neat. He took good care of himself, a physique that was a perfect match for his beautiful cock. I closed my eyes again, mildly terrified of his thickness. I heard the tearing of foil as he opened and rolled on a condom. He pulled my dress up my legs, exposing my most private part to that empty room.

  “Marisa,” he said, his words low and throaty. “Look me in the eyes when I fill that sweet little pussy of yours.”

  I complied, opening my eyes just as I felt his cock press into my wetness, parting my lips with power and plentiful size. He filled me to the point of bursting, a hurt that he immediately recognized. I couldn’t believe how full I felt, my chest heaving. Could I really take his cock? I winced, doing my best to maintain eye contact with him. His eyes scorched into mine, almost like he was looking directly into my mind, cataloging all of my mental and physical sensations.

  Roland held himself like that for over a minute, allowing my walls to adjust to him, to make the proper accommodations. As much as I could tell he wanted to fuck my brains out, he showed restraint and discipline, ensuring that I was comfortable. My muscles slowly stretched, converting pain to immense, overwhelming pleasure. He started to slowly rock his hips back and forth; it sent pleasure through me like I’d never experienced before.
>
  “Oh god,” I moaned, unable to contain myself. It felt so thick and pressed against all of the right places inside of me.

  “Ah yes, you feel so good, Marisa. Do you like this?”

  “Yes,” I muttered, my eyes opening for just a flash while I said the word. The blackness made it easier to process all that I was feeling. He could tell that I wasn’t lying.

  He began to increase his tempo, smoothly rocking himself in and out of me. His length fully disappeared and reappeared with each thrust, his power overwhelming my body. My core ached with tension, his movements only building it up even more. He took my arms and pinned them against the couch, just as he had in my fantasy the night before.

  My eyes shot opened and stared into his, surprised by his gesture. It really was as if he was reading my mind. His thrusts became richer than before as he took me, his powerful arms forcing me to stay where I was. I could barely writhe as he held me, his length disappearing so quickly. I was held there like a prize, one that he admired in his own special way. I felt totally drunk by my own bliss. Whether I had really wanted to trust him or not, I was, because he could have done anything he wanted to me. He was taking me places I hadn’t ever known, guided by his intense lust.

  I felt my orgasm starting to build, very slowly at first, hovering just slightly out of reach. He let me loose on one side and took his fingers directly to my clit, stroking it like he was petting a kitten. So gentle and subtle.

  “Come for me right now, Marisa,” he ordered.

  His demand was enough to send me over the edge. He quickly rejoined his hand to mine and pumped even harder than before. I screamed as I lost control of my body, feeling that hot sensation of pleasure shoot through me. My nipples hardened, my toes clenched, my hands fought against his. His shaft pounded my g-spot; the orgasm was so deep that I feared I might pass out.

  “Good,” he whispered, watching me fight, watching me ascend to glorious climax.

  He maintained his rhythm until I felt him coming, each contraction of his release causing me to peak just a little bit more. The muscles in his face clenched as he came, the seriousness almost overwhelming. He growled quietly, his climax escaping through the deep sounds in his throat. His hips started to slow along with my heartbeat, the two things seemingly intertwined through our ritual.