"How was that?" she asked, her smile no longer the shy and nervous one Claire was used to. It was more mischievious, a knowing smile that reflected her ability to push Claire beyond her normal restrictions now. Claire sat up and kiss her deeply, tasting herself as their tongues batted gently against each other.
"Great, but you knew that," Claire answered after a few seconds, "Show-off. Now lay down." Claire stood and pushed Gretchen to her bed. Gretchen obliged, pulling herself to lay down completely, and Claire straddled her. She pushed her wet sex against Gretchen's rock-hard dick, not letting it penetrate as she started to grind against it. Gretchen sighed and grabbed Claire's hips, pulling her down hard.
"Who's the show-off?" she managed to gasp out as Claire teased her. Claire pushed down and started to gyrate harder.
"Do you want to fuck me?" Claire asked, surprised a little at how dirty it sounded.
"You know I do, you can FEEL that I do."
"I know. But you don't get to if you don't tell me."
"Mean!"
"Even meaner in a few seconds ..."
"Yes, I want to fuck you. I want to push myself inside you and ride you like a goddamned racehorse. Happy?"
"Very," Claire responded as she started to pant a little again, getting herself worked up. She lighted herself up and reached underneath herself, gripping Gretchen's cock. She lined it up with her sex and slowly let it drive into her. Although she was a virgin, her hymen was LONG gone from the physical trauma her body had seen and there was no blood as Claire stretched around Gretchen's impressive tool.
She leaned down and started to suck Gretchen's breasts as her hips moved gently, riding her friend just slightly as she appreciated her body. Gretchen's hands moved from Claire's hips to her ass, gripping it tightly and pulling it down to her, her breaths deepening as she felt Claire move on her. Claire grinned, enjoying both the feeling of control and how Gretchen felt inside her. She started to thrust her hips back harder as she propped herself up, hands braced against the bed. She gasped as Gretchen's hands moved back towards her hips and the both of them thrust alternatingly.
Claire bounced on top of Gretchen, groaning as her sex tightened around Gretchen's cock. She could feel herself starting to sweat as she thrust down on the beautiful woman beneath her, nerves on fire and she rode her harder and harder. Gretchen was panting, occasionally letting out a moan or gasp as she felt Claire contract around her as they fucked. Claire was just barely starting to ride into her when she felt Gretchen stop and her grip strengthen to keep her from pushing down.
"What?" Claire panted out, clearly impatiently.
"I can't ... keep fucking you," Gretchen said as she caught her breath, "I don't have any condoms."
"Why would-"
"Well, I wasn't exactly expecting this to be your plan for how we spend today trapped inside," Gretchen said. Claire lifted herself off Gretchen, letting out a weak grunt of frustrating as her dick fell out of her sex. Claire stood up and stopped for a second, thinking, then turned to Gretchen's bed and bent over it, hands against the bed, and looked back at Gretchen with a wicked grin.
"You can't keep fucking my pussy ..." Claire said, shaking her ass just a little towards Gretchen. Gretchen sat up, eyes a little wide in disbelief. "I don't feel pain," Claire explained, "and I liked it when you fingered my ass. So why not?" Gretchen shrugged and stood up, approaching Claire from behind.
"You've got a point," she finally said as she gripped Claire's firm ass and spread her cheeks. She lined her dick's head up with Claire's tight little hole and slowly pushed into it. Claire groaned, already overly sensitive from coming and having been started in on. Her ass gripped Gretchen's dick like a vice as she buried it all the way into her. Gretchen's hands moved up to her hips and she started to thrust, her rod in a stranglehold inside Claire's ass.
Claire moaned openly as Gretchen built up speed and effort, sensory nerves freely accepting the pleasure without any of the normal uncomfortability getting in the way. She felt exposed and dirty, but also safe in the knowledge that Gretchen wouldn't hurt her even in such an open state. Her fingernails pressed against her hands as she pushed back against Gretchen's thrusts, arching her back as her muslces started to contract again.
Shortly, Gretchen was throbbing inside Claire's ass as she pounded it in a manner that would be vicious for anyone else. Claire, however, just groaned and breathed raggedly, inches away from coming again. The feeling of the huge dick in her ass was much more intense and she felt herself clamp down as she started to come.
This time, Claire screamed, unable to contain herself as her pussy even squirted a little bit. Gretchen's constant hammering dragged it out, drenching a small area of the carpet beneath her. Gretchen wasn't far behind, Claire's tight ass clamping down on her not something she was prepared for. She moaned as she started to come, shooting her hot seed up Claire's ass in wave after wave until she felt almost empty. Claire, on the other hand, felt incredibly full as Gretchen's spewed hot cum up her ass and collapsed forward on the bed. Gretchen pulled out of her and pulled her legs to the bed, then sat down beside her.
"This was a much better day than I thought it would be," Claire mumbled as Gretchen brushed her hair out of her face, Claire's arms laying at her side and feeling to numb to do it. As she felt herself starting to drift off to the pitter-patter of the rain outside, Gretchen curled up next to her and she smiled.
Because this time, she was glad that it was going to be a long day.
The End.
Charlotte
Charlotte sensed someone was in the room with her. Despite the blindfold she turned her face towards the presence; her fingers clamped around the arms of the chair. Charlotte's nostrils flared, her sense of smell heightened from fear and the inability to see. The perfume told her it wasn't Peter, the scent was definitely not his, it was a more feminine smell. Charlotte recognised it -- but where from? The answer was close ... a hazy image formed in her mind but refused to materialise. She felt a waft of breath against her cheek and tried to rise from the chair, an impossible task since her wrists were bound to the wooden arms.
A voice came from across the room; the Polish accent confirmed it was Peter: So he was there too!
"Do you trust me?"
Charlotte felt fingers trace a feather-soft line down her cheek. The stranger was touching her. She swallowed heavily but nodded in the face of her fear.
"Good," Peter murmured. "You can leave whenever you want." He spoke a single word and explained: "Say that word at any time ..." Peter paused and emphasised, "Any time at all, and it will stop ... Immediately." Another pause before he continued. "But," Peter said, his accent thickened by anticipation, "if you do leave, it's over; completely gone ...Finished."
The man fell silent, but Charlotte knew he was still with her; she could hear his breathing. His words comforted her even though there was a third party in that room. It was a woman, Charlotte was certain. She put aside the niggling frustration of the perfume and thought quickly. The effects of the wine were wearing off and she had a decision to make. Was she prepared to be controlled? To submit to the will of Peter and whoever else was with them? The offer by Peter of an escape route reassured her, and Charlotte recognised the finality of the situation should she balk and run. Did she really want what was on offer?
The woman considered her situation. She thought of the emails she'd discovered -- the filthy exchange between Peter, a supplier of fabrics to her factory, and her PA, Vanessa. The written exchanges had, at first, disgusted Charlotte, but there'd been a frisson to her discovery. Despite her offended morality, Charlotte had experienced a rush of warmth between her legs, and, red-faced with mortification, she found herself locking her office door and rubbing herself to orgasm as she imagined herself in the scenes described.
Charlotte confronted Peter about the lewd communications between himself and Vanessa -- a strange course of action given the fact that Vanessa was an employee, but Charlotte didn't reconcile her actions on a lo
gical level; she was driven by a more primordial force.
The heat in her cunt.
They met in an expensive London eatery as arranged. Peter, tall, broad-shouldered, and with his rough, interesting face betraying his concern, complimented Charlotte in her long, black dress. Charlotte knew she looked good, understated but elegant, with a simple string of pearls around her neck. She'd chosen her dress and shoes deliberately. Her ash-blonde bob was newly cut and feathered around her face prettily. She noticed Peter's eyes flicker towards her deep cleavage and she smiled to herself -- Big tits, she thought, gets them every time.
Ignoring the polite murmur of muted conversations around them, Peter brought the subject in hand immediately to the fore. Lifting his hungry stare from the upper slopes of Charlotte's round breasts, Peter fixed his grey-blue eyes on her face. "I'm surprised," Peter said after a waiter had poured wine and left. "You find such emails between me and Vanessa, yet you speak to me and not her ... Why?"
"I can deal with Vanessa any time," Charlotte responded in her typically haughty fashion -- a self-made woman, she was used to having her own way. She shrugged, a movement that caused her breasts to jiggle, and Charlotte saw Peter glance at her chest again. "She's an employee, I can replace her, but you, Peter, are much more important to me."
The man's lips pursed and he shook his head. He ran his hand over his close-cropped hair. "No, Charlotte," he said emphatically. "I don't accept that. You could just fire Vanessa and not say anything to me. She's at fault, you're her employer ..." Peter paused, he stared intently at Charlotte -- it was a stare that caused the mature woman's sex to clench. Charlotte reached for her glass and gulped at her wine to cover her discomfit. Peter smirked, Charlotte's reaction spoke volumes. "There's more to it," he continued. He studied Charlotte's face. "Tell me," he insisted.
Peter used silence as a weapon. It was a trick he'd been taught years ago by his father. "They'll grow uncomfortable," the old man had said. "You control the silence and they will try to fill it. A useful trick in negotiations," Pappy had said and smiled.
"OK," Charlotte blurted finally. Peter smiled to himself. It had worked. "At first I was ... disgusted by what I read. The things you wrote to each other ... I've never ..."
"It's role-play, Charlotte," Peter interrupted. "A game." He sipped at his wine and glanced around the room. Nobody was paying any attention to the couple. They were an innocuous sight. Well-dressed, obviously wealthy -- they could even be married. "You said you were disgusted. What changed? How come you're not so offended anymore?"
Peter used the silence again.
"I—" Charlotte began.
"—were turned on," Peter finished for her. His voice fell to a whisper: "You grew excited." The man leaned across the table, he held Charlotte's gaze: "You played with yourself, Charlotte. You used your hands on yourself ... down there." Peter nodded towards Charlotte's lap.
The woman blushed and looked away. He was right; Peter had known exactly what she'd done. "It wasn't like that," Charlotte blustered. Her usual, assured demeanour evaporated. The man could read her like a book. Damn him, damn his intriguing eyes and his harsh good-looks. An image flashed into her mind. She saw Peter above her as she lay supine, with her legs wide apart, as she offered herself to him. Charlotte blushed at the vivid picture; she saw Peter's assured smirk as he held himself above her submissive form, she felt her nipples tighten as, in her mind, his big cock nudged her opening ... Charlotte squirmed against her seat. A pulse throbbed between her legs.
"It was exactly like that, Charlotte." Peter's accented English brought her back to the present. The residue of her fantasy lingered; her breasts ached and her teats longed to be sucked by this man -- Charlotte's insides melted.
Forty-five minutes later and Charlotte found herself in a black cab with Peter. She heard Peter speak to the driver -- she recognised the address from somewhere, but lust and wine blurred her senses. Besides, as soon as the cab turned a sharp one-hundred-and-eighty towards their destination, Peter fell on Charlotte like a predatory beast.
His hands were on her thighs instantly. Charlotte, feeling his fingers travel down her limbs, allowed her legs to fall apart. Peter growled as his hand slid up under the hem of the dress. He pushed roughly at Charlotte's thighs, eager to get to the hot place at their junction. Charlotte shuffled forward to accommodate Peter's insistent probe; she pushed her legs wider apart, and, at the same time, saw the driver observing the goings-on in his mirror. Aroused by the voyeuristic intent of the cabbie, Charlotte stared back at him belligerently -- as though challenging him.
Fuck you, she thought. Watch all you like, I don't give a damn. She groaned as Peter's palm cupped her mound through the fragile material of her underwear. She pushed back against the pressure while Peter moved across her body to kiss her.
Charlotte returned the kiss. Her lipstick, so carefully repaired following the meal, smeared across her face. Her hair also fell into disarray, smudged against the seat while Peter's tongue explored the wet cavern of her open mouth.
"You want to do this." Peter murmured during a break in their frenzied kissing. "We agreed."
"Absolutely," Charlotte acquiesced. "You've never cheated me so far ... in business ... why should this be any different?" She gasped as Peter's finger pushed beyond the taut film of her underwear and found the oily gape of her opening.
"You must trust me," Peter breathed into her ear. "It will be strange, but you must trust me."
Charlotte groaned and looked at the mirror again. The man was watching as Peter fingered her hole. The situation was already strange to Charlotte. A divorcee and 42 years old, she was used to straight sex behind closed doors. Sprawled in the back of a cab with the driver ogling her gaping snatch was just not her style. A modern day ladette would be more inclined to such lewd behaviour, but Charlotte, having conquered her modest upbringing, considered herself more refined. She moaned, turned on enough to agree to anything: "I do," she panted. "I trust you ... I ... I ...."
Peter grinned into the shadowy interior of the cab. Charlotte couldn't see his expression; her attention was on the cabby's eyes and the flame between her legs. Things were going better than he'd anticipated. He was pleased he'd made the call ahead when the opportunity arose. Charlotte's make-up repairs had given him the chance to use his mobile phone. His cock, already stiff, throbbed at what was to come.
The taxi driver accepted the fare and tip and, with a smirk, drove away. As the cab's engine noise dwindled, Peter led Charlotte up a short flight of steps towards the impassive facade of an expensive London mews.
With some trepidation Charlotte allowed herself to be blindfolded and bound to the chair by her wrists.
And now she had to make her choice.
Decisive in business, and, once a decision was made, she stuck to it. Charlotte opted to stay. "I trust you, Peter," she said determinedly. "I want to do this."
"Excellent," a female voice whispered in Charlotte's ear. The accent was quintessentially English; the speaker was well-educated, the product of indulgent parents and a girls' private school. Charlotte recognised the voice of Vanessa, her PA.
"You!" Charlotte blurted. "The address, your perfume ... I should've known sooner—"
Fingers dug into Charlotte's cheeks. The woman hissed: "You don't talk. Nobody gives a fuck what you think. You're here for my pleasure."
A thrill of fear surged through Charlotte. Her guts clamped at the venom in the woman's tone. She thought of the safe word and nearly called it out. Then, as the code was about to form in her mouth, she recalled Peter's repeated insistence on trust. She swallowed heavily, still frightened, but now a thread of lust ran through the dark fabric of her fear.
Charlotte surrendered her will.
"Do it to her," Charlotte heard the woman say. A sound told Charlotte that Peter was moving to obey the command. So Peter wasn't in charge; he was in the woman's power as well. Charlotte had no further time to ponder since she felt hands grasp her ankles.
> "Put your legs over the chair arms," Peter said.
He guided the woman's limbs into position. It was uncomfortable but not intolerable. Charlotte sat there with her backside on the edge of the cushioned seat, with her wrists bound and the backs of her knees hooked over her forearms. In this position, Peter lifted two handfuls of her dress and pushed the material up around Charlotte's belly. The woman felt fingers against her body as Peter wrenched the lacy scrap of her underwear to one side. A rending sound told Charlotte that her knickers were now a rag.
Peter uttered a Polish obscenity. Vanessa laughed.
"Looks like the bitch is all hot for your tongue, Peter. Her cunt's swollen and red and bubbling with juice." Charlotte's face burned beneath her blindfold, but Vanessa's vulgar description sent a surge of lust through her body. "You may kiss her there," Vanessa allowed.
Charlotte felt hot breath on her sex as Peter manoeuvred himself into position. Her labia were spread, with Peter's thumbs Charlotte imagined, and then she groaned when the man's mouth touched her burning sex.
"Oh ... fuck ..." Charlotte grunted and immediately fell silent as Vanessa's fingers dug into her cheeks again.
"Not a word from you, cunt. You say another word and I'll take this big-cocked bastard away from you. Then you can sit there with your twat unfucked. "
Charlotte whined but made no articulate sound.
A few minutes passed. The only sounds in the room were the slurping of Peter's mouth and tongue against the slippery flesh of Charlotte's core, and the muted moans and whimpers from her mouth.
Peter worked two fingers inside Charlotte and curled them to rub at the sensitive place inside. He rubbed hard at the rough spot he felt there, and was rewarded by a great burst of delight from Charlotte. The woman groaned even louder as Peter dabbed his tongue at her excited clitoris.
Vanessa's insistent voice broke across Charlotte's thoughts: "Don't let her come! If she comes you don't get your reward."
The Rougher Explicit Collection of Stories Box Set Compilation Page 70
