and long, the underwires lifting them so high they were
displayed very provocatively as if sitting on a satin shelf.
My eyes followed the corset down and after it flared for my
ample hips, the straps came into view. Garish black straps
stood out against my pale skin and hugged my body. Where
they disappeared between my legs they forced my naked
mound up and out exposing the top of my slit and with it the
fleshy hood of my clit. It was so aroused and prominent that
it looked as if I had a tiny penis attached to me. I couldn’t
believe how obscene I looked.
Philip, standing behind me, looked over my shoulder
and smiled, “Lovely. You are unbelievably lovely. You take
my breath away.”
“No, you take my breath away. I am all but squeezed into
this, I can barely breathe.”
My eyes met his and though the lust in his did not lie,
mine filled with shame. I looked ridiculous, obscene, and not
at all sexy to my way of thinking. He clearly did not think
so, but I did. Tears stung my eyes and I reached for one of the straps on the belt to untuck a labial lip. He stayed my hand with his and I saw the contrast in the mirror, his hand so much larger and so much darker as he covered my hand
and gently stroked it into submission.
“No, don’t. You are beautiful, and so sexy I can hardly
stand it. I could look at you like this for hours. And you
agreed.”
“I look vulgar!”
“Well maybe . . . but some men like vulgar, we like
obscene, we like lewd. As the song says, we love trashy
women. You obviously aren’t seeing this the way a man
would. He unzipped his pants and stood beside me. “Look at
me, look what the sight of you is doing to me.”
I looked down at the opening of his slacks and saw his
impressive erection poke through the slit of his trousers,
straining to be free. It jumped in eager anticipation and
leaked pre-cum from its purpling tip. It was only the second
time I’d seen his penis and I must admit I was pleased by his
size, his girth, and the proud jut of it. The man as well as his
cock projected confidence and arrogance. It was without a
doubt a porn star penis.
My eyes were drawn back to the mirror and to me,
standing there, wantonly displayed.
“This is humiliating,” I moaned, trying to cover my naked
mound with its rosy appendage blooming and plumping
despite my distress.
He moved my hand away and using it, led me out to the
living room and to the sofa. I glanced at the blinds to make
doubly sure they were closed. With a hand on my shoulder
he eased me down until I was sitting in the middle of the
couch.
“Now comes the hard part,” he said.
Looking straight ahead, I was looking at the hard part; it
was bouncing just inches from my face. I thought he might
want me to take his penis into my mouth, but he moved away
from me and knelt.
He took my chin between his fingers and looked me in
the eyes. His were hungry as he commanded me to focus on
his words.
“As my submissive, you have to do things the way I tell
you to, and one of the things I require when we’re alone and
into a scene is that whenever you’re sitting, you spread your
legs wide so I can see your cunt. Right now I would like you
to scoot your bottom to the edge of the cushion and spread
yourself for me. Vivienne my love, show me your pretty,
delectable cunt. Show me everything you have, everything
you usually keep hidden.”
My eyes popped wide and I looked into his incredibly
handsome face. I couldn’t believe he was asking this of me.
But the glazed over look in his eyes and the tension on his
face told me differently. There was a tic in his jaw it was so
tight. He was serious. He wanted me to do this. In fact, he
was demanding that I do this. He saw the resistance in my
expression.
I cowered and shook my head.
“Please,” he begged. “I need to see you. And I need you
to be the one to allow it. Show me your womanhood, Viv.
Put your hands on your knees and push your thighs open for
me, Sweetheart. “I am your master, you are my possession,
and I want to admire you.”
My hands found their way between my knees and up my
inner thighs. I marveled at how smooth they felt from the
waxing I’d been doing. After much internal debate I decided,
if it’s vulgar he wants, it’s vulgar he gets. Tentatively I
pushed my thighs apart, my eyes searching his face for the
first sign of revulsion. Instead, I saw awe and hot desire flash
from heavy-lidded eyes. His tongue delved out to moisten
his bottom lip and the hair at his temples grew damp. I felt
my vagina clench and another wave flooded me.
“Wider,” he breathed, and I complied, realizing that because of the straps holding my labial lips open, that I was more exposed than I had ever been in my life. But the sheer look of bliss on his face turned my shame and humiliation to womanly pride. Pouty and puffy, fleshy and fragrant, he was getting his wish. I was showing him everything I had kept secret and hidden away. And he was getting so turned on just looking at me that I had to close my eyes against his pained
expression.
His hand stole to his erection as if to soothe it, and I
watched fascinated as he stroked it from his ball sac to the
oozing crown. While I held myself wide for him, he drank
in the view, and caressed his penis. I felt my essence leaking
from me, dripping and pooling, and I knew I had never been
this wet—ever.
Brazenly, I reached down and ran my middle finger
along my slit, trailing up from the furrowed opening to
my engorged nub and coating it with my essence before
returning to run it around the rim of my opening. I dipped
my finger deeper. My lips felt like the flesh of a ripe peach.
He gasped and fisted his penis. My other hand reached up
to pinch my left nipple and he groaned. I put my longest
finger inside my vagina, rammed it inside, brought it out,
and then joined it with another. As I pulled on my nipple
and finger-fucked myself he watched me and I watched him.
Fascinated, I saw the moment he was caught off guard and
lost control. “I don’t want to be perceived as a quick trigger,
but—Arggh!“ Then he cursed, shuddered, and came all over
his hand.
I stopped to enjoy the show, watching him transform
before my eyes. He went from being tense all over, to
sagging with hunched shoulders, to crumbling in a heap as
he slumped against me. His head lay atop my shoulder, his
hand still clutching himself, and he laughed, “Just who was
the sex slave, here?”
After a few moments, he managed to get up and reach for the tissue box that was on the coffee table. He cleaned his hand and then offered me the box. I pulled several tissues out and wiped off my fingers and then started to close my
legs.
“Oh no, unh unh. No you don’t. Keep those legs wide, I
can’t look at a feast like that and
not partake.”
Before I knew what was happening, he had a hand
wrapped around each ankle and had hiked them up until I
was on my back on the sofa cushion. With the back of his
thighs he pushed the coffee table away to give himself more
room, then he came down on one knee, and leaned in to
take me with his mouth. Licking and lapping with a flattened
tongue as if this was his last meal, he sampled everything—
and I mean everything. He ran a curled tongue along my silky
furrow, gathering my juices and carrying them up to my clit,
over and over again. He lashed me with a pointed tongue,
flicking rapidly at the bead that was about to burst while
buzz sawing his head back and forth at the same frenzied
pace. Everything was building, waves of pleasure were
washing over me, and I was about to come when he moved
south to rim my anal opening. He rammed his tongue inside
me with such ravenous force it sent me to a pleasure plateau
I had never reached before, one that I never wanted to leave.
When his finger replaced his tongue at my anal opening and
forced its way in, I thought I would die. His lips latched onto
my clit and when he suckled it into his mouth I screamed.
He rode my orgasm all the way in, jamming his finger inside
my ass, and his thumb inside my vagina. I knew he could
feel my sphincter muscle milking his finger and the walls of
my vagina clenching his thumb. I had never had an orgasm
anything like this. And I knew that from now on, whatever
he wanted, mortified or not, I was his.
Chapter Twenty-eight
I love a good story We napped locked in a comfortable embrace, him behind me holding my back to his chest by my left breast. It should have bothered me, kept me from sleeping, but it didn’t. I was perfectly satisfied and content to just let him hold me. From his quiet breathing and his small breaths on the back of my neck, it sounded like he was pretty content too.
After a long shower where he washed me and I washed him while we kissed and hugged, he left to go back to Charlotte. I would be seeing him again in a few days as we had that event at the symphony to attend.
Later that night I was antsy waiting to hear back from my mother and I didn’t want to leave the house so I went to check my email. She and my Uncle Lester were back, and so was Crystal but they were all being questioned at the Sheriff’s office in Bolivia.
There was nothing from Philip, but then I hadn’t expected that there would be as he could not possibly be home yet. As I stared at the screen I head the familiar ding. I looked at my watch. Well . . . maybe he had gotten home.
PeterPeterPeater: If you are ready for the next chapter, you know what you must do. I am waiting . . . but not very patiently.
I paced the floor trying to think of what would appease him. I mean, really, the man had just left here after having seen every inch of my body. You’d think he’d be satisfied for now, but no . . . he wanted his pound of flesh literally.
I thought back to this afternoon and his cock and wondered if that was a pound or maybe even more. Then it dawned on me what I could send him this time. It was perfect! And a stroke of genius, if I did say so myself.
I got my camera, went into my bathroom and opened my mouth wide. I took a picture of what I hoped was my tongue, the back of my throat and my tonsils. I took several so I could select the best shot.
Then I uploaded them to my computer, chose the one that did in fact show all three, and wrote: VaVaViv: This is about as intimate as it gets for a man, isn’t it? And just about the most favorite place for a man to be, unless I am mistaken?
I clicked on Send and waited. I didn’t have to wait long. PeterPeterPeater: You are a very clever woman. I bow to your genius and to your ingenuousness. You’ve earned the next chapter, but I will be sure not to leave this much finagling room next time. Peter
Two months later the London season was in full swing, and my father, along with my maiden aunt who acted as chaperone, accompanied me to balls, soirees, teas, recitals, and seemingly endless rounds of house calls. All to no avail— there were no offers. Well, not the kind that could be taken to my father.
I was dancing with Jeremy Halensdale at the Fallwalder Ball. Jeremy had recently inherited his title and was now Viscount Worthington, and his eyes were focused steadily on my décolletage and had been since the dance had begun.
“I’m having a house party next week at my country house in Yorkshire and I was wondering if you might want to attend. I can arrange for you to have mother’s old suite, and now that I have my father’s, it will be perfect for us. There is a stairway that connects the two so no one will be the wiser.” His eyes finally left my bosom and made their way to my face, my very flushed face.
“What say you to that? I’d see to it that you had a splendid time.”
What he was offering, was no less than what others had already hinted at or in the case of Mr. Pickens, a wealthy banker, had already broached without a qualm. Only Mr. Pickens had been far more generous. I could have a house of my own, an allowance, and a carriage too, if only I agreed to become his mistress.
It was time to admit defeat. Robert had ruined me by putting his own little twist on the events of that fateful night and now every eligible—as well as ineligible—male wanted a taste or in the case of Mr. Pickens, a healthy slice of me. It was time to accept the inevitable and pack up my belongings and go home. My father and I could resume our afternoon chess games, and I could get back to my roses and flowerbeds. And poor Aunt Amelia could get back to her ladies groups and church socials.
“I’m afraid I have other plans for next week Lord Worthington, plans I’m afraid I cannot change.”
“And they would be . . .”
“Uh, I . . . I would rather not say.”
“Someone has beat me to it, I fear.” He leaned closer and spoke into my ear just as the music died away. “Tell me, who has usurped me and taken my pretty pussy away?”
I gasped and then tripped, and was about to fall when strong arms caught me and held me secure before setting me to rights and then slowly releasing me. I felt the warmth leave me as the hands that had held me moved away.
I turned to see who my savior was and my eyes went wide. It was Dr. Larkenson and he was even more handsome than before, if that was even possible.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my head now bowing with shame. Had he heard? Did he know what this man dancing with me was asking of me? I was totally humiliated and beside myself with shame.
“Had I been dancing with you, I would never have let you go.” He glared at Viscount Worthington and I was quite taken aback by that. Surely, Dr. Larkenson knew his place, Jeremy was a Viscount, and could easily call him out. But his features, harsh and severe now, did not soften. “I will take Lady Montmarsh off your hands so you can go and look for your kitten. That is what you said you were looking for, isn’t it?”
Only a dunce could have mistaken the challenge in Dr. Larkenson’s eyes, and Jeremy Halensdale was not stupid. Nervously, he stammered his excuses and took his leave. I stood staring up into the most mesmerizing blue green eyes, they were twinkling now as his lips curled into a smile and he took my hand. “I doubt that he’s going to find his kitten here, at least not with the woman in my arms.”
Thoughts of what he’d seen, where his eyes had been, sent frissons of heat through my body and a fistful of butterflies awoke in my belly to jangle me even further.
And then suddenly we were dancing, and he was sweeping me in grand circles around the room. I felt my skirts swish to one side and then reverse to the other as he spun with me and held me close. I was a good dancer, but he was superb. And he was right, no way could I falter, as he was not about to let me go.
I felt his lips graze my ear
as he whispered, “Please tell me you were not considering whatever he was offering.”
I looked up into his face and smiled, “I had just refused him and he wanted to know why. He had assumed I had already accepted someone else’s offer.”
“To wed?” His head tilted to the side and a defiant look came over the rugged plains of his face. It was as if he was suddenly angry.
“No, no, there’s been no offers to wed, only offers to bed,” I breathed out and I didn’t even try to hide my discouragement. “Seems Robert has managed to convince the ton that he had succeeded where he had not, and now others are lining up to have their chance.”
“It may be time for me to clear up that muddle.”
“Oh no! That might be even worse. Just knowing you had. . . well that you had . . . umm, well that might even be worse. He’s titled . . . somewhat, or at least his father is. Whereas . . .”
“I am not?” he finished for me.
“Yes, that makes such a big difference in society. The peers feel they are entitled . . .”
“Whereas I am not?”
“Yes. You understand exactly.”
“Yes, unfortunately, I do.” His demeanor changed and he slowed from the light and airy tempo of a vibrant waltz to a more sedate manner of dancing. When we were close to the French doors leading to the terrace and the gardens beyond, he stopped and took my hand. “Take some air with me, I have a question for you.” It was not a question but a command I soon realized, as I was being propelled to the door and then ushered through it.
At the first rose arbor, I was tugged behind him until we were enclosed in a quiet loggia. I had been having a hard time keeping up with him but now as he turned to face me, I fell right into his chest. His arms went around me and his head lowered to mine. I had one second to process the fact that he was getting ready to kiss me, and I opened my mouth to object. He took full advantage, closing his lips over mine and using his tongue to taste and sample my inner lip, both top and bottom, before foraging deeper and soothing my wayward tongue.
I felt as if I was floating, and filling with heat, and breaking out with goosebumps—all at once. Then I was on fire and kissing him back, my arms circling around his neck so I could pull him down to reach my mouth better. I couldn’t help it; it felt wonderful to have his lips on me, and his tongue savoring me. He groaned and I delighted in the sound. We kissed, both of us holding the others head tightly in both hands as tongues dueled and lips fought for supremacy. He tilted my head for better access, holding his hands splayed on my cheeks, his long fingers shoving into my hair so he could grip me even tighter, holding me to his lips as if separation would be the death of us both.
The Widows of Sea Trail-Vivienne of Sugar Sands Page 20
