Erotic Teasers

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  I groan. But I have to fight this, I can’t give in. Lily fingers herself on the divan, watching with a dreamy smile.

  They change places and it goes on like that for a while, one cock after another in my pussy. The boys are panting now, their sweat dropping on my spine as they try to fuck me past all self-control. I know they want to hold off; making me come will give them bragging rights for all time, but they’re close themselves. It’s too real now, not a performance at all in the way they’re fucking me and touching me, responding to the swollen wetness of my pussy and the heat of my breasts in their hands.

  Sweat is soaking my skull. I try to think about other clients to cool my fever and buy me time until one of them comes. But Nick is now playing with my breasts and sucking my nipples and I’m twisting in the ropes, almost out of my mind. And then a guttural groan fills the room—the whipping boy, whose come fills my tongue. Then Ryder makes an odd noise like a plea as he begins fucking me super fast.

  “Don’t!” Nick says to him. But Ryder’s leaning over me, squeezing my tits and banging his cock into me as hard as he can in what are obviously his final moments. Nick slides down to my clit, licking me ferociously to make me explode first. But his own cock is stiff and dark, and the whipping boy greedily sucks it hard, a wet, sloppy blow job as Nick groans into my pussy. And it’s his loss of control that slams me with a throbbing, forceful orgasm and I come screaming and squirting all over the floor as Ryder shudders on top of me.

  I’m a wet, shaking mess. Lily jumps up to unbind me. I collapse onto her divan as someone tenderly pushes my hair back and holds a cold glass of water to my mouth. It’s the beautiful sub. Without her blindfold, she is exquisite.

  Mistress Ellina is sneering at us, telling us that for the top performers at Babylon, we’re no better than animals, that she’s going to discipline all three of us severely next time. But no one’s listening to her. Instead Nick says to Lily, “We owe you a freebie,” so quietly that Mistress Ellina can’t hear. I’m curious what that means until the mistress says contemptuously, “Not a very challenging first night at Babylon for the new girl. But I’ll have her another night.”

  I understand it then: the beautiful sub is a new Babylon performer and she was intended to star in this bondage scene. But Ryder and Nick somehow engineered Lily’s date with me to piss off her mistress and get me in the ropes. They are clever bastards, I’ll give them that.

  I say to the new girl, “Welcome to Babylon. If you want to have brunch tomorrow, I’ll show you around.” Nick is fidgeting by the stockade, waiting for me to acknowledge him. Ryder’s eyes are locked on me. They want to be praised, petted. They want to know how I feel about our new status. But there’s time for that later. The new girl laces me back into my corset and I go upstairs for a long, cool shower. The club is still hopping five floors below me when I fall naked and wet on my bed. Then I see my comm device is blinking. I think I can visit next week. Don’t forget me. Mira. Maybe she’ll come, maybe she won’t. I’ll be fine either way.

  THE PRICE OF PATRONAGE

  Eve Pendle

  She got a brief impression of wide shoulders and red hair before he spun around as she entered her parlor. “Good morning, Mr. Merridon.”

  “Lady Charlbury.” His chest swelled as he took a deep breath. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

  A shine of metal announced he’d followed her direction to set up his machine on a table just to the side of her favorite chair, with deep cushions and arched arms. As always, the fire was burning high, warming the air of the spring day outside.

  She studied him while she sat and arranged the crinoline and petticoats of her Perkins mauve–silk dress. He’d worn his best suit to this meeting and it didn’t seem comfortable. His cream waistcoat had a pattern of pale-pink flowers that suited neither him nor his abruptly angular machine he’d brought to show her. He had short, red-ochre hair, with a slight curl. His freckles were so close together that across his nose they almost joined up to create the illusion of dark skin. As a child, he was probably teased for those freckles and red hair. Now that he was grown, anyone would see his bulky shoulders and think twice about teasing him thus.

  The square set of his jaw gave him an impression of firmness that the rest of his countenance, when simply described, wouldn’t indicate. Pale-blue eyes, full of a maelstrom of fear and hope and eagerness, were what really caught her attention though. “Tell me about your implement, Mr. Merridon.”

  “Um.” He closed his eyes for a second, apparently composing himself.

  “What does it do?” she asked encouragingly. Some nerves were understandable. Her patronage was not just access to money that could launch his idea into the world, but also her scientific contacts, influence, and advice. Men couldn’t always manage to take a blonde lady’s brain or wealth seriously, even though she was a baroness. Aside from being her favorite pastime, these little demonstrations served as an important test.

  She’d had some of the most talented scientists and inventors in England visit her to demonstrate their ideas. She was generous with her late husband’s wealth.

  Sometimes the meetings took an even more fun direction. She certainly wouldn’t object if Mr. Merridon, with his lovely physique, were interested in that.

  He took a deep breath. “It is a method of providing perfectly formatted writing, in the manner of type as is used by printing presses, available in the home.” He looked at the machine rather than her, as though it needed informing of its purpose. Despite all his height and muscles, he was struggling to look straight at her. “I believe it will be useful for many businesspeople in making their correspondence more legible and professional. In particular, it will help in preventing mishaps and misunderstandings arising from poor and fast handwriting.”

  Now that he was talking about his machine, he seemed calmer. He’d practiced this speech and he was confident in his invention. Was there anything sweeter than a burly, clever, shy man?

  “Like a typographer.” She’d seen this sort of machine before, though this was much more attractive. “It might also be useful for lovers not wishing for their identity to be revealed by their handwriting.”

  There was a beat of silence. “I suppose that would be an advantage.” He seemed frozen, his hand on the table, almost leaning on it for support. He was too still to not be thinking through the implications of what she’d said. “If the device were common enough.”

  Perhaps she’d turned him to stone with her scandalous implication. But if he’d wanted a patron with an untarnished reputation, he ought to have asked around a little more. She was no Lady Worsley, but her ex-whore maids, lack of gentleman servants, and whispers of being a merry widow were well-enough known. “This is the whole machine?” It was like a miniature piano, with three tiers of keys, each with a letter written on. “It’s rather a small thing, isn’t it?” It took up only about half the size of a page of foolscap.

  His intake of breath brought her gaze up. He was pinking in the cheeks, his eyes bright. Interesting. He’d given her words a meaning she hadn’t intended at all, but if that made him so flushed with excitement, she would certainly work with him.

  “It’s compact, m’lady, but it does the job.” He took a blank piece of paper and placed it into the machine. A few key presses and he retrieved the paper and handed it to her.

  She could feel his gaze on her as she read. Her name was written in even, book-quality type. Belinda Estherby, Baroness of Charlbury.

  “Ingenious.” She smiled. “And portable too, I suppose. When William Burt showed me his, it was much larger.”

  “Yes.” He gulped and his cheeks flushed red. But his shoulders were straight, as if he was preventing himself from leaning toward her.

  Oh, he was deliciously embarrassed. Was he beginning to be aroused? The revelation sent a frisson down her spine. A flirting, sweet tease could be so much more exciting than direct compliments or lust.

  “Can I touch it?” she asked in reverent tones,
looking at him from beneath her lashes with soft, bed-me eyes.

  “Yes,” he breathed quickly.

  She reached across and ran a finger along a gleaming key with all the sensuality she would give to a man’s lips or nipple. “It certainly catches the attention, for all its lack of size.”

  He shifted over closer to the table and mumbled a reply.

  Hiding an erection, perhaps, but his fashionable trousers were rather tight and his suit fit him ill. It wouldn’t do to be caught getting hard by the lady you were trying to persuade to sponsor your writing machine.

  “How much will you need to put this device into production?”

  He gulped and raised his gaze to hers. “Ten thousand pounds.”

  “That’s a lot of money.” She sat back into her chair. “I have a full list of—” He reached across the table. “I’d like to see what I’d be funding a little more fully.”

  He stopped.

  Deliberately, she examined him from foot to forehead, lingering at his waist as though she could see through the table he stood behind and the clothes covering him.

  He was well built. She imagined that under the suit he would have pale skin and downy blond hair across his muscled chest. Lower down it would become coarser and darker. “Please take off your clothes.”

  His lips fell open in a sweetly lewd gesture, revealing his soft-looking mouth, but he didn’t move. She wanted to run her finger over his lips and feel their velvet warmth. Would he be good with his tongue? Men who worked with their hands could be remarkably skilled with other challenges requiring dexterity. But tongues were another thing altogether, and it was tricky to accurately predict whether a man was good at licking a woman out. She preferred to know in advance. Perhaps he’d be amenable to a trial with her maid Louise, who sometimes aided her in such matters. A man who made an enthusiastic job of licking out a housemaid was worthy of consideration.

  She slanted one eyebrow upward. “I’m waiting.”

  He flushed scarlet. “I must have misheard you, m’lady.”

  “I don’t think you did.” His face said clearly that he’d heard exactly what she’d said but couldn’t quite believe it. The angle of his body, tilted toward her now, spoke of his eagerness, even as his mind protested.

  Their gazes locked for a long second, then he looked down. She could swear she saw a glimpse of a smile as he shrugged out of his jacket.

  His shirtsleeves were revealed, and with them that he’d borrowed the whole ensemble from a slighter man. She nodded approvingly. “How small your…” She watched as he squirmed. “Shirt is.”

  She raised her hand and flicked her fingers, indicating for him to move away from the table. Watching him shift reluctantly across, she saw she’d been right. He’d been concealing an erection, his trousers pushed out, as unmistakable now as when he’d tried to hide. It had been a while since she’d last had a project like this.

  There was only the rustle of fabric and the sound of his breath, a little shallow, as he unknotted his cravat and slid off the cream waistcoat. He laid each garment carefully on the table, to the side of his machine.

  His hands were unsteady as he undid the buttons on his shirt, revealing a trail of chest hair leading enticingly down. When he shrugged out of the shirt, she had to stifle an intake of breath. His chest and shoulders were stunning. He was strong. There had been no hiding his muscled physique under a neat suit, but out of it he seemed even more powerful, like a Celtic god rather than an inventive engineer. Heat bloomed between her legs. The view of his shoulders was further improved when he knelt to take off his boots and stockings.

  He rose and reached for the falls of his trousers. She had to stop herself from leaning forward with anticipation. Would his other hair be as red? Would there be more freckles? Oh, but maybe she could make this even sweeter for both of them. “Is it red?”

  His hands stilled and his blue gaze flicked up to her. “Your . . . ” She lowered her lids a little to show him she was looking at the bulge between his legs.

  His eyes widened. Was he thinking of the swollen head of his prick or the color of the hair surrounding it or the delicate rosebud behind?

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  “Show me then.” She couldn’t wait to see his cock, jutting up. He opened and let his trousers fall in one motion, as if taking them off gradually would be painful and it was best to get it over with. She had a glimpse of his thick cock before he leaned over and yanked the trousers off his ankles, before holding them in front of himself while he folded them. Very slowly. He fussed over getting the creases straight. Then he fiddled with a button.

  “Drop them now.”

  The cloth pooled at his feet.

  His instant compliance made her smile. She wanted to look at his face and check if he was mortified or aroused or both. Instead she tilted her head, as if considering whether his cock would do.

  “My, is that all?” He was actually a rather good size. It was enticingly solid and would stretch any woman, maybe even painfully. But in length, though it wasn’t small, it wasn’t as intimidating as the rest of his frame would suggest. On his massive frame, an average length cock looked out of proportion.

  “I’m sorry, m’lady.” He licked his lips.

  “It is a little cold in here,” she pretended to reassure him, shrugging as if she couldn’t feel the roaring heat from the fire. She was enjoying his embarrassment almost as much as he was.

  Spots of pink appeared on his cheeks again and he rubbed his chest self-consciously.

  As she’d guessed, the hair that surrounded his dick was dark ginger. His balls were large and hanging away from his body in the heat of the room. Her hand clenched with the want to trail her fingers down the path of his hair on his chest all the way to his hardness.

  It was tempting to revel in him. The urge to order him to be motionless while she explored his body with her hands and mouth was strong. But he’d told her, not in words but with the heat in his gaze, what would seduce him more. “Stroke yourself.”

  He didn’t hesitate this time, wrapping his fingers around his stem. His big hand covered the majority of his cock, and she understood a little better. He eased his hand up and down with the same smooth precision as his machine.

  There were too many places to look, all at once. His unabashed nakedness, shown in his straight back and high chin, even as his breath hitched with pleasure, was mesmerizing. She wanted to focus on the hard cock between his legs, but her eyes kept wandering, taking in the muscles in his forearm flexing as he moved, his taut calves holding him still, and the planes of his stomach. It was odd that a gorgeous man had gained a penchant for being teased. “Who told you that your dick was small?”

  “Oh, I, er.” His eyebrows pulled inward momentarily. “You know.”

  “Ah, you saw other men.” While washing perhaps. She could imagine him glancing sideways at his friends and wondering what they’d look like hard.

  He nodded, but she could see his fist tightening over the head of his cock as he tugged.

  She waited a moment, to let him think he was off the hook. “Who else?”

  “No one.” His hand had sped up.

  It was much too quick a denial to be true. “Slow down please.”

  He let out a groan but slowed his pumping wrist. “Now, do I need to stop you, or are you going to tell me now?” It was unconscionably fun to force him into disclosures so enjoyable to them both.

  He made a choking sound. “A whore.” Clever lady. “What did she say?”

  “She.” He gulped. “She said if I went to another lady at that establishment that she’d laugh at my… She said they’d laugh about it together when I left.”

  She didn’t repress her chuckle. Professional women could be very insightful. “And you went to see another whore, I presume.”

  He made a drawn-out noise like an animal in distress. “No.”

  Understanding dawned in her. “But she continued to threaten.”

  He nodded.
And he’d liked that a lot. His cock had definitely grown even thicker in the last few minutes, under his frantic ministration and her mischievous enquiry.

  “Not too quickly, Mr. Merridon. I don’t know if that tiny thing can take so much.”

  The sides of his mouth creased, as if it was physical pain to slow the progress of his orgasm, just as her word “tiny” caused him to surge with need. But he eased to a torturous up-and-down beat. Precome beaded at his tip.

  He was magnificent. Her pussy squeezed with the desire to have him, with all his banked control and passion for her approval, in her. She was flooded with wetness at her juncture, entirely too ready for him.

  He’d willingly fuck her with his nicely proportioned cock and his oversized body. He’d pinch her nipples when she commanded and go deep and slow to tip her over. Then quick and hard to make him spill inside her. Another thing she suspected would embarrass him wonderfully, if he came without permission.

  She needed to come. But satisfying though fucking him would be, it wouldn’t keep up their game, which they were both relishing. It would leave them less to anticipate. Moreover, his shaking and desperately leaking cock suggested he might not last long enough to fully enjoy a coupling. Thus she said, “Stop.”

  “M’lady?” He was panting, his expression dark. But he abated, pale-blue eyes focused on her.

  She wriggled back into the cushions of the chair. “Put your hands behind your back.”

  His face crumpled momentarily. He’d been so close to climax and was understandably reluctant. He obeyed as if his hands were heavy iron and he was resisting a magnetic pull.

  With unhurried ease, she stroked across her silkcovered thighs and down to the hem of her dress. His eyes widened as she lifted her skirts to her waist, and she smiled to herself. She wasn’t wearing any drawers and thus he’d be suddenly able to see everything, like a cloth whipped from a surprise cake. The cool air hit her bare legs and cunny and she basked in his slack-mouthed stare.