Tasting Candy

by Candy Quinn

  “You’re too perfect to let go,” he murmured in the brief gap that our lips broke their seal, in which I was too dazed to even realize it.

  He could have anything, anyone he wanted. So why me?

  It made sense, if I was just next up in line for his little experiment in humiliation. I could understand that. Respect it, even, in some weird, twisted way.

  But the idea that I was somehow special or different to him? That was throwing me through a loop.

  And the fact that all my blood seemed to be rushing throughout the rest of my body and avoiding my brain wasn’t helping my situation. I was quickly getting caught up in his charms, letting my guard down. I was weakened by his strength, and I wished I could just let everything else go away so I could enjoy this.

  Enjoy him.

  But I didn’t want to betray my family.

  So why did I move my face towards him, my lips pressed against his with such a slow, insistent tenderness?

  I was entangled in his powerful grasp, lost against his hard body and passionate embrace. Those long, strong fingers sinking into my flesh, holding me by my hips and shoulder, until at last he laid me down on the table, hovering over me as he plucked a few more kisses from my pouty lips, and moved on down towards the frilled collar of my uniform at my neck.

  “I want you to be mine, in every way,” he growled, like some beast in heat, drawn to me.

  I was losing my mind, losing my everything, but I couldn’t fight it forever. I was going mad with desire, and my body needed what he was offering. That touch, those weird rituals, the strange behaviour...

  It all spoke to me in some way I could never understand, and I’d fantasized about this moment since I first knelt at his table like some pet.

  “Oh God,” I murmured, my voice sounding so strained.

  He rose up, looked down upon me with such a fiery intensity in his eyes. Such a hard man, with such a passionate desire, and he made me want to give into him. That was his trick. That was what made me submit so readily to him, he kindled a desire in me to do what he wanted, as he wanted it.

  With his strong hands upon my form, he twisted me about, pressed my ample chest into the table and looked me over, with my short skirt flared upwards.

  “Be a good girl and lower your panties,” he growled in command.

  I’d never done anything like this, not ever. Not even thought about doing it.

  Even in my wildest fantasies, I couldn’t have conjured up what those words could do to me and how readily I wanted to obey.

  My fingers found their way to the waistband of my panties, and I knew that I should stop it all and just walk away, pretend none of this ever happened.

  But it did happen. It was happening. I wanted it more than anything, and I was lowering my panties down over my thighs with a youthful glee, and a womanly excitement.

  It was so wrong, and I felt the fabric slip down over my calves, gathering around my high heels and leaving me so exposed to the man who made me want to obey, even when I knew it was wrong.

  I could feel the cool air graze my nethers, and I shivered with excitement, nervousness. I could hear him working his own belt, the sound of metal and leather, and then the cloth of his pants parting.

  I only dared look behind in the glass reflection of the doors, see that towering man there, ready to take me as he pulled down his trousers and revealed his thick, sizable manhood, so rock hard with desire.

  “I’m gonna fuck you raw, my pet Tish,” he growled hoarsely. “Gonna pump you so full of my cum you’ll be knocked up twice over,” he pledged as he trailed his thick, purple crown along the seam of my cunny.

  I was always a good girl. Always knew to avoid the very thing he was promising to do to me.

  But he made me weak. Drew out my secret desires, the ones I wouldn’t admit to myself let alone anyone else, and then display them in front of me so blatantly. With such expectation.

  He was the type of guy that you never said ‘no’ to, and all of my good sense was gone and in its place was a girl I didn’t recognize. A girl that pushed back against his cock, begging him with her body as a foreign, “Yes...” escaped my lips.

  It didn’t take much to make him oblige, that gentle little nuzzle of my quim to his manhood, and he was spearing his way into me. A single, rough thrust and he imbed his pulsating pillar deep into my warm, waiting canal.

  “Yes!” he roared out, throbbing thickly, stretching my narrow, virginal canal wider with his entry. “You’re so damn perfect! The way you feel with your pussy wrapped around my dick,” he growled, reaching up, taking hold of my ponytail as he tugged back his hips, pulling the clinging walls of my cunny with him before he thrust back in.

  I wondered if he even knew he was my first, if he knew what he was taking from me. What I was giving him. There was a sharp sting, and my body tensed and tightened as he stole my virginity.

  I’d never heard him curse like that before, and the idea that I had unhinged a man that was always in control, always so put together... it was a rush. A high unlike any I’d experienced, and I was crying out in unison with him. Pain and pleasure mingled.

  I hadn’t realized how badly I wanted and needed him inside me until I had it, and suddenly I felt whole. All of my worries and fears slipped away and in their place was just warm, welcoming love and passion and desire.

  I slammed my backside against his hips, and his cock hit against a sensitive part of me, sending a jolt of sensation through my entire body. My fingers grasped onto the heavy table, holding myself up as he took me so hard and with such need. The pain ebbed and gave way to a dull ache, and then to nothing more than sweet bliss.

  “I’ve never felt so good as I do now that I’m fucking you,” he growled to me, winding my hair about his fingers as he thrust, burying his shaft deep inside me with each thrust. He smacked my ass cheek with his free hand before grabbing hold of my hip to aid in his motions. “You feel so damn good around my cock, pet,” he husked into my ear.

  I shouldn’t want him to think of me as a pet, as a thing he kept and took care of, but that was what I was.

  And that was what I wanted to be.

  I moaned again, my large breasts flattened into the table as my legs spread. I tilted my hips a bit more as he impaled me on his thick shaft, and he delved into me deeper.

  The table squeaked as I held onto it tighter, my words peppered with cursing as he fucked me raw. It wasn’t what good girls did. It wasn’t what I did.

  But I didn’t want anything to separate us. Not now.

  His two hands were holding me, guiding me, and he was thrusting with such rigor. I was captivated by the reflection of our bodies moving together in the glass. The way he pumped his organ into me, filling me up and making my ass cheeks ripple with each impact.

  “Take it, take my cock… take me!” he said with such force, but I could feel the yearning in his words. How much he wanted me to accept him, not just physically.

  His fingers sank into my fleshy ass cheek, and he swelled inside my raw cunny.

  The man who had the entire world, and all he wanted was to take me in such a primal way. My body was trembling, responding to his so acutely. He hit the right tempo, his sac slapping against my clit and threatening to send me over the brink.

  But when his fingers wrapped tighter into my hair, tugging on those blond tresses as he went in harder, that was what did it. Maybe I get off on degradation. Whatever it was, I couldn’t stop it as every nerve in my body went on fire. My knees were trembling and quaking, and I’d likely have fallen if I weren’t pinned between his body and the table.

  “Sir!” I screamed, because I couldn’t think of his first name at the moment, but I wanted to let him know. Needed to tell him. “I’m cumming!”

  But he had to have noticed the way my pussy tensed along his cock, the muscles drawing him in and beckoning him to do the thing he shouldn’t. The thing I shouldn’t want him to do.

  I did, though. Oh, how I wanted him to fill me w
ith his cum, to claim me as his. To bind him to me for eternity.

  “Cum on my cock, Tish,” he growled, demanding what was already the inevitable. The flood of warm honey coating his length, running down to his sac and adding a wetness to the loud slaps of against me. Though it slowly changed.

  As I screamed out my ecstasy, he barreled towards his own. His organ twitched and grew harder inside me, his moans and groans deeper, heavier.

  “I’m gonna make you mine, pet,” he growled again, and I knew it was coming. He was cumming. And I didn’t pull away, didn’t fear it. I accepted it as that handsome, powerful man took hold of me and hammered away to his own release, the two of us exploding into a jumble of exploding nerves, the two of us lost to bliss as his virile seed flooded my fertile womb.

  The thought, the awareness of what was happening, gave me the sweetest orgasm I could’ve ever dreamed up. I was soaring, my entire body seeming so disconnected and yet connected at the same time.

  My throat was soon coarse, my begging and pleading for him to cum in me mixed with cursing and panting and praying for more. For this to never end.

  I didn’t want to come down from the high, but as he pumped those last few streams into me, and slowly stilled, I desperately tried to catch my breath.

  Mr. Romy stilled atop me, breathing heavily as his tool twitched and spurt its last inside me, and I laid beneath him. So satisfied… flushed and deflowered. But happily so.

  He leaned in, kissed my neck beneath my ear, licked up to my earlobe and suckled it softly. He put one of his arms about me and squeezed me tightly as we lay there atop his balcony table.

  “Stay with me… in my room,” he husked into my ear lowly. “I’ll keep my promises. I’ll make everything right. Just be mine,” and his plea was so genuine, so needful. He wanted me still, even after having spent his essence inside me.

  I trembled, pushing in against him, needing his warmth. The feel of his body against mine, encompassing me.

  I brought my hands to his, feeling them as they still gripped my hips, and I shivered gently, because I wanted it. Oh, I wanted it bad.

  Before I could stop myself or think rationally, I was nodding.

  The story of Mr. Romy and me didn’t end there, though. Even if part of me felt no matter what he said, it would. I was always told men say hasty things in the passion of the moment, but despite how bold his promises to me were… he kept them.

  Perhaps it helped that the maid uniform he had made for me needed some altering in just a few short months, to accommodate for the growing bulge in my belly. Or how once I was sleeping with him each night, I could coo such sweet words into his head, and fill him with an appreciation for my feminine gentleness.

  Whatever the reasons, when he cradled my pregnant form, with our child fast on its way, I got to do so guilt free. Not only did my father get his job back, but all the old workers did when he opened up a new facility in town, with better wages and safer conditions than ever before.

  The irony of the fact that I was into degradation and used it to get others the respect they deserved didn’t go unnoticed. And every mealtime, when I kneel at his side, patiently waiting for the food he lovingly prepared, I appreciate that — and him — a little bit more.

  The Fertile Stewardess

  Book Themes:

  Bareback, Breeding, and Mile High Club

  Word Count:

  6,245

  Flying as attendant for a private jet company got me in with a lot of exclusive people, so that should tell you I’m no stranger to men getting carried away and acting rowdy on a plane. If there’s one group of people more prone to flaunting the rules and misbehaving than the rich and powerful, I haven’t heard of it.

  I could tell you about the time I walked on into the cabin to find a rockstar standin’ in the aisle, a beautiful, busty bimbo on her knees sucking him off as half a dozen groupies and band members sat around, watching as they sucked and fucked each other.

  Or I could tell you about the time I walked on in to find a movie cast all drunk out of their minds, trashing the plane and fucking each other up, both literally and figuratively. Took the cleanup crew a week to get the cum out of the upholstery, I swear.

  But no, that’s not the time that sticks out most in my mind. Nor the dozens of other flights where the rich and powerful went wild, like unchained pubescent boys with nobody to tell them they were being bad.

  The time that sticks out to me was when a handsome but unsuspecting man stepped on board the jet. Tall, dark and handsome is the cliché, but that’s what he was. Sleek, glossy black hair, an outdoorsy tan combined with his casual attire made me think he was nobody special, some guest of an important person maybe. A brother of a CEO, maybe.

  But I was so wrong.

  Unlike the other usual guests, of powerful out of control men, this guy came on, sat quietly and bided his time. When I first came to him he was polite, which was a refreshing change. I know that commercial flights have their own set of annoyances, but I’m convinced you don’t know true annoyance until you realize how callously these people treated their servants. Anyone who was able to hold their tongue and not slap my ass was someone noteworthy to me, but usually meant they were just as poor as I was.

  But as I was talking to the captain, he let me in a little something I couldn’t quite believe.

  “Oh yeah, you didn’t hear?” he said, peering back at the closed cockpit door. “That’s James Dartmouth, director, author and songwriter. Guy’s been responsible for half the big hits across all three mediums. You never heard of him?”

  My mouth nearly dropped to the floor, because though I’d heard of him, I’d never seen him before in all my life. He was a middle aged guy, but clearly took care of himself. And though he was rich, he’d kept his fame low on purpose. He never did interviews or courted his fans.

  Down to earth was the term for a guy like him.

  Which didn’t make sense to me, since he could likely buy and sell anything or anyone he wanted. Could’ve had groupies and prostitutes all over the plane, making my job a little less fun and a lot more annoying.

  Instead, he simply sat, like a normal human being.

  “He certainly hasn’t seemed to let it go to his head,” I murmured to the Captain. I suddenly found myself wanting to look a bit nicer, and so I fixed my black belt along my navy dress, cinching in the couple extra pounds that had creeped on me since the Holidays.

  I pat my brown hair, making sure it was neat and tidy beneath the little stewardess hat we still wore on this private airline. The men that flew with us wanted to go back to a time when they were still able to get away with cheating and boozing and treating women like disposable playthings, and the airline paid me well enough to put up with it.

  Sauntering on back to check on my one and only passenger, he was gazing off out the window, hand to his chin as he looked deep in thought. I’d come back there full of intention to be all inquisitive and sultry, but seeing him so brooding and thoughtful, I felt like I’d be disturbing a precious moment.

  Instead, I found myself standing there like a fool for a while. Appreciating the hard line of his jaw, the way his broad shouldered body filled his button-down shirt and pants so well. He was obviously a man who took care of himself, who looked to the basics of life even as the decadence and frivolousness of wealth and power tempted him elsewhere.

  I must’ve been staring overlong though, because he turned to look at me, catching my gaze as I stood in the aisle watching him.

  “You seem lost in thought too,” he remarked to me, his voice deep and creamy, like listening to him was the same as enjoying a fine Belgian chocolate.

  I’d always been pretty good at hiding my flush, and I was grateful for it then because I hated to be caught staring. But he had me transfixed.

  “I was just coming to check on you, see if you needed anything. Hot towel, massage, champagne,” I offered. Massage was definitely not on the standard list of requirements for my job, though.
>
  Can’t blame a girl for trying, can you?

  His stony facade was cracked with a smile.

  “That’s quite the list of services,” he said, and I worried for a moment that I’d overdone it. “You’re quite the all-service flight attendant, aren’t you?” he remarked, shifting in his seat and looking to me, not as an employee, as so many others did, but as if I was just another passenger. “Tell me,” he said, licking his lips and looking anxious, “what does the crew do up there behind the privacy wall to pass the time?”

  Oh lord, on the spot!

  If he was really a down to earth guy, maybe he’d appreciate the truth.

  “Gossip about how horrid all the passengers are,” I said, forcing a grin to my face so that he might be uncertain if I were joking or not. But then my stomach was in knots and I was wondering if that was really the smartest thing to say.

  There was a moment of uncertainty, his chiselled good looks frozen in place. But then suddenly he broke into laughter and was grinning at me widely.

  “I figured,” he said, looking at me with such a genuine expression across his face. “Say,” he said, leaning forward towards me. “How about you and I break into some of that champagne the airline is always trying to push on me, huh?” His words said in such a conspiratorial tone, as if we were good friends about to break the rules.

  And rules would have to be broken of course, because I was strictly not allowed to drink on the job. Or do drugs, as so many rich guys offered me.

  My company sometimes had no idea the things they were asking me to pass up, and the things that were offered to me in exchange for breaking them.

  So why did I want to this time? I’d said no to every man I’d met, over and over again. No, I didn’t want to do coke off that stripper’s stomach. No, I didn’t want to see what his cock looked like. No, I definitely didn’t want to join the mile high club.