And perhaps most important of all—when was I going to get some good-old-fashioned crotch satisfaction?
Now seemed like as good a time as any.
I unzipped the zipper at my crotch, and spread my legs wide. The combo of the thick plastic PVC fabric, body heat, and the sexy preamble of my domo-play with Dexter had already lubed my female parts up quite nicely. I poked and prodded all my folds and crevices with my fingers until I got my juices spread out the way I wanted them. And then I went straight to work on my clit.
There would be no slow burns tonight—I was well past due for a red-hot orgasm, and I was going to take the straight and narrow path to get there. God only knew when I might have another opportunity to get down and dirty with Rodney Doyle—he’d probably be tied up reminiscing with his father for days. Who knew—maybe Rodney would be so busy rebuilding his relationship with his father and restructuring his newspaper that he’d forget about me altogether.
But I couldn’t think about that right now. Right now I needed to concentrate on coming.
I rubbed my index finger back and forth over my clit in a circular motion, harder and harder, faster and faster, until I was inches away from my orgasm. I squinted up my eyes and gritted my teeth, placing every shred of concentration I had in meeting that goal. And just when I thought I was about to get there—I heard the door to my suite burst open.
I gasped when I opened my eyes, looked up and saw Rodney Doyle standing between my splayed legs. “I could help you with that, you know,” he said. “Though you seem to be doing a pretty good job on your own. Maybe I’ll just stand here and enjoy the view.”
“Maybe I will, too.” That was Rebecca’s voice. I turned my head and saw her slip in the still partially open suite door. “Pardon the intrusion, but the door was open and it sounded like something fun was going on in here.”
Rebecca was still in her Naughty Nurse uniform. And she carried a little black bag, the kind a doctor making housecalls might use. “Mind if I join in?” she asked. “Jacob got called back to Washington for a House vote, and now I’m here all by my lonesome.”
Rodney smirked. “I suppose that’s up to Jasmine,” he said. “And she seems quite busy at the moment.”
And I was busy. I hadn’t stopped whirring on my clit for a second the whole time. But somehow my orgasm had gotten stalled. It was clear I would be needing some expert assistance in that department.
“A little help here, please,” I breathed, spreading my legs wider. “I seem to be stuck.”
Rodney dove right in—headfirst. He set his tongue to work right on ground zero, poking, prodding and stroking with its dexterous tip. He licked, sucked, and bit on all my most important nooks and crannies; he pressed all the right buttons. In less than a minute I fell over the edge, crying and writhing. “Oh, yeaaaahhhhhh,” I groaned when the moment came.
Rodney laughed into my cunt as I bucked wildly. The man really loved to make me come. As I slowly came back to earth, I could just barely perceive that Rodney was peeling the PVC catsuit off my sweaty, musky body, limb by limb. First came the left leg, then the right. Then he unfastened the various zippers that kept the plasti-fabric glued to my torso, and peeled that off. Last came the sleeves and the collar, until I lay completely naked before him. A little cloud of musk and the heady scent of lady-juices floated up and attacked my nostrils.
It was the unmistakable scent of sex.
Rodney was hard at work sucking and biting my left nipple when he motioned to Rebecca. “I could use a little help here, too, Nurse,” he said with a naughty glance at Rebecca’s costume. “What remedies do you have in that little bag of yours?”
Rebecca smiled as she unfastened the little black bag’s metal clasp. “Oh, this and that,” she said seductively. She rummaged around in the bag and pulled out a gigantic, bright-orange Rabbit vibrator—the biggest I had ever seen—along with a set of carved resin Enlightened Pathway balls. “I picked these up at the sex shop yesterday when you both weren’t looking,” she said, reaching into the bag and adding a couple of jars of cherry-flavored lubricant to the mix. “I thought they might come in handy.”
“You thought right, Nurse Rebecca,” Rodney said, going to work on my right nipple. “Jasmine, you have very good taste in friends.”
“I do my best,” I breathed as Rodney’s skillful oral manipulation of my breast sent me into the stratosphere. “Ohhhh, that’s nice.”
“It’ll only get better,” Rebecca teased as she flipped the switch on the gigantic orange Rabbit to “HIGH” and swabbed it with plenty of lube.
I spread my legs even wider in anticipation of the Rabbit’s entry into the mix. Rodney even helped me out by grabbing my right leg and looping it over his shoulder. He changed the angle of his body so he could keep working on my breasts and belly with his tongue and still get a good view of the proceedings down below. Rebecca applied the Rabbit’s “ears” to my most sensitive point and made sure the intense vibrations got where they needed to go. Once I was bucking and writhing on the verge of my next orgasm, Rebecca slid the Rabbit’s dildo home.
Rebecca fucked me with the Rabbit, while Rodney worked on my upper half. I never knew just how much pleasure could be derived from places as innocuous as the belly button, the little divot in the middle of my neck, my armpits, even my elbows until Rodney had a chance to attack them with his expert tongue. And all the wild plastic action down south just made my body that much more sensitive. I had become a living, breathing orgasmic entity—every molecule of my body intent on exploding with sensation. I soon lost track of time and space, and just rode the wave of ecstasy that my lover and my best friend were simultaneously evoking in my body.
After my third orgasm in as many minutes, I finally settled back down to earth. I held up my sweat-soaked hand. “Give me a minute,” I said, barely able to catch my breath.
“Sure thing,” Rodney replied. He then took it as his cue to get naked.
Rebecca immediately followed suit. Within less than a minute, Rodney’s three-piece suit and Rebecca’s PVC nurse costume were on the floor, and they were both tumbling in bed with me.
I soon lost track of where my body ended and their bodies’ began. My hotel bed became a many-limbed sex monster, a gold mine of bare skin, naked limbs, and wet, tasty, and oozing unmentionable body parts. We all grabbed, sucked, licked, vibrated, poked, and rubbed each other senseless, until we’d all gotten our fill.
Well, all except Rodney, anyway.
Rebecca slipped out of bed, stood up, stretched. I know she’d had at least one orgasm, maybe two. After the wild frenzy of the past hour or so, it was hard to tell.
She got dressed and gathered up her things. “I’ll leave you two alone. I’ve got plenty of things to keep me entertained,” she said, tapping her black leather bag. “I’ll just leave a few things here for you two to enjoy together.” She patted the untouched Enlightened Pathway Balls where they lay on the bedside table, and dropped a couple extra packets of lube beside it. “Bye-bye, you two,” she cooed. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Which, by the way, doesn’t leave much.”
Rebecca turned on her heel and left.
Rodney leaned back on a pile of pillows, put his hands behind his head, and smiled. “So now it’s just you and me,” he said. “It’s about time.”
I raised myself up on my elbow and smiled. “What do you mean, it’s about time?”
“We’ve never really been alone together,” he replied. “Not truly alone. Even when it was just you and me in the room together, there was always something hanging in-between. Your desperate need for career help. My desperate need for information. Your desperate need for sex. Hell, my desperate need for sex. But things have changed, Jasmine. Neither one of us is desperate any more. We have new horizons, new opportunities. We don’t need to use each other or anyone else any more. We are finally in a position to just be with each other for the sake of it alone. Isn’t that incredible?”
I thought hard for a moment abo
ut what Rodney had just said, and realized he was right. Rodney had a new relationship with his father and a new era beginning for his business. I was out of work completely and couldn’t care less. All I cared about at that moment was sharing the most intimate act on earth with a man that I loved.
That I loved. After the events of the past few weeks, it hardly seemed possible. But there it was.
A few weeks ago, I was a celibate, hard-hitting workaholic Washington PR staffer who hadn’t been on a date in two years. And now I was unemployed, naked in bed with one of the most powerful media players in Washington DC, and quite possibly looking forward to a new career path as a professional dominatrix. To say it was a 180-degree turn in circumstances was probably an understatement.
The only question now was, what happened next?
That was a question I’d have to focus on another time. Right now, I had other priorities. Like getting Rodney’s giant throbbing cock inside me, for instance.
And in the grand scheme of things, what could possibly be better than that?
Knight Moves
Chapter 1
I just narrowly missed being decapitated by a flying rump roast.
Or perhaps it was a badly misshapen chicken. It’s kind of hard to tell, since everything the corset-clad waitresses bring out looks like reconstituted mystery meat. And no sooner does said mystery meat land on anybody’s plate, it often ends up being lobbed across the room—usually at whoever just lost the jousting match going on in the center of the dining hall.
If you can even call it a dining hall, anyway. It’s more like a livestock corral surrounded by a bunch of folding tables. How does anyone actually dine here when the live entertainment features jousting (and all that goes with it, including flying broken lances and—I’m told—the occasional dismembered limb)?
How I let my best friend drag me out to an evening at restaurant-slash-bloody-swordfest Medieval Worlds: Dinner and Tournament for my birthday is beyond me. In the past ten minutes, I’ve not only had to dodge multiple attacks of flying mystery meat, I’ve gotten a lap full of something that smells a lot like horse manure.
Something tells me the ringside seats Nancy snagged at a discount are cheap for a reason.
Nancy knocks back her fifth goblet of something called “grog”—the Middle Ages’ answer to a kamikaze shot—and punches me in the shoulder. “Isn’t thish great, Louise?” she slurs, having to shout to be heard over the cheering crowd and obnoxious medieval trumpet fanfares. “Aren’tsh you glaaaad I broughtsht you here instead of thatsh stuffy Frenchsh restaurant you like? I reaaaaaally hatesh Frenchsh food, by the way. It’ssh too fattening.”
I stare down at my wooden (yes, wooden) plate and sigh.It’s not as if the deep-fried, reconstituted mystery meat we’ve been served is diet food. I know now that Nancy brought me here so she could enjoy herself, not because she wanted to stick to her diet. And it’s pretty clear from the way Nancy is now trying to make out with a roving jester who stopped by our table to juggle that a good time she is having, indeed.
Unlike me. Frankly, I’d prefer having my gums scraped than eat overpriced mystery meat and watch a bunch of bad out-of-work stage actors get dressed up in ill-fitting polyester knight outfits and joust each other on horseback. I’m no good around livestock—the smell of horseshit makes me want to puke. And I think I’m allergic to horse fur. Or maybe hay. I’m sitting on a haybale (Medieval Worlds’ version of chairs), and my ass is starting to itch.
I stand up and rub at the creeping allergy rash I can feel starting to grow on my ass cheeks. “Excuse me, Nancy,” I say to her squirming backside while she fondles the stunned jester, who clearly isn’t as attracted to her as she is to him. “I need to visit the ladies’ room.”
Nancy pulls away from the jester, who takes advantage of the opportunity to move swiftly on to the next table. “But the Green Knight is about to joust with the Mighty Black-and-White Champion!” she shouts, suddenly sober. “You’ll miss the feature battle of the evening!”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure I can catch it another time.”
Ha. Not bloody likely. I think maybe on the way back from the ladies’ room, I’ll head out for the lobby and ask the tunic-clad maitre’d to order me a taxi. I need to get the hell out of here. I know Nancy probably brought me here because she knows I love reading old Sir Walter Scott novels about knights and ladies and the thrill of medieval tournaments. But I was a history major in college, damn it. I’m a real stickler for the details. And when it comes to getting the details of an authentic medieval jousting tournament right, Medieval Worlds is pathetic. I’ve seen better knight costumes in a Saturday Night Live sketch.
And I seriously doubt that Diet Coke (one of the jousting ring’s major sponsors) was on any medieval drink menu.
Even if Nancy did bring me here for my birthday, I won’t feel too bad about ditching her this time around. She’s obviously having the time of her life all by herself. I’m sure I can have a much better thirtieth birthday party at home alone in my condo, eating Chunky Monkey and catching up on my Sex In The City DVDs. And the fact my Sex In The City DVD collection is the closest thing I have to a sex life right now won’t even depress me too much—considering the alternative is dodging mystery-meat missiles and getting doused with flying horse manure.
I fight my way through the throngs of polyester-costumed waitresses, roving jugglers, jesters, and bleached-blonde fair maidens who all help add to Medieval Worlds’ manufactured corporate version of the Middle Ages, and finally make it to the ladies’ room. Of course, the line is a mile long—snaking out the ladies’ room door and down the hallway, ending somewhere in the Medieval Worlds gift shop. And as per usual, there’s no line for the men’s room at all. I’m really not in the mood to stand around staring at racks of overpriced stuffed knights and toy plastic jousting lances while I wait a half-hour to pee. So I take a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure nobody’s looking, and head straight for the men’s room.
I’ve never been in an actual men’s room before. Sure, I’ve encountered those unisex one-toilet jobbies in dive bars and such, but I don’t have any experience with urinals and all that goes with them. So I’m totally unprepared for the godawful stench of old pee, urinal cakes, and cheap disinfectant that hits me in the face like a thrown brick the second I open the men’s room door.
The other thing I’m totally unprepared for is the sight of the drop-dead-gorgeous man standing at the first urinal.
He’s tall—six-foot-five if he’s a day—wavy red hair that falls to his shoulders, deep green eyes, chiseled features. He’s wearing knight’s attire—but not the cheesy, ill-fitting polyester tunics the other out-of-work stage actors posing as knights back in the Medieval Worlds dining arena are. This man’s tunic and breeches are cut of the finest silk, trimmed in something that looks like real gold. It’s by far the most authentic medieval costume I’ve seen outside of a history book—and it’s decorating a physique right out of a hall of Greek gods. The sight of him is dazzling.
And the sight of the huge cock the knight is holding in his right hand as he shakes off the last few drops of pee is even more dazzling.
I haven’t seen a cock that big, thick and luscious in—well, never.
The knight turns his head to face me. My jaw must be dragging the floor by now, because after meeting my eyes, he smiles and says, “You might want to close those beautiful lips of yours, milady, before something putrid flies inside. This isn’t the most sanitary place in the realm, you see.”
The knight speaks with a foreign accent, though I can’t quite place from where. His voice is lilting, melodious, almost a combination of French, Scottish, and English accents. It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before. And it’s turning my crotch to cream. This mystery man is like every sexy sir knight I read about in Ivanhoe—and then some.
I don’t need to pee any more. Now I just need to get laid.
The knight gives me a knowing smile, and jiggles his giant cock i
n my direction. “You look like a fair maiden in need of a good visit from the codpiece,” he says.
Whoa, Nellie.
Not only is this man the sexy sir knight of my dreams, now he’s offering me his very substantial codpiece on a platter. How is this even possible? Am I hallucinating? Were the two bites of mystery meat I forced down back in the dining hall perhaps laced with PCP? Have I died from smelling too many urinal fumes and subsequently gone to heaven?
“Are you are right, milady?” Gorgeous Knight asks. “You seem a trifle ensconced.”
Ensconced? I don’t even know what that means. Maybe he means I look horny. Because I’m sure I do.
Gorgeous Knight smiles again. “What I mean to say, milady, is that you appear to be hiding from someone. Or something. Is that so?”
“You could say that.” It’s the truth, if not the whole truth. I’m not about to admit I ducked inside a stinking, filthy men’s room to escape the corny, corporate version of the Middle Ages that Gorgeous Mystery Knight here obviously works for. If I’m going to get my hands around that codpiece of his, I can’t risk offending him.
“Say no more, milady.” Gorgeous Mystery Knight tucks his beautiful cock back inside his breeches. “I know a place where we both can hide from the world, and have a wonderful time together while we’re at it.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively and grabs at his crotch, rearranging his formidable equipment. “If you get my meaning.”
My own crotch goes volcanic. I can’t believe what is happening. One minute, I’m sitting on a haybale in a cheesy concrete pseudo-arena, bored out of my gourd and contemplating going home so I can masturbate to the sight of Carrie Bradshaw and Mr. Big doing it on TV. Now I’ve got a drop-dead-gorgeous mystery knight propositioning me in a public restroom.
Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set Page 23
