Completely forgetting their audience, Catriona threw back her head and screamed as she came—white-hot shards of pleasure slicing through her, over and over, until she thought she was going to melt into a gooey puddle on the floor. She gripped the sides of the seat, holding on tight as she rode out her climax.
Elijah remained beneath her, no longer touching her pulsating, over-sensitive flesh, but probably enjoying the view.
As the final waves ebbed away, she opened her eyes, blushing when she saw their audience had tripled. Her cries had apparently attracted attention—and four more of the club’s patrons stood in the doorway, each of them looking thoroughly aroused by the sight they’d just seen.
“Elijah,” she said, unable to stop the slight tremor in her voice. She’d been happy for people to watch her and Elijah play, but now she’d come, she felt vulnerable, somehow.
Much more quickly than she’d have thought possible, he shifted from underneath her and appeared at her side. She noticed his surprise to their audience, though he hid it well. Helping her up, he steadied her as between them, they pulled the hem of her dress back into its proper place. It would have to do—there was no way she was going to try and put her knickers back on with people watching. It wasn’t the most elegant of things to do at the best of times, never mind with trembling legs.
Reaching for the t-shirt that had slipped from her shoulders as he’d eaten her out, Elijah tucked it into the waistband of his trousers. Then, holding out his arm, he led her towards the door.
Catriona summoned up every inch of strength she had left, smiling and nodding at the people in the doorway, who moved to let them pass. “Hope you enjoyed the show, folks. Have a good evening.”
Once they were out of earshot, Elijah asked, “What would you like to do now?”
Slipping her arms around his waist, she pulled him in for a kiss.
When they finally disentangled, she replied, “Put your t-shirt on, gorgeous, and take me home. I’m done with this place for one night, but I’m certainly not done with you.”
His face lighting up, he did as he was told. “I am very, very glad to hear that.”
As they clambered into the taxi and Elijah gave the driver the address, Catriona couldn’t help the huge grin that took over her face. Book or no bloody book, this new chapter with Elijah was turning out to be the best of her entire life. Whatever happened next, she was glad to have this man at her side, and she knew that together, they’d enjoy a happily ever after that would go on, and on. Forever and ever, amen.
More About Lucy Felthouse
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati and is one eighth of The Brit Babes.
Website http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk
Newsletter http://eepurl.com/gMQb9
Great Expectations
Kay Jaybee
Carrie waited.
There was a slight shake to her shoulders as she stood by the upstairs balustrade, gazing down at the chequered marble floor to the entrance hall below. Despite the height, and the chance of falling if her Master was careless, it was the thrill of what was to come, not fear, that made Carrie quiver as she flexed her tongue against the inside of the tightly secured silk gag.
Elliot knew his business well.
He pretended he found it a chore; that this was the very last thing he wanted to be doing. But her employer was a good liar, and anyway, Carrie knew that having an excuse to do what he did to her eased his conscience and added to their game.
Naked but for her scarlet high heels, Carrie’s arms were outstretched, fastened against the smooth wood of the banister. Her free chest hung into the air-conditioned chill of the manor house, which formed the centre of Elliot’s business empire.
Carrie could feel his steel eyes burning into her salon-tanned backside, as her lips clamped around her soft muzzle; the buzz of expectation growing within her.
An hour had passed since he’d arranged her there.
Carrie had been methodically stripped and shackled before Elliot had disappeared to take a conference call, leaving her with nothing to do but think about his return. She knew precisely what would happen when he came back, right down to each movement, and the words he would utter.
Knowing made the wait harder.
When he did return, Carrie knew Elliot would still be wearing his designer grey suit; stylishly cut and yet adorably crumpled. The first thing he’d do would be to pick up the cane he’d left by her feet when he’d tied her up. Eight inches long. Black. Flexible. With a single leather tab at the end. He had put it there deliberately; a constant reminder of how much smarting pleasure was coming her way. But only when he was ready.
The minutes between being put in place and Elliot returning seemed to take forever. Carrie’s pussy moistened and her clit began to throb with anticipation.
A nearby door slammed.
Elliot was on his way. He moved slowly, as if putting off the moment when he’d have to act. Carrie wasn’t fooled though. She knew his cock would be rock solid, straining against the cotton of his boxers beneath his suit trousers.
With bated breath she waited. Any second now he’d sigh. Once his long suffering complaints started, then her moment will finally have arrived.
Carrie’s already swollen chest became taut, and her pulse raced up from a canter to a gallop. Their routine was so set, that she could visualise Elliot bending to pick up his weapon two seconds before he was running it through his smoothly manicured hands. She could feel him tracing the cane’s leather tab over the sweep of her back, and the play of it against the crack of her butt before it had actually made contact with her flesh.
She stiffened as his free palm pinned her under his weight on the small of her back.
As she was pushed so that her head, neck, and chest swung over the banister, Carrie could picture Elliot fixing his eyes on her widened legs, her luscious arse cheeks, and her bright red shoes.
Carrie’s throat dried with excitement. The gag muffled her yearning groan.
Any second now and Elliot would start to grumble.
Muttering under his breath, just loud enough for Carrie to hear, Elliot wiped away a few of the long red hairs that hadn’t cascaded over her shoulders with the rest from her face. Then, circling the end of the crop around the centre of each butt check, he marked the invisible bull’s-eyes of his pert targets. “It is such a damn nuisance! Honestly, of all the things expected of one these days!”
Whack.
Carrie bit into her sodden gag, her eyes shining with pain-mingled lust.
“As if trying to keep on top of all the trusts I manage isn’t enough for me to do. Keeping track of a multi-million pound company...”
Smack.
“...is challenging even on a good day!”
Thwack.
Tears gathered at the corners of Carrie’s eyes as a stinging warmth flooded her arse and spread throughout her entire body as Elliot continued his cane punctuated rant.
“But now, thanks to that damn book....” He almost spat the words, making his victim smile through the burn that was blossoming with magnificent torture across her rump. Her Master would never mention the name of the book, but she knew which one he meant. Everyone knew.
Slap.
“...I’m now supposed to add Master of the Whip...”
Whack.
“...Lover of the Crop...”
Smack.
“...and Bondage Expert to my CV!”
The stripes on Carrie’s backside bled heat into each other. As the secretary panted into the fabric at her teeth, her clit tingled as if it had bee
n metamorphosed into a pulsating mass of electricity.
Many times, in the privacy of her own office, Carrie had laughed about Elliot’s protests. But she didn’t do that here, in the hallway. Not while the blood pumped through her veins and every nerve in her being was posed to explode with the wash of a desperately craved orgasm.
Swinging his arm back faster than before, Elliot bought the cane’s tab down with practised exactness onto the very nub of her anus making his secretary judder with desire against the balustrade, and her feet wobble within their red stilettos.
Gripping the wooden supports, Carrie’s breathing accelerated. She knew her boss was about to reach the height of his indignation at the greater expectations now placed on multi-millionaires everywhere; the climax of his delicious weekly complaint.
“I had to go on a bloody course to learn how to do this safely for fuck’s sake! To make sure I don’t dislodge someone’s kidney with my whip or something!”
Dropping his weapon, Elliot undid his flies with one hand, while pulling Carrie’s head up via her hair with the other. Then, tugging her roughly towards him, the reluctant billionaire playboy poked the tip of his cock against her scarlet butt, yelling his resentment so that it echoed around the hall, “I had to take a bloody exam!”
Breathing raggedly through her silk muffler as Elliot undid the fastenings at her right wrist, Carrie silently gasped as he twisted her round at speed, almost knocking her off her feet.
Forcing her naked back against the wooden balustrade, with a condom already in place, Elliot pumped his fury out against his pliant employee, filling her pussy with blessed speed.
A glow of climatic power rose within Carrie, as her Master shot his righteous anger out into her bliss-filled body with a final despairing grunt.
“A book for fuck’s sake! All this time wasting, because of a bloody book!”
Buying the Farm
K D Grace
The gravel driveway crackled under the tyres of Cassie’s aging Subaru as she drove into the darkened farmyard. She noticed immediately that her father had fixed the pole light in the back, and her stomach gave a little lurch. She hoped he hadn’t done it himself. Anyway, the light wasn’t necessary tonight. The whole world was bright with a heavy dusting of moonlight. The perfect kind of night for a homecoming, she thought.
She got out of the car and lifted her face to a full moon that seemed too heavy to stay afloat in the velveteen sky. Her father wasn’t expecting her home until tomorrow afternoon, but when she’d cleared the last few items from her dorm room and said goodbye to her friends, she was anxious to get back to Fielding Farm, anxious to be back home.
Merrill Fielding had insisted that his daughter attend university, even though God knew he needed her help on the farm. “You’ve got the grades, and your mother would have wanted it. You’ll have a lot of years to let this pile of dirt make you old, Cassie,” he’d said.
She’d deliberately gone to Truman State University because it was close enough that she could be home most weekends, and with studying and being home whenever she could to help her father, she’d had very little time for the social life that most university students enjoyed.
It was all going well, even if things were a bit tight, until her father’s heart attack at the end of her junior year. Even then he had insisted that she finish her degree, even as the debts mounted and the situation became dire. She had done as he’d asked, even as it ripped her heart out, and now that she was graduated and back home, her stomach bottomed as she wondered how long she would even have a home. How the hell were they even going to pay the bills, let alone pay the wages for the hand her father had hired without telling her.
She drew a deep breath of the sweet spring air and felt instantly better. She would find a way to hang on to Fielding Farm. She didn’t know how just yet, but she would find a way. She had exciting plans for the place, plans she knew would transform the farm from a money pit to a profit maker. She only hoped she’d get the opportunity to make those plans a reality.
She had driven half the night to get here, but she wouldn’t wake her father in the wee hours. He needed his rest. She’d sleep in the cabin. There were always clean sheets and bedding in the closet, and in her last years on the farm, she spent more nights in the cabin than she did in her room anyway.
With a squaring of her shoulders and a deep sigh, she turned away from the house and headed toward the dilapidated cabin beyond the barn, which during its long life had housed hired help, visiting family and odds and ends that wouldn’t fit into the attic. When she was ten, her father had built a porch swing for her in front of the cabin. The porch swing was her private place, and she needed a private place tonight. She certainly wasn’t ready for bed yet, too keyed up after the long drive and way too much time to think.
By the time she rounded the hill near the barn, and the cabin came into view, she was already anticipating a little self-loving on the porch swing, a guilty pleasure she’d indulged in ever since she discovered what the surprising combination of the rocking of the swing and the stroking of that soft warm spot between her legs could lead to. She couldn’t think of a better way to unwind and get her mind off things. Her nipples were already peaking and her crotch was warming to the plan as she rounded the barn. But as the path curved between the two oak trees her great-grandfather had planted, and the front of the cabin came into view, she stopped short, swallowing a yelp before it gave her away.
There, in the porch swing, sat a stranger. Cassie quickly stepped back into the shadows before he could see her. Christ almighty, the stranger was very naked and very occupied, clearly having the same thing in mind she did. Before she could panic the realisation hit her. This was her father’s new hired hand. Had to be. He hadn’t told her that the man was living on the farm. She stood close enough that she could make out the rise and fall of his bare chest beneath dark erect nipples set high on tightly puckered areole. Not only had her father neglected to tell her how they would pay a hired hand, but he also hadn’t bothered to tell her that said hired hand was very easy on the eyes—every exquisite inch of him.
He sat with his legs open, one hand caressing an impressive erection, the other kneading weighty balls. His eyes were closed, face raised to the moonlight. The shifting of his hips gave the swing just that perfect motion that Cassie had taken advantage of ever since she discovered self-pleasure.
She blinked hard. Surely she was dreaming. But her hand had already found its way up under her skirt. It was all she could do to stifle the moan of pleasure as she wriggled two fingers into the swell of her, dipping and probing until they were slippery enough to tweak and circle her anxious clit. In the meantime her hips had instinctively taken up the gentle rock and glide motion of the swing.
The man’s efforts became more energetic as he thrust his cock faster in the fisted grip of his hand, lifting his sculpted ass off the seat with each thrust. His other hand now braced against the back of the swing to keep him from catapulting out with his pleasurings. His balls shifted atop his thighs with each bump and grind of his hips. My God, he was about to come! And she was about to stand there and watch.
Cassie had pinched and kneaded her breasts until her nipples were swollen to taut erections of their own, and the twitchy sensation between pleasure and pain migrated all the way down between her thighs. She shoved her skirt up over her hips and braced herself against the trunk of one of the oaks, feeling the rough bark abrading her back as she thrust a third finger into her dilated pussy, tweaking and pinching her clit, all the while imagining what it would feel like to have the hired hand’s fullness inside her. Perhaps it was the brazen voyeurism, or the fact that it was enhanced by the moonlight and the velvet feel of the spring air, but she couldn’t remember masturbation ever feeling quite this good.
Cassie rode the edge so close that she had to force herself to slow her efforts, force herself to breathe deeply. She had never come with a man. There had never been any time in her life for dating and gir
ly stuff that most young women got up to. She was a tomboy and her life had been consumed by Fielding Farm and by her studies. Oh, her father had tried to encourage a more normal teenage life for his daughter, but… well, she was a farmer—not a farmer’s wife, but a farmer, and she’d always known that. That had very sharply curtailed her possibilities. But tonight, she wanted to come with this mysterious, outrageous hired hand she hadn’t yet met, even if he didn’t know it. Especially if he didn’t know it. That made the whole act all the more brazen.
She didn’t have long to wait. The man suddenly grunted and inhaled as though he had been under water too long. Then his beautiful penis jerked with a life of its own and a viscous streamer of semen arched across the porch like quicksilver in the moonlight, then another and another, each followed by a deep resonant groan of nearly painful satisfaction.
She could hold back no longer as her own orgasm trembled up through her pussy, over her spine and buzzed in her head until she felt like her very skull had opened to take in the silver dance of moonlight. She would have fallen on her ass with the intensity of her release if she hadn’t been leaning heavily against the tree.
When at last she could breathe again, she licked the taste of herself from her fingers and plopped down on the grass, where she watched as the man picked up a pair of boxer shorts from where he’d kicked them off and used them to wipe the last pearlescent drops of cum from his cock. Then, like a good hired hand, he mopped up every last dribble of semen from the floorboard of the porch. When he was sure he had cleaned up after himself, he took one last look around, then turned and walked back into the cabin, giving her an exquisite view of the tightly pillowed muscles of his butt before closing the door quietly behind him.
She still didn’t want to wake her father. She knew he needed his rest. She planned to grab her sleeping bag from her car and sleep in the loft of the barn. It was warm enough and she’d done it before. But she just needed to catch her breath. She just needed a little recovery time, so she lay back on the grass, and the last thing she saw before she dozed off was Cygnus stretched across the night sky, sparkling through the still branches of the oak.
Sexy Just Got Rich: Brit Babes Do Billionaires Page 19
