I have a full body flush as you open the box.
“It’s empty,” you say, and I clench and undulate, my pussy and ass quivering with sudden and extreme arousal.
“I know.” I lift my dress to reveal my nakedness. You stare, drinking me in, looking at my heated flesh like you used to. My thighs, my pussy, my belly. Up and up to my breasts, my nipples, my chest, my throat. I pull the silky fabric off and let my head fall back to expose my throat. How pretty, I think, to see a throat. How vulnerable. I quickly snap my head back up at the thought. Not vulnerable. Not tonight.
You are still staring. Frozen. I will have to keep going. I cup my tits and massage them together, thumbing the nipples and letting them ping, almost painfully. You lick your lips so quickly I think I imagine it. I slide my heels out and part my thighs. My pussy is squeezing and clenching with unbearable intensity and my ass is full and quivering. I reach down to my cunt and slide my fingers into my swollen lips, scissoring them apart until they reach my soaking entrance.
You are hard. You are bulging through your khaki shorts. Fuck, I love that sight. When did it happen? I love to watch you rise but I didn’t witness it tonight. You are just hard. That’s a turn on.
“Turn around,” you command.
You command! I almost squeal. Your voice is that throaty way. That tone you use when I do not have a choice. My fingers are still crammed into me as I turn.
“Bend over.” The words are a trembling whisper now and my nerves are splintering. You will see. You will see now. I bend and the metal presses into my knuckles, making the pressure intense in my ass.
I hear air being sucked in through your teeth and you groan—a groan that emanates from your chest into your throat. It is the horniest fucking noise I’ve ever heard. I imagine you staring at the glittering end of the plug jammed into the most secret of places and my breath hitches.
You stand behind me now and the belt is sliding through the loops. Another noise I love. The jangle and thump as the buckle hits the carpet and the soft thud as the shorts quickly follow. I turn my head to see your body, your hard on, but you knot your fingers into my hair and twist my head away.
“You’re fucking sexy as hell,” you growl and I pull my fingers from my pussy and grab onto the dressing table for support. I knock over my bottles and jars as I try to tilt the mirror to see your face but it doesn’t quite get the right angle. You pause.
I brace myself as you place your free hand on my hip.
I clench. The head of your erection presses at my entrance. I am soaking. You push, expanding and stretching me. It feels tight and full down there with the new sensations in my behind. My clit is flipping out with excitement as you keep pressing on, meeting new resistance with every inch.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Kate.”
That’s it, that’s it, I think as your pelvis meets mine. It’s so crammed and slick and wet and pulsing and horny. You start thrusting slowly at first. Until I scream at you.
“Fuck me! Fuck me hard!”
And you do. Raw and animal you fuck like you’ve got something to say to me. Fingers still in my hair grab tighter, pulling back my neck and the hand on my hip snakes round until your fingers are sliding roughly over my clit in time with the fucking.
My knees begin to buckle and our combined weight is on my arms, clinging to the dressing table. I’m coming. I’m convulsing and climaxing all over your cock and fingers and you’re shouting now. Roaring and crying out as you spill your cum deep inside me and we rock together in a twitching mess of used up bodies.
Later, as we lie showered and tangled in our sheets and your present is back in its box, I roll into your huge arms. And we listen to the eternal lapping of the waves as you cradle me.
“Thank you,” I say, relishing your protection at last.
In Safe Hands
Lily Harlem
Chapter One
Cleaning the sumptuous penthouse apartment at the Dakota building was Marie’s favourite job of the week—no, make that favourite job ever. She spent Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday counting the hours till she took out her polish and snapped on her rubber gloves again. Then, at the weekend she’d slink around her small bedsit on Upper East, her head full of erotic memories and daydreams. She’d indulge in permitted long bouts of masturbation and study the marks he’d left. In truth, she enjoyed those moments staring into the mirror even if she did ache with longing to be with him and feel his hands on her.
Today was special, though—it was his birthday. She knew that as she’d happened to spot it on a calendar in the kitchen. A calendar with pictures of London—it wasn’t Taylor’s calendar but his brother’s; the whole apartment was his brother’s.
As she let herself into the quiet stillness of the entrance hall, she wondered if he’d like the present she’d bought. It was a little unusual for a maid to buy a gift for her employer, but there was nothing usual about their relationship. There hadn’t been from the start. From that first time he’d slipped his hand up her skirt when she’d been cleaning the bathroom and brought her to a swift sharp orgasm.
She set the key in a small ceramic bowl to prevent scratching the highly polished surface of the hall cabinet, and breathed deep. The air always held a lingering scent of him—sandalwood, bergamot, maybe a dash of sea breeze—and she couldn’t get enough of it.
After kicking off her high red heels she shrugged out of her light jacket and hung it on a hook. The wooden floor was cool on her soles as she opened the cupboard to her left and pulled out her small box of cleaning fluids and cloths. Today she’d be extra fast to give herself time to get ready for him. Five p.m. was his usual slot to arrive home, which gave her six hours to ensure the place was spick and span and she was fully prepared for whatever he wanted to take from her.
Marie walked quickly towards the kitchen, not pausing to take in the breathtaking view from the lounge window that showcased Central Park as though it were a giant picture hanging on the wall. She’d seen that view many times; occasionally she’d stared at it unseeing, but more often than not it gave her something to focus on as she climbed to a higher sensation.
She stepped up to the sink and prepared to clean the work surfaces. He’d had a bowl of cereal for breakfast, the remnants of it sitting by the dishwasher—a mouthful of milk and a single nugget of granola. Marie smiled and tidied it away. Taylor took care of his physique. He ate well, worked out, and never had a hair out of place. It paid off. Not only did he look the part when arriving home after running his multi-million-dollar communication business, he also rocked her world when he stripped off.
She pressed her legs together as the sink filled. Damn, just thinking of him stripping off made her pussy tremble. She adored the wide planes of his chest, the smattering of dark hair over his sternum that led in a sexy trail down past his navel to his cock. His thighs were thick and powerful, his calves honed and toned from running. She loved his arms, thick and corded with muscles and threaded with veins; they could hold her tenderly one minute and those hands… those hands could wield a flogger that bit her ass the next. Oh yes, she liked everything about Taylor Ward’s body, that was for sure.
Like; or love?
She shook her head and pulled on yellow rubber gloves. No, she wasn’t in love with him. Was she? Well, if she was, she had to push that feeling aside. Where could their relationship go? Her, a maid from Detroit who had dreams of working in the Big Apple as a fashion designer but no way of making it happen, and him, a wildly successful businessman who knew what he wanted, when he wanted it, and took it. They were poles apart. How could it work?
She wrung out the cloth and set to cleaning up the kitchen, which, other than the breakfast bowl and the remnants of coffee in a pot, wasn’t actually messy. No doubt he had a string of women, beautiful submissives, all around the world and whenever he stayed in a different city he’d call them. She could imagine it now. Stunning Geisha girls in Shanghai, exotic long-legged stunners in Cape Town, and cultured, demure ladies in London.
And here was she, Marie Brockle, frizzy-haired, round-bottomed and most commonly found mopping the floor and in mismatched underwear.
Well, not today. Today Marie’s underwear matched perfectly. It was vivid red, a mixture of satin and lace, and ever since she’d seen it on a mannequin at Victoria’s Secret she’d wanted it. It had cost more than her monthly food bill and she’d had to buy a bigger size panties than last time she’d bought underwear, but that was okay. Tight elastic was never a good look and what she wanted most was to look good for Taylor. The twinkle in his eye when he liked what he saw on her was worth any price tag.
She flicked on the radio and a beaty pop tune came on. She began to wiggle as she worked and soon the kitchen was gleaming and smelt of lemon and soap.
Another song came on that she loved and she half-danced, half-walked through the living area, flicking her duster around the surfaces. She hummed as she busied and enjoyed the anticipation of knowing she’d see him before nightfall.
The cushions on the long purple sofa were a little flattened from his torso and she plumped them, loving the fact he’d been resting there and imagining she could still feel his body heat. She pressed the material to her face and shut her eyes.
Oh, Taylor. This short time we have is so special.
Once satisfied the cushions were in order, she looked at the tall leather chair that faced the window affording the sitter a priceless view. It had become squint on its wooden legs. She knew exactly what angle Taylor liked it so straightened it accordingly.
A sudden urge came over her and she sat, spread her legs, and banged her fists on the arms. She pretended for a moment she was him and set her mouth stern and squared her shoulders.
“Come here, Marie, and bend over.” Just saying the words out loud made her ass tingle. She wondered what she looked like to him when she sprawled naked over his lap, round buttocks offered up and her hair hanging messily around her face. She knew he liked to make her pale, sun-deprived skin pink as he watched the sun set over Central Park. Sometimes he’d go fast, strikes coming over and over until they all became one big blur and tears stung her eyes; other times he’d go slow, teasing her with when the next one would arrive on her ass. When this happened he’d finger her, caress the handprints he’d made, allow her to rub her clit against his thigh until she begged for more pain to bring her the release she needed.
Marie pressed her fingers over her mound, feeling the outline of her pussy lips through the thin skirt she wore. “Oh, God,” she murmured. The need in her was building. “I don’t know if I can wait.” She tipped her head back and groaned. Her clit was pulsing to a steady thrum, demanding attention. She rubbed it and tilted her hips. Maybe a quick orgasm would set her up for the day and mean she wasn’t so easily distracted from her work in the apartment.
“You will not touch yourself on Fridays,” she whispered the words he’d said to her a month ago. She’d admitted to masturbating on his bed as she’d changed the sheets. While a smile had tugged his lips, he’d punished her with the crop and had forbidden her from finding pleasure without him on a Friday. That was his day, he’d told her, his day for owning her pleasure and desires.
Quickly, she stood from the chair and balled her hands into fists. She had to obey him. He’d know if she didn’t—she’d never be able to keep the truth from her eyes. But damn, it was hard. The sexual tension of a week thinking of him, wanting him, needing him, became almost too much to bear as the final hours approached.
To take her mind off the need to come, Marie emptied a shelf of karate championship trophies from a cabinet. She polished them then replaced the gleaming silverware. They weren’t Taylor’s trophies, but his brother’s. Taylor had told her his brother was the type of man you definitely wanted on your side if the shit hit the fan in a dark alley.
On a mantel over a cavernous fireplace was a row of photographs. Marie dusted them carefully, pausing to study Taylor, who had his arm thrown around the shoulders of another man. He had a sparkle in his eye, his smile was wide and genuine and she could almost feel how happy it made her Master to be with his brother.
Kane Ward.
The Kane Ward.
They looked alike, though Kane she would have recognised before she’d met Taylor. He was on every rich list, every eligible bachelor list, and it was even rumoured that he’d dated British royalty. Yes, Kane was big-time rich, but his brother was rapidly catching him up, and she was proud of the determination and passion Taylor put into his own business. She reckoned there was a hefty dose of competitiveness between them, and it was certainly paying off for Taylor right now.
She set the photograph down, wondering what it would be like to meet Kane as Taylor’s woman, his date, his special someone. How she’d feel to be on Taylor’s arm for real, not just a bit of fun after a stressful week at work but a lady he wanted to introduce to his family and talk about a future with.
Marie tutted. Why were her thoughts going down such routes? It would never happen. She had to just enjoy it while she could.
She grabbed fresh sheets and went into the main bedroom. His bed was unmade and the duvet twisted and rumpled. But only on one side; as usual, Taylor had slept alone.
Not once had she found evidence of a female in the apartment, not in the six months he’d been living there. It seemed she was the only one he tied to his headboard, bent over his knee for a spank or fucked on the dining table. Perhaps he was good at hiding the evidence of others or maybe he just didn’t have time to see anyone else.
She stripped the sheets, piling them up on the floor by the window. It pleased her that she was apparently the only female in his life at the moment. Even if it was because he was too focused on work to date it still meant something to her.
The fresh sheets were pale grey and silky. Marie loved the feel of them as she made the bed. She thought of the material on her body when she lay naked on them and how they swooshed over his skin when he slid in beside her after a scene.
No matter how much she trembled, stung, shivered, he always held her tight enough and for long enough for the hot pleasure to lull her to sleep. She wasn’t sure when her love of pain with pleasure had snuck up on her, but it had, and now she couldn’t get enough.
But only with Taylor. She’d never experimented with more than a spanking and a bit of bondage with other guys, but Taylor, he knew what he was doing. With him she felt like she was in safe hands even if he pushed her limits. He’d never give her nasty pain, or make her feel worthless. He always took her to exactly where she needed to go then caught her as she crashed down.
She smoothed out a crease and straightened the pillows. The bed was ready. Would they fuck on there tonight or would he have other plans? Was he at work now heading some important board meeting and secretly plotting what he’d do to her later? She liked to think she was in his mind when he was making multi-million-dollar decisions, that although she was a maid, a fleeting distraction, she had somehow got under his skin, just a little bit.
After polishing and vacuuming the bedroom, Marie flung the window open to the fresh air. The radio was still playing. It was another funky tune so she sang as she swept the kitchen floor then emptied the bins.
Eventually, apartment sparkling and smelling sweet, she glanced at the clock in the hall. She had an hour until he was due home.
Perfect.
Chapter Two
Marie stared at the bright red stilettos she wore. She crossed her legs and bounced the toe of the right shoe in a sharp jig towards the huge window. Outside, the sun was slipping from its lofty position, its light touching the top of a tall building and spreading shards of hot-gold and fire-orange over the skyscraper windows.
She wriggled. The cool leather of the brown chair was soft against the skin on her shoulders, back and legs. She curled her hands around the ends of the arms and tapped her fingers.
Soon he’d be here.
Soon the door would open and shut with a soft click and the sounds of his s
hoes clicking across the hallway would make her heart trip and her nipples spike at her new bra.
She uncrossed and crossed her legs. Checked the lace at the front of her new panties to ensure it was smooth. It was. Of course it was. She’d carefully shaved her pussy for this occasion. He’d mentioned last week that he liked hairless, so she’d thought it would be an extra treat for his birthday. As it happened, it was quite a treat for her too—it felt wonderful.
She licked her lips and wondered if she should nip to the bathroom and apply another squirt of perfume. Maybe add another sheen of lip gloss too. But what if he arrived as she was doing it? That would spoil the moment. She wanted to be sitting in the spanking chair, staring out, when he got home. It was the way she’d imagined it. The way she’d fantasised about it.
The wail of a siren, many storeys below, filtered up to the apartment. As it faded, Marie heard the door click once, then twice.
He was here.
She swallowed. Her belly tightened. She clenched her internal muscles.
His keys rattled in the ceramic bowl against hers.
His shoes clacked in a slow, controlled way across the oak flooring. Rhythmic and steady, he came closer and closer still.
Marie held her breath. Hoped the red wasn’t a mistake. He did like red, didn’t he? She hadn’t pushed further than she should, had she? No. They’d done all sorts of kinky things together. Him arriving home and finding her in his chair wearing only underwear was tame in comparison.
She sensed he’d stopped right behind her.
He didn’t speak, but she could hear his breaths and smell his cologne.
“Happy birthday,” she said quietly.
“How did you know?” he asked.
God, his voice. The deep, sexy way he spoke, and that English accent to boot. It made her insides flutter and her thighs tense.
“It was on the calendar. In the kitchen.”
“Ahh, I see.”
Sexy Just Got Rich: Brit Babes Do Billionaires Page 23
