Kept for His Appetites

by Alice May Ball

  I stood right at the prow, leaning on the rail. Stretching my neck to look straight down, I saw the sea below. The boat had stopped, and I turned to peer up at the windows below the skydeck. There was no-one to be seen at the helm, although through the tinted glass there was no way to be sure. Sea stretched out to the horizon in all directions. The sky was a clear and perfect blue, and a cool breeze softened the heat of the sun. Deep, endless and calm, the blue sea reflected the blue sky and my thoughts drifted. The sound of the water was calm and soothing, we were out of sight of land and on a sleek, fabulous yacht. And I felt utterly miserable. My mind flashed on the uncomfortable picture of Kaysha. The that way I was feeling had a resemblance to the way she had looked, lost and bedraggled, not even covering herself.

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  Recollections of last night on deck were never far away, and, hungry for any kind of comfort, I allowed them to wash over me.

  His skin and mine, in the cool blue moonlight. The scent of him. The warmth of him. His hot breath in my ear, and on my throat. Between my huge breasts, on my breasts, beneath my breasts, fanning my trembling stomach. His Breath blown through his hot, eager lips. Lips that brushed my hips and brought a huge, wet tongue to my thighs. And up, up to the crease of my buttocks, up to my own hot, quivering lips, parting, wet and yearning. The tongue that met my tongue as our breaths coiled together, ropes wrapping, making knots, breath that made a column from his mouth and into mine, down my throat and through my breasts.

  A column of pulsing waves of trembling air, of gathering intent, of sighing need, and hungry want, all the way from my pelvis, fanned upwards by the heat that we could both smell as my lower lips wetted themselves with that perfumed honey to lure him, to call to his mouth, to capture and welcome his tongue along those hot lips, around the charge in my clitoris. Around and around. And then up, firm and urgent, up into the wet heat. Up. Up and in. And up. And in.

  The graze of his hair between my hot, generous thighs, on my pressing mound, over my stomach, between my breasts, oh and his lips drawing, suckling, wanting, feeding. He pleased my big breasts, and they pleased him. His massive shoulders, framing the moon and the stars as his shining eyes explored mine, as he caressed my needy breasts and my throbbing nipples and, without using his hand, with one hand on my stretching neck, with his fingertips tracing my mouth, he found his way gently, firmly and unerringly in. And my lips and my scents and my juices and my loving, tender walls greeted, thanked, opened, beckoned, stroked, stretched and squeezed every inch, every long, hard, huge, hot, beating, pounding moment of him. Filling me, more and more. I let out a long sigh at the calm, indifferent ocean.

  He was nowhere to be seen now, though.

  “Would you like to dress for dinner this evening?” his voice was right behind me.

  It was such a shock that I nearly tipped over the rail. He reached forward quickly and pulled me back. Clasped my to him. Held me. The way he could hold me, the way he might hold a flower, it made me weak. He had that grin again. He said,

  “I was wondering if you might like to dress for dinner this evening. I would like to cook this time.”

  My knees were weak, my thighs trembled and my chest felt hot and heavy. I probably stammered like an imbecile, but I did manage to say,

  “That would be nice, but I didn’t bring anything.”

  “Take a look in the cabin behind my suite.”

  I tried to think for a moment. It could be wonderful to pick something to wear, to dress for the evening, but something bothered me. Many things bothered my. I was confused and breathless. There were so many things I wanted to know, wanted to ask, but all that got out of my mouth was,

  “You have a cabin full of women’s clothes?”

  He smiled,

  “It’s hardly full, but there are some clothes you might like.”

  “But whose clothes are they?”

  “Oh, I see. There are fashion shoots on Spray. Quite often, in fact. There was one last week last week, and they haven’t collected the clothes. Sometimes they don’t even bother.”

  The explanation was plausible, and I was thrilled by the prospect of the kind of clothes that a fashion shoot seemed to suggest, but a nagging thought wouldn’t quite lie quietly. I ignored it. I’d been ignoring enough thoughts all day long, one more wouldn’t add much to the noise.

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  The cabin behind his was lined with closets, and the closets were fairly full of silks, satins, crepe de chine and prints. Dresses, skirts, shirts, tops and pants in reds, blues, greys and midtones mostly, all good colors for me, and at first glance, they all looked as though they would fit. That nagging thought made a squeaking noise, so I put my mental fingers in my mental ears, and sang as I tried things on.

  There was gorgeous lingerie, and I found a set in pale blue silk. Putting them on brought the luxurious scent and rustle of new clothes. The bra pushed my huge breasts up and forward, and held it just enough to exaggerate the rise and fall of my soft, pale flesh as I breathed, and emphasised a very attractive slow shake as I moved. In a pair of blue high-heeled slingbacks, my legs stretched, full and shapely in sheer black holdup stockings, with lacy garters tied at the top, and the sheer panels in the blue panties making a tantalising ‘v’ at the top of my thighs. My breasts looked as though they would bubble out of the lacy bra, and the picture in the mirror was very encouraging. I pouted, pushed a shoulder and primped like a model. It felt silly, but there was no mistaking the shivers and charges from some of those views. When I half turned and caught how the curve of my soft, round ass was framed by the lace of the knickers hanging above, and the garter and black stocking top on my creamy thigh, a thrill flashed through my whole body and my heart raced the next beat. I could get used to these silks and satins. I wondered whether he would see this view. And whether it would make his heart beat and his pulse race, as it did mine. My mind needed to compose itself for a more serious conversation with him, and I should be preparing to confront some of the questions and doubts that had been tugging at me all day. This was not the time for imagining the taste of his breath, or the heat of his body, pressing against mine. Not pressing there. Or there, definitely not there.

  Wow, it was time for a shower.

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  At 9.30 sharp, my high blue heels clicked with an exciting authority onto the foredeck. The long blue evening dress made a serious swish over the black stockings. He looked fine in the moonlight. He was drawing out a chair for me, but as he caught sight of me he stopped and took my hand. He said,

  “Let me look at you.”

  And he did. There’s quite a lot of me to look at, and that dress made a pretty fine presentation of it all. His dark eyes flickered from the shoes, all the way up, and I don’t think he missed a curve or a crease. My full hips, my bare arms and the plunging decolletage got special attention, but my throat and my neck held his interest. When he reached my eyes, he could tell that I’d not wasted the moment, and that I had taken the chance to inspect him, too. From the feet, planted wide apart in impeccable deck shoes, up the thrilling crease of his charcoal pants, loosely draped but excellently filled, along his belt, where I saw a reaction just below. I raked my eyes up over his crisp white shirt, just the top two buttons open, showing a hint of that heroic chest. The strong neck, the dimpled chin. That grin, of course, but revealing a tiny flash of white teeth. And his eyes, smoldering and glowing.

  His hand touched my waist. His eyes burrowed, imploring into me. His fingers felt the silk of the dress stretched over my stomach, and his hand pressed gently there. His fingers touched the tip of the neckline, I could feel the heat and the weight between my breasts. He smoothed the fabric and said,

  “Tear it open.” His grin widened. I said,

  “Now?”

  He whispered,

  “Now.”

  I did.

  At the sight o
f my body, in all that flimsy lingerie, he moaned and I flung my whole body at his. I hugged him tight with every part of me. I wrapped my arms and my legs around him. My hands pulled the shirt out of his pants and ripped it open. My lips and my tongue feasted on the taste of his skin, from his chest all the way down to his stomach. I reached for his buckle, but he pulled my face up, and our mouths melted together. We breathed each other, we filled each other and we took each other. Meanwhile, our hands found their way around each other’s bodies. He squeezed my breasts, and I thought I would suffocate. I plunged into his pants and found his wonderful cock. Our hips ground together, and mine wanted to suck the whole of him right up inside me. I wanted all of him, I wanted him now. NOW!

  I felt my back on the deck, and his splendid weight on top of me. The scent of him made me almost dizzy, but I flung him off and onto his back. I wanted to taste that cock. I wanted it on my tongue, I wanted my mouth full of it. I got his pants off and wrapped my hands around it. He reached for my hips, and pulled me to his face. On the way, he got buried between my breasts. He licked and sucked and squeezed them, but I wanted that cock. I wriggled down so his cock was was caressed and compressed in my cleavage. He moaned and gasped. I pushed my breasts together and he moaned again.

  The tip of his tongue was stretching at the flimsy knickers, hunting expertly for the right course, sliding around, and up, flicking, teasing. His hands came to the tops of my stockings, and pulled be to his mouth. Now my lips could reach his cock, and there was so much I wanted to do there, but his muscular tongue was between my thighs, hunting for the side of my wet panties, and I couldn’t concentrate. Waves of trembling and shaking started right there where his mouth was, and rippled up though my tingling stomach and catching the breath in my chest. I held his cock, and I slid my lips over it, and I loved it, but all that I could do for now was to take it in my mouth, revel in the scent and the taste of him, and suck, gently, rhythmically, sliding my wet lips as far down the shaft as I could.

  His tongue had shoved my panties aside, and was exploring my wet, hot, eager sex. He licked along it, outside the hot, quaking lips, and then inside them. Then he gently sucked my buzzing clit in a long, slow rhythm. With his cock filling my mouth, I couldn’t make an audible sound, but he felt the vibrations of the moans in my chest as they rose through my throat and into my mouth, and I felt his pulse beat on my wet tongue as it slid around his shaft. As he sucked my clitoris, an ecstatic wave shook and grew through my whole body, and I pressed my mouth farther along his cock and I sucked as I came. A wave of abandon flew through me and my juices spilled over and ran and drenched his face, just as my saliva drenched his cock and ran out all over his hips. That’s when his fingers crept up inside me and pressed, forward, past the ridge of my opening. He knew the spot. I would have been howling, but his cock was up to the edge of my throat. My hips bucked and I came and I sucked and I tasted pre-cum, and it lubricated me and I moaned and his cock pushed inside me and I sucked and he shouted as he pumped the salty, silky taste of life with a force into my mouth.

  Eventually he spoke,

  “Look, I want to keep you along.”

  “On the boat?”

  “Yes, on the boat. On the boat, in the house, on the island, in the planes and the limos, in Europe. I want to have you everywhere.”

  Parts of me were waking up.

  My life really would never be the same again.

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  Billionaire

  Ablaze

  by

  Alice May Balls

  “I want you,” he said, his low, sweet, strong voice, still thick from sleep,

  Here I was on the billionaire’s luxury super-yacht. Specifically, in the billionaire’s bed. Again. I should have resisted the first time. He was my employer, for a start. And I was sure it was never going to be anything other than him taking what he wanted from me, maybe telling me a couple of sweet lies along the way and then, when my purpose had been served, when his need was met, I would be unceremoniously dumped like yesterday’s wet toy. When it happened the first time, I was determined that there wouldn’t be any repeat. I was determined, but my body and my willpower betrayed me.

  “I want you to…”

  “Yes?” I looked up into his dark eyes, shining watery in the early morning light, with the sound of the sea gently slapping the sides of the yacht. We rocked under the clouds of fluffy white duvet and pillows and cushions. He wanted to say something, but he was remembering last night. All of last night. So was I.

  He smiled and cleared his throat to start again,

  “I want you to…”

  I put my mouth to his firm, sculpted chest. I kissed it long, soft and wet, my lips wide, dragging my tongue lightly around a nipple, grazed his chest with my teeth, and I wrapped one of my ample thighs across his wide, strong, bare back to pull him closer. Then I knew that his mind was on last night, because I felt his recollection, re-collecting itself along my other thigh. Perhaps he was recalling his very substantial cock between my very substantial breasts, both of us lubricated in sweat. He hot, hard and pulsing. I soft, hot and wet. I recalled the smell of precum on his shiny purple head. Then I was shaken back to reality.

  He moved to pull himself away. The firm ripples of his abs brushed my swelling nipple. I pressed my big, soft breasts back against him, drawing him in towards my waiting warmth and softness. I looked up at him. As he looked back at me I started sliding down him, my tongue tracing a line down his stomach.

  “OK,“ he said, pumping resolution into his voice, “if I don’t get moving now, I’ll be here all day,” I gave him a sad puppy look as he stood, his powerful arms and chest glistening, his thick cock appeared unsure whether it was on its way up or on the way down, and it seemed to be twitching, experimentally, in an effort to resolve the issue.

  “Yes,” he said, “that would be the best possible way to spend this beautiful day,” reaching back for his clothes.

  “I want you…” he found a robe and started to pull it on,

  “to be chef again, just for this one more day, if you’re willing.” Damnit. I was willing. I was all too willing. Whatever he said I was willing. I had to do something about that. He was pulling the robe over his wonderful shoulders and making his voice sound like business. The fact that he was shrugging into my robe spoiled the effect.

  “I have conference calls this morning, and later I have some business to take care of with Kaysha.”

  Now I was beginning to scowl. Maybe-fashion-model Kaysha and I had a bad start when she spilled a tray of dips over me, accidentally-on-purpose. That was after I had glimpsed her in a mirror at the end of a corridor. Glimpsed her in a cabin, winding her more-or-less naked self around a taut male physique that, from the limited rear-view that I’d had, very much resembled my present company. Saw her slipping her quite beautifully formed breasts out for said male to enjoy. Began then to climb and caress said male, using said breasts, as well as other available parts of said body of maybe-model. Then she caught a glimpse of me in said mirror. I can’t say who was more shocked, she or I, but she was displeased to a point of ferocity.

  And yesterday, said Kaysha was the only passenger apparently aboard, and she had a look on her face so utterly wrung out and wretched that, in spite of what had happened before, I had felt sorry for her and worried for her. So, Kaysha was a subject that I wanted to know more about, but his having ‘business to take care of’ with her was not at all what I wanted to hear.

  I said,

  “I’m supposed to be at the diner this morning.”

  The diner, where I worked. Where I had a steady, dependable job. Where I knew where I stood. Where I was working just a few days ago when I met this unbelievable man. Nobody in the diner but me, and he breezed in. It looked as though he liked what I gave him, since he asked me to cook for the weekend for himself and his guests. He didn’t mention that it would be on a yacht, but I was doing my best to get over it. Turned ou
t that cooking wasn’t all that he wanted me to do for him.

  There was no way for me tell where I stood with him, though. We had made love, and he was tender. He was close and intimate, as well as passionate and thrillingly uninhibited, but at other times, like now, I didn’t feel that I could reach him at all. Even worse, I couldn’t read him. It was important for me to know whether he was simply having his way with the help, or if it really meant something to him, as unlikely as that sounded. I had to believe there was a chance, though, because otherwise, why did I let myself be taken to bed – well, taken out on the deck mainly, then to bed. Two nights running. Was it just a bit of fun, or were we starting something? I needed to know.

  Of course, I should have established that beyond doubt, before we got to this point. Before I helped rip him out of his clothes and shimmied out of mine. For instance. Shouldn’t I. I reminded myself of that fact, very frequently indeed. More important, I should have somehow got to the point where I wasn’t his employee before any of that happened.