by Theda Hudson
Book Description
Dirty Little Deal, Dirty Little Book 1, A Darker Wings Book
A beautiful mask.
A sex dungeon.
A rule-bound woman.
A man intent on peeling her inhibitions away, one slit of the knife, one hitch of the skirt, one nibble at a time, while he whets her appetite for discovery.
Luiz's girlfriend, Tasha, has a rule book called "How Sex Should Be". He's decided his "Love to Make You Come as Many Ways as I Can" book makes more sense and more pleasure for both of them. He knows it won't be easy to convince her, but he has a plan. If it doesn't work he'll call it quits and leave her for good.
Dirty Little Deal
Dirty Little Book 1
Darker Wings Series
by Theda Hudson
Dirty Little Deal
© 2015 Theda Hudson
PUBLISHED BY:
Lilac Moon Books
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review. Please do not participate or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover by Dayle Dermatis
Copyright © 2015 Dayle Dermatis
Cover art image bigstockphoto.com
Discover other titles by Theda Hudson at
http://www.thedahudson.com
Contents
Book Description
Title Page
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Dirty Little Dare Sample
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
About the Author
Other Works by Theda Hudson
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my critique group, Robin Owens, Janet Lane, Jessica Wulf, Peggy Waide, Alice Kober, Kay Bergstrom, Steven Moores, Denee Cody, Cate Rowan, and Pam Nowak.
Quality Control: If you find typographical or formatting errors, please forward them to [email protected]
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Chapter 1
Don't get me wrong. Tasha Carlson is gorgeous. Every time I see her I get a hard on from here to there. Legs, with tight muscles on the backs of her calves, going straight up to heaven. A mouth that is soft and sweet to kiss. Big, round breasts with rosy nipples that tighten up to pegs and beg to be tweaked.
And that's the problem. They may be begging, but she is definitely not. Not even a little, even though I can see the desire bubbling, ready to boil over into full-blown passion.
Because passion is not lady-like. And Tasha is a total lady. At least that's what she tells herself and me. I know better, and I've decided that either I must turn up the heat and make the tea kettle sing or I'm done with this relationship.
And I don't want to be done with her. She's what I've been looking for--smart, beautiful, driven. But I want some overt sexuality to tie the ribbon around that package.
Not that she isn't sexual.
Oh, I get her in bed regularly. Oh, God, she's like a goddess laid out against the maroon cotton sheets, her eyes shining in the dim light. She smells great, too, a little Grammercy Twilight, a little sweat, and her own personal musk. But it's all very straight-laced, and not in any kind of bondage way. And by the book. Her book. Which is nowhere near as fun as my "Love to Make You Come as Many Ways as I Can" book.
No, her book has a lot of rules about what's okay and what's not. I've decided we can only have one book and I want it to be mine, along with her.
So I set her up for an opportunity to make her let go of her rules and discover what she's missing. I bought two memberships to the Darker Wings Convention.
Touching the receipt in my breast pocket, I hefted the colorful shopping bags from Ashes to Fashion as I walk up to her door. The bags will be the first hurdle. The dress would be fine, a satiny black pencil dress with a cutaway back and decorative frogging on the front. Even the stockings with subtle clocking at the ankles wouldn't cause a fuss.
But the shoes. Oh, my. I got a rise just thinking how the backs of her calves would look as her legs rose up out of the patent leather fuck me heels. I got a larger one out of imagining her bent over the couch in those heels, as I slipped her a bigger than Lebowski's. I'd slap her ass to see it jiggle and hang on to her hips and watch in the foyer mirror as I watched her glorious tits jouncing while I ride her.
But first I had to get her out of the sensible heels she always wore. Because nothing about my plan was sensible and I wanted her to be off balance. Which would make it easier to push her over the edge.
I stared at my reflection in the cut out of Tasha's front door. I look good in my costume. Black hair casually mussed. She says she likes the boyish look it gives me. The black raw silk jacket is nubbly, completely not my style. I'm usually a buttoned up guy because that's what's expected in the private equity world. And skinny ties have been out for a while, especially paired with black jeans and a sateen cotton shirt.
I rolled my head on my shoulders as I rehearsed my negotiating points. If she'd do this, I'd go to the symphony with her this season. Every show she wanted, even The Messiah. All three hours of it. Hell, I'd even buy the tickets and make the donation to the fund.
That should be enough for the shoes. I just had to hope the rest would follow. Because after the carrot would come the stick. And I would hate it if she forced me to use it.
Dirty Little Dare, Dirty Little Book 2
Since that early summer night in the garage, Cara Mia had graduated from bent over against the concrete wall with her torn dress rucked up over her hips to laid out on my kitchen table, yes, with all the dishes still on the table, although shoved to the end.
Okay, she got a little wild and shoved several pieces off the table, where they smashed into a million pieces, just as Mr. Twist pushed her over her own edge. I thought the crashing noise was appropriate to her situation, and it covered her shouts, which were also a graduation from the little muffled whimpers she had hitherto thought were outrageous.
Ever the good boyfriend, Luiz helped me sweep the floor and load the dishwasher afterward. He even bought me a new navy-blue serving dish and a beautiful white platter to replace the ones we swept up.
And Cara Mia has gone past Violet Thumper, the purple bunny fur paddle Mr. Twist introduced her to that night in the parking garage. Gawd, she loves that thing—even the leather side sometimes—but now I think she adores the brilliant blue deer hide flogger that Mr. Twist bought on eBay.
He learned to wield it at the alternative lifestyle club during one of the many classes they had taken to learn how to navigate this new land safely and enjoyably.
The falls—that’s what you call the leather strips—feel like velvet. Mr. Twist runs them across Cara Mia’s back when he bends her over the footboard of her bed. Then he lays the handle over her back so they dangle between her breasts when he—how delicious it is to say this—mou
nts her. When he slips his…his dick—there, I said it—into her.
The leather tickles so as it brushes her breasts, and it makes her wiggle in ways that Mr. Twist enjoys very much. Then Cara Mia enjoys things even more.
Who knew breaking out of all my ideas about “This is How Things Must Be” would be so much fun? Except that it is Cara Mia who is breaking the rules. I have broken nothing—except, somehow I feel cracked.
Which is the whole point of this Halloween party. It is time to go further, to stretch the boundaries until they snap again and Cara Mia has entered a new land, another level of pleasure.
That night in the elevator on the way down to what Cara Mia would learn was the grotty dungeon at Darker Wings, a man propositioned Mr. Twist for the use of Cara Mia as a bondage sub.
I was terrified that he would give her to him, still in the dark about what the evening would entail, but the thing that struck me was the man’s comment that she had a beautiful bone structure that was perfect for bondage.
The idea stayed with me and, since then, my secret library of naughtiness has grown to include several books about bondage and the pleasures to be found therein.
One of the pleasures of bondage is evidently the Zen-like state that the tie-ee enjoys as the bonds are wrapped around her body. I have read about this subspace state in several of the manuals on the alternative lifestyle that Darker Wings exemplifies and educates its members in so they can be more successful, more naughty, and more skilled explorers of the world of sexual pleasure.
Cara Mia has yet to go there.
I admit that Mr. Twist has kindled a curiosity that I never expected to enjoy. For Cara Mia’s pioneering forays into this dark and naughty world, I ordered her several lengths of recommended rope in appealing colors and stashed them a bag.
She has run them over her arms and legs, coiling them about her body to imagine what the draw is. The tactile pleasures to be had are subtle and lovely. I think that they could induce Cara Mia to succumb to this subspace.
But first she must get to the party. The dress she is wearing tonight is a little ragged Goth/witchy number, along with some funky black pointy-toed construction boots that I found at the Ashes to Fashion store. It’s the same place Mr. Twist bought the pencil dress he sacrificed to force Cara Mia to strike a blow at my rules about “What is Fun and Why Sexy is Inappropriate for Me.” And appropriate for her, most anywhere.
I remain a paragon of good manners, elegance, and conservatism.
This Halloween dress is made possible only by the black domino that lives in a satin-lined box in my antique vanity. I open the top drawer and slip it out. I found the box discarded by the trash at my complex after Cara Mia’s adventure in the parking garage, and picked it up. The flat wooden box was old and a little scuffed, but I sanded it in the garage and then painted it with a glossy black acrylic. Afterward, I carefully added a design of golden swirling lines and dots of paint that are reminiscent of the bead pattern on the mask.
The domino lies on the faded pale blue satin like a treasure. Mr. Twist spent some money on it. It could be Venetian for the care that went into the construction. What feels like raw silk is accented with graceful lines of fine, jet-black seed beads. The edge is lined with short, black, fluffy feathers that remind me of the baby chicks I held in my hands at my grandmother’s farm when I was a little girl.
I stroke the mask and sigh. The refuge it represents allows me, Tasha Carlson, to become Mr. Twist’s Cara Mia, who can, so far, brave any embarrassment, rise above any indignation, and revel in every naughtiness that he has thought of.
Lifting it, I hold it up to my face, let it cover my pale skin. My doe-brown eyes shine through the eyeholes. I wink and smile, thinking of the party and the little surprise Cara Mia has for Mr. Twist.
So far, he has been the instigator of every game, new position, and dirty word that she has enjoyed, that has made her blush even as she cries out in pleasure. But it is time for Cara Mia to step up to the naughty plate with a serving of something tasty and fun.
I sit on the vanity bench, settle the mask on my face, and tie the mask ribbons before opening the bottom drawer.
Cara Mia moved a pile of scarves to reveal a large brown leather bag. After she pulled it out, she unzipped the bag and rummaged around, enjoying the silkiness of the ropes coiled inside it.
She caught hold of one and lifted it out. The climbing rope was three-eighths of an inch thick, black with orange dots speckling the length of it. She was amazed at how many colors the rope comes in. She was also amazed at the number of philosophies and systems that abounded in bondage circles.
After reading a bit and exploring various systems, I have settled on Japanese bondage as one that I wish Cara Mia to explore. Leave it to that culture to develop bondage that is as visually beautiful and sensual as it is effective.
The Big Book of Japanese Bondage lies at the bottom of the bag. Kinbaku, the Japanese art of using ropes for artistic, sensual, and sexual purposes, suits Cara Mia’s new hedonistic exploration without banging on the BD/sm drum that I had so far found inelegant.
If I pull the book out and open it, the pages will fall open at three places. I have spent a great deal of time looking them.
They all three move me in different ways. First, the sheer aesthetic beauty of the design is astounding. Second, the care the rope master takes to place the ropes on the body of the woman suits my precise nature. And third, the pleasure the bound woman received from the artfully placed knot on her genitals titillates me.
I read a blog about a woman who, by dint of careful and orchestrated squirming, could produce a volcanic orgasm. I don’t believe that the orgasm truly erupted with a quantity of fluid, but I like to think of how pleased Mr. Twist would be to witness such a thing and how very surprised he would be that his Cara Mia would be able and willing to produce one.
The idea excited Cara Mia and, carrying the coil of rope, she lay down on the bed, rucked her skirt up over her belly and pulled her panties down, slipping one leg out while allowing the panties to rest on her other leg.
The idea recreated every naughty schoolgirl fantasy she had ever heard about that. That made her shiver, and she felt her pussy swelling. Then, with a bit of lube, which smelled of tropical flowers, on her fingers, she laid them between her pussy lips and over her clit, allowing the oil to cover the flesh. Yes, a good dollop there, to make the skating as smooth and exciting as possible. The heat of her skin warmed the oil and she was surrounded in a cloud of musk and floral sweetness.
Masturbation, yes. Having no boyfriend did not preclude a tide of desire that must be satisfied. And all the rules that had created a safe place for Tasha Carlson to live and thrive allowed for a basic understanding of self-pleasuring, which Cara Mia had now waved off as boring and pedestrian.
So Cara Mia had taken over all aspects of pleasure. After all, it was Mr. Twist who made it clear that donning the mask was not the same as Tasha wearing the mask. Instead, the act created Cara Mia, who kept Tasha safe from embarrassment and humiliation, and released Tasha from the strictures of all her rules. This had opened a world of pleasures undreamt and now regularly realized.
At first even Cara Mia was embarrassed to explore the intimate joys to be found with one’s own body, but, she reminded herself, Mr. Twist had pointed out that if the heart of the pleasurable experience remained a hidden mystery, then a vital component of their fun was lost.
Practicing had become a time she looked forward to as a way to increase the possibilities of the fun they enjoyed.
It had been hard, but she always started out by imagining Mr. Twist standing at the foot of the bed, his black jeans bulging with his excitement at her practice.
He was so handsome, especially when he didn’t shave for a day before their dates. Cara Mia loved the raw, wicked look the dark growth gave him and the tactile sensation of that rough beard against her tender flesh.
She imagined his mouth on her breast, his warm, wet tongue tick
ling her nipple as his whiskers brushed over her breast. He always flicked the hard little peg with his tongue, and she groaned, knowing that his teeth would follow, nipping sharply.
Her finger delved between her lips and she wasn’t surprised to find a moist heat there already. The little button of her clit surfaced, eager to greet the fingertip that would skim over its surface, bringing waves of pleasure.
She could smell the musk that wafted up, thicker now, nearly overwhelming the flowery lube, and she spread her legs wider. Mr. Twist liked the shape of them, especially the muscles on the backs of her calves. She had been exercising to increase their size and enhance their shape. He had commented one night a few weeks ago and she was pleased to have effected such a reaction by dint of a little effort.
Cara Mia draped the rope over the thigh that had been released from the panties, allowing a length to fall to the inner side of her leg. She blushed as the soft coils caressed her flesh so close to her pussy. It was a shocking intimacy, and she imagined Mr. Twist on his knees in front of her, tenderly wrapping a coil around her thigh, his hands brushing her glossy brown, clipped bush. She imagined watching as he busily adjusted the design he was creating.
Cara Mia felt her blood flow hotter, quicker, and felt the sudden shift as her belly warmed. The pleasure she felt under her pirouetting finger deepened, grinding into a lower gear that felt as if it intended to climb a far more rugged peak than she was used to.
This was novel, and her pussy seemed even more swollen and hot than usual beneath the close-cropped curls, and she pulled her finger out to pat the firm mound, pinching her lips together as Mr. Twist did.
The pleasure flared, pulling a groan from her throat as her hips ground and pumped against that pressure. The blood between her fingers pounded like a herd of horses racing across a grassy plain. Everything felt squishy, but her rhythm had broken when she stopped rubbing, and she had to start over, skating and pirouetting over the button before dipping lower, delving deeply, two fingers slipping into her tight sheath.
