by Violet Blue
Nothing happens. Nobody appears.
Frown deepening, pulse point ticking in the curve of her neck, the woman starts on her way again, taking no more than a handful of steps before a whisper of something halts her in her tracks. She scans her seemingly deserted surroundings with a wide, searching gaze.
“Hello?” she calls, the single word repeating, hollowing, then fading back into thick silence.
Again, she waits. Again, nothing. No noise but the low hum of the strip-light overhead.
Perhaps it’s the static electricity trapped in the stale, stagnant air that causes the woman’s skin to prickle, the hairs all over her body to rise. Perhaps it’s something more primal, basic instinct, impelling her to go. Get out. Now.
Click, clickety, clickclack…
The woman’s steps falter as she hastens away, passing through a patch of light, into shade, then light again. That’s when she hears it.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Footsteps. Steady, distinct. Heading her way.
Without slowing, the woman throws a look over her shoulder, squinting against the brightness overhead. There! In the shadows of an unlit area some way back, a blacker shade of darkness moves. Someone is there. Someone large in form, menacingly male.
Panic stamps her features.
Clickclackclickclackclick…
Breaking into a run, the woman flees toward the exit, speed severely hampered by skirt and heels.
Instantly, the chase is on. Footfalls pound after her in longgaited strides, gaining easily, quickly. The skin between her shoulder blades draws tight, tiny hairs ripple at her nape.
Then hard hands are on her, jerking her off her feet, hauling her back against a big, powerful body. A large palm clamps over her mouth, cuts short her scream.
A minute of frantic conflict—tousling shuffles, grunting scuffles—ends with her crushed between hard muscle and solid wall, jacket pulled roughly down to her elbows, pinning her arms to her sides, briefcase and bag on the floor.
An unyielding length presses against her from behind, envelops her from top to toe, imprisons her.
“Scared?” a deep male voice taunts in her ear. “You should be, given the things I’m about to do to you.”
Trapped, chest heaving, eyes wild, the woman snaps her teeth at the fingers held over her mouth, only to have them shift out of harm’s way, tighten around her jaw like a vise.
“Bite me and you’ll regret it.” The voice grates. “Scream, and I promise you it’ll be even worse.”
Threats issued, the man’s hand drops from her mouth, joins the other busy hitching her skirt up over her thighs. “I’ll give you one warning. Don’t fight me. I’m bigger, much stronger. You’ll only lose.”
“Please…please,” the woman stutters. “What do you want?”
“I’d have thought that’d be obvious to a smart woman like you.” Skirt out of his way, the man inserts a leg between hers, uses his shoe to prize both her feet apart. “Spread your legs. Wide.”
“Please. I…I have money. In my purse,” she offers, twisting her neck to face him.
“Don’t turn around.” The man shoves forward, broad chest restricting her movements, knocking the air from her lungs. Lower down, the fabric of his trousers scrapes and the metal teeth of his zipper dig into her newly exposed skin. Between their bodies his erection presses, hard and huge, every inch rigidly defined. “You know damn well it’s not your money I’m after.”
Stepping back a pace, the man splays one hand over the woman’s shoulder blades, keeping her pushed to the wall while the other smooths over the pale cheeks of her buttocks.
“Very nice. Black thong and hold-ups. Did you put these on especially for me?” With a couple of one-handed yanks the skimpy underwear is down around the woman’s knees, the thin straps stretched taut.
“Don’t…” She rears back against the man’s hold.
Suddenly he’s covering her again, plastering his body over her smaller frame, dominating her. “Don’t what?” he demands. “Do this?” The fingers of one hand plunge into her cleft from behind, parting folds, invading soft, secret flesh, making her gasp in shock.
“Or this?” The man’s other hand twists in the woman’s hair, ruining the careful style with a few quick tugs. Pins scatter, pinging on the floor. Fisting the loosened strands, he arches her head back onto his shoulder, lowers his mouth to her ear.
“Haven’t you realized yet? You don’t get to have a say in this. You’re mine. To do with as I please…” Between the woman’s legs, his fingers circle her entrance, two drive inside her, jolting a groan from her throat, proving his words.
“And it pleases me to start by mussing up all this precious perfection.” Withdrawing his fingers, the man brings them to the woman’s lips, smears gloss and musk together, pushes them deep into her mouth. “It might impress the starched suits you work with, but it doesn’t fool me for a minute. I’ve been watching you, you see. Watching and waiting for an opportunity to get you all alone, to get my hands on you so I can put a crack in that ice-cool façade of yours.”
Fitting one restraining thigh snugly between the woman’s, the man eases a fraction back from the wall; his fingers slip from her mouth, draw a wet trail from chin to chest. “And now that I’ve finally got hold of you, I’m going to take you apart, baby. Bit by bit. Going to make you burn.” Sliding under the scooped neckline of her fitted top, his hand burrows into her lacy bra, squeezes one hard-tipped breast.
“Good girl. I’ve barely got started and already you’re excited. Or are you just feeling the cold?” Using his grip on the woman’s hair to angle her face toward him, the man pinches the distended nipple tight between finger and thumb, sweeps his tongue over her lips as they part for an involuntary gasp. A deep, masculine rumble of approval issues from him.
“Hell. Tastes like sticky sweet excitement to me.” The man’s hands shift, tug the woman’s top and bra high up onto her chest, capture the weight of her breasts as they spill free. “You ready to take some more?” He plucks and rolls both nipples, bucks and rolls his hips.
The woman’s body flinches and squirms under the assault. She shudders as the reflex action causes her spread sex to grind against the muscled thigh between her legs. The man immediately adjusts his stance, rocking her core harder against him.
“Oh, yeah. So sensitive, so fiery. You’re ready to take whatever I want to give you.”
A half whimper escapes the woman as she shakes her head. “No,” she denies. “I…I can’t.”
“Oh, but you can…” The man drags her back a couple of steps.
“And you will…” He tears the jacket from her arms, discards it.
“Right now.” His hands bend her forward at the waist.
“Put your palms flat on the wall in front of you. Arms straight. Feet wide apart,” he orders.
Balance suddenly precarious, the woman obeys, steadying herself as he grabs her hips, raises her arse, positions her as he will. Without preliminary, the man drops to a crouch behind her, his thumbs spread her slit wide. “Very pretty.” So close, the rush of his hot breath tickles her most private places as he speaks. “All pink and pouty and open for me. Good enough to eat.”
The woman’s muscles spasm at the first touch of his tongue. “Don’t move.” He grips her thighs, holds her immobile as he runs the warm, wet tip firmly from clit to crack, growling.
“You taste like sex already. All wet and juicy, your cunt welcoming me to slide right in.” Penetrating her with his tongue, the man skims the woman’s inner walls with a swirling lick. Moaning, she locks elbows and knees tight. Shivers chase over her skin as she drops her head forward, sucks in a shaky breath.
The man straightens and makes short work of loosening his fly fastenings, lowering trousers and boxers together. Taking his cock in one hand, he rubs the engorged head up and down between the woman’s damp folds before guiding it to her entrance. His other hand grasps a handful of her hair, pulls her head back, bows her spine
.
“Brace yourself, baby. I’m going to fuck you now. So hard, so fast and deep, you’ll never forget it.”
With that the man’s hips surge forward, driving his iron-hard erection into her. His forceful grunt mingles with her startled shout; then he thrusts once, twice more, stuffing himself in to the hilt.
“Christ!” he chokes out, head thrown back, every muscle in his body snapped taut. “So tight, so fucking hot.”
“No,” the woman pants, trembling while the man’s grip on her hair holds her impaled. “No… Too much.”
“Not yet it isn’t. Not until you’ve taken everything I’ve got.” He withdraws halfway, forges forward again until his balls nestle tight against the lips of her sex.
The woman’s cry sends echoes up and down the tunnel, her legs begin to fold beneath her. Encircling her with both his arms, the man holds her up, chest blanketing her spine.
“That’s better,” he says, voice squeezed rough. “Buried nice and deep so you can feel all of me.” He begins to pump, fast, short jerks that keep him jammed tight up against her. His hands find the swinging weight of her breasts, fingers resume their torturous assault on the budded tips.
Under the ruthless barrage, the woman’s body jars and jumps uncontrollably. Her whimpering pleas become a chant.
“Hearing you beg so sweetly really turns me on, baby, but you’re asking me for the wrong thing.” The man keeps up the punishing onslaught until her words are reduced to incoherent sobs of pleasure-pain and her nipples turn diamond hard to his touch. “See? Your lush little body is telling me that stopping is the very last thing you want me to do.”
Large hands slide to the woman’s waist as the man stands upright. Easing back a bit to gain more leverage, he changes his rhythm, uses long, powerful thrusts. In, out. In, out. Each sawing stroke is a relentless full-length glide from head to hilt; each hard hit home jolts a raw groan from the woman’s throat.
“Christ, you’re killing me,” the man gasps, eyes focused on the point where their two bodies join. “You look so beautiful, taking my big cock all the way inside you.” His hands curve around to the woman’s arse, heels of his palms spreading her cheeks wide, opening her to his intent gaze. “So sexy down here—stretched to your limits around me, coating me in your juices. Fuck, just the sight of it makes me want to come.”
The man’s breathing becomes ragged, his measured thrusts grow erratic. “I’m losing it, baby. Going over the edge…” He reaches one hand around to spear into the thatch of wet curls between the woman’s legs, scissoring the hardened bud of her clitoris between two fingers. “Taking you with me.”
The woman’s body bucks and writhes against him, her high-pitched keening fills the air. “Let go,” he grinds out between bared teeth. “Come all over my cock.” He punctuates the command with a push of his other thumb against the puckered rim of her anus. “Do it now.”
“Oh, god!” the woman cries. “I’m com… I… Oh!” Knees buckling she screams, convulsing through her orgasm.
The man takes her weight to support her. Tendons strain, hips piston. “Christ, that’s good. Like a fist… Ahh… Can. Barely. Move… Gonna come. Hard.”
And he does, roaring his release, riding it out buried deep in the woman’s shuddering body.
Moaning, drawing in great gasps of air, the man clasps the woman tight to him. Cock still embedded he shuffles and stumbles until his back hits the wall.
“God, Kat, please tell me I didn’t hurt you.” He all but collapses, cradling her to his chest, face pressed into the hair behind her ear. “You okay?”
“Mm, bloody wonderful,” she replies, her body going limp, her tone dreamy. “How about you?”
He puffs out a mighty breath and leans his head back against the wall, eyes closed, a smile curling his lips. “Half dead and a happy man. That was fucking amazing.”
“Literally,” she chuckles. “Happy anniversary, husband.”
“The first of many.” He squeezes her. “I love you.”
SEARCHING FOR HER
Kay Jaybee
Fifteen years ago I read my very first erotic story. From that moment I had a powerful recurring fantasy based entirely on its contents. Each relationship I’ve enjoyed since has had that one sexual expectation wrapped up in it.
Despite my efforts, I continually failed to find anyone with whom I could make my wildest dream come true. Then I met Mark. Once I’d shared my fantasy with him, he quickly became equally obsessed by it. So much so that he made the realization of it a mission for me, a quest that has led to many deliciously dirty encounters.
I investigated every club, dance floor, bar and meeting site possible searching for a woman who could turn our dreams to reality. The fact I eventually found her by accident, sitting at an ordinary table, in an ordinary café, sipping a ridiculously strong Americano, was my first surprise, the first of many.
Her disguise is perfect. She appears to be like every other thirtysomething female: average height, blue jeans, white shirt, black boots and long brown hair. The only clue to her true self is her incredible smile. It is literally dangerous and can alter her dark gray eyes from flirty, to sexy, to downright demonic in an instant.
It was those eyes that made me want to talk to her, for as soon as I spotted them staring at me, the hairs on the back of my neck began to tingle. The overcrowded nature of the café made it easy for me to ask for a seat at her table, but I was amazed at how readily she introduced herself.
I’m not sure why it felt okay to talk to Jo so candidly. It was almost as if her presence had been contrived somehow, for within a remarkably short amount of time we’d moved on from small talk, and it seemed natural for me to tell her about the search that I’d been sent on.
Jo’s face glowed with mischief as she asked me for details of the encounters my pursuit had led me to so far. My gaze darted around the coffeehouse. This was not the sort of conversation that should be overheard, but something about Jo made me want to tell her everything. Luckily, the London fashion of each person being intent only upon him or her self was in evidence, and I felt safe enough to launch into my tale, albeit in hushed tones.
“Mark’s requirements are, on the surface, simple. It doesn’t matter how tall she is, where she’s from, what color her skin, hair, or eyes are, as long as I find a woman he would like, who’s willing to become part of a threesome, and who will do exactly as he says.
“I found the first woman that came close to his specifications in an S/M club. She was of similar height to my own, and her curling blonde hair contrasted nicely with my short black bob. The fact she was a client at that sort of club, and that her face was permanently lowered to the floor, proved she’d fulfill the ‘doing what she was told’ part of the deal.
“She wore only a maroon basque and stockings, no shoes, no collar of ownership, no jewelry, and as befitting her submissive poise, she carried no whip or paddle. Her blue eyes raised a fraction as I approached her, my heart thudding in my ears. She was gorgeously voluptuous, and I couldn’t help but hope she’d be the one.
“The club itself was split into a series of rooms: general meeting places and dance floors, private rooms that were hired out by the hour; a men-only room, and a women-only room. It was into this final room that I asked her to accompany me. She smiled and nodded, but said nothing.
“Dimly lit, the room had rows of cream sofas against its walls, divided from each other with a modicum of discretion, by flimsy muslin curtains. I took her hand, surprised at how cold it was despite the heat of the club, and steered her to a free sofa. The second I asked her to sit down she obeyed. The woman, whose name I never did learn, was already waiting on my every command.
“Sitting astride her lap, our stocking tops rubbing together, I tilted her chin up so I could peer into her eyes. She stared back at my face, and I kissed her.
“The moment our lips met she came to life, giving as enthusiastically as she received. Grasping the laces that fastened the top of her b
asque, I yanked them loose, spilling her chest free. I held each heavy globe in my palms, squeezing and kneading until I was rewarded by a gentle nuzzling purr.
“Her nipples pushed against my hands. I bent my mouth to them, alternately licking and biting, until my blonde companion began to squirm beneath my weight. I didn’t want her to come yet, and so I released her breast. Sliding to my knees, I rolled each of her stockings down her legs.
“As I worked, I glanced at her face and saw desire mingled with confusion. This was not how things usually went for her. She’d not received a single order since my initial request for her to sit, and her arms hung limply at her sides, uncertain. I continued, and with the stockings gone, began to caress each shapely pale calf in turn.
“My tits were beginning to feel tight within my satin bra, and I paused to unhook its clasp, watching with satisfaction as my temporary lover sighed longingly at their appearance. In need of some stimulation myself, I granted her permission to touch me. Soon my tits were being treated to an expert range of soft strokes, heavy nips with dazzling teeth, and teasing fingertips. Swiftly I found myself on the edge of orgasm, and robbed of the willpower to command her to stop.
“After that, my plans to make love to her gently, to discover as much about her talents as possible, were forgotten. We were merely a heady mixture of arms, legs, breasts, and illicit imaginings. She tasted of peaches, and I could have eaten from her all night, but I had a mission to complete. Once we had stilled, I held her close, and explained about my quest. I told her how I thought she’d be perfect for Mark and me. She listened quietly, then turned to me, and uttered the longest sentence of our evening together: ‘I don’t do men.’
“I couldn’t believe it. I’m usually so attuned to that sort of thing. I guess I’d been blown away by my attraction to her. Mark would be disappointed, and I knew I would suffer a few strokes of his belt for my failure, but in truth, I never mind that.”
I paused. Jo’s eyes had blazed whilst I spoke, but now they simmered with amusement at my mistake. “She sounded lovely.”
