His Little Black Book

by Thea Devine

  As Brooke had always counseled, she was double protected, and to seal the deal, she wasn’t put off by his power or averse to his unrefined looks.

  A man dressed in Burberry always looks handsome.

  He looked very good to her after her enforced celibacy, a vigorous man who could offer her something.

  Like a nice, probing kiss that he deepened as she let herself respond and arch her body into it. His kiss was quite nice, restrained for a man who’d already jacked off and was again hard and humping her hand.

  “Apartment,” he muttered, his tongue in her mouth.

  “Apartment,” she agreed and opened her mouth wider.

  They made out until the cab drew up at Ninetieth Street and Park Avenue.

  By then, she was breathless and aroused in a way she’d never thought would happen again. Maybe this wasn’t happening. Maybe this was a fantasy: being kidnapped by a virile, well-heeled man right out of the harem, and utterly seduced by his blatant desire for her.

  This happened only in dreams. Yet Sonny was taking her hand, his own hand shaking slightly, and leading her into a building with a canopy and a marble-floored lobby. Leading her into the elevator, his gaze tight on her breasts and licking his lips in anticipation of how they would look naked, how they would feel when he fondled them, how they would taste when he sucked. All that concentrated male attention on that purely feminine part of her made her feel incredibly aroused and desired.

  “Here we are.” He opened a door and ushered her into an elegant living room furnished with plush sofas and chairs.

  He drew her to the sofa, took off her jacket, took her bag. Ran his hands down her bare arms, barely able to control his hot, pulsating lust.

  “The minute I saw you, I knew I couldn’t let Vanessa get her hands on you. A beauty like you—you don’t need to be powdered and primped. You need someone to adore you. Let me do that, Delia. Let me adore you.”

  His mouth came down on hers, and they slowly sank onto the couch.

  This was so much better than a bar bang, even if she only got lunch out of it. That was more than she’d gotten in a long time, barring her night with Bill.

  And it was so much nicer when the man kissing you knew what he was doing. Luscious when he knew how to expertly finger your nipples to make you hot to be naked for him. Arousing as hell when he knew where to caress those places that made your knees weak.

  He eased up on his long, demanding kisses to whisper, “Jack off…nipples…blowing.”

  She unhooked his belt and unzipped him, foraged for his throbbing manhood, and pulled it into her hands.

  He groped for the fastening of her halter top, his tongue still moving inside her mouth, and when he couldn’t find it, he ripped her blouse down to her waist and pulled back to see her breasts.

  “Oh, God, your breasts. Oh, baby…look at those nipples! Fuck the clothes; give me those tits right now.”

  She bent over to grasp his shaft and rubbed the underside against her nipples, first one, then the other, back and forth and forth and back, while he threw his head back, grasped her shoulders, and moved his hips in rhythm with her.

  Then he shoved himself between her breasts, thumbing and squeezing her nipples as he pumped fast and furiously, stiffened, and spewed.

  “I’m claiming you.”

  She was shocked. “What—?”

  “I claim you. Your name will go right into my little black book before anyone else sees you. Nobody else is going to have you. You’re mine. I’m calling Vanessa right now.”

  She played innocent. “What does that mean, claiming me?”

  “It means no one else can approach you now, no matter how interested he might be, until your name is removed from my black book.”

  “I see.” She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the massaging feeling of his fingers and the scent of his sex. She needed more, but she wasn’t quite sure how to jack it out of him on this short acquaintance.

  She opened her eyes and gave him a reproachful look. “You know, today was my first day at Maîtrise, and you high-jacked me before I even got a chance to meet any other members or to explore any possibilities there.”

  “You mean explore other penises. You don’t have to. No one there can give what I can.”

  “Oh, I can’t imagine anyone with a harder, thicker, more semen-filled penis,” she said.

  He stared at her through hooded eyes.

  “But a well-hung shaft may not be everything,” she went on. “There are certain intangibles.”

  “It always comes down to that. So what do you want?”

  She sighed and patted his penis. “I really enjoyed your ejaculating on me, Sonny. And I really love how you kiss. You have such a commanding tongue, I can just imagine how it would feel between my legs. But—how exactly does it work when a man claims a member of Maîtrise?”

  “It means what you think it means.”

  “So, I come here?”

  “You live here for my convenience, Delia. And I fuck you whenever I want to, whenever I have time.”

  She smiled angelically. “I’m to be a convenience. I see. Of course, we might not be a good fit for each other,” she added, preempting him.

  “Thus the period of claiming,” he said roughly. “We know that my penis fits nicely between your breasts. Shall we see how my tongue fits in your cunt?”

  She caught her breath. “I can’t wait to explore everything, Sonny. But I need to know what else comes with the apartment.”

  “By God, you are a little tit bitch.” But his penis had spurted to life again at her flexing her power.

  She hungrily eyed his burgeoning length. “Well, then, just take me back to Maîtrise, and I’ll continue with the membership process. You don’t need to buy me lunch. Although”—she slid her hand down his shaft—“I could lunch on him pretty nicely.”

  He looked at her hand on his manhood; he looked at her breasts.

  “Everything comes with the apartment, including an allowance for food, clothes, and maintenance. No pets. No friends poaching on my good nature. No other men. Total access to your cunt all the time; I have the key and I like to fuck early and late—but my schedule will allow me regular visits only Friday and Sunday. If you don’t work, there will be more time to fuck. If you don’t like the terms, we’re done.”

  “I work Friday nights. I won’t give up my job.”

  “You meet men there?”

  “Every night.”

  “No other men, any way, anywhere.”

  “Let’s just see if we fit before I upend my life for you, Sonny. Which I’m perfectly willing to do, by the way. I like being sexed by a well-hung man more than almost anything else. But you haven’t taken me yet.”

  His gaze narrowed on her breasts again. “True enough, my little tit bitch. I’ll call Vanessa.”

  She encircled his shaft with her fingers and squeezed upward.

  “I can think of a couple better things to do right now, Sonny. I’m not going anywhere. I’d love it if you’d enter my name in your black book and claim me. And I accept all of your terms.”

  Delia helped Brooke move into the apartment Monday evening. The decorator had done her work. One hundred thousand dollars had been dropped at Bloomingdale’s for the softest of suede sofas, down-cushioned club chairs, a selection of British colonial antiques in the living room and bedroom; everything from sheets to silverware had been provided, and Delia was open-mouthed with astonishment.

  “Wow,” she said as she opened the kitchen cabinets to a set of expensive china. “Wow,” as she examined the Cuisinart pots and appliances, the Bunn coffeemaker, the apartment-sized Viking stove and Sub-Zero fridge. “Oh, my God,” as she walked in the bedroom and saw the huge bed, the cozy sitting area, the enormous walk-in closet that already contained expensive male clothing, the plasma TV built into the wall.

  “Dear heaven—you couldn’t afford this in a thousand lifetimes,” she said.

  Brooke sank into one of the living
room chairs. “I need a drink.”

  “You need to give up your apartment, since I’m not going to use it. This is…this is heaven! You’re never going to leave here.”

  Brooke took a deep breath. “There was nothing here Wednesday,” she managed to say. “Nothing. Well, a futon for fucking, but we didn’t. How could he do this in just five days?”

  “Money did this in five days,” Delia said practically. “Brooke, wake up—we’re mistresses! We’re being kept by men who can afford to pay to play. What else could you want?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m just in shock at how fast things are happening.”

  “Well, I gave notice today on my apartment. I’m moving into the Park Avenue apartment—oh, I love saying that—at the end of the week. I’ll call you then, okay? Because you’re going to be in the middle of a period of adjustment here, adjusting to limitless luxury and frequent-flyer fucking.” She paused as she opened the door. “Sounds good to me.”

  The apartment seemed absolutely empty the minute Delia left, and Brooke wondered how Delia could be so upbeat about the realization of their goal while she, who had pushed and browbeaten them into it, felt hesitant and unsure.

  What have I done? She wandered from room to room, touching the furniture, examining everything in the fridge, feeling the silk robe, the finely tailored worsted suit hanging in the closet.

  You’ve done exactly what you set out to do—you’ve become a mistress to an extremely wealthy and powerful man. An extremely older, physically shapely, not terribly handsome, wealthy and powerful man who’s as virile as a twenty-year-old.

  Why was the question of his looks so important to her?

  She shouldn’t have any qualms. The goal had been met.

  Besides, this is not forever. This is for now.

  She heard the click of the lock and she froze, then whirled around to see Thane easing into the foyer.

  “You’re here. I’m glad. I have a present for you.”

  “Thane, this apartment is more than enough,” she said, coming to him. “This is spectacular!”

  “You like it?”

  “I’m overwhelmed.”

  “Good. Did you check the dresser drawers?”

  She shook her head. The games have begun. “Shall I now?”

  “Humor me,” he said as he guided her to the bedroom.

  She opened the top dresser drawer and found it full of frothy lingerie: lace, see-through, cupless corsets, an open-crotch fishnet bodysuit…this man had plans.

  “Did you give notice at work yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Give notice, Nipples. I want that time for fucking.”

  No choice. He had paid for her, and this was his price. “You’re right, I will.”

  “Good. Now—get naked.”

  Wow, he was on fast-forward today. And he expected her to strip with him watching. Fine. She’d taken off only her work jacket and pumps, and naked would be sexier than jeans.

  He watched her as he lounged in one of the commodious bedroom chairs, stroking his naked shaft. No coy belly-dance moves for her tonight, but it didn’t matter. Anything she did aroused him, as his hard penis made it clear.

  She knelt in front of the chair, ready to service him.

  He pulled her up to straddle his thighs. “Your present.” He gave her a tiny box. “One condition: You promise to wear it all the time.”

  “How hard could that be?” she murmured.

  “As hard as my penis, Nipples. Open it.”

  She removed the cover. Inside was a fine gold chain, perhaps forty inches long, with gold satin loops at either end.

  “It’s lovely, Thane. What is it?”

  “The loops stretch to fit around your nipples.”

  Her breath caught.

  “Remember, you promised to wear it all the time, everywhere. To keep you focused on me.”

  He meant it. She swallowed convulsively.

  “And to keep your nipples hard for me.”

  This was a game she must play, like it or not. “And to keep you lust-hard for me,” she murmured, “imagining my nipples that hard for you under my everyday clothes. Are you sure you want me to stop working?”

  “I’ll dress your nipples,” he growled, spreading the loops around his little finger, then plucking her nipples to hard points so he could slip the loops over the tips.

  The compression was whisper soft, not tight as she’d expected. He instantly creamed, a full spume of hot semen.

  He draped the chain around her neck so that it fell between and below her breasts, then looped up to her nipples.

  “I’ll never get tired of looking at your nipples dressed like this.”

  She didn’t want him to. Her doubts had vanished; she was shaking with the erotic need to feel him between her legs. All she saw was his penis. To be so rampantly desired by a penis like his was worth his demands, his lust, his gift of gold, his sexual vigor.

  “Take me now,” she whispered, shifting upward so that he could guide himself inside her. “All I want is to drown in your cream.”

  “I have a better idea. I want that photograph of your nipples—the one promised me on the second date.”

  He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a camera. His ferocious gaze devoured her nipples, and his sex strutted to life again. “He’s jacking up again pretty fast—so let’s take a couple of shots of your nipples erotically chained.”

  A month later, MJ called Delia and asked her to send her clothes to her new address in the Village. “We have to have lunch,” MJ said. “I miss you guys.”

  “Is he good to you?” Delia asked

  “He’s good and he gets it, and he doesn’t abuse it.”

  Delia let out her breath. “So you can actually leave the apartment?”

  “I can do whatever I want,” MJ said.

  “Even better. So, when shall the ladies lunch?”

  MJ named a day, and two weeks later they convened at their old haunt, the Park Avenue Café. There was a new maître d’ who didn’t know them, a new crowd, more limos. They fit right in, arriving by cab and limo themselves, dressed opulently, everything the best and most costly their lovers could afford.

  “We’re mistresses now,” Brooke whispered as they were seated.

  “Harold,” MJ sighed. “Oh, my apartment, the sex…who cares about anything else?” She looked beautiful, brilliant, faintly punk with her slicked-backed red hair, her black, gauzy see-through blouse, leather skirt, onyx chains and rings, stiletto Gucci boots, and highly kohled eyes.

  “No, Thane—unbelievable sex, unbelievable penis. You can’t imagine,” Brooke whispered. “I shop Madison Avenue exclusively.” The sweater was so tight that she’d risked Thane’s wrath by removing the nipple loops for lunch; the skirt was a classic plaid; the jacket buttery suede, matching the knee-high riding boots.

  “But I haven’t told you all about Sonny,” Delia interposed. “The apartment, the stamina, the wall-to-wall sex.” She wore a curve-revealing, burgundy jersey Yves St. Laurent dress cinched with a three-inch black belt, and the beautiful suede shoes from Images.

  “Oh, God,” MJ breathed. “We really did it.”

  “We really did it,” Brooke echoed. They’d given up jobs, apartments, just about everything to be kept by these lovers who demanded their time, their loyalty, and their bodies.

  And they were happy. MJ glowed. Delia looked more relaxed, and Brooke couldn’t imagine how she looked after being ridden by Thane almost to oblivion last night.

  They ordered their usual fish, salad, and coffee. The food almost didn’t matter. Just the fact they were together again was important and, as Brooke pointed out, “It’s not going to be a regular thing any more. Our lovers are the priority now. But I’ve done something you might be angry at me for.”

  “Never,” MJ and Delia protested simultaneously.

  “I didn’t give up my apartment.”

  “What?”

  Brooke drew a deep breath. �
�Well, you know what a bitch it is finding an affordable place. And I thought, if something went wrong, if something didn’t work out for one of us, we wouldn’t be stranded. We’d have somewhere to go.”

  “And who’s paying for this?”

  “I am. Now that we’re mistresses, I have no qualms about tapping my personal resources. And I thought it was important to have a backup.”

  MJ rolled her eyes. “You have no idea. Harold and I—”

  “I know,” Delia interrupted. “It’s the same with Sonny and me. This isn’t a fly-by-night affair. This is the real thing. He’s so good to me, our sex is so vigorous—I can’t tell you how many times a night—”

  “Yeah, me too,” Brooke put in. “Last night, all night—Well, anyway, you know how cautious I am; I always have to have contingency plans. So you just have to humor me on this.”

  “Fine, if it makes you feel safe,” MJ said.

  “Well, I propose a toast to Brooke, whose imagination and foresight got us here,” Delia said, lifting her water glass.

  “Hear, hear.” They tapped glasses.

  “To the Mistress Club,” Brooke said, lifting her goblet again. “And long may we keep our lovers.”

  Thane was inside her again the morning after her lunch with the girls. “God, Nipples—there isn’t a cunt like yours in the world, so hot, so tight, so mine.”

  She was getting used to him, his looks, his body, his needs. It wasn’t that onerous, since he was with her Tuesdays and Thursdays generally, although sometimes he popped in at odd times to check if she was wearing her nipple loops and to pop his penis in for a quickie.

  He spent an inordinate amount of time fondling her nipples. He was fascinated by them, and his fascination was a pure pleasure for her. And he loved the nipple loops, couldn’t get enough of looking at her dressed in them.

  He told her that he carried those pictures, which were also blown up and propped up in the bedroom, everywhere. Her nipples, from every angle, compressed by the satin loops, slick with his semen, pointed and proud to be coveted by him, and so desired that he had to have them with him everywhere.