by Kyoko Church
‘Lick her,’ she instructed Diana. ‘Gently, gently. She’s going to be very sensitive.’
My heart raced when I felt my choirmaster’s breath on my hot, swollen cunt. I’d wanted Madeline to lick me, but I was so overwhelmingly horny I’d have let anyone get me off.
The moment Diana’s tongue met my pussy lips, I arched back with a violence that surprised me. Every time Diana licked my huge clit, I jerked back even harder, and every time I jerked back my thighs spread farther apart. It was hard to imagine my choirmaster’s face between my legs. I’d fantasised about Madeline licking my clit, but there was something even more twisted and exciting about Diana doing it at her command.
I fought my ties, screaming as my leather-clad choirmaster lapped my pussy. Her wet tongue sizzled against my skin. The pump had made my lips monstrous and so sensitive that I wanted to buck and writhe, but Madeline’s ties held fast. I couldn’t move and I couldn’t see, and that made me so claustrophobic I started struggling even harder.
Diana’s tongue lashed my fat clit hard enough to transform me from a demure chorister to a wild beast. I gripped my ankles, pressing the ropes into my flesh, feeling them bite into my skin. My heart pounded in my ears. The explosions between my legs travelled through my core, and when Madeline placed those metal clamps back on my tits the fireworks were everywhere. Sheer pleasure-pain burst from my nipples to my clit, where Diana worked hard for my exultation.
‘Enough,’ Madeline instructed, drawing Diana away from my tender pumped-up pussy. I was panting and ecstatic when I felt Madeline’s water bottle against my lips. ‘Here, baby. Drink up. Drink some water.’
Her deep voice soothed me just like the tepid water soothed my throat. She was taking care of me, petting my hair, speaking kind words, giving me drink. The care was as good as the pain, but only in conjunction with the pain. For me, one without the other seemed sadly incomplete.
Once Diana had removed my blindfold, both women untied my bonds. My knees ached, locked into the position they’d held far too long. Madeline rubbed her hands together and pressed her hands to my knees, relieving the ache. Her silver rings were hot on my skin, and I almost wished they were hot enough to burn me. I would love to be branded by her.
They let me lie on the desk, creating a makeshift pillow out of my clothes. They kissed my blazing skin with their fingertips. For a while, I listened to them talking about music, performances, nothing in particular. Their voices were the white noise of a relationship in recovery.
I didn’t know then that I would fit into their joint existence. I’d placed Madeline on a pedestal and barely noticed Diana, but together as a couple they gave me everything I needed … and so much more.
The Billiard Room
Tabitha Rayne
‘Thank you, don’t mind if I do.’ Zoe Lake slipped into the finely upholstered chair, making sure to keep her knees locked primly together.
‘Milk or lemon?’ Lady Tate-Fitzpatrick asked. In one hand she held a small jug, in the other a perfect slice of fruit, hovering over the teacup.
‘Oh.’ Zoe glanced at the other two women’s cups, hoping to get a hint about what would be best in this situation. She plumped for what she’d prefer. ‘Milk, please,’ she said, smiling as demurely as she could. I am a businesswoman, I have every right to be here, these people are my clients, they contacted me. She’d recited her mantra so many times since she got the call to measure up Lady Fitzpatrick’s windows for new curtains that she knew it now by its rhythm rather than the words. She’d gone around all four public rooms, each with two huge bay windows, and dutifully and very carefully measured the lot. Her notes were stowed away carefully in her leather briefcase on the Persian rug by her side. Lady Tate-Fitzpatrick’s friend had come along to oversee and advise. ‘I have appalling taste,’ Lady TP had stated by way of explaining the other woman’s presence.
Four or five home-interior magazines lay fanned out on the coffee table before them. The Lady reached out with perfect poise and picked one up. ‘Well, I suppose we should really think about colour schemes and fabrics. Did you bring your sample book?’ she said in the brusque tone that Zoe was only just getting used to. Every time the Lady addressed her, it felt as if she was administering a sharp slap on the hand, and Zoe had to remind herself, every time, that this was just her way.
‘Yes, of course, it’s in my car, I won’t be a sec,’ she said, flustered that she’d forgot to bring it in. She rose from her seat and, as she was making her way across the rug, the door opened and a striking silver-haired man popped his head around and addressed the women.
‘Are you done yet? I can’t be doing with every Tom, Dick and Harry’s car cluttering up my driveway …’
Zoe’s breath caught at the back of her throat. She couldn’t believe how rude the man had been, and in any other circumstance she would have told him exactly what she thought of his behaviour, but something about the situation made her nervy as a schoolgirl.
‘Oh, I … I’m sorry, sir,’ she stammered as she came close to him, ‘I shan’t be long.’ His eyes dragged their way from her shoes to her legs, thighs and stomach and lingered lightly at her chest before settling at her lips, which she self-consciously licked. It could only have been a footstep but she felt like the exchange had taken forever. What would his wife say, having her husband eye up another woman so lasciviously? What was he thinking? Zoe ducked under his arm as he held the door open for her, never taking his gaze from her. Crunching her fists and shutting her eyes for a moment, she composed herself, then walked off down the hallway, knowing full well that he was watching her backside and legs. The skin at her throat and décolleté flushed and prickled at being under such scrutiny. But there was something else.
She managed to get to the large heavy door and pulled it open just enough to pass through, then shut it behind her with a clunk. The flush had simultaneously spread up to her cheeks and down to her breasts. Zoe fought the urge to peek at her chest but lost. As she looked down at her breasts in the good blouse, she knew she was in trouble. Her nipples puckered and strained through the fabric, leaving anyone in the vicinity no doubt as to her arousal. What was it about that dreadful man that had her so worked up? She thought of the way he had spoken of his wife’s guests with disdain, and the feeling of excitement grew, finding its way down into that deep, welling centre.
Zoe gave her head a brisk shake, freed her hair from its fastenings and raked her fingers across her scalp in an effort to rid herself of these uninvited feelings. Come on, come on, pull yourself together, you need this contract, come on. And so her new mantra took shape. One last stamp of her heels and smoothing down of her skirt and she strode off over the gravel to her car, retying her hair on the way. She was very happy with her little MG she’d bought at an auction for a song, and thought that it wasn’t too out of place in these grand surroundings, despite what Sir Stuffy Balls might imply.
Her handmade drapery business had gone from strength to strength in only two years and she’d had to employ two machinists just to keep up with demand. But she also knew that if she was to keep her business growing, she’d have to get more clients like Lord and Lady Tate-Fitzpatrick. No, she could not allow anything to sabotage this contract – least of all her apparent overwhelming lust for a rude older gentleman. She snorted at the word; he was the least gentle man she’d ever come in contact with. Heat spread suddenly and ferociously between her thighs as she created a mental image of what this ungentle man might do to her. Fuck’s sake.
She grabbed the heavy sample book and slammed the tiny boot shut. There was room for the book and only the book in there, and Zoe clung on the thought that that was a good thing. The more space you have, the more you fill it, she told herself. She took a deep breath and filled her lungs with the air of the first crisp, earthy days of autumn. Looking down at her nipples, which were still erect, she reasoned that anyone would simply assume it was rather chilly outside, despite the heat rising from her glowing cheeks.
&nbs
p; Perching the sample book on her forearm she opened the front door and went back into the hallway. Checking quickly, she was relieved when she saw nobody lurking and continued on to the far end. About halfway she was stopped by the looming figure of Lord Tate-Fitzpatrick, who seemed to appear from nowhere.
‘Tell me something,’ he said in a low gravelly tone that sounded worn by years of decadent living. Zoe forced her eyes to meet his.
‘Yes?’ she said flicking her gaze to her sample book to imply that she had business to attend to.
‘Why are you here,’ he said, even more quietly, and leaned in so that Zoe could feel his breath on her neck, ‘measuring up my windows in my house wearing heels and stockings?’
Zoe gasped. ‘I … I beg your pardon?’ she spluttered, backing away from him.
‘You heard me.’
Suddenly furious, Zoe squared up to him, leaned towards him carefully and tried to match his tone. ‘I will wear whatever the fuck I want to wear whenever I want to wear it.’
His expression softened and he seemed amused. He smiled and opened his palm to show her the way back to the room where Lady Tate-Fitzpatrick and her friend were waiting. Zoe nodded stiffly to him once and walked off in that direction. She was rather pleased with herself but realised the exchange had left her feeling even more turned on. How did he guess she was wearing stockings? She’d worn a pencil skirt with a good lining and checked every angle she could to make sure the snappers and suspenders were invisible. He must have a trained eye. Another bubble of excitement broke free from the knot in her chest and travelled down low into her panties, just at the point where, if she let them, her naked inner thighs rubbed together at the top of her stockings. She stopped just short of the door and squeezed her legs together, savouring the fact that the sticky dampness of her arousal had seeped out a little, coating her flesh with its naughty secret.
She’d worn the stockings knowing full well she’d be up and down ladders with a pencil behind her ear, measuring tape round her neck and a notebook between her teeth. It was nothing to do with being saucy – it was a tip her mother had given her many years before: ‘It is impossible to appear unladylike when one is wearing a pair of good stockings.’ And so, whenever she was meeting a client and poise and elegance were important, that’s exactly what she wore. It hadn’t occurred to her that something else might be implied by wearing such garments. The heady thrill of his breath tickling her neck was overriding her sensible side. She had to regain her composure. Counting back from three she turned the handle and smiled breezily at the women, who were poring over the glossy images in the magazines.
Zoe quickly became absorbed in showing the luscious fabric samples, matching swatches with the wallpaper and furniture. After they’d exhausted every combination and the conversation was beginning to turn to costs, a sharp knock at the door grabbed their attention and Lord Tate-Fitzpatrick cocked his head round for the second time.
‘When you’re done in here, I should like a consultation for new drapes in my billiard room,’ he stated then closed the door.
Lady Tate-Fitzpatrick and her friend exchanged looks and raised eyebrows.
‘Look out, you’ll be tied face-down on the cloth and spanked before you know it,’ the Lady said quite matter-of-factly.
‘What?’ Could this day get any more shocking? thought Zoe, but the Lady’s words brought a renewed vigour to the arousal in Zoe’s pussy and she wriggled in her seat.
‘Oh, he doesn’t want new curtains,’ the Lady said, pulling a cigarette elegantly from a silver case and tapping it lightly. ‘He just wants a quick fling. You’d better go quickly. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting’
Zoe was confused. Was this woman giving her permission to fuck her husband?
‘I don’t understand,’ she said while packing up her samples. ‘You approve of his behaviour?’
‘Approve?’ She threw her head back and laughed in a shrill upper-class kind of way. ‘I absolutely encourage it! That way, he does his thing, I do mine.’ She winked at her friend. ‘Don’t I, Hilary?’
‘Well, thank you for your time today, ladies. I will have a price for you in a couple of days.’ And feeling very disarmed, Zoe made for the door, keen to get out of this strange kinky place and back to the safety of her scandal-free straight little life. She crept down the hall as silently as she could but was predictably met by Lord Tate-Fitzpatrick, who opened a door the second she walked past it.
‘Took your time, didn’t you? Right in here,’ he said. So she followed him.
The room was panelled with dark wood, beautifully maintained, and had lush, thick shag carpeting. It was dim despite the sunny day outside – must be on the north side of the house, thought Zoe as she took in the rest of her surroundings. She almost smirked at the clichéd decor. There was even a faded globe, which probably doubled as a bar.
A bead of sweat formed at the nape of Zoe’s neck and trickled down between her shoulder blades as she walked past the snooker table in the middle of the room. The image that Lady Tate-Fitzpatrick had conjured seared itself into Zoe’s mind’s eye and she rubbed her wrists at the thought of being restrained and dishevelled across such a mighty table. She shook the image from her brain and continued to the window.
‘Just a simple replacement, is it?’ she stated as evenly as she could, while putting down her sample book and getting out her measuring tape and pencil. Lord Tate-Fitzpatrick loomed up behind her, reached for the heavy, worn fabric, pulled the curtains together and plunged them both into darkness.
‘Actually, I think they seem to work perfectly well, don’t you?’
Zoe held her breath and stood completely still, wondering whether she should answer him. He was now close in behind her and suddenly both of his hands were on her hips, pulling her back towards his body. He slowly swayed her from side to side, rubbing his hard-on into her bottom. Her pussy clenched as he dipped his head into her hair and breathed in her scent. His hands crept further round to her abdomen, clutched her into him, explored her. Spreading out his fingers, he smoothed them down her skirt towards her mound, pulling the fabric taut to reveal her shape.
‘My God,’ he murmured into her hairline and the musky smell of him made her mouth water, but still she stayed absolutely still. His hands roamed up to her waistband, reached in and freed her blouse to make room for his fingertips to feel their way over the fluttering flesh of her belly and up to her bra. Bending his knees behind her, he scooped both breasts into his hands and rolled his thumbs languidly about her nipples. She melted into him, let her head fall back onto his shoulder and swayed in time with his slow hypnotic movements.
He hooked his fingers into the lacy fabric of her bra, pulled it down and let her breasts fall out. The flighty material of her blouse danced over her freed flesh, raising goose bumps all over her body. She allowed herself to breathe more deeply and he must have sensed the shift as he began to nibble and kiss her neck, groaning all the while. Zoe pressed back into him, rubbing herself into his hard cock like a cat in heat. Her pussy felt slick and swollen with want and she willed him to reach down and pull up her skirt. Sliding her heels apart and grinding more forcefully onto him, she tried to get the hem to ride up of its own accord. Then suddenly he stopped, leaving her there panting in the darkness.
Once again she was wrong-footed. The arousal in her clit, which was at peaking point just seconds before, began to subside, leaving humiliation in its wake. What was he doing? She reached out her arms like a flailing blind person, feeling like a fool. Just as she was about to shout out in fury, static prickled in the room and the long lamps above the snooker table flickered on, their eerie mournful glow illuminating what seemed like acres of green baize.
‘Where’s the pockets?’ she asked, then shivered at the sound of her voice breaking the electric spell.
‘It’s a billiard table’ was the only explanation he gave. She was glad. She didn’t actually want an answer, she didn’t care, her pussy was on fire and she felt feral wi
th desire. She began to rub her mound on the edge of the billiard table to try and get some relief.
‘That’s enough.’ He stilled her by placing the flat of his palm on her buttocks. ‘Now here’s what we’re going to do.’ He spoke calmly with authority while sliding his hand up her back to her neck and bending her over the vast green expanse. ‘I am going to tie you to this fine table and spank you.’ Lady TP hadn’t been wrong. Zoe smiled inwardly and a current of excitement travelled from her already tingling ass up to her nipples. ‘All right?’
Zoe said nothing, thinking it a rhetorical question, but he persisted. ‘I said, “All right?”’
Zoe realised he was seeking her permission.
‘All right,’ she purred, nestling her breasts and face into the cloth.
‘Good.’ And with that he reached round under her, grabbed her blouse and pulled it apart, tearing off the buttons. It was about the horniest thing that had ever happened to her and she was pleased that her breasts had remained outside her bra and her nipples now grazed the table. It was divine. She felt naughty and wicked but also immensely liberated. Even as he wrapped the golden-tassled curtain ties around each wrist and pulled tight, she felt freer than she ever had. She soared on the edge of her want and splayed her legs as best she could in her tight skirt, in invitation to Lord Tate-Fitzpatrick. At last she was secured to his satisfaction, long ropes taut against the green, and he took his position behind and slightly to the left of her. Bracing herself and holding her breath, Zoe squirmed as a droplet of moisture trickled into her already sodden panties.
Time seemed to span a lifetime as Zoe sensed him lift his arm into the air and pause. Dust motes stilled in the charged atmosphere for a moment then swirled into oblivion as his open palm smacked her hard through her skirt and panties. She rocked forward, jarring against the mahogany and slate. A rush of adrenalin seared through her as he took aim for the next. Smack, smack, smack! in quick succession in three different places.
