by June Chaplin
"Well," he says. "I see you are no professional whore which is pleasant, but you have disobeyed me." He pulls out of me.
"You will need to be punished."
Punished? Uh oh.
"But first lick your cunt juices off me."
I start to get up, even though I would have to crouch to keep from banging my head against the roof of the car while I turn, but he pushes me down. "You are a bad girl," he says, you must stay on your knees." So, on my knees, I turn around. I lick his cock. A tingle of excitement runs through my whole body as, out of the corner of my eye, I see that the chauffeur is watching us. Mr. A strokes my hair. Maybe the punishment is a joke.
It is not a joke.
"Tom will enjoy watching your punishment." He zips up his pants. I glance up and see that the chauffeur is turning around in his seat. I want to scream. This whole episode has already been quite painful, to say nothing of frustrating as hell.
"Take off that skirt."
I take off the skirt, so I am stark naked with the two fully dressed men watching me.
"Stay on your knees, turn around and around so Tom can admire you." I do as I am told.
He reaches out a hand and lets his hand trail around my waist as I turn.
"Pretty isn't she?" He stops me. I am facing the front of the car. He gives me a push, and I move forward, closer to the back of the front seat.
"Nice tits, don't you think?" He reaches around me and holds my breasts as though they were precious objects that he is offering the other man.
The chauffeur nods.
"Would you like to punish them before I punish her bottom?" He pushes them toward the front of the limo.
I can feel his hard cock pushing against my bottom. The chauffeur nods, his dark eyes are on my breasts, on Mr. A's hands. He turns some more and, reaching over the seat, brushes his fingertips across my nipples.
He takes hold of my nipples and squeezing them ruthlessly, pulls them towards himself. At the same time Mr. A releases my breasts and, taking hold of my hips, pushes himself deep inside me.
"She's wet," he says hoarsely, "and I think she likes having her tits punished." The chauffeur squeezes my nipples harder and pulls on them more strongly as Mr. A slides in and out of me. I am on fire, losing myself in the sensations, the painful and the pleasant coming together somehow into overwhelming, searing, delight.
I would meet Mr. A stroke for stroke as he fucks me, but the way he is holding me, pulling me in one direction while the chauffeur pulls my breasts in the other, forces me to stay still.
I hear Mr. A's breath becoming louder and faster and rougher. I can hear myself, sighing and groaning in reckless abandon. I am about to be flung into the ecstasy of orgasm.
"Now her backside," says Tom. "Let me see you punish her there."
Mr. A stops fucking me, I hear him groaning while I manage to swallow screams of shear frustration. When I have a grip on myself again and can think at all; I think he would have preferred to continue, and I wonder why he allows his chauffer any say in the matter. I hear his pants being zipped up.
"Take off my belt," he says, "and give it to me."
On my knees, I turn around and do as he told me.
"Bend over the back seat." Uh oh! He kneels slightly to the side. Tom will not need his mirrors to see this.
I cry out when the belt first strikes my naked bottom.
"Silence," Mr. A hisses, "we are in a public place. One more sound like that, and I will gag you."
"No, no," I say. "I'll be quiet. That took me by surprise."
"That wasn't very painful. Didn't even make you red."
He hits me again and, with difficulty, I remain silent.
He whips me on my bottom softly first—thwack, thwack, thwack. Then harder. And harder still.
Suddenly he takes hold of my hips and pushes himself into me. He plunges back and forth violently as he pinches my bottom. The nature of the pain changes, melds with the feeling of his big cock inside me. I am wild with overwhelming sensation, riding the wave propelling me foreword to my own orgasm. I try to hold back but I am so near the edge, I am so near….
He pulls out, roughly flips me onto my back and straddles me. He leans forward and takes hold of my wrists pushing them against the floor above my head. He looms over me and shoves his cock between my lips, into my mouth. I see in the mirror above our heads that the chauffeur is watching. He is smiling.
"Suck me," Mr. A whispers. His cock smells and tastes of my own juices. I am afraid he will go so deep I will gag, but he doesn't. I can feel his cock swelling, his orgasm must be coming, surely then he will let me….
But groaning, he pulls out, gets off me and throws himself, panting wildly, onto the seat.
The chauffeur looks amused.
I remain on my back on the floor, stunned.
Mr. A says, haltingly, "You almost made me come!"
I almost made him come? And what is stopping him? It is I who is not allowed satisfaction.
All is quiet except the purr of the motor as Tom starts the car and pulls onto the road. I can see the telephone poles fly by.
Is this it? Am I being returned to the airport so frustrated—and bewildered—I could scream.
Mr. A sits up, reaches down, turns me over and lifts me onto his knees. My belly presses against his hard thighs. With one hand he pushes my upper body down so I am lying, butt up, over his knees.
He hits my bottom with the flat of his hand.
"Ow!" I exclaim—but manage to keep it soft. He hits me again. I want to kick him but I don't dare.
"Ah," he says, "A delightful shade of red." He pauses. "Can you see sir?"
"Yes, very nice." Tom says.
"Hmm," Mr. A murmurs. "I think I can make you redder still. But if you wriggle like that, I will really hurt you."
He hits me again. It really hurts.
"You take your punishment well," he says. "As a reward, I'll stick my finger into that delectable cunt of yours." Then his finger is in me doing delightful things. The stinging of my bottom seems to contribute voluptuously to the pleasure. It feels better and better until I am almost completely overwhelmed.
"We are at the airport." Tom says. Mr. A stops, slowly withdraws his finger, and I am left high and dry—well actually soaking wet—once again.
I hear a car open and close, and then the door by my head opens. I see the chauffeur's shoes and the cuffs of his pants as he enters the back of the car and quickly closes the door behind him. A cool hand slides over my bottom.
"Very nice," he says. "Very nice." He strokes my bottom soothingly with his cool hand.
"Are you ready?" he whispers leaning close to my ear. "Are you ready to be fucked?"
"Yes," I mutter. I am so ready I can hardly stand it. And my bottom hurts. I hope there will be no more spanking.
"Speak up," Mr. A says. "Tell us loud and clear what you want."
"I want," I say, enunciating carefully, "I want to be fucked."
"Would you like to be fucked by the chauffeur?"
I nod as best I can with my head still hanging toward the floor.
"He's been enjoying watching you. Tell us nice and clear if you would like him to fuck you now."
I have the hang of this now. "I want to be fucked by the chauffeur." I say. "Please."
"Now?" It is the chauffeur speaking.
"Now." I say. "Please."
I am lifted off Mr. A's knees and placed onto my hands and knees. My upper body is pushed down, so I am leaning on my elbows. Again.
"Very nice," Tom says. And once more, he runs his cool hands run over my smarting bottom. I hear a zipper open. Then he takes hold of my hips and slowly, tantalizingly, he enters me, fills me. He sighs. And then begins to slide in and out, in and out. I am consumed with desire, the pleasure is radiating, filling me.
"Very nice," he says in a strained voice.
I think, Oh please, Mr. A, let me come at last.
"Can I…" I can hardly speak. Tom is pounding me hard now, and I am mo
ving too, meeting him stroke for stroke. I need desperately to let go at last.
"Can I come?" My voice sounds strangled.
As though in answer, he pulls out and I groan in frustration.
"We have five more minutes, sir," Mr. A says, "if we give her five minutes to put her clothes back on."
"Three minutes will suffice, for her to dress," says the chauffeur.
Wait a minute, he called the chauffeur sir. But before I can think more about it, I have been flipped onto my back, and Mr. A is kneeling next to my head, bending over me and licking and sucking first one tormented nipple and then the other. Tom, his chauffeur's cap slightly askew, sits cross-legged between my legs and slides his finger back and forth across my hot, hard clit.
"You may come," he—Tom—says to me, "only when say you may. And not a second sooner. And maybe Tom will want to come too. What do you think Tom?"
"Yes sir, I would like that." It's Mr. A's voice, but I can't think about it now, can't figure it out, don't even care. At this point all I want is have someone stick something, preferably a cock, into my pussy and allow me to have an orgasm.
He—the man with the cap—puts my legs up against his chest and rams himself into me. Our gazes lock as he drives his cock deeper and deeper into me. I have to struggle to avoid coming. I close my eyes tightly.
"You will keep your eyes open and on me," he says. "I like to see what you are feeling, I like to see your response and your struggle."
I open my eyes and our gazes lock. I can't quite understand what I see in his eyes. It seems to be a mixture of triumph, amusement and pleasure. Then, as he continues to plunge into me, it changes, and I am looking at lust personified.
He grabs my bun cheeks, and his nails dig into the raw skin as in a strangled voice he says, "Now."
I begin to protest the pain, but then I am engulfed in a whirlwind of sensation, desire, extraordinary pleasure. I am sucked into the vortex. I open my mouth to scream, but a hand is clapped roughly over it.
I have barely returned to earth when the cock slides out of me and the hand is removed from my mouth. I am confused. He didn't come.
The men change places. The man I know as Mr. A takes hold of my thighs, and holding them wide apart, pulls them toward himself, lifting me slightly as he plunges into my soaking, swollen pussy.
"Fuck her, Tom," says the other. "Fuck her hard. You have one minutes and forty-five seconds."
Tom? But then Mr. A—or Tom or whoever he is—is grinding himself against me, going deeper and deeper. I can't cry out, because the man with the cap has straddled my shoulders and pushed his cock, covered in my own juices, between my lips.
"And you," he says, "See if you can make me come this way. And let's see if you can come with a mouth as full of cock as your cunt is.
I lift my head and lower it sliding my lips along his shaft, I swirl my tongue around the head. He is groaning softly. Then, while I do what I can with my tongue, he begins sliding in and nearly out of my mouth in tempo with the cock pushing and pulsing in and out of my pussy.
I feel the cock in my mouth pulsate, and then its owner groans as he releases into me again and again while, with a smothered cry, the man with his cock in my pussy convulses and comes into me. As for me, I have an orgasm such as I have never imagined. I become one with the exquisite sensations overwhelming me, rocketing through me, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, sending me skyward where I explode into a million pieces.
When I become one again, the cock is gone from my mouth and the one in my pussy is being slowly withdrawn.
"You have three minutes to dress," says one of the men handing me a small soft towel. "Here, wipe up." I do, and then scrabble around, find my bra and quickly put it on, then my skirt.
The man I had thought was Mr. A holds my blouse for me, and I slip my arms into it and clumsily try to do up the buttons. I feel like I'm not completely back on earth. The man who is still wearing the cap gently moves my hands aside and efficiently does up the buttons. I slip on my shoes and pick up my shoulder bag.
"Ten seconds," says the man with the cap. He takes the cap off, puts it on my head.
"A memento," he says. The other man opens the door and gets out. I scramble to get out after him. He turns and offers me his hand. I exit the car reasonably gracefully.
"Right on time," he says. "Have a good trip." He closes the door behind me and walks around to the driver's door and gets into the car.
Stunned, I stand there, unmoving, for a few seconds. I shake my head to clear my mind.
The window next to me opens. The man I thought was the chauffer but now understand is actually Mr. A, the man who paid for this escapade, leans out.
"You aren't fully dressed," he says and tries to hand me the black panties.
"A memento," I say. I turn and walk quickly into the airport. I am smiling.
###
I hope you enjoyed this first installment of Kink, Inc. Follow Miss V as she works her way through the an alphabet of men.
Coming: Mr. B in which Miss V wonders how much pleasure one woman can stand?
Mr. C in which, to her surprise, Miss V finds that playing the hot dominatrix lights her fire.
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About the Author
Ex-fashion writer and photographer, Juliet Chastain says that, in a way, writing fiction is like fashion photography. You have a few elements—the models and the clothes in photography, maybe a character and a couple ideas in fiction—and you have to make them into an interesting story. Juliet loves to tell stories and if she isn't doing it with the camera she's doing it with her keyboard.
Juliet always had a yen to write fiction, and now she is indulging herself with short romances. So far it's everything from a sweet-natured werewolf rescuing a nice woman in a bad situation to Miss V whose behavior would be banned in twenty states.
Other books by Juliet Chastain
Please visit your favorite ebook retailer to discover other books by Juliet Chastain:
Vampire Cowboy
This 19th century western features a smooth-talking vampire looking to get a little wild on his way out West. Read excerpt
Available now from: Elloras Cave eBooks │ Amazon │ All Romance eBooks │ Nook │ Kobo
The Captain and the Courtesan
Against his conscience, Captain Edward Howland buys a night with the enchanting and mysterious masked courtesan, Lady Amelia Kentley, and their evening together becomes far more than either expected. Read excerpt
Available now from: Breathless Press │ Amazon │ Nook│ All Romance eBooks │ Kobo
A Proper Lady’s Gypsy Lover
Forced to become a proper young lady, rebellious Lucy-Ann Spencer uses very improper means to claim her freedom and her Gypsy lover. Read excerpt
Available now from: Breathless Press! │ Amazon │ All Romance eBooks│ Nook│ Kobo
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