By Chelle
Wine in hand and fire burning
Her pet awaits
And starts her yearning
Kneeling by the fire
In his rightful place
It heightens her desires
He has been a good boy
And deserves a reward
One she will enjoy.
“Go lay on the bed.”
His eyes light up
“Flat on your back, arms above your head.’
Running her nails across his thighs
Blowing across his skin
Loved hearing his sighs
She wraps her lips around his shaft.
Sucking hard and fast
Loving the sound of his gasps
She works him up and down
Brings him close to the edge
Steps away from him, and watches him frown
“Now my pet, do not fear.
Mistress is not through yet,”
She whispers in his ear
She walks to the door
Shows to him
A gift kneeling on the floor
“Such a good boy
So for tonight
You too can have a toy.
“Now sweet treat,”
She says to his toy
“Go sit, so pet may feast.”
Quickly the toy takes her place
As his tongue begins to dance
She squirms upon his face
Mistress straddles his hips,
Sliding down hard
While he sucks on his toys lips.
She rides him fast,
Her arousal growing
She revels in their gasps
Her body quakes with need
As her arousal coats his thighs
Music to her ears as he begins to plead.
“Come for me,”
She demands from him
As her cries of release broke free
Loving her good little pet
And stood by the bed, as he took his place.
In her chair
His lips work quickly cleaning up their fun
“Such a good pet,” she says as she strokes his hair.
“You may, my boy,
Have the night to play with your toy,
For tomorrow you are all mine again.
“Mistress loves to reward, her good little boy.”
About the Author
Chelle
Chelle lives in small town Ohio with her family. She is a best-selling author published with Hot Ink Press. She writes erotic romance with a little thriller on the side. When not curled up to her laptop, pecking out the next best seller. Chelle spends time outdoors connecting with nature and the things around her.
Find out more about Chelle:
www.facebook.com/ChelleAuthor
www.twitter.com/chelle0054
www.chellesnaughtybox.blogspot.com
You’re Welcome.
Playtime
By
Dorothy F. Shaw
DEDICATION
To Shawna for her never ending patience while editing me. To my marvelous ex-husband, TD Hoffman for plotting with me and for making me cover art. As always, you are awesome and I truly appreciate you. To Kyra, thank you for allowing me the use of your image and your name for my character. Much love to you.
To Dana, there are no words. Except maybe... you’re welcome. Oh! And also, thank you. For everything. You rock.
WARNING LABEL
This book contains graphic, dirty, yummy sex, and nudity. Vampires who bite, and yes, they also drink blood. Light BDSM play. Sarcasm, someone almost dies, and did I mention yummy dirty sex? Oh, and strippers.
These things are not for the faint of heart, or anyone who is repulsed by PDA, kissing, and well, all types of sex. So, turn away now. This is not your sandbox. But if you stay, don’t say I didn’t warn you. And who knows, maybe you’ll come over to the dark side.
For the rest of you? Enjoy the yumminess.
CHAPTER ONE
“Ugh, he’s so strange. He always says, ‘You’re welcome,’ for no reason. It’s like he thinks his just being there is something I should be thankful for.”
“Who?” RayAnne buckled her platform shoe, stood and straightened her black, hooded cloak.
“That executive who always comes in here.” Kyra zipped her micro skirt and then slipped on her heels. “It’s just so… odd.”
“Ignore him. He’s an arrogant ass.” RayAnne looked up. “Hurry! Mario just called for us on the overhead.”
“I’m coming. I’m coming—shit!” Kyra skidded to a halt, her long, blonde-pink-and-black hair falling over her shoulder. “I forgot glitter! Oh! And mints!” With a quick spin on one foot, she ran back to her bag.
RayAnne rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as a beat of impatience spread through her. Oblivious to her annoyance, Kyra continued to dig in her bag in search of what she insisted were needed essentials. RayAnne guessed they were, though. They might be real vampires, blessed with eternal life and beauty, but they didn’t sparkle on their own—despite what books or movies might indicate. The only thing they did under the great burning ball in the sky was burn... and not in a good way.
“Got it!” Kyra raised her arm in the air, proclaiming her accomplishment. “Blue or green?” She held up the two small bottles.
“Doesn’t matter. Come on! The song is ending.” RayAnne peeked through the curtains to the main floor. “Both work.”
Kyra shrugged, and then doused her neck, more than ample cleavage, and stomach with the shiny powder. “I guess both do work.” She popped two mints in her mouth, and then ran to RayAnne. “Ready.”
“About time. I swear if I had to wait any longer I might’ve keeled over.” RayAnne parted the curtains and stepped out into the bar.
“You wish.” Kyra smiled and strutted past RayAnne, swatting her ass on her way by. “Smile, the customers tip better when you do.”
RayAnne rubbed her almost bare butt cheek. “If I smiled, my face might crack. Not sure I’d get too many tips then. Break a leg, baby.” She gave Kyra a peck on the cheek and headed for the main stage.
They danced at the Red Panther, a high-end gentleman’s club in Hollywood, four nights a week. The club was clean, the bouncers were straight-tough, and the money was primo. She and Kyra had been stripping/dancing as a team for almost twenty years, though thanks to their immortality freezing them in time, they both looked to be their early twenties. And so far, it’d served both of them well.
Although they regularly changed up the choreography and music, they’d done the same routine for most of their partnership. They acted out a vampire scene: flashing fangs, nipping each other’s skin; playing to their audience’s most erotic and perverse fantasies. Wednesday to Saturday nights, they ruled the roost as the feature act and raked in all the dough. It wasn’t perfect, but it paid the bills and then some.
Thing was, none of the clientele had any idea they both were blood sucking, fang sporting, real deal, thing-of-nightmares vampires. Nothing worked better than hiding right out in the open.
Mario’s voice rang out over the PA system from the DJ booth, drawing RayAnne’s attention. “Red Panther friends, are you ready?” The crowd cheered, whistles sounding from the sea of dimly lit faces. “Here’s what you’ve been waiting for. Ladies and Gents, put your hands together for our favorite vampires, Kyra Lee and RayAnne!”
She pulled her hood over her head, and then climbed the three steps up to the main stage while another stripper collected her dollar bills from the floor around the pole. Kyra stepped off to the side. Puscifer’s, The Mission (M is for Milla Mix) rang out, filling her mind and vibrating her chest with its strong beat.
With slow measured steps, she walked the edge of the raised oblong stage, staring down at the horde of men surrounding the small tables covering almost every available section of carpet—sure to make eye contact with as many of them as possible.
She s
topped downstage, legs spread apart, and raised her arms out to her sides before throwing her hips to one side with a harsh exaggerated movement. The audience went wild, cat-calling from their seats. RayAnne scanned the main floor, absorbing every detail with her hawk-like vision, and as expected, it was void of the other strippers. No one would be paying for private dances while she and Kyra performed.
She spun on her platform, and as she strutted up stage, Kyra dropped down the metal pole. RayAnne circled behind her and Kyra let go of the pole to face the audience. Again, the crowd cried out their appreciation. Kyra’s pleated plaid, schoolgirl skirt ended just above the rise of her full ass cheeks, and sat low on her hips. Her equally little white, shirt—unbuttoned, and tied into a tight halter—accentuated her full breasts.
Just as she did damn near every night, RayAnne fell in love with her all over again.
Kyra backed up to the pole, her hands cupping both breasts, squeezing them together. RayAnne pressed her body against Kyra’s, the metal pole between them. She ran the flat of her palms up Kyra’s hips to her small waist while they both shifted from side to side in alternating directions. Kyra sank down in a squatting position, her bent legs spread wide. RayAnne raised one leg, and draped it over Kyra’s shoulder. Grabbing ahold of the back of her partner’s hair, RayAnne jerked Kyra’s head to the side. Kyra yanked from the hold, flipped her hair forward, and then licked RayAnne’s inner thigh. RayAnne hissed, flashing fang, and the onlookers went nuts.
Kyra rose and strutted downstage, running her fingers through her long hair as she swayed her hips side to side. In an abrupt movement, RayAnne tore off her cloak and revealed her own costume—a red vinyl top with matching G-string—and then moved around Kyra and faced her. Arching into a backbend, RayAnne locked eyes with the executive her partner mentioned earlier. Kyra ran her hands up RayAnne’s body and over her breasts. RayAnne welcomed the arousal erupting to life, spreading slow like molasses through her veins, from Kyra’s touch. She knew they looked as hot as she felt, yet he looked impassive... almost bored.
She broke eye contact with the businessman when Kyra ran her hands back down RayAnne’s torso. RayAnne dropped from her arched position, her ass connecting with the cool stage floor—until Kyra went to her knees and pressed her pelvis between RayAnne’s spread legs and ground against her; rubbing RayAnne’s clit through her thin G-string. The thumping beat of the song echoed around them and they undulated together.
RayAnne rolled up, rising from her position on the floor. She stepped to the pole, gripped it and swung herself around and up, wind-milling her legs, splitting them wide when she spun.
Kyra crawled, on hands and knees to the end of the stage.
And that’s when the dollar bills began to fly, raining down around the stage—they hadn’t even exposed their breasts yet.
* * * *
Kyra rose to her feet, rolling her body up in slow motion. She pivoted, swinging her head around, giving her back to the crowd. With a tug on the knot holding her shirt together, she removed the small scrap of fabric, tossed it to the side and sprung into a backflip downstage. Landing the trick, she continued, allowing her momentum to propel her into a split. She bounced, and then bent forward, settling over her front leg and rolled over, and back up again, facing the audience on the side of the stage. Rolling once more, she faced forward and settled in a Russian split, center stage.
Arching her back, she peered at RayAnne, who was working the pole. Kyra couldn’t help but smile at her partner, who used her preternatural strength to suspend her body in ways many mortal strippers tried, but could never do. RayAnne pinched her nipples and scanned the crowd. Ten or so men had approached the stage, dollar bills in hand, lips arched into devious smirks. They were all just so cute. The scent of lust and desire rolled off the crowd, filling her senses. Kyra couldn’t help but giggle when she tugged on her nipples, causing even more eyes to glaze over in sexual hunger.
She flipped on to her hands and knees and slid over to the edge of the stage. With an arch in her back, she bounced her ass, her full butt cheeks shifting in time with the beat. She smoothed one hand up her thigh to her hip, and then delivered a slap to one cheek. One brave gentleman approached, a dollar in hand. Kyra licked one fang, smiled and then raised the side of her skirt, allowing him to slip the bill beneath the strap of her G-string. She winked at him and blew him a kiss, before moving to the other side and collected from the men waiting there for her. Like taking candy from a baby, Kyra giggled, and moved back to center stage. She shed her skirt and then turned and strolled to the pole.
RayAnne spun until she reached the bottom.
Kyra gripped the pole in one hand and hopped up, circling the pole above where RayAnne spun. Gripping the pipe between her thighs, she hung upside down, parallel to the bar.
RayAnne dismounted, and stood in front of her.
Still upside-down, Kyra gripped RayAnne’s thighs.
RayAnne wrapped her arms around Kyra’s waist.
RayAnne backbended, and Kyra moved with her, rolling forward over the top of her. They flipped twice more, keeping their bodies together, before hitting the end of the stage. When they separated, Kyra unhooked RayAnne’s top and tossed it aside, and then cupped her partner’s breasts in her palms, massaging them before tweaking and pulling on her nipples.
RayAnne leaned back against Kyra, undulating her petite frame against Kyra’s taller one. She wrapped an arm around RayAnne’s waist, bent them forward, then arched them back, their bodies moving in unison.
Kyra scraped a fang over RayAnne’s shoulder, drawing a thin line of blood. As she did, she caught the gaze of the arrogant businessman. He never approached the stage, always stayed in his seat, at the same table, positioned in the corner of the main floor.
Kyra licked over the small slice she’d made on RayAnne’s skin.
He quirked one brow and then pursed his lips when Kyra licked her fang.
He’d propositioned her three times this week already. It was a kind of record for him, considering his proposition average was usually only once a week. She always turned him down and still, he was in the club every night she and RayAnne worked. He sipped his drink, paid for many private lap dances from her, and watched them—intent clear in his eyes—as they performed their show. Just the sight of him turned her on, though damn if she knew why.
RayAnne gripped her hair, spinning Kyra around by her long locks, and bringing her back to the moment, and the fact they had a routine to finish.
Kyra linked arms with her, and swung RayAnne back around, her partner using the momentum to fan her legs in the air before she got her feet back on the ground. Yanking her back against her body, Kyra bent her head and scraped her fangs over her other shoulder, drawing blood from both thin gashes she created.
Dollar bills rained down around them. The distinct sound of the money flitting through the air wrapped around her, making her hungry for both sex and blood. It was a melody like nothing she’d ever heard in the fifty years she’d inhabited the earth as both a human and now a vampire.
She and RayAnne moved to the pole. Kyra climbed to the top, and then hung upside down in a spin, one leg locking her tight, the other extended to the side. RayAnne took her position lower down, the pole wedged between a thigh and arm as she spun in aerial acrobatics. Both shifted, linking their legs together around the pole, as they arched in opposite time, spinning, and spinning. When they dropped to the floor, RayAnne grabbed Kyra’s hair and forced her to her knees. RayAnne stepped forward, bent over and reached between her legs.
Kyra clasped RayAnne’s hands and slid on her side between her parted legs.
RayAnne flipped forward over Kyra’s body and into a split.
Kyra crawled to RayAnne, gripped her face and kissed her.
The crowd roared.
They got to their feet, their bodies in an erotic embrace, and gazed over the audience, hissing, flashing fangs. RayAnne licked over one of Kyra’s exposed breasts, and then bit down, sinkin
g her fangs in the tender flesh. Kyra let out a yell, tossing her head back, in mock pain.
The dollars flew again. RayAnne released her and pivoted away.
Kyra sank to her knees, her breast dripping blood down her stomach. She crawled along the edge of the stage, and patrons lined up to slip dollars in her G-string. RayAnne had gone to work the pole one last time before the song ended and their performance was over.
Kyra posed on hands and knees center stage, arching and rolling her hips. RayAnne dismounted and walked to her. Kyra rolled to her back, her head at RayAnne’s feet and raised her legs in the air, clapping the sides of her platform heels together. She yanked Kyra down above her, and then rolled, and flipped them to face the audience. She paused a moment, pressed against RayAnne’s back and scanned the crowd. Locking gazes with their biggest fan in the corner, arousal blazed through Kyra and arrowed straight to her clit. Though it was part of the act, lust was in charge. Kyra jerked RayAnne’s head to the side, and sank her fangs into her neck.
The final beats of the song approached. Kyra released RayAnne’s throat, and let the blood flow down her chest. She smeared it farther, spreading it down to RayAnne’s stomach, as her partner followed the path Kyra made with her palms, rocking her hips, in time with Kyra’s.
The entire audience was on their feet when the song ended, cheers echoing throughout the club. RayAnne stood and took a bow. Then it was Kyra’s turn. The crowd clapped, cheered and tossed more money on the stage. Kyra beamed, excitement beating through her. She couldn’t help it. She felt like some sort of beauty queen or movie star, something she’d never been or ever would be. But the fantasy was good just the same.
CHAPTER TWO
Three Times Lucky: Five Sizzling Tales of Three-Way Love Page 17
