Her Lord & Master [Taken by Surprise Anthology]

by Thea Devine

  "I'm ready," she whispered.

  "You're ready for one thing only ... and that is whatever I decide..."

  "Oh!..." she breathed. "Decide something then ..." Oh

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  Lord, mouthing off again, when she was so suffused with the pleasure of his fingers fucking her, she could hardly speak.

  He took her other nipple in his mouth. Now he meant business. His mouth worked on the tip in concert with his fingers playing deep inside her. His body rocked against her as she rode his fingers, front and back, and thrust her breast more tightly against his pulling, sucking lips.

  Who would have dreamed she would ever willingly put herself in his arms, at the mercy of his mouth, his tongue, his fingers? Who could have conceived of such pleasure? In what lifetime would a gently reared woman ever discover the depths of her body?

  Only with him, only this—only... her body seized, and she rode his fingers down as the pleasure billowed up and broke inside her, curling and swirling down her body to pool right between her legs where he fondled her.

  "No more, no more ..." She could barely breathe, hardly speak. "Oh, go away... go away—" Everything he touched now was tender, ravaged. And he didn't need to care. He didn't.

  But there was something about her—the pleasure at least seemed so pure—there was just something about her—he eased his way out from between her legs, and he lifted her in his arms.

  Even then the honey scent of her sex was on his fingers, in the air, and he had to have more of her. There had to be something more.

  He kicked open the salon door and took her straight to his

  Chapter Six

  Chaste...

  God, who thought up those names for those women? Innocenta—too smooth and slick by half; Virtuosa—not likely. He could not nearly imagine either of them as the mother of his child. Nor even in the same room with his own mother.

  But this one—this one, damn her eyes, didn't seem to be after his money, his title, or his skill. There was something else. What?

  She was such an intriguing combination of artlessness and guile. Or was she a consummate actress, a fallen angel whom Ellingham had introduced into the mix as a joke, a ringer, to trip him up?

  Wouldn't that fuel the gossip fodder for months? And Ellingham wasn't beyond doing it either, damn his soul.

  Who was Chaste? She lay on the bed watching.him pace around the room, everything but her eyes obscured by the obliterating veil.

  Who was she, this voluptuous daughter of some crθme de la crθme London family, who was so willing to offer herself up to him for so little emotional gain? This was no avaricious piece like Innocenta or Virtuosa.

  There was a look in her eyes that bothered him and challenged him, as if she were seeing him from a distance, even

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  while she fully intended to comply with everything he might demand of her.

  What was she seeing? Damn, he wanted to know what she was thinking, and her every thought was concealed behind that glimmer in her eyes and that blasted veil.

  Did it matter? She was beautiful, willing, pliant, and his erection was still stone hard with need. That was all that mattered. The depth of her cunt and how many times and how many ways he could fuck her until he tired of her.

  Luscious Chaste, naked but for her booties and veil; it kept her at a distance, just the way he liked it: it gave her a certain anonymity, made her just a vessel to get a child.

  That was all this was about. Getting a child with a body he could stand to occupy for more than thirty seconds.

  Ellingham could fuck the other two to oblivion for all he cared; he'd drench himself in their juices after the supreme pleasure of plowing the hot, endless honey pot that was Chaste.

  What did it matter if, beneath all that innocence and guile, she was really an actress and a whore? All women were, beneath the skin.

  And Chaste had such lovely skin. Soft, smooth, pliable. And those nipples—he wanted them next. Just the nipples, to tug and twist and play with as he would.

  She wriggled impatiently on the bed. Just the way he liked to see his women: edgy and needy. "Are you tired so soon, my lord?" There was that voice, soft, insinuating, brash. "Three were too much, and for one alone you can barely summon the energy—and you haven't even spent your seed. I do wonder at all the reports of your legendary prowess, my lord."

  Wick smiled wolfishly. "Rest assured, most virginal and chaste—you shall not be either when you leave this room. Come. Now." He pointed to the edge of the bed where he stood, his penis poking majestically out of the erotic leather pouch. "Turn your back to me so that you are facing the head of the bed." And so that his penis head could slide along the soft cushion of her buttocks. Just like that, yes.

  194 / Thea Devine

  "Put your arms up and around my neck. Yes, like that," he said as she leaned back against his chest, and he slipped his arms around her and cupped her breasts.

  She shuddered at his touch.

  Good. He fingered each hard nipple simultaneously, and every muscle in her body contracted violently.

  “Ah, that's the way, Chaste. Such sensitive nipples. Just how I like them. Now ..."

  Now, what? she wondered wildly. For all her bravado, now was scarier than she wanted to admit, especially with her naked body just haywire with all the pleasure he was inflicting. And now she'd come to the point of being alone with him... he could do anything to her—anything—and she couldn't say she hadn't walked into this unknowingly. This was the endgame with Wick, always, and she had only her own wits to protect her.

  But if he continued fondling her nipples like that, she would become a puddle of pure hedonistic surrender in a matter of moments and nothing else would matter.

  His large hands covered her breasts. A moment's respite from his incessant attention. A creaking sound, she didn't expect, and then the elaborate headboard tilting and turning to reveal a mirror in which she and Wick were reflected erotically entwined.

  Oh dear heaven, was that her? Naked, enveloped by his hands, her bare bottom rubbing against his massive erection as he rubbed his palms against her nipples ...

  "Oh, yes, you will watch your downfall, Chaste."

  And so, the moment of truth. Everything else was but a prelude to this moment, Jenise thought frantically as he began his seduction of her nipples. And there was no way out.

  And in truth, she wasn't sure she wanted a way out: she loved it too much, what he was doing to her body. She had long past decided to let him do whatever he wanted at whatever cost to her, even the ultimate unknown.

  It was the only way. And it would be worth it to captivate

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  him, to be his chosen wife, and then, when he made the commitment, to just turn around and walk away.

  If indeed she could walk away after such a complete capitulation. Would not a woman sacrifice everything in her life to experience such pleasure? Women did, all the time. And she had thought she would be different.

  No difference. No backbone or spine. Touch her nipples, pull at them, tug at them, roll them in his fingers, and she was his, every nerve ending, every inch of her naked skin... squeeze one and then the other as he pushed his iron bar of an erection between her legs, giving her a hard ledge to grind her cunt down on, and she would give him her nipples forever.

  What manner of woman was she?

  She could see herself riding his hot length as it poked out from the thick bush between her legs; she could see his every last nipping and stroking of her nipples that turned her body into a pool of molten submission.

  She couldn't keep from watching her writhing hips and bottom shimmying against his body as his fingers pulled and played with her nipples.

  "Ah, Chaste......you are an experience...." he rasped in

  her ear. "Who could have conceived of such extraordinary virgin nipples? I never want to stop fondling them......"

  "Then don't," she whi
spered—who whispered? Who was this wanton who was a slave to her naked body? Who? Oh, it didn't matter; nothing mattered but this skeining pleasure streaming throughout her body from those pleasure points he knew how to manipulate so well.

  "Whatever my naked Chaste desires...." And he tugged at each nipple one more time, and sent a bone-cracking spasm of molten gold streaming through her body.

  Omygod, omygod, omygod... She bent over double at the sheer force of it. She felt like she would dissolve if he touched her. She felt him hard and tight between her legs, his hands at her hips, the eddying pool of pleasure, the lingering sensations in her nipples.

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  Felt his hands cupping her bottom, stroking her there. Felt him maneuvering himself onto the bed behind her.

  "What a revelation is a naked Chaste," he murmured. "I keep wondering at it. Who could have known? And the pleasure is yet to begin...."

  Yet? Yet???

  She felt him push her over onto her belly so that she faced the mirror with him covering her. She lifted herself to see, and there he was, the bull, his naked prey, and his rampaging erection looking for a hole in which to root.

  "And now the hard part, my creamy Chaste. If you indeed are as chaste as you have been represented to be..." He slipped his arm under her belly and lifted her so that her body—her cunt—canted toward him in the obverse position. "This is the point I need to know ..."

  She felt his penis head probing between her legs. Oh dear Lord... Lifted her head again so that she could see him, rising like a monolith behind her body, holding it irrevocably against him with his absolute strength for the length of his penis.

  She felt it rend the most naked part of her, felt him insert it just inside her labia, felt his fingers follow, testing her wet, heard his male growl of pure guttural arousal, felt him grasp her buttocks, and—

  Push—and pain—her protest; his shudder of excitement as he pulled back and then ...

  Thrust—her cry, his primitive drive to possess what he had breached, her frantic instinct to crawl away, just escape the thing that wanted to take over her body ... what was this?.. • what—God, he was so big, so thick, her body couldn't stretch to accommodate this, this, this—

  She had to get away, get away... lifted her head again to see him mounted on her, her buttocks slanted upward, her veiled head, his male triumph at the conquest of her body ..

  He would not let her get away. He covered her body as she tried to escape him; he owned her body with that hard thickness of his penis still embedded in her.

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  "Ah, Chaste..." he murmured, his voice just a little uneven with something she could not define. "Your cunt is mine. I can barely hold myself in. I want to drench you in my cream. Flood your hole with it. Drown you in it. And then spew it all over your naked body. I want you to bathe in it, I have that much cream to spend." He ground his hips against her buttocks, pushing himself deeper. "How do you like the feel of your master reaming your virgin pump?"

  How did she like... ? She never expected anything like this, this blast of pain, this awful discomfort as he stretched her sheath to fit his lethal-thick cock deeper and deeper within her.

  But how she liked it wasn't the point. She liked being naked. She liked him fucking her nipples. And, to play this game, she had to like his rooting in her like some preening cockerel, because there was something about his breaking her virginal barrier that seemed to arouse him beyond all reason.

  He would not seek out Innocenta or Virtuosa anytime soon

  if she accommodated all those desires he had named. He

  would spend himself in her. Drown himself in her at her com

  mand. She would keep him occupied for hours, for days, just

  juicing that tremor of excitement she had felt in him as he

  punched through her maidenhead.

  It would be nothing, after all she had already done, to give him her naked cunt to do with as he would. She would make him feel, make him believe, he was her lord and master.

  And then, at the moment of jubilation, she would just walk away.

  ******************

  He rode her, slowly, thickly, tightly, pushing his engorged penis to the hilt and then even farther. Taking his time. Slow, slow, slow—she didn't think there was another inch to plumb, but he kept finding it.

  She was on her knees now, her head buried in the pillows, and he watched in the mirror as he took her, slowly, thickly, tightly. Holding himself back, rigid with a voluptuous need to prolong every thrust, every moment he was embedded in her hot hole.

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  She was different. For the first time ever, there was someone different, there was someone who lived up to what she promised to be, and he wanted to savor the moment, to indulge himself in it, to absolutely luxuriate in her nakedness, the thick honey between her legs, the depth of her hole that his barge of a penis kept expanding and deepening with every stroke.

  It was but the first time; the next would be so much easier for her, if the response of her incredible nipples was any gauge.

  God, a respectable virgin, innocent yet bold, and wily enough to give in to the passions of her body, while guarding her maidenhead to the last moment. Ah, a puss beyond price, his naked Chaste.

  And she was his; no one else would ever have her. Only him. Somehow he would arrange it. Set her up as his mistress.

  Make her his wife ...

  No, no, too soon to decide that—

  But maybe not, the possessive way he was feeling about being the first to fuck her. He was absolutely insensate with the desire to ream her wholly and fully over and over, and to mark her body as his own.

  He rode her slowly, tightly, thickly. He didn't want to give up his pudding, not yet. He wanted her to become accustomed to the feel of his ramrod between her legs, because he was going to root his rock head deep—deeper than deep—inside her ... He kept rocking his hips against her, pushing, plumbing, feeling for the end of her and finding nothing but the tight, hot accommodating walls of her saturated cunt stretching to accept him.

  He grasped her hips, and thrust into her suddenly, ravenously, almost as if the slower pace were stifling him somehow.

  She gasped at the unexpected and pleasurable sensation of the movement. Oh. So. This was not just for his heat and heft. It wasn't just pain and the unbearable weight, his possession.

  There was something in it for her ...

  Oh. The idea stunned her, but then why should it, she won-

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  dered hazily, when her body reacted so keenly to his fingers playing with her nipples?

  There was much more, she thought, easing her head up and staring at his reflection, which showed him utterly engrossed in his handling of her buttocks and the slow, tight movement of his hips as he ground the long, hard length of his penis into her.

  This might be the moment, she thought. Say the right thing, do whatever he wanted, and he would never remember that Innocenta and Virtuosa would kill for his fuck. Keep him so busy, he wouldn't even remember who they were.

  "You, my chaste hot cunt, are pink beyond naked pink," he

  rasped, almost as if he couldn't help it, his hips shimmying

  with urgent need.

  This was the moment. Something beyond his slow, hot fuck was happening to him. His body strained against hers as he fought to contain himself.

  She wanted his cream. Suddenly and inevitably, she understood that if she could provoke his cream, she would win. She would have him. And he wanted to choose her.

  And so she looked him dead in the eye through the mirror, and not even the veil could obscure the hot, knowing glitter of her gaze.

  "But you," she whispered, "are my lord and master."

  It took only those words, and he couldn't contain himself a moment longer: he erupted volcanically, his hips gyrating wildly as he melted inside her and poured out his cream.

  ****************** />
  She lay flat on her back not five minutes later, his ejaculate oozing from between her legs and his penis rammed right back deep in her cunt.

  "You didn't get it all, naked Chaste, hard as you tried. And I haven't yet found the end of you."

  "Feel free to poke around," she murmured, staring at the connection of their two bodies—hers, poised just at the edge of the mattress, her legs wrapped around his waist, and him standing just there, embedded tightly within her.

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  "Oh, I will poke you every conceivable way, naked Chaste, now that you've forced me to melt my tallow. I don't take that lightly when I was determined I would not."

  Wet, sticky, arousing to view the physical joining of their bodies, reflected again in the see-all mirror. This time, there was no discomfort; this time, he just levered her body upward slightly to take the lengthy jut of his penis into her drenched cunt, and his slick, thick cream eased the way.

  Her pubic hair was clotted with it. And he meant to make more, to drench her naked body in it, and fill her to her core.

  "I'm not sorry," she whispered.

  "And why is that, creamy Chaste?"

  What to say, she wondered wildly, when she knew nothing of such things. Nothing of the words that would incite him to keep her in his bed for as long as it took Innocenta and Virtuosa to give up.

  "Because I want more."

  "More what?" he asked silkily as he grasped her thighs and thrust for the first time in this position.

  "More—of—ohhhhhh—that..."

  He made a small sound of satisfaction and pulled back into another hard thrust, and another, as he watched her veiled head move back and forth and her hips bear down on the hard, hot length of his penis.

  This time, he would make her beg for mercy, and he would keep his cream. And then, he would feast on her nipples while cradling his penis between her legs. And he would make her come again, and then—

  He caught himself as he felt his melt ooze from his penis head. Just in time. He had to stop thinking about what he would do to her naked body, how deep he could drive into her naked cunt, and just pound into her and prime her and make her explode