Unleashed #3

by Callie Harper

  “What? How?” I started to bring my hands to the fabric.

  The mean tiny lady screamed, “No touching!”

  I brought my hands up like she was the police.

  “Arms at your sides.” An assistant tugged both sides of the dress around my back. “Corset!” The head dressmaker yelled like she was calling for a medic. Another assistant went running.

  I didn’t care how mean these ladies were, how much trash they talked about my curves. If they made me look this good before the dress really even fit me, they could do whatever they wanted. They were magical fairies.

  The phone rang and the mean lady disappeared to answer it. Or torture someone in another room, either scenario seemed plausible.

  “Who are you with?” the assistant asked, a slew of pins in her mouth as she fit the dress to my curves.

  “Declan Hunt?” I answered, unsure whether I’d heard her correctly.

  “Declan Hunt,” she repeated, shaking her head. “Never heard of them.”

  “Not them, him.”

  “What?”

  “What did you ask me?” I felt like I was in the middle of a joke but couldn’t get the punch line.

  She spit out the pins into her palm and tried again. “Your agency? Who represents you?”

  “Oh, I’m not, I don’t have anyone representing me.”

  “No?” She shrugged. “I assumed. Madame does not fit a dress for everyone, the bourgeoisie.”

  “She is VIP at the gala,” Madame explained, entering the room again.

  “I am?” I asked.

  “Mais oui,” she nodded. Oh, so they were French. I felt dumb for not knowing it right away, now it seemed so obvious. “Monsieur Hunt is hosting.”

  “He is?” Now I really felt dumb. Declan wasn’t just taking me to a black tie gala at the Met, he was hosting it? What kind of a crazy big shot was he?

  “Step into these.” An assistant brought four-inch heels to my feet and I slid into them.

  “Ah.” Madame let out a satisfied sigh, hands at my hips. I guessed she was allowed to touch. “The cameras will adore you in this.” Looking into the mirror, I had to wonder who was looking back at me in the glass. All curves and waves of fabric, I felt like a Greek goddess sculpted out of marble. Then what she said hit me.

  “Cameras?”

  “Ooh yes,” the assistant murmured by my side, nodding.

  “You know, the bloggers.” Madame said it like ‘blug-airs’, emphasis on the second syllable. I liked the French pronunciation better than the English.

  “Off! And on!” Madame yelled, in command again, simultaneously ordering the dress off and the corset to follow in its place.

  As they laced me into the hard, ribbed structure, I felt a new kinship with Scarlett O’Hara and her pursuit of the 18 ½ inch waist. It wasn’t happening. What was happening looked pretty X-rated to me, though, my breasts getting pushed up into ripe, plump ice cream scoops above the lacey corset cone. The punishing lingerie whittled my waist into something tiny and petite—at least in comparison with the rest of me. My hips and buttocks swelled beneath in an exaggerated figure 8.

  “We’ll take that.” Declan stood in the doorway, liking what he saw.

  I flushed. How long had he been standing there?

  “Monsieur Hunt! Comment ça va?” Madame gave him a kiss on each cheek. He had to bend way down to let her do it.

  “Ça va bien. Your work is perfection, as always.” He strode toward me, admiring. So now he spoke French? And he’d seen her work a bunch of times? How many women had he purchased corsets for, exactly?

  “I like you in this.” His eyes met mine in the mirror and he gave me a low, wicked smile.

  “I am so sorry. We have much work to do.” Madame brought her hands together in two, sharp claps. Her assistants hopped to life, gathering the tools of their trade and hustling out of the room. “Take it with you.” She gestured toward the corset. “But bring it when you come for the final fitting. Thursday, three o’clock.” She nodded at us, left the room and closed the door behind her.

  Only Declan and I remained, me on full display in a naughty corset before a full-length 3-way mirror.

  “Turn around for me.” He stood, arms crossed against his chest. He’d changed into a suit for his afternoon meeting and it had morphed him into a businessman, sharp and ready in pinstripes for a corporate takeover. I turned, slowly, still wearing the heels they’d given me. Suddenly the atmosphere in the room changed. Gone was the bustling energy of a dress fitting. Instead the air crackled with erotic tension. My breathing constrained in the corset, I felt almost light-headed under his perusal. I was glad I still had on my panties, though they were all lace and didn’t cover much.

  “This is very nice.” He strode over and brought his fingers to the tops of my breasts, stroking the exposed flesh. My breath made them rise and fall under his touch. He brought his tongue down to the valley between my breasts and began to lick hot fire along my skin. Panting, I twined my fingers through his hair, instantly molten under his spell.

  Bringing his hands around, he kneaded his fingers into the swell of my buttocks, forcing me up and against his groin. Through those dark, conservative suit pants I felt the bulge of his thick, hard erection. I groaned with need.

  “Over by the mirror,” he ordered, his voice hoarse and gruff. “Get down on all fours.” He walked over to the door where the dressmakers had exited and turned the knob to lock it.

  “Declan, what are you doing? We’re in a shop!” He kept going about his business, locking the remaining door through which he’d entered.

  Then he strode toward me. “We’re all alone in this room. They’re busy with other clients.” He pointed over to the floor by the mirrors. “Now get down on all fours.”

  Shocked by my body’s response to his order, unable to believe I was complying, I moved over toward the mirrors. What was he planning? What was I doing, getting down onto my hands and knees for this dominant man?

  After I got down on all fours, Declan stroked me in approval. “Yes.” His voice and his hand along my back made my pussy throb with heat. He stayed standing, bringing his hand up to my shoulders, down across the corset, along the curve of my ass. “So good, Kara. I like seeing you tied into this.” His hands made me so aware of my body, my exposed skin, how much I craved him.

  Tracing the cut at the bottom, leaving all of my ass on display, he admired the corset. “Madame does excellent work.”

  “Have you bought corsets for a bunch of other women?” The angry, jealous question left my lips before I could stop it. Declan’s hand stilled. He kneeled at my head and tilted my face in his hand, my chin resting in his palm. Bringing a thumb to my bottom lip, he toyed with it.

  “Jealous words, Kara.” After a brief pause, he dipped his head down and took my mouth, searing me with a kiss. I kissed him back, hungry, needing his touch, his hands, his lips on me. He tasted so good, felt so hot and hard.

  Breaking from me, he still held my face in his hand. “I know high-quality work when I see it. I demand it. I expect nothing less.”

  “So you have bought corsets for other women.” I didn’t want to feel jealous, but I couldn’t stop myself. My feelings ran away from me. They always had with Declan.

  “I’m a good client,” he confirmed. Anger surged, scorching through me, and he saw it. “Jealous, Kara? That’s naughty.” We looked into each other’s eyes, both worked up, both breathing hard. He pointed at the floor. “Hands down. Ass up.”

  Shaking, I complied, hands down again on the cool wooden floor planks, my ass up in the air as he’d ordered. He moved around to my backside, his steps making the floor creak. He stood there a moment and I quaked under his appraisal. With two strong hands he grasped my lacy panties and pulled them down, then off my feet. He nudged my knees apart about a foot and a half. And then he kneeled.

  His face close to my pussy, I wanted to pull away. I couldn’t fight the feeling of embarrassment, exposure. I shouldn’t be
on all fours, naked and exposed. He shouldn’t see how turned on I was. It wasn’t right.

  But it felt so good. Kneeling at my ass, Declan brought his two hands up to my inner thighs. “I can see all of you like this, Kara.” His thumbs made small circles, traveling up toward my sex, and I began to quiver in anticipation. “How wet you are, your dripping pussy, needing my touch.”

  With his hands, he spread me open, lifting my sex up and holding it for his inspection. I fought the urge to squirm, half-wanting to get away, half-wanting to push my pussy up toward his face and beg him to lick me.

  “What do you want, Kara?” he asked, infuriatingly calm. To torment me further, he blew a cool breath onto my slick, sensitive clit.

  I gasped, “Declan! Please!” It only took seconds with this man for him to make me beg.

  “Please what, Kara? What do you want? Do you want me to touch you?” He brought his fingers down along the outline of my opening, tracing it.

  “Yes!”

  He slid his fingers into my pussy, the glistening folds welcoming his touch as he stroked me. “Do you want my tongue?”

  “Oh, yes.” I nearly collapsed, the weight of my body feeling too much for my hands. But he supported me, bringing his hands down under my hips and pulling my pussy toward his mouth. With a hot, wet lick he brought his tongue to my needy slit, lapping up my juices, licking and sucking and making me moan. His tongue worked magic up and down my sex, toying with my hole, then spreading my juices all over. Mouth off, his fingers took over, working my lube up and down.

  Then up to my asshole. I stiffened. He continued, bringing the ample lubricant from my pussy up to the rim of my forbidden hole.

  “Declan! What are you doing?” I felt scared. No one had ever touched me there before. It felt wrong and dirty. He kept going, scooping more of my slippery, sticky honey with two fingers deep in my pussy, making me throb as he did it, then slowly working it up and around my ass, caressing the pucker of my hole.

  “Kara,” he murmured, his face right at my asshole. “You are so pretty. So sweet and pink. I want you to see.”

  “What?” My eyes flew wide open. What was he doing back there? It wasn’t right!

  “Is this a virgin ass?” he asked, his voice thick.

  “Yes!” I cried, indignant. Like I would let anyone do that!

  Keeping one thumb at my asshole, circling, massaging along the exterior, he brought another hand to my breasts. Pulling, tugging, he freed my mounds and set to work on my nipples, heavy with desire, twisting, pinching them until I panted and moaned.

  “This is a three-way mirror, Kara,” Declan murmured, using that same hypnotizing voice. “I need you to see everything. Look back. Look at your ass in the mirror. Do you see it?”

  Shaking, I did as he asked, picking my head up to look into the mirror. He had me spread and angled so my pink asshole was on full display. It looked so wrong and naughty, so erotic and crazy I throbbed with lust.

  “Now, Kara, you need to be quiet. As much as I love your screams, you have to keep silent here. We can’t let them hear us. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I answered, ashamed I had to be scolded to not scream. He knew me well. I was already close to screaming out his name.

  “Good.” He stroked me. “Now watch me fuck your ass with my finger.”

  “No, Declan, I—” My protest became a gasp as I watched him circle my pink, puckered hole with his index finger, spreading my body’s own lube around it until it glistened. Then he changed his angle, instead of pressing against the skin, pointing directly toward me, against my hole. He exerted force, pressure, and my body fought him but with the lube he won. He pushed past my entrance, past the ring of muscle and brought his finger inside my ass.

  “No!” I couldn’t help but protest. He couldn’t put his finger there! He wasn’t supposed to! But though my words said no, my body quivered in response. It felt so good. So hot and tight and wrong and nasty. He stroked me, slowly, his index finger up my ass.

  “That’s it,” he coaxed me, his other hand on my lower back, working my ass back and up for his enjoyment. “Let me in.” He brought his finger back out, dipped down into my pussy lube again. Then back up to the rim, he pushed again into my puckered hole.

  This time I gasped at the assault because it felt so good.

  “Watch me, Kara.” He fisted his hand in my hair and pulled my head up. My eyes flew open. I hadn’t realized I’d closed them. Feeling all the intense pleasure, I guessed I had. I looked back into the glass, now seeing his big, thick finger work in and out of my asshole.

  “Oh, yes!” I called out, shocked by what I saw but loving it, straining toward his hand.

  “You see how your ass wants it?” Declan asked, low and intense. “See how you’re begging for it? This ass is mine.” Suddenly, with his finger still up inside of me, he took his other hand and brought it down with a sharp, hard smack on my bare cheek. The spanking stung and burned against my flesh. I gasped and heat gushed between my thighs.

  “Yes,” Declan praised my response. “Do you see the red mark of my hand on your ass?” I could, the evidence of his smack right there on my pale flesh. My pussy clenched.

  “You like my finger up your ass, don’t you?” He finger-fucked me harder now, more relentlessly.

  Oh, yes, I did, but I still felt bad telling him. I still felt like I shouldn’t want this. A good girl would be protesting the whole time, not begging for more.

  “You want it deeper in you, don’t you? Tell me, Kara.”

  “Yes,” I moaned from a place far within myself. I couldn’t fight it anymore. This man owned me, did things to me no one else ever could. With him, I could offer no resistance. He made me crave every depraved thing he could possibly think of doing.

  “Keep quiet now,” Declan warned me. “You don’t want to get caught, you bad girl.” He spanked me again and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from crying out. I lifted my bottom up into the air for him, giving him full access. He spanked me again. “So dirty,” he murmured, his finger working my ass. “You want it so bad.”

  Mewling, I begged. “Yes! Please!”

  He twisted my nipple. “Stay still.” Stroking me more, he brought two fingers down to my pussy to play and tease, drawing lazy circles around my clit while he still worked my ass in and out with his broad index finger. Where once I fought, my tight asshole now took in his entire length. It was all I could do to try and stay still for him.

  “There’s a lot I’m going to do to you this week, Kara,” Declan told me. “It’s going to be dirty and nasty and you’re going to love it.” With that, he took his finger out and plunged it back into my wet pussy again. This time he coated both his index and his middle finger.

  “I’m going to spread you wider, now.” I gasped as he plunged both fingers in, stretching me even more. It hurt at first as I strained to take him in.

  “Kara, are you watching?” I opened my eyes and looked up again, seeing his two large fingers disappearing into my asshole, working me in and out. “Do you feel my fingers inside of you?”

  “Yes,” I moaned.

  “Remember how huge my cock is? How hard you get me? This week, I’m going to fuck your ass. My cock is going to stretch you and fill you so deep. And you’re going to take every inch. ”

  “Oh! Ah!” I started mewling, quivering and shaking. His words were so nasty, so naughty and wrong. But I couldn’t wait for him to do what he promised. His fingers stretched me, filled me, stroked me. He built my desire, pushing past where I ever dreamed I could go, higher and higher.

  Just when I was about to climax and let the waves crash down over me and surrender into orgasm, Declan pulled away.

  “You don’t get to come,” he reprimanded me. “Not yet.” One finger up to stroke my rear, he added, “Now I want you to think about what you just let me do. How much you loved it. And know that later this week, after I’ve trained your ass, I’m going to fuck your ass hard and you’re going to come all arou
nd my cock.”

  I shuddered and shook under his light touch, knowing what he said was all too true.

  CHAPTER 4

  Declan

  “I have a few more concerns I’d like to voice.” The chairman of the board kept droning on and on. I couldn’t stop looking at my watch, even though the hands barely ever moved. It might never get to one o’clock. I’d told Kara to be back at the hotel at two. At this rate, I wouldn’t get out of my meeting until nightfall.

  It was Wednesday, our second day in New York, and I’d barely even seen her. Sure, a little yesterday for brunch and at the park. And at the dressmaker’s shop, that had been good. I shifted in my chair beneath the table, even a brief memory provoking instant response.

  But then I’d had to spend the entire goddamned night in yet another business meeting that would not end. Usually, I didn’t mind. I was a night owl myself and the whole European vibe of starting dinner at 10 p.m., finishing up around 2 a.m. worked for me. Last night? I’d wanted to yell at them “You’re not Italian! You’re American! Finish the hell up!”

  It wasn’t like me to not want to put business first. Every deal mattered, every conversation, every potential partnership. I hadn’t come so far so fast by overlooking opportunities or missing chances. Ever vigilant, I never turned off, not for a second.

  Now, though? I wanted these blow-hards to shut up. Yes, they had their concerns about the growth potential in Alaskan wilderness tourism. I’d seen enough visuals about global warming to last me a lifetime. They were overthinking things. A whole slew of data points didn’t change the fact that Alaska was an incredible place to get away from it all. I should have flown them up in my plane and had the meeting while ice fishing outside Anchorage. That would have shut them up. And freed up my time here in New York.

  I had pressing business to attend to back at the hotel. Right now it was pressing against the zipper in my pants. I wanted to get back there with Kara. I needed to.

  I glanced at my watch again. Maybe it was broken, the hands hadn’t moved a goddamned millimeter.