50_shades_ultimate

by user

  She soaped up my belly and then my chest, running her learned, artist’s fingers in swirls over the blond hair there, but avoided my genitals. Meanwhile, Mr. Chase worked some gel into my back, kneading my muscles steadily until all the tension left my body and I was warn and sedate in his arms. He soaped the slope of my back and then boldly cupped and massaged my ass. He kissed my back as he spread my ass cheeks and rubbed gel gently but thoroughly between my legs. As he soaped up my asshole and then moved to lather my perineum and scrotum, my hips started rocking in response, the sensation making me hornier than ever.

  I found myself gripping the edge of the tub and groaning low in my throat as I begged him to fuck me right then and there. I never thought I’d say such slutty things, but I couldn’t wait to feel him hard inside me, pounding against my ass.

  “Soon,” he said, his voice soft but steely in my ear. “You’ve seen our medical history in those files I sent you, so you know we’re clean, but since we don’t have your history yet, we won’t be making love with you without protection. I must think of Jazzy Rose. You understand.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. It was only good sense, after all. I knew I was clean; I had never had sex with either a man or a woman without protection, but there was no way for them to know that or be assured of it. And they didn’t know me well enough just yet to take me at my word. In a way, I admired how Mr. Chase was looking after Jazzy Rose’s health. I knew he would have done the same for me, were our situations reversed.

  Don’t fall in love, I told myself, making that my mantra. I had a long history behind me of falling for someone and falling hard. Two dates and I’d find myself daydreaming about life in the suburbs with some beautiful hunk, buying a house and a dog, adopting a son or daughter. I knew I was stupid and naïve, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d never been the easy-going, see-how-it-goes type of guy. I was more the go-like-a-house-on-fire type. But the problem with fire is, it burns itself out too quickly.

  I wanted to enjoy this moment without all the stupid drama that was involved in today’s relationships. I turned around so I could wrap my well-soaped arms around Mr. Chase’s neck. He looked beautiful, wet and sleek, and I noticed he had chameleon eyes. They looked hard and green under the lights of the office, but here they seemed more a simmering amber color, like warm honey and flames. His mouth was full and kissable. Jazzy Rose embraced me from behind, her hands gently soaping my lower belly and the thatch of curly dark blond hair there, but going no further. Mr. Chase inclined his head and I submitted to his scorching, biting kiss. Our tongues slid wetly and sweetly over each other’s.

  When we finally breathed again, I said, “If I get tested and give you my medical records, we can all be together, right?”

  “Yes, of course.” Mr. Chase cupped my ass and held me against the rigid front of his body. I could feel the hardness of our erections sandwiched between us. “I want you to. I want to claim that beautiful ass of yours with no barriers between any of us. I want to fill you with my seed.”

  His words—both erotic and poetic—made me shiver as my lovers went back to kissing and licking me, front and back. Jazzy Rose drew her tongue down the slope of my back, from the shivery nape of my neck all the way to the base of my spine, but, again, she stopped when she reached the crack of my ass, and I felt a wave of disappointment. I hoped that she and I could be intimate at some point in the near future.

  Mr. Chase used his knee to spread my legs, and then his hands slid over the jumpy muscles of my lower belly and finally took my fully erect cock in his hand, which fulfilled at least some of my rampant, heart-pounding lust. He soaped the length of it, slowly, gently, working from the root to the tip and then back again, the firm, uncompromising touch of his hand sparking a new wave of warm, drunken desire coursing through my lower belly. He gripped my testes in his hand, rolling them roughly until I groaned, then slid his fingers along my perineum before fingering my asshole. His free hand gripped my hip while two of his slippery fingers hooked inward, rubbing the quivering inside of my body.

  I cried out against his lips as he pumped his fingers in and out of me.

  “Like that, my dear?” he asked, his voice husky with desire.

  “Feels good,” I murmured, drunk on the things he was doing to me.

  “But you mustn’t come until I say.”

  Soon three fingers were deep inside me, opening me up, controlling me, training me to take his enormous hard-on. My legs trembled and I looped my arms around Mr. Chase’s neck to keep myself upright while I thrust in time with his fingers. I gasped, my breath coming in increasingly shorter spurts as the pressure of his fingers quickened and finally teased a sudden orgasm out of me. The pressure was just there, unbearable at the base of my spine, and then I felt myself go with a lunge, shamelessly jetting pearls of come against Mr. Chase’s belly.

  “Sorry,” I said, but it wasn’t enough.

  Mr. Chase’s eyes darkened and he stopped finger fucking me to reach for my face, pinching my chin in his fingers. “You disobeyed me, Ash. You need to be punished for that.”

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it with me.” His voice was a low, breathy growl that made goose pimples break out in a rash across my back and shoulders. “You cannot be so easily forgiven. You can only be punished for disobedience to your gentleman, as Jazzy Rose knows all too well.”

  I didn’t ask Jazzy Rose what she had done to be “punished,” but after my mistake, with the mood in the room darker and more intense, we worked on just soaping up and getting clean, then Mr. Chase sent the two of us in towels into his bedroom to wait for him there.

  Like the rest of the house, the furnishings in the bedroom were a dark mahogany, but the linens white and fresh and minty-smelling. Mr. Chase had a huge, king-sized sleigh bed. Jazzy Rose dried off and wrung out her hair, then dropped her towels and hurried to climb naked onto the bed. I followed her example.

  I finally found the courage to ask her about her disobedience and she looked nervous and said, “This one time I changed perfumes without asking him and he wouldn’t let me come for a week.”

  Considering his sudden change of moods in the bathtub, I believed her.

  Mr. Chase showed up only a few moments later, again dressed in his silken dressing gown. He gave me a stern look before going to the antique hope chest at the foot of the bed and withdrawing a length of braided black cord and a martinet. He then joined us amidst the sheets. “Time for you to find out what happens when you displease your gentleman, Ash,” he said. His voice was even, not angry, but definitely no-nonsense, and he flicked the martinet as he ordered me to the foot of the bed on my knees.

  “You are most certainly a work in progress,” he said as he used the black cord to bind my wrists behind my back and affix them to the Shaker slats of the footboard. “Consider this a ‘soft punishment’ for disobeying me. I’m willing to cut you some slack, Ash, but only because you’re new to the rules.”

  I wondered what a ‘hard punishment’ was and if I would ever have the misfortune—or fortune—of finding out. When he finished, he grasped my chin and dragged my face forward. I felt the strain in my bound arm. “You won’t disobey again, will you?” he said.

  I felt my cock stir at his proximity, but he briefly squeezed it with his free hand and I flinched and shook my head. “No.”

  “No, what?” His green eyes seemed to pierce right through me and into my brain.

  “No, sir.”

  He kissed me for that, but only briefly. It wasn’t enough, and I groaned as he let me go and went to embrace the naked, gleaming wet Jazzy Rose, who gave me a smug look when she realized that, at least for the moment, he was all hers.

  And she was. For the next twenty minutes they tortured me. She cooed and mewed and writhed for him as they knelt together on the coverlet and Mr. Chase rained sweet, sucking kisses on her lips and cheeks and chin and neck. It made me angrier and more jealous by the moment. He moved steadily and much too slowly dow
n her body to her breasts, finally snagging a full, pert nipple in his big, perfect teeth. Jazzy Rose arched her back and thrust against the hand he’d planted between her legs as he sucked each areola and the surrounding flesh into his mouth one at a time and suckled and nibbled her until I could smell her arousal even from where I was tied up.

  Finally, he pushed her down and climbed atop her, pinning her to the mattress. He fluttered kisses along her ribs and lower belly, finally burying himself between her legs, all the while watching me out of the corner of his eye. Jealousy and desire warred together, making my dick so hard it throbbed and pearls of precum formed at the bulbous head and spilled over. I pulled at the cords, growled at them, but they ignored me.

  Mr. Chase thumbed Jazzy Rose’s dripping wet labia apart and licked and sucked at her pussy until she climaxed with a deep-throated cry, her entire lower body convulsing. He slinked back up her body, palmed her breasts, and speared her soundly with a single thrust of his hips, burying all glorious eight inches of himself deep inside her. Jazzy Rose came a second time with a cry, and this time they rode her orgasm together as Mr. Chase rocked deep inside her in time to her rhythm, gliding his engorged cock in and out of her in a way that made the muscles of my lower stomach quiver, a whimper catch in my throat, and more precum pour from the slit of my dick. Jazzy Rose whimpered and cried out as they came together. Mr. Chase grunted and lunged and then pulled out, coming in a pearly freshet against his courtesan’s wet and well-used sex.

  After that, he untied me and told me what I needed to do if I wanted to feel him inside me tonight. After that show, I would have done just about anything. I crawled over Jazzy Rose’s prone body and kissed her sweetly parted lips and the side of her neck, sucking gently at it.

  “My shy boy,” she giggled before pushing me back down her body.

  “He’s not so shy now,” Mr. Chase laughed huskily and I felt my ears burn at the wanton way I was acting even as I licked at the spunk on her belly and then all around her come-soaked sex. Jazzy Rose moaned in appreciation and spread her legs, inviting me deeper. When I didn’t move fast enough to please her, Mr. Chase flicked the martinet and the leather flails slapped against the supersensitive skin of my ass. It hurt more than I’d anticipated, like the claws of some wildcat. I bent Jazzy Rose’s leg and hooked her knee over my shoulder, quickly licking along her slit and nosing inside her cunt for the sweet taste of our gentleman’s seed still there.

  Mr. Chase left the bed briefly to fetch a foil-wrapped condom, then returned to grip me by the hips and push my head down so my mouth was once more buried in the warm, musky wetness between Jazzy Rose’s legs. He rubbed a sweet-smelling, pepperminty lubricant along the line of my crack, then took his time lubing up my asshole, teasing his fingers in and out of me as he prepared me. I moaned at the delicious friction of his hands and my moans against Jazzy Rose’s sweet spot dragged yet another orgasm from her, which forced more of my gentleman’s come into my mouth. I licked and swallowed all his creamy seed down.

  By then, Mr. Chase was hard again. He gripped my hips and rubbed his hard-on against me, then plunged his meaty cock deep inside my ass. The suddenness of it made me cry out, a low, loud groan of pleasure as his fat shaft filled me to capacity.

  I shuddered and gripped the bedclothes with white-tipped fingers as Mr. Chase slammed his rock-hard cock in and out of me. He was relentless, pinning me to the mattress and fucking me hard into submission, working me up to what I thought would be a quick climax. But he gripped my cock in his hand near the end, arresting me. “Not until I come,” he hissed in my ear, and I worked hard to listen, to concentrate on eating out Jazzy Rose’s pussy while he worked my ass and made it his.

  Soon we were all one, all connected, a writhing mass of heat and desire. With one final, massive thrust, I felt Mr. Chase come for the second time that evening, his balls slamming my ass as he went off inside me. He loosened his hold on my cock and I spurted uncontrollably between his fingers, emptying myself out over the comforter. The surge of my orgasm made me nip at Jazzy Rose’s clit, and the unexpected pressure made her climax a fourth time, her fingers clawing at my hair as she screamed her release.

  I thought my punishment was over, but Mr. Chase pulled out and jerked me around by the hair, pushing my head down so my eyes were level with his still twitching cock. He pulled away the condom and came a third time against his own belly, drenching himself. He clutched the back of my neck, forcing my head between his legs. “Lick me clean,” he said, “and then I’ll forgive you.”

  That night, Mr. Chase slept with both of us pressed into his sides, sticky but sated, and it was best damned sleep of my entire fucking life.

  * * *

  “I’ll never be able to pull this off,” I complained as Jazzy Rose fixed my cufflinks.

  “Oh ye of little faith,” she answered with a grim as she finished buttoning me up, this woman who was a big sister to me, a mentor, a fairy godmother, a lover, and, most importantly, my best friend. She wore a stunning, royal blue evening gown and a double string of freshwater pearls around her neck, clipped at the front with an ivory cameo.

  I brushed a hand down the Brioni tuxedo I wore. “Is this where you give me a speech about how you knew all along that I’d be able to pull this off?”

  “Of course not, silly,” she grinned, standing on her tiptoe to kiss me on the nose, which had become our secret signal between us for when we wanted to tease each other. She brushed her hand through my professionally messy, spiky hairdo. “Without me, you’d be a mess, Ash, and you know it!”

  I laughed. She had a point.

  For the past six weeks, Jazzy Rose had been my guide, my teacher, my everything in the world of etiquette and high society. She had done more than just taught me the right utensils to use at the dinner table. She had taught me how to dress, to dance, to open a door for a woman and the way to be a proper gentleman. She had gone with me when I’d had my hair cut and styled, and she had shopped with me for the proper wardrobe ensembles, approving or dismissing all my choices. She had taught me to paint and had inspired me to design storyboards for the video games I had created but could not sell. Mr. Chase had done the rest, taking the two of us to plays, operas, and silent art films full of double entendres. He’d taught me about music and cuisine, history and politics. He’d taught me to love classical music when I used to think music was whatever was on the Top 40 Music Charts. He had taught me how to be attractive and to use charm to maneuver people, and he had schooled me well in the art of making love.

  For weeks, they had told me what was expected of me at tonight’s meeting of the Dollhouse Society, and they had assured me that my debutante ball would be a triumph, but I still felt a spike of nervousness as we finished my cufflinks. What if I said the wrong thing, broke the rules? Or, God help me, made a fool of myself?

  Jazzy Rose looked down at my stockinged feet and said, “Shoes?”

  “Mr. Chase is bringing them for us both, he said.”

  She rubbed at my arm and gave me her winning smile, sensing my nervousness. “You’ll be wonderful, so don’t worry!”

  “Sex in front of two hundred plus people, and she tells me not to worry,” I grumbled, and she swatted me and told me again that I’d be perfect.

  We primped and prepared for my big debutante ball, vying for space in front of the vast bathroom mirror, until our gentleman arrived a few minutes later, bearing two boxes. We went up to him and let him kiss us like dear lovers. “You look beautiful, my dears,” he told us and then handed us the shoes he had bought specifically for our big night.

  Jazzy Rose’s shoes were stiletto sandals with two bands of diamond-studded straps. He included what I first mistook for a diamond choker but then realized was actually a diamond-encrusted collar, which promptly replaced the necklace she was wearing.

  To me he gave what he said were a rare pair of Berluti shoes with a satiny finish, imported from Paris. I sat down on the settee in the dressing room and tried them on but quic
kly found they pinched horribly. I was bound to have blisters and calluses tomorrow as I went off to work. The fact that I would need to dance tonight made the whole thing even more terrible. What seemed to be an exciting debutante ball was quickly shaping up to be an ordeal.

  “Is something wrong, Ash?” Mr. Chase asked as he brought me a matching diamond collar.

  I thought about telling him the truth, but he’d been so kind to both of us, I just couldn’t find it in me. In return for our services as his companions, he had given us these wonderful outfits, jewelry, culture, and even fat paychecks. It was the paychecks that kept me from falling for him completely. As long as they reminded me that I was his employee, both at work as well as in his bed, I wouldn’t take any of this too seriously. Even so, tonight, of all nights, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “They’re great, sir. Thank you.” I stood up and was rewarded with a shoot of agony up both legs, but I trained my face to remain pleasant.

  He cupped my cheeks and brushed a fiery kiss across my lips, then affixed my collar. “Are you certain? I want you comfortable enough to dance with me tonight, Ash.”

  “Oh yes,” I told him.

  He attached two little black studded leather leads to our collars, tugged them delicately, and we followed him downstairs to the waiting limo.

  * * *

  Our gentleman sat on the seat of the limo with the two of us seated on cushions on the floor, our leads in his hands, our arms twined around his legs the way he liked it. Jazzy Rose giggled excitedly about seeing the other courtesans, but I just tried to concentrate on not having a panic attack. When we finally arrived at the vast, palatial, colonial house full of columns and balconies, I felt my little enthusiasm slip. Standing up was going to be hell.

  And it was. Each step inside the sumptuous, three-hundred-year-old Dollhouse was an experiment in agony, but I soldiered on like the gentleman I was, walking through the huge, oaken double doors and into the great room with my hand on my gentleman’s forearm the way Jazzy Rose was, smiling at the other courtesans and courtiers in their shining evening finery, but not acknowledging the other gentlemen, according to the house rules. Classical music filtered into the room through invisible speakers, and champagne was being delivered silently and efficiently to the gentleman via a series of wait staff dressed in black and white like vampires. Courtesans and courtiers were encouraged to try the various vintages of virgin champagnes on display, in accordance to the strict no-alcohol-for-companions Dollhouse Society rules.