Rough Erotica

by Lexi Lovelost

  He entered her. Pain lanced through her. Her eyes shot open and she went rigid. A quick hard slap to her ass made her go limp and he withdrew then thrust forward again. His heavy and thick cock split asunder her wet and pulsing folds and then slid deeply into her channel, piercing her and taking her right over the edge into a fierce and explosive orgasm.

  Her body went limp as he continued to beat into hers but she rallied quickly and began to thrust toward him as he thrust into her, meeting him halfway in a heart-stopping rhythm that had her gasping and panting, her hair tangled and wet, hung over her face and his balls slapped against her flesh before they tightened and moved upward as he approached his own orgasm.

  Wrapped in aftershocks and fresh desire, with his dick opening her snug sheath so that he could move faster and harder than before, Clarissa came yet again. Her heavy oils splattered his cock and made his passage into her that much smoother. His hands gripped her hips tightly and his breath washed over her bare shoulder.

  He withdrew suddenly and his hot fluids coated her ass cheeks. She collapsed into the bed and he placed a hand near her shoulder, breathing heavily as he tried to recover.

  He said, “Now perhaps you will be more amenable to taking orders.”

  Clarissa allowed him to help her to stand. He guided her to the washbowl and she waited until he turned her back to take up the cloth and soap. She pressed the soft cloth to her nether regions, wincing slightly as she did so. There was a soreness there but it was not unpleasant and there was a recklessness filling her. The train ride would end in a few days, and maybe even sooner depending on where his final destination would be.

  She said, “Perhaps.” There was a laugh in her voice.

  He chuckled. “I see. Finish dressing and we’ll have a chat.”

  She dressed hurriedly and when she turned away from the bowl he took her place, sluicing the used water down the clever little drain and refilling the bowl from the pitcher before washing quickly.

  She stared at him greedily. His back was smooth and muscular and his bottom was rounded and curved. His legs were long and straight and very well-formed. All in all he was extremely fit and lithe and she felt a small throb in her crotch as he bent over to retrieve his pants.

  He dressed and said, “Now, let’s talk.”

  They sat and he asked, “So what is a young woman your age doing traveling alone anyway? I should have asked before I suppose.”

  She bit her lips. “I have somewhere to be.”

  His dark eyes scanned her. “Are you deliberately evading my questions or do you not have an answer?”

  “I have an answer.” She sighed. “My father recently died and I have come into possession of another place to live. I know I should not travel alone and that it is not proper for young ladies to travel alone but there was nobody to travel with me.”

  “Not your mother either?”

  She shook her head “No, she died many years ago?”

  “I am sorry to hear that. So do you have a position awaiting you?”

  She shook her head and then said, “I do. I suppose. I have a small…” she stopped speaking. She didn’t want to spill the details. For all she knew he was fortune hunter!

  Paul said, “So how long is your journey?”

  “Until Sunnyside and Beek.”

  “I see. Then I must insist that you stay with me until then. If you wish to, of course. I would never force you. If you don’t care for my company please say so, Clarissa, but I hope you enjoy it as I am enjoying yours very much.”

  “Oh, I am enjoying your company very much as well!”

  She was. She hesitated then added, “I must admit I don’t have a lot of social skills. You might find me boring. My father was the vicar so I wasn’t allowed to really get to know too many people.”

  “I see. My father was a vicar.”

  She blinked. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Oh, yes. I grew up in several parishes. My favorite was right outside London and a stunning little farm. I have a fondness for lawns and gardens, I will admit, and prefer them over the sight of the massive cities.”

  “You saw my former residence at the station. It is all coal clouds and stern people.” She shuddered. “I have no idea of what Sunnyside and Beek is like but it must be better than that!”

  “It is.” His voice was quiet. “It has a lovely little village with many stores and churches, a rather large park for children to play in on holidays—and it is there that the fair sets up every year.”

  Her face lit up.” The fair?”

  “Yes. Do you like fairs?”

  “Oh, very much. Ours were rather poor however. Do they allow people to sell things at the fair?”

  He smiled, “But of course. I sell things there as well.”

  She asked, “Like what?”

  He said, “I make furniture. Small pieces. That is why I travel at times. I must sometimes go to people’s homes in order to see better how what they wish me to make will fit into a room.”

  “That sounds exciting<” she said wistfully then she added, “I’m on a rather grand adventure it seems and yes, I want to stay with you until it is over.”

  He smiled and she saw little golden flecks deep in the dark brown of his eyes. “Then it is a deal,” he said, “But I must warn you I don’t take sass lightly.”

  “Oh, I see. Perhaps I shall endeavor to displease you then.”

  He smiled and leaned closer to whisper, “Oh my dear, I think you will please me often,” and a long shiver ran down her spine.

  As it turned out, he was quite right about that.

  CHAPTER 4

  The train huffed into the station and Clarissa stared out the window of the compartment at the side of the station as it came into view. Her trunk had been brought in and readied to depart the train. Her valises, neatly packed, sat beside her trunk. Her hair was tightly pinned to her head and her hair was up in what she hoped was a slightly sophisticated coil.

  Her eyes stayed on the plain stone and beam building as Paul spoke. “Ah, so, here we are. Sunnyside and Beek.”

  She said, “This is your stop too then?”

  “Of course.”

  She turned her head to face him. “Perhaps we will be able to see each other again?”

  It was a hopeful question, and one she desperately wanted an answer to. They’d known each other but a short time but she was wild about him and she had a certainty that no other man would ever do. Most men would never know she needed regular spankings and to make love to her so roughly. Besides, she would be alone at that large and empty house, and she would be lonely.

  Paul said, “I am sure we shall see each other.”

  It was not the answer she had hoped for but it was better than a no she supposed. The porter came to collect their luggage and take it to the little stairs where they would disembark and they walked down the hallway slowly, their bodies touching gently as the train swayed.

  They were handed down and Paul said, “Oh, yes, there’s the conveyance that will take us to the house.”

  She blinked. “Us?”

  Paul said, “Yes. I am sorry, it seems I forgot to mention that my last name is Reynolds. I am the overseer of the home in which you are now in possession.”

  Her eyes went wide. Her mouth hung agape. “You are?”

  Paul chuckled. “Yes. I should have told you and I hope you will forgive me for not having done so. It was just that, well, I didn’t want you to feel as if you had to do the things we did because I held your keys in my hands. Literally.”

  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled the keys, on a large and slightly rusty ring, out and handed them to her. He helped her into the conveyance and they began the short ride to the estate.

  They topped a low rise and Paul said, “There it is, just there. I live in the small house right at the gates, see?”

  His finger pointed and she stared at the small wood-and-post house. It was the perfect size for a bachelor. She said so and he said, “Y
our uncle and I had a nice arrangement. I have business that takes me out a few times a year while most of the time my work is done in the village. Oh, there’s the drive now.”

  Flowers grew in wild profusion and the house sat on a small but wide patch of grass that had been neatly mowed recently. Behind a fence several well-fed cows grazed and she could see the chicken coops to the right of the house, just beyond the herb and vegetable gardens.

  Paul said, “As you can see the house itself is very large.”

  It was, and beautifully built too of riverstone and wood. The trees stood high and tall and the edges were neatly trimmed. It was so beautiful and green, and so very different from the place that she had always known that Clarissa’s eyes filled with happy tears.

  It was all here, everything she could possibly need for the rest of her life. Gardens and food and sunlight and air. The thick smell of coal was gone, as was the feeling of smothering under its heavy mantle.

  Also gone was the suffocating feeling of holding herself in check, every day. Of knowing she must be good and when she was not—when she failed to be demure or quiet or soft with her tongue—of feeling as if she were a disappointment to all who loved her and cared for her.

  Paul enjoyed her impudence and she knew that he would not change it. He might try to beat it out of her, or make her bend her will to his, but he would only ever do that in the heights of passion, and never check her otherwise. It was not his nature to do so.

  She had to be bold.

  She would be bold.

  As the conveyance clopped away and they stood at the door of the house, now hers, she looked down at her valise’s and the heavy truck, the only reminders of her past and all of its repressions. She would buy pretty fabric in lovely colors and make herself pretty gowns that glowed and moved softly with her every motion. She would wear flowers in her hair if she wished, and she would love the way she wished to.

  She said, “Well, your bags are already here.”

  Paul said, “Yes, they are.”

  She drew a long breath. “I suppose now that you’ve ruined me you may as well marry me.”

  His laughter was long and loud. “Ah, you are a saucy and impossible little minx, now aren’t you?”

  “Oh, I am,” she said with a gamine grin. “Very much so. I suppose it shall take years to change me and even then you may never be able to do so.”

  Paul’s eyebrows rose and his handsome face creased in a roguish smile. “Oh, I think I know how to try, anyway.”

  Clarissa’s breath caught as hope soared. He’d become so very dear to her, and now she had the time, and the room to get to know him even better. Paul said, “I suppose we can leave that luggage for a short time. The caretaker left this morning, and did all the chores before he went, so perhaps we would do better to acquaint you with the house.”

  Her smile was wicked. “The house, all of it?”

  His smile was equally wicked. “I would say we should at least start at the master bedroom.”

  “Perhaps the guest room,” she said as she skirted past him and put the key into the lock. “Or the kitchens? It does seem to me that you feel that a woman’s place is in the kitchen.”

  “See? You are already trying my patience.”

  His hand went to her hair and yanked, hard. Her tresses fell down and spilled across her shoulders. Her heat sailed off on a small puff of breeze and she let it go.

  The door closed behind them and the sound of her laughter, then cries of pleasure proved to be a wonderful christening for her new home, and life.

  Story 36

  Chapter One

  For just one evening Dorothea took leave of the safety and sanctity of her sedate home office; escaping to the exotic wilds of a place she hardly knew.

  “OK then, so I don’t know if you could exactly call the only night club in Bay City exotic or wild,” she mused now, approaching the mysterious pink sandstone building imbued with towers and arches and fronted by a flashing neon sign that read “Club Tropicale.” “Yet they allegedly play swingin’ amplified music that you can dance to, and they serve beverages that contain some degree of alcoholic content and that come complete with fascinating names like Fuzzy Naval and Sex on the Beach—as opposed to say, Golden Years nutrition shakes and Senior Soda. Two phenomena I very rarely see at home.”

  As the only daughter and permanent caretaker for her elderly father, her beloved Papa Bernard, this work from home data entry specialist rarely left the modest but homey Colonial residence that they shared on the south side of town. And as someone who made her living online, the bookish, rubenesque 35-year-old sought her only entertainment and romantic thrills from the shiny surface of her sleek metallic computer screen.

  As an active nightly participant in the popular singles website known as Date Night, Dorothea had chatted with numerous gentlemen (well, she reasoned, approximately 45 percent of them could be considered gentlemen. On a good night, and by any stretch of the imagination) during her six months on the site. And while she’d enjoyed chatting and flirting with all of them, few of her interactions actually resulted in anything resembling a face to face meeting; or, horror of all horrors, a date.

  “The girls with the profile photos get all of the dates,” she reasoned, adding as she rolled her eyes heavenward, “Especially if they post pictures of people other than themselves—people who just happen to find gainful employment as highly paid professional supermodels.”

  A never married and self-proclaimed bookworm who’d enjoyed only a handful of actual dates throughout the course of her existence, Dorothea had few illusions of finding eternal true love on Date Night; then one evening, and much to her surprise if not abject shock, she got a private message from a man who’d she had been chatting with off and on for the past few weeks.

  A travelling salesman who dealt encyclopedias from coast to coast and—or so he liked to boast, and often—throughout the continental United States, Cal seemed like an amiable sort who charmed her with his sharp sense of humor and articulate writing style (“Well at least he can spell his own name,” she mused. “Sure beats about half the online populace of Date Night.”). So when he informed her that he’d be travelling to her area the next evening, she expressed great happiness at the news.

  Until, that is, she logged off the computer. Then she just panicked.

  Indeed, the last 24 hours had morphed her peaceable but uneventful life into a virtual whirlwind of chaos. After paying an emergency visit to her hairdresser, who shaped and trimmed her unruly black curls while outright marveling at the shocking news that Dorothea had a date, the frenzied woman headed home to fish her only dress from deep within her closet; a basic burgundy frock that flattered her generous curves.

  “I call this my hope dress,” she joked, adding as she touched her lips with just a light coat of pearl pink lipstick, “So here’s hopin’.”

  So now and with a relieved sigh she passed finally through the brass handled stained glass doors that fronted Club Tropicale; taking in her breath at the vision of the ebullient interior that graced this elite night club.

  For just a moment her senses reeled as they consumed a vision of luxury distinguished by the presence of lace covered tables topped with dew glistened rose bouquets; walls bathed in wallpaper of pure gold jacquard; and floors topped by a soft thick layering of snow white carpeting.

  Suddenly she felt like the lead character in one of those classic old black and white movies she saw on late night TV. Suddenly she was Lauren Bacall in Key Largo, or Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca.

  Only she figured that Lauren or Ingrid probably could turn at least a single head as she walked the length of the club; a feat that she apparently couldn’t accomplish, at least not this evening.

  “That’s okay though,” she mused, finally taking a seat at the corner table where she’d agreed to meet her blind date for the evening. “Cal is the only man whose opinion I care about, and I’m sure he’ll be more than impressed. He seems like such a kind gent
leman!”

  Chapter Two

  “That scumbag. That vile, irredeemable scumbag. And those are his good qualities.”

  An hour later Dorothea still sat alone at her quiet corner table; one made all the more sedate by the marked absence of the blind date who was now more than 45 minutes late.