by Eliza Lloyd
He nestled behind her and let her weep into her pillow. She uttered his name with such sweet yearning he could almost believe she’d never experienced the like before. The cadence of her breathing told him she dozed.
He crawled from the bed, replete for now. He washed at the basin.
There wouldn’t be a sixth time. He’d wanted the whore and her whore ways gone. When she woke up, Dorian Montgomery would be loving a desirable woman, not a practiced whore. Granted, his woman for only twenty-nine and a half days. Unless he could figure out another arrangement that didn’t cost another eleven thousand pounds.
He could get used to this—this complete satisfaction.
Dorian would coax her in ways that pleased him. He wanted her to hold nothing back, accept everything he could imagine two people could do in bed—and out—and he wanted none of her fake pretenses or whore’s tricks. He did want her experience, which he didn’t believe was contradictory.
He’d hardened again thinking about her. This time his control would find satisfaction in sweet, deep release. This time they would start building the trust necessary for a complete and full physical relationship—willing to give all, hold nothing back over the length of their contract. Oh, and he wanted it all.
Climbing back into bed, he enjoyed Isabelle’s warmth. He rolled to his side, easing her to her back.
The tattoo stared at him. He traced the pattern with his fingers. Twisting, he set his tongue around her bellybutton and lapped at the drawing again. Why had she done it?
“I did it for you,” she said, her voice raspy from sleepiness and swearing.
“It’s beautiful. Why?” he asked before he returned to the delicious skin.
“So that Dorian Montgomery would remember the Westminster Whore.”
“I don’t think it’s possible he will ever forget. But this,” he stroked her bare spot, “this makes me insane,” he said. He kissed her stomach again, her special scent all over her lower body and on him. His body, covered with dark hair from his chest to his cock, except for the tapering line at his lower belly. Her body…nothing like his. Thank God.
With a swift move, he positioned himself over her. Her legs fell open with the knowing that came from having several lovers. Sliding inside her made him believe he’d returned home after a long, arduous trip. She felt that good. He let out a satisfied groan when he touched the back of her taut, wet flesh.
They hadn’t kissed much, until now. Pressing deep inside her, he opened his mouth over hers, their tongues touching in tentative movements, almost more intimate than what he’d done to her between her legs—her mouth the sweetest of heart-shaped candies and the taste of her like strawberries and cream on a summer morning.
Her arms twined about his neck. Her legs caressing—one around his waist, the other rubbing up and down the back of his leg.
Her body absorbed him, the sweet, plump skin taking his fullness with a tenderness and ease he’d not imagined, but should have expected. Stroking, he moved slowly. This was for their enjoyment and he’d make it last as long as possible. No taking, only giving.
Isabelle pulled away and smiled up at him. The damned whore’s smile, he thought with some chagrin.
He pushed deep and tried to get her attention on their shared pleasure, not on her duty to him as his mistress.
Her grin turned wide, her teeth sparkling white.
Isabelle clamped down hard, every muscle inside her body gripping his engorged, sensitive flesh. Her hands fitted around his buttocks, holding him close.
Dorian gasped. “Oh shit.”
Kabazzah in the Arabic. Isabelle St. Hillaire had mastered the technique of a holder.
“Oh shit is right, my fine fellow. You wondered about the Westminster Whore. Wonder no longer.” She loosened her grip and Dorian was about to take a gulp of refreshing air. She clamped down again. Even tighter, if that were possible.
“Isabelle,” he said between clenched teeth. “You have to stop. I can’t…”
She cupped his face, a serious look on her face, and asked, “Can’t what, sweet?”
“If you don’t stop, I won’t be able to finish.”
She pulsed, gripping long and hard. Dorian gasped, his arms nearly giving way. He gritted his teeth in painful ecstasy.
“Oh, you’ll finish. When I want you to finish.” Isabelle released and clamped, over and over again until he was mindless. He had heard of women with such expert control they could cause a man’s ejaculation without moving. He’d heard, he’d never believed.
His balls tingled, ready to explode. Isabelle set three fingers and her thumb at the base of his cock and squeezed. A whole different feeling erupted. Or didn’t erupt, as she’d effectively stopped his ejaculation.
“You bitch. Don’t do that again,” he gritted out.
Isabelle laughed. “Tell me what you want, Dorian.” She threw his words back in his face. He didn’t find them so humorous now. “Tell me what you want.”
He groaned. The words tumbled out. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”
Isabelle’s expression froze, her eerie gaze tempered by the shock of his words, for the first time appearing hazel, as though she agreed with him. She wanted him. She’d always wanted him too.
A pleasurable relief coursed through him when she relaxed her inner muscles.
He surged into her. Over and over again. She had mercy, timing those grips in a way that drove him high and hard. If he performed for five minutes, he’d be surprised.
Isabelle whimpered. His mouth fitted over hers. She breathed life into him. He stroked and fitted his finger over her clitoris. She came with a loud cry. Dorian came with her, exploding long and hard and hot, feeling as if it would never end. As if it should never end.
* * * * *
Isabelle lay still beside him as he slept. A peaceful languor invaded her body. The hours had flown by and the first light of dawn brushed the skyline and suffused the room with a dim blush. From experience, she knew that pleasure and happiness were fleeting, but that misery had a way of lasting.
Her time with Dorian would be gone in a blink. She must embrace every moment of physical sensation he offered. Her body might tire in time, but she was determined to push herself as far as she could.
He’d roused her about every two hours during the night. His cock had been indefatigable. None of her others lovers were as virile or as beautiful.
Isabelle pushed up from the bed, walked to the washbasin and sponged away the remnants of their night’s activity. She returned to the bed and straddled Dorian’s thighs. He groaned in his sleep. When she applied the cool, damp sponge to his cock, she felt the quick tension in his body as he started to wake. She washed his sleeping cock and dropped the sponge to the side of the bed.
She bent low over him and sucked his relaxed cock and balls into her mouth. She used only her tongue to lick and caress the underside of the sac. His erection sprang to life and she turned her attention to laving the thick root surging upward, already hard.
A subtle change occurred in his body and she knew that he was awake, enjoying the full pleasure of her ministrations. She employed her hands to fondle his large cods and stroke at the base of his cock. With her lips, she encircled the ridged cap. Each pleasure point brought tense excitement to Dorian’s body. His legs clenched. One hand gripped the bedsheets at his side, the other slid to her kneecap, his fingers digging into her flesh.
“Isabelle,” he warned through gritted teeth.
His prowess was masterful until she caught him unawares. She had him ready to spill but she wanted to see him bow to the pleasure in her hands. Her whore’s tricks were effective, if not unusual.
She reached to her bedside stand. Inside the drawer was the linen strip she sought. She placed the band at the root of his cock and started to wind it around the base. Dorian sucked in his breath as the band grew tighter.
The visible half of his cock was large and purplish, full and tight—near ready to burst.
&nb
sp; “It’s best if I tie your hands. You’ll be tempted to remove it before you get your full pleasure.”
“I can manage,” he said, his voice lower and threatening. His gaze darted from her mouth to her breasts to the sight of his penis wrapped tight and standing tall.
As she lowered her mouth to the engorged tip, he dug one of his heels into the bed and arched upward.
“Are you sure?”
“I can take whatever you give me.” His hands searched over his head until he had a secure purchase on the headboard.
She lifted one limb and then the other, settling between his legs and forcing his thighs wider. She set her lips to his groin and licked every inch of exposed skin. With her finger, she stroked the soft patch of skin between his legs, under his sac, setting Dorian to squirming. His hips bucked as if he were attempting to mount her.
His eyes, she noticed, were clenched tight instead of watching her with his usual intense regard.
Based on what his mistress had told her those many, many months ago, Dorian was willing to try anything once and usually a second time to make sure he got it right.
She set the flat of her palm against the very tip of his cock and rubbed in a small circle while she reached for the toys Dorian had thoughtfully provided for their pleasure. Her body had responded to many things, even her own hand, but her desire to know pleasure with a man had exceeded all other dreams. So far, she had not been disappointed by Dorian’s assertive demands and his surprising ability to know what she wanted.
In twelve hours, she had known that Dorian had all that she craved for her physical fulfillment.
“The metal container,” Dorian said, his eyes now open. The tight expression on his face revealed a man very deeply affected by the pleasure she was inflicting.
She gripped it and set it to the bed so she could flip the metal clasp. Inside was a longer, more slender version of the dildo he had used on her last night.
A container of rose oil was also in with the other pleasure toys. Dorian watched. She did not rub the oil directly on the dildo. As she poured the oil on her chest, Dorian’s nostrils flared. The oil ran down her stomach, but she quickly rolled the dildo upward, catching the oil, coating the faux penis with lubricant.
She rubbed the slender phallus against her breasts, touching the tip to her nipples.
Dorian’s hands cupped her and pushed the full spheres together, making a tight valley that she could penetrate with slow thrusts, enticing him closer to an orgasm. She’d learned that for men, seeing could be as powerful as feeling.
The head of his cock was angry and red, swollen with moisture beading at the slit.
His eyes glazed. Isabelle wasn’t even certain that he saw her, only the blinding pleasure that was building, consuming his body.
She was going to make it worse.
He reached for the binding around his cock. His chest heaved as he tried to regain control.
“You said you wouldn’t,” she reminded him.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth. She repositioned herself to one side and commanded, “Roll to your side.” He did with a mindless obedience that Dorian would never have agreed to in a state of normal control. When he did, she nudged one of his legs forward, straddled his straight leg and lowered her warm, wet cunt over his knee. One of his hands reached for her breasts and she allowed the fondling.
She leaned forward, her stomach braced against his outer thigh, her breasts settling against his hip. He watched her, his lids lowered in sensual abandon.
He must have some inkling of what she was preparing.
She slid her free hand over his thigh and lightly caressed his throbbing cock with her fingers.
With her other hand, the one still holding the lubricated phallus, she stroked back and forth over the crevasse of his ass, causing his buttocks to clench. But he didn’t say no.
She probed at the tight sphincter. After the initial resistance, she pushed through the pulsing ring and went no farther. He moaned, his jaw tight. One hand gripped her shoulder, his fingers digging in. He’d leave marks from his pleasure.
Slowly, she unwound the tight binding around his cock. At the same time, the dildo penetrated deeper.
Dorian was breathing through his mouth, alternating between deep, gasping lungfuls of air and steady exhalations.
When he ejaculated into the sheets due to his lack of control, he’d begin to understand the masterful control she had over a man’s body.
The binding came loose. Isabelle pushed at his hip, forcing him to his stomach and then she plunged the dildo in several short thrusts that caused Dorian no small amount of pleasure. He groaned loudly, his hips bucked, grinding into the bedsheets as she had predicted. Copious amounts of semen shot from his cock as his body jerked. Uncontrolled, without finesse and delirious with pleasure.
He lay gasping, his arms wrapped around her pillows.
Isabelle removed the phallus. She crawled over him, conforming her bare body to the contours of his. Her breasts were flattened against his back. She slipped one hand under his arm and her palm touched his chest right where his heart beat. She settled her face against his neck, inhaling the scent of perfection.
“You are going to pay for that,” he said as he slipped off to sleep again.
“My punishment will be well earned.”
Chapter Four
Dorian and Isabelle ate breakfast together in his room. She sat in his lap, naked as God intended women to be. Her ass was soft and warm, much like the bread roll he was devouring. Wasn’t that the ultimate punishment at the Fall of Man? God had planned that every day of a man’s life was to be filled with the lovely nakedness of women. On further consideration, perhaps it had been a conspiracy all along. Women didn’t want to be naked all day long and the apple tree was conveniently nearby.
She sliced a piece of ham and stabbed her fork into the meat before holding it up to his mouth—all subservient sexuality this morning. In between bites of food, they nibbled on each other.
He had never had a mistress that didn’t chat incessantly. Isabelle seemed to know that talk wasn’t always necessary.
He had the odd need to smile at her from time to time. She seemed not to notice his doltish behavior.
After they had their fill of ham, rolls, cheese, hard-boiled eggs and dried fruit, Dorian plucked up the wooden honey spoon and dribbled it over Isabelle’s breasts, leaning down to lick and suck her beautiful flesh. Her thigh was pressed against his burgeoning erection.
Isabelle turned slowly, ensuring his mouth did not lose contact with her breast. She straddled his legs, her thighs pressed to his. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she lifted her body and then, with considerable finesse, slowly slid onto his erection.
He groaned at the exquisite pleasure of her surprisingly hot, tight cunt. She ran her fingers though his hair. He slipped his hands to her ass and kneaded, giving her a small boost as her thighs clenched and lifted. Wherever she had learned her skill, she’d been taught well. He had never had a woman who, with the sheer force of her inner muscles, could rouse him so quickly to orgasm.
After a few thrusts, he held her in place while he fought against the consuming need to rush. Her other clients—older and infirm—didn’t stand a chance under her practiced wiles.
He’d rushed through enough ejaculations with her that he could at least demonstrate some of his prowess.
He was in deep. When she started the purposeful contractions against his cock, he felt his will go weak. Interrupting her rhythm, he surged upward from the chair and backed her against a wall. She moaned, her legs tightening around his waist, but at least he broke the strong grip of her cunt.
“Slow down, Isabelle. I don’t like my pleasure rushed.” With her, it was always going to be a battle of wills. Unfortunately, women always had the upper hand when it came to sexual performance. Men were more likely to hurry through the event because controlling a cock was like keeping the reins of a runaway horse. Once loose, it was hard
to regain control. Instinctively, women seemed to know this.
She gazed into his eyes. He stared into the green of her left eye, feeling the need to get lost. Drown.
He thrust into her several times. Hard and quick. Her lids shuttered and she gripped his cock again, sending dizzying pleasure through his cods and up his spine.
She had to learn some simple obedience. He liked orgasm, he liked it infinitely better when he got to draw his pleasure into prolonged sessions.
He used his hand to stroke her rounded bottom delicately. He drew his hand away and then returned it with a hard, stinging slap to get her attention.
She gasped. Her eyes opened wide. “You hit me.”
“Don’t do that until I’m ready,” he commanded.
“You hit me,” she said again, sounding dazed.
Dorian leaned in to kiss her. She bit his lip.
He licked at his lip, tasting blood. “You little hellion.”
She turned into a wild cat in his arms and he almost dropped her. Sharp teeth sank into his shoulder and sharper nails clawed into his back.
He grabbed her thigh with one hand and cupped her ass with the other, hauling her closer, trying to keep her under control. She surged against him, riding his erection hard, but somehow keeping her cunt full of him while she rocked and writhed.
She nipped at his earlobe and pulled outward before she let it slide across her teeth.
He carried Isabelle toward the bed. She was at his neck, taking sharp little bites that had him ready to haul her over his knee. When he got to the bed, he did just that.
He sat with unintended quickness as Isabelle scrambled to get away from him. He grabbed her wrist and she bit the back of his hand. She was lithe and while he was being rough, he had no intention of hurting her, but she was making it difficult to judge play from meanness.
Finally, she slid from his cock. He got her legs between his thighs and he used his hand to bend her over, pulling her completely over his lap. His erection nudged against her. He landed several quick thwacks against her bottom.
