Dragon Tamer

by Jane Bonander

  He groaned, and she moved her hand away, but he brought it back, teaching her how to encircle him, stroke him.

  Closing her eyes, she let herself examine his length, the slick and easy way the skin moved over the hard surface of his erection.

  He groaned out loud. “Now we’re going to lie here in front of the fire, Ellie. I think it’s time we finish this.”

  Resting back on her elbows, she spread her legs, exposing her needy body, the throbbing so intense she thought she might faint.

  He joined her on the rug, and they came together, his arms drawing her so close, she felt the length of his need against her belly.

  “I’ve never been naked with anyone before,” she murmured, reveling in his touch.

  “I love being naked,” he admitted, darting his tongue in and out of her ear and nipping at her earlobe.

  He was warm and hard, big and muscular, and suddenly she felt free and uninhibited.

  She ran her fingers over his chest, his navel, his thick, hard arms. She drove her fingers into his hair when his mouth came down on hers, and she quivered inside at the sensation.

  He moved lower, taking one nipple into his mouth, and she arched against him, nearly screaming for the pleasure it gave her.

  Finally, he nudged her knees apart and touched the aching place between her thighs, and she bucked against his hand.

  “You’re so ready, Ellie, sweet, sweet Ellie,” he announced, pressing her onto her back. At long last he entered her, and although she was ready for him, he stretched her more.

  He was still for a moment, waiting.

  Eleanor wrapped her legs around his back, urging him deeper.

  He began. Slowly pumping into her, deeper and deeper until she wondered how she had lived so long without such bliss. Above her, his arms straight, his palms on the rug, he gazed down at her.

  “Do you like this, Ellie?” His voice was a husky whisper.

  He was there, deep inside her, and she couldn’t imagine anything more erotic. More sensual. More blissful. Briefly closing her eyes, she nodded. “Oh, yes.”

  “I’m watching us, Ellie.” And he described, in terms hotly arousing, using language she had never heard before, what he was doing to her. “And each time I pull out, Ellie, your sweet lips cling to it, as if fearing it won’t return.

  “Now I’m going deeper, Ellie. Can you feel me there, deep inside you?” With long, deep pumps, he brought her closer and closer to the edge.

  “Y-yes,” she stuttered, but that other feeling was starting. That swirling, ecstatic sensation that started at her clitoris and spread through her, robbing her of breath.

  “Oh, Dante,” she cried, “it’s coming, oh, yes!” She tensed, then clasped her arms around his neck as the sensation spread and spun and whirled.

  She heard her cries, her screams as the ecstasy created spasm after spasm of rapture, freedom, pleasure, until she collapsed, barely able to breathe. And then, she began to cry, tears of satisfaction, tears of release. Tears of joy.

  Shortly after, he stiffened, shuddering with his own release.

  Twenty

  Dante chuckled into her hair. “Now, that’s the reason I brought you out here. There’s not another soul around for miles.”

  She laughed, too, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Oh, I shouldn’t be so noisy, should I?”

  He gave her a crooked grin and rolled onto his back. “I love it.” And he did. Never had a woman been this way with him. Not one of his mistresses had experienced an orgasm like Eleanor, and he began to wonder if any of them had reached orgasm at all.

  Eleanor touched his dwindling penis. “What—” she licked her lips and swallowed. “What shall I call it?”

  He laughed softly. “There are many things it can be called.”

  “Like what?” She squeezed him.

  He inhaled sharply. “Careful, Ellie, or we’ll be doing this all over again.”

  She glanced up, surprised. “So soon?”

  “Well, maybe not quite yet.”

  She rested on her elbow, her hair falling over her breasts. She looked magnificent and he already knew he would take her again before morning.

  “What are some of the names? Besides penis, I mean.”

  He brought his arms beneath his head, totally comfortable with his nakedness. “Let me see. There’s ‘Aaron’s rod,’ ‘Adam’s arsenal,’ ‘bald-headed hermit,’ ‘Cupid’s torch,’ ‘pikestaff’—”

  “That’s from Shakespeare,” she interrupted. “I don’t think I’ll call it that.”

  “Ah, let me see,” Dante continued, loving her hands on him. “There’s ‘best leg of three,’ ‘Father Abraham,’ ‘hanging-Johnny,’ ‘Jack-in-the-box,’ and ‘Jacob.’ Shall I go on?”

  She held his penis, amazed that it was growing again. “None of those is quite right,” she apologized, “Just a few more, please?”

  Taking a breath, hoping to slow down his reawakened desire, he continued, “‘John-Thomas,’ ‘jolly member,’ ‘ramrod,’ ‘Timothy-tool,’ ‘radish’—”

  She laughed out loud. “Radish?”

  He shrugged and laughed with her. “So I’ve heard.”

  Still chuckling, she shook her head. “I think not.” She lowered her head and brought her cheek against his half mast erection, brushing the soft outer skin against her.

  He expelled a whoosh of air. “How about Willy Banana? Trouser snake, or Penny Whistle?”

  She laughed again. “No, no, and no.”

  “Wife’s best friend?” His voice was hopeful.

  She kissed the side of it, gazing down at it with affection. “Well, it is that.”

  “Ellie, if you continue, I’ll have to use it on you again,” he threatened with a shiver.

  Raising her head, she gave him a sultry look. “Is that a promise?”

  His gaze was as hot as hers. “Absolutely.”

  With only the least bit of hesitancy, she took him between her lips and thrilled at his moan of pleasure.

  “Damn it, Ellie, name the thing before I explode in your mouth.”

  She took him deeper, surprising even herself, then drew him out and licked the tip. “I will call him…Mr. Johnson.”

  Dante threw back his head and guffawed. “Well thank God that’s over, but I don’t understand your selection, dear wife.”

  “Well, that way, if I ever want to mention it—”

  He smiled at her, his eyes warm as wine. “When? At a dinner party?”

  “Well—”

  “I can just envision it.” He sat up and pulled her onto his lap, running his fingers over her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, causing her to shiver against him.

  “We’re sitting across from one another at a table crowded with guests. You’ve removed a slipper and have perched your foot between my legs, nudging me with your toes. Could you do that, Ellie?”

  She swallowed hard, wondering what it would be like to be near him, fully clothed in a room full of people, and want him as much as she wanted him now. “Maybe I could,” she admitted.

  “Good. Could you carry on polite conversation with the stern-faced hostess, all the while feeling me grow hard against your toes?”

  “Oh, I think so. I would simply announce that we must leave the table, for Mr. Johnson is in danger of exploding.”

  They laughed together.

  “No one would probably notice,” she said.

  “They might, if they happened to see the bulge in my trousers.”

  They shared a private, seductive smile.

  “Mr. Johnson or not,” Eleanor explained, marveling at how big and hard he was again, “I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to look at a radish again without laughing or becoming excited.”

  “Then I think I’ll plant several rows of them, just to watch you blush.”

  They laughed together again as she continued to play with Mr. Johnson until the old man was ready to please her one more time.

  The next night, they stayed up to watch the stars
from the special walkway that Dante had built on the roof of the cottage, but their hunger for one another intervened.

  It began casually enough. Eleanor had undressed and wore a nightgown and robe even though Dante was still clothed. They sat side by side, their backs against the clapboard, their legs and shoulders touching. Soon, however, Dante’s hand slid up her calf to her knee, and Eleanor instinctively parted her legs.

  He learned she was always receptive, always wet and willing to extend their foreplay, prolong their pleasure. He toyed with the hair between her legs, noting it was wet. “You’re a lusty wench, Mrs. Templeton,” he whispered against her hair.

  “And you always seem dressed when I’m not,” she complained, attempting to tug at his trousers.

  “Open my fly,” he urged.

  She unbuttoned him and took Mr. Johnson out of his pants.

  “Now sit on him,” he instructed.

  Without hesitation, Eleanor straddled Dante, wrapping her legs around his back, and took him deep inside her.

  “Find the rhythm, Ellie,” he whispered, trying valiantly not to come too quickly.

  She bobbed up and down.

  “Move forward a little, so your clitoris is touching me.”

  She complied, pressing herself forward, opening her legs as wide as she could, and rubbed against him.

  His hands found her breasts, and he rubbed her nipples, tugging on them, feeling them turn hard as diamonds against his fingertips.

  When she stiffened and cried out, Dante grabbed her hips and plunged deeper still, until he, too, was spent.

  They lay together beneath the stars, each panting to catch a breath, until Dante took her in his arms. It was almost dawn when they woke up, shivering from the cool, damp ocean air.

  They had a long, languid breakfast, then Dante suggested, “Let’s take a walk on the beach today.”

  “Wonderful,” Eleanor answered.

  The air had only a slight chill to it. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocky shore sedated them. They walked nearly the length of the south side of the peninsula and back again, stopping briefly to eat bread and cheese and drink a bottle of wine that Dante had hidden behind a rock the day before.

  They sat, watching the ocean, and Eleanor removed her slippers and stockings and wiggled her toes in the sand. “I do love it here, Dante.” She didn’t want to return to Boston, but she couldn’t tell him that.

  “I do, too,” he answered. He took her foot and placed it in his lap, then massaged it.

  “Oh,” she moaned, “that feels so good.”

  He grinned and moved his fingers higher, rubbing her calf. “As good as this?”

  She gave him a seductive smile. “Almost.”

  “Ellie.”

  “Yes?”

  “Lift up your skirt and spread your legs for me.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t ask nicely.”

  He pulled her to him and gave her a long, deep kiss, one that sent her heart beating and her body humming.

  “Please, wife, lift your skirt and spread your legs for me.”

  Feeling like a wanton, Eleanor leaned against the boulder and hiked up her skirt, revealing her drawers. Slowly she drew her legs up, then spread them. The ocean breeze nudged her skin through the slit, and she shuddered.

  Dante sat back and stared. “Oh, Ellie, you should see what I see.”

  She swallowed hard. “Tell me what you see.”

  “Your beautiful, fleshy lips are pouting out through the slit in your drawers. They glisten, Ellie, they’re wet with your sweet juices.”

  Her juices ran stronger, and she squirmed. “What…what else?”

  “I think they want to be stroked, don’t you?”

  Her heart thumped hard. “Maybe.”

  “Touch yourself, Ellie,” he urged.

  “Me?” She almost straightened, but stopped herself. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

  “Please, Ellie. For me.”

  “It…it would be easier if I removed my drawers, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, definitely,” he agreed, and she noted the hint of humor.

  She untied her drawers and slid out of them, kicking them to the side.

  “How do you feel?” He continued to stroke her calf.

  “I feel naughty,” she admitted, squirming.

  His fingers moved higher. “Now touch yourself.”

  Closing her eyes, she raised her skirt and spread her legs. She reached between them and touched her mound, moving her fingers back and forth, learning the texture of her pubic hair. With her middle finger, she touched the inner surface of her vagina, throwing her head back to delight in a delicious itch that saturated the sensitive, engorged area.

  Lightly, she ran a finger back and forth, first to the right, than to the left of her clitoris, scarcely touching it. The intense feeling raced through her body to her breasts, spreading from the inside to embrace her every nerve.

  Dante’s hand stilled hers, and she opened her eyes, questioning him with a look.

  “Lie down, my sweet,” he whispered.

  She slid from the boulder to the sand, looking up at him as he continued what she had begun.

  Dante placed his thumb at the base of her clitoris, nudging it gently. He then put two fingers deep inside her and stroked, in and out, in and out, pressing against the outer wall of her vagina. The sensation was too exquisite to bear!

  She undulated her hips to the movement of his fingers while he gently pinched her clitoris with one hand and continued to stroke her wet surface with the other.

  The sensation built, and she found that she couldn’t spread her legs wide enough, couldn’t move her hips high enough, couldn’t get enough of his touch.

  Suddenly his tongue was there, probing her entrance, going inside, then lightly licking her.

  Wanting more, she pulled her heated flesh to each side, opening herself to his fervent lip washing. He pressed his tongue firmly against her clitoris. She reached down to grab his head then rubbed against his mouth.

  She could hear the sounds she made, the moaning that came from deep within her throat, the gasps, the cries. All at once her clitoris was between his lips and she rode his face, carefree, saturated. Suddenly, she burst into a sequence of endless spasms and heard her clamorous cries of release as it rolled over her in waves.

  When it was over, she hazily opened her eyes and found him staring at her, his eyes warm, yet hot with unfulfilled passion.

  “Please,” she pleaded, reaching for him.

  Dante quickly removed his trousers and slid easily into her warmth, spilling his seed deep inside her.

  That night, Dante drew her a bath. “You probably have sand all over your delectable ass, my sweet,” he murmured.

  She chuckled. “And here I always thought an ‘ass’ was a donkey.”

  “It’s one of those words that conjures up more than a mere ‘bottom,’ ‘bum,’ or ‘butt,’” he explained, his eyes warm. “And yours is much more than any of those.”

  “You’re saying mine is too big to be a mere bottom?” she answered priggishly.

  “I’m saying,” he said, testing the water, “that looking at your lovely ass and touching it, even thinking about kissing it, makes me so hard, I nearly spend in my trousers. Now,” he added, “get in, my love, your bath awaits.”

  Eleanor let her gown fall to the floor and stepped into the tub. She closed her eyes and sighed. “Perfect.”

  She looked glorious sitting there, her bountiful hair piled on top of her head, her smooth shoulders gleaming, her breasts bobbing slightly on the water.

  Dante shook away an emotion he didn’t want to name and got to his knees beside the tub. “I’m your slave tonight.”

  She smiled, her eyes still closed. “Good. Then wash my back, slave.”

  He picked up the cloth, dipped it into the bath water, then soaped it. “First things first, madam.”

  Her eyes flew open, her expression suddenly filled with understand
ing. “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. Really.”

  Though she blushed a pretty pink, she allowed him to wash her breasts. Dante noted that her nipples hardened before he even touched them, and he hardened as well. He was amazed that he hadn’t already had enough of her.

  He scrubbed her back, listening to her make orgasmic noises, and he smiled to himself.

  “Oh,” she crooned around a sensual smile. “That’s the second best feeling I’ve had today.”

  “Well, thank God it comes in second,” he murmured. “Now, stand up.”

  “If I can,” she promised, then struggled to her knees in the tub. “Is this good enough?”

  His gaze raked her stomach, her precious womanhood and her soft thighs and he experienced that disturbing emotion again. “I guess it will have to do,” he answered, before dropping a kiss on her navel.

  She straightened her arms, grabbing the sides of the tub, and watched him through eyes that were pools of melted chocolate.

  He soaped the cloth again. “Must get the sand off your delicious ass,” he explained as he gently rubbed it.

  “Oh, no doubt,” she said with a shaky laugh.

  He then drew the cloth over her wet pelt, listening to her sharp intake of breath as he touched her.

  “Did you know,” he began, as he discarded the cloth and soaped his hands, “that there is a story of a woman whose pubic hair grew so long, it stretched to below her knees?”

  She shook with quiet laughter. “Nonsense.”

  “It’s true, or so I’ve heard.” He touched her vaginal lips with his soapy fingers and rubbed, watching her head loll and her pelvis come up to greet him.

  “Oh, heavens, Dante,” she said on a breath. “It’s certainly clean by now, don’t you think?”

  He sighed, pretending dejection. “Oh, I suppose. Go ahead. Sit.”

  She nearly fell into the tub, rested her head against the sloping back, and gave him a look that was both blatantly sexual and scolding.

  “I suppose,” she began, “there are names for that, too?”

  Ah, yes, he thought. There were some, but most he would not say aloud, for they were demeaning. “A few,” he answered.