by JR King
“Unannounced, yeah. You’re catching up.”
“Naughty pet.”
“Good-naughty or bad-naughty?” Kissing my neck, she caressed my thigh. “Want me to tell you a dirty secret?” she whispered, breathing hotly.
Again, I felt my cock stiffening way too fast. “Go on.”
Her warm lips brushed against my jawline. “I’m not wearing any underwear. My asshole boyfriend confiscated it. He’s a sick pervert, corrupts me a little more every day. I can show you my sex, that is, if you’d like to see it.”
“Jesus,” I growled under my breath, “since when did you become such a slut?”
“Since I understood how to control you with it, sir. I’m in charge.”
High time I go back to my roots, isn’t it? Rule the roost?
I cleared my throat and smiled at her. “You’ll never be in charge because you’re too flighty. How about, I’ll let you touch my cock again,” anticipating my consent, she started lifting her hand, so I covered it with my own, “if you beg nicely.”
“I’m an open book to you, aren’t I? What’s the give away?” She shuddered, the words catching in her throat. “I won’t beg.”
“Such a dirty girl,” I whispered. “Wants to show me her pussy, but she can’t beg properly. Now that’s a real big shame.”
“I want to touch it again. Please let me?”
I placed her hand on my cock. “When we’re back in the bedroom, be prepared. I’m going to make your dreams of control seem insignificant.” I reached up and slid my forefinger between her lips. She wrapped her tongue around the invading digit, sucking it gently and looking into my eyes, my erection throbbing in her hand. “You want to suck me, don’t you, dirty girl?” She nodded and sucked harder on my finger. I pulled it free and whispered, “If you beg nicely, I’ll let you suck me before I fuck you. I still haven’t punished you for climaxing without permission yesterday.”
“Then you should.”
We spent a wonderful afternoon together. Beautiful, her submission, I was grateful. Unbuckling my belt, adrenaline singed an upward path through my arteries, swelling the tendons in my neck. Elena was sitting naked in a high-backed chair, her wrists bound to the armrests, her ankles to the front legs. She shivered while the tail of my belt hung passively against her inner thigh. I trailed it across the pouting lips of her sex. Her body tautened when the soft whoosh of leather cut the air. A vestigial flash akin to pain registered in her eyes and tears welled up, filling the corners of those big eyes. Her cries, as the impromptu whip smacked against her flesh, were part pain, part pleasure. I admired the roseate stripes blooming across her skin, saw her cool blue gaze thaw into a sea of tears. Mostly, she was stoic, letting out little yelps. I knew she was trying to repress her arousal, refusing to accept she was just a perfect product of nature. Each time I hit a different thigh in a different area, watching marks bloom on her skin. And each time I dealt the slap, I felt a hissing rush of blood coursing through my veins, fueling my erection. Scents of stiff arousal and sweat tainted the room.
I quelled my lust and stopped after six lashes. Elena had yelped at each of them, tenuously choking on her gasps. I cut the thin threads of jute rope with a safety knife and held her up. My hand cupped her jaw, and my mouth took in the sound of her pain. I made a low, raw noise in my throat as I stole her breath, my parted lips swallowing hers. The kiss was full of lust, and infectious.
I dumped her on the bed and set to work removing my clothes. With practiced slowness, I pulled down the fly and my boxer briefs. Possessively, I stroked downward the length, moving closer to stand before my submissive so that my cock was wagging right under her nose. “Suck. And don’t slack off on the job, pet.”
A while later, the gasping through choppy breaths started. It wasn’t until I heard delicious, desperate choking noises gurgling at the back of her throat that I decided to pull out. Breathing heavily, she sputtered a little. I rested her forehead on my inner thigh to let her catch her breath. When I wiped the saliva from her cheek with the back of my hand, she looked up at me with a smile that thanked me.
“Take me deeper.” I smiled back. “Relax your jaw.”
As we continued, she didn’t gag, and I didn’t care if she’d had enough. I had all-consuming tingles everywhere. Feeding myself to her, I fought the want to pull her hair hard and fuck her face until the tingle became a dark, permanent rush. I caught myself in time and slowed down my pace, waiting to hear the desperate noises that meant it was time to back off for good. I kissed the salt from under her eyes and down her cheeks, and then took her with voracious, deep fucks, beholding her utter submission and the gratitude that accompanied it.
Not long after, hell broke loose.
I paused on the landing to make sure no one was around. My gaze was drawn to a certain roughshod movement downstairs. A moving curtain’s shadow. The terrace at the back of the guesthouse was constructed setback-style, intended to keep warm during winters and cool during summers. Christopher was waiting for me, something about bad news.
“What the fuck happened?”
Christopher stopped pacing across the travertine floor, and ran a hand through his hair. “Sophia wanted to spite—,”
“Short version, uncle Chris.” My voice became deeper and harder, like steel being splintered with an axe. “I’m getting tired of Sophia’s slip-ups.”
“D’Souza saw footage of Elena and her grandparents breaking bread with us on Easter. Didn’t go ballistic at the Eucharist bit, he told Conrad she’ll find out the truth the day she opens the bank safe deposit box he left her. Doesn’t care about the ingots, he has dirt on us and explains to his daughter how he accidentally killed his own wife. He’d been investigating Conrad for a while, and that evening someone informed him that Conrad was going to adopt Elena, take away his little girl forever. He lost it.”
“And the plot thickens. Persons of interest?” I prodded. Since decades, my family held undisclosed bank accounts in Switzerland. Tax authorities didn’t worry me; we were rich enough.
“None. Just the box.”
“He only left Elena a small fortune. Battling the waywardness of that hellion is useless. Inveigling her to sign the papers and accept the money is like pulling teeth. She said she’d rather sell her body than touch those millions.”
“Believe you me, there’s a safe in Zürich registered under his name. He bettered Conrad, left Elena a key before we caught him. Steel-hand-in-a-velvet-glove bastard, he had to make sure she’d open it, so he left his wife’s pearl earrings in it.”
“Son of a bitch!” my yell slashed like sugarcane in a swamp forest during hurricane season. I gave Christopher a few seconds to say something—I thought I did—then I sent the nearest vase flying across the space. At impact, fragments detonated against the white balustrade, birthing a rippled cloud of maroon and taupe shards into the air. Like a black hole, gravity drew the jingling shards to their death on the cold floor. Mad as a hatter was mildly put, my pulse was erratic. “I’m not going to lose her!”
“You won’t, not if you let me handle this. Got a memory like an elephant? Persuasion is still my magic word.”
“Persuasion?”
“Make her open the box.”
“I’ll fuck you up if she leaves me because of this.”
Christopher never took umbrage at the insults or threats I emitted, probably because he was more relentless than I could ever be. He wheezed a laugh. “I don’t have any doubt you’ll try and fail at it, Alexander. I like that girl. If you want her to become a Turner, now’s when my affair with the apple of your eye starts.”
*
Do you know about perfect moments? Those 3D, high definition, vivid, full-blown moments that are inexplicably enhanced. It’s a new day, sunrays break through the greenish tinge of storm clouds, and the mysteries of the universe are revealed. As for the setting, they usually involve the simplest—and sometimes silliest—acts, and yet somehow, in their simplicity, they encompass the fullness of
something out of this world. You get lucky for no good reason.
Watch this.
“Alex, would you…,” her voice died down.
“Would I what?”
“Want to watch me finger myself?”
A girlfriend being the perfect mistress was every fantasy come true. “Jesus, Elena.” My cock twitched, and small pellets of whiskey came shooting out with the words from my mouth. I dropped my glass and watched it shatter as the delicious liquid splashed all over my oxfords. Quite the glittering pile of smithereens at my feet. There you go; shards bring luck. I reminded myself that I’d already fucked her sore this afternoon. I’d hurt her. It didn’t matter, my lust for her seemed constant.
“Thanks for the premature ejaculation,” she huffed, wiping the prickly liquid from her drenched cheeks with the back of her hand.
Looking at her naked body, I was harder than I could remember today. “Who are you?” I asked without thinking. I cursed inwardly. She could end it all just because of a stupid mannerism. “That’s it! Where’s she? What have you done with her? You’re not the little Elena I know. Where’s my girl?”
Moving in closer, “In here somewhere,” she said, wrapping her bare arms around my neck. She pressed her nipples into my dress shirt. As soon as I felt them, I sighed with pleasure. My cock was insistent against her stomach and twitched again when she tiptoed to kiss my nose.
“Could we talk about Zürich?” I tried.
“Looky here!” She went over to the bed, climbing on top of it and giving me an excellent view of her ass and just the hint of bare pussy below it. I adored the folds of her delicate sex that glistened, and the tiny pink hole of her anus. On all fours, with her ass tilted up and her back arched, she was the hottest thing ever. “Wait. Wait,” she said, shifting. Her movements were fluid and graceful, like a trained kitty. Now she was lying prone on the bed, one arm bent above her had, the other resting innocently against her abdomen. “Will master strip for this girl?”
I took my clothes off leisurely. Deliberately. As I pushed my boxers down, she gasped with what I registered as delight when my dick bobbed up. I decided to give in to a familiar urge. Lifting her foot to my mouth, I sucked lightly on it, swirling my tongue around each toe. Judging from her accelerated breathing, I knew it turned her on. I held her gaze and reached for the other foot, repeating the fetishistic treatment.
“My turn to play,” she murmured, her toes curling.
Lowering myself on top of her, I slithered down the bed until my chin was leveled with her stomach.
She arched under me, giggling. “Tickles!”
I climbed over her naked figure, which was quite pliable beneath me. My cock rested against her slick sex, and I could feel both our arousals mingling into a mess of scents. “Show me later, I can’t concentrate when I’m this hard. Right now I want this pussy.”
“Don't hold back. Take me hard.”
And I did. I slipped into her so easily, her unbelievably wonderful wetness guiding me into the marvel that was a tight sex, which felt like coming home.
I nibbled on one nipple, standing so erect and lonely altogether. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she lifted up, her body allowing me in deeper as she gave in to mind-shattering bliss. Delectable as it was, her nipple had to wait a bit because I needed to focus on fucking her. Her hot, slick sheath squeezed me so tightly that I nearly exploded on the spot. My fists rested on both sides of her head as I began plunging in and out at a relentless pace. She yelped softly with each thrust, one of my favorite erotic sounds.
When I slowed down, she became wild, thrashing beneath me. “More. More!”
As a cruel man, I wanted to torture her, plain and simple. She was impatient, bucking back at me, letting my cock massage her inner walls with no help from me. When I popped out she lifted her hips, eagerly letting her sex suck me right back in. I circled my tongue around her other nipple, capturing it between my lips. I deliberately kept my ministrations feather-light, while she moved like a wanton, unidentifiable slut beneath me.
“You’re tormenting me,” she complained, her voice throaty and deep. I felt her eyelashes against my arm as she tucked her head beneath it to hide the desperation in her face.
I pulled out. “So?”
Her head swung back and she glared at me. She was really pissed off…I guess? “Alexander!” My thumb toyed with her clit, and then I pressed the slippery head of my cock against it. Her head flung back and I took the opportunity to suck her neck. “Please! Is this about Zürich?” Her hips moved wildly, blindly searching to get me back inside. Only when I saw the tears did I shove myself back in.
“Yes.”
“You want me to go?”
“No. NEVER. I won’t support you.”
“I’ve no intention of ever going there to sign papers.”
At once, my movements were intense, direct, and purposeful. It wasn’t lovemaking; it was a brutal, animalistic fuck, aggression building in me like tidal waves. I only cared about my cock swelling inside her, shoving until the ecstasy bottomed out. Elena’s legs flailed, and I felt a warm gush release as her cervix curved around my cock-head in the most intimate of caresses. Her breath slowed, her mouth slack, her eyes stuck wide open. Neither one of us said a word, instead we kissed for a long period of time. I knew she was going to sign those damn papers even before she did.
Elena Anderson
The O Ya Date
I learned that Frederic, who had been with Cross Investments for over a decade, also turned in his resignation. For the double farewell party—presidential grandeur in check—my main concern was that Mitchell would attend it. I was clinging on by my fingernails as I apprised Alexander. To my surprise and disbelief, he didn’t give me any trouble over the matter; he declined to take part in the event. Because the location was just a stone’s throw away from his office, he suggested that, if I were still there, he would make an effort to stop by later. I agreed that it was a fine idea, and that was that. When the hour of the event came around, I admitted to myself that there was a level of nervous energy balled up inside of me.
Hamilton drove me to The Fairmont Copley Plaza. It was a fairly big party: three hundred invitees. Dealings were of unusual trade. I wandered around, fraternizing with the guests I recognized, and all the while the last confrontation with Mitchell percolated through my mind. Alexander Turner is dangerous. I never gave anybody my full attention as I always had one eye out in case I would spot Mitchell.
Having evaded the throng of collegial gossipers, I took a long sigh. I swished champagne in my mouth as I counted the chandeliers dangling from the high vaulted ceiling, and the sconces flanking the clerestory windows along the paneled walls of the banquet room.
Snatches of a private conversation coming from the hallway raised the hairs on the nape of my neck. “Shoddy claim that she’s with Turner,” a thickly accented feminine voice rattled like a trayful of silverware. “He has a penchant for brunettes, but if she were his, he’d be here with her, wouldn’t he?”
“Don’t throw your toys out of the pram. He’s making much of the relationship because it’s serious,” another female raconteur answered, her voice equally appalling. “I hear they’re living together.”
“You don’t say! That unsophisticated girl is the first one to cohabit with the world’s hottest bachelor?”
Looking down, I smiled at my shoes. Empty vessels make the most noise. Their fugue was as pointless as jumping in front of a bullet train. I didn’t suffer the disease of having to please everyone and create a rapport, least of all these people. Fortunately, while winding my way down a row of highboy tables decked out with bronze silk and golden mid sashes, Frederic grabbed me to introduce Marla. I glanced at the clique of affluently dressed women about her, their coiffures extravagant and painstakingly elaborate, diamonds drooping from their earlobes and glistening around their necks. Taking another swig of champagne, I scoffed silently at myself. Why was I judging these people? I, too, was prettified a
nd, was as much here for show as they were, even though Alexander considered the business of saying goodbye to colleagues a superficial farce. Most likely I was worse than these women, because the price of my sexy Valentino cocktail dress would leave anyone feeling as sick as the proverbial dog. And yet I’d hardly batted my eyelashes or quirked an eyebrow when the Saks Fifth Avenue’s personal shopper announced its price tag.
About half an hour later, I relaxed, enjoying my current situation and company. I didn’t feel like networking, so I hung low and drank, yucking it up with unnatural society women. Flamboyant, overspending suburban housewives living behind a white picket fence with a workaholic husband who couldn’t make them come. Low self-esteem, loneliness, and cheating came with the territory, first-world variety type of distractions kept them happy. One of the wives joked she was a kleptomaniac, another professed her love for wine and weed, a third one shopped excessively, and a fourth one had two lovers because her husband couldn’t get it up fast and well enough. A wan Wellesley housewife was in the process of telling me a story about the oversexed judge whose wife caught him wearing women’s underclothes when I felt a set of strong hands wrap around my waist from behind.
“Sweetheart, I’ve missed you.” A sexy, low purr that leached away residual nervousness.
Five women gasped. I broke into a huge grin. They looked dumbstruck, completely wowed. Yep, he’s with me. Deal with it. Alexander removed his hands and I turned to him. Business suit-clad, he looked fine like a tall glass of ice-choked lemonade on a hot summer day. Leave it to him to wear ubiquitous apparel and still make it look like something never seen before. “Sex on legs,” I whispered. I might have been a little buzzed; inhibitions and bashfulness were subdued.
He stood to the left of me, speaking softly, “That’s a nice way to put it, kitten.”
I watched him give me a quick bottom-to-top checkout. I was wearing a knee-length black dress that hugged my hips majestically. The color contrasted well with my natural tan, and the ruched corset accentuated the curves of my small breasts, making them appear bigger than they were.
