"Make yourself at home. I'm going to find a shoehorn and get myself out of these pants," I said honestly, eliciting a chuckle from the blonde. "There's beer in the fridge, wine in the rack." I called from my bedroom. "Anything stronger is in the cabinet above the stove." God I sounded like an alcoholic.
I sat on the bed and tried first to get the biker boots off. Good Christ they were heavy. I groaned openly and looked up to see her standing in the doorway. She came in and knelt in front of me. "Let me help, please. I feel so bad."
I wanted to say no. It seemed the proper thing to do, but quite honestly? I liked the attention and I was bleeding all over.
She unbuckled the boots, which I think they had Frankenstein in mind when they made them, and heaved them in the corner. "Okay, those pants..."
I raised an eyebrow and I know I turned red. I looked down to see the fly still opened. "No, really I can--"
"A good slave takes care of her Mistress," she said in a low voice, and gently pushed me back on the bed. I let out a groan of pain, then I swallowed so hard I'm sure she heard me.
Getting those pants off was a struggle, let me tell you. I was mortified. In all my fifty plus years, I have never been more embarrassed nor has it ever been this much trouble for a woman to get me out of my pants. The blonde pulled and twisted as I stifled a groan and held my side.
With a grunt, she yanked them down my thighs and flew backwards onto her ass. I blinked several times in astonishment. She sat there with my sweaty leather pants in her lap. God, I tried not to laugh, truly I did. I bit at my already bruised lip in the effort.
She looked at me and grinned. We both burst into laughter. Now, I'm sitting on my bed, in my underwear and leather vest.
My eye is swollen shut, my lip is bleeding, my jaw I'm sure is turning a nice shade of purple and a gorgeous young blonde slave is sitting at my feet with my leather pants in her lap.
After the second wave of hysteria, I painfully stood and offered my hand to her. I walked into the bathroom with her right behind me.
"Take a shower. I'll take a look at your face when you're done," she ordered quietly then walked out and closed the door.
What in the hell was going on? I thought. Three hours ago, I was a contented novelist just trying to do a little research. I started the hot water and struggled out of the rest of my imprisonment. I let the hot water run off my head and down my back. Now, I've been beat up and accused of stealing a woman's slave. God, Pearse, why didn't you just stay home?
As I dried off, I slipped into a safe pair of nice old fashioned faded Levi's and a sweatshirt and pushed up the sleeves.
"Are you decent?" Her voice called from beyond the door.
I smiled and opened it. She blinked a few times and looked me up and down.
"I know. I'm not a leather person," I said and ran my fingers through my damp, short salt and pepper hair.
"Oh, I don't know. I was the one on my knees," she reminded me with a nervous chuckle and walked into the bathroom. "Sit down, let me take a look at you," she said. "First aid?"
"Under the sink," I wheezed, trying to ignore her comment. I sat on the toilet, thanking God that I remembered to put the lid down.
She gently lifted my face and put her hand on my cheek. "I think I can butterfly that. You won't need a stitch. Sit still," she said and for the next ten minutes, she expertly tended to my battle wounds.
"You seem to know what you're doing," I said as she dabbed my cut lip with the gauze. We both winced as she continued.
"I hope so. Mom and Dad paid a pretty penny for medical school," she said absently as she continued.
I watched her intently a she cut the tape and made the makeshift bandage. "Medical School? You're a doctor?"
"Yep. Quit moving."
"Can I ask you a personal question?"
"Nope."
"Okay," I responded quickly. I don't blame her. It's none of my business why she was on her knees in a dark corridor in a leather bar. It bothered me though but I let it go. I looked up to see her watching me. It was then I noticed her crystal blue eyes.
Oh boy...
She stood back and gently turned my face from side to side. "There. Do you have an ice pack for your ribs? You need to get that eye iced as well. It'll be quite a shiner."
I SAT ON the couch with the ice on my eye, which she held in place, and on my ribs. "For Christ sake," I said angrily, as it dawned on me. "I don't even know your name."
She chuckled and I noticed now, the dimple, just one, on her right cheek. "Kerry Henderson," she said and stuck out her hand.
"Jennifer Pearse, but my friends call me Pearse," I said and shook her hand.
Her eyes widened in recognition. "Jennifer Pearse? The Dock Murders. The Rhonnie Spaulding Series? That Jennifer Pearse?" she exclaimed.
I knew I was blushing. "Yeah." I took the ice from her and put it over my face.
"I've read every one of your books. They're great!" she said seriously.
"Thanks," I mumbled from behind my protection.
"Wow, Jennifer Pearse."
"Just Pearse," I mumbled. I could feel her looking at me.
"Can I ask you a personal question?" she asked.
I peeked out from behind my icepack. "Sure."
"What were you doing in that bar?"
I laughed and Kerry listened to my boneheaded idea. "It sounded like such a good idea at the time," I said seriously.
"So you're not into any of that? I mean domination..."
"No, I leave that to my mother."
Kerry laughed openly and held the ice to my ribs.
"Are you?" I really wanted to know. Not that it mattered, right? Oh boy... "Is that behemoth really your Mistress?"
Kerry took a deep breath. "Not really," she explained and I leaned forward. "Hey, keep still."
I took the ice off my eye; surprisingly, I could see. "What do you mean, not really?"
"Well, Nadia is a bit too much."
"Really?"
Kerry laughed. "Yes, really. She likes her women submissive, all the time. No questions, no back talk. She wants a slave. It's a turn on for her. She's also into S&M and I'm not." She shrugged and avoided looking at me.
"What are you into?" I was truly afraid of the answer.
She gave me an exasperated look. "I'm not into anything," she said angrily.
I raised an eyebrow at the tone. She seemed like a very intelligent and well-adjusted woman. Not that, that had anything to do with it, but what was she doing at that bar on her knees?
"I know what you're thinking, Pearse," she said evenly. "I'm a doctor, a well respected doctor, why am I on my knees in a bar."
"Well."
"I'll tell you, why. There are times when I find it extremely erotic. I feel sexy and it's a turn on. Nadia opened up a life that I had no idea existed. I enjoy the erotic, Pearse. I like an occasional lift to an otherwise boring sex life. To me it's fun and exciting. To her, it's a way of life. However, I don't do it every night and I don't do it with every woman I see!" she went on angrily.
I winced at her anger. Geez! "Okay. Sorry. I was just..." I stopped and looked at her. "Why did you come up to me?" All at once, I needed to know.
Now she blushed to her roots. "I don't know."
I laughed and she glared at me. "Kerry, why did you come up to me?"
"Because I was watching you. Nadia had already given me the 'I'm the Mistress, you have a choice. Submit to me or leave'. So, I said no. I was on my way out when you walked in. I-I don't know. I just thought you looked sexy," she said and took the ice packs and walked into the kitchen.
Maybe she's insane. Sexy?
She came back with more ice and sat next to me. "Put your head back," she ordered and I did. She placed the icepack over my eye.
"Thank you, Doctor," I said with a grin. A ghost of a smile flashed across her pretty face. I like that look; she looked honest.
There was silence for a moment.
"So, what would you like to kn
ow? I mean for your research," she said and turned sideways on the couch to face me. She propped her elbow along the back cushion and rested her head on her hand. The room suddenly got warmer. Geezus, Pearse. Deep breaths, deep breaths.
"Honestly? Nadia would she, or anyone who is so ensconced in that world, would they go to any extreme to keep their, what? Slave or..."
"Submissive."
"Submissive. Have you ever heard of them going too far?"
"I really haven't, but, Pearse, as I said that's not my idea of fun so... But it would make for a good murder mystery, right?" she asked with enthusiasm.
"I thought so. To be honest, Nadia scared the shit out of me today."
"I know, she scares me as well which is why I said no," she said.
I had my head back and was thinking about the whole lifestyle. "This dom and sub thing. I assume you are more submissive? And I'm not trying to be a smart ass. I'm serious, I want to understand."
"Why?"
I took the icepack off and looked at her. "Because I like you. I'd like to understand you. Is that wrong?" Boy, this is new. I never talk this much.
"No it's not wrong at all. Pearse, when you're having sex are you a top or a bottom?" she asked frankly.
I had to think about that one. "I usually take the initiative. I'd say I'm a top," I said confidently. Kerry smirked just a bit. "What? I am. I'm the one in control."
"Okay, okay."
"Hey, I should know myself. Geez." Why am I getting so irritated?
"So if we were role playing; you would take the role of the Mistress," Kerry offered.
I blinked rapidly several times as if I were signaling a ship. "Well. I don't know. I... Just because I'm a bit dominant doesn't mean I'm a dominatrix," I said seriously. Is that the right word? "Does it?" I was all confused now.
My sex life, up until this evening, was average run of the mill. I met a woman. I liked the woman. She liked me. If we both wanted sex, there'd be sex. Right? Right?
"No, Pearse, it does not make you a dominatrix. I'm saying some women take the roles very seriously. It's the only way they can express themselves. I, personally, like a woman who takes control, and you don't have to slap me around or tie me up to show you're in control. Although a little bondage is fun," she admitted with a grin.
I swallowed and shivered...from the ice!
Again, there was silence. "So, you thought I was sexy, huh?"
"Very."
"Hmmm."
"Hmmm, indeed," she whispered as she watched me. "What, um, what was it? The leather?" I asked as my heart pounded so loud I knew Kerry could hear it.
"Uh huh. That and the tan and the way that vest hid just enough of your breasts," she whispered.
I swallowed again, thankful that my face was covered. "T-That was a friend's idea. She said I couldn't really wear something under it. So..." I stopped short when I felt her hand on my forearm. Her fingers lightly traced up and down. Then I felt her fingers on my face, lightly tracing the bruise on my jaw. Yikes, this was not good or it was too good. I didn't have a clue.
"Pearse?"
"Mhmm?" I think I groaned.
"Why did you stop me in the corridor?" she asked her voice now was right in my ear.
"Honestly? I was shocked and that has never happened to me before, but I've been thinking about it since."
"What have you been thinking?" she whispered and her tongue bathed my ear.
Where this came from, I have no idea. Maybe it was the experience of that leather bar. Maybe it was the vision of Kerry in the corridor. Maybe it was just plain erotic and sexy.
I took the ice and tossed it on the end of the couch and stood. Kerry looked up at me and saw the look of lust that I knew I had on my face. She blinked several times and I saw the pulse point in her neck going wild. I was breathing a bit heavily as I unbuttoned the top of my Levis. Kerry swallowed as our eyes never left one another.
I didn't know Kerry very well, but I knew what she liked, and dammit, if it didn't excite the hell out of me as well. I unzipped my jeans completely.
"I'm thinking you should finish what you started," I said in a low commanding voice. I swear I saw her eyes change from crystal to deep blue as she dropped to her knees before me. I put my hands through her blonde hair, running my fingers back and forth. Kerry slipped the jeans down to my ankles.
Kerry looked up into my eyes. "May I taste you, Pearse?" she asked in a solemn voice.
I grinned and gently guided her head in as I stepped out of my jeans, and placed one foot on the coffee table. I closed my eyes and moaned deeply as I felt her cool wet tongue glide over me. It was exquisite. Her tongue lightly flicked across my clit and for a moment, my legs shook. Fine. That's all I need, to collapse on the poor woman. Do I stop her or fall on her head?
As if feeling my dilemma, Kerry pulled back and guided me to the coffee table, thank God, and tossed my jeans out of the way. I let out a deep groan as she kissed from my knee and up my inner thigh. When her warm tongue touched between my folds, I fell back onto the coffee table. "Good God, woman," I moaned. I reached down and ran my fingers through her soft hair once again.
"So wet, Pearse," she mumbled against me.
I was extremely wet; I can't remember being this aroused. I felt my orgasm building and tried to control my breathing. I nearly passed out from the effort. "Kerry!" I called out my warning.
"Come for me, Pearse," she whispered.
I nodded furiously and when she entered me with two fingers, I did just that.
Magazines went flying off the coffee table and I nearly followed them. My orgasm rippled through me and I held onto the table. My body shook, trembled and writhed against Kerry's lovely tongue.
Finally, I gently pushed her away. "No more." I said in a ragged voice. I lifted my head to see her kneeling there, smiling. She licked her lips then kissed the top of each thigh. I groaned and twitched.
She moved up my body and loomed over me. I was half hanging off the damned coffee table. "Hello..." I tried to sound sexy; it came out in a low wheeze.
She lay between my trembling legs now, and I thought for sure the coffee table would give out. "Hi," she whispered and kissed me, sharing the taste of my arousal.
Kerry moved her hips against me. I was still throbbing as I arched into her.
"I can't believe how much I want you, Pearse," she murmured against my lips.
"I can't believe I haven't passed out," I replied honestly.
She laughed quietly and held my hands over my head. I raised an eyebrow at the cocky grin. "I thought you were a top?" she asked in an extremely sultry voice. "We'll just see about that."
I'm gonna love doing research for this book!
Service Call
by MJ Williamz
I CHECKED MY watch again as I walked up to my next job. Ten forty-five. I was half an hour early. Who knew my last job would only take twenty minutes? Some brat had shoved his stuffed Nemo down the toilet after seeing his mom flush his brother's goldfish. Once he copped to the crime, it was an easy fix. And this job was in the next quad over.
I waited three minutes after knocking on the door. Double checking the work order, I saw that I was at the right place. Apartment 802. The work order also said that I had permission to enter if the tenant wasn't home. I knocked again and waited. Still nothing. I took out the key I'd picked up at the office and let myself in.
"Hello?" I called. No answer.
I walked over to the sink and opened the cupboard under it. I turned on the faucet and stepped back to see the drip. I heard a gasp and turned to see the tenant, a tall brunette whose long hair fell to her shoulders. The dark green towel wrapped around her slipped slightly, exposing a large, soft white breast. Her wet hair framed her heart-shaped face, adding to her appeal. The beads of shower water dripped from her hair and clung teasingly to her breast. I ached to lick one, just one, bead.
"I knocked," I said, trying to look at anything besides her breast.
"I was in the sho
wer," she offered flatly.
The last thing I needed was some half-naked woman tempting me. I'd gotten in trouble for that before. I was there to fix her sink, not fraternize. Or whatever the hell they called it when you messed around with a tenant. I went back to work, lying flat on my back, getting ready to slide under the sink to check for the leak.
The beautiful lady would not leave well enough alone. She moved over to stand next to me. My gaze went up her shapely calf, to her firm thigh, up under the towel where I saw an open invitation. Her swollen pussy lips were parted slightly, begging my tongue for attention. Before I could do anything stupid, I slid under the sink.
"You see anything?" she asked sweetly.
Was she flippin' kidding? She stood with her legs apart inviting me to look. How could I not see anything? Or did she mean did I find the leak? Damn, it was hot in there. I couldn't get comfortable knowing she was standing there, barely covered. Looking at me. I felt vulnerable. I felt horny. I felt like I needed to get the job done and get the hell out of there.
"Do you see it dripping?"
She was killing me. I was shaking as I tried to stay focused and ignore the throbbing between my legs.
"I think I see a wet spot," she said.
I snapped my legs together. Was it that obvious?
"I think I've got everything under control here if you want to go get dressed or something," I suggested.
She didn't move. "Are you asking me to slip into something more comfortable?"
I wanted to sit up and rip that towel off of her. I wanted to see those breasts that I'd caught a glimpse of before. I wanted a better look at her hot pussy. I wanted to feel her, to taste her. I wanted to fuck her. Not trusting my voice, I opted to keep my mouth shut.
"Hmm. Maybe I misread you."
Why was she still there? What the hell was she talking about misreading me? The internal argument raged inside me.
Focus on the work. You need this job. Don't screw it up.
She's hot! I want to fuck her hard and fast right now.
Focus on your work.
Blue Collar Lesbian Erotica Page 13