Iron Princess (Iron Palace Book 2)

by Lisa Ferrari

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  I get so turned on by this that I place his hands on the bar and tell him not to let go, to pretend his hands are bound. “Stick out your tongue.”

  He does, and I turn around and stick my butt in his face and move my vagina all around his tongue, then my anus, then back and forth, doing both. God it feels good. His tongue is so, so long.

  Kellan starts breathing heavily and squirming around on the bench, working his hips and flexing his erection, which is standing pretty much straight up. How does it do that?

  I grab it and squeeze it and stroke it vigorously while he eats me. I lean forward and take him in my mouth, sucking the head as hard as I can.

  Kellan lifts his hips and his erection rams the back of my throat and I gag.

  Memories of vomiting a half-digested 7-Layer Burrito on Tommy Warcraft’s crotch invades my mind. Little green chives in his bushy brown pubic hair.

  I don’t want to do it again.

  I smack Kellan on the hip. “Be still.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “This isn’t Little House on the Prairie, don’t call me ma’am.”

  “What should I call you?”

  “Something else.”

  “Mistress?”

  “You’re not married and I am not your mistress.”

  “What then?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll think of something. Keep going.” I grab a fistful of hair on the top of his head and push his face into me. He resumes trying to put hickeys all over me.

  I resume fellating him. I slide my mouth down the full length of him, pushing him into the back of my throat. It doesn’t make me gag this time. I push down lower. Kellan is big and long and I feel him sliding into my throat. I push lower, until my lips are pressed against his pelvis. I move my head up and down, stroking him with my throat, trying not to hurt him with my teeth.

  Kellan moans like crazy, his abs flexing, his mouth eating my booty like a madman.

  I pull off and turn around. He’s wet and shiny with my saliva.

  I grab the base of him, getting him ready for more. “Did you like that?”

  “That was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.

  I sit down on him, easing him inside me. I use my legs for leverage to ride him. I have no words to describe the sensation. I’ve heard that a penis that is too big is painful, but no complaints so far. I love having him inside me.

  “Oh God, Claire, I’m so close.” Kellan is still holding fast to the bar above his head. “Stop or I’m going to come.”

  I don’t stop.

  I continue sliding up and down and rocking my hips.

  “Wait…” he gasps, “I want us to come together… Oh God… you’re going to make me come.”

  “So come.” Wow. I feel so powerful.

  I continue riding him.

  Our eyes lock.

  I have an idea.

  “I want to see it. Tell me when.”

  I continue riding him steadily, but not too fast, letting him build up, and up, and up.

  Kellan grunts and squirms. He flexes his hips.

  I smack his thigh. “Hold still. I’m in charge. I’m making you come. Remember? Let it happen. There’s no hurry. We’ve got all night.”

  I take him all the way in, so deep, and rock my hips back and forth. It feels so good. For a moment, I get lost in it myself. I start to get close.

  Kellan lifts his head and looks at me with an imploring look on his face. His hands push on the bar he’s holding, practically lifting it off the support pins. His chest and abs are flexed. God he looks good. Like something out of a magazine.

  “Don’t touch the head while I’m coming, okay? It tickles.”

  “It does?”

  “Yes. See, working the head and shaft together, especially the head, is good for eliciting the orgasm, but once the orgasm starts, only touch the shaft. The head gets too sensitive, and touching it sort of messes up the orgasm.”

  This is news to me. I wonder why no one ever told me this. Do all women know this? Does Denise? “Okay.”

  I continue my steady pace, savoring Kellan’s body.

  “Now!”

  I stand up and grab his penis.

  Wow.

  It’s huge.

  Bigger than I’ve ever seen it. I stroke it up and down as fast as I can, stopping just below the head, hoping I’m doing it the way he likes it.

  Kellan holds his breath, and three seconds later, he cries out.

  He erupts. A geyser shoots into the air and comes down on his stomach. Then another. And another and another.

  His head is back against the bench, his eyes shut tight, his perfect white teeth clenched, the cords and muscles in his neck flexing.

  I jerk him as best I can, trying to read his body.

  When the semen stops flowing and he starts to gasp for air, I begin slowing down. I steadily decrease the rhythm, gradually, very gradually, bringing him down (and not touching the head!), until his erection begins to wilt. I stroke the shaft lightly and lovingly.

  His semen is on my hands and forearms. His abs are covered. There’s even some on his chest. It’s probably on the ceiling. How can he have so much?

  I lean down and lick one drop, tasting it. It tastes nice.

  Kellan’s hands drop from the bar and hang at his sides. His legs go slack and his entire body relaxes.

  I go to him and kneel beside him and caress his hair. It’s very soft. “Did you like that? Did I do it right?”

  “Oh, yes. That was perfect.” He looks down at the semen on his chest and stomach. “Wow. That’s a lot.”

  “So, have I been doing it wrong all this time?”

  “No, not at all. You do it very well. I like the way you do it.”

  “But, now that you told me, was it better this time?”

  “Well, it’s always good with you, Claire. But, yeah, I’d have to say this one was off the chart. It was as good or probably even better than I could do it myself. Look at how much came out. That’s a lot. Even for me.”

  “So, do all women know not to touch the head during orgasm?”

  “Um, no, I don’t think they do. Most of the movies and stuff I’ve seen online, usually the girl works the guy’s head while he’s trying to climax and you can see him squirming around because it tickles.”

  “So, even porn stars are doing it wrong?”

  “It seems so.”

  “Huh.” I like knowing that I now have secret information, that I’m privy to something the so-called professionals aren’t. I wonder, again, if Denise knows. I’m glad Kellan told me. I wish I’d known sooner, but I’m glad he told me.

  I give him a kiss. “Your face smells like my butt.”

  “I know. I love that smell.”

  “You look half asleep. Want to go to bed?”

  “Let’s get in the spa.”

  We head out to the Jacuzzi. Kellan detours to the bathroom to clean up a bit, and we ease into the hot water.

  I then remember the good news. “Oh, good news! I talked to Nancy today and checked the schedule for the weekend. I can come to the track with you.”

  “That’s great! You’re going to love it.”

  Then something occurs to me; something which has been on my mind for some time. “Stick out your tongue.”

  Kellan sticks his tongue out.

  It’s long. Really long.

  “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.”

  Kellan smiles a mischievous, knowing grin.

  ON OUR WAY to bed later, Kellan takes a pic of the incline bench where we made love and posts it to Instagram: Had one of the best workouts of my life. #Repping275 #BestSpotterInTheWorld #OMG

  I love it.

  COFFEE.

  I smell coffee.

  I open my eyes to find Kellan is holding a mug in front of my face. It’s still dark outside.

  “What time is it?”

  “Time to do our morning cardio.”

/>   “But what time is it?”

  “About 5:30.”

  “It’s so early.”

  “It’s fatburning time. You want an ass so fine that guys will line up… Wait, how does it go?”

  I have never been a morning person, but this thought amuses me. “An ass so fine, they’d eat a mile of my poop just to see where it came from.”

  “I ate your ass last night.”

  “Yeah, you did.” Mmm. The thought excites me.

  “You want your fine ass to show, you’ve got to burn off the fat. Drink this and then get dressed.”

  I prop myself up on a pile of pillows, surrounded by the mounds of white comforters. I love this bed.

  Kellan hands me the mug. The coffee is divine. I never knew black coffee could be so good. It’s sweet. “How many sugars are in this?”

  “None.”

  “But it’s sweet.”

  “I put two packets of stevia in it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A sweetener made from plants. It’s two hundred times sweeter than sugar. But it doesn’t raise blood sugar.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that right now, you haven’t eaten for about eight hours and your body is beginning to utilize fat for energy. Glycogen stores in the liver and muscles last about 24 hours, but your body is using fat, too. By doing fasted cardio, that is, cardio while in a fasted state, meaning we haven’t eaten recently, we encourage that process. By sweetening our food and beverages with stevia, rather than with sugar or some other carcinogenic pink packet or diarrhea-inducing yellow packet, we can enjoy a delicious coffee. Caffeine has been shown to help the fatburning process, too.”

  It’s a bit early for me to absorb so much information pertaining to my biochemistry. But I sip the coffee and eventually get up and get dressed.

  I actually wind up enjoying the hour of cardio. Kellan reads more from Prisoner of Azkaban. I’m excited for him to finish it so we can talk about it. I listen to music on my phone through my earbuds.

  The 60 minutes goes by surprisingly fast.

  When we’re done, we take a shower together. I ask Kellan if we should eat first, at least drink a protein shake, because I always see guys in the gym with their shaker cups in hand on their way out of the gym, as though they can’t wait a few minutes until they get home to eat.

  Kellan says that it is a good idea to get nutrients into your body after resistance exercise. But for fat burning, which is our goal at the moment, we just spent an hour putting our body in fatburning mode, so by not eating right away we can let the lipolysis continue.

  I ask if that’s a fancy word for fat burning. It sounds like liposuction.

  Kellan says yes.

  We take a shower and wash each other.

  I love washing Kellan’s muscles. And his penis. And his hair. And his penis. And his butt. And his penis. Which gets big and hard when I wash it. I tell him to turn around and I enjoy washing his sexy bum while I admire all the hickeys. While I’m soaping him with a big squirt of body wash and circling my hands all over his glutes, I tease him by swirling my finger around his anus. After a few minutes, I slowly slide it in.

  Kellan goes crazy.

  I get up behind him and press myself against him while my finger is in. I reach around with my other hand and stroke him while I bang his perfect butt with my finger.

  I reach up and nibble his ear. I try to make my voice husky. “Do you like that?”

  “Yessssss… Oh, yes, Claire. I love it.”

  I stroke him faster, squeezing tight at the base and sliding my fist up to the head. I decide to see how quickly I can make him come. I start squeezing and stroking the head while I finger him faster.

  Kellan stands with both hands on the wall, completely lost in pleasure. The hot water beats down on the back of my neck.

  I nibble his ear again while I work his erection intensely. I murmur, “I want to feel your ass squeeze my finger when you come.”

  That puts him over the top, because, about 30 seconds later, he comes.

  Kellan cries out as he climaxes.

  I do indeed feel him squeezing my finger. I find it very sexy. And so intimate.

  When he’s done, he faces me. “Your turn. Turn around.”

  I feel his warm, slippery hands caress my back and shoulders, what he calls traps, which is short for trapezius.

  It feels so good. I can’t remember the last time I had a massage. If I ever have.

  Kellan’s strong, slippery hands slide down to my butt. He spreads me open.

  It turns me on.

  One slippery finger caresses my anus while his other hand explores my breasts before sliding down to my vagina and clit.

  It’s not even 7:00 a.m. and we’re getting it on. Wonders never cease.

  Kellan works my clitoris intensely while his other finger slides in and out of my butt. He leans close. “I want to feel your ass squeeze my finger when you come.”

  That pretty much does it for me because, about 30 seconds later, I come.

  A powerful one. All my orgasms with Kellan are powerful.

  He slows and gradually stops, easing his finger out of me.

  “How was that?” he asks, kissing my face and neck and gathering me into his muscular arms.

  “Good. Really good. Can we go back to bed? I think I need to lie down.”

  “Nope, we gotta boogie. You can sleep in the car if you need to.”

  BY 7:00 WE’RE out the door and in the Huracan and on our way. Being ensconced in this futuristic work of art always amazes me. It’s sex on wheels. Sleep is now far from my mind.

  We take 80 to Sacramento to the children’s receiving home. There are two buses out front. The kids are outside, running around and playing and talking. They’re clearly very excited.

  They go positively bonkers when they hear and then see the green Huracan drive up.

  Kellan and I get out and he introduces me to the staff, two men and two women. They’re very nice. A little frazzled, perhaps. But I would be too, trying to corral a bunch of excited kids this early in the morning.

  Kellan has all the kids gather around us and he makes a little speech, which is so cute. He tells them how we’re going to Sears Point where there is a racetrack called Sonoma Raceway. It was built 45 years ago. The land was originally a dairy farm until they built a big race track, and they’ve been racing ever since. And today, each and every one of them will get to go for a ride around the track in a real Lamborghini!

  They ooh and ah appropriately. It’s so cute.

  One little boy asks if he can drive.

  Kellan asks if he has a license.

  He says no.

  Kellan says sorry, California law.

  Everyone laughs.

  Kellan is amazing with the kids. I walk around and take a lot of pics with my phone. They climb on him and hang from his arms like he’s a tree. The children laugh and squeal with glee.

  So does Kellan.

  He is truly amazing.

  THE RACETRACK ITSELF is huge.

  We pull in and there is a sea of bright, colorful cars. They’re all Lamborghinis. Yellow, red, blue, green, orange, white, black, purple. There’s even a bubble-gum pink one. Kellan points to a shiny gold one, a shiny silver one, and a shiny blue one. He explains that those are wraps. They’re not actual paint. You take your car to a company and they use a hair dryer and a credit card-sized piece of plastic to slowly adhere a special kind of aluminum foil-like material made by 3M. The beauty of it is that you can wrap your car in any color you like and if you want to change it, it’s easy to remove and replace. A temporary paint job. I tell Kellan that you can get something similar for your nails instead of using polish and stinky acetone. I’ve never really used them, but Denise has.

  There are a lot of people standing around talking and drinking coffee.

  Everyone waves and claps when they see Kellan.

  It turns out that several Lamborghini car clubs are represent
ed. Owners have come from the bay area, San Jose, Fresno, Los Angeles, Orange County (including Lamborghini of Newport Beach, who sold us the Mister Beaumont), San Diego, Las Vegas, and even Phoenix.

  Kellan says there are Countachs, Diablos, Gallardos, Aventadors, and Huracans. There’s even a Miura, an orange one. I recognize the sexy headlights that look like a 1960s supermodel’s eyelashes because the dealership down in Newport Beach had a green one the day Kellan bought the Aventador.

  “Why didn’t we bring the Mister Beaumont?”

  “The Huracan is more nimble,” Kellan explains, “and is a bit more fun on a track. Plus, this car is green and makes me want to drive like a maniac. I can only do that at a track. The Mister Beaumont is a big V-twelve Aventador, and the icy-blue color and the white-and-cream interior are very classy, which makes me want to baby it.”

  Kellan goes on to explain that all of Lamborghini’s cars are named after famous Italian bulls, and that the company was started in 1963 by a man named Ferruccio Lamborghini. He used to make tractors. But he got tired of his Ferraris always breaking down so he decided to make his own car company and build cars that wouldn’t break down. Thus Automobili Lamborghini was born and they’ve been competing with Ferrari ever since.

  I ask which is better, Ferrari or Lamborghini.

  Kellan says it’s all a matter of taste and preference. “What do you prefer, this Huracan, the Mister Beaumont, or the red Ferrari 458 Spyder we rented to drive from the airport to Newport Beach?”

  “That’s a tough question. They’re all so beautiful.”

  “Exactly. But generally, you’re either a Ferrari fan or a Lamborghini lover. The prancing horse or the brazen bull. I’ve always been a Lamborghini guy. I don’t know why. I like Ferraris a lot. They’re amazing. They’re on the cutting edge of technology and their street cars aren’t much different from their Formula-One race cars. But for some reason, I like Lamborghinis more. There’s just something about them that turns me on. Why do some guys like blonds and some guys like brunettes? They just do.”

  That’s a logical explanation of an illogical obsession. One I fully understand. I don’t know much about cars of this caliber, Lamborghini or Ferrari or otherwise, but I think I might just be a Lamborghini girl. Kellan is a Lamborghini guy. I want to be his Lamborghini girl.

  We park and make the rounds, saying hello to the other Lamborghini owners. Kellan introduces me to everyone. Thankfully, we’re all wearing name tags, so there’s no anxiety about forgetting someone’s name three seconds after we’re introduced.