by Rose de Fer
‘You look like you’ve got a little something left,’ I said as I stood over him.
He grinned up at me, his hazel eyes still a little dazed.
* * *
Graham lay on his back and smiled up at me. When I didn’t smile back, he reached for me. I stepped away. He’d been a sport, giving me control, and I’d just come really hard, but I still wasn’t ready to let him touch me. We’d agreed that he wouldn’t unless I directed him to, unless I told him when and how. I turned to the closet behind me, pulled a couple of scarves from the rack on the door and proceeded to tie his wrists to the iron slats of the headboard. I pulled them tight and double-knotted them. Laughing, he tried to nip at my nipples as I leaned over him, but he stopped after the second slap. The first was a warning smack to his side; the second fell soundly on his right cheek and chin. He looked surprised and then daunted, but his penis was as hard as ever.
I liked the way he looked, arms stretched over his head, elongating his body, adding definition to the muscles of his arms and legs and the flat plane of his stomach. His arms tensed, muscles flexing and tightening, as he tested the bindings, his hands tugging at the silk. I touched myself, two fingers tucked between my labia, sliding back and forth, circling the hood. He stopped tugging at the restraints, his eyes following my action, alert, the slap forgotten. Trying to get a better look at what I was doing, he pulled at the silky bindings again, only to be brought up short. My fingers slid deeper. He spread his legs, his feet slipping along the chenille of the old bedspread. His cock surged, struggling to stand up straighter from its beaded base.
I leaned forward and rolled the beaded band off his penis. He looked up at me hopefully. Yes, I would take him inside me and maybe even let him come that way. He’d been good and besides, I wanted to feel him surging and spewing inside me. I crawled further onto the bed and straddled him. Then I lifted myself over his long, hard cock and pressed down slowly until my labia were flush against his skin and the crisp, coarse pubic hair that sprouted around his cock. All at once, he surged up, his arms and elbows flailing as though he wanted to hold me. But the bindings held fast and by then I was riding him bareback against the wide open plain, my head flung back, and he was murmuring something that sounded like ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck me’, as he surged upwards trying to touch the centre of my being with the head of his cock. I squeezed him, the muscles of my sex clamping down like a long sucking kiss, again and again as he tried to push through the kiss, rasping along my inner walls, growing harder and longer and thicker. I loved his cock, in my hand, my mouth, in my pussy. Not only was it a work of art, it always performed eagerly, rising and yipping like a grateful pup.
My hands on the flat plane of his belly and then gripping his waist for support, I rose up his cock until only the tip remained inside me before sliding back down, the slick skin of his penis a long dark piston disappearing into a raging cauldron. He leaned up to watch, his stomach tight beneath my splayed hands. His lips were a rigid line, his eyes intense as he lifted his hips, thrusting upwards, each thrust surer and faster. My pussy was dripping, the hot wetness splashing over our thighs as I rode him faster and faster, my ass bouncing against his thighs as he drove up into me. All at once, a shard of ice burst and melted over my heated body, lathing my skin with icy tingles. I shivered, my whole body trembled, the muscles of my sex flexing involuntarily around the hardness that impaled me.
Graham was shaking his head from side to side, his upper body trembling while his lower body thrust upwards and upwards until suddenly he stilled, shouting, ‘Fuck, baby!’ as a thick warm wetness filled me, coating my insides, blending with my murky dampness. I sat astride him trying to maintain my seat until our quaking finally began to slow and I fell forward and rested my head on the warm, slick skin of his chest. Beneath the taut skin, his heart was racing. I listened until it slowed and then I closed my eyes.
* * *
‘That was fucking hot, babe,’ Graham was saying.
I opened my eyes. My cheek was wet with his sweat. I sat up, wiping my face with my arm.
‘Untie me, babe, so we can go again.’
I let out a long breath. ‘I’ll untie you so you can go. I need my rest and I don’t let people sleep over.’
‘People?’
I got up, pulled my robe from the hook behind my closet door and put it on before gathering up Graham’s clothes and setting them on the bed next to him. Then I untied the scarves releasing his wrists.
‘You gotta go,’ I said patting his clothes and then I left him there as I headed down the hall to the bathroom.
When I came back, he was pulling his jeans on, slowly.
‘We could go to Greektown and get some more gelato. It’s only eight o’clock, Miza.’
‘Not interested.’
‘Look, you just fucked my brains out and you’re not interested?’ He sounded incredulous.
‘Look, I just felt like fucking and you were willing to play. Don’t make a big thing out of it…I’ll call you, OK?’
‘What about dinner? You haven’t eaten dinner. The Bistro does a nice steak and there’s The Oyster Bar, if you want seafood.’
I was hungry.
‘Look,’ he said, looking all solemn and compliant, his eyes on the blue plaid shirt he held in his hands. ‘I like what we did. I like you. Whatever you want, Miza, I’m willing to try.’
He looked like such a sweet boy. I reached out and tugged on one of his dark flat nipples, pinching it until it poked out. He shivered and his cock nudged the zipper of his pants.
He did have the perfect penis. I smiled. I really enjoyed playing with him and he was such a good sport. ‘OK. Dinner,’ I said.
Doing It for Emmett
Justine Elyot
If you’re going to behave like a cheap whore, the best place to do it is an expensive hotel.
This was the thought running through my head as Emmett led me by the hand through the polish and glister of the lobby, towards the miniature fountain that signified the entrance to the bar.
I didn’t look like a cheap whore. Emmett had chosen what I was wearing: silvery silk shirt, knee-length pencil skirt, heels that were high enough to make me wiggle but not high enough to make me totter. I could pass as a delegate en route to pre-conference drinks, or somebody’s elegant mistress. Who would guess what I actually was?
We stopped at the fountain, and Emmett took my other hand, tilting his head and looking deep into me.
‘Are you nervous?’ he said.
‘A bit,’ I admitted. ‘I don’t want to let you down.’
He let out a breath, kissed my forehead, then my lips.
‘You won’t,’ he promised.
He walked me over to a corner table underneath a potted palm, where a pinstriped gentleman in his late forties sat working on the Times crossword.
Impressions of him were quickly absorbed and filed: elegant, distinguished, wealthy, watchful, intimidating, attractive. Everything Emmett had described.
The man looked up, and I turned quickly to Emmett, lacing my fingers more tightly into his.
‘Your order, sir,’ said Emmett.
The man – I knew his name, but the idea was to pretend I didn’t – stood up and shook Emmett’s hand.
‘Thank you,’ he said, then he looked me up and down with hard grey eyes. ‘Yes, this one will do.’
Emmett nodded, unlocked his hand from mine and went away to the bar. I placed the hand he’d released on my chest, clenching and unclenching it, and looked after him. Come back, I pleaded silently, but I knew I couldn’t say it aloud.
He would be in the hotel room later. He wasn’t abandoning me.
‘You can sit down,’ said the man. ‘I’ve ordered you a gin and tonic.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, following his instruction and taking a sip of the welcome drink.
‘I’m Charles,’ he said. ‘But you will call me Sir. What’s your name?’
‘Suky,’ I said.
He raised an eyebrow
. ‘Suky? Suky Tawdry?’
He’d got the allusion straightaway. I suppressed a smile. Emmett had said it was too obvious.
‘That’s right, Sir.’
‘And is your boyfriend over there Mack the Knife?’
‘No, Sir,’ I said. ‘He isn’t a criminal.’
‘I should hope not, although I believe procuring is still a shade on the illegal side.’
‘I don’t think it counts if no money changes hands, Sir,’ I ventured.
He smiled, running a finger around the rim of his brandy glass.
‘You’re probably right. You’re doing this for nothing, aren’t you? Why?’
I clenched my thighs in an effort to stop them quivering. The tension of this encounter was exquisitely tightly strung. A barrage of conflicting feelings coursed through me with each exchange.
‘I’m doing it for Emmett,’ I said. ‘Because he told me to.’
‘Ah, he told you to. And you do everything Emmett tells you, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Sir,’ I whispered.
‘Why is that?’
‘Because he owns me.’
Charles liked that answer; he shifted in his chair and recrossed his legs, smiling expansively at me to distract me from his obvious discomfort.
‘How did he come to own you, Suky? Did he buy you?’
‘No, Sir. We came to an agreement. It was mutual.’
‘A contract?’ he suggested.
‘Yes, Sir. This is its outward symbol.’ I put my finger on the silver collar I wore around my neck and jiggled the dog tag that hung from it.
‘Show me.’ He leaned forwards across the smoked glass and took the tag in lean fingers. ‘It’s engraved, but the writing’s too small for me to make out without my glasses. What does it say?’
‘Property of Emmett J. Marlow,’ I said, a little throatily. I needed some more of that gin.
‘I see. What does the J stand for?’
‘I don’t know, Sir. He won’t tell anyone.’
‘You mean he won’t tell you,’ said Charles, with a snakily triumphant smile. ‘I know what it stands for. But I’d better not say, if he doesn’t want you to know.’
This really stung. For a long moment, I was speechless, hiding in my gin and tonic to conceal the humiliation of knowing that my lover – the man I had given myself to, and who had given himself in return – had trusted somebody else with his little secret.
‘I know you’ve known him a long time,’ I said, subdued. ‘You were his first boss at PlayCorp.’
‘Yes, yes, but you’re breaking the rule,’ said Charles. ‘We don’t know each other at all, remember. All right, to be fair, I broke it first. Let’s forget about Emmett’s middle name, shall we, and try to get back on track. What are you wearing under that stunning outfit?’
The change of tack took my breath away. I put down the gin and stopped fidgeting with my dog tag.
‘A bra,’ I said, peering around to make sure nobody could hear me.
‘Describe it.’
‘Er, black, strappy, kind of demi-cup, so it doesn’t cover…everything.’
I looked down. This much was obvious – my silky shirt had two unmistakable dimples.
‘Nipples, you mean? Front or back fastening?’
‘Always front. Emmett prefers front-fastening.’
‘Don’t mention him again unless I ask you to,’ said Charles, tightening his lips. ‘And what else?’
‘Matching knickers,’ I said. Charles’s expression conveyed that he needed more detail. ‘They have a kind of criss-crossing elastic effect that means…Actually, I’m not sure you can really call them knickers, strictly speaking. They have quite a few bits…missing.’
‘Are they open at the back?’
I pursed my lips, nodding as my cheeks blazed with colour.
‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘That’ll come in handy. Anything else I need to know about them?’
‘They’re crotchless,’ I whispered.
‘Excellent. And is there anything else?’
‘About the knickers? No.’
‘No, I mean, are you wearing anything else under your skirt?’
‘Oh! Yes. Stockings and a suspender belt. Matching all the other stuff again.’
Charles put the folded newspaper in his lap.
‘I think you’re going to have to show me,’ he said.
‘What, here?’ I sucked in a breath.
‘Yes, here. Unbutton your blouse. Three buttons should do it.’
My thunderstruck stare lasted two seconds before Charles’s commanding one galvanised me.
My fingers got to work, clumsy with nerves, but eventually the three buttons he had ordered were undone and the front-fastener of my bra was visible between the slopes of my breasts.
‘Yes, I see,’ he said. ‘Very nice. Thank you. Now, the stockings.’
There was no way I could show him these without raising my skirt several inches up my thighs. It would be an awkward move, and much less easy to conceal than the unbuttoning of the shirt. All the same, I had my back to the room, and we sat in a corner and at an angle that didn’t invite casual scrutiny. I had to trust that Charles, who faced outwards, was confident of our privacy.
I squared my shoulders and took a moment to level my head. I wasn’t going to panic. I thought of Emmett, watching us from the remote island of the bar.
I would make him proud of me.
I curled my fingers under the skirt hem and began to ease it slowly up my legs, revealing more and more of the sheer black nylon as it rose. In order to get it high enough, I had to shuffle my bottom in my seat, squirming from one cheek to another as I pulled first the left side of my skirt and then the right. It grew tighter, the fabric rucking, as it reached mid-thigh, and I found myself struggling to maintain composure – and to stop myself looking around the room with red-faced defiance.
‘Keep going,’ said Charles, as if he knew I was on the brink of an outburst.
I had to hover slightly now, my legs trembling as I exposed more and more of them to Charles’s view. Finally, oh, sweet relief, the first glimpse of elasticated lacy stocking-top peeked from beneath the rumpled satin.
I glanced at Charles for permission to stop, but he shook his head.
‘Keep going. I want to see the suspender snap,’ he said.
I almost huffed, almost protested, but I bit it back somehow and continued my task with fierce concentration. My face was aflame and I imagined every eye in the place on me. The thought made me long for a crotch in my panties, to soak up the juices it had stimulated.
I wanted to turn, to find Emmett, to see him watching me with proprietorial approval. The need was so bad I twisted my neck slightly in his direction, but Charles knew my game and put a stop to it straightaway.
‘You should be looking at me, nowhere else,’ he said. ‘Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Sir,’ I replied dutifully.
The snap hove into view, and so did the top of the stocking, with a tiny strip of bare thigh between it and the skirt hem.
At last Charles was satisfied.
He cleared his throat and told me, raspingly, that I could leave it there now.
Then, to my consternation, he raised his hand to summon a waiter.
‘Oh, what are you…?’ I blurted, but he silenced me with a look.
When the waiter appeared, Charles ordered himself a mineral water.
‘Nothing for the lady,’ he said, succeeding in his intention of drawing the waiter’s attention to me. He averted his eyes straightaway, his face flushing. ‘But I was wondering if you still provided condoms as part of your minibar offering?’
Oh, my God, the total bastard! I clenched my buttocks tight with embarrassment, aware all the same that the flow between my thighs was becoming a steady gush.
‘Err, yes, sir, I believe so,’ said the waiter.
‘Well, that’s good news, isn’t it, Suky?’
I stared down into my crumpled lap. ‘Yes…’ I s
talled. Could I get away without using ‘Sir’ in front of the waiter? Charles’s stern brow told me I could not. ‘Sir,’ I added, as quietly as I could.
‘Will that be all?’ The waiter was clearly dying to get away.
‘That’s all, thanks.’
Left alone again, I kept my eyes down, waiting for Charles to speak.
‘You almost let me down there,’ he said, his tone deceptively light. ‘But you passed the test in the end. Luckily for you. You might not want to know the penalty for failure.’
‘Is there any more of this test to come, Sir?’ I asked.
‘No. And I didn’t really want that water. Let’s go upstairs now.’
We stood, and I saw Emmett move discreetly away from the bar towards the elevators in the lobby. As I crossed the bar, my bottom wiggled sensuously against the satin material of my skirt, unshielded by underwear. I was not permitted to pull the skirt back down, so I was a little hobbled by its tightness and had to take tiny steps. My blouse flapped as I moved, drawing attention to my half-bared breasts. I looked exactly how they’d wanted me to look – a blatant slut on her way to be fucked.
In the elevator, Charles made me look at myself in the mirror while he stood behind me, his hands on my hips.
‘Plenty of people got a look at these,’ he said, moving one hand up to cup a breast in its silky shell. ‘And everyone saw your stocking-tops. I bet there were a few mouths watering down there. A few jealous daggers in my back.’ He chuckled. ‘I’m a lucky man. And so is Emmett.’
He wrenched my face sideways by the chin and pressed his mouth on mine for a hot, tongue-thrusting kiss that was still ongoing when the elevator doors slid open.
The door to the suite was open. A mirror on its back wall reflected my flushed, lipstick-smeared face back at me, together with Charles above and behind me like a shadow, his hand between my shoulder blades, guiding me rapidly into the bedroom.