Pearl on Cherry

by Chanse Lowell

  He bucked, wanting to be in charge, but she kept going.

  His legs were trapped.

  “I’ll break this strand of beads, too. Don’t you think I won’t,” he warned.

  “You can try,” she said, chuckling, then went back about her business of polishing his head with her tongue.

  He groaned, managed to sit up, and he fisted her hair, pulling and forcing her mouth down, then up, hoping she’d gag and get off him so he could fuck her his way.

  But the little cherry girl only tightened her lips around him, sucking harder.

  She gripped his sack, yanked and then scratched, but it was . . . Oh Lord in Heaven, he moaned like one of his frequented whores.

  Her nails kept scratching sensually in this rhythmic way that had his balls and sack tightening and tingling.

  “That’s enough, I said!” He tried to sound firm, but it came out as a wheeze in the wind.

  He thrashed for a moment, trying to break the necklace, but it failed to budge.

  Just as he was about to toss her off him, something round, small and slick rolled across his cock head, forcing his body to jolt.

  “Christ! You’ve got one of your pearls at my opening?” His voice was low and husky as he strained to move to the side and see what the devil she was doing to him.

  A languid lick replaced the bead, and then it rolled down the right side of his shaft.

  “I thought you needed to feel what it’s like to have something genuine—something created by God—near something you treasure,” she lilted.

  She wiggled her body on top of him, slid off, then straddled his left thigh.

  Jesus, she was slick and rubbing herself on him.

  Her eyes went heavy. “How does it feel to be the one fucked?”

  He gripped her behind the neck and growled, “Get the fuck off me—now!”

  “No.” She licked the pearl, then rolled it around the tip of his cock again, over the slit. “I’m not your servant you can order around.”

  Her other hand circled around his cock, and she pumped him with slow, measured marks of time.

  “I won’t remove myself—not until I’ve gotten what I wanted,” she said, her jaw flexing.

  She leaned over and her breasts were close enough he could prop himself up and lick them.

  Instead of doing that, he pulled her dress down, yanked her breasts out and groped them.

  “How does it feel to be cheaper than the whore I brought along? At least she’s getting paid,” he bit back, his chest throbbing over the idea she might be playacting here and that she might not really be attracted to him at all or even like him.

  “I’m being paid,” she said with a sly smile, taunting him. “I’m being paid for things you’re unaware of, knicker boy.”

  He grimaced when she pushed the pearl into him, as if trying to stuff it down his tiny hole.

  “Knicker boy?” His right brow quirked up.

  “Yes . . . I know all about you. I know what you do,” she said. She removed the pearl, set it on her tongue and rolled it around in her mouth, keeping her lips parted so he could see her do it.

  “I own the rails and oil,” he said.

  She moved the pearl over into her cheek, presumably so she could speak. “No, you don’t. That’s your front—you make women’s undergarments. That’s probably your excuse to be more wanton than any streetwalker I’ve ever known.”

  She yanked at his shaft, leading him closer to ecstasy. Then right as he was about to burst, she pinched his inner thigh, right by the curve of his cheek, then pinched the tip of his cock.

  “Why should I let you release?” Her voice softened, but it still held an edge to it.

  “Because, goddammit, I’ll ruin you if you don’t,” he said, teeth clenching, and his fingers now wrapped around her neck, squeezing enough to make it uncomfortable for her.

  She had better keep going. This was the best his body had felt in longer than he could remember.

  Why should he care if some stupid servant girl was the one servicing him?

  It was probably the highlight of her life to touch someone as lofty and important as him.

  She let go of him, and the sudden rush—the intense throbbing—made him release his hold on her, and his hands flew to his cock.

  The next thing he knew, she had her dress affixed properly, and she was out the door without allowing him to finish and reach climax.

  Her scent lingered, and without even trying to finish himself off, merely thinking about the way her mouth felt on him, he spurted, creating a mess on his stomach and on some unnamed person’s counterpane—and dammit, he was smiling.

  Good God, he was beaming, and there was no denying he was intoxicated by something—maybe by her.

  This vexing creature would be hunted, and the cost would be more than pearls removed off her person.

  Once William’s breath returned, he removed her beads off his legs, stuffed them in his pocket and ensured he resembled his normal impeccable self. He was ready, so he roamed back out into the ballroom.

  The little imp was probably hiding away, waiting for him to find her.

  He grinned and searched.

  And searched.

  And searched.

  Fuck—she was a master at this game.

  He roamed around, his jaw tensing and his back heating.

  Where was she?

  He would take her out into the back, tie her up, gag her and take a switch to her glorious backside.

  His fingers tingled as they remembered how the swells of her bottom felt in his hands.

  After a few more minutes of futile attempts at finding her, he went in search of the guest list.

  A shy, mousy servant girl handed it to him. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her reactions to him because this was him in a good mood. What would she have done if he’d truly been cross?

  Undoubtedly she’d spoken to the other servant girl he’d frightened off before the cherry girl allowed him to drag her through the hall and into some unnameable servant’s quarters.

  Dear God, how his heart hammered at the thought of what he could do to that little girl if he was to be uninterrupted this time.

  He sighed, and his eyes moved over the paper. The list was as he’d remembered it. There were only two gentlemen unaccounted for.

  He asked around and discovered one of them was the man that brushed past William when Lenora had taken a tumble onto the ground and was squawking at him, being the peevish little chit that she was.

  He huffed and ran his eyes over the other man’s name on the parchment—David Lymon.

  It sounded entirely fabricated.

  Most likely it was her.

  Clever girl.

  He bounded out the front steps and accosted the first footman he could find. “Did you see an unaccounted for gentleman, very short in stature, exit this party without any company in attendance with him?”

  “Why, yes, sir,” the man answered, pointing in the direction the guest had left.

  “Can you tell me if they wore any facial hair, a hat or glasses—or any other identifying marks that might help me distinguish them? Please,” William said through his teeth. It was probably the first time he’d used that word or that tone in hopes to attain something of value.

  “The gentleman was holding a brown burlap bag, which I thought odd, and he also wore all the items you mentioned—glasses, hat, big bushy beard and he had a large mole on the right side of his nose.” He wrinkled his nose up as he said this.

  “Thank you. Color of his suit?”

  “Brown—all of it. Very outdated, too, if I might add.” The servant bowed as William loped off after this man.

  He would tackle her to the ground if he must.

  The beads clinked in his pocket, urging him on.

  Sweat broke out on his forehead and across the back of his neck as his legs pumped harder.

  Up ahead there was a group of men and women, ambling along, chatting amicably.

  He
pushed right through them, ignoring their protests and crowing after him.

  The lady had better be nearby.

  He was growing more agitated by the minute, and she would not want to see him when he was beyond the stages of irritability.

  Several yards ahead there was a stout, short man in a brown suit with a hat on, tripping as he tried to summon a carriage.

  “You! Stop where you are! I must speak to you at once,” William barked.

  The person tensed, jerked their head toward him for a fleeting moment and then hopped into the taxi.

  He ran after it, jumped onto the back of it and held on as tight as he could.

  “Oi! You! Sir, you cannot do that!” the driver cried out, craning his head over his shoulder.

  “Then stop this infernal thing and allow me inside. I will double your payment if you do.” William’s grip loosened when the carriage rolled to a stop.

  He jumped off the back, and right as the door opened and the man inside was about to fling himself out, William slammed the door shut, tossed some money up at the driver and then growled, “You are to take the long route to wherever your passenger has asked you take them.”

  The driver gave a quick nod and then turned his attention back to the horses in front of him.

  William swung the door open, and inside was the cherry girl, huddled in the corner, clutching her burlap bag in her lap and her fake beard hanging off her right cheek.

  “Please—do not strike me,” she whimpered, her body curling into a ball.

  “You shall get a lashing the likes a servant has never seen before,” he growled, stalking toward her.

  He ripped the bag out of her hands and then rummaged through it.

  “Are these all Lenora’s belongings? Did you steal them?”

  “No! They are mine! Inherited.” She sniffed.

  “Like your pink pearls?” He gave her the commanding brow that always stopped his servants from mouthing off at him.

  “Those are not a topic of conversation I will engage you in, sir.” She edged toward him, and he could see how upset she was that he had her possessions in his grip.

  “I will give you back your treasures if you come with me now to my home,” he said, smirking.

  “You may keep them and burn in hell,” she answered, shifting away from him.

  “Let me explain something to you.” He set her bag aside and leaned forward, almost in her face again. “There are only two things I like in this world—a tight, wet cunt, and having it at my disposal without any argument and under my control. One you have, and the other you will give me this instant.”

  “I will not!” She shoved herself back tighter into the carriage seat as they continued to journey forth.

  “Oh”—he licked his lips—“but you will.”

  He moved across the carriage to sit next to her, and she tried to move over to where he had been, but he stopped her, gripping her by the knees.

  She yelped. “Please—I was only there to—”

  “Yes . . . Tell me what you want, and I will see to it you get it, but first—you give me what I want.” He leaned in to kiss her, and she almost broke down in tears.

  She was shaking in sheer terror.

  Had he misread her? Had some brute raped her? She seemed so strong earlier—able to handle his intensity and appearing to be his equal with her unfettered passion.

  “Cherry girl—what is it you . . .” This game had taken a drastic turn and was no longer about attaining something—it was about helping her.

  “I don’t . . . I don’t do those things,” she whimpered, tears streaking down her face.

  “But the way you were in that room with me,” he started but let it fade off.

  She shook her head and bit her trembling lip for a moment. “I had no idea what I was about in there. I only knew you were probably going to call the police and have me hauled away. I was trying to buy myself some time so I could escape.”

  “Why were you there at all?” He cupped her fisted hand between his, stroking her inner wrist with his thumbs.

  “I needed the exposure. I was trying to make some connections. I have talents. I am more than a woman to clean and toil off stage.”

  “Sing for me now,” he said, sitting back but keeping hold of her hand.

  He expected her to balk, to pull a face with an affronted expression, but instead, her eyes warmed to soft glowing pools and she lifted her chin.

  A single note hung in the air, and her voice was crisp, sweet and clean.

  All the things he wasn’t. She was a little thorn in his side because he didn’t want to desire her other than fleshly cravings.

  His dick tightened when she became fully enveloped in her song of two lovers on the beach at night, playing in the waves, delighting in each other’s flesh. His heart raced as she emoted and poured her feelings into every word that escaped her lips.

  Her eyes closed, and he wanted to crawl inside her mind—to see what she was imagining.

  Her vibrato sounded completely natural and not forced like Lenora’s.

  As the song ended, her pitch went higher and became even more focused.

  The intensity of her voice and the sincerity she oozed had him completely erect now.

  God, she was gorgeous when she was singing.

  “Can you act?” he asked her with a hushed tone when she let the final note taper off.

  “I can.” She kept her eyes closed like she was clinging to some hope, and she clasped her hands against her ribs right under her breasts.

  “And what kind of training have you had?”

  She stammered, “Well, I . . . It’s complicated, be-because I . . .”

  Her eyes fluttered open, and her cheeks colored.

  “Sing again. I will ascertain if you are worth placing on a stage and taking Lenora’s spot,” he said, taking her right hand off her body and squeezing it in his tight grip.

  She slipped it out of his hold. “No thank you.”

  “What do you mean by defying me this way? This is what you seek—is it not?”

  “I seek to do it on my own merits and to be beholden to none. A woman who is placed on the stage under false pretenses is not someone worth watching. And I will never allow myself to be under you.”

  “But you’d allow yourself to be over me, is that it?” He smirked. “Peculiar girl. I think you want to be a man, and that is why you dress in these clothes.”

  She choked on a breath. “But I . . .”

  He laughed. She was so easy to rile at times, but he couldn’t reason out why certain things upset her and others did not.

  “Sing again, I said,” he repeated.

  Once more, he waited for her to box him about the ears and screech about what a swine he was.

  She slipped into an even sultrier song. This one was about a man, dying with his last breath, but being saved by a woman he had adored from afar for many years.

  “And when the door is opened, and the breeze sweeps in, she stole his breath, and all torment ends.” She took a quick, fortifying breath, and this time, she showed her lower range. My Lord in Heaven, this was torture on his throbbing manhood. It was even worse than hearing her higher pitches. She kept going. “Lips are parted, words exchanged, but the heart . . . Oh, the heart, it will always remain. It will haunt and squeeze, the tears will be shed, but even as they kiss, his soul will detain.”

  Her eyes burned into him as she dropped her head, staring at him through her lashes.

  His body reacted by going through each of the bodily descriptions she mentioned in her lyrics.

  It was like she grabbed his soul out of him and strung it up on the ceiling of the carriage. He was inexplicably raw, and he had never wanted to plunge into a woman more than this in his entire adult life.

  As a gentleman of thirty-six years, he should know how to deal with these types of feelings, but he was at a loss for how to react.

  Before he could think, he had his lips on hers, and she was opening her mouth
to him.

  He pinned her up against the cushions, then pushed her down to lying back.

  His fingers quested after her tight cunt, but she pushed his hands away, making sure to keep him out of the man’s trousers she wore.

  “No, no!” She turned to her side, and he kept her beneath him.

  He sucked at her ear, then whispered, “By God, do I want you. And I don’t want for anything. I get what I desire, Cherry girl.”

  “This cherry is not for sale, just as I did not give you my pearls for purchase. How well did that fare for you when you snatched at them? Instead of getting the whole strand intact, you took only one bead with you. I am much the same.” She turned her head to face his. “You can force yourself on me, but will you really have me?”

  He blinked and shoved himself off her, feeling dirtier than he ever thought possible.

  “Do you realize you are speaking to William Ber—”

  “And do you realize you are speaking to no one of consequence—only a girl with a love for the stage, so she can hide away in plain sight? Why take that from me? Why get in my way?”

  He grunted and dropped his head, taking a deep breath.

  Did she have to smell so fragrant and luscious?

  “I should care about what you want?” he asked, snorting. Why did his chest sting like she’d thrust a sword into his ribs? Why should he care about anything she thought or felt? He barely knew her.

  “You do what you like, since I am sure that is what you are good at.” She began unbuttoning her shirt, looking resigned and completely miserable about it.

  “You keep it on. When I take you, it will be because you beg for it, not because you lack choices.”

  He pounded on the side of the carriage wall, then opened the window and shouted for him to stop.

  She tensed, and her eyes filled with dread.

  “Cherry girl”—his jaw tightened—“you get yourself home safely. Do that, and we shall talk again soon.”

  He stepped out of the carriage and paid the driver even more to deposit her safely at her door.

  Uncharacteristically, he tacked on at the end, “And if you so much as touch her—I shall dismantle you and this carriage, bit by aching bit.”

  The man nodded, and William, for once in his life, walked home, rather than taking the luxurious option of being driven about at his whim.