Pearl on Cherry

by Chanse Lowell

  “I don’t know—so it’s best you keep still as I do this.” He chuckled low and deep.

  Her belly reacted to that dark, lascivious sound.

  “I have things for you.”

  “What kinds of things?” She shuddered from his simple breath at the back of her neck and his hands gripping her hips.

  “Things you cannot possibly imagine. I have a very sad, pristine whipping table that I have shined to perfection. It gleams in the moonlight, back at my home. I could thrust your arms through the holes, secure them beneath and you would be at my mercy as I whip you.”

  His right hand flew, smacking her right ass cheek.

  Instead of screaming out, she went onto her tiptoes and bit her bottom lip, a pulsing wave racing through her body and landing between her thighs.

  “What are you doing to me?” she whispered, her eyelids going heavy.

  “What you want.” He sucked in her earlobe and fondled her cheek he’d just swatted. “You would love this table. Would love to have me salivating over you and dying to have you.”

  “N-no, I . . .” she trailed off.

  Her body agreed with him, for her nipples were excruciatingly tight and poking through her dress.

  “Yes, you do. You want to know how depraved I am for you. How I imagine that all your body is as creamy white as your sinful throat.”

  He moved around her and sucked at her pounding pulse-line, then he dragged the tip of his tongue to the hollow of her throat and lapped at it, swirling his tongue around.

  “You taste like my cherry girl.”

  “I am Clarissa,” she corrected him.

  “No—not right now you are not. You are all I want. You are my cherry”—he licked down to the top of her breasts—“and you taste divine. I shall place pearls upon your naked breasts, roll them over your ripe nipples and suck at them both until they’re both as hard as the other. I think you would enjoy that.”

  He cupped her breasts, rolling his thumbs over her erect, straining nipples.

  “William. I . . . I am not a prostitute,” she whimpered.

  “You are more than my cherry girl. You are what I must have. What I must devour, because you feed the beast in me like no one else can. Come home with me now—let me pleasure you all night.”

  “I cannot,” she said, her voice breaking, but her eyes were still on him.

  “Why? Do I frighten you?”

  “Your intensity frightens me. What I shall become if I do these wicked things with you frightens me.”

  “You think me an animal that would leave you bereft?” He stroked her cheeks with the pad of his thumbs as he cupped her ears. “Listen to me now—and hear what I tell you—you are all I desire anymore. Why would I leave you destitute?”

  “Because I am in reality nothing to you. I am the cleaning lady who stores the props, sews the costumes and hides in the shadows like an ogre. You cannot possibly want anything from me other than my flesh, and there are other starlets far prettier and experienced than I at the art of pleasing a man such as yourself.”

  “Sing for me right now, and I shall release you. After you are done, I will kiss you, and if you want to leave, then by all means. I shall even drive you home without so much as touching you.”

  “What shall I sing?” She swallowed and dipped her head, searching his eyes.

  Why did he ask this of her? Was he mocking her? Trying to trick her into something awful?

  “You may choose for yourself, but I will be allowed to touch you how I see fit while you sing, so pick something to fit the occasion,” he said in his deep, sensual timbre.

  She sighed for a moment. Did he know how wet he was making her all over? She was sweating, she was trembling, adrenaline leaking out of her pores and moisture dripping from her secret folds—all for him.

  “In the lazy moonlight, there is a girl. A man above, and what he does. Oh, he does it all. He has it all. He will ruin her if she does not return the call,” she began her new song she had been creating over the last few days.

  He hummed in approval, gave a close-lipped smile and held her loosely, his hands roaming up her back.

  She pulled at her bindings for a moment, and when he grinned with wicked delight at her being stuck there, a flood of heat jolted through her cunny.

  “If she falls will there be a way, for she is lost to him this very day. He cannot see, for blindness is his. But she should run, how can she if she is lost? Will she succumb? Will she die? He will take her in the night, and she will catch fire.” The song shifted into a darker tone. “She cries as he plunges with desire, but it is not for pain she will expire? How can she tell her heart to stop stretching? Can she tell the moon to stop bleeding into her soul? Can she tell him to stop waking her mind? No, she is lost. She is lost. He is in her rushing blood, he is in her very heart. She is his, and there is no fight.”

  The song ended with a fading, low note. Her eyes were heavy, her breathing ragged.

  She wasn’t sure what to do now. His hands were in her hair, then he fisted at the roots, tipping her head back. “Did you make that song for me just now?”

  “No, I’ve been nurturing it for days,” she said, breathless at this angle.

  He inhaled deeply at her neck, and her knees weakened beneath her.

  “Cherry girl, you wreck me with such words. They speak to me in a way that softens my very bones, melts my core. Do you have to make me want you more?” he growled, then released her hands.

  They fell like a pile of rags at her side, and then he had her hands pinned behind her as his mouth enveloped hers.

  She was backed up to the dressing room counter, and items spilled off the sides as he maneuvered her bottom up onto it.

  “Please, I won’t hurt you the way you think.” His fingers delved under her skirt, and she gasped, but did not tell him to stop. “I am mad for you. I have never been this way for any woman.”

  “I have no . . . I cannot pleeease you. I do not know how,” she said.

  “Sing again. Sing it for me. Make me believe those words are about us,” he pleaded, his voice high pitched and desperate.

  He stroked across her sopping knickers.

  “Sir, but I . . .”

  “Once more. Then I vow to release you.”

  He dropped to his knees, and he ripped at the fabric.

  She sucked in a tight gust of air, screwed her eyes closed and she sang with warbling breaths.

  Fabric tore, and something wet and hot was on her most private folds.

  She gripped his hair and cried out.

  “Sing,” he demanded, then dropped his tongue back on her.

  She tried to, but all that came out was, “Oh Lord, oh God . . . William, I . . . Oh my God, yes, I am . . . I cannot sing!”

  He pulled his mouth off with a wet, sloshing sound, his fingers stroking her puss and making her womb convulse for a second.

  “I must see you fall apart. I must have this. Just this. Give me this moment. To taste you has ruined me. You need to gush on some part of me.” He panted and licked his lips, his eyes devouring her like a thirsting, unstoppable beast.

  She nodded, and a slow whisper of a song drifted out of her.

  This was something that came to her in the moment.

  “Oh sweetheart, divine is a word like a color. It is red, it is inflamed, and all of it was mine. It is on your mouth, on your tongue and your words. You breathe and it is mine. You seek and you shall find. I give you what I am, because I can do no less. So, take my love, my release and with it my chest. For it is ripe and dripping, red and inflamed. As my flesh on your tongue this very day.”

  “Uuuuugggggaaaaaahhhhd,” he moaned and then his fingers found a way inside her tiny, secret hole that was hidden away.

  She had not even touched it before, but he found it and she was jutting her hips up, bracing herself with her hands behind her.

  “Look at me. Eyes on me—I have to see what this does to you. What I do to you with my fingers in your tight, lu
sh cunt. Do I give it all to you now? What do you want?”

  Her eyes focused on his—a darker green in this moment. “I want to be you, Ferrismore, so I know what to do,” she whispered.

  “Then playact with me like you did when you sucked on my cock. You said after you were in the dark and unaware of what to do, but you did it, and I was so amorous for you, as soon as you left I climaxed. I have not released since, so I die for this. Play with me. Be my playmate.”

  Her breath hitched. “How? What do I do?”

  “You pretend you are wild for me, and you fall apart at my touch. Please”—his lips twitched—“give me this.”

  She was about to say that was entirely the case—that she was indeed wild for him and playacting would not be required, but then he sucked at her clitoris, his fingers went deeper and curled up, brushing against her sensitive interior puss wall and her groin clamped down, sucking all feeling from her body and placing it all right there—at his fingertips and mouth.

  She made a shrill cry of unending pleasure as her body writhed and crumpled, her mind exploding with euphoria. This was what it meant to succumb to a lover and climax? It was more perfect than she ever could have surmised.

  There was this dark moment tears leaked out from the utter expense of all she was, but when her breath returned, she failed to care.

  “William, I . . .”

  “Shhh . . . I know.” He pulled his fingers out of her, picked her up and held her to his body.

  In the most unladylike way imaginable, she wrapped her legs around his hips, locking her ankles behind him.

  She held tight, and so did he. “I have you now. You are with me.”

  “And I am lost.” She hid her face at his neck.

  “You are not lost. You are who you want to be, because you are all that I need.”

  Chapter 6

  Ferrismore fixed her clothes back in place for her, tucked away the scarf and dragged her outside to his motorcar.

  “But, sir, my laundry’s inside. I have to take it home and wash it,” she protested, yanking at his grip on her hand.

  “Samuel, go back inside, get her wash load and bring it in the carriage. I will drive her where I need to be. And once home, you do not disturb me. I shall be in my dark room.”

  “Yes, sir,” his driver said, disappearing back into Bial’s Music Hall.

  “But I . . .” Her legs barely moved, with no power to will them forward. He was turning her resolve and her bones to mush with how possessed he was.

  “Quiet. Wait ‘til I have you in the motorcar, then you may speak freely,” he told her, helping her into his vehicle.

  “Do you even know how to drive?” she asked when he was at her side.

  “I drive this motorcar the way you drive me mad—with precision and a punishing force.”

  She gulped and took to holding her wobbling knees.

  “Tell me now—you will not leave, will you? Once I have you in my home, you will not desert me?”

  “Why would I? Unless you mean to massacre me.” She chuckled, and it was nervous sounding.

  Probably because the butterflies dancing in her stomach had taken to other parts of her body.

  “I mean to devour you, lick you in the basest places and dig my fingers into you. I think you can withstand it—my cherry girl is built for my onslaught.”

  She sucked in a tight breath, her abdomen caving in with the action.

  “What if I taste wretched and am unflattering on the tongue?”

  He laughed, and it was unsettling how free he sounded over these vulgar things they were discussing. And why did she want more of this type of talk?

  “Oh, little cherry, how you amuse me. Have you forgotten so soon I have already had your cream on my taste buds? It still lingers and drives me to distraction. I want that flavor coated on my cock.”

  “Oh, almighty Jesus,” she whispered under her failing breath.

  “Oh, yes, I shall have it, too. Before you sleep this night, you shall do exactly what I say.”

  She gripped her knees harder. They were close to shaking—her hands were not much steadier.

  “I shall not request your obedience—I shall earn it and demand it. In return, you shall have unending adoration flung at your feet as I worship your gorgeous body built for my hands to explore. I shall respect you, find every way possible to keep you happy, but you will be mine, and you will submit,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

  His voice was hoarse, and his hands clung to the steering wheel. The pulse at his neck was visibly racing.

  “When you say these things to me—do you expect me to respond?”

  “Yes, but not with words. Those are unnecessary. I already know how you feel. I can taste it in the air surrounding me. I can hear it in your exaggerated breathing and in the grip on your legs. You are ready to drip at my command. And I can barely wait to give that order.” He turned to look at her, and she froze. “You may use words right now if you wish, though. So, say it . . .”

  “Say what?”

  “Say you are afraid of me. That you think me an unholy bastard. That you want to run right this instant and flee my wicked presence and salty tongue.” He turned his head back to the road, but she could still feel him watching her out of the side of his eye.

  “If I said any of those things, would you believe them? And would it even matter? It is not as if you would take me back home,” she said.

  The car jolted to a stop. He turned at the waist and braced her with his grip on her shoulders. “I will never take you against your will. Never. I am not about that. I want you to want this, too. I want your body vibrating with excitement and unadulterated bliss. I will find a way to get those reactions from you if it forces me to rip my bones out of my body. That is how committed I am to you.”

  She dropped her gaze at his lap. She did not mean to. Her eyes just went there to his prominent bulge.

  “Do you desire me that much?” She kept staring.

  “I desire you more than a man should. You”—he swallowed hard—“will be my unending addiction I shall never break free from.”

  Someone honked behind them.

  He released her, went back to driving and they fell silent.

  The excitement he’d talked about was almost funneled straight from his hands into her body.

  She was already vibrating with a current of delicious licking flames of energy.

  “Will you take me in the garden? I’ve heard of how you—”

  “No. I will take you where no other has ever been. I share with you exactly what I am—deep down to my core. If you can withstand my fervor, then you will know for certainty.”

  She gave him the questioning, propped up brow.

  “You are my cherry, after all,” he supplied.

  Oh dear God—her thighs clamped together to quell the undeniable throb present.

  He pulled the motorcar behind a massive, sprawling, gleaming white house.

  The sun was sinking and so was her resolve to remain an untouched, undefiled woman.

  Everything inside her screamed out for his touch.

  He turned the motorcar off, exited, helped her out and held her at arm’s length for a moment. “Will you come inside?”

  “Yes.”

  “I will touch you.” He licked his lips.

  “Yes.”

  “I will taste all of you.”

  “Oh . . . Yes, I . . . Yes.” She blinked.

  “Come to your senses, have you?” He smirked.

  “Come to your home because you asked me to, and I want to see what you want with me.”

  “All right, then.”

  He yanked her into his home and took her back to the dark room.

  Her eyes widened as she took it all in.

  Implements of various sizes and levels of torture hung from hooks. The room had a charge in the air though, and she knew without a doubt it all radiated off this majestic man next to her.

  She traced a fin
ger along the edge of the one piece of furniture in the room—a large, shiny chestnut table.

  He pointed at this horrific, yet mesmerizing piece with two round holes cut out toward one end.

  “On my tongue. Now, Cherry girl. Or I shall be forced to sink my teeth and make your red juices flow.” He pointed more forcefully.

  She climbed up with her clothes still on.

  What was she doing?

  “Arms in the holes—face down,” he barked.

  She did as he asked, electricity replacing the blood flowing in her veins.

  He stripped out of his coat and shirt, leaving on his pants and shoes.

  “Here.” He shoved the folded up bundle of his clothes under her head. “Is this enough cushioning?”

  “For what?”

  “For your being jostled about as I take you the way my need requires,” he said like she was missing something entirely about the point of her being here.

  “Jostled? But I am—”

  “Your virgin juices will blotch my table with a nice red cherry stain, and I shall lick it every day I walk past it and then paint it white, polishing it with my come. You shall see how well the two go together.”

  He paced to the side of her as her eyes followed his lithe form.

  “Have you never noticed that a pearl can look exactly like a cherry pit, only painted white?”

  She choked on her breath. “N-no,” she lied.

  “Just because you hadn’t thought on it before does not mean you cannot do so now. I shall paint your cherry white with my seed, and then you shall drip like all pearls do when ripped from their virgin beds. You will drip with me. You will be mine.”

  “Oh gaaaawd,” she moaned, her toes flexing and curling in her shoes.

  “You are on Pearl Street now, ma chérie. I intend to eat you to my heart’s satisfaction.” He leaned over the table, his tongue at her ear. He licked it, then purred, “Spread your legs. Let me see the pink heart of you as I lick and suckle where I will make you bleed later with my cock.”

  “Will it hurt? I have heard talk of it being painful,” she said.

  “It will only hurt if you allow it to. If you trust me, then I can make it but a small moment and then you will see.”

  “See what?” Her eyes traveled after him as he went to the foot of the table, grasped her ankles and spread them as wide as they would go.