The maid opened a door, indicated with her arm and indicated a bathroom, not much smaller than the main room. She said,
“Lunch will be served in the dining room downstairs, in about half an hour,” and she left me, closing the door behind her.
The room had another door, which the maid had not opened, a large door with an ornate, carved wooden frame. I tried the handle. The door was locked. I went back to the window and looked out at the ocean. What the hell was I doing here? What did this ridiculous man have in mind? The very thought of him made my stomach feel weak. A sound from across the room startled me. It was the locked door, being unlocked. Then opening. It was him.
In a black jersey and loose black slacks, his feet apart, planted in penny loafers, he said,
“Settling in alright?”
I was furious, I was confused,
“I feet as though I’ve been kidnapped,”
His lip curled in amusement. He said,
“Nice cell, though,” He came into the room, towards the window, towards where I stood, trembling and struggling not to show it. He looked past my shoulder and through the window,
“Nice view. You could probably open the window and climb out if you were desperate to escape, don’t you think?” I wanted to shout at him, hammer my fists on him, this infuriating man. His expensive cologne was mingling with that tiny, distinctive scent of him and muddling my head even more. He said,
“Of course, you could try making a break for it, down the staircase and through the main door. You could probably force Creighton to summon a car for you.“ Now I really wanted to slap his smug grin right off him, but he went on,
“You could hijack a car by, say, telling one of the drivers where you wanted to go.” My heart thumped and my hands clenched. As he came closer, my thighs tightened and flexed, too. My body was about to betray me, and I fought for control. He came so close. And he stood so tall over me. My big breasts could feel the warmth of his stomach through my chef’s tunic. My breath was thickening and quickening. My pants were getting hot. And damp.
He said,
“Did you want to change for lunch. Before your prison break, I mean?”
I told myself to stay calm. Keep control. Wait until you get your breath back, then tell him just exactly what you think. He said,
“The fight for freedom is probably best on a full stomach, don’t you think?”
My hand flew at his face. His hand caught my wrist and his eyes gleamed. My thighs shook, and my puss was tingling. My knees trembled. He looked at my hand, then back at me. He said,
“Shall I help you to change?” and he reached for the buttons down one side of my tunic, still holding my wrist high with his other hand. My breath was getting deeper and my throat made a noise. He looked up. It was taking him forever to get those damn buttons undone. And I couldn’t do anything. What could I do? He had my wrist. I was powerless. And quivering. As the tunic fell open, cool air fanned my chest, and my breasts swelled. My nipples pressed against the inside of my bra, hardening and beginning to sting. His hand reached up to the cup of my black, ordinary bra, to hold my big, wonderful breast. As he held it, I breathed deeply and I sighed as he began to squeeze.. His hand came to my chin, held my face up. Held me so his eyes could pour and gloat and smirk into mine. I would show him.
My hand shot out to catch his belt buckle. I caught him by surprise and shoved. He went back and landed on the thick, high bed. My other hand now free, I pulled the belt open, unfastened his pants, yanked the zipper down. There. With his pants open, his hips were covered only by flimsy, white silk. Under the silk, there was the great bulge of his cock, uncoiling and coming alive right in front of my eyes. There you are, Mister. One pull and the silk shorts were down. His musky, thick, swelling member bounced and sprang out. There you are. I looked in his eyes. His grin wasn’t quite so smug now. I planted my hands, either side of his hips. That thing, that long, fat, fantastic thing twitched at me. I pressed my breasts against it. I had to reach back to get the bra unhooked and off, and I leant my weight right onto his cock as I did, jammed up between my great, gorgeous girls, squashed against his hips and his hot groin.
My hands back on his hips, I leaned over his cock, and brushed my breasts along it, fanned them across it. Pulled them up and down along its length so softly they only just felt him. Up and down, and along. I planted them either side, so my nipples touched his pelvis on either side, then pressed towards him and away. He groaned. Yes, Mister. Feel their warmth. Feel the weight of them. Feel how round and soft and smooth they are. And how big. Look, your cock can get completely lost in between them. And they’re not even squeezing. I looked in his dark eyes. He’d love to feel them squeeze. Right now, he’d like that, he’d like to feel them rubbing along and all around his long, fat, hot shaft. Along and up in my big, soft, warmth.
My head moved down. He moaned as his cock sprang out from between my breasts, my nipples grazing now along his thigh. From the tops of my thighs, streams of shaking and trembling and tingling flowed out through my chest and my breasts and my throat and my thighs and my mouth. My mouth was so dry, I dragged my tongue around my lips. I looked in his face, my chin pointed up from just above his pelvis, I looked up to show him haw hard it was. Hard to moisten my lips, and to wet my mouth. Maybe I should take some wetness from my pants. Maybe I should take some of that juice, that hot syrup, and stick it in his face. I pushed my hand down into my pants, it was so hot there. And so wet. Up along the folds, into the swelling, softening fissure, up inside my lips, there was wet juice there. More around the top of my lips, around my clit. I had to just massage there, it really needed soothing. Oh, my thighs slammed together and a huge sigh broke out of my throat. Yes, Miser, YES, here. Have some of this, and I pushed my hand into his mouth, wiped the dark sweetness of my juice on his lips and ins them, across his teeth to the tip of his tongue. Then all over his face.
His eyes blazed now and he took hold of my hair from the back of my head. I said,
“Oh, yeah?” and he shoved my head towards his hips, his pelvis, towards the throbbing, swelling, glistening purple head of his hardening cock. I seized it with my hand, and I slapped it against my breasts. He groaned. I slapped his cock between my breasts and as the heat pulsed through the whole length of it, my hand slid up and down its length, forcefully. He moaned.
I held his cock in front of my face, his hands still in my hair. My breathing was hard and low, and my hot breath fanned his cock. I held it so that my breath fanned along the underside of it. Again. And, slowly, again. His eyes were smoldering now, and his breathing was a low growl.
I opened my mouth. My chest was thumping, fluttering waves and shudders ran all over me, and I held that hot, fat cock in front of my open, trembling lips, my widening, flattening tongue, my open mouth, and I watched his eyes as I pushed my tongue out and banged his cock against it. Harder and faster, each time my tongue reached a little farther down the length of his shaft. My knees banged together and I struggled to keep my balance as I plunged my mouth, my tongue, my face over, along and down the length of that hot, pulsing beast. I swallowed him. The bump as I got him into my throat made him buck and groan. Time after time. Faster. Longer. Wetter. Deeper. And I sucked, and I sucked. And as my wet lips drew back to massage the heat of that throbbing monster, I felt him twitch and my dams all broke. I dived down on him, and I came and the sound and the shaking of my voice in my throat drove him over the edge and he pumped and pumped hot, sticky man-essence to fill my throat and my mouth and it spilled and dribbled and my puss went over and gushed and my knees almost gave way and we both moaned. Together.
He said,
“Have you time for lunch, or do you need to escape right away?”
Subscribe to my mailing list,
and I’ll send you details of new releases
and special offers in advance.
I won’t share your address with anyone, ever,
and that’s a promise.
/>
Alice May Ball, Kept for His Appetites
Kept for His Appetites Page 6