by Josee Renard
She rested her head on John’s shoulder and took a few deep breaths. She had to get the teacher out of her head and get the vamp into it. She took a little nip out of John’s index finger, waiting for the quick intake of breath that had accompanied the last bite, then sucked his finger deeper into her mouth.
His cock jumped against her belly, sending waves of heat across her breasts and into her pussy. She couldn’t help herself. She pushed against him, and he responded by grabbing her ass and pulling her even closer.
She could hardly breathe, but breathing seemed unimportant. Skin was important. Touching was important. Tasting…
She pulled her head back just enough to pop his finger out of her mouth and lifted her lips to his. She didn’t wait for him to kiss her, she couldn’t wait. She stood on her toes and touched his lips with her own. His tongue was in her mouth before she had a moment to think about it.
And then the time for thought was over.
It was all about feeling. Feeling the strong stroke of his tongue in her mouth. Feeling the way her legs got weak and her pussy got wet. Feeling the way he strained against her, his cock hard and hot and needy against her belly. Feeling the dizziness and the loss of control.
Feeling the passion that flowed between them.
She leaned into him, her mouth opening to him like a flower to the sun.
“Sara?”
“Hmmm,” she hummed against his mouth.
“The bed?” John seemed to have lost his ability to speak along with his ability to stop kissing her. He murmured one more time as he picked her up in his arms, “The bed.”
He stumbled across the rugs and fell onto the mattress, careful to twist and drop with her on top of him.
She giggled when they hit the sheets and then, as they kissed, her laughter stopped. John almost wept at the sensation of her tongue tangling with his, of her sassy use of her teeth, of her scent enveloping him.
He swore he could smell the aroma of the ocean growing stronger as she rubbed her pussy against his straining cock.
“Sara? You have to stop.”
She pulled back, hurt in her eyes.
“No, no. It feels wonderful," he said. "You feel wonderful. But if you keep doing that, this is going to be over way too soon.”
He held her so close he could almost see the thoughts behind her eyes and had absolutely no trouble translating the I don’t care look she gave him once she made her decision.
He could feel it, too, in the way she undulated across his body, first her breasts against his chest, her nipples hard as she pressed into him, then her belly against his. And most distracting—and most wonderful of all—her cunt against his cock. The heat built right through his jeans and his boxers and the silky costume Sara wore.
He grabbed her and flipped her so she was now beneath him instead of on top.
“Hey,” she said. “I’m in charge here.” She tried rolling him over, but he had six inches and at least fifty pounds on her so she didn’t succeed in moving him more than an inch or two.
The pout on her lips showed her disappointment and hardened his body further. He gently nipped at her bottom lip and almost burst out of his jeans when she moaned.
“My fantasy, remember?” he said as he took another bite of her tempting lips.
She pouted again, then shrugged her shoulders. He was hypnotized, watching the way the tiny straps holding up her shirt slipped as she moved.
“But your fantasy had no substance. Really, you know, this is my fantasy. I’m letting you share it.”
Her grin and her cockiness made for an irresistible combination, as if he wasn’t already halfway in love with her and all the way in terminal lust. He grinned back at her and then lost the battle when she reached up, grabbed his ears, and pulled.
“Ouch.” He couldn’t help but laugh as the tiny, succulent woman used the pressure on his earlobes to roll him over.
She sat up, her weight pressing her pussy hard into his cock. He groaned his pleasure.
She smiled a seductress’ smile and pulled her hair back, taking a bracelet—at least, he’d thought it a bracelet—from her wrist and wrapping it around her fall of red hair, pinning it up to expose her ever-so-sexy throat and neck.
He lifted his head and kissed the warm skin right behind her ear, waiting for the shiver he knew would come before moving on. He savored each taste of her neck, taking careful bites each time her breathing quickened. Sara’s responsiveness was like nothing he’d ever experienced.
She settled herself more solidly onto his body, and then clapped her hands. The lights went off, leaving only flickering candlelight. She clapped them again, and the music switched to the eroticism of Nina Simone. Once more, and the rush of moving water met his ears while its reflection glinted on the silk overhead.
Sara couldn’t stop grinning. She knew she should be using the heavy-lidded, seductive siren expression she’d practiced for hours in front of her mirror, but she couldn’t help herself. She was having way too much fun. Once she’d gotten into the flow, once she’d gotten a look at John in person—tall, built, and just her type—once she’d managed to shut out the school teacher inside her, she realized she was in her element.
She felt as she imagined a seal would feel in the warmth of the southern oceans or maybe—she giggled—Shrek, when he returned to his ogre self.
She appreciated John’s willingness, despite his grumbles, to let her take charge, and she promised herself she would make this night as memorable for him as it already was for her.
She leaned forward and began to slip the buttons of his shirt from their holes. As she undid each one, she peeled back the fabric, revealing more and more of his chest. Luscious. Lickable. Lovely.
She followed her thoughts with action, starting at the small indentation—the suprasternal notch, the name of which she only knew from the movie The English Patient—and licked her way down, opening more buttons as she went. His flat nipples, much darker than hers, reacted the same way hers did, plumping themselves at the touch of her tongue.
That made it possible for her to nip at first one, and then the other, rolling them against her tongue and enjoying John’s response. His cock surged each time she dragged her teeth across a nipple, each time she lapped at his chest, each time she tugged at the fine hairs clothing his pecs with her teeth.
She reached the bottom button and reached up to pull the shirt off his shoulders. God, he was gorgeous. And oh so tempting. And she knew just what she wanted to do next.
The setting wasn’t just the tent or the bath or the candles or the music or the heated mattress—she’d also included a little treasure chest she’d placed next to the bed. It contained all kinds of things the Pleasure Club management had on their shelves in the office.
All kinds of things Sara had read about, maybe had occasionally had dreams about, but mostly had never used. The good news was that they all came with instructions, both written and very carefully photographed. She’d learned a whole bunch of stuff during the couple of hours she’d spent in the treasure room.
She wasn’t sure she’d use all of them, but the handcuffs she’d already attached to the four corners of the bed? Those, she would definitely use.
* * * * *
John wasn’t sure how much more he could stand. Sara’s mouth was driving him wild, and she hadn’t gone any further south than his belly button. He trembled at the thought of her hands opening the buttons on his pants, of her hot, wet mouth playing with his cock.
He wanted to grab Sara. He wanted his cock inside her cunt. He wanted… God, he wanted so much. He wanted her to say his name again. He wanted to nibble her all over. He wanted her to scream his name as he made her come.
“John?” she whispered, her hair shielding her face from his view. “Close your eyes, okay?”
He hesitated for only a moment. He’d let her take control and he was going to let her keep it, no matter the cost to his control. He knew he could wrestle it away from her, but he’d pr
omised. And the one thing John and Chef had in common was keeping their promises.
He closed his eyes and waited.
Sara moved down John's body, and the bed shifted as she rolled off of it. He suffered a surge of anxiety. What if she left him here?
It seemed like forever until she pulled his shoes from his feet and rolled down his socks. He waited for her to trigger his ticklish gene, but she somehow got his feet bare without a single giggle on his part. He smiled to himself as she ran a fingertip over his instep and he only detected heat.
His cock was ready to burst out of his pants.
She moved back onto the bed, and suddenly her fingers were at his waist. She carefully undid his buttons, never touching his cock, though, even as it sprang free inside his boxers. He wondered how she avoided it.
“Lift up,” she said, tugging at the back of his pants. And then she surprised him by pulling off both his pants and boxers in one fell swoop.
John waited for the next delight.
“Keep your eyes closed.”
“I will,” he said under his breath. “I will,” he repeated more loudly. “But keep talking, okay? I need to know you’re still here.”
She laughed. “You’ll know.”
He didn’t know why but that threat, in that incredibly sexy voice, just made him harder and even more impatient. John—Chef—wasn’t known as a patient man. Few chefs were. But Sara made him want to be patient for her, to see what she had planned for him.
He listened, but she said nothing further. He listened more carefully and recognized the rustle of silk. She was removing her clothes. She had to be.
And then her heat enveloped him. She was leaning over him, her hair sweeping over his chest and his face. She grabbed both his hands and lifted them over his head.
“Relax, please.”
He’d come this far. He relaxed his arms and let her move them as if they belonged to her. And maybe they did, for this one night, anyway.
Cool metal slid around his wrists, and a sharp click met his ears. The minx. She’d handcuffed him to the bed. He wriggled a little to try and dislodge her, but she settled her butt right down into the middle of his belly and giggled.
“Okay?”
“Depends on what you plan to do with me now.”
She giggled again. “You’ll like it. I promise.”
If there was one thing John knew for sure, it was that he’d like whatever Sara did to him or for him or with him. He’d never had this experience with any other woman. Not just the handcuffs, but the giving over control to her. Maybe that’s what this fantasy is all about.
He didn’t always need to be in charge. No, he should rephrase that. He didn’t always want to be in charge. That was just the life he’d fallen into as the years went by. He certainly hadn’t planned it that way.
“I surrender,” John said, meaning more than just his body for this one night. Meaning a whole change in his life, meaning letting his assistants take on some of the burden, meaning…
“Wow,” he whispered.
“I know,” she whispered in his ear. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
And then she wrapped something around his eyes, and the world turned black. He was helpless. He could no nothing but lie there and enjoy. All his other senses jumped to attention.
He heard things he’d never noticed before. The soft hiss of the candle flames, the beat of Sara’s blood through her veins, the rasp of her hair blazing across his chest.
His nose was bombarded with enticing scents and his mouth flooded with flavors—mint and vanilla and cinnamon. Sara was cinnamon, the finest Ceylon cinnamon. Her hair contained all the shades of that delicious spice, her scent the richest cinnamon of all.
He wanted to taste every inch of her, to see if her pussy tasted of cinnamon, if her belly smelled like cinnamon. But he’d have to wait until she let him go for that, and he didn’t think it was going to happen any time soon. He hoped it wouldn’t happen any time soon.
Sara curled her leg over John’s belly, the tip of his cock just touching her skin, and rubbed herself against him like a cat. Each time she moved her leg, his cock grew and his buttocks strained to get the touch, the relief he needed.
But he didn’t ask for it, didn’t beg her to release him. And she knew he didn’t want it, either. Because his face had flushed the most becoming shade and the musky aroma of his cock filled the room. He was enjoying this as much as she was.
She reached down and cupped his balls, feeling them draw up tightly in her palm.
“Not yet,” she insisted.
“No,” he murmured in reply. “Not yet. Though it might kill me to wait much longer.”
Sara felt the same sentiment and knew she couldn’t wait, either. So she rolled off John and turned her body around, kneeling so that her pussy was right where she needed it to be—and so was his cock. He tasted of the ocean and of the richest and sweetest seafood.
His quick intake of breath and equally quick tongue spurred her on.
“Sara,” he said. “Just wait.”
Her mouth full of his cock, she shook her head.
“Don’t make me come. I want to be inside you.”
She considered that for a moment, then nodded and muttered around the hot length and breadth of him, “Okay.”
She sucked and kissed and nibbled and almost couldn’t stop herself when he tried to pull back.
“Please,” he begged, and she relaxed her mouth around his cock, giving him some breathing room.
Her cunt ached. The pressure inside it had increased, the heat almost impossible to bear. She lowered herself a little further. He took a single light nip at her clit, and she exploded.
Sara had never believed that a man—or an orgasm—could make her see stars, but this one did. It was so intense, so overwhelming, she would have screamed if her mouth wasn’t full. The spasms went on and on and on until she wanted to collapse, until her entire body sparked as if bombarded by lightning and she was lit up more brightly than the candles flickering around her.
John’s cock responded to Sara’s flavor, to her taste, to her response to his touch. His balls drew up so tightly he knew that if he didn’t get out of her mouth, he would come right there and then. But he wanted inside her so badly he had to force himself to pull his yearning cock from between her beautiful lips.
Sara sighed and rolled off him.
And then she said, “No.”
“No?” he whispered.
“No. You are going to come in my mouth. That’s what I want. You want to give up control, and I want to be in control.”
He thought about it, wondered if he had the courage to admit that she was right, and worried that she’d think less of him if he did.
She lifted a brow. “You don’t have a choice, do you?”
“No,” he said. “But I…”
“Give it up to me, John. You know you want to.”
He sighed and said it, feeling the warmth of the words right down to the balls of his feet. “It’s yours.”
John was rewarded for those two words in ways he couldn’t have imagined before this night.
Sara undid the handcuffs and then returned to the foot of the bed, helping him across the room until he smelled the jasmine oil she’d placed in the bathtub. She carefully helped him into the heated water and then followed him in.
She caressed every inch of his body with a touch that went beyond sex. She played with parts of his body no one had ever touched before, her fingers pressing against and into his anus, probing at a gland he was pretty sure he hadn’t even known existed.
She discovered places on his body he had never before thought of as erogenous, places that responded to her touch with a direct line to his cock. The insides of his elbows, the backs of his knees, the creases where his thighs met his torso. The tip of his collar bone. The webbing between his fingers. And his toes.
Sara touched him everywhere until he shook with desire.
She kissed him until he couldn
’t breath.
And then she helped him out of the bath and led him, both of them dripping, back to the bed, and placed him in the center of it.
She undid the blindfold, pulled it from his eyes, and whispered, “Don’t move.”
He couldn’t speak, could only nod his assent. Silently he begged for release, silently he told her he couldn’t wait any longer. Please, he said without speaking. Please.
She heard him.
Her mouth, hot and greedy and desperate, embraced his cock, and she grasped his balls in one small hand and rolled them between her fingers. John knew he might never experience this intensity of feeling again and as much as he wanted it to last forever, he couldn’t stop himself. He shouted and thrust for the first time that night, thrust himself desperately into her willing mouth, thrust himself into ecstasy.
* * * * *
The next morning, John awoke in his own bed, though he didn’t remember getting there. He had a piece of paper gripped in his hand, a piece of paper that smelled of cinnamon. It read:
John,
Control is highly overrated. I’d like to take you even further if you’re willing.
Sara
Author Bio
Josée Renard writes women’s fiction, magic realism, paranormal, and erotica—short fiction, poetry, and novels. Josée blames her good friend Anna Leigh Keaton for getting her into writing erotica—she loves Anna Leigh’s books and wanted to try one herself. She blames her mother and her two grandmothers for her reading and writing obsession. All of them were avid readers, and they passed their books and their obsession on to her. www.joseerenard.com