Trent Evans

by What She's Looking For

  “Uh, I guess.” She hadn’t ever had a man do it before, and really didn’t understand why he’d want to. It appeared she was about to find out though.

  “Don’t ‘I guess’ me, slut. Tell me what that means? What are you supposed to do when I tell you I want to fuck those big tits of yours?”

  “Sir?”

  His fingers pinched her aching nipples, twisting and pulling at the same time. “Tell me. I want to hear you explain it so that I know you understand what’s expected of you.”

  Ashley was completely out of her depth here. She’d of course heard of the term, but she’d never actually seen it done. Should she guess, bullshit her way through this?

  The fingers clenched harder and she whined with the burning pain.

  Fuck.

  “I put your penis between my … breasts?”

  The glint in his eye made her swallow. “Tits, Ashley. Subs — slaves, refer to them as ‘tits’. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.” It shouldn’t be turning her on this much, but her pussy was fucking molten, seething, at his words. What the hell was this? The realization was one of shock, tinged with an exhilarating feeling of self-discovery. She felt as if she’d stepped off the precipice, falling, hoping and praying his strong arms would be there to catch her.

  “Good girl. Now, let’s try again, shall we?” He flashed a grin devoid of warmth, one of pure rapacious lust. “What does it mean when I say I want to fuck your tits?”

  “I need to put your penis between my tits and make you come.”

  His smile widened, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Good! That’s right. You’re going to squeeze those big tits around my cock, and I’m going to fuck them until I come. Do you think you can do that, slut?”

  “Yes, Sir.” She dropped her eyes, the pale swells of her breasts filling her vision, the heat of her blush damning. Should she have been incensed at him for calling her that?

  Why? He sees you for what you are.

  But there was no mistaking the reaction of her body to those words, to something that should be demeaning. It was demeaning, in a sense, but also in another, almost … empowering. A statement of fact. A woman who wanted him to fuck her, to take her, to use her. Anytime he wanted, in whatever way he wanted. To Ashley this was what submission was, the core of it, that need to be all things to him, to be both his love, his possession, and his property.

  His.

  Fuck, you are one messed up chick.

  She smiled. Not messed up. Free.

  “Now, be a good girl and do what you said you’d do. Let me feel those tits of yours.” He leaned back a bit, and his cock, long and thick stood straight up, moving with the beat of his heart.

  She leaned in, the heavy shaft hot against the coolness of her skin, then eased her breasts apart enough to let his cock sink between them, the broad head upon her sternum.

  “Now squeeze it, girl.”

  His cock was like a bar of molten metal between the soft pillows of her breasts.

  “Harder, slut. I want them squeezed tight when I fuck them.” His hand entwined in the length of her hair, her scalp tightening almost to the point of discomfort. “Be a good girl.”

  She pushed her breasts together until the flesh under her fingertips turned white, her turgid nipples pressed to his hips.

  “That’s it, much better. Now, up and down the shaft. Keep the pressure on them, long strokes.”

  “Oh god,” she murmured, looking down at the broad purple head of his cock disappearing, then spearing back up at her as she plunged down with brisk strokes. Once she reached the base of his cock, it felt like the head was tickling the hollow at the base of her throat.

  “Sometimes I’ll use baby oil on those tits before you squeeze them back around my cock. This time I want the friction though.”

  Ashley quickened her pace, ignoring the objectification aspect of this.

  Oh for God’s sake. Stop kidding yourself.

  Okay, maybe she liked this — a little — because it was objectifying.

  Rather than protest though, she concentrated on following his instructions to the letter. Part of the attraction of submission to her had always been trying something new. Whether it was discovering something about herself, or learning new aspects about her lover’s personality, submission — and the steadily deeper depths she needed to dive into — always seemed to provide new vistas for her psyche to explore. He was in a mood that normally she might challenge a bit, if she felt like running risks — but this was something so new, her brat tendency seemed to have gone temporarily dormant.

  This was about discovery — both her own and her Sir’s.

  “Yesss, that’s it, girl. Faster now.”

  His grip tightened in her hair, holding her head steady as she masturbated him within the clutch of her breasts, the heat of him both startling and exhilarating. She felt his cock jerk once, twice.

  “Oh fuck, coming,” he groaned. “Don’t stop!”

  She looked down in rapt fascination. Once she might have been put off by the idea, but now she wanted to watch it. Every delicious second of it.

  As the broad head surged up from the creamy embrace of her cleavage, the slit opened, a great gout of semen spurting upward, making her head jerk against the grip of his hand in her hair.

  Hot seed splashed against the underside of her chin, a thick, salty rope of it curling up across her lips, her tongue dashing it away eagerly. More semen arced forth, pooling in the depression at the base of her throat, in the hollow of one collarbone.

  He threw his head back as a last spurt burst forth, the cords of his neck in rigid relief under his tanned skin, the hard muscles of his chest, the sectioned abdomen rigid. His thighs squeezed her between their powerful lengths, his muscles shaking, warmth rolling off his body in waves.

  “Jesus Christ, Ashley.” He straightened, grinning down at her as shudders coursed through his tense thighs. “You’re good at that!”

  She lowered her eyes. “Thank you, Sir.”

  What was it about the man? Even the most casual praise, warmed her heart. To her it meant she’d pleased him, and that was its own, pure joy. It was a revelation to her, how much she craved his approval, his enjoyment of what she did, or of what he did to her.

  “Sir?” Though his cock was spent, it had only partially deflated, the cleavage of her breasts glistening with his emission. She looked down at her breasts, then back up at him, pointedly.

  “No, you keep them there until I tell you to stop.” His finger scooped up a dollop of his semen, painting her lower lip with it, the scent so delicious the urge to lick that finger was overpowering. He met her eyes as his finger stroked the wetness over her swollen lip. “This, girl. This is what I want. I command, you obey. There’s nothing simpler, nothing more powerful than that.”

  “Oh God.” Her clit thrummed its forlorn, lonely tune down below, salvation for it seeming like just a mirage now. He slipped his finger between her lips, and she sucked it greedily, her gaze locked with his. Those deep gray eyes regarded her with a fondness that stirred her. His pleasure had become her pleasure after all.

  Fuck, I really need to come though. Please God.

  But she did as she was told, keeping his cock cradled in her soft wetness until its length, like the rest of him, had succumbed to the post-orgasmic lassitude she so enjoyed.

  That is, when it was her who’d actually had the orgasm.

  “Now, girl. Come up here.” He released her hair, his arms reaching for her. She sprung up, not caring, for the moment, that his semen had cooled to a sticky film coating her breasts, the skin of her throat tight with it.

  All that mattered now was feeling the embrace of those arms, snuggling her head into the crook of his neck, the heat of his skin against hers. He scooped her up in those arms with ridiculous ease, taking her trembling form into the bedroom. Rather than go to the bed though, he simply fell upon that sumptuous chair, the muted brightness from the overhead lights washing t
hem both in warm illumination. Soon, the slowing thump of his heart under her ear began to lull her as he held her, his hand stroking random patterns against her shoulder.

  And as she thought again of how very lucky she was, how wonderful the vagaries of fate could be, sleep finally took her.

  Chapter Twenty One

  The snow fell like the white motes of a snow globe, the winterscape outside just as beautiful. She moved the car carefully up the first of several steep switchbacks that traversed up the hill to home. The road had been plowed, and she (for once) wasn’t riding on tires — at Parker’s gruff insistence — that were bald. Parker and Drake had both told her that with the studded snow tires she now had, as long as there was no ice or unplowed road, she should be okay. Thunking her coffee into the cup holder, Ashley took the cold wheel in both hands, the cranky heater of her car still not really making a dent in the cold that had rendered it a rolling icebox while she’d shopped for the last two hours. She glanced at the bag sitting on the passenger seat.

  Black, check. Lace, check. Slutty, triple fucking check.

  She imagined the look in Parker’s cold gaze when he saw her body encased in that lingerie. He’d take a fistful of her hair and force her to her knees, bare her breasts from all that lace. Perhaps she’d squeeze his hot flesh between her breasts, let him use their soft curves as he chose — an activity she’d discovered was a favorite of Parker’s — and surprisingly, something she took great pleasure in herself. Or maybe he’d just make her hold them up for him, her breasts like an offering to an angry god, her blush burning her cheeks as she looked up at him, his pistoning fist sending geysers of semen across the slopes of her bosom to the accompaniment of his groans, the sounds of a man enjoying his property. His toy.

  But that would have to wait, unfortunately. Parker was gone. Again.

  She knew he had missions he’d be sent on, often with no notice — and this latest one was no different. Ten days he’d been gone, so far. It was time for him to come home, dammit!

  The car made the turn, the tires crunching through the powdery snow that has just begun to recoat the plowed roadway. As she came around the second switchback, she could see far down to the hill to the glassy surface of the lake below, a smooth gray plane reflecting the opaque overcast above.

  The rear end of her car got squirrelly for second, and she clamped tight to the wheel, exhaling as the tires caught traction again. “Eyes on the road, dipshit,” she hissed.

  Creeping up the road she thought of Parker again, where he might be, what he might be doing. Was it winter where he was? Did the rays of the sun warm his skin, the power of it renewing his spirit, making him forget about his home locked in the frigid depths of December?

  I could use some warm sunshine right about now. And a hard pounding.

  Drake’s image popped into her head: his incredible muscles, that rumbling bass of a voice that made her insides quiver. She’d seen him all of once during the past ten days of Parker’s current absence — the day he’d knocked on her door as she rushed to get ready for work, dangling a strange pair of keys on his finger. Parker had left Drake money, and instructed him to get her tires changed. So Drake had made her drive his behemoth of a truck in to work that day, while he took her car to get new tires.

  Refusal was not an option, nor was her insistence that she pay them back. Instead, he’d stood in her open doorway, watching her as she’d slipped on her heels and buttoned her suit jacket, sending her on her way with a slap to her ass that had her pussy clenching.

  She’d wanted to talk to Drake, needed to sort out what all this meant, this … whatever the fuck it was, forming between the three of them. But Drake seemed to have made himself scarce as soon as Parker was gone.

  Part of her wanted to see what would happen, if she were alone with him, if she felt that same electricity she’d felt that day dangling in the harness while those male hands had their way with her helpless body. Was she even supposed to be with Drake alone now? Parker had never forbidden it, yet part of her wondered. Something was missing, not adding up. Everything was so new, and so jumbled, she just went with what her instinct told her.

  No, for some reason, Parker wasn’t ready. Wasn’t ready for her to be with Drake yet — at least not without him there too.

  And Drake seemed to be cooperating.

  Either that or the big man wasn’t really as into her as she’d first thought.

  Don’t be stupid, Ashley. He wants you — just as much as you want him.

  The thought still sent her heart racing. It felt wrong somehow, almost a betrayal — even though she knew it wasn’t. A lifelong belief that a woman should only be with one man was being shaken, eroded steadily like a beach against the relentless assault of the ocean. Once again she was seeing how much more complicated life really could be — that there were many more possibilities to be explored.

  Now if she could just get one of them to start with exploring her body again.

  Despite her best efforts to distract herself with her twisted personal trinity: work, shopping, and masturbation, the fact was that Parker wasn’t there — and she missed him.

  That last time he’d returned from one of his periodic trips, he’d fallen upon her like a predator finding prey, fucking her senseless within minutes of walking through her front door.

  Her pussy clenched again at the thought of his long cock plowing her slick folds, stretching the tissues in that delicious way as he took what she had come closer to freely acknowledging as his. Her body, her pussy — all of it.

  His.

  The revving of the engine snapped her back to the present. Something wasn’t right. As she depressed the gas pedal she felt it, her stomach dropping. The tires were slipping. The tires spun faster with an irritated whine, the car coming to a stop on the incline.

  “Fuck.” She stamped on the brake. “Come on, baby. Get me home.”

  Then she started moving again — but it was in the wrong direction.

  As the car slid backwards, she gunned it for a second, hoping she’d grab a slip of pavement to get her propelled forward again, but it was no use, the spinning tire just accelerating her slide. Remembering what she’d learned driving in the snow back east, she craned her head back, putting the engine in neutral and steering in reverse with the slide as best she could, hoping she could drift the bumper against the embankment to her right and stop her slide.

  But rather than steer in reverse, the car began to slowly spin, the front end swinging around, closer to the edge of the steep drop-off down to the next switchback below.

  “Holy shit,” she squeaked. “Shit!”

  For a split second, she considered bailing out of the car, then thought better of it, realizing the stupidity of such a plan, not wanting her loved ones to wonder how she’d managed to get herself crushed by her own vehicle. For a long moment, there was near silence, only the intermittent whir of the wipers interrupting the sense of slow-motion doom looming seconds away.

  Then the driver’s side tires dropped off the shoulder, high-centering the undercarriage on the snow encrusted gravel, the crunch below her vibrating through her feet. The movement of the car hesitated once, the momentum countered for the briefest of instants by the friction with the ground, then the car slid off the embankment, rolling over onto the driver’s side.

  Ashley was surprised that she didn’t scream. Instead, time seemed to slow to almost nothing, the surreal sensation of being weightless within the confines of her seat belt as she spun within the tumbling car, rolling down the hill like a toy, the screech of the sagebrush against the metal, the crunch of the side window cracking, the sounds of the pens in her glove box rattling around inside as the car turned over and over. Her coffee splattered dark brown across the windshield, hot droplets of it stinging her cheek. As the car bounced down the embankment, she thought of the two wonderful, beautiful men she’d met, how so much seemed possible, and how sad she was that she’d never know what might have been.

  T
hen the side of her head dashed against something very hard, and with a flash behind her eyes, she knew nothing more.

  ***

  The air burned through Drake’s lungs as he ran through the quiet, falling snow. How the hell Parker ran as much as he did, he’d never understand. But he wanted to get a look at the lake while it snowed, and seeing it from behind the window of a speeding car just wasn’t the same thing.

  He’d left the trail on Parker’s property and instead ran slowly along the shoulder of the road, picking his way down the steep switchbacks — thankful for the chains Parker had fashioned for his shoes.

  The man should’ve worked for the fucking Postal Service. But then you (usually) didn’t get to shoot people in that particular profession.

  The placid gray surface of the lake spread out far below, the far shore obscured by the increasing heavy snow and a lowering cloud deck. He marveled at the cold, sterile beauty of it, and at the abyssal depths hidden below that smooth surface. He hadn’t seen a single car try to make it up the hill since the snow had started in earnest, and judging by how slick the surface felt even under the chains around his shoes, he thought that was probably a good thing.

  Parker rather liked the fact the way that storms and low clouds lent his hilltop property an air of isolation from town, and Drake was starting to come around to the appeal too. Especially now that they had something of interest to them at home.

  Ashley.

  He grimaced at the thought of her. Parker had made him promise that he wouldn’t divulge to Ashley where he was going, telling Drake it was too soon, too much for her.

  Drake thought it was bullshit then, and he still thought it was bullshit now. Why should he have to clam up and essentially avoid her while Parker was gone? Sure, loyalty to his friend would ensure he’d keep his mouth shut, so why did he feel this need to avoid her?

  Because he knew he couldn’t lie to her. Not knowing what she’d been through. Not seeing those big hazel eyes, those perfect teeth worrying the corner of her mouth. He’d seen the worry in her gaze when he’d refused to answer her question about where Parker had gone, and that worry tore at him.