Temptations--Three Book Bundle

by Miranda Forbes

  The counter creaked and the flour flew as I pumped the writhing woman, the smoke from our puffing voyeur hazing the kitchen but not quite muffling the tangy, desperate smell of sweat and sex. I gritted my teeth and flung my hips at Cora, pistoning granite dong into gripping cunt. I was on fire, out-of-control, body and balls tingling way past the point of no return.

  ‘Yeah, Cora, yeah!’ I hollered, fucking the blonde in a frenzy.

  Then I was jolted by orgasm, my thrusting pipe exploding inside her sucking pussy, filling her with white-hot ecstasy. She screamed her own joy, legs shaking against my chest and body shuddering, fiery orgasm engulfing the both of us.

  I stayed longer than my budgeted one hour for dinner in Sioux City.

  I soon came to realize why I’d never met anyone like Cora before: most people who thought and acted like she did were locked up somewhere, safely away from square johns like myself. The woman had some serious delusions – about movies. Not girlish crushes on matinee idols like Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise, or displaced dreams of being the next Scarlett Johansson or Catherine Zeta-Jones. No, this offbeat babe had a living, breathing, all-encompassing Film Noir fetish.

  She told me all about it, gushing it out with the same intensity she’d gushed earlier. All about the black and white shadowy lighting, the furtive characters and seedy locations, the sexy, sinister themes, the motion pictures and movie actors and studios; an alternative rain and tear-streaked chiaroscuro world of brooding heavies and smouldering femmes fatales, doomed lovers and desperate loners. A strange, exciting, flickering world that was her escape from a shabby Sioux City existence, I supposed.

  Sinjin indulged her fantasy role-playing, as she indulged his fisted voyeurism. And now I’d become the third pointy-head in the whole crazy lust triangle. I’d been caught between the nutty dame’s legs and she wasn’t about to let go.

  We hooked-up again the following evening, the setting: an abandoned warehouse overlooking the misty banks of the Missouri River. I was costumed in a flimsy trench coat and a wrinkled fedora, playing the rogue cop, ‘Bannion’. Chrissie/Cora was now Debbie, the bad-girl gangster’s moll desperate to redeem herself. Sinjin held down his usual supporting role as the peeping, puffing tom in the shadows.

  Pipes dripped unknown liquids and tiny feet scurried about, towers of crates creaking ominous warnings, as Debbie set the scene of dangerous love by scrambling out of her little, black moll gown and up onto a pile of coiled ropes. She wagged her bare, tan and white, bottom at me. I moved in behind, gripping the glowing orbs of her bum and sinking my shaft into her pussy. Her desperate cries and my urgent grunts echoed in the gloomy, cavernous confines, Sinjin’s cigarettes burning bright orange behind a rusted metal pillar.

  The next night, the scene shifted to a dank alley that ran into oblivion alongside a sleazy bar. I was the hardboiled private dick, ‘Sam’, who plastered soft, willing, manipulating ‘Brigid’ up against a grimy brick wall and tried to hose some truth out of her. Sinjin was third garbage can on the right, watching and puffing and pulling in the dark.

  Night after rainy night it went on and on, through the dog-eared celluloid catalogue of con-men and suckers, vulnerable good girls and brassy broads. It all became way too much for me. I’m a Kung Fu genre fan, myself, and not much of a ham. Not to mention the fact that my boss back home was really wondering why it was taking so long to ‘get my car fixed’ in Sioux City.

  ‘It’s been a lot of, um, fun…’

  ‘Phyllis.’

  ‘Phyllis,’ I broke it to the blonde hottie, as she drove us to a seedy downtown hotel through another liquid night. ‘But I’ve got to get back to work. I can’t afford to lose my–’

  ‘No one’s pulling out!’ she sneered, strangling the steering wheel. ‘We went into this together, and we’re coming out at the end together. It’s straight down the line for both of us.’

  We skidded to a stop in front of the glowering hotel and rented Room 1313 from a nebbish desk clerk wearing a leer the size of all Iowa. Phyllis unlocked the door to the ratty room, unloaded a bottle of rye from a paper sack. She filled a pair of dirty water glasses, and drank from both.

  ‘I’m crazy about you, Walter,’ she breathed, standing on tip-toes and smothering my mouth, drawing blood with her teeth.

  I was the hapless stooge trapped in the erotic clutches of the calculating femme fatale; playing a hopeless game in which I didn’t even know the rules or the players.

  Phyllis shoved me down to my knees on the threadbare carpet, ordered me to polish the four-inch black stilettos she had strapped to her feet – with my tongue.

  I looked up the smirking woman’s slim, stockinged legs, up and under the knee-high black skirt she was wearing without the benefit of panties. She gestured impatiently, and I hung my head, licked the rounded tip of her shoe.

  A gold anklet encircled her left ankle, glittering in the light. I coiled my trembling fingers around it and lifted her foot, ran my tongue all along the high-polish leather of her shoe, tasting the rich, smooth texture. Then I lapped at her other high heel, licking the shimmering bridge of her foot where it humped out of her shoe.

  Phyllis stripped off her pink sweater, baring her breasts. She cupped and fondled her handful tits, rolling engorged nipples between her fingers. She stuck a spike heel in my face and I dutifully snaked my tongue around it, then sucked on it, desperate to please.

  When I’d worshipped at her feet long enough, she unhooked her skirt and slid onto the bed. She spread her legs and beckoned, and I crawled across the floor, in between her silken stems. I stuck my tongue into the damp, blonde fur of her pussy without hesitation.

  ‘Yes!’ she moaned, clawing at my hair. ‘Eat me, Walter!’

  I gripped her taut thighs and lapped at her slit, anxiously tonguing her from bum hole to mound-top, over and over. She was wetter than night. Her spicy juices and musky scent made my addled brain spin even faster.

  ‘Enough!’ she commanded at last. She gestured at me to stand up, strip off my clothes.

  I wiped off my mouth and stood, stripped, shooting a quick glance around the dingy room for that tell-tale smoke. Phyllis pointed at the cracked mirror on the wall, which I took to be of the two-way variety. Then she grabbed me and spread me out on the bed, herself on top.

  She grasped my cock and speared it between her slickened lips, sitting down on it. ‘Mmmm, that feels good, Walter,’ she exhaled, digging her scarlet fingertips into the hair on my chest and moving her bum.

  I gripped her hanging tits, tried to meet her urgent bouncing with my own upward thrusting. But I didn’t have the strength, or the stamina. Phyllis vigorously shifted her ass up and down, riding my achingly hard cock, fucking me with her pussy.

  The sagging bed squealed in agony, the blonde picking the tempo up to frenzy-mode. The headboard cracked against the ragged wallpaper until the whole room shook with the ferocity of her passion. I lay there in a pool of our sweat, body limp, cock surging with sexual electricity.

  ‘Yes, Walter, yes!’ Phyllis screamed.

  She tore at my chest, bouncing around like a madwoman, until her dewy body spasmed with the wicked orgasm she pulled from my cock. Her joyous shrieking overpowered my breathless whimpering, as I spurted semen inside her in an orgasm long and loose and full of juice, but utterly lacking in feeling.

  Then the door burst open. A man stood there, a huge, angry bear of a man. ‘I knew you was cheatin’ on me!’ he roared at Phyllis. ‘You’re gonna die, asshole!’ he roared at me.

  Phyllis sunk her fingernails into my flesh, pinning me down.

  She slow-rode my cock, eyeing the brute crowding the doorway with total contempt. ‘So, you finally caught on, huh, Nick?’

  The big man gaped at her, big, hairy hands clenching into big, hard fists.

  ‘Walter, meet my husband, Nick,’ Phyllis/Brigid/ Debbie/Cora/Chrissie said to me.

  Then kissed me deadly.

  I woke up screaming, pushing the black angel away with a superhu
man effort. I jumped to my feet, cock and balls flapping on empty. I didn’t know for sure what the hell was going on, but I knew one thing: I was being cast for the real-life part of patsy, pushover, and fall guy all rolled into one, the clay pigeon. The big knife was out and the big heat was on; this was the breaking point, the set-up. I was going to be the accused, abandoned, beyond a reasonable doubt.

  The man filling the doorframe suddenly started shaking, spluttering, body and soul, his beefy face burning purple.

  ‘Remember your heart condition, dear,’ his wife jeered, with more than a touch of evil. ‘Keel over from a coronary, or tear my lover limb-from-limb and go to jail – either way, Sinjin and I get the diner, and each other.’

  I shot a look of despair at the born-to-be-bad piece of blonde ice. But it was too late for tears. I barrelled straight into the third man, sending him slamming backwards into the hall clutching his chest.

  I raced down the stairs and out into the dark city, the asphalt jungle, between midnight and dawn; the night runner shooting through a nightmare alley and across a street with no name. I scrambled up a grading and by a narrow margin hooked on to the side of a thundering boxcar, swinging inside, railroaded out of town.

  A poor sap on the run now, on dangerous ground, in a lonely place. A guy who’d taken a detour into a roadhouse, a dark passage, and was DOA as soon as he’d stepped through the door. Was there ever a shadow of a doubt?

  You Might Like It

  by Penelope Friday

  “Spank me?” She scoffed. “I’d like to see you try!”

  “I’d like to see me try. That’s the point.”

  There was an assessing look on his face, as his gaze dropped down to her bottom, curving suggestively under a skirt that covered her to mid-thigh. The look of assessment was returned by her, her head tilted to one side, her dark hair sweeping her shoulder.

  “And what would I get out of it?”

  He smiled.

  “Try it; you might like it.”

  “Uh-uh. Not tempting enough yet. Persuade me more. What are you going to do for me in return?”

  He hesitated. No doubt about it, he hesitated. Weighing up his options, she reckoned. Just as she was weighing up her own. Privately, she’d always had the odd fantasy about being smacked, but he didn’t know that. He didn’t need to know that. This way, she might get to try out two fantasies for the price of one. A bargain indeed!

  She moved towards him, entwining her arms around his neck suggestively; pressing kisses against his cheekbone.

  “I could suggest something,” she whispered.

  He was intrigued, she could see. Also, she could not help being wickedly amused by his anxiety. What on earth did he think she was going to ask him to do? Something so scandalous that he wouldn’t be able to consider it without blushing?

  “Go on then.”

  His hands had slid around her to fondle her arse, smoothing the silky material against her sensitive skin. She leaned her head on his shoulder and looked up at him.

  “Well,” she drawled slowly, “why don’t we take things a little further? Why don’t we … set the scene a little first?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  So she told him…

  He leaned heavily on the wooden desk, frowning slightly. Miss Fenella Grant had misbehaved too many times recently. She would have to learn that her behaviour was unacceptable. She would have to be punished. He looked around the book-lined study and waited for her to arrive.

  She stood on the far side of the wooden door, smoothing out any possible creases in her tunic. Had she taken things too far? What would he say to her this time? What would he do to her? The tap on the door was timid – so light that she wondered whether he would hear her. But he must have been listening, because a stern voice called out in response.

  “Come in.”

  Her fingers slipped on the door knob as she twisted it. Her palms were just the slightest bit sweaty. She rubbed them against her skirt and tried again. This time, the door opened, and she slid in to the room, standing just inside the door, hands clasped nervously in front of her.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Yes. Yes, Fenella, I did. Come in further and shut that door behind you.” She pushed the door to, and noticed a large, old-fashioned key in the lock. “Lock the door, and bring me the key.”

  “But, sir …”

  “No!” He cut across her. “I give the orders in here, Fenella, not you. Lock that door immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She twisted the key. It creaked slightly as the lock turned. Pulling it out, she found that it was lighter than she had expected: it looked so heavy and old. She held it in front of her, offering it to him while staying as far from his desk as she possibly could. He took the key from her hand, and placed it in a drawer. Fenella found that she could hardly breathe. It was just him and her in here now. There was no escape for her. She shuffled back a couple of steps, putting a gap between herself and him.

  “Stand still, girl.”

  “Sorry.”

  He sat upright, and looked her straight in the eyes. His face was grave.

  “Miss Grant, I have been hearing bad reports about you from every side. It appears that you have been misbehaving on a grand scale. I would be sorry to think that any of my students could be so disobedient without due cause. What have you to say for yourself?”

  Fenella’s heart was beating a little faster. He was good at this. How did he get to be so good at this? She could feel an answering throb to her heart lower down, between her legs. She hung her head a little.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to be bad.”

  He rose to his feet, majestically.

  “Didn’t mean it? You come to me with more disgraceful – disgusting – reports than any other student before you, and all you can say is that you didn’t mean it? Miss Grant, you will need to have a better explanation than that if you want to escape punishment.”

  Oh, punishment! She had been waiting for that word, and she felt a jolt in her stomach as he said it. The word lingered on his mouth like a promise. But she had her part to play, and she was enjoying playing it. She threw herself to her knees in front of him.

  “Oh, sir. Oh sir, please don’t punish me!”

  “Have you been bad, Fenella?” he asked gently.

  She looked up at him. He had walked around the desk and was leaning against it – right above her.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Very bad?”

  “Very bad, sir.”

  “Then you must be punished, Fenella. Rules must be obeyed – do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes …?” He waited.

  “Yes, sir,” she corrected herself.

  “And you will take your punishment like the naughty girl you are?”

  “Yes, sir.” (Yes, please, she thought.)

  He bent down to her and put a hand underneath her chin. It was the first time he had touched her, and she shivered at the feel of his touch.

  “You need to stand up, then, girl. Stand up and bend over the desk. But first, you will need to remove your panties – you are wearing panties, are you not, Miss Grant?”

  “Oh, yes, sir.”

  “Then stand up and take them off.”

  She obeyed. Her hands slipped under her tunic skirt as she reached and pulled down a pair of skimpy white knickers. She held them in her hand and turned to him.

  “What should I do with these, sir?”

  “Put them on my desk. There.” He pointed. “They will be directly in front of you when you bend over – a reminder, Miss Grant, of your sins. Are we clear about this?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Bend over.”

  She leaned down across the dark wooden desk. It had a smooth surface, almost comforting against her cheek. She knew that with her motion, her tunic had lifted at the back, leaving her pale, tender bottom open to the elements – and to him.
r />   “What are you going to do to me, sir?” she asked.

  She felt a hand against her back, pushing her further down against the desk, so that her breasts were rubbing teasingly against its firmness.

  “I am going to teach you a lesson, Fenella.” His voice was gentler now, almost loving. He stroked the hand down her back, lifting the bottom of her tunic that little bit further when his hand reached it. “You understand that you need to be taught a lesson, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes –?”

  “Yes, sir,” she corrected herself obediently.

  “Good. Remember, this is for your own good, Fenella.” He permitted the first trace of laughter to appear in his voice. “I don’t say that I get no pleasure from this, but – you know you deserve it.”

  “Oh yes, sir,” she breathed.

  His hand rubbed gently across her exposed bottom, leaving every nerve-ending tingling.

  “You see, you’ve been a bad, bad girl.”

  He lifted his hand away and brought it back with a slap.

  “Oh!” She couldn’t help but exclaim; it was – it was a little painful but, at the same time … she wriggled her arse a little, suggestively, begging for more.

  “Keep still, Miss Grant.”

  The hand lifted and slapped again; lifted and slapped. There was a rhythm to the punishment that had her moaning against the desktop. Lift – slap – lift – slap.

  “Sir!”

  His hand paused on her bottom, smoothing the contours.

  “Fenella?”

  Lift – slap – lift – slap.

  “Please…!”

  “Please, what, Fenella? You know you deserve your punishment.”

  She arched her neck back, up from the desk, closing her eyes as she did so.

  “Yes, yes, but sir…”

  “What?”

  “Fuck me,” she moaned. “Please – please, fuck me. Please, I need you inside me.”

  The hand lifted and smacked once more.

  “Miss Grant, I am ashamed of you. You are a student, I am a teacher. It would be most inappropriate to do what you suggest.”