‘Not yet,’ Jason warns.
I fall back upon a tortuous tease. Saul’s muscles quiver. ‘Can’t hold it,’ he moans.
‘Of course you can.’ He’s bathed in sweat when I rise up from the next two sucks, and fluid leaks in a steady stream from the eye.
‘Just hold it there,’ Jason says, which I choose to interpret as an instruction to hold Saul on the precipice rather than an order to freeze. ‘Let me get in on this.’
Jason doesn’t unbuckle his belt. He simply releases the fly. The image he makes with his cock poking through the slash of fabric is utterly crude, and yet compelling. It grabs me at a gut level, leaving me tense and eager for the involvement he’s promised. I stare at his cock, which like the rest of him is lean and long, while he draws circles upon my bottom.
Somehow, the contrast of bare cock and his closed belt make his ethereal beauty more real. He’s no Lucifer exposed like this. His virility detracts from his power, because it proves that he isn’t as unmoved as his expression first suggests.
He raises me onto the sofa, so that I’m on all fours with my head in Saul’s lap, then shimmies up behind me and slides his cock up and down in the channel between the cheeks of my butt.
Up and down, he strokes, driving up the air of anticipation, until we’re all salivating as we wait. Waiting for that moment, when the teasing stops and the real fucking begins.
‘I think you’ve forgotten how to fight, Ms Thief.’ Jason spreads my cheeks wide and pokes his glans against the entrance to my arse.
It’s true, there’s no resistance left in me. I might have started out a prisoner, cajoled into this, but suggesting that I’m anything less than willing now would be an out-and-out lie. ‘Just do it.’
‘In the arse?’
‘Any place you like.’ I push myself back against him, welcoming the way my muscles protest and then relax around his shaft. I like fighting, I like being restrained, but mostly I like being filled, and Jason fills me up until I’m stretched and each jerk of his hips forces an explosive breath from my lungs. ‘May I bring him off now?’ I ask.
‘Like hell.’ He draws me upright onto my knees, my back pressed tight to his abs, while his hands rake across my chest, leaving the nipples perked up and sore from his pinches. The sting makes me long for the sensation of a warm mouth latched upon them, sucking, soothing the ache. It’s building in my sex too.
Jason’s other hand snakes downwards. Two fingers spear between my curls and trap my clit, squeezing it until it too is unbearably sensitised. Only then does he relent and poke those two fingers into the aching void inside me. Aroused beyond measure I grind myself against the palm of his hand. The torture continues, nipples, clit, pussy, arse – his cock still there, filling me and frustrating me. I want to come. I want more.
‘You could let Saul fuck me too.’
Saul stares at me, his mouth agape, green eyes twinkling in the half-light. Yes, says his expression, even though he doesn’t say a thing.
‘And why would I want to do that?’ Jason’s hand upon my breast moves up to encompass the base of my throat. Saul’s gaze is unblinking as he drinks down the vision of us, and the way our flesh quivers as it smacks together. The movements of his hands upon the sofa are slow now. Slow and steady. ‘It sounds like a bit too much fun for Saul.’
‘It’d be fun for us all, especially you.’ I slip my arm up into Jason’s hair, and pull him towards me for a kiss. ‘Aren’t you just a little bit curious?’
‘No.’
But I can tell just from the hitch in his breathing that he is. Not only is he interested, I’d swear they’ve discussed this, maybe even worked out the best position.
‘I want to feel his cock sliding alongside yours,’ I whisper into his mouth. ‘I want to feel your prick in my arse and his in my cunt. I want that tightness, that edge where the line between pleasure and pain blurs and nothing truly makes sense any more. I want you both to fuck me hard.’
‘Please,’ Saul adds his voice to the plea. ‘You’d still be on top.’
‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘If you think you can keep us both in line, that is.’
The challenge works. ‘Damnit!’ Jason snaps. ‘OK.’
Saul is up off the sofa before any of us can blink. He kneels before me, his hard cock in his hand as he guides it between my spread thighs. ‘Easy now.’ He finds the angle. We all hold still as he presses home. The pressure is intense, as is the feeling of fullness. I moan. I want to jerk away, but at the same time I long to prolong the intensity.
So close! I can barely stand to have them move. God! I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to come so much.
The lips of my sex meet with the hilt of Saul’s shaft. He holds still, deeply buried. Not so Jason, who bucks again and again, driving me forward into his lover’s arms. Saul smears sloppy kisses across my face. Jason bites the unblemished side of my neck, so that I’m left with twin hickeys. If this is what stealing the tea money gets me, I may yet take up a life of crime.
I’m virtually singing as I come, unable to stop the sounds escaping my throat as the spasms grip my body and blank my mind.
Jason pulls out and spills over my bottom. Saul comes into his own hand. Then we flop back onto the sofa in an ungainly pile.
‘That was intense,’ Saul sighs.
Jason reaches for a bottle from the wine rack and twists off the cap. He takes a swig and passes the bottle round. ‘Not bad, even if Freya is lousy at sticking to her role. What happened to being scared and wanting to be used and abused?’
‘Actually, I feel pretty used and abused. I’m not sure I’ll walk straight tomorrow.’
‘I doubt I can walk straight now.’ Saul stumbles as he searches for the tissue box. He grabs a handful and offers them round. ‘Whose turn is it next week?’
‘Can’t be mine,’ I reply.
‘Yours,’ Jason reluctantly admits. All the strutting bravado of minutes ago fades from his posture. He glances at Saul, distinctly nervous.
‘Cool. You know what I want.’
‘A night with Fearne Cotton?’
‘Uh-uh! Jase, you know you’re going to look gorgeous in that dog collar.’
‘And what do I get to be while you two are playing naughty priests?’
‘Only Jason is a priest.’ Saul ruffles Jason’s hair. He smiles at me. ‘You get to be the sinner making a confession.’
‘Ah!’ I wink. ‘You know, I’m liking it already. What are we using as the confession booth?’
Saul wraps his arms around Jason’s back from behind and rests his chin on his lover’s head. ‘Actually, I was thinking we could use your wardrobe. It has those wonderful lattice-work doors.’
I get tingly looking at them and running next week’s meet-up in my head. It’s the same frisson I get every week as we make our plans. Sometimes I get more of a buzz from the excitement of planning than I do from the actual sex. It’s not always to my taste, although tonight’s been good. ‘OK, you can defile my wardrobe. Consider it a date.’
‘Speaking of dates,’ says Jason. ‘I think I have one with a bath. Dirty fuck buddies welcome.’
Sugar Lumps
Rose de Fer
He’s good with horses. I can see that straightaway. The way he stands before them with natural authority, the way he strokes them with a combination of affection and firmness, the way he soothes them with his low voice when they shift skittishly and stamp their feet. Like every girl who’s ever been born, I’ve always loved horses. But I could never get them to trust me like that. Possibly because I’m too skittish myself.
‘Here,’ he says, passing me a lump of sugar. ‘Sapphire wants you to feed her.’
I hesitate before approaching the mare. She’s a magnificent creature. All sleek lines and rippling muscle, with a chestnut coat that gleams like polished mahogany. Her huge liquid eyes watch intently as John guides my hand towards her mouth. He straightens my fingers so the sugar rests on my palm like an offering. With a snort of hot breath
the horse dips her head and I feel her velvety lips close over the sugar. My instinct is to pull away but he holds my hand still while she snuffles up the treat and licks my palm. Then she tosses her head and paws the ground in a flirtatious display that clearly means she wants more.
‘No, that’s enough for you,’ John laughs. ‘It’s Cheyenne’s turn now.’
He hands me another sugar cube and indicates the palomino who is nudging Sapphire out of the way. I reach up to stroke her tawny cheek and she gives a flick of her long blonde tail. Feeling a little more sure of myself, I draw my hand down along her sinewy neck and back up to her head. The effect is so calming I swear I can almost feel my blood pressure dropping with every second I spend touching her. I inhale her rich horsy scent and feel calmer than I have in months. She closes her eyes as I scratch her forehead and smooth her forelock out of her eyes. At last I hold up the treat and she snaps it up in a flash, no doubt to keep Sapphire from beating her to it.
Now both horses watch John expectantly, blinking their long-lashed eyes. He displays his empty hands. ‘That’s it, girls,’ he says. ‘No more.’
They nod their heads as though they understand his words before stepping lightly away from the fence. While not as fickle as cats, their affections clearly come at a price.
The horses trot back to the centre of the paddock, where they caper in a private game, kicking up their heels and running in circles. They stop to nuzzle each other before casting a look back our way. I suspect the show is just for us, a reminder of how very good they are, of how much they deserve more sugar.
‘They’re so beautiful,’ I breathe, watching them.
‘Ah, but not as beautiful as you.’
His words make me blush. I’m still not accustomed to his compliments and I don’t know what to say. I scuff the ground with my boot, mimicking Sapphire’s coy gesture and he laughs.
We’d met in the museum of all places. It was my first time there and he saw me gazing wistfully at a landscape of rolling green fields, punctuated by galloping horses. I must have looked as frazzled as I felt because he asked if I were trying to escape into the painting.
‘Is it that obvious?’ I asked with a rueful laugh.
Like a true gentleman he didn’t answer that. He just gave me the smile I would come to know so well and cherish as he took me by the arm and led me to the café for a cup of tea. He encouraged me with friendly small talk and it wasn’t long before I was unburdening myself to him as though I were in therapy.
Mine was the usual ‘boss from hell’ story. My shrill and ineffectual supervisor was the queen of mixed signals. She didn’t know what she wanted or how to express it; all she knew how to express was rage and derision when I couldn’t read her mind. Nothing was ever good enough for her and after months of frustration and sleepless nights I was really starting to lose it.
My companion listened attentively and nodded with sympathetic understanding. ‘People are like horses,’ he said, surprising me with his analogy. ‘They need clear directions from a confident authority figure and they’re happiest when they know exactly what’s expected of them. And they should never be shouted at.’
I had never thought of it that way before but his words certainly struck a chord.
‘That’s how my horses are happiest anyway,’ he added and my eyes widened.
‘You have horses?’ I exclaimed.
He’d probably seen the same girlish reaction before, but he still seemed charmed.
‘Would you like to see them?’ he asked. ‘You do seem like you could do with a weekend in the country.’
I surprised myself by jumping at the offer. He’d picked up on more than just my need for a holiday. I had been on my own for far too long and I was in need of male attention as much as a break from the city. Vaguely I recalled a scene from a film where a lonely woman flirted with a stranger in a museum before going back to his place for an afternoon of sex. The affair ended badly and bloodily for her in the hotel lift. But I heard no warning bells in my mind at the thought of following this man home. My hesitation lasted only a moment. John had already earned my trust and I imagined that any man who kept horses must have a kind and gentle nature.
The house he took me to was an hour’s drive from the city, set back from the main road and surrounded by trees and fields. Elegant without being ostentatious, it looked like the sort of place you’d find on picture postcards advertising the tranquil English countryside. It was just what I needed. He was just what I needed.
‘I think they like you,’ he says, startling me from my reverie. ‘They never show off like that just for me.’
Sapphire and Cheyenne are chasing each other like kids, stopping at intervals to rear up and wave their long legs in the air, whinnying softly.
I smile, thinking of them as new friends rather than as someone’s pets. Their breath steams in the crisp autumn air and I pull my coat tighter, suddenly feeling the cold. They had even made me forget the awful weather.
‘Come on,’ John says, ‘let’s go inside by the fire where you can warm up.’ He doesn’t miss a thing.
I follow him gratefully into the house and just as gratefully accept a glass of red wine. A fire crackles in the hearth and as my bones begin to thaw I think of the horses.
‘Do they have somewhere warm to go?’ I ask.
He sits beside me, smiling indulgently at what I’m sure is a stupid question. ‘I’ll show you the stable if you like. I keep it nice and toasty for them but they like to run free in the paddock until dinnertime. The cold weather makes them frisky.’
Frisky. A feeling I had imagined was long gone from my repertoire. But as I look into his soft grey eyes I find my energy returning. I sigh with contentment, imagining how it must be to live like that, safe and sheltered, fed and cared for, free to run and prance outside and nibble treats from a beloved hand. A life of no confusion, no responsibility other than to be just what you are. It sounds like heaven.
Before I know it I am in his arms, my lips pressed to his, my entire being throbbing with need. His arms encircle me and hold me tightly and I melt into his embrace. He lifts me easily and carries me from the room. I give up all control and close my eyes as he takes me up a flight of stairs and down a corridor into his bedroom. When he lays me down on the bed I open my eyes. Unusually for me, I don’t feel a trace of insecurity or self-consciousness. I know without asking that he is in charge, just as he was with the horses.
He undresses me slowly and I let him, enjoying my self-imposed helplessness. It calms and reassures me in a way I never would have thought possible.
When I am quite naked he surprises me by making no move to remove his own clothes. He simply stands at the foot of the bed, his eyes roaming over every inch of my bare flesh as though assessing me. I feel his gaze as I would his touch and my body responds accordingly. My heart begins to beat a little faster, my skin burns with need and I feel myself growing wet as I anticipate surrendering completely to him. He approaches me and I start to sit up, reaching for him.
‘No, no,’ he says, pushing me back down. ‘Just lie perfectly still. I want to look at you.’
One at a time he takes my arms and stretches them above my head. A wave of desire washes over me and for a moment I feel dizzy. Then he steps back again and the deep concentration in his face makes me feel even more naked and exposed. The position forces my back to arch, thrusts my breasts up invitingly.
At last he touches me, drawing a single finger down the length of my right arm to my throat. He pauses there and I gaze at him imploringly. My sex is pulsing hungrily. But he merely smiles as the finger continues tracing its way down between my breasts. I whimper as he neglects them completely, veering around my navel to stop at the soft mound of my sex. The finger rests there and I close my eyes, my breath hitching. All my senses are wildly stimulated. I feel the cool, polished wood of the headboard against my knuckles, the silky softness of the bedclothes beneath my legs. I smell the piney aroma of the trees outside. It’s
as though he’s gradually awakening my body, heightening my arousal and teasing every inch of me into a state of excitement bordering on madness.
When at last I feel his hands on my thighs I gasp. It’s all I can do to keep from begging him to fuck me. He gently eases my legs apart, exposing the damp cleft that aches with a need so intense it hurts. He slips one hand down my inner thigh and gives a little squeeze. The nearness of his hand is almost enough. Almost. All it would take is one touch. One swift little stroke across the pearl of my clit. But when I open my eyes I see he has no intention of ending the torment.
He is still merely studying me and I wonder just what exactly he’s seeing. Or looking for.
‘Aren’t you –’ I start to ask.
He shushes me, placing a finger softly against my lips. His only answer is another enigmatic smile as he takes my hands and pulls me up into a sitting position. Then he goes to the wardrobe and opens a drawer. I hear the jingle of a tiny chain as he takes something out and returns to the bed with it.
When he holds it up I blink in confusion. I can’t be sure but it looks a little like a bridle. One made to fit a person. Things have suddenly taken an unexpectedly kinky turn. But while I’m excited by the possibility of a new and strange experience, such games are completely unknown to me. I’m way out of my depth and suddenly my lust spirals away into a vortex of anxiety. Not knowing what to say or how to respond, for fear of being wrong or making a fool of myself, I simply stare at the device in silence. Seconds pass with painful awkwardness while I try to think of something to say. Anything. John eventually takes my silence for consent and moves to put it on me.
Instinctively I flinch away but he grips me firmly by the arm and eases the bridle against my face. To my surprise, I don’t cry out or even speak; I simply acquiesce, trusting him completely. My surrender floods me with hot desire again and I find myself vibrating with excitement. I want to play. I want to resist and be taken. I want to be enslaved; I want to be free. I shake my head a little, offering a token show of resistance, which he easily overcomes. The leather straps are cool against my cheeks and I feel a powerful throb of heat between my legs as he fastens the buckle behind my head. I tremble.
Come Play With Me Page 3