Her Lord & Master [Taken by Surprise Anthology]

by Thea Devine

  ******************.

  He lay rooted between her legs, soaked in his cream. Not exactly what he had planned, that galvanic orgasm that produced this sea of musk he was drowning in right now. It was

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  Chaste's fault—it was her luscious body, and the way his penis filled her cunt to the very hilt, the way she moved, and enticed him with her heat and her wet and the grip of her thighs.

  She slept now, having teetered on the edge of her first orgasm, and all he wanted to do was ride her again. His penis was still stiff, still eager, and the more he thought about Chaste and how deeply his penis nestled in her tight, hot cunt, the more he wanted to fuck her again.

  She was made for fucking. Those nipples alone ... His hips writhed against hers, seeking a response. Who would have thought such a well-bred virgin would have nipples that would respond to finger fucking like that?

  Damn—every time he thought about her nipples, his penis head oozed, and he couldn't think about her nipples or her cunt without wanting to jam himself into her. So, what was a greedy penis to do while the object of its desire slept?

  Goddamn wake her up was what.

  She must have sensed his impatience to fuck her again; she moved, she stretched, and then she felt him rammed deep inside her and the restrained way he was pushing against her slit, and she opened her eyes.

  "My lord and master," she murmured sleepily, undulating her hips to the movement of his. "Give me more cream."

  ******************

  He gave her more, first taking her like a storm, and then taking her nipples into his mouth and fucking them one at a time, while he cradled his penis tight in her soaking, naked core.

  And after she convulsed in his mouth, he pumped her cunt again, after which they both slept, interlocked and intertwined.

  This is the way of it, Jenise thought as she lay entangled in his arms. This nakedness, this penetration and possession, this heat and wet, and obsessiveness. Her master. Who still, because of the interminable veil, only saw her body.

  Which, perhaps, was just as well. He still wore the pouch, she still wore the booties. His whole focus was on her nipples

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  and her cunt, on sucking and spewing, and all the pleasure that entailed.

  For him. And for her? Unimaginable. Even the loss of her maidenhead, just unimaginable ... she was a traitor to every well-bred woman on the marriage mart.

  And worse, she liked it all too well. And she was easy. Easier than ever she could have imagined. And fair on the way to eliciting that almighty proposal from him.

  All she had to do was pretend to be as insatiable for him as he was for her. Not hard to do, when he was a master at teaching an innocent the pleasures of her untutored naked body.

  God, what had she gotten herself into? And if she failed, however would she go back to the way she had been?

  She must not fail, then. She must remain elusive to him while giving him every part of her body he demanded, and by acknowledging his mastery.

  There was something about a man's cream—or this man's cream. It was a symbol of a multitude of things, and so she must want it beyond reason so that he would keep wanting her.

  Simple.

  And maybe it was ...

  He was stirring on top of her; she moved her hips, and pretended to come slowly awake in tandem with him.

  "My lord?" she said sleepily. "My master? I have been too long without your cream."

  ******************

  She watched him fuck her in the mirror.

  What an exquisite dance it was between two naked bodies. She was panting for it, riding him hard, making him work her body exhaustively until she was once again on the brink of that thundercrack of pleasure. What would it take? She bent her knees and levered herself up to meet his greedy thrusts. That, there—oh, just so high, there, ride it—there ...

  It bolted out between her legs and broke over his hardness, rhythmically pounding like a wave on the rock of his penis. There, there, there—oh, undescribable, irresistible ... more,

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  more, more... and washing into the spume of his white honey as he unleashed into her core.

  And over. Limp. Tired. Rest.

  No. More. It was the only way to keep him from being bored.

  "Who is the master of my naked body?" she demanded. "More cream."

  "I'm soaked out," Wick muttered.

  "This cannot be. My lord and master has an infinite amount of cream to give me." She didn't even think she could take more, but she felt a desperation to keep him engaged on this sexual level. "Or so he said to me. I believe he boasted he would cover my body with his cream, there was that much of it; that he would drown me in it. That he would ..."

  He pushed her down the bed. "That he would ... what, my voracious Chaste? You have yet to eat me, if you're so avid to have my cream."

  "Then I will be the master of you," she retorted.

  "Take me, then." He brushed his bone hard penis against her mouth. "Take all of my cream...." He swung himself out of bed, and she levered herself up onto her elbows. "There will be more to fuck you—if that's what worries you."

  There was a gleam in her eyes behind the veil as she got to her knees. "Whatever my lord and master desires," she responded with a coy lilt, reaching for the jut of his penis. "That is what I desire too." And she lifted the veil once again and closed her mouth around his bulbous penis head and began sucking it hot and hard.

  He braced his hands on her shoulders, and gave himself to her—but it didn't take long at all, not watching her voracious mouth: he blasted into her mouth and she swallowed it all.

  ******************

  They lay in the bed, each facing the mirror, and she was watching him idly play with her nipples. His penis, rock hard and ready to go, was pillowed between her thighs, and she could just see the head poking out from her thick bush, enticing her to handle it.

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  She almost couldn't think, with his fingers nipping at her sensitive tips. But she couldn't get enough of it either.

  She had no sense of time now. They had been fucking all day as far as she could tell, maybe all night. And she still hadn't diminished his cream.

  And that was the essence of all things Wick. His prowess and his stamina.

  And for some reason, he was enthralled with her. For the moment. So she couldn't let up on her demands. It was that simple. The more she wanted it, the more avid he was to give it to her.

  "Every time you tug at my nipples, I want more cream." She made her voice low, breathy, intimate. "Give me more cream."

  "God, you are greedy," he growled in her ear.

  "But you're so hard, I just know you have more cream to lavish on me."

  "I never knew how much cream I could spew until I fucked you."

  "You're not finished fucking me by any means, my lord. I haven't had nearly enough."

  "How much does a rapacious virgin need?"

  "Every drop, my master."

  "My voracious Chaste doesn't want too much, does she?"

  "I just want my lord and master to keep his promise to drench my body in his cream."

  "I've flooded your body with my cream."

  "Not in the last ten minutes, he who is master of my body.

  Unless of course you ..."

  "I—what, insatiable Chaste?"

  "Don't have enough, my lord."

  "I've proved dozens of times I have more than enough cream for you, and I have more than enough for you now. Spread your legs."

  He positioned himself just at the juncture of her thighs. Pushed his penis head into her slit. Just the bulbous head of his long, hard length as she watched in the mirror. Just kept the

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  head enfolded in her labia. Let her watch the way he manipulated himself just inside her slit, not even holding his shaft, just by the long, hard length of his penis and the und
ulation of his hips.

  Impossible—she needed the whole of him embedded deep inside her cunt. She fought to take him into her and he wouldn't let her. Kept himself inside her just at the head by wriggling his hips to ward off her thrusts, a secret smile on his face.

  "I want more," she panted. God, this wasn't fair, this

  wasn't

  He rode her slit, pushing and pulling his penis head back and forth, letting her feel the hard ridge just at the ingress between her legs. Watching her body writhe with insensate need for his possession. But he gave her only the bulbous head to ride, until she was moaning and begging for him to penetrate her wholly and fully with his thick length.

  "Oh no, my naked Chaste. This is about you wanting cream. And so, my beauty, you shall have cream." And as he said it, his body seized up, and he pulled his penis head from her and grasped and pumped his shaft so that cream spurted all over her breasts, her nipples, her belly, her bush ...

  Oh yes, she thought as she levered herself up so that she could cup one breast. That was all good and well, my lord. For you.

  And she looked at her nipples, all wet and sticky with his ejaculate, and she slanted that glittery gaze at him before she lifted her breast to her lips and deliberately licked the thick essence of him from one nipple, and she murmured "Yes, I see you have more than enough cream. But you comprehend, my lord, I have now had you, but you didn't have me."

  Chapter Seven

  He froze. An erotic trick right out of the bag of the most experienced and expensive lease-piece. Damn, damn, damn, and damn—nothing was ever what it seemed—ever...

  He moved off the bed furiously, eyeing her as she lay there covered with his residue. No. She was—had been—a virgin. He'd swear on his life; there was no mistaking that once-in-her-life cleaving of that barrier in Chaste's unsophisticated body. And she had been appropriately frightened and overwhelmed by his possession of it, and then properly submissive to his whim and will.

  And yet, she knew a whore's artful enticements. How? Why? The inconsistencies infuriated him.

  Why?

  Because on some level, he wanted to choose her while he was still fascinated by those contradictions?

  What did it matter in the long run? Whomever he chose of the three would bore him to tears within days. It was just a matter of getting an heir, and with Chaste he was already well on the way, and his penis, if not his intellect, was humping for more.

  Who was she? The daughter of a whore? His imagination ran riot with that scenario for a good minute. What did a whore of a mother teach an innocent daughter, the theory of

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  pleasing a man? Chaste must have taken that lesson to her bosom, judging by the intensity of her responses.

  No. Not the daughter of a trull. Ellingham had vetted them all; they were all the purest of the pure, however much they might have fiddled and twanged in the cloakroom. He had to take that on faith. It was the corruption of that purity that was his first purpose. And subsequent to that, choosing a wife and getting an heir.

  Who was she then, this Chaste, with that elusive gleam in her eye and a fair hot desire for his fondling her body, now she discovered just how much she wanted it? Lying there, rubbing his ejaculate into her silky skin, looking at him with that look. What was she thinking? That he had wasted all his seed?

  Damn her eyes. It made him hot again, thinking of all that seed; it made him eager to mount her again and fill her with every ounce of his essence.

  Who was she, Chaste, who was there, but not wholly there; alive to him, but seeming far away, even as she moaned and clutched him and demanded more and still more of what only he could give her ... ?

  His penis elongated incrementally with every hot thought of her.

  The hell with where she had learned those harlot's blandishments. She was here, she was his for however long she aroused him like this, and his sole function was to fuck her as much and as often as he wanted.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  The knocking was like thunder at the door.

  "Let us in..." Innocenta, the voice unmistakable, in a rage. "You cannot fuck her all day and not try me on... damn it. Wick, open up—it's our turn now... do you hear me ... ?"

  And Ellingham's voice, trying to soothe her. "Come now, come, Innocenta, this isn't the way. Leave off this noise and insanity. Wick will come for you."

  "He will not. He's coming for her, and it's not fair. It's not.

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  "We haven't had a fair chance. He's been fucking her for hours while we sit and twiddle our thumbs instead of him diddling us. Well, I'm tired of waiting, do you hear me? I came here to be fucked and I mean to be fucked."

  The door blasted open and Innocenta in a naked fury stormed into the room to see Wick in all his glory reflected in the headboard mirror.

  The sight just stopped her in her tracks. "Oh ...!" Her eyes widened. "Ohhh ... It's been hours ... lifetimes ... Virtuosa—tell me, isn't he even harder and thicker and longer than when we saw him this morning?"

  "Of course he is," Jenise broke in, just a little tired of all the coy wordplay. "Why do you think? Because he's been fucking me." She swung her legs over the bed. She had to make her move now, to get this rival out of the way, before Innocenta jumped on him. "And we're not near to being finished ..."

  She edged her way behind him and wrapped her arms around his hips. "In fact, we were just..." she reached for his penis and began stroking it from behind, "in the middle of something—"

  "Well, you're now in the middle of giving Wick up to me," Innocenta snapped.

  "Am I?" Jenise could feel the tremors going through his body as she worked her hands all over his shaft. "I don't think so. I think my lord is enjoying what I'm doing very, very much." She grasped him with one hand and came around so that she faced him.

  And then she knelt, and with delicate hands she began stroking and fondling the length and breadth of his penis as Innocenta shrieked in the background. "Stop it! Stop her! Ellingham—you promised he would fuck all of us—and look—just look ...!"

  Ellingham was positively goggling at Jenise's handling of Wick's penis—the slow, languorous strokes, the brief tight squeezes, the way she grasped the base of his shaft and held it

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  ike it was the root of all her desire. The way she rubbed and wisted his bulbous penis head, playing with the very tip, and licking just where pearly drops of ejaculate oozed.

  The long, erotic strokes up and down his thick length, almost as if she were kneading him like bread. And all the while, she looked up to him and at him as if he were the master of her world.

  And while they were all staring at her delicious and dexterous manipulation of his penis, she slipped the fingers of one hand between his legs and up into the leather pouch cradling his scrotum, and slowly worked it off.

  Now she could caress and squeeze those tight, luscious balls. Now she could stroke that delicious fold of skin behind them.

  Now, she could bring him to his knees ...

  "Stop it!" Innocenta lunged. "Bitch! Whore! Tweat! Who knows to do such things? Only an experienced lay-a-back is who. Wick—wake up—don't you see? She is not an innocent, nor a virgin—look at her—Stop her!"

  Too late to stop anything then. Wick ejaculated softly, slowly, powerfully, at the first touch of Jenise's fingers between his legs, and as his cream flowed over, she rubbed his penis against her body, against her breasts, her nipples, and her mouth, and smeared herself with his essence.

  And Innocenta collapsed into Ellingham's unwilling arms, sobbing.

  "Get her out of here," Wick ordered. "Get her back to her family. Virtuosa too. I've made my choice."

  The two in the doorway froze, a tableau of disbelief and anger all directed at Jenise's naked back as she still knelt at Wick's feet.

  "Good choice," Ellingham murmured. What he wouldn't give to find such a one as this, so malleable, so obviously in love with the scent
and taste of a man's body and his spunk. God, Wick had all the luck, all the time; the only setback was the commitment. The man would be leg shackled in no time,

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  which had its compensations as long as he remained fascinated with Chaste-She had surely entertained him royally today. He couldn't count the hours they'd been closeted in Wick's bedroom, and Wick still looked like he hadn't had nearly enough of Chaste's nakedness.

  Innocenta and Virtuosa just couldn't compare.

  "Come, ladies. The contest is over."

  "Is it?" Innocenta demanded wrathfully.

  "Wick always compensates those he cares about for their disappointments. You wouldn't want to put yourself in the category of those who might become bothersome to him, Innocenta. It wouldn't pay to do so."

  "How much would it pay not to become Wick's wife? Fifty thousand, my dear Eilingham? Times how many years a wife might live—or a man for that matter ... ?"

  "Oh, you were ever a greedy baggage, my dear Innocenta. Trust me, you will not want this talked about, Wick's rejection, and that is very easily done, you know, no matter how much you might deny it. I'll see to it personally, my dear. On the other hand, Wick is always generous in the letdown."

  "Tell me how generous."

  He named a sum. Innocenta looked as if she were about to protest, then she looked at Wick and thought the better of it.

  "She will live a life in hell, that one. She has no idea what kind of man this is, or how to deal with him."

  "That is her problem then," Eilingham said as he closed the door behind them. "Yours is to be as gracious in defeat as possible."

  ******************

  And then they were alone, Jenise still on her knees as if she were worshiping him, adoring his penis.

  He rather liked the picture that made. Already, he was elongated to a thrumming hardness, excited by the notion there would never have to be another interruption.

  Who was she, this Chaste? She was still veiled, as he

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