by CELENE CAREY
Jonathan had been fumbling around with my breasts through the entire rerun of Drunken Master and, surprisingly, still paying attention. Most men would have felt my erect nipples and lost concentration mid-way. Not Jonathan, he paid attention. Nerdy Jonny, with his love for old Chinese movies and anime as old as he was; his favourite book was some manga. He was my nerd and I was his too-out-of-his-league girlfriend and I’d love everything the way it was. I leaned in, kissing his neck softly, just the way he liked. He tilted my chin up to hold it with his thumb and index finger and slowly coaxed my mouth open and savoured the flavour of my lips. Slowly tracing my lips, my tongue, and teeth… nibbling and suckling on both my bottom and top lip the way he had learned drove me crazy. Then, he pulled me on top of him, pulled my shirt off, and held my back with my breasts perked in his face.
On the lazy boy?
I felt my body pulsating, my blood rushing. He opened my windows and unsealed my doors; I was ready to be burglarized, broken and entered. His warm tongue circled one nipple and then the other. I felt my body pressing against his awkwardly-positioned erection and tried to make myself feel lighter, though I know it wasn’t working. It’d gotten dark outside and I hadn’t noticed, not until I threw my head back, relishing in Jonathan’s sweet suckling. He stopped abruptly and made his way to the bedroom with me in his arms, to make sweet love to me as midnight rolled around. Would I ever get him to break his one-track thinking and have him open up to me sexually? I heard the familiar saying, good things come to he who waits...
Could I make it?
BOOK 53
CONTROLLING HER 3
(Adult Romance Short Sex Story)
Older Man Younger Girl Short Reads Series
Dominated Unprotected Bare & Fertile Taking
Kilie Sams
To view other books by Publisher on Amazon CLICK HERE
Kindle Edition
Copyright 2015 Hardcore Erotica Stories
Published by Hardcore Erotica Stories
License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
First HARDCORE EROTICA STORIES Printing April 2015
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
~
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure inventions of fiction.
Table of Content
Chapter 1
Chapter 2 Black Flowers
Part Two
Chapter 3
Lust and Temptation
Chapter 4 Dream or Make Believe
Chapter 5 What happens in the mind
Chapter 6
The Taste of Success
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
“THE BILLIONAIRE’S SECRET FETISHES”
ALPHA MAN TRAINS BIG BEAUTIFUL WOMAN
Chapter 1
The Rules
Bill
In the days that followed, Veronica began to grow on me. She was different, smart, witty, and clever in many ways. I could tell that she was trying to hold back and not let me in, but ever so slowly I was getting used to her and she getting used to me. We were to be going out to a bike show this Saturday. I realised that, though I wanted her to be my submissive, she could’ve been so much more. It’s too bad she didn’t know that. I’m sure she, however, has someone who believes she is wife-material. I was solely focusing on how I was going to break her into submission. Getting to know her was a necessity. She was unlike the others, not like the empty, air-headed women I usually had around. Though Claire isn’t an airhead, she wasn’t quite like Veronica. I liked calling Veronica more. At first she stayed away from me, as if afraid of me, afraid of herself, and her deepest desires. There was no way she could deny the fact that she knew I was different, knew what I could do. I knew within myself that she was a sub somewhere inside. Maybe there was a sub in every woman, once they found the right man. Well, I was going to be that man. I am that man. Veronica Blair is mine.
I called. Whenever I got her, she made an excuse not to see me. Whenever I didn’t get her, I never left a message. A few days ago, I called and a man answered the phone. I didn’t know what to say at first, but it occurred to me that I still didn’t know everything about her and her life, so I left a message with the young man to have her call Mr. Hilton as soon as she could.
Who was the man answering her phone? Where was she that he needed to be the one picking up the receiver? And why did I feel jealous? The idea had occurred to me before I met her that she might have been seeing someone. I didn’t see a ring, though, so that meant legal playing ground and even if I had, I might have still accepted the challenge. Jealousy is an ugly trait in a man, by far one of the worst things a man of my demeanour could ever be, but was I? She was mine, is mine. I’m not jealous, I’m possessive. Call me mean, but I do not share my toys.
Speaking of toys, I pulled myself from my introverted conversation and paid attention to the beauty I was looking at. She was a vintage British motorcycle, Timothy’s pride and joy, his baby (apart from his wife and kids of course). We led two different lives but he was still my best friend in the world. We’d been working on the v-twin engine of his Vincent Black Shadow for a month now and she’d been coming along smoothly. He was almost ready to be back on the road with me. It was a freedom we both understood and would never give up; even after Zoey, even after he had busted his knee. I’d kept away from riding, just like he had, but for different reasons. His being his jacked-up engine and mine being a memory I could never surpass or shake. He never mentioned it, but I’m sure he understood the horror I must have faced. He’s the only person in Australia that knows that story. I understand the need for bromance when I think about how he has been there for me.
I could tell he was noticing that I wasn’t my usual self, but there was no way I was gonna let on that some female had me worried.
“What you thinking about, bro? Why do you look as if someone took your girl?”
How accurate.
“Nah, just a little trouble in the office has me distracted. How’s Shelly-Ann?”
Asking about his common-law wife could bring the conversation in either direction. But I was sure it would distract him from asking what was up with me. He went off about her being sad because their only son, MJ, had just started school and she was acting up.
“She’s acting as if she wants me to put a next one in her. She’s acting as if we have the money to take care of another child. As much as her pussy’s great, I’m not looking to knock her up again anytime soon.”
It was amazing how three years ago, I couldn’t understand a word he said when he’d relax his dialect and used jargons I was completely familiar with. He wasn’t the upscale Australian crowd I had first been acquainted with and, it turned out I liked his company much better. I was never one to enjoy cocktail parties with exaggeratedly dressed women and men who could only participate in surface conversations and blind observations.
We met at a shop years ago and quickly our mutual love for riding had formed a bond I’d always respect and cherish. He was a bro until the end; I could tell.
“You know that woman loves you, Tim.”
“I’m not saying she don’t . . . but sometimes, she should chillax. How’s the chick?”
He’d met Claire once and by total accident. He knew I was seeing different women, but I never spoke of them, never introduced them. After all, what was there for him to meet?
I wasn’t fond of wasting time. Women
tended to get the wrong idea when they started meeting and greeting people outside of my bedroom; that was a total different game and ball field.
“She’s ‘ight, I guess”
“You guess? You stop hitting it?”
So blunt and insensitive… we got along great.
I chuckled, “Nah, once or twice, when I want to. Sometimes when she want to.”
“Oh, cause I’d be wondering if you’re crazy! Dat assssss D!”
He humoured me, especially when he tried to sound American, like now.
We eased into a comfortable silence as he turned up the radio, put it on one of the countries’ hippest music stations, and let the dancehall tune play out its censored version of what a “freaky gal” was supposed to be doing. That’s one thing I’ll never get used to; I’ll always prefer music with a little more substance over superficial music with a good beat. Plus, I had a more precise idea of who a freaky girl was and was supposed to do.
We worked until evening rolled around, a hot July day meant though it was 5 o’clock, the sky wouldn’t give much away. I was greasy, my white t-shirt dalmationed with oil stains and my knee stained through the tear in my old pair of True Religion jeans. A good day with T was what I had needed. Now I was ready to peruse the market at a bike show in Portmore, Veronica in tow.
***
Veronica had asked me to pick her up at a shopping centre off the boulevard. I had thought it weird at first, but when I saw her I didn’t care. Why couldn’t I know where she lived? She looked decent enough for me to be sure she didn’t live in a zinc one bedroom with an outside bathroom. I knew nothing of the quality of people that those homes produced, and I never judged, but there was nothing she should be ashamed of. Were there any garrisons even close to that centre?
She was wearing navy-blue, cuffed shorts with buttoned pockets on the back, a navy-blue baby tee with a black flower-like symbol on the front (I made a mental note to ask her what it meant later), and boots that I liked a little too much. They were black leather and had chains running from side to side… Almost all the things I liked. Seeing her in that outfit, with her long legs immaculately shaven, I wished I had rode my bike. I bet her ass and thighs would look nothing short of glorious perched on the back of my CBR600. Buju’s song occurred to me; old school dancehall wasn’t so bad after all. I smiled as she got in. Her perfume filled the car, she smelled like vanilla, not the Japanese cherry blossom she’d smelt like when we had first met. I closed my eyes briefly and remembered the way she looked at me. She must give herself to me, must.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” she shyly replied, looking awkward and uncomfortable. I had to get her talking. I never expected her to be shy. Not after her display of attitude and confidence when I’d first approached her. I looked at her, just short of staring before I dragged my eyes away from her legs as they stretched out in front of her, and started the car.
“First thing you do when you enter my car is to draw your seatbelt, even before you acknowledge me.”
She smiled half-heartedly and fumbled with it; I pulled out of the parking lot as I ensured I heard it click into position.
“What’d you do today?”
We relaxed into conversation as she babbled about doing nothing, and a little shopping with her friend Kim and her best friend named Becky, who happened to be a lesbian.
“She sounds like handful, you being as attractive as you are.”
“Sometimes she’s a little too much, but it’s innocent,” she blushed for the first time. “Does the radio work?”
Without answering, I hit the button and the smooth sound of Paramore’s Misguided Ghost filled the car.
“You can change it if you like.”
“Nope, this is fine. Haley’s voice is awesome.”
I smiled. This wasn’t her best song and Veronica was familiar with her. Nice. At least I know there’s something I can draw for, should we lack conversation. After all, she was American-born, something I was grateful we had in common.
Cruising down the highway, the summer sun had finally gone down as 7 o’clock rolled around. I’d taken port Henderson and already some prostitutes lined the strip, early bird catches the most worms? I’d thought about getting one and fucking her with all my rage, or until her asshole started bleeding. But it would never give me satisfaction, not with knowing she was probably doing it to send her child to school. And there were always women like Claire. You would think that, with the way Australians stereotype, submissives would’ve been hard to find. You just have to know exactly what you’re looking for.
I sighed as I felt my dick getting familiarly hard. Veronica was humming to Linkin Park and I could tell she could sing. She’d been staring out the window, looking at nothing in particular. Our minds were clearly in two different spaces though our bodies were in the same vessel.
We’d gotten there; the streets were filled, lined with bikers, onlookers, and females wearing little-to-nothing…some of them looked like they shopped at the exact same stores. Veronica stood out. Simplicity must really be the key. Maybe it was the fixation I had already developed. It accumulated so quickly.
I could hear music chumping, voices over the music, men shouting across to each other, and the smell of the ocean mixed with jerk chicken and soup filled the air. Veronica looked intrigued as we drove along, looking for a parking space on the side of the road that wasn’t too close to the crowd but was close enough to keep an eyeful watch on the car- I wasn’t trying to get it stolen.
I cut the engine and we unbuckled.
“It’s loud and full of excitement. I wouldn’t want you to get distracted as we cover what you need to know. It’s early, there’ll be time later to have the talk we need to have.” Again, a faint smile. Where had the goddess, the temptress, the bold young woman that had begged me with her eyes to fuck her gone? Sighing, I got out as she did on the other side. She’d walked off before I could get to her through the crowd. When I caught up to her, like a dog pissing on a tree, I rested my hand possessively on her hip as we walked through the crowd to get a good look at displays before the stunting began. My hand was firmly in place to let all other dogs know that this long-legged creature was strictly my territory.
“Am I supposed to keep calling you Mr. Hilton?” she asked over her shoulder in a strained voice so I could hear her.
“We’ll talk about it.” I could tell she was irate, but there had to be some rules.
“Ooooo soup!”
Like a child in the playground, she grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me towards an overweight lady with a head tie standing by a huge pot on a coal stove set up in front of a white Dodge. I tried not to be uncomfortable until she let my hand go.
“What you need, Hun?” the lady asked before I had even gotten to a full stop.
“What you have?”
Veronica examined the other smaller pots I hadn’t seen.
“I got everything, Hun, and Joe can sell your chicken or pork after your finish with the cup.”
Veronica licked her lips as she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Woah… There’s the temptress I knew. She looked enticed. I liked that look. Looks like I’m going to need to ask the lady her recipe before we leave. I laughed to myself.
“What?” The attitude was back, there’s my girl.
“Nothing whatsoever, pay attention to the soup.”
“Manish water and I’d like the pepper in my cup,” she said, eyeing me and then paying keen attention to the lady as she dug around the pot in search of her pepper. Joe had seemed like he’d been ready to serve her, but she shook her head, turning him down and telling them she’d only want soup, spicy soup.
We proceeded towards the bulk of the crowd as a uniformed team of men began doing a series of stunts on RRs. Mufflers rumbling, the smell of tires, I was in my zone. The show had gotten better over the years I’d been going; riders from all over the country had come to see, flew out from Florida, some even flew into the country just for these annual b
ike shows. After clearing the street, a race took place followed by a group of dancers performing, another group clashed them, and then a team of Trojan girls took the stage. The event had drawn quite a crowd, I’m sure it was over 6,000 people.
After a good show and three cups of soup, I took Veronica down to a smaller secluded beach spot. It was hidden until you passed a neighbourhood and went down a long road of darkness. For a Saturday night, I’d expected to see more people. I was just happy they weren’t hosting an event.
“Alone at last.” I smiled at her.
“Those men are seriously crazy! I wouldn’t be caught dead on one of those. I’d die for sure,” she laughed to herself.
“Once you’re sure of your rider and he’s sure of himself, being on one isn’t so bad; you just have to know they know what they are doing. A lot of riders can ride, but don’t function well with someone else on the bike.”
“I just don’t think they are strong enough to handle the weight, I’m not very light and a 600 pound bike isn’t either, plus their own weight.”
“The weight of the bike isn’t to be worried about, a rider is a rider, and you don’t look the least bit heavy; I’ve seen some chicks on bikes who are twice your size.”