by CELENE CAREY
No sooner I had come, then I felt myself being yanked up and forced to my knees, and I knew what was to come.
“Open,” he said.
I did as I was told. It was taking longer than I thought, but, with a “Stick your tongue out.” he came all over my mouth, outstretched tongue, and open cleavage. When did he lose the condom? I don’t know. I could not get myself to swallow; his cum was bitter.
Him panting, me disgusted, I made my way to the bathroom. I saw another door and was curious what was behind it. I didn’t bother. I went directly to the bathroom and relieved myself of the horrid contents of my mouth, a very light shade of grey is my best description, with a taste that was mixed with either cement or Aloe Vera. Did I know what cement tasted like? I was almost sure I didn’t. I spat in the face basin, brushed the hair from my face, and rinsed with the mouthwash from his counter. I had heard about a mouthwash trick to do when sucking dick, but I’d already tried something new today. Thinking back to the first time I swallowed, I remembered Jonathan on the brink of screaming like a woman as I sucked the cum from his dick. The stomach-ache I had after was, in fact, not a mental condition. It couldn’t be good for me, no matter what “scientists say.” I made my way back to the bedroom to find Bill, arms folded and behind his head, on the right side of the bed, looking at the ceiling. Since I took the priority of washing my mouth out, I kissed him on his upraised chin and laid on his left side.
This is as an experience I’m sure I will never forget, purely because it was everything I had hoped it would be and then some. I had a feeling he had been nice to me since this was the first time. Now, I was a part of a different world, a world where my face would lie in expressing what I’m feeling while my body told nothing but the truth, and the whole truth, so help me god. A world where I knew I was a sinner from the very beginning; a world where success had a taste, one I could not bear to swallow. I laid still and waited for the guilt to swallow me instead.
***
Bill
Veronica lay beside me, pensive. It had been short; I had to force myself to orgasm before I hurt her. With a kiss to her frontal lobe, I pulled her into my arms and held her; she was now mine. We agreed in silence, there was no turning back now. Her pussy was too sweet. I held her for mere minutes that passed so sluggishly it seemed like I was holding her for hours. Even after sex, her messy hair smelled great. Her skin looked beautiful in the late afternoon light. I appraised the fine pimples that ran along her arms. She was beautiful. I watched the flare of her nostrils as she breathed, and the rise of her chest. Wow, my cock didn’t know when to quit. I released her from my grasp, turning up the air conditioner, and laying back down. I didn’t reach for her that time. I wasn’t allowed to do this. I should probably leave and go watch T.V. or something.
Instead, I stayed there in comfortable silence as we both went to a place in our minds that we didn’t express on our faces. A part of me wondered if she was reliving the moment. I fought the urge to ask how it was like most men did. Those men are insecure; I was sure of myself. I paid enough attention to her body, to her facial expressions, to her breathing to tell. Men needed to know these things. There are some signs you just can’t miss. Like the way she rode my tongue, how she angled her pussy. I now knew what part she liked having licked most. The way her moans grew soft when being taken from behind, doggie-style (or as Timothy would call it, “back shot”) told me it wasn’t her favourite position. I’d have to break that news to T softly, that no, it wasn’t all women’s favourite. She could not be a missionary girl, correction, a “grandma and grandpa” girl… I was learning. With those legs I bet she’d like having them over my shoulders. I wasn’t too fond of that position, it was too intimate. The eye contact, the closeness, the sharing of expressions, I prefer to see and not be seen. I think “back shot” is really men’s favourite. You get to grip her ass cheeks and not only be pleased physically, but mentally as you watch yourself disappear into hot, pink flesh over and over again. Me, I liked doggystyle; face down and ass up all the way. But I had to hand it to Veronica, her expressions were priceless. I could smell the sex, thick in the air. Maybe I should crack a window or the door or something? Veronica didn’t complain and I didn’t mind. I’ll find out her favourite position soon enough, hopefully, it was one I could handle; she looked flexible.
I thought of Zoey and her favourite position, “speed bump.” She’d lift her hips up and put two pillows beneath herself and say to me “two is better than one” and she’d be set just right for me to enter her from behind, my chest to her back, me nibbling on her neck as she leaned into me. I vaguely remembered her smell and the sound of her soft voice. Avoiding the memories, I got out of bed and covered Veronica. She looked at me and, for a moment, I knew she knew my mind had not been here, or on what she had just given to me. I’m not sure we shared anything but a memory.
“Where you going?” Her voice drew me from my reverie. I smiled at her, but not with my eyes.
“Just to take a leak.”
I went and emptied my bladder, all the time taming the storm in my head. Nothing happened in my heart; it was dead, and it had been dead for a while. I didn’t go back to bed, instead I went to the fridge, rehydrated, and turned the radio on. The silence wasn’t my very good friend so I let John Mayer fill the halls. I bet Veronica knew this song; she hummed along to almost all of them. I heard her coming after a while when I didn’t return. I’d been flipping through a catalogue that I could recite. It had been sitting on a side table, Britain’s top ten historical motorcycles of all time. She smiled and went to the refrigerator as well. She shot a look at me questioningly, I nodded. She took out orange juice and looked back at me, I nodded again. I was sure she couldn’t finish the entire 2 litres. She could have a few small glasses. She only had one, came and sat on the sofa opposite mine. Was the silence no longer comfortable? I was grateful she understood that we were now in two separate worlds and didn’t come sit on my lap or something. I had too much on my mind. I thought she’d break it all. She did a good job, actually, gave willingly, and didn’t have to be prepped. I’ll see if she can handle more than this, sooner, rather than later. She turned, got comfortable, and put her feet up…bad habits die hard? I don’t think it was a habit she’d been trying to curb.
I watched as she tilted her head back, deep in thought; this was getting to me.
“What is it?” I asked, not able to stand her silence any longer.
“Nothing, at all.” She smiled, but her eyes were sarcastic… or was that what she looked like lying? I didn’t pry. I didn’t care. I had my own issues to worry about, my own demons to battle, and my own skeletons to bury.
What had I gotten myself into, chasing Veronica like a dog on a leash? Pathetic. I was a dom, a controller; I controlled all things, including myself, and she sat there so beautiful and goddess-like, like a weakness, my kryptonite. I would not have it. After I had my way, Veronica had to go, after I got what I wanted. I glared at her. I felt myself getting upset. No woman, none. Not me. I needed to calm down before I ended up taking my anger out on her.
Self control is key. I calmed down. I tossed her the remote and she smiled. I got the day’s paper. As long as she doesn’t turn the station to some stupid soap or something even more ridiculous like cartoons or Lifetime she can stay. Through the corner of my eyes I watched her skipping channel after channel, obviously not looking and not paying any attention. She looked at me, I looked away and she looked away. She looked at me again.
“What is it Veronica?”
“Nothing,” she replied. I adjusted myself in my chair and continued reading. She was annoying me. I looked her dead in the face the next time she looked at me.
“That’s it, exactly it,” she said under her breath.
“Speak up. What did you say?”
She didn’t stutter now, looking at me she said, “I said, ‘that’s it!’”
What was “it”?
“I don’t follow.”
; “Of course you wouldn’t follow. I’m not sure you know or even recognise.”
“Elaborate.” Arching a brow I warded off my temper and frustration, I was easily agitated.
Looking at me with the eyes she did the very first time, and in the voice she’d recited her poem with, she said, “Your eyes go from brown to gone in an instant. I saw them disappear twice. When you went to the bathroom and just now.”
“I suppose I understand the metaphor. I plead the fifth.”
“No need to answer, I didn’t ask you a question. I do, however, have one for you… a question, I mean.”
I said nothing, giving her the go ahead to ask her question. One I probably wouldn’t be answering. Veronica was deep, she made me feel like I was maskless, but everybody knows you can’t trust a pretty boy with good skin, lies pinned to his smile, dimple in his chin.
“Who broke you?”
The question was simple, a direct question. One that went directly to purgatory. One I was certain I would not be answering. Maskless. Most women, some men, men who didn’t know me, figured I had it together, not a care in the world, not a worry, not a stress, nothing to bother me. Veronica saw me limp-dicked and already she’d known subconsciously that I was in fact, broken.
“Why would you even ask such a question?” I scuffed, shifted, and changed my mind; I didn’t want to even hear her explanation, I knew I wouldn’t like it.
“Never mind that, no one broke me. We are not having this conversation and it’s a moot topic, a dead topic at that.” I smiled at her. My eyes had a way of reassuring women, especially when I knew I was lying.
“Whatever you say, Sir.”
Veronica didn’t sound like she bought it. Matter of fact, she asked so convincingly that I was questioning myself, my walls, and all my defences. Was Veronica invincible? I sat with a fixed expression that said “I’ve got this, you’re wrong” as the evening carried on and she watched series after series of two scientists who were roommates. It was humorous, Veronica giggled and knew some lines word-for-word like she’d watched it a million times. That was how we eased into the afternoon before she finally left.
BOOK 54
Controlling Her 4
Older Man Younger Girl Short Reads Series
Dominated Unprotected Bare & Fertile Taking
Kilie Sams
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Copyright 2015 Hardcore Erotica Stories
Published by Hardcore Erotica Stories
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First HARDCORE EROTICA STORIES Printing April 2015
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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.
The Fast Life
Bill Hilton
Is it possible that I’m getting soft? Have I, Bill Hilton, broken?
Never. The only thing that broke had broken years ago and I had built something new on those ashes, a new me, on those ashes. That was the past and it would stay there. I refused to change and lose myself because some sub felt the need to act out or be different or decide that she can’t handle this anymore.
Should I have seen it coming?
Apparently, I don’t see much coming ever. I needed a ride badly. I needed to be cruising down a highway, bursting through the speed limit, and flying into freedom. I needed release. A release Veronica couldn’t give to me, nor Claire. Sunday morning Australian streets were “Easy like a Sunday morning” clear. I knew exactly where I would ride to. Why was I so angry? Why did I feel like my walls had collapsed and my mask had been thrown to the floor? I needed a self check, a run through of my priorities lately. I seemed to been mixing things up. Mixing. That was a good idea. Something struck me, the greatest idea. Veronica had to see me tonight and so did Claire. I called Veronica first and scheduled her arrival for 6:30 and Claire’s for 7:15. Riding could wait. I needed to feed my obsession, and soon, before I did something even worse. I had been on a trail of self-destruction before sex became my outlet, before I learned the power of control and how it could attract a woman like a bee to fresh sunflowers, like a moth to a flame.
I’d watched powerful women bend and curve to my every desire, watched them take it slowly up the ass just to amuse me. I wasn’t an ass man, sometimes I felt the need to have that thigh muscle squeeze my shaft, but I wouldn’t want to end my games too quickly. I knew some men couldn’t go without it. That wasn’t me. That’s another thing that attracted women. They loved a man who was sure of himself, sure of what he wanted. A little cockiness never hurt nobody. Confidence is underrated, that “nice guy finishing last” thing is underrated; nice guys just start the race when the trophy is already polished and on a pedestal in some asshole’s basement. Me, I was that asshole. It might be the last thing I would ever be.
Tonight my women will be here.
Threesome?
Claire
It was a known fact: I was in love with Bill. So madly in love that I would have done anything he asked of me. When I had been promoted from his secretary to assistant HR manager, I had not wanted to take it but I had to because I needed the money. Adam and I had been saving for our dream wedding. I knew I would never in a million years be able to be with Bill, but a tiny part of me had always hoped he could been mine, hoped that one day he’d realise he was madly in love with me all along and didn’t know it. This wasn’t the movies, though, and in real life you had to make do with what you had, make limeade if you couldn’t get the lemons. I knew it, I was a hopeless romantic, though, and I had still hoped.
That hopeful part of me died when I met Veronica.
I wasn’t allowed to call him and beg for sex. I was only allowed what he wanted to give to me. In the beginning that was okay, he'd wanted me with every open window he got from working. Then I got pregnant with Alexander, my now one year old son, and he’d only called me once since the baby; I had missed him. As soon as my six month healing period was over, I had been ready to be harnessed again, but he hadn’t called. At first I thought he was done with me for sure, but bumping into him in the streets of New Kingston one day he assured me that he didn’t hate me and was only busy. Yeah right, I thought to myself. He probably thought I was just short and fat now; he always did have a problem with my height. Lucky for me, I had little-to-no baby fat after Alex and what I did have I worked off running two miles on early Saturday mornings at E-park. I’d looked good the day he saw me, thank god. I was wearing fitted, faded, sky-blue aero jeans, a figure-hugging grey turtleneck Old Navy sweater, and my Nine West pull-up boots. I didn’t wear a lot of makeup, but the cherry Mac lip gloss tasted delightful. I topped it off with my hair piled high on my head in a bun, little dropped silver earrings, and a brown cotton scarf that matched the boots. He’d stared at my lips long enough that I knew he missed me. I wished he’d missed me enough to show some affection. Instead, he’d smiled cordially, like we were never intimate, like he never saw me naked, like he’d never touched me inappropriately, like he’d never fucked me over his desk late one night in his office, like he’d never known me sexually. The day he called and demanded I be at his loft by six o’clock I’d told Adam I had a book club meeting and left; he never questioned me. It reminded me of Rihanna’s R&B hit Unfaithful. I couldn’t help the situation. I loved Adam, lord knows I did -I do- he was my lime,
but I had to get what he wasn’t giving me. I’d rushed to Bill’s and gotten there in the nick of time to be spanked, throat-fucked, and sated the right way, the way Adam didn’t know how, sadly.
I knew something was wrong the day he’d called me on a rainy Saturday afternoon. He didn’t normally call on a Saturday. He’d simply call and have me at his leisure after work, mostly; I didn’t know what he did on the weekends. When I had arrived at his apartment he’d refused to kiss me and had me sit across from him in his dining and kitchen area.
“Claire, do you know what you are to me?” he’d asked. What an odd question after three years of being his on-and-off submissive, his play thing. He ought to have expected me to know the answer to that by now.
“Of course, Sir. I am your submissive.”
“You may speak freely Claire, but don’t get comfortable. You understand that you do everything I say you have to do and you do not complain about it?”
“Yes, of course Bill. What is this about?” his name tasted good in my mouth.
“I just want to ensure that you know you have no say once you enter the playroom tonight, as I’m not aware of your views on a situation such as this one.”
“Wait, what? A situation like what, Bill, what are you talking about?” Immediately I began to panic. It was often that he scared me; I’d been through all his tricks, or at least I had thought I had. I guess I was wrong. What could this be? What was I going to find on the other side of his door? What was Bill going to do to me? The last time I was this afraid was with his wax play. My mother had died in a fire and I have been afraid of heat ever since. Sometimes I had to shower in cold water due to my fear, and Stony Hill tap water could get icy cold. I’d almost pissed myself when he’d dripped the wax on my erect nipples. Before the orgasm could race through me, I’d safe-worded him. I had tried to stop using it; he hated it, looked at me with dismay and disappointment in his eyes. I don’t like disappointing him, never did.