by CELENE CAREY
I step back. She comes hard, pulling against the restraints, groaning, biting down on the black ball gag that forces apart her jaws. I reach down and switch off the vibrator, then let her settle, let her breathing return to normal, let the last few shivery waves of her orgasm wash through her.
Then I remove her from the cross. Quickly, curtly, I remove the gag and the blindfold and thrust her clothes into her hands. “Go home,” I say.
“Won’t you please fuck me Sir?” she says politely. Her naked body is close. I can almost feel the warmth and softness of her on my skin. “That’s all I want. I need it. I’d come the moment you put your cock in me, Sir. Please.”
“Home,” I say, and then I turn around and leave the dungeon, leave her naked and wanting there.
*
When Dania’s been behaving badly my wife is a source of great comfort. To punish Dania for her lies and tricks would only be to reward her with further attention, and so I punish my wife instead. Her name is Claire, and I love her with all my heart. That evening I go home to her in a stormy mood. I’m barely inside the house before I have her tied down to the bed. I flog a few red stripes across her ass with my cane, then push her head down and ease myself inside her. I fuck her roughly till I come, then let her up. I release her from her bonds and she rolls over on the bed, panting. I kiss her on the mouth, and we lie there together for a while, quiet in each other’s company.
I’ve been with Claire for six years now, and they’ve been some of the happiest years of my life. She understands my life like nobody else does. She knows about my needs. She knows how I like to unwind. And she accepts that about me. Not many women would.
In fact, there’s only one rule we have between us. And that’s with regards to my cock. Claire is the only woman who deserves it. We’re in agreement about that. I can do whatever I might wish to any number of slaves or submissives, but my cock belongs to Claire. Only she may taste it. Only she will ever feel me cumming while I’m inside her.
We lie there for a long time, and I feel my mood levelling out. Dania’s disobedience is a difficult thing to manage. It would be a shame to lose such a wonderful sub, and yet there’s no way I can tolerate her behaviour much longer. She must be corrected, but nothing I try seems to have an impact. I can whip her raw in punishment, and she simply seems to enjoy it.
Claire rolls closer to me and puts her head against my chest. “What’s the matter?” she says. “Is it that girl again? Dania?”
Claire is perceptive beyond words. She only needs to look at me to know not only that something is the matter, but exactly what that thing might be. There’s no sense in hiding anything from her, and so I tell her everything. She listens quietly, rested against my chest. I feel her skin move lightly against mine with each inward breath.
Once I’ve finished talking Claire thinks for a minute, then says, “You know, I think I might have an idea.”
*
The next week I meet with Dania again. She is kneeling when I enter, but as soon as I permit her to stand she begins. “I’m sorry about last time, Sir. It’s just that I want you so bad. Sometimes it’s hard to control myself-“
I silence her with a look and she lowers her head. I move to her, and with quick and definite movements strip away her clothes. All of them. Her underwear too, so that she’s standing naked before me. I lead her to a bench and bend her over it, lashing her in place with the restraints. Her pussy is wonderfully exposed, rose-like and open. Ready to be penetrated. I can hear her breathing quicken. It is obvious what she thinks is about to happen.
“So you want me to fuck you?” I say, my voice heavy.
“Yes, Sir. Please, Sir,” says Dania.
“Well...” I can’t prevent a smile from creeping onto my lips. “That’s not something we’ve agreed to. But perhaps there’s some other way to satisfy you.”
I move to the door and open it to allow Claire into the dungeon. She’s stripped to her underwear already, looking glorious in black lace.
She strides around the bench so that Dania can see her, then steps into the harness of the strap-on and pulls it up snug around her hips.
“This,” I say slowly, “is Claire. My wife. The woman you’ve been disrespecting by flouting the rules of our agreement. You’ve always known that I won’t fuck you. But Claire will. She will fuck you long and hard. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Sir?” says Dania, her voice trembling slightly. I can see how turned on she is, and yet there’s also a note of trepidation there, of surprise, the cock hanging from the harness is not only thick but twelve inches long. A dildo like that may hurt her. Hurt her pussy, stretch her to the limit. Just the right way she loves it I hope.
I look to my wife and nod, giving her permission. She steps up behind my submissive and gently eases the tip of her strap-on into her pussy. Dania gasps, then moans, a moan of pleasure. Finally penetration. A large penetration from my wife.
“Harder,” I instruct Claire, and she is happy to oblige. After a few slow strokes she picks up speed, bucking hard into Dania’s pussy. Dania writhes within her straps, but she cannot escape, cannot move. I stand in front of her and take my cock in hand. I hadn’t considered how much of a turn on it would be to see my wife fuck another woman. Dania strains towards my cock, her mouth open, keen to swallow me. I stroke it before her mouth, her mouth creaks open wider and her tongue reaches out. But I deny her. I stroke myself, long and slow, relishing the sight before me.
When I sense that Dania is about to cum I let myself go, ejaculating across under her navel. The warm cum on her skin and the fat rubber dildo still crammed in her hole. My hot liquid clings to her belly, drips down, crawling over her pussy cheeks. I hold a handful of hair in one rough hand and kiss my wife on the lips as she fucks Dania, finally, to her climax. I feel my submissive’s body arching against the bench, but I don’t look down. I look at Claire. Beautiful Claire.
“This,” I say. “Was a fantastic idea.”
BOOK 59
TOO MANY COOKS IN MY HOT LITTLE POT
FOURSOME ROMANCE MENAGE BOOK
Multiple Partners Erotic Penetrations
TANYA CARR
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EXCERPT from - TOO MANY COOKS IN MY HOT LITTLE POT
She closed her eyes and let her head fall backwards, moving her hips faster, filling her hands with her tits and pinching the nipples hard, biting her lip, already feeling like she was close to orgasm.
All of a sudden she heard a sound behind her. She stopped moving, whipping her head around. Someone else was in the bathroom. A man stood in the doorway, his face in shadow. She yelped and jumped off of Brandon, scrabbling to pick her coat up from the floor to cover herself.
Brandon yanked his boxers off the couch and held them to his crotch. They sat frozen side by side on the couch. The stranger took a few steps towards them, then stopped.
Rhia could see by the way he was dressed that he was also a chef. Even taller than Brandon, he towered over them, a wry smile on his admittedly handsome face. He had black hair and wicked-looking blue eyes. He fixed his gaze on Rhia, smirking as he looked her up and down.
“Well, what have we here?” His voice was deep, with a trace of laughter in it.
Rhia reached down to pick up the rest of her clothes off the floor, but the man moved forward and stepped on them, sliding them away from her with his shoe. She looked up at him, her eyes flaring with anger, but he just chuckled.
“Give her the clothes,” Brandon commanded, his voice tinged with anger.
The stranger shook his head and dragged the mound of clothing closer to him, stooping to pick it up and place it on the counter.
“I like her the way she is,” he smirked. “And I have an idea. You’re going to share her.”
Brandon laughed in disbelief. “Seriously? I don’t think so, man. Just give her the clothes and we’ll be out of your way.”
“You’re in the competition, ri
ght sweetie?” He directed the question at Rhia.
“Don’t call me sweetie. But yeah, I’m competing.”
“Well what do you think the committee would say if I told them that you’re in this bathroom fucking your boyfriend right now? I think you’d be disqualified.”
“You wanker!” Rhia yelled, her cheeks blazing with anger and humiliation. “You can’t do that!”
“Oh but I can,” the handsome stranger murmured, taking a step closer to Rhia. She drew back against the couch.. . . Download this story and continue reading now . . . FREE for Kindle Unlimited Users and Prime Members
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Copyright 2015 Hardcore Erotica Stories
Published by Hardcore Erotica Stories
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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.
Table of Content
Too Many Cooks
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 1
Rhia stuck her fingers into her tangled black hair and pulled in frustration. She resisted the urge to scream out loud. The competition she was about to enter would determine her future. She had never been so nervous in her entire life, not even when she moved from London, England to Lansing, Michigan all by herself, with barely a few dollars to her name. She stared in the smudged mirror of her hotel bathroom, trying to arrange her unruly black hair in a presentable fashion underneath the white chef’s hat she was required to wear.
“Babe, what’s wrong?” Brandon called from the bedroom, where he lay sprawled across the white expanse of the giant king-size bed, flipping idly through the channels on the TV as he sipped a warm beer.
“My hair’s a bloody mess!” she snapped back at him, throwing the chef’s hat on the bathroom floor in frustration.
She felt bad yelling at Brandon. He really was an amazing guy. Even though he was top of his law class at Michigan State University, he had taken an entire day just to go with her to the cooking competition, and had been nothing but lovely and supportive all day, even though her assorted temper tantrums. Not only that, but he had already helped her pay some of her tuition. He was truly a great catch, and she made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t forget that.
“Sorry, love,” she called out to him, running out into the bedroom to give him a quick apology kiss on the lips.
“It’s ok,” he smiled up at her, giving her round ass a firm squeeze as she turned and hurried back to the bathroom. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”
“Ha ha,” she threw back wryly over her shoulder.
She glanced at her watch; it was only two hours until the competitors had to gather in the main hall for the opening ceremony.
“Shit,” she hissed under her breath as she managed to wrangle her thick mane into a messy, oversized bun on top of her head. She fumbled with some bobby pins, sticking them in here and there until she decided she looked presentable enough, and ran back out into the bedroom to change into her chef whites.
Rhia walked over to where her whites were hanging on a wooden hanger, freshly bleached and pressed. She slipped the white hotel robe off of her shoulders and stood in front of the full-length mirror, appraising her body. She was a taller girl, around five foot nine, with smooth, pale, unblemished skin. Her legs were long and shapely; she took good care of her body, but also enjoyed the finer things in life, as any good chef does. Her breasts were round and soft, the rosy pink of her nipples matching the color of her lips. She had curvy hips and a full ass, and she was proud of these curves – they had always seemed to drive men wild.
She shook her head, her momentary reverie interrupted as she turned her mind back to the task at hand. She slid her chef’s uniform from its hanger and pulled the crisp material over her body, then smoothed it over her body with her hands. It was true that the outfit was not the most flattering thing she’d ever worn, but she always felt proud and important when she wore it. She turned to Brandon, striking a sexy pose, asking, “How do I look?”
“You look fucking hot. Although I did prefer you a couple of minutes ago when you were staring at yourself in the mirror.”
She blushed and gave him a playful slap on the knee. Brandon always made fun of her for looking at herself in the mirror too much. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” he would croak at her in his best imitation of a witch’s voice, whenever he caught her admiring herself. She couldn’t help it if she was beautiful, and blessed with a healthier amount of self-esteem than most women her age. Rhia knew his teasing was always good-natured, and that he appreciated her body as much, if not more than she did.
She was definitely appreciative of his body too; what girl wouldn’t be? He was gorgeous. Six foot three with an athletic grace, he always made heads turn when he walked in a room. He had sandy blond hair, green eyes, and full lips that Rhia loved to kiss. He had an easygoing personality that put everyone he met at ease, but when absorbed in something he felt passionate about, he would transform into the assertive, take-charge kind of man that Rhia had always desired, especially in the bedroom. He was definitely the best sex she’d ever had, and she could never get enough of him.
The men she used to date in London were always brooding, poetic types – depressed artists with dark hair and dark eyes, thin, lanky and underachieving. She never thought she would be attracted to someone so Midwestern. When she thought of American men, she always thought of corn-fed, thick-bodied dullards who were only interested in sports, beer and pussy. When she met Brandon, she was ready to write him off immediately. Only after she’d reluctantly agreed to a date with him at one of the college pubs, did she begin to realize that there was more to this guy than she had initially thought. He had those stereotypically American, wholesome good looks, but he wasn’t stupid or shallow; he was an intellectual. Her British friends always thought of Americans as ignorant and provincial, but Brandon was open-minded, liberal and cultured. She fell in love with him almost immediately, and within a few weeks, they were inseparable.
He was generous too – in bed and in life, and was always enthusiastically supportive of Rhia, genuinely interested in and excited about her career, doing everything he could to help her achieve her dreams. His presence here at the hotel, when she knew he was swamped with homework and studying, spoke to his level of commitment to her, and to the depth of his love. She stared at him admiringly as he watched the television, a faint smile on his lips, a bottle of beer held loosely in one cupped hand.
Finding herself distracted once again, Rhia snapped her mind back to the events at hand, grabbing her makeup bag out of her suitcase and quickly applying a few products. Giving herself a final appraisal, she decided she was presentable enough, and checked the time again.
“We only have an hour and a half!” she cried, startling Brandon so that he spilled half his beer on the white bedspread.
“Whoa there!” he chuckled, placing the bottle on the nightstand, and reaching for her hand. “It’s plenty of time. You’re gonna be ok.”
“Shit!” She ran to the bathroom for a washcloth, began dabbing at the spilled beer. “Sorry about that. I’m completel
y on edge. I’ve never been this nervous.”
“Do you want to take a walk or something?” he asked, gently taking the towel from her hand and cleaning the spill himself. “Might help you calm down?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe we can go downstairs? Check out the competition?”
“Sure babe. Sounds good.” He stood up and stretched his long body, almost touching the ceiling with his fingertips. He sat on the bed, slipped his shoes on, and stood up, taking her hand in his.
“You got this,” he said, looking down into her eyes, his expression serious but tender.
“I got this,” she repeated, but her voice was small and filled with doubt.
CHAPTER 2
The elevator doors opened, and Rhia and Brandon stepped out into the lobby of the hotel. The place was crowded with competition participants and their loved ones; nervous-looking men and women in chef’s clothing paced back and forth, some muttering to themselves, others intently studying notecards, recipe books, and other such reading material. Rhia stumbled back as a young woman almost plowed into her, her face hidden in a sheaf of papers. The girl murmured a distracted apology and continued on her way towards the main hall where the event was going to take place.
“Wanna see the event room?” Brandon suggested, and Rhia nodded wordlessly. He squeezed her hand reassuringly and guided her through the noisy crowd of people.
The room where the competition was to be held was intimidatingly large. There was a large judges’ table in the front, a stage where the competitors would be cooking, and rows and rows of folding chairs for spectators. People ran back and forth, assembling the cooking apparatuses and checking to see that all the food was stocked and organized. The whole place was buzzing with activity and chatter. The lights seemed overly-bright; Rhia looked up and saw what looked like floodlights or spotlights covering the ceiling and walls. She felt slightly nauseous as the heat from the lights made her break out in a faint sweat. She leaned against Brandon, pressing her face into the cool fabric of his suit jacket, inhaling his scent and trying to calm her racing heart.