I know that exploding at point of orgasm is clichéd by I did indeed feel as if I was completely blown apart. My legs turned to jelly and I pushed even harder against the wall, struggling for grip, holding myself together any way I could, not wanting to collapse onto him. Dean lapped gently for a little longer, extending the vibrations of lust that shook me, then he pulled back and looked up at me. When I opened my eyes he was wiping my juices from his mouth and smiling.
He extracted himself from beneath me and I pushed myself away from the wall.
“You can go and get changed now,” he said with a cheeky wink.
I laughed and held out my hand, “want to come upstairs and join me?”
He wrapped his fingers around mine and I pulled him upstairs after me and into my bedroom. I shut the door and turned around to find him directly behind me and once again he surged forward and kissed me. He helped me out of my t-shirt and I pulled off his, he unbuttoned my shorts –what was left of them –and they fell to the floor. We moved closer and closer to my bed and once I untangled him from his tracksuit bottoms we fell on to it, entwined in each other’s arms.
It all seemed so natural, his skin was sheened with sweat and I could taste the salt as I nibbled his chin and neck and lower. He tasted good. I wanted to devour him, all of him and I slipped lower down the bed to come face-to-face with his erection, straining against black cotton boxer briefs. As I pulled them down, he lifted to help me.
I studied him, my mouth open slightly, taken by the beauty of having a real phallus right in front of me. I took in the texture, the dark pink colour, how it curved and strained, the moisture pooled at the tip that just called to be sucked. No matter how realistic my plastic cock was it just paled in comparison to the real thing.
I glanced up at Dean and he smiled with gentle amusement.
“I’ve not seen a real one of these in a long time,” I explained with a blush. “I’m just reacquainting myself.”
“I hear the best way to do that is to put it in your mouth.” He kept his face solemn for a moment then winked.
“Oh it is, is it,” I replied with a chuckle. “Well I suppose I’d better give that a go then.”
The banter made it easier for me to lean over and taste him. Whereas a moment before I’d felt overwhelmed and very aware of my years of celibacy, after he broke the ice I just concentrated on enjoying the moment. He felt good between my lips and I loved his musky, masculine flavour. I sucked with vigour, taking more of him with each dip of my head. I stroked his balls and enjoyed the way they rippled beneath my touch. I remembered the joy of lapping at that little spot just beneath the head, the spot that makes men writhe and grunt. I loved Dean’s noises, the desperation in his voice.
I popped him from my mouth, took a deep breath and asked him the big question.
“Can I fuck you?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Oh God yes, of course you can.”
I scrambled up and over him to reach into the drawer beside my bed. I prayed that the condoms would still be in date, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d optimistically brought them. I had a sneaky look at the date before slipping it into Dean’s hand and the year on it confirmed we were good to go. I lifted up from him just enough so he could reach between us and cover himself. My large breasts dangled over his chest and with their swaying tickled against his thatch of chest hairs. I wiggled with purpose, enjoying the sparks of lust that ignited on the tips of my nipples and spread down through my flesh to suffuse me with a sexual glow of anticipation.
“Ready,” he growled, and I shuffled a little lower, my knees against his hips, my inner thighs against the outside of his. I lowered myself down, hit the tip of him and he manoeuvred his dick until it hit the right spot. I sank down and he removed his hand from around his erection but left it to sit between us in the sweet slit of my wetness.
I was consumed by the warm stretch of his girth and amazed by the way I gave so easily to his invasion, his way eased by my juices. I squeezed around him once I was fully seated, enjoying the slight give compared to the plastic rigidity of my vibrator. He throbbed in time to my squeezes and his heat matched mine. I was lost in glorious sensation.
I eventually moved. As good as it felt to be fully filled, there was a gap of need and to satisfy that, it was essential that I lifted and lost some of that completeness. It was the yo-yo from full to almost empty that felt close to perfection. It was when I found my rhythm, steady and fast but not quite a salsa, that I became aware of the hand between me and the soft give of his pelvis. His knuckle was raised and hit my clit when I dipped down, his fingers were spread around his cock so that they pressed against my soft folds when I was fully immersed in him.
I felt my orgasm approaching. I couldn’t open my eyes even though I wanted to see his face, I couldn’t do anything but hold on to his upper arms and power myself up and down. I wondered for a moment if he was watching me, my eyes screwed up, cheeks flushed, boobs bouncing wildly. I knew he was enjoying himself, his groans and the grip of his free hand on my fleshy hip told me that.
I shook and stumbled in my dance as intensity got the better of me. I held him deep inside as I came. I loved the rigidity of him inside me that did not budge while I throbbed and vibrated and screamed out the second orgasm gifted to me that day. Somewhere in amongst my rocking, yelling and revelling he came too, just as loudly.
I slid with little grace and much gravity to the bed beside him. He rolled over and rested an arm across my waist. I looked at him, took in his flushed face, his sparkling eyes.
“I’ll have to split my pants every week if this is what comes of it.” I gasped as I struggled to control my breathing.
“Well, if you promise to flash me your knickers each week I promise you I won’t be able to help myself from ravishing you.”
“Red rag to a bull?” I laughed.
“Exactly.” He nodded and kissed me. I could see a new post-Zumba workout routine on my horizon and I liked it.
*****
More about Victoria Blisse
Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife, Christian, Manchester United fan and award winning erotica author. She is also the editor of several Bigger Briefs collections, and the co-editor of the fabulous Smut Alfresco and Smut in the City and Smut by the Sea Anthologies.
She is equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker and she loves to create stories, poems, cakes and biscuits that make people happy. She was born near Manchester, England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories.
Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy life.
Links
Website: http://victoriablisse.co.uk
Twitter: http://twitter.com/victoriablisse
Facebook: http://facebook.com/victoriablisse
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1941449.Victoria_Blisse
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/victoriablisse
Praise for Victoria Blisse
“When I want an uplifting erotic read one of my favourite go-to writers is Victoria Blisse. There's a real feel-good factor about her erotic writing and it comes from the combination of her inimitable saucy approach to the subject matter and the down to earth good lovin' she conveys so well. It tickles me in more ways than one and makes me happy.”
Saskia Walker
“You cannot go wrong with a story by Victoria Blisse. Her characters are believable and their conflicts lead to the most delicious resolutions.”
Kristina Wright
“Victoria’s stories are fresh, light and wonderfully easy to read.”
The Long and Short of It Reviews
The Doll
Spin-off Story From the Sexy as Hell Trilogy
By Harlem Dae
It was nearly midnight, midnight on St. Valentine’s Day. It would have been traditional to be arriving home from a romantic candlelit meal with a lover, but all that mush wasn’t for me. For three years now I’d kept my heart well out of har
m’s way; it was the way I rolled, the way I stayed sane.
I reached for a big, soft brush and my Frankly Scarlet rouge. I overly made up my cheeks, centring the colour into round apple shapes. My base layer of foundation was porcelain-white so it was a shocking contrast with the blush, almost geisha-like. My blue eyes were set off with golden glitter on the lids and lashings of kohl, and my lips were slick with sticky candy-pink gloss that tasted of sugar.
It was an artificial, stage-show look because that’s exactly what I was about to do—go on stage.
Midnight was my time as Vicky the Domme Doll—she always had that slot. But would he be here tonight, waiting, on the edge of his seat—my silver fox?
Lately I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. Mr Kennett was his name, or at least that’s who he’d registered as when he’d joined Sexy as Hell. Goodness knows if it was an alias or not. Many of Zara’s clients used fake names. The reception girls called him Mr Dresden, which was a little unkind, I thought. They understood kinks—they were all as kinky as fuck. So what if he liked tossing off to a bossy, whip-wielding doll and appreciated a short blue polka-dot dress teamed with red and white thigh-length socks. That was up to him, that’s what this place was all about.
Catering to needs.
Of guests and employees.
I stood, straightened the frills around my low neckline, and fluffed the puff-ball sleeves. It really was the sweetest of my dresses this one, and probably my favourite.
Turning a full three-sixty, I admired myself in the mirror. I was edging thirty but I still had it. Could still get it, if I wanted to. Thing was, nobody really got me going anymore.
Except him.
Damn, where had that thought come from? I knew I’d been thinking of Mr Kennett a lot but I hadn’t actually realised up until this point that he’d affected me physically.
I stilled and stared in the mirror, ran my hands over my pert breasts and slim waist. Did I want him to touch me? Did I want to touch him? I guessed the answer was yes. Yes, finally I was ready, again, for more than just a scene. For something that had meaning, that made me excited to see how another individual—not just a body or body part—could make me feel.
And on Valentine’s Night, too. What a sap I was after all.
I laughed, my reflection outrageous, over-the-top and slightly manic.
Perhaps I’d shake things up tonight, if I could. I was surfing a crest of excitement; I should hang on for the ride.
* * * * *
The showroom was set as usual with a small striped podium that I stood my subs on—to start with, at least. Tonight it was Carlos in place and he stood, head bowed, wearing tight leather trousers that had gaps at his buttocks, giving me great access to his super-sweet arse.
Carlos belonged to someone else, but he was a complete pain-whore and his Mistress didn’t have any objections to him finding satisfaction with me. I enjoyed using him because when we were in a scene he was never anything but wholly submissive, which suited me well.
Strutting in, I let my hands sweep over the row of whips and floggers, agitating them as I eyed the semi-circle of windows that led to the private viewing rooms. It was quiet tonight—no, make that dead. Each window was empty. I had no audience.
What the fuck?
I shoved my hands on my hips and scowled, feeling the thick makeup on my forehead creasing.
“There’s no one here,” I said.
“No, Mistress, no one waiting in reception, either,” Carlos replied. “I guess they’re all out being romantic.”
I tutted. “Waste of time all of this, then.” I gestured to my face and down my body. It had taken me nearly an hour to organise my get-up.
“Doesn’t have to be,” Carlos said. He caught my gaze and then quickly looked away as a rise of colour stained his cheeks.
Insolent sod; he knew damn well that in here he wasn’t allowed to look me in the eye without permission. For that I wouldn’t whip his bare arse.
There was a noise to my right. I turned and spotted a man entering viewing room six, the end one.
It was Mr Kennett.
My heart gave a ridiculous little flip as I watched him pause and take a deep breath. He appeared to have been rushing. He pushed his fingers through his peppery grey hair and then straightened his dark tie. He wore a pristine black suit jacket, as usual, and a crisp white shirt. I presumed his lower half was just as well tailored but I’d never seen that; he’d always been in room six when I arrived and the window stopped my view at his waist.
“I’m going to do something different tonight,” I said to Carlos. “So just stand there and shut the fuck up.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
I wasn’t sure if Zara would agree to my plan, but I was going to give it a shot—while I was feeling brave and while I had a slick of damp in my knickers that had arrived at the same time Mr Kennett had.
Walking up to the window, crossing my footsteps over each other in an exaggerated way, I set my sights on my one viewer. When I reached the glass, I stopped and curled my right index finger at him in a come-hither action.
He tilted his chin and swallowed, his Adam’s apple dipping just below the fastened collar of his shirt.
I cocked my head and raised my eyebrows.
He stepped up to the window.
This was the closest we’d ever been despite his visiting my show twice a week for nearly three months.
“It seems you are the only member of my audience,” I said.
He nodded. His eyes were a pale shade of blue, almost lilac, and his lips, though thin, were very sensuous. He had a small scar on the rise of his right cheek, shaped like a fat, rolling tear, and I noticed a few crows’ feet, but up close he appeared younger than I’d first thought, perhaps early forties, nothing more.
“So I think we’ll do something a bit special,” I said. “Get to know each other better.”
“Works for me,” he said, his voice journeying through the speaker next to the glass.
It had been surprisingly steady considering the connotations beneath my words. He knew what I was capable of. Had witnessed me driving Carlos and others wild with severe thrashings. Doling out erotic torture was my specialty.
I might look as though I would melt with sweetness, but that was just a ruse. My dolly smile was designed to put subs at ease and lull them into a false sense of security.
“Do you know what I like the sound of?” I asked.
“Tell me.” He twitched his eyebrows.
His expression was almost defiant, and if he’d been mine I’d have given him a nipple pinch for that.
Oh, my breasts got heavy at the thought of a sharp squeeze. Sometimes I wore my clamps when I took to the stage and let the sting zap around my body as I lashed out whatever punishment my co-performer had agreed to. The discomfort gave me a euphoric headiness that hit my spot and reminded me why my subs enjoyed taking their beatings the way they did. It made them high as kites.
Tonight I hadn’t worn my clamps. But maybe…
I came back to the moment, to the question I’d put to him. “I love this sound,” I said, pacing up to Carlos and thwacking him as hard as I could on his left buttock.
He didn’t even flinch despite the bite of pain that shot from my palm up to my shoulder and into my teeth.
Damn, I should have grabbed a whip.
As I frowned and rubbed my hands together, Carlos’ round globe of flesh bloomed and I knew he’d have at least a semi from that, if he hadn’t had one already, that was.
“I get off on that sound,” I said, “the sound of flesh on flesh, a flogger on flesh, a whip on flesh.” I smiled angelically and twisted one of my long blonde plaits over and under my fingers in a distracted manner. “I’d like to hear the sound your flesh makes when I hit it, Mr Kennett. Are you up for that?”
He walked nearer to the glass, his breath creating a tiny round fog. “I’m up, that’s for sure.”
His mouth pressed into such a flat line
that his lips damn near disappeared, and I had no doubt in my mind exactly what was standing to attention.
I swiped my tongue over my sweet lip-gloss and fluttered my eyelashes. “Well, in that case, I’m coming to get you. Wait there.”
Bugger, I hoped Zara would go along with this. I was sure she would—after all, what did she have to lose? I’d pay for the hire of one of the privacy lounges if that’s what she wanted. I just needed to have Mr Kennett alone for a while. Find out why he came to see me so often. What it was that sometimes compelled him to wank while I performed, other occasions hardly even moving or blinking as I tortured some lucky sod into a state of orgasmic frenzy.
I slipped from the show room. Carlos was close behind me, his breaths loud and his footsteps heavy.
“Vicky,” he said. “Pardon me for asking, but what the fuck are you doing?”
“Don’t speak to me like that.” I turned and waggled my finger at him. “I’ll tell your Mistress you’ve been impertinent.”
He huffed. “And then I’ll get punished, which is a bad thing?” He pulled a face and his eyes sparkled.
I knew damn well his punishments always ended in him coming magnificently, so it was hardly a threat on my part.
I tsked. “Okay, but I’m not performing when there is only one member of the audience, it’s pointless.”
“My arse doesn’t see it that way, if you don’t mind me saying, that is.”
“Well, your arse will just have to remember that getting beaten is a perk of the job, not a guarantee.”
“I guess.”
“Where’s Zara?”
“She’s out, with her Virgin.”
Sexy Just Walked Into Town Page 4