Alice After Hours

by Galia Ryan

  “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

  “Horny.” The single word was low.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  “I want to be fucked.”

  “Still thinking of yourself, Alice.”

  “Nooo. I’m thinking of you too.”

  “If that were the case, you would have answered differently.”

  Her manipulations ceased, and releasing her aching nipple, she let her eyes drift open.

  “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

  “Teach me,” she said.

  Chapter 21

  He dressed her in stockings, black and seamed, and her corset. At first she’d inwardly rebelled at his choice. The constricting ivory panels were embroidered with pink rosebuds and set off with delicate ribbons. Given the choice, she would have plumped for the black. Of course he knew that. But black would have given her a measure of power, as if she were the seductress and not the seduced.

  Other than that, she wore only shoes: the same glossy patent leather heels that were so high she would have to re-train her balance.

  “Put up your hair,” he said from the sofa. “And lipstick—red.”

  She dipped into her handbag, found her makeup pouch and small mirror, and complied.

  He was relaxed, sprawled against the cushions, one arm resting along the back of the sofa, the other along the side, and she came to stand in front of him, uncertain and yet thrilled.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured, and then instructed her to turn around.

  “Part your legs and bend forward.”

  Alice did so, loving that the unyielding satin was digging into the soft flesh of her belly.

  Gabe stood, and coming behind her, positioned her hands on the back of her thighs. Then moving to the side, he laid a hand on her lower back.

  “Perfect.”

  His other hand was fondling a perfectly presented cheek.

  Alice couldn’t breathe. Never had she felt so vulnerable … or so turned on. It was as if she had been waiting for this moment all her life, and when he began probing her cunt she closed her eyes, instinctively aware she was expected to remain motionless. Even so, she couldn’t help but shudder in delicious anticipation, nor could she stop herself pushing back onto the delving fingers.

  “Stand still,” he growled.

  She heard herself begging, pleading. And then cruelly his hand was gone, and she was upright, encircled by arms that that she knew could so easily crush her.

  When his lips found hers she threw her arms around his neck and clung to him.

  “What do you want?” he asked quietly, a fistful of her hair in one hand.

  “To please you,” she whispered.

  There was no need to undo the buttons of his shirt, since he’d not refastened them after their bath. But she worked his jeans, and then, as he lay back on the sofa—naked, tanned, and breathtakingly masculine—she eased herself over him.

  The sensation of his hands grasping her compressed and well-shaped waist was incredibly erotic. Twisting slightly, she settled onto his thighs and the length of his erection lying hard up against his belly. Her clit trembled at the contact, and leaning forward, she pressed down hard to prolong the fluttering, while offering her corseted breasts for his pleasure. Then her breath caught. Having forced his fingers into the cups, he had taken her nipples and was pulling her towards him, wanting her mouth once again.

  Arms stretched over his head and crossed at the wrists as if in subjugation, she nibbled at his lips. Their tongues met, clashed, and teased. And then, with his fingers continuing to torment her aching nipples, she lost herself in sheer need. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop herself from wiggling her way up until the head of his cock nestled at her entrance.

  But his hands were on her shoulders, and easing his mouth away, he looked into her eyes.

  “Please …” she begged.

  “For you or for me?”

  “For you.”

  And then at last his hands were back on her hips, lifting her and encouraging her onto his cock. Oh God! It was incredible. She was being filled like never before. And slowly, oh so slowly, suffering every stretch, every give of her muscles, her passage distended and her womb made way for him. Forced upright, she flung back her head.

  “Feel it.” He was holding her still, ensuring she remained perfectly impaled.

  “I can,” she moaned.

  “No, really feel it. Clench and tighten yourself around me. Do it. Please me.”

  The pad of his thumb was on her clit, and she was shaking with need. But she did as she was told, setting aside her own desire and concentrating on his. And as she squeezed and held him inside her, she rocked, forcing and lodging the swollen head of his cock deeper inside her.

  The sensation was exquisite, though when she pulled her breasts free from the restricting corset in order to torment her nipples, she felt her hands roughly pulled away and replaced with his.

  And he was not kind.

  She was so close, oh so close to her orgasm. It was as if she were under the influence of a narcotic, and lights flashed behind her eyes as she leaned forward, dragging on the corset to give him greater access.

  “Look at me.”

  The words were harsh, triggering her to drag up heavy eyelids. She could hardly breathe for the emotions powering through her.

  “Squeeze. Hard.” Abandoning her tender nubs, he clamped his hands once more on her hips, holding her in place.

  And then, as their eyes locked and she worked the ridged muscles of her cunt walls, his cock jerked. Once, twice, and then came the hot flooding of his cum before his hips jolted and he grimaced, and another spurt of cum bathed her aching womb.

  And then she too was rushing towards her orgasm.

  Chapter 22

  Compartmentalisation. An art she’d believed she’d already perfected.

  But never like this.

  It had been a month since they had started seeing each other. Total abstinence during the week, and then complete surrender from Friday evening to Monday morning.

  Now it was Friday again, the night she looked forward to most, for that was when she was required to do penance. Her sin, of course, was pride. Pride in believing that on those days they were apart, she was equal to any man.

  Leaving her office at exactly five o’clock, she travelled across the city to Gabe’s townhouse. She took nothing with her. No purse, no credit cards, not even her mobile phone. All she had was the clothes she stood up in.

  After welcoming her into his home, he greeted her with a long, searching kiss and then waited as she hung her coat on the coat stand and draped her suit and her blouse on a hanger. Her bra and panties were left on the side table, in full view of anyone who might stop by.

  In the drawing room, dressed only in stockings and high-heeled shoes, she prepared them both a drink and then, whilst he cupped her breast and nibbled at her neck, she logged onto the forum she’d once scorned.

  “That’s right, tell the world who you are. Hold nothing back.”

  Alice couldn’t tell which was more arousing, his handling her or the conversations she was about to have. Either way, her breathing was a little faster as she opened up the latest posts.

  “Ahh.” Gabe was reading the thread over her shoulder.

  “I am new to all this,” the poster wrote, “and still finding my way.

  “Perfect,” he murmured, “why don’t you reply?”

  With her head resting on his shoulder, Alice smiled and read on: “But I love my husband and want to be all things to him.”

  She began typing her reply: “I have been where you are now. Lower your defences and ask your husband to guide and direct you into being exactly what he wants. Let him call the shots.”

  “I like it,” Gabe said. His lips found hers and Alice flushed with pleasure at such praise.

  “Go on,” he said, a moment later.

  “Accepting your submissive nature,” she typed, “can be wonderfully freein
g. It doesn’t mean you are a doormat. On the contrary, you can be the most confident person ever. And that will make the gift of your submission even more precious.”

  At this point Alice gasped and moaned, for Gabe was rolling her nipples.

  “Don’t bother begging,” he said. “You have more work to do.” He nodded towards the screen.

  Biting her lip, Alice obediently opened up more threads. In some cases all that was required of her was a few words of agreement and support—but not always. Sometimes there were conversions that at any other time she would have considered deeply intrusive, but as an active contributor, she now bared her soul.

  “What do you yearn for that he has not demanded of you yet?” she typed.

  “The truth, sweet Alice.” Gabe’s fingers had slipped between her legs and were stroking her clit. “Only the truth.”

  With shaking hands, she kept typing: “That he takes me to a place where there are others like us, and displays me as his property.”

  “You would let me do that to you?” he asked softly.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  After that came her punishment. Not with a whip or a riding crop, but with denial.

  Fuck, it drove her crazy when he edged her. There was nothing she could do, no matter how much she begged and pleaded. Even when she screamed out her submission to him.

  She was completely at his mercy.

  And when she wept in need, he held her and spoke softly of his love for her. And when her shaking ceased she did as always, lowering her head and pleasuring him with her mouth and with her hands. Of course, on Friday there was no restriction on his cumming. Nor how often.

  And that was the way she wanted it.

  His mastery over her reasserted and complete.

  * * *

  Convent-educated from the age of four, Galia Ryan was brought up not to question. Perhaps because of this, she has always been fascinated by all things esoteric and “outside the square.” Originally from Sussex, England, and now living in New Zealand with her soul-mate husband and grown-up family, Galia tries to find time between her passions for writing and reading and for her other love—travel. There is always a growing list of must-see places. Galia is the author of the Luxuria Trilogy—Choices, Secrets, and Desires—and a novella, Forsaking All Others. You can find her on the Web at: Galiaryan.fannypress.com.