The second Amy moved, Jen gestured for Lee to stop, and they both let go of the blonde’s body at the same time. ‘Oh dear, what a shame.’ Jen didn’t sound sorry at all, ‘Now we’ll have to withhold further pleasure from you, and I’m sure that, despite that climax, you are more than ready for that cute little pussy of yours to be plugged.’
Amy opened her mouth to speak, but quickly shut it again when she saw the expression on Jen’s face.
‘I think perhaps you’ll have to watch us for a while. I don’t see why Lee should have to wait to have fun just because you have proven you don’t deserve his nice fat cock between your legs.’
Lee no longer cared which girl he fucked, as long as he could do it soon, and with a nod of approval from Jen he tore off his remaining clothes, giving both women an eyeful of his satisfyingly stiff dick.
Amy spluttered, ‘But that’s not ...’
‘Fair?’ Jen finished the sentence as she closed her fist around Lee’s cock, using it as a lever to pull him closer, ‘Of course it’s not fair. Why should I be fair to a toy, a life-sized doll?’
Blinking her bright eyes, as if the full implication of what she had agreed to become for them had just hit her, Amy tried not to cry.
Turning away from their solo audience, Jen willingly relinquished the reins of control to Lee, who, tall and naked, began to smother her face and neck in savage kisses.
The thought of Amy, exquisite, pale, desperate for a tongue over her clit, and for a dick to be impaled between her legs, made every sensation flowing through Jen more heightened than ever. She was very aware of how much her cotton panties were sticking to her, and how badly she wanted the hand that was currently trailing over them, to tug them down.
Lee was like a man possessed. Twisting Jen’s body as if she were made of rubber, he turned her to face Amy. Positioning her onto her hands and knees he smacked her covered arse with the flat of his palm. Jen’s mind raced as the glorious pain of his slaps burnt her backside. Conscious that Amy was following their every step, Jen experienced a further burst of arousal as Lee ceased his strikes, and began to agonisingly slowly ease her underwear from her backside.
Jen whimpered as the fabric was peeled away, her pussy not wanting to let go of even that slight level of contact. She stopped worrying about examining Amy’s reactions, all she wanted was to have Lee take her, to have his large hands grab her hips and his dick to ram into her body. It was with a mewl of blissful surprise, however, that she felt a hot gentle tongue probe at her clit. Jen thought she heard Amy yelp with envy, but her mind was spinning, and all she knew was that she was being tongued by a fuck-me handsome man while a beautiful woman looked on. Her legs and arms ached with the effort of staying on all fours, and her stomach clenched as all the nerves in her body gathered around her nub. Jen’s growl of lust echoed around the room as, at last, Lee wedged himself within her, filling every inch of her channel.
A forlorn whine from the wooden chair caused Jen to lift her head, as Lee thumped against her body. Locking eyes with Amy, Jen suddenly knew what she should do. What she simply had to do.
‘Edge closer to her.’ Her order sounded almost strangled as Lee manoeuvred them both so that her head was between Amy’s open legs.
Amy’s cry of, ‘Yes!’ was lost as Jen took one languid lick over her clit, and then increased her pace rapidly in time to Lee’s thrusts. In seconds the bound girl was yelling out, shuddering against the wooden chair, as if her previous climax had never happened.
The taste of the squirming woman and the sound of Lee’s almost guttural howl at his own release pushed Jen into an overwhelming orgasm, a heady mix of physical gratification and the intoxication of power.
Sitting back on his haunches, Lee’s breath caught in his throat as he saw Jen tenderly undo Amy’s ties, planting butterfly kisses on her wrists and ankles as she eased some circulation into the girls stiff limbs.
Jen winked at Amy, who smiled back at her with an inclination of her pretty head. Now it was time to act out the additional clause of their plan.
Approaching Lee, her hand outstretched, Amy pulled him towards the chair, ‘Your turn now.’
Lee glanced from Jen to Amy, interested confusion etched across his features.
‘Amy agreed to do this for us in return for her own fantasy being acted out.’ Jen took his other hand, and looking directly into his darkly shining eyes said, ‘We thought you might like to watch us now. What do you think?’
Unspeaking, Lee sat upon the chair. They didn’t need to ask him to proffer his wrists and ankles so they could be tied; he was already offering them up...
If The Shoe Fits
by Beverly Langland
To the outside world Charles and I are an enigma. A distinguished older man with a sexy young woman suggests only one thing, right? Most assume I’m a gold-digger or a high-class whore. Wrong, wrong, wrong! I’m the one with the money, albeit held in trust for a few years yet. No, I stay with Charles for the fantastic sex. In return I offer... well just about everything. Yes, I do have a rather high opinion of myself, and for that you’ll have to blame my parents for my pampered upbringing.
Charles has money of his own, of course, which is fortunate, as I am currently persona non grata with my own family. But I digress from the main issue, which is the all-important sex!
I am a woman of the world, so to speak. Perhaps a little too well travelled for most. Charles doesn’t mind. He knows my sordid past and loves me none the less. Besides, Charles has this commanding manner, which turns me weak at the knees and positively swooning. I’m a born submissive, if there is such a thing, so some may call Charles a bully. He’s not. I like to think of him as more of my guardian.
Now, you may think our relationship strange in an age of women’s liberation, but I am absolutely besotted with the man. He’s handsome too, in a crumpled way that makes me positively want to smooth out the wrinkles. Despite my privileged status I still have many insecurities. One of which sits at our table this precise moment, babbling in her Hollywood speak, dropping names like they are going out of fashion.
Obviously, I’m not fully listening, but my antennae remain on threat alert. I smile at the threat – a doe-eyed blonde with little talent – one of the many trophies on display, at this, one of the most expensive hotels in Europe. Somehow I manage to avoid staring jealously at her silicone-enhanced breasts. They are perhaps as good as my own, and Charles always buys the best.
I hold a foot aloft to examine my new shoes, stretch a long leg into the aisle, deliberately blocking the path of an approaching waiter. Stacy may have oversized tits, but I have the toned legs of a dancer. OK a pole dancer admittedly, but they are still fine pins. On cue, the waiter’s eyes are drawn to them. I flash him an apologetic smile, yet let my leg linger a while longer. Just long enough so he doesn’t forget me. Somehow he retains his composure, smiling with sinful eyes as he turns to the next table. I sense his unease as he resists the urge to glance up my split skirt. His discomfort is palpable, but in the end decorum wins. Shame.
‘Pardon? Yes, the shoes are new. Italian actually.’ Oh dear, Stacy adores them. So she says – repeatedly. I have always found her boundless enthusiasm a little vulgar. It’s the reason I dislike her most – that, and the fact she fawns over Charles like a besotted schoolgirl. I suspect Charles knows my misgivings, keeping her and her husband company merely to irritate me, to test me. Stacy’s not actually unfriendly, mind you, but she always behaves as if she’s so much better than I am. Just because I’m from Rio. Sometimes I simply cannot hold my tongue. I know I have a reputation for insolence, for being unnecessarily wicked, especially when faced with mediocrity. So I am thankful when mediocrity announces she has to leave earlier than usual. Even so I feel the urge to provoke, to be spiteful, to hurry Stacy on her way.
Charles peers at me over the rim of his cocktail glass. I blush, knowing he can read my mind. So I wait patiently, sip my chilled wine, take longing glances at the arses of the passing
waiters, allow myself the indulgence of yet more fantasy, unwilling to listen to more of Stacy’s benign drivel.
I know I sound like a spoilt brat. I guess I am. I live in a world of privilege and had a fortunate upbringing. Father gave me everything I ever wanted. Despite his best efforts to persuade me otherwise I wanted his friend, Charles. Couldn’t Martina Castillo have any man (or woman) she wanted? I had beauty, charm, sophistication, money. True, I was lost in the bowels of Rio when Charles found me on Father’s behest, my gilt tarnished but none the less real. I would like to say ours was love at first sight, but Charles thought me too young. He said I was a wildcat. He even had the audacity to suggest to Father that I needed a firm hand. I was shocked, yet thrilled at the same time. How dare he? How dare this man? Of course, his lack of interest made me want him more – to me nothing is more desirable than something I cannot have. I used guile, used every ploy I knew to draw Charles to me. I hung on his every word, promised my unfaltering obedience. Eventually I got what I wanted and much more, for in the process I fell in love.
Charles is not gullible like Father. He tries to curb my excesses now I am reliant on an allowance. Father delayed my inheritance when I shamed the family. Mostly I manage, though shoes in particular remain a dilemma. You see, I adore expensive Italian shoes. I flew to Milan for the Ferragamo’s. I have to have them especially made and fitted. I have never seen such beauty, such fine sculpturing. Once I tried them on I just had to possess them. True, the purchase went against my agreement with Charles, against my promise to be more frugal. It would have been easy to lie, to hide them in my wardrobe. I didn’t. These shoes were made to be worn and I am just the girl to wear them.
Stacy breaks my reverie by announcing her departure. ‘Oh, must you go?’ My eyes lock on hers. In one fleeting moment demarcation lines are drawn. She recognises the unspoken challenge, kisses me on both cheeks, then embraces Charles – clinging a fraction too long – a parting shot before she departs.
I am glad to see Stacy’s fat arse leave, though irritatingly her perfume lingers. Charles notices too. I do my utmost to distract him, to provoke him into action. I’m bored. I sweep a circuit of the patio, using the open space around the pool as a makeshift catwalk. Charles watches intently. He likes to show me off and I am young and vain enough to revel in the admiring glances of onlookers. They watch now, men, women, though I find Charles’s schoolboy fascination the most intriguing. He often boasts that my deportment is akin to a pure-bred Arab. Charles should know, he has a stable sheiks envy. Only when admiring eyes steal my way does he add that I have the temperament to match. At such times I demure. Charles believes he has me tamed. It amuses me to let him think so, though occasionally I nip, let him know this filly still has spirit. Besides, revolt keeps him interested, keeps the likes of Stacy on the fringes.
I strut back to our table, certain I have the attention of everyone present. I ensure the click of my new heels on the tiled floor acts as a drum beat to draw eyes my way. I silently thank my father. It seems military school had some merits after all. Charles waits, an amused smile plays across his face. He knows I am showing off for his benefit. He knows too about the shoes and where my disobedience will lead. We have played this game before, Charles and I. ‘Enjoying yourself?’
‘Yes darling, you?’ Charles nods, and then goes back to reading his pretty pink newspaper, dismissing me for some titbit of business news. I fake outrage, stamp my foot like a petulant schoolgirl. Why not? It has always worked before. Behind the wall of newspaper I see his eyebrows rise and realise he is smiling, or worse, sniggering. Oh, the gall of the man!
‘I’m surprised you can walk, let alone dance,’ he says, mocking me.
Well, at least I have his attention. ‘You forget, I’m well trained.’
Charles reluctantly tears his eyes from the newspaper, looks me directly in the eye. ‘Expensive?’
‘Me or the shoes?’ I know my offhand manner will infuriate him. Like most wealthy men Charles is precise with money. I suppose I am still a little angry and jealous of Stacy. He is not pleased with me. ‘I see you’re still an ill-tempered child who has never wanted for anything.’
‘Listen to Mister Pedicure!’ I counter.
His amused expression fades. Blind anger, hot and fresh, bubbles to the surface, high spots of colour rising to his cheeks to complement the silver of his hair. I notice a vein pounding in his temple. His eyes flash like warning beacons. ‘Am I to punish you again?’
It seems the whole hotel falls silent. Waiters pause mid stride. Everyone is looking at me with baited breath, waiting for my reply. I suddenly become the star of my own soap opera. With a rising sense of showmanship I deliver my lines, ‘As you please. You’re arrogant enough to feel I am yours to do with as you wish.’ I know I have pushed too far. My heart races as he keeps an iron grip on my hand, and all but forcefully drags me from the patio. I stumble behind, looking anything but graceful in the stiletto heels. Several men look on in admiration, while their female companions openly smirk, basking in my plight.
Now, this is usually where the fun starts, where the bad girl is punished. I am intrigued. I know my rebellion has excited him. I wonder will he punish me in the lobby in front of everyone, bent over a pool table in the games room, or simply fuck me in a broom cupboard.
I am a little disappointed when we return to our suite.
Charles stands me in the middle of the room, turns the bedside reading lamps to act like makeshift spotlights. ‘Dance,’ he barks. This is Charles’ way of making me feel cheap; of making sure I do not rise too far out of the gutter where he found me.
I feel my tears well, so hurt I am momentarily stunned. Yes, I hurt like everyone else! I’m hurting now.
‘You like to flaunt, so flaunt.’ His voice loses none of the distaste which is so palpable. He retreats into the darkness, leaving me feeling naked and exposed in the glare of the spotlights. Sometimes I believe I am his marionette. He claps his hands and I perform. I know I should not complain. I am back where I belong, once more the centre of his attention. So I dance. Like the cheap whore I once was, I dance.
I am a graceful dancer, a provocative dancer. I dance to increase his arousal, to increase my own arousal. It would be better if I had the use of a stage pole, then I could use my long legs for ultimate effect, wrapping them around my shiny companion, grinding and sliding, playing out a wanton fantasy.
Of the two of us I don’t know who has the darker fetish. Sometimes they are difficult to separate, to know which is mine and which his. I suppose we both own them now, since they have become an integral part of our life together. I stare into the darkness unable to see him or his face. I slip my dress straps from my shoulders, standing in my stockings, panties and bra, which I quickly remove. For a moment I play coy, cover myself as I step out of the material pooled at my feet. My nipples are hard jewels and I am reluctant to reveal them. Slowly I turn.
‘You can do better,’ Charles chides. So I bend over and grasp my ankles, wiggling my shapely bottom like a cow at auction, ever mindful of my shiny new shoes. They give me focus. Ferragamo believed that the arch of the foot is one of the most important parts of the body. I become an arch, my feet and I perfectly aligned.
I sense Charles step into the circle of light. Maybe he will relent. He stands beside me, runs a fingernail down the ridge of my spine, making me shiver. ‘No doubt you enjoyed yourself tonight?’
I can hear desire in his voice, perhaps a little desperation. He too is frightened as we explore new territory. I guess this is the point of no return – whether to rebel or to submit. ‘Yes,’ I whisper.
‘You’ve been a naughty girl, Tina, breaking our agreement, upsetting Stacy.’
‘I’m sorry.’ We both know my spoken apology isn’t enough. I will have to pay in tears, and this time not from hurt feelings. Charles touches my bottom, making certain I realise what is about to happen. I feel myself tremble. He reaches between my legs to cup my bulging mound. Despite my h
umiliation I am hard. His other hand roughly massages my buttocks, before he grabs my panties at the crotch and pulls firmly. The taut material pulls tight against my balls, squashing them wonderfully. None of this is new to me for I am used to rough play, to rough men.
He spins me around to place his hand gently on my head, letting me fall to my knees. The hard bulge of his cock stares me in the face. Yes, he once saved me. I am beholden. I am anything he wants me to be. I undo the zip of his trousers and fish inside his underwear for his growing manhood.
Charles moans as he feels my soft warm and wet mouth covering the head of his cock. In this moment he is weak, vulnerable in a way only a man can be. I forgive him his former callousness. I forgive him everything. I open my mouth allowing Charles to push his cock to the back of my mouth. He stifles a cute little gasp as he feels my warm confines engulf him. I look up and he is smiling back.
I swirl my tongue around his silky skin as I lower my head, taking more of his hot shaft into my mouth. Slowly I move, working my mouth, letting my teeth lightly scrape along his rock hard skin. Gathering the precome leaking from his cock, I let the bulbous head slip from between my lips. I let the head bob in front of me for a few seconds while I draw breath, before licking the length of the shaft, the veins now full and pulsing. This is the monster I worship, this powerful symbol of manhood. I worship for some time, praying at the feet of the man I love, until I am told to stop.
Now Charles is satisfied, he feels he has control of my reins once more. My spirit, though not broken, is subdued and only now will he take me. We move to the bed where Charles peels my panties down my legs to mid-thigh. His fingers slide over my buttocks, and then between them, into me. He teases with his finger. It is a mistake to anticipate. He is too wily to make any punishment or pleasure I receive easy for me. So I wait while he fondles. Charles is in no hurry, he understands the power of anticipation. He removes his belt and still he makes me wait.
Best of Both: When You Just Can't Decide Page 6