by Lily Harlem
A Total-E-Bound Publication
www.total-e-bound.com
That Filthy Book
ISBN #978-0-85715-932-8
©Copyright Natalie Dae and Lily Harlem 2012
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright April 2012
Edited by Laura Hulley
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2012 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-melting and a sexometer of 3.
This story contains 126 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 19 pages.
THAT FILTHY BOOK
Natalie Dae and Lily Harlem
Many years ago that filthy book imprinted itself in my erotic subconscious. Now it’s reared its head and is about to drag me along for the dirtiest ride of my life.
Out of sight, out of mind. Or so I thought. But it turns out an old, dog-eared book with contents so filthy and so depraved that I’d been forced to hide it after reading, has sunk deeper into my erotic subconscious than I’d ever imagined. Luckily, though, Jacob is up for exploring the new side of me that has risen to the surface after all these years. In a whirlwind of wanton adventures that pushes us to the limits of our sexuality, we begin to rediscover what it once was that had us screaming with pleasure and how to accept that nothing will ever be the same again between us.
Dedication
Working with Lily is an indulgence. She’s super-talented—super all round. I love you, Lovely Lily!—Natalie Dae
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Lycra: Invista
Weetos: Weetabix Limited.
Google: Google Inc.
To Kill a Mockingbird: Harper Lee
A Clockwork Orange: Anthony Burgess
Chapter One
I stared at him, this husband of mine, his naked form rendered a silhouette from the brightness of the sun streaming through the hotel room window. The light filtered through his black tousled hair, glinted off his shoulders, giving him a glowing aura. This was our first time alone together since what felt like forever, what with meeting and having children in the blink of an eye. Ten years had passed—where had the time gone?—and here we were, away for two nights just so we could get back to being who we used to be; why we’d become a couple in the first place.
The sun had hung heavy in a blue swathe of cloudless sky earlier, the fiery orb almost lazy in its placement, as though someone had painted a picture and tossed in the yellow ball, not caring where it landed. Funny how the sky could be deceptive, making a person think it was hot outside when it was cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. Faint, puffy clouds had appeared since I’d first woken, too, and I marvelled at the way my body had gone back to its old, pre-children habits. Waking, having sex, dozing off again.
Now—around noon—it was time to get up, go out and do something, I supposed, but what I didn’t know. I didn’t have any energy for anything much beyond another languid fuck. A tress of my long blonde hair tickled my bare breast, the ends teasing my nipple. It sparked desire inside me again, and I wondered if my body would ever get enough this weekend. God, I’d been insatiable since we’d arrived last night. Perhaps shirking off the shackles of motherhood, of the responsibilities that came with the job, had freed my mind and allowed me to abandon everything. I had become what I once was—a woman who enjoyed a hot night of sex with her man, not giving a hoot whether her screams of pleasure could be heard; whether the banging of the headboard would wake someone.
But I hadn’t shaken them off. Not really. They still lingered, a shadow of feelings, whispers of our children’s laughter, thinking I could hear them calling me… Tess and Lucy, our two wonderful little girls. And then there were whispers of my fantasies, ones I’d held in check since I’d read a sexy book many years ago. Ones that had made me think I was dirty for wanting them. When I’d first met Jacob, I’d shoved away the feelings of guilt and let the fantasies surface, briefly. Our rampant sex had been too enjoyable, too damn hot to allow myself to dwell on whether what we did was right, but as the years had rolled by and I’d become embroiled in motherhood, kinky sex had fallen by the wayside, and the old trappings had moved in permanently. We can’t do this because we’re parents. We can’t do that because of the girls. We can do that because it’s too rude…
I stared at my surroundings to force my thoughts in another direction. The room wasn’t much, just a double bed with white sheets and a beige quilt. Low cabinets either side, the perfunctory wardrobe and a sideboard, all in light wood that matched the colour of the quilt and walls. A sea of beige. But it suited our needs. The decoration hadn’t exactly been on our minds when we’d stumbled through the door last night. Ripping one another’s clothes off had been the order of the evening.
“What are you thinking?” Jacob asked, remaining at the window.
And there he was, not even a flicker of movement indicating that he’d turned around. Just him, standing there, a god in front of a glass pane. I studied his reflection instead of responding, squinting to make out the faint, fine taper of hairs that ran from his belly button down to the curly thatch nestled above his cock. A long cock that was semi-hard, heavy-looking, and eminently touchable. I loved the feel of it in my hand, the way my fingers curled around its width, the softness of his skin on mine. A thrill ran through me at the thought of it, and I folded my arms across my breasts in an effort to stop me from fondling them. But why shouldn’t I? Too many nights we’d hurried, coming together in a rush before the inevitable interruptions came. Too many nights I’d denied myself the pleasure of having Jacob inside me.
‘Mum, I want a drink of water. Mum, I can’t sleep…’
Stop thinking of them. You promised yourself you wouldn’t do that.
And I had, but casting aside the parental mantle wasn’t as easy as I’d told Jacob it would be. Wasn’t as easy as flicking a switch. They crept in, the two girls we’d created—smiling faces filling my mind, eclipsed by their worried expressions that made me think they weren’t coping well without us.
They’re with Jacob’s mum and dad. They’ll be fine.
My determination that we could do this had persuaded Jacob to come away with me. It had been a big thing, this, leaving the children behind, but if we hadn’t done it now we never would.
“Is it the kids?” he asked.
“No.”
I didn’t lie often, but if I admitted my thoughts then he would tag onto the worry bandwagon and we’d end up going home. I didn’t want that. I wanted the rest of the day, the night, and the majority of tomorrow morning
to be just me and him. It wasn’t too much to ask, was it? Not after ten years of being devoted and never going out to the pub, never leaving them…
“I was thinking about us,” I said, throwing the sheet away from my body and sitting up. I stretched; a fingers-pointing-to-the-ceiling kind of stretch that chased away all the kinks and left me loose-limbed and pliant.
Pliant.
Now there was a word that brought a rush of desire to my cunt. Pliant made me think of suppleness, of legs and arms twisted in difficult positions, of torsos arched and backs curved. Jacob was pliant, always had been, and once upon a time I’d been able to bend with the best of them. But now, after the kids and getting out of my workout routine, a little weight had settled on my bones, preventing me doing all those delicious things I used to do. Like bending over to touch my toes and being taken from behind. Like widening my legs to such a degree it was as though I was being forced into that position. Not that I had been forced, but it was something I thought about every so often. Him taking me against my will, a scenario that thrilled me more than it perhaps should have. Just a little fantasy to keep me warm when Jacob worked away. And the book I’d read had planted it into my mind, yet I’d tried to forget what rested between the front and back covers, telling myself it just wasn’t proper to want such things.
“What about us?” he asked, lacing his hands behind his head and jutting his abdomen out until his cock almost touched the glass.
“Someone could see you like that, you know.” I’d avoided his question because…hell, I’d grown shy somehow, grown out of being able to tell him exactly what was on my mind. It made me feel embarrassed to say I’d been recalling the days when we’d fucked for hours, sweat-soaked and sore, falling asleep only to wake for more of the same. My mind had also wandered to the forced entry thing, hadn’t it? A flicker of fast images shooting across the air in front of me as though they were the real thing. Rough and ready sex. Pleasure-pain. Jacob speaking sharply, his hands also abrasive, palms scouring my skin instead of skimming. His cock a relentless shunt instead of a glide. Tongue an insistent probe instead of a gentle exploration.
How come being here had enabled my old self to at first poke me with a tentative finger, but now jabbed with urgent pressure?
“I don’t give a shit,” he said on a laugh.
It took me a moment to realise what he meant. I thought back to what we’d been talking about. His cock on the glass. Someone seeing. A surge of desire swarmed over me at that. Being watched—was it something I could handle one day? Oh, not having a third person in our life. No, I’m too jealous to share our time together, even if it involved another man. But being somewhere, knowing we could possibly have an observer?
I think I could. Maybe.
“We’re too high up, anyway,” he went on.
I smiled at the fact he was oblivious to my thoughts, that he had no idea I had suddenly become someone who wanted a whole lot more from her sex life than what we’d been doing. It wasn’t that Jacob was crap in bed, nothing like that, just that… God, I wanted more time to explore, more time full stop. And what the hell would he think about my fantasies anyway? Were they too ‘out there’ for him? They wouldn’t have been years ago, but now…
I wasn’t sure I even had the courage to share them.
“Come and stand with me,” he said.
“What, naked?”
I stood, hesitant to do as he asked. What if someone spotted us and called the police, telling them a couple in The Grand were indecently exposed in the window?
Admit it. Although scary, it is exciting.
“Yes, naked. Come on. All that’s out there is the street, and that’s way down below. Nothing opposite, unless you count the buildings half the size of this one. We’re in a five-hundred-room hotel, love. A tall one.”
Sod it. This weekend I was supposed to be my real self, find the woman who’d been lost amidst school runs and after-school clubs. And if I dug beneath the guilt I could feel that the thrill of being naughty, a rebel, was still with me. But what about the girls and…
Stop it.
I walked to the window, stood behind him and peeked around his arm. He was right. Too far up for anyone to see us, yet still it felt too naughty. It was one thing to fantasise about it, but to actually do it… What if someone had binoculars?
“I’m telling you,” he said, as though he’d read my mind, “no one will see us. D’you really think anyone would give a toss if they did? They’d probably see us as two dirty, middle-aged people anyway. If they’re young, that is. Remember how we used to think that about people our age?”
I cupped my hands around his biceps and pressed my cheek to his back, his skin warm and soothing. He smelt of his recent shower, all flowery hotel soap and alien-smelling shampoo, and the faint aroma of clinically washed towels, totally absent of the scent of my usual fabric softener. Home was intruding again, so I switched the images off.
And yes, I remembered thinking that. Remembered thinking it was gross that older people ‘did it’. Yet here we were, older and still doing it. Funny how your perspective changes.
“Hmmm,” I said. “But with age comes a better understanding. Love helps, too. It goes deeper than it did years ago, pardon the pun.”
He laughed, a low rumble that reverberated through my cheek and sent ripples of lust to my pussy. I wanted him again, hard and fast, no foreplay or sentimental sweet nothings. Just pure, honest fucking. I stared at the way his ear curved, recalled how the lobe felt in my mouth, sweetly soft and fleshy. A wave of love consumed me. How was it possible I could care for him more than I did back then? I thought I loved him as much as I could, full to bursting with adoration and respect, yet every day, every month, each new year brought a stronger connection.
God, I was so damn lucky.
My eyes stung, the emotion getting a better hold on me than I wanted it to. No time for sentimental tears, just time for us. The thought that it would take until tomorrow to fully relax struck me as typical—it would be time to go home and leave this weekend behind. Except this time together would remain in our memories, and we could whisper about it in bed at night when we felt the need to recapture it. I’d have to be content with that because there was no way we could stay here longer. Jacob had work to return to, and the girls had school. His parents were going away on Tuesday, a leisurely cruise in the Mediterranean for a week, and with my parents living in the arse end of nowhere in Scotland, getting them to come down to babysit wasn’t an option.
I was a bundle of contradictions, wasn’t I? One minute I’d forgotten our home life, the next I hadn’t. It was the idle times, that was it—moments where I allowed my mind to wander and think things I shouldn’t. Swallowing deeply, I told myself to enjoy what remained of our weekend together—otherwise, I’d regret it later.
“Do you think we ought to do some sightseeing or something?” I asked, wondering, if he’d answer in the affirmative, whether I could muster the energy to get dressed let alone waltz through the nearby park or visit the art museum. We’d promised ourselves an afternoon of appreciating art, gazing at the beauty created by others and discussing how each piece made us feel inside. “We could do,” he said. “After.”
“After what?” I smiled, my bunching cheek squashed against his shoulder blade, my breasts heated from his skin. The rest of me felt chilled, as though I needed the whole of him wrapped around me, arms and legs a warm embrace.
“After I fuck you against this window.”
I gasped, widening my eyes at what he’d said. It seemed he’d returned to his old self more easily than I had. I wanted to answer that he could fuck me against anything he liked, anytime he wanted—he didn’t have to ask. He could just grab me, pin me down and forge into me. I wanted it hard and fast, hot and panting, my body at his mercy. Whatever he wanted to do to me, he could.
There it was again, that urge to give up control to him completely. A fuck where I had no say in it. His rules, his pleasure. It flooded m
y mind like a cloud of dangerous desire.
But again I didn’t say anything about handing over control. The words wouldn’t come, stuck in my throat as they were, a big ball of unspoken needs that swelled to be released. Pushing, expanding.
“Talk to me,” he said. “Like you used to. Dirty and rough. While there’s no one but me to hear you.”
A sudden bout of insecurity gripped me, a closing fist around my heart, creating a flutter of panic and the inability to breathe properly. I’d been so free and easy before we’d had the girls, so ready to try anything, do anything; caught up in the first flush of love. And now…
“I can’t.” I squeezed my eyes closed and waited for the feeling to pass.
“Can’t?”
He covered my hands with his, the warmth of his touch giving me a jolt of longing. I imagined those hands roving my skin, seeking out my special places, erogenous zones that he knew by heart. My pulse thrummed, loud in my ears, the throb of my heartbeat an almost violent smack against my ribs. I cracked open my eyes, peeked around him to see his fingertips pressed down on my hand, the ends white where he held me so tightly. Did he hold me like that because he’d anticipated a negative answer? A rush of guilt took over me, heating my cheeks and bringing on the need to cry. I was spoiling this, wasn’t I—by not keeping to my promise to play the game as though we were free spirits who could do anything we wanted?
“I feel stupid,” I said quietly, wanting him to take over, to talk to me dirty and remind me how it was done.
Because I had forgotten.
“Stupid? Why?”
His chest inflated, his back rising beneath my face, and he held his breath.
“Because…because I’ve forgotten how to do it. And if I say what I want, it might not come out right and I’ll feel silly.”