Nice Girls, Naughty Sex

by Jordan LaRousse

  “Harder,” Rose cried out, her head spinning and her eyes blurring.

  Abandoning the caution he’d felt about hurting her, Andrew hammered the candle in and out of her puckering arse, marveling at the girl’s stamina. He knew he was dangerously close to coming. The wait had been just too long; those many months he’d spent fantasizing about the luscious body that now convulsed beneath him culminated in a primeval groan as his climax finally overtook him.

  Sensing the sudden tension above her, Rose allowed herself to let go. With a bone-jerking climax, she came around his spunking cock and the wonderfully intrusive wax dildo with a cry of ecstatic desire.

  Still a little breathless a few minutes later, Andrew placed the corset reverently on her dressing table. Speaking with a glint in his eye, he whispered into Rose’s ear, “Next time I’m going to stick myself between those magnificent arse cheeks of yours.”

  Rose grinned broadly, her own eyes twinkling with erotic expectation. “I think that could be arranged. . . . There’s just one thing, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Once the play is over, I’ll have to give the corset back.”

  Andrew smiled, a wicked glint in his eye. “My sweet girl, if you dare give that corset back, you’ll get the spanking of a lifetime.”

  A LESSON FOR CLAIRE

  Kestra Gravier

  “It is the law of nature that woman should be held under the dominance of man.”

  —Confucius

  Claire Delorio dropped her pen on her desk and leaned back with a sigh. Damp tendrils of hair clung persistently to the back of her neck, no matter how many times she lifted them away. It was late summer in Charleston, and to compound the heat, the university turned up the thermostat on weekends to save money. And so Claire sweltered as she finished the last of her paperwork for her postdoctoral fellowship.

  She was soon to head a new division in the department of psychology, and Claire found the idea of taking charge daunting. Her graduate research had been on the erotic stimulations of pleasures such as food, scents, and textiles. Media attention and the robustness of her work had caught the eye of Dominic Shrope, MD, PhD. Nic, as she had come to know him, was the department chairman of neurophysiology and behavioral sciences, and was her postdoctoral adviser. More accurately, her former adviser, since the fellowship was ending.

  Claire stood, pulling her orchid-fuchsia sundress away from her damp skin, and fanned herself. The sun was trying to burn its way through the old window shades, giving the entire wing an ambient sepia-yellow tinge. Claire pressed her pelvis against the edge of the desk and indulged in thoughts of Nic.

  He was a big man, thick through the chest and shoulders, no paunch. He stood well over six feet and had a craggy face, with brooding, dark eyes, and dark, wavy hair shot with silver. His physical presence and sharp intelligence made him a dominant figure in any setting. A biting sense of humor saved him from being just another stuffy professor.

  Over the past three years, Claire had felt attraction flare between them, and constant discussions about erotica, foreplay, and the like had stoked a constant background simmer.

  Neither of them had ever acted on the attraction. Nic had shown up at department functions over the years, always with a cool, elegant woman at his side. Never the same one twice, but always of the same type.

  Not her type, Claire acknowledged, ruefully. She was anything but cool now, her sundress hanging limply, clinging to her breasts and hips. More breast and hip than she had ever seen on one of Nic’s women. Her hair, neither brown nor gold, but a mélange of both, was untidily piled high on her head. Strongly marked brows framed striking, light green eyes. She considered her oval face passingly pretty, even if her mouth was too wide. Quite inelegantly, Claire kicked off her sandals; at least her pedicure was fresh, and she wiggled her toes to admire the bright Hot Petals polish that nearly matched her dress.

  Claire headed out to the corridor nook, where she might find a cold drink. Strains of music swirled down the hall. Claire smiled—Nic had a piano in the inner office of his department suite. With two cold bottled teas in hand, Claire followed the music to his doorway.

  His shades were also pulled against the relentless solar assault, and the dim light washed out familiar colors. Only the bright splash of Claire’s fuchsia stood out against the neutral tones. The music swelled and throbbed. The piece had a classical structure, shot through with the sear of a Brazilian samba.

  Nic was seated at the upright piano, shirtless. Claire watched, mesmerized, as the muscles in his shoulders and back bunched and shifted as he played. Rivulets of sweat ran down his back.

  The room was heavy with his scent; Claire smelled warm leather with a citrus tang. Her nipples tightened; she was aware of her breasts, heavy, barely held by the flimsy cotton bodice and spaghetti straps. Her vulva thickened, moistened. She shifted to press her legs together, and the bottles clinked. The music ended with a crash of chords as Nic swung around on the bench.

  “Claire. I didn’t know you were here today.” Unself-consciously, he stood and grabbed his shirt, using it to dry his skin rather than dress. Claire followed the progress of the shirt over his chest and arms, imagining what the press of his muscles would feel like against her palms.

  “That tea looks good. Come in; I have some ice in the sideboard.”

  Nic stood close, not quite touching. His bare torso radiated warmth, and his scent was a heady mixture that momentarily drowned her other senses. Claire saw his eyes roam over her bare shoulders and linger on her breasts, partially exposed by the low neckline of her dress. The hot air thickened around them, an eddy of sensuality.

  Claire brushed by Nic and set the bottles down. Beaded moisture trickled down to puddle on the table. Wiping up, pouring the tea, and plunking ice into the glasses restored her composure somewhat.

  They settled into plush chairs, and Nic pressed the cold glass to his forehead. His eyes followed Claire as she pressed her glass to the tops of her breasts. He leaned back, and his shorts pulled tight across his crotch. Claire had to drag her gaze away from the bulge straining the seams of his shorts.

  Nic broke the silence abruptly. “What’s been concerning you these past couple of weeks?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, a little startled.

  “Claire, you’ve been walking these halls with a frown.” He smiled. “You don’t look like someone working on love and passion. Nor like someone who has just landed her dream job.”

  Claire brushed wisps of hair away from her face and looked steadily at Nic for a moment. “You’re right,” she replied. “I’ve been a student for so long. I know how to be part of a department, how to take guidance and turn it into something of my own.” She took a deep breath and continued, “I’m worried about directing my own department. I’m not so sure about being in charge.”

  “Being in charge can be pleasurable, too.” He put his tea aside and took her hands. “Have you ever been dominant?”

  Claire focused on slowing her breathing. It wasn’t her imagination; the conversation had shifted, taking on a distinct sexual overtone. She tightened her grip on his fingers.

  “No, not really. I know, intellectually, there’s a spectrum, but I—I prefer to be more submitting.”

  “Claire, you’ve spent several years immersed in finding links in the brain between sexual pleasure and stimulation of the senses. You’ve had to imagine feelings and sensations that others have explained to you, looking for similarities, finding connections.”

  “Yes,” she replied, not sure where this was going.

  “Okay, then, imagine being dominant.”

  “I’m not really attracted to weak men.”

  “Claire, look at me. I’m not talking about weak men. I’m talking about taking charge of a man who finds his gratification in accepting restrictions and guidance. And in delivering pleasure.”

  His voice was deep and controlled. Claire’s hands trembled as he held her gaze. Then he dropped
his eyes, relinquishing his dominance over the conversation. She considered the implications of what Nic was saying. Her body tingled with unexpected anticipation.

  She ventured a simple command, “Tell me more.”

  Keeping his eyes averted, Nic complied. “You need to find the satisfaction in being in charge—it will be important in succeeding as the head of your own division. There’s also pleasure to be found in taking a dominant position in other areas.”

  A tremor passed through her hands. “Please go on.”

  His thumbs stroked her fingers. “Don’t think of those you are in charge of as being weak or fragile. Rather, think of them as having the strength and the confidence in you to surrender for a while.”

  He continued in the assured tone Claire recognized from lectures and department meetings. Surrendering control did not come easily to him, but the tension in his body indicated that it was something he desired.

  “Pick an image that appeals to you, Claire. On a sensual level. On an emotional and intellectual one, also. One that allows you to be in command, yet respect the man you are commanding.” He had dropped the pretense that they were talking about departments or theoretical people. He was coaching her to take charge, here and now.

  “Imagine yourself as an empress commanding a general. Not a weak man, by any means, but one under your dominance. Or imagine yourself as an equestrian mounted on a stallion, expertly controlling an animal many times stronger than you.”

  Nic fell silent, and Claire considered the scenarios he had offered. She pictured riding Nic, on top, in control. Her body immediately responded to the thought, her nipples peaking and sensation licking through her pelvis. She considered commanding Nic to take off the rest of his clothes, directing him on how to give her pleasure. A blush heated her cheeks as her heartbeat quickened.

  Although it felt awkward, Claire steeled herself and said, “Nic, look at me.”

  He raised his eyes to hers, his gaze steady, calm. Claire could sense the level of self-control he was exerting. It was evident in the clench of his jaw, in the quickened pulse beating in his neck, in the involuntary dilation of his pupils.

  “Please,” Claire stopped and tried again. “Nic, I would like you to stand up and strip off the rest of your clothes.” Just saying the words aloud gave Claire a rush through her body and her psyche. Her clitoris thrummed.

  Nic went very still and closed his eyes. Then he looked at her and said, “Of course.”

  Claire leaned back in her chair, let her knees part, and rested a hand on her stomach.

  He stood close, his legs almost touching her knees. The beginnings of an erection lifted the front of his shorts. Claire momentarily regretted that he was not wearing more clothes to prolong this disrobing.

  Nic shucked his sandals, and Claire let her gaze roam over his well-turned calves and high-arched feet. He stood still until she turned her attention to the waistband of his shorts. He seemed to take this as consent to remove his shorts. The quick slither of the zipper coming undone shot like a bolt to Claire’s cunt.

  Claire stared hungrily at the thick erection constrained by his boxer briefs. Nic hooked his thumbs in the band, eager to discard them, but Claire held up a hand.

  “Wait; I want to look at you. Turn around for me, slowly.”

  Broad shoulders tapered to a trim waist. His belly was flat and lightly furred, with the center strip of hair disappearing into his briefs. As he turned, she saw how developed the muscles in his back were, the delicious lift of his buttocks. He waited, hands at his sides, for her permission to continue.

  “Now, please.” It came out barely above a whisper, and Claire had to lick her dry lips.

  Nic eased the waistband out over his thickening cock. Claire gasped when it sprang free, admiring the heavy shaft bobbing in front of her with its bulbous head already weeping a drop of crystal pre-cum. She leaned forward to inspect his cock more closely, and Nic shuddered when her breath danced lightly over his heated shaft. Otherwise, he held himself still. The musky scent of his groin assailed her senses.

  Claire’s instinct was to surrender now to this powerful man in front of her, to let him sweep her up and penetrate her, bringing them both pleasure. She looked up at Nic, a plea in her eyes.

  Nic said, “Tell me. Are you finding pleasure in this?”

  Claire nodded once. “Yes.” Then stronger, she said, “Yes I am. I like looking at you.” She stood and ran her hand over his chest. “I will like leading you to your pleasure, too.”

  She paused, running her fingers through his crisp chest hair. She traced a fingernail around one nipple then the other, watching as the flat, brown-pink skin puckered in response. Nic held still, his breath stirring stray wisps of her hair. His cock jutted between them, but Claire held her distance, not allowing him the relief of rubbing himself against her belly.

  “Nic, please bring the ice bucket over here.” She rubbed her pubic mound as she watched him pad gracefully over to the sideboard, buttocks flexing tightly as he walked. His cock had softened and hung heavily over his sac, swaying thickly as he returned to her side.

  “Where would you like me to put this?”

  “On the side table, then stand clear of the chairs, arms at your sides.” Claire paused, surprised at how easily that command had come to her. “I want you to hold still, no matter what.”

  Nic quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. His cock responded to her commands by swelling stiffly again; the sight gave Claire a gratifying surge of power.

  “Now,” she said, holding a handful of ice, “I want to touch you. Cool that sweaty skin.”

  She stepped behind him and rubbed her face against his back, inhaling his scent and enjoying the warmth emanating from his tense body. She called on her knowledge of senses and sensations, and of combinations that drive erotic associations. All that research and theory was now going to be tested.

  “Close your eyes; feel this.” She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.

  Claire held her hand up above his shoulder and let the ice-melt drip through her fingers and run down his back, over his shoulder blade.

  “Ahh. . . . ”

  “Don’t say anything. Just feel.” She moved her hand to the other shoulder and repeated the gesture, watching his muscles shiver where flights of gooseflesh briefly pebbled his skin.

  She traced a bit of ice slowly down his spine, the heat of his skin driving a quick melt so that icy water trickled ahead of the hard cold, traveling to the crack of his buttocks and disappearing.

  “You like that,” Claire stated, her voice a silky purr.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I appreciate that you don’t flinch away.” Claire stepped in front of him, to see his reaction to her next statement. “You are doing very well for me.”

  His cock jerked tightly and his jaw clenched. “Thank you, Claire.”

  Claire took the time to consider how she felt. Her pussy was throbbing, her nipples felt tight and ached to be touched. She wanted much more and decided to make this encounter last.

  Her powerful boss was bending to her will. She knew he was physically stronger than she, and intellectually her equal, and he clearly had more experience with such sexual encounters. Yet he had surrendered control to her, and it felt real. And she was finding fulfillment in the moment.

  Claire laid a hand on his belly, enjoying the warm skin with its silky hair. Under the soft skin was firm muscle. She flexed her fingertips, pressing deeper to explore the details.

  Swiftly bringing up her other hand, she splayed the remaining ice just under his rib cage. He jumped.

  “Nic, you moved.”

  “I’m sorry. I have no excuse.” He hung his head. Claire wasn’t sure she liked the abject note in his voice, but decided to take it a bit further.

  “You disappointed me. I think a little discomfort is in order.” Claire leaned against him, pressing her aching breasts against his chest. She pulled his head down and pressed her lips against his.
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  He kissed her, sweetly at first, almost a question. When Claire didn’t counter or demur, he pressed harder, parting her lips and plundering her mouth with his tongue.

  Claire greedily sucked at him and rubbed herself against him, relieving the ache in her nipples. She warmed her hands against his back, but when his hands came up to hold her, Claire grasped his forearms and pushed them back to his sides. Still kissing deeply, she felt momentary resistance, but Claire persisted, and he gave way.

  Then, leaning against him, she reached into the ice bucket, scooping up more crystalline torment. His cock throbbed, insistent, against her belly as she pressed her pelvis to him for balance and leaned back.

  “Look at me. Imagine what’s going to come next.” Grinding herself against his stiffness, she held his gaze until she was certain his attention was on her swollen lips and not on his cock.

  Slowly she raised a dripping piece of ice to her mouth and popped it in. Then she put her hands on his chest to steady herself and sank to her knees. She blew a frigid stream of air over his heated cock, delighting in the response.

  She brought her cupped hand up to his tight sac and caressed his balls with the ice in her hands. His scrotum tightened further at the assault, and the big muscles in his thighs twitched, but he held still.

  Claire sucked the head of his cock between her lips, up against the ice melting on her tongue. Slowly, she pulled the length of burning cock into her mouth, the ice becoming slush and meltwater. Her cold hand fondled his balls, icy water trickling down her arm, the frigid stream a stark contrast to the overheated skin.

  A raw groan was torn from Nic’s throat, and he involuntarily thrust his hips forward; Claire tasted the salty tang of pre-cum. She snaked a hand up his thigh, over his hip, and rested it against his belly as she sucked and stroked his cock. His belly muscles were quivering. Clearly, he was working to hold himself in check.