The Adventures of Wonderslut, New Year's edition

’Twas the night before New Year’s and a great excuse for a party.  Felicity would have to assume her mild-mannered orchid hybridizer persona as she did every year when she hosted her annual bash for the local merchants.  Things usually got good and happy with a little help from the contents of the punch bowl.  This year, she had some of Ma's herbs.  She'd only used a tiny dose to spice things up.  After all, this was a trial run to study the effects on people so she could use the potions to their best effect in her work.  Plus, it'd be a lot of fun.

She glanced around the display and sales areas of the orchid house.  The caterers and decorators had done a fabulous job this year.  Cloth covered tables held platters of delicacies.  Cheeses, sliced ham, caviar.  Chocolate gushed from a fountain, surrounded with bowls of pound cake and fruit for dipping.

The stuffed mushrooms were the key.  She'd mixed Ma's herbs into the bread crumbs before she'd broiled them herself.  She could compare people who ate them with people who only imbibed the alcohol-laced punch for a more or less systematic measure of the horniness power of Ma's magic.  And she had one particular experimental rat in mind.

Jay sauntered in, dressed in his gosh-golly, young computer geek costume.  Jeans with torn knees, a t-shirt from the nearby university, and a sideways baseball cap.  One would never guess by looking at him that below the various fabrics lay the world's greatest fucking machine...the Piston of Love.

"It all looks great, Lys," he said.  "The orchids make it really special."

Her precious flowers showed their blooms proudly all around the room.  In all shades of purple, orange, yellow, and red, they filled the area with enough color to steal a normal person's breath.  Her work as Wonderslut kept her away from the plants for too long.  She needed to make a New Year’s resolution to spend more time in the nursery.

The bell went off over the greenhouse door, announcing their first guest.  Mr. Rossi, the bread baker from down the street, appeared with one of his beautiful loaves under his arm.  He handed it to Felicity and grasped her face to plant a kiss on each cheek.  “Ciao, cara mia.  You are as beautiful as always."

That was a bit of a stretch, given her ill-filling clothes, lack of make-up, and the bun at the back of her head, but Mr. Rossi treated all women as if they were royalty.

"Ciao right back," she said.  "So glad you came."

"Would not miss," Mr. Rossi said.  "And here's the fine young man."

"Hi, Mr. R.," Jay chirped.

"Help yourself to everything," Felicity said.  "Be sure to try the mushrooms."

"Atsa nice."  Mr. Rossi headed off toward the buffet tables.

The bell rang again, and more people entered.  The nice, older couple who ran the hardware store.  A bite or two of the mushrooms could spark up their new year.  The young widow who owned the Cake Shoppe arrived with them.  If she got into the herbs, Jay could probably scratch whatever itches she had if one of the other guests didn’t get there first.  It’d be a good thing for her to start the year off getting laid.

Yes, it should be a memorable evening for everyone.  Felicity certainly did her civic duty with this party every New Year’s Eve.

The newcomers, the Hendersons and Sally Rohl, stopped by to greet Felicity and Jay.  Sally might already be showing some interest in Jay.  He did his usual innocent routine, but that could change as the evening went on.

One of the caterers wandered by, and Felicity handed over the loaf of Mr. Rossi's bread.  "Slice this and put it on the table with some of that special cheese."

The woman nodded and head off toward the kitchen in the back.

More guests arrived, each wishing Felicity and Jay happy holidays.  Pretty soon, glasses were clinking, and conversation filled the orchid house.  The mushrooms were disappearing as fast as the caviar, and Felicity did a little mental arithmetic about how long the herbs would take to have an effect.  People ought to get happy pretty soon.

The bell rang again.

"Uh-oh, look who’s here," Jay said.

Hiram Jacko, the experimental rat, and his wife had arrived.  Jacko glanced around with his usual imperious air, while his better half, Phyllis, wore her usual empty smile and stare.

"I can't believe he came," Jay said.

"I invited him," Felicity said.

Jay's jaw dropped.  "You did?"

"What better subject for my experiment?"

"Jacko?"

"Of course."  Jacko owned and operated the local Values Emporium in the strip mall across the street.  It sold all kinds of treacle for helping to assure that no one ever had any fun.  Especially young people, who if left to their own devices, might think up new and creative ways of having fun.  Horror!  The values folks couldn’t have that.  So they sold tracts on morality and classic works of literature with all the juicy parts cut out.  It was a wonder William Shakespeare didn’t haunt the store for all the damage they’d done to some of his work.

Jacko loved to deliver lectures on morality and the general lack thereof in today’s society.  So far, Felicity's masquerade as a meek orchid nurserywoman had held up under his scrutiny, but she'd thought she'd caught a lecherous glare from Jacko on occasion.  If he was truly the upstanding citizen he claimed to be, he'd resist any evil impulses created by Ma's herbs and keep himself only unto his wife.  If he was actually the leering creep she suspected, he'd probably get one of the female guests alone in a corner of the greenhouse before the evening had ended.

"What about his wife?" Jay asked.

"What about her?"

"Does she always have that same empty stare and mechanical smile?"

"Wouldn't you if you were married to Jacko?" she said.

Jay shrugged.  "I guess."

"Go get another tray of the mushrooms from the kitchen," she said.  "Let's get ready to rumble."

Felicity went to the buffet table and poured herself a generous glass of punch.  Sipping, she glanced around at her guests.  Someone had turned on the stereo and found her favorite Marvin Gaye album.  A few people had already commandeered the center of the sales area as a dance floor, and bodies twined around each other, moving to the music.  Mr. Rossi had found Sally and was twirling her around and bending her over his arm.  The Hendersons danced more demurely, but the sparkle in Joe's eyes promised Mary would have a very happy New Year’s Eve, indeed.  With a some luck and a little help from Ma, Joe might carry on well into the new year.

More and more of the locals had filled the greenhouse.  Felicity’s party was legendary in this part of town, and she never asked to see invitations.  If you could fit inside, you were welcome.  As a result of having such a large crowd, people could get lost in the crush.  Hands could travel to interesting places between partners on the dance floor, and no one would notice.  The din of music and conversation could cover noises coming from dark corners.  If anyone came in non-orgasmic, they only had themselves to blame for leaving in the same state.

A rather alarming sound came from an area behind her, though.  A woman saying “No” with more than a little fear in her tone.  Anything consensual flew here, but coercion was a major no-no.  Wonderslut could handle the situation easily, but Felicity didn’t have time to change, and Wonderslut couldn’t be seen anywhere near Felicity Plumswindle for fear someone would put the two of them together.  Felicity would have to take charge here, and she set down her glass and went off to do exactly that.

As she might have predicted, the culprit was the self-appointed arbiter of “values.”  Jacko had cornered Cara Simpson, the greengrocer’s wife, and had her pinned against a bench full of flowering cattleyas.  He’d puckered his lips in a perfectly gross imitation of an attempt at a kiss, and Cara had placed her palm against his chest to hold him off.  Cara had bent so far backward to get away from him her face nearly disappeared among the blossoms.

“Mr. Jacko, what are you doing?” Felicity said.

He glanced over his shoulder at her.  “Everyone knows what goes on at your parties.  Why shouldn’t I have a little fun?”

“Maybe because a, your wife is only on the other side of those vandas, and b, Mrs. Simpson clearly isn’t that into you,” Felicity said.

“Rubbish,” he declared and went right back to his attempts to impose himself on his victim.

“All right.  I hate to have to do this.”  Felicity grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.  Not exactly the sort of move an unassuming orchid grower would ever attempt.  “Cut it out, asshole.”

He straightened.  “Why, Miss Plumswindle.  You’re an animal.”

Cara Simpson very wisely used the distraction to make her retreat, which left Felicity alone with a values cop she’d just called asshole.  A horny values cop.

“I’m glad you invited me to this den of depravity,” Jacko said.  “It gives me an opportunity to perform an exorcism, of sorts.”

“Exorcism?”

“Evil, Miss Plumswindle.”  The man got so close he nearly stood on top of her, and she found herself bending backward as Cara had.  Like Cara’s head, hers ended up among the flowers.

“I intend to burn it out of you with the flames from inside my soul,” he went on.  “Flames, do you hear me?”

“Sorry about the heartburn,” she said.  “There’s a fire extinguisher around here somewhere.”

“Rise above the lust,” he declared, pulling her against him.  Something had risen, all right.  It pressed into her belly.  Not impressive in size, but definitely hard.  “Break free from your base nature.”

“I’ll break free from something, all right.”  She hooked a leg around him, caught his knee from behind, and kicked, knocking him onto the floor.  Bending over him, she waved a finger under his nose.  “Now, listen, creep…”

The creep had the presence of mind to grab her hand and pull her down onto him, and in a moment, the two of them were rolling around on the floor, the gravel of the walkway crunching beneath them.

“Hiram!” a voice called out in tones worthy of a Valkyrie.

Jacko stopped wrestling with Felicity and stared upward.  “Phyllis?”

“You’ve been a very naughty boy,” Mrs. Jacko said.  She’d lost the glaze over her eyes, and the smile that usually accompanied it was long gone.  With her height and stout form, she did resemble a Wagnerian lady in a horned hat, and the pile of blonde hair on the top of her head enhanced the effect.

Jacko scrambled out from under Felicity and stood with his hands by his sides, his head hanging down.  “I have been bad, my lady.”

Well, well, well.  Mr. Morality was into kink, and his lady love appeared ready and able to deliver whatever cranked his tractor.  Perhaps she’d gotten into the mushrooms, too.  Whatever the cause, she could keep her husband out of trouble and his hands off the other guests.  In the meantime, Felicity had learned what she’d wanted to know.  The guy was a pervert.

Now, when she used the P word, she didn’t mean someone who enjoyed unusual sexual activities.  Who didn’t?  No, a pervert preyed on other people for their own satisfaction.  Armed with this information, Wonderslut would have to take some action in the new year.  This was a nice neighborhood, and it didn’t need the likes of Hiram Jacko messing things up.

While Felicity had been figuring all that out, the pervert in question had unzipped his pants and dropped trou, and his wife stood with his belt in her hand, slapping the leather against her other palm.  When Jacko moved to bend over the bench full of cattleyas, Felicity dashed to snatch the plants away.  They’d been through enough already.

After she’d stashed the orchids safely under a nearby table, she straightened in time to watch Mrs. Jacko lift the belt and bring it down with a satisfying “thwap” against her husband’s naked buttocks.  His hands were out of sight under the bench, and if she ducked under there, she’d probably get a good view of him spanking the monkey.  She’d pass on the pleasure.  Instead, she left them to their fun.  She had some responsibility for their level of horniness, after all.

Back out in the main party area, the night was progressing nicely.  The Hendersons still danced together, wrapped in each other’s arms.  Sally and Mr. Rossi emerged from another area of the greenhouse.  They appeared disheveled, and Sally’s lipstick was smeared all over both of their faces.  She wouldn’t need Jay’s services, after all.

Both Sally and Mr. Rossi baked for a living, so you might consider them businesses competitors.  That didn’t keep them from walking arm in arm out the door, deep in conversation.  Probably something about yeast.

And when you got right down to it, yeast was a pretty good analogy for the upcoming year.  It’d take a while to ferment, and then you’d have to punch it down a bit around March and let it rise to its full height in summer.  You’d bake it in fall and enjoy the harvest, and the whole cycle would start again once you’d eaten it all.

Well, yeah, as analogies, that one sucked, and she hadn’t even eaten any of the mushrooms.  She’d better go off and do exactly that, washing them down with more punch.  Then, she’d find Jay and ring in the new year with a bang.

Happy New Year from Felicity, Jay, and Alice, the twisted mind behind The Adventures of Wonderslut.

The Voluptuous Correspondence of Lady X, Installment Twenty-Three

My dearest X,

I read your latest, with its lustful story, with great delight.  Trust you to find erotic amusement wherever it hides, even in the kitchen garden of the local vicarage in a town so obscure no one in London would have heard of it.  I pictured your pudgy vicar and his sturdy lady of the parish engaging in naughty role play and laughed along with you.  Your letters always bring me joy even though they remind me that we’re apart.

Shall I purchase some short pants so you may take a ruler to my arse?  We’ll see if that gets Long Tom’s attention.  If not, we’ll find some other way to raise him to his full glory.  In truth, I need no more than your nearness to become erect and ready to fill your chamber with my cock.

There, now.  Merely writing of the possibility has had the usual effect on me, and Priapus stands proud and eager in my pants.  We must find some way to be together again, my darling.  My last thoughts before I drift off to sleep are of you, and I wake every morning pretending I’ll find your face on the pillow next to mine.  I suffer bitter disappointment when I open my eyes to discover you aren’t there.

Now then, I hope I’ve discovered sufficient enticement to win you away from X for several days if not a fortnight.  When I’ve told you of my plan, I’m sure you’ll see that you must not miss this opportunity but will find some desperate way to convince X you have concerns you must attend to elsewhere.  Perhaps we can concoct a story of a lady friend who’s become ill and requires you by her side for some time.  Say you have an acquaintance X knows little enough that he wouldn’t check with her about your whereabouts while you’re away.

Have I piqued your interest, my darling?  Are you clutching my letter in your fists wondering what delights I’m offering?  Be a good girl, and don’t skip ahead but follow my story as it unfolded if you wish to understand the full implications of my proposal.

While traversing the street that leads to the park yesterday, I was hailed to a lady’s carriage standing nearby.  The person in question was someone we’d met at Sir Walter’s party.  You’ll remember Miss Creighton, the mistress of the swinging trapeze.  She’d recognized me walking along and decided to stop to discover if I’d enjoy a bit of voluptuous play while we took a drive through the park.  I could hardly pretend shyness after having fucked her so thoroughly at the salon, but then, you’d been with me to approve (and frankly to enjoy watching) any sexual acts I might engage in with the rest of the women.

I did climb into the carriage to explain the difficulty of the situation…that I had a lover who owns my heart…but before I could raise any objection, she cut me off with a cryptic statement that she had a secret which, if revealed, would easily convince my lover to share me as a reward for her information.

You must remember, my dear, that I’ve suffered your absence so keenly that desperation would make me take any risk to win the chance to see you and love your sweet cunny once again.  Miss Creighton agreed that fucking as violent as we’d performed at Sir Walter’s would not only alarm her driver but would shake the carriage to such an extent as to draw the attention of people passing by.  She suggested, instead, the we reach into each other’s clothing and make each other spend while the scenery rolled by.  I agreed.

Given the contrivances of women’s small clothes, I could hardly have gotten my hand into Miss Creighton’s drawers, but that turned out to be unnecessary as I only needed to press my fingers against her pussy to discover the wetness of the fabric and the firmness of her nubbin.  If I’d had any doubt concerning the latter, her muffled cry of surprise and pleasure confirmed that I had, indeed, found the right spot.

“Now, then,” I said.  “You must tell me the secret you used to persuade me to pleasure you.”

“I will, dear Richard, only let me enjoy your touch for a moment,” she said.  “You do that so well.”

Her eyes closed in rapture, and I continued my stimulation of her clitoris.  After a bit, she seemed to realize she’s promised to touch me, as well, and she reached to the fastenings of my pants and undid them one by one.  By now, my cock had reared his head, and when she finally freed him, he sprang into her palm.

You know I have a passionate nature, my darling, and I’ve kept myself aloof from other women since the day we last parted.  As much as I would have preferred your hand on my cock, I could hardly resist the opportunity to give it some relief from the constant ache your absence causes.  In short, I nearly spent the moment she stroked me and caressed the head with her thumb.

“Why, what a livid color you are,” she exclaimed.  “I do believe you’ll climax soon.  I would so love to watch.”

“Not without your secret first,” I said, although I doubt I could have controlled my response had she insisted on bringing me to orgasm.

“Do indulge me a bit longer,” she replied.  “My secret will be worth your having to wait, I promise.”

And so, I did my utmost to arouse her passions, observing which sorts of touches most excited her.  Her clitoris became quite distended, and I discovered a prominent head.  That I tugged at gently until she fell back against the seat of the carriage and her breathing turned to gasps.  I could hardly fail to recognize her state…right at the boundary separating high arousal from the rapid climb to orgasm.  In that condition, she couldn’t have answered questions even if she’d wished to, so I decided to finish her and rely on her earlier promise to reveal her secret to me.

Within moments, a flush covered her neck and face, and her hips rose as her climax claimed her.  To her credit, she managed not to shout loudly enough to bring her driver around to see if she needed rescue.  Her pussy completely soaked her drawers and, had I had a finger inside her chamber, I no doubt would have enjoyed its rhythmic convulsions.  To all appearances, I’d given her a satisfactory experience, indeed.

Of course, that left my cock without release, and nothing had occurred to lessen its throbbing or crimson color.  When Miss Creighton’s eyes fluttered open, she immediately glanced at where her hand rested on my thigh.

“The poor man,” she said.  “Still so rigid and unsatisfied.”

“I’ve done as you wish,” I said.  “May I not know your secret now?”

“I think not.  I haven’t performed my part of our bargain.”  At that, she grasped me again and proceeded to stroke my whole length, from the base to the head.  I finally admitted to myself that she’d won her point and I’d have to let her watch me spend.  Priapus fairly twitched with delight at my decision, and I rested back against the seat cushions and let her have her way with me.

I did allow myself the luxury of pretending you were caressing me in preparation for a vigorous coupling.  As the carriage rolled beneath me, I imagined you raising your skirts - you wouldn’t be wearing drawers, my darling - climbing over me and guiding your cunny down onto my pego.  For the longest time, we wouldn’t have to move against each other but would let the natural motion of the conveyance give us a gentle fucking.

That fantasy didn’t last for long, however, as my lust had built to such a level that I’d have to come within minutes, if not seconds.  I imagined you riding me while I bucked beneath you.  While Miss Creighton continued stroking me, I pictured the walls of your pussy tightening around me, so deliciously hot and wet, in preparation for your completion.

By that point, I could endure no more, and the climax roared through me.  I released semen into her hand in streams.  Through the haze of fulfilled lust, I scarcely heard her squeals of delight, and when I finally finished, I slumped against the cushions, working to get breath back into my lungs.

Now, my dearest, because you’ve patiently followed my story thus far, I’ll share Miss Creighton’s secret with you, and you’ll see that our reunion is imperative.  She revealed that she’d just learned Sir Walter keeps a very private club in the country.  Several years ago, he purchased a large estate and had it furnished to accommodate several couples for extended licentious enjoyment.  The house is now finished, equipped with everything voluptuaries would need to allow for the fullest enjoyment of each other’s bodies.  She also felt sure she could arrange for us to attend for a long house party, which as you know, could last for weeks rather than days.

What say you, heart of my heart?  Can you get away from X for some time so you may join me at Sir Walter’s new den of iniquity?  Tell me you can.  I’ll hardly sleep waiting for your answer.

With that, I remain,

Your eager Richard.

http://www.alicegaines.blogspot.com

authoralicegainess@yahoo.com

Weekend lagniappe: eXcerpt from The Sixth Lover by Alice Gaines

Shortly after the beginning of the second act, Carole had her first visitor—a woman, long-limbed, very elegant and most likely in her fifties. She forged her way right in and took the chair next to Carole’s.

She smoothed an errant curl with a bit of gray in it back from her temple. “Well, young lady, you’ve caused quite a stir. No doubt that was your intent.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Ah, American,” the woman said. “No wonder no one recognized you.”

“Mrs. Carole Rose from New York.”

Instead of doing the obviously courteous thing—returning the introduction—her visitor pretended to look around. “Mr. Rose doesn’t seem to be in attendance.”

“He died several months ago.”

“My condolences. My mouth gets away from me sometimes. I’m Bertina Hammond, Lady Blakely, but my friends call me Bert.”

“I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Lady Blakely.”

“Well done, Mrs. Rose.” The lady’s smile broadened.

“Because I addressed you formally?”

“Because you didn’t assume I’m your friend.”

The music swelled as the tenor finished his aria. Applause rolled through the theater, as people jumped to their feet. Maybe some of them had listened to the singing. Carole also rose, as did her visitor. They clapped politely for a while and then sat back down.

“So, have you satisfied your curiosity, Lady Blakely?” Carole asked.

“Not entirely.”

“I’m not very interesting.”

The lady laughed. You couldn’t call it actual mirth, but it had a musical quality to it. “A woman alone in one of the best boxes? You had to know you’d attract attention.”

“I hadn’t counted on you to visit.”

“I daresay not, but ah, yes…here he is.”

Lady Blakely turned toward the back of the box, and Carole followed her gaze. Mr. Harthorn entered, went straight to her visitor, and placed a light kiss on her cheek.

“Hello, Bert,” he said.

“Hello, darling,” Lady Blakely answered. “I might have known you’d show up.”

“I can never stay away from you for long,” he answered.

“Liar.” Lady Blakely patted his cheek and rose. “Behave yourself with Mrs. Rose here. She’s American and doesn’t understand our ways.”

“No one understands your ways, Bert,” the man said.

“You’re such a bastard.” The lady rested her hand on Carole’s shoulder. “Watch out for this one.”

“Thank you for stopping by,” Carole said.

Lady Blakely left the box with an angry rustle of silk.

Mr. Harthorn sat in the now vacant chair next to Carole. “You mustn’t pay any attention to Bert. Her claws are sharp but don’t go very deep.”

“Do all people in England wander in without an introduction?” Carole asked.

“We’ve met.”

She studied him. His brown eyes sparkled with mischief, and his sable hair curled around his collar in a style too long for proper fashion. With his long legs and broad shoulders, he cut quite a figure. He was an indecently attractive man and obviously knew it.

“This afternoon, although we weren’t introduced,” he said. “I’m Roger Harthorn, as I’m sure your companion told you. She was quite scandalized.”

“You know Mrs. Carter?”

“I’ve observed her type often enough.” He gave her an insolent smile that dazzled, even in the near-darkness of the theater. “The posture gives them away as well as they way they pretend not to be staring. Dudgeon of the highest order.”

She couldn’t help but smile, too. He’d described the solicitor’s wife to a T.

“Do you enjoy the opera, Mr. Harthorn?” she asked.

“I tolerate it well enough,” he answered. “You?”

“I like it very much.”

“Don’t tell me I’ve finally met someone who comes here for the music,” he said.

“I’ll admit that wasn’t my only reason.” Her cheeks grew warm. They’d be quite pink now, but with any luck, he wouldn’t notice in the dim light. She’d never learned how to flirt, and at her age, she’d probably never catch up.

“You hoped to be seen, or you wouldn’t have taken a whole box for yourself,” Harthorn said. “I hope the person’s worth all the trouble and expense.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“A man. Of course. Give me his name, and I’ll arrange an introduction.”

Damn. What did she say to that? She didn’t have a name and didn’t want to meet anyone else, anyway. but she’d never find the nerve to tell Harthorn she’d come looking for him.

“A secret, eh? Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s seen you.” Harthorn rested his arm on the back of her chair and leaned close enough to put his lips near her ear. “He noticed you this afternoon well enough.”

Ah, yes. The brush of his fingers on her table as he’d gone by. “I don’t see how you could know that.”

“Mrs. Rose, let’s not toy with each other.” His voice came low and sweet, his breath tickling her ear. “We forged a connection this afternoon.”

“You’re exaggerating a bit, aren’t you?”

“Not at all. I haven’t reacted this powerfully to a woman since I was a lad.” He took her hand and set it in his lap, pressing her palm against the front of his pants.

Oh, dear Lord. She tried to pull her fingers away, but he held them there. “I got this way from simply watching you sip tea.”

Her heart hammered, and she had to remind herself to breathe. After all these months, she had her hand on a man’s member. Through his pants, yes, but the outline was unmistakable—long and thick and so very hard. Exactly what she craved. Deep inside, her own sex got the connection he’d spoken of. Despite the impossible situation, her pussy felt empty, begging for what it hadn’t had for so long.

No—had never had. Oscar was never like this.

“So, will you slap my face now?” Harthorn asked.

She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “No.”

“By God, you’re direct. An Englishwoman would have dodged and dallied.”

“I’m too old to dally,” she said.

“And thank the Almighty for that.” He bent toward her again, this time placing a soft kiss on the naked skin of her shoulder. “May I know your first name?”

“It’s Carole.”

“Carole,” he repeated, before gently nibbling his way toward her neck. Her breathing grew labored as he left pinpricks of fire everywhere he touched her.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered against her throat.

“You’d better stop. Someone might see.”

He straightened and turned her head toward his. “You’re an innocent.”

“I was married for ten years.”

“But you’re still innocent, aren’t you?”

“I knew my husband on our wedding night.” She tried again to free her hand from where it rested against his crotch. He still didn’t release it.

“But you were a virgin then,” he said.

“That’s the way it’s usually done.”

“How sweet.” That delicious smile curled his mouth. “And you haven’t had a man since he died.”

Since some months before, but she couldn’t betray her husband by confessing it. Instead, she bit her lip and did her best to calm her trembling.

“That only makes me hotter, Carole. My cock’s throbbing now,” he said.

“Shall I stroke it?” Good Lord in heaven, where had that come from? “Through the fabric, I mean.”

A light of pure mischief entered his eyes. “You’d like to do that?”

“I find it fascinating.” She squeezed him, pressing the head with the tips of her fingers. “Could I make you spend that way?”

He sucked in a breath. “I daresay you could.”

“Would anyone notice, do you think?”

“They can’t see into my lap.”

“Will they see this?” She reached lower, between his legs where his sac would be and stroked it softly. That took the mischief from his eyes, but his lips still stayed in that lazy smile. He turned back toward the stage, pretending to follow the opera, but they both knew none of the music penetrated his brain.

What fun. She’d never, in her life, expected to do anything like this, but Thomas had opened her mind to all kinds of delicious possibilities. Thomas. Darling Thomas. Why had she never asked him if he liked opera? She’d have to do that in her next letter. Then, she’d have to ask if he’d like to sit in a public place with her hand on his cock. For now, she’d pretend he was here with her now as she used gentle pressure against the length of his shaft. Up, down, and up again to linger at the tip.

“You do that very well,” Harthorn said. “I wouldn’t think you inexperienced.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

He let out a soft moan. “This won’t take long at all.”

“You mustn’t give anything away with your expression,” she said. “Your friend, Bert, may be watching us.”

“She won’t tell. She likes her husband’s money too much.”

“And you know secrets he wouldn’t want to hear,” she said.

“I say…” His eyes drifted halfway shut. “Could we discuss it later?”

“Of course.” She moved her fingers faster, gripping him as tightly as she could manage through the wool of his pants. He sat rigidly, and his eyes went out of focus with pleasure.

“Talk to me,” he whispered. “Something filthy.”

“Would you like to fuck me, Roger?” There. She’d said it. The worst word she knew.

“God, yes.”

“I’d like that, too. My cunny’s getting damp for you.” That was no lie. Who would have thought that she, a virtuous widow with hardly a dirty thought until a few months ago, would find herself with a perfect stranger like this? Sitting in public, stimulating his sex and telling him she wanted him. “But you won’t have me, will you? No, you’re going to spend in your pants like a schoolboy.”

“Oh…ah…don’t stop.”

“No one can know what I’m doing to you, or I will stop,” she said. “Promise me you won’t make a noise when you come.”

He gritted his jaw. “Bloody hell.”

“Do it, or I’ll leave you hanging.” She paused in her work on his tool. She wouldn’t leave him this way. If nothing else, she wanted to see what he’d do when the climax hit him.

“I promise,” he said in a strangled whisper. “Have mercy. Finish me.”

She squeezed the tip of him and then stroked his length—hard and fast, all the way to the base. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as his body stiffened. His hips jerked as he climaxed, but he made no sound above a soft grunt. Such a sight he made—the male animal consumed by lust. She’d never watched a man’s face at the ultimate moment before. She’d see Thomas in this state eventually, and he’d witness her ecstasy, too. Right now, Roger Harthorn slumped against his chair, breathing heavily. She finally reclaimed her hand setting it in her own lap.

“That was extraordinary,” he said softly.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“Like? My dear Carole. The word is inadequate.”

Pride glowed inside her. The idea of taking other lovers had seemed silly and even morally bankrupt when she only wanted one man—Thomas. but she could learn so much before she joined him. How much better to go to him fully prepared to fulfill his wildest fantasies than to have to grope blindly for just the right caresses to make him wild with wanting her.

Yes, Thomas had had it right. She’d experiment with other men and give the benefit of her lessons to her ultimate lover.

“You’re grown pensive,” Roger said. “That didn’t repulse you, did it?”

“Not at all.”

“You seemed willing. Even eager.” His face showed uncertainty, even worry. For heaven’s sake, the scandalous fellow who’d bedded any woman he wanted, actually cared about her opinion of him.

“It was a revelation,” she said. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“Nor have I. I usually entertain the lady.” The wicked heat returned to his eyes. “Would you like me to do the same for you?”

She nearly gasped with surprise. “Your hand under my skirts at the opera?”

“Not right now. It’ll be intermission soon.”

“You’ll have to rejoin your friends,” she said.

“Eyebrows will rise if I don’t.”

“Eyebrows have probably already risen.”

“No doubt about that.” He chuckled. “Still, I want enough time to do the job properly.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Will you be here tomorrow night?”

She smiled and nodded.

“I’ll see you then.” He leaned toward her again. “In the meantime, don’t touch your pearl. I want it hungry for my touch.”

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Weekend Lagniappe - EXcerpt "Sex after Death" by Alice Gaines

Sex After Death

Alice Gaines
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2013 Alice Gaines


This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.


In Katy's dream, the man had grown to full size and turned to flesh, but he still held the chill of stone as his body moved over hers. She lay in her bed, somehow able to glance around her room through closed lids. She couldn't see him, but she could feel him, his hands roaming her breasts, his fingers rough around her nipples.

She tried to touch his back to prove he was really there, but her arm wouldn't move. Nothing would move, even when she concentrated on no more than getting her big toe to ease upward.

Her invisible lover had paralyzed her, and though none of this was real, she knew with a dreamer's certainty the creature making such thorough love to her was the planter/statue she'd bought a few hours before, Sir Hung-like-a-horse.

Would she finally get to see his cock fully engorged? More important, would she get to feel it between her legs, seeking the entrance to her pussy and then easing its way in?

As soon as the thought had lodged in her head, it traveled all the way down to her sex and stuck there. Moisture pooled between her thighs. Her body prepared itself for sex well enough even if it wouldn't let her move to get any.

Achy and throbbing, her clit demanded attention. She needed to come. Needed it strongly enough to reduce her to begging. If she could touch herself, she'd climax quickly. Even better if she could get him to touch her with the fingers currently massaging her breasts.

The best of all would be if she could have his cock inside her. No more than a few thrusts, and she'd explode all around him.

Please, her mind shouted, but no more than a whimper came out of her mouth. In response, he continued his torment of her breasts, but now he also nipped gently at her shoulder. His breath fanned over her flesh -- not cold, exactly, but not hot like a human lover's. Cool.

If she could see him... if she could speak... lift her arms to invite him into an embrace and part her legs to make room for him, maybe he'd give her what she needed. At least she could reach to his cock to discover if it had grown long and thick.

After several moments, his hand finally began a slow journey over her belly while his mouth covered one nipple. He sucked with exactly the right pressure to make her heart thunder in her chest.

Her own harsh breathing filled the room, the sound of a woman becoming hopelessly aroused. The throbbing between her legs grew into a fire. So hot. He could put it out if he'd only touch her. He could fix her by giving her the orgasm just out of her reach.

This time, her mind shrieked Please! and a cry bounced off the bedroom walls all around them.

Low, soft laughter answered. A rumbling baritone. He knew what he was doing to her, and he enjoyed it. Could this be the curse? Eternal arousal with no satisfaction could certainly feel like hell. Maybe she shouldn't have watered him, after all. And maybe all the superstition had created a perfectly normal erotic dream. She'd never had one like this before.

It felt so fucking real, as if she really were in bed with an invisible man whose cool touch was turning her molten inside. Was his cock erect? If so, had it maintained its huge size? Could she take it all inside her without any pain? God, she'd give anything to find out. Anything.

As if he'd read her mind, he moved over her and settled between her legs. The tip of his hard-on pressed against her inner thigh -- the swollen head, firm but very human and not cold at all. So hot, it burned as if it had to bathe in her juices to put the fire out.

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The Adventures of Wonderslut - Installment Twenty-Four

When we last left Felicity and Jason, they’d just spent the night and morning with Ma and her five girls, RayAnne, Pearline, MinniePat, SueEsther, and George, and a visitor named Harry.  Quite a handful for our heroes, even the notorious Wonderslut and her sidekick, The Piston.  After a mission well-done, they’re flying home for some rest.

“I really hate you sometimes, you know that?"

Jason had to chuckle as he gobbled down the last bites of his cheeseburger.  Felicity only told him she hated him in regard to one subject...food, especially the greasy, delicious kind like the thousand or more calories he'd just consumed.

With her eyes still focused on the instruments of the Slutmobile, she reached out and snagged one of his fries.

 “If I ate like that, I'd blow up like a blimp."

“Try it and find out."  He held the oily bag toward her.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

“Hey, I'm a guy.  I like my burgers loaded and my women plush."

She pretended to scowl at him, but the curve of her lips betrayed too much smile to pull off any real disapproval.  And she did finish his fries.

When she’d eaten the last one, he took all the wrappings and napkins, wadded them into a mass, and stuffed them into the fast food bag.  “Thanks for stopping.  I was famished."

“No problem,” she said.  “The look on the clerk's face was worth losing time."

The expression had been priceless.  Half way between “What the fuck" and “I must be dreaming."  Felicity had had to wave the money under the guy's nose a couple of times to get him to take it.  “He probably doesn't get too many Maseratis in his drive-up."

"With a woman wearing nothing but a man's shirt at the wheel and a bare chested guy in the passenger's seat,” she said.

"I bet he would have liked the French maid's outfit better."

"What there was left of it," she said.  "That'll be a tax write-off.  Business expense."

"Nice work if you can get it."  He reached over and squeezed her bare thigh.  Come to think of it, she really could do with a bit more padding.

"I hope you're through stuffing your face for a few minutes,” she said

“Funny thing…as soon as the effects of Ma’s food wore off, I could have eaten a horse.”  Had to be some kind of withdrawal thing.  No wonder Felicity felt so out of sorts.  She was probably as hungry as he’d been but refused to eat for fear of harming her girlish figure.  He’d cook her something great as soon as they got home.

“Besides, I had quite a workout,” he added.  “Should I remind you I had to satisfy five women?"

“And you did it without breaking a sweat," she said.  "I'm proud of you, kid."

That wasn't strictly true.  He'd sweated plenty.  Ma's girls had wrung him out like a rag.  In any sane world, he wouldn't get another hard-on for a month.  Working with Wonderslut, Avenger of the Non-Orgasmic, hardly qualified as sane.  He'd probably get a boner the moment they got back to the Slutgrotto.  Felicity could do that to a guy.

“So, what did you and Ma talk about while I said good-bye to the girls?" he asked.

“Business."  She kept her gaze on the instruments, but her eyes crinkled at the corners the way they always did when she had a secret.

“Am I going to find out what kind of business?" he asked.

“Ma and I have a lot in common, when you think of it."

“Riiiiight.  She's an old coot, and you're the world's most desirable woman.  She has a shotgun, and you have a website.”

“There are a few differences,” she said.

“She can cook, and..."

“Okay, so I don't make biscuits and gravy."

“You barely eat."

“What's gotten into you?"  She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.  “Don't you like my body the way it is?"

“Love it, but if there were more, I could love all of that, too."

“Not in this lifetime."  She nodded toward the glove compartment.  “Now, why don't you see what's in there?"

He did as instructed and found a brown paper bag.  Inside was a plastic container of what looked like something you might put into a hookah and light.  “Is this what I think it is?"

“You don't smoke it."  Her eyes crinkled again.

“You put it in brownies?"

“You're getting warmer."

“Did Ma give you this?" he asked.

“After a bit of...ah...negotiation," she said.  “Some of her magical herbs."

He put the package back in the glove compartment.  “What did she get out of the deal?"

“Well, it seemed you really impressed her."

Hey, wait a minute.  Doing the nasty with Ma?  No way.  He was an open-minded guy, but a woman old enough to be his mother’s babysitter?  A woman with a shotgun?  No fucking way.  “I hope you didn’t promise her anything.  She’s not exactly my type.”

Felicity laughed loudly enough for her voice to ricochet around the interior of the Slutmobile.  “Don’t worry.  Ma’s not interested in you for herself.”

“The girls?” he said.

She didn’t answer but just smiled.

“Did you offer a return engagement?" he said.

“You could say...something like that.  You had a good time, right?"

“I barely survived."

She patted him on the cheek.  "It's good practice for you.  You're always going to be in great demand, kiddo.  Better get used to it."

He crossed his arms over his chest.  “Have you taken five guys on at once?"

She gave him an evil chuckle.  "Didn’t I ever tell you about the Americans for a Decent America convention?"

"The ADA?  You attended one of those?" he said.

"Undercover.  Research purposes only.  You've never seen a bigger bunch of twits and pervs."

"Really?  I would have thought they'd be squeaky clean."

"You know what I always say...scratch a prude and find a pervert."  She banked the Slutmobile and settled into their regular landing pattern.  They'd be back at the Slutgrotto in a matter of minutes.

"Now, that's a story I'd like to hear," he said.

"Rustle me up some of your special scrambled eggs and meet me at the hot tub.  You won't believe your ears."

*

It had been seven years earlier.  Felicity had just graduated to the top tier of Sly's assistants when Sly gave her her first real assignment - infiltrate the Americans for a Decent America's annual get together.  Disguised as a milquetoast biddy, albeit a young one, she’d dressed up in sensible shoes and support hose, a gray suit with a pleated skirt that fell to mid calf, and a wig that hung into her eyes.  She drew no attention at all when she registered.

The whole scene was sickly sweet...all the vapid smiles and “praise the Lords."  They obviously didn't let atheists in, or maybe atheists had their own prudish group-gropes.  Hard to picture what that would look like.

For the first day of the conference, she attended seminars on “Family Values, Weaponized," "How to Pretend You‘re an Oppressed Minority," “Bringing back the Ladies Auxiliary,” and various other stifling subjects.  By five, she needed a few stiff drinks to wash the taste of all that righteous indignation out of her mouth.  But first, she stopped in the ladies room on her way the hell out of the hotel.

The murmuring and giggling were her first clue that something interesting was going on near the sinks.  She ducked into a stall and climbed up on the toilet seat before any of the fine examples of moral femininity discovered someone was eavesdropping.

"Enrapture," one of the women said.   "My Charles says he's enrolled me in a special session for this evening.  There are a few other openings if you sign up right away."

That was met by squeals of delight of the kind that serious discussions of morality didn't normally elicit.  In fact, their voices held a more or less obvious sexual excitement.  Enrapture, indeed.  Felicity needed to get herself into that session and get names and evidence.  So, when the voices stilled and the door opened, she gave the women just enough time to get out into the hallway before following them.

They weren't hard to spot.  Three perfectly coiffed heads hovered together as the women proceeded down the corridor in a flutter of decent clothing and barely restrained estrogen.  Felicity hung back enough to hide from them while keeping them in her sight.  They went down a small staircase and around a corner to a part of the conference center she hadn't noticed before.  Nothing in particular marked the room where they ended up, just a table at the doorway and an upstanding middle-aged couple taking the registrations.  The pair didn’t remark on the first three women but merely checked their names against a list on their clipboard, but Felicity was another matter entirely.

The woman sniffed.  “She’s not on the list.”

“I-I’m sorry.”  Felicity did her best to stammer in a subservient manner.  “I only just found out about this session, and I do so want to attend.”

“You weren’t supposed to know about it.”  The woman stiffened.  “It’s only for a few select of our members.”

“My dear, why don’t we let the young lady in?” the man said.

The woman stared at him as if he were some kind of idiot.

The man gave her a patronizing smile.  “What harm could she possibly do?”

“She’s not on the list,” the woman repeated between gritted teeth.  She turned an insincere smile on Felicity.  “Who’s your sponsor, dear?”

“Sponsor?” Felicity repeated.

“The man who registered you for this event,” the woman said.

She couldn’t get in without a man.  Didn’t that just figure?  “Oh, you mean my sponsor!  Well, he’s…um…that is he…he’s in the men’s room.”

The woman slowly set down the clipboard.  “And what’s his name?”

“George,” Felicity said.  “George Smith.”

The man gestured toward the closed door to the conference room.  “You go inside.  We’ll send George along when he gets here.”

“Don’t you dare.”  The woman gestured with her head, and the couple moved several feet off to have a private conversation.  By the looks of things, it didn’t go well.  The man loomed over the woman in a particularly intimidating manner, while she gesticulated and got red in the face.  Finally, he waved his finger under the woman’s nose, and the words “submit” and “male authority,’ wafted to Felicity.

After a few seconds, the woman returned, her lips a straight line of displeasure.  “You can go inside now.”

The man opened the door, and as Felicity walked by, he put his palm at the small of her back.

“The changing room is over there,” he said, his lips nearly grazing her ear.  She glanced around.  Newly out of Sly’s academy, she hadn’t yet learned complete control of her astonishment, and she gasped audibly.  He might have said “changing room,” but the women hadn’t changed into anything.  They were all nude.  No, not completely nude.  Each wore a delicate collar around her neck, connecting them by leashes to their male partners.

“I gather George didn’t explain it all to you,” the man said.

“He left a few details out.”

“Then, he hasn’t given you a collar?”

She could answer that question honestly enough.  “No.”

“Don’t worry, there are extras in the changing room.  Take one you like and bring it back to me.”

“You?”  She hadn’t learned to keep the tone of her voice even, either, because the pitch went up a few octaves.  She gestured toward the doorway and the corridor outside.  “What about your wife?”

“She has things to keep her busy.”  His smile turned unctuous.  “I’ll watch out for you until George gets here.”

“I don’t know.  George might not approve.”

A cold light entered his gaze - a warning they could both stop pretending George existed.  “Run along now.  The session is about to get started.”

“Right.  That is, yes sir.”  She eased her way through the crowd in the direction the man had indicated.  Wonderful, she was going to get naked and put on a collar for a man whose name she didn’t know.  Did she even want to know?  Probably not.

For the first time, she took in the composition of the crowd.  Most participants were in pairs - one man and one woman - but several of the men held more than one leash.  Polygyny, of course.  The opposite - one female with more than one male - didn’t exist inside this moral universe, it seemed.  And forget any man-on-man or woman-on-woman love.  Well, hell, where had she thought she was going?

As she walked across the room, the microphone on stage came to life with a screech.  A woman - clothed, this one, and with a bouffant hairdo that made her head the size of a melon - took the mic from its stand.

“Enrapture,” she breathed into the metal orb.  “Ladies, we’re here to show you how to enrapture your men.”

Didn’t that just figure, too?  Rapture didn’t go both ways in their world.

A chorus of ooohs went up around the room.

“And we all know what our men like best, don’t we, ladies?” the woman crowed.  “Oral sex.”

That would probably go in one direction, too, and the man who’d escorted Felicity inside would no doubt expect service from her.  She’d trained for this for years.  She could do whatever he required and do a damned good job of it.

She ducked inside the changing room, finding only one woman who was in the process of fitting a slender leather collar around her neck.

“They’ve started, haven’t they?” the young woman asked.

“Just now,” Felicity answered.

“You’d better hurry,” the woman said.  “The men don’t like it when we’re late.”

And what the men wanted ruled.  “I’ll be right out.”

The woman left the changing room as if she were late for the last bit of chocolate mousse.  Felicity stripped, leaving her clothing in a heap on the floor.  She kept the wig on her head.

Being naked felt good, even under such weird circumstances.  Being naked was natural…the way she conducted business.  It gave her an edge.  Now in her element, she selected a lace collar from the collection hanging from hooks on the wall, fixed it around her neck, and emerged into the main hall.

On stage, the woman with the pouffy hair had settled to her knees before a man in a finely tailored business suit.  She held his rigid and impressive cock in her hand.

“And now, ladies, learn to explore your man,” she said.  “Find his sensitive spots.  Learn how to give him maximum pleasure.  Remember, the enraptured man is a captured man.””

With that, the instructor proceeded to give her partner head with an expertise that would make any of Sly’s students proud.  Well, Felicity could do even better, so she went off in search of her sponsor…whatever the hell his name was.

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The Voluptuous Correspondence of Lady X - Installment Twenty-Two

My dearest Richard,

Finally, I found some amusement even here in exile so far from you.  After a delightful half an hour this afternoon, I rushed back to the house and my rooms so I could share my discovery with you.  'Twould only have been more delicious if we could have watched the spectacle together, but I'll increase my delight by relating the scene in absentia.

I don't believe I've mentioned the local vicar.  I'd hardly have thought him subject matter for correspondence like ours.  This afternoon, I discovered how wrong I was.  The word that comes to mind at the mention of him is "round."  He has round cheeks, a round belly, and huge, round eyes behind the round lenses of his spectacles.  He orates from the pulpit with rounded tones.  All in all, he's a solid fellow, exactly what you'd expect for a sleepy hamlet and countryside like this.

I happened to be walking along the road near his house half an hour or so past and had taken a shortcut across his property when I overheard his voice in the kitchen garden.  I could scarce believe my ears when I heard him declare that he'd been a very naughty boy.  Imagine my further astonishment when a woman's voice answered that, indeed, he'd misbehaved and would have to suffer the consequences.

Secreting myself behind a wall, I determined that I'd eavesdrop at the very least and hope to observe directly what these consequences might be.  As I peeked around the corner of the stones, I was able to identify the leading lady of the scene.  She was Mrs. Rutherford, one of Vicar Hollyfield's flock at the Anglican church.  I'd noticed her several Sunday mornings and wondered about her attentiveness during sermons.  Several of the congregation hang on the man's words as he has a ponderous oratory style and a reputation for delivering the wrath of God even more forcefully than the Catholic monsignor in the next township.  Mrs. Rutherford shows such rapture at his utterances, I felt no surprise at finding her, alone, with the great man.

Mrs. Rutherford was clothed as one would expect in a modest dress.  The vicar, however, wore the clothing of a schoolboy - jacket, tie, and short pants.  I can't imagine where he'd obtained a suit like that, especially given that it would have to be tailored to cover his belly.  But there he was, standing before Mrs. Rutherford, staring at the ground like a student before his headmaster.  For her part, she held a ruler in one hand and slapped it against her other palm, a stern expression on her features.

"I found the nasty volume amongst your books, young man," she said.  "It depicted acts unacceptable even between adults.  How could you have come upon such a monstrosity?"

"Found it in my father's rooms, ma'am," he replied, his head dropping even lower.

"I shall have words with him, I assure you," she said.  "But not until you've had your punishment."

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered.

"Assume the position," she ordered as she continued to tap the ruler against her palm.

I had to cover my mouth to keep my laughter from reaching them.  The whole scene was so ridiculous.  The Reverend Mister William Hollyfield of the Church of England about to receive corporal punishment at the hands of one of his parishioners, as I could scarcely doubt that was what the two of them meant, given her brandishing of the ruler.

Imagine my further astonishment when he reached to his belt in preparation for lowering his pants.  I was about to be treated to the spectacle of the vicar's naked bottom and perhaps a view of his aroused cock, as well.  I fairly held my breath for fear that I might give myself away, but the two of them were so engrossed in their game that they didn't even glance around to make sure no one could see them.  For heaven's sake, they were outdoors, after all, and not far from the road.  One's faith in human intelligence falters at such times, it surely does.

In any case, the vicar soon exposed buttocks as rounded as the rest of him.  I received only a fleeting view of his privates as he turned and bent over a wooden table.  I had a thorough opportunity to observe the pink flesh of his arse and watched as Mrs. Rutherford raised her ruler and brought it down on his bottom.

The blow made a loud slapping sound as the ruler landed on his arse, and the vicar flinched.  Grinning, Mrs. Rutherford repeated the process, raising the wood high and bringing it down on the other buttock.

"I don't want to do this to you, Master Hollyfield," she declared.  "Your ill behavior compels me."

"I'm sorry, ma'am.  I truly am," he said.  He didn't sound the least bit sorry, though.  His voice came out breathy as if he was enjoying her infliction of what had to be no little pain.  I imagine he did take pleasure in the lady's blows to his hind quarters.  Otherwise, how could I understand their actions?

As she continued striking his buttocks with the ruler, his skin turned a livid pink.  Rather than alarming Mrs. Rutherford, the color seemed to encourage her to give him more of the same.  In response to the continuing beating, the vicar began to beg, his voice high and whining.  "Don't hit me any more," and "I'll behave myself," and "I've learned my lesson, truly."

"You're an evil child," she answered.  "See there.  What are you doing with your hand?"

Until she said that, I hadn't noticed that he'd reached under the table, and his arm moved rhythmically.  I could only deduce that he'd reached to his cock and was now stroking it.  Evil, indeed.  Completely debauched and wicked.  Positively delightful.  I had to bite down on my lip to stifle my laughter.  As a voluptuary myself, I had no reason to question anyone else's sexual practices.  And yet, the scene really was funny.  I do wish you could have watched it with me, my darling.

And so they continued, with Mrs. Rutherford applying the rod to the vicar's arse and the vicar stroking himself with great vigor.  I feared for the vicar's buttocks and wondered whether he'd be able to sit on his seat under the cross at church.  I'll have to watch on Sunday to see if he flinches as he lowers himself to the chair.

"Show me what you're doing with your hand, you filthy child," Mrs. Rutherford demanded.

"Please, not that," he replied.

"Do it, or I'll have to take you to the headmaster," she said.  "He'll use a switch, and you won't be able to sit for a week."

"You won't tell him, will you?" he said.

"Do as I say," she thundered.

In reply, he stood, exposing his erect cock.  It was pudgy and thick, barely sticking out past his belly.  She took great delight in it, squealing.  "Oh, Charles, see how long and firm you've become."

"All for you, dearest Mary," he answered.

"I must kiss it."  At that, she fell to her knees before him and, cradling his sac in her palm, slid her mouth around the head of his cock and then down to take nearly all of his shaft.

All role playing now over, the vicar rested his hand on her head for balance and proceeded to thrust into her mouth.  He made quite a sight, my dearest, standing mostly clothed but with his short pants tangled around his ankles.  I’ll never look on him the same again without remembering this afternoon.  I fear I’ll only have to see his face to break into titters.

Thus they proceeded for some time as the Reverend Hollyfield became more and more excited, his face contorting in the sort of pleasure a man only receives from enthusiastic oral sex.  Eventually it became clear that Mrs. Rutherford would have to swallow a copious amount of his semen if they continued.  But the good vicar was made of sterner stuff than that.  Before his lover had pushed him past the end of his endurance, he removed his cock from her mouth.

Gripping the base of the shaft in his fist, he ordered her.  “Now, dear Mary, you assume the position, and I’ll give you your just rewards.”

She fairly whooped her agreement - a very unmatronly sound.  In a moment, she’d risen and then bent herself over the table in the same manner he had before.  Similarly, she eased her hand between her legs, no doubt in search of her pearl.  He didn’t hesitate to lift her skirts and take his place behind her naked rump.  The respectable and upright woman of his congregation had worn no drawers.  From now on, I’ll have to imagine her naked beneath her petticoats on Sundays.  I’ll never keep my features even in church imagining the two of them undressed, but at least, the service will never again bore me, I assure you.

When his cock entered her body, she let out a loud coo of approval.  They fucked merrily for the next several minutes, making animal noises far removed from their usual demeanor.  Convinced I’d witnessed the most interesting parts of their performance, I decided to slip away before the final climax.  But no, they finished with a loud duet that said they’d reached orgasm at the same moment.  Quite a satisfying afternoon for both of them, I‘m sure.  At that point, I slipped away quietly before the two of them could come to their senses.

Well now, my dear, it seems we’re not alone in our love of the forbidden if even the local representative of the Church of England should engage in such salacious play  Though I felt no shame in our love before this, I shall certainly hold my head a bit higher in the future.  I do hope this little tale amuses you and we may soon laugh over it together.

Until then, I remain,
Your devoted X

The Adventures of Wonderslut, Installment Twenty-Three

Coitus interruptus.  At the end of our last installment, we left Felicity in the front passenger seat of the Slutmobile, impaled on the cock of a man named Harry who lines truck beds for a living.  Jason was still in the shack with Ma and her five perpetually horny “girls.”  They’d both had heaping servings of Ma’s doctored country biscuits and gravy, which had turned out to be a potent tranquilizer and aphrodisiac.  Harry had been hooked on the stuff for a year.  Will Felicity and Jason suffer the same fate?


As it turned out, Harry had all the right equipment to give Felicity a really good ride.  Though not as big as Jason (what other man was?), his cock filled her nicely, and in this position - kneeling across his lap - the muscles she used to push herself upward in rhythm with his thrusts also caused her pussy to squeeze down on him, creating a delicious friction.

“Oh, man,” he said from between gritted teeth.  “I never felt anything like this.”

“Enjoy, Harry.”  Truth be told, she was having a pretty good time her-own-self.  The special herbs and moss Ma had laced her food with heightened all sensation, so not only did the thrusting of Harry’s erection inside her come through loud and clear, but her breasts had become super-sensitive, the nipples grazing against her costume with every movement.

“Shit, I’m gonna come,” Harry said.

“Not yet.  Too soon.”

“Can’t hold off.”

“Yes, you can.”  She reached into her mind and found the center of her power - what Jason had labeled the Slutray.  She didn’t manipulate people’s sex drive or organs lightly, but Harry here needed to learn some control.  Her mission in this world was to make sure all nice people had really nice sex, and Harry’s future partners would thank her for his new staying power.  She stared into his face.  “Harry, look at me.”

“Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he said as he continued plowing into her.

She took his face between her hands.  “Open your eyes and look at me.”

“Gotta come.”

“Do what I say, or you won’t come, not now not ever.”

That got his attention.  He opened his eyes.  “Huh?”

Without saying a word, she sent a charge of power from her mind into his.
Immediately, his expression cleared.  “I understand.”

“You can last as long as you want.”

“Hot damn,” he said.  “Thank you, Wonderslut.”

“All in a day’s work.  Now get back to fucking me,” she said.  “Like you mean it.”

He did, and he did a bang-up job of it.  His strokes became sure now, sliding into her with a precision that would make an angel weep.  Lord knew she was no angel, and there was a great big orgasm waiting in the near future, just for her.  Harry even got creative enough to ease her French maid’s costume down to free a breast.  He cupped it, massaging the flesh, and then tugged gently at the nipple.  Now that she didn’t have to worry about Harry finishing too quickly, she concentrated on her own pleasure.

Easing her hand between them, she managed to get her hand into the hairs that covered her pussy.  As you’d expect after how she’s spent the night and was now passing the morning, she’d soaked herself completely.  When she reached her clit, it was already throbbing in anticipation of climaxing.  She fondled it gently, stretching out the approach to the peak.  Man, but it felt good - Harry’s sweet fucking and her own expert touch on her hot spot.

“You’re going to come, aren’t you?” Harry said.

“Oh, yeah.”

“What about that?” he said.  “I’m going to make Wonderslut come.”

He was getting a little help with that, but why argue at this point?  She kept riding him and diddling her clit, feeling the pressure build and counting down to a major lift-off.  Ten, nine, eight…oh hell, three, two…

“Don’t stop, Harry,” she cried.  “Don’t…stop!”

Her entire being became one exposed nerve as the orgasm rocketed through her.  Deep, hard spasms rocked her, gripping at Harry’s shaft.  Sweet, sinful, perfect.  It held her in its grip for long seconds, finally leaving her limp, her pussy fluttering around him.

“I can come now, right?” Harry asked.  “I need to in the worst way.”

“Go for it, lover.”

And he did, with a great deal of enthusiasm.  Staying with him was like riding a bronco, and she might have thrown one arm up for balance if she didn’t need it to hang onto his shoulders.  He moved as if he had the devil inside him, thrusting upward with powerful jerks of his hips.  Finally, he stiffened, slammed inside her one more time, and stayed there while he opened his throat in a roar.  Harry had arrived, and he’d done one helluva job of it by all appearances.

Then, he did a rag doll imitation, crumpling into a moaning pile, and this time, she held onto to him to keep him from sliding down against the gear shift.  He could take an eye out that way if he hit it with his face.  She’d suggested fucking in the Slutmobile, after all, and she had some responsibility to make sure he didn’t hurt himself…at least, not too much.

“Wonderslut, that was amazing,” he murmured against her shoulder.

“See how nice it is when you stick around for the Big Finale instead of leaving at intermission?”  Nice analogy.  She’d have to remember that one.

“I should never have questioned you,” he said.  “You’re the expert.”

Of course, he hadn’t questioned her, at least not while she’d had brain enough for it to register.  He could have recited The Gettsyburg Address while she was fingering herself, and she would never have noticed.  But now, she had other problems to deal with.

“We need to move,” she said.  “I’m getting a cramp in my thigh.”

He opened his eyes and gave her a wicked smile.  “I can massage it for you.”

“Not in here.  No room.”  She started to climb off him and hit pain bad enough to stop her.  Between crouching in the foot well and all the thrusting she’d done, she was having major muscle problems.  Namely, they’d stopped functioning.  She tried straightening out a leg and only managed to bump her shin against the gearshift.  Damn, but that hurt.  “Shit.”

“Let me see if I can help.”  Harry grabbed her ribs and tried to hoist her upward.  She only ended up leaning over his shoulder with her foot jammed under the side of his seat.  The angle bent her back in ways only snakes could move, and she let out a loud moan.

“Just don’t help me,” she said between gritted teeth.

“Sorry,” Harry said.

She settled back down onto Harry’s lap, which was now without a hard-on - a situation she had no desire to fix at present.  After a couple of deep breaths, she tried pushing herself up onto her knees.  Her thighs trembled with the effort, and after a second she folded and fell back into her original position.

“If we yelled, your friend could come out and help,” Harry said.

“No fucking way.”  She would not give Jason a reason to laugh his ass off over her predicament.  She got herself in here, and she’d have to get herself out.  No matter how she did it, she was going to end up stiff.  Right about now, she’d kill to be in the hot tub in the Slutgrotto with a good, stiff brandy in her hand.

“Then, how are we going to get out of here?” Harry said.

“Open the door.”

“The door?”

“The metal thing on your other side,” she said.  “The one with the handle.”

“It is open,” Harry said.

She glanced down to discover he was correct.  In their eagerness to get to each other, they hadn’t bothered to close  it.  “All right, you lean that way, and I’ll lean toward the door.  On three.  One…two…three.”

They came apart, sort of.  Harry more or less climbed over the gearshift toward the driver’s seat.  Felicity didn’t look to see how his family jewels made the journey, but he didn’t make any noises, so he couldn’t have hurt anything important.  She grabbed the doorframe and pulled herself out of the car.  Unfortunately, her legs still didn’t quite hold herself up, and she ended up falling out onto the ground.  Luckily, the redwood duff cushioned her fall, and at least she was free of the car seat and Harry.

For a while, she lay there, staring up into the trees, contemplating life and how she’d come to arrive at precisely this place.  Sure, she had a pretty unusual occupation, but the past twenty-four hours had certainly been strange.  Role-playing with a pair of strangers - just the samo samo for Wonderslut and her sidekick, The Piston.  But then, things had gotten weird.  Captivity, group sex, drugged biscuits and gravy, oral sex in the foot well of a Maserati.  Now, here she was, flat on her back, dressed in the remaining scraps of a French maid’s costume with redwood duff getting into her hair and, yes, a rock beneath her right hip.  Maybe she should have listened to her mother and majored in engineering or something that would have gotten her a real job, after all.

“Do you like working on trucks, Harry?” she asked without bothering to sit up.

“It’s good most days.”

“Do you ever get bored?” she said.  “After all, if you’ve seen one truck bed, you’re pretty much seen them all.”

“Not at all.”  Harry rose, zipped up his fly, and adjusted his clothing.  “There’s small ones and big ones…and really big ones.”

“That pretty much describes my own job, you know?”  And didn’t that just underline the unity of all human experience?  Truck beds and cocks, the truly important things in life.

“Say, how do I measure up?” Harry said.

“There’s a question you never want to ask, Harry.  You might not enjoy the answer.”

“Shoot.  I thought you liked me.”

“I do, but by now, a gentleman might have offered to help me up.”

“Sorry.”  Harry reached down a hand and assisted her to her feet.  There wasn’t a lot left to her costume, and one of her boobs hung out.  She had redwood duff all over her, and twigs stuck out of her hair.  She needed a long, steaming shower, and somehow, the shack didn’t seem as if it would have enough hot water to get her clean.

“Hey, Felicity,” Jason’s voice called from the cabin.  “Are we staying for dinner or not?”

She turned toward him.  “Not.  I’m not sticking around for another orgy.”

Jason’s eyes widened as he took her appearance in.  “What have you been doing out here?”

“My job.  What were you doing in there?”

Jason’s clothing was what one might call in disarray, with his shirt buttoned up wrong and the tails hanging out of his pants.  He didn’t answer her question but merely blushed.  Playing with ma’s girls again, no doubt.

“Did you eat more of Ma’s food?” she asked.

He avoided eye contact.  “Maybe.”

“We’ve both had enough.  I’m going to have a little conversation with Ma, and then it’s time to go.”


What does Felicity have to say to Ma?  Will the girls let Jason leave?  Does Ma have ammunition for the shotgun in the shack?  And can the French maid’s costume be saved?

Alice's website

authoralicgaines@yahoo.com

The Voluptuous Correspondence of Lady X - Installment Twenty-One

My darling Richard,

Thank you for my presents and the delightful recounting of your exploits at Sir Walter’s salon.  I had to laugh at the image of all you men sitting in various chairs in Sir Walter’s drawing room, cocks at the ready, with a like number of women kneeling between your legs.  I have no doubt that your rod was the biggest and most beautiful there.  And I can personally testify to your ability to delay your own release in service of some grander purpose…usually to increase my pleasure.

How perceptive of this “Jane” to choose you for that particular game.  I suspect, as you did, that she’d observed your performance during our visit together at Sir Walter’s and concluded she could use your stamina for her own ends.  That she chose winning a game over having you as a lover says much about her.  Certainly, no one in Sir Walter’s acquaintance needs prize money, so she must value competition and victory over her own sexual pleasure.  What an interesting creature.  We must surely take her to our bed, if she’s agreeable, when we next are able to spend any amount of time in each other’s embrace.  I’m sure I can make use of her talented mouth and will happily return the favor with you looking on.

I must convince X to come back to town soon so we can put our plan into motion.  I fear if I stay here one more day, the ivy that covers the walls will climb into my bedroom, wrap its tendrils around my limbs as I sleep, and anchor me to the place forever.  Of course, were it to bind me to the bed to await your kiss to awaken me, you could break the spell, like the prince who freed Sleeping Beauty.  In our story, the kiss wouldn’t grace my mouth but would fall squarely onto the lips between my legs.

What fancies.  My mind wanders to the strangest places, powered by loneliness and unsatisfied lust.  I need a good dose of your loving to bring my imagination back under control.  Until I can take my pleasure in your arms, I’ll have to make do with your presents.

And what sensual treats they are.  I recognized the dildo for what it was immediately.  Shaped like a human phallus, it’s long and thick with a prominent head.  So skillfully made out of one piece of leather, it feels almost like a human cock when warmed between my palms.  I’ll make good use of it.  It won’t satisfy me, despite it’s considerable girth, but I’ll pretend it’s you and enjoy the fullness in my pussy.

The other contraption had me stumped, I will admit.  Shorter and more slender than the dildo, it’s made of polished wood with an odd disc at the tip.  The face of said disc is covered with smooth nubs.  No matter how I studied it, I couldn’t find anything that resembled human anatomy that might give me a clue to the device’s use.

Then, I spotted a key that still lay inside the package you sent.  It fit into a lock at the base of the strange object.  When I twisted, nothing appeared to happen, although a clicking sound from inside told me I’d tripped some mechanism.  Sure enough, when I removed the key from the lock, the tiny machine came to life, the disc at the end rotating and vibrating for several seconds.

My darling, what an intriguing puzzle you put before me.  So like you to give me no clue to how it works but leave me to figure it out through my own investigation.  After re-inserting the key, I twisted more, this time giving it several full turns.  As I’d guessed, the thing stayed in motion longer, and I finally figured out its function.  I’m going to take both of these to my room and will finish this letter once I’ve completed my experiments.

I do love you, dearest Richard.  Off to play…

I’m back, beloved, and oh, my, what a delightful hour I’ve passed.  After I undressed and stretched out on my bed, I spent delicious minutes using the dildo to tease my poor cunny.  I’d press the head against the entrance to my sex, easing it in no more than an inch or so and then pulling it back out again.  I drove myself into quite a state in that manner, my sex becoming wet enough not only to accept the firm shaft inside me but to demand it.  Finally, I had no choice but to press deeper.

With one hand manipulating the dildo in and out of my cunny, I had the other free to squeeze a breast and tug at the nipple.  I imagined the pressure came from your chest against me as you moved inside me.  I wasn’t completely successful in that regard, but that hardly mattered with such a large object plundering my depths.  I became more and more aroused and might have climaxed with no more stimulation than this, but of course, my mind wandered to the other machine you’d sent.  How wonderful would it feel to have the good services of both the dildo and the vibrating disc.

Though I had to stop the thrusting to reach for the device where I’d set it on the table next to my bed, I delayed the impending orgasm in hopes of giving myself one even better.  I took the time to turn and turn the key in the base until it wouldn’t move for even one more twist.  Once I’d put it against my pearl, I wouldn’t want for it to stop.

It made a most satisfying hum as it whirred to life, and now I could employ both of your gifts at once.  I resumed a vigorous thrusting, plunging the dildo in and out of my pussy while I guided the rotating tip of the other devise against my clitoris.  My most precious lover, the sensations overwhelmed me completely.  I could scarcely breathe as my lust caught me in its grip.  I could only just hold onto enough sanity to continue moving the leather shaft inside me as I approached the crest.

At the end, even that required more sanity than I could manage, and I gave up on all efforts other than holding the disc against my pearl.  The climax nearly lifted me off the bed, and I must have let out a cry.  Anyone outside in the hall would have heard me.  When the spasms started, my inner muscles gripped at the dildo, finding its hardness more than satisfying.  Though the orgasm felt as if it would go on forever, it did eventually end, and I fell back against the mattress, gasping in an effort to draw air into my lungs.  The vibrating device fell beside me, still spinning.  It continued for some time, reassuring me that it would have lasted much longer, had I needed it to.  A very clever little machine and a true gift to womanhood.  I hope the designer has become rich from it.

In this manner, I spent the good part of an hour, enjoying orgasm after orgasm until I’d quite exhausted myself.  Finally, limp with satisfaction, I lay quietly with only enough strength to listen to my own breathing.  Eventually, the hour for dinner approached, and I only had time to finish this letter before I’d have to dress.

I have no more than a few minutes before my maid comes to do up my hair.  I scarcely know why I bother as X never remarks on my appearance, and his guests in the God forsaken place care for nothing but card games and the health of their pigs.  Still, a woman in my position must maintain a certain standard of living.  As a result, I can only dash off a few more words to remind you of the depth of my feelings for you.  Only you would know me well enough to select these gifts - exactly what I need to keep me sane until we can be together again.

Still, we must contrive to see each other again.  If I can’t persuade X that we need to return to town, perhaps I can conceive of some excuse that I should take an excursion.  We could meet somewhere, maybe another little cottage of our own.  I desire you with all my body, heart, and soul.

Well now, just see what an afternoon with your sex toys has done for me.  Expect more letters in this vein from me in the near future.  Until we can again gaze on each other’s faces, I remain,

Your devoted X

Suddenly Beautiful by Boone Brux

 

Suddenly Beautiful Blurb:

 

Being the son of Aphrodite isn’t a walk in the clouds. Rebelling against his demi-god status, billionaire make-up mogul Toraos Stephanos fights to separate his personal life and the immortal world by swearing off demi-god girlfriends forever. Too bad his newest employee can't take the hint.

Though Nikki secretly pines for her smoking hot boss, no way will she jeopardize her job and independence professing her love to a guy so clearly out of her league. Too bad that leaves her with only imagining him naked and thinking evil thoughts about the new girl.

After a single bottle of Ambrosia and one night of passion... Nikki finally thinks she has a chance with the man of her dreams. But the next morning, Tor pretends like nothing happened, leaving Nikki with an emerging drive for combat—after all, turns out she is the daughter of Ares and she's about to make her mama proud.

All is fair in love and war... and Nikki's not about to let anyone forget it.


Excerpt from Suddenly Beautiful

Okay, something was definitely wrong. His hand stopped pushing her along and began a tiny stroking motion against her waist, and a tremor of pleasure skated through her. She struggled to wrap her mind around the fact that Toraos Stephanos was jealous, which meant he must be interested in her. Wait, did it mean he was interested, or just being an overly possessive boss who was afraid of losing his underpaid, overly fervent assistant?
 

 

He stumbled and fell against her. Whether on purpose or accident, the hand on her waist made a bold move upward to her breast.

 

“Whoa there.” Her reaction was swift but futile. The man was strong and his hand determined. A zing of desire shot through her when his fingers found her nipple through her jacket. “We—uhhh.” His thumb pressed against her, drawing her to a tight peak. What had she been going to say? With Herculean effort, she pushed his hand down to rest at her waist. He stumbled again. “Are you drunk?”

 

 

He mumbled something she couldn’t understand into her hair. Of course he was drunk. He'd just fondled his assistant. To prevent him from falling, she wrapped her arm around his hips. If she could get him into his private elevator and upstairs, he should be okay.

 

 

“We’re almost there.”

 

 

“Your hair smells good.” He nuzzled her ear and sniffed. “Like rain and sunshine.”

 

 

“Well, I did just switch shampoos.”

 

 

This night had shot from a four to a seven on her bizarre meter. He was so close and felt entirely too good pressed against her.

 

 

She tilted her head away from him, trying to dislodge his face from her hair, but he stuck to her like Velcro. As they stopped in front of the elevator, she had to lean into him in order to press the button, which brought them face-to-face.

 

 

Eyes the color of toffee peered back at her. Oh man, he was so gorgeous he scattered her thoughts.
 

Her finger flailed against the cool metal plate until she found the 'up' button. She punched the up arrow but didn’t lower her hand because he stroked her arm. She should protest but that would require coherent thought and the ability to form sentences.
 

 

 

His fingers slid from her wrist, along her forearm, and under her elbow, sending tingles rippling across her shoulders. Her breath hitched as her arm hovered in the air, afraid if she moved he’d stop touching her. His gaze caressed her face and heat blossomed up her neck. Was he going to kiss her? He looked like he was going to kiss her. He shouldn’t kiss her. Please God, let him kiss me.

 

 

Her conscience shouted, “He’s your boss! And he might possibly be liquored up!” from somewhere in the back of her mind. Screw that. Toreas Stephanos was feeling her up finally and she was totally going with it. With a mental kick, she slammed the door on her pesky scruples.

 

 

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open just as he leaned in. Instead of giving her the much-anticipated kiss, Tor wrapped his hands around her arms and backed her into the confined space. His eyes never left hers and his mouth teased, lingering an inch from her lips.

 

 

But he didn’t kiss her. Damn him.

 

 

He crowded her into the elevator until she bumped against the back wall. The sleek handrail that ran around three sides of the car pressed into her back. The entire length of his torso lay against her, and she could feel every curve, every dip…and every bulge of his body. Even she couldn’t misread the message. He wanted her.

 

 

The doors shut, but the elevator didn’t move.

 

 

“I don’t have the spare keycard.” Her voice cracked. “Do you have yours?”

 

 

“It’s in my pocket.” A wicked smile spread across his mouth, and he placed a hand on either side of her head against the wall. “Find it.”

 

 

Nikki swallowed hard. “Umm no. ”

 

 

He tilted his head, his gaze drilling into hers. “Yes.”

 

 

Since the day Tor had interviewed her for the job, she’d dreamed about fondling his tight rear end, and now she’d been handed a grope all you want pass. But she really needed to resist the temptation. She shuddered to think what this morning after might look like, fairly certain it would include a pink slip for date raping her drunk boss. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

 

 

“I do.”

 

 

This was getting her nowhere. Without his cooperation, she wouldn’t be able to get him to the penthouse. No assistant should have to endure this much temptation. If she got him in bed—unmolested—she’d deserve a raise.

 

 

Her touch was tentative at first, like finally trying on the thousand-dollar pair of shoes in the store window she’d always admired but unsure if they’d be as awesome as she imagined. She needn’t have worried.

 

 

Her hands glided across the firm plains of his backside. Sweet baby Jesus, he was built. Her fingers itched to squeeze the tight cheeks and pull him against her, but she only just remembered she was searching for his security card. “You don’t have any back pockets.”

 

 

“Don’t I?” He ground his hips against her pelvis, and his voice rumbled against her chest. “You’d best check the front ones.”

 

 

This was not happening. Her super hot boss who'd never shown an ounce of interest in her before tonight was not urging her to feel up his merchandise in the company elevator. No way. But what if he was? What was she going to do about it? She needed to find his key card and get him to his suite of rooms upstairs, that's what. Clearly he had drunk more than she remembered, and they'd both be embarrassed in the morning.

 

 

Her hands slid along his hips and into the front pockets of his pants. She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned forward, bending her elbows in order to wedge her fingers into the constricted compartments. The small space separating them shrunk. Their lips brushed but didn’t fully make contact.

 

 

His topaz gaze caught hers again and wouldn't let go. Silently they both weighed what was about to happen, his fist gripping her blouse and pulling her even closer.  

 

 

She dove deeper, kind of searching for the keycard, but mainly hoping for a gratuitous feel of his manhood, if she were being honest.

 

 

The man was pure perfection. Her hand bumped the rigid line of his erection, eliciting a low growl from him, and all thoughts of resisting morphed in an all-consuming need she couldn't fight any longer. She schooled the impulse to wrap her leg around his waist and grind like a teenager at prom. If they were going to do this, and by now she'd pretty much decided to hell with her job—she wanted this man more than her next breath—and she didn’t want to be interrupted. With a mental shake, she swept her hands along the inside of his pockets.

 

 

“There’s no key in your front pockets either,” she whispered against his mouth.

 

 

He leaned back a fraction, removing his creeping hand from her ribs, and extracted the card from the breast pocket of his jacket. “Oh, here it is.”

 

 

Her gaze narrowed. “You knew it was there all the time.”

 

 

Without denying her accusation, he twisted to swipe the card along the security pad and pressed P. The only time she’d ever been to his penthouse was to drop off dry cleaning or files that needed to be signed. The visits had been brief, and she’d always been alone. Not this time.

 

 

The elevator hummed and eased upward. He faced her, their eyes locking. This was it, the moment she’d been dreaming about since the day she’d met Toraos Stephanos.

 

 

The million reasons why she shouldn’t make out with her boss now the furthest thought from her mind. Screw it all. She'd start combing the want ads in the morning, but tonight she was going to finally find out what it meant to be fucked by a god.

 

 

And right now she wanted that kiss. She rose onto her tiptoes to meet his lips halfway.

 

 

Imagination had nothing on the real thing.

 

 

At first touch, electricity ignited through her body, crackling along her skin and making the hair on her arms tingle. She wasn’t sure, but she thought the recessed lights above flicked. Wow, it was like Mardi Gras in her mouth.

 

 

She gasped and his tongue swept in, effectively driving every sane thought from her head as an unbearable sweetness coated her tongue. No wonder Demetria hadn’t wanted to share the wine from the golden bottle; it made the red she and Creed had been drinking taste like vinegar.

 

 

A euphoric haze stole through her mind, lighting every nerve in her body. It was as if Tor had morphed into one of those Hindu gods with all those arms. His hands were everywhere, God bless him, fondling her breasts, stroking her back, and massaging her butt, seemingly all at the same time.

 

 

She gripped his ass and pulled him against her. When that wasn’t satisfying enough, she attempted a leg wrap, but the confining material of her skirt halted her vigorous attack, snapping her leg back down. Damn her sensible work clothes.

 

 

Tor broke their kiss and twisted, smashing the emergency stop button with his fist. The elevator lurched to a halt, throwing Nikki against him. His fingers pulled at the pins in her hair and loosened the tight bun. She gave a little shake of her head, sending the straight tresses cascading over her shoulders.

 

 

Next, Tor’s exploration moved to the buttons of her jacket, pulling until it fell open to expose her clinging camisole to his touch. Cool air from the vent swept around her but was instantly warmed by the heat of his body.

 

 

She knew she should stop this—they were making out in the company elevator. There might even be security cameras in here. But then he kissed her and all coherent thoughts of propriety and modesty evaporated like a fog on a warm summer morning. She couldn't care less right now if this moment ended up on YouTube tomorrow. Maybe she'd become an internet sensation: How To Screw Your Boss Into Delirium. Totally worth it.

 

 

His hands glided up her waist, over her breasts, and along her shoulders to push the jacket off. The coat dropped to the floor, and she gave it a quick kick into the corner. His lips found hers again, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip. She threaded her fingers through the strands of his thick hair, relishing the silkiness.

 

 

His sensual attack traveled downward, along her neck and collarbone. Moist kisses were followed by the tickle of breath brushing against her sensitive skin. He traced the top of her green camisole with his fingertips.

 

 

“I’ve always wondered what you hid under those proper jackets.” His finger hooked he thin strap and pulled it over her shoulder to expose one of the bright-green lace cups of her push-up bra. “Ah, more layers.”

 

 

“Really? You’ve always wondered?” She brushed the hair away from his face so she could watch his movements. “Because you never seemed interested before tonight.”

 

 

“Then I was a fool.” He laid several kisses along the swell of her breast before dipping his fingers beneath the delicate material to pull it down and expose her nipple. “That’s what I’ve been looking for.”

 

 

“Are you sure you haven’t drunk too much? Maybe your wine was stronger than mine.”

 

 

He didn’t answer, only gave her a low moan of satisfaction.

 

 

Her breathing became labored, and her back arched toward him, needing to feel his lips on her body. The moist drag of his tongue rasped across her nipple. She watched him pull back and blow, the pink bud tightening into a painful nub, and a surge of desire spiraled to her core.

 

 

He lowered his head again, drawing her nipple into his mouth. A moan mixed with panting escaped her. When his hand drifted to remove the other shoulder strap, she reached over and practically ripped the camisole off.

 

 

“Too slow,” she panted. Her head lolled against the smooth panel of the back wall and her eyes closed.

 

 

A low chuckle escaped his throat as he continued his assault. With each tug of his mouth, a delicious ache surged between her legs. His lips traveled to the other breast, pulling away the lace and laving her nipple with equal attention. She tightened the grip on his hair, guiding him, demanding more. He complied. “You taste like wine,” he said, his voice vibrating against her breast.

 

 

“It’s the wine I spilled.”

 

 

“I like it.”

 

After several minutes of mindless bliss from his mouth, Tor knelt to caress her calves, his fingers drifting up and under her skirt and gathering the material. His gaze captured hers, burning into her. The beat of her heart quickened. He had a way of making her feel like the sexiest woman on earth right now. All of this was almost too good to believe—though she'd dreamed of it a million times. 

 

 

"God, you smell good." He nuzzled against her stomach, drawing in a deep breath. "I need you—need to touch all of you, Nikki."

 

 

Fine with her—no, not fine, but then he touched her again. She couldn't have brought herself to stop him if she'd wanted to—which she didn't. The skirt hitched around her upper thighs and she was suddenly very happy all her comfy cotton panties had been in the laundry.

 

 

Tor leaned in and kissed her inner thigh. She brushed the hair away from his face so she could see every sweet thing he did to her. His tongue swept upward, drawing gloriously close to where she wanted him to focus his attention. She shifted and widened her stance—just in case they had the same idea.

 

 

His fingers stroked up the back of her thighs and around the inside to lightly brush the junction between her legs. Sweet mother of pearl, she was ready to jump out of her skin. The worry of later consequences ghosted through her mind, but when Tor’s hands slid over her rear end and hooked his fingers at the waistband of her lacy undies to drag them down, the worries vanished. The garment pooled around her ankles and she kicked it free, adding it to her jacket in the corner.

 

 

She grabbed the hem of her skirt and hauled it upward, allowing Tor free rein, and he gave her the most satisfied smile she’d ever seen on a man, before turning his attention back to her heat.

 

 

With the lightest touch, he brushed his fingers along her sensitive flesh. Shivers vibrated along her thighs. Again he stroked her, this time a little harder. His finger brushed her clit, making her jump. His hands caressed the front of her thighs, his thumbs massaging inward, opening her to his touch. She let her knees widen, giving him better access. Tension seized her body as she waited for that glorious sensation—the first swipe of his hot tongue.

 

 

He leaned in, burying his face against her…and licked.

 

 

“Tor.” His name hissed from her lips. No other words would come.

 

 

He turned slightly and slid his shoulder between her legs, lifting her thigh to nestle more firmly against him. His tongue flicked, and she thought her knees were going to buckle from the exquisite sensation racing through her. Her hips thrust against his mouth, and a low moan rumbled from him, the strokes of his tongue increasing in pressure and speed. His hands kneaded her ass, pulling her close, drinking her in.

 

 

Unable to help herself, she twined her fingers through his hair to hold him against her. Spikes of pleasure spiraled, drawing out the heated ache growing between her legs. She gyrated against his mouth as his tongue flicked her clit and then drove deep into her. Tiny whimpers huffed from her with each thrust of her hips. She hovered, needing the release that held her at the edge of ecstasy.

 

 

 Two fingers dove inside her as his tongue flicked and dragged, working her until she thought she’d shatter. She gasped and pressed forward, riding his mouth while one of his hands held her ass, firmly moving her back and forth along his tongue, and the other expertly pumping his fingers inside her, drawing out the exquisite torture.

 

 

Finally, he offered her release. Focusing on her clit, he licked and sucked until every nerve in her body quivered and exploded with a shout of ecstasy. The bones in her legs seemed to melt, making it nearly impossible to stand—or speak. Beads of sweat slid between her breasts and disappeared into her bra. Heavy pants were all she could form.

 

 

 About Boone:

As a multi-published and an award winning author, Boone's writing drips with experiences from real life. Addicted to anything that might make a good story, she weaves tales that range from dark fantasy to humorous romance. Settled in the icy regions of Alaska with the love of her life and twin daughters, it's not uncommon to find her tapping away on her iPad on a windy beach or the barren tundra. Be warned, anyone and everything is fodder for one of Boone's novels.

 

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