Window Dressing

 CONTENT ADVISORY - m/f, attempted break-up sex...

Nina knew pelting her useless, good-for-nothing boyfriend with apples was an act of extreme immaturity and a waste of perfectly good apples. But the dull thwack of each shiny, green orb as it connected with various parts of his cowering anatomy just felt so good.

“All of my friends, Cam? You tried it on with all of my friends?” Her voice shook, her rage barely kept in check. Her dispassionate gaze raked over him. He flinched under the weight of her stare.

“Baby…” he started.

“Don’t you ‘Baby’ me, Asshole,” she hissed. “Just get out and don’t come back.” She punctuated the sentence by hurling another apple, straight at his crotch.

Cam yelped, curling his body sideways, trying to protect his manhood. Instead, he displayed his hip at the flying fruit. “Ow… Jeez, Nina, can’t we talk about this?”

Talk about it? Talk about how he, her sleaze-machine of a boyfriend had hit on not one, not two, not even three, but four of her closest friends! Four! The cretin should be grateful she stood next to the fruit bowl and not the knife block when he walked in the door. Then the useless gobshite would have something to gripe about.

“I’m not interested in a single, solitary thing coming out of your lying mouth, Cam. You can leave quietly, or I’ll keep throwing things at you until you do go.”

Cam held his ground on the other side of the lounge, scowling at her. Under the onslaught of a few well aimed pieces of fruit his usual suave demeanor had rumpled as badly as his pinstriped suit. Nina narrowed her own blue-eyed gaze, catching his scowl and staring him down. He glanced away first. The restrained fury inside her did a victorious little hop.

She watched him straighten to his full height. Cocking his head to the side, he attempted a smile and reached his hands forward, palms up. “C’mon Sugar. Please don’t be mad,” he wheedled. “I never actually did anything.”

Inwardly, Nina goggled at the sheer audacity of the man. “No, that’s true, Cam,” she replied calmly. “But, that’s only because every single one of them turned down your goddam, try-hard cheating ass!” By the end of the sentence, Nina’s dulcet tones had turned to demonic shrieks. Deciding actions had more sway than words, Nina again resorted to apples to make her point, hurling two in quick succession.

The first narrowly missed its target and flew straight through the front window shattering the glass in a tinkling cacophony of violence. The second connected soundly with the side of Cam’s head. He gave such a high pitched girly squeal, his expression so comically affronted, Nina burst out laughing.

Cam looked at her in horror, as if seeing her for the first time. “Fuck, Nina – you’re a lunatic,” he’d gasped, gingerly touching his fingers to his temple.

“Yeah, a lunatic and an idiot for putting up with a sack of shit like you for so long.” With shoulders still shaking with a mixture of temper and barely contained mirth, she sucked in a deep breath. “This is the last time I’ll say it; get out Cam, and don’t come back.” Pulling another apple from the bowl, she cradled it in her hand, tossed the fruit in the air, catching it in her palm.

Deciding discretion the better part of valor or perhaps just being a lily-livered coward, Cam turned on his heels. With a disgusted snort, he stalked out the front door, stomped over the front porch and across the lawn.

Well, she’d done it now. Not quite as calmly as she had imagined. With a grimace, she wrinkled her freckled nose at the broken window.

Not one of my best shots, she thought, allowing herself a small smirk of satisfaction.

A quick call and the repair job had been logged. Someone was scheduled to be with her within the hour.

Passing by the refrigerator, she snagged herself a beer. God only knows she deserved one. Her eyes dipped in bliss as the chilled amber nectar slid over her taste buds. Holy moly, what a day!

Her lunch date with the girls had turned into a full-scale intervention. Before the breadsticks even hit the table, they sat her in the corner of a booth, blocking any escape. Four equally woeful tales of her boyfriend’s attempted adultery with each of them were then unloaded. She wanted to scream her denial, but the love and concern radiating from her closest confidants kept her pride from making her a fool. In her heart of hearts, she knew Cam was a player. Her vanity had assumed she could tame his wandering eye. Truth was, she knew he wasn’t Mr. Right but she had stupidly thought he was okay as Mr. Right-For-Now.

Her ears pricked up as she heard steps on the porch and Cam’s cautious voice called from the verandah. The chicken-shit was too scared to actually show himself in the doorway. “Nina, can I at least collect my things?” His tone was plaintiff and whiney.

“Just fuck off, Cam. Text me your forwarding address and I’ll send everything tomorrow– but I promise if you hang around here any longer, I will not be responsible for my actions.” Clenching and unclenching her fists, her blood pounded in her ears. She guessed she’d bypassed the Grief Stages of denial and pain and had gone directly to anger. Cam unleashed a few choice curses of his own at her as he again trudged away from the house.

Reaching for her beer, she chugged down several gulps in an effort to calm her frayed nerves. Her eyes watered slightly in the process. Hmmm, what now? Time to get quietly drunk with a pity party for one?

Hearing footsteps again on the porch outside, she whirled toward the sound, incredulous at Cam’s persistence. Her rage suddenly flamed hotter than a jalapeno in the desert. Through the red haze she noted the fruit bowl was all out of apples. Putting down her beer, she grabbed an orange in each hand. Sucking air deep into her lungs, she bellowed at the open doorway.

“Which part of ‘Fuck Off’ don’t you understand, Cam? I don’t want to look at your godforsaken face for another moment. I deserve more than some turd-eating, flea infested mother-fucker like you.” Even though he was still too much of a loser to actually show himself, she hurled the two oranges straight out the door to let him know what she promised if he dared set foot inside the house.

“Ahhh… is this a bad time to look at your broken window?” A deep voice not belonging to Cam, asked from the safety of the verandah.

Immediately wishing for a convenient rock to crawl under, Nina went into damage control, running to the door and peering around the frame. “Oh my God!” she cried, her cheeks flaming. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

Stepping outside, an amused pair of brown eyes, fringed with dark lashes and laughter lines twinkled down at her. “Is it safe?” he queried, lifting his tanned arms up in mock surrender. “It looks as though you’ve a mean throw on you and I left all my body armor at the last job.”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated sheepishly. “I… I…” her voice petered away.

“Thought I was someone else?” he finished.

She gave weak smile and a small shrug of her shoulders. “Yeah, something like that.”

Standing on her porch, encased in figure hugging denim and a crisp white t-shirt was the window repair guy. In her past experience, tradesmen had beer bellies, bad teeth and wore grimy overalls. This guy looked as though he’d stepped straight off a Calvin Klein billboard.

“I’m Cody. I assume this is the window in question.” He tipped his head at the shattered glass.

“I’m Nina and yeah, that would be the window.”

“A flying fruit victim?” he asked, arching a brow and pulling a tape measure from his pocket.

“Yeah,” her full lips quirked in a wry smile. “Attack of the apples. Watch out –  bona fide crazy woman on the loose this afternoon.”

Turning toward the window, Cody worked the tape along and up the frame, taking measurements. Glancing over his shoulder toward her, he asked in a conversational tone, “So, what did the ‘turd-eating-flea-infested-motherfucker’ do to warrant a full scale fruit offensive?”

Nina inwardly cringed at the verbatim quote. “He hit on my friends…” she paused, “…all of my friends.” Her shoulders slumped. Feeling angry had been so powerful, giving her purpose and focus. She’d been dominant and in control. Now the adrenaline had evaporated, leaving her deflated, humiliated and slightly nauseous.

“More fool him.” Turning, Cody had stopped measuring and looked at her straight on. “Seems to me he had something pretty amazing here.” He raked an appreciative gaze over her from head to toe, before returning to the window frame. A spark of warmth ignited inside Nina, as what was left of her battered self-esteem picked itself up and dusted itself off.

“I’ve just cracked a beer. Can I get you one?” she asked.

Cody glanced at his watch and nodded. “Yeah, that’d be great. This is my last call for the day.”

Hurrying to the fridge, Nina sneaked a peek at her reflection in the hall mirror as she passed by. Smoothing down errant strands of caramel hair, she noted her unusually bright eyes and heightened color, idly wondering if the change had been caused by her earlier angry antics or the kind comments of the toned tradesman on her porch.

Twisting the top off the icy bottle, she hurried back to the verandah and handed him the brew. Thanking her, he brought the bottle to his lips and tipped his blond head back.

She watched the bobbing of his Adam’s apple with each swallow and wondered how it would feel to kiss him there.

What? Where the hell did that come from, she thought, mentally shaking herself.

“God, that’s good,” he sighed. “It’s been a long day. Although…” he paused, “perhaps not as long as yours.” His eyebrows lifted and a cheeky grin lit up his face. Nina couldn’t help responding with a smile of her own.

“I don’t have the right sheet of glass with me to replace this today,” he said. “It’s too late to go back to the depot and get anything now. So, I’ll just board this up tonight and come back first thing to replace the pane. Does that suit you?”

“Absolutely!” chirped Nina. “Do you need anything else? Can I help in some way?”

“No, not at all. I’ll be done in no time.”

“Do you mind if I sit and watch?” she asked.

He shook his head, “Not at all. I might even like it.” And with that he dropped her a saucy wink before turning to his van to get the necessary tools.

Butterflies did a fluttery jig in her stomach as she watched him work that beautiful ass all the way across the lawn to his truck. Exhaling a shaky breath, she smiled to herself. Hot damn! Perhaps a little light flirtation was just what she needed to cheer herself up.

Nina curled up in the chair in the corner of the porch and examined Cody as he worked. He was the complete antithesis of her now ex-boyfriend. Whereas Cam had been a city slicker, all designer suits and manicured nails, Cody was a taut, tanned boy next door.

Much to Nina’s irritation, it took Cody no time at all to get the window boarded up. The whole flirtation and ogling-the sexy-tradesman-while-he-worked game would come to an abrupt end unless she took matters in hand quick smart.

“Wow, you’re a fast worker,” she exclaimed.

“Service with a smile,” he grinned, raising his beer in a salute.

“What if I want more than a smile?” Nina threw the breathless question at him, testing the water.

Dipping his tousled head to the side, he crooked an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful, deciding how to respond to her query. Putting his beer down on the porch with a muffled clunk, he took two big strides until he was as close as you could be to a person, without actually touching them. He invaded all of Nina’s personal space, filling her senses with prime A-Grade masculinity.

“More than a smile?” he queried in a voice so low, she almost wondered if she’d imagined the question. “How much more than a smile?”

“Ummm…” Nina’s stomach fluttered like a flag in a hurricane as she tried to formulate a coherent response. However, Cody gave her no time to gather her wits, snaking an arm behind her, pinning her hard against his long, lean body. Lowering his face, his lips hovered above hers. His breath warmed her face. Something solid and manly pressed into her belly; not one of the power tools he’d been wielding earlier, she guessed. Her own hormones performed an enthusiastic song and dance of their own, hinting that rubbing herself all over this sexy stranger would be a very good idea.

“More than a kiss perhaps?” he murmured. There was no more than a breath between them. Dropping his head the remaining millimeters, his lips grazed hers, the contact making Nina’s pussy clamp. Deciding her hormones were probably on to an eminently sensible idea, she lifted her hands to Cody’s head. She kissed him with everything she had,  tasting beer and sunshine, reveling in the firmness of his lips as they worked against hers.

She lost all sense of time as their tongues parried. The roughness of his stubble abraded her cheeks, but it seemed a small price to pay for the tumult of luscious sensations cascading through her body. Her nipples peaked through the cotton of her sports bra and t-shirt as Cody grabbed her ass and lifted her up. Never breaking the kiss, he turned, sandwiching her between him and the rugged boards of the house.

Nibbling his way down her neck, his stubble dragged over her décolletage. He bit the pebbled nub of her breasts through the fabric of her t-shirt. Delicious sparks of pleasure and pain spiked through her body. Her head dropped back against the wall with a dull thud. Moaning her approval, she pushed her chest forward and up, giving him easier access. Shifting his attention to the other breast, Cody nipped and suckled hard, making her clit throb.

Rocking her hips against the impressive bulge in his jeans, Nina tried to build a rhythm, tried to get enough friction to ease the throbbing between her thighs. His hands branded her hips as he hauled her higher up the wall. Slamming his pelvis up and under hers, he had her pinned to the wall like a butterfly stuck with a pin. His erection now positioned exactly where she needed it to be. Hooking her heels around his sculpted ass, she shamelessly rubbed her crotch against his, giving herself up to the sensations rapidly ratcheting up between her thighs.

Her whole world had reduced to nothing more than the pounding of blood in her ears, the thumping of her heart in her chest cavity and the pulsating of her clit aching for release.

She didn’t hear the car pull up to the curb or its door slam. She didn’t hear the sharp horrified intake of breath. But she couldn’t help but hear the contempt in the male voice that shouted at her from the lawn.

“Oh my fucking God, Nina! You abuse me for not actually screwing any of your friends. Yet, I leave you alone for two minutes and I find you on the porch humping the hired help.” Cam’s outraged nasal tones cut through her reverie as effectively as a chainsaw.

Nina’s eyes flew open and, over Cody’s shoulder, she saw Cam standing in the middle of the lawn. With his legs akimbo and hands on his hips, he looked the perfect picture of moral outrage.

She closed her eyes and mentally counted to ten. “Cam, it’s really very stupid of you to return where you’re obviously not wanted.” Her tone was calm. Deadly calm. “You’ve just fucked up what was promising to be the best orgasm I’ve had in ages.”

Cody had not moved a muscle. Despite the interruption, his cock still pressed hard between her thighs. She murmured softly to him, “Bend your knees slightly.” He looked puzzled at the request, but holding her firmly between him and the wall, he bent his knees, effectively lowering them both. Dropping her hand, she groped for the beer bottle she’d left on the porch table.

Guessing her intention, Cam’s eyes widened slightly and he turned tail to flee. But he wasn’t quick enough. The still half-filled beer bottle hit him square in the back with a resounding thud. Cam’s muttered curses and threats floated back across the lawn to her, until he slammed his car door and drove off, his tires squealing almost as much as he did when he got hit.

“Remind me never to piss you off,” chuckled Cody, straightening up. Dipping his head he started nibbling on her neck again, causing her to shiver in the most delightful way.

“Yeah I will,” Nina whispered in his ear, immodestly moving her hips and reacquainting herself with his dick, “just as soon as we go inside and sort out my interrupted orgasm.”

“Absolutely, Madam.” And with that, he swept her into his arms, strode through the front door and kicked it shut with a resounding slam.

*****

If you missed any of our previous posts and would like to catch up, you can purchase the Everything Erotic Volume I, Everything Erotic Volume II, Everything Erotic Volume III Everything Erotic Volume IV, Everything Erotic Volume V, Everything Erotic Volume VI, Everything Erotic Volume VII, Everything Erotic Volume VIII, and Everything Erotic Volume IX anthologies as ebooks for only $2.99 each! Want it in print? Everything Erotic Volumes I-III is now available in paperback for $12.95.

Copyright © 2011 Greta Goddard

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

Greta's collection of short stories Erotic Liaisons is available from Amazon at the bargain price of $0.99

  

Power Play

Content Advisory - Light BDSM m/f fantasy

Sex is power. Don’t let anyone try to kid you it’s anything else. Dewey-eyed young misses may idealize sex into love, a soul connection and a happily-ever-after. But even they lose that notion about the same time they lose their hymen.

In most relationships, sex is the oil that lubricates the cogs, that makes the wheels go round. It’s hard currency to be traded. A little bit of rumpy-pumpy to gain forgiveness for exuberant overspending. A smidge of carnal contemplation to smooth ruffled feathers. We’ve all done it.

As I say – it’s all about power. Who’s giving and who’s taking. As a general rule of thumb, I’m all about being in charge. I like being on top - both literally and figuratively. Not saying I like to beat my men or anything, but I’m not shy about showing and telling them what I want. I mean, how the hell else would a man know what revs my engine and makes me purr?

But I have to admit, I’ve been wondering lately what being powerless would be like. No control, no influence, no consent. A rape fantasy? Hell, that sounds wrong on so many levels. I’ve never thought of myself as the submissive type before, but the more I mull the fantasy over, the more I realize somewhere deep down and dirty, that grubby little daydream has got my pulse all jittery and my knickers wet.

Being the upwardly mobile young woman I am, I have telephone numbers. Any dream can come true, for a price. And what price can be put on pleasure? Even if the pleasure lies on the shady side of Kink Street?

So I make the call. I’ll confess, I misdial a couple of times. I’m nervous. Who wouldn’t be?

I jump when the call is picked up. I stammer. Not like me at all. The operator at the other end of the line converses in well modulated tones. She’s not at all perturbed by my request. After a brief while on hold, she’s back. In a clinical manner, she issues me with my instructions.

My breath hitches at her disembodied final statement.

“Once this call is terminated, your requested fantasy will be arranged. The exact timing and delivery method will be up to the employee engaged. Is this understood?”

I swallow before answering, “Yes.”

“Do you have any questions?”

I exhale slowly, “No.”

“We need your word.”

My lips twitch. It seems impossible in the seedy world of for-sale sex, something as innocuous as my word could be the deal clincher. But I give it and hear the distant click of the handset and the hum of the dial tone.

Well, I’ve done it now. Nothing to do but wait. How and when it will happen, I have no idea.

It’s early in the evening and feeling more than a little antsy, I decide perhaps a bath may be just the thing to calm my frayed nerves. Steamy, hot water and lavender oil are usually the ticket when it comes to tempting out a little tranquility. But the calm of the quiet mind is not mine to find tonight. With one small telephone call, I’d opened Pandora’s box. I’m now waiting for the all the evils of the world to come and bite my sordid ass.

I try reading but the words run into each other and I find myself staring into space, straining to hear noises that aren’t there. Watching television isn’t any better. Flicking through channel after channel, I can’t follow the plot of anything, no matter how inane. Every tick of the clock is like a jack hammer going off, as time lengthens and stretches like a perverted piece of chewing gum into the evening. As the seconds turn to minutes and the minutes turn to hours, I consider turning to alcohol to alleviate some stress and perhaps lighten my mood. Mentally kicking that idea out the window, I decide clarity is a prerequisite if facing unknown night time visitors.

“Fuck this,” I mutter to no-one in particular as I stalk into my bedroom. I’m wound tighter than a two dollar watch. I’m gonna ring the agency and cancel whatever the hell it is I’ve ordered. My nerves are shot and the waiting is killing me. I’m going to call it quits and get some shut eye.

The hand comes out of nowhere in the darkness. The tension coiled inside me all evening explodes through my body in one gigantic surge of adrenaline.

Where the fuck did he come from?

My wrist is grabbed and twisted up between my shoulder blades. My breath freezes in my lungs. Before I can bellow with shock, I’m face down, spread-eagled on the bed, whimpering into the quilt. The bed dips as the weight of a stranger’s body presses up against my back. The fabric of my tank top and shorts is suddenly tissue paper thin, as his body heat scorches my sensitized skin, igniting sparks deep within my cunt.

Holy fuck! It’s actually happening!

Not giving me time to think, he rips my shorts and panties down to mid-thigh, exposing my ass cheeks. Squeaking with outrage, I try thrashing free, but with my arm held tight behind my back, my shoulder threatens to pop from its socket. My efforts are rewarded with a sharp slap on my rump. The sting brings tears to my eyes.

“This can be as easy or as hard as you want.” His voice is deep, gravelly and surprisingly fierce. With my face pushed into the covers, his tone is muffled, but the implied threat is clear. I stop moving.

“That’s better.” The bed sways again as he adjusts his position, sliding my shorts and panties off the end of my feet. “Much better.”

Deprived of sight, I call on my other senses to make head or tail of the situation, but find my wits utterly scrambled. I can’t see or smell anything other than the softly scented cotton of my duvet and my ears thump with the pulse of my own blood. Time is suspended. I’m at his mercy. My breath comes in short, panicked gasps as I wait for his next move.

Feather-light at first, so light I wonder if I’m imagining the touch, his fingers drift up the back of my thighs to my bared buttocks. Tickling like butterfly kisses. I try jolting away from the intimate contact. He delivers another swift slap and my ass cheek wobbles with the force. It smarts and I know I’ll be branded with his handprint. My face flushes with mortification but a deeper more primal part revels in the sensation. I am utterly turned on. I moan into the coverlet as my pussy walls contract and moisture seeps from me. My traitorous body overrides my good sense and my hips roll, trying to find something to move against.

“Hmmm, like that do we?” I shiver as the heat of his breath brushes my ear.

For the first time, his grip on my twisted arm relaxes. The mattress sinks and sways again as he moves away, towards the foot of the bed. Suddenly his hands, now firm and forceful are on my butt massaging, kneading and rubbing. Squeezing my ass cheeks together and spreading them apart, exposing the very core of me. Drifting under my hips, those strong hands pull me to my knees, lifting my ass up into the air. With my face still smothered by the covers, the cool atmosphere in the bedroom drifts over my nether regions. Goose pimples race across my skin. My short, shallow breaths are all I can hear in the gloom. I’m positively quivering with anticipation. Pushing my ass even further back, I hold my breath, waiting for a touch over my sensitive slit… for a tongue, a finger, anything…

Denying me, he instead flips me on my back, pins my hands above my head and drops his hips between my thighs. The unmistakable bulge of his cock presses against my mound. Before I can squeak in surprise, his lips are on mine, bruising me – trying to crush the very breath from my lungs. His tongue forces its way into my mouth. Refusing to accept this dominance, I parry with the brutality of his lips, fighting for supremacy and giving every bit as much as he does. I whimper under the onslaught and taste blood.

He grinds his caged erection up against me. I welcome the friction, hooking my ankles around his hips and rubbing myself shamelessly against the rough fabric of his trousers. My movements become more and more frantic, as a familiar pressure builds in my pelvis. Moaning into his mouth, my world starts shrinking into a pulsing point deep within my belly. With a deep groan of his own, he rips his lips from mine and stares down at me.

For the first time I get a good look at him. My imagination did not let me down. From his black cropped hair to his matching black eyes, he is the epitome of ‘dark and dangerous’. I cannot stop the thrust of my hips against his, trying to maintain the friction. Those inscrutable eyes of his flick down momentarily and back up again, sparking with amusement.

“You wanna come?”

“Yes.” My response is strangled. I hate the fact I sound so desperate, but desire has thrown what was left of my common sense under a bus, and I can only focus on trying to fan the inferno raging inside me.

The bed creaks as he stands and strips. Economical with his movements, he sheds his clothing deftly. Silhouetted against the light in the hall, he grabs his freed length and pumps his cock with a firm fist, allowing himself a little moan of pleasure. My breathing is ragged now as I watch him through glazed eyes. He has every right to be proud. He has long, lean lines and definition in all the right places. He looks fit to burst and I can smell the earthy scent of his arousal through my own lust filled haze.

My orgasm is hovering so close; I know I’ll blow any second. The familiar thrum between my thighs is building with all the subtlety of a volcanic eruption. My legs tremble with the effort it is takesing to hold back the rush of sensation.

“Come on dirty girl, I know you wanna come.” His tone is gentle, like he is trying to calm a skittish horse. “Don’t pretend I’m not turning you on. Come to Poppa, Baby. Give it up.” He punctuates his monologue by pulling me to the end of the bed and positioning himself between my open legs. Shoving a hand up inside my tank top, he snags one of my elongated nipples between his thumb and forefinger, twisting it, smirking at my drawn out moan.

Fisting his fat purple cock, he drags the blunt head up and down my soaked seam, smearing himself in my juices, readying himself. I whimper at the contact, now floating perilously close to oblivion. He hovers at my entrance, waiting for me to beg. Waiting for me to impale myself. Waiting to drown in my heat.

I look deep into those dark eyes of his. I pull my lips back to smile, but I suspect it looks more like a sneer. Making sure I have his full attention, I open my mouth to speak. Smugness radiates from him. He’s pleased with his night’s work, at his ability to bring me right to the edge. I need there to be no mistake; this all about my satisfaction – not his.

“Rhubarb.”

His jaw drops.

It’s my word. The word the agency wanted. An unusual word. A safe word. A word that will make him stop, no matter what. A word that turns him from dominant to subservient. From boss to employee. It is clear he did not expect to hear it, nor does he want to.

I hear the faintest hiss as he sucks his breath in. I wonder if he will let his anger show. There is a hint of a beating pulse at his temple, but that’s all. He is well-trained, this housebreaking fantasy man. Ignoring his now weeping erection, he slides backwards off the bed. Grabbing his clothes from the floor, I watch his chiseled ass cheeks flex, as he soundlessly pads over the plush carpet and out of the bedroom. Hearing the muffled click of the front door as he exits, I let my hand drift down between my legs.

With the barest skim over my clit, the dull throbbing at the centre of me explodes outwards. I try clenching the walls of my pelvic floor in a vain attempt to subdue the release, but some things cannot be tamed. As wave after wave of pent up sexual energy pulses through me, I am reduced to a sum of my lesser parts. My breathing nothing more than ragged inhaling, my exhaled air all primal grunting. Electrified back arching and random limb twitching is all that remains of my motor control. Blind and deaf, I’m oblivious to the guttural noises ricocheting off the walls and ceiling.

Eventually, the tempest calms and I can swallow without shuddering, although the sparks of the tumult still tic in my bloodstream and tremble in my pulse. The tang of copper is on my lips and I wonder whose blood I can taste.
 
Power. Sex is all about power.
 
In theory, I like the idea of submitting to someone else, relinquishing my authority and bending to the will of another. However, it turns out, in the end I still need to be the one calling the shots. 

*****

If you missed any of our previous posts and would like to catch up, you can purchase the Everything Erotic Volume I, Everything Erotic Volume II, Everything Erotic Volume III Everything Erotic Volume IV, Everything Erotic Volume V, Everything Erotic Volume VI, Everything Erotic Volume VII, Everything Erotic Volume VIII, and Everything Erotic Volume IX anthologies as ebooks for only $2.99 each! Want it in print? Everything Erotic Volumes I-III is now available in paperback for $12.95.

Copyright © 2011 Greta Goddard

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

Greta's collection of short stories Erotic Liaisons is available from Amazon at the bargain basement price of $0.99

By Appointment

You fling the door open, wearing nothing but a towel and a feral grin on your pixie-like face. Still wet from the shower, droplets of water run into the tantalizing crease of your cleavage. Your long dark hair cascades behind you. I know there’ll be no niceties or small talk today. No cups of tea or idle chit chat. Today will be nothing but action.

Your eyes are dark with barely concealed lust. You want me to fuck you and you want it right now. Without even speaking, you grab my shoulder and pull me in to kiss you, slamming the door behind us.

The kiss is hard and desperate, tongues thrusting, teeth bumping. The damp towel falls to the foyer floor with a flump. Looking down at you, I watch your nipples peak. Your chest heaves up and down, lifted by your already labored breathing. My cock clamors for release, shoving impatiently against my zipper.

Stepping away, you lay back on the stairs – staring at me with wide-eyed and wanton abandon. Leaning back on your elbows, your back arches and you push your tits up and into your waiting hands. Pinching those responsive nipples between forefinger and thumb, squeezing and pulling until your eyelids dip and a low groan escapes your full lips.

Snapping your eyes open, you catch my gaze and oh-so-slowly open your legs, like a challenge. Your milky thighs spread obscenely, exposing the fact you’ve shaved every hair from your cunt. It’s bald and wet.

Hmmm, someone’s been busy a busy girl I think to myself, unable to keep a smile of delight from my face. Your pussy lips are already slick with juice, sliding along your folds, and disappearing into the dark spot between your buttocks. My rod tingles with anticipation and I reach for my fly, ready to fuck you silly.

“I haven’t much time,” you say, breaking the silent spell of the moment. “Eat me.”

The bluntness of the command sends a spark of surprise through me, but I fall to my knees. Pushing the discomfort of the awkward position on the stairs from my mind, I bend to the task in front of me. You smell so fucking good, as I bury my face between your thighs. My tongue runs the full length of your slit, gliding over and around your already swollen nub. You jolt at the contact and your breathing hitches. Tracing a path down the inside of your pussy lips, I slide over the entrance of your sheath and come right to the edge of your rosebud pucker. Groaning, you grab the back of my head and steer me where you want me most.

“Fuck me with your tongue,” you say in a firm tone, leaving no room for argument.

I shove my tongue in like a miniature dildo - trying to squirm all the way inside the wet heat of your snatch. The tang of your arousal explodes over my taste buds. I inhale your musky scent as your clit is mashed against the tip of my nose. Your hips heave as you grind your silky soft nether regions against my face. My tongue is starting to ache - it is dug in so far. But I sure as hell won’t stop until you tell me to.

Running a finger along the underside of your thigh, I know what you want. Your muffled whimper of need is my confirmation, as you tilt your hips up, exposing your rosette.

“Put your finger in my ass,” you pant out on a strangled breath.

As if I needed telling. I slide a finger between buttocks slick with your cream and my spit. Gently rubbing my fingertip around your tight puckered hole, I feel it yield and gradually give.

”C’mon,” you say through gritted teeth, “are you waiting for a written invitation?”

Horny today, are we? Not receiving your conjugal quota? Need some rough and ready? I drive my finger in. You moan your satisfaction and squeeze hot and tight around my digit. My cock is throbbing a complaint from within its denim confines, but I know I have to satisfy you first.

Finger fucking you, I build up momentum as I push in and out of your ass. Your groans of approval are guiding the pace. All the time, my tongue is hard at work, driving in tandem into your pussy. Your hips are doing a crazy dance on the step and it’s taking all of my concentration to keep my face glued between your thighs and my finger in your ass.

“Hurry. Mark’s home soon,” you gasp.

Ahhh - It’s the risk of being caught that's got you so fired up today.

Redoubling my efforts, I push my finger further into the secret, tight spot you reserve for me. A low keening noise – a feral animalistic sound – spills from your lips and fills the space around us. Dragging the flat of my tongue over your snatch, I lap your clit between my lips and suck it, hard.

You cry out for a God you don’t believe in as you plummet over the edge into orgasm. Your hands are anchored in my hair as you clutch me to the pulsing center of you. The strength of your grip makes me wince.

As you ride out the last of your spasms, your hands drop from my head and land with a muffled thump beside you. You fall back limp on the stairs. Draping an arm across your forehead, your breath comes in heaving gulps. I have a crick in my neck, my knees hurt and your juices are smeared all over my face. My dick aches in frustration, but getting off is not a perk I’m gonna get today.

“Your money is on the table.” Your voice trembles. “Quick. He’ll be here any minute.”

Rising to my feet, I wipe my face on my sleeve and grab the bills on my way to the door. I shove them in my pocket next to my sensitive cock. Casting one last look at you, I see you’ve risen and pulled the crumpled towel back over your nakedness.

“Same time next week,” you say. Your voice has steadied. “He’ll be out of town. We’ll have more time.” You turn, climb the stairs and disappear out of sight.

I open the door and step out into the street, squinting in the sunlight. Striding up the road, I make a mental note to schedule you for two-thirty next Thursday.

*** 

Copyright © 2011 Greta Goddard

Greta's book Erotic Liaisons - An ebook of six sexy short stories to tempt, tease and titillate.  Get your copy at Barnes & Nobel or Amazon 

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

~~*~~

If you missed any of our previous posts and would like to catch up, you can purchase Everything Erotic Volume I, Volume II, Volume III, Volume IV, Volume V, and Volume VI, Volume VII, and Volume VIII anthologies as ebooks for only $2.99 each! Want it in print? Everything Erotic Volumes I-III is now available in paperback for $12.95.

 

Thank Fuck It's Friday!

Content Advisory - Some furtive fantasizing and m/f oral


Most people love Friday because it signals the end of the working week and the beginning of the weekend. Two days of freedom, away from the grind of money-making.

I love Friday because it’s the day I get to bring home some cash by grinding my money-maker. OK, perhaps not actually ‘grinding’, but certainly by flashing it about. You see, I’m a model. A nude model. Not one of the nasty pay-per-view variety but the artistic life drawing type.

The Art Tutor at the local Community College is a close friend and when one of his regular models let him down, he asked me to fill in . Initially, I was a little nervous. Who wouldn’t be? Usually, the only time I’ll willingly strip is under the influence of too much bourbon and when the lights are turned down low. Real low.

But this tutor friend of mine, he has a silver tongue and way of convincing you even the worst ideas in the world are worth pursuing. He worked his verbal voodoo, telling me how empowering the experience would be—, how liberating— and just how much the students appreciated the work the models did. Yadda, yadda, yadda. And, he added, just how much he would appreciate it too.

So, on that first fateful Friday, I stood behind a screen in his studio, wearing nothing but a light cotton robe and a grimace of terror. An ice cold lump of fear lodged in my belly caused my knees to tremble and my hands to shake. But I was determined I to do this. I would do this. The power, the liberation and the kudos of students and teacher would be mine.

Schooling my face into a mask of calm and gritting my teeth together to stop the chattering, I slid from behind the security of the screen towards the chaise longue in the middle of the room. A circle of easels surrounded the chair, each with an attached artist. The wood of the floor felt rough beneath my bare feet. The warmth of the sunlight streaming into the studio had absolutely no melting effect on the cold lump of dread still wedged in my gut.

“Everyone, this is Amy,” the tutor said. He squeezed my shoulder in encouragement and then dropped his head close to my ear. “You’ll be fine.” Sitting me down on the edge of the chaise, he slid the robe from my shoulders. The material slithered onto the faded tapestry of the daybed, baring me to the waist. Open to the air and the view of all the room’s occupants, my nipples puckered. I hung my head, mortified.

Fixing my gaze steadfastly on the ground I now wished would swallow me, I vaguely heard the tutor telling me to lay back and make myself comfortable. Before I could make a grab for the robe, he whisked the garment away and strode off, leaving me stranded and stripped. Very, very stripped. I gulped, blinked and lay back. Like a virgin sacrifice or a lamb to the slaughter.

You know the hint everyone gives you when you’re as nervous as hell, standing in front of a crowd about to give a speech? The hint about imagining everyone in the audience naked? Well, while I lay there in all my glory in front of a room of faces, whose eyes were trained on me, me and nothing but me, that’s just what I did. I took a deep breath, softened my gaze and imagined them all totally, utterly and completely nude.

I’ll admit the technique was very distracting. Trying to work out how well endowed the males were and which of the women might not be surgically enhanced. After a while, I was relieved to realize I wasn’t freaked out or nervous any more. But an hour is a bloody long time to lie back and think of Old Mother England, so to speak. I had a crick in my neck and boredom started to creep in. My mind wandered…
 
I envisaged all of them unclothed, painting me. Not a picture of me on the canvas, you understand, but me on the chaise. My actual body.

One by one, they moved from behind their easels and approached me with brushes and palettes in hand. The men’s pendulous cocks hung heavy between their thighs. The women’s breasts, free and swinging. Each of them, stood over me, dipping sable brushes into dollops of thick paint and tracing delicate strokes across my skin. Daubing me with their designs. Some in long bold lines down my flanks. Others, dabbing delicately on my neck and my décolletage. The tickle of the bristles as they dragged over my skin was pure bliss and torture in equal measure; making me a masterpiece.

Desire hooded the artists’ eyes as they worked on me. The studio filled with the sound of squelching brushes plunging into paint and the swishing of bristles as they smeared color over my skin. Everywhere except where I wanted it. I needed to feel the drag and pull of their ministrations on my breasts. Circling the responsive duskiness of my nipples until they peaked and stood up, begging to be sucked. Or bitten. Or pinched.

Fuck, now I wasn’t worried about the crick in my neck, but about blowing serious cover in front of a room full of strangers! Keeping my face impassive and my breathing slow took a concerted effort. My engorged clit pulsed an aroused tattoo of its own and I yearned to squeeze my legs together to create some friction. Settling instead for clenching all of my internal muscles, my pussy throbbed and a rush of liquid slid down the crack of my ass. I smelt the musk of my own desire and my nipples tightened in response.

My gaze softening again, I contemplated what a brush would feel like, slick with viscous paint, as it slid from my sensitive hood to the cleft of my cheeks and back again. Over and over. Teasing my clit, stroking my labia, circling my pulsating pussy and tickling the rosebud of my ass…

“That’s all for today folks.” The tutor’s brisk voice broke the silence and sent my daydream scuttling back into the recesses of my mind. He slipped the robe back around my shoulders and I was surprised at the reluctance I felt to put it back on. “Stay right there,” he murmured. “Let me get rid of these guys. There’s something I need to do.”

My body was still taut with the lust I had unwittingly unleashed with my unfettered thoughts. Who’d have thought you could have so much fun starkers in a room full of strangers?

Did I say the tutor was an old friend of mine? Well, to tell the truth, he’s a little more than an old friend. He’s my boyfriend and that silver tongue of his is not only good at talking me into situations that make me squirm. It is also good at plunging into parts of me to make me squirm even more.

Which was what he did, as soon as the last of the students finally traipsed out. Turning the key in the lock, he stalked straight to the middle of the room. Pushing me backwards onto the chaise, he knelt between my thighs, pushing them wide. He snaked that talented tongue of his right up the swollen seam of my sex, the cream of my arousal blatantly obvious.

“I told you you’d be fine,” he said, before he pushed my legs even wider apart and dropped his mouth to feast upon the molten core of me. I ground my cunt hard up against his face, holding his hair, not letting him come up for air until all my pent up frustration exploded out into the studio in a stream of wanton moaning and trembling.

So, week after week, I come to class; I strip and I conjure up dirty little stories in my head. Sometimes, I picture the men in the class creatively filling each of my holes, while the women paint the scene. Sometimes, I am at the mercy of the women’s thrusting fingers and probing tongues, whilst the men jack off, splattering us with come. And sometimes, the tutor and I create a pornographic panorama or two of our own for them all to enjoy.

But the best part is that after an hour of sitting very still, with nothing but my overactive imagination keeping me warm, my favorite tutor helps to relieve any tension an hour of frantic fantasizing can create.

Funnily enough, now just a whiff of paint can push me to the point of orgasm. I don’t need the strength of bourbon to give me courage, or the cover of darkness to hide behind. I’m empowered and liberated. I’m respected by the students and well serviced by their tutor.

God, I love Fridays!

*** 

Greta has just released Erotic Liaisons - an ebook of six sexy short stories to tempt, tease and titillate.  Get your copy at Barnes & Nobel or Amazon 

Copyright © 2011 Greta Goddard

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

~~*~~

If you missed any of our previous posts and would like to catch up, you can purchase Everything Erotic Volume I, Volume II, Volume III, Volume IV, Volume V, and Volume VI, Volume VII, and Volume VIII anthologies as ebooks for only $2.99 each! Want it in print? Everything Erotic Volumes I-III is now available in paperback for $12.95.

 

Getting Back on the Horse

Content Advisory - Sneaky m/f sex on a desk

It had been a Class A, bona-fide, complete and utter shit of a day. Work that morning had sucked beyond all belief. The lunch break with her boyfriend Judd, which was meant to be the bright spark in her day of dreary dismalness, had in fact been its own date of doom.


“It’s just not working,” he’d said.
“It’s not you, it’s me,” he’d said.
“I love you – I’m just not in love with you anymore,” he’d said.
“I’ll be gone by eight,” he’d said.

Her mouth opened and closed a lot; reminding her of a guppy she had when she was six. Blindsided by the avalanche of clichés cascading from the mouth of the man she’d planned happily ever after with, she’d been too shocked to do anything more than nod at him and then walk back to the office.

And so at six p.m., when Alyssa had endured the rest of the working day and finally trudged away from the office, she still had two hours to kill before she could safely head back to her apartment. The vicious wind bit at her head and fingers. Plunging her hands deep into her pockets and turning her collar up high, she hunched her shoulders and pulled her neck into the cashmere coat like a turtle in its shell.

She wanted to go somewhere safe and familiar. Home would have been the first choice but seeing as Dick-Wad was in the process of getting his stuff out, staying away seemed like a sensible option for her already fragile self-esteem. She did not trust herself enough not to do something stupid, like blubber like a baby and hang on to his leg, begging him to stay. She shuddered at the thought.

Low self-esteem maybe, but enough self-respect not to hang round when I’m not wanted.

Instead, she walked into The Shamrock, an Irish bar a couple of blocks from home. As the wind blasted her in from the street, the bar’s boozy familiarity wrapped itself around her like a coat. It was a small bar completely typical of any Irish pub the world over. From the green baize and Guinness posters on the walls, to the polished wooden bar and floors that echoed the conversations and laughter of patrons around its open spaces. It could be in New York or it could be in Dublin and that was its charm.

Hiding here with the locals, she might find a familiar face and perhaps a shoulder to cry on as she got quietly slaughtered. Yep, hiding here until the coast was clear seemed like the best idea she’d had all day. Shrugging out of her coat and sliding on to one of the high wooden bar stools, she leaned across the bar and caught the eye of the barman. He raised an eyebrow of recognition at her.

“’Lyss m’lovely! Top o’ the evenin’ to yer!” His blue eyes twinkled and a warm and welcoming grin stretched across his face.

“Your fake accent is truly appalling Liam,” she groused at him good-naturedly. “Shut up and bring me a bourbon – straight up.”

The barman reached a muscled arm to the shelf behind him and grabbed a bottle. With a flourish, he tipped the bottle and the nip splashed its way into the glass. He slid the glass across the counter to her waiting fingertips. Alyssa picked up the tumbler and threw the amber liquid straight past her lips and down her throat. Her eyes watered slightly but her face remained impassive as she slid the glass back across the bar.

Liam’s eyes widened just a fraction.

“And again.” Her voice was flat, her normally sparkling green eyes downcast. Idly, she picked skin from around her nails as she waited for the second drink.

“Hard day at the office?” he enquired.

“Yeah, you could say that.” The second bourbon took even less time to disappear.

“And again.” Already, the warm glow extended from her belly to her extremities. A slight frown crossed the barman’s face.

“You’ll brew yourself a mother of a hangover, if you keep that up.”

“I was planning on it.”

“Is it work ‘Lyss, or is it that useless good for nothing boyfriend of yours that’s put you in such a funk?”

“The latter.” She frowned. “And how did you know he was good for nothing?”

He shook his head and looked at her as if she was some sort of simpleton.

“Jesus ‘Lyss, everyone thought he was an asshole.” He paused, “Everyone except you.” Sighing, he smiled at her and tipped his head to the side. “But, I’m guessing you’ve worked that out now.”

She couldn’t prevent a rueful smile of her own.

“Yeah, I’ve worked it out. Big time. Bottoms up!” Tipping her head back, she dispatched the third glass of bourbon in the same way as the previous two. Stretching to one side, she pulled a bowl of pretzels in front of her. She poked them absently into her mouth one after the other, trying to make the baked saltiness fill the abyss of emptiness inside her – the abyss she knew had nothing to do with hunger.

“’Lyss, you’re looking at this the wrong way. This should be a celebration, not a commiseration.” Liam’s voice was low against the background hum of tweedily-dee fiddle music, cheerfully bouncing from the P.A system.

With a sharp snort of disdain, her own blue eyes narrowed and she snapped, “What’s there to celebrate? I’m twenty-eight years old and my bastard of a boyfriend has just given me the ‘it’s-not-you-it’s me’ speech. As we’re speaking he is moving his stuff out of our apartment to go fuck-only-knows where, because I was too fucking gob smacked to ask.” She sucked in a long deep breath and exhaled slowly, bringing her voice back under control. “I’m not really up to singing and dancing just yet thanks. But I will settle for getting very drunk until I am able to go back to my cold empty apartment for one.” Despite the deep breath, she could not keep the wobble from her voice.

The barman’s gaze darkened and a tic pulsed in the side of his jaw. His voice seemed to drop even lower as he locked his gaze with hers and bent close across the bar, so close she felt his breath on her face as he spoke.

“I meant celebrate being free of the sonofabitch. You deserve better. You are beautiful and smart. Men will be beating down your door once they know you’re back on the market.”

Throwing her auburn hair back over her shoulder, she howled with laughter. “Hah! I wish! I’ve been out of the dating game so long, I don’t even know how to talk to a man anymore. The thought of going through all that hoopla again makes me squeamish.” She wrinkled her nose emphasizing the point.

“You know what they say,” he paused for effect and lifted an eyebrow, “you’ve gotta get back on the horse again, Sweetheart.” At her quizzical stare, he continued, “Get out there and find someone to give your self-esteem a boost. Find yourself a new ride.” This time when he paused, a cheeky smirk flitted across his lips and his blue eyes glimmered with merriment. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have to look too far.”

As her cheeks heated with a tell-tale blush, she pulled her gaze from his. He handed her a soda, and she gulped it down. The bourbon, pretzels and rapid turn in conversation had turned her mouth as dry as the proverbial desert. Liam moved away and started pouring black syrupy pints of Guinness for a couple of regulars, perched like crows on stools at the other end of the bar.

She watched his lithe movements as moved behind the counter and she looked at him—really looked at him—because she’d never been available and he’d never seemed interested. From his halo of shaggy blond hair, over the athletic muscles of his proportioned body, to the tips of his booted toes, he was a Grade-A specimen of masculine perfection. Alyssa mentally berated herself for never noticing this before.

Excitement flickered inside her. The seed of the idea he had planted with his saucy smile grew roots and anchored itself somewhere low down and dirty, causing all her lady-bits to tingle in the most delicious way.

Liam sauntered back to her end of the bar, clearing away her drained glass.

“What can I get you next?”

Flashing him a look of pure mischief she said, “A horse.” His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply. He leaned over the bar and spoke close to her ear, his breath sending delicious shivers up and down her spine.

“I beg your pardon.” His voice had dropped an octave.

“You heard me. A horse. I need something new to ride.” Brazening it out, she pulled back and looked him square in the eye, daring him and double daring him and praying like hell the bourbon and her tingly lady-bits had not led her instincts completely astray.

Quirking his lips and dropping one eyelid in a lazy wink, he drew close again and whispered into her ear, “Neigh.” Every nerve ending, in every sensitive place within her went into high alert. She squirmed on her stool.

Standing abruptly, he signaled to a guy clearing tables.

“Hey Joe – I’m taking my break now. Okay?” . Liam turned back to her now startled upturned face and murmured, “Meet me out back.”

“Now?” she squeaked.

“Absolutely,” he grinned. I’m not giving you any time to change your mind.” And with that he spun on his heels and walked away from her, down the length of the bar and through a door marked ‘Staff Only’. Stunned, she slumped slightly on her stool staring at the door Liam had just disappeared through. Slowly her spine straightened as she grabbed hold of her senses. He was sexy. He wanted her. She wanted him. The only shame in this whole situation would be if she let it pass her by because of some misplaced fear or insecurity.

Casting a furtive glance around her to check she was not being watched, she traversed the length of the bar to the ‘Staff Only’ door. She hesitated for only a millisecond before her hand pushed the smooth hardwood and she stepped through the frame. The door swung back on its hinges, slapping her lightly on the ass and she muffled a squawk of fright. A narrow corridor led back to the kitchen and several doors lead off on each side. Liam leaned on the wooden frame of one, his head cocked.

“I thought you’d chickened out on me,” he drawled.

She swallowed, “I almost did.” Her voice sounded loud in the confined space of the corridor. He held out his hand to her. Taking it, she was surprised at the warmth and strength of his grasp. He pulled her through his doorway and pushed it shut behind them. With a muted click, he locked the door.

They were in a small office housing little more than a desk, chair and shelves crammed with mountains of paperwork. Wasting no time, Liam pulled Alyssa into his embrace, dropping soft kisses over her upturned face. Eventually their lips met and all gentleness fled.

Whispering to her, “I don’t have much time as I would like – just let me take care of you, Okay? His gaze pierced right through her and for the second time that day, she was so shocked, all she could do was nod her approval.

With a wolfish grin, he laid her flat on the desk. She barely heard the crashing pens and paperclips as he swept a space clear for her. Kneeling on the floor, he gently pushed her legs apart. She jolted as his calloused hands seared a path under her skirt, from her knees, over the softness of her inner thighs. The cool office air crept over her exposed skin, as her skirt gradually bunched around her waist. Feather-light, he kissed and stroked his way closer and closer to the core of her, which already clenched with need. She lifted her hips to him, urging him on. Pulling her panties to the side, he exposed her sex for the first time. He groaned his approval as he ran a finger down the slick and swollen seam.

Alyssa’s back bowed at the sensation. Giving her no reprieve, he plunged the lubricated digit deep within her. Slowly, he slipped it in and out of her, all the time his lips flitted over her sensitive skin, nipping and licking. He eased another finger in, and another. Each time she hissed her approval, her pelvis undulating – wanting more. Slowly, he built up the pace, his attention everywhere around her pussy but the place she wanted it most.

She growled in frustration. Her hips lurched in a frenzied motion all of their own, riding his hand, trying hard to tip herself over the edge.

“What do you want ‘Lyssa,” he taunted from between her thighs. “Tell me, so I can give it to you.”

Her movements were agitated and feral, her moans plaintive and desperate. She did not care about the hard desk beneath her, or the harsh fluorescent light glaring down from above – her whole world was centered on an orgasm hovering just outside her grasp. Oh God, touch my clit, she thought.

“Tell me,” he teased, his fingers continuing their evil magic, her head spinning, her lungs heaving, her hips now lifting right off the table in a feverish attempt to find release.

“Oh God,” she wailed, “Stop torturing me! My clit, please, touch my clit…”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he grinned, as he dipped his head to her snatch and inhaled the musky scent of her. Without preamble, he sucked the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth, swirling around the swollen bud with his tongue. He thrust his fingers deep, reveling in her liquid heat. Her body curled up, her fingers tangled in his hair and she screamed as she finally tipped over the edge. Grasping his already tousled hair like a woman possessed, she gripped his head and clamped him vice-like to her pulsing center. Her sheath gripped his fingers, her head thrashed from side to side as she lost herself completely to the pleasure coursing through every cell of her being.

She was vaguely aware of Liam, standing up. The world was in soft focus as she saw him lift his slick fingers to his mouth and lick them one by one. She could only shudder weakly on the desktop.

“You are so beautiful Alyssa.” His voice was soft, as his gaze raked her from head to toe. He reached forward and gently pulled her skirt back down, restoring her modesty. He leaned forward and kissed her. The taste of her arousal was all over him. “Joe will come looking for me any minute. I’ve gotta go. Come out as soon as you’re ready.” He unlocked the door and slid out into the hall.

It was only a couple of minutes before she rejoined him in the bar, gliding back onto her stool. Only her heightened color gave any indication anything unusual may have happened while she was away. She smiled shyly at him.

He handed her a large mug of coffee. She looked at it curiously.

“Coffee?”

“Yep. Don’t want you going to sleep.” He grinned like a Cheshire cat. “I’ve got plans for you later and I’d prefer you conscious.”

She raised an enquiring eyebrow at him. “Plans?”

“I know you were hoping to go ‘riding’. Get back into the groove, find your mojo and all that jazz…” The sentence petered off. Alyssa had no idea what he was talking about.

“And…” she prompted.

“Well, technically, you didn’t actually go for a ride,” he paused for effect, “and it would be very rude of me to promise something and not deliver.” He dropped another one of his saucy winks. “You never know, perhaps I could find some spurs, or a whip or two.”

For the third time that day Alyssa was struck dumb and she could only gulp back a mouthful of coffee and nod her approval. 

*** 

Greta has just released Erotic Liaisons - an ebook of six sexy short stories to tempt, tease and titillate.  Get your copy at Barnes & Nobel or Amazon 

Copyright © 2011 Greta Goddard

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

~~*~~

If you missed any of our previous posts and would like to catch up, you can purchase Everything Erotic Volume I, Volume II, Volume III, Volume IV, Volume V, and Volume VI, Volume VII, and Volume VIII anthologies as ebooks for only $2.99 each! Want it in print? Everything Erotic Volumes I-III is now available in paperback for $12.95.