Flesh: Alpha Males and Taboo Tales (14 page)

“You like this?” he said, finally.

I managed a quiet “
mmhmm
.”

He just spanked me harder, spurred on by my moans, which soon grew into hoarse yells as I felt myself come again, going vice-tight around his huge cock. I would have screamed his name if I knew what it was.

He slipped out of my sopping cunt after I was done, giving me one more smack just for good measure. For a minute I didn’t know what he was going to do; then, I heard him spit onto his fingers and I didn’t know whether to feel frightened, or elated.

He jammed two fingers inside my asshole without any preamble, shoving into me ferociously, scissoring them open against my tight muscles and ignoring my pained noises. I never told him to stop, although I felt like he would have obeyed me, and soon the burn of pain became something a little more ambiguous. I had never granted this to any man, always told myself I was saving it for someone special, and if this wasn’t the occasion then I didn’t know what was.

Just as I’d grown used to his fingers, he slipped them out and replaced them with his cock, still rock-hard and bigger than I’d ever had. It pressed insistently at my ass, refusing to take no for an answer, and I tried to relax and bare down on him. Inch by agonizing inch, his cock slid into my asshole, filling me so completely and I felt I might burst in two. When he was buried to the hilt, he stopped for a moment, giving my body a moment to adjust. I struggled to breathe.

He finally began to move, very slowly, and I felt as if every nerve ending in my body was on fire. Every little thrust of his cock was sending shocks of sensation through me. I was beginning to understand why people liked doing this; it was unlike anything I’d felt before, more intense than the best sex I’d ever had. It was almost too much to handle, but I gritted my teeth and moaned my way through it, moans becoming screams as he began to thrust harder and faster into my ass. Before I realized what was happening I heard myself yelling at him, urging him to fuck me harder, my hand drifting down to my swollen pussy to stroke my needy clit while he fucked me in the ass. He slapped
my hand away, growling wordlessly, and I understood. I was only to take the pleasure that he gave to me.

He made a surprised, pleased little noise at reaching between my legs and finding me still so wet, so ready for him. He stroked me steadily, in rhythm with his hips, until I came again, screaming myself hoarse as I closed my eyes and saw starbursts. I wrenched my head around to look at him, and he brought his hand up to his lips and licked my fluids off of his fingers.

After what felt like forever, he began to lose his rhythm, his hips jerking of their own accord, and I felt the head of his cock flare and swell inside my ass. I cried out at the sharp sensation, and he stopped, exhaling harshly as his cock pulsed and spurting hot come inside me.

He pulled out, stepped away, leaving me cold and alone on the bed. I heard him go over to the wash basin and splash some water on himself; he returned a few moments later, with more rope, binding my ankles together and lying on the bed beside me.

“Don’t you trust me?” I asked.

“Would you?” he said, a spark of humor in his eyes that I had never seen before.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll give you that.”

His smile had an impish quality that was also strange to me. It seemed like he was enjoying having me like this, helpless and at his mercy, in a way that he hadn’t been expecting. But he welcomed it all the same, and hell, so did
I. My husband had never made me feel like this. No man had.

We slept together on the cot, curled up like lovers.

-

The next day came and went, and still my husband hadn’t come for me. The driver still kept me tied up most of the time, but he was at least giving me real food now, jerky and cheese and crusty bread. That night he tied me up securely and
laid beside me again, but I could feel the hard insistent press of his dick against my ass.

“You want me,” I said.
A statement, not a question.

“Of course,” he said.

“What do you want?”

He seemed to consider this for a while.

“Suck my cock,” he said, finally, getting to his feet and standing at the edge of the bed.

I maneuvered myself into a seated position as he pulled his dick out of his jeans. It was the first time I’d gotten a good look at it; it was as big as it had felt in my pussy and ass, long and stiff, and as he pushed it towards me I opened my mouth as far as I could and swallowed him down. He guided himself in, his other hand coming around to grip my hair. I moaned around the mouthful of his cock as he held my head steady, fucking my mouth, his cock hitting my back of my throat with every thrust. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes and I could hardly breathe, but I loved every second of it, being helpless in this man’s hands.

Before long his breathing grew almost as harsh as mine, and I knew he couldn’t last. Saliva leaked from my mouth as I kept it slack for him, my tongue caressing the head of his cock every time it passed. My jaw was beginning to hurt, and I felt lightheaded, when he mustered a few more sloppy thrusts and filled my mouth with long hot spurts of jizz. I swallowed obediently, licking him clean as he withdrew.

I swore I could see fondness in his eyes as he touched the side of my face. But I’ve been wrong before.

After that, he lay down beside me and told me about the job he’d gone on with my husband. How he’d been promised a share, how my husband had turned on him, tried to kill him, and failed. He needed the money - for what, he wouldn’t say. But I could tell from the sad haunted look on his face that the cash wasn’t for him - not really. Maybe he had kids somewhere, or a friend who needed help. I didn’t want to ask him. I didn’t feel that it was my place.

That night, as I lay awake next to him, I tried to imagine my husband bursting into the room, guns blazing. I tried to imagine myself going with him, going back to our home, and I couldn’t quite
picture it. Instead, when I pictured my immediate future, I saw myself and the driver going back there together, with an aim to steal back what was rightfully his. And after he took his share, and then some, I would taunt my husband just like I’d dreamed. I’d remind him of everything he was missing, everything he’d chosen to ignore.

And the driver and I would leave together, for Spain, or Australia, or Japan. Some place where we could have a life together.

Some place where he would never find us.

***

Thanks for reading! If you’ve enjoyed the story so far, why not grab the rest?

The Driver Trilogy

Or, take a look at some of Jessi Bond’s other steamy stories:

The Princess and the Hunter 
(M/F Medieval Fairy Tale)

Treacherous Curves: Blackmailing the Billionaire

The Business Trip
(F/m BDSM)

Office Party Orgy
(M/F, M/F/M, Group Sex)

Sex at Work (An Erotica Collection)

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***

The Highwayman And The Virgin

By
Gia Vanna

It grew dark and gloomy within the coach as the sun sank behind clouds. Eliza picked at the lace on the edges of her sleeves.
Everything
had gone wrong this week. A thread unravelled and she pulled at it, making it worse.

Her older sister Rebecca
tutted. She was nestled in the cushions, sitting opposite Eliza, and looking comfortably wrapped up in blankets and furs. Rebecca had an irritating way of always looking at ease with the situation. She was like a fat, placid cat. Perhaps that was what marriage did to a person: made them smug and satisfied, extinguishing the burning lust for life with tepid soups and weak ale.

Eliza pulled her cloak up around her. The wool made her neck itch. The rocking of the coach jolted her spine – Rebecca seemed to ride the motion with ease, but Eliza hated it. She'd be feeling sick by now, except she'd got out of bed too late to have any breakfast.

They'd stopped once on their journey out of London, changing horses at an inn. They weren't due to stop again until late that night. Forty miles was too far, really, for one day's journeying but in spite of his vast wealth, Lord Du Marron resented paying out if he didn't need to. So, no overnight stop for his daughters, and no more dancing in London this year.

"I wonder if the Lady Jacqueline has grown even fatter," Eliza said.

Rebecca's voice was languid and sleepy. "One day, I intend to become very fat indeed."

Eliza snorted.
"With seventeen children running around you, no doubt."

"I hope so."

Rebecca was the eldest daughter and had been hitched to an equally calm and mild minor Baron with a decent income and a twitchy eye. At twenty-two her life was sailing along, untroubled by storms. They'd spent the last month as guests of the Baron's mother. It had been Eliza's first experience of dining, dancing and society and with Charles II restored to his throne, the atmosphere had glittered.

But too soon they were heading north to spend an obligatory two weeks at the house of the Baron's sister before they went their separate ways – Rebecca back to her husband to work on the seventeen-children-plan, and Eliza back to the parental pile to languish while her mother and father sought a match for her. It was like she'd been taken out of a box for four weeks, but now she was to be wrapped back up in tissue paper and stored under a bed again.

"How do mamma and papa expect to find me a husband if I'm holed up with them?" Eliza burst out petulantly.

"I thought you didn't want to be wed."

"Well. Yes. I don't. But that's not the point. It has to happen, I suppose. So I want him to be interesting, at least. And all the interesting men are in London."

"All the vain, shallow men are in London. Young bucks who pretend to have money. Papa knows who's suitable for you. Trust him."

"Papa thinks anyone with cash is suitable for me, that's all." Eliza huffed and leaned forward to peer out of the coach window. It was fully dark outside now, and starting to spot with rain. She sat back and drew the curtains, plunging them into total blackness.

Rebecca made no reply to her younger sister's inevitable and predictable complaints. They rocked along. Eliza closed her eyes to try and sleep. She heard the soft snores of Rebecca but she was unable to stop the thoughts whizzing through her own brain. A mishmash of remembrances, hopes, and crushing fears whirled and she sighed. What a
curse
it was to be wealthy. Though she knew she would be even worse as a serving wench or farm girl than she was as a Lord's daughter.

Damn it all!

The clatter of the horses' hooves on the stony road seemed painfully slow. Rebecca snored. The rain picked up, pattering on the roof of the coach. In the darkness, tiny sounds were amplified. Eliza folded her arms tighter around her body, and tried to imagine getting married.

God.
The
fuss.

At first she thought the horses' pace had changed, but then realised that the grind of the coach wheels was the same. Another rider was coming. Then there was a shout, and the coachman shouted back, and the coach drew to a shuddering halt. Rebecca was thrown forward with a cry.

"What?"

Eliza groped for Rebecca's hand and the women clutched each other as they strained to listen.

"Who's in the coach, sir?"

They heard Jake, their man, answer with a quiver in his voice.
"Just two young women, sir, and nothing of value."

Rebecca dug her nails into Eliza. Eliza felt cold sweat prickle along her spine. "
A robber!"
she hissed.

She heard Rebecca swallow in nervousness.
"Shhh."

"Who are these women? I like women." The man's voice was light and casual. It sounded as if he were smiling. Rebecca moaned quietly.

"Let him take me – and you run," Rebecca whispered close in Eliza's ear. "I'm a married woman, and there is nothing he can do to me that...is new. I think. But you must stay a maid. Run as soon as you have the chance. Promise me!"

"I cannot leave you!"

"Run if you can. You must!"

Suddenly the door to the coach was wrenched open and a lantern thrust into the darkness. Eliza and Rebecca clung to each other, staring at the man standing outside. His horse stood behind him, snickering to itself.

"Where's Jake, you... barbarian!" Eliza said, voice shaking.

"Your wonderfully loyal manservant's just
legged it."

"
Legged it?"

"Run off.
Scarpered. Raced away with nary a goodbye. What a brave man." The highwayman peered in and Eliza studied his face. It was hard to judge his age. He had the unlined skin of a man in his twenties but a look around his eyes that suggested he had seen much. He was clean shaven, with straight black hair and narrow angles to his face. He didn't smile in the polite way of the gentlemen in London – he grinned like a rough sort, but spoke with the vowels of a Lord.

"Now, good ladies, I must relieve you of your possessions." He tilted the lantern to shine the light all around the interior, illuminating the rich fabrics of their dresses. Eliza saw the glint reflect on the jewels around Rebecca's throat, and knew her own necklace would be equally tempting.
"Fine ladies, both! My compliments to your ... husbands."

Rebecca frowned and Eliza sneered. He caught their expressions and guessed, "But only one of you is married perhaps." Rebecca looked down but Eliza kept her eyes on his. He nodded. "Don't worry. I'm here to take nothing but your money."

Rebecca threw her arm around Eliza but Eliza didn't respond. She took him at his word, and felt immediately – and irrationally – safer. "We have no money," she said, tossing her head. "Yes we have some cheap jewellery. That's all we have. Would you rob my sister of her inheritance and me of my few trinkets?"

"
Ahh," he said, still grinning. "But such a fair beauty as yourself has no need of shiny pretty things. So I'd be doing you a service by relieving you of them!"

His dark eyes twinkled as he stretched out his hand. Eliza looked at him with as much fake scorn as she could muster. "I will not hand them over willingly. And I think you are too much the gentleman to try and take them from my own body with force!"

"Eliza!" Rebecca choked out. "Stop that!" Rebecca started to scrabble at own necklace with her free hand. "Give the ruffian what he wants, and we can be away."

"How?
Will you drive the coach?" Eliza pulled Rebecca's hand away to stop her unlatching her jewels.

The highwayman interrupted them. "I've no doubt your man will be back with a slavering pack of villagers and pitchforks quite soon. You're probably safer with me than with them, to be frank.
Now, about this money and so forth. Just the necklace from each of you. That will suffice. Have you not heard of St Audrey?"

"Who?"

Rebecca dug Eliza in the ribs to warn her from talking but Eliza was curious. All fear had gone.

"St Audrey," the man explained.
"Some tiresome nun who developed a massive canker of some sort on her neck. Apparently it was a punishment from god for her habit of wearing necklaces in her youth. So you see, it's yet another service I do for you!"

"It must be fun, being a highwayman," Eliza blurted. She hadn't even thought she was going to speak until the words dropped from her mouth. Rebecca drew in her breath sharply. Even the robber looked somewhat startled.

"Well, it beats working on a ship or toadying at court."

"You've done those things?" Eliza was intrigued. Here was a man who'd travelled. Who'd
lived. He was
interesting.

When he met her eyes this time, he held her gaze, and a shiver ran down her spine. He was looking at her as a person for the first time. She grinned at him as widely as he had been smiling. "If I'd been born a man, I'd be a highwayman too," she said with conviction and Rebecca shook her arm hard. "Eliza, now stop it!"

The highwayman took a step backwards, and bowed with a low flourish. "Madame and Miss, it has been a pleasure conversing with you. Alas our time draws to an end. I will leave you with your jewels. You've amused me. Good night."

He melted backwards with the lantern, throwing his cloak over it once he was mounted on his horse. The night swallowed him.

Rebecca continued to hang onto Eliza's arm, speechless. As the highwayman trotted away in one direction, hooves from a posse of horses approached from another. They heard Jake call out to them.

"We're here!" Eliza shouted in reply. Torches and lanterns became visible. Soon Jake's crumpled face was thrust into the coach.

"Misses, misses, are you unharmed?" Jake had been in the family's service for a long time. He was ancient, and to him, both Rebecca and Eliza would be forever small girls.

"Oh, we're fine," Eliza answered breezily. "He's gone. He didn't touch us, and he didn't take anything."

There was a murmur of surprise around the armed men who'd come to their aid. It took some explaining, and Eliza felt that they still didn't quite understand. Eventually their journey was underway again. Rebecca was silent for a while.

Finally, she spoke. "You know what, Eliza? They all think of just one reason why that man did not take our jewels."

"What reason?"

"That he took ... from us instead."

"How do you mean?"

Rebecca sighed and spoke quickly.
"Your maidenhead. And my duty that I owe only to my husband. That's what they all think. We bartered with something only a woman can barter with."

"Oh."

Far from being shocked and appalled, Eliza sank into thought. She'd accepted her femininity as a curse until now. She'd never thought of herself as possessing attributes worth enough they could be objects of trade. How interesting.

The Lady Jacqueline was indeed indolent and fleshy. She and Rebecca settled down together and began interminably long, dull conversations about housemaids and poultices and what Mr so-and-so said to the Reverend blah-di-blah, and Eliza felt herself going insane with boredom before the first day was over.

She knew, from the sideways looks Rebecca shot at her, from below a furrowed brow, that she was acting ungrateful. She'd never asked to come here, though; she'd never wanted to leave London. She couldn't remember a time when her own wishes were ever taken into account. She was a daughter and she went where she was told.
Until she was wed. When it seemed she would continue to be bossed about, this time by a stranger.

She seized the chance that evening to go for a walk. Dark was falling early but the autumn air was warm and she had a clear hour before they dined. She dressed well, with stout boots and her cloak, and headed into the rolling countryside.

The house was set in parkland which was edged on two sides by farms and fields. Eliza took the other way, out onto the heaths. The scrubby hills were grazed by skinny sheep and dotted with twisted trees, where the poorer sorts would scrabble for firewood and hunt rabbits if they dared.

She followed a path which came out onto a lonely road that wound an erratic path towards a town some twenty miles distant. She turned and could still see the lights of the house behind her, and that made her feel safe. Above, the moon was nearly full and she could follow the light stone of the road quite well, so she pressed on.

It was so freeing to be away from the house and the people with their tight laced corsets and carefully laced smiles. She took long, unladylike strides and let her arms swing freely. Still she felt an invisible thread tied to her back, connecting her to the house and family, and it made her shoulder blades itch with resentment.

The road curled upwards, disappearing behind a stand of trees and she resolved to reach the summit, then turn around and head back for home. The hill was suddenly steep and she powered up, head down, lifting her skirts clear of her kicking feet. So it was that she didn’t notice the waiting horseman until she was ten feet away from him. She stopped abruptly, breathing hard with effort, and wondering why he wasn't moving. He seemed to be watching her.