he Alpha Men's Secret Club 2: Desire Games (4 page)

He punctuated each thrust with a
grunt, and she responded with little cries of her own:

“Oh!”

“Oh!”

“Oh!”

Her body was a receptacle for
pleasure, but her mind ran with all sorts of wild thoughts:

I love you.

I need you.

I need you inside me and with
me forever.

Had they reached a new level in
their relationship?

She was fast approaching her
climax. Her G-spot was rubbed and stroked to rawness, and her nerve endings ran
riot, firing her synapses and triggering all her pleasure points right up to
her brain.

She threw back her head and cried
out. White-hot light flooded her eyes. Her body contorted and shuddered and she
had the most violent orgasm she had ever experienced to date.

Rust!

Rust!

Rust!

He held her as her muscles
contracted. She trashed and flailed against her bonds and his body, joined to
hers. Her climax went on and on, prolonged in its intensity and sublime in its
execution. Her pants came out harsh in her ears, and there was a roaring in
them which drowned out her screams.

Her heartbeat finally slowed. Her
entire body felt beaten and stomped upon.

She opened her eyes to look at
him. He was smiling at her again.

“You are so beautiful when you
cum for me,” he said.

He withdrew his still hard cock
from her sodden vagina. She realized he had not climaxed yet. Her wrists and
ankles felt sore from being hung. He moved behind her, and she suddenly knew
where he was going to reap his pleasure.

He grasped her buttocks. She
could see his cock poised against her anus in the mirror, ready to enter. It
was a very erotic sight.

“Breathe in,” he warned her.

She sucked in her breath as his
penis cleaved into her anus.

“Ohhhhh!” she cried. It always
hurt when he first entered her back passage. But this time, she could see what
was happening very clearly in the mirror. She could see the thickness of his
cock entering the tight and very tiny hole of her anus, stretching her.

He rammed himself into her, and
her entire rectum expanded. Then he began his violent thrusts again. He held
her in a vise grip around her waist as he fucked her ass without compunction
and mercy. His penis was slick with lubrication from her pussy juices.

He fucked her and fucked her
until the sweat beaded on his forehead. The friction of his bare penile flesh
against the walls of her rectum was raw and hot. In the mirror, she could see
the root of his cock.

Then he came with a cry. A gush
of hot sperm exploded into her rectum and shot into her depths – much
farther than it could ever go into her pussy and beyond.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cried.
His flesh was hot and sticky against her back.

His semen seemed to go on and on
– that burning flood of it. It gave her a satisfaction like no other
– to be able to feel his life-giving sap inside her, even though it was
in the wrong passage. And to be able to satisfy him in this manner; the way no
other woman could.

It felt . . . immense.

He jerked once, twice more into
her, and then he pulled out his dripping cock. The tip of it was still weeping
with his whitish semen which spilled to the floor.

“Come on,” he said gently, “let’s
cut you down.”

He unclasped her wrists and
ankles from their bonds. She swayed as she landed on the balls of her feet.
Just as she was about to collapse, he caught her. He scooped her up in his
strong arms. She felt breathless, and not just from the sex.

“I’ve got you,” he said,
laughing.

Was it her imagination, or had
things changed between them? It was gradual, but he was a lot nicer to her
these days. A lot more proprietary. A lot more caring and polite. He was still
very dominant in bed towards her, but their conversations outside sex had taken
on an affectionate quality.

Or so she (wanted to) believe.

He carried her out of the room of
mirrors and into the hallway beyond. She was almost too tired to lift her head,
but she took in the glorious lounge as he strode into it – the tasteful
masculine furniture and decorations, all done in a décor of black against gold.
The brass lamps, the golden lighting, the sheer curtains. Such clean lines. So
unfeminine, with not a single female accoutrement anywhere.

She felt elated.

I must the first woman he has
brought here,
she wanted to assuage herself, even though she knew it was
probably untrue.

“Let me give you a tour of the
premises,” he said. “Then we’ll have a shower together. Are you hungry?”

She was starving.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He smiled a secret smile.
“Because I’ve got dinner all planned out.”

7

He gave her a tour of the
premises by carrying her in his arms. She felt loved and coddled and cherished.

Why can’t it always be like
this?

She could walk, but she still
wanted to be carried, and so she feigned extreme fatigue from the sex, which
was not far from the truth. Her wrists and ankles wore the red bands of the
cuffs, and he seemed quite taken by these marks of his domination over her.

“So you see, this is the lounge,”
he said, still smiling. “Do you like it? Do you want to lie on the couch? Or do
you want me to take you upstairs to the bedroom?”

“Bedroom,” she mumbled against
his chest. She imbibed his sweaty scent.

“OK. Bedroom it is.”

His smile suggested that he knew
she was pretending, and he was letting her pretend for as long as he saw fit.

It was an intense psychological
game, one that she was not very adept at playing. Unfortunately, she was
already mired in it and she had to ride it out. The trouble with relationships
founded on sex was that they didn’t quite know how to behave when they were not
having sex. Or maybe it was just her, and he was behaving the way he had always
behaved in all his relationships founded on sex.

Sometimes, she found the incredulous
thought flitting through her mind:

This is my Professor.

This is the man/superman shifter
of my dreams.

And at other times, she had to
tell herself to get over it already. So she was a cinder girl who had gone to
the ball and was picked by the handsome prince.
You are in the fairytale
already. Get over it.

He carried her upstairs. It was a
penthouse, after all. Upstairs, he brought her to a large room on their left.
It had a small sitting area and a large king-sized bed mounted on a dais, as if
it was a throne. The bed was all done in white – silk coverlet, damasked
headboard, pillows and all.

He laid her upon it and stood at
the foot of her bed, looking down at her with a curious expression in his eyes.

“Did you like that?” he said.

Like what? Being carried? Being
fucked by him in both holes without a condom?

Yes!

“Yes,” she said in a small voice.

He laughed and slapped her thigh
lightly.

“Quit pretending to be a wilting
lily and get up. Let’s shower and we’ll go for dinner.”

She had to smile at that.

The bathroom was cavernous and
all done in white tiles and marble with grey streaks in the slabs. The bathtub
was an old-fashioned one. It was supported by four brass legs in the shape of
dragon claws. There was a shower cubicle as well as a bidet.

Rust led her to the shower
cubicle. He fiddled with the knobs on the wall, and a warm rain shower
instantly poured from apertures in the ceiling, drenching both their naked
bodies.

She giggled in delight, and he
smiled broadly to see her so happy.

“Come on,” he said, “let me bathe
you.”

In his eyes was a strange light
that she could have almost mistaken for love.
But not love. He wasn’t
capable of loving someone like her. Not the likes of him
.

He soaped her all over, focusing
especially on her tits and pussy and ass. His soapy fingers even wormed into
her pussy hole to clean it out thoroughly. Then she washed him, pausing
significantly at his cock and balls. His cock immediately got hard again when
she was soaping it.

“Ready for another round?” he
said in a husky voice.

Then he pushed her back against
the wall.

“Straddle me,” he commanded.

She put her arms around his wet
neck and he lifted her by her waist. She wrapped her legs around his hips and
eased her pussy down onto his ramrod cock. He speared her easily, pushing apart
her pussy walls as though they were paper.

Using the wall as leverage, he
rocked his hips against hers, once again fucking her with an intensity which
drove her mind into delirium. Her back thudded against the hard, smooth wall,
as did her soft buttocks. His cock pummeled into her, slamming her hips against
the wall in a wet slap-slap-slap of rhythm.

She could only gasp under the
cascade of warm water and let him ride her to another oblivion of stars and
whirly planets and bright colored lights. This time, he came into her pussy.
His jet of hot sperm gushed into her vagina, and up, up, up into her womb. She
imagined his squirming little life-givers swimming their way up into her dark
womanly canals, filling her with the promise of life.

She stayed like this for a while,
pinned to the wall by his cock and merciless strength. Then he kissed her wet
face and lips, murmuring, “Are you all right?” Words of love and caring, even
though he never mentioned the ‘L’ word even once.

“Y-yes, I’m all right,” she said
shakily.

This had to be an emotional
experience, right? He had cummed in her, planted his seed in her. They had to
be bonded somehow by this experience, this shared celebration of life.

This was a moment to be savored.

Later, when they had rinsed each
other off and toweled each other dry, Rust said mysteriously, “Come with me.”

She would follow him anywhere.

He led her to another room, which
was not really a room but a walk-in closet twice as large as her lounge in her
family home. The walls were lined with sliding closets. There was a circular
cushioned chair in the middle, and several long mirrors in carved wooden
frames. A black dress was laid on the low table before the chair. It was a very
delicate number. The material was like gossamer and it was worked with silver
filigree. A pair of shining black heels sat at the table’s edge.

“For you,” he said. She could
glimpse their reflections in the long mirrors – two naked people standing
close together, their bodies golden and healthy in the flattering light.

“For me?” She faltered. He had
never given her anything before. Well, anything material, that was.

“Yes. Put it on. You’ll look
beautiful in it.” He went behind her and lightly swiped his arm around the
front of her neck. He was gentle, caressing. He kissed the side of her neck.

He wants me to dress in front
of him?

Okaaaaay.

She picked the dress up. It was lighter
than a feather, like fairy wings. Her breath stopped. She had never worn
anything so beautiful and dainty in her life. What if she tore it? What if she
stretched it beyond its capacity and ruined it?

What if she looked fat in it and
he laughed at her?

“Go on,” he urged her. “Don’t be
shy. Put it on.”

He hadn’t laid out any panties
for her or a brassiere. So he must have wanted her to be naked under that
dress.

She gingerly pulled it over her
head.

“Let me help you,” he said.

Together, they let the dress
drape over her body. It was a diaphanous number. So sheer as to be transparent.
It was a very sexy number which showed off her curves to good effect. The front
barely covered her large breasts and the neckline plunged all the way down to
just above her navel. Her nipples were hidden only by the concentrated filigree
which decorated the bands which formed the front of the dress.

As for the back, it was entirely
bare safe for the halter around her neck. The scoop of where the skirt started was
so low was to reveal (just reveal) the tops of her buttocks. No wonder he
didn’t want her to wear panties! The long skirt was slit on both sides, so that
her legs were shown to perfection.

She was beautiful in that dress.

Overwhelmingly, awesomely
beautiful.

“See? I told you,” he said,
wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his naked chest to her back.
She felt the hardening of his cock against her lumbar curvature.

“No, I can’t fuck you this time,”
he added, laughing, “not in your finery. Now let me get dressed before I cum
all over your clothes. We have to eat. I’m starving.”

She could completely bask in his
attention all night.

Once he had dressed in a smart
white shirt and white jacket over dark pants, they were every inch the perfect
couple. Beautiful, rich and (outwardly) happy.

A couple.

She savored the word, even though
it was only in her imagination. If this was a dream, she didn’t want it to end.

“Wait,” he said. “This dress
wouldn’t be complete without these.”

He withdrew a velvet case from
one of the drawers in the closets and opened it in front of her. Inside was a
pair of teardrop diamond earrings. They were so sparkling and breathtaking that
she couldn’t take her eyes off them.

For me?
she wanted to ask.

But of course they couldn’t be a
gift. They had to be on loan from Tiffany’s, an accompaniment for this
beautiful dress, just for the night. She shouldn’t even ask, shouldn’t presume.

“They are beautiful,” she said in
awe.

Her eyes had stars in them. She
had dissolved into the realm of girls she had previously detested – the
ones who fell all over a man and gave him her all just because he flashed a
couple of jewels in front of her. Only hers was in reverse. She had spread her
legs and given the man of her dreams her all before he had given anything
material to her, because all she ever wanted was him.

Was this now a present from him
to her for being a wanton slut?

Oh stuff it, it isn’t a
present at all, and you know it.

“Where are you taking me?” she
asked before she could betray herself. Her voice quavered.

“No ‘thank you’?” he inquired.

She was amazed. She spun round.

“A-are they for me? They must
have cost a fortune! I can’t possibly take them!”

Yes, you can
, she told
herself, her heart beating fast.

“Relax,” he laughed. “I can’t
gift them to you. They’re not mine. They’re my mother’s. But I can loan them to
you for the night. You’ll look beautiful in them.”

Oh. Her disappointment was
palpable in the mirror, even though she tried to put on a brave face.

He saw her expression as he
clipped the earrings on her, but did not say anything. They were phenomenally
beautiful on her ears. She looked like a princess – albeit a very modern,
slutty one. The expression in his eyes was unreadable, as though he had
something he wished to say, and yet he knew he would regret saying it.

She knew it was coming . . . the
talk
.
Now, Kate, what we have is nice and all that . . . but that’s what it is.
There’s no ‘me and you’. We are not a couple. Our relationship is strictly
genital.

But he didn’t say anything.

“Let’s go,” he said, more
abruptly than he had done all night.

She should know better than to
set herself up for disappointment.
Now you’ve done it
, she scolded
herself.
Now you’ve puffed yourself up into a balloon and let yourself get
pricked.

They went down to the lobby of
his apartment building. The mood between them was a little more sober.

The doorman brightened when he
saw them.

“Good evening, Mr. O’Brien,” he
said, nodding. “Ms Penney, you look beautiful.” He sounded as though he
fervently meant it.

“Yes, she does, doesn’t she?”
Rust said, a little more amiably. His tone was admiring, even, and she stole a
glance at him. His face was a composed mask and as unreadable as always.

Oh, well.

She wished her emotions weren’t
such a yoyo where Rust was concerned.

“Shall I bring the BMW around,
Mr. O’Brien?”

“No, we’ll take the McLaren.”

He had a McLaren too? She felt
faint. He couldn’t possibly afford on this on a Professor’s salary. He had to
come from old money, especially since his mother owns things like that pair of
diamond earrings.

The doorman drove the McLaren to
the front, and Rust opened the passenger door for her.

“After you,” he said courteously.

They were back to normal, playing
emotional cat and mouse. Everything was all right again. Or not, depending on
her perspective at a certain time of day.

She stepped into the car, and he
closed the door behind her, putting the lid on all her bottled hopes, fears and
insecurities.