Sexy as Hell Box Set (102 page)

“But, Virgin,” she said, setting her shoulders down and reaching for the button of her jeans. “Before we go, if we have time, I’d like to make a request, you know, to seal the deal.”

“Whatever you want is yours. Just say the word.”

She grinned; it was a devious, sexy, cunning smile that told me to be both wary and excited about what was coming.

“Three words actually.” She tilted her eyebrows and then shoved her trousers and knickers past her knees. Spread her legs as wide as she could and whacked her hands onto her hips. “Lick. My. Cunt.”

I swiped my tongue over my bottom lip. My mouth flooded with the desire to taste her, plunge into her entrance, snuffle into her and drive her to a climax that had her scratching at my scalp and bucking into my face.

A memory of when she’d first demanded me to go down on her flashed through my mind. I remembered my horror at being ordered by a woman to perform oral sex. It wasn’t just that, it was also her brazen sexuality and her lack of inhibitions. She’d both repelled me and fascinated me. Now, though, far from horrified, I absolutely fucking loved that about my woman. Her demands turned me on to stratospheric proportions and were sexy as hell.

I dropped to my knees, parted her thighs further and stared at her cute pussy—my pussy. She belonged to me, every single, delectable inch of her.

“With pleasure, Mrs Partridge, with pleasure.”

The End

By Harlem Dae

A Spin-off Short Story from the Sexy as Hell Trilogy

Fifi
and Carlos, who feature in The Mistress, are both characters in books #1 and #2 of the Sexy as Hell Trilogy. Carlos plays a larger role than Fifi as Zara’s slave. For a giant of a man he is surprisingly gentle and submissive and is understandably lost when Zara finds Victor to ‘play’ with. It was decided, therefore, to give Carlos his own story with the slightly scary Fifi and see how things worked out for them.

Is Fifi’s bark worse than her bite, or is it all a show? Fifi has wanted to be Carlos’ Mistress for a long time, but he was bound to Zara, their boss. Now, with Carlos set free, Fifi has stepped in to fill Zara’s shoes. But surely Fifi wants more than Carlos can possibly give. Has she got the courage to ask him to be her slave 24/7? And, more importantly, does he even want her as his full-time Mistress?

“
Come here,” I said.

I
stared at Carlos, the man I’d inherited as my slave from my boss, Zara. Since she’d become involved with Victor, poor Carlos had been floundering a little without her direction. He hadn’t shown it to the degree everyone would notice, of course he hadn’t, nor had he said anything, but I could tell he’d found it a bit of a struggle without a Mistress. We’d been friends a long time, and I’d been watching him more than a friend would so knew what his facial expressions meant, that the slight slump of his shoulders indicated he was unhappy. I’d had a thing for him, still did. Taking him on wasn’t any hardship.

“Yes, Mistress.”

He walked towards me in his dark sweats and tight-fitting black T-shirt, all brawn, all sculpted body—and all mine. God, he was fucking gorgeous, what with his Mediterranean look, that skin of his gleaming with a tan he hadn’t got on any beach. My stomach rolled over at the thought that he belonged to me. I couldn’t believe it. It still didn’t seem real, that I could order him about and he’d obey.

There was one problem, though. I could see myself getting heavily involved with him, exceeding a business relationship. That wasn’t part of the agreement we’d signed under Zara’s strict supervision. I had a feeling she’d be pissed off if she found out I had feelings for Carlos—real feelings that went beyond Mistress and slave—that if I flouted any of her rules without telling her first, me and her being friends might very well go out of the window.

And anyway, would Carlos even want me on a permanent, loving basis? It was all very well being a slave with the bonus of sex if both of us were up for it, but was he at the point in his life where he wanted sex
and
love?

I wasn’t sure. Didn’t feel it right that I should ask.

“Kneel in front of me,” I said.

He did so without question. We were
inside one of the practice rooms at Sexy as Hell, where we’d arranged to go through our new routine when the dungeon was closed, and as far as Carlos was concerned, that’s what we were doing now. He’d agreed to meet me this morning, earlier than our usual eleven o’clock, after I’d told him I wanted to play out our routine for the first time, that on paper I didn’t think we’d quite got our act as smooth as it could be. My real reason for asking him here, knowing we’d be completely alone, wasn’t something I thought I could tell him. I couldn’t face him explaining to me this was a business arrangement and nothing more. What if he gabbled on about Zara and how we’d be letting her down if we went around in secret, fucking one another outside of our work contract?

Like that’s ever going to happen. I’m fooling my bloody self.

I forced my mind back to what we were supposed to be doing. The next step in the act was for him to drag my knickers down with his teeth then lick my slit—blindfolded. He wasn’t wearing a blindfold now, and wouldn’t until we were performing for real, but I wished he was. He looked up at me, and for a second I imagined the adoration shining in his eyes was for me, Fifi, the Goth sex worker who filed her black-painted nails into pointed spikes and loved dragging them down a man’s back until they drew blood. Oh, I knew slaves adored their Masters or Mistresses, but it wasn’t the same as the other kind of adoration, was it. This was borne of a need to please, to obey, to accept anything and everything I wanted him to feel or do. He thrived on it,
needed
it, and that look, that bloody wonderful look, was just him showing that his needs were being met. That I was doing a good job.

It wasn’t anything to do with
me
as a person. I was just his Mistress, the woman who tended to his wants. Like Zara had been. He’d stared at her in the same way, would have gone to the ends of the earth for her if that’s what she’d asked for. And look at how quickly he’d switched his allegiance. No, he hadn’t loved her as I thought he might have done—not for the reasons I’d suspected anyway. We were a means to an end for him. Vessels.

“Begin,” I said.

He lowered his head, stared at the black triangle of my knickers, then licked his lips. My pussy spasmed at that, me wishing he’d licked his lips in anticipation of what was to come because he wanted to taste
me
, to know
me
intimately. Not that he was preparing himself, his tongue dashing out because it was a natural reaction.

He leant forward, and his breath, warm and wanted, ghosted over my lower belly. I swallowed, resisted closing my eyes. I needed to see what he was doing in order to know what it would look like for the customers.

At least that’s what I told myself.

His
stubbled chin touched me first, a light graze on my inner thigh, then his nose as he pressed it beside my hip bone so he could grip the lacy sides of my knickers between his teeth. I sucked in a breath; my heart rate skittered, and my pulse seemed to run in all directions through my veins, not knowing if it should go backwards or forwards. Was this what the first strains of love felt like? I wouldn’t know, hadn’t been in this situation before, but if it was, I could understand how Zara had gone from being a one-night stand kind of girl to a loved-up woman.

I want what she has with The Virgin. I want the hand-holding, the secret looks, the knowledge that when all is said and done, I have someone on my side, someone to share my life with.

I blinked and told myself to get to the matter at hand.

“Pull them down slowly,” I said. “We don’t want them snagging. It’d ruin the visual.”

He bit into the fabric then began drawing my knickers lower, and oh, he didn’t make them snag. They went down with fluidity, and he let them go once they’d reached my knees so that they fell the rest of the way.

“Good,” I said. “Now they’re at my ankles, well, you know what to do.”

He shuffled back a little then dipped his head, waiting while I lifted first one foot then the other. I raised my leg, knickers dangling from the toe of my shiny black boot. Carlos took the fabric in his mouth again and leant back, looking up at me for further instruction. He knew what to do next, but this was how we’d decided to play it out. The customers would think he’d gone into the scene blind, unaware what I was going to dish out. It excited them. Made them return for more of the same.

“Put them over your face, slave.”

He hesitated for a few seconds, and during that time I wondered whether he would say he couldn’t do it, that being my slave wasn’t the same as being Zara’s. I had the urge to bite my lower lip but stopped myself. He mustn’t know I felt unsure, that I was worried our relationship wouldn’t work out. I had to be strong, a Mistress he could rely on for stability and direction.

The moment passed faster than his hesitation had lingered, and he lifted his hands to settle my underwear over his face. The gusset was directly on his nose, the side straps behind his ears. He’d left his mouth free, just as we’d discussed.

“What does that smell like?” I asked.

That wasn’t in the script, and he widened his eyes, blinked a couple of times.

“Beautiful, Mistress, as I knew it would.”

Had he said that because it was something customers would expect to hear? Shit, I was confused. Mixing my personal emotions with our job was proving difficult for me to handle. I needed to stop messing around and act in role.

But my brain had other ideas.

“And what does it make you want to do, slave?”

Oh, God. Stop it.

“It makes me want to taste you, Mistress.”

“Does it now. I see.” I searched through my mind for the words we’d rehearsed so we could get back on track. I couldn’t find them. “How much do you want to taste me?”

“More than you know, Mistress. More than I can adequately explain.”

I jammed my hands onto my hips, cocked one leg. Stared at him—hard. “Try.”

Christ, I was pushing it, I knew I was, but my mouth had gone into gear well before my brain had shifted the stick. I’d set this journey into motion, getting ready to slam my foot on the accelerator and go full speed ahead if the way was clear. The brake pedal wasn’t an option. Not now, not when I’d had the guts to say the kind of thing I’d wanted to for a long time. I wanted answers. Needed them.

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing erratically, and widened his dark-chocolate eyes. It took everything in me not to kneel down there with him and kiss his beautifully sculpted lips, my gusset brushing my cheek, the smell of my arousal strong and sharp.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for ages, Mistress. To lick your cunt and make you come.”

“But you have tasted me, made me come, many times during many shows.”

“No.” He shook his head and narrowed his eyes. “I mean in private, like now, not for a show or as a rehearsal. Just for us.”

“Private?” I repeated as a ton of thoughts rattled through my head. Private meant the pleasure wasn’t for the entertainment of others or to earn a living; it was simple licking, coming, for fun and a way to be together as Mistress and slave in an intimate, loving way.

“But I belonged to another back then,” he went on hurriedly, “and I didn’t think you’d be interested in me like that. Mistress Zara would have released me if I’d told her, but what if you’d said no? That you didn’t want me? Where would I have been then, without a Mistress?”

Blimey, he’d gone for the direct approach, whereas I’d dallied on the fringes, planning on learning the answers to my questions bit by bit. My body seemed to liquefy, and I had trouble remaining upright. I inhaled slowly, staring down at him with what I hoped was kindness, then quickly changed that expression in case he took it for pity.

Whatever this was, I was still his Mistress. I tilted my chin. “What are you saying, slave? That you’ve wanted to be mine for quite some time? For us to be together…in private?”

Confirmation, clarification—get it now before this goes tits up and you end up with egg on your face.

I waited for his answer, for words to come out of his mouth that yes, that was indeed what he wanted. Instead, he nodded.

Steeling myself for disappointment, I went on. “Is this part of the show, Carlos? Is this what you want customers to see?”

“No, Mistress. This is what I wanted, totally private.”

His cheeks coloured slightly. Bloody adorable.

“What are you really saying?” I asked. “What do you want?”

“You. I want to be your proper slave. Not just at work. I want you, Mistress, in every way I can have you, for all of time.”

He should have looked ridiculous down there, sitting on his haunches with a black pair of knickers over his face and his dark eyes peeking out from the leg holes. Yet he didn’t. He looked endearing, beautiful, and so very vulnerable that it broke a little bit of my heart. The fact that he hadn’t got up, hadn’t stood in front of me to make himself the taller person, the “man”, spoke volumes. He was serious about being a slave. There wouldn’t be any switching between us like there was with Zara and her virgin. No, the lines had been drawn quite clearly here.