Sexy as Hell Box Set (16 page)

She raised her eyebrows.

“Yes, Mistress.”

She released my chin, thrust the lube at me. “Do it now. All this arse play has left me in need of some myself.”

The word ‘what’ danced in my mouth. “You want me to…?”

“Fuck my arse, yes.” She climbed onto the sofa, bum in the air, at the perfect height for my cock.

I stared at the cleft of her bottom, the shadow leading to her arsehole and the lips of her pussy just peeking out.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Victor.” She twisted to look at me. “Please don’t tell me you’ve never fucked a woman’s arse before.”

“Of course I have, Mistress.” I swallowed and squirted a blob of clear lube onto my fingers. “Loads of times.”

“Good, then get on with it.” She began to fret her clit, her shoulder shifting, her hair falling, two curtains. “There’s a condom in the pocket of my jeans. Make sure you use it.”

I stared at the lube, looked down at the crumpled, discarded jeans. I wiped the lube on my leg, carefully stooped, retrieved the condom then rolled it on. With the lube back on my fingertips, I stroked over Zara’s anus.

The plug was heavy in my back passage, and as I eased my finger into hers the sensation in my own body intensified.

“Oh, yes, more,” she gasped, rocking onto my finger.

I added another, fascinated to be feeling something new. Her rectum wasn’t the same as her pussy, it was more hollow, the sides satiny pillows, and the clamp of her hole, it would hold my cock as taut as an elastic band. So damn tight, it was noose-like.

Suddenly I was greedy to know how that would feel on my dick.

It seemed Zara was too.

“Fuck my arse,” she said. “Fuck my arse, and on each thrust, Victor, I command you to clench that plug so that you know I’m fucking you as much as you’re fucking me.”

I pulled out my fingers and positioned my sheathed cock at her tightly puckered entrance. “Yes, Mistress.”

“And give it to me good.”

“Yes…” I plunged in. “Mistress.”

“Ah, yes, fucking hell, yes, Victor, like that.” She released a long, happy wail, shunting backwards to impale herself more.

I would have liked to savour my first time tunnelling into an arse, but since I’d proclaimed to be an old hand at it, I didn’t feel I could. Instead I set up a fast, furious rhythm, matching the frenetic speed at which she was playing with her clit.

Each time I maxed out, the plug in my bum shifted and swept across my prostate. The sensation was amazing. More than amazing. It was going to make me come pretty soon.

Gripping her hips, I eased her onto my cock, stared down at the way her arsehole was stretched around my width. We had plenty of lube going on, but still her skin dragged, exposing a pretty pinkness on the backwards stroke. The sight was so horny. Nothing I’d seen before, or ever thought I would see.

I sped up. There was nothing gentle about our fucking now. We were both frantic, racing towards the finish line. Sweaty and grunting, we bashed against each other with animalistic wildness.

Cum boiled in my bollocks. My arse clenched. The tightness of Zara’s sweet little bottom had me about to burst.

“Oh, come with me, Victor,” she cried, “now.”

I didn’t need telling twice. With a roar of release that seemed to pour from every cell in my body, I spurted into the very depths of my Mistress.

She came, too, writhing,
spasming, jerking through a long orgasm.

I kept shunting, even as my pinnacle faded, eking out every second of her release and watching fascinated as her arsehole contracted in sharp waves around my cock.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she panted, then finally released her clit and gripped the back of the sofa. “That was just what I needed.”

“
Mmm, me too.” I withdrew, my dick seeming too big, even as it softened, to have ever fitted inside her small hole.

She turned and flopped onto the sofa, legs akimbo, breasts shifting as she fought for breath.

My heart rattled up against my ribcage. I took a deep breath, held it, willed the extra beats to go away.

They did.

I bent, kissed her head then walked to the bathroom, tugging off the condom as I went.

After removing the plug, washing it and setting it aside, I filled the sink, soaped up a flannel and headed back into the living room, soft white towel draped over my arm.

My cock was flaccid, my breathing normal as I carefully wiped Zara clean between her legs and over her bum. Tenderly I patted dry the skin, then set the cloth to one side and scooped her into my arms.

We lay, entwined, not speaking, just staring at the TV together. An old black-and-white movie came on, I’m not sure what, but with Zara in my arms I was content to allow the satiation of my orgasm float me into a doze and let everything else drift into the periphery.

So Victor
did
have it in him to be fucked, and he’d enjoyed it being so different from what he was used to, I’d bet my last quid on it. And as for him actually putting his cock up my… I
don’t know where he’d learnt to do it with such a wonderful, furiously intense rhythm but he’d got it just right for me.

As I tried to rouse myself from a completely satisfying sleep, I rolled onto my side and wished… No, I didn’t wish he was here now, in my home, not in that way. More along the lines that I could have done with a wake-the-hell-up shag that would set me on the right track for the day. I normally fucked at night, had never woken beside one of my conquests before, having always made sure I tossed them out after tossing them off. The whole in-your-face-all-the-time scenario didn’t appeal.

I knew why, of course I did, and it wasn’t often these days that I entertained any buried memories that explained my behaviour, even the superficial ones. I’d thought I’d been in love once, probably difficult for some people to believe, given the way I gadded about, but yes, if that was love then I’d had it. It hadn’t progressed to the living together full-time stage, just hotel rooms or the odd weekend at his fancy country home. The only other living thing he’d introduced me to that had any connection to him was his dog, Roly. Since I had no family that I wanted anything to do with, and he’d been in no rush for me to meet his, that had been off the cards.

He was a well-known toff, someone who really shouldn’t have been dallying with the likes of me, and if anyone had ever found out he’d planted his stake in my garden, there would have been hell to pay. I realised, even back then, that the media discovering me in his life wasn’t the done thing. No, someone so prominent didn’t like to have his bit on the side flaunted. Unless she was equally high up the food chain, which I wasn’t.

And I’d loved him to death, in my own way. Thought about him every waking moment it had seemed. Wished we could be together in all ways, all the time. He’d consumed me, body and soul, and it wasn’t until later, after he’d kicked me out of his life just as another woman had taken his fancy, that I knew I could never give my heart to someone like that again.

I frowned, wondering why I didn’t get the usual pang that gnawed at my gut when I thought about him. I knew, having experienced life in a totally different way since, that he’d just been a crush. My first foray into love and all that went with it. And quite frankly, it had hurt. Why on earth would anyone want to purposely put themselves through that? First and last foray, that’s what it had been.

Now, I didn’t think there was anyone in the universe worth giving myself pain over, and I was buggered if I would. No, fleeting connections was what I was all about. All right, Victor was more than fleeting, but then again, if I thought about how long I’d been with that toff—almost a year—a month with Victor
was
fleeting.

I couldn’t bring myself to utter the toff’s name; he’d have to remain That Man forever. I suppose some would say that meant he still had a hold on me, that I was still affected, but I wasn’t. Hadn’t me making a new life for myself proved that? New job, new home, I’d even bought my dream car six months ago.

A little voice muttered that me not embarking on any serious relationships also meant he still had a hold, but I shoved it to the back of my mind. What did my sub-conscious know? It didn’t understand me at all. Hadn’t for so many years now.

I flicked the quilt off and swung my legs out of bed, wondering how they’d looked to Victor last night from behind. Had he stared at them, or had his attention been elsewhere? Had he stared at my arse gobbling up his cock, or had he liked the ripples spreading over my buttocks as he’d forged into me over and over?

As I showered, my thoughts left Victor and went back to the past again. I mused, as I soaped my body, about how I’d stumbled into my career, how That Man had given me a taste for being a Domme. He’d instructed me, had moulded me into one over the twelve months we’d been together—it was what he’d wanted, a whip-wielding Mistress to flog him, beat him, fuck him so hard he shook and cried and needed putting back together again. It would help me, too, so he’d said. To find myself again, my true self, after my soul had wandered down a rogue path not of my choosing.

I was bloody good at it, being a
Domme. In fact, I saw it now as a calling, so me seeing an advert in the local rag asking for dominant women to join a fast-expanding business…well, I’d gone along to Eden Street in a flash. Of course, I hadn’t thought the business was what it was. I’d just got hooked on the word ‘dominant’ and had gone for it. However, after the first flush of embarrassment had begun to fade, and a chat with Carlos and Fifi had made me well aware of what my duties would be, I’d agreed to give it a go. It wasn’t like I was having sex with the customers for money, just orchestrating others’ pleasure for their masturbation sessions. Plus I had a great body—no reason to hide something that was aesthetically pleasing to so many. If you’ve got it flaunt it, or so Fifi had said.

And I hadn’t looked back since. Hadn’t regretted one second of it. I had money, friends, adoration, and I was independent. Nope, I had no qualms about my decisions at all.

Until now.

No, no, no, I didn’t regret a thing.

Shaking my head at my stupid contradicting thoughts, I dried off then dressed, suddenly at a loss as to what to do with myself until work later on. I had the insane urge to visit Victor at his office, but from what he’d said last night, I didn’t think I’d better. Feeling unsettled, I opted for the coffee shop again. Not on the off-chance that Victor would pop in, but because, well, I needed to scout for men, didn’t I? My last visit had been rudely interrupted.

Once there, at my usual table, I eyed up the talent. There wasn’t much. A couple of blokes were ideal in the facial department, definitely my type of fella, but there wasn’t that spark I got when I thought about what they might look like with no clothes on, what they’d look like with their faces firmly stuck at the apex of my legs.

I sighed then sipped my coffee, wondering what on earth was the matter with me. Perhaps this game with Victor was dragging me down. If that was the case, I couldn’t wait for it to be over. I stared into space, working out what to show him next. There were the Swedes—mustn’t forget those—but maybe they’d be better off left for the finale. God, that would give him a last visual to remember his time with me by. I could only hope he learned from what I was teaching him and didn’t file it in the back of his mind. What a waste if he didn’t use it with future women, either as a sub or having a go at domination himself. When he’d got going he’d given off an unstoppable energy. It was muted assertiveness yes, but I was pretty sure it was there.

Bile rose into my throat.

Was I coming down with something? That would be all I’d need, being sick smack bang in the middle of a bet. I breathed deeply, waiting for a slash of nausea to strike, but nothing came. Maybe the milk in the coffee wasn’t as fresh as it could be. I shrugged, once again studying the men. One of them, nice-looking and hair much like Victor’s, greying a bit at the temples but not quite as long at the back as his, was typing steadfastly on his laptop. I wondered what he did for a living that meant he spent his coffee break working. Or perhaps he wasn’t working at all. He might well be firing off saucy emails to a woman who read them while frigging her clit. Would Victor be up for something like that?

I wasn’t about to wait to find out. I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone. Having stored his email address in my mind, I tapped the icon for my mail app and typed it in, taking a moment to think on what to put. In the subject line I typed
CAN YOU WALK PROPERLY TODAY?
then proceeded with the main entry.

Dear Mr Doesn’t-Know-It-All-But-Knows-A-Bit-More-Than-Before,

I hope this email finds you in good spirits. How is your arse? Sore? I imagine it is. Mine isn’t, just in case you were wondering. I have a blissful kind of ache going on down there, and every time I move I think of you with your cock inside me. I have to admit, I’m wondering how that cock would feel in my cunt again, but we have plenty of time for me to find out, don’t we?

Now, about tonight. I doubt your back hole is up for any more invasions just yet, so I thought us watching a performance might be the best way to go. There’s an act you haven’t seen yet—The Harlequin; you’ll see why when you get there—and it will show you a thing or two.