Sexy as Hell Box Set (41 page)

“I am?” He twitched his eyebrows, a small micro-expression of disbelief.

“Yes, it’s your second lesson.” I paused, licked a crumb from the corner of my mouth with my tongue. “You must learn to do exactly as I say, when I say it.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

He was trying, with all this Mistress stuff, but in his eyes I could see arrogance and the iron will of a man who would not be subservient. Well, we’d soon see how manly he felt when he left the coffee shop with a shot of cum in his boxers.

“Would you like to fuck me now?” I asked.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Well, you’re not going to, not for real anyway.”

He pressed his lips together.

I suppressed a giggle. “But what I want you to do, Ollie, is close your eyes and imagine me naked. Can you do that? Can you picture me in your bedroom, my clothes strewn about and me dancing, just for you?”

He shut his eyes and balled his hands into fists on the table.

I stared at his grotesque facial wound and how the swollen skin held a stretched sheen. The way the blood had pooled really was quite fascinating.

“This is what’s happened,” I said. “You and I have been out for dinner, somewhere really posh… The Savoy. Are you imagining it? Can you see us there in your mind’s eye?”

“Yes.”

“No, don’t speak, not until I tell you that you can. Just nod or shake your head if I ask you a question. Understand?” Our faces were so close, I knew he’d be able to feel my breath washing over his skin. Smell the coffee and cake I’d just enjoyed. Perhaps he’d even be getting a waft of the sultry, strong perfume I’d spritzed onto my neck just before leaving work.

“So we’re at The Savoy, the music is playing gently, the waiters discreet, the food divine, but all you can think of are my tits, Ollie. My soft tits that you can just see the tops of. My dress is low, but not
sluttily low, tantalisingly low. You can see enough flesh to imagine your cock between their softness, me pressing them together as you fuck my tits. You’d love to do that, and while we’re there, at The Savoy, you lean forward and tell me this, in graphic detail. So graphic you even describe the deep purple colour your cock has become, how the veins stand out, bulging and proud. Their denseness shocking against the delicate paleness of my skin. Can you imagine that, Ollie, how it would feel for us to be sitting together, at The Savoy, talking about such things? You telling me how turned on you are, that you’re getting ready to burst, your slit tingling, your balls retracting hard and tight, the pressure building.”

He nodded.

“So there you are, at the table with lobster for your main course, an expensive Shiraz in your wineglass and a raging hard-on. I mean, really, this is an erection that is threatening your grip on sanity. You may well pass out so much blood has raced to your cock. Your thoughts are focused on fucking my tits as soon as we get back to your place. We might not even make it. We might find a cleaner’s cupboard to fuck in, or ravish each other in the back of the taxi. We wouldn’t care who heard us, what we need is so big, so unstoppable.”

Ollie squirmed and I couldn’t resist smiling. I’d pressed his buttons and now I just had to watch him go.

“But you know what I like the best about The Savoy?”

He shook his head.

“They have these lovely big white tablecloths, perfect for sneaking underneath and giving the man you’re with a little between-course treat.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the bulge just pressing on his shirt collar which was still done up, tie knotted neatly.

I continued to talk in a low, hypnotic voice. “And that is exactly what is happening now in our story. I’m beneath the table, reaching for your trouser button, your zip, pulling it down, releasing your big, hard cock into my hot little hand. You glance around, wondering if you should stop me, but no, it’s the thrill of getting caught, the desire, the desperate, all-consuming desire to feel my wet mouth on your dick. Licking, sucking, plunging you to the back of my throat.” I paused. “Are you hard now, Ollie?”

He opened his eyes.

“Shut them,” I snapped.

He did.

“Tell me, are you hard now?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

He hadn’t needed to tell me, the evidence of his erection was written in his body language, and as I wondered where to take the story next he loosened his tie and undid the top button of his white shirt.

“And so I’m under the table giving you the best oral sex of your life—because it would be, I have the most amazing technique—and you’re trying to keep quiet. Not let other diners or the waiter know that you’re being sucked off. That cum is boiling in your bollocks, desperate to get out and spurt into the back of my throat. Because that’s what you want, to fill my mouth with your
jizz. Grip my head at the height of your climax and pour into me in great big blasts.”

I sipped my coffee, glanced around to make sure no one was listening. They weren’t.

“Imagine it now, sitting here, this is The Savoy and I’m beneath the table. My mouth is wet and warm, and I’m fiddling with your balls, too, rolling them, massaging them. All you want to do is spunk out, but you can’t trust yourself not to groan or gasp, wail your release.”

A flush was rising on Ollie’s face, his cheeks now deep red, and he was biting his bottom lip. I knew full well the erection raging in his pants would be giving him some serious space issues.

“So I stop, before you come, and we quickly finish our meal and make it back to your place.”

He let out a small exhale. Not a sigh, just puff of breath.

“But that’s when it gets really intense, Ollie. You’ve had a major stiffy for two hours and there’s me, dancing naked for you. My hips sway, I raise my arms over my head, and my tits bounce and bob, my nipples enticing you to come and suckle them. And that’s when you can take it no longer, Ollie.” I rested my hands over his fists, stroked the delicate underside of his wrists with my thumbs. “You have to have me. You can’t wait another second. I know this, though, and I’m on the bed, legs spread, dipping my fingers into my wet cunt, preparing myself for you to fuck me hard. I like it hard and fast, Ollie. I like it when I’m overwhelmed by a big strong man like you who can really show me what a proper good fucking is. I know you’re the man for the job and I can’t help but think that my whole life has been building up to this moment. My pussy is creaming for you, we can both smell my arousal, hear it too as I finger myself, clicking and clacking wetly.

“You stroke your dick. Your whole body is screaming for me. I welcome you in, gripping your body as your wondrous, big cock takes me harder and faster than ever before. I shout your name, cling to you, not just with my arms and legs but also with my hot, tight cunt, my muscles rippling along your shaft, clutching you close, tugging you higher.

“You’re more than I could have ever dared hope and I tell you this between hard shunts that steal our breath. Already an orgasm is building, for both of us.” I hesitated, watched him squirm and then open his mouth to quietly pant. “And then I’m coming. It’s a big one, gripping your cock like a clamp, squeezing you. I yell into your ear that you’re the best I’ve ever had, better than I ever believed I would have. You come, too, Ollie. High inside me you shoot your load. You feel like your spine is being ripped from the end of your slit, the climax is so powerful, so consuming.”

He grimaced and gritted his teeth.

“Come now,” I said, releasing his hand to stroke down the non-marked side of his cheek. “Come now and make it a real memory.” I paused for a heartbeat then went for the grand finale. “The best is yet to come, though,” I say, “because as soon as you’ve come you’re ready to go again, hard and solid, you’re insatiable, and that’s just how I like it. You flip me over, like I’m some kind of sex toy, lube up my tight, puckered arsehole then shunt into me. The pain of your brutal entry makes me squeal, but you know I love it really and you bang into me harder, right until your balls mash up against my wet cunt lips. My God, you’re good, and so damn big. Already you’re coming again, so am I. I can’t breathe, the pleasure is so great. Come, Ollie, I shout, come up my arse, come with me, and you do, again, and this time you roar like a lion as I scream like a banshee. The feeling is exquisite. More blissful than either of us could ever have dreamed possible, and also so wild and primitive we’re barely even human anymore—it’s all about the pleasure, the thrill of finding satisfaction in such a basic, unashamed way.”

His body jerked forward, he sucked in a breath then drew his hand from the table and clutched his groin. His eyes screwed up so tight his lashes meshed together, and creases darted from the corners to his temples. There was a flush of colour on his neck, on his face, too, and a slight sheen of sweat on his top lip.

“Good boy,” I said, a pool of satisfaction warming my cold toes.

He trembled, a full body shiver that shifted him beneath his clothes.

I cupped his face, stroked his cheek. “Perfect,” I said. It was nice to know Carlos wasn’t the only one I could talk to orgasm. Perhaps Ollie had potential after all.

He opened his eyes. There was a flash of pleasure there, but overwhelmingly there was embarrassment. He shifted on the seat, wrinkled his nose.

“Sticky?” I asked.

He squeezed his lips together.

I laughed, a high-pitched giggle that did draw the attention of a few other customers. “You can talk, you know.”

It was the same overweight bloke as before behind the desk at the sex shop, where I’d purchased the paddle with my initials on that had branded Zara’s arse. He didn’t acknowledge me with any recognition, just grunted ‘good evening’ and went back to the Harley Davidson magazine he was flicking through.

Feeling considerably more comfortable than I had the first time I’d visited, I went straight for the items I was looking for. I had to do something to spice up the trip to Tuscany. Okay, it wasn’t for a few months, but there was no harm in trying, right? Plus, it couldn’t hurt to have a bit more of my own gear. Zara had an impressive toy box, why shouldn’t I?

Fingering the sexy nurse outfit, I tried to picture Catherine wearing it. It was so short it would show the gusset of her knickers. She wouldn’t like that, I was sure. She’d pull and tug and try to stretch the material down. Hide herself from view. The frills on the apron were sweet, the neckline plunging, and it even had a little hat that went with it.

The sizes were in small, medium and large. I unhooked the hanger of a small and dangled it on my thumb, mind made up. Now, what else?

Catherine and I had made love three more times since that first fake attempt. All had been similarly weak and lacking, although on the last late-night scuffle back at my place I think I’d managed to give her an orgasm. She’d gasped, sank her nails into my back, and there was certainly some breathlessness plus a flush of colour on her cheeks.

I wished she’d verbalise when I was getting it right or wrong. She must think I was a mind reader. Why couldn’t she be more like Zara? Oh, not totally like her, that would tip me over the edge again, but just a little more…oral.

I huffed at the thought of oral and Catherine. The two words just didn’t go together. Twice I’d tried to kiss my way down her chest, her stomach, settle myself between her legs, but each time she’d tugged me up, denying me the chance to acquaint myself with her musky taste. It was a shame, I was pretty damn good at oral sex, not that I’d had much opportunity for a while now, what with Zara denying me, too, only allowing me one lonely lick up her wet slit in all of our time together.

Perhaps I should insist with Catherine. Let my masterful side out and tie her up, do what I wanted to her pretty little body and let her see what it was truly like to hand herself over to a man who knew his way around a woman. Yes, that was what she needed, her horizons broadening, her bedroom experience enhanced and expanded.

Spotting some long black straps, I strode across the shop floor. The illuminated sign told me they were bondage ties made of the finest velvet. They would be a good start. I grabbed them then plucked a matching blindfold from the display for good measure.

I was feeling better already. I had a plan now. Yes, this could work. Because there was no doubt about it, Catherine ticked all the boxes as an excellent partner for me in the long term. She was pretty, successful, kind, caring, polite, and as my mother would say, ‘from the right side of town’. So if I could just sort out the crap sex, show her my way was the fun way, then perhaps this could work out between us after all.

One of the things Zara had taught me was there was no time like the present, so after leaving the sex shop several hundred pounds lighter, I texted Catherine and confirmed that she was still coming round for supper. It was a Wednesday, but we’d comfortably got into a routine of seeing each other on week nights, and with Christmas so close now, it was nice to have company.

Looking forward to it, see you at 8 X

That was her replying text.

I slipped my phone away, scurried through driving rain that pelted me like icy bullets, and hopped into a cab.

Within ten minutes I was home, shaking off my coat and dumping my wares on the island in the kitchen. London’s lights sparkled through the enormous windows of my penthouse as I stroked the soft bondage material. In my mind’s eye I could visualise Catherine naked and bound on my bed, her arms outstretched, her legs splayed. I’d blindfold her, too, so that she wouldn’t be able to see where I was going to touch her, what I was going to do. It would also mean I could feast on her delectable curves, her soft slopes and the folds of her pussy without her knowing I was looking.