Falling for Sir (5 page)

"You have beautiful breasts, Claudia.
Succulent."

"Er. Thanks."

"You make my mouth water, pretty sub."

"Ok."

Flattery seemed to make her uncomfortable, as
did this position. But it didn't stop her arousal. Those hardened nipples
pushed into his palms and then between his fingers as he moved his hands back
and forth between her crushed breasts and the bedcover. "Breasts to feed
me," he whispered, watching as his words caused little bumps across her
bound arms. "Give me sustenance."

"Hmmm."

He pinched her nipples. His tongue felt dry and
hot, as if they tightness of those two little spears between his fingers sent a
signal to his thirst. Pity she didn't have milk in her. His cock stretched
another half inch and tapped her bottom. He heard her sigh of yearning, felt
her body lower slightly under his weight, her knees moving further apart as she
tried to keep her ass up the way he'd instructed.

Jack slid back and crouched again at the foot of
the bed, delaying the possession a few moments more while he licked around her
pussy with firm, long strokes of his tongue, being careful not to touch her
center. He stroked his fingertips lightly up and down the back of her thighs
and her lips swayed as she tried to push her cunt toward his mouth again. But
he teased her, nibbling and licking her ass cheeks, her thighs, all around her
sex until he heard her frantic hissing and felt her trembling.

She was the hottest piece he'd ever seen and he
was about to pry open that sweet fresh oyster shell, steal her pearl and suck
her down. Claudia—whoever she was—would never forget this night.

He stood. "Now, I'm putting on my condom.
Watch in the mirror." With shaking fingers he tore open the little packet
and dropped it to the carpet. In the mirror her eyes were wide and unblinking,
taking it all in. The look she gave him through her pink mask was another
challenge thrown down.

At least she was no longer struggling to hold
back her laughter. The brat's lips were damp and parted, her cheeks flushed. He
knew the angle he had her at was not the most comfortable, but she would forget
that when he gave her the best orgasm of her entire life.

* * * *

He hadn't bothered to take his clothes off yet,
she noted. The man still wore his shoes for Christ's sake and his pants and
boxers were around his ankles. If she wasn't so aroused, she'd be annoyed by
that. However, she wasn't supposed to complain. He'd paid an enormous fee in
tokens, and she supposed he could do this his way. He must be good—must know
his way around— to have earned so many tokens.

Hmmm. Wasn't so sure she wanted to know about
his expertise with other women at The Club. Tonight he was hers to enjoy, and
she was his.

Marianne studied the reflection in the mirror.
He was very splendidly proportioned, she thought, watching as he rolled the
condom over his erect penis. But then she hadn't seen a lot of older men nude
and those boys she had seen usually made her laugh. It was one of the reasons
why she had a hard time with sex. Laughter, so she'd found, was very
off-putting for the men she'd dated, however horny they were.

But the organ she now watched pushing between
her thighs was nothing like the easily offended boners she'd encountered at
home in Foxtail. Nor was it a small, flaccid, faucet shaped appendage, such as
those she'd viewed on museum statues and studied resting languidly over
heroically-muscled thighs in her mother's paintings. This particular Mr. Woody
could never be obscured by a fig leaf.

Oh no, don't laugh! Don't.

Marianne bit her lip, choking back the nervous
urge to giggle. Instead she considered the practicalities.

How the hell would that fit inside her? It
would, of course; that was what it was for. Odd though.

Hey!

"Relax," he told her. "Don't
tense up." And then he groaned deeply. "Damn that feels so
good."

His fingers dug into her ass cheeks and he
shifted forward, his hips hitting the back of her thighs.

There was a blinding, breathless moment of sheer
bliss as her body opened to accommodate his forceful cock. She closed her eyes.

Oh, he was moving inside her. Her body was about
to be cleaved in two. She heard him grunt, felt his hot sac rubbing against her
waxed mound as he sheathed himself fully, taking possession of his auction win.
So it was true what they said about waxing down there. It did indeed heighten
the sensation.

Marianne could not move. The position he had her
in made it impossible to do anything but let her pussy take his cock and submit
to a thorough reaming. Her knees were spread too wide to gain any purchase on
the silky quilt and her hands were still immobilized, tied behind her back. Her
shoulders and breasts were pushed down into the bed. She could do nothing.

In complete control, he took no mercy on her. As
he began to rock, pushing even deeper, she shuddered, groaning at the waves of
pleasure now taking over her senses, flooding through her entire, taut, arched,
tormented body.

Again she opened her eyes and stared into the
mirror. She was on fire with need, wanting to fuck her Sir as hard as he now
fucked her. She saw how he ground his stern jaw and held his lips tight. His
knees were slightly bent, the muscles in his thighs clearly outlined as he
worked his cock like a piston. The best she could do to participate was hitch
her hips upward slightly, push back an inch, meeting each of his forward
ramming thrusts so that his cock must be hitting her womb each time. The
friction was better than anything she'd ever felt. It made her want to lift her
knees off the bed and spear herself on him. In the mirror she saw her ass shake
and quiver as he rammed harder into her wet cunt, over and over.Marianne could
no longer tell where his body ended and hers began. The condom was slick with
her juice. It was clearly visible in their reflection, even through her misty
vision.

"You're so hot, Claudia. So fucking
tight."

Her body was shaking. Heat from the hard,
driving motion of his plundering cock mounted so quickly that she could barely
catch her breath and combined with the pressure of the anal plug it was enough
to make her forget every other thought. Her mind was empty. She was no longer a
civilized human, but a beast. A sexual animal, all raw need and savage, selfish
greed.

In the room next to theirs someone was receiving
a hard spanking, the steady rhythm loud enough to seep through the adjoining
wall. Mr. Woody slowed to keep pace with the sound, but when the neighbor's bed
began banging into the wall he quickened his motion, shaking their bed
likewise.

Suddenly his head went back and he froze. A
split second later he leaned over her, wrapped an arm around her waist, dragged
her back, tight to his groin, and plunged his dick wildly into her cunt. And
then she knew he shot his load. The stranger groaned loudly in her ear, his
breath hot, scented with scotch and peppermint. As his lips touched the outer
edge of her ear she lost her grip completely. Only his throbbing pulse now
moved his cock inside her tightly filled pussy, but she rocked on her knees,
moaning, taking over the rhythm.

She closed her eyes as her muscles contracted
and waves shuddered through her body, each one higher and faster than the last.

Marianne Miller finally lost complete control
for the first time in her life and let out a low scream of delight.

* * * *

He moved back, pulled out of her and swiftly
removed the condom. "Stay there," he told her, breathing hard, aware
of the perspiration dripping under his mask. After fetching tissues and a wet
towel from the en suite bathroom, he cleaned her off. Then he untied her
wrists, pulled the plug from her ass and told her to turn onto her back.

Her relieved sigh turned swiftly to more gasps
when he tugged her to the edge of the bed and put his mouth to her cunt.
Sliding his hands under her bottom, he held her for a thorough devouring. He
worked his tongue into that blushing, tender cleft, closed his lips over her
sex and coaxed her to another orgasm with a slow, deliberate sucking.

He ate her cunt as if it was all he needed to
sustain life, as if it had been withheld from him for too long and he was
starving for it. He thrust his tongue further, curling and unfurling its full
length to touch every sensitive, swollen inch of her silky sheath, until she
squealed and her ass cheeks tensed in his cupped hands.

Sticky honey flowed onto his tongue and he ate
greedily, while her hips jerked and her bottom slapped against his hot palms.
The beautiful woman who'd sold her body to him for three hours, abandoned
herself fully to the pleasure he'd feared he might have forgotten how to give.

She cried out—a woman on fire— grabbing at the
quilt, hips bucking, thighs over his shoulders, her pussy riding his mouth like
a rodeo champion, her tits quivering and bouncing.

Jack had assumed that at his age he'd seen and
done it all; nothing should surprise him anymore. But, watching her reaction to
his tongue, he was hard again already. The taste of her cum effected him like
Spanish Fly. His desire to please this woman reached such new heights that the
air felt thinner. He should have suffered vertigo.

It was a damn shame, he mused, that no one had
ever serviced her properly before. Shame for her, lucky for him. Now he'd have
fun making up for the failures of his fellow man.

Chapter
Four

A
Slight Hitch

She had a headache the next day and the fall sun
was so unusually bright that she was delayed by a last minute search for her
sunglasses on the way out of the door to work. Rushing to make up the lost
minutes, when she got to Marchetti's she flew through the staff entrance and
barely noticed quick footsteps chasing her down. Slipping off her shades and
stepping into the elevator she was joined by one of the women who'd befriended
her over martinis at happy hour recently.

"Hey, Marianne! Got a hangover?"

"No," she muttered. "Just a
headache."

"That sucks. I get migraines sometimes that
lay me flat for twenty four hours."

"Oh. This is just a plain old
headache."
And I'm shattered from
the king-size fucking I received last night from a complete stranger.
Eh....probably
not the best place to announce that.

She had barely slept all night. After she got
home she took a bath and went to bed with a half glass of milk and a packet of
Oreos. Double-stuff, to be precise. Had to be Double-stuff. She'd watched the
last half of an old black and white movie and then three episodes of
The Brady Bunch
, before she lay down and
tried to get some shut-eye. It didn't happen. In a few hours she heard people
stirring in her building, pipes groaning to life. Then her alarm had gone off.

"I've got some aspirin in my desk if you
want some."

"Thanks, Christie."

"No prob. I keep tons of stuff in my desk.
Anytime you need anything stop by."

The elevator was crowded and even as the doors
tried to slide shut, people dashed forward to claim a spot, slowing everyone
down. It was a pet peeve of hers. There were six elevators on this side alone.
Would it hurt to wait a minute? Now the crowd closed her in, stealing her air.

The woman who'd followed her into the box almost
stepped on her toe as people jostled for space and the cables finally whirred
into life, taking them upward. Marianne looked at Christie and wondered if she
could be the one who left that card for The Club on her chair. From appearances
it wouldn't seem at all likely, but Marianne had studied people enough to know
exactly how deceptive those appearances could be.

Couldn't ask outright. People weren't supposed
to contact one another outside The Club. Not directly—not to talk about the
place. That was probably why whomever it was had simply left the card for her
to find.

The elevator took them up, out of Marchetti's
luxury department store and into the administrative offices. When the doors
opened three people got out. One got in.

Her heart...stopped.

He turned his back to her.

Oh, fuck. To put it mildly.

Mr. Woody.

A few people, she noted, seemed to shrivel away,
giving him more space than they would allow for any other poor sod. Someone
muttered a nervous "good morning," and he merely inclined his head.
Who did he think he was - Caesar?

The doors slithered shut and they were off
again.

Marianne's stalled pulse regrouped and whipped
back into life. It was a good thing, after all, that this crowd of people would
keep her upright and also prevent him from noticing her.

Shit, shit, shit. She clutched her head, eyes
closed. So he worked at Marchetti's. She just knew she'd seen him before
somewhere.