Authors: Violet Blue
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Anthologies (Multiple Authors), #Erotica, #Romance, #Contemporary
Sweet Danger (20 page)
His erection continues to jut into her, straining to find its way. With care he leans back, sliding his hands down over her back, to rest for a moment on her radiant buttocks, then to slip between them, spreading those fulsome globes.
Her flesh is parted. She’s exposed, revealing her slick pink slit, and he maneuvers his hardened shaft toward its target. He pauses at her entrance, relishing the expectation of her secret grip on his purpled engorgement. And then he pushes home, sliding the bold rod of flesh into her, feeling her heat, her pressure, her muscular containment as she takes him within her.
She’s hot, and wet. His progress, though unimpeded, is resisted just enough to bring him to a delicious height of sensual pleasure as he plunges and withdraws in measured strokes.
He keeps his rhythm, but he can feel her tension as she comes before he does, her muscles alternately gripping and releasing him, her slick wetness growing to a flood around his member. But still he pumps her, maintaining his unhurried oscillations, drinking in the pleasure of her responsive flesh engulfing his.
She’s gasping now and letting out unintelligible squeaks as he continues his measured thrusts. Her gasps grow deeper, her squeaking grows to pronounced cries, and all the while he’s getting closer to his own fulfillment. Her orchestrated arousal tells him she’s near, and so he concentrates, slowing his thrusts, feeling her body tense and relax, aware of his own impending climax as the fire of his orgasm travels up the shaft of his organ to the pressured head, its stretched skin so sensitive to every nuance of her engulfing flesh, until, as the well of his climax rises, his member throbbing inside her, he grips her body and comes in a flood of pulsating pleasure. As his tidal wave breaks within her, it is enough, the final sensation, to send her over the edge into ecstasy, and she convulses, letting out a lasting, helpless sigh.
The end of the office day draws near. He phones home. It rings three times.
She answers. “Is there anything you want to ask me?” Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper.
“Yes,” he says.
Dinner Out
MARIE SUDAC
I’ve been hurting for it so long that the smell of you hits me as soon as I enter the house, and I feel my body respond with the kind of hunger I’ve been nursing with melancholy sadness for a whole week. I unbutton my blazer in the kitchen, kick off my pumps in the living room, strip off my blouse and my skirt in the hall. By the time I nudge open the door of the bedroom and see you in bed, sprawled out sweaty and naked in the tangled sheets, my pussy is already aching. The moist sheets splay across your belly, and your skin glistens in the slanted light from the window. You’re asleep, snoring lightly. I don’t even take off my garter belt and stockings before I climb into bed with you. And I don’t even kiss you hello before I press my body against yours and cradle your cock, half-hard as you sleep.
Your eyes pop open and I shiver as you look at me with naked lust. Your cock hardens quickly in my hand, and my pussy responds with such a hot flood of juice that before I know I’m doing it, I’ve burrowed under the covers and taken your cock in my mouth. The taste of it fills me with a rush of sensation, and my nipples harden painfully in my too-tight bra. I want to take it off, but I find I can’t do anything except wrap my fingers around the base of your cock and push you deeper into my mouth until I feel your swelling head against the entrance to my throat. When I reach down to my panties, it’s to slide my fingers into them and feel my wetness, coating my fingers so I can reach back up and push them into your mouth. You bite my fingertips, hard, then lick my fingers clean and seize my hand to bite the heel of it while I suck you. I whimper softly, my noises muffled by the fullness of your cock in my throat as I bob up and down on you. I wore a thong today, thinking of you. It hurts me to take your cock out of my mouth, and my slick lips draw a glistening string of drool and pre-come from your cockhead as I sit up and straddle you, plucking the tiny crotch of my thong out of the way so I can sit down on your cock.
Your hands cradle my hips as I push onto you, my pussy so wet that it engulfs your cock in one hot, easy motion. In an instant I feel the familiar push of your cockhead against my G-spot, and I moan as I start to stroke my clit. I look down into your eyes and love you more than ever, wanting you to come inside me, wanting to come hard on your cock. And I’m close—very, very close.
Your hips rise up to meet me and I pump mine rhythmically; I feel my orgasm approaching. I’m on the very edge of it when you roll me off of you and tumble me onto the bed, face up, under you, legs spread. The feel of your weight almost makes me come right then, but you slide out of me and hold your cock erect, an inch from my cunt.
Moaning, whimpering, desperate, I inch my hips up and try to push myself back onto you. You tease me, pulling back. When I thrust myself hard at you, hungrily seeking your cock, you look down into my eyes and laugh.
You shake your head.
“Not yet,” you say. “Get dressed. I’m taking you out to dinner.”
“Baby, I’m so close,” I whimper.
You smile broadly, climbing out of bed. “I want you aching for it. Get dressed.”
I stretch out, sliding my hands into my wet thong and rubbing my clit. “Please?” I whisper.
“No,” you say, getting back on the bed and grasping my wrists. You kiss me tenderly on the lips, your tongue stroking mine. That only makes me want it more, and I struggle against you, trying to get my hands back between my legs. I rub against you, feeling your wet cock on my belly.
“Come for me, then? Come on me?” I beg you. “Come in my mouth,” I whisper.
You shake your head. “Get dressed in something nice—something very nice. This is an excellent restaurant. Be sure to wear gloves, though. Satin ones. And don’t change your underwear—I love what you’re wearing.”
I should know better than to argue with you when you want to play these games. I love them as much as you do; for every whine and whimper I give you, begging you to come, to let me come, I know I’ll come ten times harder when you finally let me have it.
But now, after a week without you, I want it so bad I can’t control myself. I put my arms around you as you button your dress shirt; I drop to my knees and take your cock in my mouth again, tasting my pussy’s juices so sharp on your hard flesh. You let me suck you, kneeling in my bra and panties. You let me take you into my throat, rub you all over my face. You let me bring you almost to the point where you’ll come in my mouth; I taste the first tiny squirt of pre-come, and the flavor overwhelms me, making me want you more than I’ve ever wanted you in my life. I swallow eagerly and suck you harder, waiting for your come.
But you pull back, holding my hair, forcing my head back so that my lips and tongue work, empty and aching, an inch from your cock. I look up at you and whimper, then hear myself moaning, “Please? Please? Please?”
But you shake your head, pull me to my feet, and point me at the closet. It hurts to walk, my clit is so swollen. My hands quiver as I select my sexiest minidress, a tight little black number. I need your help zipping it, and the feel of your fingers on my skin makes me bite my lip. I put on a string of pearls, a dose of mascara, a thick coat of bright red lipstick. You knot a red tie around your neck and put on your dark wool suit coat.
I wear high-heeled shoes, praying you’ll fuck me in them, like you did the last time we played this game. Only this time, something in your eyes tells me that the ante has been upped more than even I can imagine.
I don’t bother with my seat belt in the car; it’s much more important to me to tuck my ankles under my ass and cuddle up against your warm body as you drive.
I ask you how your trip was; I wonder out loud, again, why you chose to drive from Vancouver rather than flying, especially since your work would have paid for it. “I wanted to pick something up in Oregon,” you tell me mysteriously. When I ask you what it is, you tell me I’ll find out soon enough. That makes my pussy feel swollen and wet. I’m so turned on I’m still leaking, thick pulses of juice oozing out of my cunt and soaking my thong until it’s so wet it feels cold and clammy. But when I push my thighs together tightly, it soon warms up.
We drive into the city and into the financial district. As the sun goes down, you go slowly along the less savory streets, like you’re looking for a hooker. I think for a moment that maybe you are—maybe that’s what you’ve got in store for me, why you wanted me so aching and wet that I couldn’t say no. Are you going to push me to my knees in front of a twenty-fivedollar whore in a cheap red minidress, knowing I can’t deny you anything, knowing I’ll slip my tongue into her cunt just to get you to fuck me till I come? Knowing I’m yours, no matter what you do to me?
I think I have my answer when you pull into an alley, a dark one leading behind the newspaper loading dock and the back end of an office building. By now it’s completely dark, and the alley stretches into blackness with not a streetlight anywhere to be seen. You hit the button that unlocks my door.
“Walk to the far end,” you tell me.
“Honey, what…?”
You lean over and kiss me. “No questions,” you say. “Just do it.”
Nervously, I get out, taking my purse. You reach over and snatch it away from me, smiling.
“You won’t need this,” you say. “Walk quickly and with determination.”
As I start walking, I hear you putting the car in reverse. I listen to the scratch of your tires as you pull back into traffic and disappear. Now I’m lost in the blackness of the alley, shaking with my fear. I try to walk quickly, but it’s hard in these high heels. Each time I pass one of the empty cul-de-sacs that sports sleeping street people, I catch their harsh scent and try to hold my breath. But there’s no clean air to be drawn. Each time I pass a tiny side alley, I feel the thumping heartbeat of terror that someone is waiting there for me, waiting to hurt me. I feel the familiar bite of tears in my chest, the quiver of my throat as it closes from mounting terror.
I walk as quickly as I can, listening to the echoing click of my high heels. The fear is making the ache in my pussy feel dangerous. It’s making my knees feel weak. It’s making my nipples hard, harder than they ever could have gotten from arousal alone. None of this feels good, however; it’s all sheer terror; sheer pain; sheer hateful, forced surrender. I feel my eyes moisten and I choke back a single sob, then a second, then a third. I walk faster. Past another open, blackened alley.
I’m trying to watch for it. I’m trying to be aware, awake, alert, observant, but my tears have blinded my eyes, rendering me helpless—paralyzing me. The arm comes out from blackness and seizes my hair, jerking me back against a hard, unfamiliar body. For an instant I pray it’s you, and then I smell the filth and the ancient, soured sweat. I open my mouth to scream. The arm closes around my throat, and I see the hand in front of me in the shadows, black-gloved. I hear the click and a glistening stream of silver erupts in the darkness, reflecting a single band of light from high, high above. Then the arm pulls me back into darkness, and all I can do is feel the blade against my throat.
“Don’t scream,” I hear the raspy voice. “Or you’re finished.”
Now I know why you drove through Oregon; switchblades are legal there. You push me forward across a cold metal garbage can, bending me over as you seize my hair. The tears grab me and I hear myself sobbing even as my pussy floods to feel you pushing hard against me from behind. I can feel your cock in your pants and it terrifies me even as it makes my clit throb. You grasp my hair tightly and I feel the cold steel of your blade sliding between my dress and my skin.
It’s not even a ripping sound. The blade is so sharp it barely makes any noise at all. The only way I know you’ve cut my dress from back to hem is when it falls off of me. You slice each strap neatly, holding my hair so tight I can’t do anything but squirm and sob. My dress is in shreds, and I feel the cold night air against my flesh. You cut each strap of my bra and it, too, falls in ruined pieces. Then my garter belt, garters first, low, close to the clasps, then waistband. My stockings fall. You pull me up, hard, by my hair, so that I’m standing there, almost naked. All I have on now are satin gloves, a string of pearls, and my thong and stockings. The stockings have already slid down to my knees, weighted by the garter clasps. You reach out and stab the remains of my dress with your knife, flick the ruined garment into a puddle of urine. With it goes my bra, or what’s left of it, and my garter belt is already tattered at my feet. My arms hang helpless at my sides, shaking, as you caress my throat with the tip of a switchblade I now know is sharp enough to cut silk and satin without ripping.
Your breath is hot against my ear as you twist your hand in my hair. I can smell your filth, the rough wool overcoat you wear soaked in old sweat and god knows what else. But it’s open in front, so I can feel your cock pressing hard through your suit pants, long and threatening between my cheeks. Hard and ready to fuck me. Ready to rape me.
You jerk my head, pulling my hair so firmly I have to choke back another sob, fight the urge to scream. Some part of me thinks you really might slit my throat. Some part of me thinks you’re really going to rape me.
You draw the knife tip down between my breasts, taking a moment to tease my nipples. The fear has hardened them until they hurt enough to make me cry on their own. But the tip of your knife makes them ache in a different way, flushing shame and humiliation through my body, making my chest hot as my full breasts quiver with my sobs.
Other books
Mia by Kelly, Marie
Murder in the Dorm by C.G. Prado
All Jacked Up by James, Lorelei
Dying For Sex by Epic Sex Stories
Bounty by Harper Alexander
The Girl in the Wall by Jacquelyn Mitchard, Daphne Benedis-Grab
Management Skills by January Rowe
Thread of Hope (The Joe Tyler Series, #1) by Shelby, Jeff
The French Retreat (Falling for France Book 1) by Fortin, Sue
Lipstick and Lies by Debbie Viggiano
