In Too Deep (28 page)

His mouth looks very red beneath the mask, his nose noble and powerful. I want to fling myself on to my knees and worship him. I want to pull down his trousers and mouth his cock. Something that might very well happen before the night is out.

He lounges in his chair, just looking at me. I stand trembling, just looking at him. I get stickier and more aroused by the second.

‘Show me your breasts, library girl,’ he says, clearly relishing the words. ‘I want to see those lovely, rosy nipples.’ He’s smiling now. Is he going to lose it first this time?

Self-conscious, but in a good way, I pop myself out of the top of my corset. The upward pressure of the stern boning makes my bosom look more voluptuous than ever, and seems to present my ample curves for his perusal. His tongue flicks out and sweeps his lower lip as if he’s already tasting me.

‘Play with them,’ he commands, shifting slightly in his seat, then, with a shrug, laying his hand across his crotch. He knows I know he’s got a hard-on. I’d have to be blindfolded not to notice. So why hide it?

Really shaking now, I touch my nipples. With caution. I’m so turned on that even the tiniest bit more stimulation might tip me over. As it is, silvery darts streak from my breast tips to my clitoris and, unable to stop myself, I churn my wayward hips.

‘Tut tut,’ warns Professor Nemesis.

Apparently beyond my conscious control, my pelvis still sways.

‘Now stop being a naughty girl and behave yourself,’ he continues in his best scholarly tone, still gently squeezing his cock. ‘Play with your nipples properly and stop waving your pussy around, or there’ll be trouble.’

Trouble like you wouldn’t believe! Trouble that I long for, crave and beg for.

The night is like magic, otherworldly in its beauty, yet so real. It’s all real. I pinch my nipples hard to remind myself I’m not dreaming. Then yelp from both the pain and the pleasure.

He gives me a warning glance from behind the mask and I melt. Silky honey slides out of me again and I let out a helpless whimper of lust as it trickles downwards.

‘That’s it, you hussy! I’ve had enough of this lack of self-control.’

Then he’s on his feet and manhandling me to the veranda rail.

‘Stay there. Stay still.’

I know it’s just a game, but his voice is so fierce it almost makes me come on the spot. I can hardly contain myself and stop myself from masturbating there and then as he strides away to the table for a moment and comes back with a silk scarf and the cushion from his chair. This he folds over the rail, then he manhandles me over it, so that my head and arms are hanging over the other side. My breasts spill even further out of my corset, and the pressure on my belly drags on the tender root of my throbbing clit. I’m almost ready to climax when he slips the scarf between my teeth and fastens it behind my head as a gag. I tend to make a lot of noise when we play, and when he’s fucking me.

He nudges my ankles apart to improve his view, and the gentle balmy breeze tickles my sex. I feel so lewd, so wanton, so exhibited. It makes me ache and squirm and moan behind my gag. He rewards me by reaching over to tweak a nipple with one hand, while with the other he pushes two fingers deep inside me. I begin to surge, but he withdraws, murmuring, ‘Not yet.’

He returns to the table. I wait, aching for him. When he returns, he penetrates me quickly, peremptorily, almost violently. But not with himself.

No, it’s a toy, a pair of weighted glass spheres on a silk cord. One of my favourites. Unable to hold out any longer, I come hard, my inner muscles grabbing hard at the sexy intruders, while my groans are an uncouth gurgle behind my gag.

‘I warned you about your lack of self-control, didn’t I?’ His voice is like velvet in my ear. He pinches my bottom cheek and at the same time strokes my clit, and I come again, making the spheres rock inside me.

Mewling around the obstruction between my teeth, I feel something hard and slightly prickly as he moves against me
that
isn’t him. I realise he’s got the brush tucked into the waistband of his trousers. It doesn’t stay there long. A moment later, as my sex is still quivering, still almost convulsing, he starts to spank me with it. I wriggle and jiggle about, holding on to the rail with one hand and daringly stroking myself with the other. I don’t think he minds; in fact, he probably likes it. He’s not hitting me hard, it’s just a game, the taps are playful. But still they sting, and create heat. More heat. Sizzling warmth that settles and gathers and burns in my streaming pussy.

And then he’s had enough of play. With a muttered but laughing ‘Oh hell!’ he flings the brush aside, then rudely wrenches the little glass orbs out of my sex. A second later, as I reach around to try to caress him, he drags down his white trousers, fits his cock to me and enters. He fills me in a swift ruthless rush and I come again, clenching him now, not the cool inanimate glass. In transports of bliss, I grip the rail with one hand, and with the other reach around blindly to grab at the flexing muscles of his thigh. He too grips the rail while fishing round beneath me to find my clit.

It’s not an elegant congress. In fact we must look quite a sight in the tropical twilight, jerking and pushing and sliding against each other, me with my bosom dangling out of my basque and him with his bare buttocks flexing as he shoves and fucks and thrusts. In the midst of the mêlée he tugs the scarf free and my cries of pleasure assault the vivid evening sky.

Eventually, and fairly quickly, we reach the inevitable, and I’m not the only one shouting and groaning and calling out ‘I love you’. I’m not the only one coming and coming with the one I adore.

Later, we stare at the stars in a navy-blue sky, sprawled on our daybed, both naked beneath the cheerful throw. Well, almost.
I’ve
still got my stockings on, but the basque is lying somewhere on the boards, along with my shoes, Daniel’s trousers, the hairbrush and the love balls.

‘Home tomorrow then?’ I touch his dear face in the darkness, awed as always by his regal profile. The lamps went out a while ago, but it’s so romantic out here that neither of us cares.

‘Yeah, but we’ll come back,’ he says, which adds another warm happy glow to the ones I already feel. His arm tightens across my middle in an affectionate squeeze.

It’ll be nice to go home, back to our ordinary but also quite extraordinary life. Me back at the library, Daniel working on his documentary and his book and then settling down to a new job, a prestigious newly created chair of history at the local university – which is glad to get such a distinguished and high-profile figure on its academic roster. For the moment we’re living in my flat, which is a bit of a squeeze, but when we get settled we’ll start looking for a house.

He turns to me and even in the indigo shadows his eyes are bright. I think of what might nearly have happened to him and I bite back tears for a moment, then slide my arms around him and hug him as tight as he’s hugging me.

‘Are you OK, love?’ he asks, dropping a kiss first on my brow, then my cheek, then my lips.

‘I’m fine, Professor Brewster, just fine.’ In fact I’m more than fine, because against my hip I feel his ever-randy cock hardening yet again. The daybed is OK, but inside we’ve got a magnificent four-poster with crisp fresh linen provided daily by the maid service.

‘Shall we go inside and, um, deal with this in more palatial surroundings?’ I touch his cock and he makes a low, hungry sound. He pushes against me for a moment, then flings back the throw, gets up off the bed and reaches down to draw me gently to my feet.

‘Good idea, Mrs Brewster, as ever. Good idea.’

‘OK, just a minute.’ I strip off my sagging white stockings, fling them to join my bridal basque, then reach for my husband.

Arm in arm, naked in the balmy night, we walk together into our honeymoon villa … and the future.

Turn the page to read
A Lavish Affair
, a sexy short-story from Portia Da Costa...

A Lavish Affair

‘So this is really quite a lavish affair then?’

Edward glances sideways at me from the driver’s seat as we scud along, looking as handsome as the very devil done up in a sexy dark suit. It’s quite a shock seeing him in formal wear. I’m used to him in leather, or partially – or completely – naked.

‘Yes, ultra posh. Beauchamp Manor belongs to Mandy’s rich relations and they’ve given her the reception there as a wedding gift.’

‘Sounds like fun,’ he says, eyes back on the road.

Fun? What does that mean? My innards tremble. I know Edward’s idea of fun. And even though I like it, it’s sometimes scary.

I’m still fizzing with excitement that he’s agreed to be my escort. We’ve been involved for quite some time now, but we’ve never come out like this in public before. I’m a bit nervous. After all, it’s not often a fairly straight woman in her forties nabs a gorgeously hot sexy master nearly half her age. And there’ll be lots of people from work who’ll remember him as the fit young freelance IT guy who set up our new computer system. The one they always speculated about as they wondered just who he was banging.

It was me, everyone! Average old Jane Mitchell from Human Resources. He was fucking me, and spanking me, and God knows what else . . . and he’s still doing it!

I can see he’s scheming. He loves to make even the simplest of dates an event.

We go out for a meal and he’ll make me give him a blow job in the car park. On a trip to the movies, he’ll play with me in the darkness. Out for a walk in the woods, and he’ll bend me over a fallen tree trunk and thrash me long and hard with his leather belt.

And when we’re at his flat or mine, he’s even more imaginative.

We drive on for a few miles. It’s countryside now. Wooded copses on either side of the road. I think of that tree trunk, and my pussy gets all wet and my panties sticky. I try not to smile, but my heart races and excitement bubbles even more.

‘What are you smiling about?’

Ah, it seems I didn’t hide my smile after all. He’s noticed, and he’s smiling himself in that way I know so well.

‘Oh, nothing much . . .’

He gives me the swiftest of glances out of the corner of his blue eyes.

Uh oh, I know that look too.

‘Somehow, I think if this aair is as posh as you say it is, we need to have you on your best behaviour, don’t we?’ He pauses, scanning the road side, as if looking for something. ‘I think I need to give you a little something to settle you down.’

I can’t breathe. I feel faint. My heart turns over and my pussy ripples with longing.

Almost immediately, he’s signalling, and we pull off the road and turn into a narrow lane. It winds away from the main drag and around a few corners then amongst some trees. When Edward finally stops the car, we’re out in the wilds and invisible from the road and civilisation. He steps out and hurries round to my side, opening the door and handing me courteously out on to the rough path. He might be cruel as sin sometimes, but he does have gorgeous oldfashioned manners.

‘Raise your skirt, will you?’ he says conversationally, as we stand beside the car. To him it’s a perfectly normal request, and it’s one I’ve become used to myself. It still has the power to thrill me to my core though.

I’m dressed up to the nines, in high heels and a dark suit with a long, narrow skirt, rather Forties style, and glam. The jacket’s tightly fitted, plunges low, and I’m not wearing a blouse. I haven’t informed him what I’m wearing underneath, but it’s a treat I know he’ll appreciate, even if he thrashes my bottom for being so brazen.

‘Come on, get a move on, you don’t want us to be late, do you?’ His voice is mild and amused. He’s having fun. So am I.

Teetering on my heels, I put one gloved hand on the car, and with the other I snake up my skirt, not hesitating until it’s all in a clump at my waist. My stockings are smoke-grey hold-ups and my panties are rose-pink lace, and a pretty lavish affair too. Deep, scalloped lace at the front, and cleverly scooped up at the back, thong-style, to leave my buttocks virtually bare. Just the way Edward likes them. The way his eyes darken as he appraises them is a dead giveaway – even though he looks as calm and cool as ever on the surface. Automatically, I turn, as I know he wants me to, and show him the plump cheeks of my bum.

‘Very nice, but very pale. We need to do something about that, don’t we?’

I stand, shaking, as he walks towards me. When he’s so close I can feel his breath on the back of my neck, he pushes on my shoulders, making me dip over the bonnet of the car, skirt still up.

‘Good. That’s just right.’

My heart feels as if it’s in my throat and I can barely breathe.

I hear the jingle of his belt, and simultaneously think,
oh no
, and
goodie
. I’m still not sure how I can hate pain and love it at the same time. Perhaps, though, I don’t? Maybe I just love him?

‘OK. As it’s a special occasion, you may finger your clit at the same time as I beat you.’

‘Thank you, master,’ I whisper, resting on my elbows, awkwardly, so I can peel off a glove. Then I reach under myself to find the hot spot, and almost come when I make contact, I’m so ready.

Edward steps away, and with no further warning, I hear the hiss of flying leather and there’s an explosion of pain and heat across my bottom.

Oh God! I’m never ready for this. It’s always a shock.

The feeling of a stripe of agony across my flesh. Without control, I whine loudly, shuddering and shaking. Beneath my fingertip, my clitoris pulsates.

He strikes again – harder – and I bite my lip, trying to keep silent. In the all too brief hiatus before the next blow, I rub my pussy, furiously slicking at my clit.

As he hits again, I collapse against the shiny black paint, coming and crying. The waves of pleasure are so hard and wrenching that I barely notice another wallop, the last one for now.

‘We’ll be late,’ I gasp on regaining the power of speech. I’m still gulping in air, my entire body tingling, my bottom burning. I seem to have lost the ability to move, but energy returns to me when Edward strokes my back, encouraging me like a horsemaster coaxing a steady old mare into action. He’s gentle, though, almost tender, and it makes my heart twist in a strange, non-sexual way.