Seduce Me (8 page)

“I'm coming!” I howled, desperately pumping past the point of no return.

“Come on our boobs!” the girls cried, arms and tits trembling like my entire overwrought body.

Semen exploded out of my cap and striped Holly's face, her outstretched tongue. I wrenched my spurting cock out of her cleavage and buried it in Stacey's, painting that girl's lips and chin and chest with hot, sticky jism. I just had enough spunk left to drizzle their upthrust nipples, before toppling over into the shallow water like a felled tree drained of all its sap.

Big Betty was waiting for me in the fire tower; after I'd managed to ‘find' the skinny dipping girls' clothing and send them on their way with an official reprimand – and an unofficial request to return the following day, if they possibly could. Big Betty was six-feet-two inches, two-hundred-and-thirty pounds of woman-mountain, bleached blonde and brassy as a tack factory, surly as a she-grizzly. She grimaced at me when I popped my head up into the floor opening.

“Leavin' your post,” she grunted, “is a violation of Park Ranger rules.”

I climbed to my feet, still looking up at her. “I was just –”

“I know what you were doin',” she growled, tossing the pair of binoculars onto a counter. “You oughta be suspended, or maybe dishonourably discharged from the Service.”

“I-I –”

“Stow it, boob! All I wanna know from you is what you're willin' to do to keep me from turnin' you in.”

She inhaled a great gulp of air and glared at me, her enormous chest expanding to Herculean proportions. My cock began stirring in response to her challenge, as the buttons on her tunic started popping, one by one, the pressure becoming too much – for them, and me. 

Insomnia
by Karyn Winter

He is the most frustrating man I have ever met. His smutty mind, quick wit and dirty laugh can combine to change an innocuous conversation into an innuendo-laden duel which leaves my mind and my cunt engaged. With a curl of his lips and a raised eyebrow he can leave me horny, wet and inarticulate. And the worst thing is: he knows it, and loves seeing me trying to hide it.

Despite how it might sound, I am not utterly obsessed with orgasms. In the bustle of my day-to-day life – lurching through the highs and lows of a job which keeps my mind engaged, juggling responsibilities to friends and family – my sexual predilections often get pushed aside for the wider picture. All work and no play makes Cara a dull girl. Most of the time.

While I will admit that nothing gets me to sleep quite as well as the aftershocks of a good orgasm, there are nights when I fall into bed exhausted from the day without needing to rub myself to completion. But that's because I have the choice. And as the old song says ‘you don't know what you've got till it's gone'.

He enjoys torturing me. I know it and usually I like it – I'm firmly of the belief that being tortured by someone you trust makes for fun. But on days like today he's enjoying torturing me more than I am enjoying being tortured and that leaves me frustrated. Very frustrated.

It's been a long day, full of a lot of shit. And while that means this is the kind of blessed adrenaline-fuelled relief I'd have been dreaming of from 9 till 5 if I'd had time for thought, it also means I am desperate for some attention.

Now I know that sounds ridiculous. I'm knelt naked on the bed in front of him, my hands behind my back, pushing my tits up. He is watching me intently as he asks me questions designed to make me blush, to make me wet, to leave me on the back foot trying to figure out how to please him with my answers. When I don't answer quickly enough he slaps my tits and pinches my nipples. I try not to fidget at the onslaught, because when I do the soles of my feet catch my bruised arse and he smiles in satisfaction as I try and hide my reaction to the twinges of pain from the punishment he inflicted with the cane earlier.

He sees everything. More than I'd like. More than I can hide in a million years. He knows how contrary I can be, and it amuses him to see the battle in my eyes between what I want to say and what I can actually bear to force past my dry throat.

Ok. I do have his attention. I just wish it was a bit more … hands on. Every nerve ending is crying out for his touch. His cock. His fingers. His mouth. But so far I'm getting none of that. And with patience definitely not being one of my virtues, waiting is making me almost grind my teeth with frustration. And he can see it and is laughing at me, enjoying the view and the power that he currently holds despite the fact he's just lying against his pillow not even touching me.

“So what should I do with you tonight?”

I hate this question. Hate it. There are so many possibilities. Fucking, sucking, licking, biting, beating (although on second thoughts, I'm not sure my arse can take much more). Images of things we've done before and things I've only dreamed about flash through my mind in quick succession. But what do I say? If I tell him what I'm thinking there's no guarantee he'll do what I've suggested – in fact he's so contrary that the chances are he won't just to keep me off balance. And by telling him I've given him another insight into my mind, which undoubtedly he'll use as a stick to beat me with in some fiendish fashion I can't even begin to think of. Yes, I know I sound paranoid, but as someone wise once said, just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you.

But the only other possibility, and the one I usually err on the side of, is saying something along the lines of ‘I think you should do what you'd like to do'. But that sounds so arse licky that I cringe saying it and have trouble not rolling my eyes while I do. If it works for you then great, but me, well I just feel like a rubbish slutty cliche.

The silence has lengthened while my brain desperately turns over the possibilities trying to come up with something, anything to say.

As I try and form a sentence which might not get me into trouble, he moves from the bed and grabs the butt plug from a drawer.

“Too late.” His voice is brusque as he grabs my shoulder and pushes me onto my hands and knees.

He runs his fingernails along the stripes of my arse, as I try not to cry out at the sensation. I bite my lip, and as he spanks me a couple of times on the still-stinging spot my eyes fill with tears. Of course, it's not the only thing flowing, a fact he takes glee in highlighting with a tut, pushing the butt plug into my cunt, easily anointing it with my own juices. He pulls it out with a squelch that sounds like a klaxon pointing out how stupidly horny and desperate I am already and turns his attention to pushing it into my arse, making sure to rest the hand not holding the plug on my poor punished arse cheek, just to ratchet up the sensations zinging through my body making me giddy.

I quiver on my knees as the plug pushes at my hole. Even with the natural lube those first few centimetres are slow and I am tense and difficult to penetrate. He moves his hand for a second to stroke my hair the way you would a panicking horse, and I try to relax myself, to take it, so this game can continue. My deep breathing is helping when a crack echoes across the room, a second before the searing pain knocks me to the bed, my knees giving out at the sheer unexpected pain. In the split second of shock, when the wind is knocked from me and my focus is lost, he shoves the plug up inside me, as far as it will go, further than I think I can take it. I whimper and try to move away, but under his hands, flat on the bed, there is nowhere for me to go. He fills me, stretches me until I can't take any more. I'm assuming my arse is now plugged to his satisfaction, as he's now pushing me over onto my back and – oh this bodes well – he is leaning over me.

“Hands above your head.”

I obey, and watch as he rummages through his bedside drawer until he finds two pieces of ribbon to tie my wrists to the headboard with. It looks innocuous enough, the kind of thing you'd buy in a haberdashery, and I make a mental note to avoid wriggling too much and accidentally undoing my bonds. It would kind of spoil the moment.

As he finishes fiddling with the ribbon he looks down to see me staring at his cock, which is swinging pretty much right in front of my face. He smiles. “Did you want something?”

I glower up at him. I want to suck him off. He knows it and I know it.

“I'd like to suck your cock.” A pause while he waits for the rest. I sigh. “Please.”

My vision is blocked as he pushes himself into my mouth, anchoring his hands into my hair. I love feeling him lengthen in my mouth as I run my tongue along the underside of his cock. Ordinarily I love taking my time to suck him, watching him struggle to keep control for a change. But it's not working like that today. My scalp prickles as he pulls my hair with the force of pushing me onto his cock from below, while his knees pin my shoulders down. All I can do is try to take him without gagging while he fucks my face. I try to move my hands to grab his hips and reassert some control, but I can't move my wrists more than a couple of centimetres, and I feel him thicken even further as I struggle beneath him.

My breathing is ragged, as the only gasps of air I can take are between his relentless thrusts. I can feel tears starting to roll down my cheeks, mingling with my saliva which is running down my chin as I try to lick and suck him to his satisfaction. I begin to adjust to his rhythm, the panicking feeling in my chest that I might choke easing as he abruptly pulls out and straddles me, putting his full weight down on me. He starts to grind against my hips. I cry out in a kind of ecstatic anguish. Every movement pushes the plug pushed further up inside me, the pain from the earlier punishment flying through me with every grind, until I am a whimpering, mewing bundle of sensations. He wanks as he grinds, his eyes flickering from the blush across my tits that signifies I am close to coming, to the pain in my face I try to mask. He runs one hand underneath punished my arse cheek and scratches, hard, along the wounds from earlier and – as I cry out – he comes gushing, huge amounts of hot spunk across my breasts and into my hair. I watch the spectacle greedily, loving seeing how aroused I have made him, and thankful that – finally after hours of teasing and torment – it's almost my turn to get blessed relief.

When he speaks it is the roughened voice of someone who has just come and the first few words are so croaky it takes a second for me to understand.

“When I asked you what I should do with you tonight, you said nothing.”

I look up at him, blinking for a moment, trying to focus on the words coming out of his mouth rather than the sensations he is wringing from every part of my body, but I still can't take it in.

“You didn't answer me. I asked you what I should do and you said nothing in response. So tonight that's what you get. Nothing.”

He runs a hand down my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers, tugging and twisting it to punctuate his words.

“I'm going to go to sleep now. And so are you. With your hands still tied like that, just in case you're tempted to bring yourself off during the night.” He casually runs a hand between my legs. “You are wet. Slut.”

He pulls the duvet up, arranging it carefully so it only covers me from my waist down thus not disturbing the streaks of his spunk drying on my tits. As he settles himself underneath the cover he takes a second to run a finger along the lips of my dripping cunt, making me moan in hope, despair and a guttural horniness which even to my ears sounds desperate.

He chuckles as he snaps the bedside light off. “Sleep well pet.”

Having dismissing the ribbons he tied me down with as not that difficult to get out of, an attempt at pulling free of the knots proves that I've got no hope there. My mind is spinning, my juices are running down my inner thighs, I am sticky with his cum, and I lie in the darkness trying to think unsexy thoughts to calm myself through the long night.

I don't know how long I lie there. I am mentally counting off the nine times table in an attempt to switch my brain to something else, when he quickly pushes four fingers of his hand up inside my cunt. I scream, mostly in surprise. The movement is vicious and fleeting, but I am so wet they slip in easily and it's a moment of blessed release, thank fuck, he's going to let me come, he was bluffing, just wondering if he could make me cry with frustration. Make me beg.

My whole body is on alert once more. Waiting, yearning for the next touch. My ears are straining to hear his movement, my eyes staring into the darkness to glimpse some clue of what he is doing. The silence lengthens. He idly pats my breast as he turns over, gathers up some duvet and gets himself comfortable on his side of the bed.

“I get so bored when I wake at night with my insomnia. I'll probably just play with you for a bit if I can't sleep. Stop me if it bothers you.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Oh. You can't. Oh well. You'll get to come eventually. Just not tonight.”

As his breathing slows, and he goes back to sleep, I stare at the chink of street light coming in through the curtains, willing it to get brighter and for day to come, because I know there will be no sleep for me tonight.

There are nights when I fall into bed exhausted from the day without needing to rub myself to completion. But as I lie in the darkness, listening to him sleep, the very fact that I can't come means that my entire being is focused on the pulse between my legs, the plug up my arse and my desperate need to orgasm.

He is the most frustrating man I have ever met. And I mean that literally.

Candle Light
by January James

Tuesday Troy stood at her large bedroom window eagerly awaiting the first glimpse of her husband's car pulling into the driveway. She was so excited she panted a little. She'd never done anything so daring before. She envisaged the look on Patrick's handsome face when he saw her. His soft blue eyes would darken in pleasure and he'd give her that little boy smile which melted her heart every time.

He was so gentle and patient, giving her the support she'd needed to start her own candle-making business. He understood how much she'd hated corporate America and how long this business had been in her heart. This was her baby and like most husbands he'd been pushed to the side once it was born. He rarely complained though Tuesday knew he hated the long hours she spent at her store, the networking trips she took all over the country and giving up his precious weekends to browse flea markets while she blissfully hunted unique candle holders. This was her way of saying thank you.

Her heart skipped a few beats as headlights illuminated the driveway. She hurried from the window and positioned herself in the lotus position among the colourful pillows she'd scattered on the floor. She closed her eyes and imagined him opening the front door, seeing the rose petals leading up the stairs and that smile lighting up his face. He'd take of his jacket and shoes. By the time he reached their bedroom he'd be mostly naked and aroused. She smiled. Poor guy hadn't had any in such a long time.

She heard his heavy breathing and opened her eyes. He stood in the door in just his boxer briefs and a burning in his eyes. She'd never loved or wanted him more than she did in that moment.

“Welcome home, darling,” she cooed.

“If I'd known this is what was waiting for me I'd have left the bar hours ago.” He stared at her. “God, you're beautiful. What is that you have written on your body?”

Tuesday held out one elegant hand. “Come sit with me.”

When Patrick removed his underwear her breath stopped painfully in her throat. How had she managed to live for weeks without that beautiful piece of male craftsmanship? She used to crave the impressive length, his thickness filling her with rock hard heat.

Patrick stood in front of her for a second and she rubbed her face against his cock, inhaling his scent and luxuriating in the feel of him. As she filled her lungs with his essence her bones seemed to melt into molten larva. She ached with her need for him. He hardened against her skin. Gazing longingly up at him she saw his eyes were wild and crazy with desire. She loved the power she had over him, how she could turn him to mush while his cock transformed into granite. She was tempted to take him into her mouth. Her mouth watered begging her for one taste, just to feel him throbbing against the delicacy of her tongue.

Patrick caressed the back of her head, silently begging her for what they both wanted. But she didn't want him coming so soon. He'd gone without for so long that it wouldn't take much for him to explode. She wasn't sure she possessed the willpower and groaned in frustration. But she managed to control herself, instead grasping his hands and pulling him down beside her.

Patrick looked around the room. “I can't believe you did all this.”

She'd decorated the room with candles and sheer fabric draped over the bedposts and lamps. She'd also hung four large erotic art pencil drawings she'd found on a solo trip to the flea market.

Patrick crossed his legs and Tuesday sat in his lap, wrapping her hands around his waist and crossing her legs around his hips. Patrick placed one had on her lower back and the other on her hip. His cock nestled against her pussy and behind. Moving ever so slightly, she rubbed against him.

He started examining the writings on her chest.

“I'm sorry I've been so preoccupied with business lately,” she said.

“It's understandable. Starting a business is not easy.”

“But neither is being married so I have to work on both.”

Patrick smiled. “Yeah, you're working on me alright, baby. Your body looks amazing.”

“It's chocolate body paint and some of my feelings,” she explained.

He caressed her collar bone. “So you want to be kissed here.” His lips glided over the area. “And caressed here.” He caressed her left breast cupping its fullness in his hand.

Tuesday moaned. It felt so good having his hands on her body. Each instruction took her to a new level of delight. When he finally kissed her lips he tasted of chocolate and desire. His lips went from soft to hard in an instant. She held on to his tongue, savagely sucking him then desperately trying to get to the back of his throat. She couldn't get enough of him, couldn't get close enough. His mouth was wet and she dived deep seeking sweetness and release. Her pussy creamed and throbbed, her essence leaking out on his rapidly expanding cock.

Patrick pulled his mouth away from hers with a loud moan. He reached between them, took his cock, and placed it between her lips. He rubbed the head against her clit while staring into her dark brown eyes. She held his gaze feeling the energy from his body flow into hers. She inhaled when he exhaled. They barely moved but their centre, where their bodies joined, crackled with electricity. She arched her hips and leaned into him, rubbing her breasts against his smooth chest. Her body begged her to let go, to end the sweet torture, and bask in the warmth of blessed release. But she wanted to hold on to the tension, allowing it to build until the choice of when she came wasn't hers to control any more.

As if he read her mind Patrick lifted his cock away from her. “I have a feeling you have more surprises in store for me tonight,” he said.

Tuesday smiled. “I wanted us to try some of my new candles.” She reached over to a basket she'd conveniently placed near the pillows and selected one of her massage candles and a lighter. As she lit the candle she noted the look of concern on Patrick's face.

She placed the candle on the floor and tried to assuage his fears. “The wax will melt into a massage oil. It's a low burning soy candle so you won't get burned – well maybe a little but trust me, it will hurt so good.”

She pushed him back onto the pillows and lifted herself high enough for him to stretch out his legs.

He sighed in relief then said. “I love this new take-charge side of you. I never knew you had a fetish for hot wax.”

“There are a lot of things you still don't know about me but it's nice to know you trust me to take care of you.”

While they waited for the wax to melt Patrick sat up and tweaked her nipples.

“You've never looked more beautiful than you do in this moment. You look like a goddess to me.”

Tuesday threw back her head and laughed. She felt like a goddess upon her adoring stallion. Patrick started licking the chocolate from her body, creating swirls with his tongue. Tuesday sighed blissfully, slowly bending backwards until her head touched the floor. Patrick reached under her supporting his weight with one hand. She reached up and took his feet in her hands.

Tuesday felt open and vulnerable. Her stomach muscles twitched as Patrick circled her navel with his tongue. His free hand moved between her thighs, gently rubbing the outer lips as if seeking permission to enter.

“Yesss,” she expelled on a long breath.

Jubilantly his fingers slipped in, finding and stroking that little nubbin of hard flesh for just a second- a tease really, before moving to the inner lips. He seduced her clit, tempting it with a touch, making it beg by moving away. Tuesday extended her legs and dug her heels into the carpet, lifting her hips, begging him to taste her.

Patrick stared at her offering, admiring its perfection. She was always smooth, with his name tattooed just below her bikini line. The little minx had enjoyed the pain. He hadn't enjoyed having her name etched into his crotch but she was worth every second of pain. He ran his tongue over his suddenly dry lips and imagined it was the wet lips inches from his face.

But she wasn't quite ready. This was the game they liked to play, pushing each other to the limits of endurance.

“I think that candle is ready now,” he said in a voice so thick with desire he didn't even recognize it as his own.

Tuesday sat back down on his lap. She was glad he'd had the self-control to stop but her frustration was making her crazy. She didn't know how much more she could stand.

She reached for the candle. “Heat on skin can be extremely sensual,” she explained as she held the candle high enough over her chest so it would have a little time to cool before splattering onto her skin. When it did she growled, closing her eyes to feel its full impact. She rubbed the warm oil across her breasts. “Oh God, this feels so good.”

Patrick's hand joined hers, massaging the oil into her skin. The heat seemed to seep into her pores, travelling through her body down to her pussy.

“Lay back, you have to feel this,” she whispered.

Patrick lay reclined on the pillows as she raised the candle above him. He watched the oil coming towards him and held his breath. It hit his chest smoothly, running in rivulets down to his flat stomach. The hint of pain jolted his senses into overdrive. He moaned at the unexpected pleasure as Tuesday rubbed the oil into him.

“When you get used to this we can move on to hotter stuff,” she promised.

“Are you going to reveal all of your sexual secrets before you met me?” he asked.

Tuesday's smile was a little nostalgic. “There really isn't much to tell. I spent more time alone than with partners. I started making candles. One day I made a penis candle and I was converted. I've never looked at wax the same way since.”

“Now thanks to you I won't either.”

Patrick sat up and pushed her back onto the floor. He reached for the penis shaped candle and blew out the flame. He rubbed the wick and tip with his hand, making sure it was warm but not hot. Tuesday placed her feet on his chest and opened her legs. Patrick placed the candle directly on her clit. She screamed and dug her nails into the carpet. It was so unbelievably erotic she broke out in sweat. As he moved the big candle against her pussy she finally reached the point of no return. She surrendered herself, body, mind, and soul to the ultimate pleasure.

She never made a sound, she just shook like a woman possessed. She pushed against Patrick's strong chest, her hips slapped against his lap and she bit down so hard on her bottom lip she tasted blood.

Patrick placed the candle on the ground and cupped her pussy as she gently came back down to earth. They were silent for a few minutes as she tried to get air into her lungs. Finally she opened her eyes and smiled up at him.

Patrick's eyes were soft. “Remember earlier when I said you've never looked more beautiful? I was wrong because you've never been more beautiful than you were just now. You were simply poetry in motion.”

Tuesday blushed. “God, you know just what to say to get yourself laid.”

Patrick smiled. “So it's that time now?” he reached down and caressed his cock.

Hunger quickly replaced the glow of her orgasm. She sat up and placed her hips above Patrick's erection then gently slid down its length. Her body accepted him gleefully. Slowly she started dancing, her hips moving in graceful patterns. She placed her hands on his chest and bent forward, elongating their strokes. Patrick pushed up into her, his hardness slamming into her softness savagely. He was so thick and driving so deeply it hurt. In an effort to relax the pressure Tuesday locked her legs around Patrick's waist and leaned back. Sensing her need Patrick folded his legs under him and grabbed her forearms. She followed his lead. Their entwined hands allowed them to bend backwards while lessening the power of their thrusts.

While their arms remained tense and their hips moved frantically, their upper bodies appeared to be floating. Tuesday felt as if she were flying through soft clouds in a rainbow of colours. Their heavy breathing sounded heavier in the quiet room. Their bodies glistened with sweat from the heat of the candles and their erotic dance.

Their positions didn't alleviate the pain for long. There was no way to avoid the ache of such an intense desire. Tuesday released his hands, returning to her original position taking him deep inside her. She slammed down on him, welcoming the jolt to her body and senses. She started hissing then groaning as Patrick reached down and started rubbing her clit.

She came first, her muscles tightening even more around him as she shuddered and cried out his name. Knowing she was taken care of, Patrick exploded, filling her with liquid heat. Tuesday slumped on top of him and linked her arms around his neck.

Patrick kissed the top of her head. “I think I'm ready for some of that hotter stuff you promised.”

Tuesday looked up at him in delight. “I knew you'd like it. I should've shared this with you a long time ago.”

He caressed her shoulders. “You don't have to be afraid to share anything with me, sexual or otherwise. Especially something as amazing as this.”

She wriggled her hips against his. “Do you have any secrets that I need to know?”

Patrick's smile was a little deviant. “Maybe. You'll just have to wait and see. Right now let's just concentrate on getting hot.”

At this point each candle held a little pool of hot ecstasy. She poured them into a miniature, vintage tea pot, also a flea market find, and placed it on an electric warmer. It would keep the wax melted long enough for them to have fun.

“I'll go first.” Tuesday stretched out on her stomach and pulled her long black hair away from her neck and back. “Now carefully pour a trail from my neck down to my hips,” she instructed. “And I don't mind if you get a little carried away. I can take the heat.”

“Man I like this new side of you,” Patrick said happily as he held the teapot above the slim back. He poured slowly while moving the pot down her back, leaving a trail of heat. Tuesday moaned but didn't flinch. The sensation of liquid heat on bare skin was exquisite.