Sons of Hellfire: Origins (2 page)

An Excerpt From

The Billionaire or The Cowboy

The COMPLETE Saga

By Fiona Flask

He pushed me roughly onto the bed. I bounced back on my ass, skirt billowing. He snarled at me. His piercing blue eyes stared at my green ones, then examined my body carefully. He loosened his tie. He told me, "Take off all your clothes."

I giggled nervously.

"Is that funny?" he asked, sharply.

"No," I said, wiping the smile off my face. "Sir."

He nodded, brows narrowing as he watched me intently. His hair was greying around the temples. Flecks of salt in his pepper. He had a day's worth of stubble on his square jaw and a muscular body under his three-piece-suit. And God, was he rich. That suit might have cost as much as my monthly salary. Probably more.

"Strip," he commanded, impatiently.

I fired into action. I unbuttoned and peeled off my cardigan. My blouse and bra came away to reveal my size F tits. I'm a big girl, and I used to be shy about it. But that was before I met Hank Tarbell, the billionaire who was watching me shed my clothes.

I met him three months previous. I worked in the secretarial pool, for one of the lower level managers. It was his company, Tarbell Software, and I was low, low, low on the totem pole. I had seen Mr. Tarbell in passing. Entering and leaving the building. Going to a floor much, much higher than mine. But he didn't notice me until a few weeks into my job.

I was filling out an Excel document when Mr. Tarbell came onto the floor with my boss, Gary. I was in shock when I was introduced to him. People that rich and powerful don't seem like regular humans. They seem to walk on a cloud of confidence and privilege everywhere they go.

Mr. Tarbell shook my hand, and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lois. And welcome aboard." I just about swooned. And there was something in his eyes, as well. He was too in control to have sneaked a peek at my cleavage, but there was something animalistic and hungry about his handshake, his words, and that look in his eyes.

It was a week after that when it happened. I was working late. The office was deserted except for me, my brown hair frizzy and my eyes heavy. I had been staring at the screen all day and I was trying to get something done before the weekend, but I was starting to go loopy. I was so bored. My mind started to wander to Mr. Tarbell, and his firm handshake and piercing eyes. I imagined how firm his grip on my ass might be. How his hot breath and tongue would feel on my pussy. My nipples hardened as I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair.

My fingers went to my nipples. I rubbed the sore peaks through the fabric and moaned. My other hand went under the hem of skirt. I closed my eyes. In my mind's eye, I could see him buried in my cunt. I could feel his stubble very gently scratching between my thighs. A moan turned into a whimper as I slid my middle finger into my fast moistening slit. I spread my legs wide. My other hand tugged the buttons on my shirt open, and pulled down my bra. The cool air on my nipples made them harden all the more. I eased a second finger between my pussy lips. A wetness was spreading down my thighs, soaking into the fabric of the chair, but I didn't care.

The rhythmic squelch of my fingers plunging in and out of me filled the air as I arched my back and cried out loudly. My breaths were ragged. Each plunge of my fingers eliciting louder moans. "Mr. Tarbell," I choked out. "Fuck me." As I orgasmed, it felt as though electricity was shot through my body. My muscles spasmed and I slowed my fingers and took deep breaths. I licked my fingers clean and opened my eyes.

Mr. Tarbell was standing right there.

I jumped, struggling to hide my body, throwing my skirt over my legs, and pulling my shirt back together as best I could. My face burned. Shit, shit, shit. How fucking embarrassing. "I'm sorry," I said, stammering. "I'm sorry." Few had seen me so naked, so exposed. A couple of old boyfriends, maybe, though I usually insisted on doing it in the dark. I had a hard time feeling sexy, given the wideness of my hips, and the extra pounds on my stomach. I was sure that the image of my jiggling fat would be revolting to any man. And here he had seen me, in the unforgiving fluorescent light, masturbating with my skirt pulled up and my shirt pulled down.

Mr. Tarbell looked unamused. "This is an office," he said. "This is a place of business. Have you no self-control?"

"I don't know what came over me," I said, nearly crying. "It won't happen again. I thought I was alone. Please. It won't happen again." I needed this job. If I got fired, I definitely wouldn't make rent.

"This is unacceptable," he said, disgust on his face. "You need to control your urges. You're not an animal." He looked around. "This offices reeks of sex."

"I will control myself. I swear."

"Self-control must be taught," said Tarbell. "And it looks like it'll fall to me to teach you." He put his hand on the desk between us and tapped it for emphasis. "If you want to keep this job, you'll do what I say, when I say it."

"I will, sir."

He pointed his finger at me. "Swear it."

"I swear."

"You've been a bad secretary. You've been a bad girl. You're not to touch your cunt for two weeks. If you do, I'll find out. If you do, you'll be punished."

I was shocked. My mouth was agape.

"Close your mouth."

"Sorry."

"Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"You're to call me sir," he said, sternly.

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl." Then he smiled for the first time. A small smile. And he boarded the elevator and left.

I heaved a sigh of relief. Had that actually just happened? I couldn't believe it.

After the weekend, I came back into the office sheepishly, wondering if somehow everyone knew. The sight of my chair, the scene of the crime, made me feel sick with humiliation. There was a light stain, but it was probably only me who would notice it. After about an hour, though, I settled back into my rhythm and everything was as normal.

But at the end of the day, just before I was to leave, I got an email from Mr. Tarbell. It said:

Stay at your desk.

Nothing more. The nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach returned. Was he going to fire me? The thought didn't make any sense, but the fear was real.

But I stayed at my desk. And when my boss and coworkers had all gone, Mr. Tarbell was there. He didn't even say hello before he spoke.

"Did you touch your cunt?" he asked.

"No," I said.

He narrowed his brow, annoyed.

"Sir."

"Good." He watched me sitting behind the desk for a moment. Then he put his hands on the desk. "Put your feet up on the desk," he said.

I stared at him, confused. "What--"

"Do it now."

I put my feet up on the desk, smoothing my skirt over my thighs and keeping my legs together.

He smirked. "Spread your legs."

I bit my lip and did as he asked. He was staring straight at my crotch, now in full view. He leaned forward and reached toward my panties, grasping the fabric roughly and moving it aside. He looked at my naked pussy, and nodded. "Good," he said. He thumbed my clit and slid his index finger slowly inside me. I gasped, and felt myself getting wet. I leaned my head back, eyes closed, and moaned.

Read the rest:
The Billionaire or The Cowboy The COMPLETE Saga

Or in parts:
The Billionaire or The Cowboy
- Part One

An Excerpt From

I Need Release

Erotic Massage Therapy

Tantric Yoni Massage

By Fiona Flask

Carlos greets me himself, warmly. He's wearing a black t-shirt, tight against his muscles. His white teeth flash as he smiles at me. "How are we doing today?"

I sigh, but smile. "Not so great. My rent's going up."

Carlos's mouth twists. "That's just the worst, Erica. I'm sorry to hear it. They upped the rent here, as well. Everything goes up with inflation except income. Isn't that just the way?"

I nod.

"Well, you can head right in. I'll be with you shortly. Go ahead and get settled."

I move past him into the private massage room and disrobe. There's a shower and I get into it, allowing the hot water to run all over me. I rub the water into my skin and close my eyes. But misery follows me into the water. I try to put my increased rent from my mind, but it's no use. I'll be thinking about it until I figure out a solution.

After my shower, I dry myself off and lie down on the massage table, face down. I leave my ass covered by the towel. Soon, I'm joined by Carlos.

"Hey," says Carlos. "I know you must be stressed. Do you want me to put on some music?"

"Maybe just softly."

"Sure." Carlos goes to put on some ambient, soft music. Then he lights a few incense sticks and coats his hand in massage oil. I can hear him doing these things. My eyes are shut.

Slick fingers slowly drift onto the skin of my back, pressing and moulding me. The slip of my skin feels good against my muscles and bones. The aches abate as Carlos works his magic on me. Down my back and along my spine he rubs me so well, so nicely. His fingertips are shooting warmth and pleasure under my skin. I let out a small hum of pleasure, despite my worries still circling in my brain.

"I'm just going to move your towel down a touch," Carlos's chocolatey voice says.

"OK," I say.

He tugs the towel down just a little before continuing his progress along my back, rubbing and spidering and pushing with his incredible fingers. Down to the small of my back, dragging his thumbs out to my sides.

"You're very tense," he says. "How's your back been feeling?"

"Sore," I say. "Very sore. Throbbing pain. The usual."

"Any particular spots?"

"No, not really. My lower back and neck, mostly."

His hands are instantly at the back of my head, massaging my scalp and down my neck. His fingers wind into my hair. I want to coo from the nice feelings coursing through me. Then his hands are back down at my lower back, his fingertips dipping just under the towel. Tantalizing close to my ass. To the spots where he dares not touch. I suddenly find myself wishing his would. Wishing he would flip me over and have his way. I find my pussy is suddenly beginning to get wet. Just a little bit. Not full-fledged drips.

But he skips over the towelled area and moves onto my thighs and calves. His touches are no less wonderful there.

"Am I helping at all?" he asks.

"You're working wonders," I answer. "Thank you so much."

"I aim to please," he says. "I just can't help feeling that you're not necessarily feeling any less tense. Are you in any way uncomfortable?"

"No," I say. "I'm resigned to being unable to fully relax this session, I'm afraid. Just a little too stressful these days."

"I understand... I just wish there was some way I could help you."

"You're helping me as much as you can now," I say. "Your massages help more than you can know."

"But I'm not really helping you as much as I can right now," he says, slowly. "Have you ever tried tantric massage?"

"I can't say I have," I say, turning my head sideways so I can look up at him.

"There's a massage called Yoni massage. Yoni means sacred place or sacred temple and it refers to the sacred spot on a woman. If you'd like, I could try it. You might like it."

I can scarcely believe what I'm hearing. Surely I'm misunderstanding him. "Yoni... It's a massage for..."

"For your genitals," says Carlos.

"Right."

"If you'd like. It might help."

My head swims at the thought of Carlos's big, meaty hands touching my pussy. I want him. I want that, so much. "It's worth a shot," I say.

"All right," he says. "Please turn over while I get some pillows for you."

I flip over and my pussy tingles excitedly. My breathing is heavy and my heart is beating hard. Fuck. Calm down. Yoni massage is a real massage. Like Jane said, it's no different than him touching my back, really. It's all skin... This doesn't change the relationship. He's still the... hot massage therapist, and I'm still the client. Should I cover myself with the towel? Or not? I feel a little shy, which is ridiculous, given what I've just agreed to. Nevertheless, I lie the towel lengthwise over my body. It covers me from tits to cunt.

Carlos returns with two fluffy pillows and smiles at me. "Do you mind if I remove this towel?"

"No!" I say, strangely and nervously.

"I want you to feel comfortable with all of this," says Carlos. "Don't worry, I will go very slow. This massage is built on respect and trust. This is simply a massage, with no particular goal. Some women orgasm from this massage, but it's not the goal. Just feel what feels good and lose yourself in the pleasure. Relax into yourself."

"OK," I say.

Carlos slowly removes the towel. It drags on my nipples, making them grow stiff.

"This pillow is for behind your head," says Carlos, placing one there. "This one is for under your hips. And I'll be right back with two more pillows..."

My pussy is elevated in the air, feeling the breeze. I feel exposed, but also free.

The last two pillows go under my knees.

"Spread your legs, please," Carlos says. "And breathe. Deep, even breathing."

I do what he says, and he slicks his hands in massage oil again. He waits a few moments, just watching me breathe. My breasts lift with each deep breath.

He places his slick hands on my stomach and begins to gently run his hands along me. My ribcage, my chest, my breasts, my inner thighs... he touches me gently everywhere. Pleasure floods my body. His hands run over my breasts, squeezing them in his slick hands. Electricity shoots from my nipples to my pussy.

I feel trickles of massage oil landing on my pussy's mound. His hands are there, cupping my vulva and rubbing it. Then his fingers are squeezing the outer lips of my vagina. His thumb and index finger carefully trace my outer lips, then my inner lips. I open my eyes and see him looking back at me. Carlos, this amazing, hot man, with his fingers tantalizingly dancing on my pussy.

He continues to rub and squeeze my pussy lips, and I can feel myself getting wet and hot. My lips are engorging with pleasure. Everything gets puffy down there when I'm being well-stimulated. His fingers are like tendrils of pleasure, traversing every external part of my pussy.

After a few minutes of his slow, teasing squeezing and rubbing, his fingers find my clit. He slowly strokes my clit lightly in circles with one finger. Very gently, very slowly.

"Remember to breathe," he says.

Ah, yes, Breathing. I forgot about that for a moment.

"Concentrate on your breathing," he says.

Easy for him to say. His gently circling of my clit is filling me with hot electricity. My arousal is permeating the air around me. I must be radiating heat like a furnace. But he is slow and deliberate. This is an experience entirely unlike the usual quick DJ manoeuvre I usually use on myself. Or the fumbling quickness of my ex. This is a man who makes people feel good with his hands for a living. He's an artist, painting pleasure into my skin.

I can feel his finger at my opening. I gasp.

"Breathe," he says.

And slowly, his finger enters me.

Read the rest:
I Need Release: Erotic Massage Therapy: Tantric Yoni Massage