The Accidental Mistress (13 page)

She was like heaven walking towards him. Beautiful, bright, a dream of sensuality to rouse the cock of any man with breath in his body. Her clothing was modest – a slim skirt, a neat vintage blouse and a soft, light cardigan, unbuttoned – but her shoes had a kinky look that stirred his blood. They weren’t high, but they were shapely, making her slender feet an object of fetish sex.

Oh, Lizzie …

Paused in front of him, she struck an elegant pose, but he still detected a faint touch of anxiousness. She was worried about being discovered, even though he had a feeling that she suspected that he’d already as good as bought this place.

But Lizzie was ever the diplomat. She wouldn’t get into it now, because she didn’t want to spoil things. And she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Her tongue ran along the seam of her rose-tinted lips, and he almost cried out, racked with the desire to slip his aching cock into her sweet mouth.

‘Do you know what I want, Lizzie?’ To his own ears, his voice sounded odd. Ragged. The wait had been agonising. He’d been happy to help her with the stressed-out Mrs Cox and her dress, but all the time he’d been battling down his gouging urges. Bio-feedback was useless. He was a rampant dog, barely keeping himself in check. But he didn’t have to fight it any more. He could have what he wanted now. What she wanted too. He could see it in her eyes, dark and hungry.

‘I think so.’ She glanced around. The room was all glass, but even nervy as she was, she was prepared to serve him. ‘But are you sure there’s no one about? What if there’s some handyman lurking around the garden, waiting for a free show?’

‘Ah, but wouldn’t you enjoy that? The randy gardener watching while the Lord and Lady of the Manor cavort?’

‘I … I’m no lady, I’m just Ms Average. And even if you
are
a lord, it’s not your manor.’

‘Average?’ he cried, ‘Don’t you ever describe yourself as fucking average, Lizzie Aitchison! You’re the least average woman I’ve ever met!’ He calmed his anger. He hated it when she undervalued herself. But he supposed it came from
family background, and he of all people knew how that could screw a person up. There’d been hints of a rigorous father, with rigid standards. And female siblings too, over-achievers in purely conventional terms.

‘All right, then, I’m a lady. I’ll not argue with you. Now, what precisely is it that you want, Your Lordship?’ She glanced down at his crotch, clearly knowing
exactly
what he wanted.

‘Your mouth, beautiful Lizzie. Your mouth on my cock. Your lips and your tongue, taking me to paradise.’

She gave him a long look, her eyes roving over him in an assessing glide. It felt astonishingly masculine somehow. She was cataloguing his charms, as a man would check out a woman. Even as she sank to her knees, he felt as if he were the one who should be kneeling.

Offering no words, she continued to hold his gaze, even while she reached out and laid a hand over his crotch. His cock leapt wildly, pushing hard against his clothing, and her fingers flexed around him. Her steady expression commanded him. He couldn’t move, only wait. To enjoy.

With swift efficiency, she unbuttoned his waistcoat and parted the panels. Then she tackled his shirt, pulling out the tails from his waistband and baring his chest. Leaning forward, she kissed his nipples, then lightly nibbled them. He wanted to dig his hands into her hair, but just as he was about to do it, she looked up at him, her eyes warning. His hands loosened at his sides, inert.

Next, she dealt with his belt, flicking it open, making the buckle jingle. His trousers she unzipped roughly, not seeming quite so poised now, and then she tugged furiously at his underwear, getting impatient with it until he shook off his inertia and helped her, dragging down his jersey trunks and freeing his stiff, reddened cock.

If the mythical gardener looked in now, it was he, John, who was vulnerable. Lizzie was still primly clothed, not a hair of her exquisite, accurate fringe out of place, and her divine body unrevealed, except to his ravenous mind’s eye.

He imagined her naked before him as she laid her slender seamstress’s fingertips against the hot aching length of his erection. Bare, she would still have the power and the dignity. There was no way to diminish her. Even when she allowed him to punish her, and to prance around like a dominant dickhead, she was still subtly and completely in charge.

He was in her thrall. He was in …

Really? Am I? I don’t know … but I do care, Lizzie, I do care.

‘Suck me, love,’ he said softly, aching for the solace of that perfect mouth.

God, he was so tempting!

Lizzie enjoyed giving head, but she’d never relished a man’s cock the way she yearned for John’s. Leaning forward, she extended her tongue, furled it to a point and started out with an experimental lick, scooping up the clear beads of pre-come gathered at his tip, welling from the love-eye. She curled her fist around his shaft, and lapped at him like a lollipop, loving the clean yet salty flavour of him. Against the skin of her palm she could feel the blood pulsing, pulsing, pulsing in the veins of his cock, the beautiful beat of life, and of man.

Opening her mouth wider, she engulfed his glans, cradling it, just holding it and cherishing it. Looking up for a moment, she saw his eyes rapt, watching her. But when she sucked fast and hard, he slumped back against the settee, his head falling back, his golden curls gleaming against the pale upholstery.

‘Oh my dear, dear girl,’ he gasped, his hips bucking, his hands curling into tight fists against the seat cushions, ‘your mouth is perfect. There’s nobody like you.’

Holding him, she kept on sucking, and sometimes licking, sometimes teasing. Sometimes even grazing him slightly with the edges of her teeth, in a light but playful threat.

Was he holding out on her? The cords of his neck were taut with stress, and he swallowed hard.

Devil!

She jabbed hard with her tongue at a tender spot, the little notch beneath the head of his cock. She’d tipped him over before, working there, but this time he resisted her, stirred from his passivity to grasp her head. Holding her, he asserted his control and took back his power.

‘Oh no you don’t, Miss Aitchison. I’m in charge here … I think …’

John laughed, hissing through his teeth as she tried to goad him again, darting her tongue to that sweet spot she always found so accurately. ‘Stay still, beautiful girl. Just let me rest on your tongue.’

Her mouth relaxed, and she obeyed him. He drew in a few deep breaths, steadying himself as he gazed down at her lovely face, and her lovely mouth around him. A sudden urge ripped through him, prompted by the neat perfection of her clothing; the innocent almost prissy little collar, the unbreached buttons of her pale-blue blouse.

What did she have on beneath? Lace and underwires? Satin, low cut, deep, deep cleavage. Or was it something more austere? She hadn’t been expecting him … Dressing this morning, she’d had no reason to don her seductive call girl’s lingerie.

Suddenly he had to see. To enjoy. To wickedly ravish her and make his mark on her sweet, saintly underthings.

‘Back off now, Lizzie. I want to see you.’ Leaning forward and cradling her face, he edged her back. She seemed reluctant to relinquish him, but she obeyed, licking her lips as he slid out, the little action automatic, yet electric. His cock gleamed where she’d lavished it with attention and, if anything, he felt himself stiffen more, get even harder, loving that shine she’d created.

Her eyes were huge and dark, and her gaze darted from his face to his erection and back again, to and fro. He almost laughed; it was as if she were hypnotised by the sight of him, his serpent flesh.

‘Unfasten your blouse. Show me your gorgeous breasts.’

Still staring at his cock, she started to slip the buttons through the buttonholes purely by touch. They were small and pearly, very delicate and pretty. Her fingertips were neat and deft, as they always were, whether on him, or otherwise. He sighed at the sight of her divine cleavage revealed to him. Her bra was simple and white, cotton, very pure. His cock swayed as he leaned forward and pushed her blouse and cardigan down off her shoulders, exposing them. Then he plucked at the straps of her bra, sliding them down over her shoulders too. Greedily, he cupped her breasts in his hands, baring them.

‘Exquisite,’ he whispered, meaning it from the bottom of his soul. Everything about her was adorable. ‘Now, suck me again. But don’t use your hands.’ Giving her nipples a playful tweak, he released her and lounged back again.

Her lashes fluttered, and she looked down, perfectly demure. Well, almost … For a moment he saw the greedy salacious glitter in her eyes, the bright boldness that aroused
him so. She gave herself away with a slow, wet swipe of her tongue over her lower lip.

‘You teasing trollop, come on … get on with it.’

‘Of course, master.’ Her poise was indomitable and her face was a picture, a beautiful canvas of elegant submission, and devilment. She’d never be a thoroughgoing sub, her will was too strong, but to please him she could wear obedience like a glamour, a magic spell that made him believe, for the moment, that he had the upper hand. ‘May I rest my hands upon your thighs, to brace myself? I’ll be able to pleasure you all the better.’

‘What’s good for you is better for me, gorgeous.’ He nodded assent, adjusting his position, letting her get in close and rest her hands on him. ‘Ah! Oh yes,’ he gasped, breath-taken as she quickly and deeply engulfed him, instantly rubbing the underside of his glans with her tongue in a fast flicking action, amazingly flexible. His hips bucked of their own accord, propelling him deeper. He placed his hands over hers on his thighs, squeezing and holding, loving the more tender contact almost, but not quite, as much as having his dick in the embrace of her mouth.

Slowly, meticulously, she worked him, leaning in, letting him in, relaxing her entire throat, not panicking. Her control of her gag reflex was awe inspiring, making him toss his head as she accepted more of him into the wet heat. Instinctively, he laced his fingers with hers, bonding with her.

‘Oh baby … baby,’ he crooned, all stress falling away, all memory of the angst and anger of New York. Lizzie’s beautiful mouth erased Clara from existence for the moment, rubbing her out as if as if she were an ugly drawing sketched in pencil. The aggravating memory stab of her would return … but not while he was here, like this, with his lovely young Lizzie.

I love you
.

The words popped lightly into her mind as she worshipped his flesh. There was no touch and caress for her in this act, but somehow, it still excited her. Her pussy was latent yet energised, waiting and ready, graced by need.

He let her control this act, though. He couldn’t stop his hips moving; the reaction was ancient, autonomous. But she was calling the shots. She was letting him in deep one minute, and then backing off again, to lavish him with tongue work. It wasn’t a thing she’d ever consciously practised, but with John, she discovered an almost inexhaustible wealth of tricks and techniques. Even the muscles of her jaw seemed to have new, enduring powers.

Would he come in her mouth? Give her that gift? Suddenly she sensed not. She could almost read him as he so often read her, and looking up at him from beneath her lashes, she slowly and daringly let him slip from between her lips.

‘Oh, you wicked girl … you know, don’t you? You know what I want?’

Their eyes met, sparking, clashing.

‘I … I’m sure I don’t know, master.’ She tried not to grin, but couldn’t help herself. Sliding her fingers out from under his, she caught the edge of her clothing – bra, blouse, cardigan – and drew them back a bit further, offering her breasts to him. They were aching, and she could swear her nipples were harder than they’d ever been, dark with blood. She wanted them to tempt him into wickedness, to make him mark her and anoint her with his seed.

‘Oh yes, you do, Miss Aitchison. You
know
what I want.’ His blue eyes were like sapphires illuminated with starlight.

She could see his chest heaving. Good God, he was panting with lust, or with the effort of control.

‘I do …’

‘Do you permit it?’

‘Of course, master … how could I not?’

Triumph soared as he grasped his cock in his fist and began to pump. She came up a bit more on her knees, making a better target. Sliding her palms beneath her breasts, she offered them up.

‘Oh God … Oh yes … Oh yes …’ Smart, articulate John devolved into just a man holding his cock, working himself. His hand moving in a blur almost, he snarled an oath, then another, the crude words a canticle of male exultation as his semen spurted forth and landed in droplets on the upper curves of Lizzie’s breasts.

It was wickedly dirty, and like something out of a porn movie, but she couldn’t help but grin. There was nothing demeaning about it. It was fun, erotic fun, and John was the one who’d made himself vulnerable, revealing the way he handled himself in privacy. Afterwards, he fell back against the upholstery, his chest heaving and his penis still in his fist, but losing its hardness.

‘Oh … my … God …’ His eyes were closed, but they flipped open, and his mouth curved provocatively as he zeroed in on the white pearls and trails of his spunk on her skin. ‘Oh hell, that looks so horny. If I hadn’t only just come I’d start all over again.’

It seemed a bit insulting to him to wipe it away with her hankie, so Lizzie scooped a little of the white fluid with her finger and tasted it, making John moan like a happy man in torment.

His semen didn’t taste of much. A bit salty, a bit ammoniac,
but only faintly. It wasn’t horrid, just bland, so mild for something born in wild, thrashing tumult. She swept up some more, and did a little pantomime of smacking her lips and savouring it as if it were Crème Chantilly or a whisky cream liqueur.

‘Dirty girl … so dirty …’ He grinned at her, his eyes dancing as he tucked his cock away in his clothing and zipped up. She wondered if, had he been a younger man, he might already have been hard again, but she wasn’t worried. She’d get hers. That was one of the most beautiful things about John. He was generous, and he’d give her pleasure, and get her off, by other means.