Xcite Delights Book 1 (8 page)

He shakes his head. ‘The bench is not for sitting, Davis. Squat in front of it, and rest your elbows on it. This is a workout, remember? That’s right, now open your legs and lift until your weight’s on your elbows.’ All the while he continues to circle and rake my joy button, until I’m completely in his power, and I’ll do whatever he says, because the only other person who has touched my clit for ages is me.

‘Mm hm,’ he says, slipping his long index finger between my cunt lips and stroking. ‘Just as I suspected. You need some serious relief of a sexual nature, Davis, or we’re never gonna accomplish anything.’ He slides his finger up into my hole, and I swear I’ve had cocks in me that weren’t that thick. I go all ragdoll and limp, like he’s supporting me just on his finger, and I’m squeezing and gripping like nobody’s business.

‘Jesus, Davis! That’s one hard-gripping fanny you got there, and slick.’ He lets out a low whistle as he squeezes another sausage finger into my pout, and I’m wondering what the hell his cock’s gonna be like with fingers that size.

‘Put your feet on my shoulders,’ he orders. He doesn’t offer to help, and I figure that’s a part of the workout, all designed to make me look good in my bikini. When my weight is supported on his shoulders and my elbows, he goes exploring. Face first.

Even his tongue is well-muscled. And long. It’s almost like it’s not a part of him, the way it wriggles and squirms and eats at me, all hungry and animal-like. He holds my labia splayed wide with his thumbs while his tongue darts in and out of my hole, then laps and slurps and presses at my clit. Then he starts all over again. He does this until I’m out-of-my-mind hot, and he has me squirming and writhing and babbling like some porn star. Then he starts nursing on my clit like he’s a newborn who’s just found a tit full of milk.

And I come. Jesus, how I come! I’m bucking and bouncing, banging my elbow on the edge of the bench and howling like some banshee on heat.

Then he pulls away, all wet and slick with my pussy juices, and I hear his fly unzip as he brings out the big gun.

I scrabble and squirm for a good view of his very military cock standing at full attention. It’s as substantial and as pumped as he is. I feel a little twinge of fear at the size of him, but not for long, because my pussy’s pouty and anxious, greedy enough to swallow him down whole, and he knows it. He teases my lips wide open with one hand. With the other, he manoeuvres into position, then he shoves and grunts his way in, pushing my knees up against my tits in his efforts. Sweet Jesus, I have never been so totally and completely full of cock! As he begins to hump, I wrap my legs around his waist and hold on.

He doesn’t support my arse with his hands. He makes me support my own weight, pressing up to meet him every time he thrusts into me. And the harder I press, the better the rub against my marbled clit.

‘Good girl,’ he breathes, reaching up to cup and knead my tits. ‘We get some of that pent-up energy of yours released and we’ll have you in shape in no time.’ He rakes my nipples to hard, raw points against his thumbs. Then he sucks me like he’s trying to suck me inside out. I bounce and squirm and buck all over the weight bench, digging my heels into his kidneys, riding Hawk Sturgis like he’s a bucking bronco and I’m a cowgirl.

I reckon he’s a master of timing. He suddenly stops playing with my tits, grabs onto my hips like he’ll crush bone and jackhammers my cunt. He’s holding his breath, baring his teeth like an angry lion, and I’m hanging on for dear life, every muscle in my body trembling and twitching.

It’s like some kind of feral battle cry when he comes, rattling the mirrors on the wall and raising the hair on the back of my neck. I can feel his cock go into convulsions in my hard grip, and that’s enough to kick-start my own convulsions. And we come and come and come.

Even a hardened military man like Hawk Sturgis needs a little recovery time after all that coming. And when at last his pecs aren’t heaving like bellows, he speaks. ‘That’s a good start, Davis.’ He pulls away and tucks his cock back into the camouflage. Then while he’s wiping my pussy with the work-out towel, he lays a splayed hand low on my belly. ‘I reckon you’ll be sore tomorrow after your first day. Nothing to worry about. I know a few massage techniques that’ll work out the kinks.’ He offers me a serious look. ‘No pain, no gain.’

‘Permission to speak freely, sir,’ I say, watching him wipe and caress my pout.

‘What is it, Davis?’ He doesn’t look up. He seems totally focused on his efforts.

‘I know you said sex is a part of my training, but I’m wondering if–’

‘Damn right sex is a part of your training,’ he interrupts. ‘A very important part. But,’ he heaves a chest-expanding sigh. ‘Man’s gotta have some compensation, doesn’t he? You don’t work for free, do you?’

‘No, sir.’

‘You got a problem with that?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Good.’ He offers me a smile that makes him look much less GI Joe, much more pussy-creaming hottie. ‘Don’t worry, Davis. You’ll toughen up just fine. And come summer holidays, well I reckon you’ll heat up the beach to boiling point in your new bikini. Tomorrow we’ll do some squats and work your legs and glutes.’

‘Same time?’

He nods. ‘We’ll start with a run from your flat. But if you’re too sore, we might start with sex instead to loosen you up.’

Suddenly getting up at five doesn’t seem so bad.

We hear a key turn in the lock, and the lights in the outer hall switch on. I’m scrambling back into my clothes and Hawk Sturgis is watching me like he’s dreaming up his next torture session. But I don’t care. If he makes me come this good after every workout, I’m more than willing to honour the terms and conditions of the contingency plan, and I may just return my more modest bikini for a thong after all.

As we step out of the gym into the anaemic daylight that has appeared while we were occupied inside, he slips an arm around me and nods in the direction of my flat. ‘We won’t run back this morning, since you’re just getting started and all. I can tell by the way you move you’re feeling a bit tender.’ He slides a hand down my back to cup my arse and give it a gentle knead. ‘In fact I think once we get back to your flat, I’ll see if I can’t loosen up some of those muscles for you so you won’t be so sore tomorrow.’

In a peripheral glance, I can’t help noticing the camouflage front of his trousers is struggling for containment. And I’m willing to bet the slight swagger in his step has nothing to do with the hard workout or the heavy boots. Come to think of it, I’m sure I haven’t worked off my debt for the day yet, and that thought makes my pussy quiver right along with all the other muscles that are quivering and trembling from their first real workout in a long time. Suddenly, I’m very much looking forward to getting in good shape. After all, my body is my temple. It’s serious business keeping it fit and healthy.

The Naughty Rich Girl
by Angela Goldsberry

I am the naughty, spoiled daughter of a very rich man. I always get my way. Nothing is too good for me and I’m too good for everything – and everyone. I’m the apple of my father’s eye and as far as he’s concerned I can do no wrong. If only he knew the kind of girl I really am. I wonder what he’d think of me then. You see, I
love
to be bad. In fact, I thrive on it. My halo is more than slightly tarnished. Only Daddy can’t see it.

I’m enrolled in a small Catholic university; I rarely attend. But Daddy sits on the board of directors. I hardly think that, when the time comes, I’ll be denied a degree. Quite the contrary: I’m sure the good sisters will do anything to get rid of me, including grant me an honorary baccalaureate. Their prim and proper establishment hasn’t been the same since I arrived on campus. Not that it matters anyway. I’ll never work a day in my life. I’m having too much fun playing.

I am a beautiful and commanding young woman and I work hard at staying that way. I go to the gym almost every night of the week, continually sculpting and shaping my figure in addition to fucking my personal trainer every chance I get. I’m almost Amazonian in appearance and I rather like it. I consider this as I glance into the rear-view mirror of my new black BMW. I dress to intimidate – it’s my motto in life. It doesn’t get me very far with most people but, then again, I can’t be bothered with people who can be intimidated.

I carefully back out of my parking space in the college parking lot and shift into drive. The back tyres grab the asphalt tightly as I peel down the driveway at breakneck speed. Some day, I’ll get expelled for doing that, the groundskeeper has warned me on many occasions. I merely laugh in his face. Let them try. Daddy would never allow it.

I roll down the window and let the crisp autumn air whip my chestnut hair about my face. I feel my best when I am in my element, and my element is shopping. So that is where I’m headed today. I light up a cigarette and tap the steering wheel with a brandy-tinted nail in time to the music blaring from my hopped-up speakers. One of my exes installed them for me last year, taking them from his own car after only a little pleading and one magnificent blowjob. I wriggle in my seat at the memory of it and my pussy starts to sweat. I’m such a naughty girl, aren’t I?

I wave tauntingly as I speed by a snoozing state trooper parked on the side of the road. ‘What shall it be today?’ I ask myself, peering behind me to see if the statie’s radar has gone off. Seeing that I am alone in traffic, I race along, not bothering to slow down. ‘Valentino, Galliano, or Versace? The choices are so limitless. I may have to buy them all!’

I feel around in my purse and pull out my wallet. I flip it open and a long strand of credit cards streams out. ‘Ahhhhh,’ I breathe with almost sexual satisfaction. ‘Plastic – a girl’s best friend! I think I need a new pair of boots and, of course, a matching purse. Maybe a hat too.’

I squint into the sunlight and nod slowly. ‘Yes,’ I purr, with a wicked grin curling my lip, ‘it’s going to be a
good
afternoon.’

I make my way to one of the more well-to-do shopping centres in the city where I live, a place where I am considered to be one of the more exclusive patrons. I wind in and out of the grassy islands of the parking lot and pull adeptly into a vacant spot near the front door of the most popular department store. I wonder airily how long it will be before they give me a personalised parking space – and then I cackle at my own wit.

I put on a more sombre expression as I enter the store. Like the dignified lady I know I should be, I haughtily scan the area with an air of authority. Inhaling deeply, I savour the aroma of newness and luxury. I mainly depend on the indulgence of my father to support my shopping habit. An occasional five-fingered discount doesn’t hurt either. Not that I
need
to steal – not by any stretch of the imagination. I shoplift for the pure thrill of it. It gets me hot. It makes me wet. It’s just another of the perks of being naughty.

My eyes wander lazily over the merchandise as I casually stroll through the display tables and counters. I ponder over what should be the pick of the day – make-up, jewellery … lingerie! Now,
there’s
a place to start. One can never have too much sexy underclothing. You never know when it might be handy, or even necessary. I finger a costly chemise with contemplation. The violet silk matches my eyes and accents the light olive hue of my skin. It’s perfect for me and I definitely want it. However, it’s just too big to pocket.

‘I guess I’ll just have to
buy
this one,’ I murmur saucily, scooping it up. I can feel the dampness between my legs start as the thrill of danger begins to rise.

I grab a matching silk thong on my way to the counter and deftly slip it into the large pocket of my baggy man’s overcoat. My thieving coat, I think fondly, smoothing the puffy material until it lies flat against the pilfered panties.

A portly woman at the cash register takes the chemise from me from me and begins to write up the receipt. While I wait, I add a black lace bra, g-string, and garter belt set to the purchase. Then I lean against the counter, nonchalantly drumming my fingers against the glass, smiling innocently at the saleslady. All the while, the muscles in my pussy are churning as I think of all the naughty things I’m going to be able to do with my purchases – and with my stolen goods. My nipples are hard and scratching at my bra to get out.
In a little while, my pets
, I promise them silently. I might have to stop in the dressing room for a little playtime with myself. It wouldn’t be the first time, I reminisce with a delicious shiver.

After my lingerie is wrapped and paid for, I neatly tuck the bag under my arm and stray into the accessories department. I check the area carefully for any signs of store security. Getting all hot and bothered sometimes makes me careless. I don’t want to get caught. That would ruin all the fun. And store security is usually more careful in this particular section due to the fact that the expensive costume jewellery is very attractive to would-be thieves, including me, and equally easy to make off with. When the coast is clear, I palm an ornate sterling bracelet designed to resemble a small wreath of grapes on twisted vines.

A fraction of a second after the bracelet hits the bottom of my deep pocket, I feel a strong hand on my shoulder. I whirl about in sudden panic and find myself staring into the iciest blue eyes I have ever seen in my entire life. I don’t know whether to faint or cream. In any case, the clit-ometer rises another notch, and I unconsciously wriggle a little in my tight jeans.

‘Come with me, please, miss,’ the man says quietly.

I thank God that this posh establishment is so damned snobby they’re extremely hushed about shoplifting incidents. The silent walk back to the security office with the plainly clad store detective escorting me gently by the elbow appears no more out of the ordinary than a gentleman accompanying his woman around the store. It gives me time to try to think of a quick and easy way out of this mess. I
absolutely
have to make sure that I’m not arrested. It would never do. Daddy would have a fit. He’d put punitive restrictions on me. The hindrance of my freedom would be intolerable and a criminal record would ruin any possibility of my marrying into the upper crust of this town.

I compose myself as much as possible as Mr Security Man leads me to the back of the store and through the double swinging doors that open into the warehouse. He quickly manoeuvres me around forklifts and between high stacks of empty wooden pallets until we reach a locked wooden door marked
Eric Lexington, Director of Security
. As he draws out a large ring of keys and fits one into the lock, I survey him more closely. He’s
very
attractive, about six-four with thick brown hair that keeps wanting to fall on to his forehead despite the fact that he’s slicked it back with some sort of product. He’s sporting a nice 5 o’clock shadow – the kind that Hollywood has made acceptable to wear even when dressed to the nines. His bottom lip is full and generous and his chin is square and rigidly set. His charcoal suit coat fits snugly across his shoulders and I am able to catch a glimpse of his muscular thighs rippling beneath his trousers as he uses his knee to nudge open the door when it sticks in the jamb. A lusty spark goes off in my mind. It appears that this predicament might not be so hard to extract myself from after all – hard being the operative word.

‘In here,’ he instructs with a curt nod of the head.

I precede him into the dark room and almost stumble over a chair by the desk. He quickly flips on the fluorescent light and apologises for the close proximity of the quarters, explaining that his regular office is being renovated and he’s temporarily being holed up here. I sit quietly in the chair to which he directs me, trying to seem a little more vulnerable than I actually feel. It will be necessary to first appeal to his sense of pity and, then, to his sense of desire if I am to carefully escape prosecution. I fold my hands on my lap and softly clear my throat as he turns to close the door.

‘Now,’ he says, finally spinning about to face me, ‘would you like to tell me what you were doing back there?’ He leans back against the closed door, a sardonic smile touching his face as he waits for what he knows will be a lame answer.

‘Well,’ I begin hesitantly, ‘I’m not quite sure I know what you mean, Mr –’

‘Oh, I think you do,’ he interjects, nipping my first little plan in the bud. I decide to finish up this pathetic little scenario and quickly move ahead to Plan B.

‘I was shopping. See for yourself.’ I hold up the bag for his inspection.

He gingerly takes it from me and peers inside. With a barely suppressed grin, he removes the undergarments and places them in a neat pile on his desk. Checking the receipt, he notices the obvious absence of the bracelet and looks up at me with a wry smile. ‘I was talking about the jewellery.’

‘Oh –
oh
! You mean the
bracelet
!’ My hand flutters up to my throat and then quickly into my pocket, drawing out the heavy silver bauble. I fail to notice, however, that the clasp of the bracelet has caught the strap of the purple thong, and it is now left peeking over the rim of the coat pocket.

‘This?’ I ask innocently. ‘I’m
buying
this.’ I realise that he’s not buying my story any more than I’m buying jewellery. ‘Really, I am. I’m just so forgetful and in such a rush, I must have accidentally slipped it into my pocket. Here,’ I offer, pulling my wallet from my purse, ‘I have the money to pay for it.’

His eyes mock me, I think to myself. The bastard is actually enjoying this. If he weren’t so gorgeous, I’d be offended.

‘I’m not interested in your money, miss. It’s a bit late for that now. I’m a little more interested in
this
.’ He leans over me, his breath dangerously heavy on the hollow of my throat. I gasp and draw back as his arm brushes my already tingling breasts. His hand slips deftly past my purse to retrieve the thong from my pocket. He stands back up, twirling it around his index finger.

‘What about this?’ he demands, the laughter hinting in his voice.

He has me cold now. I know it. It’s time to play for keeps. ‘Look …
sir
. I can’t afford to get in trouble. My father has a lot of money. I –’

‘I’m not interested in your daddy’s money either, missy. Do you think my loyalty to this establishment can be bought and sold like … like a pair of panties?’ He accentuates his last quip by tossing the thong back at me.

The purple silk smacks me in the chest and I gather it up in my hand. He’s playing with me. OK then, I’d do well to give him a little taste of his own medicine. I lower my lashes coyly, and lightly flick my top lip with the soft tip of my pink tongue, as if debating some desperate decision. I see the tightening of his thighs beneath his trousers and I know I have him hooked.

‘I would
never
suggest that you were dishonest,’ I protest with feigned shock. ‘But,’ I continue, greedily eyeing his belt buckle, ‘maybe we could still come to a satisfactory arrangement – you know, just between the two of us. No one else needs to become involved.’

I slowly set my purse on the floor next to the chair and run one perfectly manicured hand through my auburn locks, drawing the heavy tresses back to expose my long, creamy neck. I linger in the chair for effect, and then push off my haunches to kneel on the floor in front of him, as if in sacrifice. A small growl of animal want rises in his throat as he feels my hot breath against the increasing tension behind his zipper. Maybe he can’t be bought, I think as he reaches behind him to turn the lock on the door, but he’s certainly sold on this idea. My hands slide languorously up his sinewy thighs and he leans back against the safely latched door.

His breath begins to come in short, heavy gasps as I run my mouth over his still clothed cock. I nip the bulge with my teeth, teasing him, pressing my lips lightly to his groin, giving him only enough contact to torture him. He pushes his hips forward a little, wanting more from me than I am giving at the moment. I pull away and demurely bat my eyelashes at him.

‘Patience,’ I purr softly. ‘These things take time.’

‘Take off your top,’ he commands without further ado. Apparently, he wants to direct a little more than I had planned.

‘Why?’ I ask, more curious than afraid.

‘You seem to like sexy underwear. I want to see some.’

It’s a simple enough request. I shrug out of my overcoat and lift my heavy sweater over my head. I cross my arms over my breasts, rubbing my shoulders with my hands.

‘Is this to your liking?’

‘I’d like it better if I could see more of it,’ Mr Lexington retorts, sniffing at the blocked view.

I run my hands up my arms and then down, stopping when my hands come to rest on my hips. I kneel up to give him a closer look at my ample cleavage. ‘Better?’

The increased rise and fall of his chest is all the answer I need. Still, he tries to downplay his excitement. ‘A little,’ he replies dismissively.