Thursday, December 30, 2010


The antique ormolu clock on the mantel chimed quarter passed the hour. Its delicate ding nearly drowned out by the activities going on upstairs.  Feminine giggles and sighs interspersed with male groans and the rhythmic thumping of someone’s headboard against the wall blended into the usual soundtrack of my days.
Dust motes floated through the hazy sunshine that shone in through the lace curtained windows. My eyes followed a particularly large spec as it wound down to the floor. The front door flew open and a cool breeze kicked the object of my attention back up into the air.
I followed its trajectory and my eyes settled on the dark outline of the man framed by the bright, sunny day outside. His features were in shadow but I didn’t need to see them to know the face of the man who was standing in our vestibule. He came for me every morning at ten fifteen sharp. Warmth pooled in the bottom of my stomach, a precursor to the heat that would come soon enough.
“Welcome to Fae’s.” Our burly, ear ringed and tattooed security guard Ashvin reached out and pushed the door closed with the hook that replaced his right hand. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Piskie. Belle is waiting for you in the living room. Her room is prepared, as usual.”
Chocolate brown eyes turned nearly black with intensity fixated on me. “Thank you."
My bare feet slid to the carpet as he entered the room. The pale green silk nightgown whispered and tumbled to brush over my ankles as I stood to greet him.
“Good morning, Belle.”
His voice was rich, warm and held the promise of hours of pleasure to come. I knew the nuances of Peter Piskie well. The soft hush of whispered endearments as his palm smacked the round globes of my bottom and the harsh abrasion of commands tempered by kisses and caresses. Peter paid for the best and I prided myself on being exactly that for him.
“Peter. Can I get you a drink before we go upstairs?”
Strong fingers, roughened by hard won calluses, brushed up the smooth, perfumed skin of my arm. A sharp tug undid the ribbon that held my nightgown closed over my shoulder and I glanced down to watch the filmy material droop.
“You have the most beautiful tits.”
One of my eyebrows rose in question as I looked up at him. He returned the expression, with the hint of a smile, and pulled the other ribbon so that the leaf green garment sagged around my waist.
My mouth opened to question him but he silenced me with a look and a raised hand. His hands closed around my waist and held me against him as Peter walked towards the sideboard and sat me on it.
Strong, tanned fingers undid the golden buckle of his belt and the button on his pants slid from its hole. The ripping sound of a zipper being torn open riveted my attention on Peter’s crotch and I bit my lip with anticipation as he released eight inches of thick, marble hard manhood.
I drew my fingers in lazy circles around the dusky rose peaks of my breasts, thighs spread and eager for his invasion. His mood, and the brusque way he’d handled me so far indicated I was in for one hell of a ride. It wasn’t my job to like what he did to me, but I did. I liked it one hell of a lot when he took me hard and fast.
Peter had never taken me in the parlour before and the thrill of possible discovery added an edge to the excitement that had me sopping wet in seconds. The walls of my vagina clenched as he bunched my gown around my waist and stepped closer.
“Peter, please.”
His thumb found the sensitive bundle of nerves between my thighs and tweaked it so hard that I forgot about my nipples and fisted the material of his shirt to pull him closer. The tip of his cock brushed the inside of my left thigh and my hips tilted in automatic invitation.
“No talking Belle.” The pad of his thumb ground against my clit with each word. “I’ve been dreaming of fucking you like this and I will not have us interrupted.”
His left hand wrapped around his shaft at the root and guided the purple head between the glistening wet folds. I watched, fixated, as he fed inch after inch into my aching cleft.
The slow, teasing way he pushed inside misled me into thinking, disappointedly, that Peter was going to do the opposite of what I’d anticipated. I closed my eyes, leaned back against the mirror and prepared to put on my best show of faking it until he pulled back and shoved in so hard we both grunted from the impact.
Peter’s mouth came down on mine in a harsh clashing of teeth, lips and tongue designed to silence and possess. I pulled the edges of his shirt apart, mindless of the buttons that ripped off and flew around us as my fingers found their way beneath the thin cotton. My nails dug into the hard slabs of his pecs and drew a lusty groan from him that I swallowed with another kiss.
Crystal glasses and china rattled inside the sideboard creating a soft, tinkling music to accompany the wet, sucking sounds our bodies made as Peter fucked me harder than he had ever done.
Our bodies pounded together, every thrust slammed Peter’s thumb into my clit and each whimper that he pulled from my throat grew as the pressure intensified. I wasn’t a screamer but I could feel one building as an intense orgasm took seed and waited, poised on the brink for that one final push that would set it, and me, free.
The unforgiving frame of the mirror biting into my shoulders and the hard twist of my nipple between Peter’s fingers put the perfect edge of pain on the pleasure to send me rocketing over the brink.
A small change in the angle of his thrust and the pinch of Peter’s other hand as it gripped my backside sent me screaming into ecstasy. My heels dug into the hard rounds of his ass and held him deep inside as he groaned hard and filled every bit of my core with thick, creamy jets of his own orgasm.
The door to the parlour flew open and we both looked up, wide-eyed with surprise as my employer, Fae, spotted us.
Peter chuckled as he kissed my cheek. “I always knew you looked good in green for a reason.”

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