A Dirty Little Deal (8 page)

"Embarrassed, humiliated." She paused as my kisses forced an indrawn breath that ended in a moan. "And...turned on. More than I would have thought possible."

"Very good. I am so pleased and I love you more for the admission."

I released her arms and I slid around her until I pressed against her back, my hands tracing their way around her front, hugging. She laid her hands on my forearms, lightly, stroking over the dark hairs that lay there.

When she laid her head back on my shoulder, I took it as permission to move on. My hands opened the dress to the air, the man's enjoyment, to Cara Mia's entrance.

With a moan that sounded more like a woman surrendering everything, she squared her shoulders and stood straight, her arms falling to her side as she took refuge behind the domino, the name, the thought of what was at stake.

I whispered, "Brave Cara Mia," in her ear. She considered it, looked to Don Coil, and she sighed, resigned. My heart lurched. I wanted not resignation, but an embrace of her body, the pleasures I evoked, and the opportunities we could find there.

I wanted her to stop this ridiculous adherence to rules that served to do nothing but keep all that passion bottled up where it did no one any good.

Sadness washed over me, which made me angry at my failure. Perhaps I was wrong. She couldn't overcome the stupid rules that kept her so bound up.

But she hadn't let them go. She just kept holding on to them, like she was adrift in a sea of passion and they were her life preserver. I think she was afraid of what would happen if she dove straight down into the heart of all that passion.

I had to tear her away from that, force her to swim free in all of that hunger, that warmth she felt, sail away with me on a tide of pleasure.

With a harsh cry, I pulled the edges hard, and they tore, catching on the Mandarin collar and following the seam around her neck.

Stepping back, I pivoted her to see the full extent of my work. Her eyes were wide, the whites gleaming in the dull light, her hair escaping the clips that held it in place, her face smeared with black.

The dress barely hung by the shoulder seams, the neckline looking like an elegant collar on a beautiful woman, ripe and ready for the taking.

I pulled her to me roughly, feeling her cool flesh against the smooth softness of my shirt. I rubbed against her, the mounds of her breasts mashing against my chest. My dick lurched in my pants and I held her hips to me tightly, feeling the surge of pleasure as my hips rocked in small movements against her.

Her muscles worked under my hands as she met my strokes. I wanted to fuck her, fuck her hard, fuck her amidst the grotty concrete walls with the screams of pain and pleasure rising up around us.

I wanted to fuck her in the remains of the dress I had bought her, the dress I had cut and torn to reveal the woman I knew was there.

I stepped back, breathing hoarsely, concentrating on not coming, on not stepping forward and finishing the job I had started on her dress so that I could have her, here, now.

I heard boot steps and looked to see Master Louis approaching. He didn't look to me, but watched Cara Mia.

Chapter 12

She started to pull her dress together, but paused, and then nodded to him. He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes flicking to me and then back to her, questioning. She nodded again, gave him a little smile and offered a hand to me.

I met her eyes, unbelieving that she would be so forward, then took it, and she pulled me to her for a kiss that traveled down to my neck, then boldly reached a hand for my cock, a place she had never ventured before, preferring to allow me all the liberties.

She cupped my balls, running a nailed finger up the length of my cock. Her skin was hot where I slipped my hands beneath the shredded dress. My hands fit perfectly around the sides of her waist, resting on her flared hips.

It was time. I pulled her with me as I walked back to the back corner of our space, then turned her. She looked at me, questioning as I pushed her forward until she spread her hands against the wall. The red tips of her nails stood out, shockingly bright against the dull gray of the concrete walls. Her bracelet caught bits of light and twinkled gaily.

I lifted her hips.

"Wait," she said, and kicked off the heels. "Ahhh," she groaned. "Much better." I wished I could bring the mat to her, but realized it would ruin the moment. She shook her feet out and flexed her toes before taking up her position again.

"Cara Mia, you are so beautiful in this moment. I will never forget it."

Indeed, the torn dress fell away like a stage curtain revealing the lines of her ass, the knots in the backs her legs, the arch of her back. If I painted, I would have sketched it and called it, "Lines of Desire".

She looked back over her shoulder and I groaned hard. Her face bore the marks of her struggle and I wanted to hold her, comfort her, but knew that the moment I held her I would want to fuck her.

I mastered myself and reached out, pulling on the thong, forcing it down her thighs so that she stood open to me. The image, the dress shredded, thong around her thighs, her hands upon the wall was nearly too much for me.

She shivered as I slipped my hand between her thighs, and she jumped, even knowing it was coming. She was hot and more than moist, slick as I slipped a questing finger across that clenching mouth, between the lips that shrouded her clit.

She arched her back and groaned. I took that as permission to press upon the button that rose up under my fingers.

"Stop. I cannot, this is impossible," she cried.

I paused, but remembered that she knew her safe words and had not uttered them. Perhaps this was a last effort to deny what we did and yet, urge me on.

Her back arched harder and her hips trembled, trying to stay still, yet rocking to the rhythm I inspired. Pinching the lips, I felt her press down upon my hand, that mouth puckering moistly. I slipped one finger, then two into that mouth and she arched harder, rocked faster.

Her fingers splayed against the wall and I could see muscles cord on her arms. Her face was pressed to the wall, her mouth twisted as she gritted her teeth against the exquisite pleasure she felt.

She was ready. I unzipped and pulled out my cock. It felt like wood, like oak, as big as a baseball bat, and I was going to grab her by the hips and shove the length of it into her.

Hurriedly, I pulled the condom out, tore the package, and rolled it down, wishing that I could dispense with this. But she insisted, saying that only her husband would have unfettered access to her.

Perhaps, I thought, I would claim that right one day.

Then I obliged her, holding her hips and fitting myself to her. She was slick and hot and I pressed myself deeply into her. I could feel the muscles of her pussy squeezing against me, pushing me out even as they held me tightly.

I stroked, feeling the G-String against my legs, and she groaned. Pulling the paddle back out of my pocket, I rubbed the fur along her thigh, then flipped it over and began gently flapping the leather side along her flesh, up to her thigh. Lightly, I slapped her with it as I fucked her, each strike corresponding to my strokes. Her cries began to echo that rhythm.

"Ung," she said. "Stop, you must stop. I can't bear it, I can't do this," she cried.

I only stroked harder and she cried, "No, Mr. Twist. No, I can't, it's too much." Then she shoved her fist to her mouth and bent over further, giving me better access. I used it, pulling on her hip while holding the paddle, and gripped the mass of glorious hair, and rode her like I was a jockey on the final stretch.

I felt her pleasure rise up, her snatch gripping my cock, squeezing hard enough that I had to work to keep her from forcing me out. Her groans leaked out around her fist and she chuffed and met each stroke with one of her own.

Then she cried out, a long wail, that sounded forlorn and desperate and triumphant all at once. I felt her come, felt the juices flow and bubble out around my cock.

I bore down and let everything go. When my shudders slowed, I pulled out, kissed the nape of her neck, her shoulders, whispering, "You are truly Cara Mia, my beautiful, beautiful woman."

"Thank you, Mr. Twist. Thank you," she said, her voice hoarse.

"Stay there," I said. I removed the condom, gathered up the blanket, the food, and two bottles of water. Returning with the mat, I pulled the thong up into place, wrapped her in the blanket and sat, letting her down onto my lap as I leaned against the cool wall, cuddling and rocking her as she drank.

I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. After a while, her eyes closed and she drowsed. I watched her and then closed my eyes.

Chapter 13

I must have dozed because I woke when she moved. I fed her strawberries and grapes, and chunks of cheese, followed by water crackers. We shared that feast and laughed at nothing, nuzzling and kissing each other between bites.

"I don't know about you, Mr. Twist, but I have to pee."

"Good enough, Cara Mia. You can change your clothes and we will go and find a bathroom."

"Then you'll take me home?"

"I'll take you home."

"Will you stay with me?"

I hoped that was an invitation to have her again. "Yes, I'll stay with you for as long as you like."

"Good enough, Mr. Twist."

She unwrapped herself and stood. I folded the blanket and gathered up everything while she pulled the clothes out of the bag, stripped off the remains of the dress, and folded it neatly.

"You have excellent taste, Mr. Twist," she said, twirling to show off the charcoal skinny pants and pale pink silk shell that I had packed. "And forethought," she added, slipping on the ballet flats.

I reached for the dress, but she shook her head, tucking it up under her arm.

That was interesting, I thought, as I put on my jacket and laid the pashmina over her shoulders. What would she do with the ruined dress?

I offered my arm and she took it, leaning in close, and squeezing tightly.

Master Louis nodded at both of us as we passed him. She pulled off the domino when the doors to the elevator closed.

Turning to me she grinned wickedly. "I hope you have a lot of money for the symphony fund, Luiz."

"However much, it will be completely worth it, Tasha."

She giggled and I chuckled, my heart light, our steps clicking in time as we walked off the elevator. I reached for the domino, but she shook her head, tucking it into the folds of the tattered dress.

"I think I'll keep this. Mr. Twist might call again and Cara Mia ought to be ready, don't you think?"

I pulled her to me and kissed her deeply. "I do, Tasha, I certainly do."

About the Author

Theda Hudson's deliciously wicked short fiction has appeared in
Best Lesbian Erotica
2011 and 2015,
Best Lesbian Romance
2011 and 2012,
Best Women's Erotica
2007,
Sex in San Francisco
,
Pirate Booty
, and
Best S/M
III. Her novels include
Dyke Valiant
, an erotic lesbian urban paranormal, and
The Pearl Witch
and
Lord of the Broken Tower
, both hetero erotic science fiction. She lives in Colorado with four rescued cats, 1000 books, and an understanding partner. She likes to use her writing to share things women don’t usually get to talk about. You can find more about her at
http://www.thedahudson.com

Authors careers depend on reviews. Please consider leaving an honest review of this story.

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Other Works by Theda Hudson

The Pearl Witch

Lord of the Broken Tower