Alison's Wonderland (8 page)

“Right your chair,” she told him.

“Of course,” he said. “My apologies, Madame. I did not mean disrespect. Of course I would never call you—”

“First,” said Belle, her breath coming short, “I would like to summon Andrew.”

“Why?” asked Beast, looking cowed. “Do you fear me? Do you—” His shame turned to anger, evident on his face. “Do you think he’ll protect you if I
do
wish to hurt you?”

Belle felt her stomach swirling as she made her decision.

“I wish to have him here.”

“All right,” said Beast, and called Andrew’s name.

The servant arrived, and with a gesture from Beast, he stood next to Belle’s chair. Belle immediately reached out and unfastened his breeches.

Beast’s eyes went wide in horror. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve some business to finish up,” said Belle. “This man’s been positively a saint to me.”

Andrew’s eyes were darting about with a violent conflagration of confused dismay, shock and pleasure as Belle undid his breeches and pulled out his good-size cock. He was mostly soft, but that did not last more than the ten seconds during which Belle bent forward and applied her swirling tongue to his shaft and head.

Beast watched, eyes wide, mouth open, as Belle slicked up her fingers with olive oil from the dish and began to stroke Andrew’s cock.

“I’m a bit confused,” Beast said.

Andrew let out a desperate squeaking sound as Belle took time to caress his balls with one hand while applying the palm of her other hand to the underside of his head.

Belle twisted her naked body awkwardly so she could face Beast while using both hands to beat off Andrew. She said, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude—I’ll face you as I talk to you.”

“I’d very much appreciate it,” said Beast, his expression one of utter disbelief.

“So, I’ll try to be frank, Sir… I’ll not call you Beast any longer, Sir, because I believe that is a sorely misapplied nickname.”

At once, Beast bristled and glowed. He nodded.

“You know, as I do, that when my Master sold me, for quite a healthy price, I know—all he was selling was the right to first negotiation. You own me insofar as I allow you to own me…Master.”

Belle had used that word quite carefully, savoring the look of warm surrender on Beast’s face as he heard her directing it toward him—along with the heat that rose from seeing her stroking Andrew. The servant, for his part, was biting his lower lip, struggling against his mounting pleasure. Belle looked up at him as she stroked and whispered to him, “It’s all right, baby, I’m going to let you come this time…but not yet, baby, just give me a few minutes. Does that feel good, baby? Do you want to come all over my tits? Good, darling, I’m going to get you off, but you have to be strong for me. Promise? Good boy. Good Andrew. Good
slave.
”

The Beast was staring gape-mouthed as Belle dirty-talked his slave in front of him. She was a guest in his house; she had every right to do so. Until the moment she submitted to the Beast, Belle was privileged to use Andrew as she saw fit, and intended to do so—if only, now, to illustrate her point.

“Any girl worth her salt would beg to kneel before you, Sir,” purred Belle. “You’re rich, you’re sexy, you have a terrible reputation for doing awful things to helpless, tied-up girls—”

“Unearned!” he bleated. “I swear to you, Belle, I only do what—”

“Of course you do,” she interrupted him, her voice rising quickly. “Submissives are like drama critics…everything’s a masterpiece in the newspaper Friday morning, but a travesty in the salons on Saturday night. You’re everything I’d want in a Master, Sir… You see, I’ve got a bit of a reputation myself.” She winked at him.

“Understood,” said Beast, and it was evident from the look on his face—Andrew’s in-progress stroke job notwithstanding—that Beast knew quite well what reputation the insatiably ravenous and fantastically difficult-to-sate Belle possessed. Why else would her own Master elect to relinquish her? “I consider that a major selling point.”

“I’m sure you do,” said Belle, and took great pleasure in making the Beast wait while she bent forward and applied her skilled mouth to slurping much of the olive oil off Andrew’s cock. It was a delicious vintage, probably northern Italian, but possibly—just possibly—Spanish. Or maybe a blend.

Belle had to pause halfway through to say, “Don’t come yet, baby. I’ll get you off, but you’ve got to be strong for me. Can you wait?” Andrew was sweating, his face red and his muscles clenched tight.

“Yes, Mistress,” he gasped, and Belle slurped him back into her mouth, her lips and tongue gliding up and down on his impressive shaft, as Beast watched with increasing desperation.

“Madame Belle, if you’ll forgive me—”

Belle withdrew her wet mouth from Andrew’s cock. She shook her head and cut Beast off. “Uh-uh,” she said. “I’ll never, ever forgive you. You’ll earn each dose of penance, Sir, mark my words.”

“What?” asked Beast.

Belle laughed musically, and continued beating off Andrew as she talked.

“You see, I’ve been a slave for ten years, Sir…and in the last twelve hours I’ve learned to like it on the other side.”

“That’s how I run my house!” cried Beast. “I’m a different man entirely from your Master. He believes all slaves are servants, whereas I believe all servants are slaves! And slaves, Belle…a slave has privileges in my house that no other Master would give her! Please, Belle…kneel for me, and you’ll be a powerful lady, and kneel to no man…no man but me.”

“I want that—” Belle smiled “—minus the kneeling part. I remember how it was that one night. You dominated me, but you…well, Sir, part of you surrendered. Didn’t you?”

Beast was out of his seat again, the chair crashing, his fury erupting as he swept plates and bowls and flagons off the table in a great horrible mess.

He stopped, however, leaning over the table to scream something, with his mouth wide-open—because he’d discovered that he had nothing to scream.

“I thought so.” Belle sighed, looking up at Andrew and stroking his cock. “I believe you did fall in love with me, Sir, and love makes whores of all men. And a whore is just a slut who gets paid, and…you know it, don’t you, Beast? All slaves get paid. Surely you catch my meaning, Sir.”

Beast was panting. He trembled all over and bit his lower lip. “I think so,” he finally said.

“Good,” whispered Belle. “You see how I’m treating Andrew? That’s what you can expect…the same cruel kindness. Surely you know what we did all night, don’t you, baby? Sir?”

Beast reddened.

“He was watching through a knothole,” said Andrew boldly. “He saw everything.”

Beast gasped and looked down in shame.

“Good slave,” said Belle, and in that moment neither man was sure to whom she was referring. It was a telling moment for both men.

Belle turned her eyes up to Andrew. “All right, baby. I’m going to let you do it. Just surrender. Come for me, but keep eye contact.” Both slick hands worked steadily on Andrew’s cock, aiming it at her breasts while she held Andrew’s eyes in hers.

Andrew let out a great cry and shook all over as he came. He never broke eye contact with Belle, and her soft moans and cooing sounds coaxed him on to greater heights of eruption. Soon her perfect breasts were anointed—the baptismal male orgasm of Belle’s life as a dominant.

She released Andrew’s cock.

“Thank you, baby.” She sighed. “You can go. I’ll spank you later.”

“As…Mistress…wishes,” gasped Andrew, and limped out of the room.

Belle turned her attention to Beast, who leaned heavily on the far end of the table, staring at her, enraptured.

Belle pushed her chair back from the table, running her fingers through the warm liquid on her breasts. The feel of it was intoxicating, the liquor of power. She licked her fingers and remembered the taste of so many men while she rested on her knees—this taste was different, so different. A different beast entirely.

“Surely you catch my drift, Sir?” she asked him. “I believe you’re in love…and these are my terms, Sir. Take it or leave it.” She lifted her legs, draping each knee over the arms of the wooden chair, her high-heeled, pointy-toed boots dangling fetchingly where Beast could easily see them.

Belle smiled. She could see the Beast’s eyes roving over her naked body, and particularly lingering on her boots. Beast came around the table, walking through the detritus of his fury, his boots crunching on crackers and squishing on poultry. He walked to Belle’s chair and stood before her, stealing glances at her naked, spread body as he tried, without much success, to keep his eyes on the floor.

“I’ll take it,” said Beast. “Mistress.”

Belle laughed musically. “Good slave,” she said. “Why don’t you take my boots off?”

Beast lowered himself to his knees and reached for Belle’s laces.

“But clean them first,” she told him. “It’s such a long, filthy trip from my chambers.”

“Of course, Mistress,” said Beast, bending forward to apply his tongue to the already immaculately clean leather of Belle’s tall boots.

She almost reached out and, seizing Beast’s long hair, guided him where she
really
wanted his mouth to go.

But she relented, at the last moment, and decided to let him actually clean her boots. She was more than satisfied, for now—and the first order of business, anyway, was to shave that epic beard. When it came down to it, Belle really preferred the clean-shaven type.

“You’re kidding.”

Laura took a sip from her drink, restraining the impulse to chug. The liquid slithered down, warming her. She’d ordered a double and a double is what she got. Goodwin’s Gulch never watered down its drinks.

“I’m not,” Laura said.

Carolyn frowned, toying with her own drink. “Laura, I think you’re a wonderful human being. You’ve been my best friend for years. But one thing you ain’t is irresistible to guys.”

Laura sighed. She had really hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but Carolyn obviously needed proof.

“Look at the bar,” she said. “The hunka-hunka burning love there.”

Carolyn turned slightly to look while Laura indulged in another gulp of liquid comfort. She knew what her friend would see. Tall, broad-shouldered, to-die-for guy leaning against the bar, tossing comments to Rick Goodwin, who stood behind the bar, making drinks and watching the Chicago Bears on the television. Every so often, hunka-hunka would scope the scenery. Not that there was much right
now. The action in this Chicago bar didn’t heat up until after 10:00 p.m. on Fridays and Saturdays. Sundays at 4:00 p.m. only brought out the regulars like herself.

“Cute,” Carolyn said, turning back to her.

“Watch,” Laura said.

She pulled off her sunglasses and waited until hunka-hunka’s glance slithered in their direction. When their eyes met, hunka-hunka’s jaw dropped and even from a distance, Laura saw desire flare in his eyes. As Laura dropped the sunglasses over her eyes, hunka-hunka moved toward their table, oozing seduction. He was good-looking, all right, with dark hair long enough to touch his collar. Sensual lips. Deep blue eyes that promised all sorts of bedroom pleasure.

Laura felt nothing.

“Can I buy you ladies a drink?”

Translation: Can I get you into bed? Namely, the fat one there in the gray dress?

Laura treated him to an artificial smile. “We’re fine, thanks.”

“I could use a drink,” Carolyn said, longing heavy in her voice.

“Your friend said you were fine,” Hunka-hunka said, his eyes not leaving Laura.

Translation: I don’t give two craps about you. I want to fuck your friend. The fat one in the gray dress.

Laura wished she hadn’t started things. “Maybe in a few minutes,” she told him.

He treated her to an intimate smile. “Later then,” he said softly, then sauntered away.

Carolyn stared after him, then turned on Laura. “You weren’t affected by
that?
Jesus, I’m creaming in my pants!”

“I know,” Laura said gloomily.

“It still doesn’t prove anything.”

Laura gritted her teeth. Her friend would need a little more convincing.

“The table near the door. The guy in the business suit, working away at the laptop,” she said.

Carolyn looked, then shrugged. “He’s married. Gold band on the left hand and all.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Laura removed her glasses and stared hard at the man. He wasn’t as good-looking as hunka-hunka, who was still eyeing her longingly. But he’d pass. After a few moments, married guy looked around as though feeling her gaze. As his glance met Laura’s, he straightened up. She could see the internal struggle: remain faithful to wifey or try to go for a fast fuck with the fat chick?

Wifey apparently went out the window. The man stood, and Laura half expected him to come to their table. Instead, he went to the bar and conferred with Rick, who glanced at them, then nodded. As the guy returned to his table, he stared at Laura, a knowing smile creasing his lips.

Rick came to them, drink in one hand, note in the other, and Laura hurriedly put her sunglasses in place. “Compliments of Chris, there,” Rick said dryly as he handed Laura the drink and note. Laura opened it. It contained a room number at a nearby hotel and a sentence:
Stop by later, if you have time. Chris.

Laura passed the note to Carolyn. “Thanks, Rick,” she said.

“Sure thing, Laura.” He seemed about to say something, then went back behind the bar.

Carolyn blew a breath and passed the note back. “Okay, explain this to me again.”

Laura gazed morosely into her drink. “Ken and I broke up about six weeks ago. I caught him cheating and threw his sorry ass out the door.”

“I remember,” Carolyn said, nodding.

“I was so miserable, I wanted to be more attractive to men. I cried myself to sleep and then this—this angel came to me
in a dream. Tall guy. Long, blond hair, with wings. Clutching a bow and arrow.”

“Sounds like Cupid.” Carolyn finished her drink.

“Whatever. He told me my wish was granted. Since then, I’ve been irresistible to men. All I have to do is look at them and—and they become sexually aroused. They won’t leave me alone,” Laura said miserably.

“Why is this a problem?” Carolyn said impatiently. Laura buried herself in her drink. She’d never win an award for Raving Beauty of the Year, especially carrying thirty extra pounds. Being the sexual target of men had been a heady experience. At first. “The problem is—” She stopped, felt herself turn red. “I don’t get any enjoyment out of it.”

Carolyn shrugged. “Lots of women don’t have an orgasm—”

“I can’t get turned on.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

“That’s a problem. There has to be a way out,” Carolyn said practically. “Maybe you can—uh—dream up that long-haired cutie again?”

“I’ve tried.”

At the nearby table, Chris stood and ran his eyes over Laura, clearly undressing her in his mind. He put the laptop in his briefcase, blew a kiss and left.

“Unbelievable,” Carolyn said. “It’s kind of like whosee-whats. You know, Midas. The golden touch. Everything he touched turned to gold. Even his daughter.”

“I don’t have to worry about that. At this rate, I’ll never
have
a daughter.”

“Hey.” Hunka-hunka was back. He grabbed a chair, placed it next to Laura and sat, sliding an arm around her shoulders. Ignoring Carolyn, he pulled Laura close.

“Not to rush you, sweetheart, but I’m rock hard for you,”
he whispered in her ear. As he ran his tongue over her earlobe, he took her hand and placed it on his crotch.

Laura removed her hand and forced a smile. “My friend’s over there,” she murmured. “Just give me a few more minutes, okay?”

“Anything you want.” His hand moved across her breasts and slid over her hip to her upper thigh, where it lingered. Then he pulled away, stood and sauntered off.

Carolyn stared at her. “I can’t believe you didn’t feel anything from
that.
”

Carolyn had a point. There was something raunchy and exciting about being felt up by a guy before her friend. But Laura felt nothing.

“If you were a real friend, you’d take him off my hands,” she said. “I’m exhausted. I can’t take much more of this.”

“Well—” Carolyn glanced at hunka-hunka and grinned.

“Thanks.” Laura stood. “I’m going to the bathroom. How long will you need?”

Carolyn studied hunka-hunka for a moment, who was still staring at Laura. “Five minutes,” she said. “Assuming he won’t be lusting after you.”

Laura shook her head. “Once I’m gone, they forget about me.”

“Okay. I’ll tell you how it works out.”

Laura nodded and went into the bathroom, hoping hunka-hunka wouldn’t follow her. It wouldn’t have been the first time some guy trailed her into the ladies’ loo. But thankfully, he didn’t seem to be into bathroom trysts.

Laura perched her sunglasses on her head, taking stock of her reflection in the mirror. The gray dress hid her ample curves. Her long, dark hair was parted in the middle and pulled back into a ponytail. Her round face with her bow-shaped lips and dark brown eyes was free of makeup. No way was she any guy’s fantasy. But tell the guys that.

Sighing, she turned from the mirror, washed her hands perfunctorily and glanced at her watch. Hopefully Carolyn had wooed hunka-hunka away and she could enjoy another drink, or two, or three or more, in peace. When she emerged from the bathroom, Laura saw the bar was empty. Carolyn had cleared out with her hot stud.

“Your girlfriend left with your boyfrien,” Rick said. Laura slid onto a bar stool and glanced at the television. The Bears were losing. Nothing new there.

“I asked her to,” she told him. At Rick’s curious look, she shook her head. “Just get me another bourbon, please. Make it a double.”

Rick grabbed a bottle and poured. “Why the dark glasses?” He touched the glasses perched on her head and Laura looked at him, startled, then cursed herself. She’d forgotten to cover her eyes. By all rights, Rick should have been all over her.

She looked at him again, and he winked at her. It seemed as though she had no effect on this man. Probably a good thing; he wasn’t her type. Still, he was cute, with short blond hair contrasting nicely with intelligent, humorous gray eyes. He topped out at around five-nine, and was nicely proportioned. He had his share of women lusting after him, but Laura was relieved she could look one guy in the eye without getting him hard.

“Tell Uncle Rick all about it, okay? You can trust me.”

He took her hand in what was clearly meant to be a friendly gesture. But Laura yanked it back, a bolt of sudden and unexpected desire slamming through her. She stared at Rick, noticing the sudden spear of lust moving across his face before disappearing into astonishment. They stared at each other for a long moment before Laura found her voice.

“Rick—?”

“Office, Laura,” he whispered harshly. “In the back. I’ll be there in a minute.”

He slid from behind the bar and made his way to the front door to lock it. Laura didn’t hesitate, but went to Rick’s office and opened the door. It was a small room, containing a desk and some boxes stacked near the door. But it was the sofa that caught her attention. As she yanked the elastic band from her hair and undid the zipper of her dress, Laura saw herself and Rick indulging in carnal delights on that piece of furniture. The image was so vivid, her body throbbed, and she groaned.

A moment later, the master of her fantasies came through the door, slammed it shut and pinned her against the wood, kissing her with a hard passion. His tongue danced with hers and Laura clung to him breathlessly. She moved her hips against him, feeling his cock press through their clothes against the juncture of her thighs, and she moaned.

“Jesus,” he said breathlessly in her ear. “One minute I’m talking to you, the next minute, I want to fuck you…I haven’t gotten hard in weeks…”

Feeling desire rampant through her body, Laura ran her hand between his legs, playing with his rigid penis through the fabric of his jeans. She unzipped him, slipped her hand into his underwear and trembled at the feel of his hard, pulsing flesh against her palm.

Rick removed her hand. “No. Get undressed and lie down on the sofa.”

Laura backed away from him, removing her dress and yanking off her bra, tearing her stockings in her haste to get out of them. She lay on the sofa, closing her eyes, slippery warmth throbbing between her legs as she grew wetter. It was as though weeks of numbness were melting away, her pent-up lust unleashed at the hands of this acquaintance-lover.

Laura’s eyes flew open at the touch of cloth on her arms and she saw Rick, half-naked, face intent, as he leaned over her and tied her wrists together. For a moment she quailed—she’d never been bound during sex. But the thought of herself
naked and helpless boosted her excitement and she caught her breath.

“Rick,” she whispered. “Do me. Jesus, I’m so hot for you…”

“Patience.” His voice was hoarse. He smiled at her and, taking a bottle from his desk, poured some of the contents in his palms. The smell of raspberries permeated the room as he came forward, rubbing his hands.

“Massage oil,” he said huskily. “Something told me to buy it. I’m glad I did.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders, then moved them smoothly over her breasts, the oil on his palms warming as it penetrated her flesh. Wrists bound above her head, Laura was helpless as he stroked her stomach, then moved to caress her breasts.

“My nipples,” she gasped. “Lick them, Rick. Please.”

He took one of the hardened peaks in his mouth and tongued it before moving to the other. Laura groaned and arched her back, lust spearing a path to her groin. She was dimly aware she was pleading with him as his lips and hands moved from her breasts to trace patterns across her stomach before going lower.

Breath hot in her throat, Laura arched her back again, wanting him to caress the tender flesh between her swollen nether lips. But Rick continued teasing her, his lotion-laden hands moving silkily over the flesh between her legs. His lips followed, laying tiny kisses on the skin of her inner thighs, moving close to her pussy before retreating downward again.

Laura pounded her bound wrists on the sofa, unable to take much more of this erotic torture. Then Rick’s mouth was on her lower lips, French-kissing them, his tongue darting out to caress her swollen clitoris. He lapped slowly at her engorged folds and Laura screamed, the heat of her climax engulfing
her, submerging her in almost unbearable passion. Rick continued tonguing her, and she was hit broadside by a second orgasm, her body spasming in unspeakable pleasure.

Rick released her when her voice was little more than a choked-out whimper. He left her for a moment and she heard him slide off his clothes.

“I want to fuck you,” he said softly. “I’m so damn hard for you, I can’t stand it…”

Unable to speak, still trembling, Laura watched as Rick knelt between her open legs, stroking his enlarged penis, his glance catching hers. She nodded, her body tensed in anticipation of his entry. He slid into her and Laura moaned at the touch of his hard flesh moving against her swollen walls. She wrapped her legs around him as he set a steady rhythm, her hips moving involuntarily. Astonishingly, she felt the warmth of a pending orgasm begin to flood her body again, and she gazed at Rick.

“I’m going to come,” she said, gasping.

“Do it,” he said hoarsely. “Oh, sweet Jesus…”

Laura felt his release a split second before her own. She cried out, giving in to her climax and when it was over, collapsed beneath him, her breath coming out in sobs.