In Too Deep (29 page)

He’s a BDSM freak, but he can be kind, and very sweet.

‘Come on then, love,’ he says brightly. ‘Let’s move it, shall we?’

He helps me with my skirt, brushing me down lightly, then straightens my jacket. Licking the corner of his handkerchief, he delicately tidies my eye make-up where it’s run a bit from my tears. Finally, he hands me my glove. ‘There! You look gorgeous, old girl.’ He gives me a light, reassuring kiss on my cheek.

‘And you look as if you desperately need a shag,’ I answer cheekily, glancing down at his crotch. He’s got a massive hardon that’s tenting his elegant trousers.

His blue eyes narrow. Threateningly, but with a twinkle.

‘If it didn’t mean we’d be late, I’d thrash you again for your insolence.’

My head comes up. I like to challenge him sometimes, and he likes it too. He winks at me as he opens the passenger door for me. I hiss through my teeth when I resume my seat in the car, my stripes stinging, but after that I’m quiet and full of thought as we race towards the wedding venue.

I like him. I like him probably more than I should. He’s fabulous. Utterly gorgeous. A real catch, handsome as sin, a beautiful man. Tall and dark and roguish with his neat goatee beard, his brilliant eyes and his wicked, teasing smile.

He’s everything I want, but I should have found him twenty years ago.

Now stop that, you silly woman. Just don’t go there . . .

The wedding itself is charming, and takes place in an old country church, but the pews are very hard and unforgiving to my punished bottom. A fact that clearly delights Edward. His eyes glitter, and his smirk is salacious as we share a battered hymnal.

The way he looks at me makes me want to do things that one shouldn’t even think about in church. Like kneeling the wrong way round in the pew, while everybody else praises the Lord, to give my lord and master an extended blow job.

I drift through the reception on a wave of heightened awareness. This whole affair should be about Mandy and her new husband, but somehow they seem distant, on the periphery of my attention. All I can think about is Edward and his hands, his mouth, his cock. Speculative glances follow us wherever we go. I can see the surprise, imagine the muttered comments. Isn’t that the IT guy with Jane Mitchell? The hot one who set up the new system a while back? How come those two are here together?

You don’t know that half of it, people. And if you did, you wouldn’t believe it.

Edward takes every opportunity to touch me, obviously aware of the interest in us. He guides my arm as we enter the house. He touches my back as we head towards the bridal receiving line. He pats my bottom, making me gasp, as we step forward to meet Mandy and her spouse, and, preoccupied as she must be, she seems to notice what he does.

‘So glad you could come, Jane, and nice to see you again, Edward.’ She grins widely, accepting our congrats.

Throughout the champagne swigging and canapé nibbling, Edward keeps eyeing me, that wicked, arch look on his face. His glance keeps drifting to my frontage, and the deep V of my suit jacket, as if he’s speculating about what lies beneath it.

Wouldn’t you like to know, mister.

After I’ve adjusted my lapels a couple of times, to let him know I’ve noticed his interest, he suddenly takes my champagne glass from me, knocks back the half-inch in it, and grabs me by the elbow and steers me towards the open French windows that lead to the garden. One or two people watch us, including Susan Grey, who works in my office, and I think,
Yes, it’s exactly what you’re thinking!

Always clever at finding a secluded spot to have his way with me, Edward directs me around the side of the house until we happen upon what seems to be an old stable block. There are no horses there now, but we find a stall that’s filled with old boxes and clearly used for storage.

‘Show me!’ he commands.

I don’t have to ask what he means, and with shaking fingers

I unfasten my jacket.

‘Oh, very nice,’ he breathes, in genuine admiration.

I’ve crammed myself into a deliciously naughty and very beautiful bustier. It’s all pink satin and lace and it matches my skimpy thong. The cups are next to nothing, just a bit of frothy gauze, almost transparent, and my nipples are dark and hard, poking and pointing. In Edward’s direction.

He reaches for me, and them, immediately. Cupping and stroking, he rolls the sensitive crests between his thumbs and fingers, squeezing a little as he manipulates me, but not hurting.

‘Just gorgeous . . .’ With respect for a garment that cost a fortune, and which I would only ever buy to please him, he scoops my breasts out of the fragile cups so that they rest on top of them, flauntingly offered. Then to my astonishment, he swoops down and kisses each teat, using his tongue, licking and anointing.

When he touches me again, the faint film of saliva adds a new layer of sensitivity. I moan and work my hips as he flicks and tickles me.

In these sorts of situations, I usually have to wait for permission to touch him, but right now, I can’t help myself. I grab his head, digging my fingers into his thick, shampoo-fragrant hair. When he sucks a nipple again, I groan out loud, loving the sweet tugging sensation that’s echoed in my clit. Caressing his scalp, I throw my head back, almost swooning.

I love this man. It’s mad but it’s true.

Still sucking and toying around my teat with his tongue, he grips my bottom and stirs the flames that are simmering there. It burns hard, yet in my sex the honey flows. I shift my hips about. I can’t keep still. I need him in me.

As if he’s heard my plea, Edward straightens, his dark head cocked on one side, that knowing smile framed by his goatee.

‘If you have it now, you’ll have to pay, you know,’ he says all low and serious, even though I know inside he’s laughing.

‘I know.’ My voice is small, affectedly submissive. I’m laughing too, inside.

‘OK then.’ All business, he glances around, looking, I realise, for somewhere for us to fuck that won’t ruin our posh wedding clothes. He nods towards an old wooden door, oaken and solid, that leads into an adjoining room. The surface is smooth and looks passably clean. I totter towards it, feeling shaky but horny as hell. Edward follows, pushing me onwards, a force of nature.

He backs me up against the wood and it’s hard against my punished bottom. The stripes from his belt are fading now, but I still let out an ‘oof!’ of breath when he throws himself up against me and starts to kiss me as if I’m a hunk of prime filet mignon and he’s a starving wolf. Worry for my make-up shoots through my mind then evaporates. It can be fixed, anything can be fixed. I’ve got to have him.

‘Skirt!’ he orders. Rocking back on his heels, he’s already unfastening that devilish belt of his, then attacking his trousers and underwear to expose his cock. As I rumple up my clothing, ready and eager, I stare downwards.

And now I’m the ravening she-wolf, slavering over his meat.

He’s prime, hard and high and reddened, his glans shining and the veins in his shaft sublimely defined. A work of art. And mine. For the moment. For a split second, I scrabble around for the itsy-bitsy little bag that’s still dangling from my shoulder, but he just says, ‘Leave it!’ and reaches into his pocket.

So, we’ve both brought condoms to the occasion. I have to smile, and he nods and smiles back at me, his blue eyes suddenly beautifully young and merry.

‘Great minds think alike.’ I grin at my own cliché as he efficiently enrobes himself.

He gives me a despairing yet indulgent look, and then summarily grabs my thigh, lifting me and opening me while pushing aside my thong and positioning his cock at my entrance with his free hand.

No preliminaries. No niceties. No foreplay. Who needs it? He shoves in hard, knocking me against the door and making me wince at its impact against my bottom. Throwing his weight against me, he starts to thrust, in and up, in a steady rhythm. I grab his shoulders and grunt in sync as he ploughs me.

Oh God, I’ll never be able to get enough of this! The fucking and the spanking and the games – and the quieter moments too. Even as he bangs away at me relentlessly, there’s a part of my consciousness hovering above us, marvelling at the sexy sight we make.

A beautiful young man, and an older woman made beautiful by the lust for life he’s stirred in her. It might be another old cliché, the one about sex making you bloom, but by hell, it’s surely happened to me with Edward. I feel doubly alive, full of juice, full of energy.

He thrusts and thrusts, going deep, slamming my back, my bottom and my head against the oak. I feel dizzy and it isn’t only from arousal. Or from the way each plunge of his mighty penis knocks my clitoris. I hold on as if my life depends on this. Maybe it does? Orgasm barrels towards me, huge and breathtaking, and I bite my lip, keeping in a scream as it hits me full on. Everything jerks and wrenches and contracts in a delicious spasm. My heart soars even as pleasure tumbles down through me.

Climaxing, I haven’t an ounce of strength left. I’m pinned to the door by Edward, and the way he holds me and powers into me with his cock. He makes a growly noise that’s half-way between a laugh and groan of pleasure, and then he’s coming too, his hips pounding, pounding, pounding me against the unyielding oak. The soreness in my bottom seems a million miles away.

‘God almighty,’ I pant, when my brain eventually re-engages. We’re sort of propped in a general tangled heap against the door, and for all his usual sang-froid, Edward seems as shellshocked as I am.

‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ he says with a broken laugh as he levers himself off me, and straightens up, pushing against our support with both hands. Still not quite with it, I watch as he whips off the condom, knots it and flings it away. Wonder what someone coming to search the boxes will think when they find a used rubber johnny in the corner of their old storeroom?

Within seconds, Edward is zipped up and immaculate again, and with a couple of swipes of his hand, his smooth brown hair is tidy too. I suspect it might take rather longer to bring my appearance to order, but when I start to fiddle with my bustier, he dashes my hands away. Before I can draw breath he gives my nipples a squeeze or two.

‘What a shame to have to cover these. They’re so pinchable.’ The squeezes turn to little nips, and even though I’ve just come like an express train, my body starts to be aroused again. It’s always like that with him. I’m virtually always ready. ‘Wish we had some clamps with us. I’d love to parade you about in front of all these posh folk with your tits on show and clamps dangling from your nipples.’

The way he’s touching me, and what he says, make me feel faint. Because I can imagine it so clearly, almost feel it. All eyes on me and my bare breasts, adorned for his pleasure. It’d be shaming, but at the same time I’d feel proud. Like a prize, a barbarian slave girl . . . well, slave woman . . . all captured and tamed by my hot young warrior.

Still playing around with me, he kisses me again, hard and possessive. Where his pelvis is pressed against me, dear God, he’s hard again. What is it with us two today? Is it the wedding, a traditional celebration of fertility and sensuality? Is it getting to us and making us extra horny?

Pulling away again, he laughs and reaches for the buttons of my jacket, fastening them up while my breasts are still uncovered beneath, resting on the flimsy cups of the bustier. The sensation of the jacket’s satin lining sliding against my sensitised nipples is breathtaking, and I gasp as I move to try and set my skirt to rights.

As if he’s loath to cover up my pussy too, Edward reaches down and gives me a rough fondle there, before unfolding the bundle of my skirt and sliding it down over my thighs and my stockings. With a wicked wink, he licks his fingers, savouring my taste.

‘Well, I doubt if there’s anything as delicious as that at the buffet, but shall we mosey on back inside and see what’s on offer?’ He smacks his lips wickedly, and gives my crotch a last quick squeeze through the cloth of my skirt.

‘I’m going to have to tidy myself up first.’ I try and comb my hair with my fingers, even though I know it’ll take more than that, and a better mirror than the tiny one I have in my handbag. ‘I must look as if I’ve been dragged backwards through a bush.’

Cocking his dark head on one side, he gives me a strange complex smile, and brushes his fingers lightly against my face.

‘You look fabulous. Bloody amazing. And if I didn’t think I was depriving you of all the festivities, love, I’d have your skirt up again and fuck you again right now.’ The smile widens, becomes salacious. ‘Maybe up the arse this time, for variety. Would you like that?’

Desire grinds in my pussy. Dark, twisted desire. The sort that blooms from pain, and strangeness, and intense sensations that dwell in the confused hinterland of discomfort and perverted pleasure.

Oh God, I really want that. I really do.

‘Would you like that?’ he persists, his blue eyes dark and stormy, vaguely satanic.

‘Yes . . .’

‘Yes, what?’

‘Yes, master . . .’ My voice is tiny. I feel light as air, as if I could fall over. But as if he’s more attuned to me than I am to myself, Edward holds me by the arm and keeps me upright.

Leaning in to whisper in my ear, he says, ‘Very well then, slave. I’m going to have your arse before we leave here, I promise you that.’

Luscious fear chokes me, and between my legs I feel a new rush of liquid. ‘But . . . um . . . won’t we need lube?’

‘Never you worry, dirty girl. Don’t you know by now that I’m always prepared?’ He squeezes my bottom, and stirs the fire of my earlier punishment again. ‘Now let’s go.’ He pushes me forward, towards the outside, still cupping my buttocks.

I complain, even though I like it, how I like it.

It’s later and we’ve circulated, we’ve eaten, and I’ve drunk some more. Edward is a god over this. After a couple of glasses of champers, he’s switched to mineral water with a twist of lime. I don’t know whether it’s simply his responsible driver ethic, or that he prefers to keep a clear head for our little games. I suspect it’s a bit of both, but I’m not complaining. I’ve had more champagne and I’m feeling frisky and crazy and horny, and generally pretty fabulous.