Poor Little Rich Slut (2 page)

All was quiet now. I could hear the loose trash swirling, leaves rustling against the asphalt, and an occasional clang of something in the distance. But there were no voices. There was no music. I could barely smell the popcorn and the cotton candy; their odors were just lingering traces now from earlier in the day.

But my mouth watered still. And my body trembled with excitement. My pussy dampened, and I felt my fears crawling up my back and whispering in my ear,
“Eleanor, you shouldn’t be here. Go home…go home…go home…”

Every inch of me was on alert and ready to run for my life by the time I got to the carousel. I gazed about, seeing nothing but the motionless merry-go-round, the pretty painted horses, the pink sea serpent and the growling yellow lion, all frozen and fixed, but screaming out to me.

“Ellie.”

I jumped at the sound of a human voice and froze like my fellow cast of lifeless players.

“Ellie,” he whispered again from behind me.

I turned around this time.

“Oh, my God!”
My hand went to my mouth. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” Casey the cowboy smiled enough to warm my frozen body. He moved close, head cocked admiringly, and stroked my face. He lifted a lock of my hair as if he’d never seen anything like it before.

“You ready to ride my ponies, huh?”

I could feel the sexual fluttering in my tummy replace the gnawing, agitated fear. I giggled self-consciously.

“What kind of ride did you have in mind, cowboy?” I asked, feeling coy now and flirtatious.

“You come with me,” he said, and he took my hand. We moved briskly to the far side of the carousel and stopped. I seemed to twirl inside his arms, finding myself chest to chest with him, looking up at his face.

“You know, Ellie Barnes, if you want the big thrill, you’ll get naked,” he said.

I figured he laid that proposition on me to see how I’d respond. I didn’t flinch. By then, the sexual throbbing in my belly extended downward. I knew exactly what I wanted and he wouldn’t scare me off.

“And you’ll let me tie you to one of the carousel poles,” he went on. “Then I’ll blindfold you and start the carousel. While you circle faster and faster, you’ll let me play with your naked body. Yeah, Ellie Barnes, you let me take you for the big ride, you’ll have the thrill of your life.”

I listened, blushing with embarrassment, but wanting everything he said.
Feeling it.
Imagining every lewd detail.

I stared around. “But what about someone
seeing?”

“No one’s here at this hour.
Just you and me.”

And what if he’s a serial
killer
,
my conscience voiced its disapproval.
Run, Eleanor, run!

No, I won’t run!
I answered the killjoy back emphatically.

I smiled and wiggled in against him. “So, you tie me to one of the poles and start the carousel. Is that it?”

“Yep, that’s what I do.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly. “But maybe you don’t want to do it naked?” he wondered.

“No, no!” I giggled again. “It’s just the kind of thing…” I stopped the thought before I finished. I’d said enough.

“The kind of thing that turns you on?” he finished for me.
“Naked, getting tied, the blindfold…what’s the turn-on?”

“How about all of the above.”
I smiled again, letting my horniness show.

His arousal was as obvious as mine.

I backed out of his arms and while staring him in the eye, stripped down to nothing. My skirt, my sweater, my bra and panties landed on the asphalt at my feet. Above, the night swirled more dangerously; the storm was getting closer. I felt shivers everywhere, arousing shivers, thinking that from all angles, from between the behemoth carnival rides surrounding us, from behind the food booths and the games of chance there were eyes focused on me. Was I the prey for a dozen horny men? Had my cowboy baited his friends with me? What was I doing in this place with this sexy stranger?

I watched him salivate as he watched me.
Then noted his hard cock tenting his jeans.

“You are one randy lady,” he said as he reached for my hand and guided me up the carousel stairs to the metal platform.

With every step, I felt new chills of fear, but my pussy dampened on cue and my belly
spasmed
those tiny pre-cum spasms that make it so hard to stop. He held my arm as he led me through the maze of animals. There was a coiled rope in his other hand that had me guessing. As I bumped against the fancy painted beasts, their faces appeared to grin at me. Their eyes seemed to eerily follow my every move. But when I looked out beyond the carousel into hazy darkness of the carnival, I imagined I saw people moving in the distance.

Shadows, you ninny, just shadows
, I told myself as my body shook with trepidation.

Again, the disturbing thunder rumbled and a little lightning pierced the sky. Then it was dark again, except for the lights of the carousel. The cowboy had them dimmed to low, but I knew those glowing lines of bulbs that circled the bright merry-go-round made it a beacon of light in the inky darkness, something to watch with mesmerized eyes.

“You know, Ellie, if you want to do this right, I’ll tie you between two poles.” Ah! The purpose of the rope! I feared it less than he imagined, although he wouldn’t know why. “You may lose the comfort of hanging on…but there you’ll be—suspended, free, your breasts, your ass, your pussy, open to the air and the wind and the rain, when it comes down. That is, if you’re that daring?”

I looked at him and nodded, feeling my voice fail me, though my body still clung to its desire. I gave him my answer by stepping between two shiny golden carousel poles and spreading my arms and legs

“I gotta tie you tight, real tight,” he warned.

“Real tight is just fine,” I said, with a quiver of excitement, “I don’t want to slip.”

“No, ma’am.”

He bound my arms from my elbows to my hands, and bound my legs from knee to ankle, winding his thick rope around my limbs again and again, until they felt welded to the poles. I couldn’t move, but I could feel the wind, and the stickiness of the humid air, just like he said. I could feel the caress of the breeze tickling my privates and dancing about my labia alongside my clit. The breeze made it cold between my thighs where I was wet.

He tied a blindfold over my eyes and seconds later, the carousel began to move, slowly to start, then it picked up speed.

My weight shifted. I panicked, thinking I’d fall to the platform, but the ropes held me fast. No matter how much my body shifted, my feet were firmly pressed to the metal and my upper body would go nowhere.

The breeze rushed hard against my face, against my chest and between my legs. Although I felt chilled, cold and clammy, my inner body warmed with sexual heat.

Everything came on me fast.
Every tickle of wind and jarring move.
Every back and forth worked against a feverish brain that couldn’t keep up. I’ve been beaten almost senseless for sexual pleasure, but nothing was as wild as this cruelly wondrous carousel, going round and round without stopping; I its naked prisoner.

Just when I thought I might pass out, my cowboy moved in behind me with his hands claiming me as they had on the bridge. I came back to the world and to my mind, as he touched everywhere my flesh smoldered hot. My tits were mauled and my taut nipples pinched until I squealed. He explored my furrow down below in
both places
, ass and cunt, prodding, poking, pinching, all in preparation. All the while, the carousel moved and the music played and my body fed on every sound and touch and smell.

I could hear his seething breath behind me, smell his body,
feel
his erection growing hard. My head began to spin, growing dizzy, growing faint, becoming aroused with all my body senses engaged in a battle of fear and a war of arousal.

Then the cowboy moved in front of me and his fingers jabbed inside my cunt. I started to cum hard against them, screaming—this time I’m sure it was louder than the music, that pretty song of the merry-go-round. I can hardly remember it now.

“Oh, god,
yessssssssssss
!
Do it! Do it! Do it harder!”

Everything in me disengaged and still we spun on that grinding axel. He plastered kisses on my mouth and on my throat and my chilled breasts. Then I climaxed again as the cowboy entered me from the front and his arms embraced my beleaguered body. He jarred me hard as we fucked. The thrill of
cumming
over and over again only compounded. I couldn’t stop. I writhed on his body with my bound one out of control and barreling toward nowhere, toward some uncertain oblivion, toward the terrifying fear that I was going beyond what I could handle.

“Oh, God, please, please stop this!” I finally shouted to the wind, hoping the cowboy would hear me. As I screamed to stop, he was already pulling out of me, leaving my dripping cunt to make a pool of cum and juices on the metal platform. The wind cooled me down as the carousel spun on into the night. Just before I was about to rise from my oblivion and raise a desperate complaint, I felt the merry-go-round begin to slow and heard the cheery music die.

I slumped with relief, hanging inside the ropes exhausted; they were a little looser now, but they still held me upright. I heard the rain beating on the roof; the skies had opened. Cool water splashed my toes and left a wet layer on my already sweaty skin. At my ankles, I could feel the knots begin loosen as Casey untied the rope.

My cowboy carried me from the carousel into the small white building beside it. He laid me on his bed, covered me with a dry towel and handed me a glass of juice.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I think so, but my head’s still spinning,” I said.

“It’s going to feel that way for a while. But you can stay here till it passes.”

“Thanks,” I said, looking into his eyes. The scent of the carnival was all around us still; I must have been coming back to life to think that clearly. I could focus on his face. I could feel my body parts beginning to move. With a few deep breaths, I was almost normal again.

“Too much, huh?” he looked a little worried.

“No, no, not too much, just…” what was the word, “shocking,” the only thing that came to mind.

He chuckled. “First time I heard a carousel-slut tell me that.”

“Carousel-slut?”
“
Sorry. That’s what I…” He stopped. Somehow he knew that what he said next wasn’t going to sound good.

“That’s what you call
all
the girls you torment on your merry-go-round, is that it?”

“Guess so?” He sort of blushed.

“And if I want to come back?”

He liked that. His eyes glimmered darkly. “We could do other things too. By day this is a kid’s paradise, by night a haven for the wicked.”

“
Ooo
, my, you’re like the devil.”

“Some girls like that.” He sounded proud.

“Well you can count me in.”

“You know,” he hedged a bit, as if he were wondering whether to say what he was thinking, “
you
know, I make toys, special sex toys, mechanical things…”

“What do you mean? What kind of things?”

“Fuck machines. That’s what I call them. Maybe you’d like to try them too, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said weakly. “Maybe I’d like to try them too.”

Early the next morning, I walked out, intact. The memories, seared into my mind, kept coming back every minute of my day. I couldn’t shake them. Yes, I wanted to return. I knew I had to. This was exactly what a troubled heiress like me needed now, I told myself. I would return to the cowboy’s carnival, with his carousel and his fuck machines, and I’d forget Garrison Tate—let him stew in his juices wondering what happened to me.

Eight months prior…

“I am not an ice queen!” I shrilled, flinging my martini glass over the garden wall and against the brick façade before me.

I could feel the tension in me begin to trickle away as I let off steam. But my relief didn’t last long.

“What the fuck!” a strange voice interrupted my moment. A second later, a head popped up from the other side of the low garden wall. A man turned my way as he stood up and gazed at me from head to toe. “Don’t think I ever accused you of that.”

My hand went to my face in shock. “My God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were there.”

“Yeah, I was sitting right there on the bench,” he pointed to where I couldn’t see. He shook his head, amused. I wasn’t sure if he was handsome; his grin was so disarming, being both cocky and charismatic. He had a presence about him that moved through me like a silent steady wave.

“Please, I was…”

“No, need to explain.” His smile seemed to broaden even more. “Breaking glass just does something to the soul, doesn’t it?”

“Well, yes. I suppose it does.”

“So, I guess we haven’t had the pleasure. I just got back in town.” He held out his hand to shake mine.

I could feel the awkward introduction coming on and fended it off before he could say more. Getting my wits about me, I said, “Listen, you seem to be a reasonable man. Let’s just forget this ever happened. You never saw me… How would that be?”

He nodded, looking a bit surprised but not at all dismayed. “Sure. I’m easy. Never saw you—although I’m afraid it’s going to be hard to forget your pretty face.”

I blushed. “Well, you’re very kind. But I better
be
going back inside.” I found myself wanting to say more, needing to explain when no explanation was necessary.

So unnerved by the man’s earnest, plainspoken spirit, I practically stumbled on the hem of my white evening gown as I turned around and moved back inside the ballroom I’d just fled. I’m sure I’d be missed by now and, at that moment, resented that fact. I’d just as soon leave the Mayor’s Ball for good. I certainly didn’t want to see my date, Ashton Vickers, after what he said drove me outside in an insane rant. But I was almost certain that I couldn’t spend another second with that strange man in the garden. He couldn’t have been more gracious under the circumstances, but I felt as if he could see right through me.
A dangerous thing for a woman like me.

***

My heels clicked authoritatively as I made way down the corridor. I nodded, giving those I passed a pleasant smile. I assume they knew why I was there, but with Daddy, I could never be sure. My first day on the job I expected things to be a little awkward, a little rocky perhaps. After all, there was a changing of the guard. Dick Meredith had been canned the week before and not everyone thought it was a good idea, especially since I was taking over. I could hear some saying under their breaths—‘smells of nepotism,’ afraid my father had made a big mistake this time.

But Gordon Rule does not make mistakes when it comes to the management of his companies. He’d been grooming me for this position ever since I showed an interest in becoming part of my father’s grand empire, which includes everything from designer toiletries to gourmet food to Haute Couture to the latest magazines on art, science and decorating. I’d told him I wanted a position at one of the magazines. He said that once I had my MBA from Stanford, I could have my choice—editor-in-chief of any one of the half-dozen publications he owned. He recommended I choose the biggest and most successful since he was priming me for taking over the entire publishing division.

I got my MBA at twenty-five, then interned in two fast-paced magazine environments where I ruthlessly tackled the industry making sure that I knew all the angles from finance to marketing to editorial content. I indulged my desire for success to such a degree that I succeeded in leaving my friends behind. I didn’t have time for parties and a social life. Except for playing a vigorous game of tennis three days a week and doing yoga every morning for a half hour, I spent my time in the pursuit of my career and little else.

I’d sworn off sex early on, while I was an undergraduate at Yale. After seeing a picture of me falling down drunk—I swear it was the only time I’ve been drunk in my life—splashed across the society page, with some loathsome comment impugning my character, I resolved right then that I’d walk the straight and narrow. I had nothing against sex, but given my father’s wealth, my older brother’s youthful and well-chronicled indiscretions, and the family good looks—which I seemed to have inherited—I was a prime target for sleazy journalists who were out for gossipy headlines about the world’s elite. I had my plans and would not let reckless
partying,
or even a hint of loose sex, soil my reputation. After that one picture, I provided no more fodder for the gossip sheets.

The fact that I was a virgin at twenty-eight years old didn’t seem at all strange to me, although I certainly didn’t want to admit that to anyone. The truth was, I was beginning to feel edgy and nervous about my squashed sex drive—was it even healthy? Obviously, the incident at the Major’s Ball with Ashton Vickers signaled some restive something going on inside me. How his accusation stung! Ice Queen. It repeated in my mind and I wanted to shrivel away and die.

But not today…
I couldn’t think that way today.

Everything was perfectly in order. I was immaculately dressed in a crisp navy suit to signal my authority. I had it designed especially for this moment. The white silk blouse was intended to soften the look. Walking confidently to my new world inside Daddy’s publishing realm, I couldn’t have been more proud or sure of myself and my ability to show this organization that they had a competent and innovative leader ready to make Country Manor magazine a trendy new-millennium tour de force.

I slipped into my office, closed the door and gazed at my big walnut desk—over the weekend I’d arranged everything so I’d be ready for this Monday morning. I was about to break out into a squeal of delight—I’d won my victory in spades—but as I moved behind my desk and turned to sit, I spotted at the far side of the room, a strange figure with his back to me, inspecting a knickknack in the walnut étagère against the wall.

“I beg your pardon.” I was stunned to be taken so off guard, and even more stunned when the man turned around.

My uninvited guest seemed equally as surprised to see me, although he managed to recover first.

“Well, my, we do meet again. What is it, Ms. Rule? Or will it be Ellie?” His smile was just as broad and cocky as it had been that night at the Mayor’s Ball when he dodged my flying martini glass. At that moment, it seemed glaringly out of place in my world, in
my
office, ruining
my
first day on the job.

“Excuse me if I’m being blunt, but who ARE you and what are you doing in my office?”
Before he could answer, my father rushed in. “Ah, Ellie, you’re here. Sorry I’m late. I see you’ve met Garrison.”

“Garrison?”
This was Garrison Tate?

My father stared back and forth at the two of us, appraising what had become a very clumsy situation.

“We were actually just introducing ourselves.” I turned my attention back to the stranger and held out my hand. “Eleanor Rule. You can call me Eleanor.”

“Eleanor it is,” Garrison said with the same quirky confidence.
He moved forward, shaking my nervous hand with an air of triumph. I’m not sure I understood that obvious expression, but it was unmistakable. What had appeared like good-natured graciousness at the Mayor’s Ball in face of my outburst seemed more like gloating now. This was not the way I wanted to begin my day.

But so it was…

It didn’t take a week before I had my first argument with my ‘second in command’ as Daddy liked to refer to Garrison Tate, much to my irritation. It seemed that he had put him in charge of overseeing just about everything, leaving me very little to do but get used to the world into which I’d just landed. If Daddy hadn’t been in
Italy
buying out some small olive oil company, I would have brought the issue up with him. I wanted challenge, not pampering.

“Hey, you’re doing terrific, Heiress,” Garrison said in his usual jocular way, when I complained to him after my staff meeting.

I bristled at his term for me. At least he only used it when we were alone. At that moment, we were alone in the conference room, discussing the rocky start I’d made with the art department.

“I admit that I need to smooth things over with Anna and Rob,” I conceded. “But that shouldn’t be a problem. In any event, they, like everyone else in this company, will have to realize that things may change around here.” It sounded a little haughty but I was feeling a little strength behind my words as I methodically clipped them off.
A little
too
militaristic?
Maybe.
But with Garrison, it seemed necessary to be both stern and reserved. He had a way of jarring me loose from my moorings every time he was nearby. I resolved to end that. “I have fresh, new ideas. They’ll either adjust or be gone.”

Garrison scowled and shook his head. “
Geez
, woman, you gotta loosen up.”

“Mr. Tate, I don’t appreciate your attitude.”

“I don’t suppose you do, but you gotta lighten up. The
way
you come across makes me wonder if you ever get laid.”

I looked at him shocked. “What was that you said?”

“Oh, you heard me just fine, Heiress. Your prissy attitude makes me wonder if you ever get laid.” He sounded not at all his usually witty self, but self-righteously, pompously smug.

I bristled, knowing that just fed his argument.
“As if that is any of your business.”

“Oh, this is my business. You run around here with a stick up your butt, you won’t get anywhere in this publishing company or the next. Things don’t work by your book of rules and regulations. Your dictatorial management style leaves a lot to be desired. It’s a damn good thing that Gordon put me in here to watch over you…”

“Wait a minute…”

His smirk faded, but his stare became intense. “What? You didn’t know? Didn’t have the smarts to figure that one out? He pulls me in from
Japan
,
where I was happily selling cosmetics, to work with you. Why do you suppose that was?”

By then I was livid, doing everything I could to contain the wrath that smoldered under my calm. “Get out!” I found myself ordering with a pointed finger.

He laughed at my anger. “What? You don’t have a martini glass to fling at me?”

“Out!”

He didn’t have to say another word. The expression on his face said so much—the raised eyebrows, the invading gaze, the
‘I can see right through you, Heiress’–
know-it-all attitude. Problem was he was too damn good at what he did to quarrel with. He’d saved my hide twice in sticky situations that first week.
But this…damn
him! He might as well have called me Ice Queen.

***

I got very drunk that night. It didn’t start out that way. Just a cocktail party; I’d suffered through enough of these to know what to do, how to act. I knew the host, John Sherry, and he was a gem. But his martinis were magical, Russian vodka, imported olives, just a dash of the best vermouth. The third one—and I never drink a third as a rule—just slid right down my throat giving me a heavenly high. I felt like I was floating in a dream.

When I went outside for a breath of air, it was
not
to throw my martini glass against a brick wall. I was followed by the ‘captain of the football team’ sort of fellow who planned on me being his next sexual conquest. His playful hands were enough to get my sexual juices flowing, totally short-circuiting all the ‘fucking’ rules I lived by. Standing at the bar, his innuendo was titillating and sweet, and the way his hulking body loomed over me from behind seemed to engulf me in his masculine testosterone energy. I gently nestled my bottom back against his thighs and felt the pulse of his organ throbbing all the way through his clothes and mine. He slipped his hand under my dress and I
didn’t
turn around and slap him. That must have been a first, and it should have been a warning. Instead of a typical reactionary comeback, I whispered in his ear, pressing my red lips close to his cheek and sexily suggested, “Maybe we should go outside.”

We slipped out without saying a word more. Somewhere in the midst of my confusion, I thought that a breath of fresh air would bring me to my senses. But that was hardly what happened or what I really wanted—Garrison’s accusation still riled me. We moved down the terraced steps toward John Sherry’s garden arm and arm, and slipped behind the carriage house into a thicket of shrubs.

I lifted my face to his, feeling his lips, his face, his mouth devour me. His sweet kisses began at my lips, then rained down my neck and settled in at the crook. I never realized how arousing that sensation could be, or how it would connect with the throbbing in my belly and the hot fire brewing in my crotch. He nibbled at my flesh in the sensitive spot and I thought my entire insides had come to life from a frozen sleep. I’d spent ten years avoiding this and for what?

“
Ooo
, don’t stop,” I heard myself groan, while lifting my neck toward his face as my head fell back.