The Initiation of Ms Holly (Xcite Erotic Romance Novels) (13 page)

‘Y
OU
M
S
H
OLLY
?’ T
HE
delivery man asked.

She found herself fighting the urge to lie, not sure what Vivienne and The Mount would throw at her next.

‘This is for you.’ He handed her a large oblong box in brown-paper wrapping and eyed her curiously as she signed his electronic pad. No doubt he was wondering what sex toys the pervy chick had ordered that arrived in brown paper. He’d be shocked if he knew what the pervy chick actually got up to. She offered him a sweet smile, and he blushed before turning quickly and disappearing down the hall.

In the privacy of her lounge, she opened the box to discover a black leather cat-suit heavily weighted with zippers, snaps, chains and other pieces of metal which made Rita shiver to even contemplate. She was pretty sure the suit weighed as much as she did. The costume was complete with thigh high boots, a bomber jacket, and a hand-written note that read:

Don’t touch, don’t fondle, and don’t experiment. Just put on the suit and
nothing else
, then wait for me.

Morgan

Visions of the high councilman with the leopard tattoo flashed through her head – and her cunt.

Morgan needn’t have worried that she would experiment or play with the suit, and certainly not that she might put something on under it. There was barely room for skin under it. With the efforts of a contortionist and a fair amount of cursing out loud, she finally got it up over her hips and shoulders, but thoughts of zipping it above her navel made her break out in a cold sweat.

She didn’t have to wait long before there was a soft knock on the door. A glance through the peep hole assured her that it was Morgan. The intriguing tattoo was completely covered in black leather, all topped off with a heavy bomber jacket. She opened the door just enough to let him in.

Immediately his brown sugar gaze took in the unzipped front of the suit and the way her arms were folded protectively over her breasts.

She blushed hard. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m –’

‘Claustrophobic. Yes I know, kitten.’ She noticed the tiniest bit of Western twang. ‘Edward threatened me about it ad nauseam downstairs just now. That’s what took me so long.’

Her heart suddenly leaped into her throat. ‘Edward’s downstairs?’

‘Well, he was. I sent him home. I’m here now, luv, and I promised I’d take good care of you.’

She tried to sound matter-of-fact. ‘How long had he been down there?’

‘Ever since he got your text about someone spying on you.’

‘Why didn’t he come up?’

He held her gaze. ‘Sweet cheeks, you know why he didn’t come up.’ He changed the subject. ‘Now about this lovely suit. Just let me help you with it, and you’ll see why it’s so perfect for someone who suffers from your affliction.’

She struggled to drag her thoughts back from Edward as Morgan coaxed her arms away from her chest and released a long sigh at the sight of her breasts barely covered by the unzipped front of the cat suit. ‘Oh we’re gonna have so much fun.’ He covered her lips in an open mouth kiss that tasted of caramel and coffee. His tongue flicked across her hard palate and wrestled lightly with hers. He slipped his right hand inside the cat suit to cup her breast and raked a thumb over her heavy nipple. Then he rolled it against his index finger until the pinch of it was so close to pain that she held her breath waiting for it. Or was it pleasure she waited for?

Morgan’s chuckle was hot against her mouth. ‘You’re so full of anticipation, kitten, so full of needs you don’t even know about yet. I smell it on you, all of it and more.’ He lowered his mouth to her nape and bit. And she definitely felt pain, but her pussy felt something a whole lot nicer.

Then as though he were about his everyday business, he began to fiddle with the chains on the front of the suit. She could see little of what he was doing, but she could hear a snap here and a chink there and occasionally feel the cool metal against her sternum. At last he pulled away and inspected his work.

Where the zipper would have confined her tits into a breathless hug, there was a loose lacing of chain linked and criss-crossed bustier-fashion revealing the mounds of her breasts while concealing nipple and areola. ‘There,’ he breathed. ‘That’s better, isn’t it?’

He walked around behind her to take in the over-all effect. ‘Ever ridden a Harley?’

‘Motorcycle? No.’

‘Don’t look so frightened, sweetness. I’ve been riding since I was a pup.’ His lips curled into an edible smile. ‘I promise I’ll make it good for you.’

He knelt and helped her into the boots, lingering to suckle her toes and kiss her insteps before guiding her feet into the soft insides then slowly zipping them up and up and up. At last he stood and held the bomber jacket for her. ‘Our steed awaits.’

Outside a few neighbourhood teenagers had gathered around to admire the biggest, sleekest vintage Hog Rita had ever seen, complete with silver wings painted stylistically across the petrol tank along with the words,
Pegasus III.
It took her a few seconds to realise that the boys’ attention had shifted away from the Harley. ‘Could we please go,’ she whispered, feeling like she did in her dreams when she found herself suddenly naked at the office or in the queue at Sainsbury’s.

But Morgan took his time buckling her into the helmet, making sure it wasn’t too tight, making certain she wasn’t claustrophobic. When she started to get on behind him, he shook his head, scooted back slightly and patted the leather seat in front of him.

She balked. ‘Isn’t that illegal?’

‘Not if we don’t get caught.’ He patted the spot in front of him again and chuckled. ‘Trust me. It’s the best seat in the house.’

Trying to ignore the mutterings and the stares of the teenagers, she climbed on the Harley in front of him, a little less gracefully than she had planned. Fortunately the resulting blush was contained within the helmet.

Morgan knew only one speed and that was suicidal. The g-force of acceleration strong-armed her back against his chest with a yelp that was fortunately drowned by the roar of the Hog. It seemed to her that Morgan was taking the fastest way out of town, weaving in and out of traffic with such terrifying manoeuvres that she feared heart failure was imminent. They had only gone a few blocks when she gave up shouting at him to stop. He either couldn’t hear, or was ignoring her.

As the traffic lessened, and he headed out on the A3, she realised he was controlling the Hog with one hand. The other arm was wrapped low around her waist. There was an electronic crackle next to her ear, and his voice filled the inside of her helmet. They had contact. ‘Just relax, sweetness. This is gonna be so good.’

His hand slid lower on her belly until it rested against her pubic bone where it began to fumble until she felt a tug and a zip, and suddenly cool air bathed a horizontal swath of flesh exposed to the night. ‘I love zippers. Don’t you?’ His voice was like a kiss against her earlobe.

There was more tugging and zipping until she felt the pressure of the cat suit lessen against her crotch, as though she had just split her trousers. She caught her breath.

‘Mmm, there. Oh that’s nice.’ His voice was inside her helmet again just before his fingers slid down between her folds and pressed up into her in such a way that the vibration of the big bike beneath them seemed amplified as though it were a giant vibrator. She was suddenly in danger of forgetting that she was in danger of losing life and limb. My God, the bloke’s fingers were expressive as he slipped the middle one deep into her cunt while his thumb raked her pebble-hard clit.

He swerved to pass a lorry. ‘We’re gonna die!’ she yelped inside her helmet. Then she bore down against his hand and the vibration of the Hog, hoping he could keep from crashing until
after
she came.

She didn’t know if he had heard her yelp, but she wondered if he’d heard her thoughts. ‘Lift your bottom,’ his velvety voice filled her helmet again.

‘Are you crazy?’ She gasped.

‘Trust me. Lift your bottom. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe. I promised Edward, didn’t I?’

She held her breath, cursing between her teeth, and struggled to do as he said. She grabbed on to the petrol tank until she was sure her fingernails would dig holes in the paint. Then she squealed as another zipping loosened the hug of the cat suit even further until she was certain the whole crotch of the garment had been zipped away. As if to confirm her suspicions, Morgan’s large hand now stroked her from behind, spreading her lips.

‘Sweet Jesus, you’re slippery, kitten. I believe you really like riding a Hog.’ Then she felt him inch forward on the seat.

He wouldn’t … Surely he couldn’t … ‘Oh my God,’ she gasped. What was crowding against her bottom and nestling up to her pout was too thick and too stiff to be his finger.

‘That’s my girl,’ came the voice in her helmet. ‘Lift your bottom for me. Just a tiny bit more now. Almost there. I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.’ He tightened his arm around her and manoeuvred his hips. ‘That’s it, oh yes that’s the place I want to be. Jesus, Rita Holly, that’s some hot pussy you got there.’ Then all she could hear was accelerated breathing followed by a hard thrust that nearly sent her over the handle bars but for the strong arm wrapped around her. And he was in. Her pussy felt like it would split in two from the sudden, unexpected fullness.

‘That’s my girl. Now lean forward. All the way forward and let the Hog do the work. She felt him change down, and the beast rumbled beneath them. With the substantial length of him so far up inside her, she felt physically compelled to lean forward over the petrol tank until she could feel the cool chains of the cat suit pressing into her bare flesh, until her erect nipples felt like they’d drill clear through the tank.

Then with a hard thrust, Morgan scooted forward again, and she heard him sigh. After that the thrusting and manoeuvring became much more subtle, using the power of the Harley roaring beneath them as the driving force. He had positioned himself perfectly so that each undulation of his hips drove her distended clit against the vibrating leather of the seat. My God, she thought, it was a brilliant way to die.

His breath was soft little grunts inside her helmet coming faster and faster until she thought he must have stopped breathing altogether. The movement of his groin against her became less and less, all the while building in intensity until each minuscule shifting penetrated up her spine clear into the crown of her head, until she was certain the imminent orgasm would surely explode her brain.

When his ejaculation erupted inside her, she felt as though his cock had suddenly expanded to fill the entire space within her pelvic girdle, and her own orgasm tightened and gripped on him until he cried out.

She would have surely catapulted off the Hog with the double explosion in her pussy had Morgan not held her tightly with his free arm, as they sped down the A3 toward the Guildford exit.

She wasn’t sure she hadn’t passed out completely with the intensity of their dual orgasm atop all that horsepower. They were now hurtling down some back road in rural Surrey. Morgan was still controlling the bike with one hand. The other found its way inside her bomber jacket and between the chains to knead and caress her breasts until she was once again bearing down to take advantage of the vibrations of the Hog.

At last he pulled on to a farm road and drove the Harley inside an open barn. There he turned off the engine, dismounted and took off both their helmets. As he moved to shut the door, she couldn’t help feeling a frisson of fear cold and low against her spine.

Near the door he flipped on a light switch that cast the cavernous space into a wild array of dancing shadows, but at least it wasn’t pitch dark. Then he turned to face her, eyes black in the gloom. ‘Now, kitten, I’ll educate you in the pleasures of a Hog, and more specifically the pleasures of a Hog in that suit you’re wearing. Lose the jacket.’

She hurriedly obeyed.

He shifted her until she straddled the seat with her back now facing the petrol tank and handle bars. Then he climbed aboard the big bike as he would if he were getting ready to take a Sunday drive, pushed forward toward her and reached for her breasts. A loud zipping noise echoed into the room causing her to jump.

Zippers that she thought were to breasts pockets were actually pockets to her breasts. Morgan manipulated her tits from openings similar to those she had seen on night dresses for nursing mothers. And nurse he did, noisily, greedily until she found herself practically humping the big bike just from the feelings being generated in her breasts by his mouth.

While she squirmed he lowered both hands to her thighs, but instead of lifting her onto his lap as she expected, there was more zipping and both legs of her cat suit detached. With a little more tugging and zipping, he pulled the detached leggings free from the high boots and tossed them on the straw-covered floor. She lifted her arse off the seat and whimpered, sighing with hopeful relief as he chucked off his bomber jacket and practically crawled on top of her, pressing her back until her spine arched against the petrol tank.

He raked splayed hands along her ribs, breasts and shoulders then coaxed her arms up over her head until she curled her fingers around the handlebars to brace herself. Metal clinked and jangled, and with a little manoeuvring on Morgan’s part, the chains she thought had been decoration on her sleeves became handcuffs securing her to the handlebars.

She cried out in alarm and struggled, but he pressed his middle finger into her snatch and soothed her fears with pleasure. ‘There, there, sweetness. Trust me. It’ll be so good. So very good.’

Once she stopped struggling, he began to unzip what was left of the suit. She watched in fascinated arousal as Morgan uncovered her bit by bit, a zipper here, a snap there. As the leather fell away, Rita could hear the detaching and reattaching of the chains that had adorned the suit. The heaviest link he had augmented with chains from the panniers of the bike, chains that bound her to the petrol tank, encircling her just above and below her breasts in tight bindings that crossed and twisted between her tits and forced them upward and outward until they bulged like over-inflated balloons atop her chest. The pressure made her nipples and areolae swell and ache.