The Key (5 page)

I stepped out of the skirt then kicked it aside, mortified that it sailed through the air and landed on top of his bedside lamp. The room went considerably darker, something I was thankful for, and, despite having hot cheeks, I continued to hum and dance. I possibly looked like a demented giraffe as I stretched my neck and flung my arms about, but I was past caring now. This was fun, something I hadn’t expected it to be, and I intended to enjoy every second of it.

“
Butt
…hmm hmm hmm…
lie
…hmm hmm hmm…”

I went for seductive and pulled the end of one lace of the corset. The bow unravelled, and I went prancing about the room, loosening it, drawing the laces through the eyelets. With only a couple of the criss-crosses left to free, I presented him with my back. I fancied a big reveal, a L’Oréal hair dye advert type swish of my head when I next turned to face him, letting him know I was bloody worth it. I tossed the laces to the floor then gripped the edges of the corset fronts, holding them together over my boobs.

I swished around, one side of my hair going too far and completely covering my face. Momentarily blinded, and keeping hold of my corset, I lifted my other hand to flick my hair back over my shoulder, sure I’d made it appear a part of my routine.

“
Deny
…hmm hmm…”

I sauntered to the bottom of the bed, stood swaying, circling my pelvis then giving jerky thrusts every time
butt
and
lie
came into my head. Catching my bottom lip between my teeth, I tipped my head back so I didn’t have to see his expression, and peeled back the corset.

His sharp intake of breath could have been from shocked disgust or he’d got the wow factor from the sight of my boobs, but I wouldn’t know unless I looked at him. The alcohol from the wine I’d gulped in the kitchen was circulating through me at speed now, and I felt confident enough—or more confident—to lower my head.

He stared at me, right into my eyes, and it was as though time had stood still. I stopped humming, stared back, and Jane Smith tried to climb inside me, whispering
What are you doing? This isn’t like you…

I ignored her and smiled, giving him a salacious wink.

“You’re beautiful, my fair maiden,” he said.

Such a simple thing to say, and only five words, but that was all I’d needed to hear. Chantal was going to give him the ride of his life, no more messing around. No more prancing.

“Come here,” he said, patting the mattress to one side of him.

I let go of the corset and crawled onto the bed, not going to where he’d suggested but straddling him instead. I sat back, bum to his—
oh, he’s swollen
—groin and continued gyrating there, no humming this time. We had maintained eye contact, I couldn’t seem to look away, and what with his dreamy eyes and the roughed-up look to his hair, I’d gone and got myself totally smitten.

Chapter Five

I’d had sex before. Meaningless, quick fumbles in my twenties that had left me cold and feeling vaguely dirty. My last foray into the bedroom with a man had been about six years ago, and since then I’d frigged myself off or used a vibrator, which was better than any man I’d ever had. Tonight would be a revelation, I was sure of it. I had an inkling Chantal would perform far better than Jane, this new self-confidence helping me along. With David looking at me as if I were the most desirable thing he’d ever seen, I didn’t think it would take me long to
feel
desirable, to believe I was.

All I had to do was be convincing enough to make him think I was the siren I pretended to be.

I stared down at him. His hands were still behind his head, propping him up, his mouth in a lazy grin. I revealed my breasts inch by inch, watching him all the while, wanting to see his reaction as soon as it appeared. He didn’t shift his sights down, but stared into my eyes instead.

“Look at them,” I demanded, the words vitalising me, giving me the self-belief I needed so badly. I was Chantal, sexy French lover, all-knowing and sultry.

He lowered his gaze, widening his eyes slightly before going back to normal. He swallowed, Adam’s apple peeking above his shirt collar then hiding again. I let my corset go, and my breasts jutted out, nipples hard, straining, my need for him evident just from those peaks. I shrugged the corset off much as I had the raincoat earlier, shivering with delicious desire as the fabric skidded down my arms and back to fall behind me, a soft, thrill-inducing wedge against the top of my arse. With my top half completely exposed, I felt glorious, free and as far from my old self as I could get.

His cock hardened beneath my gusset-covered cunt, and I inhaled slowly to relish what that felt like. Sublime and orgasm-inducing. I was wet, my folds slick, and if I slid my hands inside now my fingers would come away soaked.

“Take my knickers off,” I said, covering my breasts with my palms and kneading, amazed at my brazenness. I tweaked my nipples between fingers and thumbs, pulling, drawing them outwards, stretching them until I almost whimpered with the pain. “Rip them off!”

He took his hands from behind his head then reached out, hooking his fingers into the thin side straps of my knickers. His skin was warm on mine, so close we could have been fused together. He shook slightly, whether from desire or my demanding I wasn’t sure, and if he didn’t rip them off soon I’d bloody rip them off for him. I didn’t want to wait—couldn’t—and the quicker he made contact with my clit the better. He tugged, but not hard enough, the back band digging into my arse as a result, the cutting pinch strangely sexy.

“Harder,” I said. “You must do it harder.”

As if the word
harder
had been heard by his cock, it grew, steely and rigid now, and God, I wanted to ride it, to press my clit onto it and have an orgasm that made my knees tremble. He yanked, only succeeding in jerking me forwards, and I put my hands out to brace myself on the pillow either side of his head. My hair tumbled down, closing out the rest of the bedroom so that it was only him and me inside that darkened tunnel. I could just about make out his face, shadowed as it was, the slight opening of his mouth that revealed a partial view of his teeth. Teeth I wanted on my nipples, nuzzling, or grazing over my shoulder blade, scraping the skin, me not knowing whether he was about to bite down hard. I lowered my head and kissed him—hard, frantic, and with such longing I surprised myself—his fingers still hooked, his skin still burning into mine. He yanked, the material ripped, and the back of my knickers sprang free, letting a cool kiss of air swoosh over my arse cheeks.

I sat up abruptly, looking down to watch the front flap fall down, exposing my cunt and my obvious, wet need.

“I think you want to lick me, no?”

I shifted up his body without waiting for his answer, positioning my lower half closer to his face. He pushed himself more upright, at the correct height that he could just dip his head and lick that lovely tongue of his from one end of my slit to the other. I shuddered in anticipation of what it would feel like, his hot breath coating my inner thighs, his words, if he spoke, buzzing into my flesh.

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he brought his hands up to hold my backside, one globe in each hand, pulling me closer still, then slid his tongue into my slit, into my cunt hole. I sucked in a huge breath at the intrusion, one I hadn’t felt in years and hadn’t expected to feel again. His tongue was hot, his breath more so, and I gazed down to watch him in the muted light as he dragged a path upwards. He passed over my clit and I shivered, convulsed with the delightful shock from what that pass had made happen. A strong sweep of sensation captured my clit, hardening it, had me wishing it would grow stronger, would never end, taking me wherever it had a mind. With sure strokes he licked on, swirling, laving, and I tipped my head back, unable to watch anymore—the sight was too erotic, too much.

Blindly, I reached out to touch his head, to bury my hands in his springy hair and hold him in place, fighting the urge to press myself into his face, to ride that tongue until I screamed out my passion. He used broader, flatter strokes, seeming to taste every part of my sex. He groaned, muttered, “Ah, fuck!”, the words not only hot to hear but warming my folds too. I was excited beyond belief, the experience of being with a man after so long wreaking havoc with my self-control. I drew back, my pelvis jerking, and crawled back down his body, sitting on his erection. The only thing I could do to stave off coming.

“That was good,” I said, my Frenchness broken and ragged.

I put my hands on the knot of his tie, fingers shaking, and undid it, lowering my head as I raised the end of it to my mouth. I slid it between my teeth, bit down then pulled, the tie snaking out from under his collar then breaking free. I took it from my mouth, reached back for his hands, brought them to rest on his belly, then bound his wrists with the tie, all while looking into his eyes. I had never done anything remotely like this before, but here, now, with him, it seemed the right thing to do.

With his hands held captive, I moved down his body a little more, popped open the button of his trousers then eased down the zip. Drew his boxers’ waistband to rest beneath his cock, which sprang free, bobbed a few times, then came to rest against the curly thatch surrounding his root. As though I did this every day of the week, I moved backwards a bit more, then leant forward until my head was level with his cock. I could smell him, could almost taste him, and licked my lips in readiness. My heart decided to play up on me again, doing its mad, faltering jig, and I had to take a few long and steady breaths to calm myself.

“Suck it,” he said, voice as hoarse as mine had been.

Oh, God. What is he doing to me?

I gave him a half-lidded glance then took him between my lips, one long, slow glide downwards that filled my mouth to capacity. He gasped, let out a low moan—raw and oh so carnal—and I knew I had him just as he’d had me. On the brink. Ready to come.

“Oh, Jesus fuck, Chantal…”

His words served to have me vowing to make this a blow job I’d be proud of. I sucked up, swirled my tongue around his head, then dived south again, repeating the motions until a sweet yet sour taste flooded my tongue.

“Stop,” he said. “If you don’t stop I’m going to fucking…”

I let him pop out of my mouth, gave him a lick from root to tip, flicking over his slit. Took him in hand to slowly massage him while I fondled his balls with the other. The devil got inside me then, daring me to do something new and exciting. I went to argue with myself that no, I couldn’t do this, but that devil wasn’t having any of it. I manoeuvred so I was between his legs. He widened them in silent invitation. Had he read Chantal’s naughty, slutty little mind? What I was about to attempt I had never done before, had never even contemplated…

I took my hand away from his balls. He gasped as a protest—one that I ignored. I stuck one finger into my mouth, getting it good and wet, sucking it as if it were his cock and I couldn’t get enough of it. Looked at him to make sure he understood where I was about to go. He challenged me with his return stare—
I dare you to do it… Go on, I dare you…

I lowered my hand to the ridge between his balls and his arse, moving closer to his hole with every second that passed. I circled his pucker, the feel of it novel and fascinating, the circle of muscle bumpy to the touch. With a gentle push I pressed it, getting the resistance I’d expected. I pushed again, thinking he would never let me in, then my fingertip popped inside, was sucked up a little way, then gripped tight by an inner softness that felt similar to the walls of my cunt, only silkier. I checked his face to see if I should go on, and he nodded so slightly that I almost asked him to give me verbal permission.

“Do it,” he said, obviously seeing my reluctance to continue.

I pushed in deeper, his sheath clamping tight to the point where I wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to ease it in and out. I went in some more, then withdrew, and the next time I moved my finger upwards it slid more easily. Once I’d got used to what I was doing—God, it felt so rude, so utterly filthy, so very unlike me—I massaged his cock. He canted his hips, made a sound that was a cross between a groan and a wail, and impaled himself farther onto my finger. Spurred on, I jerked his dick faster, sped up my finger. He thickened in my hand, pulsed, and a tide of power crashed over me, into me, that I was making him writhe in pleasure.

“I can’t… Can’t hold off for much longer,” he ground out, clenching his teeth then hissing through them.

I was turned on myself, more than I’d ever been, and just by wielding this control, being the one that could make him come or not, sent me giddy. I eased off on his cock, took my finger out of him, then crawled back up to straddle his body, reaching down to hold his dick up. I asked him without words for what I needed, and with a bit of difficulty, what with his wrists tied, he slid a hand beneath his pillow and brought out a condom, ripping the packet open then handing the rubber to me.

I’d never put one on in my life, and before panic could take over me, before I revealed my incompetence, I said, “You do it. I like to watch men put them on.”

He obliged, rolling it over his erection, then gripped my buttocks as I slid down onto him. Vibrators had been a godsend while I’d needed them, but they were nothing compared to a real cock between my legs. He filled me as though he was ever-expanding, as if he grew and grew the longer he was inside. I rode him, the devil urging me on again, telling me to go faster, to never let up. I obeyed, grabbed the tie binding his wrists to lift his hands and guide them to my breasts. He fondled one of my nipples as I made short work of undoing his shirt buttons, shoving the front flaps aside so I could feast on the sight of his torso. I wanted skin on skin, his pecs to my tits, so I lifted his hands and slid into the circle of his arms. Pressed down, the heat of his chest about as perfect as it could be, I rode him harder, his arms looped over me, hands resting in the middle of my back. I kissed him, an ardour-infused tangle of tongues, exploring the inside of his mouth, wanting to know every part of it, all of his body at once.