The Accidental Call Girl (27 page)

She wanted him so much she almost floated to the ceiling, borne up on a wave of longing. It was the most natural thing in the world to lower her eyes, his submissive.

‘Good,’ he said again, and she knew he’d understood everything. Naked and dripping wet he was an assured and dominant god. ‘Now, down you go.’

Trembling, Lizzie obeyed him. She felt klutzy and ungainly, but he made a low sound in his throat when she assumed the position he’d specified, obviously of approval.

‘Oh, baby, you look so delicious like that. Your arse is perfect, you know that, don’t you? A heavenly work of art. And it’ll be even more adorable when I’ve made it red. Hell, yes . . .’

Then he was on his knees beside her, touching her hair. Deftly he loosened the scrunchie that held it, and then smoothed it out, sweeping it to one side, over one shoulder. ‘Be quite still,’ he specified, then started touching her again, his fingertips gliding over her back and her flanks, then reaching under her to squeeze her breasts. He pinched her nipples, pincering them firmly between finger and thumb, one after the other, then, even as she began to squirm and shift her hips, he withdrew and leapt lightly to his feet again.

‘Hold that position for me, beautiful. Just like that.’ He walked around her, moving behind. ‘Ah, that’s lovely, but I’d like you to part your thighs a bit further. Show me more.’ With his bare foot, he pushed against the inside of her knee, nudging her apart. ‘Yes, better. Now stay exactly like that.’

She heard him padding softly away, barefoot, heading for his bedroom.

Moisture trickled down the inside of her thigh . . . but it had nothing to do with the shower.

Lizzie held the position perfectly, because he’d told her to, but it was difficult. Her pussy was puffed and aching for contact. His hand . . . hers . . . she didn’t care. Arousal was welling and overflowing between her sex lips, more copious than ever before.

It was easy to obey him. Easy to do what he wanted. Anything was easier than thinking about complications. This, kneeling where he’d told her to, and simmering like a pressure cooker of desire, was the simplest thing in the world.

Tensing the muscles of her buttocks, she imagined his hand landing hard on first one, then the other, igniting the now familiar burn of pain. Pain that transmuted like alchemical gold into rich, dark pleasure. And how much richer and darker would it be to feel his cock pushing into her arse? She was ready for it, and prepared . . . but also
not
ready. She’d struggled when he’d just tried to insert his fingertip.

But he was John, and he’d never
truly
hurt her, so she trusted him more than anything to make it all feel good.

The door swung open again, and she heard the clink of glass. A moment later he was on the rug beside her, setting down his haul. She saw a couple of tubes of lubricant – goodness, that much? – and a box of condoms. Not the type they’d used thus far; they were labelled as a thicker gauge.
Au Fond
, the brand name said, and if there’d been any doubt what they were designed for, the sleek line of a toned buttock on the box dispelled that, although it was hard to tell if the bum was male or female.

The clinking glass sound had come from two tumblers. Holding them together by the rim, John set them down on the rug at her side. The fluid was clear, and the balsamic, almost medicinal scent was unmistakeable.

Gin.

‘A little drink will help relax you,’ he said, picking one glass up again. ‘It’s not good to get legless in these situations, but a drop of gin might calm some of the nerves.’

Was he meaning to hold the glass to her lips while she knelt? Twisting to look at him, she sent him a questioning glance.

‘Oh no . . . I wouldn’t do that. That would be demeaning. Roll onto your side, love. Have a little sip.’

Lizzie slithered onto her side on the thick, fluffy rug, her knees tucked, and accepted the drink. She’d never really liked gin before she’d met John, but now, it hit the perfect spot with its silvery fire. It was a crystal elixir and it did exactly the job he’d described. A few mouthfuls of the neat alcohol sent a glow speeding through her veins that lightened her spirits and smoothed away anxiety.

Yet it did nothing to minimise her desire. Looking at John, who looked back at her over the rim of his own glass, she wanted him more and more. That unknown territory, her dark virginity, was his for the taking.

‘Nice,’ she said, taking a last sip, then handing the glass back to him. The intermission was over. He was her master again and, as gracefully as she could, she got back onto her knees, dishing her back to display her bottom to him.

‘Nice,’ he echoed, and the glasses clinked again as he put both aside.

Her head fell forward, and her hair swung around her face, as his hands settled upon her. He gripped her buttocks in a rude, firm grip, squeezing and pulling the flesh this way and that. It felt like the touch of an experienced stockman handling a prized animal. She knew it was meant to feel that way too, and the deep sense of submission made her ache and softly groan.

‘Nice,’ he whispered again, pulling apart the lobes of her bottom to expose her anus to him. The sensation of stretching made her want to weep with lust and plead with him to push into her right now, without preparation, without lubrication, without hesitation. Her own fluid welled again, and she knew it would be visible, shiny, on her thighs. Even as he manipulated her, she moved, swaying her hips invitingly, shifting herself around to open even more to him.

‘Jesus, you’re a horny little cat, Lizzie. You really want it, don’t you?’ He stretched her open, more, more. ‘Tell me what you want. Tell me everything you want.’

Held wide open, she gasped. A gentle waft of air flowed over her vent. He was blowing against her in a whisper of a caress. Her face flamed, imagining how close his face must be to her bottom.

‘I want you to fuck me. To fuck me hard. I want you in my arse. I don’t care if it’s uncomfortable. Or if it hurts. I just want you to have me there. Be the first . . .’

‘And other things?’ For just a moment, his lips settled on the upper slope of her bottom, first one side, then the other, as if marking out the territory he wished her to refer to.

‘Yes, I want you to spank me hard and make my bum hot and sore first. I want to be red for you when you bugger me.’

Where is all this mad stuff coming from? I only had a few sips of gin. I feel as if I’ve gone slightly off my head.

It was a thrilling feeling, though. A sense of total submission. Total surrender to this beautiful man who’d suddenly and accidentally arrived in her life and who would just as suddenly leave it again soon.

She must have him now. Have everything. Give everything.

‘Oh please, John, do it. I can’t bear waiting any longer. I’m aching.’

‘I know, sweetheart. I know . . . I can see your delicious pussy dripping. It’s divine.’

She let out a sharp, high cry when he swooped low and dipped his tongue into her cleft from behind, lapping at her silk. He shouldn’t be doing that. He was the master. She should be the one abasing herself before him. And yet he was bowed down low, licking her sex, like a worshipper.

Pressing herself towards his questing tongue, she gasped. ‘You . . . you shouldn’t be doing that . . . should you?’

His answer was to grab her by the thighs, hold her, and thrust his tongue into her vagina, jabbing hard. He laughed when he pulled his face away, then kissed her on the crown of each buttock. ‘I thought I was supposed to be in charge here? I’m the boss. I can do what I want.’ He ran his hands over her thighs and flanks possessively. ‘I’ve a good mind to carry you to that bed out there, tie you up, and lick you until you beg me for mercy because you can’t come any more. How would you like that, you uppity minx?’

‘You’d get cramp in your tongue.’

‘Probably.’ He leaned right over her, kissing the top of her spine. ‘But I still might have tried it if I wasn’t so desperate to fuck you in the arse.’

‘Well, get on with it, then.’ Arching her body, she pressed back against him, rubbing her thighs and her bottom against him, working her cleft against the hard prow of his cock.

‘You’re an outrageous sub, you know that, don’t you? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you trying to top me from the bottom all the time. I should spank you hard for that.’

Twisting, she looked at him over her shoulder, using her eyes to tell him to get a move on now, instead of her voice. He shook his head, making his drying blond curls flutter like an angel’s, and grinned back at her before kissing her hard on the spine at the base of her head, rubbing his face in her hair.

Then he straightened up, kneeling beside her with his cock pointing rudely. Without warning he landed a lazy, open-handed slap on her right buttock, then another on her left, making her yelp in surprise.

‘You’re a delicious, bad, beautiful woman, Lizzie . . . Lizzie whatever your name is.’ He spanked her hard, another blow landing, then another, as if he could compel her surname out of her by main force.

‘Aitchison. My name is Lizzie Aitchison . . .’

‘Is . . . that . . . a . . . fact?’ he pronounced, whaling the under-hang of her bottom with a slap for each word.

Sizzling heat roasted her buttocks, sinking into her crotch, almost making her come. She pitched forward, her elbows on the mat, forehead pressed against her arms, trying to compose herself. ‘But if you’ve had your snoops checking up on me, you knew that already, didn’t you?’ she accused, the words muffled by her hair. ‘And why won’t you tell me
your
real name?’ She knew it . . . just as well as he’d known hers . . . but it seemed important to ask the question.

‘You know my name. It’s John Smith.’ His hand settled flat on her blazing flesh, as if she’d caught him by surprise.

‘No, your
real
real name. The one you were born with.’

‘You know that too, if you’ve looked me up.’

‘I . . . I do . . .’ A couple of particularly stinging slaps landed, angled cleverly, striking her right across the vent of her bottom and making her whine and churn her hips.

‘Right, then . . . I’m Jonathan Llewellyn Wyngarde Smith, and I’m going to fuck that gorgeous, sumptuous, insolent red arse of yours, Miss Aitchison. I’m going to plough you until you come in a howling orgasm and turn cross-eyed. How does that sound?’

‘It sounds fabulous, your lordship.’ She gritted her teeth as he found that same uniquely tender spot again.

‘Uh oh, I think you know that I don’t use my title either. I haven’t for twenty years. It’s completely meaningless.’

Dishing her back, she thrust her bottom at him, inviting more, inviting everything. ‘Well, that’s a shame. I was hoping to be able to tell my grandchildren in my dotage that I’d once been buggered by a lord.’

‘Well, for this one time only, consider me a lord, then.’ He laughed and grabbed hold of her hot buttocks, squeezing them.

‘Yes, your lordship. Thank you, your lordship.’ Even though his fingers tightened, punishing her sore flesh and making her want to whimper, she still found herself giggling at the absurdity of it all.

‘You won’t be laughing soon, you cheeky mare,’ he threatened, but she could hear the smile in his voice . . . the affection? Leaning over her again, he kissed her back and shoulders repeatedly, even while he handled her tingling buttocks. ‘Dear God, I want to be inside you . . . right in you. I can’t wait any longer.’

‘Then don’t wait,’ she said, her body wracked by a long shudder. Was it fear, or was it longing? She couldn’t tell.

Giving her one last squeeze, John pulled away. ‘Would you like another sip of gin?’ His voice was tight, as if he was having difficulty containing a great emotion, and was maybe as confused as she was. Her heart turned over, touched, even in the midst of sexual madness, that his thought was for her nervousness, her inexperience.

‘Just a sip . . . yes . . . that would be good.’ She rocked onto her side, hissing as her bottom pressed against the floor, and took the glass as he held it out to her. The bite of the spirit was fortifying, though; even one sip buoyed her up, and she put the glass aside and slid back onto her knees.

John was beside her, and she turned to look in his eyes. They were dazzling, almost navy blue, his face an illuminated icon of desire. An agreement passed between them. Her assent, and his acknowledgement of it. She let her head drop as she saw him reach for the tube of lubricant.

The stuff was cool when it touched her, and she imagined it as silvery as the gin as he slathered it into the hot crease of her buttocks. It was silky, but thick and unctuous, and it clung to her there, coating her anal vent and oozing down as he applied more and more.

And then it was more than application. He began pushing the stuff inside her, thick dollops of it. Odd sneaky feelings began to gather, and she shivered again.

‘Relax . . . don’t be scared . . . just relax.’ His voice was low and hypnotic as he began to pack the sticky gel inside her. Panic surged, but he bent over her, kissing her back and breathing against her as he worked.

His words calmed her. His lips against her skin were far more potent than the gin. Her body yielded, accepting his ministrations and the sensations of heat and fullness. The fiery glow from her spanking seemed to spread through her entire sex and her pelvis, warming her and inciting her needs. She wondered idly if he’d used a whole tube of lubricant on her. It felt like that. As she shifted her thighs slightly, she imagined she heard the squelch of it.

‘Stay still, my sweet,’ he said against her back then straightened up. She imagined him looking down on her, pleased with his handiwork and with the sight of her submissive and presented before him, her thighs parted and her anal cleft glistening. There came the small tearing sound of him opening the contraceptive package, then dead quiet as he concentrated on sheathing himself. She didn’t look round. To see him might overwhelm her. She was safe within the thick curtain of her black hair, dangling around her face.

Breathe . . . Breathe . . .