Home > The Red(9)

The Red(9)
Author: Tiffany Reisz

She liked this man.

Abruptly he stopped and slid off her stomach.

"Come,” he ordered, taking her by the arm and pulling her to her feet off the bed.

She felt like a mannequin as he moved her this way and that, turning her back to his chest, bending her over the bed, placing her hands just so on the covers, and then sticking his prick into her from behind without a word of warning. He held her hips while he pumped it into her, controlling the depth and the speed entirely. He gave. She took. This would be her role for the next year when they met. She was to take it, whatever it was. Sometimes she would enjoy what he gave her. Sometimes she would not. He had told her that already…but now she believed him. His penis was long and large and every few thrusts the tip would hit her cervix, something she found uncomfortable to say the least. But Malcolm was enjoying himself, fucking her like this. His every breath and grunt and groan told her he was. So she stayed loose-limbed in his grasp, her tender breasts swaying with his every rough deep thrust, and waited it out.

At last he came, shooting her full of his hot thick fluid. It slicked her thighs and the male scent of it permeated the room. The scent of sex. The scent of a man with his whore.

The scent of money.

Malcolm pulled out of her and patted her on the ass.

"Good lass,” he said. "Well done.”

"Thank you.” She slowly stood up straight and took a deep breath.

"Take a moment,” he said as he laid on the bed again. "You’ve earned a little rest.”

She was desperately thirsty from panting so hard.

"Water?” she asked.

"Please.”

She pulled the little basket she’d packed out from under the bed. From it she took out two green glass bottles of sparkling water.

"Dangerous,” he said.

"What is?”

"Glass bottles.”

"Why so?”

He smiled.

"You wouldn’t,” she said.

He cocked his head to the side, raised his eyebrow.

"All right,” she said as she unscrewed the cap of the bottle. "You would.”

"It isn’t that I would. It is that I will. You do realize this is merely foreplay, don’t you? We haven’t even started yet. I like to play games. I like to play roles. I might even bring an audience one night or two. I might even bring friends…”

If this was nothing but foreplay, nothing but the opening act, what would the main attraction be like?

"You didn’t bring the riding crop,” she said.

"Not tonight. Would you like me to bring it for our next assignation?”

"I have a choice?” She handed him a bottle of water.

"You have a choice of when, not if. There is no if. I will beat you with a riding crop at some point in the next twelve months.”

"Might as well,” she said. She wasn’t looking forward to being beaten with a crop, but it seemed it would be best to get it over with. Maybe she would like it. Only one way to find out.

"We’ll see,” he said. "Drink your water.”

She drank her water deep and he sipped at his. His stamina was remarkable. He had the sexual energy of a teenage boy and the lasting power of a man. A potent combination.

"Is this something you do often?” she asked. She sat on the bed, cross-legged like a child in school.

"Fuck?”

"No. Find women in need and turn them into whores?”

"You aren’t my first. You will be my last, however.” He gave her his half-drunk water bottle and she set it on the floor beside the bed. Then he laid back on the pillows, stretched out. His penis lay limp and draped on his thigh, a sleeping giant.

"Why is that?”

"I made a promise I fully intend to keep. With your assistance, of course.”

"That’s a very cryptic thing to say.”

"I’m afraid I can’t explain any better than that. I think you’ll understand eventually.”

"If I’m your last, I hope I’m also your best.” She took a final drink of her water, finishing the bottle.

"I have no doubt you’ll give me my money’s worth,” he said with a grin. Then he raised his hand and crooked his finger at her, beckoning her to him. She started to put her empty bottle on the floor and he shook his head. "Bring it here.”

She froze, but only for a moment. He must have his money’s worth.

"Lay on your back,” he said. "Open up.”

She did as he told her, opening her legs for him.

"Pleasure yourself with your fingers,” he said. "Use both hands.”

Her vulva still dripped with his semen and her labia were swollen and sensitive to the touch. With two fingers on each hand she caressed her folds as he watched, parting them, spreading them wide.

"Touch your clit,” he said. "Pull back the hood.”

She took a ragged breath. His eyes gleamed rapaciously as he watched her pull back the flesh to reveal the tiny knot of tissue underneath.

"Hold there,” he said softly. "Don’t move a single muscle.”

He bent and with the tip of his tongue touched her exposed clitoris. A light touch, but it felt like a bolt of lightning shot through her from that point of contact to the base of her neck and the heels of her feet.

"Rub yourself the way you do when you’re alone,” he instructed. "Like you’re trying to make yourself come, but don’t.”

She nodded and shifted her two fingers into a small V-shape, the pad of each finger on either side of her clitoris. Slowly, she made a circular motion, then an oval, pulling the hood lightly with each apex and nadir. As she did so, Malcolm picked up the water bottle and examined it. It wasn’t a large bottle—only about six inches tall with a narrow neck and a round bulb of a base, a typical glass water bottle. There was no paper label on it, only paint. She’d taken off the screw cap. It was just glass, she told herself. Thick smooth glass and he was sliding it, mouth first, into the hole. She moaned as the cool glass pressed against her hot inner flesh. Smooth, so very smooth, but hard as well, unbearably hard. Thick at the base, too thick to take all the way in. And yet as she rubbed herself harder and faster, she wanted it in. Could she take it? Malcolm seemed in no hurry to force the matter. He pushed it in and then allowed her body to push it back out again. He pushed it in. Her body pushed it out. His dark eyes were trained on the sight; he looked only at her pussy and the bottle.

"I once poured wine, bottle and all, into a pretty whore’s cunt and drank it out of her,” he said in a low and faraway voice. "Evangeline. A freckled ginger. She was the bastard daughter of a duke.”

"Did she like it?”

"She liked me. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t let me do to her. One evening, I played cards with her father and beat him. I rolled up the money I won from him, slipped it in a bottle, and put the bottle in his daughter’s cunt that very night. When I told her where I’d gotten the money, she laughed so hard the bottle shot out of her and shattered on the floor. Coins went everywhere. I nearly pissed myself. What a sight.”

"You’ve had adventures, haven’t you?”

"Haven’t you?”

"Not until you,” she said. "And probably not after you either.”

"Oh, you’ll have an adventure after I’m gone. I’ll see to it.”

"I bet you will,” she said. Malcolm only smiled and forced the bottle in a little deeper. Her muscles stretched and opened to receive it. The longer she touched herself the more she wanted it. She felt a deep muscle contraction and it was so delicious she almost orgasmed right there.

"Be good,” he said.

"Trying.”

"This is a show,” he said. "And you’re putting it on for me. Entertain me, not yourself. Entertain me.”

His tone was commanding and she responded well to that tone. She put her heels on the bed, flexed her hips, lifting them as she pulled in her stomach muscles to turn her body concave so that he could see her pussy better. With both hands she pulled her labia apart as he pushed the bottle in so deep her vagina nearly engulfed it. It slid out of her, but Malcolm eased it back in as she once more pulled the labia apart. She could take it. She could. She knew she could if she could only open up a tiny bit more. Her body was so tense it almost hurt to shift her thighs a few inches wider. But she did and as Malcolm pressed the bottle in, the heel of his palm against the base, she inhaled and drew it into her all the way, entirely.

   
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