Читать книгу Made For Sex - Joan Elizabeth Lloyd - Страница 9

“Oh, Lord,” Carla said, curling up in her chair. “If that’s what it’s like all the time, then I’ll be both exhausted and delighted.” Strange, but she wasn’t embarrassed by Ronnie watching as she came.

“It is if you want it to be. You understand most of my rules and know that I stick by them, no matter how much money is involved.”

“Spell them out again.”

“I never do anything I don’t think I’ll enjoy and I make it clear to my friends that I always have the right to call things off at any time, as do they. That’s part of the reason for having dinner with a new acquaintance before our first encounter. Doing what I do takes trust. Everyone must have the right to say stop and we always agree on a safe word.”

“Safe word?”

“I usually use ‘popcorn.’ At any time, if anyone says that word, everything stops. Immediately. And if I can’t trust my friends to obey if I say it, and to say it if they want to stop, it’s no deal.”

“Why is it important that they say it too? You’re the one who needs a way out.”

“Not really. Take men who enjoy being dominated. If I can be sure they’ll use the safe word, I can do anything that takes my fancy. I describe what I’m going to do if it’s the first time and I don’t have to worry about going too far. The safe word is there so they can yell, ‘Please stop,’ and know I won’t, but be sure I’ll stop when that’s what they really want.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Carla said, still catching her breath after the phone call.

“Also, no heavy drinking, although a glass or two loosens things up. No drugs of any kind and, as you know, I insist that my friends use condoms. He can have seventeen blood tests or whatever, but condoms are mandatory. Period.”

Carla nodded. Everything that Ronnie said seemed, if anything, overly cautious.

“You’re still interested, aren’t you?” Ronnie said.

Carla took a deep breath. “After that phone call,” she said, “more than ever. But I’m a little apprehensive about where to start.”

“I have a suggestion,” Ronnie said, stretching out on the sofa and crossing her long legs at the ankles. “An old friend called me a few weeks ago. His name’s Bryce and I’ve known him for over a year.”

Carla had learned in college that Ronnie’s particularly delightful, slightly mischievous smile meant that she was deeply involved in hatching an inventive plot. When Ronnie didn’t continue, Carla said, “And….”

Ronnie picked up the glass of wine from the table next to her and took a sip. “He’s had an ongoing fantasy about wedding nights and seduction. He’s heavily into romance, music, wine, all that.” Carla could see the dreamy look in Ronnie’s eyes. “He’s also into a bit of control, which I think you’ll find irresistable. And he’s dynamite in bed, a deliciously creative man who gets his satisfaction from giving as well as taking pleasure. We’ve spent some memorable nights together.”

“He sounds too good to be true. Is he married? And if he is, why does his wife let him out of her sight?”

“His wife died several years ago and part of the reason he plays with me is that he’s surrounded with matchmaking friends who bombard him with suitable women. I think that, when he’s with me, he’s comfortable. We have wonderful times together, great sex, and there are no strings, no commitments.” Ronnie smiled. “I hope you don’t mind but we talked about you.”

“You knew that I was going to do this, didn’t you.”

“You’re not expert at hiding your feelings, and I know you pretty well.”

Carla smiled and pulled on her jeans. “You certainly used to, and after that game we just played with Rick Holloway, you know me even better.”

Ronnie laughed. “True. Anyway, I think he’d be a wonderful first time for you. He’d love it and, I can guarantee, so would you.”

“It sounds like he’s your friend.”

“He’s a special man, but he’s just a friend. And I think you’d enjoy being together.”

“But….”

“Listen, Carla. I don’t know whether you should do this at all. I understand myself and I’ve been doing what I do for almost four years. I love it.”

“I know you do. I’ve given this entire situation a lot of thought and, well, it titillates me. I’ve told you that I don’t know much about off-center sex, but I know that I want to find out more.”

“And, of course, you can call things off at any time and go back to Bronxville and sell real estate,” responded Ronnie. Each woman wrinkled her nose.

The phone rang and Ronnie and Carla listened as the answering machine picked up. “This is Black Enterprises. Please leave a message at the sound of the beep, and thanks for calling.”

“Hi, Ronnie and Snow White, this is Rick Holloway. You’re probably both listening right now so I wanted to tell you that I feel great. I’m in my private office right now and I’m sending you a check for three hundred dollars. I hope to talk to you both again soon. And Ronnie, thanks for knowing exactly what would increase the fun even before I did. Take care.” He hung up.

“He really liked it,” Carla said, still surprised at the power of the spoken word.

“He sure did. And you had a lot to do with that.”

“I thought he usually paid a hundred and fifty dollars. He said he’s sending three hundred.”

“He’s paying double. I guess he’s sending half for me and half for Snow White.” Ronnie pulled out her wallet and handed Carla three fifty-dollar bills. “That’s your share.”

Carla stared at the money in her hand. “This has to be immoral, illegal, or fattening. Maybe all three.”

“Well, it’s certainly not fattening and, as far as I’m concerned, it’s not immoral. I don’t think you can have a crime without a victim and none of my friends is ever a victim.” She sighed. “Actually, some claim that what we do together makes them better lovers at home, either more creative or less demanding. However, it is prostitution and that’s illegal…but what the hell.” She sipped her drink and gave a mock salute. “Anyway, Bryce would love to spend an evening with you—your virgin experience, as it were.”

Carla’s hands trembled. “Now that I’m actually going to do it, half of me can’t wait and half is scared to death.”

“That’s exactly the fantasy that Bryce wants. He loves the scared little girl and the initiation part of this. And you can say stop at any time. Bryce knows the rules. So, if you’re sure….”

Carla took a deep breath. “I am.”

“Good. I’ll give you his number and you can call him, make your plans. He’ll take you to dinner, dancing, then to a hotel room.”

“Not here?”

“You know you can use the house anytime, although we’ll have to coordinate carefully. But Bryce likes the idea of neutral territory. He’s got oodles of money and he can afford the best. By the way, as a present to him, I think we should forgo the fee for this one night.”

Carla chuckled. “I’m glad. Somehow it seems more honest for my first time.” As she lifted her wineglass, her hands shook. “I’m nervous.”

“Good.” Ronnie handed Carla a piece of paper. “Here’s his number. Call him right now, while you’re in this mood. Use the phone in the spare bedroom.”

Carla stood up and looked at the paper in her hand. “Bryce McAndrews—555-6749.” She walked into the spare bedroom, picked up the cordless phone, and settled on the bed.

With shaky fingers, she dialed the number.

“Hello.”

“Is this Bryce McAndrews?”

“Yes.”

“This is Carla.”

His voice was suddenly soft and warm. “Ronnie’s friend?”

“Yes.” She had no idea what to say.

There was a warm laugh and Bryce said, “Are you free Friday evening?”

“Yes.” Shit, Carla thought. Why am I so tongue-tied?

“I’ll pick you up at Ronnie’s place and we’ll have dinner at an intimate restaurant I know. They have a small dance combo. I hope you like to dance. Leave everything to me. Just be ready about seven. Okay?”

“Okay.” Her voice shook and Bryce was intrigued.

“You have no idea how I’m looking forward to meeting you, Carla.”

“Me too,” she said softly.

Bryce’s laugh was infectious. “ ’Til Friday,” he said, then he hung up.

“Until Friday,” she repeated into the silent phone.

For the next few days, Carla was a wreck. She drove her children to and from Cub Scouts and swimming lessons. She cooked dinner, watched TV, and visited with her parents, all the while quaking inside with a delicious excitement that she was amazed no one noticed.

Thursday, on a whim, she had her nails done. She’d passed Plaza Nails often and had occasionally thought about treating herself to a manicure. Always before, however, the cost had stopped her. If I want to stay home with the boys and not work full time, she had told herself as she walked passed the door toward the supermarket, I’ve got to be a little careful.

As she drove past the mall on the way to Little League Thursday afternoon she gave in to temptation. It’s an investment in my career, she told herself. Anyway, I have Rick’s three fifties in my wallet.

So while the boys were at practice, a manicurist named Micki, who didn’t stop talking for an hour, lengthened Carla’s nails with linen wraps and glue, then polished them in a soft lavender shade called “Lilacs in the Spring.” As Carla left, Micki told her to come back in a week for a glue manicure, whatever that was.

“Hey, Mom,” said Mike, her youngest son in the car going home. “You’ve got stuff on your nails.”

“I decided to have them polished,” she said, glancing at her nails for the dozenth time. “Looks snazzy, no?”

“I guess,” Tommy said, “but it’ll be hard to make pizza dough.” Practicality was Tommy’s hallmark. “They’ll get all ookey. We are having your pizza tonight, aren’t we? You promised.”

“Of course. I promised.”

Thursday evening after pizza, Carla spent several hours standing in front of her closet debating exactly what to wear. After her call to Bryce, she and Ronnie had rummaged through Ronnie’s closet in the brownstone, but nothing in Ronnie’s wardrobe made just the right statement. As the boys did their homework and watched TV, Carla put on, then took off at least a dozen combinations, selected then reselected like a schoolgirl preparing for her first date. “I’m an idiot,” she muttered, throwing a beige, summer knit dress on top of the growing pile on her bed. She picked up the phone and started to dial Bryce’s number to call the whole thing off. “God, this is really stupid.” Then she put the phone down. “I can always call it off during dinner.”

She hung everything back up, then closed her eyes and pulled a blouse from its hanger, coordinated it with a linen suit and stuffed all three garments in a tote bag to bring with her. Then she sat on the bed, pulled the items back out, folded them neatly, added a pair of low-heeled pumps and put everything back into the bag.

She gazed into the mirror, brushed her shoulder-length hair and shook her head slowly. Should I go down to the city early and have my hair done? she wondered. Somehow that didn’t feel right. She had no idea why her nails should look better than her hair but it seemed wrong to have some fancy hairstyle. “Shit,” she said aloud, “this is ridiculous. I’ll worry myself to death at this rate.” She stuffed a strand of hair behind one ear and went to tell the boys that it was bedtime.

The following afternoon Carla packed an overnight bag for each of her boys.

“Are we staying at Gramma’s?” her thirteen-year-old asked.

“Yes. For tonight.”

“Got a hot date, Mom?” BJ asked as she packed.

“Where did you get that idea?” she asked, taken aback.

BJ put his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes. “I see all and know all,” he chanted. When Carla raised an eyebrow he continued, “Well, Mom, new nails, an overnight visit with Gramma and Grampa. I’m not a kid, you know. I watch TV.” When she continued to stare at him he continued. “It’s okay with me. Mothers need some fun. Oprah and Dr. Phil say so. I’ll be nice to Gramma and watch Tommy and Mike.”

Her kid was watching talk shows and telling her that mothers needed fun. She playfully swatted his bottom, then stuffed Mike’s PJs into his bag.

On her way into the city, Carla stopped at a local mall on a whim and bought a pair of large pearl-drop earrings that matched her outfit perfectly but differed from anything she owned. With the new jewelry in her purse, she arrived at the brownstone at about five. Since Ronnie was in Dutchess County Carla had the place to herself.

She wandered upstairs, filled the oversized tub, poured in a large scoop of bath salts and, while the water ran, put a Sinatra cassette into the tape player. While the crooner’s familiar voice filled the room, Carla settled into the deep tub and leaned back, letting the light spicy scent relax her. She spent an hour in the water, adding hot whenever it became too cool. She fantasized about the evening and what Bryce would look like. She pictured him undressing her slowly, touching and stroking her. She could imagine him whispering in her ear, telling her how beautiful she was. She almost felt his hot body entering her and slowly loving her.

When she finally emerged from the tub her skin was soft and deep pink all over, and her nipples and pussy tingled. Part of her wanted to stimulate herself to orgasm, just to take the edge off, but she didn’t. The edge fit right in with the fantasy that she and Bryce were creating.

At six-thirty, she put on a white, lacy bra and matching panty, a stylish white garter belt and stockings and a white satin half-slip. Then she slipped into the full-sleeved gold silk blouse and mid-thigh, off-white linen skirt she had brought and slipped her feet into her pumps.

She snapped on the earrings she had bought and looked at herself in Ronnie’s mirror. As she had suspected, the earrings set off the blouse perfectly, but felt so alien to her that she pulled them off. After looking at her reflection for a moment she slowly put them back on. In for a penny, she thought, in for a pound.

She sat at Ronnie’s dressing table and applied makeup, wishing that she knew enough about cosmetics to be able to do something different with her face. She examined her new long fingernails, then drummed them on the dressing table just to hear them clack. She brushed her brown hair until it shone and pulled it back behind one ear with a gold comb. She stood and stepped back so she could see herself in the full-length mirror. Not bad, she thought, not bad.

Ronnie had told her that if and when Carla wanted, she could have a makeover session with an old friend but Ronnie had also assured her that Bryce would prefer the natural Carla. Ronnie had several spray bottles of scent on her dressing table and Carla selected Opium, dabbing it sparingly on her neck and in her cleavage.

Trying to shake off her nervousness, she looked at herself one last time, grabbed her jacket and carried it downstairs, arriving in the living room just as the doorbell rang.

She took a deep relaxing breath, dropped her jacket on the back of the sofa, and opened the front door.

With a lazy gaze, Bryce looked Carla up and down. “You look splendid.”

Carla stared at Bryce and for a moment was unable to move. Carla was dumbstruck. He was gorgeous. Tall and slender, Bryce McAndrews had carefully styled iron gray hair and deep hazel eyes that made Carla shiver as they took in her entire body. His charcoal gray suit was carefully tailored to show off his broad shoulders and flat stomach and his light blue shirt perfectly matched the small design in his Italian silk tie.

Bryce’s full lips slowly curved upward indicating that he appreciated what he saw. “I’ve been looking forward to this evening ever since Ronnie told me about you,” he said, “but now that I’ve seen you…. Well let’s just say this is going to be some evening.”

Carla stepped aside and Bryce walked to the sofa, picked up her jacket, and held it out for her. As she slipped her arms into the sleeves, he leaned down so his lips were beside her ear. “You smell sensational. This was worth waiting for,” he whispered. He placed a feather-light kiss in the hollow below her left ear, then stepped back. “Let’s go.”

His shiny black Porsche occupied a no-parking zone in front of the brownstone. He opened the door for Carla and, as she climbed in, he gazed at her long shapely legs and the shadowy cleavage between her breasts. “Ummm,” he murmured. “Nice all over.”

During the drive to the West Side, Carla learned that her date had four sons, all grown. She and Bryce talked easily about their children. It was so comfortable and Bryce was so charming that occasionally Carla forgot the purpose of the evening and where they were going to end up.

“It’s just like a real first date,” Carla said hesitantly as Bryce drove.

He softened his voice. “It certainly is. And I like it like that. Relax and let me make it good for you.”

“I’ll try,” she said, startled that she had voiced her feelings.

“Are you really nervous?”

“Yes,” Carla admitted, clasping her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking.

“Good. A little scary expectation is just the right spice. Let me tell you about our evening. We’re starting at a little restaurant called the West Side Club. They have great food, a fantastic wine list, and a three-piece combo for dancing. You do dance, don’t you?”

“I used to love it,” Carla answered honestly, “but I haven’t danced in a long time.”

“Like good sex, it’s something you never forget.” Giving her no time for a rejoinder, Bryce deftly pulled the black two-seater into the space in front of a long maroon awning. Immediately a uniformed doorman rushed around to open Carla’s door. “Thank you, Marco,” Bryce said, “but I’ll assist the lady.” Marco stepped aside as Bryce rounded the car.

Carla took Bryce’s extended hand and, as she climbed out of the car, felt Bryce scratch her palm with one fingernail. Shivers skittered up and down her spine and the area between her legs grew warm. She looked over at her escort but he was busy giving his keys to Marco. Hand in hand, they walked into the depths of the darkened restaurant. “Ah, Mr. McAndrews,” the maitre’d said unctuously. “I have your table all ready.”

Without a word, they were led to the side of the room. Because of the expert placement of potted plants and lacy screens, each table seemed to be in its own private alcove. Bryce seated her. Almost immediately the waiter brought a cooler with a bottle of white wine already chilling. Proudly he showed Bryce the label.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Bryce said, “but I made a few arrangements in advance. Of course, if you’d prefer a mixed drink, or red wine, the waiter can bring you whatever you want.”

“White wine will be fine,” Carla said.

“Good. This is a Portuguese Vino Verde that I particularly like.” The waiter poured a sip for Bryce, who tasted it and nodded. “Don’t freeze the poor wine,” he said as the waiter poured for Carla. “Take the cooler away and just leave the bottle on the table.”

“As you wish, sir,” the waiter said.

Carla sipped. “This is excellent,” she said. “I’ve never had a Portuguese wine before. You have great taste.”

Bryce gazed into Carla’s eyes over the rim of his glass. “If you put yourself into my hands for the rest of the evening, you’ll see what good taste I really have.”

Bryce ordered dinner for both of them. Through fresh asparagus and thin slices of Smithfield ham, poached salmon with dill sauce and tiny boiled potatoes, they talked about inconsequential things from the music they enjoyed through books and movies to vacations. Since Bryce had traveled extensively both for pleasure and business, he regaled Carla with tales of the sites he’d seen. With Carla’s agreement Bryce ordered lemon sherbet and Irish coffee for dessert.

As she finished her sherbet and sipped the heady brew, Carla realized that she hadn’t had such an enjoyable evening in many years.

Music began. “Dance with me,” Bryce whispered. He took Carla’s hand and guided her to the tiny wooden dance floor. He held her gently, his right hand placed correctly in the small of her back. Carla realized immediately that he was a sensational dancer, gliding effortlessly across the small space. Several other couples joined them and, as the floor became more crowded, Bryce held her closer, his mouth against her ear, his left arm pressing lightly against the side of her breast.

“You’re so graceful,” he said, rubbing his forearm against the side of her bra and the flesh underneath, “like an angel in my arms.”

Carla swallowed hard and remained silent. Although she knew that this was to be her initiation into the world of recreational sex, she felt like a woman on her first date with a dangerously attractive man.

“I love holding your body close,” Bryce whispered. “Your breasts are so full and your hips fit perfectly against mine.” His breath on her ear caused a tingling at the base of her spine. “You’re so responsive,” he continued, “that I’ll bet you’re getting hot already.”

For some reason, Carla needed to deny what he was saying. It was like a seduction, not an assignation, and somehow it was important not to be easy. When she took a breath to deny her feelings, Bryce interrupted, reading her thoughts. “You can deny it all you want but your body radiates sexual heat.” He flicked the tip of his tongue in her ear, then nipped at her earlobe.

She shuddered, telling him about herself as accurately as she could have with words.

“Yes. You want me,” he whispered. “But resist as well. It makes it all the sweeter to know that later I will hold you in my arms, naked and open. I’ll overcome all your resistance and control your body with your own hunger.”

He put his finger under her chin and lifted her face so she had to look into his eyes. “You’ll want me so much that you’ll beg for it.” He tucked her against him and continued dancing, holding her close. No one else on the floor could possibly know about Bryce’s erotic whisperings but Carla felt as if everyone was watching her.

They danced for a few more songs. Carla felt Bryce’s hand sliding over her silk blouse. “I want your body to know exactly what’s to come.” His hot breath tickled her ear. “We’re going to leave in about fifteen minutes. One or two more dances should be just right.”

Carla realized that Bryce’s planning and take-charge attitude would turn some women off, but the control that Bryce was exercising was driving her crazy. After the first few years of marriage, she had called most of the sexual shots. Bill would have been content with quickies, but Carla had wanted more. Frequently she would wear an alluring nightgown or a teddy and, when Bill responded, she would tell and show him what she wanted. She had enjoyed the sex, but would have preferred not to be in charge.

“I want you to do something for me,” Bryce said a few minutes later. “Go into the ladies’ room and take off your bra. I want to dance with you and feel your unrestrained breasts against my chest. I want to be able to look down the front of your blouse and see your nipples. Do it for me, Carla. Do it because I want you to and because it will make you a little less secure.”

They walked to their table and Bryce gave Carla a tiny push toward the ladies’ room. “Please,” he whispered. The wine and the Irish coffee made her brave and daring. Not giving herself time to think, Carla walked to the bathroom, closeted herself in a stall, and removed her bra. She put the bit of silk in her purse and rebuttoned her blouse. She looked down, then smiled and unbuttoned the blouse’s top two buttons.

She walked out of the stall and checked her appearance in the large mirror. Nothing showed from the front or side but, as she looked down she could see her full breasts and her hard, erect nipples. She smiled and walked back toward the table, enjoying the sway of her breasts and the brush of her nipples against the silk of her blouse.

“Nice,” Bryce said as he watched her approach. He met her on the dance floor and took her in his arms. As they danced, he looked down. “Your breasts are magnificent,” he whispered. “Your nipples are a dark, dusky pink. Are they so hard that they hurt?”

Carla had never been asked such sexual questions by a man before. She cleared her throat, unable to speak.

“Tell me. I insist.” When she remained silent, he repeated, “I insist. Say to me, ‘My nipples are so hard that they hurt.’” He slid his hand into her hair and turned her face up. “Say it, angel.”

Certain words were hard for her to say; they always had been, even with her husband. Talking directly about sex and the anatomical parts involved had always been difficult for her. “I do hurt for you,” she murmured.

“What hurts?” he said. She was silent. “The word ‘nipple’ is difficult for you to say, isn’t it? I can tell from your body’s reaction. Your palm is damp and your hand is shaking.” She tried to look down, but his hand remained tangled in her hair. “I don’t care whether you want to or not,” he said, his lips almost touching hers. “You will do as I say. Say ‘My nipples hurt for you.’”

“Oh God. My nipples hurt for you.” Carla could barely stand. The thrill and humiliation of saying that word made her knees weak. Fortunately Bryce held her tightly, supporting her.

“Oh yes. I like this. Let’s continue this discussion somewhere else.” Quickly he paid the check and guided her to the door. They walked a block in silence, the cool air clearing Carla’s head a bit. They climbed the stairs to the door of an undistinguished building and Bryce unlocked it. “A very private place,” he said as they went inside. “It’s owned by good friends of mine who let me use it when they’re away, which they are for the entire month of September.”

Carla was aware of little as Bryce put her jacket away and guided her to the stairs that led to what she assumed was the master bedroom. They stopped about three-quarters of the way up. “Take off your blouse,” Bryce said. “Right here.”

She looked at him. Shouldn’t he undress her? Removing her own clothes seemed so forward. Remembering why she was here, she realized her feelings were ludicrous, but they were her feelings nonetheless.

“Do it,” he said, softly. “Be what they used to call a brazen hussy for me because I tell you to.”

Slowly, Carla unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it off. “Yes,” he said. “Your tits are magnificent, so hungry for my touch.” He saw that the harsh language made Carla’s hands shake and he smiled. “Tits. Say that word. Say ‘My tits are so hard for you.’” He could see the muscles in her throat working as she swallowed. When she hesitated, he made it sound like an order. “Say it, Carla!”

“My…tits…. are hard for you.”

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered. He walked down a step so that his mouth was level with her chest. “Hold your beautiful tits so I can suck them. Hold them for me.”

It was both scary and liberating for Carla. Bryce was making her do things she wouldn’t do herself, and she felt both compelled and freed. She slid her hands beneath her heavy breasts and lifted them so that the swollen nipples were level with Bryce’s lips.

“Good girl,” he purred. He flicked the tip of his tongue up and down over Carla’s left nipple. Then he bit it, gently. “Is that good?”

“Mmmm, yes,” she murmured.

He moved from side to side, from nipple to nipple, licking and biting until both breasts were swollen and reaching for his mouth. He turned her, urged her up the stairs and into the large bedroom. He moved to the bedside and turned on a small lamp, bathing the bed with soft light. “Your skin glows,” he said.

Carla stood and dropped her blouse, watching Bryce watch her. Suddenly she realized how good it felt to have someone look at her naked body the way Bryce was looking at her. She was a sex object, and glad of it.

Bryce flipped the covers aside, sat on the edge of the bed, and leaned back on his elbows. “Strip for me, slowly.”

Carla smiled and slowly unzipped her skirt, a bit less embarrassed knowing how she was pleasing him. She stepped out of her shoes, pulled her skirt and slip down and let them fall around her feet. She stood, wearing only her garter belt and matching stockings and her sheer white panties.

“Take off the panties,” Bryce told her, “but leave on the rest. I want to see your pussy-fur surrounded by white lace.”

Words like pussy made her tremble as she removed her panties. She stood and watched Bryce’s gaze wander slowly over her body. “Nice?” she asked.

“Lovely,” he said. “But you’re a little too calm. You’re getting too comfortable. Let’s heat things up a bit. I want you to massage your breasts while I watch. Pinch your nipples.”

When she did as he asked without much hesitation, he said, “Exhibiting your body doesn’t make you shiver the way I want you to. What seems to tantalize you is saying those words.” As he watched her blush he knew he’d found the way to make her hotter. “Say to me, ‘My pussy is wet for you.’” When she remained silent he laughed. “You’ll need to learn to say those things so I’ll have to train you. Walk over here.”

Bryce sat up as she walked to the side of the bed. When she started to sit down, he said, “Not yet. I want to make it difficult for you to stand up.” She sighed and stood between his knees. “Now,” he said, “when you’re a good girl and do as I say you’ll get your reward.” He slid his finger into her wet pussy, touching her erect clit, then pulled his hand back.

“And when I don’t?” Carla asked.

“You’ll have to just stand there and wait. Understood?”

Carla nodded.

He leaned forward and blew cool breath through her pubic hair. She shivered and he said, “Good. Now say, ‘Play with my pussy.’”

“Oh God,” she said, feeling her juices soak her crotch. “It’s so good when you touch me.”

“Like this?” He caressed her clit again.

“Yes.”

He pulled his hand back. “Then ask for it.”

“Touch me.”

“No. Not good enough,” he said. “I told you what to say.”

“Play with my…pussy.”

“Good girl.” He slid one finger between her swollen lips. He could feel her muscles react to his touch. “Do you want more?”

Her hips were moving involuntarily. “Yes. I want more.”

“Then say, ‘Put your fingers into my pussy.’”

She was going crazy. She wanted everything. “Put your fingers in my pussy,” she said.

When Bryce saw that Carla was shaking so much that she was about to fall, he said, “Lay down and spread your legs so I can see your beautiful pussy.”

She stretched out across the bed and parted her legs. “Aren’t you going to take your clothes off?” she asked.

“Not yet, angel, not yet. We’re not finished with your lessons yet. We have to continue to increase your vocabulary. You’ve learned to say ‘pussy’ too easily. Say ‘cunt.’ Yes. Say ‘Finger-fuck my cunt.’”

Oh God, she thought. I can’t say those words. She swallowed hard and shook her head.

“Such a bad girl,” Bryce said when she remained silent. He leaned over and roughly spread her legs wider. Then he blew a stream of air on to Carla’s cunt and watched as her skin quivered. He flicked his practiced tongue over her exposed clit, then blew cool air again. “Say ‘Finger-fuck my cunt.’”

It was torture. The alternate warm and cool sensations were driving her wild. She reached toward her pussy but Bryce grabbed her hands and held them at her sides. “Oh no. You can’t relieve yourself that easily. Only I can give you what you want and you’re going to have to ask for it.”

She wanted his fingers inside her. Mindless with desire, she said, “Please. Finger-fuck me. Put your hand inside my cunt. Please.”

“Oh yes, baby.” He inserted first one then two fingers into her cunt and spread them to fill her. He pulled out, then rammed them inside. With his other hand he rubbed her clit until both of them felt the ripples of Carla’s first orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” she screamed. “Oh God, don’t stop.”

“I won’t, angel,” Bryce said, feeling the orgasm roll over her entire body. “Let go. Let it devour you.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” She spasmed for what seemed long minutes. When she calmed, he stood and pulled off his clothes. His large, fully erect cock stood straight out from his groin. Hungrily she watched his hand stroke the smooth, hard flesh.

“I love the way you watch my hands,” he said. “Do you want to touch me?”

“Yes. Let me touch you. Let me take you in my mouth.”

“Ahh,” he said. “You like sucking cock. Tell me.”

“Yes. I want to take you in my mouth.” She sat up, watching his cock.

His hand slid over his hard penis, to the tip, then pulling back to the root. “Say, ‘I want to suck your cock.’”

Those words again. Carla could feel her body tighten. “I want to…”

“Tell me.”

“I want to suck your cock.”

He leaned over and held his hard cock against her lips. “Open for me, angel,” he said. “Suck me into your mouth.”

When she pulled him into her mouth he let his head fall back. She was good, giving him exquisite pleasure. Her mouth was slippery and hungry and her tongue slid all over his smooth flesh. She pulled back until the tip of Bryce’s cock rested against her lips. “Say ‘I want you to suck me’,” she said, grinning.

He laughed, then said, “I want to fuck your cunt.” He pushed her backward on the bed, slipped on a condom, and drove his large penis into her steaming pussy. Her stocking-covered legs wrapped around his waist and her hips bucked. Over and over he drove hard into her body.

“Yes, angel. Oh yes,” he yelled.

“Hard inside me. Don’t stop!” she cried.

They came, first Carla, then Bryce. Still entangled, they rested for a few minutes.

“That was unbelievable,” Bryce said later. “I’ll tell you something you aren’t going to believe. It’s never been any better.”

“Ummm,” Carla said. “For me either.”

“You’re a desirable woman. And from what Ronnie told me, you’re going to get to channel your charms into a productive business.”

“Yes, I am. And I now know that it’s going to be okay. I had almost forgotten how much I love fucking.” She laughed. “I can even say ‘fucking’ now, thanks to you.”

“Next time we’ll have to find something else to play.”

“Next time?”

“Certainly. I’m not letting something as good as you get away. And next time I’ll happily pay for your attention.”

“You don’t have to pay me. This is too much fun.”

“If you intend to go into business, your first lesson is not to give it away,” Bryce warned. “And I hope you’ll enjoy it every time with every man you’re with. Especially me.”