Smut in the City (Absolute Erotica) (6 page)

Liddy whimpered when Gemma unbuckled her belt, sliding it deftly through the loops until the leather was free. The girl obviously knew how Gemma’s belt would burn her tender flesh, because she reached back and shielded her ass with both hands.

“Oh no you don’t.” Gemma was half tempted to bind the young lawyer’s hands with her belt, but then she wouldn’t be able to punish Liddy’s ass with it. She looked around the kitchen for something, anything that could be used to secure those errant hands. “Stay right there, love.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Gemma opened the upper cabinets. Coffee supplies and tea bags, mugs and bowls and plates. What was under the sink? Cleaning supplies and... garbage bags? She grabbed one out of the box. It was long and dark green, sturdy plastic. She twisted it into a rope of sorts and laughed. This would do nicely.

“What...?” Liddy yelped as Gemma braided her arms with green plastic and tied her wrists behind her back. The makeshift rope worked like a charm.

“Beautiful,” Gemma whispered. The backs of Liddy’s hands weighed down on her raised skirt enough to keep it in place. Her pink panties had fallen to her ankles, and she wore no hose on her long athletic legs. Her shoes were utilitarian with a chunky heel, but they helped to bring out the muscle in Liddy’s calves, so they could stay.

“You’re really going to do it, ma’am?”

“I am,” Gemma chuckled, though she felt nervous as hell. It wasn’t all cruelty and confidence, not for her. The last thing she wanted to do was actually injure this girl. “My love, it’s going to hurt like the devil.”

Liddy swallowed so hard Gemma could hear the gulp and whine in her throat. “Be gentle with me.”

“I think we’ve gone far beyond gentle already, don’t you?” But Gemma took the girl’s request to heart. When she brought her belt down on Liddy’s ass, she wasn’t as severe as she might have been. She let the leather recoil off Liddy’s lovely derriere, but there was something unsatisfying about a smack without the snapping sound of a cracked whip. Her belt had that capability. She wanted to use it.

And Liddy obviously wanted the same thing. She glanced back at Gemma, her hair now wet with coffee, and pleaded, “Harder?”

Taking a step back and to the side, Gemma raised her belt and inhaled deeply. She brought the leather down hard, slapping Liddy’s virgin thighs. Damn. Her aim was off. She tried again, and this time struck the girl’s derriere exactly where it was pinkest from the spankings.

Squealing, Liddy writhed on the table. Her pretty breasts made rude squelching sounds in the sticky coffee mess. How much could Gemma give before it became too much? An impatient tickle developed in her belly, and she thwacked Liddy’s ass even harder. The belt shrieked almost as loudly as Liddy when Gemma struck her again. She jumped and her red ass jiggled. The sight was beyond delightful. It tied a knot in Gemma’s stomach, and she whipped the girl again.

There were times in life when Gemma wished to god she had a huge, hard cock. Looking down at Liddy’s swollen ass, she could only imagine how ripe and wet that girl’s pussy must be. Those lovely cheeks sizzled red and Liddy whimpered like a puppy. Her knees buckled. Her fingers wiggled. She lay with her cheek flush to the lunchroom table, her hair slowly soaking up the excess coffee.

“Liddy, you need a good fuck,” Gemma said.

“Yes, ma’am.” The poor girl’s voice broke. “Yes, I do.”

From now on, Gemma would keep a strap-on at the office. That was for damn sure.

What else could she fuck the girl with? Fingers, certainly, but that wasn’t nearly enough. Maybe someone had left a cucumber in the fridge? Gemma checked, but everyone seemed to be following the “throw it out or take it home” policy. The fridge was all but empty, and the freezer was full of...ice cubes...

Gemma chuckled to herself and Liddy asked what was funny, but she wouldn’t say. The icy coldness would come as a shock to the junior lawyer’s blazing red ass. She couldn’t wait to witness the reaction. Had Liddy ever done this before, or would it be a first? Gemma’s belly fluttered at the thought.

Cracking one of the hard plastic ice trays, Gemma approached Liddy’s ass. The sound obviously gave her away, because Liddy’s cheeks tensed visibly and her calf muscles tightened. Oh well. Even if the ice wasn’t a surprise, it would still be a shock to her flesh.

Gemma took an ice cube between her fingernails and pressed it against Liddy’s hot cheek. The shriek that surged from that girl’s mouth brought a satisfied throb between Gemma’s thighs. Her joy was perverse. It drew from other people’s pain, and also from the resolution of that pain. She’d caused the brutal sting to Liddy’s backside, and now she was taking care of the girl, easing the sizzle with ice.

“How does that feel?” Gemma cooed.

Liddy whimpered. Her fingers wriggled behind her back.

“Does it feel good?” Gemma asked. “Answer me.”

“It’s cold, ma’am. So cold it burns.”

In moments, the ice had melted, spilling crystal water down Liddy’s porcelain thighs. Gemma grabbed another cube and traced it in sweeping figure eights across Liddy’s blazing ass.

Liddy stamped her heels on the ground, like she could pound the pain out through her feet. “It hurts! Oh God, it hurts so much!”

Cold on hot would hurt. Frozen on blazing was a whole other level of pain.

“Would you like me to stop, love?”

Liddy whimpered and whined, but she didn’t say no.

“How about this instead?” Without further warning, Gemma found Liddy’s wet slit and pressed an ice cube inside.

Liddy jerked around as much as she could with her wrists tied behind her back. She looked up at Gemma like she couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on. Gemma plucked another cube from the tray and held it up for the young one to see. She instructed Liddy to spread those legs before cramming the ice inside. Something splashed her hand, and it wasn’t just pussy juice - it was water from the last cube, melted already! If she planned to fill this girl’s pussy with ice, she’d better pick up the pace.

Liddy pressed down on the table, grinding her tits against its surface harder with every added cube. It was easy, at first. That pussy was wet beyond wet and the ice was self-lubricating. A little push and it slipped inside. Gemma worked fast, filling Liddy’s sweet little pussy with cube after cube, six in total.

“How does that feel, love?” Gemma slid a cool hand between the girl’s thighs, finding her clit soft and warm.

Liddy moaned, pressing her clit into Gemma’s hand, her body begging for more.

“Feels good?” Gemma asked.

“Uh-huh.” Her hips began a smooth riding motion as she used Gemma’s fingers to stroke herself off.

“You want to come, don’t you?”

When Liddy said, “Yes, Ma’am,” it was more a grunt than human speech.

Gemma rubbed the girl’s clit with expert precision. She knew her way around a pussy. When Liddy’s slit started drizzling warm water across her wrist, she knew she didn’t have far to go.

“I want you to come,” she said. “I want to get you off, my little lover.”

“Yes.” Liddy’s breast flopped against the table, splashing coffee everywhere. Her fingers reached out though there was nothing to grasp. She wheezed and moaned as she rocked on Gemma’s fingers. “Yes, make me come. Make me come, ma’am.”

Rubbing didn’t go far enough. Gemma mashed her palm over Liddy’s swollen clit and circled it roughly in large, sweeping loops. “Yes, come Liddy. Come for mama. Come now, baby.”

Gemma scoured the girl’s blazing clit with her whole hand, and Liddy exploded. Melted ice gushed from her slit like a tidal wave, soaking Gemma’s cuffs. She’d smell like pussy all the way home, and she savoured that thought as she kept rubbing the girl’s clit. As she’d suspected, Liddy wasn’t done yet. The young lawyer came again, flooding Gemma’s wrist with even more fragrant water. It was everywhere, all over the floor, mixing with spilled coffee. The lunchroom was a mess.

“Enough, please!” Liddy sounded desperate, so Gemma stepped away and untied her wrists. For a moment, she didn’t move her arms. She let them lie at the small of her back, panting, “Thank you, ma’am. Thank you.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Gemma replied, and it was true. It wasn’t every day she brought a pretty young woman to bliss. Most people wouldn’t understand the satisfaction her body took in giving others pleasure and pain.

“Give me a minute,” Liddy mumbled. Her naked chest was still spread across the table. “Then I’ll clean everything up, ma’am.”

Gemma chuckled fondly. “No more ma’am, Liddy. At least, not tonight. And I don’t mind cleaning. I’ll start on the floor.”

Turning her head, Liddy smiled. Coffee-stained hair streaked her pretty face. “Thank you, Gemma. I sure didn’t see this coming.”

“Well, neither did I, to be perfectly frank.” Gemma got on her knees to mop up ice water, pussy juice, coffee, and broken ceramics into a pile of paper towel. “But it turned out rather well, if you ask me.”

Liddy laughed in sleepy-sexy orgasmic exhaustion. “See? Sarah was wrong about me. It’s Tuesday and I just got spanked and belted and crammed full of ice cubes by another woman. I’m not a Saturday Night Lesbian at all.”

“Not if you don’t want to be,” Gemma said, trying to convey seriousness even though she wasn’t sure Liddy was up to hearing it. “If you want to be out in the workplace, I will stand beside you all the way. I will ensure you’re treated with equity and respect. The law is on your side, love.”

Picking herself up from the table, Liddy gazed at Gemma through misty eyes. She didn’t seem to care that her hair was dripping coffee down her breasts and the grey waist of her skirt was wet and tawny. She placed her hand over her heart and said, “You would really do that for me?”

“Of course.” Leaving the soiled towels and bits of broken mug on the floor, Gemma stood and came close. “I didn’t plan this, Liddy, but I care about you. I will do everything in my power to help you succeed.”

Liddy wrapped her arms around Gemma, pressing her naked, wet breasts against Gemma’s chest. If they kissed in that moment, Gemma knew the future was theirs. And thank goodness they did. Despite the strong city lawyer front she put on every day, Gemma was desperate for love everlasting.

Glory Box

By Cassandra Dean

Light blinded Elena.

Keeping her stride, she blinked and the red haze disappeared, the stage forming before her once more. Dim light from the bar outlined the audience before her, seated behind tiny tables, and weak red candlelight wavered over their faces, highlighting their cheekbones, glinting in their eyes. The cold of a Melbourne winter had tousled their hair, and she could imagine them battling the wind and the wet in their rush to the club.

The path was an open secret, a negotiation through the labyrinth of alleys and back streets that made up the heart of Melbourne. They would have come down the alley nestled amongst the restaurants of Chinatown, past the discards of rice and cardboard sprayed across the asphalt. As they turned the corner, darkness would consume and the isolation would whisper run, run, for anything could happen. Such misgivings would be ignored, and they would follow the graffiti winding along the brick walls down another alley, this one darker than the first. Their hearts in their throats and a delicious thrill of fear through their blood, they would scamper and hurry until they saw the nondescript sign lit with only one bulb buzzing at the end of yet another alley and breathe a sigh of relief as they pushed inside.

Reaching the microphone, Elena curled her hand around the stand and looked over the crowd, the corner of her mouth lifting into a half-smile. They waited, each and every one breathless with anticipation. Some were still garbed in the suits and skirts of their office, and some had taken the time to change into clothes made for sin, but all had come to see her. She loved this power, this hold she had on them. She loved that she was the one they came to see, that she commanded their attention and their love, even if it was from a distance.

A gust of cold wrapped around her and a strange kind of hollowness started beneath her breast. Curling her fingers tighter, she widened her smile. Someone must have entered the club, bringing the hint of winter with them, but the hollowness had no explanation. This feeling had annoyed her these last six months, but it would pass. It always had before.

Slowly, seductively, she swayed her hips as the band started to play. Music snaked around her - slow, heavy drums, the pound and thrum of the bass, and a melody made of guitars tripped over her skin. Allowing her head to loll, she looked over the crowd, and then she saw him.

Her heart stopped. Silence rushed to surround her, and it was only she and him in all the room, the rest of the audience forgotten as she met his gaze with hers.

Excitement filled her. He had come.

Just as quick, she severed the feeling. Of course he had come. Not an evening had passed when he wasn’t at his table, an amber kind of alcohol in his hand and his legs sprawled before him. He wore his usual clothing - black suit, black tie, suspenders holding his trousers rather than a belt - but his shoulders glistened, the cold and wet of Melbourne lingering upon him. Dark hair fell over his forehead, and as she always did, she wished she knew the colour of the eyes that watched her from under dark, slashing brows. His fingers held his glass loosely as he propped his elbow on the back of the chair, the red light of the candle throwing the planes of his face into harshness.

For over half a year, he’d been coming to the club. She didn’t know his name, but every night when she looked out over the crowd, he was there. They’d never spoken, never even approached each other, and yet it had become so she depended upon the sight of him, that each evening she sought confirmation of his presence and couldn’t fully relax until assured he was there, watching her from behind his table.

Throwing her shoulders back, she levelled her gaze upon him and offered up a smile. The corner of his mouth lifted in acknowledgement of her regard, and a crazy exultation skipped through her. Fingers sliding up the microphone stand, she pulled it closer and his expression turned pained, his hand clutching the glass.

Her smile widened.

Music swelled. Knowing he watched her, feeling his gaze like a caress, Elena closed her eyes and sang.

Words flowed from her as she climbed the music, soaring and falling, growling and entreating, melding her voice and the music into one. Every heartbreak she’d ever felt, every conquest she’d ever made, she poured into her song, seducing and being seduced, feeling again the hollowness and searching for an answer.

The feelings the music engendered grew too large to contain and, like a fool, she sought him out. He watched her with those eyes hidden by shadow, his hand still wrapped around his glass even as his other hand balled to a fist on the table. She could feel his gaze burning upon her, could see how his full lips tightened, how his jaw clenched. Her heart pounded, her flesh tingling under his regard, and deep within her, heat rushed to her centre to make her swollen and wet. Her nipples tightened against the thin satin of her dress and she arched her back, teasing herself with the scrape of fabric against flesh. He tensed further, his lips parting as he noticed his effect on her.

She wanted to touch him, so badly she ached.

Her voice skipped a note, but she quickly smoothed it over. Where had that thought come from? She didn’t ache for men. If she wanted one, she took him and once they were done, they were done. Though lately... Lately, she’d thought of what it might be like to linger. To have more than an hour or two. To, perhaps, know someone.

She wanted to know him.

The drums throbbed. The bass thrummed. Music tripped over her, but she kept her gaze locked with his. Blood beat a rhythm through her, forcing her breath to labour and her heart to pound. Lifting her arm, she curled it to the music, the action heavy with a languid kind of grace.

Through it all he watched her, his hand clutching his glass as her voice soared, reached a high, pure note. Holding it, she wavered on the edge as time elongated, becoming a moment filled wholly with him and his shadowed eyes.

The drums thundered, grew to a crescendo. Then, they stopped.

Her lungs screamed, but she held that note. She held it and held it, and his eyes burned into her, his hand tightening around the glass. Fingers trailing up the stand, she watched only him, her voice rising, swelling, becoming grander than the room.

And when it was at its height, when the crowd was on the edge of their seats, she cut off the note.

A moment of hush, two, and then the audience erupted. Wild applause, raucous whistles, frantic cheers, the crowd showered her in their desire and their love. She soaked it in, the adulation of strangers, and thought nothing of the hollow in her chest.

Leaning to the microphone once more, she thanked them, and they cheered and shouted, wanting more. The corner of her mouth lifted as she cast her gaze over them and faded as she became caught by him. Gaze steady, he regarded her and though his body was a sprawl, she could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the muscles of his thighs.

Silently, she extended an invitation. Come to me.

His eyes widened, and she saw his answer in the increase of the tension wracking his frame. He would come, and finally they would speak. And then, perhaps, they would do more.

Smiling for the crowd again, she begged their pardon even as she told them she would return. As she left the stage, she felt him watching her, and with one final glance over her shoulder, she entreated him to follow.

The walk to her dressing room passed in a blur. Her mind full of him, the door opened easily, and only the harshness of the light pulled her thoughts from him. Blinking, she dimmed the overhead light, leaving the room illuminated by the bulbs ringing the dressing table’s mirror.

Seating herself before it, she looked at her reflection. Light brown hair tumbled in artful curls over her shoulder, and the smoky-dark eye shadow made her brown eyes even darker. Red lipstick gave her lips a false lushness, while the indiscriminate light of the ring of globes destroyed the illusion of sharp cheekbones the blush had given her. The thin straps of the silvery-grey slip dress held the simple v-neckline in place, and though she couldn’t see it, the material skirted close to her hips. Amidst this illusion and falsity, a smile softened her features, one that spoke of hopes and dreams she’d long thought dead. One that spoke of thoughts of him.

The smile slipped from the Elena reflected.

She forced herself to regard herself clearly, without any subterfuge. All she did was shadow and illusion. There was no innocence left in the woman in the mirror, no reason for such a hopeful smile. That had been erased long ago, through a hundred brief encounters.

It seemed forever ago when she’d first moved to Melbourne, had left the suffocation of the small Victorian country town in which she’d grown. In the beginning, the anonymity of the city had excited her. No one knew her name, what she had for breakfast, reported her every move back to her parents so she could suffer their disappointment and their disdain. Here, no one belonged and no one cared, and she had savoured the freedom like a drug.

There had been a thousand different ways to be alone, and the night brought her a myriad of possibilities. She had thrown herself into anonymity, had almost made a dance of it. She’d taken who she wanted when she wanted, had moved from place to place, club to club. There was an edge, a seductive danger to feeling so unsettled, and she’d never wanted anything more.

Now... now, the dance was just a thousand different ways to be alone.

She stared at her reflection. Why this one? Why was he different?

Truth be told, there was no reason. There was nothing particular about him, nothing to spark this intense desire. He was a man, like any other, but if he gave her a reason, if he gave her just one, she would fall. So hard. So deep. She’d never thought of herself as wanting such things, and yet with him she wanted more than an hour or two. With him, she wanted forever.

Sucking in a breath, she shook herself. These thoughts were pointless. They would talk, and they would fuck, and there would be nothing more. He was not different. He was not special. And she refused to think otherwise.

A knock sounded at her door. Staring into the mirror, she watched as every muscle tensed, as a wild tangle of emotions chased across the face reflected in the mirror. She took a breath, and the emotions leapt within her, mingled hope and joy and something deeper than both.

Pressing her hand to her stomach, she took another breath. He wasn’t special. An hour or two, and no more.

Pushing from her dressing table, she arranged a coy smile as she turned the handle of the door.

He was taller than she’d expected. She’d known he would be tall - the sprawl of his legs spoke of that truth - but she hadn’t thought he would be a foot taller than her. His dark hair was actually chocolate brown, and he was leaner than his jacket and shirt suggested from the vantage of a stage. His eyes were still shrouded in shadow.

He hesitated at her threshold, as if unsure, and suddenly, she felt hesitant too. Annoyance bit at her, that he’d forced her to an emotion other than lust. Pretending she didn’t feel such, she stepped aside and waited.

For a long moment, he stood there, his eyes downcast. Then, his shoulders stiffened and finally he stepped into the room.

Shaking the annoying feeling, she forced the first steps of the game. “Would you like a drink?”

“Whisky.”

Dark, deep, his voice made her shiver, and made her think of lustful things. Gooseflesh skipping along her skin, she went to the small bar next to the dressing table and poured two glasses. Turning to him, she said, “You come every night.”

His fingers brushed hers as he took the glass. “Yes.”

Her breath caught as sensation bloomed, racing along her arm, through her breast, into her core. Excitement set a steady thrum within her. “You have a name?”

“Yes.”

Amusement wound through her, dampening his effect. “What is it?”

He cleared his throat. “Max.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Max.” Tilting her head, she allowed a smile to tug at her lips. “I’m Elena.”

“I know.” His gaze skittered from hers.

A slight frown drew her brows at his reaction. He acted hesitant and unsure, as if he didn’t know the game they played. Why, then, was he here?

Something hollow and hopeful and dark swirled within her.

No. They were here to fuck, nothing more. “So Max, what brings you to the club every night?”

“I - ” Seeming to change his mind, he cut himself off. “The music.”

“The music?” She pressed her nails into his skin. “Is that all?”

“No, I... no.” He shifted his weight.

Disquiet filled her. This was supposed to be casual. An hour or two, and then done. Why was he making her question herself and him? “Why are you here? What do you want?”

He raised his gaze to hers and her breath caught. The expression in his eyes was great and terrible and...lovely. “I came to see you.”

Her breath caught at the simplicity of his words.

“Every night, I come to see you.” His voice gained strength with each word he spoke. “I watch you stand on the stage, and you seem like I do. You seem - ” Again he cut himself off, his gaze sliding from hers.

She waited, but he didn’t speak. Struggling for levity, she gave him a flirty smile. “I seem...”

His gaze returned to hers. “Lonely.”

Speech deserted her.

Rubbing the back of his neck, brows drawn, his chest shuddered with the breath he took. “I come here every night, and I want - Christ, I look at you on that stage and I just want to hold you, to feel you next to me and know that neither of us are alone.”

Shoving a hand through his tousled hair, he laughed, and it was a harsh, bitter sound. “Stupid, right? So tonight, when you beckoned to me with that wicked smile, I was going to take only what you gave and be content with that, but then you asked - ” He exhaled, and his look turned rueful and despairing and self-deprecating all at once. “You asked me what I wanted - and I want you.”

Eyes wide, unable to speak, she stared at him.

Crossing his arms, he gripped his biceps. “You asked.”