The Accidental Call Girl (15 page)

But John Smith could make her scream and grant her pleasure in other ways too, darker ways. Did he want straight sex out here in the woods, or did he want to play?

As he took her mouth again, she surged against him, loving the way he made a rough sound of approval in his throat. They kissed for a few moments, and he ravished her with his tongue and lips until she was so dizzy with lust she could barely stand.

When he broke away, gasping, his eyes were wild and dark. ‘Hell, this is no good. I can’t think straight to do what I want to do. I’ve got to take the edge off.’ His hand settled on her shoulder, pushing down. ‘Get on your knees . . . now.’

Almost swooning, Lizzie sank down, barely noticing the dampness of the turf beneath her knees. All she could focus on was John, and his crotch, and his swift, nimble hands unfastening his trousers, then drawing out his erection before her eyes.

He was huge, and from this angle he looked bigger still. Without hesitation, or question, he gripped the back of her head and pressed the fat glans against her lips, pushing for entrance, stiff and imperious. ‘Open up, escort girl,’ he hissed, his voice low.

Thrusting, he pushed right in, filling her mouth with his hard flesh, ruthlessly jerking and shoving. It should have been demeaning, and uncomfortable, but had her mouth not been stuffed with him, Lizzie would have felt like shouting, singing in triumph. He was using her, yet it felt like rapture.

John gasped and growled, holding her still, fucking her mouth, ruthless and demanding. But loving it, she grasped his thighs, helped him to get deeper, miraculously not choking or gagging but relishing every inch and every thrust. She loved it too when he cried out, his snarling, swearing voice nothing like that of the urbane, civilised man she’d come to know. He cursed and grunted like a savage, and after just a few moments of furore, he jerked and jerked and jerked, and without pausing to ask, filled her mouth with his come, holding her tightly and compelling her to swallow.

His chest heaving, John swayed, but Lizzie supported him, holding him just as tight, his thick seed on her tongue, and his cock subsiding, still between her lips. After a moment, she let him slip out and, ever so delicately, and mindful of his sensitised state, she neatly licked him clean.

Between her legs, she ached for the flesh that she attended to, her sex dripping, but it would only be a matter of time before he was ready . . . ready again.

‘Hell yes . . . that was good.’ His voice was soft now, still a little breathless, and his hand was gentler against the side of her head, stroking and caressing. She felt him reach for the ribbon that contained her hair, and realised that when he’d been grabbing at her, in extremis, he’d half deconstructed her pony-tail. ‘Exceptional . . .’ He coiled the ribbon and slid it into his pocket, as if saving it for later, while her hair cascaded around her face in smooth, dark curtains.

She didn’t move. He hadn’t given permission, and he was in charge now. If nothing else, his show of dominance by fucking her mouth had defined their roles for the moment.

Still close, her ran his fingers through her hair, lifting the black strands and then letting them trail across his temporarily somnolent cock. It twitched a little, as if already beginning to revive.

‘You, my dear, are the most superlative cocksucker, if you don’t mind me being blunt.’ He cradled her face, fingers still plunged into her hair, making her look up at him. ‘The best I’ve ever had.’

‘Well, I don’t think I can really claim the honours, some-how. I wasn’t really the active party in that little contretemps. More a convenient vessel than a star performer.’

He gave her an arch look. His eyes narrowed warningly. ‘Sometimes it takes skill to be passive, and receptive, and you have that quality in abundance.’ He stroked her head again, punctuating his assessment of her, then returned his attention to his clothing, tucking his cock tidily away. Lizzie felt a pang of disappointment, wishing he’d have given her a chance to show what she could do with lips and tongue.

‘Take all your clothes off, Bettie. I want to see your luscious body naked.’

She’d half been expecting this, but still it made her heart thud. They weren’t all that far from the hotel, and if they could find this walking path, any other guest or guests taking a stroll could too. And when she glanced upwards, the sky was very dark, the cloud thickening, low and heavy. They were in for a downpour soon.

‘But it’s dark. It’s going to rain any minute.’

‘Ah, but I wish it, Bettie. And I don’t need the sun.
You’re
the sun for me.’

For a moment there was an odd, almost confused look in his eyes, then he smiled.

I feel the same. You’re my sun, John Smith. You’re golden . . .

Even in the gathering gloom he looked like some wicked, gilded angel with his gleaming hair and his sudden, almost beatific smile. It scared her, but for him she’d do anything, everything. Stripping off her clothes in broad daylight, with a real risk of being discovered, was the least of it.

And he’s paid you for it too. So jump to it.

The return to her thoughts of her deception, and her dilemma, brought apprehension for a moment, but the expectant look in John’s eyes quickly banished that.

Trying to be smooth, accomplished and graceful, she began to strip. The air was still quite warm, but still she trembled as she stepped out of her shoes, then peeled off first her little jacket, then her sundress. She flung the clothes aside, not looking where they landed, no thought for the hours she’d spent at the sewing machine, creating them. Lifting her head, she looked John boldly in the eye, daring him to find fault with her light, lacy basque and matching knickers.

‘Delightful, but all off, please. I want you bare as a wood nymph.’

She unhooked her stockings and rolled them down and off, then unfastened the basque too, tossing the whole lot after her dress. Then she stepped out of her panties and, when John held out his hand, she put them into it. ‘I’ll keep these. You won’t need them for the rest of the day, because I’m going to spend most of the time spanking you or fucking you or playing with your pussy . . . That is, when you’re not playing with it yourself for my entertainment.’

He sounded so ruthless, so wicked, but there was still that playful twinkle in his eyes. Her nipples hardened painfully with desire.

Sidling closer, he slid behind her and murmured in her ear. ‘Fondle your tits for me, you gorgeous girl. I want to see your nipples standing out, really pert.’

He seemed to relish the broad, almost coarse talk. And so did she. He was an intelligent man of refinement, but even more thrilling when he was raw and direct. Licking her lips, she raised her right hand and took a nipple between finger and thumb, slowly rolling.

It felt as if the tiny organ was a switch that tuned her desire to a higher pitch. Kinetic energy gathered in her pelvis and as she tweaked and plucked at herself, it became harder and harder to keep her lower body still. The urge to gyrate her hips, and thrust and rock in a lewd display, was almost agony.

‘You want to move, don’t you?’ he whispered in her ear, ‘You want wiggle your hips, and to be rude and crude, like some cheap stripper . . . You want to be like the real Bettie, exhibiting your body and wafting your crotch about to excite a drooling audience.’

She fought to keep still, tried to surreptitiously back off from the stimulation of her breast. ‘Oh no, no, no . . . no cheating. Pinch your nipple. Pinch it hard. But if you move your hips even a millimetre, I’ll beat you . . . You know that, don’t you?’

Lizzie nodded her head. God, that was what she wanted. It was strange. It was bizarre. But she craved the lash. She wanted to offer her bare bottom to him and feel him create fire in it, thrashing her flesh without mercy. Against all reason, she wanted him to make her moan and sob in pain, as well as ecstasy. She wanted him to dispense both, and so intensely that she could barely differentiate between the two.

Squashing her nipple hard between finger and thumb, she gasped aloud and her hips jerked involuntarily.

‘Wicked girl. You’ll suffer for that.’ His voice was joyous and he reached around her, pinching her other nipple, just as hard, making her moan and waft her pelvis to and fro, her lust over-tipping. Silky fluid trickled down her inner thigh, and her sex was awash, her clitoris distended and aching.

Gasping, she surrendered to the sensations, and felt John press himself close against her back and her naked bottom. His cock was like a knot of stone again, pressing against her crease as he reached around and cupped her crotch while his fingers still wrought distress on the tip of her breast.

‘God, you’re such a deliciously accomplished whore,’ he said, lips in her hair. ‘I love that you get so wet . . . so into it. You make it all so real for me.’

What was he talking about? Oh God, yes . . . again, she’d forgotten. But to her, it
was
real. Real sex. Real desire, so dark and twisted. For an instant, she wanted to blurt out the truth, but then squashed the urge. She just couldn’t . . . she couldn’t stop now, and get into something else entirely and lose the mood.

Not when he was stroking her clit, creating beauty with one set of fingers while hurting her with the other and making both sensations feed one voracious appetite.

When he pinched her in both places, nipple and clit, she came hard, knees almost buckling, leaning against him. Her voice assailed the sky, high and clear, soaring towards the clouds.

‘Well, that was more than a millimetre,’ he whispered as she tried to gather her wits, still half slumped against him, reaching back, gripping his muscular thigh to steady herself. ‘That was a climax, you greedy woman, and I didn’t give you permission to have one. I’m going to have to beat your bottom really hard for that.’

Lizzie whimpered, a little of it play-acting, but most of it real. Her pussy was still rippling but seemed to surge with new hunger. With a defiant swirl, she rubbed her bottom against his erection, feeling the bulge of him massage her anal groove.

‘Oh, and you’ll get that too, wicked Bettie.’ His hips flirted, pushing his hardness at her. ‘But not this afternoon, I think . . . Activities like that need a little forethought.’

He was right. But she was still disappointed.

‘Don’t worry . . . Soon . . .’

It was as if he’d read her thoughts. Read them again. And the idea of that made her sag against him, coming down from the high of her orgasm.

‘Are you all right?’ His voice was different now, real and not of their sexual world. He was concerned for her as a lover would have been, or a friend.

‘Yes, thank you . . . I’m fine . . . If there’s anything the matter, I’ll always cry “chintz”, don’t you worry.’

He laughed softly, and caressed her, running his hands over her body. ‘Such soft skin you have . . .’ In a sudden movement, he held her by the shoulders and turned her, looking into her eyes. Then, unexpectedly, he shrugged out of his jacket, turned it lining side down and set it on the big tree trunk. ‘Sit down.’

Taken aback, she obeyed him, wondering at his strange courtesy. They were playing dominance games, and that was a fact. She was his creature. And yet, like a knight of old, he’d laid down his modern equivalent of a cloak for her comfort.

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ There was still concern in his eyes as he stared into hers, cradling her face and taking her wrist in his free hand. ‘You swayed there. I don’t want you to pass out. What we do is intense.’

‘I’m fine. Really I am.’ She wanted to laugh, but she could see he was serious. ‘What are you? A paramedic now?’

John smiled, but seemed reassured. He squeezed her hand and released her. ‘I’ll have you know I got badges for first aid when I was a boy scout. I know what I’m talking about.’

For an instant, she imagined him young. A golden adolescent with a mop of angelic curls. He must have been adorable. He was still pretty divine now, the seasoning of maturity only adding to his attractions.

‘That’s very reassuring,’ she said, adding, ‘Really!’ when he raised his sandy eyebrows at her. ‘And you’ve certainly still got the legs for the shorts.’

‘Cheeky mare!’

Tentatively, she put her hand on his thigh, loving the firm toned feeling of his musculature, then slid it higher. Her knuckles brushed against his cock through the linen of his trousers, and that felt firm and toned too. More than firm. It twitched like a wild beast when she pressed harder.

‘What are you doing, Bettie?’ he asked softly, his eyes narrow and twinkling. He didn’t touch her or stop her. His arms were relaxed by his sides now, hands loose on the surface of the tree trunk. He seemed to be challenging her, or perhaps tempting her into some unwary act.

‘I . . . I thought we might resume our normal programming.’ Unable to resist, she twisted her wrist and laid her full hand over his erection, glorying in its mass, the perceptible heat through the light cloth, and the jersey of his undergarment beneath. ‘I wanted to check whether you’d recovered from the blow job . . . whether you were still in the mood.’ She cupped him, searching for the details, the shape of his shaft.

‘I’m always in the mood around you. Especially when you’re as bold as this. Making free with me without permission. Any more, and I’ll have to punish you, you know that, don’t you?’

You were always going to punish me.

Not answering, she slid down his zip, and fished around inside, finding him. He was hot, hard and velvety, his tip a little moist with pre-come. Her mouth watered, and she wanted to suck him again, she found him so delightful. Perhaps use a bit of her own skill this time, rather than just be a receptacle for his release. She imagined sucking on just the crown, taking just the glans between her lips to tease him. Playing around the little love-eye with the point of her tongue while she delicately cradled his balls.

But when she started to slide off the tree trunk, to kneel before him, he murmured, ‘Uh oh . . . I want something different now. Maybe when we return to the hotel.’

She sat quiescent, waiting for his will, but with her hand still in his trousers, defiantly. As he studied her, with the devil-light in his eyes, a few fat drops of rain pattered down onto them from the darkening skies.