The Red Collection (20 page)

He shoves in hard, knocking me against the door and making me wince at its impact against my bottom. Throwing his weight against me, he starts to thrust, in and up, in a steady rhythm. I grab his shoulders and grunt in sync as he ploughs me.

Oh God, I’ll never be able to get enough of this! The fucking and the spanking and the games – and the quieter moments too. Even as he bangs away at me relentlessly, there’s
a
part of my consciousness hovering above us, marvelling at the sexy sight we make.

A beautiful young man, and an older woman made beautiful by the lust for life he’s stirred in her. It might be another old cliché, the one about sex making you bloom, but by hell, it’s surely happened to me with Edward. I feel doubly alive, full of juice, full of energy.

He thrusts and thrusts, going deep, slamming my back, my bottom and my head against the oak. I feel dizzy and it isn’t only from arousal. Or from the way each plunge of his mighty penis knocks my clitoris. I hold on as if my life depends on this. Maybe it does? Orgasm barrels towards me, huge and breathtaking, and I bite my lip, keeping in a scream as it hits me full on. Everything jerks and wrenches and contracts in a delicious spasm. My heart soars even as pleasure tumbles down through me.

Climaxing, I haven’t an ounce of strength left. I’m pinned to the door by Edward, and the way he holds me and powers into me with his cock. He makes a growly noise that’s halfway between a laugh and groan of pleasure, and then he’s coming too, his hips pounding, pounding, pounding me against the unyielding oak. The soreness in my bottom seems a million miles away.

‘God Almighty,’ I pant, when my brain eventually reengages. We’re sort of propped in a general tangled heap against the door, and for all his usual sang-froid, Edward seems as shell-shocked as I am.

‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ he says with a broken laugh as he levers himself off me, and straightens up, pushing against our support with both hands. Still not quite with it, I watch as he whips off the condom, knots it and flings it away. Wonder what someone coming to search the boxes will think
when
they find a used rubber johnny in the corner of their old storeroom?

Within seconds, Edward is zipped up and immaculate again, and with a couple of swipes of his hand, his smooth brown hair is tidy too. I suspect it might take rather longer to bring my appearance to order, but when I start to fiddle with my bustier, he dashes my hands away. Before I can draw breath he gives my nipples a squeeze or two.

‘What a shame to have to cover these. They’re so pinchable.’ The squeezes turn to little nips, and even though I’ve just come like an express train, my body starts to be aroused again. It’s always like that with him. I’m virtually always ready. ‘Wish we had some clamps with us. I’d love to parade you about in front of all these posh folk with your tits on show and clamps dangling from your nipples.’

The way he’s touching me, and what he says, make me feel faint. Because I can imagine it so clearly, almost feel it. All eyes on me and my bare breasts, adorned for his pleasure. It’d be shaming, but at the same time I’d feel proud. Like a prize, a barbarian slave girl … well, slave woman … all captured and tamed by my hot young warrior.

Still playing around with me, he kisses me again, hard and possessive. Where his pelvis is pressed against me, dear God, he’s hard again. What is it with us two today? Is it the wedding, a traditional celebration of fertility and sensuality? Is it getting to us and making us extra horny?

Pulling away again, he laughs and reaches for the buttons of my jacket, fastening them up while my breasts are still uncovered beneath, resting on the flimsy cups of the bustier. The sensation of the jacket’s satin lining sliding against my sensitised nipples is breathtaking, and I gasp as I move to try and set my skirt to rights.

As if he’s loath to cover up my pussy too, Edward reaches down and gives me a rough fondle there, before unfolding the bundle of my skirt and sliding it down over my thighs and my stockings. With a wicked wink, he licks his fingers, savouring my taste.

‘Well, I doubt if there’s anything as delicious as that at the buffet, but shall we mosey on back inside and see what’s on offer?’ He smacks his lips wickedly, and gives my crotch a last quick squeeze through the cloth of my skirt.

‘I’m going to have to tidy myself up first.’ I try and comb my hair with my fingers, even though I know it’ll take more than that, and a better mirror than the tiny one I have in my handbag. ‘I must look as if I’ve been dragged backwards through a bush.’

Cocking his dark head on one side, he gives me a strange complex smile, and brushes his fingers lightly against my face. ‘You look fabulous. Bloody amazing. And if I didn’t think I was depriving you of all the festivities, love, I’d have your skirt up again and fuck you again right now.’ The smile widens, becomes salacious. ‘Maybe up the arse this time, for variety. Would you like that?’

Desire grinds in my pussy. Dark, twisted desire. The sort that blooms from pain, and strangeness, and intense sensations that dwell in the confused hinterland of discomfort and perverted pleasure.

Oh God, I really want that. I really do.

‘Would you like that?’ he persists, his blue eyes dark and stormy, vaguely satanic.

‘Yes …’

‘Yes, what?’

‘Yes, master …’ My voice is tiny. I feel light as air, as if I could fall over. But as if he’s more attuned to me than I
am
to myself, Edward holds me by the arm and keeps me upright.

Leaning in to whisper in my ear, he says, ‘Very well then, slave. I’m going to have your arse before we leave here, I promise you that.’

Luscious fear chokes me, and between my legs I feel a new rush of liquid. ‘But … um … won’t we need lube?’

‘Never you worry, dirty girl. Don’t you know by now that I’m always prepared?’ He squeezes my bottom, and stirs the fire of my earlier punishment again. ‘Now let’s go.’ He pushes me forward, towards the outside, still cupping my buttocks.

I complain, even though I like it, how I like it.

It’s later and we’ve circulated, we’ve eaten, and I’ve drunk some more. Edward is a god over this. After a couple of glasses of champers, he’s switched to mineral water with a twist of lime. I don’t know whether it’s simply his responsible driver ethic, or that he prefers to keep a clear head for our little games. I suspect it’s a bit of both, but I’m not complaining. I’ve had more champagne and I’m feeling frisky and crazy and horny, and generally pretty fabulous.

People look at us. They look at us a lot. I still think they wonder what that old bird is doing with the gorgeous young hunk, but I don’t care any more. I pretty much stopped caring altogether very soon after Edward and I started seeing each other. And fucking each other. And doing all the other things we do together. Apart from the fact that his face is smooth and unlined, and his body is like a male supermodel’s, he doesn’t seem like a younger man to me. He’s in charge. He’s authority personified. He knows the world.

There’s a very impressive and disproportionately loud firework display going on now, and people are filtering
outside
to watch it. Edward winks at me, takes my glass from my hand and leads me out into the hall.

Oh. Game on. Desire charges through my veins and races to my pussy. He nods towards the stairs and urges me up them, touching my bottom as we go up. Just the simple contact makes me want to clutch myself, I’m so turned on. I can barely believe it.

He scans the landing, and we turn right along a corridor. Ahead of us, we see one of the groomsmen, a tall, fit individual I might have yearned for if I’d never met Edward. What the hell is he up to? All of a sudden, he opens a door that seems to lead to a cupboard of some kind, then slips inside, with a secret smile upon his face.

Edward gives me a secret smile of his own. ‘Come on,’ he says, ‘let’s find a cupboard of our own, eh?’

This is a rambling house, and exploring more corridors and a staircase brings us to a door that’s slightly ajar. Confidently pushing it open, Edward steps inside then beckons me to follow.

It’s an old study, someone’s private retreat. Small and cluttered, and a bit dusty, it’s still cosy in its own way. There are books around the walls, and a couple of old leather armchairs that nearly fill the space. On a sideboard, there’s a candelabra, set with fresh, never-lit candles. As I step forward into the room, Edward crosses behind me to turn the key in the lock. I spin around and his eyes are narrowed yet glinting as he runs his gaze over my body.

If I wasn’t already primed, I would be now. The way he looks at me seems to own me, and I love that. His scrutiny lingers over my breasts, and my crotch, and when he tips his head, it’s an unspoken indication that I should turn around and show him more.

‘That arse of yours, love. I’ll never get tired of it, you know. Never ever.’ There’s such honesty in his voice, real enthusiasm. He loves to play the master, but he doesn’t fool about with feigning disinterest and aloofness. He never hides the fact he’s really into it. ‘Come on, show me the goods, you sexy creature.’

Craning to look at him over my shoulder, I ease up my slim skirt, the glide of the silk lining a subtle caress and also a lick of simmering heat over my bottom. The places where he hit me earlier have settled now, but there’s still heightened sensitivity and subtle fire there.

‘Lean over. Put your hands on the chair arms, and brace yourself.’

I obey him, my heart fluttering. God, I love to show myself to him in this kind of blatant and faux demeaning way. It doesn’t actually demean me – it’s really the opposite – but the sense of theatre in it excites me as well as him.

He comes over to stand behind me, and nudges my heels apart with the toe of his polished dress shoe. As my thighs separate, I feel the sticky folds of my sex part as well. My thong is sodden, has been for hours, and the odour of my arousal seems to fill the room.

In an action of ownership, Edward thrusts two fingers into my sex. ‘Always ready … I love that. I love that you’re so horny, sweetheart.’

Only for you … only for you …

I bear down on the intrusion. I love it that I’m so horny too. I love that this beautiful young man has come into my life and switched everything on to full power that was only ticking over before. Right now, I don’t care that it’s probably only a temporary situation. Knowing Edward – and yes, loving him too – has given
me
the gift of being able to live for the day, for the moment.

‘Oh, you like that, don’t you?’ he whispers, leaning over me, the smooth cloth of his jacket sliding over my bottom. With his breath whispering against the back of my neck, he parts his two fingers to stretch me. My pussy ripples around them and my clit swells and pulses.

‘Answer me,’ he growls softly, flexing his fingers even more and making me gasp and moan in my throat.

‘I like it.’ I force out the words as he tests me, pushing me and making me rise on my toes.

‘And would you like it if I put something else inside you?’

Push, push, push …

‘Yes. Anything,’ I answer boldly.

‘And how about in your arse? The same?’

‘Yes … the same … in my arse.’ With his free hand he slips a finger under the ribbon that bisects my buttocks and flicks lightly at my anus, syncopating the touches with the thrust of his fingers inside me.

I can hardly breathe. I can hardly think. I can only anticipate, and feel intoxicated by luscious sexual anxiety.

‘Good girl … good girl …’ He continues to fondle me and plague me. I want to tell him to get on with it, to do his worst. But he’ll do things in his time. He’s in charge. He always will be.

And yet I can’t stop myself from moving, hitching about, tensing and stretching. This pose is killing the backs of my legs, but in my ever-gathering anticipation I barely notice the discomfort. It’s like being a mechanism that tightens, tightens, tightens, ready to discharge its energy in a huge, frightening burst.

‘Be careful, slave,’ he warns softly, still working me. The
words
are stern, but there’s that softer, more tender note again.

That’s what makes me come. It’s too much. Too sweet. Too great a pleasure. Unable to contain or control myself, I pitch forward in the chair, face first into the cushions, resting on one elbow while with the other I reach down disobediently and press on my pulsing clit to sweeten the moment. My hand jostles Edward’s where it’s down between my legs.

He doesn’t reprimand me, or go all ‘master’ on me. He just works with me, through the furore, making things better for me with his clever, loving fingers.

‘Well, that didn’t work out quite how I planned,’ he says at length.

I’m sort of in a heap in the chair, crumpling my posh suit and ruining my make-up yet again by burying my face in the cushions. I feel a bit teary and I’m hiding it from him, although I suspect he can probably tell. He’s perched on the chair arm beside me, and he’s stroking my dishevelled hair slowly.

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be, baby …’ His hand pauses, and he tucks a few thick wayward strands of hair behind my ears. Lord knows what’s happened to the hairdo that cost me a fortune. I must look like a well-dressed bag lady by now. ‘I like to see you having fun. I like to feel it.’

I roll over, trying to sit straight and adjust my skirt to make myself halfway decent, but he stops me. Quite gently, but he still prevents me from covering myself up.

‘No, don’t hide it yet.’ His blue eyes gleam. ‘When I said things didn’t quite turn out how I planned, that doesn’t mean I’ve given up altogether.’

Oh, there’s that delicious thread in his voice again.
Command
. Confidence. Control. Even though I’ve come so much already today, I start to want again. Want him. Want … want whatever. With him. I risk a slight smile, then unfold myself from the chair, and assume the position again. In readiness.

‘Good God,’ he breathes, ‘You are a very special woman.’ For a moment, he’s quiet and awestruck, and then it’s like a cloak of power falls back over him and he’s all business again. All sex.