What She's Looking For (27 page)

“Take a breast in each hand and
lift them. Present them to me.”

She obeyed, her nipples instantly
pebbling to diamond hardness as her fingertips brushed them, her left nipple
still throbbing from the cruel pinches his fingers had just given it. The act
of holding her breasts up for him was equal parts exciting, and embarrassing.
It was as if she were holding up melons she’d brought for inspection, to make
sure they met his needs.

Ashley hoped they did, whatever the
hell he had in store.

“Higher, slut.” He slapped a hand
against her tortured nipple, the pain harsh, making her grunt. “These are mine,
and I want a good look at them. Do what you’re told.”

Feeling the blush at her cheeks,
she pulled them higher until she felt the stretch of her skin, dropping her
head as his avid gaze zeroed in on the prominent lengths of her hard, red
nipples.

His hand grasped his cock, the wide
head glistening with moisture at the slit. “When I tell you I want to use your
tits, that means I want to fuck them. Do you understand what that means?”

“Uh, I guess.” She hadn’t ever had
a man do it before, and really didn’t understand
why
he’d want to. It
appeared she was about to find out though.

“Don’t ‘I guess’ me, slut. Tell me
what that means? What are you supposed to do when I tell you I want to fuck
those big tits of yours?”

“Sir?”

His fingers pinched her aching
nipples, twisting and pulling at the same time. “Tell me. I want to hear you
explain it so that I know you understand what’s expected of you.”

Ashley was completely out of her
depth here. She’d of course heard of the term, but she’d never actually seen it
done. Should she guess, bullshit her way through this?

The fingers clenched harder and she
whined with the burning pain.

Fuck.

“I put your penis between my …
breasts?”

The glint in his eye made her
swallow. “Tits, Ashley. Subs — slaves, refer to them as ‘tits’. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” It shouldn’t be turning
her on this much, but her pussy was fucking molten,
seething
, at his
words. What the hell was this? The realization was one of shock, tinged with an
exhilarating feeling of self-discovery. She felt as if she’d stepped off the
precipice, falling, hoping and praying his strong arms would be there to catch
her.

“Good girl. Now, let’s try again,
shall we?” He flashed a grin devoid of warmth, one of pure rapacious lust. “What
does it mean when I say I want to fuck your tits?”

“I need to put your penis between
my tits and make you come.”

His smile widened, the lines at the
corners of his eyes crinkling. “Good! That’s right. You’re going to squeeze
those big tits around my cock, and I’m going to fuck them until I come. Do you
think you can do that, slut?”

“Yes, Sir.” She dropped her eyes,
the pale swells of her breasts filling her vision, the heat of her blush damning.
Should she have been incensed at him for calling her that?

Why? He sees you for what you
are.

But there was no mistaking the
reaction of her body to those words, to something that should be demeaning. It
was
demeaning, in a sense, but also in another, almost … empowering. A statement of
fact. A woman who wanted him to fuck her, to take her, to
use
her.
Anytime he wanted, in whatever way he wanted. To Ashley this was what
submission was, the core of it, that need to be all things to him, to be both his
love, his possession, and his property.

His.

Fuck, you are one messed up
chick.

She smiled. Not messed up. Free.

“Now, be a good girl and do what
you said you’d do. Let me feel those tits of yours.” He leaned back a bit, and
his cock, long and thick stood straight up, moving with the beat of his heart.

She leaned in, the heavy shaft hot
against the coolness of her skin, then eased her breasts apart enough to let
his cock sink between them, the broad head upon her sternum.

“Now squeeze it, girl.”

His cock was like a bar of molten
metal between the soft pillows of her breasts.

“Harder, slut. I want them squeezed
tight when I fuck them.” His hand entwined in the length of her hair, her scalp
tightening almost to the point of discomfort. “Be a good girl.”

She pushed her breasts together
until the flesh under her fingertips turned white, her turgid nipples pressed
to his hips.

“That’s it, much better. Now, up
and down the shaft. Keep the pressure on them, long strokes.”

“Oh god,” she murmured, looking
down at the broad purple head of his cock disappearing, then spearing back up
at her as she plunged down with brisk strokes. Once she reached the base of his
cock, it felt like the head was tickling the hollow at the base of her throat.

“Sometimes I’ll use baby oil on
those tits before you squeeze them back around my cock. This time I want the
friction though.”

Ashley quickened her pace, ignoring
the objectification aspect of this.

Oh for God’s sake. Stop kidding
yourself.

Okay, maybe she liked this — a
little — because it
was
objectifying.

Rather than protest though, she
concentrated on following his instructions to the letter. Part of the
attraction of submission to her had always been trying something new. Whether
it was discovering something about herself, or learning new aspects about her
lover’s personality, submission — and the steadily deeper depths she needed to
dive into — always seemed to provide new vistas for her psyche to explore. He
was in a mood that normally she might challenge a bit, if she felt like running
risks — but this was something so new, her brat tendency seemed to have gone
temporarily dormant.

This was about discovery — both her
own and her Sir’s.

“Yesss, that’s it, girl. Faster
now.”

His grip tightened in her hair,
holding her head steady as she masturbated him within the clutch of her
breasts, the heat of him both startling and exhilarating. She felt his cock
jerk once, twice.

“Oh fuck, coming,” he groaned. “Don’t
stop!”

She looked down in rapt
fascination. Once she might have been put off by the idea, but now she wanted
to watch it. Every delicious second of it.

As the broad head surged up from
the creamy embrace of her cleavage, the slit opened, a great gout of semen
spurting upward, making her head jerk against the grip of his hand in her hair.

Hot seed splashed against the
underside of her chin, a thick, salty rope of it curling up across her lips,
her tongue dashing it away eagerly. More semen arced forth, pooling in the
depression at the base of her throat, in the hollow of one collarbone.

He threw his head back as a last
spurt burst forth, the cords of his neck in rigid relief under his tanned skin,
the hard muscles of his chest, the sectioned abdomen rigid. His thighs squeezed
her between their powerful lengths, his muscles shaking, warmth rolling off his
body in waves.

“Jesus Christ, Ashley.” He
straightened, grinning down at her as shudders coursed through his tense
thighs. “You’re good at that!”

She lowered her eyes. “Thank you,
Sir.”

What was it about the man? Even the
most casual praise, warmed her heart. To her it meant she’d pleased him, and
that was its own, pure joy. It was a revelation to her, how much she craved his
approval, his enjoyment of what she did, or of what he did to her.

“Sir?” Though his cock was spent,
it had only partially deflated, the cleavage of her breasts glistening with his
emission. She looked down at her breasts, then back up at him, pointedly.

“No, you keep them there until I
tell you to stop.” His finger scooped up a dollop of his semen, painting her lower
lip with it, the scent so delicious the urge to lick that finger was
overpowering. He met her eyes as his finger stroked the wetness over her
swollen lip. “This, girl. This is what I want. I command, you obey. There’s
nothing simpler, nothing more powerful than that.”

“Oh God.” Her clit thrummed its
forlorn, lonely tune down below, salvation for it seeming like just a mirage
now. He slipped his finger between her lips, and she sucked it greedily, her
gaze locked with his. Those deep gray eyes regarded her with a fondness that
stirred her. His pleasure had become her pleasure after all.

Fuck, I really need to come
though. Please God.

But she did as she was told,
keeping his cock cradled in her soft wetness until its length, like the rest of
him, had succumbed to the post-orgasmic lassitude she so enjoyed.

That is, when it was
her
who’d actually had the orgasm.

“Now, girl. Come up here.” He
released her hair, his arms reaching for her. She sprung up, not caring, for
the moment, that his semen had cooled to a sticky film coating her breasts, the
skin of her throat tight with it.

All that mattered now was feeling
the embrace of those arms, snuggling her head into the crook of his neck, the
heat of his skin against hers. He scooped her up in those arms with ridiculous
ease, taking her trembling form into the bedroom. Rather than go to the bed
though, he simply fell upon that sumptuous chair, the muted brightness from the
overhead lights washing them both in warm illumination. Soon, the slowing thump
of his heart under her ear began to lull her as he held her, his hand stroking
random patterns against her shoulder.

And as she thought again of how
very lucky she was, how wonderful the vagaries of fate could be, sleep finally
took her.

Chapter Twenty One

T
he snow fell like the white motes of a
snow globe, the winterscape outside just as beautiful. She moved the car
carefully up the first of several steep switchbacks that traversed up the hill
to home. The road had been plowed, and she (for once) wasn’t riding on tires —
at Parker’s gruff insistence — that were bald. Parker and Drake had both told
her that with the studded snow tires she now had, as long as there was no ice
or unplowed road, she should be okay. Thunking her coffee into the cup holder,
Ashley took the cold wheel in both hands, the cranky heater of her car still
not really making a dent in the cold that had rendered it a rolling icebox
while she’d shopped for the last two hours. She glanced at the bag sitting on
the passenger seat.

Black, check. Lace, check.
Slutty, triple fucking check.

She imagined the look in Parker’s
cold gaze when he saw her body encased in that lingerie. He’d take a fistful of
her hair and force her to her knees, bare her breasts from all that lace.
Perhaps she’d squeeze his hot flesh between her breasts, let him use their soft
curves as he chose — an activity she’d discovered was a favorite of Parker’s — and
surprisingly, something she took great pleasure in herself. Or maybe he’d just
make her hold them up for him, her breasts like an offering to an angry god,
her blush burning her cheeks as she looked up at him, his pistoning fist
sending geysers of semen across the slopes of her bosom to the accompaniment of
his groans, the sounds of a man enjoying his property. His toy.

But that would have to wait,
unfortunately. Parker was gone. Again.

She knew he had missions he’d be
sent on, often with no notice — and this latest one was no different. Ten days
he’d been gone, so far. It was time for him to come home, dammit!

The car made the turn, the tires
crunching through the powdery snow that has just begun to recoat the plowed
roadway. As she came around the second switchback, she could see far down to
the hill to the glassy surface of the lake below, a smooth gray plane
reflecting the opaque overcast above.

The rear end of her car got
squirrelly for second, and she clamped tight to the wheel, exhaling as the
tires caught traction again. “Eyes on the road, dipshit,” she hissed.

Creeping up the road she thought of
Parker again, where he might be, what he might be doing. Was it winter where he
was? Did the rays of the sun warm his skin, the power of it renewing his
spirit, making him forget about his home locked in the frigid depths of
December?

I could use some warm sunshine
right about now. And a hard pounding.

Drake’s image popped into her head:
his incredible muscles, that rumbling bass of a voice that made her insides
quiver. She’d seen him all of once during the past ten days of Parker’s current
absence — the day he’d knocked on her door as she rushed to get ready for work,
dangling a strange pair of keys on his finger. Parker had left Drake money, and
instructed him to get her tires changed. So Drake had made her drive his
behemoth of a truck in to work that day, while he took her car to get new
tires.

Refusal was not an option, nor was
her insistence that she pay them back. Instead, he’d stood in her open doorway,
watching her as she’d slipped on her heels and buttoned her suit jacket, sending
her on her way with a slap to her ass that had her pussy clenching.

She’d wanted to talk to Drake,
needed to sort out what all this meant, this … whatever the fuck it was,
forming between the three of them. But Drake seemed to have made himself scarce
as soon as Parker was gone.

Part of her wanted to see what
would happen, if she were alone with him, if she felt that same electricity
she’d felt that day dangling in the harness while those male hands had their
way with her helpless body. Was she even supposed to be with Drake alone now?
Parker had never forbidden it, yet part of her wondered. Something was missing,
not adding up. Everything was so new, and so jumbled, she just went with what
her instinct told her.

No, for some reason, Parker wasn’t
ready. Wasn’t ready for her to be with Drake yet — at least not without him
there too.

And Drake seemed to be cooperating.

Either that or the big man wasn’t
really as into her as she’d first thought.

Don’t be stupid, Ashley. He
wants you — just as much as you want him.

The thought still sent her heart
racing. It felt wrong somehow, almost a betrayal — even though she knew it
wasn’t. A lifelong belief that a woman should only be with one man was being
shaken, eroded steadily like a beach against the relentless assault of the
ocean. Once again she was seeing how much more complicated life really could be
— that there were many more possibilities to be explored.

Now if she could just get one of
them to start with exploring her body again.

Despite her best efforts to
distract herself with her twisted personal trinity: work, shopping, and
masturbation, the fact was that Parker wasn’t there — and she missed him.

That last time he’d returned from
one of his periodic trips, he’d fallen upon her like a predator finding prey,
fucking her senseless within minutes of walking through her front door.

Her pussy clenched again at the
thought of his long cock plowing her slick folds, stretching the tissues in
that delicious way as he took what she had come closer to freely acknowledging
as his. Her body, her pussy — all of it.

His.

The revving of the engine snapped
her back to the present. Something wasn’t right. As she depressed the gas pedal
she felt it, her stomach dropping. The tires were slipping. The tires spun
faster with an irritated whine, the car coming to a stop on the incline.

“Fuck.” She stamped on the brake. “Come
on, baby. Get me home.”

Then she started moving again — but
it was in the wrong direction.

As the car slid backwards, she
gunned it for a second, hoping she’d grab a slip of pavement to get her
propelled forward again, but it was no use, the spinning tire just accelerating
her slide. Remembering what she’d learned driving in the snow back east, she
craned her head back, putting the engine in neutral and steering in reverse
with the slide as best she could, hoping she could drift the bumper against the
embankment to her right and stop her slide.

But rather than steer in reverse,
the car began to slowly spin, the front end swinging around, closer to the edge
of the steep drop-off down to the next switchback below.

“Holy shit,” she squeaked. “Shit!”

For a split second, she considered
bailing out of the car, then thought better of it, realizing the stupidity of
such a plan, not wanting her loved ones to wonder how she’d managed to get
herself crushed by her own vehicle. For a long moment, there was near silence,
only the intermittent whir of the wipers interrupting the sense of slow-motion
doom looming seconds away.

Then the driver’s side tires
dropped off the shoulder, high-centering the undercarriage on the snow encrusted
gravel, the crunch below her vibrating through her feet. The movement of the
car hesitated once, the momentum countered for the briefest of instants by the
friction with the ground, then the car slid off the embankment, rolling over
onto the driver’s side.

Ashley was surprised that she
didn’t scream. Instead, time seemed to slow to almost nothing, the surreal
sensation of being weightless within the confines of her seat belt as she spun
within the tumbling car, rolling down the hill like a toy, the screech of the
sagebrush against the metal, the crunch of the side window cracking, the sounds
of the pens in her glove box rattling around inside as the car turned over and
over. Her coffee splattered dark brown across the windshield, hot droplets of
it stinging her cheek. As the car bounced down the embankment, she thought of
the two wonderful, beautiful men she’d met, how so much seemed possible, and
how sad she was that she’d never know what might have been.

Then the side of her head dashed
against something very hard, and with a flash behind her eyes, she knew nothing
more.

* * *