Seduction (3 page)

My freshly washed sex got a little less clean from the mental picture. I stood facing the door and just stared at it for a long, long time. To be honest, I think it was cowardice more than loyalty to Rhys that stopped me walking out there naked. I couldn't bring myself to take such a huge decision, so I pulled my dress back on, wishing I had a clean change of clothes. I couldn't bear to wear my sweaty bra and damp panties, though, so I stuffed them in the bottom of my bag.

The air-conditioner had made a difference to the main room during my sojourn in the bathroom; it was pleasantly cool now. Marcus was sitting on the low divan couch, faced in traditional fabric, that dominated the sitting area of the apartment. He
wasn't reading or watching the TV or anything, just cradling a whisky glass and waiting for me. He'd changed into a fresh shirt, though. He smiled warmly. ‘Drink?'

‘Gin and tonic,' I suggested. ‘Or – no, just some cold water. I've got a bit of a headache.'

‘Oh? Not too bad I hope?' he asked, hunting in the mini-bar.

‘No, just from squinting in the sun. It was so bright out there.'

‘I could give you a head-rub if you like,' he offered. ‘I learned Indian massage a while back.'

‘In an ashram?'

He handed me my drink. ‘In Canberra. There wasn't a lot else to do.'

He wasn't to know it, but he'd hit on my weakness. I love having my head massaged; it's the next best thing to sex. So at his suggestion I sat down on the couch and he knelt up behind me to take my newly washed head in his hands and rub it. And he was very good indeed – patient, firm and skilled. He eased all the tightness from the back of my neck and pressed smooth my forehead and scalp. He tucked his arms under mine, ordered me to relax and shut my eyes, then scrunched my shoulders until they unknotted. I lost all sense of time or thought under his kneading hands, dissolving into pleasure, as if he'd opened my skull and taken my brains out. More and more of my weight relaxed against him. His hands broke little murmurs of pleasure from my lips, and when he stroked my throat softly I groaned. His arms were around me gently, his firm body supporting me.

‘That dress you wore last night,' he murmured in my ear, tracing my cheekbones with his fingertips.

‘Mm?'

‘Did you know it went see-through against the floodlight? Did you know I could see all your body beneath it?'

I was almost too relaxed to speak. ‘That's not true.'

‘No?'

‘I think Rhys would have noticed.' I was faintly aware that I was using my husband's name as a talisman, to ward him off. It didn't work.

‘What makes you think he didn't want to show off the beautiful body of his wife, for me to see?'

I smiled.

‘You were wearing very sexy red lace lingerie last night. Right now, though,' Marcus whispered, ‘you're not wearing either a bra or panties. I can feel your skin through this dress.' He brushed his hand across my hip to make his point. I forced my heavy lids open, trying to focus. ‘No,' he breathed, his voice tender and heavy. ‘Keep them shut.'

His fingers stroked my lids and my lips and I obeyed with a sigh. Cradling me in one arm, he kissed my lips softly, seducing them open with his gentleness. I tasted the smokiness of the whisky on his tongue. His free hand caressed the tips of my breasts and I realised that the air-con had brought them to obvious points under the cotton. I moaned into his mouth.

‘Now I'm going to touch your pussy, Astrid,' he said. ‘And you're going to let me.' He put his hand on me through my skirt and he was right; I not only let him, I parted my thighs a little. ‘That's right,' he sighed, stroking me. ‘Now. You lifted your skirt for me at the restaurant, didn't you. You're going to do that again. Slowly.'

Mesmerised by sensation I drew my skirt up my thighs, finger by finger. Cool air lapped at my damp skin. When I got to the hem he laid his hand on my bare mound, parting the swollen lips with a couple of fingers, delving between to find the syrupy slickness of my juices. When he traced the contours of my clit I writhed against him.

‘Oh, honey, you're ready for this, aren't you?' His touch was like fire to my tinder: I felt flames rushing through my body. ‘All day you've wanted me to do this, haven't you? And you've
no idea how long I've been waiting to do it. Look how sweet and wet and open this is for me.' His lips brushed away any objections that might have risen to mine. ‘Now unbutton your dress. I want to see that beautiful body, Astrid.'

I fumbled with the little buttons, unable to look because he was kissing me, and bared my breasts. He sighed with satisfaction.

‘Now play with them, Astrid. Play with your breasts while I make you come.'

I cupped them, squeezing them together, fingering my nipples, but I couldn't do it for long. ‘Oh – I'm coming now,' I gasped.

Marcus plunged his fingers into my slippery entrance, using his thumb on my clit. ‘Yes. You are: right now.'

‘Make her come,' moaned the echo.

I opened my eyes as my orgasm flooded through me. I saw Rhys standing against the kitchen bench, but it was too late and I couldn't stop; I just stared and moaned and spasmed in pleasure.

‘Oh God,' whispered Rhys, wide-eyed.

‘Rhys?' I whimpered, when I could speak again. For a brief moment I tried to sit up straight but Marcus's arms tightened around me in a hug.

‘It's all right, honey.' His voice was warm and sure.

‘Rhys? What're you doing here?' My voice came out husky.

‘God, you're beautiful,' said Rhys. ‘So fucking hot and beautiful.'

‘He's not angry,' Marcus said.

I gaped. This felt wildly unreal. ‘What's going on?'

‘Astrid, I . . .' My husband looked shifty. I jumped to the worst possible conclusion.

‘Did he
pay
you for this?'

‘Far from it,' said Marcus smoothly. ‘Astrid, there is something you don't know. Rhys and I met on the Net about six months back. On a cuckolding site.'

‘What the hell does that mean?'

‘It means that we both have certain specialist interests. My thing is married women –'

‘Your
thing
?'

‘My passion. My obsession: women who are faithfully, happily married, and just longing to be seduced all over again. And Rhys's single greatest turn-on,' he added, his voice hardening, ‘the thing he fantasises about constantly, is the thought of his beautiful wife being fucked by another man. Of her being so aroused by this stranger that she'll do anything for his cock. Of him watching helplessly while she gets the shafting of her life, better than any he could ever give her, and she screams that other man's name and begs like a slut for him to fuck her more.'

I was stunned. It all made sense now: the way Marcus knew exactly the right things to say, the way he knew what I liked and what I wanted. He'd certainly done his homework: he'd been perfect for me. I'd been played by both men, but it was impossible to take the high ground when I'd just been discovered by my husband with someone else's fingers up my cunt. I couldn't even feel indignant. I cleared my throat to ask, ‘Rhys told you everything, didn't he?'

‘Everything. He gave me copious notes . . . and photos. I've been looking forward to this for a long time.' Marcus stroked my damp hair from my face and kissed my cheek. ‘Now I'm going to fuck you, Astrid, in front of him. Just like he wants me to. Just like you want.'

‘Rhys?' I whispered.

‘Please, Astrid.' He looked like he was in torment. ‘I want you to fuck him.'

It took balls to admit that, I guess.

Quietly, Marcus slipped the button of his fly and unzipped his trousers. He adjusted himself on the couch so he was sitting next to me and hefted his cock out, stroking it reverently. It
was a strong dark prick with clean lines, standing hard to attention. His pubes were shaved down to a neat shadow.

‘Touch his cock, Astrid.'

I did, laying my hand on its quivering length. Marcus stroked my back.

‘Is it bigger than mine?'

‘Yes.'

‘Longer – or thicker?'

I wasn't inclined to be tactful. ‘Both, Rhys. He's much bigger than you.'

Rhys made a little noise of agony and delight. ‘Suck his cock, Astrid.'

Marcus helpfully stood and dropped his pants. He had long hard legs; the body of a travelling man. As I bent forward and took him in my mouth he gave his balls a little squeeze and laid his other hand on my head. He hadn't showered yet of course, and I was delighted by the hot musk of his crotch. I explored his swollen glans with my tongue, eagerly.

‘Take him down your throat as far as you can.' Rhys had moved round for a better view.

‘That'll do, Rhys.' Marcus used my hair to draw me off his cock. ‘I'm the one who's fucking your wife, not you. So you're going to shut up now and just watch.'

Rhys nodded.

‘But,' Marcus added indulgently, ‘if you look in that top drawer there you'll find a video camera.'

By the time our cameraman had sorted himself out Marcus had stripped us both. He lifted me onto hands and knees on the sofa and got up behind me, pushing his clean-cut all-American cock into my ready cunt. My pussy; that was what he called it. As in ‘Give me that pussy, Astrid.' Or, ‘God, that's a good tight pussy. Your husband hasn't stretched you enough for my cock, has he, honey?' I groaned in agreement, trying to accommodate his length. He obliged by reaching to finger my clit, taking his
time, shafting me with long firm strokes. ‘Look at Rhys,' he instructed, his voice warm. ‘Your husband wants to know everything you're feeling. Let him know. Show him how you like having another man's cock up your pussy, fucking you good and hard.'

I let him know. I looked full into his face as Marcus fucked me from behind, so that Rhys saw every nuance of expression, every jolt of pleasure or shock that lit my eyes. My cheeks were flushed, my lips parted. I held nothing back, mewing my delight as my seducer's cock spread me wide and plunged into me. Sinking my hands in the cushion to brace myself against his penetration, I gasped half-coherent words of delight about how big he was and how strong, revelling in the way those words made Rhys quiver and his engorged erection heave against his trousers. I had never before felt how I did then, knowing myself the focus of lust for two men at once: the stranger who had crossed continents and rewritten his life for me; and the husband in whose deepest, filthiest fantasy, in the most vulnerable centre of his soul, I was the shining star. It wasn't just Marcus's thick cock thrusting into me that made me come, or the slap of his balls against my pussy; it was seeing Rhys's humiliation and ecstasy as, impaled on another man's cock, I got at last what I needed, I wanted, I deserved.

Marcus screwed me in half a dozen different positions that afternoon. I came noisily in every one of them, and twice when I was on top, staring straight into the camera, my bouncing tits cupped in my hands. Rhys practically had to hold me upright when we returned to our own room that evening, and then he took his own turn at fucking me, wallowing in Marcus's slippery wake, licking the taste of his spunk from my swollen lips.

The camerawork turned out pretty wobbly in places, especially where Rhys was working one-handed while wanking
his boner with the other. But no one we've shown it to since seems to mind the shaking lens.

Rhys puts a lot of care into finding me the right sort of man these days. They've got to be good-looking and well-endowed and pleasant to hang out with. And they've got to work to get what they want.

Because I insist on being seduced, every time.

Janine Ashbless is the author of the Black Lace novels
Divine Torment, Burning Bright
and
Wildwood
. She has one single-author collection –
Cruel Enchantment
– and her second collection,
Dark Enchantment
, is published by Black Lace in early 2009. Her paranormal erotic novellas are included in the Black Lace collections
Magic and Desire
and
Enchanted
.

WHEN KATIE ASKED
David how many women he had been with, he didn't know what to say. He was shocked that she would ask such a question. She was much too reasonable a woman, much too realistic to
really
want that answer. And he wanted to think about anything but an answer.

David didn't know how many women he had been with. He was thirty-nine years old and had never been married. Most of that time he had been a very single man without any ties to hold him down, but the truth was, even when he had ties, he wasn't the sort of man who was held down. David had cheated on more women than he could count, so how could he possibly count how many he had been with altogether?

Katie didn't need to know that. If she knew, what would happen to them?

David had known her for a few months before she took him to her bed. During that time he was fucking a stripper named Becky who loved nothing more than threesomes – or moresomes – with her best friend, so it's safe to say he was on the verge of wild even up to the moment he kissed Katie for the first time.

But he did kiss her and the feeling in his gut when he did it – well, there are some things a man can't explain, but let's just say that in one moment he understood where romance novels
came from. The question of why she had been on his mind for weeks was suddenly answered.

She was the one. He could fucking
feel
it.

David had lived in his own personal heaven of Katie for over a year and he had started to see things in terms of diamond rings and decades. So there was no way in hell he was going to tell her about that stripper and her best friend and the way they liked to compete to see who could make him come first.