BDSM EROTICA: A Hot, Hardcore Anthology (9 page)

The friction
becomes too intense, and despite the fire in my asshole, the waves of glorious
pleasure begin to build in my groin. My dizziness intensifies. Our mindless
copulation continues. I can hear the moist, sucking sounds of my cock in Tia’s
vagina – as though her entire tunnel is a mouth that must swallow me.

Before I
know it, I’m crying out and shooting my sperm through the hollow tube of the
wand and out into Tia’s rapidly contracting pussy. 

With a
shout, King Jai comes inside me. His sperm is like a white hot jet that burns
my already aching rectum. His liquid trickles out of my anus as his cock begins
to deflate inside me. The slaves withdraw the moaning Tia from my still firm
cock, held rigid by the penile wand and ring. I can see my cum dripping from
the tip of the wand.

Panting
slightly, King Jai slides his cock out of my ass.

“Spirus,” he
says, “the fair prince is far too tight. See if you can stretch him further
before you give him to the men.”

They unbind
me and cut my pliant body down. With a smirk, Spirus leads me out of the tent.

At Their Pleasure:
Dominated by the Billionaire and the Bad Boy

By Alex Anders

Isabel
dropped her carry-on somewhere between first and business class on her way to
the back of the plane. She was one of the last stand-by names called on this
two-stop flight to Paris. She took little notice of the rugged man who helped
her settle into her seat. By his slight accent and disheveled travel attire,
she dismissed him as a Frenchman.
Something else,
she thought, without
much more than a furtive smile and quick thank you.

It had been
exactly thirty-six days since she graduated from college and twenty-two since
she married the artist. No one knew. Not her parents. Not her best friends. Not
even Vivi. It was a mercy marriage to keep her latest lover from being
deported. No one would ever know and the bureaucratic procedure of residency
procurement would come and go, probably within the course of their affair,
Isabel reasoned. No harm. No foul. Impetuous, she was not one to ponder
consequences. This was just another of her senior year adventures, like her
junior year in Brazil; a brief affair with her sociology professor; and, her
first lesbian fling with a woman she met on Venice Beach. 

Isabel’s new
husband was Luca, a member of the Euro trash Thursday club that would frequent
Sarno’s, an old Mafia dive where she was part-time student and full-time
singing waitress. Tall, muscular, with chiseled features and a long mane of
curly brown hair, Luca was every waitress’ overt fantasy man and even more so
because his English was horrible. Isabel could care less and although she
understood every word he said in Italian, she feigned ignorance for as long as
it was opportune. She felt very woman-of-the-world when she met Luca, a
previously married Italian five years her senior. Luca had described his
marriage as a bright flame that burned out quickly, and Isabel could imagine
how it was possible. He had been the first to dominate her and the experience
had ignited her passions like no one ever had.

Nicely
settled, Isabel ordered a glass of wine, eying the flight attendant with a
strange mix of curiosity, wondering if she had sex with the rest of the flight
crew and if she would be carded for the drink. 

As soon as
Isabel finished her mini bottle of wine, another one appeared.

“I didn’t
order this, but thanks, you must’ve read my mind,” Isabel told the attendant. 

“It’s from
the guy in 4C,” she said.

Isabel
looked in his direction with the intent of offering up a thank you nod, but he
was reading. 

“Handsome,
isn’t he?” the flight attendant asked. “He’s a famous photographer or
something. Does this route pretty often.”

“L.A. to San
Francisco?” Isabel asked.

“No, L.A. to
Paris,” she answered.

Their conversation
was broken by an announcement over the aircraft’s P.A. Tonight’s flight to
Paris was canceled due to mechanical issues. The next flight would be in the
morning; airline staff to provide hotel vouchers for Paris-bound passengers. A
collective rumble of dissatisfaction filled the plane as the lead flight
attendant took over the intercom, offering instructions on baggage, ground
transportation to hotels and something about free round-trip travel.

Isabel tuned
out. She was to have been in Paris three days ago and Luca was waiting. Things
weren’t really strained between the newlyweds – they didn’t know each other
well enough yet – but Isabel’s delay put a damper on his plans to show her off
to his friends in Paris and then head to Rome in a couchette on the TGV. 

Isabel went
to freshen her make-up, mostly out of boredom before the plane landed, finding
herself in a reverie about her first anal encounter ever, with Luca, who, like
many European men reveled in her gasps of pain until her firm, full buttocks
opened to the fullness of his long thick cock and he could ride her with
abandon.

Isabel
pulled her tits out of a lacy bra and fingered them, then brushed them with
full palms, like Luca did. She brought one breast to her tongue and strained to
lick it, and then the other. This was too much work, but it felt so good that
she wanted more – as much pleasure as she could give herself. Isabel then
pinched her breasts firmly until the pain reverberated throughout her body. She
observed her own arousal in the mirror as her nipples doubled in size and
pupils dilated. 

She stared
at herself intently, feeling a killer orgasm coming on. One hand hiked her
skirt and wandered up her thigh, pushing her panties to the side of one labia.
She finger fucked herself for a few minutes before her middle and ring fingers
found their familiar perch on Isabel’s clit. She fingered herself slowly and
deliberately, barely noticing the ‘return to seat’ sign had gone on. 

Someone
knocked at the door as Isabel climaxed, her face flushed from the wine and the
subsiding orgasm, she whispered, “Just a little second.”

“Take your
time,” a man’s voice answered.

Needlessly
flushing the toilet and running her hands through cold water, Isabel opened the
door to find the man from 4C in front of her. He was handsome all right, Isabel
thought, for an old guy. Probably forty-five, she guessed, or whatever age her
parents were. 

“I never did
thank you for that drink. Thanks.” 

He really
was good-looking, Isabel thought. That flight attendant probably caught his eye
more than once. They were about the same age, she guessed. 

Isabel
recognized the slightest hint of Dolce & Gabbana that lingered from 4C.
Although she had lost her virginity at seventeen, it wasn’t until Luca that she
started noticing the expanse of men, in general, as possible sexual partners.
It was as if that with the first pain at the hand of her new husband, a whole
new world of sensuality opened up to her. 

4C smiled. “My
pleasure.”

He could
tell, Isabel thought. He must have known what she was up to which is why he so
meticulously sized up her eyes and breasts as she inched by him. She looked
back to see if he was watching her walk back to her seat. Just in case, she
added a little swing to her hips, not too much, she thought, just enough to
make it worth his while. He was. She flashed a sweet and seductive smile. She
wasn’t sure why, but she did it anyway.

She wondered
if he could smell the feminine juices puddling in her panties as she noticed
his cologne. Not likely, she concluded, counting off the hours until Luca and
her clandestine honeymoon.

 On his way
back, 4C paused next to Isabel’s seat long enough to give her a friendly
squeeze on the shoulder. Innocent enough, it sent an unexpected shiver of
excitement through her.  

As the plane
landed, Isabel texted Luca, advising him of her latest delay – this time not
her fault. This excuse was verifiable: plane malfunction. Isabel had zoned out
watching the luggage conveyer belt go around when a text came in, “You’re
looking for a spanking!”

She wrote
back, “Yes, I am. I want it now.”

4C walked up
to Isabel, “Are you getting off here?”

Amused at
the timely double entendre, Isabel replied, “Nope. On my way to Paris.”

“Me, too,”
4C said. “Wanna catch a bite to eat? Looks like we’re here for a while.”

“I was
hoping to get into the city, considering that there’s plenty of time to kill,”
Isabel said.

“I’ll take
you. My car’s parked here.”

“I thought
you said you were going to Paris?”

“I am.”

“So how is
your car here when you got on the plane in LA?” Isabel asked.

“I live in
Tiberon. I was in LA for the day,” he said.

“Got it. So,
you’re a local.”

“Something
like that. I moved up here about ten years ago. Wanted to see what life on a
houseboat was like and get out of the smog.”

“So how is
it?”

“Cramped,
but nice. So do you have a favorite restaurant up here?” he asked.

“Not really,
I kind of just play it by ear.”

“Trust me?” 

“Enough to
let you take me to dinner.” By now it was somewhere in the middle of the night
in Paris and Luca was fast asleep and the night was young in San Francisco.

Isabel kept
a brisk pace with 4C to his black Audi. “Very dad,” Isabel thought. She liked
the new car smell and the fact he opened the door for her and caught a good
look at her legs as she crossed them. 

Isabel
watched 4C take off his jacket for the first time and routinely fold and place
it on the back seat. Now that she got a better whiff. it was Dolce, mixed with the
intoxicating man smell she first noticed on Luca. She wondered if it was
something only European men had, because she had no recollection of the smell
on the frat boys at college, or, if it was just her growing up. 

Isabel sized
up distinguished 4C and made an item-by-item mental comparison of Luca’s long,
lean back to the massive shoulders of this man, whose name she did not yet
know. Her eyes wandered down the thick of his arms, across his muscular chest
and flat stomach and momentarily landed on the bulge in his well-worn jeans.
Inviting, Isabel thought. What had gotten into her anyway? she wondered. Good
thing 4C couldn’t read her thoughts, Isabel concluded.

“I’m Jack,
by the way,” 4C said.

“Isabel.”

“So what’s
in Paris for you, Jack?” 

“Work.”

“And you?”

“My ah,
well, I guess you could say my husband.”

“Lucky guy.”

“It’s not
exactly like that.”

“Like what?”

“Well. Not
Married.
Married
. He’s my boyfriend and he needed a Green Card so I’m
heading to Europe to meet his family and stage a wedding. My parents don’t know
and I don’t think they’ll let this one slide if they find out,” Isabel said.

“I see,”
Jack said, “So, what do you feel like eating?”

“Fish,”
Isabel said.

“Okay. That’s
easy.”

Jack took
the quick scenic route to Ca’ del Bello, a tiny Italian restaurant where Chef
Antonio made flavored grappa in the shed behind the outdoor dining patio and
herb garden. By now, the dinner crowd had thinned out, leaving the patio to
Jack and Isabel.

“Salve,
Jack. Good to see you and the signorina,” Antonio said.

“Signora,”
Isabel corrected. Antonio shrugged. 

“Aperitivi?”

“Two Aperol
completi, Trust me, Isabel,” Jack ordered.

She liked
his take control attitude. As they devoured Chef Antonio’s linguine di frutti
di mare and the most succulent whitefish ever – Dorata – and more wine. By the
final nightcaps of grappa, Chef Antonio hugged Jack goodbye and kissed the
little signora on her hand with feigned reverence, leaving the couple to enjoy
the patio and view of the San Francisco Bay to themselves. They were alone and
the restaurant was now officially closed. Jack knew his way out through the
back gate. This was not his first rodeo at Ca’ del Bello.

Between
stories of shooting this or that in distant locations all over the world,
Isabel learned Jack was married with a couple of grown kids. She guessed he was
onto his second wife, probably a trophy one this time. Isabel also guessed she
wouldn’t be much older than her. She wanted to know what kind of assignment he
was heading to in Paris, but he didn’t seem to want to talk much about it. He
learned Isabel worked as a singing waitress with hopes of landing an internship
at an ad agency in the fall and her new husband was an aspiring artist – but
none of this really mattered right here and now.

By the time
the wine started doing its wonders, Jack brushed Isabel’s neck with the tips of
his fingers and then across the top of her neckline. She watched his hand glide
over the top of her blouse and felt her nipples hardening.
To watch or
respond?
she wondered as he reached under her blouse to expose one of her
breasts as she had done herself just hours before. 

Her hand
feebly wandered toward his erect penis straining against his jeans and landed
on his thigh. He put his hand on top of hers and moved it onto his bulge.
Isabel let out an accidental gasp when she felt the enormity of his erection.
Jack licked Isabel’s firm breast then sucked and bit it. He pinched the other
one lightly, then more firmly until Isabel moaned openly. He unbuttoned her
blouse and left her bra to push up her exposed breasts.

“Stand up,”
he ordered.

Isabel
complied. The tone was pleasantly familiar. Firm. Direct. She had no choice but
to obey.

Jack knelt,
deliberately breathing in and out through the thin cotton of her skirt. The
warmth of his breath on her pussy and watching Jack breathe in her youth and
the smell of her earlier excretions sent waves of excitement through Isabel.