Jasmine Plays Her Hand (Fantasy Guild No. 1) (9 page)

Sir was next-to-last to leave. He brushed her
hair from her forehead and smiled at her.

“You know,” he said, “I’m available should
you decide you want to do this again.”

“You’ll be the first one I call.”

He glanced over at Geoff who sat leaning
against the headboard. “Most likely, you mean the second one you’ll
call.”

She followed his gaze to the resting,
handsome man. “Yeah, you’re right. Second.”

“I’ll take it.” Sir leaned down over her and
kissed her softly, sweetly. He touched her lower lip and lightly
pinched its plumpness between his thumb and forefinger. “Perhaps
next time I can acquaint you with some more new pleasures. For
instance, have you ever had a thorough spanking?”

She shivered slightly and shook her head.

“Then,” he said, “we should make that a
priority.”

He kissed her once more, said his farewells
to her and to Geoff, and quietly left the room.

She lay sprawled on the bed, and neither
Geoff nor she spoke until they heard the door of the suite close
behind Sir.

“Come here,” Geoff said.

She turned lazily toward him. “I don’t know
if I have the strength.”

“Find it.”

She smiled and did indeed find the strength
to scoot up the bed and flop down on her side next to him, her head
resting against his warm, smooth chest. He held her close, one arm
wrapping around her, his hand cupping one of her ass cheeks.

She wrapped her own arm around his waist. She
looked down at his crotch, at the rock hard cock standing up proud
and solid.

“I don’t know why you won’t take me again,”
she said.

He took a long breath. “You’re sore.”

“It doesn’t matter. I want to.”

“You only think you do. You’re in a sex fog
right now.”

She giggled. “A sex fog? There’s no such
thing.”

“The hell there isn’t. You’re lost in the
middle of it.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I had no idea that
fog is so much fun.”

He snorted lightly. “You’re obviously not
thinking clearly.”

“If I’m so far gone, why didn’t you stop me
from fucking the others again?”

“I thought you’d be okay.”

“But not okay enough to fuck you again.”

“Hell. You’re right. Maybe I’m the one not
thinking straight.” He riffled a hand through his hair. “Maybe I
should take you right now.”

“Mmm. Yes, please.”

“It would serve you right if you couldn’t
walk for a week.”

“I’m fine. Fuck me, Geoff.” She looked up at
him, the innocent look of a supplicant on her face.

He groaned. Then his expression changed. He
grew, what ... naughty?

His hand, the one that had been cupping her
ass, slipped lower, passed over her crack and down between her
legs. She was still sopping wet, she knew. He dipped into her
moisture, gathering it on his fingers.

She fidgeted in consternation as his hand
rose a critical inch or two and his fingers dived into her ass
crack, seeking her asshole. This again? Damn. Without other stuff
going on, she didn’t know about this.

He held her gaze, his eyes a dark pool of
mischievous lust. His fingertips probed at her clenched hole.
“You’re pussy may be sore, but you’ve hardly been used here.”

“No way. You’re not fucking me there. I’m not
—”

His barking laugh cut her short. “You should
see your face.”

“It’s not funny. I’m serious.”

“So am I.” And, without further adieu, he
rammed his two, slick fingers inside her ass.

She squeaked, twisted, tried to push away. He
held her firm, though, his other arm coming around to hold her in
place.

“Don’t get upset,” he said. “I’m not going to
fuck your ass. Not tonight anyway. Or at least, not with my cock.
But you can’t complain about a few fingers can you? That’s not so
bad and you did say you wanted me to fuck you.”

“My pussy. I meant my pussy.”

“Is this really that bad?”

His fingers slid inside her, a gentle motion
which, while unfamiliar and vaguely disturbing, was not
uncomfortable.

“I guess not,” she said.

“Good. Because it’s hot as hell for me. You
can’t imagine what you feel like. So tight and hot, smooth. It
drives me crazy.”

A twitch jerked in her belly. “You like it
that much, huh?”

“Absolutely. I’d like it more if I could see
it.”

She knew what she would do then, what would
make him happiest and what would please her, too. So she changed
positions, careful all the while not to dislodge his fingers from
inside her.

In a few moments, she crouched over him, her
lips mere inches from his cock, her ass in the air, facing him, his
fingers stretching her ass.

She cherished his groan as her mouth closed
over the head of his dick.

“Yes, baby. Oh God. Yes,” he mumbled, his
fingers moving inside her, his cock twitching against her lips.

She licked off the salty drop of pre-cum and
kissed her way down the sides of his shaft. She cupped his balls in
her hand and gently rolled them against one another.

His free hand found her clit and rubbed
it.

When she took him into her mouth and sucked
him as deep and as far as she could go into the back of her mouth,
she reveled in his groan of delight.

“That feels so good,” he said. “And you
should see my fingers in your ass. God. I see it and all I can
think of is how my cock is going to look, pressed up against that
tight hole of yours.”

She shuddered. How it is going to look, as if
it would happen some time, not that it might. That it definitely
would.

“You have the prettiest asshole I’ve ever
seen,” he said. “And I’m going to stretch it wide. I can’t wait.
Your ass spreading open for me, forcing my way into those tight
depths. Fuck!”

His fingers pistoned in and out of her. She
sucked his cock down and moaned at the sensations of him inside
her, of his other actions over her sensitive bud of a clit.

“We’ll need an audience, of course,” he said,
his voice gravel-like in quality. “How many men will be enough
witnesses for you? You’ll love it then, that I’m fucking your
virgin ass. You’ll love it if others are there to watch. Hell, I’ll
love it, too.”

He was right. She would love it. She felt a
fresh flood of dampness between her legs at his words. How many
men? Watching him fuck her ass? Oh God.

He fucked. She sucked. And soon, they both
came hard, both in the moment and somewhere else at the same time.
Both imagining and yet appreciating this time and these actions for
what they were. Yearning and satisfied all at once.

She shook her head and shifted in her chair,
remembering where she was. Not in bed with Geoff. That was the
past.

Right now, she was in a room full of women,
all present and accounted for, all staring at her with quizzical
looks on their faces. The Fantasy Guild.

Cynthia frowned. “You’re not telling us
something. I know it. You were a million miles away.”

Several other women chimed in, agreeing with
her.

Jasmine waved her hand at them. “I told you
everything you need to know. That’s enough.”

“Ooh,” said Margie. “A mystery. What does it
mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything. Well, actually, it
means that I gave my report, but that not everything is for public
consumption. Some things, believe it or not, are private.”

“Damn, that sucks,” said Freya.

They laughed. Deep down, they understood that
some things were private. In reality, most of them were in awe of
how open Jasmine had been, how much she admitted.

“Okay, it’s getting late,” said Margie.
“Let’s have a last word from our tester. What is your final
analysis of your first and only gangbang?”

Jasmine smiled and considered the question
for a moment. It was a tough one because of everything the
experience had been, and because of what it might still prove to
be. With Geoff.

“I think,” she began, “that it was one of the
best things I’ve ever done. I feel lucky that it went the way it
did, that the men were who they were. They never made me feel
dirty, or at least, not dirty in a bad way.”

The ladies grinned.

“I felt desired more than I ever have,” she
continued. “I didn’t once think about how I don’t like my thighs,
or my stomach, or any of that sort of stuff. Who could think about
not measuring up when it was so obvious that these men, all of
them, found no fault with me? They seemed to think I was flawless.
That alone was beyond price”

Her hair had fallen over her forehead and she
brushed it away. “But what I’ll recall most is the way they said
goodbye. They didn’t think worse of me because I fucked them all.
They accepted me, as a sexual person. Like themselves. No judgment.
No hang-ups from another age. They were happy and grateful, and
they adored me. That’s my last memory of them, and what I’ll
remember forever.”

The ladies watched her with soft expressions.
A few small sighs sounded around the circle.

Jasmine was content that she had given an
honest accounting of her night. She may have left out a few
details, but the last part there, about what turned out to be most
important to her, that was everything. The crucial point had been
made.

She thought about what waited for her after
the meeting.

Geoff was holding a table for them at a
nearby restaurant. It would be their second date since the poker
game. If it went anything like the first, then she would be having
a delightful evening.

“So,” she said, clapping her hands together
once in finality, “it’s time to bring this first meeting of the
Fantasy Guild to a close. There’s only one question left to
answer.”

She looked at each woman in the circle. They
watched her with curiosity, awaiting the final question, the one
that required an answer if there were to be a second meeting of the
Fantasy Guild. The ladies leaned forward, expectantly.

And Jasmine asked the question.

“Who’s next?”

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Read on for a sample of

Pamela and the Hired Hands

Also by Anwen Stiles

Sample from

Pamela and the Hired Hands

Pamela leaned back in the lounger and
adjusted the wide brim of her hat to keep the sun out of her eyes.
It was a beautiful day, warm and cloudless, perfect for lazing
around the pool. She couldn’t have asked for better weather.
Perfect for a group encounter.

From behind her dark sunglasses, she eyed the
pool boy as he dragged a net over the surface of the blue water,
sifting out whatever didn’t belong there. He, too, was perfect.
Young, though. Couldn’t have been much more than twenty-five,
twenty-six years old.

His name was Sean. And his muscular, tanned
torso was bare in the sun, his washboard stomach a temptation that
made her fingertips itch to play over the hard ridges. He wore a
pair of aged jeans, ripped in all the right places and hugging his
tight rear end.

Behind her dark glasses, Pamela watched him
with impunity, thoroughly enjoying her Mrs. Robinson moment. And
anyway, Sean wasn’t actually a pool boy. She didn’t even own the
pool he was cleaning.

Pamela had rented the house for the day from
a real estate friend. The home had been empty and on the market for
over a year, and her friend must have shown it a thousand times
without a bite. Sitting on a secluded hillside, it was a beautiful
home, a massive rambling place with a gorgeous lawn and a giant
pool. But it was overpriced and the owners refused to lower the
asking.

Pamela’s friend had welcomed the opportunity
to make a few bucks on the side renting the place for the day,
figuring she’d earned it with all the time she’d wasted trying to
sell it.

Sean stopped skimming and turned to look at
Pamela stretched out on her lounger in her skimpy, red bikini. He
rapidly scanned her figure, his appreciation apparent, before
returning his gaze to her face.

“Sure is a nice place you’ve got here, Mrs.
Hunter,” he said. “Don’t know why you’d want to sell it.”

Her last name wasn’t Hunter. She’d chosen it
because she liked how it sounded.

She waved her hand in the air. “It’s Mr.
Hunter’s fault. He’s moving his business offshore, so we’re giving
up the place.”

“Losing your home is a big sacrifice to
make.”

“Well, I’m happy to do it. He’s my husband,
after all.”

He nodded. “He’s a lucky man. I’ll do my best
to clean the pool up real nice so you can sell the house
quick.”

A voice sounded from nearby. “Me too. I’ve
almost got these hedges trimmed up.”