Wicked Desires (Wicked Affairs, Book One) (5 page)

If she couldn’t do it alone in her own chamber, there was no hope for her or Michael inside Madame DuPuis’ sensual whoring rooms. The only thing that made this whole debacle palatable was the fact Michael would be the one doing these erotic things to her.

She had always trusted him, in spite of the coolness of the past few months. He would never hurt her physically and if she had to, she could stop everything by taking off the mask. He would be destroyed by her deception, but once he understood why she was there, he would forgive her. He would.

Returning to the chaise, Clarissa debated what to do next. She left the mask off, determined in her task. She feared the
faux
penis would hurt, but then she remembered how it appeared with the whore. Madame DuPuis’ words of advice included the admonition to prepare properly. A glass bottle with scented oil was included in the madam’s gifts, and as Clarissa smoothed the lubricant over the dildo, she realized she should have thought of it herself. She assumed the worst and decided to proceed very cautiously.

She bent to her knees on the chaise. If she looked over either shoulder, she could clearly see what she was about to do, and would do. Flutters already built in her sheath, even her bottom puckered and tensed.

She started with the smaller one and circled the small nub, starting the excitement up again. With one hand, she braced herself, bending forward slightly and reaching behind with the smaller glassy phallus. She watched over her shoulder. She pushed the smooth dildo between her ass cheeks, prodding gently until she located her anus.

She clenched her eyes for a moment. Was she really doing this?

Entry seemed difficult. She stopped and pushed forward again, exerting gentle pressure until she felt a slight give.

And an incredible sexual pressure surged through her, not like when Michael was inside her. Not at all.

She gripped the chaise harder, pushing deeper with her other hand.

Oh, dear God! She breathed in rapid pulls of air, nearly passing out. She’d never risen to climax so quickly. If Michael touched her now, she thought she’d explode. The hand at her behind shook with the pressure of holding absolutely still. The long plug inside her pushed at the sensitive nerves inside her body.

Her idea had been to use both of the dildos. She didn’t know if she could. Her limbs were heavy with need, shaking, weak.

Inside her trembling thighs, she felt the first runnel of wetness slide from her body. Practically weeping with need, she swept up the second dildo. Suddenly it looked much larger and harsher, but she positioned it at the entrance of her body.

Clarissa repeated the quick swipe on the outside of her body, wetting it with her moisture and then did the unthinkable. The second dildo slid inside.

Her gasp could have been heard by anyone near her room. She pushed her face into the cushion of the couch. A rumbling moan built in her chest.

Her climax rushed up from where the two phalluses speared into her body, its wings of bliss cascaded over her before her entire body convulsed in pleasure.

Long, racking spasms swept through her body. Spasms she could neither control nor endure. Deep, hard pulses that shot through her being. Her bottom burned. Her muscles ached from the intensity.

When at last she could open her eyes, she allowed the smaller dildo to slip from her bottom. It fell from her weakened, trembling fingers.

Clarissa turned onto her back, and with a new hunger, pushed the larger dildo back into her starving cunt. This time, she pushed deep and squeezed. The fullness reminded her of Michael. With a few thrusts and withdrawals, she keened a second time. Rich and intense. She clenched over the thick head of the piece, drawing her orgasm out for long, dream-inducing seconds.

When the orgasm was over and the final tiny pulses had weakened, she reclined on the chaise, waiting for her breath to return to normal.

Her legs finally stopped shaking. She retrieved the dildos and washed them, safely putting the frightening pleasure toys in their flannel casings and under her bed. Lastly, she unlocked her hallway door as her maid would be in early to start her bath.

Clarissa didn’t bother with nightclothes, for the first time in her life climbing into bed naked. Tiny pulses still beat within her, little tattoos that made her feel alive with hope and the possibility she could still make him happy after all these years.

* * * * *

Michael barely slept after his argument with Clarissa. Who was he to criticize her behavior? His hungers goaded him to do things he’d never dreamt of, all the things he’d wanted to do with Clarissa.

He could still remember the night everything changed.

After searching for Clarissa at the Millwood Ball, he’d found her in the arms of Martin DeLacy. They were kissing.

He’d backed away from the scene as though he’d been shot. He didn’t stay to see what his wife did afterward. They didn’t speak on the way home.

That night, in an effort to re-exert his husbandly position and remind her that they had something—a marriage, children, love—he’d failed with her. His cock had been in virtual hibernation around her ever since.

A few weeks later, he’d turned forty. That week his horse unseated him, one of his sons beat him in a friendly wrestling match and then, when Clarissa had patted his middle affectionately, he’d realized all of his fears.

He’d grown old.

While his wife, still striking and desirable, would fall prey to any man who’d show her more vigorous attention then he could. Already she’d succumbed to DeLacy and he wasn’t a confirmed rake. There would be others who’d have no respect for her marital status and brag about it afterward.
Cuckolded.
He’d never imagined it possible, but it had become an ever-present fear.

He resumed many of the activities he’d enjoyed before marriage, even going so far as to walk when he could have taken the carriage. The slight paunch at his middle disappeared rapidly, but nothing else returned to normal.

And now, the door between their rooms was locked. He rarely attempted entry into the demoralizing sanctuary. Predictable reactions from his body prompted predictable reactions toward his wife. He had avoided her any time she had hinted an interest in coitus.

Instead, Michael entered her room from the hallway. It was still early, but he had to apologize. He’d let his anxieties goad him into anger, not a new state, but one that was clearly driven by his mounting frustrations.

Clarissa’s naked back was the first thing he saw. Michael stopped short. His heart leapt in want while he waited for a bodily reaction, any reaction from his formerly obedient penis, now bent on betrayal no matter how desperate he became.

The silken sheets were draped across her ass. One fine breast peeked at him from under the arm that was curled around a pillow.

Sitting on the bed beside her, he ran his fingertips from her breast, over her waist and then stroked his palm over the beautiful round globes of her bottom.

She hummed in response, still sleeping, the warmth of her cocoon reaching out and enticing him.

“Clarissa?”

As she turned, the sheet fell away. His hand settled on her stomach. A smile played at her lips, her eyes were still shut. “Michael,” she murmured.

He kissed her lips.

“Mmm, I was just dreaming about you.”

“Were you? And what were you dreaming?”

Her eyes peeked open somnolent and smoky while the slow, secret smile of a nubile virgin lured him to his destruction. Black hair spread in torrents over her fluffy pillows and creamy shoulders, face and breasts.

Michael’s hand still rested on her belly. She placed her hand over his and pushed his fingers lower, through the curls at the junction of her legs and lower still.

Her eyes closed again and her back arched. “I dreamt we were alone and I was naked.”

She looked like a satisfied feline.

He stroked one finger along the warm lips between her legs.

“And?”

“And you were kissing me.”

“That can be arranged.” He bent to do just that, but before he touched her lips, she put her finger to his mouth.

“Not here. Here.”

He felt the pressure on his hand. He slipped a finger inside her. “Here?”

She nodded, expecting him to deliver. He hadn’t been this close to her naked form in over a year, but as desperate as he felt, he knew he could do this. And still walk away with his dignity intact.

He flipped back the covers, exposing every inch of her skin. He shed his robe.

He was no longer alarmed about his flaccid cock. Mouthing her private bits and inserting his tongue in her cunt would keep her from asking too many questions.

“Open your legs, Clarissa.” He felt a frisson of heat at the tip of his cock, but dared not hope—hope being the surest route to failure.

That feline smile grew wider. She lifted her lovely legs and spread them. He dropped his hands to her knees and settled between her legs. Then he used his shoulders to keep her spread. He gazed at the soft, pearly skin and the little pool of creamy liquid that gathered just for him.

“So beautiful,” he whispered before he lowered his mouth and sucked on her stiff nub.

She whimpered, the sound both music and torture. She speared her fingers through his hair, holding him in place. Her thighs gripped hard against his shoulders.

He slipped his thumb inside, trailing his middle finger along the soft skin to her anus. He was tempted but he owed Clarissa respect. He wouldn’t treat her like the whores at Madame DuPuis’ were treated. He didn’t expect the same entertainments from her that he enjoyed with Madame DuPuis’ whores. Would never ask for such base pleasures from his dignified and refined wife.

Even though it had been months, he knew what she liked. He laved her with his mouth and tongue, bringing her to peaks of need and letting her slip downward again.

Little mewls and pants escaped her mouth and he thought those yearning, needful noises increased every time his finger searched near her puckered hole.

Sucking at her clitoris, he decided to try. His cock took a little jump at his decision.

Slowly, gently, he slid his wet middle finger over the secret entrance and searched around the rim—waiting—wanting to be sure. Her body clenched tight but she said nothing. He rested his finger there until he felt her relax. He suctioned her clitoris and she cried out, her head thrashing against the pillow.

Slipping his finger forward, he pushed in gently. The tight muscles bunched around his fingertip.

Clarissa drew in short little gasps of air. Her mouth opened as if she were in pain.

Michael pushed further until his middle finger was lodged firmly inside her anus. He still held his thumb deep in her vagina.

One continual hum emanated from her chest. Every muscle in her body was tight and unmoving. Her hand flew out and grabbed his elbow. He started slow in-and-out movements with both fingers, squeezing at the deepest penetration and near the exit points.

Her hips bucking, Clarissa screamed as her body went into a torrent of quick spasms. His mouth lost its tender grip on the sweet, swollen nub, but his fingers were firmly lodged inside her. Michael stared at her as her passion blossomed and spent in long arching movements and desperate cries of pleasure.

“Michael. Oh, Michael,” she whispered. Her face had relaxed, a small smile still evident.

He slid his finger from her bottom and lifted his thumb to circle the plump, blood-engorged nub. He kissed her one final time before rolling to a sitting position beside her.

“Please tell me I’m not dreaming,” she whispered.

“You are dreaming, wife. Go back to sleep.” He kissed her forehead, lifted himself from the bed and donned his robe before leaving her to her slumber. “You are dreaming, as am I,” he muttered on the way out the door.

Michael called for his own bath. With some disgust, he looked down at the shriveled cock between his legs. Desire still hummed through his veins. He stepped into his bath and dismissed his valet.

The water was pleasantly warm and he was in no hurry this morning. He leaned back in the tub and relived every tasty moment of his mouth on Clarissa’s cunt. With one hand, he reached for his already hardening penis and squeezed.

Why couldn’t it be this easy with her?

In a few long strokes he had himself hard and excited. The only sound in the room was the rasping of his breath and the gentle lapping of the water as he moved his arm under the water. He let his mind wander. Before, he could only imagine the pressure her asshole might put on his cock. She’d squeezed his finger in such a way that Michael now knew he’d soon have to experience it for himself.

What he’d done with Clarissa had only heightened his desire.

The moral dam he’d built for himself was eroding fast. He couldn’t live without regular climaxes and they came more easily and more intensely at Madame DuPuis’. But he’d promised himself he would not touch the whores.
He’d promised.

Michael finally came, experiencing the blinding rush of pleasure as he imagined coaxing his large cock inside Clarissa’s tight little ass.