Lyra Parish - Weak for Him

Like clockwork, I parted my legs as his hand searched below my stomach. He readjusted himself and then moved his body back into position between me. I could feel the pressure of his cock on my sex, and it felt good, hard and longing for me . His lips searched and teased my mouth. When I moved in to kiss him, he pulled away.

"Rule number two, never kiss a client on his or her mouth," he purred.

"But."

He placed his finger over my mouth and whispered in my ear. "Shh. If you are to be one of my girls, you have to play by the rules."

"This is protocol, right?"

"You are mouthy, aren't you?"

"Will it hurt when you go inside of me?"

"No," he chuckled. "I'm not going to fuck you, Ms. Downs."

But my body begged for pleasure, and he undid the blindfold.

"I want you to look at me while you come. Imagine me pushing deep inside of that pretty pussy," he said. The way he looked at my body as if it were precious gold turned me on. I may have never had sex before, but at that moment, I wanted to be fucked, and hard.

He rubbed his hand over my breast and down over my belly button until he was down below. Parting my sex, he rubbed clockwise with his index and middle finger allowing my wetness to lubricate. The slow, steady movements felt like heaven. Little moans escaped from me as he picked up the pace and moved his hands horizontally and then vertically, learning what I liked most.

" Ohhh, " I moaned as he discovered me.

"That's it. Moan as loud as you want. It's fucking sexy," he whispered.

The circular movements became faster and harder, and everything below began to tighten as if I would completely detonate into nothingness. I pushed my sex into him harder. I wanted him to keep going, keep pleasuring me into sweet oblivion. I grabbed the blanket and waited for the sweet release.

"Yes. I am almost there."

But instead of continuing, he stopped before I tipped over the edge.

"How does it feel?" The smile on his face was sinister and evil.

"How do you want me to feel?"

Before I could say another word, Mr. Felton flipped me onto my stomach and pinned me to the bed. With a slight movement, he moved my hair from my neck and whispered in my ear.

"While here, I don't answer your fucking sarcastic questions, Ms. Downs." And that's when I felt a burning, but pleasurable pain from his hand on my ass. I grabbed the comforter, and another semi-soft slap came, and another, and another, and then my arms were pinned against the wall, and he was touching my clit from behind. I pushed my ass onto his erection, and he groaned.

"Concentrate on how you feel. Tell me," he said, gently.

I closed my eyes letting my body respond to his touch.

"I want you to fuck me. Not soft, but hard. I want to be your whore, your dirty, little sex slave, and have you come so hard that it hurts. I want to make you feel like I do." I pushed into him, feeling his dick ache for me.

Still behind me, he forcefully pulled me against him, my back to his chest, and trailed one hand up my waist as his other continued to explore below. I grabbed my nipples and pinched, allowing the sweet sensation to shoot through my body.

"You're so fucking hot," he said into my shoulder, biting the curve.

A warm and tingly sensation spread from my clit to my vagina. My toes began to curl, and I knew I would soon lose myself in the rhythm. Every part of my body tensed, and I cried out in satisfaction until each inch of me relaxed and melted into him. I leaned against his bare chest, and he wrapped his arms around my stomach, and placed his chin on my shoulder. For a moment, I thought I felt his face contract into a smile.

"I want to please you," I said to the wall that I still faced.

"You couldn't fucking handle me, Ms. Downs." He gave a small slap to my ass and then moved himself from the bed and began to dress.

"Mr. Felton," I whispered.

"What we do in here is a lesson to help you understand what your body likes and craves. I can't have an inexperienced virgin running around."

"So this was protocol?"

"Understanding your body will allow you to better please our clients."

"Clients? You are always the fucking asshole," I muttered and lay down on the bed.

"I guarantee one hundred percent satisfaction. Oh, and get dressed, Ms. Downs. We don't sleep where we play."

The next morning, I woke to cool sheets and an empty bed. Curtains allowed streaks of dim light to stack and spread among the wooden floor. Morning had barely come, but my body woke with an eagerness to start the day.

I needed to know more about Finnley Felton. I opened the browser on my phone and searched his name. 1 million pages showed. Finnley Felton, Sexiest CEO Under Thirty. Pictures of him with women on vacation, in suits, at movie premieres; he was everywhere.

I found pages of gossip sites with rumors of him and celebrities and countless interviews. I searched the web for an hour, trying to soak up as much information about him as I could. Mr. Felton was only five years older than me, and known for being a bastard in social situations. Someone pinned the tail on the ass that was my boss.

The floor felt cold on my feet, so I slid on the pink slippers and slipped down the stairs.

Surprisingly, Mr. Felton sat at the table sipping a cup of cream-filled coffee as he read the paper. Before making myself known, I watched how he acted when he thought no one was looking.

Completely comfortable in his skin, he chuckled as he read and sipped. Although it was barely light outside, Mr. Felton dressed professionally in a brown vest, cream dress shirt, and a checkered tie that brought out the red hues in the browns. I realized how early his days must begin. I supposed being the CEO of a successful sex corporation, and being ranked as one of the sexiest men in business, wasn't easy.

"Come in, Ms. Downs. Have a seat." His eyes never left the newspaper.

Damn it. Busted.

Gently, he folded the newspaper in half and then interlocked his fingers. He greeted me with a soft smile although it never reached his eyes.

"Sleep well?"

"Mmhmm, like a baby."

"How rude of me. Would you like a cup of coffee, or tea, even? I'll make it how I like it. You do know the English are known for excellent coffee and tea, and for many, many other things."

With a purpose, he stood and walked to the kitchen. Cups tinkered together as Mr. Felton hummed a soft tune. He hummed, too?

I couldn't help but fantasize and replay the events of last night. The way he straddled me, and held my wrists above my head, or the way I wanted it.

A delicate coffee cup and saucer with a cookie scooted in front of me. Steam rose from the top and the sweet scent of cream and sugar smelled like heaven.

"It's hot, be careful."

I picked the thin glass cup and blew the steam from the top, then placed it back on the saucer with a smile and a thank you. The tension pulled at the pit of my stomach, and I wanted to talk about last night, but didn't. Awkwardness stretched on for minutes before either of us spoke. With hopes for a distraction, I took a small nibble from the soft, honey-covered cookie. Sweet warmth filled my mouth, and before I knew it, I had eaten the whole thing.

"Would you like another?"

"Oh no, no thank you. Did you make them?"

"Does the sun rise every morning? It's my mother's biscuit recipe, passed down from her mother's mother, and so on."

"Biscuit? I thought that was a cookie."

"Not quite."

The thought of him mixing flour and salt and sugar to create something so fulfilling, warmed me.

"Finding a man who enjoys and appreciates cooking is a delicacy. Maybe one day I'll share my secrets with you. Cooking can be fun, you know."