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“What was missing?”
“Oh, the fantasy, Mr. Keller,” she turns serious.
“The whips, the chains, the leather—the ruthlessness of a controlling man?”
“You know my heart now,” she says.
“I knew it long before we began, Delia.”
The first signs of relief appear on her frightened face as she sees that our conversation is coming to an end.
“Are you wearing panties?” I ask, as I reach for my wallet.
“Yes.”
“Then before you leave the restaurant, take them off here at the table. When I think you’re ready for more we’ll talk again.”
“That’s all?” she looks aghast.
“No, it’s not all. But you’ve had enough for one day. No expectations, Delia. What might happen is likely to be far different that you imagine.”
After paying the bill I get up and walk away, knowing that she stares at me, brooding silently as she thinks of how this relationship will proceed. She’ll be agitated about it all day, masturbate about it all night, and eventually, in a week or so, just before I make my next move, her despair will eat away any confidence I’ve given her today.
As I walk out on Delia Rose, I am supremely happy to be moving away from the unpleasant past of Anna Keller.
Chapter Three
Ian grabs me from behind and I jump three feet—at least that’s the way it feels. I stop chopping celery for the chowder. This kind of surprise is dangerous with a knife in my hand. With his lips at my neck, his breath tickles my skin, shivers run up and down my spine. I didn’t realize how horny I was, or how much I’ve been holding back.
“Ooo, yes, you can do that more,” I breathe out softly.
“Like that, huh?”
I turn in his arms, my body sort of oozing into his warmth. I run my hand through his dark hair, and watch his lips turn into a smile. Pressing his groin into mine we tango as we kiss. I feel his erection against my thigh. Hot. His throbbing makes my insides throb. The ache begins to burn in me. I want it there, the thrust, the pounding, relentless good sex. I want my mind far from my restless thoughts.
My hands move to clasp Ian’s swelling pouch, while his cover my breasts and gently squeeze. More avidly, we’re beginning to strip away clothes—pants, panties, bra, and shirts drop to the kitchen floor, where they’ll remain while we awkwardly make our way into the living room. He sinks to the couch and I drop between his knees. His prick taunts me and I can’t jack it fast enough to suit either of us, so I push him down and climb on, crotch covering the swollen thing.
“Yes, do it!” Ah. Wiggling in I want it tighter, harder, the rhythm faster, his hands on me demandingly. He’s too easy on me, I need him slapping. “Ian, fuck me,” my voice lowers as my cunt burrows harder into him.
He begins to abuse my flesh and the pain from his clutching hands descends to my cunt.
“Ooo, darling more.” My ravenous need drives me. Moving so frantically, we fall to the rug below, Ian on top, the prickly fabric roughing up my skin as we go like animals on each other. He slaps me sparingly, and I want more, but his kisses prevent me from voicing that desire.
He groans with me. My cunt clenches tightly, and as he thrusts I feel the head of his prick reach the end of my cunt. When he turns me over, I press my head to the carpet as he kneels between my splayed thighs. His dick has more room to work me as he fucks me like a bitch hound. We seem to howl more profusely as though the position alters the mood just that much more. I grab the carpet, my knees feeling the hardness of the wood floor underneath. Ian parts my cheeks and starts to play with my asshole.
“Oh, yessssss,” I urge him on. But he’s too timid there. Must have burned some other woman going forcefully in her reluctant ass. But not mine, how many times have I told him that mine loves the abuse. “Yesssssss.”
I can feel him move away from any hint of foreplay. His prick can’t stand more, while my cunt could take a dozen orgasms tonight. Where did this need come from?
I’m cumming, spasms ripping at me as I milk his ejaculating prick. “Yesssssss,” he seems as crazy as I am. I can’t contain it or control it. This should linger for minutes, but the climax abruptly jerks and falls away and Ian’s dick withdraws as his erection dwindles.
Oh, yes, how sweet of him to put his hand there, to pinch my clit and run his fingers inside the wet hole.
Collapsing forward, I’m half on the prickly carpet, half on cold wood, my nipples feel a smooth surface, my crotch the oriental rug Ian bought in Paris—we’ve just stained it with cum for the second time.
“I hope you want more tonight because I can’t be finished,” I tell him anxiously.
