Sex and the Stranger Page 3

  Giggling, Natalie clambered to her knees and clasped her hands. ‘Oh please, sir, I’ll do anything to avoid going to jail!’

  ‘Anything? That does rather put you at my mercy, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.’

  He smiled again, sexy and sinister. ‘I warn you – I can be a very demanding master.’

  He stood up and Natalie felt her insides flutter with desire again at the sight of him. He gently pulled her to her feet and led her towards the altar stone. The candles had burned down to almost nothing, but the moon was still gloriously bright. It illuminated the blanket, making it look as though the altar was drenched in sacrificial blood.

  ‘Two goblets,’ he said. ‘How very thoughtful.’

  He held them both out expectantly and Natalie obeyed the unspoken command, pouring a measure of wine into each one. They drank deeply and then he set both goblets down on the altar. Natalie trembled in anticipation. He took her by the arms and turned her around to face the stone. Then he gently pushed her down over it.

  She closed her eyes as she stretched out along the length of the altar, grasping the edge of the red blanket and parting her legs to make herself an easier target. Soon she felt his cock pressing against her soft wetness and she whimpered as he entered her again. She was sore from their earlier exertions but that only seemed to enhance the pleasure.

  This time he wasn’t gentle. Now that he knew what she wanted, he didn’t waste time with foreplay. He plunged himself in to the hilt, gripping her pelvic bones like handles as he pounded her ruthlessly. Natalie clung to the far edge of the altar under the gorgeous onslaught. The blanket did little to protect her mud-spattered breasts from the rough surface of the stone and the friction against her nipples quickly became a sweet torment. Once more her cries pierced the calm of the night as they discarded all propriety and gave themselves over to animalistic passion. She didn’t even know the man’s name or she would have screamed it into the trees.

  Just as it hadn’t taken him long to recover, it didn’t take him long to come once more. And as he did he snaked his fingers around to her clit and teased it to madness again. She was hovering on the verge of another climax when she happened to glance up at the path that led into the clearing.

  A group of night-time ramblers stood there, staring in open-mouthed horror at the sight of two muddy figures enacting what could only be some bizarre sexual ritual on the altar of the Six Maidens.

  The soft laughter in her ear told her he’d seen them too. But he didn’t stop what he was doing. He pinched her clit between his fingers and Natalie arched her body upwards, sending a cry up into the heavens as she came. Some unseen creature answered her call and then the only sound was the crunch of dry leaves beneath the rapidly retreating boots of the hikers.

  Her legs were incapable of holding her up and she wilted over the stone, where she lay spent and exhausted until she felt the chill of a goblet at her lips. She lifted her head and drank gratefully, then smiled up at her companion.

  ‘I’m Natalie, by the way.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said. ‘My name’s Lucian.’

  He helped her up and wrapped the blue robe around her shoulders. He blew out the candles one by one and collected her things, putting them in her rucksack while she watched. Then he crouched down and slipped her muddy feet back into her shoes.

  She offered him a rueful smile as she recalled her words earlier that night. ‘So – is that it?’

  He shook his head and flashed his wicked grin again. ‘Absolutely not. I’m taking you back to the house with me. I’ve got a shower big enough for two. And a very comfortable bed.’

  Natalie slipped her arms around his waist and snuggled up close to him. ‘Yes, Master,’ she purred.

  He shook his head as though he couldn’t believe his luck. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I never used to believe in magic. But my mate Rhiannon was right. These pagan rituals really do work.’

  The Only Man Worthy

  Aishling Morgan

  Amelie put her finger to her lips.

  ‘Hush, darling.’

  Tom looked close to tears as he continued to beg.

  ‘Please, Amelie. You’re so beautiful, and I need you so badly. Please!’

  ‘No, Tom, not until our wedding night. You know how I feel about that. You’ll just have to do it in your hand.’

  Tom’s response was a hollow groan, but he flopped down into a chair and took hold of the straining erection that protruded from his open fly. Amelie watched as he began to masturbate, unable to prevent herself from enjoying her power even though it made her feel wicked. Yet there was no choice. Tom was a nice man, a kind man, also a good provider. He would make the ideal husband: faithful, gentle and patient, while his skill as an accountant ensured that she and her children would never be in want. Yet they would not be his children. That was unthinkable. The man who fathered her children would be a truly great man, a genius, nothing less.

  Again Tom began to beg.

  ‘Please, Amelie, at least take me in your mouth? Or your hand even, anything! Please, Amelie. I love you. I need your touch.’

  Amelie shook her head.

  ‘You know you shouldn’t ask that of me, darling. My body is a temple, sacred until God has made us one. But I do understand your needs, so you can look, as long as you promise not to touch.’

  Tom responded with an urgent nod and Amelie moved her position on the bed to allow herself to pull up the loose white dress which was all that she wore on top, showing off first her panties and then her naked breasts.

  ‘There we are, darling. Now do be quick.’

  He gave a low sob and began to tug harder on his erection. His eyes were fixed on her body, his mouth slightly open, an expression so urgent and so adoring but also so foolish that she had to suppress a giggle. Yet there was no denying that he was turning her on, but not enough to make her give up what he wanted so badly. She stretched on the bed, languid and cool as he hammered at his cock, stroking her nipples to make them stiff.

  ‘There, darling. Does that look nice? Am I pretty?’

  Tom’s answer came in words gasped out to the rhythm of his now desperate masturbation.

  ‘Beautiful. Perfect. So sweet. Oh God, Amelie … Amelie, take your panties down Amelie … please … show me your bottom … your pretty bare bottom and your lovely little cunt, please!?’

  ‘There’s no need to be dirty, Tom.’

  Amelie had wagged a finger at him as she spoke, but she complied with his request, enjoying her power over him too much to want to refuse, despite his crude words. Rolling onto her knees, she lifted her bottom and reached back, to take hold of her panties and peel them slowly down. Tom gave a long, heartfelt sigh, his eyes riveted to her as she exposed herself inch by inch, the gentle valley between her firm little bottom cheeks, the tight pink dimple of her anus, and finally her virgin sex, with the red bulge of her hymen plainly visible where it held her inviolate to his cock.

  ‘Oh, Amelie!’

  He came, so copiously that he soiled not only his trousers and shirt but his own face. Amelie gave a little tut as she pulled her knickers back up, then quickly rolled her legs off the bed, speaking to him as she made for the bathroom.

  ‘Really, Tom. I know you’re a man, and men have their needs, but you really must try and show a little more restraint. I’m not a sex doll.’

  He didn’t answer, his eyes now closed in guilty bliss, while his mouth was slack and wider than before. Amelie knew from long experience that he would spend the next few minutes feeling bad about demanding that she surrender herself to him, and for what he’d asked of her. He’d always been like that, desperately eager to please her and pathetically grateful for what she chose to give. She liked it that way, and took care to conceal her own emotions, such as the urgent need to spread her thighs and have her soaking cunt filled with hard, eager cock.

  She locked the bathroom door, as she always did, turned on th
e shower, slipped out of her dress and tugged her panties down a little. It had felt good with the material taut around her thighs and she wanted to feel the sensation again as she sat her bare bottom down on the toilet seat and spread her legs. Her hand went to her cunt to tease the moist flesh between her lips, and then lower to touch her anus in a moment of pure, dirty indulgence. The little hole felt tight and soft, deliciously sensitive, and for a moment she wondered if she had time to ease a finger in, only to decide to postpone the naughty pleasure for a more convenient moment. Tom was outside, waiting his turn in the bathroom, and while she knew he wouldn’t make a nuisance of himself she didn’t want to take too long and risk arousing his suspicions. Reluctantly, she abandoned her exploration of her bottom-hole and began to masturbate in earnest, with the ball of her thumb circling her clit and one finger gently pressed to her hymen.

  Her rubbing quickly grew urgent as she remembered how it had felt to kneel on the bed with her dress pulled high to show off her breasts and her panties at half mast, the white cotton stretched taut between her thighs as she showed Tom her virgin cunt hole. It had been so good, both to be showing off and knowing exactly how he’d respond, tugging furiously at his cock in impotent desire until he came all over himself. She nearly came herself at the memory of the thick white semen erupting from his cock, but held off at the last second and turned her mind to how any real man would have behaved in the same situation.

  She’d have been fucked. There would have been no begging, no pathetic entreaties. He’d have climbed on the bed behind her, given her bottom a few firm smacks to teach her not to be a tease, and pushed his cock to her cunt, to burst her hymen and fuck her until he’d added the white of his semen to the red of her deflowered sex. Maybe he’d have taken a little longer with her and made her suck his beautiful big cock for a while as he explored her body, or spanked her properly, leaving her red-bottomed and whimpering. One way or another he’d have come inside her and left her pregnant with his child.

  Amelie bit her lip to stop herself crying out as she came, holding the image of her virgin cunt speared on a truly massive cock, her hole straining taut on the thick shaft, which would be streaked red and white with her blood and his semen. The only question was: who was worthy?

  * * *

  It was not an easy question to answer. All her life she’d been the most methodical of girls, with her progress neatly mapped out, stage by stage. So far she had successfully resisted all the boys and men who’d found her slender young body appealing, never giving in to more than the occasional blow job when one of them proved especially desirable or particularly pushy. She had done well in her exams and secured the place at university she needed to give her polish and make it easier to select a man who would make a suitable husband. That man had been Tom, who possessed all the right attributes, principally earning power and a mild, obedient nature, but he was blatantly unsuitable to be the father of her children.

  So were all the other men she’d met, even the vice chancellor of the university, who’d propositioned her one evening and got his face slapped for his troubles. A mere vice chancellor was not enough. What she needed was a man whose intellect and achievements would ring down the centuries, a man whose name could claim equity with Beethoven or Churchill, with Darwin or Joyce, a true great. Unfortunately such men were impossible to identify until they had achieved their status and hard to find and seduce even then. Besides that, her timing needed to be immaculate, as in order to conceive she would have to have sex almost immediately before her wedding night and somehow conceal from Tom the fact that she had already surrendered her supposedly sacred virginity.

  Yet she was nothing if not determined. Her choice was made and her plans laid. To celebrate the final days of freedom she would choose a weekend of riding in La Mancha, sat astride the magnificent Spanish palominos, which would allow for a tear-stained explanation of how she had come to ruin her hymen while providing the perfect excuse to visit a rather different destination, the villa of Vicente da Silva near Valdepenas.

  Da Silva was perfect, a brilliant, fiery writer during his early years in Cuba and Central America, a man who’d fought time and again for what he believed in. He was also a composer, an athlete and, if rumour was to be believed, a dedicated lothario. Now in his seventies, he had spent the past two decades living the life of a recluse, alone in a great, decaying mansion surrounded by vineyards and olive groves, at least if the information she’d gleaned from the internet was accurate.

  Amelie had no doubts at all of her ability to seduce him. A man was a man, and she had taught herself well, always ready to take in what would arouse a male, to the point at which she’d made more than one frustrated admirer come in his pants without so much as touching him. Da Silva would be no different, and if his age was a trifle off-putting, then it would be a sacrifice well worth making.

  She would stay with him for a week, carefully timed to give herself the best chance of conceiving, then leave as suddenly and mysteriously as she had arrived. A day of riding and she would have the horsey photographs she needed to show Tom when she returned to England, now pregnant with the great man’s child. Only she would ever know.

  Everything went smoothly. Tom fussed a little when she told him she was going to Spain, but he soon gave in, as usual. The night before she left she allowed him to come in his hand as she knelt naked on the bed, then made him promise to behave himself while she was away and not to get up to any mischief on his stag night, a night in the pub with a handful of old friends. There was worship in his eyes as he swore he’d never so much as look at another woman, and Amelie had no reason to doubt his word.

  The flight to Spain and journey south in a hired car were uneventful, although Amelie could feel her tension growing with each passing mile. La Mancha was as she had imagined it, and seen it in pictures, a great open plain baked brown by the sun and giving way to more broken country in the south, where da Silva’s villa stood in a secluded valley. It took a while to be certain she had the right house, but she was sure of the man disporting himself in a great weather-beaten wickerwork chair. He’d been twenty years younger in the most recent photograph she’d been able to find. His famous mane of black hair had turned to silver and his lean body showed his seventy years, but the set of his limbs still spoke of confidence and strength, while his eyes burnt bright with intelligence.

  Amelie watched for a while to get over her nervousness and just in case there was anybody else about, but the only sound was the hum of cicadas and the occasional call of a bird among the vines behind the house. Finally she stepped through the tall gateposts and up the short drive to where the great man was taking his rest in his chair. He saw her, looked up and said something in Spanish. Amelie put a finger to her lips and with a single motion shrugged the loose cotton dress that was her only garment from her shoulders. It fell away in a puddle of pure white cloth to leave her nude, her breasts exposed to his eyes, and her belly, with just the faint down of her hair concealing her virgin cunt.

  His eyes went wide and again he spoke, but again Amelie put her finger to her lips, motioning him to silence as she stepped forwards, naked and ready. All he had on was a pair of sun-bleached shorts, the hems ragged and the crotch showing a conspicuous bulge. Amelie knelt down and reached out, taking hold of his cock through his shorts and massaging him gently, making her intentions even more obvious than before. He took a moment to respond and then his hand came out and made tentative contact with her back. She didn’t resist, and his hand slipped lower, first to her hip and then to the turn of her bottom.

  Amelie smiled in response, pushing herself out to make both her cheeks and the slit between them available to his hand. He continued to stroke and to squeeze, gradually gaining confidence as she kneaded his cock through his shorts. He reached down with his spare hand to unzip himself. Amelie took the hint and opened the button of the tattered garment to pull out a dark cock, every bit as thick and long as she’d hoped and imagined. His caresses immediately
grew more urgent, eager fingers slipping beneath her bottom to find her sex.

  She sighed as he touched her cunt, and pushed out her bottom a little further to invite yet more intimate exploration. He turned a little to touch her breasts, his fingers moving over the sensitive flesh as if in astonishment at the firmness of her flesh and the stiffness of her nipples. Amelie leant forwards, making her position yet more provocative and vulnerable, her bottom pushed well out behind, breasts lolling forwards. She had begun to masturbate him, rolling his thick brown foreskin back and forth across the plump pink cockhead and using her fingers to tease the most sensitive areas of his skin. Despite his age, his cock had already begun to swell, growing and stiffening in her hand. He was well endowed too, with little evidence of the years, making it easy for her to take his penis in her mouth.

  He tasted of salt and of man, making her more eager still. She took him deep and began to suck. He gave himself free rein with her body, his long lean fingers exploring the shape of her breasts and the stiff little points of her nipples, the curve of her bottom cheeks and the lips of her cunt and her hole. A sudden sharp pang of nervous excitement hit her as he tried to penetrate her, only to find his way blocked by her hymen. He withdrew, but only for an instant, until she’d parted her knees and pushed her bottom out into a more vulnerable position, making it very obvious she was his for the taking.

  His caresses became more intimate still, his fingers rubbing in the wet slit of her cunt and probing at her hymen, his cock now a hard bar of flesh in her mouth. The discovery she was a virgin had excited him, which was exactly as it should be, and Amelie gave an encouraging wiggle as she took him as deep into her throat as he would go. He gasped in response, and for one awful moment she thought he was going to waste himself down her throat so pulled quickly back.

  She didn’t bother to speak, knowing he wouldn’t understand and that the language of her body was all he needed. She got up to straddle him as he slipped forward a little in his chair. He took hold of his cock, holding it up to make a spear for her to sit on, his eyes fixed in wonder and delight on her naked body as she lowered herself gently onto his erection. It was the moment she’d been looking forward to for so long, when she would give up her virginity to the man she’d chosen as worthy. Despite the dull ache as the head of his cock pushed against her hymen she was in a state of ecstasy, as much spiritual as physical, as she slowly allowed her weight to settle.