Hard Bargains Page 6

  I immediately felt his gaze on my body as he rapidly uncovered my breasts in his imagination. They must have looked good because his cock started to extend. There would be no more talk of impotence.

  Shawn’s face was bright and it was bathed in a gorgeous smile as he beamed at me. He’ll be the cutest cocksucker in the whole state of Washington, I thought.

  The sex turned out to be surprisingly romantic. It blended with the scenery, the sun sparkling on the lake and a mild breeze that just tickled the tops of the tallest trees.

  Geoff rested on his back and I sat beside him. I traced a line with my index finger down the centre of his chest, starting at his clavicle and continuing to the top of his stomach. Bending forward, aware that I was giving him an intimate view of my cleavage, I moved my mouth over his right nipple, saturating it with my moist breath. I swirled my tongue around the tip, leaving a light coat of saliva to evaporate in the heat. The point stiffened and I shifted my attention to the other side, taking the full circle between my lips and sucking gently. His nipples were as delightful to touch as they had been to look at over lunch.

  Geoff moaned and I rested my head so I could hear his heart, while I gazed down at my boyfriend to watch him suck his first cock, which was now completely erect. He was close to being able to take the full length into his mouth, leaving a glistening wetness behind when he eased back so his lips covered just the corona.

  Shawn caught me watching and was distracted by my happiness. He took the erection into his hand and licked from the base all the way up to the summit. He flicked his tongue against the small hole, finding something there he wanted to taste.

  When he pulled away, we were all silent and motionless for a moment. Only Geoff’s hard penis, still twitching from the blowjob, interrupted the stillness. Farhan was looking at it too.

  ‘That was more intense than I expected,’ Geoff said. ‘Sofia, you have spectacular breasts.’

  ‘I promise I will show them to you – just not today.’

  It was Farhan’s turn to receive and he eased into position, his hand teasing his cock, causing it to stir. Shawn settled between his friend’s legs and offered titillation with his tongue, quickly bringing forth a full erection. As he took it into his mouth, I started kissing Farhan’s chest. His nipples were stiff and I grazed one with my teeth, causing his whole body to flex in response.

  I pulled back so I could sit comfortably and watch the sexy scene in front of me. Shawn was already very good at cocksucking and I studied his technique, looking for clues as to how he might like to be pleasured by me. The pace of his ministrations quickened and I could see Farhan’s muscles tense. Abruptly he turned away and tapped Shawn on the shoulder. The move, I suspected, indicated that control had nearly been lost.

  When Farhan’s penis came back into view, it was so swollen I could almost see inside it, into the hollow that would soon convey his come to the surface of his body.

  Having done his joyful duty, Shawn turned onto his back and reached for his cock with his right hand. He used the left one to pinch his nipples – aggressively, each one in turn. He sighed deeply from the jolts of pain and pleasure.

  Farhan went back to work on his cock and from the intensity of his strokes I guessed he was on the verge of a tremendous climax.

  Geoff made sure he had a share of my attention before he resumed his task. He’d remained hard while watching Shawn go down on Farhan.

  On a dock on a lake on an idyllic day, hidden away in one of the most beautiful places in the world, I gazed as three hands ravished three erect cocks and three men revealed the intensity of their orgasms.

  Farhan came first, beads of white liquid landing like raindrops on his smooth chest. My lover erupted next and he cried out with pleasure, his voice reverberating deep into the forest. Geoff’s body trembled as his climax surged, droplets of ejaculate soaring into the sky like fireworks.

  I listened to their breathing, air rushing into their lungs, the pace gradually getting steadier, their bodies relaxing back into normalcy.

  Shawn was the first to recover and he ended the silence by executing a perfect bum-first cannonball into the lake. The other boys joined him and their exuberant splashes covered my arms and legs with drops of cool water. The chill was a bit of a shock but the effect only lasted for a moment; it was offset by a tropical heatwave building between my thighs.

  I’m usually very nice to my pussy, giving her anything she wants. On the dock while the boys were swimming I disappointed her by insisting on patience. She complained like a mewling kitty cat, ‘Please pet me,’ and I felt guilty for ignoring her. But instead of seeking immediate gratification, I was determined to let the pressure build into an explosion of orgasms later in the evening at the tip of my boyfriend’s tongue. There was also the possibility the boys might notice if I made too much noise. I’m pretty loud when I come. No pussy for them meant no pussy for me – at least not yet.

  I probably could have gotten away with it. The trio had drifted out towards the middle of the lake and Shawn and Geoff were joining forces in an attempt to dunk Farhan. The sound of their laughter eased a concern that had troubled my conscience. I didn’t want today’s escapades to alter the way they interacted as friends. They’d done something new together which, a few hours ago, would have seemed preposterous to them. I was pretty sure everyone had taken some pleasure in the experience, but I couldn’t really expect thank-you cards to prove that I was right.

  I returned to the cabin to change while the boys were still in the water. The bathing suit stuck to my crotch momentarily as I peeled it down my legs. I was tempted to stay naked, to reveal myself in all my tiny glory as a reward for the fantastic show they’d put on for me. I set aside the thought and grabbed a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. There would be another day when I’d be the star, all eyes on Sofia.

  The mood of the group was different when they returned. I was still horny, but the guys had relaxed. The round of orgasms followed by horseplay seemed to have dissipated their sense of the sexual tension. They wandered around cheerfully contented as we made supper. Being naked in front of a clothed woman now seemed as natural to them as rain in the Pacific Northwest. I actually wished Geoff would go back to trying to shield his cock from me, so I could resume the mischief of peeking at it when he wasn’t paying attention.

  The refractory period spells disaster for a woman with a single-track brain and a snarly pussy.

  They talked about wrestling or something while we ate. My mind drifted into fantasies about what I could make happen next time Farhan and Geoff visited us in this isolated hideout. Maybe I’d greet them at the door wearing only a grin and declare that this weekend I wouldn’t wear any clothes. I imagined dropping a handful of forks and spoons on the floor. I’d turn around and spread my legs unnecessarily wide when I bent down to pick them up, so my sex would emerge upside down in a lewd and lovely display for the boys to appreciate.

  The conversation around me persisted; my imagination conjured additional fantasies. In my mind I envisioned another cloudless day, all of us once again down by the lake, this time four people naked in the sun.

  I’m on my back and I’m rolling my clitoris under my fingers. The boys are entranced by my pussy, fascinated as they watch my lips darken and swell with excitement. The spectacle incites their passions and they stand over me, vigorously pulling on their cocks and matching my moans with their own guttural noises. We climax at the same time and streams of come cascade onto my breasts. The contractions in my pussy are so intense I feel like I have to scream to breathe.

  The scene suddenly vanished. I was back at the table with the lads and they expected me to do something. Nod. Someone had made a point and I was supposed to nod in agreement. I raised and lowered my chin. Last night I’d been the good host, playing cards because that’s what our guests had asked to do (and for no other reason), but now I couldn’t keep up with the basic duty of participating in the conversation.

  Every topic bored me exce
pt one, and I didn’t think it was something they wanted to discuss: man-sex. ‘Tell me, Farhan and Geoff, what was it like to have your cocks sucked by my boyfriend?’ I never found an appropriate moment to ask the question.

  We washed the dishes and the guys had more talk that made no impression on me. My mind was floating back into the dreamland of erotic possibilities. Before I’d met Shawn, I’d had a threesome with two boys, and their acrobatics to avoid touching each other had spoiled the experience. I’d promised myself I’d interrogate all future potential lovers to be absolutely sure they’d fuck with only joy in their hearts – no more fears and prejudices.

  A new fantasy swept into my imagination and I was too intoxicated with lust to resist it.

  Shawn, Farhan and Geoff are standing naked in front of me, their cocks already erect. They rub the tips together and the contact causes the heads to swell to their maximum girths. I can’t fit everyone’s cock in my mouth at once, but two at a time is bliss. I sample every combination and relish the slight differences. I’m forced to neglect someone but the guys take turns kneeling behind me, kissing my neck and caressing my nipples.

  My boyfriend nudged my shoulder. He was unusually brusque with me, so I suspected I had missed something important. ‘I have to pee,’ I said, and without looking back I walked out of the cabin.

  Farhan and Geoff got dressed while I was in the outhouse. I had to wipe away some extra wetness down there and, despite the mundane task and setting, my pussy snapped at me when I brushed it with a handful of toilet paper. I returned to the cabin and found that our guests were ready to leave, their car packed with all the clothes that, thanks to my poker luck, they wouldn’t have to wash when they got home.

  I hugged each of them warmly. They’d arrived for the weekend as Shawn’s friends but now I could consider them my friends too. I’d watched them have sex. ‘You are the wildest and naughtiest woman I’ve ever met,’ Geoff said. I liked the comment so much I decided not to point out that, technically, the day wasn’t over and he and Farhan should be driving home in the nude.

  Shawn and I would have to be careful about Geoff’s crush.

  My exhibitionist boyfriend was adhering to the letter and spirit of the bet. He probably got a thrill out of being the only one who was still naked. Given what I planned to do to his body in about 30 seconds, he was not overdressed.

  I heard the engine start and watched the car roll down the driveway back to the forestry service road. Very briefly I considered running after it, throwing off my shirt so Geoff could see the tits that made Santa Cruz famous. My knees were wobbly from too much needing-to-fuck so I rejected the idea.

  As soon as the car disappeared, Shawn scooped me into his arms. ‘Thank you for that,’ he said. I could feel him getting hard against my belly.

  ‘I will always do everything I can to make our fantasies come true. It’s amazing how good you are at cheating at cards.’

  ‘In another context, the ability to group any three cards together when shuffling would be considered a magic trick.’

  ‘It’s good to have a boyfriend with dextrous fingers.’ I put my arms around his neck and kissed him enthusiastically, taking his lower lip into my mouth. Someday I’ll do this and taste another man’s come.

  Never had I been so eager for his hands to stroke my pussy, to feel his cock inside me, for my body to convulse in a series of fierce orgasms in response to his expert tongue.

  House of Lewd Shadows

  Rose de Fer

  I’ve done it again. Let my big mouth get me into trouble.

  ‘Oh sure,’ I’d said blithely, ‘I can write a book in a weekend. I’ll write a thriller so hot and steamy you won’t be able to keep your hands off yourself when you read it, and so twisty and turny you’ll never guess who the killer is.’

  Or words to that effect. Something cheeky and overconfident anyway.

  Peter’s eyes had gleamed, not only at the prospect of another sexy thriller by Jess Bannion, but by my reckless flinging down of the gauntlet. I’d regretted it the instant the words left my mouth, desperately hoping he wouldn’t take me up on the challenge. But I knew my publisher too well.

  We’d been discussing Blackwood House, the spooky old gothic pile on the hill. It had just gone up for sale and it was available to hire for weekends. Why the hell hadn’t I focused on the plural? Weekends.

  ‘A weekend,’ he’d said, drawing out the word to emphasise the absurdity of my boast. ‘Really? That’s only two and a half days. I’ve known you to take weeks over a single story.’

  ‘Not every story. And you’ll remember I wrote the fourth Sheila Carradine novel in six days.’

  ‘That was more like a novella.’

  ‘Hey, a lot of Agatha Christie’s books were that length.’

  He’d smiled then, sensing the pre-emptive bargaining behind my words. ‘We’re talking about a proper modern novel here, Jess, and you know it. A full-length, eighty-thousand-word novel. In a single weekend.’

  I knew I’d done it then. Sealed my fate. Because I can never back down from a challenge, even when I’m the idiot doing the challenging.

  ‘Fine,’ I’d said, lifting my chin like some proud heroine in a romance novel. I’d written a few of those too. ‘What do I get if I win?’

  He’d laughed at that. ‘Other than the satisfaction of a job well done? It’s your proposition, my dear. I’ll publish the book, of course. I’ll even spring for the weekend for you to write it. But more to the point – what do I get if you lose?’

  That had made my face burn. I hadn’t even considered a forfeit. I hadn’t even really noticed I was talking myself into such a high-stakes game until it was too late. It was on the tip of my tongue to say it didn’t matter since I didn’t intend to lose. But my confidence had started to falter by that point.

  ‘What do you suggest?’ I’d been reduced to asking. And when he told me what he had in mind, my stomach began to flutter.

  But I’d swallowed my pride and nodded and stuck out my hand for him to shake. ‘You drive a hard bargain,’ was all I could bring myself to say.

  And he’d smiled like the wolf in the kinkiest version of Little Red Riding Hood.

  Now I’m staring up at this scary old house, about to embark on the most ludicrous bet of my life. Not that the place isn’t inspirational. Blackwood House has to be the oldest and darkest old dark house ever. Imposing stone towers claw at the sky above crumbling arches and tortuous iron scrollwork and the windows glint like spying eyes.

  It’s October, so nothing is blooming. The thorny brambles of dead rose bushes clamber over broken pergolas in what must once have been a glorious garden. Equally lifeless ivy clings to the stonework like exposed veins. Beneath the barren trees, the grounds are strewn with leaves, a carpet of brown and red and gold. It’s the only colour in the place and it transforms the otherwise gloomy location into a fantastical setting.

  I might be the second Mrs de Winter arriving at Manderley. Or Jane Eyre reporting for duty at Thornfield Hall. Or any number of wide-eyed young damsels wandering cold and labyrinthine corridors in nothing but a flimsy nightdress. I feel as intimidated as any of them as I put the key in the latch and turn it. Then I cross the threshold into the shadowy interior.

  Once I’m inside, my breath catches. I’m no longer in gothic romance territory. Now I’m firmly in the land of ghost stories and haunted houses. This could be Hill House. Or Hell House. Or the House of Usher. It’s not hard to understand where the authors of such tales got their ideas. At some time they must have wandered by themselves into a place like Blackwood House. They must have stood staring up at the staircase cloaked in darkness, the corners teeming with shadows. The atmosphere is genuinely chilling and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck tingle.

  ‘Well, then,’ I say, flinching a little at how my voice echoes in the vast hall. ‘What are you going to inspire me to write?’

  But of course the house doesn’t answer. Because it isn’t really haunted. That
’s just the silly spin used to sell it as a weekend retreat. ARE YOU BRAVE ENOUGH? DO YOU DARE? I’d found the Scooby Doo pitch pretty silly, but I’d always been curious about seeing inside the place.

  Peter had made all the arrangements and ensured there was a room with a desk where I could work undisturbed. I’m not keen to venture up the darkened stairs just yet to find it, but I remind myself that every moment I spend in awestruck gawking is a moment I could be winning our bet. Even so, I do have to explore. I have to feed the muse before I can write anything.

  I start downstairs, where a corridor leads me from dusty room to dusty room. Ancestral Blackwoods peer down at me from their ornate frames as I admire the elegant dining room. The table is laid as if for a dinner party, albeit one for ghosts, given the cobwebs strung between the candlesticks and chandelier. I can’t help but wonder where Miss Havisham’s wedding cake is. Maybe the ghosts ate it.

  Further along is a cosy little alcove with a cushioned window seat. I try it out and send a cloud of dust into the air for my efforts. Definitely more Hell House than Manderley. The letting agents might want to think about tidying the place up before touting it as a romantic getaway.

  At the end of the wing is a ballroom, its walls lavishly painted with commedia dell’arte characters. I’m having trouble envisioning either of my popular detectives here. But maybe I’m going about this all wrong. Maybe I should try something new. I’ve never written a period novel before. I toy with the idea of a Victorian locked-room mystery, a house full of shifty-eyed guests, every one a suspect.

  Then I remind myself: research.

  It’s not my favourite thing at the best of times and this weekend is not the best of times to be wildly ambitious. I have to get 80,000 words down on paper – well, on screen – before the end of Sunday night. Only a first draft, of course, but it still has to be a proper story. Best just to stick with what I know and what my readers enjoy.