Black Lace Quickies 3 Read online

  ‘Take everything else off too,’ Jack ordered.

  Tessa could barely co-ordinate her fingers as the whips messed with her nipples and mouth. She managed to slide off her sturdy boots before lowering her jodhpurs to her ankles. It was always a relief to get them off, like shedding skin. The new layer of virgin flesh underneath was ultra-sensitive, maddened by every touch or breath of air.

  Before she knew what was happening, Tessa was aware of Jack’s riding boot easing her body back down into the straw. He deftly pulled the jodhpurs from her ankles and took a moment to appraise what had been revealed. He stood at her feet and looked back up her lean body, his gaze delayed by the tiny white triangle of thong at the top of her thighs.

  Judging by the growing bulges in the team’s tight-fitting uniforms, Tessa knew they approved of what they saw. Her lips and cheeks flushed with excitement and she felt like she’d pee herself if they didn’t take her soon. But Tessa wasn’t going to let them know how she felt. No, that was her secret and, while she lay meekly in the straw, she felt her skin explode into a thousand tiny prickles at the thought of shoving her neat little mound towards the nearest mouth.

  Fighting back her powerful desires, wanting to make the game last for ever, Tessa watched timidly as Jack and his three friends stripped off their team uniforms. Like an aphrodisiac weather front, Tessa was overcome by the powerful but sexy stench of pheromones and sweat as clothes were discarded. One by one, sheets of tanned skin stretched over hard-working muscle were revealed to her disbelieving eyes. The other three team players were fairer than Jack, their naked chests dappled with autumn-coloured hair over sun-bronzed skin, and they were so similar in their good looks that they could have passed for brothers. Tessa was suddenly faced with three stiff cocks bursting from their prisons and the thrill that they were all hers nearly caused her to orgasm immediately. She raised her hands out of the straw in an eager attempt to pull the nearest one to her but Jack swiped her arms away with his crop.

  ‘Not yet,’ he barked and then turned to the player who had taken first defence on the Polo field. ‘Lick her out but don’t allow her to come.’

  ‘You’re the boss,’ he replied, his face breaking into a grin.

  Unable to protest even if she wanted to, Tessa felt her ankles being gripped and drawn apart as she lay in the straw. The nameless Australian glanced at her briefly before getting to work. With his face close and his breath moist on her skin, he hooked a dusty finger inside Tessa’s panties and drew them aside. The half-growl, half-moan he emitted assured Tessa that he approved of her neat and trimmed mound. She was certain that her clit would be straining between her swollen lips as if begging to be licked first. She hoped that he noticed and didn’t waste any time. Maintaining the timid charade was becoming increasingly harder as her lust grew more urgent. She struggled violently against her body’s needs as the first velvet stroke of tongue slowly drew up the entire length of her creamy pussy, sending her mind cascading into oblivion. All her senses merged together and battered her brain with unreliable signals. Overhead, she could see Jack looming, waiting, his stiffness growing ever bigger, keen to claim his prize.

  The Australian’s tongue felt huge and invading, like an independent creature set loose as it worked deftly on Tessa’s sex. The fire that raged between her legs was somehow linked to the thoughts in her mind, and while she had often fantasised about sex with many men since the time in Melbourne, she never thought it would happen again. Tessa let out a wistful whimper as the realisation nearly drowned her. She lifted her hips from the straw and ground her sex into the man’s face, like her swollen lips were a drooling mouth suffocating him with kissing.

  ‘Get her to suck you off,’ Tessa heard Jack say, although in her delirious state she was unable to put meaning to the words until she felt something warm and smooth and meat-like brushing against her mouth.

  ‘Come on, sweetie. Open wide.’ The voice seemed detached from the hard lines of his perspiring body as the Australian teased her mouth with his straining erection. It was the salty bead oozing from the tip that caused her to part her lips in order to taste it, leaving just enough space for the cock to push and ease itself between her teeth. The silent stranger held up Tessa’s head and slowly manoeuvred his statuesque erection into her mouth, almost immediately having to fight against ejaculating down her throat.

  ‘Steady, steady,’ he growled, digging his nails into her shoulders.

  Instinctively, Tessa pushed her fingers into the space behind his balls and began to circle the tacky patch of hairless flesh, causing the Australian to moan and sway as he levered his cock skilfully. He was sitting astride her chest, his buttocks brushing against the pale rise of her breasts, blocking any view of whatever was going on between Tessa’s legs. But she was aware that something was happening, a changeover perhaps because the pattern of licking slowed and became firmer, and whoever it was down there was nibbling and biting at her clit with their teeth. She strained sideways, peering out over the top of the wide prick that was a millimetre away from choking her and saw the top of Jack’s dark head between her legs. The other teammate, who had got her so wet initially, was now standing and looking a little lost alongside the fourth player. Jack must have sensed this also because he snapped a command at them.

  ‘Don’t just stand around. Make yourselves useful.’ Jack beckoned them over. ‘Get to work on her tits.’ The lower half of Jack’s face was smeared with Tessa’s juices as he spoke and a low snarl could be heard as he buried himself once more between her engorged lips.

  ‘You take that side and I’ll have this one.’ The raised clipped tones of the Australian’s accent preceded the burning sensation that suddenly surrounded each nipple. Two unfamiliar mouths sucked and chewed noisily on her breasts, which somehow seemed to complete the electric circuit that was sparking throughout her body.

  Moments later, Jack hauled himself upright as if he had surfaced from a long swim under water. His eyes were half-closed, perhaps because he was drunk on the juice drooling from Tessa’s little pink sex, and he barely managed to give out further orders to the team through a gravelled voice.

  One by one, the men dragged themselves away from their positions and rearranged according to Jack’s wishes. Tessa had no say in matters as she was roughly lifted and repositioned in the straw. She felt something warm beneath her back and when she sent her hands to investigate she realised that she had been put on top of Jack, her back covering his front so that she could feel his searing hot prick straining between her buttocks.

  She felt his breath on her neck as he spoke. ‘Ever had it up the arse before?’ Jack was barely in control of his voice and the words came out as urgent staccato. Tessa shook her head as someone lifted her legs at a right angle to her hips and held them up high by the ankles. ‘Ever had it up both before?’ Jack let out an irrepressible laugh and took each of Tessa’s breasts in his hands like they were handles for the impending ride. Tessa suddenly felt another mouth eating her sex and quickly working its way down to her exposed arse.

  ‘No, of course not!’ she insisted, her whole body now a mass of trembles and anticipation. The fear of what she knew was coming coupled with the pleasure of having her tight little arse exposed and prepared by a stranger was nearly enough to send her unconscious but she held on to the remaining shred of reality as her hips were lifted and her buttocks separated further by the remaining team player. Jack’s thick cock nudged her little wet hole from underneath, while the other three Australians guided and pressed her down. She gasped as the tip probed her by a centimetre. Once Jack had found his target, he instinctively moved in mini-thrusts to gradually work the rest of his hungry shaft inside Tessa, lowering her on to his stiffness by pushing down on her hips. Eventually, it went in completely, causing Tessa to emit sharp moans as he moved.

  ‘I want more,’ Tessa wailed, surprising even herself as Jack powered home. ‘You –’ she pointed at one of the players ‘– fuck me now!’ She already had her finger
s pulling on her needy clit simply because she couldn’t wait. Gone were her reservations and fake coyness. Tessa wanted them all in every part of her.

  ‘I’ll never fit in,’ he said, eyeing Tessa’s neat little sex with adoration. But he lowered himself on top of her anyway, jamming Tessa in between the two men like a sandwich filling. His cock soon found her swollen lips and gradually sank into her extra-tight pussy. With Jack pounding from behind, there wasn’t much space left within her slim hips so the two men vied for space, eventually finding a rhythm that quickly brought each of them to the brink of orgasm and drove their shared lover to that critical peak of ecstasy.

  Tessa stiffened, unable to comprehend anything at all except for the extreme feeling of fullness radiating from between her legs. As she was gasping for breath, turning her head both to the left and right, she was suddenly met by the remaining men’s veined pricks competing for her mouth. Excited by the two different smells, Tessa lavished equal attention on each, offering a few slow and deep sucks to one before doing the same to the other.

  The man on top of Tessa pumped her diligently, the stem of his cock grinding against her clit, before finally sending her catapulting inescapably into cascades of pleasure as her orgasm gripped and kneaded the men inside her. Pinwheels of ecstasy shot throughout her body to the very tips of her fingers as her sex contracted time and time again. Seconds later, both men were unable to prevent themselves from coming deep within Tessa’s soft pink flesh. Their bodies went rigid above and below her as they were lost in their own feelings for the few seconds it took to empty their balls.

  Tessa began to laugh. Aftershocks rippled within as her heart steadied and her open mouth suddenly became the receptacle for the other two men’s hot and curdled ejaculation as they frantically pumped their cocks above her face. She was almost choking on the stuff as the tepid, salty liquid erupted over her in irregular bursts. Her tongue whipped around her lips to lap up the delicious mess, while the sensitive and softening pricks bobbed together mere millimetres away from her searching tongue.

  ‘Allow me to help you,’ said the Australian above Tessa, his semi-hardness still inside her. He dropped forwards and kissed her sopping face, cleaning up the milky puddles. Tessa was drenched and exhausted; she had been filled up to bursting point but was simply the happiest she’d ever been at losing a game of Polo.

  As five exhausted bodies gradually relaxed and peeled off one another into the straw, Tessa heard thunder resonating in the distance. Moments later, fat bulbs of rain pelted the dusty ground outside the stable, slow at first but then with the urgency of a land that hadn’t seen rain in months. The relief in the atmosphere was obvious. Jack had been right about the looming storm.

  ‘So what went wrong with your game?’ Jack asked above the noise, hoisting up his jodhpurs. ‘You played like you were riding an unbroken colt.’

  Tessa paused before replying, a girlish grin emerging beneath the sticky residue around her mouth. ‘That’ll be the oats I fed to Nitro earlier. They’re guaranteed to drive him wild, making him virtually impossible to control.’ She shrugged and picked up a crop, tapping it gently against her thigh. ‘But it got me the ride I wanted.’ She smirked naughtily and lay back in the straw to watch the lightning.

  Maya Hess is the author of the Black Lace novels The Angels’ Share and Bright Fire. Her short stories have appeared in numerous Wicked Words collections.

  Sonata A. D. R. Forte

  THE NOTES OF a piano sound over the drumbeat of the rain, plaintive and primal running together, falling and fading. I adjust the volume down, just enough that I can hear it without drowning the song of rain patter. Then I turn from the stereo and go to the sofa, where I sit and curl my feet under the warm velvet of my skirt. I can see nothing through the downpour. Water obscures the world outside, washing it away while I look out from this refuge of glass and latticework. Piano and rain.

  I run my fingers along the windowpane, following the path of the rain. Lean my head on the glass and close my eyes, slip back into the semisweet place of memory.

  It was pouring then too; a summer thunderstorm full of thud and bluster, the air pungent with the smell of rain. I’d sought shelter in a doorway, leaning against the dirty red brick wall in an effort to stay dry even though the wind still did its best to spatter water into my refuge. I didn’t mind the rain, not much. Eventually I’d make the mad dash for my car and get there soaked and out of breath; turn the heat on full blast while I tore off damp scarf and jacket and ruffled my hair up cockatoo style. But for now I was content to stay dry until the worst of the downpour had vented.

  And then I heard Mendelssohn. Trio No.1 muffled by concrete and brick, audible only in bits and starts over the drone of rain, the splash of car tyres in puddles and the screech of brakes. I went still. Listening.

  Somewhere within the building a door squeaked, banged. Voices murmured. Yet still the music carried on, unfaltering. Tireless and fluid with the ease that comes from true passion for the craft. It wasn’t until the side of my head began to hurt that I realised I was straining to hear with my ear and cheek pressed against the damp wood behind me.

  I thirsted for that sound.

  The hallway looked like the inside of every other campus building once I entered. Struggling fluorescent tubes that lit dingy concrete once painted beige. Creaking wood floor and greyish-brown linoleum. The musty smell of ancient carpets and filing cabinets.

  But the sound of the piano pulled me on, drew me in past rooms and offices filled with dusty instruments, scribbled-upon whiteboards. Occupied by grey, colourless people who typed or talked, oblivious to the emotion bleeding through the tired hallways with every note.

  I walked past them. How could they not hear? How could they remain so insensible, pacing through life like this? Like horses with blinders, trotting past open fields; never seeing or knowing what they were missing. Never thinking about what could be.

  The piano answered me, indifferent to anything but its own joy and its own wild pleasure. Appassionato.

  At the room itself I halted outside. I wanted the music and what it promised: the careless longing, the sensuality. I suddenly didn’t want to see the player, just another miserable human eking out an existence except for this one instance of unrestrained joy. So I leaned again against the room doorway and listened.

  I let the music beguile me, charm and whisper to me of golden damask sheets, of pillars twined around with vines, of red velvet and wine-sweet kisses. Of those aching, powerful moments of feeling that happened too few and far between the stretches of ordinary life. A look or a smile in the aftermath of sex. An unexpected touch. An instant of understanding without words.

  There in that fusty little building with the mouldy ceiling lowering at me, I knew desire. And then it ended. Left me like a lover urgently called away. Chagrined, I bit my lip and frowned at the ceiling.

  I told myself I should at least thank the piano player. He or she might be just a humdrum little person, ignorant of the voice and the longing in the music, but I could still show gratitude. A little moment of kindness on my part. So I pushed away from the wall and turned to enter the room. And found my way blocked.

  He looked down at me and we said nothing at first, for there was nothing to say. I’d seen his face before, across impersonal, busy spaces among too many people. Somebody not part of my world. Somebody I had no reason to make part of my life, even though I had looked and looked again at that face: long proud nose and full mouth. Dark, rebellious waves of hair. Eyes the pale green of ivy leaves.

  Now I looked full into his gaze and I spoke, and brought him into my world. ‘I heard your playing.’ I didn’t add that it was lovely, that it was rapturous. That it was any of the hundred foolish, mindless compliments I could have uttered. And he understood.

  He smiled and lifted the fringed edge of my scarf; let the silky, woollen strands glide through his fingers. Hands like pale ivory, but with no hint of fragility. I was caught by that sudden, unlooke
d-for touch, netted like a stray fairy in a wizard’s garden, and I should have known then any chance of escape was lost.

  ‘I’m lucky you did,’ he said and let the scarf fall.

  Such intimacy and such arrogance, brazen in his defiance of convention. But since he had stepped out onto thin air and dared me to follow him, I did. I took his arm as if we were old friends. We left the building, careless of the stinging rain that fought for our attention with each cold gust of wind. Now there was no reason to hurry. I wanted to savour the minutes and the rain chill and his warmth at my side.

  We found a café; spent hours talking over something. Coffee, sandwiches. It didn’t matter. What mattered was his hands rubbing my wrists, his thumbs covering mine before tracing the lines on my palm. His pulse warm against mine. His green eyes and his smile.

  But he didn’t kiss me that first night.

  We circumvented each other for a long, wasted time, keeping our interactions chaste because we could rise above things like animal desire. All we needed was the meeting of like minds. We wanted nothing but long conversations and tranquil silences.

  We shared confidences and thoughts and books. Traded recipes for stuffed mushrooms and chicken pot pie. He taught me how to make English trifle, and when my custard didn’t set and I fretted, he laughed and fed me strawberries. We drank all the sherry, ate the entire bag of walnuts and stayed up until morning.

  I listened to his fears and he listened to my frustrations. He played for me while I sat beside him and listened, my head on his shoulder, my eyes closed. We promised each other that was how it would remain between us. Never would we fall into the trap of wanting too much.

  There were promises to others: expectations and plans we could not simply throw to the winds.

  ‘Never,’ we said.

  We were so stupid.

  But he came to me first, after an evening of too much wine and too much poetry. After hours of meaningless social pleasantries; of mingling and smiling and small talk about nothing. Of listening to the party’s hostess read Neruda while we pretended not to notice each other. Ignored the heat when we stood too close. I told myself it was the alcohol, the crowded room. Told myself it was anything but his eyes following my every movement, or the way he looked at me and smiled for no reason at all.