other, holding each lip lightly in his finger and thumb. This is strangely intimate and very controlling, like a tailor feeling cloth. A shudder runs all through my belly and down the backs of my legs.
His eyes lock on mine, dark with intent, his expression grave. ‘I guess you know what comes first.’ He gives my folds a slight but unmistakeable downward tug.
I swallow. I’m learning to expect this, to yearn for it, even. We start the ritual with the classic submission he loves. But tonight I sense a new urgency about it.
The worship part is easy. I could do this for hours, if it pleases him, if it helps. But tonight his need for my mouth seems to go deeper than mere pleasure. As he towers over me, fully dressed now, easy and elegant in a suit that cost way more than my salary, I gasp as he frees himself and his erection looms before me. I love to do this, but the bracelets make it even more exciting. They bind me with more than metal.
I lick him with loving sweeps of my tongue and tease him with delicate kisses, fighting down panic. Will we be late? Will his sister walk in and find us? But he’s in no hurry.
As I lean over and take him deep I suck hard, scared I’ll screw up his evening by taking too long.
To my surprise he touches my hair and smiles. ‘Hey, easy. The party starts when we get there.’
So I go slow. When he finally groans I feel a deep swell of satisfaction, laced with a purely female hint of relief that my evening gown is still folded primly over a chair, innocent and unspoilt. Only my flushed cheeks and my pulsing, reddened lips will give me away – or maybe my air of primitive female pride.
I savour the moment. Who knows? It may be the best part of the evening.
The Great Hall of the Massachusetts State is House is ablaze with glitz. Its splendour has no effect on Darnley. As ever he’s casual and urbane. Cola quickly joins us. She looks bored, like she does this kind of thing often. But I’m overawed by the marble and the glitter and sincerely grateful my costly gown passes muster here with so many diplomats and dignitaries to see it.
As always with Darnley at my side, I feel like a princess. As always, his dark looks and fleeting smiles, like the firm, telling touch of his hand on my arm, my waist and my neck, make me feel like a queen. And as always the wicked thoughts that consume me when we’re this close make me randy as a cat.
He leads me over to a group where a slim middle-aged blonde with a regal air is holding court. ‘This is my mother, Señora Savoy Pemberton Castillo. Mother? Meet my girl. This is Ella. She’s a poet.’
The woman’s smooth, fine-boned face softens in a hint of a smile.
‘With those eyes? Of course she is.’
Darnley’s stepmother Lydia has the cautious air of a woman who’s come up in the world. Her face is still beautiful, her expression cool.
I sense a hint of the great outdoors. I recall his mother runs a stud farm. She sweeps me with a quizzical look as her son kisses her cheek but when she touches my hand hers is surprisingly warm. ‘I’m so glad to meet you, Ella. And do call me Savoy. Everyone does. So you’re Petronella Dean? I love your work. When I heard Darnley had read your poem
Life in landscapes
at the Institute I hoped I’d get to meet you.’
I’m touched by her courtesy. ‘You know my old professor?’
She smiles, warmer now. ‘Oh, yes. We go back a way. He’s here, somewhere.’ As she looks vaguely round, I notice Cola slip away into the crowd.
Savoy watches her go, pressing her lips together as she lowers her voice. ‘I’m so sorry to spring Cola on you both. This business scared the wits out of all of us. And she’s so moody, poor child. Do forgive her. I’m sure she’s been difficult.’
As she tells me about their trip I lose focus a little. She walked out on her son.
How could any woman do that?
When I tune back in to what she’s saying we’re still on Cola.
‘… So she begged me to bring her. But I
His eyes lock on mine, dark with intent, his expression grave. ‘I guess you know what comes first.’ He gives my folds a slight but unmistakeable downward tug.
I swallow. I’m learning to expect this, to yearn for it, even. We start the ritual with the classic submission he loves. But tonight I sense a new urgency about it.
The worship part is easy. I could do this for hours, if it pleases him, if it helps. But tonight his need for my mouth seems to go deeper than mere pleasure. As he towers over me, fully dressed now, easy and elegant in a suit that cost way more than my salary, I gasp as he frees himself and his erection looms before me. I love to do this, but the bracelets make it even more exciting. They bind me with more than metal.
I lick him with loving sweeps of my tongue and tease him with delicate kisses, fighting down panic. Will we be late? Will his sister walk in and find us? But he’s in no hurry.
As I lean over and take him deep I suck hard, scared I’ll screw up his evening by taking too long.
To my surprise he touches my hair and smiles. ‘Hey, easy. The party starts when we get there.’
So I go slow. When he finally groans I feel a deep swell of satisfaction, laced with a purely female hint of relief that my evening gown is still folded primly over a chair, innocent and unspoilt. Only my flushed cheeks and my pulsing, reddened lips will give me away – or maybe my air of primitive female pride.
I savour the moment. Who knows? It may be the best part of the evening.
The Great Hall of the Massachusetts State is House is ablaze with glitz. Its splendour has no effect on Darnley. As ever he’s casual and urbane. Cola quickly joins us. She looks bored, like she does this kind of thing often. But I’m overawed by the marble and the glitter and sincerely grateful my costly gown passes muster here with so many diplomats and dignitaries to see it.
As always with Darnley at my side, I feel like a princess. As always, his dark looks and fleeting smiles, like the firm, telling touch of his hand on my arm, my waist and my neck, make me feel like a queen. And as always the wicked thoughts that consume me when we’re this close make me randy as a cat.
He leads me over to a group where a slim middle-aged blonde with a regal air is holding court. ‘This is my mother, Señora Savoy Pemberton Castillo. Mother? Meet my girl. This is Ella. She’s a poet.’
The woman’s smooth, fine-boned face softens in a hint of a smile.
‘With those eyes? Of course she is.’
Darnley’s stepmother Lydia has the cautious air of a woman who’s come up in the world. Her face is still beautiful, her expression cool.
I sense a hint of the great outdoors. I recall his mother runs a stud farm. She sweeps me with a quizzical look as her son kisses her cheek but when she touches my hand hers is surprisingly warm. ‘I’m so glad to meet you, Ella. And do call me Savoy. Everyone does. So you’re Petronella Dean? I love your work. When I heard Darnley had read your poem
Life in landscapes
at the Institute I hoped I’d get to meet you.’
I’m touched by her courtesy. ‘You know my old professor?’
She smiles, warmer now. ‘Oh, yes. We go back a way. He’s here, somewhere.’ As she looks vaguely round, I notice Cola slip away into the crowd.
Savoy watches her go, pressing her lips together as she lowers her voice. ‘I’m so sorry to spring Cola on you both. This business scared the wits out of all of us. And she’s so moody, poor child. Do forgive her. I’m sure she’s been difficult.’
As she tells me about their trip I lose focus a little. She walked out on her son.
How could any woman do that?
When I tune back in to what she’s saying we’re still on Cola.
‘… So she begged me to bring her. But I
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