really been bad.”
Yes, my eyes must have been like saucers looking into that armoire. He showed me everything proudly, like the curator of some perverse museum. When I’d had a good look at it all he tilted my face to his. He looked into my eyes and I felt shy and exposed. It was very, very hard not to look away.
“Look at me,” he insisted. When my eyes were fixed on his, he spoke to me in a low voice. “So what do you think, Lucy Merritt? If you’re going to be my lover, you’ll have to endure all these things.”
And the way he said lover made me absolutely thrill, and then that word endure , it sounded sexy as hell to my ears. I searched for my voice, for what to say. He pressed me some more, his voice goading me.
“Are you sure you don’t just want to run home? Climb back into bed with your worn out copy of The Story of O ?”
“No. I want to stay here.”
“Okay then. Let’s stay.”
He led me to the center of the room, then walked away from me, talking over his shoulder. “Face me. Take off your clothes. Everything. Put them over by the door.”
I stood still for just a second, and then I did exactly as he said. I took off my sweater, my jeans, my shirt and socks and shoes, until I wore only my thong and bra, and then I looked up at him, my face flaming red.
“Everything but the panties,” he said from the sofa, where he sat watching every move I made. I removed my bra and placed everything by the door, thankful at least for the small scrap of fabric between my legs. As I walked, I had to make an effort to move my limbs. I had been naked for Pietro so many times, practically naked in dance costumes which left nothing to the imagination. But never, never had I truly felt as naked as I did now, and that was even wearing the panties he’d so graciously let me keep on. His intent gaze was terrifying and yet thrilling. I desperately hoped he liked what he saw.
He stood up and beckoned me back to the center of the room where he met me, looking over me long and critically. I burned and blushed. It was so intimate and embarrassing. My hands came up of their own volition to cover my breasts.
“Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t ever try to hide your body from me. In this room, when we’re together, it’s mine. Understand?”
I nodded and put my hands down, and felt my nipples grow hard under his gaze. I didn’t know whether to look at him, or look away, or look at the floor, or what. Then his hand touched my buttock, and I flinched.
“Stand still.”
Again he reached out to touch me, and this time, I was still as a statue for him. He ran his hand slowly all over my bottom, down to the underside of my cheeks and then further down to my upper thigh. Finally, he was putting those beautiful hands on me. He stood close, in my space, and I could smell him, feel him, his incredible maleness sending my own body into a chaotic, hypercharged hum. His fingers crept under my thong and he slowly pulled it down to the tops of my thighs, where he let it rest. He moved closer behind me and pressed against me. I stifled a moan. Though he was still fully dressed, I could feel his rigid erection against my ass.
His hands moved over me with maddening deliberation. His fingertips traced my shoulders, my belly, the curve of my hips, while I stood as still as I could manage. He cupped the heft of each of my breasts, squeezing and caressing them, then closed his fingers on my nipples until I gasped, pinching them even more brutally before letting them go. My pussy flooded with wetness for the things he was doing to me, and the thoughts he was making me think. He leaned down and breathed right against my neck, his rough cheek pressed to mine.
“Lucy. How do you feel?”
I swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“If you say ‘I don’t know’ to me again I’ll give you twenty with the cane. Think before you speak, and then answer. How do you feel?”
I might have sobbed then, one quick sob. “Exposed.”
“Do you
Yes, my eyes must have been like saucers looking into that armoire. He showed me everything proudly, like the curator of some perverse museum. When I’d had a good look at it all he tilted my face to his. He looked into my eyes and I felt shy and exposed. It was very, very hard not to look away.
“Look at me,” he insisted. When my eyes were fixed on his, he spoke to me in a low voice. “So what do you think, Lucy Merritt? If you’re going to be my lover, you’ll have to endure all these things.”
And the way he said lover made me absolutely thrill, and then that word endure , it sounded sexy as hell to my ears. I searched for my voice, for what to say. He pressed me some more, his voice goading me.
“Are you sure you don’t just want to run home? Climb back into bed with your worn out copy of The Story of O ?”
“No. I want to stay here.”
“Okay then. Let’s stay.”
He led me to the center of the room, then walked away from me, talking over his shoulder. “Face me. Take off your clothes. Everything. Put them over by the door.”
I stood still for just a second, and then I did exactly as he said. I took off my sweater, my jeans, my shirt and socks and shoes, until I wore only my thong and bra, and then I looked up at him, my face flaming red.
“Everything but the panties,” he said from the sofa, where he sat watching every move I made. I removed my bra and placed everything by the door, thankful at least for the small scrap of fabric between my legs. As I walked, I had to make an effort to move my limbs. I had been naked for Pietro so many times, practically naked in dance costumes which left nothing to the imagination. But never, never had I truly felt as naked as I did now, and that was even wearing the panties he’d so graciously let me keep on. His intent gaze was terrifying and yet thrilling. I desperately hoped he liked what he saw.
He stood up and beckoned me back to the center of the room where he met me, looking over me long and critically. I burned and blushed. It was so intimate and embarrassing. My hands came up of their own volition to cover my breasts.
“Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t ever try to hide your body from me. In this room, when we’re together, it’s mine. Understand?”
I nodded and put my hands down, and felt my nipples grow hard under his gaze. I didn’t know whether to look at him, or look away, or look at the floor, or what. Then his hand touched my buttock, and I flinched.
“Stand still.”
Again he reached out to touch me, and this time, I was still as a statue for him. He ran his hand slowly all over my bottom, down to the underside of my cheeks and then further down to my upper thigh. Finally, he was putting those beautiful hands on me. He stood close, in my space, and I could smell him, feel him, his incredible maleness sending my own body into a chaotic, hypercharged hum. His fingers crept under my thong and he slowly pulled it down to the tops of my thighs, where he let it rest. He moved closer behind me and pressed against me. I stifled a moan. Though he was still fully dressed, I could feel his rigid erection against my ass.
His hands moved over me with maddening deliberation. His fingertips traced my shoulders, my belly, the curve of my hips, while I stood as still as I could manage. He cupped the heft of each of my breasts, squeezing and caressing them, then closed his fingers on my nipples until I gasped, pinching them even more brutally before letting them go. My pussy flooded with wetness for the things he was doing to me, and the thoughts he was making me think. He leaned down and breathed right against my neck, his rough cheek pressed to mine.
“Lucy. How do you feel?”
I swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“If you say ‘I don’t know’ to me again I’ll give you twenty with the cane. Think before you speak, and then answer. How do you feel?”
I might have sobbed then, one quick sob. “Exposed.”
“Do you
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