Me and My Boi Read online

  “You can. Tell me.”

  If I told her she’d know everything. How long, how bad, how much the want was.

  She squeezed my wrist again and my pulse struggled against the press of her fingers.

  “I was thinking…I was thinking,” I started again, trying to not faint. “About you wrapping my wrists in that chain.”

  I felt like I might faint. I didn’t realize I wasn’t breathing until Bennie said, “Breathe.”

  I inhaled deeply and my head stopped swimming.

  “Better?” she asked. Her thumb was sweeping back and forth over my skin.

  “Better,” I said.

  “So you finally get the nerve to talk to me, I mean really talk to me,” she said. “And you confess light bondage fantasies. You’re a trip, Ava.” She chuckled and something inside me melted like hot caramel.

  “I…yes. I guess so. I had no idea you…knew,” I finished weakly. Looking at my feet. Unable to meet her blue gaze.

  I heard the chain jingle against itself while I continued to stare—fascinated—at her boots. Her wallet hit the table with a muffled leather thud. And then as I watched—and for a moment I feared I was hallucinating—she wound the thin silver chain around my wrists.

  I sighed. It was the most honest sound I’d ever made. The sound of a person getting what she wanted from the person she wanted. The sound of satisfaction.

  When my wrists were bound in front of me, my robe hung partly open and my bare knees started to tremble from the chill of the November morning.

  “What’s next?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow. She leaned against the breakfast bar and watched me.

  I stared down at my bound wrists as if they had all the answers. “I…”

  She waited. After a minute or two of silence she said. “You? What, Ava?”

  “I don’t know,” I confessed. “What happened next was always up to you. You were in charge. Are,” I corrected. “Are in charge.”

  She inclined her head slowly, a thoughtful kind of nod. “I see. So whatever I want?” Her eyes were brighter, her smile wider. For some reason I felt like Little Red before the wolf.

  “I’ve wanted you for a long time,” she said softly.

  I startled. “You did? Why didn’t you…but you had to know that I…” I shook my head. “Words aren’t my friend right now.”

  “Why didn’t I ask you out?” she asked, closing the distance between us.

  “Yes.” The air was leaving the room the closer she got.

  “Because you’re such a nice girl,” she said. She accented the word nice and simultaneously reached for me. Bennie trapped my nipple between her finger and thumb. She squeezed with increasing pressure through my satin nightgown. “And I’m not really a nice guy.”

  “You’re nice,” I said to her. “You are.”

  “I’m rough around the edges,” she said. Her fingers moved laterally and she trapped my other nipple, giving it the same treatment. The pain of it made me grit my teeth but my cunt, oh, my cunt was gloriously drenched.

  Bennie leaned in and kissed me. It was short but staggering. Her mouth a hot, insistent force moving against mine. Then she dragged her teeth none too gently down my throat until I sobbed. She released my nipple and the blood flowing back into that tender flesh was breathtaking.

  “Get on your knees, Ava. If I get whatever I want, then I want what’s been in my head for the last two years.”

  My hair tumbled around my shoulders, the pin having fallen out. My knees hit the cool kitchen floor. She held my elbow to make sure I didn’t fall. I was shaking. My mind racing. I knelt there as she undid her silver belt buckle and slid the leather from her belt loops. She dangled it in front of me.

  “One day, if today goes well, maybe you and my belt can get acquainted. Something tells me,” she glanced conspicuously at her wallet chain around my wrist, “that you wouldn’t mind getting to feel the stripes from this belt on your skin.”

  My shaking turned to full-on tremors. My panties were soaked and my breath was short in my lungs. “I wouldn’t,” I said, barely above a whisper. “What does that make me to you, Bennie?” I asked, forcing myself to be brave. I was curious. I wanted to know.

  She smiled. “It makes you honest, Ava,” she said, stroking my cheek. “Now open your mouth. You’re going to get me off.” Then she unzipped her pants and pushed them down. Beneath the black fabric she was bare, her pubic hair close cut and neat.

  She grabbed the back of my head and shoved my face between her legs. She was rough about it and it had me on the verge of toppling over. So many times I’d run bittersweet scenarios in my head. Tumultuous but hot sex with Bennie and here we were and it was…perfect.

  I did what she wanted. I licked and sucked and nudged her clit with my tongue. It was fairly large and easy to target, which was good because I was so nervous my knees were quite literally knocking together as I knelt there.

  “Good mouth,” she laughed softly. She gripped my hair in her strong hand and tugged hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. A startled noise escaped me. She tugged again and I moaned, grinding my face, my lips, my tongue into her. She was sweet and musky and the sandalwood she wore blended with the natural scent of her. It filled my nose and blotted out the world.

  Bennie grunted, thrusting her pelvis forward and meeting my mouth roughly. I kept at it, licking and sucking and drinking her in. My hands were bound or I would have touched her. I settled for letting my fingers stroke the skin below her knee. It was all I could reach but I wanted to touch her.

  Somehow that did it for her. She swore once, followed it with “Christ!” and gripped my head in her hands. The world grew muffled because she was covering my ears. But I still heard her cries as she came. My mouth grew slick with her juices and I tried to gather every last drop.

  Two years of wet waking dreams about Bennie and here we were, thanks to her aging Mustang and a crappy mechanic, apparently.

  “Stand up, stand up,” she growled. She helped lift me from the floor with her hand on my elbow. But once I was up, she slammed me back against the breakfast bar hard enough to drive the air out of me. I gasped when she yanked the tie on my robe, parted it fully and pushed her hands up under my nightgown. Her hand yanked hard and my panties were dragged down my thighs. When her hands were hot on my bare skin, I heard myself whimper.

  Bennie kissed me and I gave myself over to it completely. My whole body bending to hers, my mind racing, wishing, begging for her to touch me.

  She stroked my hips slowly as if she were petting me. “Bennie…” I whispered.

  She kissed me again. Her tongue insistent on mine. “Say it,” she said.

  “Say what?” I asked. Then her tongue was in my mouth again, and I was returning her kiss. Swooning under its influence.

  “Tell me what you want. You were brave, Ava. You told me about the chain. Now what?” She dragged her tongue over my lips, tasting herself there. She smiled at me, and my stomach clenched.

  “I want you to…” I bit my bottom lip. She watched me.

  “Say it. You can do it, Ava.”

  “I want you…” I looked her in the eye. It undid me. The clear blue gaze. The honest curiosity there. “Oh god, Bennie. Please. Please just touch me. Please just make me come,” I said.

  She grinned. Her pale-pink lips curving into a look of pure joy. But her blue eyes had grown hooded with arousal. A single lock of dark hair had fallen across her brow and it gave her a rakish appearance. “That’s all you had to say, doll.”

  Her hands slid up the tops of my thighs. She spread her fingers so more of my skin was stimulated. I whimpered. The tips of her thumbs nearly met on my bare mound. That sensation, so close to where I wanted it, was maddening.

  She moved her fingers back and forth, back and forth over my skin until I was panting. Gasping for air. Reaching for oxygen.

  She slid her thumbs a little higher and then used them to spread my lips. Bowing from her waist exactly, Bennie blew on my clit. I ju
mped. Mewled.

  “Such a good girl. I think after two long years…” Blow, blow. Air feathered across my tenderest, hottest skin. All the while her thumbs kept me spread, awakening nerve endings that came alive under the pressure. “You deserve a good orgasm.”

  She leaned in, still bent impossibly at the waist. How did she manage such a perfect posture? Her tongue snaked out and sliced wetly across my clitoris.

  “Bennie…” I exhaled.

  “Yes, Ava?” Another drag of her tongue and my hips shot forward roughly. A sudden involuntarily motion.

  “Please,” I said again. Desperate now. Needy beyond comprehension. I wanted this to last forever and yet I wanted her to put me out of my misery.

  She dropped to her knees and peeled my pussy lips back farther. I clutched my bound hands between my breasts so I could watch her. Watch her push her face to my cunt. Watch her head moving as she licked me. Her hair was cut so close in some spots I could see her scalp shining white beneath. I studied the buzzed nape, clean and crisp as if she’d just been to the barbershop. I studied her strong shoulders and back inside her gray-and-white-striped button-down as she ate me. As pleasure flooded me and orgasm approached, I drank her in. The fact that she was in here. On her knees getting me off. And that the taste of her was still on my lips.

  “Sweet. I knew it,” she said, glancing up at me. Her gaze sly and beyond sexy.

  Her fingers drove into me and my knees dipped. I pressed against the breakfast bar to keep from falling on my ass. She added a third finger, filling me, stretching me until I felt as if might shatter apart in front of her.

  “Come for me, Ava. After all this damn time, give it to me.”

  She sucked my clit harder than before. The feel of her drawing on me with her mouth broke my last bit of resolve. My bound hands came down atop her head, her brown hair soft under my fingers. I bucked my hips, let my head fall back and came. She just kept licking and I just kept coming. It unwound from me, a long golden ribbon of pleasure that seemed to fill my entire body.

  “Bennie,” I said, and blushed. I realized I’d waited two years to say that aloud. To her. While we fucked.

  Outside there was a rapid-fire string of beeps and she chuckled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She stood, put herself back together and retrieved her wallet. After unwinding her chain from my wrist she hooked it back to her belt loop. When she was all neatened up and complete—just the way she’d walked in—she kissed me. Wrapping her hand in my hair to anchor me as she pushed her tongue against mine, her lips restless and seeking.

  “I’ll be back after work. To take you out. Maybe we can talk. Eat. Get to know a few more things about each other before we do that again.”

  I nodded, the heat in my cheeks still blazing strong. “Okay.”

  “But don’t worry,” she said, heading toward the door. She opened it and waved to whoever was out waiting for her by the Mustang.

  “Worry about what?” I blurted. I pulled my robe tight around me. I studied the pretty pattern of her chain on my skin.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, winking. The cold November air rippled her short hair. It made me shiver. “We’ll be doing that again.”

  I nodded, chewing my lower lip again. “Good.”

  “And more, Ava,” she said, pulling the door after her as she left.

  “And more,” I echoed, smiling.

  THE MEASURE OF A MAN

  Victoria Janssen

  Jerusha Pettifer desperately needed this position.

  He checked the fall of his breeches to make sure everything was fastened and in place, smoothed a hand over his waistcoat and twitched his cravat, hoping the shabby shirt beneath wasn’t obvious. He couldn’t do anything about his age, or his face. He bit the inside of his cheek, hard; the momentary pain distracted, then calmed him. He lifted his gloved hand to the knocker and rapped.

  Ten minutes later, he sat in a sober library, gaping at the woman of the house and wondering if he should suddenly pretend to have another appointment.

  Mrs. Lambert said calmly, “Your expression, Mr. Pettifer! So droll. You are suspicious of our desires? Tell me what you think. What you truly think.” The words rolled from her mouth rich and inflected as an actor’s, in direct contrast to her staid afternoon gown, lavishly trimmed in lace that matched the cap over her graying red hair. When she stopped speaking, Jerusha found himself wishing she would say something else. Anything else.

  The other woman in the room, introduced to him only as Lilias, licked her lips. She had been the first clue these women were not looking for an ordinary footman. She lounged on a settee in the corner, wearing a man’s silken banyan and, so far as he could tell, nothing else. He’d been trying very hard not to imagine that nothing else, nor to imagine what she’d been up to before he’d arrived, and failing miserably.

  A recklessness he’d never felt before tingled through his muscles. “Yes, I am suspicious,” he said. He touched his crooked nose, indicated his rough brawniness. “A man like me?” Bluntly, he added, “Going through the Registry to find yourself a man-whore, you could’ve found a lot younger and prettier.”

  The silence seemed to vibrate.

  He’d been an idiot. He needed a position, and he needed it now. If he didn’t get a position, and a well-paying one… He should have…hell, what should he have said? Would they be worrying he was planning to blackmail them?

  Lilias smiled. Though her striking face was barely lined, her Brutus-cropped hair matched the banyan’s gleaming silver fabric and appeared just as thick and silky-soft. Her eyes were green as the emerald rope binding the loose robe close to her slender waist. All of that, however, was as nothing compared to the glory of her curving bosom and round bottom. She said, “We want a man like you. Honest in his dealings. Honest in his pleasures.”

  Her eyes and voice were forthright like an army officer’s. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him like that. He needed the money, and he admitted to himself that he wanted Lilias, wanted to tangle his hands in her thick hair and bury his face in her lush bosom. He wanted to take this chance, no matter the risks to his future. “You’d better have me, then.”

  Mrs. Lambert smiled. No, she grinned. “There! We do plan to ‘have you,’ Mr. Pettifer. In every possible way. If you will accept our offer of employment.”

  Every possible way. A shiver went through him, not entirely fear. “I want five hundred pounds,” he said, “payable tomorrow morning by bank draft.” It was an absurd sum, but if he was going to do this, he wanted it to be more than worth it. He waited for them to refuse and have him escorted out.

  Less than a half hour later, sans boots, coat and waistcoat, he lay stretched across the most massive wooden bed he’d ever seen, staring up at the inside of the gilt-framed mirrored canopy. I should have asked for a thousand pounds. And a nice big fire in this room.

  He’d been a fool to agree to this. He’d always thought himself a steady sort, moderate in his tastes, reserved in his dealings, always careful to avoid trouble. That was how he’d gotten this far. What would they expect of him? And what would these society women do once they realized what exactly they’d bought?

  The dressing room door opened, and Magdalene Lambert sauntered in, her hair wound atop her head in a knot, emphasizing her elegant bone structure. She was wearing fawn breeches with a shirt and waistcoat, her form revealed as slender and boyish, in a way that was more stirring than if she had been naked. Jerusha rolled to his side to see her better. She wasn’t wearing boots; instead, her bony, pale feet dug into the imported rug with a tactile delight he could almost feel on his skin. In her male clothing, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, more lovely even than Lilias.

  He lifted his eyes to her face; she was smiling, faintly. “Do you like what you see, Mr. Pettifer? We would prefer you to speak honestly.”

  “I like your hips in those breeches,” he confessed. “But I’d like to get you out of that waistcoat.” She had only
the faintest curve of bosom; he wanted to see if her breasts would fit within his palms.

  “All in good time.”

  Lilias entered the room then, and Jerusha lost his breath; she was utterly, gloriously naked. His eyes traveled from her full breasts down to the swell of her hips; then he saw the arrangement of leather straps around her waist and between her legs. In her hand, she held a carved wooden cock, flanged at the base. She said, “It’s not for you, Mr. Pettifer. Unless you ask me very, very nicely.” Then she turned and presented the cock to Magdalene.

  Jerusha propped himself on one elbow. “May I ask—”

  Magdalene laid her hand, not the one holding the wooden cock, on his chest and pushed him flat. “No, you may not. Hold this.” She laid the cock in his palm and, reflexively, his fingers closed over it. The wood was smooth as a well-worn banister, and warm from its contact with skin. The head had been shaped with intricate detail, including an engraved slit.

  Lilias climbed onto the bed, and his attention immediately shifted to the swing of her breasts as she crawled over to him. “Put it into your mouth,” she said.

  “Which—which end?”

  Lilias smiled, and slowly licked her lips. “Make it wet.” She straddled his shins, planting her hands on his thighs. “I want it to be very wet for Magdalene. Do it well, and I will reward you.” Her left hand shifted higher, just brushing the inside of his thigh. Any closer, and she would realize that he did not have a cock there, only a tightly rolled stocking.

  Should he speak? Instead, he opened his mouth and slipped the wooden cock inside, sucking hard and laving it thoroughly with his tongue. His fingers wanted to caress Lilias, but she hadn’t asked, and he clenched his hands in the bedclothes instead.

  What would her soft flesh feel like? He’d always wondered what it would be like, to have another’s warm naked flesh against his own. But he’d never been able to take that risk, not when it might mean his livelihood.