Excerpt
from The Mistress and The Mouse |
by
JJ Giles |
click
here to read interview with writer
Simply delighted that it worked out so
well for Jerry, Morgan returned to his suite, her
hands full of packages and bags. She never realized
how cathartic spending money to pamper herself was.
The suite seemed empty, or maybe he was just resting.
She went to her room to spread the purchases upon
the bed. A cream bikini and matching sarong. A black
bikini and matching sarong. A one piece, French
cut, black lycra that completely covered her chest,
banded around her throat and plunged to the crack
of her ass in back. And matching sarong.
How long had it been since she felt the heated desire
of a woman trained on her? Ten years since she let
herself feel it. And what would be easiest to wiggle
out of? The bikini obviously but that would be begging
for it.
All morning she had wondered what that would say
about her professionalism? Playing with her client’s
daughter. But it had been a long time. And the truth
was, Kitty was pretty, but Kitty wasn’t aggressive
at all. Since she couldn’t stand the sight of Brian
with other women, she had foregone that pleasure
herself. Selfish, stupid bitch, she thought of herself.
“Would you like my opinion?” she heard from behind
her.
Quickly, she spun to see him propped in the doorway,
watching and smiling, feeling her face flush with
the embarrassment of being found like this.
“Your opinion?”
“Black, darling. I like my Mistresses in black.”
Amused, she smiled. “Your Mistress is supposed to
make the decisions. You and your Mistress does what
feels good for her.”
Refusing to hang his head in shame, he whispered,
“Forgive me. But if you’re as turned on as much
as she is, the black bikini will work out best.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Take it easy, honey. It’s every man’s fantasy.
You should know that by now.”
Huffy, she fell to the bed. “This is highly irregular,
you know. That I’m even here with you much less
contemplating your daughter.”
“If the review board should ask about it, I’ll just...lie.”
“No really,” she said. “It’s my job to keep you
on track. Not jump over the deep end with you.”
“No really,” he said surely. “I’m not a psych patient
impotent in the presence of women. I’m waiting patiently
for you to learn to trust me so you can make my
distorted, startling and vivid fantasies come true.”
“Right,” she whispered softly. Those very fantasies
that she had luxuriated in. But what if I fall in
love with you? she wondered. “So if I fall over
the deep end with your daughter tonight...?”
“I’ll lay alone in my bed with my dick in my hand...if
you permit...and dream up another fantasy...that
I can at least watch.”
Trying to resist a smile, she rose and moved closer.
“And you’re saving it for me because I demand it
of you?”
His expression darkened a little. “I can’t think
of a whole hell of a lot I wouldn’t sacrifice for
you.”
The sureness in his tone frightened her. It wasn’t
long ago Brian mentioned sacrifice. But the way
Jerry peered into her, as if he could read her,
knew her somehow, frightened her suddenly and she
backed away.
He felt her reticence like a brick wall. To disarm
it, he offered, “Let’s go get one of those ridiculous
drinks with ten names in it, walk through the surf
and kill some time before dinner.”
“Good.” A slow grin spread into a smile. “In that
case, your Mistress gives you her permission to
dress her.” She threw the black lycra suit in his
face.
His hand clutched at the suit and held it over his
face a moment as the penis lurched uncontrollably
to life. Only slowly, he let it fall and he peered
over it see her staring haughtily, the particular
tilt to her furrowed eyebrows feeling like absolution.
Quickly, he descended to his knees, let his hands
dust over her trousers and settle gently on the
buckle of the belt. Only a moment more and the zipper
was down, the soft cream thong staring back at him.
As if he opened the reliquary on the altar, his
fingers threaded under the thong and gently tugged
it down. The scent was fresh, full of musk, a perfume
so natural it beckoned him near.
What he could get away with here he couldn’t know.
But he drew closer still, rubbed his cheek over
the flaming amber of her mound. It wasn’t a decision,
only a reaction and he turned his head and drove
his tongue between those moist lips. No reaction
in her was evident, not the slightest flinch to
remove him or compel him to continue. Of its own
accord, his tongue drove deeper still, in desperation
for what tasted like ambrosia, deeper still until
he felt that tiny bit of hardness aching for him
as he was for her.
A sense of absolution he’d never before felt was
bestowed in the feel of her fingers as they threaded
through his hair. His body folded the better to
get lower as her fingernails dug into his scalp.
Her fingers tightened drawing him ever nearer, and
then a miracle occurred. She lifted her leg, her
foot to rest on the edge of the bed and she opened
herself for his pleasure.
The ringing in his ears might have been the Alleluia,
the moist soft satin on his tongue the life-giving
sustenance of Holy Water. He curled tighter still,
his head thrown back even further so that his nose
could nuzzle her clit as his tongue found that mystery
he desired the moment he looked upon her.
The torment of her nails drove him deeper. They
followed the curve of his shoulder down his arm.
They pinched together on a few hairs and then they
tapped at him. Instinctively, he raised his hand
into hers. A woman filled with nothing but compassion
for the misery in Man directed that hand toward
the heat he luxuriated in.
“One finger,” she said softly.
Ahhh...a most gracious God in the Universe. But
she didn’t say which finger or where.
Without hesitation, he slowly stroked that satin,
moist with his affections. More slowly, it slid
into her. But that’s not what he wanted, rarely
what he wanted. What he wanted, would endure hellfire
for beckoned him. What he wanted was apparently
available as his finger nudged at the tightness
behind her, and that finger breached the muscle.
Her reaction was physical as her abdomen tightened
a little. There was no rejection in it, rather a
welcoming of pleasure. Painfully slowly he entered
further, the softness inside warmer than he thought
any woman would be. She liked it that way, quite
obviously enjoyed it because one hand stroked harder
at his head while the other pushed his face away
that she might stroke herself.
Still on his knees, he laid against the tight musculature
of her abdomen, his finger embedded in her body
as far as the length of it would allow. He could
feel her energy rise, the tension collect. His remaining
fingers clasped the flesh of her bottom to hold
her tightly, to be with her for this. He hadn’t
known that women like her exist and the luxury of
her generosity to share herself was overwhelming.
Only the change of her breathing belied her pleasure,
only the violent contractions deep inside. She barely
moved other than to let her head fall back, and
still supported him even as a trickle of Holy Water
puddled in his hand and dripped down his arm. Even
as her nails dug deeper into his scalp forcing him
against her.
Only when her weight shifted on her hips did he
ever so slowly and respectfully remove himself from
her. Tender kisses he left shimmering on her mound.
So much more he wanted, in a hell of desperation,
yet she replaced her foot to the floor. When he
dared peer up at her, she was watching intently,
a hint of her smile on her perfectly painted lips.
“Go wash your face,” she said sternly.
He wanted to laugh, could only grin. Wicked fucking
women, he thought, this almost unbearable to endure.
But endure it he would, await only the moment she
would surrender to him that she would become his.
Slowly, he rose as he licked her essence from his
lips and stood over her now.
What he would give to throw her on the bed now and
ravish her! But he could only grin, contain himself
as she expected, save himself for that moment in
time.
“My precious...” staring deep into her vivid green
eyes sparkling like stars in the night skies, “...Lady
Morgan,” he whispered. He bowed a little and then
left her.
She fell on the bed with the shimmering contractions
of orgasm, wholly undone. “Shit,” she whispered.
Angrily, she kicked her clothes away. He’s drop-dead
gorgeous, virile, passionate, experienced, self-contained
and wealthy. “Fuck.” She stepped into the suit and
pulled it up only to rip off the blouse and bra.
Quickly, she closed it behind her neck and went
to the mirror to do something distractingly feminine
with her hair.
Why Brian? She studied the sullen reflection in
the mirror a moment. Why, baby, did you have to
leave me? Why is he making it to easy to replace
you!
She touched up her make-up and tied the sarong loosely
around her hips. Rather than dwell on what quite
possibly was past, she opened the door to see him
standing there, awaiting only her. His gaze fixated
by a starkness she hadn’t seen in him as his vision
traveled the length of her body.
Silently she questioned him with a seductive arch
of her brows.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered reverently. “You remind
me of someone I once knew.” And then he shook his
head as if to clear cobwebs. “Rather, someone I
invented and she lives with me still.”
“Ah, imaginary friends,” she whispered. “I have
a few of those myself.”
Easily, he laughed. Never in his life had he laughed
or cried so much since Morgan kicked down his door.
Rather than fear the moment she would depart from
his life, he held out his hand for hers to live
in the moment.
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