This is just a naughty little story that I couldn't help but write down. It's very different from my Ashes stories, but I hope some of you will read it anyway, and maybe enjoy it too. Please let me know.
~ x ~
It was after eleven when Malcolm Tucker finally got back to his Pimlico flat. He flicked on a small table lamp, throwing his case and overcoat onto the back of an armchair, pulling loose his tie. He wondered across to the sideboard and debated for a moment before settling on brandy, pouring himself a sizeable measure and taking a healthy swig of the warming liquor. Better.
Better, but still not quite right. Normally the brisk walk through the crisp evening air was enough to purge him of the irritations of his professional life, the stress of having to clear up after the fuckwits he worked with. Tonight, though, for some reason, he hadn't managed to shake off the worst of the day's stress. His job was all consuming, protecting stupidly idealistic and naïve politicians, promoting the party he did, despite everything, still love. No one else could do it the way he did, he was the only one with the skill and the contacts, and while this was a sop to his tremendous ego it meant he could never take time off, had always to be in control. Yet just at that moment he really didn't want to be in control.
He looked around the sparsely furnished flat, eyeing the empty mantelpiece, the clear sideboard, devoid of any sign of individuality or warmth. He liked it that way, he told himself. After all, who had time to personalise these days? Well, his wife probably did, he reflected. She'd probably personalised the room in her sister's house in the Cotswolds that she'd gone to six months ago for a 'visit' and from which she'd never returned.
His eyes lingered for a moment on the phone. He should call her. His fingers drummed against the table top. The day's edginess still hadn't abated, he was tense and needed relief. He picked up the receiver but it wasn't his wife's number he called.
~ x ~
She knew who he was, of course. He might think she never opened a newspaper or looked at the news, but back home she'd qualified as an accountant and an interest in current affairs came with the territory. As soon as she'd made enough cash in the UK she'd be heading back east and opening up her own practice. In the meantime, she understood the importance of discretion and never let on that she knew that the man who'd just shown her into his hallway was the same man who regularly featured in the political pages.
She reached up to place a kiss on his cheek, taking him by the hand and leading him to the bedroom. Staring as he sat on the edge of the bed, she stood before him, tapping her foot, waiting as he looked up at her. "Take off your shirt," she ordered, her eyes narrow as he unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it from his shoulders. "Now lie down," she muttered, shaking her head as he lowered himself back onto the mattress. "Not like that." She pushed at his ankle. "Further over."
"Yes, Lilia," he said obediently, shuffling across. He held his breath as she walked towards him, flicking open the button on his trousers, sliding down the zip and tugging them down his legs, sending his boxer shorts to follow. His cock was hard already and he thrust his hips hopefully towards her hand, but she frowned down at him.
"Not yet," she murmured. "Not until I'm ready."
Standing back, she began to peel away her close-fitting black wrap dress. She knew what he liked and she'd chosen her underwear specially for him. Black plunge bra, making the most of her generous cleavage, smooth pale flesh spilling over the cups. Tiny black knickers, with a split in the crotch. Black suspender belt, holding up black fishnet stockings with a seam from heel to thigh. The fabric of the underwear was smooth, reflecting the dim light from the bedside table, and trimmed with tiny metal buckles and chains. She stared across at him, her eyes sharp, watching as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down in his throat.
"Want you," he muttered. "Come here."
"Tut, tut." She stood with her hands on her hips and her long, straight legs, tipped in black patent stiletto shoes, spaced slightly apart. "What's the magic word?"
"Lilia," he groaned. His hand strayed towards his pulsing cock but she batted it away, grabbing his wrist and holding it against the post at the head of the bed. She picked up the tie he'd discarded earlier and looped it around his wrist, tying it firmly to the post. Standing back, she looked down at him, into his wide, pleading eyes.
"Magic. Word."
"Godfuckingdammit." He squirmed on the bed. "Please."
She edged towards him, feathering a hand down his chest, across his stomach, pausing before she reached his cock. "What do you want, sweetheart?"
"Fucking hell. You. Want you."
She lifted her hand and walked around to the other side of the bed. "All in good time," she murmured, taking his free hand and tying it to the other bedpost with the belt from his dressing gown.
Edging closer, she lifted herself onto the bed, moving astride him, sitting up on her knees. She looked magnificent above him and he groaned, wanting to touch her, to be touched. He bucked his hips towards her but couldn't reach, couldn't get the friction he craved. He watched, transfixed, as her hand made its way to her breast, flicking at the nipple. It tautened beneath the fabric of her bra and she pinched it between her finger and thumb, letting out a low moan. "Oooh," she sighed, "that feels so good, sweetheart." She pinched again, pulling hard on the bud, rubbing the tip with her thumbnail. Her tongue escaped her mouth, dabbing against her glossy red lips, and her breathing deepened as she continued her caress. "Would you like to do this to me, darling?" she asked, a hint of mocking in her tone. "Do you think you could make me feel as good as I can myself?"
"Fucking god yes, let me touch you, please let me." His head moved from side to side, his body thrashing on the bed, seeking hers, frustration hardening him until he thought he would burst.
Laughing, she moved her hand down her flat stomach and into her knickers. He stilled as he watched, her fingers working beneath her shiny black fabric, flicking at herself, dipping inside, moans of desire leaving her lips as she drove herself closer and closer to the edge. He could smell her now, the musky scent of her desire, and it sent him almost crazy.
"Lilia, got to have you, please, fuck me now." His arms strained against their ties as he squirmed on the bed, desperate to feel her, to explode inside her. Her hand was moving faster inside her knickers and her eyes slid shut.
"Yeah, oh yes, more," she panted, her body beginning to tremble. She dropped forward onto one arm, her hair brushing against his face, her tits tantalisingly close to his chest. Her body tensed as her hand stilled, a look of pleasure washing across her face, a moan ripping from her throat as she spilled onto her fingers.
After a moment she gathered herself, rolling onto her back alongside him, turning her face to look at his. "That was lovely," she told him, smiling mischievously, her body relaxed and supine. By contrast he was rigid, desperate, his breath coming in harsh rasps, need and longing pouring from his gaze.
"Lilia," he pleaded, "please, now."
"Please what, sweetie?" She rolled onto her stomach, her eyes dancing at the sight of him, bound and helpless. He wasn't fooling her. She knew he loved it.
"Please fuck me. I fucking need it. Now, please, I'm fucking begging."
"Well," she smiled. "Since you asked so nicely…"
She shifted onto her side, placing a hand against his heart. She could feel it racing beneath her palm. Smiling to herself, she slid her fingers to his nipple, tweaking it hard, watching his cock twitch even as he cried out in pain. "Sorry, baby," she soothed. "Did that hurt?"
"No," he muttered. "Didn't feel a thing."
"Oh, really? Perhaps I'd better try again then." She leaned over him, taking his nipple in her mouth and biting down.
"Aargh," he cried, his hips bucking, trying to make contact with her body. It felt so good, his immobility preventing him from taking the lead, giving her complete control over his pleasure. His pain.
"Felt that one, then," she whispered, smug and smiling. "What about this?" Taking his balls in her hand, she stroked her thumb roughly over them, earning a moan from the man on the bed.
"More," he pleaded. "Harder."
"Harder? Well, if you say so." She closed her fingers around his balls, pulling on them, twisting, until he gasped, grimacing, begging her not to stop.
Lying pinioned to the bed, wholly at her mercy, he was never sure whether he was feeling intense pleasure or acute pain. This was the only time he felt completely liberated, free of the pressure of work, of needing to be the enforcer everyone was terrified of. Here, under Lilia's skilful ministrations, he could just be him. She had the power, she made all the decisions, and he was more than happy to cede control to her. Especially when she sucked like that on his bollocks, pulling them so taut he was sure he'd explode.
"Fucking hell fuck fuck fuck…" His body was on fire but he needed more. He needed her hands on his cock, her mouth around him, taking him deeper in her throat. He groaned at the thought, wanting to shift her onto him but unable to move.
Sensing his need, Lilia moved between his legs and sent him a wicked smile. Resting her arms on his thighs to keep him still, she licked a light trail along the length of his cock, giggling as he tried desperately to force her to take more. Blowing gently across him, she watched as he seemed to grow even harder, throbbing with desire.
"Lilia," he groaned, the sensation of her hot breath on his wet cock almost unbearable. "More."
Raising herself up to look at him, she tilted her head to one side. "More what?" she asked innocently. She gave his cock a quick, hard squeeze.
"Oh, please, fuck me now, please."
"What, right now?" She moved slightly away from him, examining her fingernails.
"Oh, God," he whimpered, "yes, Lilia, need you, please."
She considered for a moment, then eased forward, kneeling over him, lowering herself onto his cock, taking him deep inside her. Whatever she thought of him, she couldn't deny that he filled her completely and she began to ride him, taking her pleasure without serious thought for his.
Lying immobile beneath her, he let loose a stream of incoherent words, begging her, praising her, pleading for more. She slid over him, up and down, again and again, feeling the familiar heat building between her legs and spreading through her body. Reaching down between their bodies she flicked at her clit, the sensation sending her spiralling and she cried out as she came.
The sight of her face as she climaxed was enough to tip him over the edge and he exploded inside her, pleasure finally winning out over pain. He put his mouth to her ear, whispering thanks, telling her how wonderful she made him feel, how amazing she was, how he wasn't good enough for her.
She eased herself up and put a finger to his lips. "It was a pleasure," she smiled. "I mean it." Sliding off the bed she walked round and released his wrists, rubbing them gently to get the circulation back. He flopped back on to the bed, watching as she approached him and leant down to kiss him goodbye. Not on the mouth, though. She never kissed him on the mouth.
"Till next time, then," he murmured.
"Next time." Dressing quickly, she picked up her bag then walked across to the chest of drawers. He'd left the cash in a neat pile, like always. She picked it up and stuffed it into her bag, not bothering to count it. She knew he'd never leave her short.
Nodding a goodbye, Malcolm listened as she made her way through his flat, heard the door click behind her as she left. He sighed. He always hoped that she wouldn't take the money. She always did.