My Sizzling Sunday excerpt for today comes from my lesbian erotic romance Velvet. The book is permanently free on Smashwords and Barnes and Noble. (Amazon wants 99 cents for it, though I tried to argue!) The Smashwords version includes a half-price coupon for my lesbian short story collection, Burn, Baby.
"Make yourself comfortable," Marta purrs. "I'll be right back." She disappears through a curtained aperture on the right.
I perch on the edge of the chaise, not wanting to stain the covering with my juices. My heart beats wild and fast. My nipples are puckered into aching knots that press painfully against my bra. I start to get nervous again.
I must be insane to be here. Marta is so out of my league. Plus getting it on with a potential future boss, no matter how hot she is, definitely doesn't sound like a good career move.
On the other hand, I'm always so practical, and where has it got me? I'm overworked, lonely and horny. Maybe I can use a bit of insanity.
It's probably no more than five minutes, but my wait seems endless. I'm startled when Marta finally parts the draperies. One look at her and I know I've entered the asylum.
She's a vision of elegance and perversity. In lieu of her suit, she's wearing a man's robe of paisley quilted silk. She's carrying an article that I recognize as a riding crop. And she's smoking a cigar.
The fragrant smoke weaves through the air. I am suddenly light-headed.
"I told you to make yourself comfortable. Do I have to discipline you to get you to obey me?" She gestures at me with the crop. I'm simultaneously terrified and terribly aroused.
"No – no, Ma'am."
"Get those clothes off, then. Now."
I strip as quickly as I can, acutely aware of her dark eyes on me. In thirty seconds or less, my clothes are in a tangled pile on the cushions. I stand naked in front of her, suddenly embarrassed by the dark fuzz on my legs and in my armpits.
Marta inhales, deep and slow, then releases the smoke through pursed scarlet lips. She is silent as she circles my body, judging me. She's achingly close, but she does not touch me. I tremble every time I sense her moving.
She pauses behind my back, and brushes the riding crop lightly over my buttocks. I freeze. Will she beat me, mark me, make me hers? I brace for the pain, fearful yet strangely eager for the new sensation. Instead she places the crop where I can see it on the lounge.
"Not today, little one – not this time. Not as long as you are a good girl." I feel her heat, smell her musk mixed with the fruity cigar scent. My legs are rubbery, unstable. She massages my buttocks, molding them in her palms. All at once I feel her finger sliding from behind into my soaking cunt. I clench my muscles around the slender digit, trying to keep her inside me, but she slips free and holds her finger in front of my face. I breathe in my own damp, ripe aroma.
Her voice next to my ear is soft and smooth as velvet. "You certainly are a wet little girl, Loretta. A deliciously wet little slut." She pulls my plait out of the way and kisses me just below the earlobe. Her lips send shivers racing through me, electric arcs that spark across my nipples and converge on my clit.
I'm dying for more, but she pulls back after that brief caress. Her fingers ghost down to the small of my back, where she pulls off the elastic that secures the braid. "When you're with me, I want your hair loose, free. I want to see it flowing over your shoulders." She arranges it that way as she speaks, then circles back around to evaluate the effect.
"Much better." She flicks a lock away from my breast, almost but not quite touching me. "But I certainly don't want to hide those adorable tits." Seating herself on the chaise, she beckons me to her. My nipples are just at the level of her lips. She warms one with her breath, and it tightens visibly. I want to scream, to beg her to touch me. She's running this show, though. We both know that.
She fastens her mouth on that needy nipple. I close my eyes as pleasure and relief overwhelm me. She sucks steadily. My clit twitches and dances as if her mouth were down there instead. I moan and try to rub my hungry pussy against her robe. She bites down hard on the swollen bud of flesh between her lips.
"Naughty little slut! Maybe I need to use my crop after all!" Her actions don't match her words, however. I imagine her seizing her instrument of punishment and throwing me over her lap so that she can chastise me. Instead, she sinks to one knee in front of my pussy and opens me with her mouth and fingers.