Chapter 3
Blondie was still by the table when he returned, as confounded as she was naked. “Sorry to keep you waiting, my juicy-titted friend,” he said, taking her by both hands. His cock was still rigid and he was eager to plunge it into its second wet cunt of the night, but a subtle change had overtaken him since the administering of justice began. Anger at Miranda and her bitches was still his fuel, but now that both the lackies were so completely in his thrall, enjoyment of the game was overtaking him. There was a special kind of fun to be had with the blue-eyed bimbo and, as he took in her inquiring stare, he knew he was going to indulge it to the full.
“So,” he said, taking a milder tone than any he had adopted since arriving home, “did you enjoy watching me fuck the hell out of your slinky pal?”
She tried to respond with faltering eyes and stare. “I… I…”
“Why don’t you and I go to the bedroom and talk about it some more?”
He led her from the living-room and she accompanied him meekly to the room where it had all begun, her subservient air at odds with the robustness of her build.
“Alone at last,” he said, shutting the door behind them and pacing towards where she awaited him by the bed. Her gaze roamed over his body, that coyness somehow still intact, and lighted on his cock. He palmed it with long strokes as he approached, the surface still wet from the time it had spent thrusting into Scarlet. “You’ve watched this dick hard at work, and it’s not done yet, not by a long way. It’s going to do good work inside you.”
She uttered a little gasp and her fingers weaved together in apprehension or anticipation.
“Still thinking about your boyfriend?” he inquired, taking both her hands in his once more. “Worried about how soon your pussy’s going to be plundered, and by a cock that’s not his?”
She nodded and stared at the carpet, overtaken by bashfulness.
Mac enjoyed the flicker of competing emotions on her face. “Well,” he reminded her, “you’ve no way out of this other than a court appearance and probable prison time, so you might as well go with the flow. He need never know, anyway. It’ll be our dirty secret.” Lust flared again in light of the girl’s naturally inflated tits and he reached out to grab one of them, squeezing the springy orb and rotating his thumb on the broad pink areola. She gasped at the rough manhandling. “Jesus, I’ll bet he thought himself one lucky fucker the first time he got his hands on these treasures.” His other hand seized as well and he fondled both her breasts with calculated crudeness. Her astonished little moans were delightful. “Didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did.” Her voice, like her moon-eyed stare, was piteous.
Mac released one breast and clapped his palm to one of her full buttocks, massaging its yielding flesh while simultaneously continuing to grope the other tit. “And he was thanking his lucky stars when he got hold of this big beautiful ass, don’t you think? Well don’t you?”
“I… Oh God, I suppose so, yes…”
“I’ll bet he fucking was. I’ll bet his cock was ready to explode at the sight of you, let alone the feel.” His hands continued to indulge their craving for her curves, massaging deep and full. “You’re quite the naughty posh-girl, aren’t you, Blondie?”
“I… Am I?”
“You sound it. That polished private school accent. It makes my cock even harder to hear it. You come from a well-off family?” He stared into her face, challenging her to hold a conversation while having her naked body groped so brazenly.
“Quite… Yes.”
“And yet you’re one of Miranda’s pretty shop-girls. How did that happen?”
“Dad… Dad insisted that I get a proper job.”
“Good for Dad – teaching you the value of an honestly earned wage. And yet you still ended up house-breaking for money, didn’t you?” Mac cupped underneath her buttock and squeezed hard, applying similar grappling pressure to her breast and pinching her nipple till she cried out. He eased the pressure with both hands until her breathing relaxed again. “Still, I shouldn’t complain. After all, I love a posh girl with a wet cunt – and your cunt is sopping right now, isn’t it?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but managed no words. There was immense entertainment to be found in rendering her speechless.
“Let’s see…” He let go of her ass and transferred his hand to the junction of her thighs, his middle finger searching between them. It slid past her primly pruned hair to the nether-lips of her pussy and kept moving, until is sank into folds as liquid and yielding as ripe honeydew. “There,” he said, smiling into her sorrowful face. “Tell me – does it make you guilty that your pussy’s so wet for another man’s cock?”
“Yes,” she whispered, and it almost moved his sympathy.
He withdrew his finger from her slickened passage and drew her to him with both hands on her waist. His cock pressed against her belly, the glans just below her navel. “I shouldn’t tease you so much, Imogen,” he said, and she made a little gasp at his use of her real name. “I think there’s a sweet girl in there really, but one who’s easily led. Am I right?”
Moist blue eyes studied him. “Yes, maybe…”
“Do you know what?” he asked, his voice dropping in volume to match hers.
“What?”
“I think in other circumstances we might have got along, you and me.” He cradled her body, as her hardened nipples brushed against his chest. “That night at the party – I remember thinking what a lovely sexy girl Miranda had working for her. You were looking at me too, weren’t you, Imogen?”
“Yes, yes I was.” There was relief in her voice at his more gentle tone, along with conscience-stricken sorrow.
“What did you think of me, honestly?”
“I thought… I thought Miranda was very lucky. I thought you were very handsome, very… very debonair, is that the word? And… and nice.” She dropped her gaze on the final word, as though she’d said something foolish once more.
“I am nice, most of the time,” he said. “Truly. But not when my house gets broken into by presumptuous shop-girls who should know better. Naughty little bitches, who let greed get the better of them.”
She looked up and him, tears brimming. “I’m sorry.”
“Shhh.” He stopped the sob with a finger to her lips and stared deep into her eyes. “I know you are, Imogen. And since that’s the case, maybe I can make a deal with you.”
“A deal?” She was breathy and flushed, full of puzzlement and wonder. “What kind of deal?”
“Not so fast. There’s something I’d like you to do for me first, and then I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Okay…” Her voice faltered once more with trepidation. “What do you want me to do?”
“Pretend,” he said, reaching up to stroke her hair.
“Pretend… what?”
“That when we met at that party, I had no wife and you had no boyfriend. That we drank champagne and came back here and got naked together because we were single and hot for each other. That you want to please me because I’m handsome, and debonair, and nice.” She was looking into him, holding her breath as he spoke to her softly, all the time maintaining his undercurrent of warning. “Imogen, right now I want you to set aside the fact that you have a boyfriend. I want you to be the hot, sweet, sexy girl we both know you are, without reservation. No holding back. I want you to be my naughty girlfriend, and I want you to act it like you mean it. Do that and we’ll cut a deal – and soon this will only be a memory. Can you manage that?”
The look with which he fixed her was rigorous, unwavering. She stared at him with those big soulful eyes. “Yes.”
“Prove it. Kiss me.”
He hadn’t thought it possible for her eyes to widen further, but they did. Her lips parted in a little ‘o’ of shock.
“Kiss me like it’s my birthday, Imogen, and you’re going to give me the most delicious present a birthday-boy could have.”
Before his eyes she summoned up all she had, like an actress committing to her big audition. The hesitancy in her face resolved slowly into aching warmth and her body moved close, hands reached up to link around his neck. Her lips parted and homed in on his. He let her do all the work, holding back till the bee-sting pillows of her mouth plumped against his hard lips and caressed. The kiss was almost what he would have called committed, her hands clinging to him as she drew herself tight, teasing him to a wet, open-mouthed connection. Her tongue tantalised without plunging and he had to lure it out with the tip of his own, until it was writhing and exploring gently within his mouth. Only then did he place his hand on her head and kiss back properly, allowing his lips and tongue to match the rhythm of hers.