To celebrate the release of Sexy Little Numbers in the US and other territories, I thought I'd share a little snippet from my story Hard at Work which appears in the collection. Quite possibly the last ever anthology from Black Lace.
SEXY LITTLE NUMBERS: BEST WOMEN'S EROTIC FROM BLACK LACE 1
Published by Virgin, Black Lace
ISBN # 978-0352345387
"Sexy Little Numbers" is a choice cut of all new and original erotic stories and the latest addition to Black Lace's immensely popular series of erotica collections. This longer collection will contain even more variety and a greater range of female sexual desire than ever before. It will be the first of an annual collection of the best general erotica stories written by women. Fun, irreverent and deliciously decadent, "Sexy Little Numbers" will combine humour and attitude with wildly imaginative writing from all over the world. This will be the most entertaining erotic fiction for women to be found anywhere in the world.
Excerpt from Hard at Work
He settles again in the leather chair, his toned thighs wide spread either side of me. When I rest my hands lightly upon his knees, and both his thighs and his cock twitch in greeting, my heart does a little somersault too, though I hope I keep it hidden. For months, I’ve disguised how intensely I feel about this man, concealing my high colour beneath layers of carefully applied foundation and blush. I hardly dare meet his eyes now; for fear that he’ll see just how big a fraud I am. All this no nonsense secretary lark is an act borne of desperation. The first day we spent together, I was so overawed, I turned into a stilted, super efficient zombie, but it got me through and kept me in a role that had previously seen a very high turnover of staff despite the swish private office and a nice compensation package. The whole office spoke of Mr John’s as some sort of demented demon, likely to kick you into the street for picking your nose on work time. I realised pretty quickly, that it’s just an act for him too. A way of playing with the big boys and getting some respect when he’s almost half their age.
That doesn’t change the fact that I’m out of my depth here. I’m not a dominatrix, just an ordinary secretary, and my knowledge and experience of these sorts of devices is virtually non-existent. I bought in online, thinking it pretty, never expecting to find a man to encase within its steel and leather grip. I never for a moment thought I’d be fastening it around my boss, though he looks beautiful, clasped within the rings. The sight of the tiny lock dangling from the fastenings fills my stomach with butterflies.
Mine, all mine.
I dangle the key from my fingertip, the knowledge that I can ask whatever I want of him makes me curiously light-headed, but strangely, I can’t think of a single demand. Actually, that’s not entirely true, it’s just that all my senses are attuned to him, and quite unconcerned by material gains. I long to see him naked. Will the rest of his body live up to the promise of his hard cock and solid thighs? They in themselves are an unanticipated surprise.
Barry tugs uneasily at his collar, clearly seeking to ease his sense of confinement as I look upon him, but I don’t allow his discomfort to hurry me. I take my time, admiring the shape of his cock, the slight curve in the shaft and the deep magenta of the flared head. I’ve not seen that many. But Barry’s is nice. As I lean closer and touch the springy tuft of dark curls at its base I catch the scent of him, a perfume not too dissimilar to that of my own: rich and gamey.
‘Say, please,’ I insist, and he groans. My tongue flicks out over my bottom lip, and I shuffle myself nearer to the tip of his cock. He’s been so obedient. He really does deserve a treat.
‘Please, Miss Stevens.’ He begs so beautifully, eyes down cast, just peeping up at me occasionally to gauge my responses ‘Please take it off.’ There’s a hint of a growl alongside his plea that makes me want to laugh. It’s the same grumble of disapproval he uses as a fearsome motivational tool amongst the workforce. He’s so used to being in charge, of snapping orders and having people jump.
I don’t jump. We’re playing by my rules today, not his. Tantalizingly, I trace a finger along his cock from the base to the tip subconsciously counting the five steel rings. It gives me time to master my own eagerness. ‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Barry.’ I hold the tiny padlock between my finger and thumb. ‘You’re very excited, and I don’t want you losing control of yourself.’ Really, I’m just too aware of how delicate the balance of power between us is. Without the restraints, our game is merely an ordinary torrid office affair, the sort that involves fucking upright balanced against the photocopier, or sneakingly groping one another within the claustrophobic confines of the stationary cupboard. This is too good for that, and we both know it.
Barry’s pulse shows in his temple as he sucks in a heavy breath. He lifts his hips slightly—wanting, straining.
‘Well, if you’re sure you’ve been good.’
‘Yes,’ he hisses.
I seek deceit in his eyes, but there is none. My mouth forms a wide O as I lean forward, hands splayed across the tops of his broad thighs supporting my descent.
‘Wait! Perhaps we should take a look at what you’ve been working on first.’ I rise up a little and tap a few keys on his computer. The fuzzy black and white security feed bleeds onto the screen, showing a camera pointed at my empty desk.‘That’s hardly being good, now is it?’
‘I had you minimized,’ he says with a wry shrug, which startles a peal of laughter from me.
Fingers concealing my mouth, I ask: ‘Do you honestly thinking admitting to that is going to appease me?’
He sags a little at the shoulders in response. ‘I’ll take whatever punishment you think fit.’
‘Oh, will you?’ Much to his bewilderment, I unfasten the tiny padlock and remove the leather and steel restraint.
‘You’re not going?’ he whispers, a trace of dejection woven around the words.
‘Going? I’m going to suck you, Barry. But I expect you to show some self-control. I don’t like guy’s coming in my mouth. If you managed to keep yourself in check, then I’ll give you a reward. If not, our little game is over.’ One tiny glimpse at the row of buttons on my starched white shirt is enough for him to start nodding. His sign of agreement fades, and his hands tighten on the arms of the chair as I once again tilt forward as if to taste him.
‘Take off your shirt and tie.’
At the last moment, I swerve away, provoking a groan of complaint. Still, Barry does as instructed with ego stroking quickness. Unlike his trousers, his shirt is flung upon the floor. I tut at his sloppiness, but really I disregard the rumpled shirt, my interest already focussed upon his body. My jaw falls slack. Shocked by how pleasing his physique turns out to be. Not even his glorious thighs prepared me for what I’m now staring at. Awed, I pass a hand across his naked chest. ‘You’ve been hiding this well.’
Barry inclines his head. ‘No one’s ever asked to see it.’
Dear God, we’re all fools in this office. I’ve lusted over this man for months and I never suspected he looked like this beneath his work-soiled shirt and dodgy end of line suit. I make him turn before me, so that I can see every beautiful line of his body. He has the sort of abs make-up artist’s paint onto models before a photo shoot, and the arse of a tennis supremo. His nipples are two pale pinpoints, only a tiny shade darker than the surrounding skin, while between them a light smattering of hair covers his chest. Below his naval the hairs thicken and mingle with the wiry curls that hug his groin. As I turn him before me, he seems so vulnerable despite his obvious masculine strength that I almost forget my role as stern mistress and crush him to my breast eager to offer comfort.
Luckily, Barry is not so lost in the moment. His full sensual lips part a fraction, and his breaths burst over me in slow faltering gasps. I touch him gently, tracing two fingers over the ridge of his hip, before finally touching his cock with just the tip of my tongue. His fists clench upon the chair arms as my fingers dance over the ridges of his shaft. The knuckles whiten when that delicate exploration reaches the fuzzy weight of his balls. With whiskey-coloured eyes he wordless begs, wanting and arching up off the chair to plead for more. In desperation, he bites his lip, and that’s when I take him deep in my mouth.
Still, even as I suck him, I demand as much in return as I give. I dig my fingernails into the hard globes of his rear and enjoy the supple spring of flesh beneath my fingertips. Tomorrow, I don’t doubt he’ll have bruises.