Excerpt from Nasty Business

It hits me like ten ton lorry when I get to my room. Desire: intensely physical, wet, hungry, messy, uncontrolled desire. I somehow managed to stifle it during my conversation with Rick, but now it pounces, threatening to tear me apart. Without ceremony, I thrust my hand into my soaked panties, frantically kneading my swollen clit. In fifteen seconds I'm panting on the bed, shivering in the aftermath of my climax.

Now that that is over with, I can think more clearly. My lust simmers rather than boils. I turn off all the lights in the room, and open the blinds.

Rick's room is across from mine; I realised this during his tour. His blinds are shut, but I can see his form silhouetted against them.

In the dark, I find my red satin nightgown and slip it over my head. The fabric slithers coolly over my still-heated flesh. It's a simple garment, spaghetti straps, plunging neckline and sides slit to the top of my thighs.

Next, I remove the light bulb from the lamp by the bed and throw it into the wastebasket.

Finally, taking a deep breath, I press the button labeled "4" on the intercom panel.

"This is Raoul. Can I help you?"

"Hello, Raoul, this is Ruby. Sorry to bother you, but my reading light seems to be missing a bulb."

"I'll be there in a flash."

For the next ninety seconds, I sit on the bed in the darkened room, watching my breath flow in and out, trying to calm my heart.

There's a knock, and then a soft, Spanish-tinged voice. "Ruby?"

I stretch out on the bed, adjusting my position so that my hips swell provocatively under the crimson satin and the fabric parts to reveal my bare thigh. "Come in, Raoul."

Turquoise reflections from the swimming pool outside are the only illumination. Still, I know that Raoul can see, well enough. There's a sharp intake of breath as he takes in my attire and my posture. I pretend not to notice. "It's that lamp, there on the night table." 

He leans over to fumble with the fixture. His naked forearm, furred with fine black hair, is inches from me. I catch a whiff of his sweat as I prop myself up on one arm, as if to supervise. I am beginning to enjoy myself.

My strap slips off my left shoulder. My left breast tumbles halfway into view. The handyman pretends to occupy himself with his task, screwing in the new bulb with exaggerated care. I can hear his accelerated breathing. I fancy I can hear his heart beating faster because of my proximity.

Finally he switches on the lamp. Warm light spills over the bed. "There you are," he says, beginning to straighten. My hand on his arm stops him. He looks at me, hardly daring to believe what he reads in my face. Desire, and willingness. I run my fingers lightly down his forearm, just brushing the fur, sensing the muscles shifting under his skin. When my fingers find his, I grasp his hand, and slowly bring it to cover my exposed breast.

He gasps, but then takes advantage of the situation, cupping my warm flesh in his palm, lightly squeezing the nipple. "Thank you, Raoul," I whisper. "I appreciate your prompt service."

His confused lust arouses me. Nothing turns me on like a helpless, horny man. Sitting up, I slip off both straps and let the shimmering fabric slide down to my waist. He picks up his cue and begins to symmetrically massaging my other breast.  He is skilled, his touch at once firm and gentle. He is rougher when he addresses himself to my swollen nipples, pinching them just the way I enjoy. I purr softly as his caresses awaken echoes in my sex.

"Lovely," I sigh. Reaching out a finger, I run it along the length of his fly, testing the hardness beneath. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable if you took those off?"

"Whatever you say, Ruby," he replies with a smile. Standing back, he strips his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, then bends to unzip. Under his slacks, he wears black silk boxers. He pauses, giving me a moment to appreciate his magnificent physique. Then he unsnaps the waist of the shorts and they drift to the floor, revealing his impressive erection.

"Come closer," I encourage, and when he does, I take his cock in both hands and begin to play. I stroke him, knead him, trace his veins with the barest fingertip. He moans. I cup his balls in my palm and give them an exploratory squeeze. He shudders in delight.     

"You like that, Raoul?" I squeeze harder, at the same time pinching the fleshy bulb between forefinger and thumb. His groaning is answer enough.

He's letting me do whatever I want, and that makes me hotter than ever. I release him, stand and walk over to the chair near the window. He's about to follow, but I stop him with a glance. "No, you stay there. For now."

Settling in the chair, I begin to fondle myself through the nightgown. He strokes himself, almost absently, as he watches. My familiar fingers feel strange and wonderful, shrouded in satin. The fabric slithers over my folds, smoother than the smoothest skin. At first, I am delicate, letting the lovely stuff whisper between my legs. Soon, though, I need more. I become rougher and more raunchy. A dark stain of wetness spreads from my center, until my whole lap is soaked.

Raoul's eyes are riveted on the damp fabric, enticed by what he knows lies underneath. His nostrils flare as my musk fills the room. His cock, encircled by his busy fingers, strains rigidly toward the ceiling. His sensuous lips are curved in a half-smile.

He's lovely and masculine, yet I know that right now he's mine. He'll do whatever I ask. I rise, reach for the hem of my garment and pull it over my head. He licks those full lips at the sight of me. Dark thatch, ivory thighs, glistening cunt-lips as crimson as my gown.



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