cheeky little madam who needs taking in hand, that's what I mean."
"Seriously? I gotta tell you, I have literally no idea what you are talking about." Sure, I heard the words, but he could have been talking Dutch for all I understood what he meant. I had heard the word "cheeky" a few times now, but I still really wasn't sure how to interpret it.
"Then I shall show you."
Holy fuck but I thought he was going to throw me to the sidewalk right there and then, and fuck me senseless. He dragged me to the side and threw me up against the wall - this was Claridge's, for fuck's sake! Was he going to get us arrested?
He pressed me against the stone and he kissed me hard, his tongue probing into my mouth, making me think of warmth and wetness and dark, secret holes. His hands roamed my body, skimmed my curves, hunting from my ass to my tits; he cupped my breasts and I instinctively arched my back, wanting to feel his whole strength crush me.
Infuriatingly, his thumbs swept over my nipples, hard already, only lightly touching me before his hands were either side of my head, holding me brutally still.
His mouth tugged at my lower lip, kissed to my neck, nibbled my ear, and breathed on my flesh. Every inch of my skin was alive and every goose bump raised up in anticipation.
"Now we'll call a taxi and finish this."
"Where?" I breathed, my thigh pressed against his. My sex was quivering. I hadn't had a fucking in months - just me, my hand and my vibrator - and I would swear that my juices were pouring from me already.
"Let us go to your place," he said, and this is a measure of how far gone I was. Ordinarily that was a no-no. But I was so desperate to see this through, now, that I said, "Sure."
And he grabbed my hand as he stepped away from me, and within moments we had tumbled into the back of a cab, and I was telling the driver the address of my rented apartment.
As soon as the cab had set off, he pulled me onto his lap. My hemline rode right up as I straddled him, and before I could adjust my position, he clamped a hand right between my legs and squeezed. His force made me gasp but he held me - actually held me down by gripping my crotch.
"You are very, very wet," he said, pressing a finger onto my clit. He wriggled and eased it under the thin fabric of my panties, and slid it straight into my pussy. His palm was uppermost, clasping me firmly.
I twitched, which ground me against his hand, and I couldn't help but moan.
"I could make you orgasm," he said, conversationally, as he flexed his fingers.
The cab made a sudden turn and I was thrown against him. I pulled back, straightening, and he bent his head to kiss along the swelling top of my cleavage. Then, with his other hand, he pulled sharply at the neckline of my dress, and I heard the fabric tear.
"Hey, watch out," I said, suddenly returning to my senses. This was a designer fucking dress, for God's sake.
But when his mouth closed over my nipple and his tongue began to work around, my protests died. Fuck, I could always buy another dress.
His hand in my pussy worked in slow circles, and his lips pulled at my lengthening nipple. My pulse was already tripping hard in my head as I moved rhythmically against him. Part of me knew I ought to be reciprocating - touching him, pleasuring him - but I selfishly didn't want to do anything that took the focus away from the building sensations in my belly.
"Oh yes," I murmured, my face almost in his hair as my body clenched and relaxed in growing waves.
Suddenly his hand movement stopped and he withdrew his fingers. He kissed a little trail away from my nipple, across my breast, my collarbone and my shoulder, and then sat back, looking at me.
I gasped, and pulled at him. "Don't stop!" I begged.
"Do control yourself," he said, in such a smug and withering tone that I slapped him, hard, across the cheek.
The sound ricocheted around the cab and as soon as the sting began to spread across my palm, I knew I had overstepped the
"Seriously? I gotta tell you, I have literally no idea what you are talking about." Sure, I heard the words, but he could have been talking Dutch for all I understood what he meant. I had heard the word "cheeky" a few times now, but I still really wasn't sure how to interpret it.
"Then I shall show you."
Holy fuck but I thought he was going to throw me to the sidewalk right there and then, and fuck me senseless. He dragged me to the side and threw me up against the wall - this was Claridge's, for fuck's sake! Was he going to get us arrested?
He pressed me against the stone and he kissed me hard, his tongue probing into my mouth, making me think of warmth and wetness and dark, secret holes. His hands roamed my body, skimmed my curves, hunting from my ass to my tits; he cupped my breasts and I instinctively arched my back, wanting to feel his whole strength crush me.
Infuriatingly, his thumbs swept over my nipples, hard already, only lightly touching me before his hands were either side of my head, holding me brutally still.
His mouth tugged at my lower lip, kissed to my neck, nibbled my ear, and breathed on my flesh. Every inch of my skin was alive and every goose bump raised up in anticipation.
"Now we'll call a taxi and finish this."
"Where?" I breathed, my thigh pressed against his. My sex was quivering. I hadn't had a fucking in months - just me, my hand and my vibrator - and I would swear that my juices were pouring from me already.
"Let us go to your place," he said, and this is a measure of how far gone I was. Ordinarily that was a no-no. But I was so desperate to see this through, now, that I said, "Sure."
And he grabbed my hand as he stepped away from me, and within moments we had tumbled into the back of a cab, and I was telling the driver the address of my rented apartment.
As soon as the cab had set off, he pulled me onto his lap. My hemline rode right up as I straddled him, and before I could adjust my position, he clamped a hand right between my legs and squeezed. His force made me gasp but he held me - actually held me down by gripping my crotch.
"You are very, very wet," he said, pressing a finger onto my clit. He wriggled and eased it under the thin fabric of my panties, and slid it straight into my pussy. His palm was uppermost, clasping me firmly.
I twitched, which ground me against his hand, and I couldn't help but moan.
"I could make you orgasm," he said, conversationally, as he flexed his fingers.
The cab made a sudden turn and I was thrown against him. I pulled back, straightening, and he bent his head to kiss along the swelling top of my cleavage. Then, with his other hand, he pulled sharply at the neckline of my dress, and I heard the fabric tear.
"Hey, watch out," I said, suddenly returning to my senses. This was a designer fucking dress, for God's sake.
But when his mouth closed over my nipple and his tongue began to work around, my protests died. Fuck, I could always buy another dress.
His hand in my pussy worked in slow circles, and his lips pulled at my lengthening nipple. My pulse was already tripping hard in my head as I moved rhythmically against him. Part of me knew I ought to be reciprocating - touching him, pleasuring him - but I selfishly didn't want to do anything that took the focus away from the building sensations in my belly.
"Oh yes," I murmured, my face almost in his hair as my body clenched and relaxed in growing waves.
Suddenly his hand movement stopped and he withdrew his fingers. He kissed a little trail away from my nipple, across my breast, my collarbone and my shoulder, and then sat back, looking at me.
I gasped, and pulled at him. "Don't stop!" I begged.
"Do control yourself," he said, in such a smug and withering tone that I slapped him, hard, across the cheek.
The sound ricocheted around the cab and as soon as the sting began to spread across my palm, I knew I had overstepped the
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