right. Don’t move. Now, how to bind you…”
Olivia followed his instructions, eager for whatever he had planned. If someone had looked from one of Wavecrest’s many windows towards the sea, they might have detected some motion at the tea house, but darkness and distance would hide the details. She found herself wishing that the moon would rise, and was horrified by her own depravity.
Andrew stood before her, pondering the situation. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Energy fairly crackled through his powerful frame.
“I know!” He seized one of the ribbons that draped her skirt and yanked.
“Andrew, no! You’ll ruin it!”
“I paid for it. It’s mine to ruin—just like you.”
She shivered at the thought.
The satin resisted his considerable strength. Pulling a penknife from his tuxedo pocket—to Olivia’s surprise—he sawed at the ribbon until it gave way. “T’will be strong at least.” He wrapped the strip of fabric around her wrist several times, then tied the other end to the post. The satin caressed her skin, but held her tight against the pillar. “Now for the other…”
In a trice he had her suspended between the gateposts, helpless to resist whatever came next. “Now, to make you more accessible…” He slashed again and again at the elegant gown, tearing through overskirt, underskirt and petticoats. A sea breeze stirred the shredded silk, tickling her bare thighs. Moisture trickled from her cleft. She strained against her bonds, wanting nothing more than to touch him, but with an evil giggle, he stepped out of range.
“Ah, sweet, you do look wicked! What would your Russian think, hey?” He leant forward to pinch her nipple, triggering a shock of pleasure, but backed away before she could make contact. “Did your precious poet ever bind you outdoors, in full view of polite society?”
“No, sir…” Dmitri had confined their deviant games to the garret they’d shared. She’d sometimes wished otherwise.
“Ah—a first then! And do you like being exposed, Miss Alcott? Does it arouse you?” He still wouldn’t come closer. Olivia caught a whiff of her own ocean aroma. Her pussy clenched on emptiness.
“You know it does, sir.” Heat climbed into her cheeks. Heat pulsed in her core.
“Yes, yes, I do know. I know you, Olivia. I know what you need.”
As he gloated before her, he was unbuttoning his trousers. His cock sprang free, arching up towards his white cummerbund. She whimpered, overwhelmed, incoherent with desire.
“Ah—poor Olivia! Do you want something?”
“Ah—yes, yes, sir…”
“Ask me then. Tell me what you want.”
Olivia hung in her bonds, silent and needy.
“Ask, my sweet. Be brave.”
The bravado in his voice was gone, replaced by tenderness. He caught her chin in his fingers and raised her face to his.
Olivia swallowed her fear. “Sir—please—your cock in my cunny…”
“You want me to fuck you?” Not waiting for an answer, he stepped between her spread thighs and rubbed the swollen tip of his organ over her slick folds. A premonition of climax shuddered through her.
“Yes…oh, yes…”
He sank into her depths. She moaned as he filled her—hot, hard, perfect. Crushing her to his chest, he worked his hips, grinding against her sheathed clit.
The friction undid her. She flew into orgasm, jerking in her bonds as he pounded her without mercy.
“All you needed to do, darling,” he murmured, as she came back to earth, quivering in his arms, “was ask.”
Chapter Nine
“Another strawberry, Mrs MacIntyre?” Andrew dangled the scarlet fruit an inch above her open lips, letting the cream that coated it dribble onto her tongue. Bound hand and foot to the four corner posts of the Louis XVI bed, Olivia could do little more than wriggle.
“If it pleases you, sir…”
He allowed the berry to drop. Sweetness exploded in her mouth as she bit into its firm flesh.
“It does please me. You please me, my little crusader,
Olivia followed his instructions, eager for whatever he had planned. If someone had looked from one of Wavecrest’s many windows towards the sea, they might have detected some motion at the tea house, but darkness and distance would hide the details. She found herself wishing that the moon would rise, and was horrified by her own depravity.
Andrew stood before her, pondering the situation. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Energy fairly crackled through his powerful frame.
“I know!” He seized one of the ribbons that draped her skirt and yanked.
“Andrew, no! You’ll ruin it!”
“I paid for it. It’s mine to ruin—just like you.”
She shivered at the thought.
The satin resisted his considerable strength. Pulling a penknife from his tuxedo pocket—to Olivia’s surprise—he sawed at the ribbon until it gave way. “T’will be strong at least.” He wrapped the strip of fabric around her wrist several times, then tied the other end to the post. The satin caressed her skin, but held her tight against the pillar. “Now for the other…”
In a trice he had her suspended between the gateposts, helpless to resist whatever came next. “Now, to make you more accessible…” He slashed again and again at the elegant gown, tearing through overskirt, underskirt and petticoats. A sea breeze stirred the shredded silk, tickling her bare thighs. Moisture trickled from her cleft. She strained against her bonds, wanting nothing more than to touch him, but with an evil giggle, he stepped out of range.
“Ah, sweet, you do look wicked! What would your Russian think, hey?” He leant forward to pinch her nipple, triggering a shock of pleasure, but backed away before she could make contact. “Did your precious poet ever bind you outdoors, in full view of polite society?”
“No, sir…” Dmitri had confined their deviant games to the garret they’d shared. She’d sometimes wished otherwise.
“Ah—a first then! And do you like being exposed, Miss Alcott? Does it arouse you?” He still wouldn’t come closer. Olivia caught a whiff of her own ocean aroma. Her pussy clenched on emptiness.
“You know it does, sir.” Heat climbed into her cheeks. Heat pulsed in her core.
“Yes, yes, I do know. I know you, Olivia. I know what you need.”
As he gloated before her, he was unbuttoning his trousers. His cock sprang free, arching up towards his white cummerbund. She whimpered, overwhelmed, incoherent with desire.
“Ah—poor Olivia! Do you want something?”
“Ah—yes, yes, sir…”
“Ask me then. Tell me what you want.”
Olivia hung in her bonds, silent and needy.
“Ask, my sweet. Be brave.”
The bravado in his voice was gone, replaced by tenderness. He caught her chin in his fingers and raised her face to his.
Olivia swallowed her fear. “Sir—please—your cock in my cunny…”
“You want me to fuck you?” Not waiting for an answer, he stepped between her spread thighs and rubbed the swollen tip of his organ over her slick folds. A premonition of climax shuddered through her.
“Yes…oh, yes…”
He sank into her depths. She moaned as he filled her—hot, hard, perfect. Crushing her to his chest, he worked his hips, grinding against her sheathed clit.
The friction undid her. She flew into orgasm, jerking in her bonds as he pounded her without mercy.
“All you needed to do, darling,” he murmured, as she came back to earth, quivering in his arms, “was ask.”
Chapter Nine
“Another strawberry, Mrs MacIntyre?” Andrew dangled the scarlet fruit an inch above her open lips, letting the cream that coated it dribble onto her tongue. Bound hand and foot to the four corner posts of the Louis XVI bed, Olivia could do little more than wriggle.
“If it pleases you, sir…”
He allowed the berry to drop. Sweetness exploded in her mouth as she bit into its firm flesh.
“It does please me. You please me, my little crusader,
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