Dressed to Impress. Elizabeth Coldwell

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СКАЧАТЬ … well, it’s my right to be upset or not. And I’m not.’

      She slides a hand up Howard’s thigh.

      ‘Now, let’s start our date for real.’

      To Howard’s delight, Amy continues to make physical contact with him throughout the evening, playfully slapping his arm when he makes an unexpected joke, letting her hand linger on his when she passes him the bread basket. He insists on paying, even though Amy demurs. He is old-fashioned, he admits. But it’s the least he can do, under the circumstances.

      He thanks her for a lovely evening and sees her to a cab. He makes no assumptions that Amy will sleep with him. But Amy is feeling bold. She knows what she wants; it is within her reach; she wants Howard. When he opens the door for her, she whispers in his ear ‘Come with me, I want to show you my studio,’ then pulls him into the cab with her.

      It’s only a short trip to her house, where Amy removes her glasses and pours them some wine, and Howard follows her into her study.

      ‘This is it,’ Amy says. ‘Look familiar?’

      Howard’s throat goes dry. He definitely remembers the desk, although, when he saw it, Amy’s delectable body was draped over it.

      Here goes nothing, she thinks, unzipping her dress and letting it fall to the ground with a hush.

      Howard also recognises the lingerie Amy is wearing. His collar suddenly seems too tight. When she strips out of her stockings, her corset, her bra and her panties, all the air seems to leave the room.

      ‘Amy, you’re –’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘– so lovely.’

      She spins, slowly, showing off her peach of an ass. When she bends forward over the desk and looks back at Howard, the expression on his face is pure unadulterated lust.

      Howard approaches lovemaking as he approaches most things in his life, with the precision required to achieve the most desirable outcome. His trembling hands move over Amy’s body slowly, calculating the degree of her response to each touch, assigning each a value weighted in proportion to her pleasure.

      But when Amy shimmies her hips in desperation and pleads, ‘Howard, lick me, please, put your tongue in me,’ she undermines any goal of orderly erotic progression and forces him to act on instinct instead. Gone are the carefully measured caresses of before. He falls on her with an intensity both thrilling and frightening. The man Amy thought she knew is gone. This man, behind her, who traps her against the desk, who growls when she tries to turn around, is some other person entirely.

      Howard’s hand presses down on the small of her back, and she feels his long tongue snaking into the hot wet core of her, his nose pressing against her anus, his fingers worrying at her clit. She comes on his face before he’s even taken his coat off.

      When the aftershocks have died away, he helps her to her feet.

      ‘Wow, Howard, just, wow.’

      Amy starts to undress him now, a reverse striptease of coat, tie, cufflinks, shirt. He keeps his eyes open when she kisses him, as if he’s scared she’ll disappear. That just makes Amy hotter. When she pulls his belt free and pushes his trousers and pants down, though, she is taken aback.

      ‘Sweet fucking Christ, Howard! That’s not a cock, that’s a club!’

      Amy is too shocked to watch her language. She knew it was big – she had seen his member in the half-light of the storage room, before he had turned away from her – but she didn’t know it was this big. Nothing had quite prepared her for the sight of that magnificent thing, emerging fierce and flushed and swollen from the dark blond thatch of his pubic hair.

      Howard looks embarrassed.

      ‘It’s OK,’ he says, ‘we don’t have to, you know, go all the way.’

      ‘Uh, excuse me? Of course we’re going all the way.’ Amy strokes the prominent ridge running up the centre of his penis with her fingernail then binds the shaft with her hand. She starts pumping it up and down in short, fast strokes.

      ‘But I don’t want to hurt you.’

      ‘You won’t hurt me. Believe me, after what you just did to me, I’m more than ready to take you.’

      She sits on the desk and opens her legs wide.

      ‘So come get me.’

      Howard advances, but doesn’t try to enter her yet. First he examines her, pinching and pulling and probing at her sex until he’s satisfied that she is indeed wet enough. Amy whimpers and squirms when his thumb circles roughly over her clit.

      ‘Don’t move,’ he growls, as he spreads apart the delicate pink frills of her cunt and pinches her bud. ‘I’m not done yet.’

      And with that he wrings another shattering climax from her.

      He enters her while she is still coming, and with each spasm her clenching sex sucks his cock higher inside her, until he is buried deep in her, right up to the root. He cries out as her nails rake his back. She feels so good to him, so right, he doesn’t know how long he’s going to last. He’s afraid he’ll shame himself by coming too quickly, so he pulls out. It will buy him the precious seconds he needs to regain his composure.

      Amy looks furious, until Howard orders her on top of him. Then she smiles like a Cheshire cat and pushes him onto his back and climbs aboard, circling the head of his cock teasingly before slamming down onto him. She arches her back to let him hit her depths, then tilts her pelvis forward and tenses her inner thighs.

      ‘Fuck, Amy,’ Howard groans, ‘you’re so tight.’

      She fucks him fast, then slow, then fast again, refusing to let him get accustomed to her rhythm. It is maddening and she knows it. But she also knows when it is time to stop teasing and start an undulating slide up and down his cock that will wrench a release from him whether he wants to come or not. In the haze of his pleasure, Howard thinks he can hear a shutter clicking, and he shouts himself hoarse as Amy rides him, ruthless, to the end.

      The Shoes

      Grace Moskowitz

      Call it lust at first sight: I wanted to get fucked in those shoes from the moment I saw them, singing their siren’s song to me through the glass of the store window. I stopped, my stride arrested by the sight of them, gleaming black and beckoning me. I dragged my friends into the store with me, making them wait while I tracked down the elusive salesgirl and asked her if I could try a pair on in my size. When I slid my foot into the first one, I looked straight down and the angle of the top of my foot, criss-crossed by the broad elastic straps, made me feel my heartbeat throb in my throat. I knew these shoes would be perfect. I knew I had to have them.

      I’ve been a fan of stilettos since I met Victor, an old boyfriend who had infected me with his enthusiasm. It was from him that I learned of their power, not only over a man, but over myself as well. I thrilled to the contradictory feelings of vulnerability and power that wearing high heels gave me.

      Victor told me and showed me that it СКАЧАТЬ