Bisexuality, Bondage, and Girl-on-Girl Romance. Interior designer Mary Miller is a bisexual. A fact she learned painfully after a failed two year relationship. Mary requires both a man and a woman in her bed to be truly satisfied. Then she meets a couple who seem right for her in every way. But they have their own needs, a need to dominate. Is Mary ready to explore yet another forbidden area of her sexuality? If she wants the new man and woman in her life, she will have to meet them on their own terms. For Mary, it is strictly all or nothing.
EXTRACT
CHAPTER 1
November, 2005
The north eastern coast of Scotland,
`Why in the world did I really come here?` I grumbled to myself as I
pushed up the long arms of my mint green cardigan and uncorked my
second bottle of red wine. I should have known better. I must be off
my friggen head, I thought, while my eyes scanned the kitchen with the
wallpaper that at one time would have been white, but was now grey. It
peeled in places where mildew was seeping through. My small upturned
nose crinkled at the faint trace of dampness hanging in the chilly air
as I furiously rubbed at my naked, goose-pebbled legs. Picking up a
clean glass I strolled into the cheerless living room.
The room was cool and shadowed, rather than freezing, due to the
electric fire which was bravely trying to heat it. The eerie
shimmering headlights of passing cars from the street below filtered
through the tiny holes in the curtains, playing off the water in the
fishbowl atop the glass coffee table. Perhaps, I'd find peace here. I
sank down onto the brown couch, with its stuffing sticking out at
unfortunate angles. Just enjoy the room Mary, I told myself, but I
couldn't. The tick tock of the clock above the mantelpiece seemed to
hound me. The globular eyes of the orange goldfish I'd bought only
that morning for company, and named Gordon seemed to mock. Sighing, I
strolled to the only window in my sparse living room for perhaps the
hundredth time in half an hour. Was I restless, confused? Yes. Only
the day before, I had moved myself, along with my meagre possessions
consisting of four carton boxes, two suitcases and a microwave oven
into this small, damp Dundee flat.
I called it coming back to my Scottish roots, to my heritage, but in
truth I was running away at twenty-three. Having qualified as an
Interior Designer a year ago, I hoped my job chances would be better
in Dundee. I'd found nothing in the overcrowded London market apart
from Crystal, my dead-end ex of approximately three months.
Crystal had been old enough to be my mother. She was a natural
redhead, a real high-flyer who liked to play with young girls or boys
whenever her businessman husband wasn't around. What can I say about
Crystal except her body, for a forty-five-year-old had been great,
firm, and lithe with big silicon breasts which I loved to play with,
and yeah, the sex was great, too. The downside was she had a temper
about as unpredictable as a tornado, and an IQ of zero.
Did I love her?
No. I've never been in love. Sometimes I wonder what the word
actually means. Is it created by angels, this magic little gift that
only the good girls get? Then, in that case I suppose I must be bad.
Hey, I'm worse than bad--with the huge number of disastrous
relationships I sadly have behind me, I must be as bad as they make
'em.
Do I miss Crystal and her uptown world?
A little!
Do I miss the sex?
Absolutely.
I took another large gulp of wine. It helped dull the pain which
seemed to be eating a hole in my weary heart that first Saturday
evening in my new home. Home, my golden brows drew together into a
furious frown. That was false. You couldn't really call a two-roomed
apartment, which hardly had space enough to let you stretch out your
arms, a home now could you?
With that depressive thought, I pulled back the ghastly, purple,
moth-eaten curtains. Along with air freshener I'd made it my first
priority to get myself some new curtains ASAP on Monday when the shops
opened. I'd known as soon as I'd walked into the flat, exhausted from
my gruelling train ride up from London, that the rejects from the
seventies, with the black polka dots simply had to go.
Outside, the sky was as grey as glass, grey as the depressing mood
surrounding me. I watched as a bright, red double-decker dislodged its
passengers at the bus stop below. When the people who got off had
scurried away in all directions like little ants, I turned my
attention to the road workers who'd been working across from the busy
bus stop all day. To my untrained eye, they seemed to be fixing some
sort of electric power line. Although it was six o'clock in the
evening, it was still bright on this overcast day in November. The
workmen below had become my entertainment, since I didn't have a TV.
Dressed in bright orange jackets, jeans and sturdy boots, they were
something to occupy my thoughts other than, Crystal and her fantastic
body, which I missed late at night alone in my bed, the dismal state
of my bank account, and the dire economy. Unfortunately, there wasn't
one hunk among the little group numbering ten.
I sighed heavily, after coming out of my two-year relationship with
Crystal, since, fool that I was, I'd been faithful only to her, while
she'd practically screwed everything that moved. I was in the mood for
a man for a change. Preferably a big man, with a rock-solid cock who
wasn't afraid to use it. I smiled. I really was as bisexual as a girl
could get, then I sighed again, as I decided that my chances of
actually finding such a super stud were near to nonexistent.
Wait! I almost fell through the single-pane glass of the narrow,
rectangular window, as I pushed myself against it to try and get a
better look at the new man below. Casually carrying his bright yellow
workers' jacket in his left hand, and his safety helmet in the other,
he walked into the workmen's midst.
I couldn't help it, watching him I was drooling like a puppy chewing
on a shoe.
He was gorgeous, a bloody estrogen magnet, that's what he was. Forget
super stud, this guy was a little piece of heaven on earth, a friggen
Greek Adonis.
It hit me then, smack right between the eyes that I hadn't been with
a man in over two years, for twenty-four months now I hadn't felt how
good it was to have an aroused cock split my pussy lips apart. And
Christ, somehow I just innately knew that the stranger below would be
the best ride of my life.
My thighs clamped alarmingly and my pussy pulsed. My glass shook and
a trickle of red wine spilled on the beige carpet. It splashed over my
bare feet, and settled into the fabric as dark, and rich as blood.
Hell! I would have to get someone in to clean it, but I would worry
about that later.
My eyes badly wanted to return to the perfect male specimen below and
so I let them.
He was extremely tall with jet black wavy hair which just brushed his
shoulders. Lots, of X-rated thoughts ran through my head just looking
at him. He had the confident, deadly swagger of a man who knew he had
no equal.
It was the gait of a predator.
And it made my blood boil.
I decided that sex on legs could devour me any day, any way he
pleased.
Hungrily I watched him, absorbed in the way his white T-shirt so
nicely outlined his wide shoulders and strong back, marvelling that he
was courageous enough to brave the winter weather outside in such a
little, tight fitting piece of material. And, oh my, then there were
those faded jeans, lovingly cupping his long, well-defined legs, not
to mention the best looking piece of ass I'd ever had the good fortune
to lay my eyes on.
Suddenly, I wanted to kiss that butt so very badly. I wanted to
nibble and bite my way along its delectable smooth moonshine crack,
and ride its hunky owner into the ground.
I hissed lustily, then shrugged it off. I had given up on men, and
women for that matter. A shame, really, because the handsome stranger
definitely had a body designed to tempt anyone with a healthy sex
drive--sort of wicked sinner and angelic saint all packed into one
very fuckable unit.
And my, did I want to fuck him, did I ever.
I ran my tongue across my suddenly dry lips, my skin was clammy and
my cotton panties drenched. The closest I'd come to anything remotely
resembling a man lately was my trusty vibrator, which sounded as loud
as a Jumbo Jet taking off from Heathrow.
My pussy was hot and wet, throbbing in some serious need of a little
release. I ran impatient fingers through my long, strawberry-blonde
hair, sometimes, well most of the time; the little horny organ between
my legs had to be obeyed.
And so it was I obeyed it now.
Draining my wine glass in one very large unladylike gulp, I placed it
on the white emulsioned windowsill. I closed my eyes, pushed my
fingers beneath my practical panties and gave way to the kinky fantasy
building in my head. It was one I frequently had. Although the time
and location changed often, the muscular, blue-eyed man with his brown
haired, blue-eyed female companion never did.
In the fantasy I was running from what and whom I don't know. My hair
was spiralling out behind my body in a pale, ghostly mass. The wind on
my naked flesh was so cold. It felt like a horde of cruel needles
piercing my skin. Suddenly I innately knew there was danger. What and
who this danger was, I had no idea. I was simply scared and desperate
to get away, and in my desperation I stumbled over a protruding rock.
But then it didn't matter, out of the blue, a strong, long-fingered,
firm hand grasped my own, pulling me to my feet. Then we were running
and running, me breathless and him, the tall, dark stranger, not
breathless at all. Pulling me along to keep up with his impressive
pace. His furry boots and powerful strides, flattening the soggy plant
life sporadically peeping through the ice sheet covering the ground.
Then I lost my footing and stumbled again.
Suddenly strong arms encircled me and I was warm and secure against a
hard chest. His strong heartbeat beating rhythmically beneath my cheek
while his strides on the compacted ground jolted through every inch of
my body beneath the moonlit darkness.
Before us like a vision, a tall woman sprang from behind a huge
boulder, with her matted brown hair flowing out in a thick mass behind
her. She was dressed in an animal pelt that ended at her thighs, and
which showed off her fantastic, muscled legs to perfection. She looked
at me, muttered something in an ancient language I couldn't
understand. With the spear she held, which was longer than her body,
like a dangerous, proud Amazon warrior she pointed to something in the
distance I couldn't see, then she turned and headed for it.
My rescuer followed, both of these strange people moving swiftly over
the uneven earth. There was still the threat of danger in the air, but
nevertheless I felt safe in this big stranger's arms. I turned my head
further into his chest, so I could breathe in the animal scents of his
furs. My nipples were pebbled, my clit swollen. I was unexpectedly
aroused, then it came to me suddenly. In my fantasy, I had gone back
in time. I was a modern woman saved from some kind of fearsome
prehistoric beast by a cave-age man and his woman.
I shivered in anticipation, wondering what this man, and yes this
archaic, wild woman would do to me when the time was safe. Would they
kiss me? Would the man make me his second wife or would they ravish my
twentieth century body?
