Robin was a beautiful, angular faced young woman with an insightful mind and exquisite
taste in fashion and design. She also had a nearly perfect body, benefiting not only from
genetics and luck but a careful attention to diet and exercise. She had been told at
fifteen that her thirty-six C cup breasts would one day sag much like those of the
unmarried, somewhat bitter maiden aunt who had so informed her. She had then set about to
ensure that she kept the muscles of her chest and stomach as firm and strong as possible
in order to postpone what her aunt assured her was inevitable. She had been quite
successful so far, although at only twenty five years of age nature had not yet made any
inroads into the youth and vitality of her body.
Her dark hair spilled around her face and over her shoulders in what she recognized was
an unnecessary and time-consuming vanity, hanging halfway down her back in often untidy
curls and ringlets which Seamus Reilly found extremely erotic when lain across her bare
back, as they were now.
He’d met Robin when he’d gone into a bookstore a few years ago and found her there
working as a cashier. The coincidence of her first name with his last had been an
introduction he couldn’t resist. They’d had a wild weekend romp and then he’d said
goodbye. A year or so later he’d been in town and they’d done a repeat performance. She
was the manager of the store then. Now, two years later, she was managing that store and
four others as the general manager for the corporation which owned the chain of
bookstores.
There was never any doubt in either of their minds that all he had in mind was fun and
games, and Robin was mature enough in her outlook to accept that fun and games were a far
better alternative than sitting home watching television. Seamus was, after all, a
well-built, handsome man, cocky, good humoured, good natured, apparently rich, and an
exquisite lover who took pride in his ability to arouse and excite women.
Despite the way he came in and then disappeared from her life Robin had quickly come to
trust him the way she rarely did even with boyfriends of considerably longer tenure. And
he had introduced her to bondage and the exciting games which went with it.
What he had found in her, of course, was a beautiful young woman who was fairly
uninhibited, and extremely sexual. Most men liked those who agreed with them, and Robin
seemed to have a similar outlook on life. Most men also liked women who responded well to
them, and Robin was extremely, deliciously responsive to his attentions, writhing and
crying out in unfeigned orgiastic pleasure with very little effort.
Seamus had come into town – in this case San Diego – today, and hooked up with Robin
again. Unlike on prior trips, however, she was not merely a pleasant coincidence to
business. She was the business. She simply didn’t know it yet.
They were in his hotel suite, the penthouse, of course. There was a fire flickering
pleasantly in the gas fireplace just to the side of the dimly lit entrance hall where
Robin stood. Her wrists were bound in padded leather attached to chains over head, and she
was somewhat breathlessly, somewhat nervously looking at him, eyes smouldering, as he
circled her, cat-like, smirking.
She was wearing a green dress with a short hem and spaghetti straps curving over her
bare shoulders. It was tight across the chest and the bottom, and as he moved, Seamus
occasionally slid a hand over her body, caressing it through the thin material of the
dress.
Seamus was a type of man completely beyond her experiences. He was just not – ordinary –
in any sense. He was sophisticated, shamelessly depraved, drove expensive sports cars, had
apparently limitless money, and lived for playing. He had his irresponsible side, but he
was a lot of fun, even if he sometimes made her a little nervous.
Like now.
It wasn’t that Robin hadn’t had experiences. She was twenty-five, after all, and living
in a very cosmopolitan city. But the unrestrained, uninhibited wildness that swirled
around Seamus let her do things she would have been far too embarrassed to even begin to
suggest to any other man she had been with. She was, to her mind, a very ordinary girl who
worked sixty hour work weeks and lived in a small apartment with her cat.
She would have liked a boyfriend but right now her career didn’t lend itself to a lot of
free time, and she was too tired on the weekends to go out partying much.
Seamus was suddenly pressed up against her and she gasped as he pulled her hair back
firmly. His right hand slid up her front to caress her breast as she felt his breath
against her throat. She gasped as he bit into the nape of her neck lightly, his fingers
rubbing skilfully at her nipple through the dress. Then he had nimbly undone the straps
and drawn back, letting her dress slide down around her hips. An instant later he had
tugged it down to her ankles and blushing only a little, she stepped out of it, leaving
her naked but for her thong.
Again he circled her, his face taunting her, wanting her wondering, perhaps enjoying the
sense of mild anxiety she felt.
He was against her again, this time in front. He gripped her hair tightly on either side
of her head, forcing her head back as his lips came down against hers. For long seconds,
their lips moved together as she felt his tongue swirled within her mouth, and she moaned
softly as he did what no man had ever really even tried to do: dominate her.
She let him invade her mouth, offered up no resentment or opposition or indignation at
him holding her hair, at him controlling her so tightly, so firmly. She let her head be
cocked back and let his tongue and lips ravish her.
His hands abandoned her hair, slid down her bare back and kneaded her buttocks. Then he
stepped back, circling, taunting. She fought to keep her breathing level, to not show her
reaction. Then he was pressed against her from behind, his hands kneading her breasts as
he bit lightly along the side of her throat. One of his hands slid down her smooth, silky
belly and plunged into the front of her thong, expert fingers finding her already swollen
clitoris and beginning to stroke and caress it into even more heat.
She let herself moan helplessly as he ground himself into her buttocks, as he
practically bit at her throat, kneaded her breast and fingered her pussy.
Then he broke away again, circling.
“Are you my slut?” he asked in a low purr.
“I’m nobody’s slut,” she said breathlessly.
He grinned. “You will be,” he said.
“Ha,” she replied.
He stepped up to her and slid his fingers into the front of her thong, then yanked back.
Robin felt the tightness of the thin strip of cloth between her buttocks digging
momentarily into her flesh, then it parted, and she gasped as the thong was torn away
“Hey!” she cried almost instinctively.
He slapped her face and she gasped, head rocked back, a bit dazed.
He’d done that before, their last date, when she’d been tied to the bed. It had done
strange things to her head and her orgasm had been intense.
Then he was between her legs, his hands forcing her legs apart, his tongue at her pussy.
No one she’d ever met could perform oral sex on a woman like Seamus, and she moaned
helplessly, her hips almost immediately starting to grind against his mouth. Her head fell
back and she cursed softly under her breath, feeling the tightness of the leather cuffs
around her wrists holding her in place where she might otherwise have swayed and stumbled,
off-balance.
He drew back, leaving her gasping, flushed, overheated, not far from orgasm.
“Seamus!” she whined.
He laughed lightly, then slapped her bottom stingingly.
“Ow!” She danced in place, hips jerking forward automatically, high heels shifting on
the marble floor.
He moved behind her, doing something, and by the time she turned he was back. She felt
something pressed against her anus, something slightly cool and a little liquid. She
gasped and then her breath inhaled sharply as she felt it being pushed into her.
“Seamussss!” she whined.
He ignored her, and she felt her anus slowly being forced open. His left hand slid
around her and cupped her pussy, pushing back, forcing her to thrust her hips back and
making her back opening more vulnerable. The thing, whatever it was – she supposed a dildo
or butt-plug – slid deeper inside her, pumping lightly in and out as his fingers began to
rub lightly against her pussy.
“Fuck meee!” she whined.
“When you beg.”
She groaned. Sometimes his games frustrated her!
“When you admit you’re my slut.”
Like most women, the word stung her. Even though she knew he meant it in a different
way, even though his definition rather aroused her.
Whatever he’d pushed into her had some sort of lubrication on it and slid smoothly in
and out despite her anal muscles. It wasn’t a butt-plug, for it drove too deep, plunging
high into her belly.
He released it, and it stayed in place as he slid around before her, kneeling, tonguing
her pussy again so that her anal muscles spasmed around it. She shuddered, eyes closing,
head back, as he pushed at it again, forcing the thing even deeper into her ass.
She cursed at him as he drew back, very close to orgasm. He chuckled.
“You better learn better respect for your master, slut,” he said.
“Masturbator,” she sniffed.
He grinned hugely. “Not tonight. Tonight I’m going to fuck you until you scream.”
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