Afterward we snuggle, wrapped around each other like fronds of seaweed, not even bothering to mop up the sticky wetness.
“Do you think I’m a pervert?” I say softly, into his shoulder.
“I think you’re hot,” he replies, stroking my hair.
I smile. “So what do you like to think about when you…you know…?”
Anton laughs. “Funny you should ask. One of my old favorites is that I’m spying on two sexy women doing it in a pool and they catch me and beg me to fuck them.”
I laugh, too, with pleasure and relief. “Really? Do you spank them?”
“No, but I will next time.”
He tilts my chin up. Our eyes meet. His are green and liquid and seem to reach down inside me to touch all my soft, secret places. I hear a voice, too, echoing faintly in my head—his or mine, I’m not quite sure.
Thanks for the ride.
The Clean-Shaven Type
N.T. Morley
Belle arrived at the castle at midnight, soaked through to the bone. The rain had been pouring down amid lightning and howling winds for hours, turning the road into mud and making the mountain passes all but impassable. It was a miracle that she made it through—even more of a miracle given that the carriage she rode in did not have a driver, but was steered in and of itself, or perhaps by forces unseen—while Belle shivered and stewed in the velvet-furnished compartment.
Belle’s carriage was greeted by a tall handsome servant dressed in short breeches and a close-fitting top, a muscular man with a handsome face. He helped Belle down from the carriage with a chivalric hand and a respectful gaze.
“It is a pleasure to welcome you to the castle, Madame Belle.” That title sounded strange to Belle’s ears; she was not used to being called Madame. “I am Andrew, the majordomo. All the castle’s servants are pleased to be at your disposal, Ma’am. Please say the word and anything you wish will be yours.”
Dripping, Belle followed Andrew down long corridors and up great sweeping spiral staircases. The castle was cold and dark, this being well after midnight; wall sconces held candles that lit as they passed, but the chill was oppressive. As soon as Belle entered her chambers, the warmth comforted her; a fire burned, creating a comfortable and cozy temperature. The room was enormous and lavishly furnished, with divans of silk and a great four-poster bed fitted with luxurious bedding and silk sheets that had already been turned down. The fixtures of the room were of gold and silver and even more precious metals, and a small table had already been set with glittering dinnerware and a meal of cold turkey and fruit, with great flagons of wine.
“Shall I help you out of your things, Madame Belle?”
Standing before the fire, Belle turned and looked him up and down, puzzled.
“Isn’t there a maidservant?” she asked haughtily.
“I’m afraid not,” said Andrew.
A pool of rainwater was growing around her as she dripped.
“May I help you get undressed, Madame Belle?” Andrew asked again after a pause.
The honorific reminded Belle that she was not here to serve; she was here for another reason entirely. Her old life on her knees was through, at least until she accepted the Beast’s proposal.
Belle nodded imperiously.
Andrew knelt behind her and unlaced Belle’s corset. She took a series of deep heaving breaths as her aching back relaxed. Andrew unfastened the laces down the rear of Belle’s dress and she shrugged the thing off, covering her bare breasts with her arms. Her flesh was goose-bumped and her nipples almost painfully erect. Still on his knees, Andrew obediently slipped Belle’s dress over her hips and the garment fell around her feet. She stepped out of the fabric and turned and stood facing Andrew, nude but for her knee-high, spike-heeled boots.
“Are my clothes being sent up?”
“No, Ma’am.” Andrew did not elaborate, which irritated her.
She took a step closer to him, savoring his evident discomfort as he attempted to position his body to conceal from her his still-growing erection.
“Put your shoulders back.”
Andrew flushed still deeper. “I’m sorry?”
“I said, put your shoulders back,” Belle repeated, lifting the toe of one pointy boot and deftly placing it on the kneeling Andrew’s shoulder, pushing. This was not easy given Andrew’s stature, but Belle was a tall and flexible woman. Doing so placed her sex in close proximity to Andrew’s face, which caused him to draw a sharp breath as he went slipping back at the pressure of Belle’s toe. Catching himself on his hands, Andrew remained there looking up at Belle, his face level with her sex. The position was awkward for Andrew, requiring him to support his body with the muscles of his arms and thighs and ass. She could see his chest rising as the scent of her intoxicated him and the effort to maintain the posture grew.
His cock was quite evident in his pants.
“May I help you off with your boots, Madame Belle?” asked Andrew suddenly. In the culture that had born both Andrew and Belle, such a suggestion was a colloquial way of suggesting intimate relations, the implication being, of course, that people fucked with their boots off—something that was very rarely true in Belle’s experience.
Belle realized that upon uttering this rude innuendo, Andrew had inclined his head slightly, as if to present his face to her, all but begging for her to slap him.
Belle was unfamiliar with having the power to slap someone. She was surprised to find that it excited her immensely to see Andrew on his knees, offering his face to be slapped. And such a pretty face it was.
This was exactly what made Belle go wet and hot inside when she was the one on her knees, in Andrew’s position. But she was really more interested in other pleasures at that particular moment, and in fact was quite eager to have Andrew “remove her boots.”
Instead of slapping him, Belle caressed his beautiful pink cheeks with her fingers and said, “What did you ask me?”
“I asked if I could remove your boots,” Andrew said brashly, all but daring her to slap him. “Madame Belle, may I please remove your boots? I would love to remove them and…take them all the way off.”
“Hold that thought,” she said. “And don’t move.”
Belle stalked to the table, where cold turkey and wine awaited her. She sat at the table nude except for her boots and, at her leisure, she took slim savory morsels of turkey and poured herself a glass of wine.
“May I serve you?” asked Andrew.
“No, you may not,” she said absently, without looking back at him. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in a dozen years of sleeping with men—” she laughed “—it’s how to serve myself.”
She could not see him, but she could feel the sting of her words.
“As you wish, Madame.”
Belle could also hear the strain in Andrew’s voice; it was becoming hard for him to hold that position, resting with his hands back on his ankles and his cock bulging forth. She did not glance behind her to see the stress in his body; just knowing it was there made her meal that much sweeter.
Belle took her time eating. The turkey was delicious and the wine was excellent. She had several pieces