Daniella Blanchard is enjoying a romantic interlude with the handsome Eric Lehane, when he makes the suggestion – an interlude on a summer’s afternoon involving ropes, a blindfold and a waiting chair. Only when bound and helpless, subjected to an intense game of sexual tease and denial, does the student begin to suspect her lover’s wicked ulterior motives in their relationship. But Daniella is no meek submissive and she has secrets of her own, which will take Eric by storm. One scorching twist follows another in what becomes a weekend-long struggle of body and mind for sexual supremacy. Who will come out on top in this explosively erotic contest – Eric, Daniella, or sheer all-consuming passion?
He leaned back in his chair, mind flooding with sweet recollections …
Daniella’s orgasm‐deprived body racked with pleasure as his fingers plunged inside her.
The clutch of her contracting pussy on his cock as he boned her hard from the rear, her limbs bound by rope and her soul by sweet lust. Those wild, full‐throated cries that filled his house, as her anger gave way to ecstasy. Then later on when all had changed—her firm young breasts jogging lightly above him as she rode slowly and gently, fingertips on his chest and fronds of brunette hair dropping about his face. Oh God, hot little darling, hot sexy sweetheart. My sweet Daniell …
Shit, enough with the endearments! If he kept on down that road, one might slip out in her company. He shook himself free of reverie, finished his coffee and made to depart. His erection made motion tricky, however, so he sat back with his newspaper for cover. He wrestled himself towards a place of calm.
Pretty girl. Not unintelligent. She was perfectly pleasant company with a nice line in conversation and a sense of humour. But chiefly she was a piece – of – ass. Hold to that and it would be one very satisfactory weekend. Revenge with benefits. Everyone happy, particularly him.
Eric clinked a couple of pound coins against his coffee cup as a tip, folded his newspaper and left. No more floundering, no more stupid guilt. This girl craves control and that’s what she’s going to get. He checked his watch on the way out. Two hours, and if he went straight home that’d be two thirty. Long enough to make her squirm. Yes, that’d do nicely. He had one call to make before returning home, a short walk down the High Street.
Jake Malden is a freelance journalist and writer based in London. He has been experimenting with erotica both on the page and off for some years and has a growing number of titles available. His interests, aside from the staringly obvious, are theatre, cinema, literature, fitness-training and travel (particularly back to his native Ireland). He is an enthusiast of juicing, in every possible sense.