Trinkets Read online

  Trinkets

  by

  Lizbeth Dusseau

  A Pink Flamingo Publications Ebook Publication

  Copyright © 2004 ,All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form

  without prior written permission from the publisher.

  For information contact:

  Pink Flamingo Publications

  www.pinkflamingo.com

  P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083

  USA

  Cover Art and Design © Zoey B

  Email Comments: [email protected]

  Chapter One

  He’d been watching her from an obscure corner of the cafe all night, obscure because that was the aura that Miles intended to convey when he was in a contemplative vein. Everything surrounding him took on a similar mysterious aspect. Looking at her dancing in the soft lights, smiling like sunshine, almost giddy with laughter, produced by the wine flowing through her veins, he was deep in his thoughts of having her. And he would have her, there was no doubt of that.

  Perhaps, only he could see beneath the exuberant surface of her behavior to the darker woman residing there, the one that craved the control he could furnish. He was used to such women, but this one in particular was extraordinarily fascinating. He could devise a life for her that would be like no other. He could provide the wicked venue in which this Miss Tessa Cotille could safely play. There was no greater satisfaction for him than to possess such a creature.

  He watched as she gyrated her hips, the soft swell of her belly undulating against the thighs of the man in front of her. Her bottom danced on the air, pert and fully round. It would take punishment well, he thought. She was naked underneath the short red dress with the cutouts at the sleeves. He knew that by the way her nipples pushed against the red fabric, and the way one or two strands of pubic hair poked through the knit.

  Ah the nipples! Exquisite jewels! He imagined them lovingly adorned with gold ornaments pierced through the flesh.

  It took only moments to know that she was the one, and just seconds to have his plan firmly laid.

  Two weeks later she was in his house, his guest. The party was lush, and the guests were lewdly dressed. He was glad she’d chosen to wear leather. Her hips molded the soft cloth of the skirt and her breasts, pushed together by the bustier, jiggled, threatening to spill out over the top.

  He imagined her the centerpiece of a much different party; though it would take some time to nurture their relationship before he could have her that completely.

  He’d begin this night.

  “Miss Cotille, I’m glad you could join me,” Miles Bryce said, as he strolled to her side. “You dance well.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bryce,” she said, her sultry eyes staring directly into his. “And I like your party.”

  “Why’s that?” he inquired. He liked her fresh, innocent nature.

  She danced around her words for a moment, her face flushed with expressive warmth. “Freedom, Mr. Bryce, freedom. I don’t allow myself to be so brash many places. In your home it feels perfectly comfortable.”

  “I’m glad that pleases you, my dear, please call me Miles.”

  “Miles,” she nodded. He was an older man, by at least ten years, though he didn’t seem to care about the difference, so why should she? He was astonishingly direct in his manner, and she liked that. She liked men who took charge of things around them, who manipulated their environment in the ways that pleased them. So few were really adept at the art. In fact, only one man that she could remember had held her captive the way she liked. Unfortunately, he was not devoted to her. He was devoted only to his own sensual pleasure; the women he dominated were only a passing fancy in his heart. She soon passed from his fancy, discarded for another woman.

  This man, this Miles Bryce, might be different, she thought.

  She was eternally optimistic.

  Miles was not obtrusive that night, at least not until the end. From ten until two a.m. their paths crossed several times, though they didn’t speak again. She found him staring at her while she danced; and he discovered her looking for his staring eyes more than once.

  By the end of such a night, so highly aroused, she was the kind of woman who could pick any partner to screw until morning. She’d land in most any man’s bed, not discreetly choosing by any standard, but falling into the last arms that claimed her.

  Miles knew this. She was easy to read, Tessa Cotille, a bawdy, wanton wench at heart. She would fall into the same pattern this night, except that Miles intended to rescue her for his own designs.

  “Tessa,” he said sharply. He needed to raise his voice; her level of inebriation was so elevated, she needed his sharp tone to penetrate the woozy bliss she was feeling.

  “Mr. Bryce!” she exclaimed turning around. She was on the patio for a breath of fresh air.

  “Miles…” he corrected her.

  “Miles, you surprised me.” She was beautifully disheveled, her golden locks, once piled high on her head, were now softly falling around her shoulders. A sweet, tender smile drifted across her face, and her bright brilliant eyes still gleamed, though they’d softened in the hours that had passed. Her clothes were only slightly askew, but enough so that the aureole around her left nipple was beginning to show from beneath the leather bustier.

  Miles stepped in front of her, his hands reaching around her bodice and twisting the garment so it was straight again. “You’re feeling the effects of the evening I see.” he said.

  “Oh dear,” she gasped looking down, as suddenly a nipple popped above the leather.

  His fingers, on either side of the bud, tweaked it gently. “Watch yourself, Tessa, too much wine and you might do something you regret.”

  “What could I possibly regret?” she said, deliberately pressing herself toward him.

  “I would never take advantage of you this way,” he said, tenderly pushing her away.

  “No?” She looked disappointed.

  “I’m not certain that you really want what I have to offer.”

  “And what would that be?” she asked curiously.

  “We’ll discuss that when you’re completely sober,” he suggested gently.

  “Sober?”

  “You’re not now, you little wench,” he murmured with a soothing voice. He would have liked to have taken her there, stripped her of her clothes and pushed her down between his legs, where she would have swallowed every last drop of his cum. But that would have been too easy. This was a different kind of seduction he intended, one that would last far longer than just this night.

  She looked at him, as she was trying to sober herself. “No, I suppose I’m not thinking too clearly,” she admitted. A pink blush rose on her cheek.

  “You may have an upstairs room for the night if you like.”

  “Maybe for a few hours?” she suggested.

  “As long as you like.”

  He led her away, away from the party and up his back staircase, where no one would see her. He was concerned that walking her back through the crowd might distract her. He’d rather have her sleep off the liquor, then they would talk about their sexual future together the next day, when she’d agree to be his submissive.

  In the morning, she came down the front stairs and found him in his breakfast room. Sunlight was streaming in through a bank of east facing windows, making the light about them hazy with dust. He sat at a table by himself, a table for one. She had imagined them having breakfast together, but those hopes were quickly dashed.

  “Come here,” he commanded her. His words were given and received as an order; the agreement between them tacit, but clearly understood. He eyed her carefully as she approached him. She was wearing the leather skirt and bustier that she’d worn the night b
efore, since she had nothing else to wear. He stared at her darkly, his playful eyes having changed to demanding cold ones, so cold she could not read his intentions. Then again, that was the way he wanted it.

  Tessa liked the mystery, even though she trembled in its presence.

  “You are as ravishing as you were last night,” he remarked. Reaching for the bustier, his hand grazed its smooth surface where it covered her breasts. Fingering the top button, he opened it, slowly moving downward opening buttons until the sides of the bustier fell away. Freed into the warm air, the flesh of her breasts shook slightly; now released from their bondage they swelled in volume, two generous billowy mounds of milky white.

  Tessa would have dropped between his legs and buried her face in his crotch; but something in his glance, the way he held her captive, prevented her from responding with anything more than just a sensuous gasp of breath from her parted lips.

  “These will look exquisite when the gold studs have pierced them,” he said. He pinched them both hard, and she jerked with a pain that reached all the way down to her thighs. She remained silent.

  “You’re sober now?” he asked.

  “Very,” she answered.

  A maid came and went with a steamy breakfast and coffee. She did so without as much as a raised eyebrow. Was this a common sight for her to see, a half-naked woman fondled as she served her employer his breakfast? Was it so common that she would hardly take notice of them?

  “On your knees, Tessa,” he ordered her.

  She was prepared to serve him any way he chose, to caress and fondle his cock, and bring him to a vibrant orgasm. But Miles had something else in mind.

  “Turn around,” he ordered her, when she was on her hands and knees. She was puzzled, but complied, presenting her rear to him.

  “You have a fine ass,” he observed, as his hand moved over her leatherclad bottom. In this position, the skirt was beginning to ride up against her thighs, so that every aspect of her rear and cunt below was becoming visible for Miles’ inspection. He raised the skirt further with his hand, exposing everything, and slapped her bottom with a resounding crack. “This is the heart of a woman,” he charged, as his hand made a thorough journey about her private parts. “Such plump labia,” he observed. He pulled at the flesh of her cunt. “These, too, will be pierced.”

  She cried out, and he slapped her again. She regrouped, and found herself taunting him, waving her rear as if she were asking for more.

  A finger pressed against her anus, and she breathed deeply, letting him penetrate as far as he chose. Two fingers slipped into her pussy, and his whole hand began to pound its way deep into her opening.

  The night before had left her sexually charged with no satisfaction; now, in seconds, she was at an edge and ready to explode.

  Knowing this, Miles withdrew his hand.

  “You like this, don’t you?” he teased. She groaned, waiting for him to fondle her more, but he wouldn’t do that.

  “Stand up,” he ordered.

  She hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since she’d awakened, and was suddenly feeling as inebriated as she had the night before. “You won’t finish what you started?” she moaned, desperate to have him bring her to orgasm. “What can I do to please you?”

  Begging was a good sign, Miles thought to himself. “You can do many things to please me,” he suggested, “but are you ready to do anything that I ask? Are you ready for pain and submission, and the reckless abandon that you really want? Or are you just toying with such radical notions?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You appear docile, submissive, pliable. I could mold your sex life into something extraordinary. But I don’t want a childish brat countering me at every turn. I want a serious decadent like myself, who knows herself well enough to let me have her anyway I want, who will let me do with her anything I will, because it pleases me and arouses her.”

  Tessa didn’t reply. Her clothes askew, her hair undone, her loins throbbing with need, she was tongue-tied, unable to speak. Miles Bryce had stunned her loquacious nature into silence.

  “I’ve overwhelmed you?” he suggested.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I intended to. Go home and come back when you want what I want of you.”

  She hesitated, still so bewildered that her limbs were frozen and she couldn’t move.

  “Need I explain more?” Miles inquired calmly.

  “No, not at all,” she finally said. Re-buttoning her bustier, she left the room and his house.

  Chapter Two

  Tessa burst into her apartment, catching a whiff of some oddly familiar aroma she didn’t expect after a night away. A fruity tea was brewing on the stove; and in the living room, her roommate, Martine, was sitting on the sofa with her legs, playing with her pussy. On another day, Tessa might have immediately succumbed to the surprise, immersing herself in that delightful cunt. Instead, she plopped down on the other end of the sofa, ignoring the woman’s masturbation.

  “Where were you?” Martine asked, her bold, black eyes probed her determinedly.

  “With Miles Bryce,” Tessa answered.

  “The painter?”

  “The dilettante.”

  “How impressive,” Martine replied sarcastically. “And did he fuck you?” She continued to finger herself. Wearing Tessa’s silk wrapper open down the front, not one important piece of her body was hidden from view.

  “No, he didn’t fuck me,” Tessa answered.

  Martine smiled thinking she remained in control of Tessa’s affections. “Your eyes are glassy,” she observed, “he must have turned you on.”

  Tessa shrugged, she didn’t want to talk about Miles with Martine.

  “Oh, but you’re hot for him,” the women’s voice deepened, its husky tones more lecherous that usual. “Fuck me,” she said, pulling Tessa toward her, urging her to drop between her legs where her naked cunt was juicy and ready to be sucked.

  Tessa fell against Martine’s soft brown thighs, and began to lap at her pussy instinctively, as she had a hundred times before. It was a habit, a pleasant one; though this time, her mind was not yet in her lover’s sexual space.

  “Ah, yes, that’s it, little bitch,” Martine purred, while her long nails clawed through Tessa’s hair and her thighs flexed around Tessa’s head.

  Making the familiar journey into the folds and recesses of Martine’s deep purple cunt, Tessa began to wonder if this wasn’t to her advantage. It was, after all, a place to put the raging sexual needs, which had been left so unsatisfied at Miles Bryce’s home.

  Her mouth surrounded the hard bud of Martine’s clit, as her brash friend demanded attention with her typical insistent furor. Tessa sucked until the bud was harder yet, and Martine was lying back screaming. “Ahhh, ah yes, do that!” Then, while Tessa’s tongue flicked at the nasty throbbing head, two, then three, then four fingers prodded their way down her vagina, the randy cunt opening, so like Tessa’s cunt had opened just an hour before. Tessa fucked her hard with her hand as she watched the woman’s sweating body spasm then shudder softly.

  “More, more, yes, yes,” Martine screamed at her. AH! Ah yes. . . . . “ She was a maniac in the middle of orgasm. Tessa clawed at her behind, scratching the skin with her nails. In her own way, Martine loved pain almost as much as Tessa did. But it wasn’t something she submitted to, it was something that came on spontaneously. When the last vigorous pulse died away, Tessa withdrew her hand and Martine collapsed back into the corner of the couch with Tessa falling against her.

  “You want your cunt eaten?” Martine asked as she stroked her lover’s disheveled hair.

  “No, just touch me,” she replied and the two remained together in a silent tableau for some minutes.

  “How was the party?” Martine asked, finally pulling herself upright. Taking her long brown hair in hand, she pulled it into a pony tail and wound it on top of her head in a bun. Tessa’s petite dark-skinned roommate was the lover that sufficed
in the lazy mornings, and the lonely evenings, when neither were with men. They fucked when the mood was right. And though it wasn’t right for Tessa this time; she had little will to resist something so familiar and simple. She was used to surrendering to Martine. But despite the throbbing between her legs, it was thoughts of Miles that preoccupied her mind.

  “He wants me,” she finally told the woman.

  “Who?” Martine asked.

  “Miles.”

  “Wants you how?” she queried.

  “Sexually.” Tessa answered. “He’s a Dom.”

  “And you’re a passive little submissive, so what’s the problem?”

  Tessa didn’t answer, except for the sly smirk appearing on her face; and Martine knew all she needed to know.

  Chapter Three

  They met again in the downtown café where Miles had watched Tessa dance.

  “You wanted to see me?” she asked.

  “Your message was on my machine,” Miles said, as he sat down beside her. “I assume you’ve made your decision.”

  “I suppose I have,” she visibly gulped, then bit her lip before qualifying her reply, “I mean…” Her nervous hesitation was beautiful in his eye. “I can’t keep you out of my thoughts. I can’t let your proposal slide, and I certainly can’t stay away from you.”

  Miles smiled, hardly hiding his triumph, though his eyes quickly narrowed. “That’s good. But just so things are clear, if you begin now, don’t expect to change your mind.”

  “Why would I change my mind?” she asked, her delicate eyes shining at him wickedly. She was too easy won—willing, ready, expectant. Of course, she hadn’t been tested—and only then would he know for sure.

  “The man in the corner?” Miles nodded to a classic though youthful version of pinstripe executive, who was nursing a glass of scotch—alone and watchful.

  “Yes?”

  “You know him?”

  “Only in passing,” Tessa replied. She’d danced with him at the cafe a number of times and he’d remember her.