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Plaything - Chapter 3

Book By: jjenkinsbooks
Erotica



J. C. is tired of being used by his girlfried who complains he does not satisfy her. He executes a plan to give her exactly what she's been longing for.


Submitted:Dec 7, 2010    Reads: 599    Comments: 2    Likes: 2   


Plaything - Chapter Three

Whew! I never thought that cop would cut me loose. A fast bit of explaining followed by a flash of my identification and here I am, standing just outside the condo's open entry door, looking at the woman who has me so sprung I'm prepared to do anything to make her my love, my dusk-to-dawn, lingerie Barbie. Standing upright, I give her an easy smile and open my arms. "Boo, come here and give me a kiss."

She puts her hands on her hips and taps her foot impatiently. "What do you want J. C.?"

"I'm coming in so we can talk."

"No you're not. If you have something for me then hand it over and be on your way."

Slowly I extend my right hand to touch and caress her shoulder. "Hannah, I need to speak with you."

"Like I give a rat's ass. How dare you disturb me at work? Don't ever call my firm having another tantrum."

"You mean my firm. I bought that place weeks back for a little security. If you weren't busy getting rug rash with half of Hollywood's leading men you'd be in the know." With an abrupt motion, I apply pressure to the area where my fingers are resting, pushing her. She staggers backwards on those sexy, black high heels I imagine as the only thing she'll be wearing when I'm on top of her. Hannah gasps and I disregard her shocked exclamation as I swagger in demanding, "Get me a drink. I've worked up a thirst jacking-off to all the pictures I've commissioned of you whoring around." I hear the door slam with a heavy 'thump' and the rapid clicking of her shoe heels across the granite floor as she follows me.

Entering the living room, with my foot, I shove a Prescott chair out of my way so I can fall onto the short-end of the L-shaped sectional and stretch out my legs. As she passes beside me, I snag her hand and forcefully tug her down across my lap. Already aroused at just the sight of her, the feeling of her tight rounded ass, beneath her form hugging, black skirt, contacting Mr. Harden Happy has me grinding against her.

"What the fu-"

Thrusting my tongue into her mouth, I force the taffy-wrapped, specially formulated medication, that I'd cheeked before pushing the buzzer, into her mouth and hold her head in place, punishingly grinding her lips back against her teeth, while my cock jabs at her bottom, until she swallows the fast-acting capsule. Hannah heats up the situation, squirming and wiggling against me, trying to get free. Our eyes lock and I can tell she wants to pimp slap me into next week, so I shove my free hand up her leather-trimmed pencil skirt to the top of her thigh-highs, wedging my fingers between lace and skin. Her eyes narrow. I'm not holding her arms, so she swings her fist toward my deltoid. Releasing her neck, I capture her wrist in mid-flight and bite down on her lower lip. Our gazes remain meshed. Her pupils are dilating and I feel the increased rate of her breathing against my mouth as I begin to suck hungrily on her flesh. Hearing and feeling her moan, although she continues trying to twist her wrist from my tight hold, I send my fingers, which are still beneath her skirt, on a mission to discover water in the SaHannah desert.

None to gently I force my fingers up the divide of her tightly clamped thighs to the crotch of her lace underwear, which are fantastically damp and warm. Her free hand rests upon my left pectoral muscle. Hannah's fingers, seemingly with a mind of their own, stroke my nipple while the set of her brows let me know she's at the point of wanting to cane me. Pushing the seat of her panties aside, I cross my index finger over the middle one and poke them into her, rotating my hand back and forth as much as her stubborn thighs will allow. On goes the thrusting of my hips beneath her money-maker and H.H.H. gives out a whimper that I'd never heard before.

Her cunt juices are flowing faster than the waters of the Amazon, sticky, stinkin'-sweet, coating my fingers, hand and wrist. Now my horny Hannah, although still resisting, is pinching my nipple angrily, while pressing her hips down as I pump upwards. Chancing at the least one hell of a shiner, I release her wrist to unzip the back of her off-white, jersey knit top and of course she sends her fist barreling toward my face. Wanting to avoid looking like Petey the Pit Bull from 'The Little Rascals', I pull my head back out of range, releasing her lips, while successfully undoing the top.

"You scaly snake. Get your fingers out of me." Hannah beats at my shoulders and chest, drawing her hips back, away from my plowing fingers. "Have you been smoking crack?"

Allowing, excitingly hard blows to land on my torso, with one hand I yank her blouse down to her waist while continuing to treat her southern vineyard to the Italian corkscrew. Her black lace, bra covered breasts are heaving, the skin flushed pink, the veins across her mounds clearly visible. She wants me bad.

Backhand, slap, slap, punch, Hannah is fanning my desire. "J. C., get your damn hands off me and get out of my condo."

Abruptly I stop screwing with her and unceremoniously dump her pretty-ass on the floor clarifying in a ballsy tone, "My condo, Beauty, which this Monday is subject to a rental agreement that I've arranged. You and your personal possessions will need to relocate."

"Where am I supposed to live? I can't possibly find a decent place over the weekend. Do you think I'll be sleeping in the car? I can imagine you masturbating at the thought. You can't control me J. C., so don't try. Life will be easier for you if you go back to being my doormat," she finishes with narrowed eyes and a dominating tone that promises all sorts of delights, except for one, if I did as she commanded.

Smilingly I inform her, "I had the car seized. Right now it's on a flat-bed, tow truck headed for my garage."

Hannah's right eye begins to twitch and her balled fists are resting on her thighs. "You're a prick," she grits out between her teeth.

Nonchalantly, I polish the nails of my right hand on my navy, gingham sportshirt. "Nah, I was acting like one for a while, but it's my time to shot call. What are ya bitchin' about anyway? You never wanted anything I ever gave you."

"You're damn right, moron. The one thing I wanted, you couldn't supply. Fuckin' nutless wonder." She rolls off her butt to her knees, readying herself to stand up.

I'm behind her doggie style before she has a clue. I mold the cheeks of her bottom, squeezing and massaging the tight muscles as she tries wiggling way. With one arm wrapping around her waist, I hold her in place, fishing in my back jean pocket for my trusty Swiss Army knife.

She's cursing and bucking, "When I get up from here I'm going to get the broom and bash the tar out of you. I control this relationship, not you and as of this minute, it's over. I better not ever again, set eyes on your fuckin', weak-willed, gansta wannabe ass."

Positioning myself so her hips are captive between my thighs, I demonstrate how candy ass I am. 'Snip, snip. Snip, snip. Rip, rip.' I cut and tear the blouse from around her waist and toss it to the floor in front of her. "Baby, you don't want the power in this thang we got. That's been the problem between us. It's time I storm and seize your fort, sweet-pussy Hardcastle." 'Snip, snip. Snip, snip. Rip, rip.' The skirt meets the same fate as its companion garment and I tug the material from between our bodies. Sliding back in position behind her, I begin dry humping against her black lace covered bottom.

Hannah is doing a kick-ass impersonation of a pro bull trying to dislodge its rider, tossing her head back, swiveling her hips, shifting on her hands and knees. She's getting me off alright, but not the way she wants. "Get that thing away from me J. C. or when I do get up from here, I'm going to cut it off."

Mr. Harden Happy is in one hand and I yank her panties aside with the other. All the time I listen to her threats and curses, feeling sweat covering her back as she continues to struggle. I envision the many low-down and dirty pictures of my Hannah taking so much cock she should be a spokesperson for Zacky Farms and I stick my meat-cleaver in her and begin forcefully fucking, holding her hips in place, as I pump hard and fast. She's sopping wet. This isn't the typical lube job she gave. "Are you this wet with those players?"

"Screw you J. C.," she bellows, trying not to slide on the polished floor as I ram into her west-end.

"Aw Boo, when you talk like that, it makes me want you more." Fully, covering her back with my chest, I place my mouth beside her ear whispering, "Hannah, you want this. It's best you admit the truth to yourself and by the time we get back from Vegas you'll have transformed into the woman you've wanted to be." Biting down on her earlobe, I begin humming heatedly into her ear, my hands finding her breasts to grip and massage them, pinching the nipples, continuing my frenzied pump-jockey pace in-and out-of her wet slit.

"Damn it. Damn it. Oh shit. You have no idea what you're playing at," she pants.

Hannah is no longer trying to get rid of me. Her hips are smacking back, matching mine stroke for stroke. Her snatch is steaming, pulsating, and I know she's close to revealing herself to me. Pussy contractions of this magnitude don't lie. Ah what a shame, I think and say softly against her ear, "What's that painting doing on the wall?"

"Ahh, ooh, oh God. What kind of question is that at a time like this? For fuck's sake, that picture is hanging," she huffs, continuing to push her slick twat along Mr. Happy.

I was at the point of no return and I could either revert to her whipping boy or forge ahead, carving out a new position for myself in her life. Decided, I murmur against her ear, "And so are you." I pull out of her and hop to my feet. Placing the bottom of my black leather high-top on her exposed, warm-ivory buttock, I nudge her forward and she sprawls face down on the floor.

"Oww, you filthy bastard,' she screams, pushing up on her palms.

I snap my fingers at her in a chop-chop cadence. "When you get up, I want that drink I asked for. You're an inhospitable whore as well as being a lousy lay. No wonder those other guys didn't stick around for you to suck the marrow from their bones."

If the shot heard round the world signaled the start of the Revolution, then Hannah's blood curdling 'aargh, aargh' heralds the onset of her transformation and it's beautiful. She scrambles to her feet, looking about the room, probably for something with which to clobber me. Abruptly she ceases her actions, and stands visibly shaking. I see her reach down to straighten her panties before taking a deep breath. Her skin is sex flushed pink. She then strikes a pensive pose, chin lowered, one closed hand positioned near the lower half of her face and the other resting at the curve of her hip. I know Hannah is trying to hold herself together, searching for the inner control she's accustomed to wielding like an old-school principal's instrument of punishment.

Beginning to sway slightly, without looking in my direction, she states, "I'll be packed and out of here by tomorrow. In the morning, I'll tender my letter of resignation to the office. I hope this evens the score J. C., because if you come near me again, I'm likely to murder you."

Yo, yo, yo, how I love this hard-hearted woman. Watching her sway again, I ask innocently, as I close the distance between us, "Boo, are you feelin' alright?"

"Stop calling me by that ridiculous name," she directs intoxicatedly. Raising the hand that's nearest her face to her forehead, she sways, sways, and sways. "Damn it J. C. what did you make me swallow?"

Directly behind her now, I place my hands on her shoulders and she relaxes against me to avoid sliding to the floor. "A little something I cooked up to turn you into my Sleeping Beauty. You're heightened physical state has sped up the drug's onset," I explain, holding her, needing her, knowing I had to go on to truly make her mine.

"You can't do this. Leave me alone," she cries weakly and I feel a shudder momentarily grip her body. My Hannah doesn't like feebleness, which is why she'd never loved me.

Picking her up, I carry her to the sectional. She doesn't resist. My sweet Boo doesn't have the strength. I position her to recline upon the cushions. She's still awake, just barely. Hurriedly, I divest her of her underwear, then remove her shoes and hose. Putting the red-soled, fuck-me pumps back on her feet, to fulfill my own tiny desire, I release Mr. Harden Happy once again and take position atop her body, between her thighs.

She looks into my eyes; I'm swimming in an ocean of blue as she begs, "Please. Please."

"Sure Beauty, I aim to satisfy." I dive into her sex pool and feel her wetness, so much slick viscosity that I know even without the drug she wants this. For once, my Hannah truly desires me. Kissing her forehead, down her nose, her cheeks and then lips, I thrust my tongue in and out of her mouth, just as my cock strokes back and forth in her tight cunny. Her breathing slips into a relaxed pattern and I feel her lashes fanning my face. The intervals between the open and closed positions of her lids become longer when her lashes rest against her cheeks.

I feel her fingers, of one hand, lightly caress my stubbly cheek as I continue thrusting and flexing. Her lashes are set in the down position and her hand falls away from my face. Into my mouth she whispers, "Please, release me."

She's asleep. I pull out and climb off my Hannah, because this isn't about me bustin' a nut. Righting my clothes, I cover her with a nearby throw and sit on the floor, beside the sectional, watching her sleep, stroking strands of red, sweat dampened hair from her brow. Never had I been allowed to see her so vulnerable and she is splendid. For all of her erotic readings, where the lead female desired surrender, Hannah fought against her cravings to be under any man's control, but now she was under mine and I was going to prove to her that being submissive had its rewards.







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