The Best Erotic Stories.

Hostile Takeover
Ch. IV: All To Himself
by Whispersecret

Copyright 2000 by the author. All rights reserved.

When Fiona woke up the next morning, she was pleasantly surprised. Someone had brought up a tray of Belgian waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, coffee and juice, and a fluffy omelet. For a moment, it felt like an ordinary morning. Then the lurid memories of last night came back to her in a rush. The cock sucking, the taking of her virginity, the savage fucking in the shower – all of it.

Rockwell frightened her, even from the first moment she’d seen him in her father’s boardroom. She hadn’t understood what she was afraid of then, but she did now. At first it had been his animal magnetism that made her uneasy. Something about him kept her attention even if she was trying to ignore him. Now, of course, it was much more than that. He was making her face the depth of her desire for him and what she felt when he touched her. She was beginning to crave his attentions.

Rockwell lounged at her antique secretary near the window. He was calmly reading The Wall Street Journal while he ate from his own tray.

"Ah, you’re awake," Rockwell said over the folded edge of the newspaper. "Eat your breakfast. I want you to take me on a walk of the property."

She was flabbergasted. He didn’t want sex? She opened her mouth to make a smart remark about his virility and then promptly shut it. That would be asking for it.

She glanced at the clock. It was almost eleven. Feeling sluggish, she sat up and rearranged the pillows behind her.

It didn’t take her long to eat most of the food on her tray. She didn’t see any point in refusing to eat, and she was unusually hungry. Then again, she wasn’t accustomed to fucking into the early hours—or fucking at all, for that matter. Maybe ravenous hunger was the norm for sex maniacs.

As she finished her omelet, she asked the question that had been on her mind since the beginning. "How long do I have to stay with you?"

"You are mine to play with until midnight Friday. One short week." He raised his coffee cup to her and drank.

His answer forced her to remember that her own father had given her to Rockwell, like a present. The whole idea was medieval, as if she were chattel and her whole ordeal here was merely a detail in a transfer of property. Her father had used her as a distraction for business, but she never imagined he’d stoop to this. Knowing he had chosen to sell her to Rockwell made her want to scream or cry, but she did neither.

"What about the servants?" she replied. "They’ll ask questions."

"I assume your father has taken care of that. It’s really not my concern." He returned his attention to his newspaper, and she realized she had been dismissed.

She got up to dress. Continuing to lay naked in the bed was courting disaster. As ridiculous as it seemed, she picked up Rockwell’s robe from the floor and put it on. It didn’t matter that he’d already seen parts of her body she’d hardly even looked at herself. She didn’t want to give him any more excuses to attack her.

Rockwell folded his newspaper and set it aside. Then, to her dismay, he grabbed a piece of toast from his plate followed her into her spacious closet. As she decided what to wear, he pawed through her clothes, peeking into her underwear drawers and looking over her large collection of shoes. He obviously intended to stay while she got dressed.

"Wear a dress," he said, taking a bite of the buttered toast.

She stopped in the act of pulling a pair of shorts from a drawer. He lounged on the divan in the middle of her huge closet and watched her.

"No bra or panties," he added.

She already knew it was useless to argue. She chose a thin sundress as instructed and put it on. He nodded in approval.

"Can I at least pee without an audience?"

He smirked. "Of course."

She jerked on the dress and went to the bathroom. Although the doorknob and locking mechanism had been removed, the door remained shut when she closed it. Walking around without panties felt strange. Every step she took brought a breath of air up under her skirt. If she still had pubic hair, it probably would have tickled.

That thought reminded her about the razor. You idiot, Fiona! she scolded herself. You forgot about the goddamned razor! A quick search of the bathroom told her he’d taken it away. She wouldn’t have had the slightest idea what to do with it if she had found it, but it would have given her a measure of confidence to know something that he didn’t.

But another idea came to her. Maybe she could escape after all. She just needed a few moments alone in her bedroom.


They were just walking out the front door when Fiona turned to him and said, "I forgot my sunglasses."

"Oh, Christ. Hurry up," Rockwell replied. He rolled his eyes in irritation.

She hurried up the curving staircase and down the long hallway to her room. The bed was unmade. The sheets were marred with proof that last night had not been a dream.

She went to her antique secretary and dug out a little scrap of paper. On it she scribbled, "Please help me! Call the police! A man has me prisoner at Sheridan Hall. Fiona Sheridan." Then she picked up her sunglasses and shoved them onto her head. Before going back downstairs, she folded the paper up into a small square and tucked it in her shoe.

If she was lucky, people might be boating or riding along the horse trail, and maybe she could get help. She thought about what she would do if they did encounter anyone while they were walking. Maybe she wouldn’t even have to use the note…

Rockwell stood at the bottom of the stairs with his arms crossed, leaning against the banister. After last night, he looked strange to her in clothes. Fiona was loath to admit that he actually looked damn good in his shorts and shirt. He certainly seemed far less menacing clothed than he had naked. No doubt because he wasn’t brandishing an angry red cock at her and demanding satisfaction.

Once outside of the mansion, she led him across the vast expanse of lawn towards the river that bordered the estate on the eastern edge. They could have ridden. Her father kept six horses available for himself and guests, and Fiona was quite a horsewoman, having ridden since she was five. He probably didn’t want to take the chance that she’d take off at a gallop.

Rockwell’s voice interrupted her thoughts. "You have a brother, don’t you, Fiona? An older brother, Conrad?"

She turned her head sharply to glare at him. "Yes," she said. "What about him?"

Rockwell slid his hands into his pockets as he walked beside her in the sunshine. "I heard he’s staying with friends in Fort Lauderdale. The Krafts, isn’t that right? I suppose Florida is still a magnet for young people in the spring."

"What, now we’re going to be all chummy and talk about our families?" she said sarcastically.

He stopped in the middle of the meadow and turned to face her. She stopped too and planted her hands on her hips.

"Next thing you know, you’ll be wanting to plan a Fourth of July picnic," she quipped.

He ignored her sarcasm. "It was my understanding that Conrad is to return in your father’s plane on the fourteenth." Rockwell’s steely gray eyes seemed like chips of flint. He rubbed his chin absentmindedly as he said, "I hope that everything is in working order on that plane. Flying is one of the safest ways to travel, never know."

At Rockwell’s words Fiona felt an arrow of fear shoot up her spine. She immediately recognized the implied threat; Conrad would be killed if she tried to escape. Her only brother would die in a plane crash, a victim of a lamentable "accident." Fiona felt sick.

"I understand. I won’t try to leave." Even if her father used his family for his own gain, Fiona never would.

"Good girl," he said, resuming the walk. "Now, take me to the river. I love rivers."

Two hours later, they were no longer on Sheridan property, having wandered a mile or so from the mansion. Rockwell had wanted to get close to the water’s edge, so once they crossed the horse trail, he’d found a gap in the shrubbery leading to this semi-secluded spot. Along the riverbank to either side, trees and bushes provided dappled shade and some concealment from the well-used riding path. She could almost see the trail through the brush.

Rockwell stood at the bank of the river, skipping stones over the water like a little boy., while Fiona sat on a large slab of rock. If she stretched her legs a little, she could get her toes wet in the river. Anyone looking at the two of them would think that they were a couple spending a leisurely afternoon together. No one would ever suspect the truth.

With a sigh, she drew her feet out of the water. Too bad they didn’t have any food, she thought. All this walking had made her hungry again, and the flat surface of the rock she was sitting on would have made a good place for a picnic.

Not knowing when Rockwell would decide it was time to return, she decided to lay back on the rock and let the warmth of the sun relax her. Her eyes closed, she reveled in the feel of the spring breeze, causing the hem of her dress to flutter against her leg. Somewhere birds were calling to each other, perhaps trilling a spring mating call. She stretched her arms above her head thinking this wasn’t so bad after all. The coolness of the rock slab beneath her was a sharp contrast to the heat of the sun’s rays on her skin. Maybe she had time for a cat nap. Despite her hunger, the warmth of the day was making her drowsy.

Rockwell’s hands on her bare ankles jolted her from her languorous state. Her eyes popped open and she raised herself up on her elbows. Rockwell leaned his waist against the huge rock on which she lay. His predatory gaze swept over her legs just before he ran his hand along her calf up the inside of her thigh. From where he was, he could almost reach her mound.

"You can’t be serious," she said. She clamped her legs together, which only trapped his hand between her thighs.

He moved his fingers slightly, reaching further, seeking to touch her more intimately. "I rarely joke, Fiona. And never about sex."

Without further comment, he withdrew his hand and with an agile leap, he joined her atop the rock. For a moment, he stood and shaded his eyes, looking at her and smiling. Unfortunately, she was already very familiar with that particular smile. Her fears were confirmed when he straddled her waist and reached for her tits.

"I wanted you this morning, but made myself wait. Sometimes waiting intensifies the pleasure."

She scoffed. "Then why don’t you wait until next month?"

A mischievous grin crossed his face, while he kneaded her breasts, squeezing and molding her with his hands. Her nipples stiffened, inviting him to lean down and clamp his lips around one. With a low moan, he suckled her through the material of her dress, flicking the sensitive nipple with his tongue. When he drew away, he blew on the wet fabric, causing Fiona to gasp sharply at the sudden chill. Her pussy twitched in response, and she felt her breathing quicken.

"I knew you would be an ardent lover," he said as he rolled her nipples between his fingers. "You’re amazingly easy to excite, Fiona. I’ll bet you’re already dripping."

"You wish."

He arched an eyebrow. Reaching behind him, he hiked up her dress and exposed her genitals to the warm summer day. The sunshine felt warm on her shaven mound, but she still shivered. He pierced her with a sharp look, a silent command, which she obeyed. Her legs parted for his probing fingers, and he laughed when he found she was indeed very wet. Fiona shifted her hips. He wasn’t putting his full weight on her, but the unyielding rock slab wasn’t the most comfortable surface.

Her attention was drawn away from her discomfort as Rockwell’s fingers took up a rhythmic stroking. Slicked up with her dew, their soothing, provocative tempo caused an ebb and flow of pleasure to slowly build inside her. As if by magic, he held her gaze and she was unable to look away from his storm-gray eyes. Despising her weakness, she rocked against his hand and low sustained moans issued from her throat.

From this perspective, he seemed huge, towering over her, his head seeming to reach the heights of the sky. He unfastened his shorts, released his cock from its confines. Unabashed, he stroked it in front of her face. She watched in wicked fascination as his hand moved over the velvety skin and the shaft became thick and long, roped with veins and ramrod-stiff.

"Why do you fight it so much?" he asked. He pushed a long tapered finger easily inside her snug, squishy passage. "You’re wet and swollen. Your pussy sucks my finger because I excite you--I satisfy you. Your body knows it, Fiona, even if you don’t. I make you cum harder than you ever did with your own fingers. And when I leave, you will miss it--miss me and what I made you feel."

She closed her eyes, as if by doing so she could shut out his words. This man is using me for his own sexual gratification. How can it feel so good? she wondered, biting back a moan. He pumped his finger in and out, exerting exquisite, teasing pressure on her clit with the pad of his thumb. Her breath came in short bursting pants and her body seemed to unfold in moist invitation. What’s wrong with me?

Last night she’d tried to attribute her response to simple biology. She told herself a woman’s body obviously became aroused if it was stimulated in the right way. It wasn’t her fault that she liked what he did to her. It wasn’t.

But today out in the bright sunshine, she wasn’t quite as sure as she had been last night.

He was watching her face, as he always did. She wondered what he saw. Surely he wasn’t seeing the real Fiona. The real her was being smothered by some primitive instinct, some uncontrollable hunger born from--

"Luke, you are so full of shit!"

A loud male voice came from a short distance away. Alarmed, Fiona looked at Rockwell. He put a finger to his mouth, signaling her to be quiet. Rockwell was completely motionless above her, except for the hand that still worked at her pussy. She tried to reach around him to flip her dress back down, but he caught her wrist and shook his head.

Another male voice replied, "I am not! Swear to God, she came four or five fuckin’ times. By the time we were done, she was beggin’ me to stop. Said she couldn’t take anymore."

"Then you were on drugs and hallucinating," the first voice said, "or she faked it."

Rockwell pulled his finger out of Fiona’s pussy as he peered through the shrubbery. He saw two young men, maybe eighteen or nineteen years old, continuing their good-natured banter as they trudged through the underbrush toward the river. They toted a large ice chest and some fishing gear.

"Get off me!" Fiona hissed. She craned her head toward the voices but they were coming from behind her, out of her line of sight.

Rockwell stretched out beside her on the rock and whispered in her ear. "They don’t even know we’re here." Then he propped himself up on one elbow, leaned over and sucked her earlobe into his mouth. She shuddered when he stroked her upper lip with the finger still shiny from her pussy juice. Her own sweet tangy scent wafted up into her nostrils. Smelling it made her feel wicked and tingly at the same time.

Fiona turned her head to the side and tried to scoot away, but her dress was pinned under his hip. She felt the puffs of his breath as he chuckled silently into her neck.

"Relax, this’ll be fun," he whispered. "Haven’t you ever wanted to fuck in a potentially dangerous situation?"

"What the hell do you call the last eighteen hours? A walk in the park?" she hissed.

He buried his laugh against her chest. She almost laughed herself. Something was seriously wrong with her. She was sharing a joke with her captor.

Rockwell nuzzled her neck like a lovesick swain, undoing the small buttons on the bodice of the dress. In the background, Fiona could hear the intruders unpacking their gear, popping open cans of beer or soda. They had to be close. Their conversation was completely understandable. As Rockwell’s hand stole into her dress to cup her breast she heard them predicting the number of fish they were each going to catch. Fiona’s heart pounded with the thrill of knowing that perhaps only a thin line of bushes separated them from each other.

One of the fishermen flipped on a radio and some head-pounding hard rock filled the air. The music might drown out the stifled moans that were escaping her, but Fiona knew from experience that neither she nor Rockwell were the quiet type. Rockwell down right shouted when he came.

"They’re going to hear us!" she whispered urgently.

"They might hear us," Rockwell replied, "That’s the best part."

Rockwell moved over her and captured her mouth with his, cutting off anything else she might have said. His tongue, thick and hot, swept in and slid against her own. She hated to admit it, but when he kissed her, she felt the effects all the way down to her toes. She couldn’t help but kiss him back. When she pushed her own tongue between his lips, a growl rumbled in his throat and he angled his mouth, deepening the kiss. Their heavy breathing sounded abnormally loud to her and she battled between closing her eyes in abandonment and watching the bushes for signs of discovery.

Suddenly Rockwell lifted his head.

"What?" she gasped. "Oh, God, what?" She blinked at him, thinking that maybe they’d been found.

He gave her a one-sided smile. She realized she was actually hugging him tightly to her. She had one of her legs wrapped around his hips to pull him closer.

"Oh, God," she whispered, flushing to the roots of her hair, "What are you doing to me?"

His reply humiliated her. "Nothing you don’t already want."

He dragged his tongue and lips down her body and pushed her legs apart. Knowing what was in store, she shamelessly raised her hips to meet his mouth. Oh, yes, please. He teased her with fleeting touches of his lips and tongue on her inner thighs, into the twin hollows flanking her moist hole, even darting in to taste her creamy heat.

"God, Rockwell, please..."

With lazy swirls of his tongue, he circled her clit without touching it. She twisted her hips, seeking direct contact, but he dodged her easily. His mouth seemed to be everywhere but where she needed it. She abandoned the pretense of propriety and twined her fingers in his hair to guide him.

"I—please...God in heaven, please..."

Rockwell savored the sweet sound of her voice begging him. His cock throbbed against his stomach as if announcing its need to be inside her. But he wanted to hear more.

He lifted his head briefly. "What, Fiona? What do you want?" As he sucked on one of her pussy lips, his coaxing whispered words disappeared into her musky folds like smoke.

"Please, I—"

Slurrrrp. He dragged his tongue from the puckered entrance to her ass to just short of her clit. She writhed in exquisite torment.

"Ohhhhh, fuck! I--I want you to"--He lapped her pussy softly again and again—"Oh, God, lick it!"

Slurrrp. Her hips were up off the rock pushing at his face. "Lick what, Fiona?" Again he edged his tongue around her sensitive bud.

Suddenly, she seized his ears tightly and cried, "Lick my fucking clit, damn you!"

With a smile, Rockwell obliged her, and she responded with loud lusty sobs of pure animal passion. Her legs clamped around his head so tightly he thought he might suffocate in the musky Eden between her thighs. Rockwell mercilessly drove her to the verge of coming and let her hover there momentarily. Then, as a reward for her pleading surrender, he gave her the push she needed.

With a wrenching grip on his hair, she bucked against his face as her pussy contracted in an earthy, insistent, throbbing cadence. It sucked at his chin greedily even as it bathed him with a flow and gush of cum.

There is nothing like a woman coming on your face, Rockwell thought.

Then he heard, over and above Fiona’s hoarse cries, a furtive, whispered, "Fuck, yeah!"

Rockwell pushed two fingers into Fiona’s pussy and pumped, eliciting a fresh chorus of moans from her. Her intoxicating scent was in his nostrils and the tangy taste of her lingered on his tongue. He made a show of rolling his head and stretching his neck as he looked around with a sharp eye. If he hadn’t been searching, he wouldn’t have seen them. Through the bushes he saw two young men, one of them still shooting cum from his cock with frantic jerks. The other, more restrained, pulled on his prick more slowly, perhaps hoping the show wasn’t yet over.

Rockwell decided to provide him with an encore.

Pulling his fingers from Fiona, he brought them to his nose and inhaled, while looking directly at the spot where the young man stood spying. The sliding hand froze; the kid knew he’d been spotted. Rockwell waited to see if he would bolt. The horny lad stood his ground. His satisfied friend had collapsed to the ground silently and was wiping himself off with his t-shirt.

Rockwell gave the kid a nod and then turned his attention to Fiona. She had almost caught her breath by now. Rockwell got to his feet and stretched. He pulled off his shirt, folded it into a plump bundle.


She sat up groggily. Her back was to the voyeuristic pair. "Oh, God."

He tossed the rolled up shirt down in front of her. "Kneel on that."

He flicked a glance at the kid. He was still there, still pumping his hand.

Rockwell took Fiona’s hand and tugged. Like an automaton she knelt onto the cushion he’d made for her. Rockwell stood close to her. With her dress gaping open in front, her breasts pressed against his thighs. Placing his hand on her head, he turned her just slightly so that the watcher got a good view.


When Fiona opened her mouth, Rockwell settled the head of his cock on her full lower lip. With slight movements of his hips he coated her lip with his fluid. Her tongue darted out to the hole at the tip. For just a moment, a thin thread of clear pre-cum hung suspended between them, breaking when she pulled her tongue into her mouth. She moaned.

With a fleeting glance toward the bushes, he slowly fed her every rigid inch, tipping her head back and pushing her lower for full penetration. This time she didn’t even flinch when he pushed into her throat.

"That’s it," he said, stroking in and out smoothly. "That’s very, very good."

She was being so compliant that he decided to press his luck. He stopped moving.

"Suck," he said.

Miraculously she did. Like a professional, she drew him into her mouth, wrapping her lips around him, sliding her tongue against the sensitive ridge. She moved her head to and fro, even looking up at Rockwell as she sucked him. There was something strange glittering in her eyes, some foreign emotion he couldn’t identify.

"Fuckin’ suck it." Beneath the music still blaring from the stereo, Rockwell heard this hushed exclamation from the bushes. It gave him an idea.

He had originally intended to share Fiona in a couple of days with one or two of his men, but here was opportunity knocking in the form of two randy kids. He enjoyed watching and issuing orders from the sidelines. But for some reason, today he balked at the thought, which puzzled him. He didn’t feel like sharing her. In fact, he felt a little possessive.

Well, fuck that. Women had two uses in his life. Some women were adept in the business world. These he hired and put to work. Some were suited more for personal pleasure. These he played with until he was tired of them. The rest of them he didn’t bother with. He was not the kind of weakling who got attached to women. He took them until he’d had his fill and then moved on. Fiona would be no different, and by God, he would prove it.

Knowing the young kid was watching, Rockwell gestured with a quick jerk of his hand. The kid didn’t move. Idiot. Rockwell gave a more emphatic wave of his hand.

The kid’s friend called out in a low anxious voice, "Luke, what the hell are you doing!"

Luke ignored him and boldly raced over to the rock slab where Fiona still sucked on Rockwell’s cock. The kid wore a fraternity t-shirt and some ragged knit shorts, which he had yanked up during his mad dash.

Apparently seeing the kid’s approach from the corner of her eye, Fiona jerked back in surprise. Shoving aside the little doubtful feelings that rose up inside him, Rockwell got a handful of Fiona’s hair and gave it a gentle pull as a reminder that he was in charge here.

"Luke, you like what you see?" Rockwell asked.

His eyes bulging with disbelief, Luke nodded. "Fuck, yeah."

"You want some?" Rockwell continued to pump into Fiona’s mouth.

"You fuckin’ kidding me, man?"

"I don’t joke about sex."

"Oh, man, this is unbelievable."

Luke enthusiastically clambered up onto the slab to stand next to Rockwell. Once there, he whipped out his cock again and fondled it, his eyes on Fiona’s soft lips and Rockwell’s staff sliding between them.

For a minute or so the two stood there: Rockwell, his hands at his sides, slowly fucking Fiona’s mouth, and the kid jacking off and watching. His friend had conquered his fear enough to come closer to the scene.

With a nod to the other kid, Rockwell said, "You want a turn too?"

"Oh, man! Oh, man!" Luke’s friend ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Are you crazy? You gotta be crazy." He climbed onto the rock, standing slightly to the side. "Doesn’t she mind?"

Slowly Rockwell released his grip on Fiona’s head, wary that she might pull away and embarrass him. She didn’t. Rockwell shrugged and caressed Fiona’s cheek.

"Fuckin’ A! Me first, Eddie. I was here first," Luke said, edging closer to Fiona.

"This is crazy," Eddie said nervously.

Rockwell smiled slightly and pulled out while the kid, like a relay runner, took his place and pushed in. Luke gave a forceful grunt. His eyes were glued to the site where his eager prick disappeared into her mouth.

"Fucking unbelievable," Luke exclaimed. "Are you seeing this Eddie? Fucking holy Christ."

Eddie stood by, his eyes bugged out in shock. "I see it, but I don’t believe it."

Rockwell stood slightly behind Eddie, looking over the kid’s shoulder. Pointedly ignoring the rising irritation he felt at seeing someone else’s cock in Fiona’s mouth, he said, "She can take it deep, Luke."

"Oh, yeah!" Luke commenced a furious series of spasmodic thrusts, spurred on by the goading of his friend. Fiona had to grab onto his thighs to keep from being knocked over.

Rockwell felt disgusted. Luke jerked his hips like a dog with a bitch in heat, all spunk and gusto, with no finesse. He was a kid with little experience, as was obvious when he almost immediately came. Rockwell scowled. The kid’s face was all screwed up as he shot his load. He kept chanting, "Oh, fuck...oh, fuck...oh, fuck..." like a mantra.

Rockwell’s anger finally surfaced when he saw Fiona swallowing. With a rough shove, Rockwell pushed Luke aside.

"You’re done. Now get the hell out of here," he snarled, unable to curb the menace in his voice. He laid a proprietary hand on Fiona’s shoulder and jerked his head at Eddie. "You too."

"Wait a minute!" Eddie whined. "I didn’t get my turn!"

Luke took a step back, stuffing his dick back in his pants. "Hey, man, you’re the one—"

"I said, fuck off!" Rockwell roared. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides in an effort not to start hammering on the two of them.

Luke glared at Rockwell for a tense moment. Bring it on, kid, Rockwell thought. I’ll kick your sorry ass.

But the kid backed down, jumped down off the rock and took off toward the brush, shouting obscenities as he went. His friend followed, fleeing like a frightened puppy with his tail between his legs.

"Rockwell?" Fiona’s lips were swollen and her cheeks were pink, whether from the sun or from excitement, he didn’t know.

"Button up. We’re going home," he ordered as he fastened his own shorts.


"No discussion!"

Fiona looked bewildered, but he wasn’t in the mood to analyze or explain what had just happened. All he knew was that he was pissed off and wanted a good stiff drink. Sheridan kept a well-stocked liquor cabinet back at the mansion.


A gourmet lunch was waiting for them when they returned. Rockwell sat down with the double whiskey he’d fetched and ate without talking. Fiona didn’t feel much like striking up a conversation either.

She had always dreamt that making love would be something warm, and wonderful, a glowing, tremulous experience. In her girlish fantasies, she imagined that her heart and her mind would guide her to find someone to love and to make love with. Physical intimacy was supposed to be a deep expression of love between two people, an act that lifted your heart and soul until you felt like you would burst with joy.

Rockwell had taught her something altogether different. In his reality, sex was a ravenous, overpowering animal that seized you and battered down your defenses with pleasure and wanting, until you didn’t want it to ever stop. The force of her longing frightened her.

Something was wrong with her. Enjoying what your captor did to you was perverse. She felt like she should fight her body’s cravings. She tried so hard to resist the excitement he forced on her. She kept telling herself that he was a monster and he was raping her and she couldn’t possibly like it.

But she couldn’t deny it any longer. She did like it. She loved it. Every time he looked at her with that predatory grin, she felt a surge of wetness between her legs. His mouth on her pussy drove her wild. Even now, just thinking about it made her want to grind herself down on the chair.

Rockwell stood up and tossed his napkin on the table. "I have some business to take care of," he said curtly. "You know what will happen if you try to leave without my permission."

Fiona nodded. She hoped she wasn’t blushing from the provocative thoughts she’d been thinking. "I won’t try anything. I promise."

"You’re free to do what you want for now, but meet me at the stables at four, dressed to ride. I still want to tour the estate."

Without another word, he strode from the room, leaving her alone.

Fiona finished her lunch and went to her room intending to take a nap. She was used to getting more sleep than she had last night, and knowing Rockwell, his plans for tonight probably didn’t include a lot of sleeping.

When she got to her room she found the bed had been made, the sheets changed. Rockwell’s restraints still hung from the four bedposts. Looking at them made her feel tingly. His robe sat folded at the foot of the bed. Fiona took off her shoes, took a throw blanket from the closet and lay on the bed, but she couldn’t settle down. She couldn’t help thinking about the incident at the river.

He had kissed and caressed her out in the open and in broad daylight; anyone could have seen them. That thought alone made her hot. Then, those two guys had shown up, escalating the chances that they’d be seen. She pictured them getting hard as they listened or even peeked at Rockwell going down on her. These thoughts excited her immensely, magnifying the sensations that were flowing over her.

Fiona opened her eyes, looked up at the canopy of her bed, and sighed. She was aroused. Maybe a little self-stimulation would relax her enough so that she could sleep. Glancing toward her bedroom door, she slid her hand under the blanket and began to rub her clit as she thought about those two guys spying on her.

She would never have guessed that being watched would turn her on to such a degree that she could openly, and loudly, enjoy being eaten in public. When Rockwell had mercilessly driven her, teased her to the point of begging him to lick her clit, she had been unable to control her lewd moans even though she knew those two men would probably hear her. The orgasm that followed was so intense she thought that she might have lost consciousness for a few moments, because when she came to she was on her knees with Rockwell fucking her mouth, like he had last night.

That first time had been terrifying. His huge throbbing cock had repeatedly cut off her breath, and when he had cum, the thought of his hot sperm wiggling its way to her stomach was loathsome.

Fiona continued to caress herself as she thought about how, at the river it had been different. Millions of women sucked cock and liked it. Was something wrong with her if she turned out to be one of them? How could it be so bad if no one was hurt by it? She opened her mind to the idea that cock-sucking just might be something she could grow to enjoy, like caviar. At one time caviar had seemed repulsive to her; now she found she loved and savored the delicacy whenever she could.

Once she had thought of it that way, a sexual part of her bloomed, like a rosebud in time lapse photography. A secret, sexual Fiona emerged to overpower the old one. This new Fiona decided liked the feeling of Rockwell pulsing powerfully inside her mouth. She savored the virile, male taste of him, the power she felt from his thrusts. The knowledge that soon he would bathe her mouth with hot cum caused her entire body to tingle with anticipation, as if by swallowing his essence, part of his strength would enter her to be absorbed into her being.

Fiona gasped quietly as the thought of Rockwell cumming in her mouth triggered her own orgasm. Beneath the blanket, juice surged from her pussy. She continued to flutter her fingers against her clit until the last quivering spasms faded away. For a while she just lay there until her breathing slowed.

Fiona smiled and rolled over on her stomach, stretching like a lioness. Rockwell had more than introduced her to the pleasures of sex. He had liberated her. She was no longer a frightened disillusioned virgin. She was a woman open to exploring whatever it was that excited her.

And belonging to Rockwell was more exciting than she could ever have imagined.

To Be Continued...


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