Red-Handed Ch. 03

(The story so far: Sexy burglars Lysette and Imogen are thieving on behalf of their boss, Miranda, to help in her divorce battle with husband Mac Sinclair. Now caught and blackmailed, both girls are on the receiving end of home owner Mac's raw sexual punishment. Having come a close second in a crazed cocksucking contest, Lysette takes a hard shafting, with Imogen made to watch in close-up. Now Imogen is hoping Mac will be gentle with her - but a wicked plan is brewing in her blackmailer's mind. Exactly what is he planning?)

*****

Blondie was still by the table when he returned, as confounded as she was naked. "Sorry to keep you waiting, my juicy-titted friend," he said, taking her by both hands. His cock was still rigid and he was eager to plunge it into its second wet cunt of the night, but a subtle change had overtaken him since the administering of justice began. Anger at Miranda and her bitches was still his fuel, but now that both the lackies were so completely in his thrall, enjoyment of the game was overtaking him. There was a special kind of fun to be had with the blue-eyed bimbo and, as he took in her inquiring stare, he knew he was going to indulge it to the full.

"So," he said, taking a milder tone than any he had adopted since arriving home, "did you enjoy watching me fuck the hell out of your slinky pal?"

She tried to respond with faltering eyes and stare. "I... I..."

"Why don't you and I go to the bedroom and talk about it some more?"

He led her from the living-room and she accompanied him meekly to the room where it had all begun, her subservient air at odds with the robustness of her build.

"Alone at last," he said, shutting the door behind them and pacing towards where she awaited him by the bed. Her gaze roamed over his body, that coyness somehow still intact, and lighted on his cock. He palmed it with long strokes as he approached, the surface still wet from the time it had spent thrusting into Scarlet. "You've watched this dick hard at work, and it's not done yet, not by a long way. It's going to do good work inside you."

She uttered a little gasp and her fingers weaved together in apprehension or anticipation.

"Still thinking about your boyfriend?" he inquired, taking both her hands in his once more. "Worried about how soon your pussy's going to be plundered, and by a cock that's not his?"

She nodded and stared at the carpet, overtaken by bashfulness.

Mac enjoyed the flicker of competing emotions on her face. "Well," he reminded her, "you've no way out of this other than a court appearance and probable prison time, so you might as well go with the flow. He need never know, anyway. It'll be our dirty secret." Lust flared again in light of the girl's naturally inflated tits and he reached out to grab one of them, squeezing the springy orb and rotating his thumb on the broad pink areola. She gasped at the rough manhandling. "Jesus, I'll bet he thought himself one lucky fucker the first time he got his hands on these treasures." His other hand seized as well and he fondled both her breasts with calculated crudeness. Her astonished little moans were delightful. "Didn't he?"

"Yes, he did." Her voice, like her moon-eyed stare, was piteous.

Mac released one breast and clapped his palm to one of her full buttocks, massaging its yielding flesh while simultaneously continuing to grope the other tit. "And he was thanking his lucky stars when he got hold of this big beautiful ass, don't you think? Well don't you?"

"I... Oh God, I suppose so, yes..."

"I'll bet he fucking was. I'll bet his cock was ready to explode at the sight of you, let alone the feel." His hands continued to indulge their craving for her curves, massaging deep and full. "You're quite the naughty posh-girl, aren't you, Blondie?"

"I... Am I?"

"You sound it. That polished private school accent. It makes my cock even harder to hear it. You come from a well-off family?" He stared into her face, challenging her to hold a conversation while having her naked body groped so brazenly.

"Quite... Yes."

"And yet you're one of Miranda's pretty shop-girls. How did that happen?"

"Dad... Dad insisted that I get a proper job."

"Good for Dad - teaching you the value of an honestly earned wage. And yet you still ended up house-breaking for money, didn't you?" Mac cupped underneath her buttock and squeezed hard, applying similar grappling pressure to her breast and pinching her nipple till she cried out. He eased the pressure with both hands until her breathing relaxed again. "Still, I shouldn't complain. After all, I love a posh girl with a wet cunt - and your cunt is sopping right now, isn't it?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but managed no words. There was immense entertainment to be found in rendering her speechless.

"Let's see..." He let go of her ass and transferred his hand to the junction of her thighs, his middle finger searching between them. It slid past her primly pruned hair to the nether-lips of her pussy and kept moving, until is sank into folds as liquid and yielding as ripe honeydew. "There," he said, smiling into her sorrowful face. "Tell me - does it make you guilty that your pussy's so wet for another man's cock?"

"Yes," she whispered, and it almost moved his sympathy.

He withdrew his finger from her slickened passage and drew her to him with both hands on her waist. His cock pressed against her belly, the glans just below her navel. "I shouldn't tease you so much, Imogen," he said, and she made a little gasp at his use of her real name. "I think there's a sweet girl in there really, but one who's easily led. Am I right?"

Moist blue eyes studied him. "Yes, maybe..."

"Do you know what?" he asked, his voice dropping in volume to match hers.

"What?"

"I think in other circumstances we might have got along, you and me." He cradled her body, as her hardened nipples brushed against his chest. "That night at the party - I remember thinking what a lovely sexy girl Miranda had working for her. You were looking at me too, weren't you, Imogen?"

"Yes, yes I was." There was relief in her voice at his more gentle tone, along with conscience-stricken sorrow.

"What did you think of me, honestly?"

"I thought... I thought Miranda was very lucky. I thought you were very handsome, very... very debonair, is that the word? And... and nice." She dropped her gaze on the final word, as though she'd said something foolish once more.

"I am nice, most of the time," he said. "Truly. But not when my house gets broken into by presumptuous shop-girls who should know better. Naughty little bitches, who let greed get the better of them."

She looked up and him, tears brimming. "I'm sorry."

"Shhh." He stopped the sob with a finger to her lips and stared deep into her eyes. "I know you are, Imogen. And since that's the case, maybe I can make a deal with you."

"A deal?" She was breathy and flushed, full of puzzlement and wonder. "What kind of deal?"

"Not so fast. There's something I'd like you to do for me first, and then I'll tell you all about it."

"Okay..." Her voice faltered once more with trepidation. "What do you want me to do?"

"Pretend," he said, reaching up to stroke her hair.

"Pretend... what?"

"That when we met at that party, I had no wife and you had no boyfriend. That we drank champagne and came back here and got naked together because we were single and hot for each other. That you want to please me because I'm handsome, and debonair, and nice." She was looking into him, holding her breath as he spoke to her softly, all the time maintaining his undercurrent of warning. "Imogen, right now I want you to set aside the fact that you have a boyfriend. I want you to be the hot, sweet, sexy girl we both know you are, without reservation. No holding back. I want you to be my naughty girlfriend, and I want you to act it like you mean it. Do that and we'll cut a deal - and soon this will only be a memory. Can you manage that?"

The look with which he fixed her was rigorous, unwavering. She stared at him with those big soulful eyes. "Yes."

"Prove it. Kiss me."

He hadn't thought it possible for her eyes to widen further, but they did. Her lips parted in a little 'o' of shock.

"Kiss me like it's my birthday, Imogen, and you're going to give me the most delicious present a birthday-boy could have."

Before his eyes she summoned up all she had, like an actress committing to her big audition. The hesitancy in her face resolved slowly into aching warmth and her body moved close, hands reached up to link around his neck. Her lips parted and homed in on his. He let her do all the work, holding back till the bee-sting pillows of her mouth plumped against his hard lips and caressed. The kiss was almost what he would have called committed, her hands clinging to him as she drew herself tight, teasing him to a wet, open-mouthed connection. Her tongue tantalised without plunging and he had to lure it out with the tip of his own, until it was writhing and exploring gently within his mouth. Only then did he place his hand on her head and kiss back properly, allowing his lips and tongue to match the rhythm of hers.

The interplay of their mouths was full and succulent, and the moment extended beyond what he had expected. When their mouths parted, she was panting, her pupils dilated and her honey complexion tinged with a rouge that was all natural. Her nipples pressed rigid as hard rubber against his chest.

"Don't be afraid to like it, Imogen," he said, fingertips stroking her face. "The more you do, the easier it'll be to get yourself out of this mess. Come on, sexy, seduce your way out of it. It's just you and me here, and no one else will ever know. So show me what you've got."

Her mouth attacked his this time, fingers clutching his face, as her tongue dived upwards and in, attempting to wrangle his. He got the better of her initially in the tongue battle, but then he eased back and let her win, like her invasion of his mouth was lashing him into submission. She kissed long, holding back no more - committing fully to her role as his hot girlfriend. The thrashing contest gradually subsided into softer, slower kisses where tongues retracted and tenderness grew, until their lips were barely brushing.

"There," she said, mouth hovering against his. "Does that make you happy?" There was a note of resentment in her voice now, and pain in her eyes at how openly she had betrayed her arousal and thus her boyfriend. She kissed his face nonetheless, running fingers through his thick hair. Her lips progressed to his chin and neck, caressing deep, tongue lapping. She stroked the breadth of his chest, fingernails teasing outward over his pectorals to his muscled shoulders. Then her mouth descended on each nipple in turn, tongue flickering, before lips nuzzled and sucked. "And that?" she inquired, staring up at him. "Does that make you happy?" He nodded his response. "Does this?" She clutched his shoulders and drew herself onto tiptoe, grating her hard nipples up and down against his.

"You know it does."

Her gaze, fixed on him, was full of guilty, sulky desire. "You're not a nice man," she said, her breasts still teasing his chest. "You say you are, but you're not."

"Do you know, you're right," he told her, and the words served like a revelation, pumping more blood to his cock. "I thought I was, but tonight has put me straight on that. I'm a bad man through and through, aren't I?"

"Yes."

"But then you're a bad little house-breaking bitch, who's enjoying her punishment way too much, aren't you? Aren't you, Imogen?" He grabbed her ass and pulled her tight to him, so that his erection throbbed between them, a great rigid promise.

Her moan was full of sexy sorrow. "Yes. Yes, I am."

"Then no more nonsense. Slut yourself for me, like a good girlfriend should. Don't hold back, or I'll break my word and thrash this lovely bottom raw." He gripped said bottom tight.

She took him at his word and played the slut like she was aiming for some kinky adult award. The way she kissed him was how a bad girl might kiss the bastard she craved - long and hungry. Her body's descent to the floor was a slow voluptuous tease, mouth, hands and breasts caressing him all the way. On her knees she gave him the sucking of which he had only dreamt on his most recent birthday - blonde bangs swinging against her forehead as she bobbed, eyes staring coyly up at him. She provided his cock with a full tongue-bath, savouring his balls and slavering a course from root to tip like those thick inches and their swollen crown were the whole world to her. Then she trapped his lathered shaft between her tits and massaged him with all the softness those full globes provided, the head of his cock thrusting lewdly out from between her cleavage on each downward glide.

Though it all he looked down on her with a benevolence that belied his plans for her. The scheme brewed inside of him, more wicked by the minute, as she gazed up at him in her lusty innocence. Keep going, Blondie. You can't escape what I've got lined up. The tit-wank was exquisite; he gave himself up to the joy of gently-perspiring breast flesh sliding back and forth against the steely column it had captured, until over-stimulation threatened. He needed to sustain like he never had before.

"Nice," he said, drawing her upwards. Her hand intuitively reached for him and wrapped fingers around his throbbing tower. For a moment he allowed himself enjoyment of her palm's jacking motion. "Very nice. You do make a good girlfriend."

"Pretend girlfriend," she reminded, still with a hint of sulkiness.

"Now, now," he said, turning her around and pressing the slab of his wetted cock against her ass-cleft. "Let's not spoil things." He gripped her hips and she massaged him again, this time with the rise and fall of her pelvis. "Tonight you're all mine and your pussy knows it, even if you don't." He slid one hand between her thighs and tested her slickness. "See? There's the proof."

"Oh God..." Her moan was plaintive, anguished even, but her ass slid even more firmly against him.

"Now let me tell you what's going to happen, Imogen," he said, letting her feel all his thickness between her moving cheeks. "I'm going to go lie on the bed, and then you're going to sit your tight pussy down on my cock. And while you're fucking me like a good girl, I'm going to make you that offer. Okay?"

"O-Okay."

He turned her around and moved away to the bed, leaving her a giddy mass of arousal. "Come on," he told her, sitting down, lying back and prising his length from his stomach. "Climb onto this and ride it like a good bitch. Say 'Yes, Mac'."

Her blue-eyes gaze was all about his cock and where it would shortly be. "Yes, Mac," she repeated with a tremor in her voice, and then she came to him.

He swelled huge for his Barbie-doll treat as she climbed onto the bed, her hair and tits suspended gorgeously above him. There was fever in her eyes, overpowering all other emotions, as she straddled him and took the cock proffered her in her slim fingers, her other hand reaching out to lean on his chest for support. "That's it," he encouraged, "fit it to yourself. You're going to fuck yourself on me like you're riding your favourite dildo." Once more she appeared stricken by lust and mortification in equal measure. It was simply too tempting not to torment this muddle-headed angel with his words. "Come on, lock it into your pussy," he urged, studying how his glans nestled against the slash of her swollen cunt-lips, fixating on the sculpted blonde tuft above her protruding clit. "You're going to do all of this yourself, darling. I want to watch you sink your sweet self onto it."

The head popped inside her and her eyes opened into great blue-white pools of responsiveness. "Oh God..."

"Say your fucking prayers, girl, and get on with it."

She caught her lip between her teeth and sank, mouth opening wide again immediately that she took his shaft inside her. "Ohhhh..." Around half of his length was swallowed up by her initial descending slide. Her stare at him was one of mouth-gaping astonishment, like the visual had not adequately prepared her for this moment.

"That's it, Imogen, all the way."

Once more she took his prompting, lowering herself towards his base. He gazed at the flat of her stomach as she sank down and down, relishing the idea along with the sensation of himself planted so deep inside her.

"To the balls," he hissed, placing hands on her hips to guide her. Her voice ached with a voiceless moan as she shifted on him, working her way to the root of his cock. Her expression might have been amazement or accusation; in reality it was probably a combination of the two.

"Oh Jesus..." She reached out with both arms now to rest on him, now that he was lodged properly within her. "Oh God, you're so big..."

"Big-long or big-wide?" he inquired with a crooked smile, latching onto the girl's inadvertent compliment so he could milk it, like her cunt's tight grip was already threatening to milk his cock.

"Both..." She hovered motionless above him, adjusting to his size, her melon-tits hanging ripe and inviting. Mac accepted the invitation, reaching up with both hands to grasp her full, soft orbs.

"Do I fill you up?" he pursued, squeezing and caressing.

"Oh God - are you joking?" She realised a split-second after that he wasn't, and looked aggrieved that he was teasing her. "Yes you do, you know you fill me up. Oh fuck..." Her eyes closed like the experience was all too much.

"Look at me," he said, and her eyes flicked open again. "Look at me and fuck me." She rolled her hips into motion, mouth and eyes wide with silent awe, as slowly she rocked on him. Oh sweet Christ, that's good, he thought, fighting off the impulse to let his head loll back on the bed. "That's it, Imogen sweetheart, let me feel your cunt squeeze my cock." She was already doing it, her pussy's grip tightening as it shifted back and forth, compressing and massaging every part of his phallic surface in the process. His palms fondled her tit-flesh in response, as she undulated her hips on him more fully, her face a picture of yearning.

"Come on, baby, fuck yourself on that cock. Feel that big dick inside you." He'd uttered better lines in his time, but crude eroticism was working a treat with this silly misguided girl. His words compelled her, so that she gripped his chest and screwed herself on him like all thoughts of morality and guilt were slipping away. "You fuck your boyfriend like this?" he chanced, and she slowed on him just perceptibly, her frown returning. "Don't stop. I said I'd fuck you nice, but don't push it, sweetheart." The fuller rhythmic motion returned, and with it the aching look of pleasure on her face. "Do you like riding me?" he asked more gently. "Do you like that cock so tight inside you?" So fucking tight.

"Yes. Yes, I like it," she confessed. "I like it..."

"Show me."

"Show you?"

"Show me how much."

"Oh God..." There it was again, that prayer of a lost soul. She leaned her full weight down on his chest and pushed her hips into the motion, so that her cunt was sliding halfway up his shaft, before plunging down again, slippery and tight. This was beyond 'riding' - this was full fuck-massage, the girl's tender pussy bestowing all its delights on his stiff responsive cock. He kneaded her tits even more fully than before, his thumbs squeezing her engorged nipples every time he closed his grasp.

"That's it, gorgeous. Fuck that cock. Look at you, look how much you fucking love it. You're getting off on this as much as I am, aren't you?"

"Oh my God..."

"Aren't you, Imogen?"

"Yes..." The word was a long, quavering whisper as she rocked herself on him.

"Say it."

"Yes, yes I am!"

"And you want to get off, don't you? You want to get off all over my cock."