Xcite Delights--Book Two Read online

  I touched the rows of diamonds set in white gold, and the diamond-studded O-ring in the middle of my neck. ‘Exquisite,’ I replied. There was no other word for it. The collar looked enough like any other extravagant piece of jewellery that it would be taken for just that by colleagues and others. The fact that Pawel was paying our jeweller to solder the gold findings so I could never remove it … Well, I’d have to be very clever to explain away that little detail. Or perhaps I’d find myself wearing turtlenecks like never before.

  ‘Happy 25th anniversary,’ Pawel said, leaning in to kiss my temple. I smelled burning hair just as Mr Saati hissed and tossed my fallen locks away, then apologised.

  I held my hair myself so no more would burn against the soldering iron. The jeweller had already placed a little pad between my neck and the collar so he wouldn’t burn my skin with molten gold. It reminded me of those lead smocks they placed over you when they took X-rays at the dentist office. ‘What a lovely surprise. Our anniversary isn’t for another six months.’

  ‘You deserve it.’ Pawel looked me straight in the eye. ‘Season after season, you’ve been such a devoted … wife … to me.’

  I didn’t look away. After four years cheating on him with Xiao, I’d become an expert liar. Escaping his gaze would be an obvious signifier of guilt, so I held it tight, like a lifeline. I stared him down – not a usual action for a lifestyle submissive, but he didn’t mind the eye contact in public. We were both important people. We had to appear “normal” when we were out and about. So much of life is about negotiation.

  ‘I’m yours and yours alone,’ I said. A lie. Lie, lie, lie.

  ‘I know you are.’ He touched his palm to my cheek. His gaze remained soft, but the sizzle of energy passing between us told me he knew everything. Everything. That was the true reason for this collar I could never remove: Pawel was claiming ownership of me, and I was allowing it. I was his first, after all.

  ‘Vancouver again this weekend?’ he then asked. Could he have been more obvious?

  Without looking away, I said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Maybe I should come with you this time.’

  My eyelids fluttered, and I swallowed hard, but I didn’t look away. ‘If you like.’

  He took the hair from my hand, twirling it around his firm index finger until it pulled tight against my scalp. I couldn’t flinch with Mr Saati forming perfect circles behind me, securing each line of diamond-studded gold around my neck. I would die wearing this collar.

  ‘Or you could cancel the trip,’ Pawel went on, twisting my rope of lustrous black hair around his whole hand now. It pulled so tight I knew I’d have a headache later, but the pain awoke my pussy, and I soon felt the crotch of my panties slick with juice. If only the damn jeweller wasn’t standing behind me, I’d fall to my knees and worship my master’s cock right there in the shop.

  ‘I have finished fastening the choker,’ Mr Saati cut in. Speak of the devil. ‘Now we shall wait a moment for the solder to cure.’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him turn to his paperwork on the adjacent case. My pussy pounded, but I held very still before my husband. ‘What’ll it be?’ he asked. His tone and his gaze were both casual, but his grip on my hair couldn’t have been more intense.

  There was no question in my mind, but the words were no less difficult to force through my lips. Touching the diamonds and gold of my permanent collar, I breathed in my master’s virtuous strength. ‘I’ll cancel the trip.’

  As Pawel leant in to place a lingering kiss on my forehead, he gripped my hair so tight my knees went weak. I knew he would never speak of my transgressions, and it was perhaps for that reason I cancelled every plan to meet with Xiao. My heart ached at the loss, but … anything for Master.

  Foot-fall

  by Lynn Lake

  David moaned, rolled his head from side to side, eyeballs jumping under twitching eyelids. The nightmare was on him again, his agonised mind reeling in total blackness, echoing with the clickety-clack of high heels on hard floor – loud and insistent and sexy. But going away; walking away from David.

  He woke up screaming.

  He’d been attending to another guest at the front desk, when he’d first heard the clickety-clack of her silver-tipped heels on the polished marble floor of the luxury hotel lobby. And to a man like David, steeped in the fetishism of women’s legs and feet, every high heel made a distinctive sound, indicating to his sensitive ears and soul the height, point and composition of the heels, the height, weight and leg-length of the woman wearing the erotic footwear.

  So, as he stood near the printer with his back to the lobby, waiting for the guest’s registration information to print out, the clickety-clack of these particular high heels heralded four inches of reinforced leather with metal tips, a tall, lean woman of lengthy leggage used to flaunting her lower limbs in such heels. David turned, and the delight signalled by his ears became the rapture before his eyes.

  Lillian Lancombe stood six feet away from the raised counter, presenting David and the astonished guest with a full view of her and her long, luxurious legs.

  She was dressed in a form-fitting dark-blue dress, a gold chain necklace and gold hoop earrings, her jet-black hair pulled back sleek and shiny from her high-cheekboned, imperious face, lips red and full and glossy, eyes dark and gleaming. She had high breasts and narrow hips, and her legs flowed out from beneath the mid-thigh hem of her dress lithe and silky, wrapped in dark-blue stockings, feet platformed in the spike heels, tilted arches and slender ankles clasped by dark leather straps.

  ‘I’m Lillian, the new night manager,’ she said.

  The printed registration page, when David handed it to the speechless guest, was damp and crumpled.

  Two nights later, he was on his knees in Lillian’s office, at her stockinged feet.

  They were pirouetted on their pointed tips right in front of David, silk-sheathed legs shimmering in their night-shaded coverings. Lillian sat in her leather executive chair with her legs slightly parted, looking down at David. ‘You see how it’s going to be?’ she said, more than asked. And lowered her legs just a little, her toes splaying out before the kneeling man.

  David swallowed and clasped his hands tighter together, his small body trembling, his eyes locked on those twin noir waterfalls of limbs, the splash of toes way down at the bottom of the plunging arches. ‘Do – do we have to?’ he mumbled.

  Her right leg lashed out, striking David across the face with her bladed foot. His glasses went flying, and he groaned. Lillian planted the supple stem back on the carpet, then raised her other limb, and pushed its tapered tip against David’s mouth, gently at first. Until the toes flowered in the stretchy fabric and she roughly shoved David’s head back.

  ‘Any other questions?’

  David reeled from the silken touch and perfumed scent of Lillian’s ballerina legs, the brief and tantalising rustle and taste of her hose. He scrambled his glasses back on and shook his head. And was rewarded, Lillian lifting and unfolding both of her elegant legs and holding them out at full length, permitting David to clasp her pointed feet in his hands.

  He gazed along the stunning lengths of the exquisitely contoured limbs, fingers clutching, probing the dizzying depths of Lillian’s curvaceous soles, the sensuous smoothness and roundness of her sky-high arches. His hands moved higher, cradling the delicate bulbs of her heels, then slipping up on to her finely constructed ankles, fingers covetously wrapping around and squeezing.

  She pulled her feet away, snapping, ‘That’s enough. For now.’

  The man was a well-heeled businessman, in Toronto for the annual general meeting of his publicly-traded company. He was tall and thin and silver-haired, with a tan that didn’t come from the Great White North in March. By early morning, he was at Lillian’s feet, sucking on her toes.

  She was perched on the edge of the queen-sized bed in the penthouse suite, completely naked except for sheer black stockings. The sexy hosiery sported darker, reinforced t
oe-tips, and cross-hatched seams down the back, and they hugged Lillian’s legs like a second skin, despite the man ardently pulling on them with his lips.

  She’d gone up to his room late that night to enquire about his general comfort, and the lonely, handsome stranger in town had invited her in for a drink. One thing had led directly to another, and now one of the most powerful businessmen in Canada was down on all-fours, naked, excitedly sucking on Lillian’s slim-stemmed, plump-topped toes, one at a time and all at once.

  She wiggled her toes in his mouth and moaned, ‘Yes, Foster!’ a hand in between her long legs, rubbing.

  As David watched the whole thing on his computer in his cubbyhole of an office in behind the reception desk. His fists were balled in rage, cock rock-hard in his pants.

  Foster inhaled all of Lillian’s one tapered foot-tip and tugged on it, then the other, his face gone red under his tan, hands clutching Lillian’s ankles. And when he pushed both of her feet together and crammed all of her toes into his big, hungry mouth, she lifted her feet, and his head. He rose up on to his knees, biting into the silken stocking and skin.

  ‘Oooh!’ Lillian moaned, before wriggling her feet free and placing them on the man’s shoulders, on either side of his head, soft and damp and perfectly matched.

  He grinned, and she turned her soles inward, fitting her insteps into his neck, toes clutching and feet squeezing. He gasped, grabbing her sharp-edged shins, as she applied more pressure, her heels pressing into his windpipe from either side. Foster’s face burned crimson and his bloodshot eyes teared, mouth hanging open.

  ‘Jesus!’ David breathed, on the edge of his seat.

  The lean muscles of Lillian’s half-exposed thighs rippled, feet choking, toes curling almost together at the back of the man’s neck. He gurgled, his face purple now, knuckles white on Lillian’s legs, his cock stretched out and as hard as the expression on her face.

  But then Lillian’s locked, vibrating legs suddenly went supple again, and she released Foster’s neck.

  He gulped with relief, David with disappointment.

  She hooked her foot-tips around the back of the man’s neck and pulled his head forward, in between her legs. And he dove down to her pussy, anxiously licking, lapping at her slit.

  Lillian and David both groaned.

  ‘I hope you enjoyed your stay?’

  Foster looked up from his bill and grinned at the desk clerk. ‘It was … delightful.’

  Another guest drifted away from the general vicinity of the reception desk, and the pleasant expression on David’s face fell flat. ‘I’d like to show you something before you leave, sir.’

  Foster frowned, glancing at his Rolex, all business again. ‘Well, make it snappy.’

  Inside his office, David clicked on the icon labelled Gue$t on the computer screen, and Lillian and Foster filled the 21-inch monitor, Foster squeezing Lillian’s legs to his chest and licking at her soles, as he banged away at her pussy; Lillian flat on her back, gripping and squeezing her tits. David adjusted the volume, so that the pair’s passionate moans and groans filled the small office.

  Foster’s face had gone pale under his tan, and his mouth gaped open. ‘How … Why?’

  ‘I mounted a camera with a built-in microphone inside the sprinkler head,’ David stated proudly. ‘I can even rotate it – see.’

  The door burst open, and Lillian stormed in. ‘What’s going on in here?’ she demanded to know, over the shrieks of ecstasy coming from the computer.

  She stared at David, Foster, then down at the monitor, which David had pivoted her way. ‘Oh my God!’ she gasped. Her hands fluttered up to her mouth.

  Foster slipped an arm around her waist, as it looked like she might faint. ‘I – I have a husband and three children,’ she sobbed. ‘It was all – all a … mistake.’

  ‘Tycoon Foster here has a wife and four children,’ David added. ‘Along with all those shareholders to think of.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Lillian breathed, turning to Foster. ‘If – if I hadn’t had all those drinks you kept offering me, I’m sure none of this …’ She turned to David. ‘You want money, is that it? I can get some from the hotel safe. Five thousand dollars, maybe?’

  David laughed.

  ‘How much?’ Foster growled.

  They settled on 50 thousand, Foster gallantly covering Lillian’s share of the blackmail, of course.

  She lifted herself out of her chair and strolled around her desk in her shiny black leather stilettos, long legs swishing sweetly together in their black nylon coverings. Music to David’s burning ears.

  She stood in front of him, smiling contemptuously. Then she kicked her right foot out, striking David’s ankles and knocking his legs out from under him. He fell to the carpet, and Lillian stood over him, hands on skirted hips, legs planted and parted.

  He stared up the gleaming skyscraper limbs towering above him. Then scrambled onto his knees and grabbed the curved swells of her calves, fingers digging into the bunched muscles under the shifting nylon. His hands slid higher, into and around the soft hollows at the backs of her knees, rubbing and caressing. Then up and up to the taut, lean masses of her thighs, hem-high.

  ‘Sofia Morneau is checking in tomorrow night,’ Lillian said. ‘The poor little rich girl herself. I think we can get an even hundred thousand out of her.’

  David’s damp, trembling hands froze on the tight mounds of Lillian’s buttocks under her short skirt. ‘You mean … the woman whose husband was just killed in that plane crash in British Columbia a few months ago?’

  Lillian looked down. She stepped out of David’s arms, and away from him. ‘Maybe I’ll let you kiss my feet and legs, afterwards. Maybe.’

  It was like watching a snake consume a rabbit.

  Lillian feigning sympathy, holding Sofia in her arms, as the young woman wept. The lengthy embrace on the edge of the queen-sized bed leading to a soft, lingering kiss on the cheek, then the lips, Lillian gently stroking Sofia’s long, blonde hair and gazing into the girl’s moist, blue eyes. She pushed one of Sofia’s dress straps down off her shoulder and kissed the smooth, rounded flesh; did the same to the girl’s other shoulder.

  Sofia shivered, twisting her hands around in her lap. As Lillian tugged the dress down, exposing her pale, rising and falling breasts. ‘I – I don’t know,’ she briefly protested, feebly trying to cover up. ‘I’ve never …’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Lillian breathed, moving Sofia’s arms aside. ‘I have.’ She cupped the young woman’s soft, tender breasts and kissed the hopelessly swollen pink nipples.

  David stared at his computer screen, at the blonde’s slim, shapely legs wrapped in snow-white stockings, on full display in the pink minidress she was wearing. Sofia had smiled shyly at David admiring her legs when she’d checked in. And he’d glimpsed the mixture of hurt and healing in the young woman’s eyes, when he’d looked up.

  He’d even considered giving her another room. But then Lillian had walked by, her spike heels tattooing the marble floor, legs flashing under the chandeliers. David had booked Sofia into the penthouse suite.

  And now he watched with a mixture of lust and disgust as the hesitant kissing gave way to ardent frenching, to tit-sucking and to fucking. After Lillian licked Sofia’s shaven pussy to the very precipice of orgasm, the two gasping and moaning women scissored their legs together, rubbing their pussies against one another’s, hips undulating, fingernails digging into firm, naked leg-flesh. David gaped at the awesome display, the tangle of bare, clenching limbs, toes clutching at the bedspread.

  But their shared climax wasn’t his climax, because something like a conscience niggled at the back of his leg and foot-obsessed brain. He would gladly take abuse from a leggy woman, but this seemed too much like giving it out. And that was something David just had no stomach for, treating a pin-perfect woman so badly.

  ‘Ohmigod!’ Sofia shrieked, staring in horror at the computer screen. Then at David. ‘So – so that’s why she came on to me so s
trong. So you two could …’

  David turned off the monitor, but the searing image of Lillian finger-fucking Sofia to screaming orgasm lingered on. ‘She’s – we’ve done it to other guests,’ he said. ‘Rich guests.’

  ‘Blackmail! You’re going to make me pay?’

  David looked down from the girl’s anguished face to her legs, where they cascaded long and supple and naked out of the bottom of the green ruffled skirt she was wearing, the bare, creamy-white skin glowing under the single lightbulb in his office. Her size nine peds were bare, as well, in pale-green pumps with gold buckles, arches soaring up and out. ‘I’m going to turn her in to the police,’ David stated, staring at those youthfully innocent limbs. ‘I just can’t do this any more. And I’m going to fix it so that you’re left out of it.’

  She grabbed his shoulders, searched his eyes. ‘Can you? Will you? My family …’

  David smiled reassuringly at her legs, so smooth and sculpted and unblemished, so close. ‘Yes. It’s just a matter of permanently deleting a few files. Mind you, it is destroying evidence.’

  Her grip softened on his shoulders, and her shy smile reflected in his glassy eyes, as he glanced upwards. He quickly shoved his chair out of the way and dropped down on all fours, at her feet. He clutched her polished leather shoes and kissed the soft, tender arches of her peds. She murmured and sat down on the edge of his desk, letting her legs and feet dangle in front of him.

  They were all his, and he knew it, to do with as he desired. It thrilled and terrified him. He was used to leggy women ordering him around, walking all over him, allowing him a touch here, a kiss and lick there.

  But as he rose to his knees and lifted Sofia’s feet and legs with him, gazed along the curvy expanses of gleaming flesh and up into her shining face, he drew strength from the faith she had placed in him by entrusting such delicate and delicious limbs to his keeping.