What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [57]
And if anything about that is difficult, consider this: A woman’s body was made to take a man’s cock, to want a man’s cock. It’s far more natural to crave it than not to.
Tomorrow, the day is yours. Go to the beach or the pool—whatever you like. But keep thinking about cock. ☺
And be back in your room tomorrow by five.
Brent
P.S. I’d remind you to keep the nipple rings on, but I know I don’t have to, my obedient slave girl.
Jenna followed Brent’s instructions, and such bold, naughty thoughts came more easily than they would have before her arrival here. She thought through the sex partners she’d known in her life—a handful of guys, all of whom she’d felt deeply about. And she’d loved the way their cocks had felt inside her, yet . . . she’d often felt timid around the appendage, too. It was so . . . foreign compared to anything on a woman’s body. And she’d been utterly shocked the first time she’d seen one—in a movie actually, as a young teenager, with Shannon, who’d insisted on watching R-rated films on cable when her parents were away one winter day.
Of course, she’d long since learned to appreciate the merits of a penis. But the truth was, she’d honestly felt more enamored of Brent’s cock in the few short days she’d known him than in any she’d had before. It was so big, downright majestic looking, like one more ultra-strong, sure part of him. And he used it so damn well, too.
When he’d demanded she suck it in the middle of the night, the command had excited her and she’d instantly embraced her task. Which, now, struck her as odd since going down on a guy had never been her favorite activity. It was something she’d done to please her lovers, and she’d taken satisfaction from their pleasure, but she’d never taken personal , physical pleasure from the act—until last night. She’d wanted to get up close and personal with Brent’s magnificent shaft.
In addition to thinking about cocks, though, Jenna also found herself thinking about breasts, nipples. Her own. She’d felt ridiculously erotic showering in the nipple rings—which seemed content to hug the pink peaks pleasantly tight without ever growing uncomfortable.
And sleeping in them—in a cami and boy-short panties—kept her in a slight but constant state of arousal all night. She had vague dreams—of Brent, and harem girls, and hard cocks—and she woke more often than usual, repeatedly finding herself reaching up to touch, to see if the tips of her breasts were still hard, still encircled, and they always were.
The next morning, as she donned her bikini, she found herself again enjoying the kinky look of her tits in the mirror. And as she took a lounge chair at the pool, it titillated her to know she wore the rings beneath her leopard print, and that they likely made her nipples protrude even more than usual through the tight Lycra. Every time she spoke to an even remotely attractive man—a waiter at the pool or anyone else—her pussy surged with the mere thought of how hard the guy would get if he knew about her hidden jewelry.
She tried to read more of the Civil War memoir, realizing she’d barely read thirty pages in five days. Yet she simply couldn’t concentrate. Her pussy tingled too pleasantly from the effect of having worn the nipple rings for nearly twenty-four hours now—and from simply feeling sexy in her bikini, her body stretched out across the chaise in the sun.
So she simply soaked up the rays, drank a couple of erotic rum punches, ordered a sandwich for lunch from her spot by the pool, then returned to her room by five, as Brent had instructed.
Walking in, she found a large black gift box on the bed, tied with red ribbon. A black envelope rested on top.
As usual, she couldn’t bear to open the envelope first, going straight for the box. Standing there in her bikini, she briskly untied the ribbon, yanked off the lid—and gasped. Inside rested an elaborate outfit of black leather. The main item: a boned leather corset with thick shoulder straps, but the molded cups for her breasts