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  Sophia flicks and twirls, painting my breasts with every colour she has laid out. I see her open her glitter and watch as she rains the sparkling particles over my small mounds. I am a rainbow, a colourful bird and she kneels to take a photograph of her handiwork.

  As she puts the camera down she turns her attention to my glistening pussy. I can feel the liquid desire dripping onto my thighs, between the cheeks of my arse and I know, am sure, that I have left my mark on the pastel velvet beneath me. She slides a finger under me and presses the chair. “So wet,” she marvels, “you’ve left a little imprint of your pussy for me. I should draw the shape and frame it. Better yet I should make you sit on coloured paper and mark that with your lust, you naughty girl. I would keep it by my bed to remind you of how wet I make your pussy.”

  I sigh as she reaches for me, the cool of her fingertip meeting the aching heat of my clit. She circles it gently and I arch towards her, a pathetic mewl the only sound I can make. I want her fingers inside me, her mouth on me. I want to be enveloped by her creamy flesh, to breathe in the perfume of her skin and lick the salty taste of her arousal from every nook and cranny of her body. I stretch out my leg and wrap it around the softness of her thigh, pulling her until she squashes against me. I could lose myself in her sexy, soft, curvy body for the rest of my life and I am almost shaking with the need to feel her hands on me. She knows what she is doing though and I know that she is not done with me yet. I am right.

  Sophia stands and moves around the room. “These make up brushes are all very well,” she says, “but I think we could get some interesting results with other kinds.” As she speaks she is opening drawers and gathering items from around her bedroom. When she has finished she deposits them on the bed. I can see a large hairbrush, a toothbrush and a small comb amongst her haul. I gaze up at her adoringly, and she rewards me with a kiss, soft and tender and full of the promise of what we will do when she has finished with me. I wonder how long she has had me tied here, but it doesn’t really matter. The rest of the world can go fuck itself when I’m here with Sophia.

  She nestles back between my thighs and strokes her fingers up and down, getting teasingly close to my aching cunt before sliding back down to my knees. Leaning towards me, she slowly parts my lips until I am completely exposed. My clit hums with anticipation. “Please,” I murmur and she smiles.

  Picking up the makeup brush again, she slowly, delicately trails it over my clit. The sensation is incredible and I feel my pussy contract, sweet-scented liquid dribbling out of me. Sophia dips the brush into it and paints a heart over my shaven mound. Then she shakes glitter over it, watching it land on the sticky shape. When she blows away the excess I almost come just from her breath. She takes another picture and I feel myself open for her. I love being watched, exposed for her private view, knowing that every slick contour of my body is turning her on as much as I am turned on by her looking.

  “Your clit looks like it needs some attention,” she says and I nod, hardly daring to speak, my mouth dry with longing. She reaches out her hand and circles thoughtfully over the array of brushes. Then with a decisive nod she takes a toothbrush in her hand and slowly, gently applies it to my aching pearl. The bristles are sharp, much harder than the others and I squirm on the seat. Sophia rotates the head, barely touching me yet it feels as though she is running her fingernails over me. I pant, my body flexing and bucking beneath her touch. I long to have her press it hard against me, to rub me, the pressure that I crave to make me come so close and yet I don’t want this exquisite torture to end.

  She teases me some more, circling, pressing lightly then harder, then taking away the brush and blowing on my abused flesh. I can see how much the skin has darkened, the rush of blood to the surface, the swollen puff of my lips in contrast to the paleness of my thighs. She picks up the hairbrush, the thick handle taunting me as I picture it delving into my pussy, the smooth bulb of its length plundering my hole. I beg her to push it inside me but she shakes her head, tapping my slit gently with it, the solid wood slapping against my heated skin. It feels so good and yet it is not enough. I slide towards her on the chair, my thighs so far apart they ache and I know they will be a constant reminder of our evening; tomorrow when I am back in the office they will serve to give me exquisite flashbacks of the attention she is lavishing on me right now.

  Tap, tap, tap; she is tormenting me, her fingers gliding across my stomach, edging ever closer to my swollen breasts. Finally she takes a nipple between her thumb and forefinger and twists, drawing a hiss of breath from me and as she does she slowly eases the bulbous end of the hairbrush inside me. I almost scream but her ruby lips find mine and she silences me with her kiss, sliding the length of the handle deeper. I can hear the sticky wetness of my pussy as it clutches at the intrusion. The sharp bristles mark my inner thigh and the pain only serves to heighten my desire. I am soaked, my honey running freely down the handle and over her fingers. I drop my head back and give in to the sensation of her fingers, the thick wood of the brush. She nibbles from my jaw line to my earlobe and then down to my neck, licking, biting and nipping at my skin. I look down, the sight of my rainbow chest against the milky white of hers making me shiver. She pulls back and we watch the dark wood of the hairbrush as it parts my swollen lips, the slurp and slip of its entry and exit turning me on even more. Kissing me again, Sophia’s lips then travel over my breasts, down my stomach and as I open my legs wider for her she fastens them over my clit. Lips suckle; fingers pinch and the relentless thrusting of the thick handle leaves me in a melted pool of desire. She has ensnared me, has me captive and I am at her whim. I watch her flame red hair, the curls bouncing and bobbing around her face as she licks and sucks, her tongue laving the little bead nestled between my folds.

  I feel my orgasm building, a wave of desperate longing which she is about to release. I can no longer think about anything except the feel of her, the scent of her and my complete submission to her ministrations. I exist only for her pleasure and she is determined to take every last drop of mine.

  My legs are stiff, my body crying out as she laps and tongues at my pussy. The hairbrush has been discarded, replaced by her fingers and she has her hand in her knickers, frigging herself as she drags me ever closer to climax. I can hear the wet mess of her lust as her fingers glide in and out and as I breathe deeply I can smell her, mixed with my own desire.

  I wriggle free of my bonds and let my hands wander through her hair, over the creamy skin of her back, her arms and around to the pillowy softness of her tits still encased in the dusky satin of her corset. I pop one out, then both, heavy in my palms as I tweak her nipples.

  Her moan of pleasure sends me over the edge and with a low wail I feel my pussy contract around her fingers, the intense pulse of my orgasm leaving me incoherent as wave after wave of sensation hits me. There is nothing but her mouth and fingers, my world goes black as my eyelids flicker and I am whispering her name as my cunt twitches and jumps, creamy liquid spilling from me. I feel her breathe hot on me as she stiffens and I know she is coming too. The knowledge that I have done this to her grips my heart and makes me dizzy.

  She slumps forward against me, her chest heaving, her fingers still inside both of us and I stroke her pretty skin, then smoothing her tangle of fiery curls. I shiver. Now that the heat of our lust has dispersed the room feels cold and she smiles up at me.

  Sophia unties the scarves at my ankles and we slip under the feather duvet of her sumptuous bed. I am enfolded by the mattress, the duvet and her beautiful soft curves, a suffocating whiteness that I could sink into forever and never come back from.

  I close my eyes and we sleep.

  *****

  More about Lexie Bay

  Lexie lives with her two daughters on the south coast of England, and spends her days working as an accounts director. She loves the adrenaline rush of the unexpected, craves peace to write every day, likes to lose herself in the realms of fantasy and has a thing for smells that take her b
ack to her childhood. She started writing to immerse herself in a fantasy world where women are adored and men fall at their feet but it didn’t take long before she realised that sometimes men do that so you can stomp all over them in your sexy stiletto boots. Ever since then she’s been creating stories that stay true to her original romantic dream while exploring the erotic, the kinky and the downright filthy.

  Her style is contemporary naughtiness often with a twist of humour, because life is funny and she likes her characters to be as real as possible. So far she has had eleven short stories published and is currently working on her first full length novel.

  Lexie is published by House of Erotica, Sweetmeats Press and Ravenous Romance.

  Links

  Website: http://www.lexiebay.co.uk

  Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/lexie_bay

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/LexieBayAuthor

  Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4475587.Lexie_Bay

  Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/lexiebay/

  Praise for Lexie Bay

  Inside Looking Out from Immoral Views

  “The story is hot, no doubt about it.”

  Amazon Review

  “Inside Looking Out is wonderfully written…. The sex scenes in this short novella are pretty steamy. The scenes themselves are dispersed throughout the lead-up to a final scene where Ms. Isabella Delaney’s deepest sexual desire is sated in the middle of a room full of people at a very exclusive orgy. The little sex scenes sprinkled throughout do a good job of keeping one interested until big thrill at the end, and even serve to build up more for said thrill. This story features some dogging (a British sexual trend where a couple goes out and has sex with others watching, usually in a secluded place), some man on man action (surprisingly well written), and pegging that I wish could have been described more viscerally.”

  Mr Will’s House of Thrills

  Taking Care of Business from Smut In The City

  “What a wonderful read this was. I felt like I was reading one of those old mobster stories. Lexie Bay managed to convey the lust and heated love that the main character felt with exquisite detail. Great job!”

  Amazon Review

  Best Supporting Actress from Sex Toy Stories 2

  “Wow, I mean just wow! This is book of 12 stories by 12 seriously talented authors. Lexie Bay sure knows how to grab your interests with her story Best Supporting Actress. Holy cow she just shocked me with her toy of choice. I would have never thought of it being used for that purpose. Just goes to show you what a talented writer she is.”

  Amazon Review

  Red Rag to a Bull

  By Victoria Blisse

  I’ve not had sex in four years. I was miserable for one of them and I’ve taken Zumba classes for the past three. You’re probably thinking that doesn’t make sense, but believe you me, it does. I will be forever thankful for the day that Sharon, my workmate, told me about her dance class.

  I laughed her down at first. I am not terribly well co-ordinated and I’m a big woman, I love my curves and I didn’t want to lose them. But she explained it was just exercise, it wasn’t a serious dance class and I could eat extra chocolate and cake to maintain my luscious body if I wanted to. The extra chocolate tipped the balance so I decided to try it out with her one night. It was fun. The first lesson I spent most of the time trying to not trip over my own feet or stand on anybody else’s, but I enjoyed it. The upbeat music, the laughter and the sociability of it all.

  I also loved the ache, the dull pain that told me my muscles had been used, the twinges that reminded me so much of the after effects of really good sex. I got into a routine, a routine I still follow. I’d go to my Zumba class, dance around like a fool, get sweaty, laugh, sing and work my big sexy butt off then I’d go home and masturbate.

  I’d never stop to eat, drink or wash, I’d just get onto my bed and wank whilst the sweat was still beading on my skin and my muscles were on fire with exertion and I’d come. I’d come so hard it was just like having sex but without the messy bit. The other person and the emotional attachment you form to them. Perfection.

  So Zumba and sex became one and the same to me. I shimmied and shook each week and wiggled my hips and imagined I was writhing against a man. A hot, sexy man with just enough muscle and a smile to melt my heart. In fact, when I saw him there a few weeks ago I thought I was having a really vivid daydream. It wasn’t until we took a break that I realised he was a real true life man.

  “Hi,” I gasped between gulps of my water, “you’re new.”

  “Yes,” he replied. “I am.”

  “Enjoying it?” I asked.

  “Not sure yet.” He gripped a sports bottle in his huge, tanned hand. I wanted those fingers to grip me. “I’ll tell you when I’m capable of thought again.”

  “Fair enough,” I smiled. “It does get easier, I promise. I’ve been at it for three years now.”

  “That’s why you look so confident up the front then.”

  “No, that’s just because you’re viewing me from behind, you can’t see the funny faces I’m pulling.”

  He chuckled. The velvet force of the sound rumbled in my chest, arousing my nipples and making me think of my post-Zumba session a little earlier than usual.

  “I’m Dean, nice to meet you.” He held out his hand and I grasped it, hoping my palm wasn’t too sweaty.

  “Grace,” I replied. “Lovely to meet you too.”

  His fingers enfolded mine, exerted pressure but didn’t crush me. I imagined it would be the same if we had sex, a bit rough but nothing I couldn’t handle and give back in equal measure. I let his hand go reluctantly as the instructor’s words pulled us back into positions for the next dance.

  I was energised. I swung my hips powerfully, followed the steps with a precision that I didn’t normally achieve, all because I knew his eyes were on me. We didn’t get to speak again until the end because every woman in the class wanted to talk to him. That was clearly the bonus of being the only man in the room.

  I changed my shoes and picked up my bag and slipped in beside him as he left the hall.

  “So, will you be back next week, Dean?” I asked, much to the chagrin of the woman who I’d just slipped in next to, though she had a wedding ring on so she shouldn’t have been flirting in the first place.

  “Oh, definitely,” he nodded. “Great work out, great company and I really would like to get some of the steps right eventually.”

  I put my hand on his bicep, noting its pleasant bulge, nothing fancy, just strongly sprung male muscle. I wanted to test it to its limits but in a much more private setting.

  “You’ll manage that next week,” I said confidently, even though my stomach was churning with lust and nerves. “See you then?”

  “Sure,” he replied, “you couldn’t keep me away.”

  I wouldn’t want to.

  There’s no big cash prize for guessing who was on my mind when I jumped into bed that night. I imagined us dancing alone, no instructor and face-to-face. I could see the sweat on his brow, the flex of his muscles, the sweep of his hips. He devoured me visually too, taking in my bouncing breasts, which even in a sports bra wobbled impressively with each movement. He dropped his gaze to my ample hips and long, curved legs as I cucaracha-ed side-to-side.

  When the music stopped the fantasy continued. We hurried towards one another, crushed together in a mass of passion, lip-to-lip, crotch-to-crotch, burning with need and ripping off clothes.

  I gripped my naked breast, plucked the nipple as I imagined him doing it. I ran my finger up and down my slit, gathering and spreading moisture and caressing my clit, bringing myself closer to the brink. I hurried my mental masturbation material on. We were completely naked and my back and buttocks were chilled by the wooden floor beneath me. He pressed his hard cock between my plump wet lips and I wrapped my legs around his long, lithe body, feeling the bounce of his taut buttocks with every thrust.

  I came with a loud grunt, th
e visual dissipating as the orgasm bloomed and soon after withered away. I was left hungry, sweaty and wanting more. Zumba and masturbation were no longer enough, I needed a man between my thighs. I needed Dean.

  I got to know him more with each session. We’d talk in the breaks. He’d put his water bottle down next to mine and we’d swig back the precious, cool elixir we needed, then we’d chit chat. I found out he was a mature student at the local University. He’d worked as a shelf stacker for some time and decided enough was enough. He joined the Zumba class to keep up the exercise that he was lacking because of the time his studies took up.

  I also found out he enjoyed Italian food, James Bond films and was really rather ticklish. The last fact was the most fun to find out. We were bantering as usual after learning a new dance.

  “I just can’t get that move right, you know, where you have to put your arms together in front of you and pull down.”

  “That’ll be your boobs getting in the way,” he responded, straight faced. Then he cackled with laughter when my mouth and eyes went wide with shock.

  “You cheeky bugger,” I exclaimed, shooting out my hand to grab at him but he’d moved out of the way. My fingers landed just beside his nipple, almost under his arm and when I scrabbled to slap him he giggled almost girlishly and pulled away. We laughed hysterically together then. Tina, our instructor, had to yell at us to get us back to dancing.

  I should have asked him out when I saw him at that second lesson, but I couldn’t. I might not be backwards at coming forwards as my Gran likes to say but I was scared half to death he’d say no. Zumba was so much more fun with him to chat to. I didn’t want to lose that. So I continued with my usual plan of action but instead of looking forward to my post-exercise wank I found it increasingly frustrating. I just wasn’t satisfied, I needed more.