Sin Town Shake Down (closed thread)

[shereads]

Beverly Bodoni

Make me.

Make me need you, make me fear you.

Beverly is on the hard floor, legs splayed. Laid low. While Matt Danger strips she dares a downward glance at the obscenity protruding from her weeping pussy. The delicate pearls of her thong are all but lost in swollen pinkness, shoved aside by the handle of Matt's leather flogger. Her painfully over-stimulated body grips the tip of the hideous thing and loves it - sucks it - tries to make it fuck her. With every pulsebeat, Beverly's lower body shudders and leaps in mean little spasms, and the black leather strands quiver between her legs like something alive; fingers stroking her whip-striped thighs.

Her cunt doesn't understand the insult; it only knows that something anything needs to fill and stretch it, stroke it, FUCK it please please make it cum.

Make me earn you. Strip away everything about me that isn't worth owning. Make me cry for you, delicious lover. Make me yours.

When she looks up again, Matt is masturbating over her. His eyes are hard as the floor beneath her, obsidian-hard. The slit at the center of his glans seems to gape like a little mouth, and when the precum emerges it forms a long, thin string that drops toward her face -

Oh yes, make me do this too

- but when she opens for it, hungry for the evidence of his need, the lurid rope of fluid sways and dangles, teasing, just beyond the reach of Beverly's kiss-bruised lips.

"Ahh?" With a little squeal of outrage, Beverly gazes up at Matt and signals her desperate need of his cock with an upward thrust of her hips. She winces when the string of pearls, trapped between leather rod and punished flesh, pinches her hard. In the half-second that her eyes are shut, the viscous strand of precum breaks against her tear-streaked cheek.

He kneels between her legs, at last. Her tormenter - master, teacher - needs her too much to punish her with a moment more of waiting. Her pussy holds hard to the leather handle, reluctant to be empty for even a moment; he pops the thing loose and tosses it aside.

I'm so empty, please hurry.

Beverly splays her legs impossibly wider, holds them higher, raises her ass-cheeks from the floor and waits and waits - the longest seconds of her life -

"Fuck," she breaths as Matt positions his penis between her pulsing labia. "Fuck yes."

She's staring at his face when he enters her at long, long last.

Beautiful man. Remarkable man.

Her climax begins at the first contact of flesh to waiting flesh. It's too much - too hot, too hard, oh hell it hurts to cum for him! A cacophony of sensation shatters every other reality, a white-hot stab of pleasure-pain that makes her body quake and her mind go into freefall.

Pearls scatter.

Plunging meat and muscle snap the costly tease of a thong. The creamy rounds leap and scatter, a little fireworks of precious pearls.

Break me. Make me free.

Beverly screams with pleasure, screams and pants and pumps her hips hard and fast, in time with the spasms that squeeze and pull the long-awaited cock.

"Ahhh - Ahhh - Ahhh - AHHH!"

She welcomes her master into her body, a willing sacrifice. The god who laid her low is down here with her now. The hardness in his eyes has been replaced with a need as naked as her own.

It hurts to be fucked against the unforgiving floor, hands pinned beneath her back. It hurts, but oh it's good. It's good to let Matt Danger set the pounding rhythm they both need; good that she can't touch him, can't do anything but take him. When he presses - slams - against her clitoris, his wiry pubic hair cushioning the sharp little nubbin just enough, the delight is too good to be borne.

"That's it, honey." she whispers, hardly knowing that she speaks. Her body is building to another climax as he pumps her full of hardness and heat. "Make me take it."

 

[dr_mabeuse]

"Make me take it." she whispers, and that’s just what he does, lifting his hips and thrusting hard against her with all the strength in his body, concentrating all of it on the spear point of stiff, feverish pleasure his cock has become, stabbing her with it, assaulting her with it in a fury of possessive sexual need.

He kisses her face, bites it, and she turns away moaning in protest. Even in her anguish of lust she refuses to be treated like this, refuses to be brought down to his animal level of prick and cunt groveling and contending on the cheap and dirty floor. But he won’t let her get away, and he grabs her face in his hand and forces her back to him. he finds her mouth, thrusts his tongue inside and begins to fuck her there too, sucking the breath from her body. His hands go to her breasts and he twists and mauls them, finds the nipples and pinches, wanting to hurt her, wanting to be the only thing that exists for her.

Beverly gives up. The man’s insane; possessed, and as soon as she surrenders she’s swept away on his flood of desire, like being swept away in a wild river where once you lose your footing, all is lost. She thought that by yielding she’d make it easy for him to finish his filthy business and be done with her, but now she realizes that it only makes him hotter and more desperate. She’s open and vulnerable now, and he’s determined to take possession.

He tangles his hands in her sweaty hair and lifts her face to his kiss. He gets up on his knees and holds her ass in the air so he can swing his hips into her into a bone-jarring arc that punches the breath from her body. His finger works its way against her anus, presses against her and she wails as he sinks inside, piercing her most private spot. She’s his now, his totally, and she has nothing she can hide behind and no excuses to give. The dark flood of her orgasm reaches up for her and she feels her body lose control, feels her pussy clamp down on him, and it’s all she can do to hold onto consciousness as she feels him harden and expand inside her, hears him cry out and snarl with wild triumph as he begins to gush inside her with thick bolts of heated semen.

She hangs on the edge of the abyss as she feels her body shamelessly suck in his seed with obscene hunger, and everything that makes her a woman rejoices as he spends his strength in her, pumping, pulsing, jetting all his lust for her into her trembling body.

*****
She comes out of the cramped office bathroom, trying to comb her hair back with her fingers, to find him throwing clothes into an old valise from his bottom file drawers. Her legs are still trembling, and she can feel his come seeping out of her. With no panties to catch it, it slides down the inside of her thighs and feels like a long, lascivious tongue working under her skirt. She wonders whether she can get her purse and make it to the door without meeting his eyes. She doesn’t want to meet his eyes.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he asks, a bunch of his underwear in his hand.

“I think we’re done with each other, Mr. Danger,” she says. “I want to get home and shower. Boil myself in water is more like it.”

‘The hell with that,” he says, slamming the file drawer shut. “You’re coming with me.”

“With you?” she says contemptuously. “I don’t think so.”

In an instant he’s at her side, grabbing her arm so hard that she winces.

“I’ve still got the goods on you, Beverly. And I say you’re coming with me. Miami. We can still catch the ten o’clock. I want to get out of here before your daddy finds out you’re missing and his ten G’s with it.”

“You can forget it, Danger. There’s no more where that came from. I can’t get you any more money. That’s it. Finito.”

“Fuck the money,” he said, dragging her out of the office and kicking the door slammed behind him. “It’s you I want.”

 

[shereads]

Beverly Bodoni

“Fuck the money,” he said, dragging her out of the office and kicking the door slammed behind him. “It’s you I want.”

"Fuck you, Bodoni. It's the money I want, not your bimbo daughter."

Lawrence Snowden Camden III, known on the Strip as "Larry the Love-Leech," knew he was treading dangerous ground. He had insulted Blake Bodoni's spoiled-brat daughter, and he was prepared for an explosive reaction.

He was wishing for an explosion right now. A nice blast of heat might counteract the chillbumps that rose on the back of Larry's neck in response to Bodoni's ice-blue stare.

"Carlo, refresh Mr. Camden's drink, won't you? He's sweating on Le Courbusier."

"You want him hurt now, or later?" said the old man, looming large at Larry's shoulder. He had seemed so fragile a moment ago...

Bodoni glanced up at the bodyguard, relieving Larry of the heavy burden of his stare. "Carlo, need I remind you that Mr. Camden is a guest in this house, and my daughter's fiancee?"

"Sorry, boss. But he ought not to have called Miss B a bimbo."

"Your loyalty to my daughter is quaint, Carlo, but unnecessary and somewhat inappropriate. Now refresh Mr. Camden's drink while he and I get down to the business of locating Beverly's briefcase."

His confidence having been renewed by Bodoni's unexpected scolding of the servant, Larry the Love-Leech sat up straighter in his chair - and damn if there wasn't a sweaty outline of his back and shoulders on the glove-smooth leather backrest; his shirt must be soaked through. Larry summoned what was left of calm, collected Lawrence Snowden Camden III, Princeton class of 1999, just long enough to bestow the Camden Sneer upon the servant. Then he turned his attention back to his future father-in-law.

"If that briefcase shows up dead - shows up empty, I mean - the Bodonis and the Camdens are toast in this town." He started to light a cigarette, but a single twitching muscle on Bodoni's hard face had him fumbling to cram the cigarette back into the pack.

"Don't panic, Lawrence, it weakens your chin. If you had been fulfilling my daughter's carnal needs, she wouldn't have had the energy to disappear."

Larry blushed.

Carlo, who was losing the fear of his employer in leaps and bounds as he drew closer to death by natural causes, had lingered at the door and couldn't help asking, "Why do you care about ten grand, Mr. B? Miss Beverly spends that on shoes in a month."

"It's not the money, Carlo. It's the briefcase. Specifically, the lining of my daughter's briefcase. Mr. Camden thought that would be a clever place to hide some property for which we are mutually...mortgaged."

Another minion came into the room, and Larry's nervous posture melted into the aristocratic slouch of haughty Lawrence. Blake Bodoni took note of the ease with which this worm was able to perform his role now. It had been schooled into him at great cost in time and money, long before he'd been introduced to Beverly, who had tolerated him for her daddy's sake but had never truly embraced the idea of an engagement. Larry/Lawrence had never been a match for Beverly's vitality, and God only knows how many men she might have gone through in her determination to prove it.

Young Lawrence was a failed experiment, thought Bodoni with a resigned sigh; one whose evidence would need to be erased once Beverly and the briefcase were back where they belonged.

The minion, at least, seemed to be in a positive mood, and was eager to speak.

"You have good news for me, Pierce?" Bodoni asked, not expecting much; good help was damn hard to find, even in this job market.

"The car has been found, sir. Miss Beverly's Thunderbird."

Well, thank God for that at least. The vintage Thunderbird, in immaculate condition, was a particular favorite of Blake Bodoni's.

--------------

The bellman at the Delano Hotel threw open the balcony doors, and Beverly's anger and confusion faded for a moment, softened by the sound of the ocean and a reggae band somewhere in the darkness down below. She watched Danger over-tip the man, and wondered if the P.I. knew how quickly they could go through ten thousand dollars in this place. A room service meal or two, a couple of Screaming Orgasms at the bar beside the pool, and they'd be living small.

The door closed softly, and she knew she was alone with her blackmailer/kidnapper/sexual enslaver. Matt Danger, Private Investigator, spirit guide to the underworld of Beverly's darkest, wettest dreams.

Staring out at the moonlit silver sea, she waited for Matt to touch her. He made her wait, made her anticipate his touch for a few heartbeats longer than necessary, to remind her of how starved she was for intimate contact after the long famine of their flight to Miami.

Stop torturing me, you son of a bitch.

Then his hands were on her shoulders, not exactly gentle but not bruising either, and Beverly quivered all over. Neither could she contain a sigh that sounded like a purr...As if a sleek cat were being stroked in just the right way, by the only hands that mattered.

She sighed and leaned back against his big chest, drinking in the mingled smells of ocean, aftershave and the sweat of Matt Danger's long, hard day...

 

[dr_mabeuse]

“Nice, isn’t it?” he asked her, but damned if she would answer him. Besides, just what did he mean? The floodlights on the pool below then, gleaming with emerald green water, or the dark, shadowy beach beyond that, where the white lace of the surf could be seen beneath the fat tropic moon as it beat with sexual regularity on the shore. The breeze was warm and almost cloying with the smells of flowers and other growing things, heady and intoxicating like liquor, and it stirred her hair and worked its way inside her clothes, licking at her naked skin. Normally Beverly was immune to any sort of romance, but now the very night seemed to throb with passion and mystery, and she did too.

“You know, that ten thousand isn’t going to last very long down here,” she said. She hated herself for breaking the mood, but she didn’t trust the things she was feeling. She wanted her anger back. “I go through that kind of money before breakfast.”

“You let me worry about that,” he said, his hands caressing her shoulders. “I just need a little time to figure a few things out, a few things I hadn’t counted on.”

He pulled her back against him, and Beverly felt his big, hard cock against her ass. He’d already made her take her panties off in the plane so that he could play with her beneath an airline blanket, and she was still aroused and hungry, and having trouble hiding it from him.

“Go to my bag, the small one. The crop is in there, and a pair of handcuffs. Bring them to me. Hold the crop in your mouth and bring them to me.”

Only a few hours ago she would have scratched his eyes out for talking to her like that, but now, her body heavy with need, she barely hesitated. She would do it, just to show him that his juvenile little games meant nothing to her.

She walked into the room, her own unsteadiness surprising her. She found the handcuffs and the crop was becoming like an old friend to her. Just the sight of it brought a rush of excitement to her loins. She put it between her white teeth and went to him on the balcony again.

He cuffed her hands behind her, then stood close, trapping her against the rail. The balcony was a solid stucco wall of waist height, and once her hands were cuffed, he took a moment to grind his cock against her again, making sure she knew exactly what was on his mind.

His hands went to her breasts and began to unbutton her blouse. There were still some people visible around the pool or walking in from the darkness of the beach, but they were far enough away so that Beverly couldn’t see their eyes and couldn’t tell if they were watching her. She didn’t think so. In any case there was nothing she could do about it as Matt took her breasts in his hands and kissed the side of her neck, then bared his teeth and bit her tenderly, yet possessively. Her blouse was open far enough that he could slip his hands inside and take her nipples between his fingers and bare down.

Her nipples had become such traitors to her. They hardened beneath his cruel grip and sent spears of masochistic pleasure lancing down to her pussy. She felt herself melt into his embrace, pressing her head back against him and moaning in a shameless confession of need.

Matt stepped back, pulling her away from the rail, keeping her tight against him. His hand went down to the hem of her skirt and lifted it up, over her naked pussy. He held it in place with his other hand, and then went down to her pussy and slid a finger into her, as easily as if she were a bowl of chocolate pudding. Beverly groaned as his greasy finger found her clit and circled around it till it stood up like a hard little dick.

How she hated him; despised him for what he made her feel, but she couldn’t keep her hips from grinding hungrily against his hand, smearing his fingers with her own shameful arousal. Her fingers dug at him, trying to reach his cock and return the delicious punishment, but she couldn’t reach.

He took the crop from her teeth while he spread her apart with the hand on her pussy. The breeze filled her half-open blouse and ballooned it away from her chest, and she could look down and see her nipples hard as little pebbles with her illicit excitement, and below that, his thick, strong hand holding her petals apart, pinching her with the sides of his fingers to make her clit pooch out in a little pout.

“You’re the thing I have to figure out now, Beverly, you hot little slut,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re more than I bargained on. You get to me, Beverly. Make me want to do things to you. Nasty things. Dirty things.”

She was trying to cut through the billowing clouds of desire in her mind and think of some snappy comeback when he took the whip and slapped it lightly right against her naked and exposed clit. She jerked back and sobbed in a sudden overflow of excitement, but immediately she pushed her cunt out for more, her mind going blank of everything but the filthy pleasure of the leather against her most sensitive flesh.

“You can come like this, can’t you Beverly?” he whispered, tapping her clit again. “You can come from having your pussy whipped. What sort of whore does that make you, huh? Do you know? Do you even know?”

She sobbed again. He was holding the lips of her pussy open and slapping the crop against her wet and sodden flesh, each blow an explosion of salacious pleasure in her lust-wracked body.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said. “Tell me you want me to stop. Tell me you hate this…”

 

[shereads]

Beverly Bodoni

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said. “Tell me you want me to stop. Tell me you hate this…”

She wanted to tell him all those things. But if she spoke now -

THWACK

- if she more than whimpered in reponse to him now, Beverly couldn't trust herself to say the right words.

THWACK

"Nnghh!"

She might tell him, she shouldn't tell him -

THWACK!!

"I don't want - I don't - "

When his arm drew back this time, his own pained snarl warned that this blow would be the real thing. Beverly moaned, the insane sound of a trapped animal, but her body betrayed her again, her hips straining forward and upward to greet the sting. Like an offering, her naked mons was presented to Matt's whip.

Now.

THWACK!!

"Jesus!" she heard herself cry out. That had hurt. The blows were not substantial - she could tell by the tension in Danger's body that he was holding back, unleashing a fraction of his strength - but her quivering pussy was still raw and swollen from the hours in his office, and these few, stinging blows had built to a crescendo of confused sensation.

She was wet, so wet. When the breeze subsided for a moment, the scent of her arousal was generously evident.

As if he had waited for just such a signal, Danger's arm lifted the crop again - and paused at the top of its arc for a heart-stopping moment.

No don't, please don't.

Beverly took a deep, shuddering breath and bit her lip, bit the bruised pinkness, shutting her eyes tight to hold back tears.

Do it. Show me.

"Damn it, Beverly," Danger pleaded, his lips against her hair. "Tell me to stop this." Was there fear in his voice?

Did he fear his rage more than Beverly did?

The honey-blond woman on the balcony, stripped and whipped and shamed, felt a flash of understanding. Something new and absurdly tender.

She might forget this feeling later, in the pristine whiteness of the marble bathroom, where the lurid stripes and purpling bruises would accuse her of an unspeakable weakness. But for now, she almost understood.

"Beverly," he whispered. Her fellow prisoner, shackled to a primitive need. He held her to him almost gently now, with the arm that didn't wield the whip. "Tell me what you want. Tell me, and mean it. Because there's no going back."

Was he trembling? Or was her own body shivering so hard that the tremors shook him too? His thick cock jerked against her bottom; her clitoris, brittle as glass, pulsed and throbbed in response. At least two participants in this strange scenario knew what they wanted.

The week since she'd met Matt Danger had been too confusing. Too much sensation, too many revelations had been building to this moment.

She sighed, and relaxed against his body, as languid and accepting as if he'd threatened no more than a kiss.

"Do it," she whispered. "I'll come for you, I can come like this."

A dozen floors below, and far from the shelter of her lover's inexplicable power, the band had stopped playing. The eastern horizon glowed rose-red. In the pre-dawn light, she could distinguish shapes. The day's first seagull cried.

Beverly writhed, a sinuous tease, pressing his prick with her bottom in a rhythmic mimicry of fucking. Teasing, taunting. Wanting.

"Show me what we need, lover. Make me come."

 

[dr_mabeuse]

She pressed back against me, leaning all her weight on me, her hips thrust forward in invitation. I held her skirt bunched up in my hand above her belly, in the other I held the nasty little crop, poised to bring it down on her clit and make her explode into orgasm. And I knew that’s what would happen: she would explode. I could read through her now. I knew what she wanted even better than she did.

In my mind’s eye I saw the two of us as in a tableau: me behind her, her in front pushing her naked pussy out at the world, begging for the cruelty of the whip to put her over the edge. It’s what she wanted, but was it what I wanted?

I turned her around and looked into her eyes. Surprise, and more than a little disappointment. She was ready to hate me for making her come. She knew how to do that. But was that all there was? Was she really just so seized up and twisted inside that she responded to plain with pleasure? How did she respond to pleasure itself?

I dropped the whip and picked her up bodily, like a child. She swore and twisted as I lifted her up, the ultimate indignity to someone of her temperament. For all that fire and hatred I’d expected her to be heavier in my arms, like a bag of sand. Instead she was light and vibrant, her body humming with sexual tension. I brought her into the room and dumped her on the bed, rolled her over on her side and unclipped her wrists. I stripped off my clothes. The room was so quiet we could hear the regular crash and suck of the surf on the dark beach below.

The only light was the moonlight that came in from the open doors to the balcony. I climbed between her legs and picked her knees up. Her eyes were burning dark on my face, but I could feel her thighs trembling. She looked at me, not even glancing down to see me take my aching cock in my hand. When I entered her she gave only the smallest gasp. She was very sore there, but that’s alright. She’s a woman: pretty soon the soreness will feel good to her.

“Oh Beverly, Beverly,” I sighed as I slid into her. I don’t know what I wanted to say. Since I’d met her I didn’t know what I wanted to say to her. Something real for a change. Something beyond the constant posturing and tough talk, the threats and insults.

As always she felt entirely new. Completely familiar now but entirely new. The girl had more moods than the ocean outside, and I could feel each one in the way she fucked. Now her hands came up. It was the first time we’d ever been in bed together when she had use of her hands, and now her hands came up tentatively, trembling every so slightly. She put her hands on my ribs, just feeling me there.

I leaned over her. My cock was ensconced in her hot wetness and I leaned over her, saw her face almost placid in the moonlight. I pressed my lips to hers and felt her kiss me back, again, tentative, not quite trusting either me or herself. I didn’t grab for her clit. I didn’t grab for her ass or pinch her nipples. I worked my arms beneath her so I could hold her: poor, trembling thing, so small, so delicate, so totally overpowering around me. I kissed her: long and slow, and she kissed me back, and our kisses said the same thing, shocking us both; shocking us more than any amount of clit-twisting or nipple-pinching or anything else we could have done. I sank into that kiss and I sank into Beverly and she sank into me.

“Ohhhh,” she moaned what seemed like ages later, turning her face to the side. Her hands came up around my back and her thin arms pulled me down against her breasts with a little hum of contentment. One long leg wrapped itself behind mine and with a deep sigh—as deep as the sound of the surf on the beach—Beverly Bodoni began to fuck me, slow and languorous and with deep, silent pleasure, not fighting me this time, not contending with me in the slightest. Fucked me like lovers fuck, sharing it, with the warm ocean breeze on our bodies and the moonlight on our skin.

I rolled over, she rolled over, I don’t remember. I only remember the feeling of making love to her, of making love with her, because now there was no master or slave. The passion was slow and deep, and she gave herself in a way she never could have done had she been a prisoner. She showed me what she was capable of, what her woman’s love was like, or what it could be like, and she surprised herself too. I could tell by the look of joy and oeace in her face, and by the way she came: soft and deep, like a little girl, her hand on my face, her own face contorted into a look of pleasure so profound and heartbreaking and vulnerable in her ecstasy that I could have wept to see her.

And then I was coming too: not the hard, furious release I’d had with her before, but something indescribably sweet and giving, something inevitable, my body fused to hers, my lips against her cheek as I lost myself in the rapture of giving myself to her.

For a long time we didn’t move. The sun was coming up over the ocean and the curtains stirred as the dawn breeze swept into the room with the bleary sunlight. I lifted myself off her, saw her brow furrow softly in regret as I took my weight from her.

She pulled the sheets up over her breasts, leaving one long leg dangling bare off the side of the bed. I moved closer to her and gathered her to me. I kissed her. I kissed her breasts, her shoulders. I kissed her with awe and wonder and a deep, sweet confusion.

I looked into her eyes and saw her as I’d never seen her before: all the questions, the new uncertainty; the desire to trust and yet the ragging fear of doing so.

I never felt so naked in my life.