Sex Contract

"What did you say?" he inquired. "I don't want you." He twisted my nipple. Painful pleasure raced from my nipple to my clit. My legs buckled when I screamed. Nervous hands dropped purse and contract. Luke King said, "Don't lie." He stroked his fingers over my body but avoided my flesh, as if it might hurt him. His kisses traveled over my sweater, waist, and hip. His hands found the delicate wrinkles where my ass met my thighs. He scratched my legs with dull fingernails. They were hardly noticeable through my jeans. I wanted to put his face in my crotch. I wanted his mouth and cock. I hovered my hands near his hair and ears, frightened to touch him. His nose grazed my hip and jeans. He stopped at my thighs and inhaled. He leaned on the glass behind me. His lips caressed my ear and he went closer until I felt his cock in his pants against my belly. He said, "I can smell you." "Your pussy begs me to fuck it." His furnace-hot body hovered over mine, and his erection pushed against my stomach. "Sign the deal and get whatever you want." He massaged his cock over me, almost touching my pussy. My underwear was drenched with juice. His lips brushed my throat, stopping my heart. Where he touched me, flames licked my flesh. I grasped his shoulders. Under his white linen shirt, he had strong planes and tremendous muscle. My hands clinched as he ran his fingertips along my sweater's hem. Then, slowly, he slipped them under and caressed my stomach. I tried to stop him. He wouldn't stop. He pressed his palm on my abdomen and slid his hand under my jeans' waistband and elastic. I drooped and shoved his hand. He split my outer lips and slid his fingers along my slit, but he didn't touch my swelling clit. His fingers were coated in my juices. His other two fingers skimmed my slit, but didn't touch. I tried to trap him with my hips, but he avoided me. He murmured into my skin and scraped his teeth on my collarbone. He muttered, "Beg me to take you." His voice shook my bones. "Beg me to fuck you on the couch." I spoke before thinking. I whispered, "Yes." "Please." I left my dignity behind as I grabbed my handbag and contract. I didn't straighten my hair before bursting through the double glass doors. Instead, I went for the wooden doors and burst through them. As I ran to the elevator, I shuffled clumsily. The doors opened when I slammed my hand on the button. I fell in, and they started to fall. My clitch was exposed as I reached inside my pants and parted my pussy lips. While one hand slithered beneath my ragged sweater and bra strap, I stroked my fingertip furiously in rapid circles to stimulate the nerve endings. To satiate my hunger, I gripped my breasts and tapped my nipple. It seemed as if my body was on fire as my legs collapsed and I lurched against the railing. Sobbing, I let out an audible gasp as my cheeks became heated and flushed. As I drew fluid from my slippery folds across my clit, my hips collapsed. I startled as I envisioned Luke King's huge, rough hands grabbing hold of me in the dark. When the waves of pleasure slammed into me and threatened to draw me into a deep, hungry ocean, my back arched and I screamed. My whole body seemed to contract during my orgasm, my hungry passage squeezing around nothing. Insufficient. Insufficient. I couldn't fuck him. I almost sobbed with disappointment as my body spasmed. Before I could pull my hand out of my pants, the elevator doors opened. In the foyer, businessmen waited. and I just managed to escape. In an elevator, I masturbated. Gulping, I wiped my sticky fingers on the inside of my sweater and left. I took three wrong turns in the lunch crowd before finding the bus station. I buried my face in my hands and tried to think when I boarded . My fingers smelled like my own juices, reminding me of my salacious behavior. When I got home, my feelings were slim pickings The next morning, I was nursing a hangover in a lawyer's office. I was still drunk... After my encounter with Luke King and embarrassing elevator display, I felt dazed and useless. I sat down, opened the contract, and read for 10 minutes. I'm a mature problem-solver. My father left me ten voicemails during my meeting with Luke King, which I deleted. I needed a lawyer, so I went. I wanted to know if it was binding, If I sign. I had to look up a few to make sure they were correct. I shifted in my chair as I stared at the contract in my lap. It was illegal. 95 percent sure. If I didn't "play the submissive" in 75 percent of our sexual encounters, he couldn't sue me. Perhaps. He'd keep track? A vision of King bending me over a table and fucking me while recording it made me giggle, then set my cheeks on fire when I remembered he had told me to beg him to fuck me that way. I liked having a female lawyer. My needs were important. "GREEN?" A handsome paralegal stood in the doorway. I slung my purse and contract over my shoulder. I entered unsteadily. Lawyers annoyed me. My law-studying friends aren't lawyers. Most became baristas instead of lawyers. My father used the law to exploit people whose only crime was ignorance, need, or poverty. So I entered Ms. Stock's office with trepidation, and when she smiled and shook my hand, my brain screamed.It's a trap! "Hello, Ms. Green. "She said. She lacked lawyer's bearings. Her iron-colored hair was white-streaked, and her eyes were dark. "What, your fiance?" "Yes. I'm his bride." She frowned. "Wanna wed him?" "We had many issues." Finally, she motioned for me to sit, and I gratefully did. She read the contract opposite me. She folded her hands over the contract. She was confused. Still recovering from last night's abuse, my stomach clenched and I shrank.