Poor Little Rich Slut by Lizbeth Dusseau
The girl’s got everything…good looks, wealth, a hard-won MBA, and yet, the heiress Eleanor Rule is floundering in her new job running one of her Daddy’s hottest trendy magazines. When her colleague, the sexy scoundrel Garrison Tate suggests it’s time the prim virgin got laid…she’s shocked by the rude suggestion. And yet, his startling declaration suddenly opens a door of desire in the naïve young woman that’s filled with raw sexual energy and everything from exhibitionist to punishment to hardcore submissive fantasies. Soon overwhelmed by the truth, she confesses her darkest secrets to Garrison. He boldly suggests she put her sexual initiation in his hands, never expecting that she’ll actually agree to his plan. To his surprise, the eager heiress is more than ready to accept. But will Garrison’s cure for her stifling repression be more than she bargained for?
Agreeing to do everything she’s told, Ellie’s ordered to dress to please the man and respond instantly to his orders—even when it means she must strip in his office and crawl to his feet. She gets punished for the slightest error and even submits to a caning from her own housemaid Angelica—after she seduces the voluptuous maid on Garrison’s orders. There seems no end to the raunchy sex he arranges for his needy boss. She has sex in the woods, in the office and while bound to a bed in the attic of her Daddy’s house. Soon, she’s being punished in the office by another of her colleagues. Then at a hard core S&M erotic ball, the masked Eleanor becomes a caged and humiliated submissive, forced to slither on the floor to earn the right to cum.
All this hot submission is heaven for the sexually awakening Eleanor. But to her surprise, Garrison has a sudden, inexplicable change of heart. Could it be that he wants more than their raunchy sex games? Though hurt, the lust-driven Ellie is not about to stop. She strikes out on her own, picking up a rough-edged but sexy carney, who gives her a naked trip on his merry-go-round and introduces her to his sex machines. Ellie can’t get enough! The once virtuous young woman seems determined to dive deep into the depraved world of her lewd desires. She shuns rescue, and soon it may be too late to save her from the paparazzi who hover like wolves waiting to pounce on the demise of this wayward heiress.
“Oh, yes baby,” I vented in a quiet voice.
“Yeah, you gonna cum, baby,” Casey answered, his voice a breathless growl.
“Oh, yes, I’m gonna cum. Yes! Fuck me!” I was getting too loud. I knew that.
But my cowboy didn’t care. His warm breath was at my neck, my ear. His wet lips kissed the side of my throat. His hands, his strong, firm, muscled hands squeezed my naked ass cheeks, and his cock worked wonders, rubbing places that make me squeal, make me hot. Yes! He made me need to cum.
I started to sweat. Another waft of sexual odors greeted my nostrils. I ground a little harder back against him, grunting now and seething under my breath, “Fuck me, baby, fuck me, fuck me, YES YES HARDER!” More intense, heavier breathing. He was getting into his rhythm and was ready for the explosive end. He gave me one last hard thrust and held my ass to his groin, shooting spasm after spasm after spasm into my quivering hole. Amazingly, he reached around and teased my clitty just enough to trigger the finish in me.
YES YES YES! I was screaming—to myself, I think. Although I’m not sure I didn’t announce it to the world.
Yet no one came running. No sounds echoed off the building and all was quiet once we stopped. Even the street below the bridge was empty of all traffic.
I felt negligent afterwards. No Tate to upbraid me for being bad. No punishment. No sweet refuge in the startling pain of a physical rebuke. Something was missing after we righted ourselves and I wiped my crotch on his handkerchief and straightened my clothes. I felt free and sad and guilty, all at the same time. Something was missing, something lost, but these were all silent thoughts I’d never share with an anonymous lover.
Casey made himself presentable, while both of us filled the awkward moment with a compendium of wistful sighs until we couldn’t sigh anymore. Someone had to say something.
He spoke first. “You do this often?”
I stared at him a moment, not knowing what to say. “No, no, not really.” I had my first flustered, self-conscious moment.
“Any special reason?”
“Just a bad breakup,” I managed, wishing we didn’t have to make small talk.
“I see.” He seemed as ready to move on as I was, but added, much to my surprise, “So, I suppose it’s too much to think you’d want to go at it again, huh?”
Go at it. How quaint, I thought, while I was trying to figure out how to respond.
“I don’t know. Could it be better than this?” I wondered aloud.
“Maybe.” He smiled a crooked, charming smile. “I run the machinery at the amusement park and live in the Carousel building. Some women like the added thrill of a wild ride, if you know what I mean?”
I didn’t know what he meant, not exactly. But the thought of amusement parks and carnival rides, cotton candy and stale popcorn tend to feed the girl in me with unseemly desires. If this Casey Ingram could fulfill my seedy fantasies, then he wasn’t just my cowboy fuck for an evening; he was a man of minor miracles, able to lift me out of my sexual impoverishment like a bold knight.
(c) Ludovic Goubet, www.ludovicgoubet.com