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Author’s note. I must confess that I hadn’t intended to write another Chapter to this series, but I got a lot of very positive feedback from the first two chapters which always helps. I confess that I also like Ben and Chelsea and the trials and tribulations of their feelings for each other, so it’s been fun adding another story.
For those who feel like writing to me saying that some detail or another isn’t realistic – don’t bother. It’s an act of fiction and it is what it is! For anyone else, though, please spend a second or two leaving feedback, particularly if you have ideas about the direction the relationship might move from now on.
All characters are over the age of 18, of course, and all of them are entirely fictitious.
CHELSEA RISING – Ch. 03
Chelsea Rogers held the envelope in her slim fingers and glanced again at the handwriting on the front. It was a feminine hand – the neat characters marching across the paper, not at all like the academic scrawl her father would have used, but she knew that it was from him. She also knew that it was an invitation to his wedding.
She slipped her finger under the flap and tore open the envelope, her eyes scanning over the script on the card inside.
Mr James Rogers and Ms Melanie Phillips request the pleasure of the company of Ms Chelsea Rogers on the occasion of their marriage at the Church of St Joseph and Mary at 1600 on Saturday 23 November 2010, and afterwards at Seven Hills RSL, 15 Showground Road, Seven Hills…
Chelsea propped the invitation on the kitchen worktop and picked up her coffee, thinking about how much things had changed. It was almost exactly three years ago since her mother had died, lying in the hospital bed whilst her father held her hand, praying for her to get better. Chelsea liked to think that her mother was at peace as she finally gave up the struggle and reached out for the tranquility of death. Poor Dad. She remembered the grief he had worn like a shabby coat for so long – and guilt too, because he had not been able to protect her. He had virtually given up after that, and everyone had thought that he might not last long – but now, just three years later, he was marrying again – a testimony to the healing capacity of the human spirit.
She looked down at the invitation again, the heavy linen card and the flowing silver script. A message of celebration, of happiness and hope for his future. God knows, she thought, he deserves that, and she should be with him on his special day. The words burned into her brain. Request the pleasure of the company of Ms Chelsea Rogers… Every fibre in her being longed to go, to help make it a special day for him – but her heart quailed at the thought. How could her company be a pleasure, she reflected, when Ben will be there?
Benjamin Philip Rogers – her brother, her friend, her lover…and her nemesis. Ben, whom she had sworn she would never set eyes on again.
Two hundred miles away the subject of her thoughts shuffled through that morning’s mail, discarding the junk, setting aside the bills and picking out those of interest. The white linen envelope with its distinctive handwriting now lay on the top of the pile and he picked it up and deftly opened it with the silver letter -opener from his desk.
Mr James Rogers and Ms Melanie Phillips request the pleasure of the company of Mr Benjamin Rogers and partner….
He turned as Sophie came into the room, still in her nightie. Her blonde hair was in disarray and there was a sleep crease on the side of her face from the pillow.
“Hi Hon. Anything interesting?” Despite her age her voice was pitched like a little girl’s, lacking the timbre of maturity. It was one of the things that had turned him on when they first met…a little girl’s voice, to match the little girl look.
“Not much – bills, mostly, and an invitation to Dad’s wedding next month.”
She moved to his side and straddled him, climbing onto his lap with her back to the desk. The fabric of her nightgown settled higher, clinging to her hips, and he could see the swell of her mound pushing against the bikini panties, a wisp of hair peeping from the elastic line. He felt the warmth of her body radiating down through his tracksuit, and he could smell her – a warm, musky odour, a mixture of cinnamon and milk and warm puppy. She wriggled a little bit and the nightie shifted, pulling tighter over her pert breasts so that the nipples pressed against the sheer fabric.
“You gonna go, Ben?”
“Sure. You’re invited too.”
“Gee. That’s nice.” She took the card from his fingers and read it slowly, her lips forming the words. “Benjamin Rogers and partner.” She looked down at him, a sudden thought in her mind. “I’ve got nothing to wear!”
“What about that brown dress with the white spots? You look sensational in that.”
She regarded him with her big blue eyes. “That’s last year’s fashion, Hon. “It’s different now.” She ran the canlı bahis tip of her finger down the side of her face, the nail rasping against his unshaven skin, and she pouted down at him, her voice soft and wheedling. “Can I buy another outfit for the wedding, honey? Just a teeny -weeny one?”
“Sure.” His heart sank – he’d learned from experience that Sophie’s tastes were not cheap.
She squealed in excitement, wriggling on his lap, and leaned forward to kiss him on the mouth – her soft, moist lips lingering there.
Ben felt his body responding, a tightness in his chest and his cock thickening rapidly. She was irresistible – her little girl face and slender body promised an innocence that was in delicious contrast to the raw animal sexuality she unleashed on him whenever they made love. The face of an angel and the morals of an alley cat, he thought, a potent mixture. He reached up and rubbed her breasts through the thin fabric, feeling the nipples harden under his palms like hard pebbles, and she moaned into his mouth as she felt his cock pressing against her.
He leaned forward and lifted her, feeling her long legs wrap around him, her mouth still fastened to his as he carried her through to the bedroom. Her pudenda pressed against him, rubbing against the material of his shirt with each step, and her arms were around his neck. She broke free of his mouth and whispered to him as he carried her.
“Are you going to fuck me again, Ben? Take your little girl and fuck me until I bleed?” She arched her back and her hair swept forward, brushing over his face like a golden cloud, and he felt her nipples drilling into his chest like two little spears. “Fuck me until my eyes pop out?”
His voice was a low growl, husky with desire. “God yes, Sophie. I’ll fuck you until you scream.”
She giggled, and he felt one of her hands reach down and grasp the material of his jeans over the thick protuberance of his cock. She giggled again. “Oooh! Who’s a naughty boy then!” She leaned closer into him and her voice thickened, oozing into his ear like warm honey. “Fuck me all day, Ben! I’m empty now…can you fill my tight little pussy?”
He reached the bed and flung her down onto the sheets still disheveled from last night’s session. She scrabbled to her knees and her fingers went to his belt, working the buckle, opening his jeans and drawing him out, the shaft pink and engorged and the bell -end swollen and purple. She grasped the base of his cock in one hand, thick against her wrist, and she looked up at him with her baby blue eyes as she placed the glans against her lips and took him into her mouth.
Ben stared down at her. He would never tire of this, he thought – the juxtaposition of innocence and sluttishness. Her eyes were on his, watching the nuances of pleasure on his face to best judge how to satisfy him – adjusting the soft, slow strokes, drawing him into the back of her throat, turning her head slightly so the angle of penetration changed; tightening her lips to grip him better. She slipped her free hand into his fly and cupped his balls lightly, one finger easing behind them to gently massage his anus, and she smiled around his shaft as he moaned with pleasure. His hands went to her head and he held her, their eyes locked on each other as he thrust his hips back and forth, fucking her face, watching her lips glide over the thick wet shaft with just the right cadence. He wondered again where she had learned to fuck so well – she always knew just how to bring him to the edge and to hold him there, teetering on the brink of ecstasy whilst she played with him like a toy dog until he begged to spurt into her hot, tight little body. She always took the initiative, too, and he wondered which of her orifices she had chosen this morning to feel the blast of his cum.
He felt the first tingle of his impending climax – a pressure behind his eyes, taking root somewhere in the cortex of his brain. It spiraled rapidly, his muscles tensing in anticipation – but she sensed it and pulled free, staring up at him with those wide innocent eyes, her mouth still slightly open and her lips wet with his discharge.
She was gasping slightly, shaking her head. “No…not yet. I’m not ready yet.”
“Then lie down – let me fuck you.”
She shook her head again and slipped off her nightie and pants, flinging them aside in a whisper of silk. Her body was perfect, the skin golden in the soft light of the morning, smooth and taut, her breasts small but perfectly formed with the nipples stiff and dark. For a moment she looked up at him with a flare of triumph in her eyes, and then she spun around, crouching on the edge of the mattress with her face pressed against the rumpled sheets. Her buttocks were thrust upwards and she opened her thighs, her legs splayed so that she looked like a young animal with long, awkward limbs. He could see her sex, pushed back with the lips slightly open and inviting, its fringe of soft gold hair shining with moisture. She reached up and cupped each buttock, bahis siteleri her fingers long and slender against the firm golden skin, and she drew them apart so that her vulva was thrust back even further and the tight, crinkled eye of her anus was open to his gaze.
She looked up at him with her big blue eyes and her voice was soft and girlish. “Fuck me deep, Ben.”
His shafted skewered into her, pressing aside the lips of her pussy, sliding down through her pelvic girdle and into the deep warmth of her belly. She was spectacularly tight, the walls of her cunt rubbing against him throughout the penetration, squeezing against the shaft like a tight fist in a velvet glove until he was fully inside her, the root of his cock pressed up hard against the lips of her pussy. She moaned softly at the depth and rotated her hips gently, her anus pressed outwards and slightly open with the pressure of his penetration. He could see it was still weeping moisture, a legacy to the wad he had pumped into her last night. She is insatiable, he thought, a little fucking machine, and I’m inside her again. He began to thrust, reveling in her youth and the delicious warmth and wetness, watching the long slide of his shaft into her tight, writhing body and he heard her voice, gusty and breathless as the words spilled from her mouth.
“God, Ben, that’s good! That’s…good! Fuck this tight little cunt….oohh, fuck it deep…fill me, spurt into me!”
Her words coalesced in his brain, spurring him on so that he was pounding down into her, the mattress squeaking and protesting, her back arching to take the force of his thrusts. She was grunting now, a gusty explosion of sound each time he hammered down, and her hands fluttered on the bed to grasp the rumpled sheets in tight little fists of pain.
The whirlwind of his orgasm took root in Ben’s mind, whirling upwards, racing towards a crescendo of white hot pleasure. His vision narrowed until he could only see the long greased piston of his shaft and the warm young cunt it was fucking, and he threw his head back to cry out in rapture as his burning seed trembled on the brink of bursting into her.
And in that quintessential moment she lunged away, breaking free, spinning on the bed and clutching his bobbing cock to hold it at her mouth, her hand small and white against the engorged shaft. She frantically rubbed her wet lips over the trembling head, her tongue snaking out to lap at its underside, tickling and teasing, drawing him out like a man on the rack. For long moments he teetered on the edge, the room a maelstrom of white noise and grainy, powdered light – and then the force of his orgasm burst upon him and he growled in exquisite agony as his seed raced along the twitching shaft and burst against her burning mouth.
The first jet struck her lips, rebounding with the force of his ejection, exploding into a shower of sparkling droplets like a handful of opals flung into the air. There was a pause and then his balls jerked upwards and a second jet followed, thicker than the first, splattering across her face to fill her eye sockets in puddles of jism as hot and thick as clotted cream. He was grunting, an animal sound drawn from deep within his body, and his eyes glittered as he watched the long, hot jets spraying over her face and drenching her cheeks: seven or eight of them, a seemingly endless stream that splattered and dribbled and bubbled over her face, pooling in every crevice and hanging in thick, slimy ropes from her chin.
She waited until his cock subsided and the last dribbles of his seed oozed over her lips, and then she released his shaft and sat back. He could see strands of his cum drooling into her mouth, and her teeth were coated with a clinging layer of it, dulling their white, shiny surface. With careful fingers she scooped his sperm off her face, shoveling it into her mouth, laughing all the while. It oozed and dripped into the cavity, painting her lips and tongue, pooling at the back of her throat. She licked the sticky mess off her fingers like a child licking a paddle pop, her little pink pointed tongue delving between her fingers to draw out the clots of his sperm, and then, with her baby blue eyes on his face, she swallowed it, murmuring with pleasure.
Ben watched, his heart hammering in his chest. She is a little fucking machine, he thought again, and we only have our lust to bind us together. Have I forsaken all that I had for this?
He turned away, his cock subsiding, and Sophie sank back onto the bed with her shiny wet lips smiling up at him in misunderstanding.
Monday Morning 1000
Sophie regarded herself in the bedroom mirror. She was wearing something she had bought last week, and she was pleased with the effect that it gave.
The mirror reflected the image of a stunning young woman dressed in the latest fashion – a crisp white blouse, tailored to hug her waist, and a linen skirt that clung to her hips, reaching down to just above her knees. Her legs were sheathed bahis şirketleri in sheer nylon stockings, the seam marching down the back of each calf, and she wore expensive Armani high heels in an exact matching shade of Navy blue. The jacket was pinched at the waist, with wide lapels with a small silver brooch that complimented the slim chain and pearl pendant around her neck, and her hair was up, piled on her head to give her additional height and to expose her small, neat ears and the long graceful sweep of her neck.
She fastened her pearl earrings and stood back to check herself with a critical eye. She looked good, she thought – high class, good enough to pass in the highest circles. It was amazing what a suit of clothes and a little bravado could do. She turned slightly, regarding her belly. There was no sign of the swelling yet – the thickening of the waist that she knew was coming. Another two months, she thought, and then I will be totally dependent on Ben, at least for a while.
Her mobile phone rang and she glanced at the number, remembering to put on the sophisticated voice. “Hello?”
“Are you running on time?”
She felt a punch of excitement at what was about to happen again. “Oh, yes, absolutely. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“Right.” The connection clicked and she smiled fondly as she returned the phone to her purse. This would be her sixth time with him, and she knew it would be memorable. She picked up her handbag and wandered through to the kitchen to find the car keys, her excitement at what was about to happen like a little tickle in her stomach. She laughed with the joy of it all – life was so easy, and she was at the centre of it all, her own keeper.
The house was set back from the road and she parked to the side, screened by the tall privet hedge. Sophie let herself in through the side door her heels tapping on the polished hardwood floor, and entered the lounge. This was his hideaway house, she knew, but it was opulent for all of that. It was furnished in the old style, with the Chesterfield suite sitting primly on the thick oatmeal coloured carpet, complemented by the thick velvet drapes and the rich timber hue of the coffee table and the polished sideboards. The full -length leadlight windows at the end of the room gave way to the patio, and then the long sweep of the lawn with the gazebo visible just beyond. Sophie regarded it with envious eyes. One day I will have something like this, if I am careful.
She put her car keys on the table and turned as she heard his footsteps. As usual, he was immaculate, dressed in a beautifully tailored suit of English broadcloth with a crisp white shirt and a blue tie. He smiled at her, his teeth very white against his dark skin.
“Sophie! You look beautiful, my dear. May I compliment you on the suit?”
“Thank you, Ramal. I took your advice.”
He embraced her lightly, a trace of expensive aftershave on his skin. “So I see – an improvement, don’t you think?”
“You were right, as always. Do you have much time today?”
He glanced at the slim gold Piaget on his wrist. “A little, only, I’m afraid. I have business in the city this afternoon – but enough to spend an hour or two with you. May I get you something?”
“Thank you, no.”
“Then why don’t we go upstairs? I have a small gift for you.” He smiled again. “Nothing special, I assure you, but I hope you like it.”
Sophie smiled as she followed him to the bedroom. Ramal’s gifts were never small, at least in terms of their value. Some diamond earrings, perhaps, or a gold necklace. Another treasure to add to the growing collection in the safe deposit box – another step towards financial security.
He left three hours later, leaving her lying in the rumpled bed. His trust was one of the things she liked about him, but she also knew that he would be merciless if she crossed him. He was a gentleman in so many ways, she thought, but if you scratched the surface you there was steel underneath – a hard streak of ruthlessness and power that was like a narcotic to her.
Her body ached from his attention, and she could feel his semen leaking from her vagina and anus. There was blood on the sheets too, from the scratches she had inflicted on his back. She rolled over, picking up the slim pile of banknotes on the bedside table. Five hundred dollars in crisp $100 bills – not a bad paycheck, and there were three other appointments with similar men this week alone. She lay down and carefully put the crisp green notes over the fine, wet hair on her pudenda, and she looked at it and laughed at the thought of what her little money box was earning now.
The opulence of the room was so different from the shabby little bedsitter she had been brought up in, and her mind drifted back, thinking of the day that had changed her life.
The door opening, and her stuffy little room suddenly bright as her mother switched on the light.
She was stood at the door with a heavily bearded man dressed in an old reefer jacket and brown pants. He was large, his head barely clearing the doorjamb, and his protruding belly stretched the fabric of his shirt, forcing aside the lower buttons to reveal a strip of grey flesh under the stained material.
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