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. The honey between her legs

Discussion in 'Cuckold Stories' started by Lutheran Maid, Apr 11, 2017.

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  1. Lutheran Maid

    Lutheran Maid Well-Known Member Author!

    Tara clips the Cartier roadster watch on her slim wrist and then checks her makeup. It is perfect, the eye liner accenting her hazel eyes beneath her bob cut raven hair. Her leather dress is black and it is skin tight. I bought the designer dress for her. It cost thousands from my dwindling funds. There will come a day when my funds run out and my little mistress bins me. It might be a year or two if I am extremely lucky. It won't be more. Whatever affection she has for me is largely nostalgic. Linda and I were her foster carers until she was eighteen. She stayed on a year or two later, by common agreement. It was then that she usurped my wife. Tara wanted to be mistress in our house. She saw to it that I only saw the tired and the unattractive side of Linda. She pointed out how bland Linda was. Pretty soon, I was mesmerised by Tara. Me a 32 year old ex policeman! I started to buy her nice clothes. I found excuses to do so and that crippled Linda. She got nothing. Then Tara fucked me. There came a morning when she came into our bedroom, kissed me and then straddled my face, all without a word. I was intoxicated by her, caught off balance and i licked her beautifully bushed sex. We both thought that Linda had gone off to work. But she returned. She returned to fetch something from our bedroom and she found Tara queening my face, my bare cock erect. There was a terrible cat fight! I shudder thinking about it, the hatred, the pain. But Linda was no match for Tara. Tara had done self defence classes. Two or three incisive kicks to where it really hurts, even a woman, sent Linda to her knees. My wife stayed there, gulping down breathes as Tara surveyed me again. She touched my still erect cock. She looked back at my wife and then straddled my manhood, sinking down onto it with a little sigh. As she slipped up and down on me, I could feel her cunt lips rhythmically clenching. Tara was milking me. I couldn't fight it. She siphoned it out of me. I climaxed and my balls bolted the biggest load of cum up my cock that i had ever felt. I could feel is hosing into her, giving her what she demanded. Tara watched Linda as she took it. She watched her contemptuously and my wife crept away beaten.

    I'm 34 now. Tara and I are going out. We're going to meet Peter, a fresh faced, well educated guy of around her age. Tara has him by the nose. However well educated the young guy is, she has him hooked on the smell and the taste of her. For such a young woman, she is pretty instinctive about sex. She knows how to use it against men. She knows how to bring a sensitive, less than masculine, but interesting prospect male, to heel. I will drive her to the bar where we will meet Peter. It is time for his initiation. He's going to learn what sex is really about. It's not the complement to love, it is its antithesis. You use sex to control a man, perhaps to ruin, depending on what is required. Peter isn't the first. I've met three other men, much like Peter before. I've always been introduced to them, late on, after Tara has dated them a couple of months and hooked them to a terrible need. Licking her cunt. Her cunt is like a honey trap to them. She uses her cunt on them.

    I get the passenger door of my car for my little mistress and she slips into the seat. I wish I was bigger, harder, more masculine, younger too, but I am not. I lick at her honey pot too. I need it. A physical addiction. For my dose then I pay dear. I cook and i clean and I chaffeur for her. I fund her extravagant clothing habit. Once Linda was kicked out, riding my stalk became riding my mouth. It was only pussy licks. Only when she could be 'bothered'. I spent more on her, did more for, slaved for her really, and then honey got drip fed, just enough, no more.

    'I like Peter, ' I said, taking the car out of the drive way, 'couldn't you go easy on this one?'

    She smiled at me. I'm allowed these almost fatherly chats sometimes. I think that they amuse her.

    'May be I could slave him at our house John, may be I could replace you?' she teased.

    I shiver. No. Not that. I wasn't sure what I meant by 'go easy' but it certainly wasn't that!

    'You're such a sweetie about sex. Anyone would think that you're a love sick teenager..' she teased.

    'I am' I concede.

    She laughs. I am so silly. I'm so naive. The world isn't sweet is it? The world is about advantage and power. It is about string beliefs and YOUR values. Not everyone's values, not about compromise. Compromise sucks…literally.

    'He's ready John, it's what he needs next. You know the rules. I don't get attached to men that I degrade.'

    She sounds like a Pentagon general. Bloody hell, she can be coldly calculating.

    'I will expect you to do your bit John…the next few days will be critical. I expect you to go and stay at Lucas Street again.'

    How I fucking hate that place. A nasty inner suburb of Birmingham. A run down nondescript terraced house in an area where there are may be a dozen nationalities. No one knows anyone else. No one asks questions.

    'You will go over there won't you John…?' Her eyes quiz me. Lucas Street, dear God. They need to tear that place down. They need to tear the terrace down, not just the fucking house!

    'Yes miss' I answer. I'm not made to call Tara M'am or Miss, but it has become habitual. It has become habitual after the other men she has sent there.

    The bar where we are meeting Peter is crowded. There are a lot of students who use it but also some really stylish, multiracial types as well. I suppose you could call it bohemian, something like that. At any rate, it is liberal, relaxed, hip and Tara likes it. She knows the barmen. She has access to some private spaces on the first floor. Peter is seated on a bar stool in the corner of the room. He waves as we enter. All Peter really knows about me is that I am a Tara fan. I worship the young woman, the moth to the light bulb. Tara has told him that I mean nothing much to her though, something that made him feel kinda proud. I reach the bar whilst Tara powders her nose and Peter and I share a high five. He's in a good mood. It has been several days since Tara has let him see her. I know how it works. The hunger, the doubt, he has been prepped. Now she is deigning to see him. I feel for him. He must be aching like mad for the little bitch.

    'You well?' I ask him.

    'Better now, much better now. Time with Tara, you know!'

    Well I do Peter, sincerely, I do.

    'She's something isn't she' I observe.

    He laughs,

    'Wilful John, she is incredibly wilful!'

    You don't know the half of it mate, I think.

    Tara joins us and it is as if a goddess has just perched herself smoothly on the bar stool. I thought the guy would wet himself. He kisses her hand gallantly as if her where her knight or something and she teases him with her look. I see her tongue tip moisten her lips and he kisses her immediately.

    'Pleased to see you too!' she smiles.

    Peter has something for her. It's not her birthday or anything, but he needs to give her this. From his pocket he pulls out a leather presentation box and from it produces a sterling silver cuff bracelet with an expensive looking red ruby set within it. Fuck, she has the poison in deep! I watch her slip it onto her wrist and kiss him her thank you. I'm shot a look by Tara. No, don't soften. So he has given me this on the day we initiate him. Shit happens. He is ready.

    I get the drinks whilst Peter laments the time that Tara has been absent. He's got a new job planned in Birmingham he tells her. Shame I think, so near and yet so far. More drinks are bought, By Peter. He is gulping down the shots. Tara stroked his leg, her new cuff moving against her hand as she did so. At the bar, just behind Peter three guys have arrived and order beers. They barely glance at Tara. I nod. Evening. There is time for a beer. Its a good night for a beer. The guys are black, smartly dressed, relaxed and amiable. They're talking music gigs.

    Tara whispers in Peter's ear. Does he want to slip upstairs? There is a room that her favourite bar knows about. It is, well, it is more private. I look on like a lemon. It's going to be something that he never forgets. I see Peter's face brighten. A private corner, wow. Tara slips off the stool and I watch Peter follow her. I watch him follow as though he is tied by a leash. With Peter gone, the biggest of the three black guy's addresses me (let's call him Ambrose shall we).

    'He looks smitten eh Johnny boy?'

    Ambrose doesn't like me much. But I have a purpose. Tara insisted that I had a purpose.

    'yes sir' I agree. Its a difficult thing. Registering your status like that. Sir, to a black guy. When I was the police…well…we called lots of people sir, but not in the sense that I use it with this guy. He is boss, gaffer, master, he is why Tara gets up in the morning.

    'You gonna be a nice little cock sucker Johnny boy?' he wonders.

    I feel my neck prickle. Winston and Lewis are directly behind me.

    'Yes sir' I confirm.

    They finish their beers, slowly. You need time to get a nose full. You need time for her addictive scent to fill his lungs and hook him into the biggest transition of his sweet little white boy life.

    'After you Johnny boy' Ambrose prompts, and nudges me forward to the back stairs. The first time we did this I ran. I had my fingers slammed in a door to remind me how unwise that was. We process up the stairs and along the half lit landing. Tara and her beau never quite made it into that room. There he is, on his knees, suckling away at her young cunt. I can hear the wet noises he makes as he licks and pulls on her sex lips. Tara is aroused. This always arouses her. Being the trap, feeling the weakling sucking honey off her addictive slit. When Ambrose leads us into the corridor, quietly, she looks across at him, panting, her mouth open. Her eyes say, look what I make him do. The men and I step lightly down the corridor to them and by the time that Peter looks up, we are around him. Just who are these people? Why are they here? Look, fucking hell, this is private right?! Well, no, it's not. I watch Ambrose kiss his bitch, slowly, lingeringly as Peter stares up. Winston ruffles Peter's hair and grins down at him.

    'Don't mind us man…you get the bitch good and ready now' Winston instructs.

    Peter scowls at Winston. The hit around his ear follows and its not a light one. I see Peter wince.

    Get the bitch good and ready' Winston repeats and twists Peter's face back to Tara's cunt. His eyes are fixed up though, fixed up at how Tara is responding to Ambrose's kiss.

    'No..fucking….hell' Peter begins.

    Winston hit him the face, a short jab. Peter whimpers. Lewis has closed in too now. Tara is kissing, her bare sex wet and waiting.

    I watch Peter settle to his fate. Even though his face smarts, Tara's wet cunt is his destiny for now. 'Please…' Peter whimpers, but please what? He hasn't a clue. He is dazed. So he licks, and Tara squirms. Its so fucking sexy for her. So fucking sexy. Peter is gobbling at her pussy now, gobbling wondering what the hell next?

    So I show him. I slip down onto my knees before the hapless Peter, and I unzip Ambrose's fly. Ambrose waits nonchalantly. He waits patiently as I ease his erection out. It's a daunting sight. Ambrose is hung like a horse. So I drop spit on his big glans and I start to suck it. My mouth envelopes his helmet and I run my tongue around and around its generous girth.

    'See how its done man..' sneered Winston, nudging Peter. He's required to glance left at my submission to the big man. 'just cock head this time, start you easy you see'.

    Peter starts to struggle to his feet. The big hands of Lewis push him straight back down. Tara watches, her breasts heaving.

    'You're going to suck master's prong now' Winston instructed. 'You bite and we unscrew your fucking head bitch!'

    Peter clamped his mouth shut and he struggled.

    No problem, Winston pinches his nose closed. Thirty seconds, no more then its open again.

    'Why not lick it first' Winston suggests, all sweet reason. I show him how. My eyes are coaxing him on. There is life beyond this, you'll see. Try, please try.

    Peter's mouth is pushed towards Ambrose's erection. The critical moment.

    'Look..its lifestyle….' I soothe, 'Tara was always too good for me, she's too good for you. Please….try….'

    Peter's eyes are bulging. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, you can see him start to hyperventilate.

    Tara touches Ambrose's spittled cock, she runs her fingers around its dripping glans. Without a word she proffers her fingers to Peter.

    There, he licks them. She gives him her capitulate nicely look.

    He gulps and then he licks the head of Ambrose's cock.

    Tara needs Ambrose to kiss her again. As he does so, I watch Peter's trembling lips encompass Ambrose's thick glans. They close, he sucks, like it is a sherbet lolly. I watch him grimace his eyes closing.

    'It's ritual, symbolic Pete….almost there' I whisper.

    Peter glances my way, his eyes staring, staring.

    'Suck….with your tongue…..just the once' I suggest.

    Peter…..sucks cock. You can see his mouth move. His white face delicately working against the tip of that big black phallus.

    'OK, that's enough' Ambrose growls as he pushes Peter away. I watch Peter slump back against the wall, Winston and Lewis with a hand on his shoulders.

    Ambrose turns to his bitch, his cock bouncing like a bough in a storm. He fixes Tara with his gaze and she reaches down between her legs. I watch the cuff slip down her wrist, I watch her manicured fingers pull open her already aroused cunt lips. There, it's yours. it was always yours. No one else's not his, or John's, yours. A woman has to give herself very explicitly to a man like Ambrose. This isn't for Peter's benefit. This is just how it is. I watch him slide his cock into her, impaling her against the wall. Her pretty legs are pushed apart and he hooks one up with his big arm so that he can pump into her freely.

    Peter gawps. I can imagine the sinking feeling. i can imagine his awe. I can imagine the confusion and the envy, the hatred, the thousand emotions that are welling within. Ambrose doesn't care though, he is enjoying his bitch. He is pleased with his bitch. He wants his bitch. Yes, look, there, see her face crease, see how she judders on him. His balls are knotting in sharp clenches as he fucks his load into her. He has been pumping up her a minute or two before he drags that thing free. Peter and I watch the thick white mess ooze out of her.

    Winston nudges Peter again. You know. What comes next. But there hasn't been an instruction. I watch my companion though, as he leans forward and freely laps at Tara's dripping sex. I know that she can feel him do that, but her gaze hasn't left Ambrose's. Its like she is wired to him somehow, as if she cannot think but what he wants. Peter lapped on. It is his last supper, though he doesn't know it yet. He groans. Humiliated, beaten, he groans at the taste of her. That she is owned by Ambrose, well, that cuts, but the taste of her. I watch his tongue ladle deeper and then it is enough.

    'Get up' ordered Lewis. Peter is virtually lifted to his feet by his shirt collar.

    'Lucas Street? ' asked Lewis.

    Tara watched Peter impassively.

    'Lucas Street' Ambrose agreed. As Peter is shoved down the corridor by Lewis and Winston, Ambrose kissed Tara again. I am to join the three of them very shortly, but I linger in case there are last instructions. Peter has seen Tara for the last time.

    'Lola and Rufus there already?' Tara asked, asking about the Amazonian instructress and her enforcer partner. Peter would really learn to lick pussy now. He would suck cock properly too.

    'Yeah, she got there about an hour ago, said that the place needed airing, we should do that sooner next time.'

    'Who's he being trained for?' Tara wondered.

    Ambrose thought a moment.

    'Brother dealer guy called Esau and his white bitch up in Bradford.'

    No one may ever see Peter again. He won't make that Birmingham job. He won't have that career. He will keep house and do 'chores'. That woman, she is going to have a slave. Peter, will you ever be allowed out? I'm not sure.

    'You best get along there too man, ' Ambrose tells me. I am to be solace. I am to be the sounding board. It will be four intensive days of nights before I can see Tara again. I ache already.

    'John' she said as I moved to go, 'you were very well behaved today…you helped Peter a lot'.

    I smile thinly. My stay with Tara may have extended a month or two. i have a purpose, i have a purpose.
     
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