His to Taste Read online

  “Hush, Lily, and let me taste your sweet essence.”

  He gently blew warm puffs of air on her tender folds, until she felt her fear dissipate and she began to relax her inner thigh muscles. Laving at her sensitive flesh, he sucked on her clit as she ground her hips up into his devouring mouth, her blissful moans echoing in the quiet chamber. She cried out when he roughly grasped her round bottom to thrust his tongue deeper into her pussy.

  “Oh, milord, what are you doing to me? I’ve never...it feels so...oh, my! Please don’t stop!” She stared down in fascination at the sight of his dark head between her soft pale thighs, and she arched off the bed in delight when he thrust two large fingers into her cunny as he sucked harshly on her clit. She screamed in ecstasy as she came, and he lapped at her hot nectar as her wet channel tightened painfully around his fingers.

  “Do you feel that, sweeting?” he growled. “Do you feel your hungry little cunny greedily pulling on my fingers? Your cunny needs my cock, doesn’t it? Does your hot little cunny need to be fucked now?” He plunged his fingers into her mouth and she could taste her own sweet juices. She sucked hungrily on his fingers and he groaned in pleasure.

  “Oh, yes, milord,” she cried breathlessly. “Yes!” She was delirious with arousal now, and couldn’t understand the lust running through her body like lightning. All she knew was that she needed something more from him, and that only he could give it to her.

  He braced his strong arms on either side of her, and began to tease her cunny with his turgid cock. She whimpered at the feel of him, hard and silky against her dripping pussy. “Milord, you’re too big! Please, we won’t fit!” Panicking, she tried to push her hips back into the bed, but he relentlessly pursued her.

  “Hush, sweeting!” he groaned. “Trust me, lovely Lily. Look how hard you’ve made my cock. Now beg me to fuck you. Say you want to feel my cock inside you.” He traced her juicy folds with the head of his cock as he sucked and gently nipped at her sensitive nipples.

  She felt herself swept away by the sensations again as he manipulated her responsive flesh, and she felt her resistance melt at his masterful onslaught.

  “Please,” she moaned. “I...I need to feel your cock inside my cunny. Please fuck me, milord, please!” She gasped as he thrust the large blunt tip of his cock into her entrance and held fast. “Oh,” she whimpered. “What is happening to me? I’ve never...oh, milord!”

  She screamed in both fear and bliss as he rammed his entire length into her virgin pussy. As wet as he had made her, her cunny was unprepared for the sheer size and breadth of his cock. Whimpering at the shocking sensations, she threw her head from side to side and desperately tried to buck him off of her, but only managed to help him lodge his cock firmly into her small pussy.

  “I’m sorry for the pain, sweeting,” he groaned, flexing his hips. ”It will pass, I promise you.” He mercifully paused to give her time to accustom herself to his invasion.

  “God, you’re so fucking tight. I’ve never had such a tight cunny gripping at my cock. I’ll never let you leave my chambers now.” He kissed her tear-dampened face and began thrusting into her sweet little cunny.

  She moaned in discomfort as she felt him claim her tender pussy. She had never felt so overwhelmingly full before. As she gradually relaxed her tight inner thigh muscles, she began to feel her cunny respond to his strong thrusts and she felt the pain receding and the pleasure return. She could feel his thick cock pulling at her pussy folds with each thrust, and she luxuriated in the friction on her sensitive clit.

  His breathing was harsh in her ear as his thrusts came faster and harder. She could feel her tits bouncing wildly from his pounding hips and she reveled in their heavy ache. Panting in ecstasy as his cock delved deeper and deeper into her cunny, she whimpered as he draped her trembling legs over his broad shoulders, his strong hands grabbing her bottom to deepen the angle of his thrusts, and the broad head of his cock hammering at her delicate womb.

  “Oh, please, milord, it’s too much! You’re too big! Oh, please, milord, I can’t take it!” She felt her legs dangle uselessly behind his shoulders, and she was helpless to escape the relentless pounding.

  He silenced her pleas by using one hand to pinch at her tender clit, and groaned in answer when she screamed her delight. She mewled at the overwhelming pleasure pain he was making her endure, and she came on his cock in wave after wave of pure ecstasy as he continued to hammer at her softness. Her pussy milked his cock until he could hold back his release no longer.

  “Yes, my lovely little maid,” he murmured into her ear. “You will take the pleasure and you will take the pain because I demand it of you, and you are here to submit to my will. Do you understand your place now, sweeting?” He fucked her harder and faster until she was barely coherent and utterly raw with blissful sensation.

  She felt his entire body go rigid as he gave one last heave of his powerful hips, and ground his cock as deep into her tender cunny as he could. She shivered as torrents of his hot seed splashed at her sensitive inner walls as he growled in deep satisfaction. Luxuriating in his crushing weight, she moaned when she felt his cock graze her sensitive clit as he finally pulled himself out of her.

  He gently kissed her panting mouth as he untied the cravat and curled her into his hot sweaty body. She was limp from pleasure, but settled herself against his strength. Just as she began to fall asleep, she managed to whisper, “I understand. Thank you for my first lesson, sir.”

  I managed to remember to shut down my laptop before blindly swiping at my lamp.

  Granted, I knew this is totally politically incorrect, much less dangerously irresponsible with the lack of condoms, and that the diabolical nobleman would be slapped with an expensive sexual harassment suit by today’s standards at the very least.

  Logically, I knew that this would be a terrible situation for the poor maid, but I still couldn’t help feeling aroused by the scenario. The heart wants want the heart wants; or in the case, my politically incorrect pussy appreciated a good alpha male.

  Ultimately, I just wanted to meet someone who I could trust to act out these fantasies of control and negotiation.

  One could argue that this was simply the complacent way to about this, too. Allow your partner to be in control so that you can just relax and enjoy it, right? Hell, maybe it was partly out of sheer laziness and inexperienced ignorance. Since you can’t necessarily run before you can walk, it stands to reason that I couldn’t jump into Advanced Sex 101 before mastering the basic prerequisites first.

  Self-realizations aside, this story always made me unbearably horny, and my fingers were almost cramping from playing with myself for so long. I lost count of how many orgasms I was able to rub out of my poor exhausted little pussy, and I fell asleep to the feel of my own fingers gently rubbing at my soft wet folds. I slept fitfully that night, dreaming of a faceless dark lover of my own.

  The next morning, I felt revitalized and resumed my job search once more. I emailed a few more inquiries to some new leads, and started on breakfast for Grandma and me.

  I had just finished whipping up a couple of ham and cheese omelets, fresh cream biscuits, and a small fruit salad, when Grandma finally emerged from her room and poured us a couple glasses of orange juice. After all that time living at home with Grandma, I learned to be a competent cook since she was insistent that I learn how to feed myself and my future family. She was disdainful of modern culture that eschewed fresh wholesome food for convenience.

  Dieting is a pain in the ass once you figure out that you’re only a few ingredients away from a platter of hot, fresh cream biscuits dripping with smears of melting honey butter. My damn hips were definitely not going anywhere anytime soon.

  In any case, at least we were saving money by eating at home instead of constantly eating out as was the case with my girlfriends.

  “Did you have a nice time last night at Mrs. Rowland’s?” I asked, plating up our breakfast. We sat at our little dining table and began to
dig into our omelets.

  “Oh, I always do,” she said, around a mouthful of buttered biscuit. “Peggy made us a nice salmon dinner, and we played bridge until she took me home at ten o’clock.”

  She shot me an odd look. “You went to bed rather early, didn’t you? I tried to open your door last night to say good night, but it was locked.”

  I choked on a big chunk of cantaloupe, and managed to swallow it before mumbling, “Sorry, I guess I was changing into my pajamas and forgot to unlock my door before I climbed into bed.” I groaned inwardly at the horrific vision of Grandma catching me asleep, naked in my bed, with my fingers knuckle-deep in my wet pussy.

  Grandma seemed satisfied with my answer and continued nibbling on her omelet. “That’s fine, dear,” she said. “Just remember that you need to keep your door unlocked at night in case we have an emergency—you never know when we might have a fire, or an earthquake, or a burglar, or something, you know.”

  “Yes, Grandma,” I said. I knew there was no point in addressing her worrywart sensibilities. We finished our breakfast and cleared the table as was our usual routine. “I’m going to keep working on my job search. Do you need me to take care of any errands today?”

  Grandma was already out the back door and heading for her little garden. “No, dear,” she said. “You go ahead and do your work. These tomato plants need a bit of love from me today.”

  I returned to my room and started browsing through new job postings on Craigslist. After nine months of rejection after rejection, I was beginning to lose hope that I would find a decent job. Grandma’s savings were starting to run out, and I felt the pressure growing everyday to find something to support us both.

  It was always the same reasons; I was either under-qualified or over-qualified, but no one seemed to be willing to take a chance on hiring me. My self-confidence was never excessive to begin with, and taking constant rejection was seriously taking its toll on me.

  I started clicking through my usual categories, but I stopped when I scrolled down to the bottom of the list. Why had I never bothered to check out the miscellaneous job postings before? As the saying goes, desperate times really do call for desperate measures, and my ass was definitely getting desperate with each passing day of unemployment. I saw a few postings for focus group participants and egg donors. I scrolled through a few more pages, and found an ad seeking a live-in cook.

  Seeking a responsible, dutiful, and discreet cook willing to reside full-time within a private home. Compensation dependent upon experience. You must be single and willing to be on-call at all hours. Contact Mr. Cochran directly via the email address listed above for an interview. Serious inquiries only.

  The more I thought about this position, the more appealing it became.

  As long as this guy wasn’t expecting a Michelin star rated chef, I could try to win him over with my wholesome cooking skills. If not, I could pore over every single damn cooking blog and recipe book until he found me indispensable.

  My only hesitation was the fact that I would be living 24/7 with a stranger. I hated to sound old-fashioned, but if this guy had a wife, he probably wouldn’t have been seeking a cook, right?

  I would be living with a bachelor; me, a dorky nobody who never had a single boyfriend in her entire life. I could already hear Grandma’s angry condemnations, and I winced at the thought of having to endure her disapproval. Still, it’s not like I had to tell her the entire truth. Having food on the table and paying our bills was worth a few omissions, and it’s not as if I was some leggy supermodel prancing around in a sexy French maid uniform. Besides, he was probably an older gentleman who never bothered to learn how to cook.

  In fact, the poor dear probably just wanted some plain old home cooking; otherwise, he would have advertised for a gourmet chef or nutritionist. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to at least inquire.

  I re-read the posting a few more times, and resolutely sent out an email before I lost my nerve. The absolute worst case scenario would be that this Mr. Cochran guy would hate my food, but I would at least get enough funds to tide us over until I could find another position. All I could do was cross my fingers and wait for his response.

  The next day, Grandma and I were just returning from the library, when I noticed that my phone’s email notification light was blinking. I tossed my bag of books onto the old love seat, and quickly pulled up my inbox.

  Mr. Cochran had responded to my inquiry! His email was short, but not terse. He suggested that I meet him at this home for an interview that afternoon. He wanted me to see if I could be comfortable in his kitchen, and I could do a test run to showcase my cooking skills. Yes!

  I gave a little whoop of joy, and confirmed that I was indeed available for the interview at his preferred time and that I was appreciative of the opportunity to meet him. I pulled up the directions and he was only twenty minutes away from me in a richer part of town. This job was looking better and better with each passing second!

  Since I hadn’t been forced to hear Grandma’s doomsday predictions all my life for nothing, I texted Julia the details of my interview just in case. I told her I’d check in with her after the interview to make sure that everything was fine. Feeling more excited and hopeful than I had in the past few months, I ran upstairs to prep for my interview and to change into an appropriate outfit.

  After pulling up a few online videos of cooking demos and blogs about menu planning, I felt a little more comfortable with using the correct terminology. I pulled my long black hair back into a serviceable bun, brightened up my warm brown eyes with a bit of mascara and neutral eyeshadow, swirled on a tiny bit of coral blush, and swiped on some tinted lip balm. Grateful that I could stuff that ugly beige suit into the back recesses of my little closet, I threw on a pair of plain black slacks, a modest white blouse, a black blazer, and plain black loafers. I certainly didn’t look like a professional chef, but my sad little closet wasn’t exactly overflowing with options.

  By the time I had to leave, Grandma had already left me a note that Mrs. Rowland had picked her up for an early dinner. It was always a little humbling to know that your grandmother had a more active social life than you. Still, I was grateful that I didn’t actually have to lie to her just yet. Glancing at my reflection one last time in the bathroom mirror, I figured I was as ready as I could ever be, and I headed out the door.

  CHAPTER TWO

  When I pulled up to Mr. Cochran’s address, I was already feeling a bit out of my element. My potential employer lived in a gorgeously manicured neighborhood. I felt so out of place driving down the street with my old sedan as I passed by driveways filled with shiny new luxury cars. If I got the job, I would be living in a gorgeous two-story brick clad estate with elegant French doors and inviting bay windows.

  Truth be told, our entire home could probably fit inside his kitchen. I sucked in a deep breath, plastered on a big smile, and rang the doorbell.

  My smile faltered a little when the door opened, revealing my prospective boss. Mr. Cochran was definitely not a poor old dear gentleman. “Hi,” he said, his voice deep and warm. “You must be Lynn. Come on in and we can get started.”

  I gaped up at him for what felt like an eternity. He towered over me and seemed to fill up the entire doorway with his sheer maleness. Mr. Cochran had to be a foot taller than me. His broad shoulders and lean hips were the perfect proportions for one of my romance novel covers, and my fingers itched to run through his short, thick espresso colored hair. He filled out his worn jeans and black t-shirt so well that my mouth went dry with lust. His face was classically handsome, but his strong jaw kept him from being too much of a pretty boy. He was vaguely familiar to me somehow, but I couldn’t quite place him.

  I could have stared into his sea blue eyes for hours, until I realized that he was politely holding out his strong bronzed hand for me to shake.

  “Oh, yes!” I managed to squeak. I grabbed his hand in a brisk handshake, willing myself to ignore that my little hand was complete
ly engulfed in his grip.

  “Thank you so much for seeing me, Mr. Cochran! I’m so excited for the opportunity to meet you, and I hope you’ll be pleased with my culinary skills, and of course, please don’t hesitate to tell me what your preferences are so that I may accommodate them, and I truly do hope that I can become an indispensable member of your household.” I stopped rambling like an idiot to gasp for air, and I realized belatedly that he was still holding my hand.

  He smiled and I couldn’t tell if he was amused by my nervousness or by my gaping like a swooning teenybopper. He gently tugged on my hand, and said, “There’s no need to feel anxious. We’re just getting to know each other, right? Come on into the kitchen and we can chat.”

  I gratefully returned his smile and followed obediently behind him. His house was even more impressive inside and I marveled at the luxurious yet welcoming decor. He led me to an inviting breakfast nook in the kitchen and offered me a beverage.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said. “I’m fine as I am.”

  He surveyed me from head to toe, and I shivered a little at his slow perusal. “Indeed, Lynn,” he said, with a grin. “Indeed you are.”

  Oh, no, was he flirting with me? I’m horrible at casual banter! I ignored his comment, and busied myself with pulling out my resume from my purse. “Mr. Cochran,” I said. “I’m afraid that I don’t have a lot of actual experience with cooking in restaurants or for customers, but I assure you that I’m a competent home cook, and I’m eager to learn. Like I said, just let me know what your preferences are, and I’ll do my very best to accommodate your menus around your particular tastes.” I waited for him to finish reading my resume and nervously played with my blazer cuff.