The Journey of Jezebel

Someone's definition of Jezebel: ... an impudent, shameless, or morally unrestrained woman.

*

The LexusSC glided down the road, its driver taking the twists and turns like a professional skilled in handling fast machines. Samuel's eyes never left the blacktop unless it was to catch a quick glance at the woman by his side. He would normally take the jagged road with recklessness, but this night he refused to let the power of the machine rule over wisdom. He had precious cargo and she trusted him to get her to their destination in one piece.

"A very nice ride," Jezebel whispered, her fingers caressed the leather seat.

"Your's is just as nice," he replied, "I arranged to have it stored overnight at the club. You can collect it in the morning."

Jezebel smiled and shook her head. "Sure of yourself aren't you?" her brow rose in a knowing look, "My car is one of the many luxuries I enjoy. I do like it."

"I bet you like getting in and out of it."

A smirk rose from her lips when she realized he would not comment on the first part of her statement. "Yeah, I do. I over exaggerate my entering and leaving of it. I like the way I feel when my legs slide out and then my body. Like I'm slinking out."

Samuel smiled, picturing the long legged redhead climbing in and out of her car, much like she had his, when they left the club. She had poured herself into it. He loved every inch of skin that had been revealed as she slid in, lifted one leg, crossed it over the other, forcing her dress to hike higher and expose even more sinfully creamy flesh. The ivory complexion, littered with tiny freckles had not gone unnoticed by the valet attendant either. Samuel had to cough in order to gain the young man's attention. He didn't chastise him; how could he, Samuel had stared too and Jezebel had fully been aware of the attention, played it up even by sliding forward, licking her lips and then reapplying a sheen of lip gloss. Yes, she knew how attractive she was and she knew how to play it to the nines.

"When does this come off?"

Her question forced him to glance at her wrist. "Uncomfortable?" he asked, with a raised brow, before returning his focus to the drive.

"No."

"Then don't concern yourself with it."

"When do I get the other half?"

His shaft hardened slightly. The fact she wanted the other half of the restraint meant she was more than willing to take their play to a different level than the norm. He had known she would, but to have her verbally admit it made his desire grow. "In time Jezebel; in time."

"What happened to pet?"

Another inch of his cock stretched under the expensive material of his Armani slacks. "Do you feel pet's appropriate at this moment?" He let her think on that question as he turned off the highway and onto a side street. He could see her expression, one full of contemplation, as if she were trying to choose the words.

"No," she told him, "it doesn't feel right. At the club, it did though, it felt..." He lifted a brow and waited. "It felt perfect." Her voice was soft, almost melodious. She licked her lips and he saw her cheeks grow pink.

He reached over with one hand and placed it on her thigh, pushing her dress up higher. "Spread your legs," he told her. Jezebel's sex tightened. She could not help but notice the sudden change in his voice, or the change in the air around her. Both seemed to suddenly fill with some unknown electrical charge. She spread her legs and glanced at his hand, slowly traveling up her thigh. "Perfection is hard to reach if one is always fighting their own embarrassment," he admonished.

"I'm not embarrassed," she whispered.

"No, you're not now, but you would be if I were stroking your cunt in the club and making you come. You were embarrassed earlier, weren't you. Even though you'd come, you were still embarrassed," his thumb pressed against her clit, "Tell me why you came to dinner without panties."

The change of topic surprised her. She blinked and chewed on her lip, shifted in her seat and angled her body in hopes to give him better access. "It felt...right," she hissed as his fingernail scrapped against the nub of her sex.

"Does this feel right?"

A soft mummer of "yes" left her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed and her legs spread wider.

"Good," he told her. His eyes shifted from his hand, now pressed fully against the soft mound of her pussy, and the road. His cock strained; his nostrils flared; his pulse raced.

Samuel kept his hand against her as he finished the last few miles of terrain that separated them from his home; all the while his fingers massaged her pussy lips. Rubbing, stroking, pulling and slightly twisting them to the right and then the left. Her soft moans of pleasure filled the car, yet he knew she was still holding back her desire. He took his hand away, and wiped the juice that had slowly eased from her sex onto her inner thigh. "For later," he told her, before pressing the remote for his garage and driving his car into it's simple, yet secure structure.

Jezebel's jaw ached from clenching it. She had wanted to scream for him to fuck her, to stop teasing her, to pull the car over and ram his cock deep into her. She'd wanted that since the first fantasy that had his image as the main star. Yet, she didn't beg, scream, or order him to do her bidding. She watched his hand, now free of her nectar, nectar that would quickly grow dry on her skin. She remembered how she'd devoured the come off his fingers, come that had exploded from her sex at the dinner table. A whimper slipped from her mouth as she felt a rush of desire.

Samuel heard the sound, cataloged it and shut the engine of the car off. He exited, walked quickly around the front and opened the door for Jezebel. Again he was rewarded with the smoothness of her exiting a well-oiled machine. His cock strained. He closed the car door, pressed his palm against the small of her back and felt the heat of her flesh under the fabric.

They walked together, again as if they were old pros at walking side by side. She neither lagged behind or rushed ahead, simply moved wherever he led. Simple pressure applied to the right points of her back had her turning to the right, or left, eventually walking up three steps, waiting for him to unlock a side door and then together moving like silk into a small room, where he took her shawl and placed it on a hook. His jacket joined the satin material.

He pressed her onward, passing several rooms, eventually making their way to a den where chilled wine sat, nestled in ice, housed in a silver bucket. "A quaint home," she said, her gaze drifted from one piece of furniture to another.

"Surprised?"

Jezebel smiled. "Yes, I am. I expected something more...showy. A large house, full of servants to do your bidding. Minions to cater to your every whim."

Samuel laughed. "I could afford it, that's certain, but I am also quite capable of washing dishes and folding laundry, though I will admit I don't like either," he winked, poured her a glass of wine and added, "I have a housekeeper who comes in twice a week."

Jezebel grinned. "So do I." They both chuckled, clicked their glasses for no reason and sipped at their drinks. Samuel placed his glass on the table and took a seat on the leather sofa. He watched Jezebel take in her surroundings. Her drink remained in her hand as she moved about the room. He did not mind her curiosity; he encouraged it with a nod here or there when she indicated something of interest. He answered her questions concerning books she eyed, furniture she admired and even pictures of various friends and family members that were framed and hung in different places about the room.

She stopped, stared out the window to the backyard and found herself looking at her reflection. She could see him behind her. Her gaze occasionally locked with his. Each time the intensity of his stare would make her pulse race. "Why me?" she suddenly asked, breaking the silence.

He rose and walked forward. She continued to stare at his reflection, slowly merging with hers. "Why not?" he whispered against her ear. His hand moved around her; his fingers took her glass; he placed the partially filled goblet on an antique end table that held a set of crystal bird eggs, nestled in a hand woven nest. Jezebel couldn't answer for a moment. The feel of his lips still lingered on her skin. When she felt his mouth brush against her shoulder, she shivered. "Why not you?" he asked again.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not anything special," she said breathlessly; his tongue pressed against the pulse beating under her ear.

"Is that what you believe?" he asked, nipping at her skin, "You're quite special, pet, more special than any woman I have ever met before." The sound of 'pet' washed over her. She shivered, leaned back into him and felt her body sway. His fingers moved down her arms, softly caressing her flesh and bringing a shiver of goose bumps to the pale surface. He touched her gently, pausing when he found a place that brought a whimper or a small gasp from her lips.

Jezebel stood there, if one could call her posture standing; it was more like reclining against a solid force. She sighed when his fingers moved back up her arms, then down again. Each trip they made brought another tingle to her already aroused sex. She turned toward him, only to be stopped in her pursuit. "Stay there," he whispered, making sure she remained facing the window, "watch."

It took a moment for Jezebel to comprehend exactly what she was supposed to watch. When she did, a warm blush fell across her cheeks, spreading down her neck and further to hide under the material of her dress. She studied her reflection in the mirror as well as the reflection of the man behind her. His hands moved skillfully over her flesh and then across the fabric of the thin, short dress. Nails scrapped skin, never leaving a mark, but marking her just the same as if he had scratched his name into her flesh. She watched his mouth move from her neck, to her shoulder, then down one arm, nipping its way to her hand, which he held, lifted up and treated to small, delicate kisses.

Tingles, throbs, and shivers of anticipation skated across every surface of her body. Goose bumps followed goose bumps and sighs followed whimpers. Her lids would flutter close on occasion, only to be open wide when his fingers found some new place to play. For the first time in her life Jezebel felt as if she were a prize, a token to be gazed upon and cherished. Her teeth came out to pull on her lower lip as she watched her dress being slowly lifted from her body. When the silky material lay in a puddle on the floor Samuel stood directly behind her, cupping her breasts and kneading them softly.

"Look at yourself," he told her, whispering the command in her ear as if there were others that could hear him, "you are special." He played with the hard beads of her tits, rolling the pearls and then grazing his palms over them. She stared at his hand, mesmerized by the feel as well as the sight of what was happening to her. "You are more than just a rich socialite. You are unique."

Jezebel fought the words that wanted to spill from her lips. She wanted to shrug off all he was saying with some witty and off-handed comment, but she didn't. She wanted to believe his words more than anything else and so she simply stood there transfixed by his voice and listened to him seduce her body with words and actions.

Samuel left her breasts and ran his palms over her arms, then up again. He traced the shape of her spine with one finger, while allowing the digits of his other to slide to her hips and then up to her ribs. She jerked slightly when he discovered several spots on her torso that were prone to tickles. He grinned and she glanced at his reflection with a 'don't you dare' look on her face. Samuel winked, slipped down to his knees and sat behind the bare ass of the woman before him. He kissed the small of her back, then trailed his tongue down one rounded globe of muscle and flesh, then back up the other. He left no part of her backside untouched. He spread the cheeks of her ass, and licked slowly down the tight seam. She jerked when he pressed his tongue against the puckered hole. "Have you?" he asked, nipping her ivory thigh once, then twice as she tried to answer his question through her heavy breathing.

"Yes," she whispered, shook again and then continued, "but it isn't something I enjoyed."

"We'll work on that," he promised. A part of Jezebel knew that he would succeed in all that he said they would work on.

From the position he was in Samuel made out the sweet juices of her sex. He moved one hand up her thigh, cupped the hot core of her womanhood and pressed his fingers against it. She shivered again. "You wax," he murmured against her hip, "I like that, though I like a bit of fluff to. So we'll vary your way of doing things. Spice it up so to speak."

She swallowed, nodded her head in agreement and watched as he unfastened the buckles of her stilettos. Jezebel stepped free of them, watched him push them from harms way and then saw him move around to the front of her. He glanced at their reflection. So did she.

In the window stood a woman, a naked goddess, save only for the jewelry she wore and the glimmering, solitary cuff that circled her wrist. Jezebel had never seen this woman before. In front of her, blocking the lower half of her body was a man. A smartly dressed man on his knees paying homage to some gift that was bestowed on him. That was how she felt. She was a gift, something to be treasured and enjoyed. Yet, to see him on his knees brought a small sense of oddity to her musings. She felt as if she should have been there, not him. He was gifting her with the realization that she was more than just a woman, she was [I]his[/I] woman.

Jezebel's fingers rested on his shoulders. His mouth moved up her right leg. She felt his tongue sliding higher and higher; his teeth occasionally nipped at her flesh. When he paused in his ascent she gazed down at him. She watched him lap hungrily at one particular patch of flesh. He seemed to wash something from her skin and when she recalled his words 'for later' she grunted low. The juice of her sex slipped out and coated the outer lips of her pussy. Samuel's fingers danced across the sticky fluid and spread it across the mound of her sex.

"Don't hold back," he told her. He traveled across her abdomen and toyed with her belly button. "I want to prove to you that you are special. I will show you the part of you that you've kept hidden, even from yourself. I want you to feel free...free to explore all aspects of pleasure and to voice it as loud as your body demands you do."

Jezebel whimpered, bit down on her lower lip and shuddered. "What do you want?" he asked; his warm breath danced across her wet pussy. He swiped a quick, firm lick across the hardened tip of her clit. She shook again; hisses of pleasure escaped her clenched lips.

"Do you want me to eat you out?" he asked, losing the sweetness in his voice, sweetness that she'd found captivating. Now his voice was full of something else, a hardness that made Jezebel's body throb with anticipation. "Tell me, pet... what do you want for your reward?"

Reward?

It took her a moment to remember that at dinner he had been pleased with her and he had promised a reward. Now he was asking her what she wanted. Jezebel looked down on his face, a mere hairbreadth away from her aching pussy. She wanted his face buried in her. She wanted to feel his tongue thrusting in and out of her cunt. She wanted to watch his eyes burn with desire and passion for her and her alone. She wanted much, but needed only one thing.

"You," she whimpered, pushed her fingers into his hair and brought her hips closer, "please I want... I want to scream."

Samuel needed no other words. He spoke no more as he opened his mouth and began to feast on the delicate petals coated in nature's honey. He opened her lips, pushed his tongue into the hot center and pumped in and out of the soft core. Nails dug into his scalp, but the pain was not enough to distract him from his intended course which was to make the goddess before him scream for mercy.

He slipped his tongue out of her pussy, dragged it up to the clit and began to lick away at the pink hued skin. Her scent surrounded him. He drank it in, slurped at the liquid silk that flowed easily from her and marveled in the wetness that was Jezebel. He pushed one finger into her pussy, twirled the thick digit and then eased it out. He added a second, repeated the procedure and then added a third.

Jezebel looked down at him, watched the beauty of the moment and knew this was worth more than anything she'd ever received from a lover. This was a gift beyond measure. She felt wanted for herself and not just her body. He had paid attention to her whole being, coaxing her into looking at her reflection, accepting the fact that she was a living breathing woman who had needs that had to be satisfied. She doubted anyone but Samuel could, but for now she had no desire to find out otherwise.

A tug on her clit made her jerk back to reality. "Sam..."

"Pet..." The tone of his voice brought a look of confusion. He had not asked her a question, nor really stopped his seduction of her sensitive place, but yet with his voice she knew she'd done something wrong.

It took her a few seconds to realize what she was to say. She recalled the brief title in the restaurant and whispered, "Sir." Immediately she was rewarded with the smile that rose from his slippery lips.

"Very good pet," he told her before going back to work on the swelling rose before him. He sucked, gnawed, pulled and massaged her coated skin. Jezebel's moans grew louder with every thrust of fingers and swipe of tongue. He bit gently at first, emitting a great hiss of delight from the redhead, then bit harder bringing a small shout of 'fuck yes' from her lips.

Jezebel watched the couple in the reflection, barely aware that it was her own being she gazed upon. She saw a woman washed in passion. A woman that trembled and shook as her lover ate away at a favored dish. "Sir... oh fuck, Sir..."

Samuel drove his fingers in faster, gave no mercy to her pussy and aided her in keeping her balance by holding her ass in his free hand. He massaged the globes, pushed her into his face and supped at the wet fruit. "Come pet; come for me. I want to hear your voice."

She could barely comprehend his command. His voice was muffled, thick with lust and desire. Her head pounded with the beat of her pulse. Her jaw hurt from holding back the sounds of pleasure and yet when he gave her permission to speak, her whole soul felt free. She threw back her head, gripped his shoulders and let out a loud moan and grunt, followed by a squeal of release. Her fluids erupted from her sex, spilling onto the man's eager fingers and then she felt his mouth swallowing up the heated juice. She shuddered against his face, climaxed again as he gnawed on the freshly coated petals. Her nails curled into the fabric of his jacket; she gasped, moaned, whimpered while he licked her clean.

Jezebel couldn't stand and feared she'd fall by the time he was done drinking his fill. She moaned as his fingers moved up her form and pressed against her, forcing her to return to him just long enough for him to ease her down onto the floor. He moved over her, kissed first her right nipple then her left, before gliding up to suck on her neck. "I need to fuck you now, pet. Right here; right now."

A quick nod of her head told him she was willing. A part of her knew it wouldn't have mattered though. He possessed her. If he wanted to fuck her he would and she would have little to no say in the matter. How that knowledge thrilled her. She whimpered, spread her legs and felt his hand move between them.