Gigolo

by Emma Allan

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

Although it's the way he makes his living, Mike Preston's not much of a caterer. His heart's just not in it. He's more interested in the perks of the job, meeting attractive women like Arlene Boatright. And Arlene - beautiful, rich and pampered - is hungry for more than Mike's cooking. Having sampled his bedroom fare she's happy to recommend him to her friends. It's funny how many of them have developed insatiable appetites.

Suddenly Mike discovers the catering business has lost its charm. Now he finds himself in another kind of business altogether . . .

Discover Piatkus Entice: temptation at your fingertips - www.piatkusentice.co.uk

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 256

Sample

‘Come in, make yourself comfortable,’ Angela said.

She closed the bedroom curtains and dimmed the lights. It was obvious she was wearing nothing under the dress. The black material clung to her body like a layer of paint: it had the sheen of silk and the shimmering wet look of satin but was probably neither, a new fabric concocted in a chemistry lab to tantalise and delight with its ability to stretch tightly over the female form, contouring itself to every curve and dimple. Even the tiniest panties, the most delicate bra, would have rucked the taut outline.

She reached behind her back, up under her long blonde hair, caught the metal tongue of the zip in her fingers and pulled it down the whole length of her back. The dress peeled away from her body like a second skin. Her body was tanned with no bikini lines, her skin as smooth and silky as the material had been. She had big, very high, very round breasts topped by large ruby-red nipples. Her waist was slender which, by contrast, emphasised the pronounced camber of her hips. The spiky black high heels she still wore, their toes encrusted with a circle of diamante, shaped her calves and pouted her full fleshy arse.

He walked towards her but she held out her hand to ward him off.

‘Not yet,’ she said firmly. ‘Sit down there. I want you to watch.’

‘Watch?’

‘Watch me. I want to give you a little show of my own.’ She was not smiling but he could see the excitement that danced across her blue eyes.

He sat in a small pink gingham armchair opposite the foot of the bed. She put her arms by her sides, pressing them in slightly, making her breasts balloon out, then shook her shoulders so her breasts quivered. She ran one hand down into her very sparse pubic hair. The wispy blonde hair hid nothing. He could see the beginning of the dark furrow of her sex disappearing down between her thighs. As he watched she pushed one finger into the slit and a tiny, almost inaudible moan escaped her lips.

Turning her back on him she walked over to a pine chest of drawers. It held all her lingerie carefully sorted into type: a drawer of bras, one of panties, another of stockings and tights. She pulled out an unopened packet of black stockings and threw them on to the creamy counterpane of the bed. A black lacy suspender belt followed.

He was looking at her arse. It was shaped like a plum, two ovals of meaty flesh divided by a deep, dark chasm, the tuck at the bottom of each buttock, where they folded into the thigh, a perfect crescent shape.

She came back to the foot of the bed and sat on the edge exactly opposite his chair. She picked up the packet of stockings and broke the seal. The cellophane made a crisp rustling sound, like the crackle of electricity, as she extracted the fine denier nylon. Laying one stocking aside she rolled the other up in her hands until it resembled a pocket. Then, kicking off her shoe, she raised her leg and inserted her toe into the sheer black nylon.

As she played the material out over her calf and up over her knee, her foot pointed and arched, he could see the whole plane of her sex. Her labia were puffy and pink, pressed together like a vertical mouth, a mouth that seemed to be smiling at him.

The stocking encased her leg, its welt, thick and blacker than the rest of the nylon, dividing her thigh in two. With the first stocking in place she picked up the second, rolled it up and repeated the process, raising her leg and knowing his eyes were on her sex.

With both stockings in place she picked up the black suspender belt and wrapped it around her waist. She reached behind her back to clip it in place, her big breasts thrust forward. The suspender belt was a wide band of black lace that covered half her stomach, the long fingers of the suspenders made from ruched black satin.

Carefully she pushed the little nub of rubber under the black welt and slotted it into the metal hoop on top, trapping the nylon in between. A tab of black satin hid the metal as though the sight of it might offend. Her nimble fingers, their nails varnished in crimson, moved quickly until all four suspenders were secure. Standing up, she put one foot after the other up on the bed, bending over to smooth out the nylon by running the palms of both hands up her long legs, making sure there were no wrinkles, then adjusting the tension of the suspenders until the stockings were held taut. Apparently satisfied, she slotted her feet back into the high heels and walked to the bedside table. She took a small bottle of perfume and sprayed it under her neck and between her breasts. A heavy musky aroma filled the room.

‘Why don’t you get more comfortable?’ she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing her legs with a rasp of nylon on nylon.

Mike stood up. He was one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. He was tall with strong symmetrical features, a straight nose and piercing blue eyes. His hair was as blond as any woman’s and neatly parted. A lock at the front had the habit of falling into his eyes; it would be swept away with a flick of his hand in a gesture that had become a mannerism. As he stripped off his shirt and trousers she saw his strong, well-defined muscles, his chest square and deep, the muscles of his arms thick and hard, his legs, similarly, sculpted and contoured by regular exercise. He wore small white briefs from which the crown of his circumcised cock had escaped, like a man’s head looking over a wall. He pulled the briefs down his long legs and his erection sprang free, a big broad shaft sprouting from a base of thick blond pubic hair.

‘Now sit down again,’ Angela said. ‘Come on, be a good boy.’

A little grudgingly he sat back in the armchair, his cock sticking up, his balls sitting on top of his thighs. He laced his fingers together and rested his chin on top of them, his elbows on the arms of the chair.

Angela pulled herself over into the centre of the bed. She lay on her back exactly opposite him and scissored her legs open, wide open, as far as she could stretch them apart. She saw his eyes looking up her stockinged thighs to her sex. She could feel her labia part, almost audibly, and knew he would be able to see the mouth of her sex, its interior scarlet red. She felt a sharp thrill of pleasure as she exposed herself like this and her clitoris pulsed as if demanding attention.

Now she bent her knees and stretched out until she could grasp her ankles, pulling them back till her legs were doubled up. The spiky heels of her shoes dug into the counterpane, wrinkling it around them. She arched her buttocks off the bed, angling her sex towards him, then began pumping it up and down as though being fucked by some invisible lover.

Mike stared intently, torn between the desire to throw himself on her and the desire to watch. For the moment the latter won out.

Releasing her ankles Angela kept her legs bent but sent her left hand down to the wispy pubic hair. She stroked it gently, then teased some of the long hairs out, twisting them around her fingers, the motion of her hips, the undulation, remaining constant. Soon her fingers were delving into the open furrow of her labia at the top. Her body started at the first contact with her swollen and engorged clitoris.

‘Mm …’ she moaned as her finger pressed the little button back and forth in time to the tempo of her hips.

She saw Mike lean forward, wanting a closer look at what her finger was doing.

‘Right on my clit …’ she told him.

Her other hand caressed her thigh. She let her fingers play over the nylon welt, feeling the contrast between the harsh nylon and her smooth, creamy skin. She could feel the rhythm she had established begin to take her over, her body wanting to go faster. Up to now she had been in control, giving a performance, but now her need asserted itself, making it difficult to think of anything but her own pleasure. She knew why, of course. It was the thrill of being so wanton, of exposing herself so openly, of watching his eyes locked to her sex and seeing his excitement making his cock throb.

Pushing her right hand down under her thigh, she spread her fingers out until she could feel their tips nudging along the whole length of her labia. Her sex was soaking wet. She fanned her hand up and down, her fingertips sliding along the deep furrow, while all the time her other hand moved against her clit and the motor of her hips kept up its constant pumping. She was coming.

She strained her head off the bed to look at Mike. His right hand had circled his cock and he was wanking it with no particular urgency as he watched her, his eyes narrowed and focused on the action between her legs, framed so perfectly by the black of the suspender belt and the welts of the stockings, their tightness making the flesh they exposed appear that much more soft and creamy.

It was time for her now. She had no choice. Putting two fingers together she found the entrance of her cunt and drove them up into it as far as they would go. She wanted no subtlety or finesse now. Two fingers were not enough. She added a third and pushed up harder, writhing her body down on all three. But it was still not enough. Her little finger was holding them back, preventing maximum penetration. That problem was easily solved. She wriggled it against the puckered crater of her anus. The copious juices from her sex had run down between her legs and the hole was as wet as the rest of her sex. As she rammed her other fingers forward again the little finger slid into her anus. She moaned loudly. Now she had what she wanted.

Almost immediately she felt herself beginning to tremble. As she drove her whole hand in and out of her sex, she felt the thin membrane that separated one finger from the others. Her fingers were soaked with the sap of her body as she wallowed in sensation from her clitoris. She looked down her body, her big tits vibrating, her meaty thighs, clad in the sheer black stockings, forming a V-shape in the middle of which was Mike’s face staring intently, with an expression of rapt attention. It was the look in his eyes that made her orgasm leap through her nerves, closing her eyes and pitching her into a crimson abyss where sensation came in waves, over and over again.

The next thing she knew Mike was standing by the side of the bed staring down at her, his cock so hard and red it looked angry.

‘Are you going to fuck me?’ She pulled her hand from the two passages of her body and brought it up to her mouth. Without taking her eyes from his she sucked her fingers eagerly, savouring the taste. ‘I love it,’ she said.

Almost before he knew what had happened, Angela had sprung up on to her knees, grabbed his cock in her hand and fed it into her mouth, gobbling it up, until her lips were touching his curly blond pubic hair and his glans was jammed down her throat.

‘God …’ he moaned.

She sucked the whole length of it as she pulled her mouth back. It made the noise like a smack of a kiss as it plopped out of her lips.

‘You want to spunk in my mouth? I love spunk … love the taste …’ Her lips were moving against his glans as she spoke.

Before he could reply she plunged down on his cock again, until he could feel the narrowing of her throat. Her tongue circled and licked whatever part of his shaft it could reach while her hand found the sac of his balls and jiggled them up and down like coins in a pocket. Her other hand was not idle either. It snaked around his buttocks, tight firm buttocks coiled with muscle, and into the cleft of his arse. In seconds it had found the entrance to his anus. With no hesitation, she pushed against his sphincter until it gave way and she could drive her finger up as far as it would go. As her reward she felt his cock jerk in her mouth.

The long outward journey began, her cheeks deflated, sucking on him fiercely as she pulled back. It was as though she were trying to draw the spunk out of him, like venom from a snake.

‘You like that, don’t you?’ she asked, wriggling her finger in his anus to indicate what ‘that’ meant, her lips moving against the pink flesh of his glans again.

‘Yes …’

‘Spunk for me …’ she begged, covering the tip of his cock with little nipping kisses before enveloping it completely again.

‘No!’ Taking her by the shoulders, just as her mouth was beginning its descent again, he threw her back on the bed, tearing her finger from his rear and his cock from her lips. She fell on to her back and he leapt on top of her, like a big cat on its prey, his cock diving down between her legs and up into her cunt in one seamless movement, her sex so wet and pliant that his rock-hard erection ploughed into her with no resistance.

‘Oh Mike …’ she moaned, her legs splayed open. ‘Oh yes, yes …’

She was wriggling underneath him, forcing herself further down on his cock, pushing her clitoris against his hard pubic bone. She moved her legs up, the nylon rasping against his sides, until her ankles were over his back and he could feel the cold leather of her shoes resting against his spine.

‘Got you,’ she said, squeezing her thighs together, his body trapped between them.

He began driving into her. He was swamped with sensations. He could feel her big spongy tits pressed against his chest, and the nylon of her stockings against his sides. He could feel her cunt throbbing and pulsing and, most of all, a flood of juices engulfing him, almost as though it were she who had spunked.

‘Come on, give it to me, let me have your spunk. God, your cock is so hard, so bloody hard. Come on, big boy. Can you feel my cunt wrapped all around you? It’s hot isn’t it? Hot for you … Can you feel all my juices?’ She hissed into his ear, her hot breath provoking him even more. Not for one second did she stop mouthing a stream of obscenities as his cock pounded into her.

‘Did I look good wanking myself, did I? Spread right open for you, my whole hand up my cunt. Did that look good? Do you want to fuck my tits? Make me a pearl necklace of your spunk? Or would you like to bugger me … I love that … Put your cock in my arse … it’s so tight, so hot. Put your cock in my arse and your hand in my cunt …’

The last words seemed to make her whole sex convulse. It felt as if it were milking his cock, clinging to every contour of his shaft and squeezing it rhythmically.

There was no way he could hold back, not after what he had seen. Every nerve in his body wanted release, every sense a provocation, the sight of her, the aroma of her perfume combined with the strong odour of sex, the feel of her body, inside and out, incredibly soft and incredibly wet, the things she was whispering in his ear. He felt his balls tighten, his cock pumping.

She felt it too. ‘Yes, give it to me, it’s mine. I want it.’

He thrust one final time, as deep as he could go but did not withdraw again. Instead he arched his body into her, right up into the depths of her, using his considerable strength to push as far in as he could go, until he felt her body opening around him, opening like the bud of a flower, letting him in, giving him his place, a secret place, where there was room for him to shoot his spunk into her.

‘Oh yes …’ he moaned.

‘Fuck me …’ She racked the fingernails of both hands down either side of his spine as his cock spasmed in the cache she had made for him. His spunk jetted out, splashing against the sleek wet walls of her cunt.

They had known each other about three weeks. Mike Preston ran a small catering company and Angela Spooner had been one of his clients – in a manner of speaking. He’d been catering a dinner for one of the captains at the airline where she worked as a stewardess.

At the end of the evening he had planned on going straight home but, after everyone had left, Angela had suggested they go for a nightcap at a club she knew.

By the small hours of the morning Angela, like many women before her, had drowned in the blue sea of Mike’s eyes, and conceived a passion for the handsome blond. She had asked him if he was too tired to accompany her home and he’d decided, despite everything, that he wasn’t. Like tonight, he had watched as she had performed for him. Like tonight, her performance had ended in a show of his own.

Mike Preston was used to the effect he had on women. Since he was seventeen, women had made it quite obvious that his attentions would be more than welcome. On his eighteenth birthday – the best birthday present he could have had – he had met a French woman in her early forties, a beautiful, elegant and sophisticated woman, who had taken him to her bed for weeks on end and shown him how his natural enthusiasm and stamina could be best used to pleasure and satisfy the opposite sex. It was a lesson he never forgot. He had kept himself fit, working out in a gym, playing tennis and rugby and swimming, and honed his sexual technique on numerous volunteers.

Now, at the age of twenty-five, Mike had had many women like Angela, beautiful and extremely sexy. He had never been tempted to settle down with anyone. It was like the old Swedish joke, why have just one dish when there was smorgasbord? There always seemed to be some new lithe beauty batting her eyelashes at him provocatively. It seemed churlish to let them down.

He was not as successful at his work as he was with women. He had his own catering business, providing private dinner parties and small c. . .