Naughtier Bedtime Stories. Joan Elizabeth Lloyd
body. She whispered, “Last evening should be forgotten.’’
“Last evening should be remembered and savored. It was sensational. And my name’s Greg.”
Linda hesitated. “How did you get my number?”
“I hounded Val until she gave it to me. She wouldn’t give me your name and made me promise that I would forget the number if you weren’t interested. Please. Give us a chance.”
Linda couldn’t help it. It was impossible not to smile. He was so sweet, and it had been so wonderful. “Okay,” she said. “Hi, Greg. My name’s Linda.”
The Perfect Mate
THERE WAS ONCE a princess named Tamara who had bullied her father into agreeing that she wouldn’t have to marry anyone who wasn’t her perfect mate. Over the past two years she had met and rejected seventeen princes, twenty-two noblemen, two sheiks from faraway kingdoms, and even several commoners. No one was handsome enough, tall enough, wise enough, witty enough. No one was good enough for Tamara, and she didn’t even give them any time to impress her. No one was her perfect mate, and her father, the king, lamented that she might never marry.
One afternoon Tamara was practicing her serve on the royal tennis court, dressed in rags. She was a very good tennis player, but she wasn’t sure just how good she really was because the members of the court always let her win. “Please,” she would beg, “play your hardest. I need that.”
“But your majesty…”
So today she was dressed as a scullery maid, stealing time from her job in the kitchen. “Aren’t you worried about being caught?” a voice said.
“Caught?” she asked, gazing at the stranger. He was just her height, with thick glasses, a slightly balding head, and travel-worn clothes.
“Yes. Taking time from your duties in the kitchen must be a punishable offense.”
“Oh. Yes. Well, I have a few minutes. Do you play?”
“A bit,” the stranger said. “But I don’t think I can play here. Isn’t it for royalty only?”
“I’m playing here,” Tamara said. “My name’s Tammy.”
“Hi Tammy. I’m Kurt.” They shook hands, and he continued, “I’m a stable hand, new to the court. I’d love to play, but I’ve no racket.”
Tamara got him a racket from the collection beside the court, then proceeded to be humiliated by his powerful serve and stinging backhand. Although her feelings were hurt, she couldn’t help but admire his skill. As they walked to the side of the court, sweating and panting, he winked at her. “Good game.”
Winded, she winked back. “Yes, a great game. Thanks.”
“I particularly liked looking at your legs when you served.”
Slightly flustered, Tamara blushed. “Thank you, but you’re very forward.”
“Not as forward as I’d like to be,” he said, a wide grin splitting his face.
Tamara had never come anywhere close to the heady feeling of flirting with a stranger who knew nothing about her. “What would you do then, sir?”
“I’d tell you how beautiful your breasts look through that blouse. I couldn’t help but watch them jiggle, and it almost cost me several points.”
Blushing furiously, Tamara said, “You say the most outrageous things.”
“And do the most outrageous things, too,” he said. Then he placed his hands on her waist and pulled her against him. Slowly his lips descended until she could feel his warm breath on her mouth. He’s going to kiss me, she realized, and I’m looking forward to it.
And he did. His mouth covered hers, softly at first, then more fiercely as he adjusted the kiss to take full pleasure in her mouth. As he held her more tightly, she felt her knees weaken and her heart pound. Her rapid breathing had nothing to do with their recent exercise. She realized that her hands were pressed against his heaving chest, and she slowly slid her palms up his shirt to cup the back of his head. As she threaded her fingers through his hair, she felt his grip tighten still more and his knee press against her legs.
Without even being aware, she parted her thighs and allowed his thigh to press between them. Finally, long moments later, Kurt leaned back. “You certainly know how to kiss,” he said. “Why don’t we meet later in the stable and continue this in private?”
Could she? Should she? Absolutely not! “Yes,” she sighed. “An hour after dinner.”
Was she crazy? she wondered as she finished her evening meal. She wouldn’t let him take real liberties, but she had enjoyed his kiss and wanted…Wanted what? She didn’t really know, but she needed to find out. Although she changed her mind several times, an hour after the meal ended she found herself in the stables.
The large room was lit only by a single lantern at the far end and was redolent with the smells of hay, horse, and leather. “I didn’t think you’d come,” his voice said from behind her.
“I didn’t think so either,” she answered honestly.
Then he was against her, pressing his chest to her back, his arms around her waist, his lips nibbling at the back of her neck. “Mmm,” he purred, the vibrations transmitting to her very bones.
His hands wandered to her breasts, cupping her, squeezing her, and she felt her knees tremble and her private area getting wet. When he lightly pinched one nipple, she almost passed out from the pleasure of it. “Oh gracious,” she gasped.
His lips roamed her neck and shoulders, and his hands kneaded her flesh until she felt a bubble growing in her belly. Then one hand traveled down her abdomen until he found her mound. He rubbed, pressing her spine against his belly. She reveled in the feel of his hand and his obvious hardness against her buttocks. She tried to keep still and just feel, but she couldn’t keep her hips from rubbing against him.
“Oh, you wanton wench,” he groaned, moving them into the darker recesses of one of the stalls. “You’re such a sexy thing.” His fingers pressed her skirt against her groin, and he rubbed, finding her hard clit. The sensations were muffled through the layers of fabric, but she moved so the rubbing was in the exact right spot.
“Oh,” she moaned. “Oh.” Something grew inside of her, coloring the dim room in bright oranges and blues, swirling before her closed eyes. As his talented fingers delved more deeply between her legs, colors exploded, wild blasts of bright reds and yellows, flying outward like fireworks. Her knees collapsed, yet his hands held her up, her back pressed against his chest.
“You’re amazing,” he whispered. He turned her around. “Now help me.” He loosened his britches and released his erection.
Tamara had seen animals, but never a man. But he was magnificent, even in the very weak light. He guided her hand to him, and, hesitantly she touched him. Hard, yet like the smoothest, softest fabric. Warm, with a small drop of fluid oozing from the tip. “How?” she whispered.
He showed her, wrapped her fingers around him and covered her hand with his. Then he rubbed her hand along the length of his hardness, pressing the tips of her fingers into his flesh. “Faster,” he groaned. “Yes. Like that.”
In only a moment she felt his hips buck and suddenly thick, milky liquid spurted from the end of his prick. “Oh, God,” he grunted, panting. “Magnificent.”
For a long time they stood, leaning against the wall of the stall. “Tammy, I must see you again.”
“And I need you, too,” she said.
They cleaned up, then, hand in hand, they walked to the more brightly lit end of the stable. “You look familiar,” Kurt said. “And your clothes.” He looked her over. “You’re not a kitchen worker, are you?”
“Well…”