Stories for When the Sun Goes Down (Sexy Anthology) Read Online Free Page B

calm. It doesn’t
matter, just one of the domestic staff. No harm done. They probably didn’t hear
anything. They wouldn’t have even known it was us in the dressing room,
probably thought it was workmen banging around or something.
    I sit on the sofa opposite him and the egg
tilts forward, pressing against my responsive front wall. I’m struggling to
stay calm. I need damage limitation.
    “Hey,” he says leaning forward so his elbows are angled on
his knees. “I’m only joking, I’ve just ordered more tea from Hilda, it will be
here in a minute.”
    The black dots dancing before my eyes disappear and the nausea
subsides. I grab a fat embroidered cushion. “You…” I say, hurling it at him
with the skill of a professional baseball player. “Are not funny, Prime
Minister.”
    “Oh lighten up. You Americans just don’t have any sense of
humour…” He ducks to avoid the cushion hitting him on the head and grins. “Your
face was such a picture, you should have seen it.”
    A sharp knock at the door catches our attention and like a
personality switch we straighten our features and stiffen our spines. John
retrieves the cushion then reaches for the weighty policy previously abandoned
on the coffee table and flicks it open.
    I clear my throat. “Enter.”
    “Carbon emissions…” John starts as a
member of staff in a black dress and white apron glides in with fresh tea,
followed by Drake, Harold and John’s two advisors.
    Suddenly the egg leaps to life with a
pulse of sturdy vibrations and a delicious ripple of pleasure rolls through me.
    John looks over, his expression neutral.
He pulls his hand from his pocket.
    I squirm, curl my coccyx and feel the
buzzing egg press directly on my G-spot. It feels heavenly on the still
throbbing, still needy nerve endings and the desperate desire for it to
continue is instantaneous.
    Drake hands me a cup and saucer. It
clatters in my shaky hand. He glances at my face, concerned. The buzzing
stops.
I smile, lean forward, place the drink on the table and knot my
fingers in my lap.
    “We have to look at the industrial and
domestic aspects as well as...” John continues and the buzzing starts up again,
travels through several programs then settles in a steady beat. I have to force
my eyes not to roll back in their sockets and clamp my lips shut to prevent a
groan of delight. It’s the perfect tempo for keeping me aroused.
    I contract my pussy around the egg as hard
as I can and focus on keeping every other part of my body perfectly still. I
pray no one can sense the hum travelling along the sofa. It’s relentless, this
internal massage, orchestrated by my lover who is talking earnestly and wearing
his most serious, business face.
    I can’t concentrate, though I’m sure he’s
giving a very persuasive and intelligent argument for his policy. I can think
of nothing but the vibrating and I lean back. The position shifts and the
feeling intensifies — I
gasp.
    There is a sudden pause in conversation
and all eyes turn to me. “Yes,” I say seriously, knowing I must offer a follow
up response to my gasp. “Excellent, very novel suggestion.”
    John raises his eyebrows infinitesimally
then carries on talking and flicking through documents.
    I compress my fists. An orgasm is
building. There’s no clitoral stimulation, it’s all about my G-spot. The
elusive G-spot only John can find, even from ten feet away. Oh, I love it.
“Yes, yes.” I nod enthusiastically at a ridiculous tax proposal for industrial
emissions. “Yes.”
    “You seem to be warming to all my
suggestions,” John says with an obscenely wicked smile as Drake and Harold
adopt confused frowns. “Do you think we could get something signed today, Madam
President?”
    Sign nothing, sign nothing, I repeat mantra style in my head, not with this dreamy distraction.
The British are not playing fair!
    The buzzing stops. Cruelly taken away when
I was so close. I open my mouth but no words come out. Frustration and