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Cattitude

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Chris Dee

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“A splash of light snuck beneath the a dressing room door. He heard a groan. A shuffle. A bump. A heavy sigh. "Uh, too tight." He walked toward the back, stopping outside the dressing room. The door was cracked a fraction. He rested a shoulder against the wall, and glanced inside. Grace as Catwoman blew his mind. A feline fantasy. The three-way mirror tripled his pleasure. He viewed her from every angle. Hot, sleek, fierce. The lady could fight Batman in her skintight black leather catsuit and come out the winner. After a moment she scrunched her nose, slapped her palms against her thighs. Stuck out her tongue at her reflection in the mirrors. He saw what had her so frustrated. Sympathized with her disappointment. Her costume didn't fit. The front zipper hadn't fully cleared her cleavage, which was deep and visible. She wore no bra. She gave a little hop, and her breasts bounced. Full and plump. He felt a tug at his groin. Superhero lust. He cleared his throat and made his presence known. She caught his image in the corner of the glass, and reached for the fitting room chair, positioning it between them. Like that would keep him from her. He should've looked away, but couldn't. He sensed her embarrassment. Her panic. Flight? She had nowhere to go. He blocked the door. He wasn't leaving until they'd talked. "Archibald's going to love your costume," he initiated. She didn't find him funny. Her gaze narrowed behind the molded cat-eye mask with attached ears. Her fingers clenched in her elbow-length gloves. Inspired by the movie The Dark Knight, she'd added a whip and a gun holster. Her thigh-high stiletto boots were killer, adding five inches to her height. Her image would stick with him forever. She backed against the center mirror, and nervously fingered the open flaps over her breasts. A yank on the zipper broke the tab. The metal teeth parted, and the gap widened, revealing the round inner curves of her breasts. A hint of her nipples. Dusky pink. All the way down to the dent of her navel.”

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Book:The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine
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“It’s so easy, though, having you tied and ready like this. Like my own personal fucktoy.” Her mouth opens slightly in a gasp and I see the way the muscles in her thighs tighten. “You like that, huh?” I hum, brushing the skin with my hand close to her pussy, which is dripping with my cum. “You like it when I tell you that you’re for me to take―for me to use? Dirty lass.”

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Book:Bloody Fingers & Red Lipstick
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“Moving my hand from his throat to his hair, I grasp the dark brown strands with an unrelenting tug and move my clit over his mouth, using his face as my seat. I start riding him, grinding my pussy over his lips. He sticks out his tongue for me to use and use it, I do. It feels almost barbaric. I’m fucking his face. But it’s invigorating, and it’s not something he hasn’t done to me before. “Making me say ‘please’,” I mutter, growling. “Making me beg for it. You bloody man. I’ll make you beg for air. I’ll make you beg me to let you breathe. How about that, fucker.”

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Book:Bloody Fingers & Red Lipstick
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