3

'Daniella?' A swing-about to face him, ponytail bouncing, swift removal of sunglasses followed by a radiant smile of recognition. 'From a couple of summers back... We met at your dad's, right?'

'I remember! You're...'

'Eric. It's okay...' - on seeing her apologetic frown - '...I'm sure you can be a good Psychology student and not remember names.'

'I'm damn good with names,' she'd protested, laughing. 'And a damn good Psychologist. I was going to say Errol...'

'Errol? Because I remind you of Errol Flynn?'

More laughter. 'Don't flatter yourself, mister! You just look like a generic Errol, is all. Not a specific one. You shouldn't go fishing for compliments from girls you hardly know. That's a bit reckless.'

'I feel crushed. And a little bit psychoanalysed. The course is going well, then?'

Segue into afternoon coffee, drinks a few nights later, followed by a night out on the town. Carry her away with chat and laughter and romance and goodnight kisses full of restrained passion and a mere hint of roguish intent. Be polite, respectful, keep just the right side of cocky. Take on Miss Psychologist at her own game. Lingering eye-contact across the restaurant table, even in the silences. Fingers weaving together while awaiting the cheque. Invite her back almost as a throwaway and once she's on your sofa, draw out her confidences while gently flirting. Play idly with her hair and share laughter up close. Kiss her, soft, slow and searching. Charm her free of clothing, then tongue her free of inhibition. Penetrate her deep till her body quakes and her eyes roll back in her head. Warm her up so the debauching-proper can begin.

None of which had been a chore. She had a sweet face and body and a sophistication that belied her youth; her wit, sass and wide-ranging knowledge meant she sparred easily with him, despite his fifteen years' seniority over her. She had challenged him, made him laugh, called him on the odd stray moment of careless male bullshit, the precocious little madam. And yet despite her chosen field of study, she had never seen through to his true motives, never realised that he was reeling her in, landing her...right here.

He pulled her face off his cock again, held her for one moment of recuperation, then briskly planted her all the gorge-stretching way back, her nose crushed into his silk shirt. Nice. She had acquiesced so easily that afternoon, as he unbuttoned her clothes and eased them from her body, bathing her face, neck and breasts in soft kisses. 'God, sweetheart, the things I want you to feel,' he had breathed into her ear. 'Things you've never felt before. Do you have any idea how sexy you are?' She had melted into him like ice-cream on that hot summer's day. 'Let me try something with you, darling.' His next gambit. Spoken as if on a sudden erotic impulse. 'Something I think you'll enjoy. I want you to trust me, okay?'

She had nodded with mute excitement, the naïve little darling, and offered herself up to his control. Whatever she had expected when he guided her into the chair, however, it had not been this - his every hard, pulsing inch jammed to the very balls past her lips. A bit different from the silver spoon you were born with, right my girl? 'That's right, sweetheart, swallow me, swallow it all.' And this time he cupped his sac and set about squeezing his inflated bollocks into her mouth as well, just for kicks.

Daniella felt herself wrenched off him once more and angrily spat herself free of viscous saliva, most of which ended up clinging to or dangling from the end of the abusing cock. Her panting mouth formed an insult, but he stopped it with a finger to her lips. 'Not a word, or you don't get yours,' he warned softly. 'Now do it again, without my help.' She stared at him askance. 'Go on. You want to get off, then deep-throat me. All by yourself.'

God, on arriving at his apartment that afternoon, she had found herself ready to go on whatever sexual adventure he suggested. Guided panty-clad into the chair he had fetched from the dining-table, she had awaited developments with a sudden, expectant shortness of breath. On seeing him return from the utility room with all that thick cord she had flinched inwardly, but he had dropped to one knee, brushed the back of his hand across her cheek and spoken so earnestly, with just a dash of that irresistibly sly humour: 'I want to tease you before I satisfy you, sweetness. But we don't have to use these, not if you don't want to. It's just I don't think patience is one of your virtues...' And he had pressed his lips like a whisper to hers.

Not a word of protest had she spoken, as he bound her nearly-nude body to the chair, applied the sleep mask, slotted the vibrator into her wet and ready channel. And he had done it all with such seeming affection - so he could start pressing his selfish attentions on her like this. Bastard. Bloody fucking bastard! But she met his deep-throat challenge nonetheless. Summoning her courage, she lunged on to his cock, gobbling up as many inches as she could, before she gagged and could push no further. She withdrew, dribbling spit, hoping she had done enough.

'That's good, now try again.'

Damn him! She attacked him this time like she was starved, leaning in hard, his head raking the hard roof of her mouth en route to the back of her throat, and she glared at him defiantly all the while. This what you're looking for? This make you fucking happy? She could hear the wet suction as she took him in and was sure he was loving sound along with sensation. 'One more time, baby,' he said as she came off him, in a voice hoarse but calm. Cursing him inwardly she went way, way down, straining against her bonds, sucking him in till she choked hard, holding it there till tears ran down her cheeks and she could bear no more. As she pulled away, her mouth spilled profusely over her neck, her breasts and him.

'Good girl,' he smiled, and along with the mockery in his eyes she saw an infuriating, patronising benevolence that made her want to scream. But not so much she would blow her chances of the orgasm he had so long denied her. He bent down, erection still thrusting lewdly out of his flies, and kissed her lips softly. 'Poor sweet Daniella, so longsuffering, so compliant.' She stared at him - those beautifully carved, slightly angular features, the sun-streaked fair hair, the subtly powerful Italian-wrapped frame - and didn't know whether she wanted to slap or fuck the shit out of him. Then he knelt, prised himself between her parted thighs, and she knew.