Driftwood Daughter – exclusive snippet!

Because I am participating in a wonderful spanking blog hop and because I haven’t shared anything I’m working on in quite a while, I thought it would be fun to post a little snipped of an erotic novella that has kept me busy in the last weeks. It’s called Driftwood Daughter — oh, and this snippet is definitely not work safe although your co-workers would have to lean in pretty closely.

 

Driftwood Daughter

by Laila Blake

-extract-

“What was that?” Paul asked then, fingers running slowly between the elastic of my panties and the sensitive back of my knees.

“Yes… Sir,” I breathed on the exhale of another moan. My fingers curled against the carpet, everything smelled like him – rugged and sea-worthy and I felt like I was drowning, deliciously, sweetly drowning. “Yes, Sir!”

The tape proved it, he didn’t even have to tell me – I seemed so eager to be his, to shout it out with each sound he drew from me. From that moment on, he was Sir and I had sunk one rung deeper into a game, into a body, into a life I had hardly dared to dream of.

“That’s my girl,” he answered, then pulled at my underwear and untangled tights and panties from my legs. But still he didn’t touch me even as I was all but wriggling my wanton arse at him. Instead, he leaned to his side again, petting my hair. I could smell myself on his wrist and before I could think about that, he held my panties in front of my face. The soaked panel hung there, right in front of me, then flapped against my nose and my lips. I closed my eyes and all I saw was red heat.

It was in that moment that he decided to touch me again, easily reaching between my legs, he held my sex in his hand – thumb in the crack of my arse and the rest of his palm and fingers pressing against my labia. I wanted to cry I was so aroused and the sounds I was making were all but desperate whines and whimpers.

“Will you look at these panties?” he asked, tutting with a smile and letting them swing against my face again. They were so drenched, I could feel all the places where they left my juices on my nose, my lips and my chin. I can’t lie – I adored that sharp smell then. It, too, was salty and overwhelming, and it went so perfectly with the way his middle-finger was stirring against my painfully swollen clit.

“Yes, Sir,” I whispered, inhaling deeply through my nose all of that cunt filtered air.

“Did you make them so terribly wet?”

I nodded first, torn between shame and pride as he forced my nose to rub against the moist panel.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Explain yourself.” As he said so, another finger slipped between my labia and he was trapping my sopping clit between the two, squeezing and rubbing until I had curled my firsts against the carpet, wriggling like a fish on his lap. And suddenly his fingers stilled: ““Answer me, Iris.”

“I made them wet because… because I’m so… I need……”

My voice petered out into silence and hung heavy for several seconds until I tried again: “It got wet because I want you so much, Sir.”

He hummed in agreement and his fingers moved again, stirring just a little against my nerve endings.

“And… do you think that deserves punishment or reward?”