Lapiz Lazuli , livre ebook

Andrews UK - Leigh Clark

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33 pages

English

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Description

From fetishistic and rough, to sapphic or sweet, this anthology of eight hand-picked dirty stories spans the whole erotica range.If stories of frantic, sensual lovemaking excite you, Lapiz Lazuli is guaranteed to grab your attention. These short stories explore the sensual delights of sex; whether it is a quick romp in a hallway, the caress of a razorblade, the helpless sensation of rough sex or a furtive public holiday experience, arousing accounts and unabashed tales of kinky sex await!

Sujets

Erotic literature

Informations

Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	04 avril 2012
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781781660966
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0150€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Title Page

LAPIZ LAZULI
The Leigh Clark Collection

By
Leigh Clark

Publisher Information

Lapiz Lazuli published in 2012
by Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

Copyright © Leigh Clark 2012

The right of Leigh Clark to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Lapis Lazuli

The day’s first customers were a pair of forty-something women, sisters from the look of them, one heading for the airport after a visit—you can always tell out-of-towners by their clothes. I was still pinning on my ‘Caroline’ badge when they walked in. Nobody calls me Caroline but it’s company policy to have full names on badges—I’m Carrie to my friends,
I made their skinny macchiatos and half-listened in to them as I continued setting the counter up for the commuter rush.
“It was lovely to see you,” said the one with the city clothes. “But it will be nice to have the place to ourselves again.”
Out-of-town sister scowled. “I didn’t realise I was such a bad guest.”
“Honey, you’re not. But tonight, me and Tom … well, we want our privacy.” Town-sister played with a chunky lapis lazuli and silver ring on a chain around her neck. She looked good for her age, and happy with it.
Out-of-town smiled. “After six years, are you two still romping?”
“Six years last month and still spending as much time in bed as out of it. Look what he gave me for our anniversary.” Town sister held out the ring.
“Very … pretty.”
I could tell out-of-town was as unimpressed as me. Cheap gift or what?
“The chain’s platinum,” said townie, looking smug. “But the ring … now that’s the best gift I’ve ever had.”
She so wanted her sister to ask why, and I so wanted to hear the answer, that I nearly asked her myself.
“Why?” said out-of-town.
“Well …” town-girl leaned over the table and I had to strain my ears to hear. “I wouldn’t tell anybody else this, but I’ve always told you everything … I like a little pain with my pleasure. Know what I mean?”
Out-of-town looked puzzled, but I knew what she meant, did I ever!
“You know!” Town-sister blushed. “A little slap, a little bite, something to push you over the edge into …” She put her hand on her chest, fingers splayed, and threw her head back, panting. It was a pretty good impression of orgasm I’ll admit – very When Harry Met Sally. Now her sister blushed and laughed.
Town sister continued, “Well Tom doesn’t like to hurt me, but he sure likes to make me happy, that kind of happy. So this ring, see, with all its bumps and lumps? Well when I wear it around my neck, Tom knows that the same evening I’m going to slide it onto his finger and he’s going to press it against my …” she paused and lowered her voice even more. “… my love button, when we make love.”
Love button! It was all I could do not to laugh out loud. Did people still talk like that? But I looked at that ring, with its deep blue knobbly surface and imagined how cold it must be, and how hard, and my knees became so weak I had to hang on to the counter.
The sisters left, chatting and laughing, and the morning coffee addicts began to roll in, but I didn’t forget what I’d heard.
That weekend I took Doug shopping at the Flea Market.
“What are we doing here, Carrie?” he asked, looking at the stalls. But I’d already seen what I wanted on a table laden with semi-precious stones and costume jewellery. A big ring, with a greeny-grey, nubby, softly-contoured stone that the seller told me was moss agate. It fit Doug’s middle finger perfectly.
“I’m not wearing this!” he protested, but I paid for it anyway.
That night I showed him how to push the ring against my clit as I rode him. I like a little pain with my pleasure too, quite a lot of pain in fact, and while Doug’s perfect in many ways, he’s never confident about hurting me enough. With the ring though, I could press myself down onto it, feeling its irregular shape grind and bruise my most sensitive flesh, feeling its cold hardness take on my heat and it hurt indescribably, beautifully, perfectly. I pulled my knees close into Doug’s ribs and bent down over him, forcing the pain into all the right places as he thrust and moaned underneath me, filling me with the pleasure he always knew how to give me. I kissed him deeply, pushing my tongue into his mouth as I pushed the ring into my clit, feeling his soft lips giving way beneath me as my soft flesh gave way to the harsh discipline of the ring. I came, panting, almost crying, as Doug put his hands either side of my head and pulled my hair – hard. Doug knows what I like, even if he doesn’t really understand why.
When I’d got my breath back, I slipped the ring from Doug’s finger. I washed it and slid it onto a leather thong that I hung from the bedpost – no platinum chain for me!
“See Doug,” I said. “When you see me wearing the ring around my neck, you know what you’re going to be doing that evening, don’t you?”
He grinned at me, rolled over, and fell asleep. But when I woke up the next morning, the necklace was gone and in its place was a post-it saying ‘Who said you were the only one who could wear it? Guess what you’re going to be getting tonight!’

Blood and Arrows

My phone rang. I grabbed it, “Yeah?”
“Sophie? Did you call me and hang up?”
Pause.
“Oh dear, I’m really sorry to hear that,” I said.
“Sophie? Are you all right?” It was Jane’s voice
“Of course not. I’ll come right over and help you out.”
“Is this about that weirdo, Demmy?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so, but never mind. He’ll understand that you really need my support right now.” I turned to Demmy who was shaving his chest with a disposable razor, in full view of anybody passing outside. He was gorgeous, black hair, deep brown eyes, compact, heavily-muscled body which he kept fit for purpose. And in the few weeks we’d been together, he’d been an exciting and considerate lover, so why was I preparing to run out on him, just as he was sitting down in the tattooist’s chair?
“My mum, she’s hurt her ankle, fell downstairs, I’ve got to go and see she’s okay…”
He nodded glumly.
I turned back to the mobile, “Okay, I’m on my way, Mum.”
“You’d better be, and you’d better be prepared to tell me all about it, and don’t call me Mum!” Jane hung up with a giggle and I fast-walked out of the tattoo parlour to the nearest taxi rank.
Yup, tattoo parlour. The tattoo was why I was escaping.
“I’ve wanted to do this for years,” Demmy had said. “Come with me, Soph, for moral support?”
I nodded, relieved he wasn’t going to have my name punctured across his bicep. A heart, he’d said. Then we got to the parlour and he took the design he’d chosen out of his back pocket and unfolded it.
It was a heart all right. A life-size copy, so realistic you thought it could throb, and full of purple and red pipes. Not only that, but in the very centre, an equally life-sized arrow—not a triangular one, like we all drew as kids back when we sketched hearts and arrows in our schoolbooks, but a streamlined, leaf-shaped bit of shiny metal, buried halfway into the heart, and with wasp-like black and yellow bands around the shaft, which appeared to have been snapped off a couple of inches from the heart.
As an exercise in super-realistic art, the picture was impressive—as something I would have to gaze on each time Demmy unbuttoned his shirt it was frankly repulsive.
So I shifted my hand into my bag, called Jane on speed-dial and then hung up. I knew she’d call me back, being just out of a long-term relationship herself, and still in the ‘sitting at home, looking at old photographs and hating all men’ phase. On the way to her flat I tried to come up with a concise explanation as to why Demmy’s tattoo had squicked me out. She would want all the details in return for having been passed off as my mother.
The truth was, the closer we’d got to Valentine’s Day, the more extreme Demmy’s behaviour had become. He liked a little pain, he’d told me, that New Year’s Eve as we sat in a corner at a party, toasting each other with lukewarm Cava. It added spice to his pleasure, he said. So, when the clock struck midnight and we kissed, I twisted my hand into his curly black hair and pulled—hard. He sighed into my mouth and I felt his cock harden against my thigh as we leaned into each other. No problem, I thought.
But it was becoming an increasing problem, and as I rang Jane’s doorbell I realised why.
“It’s not about me,” I said, as I dumped my bag and grabbed the glass of wine she handed me. “It’s not personal. He doesn’t care who does it, as long as he gets the pain. I’m just the…”
“Stooge?” she asked acidly.
I winced, but she was right.
Jane was still in her pyjamas at eight in the evening on a Saturday. It looked as if she’d coasted through the day on ice-cream and a bottle or two of Bordeaux—I could tell by the state of her lapels.
“Yes. No. It’s like what he wants is the pain, but for his self-esteem it has to come with a reasonably attractive female package around it.”
She raised her eyebrow. I told