Chapter One
Buck naked, the chilly night air kissing his hot flesh, Brad Tellerman dropped his clothes into the stagnant creek. If luck was on his side, he’d never need them again. Not those particular items, at least. He’d never wear orange again, that was for certain. Rubbing his hands together, he turned away from the lake and faced the night before him. A soft breeze blew across the water’s still surface, stirring the fine hairs on his legs, chest and balls. A tingle of excitement rippled through him. With a deep breath, he smoothed his hands over his newly exposed chest and stomach. He loved being naked, loved the sense of freedom it allowed. Alas, it wasn’t a state he’d enjoyed over these last fifteen years.
A wry chuckle rumbled his chest. There wasn’t much of anything about the last fifteen years he’d enjoyed. Except fooling everyone who thought him too institutionalised.
Except escaping.
Casting one last look at his discarded uniform, Brad Tellerman turned and began threading his way through the matted scrub rimming the lake’s edge. The eye-hurting orange one-piece overalls might be covered in filth but they were still too easily recognisable for what they were. The scrub might scratch his bare flesh but that was infinitely better than being caught wearing a prison uniform. Besides, there was a light off in the distance. And he was hungry.
***
Goddamn, his wife’s arse was hot.
Sam watched intently as she bent over before him, sheer black-stockinged legs straight, stiletto-clad feet spread wide. Her glorious mane of midnight-black hair brushed the floor as she folded her body further over, slowly wrapping her burnished copper-tipped fingers around her ankles as she looked up at him through the V of her legs. Deep sapphire eyes flirted with him from behind lowered lids. “I’m yours, master.” Her voice was like honeyed velvet. “Do with me what you will.”
Bam! Just like that his cock was a throbbing steel shaft of hot-to-trot hunger.
His straining erection rubbed the silk of his boxers, tenting the front of his work trousers. His balls grew heavy and swollen, like they’d been pumped full of liquid metal. Stepping forward, he pulled at his belt buckle, the snick of the fine leather whipping through the loops of his trousers sending a shiver through him. Dominating his wife was the biggest turn-on he could imagine. Dominating her with leather was like lust incarnate. Wicked and intoxicating. And wow, what a power rush.
Until the night she’d confessed to the fantasy of being a submissive, he’d never realised how fucking arousing it would be to treat her like his sexual slave.
Until she’d allowed him to treat her rough in the bedroom, to control her every sexual response and action, he’d never realised how inferior he felt to her career success.
What a fucking shame she only let him do it once in a blue moon.
His eyes roamed over her perfect, jutting arse, following the black line of her crotch-less leather G-string as it disappeared between the crease of her cheeks, down the seam of those black stockings, to her smouldering eyes. “Please,” she mouthed, her full lips glossed. “Use me any way you want.”
With a fluid arc he raised his folded-over belt and brought it down. Right on that firm, smooth and oh-so-perfect butt.
Her squeal of pain sent molten heat straight to his balls and cock. If he thought he was hard before, that was crazy, because he was
really
hard now. He stared at the new red welt marring Nicky’s flesh.
Holy fuck. I think I’m going to shoot my load here and now.
“Don’t make a sound,” he ordered, smoothing his hand over the welt.
She caught her bottom lip with her teeth and, her eyes shining, nodded.
With another swift down-stroke, his belt slapped flesh. Harder.
With another squeal, Nicky squirmed, rolling her hips so her arse wiggled.
“You squealed, Nicky.” Sam danced his fingers over the blooming red mark on her
Buck naked, the chilly night air kissing his hot flesh, Brad Tellerman dropped his clothes into the stagnant creek. If luck was on his side, he’d never need them again. Not those particular items, at least. He’d never wear orange again, that was for certain. Rubbing his hands together, he turned away from the lake and faced the night before him. A soft breeze blew across the water’s still surface, stirring the fine hairs on his legs, chest and balls. A tingle of excitement rippled through him. With a deep breath, he smoothed his hands over his newly exposed chest and stomach. He loved being naked, loved the sense of freedom it allowed. Alas, it wasn’t a state he’d enjoyed over these last fifteen years.
A wry chuckle rumbled his chest. There wasn’t much of anything about the last fifteen years he’d enjoyed. Except fooling everyone who thought him too institutionalised.
Except escaping.
Casting one last look at his discarded uniform, Brad Tellerman turned and began threading his way through the matted scrub rimming the lake’s edge. The eye-hurting orange one-piece overalls might be covered in filth but they were still too easily recognisable for what they were. The scrub might scratch his bare flesh but that was infinitely better than being caught wearing a prison uniform. Besides, there was a light off in the distance. And he was hungry.
***
Goddamn, his wife’s arse was hot.
Sam watched intently as she bent over before him, sheer black-stockinged legs straight, stiletto-clad feet spread wide. Her glorious mane of midnight-black hair brushed the floor as she folded her body further over, slowly wrapping her burnished copper-tipped fingers around her ankles as she looked up at him through the V of her legs. Deep sapphire eyes flirted with him from behind lowered lids. “I’m yours, master.” Her voice was like honeyed velvet. “Do with me what you will.”
Bam! Just like that his cock was a throbbing steel shaft of hot-to-trot hunger.
His straining erection rubbed the silk of his boxers, tenting the front of his work trousers. His balls grew heavy and swollen, like they’d been pumped full of liquid metal. Stepping forward, he pulled at his belt buckle, the snick of the fine leather whipping through the loops of his trousers sending a shiver through him. Dominating his wife was the biggest turn-on he could imagine. Dominating her with leather was like lust incarnate. Wicked and intoxicating. And wow, what a power rush.
Until the night she’d confessed to the fantasy of being a submissive, he’d never realised how fucking arousing it would be to treat her like his sexual slave.
Until she’d allowed him to treat her rough in the bedroom, to control her every sexual response and action, he’d never realised how inferior he felt to her career success.
What a fucking shame she only let him do it once in a blue moon.
His eyes roamed over her perfect, jutting arse, following the black line of her crotch-less leather G-string as it disappeared between the crease of her cheeks, down the seam of those black stockings, to her smouldering eyes. “Please,” she mouthed, her full lips glossed. “Use me any way you want.”
With a fluid arc he raised his folded-over belt and brought it down. Right on that firm, smooth and oh-so-perfect butt.
Her squeal of pain sent molten heat straight to his balls and cock. If he thought he was hard before, that was crazy, because he was
really
hard now. He stared at the new red welt marring Nicky’s flesh.
Holy fuck. I think I’m going to shoot my load here and now.
“Don’t make a sound,” he ordered, smoothing his hand over the welt.
She caught her bottom lip with her teeth and, her eyes shining, nodded.
With another swift down-stroke, his belt slapped flesh. Harder.
With another squeal, Nicky squirmed, rolling her hips so her arse wiggled.
“You squealed, Nicky.” Sam danced his fingers over the blooming red mark on her
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