Needing Sir In Charge (Dark Possessions Book 2) Read online

  Needing Sir In Charge

  Dark Possessions, Volume 2

  Nadia Nightside

  Published by Midnight Publishing, 2015.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  NEEDING SIR IN CHARGE

  First edition. April 23, 2015.

  Copyright © 2015 Nadia Nightside.

  Written by Nadia Nightside.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Needing Sir In Charge (Dark Possessions, #2)

  Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older.

  Your opinion influences other readers and matters quite a bit to me! If you enjoyed this sexy story, please leave a review on Amazon and let others know what you thought. I want to write what you love!

  Further Reading: Bimbo Outfits!

  About the Author

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  * * * * *

  Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older.

  * * * * *

  Needing Sir In Charge

  Lillian set the table, laying out their very best plates—the blue ones with the flowery white trim. The silverware was polished, the wineglasses ready, with the wine carefully positioned in a bucket full of ice close to Henry’s seat. In the oven, the dish she had prepared was staying warm.

  A quick glance at the clock told her it was nearing seven o’clock. He would be home soon, then.

  This dinner had to be totally perfect. She couldn’t have anything that would put him off, or let him know exactly what she was up to. That was why her phone was down in her car—no distractions tonight.

  She sighed for a moment, letting her head rest against the wall. Was she doing the right thing?

  Her conflict of morals stemmed mostly from the fact that Henry was just almost perfect for Lillian.

  Lillian was a graduate student, studying anthropology, and had met Henry at a party of a mutual friend. They had hit it off immediately, and were whispering hot “I love you”s to each other within a week of meeting. It was a wonderfully romantic tale, one that Lillian loved recounting, more than a little smugly, to her single friends.

  Henry was kind, always bringing her little gifts like flowers or cards or fun t-shirts or notebooks for her to write in, usually on the monthly anniversary of their meeting. He was delightfully caring, always listening to her attentively and never prescribing advice unless she asked for it—he knew that when she had a problem, it was his job just to be supportive until she fixed it on her own. And on top of all that, he was loaded, and had a wonderful, stable engineering job with the aircraft firm in the city.

  All told, he was an ideal match for a husband, and as often as she dared, she dropped little hints to him. Nothing major, just making note of beautiful proposals her friends had, or pointing out romantic little spots in the city, or asking if he thought she looked good in white.

  Okay, perhaps they weren’t all that subtle, but he got the idea, and knew that she wanted it, and hadn’t seemed to freak out, and that was great too.

  There was just one problem—Lillian really, really wished he was more active in the bedroom.

  She wanted him to ask to tie her down, or to hold her down and fuck her silly, or to just force himself on her—to demand that they fuck right away, not taking no for an answer. From a stranger, of course, that sort of behavior would be intolerable, to say the absolute least, but from her boyfriend? Her cute, wiry-framed boyfriend, always with something funny to say and happy to please? It would be an enormously sexy change of pace.

  The problem was basically that Henry was really terrific at making love. But that only went as far as it went. Lovemaking was a terrific thing to have—after a traumatic day, or after it had been a while, or after a fight.

  But Lillian? Most days, she needed to be fucked. She needed to be fucked, really, really hard. She wanted to have a headache the next day from her brain knocking around so much on her pillows. She wanted to not be able to walk for days after being manhandled completely. And Henry just wasn’t quite...extreme enough for that.

  Yet.

  But she had a plan.

  The first step was just how she was dressed. She had made it a point to put on her very sexiest lingerie—sultry smoky stockings and tall platform six-inch “fuck me” heels, matching the lacy black pantie set embroidered with red roses trailing over the hot globes of her ass. Lillian worked out constantly, mostly yoga and pilates, strengthening her core and keeping her stamina up for the furious fucking that she had longed for since she had become sexually active at eighteen, over five years before.

  Her skimpy bra matched her panties, the red lace roses intermixing with sexual black stitching, her ample C-cup tits on perfect display for her man once he walked in through the door.

  Having no idea when he was going to arrive, she had taken it upon herself to make the entire meal for his special dinner in her lingerie.

  Often, she would finger her sweet, hot pussy when she needed a little release, imagining Henry texting her and demanding that he do just that.

  Maybe he would after tonight.

  Earlier in the day, Lillian had randomly walked into the new antiques store in the middle of town, Possessions.

  It was a fun little place, filled with glass cabinets, old wooden furniture that was well out of her price range, marble and glass statues of animals, and some tin signs featuring pin-up girls from the fifties. Lillian had every intention of leaving without buying a thing, but then she ran into the store owner.

  Tall, pale, busty, and devastatingly gorgeous, the store owner oozed sexuality in her practically see-through clingy black dress. She smiled at Lillian with a knowing glance, her green eyes blazing with barely-repressed lust.

  “I see you, young woman,” she said to Lillian. “You are looking for something for your man, yes? You want something to let him know you are his, and his alone?”

  Lillian was a bit stunned. She had not even said hello, and this woman had practically read her mind.

  “Y-yes,” stammered Lillian. “I mean, well, I mean that’s private.”

  The owner tsked, waving her hand. “Private? ‘Private,’ she says to Yasmin. I say to myself, I say, ‘Yasmin, this beautiful girl, she will know Yasmin is beautiful too, and so she will know there is no shame to be had between these walls. Beautiful women, we may talk to each other as we please.’ But I see now, I was wrong. Yo
u are not one to speak openly.”

  Yasmin turned then, heading back into the office deep in the back of the store. Her shapely ass swayed in the sheer dark fabric of her dress.

  “No!” Lillian exclaimed. “I mean, I am wanting something like that. What you described. My man...” she didn’t know how she had picked up the beautiful woman’s terminology, but it fit. “He’s not as...aggressive as I might like. In the bedroom. And so...”

  “And so you are in love with him, but not with the way he takes you.” Yasmin tsked again. “This is too bad. A product of too much weakness in these times. Men, where I am from, they take a woman without questions. They have their way upon her. And any man with a wife knows his wife is for beautiful, exhausting, weeks-long periods of hard, passionate fucking for as long as he would like. This is what you would like, yes? For your man to act as such? To act like a real man, hard and terrible and powerful?”

  Lillian was getting hot just listening to Yasmin. Each word she said was like it was weaved from the fabric of sex itself.

  “Oh yes,” she said quietly. “I would like that very much.”

  Yasmin crooked her finger at her then, and showed her to her special stock near the back.

  Lillian didn’t even remember paying, was the odd part. She didn’t remember much of the meeting beyond leaving with the bottle of wine—which was large, dark, and without a label, and the promise that Henry would become, “the hunk he was born to be.”

  That sounded perfect to Lillian.

  Now, though, as she stood in her lingerie, waiting for Henry to come home, doubts began to creep into her mind. Wasn’t she basically poisoning the love of her life? What would this wine even do? Make him more amorous? Increase his longevity in the bedroom? Wouldn’t it be better, perhaps, to just have an open and honest conversation about what she wanted in the bedroom? Why hadn’t she asked Yasmin more questions? Why couldn’t she remember much of the meeting? And why was her mind so spacey when she left, as if she had cum, multiple times, before leaving the shop?

  But then the door opened, dashing all these thoughts away. Her man was home.

  Henry walked inside, wearing his dark black suit and tie, head fixated on his cell phone.

  “Hey babe, how come you haven’t been answering my texts? I’ve sent you like...oh. Hello.”

  He let out a low whistle. Lillian had arranged herself on the door frame, one hand trailing up over her body, her long brown hair tossed to one side so it hung down all the way to her waist. One gorgeous, long leg slid in front of the other, her preposterously high heels making the sexy pose that much more over-the-top.

  “Hello darling,” she said softly. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

  She bit one lip, purring softly, and then strutted toward him. When she got close enough, she trailed her fingers up his suit and grabbed his tie, using its red surface to pull herself closer.

  “You look...amazing,” he breathed.

  She giggled and kissed him softly on the lips. “I’ve got dinner waiting for you,” she purred. “It’s all ready for my man. All for you.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Did you...did you want to change so we can eat, or...”

  Little flutters of panic attacked her. “You don’t like what I’m wearing?”

  “I love it! I just thought that, you know, since we’d be eating...”

  She giggled again, a little forced this time. He just wasn’t getting it. “I was thinking that, since maybe you’ve been working so hard, I’d just entertain you while you ate.”

  “Entertain? You mean like dance or like—” her hand had found his crotch. “Oh. Like that. Oh. Okay. It’s just...

  She looked down, somewhat dejected. “What? What is it?”

  “No, don’t be like that. I just wanted to talk, that’s all. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

  “Can’t we talk later? After you fuck my hot little girlfriend mouth?”

  She could see his face conflicted. There was, surely, some part of him that wanted that, but he had had trouble in the past having any sexual activity when he had something to say. At the same time, he really wanted to make her happy and do this with her.

  “Here,” she said, strutting back over to the table in the adjacent room. “Why don’t I pour you a glass of wine and grab your dinner,” she bent over at the waist to pick up the bottle and a glass, pouring quickly. “And then you can think about what you would like to have happen to your big, delicious cock.”

  She handed him the full glass of wine. She remembered, vaguely, Yasmin mentioning something about amounts—permanent versus temporary effects. But it was hard to remember. All she could really think about was Yasmin’s lovely green gaze filling her mind, and more than that, her man’s cock filling up her mouth.

  Henry thought a moment before taking the wine, frowning just a bit. But then, seemingly just to appease her, he took a sip.

  “Oh,” he said. “Oh wow. That’s good.”

  Lillian smiled and nodded. “The first of many good things. Go have a seat, love. I’ll take care of everything tonight.”

  He did as instructed—hopefully the last time tonight for that—and she strutted over to the kitchen, picking up the spicy beef casserole she had made for him. On several occasions, he had told her how it was his favorite.

  When she had strutted over, he had already drank the full glass of wine. A contented, naughty grin had arrived on his face as he devoured her lingerie-decorated form. Smiling happily, she set down the casserole and refilled his glass.

  Half the bottle was gone now. It must have been very good wine indeed.

  When she bent over to serve him, he slapped her in the ass. Squealing, she hopped up a bit.

  “Henry!”

  “What?” he said. “Your ass looks good. Don’t parade it around in front of me if you don’t want it to get slapped.”

  Lillian cheered inside. Yes! This was exactly how she wanted to be treated. She turned around and nodded solemnly.

  “Yes, Sir. I’ll remember that, Sir.”

  He slapped her ass again, and again she squealed delightedly. The wine was working! She turned back to the serving dish, taking out a big portion for him to eat. She wanted his meal to last such a long time as she sucked him off.

  But when she turned back around, his portions finally totally ready, she saw the bottle of wine in his hands—totally empty. Little purple stains ran down his shirt. His head was back, lolling, his eyes closed.

  “H-Henry?” she asked.

  He wasn’t moving, wasn’t responding.

  Oh god, oh god, oh god.

  Why wasn’t he moving? Oh god.

  She had to call the ambulance! The police! Somebody!

  She could not find his phone—it wasn’t in his pants or in his jacket.

  The only thing to do was rush downstairs to get hers. Thinking quickly, she rushed back to the entryway, put on her long brown raincoat near the door and opened the door.

  Then she heard a terrible groaning sound from the dining room. Looking back, she saw Henry standing up, an almost-enraged look on his face. Beneath his clothes, there was nothing but movement—his muscles bulging and flexing and growing rapidly.

  With one enormous throb of his shoulders, his shirt ripped, and then when he turned to look at the damage, the shirt ripped away all around his torso. He slid the cloth tatters off, his body now enormous, Herculean in scope. He was easily seven foot tall, his legs shredding through their pants. Hard, chiseled muscles continued to sprout all over, dense bricks of flesh on top of other bricks, and soon, nothing of his clothes remained, not even over his crotch.

  Lillian would have had to struggle to imagine about what kind of clothes would even work to cover such a mammoth instrument as the cock between his legs had become. His meat was enormous, half-hard, hanging down between his monstrous thighs.

  He was still obviously human—but also obviously something more. His thick scent rushed over Lillian, and her naturally submissive nature redoub
led. She wanted to coo and adore every single part of him. Each and every tiny motion, each little sound he made in his confusion at his new body was worthy of thousands of years of worship.

  She wanted to be his. She needed it.

  She fell to her knees in front of the door, breathing hard. Her coat slipped off her shoulders. Some part of her knew she should be worried—that Henry had changed so much—but a much larger part of her wanted only to be turned on by what she was watching. There was nothing she could do except feel her hot pussy get even hotter, to feel the wetness pooling around her thighs and calves grow and grow as her cunt juices dripped.

  “Oh my god,” she moaned loudly. “Henry! My Henry! You’re...you’re...you’re a hunk!”

  Big, dark eyes that only slightly resembled the kind eyes that Henry once boasted turned over toward her. She heard a deep rumble practically shaking the furniture around—and shuddered with lust when she realized it was a growl emanating from his lungs. He strode toward her, easily closing the distance with his long legs.

  “Come to me, Henry. Make me yours. Make me—”

  “Shut your mouth.”

  He slapped Lillian’s face with his big cock, and pinned her back against the front door with one enormous hand on her shoulder.

  Stunned, Lillian did not know quite how to respond. Certainly, when she imagined him dominant, it was in a fun way. They would still have a dialogue about who wanted what, and how. She didn’t expect to be simply abused.

  “What...what in the hell do you think—”

  He slapped her face again with the heavy, cum-thick surface of his meaty cock.

  “Shut up. You’re talking too much.” His voice was so deep. It was like hearing the universe sounding out. “You don’t need to say anything. Good little cockbitches don’t say nothing except please and thank you.”

  Again, he slapped the massive surface of his cock across her cheek.

  None of these slaps hurt, really, just as the hand pinning her against the door didn’t hurt. It pinched a little, and stung maybe more than she would have liked, but there would be no lasting damage. It was all just hopelessly degrading.