Sunday, February 24, 2008

Cassolette by Iona Blair

Cassolette by Iona Blair
August, 2006 - ISBN 978-1-59426-614-0
$3 eBook (five formats) - Buy Now!
Author Backlist: Iona Blair



Heat lightning forked across a purple sky streaked with black on the horizon. Jaye Ferris wiped the sweat from her face and strolled towards the train on which she had been travelling for several days. The station platform burned hot and gritty through the soles of her sandals, and a single crow circled lazily overhead.

"It's another hot one," the steward remarked, although he looked surprisingly cool in his neat navy-blue uniform. Young and dark with a French-Canadian accent like foreplay, he guided her up the steep carriage steps just as the train whistle screeched its warning of imminent departure. He had boarded the train at Winnipeg, when the crew changed. Jaye found herself irresistibly drawn to him from that first glimpse in the supply cupboard at the end of the carriage.

"Mais oui, tres chaud," she murmured breathily, glad of the smattering of French she still remembered from high school. She tingled at his nearness and the thrill of his touch. His musky male scent made her senses reel.

She closed her eyes for a moment to better savor the sensations, then leaned against him longer than was necessary, until the press of other passengers forced them apart. Long idle days spent lounging by a window watching the countryside whisk past left her feeling languid and decidedly horny. It had been several months since she slept with a man, and her body registered its disapproval in a way that could no longer be denied. The idea of seducing this young Apollo, who was many years her junior, appealed to her enormously, especially since he had shown no interest in her.

Jaye appraised herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the roomette door. She noted with approval her petite yet curvy figure, cropped blonde hair, and engaging green eyes. Indeed, the steward seemed not to notice her repeated attempts at flirtation, but treated her in a polite yet distant manner. Could he really be that naive?

The fact that he wore a wedding ring presented even more of a challenge. Young, French Canadian, and almost definitely Catholic, perhaps he loved his wife quite devoutly?

The question was, would he be true to his marriage vows and refuse to stray?

In the dining car, she picked at her meal without appetite, feeling at one with other creatures who also lost interest in food when in heat. A friend of hers who bred border collies once reported that the entire kennel refused to eat during mating season.

The lights dimmed as they roared through a tunnel, and when she looked up again he was there, sitting with two other stewards at the top table.

She could feel her heart race with excitement as she looked directly at him. Boldly she held his gaze as she flicked her tongue slowly across her lips and scratched her thigh with black-painted fingernails.

He was clearly taken aback at the overt sexuality of the gesture. His face flushed as he looked quickly away.

When she returned to her carriage, Jaye left on the pretty sage dress with the scoop neckline, but slipped out of her underwear. The narrow crotch of the lacy thong panties was redolent with her secretions and sopping wet.

She paced around the corridor, restless in her arousal, and when she saw him approaching returned to her roomette and rang the bell.

Her face felt flushed and she cupped it in her hands, willing herself to calm down. Then she positioned herself on the edge of the seat with her legs spread seductively apart.

He took his time answering the summons, and when he finally did appear looked quite sullen as he stood framed in the doorway.

"You rang, Madame?" he asked, as his dark eyes traveled up the insides of her thighs to the swollen lips of her inviting pussy.

"Close the door," she whispered. She trailed her fingers over her breasts as she spoke, her eyes feverish with longing.

"I can't," he replied, plainly flustered, and turned to leave.

But she barred his way, and dragged her fingernails over his crotch, invading his mouth with a probing tongue.

"Why not?" she murmured, feeling his cock rise in response to her touch. "Don't I turn you on?"

"It's not that," he explained. "But I've never cheated on my wife before. And besides, I'm working."

"There's always a first time for everything," Jaye insisted wickedly. "Come back later and we'll explore it together."

After he left she stretched out on the bed and fantasized about what she would do to him if he did decide to return. Unzipping his fly and giving him the best head he had ever had was high up on the list.

This would be her last night on the train. As it weaved its way through the curving tunnels of the Rocky Mountains, the rhythmic lurching and vibration inflamed her even further.

"Where are you, mon cher? Come to mamma," she breathed, and stroked her throbbing pussy while she waited.

By midnight her arousal was laced with impatience, and she padded down the deserted corridor in bare feet, looking for him. But first she dabbed her own body secretions behind her ears and on her throat. She had long known that this was the perfume that truly tantalized and attracted. In fact, it drove some males absolutely bonkers. Known as the Cassolette—a French term for the natural scent of a woman, it had once been a well-guarded secret of courtesans and concubines.

He was in his roomette, writing on a clipboard. It was the first time that she had seen him in his shirtsleeves with his tie undone. Her eyes were irresistibly drawn to his throat, which looked pleasingly vulnerable, and his dark-haired arms.

"I need you to fuck me," she stated bluntly. The extent of her need eclipsed polite behavior. "This will be our last chance."

When he didn't respond, she became consumed with exasperation and disappointment. "Go fuck yourself, then," she fumed, and marched angrily back to her room.

He must have pursued her then, the sound of his footsteps impossible to hear above the rattle of the train. When she tried to close her door he pushed it open and followed her inside.

His eyes were stormy, but whether with anger or passion it was impossible to tell. Perhaps a bit of both, Jaye decided, and waited to see what he would do.

"You have a bad mouth," he accused. Then softening a little, he added, "For such a lovely woman."

Before she had a chance to respond, he hitched up her skirt and pushed her against the wall. "So you wanna get fucked, do you?" he murmured in a voice thick with passion. Unzipping his pants, he impaled her on a cock rigid as steel.

"Oh yes…yes…" Jaye gasped. She squat down to better accommodate him, fitting her eager pussy around this most welcome of battering rams.

He lunged into her without preliminaries, but she was ready. Had been, in fact, for too long. And she returned his thrusts every bit as lustfully. The desire, which had been building over the last few days, crashed like thunder in her ears.

Or was that the rumbling of the train as it bowled its way through yet another tunnel that had been carved through the mountains a century before?

She knew that she wouldn't last. Already the orgasm, which promised to be a whopper, tugged at her womb and shuddered through every part of her.

He lifted her up as she climaxed so she could wind her legs around him for deeper penetration. She clutched at him hungrily, kissing his mouth and eyelids and hair.

"I don't even know your name," she whispered, once the urgency had been spent.

"Guy," he replied. She noticed that he pronounced it the English way.

"I like it," she murmured."I'm Jaye."