Free Poor Little Rich Slut by Lizbeth Dusseau

adjust to, something big and vigorous and overpowering. I felt so small and insignificant, no more than a humble vessel.
    “Open for me, Eleanor. Open wide,” he purred.
    Just the suggestion was like magic. As he drove inside me deeper, my body seemed to expand to receive him.
    “Oh, my!” My arms remained overhead even when Garrison let go of them. My head thrashed back and forth when the kisses ended. He was all about fucking me now, taking his virgin to the limits. I had no way of knowing how different this might be because of the plug still lodged inside my ass. I understood only that he opened me wide and filled me so full that there was no room for anything in me but him.
    When he came, it was with hard, thrusting stabs and guttural groans of climax. Meanwhile I whimpered softly, afraid that I’d hate it when he finally withdrew. I loved this more than I could have ever imagined.
    After his withering organ slipped from my vagina, he pushed me to the soft ground at his feet.
    “Lick it clean,” he said.
    This was my first taste of cock…although I had to wonder if I was tasting Garrison or myself. I suppose a little of both.
    I felt as limp as a sleeping kitten by the time Garrison pulled me to my feet. Again, he pushed me against the oak tree for support. I didn’t understand what he was doing when he pressed his handkerchief against my crotch. But when it came up with a bloody smear across the crisp white, I understood.
    I stared at the evidence of my rent vagina, startled.
    “About time, don’t you suppose?”
    “Yes, I suppose so.” I could barely speak.
    While I tried to comprehend what had just happened, Garrison unsnapped the waist belt that held the plug in place and gave the thing a little tug. It slipped into the bloody handkerchief, relieving me of the pressure, but not the stimulation.
    I gasped, feeling almost delirious again, “Oh, dear…”
    “I think it’s time you went to bed, Heiress,” Garrison decided, a self-satisfied grin on his face.
    “You really think so?” I leaned in to him, really wishing that he’d stay with me.
    But he gave my face a playful slap. “Wake up.”
    “Oh, if only…” I whined—so much I wanted to say, but I didn’t get the chance.
    “You know…” He gazed through the trees to lawn and garden, thinking, “If you wanted to be really daring, you’d grab your dress and dodge the lights.”
    I looked toward the house some two hundred yards away. The lights still glittered from the inside, but only the normal security lights were on in the yard. The shadows were long and deep—I’d played hide-and-seek inside those shadows when I was a kid.
    “I bet I can make it,” I declared, suddenly feeling quite brave and giddy.
    “Then get going,” he ordered with a gentle shove.
    I dashed to the stone bench, snatched my dress and made my way, practically dancing, to the crest of the hill. I looked back once, seeing Garrison eyeing me. Slipping inside through one of the greatroom’s French doors, I hid behind the drapes until I was sure the coast was clear. The cooks and caterers had already left the kitchen; the downstairs was silent as a tomb. I had only to shoot up the back stairs and into the safety of my room. Once there, I dropped into bed, still naked, and for a long while gazed into the dark ceiling, remembering the night, thinking of Garrison and letting the sensations of utter physical joy drift through me until I finally fell asleep.

Chapter 4
    I hadn’t realized that Daddy invited Garrison to spend the weekend until I came down to breakfast the morning after my party.
    He was there at the table in the morning room, drinking coffee and talking politics with my father. I stopped at the door, surprised by the very domestic looking scene. He looked as if he belonged there, or at least had been there many times before at such an hour. Perhaps he had.
    “Come on in, Eleanor,” my father said.
    “Morning, Daddy.” I gave him a peck on the cheek.