Too Hot to Handle Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Foreword

  Under Offer

  Filthy Rich

  Backstage Pass

  Shopaholic

  Executive Decision

  Tunnel Vision

  Double Fantasy

  Curtain Raiser

  Father Figure

  Coming Up Roses

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Our mysterious hostess Madame B tells the tales of ten young women who have pushed passion to the very limit. Delicious desires and sexy secrets are revealed, with steamy scenarios and extreme indulgences stripped bare.

  Nothing is out of bounds, and Too Hot to Handle: True Stories as Told to Madame B ensures that nothing remains a secret any more.

  About the Author

  Ann Summers is the UK’s No. 1 pleasure retailer. Their stores are located on prime high streets and in shopping centres across the UK. The Ann Summers concept is unique: a one-stop shop for fashion and pleasure targeting women and couples. The website (www.annsummers.com) attracts 1.2 million unique visitors a month and there is a network of over 7,500 party organisers throughout the UK.

  Too Hot to Handle: More True Stories from Madame B

  Ann Summers

  FOREWORD

  Welcome to Ann Summers’ latest collection of erotic tales, a new and thrilling series destined to become essential bedtime reading.

  I’m really excited to be able to bring you these tales of women who boldly go wherever their desires take them. We know that our customers are the sexually confident, fabulous women who love sex and aren’t afraid to show it.

  From no-holds-barred stories to the gentle and romantic, I promise that this collection has something for each and every one of you. So, without any further ado, I hand you over to our narrator, the mysterious Madame B . . .

  Jacqueline Gold

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to my latest collection of erotic stories, which will titillate, arouse, delight and, occasionally, even shock you. I’m sure most of you know me by now, but if this is your first peek into my world, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Madame B and I collect women’s true sexual confessions.

  Women from all walks of life have shared their hottest true-life fantasies with me and for many years now I’ve written them in a red leather notebook. I take it with me wherever I go, for safe-keeping, and so that I never miss an opportunity to take down a confession. Whether it’s in a bar, a club, a hotel room or by letter or email, I love to hear what women really get up to, and how they push their sexual fantasies to their limit. And I’m honoured and delighted to record their confessions for your pleasure – and mine! From the soft and romantic to the shocking and hardcore, or a combination of the two, I know you’re going to enjoy reading them as much I did hearing them. Some start slowly, building to an intense climax, some will have you fully aroused almost from the beginning. All of them are true. So kick back, relax, enjoy and don’t forget, if you’ve got a confession you’d like to make, I’d love to listen.

  Happy reading . . .

  Madame B x

  UNDER OFFER

  This confession is so hot that I just had to share it with you. There’s nothing quite like seeing exactly who you want, and having the balls to go out and get ’em. That’s precisely what this 20-something blonde did, and she was rewarded with an intense sexual thrill that was even better than her fantasies. One thing’s for sure – I’ll never look at estate agents in the same way again.

  I’D WATCHED THOSE luxury riverside apartments go up brick by brick. The flat, scrubby wasteland had been completely transformed by the dramatic sweep of glass and steel. Three huge, glittering towers now dominated the skyline, each containing hundreds of apartments, every one with a gorgeous balcony – perfect for Sunday morning latte and croissants. Preferably with a fit man, of course. But then, fit men had been in pretty short supply lately.

  The apartments were on my route to work, so I walked past them every day. I was a secretary at a rather stuffy, small accountancy firm; all oak panelling and clocks that ticked too loudly, and where the blokes were stereotypical spectacle-wearing nerds. Not the sort you’d go for, even after six Manhattans at the office party. Well, maybe I might. My sex life had been non-existent for some time. Only my trusty Rampant Rabbit and fantasies of Brad Pitt were keeping me going, but I had to admit they were a poor second to a real fuck.

  Then I saw him. Outside the sales office of the apartment blocks one warm, late summer evening. Tall, very tall, in fact – six foot four at least – and well built with straight, dark hair that flopped sexily into his eyes. And that suit. Incredibly well-cut and expensive – we’re talking Savile Row not Moss Bros. I ran my eyes up and down him, savouring what I knew, just knew, would be a toned, fit body underneath. If only guys like him worked at my place.

  He was holding an estate agency clipboard, and chatting to a young couple. ‘I’d be happy to show you round,’ he was saying, in the poshest voice I’d heard since the time I sucked off an Oxford graduate at a party. ‘We have a range of apartments here, from studio flats to four-bedroomed penthouses. I’m sure we can find one to suit you.’

  So what was he doing working as an estate agent? Surely guys of his class should be swanning round their country estates, playing croquet and fantasising about fucking girls like me instead of dating dreary debutantes.

  He glanced up from his clipboard and I made sure I caught his eye. Thank God I’d worn a short skirt that day. Black, mid-thigh, with black stockings and a white lacy top, just low-cut enough to reveal a tasteful glimpse of cleavage but enough to raise a few eyebrows at work. I hated my job, and the thought that I might be giving several stuffed-shirts in the office unwanted hard-ons was a minor consolation. That, and bringing myself off in the office loos at least twice a day while I imagined them doing the same, wanking themselves hard and fast over someone they’d never get. Mind you, that was no different to me flicking the bean over Brad. I was sexually frustrated, no doubt about it, and was urgently in need of a decent fuck.

  He smiled. He knew I was interested, and I could tell that he liked what he saw. It was in his eyes. They were screaming I want to fuck you and doubtless my own gaze spoke volumes back. Maybe I should walk straight past, I figured. Say nothing. Make him wait. But I was too frustrated, too horny. I had to make a move right then. Why not? So I sauntered past with a smile, and said: ‘Great apartments. You’ll have to show me round sometime.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ he replied, the young couple beside him momentarily forgotten.

  My eyes flicked down to his crotch. Was it my imagination, or did I see the beginnings of an erection? I was sure I did.

  ‘Tomorrow, then,’ I replied, looking up with a grin. ‘Same time. On my way home from work. I’ll meet you here. I’m Sally, by the way.’

  ‘Adam,’ he replied, reaching forwards to shake my hand.

  His fingers wrapped around my hand, and I felt his middle one suddenly making rapid, circular movements against my palm. For a second, I wondered if I’d imagined it. But we caught each other’s eye and the sexy smile on his face told me it was for real. I knew exactly what he was doing. This was how he planned to rub my clit.

  I couldn’t get home fast enough. I was soaking before I’d even opened the door. I wanted to feel him inside me, to slide my tongue right up to the tip of what I was sure would be a delicious cock, take the whole pulsating shaft in my mouth and suck him until he was screaming. Just like I’d done with that Oxford grad – my first blow job, but I’d learned fast.

  I didn’t wait for the bedroom. My fingers were inside my panties t
he moment I’d closed the front door. My clit was swollen and throbbing, demanding attention, urging me to stop teasing and rub it hard and fast until I came.

  But I held back. I wanted to savour my fantasy. I slid my middle finger inside my cunt and vibrated it back and forth, letting the palm of my hand rub teasingly against my clit. By now my panties were soaked, so I slid them to one side and let the juices drip down my leg. I imagined him fucking me right there in the hall, his massive erect cock rammed hard into my cunt, his balls slapping against me. I imagined him pulling out and forcing his tongue inside me, licking my juices, his fingers massaging my erect nipples, and I couldn’t hold myself back any longer. My wet middle finger automatically left my cunt and pressed onto my clit, making tiny, rapid movements up and down, faster and faster, until I felt that comforting, familiar warmth spread right through my jerking body, as if every vein in my body was filled with warm liquid. I leaned back against the wall and let the waves of pleasure wash over me, my finger slowing as they gradually subsided.

  ‘What a fuck!’ I said out loud. ‘I just hope he’s as good in real life.’

  I was up the next day at 6am, pampering myself, ready for the big night. I soaked in a warm bath, moisturised myself from head to toe, re-painted all my nails and spent at least an hour choosing my outfit. This had to be just right. The trouser suit was too manly. Red skirt too showy. A posh boy like Adam wouldn’t respond to the tarty look and there was a fine line between ‘classy-and-up-for-it’ and ‘high-class hooker’. Cross that line, and I’d be just another fuck to him. I wanted to be the best, to leave him with memories that he’d fantasise about for years to come.

  It wasn’t only in bed that I wanted to be the best. Just because I was stuck in a secretarial role I hated didn’t mean I wasn’t ambitious and competitive. The job was a stepping stone. I was the junior secretary to Maggie, the boss’s PA, a middle-aged woman who wore brown corduroy suits, flat lace-ups, acted like a sergeant-major and clearly hadn’t had a decent fuck in years, or possibly ever. I had nightmares about ending up like Maggie. But having that well-respected firm on my CV would hopefully open doors to a much more dynamic career, if I could just stick it out for a year or so.

  Eventually I settled on a pink, knee-length straight skirt, kitten-heel slingbacks and a soft, silky white blouse, with fawn-coloured stockings. Sexy, but still feminine, rather than outright slutty. I imagined Adam running his fingers up my thighs, slipping inside my panties, and a shiver of excitement shot right through me.

  At work I made the coffees as usual, all my thoughts on Adam, a million miles away from the dusty files stacked up on my desk, waiting to be copied on to my computer. I didn’t know how much the apartments Adam would be showing me round actually cost, and I didn’t care. Living there would be a dream come true, but there was no way I could afford one. All I wanted was Adam. Luckily Maggie was on holiday this week – fell-walking in Scotland – so there was no-one watching me too closely.

  I sat at my desk, already wet, listening to the hideously slow ticking of the clock. Four-thirty. Just an hour to go. I’d take my time, make him – and me – wait that little bit longer, linger over my make-up in the office loos, resisting the urge to go into a cubicle and slip a finger into my moist pussy – never thinking for one moment that my boss was about to land a bombshell on me. He was a thin, wiry man in his 50s, with stringy grey hair and half-moon spectacles that he liked to peer over. A guy you wouldn’t fuck even after twenty Manhattans. My desk was just outside his office.

  ‘Ms Green,’ he snapped, through the open door. ‘Come in here. I’ve got something for you.’

  There was absolutely nothing that man could offer me that I could possibly want . . . Apart from a pay rise, and I seriously doubted it was that.

  ‘Rush job,’ he went on, handing me a stack of folders without looking up. ‘These will have to be entered onto the computer before you go tonight.’

  ‘You’re joking!’ I blurted out. ‘Sir,’ I added hurriedly. ‘I mean, it’ll take two or three hours to input all that data and I’ve got a . . . a . . . a meeting tonight.’

  He looked up, peering over his spectacles, his cold eyes fixed on me.

  ‘It’ll have to wait,’ he snapped back, with a nasty grin. ‘This is urgent. You’ll have to put in for overtime. Normal rates, though.’

  ‘B-but . . .’ I began.

  ‘I expect you to do this, Sally,’ he snapped. ‘I assume you wish to keep your job?’

  It was a statement, not a question. The bully. The arrogant sod. I could tell from a glint in his eye that he savoured the sadism of threatening me unless I carried out this demands. He fancied me, he’d masturbated thinking about me, he knew he could never have me, and he hated it. I looked around the office, at the brown, dingy wallpaper, the dusty shelves full of files, at his superior smirk. I thought of Maggie, bustling about with her ‘Yes-Sir-No-Sir’ attitude, doing everything to please him (short of a blow job, as far as I knew), and something in me finally snapped.

  ‘No, I don’t, actually,’ I retorted. ‘I don’t want this job and I certainly don’t expect to be blackmailed. I’d rather have some girl-on-girl action with bloody Maggie than spend another minute working for you.’

  He was totally speechless. For a second, so was I. The outburst had come from nowhere. All my pent-up frustration – sexual and otherwise – had boiled over. But instead of feeling panic-stricken, I felt free.

  ‘I’ll clear my desk,’ I snapped, turning on my kitten-heel.

  ‘But Sally,’ he began. ‘I need this job done tonight . . .’

  ‘Then I suggest you call a temping agency,’ I replied, striding back to my desk. ‘Ask for general dogsbody. That just about sums up my job description.’

  Quickly, I packed my bits and pieces into a carrier bag, and marched out through the main doors without a backwards glance. It was the most liberating, fabulous feeling. I’d never fitted in there, and now I could stop trying. Tomorrow morning I’d sign on with a few agencies and start scanning ads for PA jobs at places much more lively and creative – but first there was Adam to meet.

  I checked my watch. Four forty-five. Just time to slip home, dump my bags and re-do the make-up. Perfect. At six o’clock, still buzzing with my new-found freedom, brimming with confidence and horny as hell, I strolled around to the sales office as if I’d come straight from work.

  Adam was inside, on the phone. I stepped through the automatic doors into an ultra-modern office, so different to the one I’d just left. Four curvy glass-and-steel desks with nothing on them but computer flatscreens, and ever-changing PowerPoint presentations projecting glamorous images of the apartment complex onto the empty white walls.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked a sweaty-looking guy, stepping forwards.

  Adam put down his phone instantly. ‘Sally has an appointment,’ he called across the office in that sexy, posh voice. ‘With me,’ he added firmly, giving the other guy a glance that would make anyone back off. ‘Is it all right if I call you Sally? Please, do take a seat and I’ll note down some details.’

  He was just as gorgeous as I remembered, with piercing blue eyes and wearing an immaculate suit and a sexy, expensive aftershave that I couldn’t place. I eased myself into the chair opposite him, allowing my skirt to ride up slightly, crossing my legs slowly so he caught a glimpse of my pink lacy panties. His eyes lingered between my legs and then flicked back to meet mine.

  ‘Why don’t I take you straight round to see one of our apartments?’ he said, with a grin, standing up to reveal just the faintest hint of a bulge in his trousers, enough to let me know he was horny too. ‘I think I know just what you’re looking for.’

  We stepped outside the office and walked across the wide, landscaped gardens towards the first gleaming tower. Our hands were inches apart and brushed gently against each other as we walked, sending a sexy shiver of anticipation right through me.

  ‘This apartment’s only been occupied for a few months,’ Ada
m told me, pulling a bunch of keys from his pocket. ‘The owner is moving abroad. He’s out in Dubai right now, in fact. It’s on the tenth floor. Fabulous views. We’ll need to take the lift.’

  He didn’t tell me how much it was, but I sensed he knew I couldn’t afford it anyway. Adam used a swipe card to enter the complex and we walked up a glass corridor towards a row of lifts. He pressed the button and one of the steel lift doors opened, revealing a mirrored interior and plush carpeted floor.

  ‘So what do you do?’ asked Adam.

  ‘I’m a PA,’ I replied, stepping into the lift. What the hell, I figured, I might as well tell him. ‘But I quit my job today.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘It wasn’t what I wanted.’

  He leaned back against the mirrored wall and ran his tongue suggestively round his lips. ‘I’m guessing you’re the kind of girl who knows exactly what she wants.’

  The lift doors closed behind us.

  ‘And I bet if you see exactly what you want, you go straight for it,’ he added.

  ‘You’re right,’ I replied, running my middle finger up his thigh, just as I’d fantasised. ‘I go straight for it.’

  His mouth was on mine in an instant, kissing me hard, his fingers deftly undoing my shirt buttons and massaging my breasts through my lacy bra. The feel of his fingers running over my erect nipples, circling around and under my breasts, made me wetter than I’d ever felt. I thrust my hand onto his crotch, feeling his growing erection through his trousers, the swollen head pressing hard into the top of his pants. He had a zipper fly, so it slid down easily, and in an instant my hand was on his thick, fat dick which was almost bursting out of his tight Calvin’s. My clit was throbbing, longing for him to taste it.

  ‘I want to fuck you right here,’ he whispered.

  The lift doors jerked open. We sprang apart, his bulging dick barely hidden behind his jacket, and my silky shirt hanging open to the waist. In front of us lay an empty, hotel-like carpeted corridor, with apartment doors running down each side.