Carnal Surrender at Seaview Manor
Links for your pleasure: Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
Chapter 1: Whispers of the Tide
Elena had always chased that electric hum, the one that buzzed under her skin when eyes lingered too long. Twenty-two now, with sun-kissed curves that turned heads on the boardwalk, she remembered the salt spray of family beach trips as a girl. There, in the crash of waves, she’d lift her sundress just enough for the wind to play traitor, revealing lace edges to strangers’ glances. It wasn’t rebellion, exactly—more a secret fire, flickering alive in the gaze of the unknown.
Today, that fire drew her to Seaview Manor, a sprawling cliffside hotel where turquoise waves clawed at jagged rocks below. She’d applied for the front desk position on a whim, her resume polished but thin. The interview was set for late afternoon, the air thick with jasmine from overgrown gardens and the faint brine of the sea. Elena smoothed her pencil skirt—crimson, hugging her hips like a lover’s grip—and adjusted the sheer blouse clinging to her full breasts. No bra. Why bother? The heat demanded freedom.
In the lobby, cool marble underfoot contrasted the sweat beading along her spine. The manager, Marcus Hale, waited behind a polished oak desk. Mid-thirties, broad-shouldered with salt-and-pepper stubble framing a jaw that could cut glass. His eyes, sharp as polished obsidian, flicked up from papers. “Ms. Rivera? Right on time.”
His voice rolled low, like distant thunder. Elena slid into the chair opposite, crossing her legs slowly. The skirt rode up, baring a sliver of thigh. She caught his glance drop, then rise with casual command. “Tell me about your experience,” he said, leaning back. But his focus wasn’t on her words about retail gigs and hospitality courses. It wandered to the damp patch forming where blouse met skin, her nipples hardening under the fabric’s whisper.
Heat bloomed between her legs. She uncrossed, recrossed, letting the skirt hike higher. Brazilian-cut panties, black lace, peeked. Marcus’s pen paused. The room smelled of aged wood and his cologne—musk and citrus, dizzying. “Hot day,” she murmured, fanning herself, unbuttoning the top pearl. Cleavage spilled forward, freckled and flushed.
He didn’t blink. “Indeed.” A pause, heavy. “Spread your legs a bit, Elena. For comfort.”
Her breath hitched. The command landed like a spark on dry tinder. Without a word, thighs parted. Lace shadowed her mound, already slick. His gaze pinned it there, unyielding. Shame twisted with thrill in her gut—carnal urges she’d buried under polite smiles now clawing free. “Good girl,” he growled softly. “Now touch yourself. Through the fabric. Show me how badly you want this job.”
Fingers trembled as they obeyed, tracing the seam. Wetness seeped, darkening lace. The squelch was faint but obscene in the quiet room. Marcus watched, erection straining his slacks. Elena’s world narrowed to that pressure, circling her clit, breaths ragged. Climax built swift, shattering her in waves. She bit her lip bloody to stifle the moan.
He stood then, towering. “Office. Now.” Door clicked shut behind them, the private sanctum reeking of leather and power.
Chapter 2: The Manager’s Command
The inner office was a cocoon of dark paneling and sea-view windows tinted against prying eyes. Marcus locked the door, the snick echoing like a promise. Elena stood frozen, pulse thundering in her ears, skirt twisted high, juices cooling on thighs. “Strip,” he ordered, voice gravel. “Everything but the heels.”
Blouse fluttered to the floor, breasts bouncing free—heavy, pink-tipped. Skirt pooled at ankles. Panties clung, sodden. She peeled them off, the rip of lace audible. Naked save stilettos, she felt exposed, raw, the carpet’s rough weave prickling soles. Marcus circled her, breath hot on neck. “You’ve been teasing men your whole life, haven’t you? That carnal itch you can’t scratch alone.”
She nodded, cheeks aflame. His hand cupped a breast, thumb flicking the nipple till it ached. “On the desk. Ass up.” Elena bent, cool mahogany kissing belly, legs spread wide. Pussy lips parted, glistening invitation. The scent of her arousal hung thick, mingled with his unzipping.
His cock sprang free—thick, veined, head weeping pre-cum. Not gentle, he rubbed it along her slit, coating himself. “Beg.”
“Please… fuck me. Sir.” The word slipped out, instinctive.
He thrust in, brutal depth splitting her. Elena cried out, walls clenching around the invasion. Each pound slapped skin on skin, wet smacks filling the air. Her tits swayed, nipples dragging wood. Marcus gripped hips, bruising, railing harder. “Filthy tease. This cunt was made for this.”
Orgasms ripped through her—one, two—legs quaking. He pulled out, spun her, shoved her to knees. Cock, slick with her essence, breached her mouth. Salty, musky, stretching lips. She gagged, slurped, tongue swirling the ridge. His fingers tangled in her dark waves, fucking her face till tears streamed.
Spunk erupted, hot ropes coating throat. She swallowed greedily, coughing as he withdrew. “Clean up,” he said, zipping casually. Tossed her a card. “My private villa. Dusk tomorrow. Wear nothing under that skirt.”
Elena dressed on wobbly legs, cum leaking down thighs, staining fresh panties she’d stashed in her purse. The lobby felt endless, eyes seeming to know. Outside, sea wind cooled her fevered skin. Home was a cramped apartment overlooking the bay, but tonight it spun with memories. In the shower, steam curling, she fingered herself replaying his dominance. Carnal hunger sated yet ravenous. She’d go. God help her, she’d go. 💋
Chapter 3: Twilight on the Cliffs
Dusk painted the cliffs in bruised purples as Elena approached Marcus’s villa, perched like a predator above crashing surf. Skirt fluttered bare beneath—no barriers to the breeze licking her bare pussy. Heart hammered with nerves and want. Was this madness? A lifetime of flashes had led here, to this edge.
The door opened before she knocked. Marcus, shirtless, muscles etched in golden light. “Inside.” No hello. He led her to a terrace overlooking the abyss, waves roaring approval. A bottle of chilled prosecco sweated on ice. “Drink.” Bubbles fizzed on tongue, sharp and cold.
They talked—or he probed. Her past spills: dance recitals where spins bared ass cheeks to applauding crowds; college parties with upskirts on pool tables. “Always the exhibitionist,” he murmured, hand sliding under skirt, fingers delving her wetness. “But now, you’re mine to command.”
New territory. He bound her wrists with silk ties from a drawer, leading her to the rail. Blindfolded, world vanished to sounds—gulls keening, foam hissing. Exposed to the void, skirt hiked, he flogged her ass lightly with a leather crop. Stings bloomed, heat pooling low. “Spread.” Fingers plunged, curling against her G-spot. She bucked, blind, juices dripping to stone below.
He fucked her there, standing, cock spearing from behind. Wind whipped sweat-slick skin, tits heaving. Climax hit like a storm surge, her screams lost to the sea. But he wasn’t done. Carried her inside to a four-poster bed draped in mosquito netting, the room scented with sandalwood candles flickering shadows.
On her back, legs splayed over edges, he ate her out voraciously. Tongue lashing clit, teeth nipping folds, two fingers then three stretching her. “Cum for me, slut.” She did, squirting arcs onto silk sheets, body convulsing. Then anal—first time. Lube cold, then burning as his girth pressed in. Pain melted to forbidden bliss, ass clenching his length. He pounded till she shattered again, his load flooding deep. 🔥
After, he held her, surprisingly tender. Stroked sweat-damp hair. “This is just the beginning, Elena. Your carnal submission.”
She shivered, bonded in the afterglow, doubts dissolving like sea mist.
Chapter 4: The Hidden Cove
Days blurred into a haze of secret texts and stolen hours. Marcus summoned her to a hidden cove at dawn, accessible only by a treacherous path winding down cliffs. Elena arrived barefoot, skirt and blouse translucent in morning mist. Pebbles bit soles, sharp reminders of vulnerability. The cove nestled like a secret, turquoise water lapping silver sands, cliffs shielding from world.
He waited nude, cock semi-hard, skin bronzed. “Undress. Swim with me.” Cold water shocked, nipples puckering as they dove. Underwater, his hands roamed—pinching, probing. Surfaced gasping, he pinned her to rocks, barnacle-rough against back. Legs wrapped his waist, pussy grinding his hardness. “Fuck me here,” she begged, voice raw.
He obliged, water splashing with each thrust. Salt stung eyes, but pleasure drowned it. New twist: he called a friend? No—solo intensity. Instead, he introduced a toy, a vibrating plug he’d slicked with spit. Pressed into her ass while cock claimed cunt, double fullness overwhelming. Orgasms chained, her nails raking his back bloody.
Dried on sands, warmed by rising sun, they picnicked—fresh oysters salty on tongue, strawberries bursting juice mimicking her releases. Conversation turned deeper. Marcus confessed a past of broken subs, craving one who burned like her. Elena admitted fears: the carnal pull terrifying in its depth, fear of losing self. Yet she craved the collar he dangled—a thin leather band, symbolic.
Afternoon brought conflict. A storm brewed, rain sheeting. Huddled in a cave overhang, thunder rumbling, he fisted her hair, forcing eye contact. “Submit fully.” Fingers four deep in her pussy, stretching obscenely, thumb on clit. She squirted violently, soaking sand, screaming yes. His cum painted her tits, mixing with rain.
Back at the villa, bruises bloomed like badges. She bathed him, soapy hands exploring ridges, sucking cock clean. Tenderness wove with trash—slapping balls on her chin, cum facial ending in kisses.
Chapter 5: Midnight Masquerade
Seaview hosted a masquerade gala—black ties, lace masks, champagne rivers. Marcus’s invite came with instructions: crimson gown, slit to hip, no undergarments. Elena glided through crowds, fabric whispering over bare skin, pussy throbbing anticipation. His mask hid eyes, but she knew him by scent.
Dance floor pulsed, bodies grinding to bass. His hand under slit, fingering discreetly amid swirl. “Wet already, pet.” Whispers in ear sent shivers. They slipped to a balcony, city lights twinkling distant. Bent over rail, he hiked gown, plunged in. Public risk heightened—voices below, cars honking. She muffled moans in feathers, ass rippling with impacts.
New scene: powder room tryst. Mirrors multiplied their depravity. She on sink, legs akimbo, his tongue delving asshole while fingers fucked pussy. Mascara ran, lipstick smeared. Climax squirted glass, his cock followed into mouth, throat-fuck gagging her till overflow.
Party raged on, but their world contracted. Back in suite, he bound her spread-eagle to bedposts. Wax dripped hot on breasts, belly, clit—pain-pleasure cocktail. Crop kissed inner thighs red. Then slow, teasing fuck, edging her till insanity. “Beg for release.”
“Please, Master! Fill my carnal void!” Denouement crashed, multi-orgasmic frenzy. His seed deep, claiming.
Dawn found them entwined, masks discarded. “Stay,” he murmured. Elena nodded, the flashing girl reborn in submission’s embrace. 💋
Chapter 6: Eternal Surge
Weeks fused them. Elena quit job hunts, became his private assistant—desk duties laced with under-table blowjobs, filing interspersed with pegging sessions. New depths: a weekend at a cliffside cabin, no neighbors. There, total immersion.
Sensory overload reigned. Breakfast: her pussy as plate, syrup poured, licked clean. Hike: leashed nude, vibrators humming. Climax on overlook, world witness. Evening: fisting. His oiled hand breaching slowly, wrist-deep in slick heat. “Take it all.” She did, ruined for lesser, orgasms milking him.
Conflict peaked one night. Argument over limits—she balked at marks too visible. He pushed, she fled to beach. Waves lapped turmoil. He found her, apologetic yet firm. Fucked reconciliation under stars, gentle then feral. Carnal connection sealed, doubts drowned.
Final scene: collaring ceremony, just them. On knees, she accepted leather eternity. He fucked her bound, possession absolute. Afterglow stretched endless, bodies slick, breaths synced to sea’s rhythm.
Their story surged on, flashes evolved to full blaze. Elena, once tease, now owned. Marcus, her anchor in passion’s storm. 🔥❤️
(Word count: 5823)
