Tasting Candy: Over 60 Erotic Pregnancy Stories

Lord Alastair sits at the head of the table, his cool eyes watching me like a lion watches a gazelle wander into his territory. It’s careful, but there’s a certain hunger to it I can’t ignore.

“Timely as ever, Maisie,” he remarks bemusedly, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs, gripping the arms of his chair as he gets comfortable.

I make my way towards him, and I set the platter before him, lifting the cover and smelling the sumptuous meal I prepared for him. For us. The wine bottle is on the platter as well, and in an automatic motion, I uncork the bottle and pour his glass, filling it until he puts up a hand calmly for me to stop. It’s quite full by that time. I wonder what kind of a drinker he is.

I move to start to pour my own, but he puts up a hand again, and I give him a perplexed look. “None for you,” he says calmly. I feel a little ashamed for presuming I’d be drinking the same wine as him, but I nod, blushing, and I stopper the bottle and set it aside before sitting down and watching him patiently.

“Well, don’t wait for me,” he says, an uncharacteristically casual smile on his features. “Eat up.”

My heart is pounding so hard I’m worried he can hear it, and I think he can, but he’s scarcely sliced his first piece of meat off before he breaks the silence.

“You’re surprised that I know so much about you,” he states in simple fact, and I look up at him, expecting the statement to be going somewhere. I can’t say he’s wrong. “I take care to study the people I invite into my domain, Maisie. You were particularly intriguing, but people are never who they are on paper. I will hear it from your own lips. Tell me of Conwy.”

He speaks with such presumptive authority that I’m cowed a moment. His commands are not requests. I curse myself as I feel my heart flutter at how easily he sways my will, bending me to his.

“Conwy is...well, I could say it’s idyllic, but I suppose that’s nothing compared to your estate. Master,” I add after a beat that he doesn’t miss. His attention is a steel trap, I swear. “But for Wales

, it’s a beautiful countryside town. Towering old castle spires, rolling hills and mountains in the distance, beautiful view of the Irish Sea...and not much else,” I finish with a sardonic smile, to which he raises an eyebrow, chewing his meat as he listens. “Not the most opportunity back home.”

Finally, he smiles, then gives a bit of a laugh, and I feel terribly embarrassed. Have I already made myself look like a fool in front of this highborn English lord?

“You do this dour old place too much grace, Maisie,” he says, looking out the window into the night, the town of Rookswood glittering in the distance. “This manor is a glum corner of the country compared to the Welsh coast. I’ve been. The views of the sea are so breathtaking, you could lose yourself in them. Let yourself get swept up by the salty waves,” he muses, taking a drink of his wine before setting his glass down and looking at me.

“I suppose the grass is always greener somewhere else, Master,” I say with a faint smile, and his eyes warm at the sight of it. That makes me feel warm between my legs. Something about this icy man’s approval does unexpected things to me.

“Indeed. But your accent sounds unusual for Conwy. There’s a tinge to it, but the American is there. You’ve played it up, though—when did you leave your home in America?”

I blush, not realizing how much he knows about me. “My mother is American. We moved here when I was ten, so I don’t remember an awful lot about it, I’m afraid.”

“No, you’re rather happy with your new home, aren’t you?” he says, smiling at me. “The grass is always greener, right, Maisie?”

I smile again, but a chill runs down my spine. Is he testing me? Looking for some kind of weakness in my background? As if reading my mind, his eyes narrow at me a moment.

“I’m not trying to interrogate you, Maisie,” he says smoothly, taking a drink of his wine. “You seem rather tense. Come to me.”

What is that supposed to mean? I swallow and stand up from my half-eaten dinner, walking over to him slowly until I come to a stop at his side, and he look up at me expectantly before nodding to...his lap. “Sit.”

My eyes widen, but that seems only to delight him further. I lick my lips, looking down at his crotch, and I can see the bulge in there already growing. Yet it’s guiltily exciting to me that the mere potential for my ass to be pressing into him is making him grow. It spurs me on as I turn. I’ve never been very good at flirting, if this can even be called that, but something feels innately good about giving Lord Alastair a view of my ass as I bend it down toward his lap. I can feel him devouring me with his eyes, and his hands reach up to my hips, guiding me onto him.

He’s so big and strong that I can’t help but feel like a doll in his grasp, so easily held and manipulated in his lap.

He wraps one arm around my small waist, and the other goes to the glass of wine on the table. He picks it up and swirls it around a bit. “Chateau Lafite-Rothschild, 1892,” he says casually, and my eyes widen. I thought I’d glimpsed the label when Beth took it down, but I hadn’t realized exactly what this was.

That glass of wine is probably worth about half a year’s pay for me, and that’s only a slight exaggeration.

“A fine year, but I wanted something tasteful to commemorate your first night under my tutelage, dear Maisie,” he says, and I feel my cheeks going almost as red as the wine. “And the taste is...well, have a smell,” he says, bringing the glass close to me. Suddenly, it feels like he’s offering me liquid gold, but that much gold wouldn’t be worth as much. I inhale the aroma, and it smells like the finest, boldest wine with just the right hint of old wood. It makes my mouth water, and I can feel Lord Alastair watching me lust for it, feeding off my desire.

“You want a taste.” Again, a simple statement from him. It’s like he was willing the sentiment into existence, and I can’t argue. I nod faintly, licking my lips. He lets his hand slide up to my breast, and he gives it a squeeze unexpectedly. Any one of the maids could come in at a moment’s notice, what is he doing?! “Use your words, Maisie,” he whispers into my ear, and my breath catches in my throat.

“M-may I,” I stammer, “may I have a taste?” His hand slides down to my skirt, and he reaches under, feeling my naked lips wettening, and he sticks his finger into them, making me gasp.

“Are those the words I trained you to use?” he asks, and I bite my lip, feeling his finger so dangerously close to my clit. I take a deep breath and try again.

“Please, Master,” I say, my tone begging, “may I drink from your glass?” I feel his cock stiffen under my pussy, and I know I’ve hit the right answer.

“Good girl,” he praises me, and before I can react, he reaches up and takes my jaw gently, bringing the wine to my lips. I brace myself as he tips the glass towards me, and I taste the wine washing into my mouth.

It’s the most delicious taste I’ve ever had. Just the right blend of bold, strong flavor tinged with fruit that’s endured for over a century. I take in a breath as his stiff cock gives me just as much pleasure, my hand gripping his leg desperately as he keeps tilting the glass to my lips.