1 comments/ 11326 views/ 2 favorites Fucking Nimoy Ch. 01 By: JMaxwell69 "Who should I make this out to?" He said in that distinctive gravelly voice. It was Spock without the pointy ears, the baby blue tunic, the high sheen bowl cut, or the winged eyebrows. Instead, he wore a tweed sport coat with wide lapels, flared slacks that skirted the ground and enveloped his shoes, and a burnt orange turtleneck. His black hair was in a stylishly mussed mop rather than Spock's perfectly ordered coiffure. He hadn't even looked up when you stepped up to the table. He was nearing the bottom of a stack of glossy 8X10 color photos of himself made up and costumed as the stoic Mr. Spock, and it had been a long day. That show had been off the air for almost two years, but it seemed like Leonard Nimoy was, inexplicably, increasingly being known as Spock. As you faltered in your response, he did look up. His initial thinly disguised irritation evaporated when he saw that it was not a gawking pimply-faced boy, but rather you standing before him self-consciously and voluptuously in a plaid jumper skirt and long-sleeve white top. The skirt felt, at that instant, like it displayed too much of your creamy thick thighs, and the top seemed to cling to every curve. Your nervousness was not eased by the fact that, as Nimoy slowly returned his gaze toward the stack of photos on the table in front of him, his eyes seemed to take in every inch of you and then to linger interminably on the hem at the front of your skirt. In a subconscious act of vulnerable modesty you put one of your hands on your opposite shoulder cupping the base of your neck and allowing the arm drape across your chest as a kind of shield. There was a kind of raw eroticism about the act that caught Nimoy's eye as he returned his gaze to your doe eyes and handed you a portrait on which he had scrawled his signature on the front, flipped it, and wrote something else on the white paper backing. You took the photograph with a muted "Thanks" and began to walk off. On the back of the photo he had written: "Hamilton Arms, Rm. 614; Be there at 8:00pm tonight." You experienced a jumble of emotion. Nervousness and exhilaration were intermingled indistinguishably. He saw you, looked upon you, and demanded to see you again. That was flattering and thrilling. Yet the thrill was intertwined with an omnipresent nagging unease at the back of your mind that he couldn't possibly want you, and that you must be misreading his intentions. Nonetheless, there was no doubt in your mind about whether or not you would go. It had not been a request, but a command. And you loved that it was a command. There was not the slightest hint of ambiguity. Oh, in some theoretical sense you were completely free to ignore those words by shear force of free will, but, in reality, your own desire sealed your fate, more so than summons from the lanky man to whom you were more than willing to relinquish yourself. At the appointed hour you were at that door trying to compose yourself before knocking. Your hair was still slightly damp and gave off a subtle fruity shampoo smell. After the signing, you had gone to your hotel and ritually primped in preparation for your evening rendezvous with Mr. Spock. This involved a long hot shower and shaving your legs and nether region with meticulous care, despite the fact that they were already quite smooth. The shaving process was slow as your hand occasionally trembled ever so slightly and your mind raced with the evening's possibilities. You had resisted the urge to pleasure yourself in the shower beyond a few furtive touches and a brief period of reveling in the pulse of the showerhead. If you were going to be deflowered this evening, you would not be lacking for eagerness. Just as you had summoned the nerve to knock, the door opened. It was not Nimoy, but a younger blond man in a gray suit. He was clean-cut and professional in appearance. "I'm..." You started to introduce yourself, noticeably perplexed. "Please come in. Mr. Nimoy is expecting you. He has a few administrative matters to attend to, and then he'll be right with you." The man said. You presumed he was a personal assistant or something of that sort. Oddly, despite the fact that the hotel suite had an armchair and loveseat in it, the young blond man ushered you to a spot in the middle of the room at which he left you standing. You only noticed the sound of the lavatory sink running as it abruptly stopped. Shortly after that, Leonard Nimoy strode into the bedroom from the bathroom. He was wearing a white terry robe embroidered with the hotel's crest logo. Over his tall lean frame, the robe came only to mid-thigh. He made a beeline toward you. You looked down at floor shyly, unsure what to do. "Glad you could make it. I'll be with you in a moment. I swear my life is coming down to signing things 90% of the time. When I'm not signing autographs, I'm signing contracts so I can get paid." As he was saying this, he put his hand under your chin and lightly raised it until your neck was sufficiently craned to be looking him in the eye. With the other hand, he cleared a shock of brunette hair out of your face that had fallen across your cheek while you were looking down. "I think you will do just fine, but I'll need to have a look at you." Nimoy said before walking over to and sitting down at the small round table next to which the blond man was standing, and which contained three small stacks of papers arrayed orderly. You stood glued in your spot. You were not sure what he meant. When he saw no movement, Nimoy looked over and clarified the command. "Dear, that means I need you to disrobe." He said to you, and then to his assistant: "She may need help with that zipper." You were wearing a simple floral print dress that zipped down the back. The assistant strode over. "Allow me." He said as he reached around and, matter-of-factly, tugged the zipper down as far as it would go to a point directly above the cleft of your backside, which his knuckles inadvertently brushed in the process. The assistant turned and walked back to the table and the feel of cold air on your back was palpable where the fabric had fallen open. As the two men were occupied with business matters, the younger pointing out where to sign and the elder scribbling his name or initials, you were slowly, and with the most intense feeling of being exposed, slipping the dress off your shoulders and then stepping out of it. You laid the dress over the back of the armchair, and stood there in only underwear. Should you remove the little cover that the bra and panties offered? That was what you believed the instruction to be, and so, hesitantly, you complied. You fidgeted. Your knees were together with one knee turned inward, and you instinctively moved your arms about looking for an illusive pose that would be both natural and provided some measure of cover of your tummy in particular. Soon the two men were done and the assistant began collecting the papers up into an orderly sheaf, which he put into a leather portfolio that he then zippered shut and tucked under his arm. The assistant smiled and nodded politely as he passed you crossing the room toward the door. The nonchalant nature of the blond man's gestures seemed odd in that it betrayed no acknowledgement of the fact that you were completely naked. It was the same way you would greet an acquaintance on the street. Your eyes followed him unconsciously because you had an irrational fear that when he threw open the door there would be a dozen paparazzi with flash bulbs popping standing in the hallway to capture your exposed form. There was no one in the hall. When you turned back to Mr. Nimoy, he was standing in front of you. He took your hands in his and put your arms down to your side. He then did a slow wide walk around you. He not only caressed with his eyes, but also used his hands. He put them on your waist, your breasts, and your buttocks. He stimulated a nipple with his thumb as his long fingers caressed the sensitive outer edge off one of your hanging orbs. He watched the nipple thicken and its shade darken. He ran his fingers through your hair, sweeping the locks around and holding it up in turn to see your face framed in various alternative ways. When he ran a hand across your tummy, your hands instinctively began to creep back up, but he again put them down at your sides. Nimoy said: "I think you are just the girl I've been looking for, but there will be a few rules that I must insist upon. First, if you are not being posed, and you are talking to me, you should look me in the eyes - unless you are adoring my cock or I am taking you in some position in which we are not face-to-face. Second, when you are in my presence, you shouldn't try to cover up. Most of the time you will be nude, and I want unobstructed views of all of you. Third, when you are in my company, you will respond to my whims as directed and without question. If these terms aren't acceptable, you are free to put your clothes back on and go now. However, I'd like you to make up your mind quickly as I have an appetite for you and the longer you take, the harder it will be to relinquish that craving. So may I have an answer?" To say you had "butterflies" in your stomach would be like equating amputation with a scratch. Nervousness aside, you had an instinctual urge to surrender yourself to his will, and to be his. He wantonly craved and coveted you, and, for that gift, you could easily do whatever he asked. Any rational thought-process about what he might require of you was swamped by a primal tsunami of desire. "Yes... Mr. Nimoy." "You may call me Leonard." With that he took your hand and led you over to the bed. He then directed you into a pose. He had you kneel on the bedspread with your knees wide apart, and then he had you use both hands to lift your hair up away from your face and to the top of your head with your elbows out so they wouldn't obstruct the view of your face. He used his hands to direct you to arch your back and turn your head slightly. "Oh yes, that's it. That is perfect. Hold right there." He said as he first took his time watching you longingly, and only after what seemed like at least a minute did he grab the Leica camera with a big lens and a side-mounted flash and begin to look through the viewfinder. While alluring, it was not the most comfortable position to hold, and you could feel a little burn starting in your thighs and back, but you didn't dare move. The discomfort grew because Nimoy was not the kind of photographer who snapped off 20 pictures on the auto-setting and hoped one turned out. He was calculating. He moved around and made setting adjustments, and then he snapped a solitary photo. "You can relax." He said, finally allowing you to move about. The next pose was much easier to hold, which was fortunate because Nimoy was looking for a quite specific facial expression that took much direction to perfect. The posture was just sprawled out with your right foot near the headboard and right hand extending off the foot end of the bed limply. The left knee and elbow were pulled in, and you looked up toward your right hand into the camera. The shot displayed the outline of your curves nicely, and the vulnerable stare made for a striking image. This impromptu photo shoot went on for about three more photos meticulously shot over the course of about a half an hour. For the last shot, he had you lying on your back with your knees splayed wide. After Nimoy snapped the shot, he set the camera down on the floor next to the bed. He then took his fingers and spread apart your nether lips. There was a moist sound as the rosy flesh rode over the viscous slippery sauce that coated the inside of your sweet slit. He let a finger tip briskly ride over your clit and seemed pleased when it seemed to send a tremor through your system. Nimoy then climbed up on the bed and lay on his side facing you. He traced graceful arcs with a finger over your milky soft skin. Occasionally, he came across either a pleasure spot like a nipple or a ticklish spot and smiled as you squirmed. "You're eager. Does it make you hot to know that I'm going to have my way with you?" "Yes." You said, looking him in the eye as you had been earlier commanded. "Do you like being teased, being forced to wait?" "Yes...no...I guess it depends how long." You said. "How did you feel about having your picture taken?" He asked, now manipulating one of your nipples between his thumb and index finger. "Uncomfortable." "Why?" He knew why, but hearing you talk about it had a kind of voyeuristically arousing effect because it was a window into the recesses of your mind. "Because I don't feel comfortable with my body." "I'm here hungry to ravish you, and you don't feel good about your body? Do you think I have poor taste?" He asked not as though insulted, but more as though he were playing a wry joke at your expense. "What about the other men you've been with, didn't they like how you looked? Did one of them make you feel bad about yourself?" "I've never been with another man." You said sheepishly. "Well, I guess it's time for your training to begin. First you need to familiarize yourself with the equipment." With that he rolled over onto his back and let the robe fall away exposing his lean hard body. He took your hand, holding it for a moment, and then he put it on his member. You now rolled onto your side as you stroked him lightly with your soft alabaster hand. His member transformed from a weighty flexible rope to a solid spike in moments. It, like he, was long and lean. The two of you formed an interesting juxtaposition of humanity with he being tall, lanky and sun browned, and you being soft, gracefully curved, and milky white. You sat up, and began to use both hands. Nimoy didn't suppress the sounds of his pleasure but let his enjoyment show, particularly when you cupped and lightly rubbed his balls while you increased the vigor with which you stroked his shaft. Nimoy let you play and experiment like this for about ten minutes. Then he reached his hand between the undulating mass of hair that hung down as you leaned toward him and your cheek and hooked the back of your neck lightly. He then pulled your face toward his engorged organ until your lips parted to accept him into your mouth. His moans became more intense and frequent as your lips rode over his member. He kept his hand in your hair at the back of your head, and, with it, dictated when you were required to take in more of his length and when you were to linger attentively on that sensitive patch on the underside of his shaft. Neither the occasional gagging nor the involuntary eye watering dissuaded you from taking as much of him as he wanted you to. You were indispensible to him, and his pleasure was integrally tied up in your actions. When Leonard was satisfied with your oral ministrations, but before shot his load, he pulled out of your mouth. He wiped those gag-reflex tears off your cheek with his meaty palm and ushered you over onto your back. He then scooted your hips down toward the edge of the bed as he kneeled at the bedside. He parted your lips with his tongue and proceeded to suck and lick his way up your moist trench. His long tongue probed into your canal and rimmed it, before he turned the complete attention of his tongue and lips to your thick warm clit. He sucked, licked, and even gently nibbled. He used the tip of his tongue with targeted vigor, and slipped a digit into your depths and worked it around with precision and energy. When he felt the subtle signs of your body beginning to quiver and stiffen, he stepped up his efforts. Your climax came in intense waves and sent your whole body into spastic trembling. He tried to keep up with the undulations of your love spasm, but you squirmed away when it felt you would certainly black out from all your body's blood converging on your pleasure center. With his face sopped in your natural lubricant, Nimoy stood, slid the head of his cock up and down your slick pussy track a few times to moisten it in preparation for plunging it into you. He then aligned his cock with your canal and thrust it about halfway deep into your tight, still quivering, virginal pussy. He then worked it through a few slow and progressively deeper thrusts until you were taking the full length. He began thrusting harder and faster until he had a rhythm that was bringing him towards ecstasy. The endorphins running through your bloodstream kept you blissfully ignorant of the soreness that was developing from going from innocence to Mr. Nimoy's maniacal reaming within hours. Once again, Nimoy exercised supreme discipline and pulled out before he creamed inside you. He had plans to experience you in one other way that evening. "Turn over, face on the mattress and butt up." He said. You complied by tucking your knees under you so your ass was up. He spread your cheeks apart for access, and then he pressed his cock head against your tight little bung-hole. With your thick slippery sauce dripping from his cock, there was enough lubrication to penetrate. There was an initial unfamiliar mix of pleasure and discomfort involved in the breaching action. That sensation began to be transformed increasingly into pain as his stroke got longer and the natural lubrication from the previous round began to dry up. Fortunately, Nimoy's substantial cock was only good for a few strokes in your previously virgin sphincter before he stiffened and shot his creamy load deep into your ass in about five rapidly diminishing spastic shots. You both then stretched out and lay on your sides on the bed. Nimoy was behind you spooned against your round buttocks. He brushed the brunette locks from your shoulder and kissed your neck. Then he spoke. "You did wonderfully, my love. That was beautiful." "Thank you, Leonard." You said as were catching your breath. In a few minutes you could hear a slight raspy sound. It was not a full-bore snore, but, by it, you could tell he had drifted off. Moments later you followed suit. Leonard had regained his strength and his lust for you by the morning, and, while you were a bit sore, your desire was unquenchable. So it was that when the nattily dressed blond assistant came in, without knocking, you were on hands and knees facing the foot of the bed, and, consequently, the door. Nimoy was behind you and was thrusting hard and fast such that his pelvis was making a loud slapping noise on your buttocks every time he reached maximum penetration. Nimoy did not break stride when the young man entered. The assistant neither averted his eyes nor gawked. He merely walked to the little round table, set his portfolio down, and sat at one of the two chairs next to it. You looked over at him, periodically. Sometimes he was looking and other times he was looking absent-mindedly away. It was bizarre to lock eyes with the conservatively dressed young man while another man was fucking you like a porn star. Soon Nimoy climaxed, not as forcefully as the previous evening, but still causing him to stiffen in a manner that reverberated through you. "That was outstanding, my dear." Nimoy said to you as he offered a hand to help you off the bed. "It's shower time." You seemed to instinctively recognize that showering Nimoy was now your responsibility. You, therefore, went into the bathroom to start the shower running as Nimoy nakedly and unabashedly greeted his personal assistant and they began to talk, presumably discussing Mr. Nimoy's agenda for the day. You couldn't hear anything but vague garbled sounds through the wall and over the sound of the shower. You waited for Nimoy to come before you got into the shower with him. He spoke as you wetted, shampooed, and rinsed his hair, and then worked your way down systematically scrubbing. "We fly back to Los Angeles tonight. Have what you need ready by six, so we can get to the airport. I've got a full day of meetings and appearances. If you need anything to make this happen, talk to my assistant before we leave." Fucking Nimoy Ch. 01 It was only then that the full weight of what you had committed to became clear. Your original plan was to check out of your own hotel room this morning, and return to your own home town and resume your own life. Fucking Nimoy Ch. 02 "Remember, if a person is speaking to you, look them in the eye whenever possible. And, unless you're holding a plate or glass, keep your hands at your sides." Mr. Nimoy directed as you sat nude on the bed in his beach house. He was standing in front of the mirror buttoning his shirt. One wall of the bedroom was floor to ceiling glass. At one time, quite recently and yet seeming like it was in a different life, you would have been freaked out about being naked in that room. You would have wondered who was out there in the darkness looking into the well-lit room. The high lighting fixtures, in conjunction with the dark paneled walls, actually made for a pale amber lighting, but it was bright enough that one would be able to see inside from the outdoors. But all that could be seen out in the darkness beyond the balcony was the shimmering of an almost full moon reflected on the wave caps and breakers. So, unless the voyeur was on a boat and had binoculars, there probably wasn't much risk of being seen. It was not this rational thought process that led to your indifference, however. It was because you had been nude almost all the time for the past several days, and you were rapidly becoming accustomed to it. In fact, you almost never had to be corrected for eye contact or covering violations around Leonard or his blond-haired assistant, Marlon, anymore. However, Leonard had good reason to think you would revert tonight, and you knew he was probably right. He was, after all, having a room full of friends and close acquaintances over for an exhibition. The photographs on display, which he had been secretive about, would not be the only thing being exhibited. While the guests were all well known to Leonard, they would all be complete strangers to you. Not that it mattered that they were strangers as far as the level of mortification you were experiencing was concerned. If they were known to you, it would probably have been worse. Marlon ducked his head into the room. "Hey, cutie." He said in greeting to you, and then to Leonard: "Mr. Nimoy, the guests have all arrived and are assembled in the gallery." "Thank you, Marlon. We'll be right down." Your stomach churned as you took the hand Leonard had offered palm up in a gentlemanly manner. This was the truest test yet of your devotion to being Leonard's girl. Relinquishing your virginity was a distant second. You were ripe and ready for that, and there was no man you would have rather had deflower you than he. This, however, was the nightmare of all but a few rare exhibitionists. Naked in a room full of clothed people, that had to rank with inexorably falling or with taking a high school test for which one is totally unprepared as one of the most common bad dreams experienced in modern society. And there could be no doubt that among girls of generous proportions, such as yourself, the dream of public nudity had to be number one by a long-shot. And here you were about to live the nightmare in the real world. Leonard kissed you as he kneaded the back of your neck to help you relax. "Take a deep breath. You'll do fine. Are you ready?" Leonard asked. How did one answer that question? You weren't ready. You couldn't be ready, but you were willing to do it for him. And so you said, simply: "Yes." Then you took the deep slow breath he had recommended. You willed every step to last an eternity so that you could delay this experience. But it was a short walk down the stairs, down a hallway, and into the gallery. Being arm-in-arm with Leonard was the only thing that allowed you to summon the requisite courage. With every step you took, the sounds of clinked crystal and the jumbled din of concurrent conversations seemed to get noticeably louder. All too quickly, you were being walked through the door by Leonard. The first thing you noticed, which served to ease your nerves just a little, was that you were not the only nude in the room. Out of about twenty people assembled -not including the catering staff and Marlon- four were nude and standing obediently and quietly next to fully-clothed presumed masters. Three of the nudes were female and the other one was male. Two of them, one of the females and the male, were on leashes attached to dog collars, and the other two women were, like you, untethered. One of the other females was plump, like you, but a few years older, blond, and darkly tanned all over. Another of the females, the one in the collar, had milky smooth skin like yours and was buxom and just a little broad in the hips. The final girl was dark, exotic, had a petite, almost boyish, figure. She looked deceptively young from a distance because of her slight frame and delicate features, but was, in reality, middle-aged. The girls were all with different men. The boy was about your age, and looked like a clean-cut frat boy being hazed. He had a plump erection with some kind of band around the base of his penis presumably to maintain that state. He was chained to a woman who was probably fifty, had hair that was a mix of blond and gray in tight school marm-esque bun, and wore a red dress with a plunging neckline that revealed her substantial cleavage. You noticed that the two collared submissives and the petite exotic girl all kept their eyes averted in strict contradiction of the command you had been given. The plump blond did look at those who were speaking. The next thing you noticed was that even if you had been allowed to wear clothes you would still have been on display. Centered along each wall was one of the photos Leonard had taken of you the day you first met, and the fifth was on an easel in the middle of the room. They were poster-sized prints. Most of the assembled guests had congealed into one of the three cocktail party klatchs that were circled around the three most popular photos. A few other two party dialogues were going on throughout the room, including a couple in front of the photos that had not drawn crowds. The room was white and bright. It had a white ceiling, a white tile floor, and two adjacent walls were white. Unlike the dim ambiance of the bedroom, the gallery was flooded with white light. This contributed to an impression that there was no place to hide. There were no dark recesses in which imperfections would be concealed. The other two walls, the exterior walls, were floor to ceiling windows just like the one in the bedroom upstairs. Out the longer wall one could see the same view of moonlight playing off the water that you had seen from the bedroom, and out the other side one could see the faint lights from a neighboring house in the distance. A small team of three or four waiters and waitresses circulated in black slacks, white tux shirts, and black bowties carrying silver trays of exotic appetizers and flutes of sparkling wine. "Leonard, you finally found the girl you've been after, and a lovely one at that." Said a short, pudgy, gray mustachioed man of about sixty. He took your hand and kissed the back of it. "This is Rubin Katz of Paramount." Leonard introduced the two of you. It was only then that it occurred to you that some of the faces in the room seemed familiar. While Rubin was not even vaguely familiar to you, ostensibly owing to his behind the camera industry position, a few others looked like actors you recognized from television and movies. There were no huge stars among the guests, but several faces that were frequently seen in supporting roles. Including, you recognized as a Star Trek fan, one poor Ensign who had lasted a mere three onscreen minutes and whose only line was a death throe grunt delivered as he was being vaporized. Leonard and Rubin were engaged in business talk that you were oblivious to because you were too busy alternating between being anxious and trying to place the faces of minor celebrities. By now everybody had noticed that Leonard had arrived, but they returned to their conversations to give the two men some space. No one was staring at you, but you did catch the occasional onlooker in a peep. In reality, you reasoned, they were probably looking at Leonard, star of television and movies, but it didn't feel like it. Many of the attendees wanted to talk to Leonard semi-privately for their own purposes. A waiter came by with the Champagne and Leonard grabbed two glasses, handing one to you without disrupting his discussion. You occasionally sampled from the circulating food trays, but, under the circumstances, were not that hungry. Some of the food you recognized, but little of it had you eaten before. For example, a small pile of tiny black shiny orbs on a crisp browned cracker with some sort of green sprig on it, that had to be caviar. There were various kinds of ornate sushi with bright orange salmon and deep red tuna drawing the eye. There was almost raw tenderloin thinly sliced on a piece of crusty baguette. It was not exactly a pigs-in-a-blanket kind of party. When Leonard and Rubin were done, there were a few other industry-related conversations before Leonard got the obligatory business talk out of the way, and could get around to the more relaxing and pleasurable portion of the evening. Most of those assembled were not in the movie business, but were individuals who the Star Trek renaissance man knew from his other interests such poetry, prose writing, photography, and even through shared sexual proclivities. It was not always clear what Leonard's connection was to such party-goers. One might, for example, think that the other four people with "pets" were all people Leonard knew through sexual exploits. However, this would not be correct. Some of those dominants knew him primarily in other contexts, but, once they knew he kept a girl, they felt free to show, what they thought was, their affinity. On the other hand, a couple of those who did not seem in any way unusual or exotic did, in fact, travel in common sexual circles. When Leonard was finally momentarily freed up, I broke off of the periphery of a tired but angry discussion of the Vietnam War, and interrupted Leonard in his attempt to circulate. "Lenny, how have you been? Good catch." I said. First shaking Leonard's hand vigorously, then taking your more dainty hand while simultaneously planting a greeting kiss on your cheek. "Hello, J. Yes, I'm happy with her." Leonard said looking at you with an adoring smile. "I noticed. I love the photos. I put in a bid on that one there." I said, pointing to the first of the photos he had taken of you. The one in which you were kneeling on the bed arched back with your hands holding your hair back and up. "It has a blossoming feel about it." I said to Leonard. "Quite fetching." I said to you. Leonard gave a satisfied look that indicated he was pleased with my comment, that I had gotten what he was trying to convey in the portrait. Or, perhaps, he was just pleased that I had bid. This was when you realized that there was a silent auction for the photos that consisted of Marlon collecting and tabulating bids. I couldn't help but engage in a little double entendre. I said to you. "So, if I got my bid right, I get to take you home and mount you in my living room." You pretended to be amused, but were still trying to cope with the notion that nude images of you might be sitting in five strangers' houses by the end of the night. Of course, those people would have their own cocktail parties with other complete strangers coming to cast eyes upon you. I then asked Leonard: "So how is she working out in the sex department?" "Quite well, in fact. She is a quick learner and is eager to please." Leonard said. "How's this butt?" I said, and rubbed my hand in circles lightly around your ass cheeks. The smooth soft flesh was cold, so I rubbed a little harder to warm it. "Not broken in yet, I'm afraid, and I plan to keep that to myself for the time being. But you should give her pussy a ride though. It's exquisite." Leonard said in a tone of voice more animated than the monotone Spock. "I'd love to." I said. "No time like the present." Leonard said, and he took your hand and ushered us both over to a long avant-garde backless blond wood bench that was along the glass wall facing the Pacific. Others in the room started to notice the activity, and the din of conversation was becoming more of a low murmur. Leonard sat down on the bench facing the gallery's interior. "Ready him with your mouth, dear." He said to you in his gravelly baritone. I unzipped my slacks, and extracted my cock from its corduroy enclosure. It was, as yet, flaccid and unready. However, the warmth and softness of your mouth as you complied with Mr. Nimoy's command caused it to readily swell. As your head bobbed and your lips ran along my stiff rod, my member was soon engorged to a reddish-purple. Your hair swayed with the erratic motion of your head, and you looked up at me to achieve the requisite eye contact. As gentle a sucking as it was, I was afraid if I let it go on much longer I wouldn't have the will power to avoid shooting my load into your throat, and I would fail to enjoy the orifice that had come so highly recommended. At Leonard's direction you took up a position on hands and knees perpendicular to the bench such that your head lay nestled in Leonard's lap just like a large dog might insinuate itself to get its head scratched. He stroked your dark tresses reassuringly as I knelt down behind you. I reached down to see if you were ready to accommodate my manhood. You were not sufficiently wet. Your nerves had not yet been overcome by the tide of eroticism that was beginning to surge. However, the combination of my vigorous massage of your clit, Leonard's calming hand, and the tent forming in Leonard's slacks right before your eyes all contributed to your slit becoming wet and ready with a quickness. I aligned my cock with your thick smooth pussy lips and pushed until I breached you. The sweet envelopment of my cock by your heavenly femininity put me in a state of bliss. As I was building up the speed and vigor of my stroke, Leonard was pulling his already engorged cock awkwardly out of his trousers. He put its head on your lips, and you began to lick and suck at it immediately. Then he put it in your mouth, and you were being filled from both ends. By now I was losing all decorum and was thrusting hard and fast, and each time my pelvis bounced off your round alabaster ass Leonard's long pole was shoved into the depths of your throat. With the momentum from my stout fire plug-like build, each ramming thrust sent reverberations through your body. I was becoming increasingly animalistic as I reveled in your fresh tight box, and I lost track of the fact that I was strongly seizing your fleshy hips and was driving Leonard's cockhead hard into your throat. I was oblivious to the moist hollow gagging sounds as I became a creature of mere pleasure instinct. "Ahh! Yes. Oh, yes." I said loudly as I came with nut-tightening vigor into your sopping wet pussy. So startling were my love spasm cries that one of the wait staff dropped a tray that clanged onto the tile sending spring rolls tumbling, like soft dice, across the floor. As I pulled out, some of my creamy seed ran down your inner thigh. I wiped your juices off my member with a cocktail napkin before returning the exhausted sex muscle to my trousers. Leonard, presumably figuring the evening was still young, restrained himself and gingerly extracted his member from your mouth with out gratification. Leonard and I both offered you hands in a gentlemanly fashion to help you up from your position of servitude. Our chivalry stood in odd juxtaposition to the viscous fucking we had just subjected you. It had been completely about self-satisfaction without concern for pleasantries. Furthermore, you would not be standing long. "That was great, but I feel a little left out. Just because I don't have balls doesn't mean I shouldn't get to use your cum whore too." All eyes turned to see who had said that. It was a feminine voice. It was a young redhead, just a couple years older than you. Her hair was cut short and was bouncy and shiny, and she might have been a model or an actress given the fine features of her face. She wore a clingy light blue dress, and, one could tell by nipples that seemed like they might pierce the dress, no bra. "Eveline, you know very well that I am a friend of equal opportunity." Leonard said as he greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. He then took her to the end of the bench, and directed you to follow. The woman showed that it was not just a bra she was lacking, but, hiking her skirt up to her midriff, one could see that she was completely without underwear. She sat her bare ass down on the bench aligned with the end of the bench. "I like this. I'm going to have to give it a try." She said as she petted the smooth shaven triangle between your hip creases and above your sex. You were ahead of your time. Even Eveline, a model, did little more than trim. Her pubic patch was also red, but more of a lighter blonde-red verging on orange rather than the deep auburn of the hair on her head. She then leaned back onto her back and spread her legs putting her feet on the edges of the bench. Leonard directed you to go back down into the familiar position on hands and knees. Leonard took up position next to you on the side of the bench next to the window, and he gathered your hair up and held it as if in a ponytail. This was done not to prevent your hair from falling into her pussy, but rather so the assembled audience would have an unobstructed view as you pleasured the sexy redhead. It also served as a handle to rub your face in the young woman's flowing sauce. Any of the men in the room who hadn't yet had erections were rapidly developing them. Even I, who thought I was down for the count, began to get a chubby and couldn't help but touch it during the show. Not experienced in cunnilingus, you tried to emulate the method by which Leonard had eaten you on your first night together and once since. You licked, tongue fucked, rimmed, and sucked on young woman's clit. "Yeah, suck me you little cum whore. I fucked a guy today, so maybe you can get a little treat." Eveline said as her head rolled slowly side-to-side and she took delight in your oral actions. As Eveline was degrading you with her dirty talk, a second cock of the evening slid into your pussy and began to pound away. Your head was down, and you had no idea whether it was the handsome three minute Ensign, the liver-spotted old executive, Rubin, or any of the other mixed bag of men assembled. All you knew was that the cock was smaller than the two you'd previously had and could only manage the shortest of strokes. Furthermore, after only a few strokes, you could feel the jerky motion of the man launching his spunk into you before retiring his little pud. Almost no sooner was the short-timer out than a second man was entering you. He was the diametric opposite of the last man. His cock was the biggest you had felt yet. It was at least as long as Leonard's and of a more substantial girth, and was in both dimensions larger than mine. You imagined it to be one of those porn-movie monsters that most people only saw on film. Not only was the man big, but he really gave your pussy a workout. It was hard to concentrate on servicing Eveline's wet cunt with the big man pile driving you so hard. Leonard pushed your face down into the slop that had developed between Eveline's thighs whenever you got distracted or felt the need to break away to gasp for air or let a pent up exclamation rip. You soon felt the tremors. You could not hold out any longer. You began to climax, shaking violently. The constriction of your pussy muscles in the throes of ecstasy caused the big man to let loose his dallops of cum deep into you over the course of several ramming thrusts. Eveline got off as well, probably from seeing Leonard push your face down into her bush. She was thrilled that you were being made to eat her, being made to satisfy her. She pressed her hips forward to grind into your face until she lost all control and was left a quivering mass of femininity. Fucking Nimoy Ch. 02 The older gray-blond woman took Eveline's place. She had to take off a pair of red panties that matched her dress, however. She rubbed them in your face before dropping them to the ground. During this change out in the people to whom you would be whored out, you were able to look around a bit. Besides the male naked servant, who was now sitting next to the bench at his mistress' side, the other three slaves were kneeling next to their masters just lightly stroking the men's erections. It was clear that they were just serving to keep their masters ready for their time in the queue with you. This older woman didn't trust Leonard's relative genteelness, and she took clumps of your hair in each hand and proceeded to grind your face into her sex. The line of dicks continued one after another as your mouth was used to pleasure the woman. There were long dicks, short dicks, skinny dicks, and fat dicks, and some were used with skillful precision and others were pathetically awkward. And you never had any idea who was inside you at a given moment, you could only guess. You climaxed on multiple occasions, each time decidedly more weakly than the last. Your stomach muscles became sore from the orgasmic spasming contractions, just like your pussy had become sore despite the flood of your juices and cum that was covering it inside and out. Eventually, you were incapable of further orgasm, but the marathon continued. At one point when there was a change out in dicks, the gray-blond woman twisted your head by the handfuls of hair so that you were forced over onto your back next to the bench. She then proceeded to straddle your face, and to roughly ride it. This did not dissuade men from entering you in a version of the missionary position so they could toss their loads into your pussy one after the next as the lady took her time in forcing you to satisfy her. After a while there were a few men that seemed to struggle to attain a full erection inside you. This led you to suspect that some men might be taking a double dip. Supporting evidence of this was provided by the weak climaxes they experienced, if any. The lady in the red dress seemed to get as much pleasure from randomly rubbing her sloppy sex in your face and covering you with her scent than she did from the times she let you target her tender spots. Your face was turning red, so miserly was she with letting you take in a breath of air. "Ohhhhh!" The woman said as she climaxed on your mouth and really creamed your face with her pungent sauce. After the spastic hip motions had subsided into a vague quiver, the woman got up from a position straddling your face. "Oh, dear, you did a great job, and because of that, and the fact that we've established that you're a little whore for cum, I'm going to give you a little treat." The woman said smoothing some stray locks of hair that had come loose from her bun in the throws of ecstasy. Then she spoke to the young naked man she had brought with her. "Boy, give her your cum." She commanded of the frat boy. Then she said for everyone else's benefit. "The boy hasn't been allowed to climax for three weeks." The frat boy was trembling from built up tension as he removed the ring from his cock and balls. He was lean and well-muscled, and had you not been exhausted your body would have responded immediately to the sight of him in such close proximity. He then took a position on his knees straddling your chest. "Open wide, dear." Leonard said speaking to you. It only took a few sloppy strokes for the frat boy to achieve release, so frustrated was he. Your mouth was open as instructed when the first shot hit with surprising accuracy given the distance from his cockhead to your mouth. Only half of the shot made it into your mouth, but that still created a creamy slug bigger than you thought any man could produce as it ran down your throat while the other half slid down your cheek. The other pulses went wide as the frat boy weakened and lost the capacity to target. Some of the cum landed on your face and hair, and the waning few shots landed on your neck and chest. It was not long after that that the party started to break up. Those who had wanted to use you, which had been most of the attendees, had, and were now ready to go home. Marlon was taking down the framed photos and putting them in black flat boxes for their new owners to take home- or wherever they would hang them. It was funny how insignificant that seemed now. The last two stragglers were a middle-aged man who was athletic and had a handsome, but weathered, face, and his tanned chubby girl. The man spoke to Leonard. "In lieu of something trite, like a bottle of wine, I thought a good gift might be my girl's mouth. I know how much you've enjoyed it in the past." He said with some sort of accent you did not precisely recognize, but that was guttural like German. With a delighted smile, Leonard said. "Would you mind if I but both the girls to work?" "You are a wise man, my friend." The man smiled as if acknowledging some inside joke. What he knew was that both you and the other girl were still both quite insecure and would be jealously competitive. Leonard was strategically setting himself up for an out-of-this-world blow job. You would not want to risk being outperformed because there was a lingering doubt that Leonard might lose interest in you, and trade you in for a girl who satisfied him better. The other girl would also be concerned that her own master might be displeased with her if she were to be out done. You would both ravenously compete to receive Leonard's load of cum in your mouths. You, on the verge of exhaustion from a night of being a communal fuck toy, summoned all your remaining energy to the task of letting Leonard know he had picked a good girl. Leonard stood and you each kneeled at his feet. Not to show favoritism, Leonard put a hand on each of your heads, hers dyed blond with a tightly coiled perm and your straight brunette cut. Your mouths started diametrically opposed on opposite sides of his shaft, and you sucked your way down his meat each vying to gain control of the most sensitive part of the underside of his shaft. Leonard used his hands, whose fingers had now curled into your hair, to make certain you shared his member fairly. He also sometimes backed you both off so that he could make the experience last a little longer. As you competed in close quarters for Leonard's long cock, some of the mixture of creamy cum and the clear viscous and pungent sauce from the two women rubbed off onto the other girl's tanned cherubic cheek. You got reinvigorated as you looked at Leonard's tight, flat, and bronze stomach with its subtle muscular clefts. By now he was letting out deep raspy moans as he took pleasure in your combined efforts. He alternated, letting each of you take him in your mouth and suck him off in turn. As he got caught up in the shear delight of the two chubby cheeked mouths pleasuring him, he allowed his inner animal to come out. Perhaps it was too much time spent as the repressed Spock. He let go of your hair and took the tan girl's head in both hands. As he pushed his cock into her mouth he stepped forward and rocked her back so that she was sitting on her calves, and then he pulled her head forward. Given his height this put him in a good position to throat fuck the girl. You were nervous, exhilarated, and envious at once. Leonard seemed uncharacteristically mean. The girl struggled to swallow so that she could take all him until her nose was nestled in his tightly curled patch of black pubic hair. The wet gagging and choking sounds were disconcerting, and part of you was glad it was not you. However, another part wanted it to be you so badly, because you wanted to be Leonard's sole source of satisfaction so that he would always need you. Little did you know that the skull fucking of the blond girl was all just a lesson for you, so that you would know how to take him deeply. After only five or so strokes, he pulled out of the other girl's face. She had tear-stained cheeks, wet ropy slobber coming out of her mouth, and was panting to catch her breath. He turned to you, and repeated what you had just seen him do to the other girl. Your unpracticed mouth could not swallow him at first. With great effort, you were eventually able to align your throat and swallow hard to take him into your throat with considerable assistance from his wiry arms forcing your head onto his cock. It was remarkable how long a stroke he could manage. It was not without pain, but, you reasoned, Leonard seemed quite pleased with you, and he kept skull fucking you several strokes longer than he had the other girl. You struggled to breathe- just to get enough air. He pulled out of your throat but not your mouth, and his tightened nuts shot a glob into your mouth. Because you were gasping for air, you aspirated some of the cum and began to cough violently. As the cock was extracted from your mouth, you leaned forward in a spasmodic coughing fit. "There, there. You did an outstanding job." Leonard was kneeling next to you rubbing your smooth fleshy back as your lungs tried to reject his cream. There was a thick strand of drool hanging out of your mouth to the floor. The maid, or catering crew, would need some additional compensation for the cleanup required of this room. In addition to the spittle, there were two small cum puddles over by the bench from the material that had overflowed your womb. With that the man took his girl by the hand, and they, the last of the guests, were walked to the door by Leonard and yourself. You willed the brief discussion between Leonard and the man to end quickly so you could get cleaned up and get some rest. You were sore, filthy, cum encrusted, and the scent of pussy on your face produce an aroma that made you feel particularly unclean. Leonard walked you hand-in-hand through the foyer, down the hall, and up the stairs back to the bedroom where the evening had begun. You walked, a little bow-legged, to the master bathroom and started the shower. Leonard stripped off his trousers and the odd long-tailed coat he had been wearing, and soon was naked. You opened the glass door to the shower, which by now had developed a good head of steam, and stepped aside to let Leonard enter first. He, however, insisted you go first. He also surprised you by picking up the showerhead. Normally, you washed him and then he left to let you wash yourself. This time he gently hosed you off, paying special attention to the cum that was globbed on your hair, face, inner thighs, and pussy. "You made me proud this evening. Your performance was excellent. I knew I made a good choice with you." Once a small patch of skin was sufficiently cleansed, he gave you a kiss on the forehead. He then let you wash his cock and balls, before exiting. You continued showering. You cleansed your face thoroughly, shampooed your hair twice, and scrubbed the tract from you pussy to your ass sphincter that was encrusted with drying cum. You could hear Leonard brushing his teeth, and then moving about in the bedroom. When, at last, you felt clean, you exited the shower to finish the remainder of the evening's hygienic ritual. By the time you entered the bedroom with a tilted head, toweling off your hair, Leonard was in the bed asleep. You crawled in next to him, curling up around his warm skin, and joined him in a peaceful slumber.