0 comments/ 10756 views/ 0 favorites Adventures in Gastropornography By: fastfugue When Flynn left the attic room and made his way down the narrow staircase, there had been nothing on his mind beyond the bathroom. The irritations of the evening had left him. He'd done what he said he'd do. Cooked the meal, for which he was being well paid, and first thing in the morning he would be back in his car and heading for home. No point brooding on Elena Hayley. The bathroom was a marble affair with a glass shower screen and the sort of chrome taps it would take a couple of Nubian slaves to turn. He idly looked at the jars of cream and soap, artfully arranged on the glass shelving, a ceramic bowl filled with sea shells. The room smelled of her, he realised. The perfume she wore. There was no sign that Charles Hayley, her husband, used this bathroom. Presumably he had a matching one somewhere filled with shaving gear and - judging by what little he'd heard of his conversation - cricket bats. They seemed an unlikely couple. She, young, attractive, intelligent. He, an overweight tweedy presence behind the wheel of the Range Rover. The money must be his, Flynn thought, though she was something in television and probably pulled her weight financially. Not for the first time he wondered what he could do with the kind of money the Hayleys had. A wave of resentment spread over him as he stood in the bright forensic light of the bathroom. He couldn't help feeling he'd been made a fool of. Elena and Charles Haley were regulars at the restaurant. A week ago she'd asked to be allowed back into the kitchen to meet him, an elegant figure in an evening dress with pencil straps. He'd been thickening a beurre blanc and as she stood at his shoulder chatting she'd leaned forward to look into the pan and he'd felt the weight of her breast against his upper arm. It was probably nothing. But when Charles had appeared a moment later, filling the kitchen with his bulk she'd swayed back a fraction breaking the contact. However absurd it seemed he couldn't shake off the idea there had been some kind of promise in that touch. It was this he realised, which had made him take the job. He had no need to trail out to country houses and cook for dinner parties. And yet no sooner had she sent word that she'd like to take him away for the weekend to entertain a few friends that he was scribbling her directions on a napkin and promising to be there for six. He'd been wrong about her, of course. Once he had unloaded the gear from the Volvo, and been shown to the kitchen, she began issuing instructions as if he had been merely another member of staff. She was pleasant enough, but distant and fully occupied with her guests once they had begun to arrive. The weight of her breast against his arm was a distant memory as he unpacked the vegetables and began to break asparagus spears with a sharp snap. And yet if that was all there had been to it - . Anyone can make a mistake. But Flynn wasn't entirely convinced he had been mistaken. At the end of the evening when he'd cleared away and was tasting the first illicit cigarette of the night outside the kitchen door, she found him again, a softer Elena this time, who seemed inclined to linger and talk. She'd been drinking, and when she left had leaned in to kiss him. Only instead of kissing him she'd darted her warm wet tongue playfuly over his cheek. And then she was gone, leaving him dizzy in the smell of her perfume, unsure of anything except the difficulty he was going to have in getting to sleep. Flynn looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. The nightcap had helped. But he was wide awake again now. It was going to be a long night. Back on the landing he could hear snoring. It was coming from the master bedroom at the top of the stairs. He paused for a moment by the door and listened. Despite the frustrations of the evening he felt a moment's sympathy for Elena Hayley. This wasn't a quiet rumble, the sound of someone grazing quietly in the fields of sleep. Great shuddering gasps were coming from the other side of the door. It sounded as if a machine was running somewhere in the room - a huge fleshy machine badly in need of a service. He pushed gently at the heavy panel and felt the door give under his hand. The noise was much louder now. Steady and laboured. It must be shaking the furniture, he thought. In the light from the landing he could see the huge mound shuddering on the far side of the bed. He might easily have left it at that. Returned to his attic and spent the next few hours dozing fitfully in the narrow bed. But the idea of violating the intimacy of the Hayley's bedroom after an evening spent scurrying around below stairs seemed too good a chance to pass up. Flynn took a step into the room and stood for a moment, protected by the noise, enjoying the sense of trespass. As his eyes grew acustomed to the poor light, he became aware of a second figure, on the near side of the bed, awake this time, looking up at him in the dark. Instinctively, he put his finger to his lips. She said nothing. Instead she closed her eyes. For a moment he wondered if she was asleep after all. She hadn't moved. Can people sleep with their eyes open? Or was he merely being dismissed as he had been earlier? Not even worth the effort of being told to get out. This time he felt no inclination to creep away like a servant. Why should he? Why, he hadn't even been asked forward to meet the guests and receive congratulations on the meal. And when one of the visitors - the Irish girl, with red hair, the looker - had found him clearing up , Elena had just laughed and made some remark about brawn in the kitchen. Well, damn you, Elena Hayley, he thought. Damn you. He moved a step closer to the bed. The light was poor but he could see her eyes were still shut. She lay on her back, one arm folded beside her on the pillow. He stood for a moment, looking down at her. She seemed wrapped in the warm vulnerability of sleep. He wondered if she was dreaming. He'd knew that in sleep a paralysis overtook you, so that when the mind wandered freely there was no danger you would act out the fantasies of the dreaming brain. Men had erections while they dreamed and women, they said, grew moist. Asleep or awake? He had no way of telling. Then, with the memory of her tongue burning his cheek, he reached out and took her hand. She offered no resistance. It came to him as easily as if the sinews had been cut. For a moment he held it in his own, dizzy with the sense of power his positon gave him over the sleeping woman. He took her index finger and uncurled it. Then lifted it to his lips and let them close round it. He heard a small intake of breath, felt the finger flex against his tongue. Her eyes were still shut. Was she playing dead? Hoping he might go? Well, if she was she would be disappointed. He knelt beside her, at the head of the bed, and let his hands run down the smooth skin of her arm to where it disappeared under the duvet. Her breathing was slightly laboured, her lips parted. He didn't kiss her. Instead, let his hand slide into the cavernous warmth of the bedding. She was wearing a nightshirt of some kind. A tee shirt? No. A woman like Elena wouldn't wear a tee shirt, even in bed, even with a man like Charles. He took the material and drew it gently towards him. But she was lying on it, trapping the fabric under her. He pulled harder. This time asleep or awake, she raised herself slightly from the bed, lifting her bottom clear of the sheets, so that the shirt could slide upwards. She still hadn't opened her eyes. Kneeling behind her head, taking his time, he reached forward and folded back the duvet. Then with both hands took the edge of the nightshirt and lifted it over her breasts, revealing them for the first time. He looked at her, lying there in the faint light leaking from the landing. She was beautiful. There was no doubt about that. Beside her the mound of flesh spluttered, shuddered and settled once more into it's regular noisy rhythm. The breasts under his hands were fuller than he'd expected - much fuller than he had imagined when she had leant against him in the kitchen. He felt the tips harden under his touch. Now he leaned forward and let his tongue bruise the nipple. Still she lay immobile, silent, only her body answering him as he moved to the other breast and took it into his mouth. Then he began to move lower, kissing the smooth underside of the breast and the crease where it met her belly. Now he had to set one knee on the pillow by her head as he worked, moving down, searching for the indentation of her navel. He dipped his tongue into the depression and heard her moan. He did everything as smoothly as he could, anxious to keep her in the warm langour of this twilight world between sleep and waking. His hands ran over her narrow waist to her pants. He hooked his thumbs into the flimsy cotton where it lifted at the hip bone. Once more she raised herself at once so he could slip them off. He felt her hands at his shorts, searching for him, taking him in both hands and folding her lips over him, taking his length into the velvet warmth of her mouth. Still he wouldn't be rushed. He ran the tip of his tongue over the inside of one thigh - then the other. Her legs parted as if he'd touched some secret catch. She opened to him, wanting him, wanting his tongue. He flicked lightly at the soft down and her parting lips. Tasted her. Then with culinary skill opened her up and at last drove his tongue deep between her moist folds. She arched to meet him, taking his weight, lifting him clear of the bed as he drove into her while she worked feverishly at him with her own lips. There was a spluttering beside them, a sudden explosive snort. And then silence. They froze. It was too late to try and move, to slide to the floor and make his escape. Besides even if he could get away, what Elena had been doing to him might just make him stay and take the consequences. The silence went on. Was Charles lying there beside them in the dark, staring at the ceiling? Would he decide to roll over and hump his wife before he drifted off once more? For a moment, neither of them dared breathe. And then, incredibly, as the silence spread around them, he felt her move, felt her lips move in long slow strokes along the length of him, and suddenly he didn't care any more what happened, didn't care if the whole house woke and found him drilling his tongue into the warm moist depths of the woman under him, trying to burst the ripe berry hidden in her folds. He sucked hard on her clitoris, firm as a haricot. Almost at once she began to come with long shuddering moans that shook the bed. He was with her now, beyond the point of no return, beyond caring, spurred by her own climax he came. He felt her swallow and continue working at him while her own orgasm faded, until, released at last, he lay heavily on top of her and tried to catch his breath. As if their own pleasure was the signal he'd been waiting for, the lump beside them began to snore. Flynn rolled sideways, out from under the duvet. And lay on the floor looking at the ceiling. A hand reached over the bed and trailed lazily along his thigh. For the first time since he arrived, he was happy. All was right with the world. It was time to go. He got to his feet, bent and kissed her and offered a whispered "Goodnight." "Goodnight," she whispered. As he opened the door and slipped out onto the landing his brain was racing. Something was wrong, something that upset the picture of his evening that had been forming in his head since he entered the room, something about the voice, the soft lilt of Ireland... And before he had time to assemble the pieces he collided with a figure on the landing. It was Elena Hayley. "How dare you?" She hissed. "In my house? I've been watching you. I've been watching since the moment you opened that door. I saw everything you've been doing in there!" Flynn's reaction was purely instinctive. When he thought about it afterwards he realised how lucky he had been. With time to think he would never have done it. Instead some primitive part of his brain understood something that might otherwise have escaped him, might have escaped them both and his left hand reached for Elena, hooked behind her neck and pulled her towards him. She tried to push him away but as he stepped forward to kiss her, his right hand reached inside the kimono and down between her legs. Despite the underwear he could feel she was wet. He started to push her backwards towards the stairs and somewhere between the door and the other side of the landing her struggles changed and had begun to answer him instead of fighting back. He backed her onto the stairs. She had begun to climb them in reverse, tearing at his back with her nails. They were half way up before he got into her. She came almost at once, holding on as if she was on the slopes of the Eiger and not a small back staircase. But fresh from his encounter in the room below Flynn wasn't ready yet. He pulled out of her and taking her hand helped her up the remaining stairs into the room. Elena Hayley wasn't going to get away that easily. Once through the door she collapsed onto the bed. "Look at me," he said. She turned towards him. Her breathing was beginning to return to normal. "I have to go -" she started to say. "Charles -" "Take off the kimono." There was a moment's silence. "Now look. That was very good but you must understand -" "Take off the kimono." He could hear her breathing. Neither of them moved. "Do it." "I really don't - " "Do it." Slowly, she reached for the tie at her waist. "You have no right -" "Now." The silk of the kimono fell open. She was wearing a camisole top. Matching briefs that he'd easily pushed aside on the stairs. "You've given me the run-around since the moment you came into my kitchen, Elena Hayley. But not any more. Now you're going to do exactly what you're told. Do you understand?" Silence. But she was listening. Something had changed in the room. There was a third presence conjoured out of his certainty, something that made it impossible for her to leave. "Say ‘Yes'." Her breathing was heavier now. "Say ‘Yes'." Very soft. "Yes." "Take off your top." She shook her head but did as she was told. "And the pants." "Please -" "Be quiet." She removed them carefully, threw them on the bed and waited. "Come here." She came towards him. Completely naked now. And stood in front of him looking defiantly into his eyes. "Kiss me." She leaned forward and as she did so he turned his head away. "Not there." She knelt in front of him, steading herself with a hand on each of his hips. And took him into her mouth. He wound his fingers into her hair, guiding her. Moving her head backwards and forwards, pushing himself deep into her throat. Then he pulled her head back so that she was forced to let him go and look up. He ran the index finger of his other hand from her brow, traced each eyebrow, then the length of her nose to her lips. He slid the finger into her mouth. Her lips closed obediently round it. "On the bed." She climbed to her feet, went back to the bed and lay down. "Turn over." She turned. "Kneel up." Again she did as she was told. He stood behind her. This time there would be no ambiguity. "Do you want me to fuck you?" He waited. "If you don't want me to fuck you, you can go now and that's the end of it. All you have to do is say. Do you want me to fuck you?" Still nothing. Flynn struck her a stinging blow across one buttock with the flat of his hand. It must have hurt. His hand was smarting. Elena Hayley cried out and spun round to face him. Her eyes registered disbelief and shock. "Turn round." Flynn's voice was steady. Calm. "Turn round and get on your knees. " He breathing was unsteady now. As if she'd just run a mile. "Turn round." Slowly Elena Hayley turned and lifted her backside into the air. Flynn ran his hand over her smarting buttock. "Do you want me to fuck you?" "Yes." Flynn hit her again. "Do you want me to fuck you?" "Yes please." This time he didn't wait. He took her as she kneeled on the bed, entering her from behind, driving into her, taking his own pleasure with no thought for hers. It was a surprise when she came again as he emptied himself into her. Flynn was up first in the morning. Packing his gear into the back of the Volvo before the rest of the house was awake. He had planned to get clear before anyone appeared. He could send the bill on. But as he closed the estate lid, and struggled with the sticking lock, Elena emerged from the house and came towards him. He hadn't made up his mind how to play this encounter if it happened and was happy to let her decide. He turned to face her with a smile. She met his look calmly. It was the Elena of the dinner party that spoke to him, not the Elena of his attic room. "Mr Flynn," she said. "I'm glad I caught you." She handed him an envelope. "The meal was outstanding," she said. "My husband asked me to say how grateful we all are for your efforts." "I'm glad you enjoyed it. If you ever need - " "Goodbye, Mr Flynn." And she turned on her heel and headed back towards the house. Flynn was at home when he opened the cheque. It was for twice the amount they'd agreed. Adventures in Gastropornography Ch. 2 It was Friday night. Flynn was assembling a steamed trout with walnut and anchovy sauce when he felt the thin arms slip round his waist. "Hello Flynn." He didn't look round at Michelle. Instead, he concentrated on what he was doing, wiping some stray drops of the copper coloured sauce from the rim of the plate. "Aren't you going to talk to me?" "After last time? Not a chance." Flynn tried not to think of the way she'd looked against the leather of his sofa. It didn't help. He reached for another trout. "Don't be so horrible, especially when I've come all the way down here just to see you." Lenny breezed into the kitchen. "Any more fish?" "Last two portions." "No more specials," he called back into the restaurant. "I assume you know you've got my wife wrapped round you, Flynn." "Yup." "Fine." And he turned and headed back through the open door. It was a week since she'd turned up at the flat. Flynn had got home late from the restaurant and slept through till mid morning. He still hadn't come round properly when Michelle appeared on his doorstep with an armful of shopping bags. It was Lenny's birthday, she announced and she wanted to show him his present. Flynn started to protest but Michelle just waved his objections aside. "You've known him longer than I have", she said, coming in without waiting to be asked. "He talks to you." Flynn didn't have the strength to argue. He poured himself another coffee and sank back on the sofa. Folding her long legs under her on the rug, Michelle rummaged in her bags and took out a box. It was the size of a small shoebox and covered in a purple satin material. When he removed the lid and the fragrant tissue paper and looked inside he found himself suddenly wide awake. "What do you think?" It took him a moment to make sense of what lay in the box.The cuffs were padded in two different grades of leather. Black on the outside, a softer tan on the inside where they would lie against the skin. There was a collar linked to the cuffs by a strip of thicker leather. He struggled to find something to say. "Expensive," he managed at last. "There were cheaper ones, all PVC and studs. Some people like that apparently, the shiny plastic. It's the smell I think. But I thought these looked better." "No, no - these look fine. Just fine." "And they've got a nice smell. Try." Flynn inhaled the scent of soft leather. Made approving noises. "So you think he'll like them?" Flynn looked at the cuffs. This was crazy. Michelle was crazy. "You don't seriously think Lenny is going to wear these?" She laughed. "Don't be silly. They're not for him. They're for me." The absurd image of Lenny's heavy frame trussed in the leather manacles and collar was abruptly succeded by another. Flynn felt a sudden lurch in the pit of his stomach. He almost missed what she said next. "I want you to help me try them on." Almost. But not quite. He played for time. "Me?" "You can't tie yourself up can you? That would be silly. Someone else has to do it." Flynn was beginning to wish he could start the morning again. He was having trouble keeping up. He made an effort. "Lenny is my boss for Christ's sake. I don't think that makes me the best candidate for fitting you with bondage gear." "Nonsense. Who else is going to do it, if not his best friend?" Best friend was pushing it a bit. Though she was right - they had known each other a long time. Whether this made tying Lenny's girlfriend up over breakfast acceptable behaviour, he couldn't say. But he had no time to figure it out. She had begun to unbutton her blouse. "Michelle -" "It's all right - ", she said, opening the shirt to reveal a body- hugging tube of lycra that almost reached the top of her black skirt. Though she might as well not have bothered. It was tight enough to show every pore on her skin. She slipped off the blouse, scrambled to her feet and sat on the arm of the sofa. Then turned her back. "There's a key in the box." Her back was beautiful. Michelle had always seemed to him painfully thin. She had an energy that seemed to burn up the flesh on her. Flynn preferred more curves on a woman. But now, in repose, the smoothness of her skin and the angled planes of her back seemed perfect. He had to resist the temptation to reach out and touch them. Flynn found the key and opened the necklace. She lifted her chin and let him adjust the fitting so that it lay close against her neck. All this time she hadn't stopped talking. He felt his mouth dry at the touch of the skin on her throat as she tilted her head to accomodate the leather band. He took first one arm, then the other and folded them behind her. Then fitted her slender wrists into the manacles and clicked them shut. The strap from the neck was short and held her arms pinned high on her back. "Comfy?" She smiled. "No. But that's the idea really. That you're trapped so the other person can do what he wants. It shouldn't be too comfortable." As he looked at Michelle, manacled and helpless on his sofa, the hollow feeling began to spread in his stomach. He had only to put out a hand - . But then another thought elbowed its way to the forefront of his brain. Flynn knew how hard it would be to get another job as good as the one at The Limetree. Particularly without references. Particularly with the sort of references that might get his legs broken. He wanted this over with now. "Here - I'll let you out." "Don't be silly. He might keep me like this for hours. I want to see what it's like." "Hours?" "It's all right. You carry on doing whatever you were doing. I'll tell you when to let me out." "Fine", said Flynn, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Fine." Flynn went back to the table, sat down and poured himself another cup of coffee. Five minutes before, the biggest decision he faced had been whether or not to have second piece of toast. Now he had a beautiful half-naked woman tied up on his sofa. She was beautiful, he had to admit it. He had no idea why he hadn't seen it before. Yes, she was thin, but her legs were good. Long and well-shaped, and made to look longer in the tiny black skirt. As she chatted away, perched on the arm of the sofa he could see a line of pale flesh at the top of one dark stocking. The way her arms were pinned back made her small breasts more prominent. The nipples were clearly outlined against the lycra. He'd never admired Lenny's choice in women. Certainly not Michelle. And yet here she was in his room and he couldn't take his eyes off her. Michelle talked as easily as she breathed. Now she was telling him how she'd got the idea for the cuffs, about a film they'd seen together - she and Lenny - where a woman was stripped naked and tied up in a cellar. "It was a club," she said. "They kept her blindfolded and the men could go down and do whatever they wanted to her. And these society women used to draw lots to take turns. I think it was in Germany. Anyway, somewhere with subtitiles -" Flynn wasn't listening. His mind was racing as he considered the possibilities. One. She really had come here to find out if he thought Lenny would like his present. No. That was absurd. Two. If it wasn't absurd and he was wrong, then surely she'd want to be let out now. Three, fuck she looked lovely. Four. He stopped at Four. Four would get him into trouble. "Stand up". He hadn't been aware he was going to speak. But Michelle broke off her rambling narrative about the film and climbed obediently to her feet. Now what? Michelle was looking at him. Why was she doing that? Why wasn't she talking? Michelle not talking made no sense at all. He had to do something. He put down his cup and walked towards her. It still wasn't too late. If she says something, I'll stop, he told himself. One word and I'll open the cuffs and send her packing. But Michelle, garrulous, animated Michelle stood looking at him and said nothing. He needed more time. But the need to touch her was greater. "Here. Want to see what you look like?" He took her by the shoulders and steered her across the room. Together they considered her reflection in the full-length mirror, Flynn looming at one shoulder. Flynn was studying her back again. The raised shoulder blades. Christ, he could get obsessed with these shoulders. One word. One word and he'd stop. "Not too tight?" She shook her head. "Sure?" Again the shake of the head. Fuck. That was it then. Flynn felt the job, the flat, his future - all of it - begin to drift off into space. He reached out a hand and traced the outline of one shoulder blade with a finger. In the mirror Michelle was watching him intently. "I don't think you should be doing that." One word, he'd said. Well that was more than one, that was a hatful. "Flynn." He lifted both hands to her shoulders. The bones under his hands felt frail as porcelain. They looked at each other in the glass. " I really don't think Lenny would like this." For a moment they stared at each other, imagining possibilities, weighing the consequences. "Fuck Lenny." Michelle's eyes were shining. He'd done his best. More than Lenny would have done for him, he was sure of that. More than anyone had a right to ask. Of course he had. Holding her eyes in the mirror he reached forward, took the edges of the lycra top and pulled down. Her shoulders lifted slightly as he uncovered her breasts. They were small, with dark brown nipples showing perfectly round against the olive skin. Still watching her face carefully he reached forward and cupped one breast in each hand. The nipples were already firm when he grazed them with his thumb. Again that lift of the shoulders as he worked the hardening flesh. Holding her gaze in the mirror, he dipped his head and tasted the skin below the collar under one ear, took a fold between his teeth and bit . Michelle moaned and pushed harder against his hands. Flynn traced the line of her shoulders once more sliding his palms down the slender arms pinned behind her. He moved lower over her hips to the black skirt. Like the top, the short skirt was made of a stretchy material that clung to her, outlining the shape of her thighs and buttocks. He took the hem between his fingers. "Oh, Christ, Flynn." Very slowly, he peeled the material back, revealing her legs and thighs, the elastic support of her stockings and the line of pale flesh against the black nylon. In the mirror the rolled top and skirt looked like more restraints imprisoning her. She was breathing harder now. Flynn's hands were tracing the outline of her bottom through the sheer pants. Black, like her stockings, and cut high at the hip. He slipped a finger into the cleft where her buttocks began and drew them downwards. The pants came away and stuck on her thighs. He didn't remove them. Instead his hand returned to the cleft and followed the crease once more. As he reached down her legs parted. She gasped as his finger slid into her and pressed upwards into her moist interior. As he withdrew the finger he maintained the pressure, trailing a dewey path up between her buttocks and onto her back. As Flynn moved to the side, she leaned to kiss him. He felt her hot tongue flick into his mouth as he ran his other hand down over her belly and brushed the mound of her thatch. He could feel how wet she was. By now the other hand was retracing it's path between her buttocks, sliding round the sweet curve of her bottom. His fingers went into her together, one from the front, one behind, met deep inside her, and began to move in a slow circular motion, like two spirals unfurling. Then, slowly, drawing his hands apart, he came out of her. As he moved upwards one finger found the bud of her clitoris, the other her anal whorl. He repeated the circular motion, changed direction, moved back down into the moist folds. Over and over. Michelle had begun to squirm under his hands, pressing her hip against him, rubbing against the erection that was straining at his jeans. Flynn removed her pants. Then manouvered her so that she could watch him in the mirror and went down on his knees. He let his tongue trace the crease at the top of each thigh, then flicked lightly at her parting lips before letting it slide into the pink interior. The thighs under his hands began to tremble as he worked at her with his tongue. She started making a strange bleating sound. Flynn backed off at once. Standing up, he took her shoulders in both hands and kissed her, forcing his tongue into her mouth. He steered her roughly across the room and pushed her down onto the sofa. Then pulled open her legs and kneeling in front of her freed himself from his tight jeans. He lay the length of his cock along her labial folds and moved it slowly backwards and forwards in the juices that were leaking from her. At first she gasped and shivered at the touch. But soon she was writhing under him, twisting and turning, trying to increase the pressure on her clitoris, desperate for the orgasm that would bring her relief. But Flynn wouldn't be rushed. With his hands splayed on the top of her thighs he spread her lips with his thumbs, bent and kissed her, then lodged the head of his cock where his lips had been. She pushed hard at him trying to impale herself on his length but again he moved back. "For fuck's sake, Flynn - do it - please!" Again she lunged, again he moved away. Beside the sofa was a half bottle of Famous Grouse left over from the night before. Holding her down with his palm on the flat of her belly, her lips tugging at the head of his cock, he reached for the bottle and twisted off the cap. He took a mouthful of the whisky, then siezing the rolled top drew her towards him, lifting her until she was half lying, half sitting, her face inches from his own. He brought her closer and as she opened her mouth to the kiss he drove the whisky into her throat. She hadn't expected the fierce spurt of liquid. She spluttered and swallowed but a good deal of it spilled out and ran down her chin onto her breasts. By the time she'd recovered his lips were back and a second stream of burning liquid fired into her mouth. She was ready this time, swallowed, and came up gasping for breath. "No Flynn - no more - please - " Flynn fired a third mouthful of whisky between her lips, this time pulling her onto him as he did so, sliding all the way in. At once she began to come with little bleating cries. Michelle's head went back and she arched to meet him. Flynn lowered her to the leather and massaged her glistening breasts, thrusting into her, driving her against the cushions of the backrest . He could do anything with her now. He withdrew and forced her slim legs high in the air, revealing the curve of her buttocks and the coral puckered whorl of her anus. He lodged the swollen head of his cock at the depression, wet with her juices, and eased forwards. She tightened at the touch of him. Flynn let one leg go and slid two fingers into the wet folds of her cleft and worked his thumb at her clitoris. At once she pushed onto his hand, unclenching her buttocks as she did so. He leaned into her again and felt the tip go in. He paused to smear more of her juices onto his shaft, then slid his fingers back between her lips and leaned harder. This time he went all the way into her. Her piping cries stopped and she began to make a low gutteral sound deep in her throat, as he filled her and began to move backwards and forwards. She was open now, and well lubricated and he could slide the length of him in and out with ease. Still he worked at her with his hand. Through the wall of her vagina he could feel his own flesh moving in her. Her first orgasm had been no more than a prelude to what followed, she came in a long continuous spasm that shuddered through her body. Flynn felt himself drive into her and come as he rode the waves of her climax that lifted her from the sofa. Which was why he didn't hear the door, or the woman come into the room. "They work then." Flynn spun round. "What the ..?" "The cuffs. They work. " The girl was like a darker version of Michelle. All arms and legs, with a wide sensual mouth that was grinning at them. She didn't seem the least put out by the scene in front of her. Michelle had found her voice. "This is Jenny. I told her to come and get me if I was away too long." "Tea anyone?" said Jenny, rescuing the kettle from the clutter on the table and taking it to the sink. In no time at all, Michelle was out of the cuffs, dressed and ready to go. Flynn was sitting on the floor. She dipped down to kiss him. "Sorry, Flynn. But it's Lenny's really. Bye." She paused at the door. "You won't say anything to him about his present, will you? I want it to be a surprise." Back in the restaurant, Michelle had released him and was tasting his sauce with her finger. "Haven't you got anything better to do?" "Not really. I'm here with Jenny. Girls night out." "I thought you said you came to see me." "That too. Someone at the gallery asked if you do weekend parties. I said I'd ask." "No." "You did one a couple of weeks ago. You stayed the night." "Well I don't any more." "Fine. I said I'd ask and I've asked. Here's her number if you change your mind." And she slipped a piece of paper into the top pocket of his whites. "By the way", she said as she left. "You were right about the present. He loved it."