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Indulgence

By: Abelard7



The jam started before I even reached the motorway. There was no turning back; I had been fined for reversing off the slip road on a previous occasion. I turned the radio on to hear that; "We are getting reports of an accident on the M60 clockwise." I should have turned it on earlier, but the alternative routes were through the outskirts of the city, I would have to sit it out. The broadcast moved on to the usual banal mix of banter and pop. I switched to CD. Another mistake, the whole thing went off, no display, nothing. An inauspicious start to my 'Indulgence break.'

My divorce had become final at midnight. I was single again. I had booked two nights in a five star hotel in a town about 50 miles away. A luxury department store had just opened a branch there, that was phase one of my indulgence break; some retail therapy. Phase two? I intended to get myself well and truly fucked.

No progress. No music to distract me. A police car, blues and twos at full bore, nudged its way past on the hard shoulder. I shuddered slightly; it reminded me of the circumstances that had brought me here.

My marriage had lasted two years, including the five-month wait for the divorce. I was completely smitten by the man I married and it was good while it lasted. We were both sexually active and experienced when we met, but it was lust at first sight for both of us, we could not get enough of each other, time spent away from each other was unbearable. Marriage had been his idea and I had agreed. We were both well paid, so we could buy a good house in a good suburb, the sex was spectacular. What could go wrong? 

Two things marred our otherwise perfect life together, one of them I will come back to. The other? Ben (my ex) was subject to unpredictable spells of depression when things did not go to plan. His plan.

The way he found to overcome the moods was both exciting and dangerous; he would take me to pubs and clubs known for trouble, having encouraged me to dress provocatively; low cut dresses that threatened to spill tit, or deeply plunging necklines, or if the dress had a high neck, no bra, so that my nipples were on show. I had to be 'on show' below the waist too; very short skirts that showed the tops of my stockings when I sat.

I enjoyed being on display, it was the reverse of how I behaved in my job, a paragon of business-suited efficiency. But if another man did anything other than look, Ben would confront him, leading to some nasty, and unnecessary, incidents. Ben always 'won' these duels. He would be so pumped up that he seemed to radiate evil. A sensitive opponent soon backed down, less sensitive ones usually retreated bloody. These primitive encounters not only restored his self-confidence, but also resulted in a surge of his male hormones, ending in me being fucked vigorously and repeatedly when we got home. In this condition, Ben could come two or three times in rapid succession. I was not about to complain about that, our fucking was normally gentle and loving, but I soon found that I liked it rough now and again.

It was obvious to me that Ben would eventually meet his match. And if I was the prize... Salvation came in the form of his boss, Derek. Derek owned the prestige car dealership where Ben was head salesman. We were invited to a party at Derek's house. Not a special occasion, just drinks and conversation with friends. Derek's friends. And their wives. Six couples in all. Not knowing what to expect, Ben wore a suit but no tie, and I wore a pretty, but non-revealing, cocktail dress. The suit was the right choice, but not the dress. Far too sober. The other women wore clothes that would get them arrested if worn in public; either see-through or revealing by the way they were draped. Mine was the only bra in the room, and probably the only knickers. As the evening wore on and the alcohol took hold, things became flirty, but nothing more.

Before we left for home, it was agreed that we should repeat the experience, this time at a different house, in about a month's time. We discussed the event in the taxi home, agreeing that we would opt out if there was any suggestion of it becoming a partner-swapping event. Ben came home from work the following Monday, with the news that the hosts for the next party had decided that it should be fancy dress, or more correctly, 'themed'. The theme chosen was 'Forties'.

Rather than hire fancy dress, Ben and I decided that we would try to find genuine forties clothes. It would be more fun that way. We were soon reminded that for most of the forties, clothing was rationed, so if we insisted on keeping true to the period, our garb would be drab to say the least. Ben found a Royal Air Force uniform in excellent condition, complete with underwear. But I struggled. My vision was something like Rachel in 'Blade Runner', probably inaccurate, but very sexy. I eventually found the dress, black, pencil skirted and with padded shoulders. Genuine undies were just as unavailable. I had to settle for 'in the style of.' Silk cami-knickers in bright red. Gorgeous! I even had my hair done 'Rachel style'.

As we dressed for the party, and feeling horny, I showed Ben that the crotch of the pants was closed by press-studs, for easy access.

"No need," he said, "I could fuck you up the leg of them."

A nod is as good as a wink, as they say. Our first fuck of the evening was against the bedroom wall, with one of my legs raised and hooked over his hip while he rooted deep into my dripping cunt up the wide leg of the garment. Echoes of Blade Runner!

At the party, it turned out that dressing up was an excuse for inhibitions to be discarded, and couples started to get amorous. Between partners - there was no suggestion of swapping. Our host for that evening, Alan, had already declared that the bedrooms were available, should we feel the need. Nick and Gemma, another couple, obviously felt the need. We did not see them slip away, but the rhythmic creaking of the bed in the room above, closely followed by their orgasmic cries, needed no explaining.

They returned looking slightly guilty. Derek, a rather brash man, asked loudly;

"Did you enjoy that?"

Someone else said; "We all did!"

"We will sell tickets next time," retorted Gemma defensively.

Derek said that he would hold her to that, someone else offered to buy tickets in advance. It all added to the general, uninhibited horniness of the event. And we were all just a bit tipsy by then.

By the time we got home I was gagging for it. And Ben did not disappoint. We did not make it to the bedroom, or even upstairs. He fucked me from behind on the stairs. This time with the poppers undone. And twice more when we did get to the bed!

The parties became a much safer substitute for the bar brawls; Ben could show me off in safety. I was younger and according to Ben, significantly more attractive than the other wives. Ben was the winner just by 'owning' the most desirable partner. The depressions stopped.

The themes became more adventurous, costumes became skimpier and eventually, during a 'roaring twenties' party, one of the men pulled up his partners skirt and fucked her from behind in full view of all the guests. Nobody objected. Things had simply escalated.

We expected that the next party would be rather wild, and we were right. The theme was ancient Rome. Ben went as a senator and I was a serving wench. My tunic could be adjusted to leave one breast exposed, but I was to keep it hidden unless any of the other women showed theirs. Of course they did. There was more tit on display than at a strip club. Jill, Derek's partner, came as Cleopatra. Cleo of course is reputed to have spent much of the time topless. Jill was true to the legend, her fine, full breasts fully on display.

Late in the evening, Derek, in the guise of Mark Anthony in full armour, and who was well drunk by then, said loudly;

"You all know that Cleopatra liked to show off her tits, but did you know that she was famous for sucking cocks?"

He lifted the skirt of his tunic, revealing a long, thin, very erect one. Turning to Jill, he said;

"Get sucking."

The room fell silent. Jill shook her head. Derek grabbed her wrist and said;

"Suck it, or I'll find someone who will."

He forced her to her knees in front of him, wound his hand in her hair and pulled her face to his stalk. Jill had little choice; she took him into her mouth and sucked. Derek held her head in both hands and pulled her back and forth on his cock. When he came, he pulled her away by her hair and spat his generous load into her face.

With spunk dripping down onto her bare tits, Jill stood up and hurried out of the room. If Jill had been willing, it might have been erotic. As it was, it was just embarrassing. Someone broke the tension by quipping;

"That was a bit of a blow."

There were a few sniggers, but the party was over.

We talked it over in the taxi, agreeing that Derek had gone too far. Ben said that we would see what happened next, Derek had been roaring drunk after all.

What happened next was that the following day, Jill walked. Would that mean an end to the parties? Derek insisted not. The next party would be at his house and he would find a replacement for Jill. No problem.

It was a bondage party. We discussed for a long time whether we should bow out, but Ben pointed out that Derek was still his boss and that refusal could well jeopardise a very good job. We agreed to go. I wore just a cupless leather basque, which supported black seamed stockings, a leather mask and a minute thong. A leather collar completed the outfit. Ben wore a mediaeval torturers outfit and held a dog lead attached to my collar. Word had gone round that Derek's 'replacement' was in fact, a professional, paid to do anything that Derek wanted.

Things went normally to begin with, the costumes were amazing, like a sale at a fetish shop. Once again, late in the evening and fuelled by booze, Derek took centre stage.

"Marylyn will now demonstrate how a sex slave is supposed to behave."

Marylyn was his 'date'. He had chosen well, she was quite stunning. In her twenties, tall and spectacularly proportioned. She wore a bondage harness; an affair of metal rings and leather straps, strategically placed to conceal nothing. Some of the other females wore similar, all had large metal rings through which their breasts protruded, but Marylyn's was skimpier, with very thin straps, and whereas the other women all wore some kind of knickers, however brief, Marylyn wore none, her shaven mound on view to all, outer lips pouting when she parted her legs, which she did often. I suspect that most of the men in the room, and some of the women too, would have changed places with Derek, whatever Marylyn had cost.

During the evening she had mixed with the other guests, circulating, flirting outrageously and pushing her big, firm tits against both men and women, even contriving to brush nipples with some. Ben had kept my lead very short. Now she knelt before Derek, untied the tiny black leather loincloth that just about concealed his equipment, and went to work with her skilful mouth. Derek's cock expanded to fill her mouth. Unlike Derek's 'mouth rape' of Jill, this was erotic. It was consensual and she was an expert.

She did not make him come with her mouth; she released him, rolled a condom onto his straining tool with her mouth, and deftly rolled it down his shaft with her fingers. Where she had been hiding the sheath remains a mystery, certainly there were no pockets in her costume.

Still on her knees, she shuffled round and moved into the all fours position, head down, offering her shapely arse for our inspection and Derek's pleasure. Derek also knelt and brought his face close to her fundament, sniffing it like a dog before pushing out his tongue and brushing it up her crack, from clit to anus. He moved forward and Marylyn reached back to take his prick and guide it to her entrance. Derek slowly slid full length into her. There were several groans from the entranced audience.

He fucked her with long, slow strokes, withdrawing almost completely so that his shining shaft was repeatedly on view. A demonstration fuck. Suddenly he stopped, embedded deep inside his paramour. I thought that he had come. But he reached between their conjoined bodies and, holding the condom in place to stop it from coming off, slowly pulled out of her. He had not come. He was just changing lanes. He lodged his knob at the puckered ring of Marylyn's anus and pushed in. Marylyn gasped at the intrusion as her insides adjusted, but made no objection. Clearly, this had all been agreed previously. It really was a show fuck.

This was what was missing from Ben's and my sex life; I like it up the bum.

When I was single and playing the field, I had developed a liking for it. I don't understand why, but it gave me the most intense pleasure, although I had never achieved orgasm this way, either it was not possible, or my sodomisers did not have the skill. With simultaneous clit stimulation however, I would come like an avalanche. Derek had never suggested this variation and it seemed wrong for me to demand it, our life together was matchless. I could live without it.

But the sight of Marylyn being penetrated in this way made my knees buckle. I gushed juice into my already wet knickers. Ben's arm tightened around my waist; surely he must have been aroused by the act? I dragged my attention away from the rutting couple and looked at the audience. Every eye was on the performance. And I was not the only one to be very aroused, several of the others were having to adjust their clothing, either to shift a rigid prick into a more comfortable position, or to peel a wet gusset from a copiously juicing slit, according to gender.

Derek buggered Marylyn vigorously, hard and fast. Her tits bounced wildly to his pounding, she gave a little yelp at each brutal upthrust. There was no mistaking when Derek did come, he roared triumphantly as he pumped his load into the condom. Again he held the rubber in place as he pulled out, softened already, the end of the cum-filled condom drooping from his tip. Marylyn retrieved it, using a tissue. Again, where from?

Ben gave my lead a tug and murmured; "Time to go."

Ben was silent for the taxi ride home, hopefully because he was aroused as I was. I wasn't just hot, I was on fire. With the sort of heat that could only be doused in one way; I needed cock. In my mouth, in my cunt, but most of all, in my arse. Tonight I would ask for it, beg, if I had to. I wanted to be buggered hard, as Marylyn had been.

When we at last got to bed, I started on Ben's lovely prick with my mouth, knowing that he would let me know when he was about to come. He always did, even though he knew that I liked him to fill my mouth with his spunk. When he warned me of his impending climax, I released him and crawled up his firm body. Putting my lips to his ear, I dropped my bombshell:

"Fuck me in the arse."

I dropped the bomb, he exploded it. It took several seconds for my demand to sink in, then he erupted; what I had asked for was disgusting, unnatural, and immoral. It was what queers did. Sodomites should be flogged. He stormed from the room, slamming the door. I had not expected that. In my experience men jumped at the opportunity to use the road less travelled.

He spent the night in the spare room and left the house early next morning. I was woken by the sound of his car leaving. He returned very late and headed straight to the spare room without speaking. The next day he again left early, without a word.

It was a bank holiday, but he was on duty at the showroom anyway. I spent another day alone and worrying. I would apologise, tell him that I had been drunk; I did not really want anal sex. He came home early, carrying a large paper bag. He kissed me lightly on the mouth. From the bag he took a box, handed it to me and said;

"Put this on and come to the garage."

The box contained a harness similar to the one Marylyn had worn. A little frisson ran through me, but he had kissed me!

It was a Judas kiss.

I went to the bedroom and inspected the garment, then put it on. It was like wearing a net. I put on my highest heels and went downstairs. Why the garage? The house had a large double garage that had never been used. Lazily, we always left our cars on the driveway. I think that apart from when we had viewed the house, this was the first time that I had been in it, garages are men-caves. There was a door from the house into the garage, what the estate agent had called; 'The personal door', as opposed to the car door. Ben was waiting, wearing the fancy dress torturer's outfit. He nodded his approval, then told me to hold out both my hands. He snapped handcuffs onto my wrists. That frisson again. He pulled me to the centre of the room and raised my cuffed hands above my head and over a hook in the ceiling. He took another device from the brown bag, a spreader bar, and quickly fastened it to my ankles, roughly pulling my legs apart. Now I was almost hanging from the hook, just able to support some of my weight on my feet. Next, he produced a ball-gag and fitted it to my face. Finally, he drew out a short leather whip. A riding crop. He stood before me and slapped the whip onto the palm of his hand a couple of times, then swished it through the air, testing it. Now I was scared.

He walked behind me and without warning, the whip slashed across my near naked backside. I screamed into the gag. More lashes followed, on my buttocks, my thighs and my back, becoming more vicious with each blow. He moved to the front. No, surely not my tits? He started at my thighs and worked his way up, sparing nothing, saving his most savage blows for my sensitive tits. My body was burning with pain, tears streamed from my eyes and I screamed continuously, silently into the gag.

Exhausted, Ben eventually threw the whip into a corner. Despite the pain and my abhorrence of what he had just done to me, I was running with juice. I desperately needed cock. Any cock. Any except his that is. He pulled off his costume and stood in front of me, his cock rigid, he brandished it saying;

"Is this what you want? Do you want it up the arse, bitch?"

He moved behind me again and roughly pushed two fingers into my cunt.

"You're sopping! You like it you slut." he growled.

He drew out the fingers and pushed one up my arse, causing me to scream again. I was dry there. He pushed up against me, his length was hard against my buttock cleft. He stooped and I felt his tip press against my underside, searching for a hole.

"Not in my arse," I screamed into the gag, "I'm too dry."

He would tear me apart if he entered me there. I felt his fingers guide himself to his target, then he was up my cunt hard, in one brutal thrust. He reached around and grasped my already painful tits, squeezing them hard. He put his mouth to my ear and said quietly;

"You'll take it in the cunt where it belongs, if you want cock up your arse, go and find another."

And with that he started to fuck me hard, hanging on to my tits all the time, ramming relentlessly into me until he came, pumping cum into me with several wild thrusts.

He pulled out immediately and left the room, turning out the lights as he left. The door slammed behind him. Alone in the dark, I felt very exposed. I was helpless. I felt our combined juices run down the inside of one leg. I waited, expecting him to return and release me. I was horrified when I heard his car drive away, tyres screeching.

Hanging from my restraints, hurting all over, cold now, I thought about how I could escape. I could not reach high enough to unhook the 'cuffs, but the spreader bar was strapped to my ankles using Velcro. Strong, but less so than the metal handcuff chain. It was my only hope. I performed what must have looked like star jumps, if anybody had been watching, each time pushing my legs either out or in against the straps. I wore the skin off both ankles, but eventually one strap gave. Now I could reach high enough to unhook myself. I tore out the gag and removed the spreader from the other leg. I was untethered but far from free, there were still the handcuffs. I found the light switch by groping, the door to the house had locked as it closed and I had no clue how to open the electric garage door from the inside. Naked and helpless, I would have to get help from outside.


Indulgence



I banged on the door for ages, calling out all the time. Eventually, I heard a voice outside. It was my next-door neighbours, who had heard the racket. They were both in their seventies, how would they react to the sight of a nude, bound sex-slave? Heart attacks perhaps? The man told me how to release the door from the inside. I found the button and sighed with relief as the door slowly motored up,

"Good God!" Was the last thing I heard before I fainted.

When I came round, I was cradled in the arms of my neighbour, who was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. His wife had covered me with a blanket, fetched from their house. She had called for an ambulance. The police arrived first. As I stood, the blanket fell away. The older of the two cops released a string of oaths. The younger of the two just gawped, eyes like saucers, getting his fill of my somewhat soiled charms.

"Who did this to you?" The older one demanded.

The paramedics arrived before I could answer. They put me onto one of those wheeled stretcher things, swathed in red blankets and with an oxygen mask! The handcuffs were a problem. They discussed calling the fire brigade to cut them off, but the older copper thought that they might be genuine police handcuffs, of the now obsolete design. He sent his partner to the police station, where he was sure they had a key. He travelled in the ambulance with me and took details of my 'assailant' as we went. He was very angry that I should have been treated this way. So was I!

Released from the 'cuffs, and the leather straps of my harness, I was thoroughly examined. The whipping had not broken my skin; the worst damage was the chafing to my ankles. And I had done that myself. But they would keep me in overnight, who would I like to call? I called Sally, a colleague. I was reluctant to call my parents, for obvious reasons. Besides, they lived two hour's drive away.

The police returned to say that Ben had already been picked up. He had gone off the road and rolled the car. He was here! In the same hospital! The police assured me that he would not get anywhere near me.

"Is he hurt? I enquired.

"Nothing serious," replied senior cop, "but he's a bit beaten up."

He grinned and rubbed his right fist, leaving me in no doubt about what he meant.

Sally arrived. The cops went to sign off their shift, but returned, off duty, and the three of them took turns to sit at my bedside all night. The next day, they accompanied me to the house to clear out my things. I moved into Sally's spare room.

The solicitor that I engaged for the divorce was an old hand. With the police reports, (I had refused to press charges.) she thought that she could;

"Serve him up with fava beans." But, she went on, "his solicitor is very good and very devious, they will probably have you watched. If they find anything in your behaviour to be able to contest, they will. So I suggest that you behave like Mother Theresa for now, that includes seeing other men. Keep it in your drawers until it's all over."

That was not a problem. I was a bit off men. Or so I thought, but I soon found myself masturbating several times a day; I had grown to need regular sex. I had rescued my vibrator from the house, but the vibe' was past it's sell by date. The motor packed up ages ago. It was hard plastic, too hard; a real cock is soft even when it's hard, if you see what I mean. I did not like the feel of it inside my cunt; I had mainly used it to keep the other, unused hole open just in case. I would update, go High-Tech.

I had great fun on the web, but the choice was overwhelming. It turned out that there was a newly opened sex shop quite close to my place of work, who claimed to be female friendly, with trained assistants, both male and female. Feeling very self-conscious, I walked past several times, before pretended that I was just walking by and popping in at the last moment. It was just fine. An attractive young female assistant asked if she could help. I swallowed hard and told her what I was looking for. She took me to a counter away from the main body of the shop. She claimed to have tried most of the toys.

"It's a tough job," she quipped, "but someone has to do it."

I felt quite at ease with her, she was fun to be with. Her hard work paid off, I bought three. One was non-motorised, a dildo, a big one. Enormous really. Made from silicon rubber with a real-feel. About eight inches long, seven of them 'insertable', massive balls and very, very thick. I doubted that I could accommodate it, but Sharon, the assistant, who was slim and petite, assured me that she could, and did regularly, I would soon get used to it. Toy two was a thinner offering, but could be made to work several ways; rotate, thrust or just vibrate. Number three was designed for anal use, much thinner.

"Try two of them together," suggested Sharon, "but make sure that you are alone in the house!"

I paid and left, first checking that the coast was clear.

They certainly got some use. I explored anal masturbation and found that I could make myself come just by using a toy up my bum. The first time that it happened I was not expecting it and I yelled so loudly that Sally came and knocked on my door to see if I was alright. I told her that I had bruised my leg. I was lying on my side, feeling shell-shocked, with hardly the strength to remove the insistently buzzing toy from my hole. I had been on my knees, head down, bum up, hand between my legs rooting around with the thing on vibrate. I did not dare try to repeat the experience there and then, but when I was alone in the flat... There was a sweet spot; if I found it I could induce incredibly powerful and exhausting whole-body orgasms. Not all orgasms are equal, sometimes I make myself come for relief, pleasant but more like the pleasure I get from peeing. Sometimes it is stronger, the jerking, squealing type of come. Then there is what I call the whole body orgasm, which just seems to go on and on, and leaves me feeling wrecked. This was the type that my bum-vibe gave me. I did not do it often; it was so good it just had to be bad.

The fact is that, far from being off men, the opposite was true. There is no substitute. Sally tried to persuade me that there is a substitute. She is an enthusiastic lesbian.

"I can do to you things that no man can." She claimed.

I had no desire to try, but I was intrigued. One evening in, and halfway down our second bottle of wine, I asked her what lezzies did.

"There is a lot of kissing and touching, oral, sixty-nine," she explained, "mutual masturbation, either of each other or of yourself, but together..."

I interrupted. "All of those I can do with a man, what about the things that you say a man can't do?"

"Well," she explained, "there's what I like to call 'tit on clit', where you masturbate your partner just using a nipple. When she comes, you can push your tit into or against her cunt. It's nice whether you're giving or getting. Or the ultimate; tribbing. A corruption of a word that the Victorians used; tribadism; girl on girl fucking; you rub your cunt against another."

I screwed my face up and looked down at my own crotch, "How could that work?" I asked.

"You need to be flexible, but it's worth the effort. You must have had a man try to cover your entire vulva with his mouth?" I squirmed and nodded. "It's not normally possible, mouth too small or cunt too large, but another cunt does the job, two big toothless mouths kissing to orgasm."

I was getting horny at the thought, I changed the subject. "What about strap-ons?" I asked.

Sally laughed. "No-o," she said, "that's a male vision of lesbianism. I have never worn one, nor had one used on me."

"Don't you like penetration?

"Yes, but not with a lump of plastic. If I yearn for cock, I go out and find a real one."

"On a man?"

"They do tend to come attached."

I was gobsmacked. I had known Sally for three years and there had never been the slightest suggestion of swinging both ways. I needed to know more.

"I call it an indulgence. I dress up in man-magnet clothes and sit at the bar of one of the posh hotels, among the rental-girls. Anyone who picks me gets a freebie, apart from buying me a drink or two. I get what I want, he gets what he wants, everybody's happy."

"Why don't you charge them, just to cover expenses?"

"Because charging a fee would give them the advantage, and because I don't provide a full service in the way that the other girls do. What they get is a no-frills fuck, no pretence, no play-acting. They might get a bit of a suck to bring them up to strength, but no suck-offs, I make them wear an extra strength condom, which I supply. That's as close as I want to get to their horrid spunk. It costs them no more than half an hour of their time and a few drops of bodily fluid. They can go back to the bar for seconds if they choose to. I do sometimes, if my first pick disappoints."

I was truly speechless. I went to bed on wine-wobbly legs, with lots of new information to digest: How could Sally not like spunk? I am the opposite; the sex act would not be complete without the cumshot. Even if it is fired inside me I know that it happens, but I like to see it shoot, I like it on my body, especially my tits. And I love to slurp it down my throat. My mind moved on to girl-on-girl sex, I had been getting quite uncomfortable as Sally described it, so lovingly.

I slipped a finger between the swollen, slippery lips of my slit. No toys tonight, just my own fingers. I climaxed to the naughty thought of other swollen, slippery lips sliding over mine in the race to orgasm. Before I fell asleep, I realised how I would break my six-month long celibacy: I would have an indulgence. With a man of course.

So here I was; horny, newly single/very available, and stuck in traffic. Instead of taking an hour, the journey took three. It started raining on the way. Even when I got to the hotel I had to queue behind a squadron of taxis delivering other guests. By the time I stopped outside the impressive front door, I was hungry, thirsty, sweaty and ratty.

The uniformed doorman held the car door for me, doffing his hat, welcoming me to the hotel. My travel weariness seemed to drain away.

"Are you staying with us Miss?

I nodded. Another flunky removed my bags from the boot and offered to carry them. A third asked for my car key, saying that he would place it in the hotel garage and return the key to me. Three men, just for me. Now there's a thought...

By the time I had booked in, the car keys were back with me, along with a little numbered disc indicating where my car could be found. Flunky number two carried my bags to my large, luxurious room. I made myself a cup of tea and considered my options. Plan 'A' had been to hit the shops as soon as I was settled, but it was late-lunchtime and I needed food. By the time room service delivered and I had finished eating and unpacking, it was mid-afternoon. There was no Plan 'B'. I decided to get my money's worth and make use of the hotel facilities. The shops would be open tomorrow.

I worked out in the gym, swam in the pool, had a massage and had my hair done. Refreshed, I put on what Sally had called a man-magnet dress, and my sexiest underwear, completing the ensemble with four inch high heels. Had plan 'A' worked, all of these things would have been new, but these would do. I was hoping to take them off again before long.

The dining room was packed. Almost entirely with middle-aged men, at eight-seater tables. One or two assessed me before returning to their conversations. I was rescued by the Maître D'. He certainly noticed me. As he settled me at a corner table bearing my room number, I asked him what was going on.

"A convention of accountants," he smiled sympathetically, "they will be gone tomorrow."

But I wanted a man tonight, and from the snippets of conversation about PowerPoint and paid up capital, there was nothing suitable. I finished my meal quickly and headed for the bar. Surely the type of business that I was looking for, took place there?

There was no bar. Not the high-stool type anyway. There were seats all around, banquette style. Service was waiter-only. There were one or two of what appeared to be professional girls, stocking tops and cleavage showing, but none were scoring. Talk here was of recapitalisation and rates of return. Suddenly it all felt wrong, not how I had planned it in my mind. Almost in tears, I sought refuge in my room.

It was not too bad an evening on T.V.

By breakfast I had re-grouped. I had been tired, out of practice at pulling. Tonight would be okay. I had a spectacular day's shopping, returning by taxi at about three-thirty. This time it took two men to carry my purchases to my room, while at the suggestion of the doorman, I took tea in the guest-lounge. The lounge was full. This time with middle aged ladies. I looked in despair at the head waiter.

"W.I. conference."

I should not have been surprised; the town, with its abundance of good hotels, was a conference venue. Yesterday was takeovers and targets, today would be jam and Jerusalem.

"Would madam like to wait?" Enquired the waiter.

I spotted a table at the far side of the room, with just one person seated. A man.

"Ask the gentleman if he would mind sharing."

He skilfully slalomed through the chairs and handbags, made the enquiry, then looked up and nodded. The man put down his newspaper as I approached, and stood as I reached the table. He stood! Men don't do that anymore! I ordered coffee, and sat, apologising for the interruption.

"Please don't apologise," he said, furtively looking around the room, "this place was beginning to seem like I had been surrounded by Valkyries, you make it seem like the sun has just come out."

That would do. His voice was like golden syrup, I thought that I detected the slightest of Scottish accents. He had been tall when standing, not a giant, but well, tall enough. Good suit, dark hair just showing grey. He was a civil engineer, for a Swiss company, but based in Edinburgh. His company was; "repairing and updating a service tunnel, somewhere beneath our feet." They had struck a problem, which he was here to solve. He had me at "repairing and updating," I had a tunnel that needed repairing, updating AND servicing. Could he be the one?

He was charming and amusing, very easy to talk to. I found myself telling him my reason for being there. Not the details, but more than I probably should. We chatted for ages. The 'Valkyries' began to disperse. A bit unkind really, the W.I. is a very worthy organisation, but this group seemed to be from the heavyweight division. Malcolm, for that was his name, looked at this watch and excused himself. He had a report to complete and email to his masters in Geneva, but could we dine together?

We could. We arranged a time and he spoke to a waiter on the way out, turning and nodding confirmation to me before he left.

I was convinced that I had scored. We would spend the night making passionate love; I would orgasm repeatedly before he finally pushed the immense penis that I had endowed him with, deep into my hungry cunt, stretching it unbearably before flooding it with pints of thick, hot spunk. Lovely. The only smoke on the horizon was that perhaps he was too nice. I like being romanced, wined and dined, but what I really wanted was a good fucking.

I left and went to my own room, feeling more than a little damp about the crotch. I had plenty of time to prepare myself for my 'date'. What to wear? Nothing too tarty, not what I had worn last night, which was definitely an "I-am-available" dress. I had hooked him, now I had to reel him in. I chose a classic cocktail dress that I had bought earlier that day; black, draped style with a cowl neckline. At the neck was a gold T-bar chain that served as the only fastening and doubled as jewellery. The underwear did not need to be understated, once the dress was off, what lay underneath could convey the main message; "Fuck-me-'til-I-faint." During my shopping spree, I had purchased a set of undies that left no room for doubt: Also in black, an embroidered half-cup padded underwired bra that left my nipples exposed, and open string knickers with double straps. A matching suspender belt added a third strap just above the hip. Sheer seamed stockings and strappy stiletto sandals completed the outfit.

Once again, the dining room was quite full; the waiter led me to our table where Malcolm was already in place. The 'Valkyries' paid more attention to me than the accountants had. Malcolm stood to meet me, took my hand in his and raised it to his lips, just brushing it, sending an electric shock through my body.

I ordered pan-fried wild duck breast in a redcurrant and orange sauce, which was heavenly. Malcolm knew his wine, ordering a nebbiolo, which went perfectly with my duck and presumably with his steak. We had no dessert; he leaned forward and asked;

"Would you like anything else?"

"I would like to suck your prick."

I thought it, but didn't say it. Did I? Surely not! Whether I did or not, he just murmured;

"Your room or mine?"

I chose mine. We left the room, me on very unsteady legs. Yes, the wine had been strong, but my lust was even more intoxicating. He pressed the lift button for the ninth floor. As the door started to close, a group of the ladies called out for us to hold the lift. Gentleman that he was, he did. Damn! I was looking forward to some elevator foreplay.

There were six of them. Ladies that is. The lift rules said eight persons maximum. Fine but for the fact that the six of them were supersize. They all squeezed in until we were packed like sardines, I was pressed hard against the lift controls, Malcolm was pressed hard against me. And I mean hard. I could feel his erection against my back; I wiggled my bum against him to show my approval. I was the only one able to reach the lift controls, I was in charge.

"Which floor ladies?" I asked.

"Ten," they chorused. "What about you sir?" I asked.

I had suddenly and irrationally decided that Malcolm and I should not appear to be together, but heading for separate rooms rather than a frantic exchange of bodily fluids. He shattered the illusion instantly;

"Oh. Nine please, ladies underwear."

The quip caused great hilarity and started me on a gigging fit that lasted until the fluid exchange started. I pressed the buttons, we all breathed in while the doors struggled to close. The hotel was quite old, but had recently been refurbished. They must have run out of money when they got to the lift, it shuddered and lurched into motion - slow motion. It must have been on its limit, the journey took an age. Unseen by our travelling companions, I pushed my hand behind me and felt for Malcolm's cock. He spluttered when my fingers found the rigid column of flesh.

I spent the rest of the trip massaging it.

At last the lift wobbled to a halt, the doors opened and we were spat out, both of us giggling like schoolgirls. Malcolm's hands were everywhere as we made our way to my room; I fished out the card key and pushed it into the slot in the lock. The little light stayed red. The task was made difficult by Malcolm having his hand up my skirt and on the bare flesh above my stocking-top. I tried it all four ways, (A good omen?) before I was given the green and the door swung open.

I had left the bedside light on and the radio playing. I always do this when I leave a hotel room unattended; to fool would-be thieves into thinking that there was someone in the room. I had left the radio on an easy listening channel that I often use as background music. It was playing Glen Miller's "String of Pearls" or as my ex always called it; "Pearl Necklace." I walked to the bed and put my bag on the bedside table, then turned into Malcolm's waiting arms. We kissed for the first time, tongues exploring each other while his hands explored my buttocks. He moved a hand up to search for the catch holding my dress together, not finding it of course.




Indulgence



I pushed him away, undid the front fastening and shrugged the dress to the floor, revealing my near naked body, the underwear was simply decoration. Malcolm gaped and gasped, "Sweet mother of god!" then held me again, showering my bare tits with kisses. The back of my knees hit the edge of the bed and we fell, him on top. He stood again and tore at his clothes to remove them. I lifted my bum up to remove my knickers but he asked me to keep them on. He stripped to his pants; tight, figure hugging trunks that showed the outline of his straining prick, then moved back onto me. We kissed passionately for a long time, then he began to kiss his way down my body, placing kisses on every bit of bare skin. He bypassed my nylon covered mound, yearning though it was for his attention, and covered my upper thighs with kisses. Then he opened his mouth wide and placed it on my vulva, enclosing the entire cuntal area with his mouth. He gently breathed warm breath into me, causing my sheath to inflate. I squealed in surprise and delight at this unexpected assault on my fevered senses. He then proceeded to do something that I had never experienced; he sucked me off through the fabric of my knickers. I came quickly and powerfully, probably an eight on my orgasm Richter scale.

My heartbeat eventually slowed to a safe level, my eyes swam back into focus. I was staring at the window, upside down behind my head. An uncovered window. I could see the buildings opposite, not close, but anyone in them they must be able to see me, stretched near nude for sexual sacrifice. I asked Malcolm to close the curtains. As he padded round to comply, I peeled off the knickers, soaked in saliva and cunt juice, and moved so that my legs did not dangle over the edge of the bed, but still sideways across it. The bed was as wide as it was long, designed for all-points-of-the-compass fucking.

Malcolm stayed at the window side of the bed, knelt and kissed me, upside down, reaching out to cup my tits, still encased in their delicate web of lace. He broke the kiss and looked down the length of my body and spoke, his voice was low and husky, laden with lust;

"Touch yourself, touch your cunt."

The delicious forbidden word sent shocks through me. I complied, spreading the wet lips and allowing my fingers to paddle at my entrance. I pushed one finger deep inside and scooped out some of the juice lying there, then offered it to him to suck, which he did with great enthusiasm, demanding more. This time I coated my stiff nipples with my juice. Malcolm licked it off. Finally I spread the sap on my upper lips. Malcolm kissed it off.

"Make yourself come," he breathed, "masturbate for me."

Bastard. He had brought me here to fuck me and was asking me to wank! But I thrilled at the idea, if he wanted a show...

But so did I. "Not fair," I replied, show me yours first."

He grinned, stood and peeled off the pants, striptease style, then knelt on the bed so that his cock was inches from my face. Slowly, he pulled back the foreskin revealing the ripe plum at the tip.

"Is that to your taste?" He asked.

"When I come," I replied, "put it in my mouth so that I can find out."

He stretched out on the bed, head to toe with me so that his face was close to my centre and his stalk was close to my lips. As I began to wank, he did the same, long slow strokes; he must have been close to bursting. I felt my climax rise almost immediately, I am good at pleasuring myself, the audience certainly did not detract, and Malcolm was not the only one close to bursting, I was on a sexual roller coaster, reaching another crest.

As I came, I rolled onto my side and gulped his offered treasure into my mouth, grasping the base of the shaft with one hand while I finished myself off with the other. As I convulsed, I sucked. I wanted his cum. He pushed my hand aside and buried his face in my crotch, plunging his stiff tongue into my yearning hole. I knew that I was going to come yet again. I sucked with all my skill; I wanted to drink his spunk. A risky decision, I also wanted him to fuck me and to spurt masses of it up my too-long-neglected cunt, would he manage both? He jerked and began to deliver his gift. As I savoured the rich, thick fluid sliding down my throat, I came again.

We rolled apart, panting, to regain composure. I raised myself on my elbows and looked down my body at his face, I licked a trickle of his cum from my lower lip. He smiled and said simply;

"Ten."

His chest was heaving. Mine was coated with a thin sheen of sweat from our exertions, as it dried it chilled me and I my tits became slightly goose flesh. He noticed and said;

"I'll turn up the heating."

He walked to the thermostat, which was near the door. It gave me a chance to inspect his naked body. He was in good shape, no Greek god, but that was alright; every representation of a Greek god that I have seen has either had a very small willy, or has had it chipped off by the fig-leaf police. Malcolm was fully equipped. He went over to the unit that held the mini-bar and found a bottle of champagne in it, he held it for me to see and raised his eyebrows in question. Why not, I thought, and nodded my approval. He found glasses in the cupboard next to the bar, proper crystal flutes, not the 'A-cup' sort favoured by Americans. (But ironically, invented by the Brits!)

Malcolm opened the bottle skilfully, no flying cork or loss of champagne, just a whisper as the gas escaped. He poured two full glasses and we drank a toast to casual sex.

I had sat up to drink, and I now propped the pillows against the headboard, removed my bra and my shoes, and went to unbutton my stockings from their suspenders. I wanted to be fully nude for the next session. Malcolm stopped me, asking if he could do it. He did so with his teeth! This brought his mouth close to the part of me that he seemed to like best and he went for it with his tongue yet again. I was still feeling sensitive from the last time. I stopped him, drew his face to mine and said;

"I want you to fuck me."

"I want that too," he replied, "but I don't think that I'm ready just yet, and you have the sweetest cunt that I have ever tasted."

(He WAS good with his tongue.)

"Have you tasted many then?" I asked demurely.

"Thousands. I am clit sucker by appointment to the Scottish royal household."

"Liar, there is no Scottish royal household."

"Ah but there is, when we shed the Sassenach yoke and become independent, they will emerge from their hiding place in the highlands and assume their rightful place, we will rename our country 'Hedonia' and all Hedonian women of voting age will be required to show their fealty be sucking the royal cock."

"And the men?"

"Will pay lip service to the Queen of Hedonia."

"Where will you figure in this paradise?"

"I am a simple nuts and bolts man, not a politician."

"What if you were offered the position of 'Secretary of State for cunnilingus? You seem qualified."

"Hmm. Nice thought, but perhaps I would prefer to be an ambassador and to establish my embassy between your lovely thighs."

"Present your credentials then."

But he was still not ready. So now it was my turn to kiss, lick and nibble my way down his body to where the sleeping giant lay. It swelled to fill my hand as I took a firm hold round the middle of the shaft with my left hand, with my right hand I gently cradled his balls. I pulled back with my encircling hand, allowing the tip of his glans to peep through the rosebud of foreskin. Pushing my lips out in an exaggerated pucker, I placed a kiss on the exposed tip and using hand and lips, pushed the protective hood back, enclosing the smooth head with my lips instead. I swirled my wet tongue around the head, beneath the mushroom flange and into the cum-slit. I took more of him inside, allowing the bulb to rub against the roof of my mouth, past the soft palate and into my throat as if I meant to swallow him. It was as far as I could go without choking, I have never developed the sword-swallowing deep throat seen in porn, but even so, my pursed lips were almost at his balls.

He was making little mewing sounds as I drew back, raking his shaft with my teeth, and then began to stroke with my hand and suck at the same time. This treatment is almost guaranteed to restore a depleted weapon, if however the weapon is charged and primed, there is a real danger of an uncontrolled explosion, only a supreme effort of will on the part of the recipient can prevent it. Malcolm reached down, took my head in his hands and gently pulled me away from his genitals, saying;

"I'm ready now."

I crawled back up him, guided his missile to its target and slid gratefully down on it, impaling myself. The pleasure of feeling a living cock inside me, rather than the substitutes I had been using for so long, was indescribable. I remained still, glorying in the full-up feeling, enjoying his girth and his heat and the pulses that his mooring spike made inside me. He started to thrust up into me, oh so gently, withdrawing almost completely then sliding back to stretch me.

He fucked me like this for ages, gradually increasing the speed of his thrusts. I expected him to come like this, but he suddenly stopped and instructed me to turn round to face backwards. I did so without losing our cock to cunt coupling. I was now in reverse cowgirl position. Malcolm pumped me in this position until he had to stop or lose it. We changed position again, this time into doggy and again without uncoupling. Free to move unhindered by my weight, Malcolm now thrust hard and deep, alternately holding my hips or my wildly swinging tits.

Again he stopped abruptly, suggesting that we try missionary. This involved breaking our bond, pulling out of me completely, but allowing the pleasure of re-entry. Again he fucked with strength and vigour, how could he not come? Astonishing control, a real sex athlete. I wrapped arms and legs around him, holding on for the white-knuckle ride.

The final position change was back into cowgirl. And this time he did lose it. With a roar, he rammed himself into me and released his precious load high into me.

I had not climaxed, but no matter, I had enjoyed the trip. I remained mounted, my dead weight seemed not to bother him. His now softened joystick somehow captured comfortably inside me, stopping his cum from running out. We were glued together by sweat, Malcolm managed to reach the duvet and pulled it over us to prevent us chilling. I lay contentedly on top of him, my cheek against his, I could feel his heartbeat. Despite my lack of orgasm, it had been a spectacular fuck, a fine end to my six months of celibacy.

He gently lifted me by the shoulders and looked up at me.

"Crawl up here," he murmured, "I want some more of your nectar."

A tingle ran along my spine. I had plenty of what he was asking for, my nectar factory had been producing it in industrial proportions all evening, my cup was full. But it was currently mixed with his recent generous spending, to drink my nectar would mean drinking his own, a cocktail of cum and cunt-juice! Would he really do that? I had never been with a man who would willingly taste his own semen. Malcolm was the ultimate sensualist.

The prospect was exciting him, his cock was hardening inside me. I raised myself off it, my cunt was reluctant to relinquish his comforting bulk and seemed to grip it tight. I walked on my knees until my dripping gash was over his face, he placed a hand on each buttock, drew me down to his open mouth and drank deeply.

After he had drunk his fill, he repeated the exquisite tonguing that had already given me two orgasms. Just as I had been free of distractions when I had sucked him, he was able to concentrate on giving me pleasure, responding to my reactions as his tongue delved and probed. He sucked each inner lip into his mouth and found every hidden fold of my quivering quim. He licked my perineum with stiffened tongue and rimmed my anus deliciously before pushing it past the tight seal of the sphincter into the hole. I went wild. He pulled away and looked up at my face,

"Do you like it there? He asked.

"Yes, I do, "I replied.

"Do you like IT there? He went on.

"Oh yes," I husked.

He slid out from under me and knelt behind me, his intention clear, as was my tacit compliance. I had come prepared for this, I reached into the bedside drawer and took out a dispenser of the high quality lubricant that I use with my dildos. I handed it to him saying;

"Use plenty, and go easy."

I turned to watch as he anointed his now massively erect prick, then motioned me to position myself. I moved down the bed away from the headboard and went onto all-fours, knees and elbows. Malcolm lovingly applied a generous amount to my hole, pushing his thumb inside to lubricate the way. Shuffling into position, he offered his oily arrowhead to my notch and applied pressure. I relaxed my muscles and his tip slipped easily into me. He advanced slowly, gaining a millimetre or two with each push until I felt his balls rest against my gaping cunt. I felt like I would burst, his huge cock stretching this tightest of places to breaking point. It felt wonderful to have a man up there, rather than the plastic toys I had been using. How had I managed to go so long without this? I loved it.

Malcolm began to thrust, slowly at first but building in speed as the passage became easier. I lowered my face onto the pillow, to take the weight off my arms. The pillow smelled of sex, cock and cunt and cum. It was also wet with our combined juices, too late to turn it now, Malcolm was unstoppable. I made the pillow wetter with my tears and saliva as I screamed encouragement into the pillow, ending with;

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," in time to his thrusts.

I could feel my climax building, that elusive and magical anal orgasm. I could also feel that Malcolm was nearing his crisis, his thrusts were becoming erratic, if he came before I did I might not make it. At that moment I imagined another cock in my cunt, the two separated only by a thin membrane. I was nearly there, so was he. Yes, yes, yes, fuck, fuck, fuck yes! His spunk blasted into me as I came. I was bursting with rapture, my first ever arse-come with a man!

I remember falling sideways with Malcolm still embedded in my fundament. Then everything went blank as I passed out.

I awoke to find Malcolm inside me again, from behind, but this time in the other hole, fucking with slow, deep thrusts. A pleasant way to wake up. The lights were out and we were covered with the duvet, he must have done that while I was 'absent'. I don't know if he managed another come, I fell asleep to his gentle rocking. Fucked to sleep. A pleasant way to go.

The next time I woke up I was alone, daylight was stealing through chinks in the curtains. I listened for any noise from the bathroom. There was none. My transient lover, my one night stand, my indulgence, had gone. I lay for a short time, stretching, enjoying the luxury of my surroundings. I felt a little bit sore in certain areas, but I felt great. What a night! Eventually I turned on the light. On the bedside unit was a business card, on the reverse side of which was a mobile 'phone number, written across the width of the card. Above the number were two crosses, beneath it, one cross in the centre: Three kisses, nipple, nipple, clit. A shiver of pleasure ran down my spine.

I showered and dressed. I picked up my bag and the card, agonised for a while, then tore it into four, threw it into the bin and went for breakfast. It had been wonderful, exceeding my expectations and hopes, but it could not be repeated. Malcolm was probably married, the best ones always are. Besides, I was not ready for any kind of commitment. There were a lot of men out there, I would try a few, perhaps even two or more at a time. And women. Sally had aroused my curiosity. Why not? I swept in to breakfast like Alexander the Great entering a conquered city.

Look out world, I'm back.



Indulgence



"I said, can I buy you a drink?"

Farah looked up from her phone, annoyed. Suitors here were a dime a dozen, not that that was particularly different from her usual experience at public events. But then again, this wasn't exactly a public event. One would think that a scientific conference of this magnitude would provide some respite, however brief, from the incessant influx of male try-hards, but to Farah's dismay, it had only served to bolster them. As a freelance journalist, she was here on assignment, but it seemed that not many in attendance shared her work ethic.

The source of her latest disturbance waited expectantly with a sheepish grin on his face. She glanced down at the name tag attached to his chest: Dr. Sebastian Murphy.

'Hmm,' she thought to herself. 'This one may actually have some usable intel.'

Straightening up from her slouching position at the bar, she sized him up. She could tell that he was young; His expression of unabashed hopefulness seemed to suggest a naiveté that life had not yet gotten a chance to snuff out. His days old stubble and sunless complexion, however, served to age him a few years. He looked like the type that didn't get out much and his shameless approach left her doubtless that he had no idea what he was doing. Harmless enough, she decided.

"Sure, why not," she said returning to her original position.

Grinning like a schoolboy, he turned to the bartender. He was about to place his order when he realized that he had no idea what she'd like to drink.

Turning to Farah, he cleared his throat. "Uh, so," he began. "What'll it --"

"Whiskey, straight," she interjected. "On the rocks."

Nodding, he turned to fulfill her order before realizing that he also needed the brand.

"Um, --"

"Jameson," she said, once more engrossed with her phone. A flash and buzz indicated that she'd received a new message. It's just like you to act like you cared what day it is, the message read. I should have anticipated this, I guess, but save the shit for someone who doesn't know you.

Letting out a deep breath, Farah rubbed her head in irritation. She considered how best to respond. Undecided as to the best course of action, however, she opted to put her phone on silent. When had men become such little girls?

"Trouble in paradise?" Dr. Murphy inquired jokingly as he turned to hand her the drink.

"You have no idea," she replied, accepting his offering. "Thanks."

"Try me," he said, donning a look of what he assumed was interest and sophistication.

"I'd much rather ask you about this event," she redirected, putting her phone in her purse.

"You're not a...a journalist, are you?" he asked incredulously.

She nodded and pointed at his name tag. "Indeed I am. Farah Ammad. And you're a doctor. Are you presenting anything tonight?"

"No, I'm, uh, fairly new to the project, actually," he said, looking at the ground. "To be honest, I...probably shouldn't be speaking to you..."

"Ohhh, nonsense," she said, taking a sip from her drink. "The information will be public knowledge after the keynote speech, right?"

"Well, yeah, most of it," he said, taking a long swig of his cocktail.

"Most of it?" she repeated.

"Yeah," he said. "If you're here, you know that the conference is based around recent breakthroughs in the field of genetics. So I mean, there's stuff that I'm not at liberty...to disclose."

Farah considered him for a moment, placing her bag on the floor. 'I may have found a little something,' she thought to herself. 'Entice.'

She was sure that the way that she'd been leaning against the bar, he'd been afforded a nice look at her backside. Most of the time, she found that it was foolproof bait while on assignment. As it turned out, not many would suspect a journalist hiding behind such voluptuous curves. Now, she turned to face him, providing him with a full frontal view of her body, tightly constricted as it was by her cocktail dress. It was easier to glean knowledge from the hapless men who fell prey to her display than to continuously move about the area in search of tidbits of information. One of her earliest lessons in journalism was to use all of the assets and resources at her disposal in order to obtain information. She understood from a young age that her appearance would be able to tip most scales in her favor. Whereas others might feel conflicted by this approach, she accepted her looks as well as her sexuality wholeheartedly. To deny them the access that they could grant her when working in tandem with her mind, would be akin to running a race with weighted legs. No, Farah liked it better when the story came to her. She took a step closer to her subject.

"Well, Sebastian- I'm sorry, Dr. Murphy," she began slowly. "I definitely wouldn't want to get you in trouble. I just thought that you might appreciate a little bit of spotlight. You may be a new research fellow, but I'm sure you've worked just as hard as your peers and I didn't want that to go to waste. I understand your limitations, though. So...thanks for the drink, and good luck with your work."

She bent down to pick up her bag, providing Sebastian with a gratuitous view of her bust. She smiled to herself in satisfaction as she recognized the audible gasp that let her know that his reconsideration was but seconds away.

Straightening up, Farah turned to leave.

"Wait," he said, stopping her in her tracks. "Just...wait a minute. You know, you're...you're right. I'm sure we can figure out...you know, something that I can share with you. It's just, your source has to be kept anonymous."

Farah smiled. "I'll take whatever you can give me, Sebastian."

He laughed nervously, unable to form words. Instead, he resorted to a series of squirmish movements that let Farah know that she would get all of the information that she could possibly extract from him.

"So...I guess that now we, you know, exchange numbers? Maybe we'll meet later this evening...dinner, perhaps? I know a...a few good places."

"I can't wait," she lied.

After the exchange, Dr. Sebastian Murphy left hurriedly. 'Probably went to change his underwear," Farah thought, shaking her head. Retrieving her phone from her purse, she saw that she had three missed calls, all from the same person. She felt guilty; As far as Farah could tell, Anthony was a solid guy. She contemplated returning his calls but what was the point? He was right; It was Valentine's Day and she could care less. Her work came first and her contract had made it clear what would be expected of her: primarily, the need for her to travel and work during a weekend that was normally reserved for lovers and romance. Sure, the offer had come in at the last second and hadn't allowed for much time to weigh options, not that it would have mattered anyway. Nine times out of ten, she wouldn't have passed up the opportunity. Nothing would or could keep her from her work and she thought that she had made that clear when she got into...whatever she was into with Anthony. She had neither asked nor expected him to make plans to celebrate their two months of suggestive texts, weekly dinner-and-a-movie dates and late night booty calls. How could she know that he'd try to flip the script on V-day and propose that they go steady? That wasn't who Farah Ammad was anymore. It would never be again if she could help it.

Reassuring herself that she had at no point in their situationship led Anthony to believe that they could be something that they were not, and was therefore not responsible for any of the subsequent emotional fallout, served to clear Farah's conscience somewhat. She mapped out her game plan for the remainder of the day. She would stick around to hear the keynote speech for the conference, then return to her hotel to prepare for whatever evening Dr. Sebastian Murphy could cook up. Her proclivity for pessimism made her shake her head at the possibilities but she reminded herself that it was for the sake of her work.

The speech was soon to start. Farah made her way to the far wall of the outdoor section of the venue where the main event would take place. She didn't care much for the press section. She preferred to remain inconspicuous should she be approached once more by an unsuspecting data mine. Besides, no expense had been spared, and she was sure that the sound system and abundance of accompanying monitors would ensure that she missed no part of the speaker's presentation. She looked around at the crowd that was beginning to amass. She was relatively far from the stage podium but she liked the positioning that it afforded her. Her eyes continued to scan the area until they locked in on a couple in the far corner of the courtyard.

The woman's movements were strange. She was positioned in front of the man, whose hands were placed securely on her waist. She appeared to be rocking back and forth. The man's face held a subtle expression of delight. He leaned in over her shoulder, presumably to whisper something into the woman's ear. Her expression of focus cracked, giving way to the pleasure that lay beneath. Farah couldn't believe what she was seeing. Not only were they fucking in public, but at a closed science conference during the middle of the keynote speech. The booming sound of the speakers masked their furtive lovemaking, and they were far enough away from the crowd that they didn't attract any attention to themselves.

Farah's heartbeat quickened as she continued to watch. She had forgotten all about the speech; the words had become no more than distorted sound. She looked over at the people closest to them, waiting for someone, anyone, to turn around and catch these exhibitionists in the act. She became anxious for them. The woman reacted as if sensing Farah's feelings; She picked up the pace. Her dress zipped in the back, and pulling the zipper upward allowed her legs to spread even further. Now she was holding onto the man's wrists, steadying herself as she rocked back on him in short, aggressive pumps. The man's back was against the balcony. He simply steadied himself and allowed her to control the pace. Red color was seeping into the flesh that covered her chest and neck, spreading and deepening by the second; She was flushing from the effort of remaining as quiet as possible. Her self-control was admirable because Farah found that she could hardly breathe watching the scene unfold. Thunderous applause snapped her out of her reverie. She removed her drink from the bar and began to move towards the outside of the crowd.

Slowly, Farah navigated her way closer to the couple. She was sure to walk around the back of anyone she came into contact with. She did not want to attract attention to neither her movements nor her destination. The woman's legs were shaking; She was at her limit, her climax eminent. Her lover sensed it as well. He clamped his left hand tightly over her mouth, trying his best to stem the sounds of pleasure that were undoubtedly escaping her. Peeking from behind a large potted plant, Farah tried make out the words that he was whispering to her.

'Just wait,' she read from the movement of his lips. 'Not yet. Just wait.'

Farah felt a bead of moisture trace its way down the inside of her thigh. She needed this, what this woman had. She felt flutters in her stomach as she silently willed on the woman's release. Suddenly, the courtyard broke into a second set of thunderous applause. The man, using the hand that remained on her waist, sprung forward, sheathing himself completely inside of her. Her eyes clamped shut and her body seized as the orgasm took her. The patrons nearest to the pair turned around.

Farah gasped, but they were ready. Their faces broke into bright smiles as they clapped in unison, closing their legs tightly together. Frowning, the onlookers returned their attention to the podium as the keynote speaker made her way off the stage to the sound of continued applause. The man zipped her dress and fixed his pants. Gathering their things, they rushed passed Farah out of the courtyard. Farah watched them as she finished her drink, her feelings teetering between longing and envy.

~

"I'm sorry? I was told that the reservation here was for 8pm. It should be under the name Murphy."

The hostess felt nervous. It was her first evening working at the restaurant and it already appeared as if universe was conspiring against her. Despite making a conscious attempt to arrive early and make a good first impression, she had arrived late due to unforeseen car trouble, which had earned her a searing reprimand from the night manager. Friday was already the busiest day of the week, but Valentine's Day? It was bad enough that she was new and would undoubtedly require some degree of hand-holding, but apparently she was a tardy slacker to boot. Her cohost assured her that the manager was just an asshole and that everything would turn out fine. The hostess allowed herself to be comforted by his words, as she was very familiar with the program that the restaurant used for making and receiving reservations. 3 large and disgruntled parties later, however, and she was already faced with a missing reservation. Though she had checked and double checked, the reservation was nowhere to be found. The customer in question had remained adamant that a mistake had been made. She was very attractive, possibly a model, the hostess thought. She was used to getting her way, that much was clear. She would demand to speak to her manager soon, and she was exactly the type of woman that that dickhead of a manager would likely side with. The hostess looked around. Her cohost was nowhere to be found. She would have to handle this herself, and fast.

"Again, I'm really sorry, but that name doesn't appear on our reservation list. Is it possible that another name was used? Or...that the reservation wasn't actually made?"

Farah narrowed her eyes. "Are you suggesting that I, or my date, is incompetent? Or that he's a liar, and I've been stood up?"

The hint of incredulity in the woman's voice was not lost on the hostess, though it was hard to argue otherwise. Anybody standing this lady up had some large balls.

"No, of course not," the hostess said quickly. "Look, your date hasn't arrived yet, right? You said that you didn't see him anywhere. Why don't you wait for him at the bar? When he comes in, I will personally get you all sorted out. So...I'll let the bartender know you're coming?"

Farah was silent, considering. There was no way in hell that she had been stood up. She refused to believe it. The man had practically came in his pants when she agreed to his offer for dinner. Besides, if he didn't come through for her, her story for the conference would be generic and lackluster, especially after her voyeuristic distraction at the keynote speech. The thought of it sent a pulse between her legs. She swallowed. No, this would work out. She just needed to be patient. A drink would certainly help in that regard.

To the hostess' relief, Farah nodded curtly and made her way to an empty barstool. She didn't have to wait long before the bartender made his way over.

"Well, aren't you something," he said in a southern accent, eyeing her from waist to face as he absentmindedly dried an empty glass. "I'm Johnathan. Rebecca told me to take good care of you and I would love to do nothing more. So what'll it be?"

"She must've told you to lay it on thick, too," Farah replied with a smirk. "Johnny Walker, straight."

"Oh, don't get me wrong," the bartender replied, retrieving a bottle from the top shelf. "You learn how to butter up your customers when you live off of tips, but I would be absolutely delighted to take care of you tonight, make no mistake."

'Here's a bold one,' Farah thought, peering over the rim of her glass at the bartender as she took a sip from her cup. He was very handsome and she was confident that he could give her a good fuck or three. And a good fuck was really what Farah needed. But she also needed to finish her assignment and could afford no more distractions. Following the keynote speech, Farah had returned to her room in a daze. Immediately stripping herself naked, she jumped into the shower. Turning on the hot water, she closed her eyes as the stream cascaded over her body. The bathroom filled with moisture while she soaked. Her shower had a ledge built into the wall and the nozzle was detachable. Sitting on the ledge, Farah had spread her legs lewdly and taking the nozzle in her hands, massaged her clit to orgasm repeatedly. Watching the couple fuck had made her feel filthy; she'd needed to purge. Sitting at the bar, she was reminded of that need. She was also reminded of men, and the power that they could exert over her if she allowed them to.

"I really do appreciate the offer, but I'm here on business," Farah responded with a sigh. "Maybe another time, sweetie."

"Yes, but what is life if we don't succumb to our baser instincts from time to time?" spoke a deep voice into Farah's ear, making her shudder. It resonated within her, thick and smooth. "There will always be a time for work, but we will only ever have this unique moment in the here and now. I say, we must learn to indulge."

Farah turned around to match the voice to its owner. Her initial thought was that the man was beautiful, but not in the traditional sense. He was beautiful like a raging fire was beautiful. Or a fathomless ocean. It alarmed her, how instantly attracted to him that she was. His smile was too familiar, too comfortable, though she had never met him before. He smiled as if he was in on a secret that she wasn't privy to. Well, whatever it was, she wanted in on it too.

"That's...true," she began, recovering from her initial shock. "But there's a time and a place for everything. Unfortunately for me, that time and place isn't now." A pause. "I'm meeting someone. For work, I mean."

He smiled. A tingle crept up Farah's spine. "Yes, I know. Ah, we must be ready!"

Confusion crept into Farah's face, but before she could ask, Rebecca the hostess joined them at the bar.

"Hello again, Ms. Ammad! Once more, we're very sorry for the confusion but I'll be seating you two now if you're all set?"

Farah couldn't speak. She looked from the stranger to the hostess. What the fuck was going on?

"I'm sorry, but I think there's been a --"

"Your apologies are not necessary," the stranger said, cutting her off. "The reservation mishap was all my doing. Please, lead the way."

Smiling brightly, Rebecca walked off towards the far side of the restaurant. Farah rounded on the stranger, but he beat her to the punch.

"Ah, ah," he said in a tone of mock disapproval. "Come, Farah, live in this moment. Indulge." He held out his hand to her.

"How do you know my name?" she asked, unmoved.

"Come," he repeated, simply. His command was like a mantra. "Let's sit down. I will explain everything, I promise."

Walking to the table, Farah's heart raged in her chest. Against her better judgment, she was compelled to see this through. She never could resist when her curiosity was piqued.

The stranger removed her chair from its resting place and waited patiently for her to be seated. Circling the table to his side, he addressed the hostess: "Ah, Rebecca, just some lemon water will do for now. Unless my companion would prefer another drink...?" He looked over at Farah as the question lingered.

Clearing her throat, she replied, "No, um...lemon water will be fine, thanks."

He returned his gaze to the hostess. "Please tell our waiter to give us a few minutes with the menu. I will signal to him when we are ready."

She nodded cordially and left the two alone.

Sitting down, he crossed his legs casually, his hands folded in his lap. He seemed to be waiting. Fine. Farah decided that she would get things started.




Indulgence



"So," she began, simply. "Must I ask the obvious?"

"Where is Dr. Sebastian Murphy, and who am I," he replied, statement rather than question. "He is safe and sound, you need not worry."

A pause. She waited for him to continue. When he did not, she continued instead: "And you are?"

He frowned as he appeared to weigh his answer to what was, Farah assumed, a simple and straightforward question. "That is complicated," he said, finally.

Now it was Farah's turn to frown. "Complicated? Yes, I suppose it is. I've never had contact with or spoken to you before now, yet somehow, you know not only my name, but the name of the person that I came here to meet. And because you know that, I'm assuming that you also know my reason for being here in the first place."

He nodded, nonplussed. "Of course. You are here to complete your assignment. You are reporting on the findings of breakthrough genetics research which was presented at the Genesis Conference earlier today." He smirked, his brown eyes glinting with mischief. "You were meeting Dr. Murphy here to extract information that would not have otherwise been...readily available, shall we say."

"How do you know-?!"

"Easy, Farah," he said in a gentle voice. "It's simple: I hired you. Well...I did so on the behalf of my organization."

Farah was silent as her mind worked to comprehend what she was hearing. That would definitely explain how he knew her and the particulars of her assignment. But it begged the question of...

"Why?" she inquired. "Why hire me to do a job, then spy on me?"

"Spying is not what I do," he corrected. "Observation, yes. I prefer to take an...ethnographic approach. There is no better way to learn about an individual than to experience that individual in his or her own element. A freelance journalist of well repute was hired because, as a personnel broker for our clients, the assignment needed to be handled with a high degree of execution. You were hired because I wanted to observe you in action. Suffice to say, I was not disappointed."

Farah blushed in spite of her situation and not comprehending the complete relevance of what she was being told. "So where does Murphy fit in?" she asked as their water was placed on the table.

"Murphy was merely a mechanism for additional observation. Tomorrow, you will complete your interview with him. Coaxing won't be necessary. He will be compensated for his cooperation. No... I am more interested in what you thought about the couple."

Farah nearly choked on her water. "The...the couple?" she stuttered.

"Of course," he said quietly. "They were mine as well."

Farah was suddenly aware of how wet she was. The inside of her upper thighs were slick with fluid. She realized that she had been unconsciously clenching them together as her employer- this stranger, spoke. She was in the Twilight Zone. She knew that she should leave; This man was dangerous. At least, he was the kind of danger that she knew to look out for. But how long had it been since she was aroused like this? The mystery, the secrecy...her Valentine's Day was taking quite a turn. She couldn't run from it now. The man was right. There would be time for work. Now was the time for discovering how deep the rabbit hole really went. Now was the time for indulgence.

"They were yours." she repeated quietly. "Are you a pimp of some kind?"

He laughed, deep and mirthful. "That is also complicated. Rather, it oversimplifies my position," he explained. "In a traditional sense, no. However, as I stated before, the organization that I work for does deal in...personnel."

"A staffing agency?"

"Closer," he said, repositioning to rest his limbs on the arms of his chair. "Think talent acquisition. We provide our clients with exceptional personnel for whatever service that they may need performed. The freelancers on our payroll are the best of the best, scouted and handpicked. In return for an overwhelmingly positive rate of success, we provide exclusive job opportunities and incentives that remain unmatched."

"It's strange," Farah allowed. "I had never heard of your company until I received that email. Web searches revealed a fledgling startup. I would have ignored it as spam save for the format and cash advance. I was definitely surprised that it panned out to be legit, but the airfare and the hotel...I knew...know, something is off. Unfortunately, I go with my gut, and my gut is usually attracted to the curious and bizarre."

"Am I curious or bizarre?" he asked, holding her gaze.

The tension intensified. She felt a bead of perspiration trace its way down her spine. Seeking to escape the lock, she looked down at his lap. The charcoal-colored wool of his slacks were intricately woven, possibly hand-made. She wasn't sure if it was the subtle pattern of the needlework playing tricks on her, or if he was indeed abundantly blessed. As if to answer her question, the print came to life, bulging slightly as if it had a mind of its own. The heat between Farah's legs had spread to her chest.

"You are...something," she admitted, the hue of her olive skin deepening.

"As are you, Farah," he replied, sipping from his water. "Your acquiescence to your gut instinct; Your resourcefulness; Your beauty and your sensuality and your willingness to use them in order to acquire what it is that you want or need; Your focus...All of your characteristics have blended quite wonderfully to create such an exquisite woman."

Farah listened silently, her ego swelling, undoubtedly, like the lips of her sex. She was proud of herself, but more importantly, more crucial to the moment, she was proud that she had pleased him. This complete stranger. She felt happy to be of service to this utterly attractive and resourceful man. A man, finally, who was worthy of her. Her gut told her as much. She wanted to continue to be of service to him, in whatever capacity that he requested. Nothing would satisfy her more. The wet heat of her pulsing sex radiated through her abdomen, warming her stomach. She had a growing urge to satiated, filled. She was certain that food would do no more than scratch the surface of her desire.

"And so," he continued. "Again, I must ask. What did you think of the couple?"

"Can I see them again?" she asked, quietly.

The stranger smiled in response. "You may call me Nicholas, by the way."

Holding his hand up, he signaled to the waiter. As it turned out, they wouldn't require a menu after all.

~

The initial penetration was slow. Positioning himself above her, his back arched upward as he entered her. Her lips parted noisily as they split to accept him. A carnal sound escaped her mouth. He had only given her an inch, two tops. Now he waited. He wanted to feel her body go through its changes as her patience wore thin. He wanted to feel her clench and tighten, trapping him inside of her. She wasn't biting fast enough, so he applied more bait, sliding himself deeper. That got her. She gyrated her hips lustfully, her breathing becoming erratic.

"Please..." she whispered, growing frantic.

She was revealing her need to him. He was merciful, giving her more, but not all. She whimpered, on the verge of tears. He wasn't being fair. She needed all of it, he knew that. But the delay of her gratification empowered him. He swelled inside of her, his pride slowing probing deeper. Her hands wrapped around his back, trying to pull him closer. She traced the grooves and indentations of its muscles. Her legs followed suit around his waist. He gave her his entirety in response. Now she was full, pulsing along its girth as he throbbed in return. It reverberated through her, making goosebumps spring up across her flesh. There was an abundance of movement in their stillness. Her breathing was rapid. He had only just bottomed out, but her orgasm was approaching. He felt it too. He readjusted himself inside of her slightly, thrilled to hear the wet squelch of her sex.

"Fuck you," she spat. "Split me the fuck open."

He had to be quick, he knew; He wouldn't have long left now. Overcome with sudden urgency, he gripped her throat tightly, forcing himself into her until he could go no further. The shock of his sudden assault melted into euphoria as her eyes rolled back, her mouth opening in soundless exultation. Her breath had caught in her lungs. His thrusts were short and spastic, each one bringing him closer to the precipice. He moaned, deep and long at the point of release, emptying himself inside of her. She felt the liquid filling her and began to shake violently in the wake of her own orgasm. She had no breath left in her body. She was beginning to fade when his grip on her throat was released. He kept himself imbedded within her while she herself struggled to regulate her breathing.

Farah stood shivering in stunned silence. The energy in the room was voluminous, tangible even. She felt electrified. Most apparent was her itch, her desire to touch herself; the need was all-consuming though her hands were restrained behind her back. What had she stepped into? Nicholas stood behind her, watching in silence. She turned to him, pleading with her eyes. When he looked down at her, his eyes seemed different from before. Darker, she realized. The smug, easy comfort of his presence was gone. In its place was a focused intensity. His formality remained, but Farah was acutely aware that this man, despite everything that had occurred, was in fact a stranger to her. Maybe it was this place, but she knew now that his initial demeanor was no more than a practiced front. Convincing, yet artificial.

Hours earlier, when they had left the restaurant, he hadn't told her exactly where they were going. 'An interesting place that I think you will like,' he had said, simply. Opening the back door of the luxury sedan that idled before them, he allowed her to slide in before closing it securely. Entering the back of the vehicle on the opposite side, his valet had glanced at him through the rearview.

"Elysium."

His valet nodded mutely, pulling the vehicle slowly away from the curb. Nicholas was silent for the duration of the journey, but Farah knew better than to ruin the experience with myriad questions. The valet was on course for the highway, so she knew that they were likely leaving the city limits, and Elysium was definitely the name of a place of some kind. The rest would be revealed when they arrived. She passed the time looking out of the darkly tinted windows and listening to the monotonous hum of traversed road. Every now and again, she would glance over at her host. His eyes remained closed, but she suspected that he wasn't asleep; He retained his upright position regardless of bump or twist in the road. Meditation, perhaps?

Finally, she saw it. A large mansion stood proudly in the distance. Arriving at the ornate metal gate at the base of the hill, the valet rolled down his window to access a key console. A code was input, causing the gate to creak to life.

"Elysium is run in secrecy," Nicholas began suddenly, shocking Farah who had been entranced by the soft red glow that emanated from the windows of the compound. The sedan continued onwards towards an expansive circular driveway. It was filled with vehicles. Pristinely dressed valets were tending to them quickly and efficiently. Their suits were fire red, buttoned over crisp, black dress shirts. The guests made their way to the mansion entrance. "It is a club, of sorts, for those whose tastes run...deviant."

"Exclusive membership, I'd presume?" Farah asked still entranced by the crimson.

"Invitation only," he confirmed with a nod. "It's ranks consist of powerful men and women of all industries. They enjoy their privacy."

"And here you've gone and brought a journalist to their little sex party," she remarked as her door was opened. The valet held out his hand to help her and she took it graciously. Passing guests turned to eye her admiringly. She fit her dress snugly and though it was unexpected, she felt adequately prepared for the occasion.

Nicholas exited the vehicle and came around to meet her. As they made their way to the entrance, they were approached by a slender woman. Farah silently eyed her physique, coming to rest on the thin leather collar that embraced her throat.

"Welcome back, sir," the woman said. "Is this your guest for the evening?" Her accent was thick; Farah discerned that it was Chinese.

"She is," Nicholas responded.

The woman turned to face Farah. "Here at Elysium, we only allow guests for our annual events. In order to gain entry, you must be accompanied by a sponsor. That sponsor may be any club member of good standing. Additionally, you must sign a non-disclosure agreement barring you sharing anything and everything that you will witness while on the premises."

She produced a clip-board that held a copy of the unsigned NDA and held it out to Farah. Farah turned to Nicholas, who shrugged his shoulders.

"You were saying something before about journalists and sex parties?" he quipped.

Frowning, she quickly scanned the document before signing it and handing it back to the hostess.

Accepting the board, the host signaled over to a fiercely bearded man. He appeared to be holding a clear bottle of dark red liquid and leather wrist restraints.

"There is but one rule that you, as a guest, will be required to adhere to for the duration of your visit," the hostess continued. "As a guest, you lack initiation. Your hands are unclean. And so, they must remain bound behind your back throughout the evening. You may not remove them. You may be touched, but you cannot touch."

The bearded man handed the bottle to Nicholas before using the restraints to bind Farah's wrists behind her. Nicholas uncorked the bottle, wafting its contents before licking his lips and smiling. Farah's heart pounded in her chest. He gently tilted her chin upwards.

"Drink," he commanded.

Farah swallowed hard. "Yes."

Nicholas tilted the bottle above her mouth, expertly pouring its contents down her throat. Immediately, her chest burned with heat. She felt the liquid making its way through her body. She licked her lips, savoring its unique taste. Suddenly, the red hues seemed much deeper. Her body felt lighter and her eyelids drooped slightly. She turned to looked at the hostess, smiling seductively. Reaching out, she took Farah's face gently in her hands and leaned in to kiss her. A shiver ran down Farah's spine. She felt light headed. The woman's tongue intertwined with her own, a graceful caress. She parted lips with Farah, their tongues springing out to meet one last time.

"Welcome to Elysium," she whispered in Farah's ear.

Looking back on it now, after witnessing such a sexual display, Farah realized that she remembered only bits and pieces of the preceding hours. Her short-term recollection was hazy, no doubt an effect of the red liquid that she had imbibed intermittently throughout the evening. Whoever made it was nothing short of an alchemist.

She vaguely remembered large oaken doors, and being enveloped the moment that she crossed their threshold. Everywhere she turned were equal parts red and revelry. Naked, collared men and woman perused the party, engaging sensually with guests while they distributed a steady, controlled supply of the red liquid. The dosage that Farah had taken was the kicker, it seemed, meant to loosen her up though it had performed infinitely times better. The amounts being served were only enough to fill a thimble. Regardless, it got the job done. She remembered a particularly well-built server grinning at her as she passed by. He held out his tray to her. Looking down, her eyes bulged at the sight of his manhood. It hung low, thick and monstrous, crowned by a black cock-ring at its base. He winked as he walked off, followed by a haze of red.

Her evening had continued on this way. She had walked the halls of the mansion, her curiosity and wonder set into overdrive. She would pass a group of guests, dancing sensually to the unrelenting bass and before she could think twice, she would hear Nicholas' mantra from somewhere nearby, telling her to indulge. He had opened doors at random for her throughout her tour, allowing her to witness a variety of clandestine liaisons. In one room, she recalled an orgy of obscene proportions, wet and coiled like the mating ball of a snake. In another room, she found a man masturbating furiously as he watched 2 rogue male servers fucking a woman into submission. In another room still, she discovered an assortment of toys and contraptions to be used for both pleasure and pain. Interestingly, it had been empty.

She had turned to Nicholas. "Come," was all that he had said.

The deeper into the mansion they journeyed, the fewer guests they came across. She remembered a flight of stairs leading off to the west wing of the manse. Finally, Farah remembered arriving in the room that contained the couple from the Genesis Conference. Nicholas had closed the door this time, locking it behind them.

The exhibitionists' display had once again left Farah yearning. Her sex throbbed, demanding attention. Nicholas pressed against her from behind. She felt the bulge in his pants and licked her lips.

"Ah, there he is," she cooed.

The woman, her breathing restored, locked eyes with Farah. Her partner continued to stroke into her slowly, causing the white contents of her sex to leak out. She kept her gaze on Farah.

"What do you think she wants?" Nicholas asked Farah softly. He placed his hand firmly on her stomach, her heat radiating through the light fabric to warm his palm. She bit her lip and leaned back into him, tilting her chin up.

"I think she wants to see my pussy," Farah responded.

The woman flinched, her breathe catching on the last stroke. She touched her partner's chest, signaling for him to stop. Wordlessly, he unsheathed himself and lay on his back facing Farah. The woman moved with feline grace, mounting him quickly. She began to ride him slowly. Her eyes were still on Farah.

"And what do you want?" Nicholas asked once more. His hand on her stomach had closed, gripping a fistful of her dress.

"I want to show her."

Slowly, he lifted her dress, pulling it above her waist until she was completely exposed. She widened her stance, her shaven sex glistened in the red glow, its' lips swollen and dark. The woman moaned, her fingernails digging into her partner's chest. Nicholas unzipped her dress from behind before peeling it off of her. Her breasts bounced free, her nipples painfully erect.

"Go to her," he commanded.

Immediately Farah crossed the room, squatting on the man's face. She felt his tongue enter in as his mouth opened to accept her. The woman impaled herself on him before opening her mouth to accept Farah's tongue hungrily. She moaned as she kissed her, her lust finally unleashed. The woman moved from Farah's mouth to her neck, and then to her breasts, tracing a path down her torso with her tongue. She flitted it on Farah's nipples before sucking them deeply, making Farah's toes curled. Powerful arms seized her thighs, reminding her that she was being taken from underneath. She was caught off guard by her orgasm, overwhelmed by the experience. Tonight, she would be used thoroughly. She would let them have their way with her. She would indulge, because nothing else mattered.

Nicholas moved to open the door. Farah attempted to turn to him, but her face was caught by the woman's hands.

"He is not your concern," she said, kissing Farah's forehead. "You belong to us tonight."

"Take good care of her," Nicholas said before leaving the room. The door locked behind him.




Indulgence



~

Sunlight seeped through the corner of the curtains in her hotel room, bathing Farah in its warm glow. Groggily, she was awakened by it, shielding her eyes from the sudden intensity of the light. Her head was swimming slightly, so she opted to keep it rested on her pillow while she gathered her senses. Blindly, she reached for her phone, frowning as her probing produced no results. She usually kept it on the nightstand so where the hell was it? Through great effort, she managed to get herself into an upright position. Even with her eyes closed, it felt as if the world was being turned upside down. Squinting, she turned her head to check the time on the alarm clock. It read 11:47am.

Groaning, she rolled out of the bed and dragged her feet to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on her face served to sharpen her senses, though the bass still thumped through her skull. Her eyes shot open. The bass. Her mind was racing now, memories coalescing to form a hurried rough sketch of events from the evening prior. The red mansion...and the couple. Goosebumps rose on her skin from the chill she felt when she remembered the couple. They had taken her, again and again. Suddenly, her legs didn't feel so sturdy. She sat down on the side of the bathtub, head in her hands. God, what an experience. And it was all because of him: Nicholas, her secret employer turned pimp. 'No, not a pimp,' she reminded herself. Then what, exactly? She had been too caught up to ask the critical questions at dinner, not that it mattered at this point. He had left the room and she hadn't seen him again that evening, at least not that she could remember. But then, how had she gotten back here?

Farah's head snapped to the entrance of the bathroom as she heard the sound of her suite door being unlocked. Fucking room service. They never did know when the go the hell away. She looked down at her bare body. She hadn't worn anything under her dress last night. Thankfully, a robe was hanging from the back of the bathroom door.

"No room service, please!" she called out as she quickly went over and grabbed it, covering herself hastily. The door opened before she could cross the room. In place of housekeeping, however, Nicholas entered the room, closing the door behind him. He was dressed casually in a cashmere sweater and slacks. 'Well he seems well enough,' Farah thought to herself. He was holding a large brown paper bag.

"Good morning," he said brightly. "I figured that food was a necessity since you missed dinner. Please forgive that oversight. The coffee should help with your head."

"How thoughtful," Farah replied, eyebrow raised.

He sat down at a table and began to remove the contents of the bag. Fruit, croissants and two large cups of coffee. "So did you enjoy yourself?" he asked, helping himself to a croissant.

Farah felt herself reddening. "You would know better than I. Why did you leave me?"

"I make it a habit not to engage sexually when alcohol is present," he responded after taking a bite. "It allows me to retain control over the situation."

"Oh, the situation," Farah said, her voice laced with sarcasm. "So it's okay for me to get fucked by two strangers, but..." She stopped herself short.

"It's not okay for me to fuck you?" he finished, before placing his half-eaten croissant on the table. He stood from the chair and walked towards her. Farah took a half-step back, fighting her body's urge to move towards him. He quickly closed the gap between them, opening her robe when he reached her. "That is precisely what I am saying, yes."

She kept her eyes on him while he rubbed her, his hands coming to rest on the curvature of her hips. "And what about now?"

"Now," he repeated. His fingers began to dig into the softness of her flesh before he abruptly let her go. "Now, you must eat and wash. You have an interview with Dr. Murphy today, yes? Your payment is predicated on the completion of your assignment."

Farah couldn't believe her ears. She watched in stunned silenced as he returned to the table and collected his coffee and croissant. Valentine's Day was one thing, but this was a completely different matter. Farah Ammad did not get turned down. She got what she wanted, by any means. Regardless of the assuredness of her thoughts, however, he was moving towards the door and she was unable to formulate words.

"Wait!" she called out finally, his hand on the door knob. "Just...why? Why last night? Why did you hire me? Why any of this?"

"Why not?" he asked simply. Then, he opened the door and left the room.

Deafening silence followed his departure. Farah felt her heartbeat slow to its resting pace. Finally, she let herself fall backwards onto her bed, sighing.

After a moment, she smiled mischievously, thinking back on the exploits of what was undoubtedly her most memorable Valentine's Day to date.

"Why the fuck not, indeed." Farah said aloud to the empty room.



Indulgence into a Fantasy



As we sat there having dinner I wondered, just what could I do to turn things up a notch on my beautiful wife for one night that she would never expect. As our waiter came back with the second round of drinks, I noticed that he was smiling a little more at her than your normal waiter's do. Just a man's intuition as well, we know when someone is checking out our significant other. Even if they are subtle about it, which at the time he was trying to be, and I must say as hot as she looked that night (and everyday before or since then) I would have been offended if he hadn't looked twice at her.

Brad, the waiter, sat down the drinks and plopped down on the booth seat next to me and made small talk, surprising since the restaurant was jam packed but a nice touch, whether for just a bigger tip for being personable or if this was really how he was, it was an effort that would be noted at check time. He began to talk though and I watched him as his eyes darted to the copious amounts of breast my wife was displaying, she rarely dresses "slutty" mind you, but tonight we were out alone without the kids and she didn't have to be mommy, just a hot wife.

"So are you two here on your anniversary tonight?" he asked, "I remember when you were here a few weeks ago with those two adorable girls of yours and I was just wondering if this was a special occasion or you just came back for my wonderful service," he chuckled.

"A little bit of both Brad," I answered him, "just a date night without the girls and last time you were such a good host that we figured a repeat performance was in order."

I saw the glint in Cristina's eyes as I said this, she wondered if I would tease him, or be my normal obnoxious self and have a little extra fun with our conversation. She tried to the words "be good" with subtlety but Brad caught part of it.

"Oh I can be," he said, turning to me with a wink.

Now a bit intrigued I wondered just how far this conversation would be able to go and how red Cristina's face would get. "Oh really," I asked.

"Well just trying to have a little fun, I like customers like you two that come in and return, it means I did well, and a little added conversation just keeps me in your mind the next time you decide to eat out."

"Well Brad," I smiled, "I eat out a lot and Cristina never seems to mind."

Just then Brad realized he should be checking the other patrons and excused himself with a small bow. A bit of flourish that was timed just right. I looked at Cristina as he left and knew that she was watching his ass as he walked away.

"Hey babe take a picture and then it might last a little longer," I teased her.

"Just what are you planning in that demented mind of yours Chad?" she asked timidly.

"Oh nothing, just having a little fun baby, loosen up, I know that horny girl inside you is dying to get out tonight, we don't have to rush home, Steph has the kids under control I'm sure and maybe we'll be able to have some fun."

"Alright, but just be good please," she said with an amused plea. 

She then excused herself, saying the drinks had run right through her and with that my mind went into pervert overdrive. I quickly pulled out my cellphone and called home to check on the girls. Finding out they were watching a movie and tormenting Steph, was music to my ears. I asked if she might be able to stay overnight because we were drinking and might have to go to the hotel across the street and she assured me it wouldn't be a problem. 

Now with that in order I called information and got the hotel across the road's number and dialed the number, reserved a room, and had my phone tucked away before Cristina had returned. Just as I took another drink Brad popped back up. 

"Hey, I didn't mean to step over any boundaries here with you two, I might have gotten carried away," he apologized.

"No problem Brad, actually let me ask you a few quick questions. Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No actually, I've been going to school and working so much that a woman would just get in the way," he laughed.

"Alright then, and now a big question, would you have a problem fucking another man's wife at the same time he is? I mean a threesome with a woman and another man? No touching between the two men needed."

He looked at me for a minute and then asked a question of his own, "Are you asking me if I'd like to fuck your wife?"

"Look I'll be honest this is unchartered territory for my wife and I, but I know it's her biggest fantasy and I'd like to give it to her. I like the fact that we are strangers, yet, a good fun conversation and more with you is possible."

Brad thought a moment more, "If you're cool with it I am, I mean your wife is amazingly hot and I would hit on her if she just came in by herself. Just say where and when."

"Alright she will be back in a minute or so, what time do you get off tonight?"

"Actually as soon as you two are done, you're my last table tonight."

"Ok that settles that then, when we leave give us about half an hour and then come over to the hotel across the street and come up to room 212. I'll make sure she thinks it's room service and then we'll all have some fun."

"Oh yeah we will, and just so you know, I will leave tonight in that hotel room, no contact after that unless you both seek me out. I don't mind this, but I'm not into breaking up a marriage."

"That just made you a sure thing in my book Brad. By the way thanks for that, it's easy to see why guys hit on my wife but knowing that you can do this and leave it at that I'm assured that tonight is going to be very interesting."

Just then Cristina came back to the table smiling, "Sorry honey, I guess all that drinking, has kinda ran right through me and with the line in the little girls room, it took longer than I expected."

"Not a problem sweety, Brad just stopped by to ask if we needed anything else, right Brad?" I asked with a wink.

"Yes, sir, and by the way may I say you looked lovely tonight miss."

"Thank you Brad it's always nice to hear, and I do hear if from Chad a lot but a new voice behind it is a sweet thing to a girl's ears."

Brad walked away to get our check and I slid over next to Cristina, I slowly ran my hand up her smooth legs and up under her skirt. Since we were in a side booth no one would be the wiser, I pushed my hand up farther and touched the center of her panties, they were a little moist and I knew she was horny already, brushing her panties to the side I kissed her neck and pressed my fingers deep inside the wet hole.

"Chad this isn't being...oh my god...good honey, can't you wait just a little longer till we get home?"

"I already called and the girls are fine and I told Steph that we were going to be out a little longer than expected. She said stay out as late as you want the girls are fine."

"So what did you have in mind stud," she asked as her hand found its way into my lap and grasped my rock hard cock.

"You'll see," I whispered into her ear as I flicked her clit with my thumb.

Just then Brad returned with our check. I handed him my credit card and saw the hunger in his eyes as he noticed what might be going on under the table. "I'll be right back with this so you can get out of here and take care of that itch you seem to be scratching well by the look on your wife's face sir."

Cristina's eyes flew open and she realized that he had seen or guessed something and she nudged me, "Get your hand out of my panties for the moment, Chad, and when we get in the car I'll be all yours."

As soon as Brad brought back the check I added on the gratuity and we headed out, "Change of plans babydoll," I told Cristina, "I booked us a room at the hotel over there," I said pointing across the road, "when we get in there I'm going to fuck you, lick you, spank you, and take you to places your fantasy's have only been so far."

Cristina sighed a content breath, "I knew you would do something like this, it's those impulsive things that made me fall in love with you to start with."

"Fuck love baby, I want to get inside those panties of yours and fuck you senseless tonight," I paused, "I want to make you cum over and over again until the neighboring rooms are calling to complain because you are so loud."

Inside the hotel we got our room key and stepped into the elevator, as soon as the door was closed Cristina was on me in an instant. Her hands squeezing my hard cock and her mouth all over my flesh wherever she could get to. As the door slid open I pushed her back and grabbed her hand leading her to the hotel room door. Once there I pushed her up against the door and kissed her letting my hand slide up her skirt, ripping away the panties and sinking my fingers into her wet pussy as I opened the door.

As soon as the door was shut Cristina slid to her knees and pulled open my pants, pressed me against the door and yanked my boxers down until she was faced with my cock throbbing before her. She looked up at me and licked her lips, "Feed me stud," she whimpered as she plunged her mouth down over my sizable erection. Her mouth was bobbing a mile a minute and she was using her tongue to its best possible ability, curling it around my manhood as she slid those lips up and down and over again on me. I knew I would cum quickly and warned her. 

"Cristina if you keep this up I'm going to feed you a mouthful of cum baby," I panted.

Pulling back for just an instant, she looked up, "That's exactly what I want tonight, a few mouthfuls of cum and a hard cock inside me." 

Forcing her head down with my hands I let her know that was what she was undoubtedly going to get as I fucked her beautiful mouth hard and fast. She moaned and purred and as the first shot spurted into her mouth Cristina began to swallow with my cock in her mouth and then pushed farther than she had gone before embedding me in her throat as I came hard.

"Oh my god you sexy little slut you are amazing, " I told her.

As soon as she was done I picked her up and with my cock still hard, tossed her on the bed. "You've been such a naughty girl lately that I think it's time for that spanking your long overdue for." 

Cristina gave a soft moan as I flipped her skirt up and brought my hand down quickly across her naked ass. I instructed her to count and then began to slowly redden the sexy ass of my beautiful wife. I paused for a moment and reached between her legs to see just how wet she was now and was rewarded by my fingers gliding inside her soaking slit. Over the past few years I had found just how turned on this made her and tonight I was striving to elicit as much pleasure as possible. 

I cupped my hand and spanked her ass hard, gently rubbing the spot for a few seconds before swatting her again. After about five minutes I asked, "Who's little slut are you baby?" 

"Mmm your's master," she purred. 

"I'm going to do something now that I know you love baby, strip and crawl up on the bed," I commanded. 

In a few quick seconds her blouse was gone as was her bra and she was lying back on the bed with hunger in those pretty eyes of hers. I deftly looped my tie around her hands and bound her to the bedpost. With her arms above her head, with slack so she wouldn't be uncomfortable, her breasts were heaving and she looked just like I had hoped she would when Brad came in. He was due at anytime so I had to work quickly. I grabbed a hand towel from the rack in the bathroom and tied it over her eyes, I didn't want her to have any clue what was going to happen at first, nor did I want her to try and become her normal shy self and refuse to let herself enjoy the pleasure of the night I was intent on giving her.

I picked up the phone and put my fingers over the button so that there was no actual connection and then randomly hit a button or two. "Yes, I'd like to order up a little room service please, a bottle of champagne and some strawberries please." Hmm, I thought that might actually be a good idea, so I did call down and order something, explaining as the phone rang to Cristina that our connection had accidently been severed.

I knew this was going to be close and as I waited for room service, I slid down between Cristina's legs and began to lap at her shaved pussy, not a hair to get in the way, just the way I loved her to be. I enjoyed the way her nude pussy lips felt in my mouth as I sucked on them and ran my tongue up and down the sides before plunging it inside her pussy as my fingers worked their way in as well. All too soon there was a knock at the door and I hopped up, "Be right back baby, don't go anywhere," I chuckled, throwing on my pants expediently. 

I heard her sigh as I stepped out of the bedroom area and into the front room, I opened the door and it was the room service tray, tipping the man, I looked out into the hall and spied Brad waiting by the elevator. I motioned for him to come down the hall and into the room putting a finger to my lips making sure he knew to be quiet for the time being. 

"Here's the deal," I whispered, "Cristina is naked back there with her legs spread and completely wet. I am going to go in and begin to eat that sweet pussy a little more and then I want you to slide your cock against her lips when I signal you. Are you cool with that?" I asked him.

"Sure thing, or and this is just a thought, I could go in there and go down on her and let you play with the rest of her until you're ready to move on, that way she won't know exactly who's where on her body."

"Good idea, Brad," I replied, "Now let's go get her, and just remember a condom if you fuck her, and she won't take it in the ass so don't even try unless she begs. That's all you need to know, everything else is fair game."

"Gotcha boss, by the way, this is the best tip I've ever gotten," he teased.

We entered the room and Brad wasted no time slipping out of his clothes, I looked down at his cock, hell yeah I was curious if there was any chance he was going to fuck my wife tonight I wanted to see what he was packing before hand. To my pleasant surprise he was about the same size I was, I may have had an inch or so on him and he had a bit (a little bit dammit) more girth than I do. So it would even out, Cristina might take a while to figure out whose cock was whose.

Brad slid between her legs and began to lick her soft, wet pussy, it was amazing that his technique from what I could see was nearly identical to mine. That would throw her off as well, at least until she felt his tongue and no hoop in it, she knows I wouldn't take it out for anything so if Cristina paid attention this would alert her immediately. As Brad teased her pussy I reached down and began to run my fingers over her nipples, lightly pulling and rolling them until they stuck out nice and erect. 

Brad had kept his hands at his side using only his mouth at first and now I looked at him and motioned for him to slide his fingers up inside her as he lapped at her clit. Upon his doing this I sank my mouth over one nipple and began to tug the other. 

"Oh my god," Cristina gasped, "Chad, who else is in here?" she pleaded for the knowledge.

"Don't worry baby," I told her, "My hot little slut is going to get her fill of cock tonight, and there's nothing she can do about it. So lay back and be prepared for the night of your life."

She started to say something and instead of words coming out all she got was a mouthful of my hard cock, "Shut up and suck my cock baby and let the man between your legs do what he came here to do." 

Cristina's mouth was in overdrive as she sucked my cock and moved her head as much as she could up and down the shaft, she was allowing every inch of me to penetrate her throat now with relaxed ease. Brad looked at me and mouthed the word switch, I wasn't sure I was ready to yet, but the thought of sliding deep inside her tight pussy was enough of a persuader. 

Brad slipped away from her and took up my place as I lifted her legs and nudged her pussy with my cock. The head slipped in easily, looking up I could see Brad enjoying himself with two handfuls of big titties and his cock pushing into my wife's sexy mouth. 

"Do you like sucking his cock Cristina?" I asked, "Just moan if you do."

"MMM, hmmm," she moaned as I slid in to the hilt and just began slamming into her hard and fast.

I knew how she liked to be fucked, tonight was not the time for slow love making at least not right now. This was the time to give her what she wanted. Two big hard cocks inside her warm, wet, inviting holes. 

I gave it all I had for about three minutes and then decided I wanted to keep Cristina reeling in pleasure, "Switch time buddy," I told Brad. 

I watched as he unrolled a condom onto his sizable cock and then right before he pushed it in I pulled the makeshift blindfold off Cristina's head. I saw the mixture of lust and acknowledgment in her eyes as she looked at Brad poised right at her entrance. She looked up at me and I smiled as I pushed my cock into her mouth again. Brad wasted no time slamming deep inside her and lifting her legs to his shoulders. Each time he plunged to her depths Cristina would moan around my shaft sending little tingles of pleasure through my cock.

I reached up and undid her hands and then when Brad was ready we switched again, Cristina sucked on his condom covered cock tasting herself without even thinking about it. She pulled the condom off of his cock and flipped over onto her hands and knees as I knelt behind her. She scooted Brad to where she wanted him sitting on the bed and then began to suck his cock like the little slut I know she can be. 

Slamming her tight pussy hard I began to spank her and give her a little verbal nudge. "That's right slut, suck Brad's cock deep and make him fill your hot little mouth with cum, while I take you like the hot little bitch in heat you are."

This seemed to send her over the edge and her squeals could be heard around his cock as I cracked my hand against her ass and then held her hips and slammed deeply inside her. "We are both going to fill you with cum at the same time, and I'm close so you better do an amazing job baby."

Brad grabbed her head at that moment and began humping his hips up towards her mouth hard and fast, "I'm going to cum any second," he growled.

I held onto Cristina's hips and began to fuck her as hard as I could raising her ass a little higher for the deepest penetration possible. With her ass in the air like this I could see her tight little asshole, and how relaxed it was, now I knew I wouldn't get away with slamming my cock in there but a finger was a different story. 

As I began to cum and I knew Brad was by his grunts, I slipped my finger into Cristina's tight asshole and worked it quickly as far as it would go. Cristina just moaned loudly and I felt her pussy clenching hard around my cock, a sure sign she was cumming just as hard as Brad was and I was about to.

I felt the explosion start and continued slamming it as deep as possible while we all came together. A few moments later, Brad pushed Cristina away from his cock claiming it was too sensitive for anymore attention right then. She turned from him, forcing my finger and cock out of her hot little body and she slipped between my legs and began to suck my cock clean of our mixed juices. 

Brad looked at the clock and said he was sorry but he had to excuse himself for the evening. We thanked him for the great night and then settled into bed after seeing him out. Cristina looked at me and grabbing a strawberry and sliding it into my mouth she grinned widely. "So stud, I guess now you'll be wanting another girl to join us one night soon huh?"

"We'll see baby, I did this for you, and for me, I didn't mind seeing you sucking his cock or getting fucked like I had always expected. But yeah you're probably right, I wouldn't mind having my gorgeous wife and another woman soon."




Indulgence Sprints



I pulled off my socks, untied my yoga pants and let them slip to the floor. My flannel sheets felt cool and soft to my bare legs. I settled in, backing up against my pillows and opening my laptop. My fingers found their places on the keys dutifully after I had cushioned my ears with Enigma in my headphones. I liked how the headphones held my hair out of my face yet still left it free to move about. I had been thinking about what I'd like to write for weeks. And since I hadn't had any writing time over the holidays, my mind was full. I looked forward to feeling my fingers dance as my thoughts assembled on the screen, and this is where I began. The glass of wine I had with dinner fuzzed me and the music blurred the edges, smearing my room around me. I loved the way my skin buzzed when I climbed into my mind, replaying my recent pleasures by imagining them vividly enough to pin words on them -- little display bugs of bliss -- all various colors categorized before me.

The holidays had crowded out much of my personal indulgences in favor of the family sort, so I had to seize the opportunities I had alone, and this had resulted in a few discoveries. My prior personal indulgences had usually included privacy enough to chat, read, or at the very least, get naked, but with only minutes at my disposal and family members continuously milling about, I had to get more creative. And out of my desperate creativity, I developed a sudden-death sort of game last week.

It all started in the kitchen when I was trying to finish up some paperwork while cooking dinner. I was sitting on a stool working at the kitchen counter and keeping an eye on the oven. I leaned forward slightly and felt my lips spread in my underwear on the hard stool. I had been really busy that week and felt especially pent up, so the pleasure really got my attention. I knew I could not dismiss it when I so very much wanted to be consumed by it. I continued working, but I began mashing around feeling smearing in my panties. I tightened with the pleasure and felt my pulse quicken. I held my breath to heighten it. My oven suddenly beeped because the preheat was complete. I released my breath.

When I got up to put the roast in and wash the vegetables, I kept the largest carrot. It was really long and fat at the end. I laughed at myself because I was even considering it. It was clean I reasoned, and after I cut off the skinny half, I reached my hand into my panties and slowly slide the carrot, fat side first, in. It felt cold as it slid, and it made me shudder as the sensation went inside me. I pulled it in with my muscles and felt the cold edge warming as the carrot slipped completely inside me. I imagined sealing my lips around it.

I was in my pants up to my elbows and felt vulnerable, so I tucked a paper towel into the bottom of my underwear and pulled them back to help keep the carrot firmly in place. I again sat at my stool and worked, but this time when I leaned forward, not only did my lips roll about and my labia swell, but my carrot moved within me. Having something so cold completely inside of my while being able to so effectively stimulate my clitoris brought me quickly to orgasm. 

I released my pen and gripped my counter dramatically as I shuddered through a very nice orgasmic wave. I could feel the orgasm inside me spasm and my labia pulse. It felt so good to have both.

I quickly removed my carrot and wiped up with the paper towel, then tossed both in the can. I felt a tad embarrassed but immediately smiled with just how satisfied I was. And that is how my game of the five-minute orgasm began.

The next morning I was in the shower thinking about the day when I decided the best way to start. I had a very nice shower head. I adjusted it and bent over, leaning onto my toes with my hands against the glass in front of me. I especially enjoyed the jets pushing into my bottom skin and running down my legs. I took one of my hands from the glass to grab my shower puff and press it between my legs. I rubbed it with my labia, thrusting forward to it and sliding back on it firmly to raise my buttocks, opening my legs for the shower jets to stream in. I had only to rub a few times before I knew I could bring myself to it, so I let my mind return to a favorite scenario as I tightened my focus. I saw myself being seduced into having sex with a stranger at a party. I knew I couldn't, but somehow in my mind I was. I could see it, and my body felt the forbidden indulgence coerce until I was liquid shimmering flow, moving out and finally twisting round, round and down. I pressed my hands firmly to the glass to reaffirm reality as my orgasm subsided and my focus returned. I watched the water whirlpool gently down the drain. 

The strength of the shower jets wasn't as satisfying as my carrot, but the shower puff had done its job nicely, and I once again smiled at my satisfaction. I emerged from my shower fully ready to face my day.

That night was band practice and my daughter was playing with a friend in her room. I had finished dishes and had a few minutes before bedtime, so I went into my bathroom with my Hitachi Wand and locked the door. I really enjoyed my wand and knew I could cum in no time, but it was really noisy, so I only used it when no one else was home. I removed my jeans and underwear while I hoped they'd play a set with no breaks, and I switched it on.

I rubbed it on my lips, but standing up just wasn't working. I desperately wanted to lie down so I could better maneuver my legs. I tried leaning over the counter, but it was too high. I got down on my hands and knees as my arousal grew to the beat. I loved it when I could feel the music. It vibrated the floor, the walls, the door knob rattled. I could feel it in my stomach. I felt a rush of heat at the idea of being on all fours in my bathroom, but I just couldn't get the wand where I needed it.

I grabbed onto the sink and pulled myself up to squatting while pressing hard onto my wand. It was wonderful. My wand vibrated very strongly (thus the volume), and if I pressed it firmly into my lip on my right side, I could feel my entire being get pulled in to the all-consuming pleasure spot. I could focus on it and feel my orgasm rise as I remained perfectly still. It all happened within me. I was electric at that moment, and I longed to be grounded by touch as each part of me heightened, but I myself would not move a muscle. I just focused on the idea that it was coming. I tried to maintain it. I could crest it and just stay there. I loved that moment, and although I had previously only done this on my back, my bathroom position turned out to be even better.

The first song had barely rolled into the next. At first I thought I would have to turn it off, but since the music continued to surround me, I buzzed myself to the peek. I held my breath and pulled in as I crested. It fluttered and rolled over me thickly. I thought I might ball in and roll to my side, but I held fast to the sink and released my breath. I drew a few more sustained breaths before standing and attending to bedtime. I could still feel the after-buzz in my lips as I closed my eyes and slipped into sleep.

The next morning, I had a few extra minutes to shower, so I took my camera into the bathroom with me. I played with the auto timer, snapping a few pics and drying my hands to look at the results. I was happy with the red glow of the heat lamp and the liquid sparkles languishing on my skin. Wet skin was beautiful, especially in good lighting with zoom. I set a few auto sequences and struck suggestive poses until I felt a need to get to do something with my growing arosal. I again rubbed myself with my shower puff, but this time I inserted the short but stout shower gel bottle completely inside myself and kneeled down on the shower floor.

The water drummed loudly over my head. On my knees I held my bottle in place with one hand and rubbed myself with my shower puff in the other. I closed my eyes and felt the water stream all over me while I pleasured myself. I pressed the puff harder as I rubbed and felt the bottle stretch me until it ached seductively. It would stretch and pop just outside my lips and I would quickly push it back in. I could feel myself squeak against it every few pumps as the water removed my juices, combining down the drain with them.

The squeak was delicious in its sound and vibration. I worked myself to panting to keep up my pace because I knew exactly where I was going. I leaned back for balance as I worked, maintaining my prior pace. The water streamed over me like a waterfall and I imagined taking pictures with someone who would most certainly seduce me right there outside in the water. I wanted him, but I held back, but he would manipulate me into abandonment because he knew my base side instinctually, playing my sexuality into dominating my being. Yet I knew I too could manipulate him likewise, so I strutted and languished, savoring his response. His pleasure circled through me as mine circled through him. The circle grew and intensified until it pulsed, shimmered, dissolved. 

Only a moment later, my hot water ran out. I didn't mind as much as I may have, however, because a cold shower is exactly what I needed to get me to work on time.

And my final round of the game played that week culminated on Christmas Eve when I was playing Santa. I had gone to bed to wait for my daughter to be fully asleep, so I wore my red terry cloth robe to do the job. I had nothing underneath and the robe slid open no matter how tightly I tied the waist. No one else was up; however, so I just let it fall open. It was cold and my nipples were pleasurably hard. I was also very aware of the air between my legs and enjoyed fingering my trimmed strip of light brown curly hair since it wasn't hidden under panties.

I filled a stocking and spread a few presents under the tree, and I was feeling a bit chilled -- and aroused. I decided to put another log in the wood burning stove and trim the vents before bed. Stepping on the slate, I enjoyed its organic warmth. I squatted to attend door- level, then kneeled and eventually sat on the slate's warmth. After tending the fire, I leaned and dropped my head back. I rubbed my lips, and it felt so nice as the heated air warmed my skin and the slate warmed my bottom and my palm.

Then the idea came to me, and I went to the garbage can to retrieve my carrot. It wasn't too grossly buried, and I found it quickly. I washed it thoroughly and skipped back to my wood-burning stove. I put the carrot completely in me and again sat on the slate leaning back. My cheeks spread under me as I rubbed my lips vigorously, thereby also maneuvering my fully inserted carrot.

I thought of a chat I had had. I typed a story while he came on cam. It was really exhilarating to watch his response to my words and to imagine his pleasure -- actually see his pleasure. I enjoyed watching men cum for that reason -- actually seeing the pleasure. It got me going in the way a yawn can make you feel like you need to yawn. If you think about it, you probably want to yawn now. It is catchy like that for me.

As each of my other rounds in the game, it didn't take long for me to cum. I smiled to myself because I felt like it and because it was forming as part of the game: Plot -- cum -- smile. I decided that I liked the game and was good at it. Right now I am thinking that more practice next week couldn't hurt. I shall close my keyboard now and drift . . . .