12 comments/ 49373 views/ 2 favorites Joy By: neonlyte The story has recently been re-written and I haven't been as thorough with the editing as I would like in order to meet the Valentines Day dead line, please forgive any minor errors. Joy decided to walk to Rupert's, it wasn't far, half an hour maximum. She certainly could do with the exercise; after she started work a few months ago, she'd given up playing hockey, and the training that kept her fit. The walk helped her to straighten her mind, tomorrow was Valentines Day, she'd booked a hotel room, they would spend the night together. Rupert will make love to her, properly, fully. No more playing, she wanted to feel him move inside her. She'd spoken with him by telephone just before she left home. He wanted to come and collect her, he didn't want to waste a moment now that his parents had left to visit his grandmother. They'd have all day, needed time for themselves; she'd made a mess of the last four months, the period since Christmas had been almost more than she could bear. She walked briskly, much cooler than she'd anticipated, stupid to have worn her knee length shorts but Rupert liked her legs, that's how their relationship started, and she knew he wouldn't be able to resist touching her legs. 'This is going to be ok.' Joy told herself. 'Christ, I've been stupid.' - - # - - Joy and Madeline cycled to the local college where they both took a foundation course before moving on to Art School. Their route took them up a long hill, most days they cycled up. There were both active in sports, Madeline specialised in gymnastics; Joy was into athletics, and a hockey player. When Rupert first ran into her, figuratively speaking, she had a lean boyish figure, hard muscled calves and thighs, and a chest sporting a couple of nipples, masquerading as breasts. Madeline was altogether rounder, more feminine, with ample breasts threatening to terminate her gymnastic prowess. That particular morning Maddy was suffering, her period had started, she had 'the cramps' and couldn't muster the energy to cycle up the hill. So they walked, pushing their bikes laden with college gear and sports bags. This was way, way back in the days before young adults had their own car. Rupert was the exception. Rupert owned a car. He'd finished school and was working in a small engineering company. Both girls knew Rupert by sight; they'd all attended a sixth form college career forum last year prior to starting University or employment. Joy also knew him from a club where she was an irregular attendee, her evenings usually taken up with training and studying. Some girls, Maddy for one, would say the best thing Rupert had going for him was his car. They didn't really know him, he wasn't easy to know, quite shy and lacking in confidence around girls. Rupert's car was his prized possession. As Joy would soon be able to testify, Rupert's dexterity was most definitely expressed through his hands. Before he left sixth form college he applied his hands to the restoration of a vintage Austin Seven car, a sort of black upright box, after he left, he applied his hands to Joy's body. At this moment, Rupert is reversing his vintage car out of his driveway. The problem with the Austin Seven is its limited rear visibility, it has a tiny rear window; it makes reversing very difficult. The girls assumed, when they saw him reversing out of his drive, he'd seen them and would stop. He hadn't and didn't. He knocked Joy's bike to the floor then reversed across the front wheel buckling it beyond immediate repair. "You stupid prat!" Joy screamed, thumping her hand on the roof of the car. He stopped the car and opened the door, exiting and peering over the top at her, a puzzled expression on his face. "Look what you've done you idiot. How am I going to get to college on time?" "What?" He reached inside the car and turned the engine off, then slowly walked around the front of the car his face screwing up when he saw my bike under his car. "Bugger!" He said bending down and examining the paintwork, looking for scratches. "Hey you. Sod your paintwork. What about my bike?" "I'm sorry. I didn't see you. I think it's ok." He reached for the bike pulling it from under the car seeing the buckled wheel for the first time. "Oh." "You'll have to take me to college." "What? I can't." "Oh yes you can buster." Maddy stood giggling, she knew the expression on Joy's face; there would be only one winner in this argument. That's how they started, Rupert and Joy, simple really, run over a pretty girls bike then you have to drive her everywhere. He took her to college, leaving her mangled bike at his parent's house for him to repair and return; Maddy cycled to college by herself. At seven o'clock, after hockey practice, Rupert was waiting as instructed at the college gates to take Joy home. For the next two weeks they repeated the morning and evening routine, it was astonishing how quickly everybody assumed they were 'going out', even Maddy refused to believe nothing was going on between them. There wasn't anything going on – not yet. Joy took sneaky looks at him during the drive, decided Rupert was nice, not dramatically good looking, but clean, huge plus as far as Joy was concerned, smells nice, dresses conservatively but sharp, and, considerate. At this time, she had no idea he was such a great kisser or he could do things with his fingers and tongue that would send her spinning out of control. A couple weeks after he'd repaired her bike, Joy was careening down the hill outside Rupert's parents house on her way home from college when the strap holding her work bag to the rear pannier slipped. The bag fell off scattering notes and files everywhere, and Joy fell off her bike when she hit the kerb after turning her head to see what the hell was going on. She didn't really hurt herself, grazed a knee, wounded her pride, and became pathetically girlish when Rupert pulled up in his car on the opposite side of the road. He didn't say anything, just set about collecting her papers and stuff before the wind blew them to the corners of the earth. Joy sat on the grass verge nursing her embarrassment. "You ok?" He finally asked. "Yes. Did you manage to collect everything?" "Think so. You'll have to check. I'll help you to the car." Rupert assumed she sat because she'd injured herself, the trickle of blood on her knee aiding his observation, Joy felt foolish enough without admitting she was so pissed off she'd stayed sitting whilst he collected her papers and managed to fake a pretty good limp as he helped her into his car. He reached for her, putting an arm around her to support her. Some things you remember all your life, like the first real kiss, your first period, the first time you taste a man; Joy would always remember Rupert putting his arm around her. She remember his hand spreading itself across her ribcage, firm, supportive, his thumb and first finger framing what should have been a breast - it was the first time he touched her, she could never explain why his touch took her breath away. His hand pressing against her dominated her senses, she felt faint, it was as if all the blood in her body had rushed to the site of his hand to repel invaders; her nipples tingled as she willed her breasts bigger. "You sure you're ok?" He asked, misinterpreting her sharp intake of breath. "Rest here," he said seating her in his car, "I'll take your bike back to my house, then come back for you." He smiled in a reassuring way and set off up the road pushing her bike the hundred metres or so to his house. She watched him go, her back still burning from where his arm had been, she could feel his hand as if it were still spread across her rib cage and shifted in the car seat resisting the urge to rub her nipples. Against her mild protestation, he drove her to his house. "Where's your family?" Joy asked attempting distraction from the sensations Rupert effortlessly stimulated. They were in the sitting room, typically English, china ornaments on the mantelshelf. She perched on a sofa covered in a floral patterned material, Rupert cleaning the blood staining her knee where she grazed it. She was mesmerised by his touching her skin, one hand cupped behind her calf, the other wiping at the graze on her knee with cotton wool dampened in warm water. She could feel his breath on her leg as he bent to the task. She wanted to scream, wrap her legs around his head. Pull him onto her. She wondered, if she pretended to faint would do whatever he wanted with her. "Out. Mum visiting my Aunt, Janet and Dad are both at work. There. I think that's ok; it probably looks worst than it is. My God, you've really bruised your legs." "War wounds, hockey." She tried to keep her voice calm; all she wanted was for him to continue touching her, anywhere, everywhere. Rupert examined her legs with innocent interest, trailing fingertips over bruises as if comparing sizes; she imagined he could easily see up her skirt from where he crouched on the floor, an image filled her mind of his head buried between her thighs; she shivered – not from the cold. "I'll make you a cup of tea," he said, "you're probably in shock." Joy listened to him in the kitchen rattling around, making tea, partly relieved he'd moved from his vantage point, and partly wishing he'd stayed. She wondered if he'd snuck a peak and tugged at the hem of her short skirt. In the early 1970's short skirts were the fashion, Joy couldn't have been more pleased, she considered her legs and her small well rounded bottom her best features, certainly wasn't her non-existent breasts! She wore usually wore short skirts or tracksuit bottoms. She preferred skirts, didn't mind men looking at her legs, and only wore a tracksuit occasionally, when the continual whistles irritated. "Look, I've found this antiseptic cream," he said coming back into the room and placing a tea tray on the low table in front of them, "you ought to spread some on that graze, make sure it doesn't become infected." Joy had sat with her feet up on the sofa leaning back against the arm rest, he knelt again by her side offering the ointment. She moved her knee toward him, the action parting her thighs enough for him to see her panties. He looked, a slightly bewildered expression on his face, he looked up at her face. Locking her eyes with his, she reached for his hand, removed the tube of ointment and, heart beating so loud she thought she could hear it, pulled his hand toward her placing it on the soft skin of her inner thigh closer to her panties than her knee so there would be no misunderstanding. Joy closed her eyes and rested her head back on the arm of the sofa gently pushing his hand in the direction she wanted him to move, releasing him to explore, wincing at the touch of his fingers on her skin. Her breath turned to short sharp gasps as his fingertips brushed the surface of her panties moving onto the other thigh, gently stroking her skin up toward the other knee. Then down again, palm against skin, she willed her legs not to shake waiting for his return, moaning, gurgling pleasure as his hand moved onto her panties, hesitating as if seeking approval, feeling her very slight push against him and he began the gentlest of massages hand cupped over the dampness of her panties. She pushed back at his hand wanting more, felt a finger probing the elasticised waist, hooking them open. She could smell herself and stopped breathing as his hand slipped into her panties, fingers feeling through her pubic hair, fumbling, not sure what to do, settling for gently squeezing her cunt cupped in his hand and she came just from the shock of him being there, wetting his fingers, clamping his hand between her thighs, rocking and moaning, taking her pleasure. She lay mostly still for a few moments, her thighs continuing to squeeze at his hand wondering what had possessed her to do that, immensely pleased that she had, then raising her head and opening her eyes she found Rupert watching her, his eyes sparkling, not with triumph, excited, full of desire. She hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him down to kiss her aware of his hand still clamped between her thighs and grateful that he'd had the good sense stay still, not to probe, just absorb the heat and wetness. Those first few kisses, tender, exploratory, about taste and texture more than emotion, decided for Joy he could kiss and it was something they would be doing again. "Wow!" She said, breaking away from him, now mildly embarrassed thinking his hand had been on her cunt for longer than she'd ever touched herself. "Wow is right." Rupert quietly replied. Joy shifted in the sofa releasing the clamp she held on his hand, glancing down to where it lay, blushing, watching as he delicately extracted himself. Rupert didn't quite know what to do with it, his hand, sticky, fingers glistening, and held it in front of him, his other hand holding it by the wrist as if afraid it might fall off, nose twitching at the aroma drifting upward. Joy reached down and adjusted her panties, slightly uncomfortable by their wetness, not knowing what to do next. "Can I use your bathroom?" She asked. "Sure. It's upstairs." He led the way, still holding his hand out in front of him and showed her into the bathroom moving across the hall to his bedroom. He heard the toilet flush and water running and called out to her when she opened the door. "I'm in here." She poked her head sheepishly round the door. "Is this your room?" "Yeh. Come in. if you want." He hastily added. Joy entered the room hands behind her back holding the panties she'd just rinsed through, finding Rupert sat upon his bed looking slightly pensive. "How's your knee?" he asked to break the silence. "Who cares?" She said and moved to the bed stooping down and kissing him again, more urgently, wanting to touch him. The force of her kiss pushed him back, she continued pushing dropping her panties behind her to the floor bringing her arms around to ease him back onto the bed falling on top of him, mouths locked together. "Touch me again." She mumbled between kisses pulling his arm off the bed round behind her. She gasped as his hand moved under her skirt touching her naked bottom grinding herself at the all to obvious swelling beneath her. Before matters could progress, there was the unmistakable sound of a car on the driveway. "Oh shit. Dad's home." Rupert said, pushing Joy off him. "Oh Christ." "It's ok. He'll put the car in the garage. We have time to get back downstairs." When his father came in, he found the pair sat on the sofa drinking tea. After introductions and explanations that seemed to pass without any undue concern, Rupert told Joy he'd drive her home. "What are you thinking?" Joy asked him to break the silence of the drive. "I'm thinking how beautiful you face looked as... you know. I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful. What are you thinking?" "You mean apart from how I'm going to explain my wet panties if my Mother finds them. I'm thinking am I going to get the chance to do that again." "Emm. That would be nice." Rupert answered. "Really?" "Are you joking?" They let the silence envelope them again. They'd arrived at Joy's house, she showed no intention of leaving the car. "Did you mean that? What you said, about the look on my face." Rupert turned toward her. "Yes. Every word. I want to see that look again, and I want to touch you again." Joy glanced around to make sure there was no one in the street and shifted herself to face Rupert reaching for his hand and placing it on her knee. "You can't do the whole thing, I'd get too wet, just stroke me." She said, slightly parting her legs. They kissed for a while and Rupert played with the soft hair covering her pubis just occasionally moistening a finger between the lips of her sex. "You're so incredibly hot." "You're making me hotter. You'd better stop. I need to go in." She took his hand, removing it slowly from under her skirt. "It's wet. Your finger." She said. "It's your honey." He raised his finger to his nose, smelling her scent, touching it to his tongue. She watched his movements, foolishly anxious, hoping he'd not find her repulsive. "You taste like salty honey." He said. "I'm not washing this finger, I want to smell you all night." Joy slumped back in the seat, elated, relieved, horny as hell. "I have to go in. Can you meet me after college? I've hockey training tomorrow, I'll finish about seven." For both, the following day dragged interminably. Joy received a severe dressing down from the hockey coach for failing to concentrate during the practise hockey game missing several chances to score from short corners. She couldn't wait to be off the pitch, showered and into Rupert's car. In the car, she lent across and kissed Rupert hungrily, pulling his mouth onto hers, wanting to feel him against her. "Turn the car," she said, "I don't want to go home yet. I told my Mum I'd be late." "Where are we going?" Rupert asked, hoping it would be somewhere private. "Just down the lane. It's quieter." Past the college grounds the lane became tree lined, no houses. It skirted the railway line, on a high embankment to one side, and terminated at the entrance to a large wood. Quiet and private, few people passed that way. Almost before he'd stopped the car, Joy knelt on her seat, better to get at what she wanted, pulling Rupert toward her anxious again to taste his lips. The kissing occupied them fully. Yesterday had been for tasters, now they kissed with a hunger, wanting to imprint the taste and texture of lips and tongue, their hands occupied with faces and arms, for the moment, until finally, reaching some kind of saturation, Joy pulled away, leaning back against the car door, a silly grin on her face. "Right. Enough of that, I want details. Who have you been kissing and who have you been playing with?" Joy asked. "I'm not sure I should say." Rupert replied, not wanting to disclose his inexperience. "Rupert! Come on tell. Ok lets start with 'do you have a girlfriend'." They carried on this banter whilst the day descended into evening, Joy genuinely anxious to discover if she was competing for his affections, and equally curious as to his experience and, who the hell had taught him to touch like that. All the boys she'd dated seemed not to know the difference between a grope and a caress. In the course of their questioning and answering, Joy extended her legs across Rupert's lap, wanting to reassure herself that yesterday hadn't been a dream. Rupert answered her questions asking none of his own, his interests lay in the present, not her past. He couldn't really believe his luck and intended to make the most of it, while it lasted. He'd seen Joy around, to his mind she seemed unapproachable, to have her here, in his car, her legs in his lap, innocently pressing against his erection as if she didn't know what she was doing while he enjoyed the luxury of touching her smooth skin, was unspeakable heaven. He'd tell her whatever she wanted to hear. Sometime after dark descended and the windows became misted with condensation and her curiosity to touch his prick outweighed the fear of what they might do with it, she shifted position, glanced at him, her eyes shining brightly in the feeble interior light. "Don't move." She said and slowly began to undo the clasp of his trouser belt unzipping his fly, spreading back the top of his trousers and peered at the swelling pressing against his underpants. "Can I touch it?" She asked, not waiting for an answer and pulling the waist band of his underpants down to reveal his prick, skin furled back, head shining as if recently polished, deep pink, engorged. Joy She touched the top gently, a stroke that made him jump, and caused Joy to pull her hand away. "Sorry. Did I hurt you?" "No. It's just really sensitive. It needs firm pressure, light touches seem like electric shocks." Joy took a deep breath. "Ok." She wrapped her hand around the end of his prick squeezing gentle, Rupert involuntarily pushed up into her hand with a deep sigh. "It looks wet it's so shiny, but it's dry." "Won't be for much longer." Was Ruperts jerky reply. "Tell me what to do." "Move your fist gently up and down, yeh, like that. Oh fuck... oh... watch out... " Rupert's erection had held over two hours. It was the first time a hand, other than his own, was holding his prick and the face of the owner of the hand, intent on a birds eye view of proceedings, was hovering inches from the head. A great ribbon of sperm issued forth splashing Joy's cheek and chin as she moved back in surprise, the ribbon falling back down across her hand and arm. To her great credit she didn't stop her ministrations, moved back closer to watch pearly beads pump from the slit head. The silence was deafening apart from the slosh of her cum soaked hand massaging his prick. "Oh my God. Has it finished?" "Yeh. You can stop. What a mess. I'm sorry, I couldn't control myself." "I'm not! I wouldn't have missed that for anything. Can I taste it?" "No!" "Why not, you tasted mine." Again she didn't wait for his answer simply lowered her mouth to brush the head of his prick, he felt her tongue wipe across the head flinching as it crossed the slit opening, helplessly pushing his prick into her mouth. She paused for a moment, lips wrapped snugly under the head rim, her tongue tapping lightly against the dome. He felt her swallow, and watched as she slowly raised her mouth running her lips back and forth across the prick she still cradled. "Emm. That is sexy. Definitely! Tastes funny, I'll get used to it." She surveyed the area of her labours; a drip of sperm fell from her cheek onto her arm causing her to giggle. "Oh dear. We've made a bit of a mess. Got a handkerchief or tissues?" Joy asked. "No. I didn't think to bring any." "Well, we will know better next time." Her words music to his ears, there was going to be a 'next time'. Joy reached between her legs and started yanking on her panties. "Help me get these off. We'll use them to clean ourselves. If I let go of this thing of yours, there will be even more mess." They struggled, probably more than was necessary, eventually Rupert managed to remove her panties, immediately bringing them to his face. "Rupe's! You're supposed to be cleaning me, not smelling my underwear." "They're warm, smell nice." "I'm warm. I'll still be warm when I've cleaned up. Pass them over." Joy cleaned them both wriggling against Rupert's hand now snuggled between her thighs, she felt on heat, she could hear his fingers squelching against her cunt, she loved the rudeness of the word, pussy was for wimps, wondering if she dare ask him to put his face there. She didn't really have much choice, Rupert eased her around until her bottom pointed straight at him, her chest pressing down into the seat to maximise her exposure and she felt the heat of his breath on her bottom cheeks, listened to him inhaling her scent, felt moisture welling inside her as first his nose, then his lips and then his tongue explored her sex. There was no rhythm to her first oral orgasm, didn't need to be, it was enough that she could feel him nuzzling gently, that she could picture him in her mind sucking, playing on her cunt; Joy started rocking back at him, just to increase the pressure, hit and miss where it struck, didn't matter, his face was on her cunt, it was enough. She felt the orgasm coming like an express train in the stillness of the night, she knew it was coming, nothing could impede its path, it swept down upon her with an ear roaring, mind bending, body vibrating intensity that destroyed everything but the moment, to trail away leaving her shaking, overwhelmed, and subsiding into the bliss of release. She had no idea how long she stay bottom in the air, Rupert's lips glued to her, gently responding to the palpitations between her legs. A cold trickle of moisture on her thigh that brought her back, wriggling herself reluctantly free of his lips not sure she could cope with more sensations. Aware, and to a degree embarrassed of her exposure, despite their being virtually no light, she struggled within the confines of the car to arrange herself, reaching for Rupert's hand, bringing it to her lips to kiss, partly to thank, partly to reassure herself he wanted more than sex. She felt tears on her cheeks, couldn't explain them, not really, hot tears, happy, satisfied, shocked by what he'd done, by what she'd enjoyed, the tears seemed natural, washing away doubt, not pain. Rupert brushed her cheek, lent across kissed at her tears only to make her cry vocally at his concern and tenderness. For a fraction of a second, she'd felt like a whore and doubted his intentions, now, in the confusion of the moment, she felt immensely loved, and she felt like a lover. There was nothing to say, nothing to explain, only a need to touch, to confirm the fact of their togetherness. Neither could bear to part, for supper they feasted each on the mouth of the other until it grew so late Joy grew afraid her Mother would telephone Maddy and discover she were not there. When they reached her house, she told Rupert to wait while she went inside, returning a few minutes later, wearing a tracksuit bottom. "We've got an hour," Joy said, "I told Mum I was with my boyfriend. She didn't say anything, just raised her eyebrows told me to behave and put on some trousers." Between kisses they planned their next few days, she was playing hockey Saturday. He'd watch, they'd go to the cinema, have a meal. The following week, aware how quickly their sexual relationship was progressing, they discussed and agreed there could be no full sexual penetration. They were too young, she was too Catholic, they were too scared, they were having too much fun – why take the risk. Rupert's pleasure was to give pleasure. He made no demands on Joy, other than to touch her. He wanted to learn how to make her body scream with delight. She wanted to teach him. It was enough to sate. Their journey became bound by a degree of ritual. It wasn't anything discussed or planned. Looking back, Joy could barely recall a meaningful discussion. They talked incessantly but we didn't contribute anything to understanding, not of the world they lived in, nor of themselves, other than in the complexity of sexual mores. The ritual began with an examination of her legs. You remember the grazed knee, then the bruises – Joy's battle wounds. He'd inspect her legs like the engineer in training, examining them for imperfection, measuring them for some ulterior purpose, massaging tight muscle tissue after a match, or work-outs, familiarising himself before beginning. If they were in his car, She'd sit with her back to the door, legs outstretched across his lap. He'd run his hands across her skin feeling for bruises, raising a leg to his lips imagining to kiss away the swelling, only succeeding in transferring the bumps on her leg to the bump in his groin. His attention exposed her thighs, her skirt sliding down into her lap. Fashion dictated she wore ankle socks; occasionally she wore stockings and a garter belt. These disturbed him. He thought them too sexual, too arousing. Rupert preferred a slow deliberate path. He'd touch and caress her legs until her body shook with tension, until her breath came in short sharp stabs as if breaths rhythm would breach her dam. Only then would he kiss her, catching her panting breaths into his mouth, calming with his lips, using his tongue to divert, legs slowly recovering strength, ready for his next more intimate assault. If the weather was fine, they would take the car rug into the woods, luxuriating free from the confines of the car, walled between vivid green clouds of ferns or snuggled in barley pregnant with grain rustling in the June breeze. The ritual was slightly different. Rupert undresses the top of her body to make slow and deliberate love to her breasts. The attention lavished on Joy stimulated her breasts to bud, she would always be small breasted, nearly nineteen, they were still mostly nipple. 'Pico's' he called them after a photo he'd seen of a volcanic island in the Azores, a cone raised from the sea, the crater rim creased like a nipple. He caressed and soothed her breasts inflaming her nipples till they hurt from stimulation not pain, lips traversing from rib to gentle swelling to engulf the dark swirl of nipple, nibbling, catching distended tissue in slippery teeth, sucking them bigger until she started panting and shaking as the roar filled her ears and rushed over her leaving her flailing in its wake, her hand flapping between her legs. He'd slowly lick her fingers clean and eyes closed, intoxicated by the sticky scent, follow her hand as she led his lips down to the heat of her cunt to feast. In the summer, they managed two weeks away camping in Tintagel. Joy told her Mum she was holidaying with Madeline. In a farmer's field above the ocean, Rupert feasted on her body day and night. They found a rhythm to suit tongue and slit, Joy's mewing echoing the cliff-face gulls. It was suffocating hot inside the tent; they spent most of the time naked, bodies slick with perspiration. On a couple of nights, she pulled him outside to make love to her under the stars with the dewy grass staining her back, and the sound of waves pounding the cliff. She lay wanton, legs splayed, nipples taut, cunt on fire, almost steaming in the cool night air wanting him to begin, wanting him to stop, it was never enough. Rupert's staying power astonished her, he'd lick her to orgasm after orgasm exploring her cunt with his tongue to find just where she wanted to be touched, she liked it best when he lapped across the top rim of her vaginal opening, she could pull his head onto her, nose brushing her clit, controlling the sensation. He alternates between lapping and tongue fucking. He says she tastes sweet, she told him she knew, he attack's her with renewed energy, lapping until her bottom rises off the grass with the approaching orgasm, he grasps her bottom, pulling it open, slipping a finger between her cheeks to massage the nub of her anus, pulling her onto his face, she never wanted him to stop. In the morning he wakes to find her couched, lit golden by the morning sun through canvas, coaxing his limp prick into life. She told him she preferred to feel his prick grow to fill her mouth, clamping her lips around the base, feeling it swell, push back toward her throat, almost choking before easing her lock and beginning a slow masturbation waiting to feel the bitter sweetness foam warmly across the back of her tongue, feeling him trickle, tickle into her throat. This was Joy's fuck. Should couldn't imagine his being in her cunt as any better than this. When Joy cried 'fuck me Rupert', it was her mouth that received his thrust. After, she lay stretched along his body, his prick clamped between her thighs feeling him shrink, leaking into the crack of her bottom, face propped between her hands, making faces, laughing, loving; pretending they owned the world. They were exhausted, high on orgasm, fed on cunt juice and sperm. It was madness. For two weeks sex ruled their lives, they tried everything, removed all boundaries; experimented through tears of pain and screams of pleasure; everything except vaginal penetration, well... not with his prick. They made promises to each other written on the Cornish wind. Joy decided not to go on to Art School, it would have meant moving away and she preferring to earn a living rather than face an uncertain future as an artist, or go without Rupert's loving attention. She started her first job after the holiday. Joy is PA to Tony - writer, poet, broadcaster, dazzlingly brilliant and Mensa member. From her first day at work, he embarked upon her seduction. He's older, he claimed twelve years; his passport said eighteen. They work from his home, Joy's job title is Personal Assistant / Prime Amanuensis / Piece of Arse. Tony overwhelmed her. His intellect swamped her; his friends and contacts stunned her. She found herself immersed in the world of the almost famous, willingly swept into the flow. His courtship conventional, his attempted destruction of her relationship with Rupert showed no immediate success, he under-estimated Rupert's willingness to compromise and the sexual nature of a relationship not dependant upon screwing. Tony devised ways and means to keep her in town, Gala dinners where he needed a companion, shows for which he had spare tickets, sudden urges to dictate the next crucial instalment of his work, a dinner party at his flat where Joy played the Hostess. Joy stayed over, initially sleeping on the sofa bed before finally being worn down into agreeing to share his bed. Same rules – no penetration, Tony arrogant enough to believe he'd soon win that round. Joy fell in love with a man whose intellect surpassed anything she'd previously encountered. His mind games battered her into a state of helplessness, plunged her into to the depths of ignorance, feelings of inadequacy, childishly immature, only to be hauled out, shown off, celebrated, introduced as his muse and partner to be admired by his exclusive circle of friends and acquaintances. To refuse to share his bed seemed somehow impolite. Sleeping with Tony was a hollow experience for Joy devoid of the attention lavished by Rupert. Tony's attempts to compensate for her refusal to allow penetration crude at best an she lacked to skill to feign enjoyment. Unwilling to lose his favour she took the initiative, applied her prick-sucking skills, satisfying part of his demands. She took to masturbating herself, he liked to watch; she preferred her hands to his. He took pictures, not what she wanted, and didn't know how to refuse him. One morning she arrives at work to find blown up pictures of her glistening cunt and her face creased in ecstasy plastered across his bedroom walls. She's angry, furious with him, ashamed to see her face more than her cunt, he's stolen something of Rupert's. Joy rips the pictures from the wall, they fight wrestling on the bed, crumpling strewn sheets of glossy images, she's face down, Tony astride her, lifting her skirt, panties pulled roughly down under the cheeks of her bottom. She's pinned, her cunt shining back at her from the bed cover begging him not to fuck her. He tells her to relax. She feels him part her bottom cheeks and press against the rosebud of her anus. Horrified and excited she lays still unsure if she wants this, trembling, eyes smarting, wanting him to begin, wanting him to stop. She's too tense, the openings too small. He abandons his effort, pulling her to him, cuddling her, promising her anything, everything: forgiveness at any price. They have a grown-up discussion, finally equals, his shame raising her status. They agree new rules, she promises to let him fuck her, but not today; this agreement bought at the cost of experimentation, new ways to keep him in check, new ways to keep him. Robert's waiting for her at the station, the 7.15 from Charing Cross. He can read her unhappiness, she's crying before she enters his car. Her tale strips his heart, he's torn, bleeding inside, finding excuses to love her, afraid to confront the reality of her words. Ready to believe her pleas for forgiveness, an aberration. Yes, she will stop. Yes, she loves them both. Yes, they fulfil her differently. Yes, she needs him. Yes, she'd die without him. Yes. Yes. Yes. Clutch at straws, anything except it's over. She behaves for Robert's sake. For a whole month in the run up to Christmas she comes home every night, not telling him she spent the afternoon sucking prick doing things oral and anal to Tony that leave her wondering just where his sexuality lay. When she challenged his orientation he offered to get a boy in, so she could watch and learn, laughing at her shocked expression. The month brings some stability to her life. Rupert recovers poise, the ordeal of his nightly vigils at the station eases, a degree of normality ensues as they re-visit the lane or snatch brief hours in his bedroom while his family are absent. He accepts her return. Doesn't ask questions. Doesn't look for problems. Devotedly embraces the illusion. She tells him what he wants to hear, his hands, his lips, all perfect, hers. It's not a lie, they shared an addiction. Rupert touches her core, moves her in ways Tony cannot conceive – Tony thinks it's all about the prick. Tony accepts the one-sided nature of their relationship, she gives, he receives. She accepted the degree of control the sex between them gave her, grew to enjoy sucking him off, a powerful man, a minor celebrity, putty in her hands, her mouth. She could bask in the reflect glow of his fame. As Christmas approaches, Tony applies pressure; he needs her with him, dinners, parties, functions. Patiently she explains to Rupert, reassuring him she'll be home every night, or stay in a hotel. He's ready to believe. They attend a Christmas Eve party, the Art's crowd, writers, and painters. She's enthralled by their company, to be on his arm and introduced to the famous. The attention, the ambience, the people suck her in; it's where she belongs. She drinks too much, watches time pass knowing she will miss the last train. She's approached constantly by men and woman, near Joy is near Tony. She hears his laugh from across the room, glances round, sees him with men his age looking in her direction. Their looks disturb her, she thinks he's boasting. Moments before she'd been ready to accept all of this, thinking it was only her naïveté held her in check, thinking it wouldn't be too bad to give herself, completely, fully. Now she saw it wouldn't be that simple. She'd bore him, not immediately, not until he'd taken her. She lacked sophistication, couldn't compete at the level of his circle. Was she tolerated, rather than wanted? She formed the impression her looks and expressive sexuality made her acceptable. She surveys the crowd around her, they are not here for her, their here for him and she recognises the attention she is receiving as akin to a queue, their interest skin deep. In bed she cried, told Tony she felt out of place, objectified, a token. He told her she was imagining things, flattered her androgynous appearance; explained how this made her attractive to both sexes. He told her he'd fended off many enquiries, men and women, who wondered if she were available; he enquired if she'd ever been with another girl – he could arrange it, a gentle exploration; he seemed to take delight in embarrassing and confusing her. "Their perception of you is of sexual innocence. It's your innocence they want Joy," he said, "they aspire to regain their innocence through you." "You to?" She asked him. "Hell you're not innocent. You'd break their hearts, just like you're breaking Rupert's. Release him. Trust me, it's for the best." It was an answer, but not to the question she'd asked. On Christmas Day morning Rupert came to collect her. It was humiliating for him. Tony insisted he should come into the flat, refused to dress, and showed Rupert around the one bed-roomed flat in his dressing gown - just to make sure Rupert fully understood where she'd slept. He barely spoke with Joy on the drive home; she had no words to ease his shame. Her actions destroyed the Christmas she'd hoped for. On New Years Day Rupert laid down an ultimatum; Joy had until Valentines Day to decide. Whom ever she spent Valentines Day with would be the one she'd chosen. Rupert distanced himself, it was a calculated plan, he withdrew the one thing she craved; Rupert stopped touching her, it was his last roll of the dice. They continued to see each other but he subtly withdrew, finding excuses not to spend time with her. She became edgy, anxious, snappy with everyone, except Rupert. Joy She never understood quite where the notion came from that on Valentines Day she would surrender her virginity to the chosen. She went along with the idea almost relieved the decision had been taken out of her hands. She made her choice; her body needed more than Tony was prepared to give. To Tony, she was an envious prize to be claimed, half his age, an ego-boosting fuck to be displayed as a plaything until he grew tired. She booked a hotel room for Valentines night, in Rupert's name. It didn't mean she wasn't going to let Tony fuck her, he'd just have to wait his turn. - - # - - Joy lay on his bed relaxing in the comforting familiar feel of Rupert's hand exploring her legs. "Have you decided?" Rupert asked. He stopped exploring, now rubbing her back, hand in her tee shirt wanting to touch, not wanting to play. It's the day before Valentines Day. Joy rolled onto her side, his hand trailing across her lower ribs, settling against the warm skin of her tummy. He looked pale, dark rings under his eyes. "You're not sleeping?" He shook his head like a child. Pathetic countenance, close to despair. Near to tears. She wanted to clutch him to her, love him, tell him everything would be ok, rock him to sleep held to her breast. "Can't sleep. I'm afraid you'll be gone when I wake." "Come here." She held her arms up to him. "Don't be silly. I'm never leaving you." She pulled him down holding his face in her hands, kissing him deeply, hungry for the feel of his lips. He rested his head on her breast playing with the skin on her tummy while she stroked his hair. "It's over then? You and Tony." He asked. "Yes my love." She answered, telling him what he wanted to hear. "I want you. I've been stupid, I don't deserve you." He trailed a finger backward and forward across her tummy, she mewed, sucking in her tummy making room for his hand. "Do it. Please. I want you so much. You've no idea." He hesitated, slid his hand under the waistband of her shorts, fingertips probing under the elastic of her panties. She closed my eyes better to concentrate on feeling his hand. His fingers slid lower, hesitated, stopped. Her body stiffened as she realised what he'd discovered. In her quest to keep his favour she'd let Tony shave her, been too pissed to object, too excited to stop. He said it made her look younger. Only after did she realise he was marking his territory. In her desire to be touched, she'd forgotten to tell Rupert she'd shaved herself for HIM. He moved away from her. Stood by the side of the bed. "You're shaved!" Joy opened her eyes, looked up at him, put on her most seductive smile. "It's a surprise for you. Want to look? Undress me." Rupert didn't move, just stared at her, reading her. "Don't lie Joy. I can see the lie in your eyes." Rupert turned his back to her, shoulders trembling. "He did it, didn't he?" 'Oh shit.' She thought. "Ok, I'm not going to lie to you..." "It's too late. Too many lies. Why do you do this to me. You're killing me. You'd better leave. I'm not going to help you become a whore." "Rupe's... " "Please Joy, leave now before I begin to hate you." "What about, tomorrow. Valentines Day?" "I don't care. I've had enough." "I booked a hotel. For you and me. I want YOU." "Take your boyfriend." "You are my boyfriend. You're the one I love." "You have a twisted idea of love. I stopped being your boyfriend on Christmas Day." "So why am I here?" "I have no idea. Habit. Takes time to break a habit. Don't want you here any more. It hurts too much." "If it hurts, you still love me. We can start over. I'm finished with Tony." "Are you going to work on Monday?" "Yes, but... " "Then it's not finished. You'll crawl back into his bed because it is where you want to be." "That's not true... " "Joy. Wake up." He turned, grabbed her wrists, wrenching them down by her side, the force of his action shocking her. "It's over. I can't play your game. You can't have both of us. I can't deal with it. It's over. You slip in and out of beds with practised ease. Don't you see what you are becoming?" They were both crying. Real tears, heart wrenching, clinging to each other. She wanted him so badly; wanted to die, couldn't move. He drove her home ignoring her pleas; he never uttered a word, left her crying on the pavement outside her parent's house. Joy spent Valentines Day alone. She has done these past five years. This year she has a date. Tony turned out to be a self-centred useless fucker, self-promotion his only goal.