10 comments/ 45059 views/ 3 favorites Christine's Emancipation By: RonRyder Author's Note: This is an apology to readers of my story 'Hotel Amour', which was written in successive 'his & her sections'. In the submitted version, the sections were delineated, but the formatting did not survive when the story appeared on the site. Absent the formatting, it is a bit difficult to decide who 'I' is at any one time. Sorry. One lives and learns, * Chapter 1: Invitation accepted When Harvey told me he was on travel, I groaned, "Again?" "I am VP of Marketing." "And for two weeks?" "It is a World Sales Meeting. Lot of ground to cover." He wasn't lying. I went with him once. Just the once! Hawaii was nice, but if I have to be on my own then better at home, where at least I have a job to go to. Harvey's 'life' consisted mainly of 'office politics' and when he was not doing them, which was most of the time, he was talking about them, moaning about this or that sob, plotting to get even. At least I wouldn't have to listen to his diatribes for two weeks. Which was nice. I enjoyed the peaceful evenings, but after a week I began to feel lonely. I missed Harvey. Not that he was great company, or even good company, or – hell – even company! But I was used to him being there and now he was not. My job was in a publishing house, Assistant Editor by title. Sounds great, doesn't it. There were three of us and we 'assisted the Editors' by opening and sorting mail. You wouldn't believe how much mail Literary Agencies get. Our job was to sort it into hate mail from authors whose books were not doing well -- straight in the trash – unsolicited manuscripts – straight in the trash – submissals – in the trash or on the sludge pile depending whether they conformed with the criteria -- and the very occasional nugget from a Publishing House, which was placed reverently in the appropriate Editor's mail pile. That week one of our authors paid a quick visit. I'd seen him around before. Ten years my senior – make him about forty – a tinge of grey round the edges, handsome but not striking. I'd 'noticed' him, shall we say, but he had given no sign of having noticed me until the evening he caught me in the doorway, wrap draped over an arm. "Doing anything tonight? he said. It took a while to sink in. He had blue eyes. "Er – Well, No! Not really." "Dinner?" "Well, it's a bit early." "Yes, it is. Shall we say 7.30. I'll pick you up. How do you like 'La Chaumière?'" "That would be nice." Upmarket. I'd never been. "There's no need to pick me up, though. I have a car." "I'd like to." "But you don't know where I live," I said. "Yes I do! 7.30." And he was gone leaving me standing on the sidewalk, wondering. He knew where I lived? I suppose I should have been warned. Perhaps I was and didn't notice. It was Monday and I was tired of lonely evenings. Chapter 2: Before the soup "Harvey, that's my husband," I found myself saying, "is away." "I know." The waiter arrived to take our orders. He disappeared with the menus. I looked directly into those blue eyes. They were piercing, but not cold. They expressed something. I could not put my finger on it. "You seem to know a lot about me," I said. "I do." "How? -- Why?" "Because you're attractive, just my type." "How do you know that? You've hardly spoken ten words to me." "There are many forms of communication." I was about to say something about hoping not to have given him encouragement when, out of the blue, he said in a clear commanding voice, "Go to the Rest Room. Remove your bra, stockings, garter belt and panties, and return." I stared at him, unable to believe he had said what I had heard. "I beg your pardon!?" "I don't repeat myself." "You can't seriously think I'm going to do that." "Yes, you will." "But why should I?" "Because I asked you too. And because you know that when you have done it you will feel different." Two pairs of eyes affixed. God knows what jumble of thoughts and emotions were going through my head. Had he really said that? He remained quite still, eyes engaging mine, unblinking. "You have to be kidding! You know I'm not going to do that." "I know you will." "Why? Whyever should I do something like that?" "Because you know you will feel better when you have done what I ask." "Why? In what way?" "You know this." I made no move. "You're stalling. You know you are going to do it." Jesus Christ! Was I, Christine, the girl-next-door, who married her high-school sweetheart in a white dress, with confetti and all the trimmings: was I really going to do something that had never even occurred to me any girl would ever do? Chapter 3. Silence is golden. As I walked back to our table, four and twenty pairs of eyes seemed to follow my passage. They could not see up my skirt, could they? And my breasts were firm – pert, I believe is the right expression. If they bobbed up and down slightly as I walked, this would not be out of line with the modern fashion. And if my nipples showed through -- they had stiffened remarkably, pressing against the fabric of my blouse -- they could just as well be the points of a bra, couldn't they. But He knew. It was our secret. The soup arrived. We ate in silence. Our eyes did the talking. 'You will feel different', he had said, 'better'. Different, for sure! Better? Better than what? I had certainly never felt this way before. Vulnerable. I felt his eyes bore through my blouse and skirt. To Him I was already naked. Just before the main course arrived, he said, in the same commanding tone, "Kick off your shoes." Casually, I shed my slip-ons. Bare feet joined bare legs, bare thighs, bare stomach, bare breasts and – I was not usually conscious of myself 'down there' -- but it was not my imagination: my vagina, unencumbered, had begun to moisten. We ate without speaking, bathed in muted conversations from the surrounding tables. The entreé was gone. Before the dessert arrived, I said, "I don't even know your name." "You may call me Morgan," he replied. "Is that your name?" "It is my name when we are together." "And what is my name, when we are together." "Your name is Melanie." "But you know my real name. I don't know yours. That's not fair." "You will be Melanie for me. I will be Morgan for you. 'Fair' is not a concept of significance." "But you made me do something I didn't want to do. Not the reverse. That's an unfair advantage." "Not so. I did not make you do anything. You did what you did freely and willingly." "But you asked me to do it." "Yes. And I will ask you to do other things. And you will do them, of your own free will." "I don't get this," I said, at length. "What kind of a game is this? I'm not sure I like it." "Sure you like it," he said, nonchalantly. "Ask your body whether it likes it." Again the penetrating look of those blue, unblinking eyes. He knew: that my nipples were straining to penetrate the cloth of my blouse. And he sensed that my vagina had moistened up so thoroughly I was afraid my skirt would be stained. Coffee arrived. I was in such a state of agitation I could hardly hold the cup. "Look," I said, "I'm going back to the Rest Room. And I'm going to put on my things. I've had enough of this game." "My dear, you are not going to put your things back on. The game has scarcely begun. Think how your body has already been freed, how it has responded. It will not allow you to stop now." I went to the Rest Room, but godammit! I did not put my underclothes back on. It was not fear. I was not afraid of defying Morgan. But something in me did not want to. This 'something' was certainly not my head. I had left my head behind long before. Chapter 4. In the car. He was waiting for me at the door as I came out of the Ladies. He did not ask. He had not questioned. He knew. He guided me out of the restaurant and across the lot to the Lincoln Town Car. He held the door as I entered, tucking my skirt against my thighs as I always had. The door closed with a muted clunk. He was next to me but made no attempt to start the engine. "Shed your shoes," he said, sitting back in his seat, eyes forward. No problem with that. I had been going around bare-foot since I was a child. "Now unbutton your blouse, one button at a time and take it off." "No way!" I spluttered. "Do it." "People will see …" I stammered (why was I even thinking of obeying?) "The windows are tinted. It's dark. No one will see." "You will see," I said, with emphasis on the 'You'. "I will see anyway, sooner or later," He replied. He made no move. Just sat there as though cast in stone. "You know you are going to do it. Cover your shoulders with your wrap if your feel self-conscious." Godammit! What was I doing? No-one except me, Harvey and my doctor had seen my breasts. And I was about to expose them to a strange man in his car in a parking lot? But my fingers evolved a will of their own. One by one, exactly as instructed, they unfastened the buttons of my blouse. Like an automaton I pulled the garment free of my skirt and slipped it over my shoulders and down my arms. Then I pulled the thin wrap and held it tight about me. "You have wonderful breasts, Melanie. Why are you ashamed of them?" "I'm not ashamed of them." Hell, I was proud that my breasts had survived my thirtieth birthday firm, supple and soft. "Then why hide them. Release the wrap. Let it hang loosely. You will need your hands for another purpose." I glanced at Him then, brief eye-contact. He averted his eyes and turned the key. The Lincoln's engine sighed into life. We began to roll. On the street he said, "Pull your skirt up above your waist. All of it, front and back." "Like hell!" Jesus Christ! The nerve of the guy! "You know you're going to do it. Why delay?" I made no move. I sat with the wrap held tightly around my upper body, thighs clenched beneath my skirt. That my vagina was oozing juice I did not want to admit even to myself. "I am going to drive around the block," Morgan said. "If I get right around without your compliance, the game is over." "And what is the 'game'?" I asked hotly. "What happens next?" "One step at a time. Pull your skirt above your waist, front and back, so that your body is free." Goddamn the man! I almost held out. Almost. "You have very enticing thighs, Melanie. I don't know why you are ashamed of them." "I'm not!" As I was proud of my breasts, I was proud of my legs, long and slender, and thighs with not the slightest hint of cellulite. How many women could say that at, well, all right, thirty-three. "Part your thighs a little. Slide a hand down and begin to masturbate. Very slowly, very tenderly." Jesus H. Christ! But I was into it now. It seemed inevitable. My body was in control. And it knew what it wanted. Especially, it knew what it wanted then. Damn the car to hell with 'Morgan', whoever He was… I always masturbate right-handed. And my left hand stimulates my right nipple. Automatically, my hands slid into position, the right one between my thighs stroking drenched pussy lips. The left one headed straight for my right nipple. The wrap parted, held loosely around my shoulders. Hell, I was nine-tenths there. And He had not so much as touched me. As the Lincoln purred along the freeway 'Morgan' said nothing. He drove carefully, eyes on the road. The only sound in the car was soft music emanating from the DVD player, and the occasional moan that I could not suppress. My thighs had opened wider. My clit-tip had emerged from its hood, a sure sign. I slid a forefinger up and down the side of the hood. One good flick on the tip and I would be away. The temptation to finish myself off was all but irresistible. "Bring yourself off, Melanie. You're so close. I can sense it." His voice had an ethereal quality, as though out of a dream "If I do that," I panted, "the 'game' is over, well and truly. I shut down." It was quite true. On the rare – well, all right, not all that rare – occasions that I brought myself off, I went numb 'down there'. That was it, until the next time. Through my irregular breathing, I could have sworn I heard Him chuckle. My finger found the tip, pressed on it. My body went rigid. I let out a massive exhalation of breath and there I was, over the top, writhing, thighs closed tight, trapping my hand and pressing it harder into me….. Chapter 5. Entre Act. When I read this through in the cold light of day it seems like madness. There I was, sprawled in the passenger seat of a car next to a man I did not know, cruising along an LA freeway, as close to naked as you can be without being it, frigging myself to orgasm! If someone had told me before the fact I would do this, or even be capable of contemplating it, I would have declared them insane on the spot. I was the 'girl-next-door'. Girls next door did not do things like this. I was married to my high-school sweetheart. Girls who married their high-school sweethearts were not supposed to frig themselves off at all, let alone in front of strange men in cars! What on earth would my mother say? The odd thing is, at the time it did not seem mad at all. Quite the contrary, it seemed right, inevitable, wonderful. If I declare that was the best orgasm I had ever had, it's no more than God's truth. And He had made it so, without laying a finger on me, without seeming unduly curious. When He said, "Don't stop. Leave your clit alone for a while. Slide a finger in and out of your vagina, slowly, gently, rhythmically," I obeyed without thinking, as I obeyed the next command, and the next. My second orgasm broke over me as the Lincoln entered the driveway of my home in Pasadena. It was beyond belief and I was beyond all redemption. I lay back in the passenger seat panting as the car drew to a halt beside my front door. Chapter 6. The game moves indoors He opened the passenger door like a gentleman does. I stumbled out, the opposite from lady-like. I had pulled my blouse half-heartedly around me, covered it with the wrap, struggled into my shoes, and staggered towards the front door. Still shaking from my second orgasm, I let myself into the house. He stood on the threshold. He did not thrust himself on me. Hell, I practically dragged him in. "Would you like a drink?" I needed one! He accepted a vodka martini and sipped on it while I slurped down two. He asked me to lower the lights. Fumbling fingers worked the rheostat. He did not comment as I swallowed down my third martini. He sat in an overstuffed chair in the corner, in the dim light, a shadow. "Take off your clothes and stand before me." There were not many clothes to take off. Anyway, He'd seen about everything there was to see. You will understand, I'm sure, the effect three vodka martinis on top of what had already transpired had on my capacity to resist. "Place your hands at your sides and turn around slowly until you are facing me again." Meekly I complied. "You have a superb body, Melanie. I am surprised you have kept the secret so long." Secret? What secret? Harvey had seen me naked – well, not often. Girls next door do not flaunt their bodies, even to their husbands. I had never, but never, stood buck naked before Harvey as I now stood before this strange man who had the power to make me want to do things I would not have done for my husband. I began to feel self-conscious. His eyes roamed over my nakedness. Instinctively, hands moved to cover my mound of Venus. "Keep your hands at your sides, Melanie. Stand straight and still." "Why should I?" "Because I asked you to. And because you want to. You want me to admire your exquisite body." It would seem I did. I stood tall and straight, my breasts thrust out. It seemed like an age, but I did not flinch. "Part your legs, Melanie," he said, "Just slightly." I obeyed. "A little more." Another age. His eyes roamed from my parted thighs to my breasts, up and down. "Squeeze your nipples. Make them stiff." I hesitated, then said, "Is this your thing? What you get off on? Making women do your bidding, perform for you?" "Your nipples want to be squeezed. You do only what your body wants you to do." I had to admit my nipples stiffened fast. "Pull on them, squeeze harder." This too my nipples seemed to enjoy. I even dug in my nails. "Now lower your hand and begin to masturbate." "You gotta be joking," I said. "Two orgasms like that? I'm done." "Surprise yourself, Melanie. Part your legs and begin masturbating. Stimulate your vulva, your pussy lips. Slide a finger inside your vagina. If it is dry, we can conclude the game. But it won't be." It wasn't. 'Morgan', still a shadow, sipped his martini and watched as my right hand slid back and forth around my vulva and in and out of my vagina, while my left hand continued to stimulate my right nipple. "Remain upright. Maintain control." Subconsciously, my body had bent at the hip. Upright, my finger could not reach inside my vagina. But I was already on the way. Stroking my clit-hood was working just fine. "Do not come. Suppress your orgasm. It will be worth the wait." I was so into pressing onto my clit stem and squeezing my nipple the words scarcely registered. I registered, though, that the shadow in the corner now had a focus. Elegant fingers stroked a stiff penis! He was still fully dressed, but his penis and balls had emerged from his pants, ready for action? A voice within me urged me to cross the room and impale myself on Him. If He had commanded it I would have obeyed instantly, and come three seconds later! But He did not command it. He said, "Approach me and place a foot on the arm of the chair." I obeyed. "Continue to masturbate. But do not come." "If I do that, I will come." "No you will not. Suppress the urge. Stroke your pussy lips, squeeze them. Avoid your clit. Keep yourself on the edge." "But I need to come!" "And in five minutes your need will be greater, in ten, greater still." Ten minutes? Of this? No way! Ten minutes, hell, he kept me there at fever pitch for thirty. Placing a foot on the arm of the chair opened out my vaginal lips, new avenues for exploration. My fingers caressed, stroked, squeezed, and I was conscious that every movement I made was watched, every gasp, inhalation of breath, was heard. Conscious too of the penis not a foot away from my vulva. Morgan stroked his penis gently, pumping its shaft. It throbbed when he diverted has hand to squeeze his balls. The urge to impale myself on him grew. He knew this. He was teasing, challenging. Perhaps that was the reason I resisted the urge. "Show me your clit. Pull back the hood." My clit was swollen like never before. I sensed it, and I could even see it, looking down. Morgan seemed to approve. "Lower your body and brush the tip of your clit over the tip of my cock." "If I do that," I panted, "I'll come for sure." "So be it." He held his penis by its base. Its head gleamed up at me. My body shook as my groin inched down. "I want to fuck you," I heard myself say. Was it really me? "Rub your clit over my cock tip. Hold back the hood, and stroke my cock with your clit." A bolt of electricity coursed through my body the instant my clit made contact. My head flew back. I gasped. "Hold position." The bulb of his cock now caressed my exposed clit. I let out an utterance that words cannot describe. "Hold position." His voice commanded. Christine's Emancipation My legs began to shake. My whole body began to quiver. "Hold position!" Current was flowing through me, right up to my skull. No power on earth could stop it now. No power on earth could keep my legs from giving way as the orgasm took over…. I was where Morgan had been, embedded in the overstuffed chair, legs splayed, my finger on my clit hood, pressing, squeezing yet more ecstasy from an orgasm the like of which I had never contemplated, that went on and on from one crest to the next. I could not see, nor speak, nor scarcely breathe. My body heaved and bucked in the chair…. When the waves subsided, vision returned and Morgan swam into my field of view. He stood before me, as I had stood before him. My eye reverted instantly to his penis – which had become a bulge inside his pants. "You did well, Melanie," He said. I tried to say something, but the words would not form. "We shall resume tomorrow. At 7pm. Two rules. One; no underwear. Not at home. Not at the office. Two; when you receive me you will be naked. Your body will be unmarked. If you disobey these rules, the game is over." And before I could utter a syllable, he was gone. Leaving me sprawled in the chair, my body still shaking from the aftershocks. Chapter 7. Entre act You're not going to believe this, but its God's truth. My fingers started working even as the door closed on Morgan's imposing frame. I had come more times in four hours than in the past six months. Yet, it seemed, there was still gas in the tank. My vagina continued to drool, my clit was far from dead. I lost myself entirely in lust, orgasm followed orgasm, though none to compare with that monster, 10 on the Richter scale. I suppose I must at some time have desisted because when the alarm went off I was in bed, naked. This is remarkable only because I had never before gone to bed naked. Harvey did, in spite of the occasional expression of wifely disapproval. I did not. I wore a demure nightgown, and panties beneath. This was the correct way a 'girl next door' should enter her bed. But that day was different. It was so different, I swear, I would have pulled the bedclothes down and frigged myself off yet again. Time was too short. I had to get to work. Like an automaton, I went through my morning routine. I was on my way out the door when I remembered rule number one. Did he really mean I should go to work without underclothes? Surely not? I paused. Underwear marked the body? Hell, I could get rid of the marks the elastic of my panties and bra made before 7pm. Maybe? Anyway, who was He to proscribe how I dressed for the office. Indignation mixed with indecision. It felt like a capitulation, but I did it nevertheless. When I entered my car to head off for the office it was minus panties, minus bra and minus stockings. Underneath my blouse and skirt was --- me. Hell, who would notice? Halfway through the morning I was convinced that everyone in the entire office had noticed. How could they not? Every casual conversation seemed to hint at my lack of underwear. No-one said anything direct. It was all innuendo. Or was it just in my mind? I knew, and I was not good at dissembling. Never had I felt such gratitude when the clock showed 5pm. Chapter 8. Day Two At 6pm I was at fever pitch. What was I thinking of? OK, 'Morgan' had taught me something about myself. Big deal. I had known there was more to sex than Harvey and I had experienced. Girl-next-door I may have been, but isolated from the world I was not. I had read the magazines, surfed the web. I knew there was more there than a guy pumping into you for two minutes, then rolling over. "That was great, honey. How was it for you?" And then falling asleep. I did not need Morgan to show me my sex-life was crap! But I had resigned myself to it. Maybe I did need Morgan to show me this was a mistake? 7pm approached and with it the quandary of indecision. Did I want to continue the 'game', or did I not. It was so easy to stop. All I had to do was not open, or to open clothed. I convinced myself that this was what I was going to do. I would defy Him. I would open the door fully clothed, and that would be the end of that. Crunch time. Jesus Christ! "Good!" He said. "Turn around please." "Very good. Not a mark. You do value your gorgeous body. And you have trimmed your pubic hair. You will not regret it." Godammit, the nerve of the guy! I had wondered at the full length cloak – this is California, after all – but ceased to wonder when this fell from his shoulders. He was buck naked, as I was. Slipping out of His shoes, he took my hand and led me into the living room, where the rheostat was already turned down as far as it would go. Notwithstanding my mood, my eyes fixed on his penis, which was fully erect. Like my breasts, it bobbed up and down as we walked. He issued no command, just led me to the center of the room, guided my hand onto His penis and stroked my back and sides with a gentle touch that had me goosey in ten seconds flat. "Stroke my cock and balls, and tell me if what I am doing to you is not what you want." What could one say? His fingers roamed over my body, back, sides, breasts, stomach, thighs, stroking, pressing, caressing. I was putty in His hands. Following his lead, I fondled his penis and his balls. "You may use your fingernails." As he said this, I felt His own fingernails strafe my back, then down to my thighs, up again to my stomach and breasts. I drew my nails up the underside of His penis, to the tip, then down the upperside. I grasped His balls tight at the base, digging in with my nails and drawing out. Then back to His penis, digging in at the base and drawing up the shaft to the tip. Early in our courtship I had occasionally given Harvey a 'hand-job'. This consisted of pumping on the shaft of his penis until he came, invariably in minutes. Harvey was content with this, well, more than content, if the subsequent kisses and words meant anything. But I did not like it, and after a while I refused to touch him 'down there'. When we were married we would have sex the way one was supposed to, the proper way, I said. You could not call what I did with Morgan a 'hand-job'. The experience was utterly different. For starters, it was mutual. As I stimulated His penis, so His fingers stimulated me. There was not a moment of imbalance. His desire, expressed by His penis, rose with my own. His fingertips and fingernails edged up my thighs closer and closer to my vulva. I grasped His shaft from beneath and began to pump in earnest. His fingers found my vaginal lips, and the moist innards. And then moved up to my clit. Jesus Christ! He was going to do it to me again! My body began to shake as His fingers explored every inch of my vaginal lips and clit hood. I pumped furiously on His shaft. 'Come, you bastard. Come before I do!' 'Morgan' did not oblige. Aroused, this He was. But I had the feeling that pumping on his shaft all night would not make him come. Whereas the effect of those fingers roaming, pressing, rubbing but always gently had me again at the brink. My body began to shake, my groin begged. Harder, faster. His fingers did not comply. If anything, His stroking of my vagina and clit became gentler, which had the curious effect of drawing out my desire and increasing it at the same time. Eventually, the orgasm consumed me. God knows what utterances went forth from my mouth, I remember only that my body sagged against His, that my hand gripped his cock, nails dug in tight, and that those roaming fingers never ceased to work my vagina, my clit hood, and my clit even as my body jerked this way and that, supported by His strong arm. When I came to, I was on the sofa, legs everywhere. Morgan stood before me, proffering a vodka martini. My eye could not decide whether to focus on the martini or the penis behind it, still proudly erect. I settled for the martini. When my heart stopped pounding, I said, thinking as I spoke that this could not be me, "I want to make you come." "Why do you want this, Melanie?" was the response. He had mixed himself a drink and now sat beside me on the sofa. "You've made me come so many times. I feel bad. Can't you understand this?" "Certainly I can understand it," came the reply. "Good sex is not about one party pleasuring the other. It is about each party pleasuring the other. And that is what we just did." "But…" I indicated in a way I cannot recall Morgan's erect member. "Pleasuring is an individual thing," He said. "I do not need to come to experience pleasure." I thought about this. Was this guy for real? I took the bull by the horns. "If you don't come I feel inadequate." The tables were truly turned. With Harvey, who came on contact, I felt frustrated, cheated. Now I felt cheated because the guy who had made me come didn't. How ridiculous! "I understand," Morgan said. "So how does the 'game' continue?" I said, gaining composure. "Do you keep on making me come?" "Melanie, I do not make you come. Your body does what it wants to do." "Sure! OK. Don't pretend it isn't you. I'm not an imbecile. I don't know what it is about you, but I never came like this before." For a while nothing was said. 'Morgan' fetched new drinks. His erection had wilted somewhat. "The game is oriented around our mutual pleasure. If your pleasure is to pleasure me until I come, and if you mean this sincerely, then it shall be so." "I mean it sincerely," I responded without thought. "Bear one thing in mind. The act of 'coming' does not in itself bring pleasure. Pleasure is the way one is brought to orgasm. Do you want to pleasure me, or do you merely want to make me come?" How could one answer a question like that? The man in my life wanted to 'get there' just as fast as he could. Two minutes, max. It had never occurred to me that men cared how they got off. After a moment's thought, I said, "I want to pleasure you until you come." "Do you know how?" "I'm not sure." "Experiment. I will tell you what pleases me and what does not. Begin by sucking on my balls." Jesus Christ! In the early days of our courtship, Harvey had pestered me to suck his penis. I had resisted. Nice girls did not do that. I made it very clear. After a while he had given up. And in our marriage he had never expressed the wish. Our 'sex life' settled instantly into brief bedtime encounters with Harvey lying on me thrusting his penis in and out of my vagina until he came. And here was this man, 'Morgan', about whom I knew nothing, slouching back on my sofa in the dim light, thighs spread, asking that I suck His balls! "While you are sucking my balls, you may stimulate the lower shaft of my penis with your fingertips, but gently," He said. "When I am erect, you may be more vigorous. Use your fingernails. But always on the lower part of my shaft. I will tell you when it is time to move on." The nerve of the guy! "You hesitate," He said. "You are not ready. Let your body be the judge. If it does not urge you to pleasure me as I would wish to be pleasured, then let the game take a different course." "And that would be?" I asked hesitantly. I wanted to make him come. But some inner force prevented me from doing as he asked. I could not bring myself to kneel at his feet and suck his balls. "You must decide. One way or the other." "Without knowing the nature of 'the other'". "Decide." OhmiGod! Chapter 9. Cloud nine Some minutes elapsed. I said nothing. I made no move. 'Morgan' decided for me. "Spread your legs and begin to masturbate." Still I made no move. 'Morgan' rose, stood directly in front of me and began to massage His penis. In no time it was as stiff as a pole. He continued to stroke it, flaunting it at my eyelevel. "You have five minutes, Melanie. If your vagina is not moist, the game is over. But your vagina will be moist." Goddam the bastard! My brain said 'enough is enough'. My body could not resist focusing on that erect penis. Obeying some inner force, my hand descended to my groin. A forefinger stroked my vaginal lips; around, up and down, around, then in, out and up to my clit. I recall thinking 'Jesus! Here we go again', when a hand descended on mine and removed it gently to rest on my thigh. I looked down, at the top of Morgan's head! That would be His tongue then, I recall thinking vaguely. 'Licking pussy', 'cunnilingus', abstract terms I'd heard: the sensation was anything but abstract. Instinctively my left hand stroked my right nipple, then began to squeeze it as Morgan's tongue flicked around my vaginal lips and walls, darting, light, unpredictable, a single caress, a longer stroke. Gentle fingertips stroked my inner thighs, which stretched wider as the tongue probed deeper, between my pussy lips, up and down their inner walls. My hips began to move, guiding that silken tongue up to my clit. It did not comply. And when my hand went down it was gently and patiently removed. 'It's not time yet', the hand said. My clit disagreed! But the tongue was adamant. Long strokes from the base of my vagina up the cavity, flicking between the walls of my pussy, darting in and out. Again, again and again, impervious to the movement of my hips and the moans that escaped my lips as the tension mounted. A fingertip edged into my vagina, exploring. It withdrew, but returned as two, inching upwards and pressing gently, then more urgently. Fingertips inside, the flat of His tongue edging up outside. My back arched, my body began to shake, and shake, and shake. My thighs tried to close around his head to draw him into me, but only one made it. The other was restrained. I was gasping now, all control was gone. My cunt began to hum, then to vibrate. Over the edge I went, wave upon wave, an orgasm that seemed it would not end. And the fingers worked on. And the tongue began to work my clit…. Tongue, lips, fingers, teeth, all worked in unison keeping me on a high plateau somewhere above the Himalayas. My body shook, trembled, thrashed about, words that I never used, 'Fuck' 'Cunt' 'Shit' emerged in incoherent sequence from between my lips….. I wanted only that it never end. Inevitably, it did. My cunt throbbed, but my body was still. Stimulation had gradually died away, and now had ceased. From somewhere in the ethos His voice sounded, deep, resonant. "Tomorrow, at seven." I did not answer because I could not speak. But it didn't matter. He was gone. I lay, prone, trying to collect my thoughts. But there were too many. When I tried to rise, my legs refused to comply. Every part of me shook. The clock read 11pm. Four hours? Had I really been that long up there on cloud nine? It had not seemed so. But why should my clock lie? The alarm destroyed my dream -- a line of men with massively erect penises snaked out of the door, waiting their turn to perform cunnilingus on me. Bitch! I hung onto the dream as long as I could. Reality slid in. The rest of them would have to wait for tomorrow. Chapter 10. Day Three "This is Mandy." I had opened the door for Him, but fell back when I realized he was not alone. Instinctively, I tried to cover my nakedness with my hands. A futile and unnecessary gesture. Discarding cloaks and footwear, Morgan and Mandy stood before me, as naked as I was. My eye latched onto Morgan's fully erect penis. "Mandy? Who is – er -- Mandy?" "Mandy is my sex partner. She will join us for this evening's session." Mandy had black hair, cut short, a long, elegant neck, a slender, if slightly boyish figure, long legs, and a fully shaved pubis with a prominent mound of Venus. I had seen naked women in the shower at college, but never one who wore her nudity so naturally. What did one do? Shake hands? "Aren't you going to introduce me?" I managed, my eye flitting from the ivory white of Mandy's body to Morgan's throbbing penis. "That will not be necessary. Mandy knows who you are. We have no secrets from each other." "Are you two married?" It sounded stupid even to me. "We are sex partners. When we are together we have sex. Occasionally we experiment. It is healthy for us both." "You don't live together?" "We do live together." "So that would mean….?" There was no way my head was going to get around it but it didn't matter. No further questions! Leading Mandy by the hand, Morgan had advanced to 'our room', which I had taken great pains to prepare – candlelight, a hint of jasmine. The previous evening had dispelled all doubts. I trusted Morgan. I would go through with this, wherever it led. Morgan gave a nod of appreciation. He advanced to the center of the room and stood straight, legs slightly parted, arms at his sides. "Sit on the sofa. You may stimulate yourself, or not. Do as your body instructs." Talk about confusion. One thing you could say about Morgan, He was not short of surprises. Still trying to get my head around Morgan and Mandy, I sat meekly on the sofa, tucked my legs beneath me, and watched. Mandy collected two cushions and placed them on the carpet close to Morgan's feet. Her movements had a grace and poise, a naturalness that I sensed mine lacked. She lowered herself to her knees, one on each cushion and raised her arms, stroking Morgan's penis with the fingertips of one hand, fondling his balls with the other. She did this with almost a reverence, not so much stimulating His genitals as 'making love' to them. So also when her tongue joined in, grazing the sides of the penis and edging upwards to flick around its head, unhurried, inquisitive. She took the base of the penis between two fingers and thumb and massaged gently. Her tongue lapped the underside of the tip in syncopation. If Morgan appreciated her ministrations, he gave no sign of it. He stood straight, eyes forward, arms at his sides as if the pleasure was not his, but Mandy's. His penis, rigid, tilted upwards, was offered for her pleasure. She leaned back leaving His penis free and began to fondle his balls, loosening them in their sack. She did this for a long while, then leaned forward and began again to lick his cock tip and massage its base. This sequence was repeated so many times I lost count. I became conscious of a tingling in my nipples. And I was sure my vagina, hidden primly beneath closed thighs, was beginning to moisten. When Mandy ceased licking Morgan's penis and instead took its head into her mouth, my arousal was palpable. Her fingers still worked the base of the penis, and her mouth sucked gently on its head. As she sucked, her cheeks hollowed out and her lips closed over the top of the shaft. Occasionally, she held the head of His cock in her mouth for several minutes while continuing to massage the base of His shaft. I sensed that her tongue was working the tip inside her mouth. Then back to the sucking and massaging. The cycle continued on and on. Mandy withdrew her fingers from His shaft and began massaging His balls, which had risen up, but now loosened. Mandy let her hand fall to her side and straightened her back. So her thighs were folded neatly over her calves. Morgan had edged slightly forward so his cock head remained in Mandy's mouth. They were now quite still, save for the hollowing of Mandy's cheeks as she sucked Morgan's cock. Although Morgan showed no obvious sign of arousal, Mandy's nipples had stiffened and the areola surrounding them had begun to swell. I remember noting this with surprise. I had always thought of a 'blow job' as a woman pleasuring a man. It was something women-folk did because it made their men-folk happy. That the reverse could be true had not even crossed my mind. But then again, you could hardly call what I was witnessing a 'blow job', with which I associated a five minute affair in the back seat of a car. Mandy had already been working Morgan's cock for an hour, with no end in sight and the signs were indisputable. She was enjoying what she was doing. Christine's Emancipation And, Godammit!, I was enjoying what she was doing. The sight of the pair in the center of my room, motionless save for the hollowing of Mandy's cheeks, was quite enough for my hand to start work on my nipple. And when Mandy's head began to move so that her mouth slid down over Morgan's cock, no power on earth was going to keep my thighs together. They parted just enough to allow my right hand to slide between them. Chapter 11. Number One At first barely perceptible, the motion of Mandy's head became evident as she drew more and more of Morgan's cock into her mouth, then withdrew until the neck of the cock-head appeared briefly between her lips, a slow regular motion. On the upstrokes the hollows in her cheeks became more pronounced as she sucked harder. Occasionally, she paused and held the cock-head in her mouth for several minutes, presumably caressing it with her tongue. It was on one of these occasions that Morgan showed His first reaction. A light gasp escaped his lips, and his head angled so he was looking down on Mandy's head. It stayed there and he watched as a third of his cock disappeared into her mouth, then re-emerged. Then it was a half. Still the same unhurried motion of Mandy's head, without which they might have been statues. Mandy's arms remained at her sides. Her nipples were now fully extended and the patches surrounding them were pink and puffy. I noticed that her body had shifted slightly. Her heel was now hidden from view and I realized with a sudden thrill that her vulva was pressing down on it. She was stimulating herself even as she stimulated Morgan's cock. And my clit was out, begging for attention. I tried to ignore it, sliding a finger in and out of my vagina, circling the inner walls of my labia. But it was no use. Why fight it? I tried to hide the shuddering of my body as I orgasmed but, although He paid me not the slightest attention, I'm sure He knew. Not that it made any difference. Mandy's head bobbed forth and back, Morgan's cock slid in and out of her mouth. Could they keep this up for ever!? I had thrown all modesty to the winds. Backed up at the end of the sofa, my legs were spread wide. One, then two fingers slid deep into my vagina, then emerged and moved up to massage my clit stem. I was well on the way to number two when the pair of them made a move. Unhurried, as always, Mandy allowed Morgan's cock to slide out of her mouth. Released, it bobbed up and down, seeming to have grown an inch or two. Morgan approached the couch and sat down. "I'm glad you decided to join in," He said, looking directly at my exposed vulva with their swollen cunt lips -- and maybe at the stain on the couch where my juices had escaped from the base of my vaginal opening and dripped down. I am a fastidious woman and normally this would have horrified me. Such was my state of arousal, though, I did not give a damn. Let the whole couch be stained by my cunt juice, Morgan's semen, whatever. Morgan had opened His legs wide. Mandy had taken two new cushions and placed them at his feet. She knelt on them and leaned forward. Morgan's cock rested on his stomach and his balls formed a single sphere at its base. Mandy ignored cock and balls and, placing her hands on Morgan's thighs for balance, lowered her head and began to lick the exposed skin beneath. Morgan's head fell back and his eyes closed. Though he emitted no sound, I sensed he was up there on that plateau above the Himalayas, where I had been the night before. Mandy's tongue tip edged to the base of Morgan's balls, licked the underside of his sac, then slid up one side, back down, up the other side, back and forth. Her tongue left a coat of saliva which glistened in the candlelight. She kept this up using the tip and the flat underside of her tongue until Morgan's sac began to loosen and the outline of two balls appeared. Then she moved upwards and began to lick the upper part of His sac, just below the stem of his cock. Slowly Morgan's sac relaxed and His balls emerged as two orbs. Still Mandy was not satisfied. She raised her head and began to pinch Morgan's sac with her fingertips and nails, kneading each fold of skin. Morgan's balls fell inch by inch and settled in, fully relaxed. The Mandy went to work. Placing a hand beneath His sac, she raised His balls and sucked one into her mouth. A gasp escaped from between Morgan's lips. Pleasure, pain? Both? Mandy paid no heed. She held Morgan's ball in her mouth, sucking on it, letting it slip out, pulling it back in. Morgan made no further sound, but erratic movements of His groin betrayed the sensation He was feeling. Mandy switched her attention to the second ball, giving it the same treatment. Then back and forth from one to the other, extracting gasps from Morgan each time she sucked. She raised His sac still further with her hand and sucked both balls into her mouth, which closed on the sac. She moved her head backwards and forwards, tugging on Morgan's balls. Morgan could not keep himself from emitting a stream of 'Aargh!'s' as she tugged on His balls. No doubt her tongue was working overtime as well. Fascination at the workover Mandy was giving Morgan's balls had stilled my own desire -- I was sure, temporarily. I kept myself up by allowing a stray forefinger to circle my vagina and slide up and down my clit hood. Eventually, Mandy released Morgan's balls, and let them fall back into their sac, deep between his thighs. She adjusted her position and I noticed again that her heel was hidden behind her thigh, pressing into her vulva. Whatever was in store for Morgan, Mandy was not going to miss out on her own pleasure. She raised his cock, still half erect, and eased the foreskin over its tip. She held it firmly at the base so the shaft was vertical and began to run her tongue up and down it and over the top. Gradually Morgan's cock stiffened but Mandy was in no hurry. She held His cock at the tip and began to lick around the base. Then she removed her mouth and began a slow gentle massage with fingertips and thumb, at first high on the cock, then a shade lower, and a shade lower still until she reached the base. The sequence was repeated three times, then Mandy grasped the shaft and began to pump the cock in her fist, gradually gaining speed, shifting the center of pressure up and down the shaft and pausing now and then to test the base and sides between finger and thumb. Chapter 12. Number Two Morgan's head was back, his eyes closed and though he uttered no sound I was sure I was witnessing the coup de grace, that at any moment His cock would erupt. I worked my clit in pace. I wanted to come when he did. Too late, I realized that Morgan was not going to come. He was merely being prepared for the next round. I tried to delay, but there was no use. Over the top I went, grunting and cursing, just as I watched Mandy demurely pull down the foreskin to free the cock-head, massage the base lightly, lower her mouth and begin to suck. In the aftermath of orgasm number two, I watched Mandy's head bob up and down and her cheeks hollow out as though they had just begun. In suspension of disbelief, I began working on orgasm number three. I wanted to be ready, for when He came. As she had before, Mandy sucked Morgan's cock for a long time, taking first the head, then a third of the shaft, then half the shaft into her mouth. She had ceased massaging the base and used her right hand to hold the cock in position, her left to squeeze Morgan's balls, which she did continuously. I first became aware of a subtle change via Morgan's manner. As Mandy's head reached its lowest point, with half Morgan's cock inside her mouth, he winced suddenly and his body twitched as she slowly withdrew. The reason for this became apparent only when I noticed the teeth marks! Mandy was digging her teeth into His cock and maintaining the pressure as she withdrew. She angled his cock on each stroke so her teeth bit into the sides, and she penetrated a little deeper or a little less deep so that teeth marks covered an area of about an inch of cock, all round. Above were the graze marks of teeth dragging up the shaft. Morgan's body twitched on every stroke, and his head began to move from side to side, whether in agony or ecstasy, who could tell. Suddenly, Morgan was still again. Mandy's head bobbed up and down over His abused cock and though I fancy she sucked just a little harder and a little longer on the upstroke, the effect was evidently balm to Morgan. He now sighed and moaned on every stroke. Chapter 13. Number Three Again, I was sure eruption was imminent. And I was ready. I had discovered something about myself. What I had said originally to Morgan was quite true. Once I came, my clitoral area went numb. What I had not realized was how temporary this was. If I avoided my clit for a while and then went back, it was not only again receptive to stimulation, it responded with an even greater intensity. Thus was I able to keep myself on the brink of number three…… Mandy's head had ceased bobbing up and down. She now held Morgan's cock by its tip and her mouth was clamped around its base from the side. She was literally chewing her way around the base of His cock, while her hand massaged the shaft above. Morgan's body had begun twitching and writhing again, but I noticed that He did not move his groin. He was not trying to avoid Mandy's attentions, just reacting to them. Mandy reverted to her previous position, sucking even harder and longer, and massaging the base not with fingertips but with fingernails that added their imprints to the teeth marks. Another round of teeth on cock followed by soothing tongue and lips ….. And that was all I could take. Two fingers inside pressing, my left hand rubbing my clit, number three hit. And she was a beauty! I was out of it for ever. Wave after wave gushed over me. I kept on friggin' until the last wavelet had washed ashore. When I came to and opened my eyesm I looked over at where Morgan and Mandy ….. had been? Goddammit! He'd done it to me again. If I could have, I would have raced for the door, ripped it open and cursed the pair of them as they drove away. Limbs being somewhat shaky, a wobble would have been the best I could have managed. Eventually, I staggered up the stairs, feeling rather stupid, and slid into bed. Three orgasms left me physically exhausted. But sleep was brief, if sleep it was. The ceiling was painted with a picture, of Mandy teasing Morgan's cock for three full hours, bringing him to the brink, then taking him down. My legs parted, my hand strayed down to a vulva that would not dry. Maybe it was all a dream. If so, it was a dream of ecstasy gone wild. When the alarm went off, I was so drained it took ten full minutes under the shower, cold then hot, before I was in a position to even think about going to the office. Chapter 14. Day Four Susan, my manager, surely noticed. Maybe she drew conclusions, surely the wrong ones, judging by her sly grin. She knew Harvey was away. When the guys are away, the girls go play. Undoubtedly, she thought, her 'girl-next-door' employee had finally found herself a lover. I was surer than ever that she knew – that my blouse hid no bra, and my skirt no panties. Frequent trips to the loo were necessary to tamp down my bristling nipples and to replace the wad of tissue which I stuffed into my vagina to prevent juices leaking out and flowing in tell-tale streams down my thighs. My vagina just would not stop lubricating. Making up for lost time, perhaps? The truth Susan would not guess. It was beyond the horizon of every woman, surely, as it would have been beyond mine if it had not actually happened to me. As I sorted through the piles of mail, my thoughts were on 7pm and thereafter, when I would pleasure Morgan as Mandy had done. I was determined to match her, but with a difference. Finally, after long hours of teasing, His cock would explode and His semen would spurt over me. I would rub it into my breasts, my thighs, my stomach until I was encased in the proof of His release. A week before the very notion would have had me writhing in repulsion. What a difference a week can make, if you just know the right people! Now, the thought of rubbing sticky semen into my tits and thighs, where the skin was most sensitive, had me quivering in anticipation. I rehearsed the evening's proceedings in my mind, casting mail hither and thither. Who cared? It all ended in the garbage anyway. Arriving home, the butterflies in my stomach fluttered mercilessly. In the shower, I aimed the nozzle between my legs, alternating between hot and cold in a vain attempt to still my desire. Sitting on the ledge, my hand shook as it drew the razor over my pubis. I was determined. When I was done, not a hair would remain. To hell with Harvey. He could think what he liked. I would present to Him a pubis and vulva as smooth and naked as Mandy's. I drew the blade over tender folds, oiled them, washed off the oil with lavender soap, then shaved again, keeping an eye on the clock I had placed on top of the toilet. Somewhere in my memory was the notion that I should be using wax. I'd probably read about it in a woman's magazine. Too late. I should have thought of this before. At six forty five, I scrutinized myself with a hand-mirror. Maybe the gloss of Mandy's mound of Venus was absent, but for a first try, without wax, it was good. And it felt wonderful. I stood examining myself in the bedroom mirror, thrilling at the sight of my clit hood standing out between closed thighs. For the first time in my life I felt truly naked. Chapter 15. A challenge. As always, He arrived on the dot of seven. His cloak dropped to the floor and my eye fixed on his penis, as usual, fully erect and throbbing. "You look well tonight," He said. "Your body has gained considerably in allure." "Thank you," I stammered. "Thank your body. It has a healthy libido which needed only to be released." Did He know how often I brought myself off when He had left for the night? Perhaps He did! After all, a few brief encounters at the Agency had told him more about my sexuality than I had known myself. I followed Him into our room, again carefully prepared. Candles only, emitting a musky scent. "You wish to pleasure me tonight?" He said, in an even tone. "I do." "Do you think you can?" "I'm sure I can. Just like Mandy did." "No! Like Melanie does. You must follow your own instinct. The pleasuring of a man by a woman must also pleasure the woman, just as the pleasuring of a woman by a man must also pleasure him." I had arranged cushions on the floor in the center of the room, thinking we would begin as Mandy had done. Morgan ignored them. He moved gracefully to the couch and settled himself in its center, opening his thighs and leaning back so the tip of his penis touched his stomach and his balls were displayed. Rather, I should say, his ball bag. It was huge and perfectly spherical. There was no sign of the two orbs within. I wanted to ask, but dare not. He seemed to read my thoughts. "Mandy insisted on a thorough preparation," He said. "When a dalliance takes her fancy she goes to extraordinary lengths to ensure success. Think of it as a challenge." Jesus H. Christ! A thorough preparation? A challenge? "What do you mean, a challenge?" I could not help but say. "Your desire was for me to come for you. Mandy has arranged that this will be all too easy. If, on the other hand, you wish to truly pleasure me, you must proceed with great delicacy. I suggest you begin by loosening up the scrotum." The vision formed again in my mind, Mandy working Morgan's cock. I suppose I had unconsciously thought 'three hours?' and assumed she brought him off on the way home, or when they got home. Now it occurred to me the vixen had kept on teasing him all night and all day. How else would his ball bag be the size and shape of a grapefruit? Game plan out of the window, I arranged the cushions so I could kneel between Morgan's knees. A tentative tongue tip brushed the underside of His ball bag. He shuddered. Jesus! He was that close. I cursed Mandy. Sure I wanted Morgan to come for me. But not in ten seconds! Ok! If it was a challenge, I would be equal to it. Nothing but the very tip of my tongue touched that massive ball bag, carefully spaced caresses, watchful for reaction. Morgan continued to shudder and his groin jerked upwards, involuntarily seeking further stimulation. Which was denied, until he settled. Then another flick, around the side. Wait, watch. There was no sense of time. Only his urge to come, mine to deny him orgasm. Until I was ready. I had not spent the day fantasizing about my first fellatio to have this brought to a premature end because another woman had done all the spade work. I wanted Morgan to come for me. Because I had made him come. First he had to come down. Infinitesimally, Morgan's scrotum began to relax. I began to relax, to enjoy. His breathing was now easier. His groin no longer writhed at each touch of my tongue. His penis, resting on His stomach, had softened. I ignored it, restricting stimulation to His ball-bag. Gradually, the grapefruit began to shrink, the outline of the two orbs it encompassed to show. After an age and a half, Morgan's balls showed clearly through. Another half an age and the grapefruit had turned into an elongated sac. My neck ached. I rested back on my heels. I remembered suddenly, and lowered my groin so that one of my heels touched my vaginal opening. A sudden thrill coursed through me. His pleasure, her pleasure. As I stroked His balls with gentle fingers, so I rocked back and forth stimulating my vaginal opening with my heels, sensing the juice flow out of my vagina and drip down my feet. Morgan had ceased gasping, his groin was stationary. I was in control. His balls were now clearly defined within the elongated scrotum. I leaned forward and sucked one into my mouth, pulling on it until I felt Morgan begin to squirm. Relaxing the pressure slightly, I ran my tongue around and allowed His ball to slip out of my mouth. The other one then got the same treatment. Then back and forth. Morgan's penis was now limp, curled up against his stomach. Grasping His ball-bag with my right hand and tugging gently, I raised myself, took the entire length of His cock into my mouth and began to suck, release, suck release. Slowly the cock began to swell until, half erect, it filled my mouth. I held it there, tonguing its base, lips tightly sealed so it could not escape. The 'girl-next-door' who thought sucking a man's cock was 'dirty' had vanished. The woman who took her place found she was enjoying herself as never before. As the cock inside her mouth strained to be released, this woman felt a tremendous sense of power. And as she began softly to fellate Morgan, sliding her mouth down over his cock tip and down the shaft, this sense increased. Since Morgan had first instructed me to remove my underwear in a public place, He had been in control. Now, control had switched. Morgan was no longer 'He', but was a man – a man who lay back on the sofa moaning as I teased his cock. 'Come for me', I had said, as an entreaty. 'Please, come for me.' Now he was going to come for me whether he liked it or not, when I chose and in the manner of my choosing. He had said it himself. Not like Mandy, like Melanie, following her instinct. When Morgan's cock was fully erect, I released his balls and allowed them to rise in their sac. Impervious to Morgan's moans and grunts, to the twitching of his body, I continued to tease his cock, holding it in my mouth on the down-stroke, sucking, flicking my tongue about the shaft, then across his cock-tip as I withdrew.