3 comments/  37715 views/  14 favorites

After the Conference Ch. 01

By: ElRoylk



Day One

His lips barely grazed hers. She breathed out, letting go of the tension from the past two hours. 

It hadn't been a bad date, the thought passed through her even as his lips brushed across the corner of her mouth. She inhaled, closing her eyes. She shouldn't. It was far too soon. 

It had been a pretty good date, actually. Her hands moved to his back, holding on to him without implying he should go further. She should just pull away. It was moving too fast.

They'd met just the day before at the end of the conference. He had come up to her during the final lunch, his eyes bright and open. Small talk. She couldn't remember what he'd said, but it had made her laugh. 

His lips sent a tingle from her earlobe down her spine. She squirmed a little, clenching between her thighs. No. Her hands started to slip down, to find a way to push him away. She felt his hands move down her back, mirroring her own. They reached her waist and pulled her against him gently, his mouth leaving trails of light kisses along her jaw. Was that his belt buckle? She hadn't felt...been felt...in months...no...it was almost a year!

She didn't know much about him. He lived in town. No ring. Damn, she should have googled him. She still could. She couldn't risk going any further.

"Hold on, tiger," she said softly, letting her hands drop and pulling away. "I need to use the ladies'." She walked quickly into the restroom, not looking back, relieved there was an open stall. Sitting down, she pulled out her phone and started to enter his name in the app window. Shit. His last name! She panicked briefly and remembered the badge. Roland Pierce. Seventeen candidates came up. She added the city and there he was. Nice shot, looking at his image staring back at her. 

She realized she actually had to pee, stopping, putting her phone in her purse, rearranging her clothes and sitting down again. Browsing through his profile, she looked to see if they had any connections. Would that be good or bad? She had nothing to hide – no commitments back home – but a thought crept up her spine. A devilish, naughty thought. An anonymous fling. Strange city. Stranger. No attachment. Except for disease, and pregnancy, no possible fallout. She had the second one covered. They'd use protection. Listen to you! She could smell something more than pee coming from between her legs. 

She looked at him as she walked back to the restaurant foyer, some salient facts from his profile in her mind's eye. Self-employed, degrees in business and theater? That was interesting. She should have waited to go to the bathroom until after they were seated. But she needed to slow things down. He smiled at her, his eyebrows raised. 

"They've got our table ready," he motioned his hand across the room, letting her go first. "You smell great." He whispered from behind her head.

She blushed, thankful he couldn't see her. Could he smell her arousal or was he referring to before? It must be from before. The tingle increased at the base of her spine.

Dinner was delicious and awkward. She wanted to linger over each of the plates, the flavors and textures caressed her tongue. He kept up a steady rhythm of conversation, asking her about her work, her favorite movies, books, travel. Awkward because she couldn't focus, distracted by his lips, his eyes. She stared at his fingers, long and delicate, the nails trimmed. She sipped at the wine, remembering a similar one from just the week before. He didn't know much about wine, but was happy to hear her describe it for him.

"Dessert?" The waiter broke into the conversation.

He waited for her cue.

I want him for dessert, the thought eclipsed everything else.

"Madeleine?"

"Not for me. Thanks. I'm just right."

"Remind me," he said casually as the waiter began clearing the dishes. "How long are you in town for?"

"Until Friday." She sipped the last of her wine. "I was thinking of taking in some of the sites. Any suggestions?" Please don't...

He studied her for a moment, thinking. "Do you have a car, or were you thinking of biking, or?"

"I hadn't got that far. I had heard there are some great museums and a book store I wanted to visit."

 "Tilson's?" He waited for her nod and smiled. "It's amazing. Even in this digital age." He paused, looking past her. "I don't have any commitments tomorrow. It would please me to no end to lay bare the wonders of her valley, to partake of her succulent bounty, the sweet fruit of her bosom."

She looked up alarmed. "What?"

He snapped back to look at her, his smile wry and embarrassed. "I'm sorry. That sounded so weird. It's a quote from the founder of the city when he came over the pass and looked across the valley. Or so we're led to believe. I can assure you he was a Christian, devout and spiritual." The waiter returned with the bill. "Would you let me be your personal guide for the day?"

She silently swore at how much she must be blushing and looked away. When she turned back, he had taken the leather portfolio and handed his card to the waiter.

"Please," she protested, reaching for her purse. "I'm on an expense account."

"Let me show you a few things," he said smiling sweetly. "Some of my favorite things." 

Shit. Shit.

He completed the transaction, stood and crossed to her, pulling out her chair and offering her her shawl. When she dared to look at him, he waited, face open, a slight shrug.

"Where are you staying?" He gestured to the door.

"The ACE." And then she regretted it. Dammit, why did I say that?

"Great hotel. I often put up clients there. I'd be happy to walk you to your door..."

She didn't say anything, letting him put his arm around her. Just tell him thank you. Just...but she silently relished the feeling of his hand on her waist, seeing his fingers unbuttoning her, peeling her clothes off. 'Show you a few things...' The way he had said it left it open to interpretation. The wicked thoughts twined their way up like invasive ivy.

"...that last speaker, didn't you?"

She shook her head, trying to recall what he had been saying. "I'm sorry. I was distracted. Say again?"

He turned to look at her and leaned in, gently planting a kiss on her lips, sending that fiery electricity down to her core. She stopped pretending she didn't want this, him, and leaned in, opening her mouth to let him inside her.

The walk to the hotel was a blur, his hand gently brushing across her back, getting the key, not thinking about the hotel staff, hoping no one from the conference was there, approaching the room and that moment, when she slipped the key in her lock, fumbling, the red light blinking until he gently took it from her and offered to try. Blushing. Angry and embarrassed but wanting nothing more than to just get inside already. 

"I've never actually been in one of the rooms," he said, his tone easy and relaxed. He set the card down on the bureau, looking around. "It's nice."

She had set her purse and shawl down and wasn't sure what to do next. "There's a pretty well stocked mini-bar, if you'd like." She waved to the refrigerator next to him. He pinched his lips, considering and looked. 

"You?" He stood up, the door still open and shrugged out of his jacket. 

She didn't really want to drink any more. She stood there, deciding what to do and made her move. "Nothing for me, thanks. I'm good." As she said it, she reached back and unhooked the top of her dress, reaching to pull down her zipper.

"Wait," he said, moving to her so quickly she looked up in alarm, her hands frozen behind her neck. "Sorry," he smiled gently. "Wait," almost a whisper now. "I would like to help you out of your dress." Leaning in, his lips next to her ear, his hands reaching back to pull her hands back in front of her, resting them on his belt. "Let me strip you bare."

The whisper was too soft for her to know if it held menace or simply promise, his lips now lightly grabbing her lobe, his tongue tickling her. He unzipped her only half-way, enough to expose the hooks on her bra. He moved his fingers there, but she felt him pause and reconsider, moving them away. Her hands held onto his belt, not ready to let go, a life-raft. 

The room suddenly felt hot, perspiration beading under her arms. He gently lifted the bra's shoulder straps down, under her dress sleeve, moving them down to her elbows, forcing her to bend her arms and pull away from his waist. The cups pulled away, the fabric of the dress rough against the top of her breasts and nipples. The air, only slightly cooler, raising goose bumps and swelling her nubbins. 

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" He whispered in her ear, lightly stroking inside of her ear channel with his tongue. She squirmed from the tickling, shaking her head, wanting to hear his answer. "The moment I saw you, I wanted nothing more than to be here with you." He peeled the dress off her shoulders, down, down until it hung around her belly, her bra offering her breasts as if on a serving plate.

He stepped back, kneeling, slipping her shoes off and reaching up, up, up her thighs to her waist to gently peel her hose down, down, down, leaving her panties covering her. Pulling her stockings down, he stopped her from lifting her foot, lifting it for her and slipping off first one side and then the other. He looked up at her, smiling, forcing her to look at him, knowing he was staring at her nipples, erect and waiting. But for what?

He held the crotch of her hose up to his nose and inhaled deeply, never breaking eye contact with her until he sighed, closing his eyes. She stared, transfixed. What the fuck?

"Just tell me," he said quietly, locking onto her again with his clear blue eyes. "Tell me you want this."

She couldn't look away, his face was so open and wanting. What he had just done was so outrageous, so outrageously sexy, she could feel herself getting wet. Before she could answer, he moved his hands up her naked legs to her waist, slipping his fingers into her waistband and stopped. 

"Tell me." He said it gently, but with an urgency. Not pleading. Not demanding. As a tit-for-tat – I'm stripping you, you tell me you want it. She shivered a little and nodded, never breaking eye contact. "unnh unnhh," he said softly, shaking his head slightly. "Tell me."

"I..." fuck fuck fuck. What the fuck???  "I...yes...I want this." Her voice caught, husky and she felt foolish, her hands waving uselessly with her arms pinned against her waist. He pulled her underwear down, the air flowing against her wetness, her aroma flowing out from under her dress with his arms.

"You smell like a summer garden," he whispered, moving his head up under her dress, his nose pushing against her lips. She was so wet and so turned on. Nobody had ever done this before. 

At 26, the thought flashed through her brain, she'd felt a certain level of experience. Boys, men, a lesbian fling with a college roommate for a month. She wasn't shy about sex. But something about him, about what he was doing, was like nothing she'd experienced. His nose moved up into her, parting her lips, up, sliding up, her juices lubricating its path as he bumped over her clit, making her jerk a little. She brought her hands down to the back of his head, the fabric of the dress getting in her way.

"Please," she moaned slightly, embarrassed at being so vulnerable. She wasn't used to being out of control; she usually set the pace, decided when and how she would be exposed. Somehow, in mere seconds, he had stripped her, but not totally, had slipped into her, but not totally, and had set the terms of the engagement.

She realized, again, that was how she viewed these things...these things, she thought self-consciously, what does that mean? Sex, she said it silently, holding her breath as his tongue took his nose's place, pushing deeper between her lips. It was a business transaction at some level, the thought she was a whore swirling around in the rising pleasure. No. She corrected herself. Again. It was a conversation she had almost every time she was with a man. You are not a prostitute. But you aren't innocent either. She shook her head to stop the squirrel caging. It had nothing to do with prostitution, she'd gone over it thousands of times. It had to do with power, control and transaction. 

His hands moved up her sides to reach her bra, pulling it down to her waist, moving her hands with it until they were pinned against her thighs. He slipped out from under her, standing up to face her, his face glistening, his eyes bright. He looked into her eyes, his hands drifting up, up, until they floated just in front of her naked breasts, his fingers so close she could feel their heat.

"Tell me," he said again, leaning in to kiss her. She wrinkled her nose at her smell, but didn't stop him as he smeared her juices on her, his lips pushing harder now, his tongue penetrating her, stopping her from being heard. He didn't touch any other part of her, just his lips, his hands remaining fixed and floating in front of her breasts. 

She couldn't move her hands without ruining her bra. Sure you can! But she ignored that voice, waiting to see where he was taking her. She was in great physical shape, and her mind began to wander: how she would do her exercises tomorrow if he slept over. Getting ahead of the game a little aren't you? But her thoughts were interrupted by a shock of pain from her nipples as he pulled away.

"Ouch!" She yelped, looking down to see his fingers pinching them, stretching them out. "Stop it!" 

He leaned down and kissed them, blowing on them, sending pulses of pleasure after the pain. "Tell me," he spoke to her breasts. "Tell me what I'm going to do to you."

She looked down and along the way caught the movement reflecting in the mirror, her body half-naked, her breasts around his head, her arms pinned by her side. She knew she was beautiful, her brown hair shaded with red, her breasts not too small or too large. She hated her jaw – she always thought it made her look like a horse –she knew the rest of her was killer and she wasn't shy about showing it. But what he was doing to her made her feel shy, like she was back in high school, like she'd never done it before. It was silly what he was asking her to say. She'd never played that game before. And the pain – now fading into a warm glow. A worry began to nag below the pleasure. What if...?

His teeth bit down on her nipple hard enough to make her yelp again, her hands caught in the straps, stopping her from batting him away. "Stop it! Roland! Stop!"

He shifted the nipple to his lips, gumming it to soften the pain. "Tell me," his breath hot on the swelling bud.

"I...alright..." she looked around, hoping there was some escape, but she wasn't trapped. She could tell him to get out of there any time. She could stop this any time. So why aren't you? "I...you are going to...you are going to fuck me." She said it softly, knowing he was going to do it, to do it in a way she hadn't done since...but she wasn't sure when that might have been. 

"Yes," he said, smiling up at her. "I am. You are the sweetest, tastiest, most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I want to hear you beg me to fuck your sweet cunt." And before she could react to the vulgarity, he turned her to the bed, gently, but firmly pushing her face down, her waist at the edge, her knees barely touching the floor. 

"No," she said without much conviction. He had pulled her dress up, exposing her sex to him, his feet pushing her knees apart. She knew he was staring at her slit, the wiry hairs framing her lips, her wrinkled hole, brown and tight peeking from between her tight cheeks.

He stopped. "No?" He waited, his fingers slipping into her wetness, brushing lightly across her clit. "Say it. You're going to say it. You want it. You know you want it. Tell me what you want; what you've wanted since you went to the bathroom at the restaurant." He rested his fingers on her open sex, his middle finger lightly tapping her clit. 

She moaned. She couldn't. This wasn't the way she played. She'd never let herself be this exposed and not in control. But he wasn't moving. It was her move. She knew he would leave if she told him to. She felt like a whore, she wanted to feel like a whore. He made her feel like the whore she knew she was and he was demanding she admit it to him...and herself.

He waited, but she could feel him shifting, the sound of his belt opening. His finger hadn't left her, but his other hand unzipped his trousers and she felt them fall to the floor. His hand pushed against her as he stepped out of them, and then she knew he was pulling down his briefs. She couldn't stop imagining his cock springing up, swollen but not yet hard.

"I," she said, her voice catching in her throat. How can you? How can you let yourself do this? But it had been so long, and he was so gentle, had been so gentle up til now. He had been nothing but a gentleman the entire night. Why did he have to call it that? She was being childish. She could stop it, so why wasn't she? "I..." She closed her eyes and took a breath. "Fuck me," she barely breathed it out.

His only response was to move his finger slightly and move her feet apart further until she knew her lips, swollen and red, were fully open off the edge of the bed. "Beg. Beg for my hot, hard cock in your wet cunt like it is the single most important thing in your life." He pressed his finger just slightly against her. Maddeningly, frustratingly. She could feel her liquid dripping down.

"No..." she moaned, exhaling. She couldn't debase herself. Debase. Hah! That's a good one. The voice, critical and scathing, made her lift her pelvis, trying to push against him. Tell him what he wants to hear, like the common whore you are. You know you are going to. Stop fighting it. "FUCK ME!" She shouted into the coverlet, shocked at the sound of her need.

He tsked and pulled his hand away.

She shrieked at the white hot pain across her ass cheeks. "NOOOO! STOPPPPP!!!" But she couldn't pull up, his hand pressed against her back, his knees keeping her legs apart, the hair from his naked thighs against her smooth skin. "Tell me," he said gently, his fingers unzipping her dress the rest of the way. She felt a panic rising in her even as the slap's pain dissipated into a warmth she'd never expected. And then the absurd thought: How is he going to get that off me?

But the question was answered as he slipped his hand between her ribs and the bed, pulling the fabric across her skin and down to her knees. She watched in her mind's eye, horrified, as she helped him by lifting slightly first one and then the other leg. "No," she said again, but to whom she couldn't tell. You are protesting your own slutty behavior. Give him what you want, what he knows you want.

"Please don't hurt me," she heard more fear in her voice than she felt, tears filling her eyes.

"Tell me. You want it. Tell me how you want it." He moved his hands, and she could feel him stripping off his shirt.

"Fuck me," she said in a way she hoped wouldn't make him strike her. "Fuck me with that hard hot cock." She felt the tears dripping onto the bridge of her nose and sobbed a little. "Fuck me hard. Fuck me until I cum for you. Fuck me until I'm raw and sore...but..." she sobbed again, "please..." she took a breath. "Please don't hit me...please." She whispered the last plea, knowing she really didn't have much to say about it.

"Shhhh," he leaned over her, consolingly, his back against her naked ass. She could feel his heat near her gaping slit, but he kept his cock away from her.


After the Conference Ch. 01



"Ohhh! Roland!" She tried to lift up as the thought occurred to her. "Please, you've got to use a condom!" 

The way she said it, he knew it wasn't negotiable. He chuckled in her ear, letting his cock head just barely touch her lips. "I'm shooting blanks," he said soothingly, his hands stroking her hair gently.

"I don't care. I'm not going to get pregnant. But you're not going to give me any disease." She just wanted him to shove it in her already, to make her beg him for it, but the part of her she'd never been able to ignore, the part that had protected her her entire life wouldn't let go. 

He breathed for a moment and pulled away. She couldn't see what he was doing, but she hoped he had protection in his jacket. Moments later he was back and the smell of latex drifted to her nose.

"Thank you," she exhaled, relieved, opening her legs for him as wide as she could. 

"Please," she said again, the tension returning as she prepared to do what he had asked, in spite of it being against everything she believed in. "Please fuck me with your hard hot cock. Fuck me in my hot wet pussy until you shoot your cum inside me." She couldn't help her voice catching, and she couldn't understand why she was doing this at all. Except you're a whore and you've waited so long...too long...to feel a cock deep inside you. "Roland...FUCK ME! FUCK ME WITH YOUR HARD COCK!"

And she grunted as he slammed into her, knocking her breath away for a moment. She was so slippery, and the condom was so wet, he slid as far as the joint at the base of his member, slamming his pubic bone against her swollen lips. She cried out from the pain and the need, begging him to push harder, to fuck her like the whore she was. 

She couldn't hear herself anymore, the intensity of his fucking overpowering her senses, but she knew she was practically shouting, calling him names, belittling him to make him angry, to treat her like an open hole to violate. All she knew was he was pummeling her with his cock, a stiff wooden pole drilling into her. The sound of her vagina, the squishing and farting only added to her humiliation, making her open herself even more. Her hands were still pinned by the bra but she wished she could just drag them up above her head out of the way, letting him know he had won, he had broken her. And you didn't even know there was a contest. Because there wasn't. You are a whore and he read you and now he's treating you like you need and want and like nobody has ever done before. "Thank. Hmph...you. Thank. Hmph...you. Thank. Hmph...you." she exhaled the words in rhythm to his pumping, letting herself accept his punishment. But for what crime?

And then he shoved in and held himself tight against her, pressing his thighs tight against her ass cheeks, straining against her. She could feel his cock vibrating and knew he was ejaculating into the condom and she cried out, frustrated she hadn't climaxed. But she knew she wasn't worthy, that a whore doesn't decide when to cum or how. She breathed and tried to rub her clit against the covers as his cock impaled her, but she was trapped beneath him, squeezed against the mattress.

He laid down after a few moments, his breathing hard in her ear. "Thank you," he said with such sincerity she felt tears welling up. What the fuck are you doing? The voice was gone, replaced by her usual critical self and she took stock: stripped naked in her own hotel room, spread open, a stranger's cock deep inside her, her arms pinned against her. It looked like rape except she had begged him, had urged him to drive into her. She moaned, feeling the tears rolling onto the bed.

He pulled away slightly, and leaned down, kissing the salty liquid from her eyes, She tried to protest, but he kept at it, moving his lips to the tip of her nose, to her lips, pushing against her, pushing his tongue into her. She couldn't stop herself, turning her head to get more of him into her, sparring with his tongue, begging him to penetrate that hole as he'd done with her pussy.

"Did I hurt you?" He looked at her with compassion and concern, waiting for her.

She widened her eyes in shock. "A little," she said softly. But in her head she was screaming. What do you THINK? FUCK yes you hurt me you freak! 

"You looked like you needed it..." he said cryptically, pulling away and out of her. She knew she must look like a common slut, her pussy swollen and open, spilling cum. "But you didn't finish." 

"It's okay," she tried to protest, but she didn't mean it. He lifted her up slightly so she could put weight on her knees and undid her bra to free her arms. He slipped his hands along her ribs, gently rotating her to face him. She couldn't resist looking down to see his cock – the condom drooping with its load of crème. She licked her lips unconsciously. The thought of drinking it flashed through her head and she was disgusted with herself.

He kissed her face and then down her neck to her breasts, spending time on her nipples. "I don't know what came over me," he said, planting gentle kisses on her nipples. "You just seemed to...to emit...no, not emit, that's stupid...to project..whatever...a sense of vulnerability..." He stood up, leaving her on her knees, and pulled the condom off in front of her face.

The smell of latex and cum and her juices was almost too much. She wanted to turn away, but she just stayed there, looking at his member, flaccid and shiny. She knew he was staring down at her and he turned to face her, his cock bumping against her chin.

"And I'm getting that same feeling...You want it, don't you." It wasn't a question. 

She didn't want it. She didn't want it, even as she reached up to feel his balls, slick with sweat and her juices. She didn't want it as she took his cock head to her lips and she didn't want it, didn't want to spoil such a great dinner and wine with tasting latex and sperm. But she did it anyway, because that wicked thought she'd first entertained in the bathroom was still with her. She knew it would only last a minute, the taste, before she cleaned him off, but the smell of latex was in his pubic hair and her nose and she couldn't shake it. 

He put his hands against her head and didn't move, letting her take him in, letting her stroke him with her tongue. He was leaving it up to her; he'd taken her as he'd wanted, as she'd begged him to. She pulled away, sucking her cheeks in to create as strong a vacuum as she could, her lips pulling on his loose skin, until his cock ejected with a pop. It wasn't going to happen for her. Not tonight. She suddenly felt exhausted, and sickened with her behavior.

"I'm...I need to call it a night," she said, getting up. She brushed past him, heading to the bathroom.

Before she could close the door, though, he had joined her. She looked at herself in the mirror, her mascara smeared from tears, her breasts and belly red from rubbing against the covers. It was small consolation that he had a fantastic body, or that he looked concerned but unapologetic. 

"I need to shower, and then I need to go to bed." She still didn't tell him to leave. The voice inside her didn't want him to leave, but she was angry.

He didn't leave. He joined her in the shower, soaping her up and massaging her, making her sigh as his hands rubbed her muscles. She could feel his cock getting hard against her ass and she reached back to grab it, squeeze it until he cried out in pain. She held him as tight as she could, channeling her anger into her fingers, but he didn't relent, continuing to knead her muscles, ignoring her. If anything he was getting stiffer and she shook her head in frustration.

"What do you want from me?!" She turned to look at him, briefly letting go of his hardening cock to switch hands. He winced as she pulled and squeezed him.

He didn't answer, leaning down to kiss her, holding her head against his as the water beat down on them. They tongue wrestled for what seemed like an hour before she broke the kiss, stepping back and letting go. He reached around her to turn off the water and grabbed a towel to dry her off.

He didn't stop to help himself until she had left the shower. "I need to pee." 

He didn't leave, taking another towel and drying off as he watched her. She tried to ignore his cock and balls swinging, concentrating on letting her bladder relax. What are you fucking doing? She'd lost it. She couldn't explain what was happening. Maybe she'd wake up and realize it was a dream. Her thoughts spun out of control. Maybe he was a devil. Maybe he'd slipped her something in her drink. Maybe he'd hypnotized her. The flow stopped; she squeezed a little more out and wiped herself. Why didn't you just go before the shower? Or in the shower? 

She was a mess and she couldn't get her bearings. What had she done? She rinsed her hands and turned to leave. Before she made it to the bed he had joined her again, his hands holding her firmly against her side.

"What the fuck do you want from me?" She sounded pathetic, pleading and submissive. This wasn't her! She should just tell him to get the fuck out!

He didn't say anything, turning her again and holding her against him, his cock warm and thickening. This can't be happening. He's going to do it to me again. I'm going to let him. I'm going to beg him. 

He leaned down and kissed her again, his skin sliding against her breasts forcing an inhale from the stimulation. He pulled the covers down, along with the top sheet and sat her down. "You didn't cum, did you." His cock was next to her cheek and she didn't answer him. "Scoot over." 

She shoved her way under the covers to the other side of the bed and waited, knowing, hoping, he would take her again.

"Spread your legs, Madeleine." It wasn't demanding or threatening. It was gentle. A request, the please implied. Or so she decided. She did.

He turned and moved his head onto her belly, kissing her navel, his fingers pulling lightly at the top of her triangle. She lifted her pelvis, silently begging for more.

"No. Tell me." 

Again, he wanted her to tell him, to beg him, to ask him. She couldn't. But she knew she would. "Please," she said, imploring him to not make her say it. 

He just kept teasing at her hair, his mouth inches from her sex.

"Eat me," she said softly. "Eat me with that sweet mouth of yours. Suck my pussy until I crème in your mouth. Use your tongue like a cock and make me cum. Taste that rubber like I tasted it on you..." And then she couldn't say anything because he had latched his mouth onto her clit and sucked it in, sending spasms of pain and pleasure up her spine, forcing her to lift up and try to pull away. 

But she didn't want to pull away. She wanted him to penetrate her. Again. She couldn't believe it, but she wanted him to fuck her, hard, to shove his cock deep into her. He turned to get his mouth deeper between her legs and his cock floated above her eyes, until he lowered down, pushing it against her nose. 

She giggled, in spite of her confusion and tilted back to take him in. She'd trained for this, starting in high school and throughout college. It had been a bet with her girlfriends: who could deep throat long enough to make their boyfriends cum. She'd never won back then, but it had made her want to do better. And now she was a champion at giving head. Nothing made her feel more dirty than having a guy's cock deep inside her throat. She'd learned to milk them that way. But not tonight. Tonight she'd make him hard and bring him to the brink and then beg him to shove it in to her swollen cunt. Yes. Your cunt. You will beg him to fuck you in your cunt.

She moaned at the thought, and at his mouth, and at his cock as it slipped past her tongue to slide into her throat. She could feel her stomach tightening until the gagging was over, focusing her attention on his tongue and the thick flesh inside her.

He pulled his mouth away slightly, making room for two fingers that he slipped deep into her, pushing up against the thick muscle wall behind her clit. Pushing from inside her, he found her spot, that one spot she needed so badly, and then he pushed his mouth against her from the outside and she saw stars. His cock buried down her throat, she breathed around it knowing she wouldn't gag if she kept breathing. But his mouth and fingers made it difficult to breathe as the pleasure erupted up her spine and into her head. She couldn't move her head; she couldn't move her pelvis. She was trapped and thought she might asphyxiate even as the orgasm overwhelmed her. She cried out and he pulled out of her mouth, her body struggling to breathe in as the waves crashed up and down the length of her body.

She cried, sobbing, tears flowing, but he didn't stop. She tried to push him away, but he stayed glued to her, his tongue swirling on her clit, his fingers pressing against her inside. She beat on his back until he finally relented and pulled away. "Please," she gasped, breathing heavily. "Please..."

He rolled over, his head beneath the covers, breathing hot and heavy air. "Whatd?" His voice muffled. He lifted the sheets. "What. Please. What."

She lay there, her legs open, her pussy open. Liquid spilling out. "Please.. Fuck. My. Cunt." Her breath was ragged. "Hard."

"I don't have another condom," he said softly, turning around.

She felt the panic rising as she heard herself say the words. "I. Don't. Care. Fuck. My. Slut. Cunt. With. Your. Hard. Cock. Cum in my wide open cunt! Let me feel you cum in me!" She grabbed at him and pulled him onto her, pulling her legs up, bending her knees to open herself up as wide as possible. "Fuck.Me.Roland.UGGHH!"

He slammed into her again. And again. And again. Over and over, like a machine, his muscles bristling. She watched him, his face calm even as he pumped her like a pile driver. She knew she would be sore and raw. But she wanted it. She needed it. And as she felt him moving faster and harder, she succumbed to a second orgasm. She tightened her legs around his back, swimming in her semi-conscious state until he shoved one last time and she felt his cock vibrate. She knew she couldn't feel the jism fountaining into her, that it was just her imagination, but she imagined the white crème pulsing against the deep red walls of her cunt. Her cunt. Cunt. She was a cunt.

She moaned at what she had become. What she had done. And she grabbed him with her legs, tightening against him so he couldn't leave. Making sure his sperm was deep inside her. Sucking him into her. Into her cunt.

She didn't remember falling asleep. 

When she woke up, the sun was streaming through the windows, his arm draped across her. She had hoped it had all been a dream, but looking around, she knew she had done perhaps the stupidest thing she'd ever imagined. 

And maybe that was true. But it was a new day dawning, revealing just how poor an imagination she had. 



After the Conference Ch. 02



Day Two: Morning

She wriggled her way out of bed without waking him and tip toed to the bathroom. Her vagina didn't feel raw or burning, but she had to see. Squatting slightly in front of the mirror she spread her legs, pulling her labia apart. Her inner thighs felt bruised but there wasn't any discoloration, and her lips looked fine. But she smelled terrible – his cum and hers. 

She peed and started the shower, wondering what had happened and how she was going to get him out of her room. Room? How about your life? The water pelted down on her, washing away the prior evening's evidence of the fucking she'd had. If only it were so easy. She stood under the spray and cried softly, cursing her stupidity.

She hadn't heard him come in and squealed in fright to see him standing in front of the toilet, a golden stream arcing from the tip of his penis.

"Good morning," he looked up from studying his cock, smiling. 

"Mmmph." She grabbed a towel and started to dry off, self-conscious of him staring at her breasts swinging against the rhythm of the towel, but stifling any outward reaction. 

"I...," he paused, flushing the toilet and looking at her in the tub. "I think maybe I pushed you a little too far last night." He looked contrite and she stopped.

"You think?" She realized being naked and exposed to him didn't make for the best backdrop. She hoped her seeping anger would make up for it.

"Do you mind?" He motioned to the shower, moving toward the taps.

"Fuck." She got out, shaking her head. "You're a piece of work."

"Let me get cleaned up and make it up to you." He left the curtain open, the water spraying off him onto her.

"Fuck." She left the bathroom to finish drying off and to consider how she was going to get rid of him.

When he came into the bedroom, she wasn't surprised to see he'd left his towel behind. One part of her brain, admittedly a very small and squeamish part, stared at his body – there was no question he was well built – his abs and pecs and his member...but those observations were quickly squelched by the majority of her brain that was about to destroy him.

"So. Do you often go to conferences and seduce young women and then brutalize them in their hotel rooms?" She was dressed, working on her make-up in front of the mirror – a much better setup.

He looked around for his clothes, and she noticed with a little disgust (and even less arousal) that he pulled his slacks on without his briefs. "Is that what happened? If that's the way you remember it, then I guess that makes me a total asshole, eh?" He stopped to stare at her, his bare chest and thick arms distracting her momentarily. 

She couldn't detect any trace of irony or sarcasm in his voice. He seemed to seriously be asking her if that was the way it went down. It put her off-balance for a moment. The room seemed to tilt and she shook her head to clear her vision. "Seriously? You really don't remember practically raping me last night?" She had turned from the mirror to face him.

He shrugged a little, pinching his lips as he considered her accusations. "No. I don't. I remember you begging me to fuck you in the most graphic, and frankly sexiest way I've ever heard. I have to say it made me a little out of control and I realized way too late I was probably hurting you. I'm sorry for that. If it's any consolation at all, please know that was the most intense date I've ever been on in my life." 

He apparently had located his shirt as he moved to put it on. 

It wasn't what he'd said, but the way he'd said it that put her on unsure footing. He wasn't apologetic or defensive, just open, honest and transparent. She didn't know what to say, her shoulders dropping as she exhaled deeply.

"Fuck." She turned to finish brushing her hair. Her routine was completely screwed up, something she worked hard to maintain, especially when she traveled. She should be sweating, breathing heavily and feeling her blood pumping through her veins. But that wasn't on the agenda. 

"It appears I was the only one who enjoyed myself last night, or worse, that I enjoyed myself at your expense. That sucks." He sat down on a chair to put on his shoes. "I had hoped to make good on my offer to show you around the city – you had said something about bicycling, or Tilson's. I have a few bikes back at the house and I had thought perhaps we could ride a bit..." 

Her anger had dissipated as soon as he had confessed earlier, even though he remained unapologetic. The weather looked absolutely fantastic. She had one day left to do whatever she wanted, and he owed her...at least, if she played her cards right, he'd make amends for the way he'd treated her the night before. That tiny part of her tried desperately to suggest perhaps she had been complicit in the evening's activities, but the majority ruler would hear nothing of it.

"Forgetting for the moment the way you behaved last night, and assuming it was the heat of passion, how can I possibly trust you won't take advantage of me again?"

He shrugged again, locating his jacket and slipping it on. "I suppose if that's the way it looks to you, you can't. All I can say is let me take you out to breakfast, get the bikes and do a little riding..."

"Usually I exercise before eating breakfast and my schedule is all fouled up. What time is it?" She looked at the bedside clock. "Fuck. 8:30. I'm usually at the office working by now. How long to get to your house?"

"7 minutes. We could be back down the hill in 15, do a few miles and stop at a nice spot for breakfast whenever you'd like – there are plenty of cafes along the way that are bike friendly."

Bike friendly? He's concerned about the bikes? Who is this guy? The guy who fucked your brains out last night. Who made you beg him to pound you in your...She couldn't complete the thought. What had come over me to behave that way? The memory of her self-abasement and humiliation sent a wave of disgust through her, followed by a flicker of arousal up from her depths, quickly doused by another wave of disgust. You couldn't! Not for even a second! But the realization that she in fact was aroused by what she'd done, and that he didn't seem to think any less of her for it, quite the opposite, that he seemed to think she enjoyed what she did, confused her. 

"Are you okay?" He had come up next to her, gently putting his hands on her elbows.

"Yeah," she said pulling out of her self-absorbed thoughts. "I'm...I'm fine. Just mystified by what happened last night." She stepped away to find her gym clothes and quickly shoved them, an extra pair of panties and a bra into a day pack with her tennies. 

"So, we're on?" He was leaning against the mirror, hands in his pockets, waiting.

She nodded, silently, not trusting her voice. She was either going to tear a new one into him, or she'd sound pathetic, the memory of her grabbing her legs and spreading them open for him, begging him to fuck her, threatened to overwhelm her. 

She followed him out the door, confirming she had her key and let him lead her to his car. Once again, she began to doubt her sanity – her judgment was obviously impaired and she didn't have alcohol to blame. She was letting him steer her into his car, to his house, to do lord-knew-what, and here again the image of her opening herself to him, begging him to abase herself made her close her eyes. She had to calm down!

In the closed confines of the car she couldn't afford to become so aroused he'd smell her. She blushed at the possibility and looked out the window to disrupt the seemingly endless loop she was playing from the night before.

"It's a pretty town, I think," he was saying as he turned from the downtown district into a residential neighborhood. "I mean, these folks are just blocks away from some great bars, museums, parks. It's a pretty expensive neighborhood."

The houses weren't large, small in some cases. Well-kept for certain. She noted a bit of construction and a few gardeners tending to landscaping. The road began to curve a little, the land tilting, and she looked in front to see they were climbing up into the hills above the city. Here the houses were beginning to spread further apart, and the smaller cottages became scarcer, replaced by larger structures built more recently. Not all, she realized, looking at what appeared to be an early 20th century style that was clearly original.

"Brookwood Heights." He nodded to each side of the street. "Brookwood as in Major Stenton Brookwood." He stopped at her reaction. "Yeah, for reals. Who names their kid 'Stenton?' Anyway, he did quite well for himself at the end of the 19th century. Friend of Teddy Roosevelt – they'd participated in several adventures apparently, and he was able to swing a bit of favor to get most of this hill." 

From their current position, she could see across a fairly long and gently sloping ridge, now covered with homes, but she could envision how, back in 1901 it would have been scrub and open land. They crossed over the top and were now facing a long valley with another ridge not too far across. "Fuck." She had become completely lost in thought. She was certain he had been talking, but his words were a faint background. All she could think of was how she had begged him to plug her with his hard cock. You see? You are a slut. No! What was he saying? She not only had lost track of his conversation, she realized her panties were soaked. She rolled down the window to ventilate the car.

"I know, right? Ol' Brookwood wasn't an idiot. He carefully figured out how to maximize his investment – built some of the largest pieces out first, sold them to friends looking for vacation places away from the hustle-bustle, and then took those profits to begin really bringing in the cash. Took about 25 years when the first wave was finished, and then of course there was the Depression."

They had turned onto a road below the valley side of the ridge, hugging a portion that was steeper than the side they had just climbed. He slowed and turned into a short driveway, stopping the car. She was staring at a one story glass and steel pavilion that looked like a Mondrian painting drained of its color. It turned at right angles to crawl up the cliff side in some bizarre way.

"This," she took a breath, "is your house?" It appeared to be bolted into the side of the ridge – a pigeon hole. She didn't know how to describe it. She couldn't stand sitting any longer, the wetness between her legs was infuriating and annoying.

"Yep. Wish I could say I designed it, or even had it commissioned, but no, I was just lucky enough to buy it. If you look carefully you can see its mate across the valley. Same architect, but I've never been in the other one." He pointed behind him and she looked through the back window of the car but of course couldn't see anything. "C'mon, I've distracted you enough. Let's see about getting a couple of bikes and going riding."

She bolted from the car, grabbing her gym bag, self-conscious about how wet she was. As she followed him to the front door she thought about what he'd just said. "Wait a sec. Roland?"

He turned from putting his key in the lock, raising his eyebrows.

"Just now. What you said – you've distracted me enough. What did you mean?" She could feel her fear and concern beginning to rise again, looking at the door as a one-way valve. Once she went in, she was beginning to believe, she wouldn't come out.

"Your morning routine," he said with a smile. 

She thought he had said something else, but her eyes focused on his smile – gentle, warm and completely disarming. The fear melted back into the simmering soup that was her baseline emotional chaos. You want it. You want whatever he has in store for you. No! Her main brain punched back. Stop it. It's a day out in a beautiful city with a gentleman. Hah! You call what he did to you last night 'gentle?' You'll spread yourself again and more, and you'll beg for it again, and you know why.

She shook her head, grateful he'd turned his attention back to opening the door and followed him in.

"You can change in there," he pointed to a door off a short hall just past the entry. "And while you're there, take a look at that house I mentioned. Same architect, as I mentioned. I read an article about him. Hey!" He stopped for a moment. "We could ride through the nature preserve, if you'd like. It's not easy..."

She could feel a surge of competition. "How long is it?"

"From here it's about 2 miles and then it's about 10 through the preserve, but we'd end up pretty far from anyplace for breakfast – it would likely be lunch by then anyway. Tell you what. You get changed, and I'll look up what's over on that side. Meet back here in five?"

She shrugged and turned into the room he'd offered her. As she closed the door behind her, she stared through a wall of glass. Across the small valley up along the opposite ridge her eyes locked onto the most bizarre structure she'd ever seen. She went up to the window to get as close a look as she could – a multi-faceted glass façade against the ridge.

"Are you okay?" He had come up behind her and touched her elbow.

She looked around and nodded her head, turning back to look at the house. She could see their reflection in the glass and realized she was standing naked, facing the road. Looking down she saw her clothes in a pile. "What?!" She turned to look at him, frightened and confused. "Whah? How?" She covered herself with her arms and immediately felt foolish – he'd already seen her more naked than simply without her clothes.

"What. The. Fuck?!!!" She looked at him for an answer to how she had gotten into such a state, but he looked as confused as she did. She moved to her gym bag, pulling out her shorts and top, throwing them on. "How long was I standing there?" She was breathing hard, trying to calm the mounting panic. Something was terribly wrong.

"I...I waited until you hadn't come out for a few minutes...maybe just five minutes or so." He moved his hand across her back. She exhaled at his touch. "It's okay. Your okay. Right?" It sounded like he needed assurance as much as he was offering it.

She nodded, closing her eyes, feeling an electricity from his touch shooting down her spine. She struggled to suppress her tears. She was losing it. Something was going on. He was doing something to her. "Let's get going," she said with more confidence than she felt, moving to the door.

He hadn't been quite honest with her when he said he had a couple of bikes. When she walked through the door to the garage, she stopped at the sight of an entire line of bikes along the far wall. 

"If we're going through the preserve, I'd suggest something with a little heavier frame and wheels – perhaps one of these?" He led her to one end where several mountain bikes were hanging on the wall. "I'm afraid this is the only woman's I've got in that style, but it should work, no?"

She looked at and had no idea, but as long as her feet could reach the pedals, she was good. As she mounted it, she winced, her inner thighs were bruised from the pummeling he'd given her last night; she chose not to sit until she had to. Moments later they were heading out, and she felt she could finally breathe. The air pushed against her face, the sun warming her back as she rode next to him toward a path down into the valley. 

It was only after they were heading down the hill that she realized she had left the house without any bra or underwear – the air was blowing across her naked breasts beneath her workout shirt. Riding off her seat she could feel moisture evaporating from between her legs. She was certain her shorts were wet, she couldn't stop to check, but she was distracted by the thought anyone riding behind them would see a dark patch there. How she could be so out of it? 

The path was steep and required her entire attention; the only reason the panic didn't overwhelm her was the sheer energy and concentration she needed to keep up and not take a spill. What would she do when she got to the café? What would people say? She was riding practically naked, and there wasn't any way to excuse the wet spot she knew would be there when she sat down. The exercise helped clear her brain, and as they approached the bottom of the hill she realized there wasn't anything to worry about: with the sun beating down on her, she would be covered in sweat.

"Okay," he said, wiping perspiration from his forehead. "Like I said, it's about 10 miles through this valley – the path is paved, mostly, and at this time of the morning we shouldn't see too many runners. It could get hot, so let me know if we need to stop."

She bristled at the thought he would be holding back for her. He had no idea who he was riding with. But she smiled and pushed down on her pedal, jumping out in front of him. She didn't look back, keeping her eyes on the path ahead for anybody foolish enough to be in the way and pumped as hard as she could. She crouched to reduce drag, lifting her ass above the seat to give as much power as possible. It was warm, but the wind was cool and she needed to get her heart rate going.

Only after a few minutes did she think to look back, and when she did, she was at first thankful he'd kept pace with her. But then she realized he had been in her slipstream, not only taking advantage of her energy, but almost with his nose up her crack. He's smelled you the entire time, just as you would want. The thought made her lose her cadence, almost causing the two of them to crash. 

Slower now, and more cautious, she stayed in the lead, letting the path unfold, trying to ignore the soreness when she sat. Though they were moving at a reasonable clip, she figured it would take at least a ½ hour to finish getting through the valley. The path was a little wider now, and he pulled up next to her, his face flush from the heat.

"I guess I'm the one who may need to slow down. You doing alright?"

She nodded, smiling. "I'm okay. You need to stop?" She didn't break her pace.

"No, I'm good. I hadn't had a chance to tell you," he gulped in some air. "There's a great little place we can have brunch I'd forgotten about. Fresh juices, eggs laid on the premises. Fun place."

She nodded, pinching her lips and eyes to suggest she approved, and concentrated on the ride.

As they left the valley, she let him take the lead and watched his butt as he pedaled. You want him to make you beg him again. Admit it. You're pussy is dying to be exposed and violated. Slut. She hated when she got into these fugues – usually riding helped clear her head, but something had happened last night and she couldn't shake it. He navigated up off the path and turned onto a quiet commercial district.

"It's just up here," he pointed with his right ear. "2 minutes."

Locking their bikes she paused to take stock. She was drenched, and looking down she could see her breasts outlined through the shirt. "Fuck." She muttered. He looked over and shrugged. 

"Won't be too many people here. It'll be fine. You look great." He stared a bit longer at her breasts than made her comfortable, but she pulled her shoulders back and walked into the diner.

As soon as she did, the cold air hit her nipples. In moments they were standing up, embossing the material. She did her best to ignore them, but as the waitress sat them down, she caught her reflection in the window and realized she may as well have not had a shirt on at all. 

"Fuck!" She said it quietly, pulling a menu up to hide herself.

He didn't seem to notice her constant cursing, or if he did, it didn't mean anything to him. He kept a constant patter going as the waitress came and left, mugs filled with coffee, orders taken, and all the while her breasts and nipples were as good as on display. You'd like it better if there were more people in here, though. Admit it! No! She closed her eyes and took a sip of coffee, trying as hard as she could to not think about her predicament.




After the Conference Ch. 02



The food was delicious, and she was hungry. He picked up the tab – "it's the least I could do, given how badly I treated you last night," and they started their trip back.

"It's not that tough on the return," he continued his patter. "We'll take this street and then it gently rises up until the last few blocks where it gets steep."

She wasn't paying attention, thinking about how weird the last 12 hours had been. 

He was right. The route back was a lot easier, and she was thankful given how much she'd eaten. Unlike the ride over, outside the valley brought less wind and a lot more sun. In spite of it being an easier ride, it was hotter. A lot hotter. 

They were taking it slower, and she was drenched in sweat. Looking down she saw a dark triangle on her shirt, her breasts now completely outlined by the wet fabric. She swore to herself. How could she have forgotten her bra? The street had widened, become more commercial, filled with strip malls and empty lots. It was looking a little sketchy.

"Do you need to stop?" He slowed down next to her.

"No. I'm fine. Hot, but fine. Do you?" She thought maybe he was flagging.

"I, uh, yeah, actually. I could use something to drink." He pulled into a driveway for a convenience store. "You want anything?"

She shook her head and stood with the bikes while he went in. She felt completely exposed. Passing cars were honking and she realized they were honking at her. She turned away from the street, but she knew her ass was just as exposed as her breasts had been. 

"Hey, sweety."

She turned to see a grisly face breathing down her neck. His breath slammed into her – a smell like rotting food - and tried to back away, but his hand had reached up under her shirt. In stepping away, he pulled it up, exposing both breasts to road. Without thinking she brought her foot up to his crotch as she brought her arms down onto his shoulders. He crumpled, just as the bikes fell over, but she couldn't cover herself, her breasts providing a shelf for her shirt.

She swore at him and kicked savagely at his gut. He grunted and tried to turn away, but she wouldn't let him off that easy, kicking into him again and again, cursing and shouting. When she felt hands on her shoulder she turned to kick her new assailant, only to see Roland. He grabbed her and held her, asking if she was okay, looking to see if the guy was going to get up.

Her top was still up and she tried to pull her hands away so she could fix it, but he held her. She started screaming at him to let her go until he finally understood and backed away. 

"You're okay. You're okay, Madeleine. Let's get out of here. C'mon! Let's go."

She hopped onto her pedals and pumped away, speeding out of the lot and up the street toward the ridge. She could see it in the distance, wishing she was anywhere but here. He caught up with her, swigging a bottle of Gatorade, his face bright with adrenaline. 

"What the fuck happened back there?" He shouted, his voice belying his stress.

"Fuck if I know! What the fuck, Roland?! What the fuck was that?" She pumped harder to pull ahead, her anger and fear driving her harder. She could feel the sweat pouring down her sides; her shirt and shorts were stuck to her. As cars passed she could see people staring at her – it was worse than if she had no clothes on – the tease of her nakedness turned heads and made them stare. "Is there a less trafficky road?" She looked up intersections in a growing panic.

"This is the fastest way, Madeleine. It is only about 20 minutes more and it settles down in about a mile."

She swore and kept her pace, noting the incline was getting steeper. While that was a welcome sign they were getting closer, she couldn't keep the pace up, feeling a cramp beginning in her stomach.

"It's okay, Madeleine. You're okay. I'm sorry that happened. I called the cops and told them we were heading up to my place if they needed to talk to us."

She just shook her head and focused on pumping as best she could. It was turning out to be a completely shitty day. All she wanted was to sink into a nice, hot bath after washing the sweat and grime off her body. The thought of sitting alone in her tub with a glass of wine kept her going, standing up to help work off the cramp and keep her pace up.

They finally pulled into his driveway, and then as the garage door opened, deposited the bikes inside. She didn't say anything, waiting in stony silence while he put the bikes away and opened the door. She walked quickly to get her things and met him outside the door. 

"I want to go back to my hotel now, please." She held her gym bag and clothes, vibrating with suppressed anger.

"Okay," he said, looking unhappy. "Let me get my keys."

It was the first time she'd had a chance to see his face since the restaurant and she felt awful. It wasn't his fault, was it? She thought he was saying something, but she couldn't quite hear him. Instead, she just felt tired, sad and disappointed that the day had turned out so awful.

"Would you like to get cleaned up here?" He asked, hopefully.

She shook her head, unable to speak her mind. Neither her tiny voice or the majority vote were speaking – the quiet was actually a relief – but she had been so looking forward to just stripping out of her wet clothes and soaking in a tub, drinking a little wine and enjoying a nice dinner alone. On the other hand, he had been great company at breakfast, and at dinner when she thought about it, and nothing in the past hour had been his fault. He'd just stopped at a store to get some hydration – and he hadn't left her more than five minutes, in broad daylight on a well trafficked street. 

She shook her head again, but this time to clear the swirling thoughts.

"You sure?" He touched her elbow again, bringing her back.

She looked at his face to read any sense of judgment and looked down, confused. She had let go of her gym bag and clothes, but more alarmingly, she found herself standing naked again. It's not possible? Of course it's possible! You fucking whore. NO! How could I have just stripped like that? A very tiny voice murmured that it felt so much better not to have her wet clothes on. She felt the panic rising again, convinced she must be suffering a psychotic break or a stroke or something.

"I...I just want to go back..." She bent to pick up her clothes and stopped, exhausted.

"Let me show you the shower...and you can soak in the hot tub afterward if you'd like. I can open a bottle of Riesling..."

She stood up, exposing herself to him. The tiny voice was asking what the harm would be. Thankfully the majority wasn't talking. She just wanted to sit and soak. She nodded and followed him down the hall, into his bedroom to the master bathroom. Of course you're following him into his bedroom. Just like the slut you are! She was too tired to fight the demons in her head.

The bathroom was amazing – a stone grotto. "Apparently it's a miniature version of what's in the other house," he was saying. She just felt so exhausted and so dispirited, she barely noticed the extravagance of the shower. As the water hit her head, the hot spray against her skin, she let the heat soak into her muscles, feeling the endorphins flooding her brain. She barely noticed he was with her, soaping her skin, his fingers sending sparks into her skin.

"What's...what's going on?" She asked confused. What was happening to her? Was he really as kind as he appeared? Why was she doing this? Because you're a slut, and you are going to beg him to fuck you. Just wait. She moaned as his fingers rubbed against her nipples, down her stomach to lather up her pubic triangle. "No," she pushed her hands against his, but she didn't mean it. And he didn't pay attention. She could hear him saying something, and she sighed, imagining how sweet it would feel to have him inside her again.

His lips were against her ear again, his cock rubbing next to her thigh and she moaned. This couldn't be happening! She needed it to stop! But you won't stop it, will you? No, you're going to kneel down and take him in your mouth again like the whore you are.

"Tell me," he whispered again, the words he'd used the night before. "Tell me what you're going to do." His hands, slippery and quick moved between her legs, rubbing her, mixing the soap with her own slipperiness.

She moaned and knelt, the water pelting on her head, spilling down his front. She opened her mouth and guided his stiffening cock into it, her hands cupping his ball sac, feeling those tender eggs moving as she pulled him into her, as deeply into her throat as her position could manage.

She felt his hands on her head, lightly guiding her, letting her set the pace. "You are such a fantastic cock sucker. Where did you learn to do that?"

She froze for a heartbeat at hearing the crude words, and then took him deeper, rising up to open her throat. She'd show him how good she could be. The stone was digging into her knees but she didn't care, she would suck him dry. She could feel him swelling and knew he was close. Moving her fingers between his legs, she stroked his asshole and was rewarded by his holding her head, convulsing and spasming. She could taste his seed against her tongue; she swallowed and gagged, milking him for as long as she could.

She could feel him shrinking, his heartbeat pulsing through his cock against her tongue, and then he pulled out and stepped away, leaving her kneeling in the water raining down. She stayed on her knees, staring at her nakedness and cried. How did she end up this way? Why was she doing this?

The water stopped and he wrapped a towel around her. "C'mon. You look like you could use that hot tub...and that wine." Leading her out of the shower, he dried her off, his voice saying words she couldn't make out, but she felt more relaxed. He led her through his bedroom to a glass door facing the ridge and the part of the house that moved up the hill. 

The courtyard had several tables and chairs arranged around a half-sunken wooden Japanese soaking tub. She could see vapors escaping around the insulating top. The thought of sinking into a tub of hot water triggered another dose of calming brain chemicals.

She watched him, naked, taking off the top and moving to the steps, holding his hand out, beckoning her to follow him. As she passed by him, she felt his hands drift onto her ass, stroking her, moving up between her shoulders, until she descended, surrendering to the heat moving up her legs, across her pubis until the bottoms of her breasts barely touched the surface of the water. 

From this position, he towered over her – he hadn't joined her, remaining at the steps – his cock just above her hairline. She glimpsed something in his face for a moment, a look of dominance, but it was so fleeting she couldn't know if it was her imagination. 

"I'll get you that wine," he said, turning back to the house.

The water was luxurious, hot, penetrating and forcing her muscles to relax. She was sitting on a step, her feet not touching the floor. Looking through the dark water into the wooden tub, she pushed off tentatively. Standing, the water came up to her chin, covering her breasts, back and shoulders. It was delicious, draining the panic and violation from earlier. You see? You're behaving just like the slut he thinks you are. She was too relaxed and tired to argue.

He returned with two glasses, placing them on a shelf across the tub from her. She watched him, his cock swinging as he ascended the steps and then entered the tub. "You feeling better?" He smiled, his hands reaching across to rub her shoulders.

"Mmmm, hmmm," she murmured, reaching for a glass, feeling his fingers digging into her muscles. "That feels nice. Keep doing that." She took a sip, the bite of the alcohol balanced by the sweet/tart of the fruit. She closed her eyes, feeling his hands moving her muscles, then moving down below the water to her breasts.

"Fuck," she whispered, cracking her lids enough to put the glass back down and drifting back to the step; his hands never lost contact with her, his fingers transmitting a yellow glow through her upper body. She sat back; she could stay this way forever, she thought, her demons quiet. She sighed.

"That was really fucked, back there," his voice said softly in her ear. "I'm sorry." His hands kept massaging, even as he moved them lower, opening her legs.

She leaned back and let him do whatever he was going to do. It didn't matter. The sun was shining on her, she was relaxed, she was safe, and he owed her anyway. Moments later his fingers had entered her, his thumb pushing up against her clit, his fingers finding that spot deep inside her, and he held her there, moving her up, up, up until she almost peaked.

"Tell me..." He whispered again.

She moaned, pushing her hips against his hand, opening her mouth. Now's the time, slut. Now's the time to beg him. To tell him what you need. What you'll do for him if only... 

"I..ahhggh...I...fuck...fuck...please...please...oh fuck..." She couldn't say whatever it was she needed. She was so close and he was just teasing her, holding still, waiting. She could feel his cock stiffening against her knee; she wanted it inside her again; she just wanted to cum, to let go of the tension that had been building since she'd woken up.

"Tell me..." No malice, no urgency, but he kept her on the edge, moving in time with her thrusts, staying in synch.

"Please," she begged, "please release me. Push your fingers deeper...harder...yesss, yeesssss.....FUCK, FUCK FUCK." She let her head fall back against the tub and gave into his fingers, pushing her over the edge, falling and rising on the waves of her climax.

They stayed together that way until she could breathe again, her hands reaching around his waist, feeling his warm skin. She looked up to see him smiling kindly down at her and she sighed.

"We shouldn't spend much more time in here," he said after they'd almost finished their wine. "Not good with alcohol."

She followed him out, accepting the towel he proffered to her, while he grabbed the glasses. In spite of feeling as strong as a cooked noodle, she turned to the top to replace it.

"S'okay," he said, noticing what she was doing. "It can stay off for awhile."

"Too late," she said, and her voice sounded a little slurred. Maybe he was right about alcohol and hot tubs.

As they walked to the kitchen, he naked, her with the towel around her shoulders, she was flooded with a sensuality she hadn't felt in...ever. She looked up at him and gave a shy smile, any feelings of anxiety replaced with a sense of ease.

"What the fuck are you doing to me?" She stared at his gorgeous naked body while they sipped wine in their refilled glasses. "What are you doing to me?" She had lost the towel, her feet were up on the table, her legs spread for him to look at her. "Why am I doing this?"

He just smiled and shook his head, as if he didn't have any better answer than she did. His cock was stirring, she saw, and she licked her lips, thinking she wanted it again.

"I'm having some friends over tonight. Would you like to meet some natives?" His hand lightly stroked her skin, sending jolts up and down her arms, her legs. She could feel herself getting even wetter.

"Mmm hmmm," she said lazily, her eyes closing, realizing what he was implying and what she would likely be in for. Or more accurately, what was likely going to be in her.



After the Conference Ch. 03



Day Two: Evening

"But," he continued, his fingers sliding up her leg to lightly stroke her sex. "Wouldn't you like to spend the rest of the afternoon out?" He stopped, his fingers resting over her hooded clit.

"Mmmm, hmmm," she hummed, her eyes closed. "I...what is happening?" She said it sleepily, like she'd had too much to drink. But it had only been a glass of wine. And they hadn't ridden that far or hard; not hard enough to make her feel this exhausted. "You're doing something to me." She heard the slurring in her words and the panic bubbled up.

He shook his head, keeping his fingers on her. "I've never met anyone like you, Madeleine. Less than 24 hours ago you agreed to go out to dinner, and now." He stopped. "Now, you're sitting spread eagled in my kitchen, your pussy wet and swollen. Not an hour ago, you had my cock deep in your throat, begging me to fuck you with my hand." He pressed the point, literally, forcing a moan from her. "And last night. Last night was incredible. I just hope you'll let me do it again." Pausing. "Will you?"

She moaned as his fingers pushed her lips apart, sliding into her again. Even as she pushed against him, the inner voice, the one that had always protected her, woke up and quietly worked itself up to her conscious. "Roland," she whispered. "Please stop. Please."

Miraculously, he did, backing his fingers out, raising his hand to his lips, breathing in her aroma. She shivered watching him, her need almost blocking out the little voice, but not quite. Her legs were beginning to cramp and she suddenly saw how exposed she had been. Just being the slut you are. NO! The inner turmoil began again, and with it, she pulled her feet down to the floor and turned her head to find the door.

"Tilson's? We have plenty of time before the game begins." He was up, offering his hand to hers to help her out of the chair.

The change in subject was abrupt, catching her off-guard. She couldn't speak, looking at her feet, shrugging slightly. Why do I feel so sluggish? Why I am standing here naked in his kitchen? It's not because I'm a slut! The majority rule was quiet for the moment, a small blessing. 

"Let's get dressed and visit the city a little, have a bite to eat and come back. You'll perk up with a little fresh air and food." 

They had returned to her pile of clothes at the entrance to the bedroom, and he helped her carry it back inside, setting it on the bed. "I'll get dressed and meet you back here." He looked concerned. "You're going to be alright. You're okay."

As soon as he turned to leave, she immediately felt as if a veil had been lifted. Watching his tight ass walk through the door lit a spark inside her, but she couldn't let it spread – she had to get dressed, had to get out of the house and find her way back to the hotel. If he was going to drive her, all the better.

She met him at the front hall, gym bag in hand, a brush run through her hair. Looking in a mirror, she grimaced at the face looking back at her – no makeup, her hair barely presentable. At least you remembered your underwear this time. It was true, thankfully, as she double-checked. He was doing something to her, she was convinced – a drug - something. She'd never acted this way before.

"Super!" He walked into the hall, dressed in summer slacks and a golf t-shirt, his smile radiant and disarming. "You look so great, I can't believe you chose to spend the day with me!" He gave her a gentle hug and kissed her forehead, then her nose, and then, she tilted her head up to meet his lips. 

Slut. NO! But she didn't pull away, letting him push his tongue into her mouth, feeling her arousal stirring again. She could see the drive to the bookstore, her sex leaking again. She couldn't!

"We need to go, right?" She said, pulling away. "Let's go see this bookstore of yours."

In the car, she remembered something he'd said. "What game? You said we'd be back in plenty of time before the game." She turned to him, wondering why she was even asking. She would be in her room, away from this madness.

"I have a small group of friends who meet a few times a month. We play cards until late at night. What time is your flight tomorrow?"

"Oh. I...3PM, I think." Shit. Shit! 

"So you can stay up a little later than usual?"

She didn't answer, hoping she'd find a way to escape him.

Tilson's was an amazing store, she had to admit. Several stories tall, with multiple buildings spread across three city blocks, there was no way she'd see it all. They arrived at 3:30, he suggested they get to dinner around 6:30, which would let them return by 8. His guests would be there by 8:30 or 9.

"Three hours," he said, his arm around her waist. "It's barely enough time to get your bearings. What interests you?"

He showed her the map, suggesting he would be in the map room, looking at the latest travel guides. It was a perfect opportunity to find the nearest exit and make her way out of there. 

"Graphic novels, I think," she said, pulling a random label off the floor plan.

He raised an eyebrow and smiled. 

When she looked up, she was standing in front of a bookshelf filled with graphic novels: super heroes, villains, erotica, manga. Turning to each side, there were shelves and shelves of more of the same. She wasn't sure where she was in the store, and she couldn't remember how she had gotten there, or how long she'd been standing there. Her gym bag was nowhere to be found, and the panic shot up along with her heartbeat. Struggling not to hyperventilate, she went in search of an exit, knowing she had to get out of there, before he found her. At least you still have your clothes on! Stop it!

Tears from her frustration were beginning to spill onto her cheeks. Where was the door?

"Madeleine!"

She turned in terror at his voice.

"Hold up!" He was across the room, her gym bag in his hand. "Hey! Are you okay?"

She couldn't take hearing that question one more time. No, she wasn't okay! It was like a bad dream, her body moving in slow motion, her feet slogging through mud.

He was next to her, touching her elbow, his face filled with concern. "What's going on? Where are you going?"

"My...my hotel..." She could barely get the words out; her throat was constricted with fear.

"Okay," he said gently, handing her the bag. "It's a lot earlier than we...okay...just let me check out ...did you get any books?" He saw she hadn't and he changed the subject. "Your hotel is only a couple of blocks away." 

As soon as she was outside, she breathed deeply, the panic subsiding. She could hear him talking, but couldn't concentrate on the words, happy to be out of the store and on her way back to the safety of her own room. As they made their way down the sidewalk, her heart rate slowed and she began to feel embarrassed by her behavior.

"I'm sorry," she said, not looking at him. "I don't know what came over me...I just...panicked..."

He nodded, keeping his hand on her arm. 

Her mood shifted again, the embarrassment replaced now by a soft warm glow. She couldn't reconcile how she could have felt so strongly just a few minutes before and was now actually re-thinking her plans for the evening. 

"Maybe there was something in the store?" He asked helpfully.

She shrugged, relieved she was feeling better.

They had arrived at her room, and she looked around, wondering what she had wanted so desperately. She shook her head, remembering his question. "No...I...blacked out." She looked up at him, concerned he would think less of her. "Not, like, fainted, just lost track of how I got to the graphic novels..." It made her uncomfortable to even pursue it, shaking her head.

"Well, you're here now. I know you probably want to just call it a day. I have to say, it's been a bit puzzling to me. I can only imagine how you're feeling."

She felt a rush of gratitude at his understanding. Gratitude and a growing sense of...something else. That wickedness she had felt the day before had somehow wriggled its way through the emotions swirling behind her eyes.

"I...no..." She froze again as she reconsidered what she was about to do. "I just need to get my boarding pass printed..." It sounded so lame when she said it. "I'm not sure I've got the right clothes for your thing tonight," she added quickly.

He shook his head and shrugged. "It's pretty casual – what you've got on is fine."

She moved to her laptop to get her travel arrangements settled, focusing her attention on the screen.

"without any clothes at all, before the evening is over..."

She stopped and looked at him, wide eyed. "What?"

"What." He looked at her. "You ready?"

"What did you just say?" She could feel the buzz starting deep inside her. "Just now. What did you say?!" She heard a tone of desperation in her voice, but nothing in his face suggested he was hiding anything.

"I was just saying the clothes you've got would be fine, that it was a casual evening." He shrugged a little, concern flitting across his face. "Listen, maybe it will be too late for you..."

"NO!" She stopped, alarmed at her tone, and started to laugh. "I'm sorry, that sounded horrible! I've just been so edgy since that asshole accosted me at the convenience store. I guess I never really got over it. I'm almost done. Let me grab a couple of things and I'll be ready to go."

She decided to add a few bathroom items to the gym bag...no telling where she'd be sleeping tonight...the thought sent a warm flood through her insides, and she met him at the door. "Ready!" She felt calmer now.

"Your boarding pass?"

She laughed again. "Right here," patting her purse, implying her smartphone. "I'll need to check out of here by 11AM..." and stopped, realizing she was expecting to sleep over. "...unless..." She closed the door, heading to the elevator, flustered.

"No problem. It'll likely be a late night, like I said, and of course you're welcome to sleep over." He left the possibilities unspoken, but she clenched, imagining what they could be.

He had picked another fantastic place to eat – although they were so early he suggested they start at a hip bar a few doors down. By the time they sat down for dinner she was definitely feeling the alcohol; it calmed her, quieting the harsher critics in her head.

She ordered light, in spite of the alcohol, sensing she didn't want dinner to stick with her all night. Sitting in that hot tub sounded delicious; too full of a stomach and she wouldn't enjoy herself. 

She had lost track of the conversation, the food was so delicious, and the image of relaxing in the tub distracting her. She could see the courtyard, candlelit and just laying back, letting the heat soak into her. A competing image entered her imagination, forcing her to reconsider: his friends! His friends would be there. She couldn't just hang out naked in the tub while his friends were there! She put down her fork and reached for the wine.

He was staring at her, quizzically. "That looked perfectly enticing. What were you thinking about just then?"

She almost choked on the wine, holding it back until she could swallow. "I...uh...oh fuck it all. I was thinking how wonderful it would be to hang out in the hot tub..."

"Sounds perfect..."

"...until I remembered you had friends coming over..."

"...we could leave now – have dessert later..."

"...and I'm not really comfortable stripping naked with strangers..."

"...but you were comfortable with me...and..."

She stopped to listen to what he was saying, but couldn't make it out. She thought he had said she would strip naked whenever he asked her to, and that she would be on her knees servicing him and them at the drop of a hat...and other images flooded her imagination, but she couldn't believe he was actually saying any of it. She strained to listen and finally heard him.

"So, I'll just pay the bill – we're only about 10 minutes away and they're not coming for at least an hour."

She found herself shaking her head again, trying to clear the cobwebs, but was left with the final image – on her knees, taking him into her mouth, begging to be taken in every hole. What made it all worse was how turned on she was getting at the thought. Just let your true nature out, you fucking whore. Why do you fight it? She couldn't fight the voice, and she was quickly losing the strength to fight the impulses.

It was quiet all the way back to the house: her inner voices were silent, he didn't seem to be talking, and she had nothing to say. She knew she was heading into something dreadful, something so awful she couldn't put words to it. But more awful than her imagination about what might be coming, was how wet she was. With each image, each fear, she felt more moisture leaking from her. She just stared out the window, resigned to whatever he had in store for her.

"I seem to be asking this a lot lately, but I have a feeling you...I..." He turned into the driveway. "Was it something I said?"

She laughed. It started as a simple explosive guffaw and deteriorated into hysterical giggling. He had turned off the car and waited for her to finish, his face puzzled. She could barely catch her breath. Even she couldn't explain why she found it so funny, but every time she played it back in her head she started in again.

"C'mon," he said with a little impatience. "I think you might need another drink."

* - * - * - *

She looked up as the first guests arrived, smiling nervously. She was always a little shy meeting new people. As they came into the hall she could taste the lime from whatever he'd made her. Sipping it in the hot tub was a luxury she rarely had back home. 

"Oh, Roland! You've outdone yourself!" 

She looked at a well-built man walking into the living room where she was sitting, and tried to hold out her hand to shake his. Something was different, she realized. She couldn't lift her hand off her knee. 

"She's absolutely gorgeous, Pierce!" A woman had entered the room, putting her bag on the couch.

She couldn't move anything except her eyes. With the movement of air from the guests, she realized she was stripped bare, exposed. Just like you wanted it. Finally, to be the whore you've always wanted. She tried to moan, but realized she was already speaking.

"I'm a cunteatingcocksucking whore. I'm a cunteatingcocksucking whore." 

"Fantastic. Can she hear us?"

Roland appeared, smiling, his hand drifting down her cheek to graze across her nipples. He nodded.

"You asshole. You're such an asshole!" Said with a smile.

"And a show-off."

He knelt down so his face was level with hers and she realized she wasn't sitting at all, but kneeling on the stone floor, her hands on her knees, her knees spread open. She could hear herself through the pounding of blood in her ears. How weird that my knees aren't hurting. That thought triggered another about why she should be concerned about that given everything else going on. That all stopped when Roland spoke.

"She's a bit tricky, actually." He turned to his guests as if about to launch into a lecture, his hand continuing to play with her nipples. "She's got a basalt layer I couldn't completely break through. Here, listen."

"Fuck my ass. Fuck my cunt. Fuck my mouth." Her eyes widened as she heard her voice begging.

"I had specifically suggested the cunteatinng/cocksucking thing. But she's gone ahead and changed it. It's been happening like that for two days." He gently moved her hands behind her head, lifting her breasts.

"Two days? You've had her here for two days? That's cruel, Roland, even for you!" A woman. Madeleine could see her taking a sip of a drink. She wanted desperately to have a drink. She wanted desperately to push her face into that woman's cunt.

"No, of course not. We've been out. In fact, she didn't even come over here until this morning...."

"It's the house, of course..." the woman was saying to someone else.

"Now, Lilly. That's not being fair. You know I could easily get you on your knees at your place or mine."

"Fuck you, Roland." But again, she was smiling. "No reason to rub it in."

"But that's exactly what you want, Lilly, if memory serves." She could see Roland smiling in return.

The conversation was confusing, humiliating her further. How did she get into this position? The last she remembered was sitting in the hot tub, relaxing with a spectacular drink, thinking how wonderful it would be to fuck him again before the guests arrived. And then...nothing. Until now. 

"I'm a cunteating cocksucking whore!" Her face was beet red from embarrassment but every time she said it she felt moisture pushing from her swollen pussy. She wanted to see if it was staining his floor but she couldn't look down. Her eyes locked onto two legs behind him.

"In case anyone is even remotely interested, I used a double-bind feedback suggestion. Somehow, and no, Lilly, the house didn't help me with this one, I got the sense she really wants to be a prostitute – a slut as she calls herself – but it's a struggle with some other basic need." He turned back to pinch her nipples lightly, causing her to moan and beg louder.

"I knew she would fight it – that was obvious: every time she was out of earshot she'd start to drift away. When she felt fear or anxiety about me, I associated it with a suggestion of intense arousal."

She could only see legs, grouped around her, but imagined they were nodding, sipping their cocktails and studying her like a specimen.

"I think she wants you, Georgia." Roland stepped aside, pulling a chair in front of her. "Her hands are glued, but her mouth is perfectly ready."

She could feel another flood of moisture moving down her channel, her face hot and blushing. But she wanted nothing more in the world than to drink from that woman's cunt. 

Georgia sat down, set down her drink, lifted her skirt and pulled her panties aside. "We'll see if she's any good, eh?"

As she spread her legs, Roland gently pushed against the back of Madeleine's hands until her lips were against the woman's splayed pussy. She couldn't stop saying the words, even as she pressed her lips and tongue into her, the vibration traveling across her clit.

"Mmmm...that's nice, Pierce. That's really nice. Now, what were you saying about that property up the street?"

The group continued their conversation while she sucked and nibbled on Georgia's cunt. There was nothing more in the world she wanted to do at that moment than to make her cum in her mouth. Deep down, a very small voice mentioned she'd never had much of a taste for cunny, a fact she noted objectively. Other than that, the voices were quiet, only the conversation and sound of her slurping filled her mind.

"That's enough for now, slut. Someone else may want a turn." Georgia rearranged her clothes and stood, shrugging in a way that suggested she needed a little more experience. "Perhaps she's better at cock."

Someone pulled her back upright. She could feel the air cooling the moisture on her face.

"May I?" 

She watched as a pair of trousers appeared in front of her, two hands unzipping and pulling them down, to reveal a large cock, quickly stiffening. 

This was more familiar territory, and she heard herself go quiet, opening her mouth and throat. She wanted desperately to use her hands, to stroke his balls and stiffen him further, but other than frustration at her loss of her hands, she didn't think twice about kneeling to take a stranger's cock into her mouth. You want it. You need it. You've practiced your whole life for this. Why should you even question it? Open wide, slut, you're getting everything you've ever wanted tonight.

In moments he had moved her head around his erection, forcing it against the back of her throat. She so wished she could get into a better position, but was grateful to have any cock in her at all. The sounds of the conversation were drowned out by her gagging.




After the Conference Ch. 03



"Sheesh, Mitchell. You should at least let her take a breath!" 

"Here," Roland stepped into her field of view. "You really should feel how she can take you." 

She felt his hands, warm and gentle against her ribs, moving her, rearranging her. She'd had to let Mitchell's cock out of her mouth, and with it exited a small whimper. To the guests it sounded like her need to stay attached, but Roland suspected it was the beginning of her bedrock poking through.

"You're okay," he said gently into her ear, as she lay back. "You've wanted this all your life. You are a nasty, wicked slut, who's holes are trained for others' pleasure. Tell me what you are."

She swallowed, looking into his eyes, her head frozen, her body spread eagled on the floor. "I'm a fucking nasty whore, to be used by anyone for their pleasure. I'm a cunteating cocksucking slut."

He rolled her over, the stone rough and cool against her naked breasts and thighs. "Try it now, Mitchell. I think you'll be much happier."

She saw the man's feet facing her. He knelt over her head, the sight and smell of his naked thighs sending a warm flush down her spine. "Fuck my throat, fuck my throat, fudffamth." He slipped his cock into her mouth, adjusting her head to open her neck.

She could feel an orgasm building, even though she knew that couldn't be possible. His thick shaft moved past her tongue and slid into her open throat. This she knew how to do, how to suppress the gagging, how to milk his seed into her. She relaxed into her old groove, letting him into her groove, feeling his rhythm move through her body, happy she was giving him pleasure.

She felt hands pulling her feet apart and wanted nothing more than to rotate her ass to make her cunt easier to enter, but she was locked in place. Somewhere, deep inside her, she could hear the buzz of voices, some panicked, some sneering, but it was only a faint wisp of emotion, a swarm of bees, too far down to matter.

Her throat pinned on the man's thick cock, her body immobilized to the floor, she was both powerless and liberated. She had been released from all responsibility for her actions – she truly was reduced to a set of holes for others to enjoy. The thought flooded through her, even as she felt her cunt being peeled apart, being prepared for another stranger's cock.

"Hold on there Freddie. I think...hell...how are we going to do this?" Roland's voice came from behind her, the fingers on her open pussy stopped. "Sorry Mitchell. You okay if we move her a bit?"

She heard Mitchell grunt, knowing he was close, but he pulled out, a string of drool following his swollen head across her lips. She gasped for breath and returned to her pleas to fuck her throat.

Moments later she was picked up by the hips and shoulders, her breasts hanging down, and she saw the woman who wasn't Georgia...Lilly? lying naked on the floor, a large strap-on sticking out from her vagina. She could sense her eyes widening and her voice changed tone, but she didn't stop her demands to be fucked.

"Fuckmycunt, fuckmyass, fuck my cunt, fuck my ass!"

They set her down on Lilly, the warmth and smoothness of her skin adding to her arousal and then she felt Lilly's hands on her ribs, moving her back slowly until the strap-on was entering her. Slowly, so slowly she was impaled on it until she felt it pushing against her.

"Now, my little fuck-toy, let's see how this goes." Lilly began doing something with her hips and hands, moving her onto the strap on and off, moving it in and out of her own pussy, leaving it buried in Madeleine.

"May I, Roland?" 

Mitchell's feet appeared and she opened her mouth and throat to accept his cock as it slid across her nose. She moaned around it, feeling fulfilled, and filled, like she had always wanted. Like the voice had told her. The orgasm that had been building suddenly went over the top and she squirted liquid over the strap-on.

"My god, Roland," Lilly shrieked in surprise. "She's just squirted on me! Fucking amazing."

And then more fingers, with something cold and wet, spreading her buns apart, exposing her hole. She couldn't protest, she couldn't stop it, but she'd never done it there before. She grunted onto Mitchell's cock, feeling it swelling and knowing it was about to explode in her throat.

"I've been waiting for this for two days. So, fucking perfect."

She felt the cock pushing against her tight ring but could only groan. Lilly's strap on continued to plow into her and as the cock entered her virgin ass, Mitchell shoved against her face, his cum bursting into her throat.

"Sweet Jesus!" He yelled to the room and held himself against her, throbbing and pulsing.

* - * - *

"Jeez, Roland. What are you going to do with her?"

They had left her lying in puddles of cum and drool, staring at the floor and continuing to beg to be fucked in her holes. They'd all taken turns until the men couldn't get hard anymore and the women were done.

"The night is young, right? Let's get the game going and we can refresh ourselves as necessary."

"No, I mean, afterward. Is she...I mean...what's your plan?"

He smiled and ushered them out of the room. All of them had removed whatever clothes were left and took seats around the card table. Roland brought a tray of snacks and a pitcher of Margaritas. He shrugged as if to suggest it was a trivial concern.

"She has a flight out of here back home tomorrow. I'll make sure she gets on it. Then," he paused and shrugged again. "Perhaps we can help her long distance."

"You are such an asshole!" Lilly took the pitcher and poured herself a drink, her small breasts still pink from her exertions.

"It'll be fun. She'll appreciate it. Believe me."

* - * - * - *

Madeleine found her seat and put her things in the overhead, relieved she was finally heading home. She was so exhausted and a little concerned about her health. She'd woken up at Roland's, no surprise there, and when she went to the bathroom saw so much more than pee come out of her. We hadn't done it that much last night, had we? That, and some stinging in her backside made her think she might be getting a bladder infection. She hated bladder infections. 

Just in case, she had purchased a small package of panty liners and felt the cotton padding pushing against her lips. 

She tried to remember details from the party, the card game, but couldn't recall more than a pleasant memory of sitting in the hot tub. She could remember their names, Lilly, Mitchell, Georgia, and Freddie, but no details. Her hand shot to her mouth in alarm as a thought occurred to her: did she fuck them all? Oh stop it, you idiot. That's just a fantasy. You wish!

As the attendants began their pre-flight checklist, she felt her phone vibrate and pulled it out of her pocket to see who was messaging.

You can cum back anytime, M. Anytime. R.

As she read the words, she felt an orgasm building and crashing through her, making her moan and sending a flood of juice into her panties. She covered her mouth and looked out the window, struggling to not let anyone know. Shit! What the fuck was that? She gripped the seat arms and waited for the spasms to pass, hoping she wasn't calling attention to herself. She knew her aroma would fill the plane but she was trapped in the window seat. Images of getting up, pushing her ass into her neighbor's face to get to the bathroom didn't help, driving another spasm and another flood of moisture. No...gawd...not now....oh, oh oh! OH! As it finally passed, the liner and her panties soaked through, it was only a matter of moments before her jeans would show a spot. She reached up to turn on the air jet, hoping to dilute whatever fragrance was bound to come out.

But in spite of the humiliation and embarrassment, and the sheer weirdness of what just happened, she felt a sense of warmth and pride. She couldn't imagine why, even as her cum seeped down her legs. What the fuck is wrong with me? But that thought quickly evaporated, replaced by another she found far more pleasant. When will I cum back?