“Yes,” she said instantly. The way my hand was moving between her legs, she would have said yes to anything.
Wickedly, I found the carrot with my free hand. It was still well-oiled from its recent sojourn inside of me.
“Roll over on your belly,” I commanded. Now I lay beside her, with her groin trapped between my hands.
“Mmmm,” she moaned as I prodded at her backside with the tip of the carrot. My other hand continued to minister to her clitoris, keeping her soft and trembling.
“You said you wanted to be penetrated. Now lie still and take it,” I ordered her. She trembled under my command, and I thrilled to the knowledge that I had never let a man use me as totally as I was about to use her.
“Yes,” she whispered to me, and surrendered. The carrot sank an inch into that tight, forbidden opening before she moaned again.
“More?” I asked ruthlessly.
After a moment’s gasping, I felt her entire body relax.
“Does it hurt?” I asked, curious.
“Not like I thought it would,” she whispered. “I can take more.”
Amazed and aroused to incredible heights, I gently began to stroke her, going a little deeper with each thrust. The power I wielded over her entranced me. As I moved the carrot in and out of her backside, her front wet and soft on my fingers, I began to perceive what it must feel like for a man to enter a woman. Listening to her cries, feeling her squirm under my invasion, I forgot about anything but her.
“A little more,” I whispered, and I felt her relaxation deepen. The carrot went in almost all the way now.
“I lied,” I told her. “A little more still.”
The last inch and I barely had enough to hold on to. Gently I massaged her from both sides, one stretching tight muscles and the other pressing against soft, wet flesh until she climaxed with a scream.
“Oh God,” I said. “Be quiet, you goose!” I imagined Petros bursting in here to see what was wrong, and finding me with a carrot up his fiancée’s backside.
Then I pushed that image out of my mind. I needed to get some sleep tonight.
Perhaps it wasn’t as loud as I had feared. The door remained closed and the night undisturbed.
Slowly I extracted the source of all this commotion, and tossed it to a far corner of the room. I was a little embarrassed now with my own wickedness.
“Thank you so much,” Amanda whispered, showering me in little kisses. “Is that what it’s really like?”
“Yes, only better when it’s in front,” I said with authority, although I had no comparable experience to go by. “Now go to sleep and stop bothering me, or I’ll let Petros do that to you.”
“Oh,” she gasped, shocked into silence. Then, in a small voice, “Would he?”
I had no idea. He very well might. I remembered the feel of his hardness pressed up against my buttocks. But if I started thinking about that, I would find myself hunting in the corner for that carrot and starting all over again.
“Go to sleep, silly,” I told her. Snuggled together, comfortably drained, we did.
—
The next day Amanda and I showered together, though with nothing more than hugs and kisses. We were both satiated from the day before, my aching emptiness fed and her burning curiosity fulfilled by that stalwart vegetable. We dressed each other with an eye to sex appeal, and bounced out of the cabin holding hands like lovers. I knew my face radiated the just-been-fucked glow it always did after good sex, and I didn’t care. Amanda’s face glowed too, but then it always did.
Petros, on the other hand, was not glowing. He looked like a hungry wolf, his dark eyes haunted and his lean face taut with self-denial.
Vicious imp that I was, I pretended complete innocence of the night before. Instead I clung to Amanda with all the familiarity of a girlfriend hanging on her new beau. After all, Amanda had done to me as much as any man I had ever been with and I had violated her in unspeakable ways. We had no modesty left between us.
But, for the sake of the rest of the world, we refrained from French-kissing and ass-grabbing in public.
Petros bore this display with more grace than I could believe. But he was unusually quiet.
As we made our way through the crowd of boats to the dock, he described the sights available to us on the island. We would have several hours while the crew took on supplies. Watching him graciously escort Amanda through the crowd, trying to make myself stop staring at her firm buttocks under the tight blue shorts, I thought of some supplies I wanted.
As they climbed into the waiting cab, Amanda scooted over to make room for me in the back seat. But I stopped at the door and only leaned in.
“There some shopping I need to do,” I told them. “Go on without me.”
“The crew will fetch anything you ask for,” Petros said.
“Girl things,” I said, dismissing him. Then I gave Amanda a big, wet kiss, stepped out, and slammed the door. The cab took off on that signal, and I was free.
Free in a Greek island port, wearing a pair of absurdly short pants and a blouse tied up in a halter. In the absence of Petros’s defensive presence, there were plenty of men willing to stare at me. Normally I would have enjoyed the attention, but I found myself only annoyed by it.
I hailed another cab and retreated to the backseat.
“Do you have any adult stores on this island?” I asked the driver, a short, balding, middle-aged man. He looked like the kind of man who would know.
“Pardon?” he said.
“Adult stores. Novelty shops. That sort of thing.”
“Pardon?”
I finally realized that “pardon” was the only French word he actually knew.
“Porno,” I said, using the one word recognized everywhere.
“Ah,” he exclaimed with a smile and put the cab in gear.
—
The shop was so seedy I felt dirty just going in. The selection was limited, of course, mostly American and French videos in shabby condition. There was a single cabinet dedicated to toys. And I had to ask the clerk, a small, wizened lady, to open it.
She did so without any visible curiosity or leering, which was more than I could say for the three other customers in the shop. All men, they had stared at me from the moment I walked in. I tried to ignore them and focused on the goods in front of me.
A vibrator would be nice, but then I thought about the peculiar sound they make, and how quiet the boat often was. Perhaps something without power.
Then it caught my eye—long, straight, thick, soft to the touch but with a firm core, and realistically detailed. If Amanda wanted anatomy lessons, this was perfect. Just looking at it made me remember why I liked men so much.
On my way to the counter, one of the men said something clearly obscene, but it was wasted since I didn’t speak Greek. The clerk snapped a single word at him, and he blushed and retreated to the back of the shop. I tried to show my gratitude with a smile, but the old lady was impervious. She rang up my purchase without interest, took my Euros, and handed me a fistful of Greek coins for change.
I dropped them into the jar full of change sitting on the counter. No doubt she got a lot of tips from foreigners this way. But even the rattle of change did not earn me a smile.
After I left the shop, I thought about sightseeing, but I felt underdressed and uncomfortable carrying around a dildo in a plain brown paper bag. So I found another cab and headed back to the ship, where I knew I could lie around naked if I felt like it, and the crew would be discreet.
Not that I was planning on showing them my purchase. I didn’t trust their reserve that far.
—
“Would mademoiselle care for anything else?” asked the same sailor who had served me wine coolers yesterday, and again today. Although his tone was perfectly polite, I was pretty sure he would be more than willing to provide special services.
But I wasn’t interested. He was handsome enough, and plenty exotic, but I was in a relationship.
The thought hit me like a bucket of cold water. What was I thinking? I was fucking my boss. That wasn’t a relationship, it was a disaster waiting to happen.
The fact that she was a she, and engaged to the man I really wanted to fuck, was just too strange to think about.
Stretched out on a deck chair, enjoying the sun and the sounds of the busy port after all that quiet at sea, I thought about how I should take the sailor up on his unspoken offer. If I started banging one of the crew, Petros would forget me and I might forget Amanda.
It was a really, really good idea. But the sailor was out of luck, my treacherous nethers remained untempted, and so I remained unmoved in my chair.
As the day faded, I began to have sleepy fantasies. What if Petros came back to the boat alone? Then I could have him without a guilty conscience, innocent of betraying my friend. After all, it would be a fait accompli, beyond my power to prevent.
But the idea of life without Amanda, the most cheerful and fun companion I had ever had, lacked appeal.
What if she came back alone? What if Petros could not accept us, and flew home in disgust, leaving us the use of his boat to sail out of his life. Together we would take the boat on the rest of the cruise, enjoying each other, finding new heights of pleasure, new experiences. First the toy I had bought, and then when the novelty wore off, the crew, one after another, forming a line and…
I put down my wine cooler. Even in my fantasies, I could not live without men. I could never be sexually satisfied without that special something they brought to the encounter.
I picked up the wine cooler again. Another few minutes of this line of thought and I would be in my cabin, opening that brown paper bag.
What was wrong with me? I’d had lots of sex just the day before. What had turned me into a sex fiend?
Watching my two lovebirds arrive in a cab, I realized what it was. Denial. Living in such close quarters with Petros, wanting him but not even allowing myself to pretend I would ever have him was a sensation I had never experienced. Usually getting men, or getting over the ones I couldn’t have, was easy.
But then, usually the men were easy. Usually, I was easy. And now that I exercised restraint, held back from indulging my immediate lusts, I found something underneath.
Respect.
For Petros, for the way he held Amanda’s hand walking up the gangplank. For the way he smiled at her jokes, made her feel loved and comfortable, even while he lusted after me. For Amanda, for the way she shared everything she had, for the trust she placed in me.
Amanda flounced across the deck, her golden hair flowing around those perfect breasts straining under the silk butterfly top tied in front, and embraced me with a full hug and a kiss on the lips. The automatic response between my legs increased my respect for Petros another notch. He was enduring this beauty’s kisses and flaunting without any release.
“Did you have a nice time?” I asked her.
“It was lovely. We went to an old temple of Diana, where I tempted fate by kissing my boyfriend in sight of the goddess. The tour guide warned us that Diana will try to steal him from me now.”
“A Greek prince never abandons his word, once freely given,” Petros declared, but I did not know if he was talking to me or her.
“Then I shall tempt her again.” Amanda laughed and planted a long, deep tongue-kiss on Petros.
I had to turn and look the other way halfway through. Not from jealousy, which was astonishingly absent, but from pure arousal. The sight of the two people I loved most kissing each other erased all the comfort I had been feeling, leaving behind only raging desire.
“No man would ever forget such a kiss,” Petros said gallantly when she let him breathe. I knew it was true from experience, having kissed Amanda myself. “The goddess will tempt in vain.”
We were alone on the foredeck while the sailors busied themselves elsewhere. In that quiet intimacy, Amanda surprised us all.
“Still,” she said, “perhaps I should confuse the trail.” Then she sat on my lap, leaned down, and kissed me like she had Petros. Long, wet, and deep.
I could not resist her, of course, and Petros could not turn away. I could feel his eyes on us, like the stare of a tiger ready to pounce.
“Confuse is the right word,” I said shakily when she was done with me.
“Anything to keep my man,” Amanda said cryptically.
“But I must leave you for the moment,” said Petros. “Not at the call of the goddess, but duty. I must see to my ship before we sail.” His voice was uncharacteristically tight.
“Wait,” she called to him as he turned. With one hand she reached out. When he stepped over to take it, she drew him in. Still sitting on my lap, she kissed him again.
From this vantage point, I could tell that all of my kissing lessons had paid off. This was no schoolgirl peck of affection like the first kiss I had witnessed back in Cheroigne House. This was a fuck-me-now kiss of championship quality.
Petros noticed my admiring scrutiny, his eyes catching mine ever so briefly. I could not fathom what lay in those dark pools.
“Mademoiselles,” he croaked, and retreated as fast as dignity and suddenly-too-tight pants would let him.
“We did that all day,” she giggled in triumph. “Everywhere we went.” Then she cupped my breast with one hand and gently squeezed.
“Amanda,” I gasped.
“He did that, too,” she grinned. “Once, in the cab, until he realized what he was doing and pretended he had been reaching for my shoulder. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said. The way he had obviously been moved by her kisses even while standing in front of the woman he had offered to run away with the night before was an even better sign, but I could hardly tell her that. “We’d better get ready for dinner,” I added. I needed to get her off my lap before I started fumbling for her shoulders.
Chapter Eight
Dinner was easy and light, just old friends having a good time. Their sexual tension was gone, smoothed over by politeness, class, and long-standing affection. I did not miss it. Amanda had exhausted me the day before.
Or perhaps I just wanted reassurance that I still belonged in their world a little longer. Always before, I had used sex to keep my lovers close to me. Now it seemed sex was getting in the way. If I wasn’t having sex with Amanda, or thinking about sex with Petros, I would be able to focus on just being part of their family.
I stuck close to Amanda for the rest of the night. I didn’t want any private encounters with Petros. I couldn’t trust myself. So I did what I was supposed to be doing—chaperoning Amanda. Thinking about recent developments, I realized I probably couldn’t trust Amanda either. Not alone with Petros.
Or with me. After a thoroughly pleasant and normal evening—drinks on the deck, a friendly game of cards with the doctor as my partner, getting ready for bed in our cabin—Amanda turned and embraced me as soon as we crawled under the sheet.
“Again?” I said.
“You said twice a day,” she whispered huskily, kissing my ear.
“But you don’t have a carrot,” I argued. Silly, but I was desperate.
“I can use my fingers,” she replied, running her hand down to my thighs. When I caught it and moved it away, she giggled. “Or my tongue,” she said and bent her head to lick my throat.
There, in the darkness, next to her soft body and fiery desire, I surrendered again. I could no longer pretend I did not want her, every minute of every day and night.
“I bought you a present,” I whispered.
“Where?” She sat upright and turned on the lamp. She really liked presents.
“In the brown paper bag in the dresser. No, don’t open it, bring it over here.”
Happily she sat on my lap, clutching the bag. “Show me now!” she demanded.
“Go ahead,” I told her.
She reached into the bag and pulled out the dildo. Her eyes widened most gratifyingly.
“Is this what it
really looks like?” She was enraptured.
“During the fun times, yes. Most of the time, no.”
“It’s…huge.”
It wasn’t particularly. I’d had real men larger than that, although it did look bigger isolated from the rest of the man.
“How does it all fit?” she asked, still marveling over it.
“Practice.”
“Show me,” she begged in her bedroom voice. Her face was inches from mine, and I kissed her like I would a man, turning my face up and offering it to her.
“It starts here.” I opened my mouth. When she held it up for me to suck on, I closed my eyes and pretended it was Petros.
Then I opened them again. As fantastic as it would be to do this to Petros, it was an even better fantasy to do it while Amanda watched. I gave it my best performance, teasing, licking, and finally sucking down half of it before I had to come up for air.
“Do men really like that?”
“Yes, dear, they really do. So much so, most of them take it for granted. So, off you go. Your turn.”
Now I held it for her while she practiced. And the fantasy was the same—me watching her doing Petros. When she stopped to breathe, I kissed her deep and long.
“Will Petros want me to do that?” she asked after I let her go.
“Every day. Maybe twice a day, if you’re lucky.”
We laughed at that. Then she rubbed the dildo between my breasts and kissed me.
“I want to see the magic disappearing act again,” she whispered into my mouth. I could deny her nothing. Leaning back onto the bed, I spread my legs and let her pull my nightgown up.
When she bent her head between my thighs, I clutched the pillows like lifesavers in an ocean of bliss. When her lips made contact with me, and the wetness of her tongue joined the wetness between my legs, I bit the pillows and sank beneath the surface. Her long hair fell down and caressed my exposed flesh, and her breath burned me.
“I think you’re ready,” she announced. The pleasure subsided briefly and I could think again. Looking down to see her smiling face, wet and glistening in the lamplight, I smiled also.
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