Change Partners

by Cathryn Cooper

  ‘She laughed too as I played with it and ran my free hand over her hairy belly and tangled my fingers in her hanging hair. It was a bit like stroking a collie dog. You didn’t really know where the hair stopped and the flesh began. But I was enjoying what I was doing, and it seemed she was too.

  ‘So far I was still clothed, though my pants felt as though they were strangling me. I wanted to lay her down and get into her, but I was fascinated with the sight of her sex. Each time my fingers went to my buttons, her clit danced around as if excited by the prospect of me poking her, and each time my fingers went back to it.

  ‘By now, she must have been thinking that time was going on and I was getting nowhere. “Mange?” she said suddenly.

  ‘I looked up, and she pointed at her mouth. “Mange?” she said again.

  ‘My eyes went to her pussy and then back to her face. I shook my head vigorously. “No,” I said. “No.” I shook my hand in front of her pussy and patted my cheek in an effort to make her understand that I had a rotten toothache.

  ‘She laughed. “Non. Non. Premier.” She pointed at me, then tucked her skirts around her backside. Her sex still exposed, she reached behind her.

  ‘My God! I thought to myself. My God! I don’t believe this. She had a small cucumber in her hand. You know. A courgette. ‘

  Michael and Thomas were all attention. Neither had been in the navy, so abroad meant beaches and bars in well-known tourist resorts. Jamie, they both realised, had seen the more gritty aspects of foreign lands.

  ‘She took me for a complete beginner! She leaned back on her legs - a bit like a limbo dancer. With one hand she opened the lips of her sex. My eyes nearly popped out of my head. Her clit was so prominent, so amazing.

  ‘As she opened the outer lips, she slid the courgette along the length of her inner lips. All the time she smiled and watched me watching her.

  “‘See, sailor boy? See?”

  ‘For the first and last time in my life, I was being given a lesson in female anatomy on a living and very willing subject. I was amazed.

  ‘In her hand, the courgette had become a penis. She was running it along her flesh, swaying on her haunches and moaning as she nudged this green vegetable into her vagina.

  ‘I gasped. This girl thought I was so green, that I needed to be instructed as to exactly what was expected of me. She was showing me the exact position of her vagina.

  ‘But no matter what her true intention was. My cock was hard and hot in my pants. This time there was no denying it what it wanted.

  ‘By now, the courgette was half hidden in her vagina. I caught at her hand, pulled the thing out, and immediately shoved myself into her.

  ‘Her legs were still bent beneath her, but the angle I entered her at was quite delicious.

  ‘As I thrust into her, she balanced at that angle beneath me. Luckily, at that age, my arm muscles were good enough to support me.

  ‘Her breasts, which up until then I had only felt, were now exposed.

  ‘I sucked on her nipples and, pressing my full weight against her, I used my hands to bunch her breasts into two manageable halves. Then I showered her face with kisses, wrapped my arms around her and, falling backwards, brought her to lie on top of me.

  ‘She rode me then. Her breasts jiggled, I remember, and the hair of her sex lay like a ragged mat across my stomach. All the time she rode me, she held her skirt up so I could see it all more clearly. Then she lay flat on me, her breasts fleshy on my chest, her legs closing tightly around my prick. I could have died. I could willingly have died and gone to heaven. It was sheer bliss!’

  Jamie let out a big sigh and stopped doing his Charles Atlas poses. ‘Well, there you are,’ he said, and reached for his trousers.

  Michael shook his head and smiled. His expression betrayed a hint of disbelief, but also more than a fair portion of jealousy.

  Thomas looked surprisingly noncommittal, although warm; as if he had just listened to very good story.

  Jamie, pleased at their response to his narrative, sauntered off to the lavatory.

  Once he had obtained the necessary solitude, his semen flowed from his member and bubbled happily off down the drain. As it went, he stared at it and shivered. Like his teenage years and his virginity, it was all gone, though not in quite the way he had described.

  He remembered Cairo, he remembered the place, and he remembered the girl. All that had been true. Details of his erection and his performance were not entirely accurate.

  No matter how often the girl had pushed the courgette into herself, and no matter how often she had taken his flaccid tool into her mouth, his erection did not last.

  As he tucked himself away inside his trousers, the young girl stayed his hand and had helped him out of his clothes.

  At first he had resisted, but then realised she was only trying to help. Perhaps, he thought, I might be harder once my clothes are off. Accordingly, he went along with it until he was sat naked among the cushions. The other women looked on, faces implacable, but eyes interested.

  It did no good. No matter how much the girl stroked him, kissed him, and pulled on his penis, it refused to stand up.

  In the end, she had got very annoyed and had muttered rude words to him in a broad mix of Arabic and French, before flouncing off. Titters had run through the watching women.

  He recalled with shame the return of Biblay, as the young girl was called, and Ashara, the tall black girl who had escorted him from the wooden gate. Both held their heads high as their dark eyes gazed down on his nakedness which he was trying his best to hide by bundling his clothes before his stubbornly soft penis. With more shame, he remembered reddening from head to toe as his eyes met those of Ashara.

  ‘Anglais.’ One word and her teeth flashed in a wide smile and she’d arched her eyebrows. ‘English?’

  He had nodded. ‘Yes. I’m English.’

  Ashara had spoken quickly to Biblay, whose face quickly flooded with understanding.

  Jamie did not have the guts to say he was Scottish. He knew well enough what they meant by the word ‘English’.

  Ashara pointed to an iron-bound chest that sat before a highly painted cotton tapestry. Biblay went to it and Jamie caught the aroma of old wood and sweet lavender as the chest lid had creaked open. What he saw next brought sweat to his brow and a sudden hardness to his member. All at once, those twilight events at boarding school came flooding back to him. As the memories returned, his penis hardened.

  Ashara’s long fingers and bright red talons snatched his clothes away from his groin as her other hand hit his face and sent him flying.

  It knocked the breath out of him. He lay there among the scattered cushions breathing heavily, his eyes bright, his member upright. The watching women hit him, scratched him, and punched at his shoulders. Shivers of excitement ran over his body like warm seams of sticky toffee. This was the moment he had waited for. This was the kind of sex he wanted.

  Biblay bound his wrists and ankles with leather and dragged him along the floor, over the cool tiles, the rumpled carpets. The tip of his penis just barely kept contact with the ground. The feel of the tiles was cool, the roughness of the carpets almost cruel against the head of his shaft. It felt quite delicious.

  Then they had forced him to do all the things he could never in a million years tell his country-club friends about. All he could tell them was how it had felt to see Biblay and the courgette, to feel her vulva sucking on his penis.

  He could not tell them of how Ashara had sat on his face at the same time Biblay had sat on his penis.

  Even now it was sheer ecstasy to recall that very first time when two women had given him the same sort of treatment he had received and enjoyed at boarding school.

  The smell of Ashara’s sex had seeped onto his nose along with her juices. He had taken a deep
breath and drawn the fluid up into his nostrils. Divine was the only word he could think of to describe it.

  There he was, bound with leather, his mouth covered with the sex lips of a tall, young black girl whilst his penis was used by another young woman without any dictates from him.

  As he drank of Ashara’s sweet offering, Biblay’s thick labia had sucked at his penis. The extraordinary clitoris that had danced over his hand now danced among his pubic hairs.

  Again and again they had used his body. In between each bout, they sat on their haunches, talked and drank coffee. It had been almost as if he was not there. Almost as if he were just a tool to be used. No more nor less than a pestle to pound grain, a flail to thresh wheat. And, in between each bout, they had also whipped his flesh with wet twists of cloth. His buttocks, back and thighs had stung. Cries of protest had been stifled by one woman grasping his head between her thighs. His flesh had been red, but not bruised or cut, and at the end of his treatment they had massaged his body with sweet-smelling oils. One girl held his length between finger and thumb whilst the other applied oil to her palms and then to his member.

  How sweet the memories of youth, he thought to himself. How sweet and how well they shape our lives.

  Exercise over, he now looked forward to getting home.

  Telling such a tale had left him with a yearning to enjoy the same treatment again. Home was where he wanted to be.

  Chapter 6

  Still thinking of the story he had told the others, Jamie pulled into the drive of a pale cream house that had big glass windows. Their wide open aspect was contradicted by Venetian blinds. The house was of contemporary design and boasted a sweeping roof. ‘I think your architect was inspired by the ski jump at Innsbruck,’ Josie, Michael’s wife, had observed.

  He had not been too sure whether he should have taken exception to her comment, or should have welcomed it. Because he had been unsure, he had pretended he hadn’t heard her. It seemed the best strategy at the time and, anyway, no matter about other people’s remarks. The house suited him and Mariana very well indeed.

  Brick and cobble steps led down from the front of the house to a lawn of two-tone stripes. Between the lawn and the road, a battalion of upright conifers gave shade and complete privacy.

  To the postman or any other casual visitor, the house was opulent, very private, but perfectly normal.

  A rosy picture was presented through the window that looked out over the lawn. Comfortable furniture and dark wood proclaimed that the residents were not hard done by but were still perfectly ordinary.

  An oblong shadow ran between the house and the garage. The shadow was not ordinary. It fell from a window at the side of the house, a window designed of lead and bits of coloured glass that formed a swirling pattern to deceive the eye and present a picture of flowing form and natural colours. And the eye was easily deceived. But not Jamie’s eye, because Jamie knew better.

  Rather than actually seeing the picture formed by soft lead and multicoloured glass and cut into shapes of leaves, petals and pretty little birds, he saw the colour beyond that. He saw the blue from the lamp in the back room which told him his wife was waiting for him. It told him she was ready for him and knowing that made him shiver.

  His trembling was accompanied by a feeling of heaviness in his balls, especially in the places where two red dots gave witness to past torment, past ecstasy.

  Mariana was waiting for him, and he couldn’t wait to be with her.

  Once the car was put away, he went round to the back door, paused, took a deep breath, swept his hair back from his face, polished his shoes on the back of his trousers, then went in.

  There she was, her honey-gold hair swept up and piled on top of her head. She was dressed in a way that their friends at the country club never saw. Memories of another time and another place were resurrected by the way she looked. Her hands were on her hips and her head was held high, chin tilted and firm. There was that look in her eyes that said she was in the mood for him. There also was that certain hardness about her lips that made him want to drop to his knees then and there, crawl along the floor and kiss her pink-varnished toenails.

  ‘About time, my English sailor. About time you came to see me. I hope you have plenty of money. I hope you are going to be very good to me in return for me being very bad to you - very bad indeed! Now come along. You have kept me waiting long enough.’

  In a flurry of flimsy veils and tinkling jewellery, she turned away from him and passed into their special room.

  As she went, Jamie took a deep breath and drank in the smell of sandalwood and musk.

  Drawn like a moth to the flame, he followed her, his limbs trembling, his flesh prickling with a thousand goose bumps as he imagined what she would do to him tonight and what she would want him to do to her.

  Incense burned in a copper and brass receptacle which sat on a cast-iron stand in one corner. Copper planters which once used to glow in the Arab quarter of Marseille, or the back streets of Cairo, cast a silvery light through blue-tinted glass. Music was playing. Not soft, romantic love songs, or even raunchy, highly erotic numbers, but simple, lilting strains accompanied only by the tinkle of cymbals and the beat of bare fingers against stretched skin.

  There was no bed in the room. Jamie and Mariana’s sexual tastes did not require one.

  There was a chair, a long settee with scrolled arms that was perfect to lounge on but totally unsuitable for sleep. But, then, neither of them intended sleeping.

  Strands of pearls circled Mariana’s head and they jiggled as she moved. One strand looped beneath her chin, and one beyond that rested on her bare breasts. Falling from her hips, a flurry of veils floated around her thighs but did nothing to hide their form or the triangle of hair between them.

  Jamie, his mouth open, his breath now catching in his throat, stood still as he awaited what he knew must come. ‘Take off your clothes!’

  His cheek tingled as his wife’s hand made contact with it.

  He fell to the ground, not because her blow was that hard, but solely because it was all part of the act.

  He attempted to rise from the floor in order to undress that much more easily.

  His wife interpreted his intention. ‘Stay where you are!’ Her toes dug into his side as she slapped him about the head.

  Staying as low as he possibly could, Jamie removed his clothes. Once he was completely naked, he looked up at her, his eyes shining with love and with trepidation. His penis looked up too. It was hard and becoming moist at the tip.

  He lay there as she circled him, not daring to move, not daring to speak. Each muscle bulged with the effort of not moving, of avoiding her displeasure.

  Smiling, Mariana bent down and picked up his clothes, which he had placed in a neat pile. Holding each one at arm’s length, she examined it, then shouted that they were dirty and she didn’t like having dirty washing. With that, she threw each item to a different part of the room.

  ‘Now pick them all up,’ she ordered. ‘But stay on your hands and knees.’

  His face red and his penis swollen, Jamie did as she ordered. She insisted he pick them up with his teeth and place them in a pile.

  ‘I should think so too!’ Her tone was cruel, but Jamie was in ecstasy. Strong as a bear he was, big as an ox, and this was the kind of treatment he liked. He blessed the day he had found his wife. She was the one thing that had made his life complete.

  ‘That’s a lot of washing,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not happy about it. You deserve a good beating for getting your clothes so dirty. Don’t you agree?’

  He didn’t answer. He wasn’t supposed to.

  ‘Dumb!’ As she said it, she raised her leg and placed her foot on his head, forcing him downwards until his forehead was touching the floor.

  Palms and fingers pressed flat to floor, Jamie snatched a
t his breath. Shivers of warped pleasure seeped like a spreading stain over his body. The sole of her foot pressed cruelly into the nape of his neck.

  ‘You are nothing but a great dumb man. A stupid mariner who can’t even keep himself tidy.’ She removed her foot. ‘Now. Stay where you are.’

  He did as she said. The position was quite delightful.

  His forehead was touching the floor and his naked behind was high in the air. Vulnerability was the spark that lit the flame of arousal.

  Veils whispered and silver jingled as his wife walked around him, her bare feet soundless on the red, blue and green tiles of the floor. Imprints of her soles, her heels and her toes dotted the shiny tiles with dampness. He had an urge to lick them up, to take even this most humble part of her into his body.

  At last she stopped pacing and stood directly behind him. His heart thumped in his chest as he imagined her eyes surveying his hanging balls and their covering of golden hair. As her fingernails dug into his scrotal sac, he cried out, then groaned, his thighs trembling. Mariana did not require him to groan with pleasure - only pain.

  His buttocks clenched tightly together as her fingers slid all over his testicles and his backside. Not once did she pass her hand through his open legs and touch the weapon that rose so hard and erect in front of him.

  Arousal soaring, Jamie continued to bite his bottom lip.

  Her nails were scraping across his backside now, dipping down to his sac, cupping it, squeezing it, digging into it with outstanding ferocity again and again. His voice, usually so deep, was now nothing more than a whimper, a series of mewing sounds.

  All the while, his piston pulsated of its own accord. Not for his weapon the touch of soft fingers or softer lips. Jamie needed only his mind and this scenario to spill his seed. And this was what he did.