When she compared, she realised that George’s diffident caresses excited her far more than David’s had ever done. The difference, she thought, was that with David she’d always felt that she had to hold back, not get carried away by her own lust. In her new role, getting totally hot was an asset, not a liability.
George’s little circles seemed to have stalled at her lacy stocking top. Perhaps that was what he liked, but she decided to take a chance. Sarah reached down, took hold of his wrist and moved his hand higher.
When George’s fingers touched the bare skin of Sarah’s thigh he sucked in a deep breath. To encourage him, she moved her feet further apart and pushed her mound an inch closer to his face. Even so, his circles moved no higher than to brush the backs of his fingers against the thin fabric that was stretched over her sex. Didn’t he want to finger her? With David, it was always a kiss and an exploring finger at the same time. Could that be it?
Sarah made her voice husky and asked, May I kiss you, George?’
‘You want to?’
‘You’re a very attractive man, George. I like kissing, don’t you?’
‘Y-yes.’
She closed the gap, forcing the back of his hand to press up against her sex, and leant over him, holding the far arm of his chair and its back. He turned his face up. Her lips descended. She brushed them lightly across his.
George’s lips were softer and smoother than she expected, more like a girl’s than a man’s. That wasn’t unpleasant at all. When he didn’t respond to her ‘little girl’ kiss, she let her lips part slightly in invitation. He still didn’t react. She took his lower lip between her two and tugged at it gently. His free hand came up to hold the back of her neck, as if he was afraid she’d pull back, but his mouth was still passive. OK, in that case …
Sarah extended the tip of her tongue. His lips parted just enough to allow it entrance but his tongue didn’t reciprocate.
Hmm. She’d heard boys complain that some girls didn’t ‘kiss back’ but she’d never heard any girls gripe about the reverse. It had to be because of his insecurity, from being confined to his chair. Sarah stabbed her tongue into his mouth, thrusting it in as deeply as she could.
George moaned and gripped her tighter, both her thigh and the back of her neck. It was obvious that she was pleasing him but he remained the passive recipient, taking but not giving.
She could handle that.
Sarah let her tongue go wild, exploring, lapping and sucking, feasting on his mouth. He made more noises. The hand between her legs cupped and kneaded her. The hand on her neck moved higher, knocking her little cap off and knotting in her hair. There was no way he was going to let her escape but she had to do all the work, and it was becoming uncomfortable, being bent over him awkwardly and immobile. Partly for a change in position and partly to check if she was really getting to him, she dropped her right hand into his lap.
Yes, she was getting to him all right. Under the serge of his tuxedo pants, he was rigid. Still dominating his mouth, Sarah fumbled for and found his zipper’s tab. George held his breath. Sarah tugged downwards, very slowly, deliberately teasing him. To extend his torment, she rested her open palm over where his erection lay and massaged it gently through the fabric.
His fly was open and he no doubt expected her hand to slide inside. Let him wait!
Each little squeeze of her hand brought a pleading moan from him. She gripped and rubbed, but not hard. Up and down. Up and down. Perhaps it was cruel, him being in a wheelchair, but Sarah was determined to make him suffer.
Eventually, he gasped into her mouth, ‘Please, nurse?’
‘This?’ she asked. Her fingers parted his fly, found the slit in his boxers, and crept slowly inside.
His shaft was burning hot. She just held it for a long moment before working it out into the open air.
‘I want to see it,’ she told him.
His hand released her hair. Sarah dropped to her knees in front of his chair, denying him easy access to her sex. He hadn’t been doing much about that, anyway. Sarah reminded herself that she was there for his pleasure, not hers. She couldn’t expect every client to be as giving as Jack.
Still holding his shaft and gazing at it as fondly as she could, she murmured, ‘It’s so handsome.’
Smugly, he said, ‘You’d know. You must see a lot of cocks in your line of work.’ He paused before adding, ‘Nursing.’
‘Yours is extra special.’ In fact, judging by the few she’d seen, there was nothing special about it at all. It was neither particularly long nor thick, but it still attracted her. She’d thought that maybe some cocks would be ugly but she hadn’t seen a repulsive one yet.
Sarah remembered Daphne stroking James. She’d held him delicately between thumb and finger and said, This is how you like me to start, right, James? Teasing?’
Sarah took hold of George in a similar fashion, stroked him from base to head once, and said, Is this how you like it at first, George, teasing?’
He grunted.
Very well. She continued with her gentle caresses until George’s hips twitched at her. She asked, ‘Harder?’
She felt his vigorous nod. Her fingers wrapped him. Using a little more force, she worked her hand up and down again, slowly accelerating her strokes. A tiny bead of clear fluid extruded from the eye of his cock’s head. Sarah smoothed over it, smearing her palm with his essence. She changed her strokes to slower but stronger, each one culminating with a gloss over his glans. She’d learnt a lot from Daphne. Now she was honing her skills against the day she’d be able to use them on her Jack. When that day came, she was going to be the best, she’d decided.
But she’d been denying David her mouth and her oral skills were important. OK. She changed her mind. She had been going to give George the best handjob she knew how to give, but having him helpless, totally at her mercy, made him an ideal subject to practise what her mouth and tongue could do. Sarah cast her mind back to Daphne and James. That lithe redhead had done incredible things with her mouth. Maybe Sarah couldn’t perform as well as Daphne had, not yet, but she could start learning, right now.
Holding just the head of George’s cock between finger and thumb, Sarah flattened her tongue and slurped it up his full length, from his scrotum to that little knot just below its head. In that second love-making session, Daphne had paid particular attention to that tiny area, to James’s obvious delight.
Sarah changed her grip to a firm grasp around George’s shaft, pointed her tongue and swirled its tip on that delicate spot. He went rigid. Sarah smoothed her tongue over his dome once more before returning to tantalise his knot. He tasted salty-lemony sweet. Jack had as well. Perhaps the flavour was universal.
Her tongue went from knot to dome and back again, over and over, for what she judged was a full five minutes. By then, George was making unintelligible yearning noises and his cock was leaking copiously. Mentally, she commanded him not to climax yet, not before she’d got some practice with her mouth. Her lips parted. She took his head gently between them and tried to work the point of her tongue into his cock’s eye.
George made a choking noise.
Not yet, George.
She took a little more of his shaft into her mouth. Her tongue pressed up on its underside. She nodded, rubbing his dome against her hard palate. George groaned. Soon, George, but not just yet. Sarah set her hands on the seat of his chair, one beside each thigh, and pushed herself higher, into an arc over his lap. Now was the test. She relaxed her throat and commanded her gag reflex to cease functioning. Little by little, she lowered herself. His knob pressed her tongue down. Lower. Her mouth was full of him, and he wasn’t as big as Jack. She took a deep breath in through her nose and thrust down. His cock’s head butted the back of her mouth. Sarah felt a brief moment of triumph before her throat spasmed and she had to snatch back.
She was going to need more practice, but it was a good start. Sarah had learnt all she felt she could for now, so she slurped off George’s
cock and began masturbating him again. Still using what she’d learnt from Daphne, she extended the flat of her tongue so that each stroke rubbed his dome on it. She strained her eyes upwards to meet George’s, just as Daphne had done with James.
Between vigorous strokes, she begged, ‘Give it to me, George. Give me all your lovely hot cream.’
And he did. His body shook so hard his wheelchair rattled.
Sarah licked her lips and swallowed, making sure that George saw what she was doing. She stood and began to button her dress up before she remembered that he had her till midnight, and it was barely eleven. ‘More?’ she asked him. ‘What would you like me to do next?’
‘I’m drained,’ he admitted. ‘You were wonderful.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Oh, your pay.’ And George stood up, walked to the sideboard and brought back a thick envelope.
Sarah was still in a state of utter confusion when the apartment door closed behind her.
6
VERONICA HAD WARNED Sarah that ‘Peter’ might seem a little weird at first but she’d promised her that he was completely harmless. In fact, some of the girls competed for a date with him. Veronica had said she was only giving the date to Sarah because she thought it would be educational for her.
As instructed, Sarah arrived at Peter’s motel wearing loafers, no hose, no underwear, no make-up, not even lipgloss, with just a simple floral-print button-through dress under her fall topcoat.
‘Just do everything he asks,’ Veronica had said. ‘You don’t even have to speak, though some appreciative moans would please him. When you climax, make it as loud and dramatic as possible. Can do?’
‘I didn’t get there on my date with George. I did with James and Daphne, but not because of anything they did to me. I had to take care of it myself. What if I don’t climax with this client? Do I fake it?’
‘You won’t have to fake it with Peter. I guarantee it. Enjoy, my dear. I envy you this one.’
‘But you said he wouldn’t want to fuck me?’ Sarah was becoming more at ease with the word. It was what she was paid to do, after all.
‘He won’t. You’ll see. There are more things people can do to make each other happy than you can dream of, Sarah.’
Sarah doubted that. She’d had some pretty wild fantasies since she’d hit puberty. Still, she wasn’t going to argue.
It was a nice motel, which was encouraging but not surprising. People who could afford what Classique charged could afford nice places for their assignations. That familiar ghost of a tingle started between her thighs. Anticipation always did that.
Peter opened the door on her first knock. Like James, he beckoned her in without a word. Her date looked kind of young at first glance, with a shock of dark curls over a round boyish face, but the creases around his eyes hinted that he was mature. Like James, he was in a robe and barefoot, but Peter’s robe was much fancier, crimson silk, with black grosgrain lapels. Sarah wondered what the texture would feel like, but she’d been warned about showing any initiative.
There was a masseur’s portable table set up in the middle of the room. It would certainly take her weight easily enough but she doubted it would bear two people at once, particularly if they were moving vigorously. That confirmed what Veronica had said about him not wanting to fuck her.
He took her coat and laid it aside, then stood behind her with his hands hovering above her shoulders. Right – he wanted her naked, no striptease, just bare, and quickly. Sarah unbuttoned her dress. He took it from her and set it with her coat. By reflex, Sarah posed, but he walked right past her to the bed, to a glossy mottled-chocolate pile of what looked like fur.
Peter flourished it like a toreador executing a veronica and cast it over the massage table. He added a matching pillow. A broad wave invited Sarah to climb on top. Closer up, she was sure that the cover was either mink or an excellent imitation. Sarah stretched out flat on her tummy. How decadent! Naked, on mink. She shivered. The slight movement caressed her tummy and thighs with the tips of a thousand tiny mink hairs.
In Psych 101, they’d touched on the works of Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, who’d given his name to masochism and who’d written a notorious novel Venus in Furs. Was Peter a masochist? Couldn’t be. Veronica would have primed her for that, not that Sarah could have managed that sort of encounter, not as the dominant sadist. As the submissive masochist? Her first thought was, Of course not, but she’d enjoyed Jack’s few spanks and his less-than-gentle treatment of her nipples, so …
Sarah turned her head, her eyes slitted. Peter was pulling a glove, mink again, on to his right hand. Lying on mink, being stroked by mink – she’d never even fantasised such a scene but now that it was obviously about to happen to her – that ghost of a tingle between her thighs intensified into a real tingle.
But what if she seeped onto his mink?
Peter’s left hand lifted her hair from her nape. The glove stroked across the skin at the back of her neck, as delicately as a sprinkling of talcum powder. Sarah wanted to squirm but made herself lie perfectly still. The tickling caress ran down her spine to the pad of muscle at its base. His bare hand followed, skimming very lightly, as if, perhaps, he was assessing the quality of the goosebumps his glove was raising.
There was a pause. The glove lifted. Sarah didn’t tense, but she wanted to. Anticipating where she’d be touched next was sweet torture. She became very aware of the nap of the fur she lay on, particularly where it almost tickled her mound.
The glove descended onto the exact spot it had lifted from and then swiftly ran up the full length of her spine, back to her nape. Sarah couldn’t help it. She shivered and let out a tiny moan.
Peter gave a grunt of satisfaction.
Right. Reaction was good. It was initiative that was forbidden.
He stroked down her left side. There was a spot at her waist that made her want to squirm and giggle. The glove lingered there, making little circles, driving her to the edge of begging for mercy. Perhaps Peter was a sadist, of sorts. Was it still sadism if tormenting pleasure was what was inflicted?
His glove brushed across the undersides of her bottom cheeks before moving up again, travelling the length of her right side, once more executing an arabesque where she was the most ticklish. From there, it was light swirling movements, her shoulder blades, nape, the right cheek of her bottom, nape again, left cheek. He returned to her bottom again and again, sometimes drawing the fur up its crease but always so gently that she felt no pressure, no indication that he was interested in touching her between her cheeks.
Perversely, Sarah couldn’t help but wonder what that tormenting glove might feel like if it did stroke her there.
She was twitching a lot, sometimes from an actual caress and sometimes from the anticipation of one. Those tiny movements conspired, without her volition, to move her thighs subtly further apart, just a couple of inches. Sarah couldn’t control her involuntary movements, could she?
Then his glove was on her left ankle. If he started on the soles of her feet, she wouldn’t be able to control herself. That would be unfair of him.
But he travelled slowly up her leg, stroking her calf and then behind her knee. That area made her gulp and knot her fists. Sarah stayed tense as the fur wandered up the back of her thigh. It was nearing an area that both desired and dreaded its touch. What would mink feel like, smoothing over, not her mound, she’d felt that, but those sensitive lips that had already parted slightly, Sarah wondered.
But he switched to her right ankle and subjected her to the same torture again, almost excruciating behind her knee, thrilling as it moved higher, pausing an inch from her sex.
Huh? Had he touched that sensitive area between her sex and her anus? If he had, it had been too lightly for her to be sure.
Then there was nothing. The back of a bare hand nudged her hip gently. Sarah opened her eyes a little wider, letting him see that they were open. He made a ‘roll over’ signal.
Oh God! It’d bee
n hard enough to endure the things he’d done to her back. How would she bear the same treatment on the front of her body? The mere thought of it made her clit tingle and her tummy clench. Still, she had no choice. Sarah rolled onto her back, letting her arms flop sideways and her legs part even wider. She closed her eyes for real and took a deep breath.
A smile twitched her lips. What sacrifices a girl had to make to please a man!
He started at the hollow of her throat. The touches there made her want to crook her neck but she forced herself to relax. The glove’s fingertips trailed downwards, passing between her breasts, past her diaphragm, to her navel. That made her suck air. It wandered a little lower but paused just short of her mound again.
Up once more, but making circles, the biggest one of which encompassed both of her breasts, just brushing the sides and undersides of their globes. But then it circled her left breast, with a touch so light he might have been trailing cobwebs across her skin, and spiralled in, towards her erect nipple. She peeked again. The flat furry palm of the glove was hovering over her nub, again making circles, but in the air, and it was descending with agonising slowness.
It felt to Sarah that her nipple was stretching up to meet the fur. Minute hairs brushed her flesh. She gasped and resisted the urge to push her chest up. The phantom brushing became a definite caress, but not hard enough, nowhere near hard enough. She was panting, she realised. Her ribcage was heaving.
The bastard was driving her out of her fucking mind!
He switched to her right breast. This time, she could anticipate every movement, every touch, and that made it so much worse.
Sarah endured the excruciating pleasure somehow. The glove crept down her body, moving more slowly than ever before. The skin in its path cringed in anticipation. Her insides clenched. Sarah whimpered, which elicited a chuckle from Peter. His free hand touched the insides of her thighs, suggesting that she spread them more. Mink reached the delicate fuzz on her mound. She couldn’t help it. Sarah peered down the length of her body. The glove was hovering again, right over her sex. It was cupped, ready to fit her curves. It descended. Lower. Closer. Lower. Closer. Could she feel it?
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