His tongue reached her clit. From the way it felt, his lips were pursed around her clit and he was sucking in and out, fucking his own mouth with it.
The tongue started. The tongue and those probing fingers. Sarah arched. Her thighs strained further apart. Her feet lifted until only her toes touched the floor. Half her weight pressed down on Luigi’s fingers and tongue. The pressure on her clit and pubic bone became almost painful.
‘Yip!’ That was her, wasn’t it? ‘Yip, yip!’ It was a silly little noise, but it was hers, and no man had objected to her making it, yet. ‘Yip!’ Oh yes!
Her climax flowed.
Luigi spluttered, laughed, and covered Sarah’s sex with his mouth. When he was done sucking and Sarah’s flesh was aching, he murmured, ‘Delizioso! Squisito!’
That was a relief!
He stood up. His zipper hissed. Sarah sat up to see what he had for her. The man was magnificent! She was tempted to simply lie back and enjoy but her plan had been to take this chance to experiment. What’s the point of making plans if you don’t carry them out? Before he could continue, she slithered off the hood and told him, ‘Inside the car, please? You take the driver’s side?’
He raised an eyebrow and slowly grinned, saying, without words, I don’t understand what you’re up to but I’ll play along with you, with pleasure.
Sarah had never been inside the display car, except its trunk, but she’d read the brochure several times. The ‘new car’ scent was intoxicating. Apart from the dash and the floor, everything seemed to be covered in buttery pale-yellow leather. She flipped on both the map lights, illuminating their laps. The Magenta was a two-seater but with ample room behind the seats. The criss-cross racing-style seat belts were anchored to the floor there. Luigi didn’t resist as she buckled him in with his arms tucked inside the straps. She leant over him to get to his seat’s controls and lowered him backwards until he was horizontal. The belts retracted automatically, so the illusion that he was strapped down and at her mercy was maintained. Sarah lowered her own seat to meet her ‘prisoner of love’ on his level.
His staff, still proudly projecting from his fly, directly in the spotlight, was very tempting but she’d get to it soon enough.
‘You are now my love captive,’ she told him.
‘Si, si!’
Her left hand cradled the back of his neck. Her right tugged his T-shirt up as high as the straps allowed. Sarah lowered her lips to his. Luigi’s mouth surrendered, which said a lot for him. She’d always thought of Italian men as very macho but this one was playing along with her game. Sarah nibbled on his lower lip with teasing little sucks. Her hand slid up under his shirt, across the smoothness of his torso, up to the curly pelt on his chest. As her tongue sampled his mouth, she tweaked one of his nipples. His sighs hinted that he liked that. David had never let her toy with his nipples. The other men she’d had sex with had paid well to be in charge, so somehow she’d never tested their reactions to that particular caress.
Still kissing Luigi, she shoved his shirt even higher, working it up under the straps, all the way to bunch up under his chin. Her lips left his mouth and wandered lower. She let her teeth drag across his chest until they reached the crinkled raisin of his left nipple. Sarah nibbled with slowly increasing pressure.
Luigi made little sounds, not displeased ones, but perhaps a little nervous, so she switched to rhythmic sucking, much as he’d made her clit endure. As she teased, her fingers found his belt buckle, undid it, popped the button of his jeans and pushed the denim down. He’d shown up for their assignation not wearing any underwear, just as she had, and likely for the same reason. With his jeans down to his knees, his movement was restricted further. Sarah trailed her fingernails up the inside of one muscular thigh. Luigi tensed and relaxed. His hampered knees pushed as far apart as his jeans allowed. She cupped his big warm balls and tickled him beneath them.
Suckling on his nipple reminded her that she enjoyed the same sort of attention. She scrunched up and over him and used his face to ruck her cropped top up. Sarah pressed down, squishing her breast on his lips. They parted. His tongue flickered on her nub. His lips closed on it, then his teeth, deliciously threatening and inflicting just the right amount of pleasure/pain.
She told him, ‘Good boy,’ and rewarded him by closing her fingers around the base of his shaft.
Her fist smoothed up to his knob, then down again. Luigi groaned. Veronica had told her that most men loved it if a girl talked dirty to them but she hadn’t dared to test that advice before, for fear of offending her clients. Now she had no reason to worry about that.
Sarah asked, ‘Would you like me to suck on you, Luigi? Would you like me to take your nice big cock into my soft wet mouth? Would that make you happy?’
He released her nipple for long enough to get out, ‘Si, mia stracciamanci meraviglioso!’
‘Don’t you dare come, not yet. I want you to stay nice and hard. Later, maybe I’ll let you come in my mouth, understand me?’
‘Come? Ah – ejaculare, si?’
That was close enough to the English. ‘Si,’ she said, ‘ejaculare in my …’
‘Bocca – is “mouth” – bocca.’
‘Bocca,’ she agreed. ‘Mouth.’
‘Labbra – is lips,’ he continued.
Sarah almost giggled. Here she was, with a gorgeous male body to play with, taking time for lessons in Italian.
‘Suo labbra, per favore,’ he asked. ‘Su pene mio.’
‘Si.’ Sarah snuggled down into a ball on her seat with her head resting on Luigi’s lower chest. That put the spotlit glossy crown of his shaft no more than half an inch from her lips. She pursed them and blew, very softly. Luigi shivered. Sarah stretched out her tongue and lapped a droplet of sweet dew from its eye. Luigi groaned.
This was fun! This had to be the same, but different, as the pleasure ‘Peter the Masseur’, as she thought of him, had got from tormenting her. This time, though, there was going to be fucking involved. But first, she’d work on her ‘deep throat’ skills and discover if the exercises she’d performed with bananas had improved her self-control.
She kissed his dome’s eye and pushed down, letting its bulk spread her lips. Luigi twitched but restrained himself. Her lips closed just behind the flared head. He had to be excited, because the sweet wetness in her mouth certainly wasn’t entirely her saliva. Her tongue swirled. Luigi’s fists clenched but he lay still, very tense, but still. The warm living thickness of him pushed her tongue down. A little upward pressure clamped it against her hard palate.
Nod. Nod. Nod.
The sound he made was almost a whine.
Deeper, tongue relaxed, throat relaxed. It was on the back of her tongue now, making her salivate, but she wasn’t gagging, not yet. Deeper. She squirmed round more, getting her knees up next to Luigi’s head, lining her mouth and throat up. Could she? Sarah plunged. His dome plugged the back of her mouth. She gurgled around it. The muscles back there spasmed on him. Sarah sucked a deep snorting breath through her nose and twisted her head from side to side, working him in even deeper. Something in her throat twitched threateningly. Enough, for now at least. She pulled back with deliberate slowness, not letting him feel her desperation, until his dome was at the front of her mouth again and she could breathe past it.
‘Meraviglioso!’
‘Grazie.’ The word was mangled but Sarah was sure he’d understand. She gave him a few more licks and sucks before releasing him. ‘Now I’m going to fuck you.’ She searched his jeans pocket for a condom and tore it open.
‘Fottere.’
‘Si, fottere.’ This, she’d decided, was going to be for her, not for him. If he came, fine. If he didn’t, she’d take care of him after. Sarah crawled down over Luigi’s legs and pulled herself up by the leather-sheathed steering wheel. His shaft resisted her fingers’ tugging but she was merciless. She forced it upright enough to nestle its sheathed head between her pussy lips. ‘Fottere,’ she sighed as she sank down
, impaling herself. ‘Fottere, fottere.’ She reached down to fondle the base of his shaft where it emerged from her. ‘Pene, huh?’
‘Si, pene!’
Her fingers lifted an inch or two to touch herself. Fighetta?’
‘Si, fighetta squisito.’
‘Squisito – means squeeze?’ she teased. Her vaginal muscles clamped tight.
‘No, stretta …’
‘No, squeeze – yes, squeeze. Make your mind up.’ Before he could explain what she already understood, Sarah rammed down.
The map light shone on her pussy, with his balls dangling beneath it. She reached down again to cup them and leant forwards. The head of his cock pushed against the rear wall of her pussy. Her clit pressed down on the thick vein in the curved base of his shaft. Sarah rotated her hips. She tried a little hump forwards, then back. Eventually, she found the position that pleased her clit the most and rocked in it, grinding. Luigi said something but she wasn’t listening. Sarah was feeling. The sensations became her entire being. Her hips twitched with increasing violence until she was punishing herself, and him. She climbed higher and higher, concentrating on the only thing that mattered right then and there, reaching the magical point where …
‘Yip!’
Sarah toppled sideways. As much as she’d needed to ride him to climax she needed him out, now that she’d come in one gut-wrenching spasm. Luigi was practically sobbing, thrusting his glistening shaft into the air. Poor man! She couldn’t – didn’t want to – leave him like that. Once she’d caught her breath, she lay her head back onto his lower chest. She told him, ‘Fottere mia bocca, per favore.’ Whether or not she had the words and grammar right, he got the idea. ‘Fuck my mouth, please,’ is an invitation that a man will understand whatever the language it’s given in.
Sarah slid the condom off before taking his shaft’s head between her lips. She held his column tight in both of her hands. Luigi jerked at her, not penetrating her mouth deeply, but, from the sound of his babbling Italian, deeply enough. After a couple of dozen strokes, he stiffened. Her mouth was flooded with warm ambrosia. Sarah held him in her mouth through his aftershocks until he was still. One last strong suck made him groan. Mission accomplished.
Sarah reached down to where his jeans were bunched around his calves. She hit the steering wheel with her hip and the horn sounded four musical notes that Sarah recognised as being from some opera or another, likely an Italian one.
‘I think,’ she said, ‘that the fat lady has sung.’
‘Che?’
10
MONDAY NIGHT, SARAH left the Exotic Auto Show with a magenta – what other colour could it be? – plastic goodie bag. It contained a Magenta T-shirt that was far too big for her but would do for sleeping in; sunglasses; a mug; a pen and pencil set; two bottles of Limoncello soda; a miniature of Amaro Fernet-Branca liqueur; and, best of all, an iPod with a glossy magenta cover bearing the Albina Autos logo.
First chance she got she downloaded a freebie course in basic conversational Italian and two operas, Rigoletto and La Traviata. She didn’t expect she’d ever see Luigi again but it never hurt to expand one’s knowledge of culture, did it? Although she still planned to quit her career as an escort just as soon as she got her degree, what she learnt today would remain an asset for the rest of her life. Sarah imagined herself bumping into an important Italian in the course of her real career, whatever that’d be, and being able to chat with him in his own language, and make intelligent remarks about Italian opera.
How cool would that be?
For a few weeks she threw herself into her studies, taking on a few easy Classique gigs on the weekends. The improvisation class had proven far more difficult than she’d imagined, but she was learning to trust her instincts and her fellow students. It was a full year course so she was confident she could pull off a good grade by the end.
Her other courses were coming along beautifully, except for existentialism with Professor Braun. He’d abruptly changed his requirements and started testing the class every Friday. Since almost everyone had abandoned the pointless exercise of trying to keep up with his scribbling on the blackboard, there’d been some concern. But his tests had nothing to do with existentialism, or philosophy, or anything much at all. He’d ask questions like, ‘If Schrödinger’s cat walked into the room, would you pet it, ignore it, or tell it to scat?’ One answer was deemed correct, the others wrong. As if that wasn’t bad enough the students had compared papers and discovered that whereas one received a check mark for ‘pet it’ another received an ‘x’ for the very same answer.
The Phil. Honours students were particularly concerned. They were stuck with Professor Braun for existentialism this term and ethics next term. It would soon be time to apply to graduate school, and they needed top marks. Professor Braun was not just messing with their minds, he was messing with their futures.
He was impervious to their requests for an explanation. He refused to meet them in his office. What had once been amusing was becoming sad; at least, that’s the way Sarah saw it. Others were less charitable.
‘What should I do?’ Sarah had outlined the situation to David while he walked her from the lecture hall to the library. She’d managed to avoid him since the car show, but he’d been waiting for her when she left the class, so she’d reluctantly bid goodbye to Penny and the other girls, calling loudly, ‘Meet you in the library!’ They’d nodded, though the girls had made no such plan. A gang, Sarah had come to realise, was useful as well as fun. Now she was simply trying to avoid (1) the hurt look on David’s face and (2) a discussion of their future.
‘It’s pretty serious,’ said David. ‘You don’t want to get a reputation as a troublemaker. I think you just have to make the best of it.’
‘I guess … but –’ Sarah tried to come up with more to say on the topic but David cut her off.
‘What are your plans, Sarah? If you don’t mind my asking.’ His voice betrayed bitterness, but he took her hand.
‘I don’t know. I was thinking graduate school, somewhere …’ In truth she’d been so busy she’d only just managed to focus on her final grades in terms of her education. She’d not given the future much thought.
‘Will I be bumping into you naked on the hood of a car again soon?’
‘I wasn’t naked, David. The answer to your question is “No.”’ She’d already decided it was too risky to do that kind of work again. She’d best stay ‘undercover’. Sarah almost laughed but one look at David’s face squashed the impulse.
‘Good. It’s not seemly, sweetheart.’
She groaned inwardly. Seemly. How freakin’ fusty could he get?
‘How about Christmas?’
‘I’m probably going home, like always.’ She quickened her pace.
David kept up, kept her hand in his. ‘Why don’t you come with me? Spend some time with my family in Vermont? You’d like it, Sarah. They want to get to know you better.’
‘I don’t know.’ Sarah wracked her brains for something else to say but came up empty. The library was close. She could see the happy-go-lucky students entering and exiting the double doors. She tried to tug her hand free but David held fast. She felt captured. She tugged harder.
‘Do you still love me?’ David was gripping her hand now. It hurt.
‘I –’ She stopped herself from saying she didn’t know. ‘I can’t talk about it right now.’
‘After I was ejected from the car show, which I paid a pretty penny to get into, I thought you’d come after me.’
‘I was working!’
‘I waited a long time. Until it closed, in fact. You never came out.’
‘Obviously I did, David. I’m here, aren’t I?’ She tugged, hard, and freed her hand from his grip. She hastily stuffed both hands in the pockets of her jacket.
‘What’s going on? I think I have the right to know.’ David blocked her escape. His face was set; he looked five years old. ‘Talk to me.’
‘Not now. Come over tonig
ht. We’ll have tea and talk in my room.’
‘Fine.’ He stepped out of her way.
Sarah darted off without a backwards look. She was both furious and guilty. Relieved to be free of him and full of dread about the evening ahead. Damn him. Why couldn’t he just go away?
That afternoon, Sarah handed in her paper on ‘Love’ for her epistemology class. It wasn’t everything she’d hoped it might be; though it was academic and properly annotated it lacked a definite position on her part. Not surprising. She’d come to realise that she didn’t actually know much about love at all. Not something she’d want to admit in an essay. Not something she wanted to admit to herself. But true.
She arrived home early, bathed, slid into her wispy pale-blue bra and thong and dressed in the cashmere sweater David had given her and a stretchy denim skirt. She wanted to be seemly. Happily, she’d already ditched the pitiful ‘Jack’ paraphernalia she’d collected to fuel her obsession with her first client, including the crab claw that’d made its way into her knapsack and from there to her desk. It embarrassed her to even consider the way she’d called out to him every night. Incantations to Jack. Prayers? Christ!
For a girl who’d reached the age of majority a virgin, she’d accumulated a fair amount of sexual experience in a short time. Granted, there hadn’t been a lot of ‘Tab A into Slot B’ sex, but each assignation the agency had sent her on had been sexual. She’d enjoyed every one and been well paid, too.
It was ironic to the extreme that she was about to have sex she didn’t really want to have, and wasn’t to be paid for it. She wondered how many women had had that experience. Most likely, quite a few. She’d sold her sexual favours the entire time she’d been sexually active, except with Luigi, but she’d never felt as ruthless as she did on this night, when she set about to seduce David.
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