by Lacy Danes
“And what of future letters, Your Grace?”
“You may be assured of that. Now then, let us go upstairs and find our children. Then, later, we will repeat this performance in front of a mirror.”
Psychic Sex
CATHLEEN ROSS
I HAD A STUD PUT THROUGH MY TONGUE TODAY. I love the anticipation of getting a piercing and it didn’t hurt the way people think it does. If anything, I get a thrill out of it by thinking about on whom I would like to use my stud. I want to see if the combination of hot flesh and metal heightens sexual sensation when used on a man.
I work in a gym at Bondi Beach, in sunny Sydney, which has lots of hot guys, except as a personal trainer, I’m not supposed to have sex with my clients.
As if I’m going to let a few rules get in my way!
I have to be subtle though. I’ve already had one warning from my supervisor, a stuck-up bitch who looks like she never gets laid.
Everyone in the gym commented on my new stud piercing, except ironically, the stranger—my chosen stud—who signed up to do a one-on-one session. My stranger’s name is Tom. I didn’t ask him his surname. I don’t want to know. It spoils the fantasy for me.
Now, a one-on-one with me is pretty intense because I like to put a man through his paces. I want to see him sweat. And while my client is training, I get to admire the lines of his body and the way his muscles bulge, not to mention the size of the bulge in his shorts. Best of all, I imagine what he would look like when I’m having sex with him and he’s working hard to please me.
So, I started our session with running on the treadmill and stood back a little to admire Tom. I’m supposed to talk to my clients to put them at ease, but quite frankly, I don’t bother. I’m not interested in men for their conversation. I have my girlfriends for that.
Although I don’t encourage them, my wealthy male clients talk about their investments in Sydney’s expensive real estate market, cars and football. My poor clients talk about how they can’t afford to buy real estate and you guessed it, cars and football. Boring!
Quite frankly, unless the car is something shiny and fast like a Porsche or a Ferrari, I don’t get why a man thinks a car is interesting at all.
What catches my interest is if a man talks about sex and all the delicious things he’d like to do to me in bed, which they tend to do once I’ve bedded them, but I don’t usually go back for seconds, you see—I like sex with strangers.
Right now, Tom is walking on the treadmill and he’s trying to start a conversation with me, something about the new car he’s bought. Oh please, no! I increase the speed to make him run and to shut him up. So I don’t have to listen to any car talk.
I love having power over a man. He’s mine for an hour and I intend to have him sweating and submissive by the time I’ve finished with him because I have plans for him.
My nipples tighten as I admire Tom’s physique.
I felt an exciting tingle between my legs the moment I met him at the front desk. When I feel that tingle I know exactly what I want to do to my client.
Tom has cropped dark hair, blue eyes and a nose with a slight hook that heightens his masculinity. His skin is invitingly creamy and smooth for a man who lives near the beach. Most of my clients are tanned. I’d like to stroke him all over and enjoy the sensation of his skin over tight muscles.
What I especially like about Tom is his mouth. He has full sensual lips, the type that make for great kissing, not to mention sucking on my clit. Not that Tom knows that I intend him to do that, he’s too busy running, keeping up the high pace I’ve set for him.
Guys have no idea when they get me what a ride I’m going to take them on.
I look sweet.
I’m not!
When I picked Tom up at reception, he greeted me with a great smile, and his eyes took on that special “I’m interested” look.
And why shouldn’t he be?
I have long blond hair which I keep in a plait down my back, unless I’m in bed, and then I let my hair out so that it flows in wild rivulets. This combined with large green eyes, a neat nose and mouth means I look like Jennifer Aniston.
I spend my mornings sunning myself wearing only a G-string, on Bondi Beach. I work out with my clients every afternoon, so that I’m toned all over. I don’t have huge breasts and I certainly wouldn’t go plastic, but I’m confident with how I look. That’s why I’m so good at seducing men.
I narrow my eyes and size Tom up as he runs. He’s beginning to build a sweat. I can see beads of it on his broad chest. I’d like to lick Tom just to see what he’d taste like. I enjoy the taste of exertion on a man. By the time I’ve finished with him, he’ll be dripping. And no, I don’t intend to lick off all his sweat. That’s gross. I want to get him so hot that he goes and has a shower in the gym. That way I’ll find out if he has a big cock.
I won’t bother with him if he doesn’t.
Tom has a promise-of-orgasms-for-me body. He’s over six feet tall with an athletic build, but more long distance runner than a footballer’s build. I can imagine stroking him between his legs, cupping his soft sac in my hands before I take him in my mouth.
Tom looks at me unsuspectingly as he runs. I smile back. Sometimes I think I’m like a vampire, except I don’t want blood; I want sex. “Keep up the pace.” I cross my arms to emphasize my cleavage which is tight against my spray-on tank top.
Tom breaks into a grin as he eyes my breasts. Good. I want him submissive and horny.
“You’re doing well,” I say.
It’s important to give small compliments to a man because then he will do anything for me.
I smile back. I’m sure he’s noticed that my nipples are hard and that I haven’t worn a bra today. I can’t wait to get him into my bed.
While Tom is doing twenty minutes on the treadmill on high, I set the inclinator on six to make it harder for him. I want to see what his face looks like when he grimaces. That’s the look on a man’s face when he orgasms. I enjoy watching the combination of pain and pleasure.
But Tom doesn’t break, which shows he has a good fitness level. He doesn’t stop and complain that I’m too hard on him. Pity. Sometimes, it amuses me when a man begs for leniency.
I never give an inch.
“You get one minute to rest and then you’re moving to the rower,” I say.
Tom nods. He’s panting.
“Need a drink?” I ask him.
He shakes his head.
Good. The man’s got stamina. My stomach muscles tighten with anticipation.
I reach over and take Tom’s pulse to see if he has a good recovery time. It’s a legitimate way to touch a client. I’m not interested in his pulse though. I’m interested in the way his skin feels against mine. Under my fingers, he feels warm and clean. His skin has a smooth feel to it and I can quickly conjure up what his naked body would feel like next to mine. The thought makes me horny.
I can smell him too. He has a terrific scent like fresh soap and male pheromones. This is what he would smell like in the heat of sex.
I’m aroused enough to have him now. Pity the gym is crowded. I’ve done it before when the gym was quiet, lying back with my legs spread open in the thigh extension machine.
While Tom continues his workout, I savor the way his muscles flex and bulge with every row. He really is magnificent. In gym talk, we say he has good “guns.” This means big arm muscles. Some guys concentrate on their chest areas only, which leaves them with chicken legs, but Tom is well proportioned.
He’d better have a good-sized cock or all this anticipation will have been for nothing.
“Keep your stomach muscles switched on,” I order as Tom works out on the rower. “Remember to breathe evenly. Pull. Pull. Pull.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Is what I’m really thinking.
I can feel my nipples tighten as I give Tom orders. The more I tell him what to do, the more used to my orders he will be when I seduce him, which suits me as I like to dominate in bed
. I expect a man to do what I want, when I want and how I want.
While I’m training Tom, I see that the pump class has just finished and out comes Pinky. Everyone in the gym knows our gay masseuse, who is my best friend. You can’t miss him. He’s fifteen stone and as round as he is tall. He’s been trying to lose weight all his life and despite all the classes he does, doesn’t lose a pound. I commiserate with Pinky about his weight and Pinky in turn colludes with me on my client seductions. He doesn’t get much sex, so he’s more than happy to live vicariously through my experiences.
I point to Tom behind his back, to signal to Pinky that Tom is my chosen stud. Pinky looks at Tom and raises his eyebrows. He gives me a nod.
Good. Pinky can stay back. I need him to do a job for me.
Tom, of course, is oblivious to all of this. He’s so busy rowing, he has no idea.
For the next half an hour, Tom pushes and pulls for all he’s worth and then we move to my favorite part—stretching. I like it because I get to put my hands on a man and really feel what his body is like.
While we’re stretching, I tell him about the great new bar down on the beach, which I’m hoping to go to tonight. I smile and flirt a little. Normally my chosen stud offers to take me, and from there, I take over.
Tom frowns at me and says nothing, which was fine when I didn’t want him to talk, but now I’m expecting some sort of response from him. What’s wrong with the man?
I bend his leg at the knee and push it across his torso to stretch him out. I like the way his skin feels silky, but his leg hairs are crisp. I have my other hand inappropriately on his butt, which is tight and hard. Just how I like it.
Bet Pinky would too. I can see him hovering near the shower block waiting for my signal.
Tom is flexible for a man, which makes my imagination run wild. I want to run my hands over his taut body.
“So, have you been to Coco’s Bar before?” I prompt.
“No,” Tom responds.
I pause. Come on. Ask me. Do something! Men like to think they’re doing the chasing.
“It’s fun there. Why don’t you come down tonight?” So much for the chasing. I guess I’m the impatient type.
I walk behind Tom, take him by the arms and pull his guns back at the elbow to stretch out his shoulders. He feels incredibly firm and sexy. My nipples are so hard I want to pinch them myself and think about sex with Tom. I can’t see his face and I can’t believe he’s so slow to answer me.
I thought he’d be a sure thing.
I’m leaning so close now that I could kiss his neck. I really want to. I’m sure he can feel my breath on the back of his neck.
I drop his arms and Tom climbs to his feet. “Thanks, Gabby. That was great. I’ll book another session with you tomorrow,” he says and walks toward the showers.
I glance at Pinky who raises his plucked eyebrows in expectation.
I frown.
I can’t believe it. Tom didn’t take the bait. He didn’t even bother to answer my question. I never miss my mark. It’s unheard of. I’m so mad, I feel like going into the shower block and sticking a dog collar on him and leading him home, but I don’t think my supervisor would appreciate it.
I signal to Pinky to follow Tom into the shower. That’s the best way I can find out whether Tom has a big cock. Five minutes later, Pinky comes out and spans his hands to give me an idea.
Tom is big.
Now I am really pissed off.
I’m an earthy kind of girl. I don’t believe in psychic phenomena, but my crazy, psychic sister gave me this book—How to Astral Travel. I am bored and horny that night, after Tom didn’t take up my offer, so I decide to flick through it. What catches my eye is that the book claims that through meditation, the spirit can leave the body and do whatever it wants.
Wouldn’t that be fun?
Hmmm. I think about Tom, my escapee-love-slave. I turn back to my book.
What if I could meditate, leave my body, visit Tom and bonk him senseless in the middle of the night? I could do everything I wanted to him while he thought he was dreaming. What an interesting idea. It would be worth a try because I certainly wasn’t getting anywhere with him in daylight.
Even my darling Pinky was amazed Tom had brushed me off. “Perhaps he’s gay,” he’d said hopefully.
“No way.” I jabbed my index finger into Pinky’s butterball chest. “Don’t even think about making a move on him. He’s straight and he’s mine.”
So tonight after my shower, I rub rose-scented moisturizer all over my body paying special attention to my breasts. My nipples harden. I am so ripe for sex I am almost aching.
According to the book, all I have to do is to focus on what I want. That’s easy. Sex! I breathe deeply in through the nose so that my whole torso fills with air and then expel the air out through my mouth. I do this in a repetitive motion so that there is no break in the rhythm.
I visualize Tom naked, not to mention his “long dong,” which Pinky assures me he has.
Damn it. I want that man. I keep breathing deeply until I’m almost hyperventilating. I can feel a tingling sensation on my fingertips and the cynical side of me wonders if I’m overoxygenating my body. I’m certainly not going anywhere. Not rising out of my body, not hovering over an unsuspecting Tom, like I should be doing.
In frustration, I get up, fling the book against the wall and decide to try and get some sleep. My tongue has swollen from the piercing and seems to be filling my mouth. Perhaps sex wouldn’t have been so great tonight after all, unless Tom did everything to me. Now there’s a thought.
I drift off to sleep with the thought of Tom kissing my breasts before trailing a pathway down past my navel and ending up between my legs.
I stretch and sigh as I imagine what his tongue would feel like as it lapped at me. I can imagine him folding my inner lips apart as he starts to lick slowly up and down my slit like it is a juicy peach.
I’m in that drifting, half wake, half sleep mode and thoroughly enjoying my fantasy. I feel like I’m floating, and I’m a little chilly. My bed feels hard under my back. It would normally bother me, except my imagination is so good, that I can feel Tom circling my clitoris with his tongue.
I moan softly and thrust upwards. I can’t believe how good it feels to have Tom eating me. I’ve noticed that men with generous mouths are made to do this, that’s why I liked the look of Tom’s full mouth from the moment I saw him.
My sexual imagination has always been good, but something really strange is happening. I can feel a man’s hands on my thighs and his tongue, which is sliding up and down, becomes faster so that my stomach muscles clench with pleasure.
My eyes snap open. What the hell is going on? I look around and discover that instead of lying on my bed, I am lying on the sloping bonnet of a car. And not just any car. It’s a shiny red Porsche. Weirder still, between my legs, lapping my sex like it’s a melting ice cream, is Tom. I’m so surprised that I attempt to close my legs, which means I nearly jam Tom’s head between my thighs.
He looks up. “Aren’t I doing it the way you like it?” he asks. “You seemed into it.”
Hello? Is this for real?
“Um…er…you’re doing okay.” Well, more than okay, actually, once I get over my shock. Am I really here in what looks to be a spacious garage? Am I asleep? I must be here, I decide, because I’d never be stupid enough to want to have sex on a car when I have a nice comfy bed. Trust a man to want to involve a car with sex. Still, lucky for Tom, it’s not just any car.
I’m still tense. Still in a state of disbelief, but given that nothing has changed in the past surreal seconds, and that Tom is still hovering above my clit, I decide to lie back and signal Tom with a flick of my index finger to keep going.
I mean, someone has to test out this astral fucking gig, so it might as well be me.
Tom runs his hands over my thighs as he eats me. The skin of his hands is smooth and it sends tingles up my spine. I pinch my nipples and I rock bac
k and forward enjoying what he is doing to me. I can feel an orgasm building and I strain to meet his tongue. I want him to go harder and faster.
I can’t stand it if a guy licks me like I’m a delicate flower about to break. I might be slender, but I work in a gym all day heaving weights.
I’m just about to come when Tom pulls back. Talk about lack of good timing. He has “born to perform” looks but he sure needs some training. I look downwards over the hood of the shiny Porsche and my own sleek body.
What is wrong with this man?
He’s holding his cock in his hand. Now I have to say, orgasm-ready as I am, it looks very tempting. The head of his cock is taut and bulging. The shaft is long and thick. Pinky knew his stuff when he’d done his hand measurement back at the gym. I’d have a lot of fun sliding that into me, but I’m not quite ready.
“Don’t stop,” I say.
“I’m dying for you,” Tom says. “The moment I saw you at the gym, I wanted you. That’s why I booked another session with you tomorrow. I wanted to take you out in my new car.” He looks longingly towards my sex. “I just want to know how good you’d feel. Just for a moment.”
His handsome face is strained with desire. He is desperate for me. I have to admit that it’s flattering that he wants me so much, but I torture men all day at the gym for a living so I see no reason to change my style now.
I raise my long index finger and point to my sex. “I didn’t tell you to stop. You’ll know when I’ve had enough.”
I stare at him and I swear I can feel his will. He’s desperate to ride me. He’s standing at the base of the bonnet of the car, leaning over me on one hand, with his cock in his other hand, determined to defy me. His whole body is trembling with lust and I can see veins standing out in his neck from the strain of my denial.
Judging from the three other sports cars that are lined up in his garage, he’s a wealthy, spoilt kind of guy, used to getting what he wants. Tough luck. He kept me waiting because he was too busy with his new car, now it’s my turn to keep him waiting. I can sense I have power over him and I want to test it out. Already, I can see the dewy end of pre-cum forming at the end of his cock. He’s stroking it up and down, getting it ready for me.