by Leo Barton
Swiftly I turned her around so she was lying supine on the bed, her raised legs bent at the knee. She had liberated her breasts from her dress and bra and was tugging hard on her beautiful extended nipples. I lapped at her clitoris, probably not as expertly as she had manipulated mine, but seemingly with the same effect, as I heard her rhythmic moan crescendo into a high pitched shriek. Her body jerked in her sensual spasm against the hard pressure of my tongue.
I didn't know then and she didn't know, her eyes closed tight in her sexual ecstasy that we were being watched. A sound, a movement detected from the corner of my eye, but I suddenly realized that there was somebody else in the room. I turned around and saw you Freddie, standing with Jan and Henrik in the splay of the doorway, your eyes smiling gently, theirs open in their astonishment.
Leaving Henrik and Jan you came over to us, crouched between us on the bed, and slipping your hand down onto Leta's exposed breast you kissed her passionately squeezing the white flesh hard in your hand.
I could see your cock bulging in your trousers. It looked, as it always did, Freddie, irresistible.
In that moment you had so much power over me. I wondered if you ever knew then. I pulled down your zip and emancipated your manhood from your briefs and took you in my mouth, becoming aroused again as the hot meat throbbed inside me, aware that for the first time in my life I had an audience as Henrik and Jan's eyes were glued to my lips as I slipped them over the ridge of your crown and took as much of you in as I could.
Leta, by this stage, had slipped down beside me and was nibbling on the loose skin of your scrotum, her eyes fixed on me. I knew she wanted it. I knew she wanted to take your throbbing, twitching cock into her own mouth.
I pulled off you, and still holding you by the base of your shaft offered it towards Leta. She sucked on you as avidly as I had done, then pulled off you to lick one side of your viscous dome while I licked the other, our hands stroking your balls as we did so.
Then, I was suddenly aware of hands on me, grasping my flesh, a finger prodding my anus, a grunt of approval, a few words in a language I didn't understand, a manly hand stroking me gently then roughly! So many things! Two mouths on me, one lapping on my cunt, another nibbling the flesh of my bottom, a finger flicking in and out of the taut flesh of my anus, and all the time licking you, feeling the head of your cock twitching, and Leta's tongue furled around the glistening crown.
A rough push, and Jan had entered me, my buttocks squashed flat by his hard gripping hands, riding me with a regular rhythm, pushing right up me then slipping out so the dome of his cock nestled against my engorged lips, before he slid right up me again. I relinquished your cock, giving Leta what she desired most. Henrik kneeled before me and prodded his tool against my lips, requesting entrance.
It is one of my favourite sensations, having men in me, one pounding away inside me, controlling me powerfully with his cock, while I can suck on another. I loved it because it seems that greatest of frisson between submission and dominance. While Jan clasped me hard and manipulated me in whatever way he desired I could suck Henrik, knowing that I had full control of his pleasure. He was so excited I knew that with the right amount of pressure I could make him come when I wanted. This is what I was learning that night in your apartment. Submission and domination; I was learning to love its ferocious fever and its languid savouring. I was learning to control my pleasure and to control another's pleasure. What to do, where to start, how to bring to climax. Now psychologically prepared, I was getting a lesson in technique.
It was so lovely to watch you sitting on the bed, and to see Leta sitting on you, impaled on you, forcing her hips down as hard as she could while you grasped her breasts in your hand. The look on your face, Freddie, almost serene. When you were excited, there was only a moment's tensing of your face, but when you fucked, no matter how hard you did it, your face always looked quite placid, as stoic in your pleasure as I imagined you to be in your pain.
Jan sat beside you on the bed and levered me onto him so we were in the same position as you and Leta. I was sliding up and down Jan's shaft as Leta slid up and down on yours.
Henrik had placed himself standing between Leta and me so we could take it in turns to suck on his cock while she rode you and I rode Jan. It was such a liberating experience, to feel Jan's hard cock pounding inside me, at the same time as having Henrik's member buried in my mouth and to watch you fucking Leta.
When Leta had been licking me, I could not bear it, the pressure inside me so great that I had wanted to come immediately, but now my pleasure was different, the sensation that burned in me was more joyous than insistent. I didn't want to come at all: I wanted to stay like this forever.
I didn't see what passed across your face as you looked at Jan, whose idea it was to swap partners. Maybe it was yours, maybe it was you who wanted to be inside me again. I never asked, Freddie, but it was wonderful to feel your hardness inside me, tensing the soft inner flesh of my sex, wonderful to feel your soft hands massaging my breasts, your neck craning up so your mouth could kiss my neck.
Henrik stood over me, his penis prodding my lips as I bounced on you. I parted my lips and took him deep inside, as he felt my lips sucking and his hard slicked cock.
There was more urgency now. I could feel Henrik coming, so I came off him and licked along the base of his shaft. I knew what he really wanted, and being the good kind girl that I still was I would try to help him. That was why, exciting though it was, I lifted my reluctant body off you and nestled down beside Leta encouraging her, telling her I was going to take Jan's cock, so lovely Henrik could at last get his fuck with Leta.
I eased off you and on all fours started to suck you. Leta splayed her legs so that Henrik could enter her. I positioned myself so I could suck on Jan's meaty pole. She didn't seem to mind me taking control of him, there seemed to be no hint of jealousy as Henrik now rode into Leta, the woman I am sure he was in love with. I would have liked to have learned the end of that story. Jan was far too preoccupied to be jealous as I bobbed up and down his shaft. He exploded inside me in minutes. I felt the thick, white viscous fluid slide down my throat, and arching my head saw Henrik's firm legs jerk against Leta's flesh as he climaxed shooting his load inside her.
That of course, as I suppose is only right considering we were the hosts and they the guests, left just you and me. I don't know how spontaneous it was, or whether you had planned something with the boys in the club before returning, but it was such an exquisite shock to find myself pinioned on the bed, Jan kneeling down on my left arm as Henrik kneeled on my right. Leta pressed her upper torso over me, her breasts squashed against my middle, and you, Freddie, grabbed both my legs so it was impossible for me to move.
Momentarily it frightened me, such ultimate submission, to have my naked vulnerable body under the glare of eight eyes, to be so completely at the will of others. I struggled against it, but it was useless. My plaintive cry only further arousing you, Freddie. You inserted your pulsing cock deep inside me, as Leta's mouth reached down to take my clitoris first between her lips and then her teeth, grazing me gently, before pressing her tongue as hard as she could on the taut knot of muscle. Henrik and Jan, all the time, were kneading my breasts in their firm hands.
And then the further shock of darkness; Jan taking the woollen scarf he had worn in the pub and pulling it over my eyes so I couldn't see how the four of you were manipulating my body. I felt your steel cock inside me; I felt nibbling on my clit; tumescent breasts rubbed hard, their erect tips roughly taken between fingers and thumbs.
I wanted my hips to return your movements, to slap down on you as you thrust into me, but my body was fastened to the bed; neither could I grab you nor cling onto you as you stroked me. I was so totally immobile, so helpless. I could feel your meat pounding, each jab of your cock harder than the last, as my clitoris grew rigid in Leta's mouth. My arms ached in pain; there was a stabbing sensation in my breasts. All this added to my delectable excitement, a
calamitous surge of pleasure fighting against the constriction of my body.
I felt your prick inside me, bring me such tumultuous pleasure, kindling a dense heat in my body, mingling with my aching and my pain, but the sharp stinging of my nipples and the soreness in my arms transmuted into a secondary pleasure pushing me closer to orgasm. Leta lapped at my itching clit, and as you seemed to wrinkle out every inch of the flesh of my sex, I came, overwhelmed by the pressure of my orgasm, sharper than normal because I could not coil and recoil my body against it. My consciousness was only allowed to focus on the explosion of my lust. You shot your seed deep within me; and then the intensity of my orgasm receded to a soft tender glow that seemed to thread itself through my whole body, my tender skin suffused to a subtle prickling sensation. The blind was removed and I saw four faces looking down on me smiling, serene in my pleasure. I couldn't help it: the sensual shattering sensation of orgasm had made me giddy, demented with pleasure. I couldn't help it. I saw how surprised you were, when I broke into that liberating if ludicrous cackle.
I would have liked to know Leta better. I think that I could have learned so much from her. Perhaps, I still can, Freddie.
She did leave me her number, and over the last few weeks, since you left, I have often been tempted.
I remember going home that night, exhausted after my sexual exertions, and then lying in bed, listening to the comforting noise of traffic outside the window, so pleasant to me, strange though it might seem, after the deadening silence of the countryside. And as I lay there going into a kind of reverie, maybe for the first time, I turned my mind to future possibility rather than concentrating on past regret or present dread. You had shown me how much was possible with a little guile and wit. These were things which you possessed in natural abundance, but I thought maybe there were tricks that you could show me. I knew that I still had so much to learn, but I was, as I always have been in my life, an eager student, as you, I was beginning to understand, were a willing teacher.
It must have been about three in the morning, my mind reverting to the businessman in the train carriage, the thought exciting me that I could have had him, with skill and intelligence and daring, I could have made my fantasy real. I began to believe in the exhilarating reality of it all; that all those casual daily encounters offered such sensuous possibility, pulsed with erotic potential.
It was at this stage as I began to look forward to my future life that the telephone rang. It frightened me, making me jump, my mind racing to Africa: who would ring at this time of night unless they had some terrible news. But it wasn't terrible at all. I picked up the receiver.
"Hello Helena." It was you. I could hear laughing in the background. Another clever move of yours, Freddie, getting the two boys to go home, somehow insisting that Leta stay the night. It must have seemed crazy to them, but they didn't get angry or show that they were sad.
"Freddie?"
"I know it's late, but Jean-Claude wants to know if you would like to spend the weekend with him and Simone and Frank in Provence. I can't make it. I'm busy with work, but they were very enthusiastic for you to go."
You sounded so casual when you asked me, as if you were asking me for a date in a pub or a restaurant, but I suppose travelling hundreds of miles for a weekend meant little to you. You were always very spontaneous.
Almost without thinking I refused, mentioning work and things to do, saying my goodnight to you and drifting off to sleep. She hadn't quite died, that little girl who always insisted on saying no.
Chapter 6
Freddie, there I was four days later, lying on a yacht off the southern coast of France, in a skimpy bottle-green bikini, bought impetuously at Heathrow before we boarded our flight to Marseilles.
How had I got there? Probably I wouldn't have gone if it hadn't been for Anne Rice. I have the dull girl to thank for giving me one of the most defining experiences of my life. I had woken up late, dreamy and tired, my mind still lost somewhere in the mists of my memory of the previous night. Really, I was still pretty adamant that I wouldn't go, however tempting the proposition was. I had never been to Provence, although Jean-Claude had told me a lot about some of its attractions.
Things were going too quickly for me. I felt like I was being caught up in the maelstrom of events. I needed a little time to contemplate what had happened to me, to stop along the road for a while before continuing on my journey.
But then Anne Rice came. I had not been awake for more than half an hour when the doorbell rang. Even if my life had been in its normal state I would have done whatever I could to have afforded spending a day with her. I had tried in my charitable way to be kind to her, to spend time with her and listen to her problems, but the girl irritated and bored me.
She was a member of one of the Christian groups that Gregory and I used to occasionally attend. I think if she had been honest with herself - and maybe there was something a little primeval about my distaste for her - she would have to confess to being attracted to Gregory, and not a little jealous of me. Gregory, to his credit, couldn't stand her either, although he never said as much. She was fervently born again, captious, blinkered in her prejudice, and unhealthily obsessed by religion, always on the lookout to cast aspersions on those who did not come up to her dubious and often very unchristian high standards of behavior. As I said, she was a terrible bore.
"Hi, Helena," she said greeting me like a long lost relative. "I hope you don't mind, but I just thought I'd call around to see what you're up to, you being on holiday and everything. I thought we might go and see Dave."
Dave was the only available man in the Christian group, hopelessly shy, sad, with the unappealing eyes of a child-molester. I don't know whether he was, and whether I'm being very unkind here, but a shiver would always pass through me when I looked into his sinister eyes. His fondness for taking boy scouts camping did not lessen my suspicions.
With his leering eyes and knowing that Gregory was away, he had vaguely invited us to lunch with him, and poor Anne, having no one else had turned her attention on the possibility of romance with him.
"Coffee?" I asked. I had no intention of spending longer than was absolutely necessary in the name of civility with her, and I certainly did not want to spend the afternoon facing David's paedophiliac countenance.
"Love to. You missing, Greg?"
"Terribly," I responded, finding the dull earnestness of the girl was bringing out a cruel sarcastic streak in me. Being desperately single, she imbued men, all men, with superhuman qualities that they obviously did not possess.
I fetched coffee for her and listened to her ramble on about some Christian dance she had been to, and how she had met this wonderful - rugged, I think the word was she used - vicar who had connived all evening to get her telephone number. And then came the expected long diatribe about her tedious job as a canine beautician. Don't laugh, Freddie, this is serious.
No, it was not just Anne that prompted me to ring you to tell you that I had changed my mind and that I would willingly go to France, it was everything she symbolized for me. Anne was symptomatic of the tedium of my life, the dutiful tolerating of all those people I could not abide. Thus it was she who had literally, I suppose, driven me to distraction. And, my god, there had been so many. Gregory was endlessly patient with people, the social unfortunates, the bitter failures, the starkly sexually repressed like Anne, who I knew he hated as much as me, but then again Gregory had such stoic control. I didn't.
So as I listened, surreal though it might sound, to the difficulty involved in shampooing recalcitrant pet pooches, the thought of spending another minute in her company or anybody else like her, made me desperate. I thought of all the interesting people I had met through you, and how my life had been transformed; or rather how I was transforming my life with the help of you and your friends.
I thought, why the hell not go to France? Why did I need this supposed rest? I had holidays. Gregory was away, and I had realized that I wasn't going to get an
ywhere moping around the house trying to think of what I was going to say to him when he returned. It also seemed like such a defiant gesture, overturning all that negation in my life with a simple monosyllabic affirmative. Yes, say, followed most assuredly by the confirmation of a, 'why not!'
It was so easy. Yes, the sex that I anticipated having with them I knew would be varied and stupendous. It no longer made me nervous. And more importantly I liked them as people. My god, how I liked them, to talk to them, to listen to their stories, and because they were so happy sexually they never needed to talk about it much. Occasionally it might slip into the conversation, but with natural ease, no ear burning there. They'd had so much experience of the world, of places, of people; they prided themselves not on any false notion or devotion but on their bright humour, on the astuteness of their comments, on all-embracing intelligent tolerance. Sometimes, in their company, as in yours, I felt like I was taking a refresher course in humanity.
I was so comfortable there, until that is I saw Steven Cussack, a colleague of Gregory, sitting over the way with his chubby frocked wife and a brat of children. No, it wouldn't have been so difficult to excuse my presence in the airport, but the coating of make-up and a sluttish split skirt might have been a little trickier. Also the fact that Frank's hand intermittently rested on mine, in a manner that could not be construed as mere platonic affection.