It’s only when he starts fucking into me, though, that I know for certain he’s masturbating while doing so. He’s now groaning, quietly, almost constantly, and there’s another rhythm to his movements alongside this jerky fingering.
I think it’s all just having a cascade sort of effect. He pumps his fingers into me faster, twisting and searching in my slick heat, and then just as he finds what I think he’s actively looking for – that little bump inside me, that small collection of nerves – his mouth presses messily to my sex once more, over and around the slow steady push of his hand.
The first flicker of his tongue against my pussy is electric and impossible. I doubt it’s actually happened – he feels too greedy, too open-mouthed, suddenly feverish and hungry for my slippery cunt. And that’s definitely my G-spot he’s found. I don’t know how, but he’s curling his fingers and rubbing and all I can think is science experiment science experiment hey Professor, Gabriel found her G-spot first! Look, she’s going to come!
It makes me long to see him. I think I know why he didn’t want me to face him – so bad, such a dirty boy! – but I need to. I need to see and know and I need a lot of other things, too, until he slithers his tongue over every inch of me, before coming to rest right on my clit.
Then I don’t need anything at all. I find my voice at that point, all right. I shout. I boil with obscenities. Yes, lick my clit, I tell him. Lick it, you dirty little slut. Fuck my cunt.
Words come out of me that I’m sure would make him melt through the floor, if we were fully clothed and face to face. And all the while I rock against his teasing mouth and tear at the sheets and pant as though I’m possessed, each kiss of my clit he manages to land promising to be that one, the one that pushes me into orgasm.
I’m so close I can taste my climax on the soaring edge of each fumbling, greedy lick. Harder, I tell him, harder, and though he obliges I’ve been too excited for far too long. I’m jammed up, locked down tight. I have to put my face to the bed because I definitely can’t hold myself up.
‘Just your fingers,’ I say, finally. ‘Just your fingers, and then tell me, tell me exactly what you’re doing.’
I think it makes it better that he obeys me immediately, without restraint. His voice jangles through me, thick with desire, as his thumb slides down to rub the tense underside of my clit.
‘I’m –’ he begins, but maybe he doesn’t finish with what he thought he was going to. Instead, he rushes out:
‘Oh Jesus – I’m gonna come.’
Just before my entire body clenches and gush after gush of pleasure goes through me, so intense I trap his hand and shout into his bedspread. I can feel my cunt spasming around his still working fingers, my clit jumping against his pressing thumb, everything inside me pushing towards one thing for what seems like forever. It goes on so long, I can’t remember when it began and when I’m done, through a haze of utter dissolution and shivering aftershocks, he asks, ‘Would you like another?’
Chapter Six
HE LOOKS FLUSHED AND pleased with himself, when he comes into work the next day. Like he has a secret that no one else knows – the secret of my pussy, obviously.
I puzzle about it all day as we dance around each other – him coy, me so eager to slap his gorgeous arse it’s like a sickness – serving customers, straightening and tidying and making idle chit-chat about the weather. God, it’s icy, he says. Yes it is, I say, as thoughts of the body I still haven’t properly seen and of his furtive, dirty knowledge eat away at my insides.
I want to run my finger down the cleft of his bare arse – maybe while his rigid cock is deep in my mouth or my pussy. I want him to kneel on a bed and spread for me. I want him to tell me everything, everything about how he knew to do me so good.
I’m guessing it’s the books. He knew what he was doing because on page thirty-six of Hearts Aflame, the hero sticks his tongue into the hot wet mess of the heroine’s cunt.
But I’ve got to ask, anyway. I ask after I’ve run a couple of errands, and come back to find him making me a coffee in the kitchen.
It’s become a sort of tradition, now. I come back or come down from my luxurious moments of time to myself, and he has a closing-time cup of coffee ready for both of us – the only one he has all day. I’ve tried to get him to take more breaks, but he just won’t. In truth, I don’t think he even drinks coffee.
But he does it when we can drink it together, and I always want to sacrifice my me-time for the exact same thing. If I spent the afternoons with him, instead, why – think of the things we could get up to! Think of the things we could get up to if I didn’t open the shop at all. Think of the things we could get up to if I did nothing but roll around with him naked, in my bed or his bed or maybe not even a bed –
‘Hey,’ he says. His face lights up when he sees me – it really does. He had seemed flustered and withdrawn once everything was done with, the night before.
But I think he’s ready to talk, now.
Even if he does go very still, all over, when I put my hand on his arse. Not sweetly, either – not a pat or something you could mistake for another thing. I spread my greedy fingers over the entirety of one cheek, and let them wander into the cleft between. It’s a hard task, pushing tweed into someone’s butt crack. But I persevere.
The coffees in front of him are briefly forgotten – and they’re forgotten even more, when I stroke. When I squeeze. He doesn’t look at me, but I can almost feel his awareness of my hand and my body, now pressing ever so lightly against his side.
I get my mouth very close to his ear, calves straining as I go up on tiptoe, and whisper,
‘Where did you learn how to be such a filthy little pussy eater?’
He looks at me, then, big-eyed, but with that same pleased-with-himself-ness playing around his mouth. It doesn’t stop him glancing towards the kitchen door, however.
‘Someone could come in,’ he says. I guess he knows the drill, by now. It’s not as though I’m going to leave things at an arse grab and a dirty question. ‘The door isn’t locked.’
‘No one ever comes in past five,’ I reply, and then squeeze, nice and tight, until he goes up on tiptoe. ‘So come on. Where did you get it from?’
‘I read,’ he blurts out. I think he’s already half-cut with arousal and jangling nerves and other things delicious. ‘You know I do.’
‘You’ve read about fucking a woman with your fingers while licking her clit?’
He meets my eyes straight on, then. His pupils are fat and I think he might be almost smiling, but his expression still says – don’t play silly beggars.
‘You know what’s in those books, Madison.’
I think my nipples peak, when he says my name. He’s got quite a deep voice, really, and it curls around Madison as though savouring its flavour.
‘I do. But it could be you got the idea from somewhere else. Maybe some older woman, when you were too young to know any better. Shoving your hand between her legs after you’d mowed her lawn.’
He actually chuckles. Ducks his head.
‘I didn’t mow lawns. And there was no older woman. I just … I’ve always been good at putting theory into practice.’ His eyes dart all over my face. ‘I’m good with diagrams and working things out. I always have been.’
‘Are you going to work me out?’ I say, and that little faintly exasperated, tremulous smile becomes something more solid.
‘Is that what you want?’
‘I want you to show me all the theory you know, in great and varied detail,’ I say, and then I take his hand, and put it between my legs.
He lets out a little puffing breath and glances at the door again, but as he does so, he finds the time to run the pads of his fingers over my cotton-clad slit. Just a little test-out, to see what it’s like.
I’ll tell him what it’s like: wet and full and ready.
When he turns back I go to remove his glasses, but he shrugs me off. His gaze is fixed, concentrated on the hand bet
ween my legs, and he murmurs after a moment that he needs to see what he’s doing.
Right before pushing busy fingers into my knickers.
And then he presses, lightly, on the first thing he finds.
‘Mons,’ he says, in such a sweet explanatory tone that I would laugh, if I wasn’t fizzing and popping with anticipation. Is this what he’s going to do? Tell me all the theory, before we get to the practice?
I think it might well be.
He slides two v-ed fingers downward, the way eased by lubrication I’m already producing in excess. I think he says something about my near smoothness, my lack of fuzz, but it’s hard to tell when I’m breathing so hard and anything but strict anatomy comes out of him pushy and tense.
‘Labia,’ he says, clear as a bell, while his fingers skid stickily over my heated flesh. A little dart of feeling arrows through my chest and belly, but I can’t tell if it’s due to the simple, straightforward descriptions or the purposeful fondling.
‘Well – actually, this is your labia majora. This is your labia minora. It’s meant to be more sensitive, here, does it feel more –’
‘Oh, yes.’
His eyes spark with delight, before he looks back down at his careful, meticulous work. He’s so good, so clever, my Gabe.
Oh God. My Gabe?
‘And then here … here’s your clitoris.’ He frowns, ever so slightly. ‘I thought it would be less obvious – people talk about not being able to find it. But I can feel it really easily. I can feel it – though maybe that’s because you’re aroused.’
He looks up again, eyes big and searching.
‘Are you? You must be – you’re all slippery. And your clit’s all firm and swollen.’ He pauses. His eyes flick down. ‘Is it all for me?’
I guess what comes out of my mouth could be described as words, but they feel more like gargles of disbelief. Is he actually saying this stuff? What is it – OK if it’s an anatomy lesson? He got it all out so calmly, the bit about my slipperiness and my smoothness aside.
Yeah, that made him stutter, all right.
‘Who are you thinking about? That guy I saw you with?’
He doesn’t sound angry. His tone is almost … resigned.
‘You looked like you were enjoying what he was doing to you. I don’t know if I could ever be … I don’t know if …’
‘Kiss me. Kiss me while you touch me,’ I gasp, and he presses a chaste one to my lips as his fingers circle round and round my bursting clit. His caress is in no way hard enough, but it’s maddening and glorious all the same.
I have to grasp the nape of his neck and hold his mouth on mine, as I rut into that teasing touch. But he doesn’t pick up the pace or pressure – far from it. Instead his fingers slide down, down, to my greedy grasping hole.
He makes a sound into my mouth, as he sinks into me. I guess it feels good – I know it feels good to me. His fingers are so strong and thick, and he lets them glide and ease in and out, rather than pushing or forcing.
Before I might have said I liked it hard, but this is somehow just as good. It’s all so ripe and raw, his fingers stirring my slickness and his hot eager mouth on mine. His kisses are much wetter and more open, now, and he lets me fuck his mouth with my tongue. And when he pulls away, it’s only to tell me what he’s touching, and how. Not because he doesn’t enjoy the shameful thrill of being pushed and used by a woman.
He curls his fingers sharply, and rubs, and tells me he thought that would be hard to find too. But I guess he knows it isn’t, now – especially as I’m up on tiptoe, holding on to his shoulder, babbling at him to let me sit down, let me sit down, I’m going to come as though he’s the one in charge.
Though he doesn’t look it. He looks intense and fascinated, as his fingers twist in my pussy, thumb rubbing fitfully over my clit. He looks pleased that he’s got it all worked out, all the world forgotten – including his obvious erection – apart from my slick cunt.
‘Yes, yes – right there,’ I say, and then my thighs lock and my clit pulses and I moan my way through a shivering orgasm. I press his hand tight, between my legs – which is when he moans, too. Just a slight sound, but we’re suddenly so close that I can feel it, vibrating against me.
When I put my head on his shoulder, and relax all over – that’s when I notice Andy, in the doorway. Just standing there, leaning against the frame, arms folded over his chest.
He looks amused, I think – though it’s hard to tell when another man’s hand is still in my knickers, and I’m still buzzed and lax from a huge orgasm. I just want to lean against Gabe for ever, and not have to think about anything.
Especially not about whatever is probably coming, now. Somehow, I don’t think Andy is the type of guy to run away from a situation like this.
‘This your new boyfriend?’ he says. I can’t recall Andy being my old one, but I refrain from saying such a thing.
Gabe, on the other hand, snaps his full attention to Andy, immediately. Though he does so without removing his fingers from the insides of my knickers.
‘He looks like a real sweetheart.’
I wince, inwardly. Yeah, I don’t think this is going to go well, at all. What had he called Gabe, last time? A pansy?
‘Got him in the back of your shop, working real hard for you – I’m impressed.’
There are many possible things I could say, here: you shouldn’t be back here, Andy. You’re a pervert, Andy. Piss off, Andy. But I don’t say any of them. I just watch, and wait, as Gabe goes tense against me.
He doesn’t remove his hand from my knickers, however. I guess it’s a better mark of ownership, if it remains where it is. A badge of his good work and dedication – what a good boy he is!
Not like Andy. Nasty, spying, gorgeous Andy. Who’s getting closer by the second, to get a better look at what we’re doing.
‘Do you think she enjoyed that, mate?’ he asks, and I have to yank back my protective instincts – protective instincts I didn’t even know I had – on a leash.
But Gabe answers anyway, before I have to say anything.
‘Yes,’ he says, simply. It makes me want to pump my fist in the air for him.
Lord, this is all going horribly, horribly wrong.
‘I bet she did. I bet she did. You’re her little puppy dog, I’ll bet, jumping for a treat when she says jump.’
I hate Andy. I don’t know why I’m not telling him to get out.
‘No,’ Gabe says, but he doesn’t sound sure. There’s only so much effort you can pack into monosyllables, after all.
Andy raises an eyebrow. I think – fuck – I think he’s got an erection, and it looks almost as good as Gabe’s does, in those tight jeans. I guess tweed or otherwise – it doesn’t really matter. It’s still a fat thick cock, making perfect triangular shapes in material.
‘Really?’ he says, and then he’s close enough to touch my face. It seems incestuous, somehow, while Gabe and I are still attached like this.
‘She’s such a sexy bitch, though. I’d obey her.’
You liar, I think, but I still don’t say. It could be that I want to see how this all plays out. Just a suspicion. And maybe more than a suspicion when Gabe says, sudden and through gritted teeth, ‘That’s not what I saw.’
And oh my heart goes pitty-pat, pitty-pat.
‘Yeah? What did you see, mate? Did you see me getting a little rough? Getting her to do what I wanted?’ He shrugs. ‘Maybe she needs a little of that, sometimes. After all – looks like she’s left you kind of high and dry.’
That is an outrageous accusation. If true.
‘But then I guess you’re not the sort of bloke who likes to order someone around. Am I right?’
Gabe doesn’t answer him. I don’t think the obvious intense arousal he’s labouring under is really helping him articulate. He seems trapped between confusion and suspicious anger.
‘But it’s real easy, I promise. Look, you just get her all worked up – and hey, you’ve already done t
hat! Then you rub your groin, like there’s something pretty hot in there.’
I almost laugh. Is he serious? He’s got exactly zero chance of getting Gabriel to consciously do something so lascivious. He might as well ask Uwe Boll to make a good movie.
And I’m right, because he comes close to throwing an amused smile Andy’s way. I like his smile. It says: you’re a Neanderthal – which I suppose is true. But it’s also true that when Gabe starts to shake his head, Andy says, ‘No? OK – I’ll do it for you, mate. No worries.’
And then he puts his hand over Gabe’s erection.
I’m so stunned, I almost stop to check we haven’t flipped into an alternate dimension. I almost stop Andy myself, and I definitely expect Gabe to push him away. As passive as he sometimes appears to be, he doesn’t seem the type to accept a man’s hand on his groin – seriously, his sexuality is confused and shame-filled enough as it is. Another brick on top of the sandcastle and he’s going to end up underground.
Only he does take it. His cheeks burn a brilliant red and he shuts his eyes, briefly, but he doesn’t move an inch. He neither pushes away, nor pushes towards. He doesn’t even flinch, when Andy whispers in his ear, ‘So now she’s seen what you’ve got, you tell her you’re going to give it to her. Right? Tell her you want her on her knees, your cock in her mouth.’
I’ve no idea what to think of Andy, at this point. I mean, he doesn’t seem gay. Or bisexual, even. And what’s even weirder – none of this seems either gay, or bisexual. Andy is just a cocky fuck and Gabe … well. Apparently Gabe will be into anything you order him to be into.
I think. I’m not sure. Someone explain it to me.
‘Go on. What are you waiting for? She’s primed. She’s just waiting to swallow your cock … unless you want her to have a go at me, first?’
Whatever this is, Andy is very good at it. Gabe blurts out a no before he’s even got to the word first. Not only that, but I think he’s been reading my secret Big Book of Horny Fantasies, because I’m sure I’ve imagined something very like this, before.
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