Sin Delicious

by Willow Sears

  I fully expect the evening to degenerate into a catfight, since Sindee isn’t always subtle about letting others know she has them in her sights. However, despite all the drinking and partying, she instead produces pretty much the benchmark performance for not arousing suspicion. At no time do I believe that alarm bells might be sounding in Mrs Casanove’s head. This leads me to one conclusion: Sindee is as hot for Cas as he is for her, and is clear-headed enough about her desires to not let anything mess up any chance she might have with him. She doesn’t fawn or stare long enough at him to get caught. She doesn’t laugh too loudly at anything he says or does. She smiles sweetly at the wife and makes zero effort to demean her in any way. She clearly possesses an astute awareness of how best to unleash her considerable powers of allure. It is the first sign that she most definitely has sexy plans afoot concerning Mr Cas Casanove.

  As for the wife, she is actually rather less subtle. She makes eyes at me throughout the journey. In fact, she makes breasts at me too, ever leaning towards me in that loose vest top so that I get a view straight down it. She is good-looking for sure, but perhaps in a way that is just a little too plastic to get me going. Her body looks enviable under clothes but naked she will be surgically bolstered up top by at least two sizes too many and she has such zero backside that I’m surprised those tight, black, wet-look leggings of hers don’t just fall straight down. She clearly has the hots for me though, which is sexy in its own right.

  She talks like a country singer would, which I find rather captivating. She says things like “Ah ricken” but has so far stopped short of going the whole hog by exclaiming “Ah do dee-clayer!” I thought she was just putting it on when I first heard her speak, but if that’s the case she has been putting it on consistently since she arrived on tour. She has a nice bright smile but you can tell there are jealousies there just bubbling to break out. And she’s a bit dim, ah ricken. It might be just playing up to the dumb topless model stereotype but she doesn’t ever demonstrate much depth or humour.

  That might be the key. There is a reason I don’t baulk at her continued attentions and I think it might be because I’m not scared of her. I mean that in an emotional sense. She’s nice looking in a certain way but not one that flips my belly. Apart from her accent there is nothing about her that could cause me any yearning. She doesn’t possess that dizzying something like Sindee has and Elowen had before her: a special unknown ingredient which leaves me all head-spun and pulled inside out. I could bed her and walk away essentially unscathed. Her lips look soft to kiss. Her breasts are no doubt fun if a tad pneumatic. I’m sure she has a delightful downstairs to tenderly explore – she’s shown it to the world so she must be reasonably proud of it. I could share my pleasure with her, then simply smile, smack her on her non-existent tush and send her on her way. No problems, no heartache.

  Ah, but my psychological safety system is already buzzing its alarm. It says: if she doesn’t make you truly sizzle then what is the point? If it’s some pleasure you are after then why not take yourself and some nice sexy thoughts behind a closed door for a spot of DIY – that’s what fingers are for, surely? Save yourself the less fun side of the unflattering morning light. Save yourself the disappointment of seeing her with a false eyelash moulded to her cheek and hair that brings to mind a stork’s nest that has seen a ghost. If you loved her then these things would be instantly endearing, but if you don’t then they stay as unwanted memories potentially as resonant as anything you did the night before.

  When you see her again, if you don’t get that all-shook-up feeling then it will count against you. It was just a bit of meaningless fun, you can tell yourself, but here is the clincher: it did mean something. It meant that you were willing to share your most private self. All those secrets and intimacies that you thought only the most special would ever get to know, you just gave them away. It means this girl was as much to you as Elowen was, since you can’t share any more of yourself than everything. It would demean the relationship I thought so untouchable. She would have had more of me than I can risk giving Sindee, for fear of falling in love. What would my current best friend feel if she found out? How could I explain to Sindee that I constantly resist her because she is easily capable of burning my heart, and thus I was only able to sleep with this Playboy model because she meant so much less to me? I mean, what kind of fucked-up logic is that?

  That’s what my alarm bells tell me. Every person you bed has to count, because every next time chips away at the specialness you had with other people. I don’t want someone to look at me and think I fucked her. I want them to feel the same fizzle inside that I feel when I see them each time. And I don’t actually even know Mrs Casanove’s first name, primarily because her husband always calls her ‘honey’. At one point that night, when Mrs wasn’t leaning across her husband to give me a view down her vest top, I surreptitiously asked Cas to enlighten me on the name front.

  “It’s Honey,” he said, looking a little confused. Silly me – I should have guessed the obvious. Everyone round here has a made-up name to hide behind. It means they can forget being themselves. At our journey’s end, and me thinking all excitement now over, Mrs Honey Casanove gave me one final little aside.

  “You’ve got an ass fit for spanking,” she told me. Now, I don’t know whether this was a common phrase from where she comes from – some kind of generalisation like ‘a good nose for stabbing geese’ – but I know my butt took her literally. I could feel the skin there shrinking but sort of glowing too, even below my tight jeans. Can one’s bottom actually display dreadful anticipation? That’s the only way I can describe it: like a lesser version of that weird shiver-fizzle your skin has when you have a flu-like fever, that almost hurts you, that is very mildly nauseating – and yet it is still a tingle, even after all, and tingles are always good.

  Elowen did something like this to me one time we made love, towards the end. She didn’t announce it. She merely laid me across her lap and gave me two very light and playful smacks. I thought I would get more and she would get serious about it but instead she put her fingers inside me. It remains one of my abiding memories, difficult to get out of my head sometimes. Honey Casanove’s words brought that memory hurtling back, along with thoughts of those elaborated scenarios I have since envisaged. When Sindee remarked that she thought I had an admirer in Honey, I told her what had been said to me.

  “And you like the idea of being spanked by a Playboy model, do you?” my friend smiled, archly.

  “Lord no!” I replied, perhaps a little too quickly to be convincing. “She’s not my type at all!”

  “Really pretty with big tits isn’t your type?”

  I was colouring up because my compliment-fishing, teasing friend knew she was in the same mould and wanted me to backtrack so that I confessed my desires for her. She liked to put me on the back foot.

  “Yeah, well, maybe I like a little more substance in a person,” I said.

  “Substance, schmubstance. Do you know how many thousands around the world would kill for a single minute of dirty fun with her? She’s putting herself on a plate and you want to knock her back because she doesn’t make you laugh?”

  “I need more than just big tits and a pretty face – you know me well enough to know that.”

  “I know something else about you too now,” Sindee said, her smile receding to give an arch look.

  “And what is that?” I asked, looking defiant but worried I’d let my guard down in some way.

  “It might not be specifically her you want doing it, but I notice you haven’t actually denied that you like the idea of having your bum spanked. I’m going to have to remember that,” she said.

  The gig was better than good tonight. Sindee was in fine form, filled with energy after her trip on the Thunderhed bus. Cas was pretty energetic too – they definitely do something for each other, that’s for sure. I’ve ended up in Sindee’s uncommonly swanky quarters, both of us dressed in unsexy cotton pyjamas, doing the rathe
r unglamorous chore of washing latex costumes. You’d think rock stars had limitless budgets to buy anew each time, or at least have servants to perform such washing tasks, but it seems we have to muddle through the same as anyone else. Many was the band that forged its way with a distinctive look fashioned from thrift store cast-offs customised by scissors and a needle and thread. One of Sindee’s costumes even got a rip in it once. We had to patch it up as you would a bicycle inner tube. At least all my garments are made from chlorinated latex, which spares us having to talc the insides and lube ourselves from head to toe every time we put them on.

  There is a knock at the door. I suspect one of our bandmates wants us to make up the numbers during more all-night revelry. I open up to reveal the unknown possible porn star from the tour bus. She is in high-heels and lacy lingerie and wears a red sash diagonally across her body like a beauty pageant contestant, except hers has a bow in it, to suggest she is a gift. Tied to the sash is a tag bearing Sindee’s name but no mention of the sender, as if we couldn’t guess. In one hand she holds one of the wrapped cucumbers given to my friend on the bus earlier. My Dutch isn’t brilliant but I don’t think I’ll need a translator to explain what is about to transpire.

  My nerves are instantly brought alive – ‘sex jitters’, as I privately call them. She takes her knowing smile right past me, not waiting for an invitation to enter. She zones in on the birthday girl, now standing in the bedroom. Sindee has nothing like my reservations. She sports a matching saucy grin and looks her gift up and down with a predator’s eye. These two are sexual pros. It’s right that I’m pushed to the sidelines, perched upon a low couch on the wall opposite the double bed, merely there to capture the action.

  “Now who sent you, I wonder?” says Sindee, running the backs of her fingers down the girl’s arms. A giggle comes as a non-committal response. She has her back to me, this newcomer. I have my camera poised. I’m already feeling the heart rush and they haven’t even started. Sindee leans forward and kisses her. I am almost willing my friend to instantly devour this girl. I want those fingers with their purple painted nails to be immediately dragging the thin material away from this girl’s behind, grasping and digging into the pale flesh. I want it gratuitous – perhaps because I think it’s the kind of treat two girls familiar with the adult film industry should be giving each other, but more likely because it’s the sensual stuff that really makes my head spin and the less of that they do, the more relieved I will be that I am only watching.

  The girl has a fine, pert behind. Countless hours may well have been spent getting it to this perfect state. Now Sindee won’t even honour it by giving it a squeeze. It’s making my pussy ache. The girl might be a gift but she is not quite ready to capitulate just yet. She breaks the embrace, leading Sindee over to the couch to squash in beside me. We are going to get a show. The girl is already writhing a little, sliding her hands provocatively over her top half and then down over her belly, skimming over her crotch and the front of her thighs before heading back up again. Is this kind of thing easier done for strangers, I wonder, rather than in front of someone you know?

  She bends at the knee and sways at the hips. It is unhurried and teasing; certainly well practised. She isn’t fazed that there is no music to perform this lap-dance to. We are given a wink over her shoulder as she turns and wiggles all the way down to her haunches and reaches back to give her own behind a little smack. I can feel Sindee’s warmth against me. I can hear her breaths, deeper than normal but not as fast as my own. I can smell her sweet Loverdose perfume. I snatch a glance and see that she is still smiling, but her bottom lip is being bitten. It’s her I can’t wait to fuck you face.

  I imagine her pussy throbs like mine, already hot and slippy-wet. She doesn’t look my way, too engrossed for that. I’m nothing now that this dirty show is on. She is concentrating on where she knows she will get some action, and yet I doubt I could stop her if she made her move on me now, not with my pulse racing enough to distract my resistance and me so defenceless in these pyjama bottoms with their elasticated waist. The girl sheds her bra, one breast still partially hidden beneath the sash. Her nipples are tiny, pink and stiffly erect, much like my own. They are brought close enough to be sucked upon but Sindee restrains herself. She knows she too is part of this performance. The panties come down with that lovely little rump pushed out our way. The urge to bite it has the saliva pooling around my tongue.

  She looks so rude like this, all stuck out and open for us. These are levels of brashness that leave me trembling. With nothing on but her sash and high heels she saunters towards the bed, still regarding us over her shoulder. She sinks her bubble butt down onto the mattress and spreads her legs. I know from now on that sensuality is going to play second fiddle to lewdness. I hear Sindee’s acknowledgement of the same in her slow drawn-in breaths. The girl displays herself without scruple, her puss pink and already swollen from anticipation. She strokes it gently with one finger. I have to hold the camera in both hands to keep it steady. If Sindee chose to slide her hand down inside my pyjamas now I couldn’t be quick enough to stop her.

  The show continues at the same measured pace, despite this new level of gratuitousness. Finger tips rub in small, slow circles or explore downwards, just parting the lips. The teasing leaves Sindee unable to help herself. Her hips raise and her pyjama bottoms come off in one quick motion, leaving her naked from the waist down. She isn’t yet touching herself but her legs part wide, pushing against mine for room. I have a plain view of that little bump of hers, so soft and inviting. I should join them and pull my clothes down to expose myself, but this moment is for dirty girls only and I just can’t make myself act. Fingers are disappearing inside now, stirring around out of view and then slipping out all wet and glistening. Sindee sighs harder and her little shiver tells me she is copying the girl’s naughty actions.

  The fingers come out to be sucked clean and then the girl is reaching for the wrapped cucumber, earlier tossed onto the bed in readiness. She uses her teeth to tear at the paper. I don’t normally get too excited at the revealing of salad ingredients but right now my stomach is turning cartwheels. This lewdness shouldn’t be sexy, my head tells me, but my body is begging to differ. Perhaps it is because it is so far from anything I would be able to do in front of others. You can tell she is revelling in it, seeing the lust on Sindee’s face and my flushed cheeks, knowing what effect she is having upon us.

  Most compelling is when she gets down onto her knees at the foot of the bed, her back to us, the thick cucumber held upright between her heels. She eases her way down onto it and we get to see it disappear by fractions inside her, stretching her open, shining with her juices. She rides it slowly like this, with arms laid upon the bed for balance, delightedly keeping up her exhibition and grinning at my saucer eyes as she takes it deeper than I would have imagined possible. Sindee has her legs even wider, one foot now on the seat between my thighs as she shows the girl exactly how sexy she thinks this sight is. It is one of the least romantic gestures I can think of, sending this girl here to perform in this manner, but there can be no doubt that Cas has well and truly hit the mark with this birthday present.

  Our visitor brings an end to her solo efforts with a deft demo of how to do the box splits whilst naked on a bed, reclining on one’s elbows. She signals with one curling finger for Sindee to come to her and my friend needs no further prompting. Down on her knees she goes, so that now it is her more familiar bare backside my camera trains upon. I should find more revealing angles if I am to fulfil my duties properly here but I cannot get up, my legs too shaky and my eyes transfixed. The girl gasps and squeals as she is feasted upon. I don’t know if this vocalisation of her pleasure is genuine or just her porno instincts taking over, but I’m pretty sure that if Sindee was doing that to me right now I would be wailing too.

  The girl shifts back on the bed to give my friend room to climb on, then splays her legs in open invitation once more. Sindee gets between them, staying on h
er knees so that she can bring their bare pussies into contact and then slide her hips back and forth to ride her newest lover. Even though this girl is so self-confident, Sindee just cannot help but take control of proceedings. They buck and grind together with my friend holding the girl by one ankle, even sucking upon her toes a little – something I have not seen her do before. It sets off another hot current through my puss.

  I think my friend might make them both come like this but she has more willpower than that. Instead she un-scissors them and flips the girl onto her front.

  “I’m going to spank your bottom with my open palm,” she says. It almost has me dissolving. She has never said anything like this before. It is surely carefully picked to send the shivers right through me – and it has worked. I cannot wait for it to happen. I don’t know if the girl understands what’s coming to her but she smiles back at Sindee because sex pros like these know instinctively how to give each other maximum pleasure. The slaps draw me in. They have me shuffling on my knees towards the bed, looking as unlike a real photographer as can be. I press the shutter button every time Sindee’s hand lands, but I don’t once restrict my view by actually looking through the camera lens. The girl’s bottom turns pinker but stays thrust upwards, lasciviously begging for more. Sindee does it slow, drawing out the expectation and desire. Each smack sends more tingling heat through my sex. It is almost like she is doing it to drive me mad.

  Before I am forced to capitulate and strip, the girl is flipped back over, her head now closest to me. Sindee climbs on, her little rump my way, so that if we were playing sexual bingo I could be crossing through the number 69 box right about now. I’ve done this – of course I have – but one thing strikes me now that I am seeing it up close. They have barely kissed, not mouth to mouth. It started with one wet, passionate one but I cannot remember another since. With Elowen we used to do it so much. Sometimes it was really all I needed because I wanted her so; just a little bumping together and lots of kissing. Would Sindee kiss me, I wonder, if I gave in and let her have her way?