by Jane Nin
“Whatever, just do it, and fast,” said Brynjar, and quickly the orderly left. “More tit,” he said to me, and I got down from the bed and offered him my breast again, which he contentedly clamped down on, humming slightly as he suckled.
I looked up at Jack. This was the first game when I’d been able to see him. His face was inscrutable, neither approving nor disapproving. What I could deduce was that Brynjar’s was by no means the only hard cock in this small room.
I lifted my eyes to Jack’s, gave him a sly smile. He smiled back nearly imperceptibly.
Then the orderly was back, with slings. Using a footstool he climbed to attach them to the ceiling, working directly over the bed. I saw that he, too, had an erection—quite obvious through in his loose cotton scrubs.
“Suck his cock,” said Brynjar suddenly.
“I—”
“Ceiba, you don’t mind having your dick in this girl’s mouth while you do that, do you?”
“Sir, I…”
“Didn’t sound like a ‘no’ to me. Go on, then.”
I looked to Jack. He tilted his head and raised his shoulder a little and I knew he was telling me I didn’t have to do it if I didn’t want to. But I admit, I was certainly more interested to see this scenario play out with another body besides mine in motion.
So I stood, and I undid the tie on Ceiba’s pants, and pulled them down, and pulled his boxers down, revealing his big, hard cock and his black, black skin, his muscular thighs and buttocks. Leaning forward, I took his cock in my mouth.
Ceiba moaned, and for a second I was afraid he’d lose his balance. But then he steadied himself, and resumed his work attaching the slings to the slender cables that fastened to the ceiling track.
His dick was hot and dry and smooth in my mouth, the head popped in and out of my lips as I moved back and forth upon him. After the initial moan, not a sound escaped his throat. But I could see his thigh muscles tensing, and my hands, on his buttocks, felt them clench.
“Ready,” said Ceiba suddenly, and I thought he meant he was going to come but actually he meant he’d rigged up the traction to hold me.
“Let him go.”
I did. Ceiba wasted no time hiking his scrubs up and making himself decent again.
“Put her in it,” said Brynjar now. Ceiba gestured to me to take hold of a trapeze-type bar—this was all designed for physical therapy, I realized—and instructed me to hold on tight. Then he looked to Jack—could he help?
Jack came to the bed and stood on my opposite side. On count of three, they each lifted me and made quick work of securing my calves in two slings that hung independently of each other. My body was bent into a V. Already I felt my arms straining.
Jack stepped away again. Ceiba climbed up and moved the anchors of the cables so that I was closer and closer to Brynjar’s face. Then he widened the space between the two lines holding my legs, spreading me open. He fluffed an extra pillow and placed it behind Brynjar’s head. I could feel his hot breath on the sensitive skin of my wet, displayed parts.
“Look at you,” he said, “all wet to be licked by a cripple.”
Brynjar made his tongue soft and flat and licked me long and slow, starting nearly at my asshole and running lazily up to my clit. I felt like an ice cream cone. He did it again and I moaned. I tightened the muscles in my arms, trying to hold myself steady.
Then he made his tongue hard and narrow and began fucking me with it, pushing it as deep into my vagina as he could, then drawing it out. It felt good, but I needed more—I needed to be filled. I groaned and pressed myself into his face as best I could, trying to let him know I needed—wanted—a proper fucking.
This only made him withdraw his tongue and stop. “Not so fast,” he said. “Ceiba, can you spread her ass apart for me.”
Ceiba stepped over and took each of my buttocks in his hands—I let loose a pleasured little giggle at his touch—and then gently spread them open, and Brynjar began to tickle my asshole with his tongue. Everything he did to the little rosebud of my ass only made the urgent need building in my pussy that much stronger. I got wetter and wetter, which naturally Brynjar could see. Meanwhile my arms were continuing to tire.
“Ceiba, are you able to do that with one hand?”
Ceiba switched positions so that only one of his beautiful strong hands was spreading my buttocks apart for Brynjar’s teasing tongue.
“Give her clit a rub for me,” said Brynjar now, and Ceiba hesitated for just a fraction of a second, then obeyed, and I cried out.
“Oh, good,” said Brynjar. “Ceiba, keep going. Just little circles, right there.”
Ceiba continued to circle the pad of a broad finger around my clit. Between that intensity and the delightful, ticklish waves from my asshole I couldn’t stop the cries that were pouring out of me now, they came constantly, rhythmically, almost like I was sobbing like a baby. Hazily I recalled Brynjar’s promise about the nurses on this floor.
I wasn’t even sure I could come, the sensation was just so—sharp, is maybe the word, or if I were an instrument, as if the sound coming out of me would be high and hard. All I could do was hang on to the trapeze, and let these animal moans fill the air in the room as these three men watched or attended to me with complete attention, all three of them perfectly silent.
Then the sensation changed and I thought: it’s coming. And I didn’t choose to do it but my cries changed with it, now announcing the same thing to the polished walls and my three attendants and anyone else in earshot, which was presumably everybody.
Brynjar knew what the change meant, too, though, and he stopped. “Okay, pull her down,” he said, and again Jack stepped forward to help get one of my legs out of the slings. They set me down standing and immediately my feet were full of pins and needles and my arms felt weak and limp, no longer having to hold me up.
“Now,” said Brynjar, “now you can ride my cock. Ceiba.”
Ceiba untucked the covers from the foot of the bed and tidily folded them back, exposing Brynjar’s skinny legs and the hem of his hospital gown. The he carefully, respectfully lifted that, too, and Brynjar’s erect cock was exposed to the air.
Unsteadily I climbed onto the bed and knelt, straddling him. I took him in my hands first. He was hot and hard, and now it was his turn to make a loud, animal moan.
“Jack,” I said, and he knew what I meant, and approached and handed me a condom.
Brynjar stared fixedly at me as I unwrapped it and rolled it down over his penis. As I raised myself into position, he spoke.
“Please,” he said, “please come for me. I want to feel you come with me inside you.”
I lowered my hips, burying him in me, and I gasped. He cried out, too, and I realized he couldn’t possibly last long.
“Ceiba, help her,” said Brynjar, perhaps realizing the same, and Ceiba stepped uncertainly closer. “Touch her,” said Brynjar.
Ceiba stood to the side and behind me, and first I felt his hand squeezing one of my breasts and gently plucking at the nipple, and then his other hand slipped between my legs to again begin its tight, delicious circles around my clit. I lifted and lowered myself on Brynjar’s cock, slowly at first, then faster. He kept groaning and now once again so did I, as instantly I felt my orgasm resuming its crescendo.
“Yes,” said Brynjar, terribly excited, already very near his own climax, “yes, go, go now.”
It was not difficult for me to comply. My orgasm ripped through me like some blazing sweet arrow, swift and hard and sharp, and Brynjar shouted as my pussy rhythmically contracted around him, holding him tight and fast as he also came.
I kept him inside me until he was completely soft, the occasional aftershock leaping through me to tighten down on him again, which would make him whimper. Then I carefully climbed down.
“Ceiba, if you want a go at her you should take it,” said Brynjar.
I looked at Ceiba, still very erect in his scrubs, his hand sticky with my juices. He looked at my body, avoidin
g my eyes. I had sensed that he was a bit uncomfortable with everything that was transpiring in this room, and now I was sure of it.
“Thank you, but no,” he said. “I am engaged to be married.”
“Oh, no,” I said, feeling bad then for having sucked his cock without his proper consent. The idea was for me to be the object—not to accidentally objectify someone else.
“It’s alright,” said Ceiba, “you didn’t know.” And then, to Brynjar and Jack, “I must get back to work now.”
Bundling some linens in his arms to hide his erection, he politely ducked out of the room.
“Jack, I hope you understand I’m going to be expecting a surprise like this every day for the rest of my life,” said Brynjar, not seeming to linger for even a moment on Ceiba’s disclosure.
“In that, you are sure to be disappointed,” replied Jack, and I sensed a faint hardness in his voice, and felt glad to know he was also troubled. He then gave me a nod and I slipped away to the little bathroom and pulled back on my clothes. The pair said their goodbyes while I was dressing, and when I opened the door again Jack was standing there, silently pointing for me to simply leave the room.
I stood in the hallway for a few moments, all around me everyone going about their business while trying not to stare at me. I blushed deeply, thinking of how I’d screamed. Then Jack appeared beside me and even though they could all still see me, I somehow felt sheltered by his presence.
“Let’s go,” he said, and we headed back down the hallway toward the elevators.
As we waited, Ceiba once again passed, this time wheeling a cart of linens and bedpans and other such things. I didn’t expect him to, but he met my eyes, nodded, smiled. I sensed he was telling me not to worry. It was a tremendous relief.
Then the elevator came and we stepped onto it and the doors whooshed closed behind us.
We rode in silence for several minutes, each of us staring out our respective window. Then Jack took my hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking.”
“I wasn’t, either,” I said, “but I think it’s okay—I mean, I think that guy will probably be fine, don’t you?”
“Probably. But it’s the principle of the thing. Everyone else—nobody has been unsuspecting. Everyone else was given the chance to decline. I shouldn’t have…” He shook his head gravely, and I saw that he was not only feeling bad about what happened, but that he was accustomed to having thought of everything. He was a perfectionist. “Well, it doesn’t matter now, but anyway, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said. I hoped it was. Moreover, I was touched by both his sensitivity and his high standards. He’d made a mistake, and ironically, that only impressed me. He was human, yes. In the best possible way.
“Maybe we should take a little break,” he said, and I startled.
I didn’t even think it through before it came out of my mouth. “Don’t make me go home,” I said tremulously, fearing my brave, unknown new life was being whisked away before I could even step out into it.
“Oh,” he said, “no, I didn’t mean that. Just from the game. I had a next scenario in mind, but now I want to make doubly sure everyone’s vetted.”
He squeezed my hand reassuringly. I lifted our joined hands to my mouth and kissed his knuckles, the joints of his fingers, the edge of his palm. I closed my eyes and just kept his hand there, pressed to my lips.
“Sylvie,” he said, “do you want to stop?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Yes. No.” I knew now I was falling for Jack. And yet—I was curious. “What’s the next scenario?”
“I was thinking a fancy soiree of some kind—you know, intimate and pervy.”
I laughed at “pervy”—it was nice to hear him joke. Everything we’d been through so far had felt so deadly serious. And yet it was sex, which meant at the same time it really wasn’t.
“A party sounds fun,” I said.
“What about you?” he asked, “Any fantasies I’m neglecting?”
“Not really,” I said, “you seem to have a sort of sixth sense for what I like.” I thought for a moment. “I suppose I’ve never been with a virgin.”
“Not all it’s cracked up to be,” he said, “but we can surely put it on the list.”
“Okay,” I laughed again.
15.
Jack decided we should depart Iceland immediately. I deduced that between the rig accident and the error at the hospital, he wanted to get his distance on things that were troubling him—and certainly I had no objection. He had the driver take us right back to the airport where only a few hours before I’d arrived.
“Where should we go?” he said.
“What—you mean, anywhere?”
“We should probably keep in striking distance of England,” he said. “That’s where we’ll need to be next.” (For his “plan,” I imagined.)
So I looked at the timetables, then chose Málaga. I’d always liked the word. I’d never just bought a plane ticket to anywhere at the counter on a whim, and so I stood in a sort of delighted disbelief as Jack did exactly that.
And so it was that we took a long plane ride and a long taxi drive and were delivered many hours later via a narrow alley to a small, old hotel. I could smell the ocean but the night was moonless and I could see nothing of our surroundings. By then I was deliriously tired—so much so that I didn’t even have energy to protest when I saw he was booking us separate rooms. And the next morning I woke and stepped out of my bedroom onto a small stone patio. Below was a cliff tumbling down to the azure blue of the Mediterranean, and as the sun warmed the ground the resinous smell of wild anise rose and mingled with the other smells: rock, ocean, salt.
When I thought that the day before I’d been in Iceland and the day before that in France and that not a week ago I’d been at my boring old job down in Houston I felt a little dizzy at the speed with which everything could change.
“Not bad, eh?” appeared Jack’s voice just behind me. Our rooms, it seemed, were adjacent—the patio was shared. I went to him and embraced him, and he took one hand and lifted my chin and kissed me softly, briefly, on the lips. “Shall we order breakfast?”
An old woman brought us trays of coffee and crusty bread and butter and cured meats, which I devoured hungrily, suddenly realizing it had been a very long time since my last proper meal. Jack sipped his coffee and looked out at the ocean, contemplative.
It was the romantic cliché, except for that chaste kiss, our virginally separate beds. Suddenly my old co-worker’s words materialized again in my mind: they want a virgin, or they want a whore, and most of us are in between.
I frowned a little at the memory.
“Is there something we should talk about?” said Jack.
“What?” I said. I certainly didn’t want to ruin this beautiful morning with paranoia, or the dating complaints of some woman I half-knew.
“Your situation,” he said. “Career-wise.”
“Oh,” I said. I didn’t particularly want to think about it. “I’ll just have to find something else,” I said, shrugging. “I might move first, though. I don’t know where.”
“That seems a little cart before the horse, don’t you think?”
“I’ve never loved Houston.”
“No, I mean—Sylvie, you’re smart. You should be doing work you love.”
“Is there such a thing?”
“I’m sure there could be. What would you like to do?”
I laughed a little harshly, some moroseness creeping into my manner. “Jack,” I said, “I’m 33. That’s a little old for What Color Is Your Parachute, don’t you think?”
“Don’t shrug this off,” he said, “I’m asking in earnest. If you could do anything in the world. What would you want it to be?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “Teach bungee jumping? Fly planes?”
For the first time, he spoke to me with annoyance in his voice. “Why are you being so flippant about this? Stop resisting the ques
tion.”
I paused, tried to actually think. The real interesting jobs, it seemed to me, required actual expertise. Skills. Education. Years of practical training.
“The trouble is, anything actually fun would involve my having to go back to school,” I said.
“For…?”
“Say, veterinary medicine.”
“You want to be a vet?” he said, surprised but seemingly impressed.
“I wouldn’t have said that,” I said. “I’d have to re-do my bachelor’s—I studied English, which doesn’t exactly tell you much about how a cat works.”