With a smirk, Madame patted her hand and said, ‘There was no other choice. Have you ever encountered a man with an intuitive sense of what women want?’
Dianne couldn’t help but laugh, though her experience with men was limited. ‘Do you see many female patrons?’
‘Oh, heavens yes!’ Madame squeezed her hand. ‘More women than men some days.’
Could Madame possibly have realised what a relief that information represented? Perhaps she was psychic too. The thought made Dianne strangely nervous, and she stumbled over her words. ‘That’s good to know. I only hear about men coming to these harems.’
Madame nodded. ‘Yes, because there’s an extensive history of men consulting ladies of the evening. Historically, men have been taught to know what they want and take it. Women, throughout the ages, have learnt to give and give until we are nothing but hollow shells. Nobody has ever granted us permission to lie back and receive pleasure. We don’t even know how to ask! When I invite the women who walk through these doors to tell me what they want, how do they respond? ‘Oh, I don’t know. Whatever. Doesn’t matter.’ And, in partnerships, that’s precisely how they are treated – like their deep-seated desires don’t matter.’ Setting aging fingers across Dianne’s forearm, Madame gazed deeply into her soul. She felt utterly naked. ‘That’s the difference you’ll find here, my darling. The girls know precisely what you want. Even if you can’t name your desires, they see every inclination embedded deep in your mind, and they act upon your impulses. They give you everything you never knew you wanted. How does that sound?’
‘Wonderful.’ Even her mouth salivated. ‘Can we start right away?’
‘Of course, my pet.’ Madame squeezed her arm with surprisingly strong fingers. ‘Payment upfront.’
Dianne undressed in a changing room with art on the walls and fresh flowers on the lowboy table. Madame had assured her the space was secure, and she could feel free to leave her belongings there, safe and out of harm’s way. Naked, she pinched her nipples until they drew into pleasant little buds. She wanted to look her best for the girls.
Wrapping a wide pashmina around her womanly hips, Dianne took a deep breath and stepped into the harem room. Reams of velvet ran the length of the floor. Bolts of the lush fabric bled from the ceiling and down the walls. The elegant furnishings were precisely what she’d anticipated, but she was surprised by the women’s diversity. Somehow she knew there’d be an Indian girl with flowing black hair playing the sitar – maybe she’d heard the music from the lobby, or maybe her unconscious was simply clinging to antiquated images of harems in Orientalist paintings. Her skin tingled. A half-naked girl with olive skin and shimmering curls came to her left side, and a curvy black woman took her from the right. Both wrapped their arms around her waist, and she immediately wanted more touch, more fingers, more love.
‘You’re Dianne,’ said the olive woman. ‘It’s lovely to meet you. My name is Francesca, and this is Georgette.’
Georgette offered a brief bow. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come here today. I hope you’ll come again and again.’ With an impish smirk, Georgette escorted her on a brief perambulation about the harem quarters. ‘We are all here for you. We wish only for your pleasure. In the corner with the sitar, we have Shahira, and the beautiful woman reading to Nixie is our resident bookworm, Farrah.’ Georgette leant in so close Dianne could feel every warm word breathed in her ear. ‘Nixie is blind, but watch out – she can see inside your soul.’
‘Oh.’ Dianne gulped as she observed the quaintly affectionate pair. Farrah wore glasses and nothing else. Nixie was clad in a pashmina like Dianne’s, but tied just above her small breasts. She laid her cropped amber hair in Farrah’s naked lap and listened to Maupassant’s Une Vie read in impeccable French.
As if in response to Dianne’s fond gaze, Nixie sat up and stared at her with blank blue eyes. Farrah stopped reading. Clutching her hand to her heart, Nixie said, ‘I’m sorry about Jane. What a shame, after all those years.’
Dianne’s throat closed up. If she’d attempted more than a nod, she would have wept, and she’d cried enough tears over that scheming harridan. She glanced at the other girls lounging on cushions around the room, one toying with the bauble swaying between her big breasts, one painting her toenails red, and one scribbling Venn diagrams into a notebook, but she did not receive any introduction to these three.
There was a velvet chaise in the middle of the room, and Francesca eased Dianne into it, stroking her hair and kissing her temple. ‘You want to know somebody cares for you.’ Francesca’s smile filled Dianne’s heavy heart. ‘We all care.’
‘It’s true,’ Nixie said, positioning herself like a sprite emerging from the shimmering depths of a blue pond.
Georgette sat at the edge of the chaise and nuzzled Dianne’s shoulder. The warmth from Georgette’s feminine form soothed Dianne’s body and mind, and she felt an oncoming sense of peace. ‘You want to tell us about her,’ Georgette said, wrapping her soft hands around Dianne’s belly.
It was true, absolutely. No matter how many times she told her story, compulsion drove her to tell it again. ‘Jane wanted to go back to school. She wanted to earn her PhD.’
‘I have one of those,’ the ginger girl with the Venn diagrams chimed. Her smile faded when the rest of the harem stared her down. Bowing her head and snickering, she said, ‘Sorry.’
‘She returned to a life of academics,’ Dianne went on. ‘Academic subjects and academic people. Meanwhile, I worked. I worked overtime to support us, pay our rent, pay for her fees and books. In June, she finally completed her studies. And then she split.’ Dianne felt at once weak and angry describing the wretched end to a six-year relationship. ‘She left me a Dear John saying she’d fallen in love with another grad student and they were eloping and she knew I’d understand. Well, who does she think she is? No, I don’t bloody well understand. How could she use me like that? How dare she?’
Georgette hugged Dianne so tight her large breasts pressed against Dianne’s back. ‘I’m sorry, babe. We all are. We’re going to make you feel better.’
When the other girls crept forward, she knew she’d leave here feeling better. Georgette smoothed two hands around Dianne’s waiting breasts and pressed them together while Francesca ran loving fingers through her hair. Little Farrah, with tawny hair to her knees, slipped like a sylph into Dianne’s lap. That pixie body barely brushed her flesh. Her eyelids fluttered as Farrah planted kisses soft as butterfly wings over her lips. As Georgette’s hands sculpted her breasts, Farrah’s peaked nipples swept across her chest. She returned Farrah’s kiss with perhaps greater ferocity than the girl anticipated, and Nixie snuck up to her side and stroked her thigh.
The combined sensations of fingers on flesh, lips on lips, hands on tits, and tongue on tongue, drove Dianne’s arousal into the sunny realm of ineptitude. She could do nothing more than absorb pleasure. The girls – the beautiful, charming and sympathetic girls – toyed with her body and her desires. What could she do but enjoy?
Dianne felt as though she were falling into clouds when she set her back against Georgette’s pillowy frame. Farrah tumbled forward on top of her, laughing as they kissed lips in birdlike pecks. Shahira sang softly, enticing an enchanting melody from the sitar while Francesca traced her fingertips across Dianne’s cheeks and neck. It was true, what Madame had said – they recognised what she wanted and they gave it to her. And was there any seduction more entrancing than a serenade?
The girls to whom she hadn’t been introduced sauntered over while Nixie pushed Farrah out of the way and opened Dianne’s legs wide. As Nixie planted tender kisses across Dianne’s thighs, the ginger genius took a finger in her mouth and sucked it. Dianne’s body went from tingles to trembles. Pre-orgasmic shudders coursed through her and she writhed on top of, beneath, and beside the mass of beautiful women caressing her flesh.
Though Dianne couldn’t see beyond Farrah’s precious kisses, she could feel two sets of hands taking her two
feet between them. When those resourceful women kissed her arches and took her toes in their mouths, her body bucked like a wild beast. Poor Farrah would have gone flying if Georgette hadn’t released Dianne’s breasts and held on to the pixie girl instead. For a moment, Dianne missed Georgette’s sensual grasp – and then Farrah’s nubile tits met her own and she was intoxicated all over again.
The girls at her feet were relentless. They took her toes in their mouths one, two, three at a time, running their tongues between, over and beneath. Dianne had never known a sensation so immediately fulfilling. Her body developed a mind of its own, jumping and rising as much as Georgette would allow. The tongues on her toes brought tears to her eyes. Her feet tried to escape, but the girls at the base of the chaise held her ankles tight and kept at them. Their saliva was wetter even than her convulsing pussy, and their mouths were hot as hell. When they sucked, Dianne felt like the disciple whose feet were washed in oil. She didn’t deserve this much pleasure.
‘Of course you do,’ Nixie said, opening Dianne’s sarong. ‘You deserve everything and more.’
Before Nixie came anywhere near her pussy lips, Dianne writhed like mad. She lost control, and Georgette had to restrain her as she squealed and screamed, whipping her head side to side. She felt consumed by the women with their mouths around her toes. They’d brought her to the brink of orgasm and thrown her over the edge. The faster she fell, the higher she felt, until she couldn’t bear any more pleasure. ‘Stop,’ she cried. ‘It’s too good. Enough, please.’
The girls let her toes fall from their mouths, and for a moment time stood still. All sensation ceased, except the constant sucking on her finger. When Farrah raised her head away from Dianne’s and cast a worshipful gaze, Dianne’s heart filled with warmth. It was emotion rather than passion that drove her forward.
‘Thank you,’ she said into the sparkling eyes at her feet.
Farrah slid away from Dianne’s lap, but she didn’t go far. Standing beside the chaise, she bent at the hips and licked a meandering path across Dianne’s breasts. The sensation was so wildly arousing, she tossed her head back against Georgette. ‘See, Dianne?’ Georgette cooed. ‘Didn’t I say we’d take care of you? All we want is for you to be happy.’
‘It’s working,’ she assured the mass of women. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this good.’
But Nixie made her feel even better. Scuttling between her legs, she pressed her lips to Dianne’s wet slit and everything changed. The sensation of that lovely woman’s mouth against her full and ready pussy lips made her feel at peace with life and connected to everyone in the room. Of course, she was in some way connected to them all – to the girls at her feet and the one sucking her fingers, to Farrah nibbling on her nipples and Georgette cushioning her from behind.
As Nixie moved her tongue slowly up and down Dianne’s slit, Dianne looked up into Francesca’s hazel eyes. This woman was gorgeous. She wore a sarong secured like a halter at the back of her neck, but she must have recognised the thoughts swimming through Dianne’s mind, because she reached back and untied the knot. In one swift motion, the green fabric fell to the floor. Francesca grasped her olive breasts and pressed them together until their dark nipples almost met in the middle. They were perfect, round and perky, and her skin shone like it had been slathered in oil.
As Nixie’s face moved faster between her legs, Dianne salivated for Francesca’s breasts. She didn’t have to wait long for Francesca to lower a tit to her mouth and drag its hard nipple back and forth across her lips. Dianne licked that dark bud, trying with each pass to trap it between her lips. When Nixie sucked her clit inside a warm, wet mouth, Dianne gasped at the intensity of sensation. Francesca took the opportunity to push her tit in Dianne’s mouth, and as soon as it was there she seemed to feel the PhD’s sucking intensify on her finger and Nixie’s on her clit. She held her hand still, but writhed under Nixie’s generous attack. She couldn’t help herself – the harder Nixie sucked on her clit, the harder Dianne sucked Francesca’s nipple. When she moved her hips in slow circles, Nixie launched a further assault, growling as she tore into Dianne’s pussy like a beast. She gnawed and sucked and licked and raged. Dianne couldn’t help assailing Francesca’s tit with the same vigour. She must have bitten down just a tad too hard, because Francesca squealed and stole her tits away. Prancing to the other side of the chaise, she replicated Farrah’s pose there.
Without warning, the PhD was at her mouth, kissing her with a desperate sort of passion. Dianne closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure whose legs her wet fingers had fallen between, but they found a pussy and they rewarded it. When Farrah whimpered, she knew whose slit she’d found her way inside. She should have known by its tightness. As she fingerfucked the girl, Nixie moved away from her clit. Kissing Dianne’s belly, she thrust long fingers deep inside. Georgette grabbed her hips and helped them buck back against Nixie’s wildly thrusting fingers.
Dianne no longer had any control over her body – the women controlled it for her. They sucked it and reamed it and thrust it and fondled it. As Georgette forced her to buck harder against Nixie’s fingers, the wave of orgasm knocked her mind off its feet. She screamed and shrieked and squealed and cried while the harem ravaged her body. They feasted on her. Even with her eyes closed, she could see them from above, pulsing, writhing, eating, sucking.
When she cried out one last time, the girls all seemed to know she couldn’t handle any more. Georgette cleared them off, but they settled to the floor like loyal pets. As Dianne lay back against Georgette’s consoling body, Nixie rested her head on Dianne’s stomach, and the other girls cuddled in at her sides.
It must have been well over an hour later that Dianne awoke. Panic followed the peace that had followed the pleasure. How much would her slumber cost her?
‘Nothing,’ Nixie said without moving her head. ‘We like you. We had no other appointments, so Madame let us keep you.’
‘Oh.’ Dianne smiled like a mother cat with her sleeping litter. ‘Thank you,’ she said to Nixie. ‘You were all just wonderful. I never believed you’d know what I wanted before I did, but it’s true. It’s all true.’
Francesca petted her arm, but it was Georgette who said, ‘We just love to give. We want to give you everything.’
‘You did,’ Dianne assured them. ‘You asked about my life and you listened to my story, you comforted and consoled me, gave me confidence and reassurance, and topped it all with two full orgasms.’ She greeted the generous harem with her warmest smile. ‘You’ve given me everything I’ve ever wanted.’
Hinged
by Angela Caperton
‘Lost the key? What do you mean, you’ve lost the key?’ A moment of real panic flashed through Veronica, though she had to fight back a fit of giggles at the sheer goofiness of her situation. Here she was, along with Gardner Peterson and Stewart Dirks, three-fifths of the Brenford College history department, in the back room of a sagging building a few blocks from the Laketown boardwalk, except Gardner and Stew weren’t chained to the wall.
And neither one of the guys was wearing a chastity belt.
She rattled the chains and tested the limits of her movement. She might be able to scratch her hip if she struggled and stood on her tiptoes.
Stew probed his pockets and then turned them inside out. ‘I don’t have it.’
‘Maybe Igor has a spare,’ Gardner offered. He laughed openly, the bastard.
‘He said he’d be back in ... what? An hour? Can you stand it that long, Ronnie?’
‘I think so. The chains chafe a little, and the damned belt itches. Can you two see if you can get it off me?’
‘Sure!’ Stew answered with enthusiasm and caught hold of the metal band that circled Veronica’s waist. The belt hugged her waist over her shorts, though both men had tried to convince her to lose them so she’d look like she was nude under the ancient device when they took the pictures. ‘In your dreams, boys,’ she’d answered with a grin.
No
way, she thought, and she was glad now, the idea of the old caretaker – the one Gardner dubbed Igor – returning to find her in a thong was seriously unappealing. Stew fiddled with the belt and Veronica fought the chains, trying to reach the band to help him. He pulled hard at the latch where the belt fastened.
‘Ouch!’ she cried. ‘That hurts!’
‘Wow, Ronnie,’ Stew said, his voice broken with suppressed laughter. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s not budging. Your shorts are caught in the hinge. The goddamned belt is stuck.’
They’d taken the trip together, the first weekend of summer break, from Brenford to Laketown, an urban fieldtrip, Stew called it. Veronica admired his passion for mid-century culture, and because Gardner’s uncle had owned an old concession just off the bad end of the Laketown boardwalk – shuttered since the 80s – the trip seemed a perfect launch to the summer. Laketown had a handful of historic buildings from the Civil War – Gardner’s area of expertise – and a museum of Native American artefacts. And, of course the little resort town had Shelley’s Lake and three good restaurants, all of which weighed into Veronica’s consent to the trip, even though there was nothing professionally appealing there for a teacher of Medieval and Renaissance history.
That, and she liked both Stew and Gardner well enough to have hooked up with each of them her first year at Brenford. None of them had any illusions about relationships, and all things considered, that fit perfectly into Ronnie’s life plan. Problem was, she could almost imagine herself falling in love with either one of them, and the risks of doing that before any of them had tenure were too high. At this point, it might end up with one of them employed and the other one moving on. She’d partied discretely with each of them a few times since, but she would never let either of them go too far, even when she really wanted to.
Ronnie pegged the trip as a kind of test, but she readily dismissed serious thoughts in favour of celebration. At the end of the spring semester, they had all been granted tenure after five years of educating the minds of the future. The fact that all of them were tenured was more than enough reason to celebrate, and Ronnie was ready for anything. Anything, she told herself, wondering exactly what that meant.
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