by Selena Kitt, Marie Shore, Alex Anders, Terry Towers, Aphrodite Hunt
It was time to take a break.
It was still too early for the fog to lift when Isabel jolted awake from a dream. Oh my God, she thought, I’m going to miss my flight! Fact was, she didn’t even know what time her flight was and whether or not she had already missed it.
Truth be told, right here and now she no longer cared. The fog obscured any notion of time other than it was clearly light out and must have been morning. After last night’s folly, it might well have been afternoon. Isabel found the borrowed silk robe on the floor next and her clothes neatly arranged on a chair on the other side of the room.
Jack did a good job ridding the house of telltale wine and grappa bottles by the time the house phone rang. She considered who he was talking to. Was it her? The trophy wife? A mistress? A business call? So, who was this guy, anyway? she wondered.
It really didn’t matter, she concluded. It was carpe diem time.
“Coffee?” Jack asked.
“I could use some,” Isabel said.
“Starbucks or regular?”
“Starbucks. Shouldn’t we be at the airport already?” she asked, feigning responsibility.
“Technically, yes.”
“Do you have any idea when our flight leaves?”
“In a few hours, unless you want to take a later flight.”
“Are we leaving now?” Isabel asked.
“That all depends on if you’re a good girl or not,” Jack teased.
“What? What do you mean?” Isabel asked.
“I’ll get you on that flight, but you need to do something for me.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll show you.”
Jack grabbed Isabel firmly by the wrist and led her to his office. He took the wrist he was holding and handcuffed it to the top of his chin-up bar and then the other. Naked, Isabel shivered as fog turned to drizzle and drizzle to rain. Clouds had become darkly ominous and Isabel wasn’t sure she liked this new game, that is until Jack pulled out a small cat-o-nine tails whip with which he traced the contours of her body.
Isabel’s nipples were hard as rocks. Her skin crawled with goose bumps. She shivered. He knew the whip would hurt more on a cold body. The thought of this hastened his erection, which, by now was visible, new jeans notwithstanding. He looked a little older today, Isabel thought. Jack was her first older man, at least older than her twenty-seven year old husband.
His first whip strokes were mild. They didn’t even leave a mark. He walked around her body, randomly swatting her buttocks with the whip, then her thighs, her back, her breasts. The strokes got stronger and his erection got even harder. Isabel couldn’t help but become aroused as he varied lashes with caresses followed with hand spanks, all the while taking breaks to pinch, bite and pull her hair and tits.
There it was, the swelling. Jack could smell it before he reached down to feel the warmth of her engorged vulva. This little kitten was a live-wire. He would have stopped at a few lash strokes and jacked off on her lovely young body, but this was going to have to last him a while. He gagged her, part for visual effect, part to keep her yelps somewhat muffled, as he took the whip to her buttocks hard.
Isabel could not speak. She sobbed softly, but, it was evident the pleasure outweighed her pain. Her nipples stayed at full attention and when Jack crammed his fingers up her pussy, it was sopping wet. By now, he knew the path to her soft spot and massaged it ferociously. Her body shook.
Jack dropped his pants.
“Grab onto the bar,” he ordered.
Isabel complied.
“Don’t let go or I’ll really let you have it.”
She nodded.
“Spread your legs,” he commanded and she complied.
Jack grabbed on to Isabel’s thighs and buttocks, pulling her onto his cock again and again until he came. It ran down her legs when he let them go.
“Now lick this up.”
Isabel, feeling used, licked his cock and balls of the residual cum. She wanted to leave, or rather, she had to leave. She had a honeymoon waiting and long, beautiful Luca to get to know better. But something inside of her didn’t want to go. She wanted to feel the full wrath of 4C’s sexual fury and see where it would take her. Her secret desire was the Paris flight be delayed.
“Get dressed,” he ordered when she was done. “We’re leaving.”
Isabel showered, checked her body for marks, of which there were many. Everything hurt. Her wrists hurt and were red from where the handcuffs had been. Her ass throbbed from last night’s butt fuck and she smelled like sex and more sex despite emptying half a bottle of lavender body wash. She scrubbed last night’s cum out of her hair and brushed and brushed her teeth to get rid of the old alcohol smell. Good thing the flight was twelve hours.
Hopefully it would run late or take longer to get there, she thought.
She needed the time to digest all of this. What would she do when Luca met her at the airport and Jack was around? How could she see him again, that is, if he wanted to see her? Not that she and Luca were totally exclusive, yet, but still there was the start of a relationship, or was there? There was way too much for her to digest hung-over, especially while throbbing from the best sex of her life.
Isabel got back into yesterday’s clothes. Jack kept his promise of Starbucks.
“Let me guess, Skinny Vanilla Latte?”
Isabel nodded. She would have nodded to anything he said right about then, but this was her coffee poison of choice.
Jack drove Isabel to the departure curb.
“This is where you get off,” he said.
Now isn’t that the truth, Isabel thought, imagining 4C would also initiate her into the Mile High Club and who knows what else.
“But what about you, aren’t you going? Don’t you have an assignment in Paris?” she asked.
“Yeah. That’s next month,” Jack said. “Don’t forget your bag.” He pulled it out of his trunk, extended the carry bar for her and hoisted it to the curb without much ceremony.
“See you ‘round, kiddo. Have a good . . . honeymoon,” Jack said, before he drove off.
Isabel’s heart sunk as he drove away and she didn’t know why. Thinking about it made her boarding fly by. Buckled into her seat, the same flight attendant nodded to Isabel.
“Rough night?” she asked.
How could she have known? Was it written on her face? Were there marks showing anywhere on her? What would Luca say?
“Not used to sleeping in a strange bed,” Isabel said.
“I bet,” the flight attendant answered with a brief smile.
After the flight attendants got everyone settled. Isabel heard – or thought she heard – the flight attendant mention Jack’s name and tell him that the “eagle had landed and was on its way to Paris.” Was it a set-up? Who was this woman? Was she part of a game? I must be imagining, Isabel thought as she closed her eyes and slept most of the way to Paris.
Her dreams were all of being manhandled by a man with silver streaks in his hair. The symbolism was even obvious to her dream-self. And in each dream she ended it bowing her head to the magnificent man like he was a prince. That couldn’t be right, could it? 4C first class couldn’t be a prince, could he?
As she thought about it, more conscious than asleep, she realized there was something regal about him that made him mysterious; and the power emanating from him when he took control of her, made her need to know who he was. Dreaming of his whip and cock again, she now regretted letting him go so quickly without even his last name. Feeling the last of the dreams fade away, she held onto his Adonis body wanting him to snatch her back doing dirty things to her. He didn’t.
She woke up to her hand gently caressing the delicate folds between her legs. Quickly turning to the man next to her she appreciated when he didn’t – or pretended – not to notice.
Good, almost there, she thought immediately ticking off the next steps on her check list: Land. Baggage. Customs. Luca. But first, it was time to put on some make-up,
do a body check and think of a good explanation for the marks. Her secret wish was that a little hint remained, the origin of which only she would know, with the rest to be explained away, if asked.
The wrists were easy; hauling her heavy suitcase and carry-on. Her over inflated genitalia; easy, excitement. What she couldn’t see in the tiny airplane mirror were the tracks left by the cat-o-nine tails.
Luca was at the airport early. He commanded the space as he walked toward the custom’s exit. Surely, everyone assumed he was an artist, a rock star or some famed someone. His strut said it. His faded jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket said it. Women’s hopes faded as he carried a small bouquet for Isabel.
Isabel darted for Luca who passionately kissed her, reaching his hand underneath her travel blouse. Her skin was hot. He liked that. She smelled musky. He wanted her.
“We lost a day, so our train is tonight,” Luca said.
“I don’t care. We can go right now, as far as I’m concerned,” Isabel said.
In a corner before they reached the car, Luca grabbed Isabel’s breasts under her blouse, squeezing, teasing and pinching them as he kissed her. Isabel thrust her pelvic area as close to his cock as she could and ground and ground and ground, bringing herself to climax. In the car, Luca unzipped his fly and Isabel went down on him until he exploded into her mouth. She chugged back a first swallow, followed by a second.
Where did all that come from? she wondered before considering if Jack was also in the throes of fucking someone else.
Luca drove to Gare du Nord and parked the car, texting the slot number to someone. Isabel didn’t pay much attention to anything but Luca, now in control of their destiny and their trip to Rome to get this wedding thing done. She wondered how many women, if any, he had had during her trip home. It didn’t really matter. They mattered even less after last night.
The train left the station and Luca and Isabel waded through students, non-documented workers, gypsies and carts full of sandwiches sold by bored old women. Luca handed one such woman a twenty euro note for a bottle of wine and two plastic glasses. She opened it quickly and handed it back to him.
“Change?” she asked. He shook his head no.
Lights flickered on and off in the tiny room. Luca poured them both a glass of wine as the cabin swayed to the rhythm of the tracks. Luca filled out a small card – a makeshift room service system – on the TGV for dinner, later. Much later. There was plenty to talk about, but right now was not the moment.
Luca downed his wine as quickly as Isabel, refilling their glasses immediately. They were naked, in bed instantly, with the bottle of wine with them.
Luca alternated between licking and biting Isabel’s nipples. He knew she liked this. Her favorite was when he clenched her nipple in a firm bite and flicked it up and down and back and forth with his tongue. Usually, it took Isabel only a few minutes to come this way. Tonight was no exception.
Once Isabel’s second orgasm of the day was established, Luca had to have his in his favorite way. Isabel knew the drill. She was to lie across his knees and wait for the first slap. It was the easiest, but tonight her cheeks were raw from the pummeling by the man in 4C. She knew she couldn’t ask Luca to spank her more lightly, though. Luca liked the blows hard and the greater her tolerance, the more powerful his erection. She had to rely on the fact she had built up resistance to spanking over their two months affair. If she did, she knew Luca would reward her greatly for it later.
Luca loved to rub and massage her butt before he hit it. Tonight, as he massaged he noticed tiny little welts and cuts, or so he thought. The notion of someone other than him dispensing punishment to Isabel excited him more. He wanted to know about how she got the marks, but didn’t want to ask. Not yet. For now, he was going to enjoy the ride. He had nine hours of sheer pleasure ahead of him and it had already started.
Luca loved to watch Isabel masturbate. She had never done this in front of anyone until she met him. Since then, she had developed quite a little addiction pleasuring herself. But he didn’t want this yet. He wanted to test Isabel. He had to see if her pain tolerance had increased, so, tonight he was going to up the ante. Part of their game included blindfolding her and sometimes tying her into different positions and fucking her in all of her orifices between spanking and whipping her with a small wooden baton which signaled the culmination of that phase and the release was next. But not tonight.
Isabel felt her vulva expand as Luca tapped it with the baton. He had never struck it hard before, but now, between thunderclaps on her thighs, buttocks and tits, Luca administered a new punishment – the baton on her vulva. The first stroke hurt and then compensated by pulsating and getting hotter. A few more hits and Luca eased the pain with his tongue across the length of her vulva.
That close to her thighs, the passing lights from the next train stop fully illuminated the tiny cuts on her thighs. There was no mistake. This turf had been some other man’s land. It all made sense now. This is why Isabel had kept postponing coming to Paris.
Fueled with a tinge of jealousy and the fantasy of how Isabel brought her new wounds to him, he asked, “do you like this pain, Isabel . . . do you need more?”
“Yes,” she whispered quietly.
She wanted all of Luca’s passion, pain and something more. Something she hadn’t yet felt with Luca. The nausea of jetlag hit her as the momentary claustrophobia of that little room. She really did want more, but of what, she didn’t know. She sat up for a moment and took in her surroundings. Luca was beautiful. Lean. Long. Just enough hair on his chest to make him manly. So, why was she thinking of Jack?
The atmosphere in the room changed.
“Drink,” Luca ordered.
Isabel willingly chugged wine from the bottle. She didn’t know what was next. She had never seen Luca this agitated before. Nothing was said. It was as if his cue to get up and wash his face in the tiny couchette bathroom was her sitting at the edge of the bed. Jack was her first real womanly affair, outside of Luca, and she reasoned it was behind her. He never took her number. She never got his. What they experienced might never be the same if they got too well acquainted anyway, she told herself. It was time to take that gritty orgasmic fuel and turn it on Luca.
“Isabel. Come here,” Luca commanded. He had set the shower water on icy cold. “Get in and don’t get out until I give you permission.”
Isabel complied. The icy water pelted her skin like hail. In less than a minute her body temperature dropped and she was shaking as the water covered her body. Luca drank his wine, watching her wince from the cold as he stroked himself. He drank more wine, smoked a cigarette and thought about her other man and that in the end, it really didn’t matter. He got what he wanted, a ticket back to the Land of Opportunity, a gorgeous young wife he could show off to his friends, someone who would play his favorite sex games with him, and someone who gave him great orgasms. Luca motioned for Isabel to come to him.
“Turn off the water and lay on the ground. Don’t speak,” Luca said.
Afraid, yet excited, she closed her eyes. She did as he said.
“Get on your knees and look away from me,” he barked.
He pulled the belt out of his jeans that hung on a peg next to the door. Isabel recognized the sound of the belt being removed from his pants. It had become a welcome sound. Even now, knees aching from the metal floor, she longed for the sound of the crack when he flailed her buttocks.
The floor of the bathroom train vibrated violently as they went over a patch of rough tracks. We must be past the Alps and into Italy, she imagined. When would he strike? He had never made her wait. Now, it seemed surprise was part of the game. She rested her breasts and elbows on the ice cold floor with her ass in the air, as Luca loved. He simply watched her in that position, drinking more wine and letting her feel the humiliation of being cold, wet and hostage.
“Punish me,” Isabel said, “I’ve been a bad, bad girl.”
“Don’t speak,” Luca barked.
> As if on cue, the train server knocked on the door announcing their dinner. An attractive woman brought in the tray of steaming food, champagne and grappa. He told her to put the tray in the bathroom. She gasped when she saw Isabel on the floor, naked in that position. She stared at Luca’s hostage for just a few seconds, then left.
Luca handed her a one-hundred euro note on her way out. She smiled devilishly at him. This was France, after all.
“Touch yourself,” he said.
Isabel nodded.
Luca ate while Isabel fondled herself. Only Isabel knew she was reliving every moment from the chance encounter with Jack through their dinner; the drive to the houseboat and every millisecond of pain and pleasure he administered. Luca watched as Isabel groped for her own G-spot and brought herself to her first post-shower orgasm. She pulled her own hair. She squeezed her nipples to the point of excruciating pain and slapped her own vulva before she lavishly fingered her clit time and time again. Luca did not tell her stop. When she took a break between orgasms to caress her own body, Luca snapped the belt across her thighs.
“Continue,” he ordered.
When Isabel’s orgasms became fewer in frequency and she was visibly exhausted, he put her plate of food on the floor and ordered her to eat. He did not give her utensils, only a plate. He pulled her hair back and told her to open her mouth and poured wine into her. His game was just beginning.
Luca pulled out his cock and began to masturbate furiously. Once his cock was fully erect he shoved it into Isabel’s pussy for a couple of good strokes. Then, he took a green banana from the fruit tray and teased Isabel’s butt with it until he was fucking her in both holes. When he tired of pushing the banana in and pulling it out of her ass, he tossed it in the trash. He pulled Isabel’s hair and dragged her to the sink where he ordered her to lean over it and spread her ass cheeks.