by Noel Amos
She pressed his tool to her lips and, looking up at him and laughing, flicked her tongue out, the tiny tip seeking the eye of his glans.
'Good Lord!' he cried, then, 'My God!' and 'Oh Christ, Lucia!' as half his big tool disappeared between her lips, distorting her pretty face, and her jaw worked and the earrings tinkled and her fingers jacked his shaft up and down in a rattle of bracelets and then he convulsed, shooting every drop of his long-stored-up and disregarded jism down her adorable throat.
She kept his cock in her mouth as he slowly became soft while he stroked her lustrous midnight-black hair and thought that that was the best fifty thousand lira he had ever spent.
Chapter 18
Lucian had thought hard about his first editorial session with Caroline. It was important to establish a new order in their relationship - this time round he was determined to hold the whip hand. Maybe literally.
'Lucian, darling,' cried Caroline as he opened the front door, kissing him on both cheeks in a cloud of Intime.
'You're five minutes late,' he said. 'This is meant to be a professional arrangement, Caroline, I trust you're going to take it seriously.'
She raised a pencil-thin eyebrow and preceded him up the staircase without comment, her provocative bottom swaying beneath his nose as they ascended.
'I hope your Australian tart is not lurking around somewhere,' she said loudly as she entered the flat. 'If she is, I'm not staying. You can buy me dinner at that Italian place on the corner.'
As it happens, Caroline, Ms Pilgrim is not at home this evening. And, as a fellow author on the Blue Desire list, I suggest you treat her with the respect she deserves.'
'Are you all right, Lucian?' Caroline's milky-blue eyes registered - possibly - concern. 'You're sounding just a teensy bit uptight.' She placed a small hand on his shoulder, warming his skin through the cotton of his shirt. 'I can understand you being a bit nervous, darling, but don't worry. This is just a working relationship. I promise I won't muck you about.'
Lucian said nothing, pushing open the door to the living room and ushering her ahead of him.
Caroline dropped her briefcase on the sofa and was in the act of removing her jacket when she froze.
'What's the?' She was staring at the coffee table on which stood a bottle of wine, two glasses, a document bearing the letterhead of The Whimsical Press, an artist's sketchpad and a large pink object.
'A rather good Chablis and a signed copy of your contract,' said Lucian. 'And some props.'
'Props!' she spat the word out with scorn. 'That's a dildo!'
Lucian opened the wine.
Her eyes were fierce narrow slits as she bristled with outrage. 'How simply revolting! I suppose it belongs to that Pilgrim woman.'
'As a matter of fact, I made an embarrassing foray into Soho and bought it especially for our session this evening.'
'What! You mean it's something to do with me?'
'Of course. You've got one in your book, don't you remember? Obviously you are familiar with how they work.'
'I've had enough.' She grabbed her briefcase. 'You can speak to me about the book over the phone, Lucian. I'm not putting up with your smutty little games.'
'Aren't you forgetting something?' Lucian took a slip of paper from his shirt pocket and unfolded it.
'My cheque,' she said and held out her hand. 'Give it to me, Lucian.'
He grinned and replaced the paper in his pocket. 'Not until you comply with the terms of our agreement.'
'What do you mean?'
'It says in the contract that we will pay you in instalments provided you follow the firm's editorial guidance. That means, darling Caro, that you do what I say. Walk out now and I tear up this cheque. Our deal's off.'
Caroline stared at him, gimlet-eyed. But beneath the hostility Lucian could detect something else - uncertainty maybe. She was used to walking all over Lucian and this was a new experience for her.
She put down the briefcase. 'What do you want me to do?'
Lucian smiled and said, 'Take off your clothes, Contessa Strepponi.'
'What!'
'I can tell from the sneer on your beautiful face that you fear contamination from the unpretentious nature of my humble home. Take off your expensive designer gown so it will not spoil.'
She stood completely still, her face blank, as if in shock.
'I wrote that,' she said.
'You certainly did. Let's see if you really meant it. Remove your gown.'
'But…' She made a rather forlorn gesture with one hand. 'I'm not wearing a gown. Is this really necessary, Lucian? I'll feel silly.'
'Remove it at once, Marietta, or I shall rip it from your exquisitely beautiful back.'
As if in a trance her hand went to her bodice and she pushed the first button into the eye of the buttonhole. Then she slowly unfastened the front of her blouse. 'I'll never forgive you for this, Lucian,' she said, but her voice was small and lacked conviction.
'My name is Bruno, Marietta. I am an artist and you are my model - remember?' And he took the blouse from her and tossed it onto a chair as she stepped out of her skirt.
With trembling hands she peeled her tights down her rounded thighs to stand before him wearing only a pink lacework brassiere and matching knickers embroidered with little roses. Lucian's cock twitched in his pants. It was as if he had never seen Caroline in underwear before. It was incredibly exciting.
'And the rest,' he commanded.
'No,' she cried, holding an arm over her chest and a hand over her crotch to shield her pubic bulge, just as she had described in her book. There was no doubt now that she was going to play along.
'How else am I going to paint you if not naked?' he roared on cue and watched in triumph as she unhooked her bra and dropped it on the sofa. Then she slipped her hands into her panties and pulled them down her legs, her pear-shaped breasts dangling as she bent forward. Lucian fought the urge to reach out and cup them in his hands. That would break the spell, he was sure.
He savoured the sight of her nudity. Had those breasts grown a little fuller since he had last smothered them in adoring kisses? He could not remember her nipples being so long and swollen, nor her areolae so pink, nor her belly so prettily curved.
'Turn round,' he barked, aware he was departing from the script but eager to see her bottom. She turned without a murmur.
It was still the arse of his dreams, two full teardrops of flesh flowing outwards from her narrow waist like twin petals on a perfect tulip, the skin smooth and flawless, except when - smack! smack! - a firm hand was laid across her buttocks, setting the pert rounds in pink and quivering motion.
'Ow!' cried Caroline and Lucian thought his impulsive gesture had broken the spell. This was not part of her scenario. Maybe he had overstepped the mark.
And then she said, in a small whimpering voice, 'Please, Bruno, not again!' and he laughed out loud. 'Bruno' indeed! His victory was complete. All he had to do now was make the most of it.
'Sit on the sofa,' he ordered, 'and spread those pretty legs.' She did as she was told, opening her thighs in an inviting vee.
'Touch yourself,' he commanded and she didn't even bother to protest but ran her hands over her body. Her left hand tweaked her nipples, moving back and forth, until the ridged pegs of flesh stood up like scarlet thumbs. Her right hand roved across her belly, down her thighs, weaving round and round in a circular pattern, closing in on the bull's-eye of her sex.
Lucian was sitting opposite her, drinking in the sight of a woman on erotic autopilot. Though he had picked up pad and pencil it seemed an unnecessary piece of play-acting - Caroline had no need of external aids to her performance.'
The hair between Caroline's legs was a vertical blonde stripe, that concealed nothing. As she lolled back on the cushion her pubis was thrust into exaggerated prominence, revealing every sugar-pink fold of her delicious crack, from the shy hood of her clitoris down to the pouting divide of her bulging rear cheeks.
Her fingers
had reached the in-rolled lips of her exposed pussy and they fluttered up and down the inviting slit, hardly brushing the flesh. Then, as if she had teased herself enough and could resist no longer, she pressed two fingers into the light fuzz at the top of her split. She worked them down and round, building a steady rhythm, bearing down on the flesh around her clit.
Lucian was fascinated. He had once asked Caroline to masturbate for him and her response had been withering. She had claimed to be revolted by the notion and said that self-gratification was utterly foreign to her nature. Lucian had been sufficiently cowed to believe her but now, as he watched the familiarity with which she handled herself, he recognised it for the hypocrisy it was. She was so bloody good at it she was coming already.
'Oh crumbs,' she moaned, her fingers plucking at her nipples, her head bowed as she watched her other hand busy in her wide-open crotch. 'Oh gosh, oh crikey, oh...'
Lucian had always found it endearing that, in expressing erotic pleasure, Caroline's vocabulary reverted to the sixth form. He knew for sure that she was really worked up.
She pumped her hips, lifting her loins off the sofa, both hands busy between her legs. 'Oh my, oh my!' she muttered, pushing two fingers deep inside the pink velvet crease of her quim. Then her eyes locked on Lucian's.
'Give it to me,' she said.
He grinned. He knew just what she wanted.
'Ask me nicely,' he replied. That's what Bruno said to Marietta at this point.
'Give me the dildo - please!'
It was a monster, twelve inches long, the biggest they'd had in the shop. Caroline took it all, inch by inch, carefully easing it up her tight but insatiable pussy. And when it was deep inside, she gave him quite a show, tweaking her clit till it stood up blood red, stuffing the big machine deep into her vagina and corkscrewing a finger into her anus as she pushed herself over the edge. By the time she had finished she had shagged herself to delirium and back - much like her creation, Marietta Strepponi.
Finally she flung the phallus across the room and lay panting on the sofa. Only her ragged breathing broke the silence. 'Fuck me now please, Lucian,' she said at last.
'No, Caroline.'
'For God's sake, I need a real cock in me. Please.'
'Sorry. That's not how you wrote it. Bruno doesn't fuck Marietta in that scene.'
She gave a cry somewhere between a curse and a sob and, grabbing her clothes, rushed from the room. Lucian heard the sound of running water from the bathroom and two minutes later she reappeared. She looked as composed as she had when she arrived but her mouth was set in a thin line. She picked up her briefcase.
'Have you got any more copy for me?' he asked.
'I did have,' she snarled, snatching the cheque that Lucian held out to her, 'but in the light of this... meeting, I'm going to revise it.'
'Really?'
'Yes!' she hissed. 'Though I hate to say it, you sly manipulative bastard, you've given me some bloody good ideas.'
'See you next week then,' said Lucian as the front door closed behind her.
He quickly dialled Marilyn Savage's number and sighed relief when she answered on the second ring. Negotiations for The Novelist's Wife were still ongoing. It would be appropriate to donate the crippling hard-on in his trousers to the cause.
Chapter 19
Her current situation was a puzzle to Felicity. She couldn't explain it to herself. How could she, a respectable wife and mother secretary of the Spawnshire Infants Trust, relief counsellor for Parents Under Stress and treasurer of the St Marchmont's Operatic Society, be doing this?
Because she was on holiday.
Because the kids were out of the way and her husband was conveniently laid up.
Because, at bottom, she was a shameless slut.
And because - oh yes - because it felt good!
Of course the Irishman with his tongue in her vagina was also to blame. Admittedly she'd had Henry the tennis coach before allowing Brendan any liberties but it had been different with Henry. He'd been in awe of her and she'd bestowed on him the gift of her body as if he were yet another of her Good Works. That was not the case with Brendan. With his tousle-haired charm and what-the-hell attitude he could probably have had taken his pick from the week's entire roster of female guests. And when he'd kissed her after their first-round tennis victory, his toffee-brown eyes twinkling into hers, his fingers slyly squeezing the flesh of her hip, the boot of generosity had been on the other foot.
And now she was in bed with both Brendan and Henry, their impatient hands sharing her bountiful body, their mouths gorging on her most sensitive openings, their firm young cocks pressing against her flesh. God, she was loving every minute of it.
In a way it was a relief that things had gone this far. After the first, encounter with Henry she had suffered pangs of conscience. These had been counterbalanced not only by the little hussies flitting around Percy but the sudden remembrance of how important good sex was. In the hurly-burly of child-rearing and wage-earning, Felicity and Percy had allowed that side of their lives to fade and die. In any case, it was difficult to feel romantic about a middle-aged man whose nightly presence in your bed was merely a snoring, farting impediment to a deserved night's sleep. To be frank, Felicity had come to the conclusion she could live without sex.
But the feel of Henry's beautiful cock inside her had changed all that. Suddenly it had become desperately important to her happiness that she had sex again. And, even if she could only enjoy it for the length of this holiday, she was going to pander to her long-neglected sexuality. For the rest of the fortnight she was determined to get laid - lots.
So when Brendan had given her a smacker on the lips on the tennis court, she'd slipped her tongue into his mouth in a flash. They'd rushed straight back to her room in the knowledge that Percy wouldn't be disturbing them and had spent a torrid hour testing the bed springs.
Today, prudence prevailing, Felicity had gone ahead to the room on her own, and Brendan had joined her a few minutes later under the shower. Later, in bed and on the verge of her second orgasm of the afternoon, Felicity had thought she'd heard the door open. And when she opened her eyes, her pleasure temporarily sated, she'd seen Henry standing by the bed, his tall bronzed body stark-naked, his long white penis jutting from the pale triangle of his loins.
There were many things she could have said, 'Get out' being the most obvious. But for these few days Felicity Carmichael was functioning by different rules. She'd already crossed her Rubicon and now all she could see ahead of her was a unique opportunity for erotic indulgence. So what she actually said as she opened her arms to the new arrival was, 'You planned this, didn't you? You naughty boys.'
By now they'd both had her and she'd come three or four times herself so all immediate desires had been assuaged. She sprawled on her back, big breasts lolling and thighs spread, basking in the admiration of the men on either side of her.
Henry was stroking a large creamy breast, rubbing the engorged nipple with his thumb until it stood up like a brazil nut. His eyes were on Brendan who raised the knee nearest him, exposing Felicity's groin. He slipped his fingers into the damp bush of hair and gently traced the roll of her labia. Her belly quivered at his touch. The two boys had worked her up to a plateau of sensual response and she was aching to go higher. What would they want of her next? she wondered. The anticipation was thrilling. Henry's hand joined Brendan's between her legs, pulling her legs open further then resting on the plump and silky flesh of her inner thigh, the tip of his thumb just a whisper from her yearning clit.
'Let's do something together,' she heard herself murmur and her hands closed on their cocks, both satisfyingly stiff and eager.
'What did you have in mind?' said Brendan, pushing a finger inside her. It made a rude sticky sound as he lazily moved it in and out.
'I don't know. I've never... there must be something.'
'If there's anything in particular you'd like, just tell us. Henry and I aim to please, don't we?'
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'You bet,' said Henry and his thumb pressed into her for an instant sending a current of lust flickering through her veins.
'Oh God,' she groaned. 'I can't... I don't... please, just take me. Both of you. Now, please.'
Brendan laughed, a wicked sound that fuelled Felicity's excitement, and removed his fingers from her pussy. 'Come here, my darling,' he whispered and pulled her on her side into his arms.
It was intoxicating to be embraced by him, his long muscular body holding her tight, the barrel of his cock pressing into groove of her pubis. As they kissed she was aware that Henry left the bed and she heard his bare feet on the tiled floor.
Brendan put his hand on her leg, pulling her thigh over his hip, nudging the end of his tool into her impatient crack.
'Well now, look at that,' he said and she did so, gazing past the foot of the bed at the dressing-table. Felicity could see now what Henry had been up to. He had adjusted the mirror so it reflected the activities on the bed.
Felicity gasped at the sight. Viewed from this angle she could see every detail of her exposed crotch - the curves of her legs and thighs, the tangled bush of belly hair, the wide-open cleft of her pussy and the jut of her swollen buttocks.
'My God, I look vast!' she cried.'
'And beautiful,' murmured Brendan. 'You're a Venus of perfect proportions - isn't she, Henry?'
'Oh yes,' he agreed, cuddling up behind her.
'There's certainly enough of me to go round,' she said and giggled. The sight in the mirror was compelling, obscene but incredibly arousing. She watched herself trace a finger the length of Brendan's fat pink sausage of a cock. It too looked huge from this angle. She wondered what it would look like sliding into her pussy and shivered with excitement, for she was about to find out.
Brendan spread juice from her quim onto the head of his tool and lodged it in her slit. He deliberately held it there for a moment, so they could all savour the sight of the purple glans nuzzling between her long pink labia. Then he pushed and the end disappeared inside her.