Getting In (Amanda's Trilogy)
Page 4
“I’m ready.”
Jennifer turns to me. “Amanda?”
I lick my lips. My head is spinning. “Totally ready.”
Jennifer’s laugh this time is one of amusement. “Amanda is going to be a wonderful student.” She turns back to the girl. “Take off your robe.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath from Lisette. “Now? Aren’t we … already? Can I …?”
Jennifer lets out an exasperated sigh and roughly unties the girl’s robe, pushing it open despite Lisette’s fruitless attempts to remain clothed and protected. The robe slips over Lisette’s broad shoulders and down her arms, catching at her elbows, which she pushes tight against her body, leaving her standing before me looking a little ridiculous, half-dressed with house slippers still on her feet.
“Lisette, I’m warning you …” It’s a menacing warning.
Even though the girl is wearing a blindfold, I can see she’s about to cry. Her chin quivers, the skin across her decolletage has flushed, and she seems to be trying to curl into herself. But she lets the robe drop in a helpless puddle around her feet.
“So, Amanda, what do you think of our little Lisette here?” She emphasizes the word ‘little,’ which is kind of mean, given that Lisette, while not fat, isn’t what you’d call little.
I let my gaze travel all over her body, allowing impressions form in my mind before speaking. Lisette is someone my mother would euphemistically describe as “a solid girl.” She’s not short, but neither is she tall, and her limbs are more muscular than fat. Like I said, her shoulders are broad: swimmer’s shoulders. But the focal point—or points—on her figure are her breasts, which preclude any kind of Olympic career unless scientists can engineer a steel cage strong enough to hold them in. They’re the kind of breasts that inspire wet dreams in some guys—the creeps who ogle nursing mothers on park benches around the city—or disgust others who like their women sleek and fit and equate big boobs with “dumpy” and “sloppy.” On the plus side, Lisette’s enormous breasts are firm and high despite their size; her cherry blossom areolas flatter her fair complexion and take up little real estate considering the size of her tits. I get this crazy image of myself kissing them, sucking her little pink buds into my mouth, nipping them with my teeth, and then licking and kissing her soft, round mounds, hearing Lisette moan and cry out in response. I can tell her tits, every inch of them, are super sensitive.
“You might consider a breast reduction,” I say carefully, shifting in my seat from the sudden rush of moisture pooling in the crotch of my underwear. “You could wear some really cute fashions, fit into clothes better, with smaller ones.”
Jennifer leans forward to study Lisette’s boobs. “They’re unfortunate, yes.”
“But I like my breasts,” Lisette whines.
“We didn’t ask you what you think,” Jennifer says. “Please don’t speak unless instructed to.”
Lisette presses her lips together. Although I can’t see her whole face because of the blindfold, it’s easy enough to tell she’s a pretty girl … you might even say beautiful. Her skin glows, the kind of glow you get from eating well and sleeping eight hours a night. (Party girls have to get their glow from aestheticians.) Her chocolate-colored hair shines, and though it’s pulled up in a loose bun at her nape, I can see it’s long when unchecked, and naturally wavy. I’m close enough to spot a few freckles across her nose and cheeks, which make her look younger than she probably is. I also approve of her exceptional grooming: a discreet landing strip of dark pubic hair. Here, her body’s tendency toward fleshiness works, giving her labia a fullness and ripeness that’s eminently fuckable. If I were really into girls, I’d want to explore it myself.
Jennifer pushes Lisette to turn for me, much like she instructed me to do the first night we met. Now I can see that Lisette has a small waist—a bit of pooching below her belly button—and relatively slim hips with a round, firm ass. I wasn’t so far off on my swimmer’s body assessment.
“She’s … pretty,” I say. “Not bad.”
A smile blooms across Lisette’s face. Jennifer, however, doesn’t seem to approve of my assessment. She focuses her attention back to Lisette.
“Have you been eating like I told you? Staying away from the sweets? You’ve still got this.” Jennifer gently slaps the flesh on Lisette’s belly, much like my mom playfully swats my father’s.
“I’ve been working on it. Very hard,” she says. “Pilates at least twice a week, usually three times.”
“I don’t know.” Jennifer covers her mouth with her hand in that way people do when they’re considering something. “You’re not progressing as fast as I would like. You say you’re working hard, but then you come in here and disappoint. I’m really not convinced.”
What a bitch! Lisette lets out something that sounds like a sob, or maybe a hiccup. I grip the armrest of my chair and fight the urge to tell Jennifer to lay off, leave the girl alone. She’s fine. If you won’t fuck her, I will.
The thought jolts me. I’m totally getting sucked into this strange performance.
“Amanda?”
I snap back to attention. “Yes?”
“What do you think we should do?”
I stare hard at poor Lisette, who’s probably having a very shitty Friday night, standing here naked, blindfolded and being critiqued by two women she can’t even see. Even if she is making a little money to play with my mind.
“I think she’s telling you the truth,” I respond. I hope what I say next is the right thing. “I think she should be rewarded.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Suspended above the floor by her hands, Lisette’s slippers plop-plop onto the sheepskin rug under her. Over on the back wall, Jennifer presses a button to winch the girl upwards until her toes are about an inch off the ground. I wince, wondering how uncomfortable this is for Lisette, but I’ve got to admit: she looks happier hanging from handcuffs naked and helpless than she did when she was getting tongue lashed by Jennifer.
There’s a black lacquer cabinet underneath the panel of buttons Jennifer’s been working, and she bends down to open it up. She pulls out a long wooden paddle, closes the door, then slaps the paddle against her palm. I watch Lisette’s expression as the thwack echoes around the room. She seems to show no fear, and I see only an almost imperceptible wiggle as she dangles before me.
Jennifer returns to Lisette’s side, and slowly caresses the curves of Lisette’s waist and hips with her hand. Her fingers trail across the girl’s belly, the looseness of which she had derided only a few minutes ago, then back around to her other hip and her bottom, which I can’t really see from this angle. The expression on Jennifer’s face is one of reverence, amazement.
“… the most beautiful object in the world is the human form.”
Then suddenly her expression hardens and she slaps one of Lisette’s buttocks with the palm of her hand, not too hard, but enough for Lisette to gasp sharply.
“Oh, that’s a taste of what’s to come,” Jennifer says.
She grips the paddle in her right hand, and smacks it smartly across Lisette’s backside. This time the girl cries out, a guttural cry that makes me start from my chair, but Jennifer sends me a look seems to say, “You keep your ass in that seat.”
Lisette is whimpering, kicking her feet a little. I can see her buttocks contracting from the side. Jennifer kicks the dropped slippers aside, steadies the girl with her left hand, pulls the paddle back, and smacks it across her buttocks again, a little harder this time. Again, Lisette cries out.
“Is this what you wanted?” Jennifer asks her. “Does that feel good?”
“Yes,” she says, almost through a sob. “Yes, that feels good.”
“Do you want more?”
Lisette flutters her feet. “Yes. I need it.”
Jennifer obliges with an even harder smack across the girl’s well-padded bottom, and Lisette starts to shake.
Ok, remember how I said I’m one cool customer? Well, right no
w, if you want to know the truth, I’m freaking out a little. We are definitely beyond Outward Bound territory. Yeah-yeah-yeah, I’ve heard about how some people like to get spanked, and sometimes it’s even fun to watch in a porno. At least in a porno, you know actors are doing it. But I’ve got to say, watching this girl get her ass paddled IRL with a piece of wood is an altogether different story. Even though Lisette’s hanging there, begging for it, I’m wondering if she really wants to get hit like that. Why does she put up with the toxic crap coming out of Jennifer’s mouth? How do I even know if she’s an actress? What if she’s some fucked up little schoolgirl who’s being ritually abused by this … this freak?
I close my eyes and take a deep breath as the paddling continues. The cries of pain have turned into moans, and when I re-open my eyes and look at Lisette hanging there, swinging back and forth gently from the force of Jennifer’s paddle, she’s got her athletic thighs pressed tight, squirming and rubbing them together.
Jennifer stops. “That enough,” she says and she offers me the paddle. “Amanda?”
I wonder if it’s the polite thing to ask Lisette, “Hey, mind if I take a swing?” But I shake my head instead.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m … ready.”
Lisette moans and kicks her feet. Jennifer laughs. “Sorry, kid. Next time.” She brings the paddle back to the cabinet, and draws out what looks like a cropped cat o’nine tails whip. When she drags the cords around Lisette’s legs and thighs, the girl starts to moan again.
“Yes,” she says. “I want that.”
“You do, Lisette? Are you going to work hard this week? Take care of yourself?”
“Yes.” Her reply is instantaneous. “I promise.”
Jennifer eases the cat back and gently slaps it against Lisette’s stomach.
“No more sweets.”
“No more. Please,” Lisette says in almost a groan.
The cat slaps across Lisette’s ample bosoms and the girl cries out, “Yes!”
The whipping continues, but instead of feeling sick and needing to close my eyes, I watch. It’s clear Lisette is enjoying the attention, and I’m even feeling a little—no, a lot—turned on by it. I could get my rocks off this way, easy. While she’s straining against the ropes, and even moaning and crying out with some of the blows that strike her thighs, hips, and breasts, her expression is pure pleasure.
Jennifer stops. Circles of sweat have appeared under her arms.
“Please,” Lisette says. “You can’t stop now.” She’s squirming fiercely enough to swing back and forth quite considerably, so Jennifer again steadies her.
“It’s time,” says Jennifer. “You’ve done well here today. You’re ready for your reward.”
Lisette, her body flushed and sweaty from her exertions, stills. “You mean …?”
“The final reward,” Jennifer repeats.
“I can be with Stefan?”
A terrible silence falls over the room. A muscle in Jennifer’s jaw twitches.
Somehow I think Lisette has veered too far from the script.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jennifer’s fury is palpable as she lowers Lisette enough so her feet can reach the floor. The room feels ten degrees colder, and no one says a word as she stabs several other buttons on the panel, allowing the rope holding the girl’s hands together to slacken. Then Jennifer roughly unties the black blindfold around her head, and I finally can look into Lisette’s eyes: round, clear, long-lashed … and worried looking. She shakes out her arms and rolls her broad shoulders, as if she’s just medaled in the 400-meter backstroke, then crosses her arms across her reddened breasts, looks back at me, and smiles shyly.
I smile back. It’s more of a grimace than anything.
A door at the back of the room opens. I’m still not used to these doors that seem to melt into the walls, so the sudden entrance of a tall, beautiful black man, completely nude, startles me. His muscles shine and undulate in the light of the room; he walks over to us, proudly, swiftly, as if he’s strutting in Tom Ford for Gucci on a Paris runway, completely at ease with his nudity and the fact that there’s a naked girl restrained in front of him and two fully dressed women watching her.
I can see the disappointment on Lisette’s face when he enters, and even though nothing about this whole operation is anywhere near normal, I want to walk over, shake her, and say, “What the fuck, girl? Have you looked at this guy?” I’ve seen a picture of Stefan Angstrom, the guy Lisette presumably wants as her “reward,” and unless he’s Superman or something, I don’t see any comparison. The black man in the room with us is in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. His exquisite bone structure gives him the appearance of a bronzed Adonis, while his physique is all angles, tautness, and muscle highlighted by his smooth, ebony skin.
And then there’s this other feature he’s got.
The biggest cock I’ve ever seen in my life. He’s almost fully aroused, and that thing is huge. No wonder Lisette’s looking a little nervous, glancing down at his penis, then back up at his face. She catches her full bottom lip with her teeth.
Jennifer comes over to the chair next to me, sits down and says wearily, “She’s all yours, Tyrell. Have at her.”
Tyrell doesn’t need any more urging. He’s on Lisette in an instant. “Baby,” he says, tentatively reaching out and running his hands gently up and down the sides of her body. I notice that Lisette’s got her eyes squeezed shut, as if she doesn’t want to see what’s going on. He loosens the ribbon holding her dark hair up, letting her wavy locks slide through his fingers and spread across her shoulders. “I’ve been watching you. Did you know I was watching? You handled it good. I was proud of you.”
Lisette’s eyes blink open. “I did? Were you really proud?”
“Oh, yeah, baby girl, I was,” he says softly, moving in a little closer, pulling her to his body so that he can wrap his arms around her from behind. His large hands caress her hips and thighs, then slowly up over the indentation of her waist, and finally to her breasts, still red and flushed from Jennifer’s ministrations. Lisette seems to relax and push herself in closer to Tyrell, and I can imagine his massive cock planted right up against her ass. The two of them seem to be in their own little world now, Jennifer silent next to me. My heart even feels like it has stopped beating; I fear that they’ll notice me and stop what they’re doing.
But Tyrell has his eyes closed, and he’s massaging Lisette’s heavy tits, squeezing them, lifting them up in his hands, cupping them, letting his fingers draw circles around her swollen areolas before they tweak her nipples. He moves swiftly around her, then lifts her up in his arms, positioning her so her breasts are in his face, and he begins kissing them, licking them with the pleasure of a little kid who got two scoops of vanilla ice cream for dessert. Lisette has her head thrown back, and as I correctly guessed, the chick does have super-sensitive tits. She’s moaning, and with her legs wrapped around Tyrell’s waist, she’s rubbing her crotch against his body. Tyrell is moving from nipple to nipple frantically, sucking them into his mouth, rolling them against his tongue, and Lisette bends her head forward so she’s got her face pressed to the side of his.
“Baby, I gotta have you,” he groans, pulling himself away from her tits. “Like right now.” He loosens his hold, and Lisette slides down until she’s standing up and they’re facing each other.
He pushes down on her shoulders, and Lisette stops the trail of kisses she running down his own smooth, muscular shoulders.
“You want it … like that?”
“Oh, yeah,” he whispers. “I got to have you like that.”
Lisette turns and gets down on her hands and knees, presenting Tyrell with access from behind. And I get another look at Tyrell’s cock as he kneels down behind her. Unbelievably, it’s even bigger, thicker, than it was before. He winces as his takes his dick in hand—the thing looks like it’s going to explode—and gingerly rolls on a condom that he’s pulled out from under the rug they’re on.
They must have to special-order condoms for this dude.
Watching, knowing that I’m going to see this girl get pounded by a hot guy with the biggest cock I’ve ever seen in my life, is … what can I say? It’s legend. It’s the most arousing thing I’ve witnessed in my life. All the places where my body has sweat glands are wet, my underwear is soaked, and my clit aches for release. But weirdly, I don’t want to join in, at least right now. Sure, if I were alone with the guy, I’d be all over him. The way I’m feeling right now, ready to explode like Tyrell in front of me, I’d be all over Lisette, too. A threesome with them might be some kind of fun. But releasing myself in front of an audience isn’t my thing. I just want to watch, observe, listen, use their pleasure for my pleasure. I guess this whole experience has made me realize I’m not so much an exhibitionist, but a world-class voyeur.
“Please don’t make it hurt,” Lisette is saying, and Jennifer, who hasn’t made a sound till now, shifts in her seat. I find myself hoping that she’ll keep her mouth shut and let things play out to a satisfactory conclusion. In fact, I wish she weren’t here at all. Tyrell, Lisette and I? We’d be cool playing by ourselves.
Tyrell has one hand on Lisette’s hip; the other hand he uses to guide his tip into her.
“I’m trying not to, baby, but you’re tight. Real tight.”
I can see he’s struggling to get in, and Lisette is wincing, pulling her hips away from him.
“Lisette!” Jennifer says sharply, and I deflate inside, thinking, “Oh shit. Here we go again.”
Lisette looks up at her from the floor, her big round eyes wide, moist with tears.
“It’s all right, ma’am,” Tyrell says, stroking Lisette’s ass. “I’m going to go gentle on her. I want her first time with a man to be real nice.”