by Jeremy Reed
Mathilde undressed, and wriggled into a bottom-up position on the bed. She could hear Antoine unpack his valise, and impatient for him to join her in an accommodating 69 position, she heard not deep breathing, but the sound of the doll being inflated. 'I need you both together,' Antoine whispered. 'It's my only way to get back to the flesh. Simultaneous love-making.' His adroitness made Mathilde realize he must have planned the incident to the last detail; he mounted the doll on Mathilde's arched back, so that its bottom came to rest at the same level as her own, and with an invigorating thrust he entered her pussy from behind, and positioned himself deep within her, while correspondingly licking the latex pussy of the doll he steadied in place above Mathilde's own bottom.
Mathilde surrendered herself to the weird act of dual sex, and after so many years of self-induced pleasure felt the orgasm build with cataclysmic pressure inside her. It must have been thundering outside, she could hear pianos being thrown around in the clouds, and rain swiping the hot streets, and Antoine straining to please the surreal artefact of a double pussy.
Lana's Adventure
They decided on London. An hour's flight from Amsterdam found them in a city climatically the same, but with weird energy lines buzzing through the grey uniformity of the crowds. They hopped from zone to zone in the back of black cabs, and enjoyed the notion of being secretly cut off from the world, as though they had exchanged one hotel room for another. And it was during these short rides with Marco that Lana started to conceive the fantasy of wearing nothing but black silk panties under her long leopard-skin coat, and of enticing her boyfriend to commit surreptitious acts under that coat, perhaps resulting in full consummation as the taxi wavered on an endless circuit through the city's wastelands Lana knew that cabbies would accept payment for hiring a taxi for sex.
But on this ride from Chelsea to the West End, she was dressed under her spectacular coat in a violet mini-skirt, knee-high black suede boots and fishnet tights. She pressed herself up to Marco, took his hand and placed it on her knee. Her coat was open, and she could imagine the driver was following the fishnet curve of her thighs in his mirror. She toyed with Marco's hand, playfully extending it further to her thighs, and working her pink Dior lips into the helix of his ear. She could feel the tension at his denimed crotch, the fabric straining as his erection quickened. Just three hours ago, on immediate arrival at their Kensington hotel, they had made convulsive love. They were both excited by the comfort and anonymity of their bedroom. They had tumbled on to the bed, her skirt riding up to her hips, and without even undressing her Marco had laid her with the ferocity of a panther falling on its prey. As she had built rapidly towards orgasm, she had instructed him to tear the panties off her bottom as she was coming. And he had shredded the fabric with alacrity, his fingernails acting like claws, the tearing sound heightening the pleasure for both of them, as climax subsided in a scale of expiring obscenities.
They knew that by the time they returned to the hotel, they would be itching for more. Hotels always drove them to bursts of perverse erotomania. Lana wanted to heighten that eventual lovemaking by letting Marco know that he could take liberties with her at any time during their London stay.
'Darling, I'm feeling so ticklish,' she whispered in his ear. 'Let's see how the driver responds when he knows you're tickling my pussy.'
Marco, who was by nature taciturn and discreet, didn't need much encouragement. He found himself willingly acting out of role, and began to kiss her deeply and passionately, his hand slipping beneath her little mauve skirt. And without any attempt to disguise his action, Lana opened her legs so as to make it easy for him to begin a one-fingered sensual exploration of her clitoris. And she really was excited. The motion of the taxi as it rocked over inconsistencies in the road surface, the abrupt acceleration away from lights, or the car's sitting immobile in the traffic for long periods, all of these things assisted the excitement she felt at Marco's adventurous finger.
'I bet he's bursting in his pants,' Marco whispered, referring to the cabbie, who must have been watching their petting in the driver's mirror. Marco too was beginning to find the game unnaturally stimulating, and Lana wasn't surprised when he guided her hand towards his zip, and said, 'Darling, tickle me, run your nails up and down my length.'
Lana dipped into Marco's open zip, using, like him, one finger to excite response. She could feel his eight-inch throbbing penis trigger almost to the height of his belly button. Nothing was visible, but to a voyeuristic eye, the tension was increased by the idea of concealment.
'Do you want me to drive you round all afternoon?' the driver said impatiently, a note of frustration in his voice.
'No, stop just here, please,' Lana said, bundling Marco out of the taxi, and instantly flagging down another cab so that they could resume their petting.
'We want to drive round Docklands and the old parts of the city,' she informed the new driver, and then as abruptly closed the sliding partition. They were both eager to continue their sexual adventure. They intended to excite each other to a degree of intensity that would end in their having a taxi take them back to the hotel where the final consummation would take place.
'I've always wanted to be in just my lingerie under a long coat,' Lana whispered to Marco as they resumed kissing. And his time he began stroking her breasts. He pulled her coat off die shoulders so that the driver could see her large conical breasts standing out through the thin fabric of a blouse. He began caressing them from the outside, then with meticulous attention to detail he popped one button open at the waist, then another and another, until her black lace bra was visible. He then began licking her cleavage and placing impassioned kisses on her breasts. All the while she placed her arms round his neck and whispered enticements to go slower, further, and (lien to unclip her bra. Before he did so, they looked up and they could see the driver fumbling with his trousers, as though his erection had got trapped, and needed to be lifted from constraint. They could sense the man was excited by what he could see, and Lana giggled as Marco pushed her lace bra down and began circling her nipples with his tongue. She burnt with excitement. He had never shown greater delicacy, and he need for relative caution made him more attentive to little filings that he might otherwise have rushed. Their taxi rides were turning into bouts of deliciously extended foreplay. Marco had never kissed her breasts for so long, and she thrilled to the sensation of having his hot lips dab at her areolas. She had to resist the temptation to place her own hand between her legs and uncontrollably frig herself off to the accompaniment of his caresses. He had both of her breasts jutting out from her coat, and twice when she looked up at a pause in the traffic flow, she could see drivers on each side making big-eyed indulgent gestures at her escaped tits. She stuck her tongue out between her red lips as a gesture of provocative defiance to one particularly demonstrative driver, and then resumed kissing Marco.
'In the next taxi, I want you to take my skirt off,' she said. 'But for now, tickle me everywhere. I'm red hot for your fingers.'
London was passing them by without their showing the least interest in their surroundings. The taxi was somewhere in the City, cruising the river, and the driver pushed back the glass and said, 'Do you want to stop off at a riverside pub?'
'No thanks,' Lana called back, 'we're busy.' Lana couldn't have enough of Marco's kisses on her shoulder and breasts. She was purring under his sensual advances. He was also placing kisses on her stomach, and already she was anticipating how in the next taxi, or the ride after that, his lips would be on her pussy, or would it be she who gave him head as the taxi drove along the Mall?
As a means of keeping them both in suspense, she asked the driver to stop, and as on the previous occasion they quickly exchanged one cab for another. Lana had placed her bra in a carrier, and had every intention that her skirt would also end up in that receptacle.
'Just drive round central London,' she told the driver, before sticking her tongue in Marco's ear. 'Anywhere is fine. We're too busy to
care.' Lana was thrilled by her newly discovered audacity. And Marco immediately pulled her coat open and placed his hand under her skirt. They could see the driver was wide-eyed and heated at the sight of Lana's long fishnet legs extending from a skirt no wider than a belt. The man hadn't counted on this sort of voyeuristic entertainment in the middle of the afternoon.
'Why don't you bring me right out?' Marco pleaded. 'Let him see it. I'm as hard as a tent pole, and I've a good mind to have you sit on me while we fuck.'
‘Not so quick, darling,' Lana smooched, 'I want this foreplay to go on all afternoon. But why don't you try taking off my skirt? You know where to find the zip. It's at the back.'
The taxi chugged into dilatory traffic. For a long time the car was hardly moving, and when it went forward it was only for a few seconds at a time. Marco was slowly, very slowly undoing Lana's zip. The electric crackle of Lana unzipping a skirt had never failed to excite him, and now he went about things precisely, creating and recreating the sound to stimulate them both, sliding the zip down and then drawing it up again, so that his penis was orchestrated into excitement by this intimate sound. When he took her skirt off it was by fractions, casing it slowly down past her bottom, and even more slowly towards her thighs, knowing the whole time that the driver was watching them. The tiny violet skirt began a descent to Lana's knees, and she placed her red fingernails on either side of Marco's face as he performed this seductive rolling. He pushed the skirt over her knees, and continued the move downwards. He got it to the calves of her legs, and by its own momentum it dropped to her ankles, and stayed there like a violet border over her black pointed boots.
The driver would know now that she was in her lingerie under the leopard-skin coat. The thought of this incited them to be more daring, and Lana sat on Marco's lap so that he could feel her bottom pivoting on his erection. Her movements simulated the act of making love, as she wriggled around on him, her tongue running from his neck to his shoulder. It was now her turn to undo his shirt buttons, and soon his chest was naked beneath his black jacket. Lana began applying big splashy kisses to the exposed areas of Marco's torso. Her red lipstick left roses on his nipples. It was all he could do to prevent himself from coming, particularly when her fingers began to run up and down the shaft of his cock again. He was aching to have her lips close over him and administer head.
'I want to slip my tights off,' she said, but to do this she had first to remove her boots. The driver was flushed as she removed one knee-high boot and then the other, rolled down her fishnet tights, and bunched them off. She then replaced her boots with studied movements, and drew the coat over her thighs so the driver couldn't see her black silk panties. Lana was getting high on her immodesty – never in her life had she been a sexual exhibitionist, and she and Marco were both discovering a penchant to shock the spectator. She had often felt turned on by the sight of couples petting in their local park, and at such times had pulled Marco down to her with a desperate urgency, but she had never presumed that she would end as a half-dressed woman in the back of a black cab, instructing the driver to take them anywhere.
'Lick me,' she instructed him, 'but get there slowly,' and soon he was crouched down on the floor, his tongue travelling the length of her thighs and stopping just short of her crotch. The driver was becoming visibly disconcerted.
'Do you want me to park up someplace, and go off to the pub?' he asked.
'We're far too busy for that,' said Lana, her head thrown back against the seat, her mouth starting to pout open as Marco's tongue flickered across the ridge of her wet panties. She wanted to guide him, and took hold of the back of his head in order to slow his urgency. 'Take all day,' she said, 'I've just seen Trafalgar Square and I'm in ecstasy...’
Marco had never conceived that he would give perfect cunnilingus to Lana in the back of a taxi, while the car negotiated a traffic slick leading to the Haymarket. He had never enjoyed sex so much. Lana's pussy tasted better than a June strawberry. It was intoxicatingly spiced with love juices. His tongue had found the hood of her clit and was kneading it with a tantalizing sensitivity. Lana was beginning to moan. The driver said nothing. He slogged the car into traffic lanes, opening up when the road permitted. Lana couldn't repress the orgasm that was building. She could feel the convulsive tension mount in her pelvis. And then it was happening, spreading through her like a current, and she bit her lip to prevent from shrieking. She knew that this was the first of a chain of clitoral orgasms she was going to receive before they returned to the hotel for intense lovemaking.
'It's my turn now,' she said, wrapping the leopard-skin coat round her, and going down on the floor in a kneeling position. She coaxed his penis out and began licking it like an ice-lolly. She nibbled, pecked, and drew back from her handiwork. She liked to see his skin glisten with her saliva. For good measure she placed a red lipstick bite on the tip, and then returned to playing with it with her tongue. She wanted to prevent him from coming, so she wouldn't swallow on it. She refused to deep-throat his quivering shaft. Instead, she played with it like a cat. She prodded it with her tongue, and cushioned the head on her lips. She cradled him with her warmth, her mouth closing over him gently like a carnation.
'Don't come in the taxi,' she said. 'We don't want to give the driver that pleasure. Once we're back at the hotel, you'll fuck me crazily. I'm so hot for it I could scream. Let's do one more round of the sights, and get the taxi in the direction of the hotel.'
'Take us once round the West End, then back to Kensington,' she instructed the driver. The man was angling himself so he could see every detail of their explicit petting. Neither of them had ever felt so unashamedly uninhibited in their lives. They took in brief flashes of London, a line of shops, the dense trees skirting a park, the crowds hurrying across the road, the sudden shower flashing across the facades of buildings in a detonative burst. There were inky black clouds rolling across a stormy blue sky.
Now they were headed west towards Hyde Park and Notting Hill Gate. Lana zipped Marco up, despite his pleading for more, and placed his left hand under the divide of her coat. 'Carry on tickling me,' she said. 'All the way to the hotel.' And Marco applied a pianistic delicacy in enlarging Lana's clit to the size of a mauve fuchsia bud. It was like her whole body depended on his finger, for all of her was contracted into that one burning centre. He could hear from her suppressed cries that she was nearing another orgasm. A light flickered across his closed eyes. When he blinked clear he could see a blue-black sky zigzagged with spirals of lightning. A snappy electric storm was smashing across the blue cupola of the city sky. A few seconds later, the rain arrived. Crystal pendants fizzed across the taxi's metallic shell. It was a torrent of scintillating earrings rapping on the convex roof. A staccato excitation to lust.
Marco hung on to Lana's lips like a bee. Static was charging everything. The driver brought the car to a halt in the dazzle escaped from the sky. They could hear irate horns sounding through the impressive rain. It was like sitting in an igloo. It encouraged them to greater liberties. Marco's finger, which touched Lana with the delicacy of someone dusting an eyelid, found a reciprocal response in her touch. They were in perfect unison, their nerves excited to a corresponding pitch.
Cars slewed across the road. Thunder reverberated on the skyline. They were sealed in by their own breath and the rain. It was like thousands of silver tadpoles were wriggling on the glass. The taxi was brought to a complete halt. Somewhere behind them they could hear the sirens of emergency services attempting to open up a gap in the dead maze of traffic. Another clap of thunder hit the roof like a boulder.
'This is our chance, darling,' Lana shot into Marco's ear. 'The rain is so loud, he'll never hear us. Fuck me, hard.'
Lana sat on Marco, and began to rotate to his thrusts. She was urgent, her hands stretching for support to the low roof. Everything and everyone had gone crazy in the storm. She imagined other couples in every car and taxi copulating right across London. The whole traffic queue would be c
reaking on its suspension. Nymphomania and erotomania would be symptoms of the electric storm. They began to establish a rapid rhythm. She fitted her legs right over his shoulders, and he adapted her to his need. They'd abandoned all care that the taxi was rocking with their impassioned lovemaking.
Another violent feeler of lightning blazed a yellow trail across the sky. The rain increased, as their excitement mounted. They were conscious only of the storm and their mounting climax. Neither would be able to hold back much longer. The wave mounted simultaneously. Marco knew he couldn't delay, and Lana too, was straining towards violent orgasm. They twisted round a volcanic core; she arched back in an agonized scream as he drove his hot come into her. They were both so ecstatic that they almost lost consciousness in the intensity of orgasm, and then they clung to each other in the aftermath, soothed by the drumming rain and the conspiratorial envelope it had placed over the city.
It seemed like they had been quiet a long time, before the taxi started up again in the diminishing rain. They could hear the storm going off like a big cat after the kill.
'What was the hotel you wanted, governor?' The cabbie growled through the partition, as though it was an ordinary London day, and the storm something inconsequential that would blow away into the blue.
Catching Stars