by Jeremy Reed
'Not so fast,' Sandra cautioned, as her lover made to enter her, fitting his body over hers with the sort of intermeshing fluency they had established over months of dynamic sex. 'You haven't heard my story yet, and if you don't interrupt me and just allow yourself to grow excited, then it will be even better.'
Nick rolled over on to his back, his taut erection periscoping for his navel, his willingness to wait being part of the arousal games they had devised to enhance pleasure. It had become a habit. Neither would allow the other orgasmic pleasure until they had exhausted the range of delayed excitation.
'If you don't lie back and listen, I shall have to put you in leather handcuffs again,' Sandra whispered, 'and you'll have to tie my feet in black ribbon to prevent me caressing your penis with my toes. I know how you like that. It takes ages to come, but it's worth it.'
Nick lay back and didn't protest. He knew that Sandra's story would be the prolegomena to some form of perverse sexual geometry. He reached for his champagne glass and listened to the fizz on his tongue. It reminded him of childhood, and how as a boy he had placed a shell to his ear and believed that the roar of his blood was the ocean laying white thunder across the beach. He was wearing a pair of elbow-length black silk gloves, for Sandra nurtured an adventurous fetish to have black silk fingers playing over her bottom.
'What I'm going to tell you is completely true,' Sandra added, momentarily slipping under the sheets to place a lipsticked kiss on Nick's cock. 'I was at a private girls' school between the ages of twelve and seventeen. There weren't any boys so we pretended to be them at times. We used to wear bottle-green gym-slips and pleated games skirts, and little white cotton panties underneath. In order to get out of conventional games like hockey, a number of us gained permission to experiment with juggling. I had silver juggling balls, but other friends used red, pink, green or blue. It used to look like we were negotiating miniature planets, sci-fi toys that had somehow dropped out of the sky into our hands. I used to juggle opposite Julie, who defied school convention by wearing black knickers under her games skirt. I used to catch glimpses of them each time she retrieved a dropped ball. I found myself paying scrupulous attention to what all the girls were wearing under their uniforms. We had already elected a place behind the bicycle shed where we taught each other french-kissing.
'I had adopted the role of an imaginary boy called James and, with my hair piled under a beret, the girl I was designated was no other than Julie. Of course this was innocent enough. We began by kissing lightly and then deepening the lips to an oval, and then I advanced my tongue. It went into her mouth like a pink fish and began swimming in her saliva. It felt like I was tasting a new form of fruit, soft and pulpy like melon. When Julie reciprocated the action, all the movie kisses we had watched seemed in the process of being consummated. And suddenly all the girls were doing it. There were eight of us paired off into four couples. It didn't go any further that day, but Julie gave us a wonderful demonstration of three-ball juggling, the metallic blue spheres perfectly co-ordinated in their reach and fall, and Julie occasionally kicking her legs high like a cancan dancer.'
Nick leaned over and placed a hot mouth on Sandra's left nipple. He switched to the right with equal effect, and watched her close her eyes in order to luxuriate in the sensation. Then taking out one of the lengths of black ribbon he kept concealed under the pillow, he slid down her body, flickering his tongue over her moist vulva, a crack swollen to the density of a purple pansy, and went all the way down her legs to her ankles.
'You're going to be punished for not telling enough,' Nick warned, and began binding her ankles together with ribbon. He tightened the knot, and confident it was secure, resurfaced for air. 'The next time,' he admonished, 'it will be your thighs and then your wrists. And you'll be begging to be fucked, and unable to get your legs open.'
Sandra moaned at the constriction of her ankles. She arched her legs and importuned, 'Lick me. Bury your head between my legs.'
Nick didn't respond. He lay there, coolly imperturbable. 'I want to hear how you licked Julie,' he replied. 'If it wasn't that day it was the next one.'
'I'll let you in a little on my secrets,' Sandra volunteered. 'Julie and I began flirting in class. But it was more than the usual schoolgirl thing. It was leading to something serious. Her green eyes would meet mine across the room and I'd catch my breath. And once when we sat next to each other in the French class she placed my hand on her lap. The thrill went through me like lightning. I could feel her warmth and her legs were trembling with excitement. And soon after that there was the occasion when we almost collided in the corridor. Knocked off balance I swung round and our lips became involved in a kiss that went to the roots of my sex. It was then that I knew it would happen. For days I lived in suspense. We seemed to avoid each other in preparation for the meeting when it happened. And meanwhile general activities near the bicycle sheds hadn't diminished. Girls would go there after school to play at being boys. And of course the roles were exchanged. Sometimes we were boys and sometimes girls. Both roles were exciting.'
'You'll have to be punished again, for not telling the true story,' said Nick, again slipping beneath the sheets and causing Sandra to giggle as he paid attention to her pussy with his tongue. 'Now I'm going to tie your thighs with ribbon,' he remonstrated, and Sandra made playful attempts to elude his designs before submitting to the second phase of her punishment. 'Now I want the real story,' Nick commanded.
'But I shouldn't be telling you these things,' said Sandra. 'You'll begin to think I really like having sex with girls. And perhaps I do. But I'll tell you the story of how Julie and I came together, providing that you release me.'
'Only if it's good enough,' Nick consented. 'If it isn't I'll have to tie your wrists as well.'
'It happened on a Friday morning. I still remember the day exactly. Julie wasn't at lessons that day, but her friend Marcella handed me a note. I remember taking it to the toilets and locking myself in a cubicle. And it was there in the conspiratorial quiet that I read Julie's love letter. She told me that she had stayed away from school today as she wanted to lie in bed and think of me. She asked if I would come to her house the next day, on the Saturday evening. She said that her parents were away on holiday in Greece. We would have the place to ourselves.'
'Quicker,' said Nick, 'or you'll have your wrists tied.'
'I spent all afternoon preparing for our rendezvous. I had a long bath, and after the fashion of a Japanese pornographic magazine which had been passed about at school, I depilated myself. I put on a bright red lipstick and a pair of my mother's little black panties which I filched from her drawer. I can remember it all to the last detail. I was so sensitive to touch that I would have jumped if a stranger had even imagined making love to me. I would have seen the idea in his head stand out like a red fish in a transparent bowl.'
'I want more details about your preparation,' said Nick. 'And remember, I may not stop at tying your wrists. There may be further indignities.'
'I wore skintight jeans and a skimpy black jumper, and a black bra which gave a conical shape to my breasts,' said Sandra. 'I knew precisely what I was entertaining. And when Julie opened the door she looked twenty and not sixteen. She was dressed in a black leather mini-skirt and sheer seamed tights. She kissed me full on the lips by way of greeting. And that exploratory kiss went so deep into me it was like a probe.
'Julie poured me a drink. We were neither of us used to alcohol, and the martini cocktail which Julie proportioned placed me somewhere else in my head. The alcohol induced lateral thinking. We were trying to discuss our first readings of Proust, but all the time Julie was sitting opposite me in an armchair with her legs arched, so that I could see right up her skirt. I can't remember at what point she came over and sat on my lap. It was unexpected, but it felt natural. We began kissing, and for the first time my hands wandered to her full breasts. Julie purred, and instructed me to place my hand under her jumper. When I did, she bit my neck from passi
on, and advised me how to caress her nipples. And I was conscious that she seemed much more sexually experienced than me, but I couldn't work out how she had acquired this knowledge. I think I told myself that she had probably read erotic novels, and knew from those the intimate vocabulary of sensuality. But I was frightened by her excitement.
'She began to push herself against me, and the breasts which I had extracted from her bra were suddenly being placed in my face. Their nipples were splashed purple. Julie said that the circular zone of each nipple was called the areola. I had areolas. And I was getting stimulated by her excitement. She had placed a hand between her legs while I was arousing her nipples, and now she slipped my hand to that accommodating role.'
'You're going to have to be tied completely,' said Nick, taking out a short length of black ribbon, and proceeding to lick Sandra's breasts as he went in search of her hidden hands. She was sitting on them, and attempted to keep them concealed, so that Nick had to turn her over and spank her round bottom to have her liberate her hands.
'Now I can do what I like with you,' he affirmed. 'I want to hear far more than you're telling me. And stay lying on your stomach, so that I can discipline you if necessary. Without hands or feet there's nothing you can do to retaliate.'
'I was telling you that Julie placed my hand on the wet divide between her legs. She pleaded with me to tickle her. She told me that the man always took the dominant mode of action. And I delighted in tickling her. She slipped out of her tights and skirt with alacrity, so as to give me easier access to her sex. By now I was really getting turned on and losing the inhibitions I may have brought to the game. And what's more, the action I was imparting to her seemed to be transmitted to myself. In tickling her I was tickling myself. That's the good thing about gay sex, you know precisely how the other person feels because you've also been there. There isn't any of that wondering how the opposite receives pleasure.
'And the next thing was that my jeans were being pulled off, and not without effort as they were very tight. Julie said she was going to do something to me that she wished me to copy, and that it would feel incredible. She began kissing my navel and then working her lips lower. I sort of knew what was coming, but couldn't imagine the feeling. Suddenly her lips were hot on my panties, her fingers lifting an elasticated ridge so her tongue could work in underneath. And once I let go and placed my legs over her shoulders, the sensation was incredible. I couldn't have imagined it was this good. I found myself relaxed enough to build towards climax. I was shouting for more and more, while she rimmed me with an alacritous tongue.'
'And what did you give her?' Nick commanded, rewarding Sandra for her narrative by running a line of kisses down her spine to the crack of her bottom. He lingered there with his tongue, then worked his way back on the same sensitive route to her nape. She shivered convulsively and bit her lips.
'I gave her the same. She must have performed oral sex on me for an hour, and then she told me to come upstairs. I went with her to the bedroom, most of my clothes leaving a trail behind me on the living room carpet. And once upstairs she positioned her legs in the way she had positioned mine, and I began to savour her pussy. It was hot and saline and very urgent. I teased it with the tip of my tongue, watching the little bud expand. Julie urged me to put my tongue right in, and later on my fingers. She wanted to feel all of me. Julie began reaching orgasm after orgasm, her clit was so sensitive. We both looked like we had been sitting in a sauna for the evening. We were both so concentrated on pleasure that I didn't hear the bedroom door open.'
'Get on with the story and you'll be properly rewarded,' said Nick. 'But remember, one digression, and you'll be additionally bound.'
‘I was working away at Julie's clit when I felt a tongue flick across my pussy from behind. I was up on all fours, and the sensation darted like moist fire between my legs. There wasn't any chance to scream, for Julie came forward and sealed my mouth in a long kiss. I couldn't speak, and all the time this tongue was continuing to take liberties with my sex.
'I was now being held firmly from behind, and Julie hissed in my ear, "Don't look round, but it's my brother. I thought I would introduce a real man into the game." My initial feelings of revulsion were disappearing. I could feel his enflamed member brushing against my bottom. It felt like an addition to his body, as though something indomitably hard was struggling to break into me.'
'I suppose it slipped up your crack from the rear, or up your arse?' prompted Nick.
'You forget, I was a virgin,' said Sandra. 'It's not that easy to deflower someone. Anyhow, I enjoyed the sensation of being kissed by two people, one from the front and one behind.'
'You're not telling the truth,' warned Nick. 'One more slip and you'll be bound a second time round the thighs.' That said, he went down on her again and tentatively aroused her with his tongue. She pleaded with him to continue, but he came up again for air, and checked that the knots binding her wrists were secure. Under no circumstances would he risk her touching herself at the volcanic core. When he entered her he wanted her to explode.
'I'll tell you more about the game,' Sandra said, 'but carry on licking me.'
Nick refused, despite the fact that his orgasm was tingling as a subtext in his scrotum. 'Tell me the truth,' he demanded.
'I am,' said Sandra. 'I hadn't even turned round to see this brother of Julie's. All I could feel was his tongue and his cock drumming against me. It was huge, like yours, and I could feel that it was moist at the tip. Eventually I disengaged myself from their caresses, and fought free of the boy's urgency. He was made up to look like a girl, something that evidently excited him. His lips were a smudged strawberry lipstick, and the inexpert application of eyeliner gave him two black eyes. His face was white with foundation. Julie informed me that he wanted me to put on my dark green games skirt and white cotton panties and blow him.
'I went even further. I dressed in Julie's mother's stockings and suspenders and sat in front of him nibbling an apple with my legs wide open. We decided to take it in turn. Julie began by licking her brother's cock, and I was the support act. You know it's not uncommon for brothers and sisters at that age to play with each other. It's only a game. He began to grow visibly more excited, and I took over. At that age I'd never sucked cock. I was surprised how big it was in my mouth. And in order to make him wait I'd leave off for a few seconds, take a bite from my red apple and resume sucking in a disinterested manner. We were so precocious, and he loved it. Julie left me to it, and went and sat on the sofa and tickled herself in her black knickers, to add to her brother's excitement. He was moaning now, and the whole length began to twitch. I could hardly contain his thrusts, and then his come began to decant in hot spurts. It went on and on. It was like catching stars. White-hot shooting stars in my mouth. Star after star after star. And if he fucked me later, I'm not going to tell until you do.'
'I have to untie some of the ribbons first,' said Nick, and he began with the ankles and the thighs and then the waist. He would leave her hands tied. And when he entered her it was with explosive urgency. And she, as his urgency increased, tickled his balls with a single finger, the one on which she wore a ring decorated with stars.
Tainted Love
Johnny kept on scanning the scrap of pink paper a French girl had given him on the tube ride between Regent's Park and Piccadilly Circus. It contained a name, Brigitte, a telephone number, and a prominent red heart with a dagger piercing it, the latter drawn hastily, but clearly identifiable.
The whole thing had come as a surprise. Johnny had got on at Regent's Park, and had found himself seated opposite a foreign girl whose big green eyes appeared instantly attracted to him, as though she had been waiting all her life for this particular moment, and had singled Johnny out to be the recipient of her favours. Johnny recollected her blond hair, done up a la young Bardot, her green drop-earrings, and the extraordinarily short skirt she was wearing, a micro that disappeared to her hips like a strip of black belt. Her long, fishnet legs
were draped one over the other. Johnny had succumbed totally to her spell, and their eyes had worked at each other like the mixing of two paints. Johnny had watched the girl hastily extract a notebook and pen from her handbag, and hurriedly write down the details he now reviewed at home. She had decamped a stop before him, pressing the note into his hand, and he had gasped at the sight of her legs beginning to disappear up the Exit stairs.
Hours later, as he sat on his bed, his erection triggering at the prospect of realizing his sexual fantasies through Brigitte, Johnny prepared himself to make a call. He was already imagining Brigitte in the yogic plough position, her legs folded right over her head with her feet on the floor, a posture that would give his tongue delicious access to her twat. Facing the other way, and kneeling, it would look like he was drinking from a fountain between her legs.
It was all too good. Brigitte teased her Ws for Rs into a seductive vocabulary, additionally surprising Johnny by telling him with a change of tone that she hoped he would give her 'tainted love'. This was no linguistic slip, and Johnny found himself cracking his zip open while they continued to speak, his cock rasping for attention. They arranged to meet at eight o'clock the following night outside Green Park station, as Brigitte explained she was temporarily living in a flat in Half Moon Street. She blew him a kiss down the phone, and the line went dead, the big spaces of the capital closing over them like surf. Johnny pondered the extraordinary circumstances governing their proposed rendezvous. Brigitte hadn't even asked for his surname, address, or telephone number, but that sucked if she was simply looking for a transient fling. Johnny got to thinking of her fishnet thighs again, and too excited to go without, worked himself off to a riotously orgiastic climax.
All the next day he waited for night. There was an orchestrated excitement in his solar plexus, and he found it difficult to concentrate on the video he was editing for television release. His mind kept on going back to Brigitte, and fast-forwarding to the imagined prospects of sex that night. Would she tongue his cock to a seasoned pate? Would he stick it in the spaces between her toes? His testosterone level was simmering, and erections kept on intruding on his work. In the way that an opera singer can break a glass with the directed power of her voice, so he wanted Brigitte's throaty orgasm to smash a window with the intensity of its ecstatic gutturals. And he wanted his come to mix with her lipstick, like the colour of strawberry ice cream.