She took that blunt tip between thumb and finger and pinched it flat. A sigh escaped her mouth. The bitch was getting off on her own caresses! She hadn’t reacted to him, but she did to herself.
“Suck it!” he said.
“Yes Stuart.” Two hands squeezed and lifted. Her head bent forward and down. Her lips parted. A kitten-tongue lapped out, point tickling the flat peak.
“I said, ‘Suck!’”
“Sorry Stuart.” She drew her entire nipple into her mouth. Her cheeks worked. Her lips and teeth mumbled more flesh, drawing more soft white breast into her mouth, creasing its skin, drawing it into an elongated pear.
She might have made a little growling sound deep in her throat as her head shook, but he wasn’t sure.
“Bite on it! Chew on your own nipple!”
Her mouth worked and her face looked as if she felt some pain, but how could he be sure she was really obeying?
“Come here and show me!”
She was wobbly on her heels. Her fingers trailed the table. When she stood by him her left nipple was a few inches above his eyes so that he looked up at it. It was wet with her spit, and she had obeyed. There were teeth marks, deep and almost blue. Stuart touched. He rolled the cylinder of hot flesh between his fingers, working the teeth dents out.
She sucked air. Her eyes were glazed. All he’d done was touch her nipple.
He trailed a finger down her cleavage, across her midriff, past her navel.
She shivered.
Her pubic hair was ginger and frizzy, trimmed short and shaped to end exactly at the fine crease where the curves of her belly and her mound met.
His fingers twirled a tuft and tugged. “Who did you trim this for?”
“For you, Stuart.”
The ridge of her clitoris was thick. Was it always like that, or was it because of him? He stroked the wrinkled skin and thought he felt a stirring beneath his finger.
The lips of her sex were swollen and slightly pendulous, protruding through the ginger fuzz. He poked. The lip yielded, soft, limp. His prod had pushed it back, indenting it. He watched as the flaccid flesh slowly recovered its shape.
This was fun! Her pussy wasn’t a part of a living woman. It was a toy. Stuart eased the hood of her clitoris back, exposing a tender arrowhead. When he released her sheath it crept forward again, but not quite so far. Just a hint of the raw pink still showed.
When he shucked it again and blew across it, Virginia’s belly tensed, winking her navel. When he slid a finger inside her, just far enough to get a grip on her sex’s lip, and pinched, she shuddered. Pleasure? Pain? Did it matter?
Stuart folded three fingers together and thrust them up into her, where she was slick corrugated heat, all delicate membranes and very internal.
She groaned and swayed – towards him.
He pulled his fingers out. They were sticky. When he parted them strands of translucent stuff stretched between them. It smelled like canned pineapples, with a vaguely metallic tang.
Stuart held his tacky fingers up to her face. “Suck them clean!”
She made a meal of it, gobbling up her own juices, slithering her tongue between his fingers and licking at their webs.
Stuart said, “Masturbate,” and added, “as if you were alone,” before she could ask for detailed instructions.
She spread her too-slim thighs, making shadowy hollows behind her tendons. Two fingers of one hand took her clitoral shaft in a scissors-grip. Two of her other hand hooked up inside her pussy. The fingers held still as her hips moved, slowly at first, then faster and faster. The head of her clitoris flashed in and out of view. She got wetter. Soft slurping noises became sharp wet splashing sounds.
Stuart looked up at her face. It was blank, eyes hidden behind heavy lids, but she was biting her lower lip.
She froze. Stuart thought for a moment that she had reached her climax, but then her fingers were jerking on her clit and she plucked the two fingers from her wet insides, flattened that hand and slapped it up at her engorged lips, short sharp fast slaps, wet slaps, wet enough to splash tiny drops of her oozings onto his face.
The sinews inside her thighs quivered.
Stuart grabbed both of her wrists. They fought him for a second then relaxed, but her belly was vibrating with urgency.
“I didn’t say you could come,” he said.
“Sorry, Stuart.”
“Go to the stool and bend over it.”
He lashed her ankles to two legs of the stool, low down, and her wrists to the other two legs, just below the padded seat, leaving her enough slack to flatten her palms on the green velvet. With her body leaning like that, at forty-five degrees, her breasts hung. There were tiny silvery creases radiating from where they were rooted, beneath her armpits, another delicious imperfection.
Dangling like that, her breasts seemed almost detached from her body, separate entities. Stuart prodded one. It swung, slapped the other, and sent trembling ripples through it.
“Sway,” he said.
She did. He watched, directly and in the dressing table’s mirror. He stood behind her and reached around her body, taking a breast in each hand. His fingers milked at her. He stared into the mirror, watching disembodied hands manipulate Plasticine breasts, pluck pretend nipples.
His erection grew, tenting the silk of his pyjama pants out between the flaps of his robe. The wet spot on the silk nudged between the cheeks of her bum.
“You brought baby oil?”
“In my bag.”
He parted her buttocks and dripped oil onto the base of her spine. It trickled. It ran the valley to the little brown crater and soaked into it for a dozen drops before overflowing and dribbling to coat the backwards pout of her sex. Stuart’s finger traced the glistening, pausing at her anus, rimming before probing.
She inhaled sharply, but the ring of muscle was totally relaxed.
“I’m going to bugger you,” he said.
“Yes, Stuart.”
“Have you been sodomized before?”
She paused before saying, “Would you like me to have been?”
“I want the truth, damn you, not what you think I want to hear!”
“Then – yes, Stuart.”
“Did you like it?”
She didn’t answer. He slapped her bottom. “Did you like it?”
“I think I’ll like it when you do it, Stuart, if that’s what you want.”
He wasn’t going to get the truth out of her. There was no truth in her. It didn’t matter. She was going to have something else in her, something more powerful than truth – his cock deep in her rectum. A universal truth?
Stuart parted his fly and let his cock lance out. He slopped oil into his palm. It splashed in his haste, saturating the front of his pyjama pants. It didn’t matter what the hotel’s laundry service would think. Nothing mattered except the constricted tunnel of flesh that was waiting for his cock.
Two fingers wriggled into her anus, preparing the way, ignoring whatever she felt, pleasure or pain. The head of his cock was screaming at him, “In! In!”
Thumbs prying her open, sliding insecurely on a sheen of oil. Nuzzle up tight, an impossible invasion. The entrance was so small, and he was so bursting big, bigger than he’d ever been. Push. Push. An elastic giving sensation. Push again. A rubber collar, spreading. A – a – a…
A plop. My God, he was in! The head of his cock was past the ring. Muscles closed around his cock’s neck, but he was in and there was nothing that was going to stop him going the rest of the way. The eye of his cock was staring up a long dark tight passage, assessing the cruel glee it was about to feel.
Stuart took Virginia by the bones of her hips, fingers hooked into delicate hollows, and he pulled…
There was a long divine dragging slithery sensation, and he’d done it! Even if he stopped right then, he’d done it. He’d buggered a woman!