Authors: Joan Elizabeth Lloyd
“My God,” he said in wonder. “I never felt anything like that.” He moved his hands trying to find ways to prolong her climax.
When she finally calmed, he said, “That was amazing.”
Autumn smiled. “Yes, it was.”
Summer climbed across his body and held her sopping opening just above the tip of his cock. “Are you ready?”
He was, and yet he found that he was regretting the end of the exploration. “Yes,” he said.
“It's not the end by any means,” Summer said. “Feel.” She placed the tip of his cock against the slippery opening of her body and lowered herself. Slowly Hank's cock entered her. “Feel,” she said again. And he found that he could feel. He could hold his excitement tightly in check as he experienced the wet, tight pussy slowly enveloping him. She filled herself with him, then remained quite still, using her muscles to massage him. He could feel her and, although he wanted to throw her onto her back and pound into her, he found he was enjoying the sensations she was causing.
She lay on his chest and rubbed her breasts against it. She kissed his mouth, his cock still deeply embedding inside of her. Then fingers were on his balls, caressing the orbs and rubbing the skin between the back of his sac and his anus. “See, you don't even have to move,” Summer whispered.
And he didn't, yet he came. Without moving his hips spasms wracked his body and semen erupted into Summer's body. He climaxed for longer than he had believed possible and it was long minutes later before he was coherent again.
“But now you've left me unsatisfied,” Summer said, allowing his now-flaccid cock to fall from her body. The other women had left the rock and she lay beside Hank and said, “Now help me the way I helped you.”
Hank climbed onto his knees and crouched between Summer's spread thighs. He explored her folds with his fingers, remembering what she liked, then he placed his mouth on her clit. He quickly discovered that she liked to have her clit sucked hard while his tongue flicked over the tip. When he felt she was ready, he invaded her channel with his fingers, and felt her come, her hips bucking, almost dislodging his mouth from her body.
As he enjoyed her climax, Hank became aware that Spring and Winter were pleasuring each other, mouths on pussies, fingers probing, bodies straining. Soon the two who hadn't already come, did, screaming their pleasure.
For almost an hour, Hank just lay on the rock, between sleep and waking, his hands idly touching whatever part of whatever woman he could reach.
Then Summer sat up. “It's time for you to go now,” she said.
“Can I visit again?” he asked.
“No,” Spring said. “It's not possible. But you will remember everything we've done and everything you've learned here. And there are so many other women who will enjoy your newfound talents.”
“You will find your dog on your back porch,” Autumn said. “He's waiting for you.”
“I forgot all about him,” Hank admitted.
“We knew you would,” Autumn said. “But we knew he'd get you here and that's what we wanted.”
“This was all a setup?”
“In a way,” Summer explained. “We saw you this afternoon and knew you would be wonderful once you learned. So we took the liberty of using your dog to lure you here. Are you angry?”
Hank grinned. “Of course not.” Winter handed him his clothes and he dressed quickly. “It was great.”
“Yes,” Spring said, “it was.”
Quickly Hank hurried back to the cabin and found Renfrew sleeping on the back porch. He went inside and spent the rest of the night reliving his amazing experience. At about nine the next morning, he climbed out of bed, made some coffee and sat beside the phone. With a sigh, he picked up the receiver and dialed.
“McMillan and Son,” a familiar voice said.
“Jennifer?”
“Hank,” she said, her voice suddenly wary.
“Listen, I'm sorry about everything. I think a lot of our troubles were my fault. Maybe you'd like to have dinner with me one evening. No strings. I'd just like to spend some time with you. I've missed you more than I realized.”
Hank could hear a heavy sigh. “I don't know.”
“I can give you time to think about it if you want. I can call back tomorrow.”
“No. It's okay. Maybe this weekend?”
“Sure,” Hank said, suddenly lighthearted. “Yeah. Great.
Saturday? That little Italian place you always loved?”
“That would be nice,” Jennifer said.
“I'll call you Saturday afternoon and we can agree on a time. Okay?”
“Sure,” Jennifer said. “You sound different.”
“You'd be amazed at how different. Maybe we'll find out together.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“You've grown, Nicki,” Fran said aloud, typing
The Pagans
by Nichole St. Michelle at the top, then closing her laptop. She thought about the calm, one-on-one sexuality of her earlier stories and smiled. “You've come a long way, baby.”
T
he following evening, Fran arrived at the brownstone at six. Carla greeted her at the door, wearing a full-length, cranberry velour robe. Fran had debated for hours about what to wear, what she wanted her clothes to say. She finally selected a fitted, light blue knit dress with a deep scooped neck. Beneath it she wore a bra that enhanced her shape so the dress clung to her new curves and showed a bit of cleavage. She wore black pumps with modest two-inch heels, little jewelry and light makeup. She had pulled her hair back into a French twist. “You look terrific,” Carla said as she ushered Fran inside.
The two women sat in the living room sipping white wine. “This party will be very unusual and I need to explain the ground rules so you can make a serious decision.” Carla sat back. “CJ's last name is Winterman and no one really knows what the CJ stands for. Like OJ Simpson before the troubles. He's an unusual man. He's a teller of erotic tales, and he records tapes of his stories which he sells in his store.”
Carla grinned. “And what a store it is. It's called
A Private Place
and it's downtown. He sells more kinds of erotic toys and games than I have ever seen, and he specializes in bondage and discipline equipment. He also works leather like no one else I've ever met and he made a few of my best outfits.
“Anyway, this party is for several of his friends, all into the dominant-submissive lifestyle. At this party they will trade slaves, or bottoms as they're usually called, play games together and do some things you've probably never seen before, even on the Playboy channel. There is only one rule. There's a back room for those into whipping and heavy pain. None of that will go on in the main room so you, or anyone else, won't see things that might disturb you, except by choice.”
Fran tried to take it all in. Two weeks ago she had been in Omaha, dreaming about anonymous lovers and soft, warm sex. Now, here she was in a New York brownstone owned by a high-priced hooker seriously thinking about going to a dominant-submissive party. She imperceptibly shook her head in amazement.
“There are always people, brought by friends, who are interested in learning about this lifestyle but aren't into it just yet. They dress in street clothes, but they each wear a green ribbon around their neck as a sign that they aren't players.”
“I'm intrigued. And what stories that would trigger.”
“You understand that this is very personal. Nothing factual goes outside that loft.”
Fran laughed. “Of course. I understand that it's all private.”
“Sorry. Of course you do. I'm almost dressed under this robe so I just have to finish up. I'll be down in just a few minutes.”
While she was gone, Fran let her mind wander over the stories she could write, maybe even parts of her next book. But it was difficult to write about situations she'd never been in so this was really for research. Wasn't it? She snorted.
Right
.
When Carla reappeared, Fran could only stare. She was dressed all in red. A tight, red leather teddy, with black laces up the front. The bra cups were missing so Carla's full breasts were displayed for all to see. Long red garters hung from the bottom of the corset and held up long red stockings. On her feet she wore knee-high red patent leather boots and her red leather gloves came up high enough to cover her elbows. Her hair was wild, her makeup severe. Her jewelry was all silver, with heavy-looking earrings, bracelets and a necklace with a large, irregularly shaped, pendant that hung between her breasts.
“Oh my,” Fran gasped. “If I didn't know it was you, I'm not sure I would recognize you.”
The grin was pure Carla. “Thanks. It's taken me quite a while to perfect this look, and longer to feel comfortable with it.”
“Comfortable? You look totally relaxed.”
“When Ronnie and I first got together, and I played power games for the first time, I was a submissive. I loved taking orders, being told what to do. It's really much more difficult, I think, to be the one in charge. You always have to consider not only your own pleasure but that of the person you control. In stories it always seems like the boss gets to do anything he or she wants, but it's not like that at all. To be a really good dominatrix, you've got to be thinking all the time.”
“I never considered that.”
“You like it when O'Malley ties you up, don't you?”
“Yes.” Fran was startled at how easily she discussed the most intimate details of her sex life with someone she had only met two weeks before.
“He's wonderful and considerate. Think about what it would be like if the person in control didn't care as much about your pleasure as his own. It wouldn't be satisfying for you.”
“But I'm sure there must be people who aren't like O'Malley.”
“Sure but, for me and my friends, that's not what the dominant-submissive lifestyle is all about.” Carla took the black cape she had over her arm and draped it around her shoulders. “There's a hired car coming to pick us up assuming that you're still interested in coming along?”
Fran stood up and got her coat. “I wouldn't miss it for anything.”
There was a chilled bottle of champagne waiting in the limo and Fran and Carla sipped as the car wove downtown through Saturday evening traffic. It pulled to a stop in front of an ordinary storefront with the words
A Private Place
in gold lettering on the darkened window. “His loft is upstairs,” Carla said. “Ready?”
Fran squared her shoulders. “I'm more than ready.”
Carla pulled a narrow green ribbon out of her pocket. “Here, tie this around your neck. And if, at sometime during the evening you decide you want to play, just take it off. Then just assume some persona that feels right and someone will get the message.”
Fran tied the ribbon around her neck. Together the two women entered the shop and walked to an elevator in the rear.
When they arrived at the upper floor, the elevator doors opened and Fran's eyes widened and her muscles tensed. There were about three dozen people of all ethnicities in the room. About half were standing, or sitting, talking animatedly. “The ones with the freedom to move around, talk, drink, are the dominants, the tops,” Carla explained. Then she indicated the remainder of the partygoers, who were crouched on the floor or sitting alone, silent. “Those are the slaves, the bottoms. They can only eat, or drink, or speak when they are given permission.” The contrast was remarkable.
Fran stared at two men who stood talking, dressed identically in tight leather pants, vests and boots. Each had a woman at his feet, one a brunette with long flowing hair and one with steel-gray hair cut very short. Both women were naked and the men idly stroked their heads. There was a woman dressed in a tight green sheath dress with five-inch spike heels holding a man wearing a leather jock strap by a collar and leash. She was walking along a buffet table with the man awkwardly crawling behind.
A man and a woman stood near the bar, talking softly. The man was large, with long sandy hair pulled back in a ponytail, a beige suede western-style shirt, matching skin-tight pants and brown boots. A dark-skinned woman, dressed in a light blue teddy which bared her breasts, stood behind him as he chatted with a small Asian woman.
Of the male and female bottoms, many wore nothing but collars. Others wore tiny garments with openings in strategic places. Naked breasts, cunts and penises went unnoticed by everyone. A man stood in the corner, facing the wall wearing an all-over garment of skin-tight leather, with sleeves that attached in the back like a straightjacket. “Some form of punishment,” Carla whispered as she followed Fran's gaze. “Just remember there's no whipping or paddling in here and everything is consensual.”
As Fran put her coat on a chair, she noticed a few men and women with green ribbons like hers. Although the situation was totally bizarre, she forced herself not to stare. But despite her efforts, she found herself again gazing at the man with the beige ponytail and this time he caught her glance. He just stared at her with eyes the color of sherry, until Fran was forced to look away.
With a flourish, Carla removed her cape. Her red outfit stood out like a flame in a forest. “Oh my dear,” one man in a one piece leather outfit, which allowed his large, semierect penis to stick out through an opening, said, “you look wonderful.” He then stared at Fran, his eyes almost black. “Who's your friend?”
“Everyone, this is Nicki. She's an old friend and she's visiting tonight. I told her she was in for an eye-opening evening.” Carla took the hand of one man who had crawled over to sit at her feet. “Nicki, this is CJ. It's his party and he's my party for tonight.” She reached down and took the leash he handed her. She noisily clipped it to a large ring on his collar.
Slightly tongue-tied, Fran stammered, “It's nice to meet you.”
Crouched as CJ was, Fran couldn't tell how tall he was, but his face was almost angelic, topped with a cap of soft brown curly hair. He appeared so innocent, yet here he was rubbing his shoulder against Carla's calves. CJ looked at Carla as if for permission and she nodded. “It's a pleasure. I'm delighted you could be here.” He pointed to the bar at one side of the room. “There are drinks, hard and soft, and lots of food on the table over there.” He motioned. “Please help yourself. Or let someone serve you.”
Carla jumped in. “I don't think she's ready for that just yet. Maybe later.”
“Of course,” CJ said. He looked at Carla. “May I serve you, Mistress?”
“I'd like a white wine. Fran?”
“Sure.”
“Yes, Mistress.” CJ rose to his feet and hurried off.
Softly, Fran said, “Wow. Are there any rules I should know about?”
“I don't think so. Just understand that everything here is for fun. Other than that, just watch and listen. These people aren't shy. At least not most of them.”
“Okay,” Fran said.
“And if something is going on that bothers you, move away. And if the entire scene turns you off, feel free to cut out and head home. I'll call you tomorrow. And if someone approaches you in a way you don't want, just touch your green ribbon. It's an absolute rule that no one will violate your position as a nonparticipant.”
“I understand.” CJ returned with two glasses of white wine and Fran took hers, happy to have something to do with her hands.
“Do you want to stay with me or circulate?”
“I think I'll wander around for a while.” As she moved around the room she realized that, other than the bizarre dress and the positions of the submissives, the party was like lots of others she had attended. The conversations were really rather ordinary, ranging from television shows to politics. She chatted with a few of the dominants and, although she would have liked to hear how the submissives felt about their situation, she didn't want to speak to any of them without permission and she didn't yet feel comfortable enough to ask.
Soon, however, much of the conversation turned to discussions of recent events in the lives of the couples. Training was a frequently discussed subject and many of the tops discussed different methods of introducing new bottoms to their situation.
Fran was standing with two slender, leather-clad men when the elevator doors opened again. A tall, well-built man walked into the room, greeted by several tops. “Walt, I haven't seen you in quite a while,” one said. As Fran watched, his gaze turned to the woman now crawling off the elevator.
Fran looked at her. She was wearing a tight leather corset that cinched her waist in so it appeared that she could hardly breathe. She had a thin gold collar and gold wristbands all connected with long chains. As the woman emerged, Fran could see that her ankles were joined by a foot long length of gold chain.
“Oh, Walt. How wonderful. Is she new?”
“Yes. She's only been with me for about a month but her training's going wonderfully.” He unzipped his tight leather pants and took out his cock. Immediately the woman knelt at his feet, his cock in her hands, her tongue flicking over the tip. Carelessly, he pushed her head away. “Not yet.”
She crouched at his feet. “Of course, sir,” she whispered.
CJ knelt at Carla's side in the center of the room. Carla tapped on her wineglass with a long fingernail and soon everyone was silent. “CJ tells me that everyone's here so who would like to begin the fun and games,” she said. “A few of you are here with new bottoms, I see. Does anyone want to play? As you know, my CJ is still the champ at over eleven minutes. Anyone want to challenge him?”
Fran had no idea what was going on, but she took a seat on one side of the room to watch.
“I'll play,” one man said.
“I'll bet on my Laura,” another voice said.
Several others volunteered people for the game, whatever that was going to be.
Soon, CJ was standing along one wall with a woman at his feet. Three other men were beside him, each with someone sitting beside him. Two were women and one was a man.
“You're new here. Do you know about the game?” a voice said in her ear.