A rough push,
and Jan had entered me, my buttocks squashed flat by his hard
gripping hands, riding me with a regular rhythm, pushing right up
me then slipping out so the dome of his cock nestled against my
engorged lips, before he slid right up me again. I relinquished
your cock, giving Leta what she desired most. Henrik kneeled before
me and prodded his tool against my lips, requesting entrance.
It is one of
my favourite sensations, having men in me, one pounding away inside
me, controlling me powerfully with his cock, while I can suck on
another. I loved it because it seems that greatest of frisson
between submission and dominance. While Jan clasped me hard and
manipulated me in whatever way he desired I could suck Henrik,
knowing that I had full control of his pleasure. He was so excited
I knew that with the right amount of pressure I could make him come
when I wanted. This is what I was learning that night in your
apartment. Submission and domination; I was learning to love its
ferocious fever and its languid savouring. I was learning to
control my pleasure and to control another's pleasure. What to do,
where to start, how to bring to climax. Now psychologically
prepared, I was getting a lesson in technique.
It was so
lovely to watch you sitting on the bed, and to see Leta sitting on
you, impaled on you, forcing her hips down as hard as she could
while you grasped her breasts in your hand. The look on your face,
Freddie, almost serene. When you were excited, there was only a
moment's tensing of your face, but when you fucked, no matter how
hard you did it, your face always looked quite placid, as stoic in
your pleasure as I imagined you to be in your pain.
Jan sat beside
you on the bed and levered me onto him so we were in the same
position as you and Leta. I was sliding up and down Jan's shaft as
Leta slid up and down on yours.
Henrik had
placed himself standing between Leta and me so we could take it in
turns to suck on his cock while she rode you and I rode Jan. It was
such a liberating experience, to feel Jan's hard cock pounding
inside me, at the same time as having Henrik's member buried in my
mouth and to watch you fucking Leta.
When Leta had
been licking me, I could not bear it, the pressure inside me so
great that I had wanted to come immediately, but now my pleasure
was different, the sensation that burned in me was more joyous than
insistent. I didn't want to come at all: I wanted to stay like this
forever.
I didn't see
what passed across your face as you looked at Jan, whose idea it
was to swap partners. Maybe it was yours, maybe it was you who
wanted to be inside me again. I never asked, Freddie, but it was
wonderful to feel your hardness inside me, tensing the soft inner
flesh of my sex, wonderful to feel your soft hands massaging my
breasts, your neck craning up so your mouth could kiss my neck.
Henrik stood
over me, his penis prodding my lips as I bounced on you. I parted
my lips and took him deep inside, as he felt my lips sucking and
his hard slicked cock.
There was more
urgency now. I could feel Henrik coming, so I came off him and
licked along the base of his shaft. I knew what he really wanted,
and being the good kind girl that I still was I would try to help
him. That was why, exciting though it was, I lifted my reluctant
body off you and nestled down beside Leta encouraging her, telling
her I was going to take Jan's cock, so lovely Henrik could at last
get his fuck with Leta.
I eased off
you and on all fours started to suck you. Leta splayed her legs so
that Henrik could enter her. I positioned myself so I could suck on
Jan's meaty pole. She didn't seem to mind me taking control of him,
there seemed to be no hint of jealousy as Henrik now rode into
Leta, the woman I am sure he was in love with. I would have liked
to have learned the end of that story. Jan was far too preoccupied
to be jealous as I bobbed up and down his shaft. He exploded inside
me in minutes. I felt the thick, white viscous fluid slide down my
throat, and arching my head saw Henrik's firm legs jerk against
Leta's flesh as he climaxed shooting his load inside her.
That of
course, as I suppose is only right considering we were the hosts
and they the guests, left just you and me. I don't know how
spontaneous it was, or whether you had planned something with the
boys in the club before returning, but it was such an exquisite
shock to find myself pinioned on the bed, Jan kneeling down on my
left arm as Henrik kneeled on my right. Leta pressed her upper
torso over me, her breasts squashed against my middle, and you,
Freddie, grabbed both my legs so it was impossible for me to
move.
Momentarily it
frightened me, such ultimate submission, to have my naked
vulnerable body under the glare of eight eyes, to be so completely
at the will of others. I struggled against it, but it was useless.
My plaintive cry only further arousing you, Freddie. You inserted
your pulsing cock deep inside me, as Leta's mouth reached down to
take my clitoris first between her lips and then her teeth, grazing
me gently, before pressing her tongue as hard as she could on the
taut knot of muscle. Henrik and Jan, all the time, were kneading my
breasts in their firm hands.
And then the
further shock of darkness; Jan taking the woollen scarf he had worn
in the pub and pulling it over my eyes so I couldn't see how the
four of you were manipulating my body. I felt your steel cock
inside me; I felt nibbling on my clit; tumescent breasts rubbed
hard, their erect tips roughly taken between fingers and
thumbs.
I wanted my
hips to return your movements, to slap down on you as you thrust
into me, but my body was fastened to the bed; neither could I grab
you nor cling onto you as you stroked me. I was so totally
immobile, so helpless. I could feel your meat pounding, each jab of
your cock harder than the last, as my clitoris grew rigid in Leta's
mouth. My arms ached in pain; there was a stabbing sensation in my
breasts. All this added to my delectable excitement, a calamitous
surge of pleasure fighting against the constriction of my body.
I felt your
prick inside me, bring me such tumultuous pleasure, kindling a
dense heat in my body, mingling with my aching and my pain, but the
sharp stinging of my nipples and the soreness in my arms transmuted
into a secondary pleasure pushing me closer to orgasm. Leta lapped
at my itching clit, and as you seemed to wrinkle out every inch of
the flesh of my sex, I came, overwhelmed by the pressure of my
orgasm, sharper than normal because I could not coil and recoil my
body against it. My consciousness was only allowed to focus on the
explosion of my lust. You shot your seed deep within me; and then
the intensity of my orgasm receded to a soft tender glow that
seemed to thread itself through my whole body, my tender skin
suffused to a subtle prickling sensation. The blind was removed and
I saw four faces looking down on me smiling, serene in my pleasure.
I couldn't help it: the sensual shattering sensation of orgasm had
made me giddy, demented with pleasure. I couldn't help it. I saw
how surprised you were, when I broke into that liberating if
ludicrous cackle.
I would have
liked to know Leta better. I think that I could have learned so
much from her. Perhaps, I still can, Freddie.
She did leave
me her number, and over the last few weeks, since you left, I have
often been tempted.
I remember
going home that night, exhausted after my sexual exertions, and
then lying in bed, listening to the comforting noise of traffic
outside the window, so pleasant to me, strange though it might
seem, after the deadening silence of the countryside. And as I lay
there going into a kind of reverie, maybe for the first time, I
turned my mind to future possibility rather than concentrating on
past regret or present dread. You had shown me how much was
possible with a little guile and wit. These were things which you
possessed in natural abundance, but I thought maybe there were
tricks that you could show me. I knew that I still had so much to
learn, but I was, as I always have been in my life, an eager
student, as you, I was beginning to understand, were a willing
teacher.
It must have
been about three in the morning, my mind reverting to the
businessman in the train carriage, the thought exciting me that I
could have had him, with skill and intelligence and daring, I could
have made my fantasy real. I began to believe in the exhilarating
reality of it all; that all those casual daily encounters offered
such sensuous possibility, pulsed with erotic potential.
It was at this
stage as I began to look forward to my future life that the
telephone rang. It frightened me, making me jump, my mind racing to
Africa: who would ring at this time of night unless they had some
terrible news. But it wasn't terrible at all. I picked up the
receiver.
"Hello
Helena." It was you. I could hear laughing in the background.
Another clever move of yours, Freddie, getting the two boys to go
home, somehow insisting that Leta stay the night. It must have
seemed crazy to them, but they didn't get angry or show that they
were sad.
"Freddie?"
"I know it's
late, but Jean-Claude wants to know if you would like to spend the
weekend with him and Simone and Frank in Provence. I can't make it.
I'm busy with work, but they were very enthusiastic for you to
go."
You sounded so
casual when you asked me, as if you were asking me for a date in a
pub or a restaurant, but I suppose travelling hundreds of miles for
a weekend meant little to you. You were always very
spontaneous.
Almost without
thinking I refused, mentioning work and things to do, saying my
goodnight to you and drifting off to sleep. She hadn't quite died,
that little girl who always insisted on saying no.
Freddie, there
I was four days later, lying on a yacht off the southern coast of
France, in a skimpy bottle-green bikini, bought impetuously at
Heathrow before we boarded our flight to Marseilles.
How had I got
there? Probably I wouldn't have gone if it hadn't been for Anne
Rice. I have the dull girl to thank for giving me one of the most
defining experiences of my life. I had woken up late, dreamy and
tired, my mind still lost somewhere in the mists of my memory of
the previous night. Really, I was still pretty adamant that I
wouldn't go, however tempting the proposition was. I had never been
to Provence, although Jean-Claude had told me a lot about some of
its attractions.
Things were
going too quickly for me. I felt like I was being caught up in the
maelstrom of events. I needed a little time to contemplate what had
happened to me, to stop along the road for a while before
continuing on my journey.
But then Anne
Rice came. I had not been awake for more than half an hour when the
doorbell rang. Even if my life had been in its normal state I would
have done whatever I could to have afforded spending a day with
her. I had tried in my charitable way to be kind to her, to spend
time with her and listen to her problems, but the girl irritated
and bored me.
She was a
member of one of the Christian groups that Gregory and I used to
occasionally attend. I think if she had been honest with herself -
and maybe there was something a little primeval about my distaste
for her - she would have to confess to being attracted to Gregory,
and not a little jealous of me. Gregory, to his credit, couldn't
stand her either, although he never said as much. She was fervently
born again, captious, blinkered in her prejudice, and unhealthily
obsessed by religion, always on the lookout to cast aspersions on
those who did not come up to her dubious and often very unchristian
high standards of behavior. As I said, she was a terrible bore.
"Hi, Helena,"
she said greeting me like a long lost relative. "I hope you don't
mind, but I just thought I'd call around to see what you're up to,
you being on holiday and everything. I thought we might go and see
Dave."
Dave was the
only available man in the Christian group, hopelessly shy, sad,
with the unappealing eyes of a child-molester. I don't know whether
he was, and whether I'm being very unkind here, but a shiver would
always pass through me when I looked into his sinister eyes. His
fondness for taking boy scouts camping did not lessen my
suspicions.
With his
leering eyes and knowing that Gregory was away, he had vaguely
invited us to lunch with him, and poor Anne, having no one else had
turned her attention on the possibility of romance with him.
"Coffee?" I
asked. I had no intention of spending longer than was absolutely
necessary in the name of civility with her, and I certainly did not
want to spend the afternoon facing David's paedophiliac
countenance.
"Love to. You
missing, Greg?"
"Terribly," I
responded, finding the dull earnestness of the girl was bringing
out a cruel sarcastic streak in me. Being desperately single, she
imbued men, all men, with superhuman qualities that they obviously
did not possess.
I fetched
coffee for her and listened to her ramble on about some Christian
dance she had been to, and how she had met this wonderful - rugged,
I think the word was she used - vicar who had connived all evening
to get her telephone number. And then came the expected long
diatribe about her tedious job as a canine beautician. Don't laugh,
Freddie, this is serious.
No, it was not
just Anne that prompted me to ring you to tell you that I had
changed my mind and that I would willingly go to France, it was
everything she symbolized for me. Anne was symptomatic of the
tedium of my life, the dutiful tolerating of all those people I
could not abide. Thus it was she who had literally, I suppose,
driven me to distraction. And, my god, there had been so many.
Gregory was endlessly patient with people, the social unfortunates,
the bitter failures, the starkly sexually repressed like Anne, who
I knew he hated as much as me, but then again Gregory had such
stoic control. I didn't.