“Dirk, I have to confess. I have never eaten any of these foods. You might as well serve me chocolate-covered ants.”
“That’s for dessert. How did you guess?” he asked. When he saw alarm flood her eyes, he said, “Joking, joking. I will be in charge of feeding you. You’ll love it.”
He led her to an oversized black-leather divan in a corner and dimmed the lights before switching on a floor lamp near her. He refilled their glasses and then brought over the black fish eggs on ice in some sort of elaborate silver dish with sour cream and tiny pancakes on it.
He concocted the caviar, sour cream, blini combination and gently fed it to her. As she bit into them, the minute eggs burst with a fishy, salty, sexy flavor. The taste and texture were instantly pleasing to her. She did not have to acquire a taste for this. Soon they were feeding each other, devouring the eggs, which were popping with flavor.
“We need to save room for the lobster. Let’s have some sorbet. Then the oysters. I’ll shuck them and feed you. You’ll love them too. Daddy Dirk knows what’s good and sexy.”
After the palate-cleansing raspberry sorbet flavored with rosemary, he shucked and slid an oyster down her throat. She swallowed reflexively.
“Was that thing alive?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“Of course. You can’t eat them otherwise.” He smirked, enjoying providing her with new experiences.
“I’m a bit uneasy, but I have to admit it’s sort of great. Wild, really. A turn-on,” she said, feeling warmth spreading upward throughout her body as if a fire had been lit beneath her.
“That’s just because I’m feeding you. I’m a turn-on,” he said, grandiose and aroused.
“I admit it. You are. I love everything about you.”
“Here comes the lobster. Allow me to refill your glass first. Daddy will do all the work,” he said, winking at her.
He fed her chunks of alabaster lobster meat drenched in creamy butter and chased by chunks of crusty bread. They sipped champagne between every bite, and they needed several refills.
She became slippery with desire as her face became slick with dripping butter. Dirk began to lick her lubricated chin, determined to get all the butter.
Then he started licking everything, her eyelids, her ears, her nose, her neck, and her lips shiny with butter. He bestowed lingering love bites on her neck, drawing blood occasionally.
When he gently prodded her lips open and began kissing her, she responded in kind, liquescent with lust.
“Dirk, enter me. I’m dying of hunger. I’m sick with desire,” she cried out, barely aware of her words when she broke away from their incendiary kisses, tongues battling for who could go deeper or thrust harder in their oral sword fight.
He dropped the lobster still in his hand without a word and fetched some warming butter. Still wordless, his robe opening to reveal his sex at full attention, he hurried toward her.
She dropped her champagne flute, hearing the splintering crystal as if from a great height as she ripped off her robe. He flipped her over easily as he was slathering warm melted butter onto his cock. Then he inserted one buttery finger into her anus. She sighed with relief. He put two well-greased fingers in and got the same response.
Carried on the wave of her swelling desire, he buttered up her anus and thrust into her rear canal. He felt an immediate powerful pulsating as Sophia responded to encapsulate his thrusting. So rhythmically and tightly held, his turgid tabernacle burst into semen song, pumping out his sticky elixir. Sophia responded, dissolving into mindless bliss as her pulsing mingled with his pumping, a sexual duet in perfect harmony.
CHAPTER 26
When they awoke from their respective stupors, satiated and supremely relaxed, they exchanged wide-mouthed smiles. Hours or minutes might have elapsed. They had no sense of time.
Dirk spoke first. “That was the best fucking anal sex of my life. To think I’ve reached the grand old age of sixty-nine to be sexually rocked. Not like those youngsters. Those witless wonders who’re compliant because I’m wealthy and gorgeous. But they don’t really want it or like it. They just submit,” Dirk said, laughing. “Zophie, darling, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I deflowered you, but you were a spontaneous, unschooled expert. You gave as good as you got. I love that.” Dirk kissed her gratefully, holding her face in his hands and looking into her flaming green eyes.
Sophia felt a frisson of desire as he handled her face. The thrilling act flashed through her mind, shooting out tendrils of longing despite her exhaustion.
“You’re the best, Dirk,” she responded as she stepped onto the tile and promptly felt a shard of glass slide painfully into the fleshy pad of her big toe. “Oh, Dirk. I forgot about the glass,” she said, holding her right foot, the toe dripping rich blood. She pulled herself back onto the divan, fearful of more glass splinters.
“Here. Let Daddy fix it.”
Dirk moved her to the other end of the divan, easily removing the glass from her toe. Like a thirsty vampire drawn to the fountain of life, he swooped down and began sucking her dripping toe clean. “Let’s take a bath,” Dirk said. “I have some wonderful bath stuff and since we’re both super sensual beings, we’ll love it.”
He led her, unabashedly naked, into the spacious bathroom, which was taken up in large part by an enormous oval tub made of yellow marble veined with green and gold, old and alive.
“Wait here, my love, while I fetch the bath things and some more champagne,” he said. “We’re like Adam and Eve. You bit into the apple of anal sex.” He flung the words over his shoulder as he hurried out of the room.
That man has so much energy, she thought, watching his buttermilk buttocks disappear. Sixty-nine! she thought, sitting up straight with delayed surprise, remembering his enthusiastic outburst after the sex. He’s that old? Hard to believe.
He returned in no time. He was weighed down with candles and a large container of Vitabath. Once he deposited those, he hurried off and reappeared with a bottle of Bollinger on a silver salver with two flutes and two brown vials. Enigma’s hypnotic music came on as if magically.
“We have the same taste in bubble bath and music,” Sophia observed.
“No surprise there, my darling. We are very much alike. We enjoy the same pleasures,” Dirk said.
Dirk busied himself with lighting the candles, drawing the bath, perfuming it with one of the vials, pouring in a generous amount of the forest-green Vitabath, and opening the champagne.
He deftly helped Sophia step into the foaming fragrant water, kissing her hand and holding it aloft like a medieval courtier. He bowed, offering her a flute full of bubbly.
“This is heavenly bliss,” she said as the water enveloped her in its warm embrace. “All my senses soothed and stimulated all at once. And the vision of you with that glorious cock is the crowning touch,” she said, reaching out to fondle him possessively.
He placed the silver tray on the generous ledge surrounding the tub, and smiling at her conspiratorially, he tapped out two lines of white powder from the other brown vial onto the tray, snorting them into his nostrils with a fine silver straw.
Although she was pretty certain it was cocaine, it seemed to have a paradoxically calming effect on him, arresting the frenetic restlessness. He sat close to her, sipping his drink slowly, eyes closed, a euphoric smile lighting up his handsome face.
Loath to break the silence, she closed her eyes and breathed in the aromas as she listened to the music throbbing around her. She never wanted this to end.
Sophie stirred from her trance when Dirk gently removed the champagne flute from her fingers. He placed it on the ledge beside his before leaning over to draw on her left nipple, sucking and biting it while he kneaded her entire breast like dough that was reluctant to rise easily at the baker’s touch.
Once he sensed she was ready, Dirk pulled himself up onto the wide ledge and moved her head into position between his legs. Her eager mouth found his swelling sex, and she smoothly
sucked it into fullness, enjoying the sensation of his growing bigger and harder in her mouth. She gave her full attention to his uncircumcised head, peeling back the foreskin while manipulating the rest of him firmly with her hand, tickling his balls intermittently.
When Dirk, in a frenzy of helpless lust, started pumping out his semen, she kept her lips tightly locked on his head and sucked mightily, drinking in every drop. Once he was suctioned dry, Sophia raised her head and wiped her mouth on his inner thighs, holding onto his knees.
“You darling girl,” Dirk exclaimed as he slid back into the water, which by now had grown cool. He turned on the hot water tap to raise the temperature.
“I need to rest now before I return the favor.” He smirked. “Why, you could suck the chrome off a bumper!”
“No, no, Dirk. I’m satisfied for now. I don’t have your energy. Just pass me the bubbly,” she said, entwining her fingers playfully in his abundant curly pubic hair.
She noticed a large purple star-shaped mark like a starfish on his lower stomach just above his pubic hair.
“What’s that? A tattoo?”
“No, no. That’s a port-wine stain, a birthmark. I’m doubly lucky. Usually babies are born with it on their faces. This is a rare spot for it. Usually they’re just an odd shape. Gorbachev has that nasty one on his bald pate for all the world to see. Mine is a perfectly formed star. An indication I was destined for greatness,” he said, fingering the stain.
“Are you superstitious?” she asked, leaning over to lick the outline of the star.
“I’m a little bit of everything. I believe in signs when it suits me. By the way, I was so rude before, Zophie. I didn’t offer you any cocaine,” Dirk said.
“I’m fine, Dirk. I’m not into that. You and the champagne are intoxicating enough for me,” she said, raising herself up from his belly to nibble on those thick curvaceous lips. “But what’s in the other vial? The one you put in the bath water?” she asked.
“Oh, one of my many projects is making fine oils and perfumes. This is my favorite concoction. It complements the Vitabath. Woodsy, earthy, and with a touch of citrus. Tangerine and grapefruit. I think it’s an aphrodisiac.”
“You are an aphrodisiac and a man of many talents,” Sophia said, leering at him.
He basked in her praise like a cat wallowing in strong sunshine. “Zophie, you don’t know the half of it.” He leaned in, handing her the refilled flute.
Becoming expansive, as one can only after liberating sex, he divulged things about himself as if he had known her for a long, trusting time. “I have three major vices. Kinky sex, gambling, and art forgery. I’m a magnificent forger of Renaissance art. Particularly Raphael, that shooting star, who died at age thirty-seven. To me he’s the Holy Ghost of the trinity of Michelangelo, the Father, and Leonardo da Vinci, the Son. They say there are three reasons for forging art: greed, vengeance, and thrills. I come from a wealthy family and never questioned my talents as an artist. So for me, the forging is all about thrills. When I paint, I dance. When I forge, I dance the tango.
“My successes as a forger as well as my legitimate art business allow me to indulge in gambling. Blackjack, roulette, and poker are my poisons, depending on my mood. That’s why I live in Monaco part of the year. A great place to feed my habit.
“As for the kinky sex, I may have found my love goddess. All these phony women who humor me. You are a partner in debauchery. I have a lot more to share with you. Have you ever heard of erotic asphyxiation? No?” She shook her head. “That provides ultimate pleasure. We’ll try it some time,” he said.
“Strangulation?” Sophia asked, skeptical. “Oh, I have heard of autoerotic asphyxiation. It ends in a lot of unintended deaths when the hanging turns deadly. Doesn’t sound too appealing.”
“Cutting off the air really rocks your boat. Unfuckingbelievable orgasms. You’ll see. If we do one another, there’s no risk of strangulation.”
“You could get too carried away and—”
“No, Zophia. Daddy knows what he’s doing,” Dirk protested. “Leave it all to me. I’m getting too old to roam around like a scraggly tom in heat, encountering disappointment after disappointment. I have a brilliant idea. You can be my official love slave. I want you to get a clitoral-hood piercing to symbolize your bondage,” he said.
“A clitoral-hood piercing? Won’t that hurt?” Sophia asked, intrigued.
“Silly, Zophie. It doesn’t go into the clit. That’s madness. It’s in the hood, so it can be seen on the surface, and it enhances pleasure tremendously. Then you’ll be mine. You can shut up shop as far as Barth is concerned. All mine,” he said quietly.
“Hold on. Aren’t we moving too fast?”
“I move fast when it’s right, and this is so right. I know you can feel it as much as I do.”
“I need to think,” she said.
“You’ll get a vertical-hood piercing, a VCH piercing, it’s called. I’ll buy you a diamond stud or whatever they call the jewelry.” He steamed along.
“I need to think,” she repeated, surprised that he heard her this time, so wrapped up was he in his impulsive plan.
“Okay, my darling. Let’s finish our drinks and go to bed. Wait until you see my bed. You’ll swoon,” he said.
“Now I have to intervene. You must put the brakes on, my dear. I have fallen into a wonderful thing with you, but clit rings and sex slaves? Asphyxiation?”
“We’ll save the asphyxiation. I’m going too fast. Let’s stick with the anal for a while. I’m overenthusiastic,” Dirk said.
“Barth thinks I’m having dinner with my friend Sonya. I can’t spend the night. I’m taking my daughter to the airport tomorrow. She’s getting married in New York and moving to Rouen,” she said.
“The solution is simple, Zophie,” he said, putting his fingers into her vagina and pulling her toward him. “You will call Barth and tell him you and Sonya are enjoying yourselves barhopping, and you must spend the night with her because you are so inebriated, and she lives ten feet from where you are standing. Then ask him to drive your daughter to the airport tomorrow and that you’ll Skype her in New York. Finally, call Sonya and get her to cover for you just in case. I have the wisdom of Solomon. Nothing simpler,” he said. “How old is your daughter?”
“Thirty five,” she answered absent-mindedly, her head whirling as she thought of further deceiving Barth and disappointing Lili.
“I had a daughter. We were terribly close. We were so much alike. Funny, she would have been thirty-five this year,” he said, turning melancholy.
“What happened?” Sophia asked.
“She died. What else?” he replied, shaking himself free of the painful past. “I’ll tell you all about it some time. Now you must call Barth and Sonya before you can enjoy my King Henry the Eighth bed and view a few of my forged masterpieces.”
She was consumed with curiosity. About his daughter’s demise, his bedroom, the piercing, his vices. At the same time, “‘Come into my parlor,’ said the spider to the fly,” reverberated in her head.
CHAPTER 27
Sophia was a slave to her libido, awakened to her sensuality. And if there were some masochism inextricably entwined in her awakening, so be it.
After one look at Dirk’s bedroom, she was hooked, just as she had been after one look at Dirk himself. A gleaming mahogany replica of a fifteenth-century four-poster bed, richly tapestried and heavily canopied, took center stage. It did indeed look as if Henry could have consummated marriages and whored in this very bed. Except for one detail. This bed was much larger, wider, and longer than one of Henry’s time. Other than that, it looked like a time-travelling bed.
In fact, the entire bedroom could have transported Sophia to another time, if it weren’t for the presence of electricity, in the form of bedside lamps, glorious old Tiffanies, but nonetheless electric, sitting on antique side tables.
The walls were painted a deep red and covered with what appeared to be fifteenth-century paintings
and sketches. Madonna and Child representations abounded as did sketches of beautiful Italian boys, girls, men, and women. Many paintings were in ornate gilt frames. She felt as if she had stepped into a room of a venerable Italian museum. The Uffizi or Pitti Palace.
“Dirk. This room, this bed, the art. I’m speechless,” Sophia managed to utter.
“Wait until we romp around inside this thing. It heightens the sex. Playing around in the bowels of the bed with this heavy tapestry and canopy is priceless. Just wait,” he breathed into her ear.
“I have to admit this room is seductive,” Sophia said.
“Okay, my love slave, get busy with your phone calls.”
Dirk brought her back to reality as he slapped her buttocks, stinging her into action.
“I don’t feel I can do this,” she protested, her cell phone, retrieved from her bag, gripped in her hand.
“Daddy will have to spank you if you’re going to be naughty,” Dirk announced, moving closer to her.
“Okay, I’ll do it. Will you spank me anyway, Daddy? Real hard?” she pleaded.
“With great pleasure. Now step into the bathroom to make those calls,” he commanded.
Sophia exhaled, gathering up her courage as she called Barth. He picked up immediately.
“Do you know how late it is? I’ve been out of my mind with worry. Are you all right? Where are you? I’ve called and called.” Barth was squawking like an outraged parrot.
“Calm down. I’m sorry. We got carried away with the time.”
She glanced at her watch, horrified to note that it was midnight. The witching hour, she thought. She began tugging furiously at her left ear as she held the phone to her right.
“Sonya and I started barhopping, and we overdid it. We’re both at the point of no return. Since we’re close to her place, we’re going to crash,” she said, slowing down and thickening her speech. All the champagne she had consumed seemed to have little effect on her faculties. She had burned it off during all the activity.
Time's Hostage: The dangers of love, loss, and lus (Time Series Book 1) Page 19
