by Felix Baron
Maria, meanwhile, had washed and rinsed my column, its head, and my scrotum, gently but thoroughly. She dabbed me dry with a soft cloth and anointed my throbbing member with some exotic oil, cooing with delight as she stroked my length.
A throaty voice announced, ‘He’s ready for me.’
Fatima writhed to her feet and sat back on her bench, her wanton thighs spread wide, with an orange segment held to her cunny. Maria moved aside but still held my cock. Their young bodies had been blocking my view of Zema, ebony, naked and magnificent.
The games women and girls play! There’d been no reason to ‘prepare’ me for Zema. Short of being dead or close to it, I couldn’t imagine not being ready to tup the African Venus. Besides, it behoved me to endear myself to the woman who held me captive. I let my lust show, both on my face and by twitching my member at her. She grinned salaciously. One step took her astride my hips. Her knees bent, lowering her sex towards the bulb that capped my shaft.
I shook my head. Her brows lifted. I signalled with a backwards nod and showed her my tongue.
‘You want?’ she asked.
‘To drink at your sweet fountain,’ I told her.
Giggling like a debutante, Zema planted her feet to each side of my shoulders and lowered herself once more. As her thighs spread, so did the lips of her sex. A mass of tight black curls parted to reveal a startlingly pink dewy gash. As her labia spread more, her clitoris was revealed, its shaft as long as my little finger, its head the size and hue of a pale cherry. I made a show of licking my lips. Zema’s fingers drew back on her sheath. She fell forward on to her knees and one hand. The tid-bit I wanted and that she was eager to feed me was no more than an inch from my lips. I lifted my head and gripped it between my lips, just behind its delicate helmet.
Zema grunted and tensed. My tongue lapped, slowly at first but accelerating steadily. When her massive thighs clamped my face and she was gurgling, I released my grip. She let out a strangled cry of frustration. Her fist took a handful of my hair to drag my face back to where she wanted it. She was too powerful a woman for me to risk tormenting until she lost control. I tongue-whipped her clit mercilessly and was rewarded by an almighty grunt, a gush of her essence, and her collapse. The softness of her belly completely covered my face. I tried turning my head to snatch a breath but my face had sunk into her as if she were a vast pillow. My feet and hands signalled frantically. I was on the brink of sinking my teeth into Zema’s flesh out of my desperate need for air when the two girls finally noticed my plight and rolled her off me.
Zema and I lay side by side, both panting. Maria and Fatima seemed to find this most amusing. Perhaps I would have as well, had I not been the object of their hilarity. Eventually Zema rose up, loomed over me and gave me a sloppy wet kiss, filling my mouth with her thick tongue. I, and my shaft, both hoped this signalled a renewal of our erotic bout, but it didn’t. The ebony giantess clambered to her feet, tottered to the rear of the carriage and dropped out over the end. It was not a dangerous feat. Hitched oxen, at their fastest, don’t exceed the pace of a light infantry company’s quick-march.
I said, ‘Maria? Fatima? How may I please you young ladies?’
With a chuckle, Fatima took the place and position that Zema had occupied. A segment of orange dangled from between the lips of her smooth satiny mound. I took it between my teeth, tugged it out and ate it. She replaced it, but this time with a piece of lime. My head lifted. She pushed it back, gently. I was allowed to watch as her fingers worked the slice all the way into her cunny. I expected to be required to retrieve it but she motioned to me to rest my head on my pillow and continue to watch as she stuffed a second, third and fourth segment into her lower mouth.
Holding my face immobile between her hands, Fatima reared up and forward until her sex was immediately above my lips. I looked up over the rolling curves of her tummy and between the jiggling mounds of her breasts. Her face creased in concentration. Her belly rippled. I opened my mouth just in time to catch, first, a few drips of juice, and then a small acidic flood. Fatima strained. A wad of mangled pulp emerged and plopped into her waiting palm.
I told her, ‘Brava!’
Grinning mischievously, Fatima duck-walked backwards. Maria held my shaft, aiming it straight up. Fatima lowered herself. My dome nudged her cunny’s lips apart. She lowered another inch and I realised why she’d douched with lime juice. Either the acid had neutralised her natural lubrication or it’d shrunk her, internally, as it might purse a mouth, or both, but her cunny resisted my invasion as effectively as an unwilling and virgin bum. Fighting against my bonds, I thrust upwards as well as I could.
‘So tight,’ she moaned. ‘I am your maiden bride, big English. Force me to accept my fate! Sacrifice me! Make me scream. Have no mercy! Pierce me to the quick!’
A hymen resists once and then is sundered. Fatima’s sheath fought me inch by inch. Maria held my shaft until half its length disappeared and then she was overtaken by lust. She leaned over me to suck my tongue. She nipped my nipples between her small sharp teeth; and did the same to Fatima. She stood to dance an excited little jig, then sank down, pressing her humid cunny to the instep of my left foot as she slavered and moaned over my testes.
I worked my hips from side to side, wriggling my cock deeper and deeper into the Egyptian. Fatima threw back her head in a delirium of pleasure-pain. Her fists crushed the ripe softness of her own ample breasts, extruding flesh between her fingers.
The compression, the dragging on my cock’s head, were an exquisite torment. I was close to becoming desperate to plumb the minx’s depths when suddenly the resistance disappeared. Fatima dropped the last two inches, taking my full length. Her pubes ground down on mine. I realised that the lime juice might have contributed to her tightness but most of it was from the contraction of her powerful internal muscles.
I told Fatima, ‘Salaam’, acknowledging her erotic prowess.
She responded with a further demonstration, sending ripples of constriction and relaxation the length of my shaft. We grinned at each other, as Freemasons might do after exchanging cryptic signs. She and I recognised each other as past-masters of the venereal arts.
With blatant glee, Fatima bounced and squeezed and rotated her hips in a bravura performance of erotic gymnastics. Her arms extended to each side and undulated as if they were boneless. Her shoulders shook, jiggling the bountiful mounds of her breasts.
Maria’s mouth deserted my sac. No doubt Fatima’s gyrations had made her position, with her face between Fatima’s bottom and my scrotum, difficult. The lovely young Spaniard rose up behind Fatima. Her left shoulder twitched, dislodging her chemise to her elbow. Her right shoulder shrugged. White cotton slithered down her slender young body. Her breasts were shapely, though no larger than would pleasantly fill my hands. She was a little slim for my taste, with the arches of her ribs visible, her belly flat and her hipbones a tad too close to her skin. Her mons was prominent. It was veiled by a mere wisp of silky black hair.
Her body arched. She leaned forward, over Fatima’s head. Maria took one of Fatima’s lush breasts in each hand and jiggled them. Fatima bent her head back to reach the dangling treat of Maria’s left nipple, on which she suckled avidly.
I found the Sapphic display, along with Fatima’s incredible internal skills, delightfully arousing. Nevertheless, my bondage irked me. My cock was being well tended to but I’m a man who likes the feel of a woman’s body in his hands and the taste of her skin on his tongue. In the lists of lust, I am more of a ‘doer’ than a ‘done-to’, by preference.
I did what I could. My bonds allowed me some small movement. I was able to thrust up, at least, if not far.
The girlish lovers separated long enough to allow Maria to circle Fatima and stand astride me, pubes-to-face with the Egyptian girl. Fatima’s spread hands clutched the cheeks of Maria’s bottom and dragged her close. Maria knotted her fingers in Fatima’s hair for the same purpose. I could watch the dimples in Maria’s lean little r
ump dance and the dark eye between her cheeks wink as she flexed her cheeks but I couldn’t see what Fatima’s mouth was doing. I could hear it, though. The snuffling and slurping were music to my ears. Ere long, the insides of Maria’s spread thighs were glistening with her spending or Fatima’s spittle, or both.
Fatima’s right hand released its grip on Maria’s bottom. Two fingers, clamped together, wormed upwards into the Spanish girl’s cunny, thrust thrice, withdrew and forced their way into the tight channel of the girl’s bottom.
The sudden rude invasion pushed Maria over the edge. She let out a sharp cry and staggered backwards, tripping over me and sprawling by my head.
Fatima, her cheeks wet and shiny, gave me a beatific smile, gyrated her hips hard and fast, grinding down, let out a long sigh and toppled to the side.
My cock flipped out from her warm wet cunny, and was left, standing, feverish and achingly unfulfilled. I contained my impatience for five or ten minutes before craning sideways to Maria and giving her tummy a gentle nibble. She sat up. Her eyes went from mine to my erection and back. She cocked her head in a silent question. I gave her a solemn nod, as if having my cock’s needs attended to was of little interest to me, but if she was eager to take care of them, she had my gracious permission.
Maria bobbed her head in thanks and moved closer, to sit cross-legged between my thighs. She arched over me. Her mouth hovered above my rigid shaft. The contrast between the nobility of her features and their lascivious expression delighted me. She contemplated my cock for a moment, as if deciding where to start. It wagged at her. She took a firm grip just below its head and slavered it with the flat of her tongue. Her hair tumbled, veiling what she was doing from my sight. I grunted disapproval.
Understanding, she swept her hair back and lowered her parted lips. They met my purple helmet in a soft kiss. I felt her tongue at my cock’s eye. Moving at a damned leisurely pace, her head descended. Her lips spread. They engulfed my glans, paused, then worked lower, taking my shaft into her mouth a fraction of an inch at a time. She’d engulfed no more than three inches when she pulled back, even more slowly, with her wet lips mumbling on my rigid flesh.
Fatima rolled over to rest her face on my belly and watch Maria’s work. Perhaps a muscle in my abdomen twitched, for Fatima laid the flat of her hand on my pubes, as if to caution me from thrusting upwards. I had no such intention, of course. Anticipation is all, or close to all, in matters of lust. I had no wish to hurry. Fatima’s head was blocking my view of Maria’s face. I halfway sat up for a better view.
Maria’s lips descended again, just as slowly, but travelling an inch further down my column. She shook her head and swirled her tongue over my dome before retreating. Her next assault took her yet another inch lower. Instead of shaking her head, she bent it to one side, forcing my cock into the pouch of her cheek. The soft wet flesh there buffed my hardness. The dear girl’s cheek bulged obscenely. She withdrew, completely, and studied my cock’s head once more. When her eyes lifted to meet mine, they were brimming with tears. I wondered for a moment if she regretted what she was doing but she smiled and told me, ‘It is so beautiful.’
Her hands gripped my thighs. Her body rose up and she turned, tilting forward as her head tilted back on her neck, lining her mouth up with her throat. Maria plunged down. The full length of my cock disappeared. I felt it butt the back of her throat and then her throat working and, to my joy, I realised she had actually managed to swallow at least the head of my cock and perhaps a third of its shaft. Selin, the Hindu odalisque at Benim’s court, had performed a similar but lesser marvel. Fatima gasped, then clapped and exclaimed, ‘Magnifique!’
Maria’s tears rained on my pubic mound as she bobbed, fucking her own throat with my cock. Spittle ran from her mouth and drooled on to me. I could not deny her the reward she so obviously craved.
I warned her, ‘I’m about to spend!’
She drew back just enough that when my cream flooded, it was into her mouth, not directly down her throat.
The night was cool but I was snug. I slept with Fatima’s head on my left shoulder and Maria’s on my right, and under a quilted silk coverlet. A shapely thigh was draped across my left leg and a slender one over my right. From time to time, during the night, I was woken by idly caressing fingers or by soft lips nibbling at my neck.
I dreamed of Isabel’s loving arms twining around me and of hot buttered crumpets with strawberry jam.
Thirteen
COME MORNING, I was taken out by Zema and her mate, again held back by a noose and prodded forward by the point of a sword. We’d reached higher and less fertile country. All that grew was scrubby shrubs and little yellow flowers that I didn’t recognise.
I was given a bucket of water to carry and was steered towards a clump of bushes. When we came to a patch of something low and thorny, I made to circumnavigate it out of respect for my bare feet.
The little man pulled me back to a straight and prickly path, sneering, ‘He has the feet of a pampered sodomite, like all damned English.’
The noose about my throat snatched tight and jerked me backwards. I recovered and turned. The little man was on the ground with a bloody nose. His sword lay in the dirt, as did the end of my tether. Zema’s fist was still clenched.
She berated the man for insulting me, calling him ‘Melku-with-a-sick-worm-between-his-legs.’
He gave me a look that’d have blistered the hide of a rhino. When I offered him my hand he spat at it, clambered to his feet and circled me to retrieve his weapon. Zema, I hoped, noted that I had stood between Melku and his sword and had not tried to take it or escape.
When we reached the stand of bushes Zema had Melku pay out some twenty feet of line, thus affording me a degree of privacy.
On my return from my ablutions, I found the girls breaking their fast with bowls of hot black tea, Jacob’s Cream Crackers, goat’s cheese and fruit. I was returned to supine bondage. Maria held a bowl of tea to my lips. Fatima spread cheese on crackers and fed me. I took pieces of apple and segments of orange from between their lips. It was the most lascivious confinement I could imagine. All of my wants were catered to, except my need to walk free. I was like some exotic wild beast, securely caged but pampered, en route to The Zoological Society of London, there to be exhibited for the public’s edification.
I reminded myself that I was being carried in relative luxury towards my twin goals of scotching the conspiracy, whatever it was, and of rescuing Honey. I had no idea how either might be accomplished but was sure something would come up.
With our meal done, the girls returned to their favourite pastimes, flirting with each other and teasing me. Fatima flaunted her bountiful breasts by wearing nothing but her gauzy skirt. Maria, more subtly, wore a fresh chemise, this one with a draw-string neckline that she wore off-the-shoulder fashion. The pair busied themselves, as women do, rearranging pillows and cushions; straightening and folding cloths.
Maria said, ‘He should have something beneath him.’
I agreed but said nothing. My back was beginning to resent the bare rough wood. I’ve slept on worse surfaces but not without being free to change my position.
The girls fussed, sorting through bright squares of silk, lengths of white and unbleached cotton and oddments of a dozen varied fabrics. Their ‘work’ seemed to necessitate them stepping over me frequently and occasionally pausing with their feet astride my head, affording me ample time to gaze up their skirts.
Eventually they decided that I should rest on three layers, the tanned hide of a zebra below a pair of cotton sheets. My opinion, when I’d expressed it, had been ignored.
Maria rolled the zebra skin up and put it by my head.
Fatima knelt astride my hips. ‘Sit up, English.’
I sat up, with unnecessary but welcome help from the girls. Maria pushed on my shoulders while Fatima tugged on my neck. My rising put my face on a level with Fatima’s. As Maria unrolled the hide down to my rump, Fatima and I sampled each ot
her’s tongues. Maria paused for a few moments before saying, ‘Down, English.’
I lay as flat as I could with half the rolled skin tucked under my lower spine.
Each worked a hand under me to cup one of my buttocks. ‘Lift,’ Maria commanded.
I raised my hips as high as I could, forming a bridge that wagged my shaft inches from their noses. They fumbled beneath me, unrolling the skin, with each of the young beauties’ cheeks ‘accidentally’ brushing my member. Inevitably, it reacted by stiffening and moistening.
Maria said, ‘Do you smell honey, Fatima?’
‘I believe I do, little sister, but whence comes this tempting odour?’
Maria giggled. ‘Could it be from the giant stinger of this monstrous English bee?’
‘Tasting would be the test,’ Fatima mused, fluttering her eyelashes at me. She took a smear of my seeping on her finger and held it to Maria’s lips.
Maria sucked Fatima’s finger slowly, cocked her head and announced, ‘I swear the creature leaks honey-wine. I must sample more, from the very source.’ She bent over and took the dome of my cock into her talented mouth.
Fatima scolded, ‘Sister, dear, we have a bed to make. Let us complete that chore before we enjoy the fruits of our labours.’
A sheet was rolled. Once more, I was helped to sit up. Somehow, in the wriggling and tugging, Maria’s neckline got pulled down to her left elbow, leaving one nubile breast free. Nipples were dragged across my lips. The hands that helped lift my rump brushed my sac. Between times, sinuous tongues invaded my willing mouth. As each sheet was successfully put in place, one girl or the other sampled my ‘honey’.
With the job done, Fatima announced, ‘Now we may feast.’ Two girls’ hands wrapped my shaft and pumped in slow unison. Two tongues lapped at my cock’s helmet. Two mouths took turns covering it. My scrotum tightened …
