“Ow. Don’t even joke about that. So, back up a minute. You worked your way up from petting to getting naked to going down, and after you came you wanted…what?”
“To suck his dick,” I said crisply.
“I see. Had you ever seen his dick? Or anybody else’s? Did you have any idea what you were going to do with it?”
I looked back at him with a raised eyebrow that Lourdes Johnston couldn’t have outdone. “I had a general idea, yes. I had read books, I had seen porn. I wasn’t completely ignorant on the subject.”
“I gotcha. So you knew a little, but mainly you just knew you wanted it. You wanted that cock. And I assume that at some point he let you perform this act on him, porn princess?” He shifted his hands again, pulsing slowly inside me.
“Oh yes. I was a natural. Oh…deeper…please…”
And then he stopped again, to my extreme frustration. “No. You still haven’t given me your answer yet. But let’s finish this. So you sucked this guy off and the next time you saw him, I’m guessing, or maybe the time after that, he started to go down on you or was fucking you with his hand or whatever or you were sucking him. And then what happened?”
“Were you there or something? We’d been sort of planning it. We’d had the condoms for a few weeks but…I made him stop going down and put on a condom and just do it. I couldn’t take it anymore, I just wanted—”
“His dick inside you, fucking you, filling up your pussy instead of just playing with it like he had been?”
“Well…yes, actually. But what does that have to do with… Oh.”
“Mm-hmm. You will be begging for it, if I want you to, Kate. Little Katie girl, with such a sweet ass, and nobody’s ever really touched it but me. I don’t just want to fuck it, I want to make love to it, little one.” Contrary to his intention of waiting for me to decide, he bent down and licked me gently a few times, swirling his tongue around the hole where his fingertip was resting, just teasing at the opening. “Let me in, Katie. Let me keep going with this. Say yes. Just say it—you wouldn’t be waiting if you didn’t want to. You want me to have all of you. I want all of you.”
“Yes Sir,” I finally choked out, the sensations he was stirring already making it difficult to think, to talk.
“Good girl,” he said, and that familiar warm glow spread over me even as he tongued me more vigorously before pulling back again. “Very good girl. That’s very brave of you, Katie. I need you to relax now, all right? But when I tell you what to do, remember to do it, don’t ask questions. Not this time. Whatever it is. Understand?”
“Yes Sir.” Just please don’t take your hands away…
He did take his hands away, to bind my legs again, and one of my hands, although a little more loosely than before. Still, although I could bend my knees just enough to raise myself up on them, I couldn’t close my legs and I couldn’t reach any of the tethers with the loose hand.
A second later I heard the quiet snap of a plastic lid opening, and felt a cold drip of liquid slide between my cheeks, quickly coating me from ass to clit as Jack worked the slippery stuff with his fingers. When did he get out the lube? He slid the fluid everywhere and I squirmed at the differences in sensation the slickness provided as his hand smoothed and probed and slid over me. He rubbed a quantity of the stuff along my ass, using the lack of friction to dip into the tight little bud with more ease, before pressing more firmly at the spot and giving me the instruction he must have anticipated I’d balk at.
“Now push against my finger. Push out.”
I didn’t want to. It felt wrong, but I didn’t want to face the consequences of not obeying either. And so I pushed—and he slid his finger smoothly past the double ring of muscles that had caused me so much pain before.
In my surprise I stopped pushing, and I felt him even more keenly as my ass clenched around him. The unexpected feeling of intrusion triggered the impulse to push again, and this time Jack slid his finger in to the hilt, twisting slightly to get in as deep as possible. He stroked his lubed fingers over and around my clit and pussy again, already so wet they scarcely needed help.
“Good girl. That was good, for a start.” Jack slowly retrieved his finger nearly all the way, working the digit a bit at the opening before sliding it back in again. “Now keep your head down but get to your knees…there. Hmmm, very nice, little one. I do love this view of you. And so wet. Now reach one hand between your legs and play with yourself, show yourself off for me. Like a porn star, since evidently you would know.”
I didn’t, really, but could make a fairly educated guess. I started lazily tracing the outline of my pussy lips, stroking and separating the folds, resisting the temptation to do more than give my clit the briefest attention before slipping the tip of one finger inside myself, my index finger, so that my hand wouldn’t obscure the view from Jack.
It was apparently the right thing to do. Growling, he pushed my hand aside and rammed his cock inside me in one rough thrust, all the natural and artificial moisture easing his passage. With shallow strokes at first, he pumped into me more slowly than I had expected, keeping haphazard pace with the finger still buried in my ass, sometimes matching the rhythm of cock and finger and sometimes hitting an uneven counterpoint.
It didn’t quite hurt, it was mostly…different. I still wasn’t sure I saw the appeal. Until Jack started talking to me again, leaning close over my back to speak in a rough near-whisper in my ear, a habit I could already see would be my downfall every time.
“I’ll let you come when I can see you’re starting to enjoy this, little one. That’s what positive reinforcement is all about.”
“I’m…enjoying it, Sir…” It wasn’t exactly a lie. I was enjoying some of what he was doing quite a bit. And if I tried, I could just manage to ignore the less-than-savory bits.
“No, you’re putting up with it. There’s a big difference.” He thrust deeper with his cock, almost angrily, using his free hand to tug my hips up higher. It wasn’t anger, I realized. He was just turned-on, starting to lose control, and I could hear it a little in his voice when he spoke again. “I want you to think about it, Katie. Think about exactly what my hand is doing. Feel every bit of it. It’s wicked, to be letting me do that, isn’t it? I wish you could see what I’m watching right now. My cock pumping in and out of your pussy, my finger pumping in your ass. You look so…open. I want you to feel that open to me, little one.”
He reached beneath me and cupped a breast, stroking at the sides, rolling the nipple between finger and thumb. It was a distraction, something new to think about, and I was already so overstimulated…
“Play with yourself some more,” Jack ordered softly. “Play with yourself like a little slut who’d do anything for a fuck. Anything to get to come. You want to, don’t you, little Katie? I wonder if I should even let you.”
“Yes Sir, please, please let me come, I’ll be good,” I whimpered, reaching obediently between my legs again to rub my clit, already shivering at the sensations that threatened to overtake me. It was growing hard to focus, hard to answer. Jack’s touch at my nipple grew lighter, a tease I could hardly feel at this point, but it somehow pulled a gasp from me, sent a sympathetic vibration through me straight to where my fingers were working so frantically.
“Tell me what I’m doing back here, Katie. I want to hear it from you, from those shy little lips.”
“Sir? You’re…oh! You’re fucking me and…” What else? Think! Words had to be in there somewhere, but they didn’t seem to want to come out. “Fuck.”
“We already covered that,” Jack chuckled.
“You’re…putting…you’re finger-fucking my ass…Sir. And, um…”
“So articulate. Such a good girl. But you’re not being all that good, are you? Showing off your pussy like a bitch in heat, letting me finger your ass, begging me to fuck you, to let you come. You are such a naughty little thing.”
Something…something he said, or some subtle twist of his finger…I moaned a
s a wave of need swept over me and I pushed back into his next thrust, suddenly not knowing where I needed the pressure most, only knowing his cock and finger were filling me in ways I’d never imagined. Open, he’d said, open for him, and I felt completely open in that moment, laid bare, turned inside out. He’d managed to make me feel both wanton and cherished at the same time, valued property that existed only to serve this one wicked purpose, for him, and it was almost more than I could bear.
When he started thrusting his finger and cock in counter-rhythm again, deeper and harder this time, I almost screamed.
“Please, Sir…oh God…”
“There it is!” I didn’t need to see his smile. I could hear it. “Please what, little one?”
I’d had too much, my senses were overloaded and I didn’t know whether I wanted to come or for him to go on forever, and it didn’t matter because my mind was too far from where words were to say anything anyway.
“Katie, ask me for what you want,” Jack said sternly.
And after some struggle, I gasped out something containing the words “Sir”, “come” and “please” and probably also invoked several deities, and he gave me permission to come and then I did scream, because I came forever.
The first peak was sharp and lancing and necessary. The second, as the first subsided, rippled through me slowly and just kept going as Jack came after me with a deep groan, jerking his hips sharply against me and calling my name.
I was still shuddering when he said my name again, just a whisper, and fell against my back. After a minute he seemed to gather himself and collapsed to one side, reaching up just long enough to rip open my restraints before tumbling back down and pulling me down with him to spoon with my back against his chest.
My tremors only subsided, letting my mind clear a little, when Jack wrapped his arm over mine and his leg over my legs and hugged me so close I could hardly breathe, as if he couldn’t get me close enough.
I squeezed back, feeling as though if I squeezed hard enough against him, I might just sink in forever.
Chapter Eighteen
I gave up after the first session in the morning and decided to go for a walk instead of attempting to sit on one of the meeting-room chairs for another two hours before lunch. My butt was sore, the paddle stripe now a long, narrow, grayish-purple-rectangular bruise across the meat of both cheeks, as if Jack had calculated the precise spot that would make it hardest for me to sit. So I’d remember it longer, which I did with a smile and a blush now, although it was a rueful smile. These things always seem like a good idea at the time. Or they seem like a bad idea, but one you simply can’t live without.
I’d decided on artwork as a suitable memento of the trip, and set out in search of a street vendor I’d passed a few times already during the week. In addition to the usual trite watercolors, he had a few more interesting pieces—acrylics or oils of abstracted flora and fauna—that bore looking at again. And then there were souvenirs to buy for everyone back home of course, since it was one of the first trips I’d taken where I had the time to shop and could actually afford presents.
I had already picked up a few things for my dad, who was easy to buy gifts for. A lifelong rock hound, he was always happy if you brought him examples of the native stones, and the souvenir shop on Sugarloaf had proved a bonanza in that regard. But there were still others to consider, so I dipped into a few of the tourist traps for fun, selecting postcards and t-shirts for my niece and nephew, and some other fun if kitschy souvenirs for people at the office—pencils with tiny glued-on Carnival masks, miniature glittery beach-scene snow globes that said “Blame it on Rio”, that sort of thing.
Then an art vendor caught my eye, though not the vendor I’d been looking for, and I used the little Portuguese I’d learned thus far to haggle over a pair of watercolor prints for my mother. They were just scenes of the bay, but nicely rendered. I walked away feeling not too badly shafted, venturing next into a somewhat more upscale jewelry shop where a pair of unusual blue-green tourmaline earrings had been calling my name from the window display all week. They were far too expensive but I bought them anyway, wondering when I’d ever have the money to do something like that again…especially if I went back into the world of scholarship, as everybody thought I was bound to do someday soon.
Some similar but less costly earrings were added to the tab for my mother and sister—pale blue iolite for Margaret, an unusual local orange topaz for Mom. And some ametrine drops, their color changing from lavender to gold in mid-stone. Birthday or Christmas, they would make a good gift for someone I thought, as I justified the expense, knowing I would eventually break down and wear them myself. Tourmaline brought out the green in my eyes better, but I had a fondness for purple as well.
Deciding I liked the idea of bringing everyone some sort of “rock” from Rio, I found a pair of cufflinks for my brother-in-law, who occasionally wore French cuffs. And then my eye lingered over the tray of gemstones, wondering if I should get some for Jack, who frequently wore cuffs that required links. Most of the shirts he’d brought this week had French cuffs, in fact. But were presents even appropriate? They must be. He had bought me a bathing suit, after all. And a manicure and pedicure. And a massage.
The cufflinks Jack seemed to wear most at the office, and the only ones he seemed to have brought here, were understated flat squares of hematite. He wasn’t really a jewelry sort of person. But on the other hand, the sheer-white moonstone cabochons I spotted were as tasteful as it got—just an oval of translucent white, another oval etched around it, set in a not-too-large rectangle of white gold.
I rolled my eyes and said, “Pfft,” with just the right amount of skepticism at the price and pushed them away, indicating I would stick with the cheaper links I’d picked for Toby and the array of earrings I’d selected.
Perhaps it was because I really did plan to walk away—I wasn’t sure about the purchase anyway—that the shop owner instantly offered me a slightly better deal. I took it, again rationalizing to myself that if I changed my mind I could always just keep them and give them to Toby some other time. When he’d done something really great for Margaret and the kids. Like rescued them all from a fire or something. I mean, I wasn’t going to get cheap cufflinks for Jack, after all, but I didn’t normally spend quite that much—all right, anywhere close to that much—on my brother-in-law.
I was hopeless. I really was. I continued down the avenida but didn’t want to wander too far with so much merchandise, and I wasn’t finding the perfect piece of art to take home with me. So after another few shops I made my way back to the hotel, where I had all but my new earrings and the troublesome cufflinks stored securely in the hotel safe for the night. We would be leaving tomorrow afternoon anyway, to go up to Mario Coelho’s undoubtedly lavish place in the hills, but I thought it best not to tempt fate.
Back in the room I stared at the little velvet-and-silk box containing the cufflinks for a good ten minutes, as if some message might magically appear on the outside of the thing, telling me what to do. Finally, realizing I was over-thinking it, I pulled out the hotel stationary and jotted a little note for Jack to find with the box when next he came back to the room.
J—
I never really did thank you properly for the other afternoon, not to mention the bathing suit. I thought these might make a nice change from hematite…and since you wanted to remember me in the moonlight on Copacabana Beach, Brazilian moonstones were the obvious choice.
K—
And then I left the gift in the middle of the bed, hoping against hope that he would stop by the room and find it before I saw him again, and went back out to get something to eat.
* * * * *
Jack was presenting again in the afternoon, the last session of the day, and it had been assumed I would sit in. He wasn’t in the room yet when I arrived, although it was nearly time for the session to start. Professor Johnston was there, however, and snagged the seat next to me in the back row with a look of
professorial censure.
“How can I be expected to learn anything from back here?” he chided.
“It’s a very small room, sir,” I pointed out, grinning. “Besides, the cool kids always sit in the back.”
“Do they, do they? I suppose that explains why I never got to know any of them. I was always up at the front. Nearsighted, you see. I suppose the cool kids all had twenty-twenty vision. I never realized that was the requirement.”
“Speaking of cool kids, Professor, how is Tom? I didn’t want to ask the other night, Lourdes seemed a little…edgy.”
He laughed aloud, pulling my attention away just as Jack entered the room carrying a stack of freshly copied handouts, plopped them on a table in the back near where we sat and headed straight for the front of the room, looking a bit distracted. He didn’t seem to have seen us.
“Edgy? She was a harridan, Katherine, and please accept my apologies to your young man. Oh don’t try to be coy,” he added, when I made an automatic gesture of denial. “You’re both adults, you seem happy enough—who am I to judge? It did take Lourdes to convince me of that, of course. Once she’d seen the error of her ways. She’s quite taken with Mr. Benedict now, incidentally.”
“The poetry,” I suggested with a knowing nod. I looked up at Jack, who’d been caught by a conference attendee with a question as he stood to the side of the projection screen, booting up his laptop and getting ready to speak. He still hadn’t seen us, I realized.
“Gets ’em every time,” the professor agreed amiably. “I know that’s how I managed it. Italian sonnets. Mmm…the memories. But you were asking about Tom. He’s quite well, actually. And he’s engaged. To a lovely young woman from Buenos Aires, whose family knows Lourdes’ family quite well. Almost a cousin, really.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” I was genuinely happy. I knew how Dr. Johnston had anguished over his son’s seeming disinterest in romance. “But Lourdes, isn’t she thrilled? I mean a wedding, grandchildren?”
When in Rio Page 16
