Made For Sex

by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd

  She pulled at her arms and legs. The bindings didn’t hurt at all, but she was, nevertheless, completely helpless.

  “Beg me to let you go.”

  She heard the hum of the video camera. “Please.” She knew that she could say popcorn at any time and he would let her go. She could also beg and plead and know he wouldn’t release her. Her head angled downward was making her a little light-headed but it was fantastic. “Please let me go. Oh god, please.”

  “Oh no, baby. Not a chance.” Then his hands were on her face, gently feeling around the blindfold. He slipped a finger into her mouth and she sucked as he worked it in and out.

  “I want you to understand exactly what I’m going to have you do,” Tim said. “This bench is at just the right height.” What had to be his naked cock slid over Carla’s cheeks. “You’re going to suck me good.” He withdrew the finger from her mouth and replaced it with his hard erection. Carla gasped as Tim forced his large member into her mouth, but she quickly started sucking as he fucked her mouth. “Too good, too fast,” he said, pulling away from her greedy mouth.

  She again heard a rustling then a buzzing. “Hear that?” he said. “That’s a vibrator and I’m going to make you come with it. I’ll be in control of your body. You won’t be able to resist. You’ll come when I want you to and only when I’m ready.”

  Carla jumped when she felt the buzz against her nipple. Jolts of magic electricity bounced around inside of her, stabbing her in the breasts, the belly, and in her hungry pussy. She wanted nothing more than for Tim to fuck her, any way he wanted, but she sensed that her resistance was part of his fantasy and she wanted him to have it all. She knew instinctively what to say.

  “Oh stop,” she said, “please stop. It’s torture.”

  “It’s exciting to beg, isn’t it? And to know you can’t sway me. And I love to hear you plead for mercy, but there will be none.” He placed the tip of the vibrator deep in her armpit.

  Carla was afraid it would tickle, but it didn’t. It just excited her more. “I can’t take it. No more, please.”

  “There’s so much more,” Tim said. He moved the vibrator until it was rubbing the insides of Carla’s thighs. “Want it against your cunt?”

  “No. Don’t.”

  “I will. And what’s more you want me to. It’s so embarrassing to admit that you want me to fuck you with this vibrator, this artificial buzzing cock that can give you such pleasure.”

  “Oh god, no.”

  Tim was in heaven. This was his favorite fantasy and it was better than he had dreamed it would be. And he was taking it as far as it would go. “I think you’d better ask me to fuck you.”

  “No.”

  He teased Carla’s cunt, touching her swollen lips, then stopping. Sliding the vibrator through her thick wet juices, then moving it back to the inside of her thigh. “I can make you crazy with wanting. Admit that your pussy needs to be fucked. Say it.”

  “Yes, do it,” Carla said, slipping out of character. “Fuck me good.”

  Tim inserted the penis-shaped vibrator into Carla’s pussy and strapped it in place with a piece of leather that was connected to the bench. “Now suck my cock,” he said, walking around to the head of the bench and laying his cock against her mouth.

  Carla became pure sensation. She sucked and lapped as the buzzing filled her demanding cunt. Tim came quickly, unable to resist the pull of Carla’s mouth. She swallowed as he pumped until he thought he would never be able to come again. He pulled his exhausted cock from Carla’s mouth, knowing that she hadn’t come yet. “Do you want to come now, baby?” he asked.

  “Please. Help me.”

  “Of course,” he spoke reassuringly. He knelt between her legs and flicked his tongue back and forth against her clit. “Yes,” she screamed. “Don’t stop.”

  He didn’t and Carla climaxed, shuddering and bucking against the straps holding her wrists and ankles. Tim pulled the vibrator from her sopping pussy, unfastened the straps and carried her to the bed.

  “I’ve never experienced anything like that before,” Carla said.

  “It was great for me too,” Tim said. “Maybe when I’ve developed the pictures, we could get together again to look them over…and whatever.”

  “Yes,” Carla sighed. “Lots of whatever.”

  Chapter

  6

  Carla stretched languidly on her bed and, knowing her friend would still be up, dialed Ronnie’s number in Dutchess County from the private phone she’d had installed in her bedroom. It was not quite eleven in the evening and, once the boys were in bed, Carla had soaked in a hot tub for almost an hour. Despite the predictable romance novel she had read, she had been unable to relax. She was confused about the following evening, her first with her new black leather album.

  Wrapped in an old velour robe, socks, and a pair of Garfield slippers that her boys had gotten her the previous Christmas, she listened to the phone ring.

  “Hello,” Ronnie answered.

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  “Hi. What’s up?”

  “Well….” Originally it had felt odd to discuss the business of sex with her three boys sleeping just down the hall, but after a few late-night phone sessions with Ronnie the whole thing felt almost normal. “A man named Max called and I called him back. He says he got my number from you.”

  “He did. When my friend Bert called and told me he had a friend, I suggested you. You’ve got to get your feet wet at some point, so to speak. I hope that giving him your number was okay.”

  “Oh sure it was. He left a message on my answering machine. And now I’m excited, but also nervous. What if I’m not good enough? What if he doesn’t get his money’s worth?”

  “He will. I assume you two talked and you feel comfortable with him.”

  “Of course. He sounds nice and he’s never been with a…someone like me before.” She giggled into the phone. “I think he’s more nervous than I am.”

  “He probably is. You’d be surprised how anxious some men get. But that can add to the anticipation.”

  “I know. Part of me is so keyed up I’m ready to come if someone looks at me crooked. But part of me is worried.”

  “You’ll be fine. And if something feels uncomfortable, just tell him. If he’s unwilling to do anything else, give him his money back and say good night.”

  “He says he wants to see my album. He’s obviously heard about yours.”

  Ronnie snuggled deeper under her covers. She had been watching TV in bed, naked, and now she slithered over her satin sheets, feeling the smooth fabric against her skin. Talking about sex always made her horny. “Is your album ready?” she asked.

  “I met with Tim yesterday and we looked over the pictures he took. He does marvelous work. Some of those photos made even me hot. I bought an album. It’s black leather.”

  “Great. Satin and leather.”

  “Max said he’s looking forward to a creative evening. How do you broach the subject of fantasy?”

  “It’s different each time,” Ronnie answered. “Some men just want straight fucking and you don’t have to use the album at all. Most men who call me, and who will call you, have been referred by someone else, someone who’s enjoyed the fantasies that I’ve created. Let’s face it. I’m expensive and you will be too. Someone who just wants a good lay can get that for a lot less money. So our kind of friends, or clients as you call them, want something out of the ordinary, something that they can’t get at home. I guess creative is as good a term as any.”

  Carla shifted the phone to a more comfortable position on her shoulder. “But how, exactly, should I begin things? I can’t just say, ‘Want to act out a story?’ can I?”

  “You probably won’t have to. Most of the time new friends will know about your album from whomever recommended them. They may even have decided on a fantasy. Some will never have thought about role-playing, and those are the most fun for me. Once you get past a man’s initial shyness, play-acting can be the great
est sexual turn-on there is. Gets them outside themselves. They can do anything, be anyone, and no one’s judging or censoring.”

  “You’re still not answering my question. How do you start things happening?”

  “Okay. Let’s take the first man I played with after I put together my album.” Ronnie shifted the phone to the other ear, settled back, and stared at the ceiling, remembering Tory Palluso.

  Ronnie introduced herself to the maitre d’ at La Bon Nuit and he efficiently guided her to a quiet section off to one side of the busy restaurant. As she slalomed between tables of two or four expensively dressed diners, she had a moment to look over Mr. Palluso who, she saw, was sitting on a chair opposite the banquette, hesitantly sipping a glass of red wine.

  Tory Palluso was about forty-five, Ronnie guessed, with a receding hairline and wire-rimmed glasses. To his credit, his dark hair wasn’t combed over the top to disguise his balding pate, but was neatly trimmed and styled. From several tables away, he didn’t appear to be a good-looking man. His granite-hard profile and pointed chin, heavy black eyebrows and matching moustache seemed overwhelming.

  As Tory looked up and saw her moving toward him, Ronnie smiled and nodded. He looked straight at her and she was struck by his eyes—so bright blue that if not for his glasses she would have thought he was wearing colored lenses. Both his smile and his unusual eyes made his face surprisingly appealing.

  As he watched the beautiful woman making her way to his table Tory thought, She doesn’t look like a call girl. But Frank had assured him she was the best. If she was as good in bed as she looked, she was going to make him regret that he only got to New York two or three times a year.

  “You’re Ronnie,” Tory said.

  “Tory,” Ronnie said, extending her free hand, “I’m so glad to meet you.” The maitre d’ pulled out the table and Ronnie settled herself on the banquette. She set the package she was carrying down next to her.

  “Wine?” he asked. When she nodded, he asked, “Red or white?”

  “Red.”

  “I looked at the wine list and they have a nice Burgundy, if that’s okay.”

  “That will be fine,” Ronnie said. She had barely gotten comfortable when the waiter brought the wine. When Tory nodded the waiter opened the bottle and nearly filled her long-stemmed glass. “To an eventful evening,” Ronnie said, lifting her glass toward Tory.

  “Eventful,” Tory said as his glass touched Ronnie’s. “A superb way of thinking about things.” He sipped. “You’re lovely.”

  Ronnie smiled. She had selected a soft chiffon scoop-necked dress in a shade best described as cantaloupe and worn it with a triple-strand pearl necklace and pearl drop earrings. A matching triple-strand bracelet and a gold watch showed off her long, slender fingers. On a whim she’d had her nails done that afternoon in a frosted shade the exact hue of the dress.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, and raised an eyebrow. Tory’s dark suit was carefully tailored to hide the slight paunch she had noticed as he stood up and he wore a monogrammed white on white shirt and conservative paisley tie. Everything about him bespoke pride in his appearance and money enough to indulge it. “You’re not bad yourself.”

  Through a savory vegetable pâté, a crisp green salad with a peppercorn vinaigrette dressing, veal with capers served with a wine, lemon, and butter sauce, and julienned vegetables, they talked about business, family, and other ordinary things. Over an apple tart with a delicate, thin crust they discussed politics. They agreed more than either had expected.

  Over napoleon brandy and espresso, Tory finally broached the reason for their dinner. “We have a mutual friend,” he said, suddenly hesitant. “Frank Morrison.”

  “I know,” Ronnie said. “He gave you my phone number.”

  “Right.”

  When the silence became awkward, Ronnie said, “Do you want my company for the rest of the evening?”

  “I enjoyed our dinner. You’re a highly intelligent and knowledgeable woman, for….” He stumbled over the end of the sentence and swallowed hard.

  “For a hooker.” Ronnie laughed. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m not. I love what I do and I love fulfilling men’s fantasies, which, I gather, is what you want.”

  “My wife is a wonderful lady, don’t get me wrong.”

  Ronnie interrupted. “Why don’t we agree not to mention her for the rest of the evening. Tonight is for a little adult entertainment. Maybe, one day, you’ll see fit to share some of your desires with her. I’ll bet she’ll be more receptive than you’d imagine, but that’s neither here nor there. Let’s discuss you.”

  “I want something unusual. Frank said you and he played out a fantasy of his. He wouldn’t tell me about the specifics. ‘Too personal,’ he told me. But from the grin on his face, he must have enjoyed it tremendously.”

  “Do you have a fantasy in mind that you want to act out?”

  “Not really. Frank said you’d have suggestions.”

  “I have something here that may help you decide.” The tables on either side of them had long since been vacated, so Ronnie motioned for Tory to sit beside her on the banquette. She picked up the package she had carried into the restaurant and placed it on the table. From a large black-satin drawstring bag, she withdrew a photograph album with a black satin cover and placed it in front of Tory.

  She placed her hand on the closed book. “In here are fantasies, scenes that we can play together. Look through the book and I’ll describe each fantasy.” She handed Tory a flat, black-satin envelope about four inches square, with a black tassel tied to one corner. “When you find something you’d like, put my fee in the envelope and use this bookmark to hold the page. Then we’ll go back to my house and play.”

  Hands trembling with expectation, Tory took the envelope and opened the cover of the album. The first photo was of Ronnie dressed in a black satin bustier with matching garter belt and stockings. “That’s Marguerite, the stripper,” Ronnie explained as Tory gazed at the first picture. “She’ll strip very slowly for you.”

  He turned to the next photo. Ronnie was dressed all in green. “That’s Maid Marian. She’s been in love with Robin Hood for months, but they’ve never had time to be together.”

  Tory lifted the album page and turned to the next photo. “Nita’s a harem girl. You were very brave in battle and saved the sultan’s life. He’s allowed you to pick one girl from his harem and she’s yours for the evening. She’s been very well trained in the arts of love.”

  She continued as Tory turned pages. “That’s the Princess Mellisande. She’s not allowed to have intercourse until her marriage, but she satisfies herself, and most of the guards in the castle, by masturbating while they watch, then bringing them to climax with her mouth.”

  The next shot was of Ronnie in her bed, dressed in a nightgown, holding a sheet up against her breasts. “And that’s Bethann. She was asleep in her bed when a burglar broke in. At first, he wanted to steal her jewels. Now he just wants her body.”

  He turned the page again. “That’s Miss Gilbert. She’s the headmistress at an exclusive boy’s school and, if you want to meet her, she’ll explain your punishment for being a naughty boy in class.”

  For picture after picture, Ronnie explained fantasies to Tory. The last dozen photos in the album were explicit pictures of Ronnie, guaranteed to ignite the most selective viewer. Ronnie stood as Tory turned back to the beginning to review the photographs. “I have to use the ladies’ room. I’ll be a few minutes so look through the book and select. Of course, you could make up your own fantasy or we could just go back to my place and make love.”

  “Not on your life. I’ve never had a chance like this.”

  When Ronnie returned from the ladies’ room, Tory had her coat over his arm. He helped her into it, then handed her the book. She opened to the page he had selected and removed the satin envelope. “Nita will please you in every way,” she whispered as she slipped the five hundred-dollar bills into her purse.


  The ten-minute cab ride was the longest Tory could remember. Ronnie’s stocking-covered legs were just inches from his and he longed to run his fingers up the inside of her sweet thighs. He held himself back. This night was going to be something extraordinary. He was going to let Ronnie dictate the speed. And he would savor every minute.

  Ronnie had initially been reluctant to use her brownstone, worrying that one of her friends might get out of hand, either during an evening of pleasure, or afterward. But she quickly realized that her customers had more to lose than she did if the police became involved.

  The cab let them off in front of her house and they quickly made their way inside, then up to the bedroom. “There’s a bottle of champagne in the fridge,” she said, pointing to the small wet bar in the corner of the room, “and glasses just above. Pour some for each of us and make yourself comfortable. I’ll just be a moment.” She took a hanger from the closet and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Five minutes later Ronnie emerged from the bathroom. “Sir Knight,” she said softly, “I’m Nita. The Sultan has told me of your bravery and I’m honored you picked me for your evening.”

  Tory just stared. Her halter top was made of light-blue gauze so sheer that it allowed glimpses of her nipples. A veil of the same material covered the lower part of her face. Matching harem pants rode low on her hips, flared at the legs and gathered tightly at the ankles. Through their sheer fabric Tory saw a dark triangle of hair at the junction of her thighs.

  Nita’s feet were bare, and she wore long earrings and bracelets on her wrists and ankles, all with tiny bells that tinkled as she moved. Her head was bowed and her long blond hair was covered with a soft blue, gauzy veil. A golden chain hung around her bare midriff. Covering her navel was a dark blue jewel.

  “I hope I please you,” she said softly. “You have only to indicate how I may serve you and your wish will be my command.” She crossed to stand in front of him and slid her hands up his silk shirt, sliding his jacket off his wide shoulders.