Made For Sex

by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd

  “Where are you?” He listened again and this time he thought he heard a low moaning, almost a chant. Get a grip, Hank, he told himself. As he walked forward more slowly, the moaning became a soft song. No words but a melody, so sweet and low that it was almost as though it came from inside his head. Shining the beam of the flashlight ahead of him, he continued through the now-thinning vegetation.

  Suddenly the woods opened onto a small lake, no more than thirty feet across. And just as suddenly, the clouds parted and the moonlight spilled over the water making silver pathways across the still water. The sound still filled his head and he moved, trying to home in on its location. He turned and saw something white on the far side of the tiny lake. Shapes in pale floaty dresses slowly emerged from the darkness. Not wanting to startle whoever was there, Hank flicked off the flashlight and walked quietly around the water toward the far side. When he finally pushed some branches aside, he saw them. Four women, holding hands, formed a ring around a large, flat rock. Their humming reverberated through his entire body.

  As he watched, the women slowly circled the rock, moving gracefully in something that resembled an old pagan dance. How did I know that? he wondered. A pagan dance indeed.

  But there was something totally sensuous about the entire scene. The four women were dressed in flowing white gowns that brushed their limbs as they circled. Their hair was long, flowing almost to their backs, but different in color, one flaming red, one soft russet brown, one soft golden blond and one almost white. He found his eyes drawn to their bodies, outlined as the fabric of their gowns undulated. All were voluptuous, with shapely breasts, slender waists and graceful thighs.

  And above those thighs? Hank, he chided himself, stop that!

  “Are you ready to join us, Hank?” a voice asked.

  “Are you talking to me?” he asked, totally startled to realize that they knew of his presence. “Hey, how do you know my name?”

  “We know a lot about you,” the voice continued. Then the circle broke and the blonde walked toward him. He noticed that her feet were bare, but she seemed unconcerned about the leaves, branches and debris beneath them. She held out a graceful hand to him and said, “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  He stared at the graceful fingers that beckoned him, then at the lovely face, the eyes, the soft lips, and fought the almost irresistible urge to take the hand she offered. “Just who the hell are you? And what are you up to?”

  “We appear here once a month,” the blonde said. “And this time we were waiting for you.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” Hank said, stuffing his hand into his pocket to resist reaching for the woman’s hand.

  The blonde sighed. “I am called Summer and these are my sisters, Autumn, Spring and Winter.”

  Hank almost giggled. This was too weird. Summer indeed. Probably escaped from the local looney bin. But as he gazed into her deep blue eyes, he softened. There was an honesty there, an affection for him, as if she felt a genuine pleasure at looking at him, as he felt pleasure looking at her.

  “I know, it seems weird but we are what we appear to be. We didn’t escape from a looney bin, as you put it.”

  Had he said that out loud? Certainly not. But then how did she know?

  “Take my hand,” Summer said. “We won’t hurt you. Come.”

  He pulled his hand out of his pocket. What did he have to lose? He would just play along. He reached out and took the hand that was offered. As he touched the incredibly soft skin a rush of warmth flowed through him, easing his mind and tightening his groin. Suddenly all he wanted was to caress her to find out whether her skin was as smooth all over, her breasts, her thighs, her belly.

  “Soon enough,” she whispered. “All in good time.” She led him toward her sisters and the four women surrounded him, hands joined, bodies swaying. As they moved around him, their breasts brushed against his arms, his back, his chest. Breasts with hard, pointed nipples swayed against him, mouths brushed his neck, his cheeks, his ears.

  He wanted to reach out and touch what was being so freely offered, but his hands remained at his sides. He closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh scents, listened to the women’s soft keening, felt the soft flesh pressing closer and closer.

  Now their hands were everywhere, stroking his shoulders, rubbing his back. Fingers ran through his hair and traced the outline of his ears. He wanted to grab, to invade, to thrust, to take, but still his hands remained immobile, as if unable or unwilling to move. His senses were filled with them but he remained still.

  Hands removed his clothing until he stood naked, his cock sticking out hard and hungry from his groin. Then the women backed away, smiling and moving their bodies, allowing only their dresses to brush against his body. Enough, he told himself. Enough teasing. Time to get to it. But as he tried to turn, something held him fast. He tried to raise his arms but he was totally unable to move. Walking, kneeling, moving his hands, nothing worked. It wasn’t uncomfortable actually, he realized, it just was.

  “The more you relax and just accept what is given, the more you will be able to move,” Summer said. “Are you cold?”

  “No,” he said, realizing that, although the night air was chilly and he had been wearing a jacket when he started into the woods, he was now warm and comfortable. Well, as comfortable as he could be with the crying need in his cock.

  “Soon,” the redhead whispered. “Soon.” He watched as first one and then another removed her gown, revealing naked bodies so perfect that it made him ache. Breasts were tipped with rosy nipples, pubic hair matched the varied hues of their hair. Now their hands stroked their own bodies as he watched. Long fingers stroked their ribs, bellies, then cupped their breasts. “Would you like to touch?” the brunette asked.

  “Yes,” he said. Touch. He wanted to ravish.

  “Only touch. There’s joy in just touching. If you move very slowly you can reach out and caress us.”

  Restraining his need to grab was one of the most difficult things Hank had ever done, but, since he had no choice, he slowly raised one arm and extended his fingers. The woman with the white hair moved close. “I’m called Winter,” she said, and my skin is cold as stone yet warm to your touch.” She moved so her breast brushed his hand. Surprised, Hank found that she was right. The surface of her breast was cool yet as he pressed slightly, warmth filled him. He caressed the breast in his hand, swirling his fingers over her skin, not touching the darker center. “Yes,” she purred, allowing her head to drop back as he rubbed. Finally he touched her nipple and watched her gasp. “Lovely,” she whispered.

  “I’m Autumn,” the redhead said, taking his other hand and placing it on her breast.

  Hank cupped one breast in each hand, feeling the differences in texture and temperature in the two women’s flesh.

  “I’m Spring,” a voice said from behind him, and then nipples were rubbing sensuously against his back. Then the breasts slid down his spine and rubbed against his buttocks. His cock was so hard it hurt and his head was filled with images of driving it into a soft, warm pussy.

  “You’re rushing,” Summer said, her hands cupping his face. “Slowly. There’s too much pleasure to rush.” She turned his face and pressed her lips against his. “Slowly,” she purred against his mouth. She licked around his mouth, dampening his lips, then blowing on the cool skin. Then she covered his mouth with hers and kissed him deeply, allowing her tongue to explore the damp cavern.

  Hank was unable to sort out all the sensations. A mouth on his, kissing him more expertly than he had been kissed before, breasts in his hands and rubbing against the backs of his thighs. The smell of the women, the taste. It all filled him, tantalized him, yet satisfied him too.

  Minutes later, Summer backed off. “Come,” she said, taking his hand and leading him to the large rock around which they had been dancing when he first saw them. She guided him until he lay on the rock. It should be cold against my back, he told himself, but it’s warm and almost soft.
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  “Now,” Winter said, “would you like to touch us?”

  “Oh yes,” Hank said. “Very much.”

  “Then you may, but you can’t do anything quickly. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” he moaned.

  The blonde, Spring, crawled onto the rock and straddled his chest. “Touch me,” she said. Hank slowly explored her breasts and belly. As the other women told him what to do, he caressed her shoulders and arms, then explored her face with the tips of his fingers. “How does she feel?”

  He had never really thought about how a woman felt before and he marveled at the different textures he experienced. Smooth skin, rough nipples, wet mouth, silky hair. Warm places and cool places. It was wonderful, a joy in itself without wondering when he was going to get to the “main event.”

  He then used his mouth to sample all the different temperatures and textures of her body. Then, as he cupped her breasts, Winter put her nipple into his mouth. “Suckle softly, gently.” And he did, flicking his tongue over her erect bud.

  Summer spoke in his ear. “Only when her nipple is hard and pointed is she really excited.”

  Hank felt Winter pull back and his mouth was filled with another nipple, this one small and flat. “Feel Autumn’s nipple harden between your lips. You do that to her. You have the power to please her.”

  He paid attention to the reaction of Autumn’s breast in his mouth and marveled at the changes as it hardened and swelled. For a long time he sucked, kissed, licked as different breasts were placed in his mouth and hands. Then his mouth and hands were empty. Spring, no longer straddling his chest, but now kneeling beside him, took his hand. “Now touch here,” she said, guiding his hand to the junction of her thighs.

  “Not until a woman is very wet is she ready for your hands,” Summer whispered. “Is she ready?”

  He touched and felt slick lips. “Yes,” he whispered.

  “Then touch, slowly. Explore. Get to know her and what makes her shudder.”

  He used only his index finger and rubbed her outer lips and the creases and folds of her outer flesh. He found her clit. “Is it swollen?” Summer asked. “if it isn’t, then she needs more time.”

  Her clit was hard, rising from the surrounding wet skin.

  “Now this,” Autumn said. She climbed onto the rock on the side opposite Spring, took his other hand and placed it between her thighs. She was only slightly wet and her clit was difficult to find. She parted her legs to give him free access and again he explored, finding that different places excited her and made her wetter. While Spring liked his fingers to rub on either side of her clit, Autumn liked light touches on the head of the clit itself. Hank found himself wondering what the other two women would like.

  “Yes,” Summer purred and she and Winter climbed onto the rock, sat beside him and he touched each in turn. And each was different, reacting to slightly different combinations of rubbing, stroking and probing. Winter even liked to have her flesh pinched. Then he pushed one finger into Autumn’s channel. “More,” she said and he pressed a second and a third inside of her. Again he experienced the four women, watching in wonder as they writhed under his ministrations. He had his fingers inside of Spring’s body when she reached down and touched her clit with her own fingertips. He felt the clench of her body and then the spasms of her channel.

  “My God,” he said in wonder. “I never felt anything like that.” He moved his hands trying to find ways to prolong her climax.

  When she finally calmed, he said, “That was amazing.”

  Autumn smiled. “Yes, it was.”

  Summer climbed across his body and held her sopping opening just above the tip of his cock. “Are you ready?”

  He was, and yet he found that he was regretting the end of the exploration. “Yes,” he said.

  “It’s not the end by any means,” Summer said. “Feel.” She placed the tip of his cock against the slippery opening of her body and lowered herself. Slowly Hank’s cock entered her. “Feel,” she said again. And he found that he could feel. He could hold his excitement tightly in check as he experienced the wet, tight pussy slowly enveloping him. She filled herself with him, then remained quite still, using her muscles to massage him. He could feel her and, although he wanted to throw her onto her back and pound into her, he found he was enjoying the sensations she was causing.

  She lay on his chest and rubbed her breasts against it. She kissed his mouth, his cock still deeply embedding inside of her. Then fingers were on his balls, caressing the orbs and rubbing the skin between the back of his sac and his anus. “See, you don’t even have to move,” Summer whispered.

  And he didn’t, yet he came. Without moving his hips spasms wracked his body and semen erupted into Summer’s body. He climaxed for longer than he had believed possible and it was long minutes later before he was coherent again.

  “But now you’ve left me unsatisfied,” Summer said, allowing his now-flaccid cock to fall from her body. The other women had left the rock and she lay beside Hank and said, “Now help me the way I helped you.”

  Hank climbed onto his knees and crouched between Summer’s spread thighs. He explored her folds with his fingers, remembering what she liked, then he placed his mouth on her clit. He quickly discovered that she liked to have her clit sucked hard while his tongue flicked over the tip. When he felt she was ready, he invaded her channel with his fingers, and felt her come, her hips bucking, almost dislodging his mouth from her body.

  As he enjoyed her climax, Hank became aware that Spring and Winter were pleasuring each other, mouths on pussies, fingers probing, bodies straining. Soon the two who hadn’t already come, did, screaming their pleasure.

  For almost an hour, Hank just lay on the rock, between sleep and waking, his hands idly touching whatever part of whatever woman he could reach.

  Then Summer sat up. “It’s time for you to go now,” she said.

  “Can I visit again?” he asked.

  “No,” Spring said. “It’s not possible. But you will remember everything we’ve done and everything you’ve learned here. And there are so many other women who will enjoy your newfound talents.”

  “You will find your dog on your back porch,” Autumn said. “He’s waiting for you.”

  “I forgot all about him,” Hank admitted.

  “We knew you would,” Autumn said. “But we knew he’d get you here and that’s what we wanted.”

  “This was all a setup?”

  “In a way,” Summer explained. “We saw you this afternoon and knew you would be wonderful once you learned. So we took the liberty of using your dog to lure you here. Are you angry?”

  Hank grinned. “Of course not.” Winter handed him his clothes and he dressed quickly. “It was great.”

  “Yes,” Spring said, “it was.”

  Quickly Hank hurried back to the cabin and found Renfrew sleeping on the back porch. He went inside and spent the rest of the night reliving his amazing experience. At about nine the next morning, he climbed out of bed, made some coffee and sat beside the phone. With a sigh, he picked up the receiver and dialed.

  “McMillan and Son,” a familiar voice said.

  “Jennifer?”

  “Hank,” she said, her voice suddenly wary.

  “Listen, I’m sorry about everything. I think a lot of our troubles were my fault. Maybe you’d like to have dinner with me one evening. No strings. I’d just like to spend some time with you. I’ve missed you more than I realized.”

  Hank could hear a heavy sigh. “I don’t know.”

  “I can give you time to think about it if you want. I can call back tomorrow.”

  “No. It’s okay. Maybe this weekend?”

  “Sure,” Hank said, suddenly lighthearted. “Yeah. Great.

  Saturday? That little Italian place you always loved?”

  “That would be nice,” Jennifer said.

  “I’ll call you Saturday afternoon and we can agree on a time. Okay?”

  “Sure,”
Jennifer said. “You sound different.”

  “You’d be amazed at how different. Maybe we’ll find out together.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  “You’ve grown, Nicki,” Fran said aloud, typing The Pagans by Nichole St. Michelle at the top, then closing her laptop. She thought about the calm, one-on-one sexuality of her earlier stories and smiled. “You’ve come a long way, baby.”

  Chapter

  8

  The following evening, Fran arrived at the brownstone at six. Carla greeted her at the door, wearing a full-length, cranberry velour robe. Fran had debated for hours about what to wear, what she wanted her clothes to say. She finally selected a fitted, light blue knit dress with a deep scooped neck. Beneath it she wore a bra that enhanced her shape so the dress clung to her new curves and showed a bit of cleavage. She wore black pumps with modest two-inch heels, little jewelry and light makeup. She had pulled her hair back into a French twist. “You look terrific,” Carla said as she ushered Fran inside.

  The two women sat in the living room sipping white wine. “This party will be very unusual and I need to explain the ground rules so you can make a serious decision.” Carla sat back. “CJ’s last name is Winterman and no one really knows what the CJ stands for. Like OJ Simpson before the troubles. He’s an unusual man. He’s a teller of erotic tales, and he records tapes of his stories which he sells in his store.”

  Carla grinned. “And what a store it is. It’s called A Private Place and it’s downtown. He sells more kinds of erotic toys and games than I have ever seen, and he specializes in bondage and discipline equipment. He also works leather like no one else I’ve ever met and he made a few of my best outfits.

  “Anyway, this party is for several of his friends, all into the dominant-submissive lifestyle. At this party they will trade slaves, or bottoms as they’re usually called, play games together and do some things you’ve probably never seen before, even on the Playboy channel. There is only one rule. There’s a back room for those into whipping and heavy pain. None of that will go on in the main room so you, or anyone else, won’t see things that might disturb you, except by choice.”