Learning to Crawl

by John Argus

  Her eyes fluttered with surprise at the force and expertise of the kiss, at the heat she felt starting to flood her body as his tongue slid into her mouth and his big hand came up to cup her cheek. His other hand slipped around her back and then into her halter through the open side, and casually cupped her breast.

  She stiffened briefly, shocked by such quick presumption and aware of the chauffeur up front, but then slowly relaxed, stomach fluttering as more heat seeped through her mind and body. She was surprised to feel the rise of such excitement, to feel her insides begin to melt under his touch. She was no virgin, after all, and had been involved with a number of boys.

  Boys, she thought weakly.

  He was stroking her nipple, which had erected almost instantly, thrusting out like a small, quivering tongue into his nimble fingers. He twisted it enough to make her wince slightly, then rolled it between his fingers in such a way that a wave of liquid heat rolled through her body.

  His lips trailed down the nape of her neck, his hand leaving her face as her head rolled languidly. She gasped aloud as she felt it slide unerringly between her legs, feeling a flush of embarrassment at the nearness of the chauffeur even while instinctively spreading her legs.

  It was insane. It was too fast. He’d think her a cheap tart.

  She pushed feebly at him but he ignored her, effortlessly pushing aside her uncertain hands and continuing to caress her body. He did not grope her as had so many of the others. His hand stroked gently along her inner thighs, caressing her skin to either side of her mons to the point where she felt a desperate yearning for his touch there. His teeth nibbled under her ear and his other hand manipulated her breast with an expertise that left her nearly breathless.

  Finally, he eased a single finger upwards along the length of her moist opening, letting it sink slowly down between the lips of her sex, Then he drew it gently upwards so it stroked across her clitoris.

  Gwen’s back arched and she exhaled in an animal sound of lust. She had never before encountered a man with such skill in drawing pleasure from her body. Rather than pushing him back she was eager for him to continue, panting and gasping aloud, perspiration beginning to glisten on her forehead as her heart pounded and her pulse raced.

  She looked over his ear as his lips worked down the side of her throat, and saw the lustful eyes of the chauffeur in the rear-view mirror. She knew a moment of awful shame, and then a strange twisted kind of shocking excitement. She was on the edge of climaxing under the man’s eyes!

  She couldn’t do that!

  And yet her hands resisted the thought to push him back, and her legs, while quivering, did not close at all. She slumped lower, further exposing her sex and knowing a shameful thrill as she realised the chauffeur would see her even more fully. True, there was a glass divider between them, but that did nothing to hinder his view, and the chauffeur, a large black man, seemed to have no reluctance at all in watching.

  ‘P-please,’ she gasped.

  The finger continued to dance over her sex. He did not penetrate her, though she felt a longing for it, but instead stroked lightly up and down the length of her burning furrow. Each time it sawed over her clitoris she felt a new stream of soaring animal pleasure and her body shuddered in response.

  ‘W-wait… not… not here…’ Her hands pushed at him with more strength but again he ignored them, and his fingers thrust sharply at her sex. She gasped and looked again at the rear-view mirror as the chauffeur stared. She whimpered helplessly, closing her eyes, her head rolling from side to side as her hips began to buck against the hand.

  It eased back and she was able to gulp several desperate breaths of air. Her head was pounding with surging waves of sexual energy, and with a slow shock that rippled along her frame she realised he had undone the chain binding her brief skirt together and was undoing the catch at the back of her halter.

  The shock echoed in her loins and she felt the climax rising within her. Her frantic eyes shot to the mirror and the chauffeur, who stared hungrily. She was completely naked now, in the back of the limousine, legs spread, body fully exposed. The man’s hand slipped back between her thighs and she came thunderously. Her body stiffened and then trembled like a tuning fork. Her back arched and her head pulled back violently, rolling against the top of the seat as her hips bucked whorishly against his hand. The orgasm seemed to hold her in its grasp for an endless length of time, her chest aching from lack of air, her muscles spasming and straining. Then it released her and she went limp, gasping for breath as the man slowly eased back.

  She sat, slumped, legs apart, head back, naked, for long seconds, then as her shattered mind fit itself back together she weakly closed her legs and searched for her skirt and top.

  Neither was to be found and she stared weakly up at the man, still not knowing his name.

  ‘You have a lovely body,’ he said.

  She stared at him mutely, uncomprehendingly. The sexual thrall in which she had been held began to recede and with it the humiliation at her nudity and behaviour rushed forward to surround her. Her face went scarlet as she tried to cover herself with her hands, crossing her legs and darting her eyes about the interior of the car.

  ‘You don’t need to hide your body,’ he said. ‘It’s something to take pride in, not shame.’

  ‘Please, may I have my clothes?’ she gulped.

  ‘Why? I’ve seen you naked. Paul has seen you naked.’ He nodded towards the chauffeur. ‘What have you got left to hide?’

  It was difficult to answer a question put with such calm logic, for her discomfort and embarrassment had nothing of logic in them. Now that her sexual high had faded she felt vulnerable without her clothing, under the eyes of two powerful, fully dressed men.

  He reached for her again but her hands were before her, hiding her private parts in a way she knew was childish and foolish. That knowledge only embarrassed her more. Behaving with anything less than sophistication before others was the very last thing she had been willing to do for a very long time.

  The car turned into a garage and the light immediately dimmed. Gwen looked around, then back at him smiling down at her. ‘Why do you want to put clothes on now?’ he asked. ‘You’ll simply have to remove them in a minute, anyway.’

  The car turned and then stopped before a gate. The gate eased aside and they drove through into a small, private part of the garage. The car stopped and he opened his door, stepping out with her clothing in his arms. He stood there, the chauffeur joining him, as Gwen shrank back flustered and embarrassed and then angry, both at him and at herself.

  ‘Come on, no need to be embarrassed,’ he said with a smile.

  She mustered what dignity she could and slid forward out of the car, doing a poor job at hiding a glare as she deliberately held her hands at her sides, naked apart from her heels.

  The chauffeur was inches away and her skin seemed to heat at his hungry gaze as she stepped forward. The man took her hand and led her to the doors of a lift, smiling lightly. She ignored the coolness of the air on her exposed flesh, desperately trying to pretend she was fully clothed.

  Behind them the chauffeur pulled away in the car. The gate leading to the outer garage opened, then closed behind him.

  Gwen’s stomach began to flutter anew as the man’s arms went around her, his hands caressing her stomach, then rising up to cup her breasts. She looked nervously at the gates, which while keeping other cars and people away would do little to hide sight of them should people drive up.

  The lift doors opened and she jerked in surprise, but he only chuckled. ‘It’s a private elevator, my dear,’ he said with a smile.

  He motioned her forward. She swallowed nervously, but her insides were beginning to thrum with heat once more, and she stepped forward into the lift.

  The walls were mirrored, and naked Gwendolyns looked back at her from all d
irections as the doors slowly closed. She stared at them in fascination, embarrassment, some anxiety, and no little excitement, doing her best to show none of the emotional turmoil she was feeling.

  ‘Tough one, are you?’ he asked, smiling faintly.

  ‘You’re very good with your hands,’ she said accusingly.

  He nodded. ‘You’re very responsive.’

  ‘Will the rest of your servants not be surprised if I show up naked?’ she asked nervously, watching him fold her little skirt and halter and slip them into his jacket pocket.

  ‘I like the place to myself, for the most part. The cleaning ladies come in every other morning while I’m at work.’ His hand slipped down to fondle her bottom, and she felt a little thrill of wickedness run up her spine. Then she remembered with a trace of anger and disappointment that she had to attempt to cultivate his interest in order to gain a place to stay. She was so tired of wheedling people for shelter and food she was almost ready to give up and call her stepfather.

  ‘W-what’s your name?’ she asked.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, I…’

  He turned her to face a corner then pulled her bottom back against his groin. His fingers ran up the front of her body, briefly fondled her breasts, and then drew her hands high above her head. He joined her wrists together, much to her puzzlement, holding them in one hand, then used the other to push into the small of her back, thrusting her chest out as he drew back her arms.

  There was a small camera high in the top corner of the lift. She stared at it uncomprehendingly for long seconds, feeling a shock run through her. Then she instinctively attempted to twist away and hide from it.

  She remembered the sight of herself in that tabloid newspaper, right on the cover. One of her ‘friends’ had eagerly and laughingly shown it to her, suggesting she had a possible career in men’s magazines. She had felt mortified at the sluttish image she showed to the world, and it had taken every ounce of will she held to maintain her dignity and project an uncaring face. ‘Don’t… please,’ she gasped, hips twisting from side to side.

  He held her steadily, his lips moving in along her earlobe. ‘Do you have any idea how many men are watching you now?’ he whispered.

  Another shockwave rippled through her, and she struggled more frantically.

  ‘Spread your legs for them. Give them a show.’

  ‘Stop it. Let me go!’

  He chuckled but held her in position. ‘The camera only goes to my penthouse,’ he whispered.

  She blinked and felt immense relief, though she continued to stare at it uneasily. ‘No one is… watching it?’

  He chuckled. ‘Not unless they’ve broken in.’ He eased his hand back while holding onto her wrists, then turned her so her buttocks pressed back against the mirrored wall. His other hand slid down, teasing her nipples, plucking and rolling them until both were throbbing. He grinned at her as she swallowed nervously and looked away, then let a finger lazily slide down her belly and in between her legs. ‘Do you think I can make you come before we reach the penthouse?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ she said, her voice slightly husky.

  His fingers caressed her mons once more, this time his index finger slowly and gently penetrating her, pushing up inside her moist tunnel to the knuckle. A second joined it, and the two began to caress the inside of her as his thumb worked over her clitoris.

  ‘Of course, I could be lying,’ he said. ‘Perhaps there are men watching, dozens of them.’

  She gasped, unable to stop her eyes from darting to the camera again. ‘You… bastard,’ she said with a gasp.

  He grinned and she tried to stifle her reactions to his fingers. ‘Spread your legs.’

  The words, so cool and demanding, sent a little sizzle of heat into her groin, and she obeyed without thinking, looking up at the camera again as his fingers began to stoke the fire inside her. She imagined a gang of men watching, perhaps security guard types at a desk below. Perhaps he had lied to her and even now her sluttish behaviour was being observed. Her hips began to undulate slowly, and her breasts rose and fell with growing speed as his fingers manipulated her sensitive flesh.

  ‘Do you want to come, girl?’

  ‘Please I…’

  ‘Do you want to come… on my fingers?’

  ‘Oh… oh, I can’t!’

  ‘Do you?’

  His hand held her wrists high above her, and her buttocks rolled and ground against the cold glass of the mirror as his fingers sawed against her sex. ‘Y-yes,’ she whimpered.

  ‘Yes what?’

  ‘Make me come,’ she panted, grinding her buttocks against the wall.

  ‘Beg.’

  She stared at him in confusion, and his thumb pressed against her clitoris.

  ‘Beg to come,’ he ordered.

  ‘Ohhh…’ She twisted but he held her easily in place, and then relaxed his thumb, his fingers no longer moving.

  ‘Beg.’

  She glared at him, wanting to deny him but needing the pleasure more. ‘Please,’ she said, fighting to force the word out.

  ‘Please what?’

  She felt her face warming. ‘Please make me come.’

  ‘Let me hear some emotion, my little slut.’

  She inhaled sharply as his thumb began to stroke her clitoris again. ‘Please make me come,’ she groaned.

  ‘Louder.’

  ‘Please make me come!’ she cried, and felt the strangest sense of release as she did, panting heavily as she ground against his fingers.

  ‘What a naughty little girl you are,’ he said, his hand shunting between her thighs almost violently now, and she let out a startled cry as he began to masturbate her quickly and roughly. His fingers sawed over her sensitive clitoris and thrust sharply up into her body, the knuckles almost punching against her soft mound. It hurt at first and she felt the beginning of alarm and fear, but then the pleasure exploded within and she lost control of her body. Her hips rolled and twisted as she jammed herself desperately against his fingers. He released her wrists and she almost fell, slumping back against the wall. He caught her hair painfully, jerking her head back as he crushed her lips with his. She threw herself against him, whimpering, moaning and crying in pleasure. Her leg rose and curled around his waist as she ground herself against him.

  The lift doors opened and he bent, grasped her about the waist and lifted her up across his left shoulder like a bag of potatoes. He carried her out and down a long polished corridor into an enormous bedroom with sweeping, panoramic views of the city below.

  She was flung on the bed without ceremony and she lay there, gasping, as he stripped.

  Most of the men she knew socially were young, slender, pale, and had little incentive to subject themselves to much strenuous physical activity. This man was different. He had broad shoulders and was powerfully built. His suntanned body was lean but muscular, with a long diagonal scar across his chest. He looked… rough. He looked nothing like the soft young men she was used to.

  She felt a new thrill. Here was a powerful man who would take her and use her!

  He stripped off his trousers and pants and her eyes moved eagerly to his erection, rising high and firm from the tangle of dark pubic hair between his legs. ‘Fuck me,’ she said with deliberate crudeness.

  ‘You’re a real little whore, aren’t you?’ he said with a sardonic smile.

  ‘Yes. I’m a whore. Fuck my brains out.’

  She spread her legs wide and he crawled between them, then he knelt over her, reaching for the top corner of the bed. He drew out something soft and she raised her eyes to look as it wrapped around her wrist. She felt and saw the leather cinch tightly, and a sharp throbbing excitement began in her groin. ‘W-what are you doing?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m going to tie
you up.’

  She stared at him, gaping, her insides twisting at this dangerous idea. ‘Why?’

  ‘So I can do what I want with you, of course.’

  The words were shocking, and yet the excitement within her burned brightly at the words, and she closed her eyes.

  He then strapped her other wrist to the opposite corner of the bed. Then he turned his attentions to her body. His fingers resumed their deft manipulation of her senses and were soon joined by his tongue, stroking teasingly against her quivering nipples as she pulled against the straps.

  ‘Bite them,’ she groaned.

  He mouthed her right nipple and areola, chewing on the surrounding flesh. She groaned in a mixture of pain and pleasure, trembling as he sucked rhythmically. His tongue rasped across her nipple as it throbbed within his mouth.

  He drew back, holding her nipple between his teeth, grinding them from side to side so that she cried out weakly. Then he was licking his way down slowly between her legs. She thrust her hips up at him and he pushed them back. A moment later her ankles, spread lewdly, were strapped to the lower corners of the bed and the man proceeded to drive her mad with his careful, expert tonguing.

  There was a mirror above the bed and she could see herself there, spreadeagled, body writhing in tune to his fingers and tongue. The idea of a mirror over the bed would have drawn howls of laughter from she and her friends; only a crude fool would do such a thing. But she did not laugh as she saw herself; she stared, transfixed, mouth open.

  He was above her then, blocking the mirror, holding her face tightly between his large hands.

  ‘Fuck me,’ she breathed.

  ‘Beg for it.’

  ‘Please fuck me,’ she moaned.

  His hands glided over her body and squeezed her breasts, and then he seized her nipples between thumb and forefinger and pinched sharply.

  ‘Owww!’

  He stretched her nipples up, twisting them from side to side. ‘Say, sir.’