by 26 Nights (Memoirs of a Contemporary Gentleman) [MF] (retail) (epub)
Rachel pushed her slacks down.
This was very interesting to watch. The slacks were so tight she had to work them down over her lusciously curved hips, pulling first at one side, then the other, gaining about an inch with each tug. This made her breasts shake and quiver and bump each other in a fascinating manner. I felt my erection getting stronger and my resistance weaker. I thought about getting up and walking out. I thought about it. Fleetingly.
“Rachel,” I said—my voice was not completely steady—“you’re doing this of your own free will. You understand?”
The slacks fell. Rachel kicked off her shoes and stepped out of them and the slacks together. She wore only panties. Thin ones. Her legs were bare. I looked at them. Not fleetingly. I think I gulped.
“Oh God, Steven,” Rachel said, sounding as though she was about to cry. “Will you leave me no last shred of modesty? Must I strip completely naked?”
“Free will,” I said weakly.
“You beast,” Rachel quavered, and took off her panties.
Somehow I summoned up a last tattered remnant of strength. “Look, Rachel,” I said. “If you don’t stop this right now I’m going to call up your husband and tell him what’s going on.”
“God, Steven,” Rachel said. “Are you so depraved that you would take pleasure in gloating to my poor husband over the shameful position you have me in?”
“Oh Lord,” I groaned. But before I could think of what to do, the office door opened and Brenda came in.
Rachel seemed barely surprised, but I nearly jumped out of my chair. “Brenda!” I gasped. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. “I thought you were gone for the day!”
“I thought I’d just finish up those …” Brenda started, but her voice trailed off and she stared at Rachel standing naked in the middle of the office.
“Look,” I said, “It’s not—I mean—it’s okay. Ah—the lady was just leaving.”
“I see,” Rachel said. “It’s not enough for you simply to humiliate me and force me to your will. You’re going to make me perform these vile acts in front of a stranger.”
“What’s going on?” Brenda asked. It occurred to me that she was not quite as shocked as she might have been. Brenda was about twenty, a pretty brown-haired girl with a very nice figure which I had been studiously ignoring for the past week.
“It’s hard to explain,” I said.
“What now?” Rachel said. “I suppose you’ll make me get down on my knees. And crawl.”
“I better leave,” Brenda said, but I noticed she was not moving.
“No,” I said. “Yes. No. Oh, Christ.”
“All right,” Rachel said, whimpering now. “You don’t have to hit me any more. I’ll do anything you say.” She got down on her knees.
“Jeez,” Brenda said. “This chick is out of her tree.”
Rachel went down on all fours and began to move across the floor toward me. “Making me crawl to you on my hands and knees like an animal,” she said breathlessly. “Naked. In front of a witness. How horribly degrading.”
“Rachel,” I said huskily. “I’m telling you for the last time—” I broke off when she knelt upright and put her hands on my legs. She pushed them apart so she could move between them. “The hell with it,” I said. “I’m not fighting it anymore. Do whatever you want.”
Her hands slid up my legs. One felt my erection through my pants while the other found my zipper. “I’m forcing myself to do this,” she breathed. “I know you’ll tie me down and whip me if I don’t. And maybe even if I do.”
“No such luck,” I said. She was pulling my zipper down. Brenda moved in to get a closer look.
“Brenda,” I said unsteadily, “maybe you’d better go now.”
“No way!” Brenda said.
I didn’t feel able to argue the matter just then, because Rachel was pulling my erection out of my pants.
“How disgusting!” Rachel declaimed. “And you’re going to force me to take that loathsome thing into my mouth? And—and … oh, please … please don’t make me …”
“I’m not …” I began, but I knew it was no use. And the truth is that at that point I was hoping to hell she wouldn’t stop.
“Oh …” she said in a hopeless tone. “Oh you vile, perverted monster!” And then she lowered her head and took me into her mouth.
“Oh my God,” I said. And then, “Oh, Jesus.” I might have thrown in Buddha and Mohammed. I was having a very ecumenical experience. Rachel’s mouth and tongue could convert an atheist.
Rachel’s mouth moved up and down slowly. I began to gasp. Then I began to twist in my chair, gripping the arms for dear life. I felt as though I might take off at any second and fly up to the ceiling. Rachel was putting everything she had into this, and I knew I wasn’t going to stop myself from coming right down her miserable little throat.
She moved faster. The room began to spin around. I saw Brenda revolving with everything else, her eyes bright, her hands gently squeezing her own breasts as she watched.
Then I didn’t see anything but comets and rockets and shooting stars. My head fell back and I arched my bottom clear off the chair, pushing myself hard into Rachel’s devouring mouth. I made some loud noises which I will not attempt to reproduce, and then I was spurting hard, my hips jerking uncontrollably as I emptied myself into her gullet while her lips sucked and pulled at me and her tongue caressed me encouragingly with each spasm. She swallowed it all as it came, moaning with greedy satisfaction.
Slowly I came back to earth. I sat panting and blinking stupidly until I could remember who I was, and the spinning of the office had slowed down a bit. Rachel was looking up at me, her nipples harder than ever.
“Oh, how could you force me to do such a horrible, wicked thing?” she moaned. “And what in the world are you going to make me do next?”
“Next?” I said dully.
Rachel’s eyes widened. “Oh, no …” she gasped. “You wouldn’t … you can’t want me to … to do that!”
My eyes closed. “Do what?” I croaked.
“Do … do perverted things with … with this woman,” Rachel said.
My eyes opened.
“Hey!” Brenda said. “Great idea!”
“Now wait—” I said.
“Oh, you filth!” Rachel said, and tried to sob. “Is there no depth to which you won’t sink to get your twisted kicks?”
“Shit,” I said.
With a pathetic whimper Rachel turned away and began to move on her knees to where Brenda was standing by the side of the desk. Brenda—who I had thought was the picture of sweet innocence—didn’t waste any time. She had her panties off and her skirt up around her waist before Rachel even got there. She leaned back against the desk and planted her feet wide apart. Rachel moved close to her and, with another dramatic sob, buried her face between Brenda’s well-formed thighs.
Brenda hissed sharply and dug her hands into Rachel’s hair, guiding her head where she wanted it. But Rachel didn’t seem to need much guidance. Brenda began to squirm and moan, and I got the impression that Rachel’s wonderful mouth was giving her nearly as much pleasure as it had given me.
Keeping one hand clutched in Rachel’s hair, Brenda raised the other to the buttons of her blouse, undoing a few so she could slip her hand inside and fondle her breasts while the kneeling woman continued to work on her. I watched all this with a fair amount of objectivity at first, but after a bit I felt the old phallus perking up again. It was a pretty erotic sight, after all, the naked woman kneeling before the half-naked one, her face in the other’s crotch, both moaning now, Brenda writhing and gasping, twisting her own breast.
By the time Brenda cried out her climax, her violently jerking body bent forward over Rachel’s still-working head, I was in full erection again. Feeling a little foolish, I stuffed it back inside my trousers and zipped it up. Which didn’t seem to discourage it.
“Ohh …” Brenda panted, slumping against the desk as she
released Rachel. “Oh, that was lovely,” she said, “Lie down, honey—I’ll do you now, okay?”
“Oh, no,” Rachel said bitterly. “Steven doesn’t want me to get any pleasure. Only shame and humiliation, that’s what he wants to see. Now he’s going to tie me down on his desk and … and …”
“Forget it,” I said.
Rachel rose. Her face was wet, which made her look even sexier. She bent over the desk, her upper body resting on the desktop, her sweet round behind sticking up and out. It was a big desk, and she spread her arms across it toward the far corners, flattening her breasts against its surface, stretching herself as if she were indeed tied in that position.
“Now I’m helpless,” Rachel said. “You’ll be able to whip me until I scream. There’s nothing I can do about it.”
Brenda was pulling her panties back on. She stifled a giggle.
“And then,” Rachel went on, “I suppose you’ll take me from behind like this, while I struggle frantically.”
I wasn’t interested in the tying and whipping, but that sexy outstretched body and those curvy, jutting ass-cheeks were tempting. Her widespread thighs were smooth and shapely, and between them I could just catch a glimpse of her beckoning vagina. My body wanted to push itself up against that firm, round behind and slide my cock between her legs and up into the sweet tight warmth of her. My brain, on the other hand, told me to just get the hell out of there.
Guess who won?
Chapter 20
SHE WAS NINETEEN YEARS OLD, AN INNOCENT-looking young lady with dark eyes, brown hair that was long and wavy and a scrumptious, almost voluptuous figure. She was sitting on the edge of her bed with her legs stretched wide apart and her heels resting on the floor. She had pulled her long skirt all the way up over her hips and was holding it around her waist. She was a tall girl, and her long shapely legs were as stunning as any I had ever seen. And she wasn’t wearing panties.
“Is this what you want?” she asked.
It wasn’t exactly what one might have expected from the leading symbol and poster child, as it were, of an organization called Stamp Out Smut—S.O.S., for short—and the daughter of its founder and executive director, the formidable Mrs. J. W. Dunbarton. On the other hand, I can’t say that I was entirely surprised.
S.O.S. was the organization under whose auspices I was at the Dunbarton apartment that evening. There were about a dozen of us; we had been invited to imbibe cocktails, snack on canapés and, it was hoped, contribute with charitable generosity to the cause of guarding the endangered morals of our fellow creatures.
Now regular readers of this saga may suspect that this was not a cause for which I had much sympathy; and those shrewd individuals would be correct. My presence at this gathering was not occasioned by any desire on my part to join the swelling ranks of those who would impose their particular ideas of morality upon society at large. No, my motivation for attending this event had nothing at all to do with puritanism. Oh, no. Quite the contrary.
Mrs. J. W. Dunbarton had long been a well-known leader in the wars against pornography. Over the years she had enlisted her entire family in this crusade. Her husband, however, had been fortunate enough to die off several years ago, and soon afterwards her son had run off to Oregon, where, it was said, he immediately opened a chapter of the Sexual Freedom League. (Mrs. Dunbarton no longer acknowledges him as her son.) Her daughter, however, had remained faithful, and the two of them now functioned as a team, often appearing on television talk shows. It was on television, in fact, that I had first gotten a good look at Mrs. Dunbarton’s daughter. Her name, not so incidentally, was Sabrina.
“It’s a start,” I said now; in answer to her question. I moved to the bed and knelt down on the floor in front of her, putting my hands on those beautiful soft thighs and spreading them still further. Then I put my lips to the silky inner surface of one of them and slip my mouth over it, my tongue trailing along the tender flesh. I heard Sabrina draw her breath sharply. I turned to the other leg and repeated the action, moving slowly toward her crotch. I lifted her legs then and put them over my shoulders. A whimper escaped her as I brought my mouth to her pussy, just grazing her labia and teasing very softly with my tongue. She moaned and leaned back on her hands, thrusting her crotch harder against my face. My hands roamed her legs as my tongue probed deeper, tasting the sweet female essence of her …
What had prompted me to attend this particular event had been no more than a vague feeling, based on a nebulous but niggling memory of the aforementioned television program. My attention had been focused on Sabrina whenever she was on-screen, and as her mother had spoken at length about the need to shield our young people from the filth currently pervading this great land of ours, and how the teaching of proper values is necessary to inculcate them with the traditional virtues, such as abstinence and chastity—pointing to her daughter as an example of such virtues, molded by a rigorous and pious upbringing—I thought I noticed, from time to time and very fleetingly, a swift flicker of the daughter’s eyes, an expression so swift and almost subliminal as perhaps to be imaginary. For the most part she smiled and nodded as her mother spoke, and when it came her turn she more or less recapitulated what her mother had said, with great poise and forcefulness. There seemed to be no insincerity about her. And yet I could not get that feeling out of my mind …
“Sabrina?” a voice intoned from outside the door. It was Mrs. Dunbarton. I realized with a chill that the door was not locked. My first instinct was to pull away and assume some semblance of innocence, but Sabrina’s hands suddenly clutched at my hair and kept me where I was.
“What is it, Mother?” she called. Her voice was a bit strained.
“What are you doing, dear?” Mrs. Dunbarton asked.
Her hands pulled me closer against her, and I responded by sliding my tongue up inside her. As long as I was there, I might as well keep busy.
Sabrina’s body jerked and she gave a loud hiss. “I’m busy right now, Mother,” she said unsteadily. “I’m—I’m discussing our work with Mr. Walling.” I retracted my tongue and found her clitoris. “He’s—oh!—he’s very interested.”
There was a brief pause. “All right, dear,” Mrs. Dunbarton said finally. “But don’t be too long.”
“I’ll be … I’ll be there … in a few minutes, Mother,” Sabrina panted, arching and twisting under the ministrations of my lips and tongue.
“Very well, then,” her mother said, and I could faintly hear her footsteps moving down the hall, away from the sound of her daughter’s soft shriek of completion.
“Jesus,” I said, resting my head against a luscious thigh. “What if she had come in?”
“She wouldn’t,” Sabrina said. “She knows what’s going on.”
I was taken aback. “She knows?”
“Oh yes. She knows, all right.”
When the notice of this fund-raiser had arrived some weeks before, I had not automatically consigned it to the wastebasket, as is my wont, but had deliberately held on to it, hoping that the timing might be such that when the indicated date arrived, the progress of my wager with Miss Greenglass might just have brought me to the point at which I would be seeking an S. And that, fortunately, was exactly what happened.
I knew, of course, that I was deliberately setting myself a formidable challenge, the success of which was highly dubious, even given my notorious skill, charm and luck. But the vision of the luscious Sabrina (and, it must be admitted, my instinctive antipathy toward her mother) egged me on. Besides, it was not a huge risk; if I were to fail, there were Sallys and Susans and Sandras galore out there to fall back on …
“My turn,” Sabrina said as I, with some bemusement, got to my feet. Without moving from her position on the bed she reached for my zipper and worked it down.
“Don’t you have to …” I stuttered. “Your mother …”
“Don’t worry about her,” Sabrina said, pulling my very stiff member out into the open. “She’ll be back.”
“Ah … she will?”
“Mmmmm …” Sabrina purred affirmatively, gazing at my cock.
Earlier that afternoon, as Mrs. Dunbarton stood before us and again delivered herself of her burden of sanctity, emphasizing this time the urgent need for contributions from upright, caring citizens like us to carry on this important work, I again watched Sabrina closely. At first I saw nothing in her eyes but rapt attention and approval; but as her mother went on, those eyes began to lose focus, and then to stray around the room. After a moment she met my fixed gaze. I did not look away. Neither did she. For a long minute those dark brown eyes stared into mine, and while I could not definitely discern in them the ineffable expression I thought I had noted previously, there was one thing there that I was almost certain of: a kind of speculation.
When the presentation was over I joined the small crowd milling about our two hostesses, watching for the moment when the younger of them would be relatively disengaged. Seeing my opportunity, I approached her and introduced myself.
“I’m glad you could come, Mr. Walling,” Sabrina said. “I don’t think we’ve ever managed to inveigle you here before, have we?”
“I have been remiss,” I admitted. “But I’m very interested in your work. In fact, I’d like to know more about it. Perhaps you and I could get together privately sometime to discuss it further.”
“Of course,” she said. “Our schedule is rather crowded, but I’m sure Mother and I could find the time to meet with you.”
“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of just you and me,” I said.
“Oh, but Mother is much more knowledgeable on the subject, and besides, she is the head of the organization. You would get much more out of talking with her than with me.”
Her voice was saying no, but her eyes, those inscrutable brown eyes, were saying something else. I just wasn’t too sure what it was.
When someone else came over to talk to her, I excused myself and went in search of the lavatory. The apartment was large and spacious, and I wandered around a bit before finding what I wanted at the end of a long hall. When I emerged, I saw Sabrina standing in the doorway of a room halfway down the corridor.
