by Destiny Moon
I leant back as he kept thrusting, and he took my left nipple in his mouth, keeping the rhythm. I could no longer hold myself back. The contractions of my orgasm were so intense and he moaned in pleasure at my tightness. I thought that he, too, was going to come, but he didn’t. In fact, his face showed a different kind of determination. I was almost a little scared. I became so sensitive just after I came, and he was still holding me like that, like his receptacle and, even though I pushed his mouth away from my left nipple, he greedily sucked on my right one instead.
My poor cunt was so sensitive, and I got goose bumps because he wouldn’t stop. I didn’t care, though. I didn’t want him to stop. I loved the breeze on my almost-naked body. I loved the smell we made together. The fragrance of my orgasm and the look on his face were so intense.
We paused to change positions. I grabbed him by the waist when he looked as if he was about to lose control. If this was going to be our last time together, I wanted a little more of him. He panted and sweated profusely. It really was quite the workout for him, and I was thrilled to be his equipment. He put me back down on the ledge in a sitting position and withdrew his cock from me. He was rock solid, a glorious sight. I only wished that I was capable of fucking for hours. I didn’t want this to stop. I felt insatiable.
I turned over so I was on my hands and knees on top of the bench cabinet that housed safety equipment. He moaned in gratitude at the ingenuity of the position. Obviously, it was exactly what he wanted. He grabbed my hips and thrust himself into me again. The angle was different and he felt even larger. He really was massive inside me. I had felt it before but somehow, like this, it was as though he could just plough farther and farther into me. I loved the feeling that it was him doing this to me, that I was his plaything. He needed that, but I needed it more.
In that moment, with his hands around my hips and his cock deep inside me, I realised that I had agreed to take such an active role with Hal. I was the choreographer, the operator. I liked that. I loved Hal. But I also loved being passive. The way I was with Sam, but different. I loved this feeling. There was something about it that was so familiar, it felt as though it was inscribed upon my psyche. It was a way that men and women seemed to have related to each other for millennia. Not sensual, not loving, but animalistic. It was perfect.
Timothy eased his hands onto my shoulders and pulled me backwards, farther onto him. I arched my back upwards and he rounded the bend of my chest with his left hand as his right hand came around and stroked my breasts in the warm afternoon air. I felt the breeze against my nipples.
He hardened even more, although I hadn’t thought it was possible. He pulled me back and forth so hard now, and started to moan loudly. The primal cries behind me and the feeling that I could do nothing to stop him from coming inside me were too much for me to take, and I felt another orgasm grow deep in my belly. As he thrust back and forth, I bucked myself back onto him with all of my strength. If I hadn’t already come before, it would have been too much for me to handle but, as it was, I felt the energy build and build. Just as he released, I started to contract around his cock, which sent him into further utopia. He was so loud—I had never heard him and Hal be that loud—and I threw my own cries into the mix and came violently with him. We were in perfect sync, him giving me the last few thrusts as my cunt released its tension.
Timothy let my body go and I sat on the ledge, limp from exhaustion. I leaned my cheek against his chest and listened to his still-racing heartbeat. I would have stayed like that for as long as I could, but time was limited and we both knew it.
“I’ll miss you, Julie. I’ll miss you a lot,” Timothy said.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
I knew that wasn’t the point. I knew it was more about him leaving, his wife coming, the whole new situation that we all had on our hands now.
* * * *
We approached the marina mid afternoon. Francine Jean had driven for hours to meet her husband, undoubtedly hoping to catch him disembarking a vessel stocked with girls. She seemed somewhat relieved as she stood in her crisp white dress with her giant white sun hat and her dark glasses, waving to us from the shore. She was beautiful and stylish and I felt ignorant for having taken Timothy’s story of her as fact. She was delicate of frame and graceful and deserving of a husband who adored her. At least, that was what I believed when I saw her at a distance.
Up close, she exuded the kind of high-maintenance air that I could only hope to portray. She kissed everyone on the cheek, calling each of us ‘sugar’. I didn’t know what to do so I obliged, mimicking her behaviour.
“Why, Hal, wherever did you find this precious lady?” she cooed at him.
“I’d say it was a fortunate chance encounter in San Francisco,” Hal started, “but I actually believe it was fate.”
“Oh, how sweet.” She turned her sights on me.
Timothy packed his suitcase into the back of his wife’s expensive convertible. He approached us and put his arm around Francine Jean in an effort to appear affectionate. Instead, it appeared forced and uncomfortable, as though she was made of porcelain and not meant for touching.
“Well, I guess this is it, then,” he said. “You two lovebirds had best be off. We wouldn’t want to get in the way of Julie falling in love with Florida. Anyway, it’s a bit of a drive from here, isn’t that right, Francine Jean?”
“I’ll say,” she uttered, as though she had been terribly inconvenienced by coming to get him. No one mentioned that it was at her own insistence.
Timothy and I kissed cheek to cheek in front of Francine Jean and Hal. Hal and Timothy shook hands. Francine Jean and I shook hands.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I said to her. “I do hope we see you at the wedding.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, dear, and I wouldn’t miss it.”
It was fake, phony and full of lies. But this was my new life and I wasn’t about to feel dismayed about it.
“I forgot something on board,” I told the group as they slowly meandered towards Francine Jean’s perfect little car. I ran back out on the dock and called Sam. She poked her head up, then climbed onto the deck.
“Bye, Sam,” I whispered.
“Bye, yourself,” she said. “And good luck with everything.”
“You too.”
Chapter Eleven
Strawberry Hill
Hal’s chauffeur, Stanley, picked us up at the harbour. We spent the better part of the afternoon and evening driving towards a bed and breakfast resort that Hal frequented when he made this familiar trek. The next morning, we drove to Halifax County, which, Hal said, he hoped I liked as it was the gateway to my new home. Even in the car, our dynamic was different. We were silent for the most part. I stared out of the window at the landscape, which was far more lush than I had imagined. I think Hal missed Timothy already, or else he missed the freedom that the last week had given him. I reminisced about the best sexual encounters I’d ever had.
The air was warm and lush and the nature quite different from any I had seen so far. My home town had been rich with trees as well, but with the kind of overgrowth of the unattended. When we crossed the state line, I noticed that everything in Virginia seemed pruned and intentional. Leafy vines covered massive trees. We passed rolling hills and the sun beamed down on the grassy meadows. It was like being in a fairytale.
On the evening of our second driving day, we approached the driveway of Strawberry Hill, Hal’s mansion. The scene was extraordinary. In fact, with its Greek pillars, even the servant’s quarters were impressive. This place was a relic from a bygone era, something I’d never imagined I would see with my own eyes. As we drove past the first set of buildings, I understood that I had been looking to the side when I should have been looking straight ahead. In front of us was the largest mansion I had ever seen. Brooding like a Greek hero, the mansion intimidated even me, who had been so intent on being nonchalant.
I realised that Hal’s uniqueness was an opportunity
for me to receive the kind of pleasure most men were not capable of giving me. Most men, I figured, would never be able to provide a woman with this kind of luxury. If they were, there would undoubtedly be a hefty price tag attached in some form or another. With Hal, although we each had ends of a bargain to uphold, I felt as though this lifestyle was much more than adequate compensation for my loyalty. Hal needed a beautiful woman on his arm and I was determined to give him everything his heart desired, and more. I was more than the perfect job applicant—I was making a career of being his partner.
Upon our arrival at his mansion in Virginia, he showed me to my room, a flawlessly decorated, massive bedroom done up in ornate style. Everywhere my eyes focused, there were priceless antiques, baroque fixtures and marble flooring. This was not just any old heritage plantation. This was opulence that I had not known existed. Growing up in Idaho, I had set my sights on what I’d seen in the stories—the rich Texan mansions, the Californian millionaires. Virginia’s estates resonated with old money. The original, cold-hearted entrepreneurs had started here. This place had been built long before plebes had worked the land in my northern neck of the woods.
What would these people think if they knew the truth about me? I could understand everything Timothy had said now. And I knew that, no matter what Hal might reassuringly tell me, if I was going to survive and thrive in this environment, I’d have to lie. I’d have to pretend. I’d have to become Francine Jean’s younger, prettier doppelgänger.
A couple of days of glorious rest later, Hal approached me during my morning tea. I was to adorn myself with yet another new wardrobe befitting my stature as the lady of the house. To this, I agreed with my usual attempt at aloofness. It was, after all, a matter of course that he would do anything to please me. It was a matter of course that I’d have everything my heart desired. It was in the terms of the contract.
I was slowly settling into the realisation that this was my reality. After the wild times at sea, a couple of weeks of rest suited me perfectly. I delighted in exploring the county and Stanley was an excellent guide. The only trouble was that on most days I was alone. I’d always thought that I wanted money above all things. I’d believed that a life of luxury equalled happiness but I soon discovered that, more than wealth, I valued companionship. And with Hal preoccupied with business, and Stanley an exceptionally boring man, I began to wonder where I might meet the other hypothetical lovers that Hal and I had agreed to enjoy. Certainly, there would not be a lot of excitement around Strawberry Hill.
Just when I was beginning to wonder whether I could really be happy with this arrangement, Simon entered my life. One day, at tea, Hal told me about him.
“Julie, I really must insist that you take advantage of my tailor. He’s fresh out of fashion school and ambitious. Find some new projects to occupy his time. Surely it will be more interesting for him than making suits for an old man.”
“Hal, you’re not old.” I sipped my Earl Grey. “Where do I find him?”
“He’ll come around at two. I’m sure you need some new clothes.”
“Fabulous.”
“Then it’s settled. He’ll meet you in the boudoir. I should warn you—he’s handsome.” He smiled. “Well, I’m off.”
That was how things went at Strawberry Hill. Hal had his business to attend to, which, from what I could gather, consisted of making appearances. I would eventually be expected to attend social functions on his arm, but it was too much to ask of a belle to do so on her first week. Organising smooth inheritance probably also required a great deal of charisma, and Hal was very distracted during those first weeks back home. I could sympathise. Coming into the estate as an outsider presented me with a certain disbelief. The threat of the government confiscating it from him must have been a nightmare. Once accustomed to this kind of living, as Hal had been his whole life, since he spent all of his summers here, nothing else would be impressive. Not the fancy hotel suites, not the most extravagant homes on the west coast. Nothing.
At two o’clock, I met Simon the tailor in my dressing lounge. Hal’s warning had been accurate. He was a strapping young man—a design student, apparently—who made his living sewing for Virginia’s best dressed. Hal adored him. I immediately understood why.
When he entered the room, he fumbled and accidentally dropped his sketchbook. Instead of simply picking up the fallen drawings, he apologised profusely and started a hilarious chain reaction that culminated in his bumping his head on the coffee table. Why is it that nervousness piques my interest?
“You have to forgive me, ma’am, for my clumsiness. I have only worked for men before,” he said, as he held the measuring tape around my waist, taking preliminary peeks at what was to become his new oeuvre.
“Hmm, I suppose this must be awkward for you, then.” I took the measuring tape from him and lowered it around my hips.
His cough expressed his stress as he recorded my measurements in his notebook. He struck me as inexperienced and sweet. He was just the kind of well-behaved young man that a woman could really enjoy. He seemed determined to say and do the right thing all the time.
“This must be intolerable.” I placed the tape around my bust and motioned for him to take it from me. He clasped the tape and came close to see the number. “You poor thing,” I said. Then I laughed.
He feigned amusement.
There is something so titillating about inexperienced men. Simon was the perfect specimen. His bookish fumbling and lack of social grace told me that, if he had been with a woman before, it had not been an affirming experience. His gentle hands almost shook as he wrote. I could not help but play with him. What could be the harm in a little innocent flirtation?
“Simon?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
“Yes, ma’am. Absolutely.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t believe you. Prove it.”
“Um… I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Well, you said you think I’m pretty. I want you to prove it,” I said, squinting ever so slightly. I just wanted to hint at something dirty, not actually come on to him. In his volatile state, an actual advance would have been devastating.
He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure Mr Broughton would approve.”
“Oh? And why not? How were you going to prove my prettiness to me?” I pouted.
“Um…” He had no idea what to do, and I enjoyed watching him squirm. I was just having fun but his expression suggested this was torture for him.
“I think we should leave Hal out of this, don’t you?” I took the notebook he was clinging to so naïvely and tossed it onto the floor. He stared at me as if I were the most wicked and crazy woman he had ever met, and I loved it. He was so deathly afraid of upsetting Hal—and even more afraid of abandoning his etiquette—that his face became pale, like a Victorian lady’s.
I pushed him slightly, and he fell backwards onto my boudoir’s velvet ottoman.
“I’m not sure…”
“What, Simon? You’re not sure this is appropriate? You’re not sure if you’ll lose your contract with Hal?” I paused. “Or is it that you’re not sure I’m pretty?”
“Oh, you’re very pretty. I’m definitely sure of that.”
“Then why don’t you want to prove it to me?” I pouted. It had been a couple of weeks without any sexual attention and I was hungry for something tasty.
I climbed on top of him where he was seated. I straddled his lap and felt his throbbing presence between my legs. “Oh, I see… You do want to prove it to me. You’re just afraid to say it. Is that true, Simon?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I jumped from his lap and gained my composure. Standing in front of him, I towered over him. Then I slapped him. Hard. Across the face with my open hand. “I cannot tolerate fearful men in my home.”
“Ma’am?”
“You heard me. If you are too afraid of Hal or me
to tell me how you really feel, then you might as well leave now, or I will personally see to it that your position here is terminated.”
“I’m not afraid.” His voice suggested otherwise, but the young man was coming to his senses, aware that I wanted to play a game with him. That was all this was—just a game of cat and mouse—though, like a good predator, I pounced when he least expected it.
“I don’t believe you,” I insisted.
He stood up. He was taller than me, and slim. Despite his scholarly physique, he was handsome and exuded an artistic flair. He was unlike any of the men I’d met on the road or at Carla’s, and he was nothing at all like the guys in Idaho. I could tell just from his choice to wear corduroy slacks and a loose-fitting, white linen shirt. He stared into my eyes, then grasped both of my arms with his strong hands.
I was momentarily stunned as our dynamic shifted. It had been a while since a man had handled me this way, and I savoured the familiarity of feeling small in someone’s arms. He pulled me close. Our faces almost touching, he whispered, “Julie, you are a beautiful woman. I can hardly control myself in your presence, if I must be honest.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” I said, and closed my eyes. His lips met mine and our kiss resonated deep inside me. I could feel his hardness as he pulled my body flush with his own. I broke away from Simon, walked calmly to the door, turned the key, then turned on my heels. I could feel myself moisten with each step I took towards him.
Even the most cultivated creative type has an animalistic side. I was about to encounter Simon, unbridled. It had been too long that I had waited. The adventures with Sam and Timothy and Hal had been fascinating, but I was in dire need of a ravishing union.
I tore at Simon’s buttoned shirt. He immediately shed his pants, his undergarments, everything. As he stood there, exposed, I felt the desire to intimidate the poor young man a little more.
“What makes you think you can have me?” I asked. He looked confused. “Hmm? Mr Tailor? What makes you think you’re good enough to fuck the lady of the house?”
