Plaything - Chapter Four
Slowly coming awake, at first I give a mental stretch. My senses turn on, with everything that is sexual about J. C. invading my being. I feel the firmness of his lips moving against mine, further rousing me from my dormancy. His warm breath tastes of honeysuckle and narcissus, with hints of sandalwood that make me feel sexually aroused. Puffs of aromatic air, escape his nostrils, teasing my cheeks, making me shiver, summoning a somewhat more receptive Hannah Hardcastle to life.
Tasting of candied plums, saffron and spices, his tongue fills my mouth, entwining with mine for an intense and lingering kiss. I'm revitalized. Remembering his rough treatment, my breasts plump up and their nipples stand at attention, so rigid they pain me as they stab into his chest. My pussy weeps, crying out for more of his manhandling. If I'm not careful, maintain being clever, I'll lose the upper hand and my heart to him.
He'd called me his 'Beauty', and so I am, having achieved a superb state of sexual tension and readiness that I'd never before known. Now is the opportunity for me to realize my full potential. I wonder how much he knows, what he plans to do with me.
His fingers circle my areola, then twist and pinch my nipple like a stoner rolling a joint and I fear he doesn't have the balls to take me all the way. Particularly, I'm afraid to surrender completely. It's one thing if he's going to be the one to finally make me submit and truly come, but wholly another to have him completely control me. As much as I want him to give me what I need, treating me to several scrumptious rounds of his big beef sausage and white gravy, I'll oppose him because I fear uncertainty and change.
With my eyes still closed, I lift my hands to caress the bristliness of his jaws and hear him sigh. His jean-covered hips, spiral against mine. My bare legs are opened wide and he's planted between them. Denim scratches along my inner thighs, causing a fluttering in my core. I want his fingers inside me, then I need his mighty meat thermometer to test my heat. When he determines my stockpot is adequately boiling, I want him to extinguish my fire with his tongue, letting his saliva cool my lips and seep into my smoldering oven to snuff out my pilot light. Then he should impale me, stoking my fires back to life, use his tongue to fuck my snapping snatch until I'm shuddering and declaring him my main squeeze, my fatal attraction.
As if reading my mind, he deepens the kiss, tonguing and tempting, hips gyrating steadily and I slide my calves up to rest across his firm, rounded buttocks, supporting the heavy weight of unfamiliar pumps against the back of his legs. I lift my pelvis into his spiraling motions, feeling his erection pulsate against my spandex covered slit. Setting forth a seductive rhythm of forward and back rocking, mixed with enticing shimmies of my hips, I hear and feel the thundering of his heart and need to see what I'm doing to him.
Opening my eyes, I look into his orbs of rich, incomprehensible gold. Fuck, he's hotter than I've ever admitted, mysterious and dangerous. My back bows and my pleasure box magnetizes to the steel of his cock. I sigh into his mouth, nearly climaxing. The muscled walls of my pleasure stadium are subjected to shakes and tremors the magnitude of a major earthquake. I ride them out, not wanting J. C. to undo me so easily.
Abruptly, he ends our kiss, but continues stroking and teasing my nipple. With his lips mere inches above mine he grinningly announces, "You're right on time Beauty."
Sliding my palms from the sides of his face, I trail my fingers down the column of his neck, to silk covered, muscled shoulders, where I bury my fingernails. Tightening the vice of my legs around his hips, I begin squeezing intensely. "Get off and take yourself home. If you're lucky, I won't turn you in for doping me and doing God only knows what else while I slept. I'll allow you to make amends by returning my condo and car," I state cantankerously, all the time thinking how good he feels on top of me.
His eyes darken as he pinches my nipple with increasing force. "No can do, Beauty. Go 'head, crush me some more, then scratch the fuck out of me. You drive me wild when you go all Mistress Natasha Sweet," he uninhibitedly admits, starting to caress and massage my thighs.
To spite J. C., I loosen my grip from around his hips and plan to use my pump to push his smiling ass to the floor, when he grips each of my calves and locks me in place. The captive is now the captor. "You're going down," I threaten half-heartedly, as the lips of my whisper pot mouth his name, calling to him, wanting to clamp onto his big pacifier.
He licks his lips, and then executes several snakelike tongue flicks before stating suggestively, "Ah Beauty, you know I love the taste of your yum-yum cake."
J. C. slides his left hand down my leg to the spike heels of my shoes, where he holds them together. Lowering his torso onto mine, he sends three fingers of his free hand beneath the crotch of my panties and into my wet slit. Immediately he starts pile driving them in-and-out and I'm on the verge of really giving voice to his name when he pulls out. Releasing the shoes, he raises his torso to look down at me as he puts his cunt juice coated fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean.
I'm furiously aroused and envision myself watching J. C. undergoing a thorough cavity search. Inspired, I threaten, "As soon as I get up, I'm calling the Santa Monica police to have you carted off. A handsome devil like yourself will be thankful for that tight ass, skilled tongue and fingers when you're serving a shower full of prison admirers."
"Boo, those costal cops will have some long ass bike rides since we're at my place in Nevada," he laughs out.
For the first time, I look around a large Graeco-Roman inspired room I've never been in before. Positioned here-and-there are low sitting tables, armless chairs, large potted plants and several feet away, parallel to where we are, is a double-chaise lounge of cream and gold, identical to ours. Taking the time to note my own appearance, I see he's dressed me in a short, sheer, hot pink negligee that strategically leaves my breasts and nipples bare. Of course, he's shod my feet with cock teasing pink pumps. He's been busy. "How did we get here and what time is it?"
Rolling off me, he extends his hand before saying, "Me and a few of my homies stole you out of your former crib. Then I flew us here in the Cessna you use to own."
Taking his hand, I get to my feet and allow him to lead me in the direction of a gilded floor mirror. Along the way, he snags an open bottle of Rémy Martin from one of the tables. He takes a huge swallow of the spirit, then answers, "It's four hours since you fell asleep. You look refreshed, energized. That treat I created for you worked like a charm."
I look him up and down. "You won't be so smug when you're doing eight years for kidnapping."
J. C. positions me to stand before him, both of us studying our reflections. He traces the circle of gold paint that surrounds my nipple, asking in a deeply enigmatic voice, "Are you afraid of me?"
"You wish," I state challengingly, unable to look away from the reflection of the living, love doll he's fashioned. He's had extensions added to my hair, which is now styled atop my head, maintaining the color, but adding length, so that when the tresses are let down they'll easily brush my shoulders. My face is expertly made-up with an artist's light touch, my attractiveness appearing natural, brows and lashes delicately darkened, big, deep-blue eyes finely outlined, cheeks bare and lips tinted blush pink. In contrast, my bare breasts are contoured to enhance their fullness and my nipples, which are the exact color of his eyes, stand out from the surrounding hot pink gossamer fabric, begging to be worshipped. Dressed like this, I can easily give the girls at the Bunny Ranch some serious competition and the six-inch, hot pink heels, I effortlessly balance on, give him the perfect alignment to my rounded bottom.
Still holding the bottle of cognac, he drapes his arms over my shoulders to hang down my chest, the black silk of his shirt coordinating handsomely with my pale skin and vibrantly colored nightie. He eases his hand down into the waistband of my g-string, and makes me thrust my buttocks back against his erection. As he teases my southern lips apart and begins circling my clit with his finger he says, "Boo, since I don't frighten you, I'd maybe face a year max in county. But once you hear my plans, I don't think you'll claim I confined you against your will."
I place my palm over my pink covered mound, applying pressure to push his fingers deeper into me. With my free hand, I try to take the bottle from his, to have a long drink of liquid fire, to taste J. C.'s mouth on the glass, but he won't let go and I give up, pouting prettily. Using my spare hand to massage his thigh, I ask, "So what's this about?"
"Me giving you some bona fide orgasms, with you letting' loose some serious Niagara Falls water action, so I know beyond any question that I've satisfied you," he answers, all the time looking into my eyes, while churning my waters with two of his fingers, his thumb circling my clit.
Groaning, I shudder, inhaling the scents of expensive liquor and unchained, musk mallow masculinity, warm, sensuous and animalistic. I want him to cleave me, bend me forward and make me watch as he lays some long and hard pipe in my sex stadium. Wanting to force him into action, I ask goadingly, "Why would I want to be stuck here with you?"
Hips still rocking against my ass, fingers continuing to stroke inside my snatch, he places his lips against the side of my neck and breathes out hoarsely, "It'll be fanfuckintastic. From now until Monday you're mine, then when this is done, if you want, I'll cut you loose."
He was going to cut me loose, well that was damn hilarious. I have visions of the docile, dutiful and deferential man-child I'd been figuratively leading around by a spiked, leather cock leash, and laugh aloud. He may take back all the crap he bought me, but when we ended, it would be on my say-so. My burst of hilarity quickly dies and I sourly ask, "Why will four nights make a difference?"
J. C. is clearly unbothered by my disrespectful joviality. He nuzzles my neck, licks and bites my earlobe, before pulling his fingers out of my sportsman's arena. Raising his wet digits to his nose, he inhales, before lowering them to his mouth to bathe them with his spiraling tongue. I watch, my coochie doing a hardcore rendition of the Pogo, and when J. C. finishes he answers, "Because I know you masturbate while fantasizing about fucking more men than the Empress Messalina did during her competition against Sylla."
In the mirror, I see my mouth form a perfect O, as my head falls back against him. The shudders and clenching begin and feel like they'll never end. My knees buckle and I feel him steadying me, lending me his strength. Damn it, he was looking pleased by my reaction.
"Ah Boo, that was hotter than all the ones I've seen in the pictures of you knob-jockeying those Hollywood players. Damn, I got a real one and I've hardly done shit. Maybe this Messalina thing will be too much for you. Do you think you're up to getting twenty-six men to blow their wads?"
My heart is hammering, my head spinning. "J. C., are you serious?"
"Damn straight," he declares, looking directly into the eyes of my reflection.
I will my body to calm, but the sincerity of his gaze, the support and acceptance I find there unnerves me more. "You want me to compete against a prostitute?"
He kisses my cheek, the side of my neck and with his unencumbered hand, strokes the sensitive underside of my breast, calmly stating, "Naw Boo, I want you to pulverize Messalina's record while I watch. You'll do twenty-six men in twelve hours." J. C.'s hand continues on its southerly path, his gaze that's once again fixed on mine is unwavering.
His expression tells me he's serious and the rivulets of feminine liquid wetting the creases of my thighs, which his fingers are now slipping through, announce my interest and I'm torn. For all my domineering treatment of J. C., I now believe I never really want to hurt him, not in a way that may mean we won't survive. I squeeze the lean muscle of his thigh, wanting to assure him that he doesn't have to continue and in response, he gives me a slight incline of his head, a sign that we'll proceed if I agree. He's seen pictures of me with other men, knows what I'm capable of but this will be a different story, IMAX 3D quality, with different rules and consequences. I don't want to make the decision that could ruin us, so I ask, hoping he'll change his mind, "Will you be okay actually seeing men nut inside me?"
He takes hold of my right hand and inserts it between our parted legs so I can feel the heat and hardness of his imposing erection. Into my ear he admits, "I'll be turned on by the sights and sounds of you making them weak, breaking and leaving them wanting more."
I cup his balls and cock, holding and comforting, trying to encourage myself. A little sadly, I decide. "Okay, when do I start?"
J. C. turns me to face him, stroking my hair and caressing my cheek, his golden eyes studying my expression. "Listen closely and you'll hear music coming up from downstairs. Your party's been blastin' for hours. The first guy is right outside and with a press of a button, men will be breakin' their damn necks to get up here. I expect you to throw down some mad, Jenna Jameson skills, have them ninety-percent-to-nuttin' before they get inside your pleasure dome. Then I want you to ruin them, so you're all they think about. I want them willing to do or say anything to get with you again."
Ah, shit, this was the J. C. I had to be careful of, the media monster, the urban myth, the man who took no prisoners. Growing wetter by the second, I ask, "Do you know them?"
He lifts his hand to take pins from my hair so it cascades around me. "Some, but I want you to have the danger you crave, so others are relatively unfamiliar to me, but are associates of associates, who are Daddy Warbucks rich. They've all cleared medical evaluations and everyone of them will wear a condom. And by the way, you won't service them orally or anally."
I give a frown of confusion at his final stipulation, placing my palms on his chest. "I don't think Messalina had to compete with such limitations."
His eyes narrow and he takes another big gulp of cognac. Standing, staring at me for several seconds, he finally says in a threatening tone, "For weeks I've studied pictures of you with men in positions I didn't know existed, but two things became mother fucking clear almost from the start. First, you never give head. Second, a man getting any backdoor action wasn't ever going to happen, not a finger, tongue or dick."
"This is different. The thought of taking a stranger's cock in my mouth and sucking it until he forgets his own name, makes me hot," I attempt to torment him, so he'll put on the brakes.
He sucks down some more bottled courage. "No Boo," he states in a tone that doesn't invite argument.
For our sakes, I try anyway. "Wouldn't seeing a big trucker drive the distance along my Cadbury Road excite you?"
J. C. grips my chin and glowers at me. His eyes dull and darken while his testosterone deepened voice rumbles forth, "Pay attention Hannah. Your mouth and ass belong to me, if any man tries claiming my territory he'll pay."
He's giving off enough androgen that his stimulatingly musky fragrance sets my beaver to itching, needing to be scratched, by him, my man. The longer I prolong the ultimate satisfaction, though, the greater my pleasure will be. Yanking my face out of his hold, I snap, "So I'm to be a selective whore because you say so?"
Deftly, he uses one hand to undo each side of my breakaway thong, and slowly pulls the pink material from between my thighs. He then raises it to his nose and lips, first sniffing then kissing the crotch. I watch him tie the scrap of color and sequins around a front belt loop of his jeans, and then he seizes my mouth, all tongue and temper. When he releases me, I'm breathless. With a mysterious smile and an unfathomable wink, he says, "If that's what you want to think. Now, get your fine ass back on that lounge, cause it's playtime."
J. C. motions towards the door and I see a handsome, blonde-haired, blue-eye man has silently entered. He's dressed only in black, CK poly-spandex briefs and his cracking tool is ready for work. In a flash I sum him up, know what he wants, as I have with every man I've ever been with except one.
Not speaking a word, I switch over to the lounge and kick off the heels. Stretching out on my side so I'm facing where J. C. is now sitting, watching from the other lounge, I call out to our first performer, "Well, Big Ben come on over and delve into my apple box." He doesn't have to be invited twice.
Standing beside the lounge, he shucks his briefs and his large cock springs forth. I reach out and stroke it, massaging his balls, groaning out my admiration, "You're huge. I bet you'll spread my walls nice and wide."
Placing his hand over mine, he joins in the tactile worship of Benjamin and the twins, excitedly asking, "Do you think you can take it all?"
Still stroking and massaging his tool, demurely, I look up into his eyes. "Why don't we find out and if it starts to hurt when you're putting it in I'll tell you and you'll stop, right?"
"Of course," he promises hungrily and hands me the foil-wrapped condom he's been holding.
I open the package and have him sheathed within seconds. Falling back onto the lounge, I draw my knees up to the sides of my golden nipples saying, "If you're able to get that big thing inside me, I want you to go long and deep."
"Yes. Oh yes," he pants, staring at the entrance of my prized box. Positioning himself above me, he wraps his hands around the soles of my feet.
I hold his gaze as he slides the head of his cock against my opening. Tightening my muscles so he can't get in, he's treated to the sensation of forcing me, having to knock at my door several times, as I cry out, "Oh, oh, it hurts. Ow, ow, please stop. You're too big."
"Naw, just relax. All you need to do is loosen up a bit and I'll be in before you know it."
"No," I cry and use my palms to push against his upper thighs. He shoves harder, making my knees crush my breasts as he rams his knob against my opening and I let out a frightened scream as I allow him to get in about half an inch.
"That's good, so good. Now take just a little more," he pants with his eyes closed.
I know, for at least a few seconds, he's lost in his own fantasy, so I turn my eyes to J. C. who's sitting, sipping cognac, studying me and I see him mouth the phrase, "Finish him." I blow a kiss in his direction, wishing he was the one inside me and I skillfully obey his command. Redirecting my full attention to Big Ben who's still basically locked out, but trying his damnedest, pumping and grinding away against me, I shudder and whimper, "You're just too big. Take it out. It hurts so much."
"Just a bit more and I'll be in baby, I swear," he pants, sweat dotting his brow and upper lip.
He gives a mighty shove of his muscled hips and I unclench my vagina, announcing his successful entry with a loud cry and several whimpers of mock misery. I feel him slide in to the point where his balls spank my bottom. Big Ben then pulls all the way out and rams it back home to which I moan and grip his thighs. As he's repeating his actions, this time when he sliding back in, I set my squeeze box into action and milk an orgasm out of him with three successive tight clenches, and a dramatic, "Ah Benny, nobody can make me take it like you do." He collapses on top of me and motions to kiss me on the mouth, I quickly turn away so his lips contact my cheek. My eyes meet J. C.'s and he's looking pissed. Whisperingly, I tell my boy toy it's time for him to go.
J. C. is moving in our direction and I'm off the lounge and blocking his path before he can do anything stupid. Big Ben's in his briefs and calling out his digits to me as he's departing the room. I look up into my man's eyes, caressing his chest with my palms and remind him, "You started this. He only wanted a kiss and I handled the situation. Don't get crazy over something so small. I'm playing by your rules and so should you."
He captures my wrists and forcefully pulls me against him. I brace myself for a punishing mouth match, but the kiss he delivers is long, loving and tender. When he sets me free he calmly asks, "Are you ready for the next go round?"
"Yes," I reply, with a nod, feeling bewildered.
"Alright Boo," he says, just as the door opens and in marches a drop dead gorgeous Taye Diggs look alike that has my mouth watering, until I see the three hip-hop hoochie mamas that are right on his trail.
The hunk waits by the lounge, but those skanks storm the room in a cloud of cheap perfume and push me away from J. C., surrounding him as if he's the main attraction at the Tagata Shrine. A dime store Shakira is unbuttoning his shirt and eyeballing me like I'm supposed to be afraid of her skeezy ass. Another one, who appears to have been scoping out Nicki Minaj's castoffs, poses beside him with her hand cupping his ass. The last tramp, a bottle-blonde, with monster truck sized boobs, kneels before him and unzips his pants. Aw, hell naw, I think and ask between gritted teeth, "So J. C., it's gonna be like that, huh?"
He gives me an infectious grin just as Big Bazoombas takes him into her mouth, immediately starting to suck and slurp away noisily. "It's all good, Boo. All mighty damn good," he declares as he grips that bitches head and pumps into her mouth.
Staring at them, I want to scream. I seriously think about diving on her and pulling her off my man. However, I have a better plan, one to let him know I wasn't to be played with.