Hope Olson : Play by the Rules

Out of respect for the lovely Miss October’s wishes, the gamblers did not smoke during the intense high stakes game. The hotel management had provided a well stocked bar and Hope was expected to serve but the men were playing for serious enough money, the kind of money that could make or break a small business so there wasn’t much drinking either. All eyes were on the cards and all Hope had to do was sit back and watch the game after dealing the cards. To be honest, Hope Olson, dressed in a red satin bustier with black lace trim, felt like she was there for eye candy and these boys weren’t even buying.

The publisher of Playboy himself had told her how to dress when he had asked her to be hostess for this game. The bustier was the kind of minimal garment an entertainer would wear in a swank gambling house in old time Chicago, tightly cinched around her hour-glass waist, bare arms, bare shoulders, the garment barely rising up to cover her magnificent breasts. The red bustier pulled in her waist and pushed her breasts upward so all but the underneath slope showed, the nipples
teasing out temptingly. The red panties were more a whisper of satin, more the slightest idea of panties than an actual garment. Garters stretched down to hold the sheer, black hose in place, and her feet were shod in red stiletto
heels. And that was all she wore.

The creamy glow of her cleavage seemed raise the heat in the room as she breathed softly.  Red satin garter belt, red satin, panties, black sheer silk stockings all came together to complete the image and boggle the minds of most red blooded humans but the young card players stayed focused on poker.

She dealt the first hand, fanning out the cards and giving the players a sultry look as cards flew around the table. Apparently, only because the girl looked so sensational this way, the table was a perfect mirror so Hope’s reflection was a duplicate of the double image on the playing cards. The challenges of playing poker on a mirrored tabled mattered not a whit to the players and they remained fixed on the game even when the cards were stacked against the multiple pleasures of the playmate sitting with them. The suite, in fact, was lavish with mirrors on every wall; Hope knew, without looking, that mirrors would be on the ceiling of the bedroom through the closed door.

Hope seemed more distracted by the mirrors than the players were. Everywhere she looked she could see herself in her scanty outfit and surrounded by intense masculinity. If she let herself think about she would have been nervous to be there. She was there because these members of  the Kappa Omicron Xi fraternity, KOX, the Cocksmen were owed a favor by the publisher of Playboy. The publisher, decades after his school days, was still loyal to his frat brothers, and the cronies from the old days still came around the Mansion, and so did the new young fraternity brothers and even served at parties and functions. Hence the favor, hence the beautiful Miss October’s presence at the card game.

Hope didn’t mind; she thrived on the thick aura of masculine intensity in the room and she enjoyed her own bemusement over her futile efforts at flirting with the men even as they hunkered down with their cards. It was an evening’s entertainment for both the playmate and her fans.

Outside a church bell counted off the hours. One of the Cocksmen nodded, as if signaling. Somebody called for a break, and somebody put on some music, somebody suggested that Hope dance, and with an agreeable shrug she complied.

Smooth jazz flowed out of the speaker and Hope’s dance was a simple undulation of every one of her body parts in time to the music; she mentally circumscribed a small circle and her tiny feet stayed within it. Her lithe arms flowed in the air with grace and sophistication, her narrow fingers posed in perfect balance. The rhythmic pulse of her limbs caused the pushed up plush feast of her exposed cleavage to quiver so that the nipples her in constant danger of being revealed. She moved softly but completely, her body one with the music. The effect was incredibly erotic; seeing her in the tiny tight bustier seemed more than twice as stimulating as watching her utterly naked might have been. Once she began to dance the effect was increased by a factor of five.

When Hope began to dance she seemed to disengage with the laws of anatomy and physics. Silver-toned jazz was pouring out of the speakers but this was the Seventies and luscious Hope had a repertoire of rippling disco moves. She stirred in her tiny circle as though she were moving in a vast universe; her body shuffled and flexed as her imagination dictated and with no regard to gravity or anything else, and yet what resulted was a sinuous, erotic dance that could give an erection to a corpse.
Bottle what she had, sell it as a cure for erectile dysfunction, and you'd become an instant millionaire.

Hope’s dance was an expression of herself and her feelings. There was a hint of chaos to it, and also a remnant of her former innocent farm girl life. At the same time it was a tightly controlled expression of lust, a demonstration of her primal urges that had been encouraged to grow during her experiences with Playboy, and an offer that was impossible for certain parts of a man’s body to refuse.

By the end of the first song the card players found themselves agitated and aroused. She ended the first song completely still, her hair shrouding her face and upper body. Another slow song followed. Her voice crept out from behind her hair, slightly muted.

“Oooooh.”

The men groaned in accord.

“Oh, I like this song.” She said it to herself, completely oblivious the effect she was having.

The room began to reverberate with the music of Barry White; driven by the deep, insistent, bass beat Hope offered all that she was, would be, and could be to the song. Her dancing body made it clear, to everybody watching, that what she offered was everything she had and was. At the moment they realized that the offer was for real in the writhing of her dance.

As the music faded into silence, Hope folded herself over like a flower folding in its petals for the night. Her end position had her bent over double, grasping her own ankles, with her legs slightly spread.

“Jesus,” one of the men said, clicking off the radio. “We’d better get back to cards.”

Hope blithely strolled back to her seat, gently wiping little beads of sweat from her brow. She sat and let the mirrored table drink up her image and she smiled at each player as if to wish him luck.

The cards flew around the table and so did the chips and when all the betting was done all the men rose and saluted her like gentlemen. The big loser had to stay behind and pay off the hotel. He shrugged and winked at Hope as the last player left.

He closed the door and latched it. “I guess I was really lucky tonight,” he chuckled.

Hope raised an eyebrow to express her doubt. The gracefully soft features of Hope’s all American farm girl face, even with the glamorous hairdo and makeup, was always sensual and promising but when she raised an eyebrow she could have stopped traffic or express trains or armies marching to war.

He understood the question in her eyes. A guy who just lost several thousands of dollars to his buddies could not be considered lucky. “Oh I didn’t mind losing the cash. I’m actually a good player. I’ll win it back, with a dividend too. But I decided to lose tonight.”

Again her eye flashed a question. She was sitting still close to the mirrored table’s edge so she was a perfect double image like a playing card. Her skin glowed in the soft light and slightly wild curls of her corn silk hair shimmered as she breathed gently.

“Come on,” he chuckled. “You get it. The loser shuts down the place. The rules are strict.”

“The rules are strict,” Hope agreed, uncertain in her own mind as to why she even opened her mouth.

She regarded him, not intending to look as smoldering as she did. He went further with his explanation. “I don’t need to give the hotel the key until the morning. You see?”

Hope’s face went blank.” “You’re spending the night here?”

“Now you get it. “ He was busying himself putting the chain on the door.

“What are you doing? A driver is waiting downstairs to take me back to the Mansion.”

He shrugged and crossed to the house phone. Hope stared blankly as he canceled the car. “Now what?” she said softly as the phone dropped into its cradle.

“Don't be so modest.”
“I don’t think I like where this is going.”

“It's going to be a long night.”
“I see.” Hope arched her brows doubtfully. She saw where this was going but she wasn’t ready to give in.

He gestured with his hands, arms down and palms out. “I don't particularly like the book I’ve started. You know what I mean?”
“Let me think. I know exactly what you mean.” Her sparked with a hint of amusement, or was it anger?

“I’m going to ball you all night.”

Her mouth formed a slight O; it grew from the middle of her lips and spread out slowly. She had expected this but the bluntness and the expediency surprised her; she had anticipated a bit more waltzing around with innuendo. She lowered her eyes a bit and looked at him doubtfully. “You think so?” she said and she felt a chill down her spine.

“Sure. I told you. I’m lucky. Tell you what. We’ll cut for it.”

“Cut for it?”

“Yeah. High card.”

“High card?”

“Sure, we draw for it. Hard card says I take you and we ball all night.”

“High card you mean.”

“Whatever you say so long as I ball you.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he said flatly but his face was smiling. “The rules are strict.”

“The rules are strict,” she agreed.

“Sure. You got it. Don’t you feel lucky? I’ll draw first. Nine of spades.”

The beautiful playmate looked at his card as if calculating the odds on beating it. Her pencil thin, pensive smile returned. “You know I am expected back at the Mansion.”

He shrugged, the gesture saying that the Mansion was quite a distance away. She shrugged too. Everything was quite a distance away except for the nine of spades facing up on the table.

Hope’s fingers lingered for a long moment on the deck; she caressed the beehive design on the back of the top card then let her hand slide to the mirrored surface of the table.  She gently lifted her index finger and slowly edged one card from the center of the deck, using her nail to urge it from the pile. He leaned back and grinned, watching her face more than her hand. She looked meditative and calm.

Finally the card slipped out, face down on the table. She stretched her hand over it, pressed down so that it rested in her palm and she raised her arm gracefully and turned her wrist so she could see the face of her destiny. She nodded silently and put the card face down again.

“Hard card,” she said softly. Her whole body seemed to tense in anticipation of what was coming. “Your card…it’s the hard card.”

“I always pay off when I lose,” he said confidently. “The rules are strict.”

“The rules are strict.” Her voice was unsteady.

“What happens now?” she asked softly.

His grin widened. “Told you I was lucky.” He slipped the deck into his pocket without picking up Hope’s losing card. “How ‘bout we get right to it?”

They looked at each other, frankly appraising one another, two warriors about to duel.

He rose and crossed to a comfortable armchair. “Get me a drink,” he said. “I noticed a nice Scotch there.”

Hope sat for a moment, still appraising. She rose slowly and crossed to the bar. Her movements were languid and measured; the grace of a beauty aware of the eyes on her. The cut glass tumbler gleamed as she raised the drink she had poured. She turned to him and lifted the drink as if toasting and she took a small sip. Her eyes were defiant but then she crossed to the chair and sat in his lap as she raised the glass to his lips.

She leaned forward after delicately placing the glass on the mirrored table next to the chair, at the same time carefully balancing herself on his knees.

“Mister,” she said after a long moment, “my name is Hope and I am a female person. You are a male. The laws of physics apply here.”

He nodded, puzzled. “Yes,” he said, “I know. The ratio of your hips to your chest is consistent with femininity. Also, the formation of your voice is not indicative of the presence of …” He waggled he fingers while raising his hand, touching Hope’s throat at the midpoint.

“Adam’s apple,” Hope Olson’s said, after a moment.

“Yes! Exactly. Also the skin, the eyes, the odor of the body, the hands … these are not mathematical observations, by the way. They are qualitative …” He had not removed his fingers. Hope could feel the second one, resting on her neck just to one side of the first. If she leaned backwards, she would feel the third, then the little finger and eventually the palm and the thumb, then the forearm, and then all of him at once.

“Just so that we’re clear,” Hope said. She shifted her weight. His nails grazed her skin.

“We are,” he said. “Quite clear.”

How long they sat there Hope was never sure. At some point, she stretched herself over his torso and dropped her head back while reaching back with her arm and caressing the back of his neck. They began to kiss, and the distance to the Mansion seemed a very long distance indeed.

She dropped her head back, leaning on his shoulder; she dropped her arms and rested her hands on his hips behind her. She watched herself in a floor-length mirror on the wall. She watched his hand glide down her throat and then down the bare flesh of her shoulders then slide inside the top of the tight corset. His greedy fingers engulfed the trembling flesh of her breast. She sighed but then his other hand, without warning was over the gossamer silk of her red panties.

Both hands were hard and punishing, one taunting a ripe and eager nipple, the other using firm fingers to tease through the silk and assault her moist soft sex. Hope attempted to stay ridge and resist. Her arms were tense and her fingers gripped tightly to his hips but the sensual charge of surrender rushing through her soon had her writhing in his lap, her face anguished and twisted in erotic agony. When her face turned to his again the kiss was a brutal combat of bites and snarls and devouring tongues as his one hand worked over her breasts each in turn, ratcheting up the torture with each pinch and twist of nipples and flesh. The fingers of his other hand showed no mercy; they didn’t need to slip into the panties because they drove right through the thin fabric to fuck into her sweetness.

Her orgasm came in a writhing, snarling, snapping spasm, jerking her entire body as she arched and twisted over his lap. All four of her limb flailed in the air and her head spun in fury, her hair whipping over his face. Her mouth roared out with wordless curses and pleas and her eyes blazes with a conflagration of ecstasy and rage that almost melted the mirrors reflecting her bliss.

The orgasm ended as suddenly as it began, like a blow to her head knocking her out. Her body heaved forward and bent in two, her torso draped over his arm around her waist, her limbs limp and dangling, her head down with her hair brushing over her feet.

With the thumb of his free hand he kneaded the back of her neck, slowly bringing the limp and exhausted girl back to reality. “Looks like you’re ahead in the game,” he chuckled when she finally sat up, her lungs still gasping for air. ”But I know how you can even the score. I have a feeling you’re gonna give it your all.”

As he spoke he slid her down to the floor and maneuvered her body so that she was kneeling before him.

Hope loved sucking cock. Loved the throb, the pulse, the control. Loved the happy ending, in her mouth, on her face, anywhere. But the bottomless throb between her legs made her hate the stranger for a second. She watched him happily undo his pants and prepare his cock for her mouth. She was suddenly hungry to face the mirror, slap her hands against the glass, and order the stranger to fuck her from behind as hard and as fast as he could.

But, Hope thought, the rules are strict.

Not believing what she was about to do, Hope wordlessly bent forward, kissed the head of the dick, then let her lips linger along the length of his shaft. She could tell he wanted her to go faster, but he shuddered and rolled his head against the leather seat the second he saw the craven look in her eye.

Hope wrapped her fingers around his cock and flicked at its tip with her tongue, then let her wet flesh fall completely from her mouth as she slowly painted his shaft from the bottom, then back to the top. She gave the man another glance, then turned her full attention to the matter at hand.

She parted her lips, closed them tightly around the tip, then slowly slid to the base, taking his entire length in her mouth.

Her mouth was warm and wet. His cock felt amazing, throbbing inside it. She drew in her breath and let out a whimper, traveling in her mind, imagining eight inches in her mouth for the first time.

The man was moaning; deep, guttural growls escaped his throat as Hope worshipped his cock. Up, down, around; loud, sloppy, sucking, exaggerated sounds inside the otherwise silent cabin.

He let out a cry, then pushed himself deeper into her mouth. Hope gagged, but he pushed her head down anyway. She pulled away, and his cock fell from her mouth.

They locked eyes and he whimpered, then nodded, giving Hope full, silent permission to do it her way. She lowered her head, swallowed him whole, and tried to ignore the river raging at her clit.

Up, down, hard, soft. Hope loved the man’s cock as though it was a god; worshipped it like every man she’d ever had. She felt his balls tighten and body tense, and her instinct pulled her body back.

No, he can’t come in my mouth.

A deep moan of runaway pleasure escaped his lips, pushing Hope past rational thought. She tightened her lips and lowered her mouth as far as it would go, tickling the back of her throat with the cock’s throbbing. She had a half second to register the sharp, sudden pain of her hair being pulled at the root as his first burst of hot, sticky seed hit the back of her throat.

She voiced a low moan and kept sucking, her pussy a bucket.

Her tongue danced the length of his shaft and he shot again and she swallowed until, fully spent, he pulled out, panting for breath. Hope leaned into his lap and licked every drop of the warm seed from the still throbbing cock.

”That was the best...fucking blowjob of my life,” he breathed. He stroked her hair.

Hope licked her lips, smiling, then said, ”I’ve never had a complaint.” She rose gracefully, her body in the pose of a victorious gladiator. “I need a drink.” She walked to the bar, her head high. A small riot of Scotch was swirled in her mouth and she watched him in the mirror as he buckled himself up. Everything was ritual. Her eyes glowed expectantly.  Then she turned to the card still on the table; she walked to it and her hand hesitated over it, as if she wanted to turn it over.

He circled around the table and she turned as he approached. Face to face with his prize he backed her to the edge of the mirrored surface then lifted her until she rested her bottom on the glass.

He fondled her breasts and caressed over her silk red panties and his hands greedily searched her garment for a zipper or some buttons. Hope sighed in surrender and wriggled in his arms until she was facing the table again, her back to him. She could see herself in the mirrored surface as she rested her palms on the glass. She caught his eye and sighed again. “The ribbons,” she whispered.

The red and black bustier was designed to look sexy and it looked incredibly sexy on Hope’s curvaceous body. But it was designed too for the slow seduction and an easy lugubrious peeling away.

Hope was alert and afraid, excited. He was fierce and determined, hungry.

He worked the ribbons, slowly puzzling out the complex web of closures and ties. His groin was pressed close to her juicy bottom and her hips were never still. As each ribbon came undone Hope’s chest felt another bit of pressure slide away; the bodice was slowly relaxing its grip on her body and this slow liberation caused her ass to rotate in an erotic dance over his cock. It was almost as if she were taking its measurements, her bottom probing his length and width and weight in preparation for the glorious moment when it lunged into her depths.

Hope rested her arms, elbows and palms, flat on the surface of the mirror. Her breasts, as the bodice loosened, began to ease out of their cups; the hint of soft pink round areolae peeked over the edge of the red and black satin, then the thick pink firm shape of a nipple. Her head arced back; he was still slowly, too slowly for the girl’s passion, deliciously leisurely, untying the ribbons to strip her bare. He couldn’t resist bending closer to her beautifully angelic face, his cheek nuzzling in her hair as he kissed her, a hard rough kiss. His tongue, raping her mouth, warned her of the brutal pounding her lithe and lovely body was about to endure.

Suddenly the back of the bodice sighed in a soft rustle of satin and slid away from her luminous skin. The flesh of her naked shoulders and back glowed in sensual warmth. Still kissing her he used one hand to shove the bodice down her hips and legs; her skin sighed under the sheen of the silk stockings being peeled off along with the bodice. Her feet fluttered for a moment and the sexy garments slid to the floor. His other hand took possession of her now naked breasts. He watched his fingers in the mirrored table as they dug into the soft succulent flesh and he watched the pain in her eyes as his fingers did cruel things to her nipples. She arched her back and screamed into ceiling.

He released her nipples and her head dropped. She rested her torso on her forearms and he pressed a palm in the base of her spine, pinning her in place. His free hand made short work of the flimsy satin panties and his fingers pressed between her thighs, probing her depths to claim all her sweetness.

The girl throbbed with pleasure and her spine arced against the hand on her back and her mouth formed a sexy O. He watched her pleasure in the mirror and teased her a bit more before he stepped away. “I bet you suck my cock again.”

“I…Oh God,” she said softly. Her eyes blazed resistance but her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

“Yeah, I bet you do,” he said confidently.

He sat back in the chair. As he did so she smoothly slid from the table to land on her knees. She pivoted to face him and leaned over. His gaze shifted down as she closed in on him. He watched her; not believing his eyes, he watched the beautiful naked playmate unbutton his pants using nothing but her teeth; her mouth was nimble and she took her time; the first blowjob was the overture and now it was time for the big show. The skill she used to undo the button boggled the mind and foreshadowed the rich erotic experience to come and her soft warm breath helped drive him to distraction.  When the button came undone she used her mouth to grasp his zipper tab between her front teeth and draw it down, seemingly impossible but impossibly sensual. While he was distracted by the actions of her teeth he hadn't noticed her fiddling with his shoes. Now she slid them both off, grasped the legs of his pants and began a slow steady tug. After the display of proficiency with her mouth the sensation of a gorgeously naked playmate de-pantsing him almost made steam come out of his ears. It only took him a moment to realize that he'd need to help her at this point before he lifted his butt to free the slacks. As soon as he did, they slid smoothly down his legs and she removed them.

Hope leaned in with her teeth once more; they nibbled enticingly into his belly for a moment then took hold of the elastic of his boxer briefs, drawing down the front far enough to get to his cock. She didn't have to move the fabric very far since the sight of her in all her nude glory, followed by her rather erotic means of opening his pants had him as hard as he could ever remember being.

She began by licking his cock head, slowly and gently at first. Licking it with long, wet strokes of her nimble tongue, she swirled her tongue around his head and under its bottom edges then began to work her way down. When she ran into his underwear again, her tongue snaked under the edge of the fabric to lick a little bit more of the hot throbbing flesh. She finally gave in, reached up and slowly drew his shorts down. Her tongue swirled its way down the shaft, paying attention to each new section revealed as his underwear slid lower and lower. Finally his briefs were down, his manhood fully revealed. She quickly slid his shorts off to join his pants in a pile on the floor.

She smiled a huge smile, a mixture of eagerness and uncertainty, and she leaned her head into his lap once again. This time her lips pursed together and she kissed the top of his cock. The tip of her tongue slid into the slit at the very end, sliding back and forth as though she were French kissing it. She relaxed the pressure of her lips and slowly and lovingly slid him into her mouth. At first she only took him head deep. She ran her tongue around it, teasing the sensitive skin of his shaft just under the rim formed where the head stopped and the shaft began. She withdrew her mouth and gazed into his face: “Fast or slow?”

There are two basic ways to give head: quick and fast to get the man off as quickly as possible, or long and slow to torture the man with pleasure. A great blowjob can be judged by either how quickly the mouth can get you off or how much pleasure the mouth can give you in the process.

“Fast or slow?” she repeated huskily and her lusty gaze made her intention clear.

“Damn. It’s got to be Lady’s Choice. The rules are clear,” he answered.

Her eyes widened and her lips spread into a wicked smile. She took her time deciding. She licked her lips and smiled sweetly and returned her attention to his cock.

She took the hot steel rod and quenched it with her tongue, then -obedient to the requirements of the instruction manual inside her head– fit it between her lips and cooled it with her soft moist mouth. There was a brief, high sound, like a chime as her excited burst out in a squeal around the shaft and then her head settled into the mechanism of giving him glorious head. She hesitated not one bit.

This time she slid her mouth straight down his pulsing shaft, gulping it down about half way. Her hand slid up to the base, encircling it and gently applying pressure. She began to move her fingers up and down slowly, bobbing her mouth in time with her hand. She varied the pressure of her fingers and her lips, keeping them synchronized for a few minutes then contrasting the two; one moment her fingers applied firm pressure while he could barely feel her lips in contact with his cock and then the pressure would slip to her lips and her fingers became soft teasing feathers.

After a while he began to squirm a bit. The feelings were intense and dangerously overwhelming.

She let him struggle for a few minutes and then switched styles again. Removing her hand from the base of his cock, she slid it down the shaft and onto his scrotum; she fondled his testicles through the outer skin as her mouth began to slide farther and farther down his cock. Within a minute, she was taking the head deep into her throat. And then she swallowed. He let out a groan of pleasure. Sliding back up his cock, she began to hum lightly, just a long 'Mmmmm' sound, as though she were savoring a delicious flavor. As she buried his shaft in her throat once more she continued the hum and he let out yet another groan. She swallowed more and more, so much so that she had to stop humming for a moment but began once again as soon as she physically could.

His head was spinning. A naked playmate was swallowing his cock! When she hummed, he could feel her throat rippling along the skin of his shaft causing a sensation that was entirely new, and incredibly erotic, to him.

Her hand continued to stroke and play with the sensitive skin on his scrotum. Very light pinches and a hint of fingernail applied to the skin brought reactions all out of proportion to the effort involved. Her favorite so far in this encounter was when she had him buried in her throat, swallowing several times in succession. While she did that she drew her fingernails lightly over the entire length of his shaft, ending with her fingernails against her own lip.

He began to squirm again; he desperately wanted to come but she seemed to notice whenever he started to get close he’d back off to something nearly as pleasurable. She raised herself to take the head of his cock out of her throat and lavished love with her tongue, swirling it around the base of his cock. Pretty soon, if she wasn't mistaken, she'd need to use her next trick to keep him in her thrall. Preparing for that she removed her hand from his shaft and lowered both hands to his calves. Most men would tense up right before coming; if you massaged them just as they were tensing up, it would delay their orgasm and most of them would never notice or know why.

He noticed her hands move to his legs. His calves were tensed and she started to loosen them. As she did so, she bobbed her head once more to bury the head of his cock in her throat. He was sure that he was about to let go with a massive wave of ecstasy but as she swallowed around his shaft he simply let out another groan. He didn't understand, he'd always known when he was about to come and this was the third time he'd been wrong in the past five minutes.

Her determined hands moved along the muscles of his calves, loosening them over and over as they tried to tense back up. She slid her head back up so that his cock was only in her mouth and not in her throat. As she did so she gave her head a slight twist. In addition to pushing the head of his cock into the side of her mouth, her soft hair came sweeping out from behind her back, brushing his inner thighs. She was almost ready to let him explode; she had just been hoping that he'd tell her to make him come first but she thought that she had demonstrated her skills sufficiently.

He felt a feathery stroking along the inside of his thighs and along his shaft. With her mouth around his cock and her hands on his calves his mind couldn't possibly grasp the reality of a beautiful playmate on her knees and worshiping him. She sucked some more, making gleeful sounds as she slurped. It was the final straw though, he desperately wanted to open his eyes and look but he was so keyed up that he couldn't get his eyes to open.

“I gotta come!” he cried out.

It wasn't a command but she figured it was close enough. She took her hands from his calves, grabbing her own hair and firmly stroking her locks over his shaft and inner thighs again. At the same time she bobbed her head down to take his cock fully into her throat one last time. This time, she was careful to get her breasts rubbing against his leg. She twisted her chest gently, rubbing her breasts back and forth across his skin as she stroked him with her hair. She swallowed around his cock once more and he erupted in an orgasm that locked every muscle in his body; even his teeth were clenched.

The man growled again, and this time whined as well, and the cock –decoupled, for the moment, from its massive load– shifted slightly in her mouth and white fire burst forth into her.

His ecstasy continued in endless inundation. Meanwhile she continued massaging his pulsing shaft with her throat. Whenever she needed to come up for air she'd bob up for a quick breath, then bury his cock in her throat once more and begin to swallow around it. When he finally finished shooting into her, he collapsed, limp and sated, into the chair. She looked up at him and audaciously slid her way up his body to give him a short, chaste kiss on his lips. His eyes opened in surprise to find them staring into the face of an angelic playmate.  “God damn!” he shouted in victory. “Damn.”

She ducked her head coyly, her hair swing forward to cover her breasts.

She rose slowly; she pressed a finger to his lips and then sashayed leisurely to the bathroom.  She looked at herself in the mirror and ran fingers through her hair as she gargled. She shook her head, clearing her mind and came out, posing fetchingly in the doorway before strolling back and sitting on the mirrored table. The glass felt cool on her naked bottom.

The rules are strict.

He knew the rules. His erection had come back full force and as he strode forward he grasped her about the hips, aimed himself roughly at her, and prepared to penetrate her forcefully.

Then, with twenty seconds to impact and both hands mauling over her naked flesh, he watched the flower of her sweet sex loom closer and closer, and knew that for the first time in his life he was going to fuck a goddess. In a heartbeat, half a heartbeat, his cock would test itself against her erotic glory. The skill of the Cocksmen of days gone –Hugh Hefner’s Cocksmen- would be set against the immutable physics of collision. If the sweet girl could survive the impact intact, the explosion would be vast – but its vastness would be absolutely substantial to the man drilling into her delicious body. This was why it was called banging.

In his chest, a golden cauldron of sheer excitement, like whisky in the soul. He grinned at Miss October, saw an answering smile of anticipation and sheer delight.

Hell, yeah.

The cock huge in front of her, seems to be roaring to be embraced by the love goddess like a gloved fist—

Impact.

Silence made from thunder.

A moment of absolute stillness, the smallest humanly perceptible division of time.

She was slammed against the man’s torso and thought she must surely be shaken apart. She could see the ceiling, then the sky. Her body would tighten, and then explode. She could not possibly survive. She found that she had no regrets, or perhaps she had no time to summon them.

But the Love Goddess’ maker knew his purpose: what he was tasked to build was not just a pretty girl for pictures. It was a vessel of absolute sex, to withstand life’s dazzling forces and torsions. The cock would not function without its goddess, and so the goddess must be loved.

Hope let out a gasp of pleasure and tried to drive herself back onto him. She didn't quite have the leverage for it though and the only thing that kept her from falling was his grasp on her hips. He had managed to shove his cock halfway into her in that first thrust and was now trying to get deeper with limited success. He stood several inches over six feet and was very broad, his cock was sized proportionately to the rest of him and was slightly longer, and much bigger around, than average. As he struggled to penetrate her deeply she began to undulate beneath him. Her movements helped him manage to impale more intensely but he soon found himself stymied.

“Fuck,” he snarled viciously.

The position she was in had her pussy drawn tight and there was simply no room to maneuver. At the low point of each undulation he could manage to slide in a touch farther but unless he took those opportunities at the low point to withdraw some he simply couldn't thrust in and out of her.

Hope took the problem into her own hands and he began to feel her muscles clenching against his cock inside of her. Rhythmically they clenched against him over and over, encouraging his cock to maintain its erection and drive in more thrusts. He gave in, pulled his shaft out of her, and lifted her off the table. He was easily strong enough to lift her up, spin her around, and lay her back down on the table, face up, legs spread, with both of her arms pinned above her head by a single one of his own. A gleeful grin was evident on her face once he could see it.

“Oh yeah,” he snarled.

“Oh god,” she prayed.

He didn't observe any niceties. Once he had her laid out he penetrated her again, his thick cock spreading her as he thrust into her. He was leaning against the edge of the table, pounding away on her almost immediately once he was inside of her. In this position she was much looser and he could get a good thrust. When he thrust all the way inside of her he could feel himself lightly brushing against something with the head of his shaft. His free hand went to her proud breasts; her nipples were fully erect now and his fingers found them. Then he abused the long, hard nubs, pulling and twisting, pinching and squeezing. Through it all Hope simply seemed to be getting more and more turned on.

The cock cut through the writhing and bucking girl, smashing with concrete, brick, stone and mortar. Their bodies moved together, slotting into one another so that their combined kinetic energy was passed along the nerves of the cock to the head in a great heave. The savage rod thick and solid, the stress of the impact rebounded through interlocking mouths and limbs, was dispersed as heat and deafening noise. Tears flowed and arms and legs thrashed in fury. The playmate shrieked. The great pressure drew out sobs and moans.

But she held. Her body drank him all in.  Of course, she held. This was what she was made for.

His cock did something strange to Hope, something odd and clever and very terrible. She was shaking, but not like a girl who was cold or tired or afraid. She was shaking as if her muscles were coming away from her bones, and her skin had a strange, ethereal look, as if the molecules of her body were about to burst.

“Come inside me,” Hope wanted to say. Her eyes were searching, but not finding, and he realized that she could not see.

Hope tried to speak, and then screamed again, and this time when she arched her back she crackled, as if her bones are breaking. What miracle would his engine pull? Ecstasy has many faces, each mouth whispered to the helpless girl in different ways. Hope was gone, her consciousness flew to all directions. Whose hand held the knife? Him, of course. Always him. Bastard. She shuddered, and he felt something move inside the girl’s glorious body, something which a profound instinct told him should stay in one place.  Hope was there, fixed to the spot like it was the center of the universe, her consciousness which a moment ago flew all directions now focused on a single atom. Whose hand held the weapon? Hope, of course. Always Hope. Angel. He shuddered, and Hope felt something move inside the man’s body, something which a profound instinct told her should stay in one place. Something inside her was burning.  Abruptly, he stopped pounding, because there was nothing left to do. There multitudes of Hopes, in his arms, impaled on his cock, reflected in the mirror, searing into his eyeballs, writhing in agonizing ecstasy, pleading for mercy, demanding more, more, more of him inside her. Some of her were moaning softly. Some were unconscious. Many were bucking and thrashing with lust. Suddenly all the multitudes of Hope fell silent, not surrendering but rather giving all that feminine energy to the single purpose of sex. She writhed against him, encouraging him to pound her with more brutal thrusts.

It had not occurred to him that he might win this fight. Winning by unleashing himself, surrendering everything inside him to her, letting his manhood and strength flood down his shaft and gush into the sweet tightness of her delicate femininity. He had not realized that you could win by just doing the worst things you could possibly imagine, one after another, until your enemies fell over. There was even a sort of cycle to it, like a very dangerous, very angry clock: grab, rake, gouge; twist, pummel, drop. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.  He fucked into her like a mad man; Hope exploded over and over; the colors spread out from her, into the world.

She managed not to burst into tears, but it was a close thing. He was struggling too as she conquered him with her softness. It began in his chest as heart-attack tightness, then unraveled immediately in all directions like an electric shock. Throbbing through his cock it passed onto Hope as the shaft pumped deep into her. When it reached her fingertips and toes it bounced, and her eyes flew open very wide. She could see now, quite clearly. The strange monochrome of his vision had receded, given way to sharp, vibrant colors. She was glowing from within like Jack O’Lantern. The bounce reached her stomach and there was a weird instant of calm before she could put a name to what was happening, and when she did it seemed insufficient to the thing itself. Rage. Not like a red mist or a thunderstorm, it was like a weight lifted from her being and a clear light fell across the world.  Her exhaustion felt like a great, dark lake on which she floated and which would shortly drown her. And yet, at the same time, as she slipped gratefully into the best of all surrenders for a few minutes, for an hour, for however long until her next climax, she heard a part of herself –aloud or not, she did not know– asking a question.

Why am I always the one surrendering?

The whole numinous vision was … well. Not otherworldly. It was quite simple, just brilliantly executed. A three-dimensional magic-lantern show. Holograms without lasers. Exactly what you’d expect from the kind of genius who builds a truth machine in the shape of Hope Olson, Playmate of the Month, Miss October, sex goddess.

Hope’s previous silence was now broken by gasps, moans, and quickened breath.

 “Oh,” she said, after a moment. “Oh! Oh, my.” Long nails scratced lightly over his back, tracing the line of old scars. “Oh, my …” Her breath caught in her chest.

It seemed that the rougher he got with her, the more turned on she became. He came to himself a little. This was a side that he didn't normally like to let out, and stopped abusing her breasts. His hand slid down her taut stomach and came to rest on the top of her clit hood. He began to move his index finger in small circles, putting firm pressure on the skin beneath. Once again Hope responded, she immediately became wetter, stickier, softer, tighter, warmer, more loving with his cock. When his middle finger slid back the hood of skin and his index finger shifted to direct contact with her clitoris, she began to buck and writhe beneath him. Her sweet muscles clamped down on him tightly, trying to interfere with the movement of his cock. She herself had fed and stoked this fierce thing inside her and he continued to force his way in and out of her. Hope had a look of ecstasy on her face but had her lips, white from the pressure, clamped shut hard.

He was in a playful mood now, having drawn himself back from the edge of his darker desires. He leaned forward, pressed his lips against hers, and tried to force his tongue into her mouth. Her lips released their pressure but as his tongue began to enter her she screamed with pleasure, directly into his mouth. He pressed his lips firmly against hers to mute the scream and explored her mouth with his tongue. Little whimpers and gasps escaped from their tightly sealed lips, spurring him on to more experimentation. She was wonderfully responsive and if she happened to be a screamer? Well, the noise was a real turn on.

He finally broke off the kiss and leaned back up. Throughout the entire thing he kept pumping away at her lusciousness. Hope was all liquid now and that allowed him to both pick up speed and go as deeply as he wanted to. He kept slamming away at her, lost in a haze of lust and need.

Her eyes rolled as they teared up with ecstasy; finally they rested on him. As he slowly came into focus in Miss October’s moist gaze, Hope’s face registered an exquisite mix of affection, solicitude and pain, and a sense of sweet submission from the girl who could never be tamed. She breathed in, out, in, out, and contemplated her soul.

Hope kept coming on and off, over and over. Her response to each new orgasm was to thrust her hips upwards so he could pound her harder. After the last one she'd actually managed a few intelligible words: “Oh yes, this is so good!”

He was in a zone, like Dr. Jeckle turning into Mr. Hyde. Sex crazed, he was suddenly lucid in his lust. He could declaim about his desire in paragraphs now; he was all powerful.

“Anything you want,” she said, almost breathless in her submission.

“You don't really want me to let go, do you?” he said, his voice a vicious snarl.

“Oh god,” she moaned, her body weak with surrender.

He lost it. He pulled his cock out of her softness and used his free hand to lift her ass off of the table. Deciding that one hand wasn't going to do it, he let go of her arms and roughly barked, “Don't you dare move those arms from where I've been holding them!”

With both hands free, he grabbed her ass cheeks, the feel of her deliciously tight bottom in his hands stoked his raging lust. He was a superman and nothing would placate him now. He roughly spread the two orbs apart, pulling her open slightly in the process. He leaned his cock in, centered it on the small rosy spot, and thrust forward hard. A gasp of pleasure ripped from Hope’s throat as he continued to push. His dick was well lubricated from Hope’s juices and it slid almost all the way in as he continued to push. Letting go of her ass, he grabbed her waist and started pumping away, trying to get the last little bit of his cock buried inside her bottom. When he felt his groin bumping into her ass cheeks, he let go of her waist to reach down and spread her wide once more.

He gave another brutal thrust and Hope cried with the utter abandon of an infant or a wild banshee; her screams ranged from inhuman, guttural animal depths to shrill, ear-piercing heights, all in one breath.

While he had those sweet orbs spread he thrust as hard as he could, getting his cock as deep in her ass as was physically possible. Hope was orgasming again, the only sounds coming out of her mouth were tiny little mews of pleasure.
He reached up and, this time, used both hands to maul her breasts. Hope responded again, writhing beneath him. He groped and grabbed, slapped and squeezed, and finally reached over to her nipples, grasping them firmly and pulling. A gasp escaped Hope’s throat as he mauled her. He could see her delicious flesh enslaved by his hands and the sight of it turned him on beyond any point he had ever reached before. He released her nipples and watched her sigh with relief so he couldn’t resist grasping them again to repeat the performance. Over and over he abused her nipples. Meanwhile Hope was panting and gasping, obviously in pain, and obviously in ecstacy. All throughout the process his cock kept slamming in and out of her ass, pounding away at a mile a minute. Finally he stopped playing with her nipples. He leaned in and fiercely pressed his lips against hers. Pressing hard, he thrust his tongue into her mouth. He teased her tongue over and over until it followed his own back into his mouth at which point he clamped his lips on her tongue and trapped it with suction. Drawing back put pressure on the sweet pink flesh and she began to moan in a hum pitched higher and higher with each of his strokes. Finally she exploded beneath him. A massive orgasm overtook her and her body convulsed over and over. The convulsion included her ass and it tightly clenched down on his cock repeatedly. He knew he was going to come soon and he released her tongue so he could taunt her,

“The rules are strict. You belong to me now; lock, stock, and body. And I am going to fuck you all night.”

He finished his little speech with a harder than normal thrust into her ass that pushed him over the edge. His cock swelled and swelled, exploding into her ass with a geyser of lust. He kept pumping away at her as he came, knowing that it would let him keep his erection longer and let him keep fucking her ass for that tiny little extra fraction of time. Finally he was spent and slid out of her ass. He collapsed on the floor at the foot of the table; he was spent.

Her climax was like thunderstorms. It blew against the wind, terrified her, cleansed her soul. Torrential rain and burning winds made landfall on the wreck of her helpless body. The center of the typhoon swirled in her depths and she thrashed and surged with the force of crashing waves. She kicked and wailed and screamed. Her climax emptied her of all emotions, memories; pain and pleasure fused into one and the typhoon inside her surged again. Her undulating and flailing body shook the table and as she jiggled on the surface the losing card slid to the floor face up.

She blushed as they both read the jack of clubs.