It was the second-to-last week of the semester, and Gene suggested Telephone. It was just the kind of disarming thing he’d do, to make us play a silly children’s game. Our small class of high-school seniors went along with it, of course. There was very little we wouldn’t do for Gene. Even the skeptics among us had been seduced by his lectures, mixing history, philosophy, world religions and what seemed to be his own brand of gnostic gospel.
The class was simply titled, Religions. Our hippie boarding school, strictly secular, allowed teachers the leeway to devise their own curriculum. I’d signed up for Religions on the advice of friend, who’d told me Gene treated his students to dinners at his house with wine and hot tubbing. What she hadn’t mentioned was his incredible personal magnetism. He did not only teach about religion. He offered his students the experience of religion, through his own, mystic person.
It was true, though, about the dinners. Midway through the semester (after Siddhartha, partway through the Bhagavad Gita) he drove the 10 of us out to his house, built into the side of a small Vermont mountain. He’d built it himself, of course, out of hand-hewn logs. We sat around his long dinner table by candlelight. The soup and bread his wife served us seemed permeated with the love Gene radiated. We were giddy on the Chianti he’d poured. We watched the sunset through the tall dining room windows. “Remember this moment,” Gene told us. “Look around at the people around the table. Feel the spirit we all share.” We looked at one another, meeting each other’s eyes. “I want you to fix this moment in your mind,” Gene said. “Say it with me. ‘I will never forget.’” We repeated it, all together. I will never forget.
It worked. I will never forget that night. I’d wanted to sit near him at dinner, but he’d taken hands with Alice and Poplar on the way in, leading us all in a hilarious dance around the dining room before settling at the head of the table with one of them on either side. I’d landed halfway down, perpetually handing butter and salt back and forth. I tried to breath into my jealousy. Be Here Now, I told myself. A knee bumped mine. Red-headed Cooper sat at my right. Had he touched me on purpose? I shifted in my seat, letting my leg graze his again. Would he move away? Easily distracted and sexually innocent as I was, the question of Cooper’s interest occupied me through much of the meal.
The stars were coming out as we devoured the last of the excellent apple pie Gene’s wife had baked. “Who’s up for a dip?” Gene asked. “The hot tub seats 8, if we get cozy.” I thought maybe I could arrange to sit next to Cooper, since Gene was clearly out of my reach. “If you can’t be with the one you love/Love the one you’re with!” ran through my head. I mentioned it was a hippy school, right?
Outside the night was cold and bright with stars. The moon was a far-off sliver. We hurried to undress as Gene uncovered the steaming cedar tub. Cooper called a casual goodnight to us all, not singling me out. “I’m loaning Cooper my night binoculars,” Gene told us. “He’s going to see the owls that live in my upper meadow.” Gene was done readying the tub, and was stripping off his clothes. I felt self-conscious removing the last of my underwear. Skinny dipping was an ordinary enough school activity, but there wasn’t usually a teacher along. I lowered myself into the concealing water rather more quickly than my skin would have liked. Gene, who turned out to have had swim trunks on under his clothes, got in beside me.
“Let’s all take hands,” Gene suggested, “And pass a blessing.” He squeezed my left hand, and, guessing his meaning, I squeezed Poplar’s hand. There was a laugh as the blessing went around, and another as it came back the other way. I sunk more deeply into the water, leaning my head on the side and looking up at the stars. Gene still held my hand. It felt electrified. A current ran from his palm right up my arm and into my heart, making it race. “I want you all to think about the transmission of spirit,” Gene was saying. “We’ve been studying the written word and oral traditions. But just now, we passed a blessing around that had nothing to do with words. I think it was bigger than words. There’s some holy truth to be found here, tonight - right now.” We were silent, listening. Gene let go of my hand, but moved his arm behind my waist, pulling me closer to him, resting his palm against my right hip.
“Let’s do a little silent meditation, here, and try to really experience the spiritual connection we share. In about 10 minutes, we’ll talk some more and share our experiences.” There was a murmur of consent, then silence. Over the bubbling of the whirlpool jets I could hear the slight rustle of breeze in the trees and the distant rush of a car going by. I closed my eyes. Gene turned his body towards me and pulled me back against his chest. Both his arms were around my waist. His palms burned against my belly. I felt incredibly naked. “Rest,” he whispered in my ear. “It’s alright to let yourself go a little, Penny. I’ve got you.”
I was thrilled and elated and terrified. What if he accidentally touched my breasts? What if he touched them on purpose? “Rest,” he said in my ear, and I tried to let myself sag back against him as if I wasn’t rigid with fear. He rocked me, then. Side to side, holding me firmly. It felt almost fatherly. I was ashamed of the throbbing I felt between my legs. This was supposed to be a spiritual experience!
Eventually, Gene unwound himself from me and I leaned against the side of the tub again. He announced the end of our meditation, and began leading a discussion. I had nothing to say, and for once he didn’t prod me to join the conversation. Though he tended to gesture with his hands when he spoke, he sometimes rested one on my knee. I felt as if I had truly received some kind of religious grace.
“The thing I hoped you’d get from tonight is that you are all holy. And when holiness comes together, when we’re present together, we can reach a place of communion with God, or Jesus, or Buddha, or nature, or whatever you want to call it. See if you remember this one, because it will probably be on the final exam--” A groan went up from everyone.
“I know you all hate thinking about that. But it’s ALL final exam, people. Every day. Really. Are you with me?” Nods and laughs indicated assent. “So here it is, gnostic gospels, straight from the mouth of Jesus via St. Thomas to me to you. ‘I am the light that shines over all things. I am everything. From me all came forth, and to me all return. Split a piece of wood, and I am there. Lift a stone, and you will find me there.’ That’s about you. ‘I am everything.’” We were quiet. A few months ago, I would have laughed at this as spiritual mumbo jumbo. Now it made perfect sense. The light was in me. And Gene wanted to share it with me.
---------------------------
The semester was almost over. Gene gave us our class period off to work on our final papers comparing foundational works from any two major religious philosophies. I’d chosen the Upanishads and Gene’s favorite, the gnostic gospels of St. Thomas. It wasn’t going well. Without Gene’s enthusiastic exhortations to look more deeply, the teachings lost their transparency and became just nonsensical words. In my ignorant hands, the ideas were not moldable clay for building but impenetrable granite.
“You have to take yourself out of the equation,” Gene told me when I went to him for help. “You’re intellectualizing to the point where you can’t let the meaning in.” I felt frustrated. He wasn’t helping me. Maybe it was all meaningless. Gene must have sensed my feelings. “Wait while I go through Poplar’s draft,” he suggested, “And then I’ll have time to work with you.”
It was a long wait. I sat on the floor in the hallway and reread my highlighted texts. I was resisting their meaning, I knew I was resisting. My old cynical self was at war with the spiritual being Gene had awoken in me. Eventually Poplar reappeared. Her face was flushed and I wondered if she’d been crying. “Are you okay?” I asked, but she kept on walking as if she hadn’t heard me. I stared after her. Poplar was usually so light hearted.
“Thou art that,” I heard, and turned to find Gene looming over me. I’d doodled those words all over my notebook. It had been one of the first concepts we’d studied, and remained both my favorite quotes and a source of continuing annoyance. “Thou art welcome in my office,” Gene said, smiling down at me, and I awkwardly took the hand he proffered and rose.
Gene’s office was a narrow, oblong closet at the back of the classroom. One side was lined with high windows and a built in desk. True to form, Gene had installed a shrine on the desk and placed pillows on the floor instead of using a chair. “Welcome to my nest,” Gene said. I attempted to imitate his graceful transition from standing to cross legged. “Push the door shut,” he suggested, “So you can lean on it.” I arranged myself against the door, and Gene moved forward until our knees were touching. His nearness was intoxicating. He was looking into my eyes. I tried hard to look back, though I found their paleness unsettling. It wouldn’t do, I thought to myself, to let my eyes wander to his lips. Of course, to think it was to do it. His eyes twinkled. Did he know I’d been thinking about him kissing me?
“Tell me about Thou Art That,” Gene said. I blushed.
“It’s an essential Buddhist truth,” I ventured. “It means we’re all part of Buddha nature.”
Gene leaned in towards me, his hands on my shoulders. “Not part. It means you--and I--ARE the unknowable, infinite, ecstatic everything.” His eyes pulled me into them, limitless as the sky.
“I want you to try a lotus meditation with me,” Gene said, not dropping my gaze. I nodded.
We were sitting cross-legged, face to face, knee to knee. My long hippie skirt draped over my feet. Gene moved it back casually, and took my top calf in his hands. “Shift this here,” he said, unfolding my knee and lifting my leg over his. He did the same with my other leg, then uncrossed his legs, too, and moved closer to me. I was half reclined against the door, legs half spread. my thighs resting on top of his. His legs wrapped around me, his ankles supporting my lower back. My heart pounded. My nipples pushed hard against their confining layers of fabric.
Gene had the half smile he often wore during teaching, an abstracted sort of smile as if he were reciting a mantra in his mind even as he talked with us. He pushed my skirt all the way up my thighs and placed his hand flat over my panties, thumb against my vulva. “I’d prefer your skin,” he said, tilting his head questioningly. I tried to speak, but only a strangled gasp came out. I nodded instead. Gene moved his hand to the same position but inside my panties. His palm crushed my pubic hair against me. His thumb was firm over my clit and the top of my vulva.
“Close your eyes,” he said. “I want you to picture yourself as a seed. You have hard, hard skin to protect you against the sun and the cold. But now you are in the water, the perfect place to grow. It’s time to soften that hard skin.” His thumb pulsed, just slightly. Pulse. A beat. Pulse. “Breath,” he said. “Breathe deeply and listen.”
“Your hard shell is softening, layer by layer, breath by breath. You feel something awakening inside you.” His slow pulsing caress continued. “It’s growing, emerging with every breath. You become aware there is mud all around you. But Above you, above this muddy pool of dirt, mud and filth, you can sense sunshine and air.”
I wondered if my arousal was the filth. His thumb was making slight circles now. I was growing wet. “Penny,” he said, refocusing me. “You are beginning to grow roots. Can you feel them? Wiggle them into the earth.” Oh god--was he telling me to wiggle? His palm rocked against my pelvis. Involuntarily, my hips jerked a little against him.
“A stem is rising from your heart.” he went on. “It’s growing up towards the light and air. A bud is forming.” His voice lowered. Though my eyes were still closed, I could feel that he’d leaned in closer to me. “Feel your bud swelling in the warmth of the sun,” he said. His thumb plowed downward, between my pussy lips, and rose again, slick. His voice continued. “Feel your petals beginning to unfold.” Everything in me was rising, rising. “Soon you will burst into bloom. Soon all the walls will fall away. You are opening.” I was opening. My petals were unfolding. I was floating toward ecstasy. “You are a lotus,” Gene said, “One with creation.” I quivered and shook and burst into beautiful bloom.
-------------
That night I wrote my paper in one, feverish sitting. Both philosophies called for unmediated experience of the divine within. I felt lifted out of my old life into a world of spiritual unity and enlightenment. I couldn’t wait to see Gene again.
I turned in my paper to Gene’s office mail box that weekend. He’d promised to return them at our next class period, Wednesday. It felt like a long wait. I masturbated each night with alternating thoughts of Gene kissing me and a lotus blossom unfurling inside me. When Wednesday finally came, I rushed to class, hoping to be there ahead of the others and have a minute to greet Gene properly. I wasn’t sure what that proper greeting would be - would he take me in his arms? Kiss me on the forehead like the disciple I was? But I wasn’t the first to arrive. He was already in conversation with Conner and a raised hand and smile were all he could spare me. I took my seat at the far end of the table.
“Today I want to talk again about transmission. The semester’s almost over and I’ve thrown a lot of words at you. But in some cases, words just obscure the truth. We’ve talked about how different versions of documents come down to us through the ages, and how the great truths are expressed over and over again in different traditions. Even in our small circle, words can be distorted, can’t they.” There was a murmur of assent. “So to further our understanding, we’re going to play a little game of Telephone.”
Wonderful Gene leaned over to whisper in Conner’s ear. I envied Conner desperately. Conner gave Gene a questioning look, then leaned over to Anna. Anna whispered to me. The words filled me with a glow I tried not to show. Still, I couldn’t help a glance at Gene. He winked. I turned to the boy on my left and repeated, as clearly as I could, “Penny is a blooming white lotus.”
He repeated it to Poplar. I could hear the edges of his whisper. Poplar turned red and stood up fast. She was staring at Gene. “Penny?” she said, in a stricken voice. “Penny?!” She hung there for a moment. We all did. And then she turned and slammed furiously out of the room.
I sat there, agape. Alice got up and ran after Poplar.
“What’s so bad about being a lotus?” Conner asked. I felt sick. I looked at Gene, but he was handing back papers and didn’t meet my eyes. “Class dismissed,” he said. “Good job, everyone.” I sat, numb and miserable, and left as soon as my paper landed in front of me. I got an A, I noted. I didn’t look inside to read his comments.
There was a substitute for the last few classes of the year, during which we read aloud from a standard World Religions textbook that had never been brought out from the closet before. Rumor was Gene had been fired for getting students high. We girls knew better. I tried not to think about it. But every night, despite the shame, or maybe, over time, because of it: I masturbated to the fantasy of sitting on Gene’s office floor, his mouth on mine and his thumb buried deep inside me.
Read at the August, 2012 BedPost Confessions
Showing posts with label hypnotism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hypnotism. Show all posts
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Travelogue, Chapter 3, Part 2
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The sound of footsteps and a woman’s laugh woke Penny from her reverie. The door burst open. A girl stumbled backwards wrapped around Marco’s tall frame, immersed in a kiss. She regained her balance and released Marco. “Ooh, a real bed this time! That’s a treat!” She was blond and cheerful. Her womanly shape made Penny conscious of her small breasts and hips.
“I never get to see you naked, you’re always pulling your skirts up in alleys,” teased Marco. He shot a grin at Penny, then started laughingly pulling at the girl’s clothes.
“Marco, stop!” the girl protested. “I’ll do it myself!” She never even glanced in Penny’s direction. Maybe she did this kind of thing all the time.
“C’mon, Angel,” Marco said, “We haven’t got all night.” He held her waist, looking down at her with an knowing grin.
“I’ve got four hours before my shift, Marco. Not even you can go that long.” Angel’s voice was breathy. The subtleties of her British accent were lost on Penny. Not American, that’s all. And incredibly sexy.
“It’s not about how long I can go. It’s about how long you can go, beautiful.” Marco had his hands on Angel’s ass and his body pressed her backwards, toward the bed. “Don’t you remember our plan?”
“Mmmm,” Angel answered, leaning back in his arms and pulling off her shirt. “That’s tonight?” Penny was surprised by the rather plain looking bra the girl wore, but that quickly came off, too.
“Absolutely. You are going to have the most orgasmic night of your life.” Marco turned his mouth into Angel’s hair and his voice was muffled. “We’re going to show our little mmphbl what she’s missing.”
The two toppled onto the bed, mouths hungrily engaged. Marco stripped off his shirt. His body was just as gorgeous as his face, all lean muscles and golden skin. Penny found herself sitting forward in her seat, arms pulling against the bands. She was rapt, watching their limbs tangle, listening to their sighs and the watery sounds of their kisses. Her breath felt constricted by arousal. Marco pinned Angel and smiled again at Penny. “Ready for your lesson, Angel?”
Angel grinned and closed her eyes. “Oh yes. I am.”
“Off with your panties, then, and turn this way, so our Penny has a good view.” Marco pulled the girl sideways so she lay face up, her feet facing Penny. “Spread your legs,” said Marco. Penny had a perfect view of pink, glistening labia, a few tendrils of damp hair curling around it. Angel’s pubic hair was neatly trimmed and just as blond as the hair on her head. Penny had never had license to really look at another woman’s pussy in real life. She gazed with interest, as Marco’s fingers strayed lightly over Angel’s outer lips and the small peak of her clitoral hood. A line of wetness grew as he grazed her skin.
Marco sat to one side of Angel, his back turned to Penny, his focus all on Angel now. He began to murmur to Angel in a tone Penny recognized, a soft, steady, enchanting monotone. “That feels good, doesn’t it.” (No questions, Penny recalled. He’s telling her what to feel.) “You’re getting excited already.”
Marco held two fingers together and slowly brushed them up and down her labia and over her clit, spreading a thin, glossy, film. “Yes, your little button is coming out. You’re feeling very aroused.” Penny felt herself responding, too. Her pussy was damp. She rocked her hips forward, wishing she had a way to rub herself against the seat.
Angel’s back began to arch as Marco continued his slow, steady caresses and narrative. “So excited. I barely have to touch you. Yes, that’s right, spread your legs a little more.” Penny could see his fingers were dipping into her just a little on each up-stroke and gliding more firmly over her clit. Angel’s breath was loud in the quiet room, punctuated with high gasps.
“You’re going to cum for me soon, Angel. Soon.” Marco’s fingers stopped moving. “Soon. But not yet.” He resumed tracing her slit, this time with only one finger. Penny’s clit ached. She imagined the torment of that delicate touch. Angel’s hips thrust up, but Marco kept his finger just barely in reach.
“Yes, Angel, you’re going to cum for me. When I say so. When I tell you it’s time.” His finger made slow circles around her clit. “You’re so close, aren’t you.”
“I need more,” Angel gasped out. “Please, Marco.”
“Don’t worry, Angel.” Marco continued his subtle movements. “I know what you need.” His finger slipped inside her for a moment, and Angel groaned deeply. Penny felt her pussy clench with sympathetic desire. She wondered if she’d cum when Angel did. It seemed possible.
“I’m going to count, now, Angel. From ten down to one. And when I say one, you-” Marco’s finger withdrew and quickly repenetrated her, drawing a gasp. “-are going to cum for me.” Angel’s body rocked on the bed. To Penny, Angel seemed ready to explode at any second. But then, she was not very familiar with the arousal patterns of other women. Her analytical mind snapped off again as Marco pulled his fingers away from Angel completely. What was he doing?
“Ten,” he began. His right hand was on Angel’s inner thigh. His left rested flat on her lower belly just above her mound. His head was still turned to watch Angel’s face. “Nine,” he said. The hand on her thigh moved upward, again touching her pussy delicately, indirectly. The hand on her belly began to push down more firmly. “Eight.” Angel was panting, pushing up against his restraining hand. Marco’s fingers swam over her pussy, his thumb brushing her clit, middle fingers dipping softly into her cunt. “Seven.” Angel whined and thrust. “Not yet, darling. When I tell you. Six.” Penny’s body throbbed. “Five. Four.” Marco paused and Angel pleaded, “Please!”
“Three. Almost, Angel.” He teased and carresed her with his thumb, then pushed three fingers inside her all at once. “Two.” Angel legs were impossibly spread, and she grunted and thrust. “Now, Angel. One. Cum for me.” Angel yelled and humped and writhed on Marco’s hand. Penny’s pussy spasmed and throbbed in sympathy. Marco kept on talking.
“Yes, that’s it Angel, cum hard, cum hard, that’s right.” He ran his thumb back and forth over her clit, fingers still inside her. Angel gripped the sheets and cried out over and over. At last her body stilled and Marco withdrew his fingers. He trailed a line of wetness up Angel’s stomach and cradled a breast. “Was that good, baby?”
“Yes, yes....” Angel sighed. “Amazing.”
“Good,” said Marco. “Let’s do it again.” His fingers returned to Angel’s cunt and he pushed two inside her without further preamble. Angel grunted.
“Aren’t you going to fuck me, Marco?”
“Yes, later. But first you need to learn to cum for me.” His voice was firm. Penny shivered. She wished she were on the bed.
“I just Did come for you,” Angel whined, lifting her head.
Marco started thrusting his fingers in and out of her. “You have to learn,” he said, as Angel’s head thumped back onto the bed again, “To cum when I tell you. Whenever I tell you.” Angel’s hips jerked and matched his rhythm. Marco began counting. “Ten.”
Marco counted Angel down twice more, each time drawing a more dramatic climax than the last. Penny was drenched with sweat and desire. The chair felt like a cage, cutting into her everywhere as she strained to respond to Marco’s relentless commands along with Angel. Yes, this was a punishment, and most inventively cruel.
After Angel’s third climax she pulled Marco towards her for a kiss. “I need a break, baby,” Penny heard. Marco cupped her breast and squeezed a nipple. Penny could see Angel’s shiver.
“Do you?” Marco answered. “Get up on on your knees. No, turn this way.” He steered Angel onto all fours so that Penny had a side view of her body. He smoothed his hands over Angel’s ass. Penny’s ass tingled. Was he going to spank her? But no. He was speaking in his hypnotic voice again.
“Look at you, dripping down your legs. So turned on you groan whenever I touch you.” He squeezed Angel’s ass firmly and she let out a moan on cue. “You don’t even need me to touch you to have an orgasm, do you.” Angel moaned again in a kind of protest as he removed his hands. She shifted her hips back towards him to reclaim his touch, but he moved away, shifting up the bed to sit near her head. He leaned close to her ear, speaking in a soft tone Penny strained to hear. “You are going to cum for me again, Angel. Just like last time. Just like you’ve been doing over and over again. When I count down to one, you’re going to have another orgasm.”
“I can’t,” Angel whined, but her hips shifted forward in back in the air in helpless arousal.
“You will, Angel. Your body’s already preparing. You’re getting wetter. Your nipples are so swollen a breath of air makes them ache.” He waved a hand under her chest, not touching her. She strained downward, too late. “Now then. Ten.” There was no doubt in Penny’s mind that Angel would cum. She longed for her own orgasm, but her arousal hovered just shy of that desperate abandon.
Marco’s countdown continued. At five, Angel raised a hand to touch her pussy. Marco grabbed her wrist. “You don’t need that, Angel.” He placed her hand back in its position on the bed. Angel’s back and hips thrust against air as he resumed. “Four. You can almost feel my tongue on your clit, can’t you. Three. I’m going to fuck you in just a minute, Angel. I’m going to fuck you, but first you are going to cum for me. Two.” Angel’s body glistened with sweat. Penny could smell her cunt. “That’s it,” said Marco softly. “You want me to say it, don’t you.”
“Say it!” Angel gasped out.
“Yes, darling. You’re going to explode for me. Any second now.”
There was the slightest pause. Penny saw Angel trembling. And then: “One.” Angel’s back arched high and then low, as if demonstrating a frenetic yoga pose. She cried out rhythmically, “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!” Marco was behind her, penis erect and covered in a condom. He plunged into her. She threw her head back, eyes closed, mouth opened wide. Penny felt her pussy spasm again, not in a full orgasm but in sympathetic excitement.
With Marco’s second thrust, he began counting down again. Angel was still bucking from the last orgasm as he got to seven. By five she was calming. At three, she was near again to the peak. Marco’s grip on Angel’s hips was firm. He thrust into her steadily even as she struggled for the wilder tempo of her orgasm. From one he began at five again. Angel swore and yelled and came. Five. Four. Penny watched as Marco pushed Angel over one peak after another. Three. Two. Penny lost count. Angel collapsed onto the bed and rolled onto her back. Marco knelt over her, cock in his hand, beginning again. “No more,” Angel muttered, “No more.” One, said Marco, and with a sobbing cry, Angel arched her back again.
Marco lay down beside Angel. He rubbed her belly as she regained her breath. “Very good,” he said. “You’re a quick learner, Angel.” She smiled at him. Penny took in a breath, and realized she’d been gasping along with Angel. Marco and Angel murmured softly on the bed. Penny came back to herself. Her pussy felt painfully engorged. Her wrists and ankles felt raw where she’d pulled against her ropes. Her mouth was dry and foul tasting.
Marco’s voice was inaudible, but Penny could hear that he was talking into Angel’s ear. Angel nodded. He cupped her breast in his hand and captured her nipple between thumb and forefinger, pulling gently. Angel smiled, and nuzzled her head against him. For a moment, all Penny could feel was loneliness, a stronger and deeper ache than any of her physical complaints. The Marco lifted his head to look at her. The touch of his eyes was startling. She’d almost forgotten they could see her. For the first time since dinner, Marco addressed her directly. “Penny. This time, you count.”
It took a moment for her to understand what he was saying. She counted? She mattered? No, no, it fell into place. She was counting down for Angel. An almost giddy feeling came over her. Her voice came out higher than she’d meant. “Ten.”
Angel was very, very tired. That was obvious, from the loll of her head to the splay of her limbs. Penny watched with fascination as each number seemed to pull Angel’s body back towards alertness and tension. At eight, Angel smiled the chin lifting smile of a person feeling great pleasure. At six, Angel rolled towards her, eyes closed but attention focused. Penny hesitated at four. Was it to soon? Marco nodded at her, and she continued. Her body echoed Angel’s rising tension. Count slower, her arousal told her. But she continued on. “Three.” Her voice trembled. Angel had spread her legs wide. “Two.” Penny wished she could touch Angel. She wanted to be a man and thrust inside her. She wanted, deliriously, to feel Angel’s cunt contracting around her as she gave the final trigger: “One.”
Angel got dressed without any further reference to Penny. Penny watched exhaustedly as Marco escorted Angel from the room and shut the door. It seemed clear to Penny that her ordeal was over, but she was too drained to wonder when she would be released.
The wait was not long. Marco reentered and knelt to untie her. “Are you alright?” he asked, as he helped her to rise. She was unsteady.
“That was...” Penny trailed off, unable to think of the right word.
“I know,” said Marco. He touched a hand to her cheek, brushing back a stray hair. “Mr. Craness wants you to come to the living room and say goodnight.” He took her hand, and tugged her towards the door. She followed, her naked skin raising goose-bumps as the cooler air of the hallway touched her.
In two steps they were in the living room, and there was a crowd of people filling the sofa and chairs. It was blindingly bright after the dim bedroom. Penny tried to take a step back, but Marco was behind her. “Penny,” she heard Mr. Craness’s voice and squinted, trying to find him. There he was, across the room, Angel sitting on his lap. Everyone was well dressed. Mr. Craness motioned her to come.
It was almost physically painful to walk naked under the sharp lights and the inscrutable gazes of the guests. Mr. Craness put his free arm around her - the one that was not already holding Angel steady on his knee-- and raised his voice. “Everyone, this is my Penny.” There was a murmur of smiles and greetings. Angel got up, kissing first Mr. Craness and then Penny on the cheek. Mr. Craness rose, too. “Penny, you look like you need to go to bed. I’ll come and tuck you in in a moment.” He gave her a little push towards the doorway, and Penny gratefully hurried from the room.
The sound of footsteps and a woman’s laugh woke Penny from her reverie. The door burst open. A girl stumbled backwards wrapped around Marco’s tall frame, immersed in a kiss. She regained her balance and released Marco. “Ooh, a real bed this time! That’s a treat!” She was blond and cheerful. Her womanly shape made Penny conscious of her small breasts and hips.
“I never get to see you naked, you’re always pulling your skirts up in alleys,” teased Marco. He shot a grin at Penny, then started laughingly pulling at the girl’s clothes.
“Marco, stop!” the girl protested. “I’ll do it myself!” She never even glanced in Penny’s direction. Maybe she did this kind of thing all the time.
“C’mon, Angel,” Marco said, “We haven’t got all night.” He held her waist, looking down at her with an knowing grin.
“I’ve got four hours before my shift, Marco. Not even you can go that long.” Angel’s voice was breathy. The subtleties of her British accent were lost on Penny. Not American, that’s all. And incredibly sexy.
“It’s not about how long I can go. It’s about how long you can go, beautiful.” Marco had his hands on Angel’s ass and his body pressed her backwards, toward the bed. “Don’t you remember our plan?”
“Mmmm,” Angel answered, leaning back in his arms and pulling off her shirt. “That’s tonight?” Penny was surprised by the rather plain looking bra the girl wore, but that quickly came off, too.
“Absolutely. You are going to have the most orgasmic night of your life.” Marco turned his mouth into Angel’s hair and his voice was muffled. “We’re going to show our little mmphbl what she’s missing.”
The two toppled onto the bed, mouths hungrily engaged. Marco stripped off his shirt. His body was just as gorgeous as his face, all lean muscles and golden skin. Penny found herself sitting forward in her seat, arms pulling against the bands. She was rapt, watching their limbs tangle, listening to their sighs and the watery sounds of their kisses. Her breath felt constricted by arousal. Marco pinned Angel and smiled again at Penny. “Ready for your lesson, Angel?”
Angel grinned and closed her eyes. “Oh yes. I am.”
“Off with your panties, then, and turn this way, so our Penny has a good view.” Marco pulled the girl sideways so she lay face up, her feet facing Penny. “Spread your legs,” said Marco. Penny had a perfect view of pink, glistening labia, a few tendrils of damp hair curling around it. Angel’s pubic hair was neatly trimmed and just as blond as the hair on her head. Penny had never had license to really look at another woman’s pussy in real life. She gazed with interest, as Marco’s fingers strayed lightly over Angel’s outer lips and the small peak of her clitoral hood. A line of wetness grew as he grazed her skin.
Marco sat to one side of Angel, his back turned to Penny, his focus all on Angel now. He began to murmur to Angel in a tone Penny recognized, a soft, steady, enchanting monotone. “That feels good, doesn’t it.” (No questions, Penny recalled. He’s telling her what to feel.) “You’re getting excited already.”
Marco held two fingers together and slowly brushed them up and down her labia and over her clit, spreading a thin, glossy, film. “Yes, your little button is coming out. You’re feeling very aroused.” Penny felt herself responding, too. Her pussy was damp. She rocked her hips forward, wishing she had a way to rub herself against the seat.
Angel’s back began to arch as Marco continued his slow, steady caresses and narrative. “So excited. I barely have to touch you. Yes, that’s right, spread your legs a little more.” Penny could see his fingers were dipping into her just a little on each up-stroke and gliding more firmly over her clit. Angel’s breath was loud in the quiet room, punctuated with high gasps.
“You’re going to cum for me soon, Angel. Soon.” Marco’s fingers stopped moving. “Soon. But not yet.” He resumed tracing her slit, this time with only one finger. Penny’s clit ached. She imagined the torment of that delicate touch. Angel’s hips thrust up, but Marco kept his finger just barely in reach.
“Yes, Angel, you’re going to cum for me. When I say so. When I tell you it’s time.” His finger made slow circles around her clit. “You’re so close, aren’t you.”
“I need more,” Angel gasped out. “Please, Marco.”
“Don’t worry, Angel.” Marco continued his subtle movements. “I know what you need.” His finger slipped inside her for a moment, and Angel groaned deeply. Penny felt her pussy clench with sympathetic desire. She wondered if she’d cum when Angel did. It seemed possible.
“I’m going to count, now, Angel. From ten down to one. And when I say one, you-” Marco’s finger withdrew and quickly repenetrated her, drawing a gasp. “-are going to cum for me.” Angel’s body rocked on the bed. To Penny, Angel seemed ready to explode at any second. But then, she was not very familiar with the arousal patterns of other women. Her analytical mind snapped off again as Marco pulled his fingers away from Angel completely. What was he doing?
“Ten,” he began. His right hand was on Angel’s inner thigh. His left rested flat on her lower belly just above her mound. His head was still turned to watch Angel’s face. “Nine,” he said. The hand on her thigh moved upward, again touching her pussy delicately, indirectly. The hand on her belly began to push down more firmly. “Eight.” Angel was panting, pushing up against his restraining hand. Marco’s fingers swam over her pussy, his thumb brushing her clit, middle fingers dipping softly into her cunt. “Seven.” Angel whined and thrust. “Not yet, darling. When I tell you. Six.” Penny’s body throbbed. “Five. Four.” Marco paused and Angel pleaded, “Please!”
“Three. Almost, Angel.” He teased and carresed her with his thumb, then pushed three fingers inside her all at once. “Two.” Angel legs were impossibly spread, and she grunted and thrust. “Now, Angel. One. Cum for me.” Angel yelled and humped and writhed on Marco’s hand. Penny’s pussy spasmed and throbbed in sympathy. Marco kept on talking.
“Yes, that’s it Angel, cum hard, cum hard, that’s right.” He ran his thumb back and forth over her clit, fingers still inside her. Angel gripped the sheets and cried out over and over. At last her body stilled and Marco withdrew his fingers. He trailed a line of wetness up Angel’s stomach and cradled a breast. “Was that good, baby?”
“Yes, yes....” Angel sighed. “Amazing.”
“Good,” said Marco. “Let’s do it again.” His fingers returned to Angel’s cunt and he pushed two inside her without further preamble. Angel grunted.
“Aren’t you going to fuck me, Marco?”
“Yes, later. But first you need to learn to cum for me.” His voice was firm. Penny shivered. She wished she were on the bed.
“I just Did come for you,” Angel whined, lifting her head.
Marco started thrusting his fingers in and out of her. “You have to learn,” he said, as Angel’s head thumped back onto the bed again, “To cum when I tell you. Whenever I tell you.” Angel’s hips jerked and matched his rhythm. Marco began counting. “Ten.”
Marco counted Angel down twice more, each time drawing a more dramatic climax than the last. Penny was drenched with sweat and desire. The chair felt like a cage, cutting into her everywhere as she strained to respond to Marco’s relentless commands along with Angel. Yes, this was a punishment, and most inventively cruel.
After Angel’s third climax she pulled Marco towards her for a kiss. “I need a break, baby,” Penny heard. Marco cupped her breast and squeezed a nipple. Penny could see Angel’s shiver.
“Do you?” Marco answered. “Get up on on your knees. No, turn this way.” He steered Angel onto all fours so that Penny had a side view of her body. He smoothed his hands over Angel’s ass. Penny’s ass tingled. Was he going to spank her? But no. He was speaking in his hypnotic voice again.
“Look at you, dripping down your legs. So turned on you groan whenever I touch you.” He squeezed Angel’s ass firmly and she let out a moan on cue. “You don’t even need me to touch you to have an orgasm, do you.” Angel moaned again in a kind of protest as he removed his hands. She shifted her hips back towards him to reclaim his touch, but he moved away, shifting up the bed to sit near her head. He leaned close to her ear, speaking in a soft tone Penny strained to hear. “You are going to cum for me again, Angel. Just like last time. Just like you’ve been doing over and over again. When I count down to one, you’re going to have another orgasm.”
“I can’t,” Angel whined, but her hips shifted forward in back in the air in helpless arousal.
“You will, Angel. Your body’s already preparing. You’re getting wetter. Your nipples are so swollen a breath of air makes them ache.” He waved a hand under her chest, not touching her. She strained downward, too late. “Now then. Ten.” There was no doubt in Penny’s mind that Angel would cum. She longed for her own orgasm, but her arousal hovered just shy of that desperate abandon.
Marco’s countdown continued. At five, Angel raised a hand to touch her pussy. Marco grabbed her wrist. “You don’t need that, Angel.” He placed her hand back in its position on the bed. Angel’s back and hips thrust against air as he resumed. “Four. You can almost feel my tongue on your clit, can’t you. Three. I’m going to fuck you in just a minute, Angel. I’m going to fuck you, but first you are going to cum for me. Two.” Angel’s body glistened with sweat. Penny could smell her cunt. “That’s it,” said Marco softly. “You want me to say it, don’t you.”
“Say it!” Angel gasped out.
“Yes, darling. You’re going to explode for me. Any second now.”
There was the slightest pause. Penny saw Angel trembling. And then: “One.” Angel’s back arched high and then low, as if demonstrating a frenetic yoga pose. She cried out rhythmically, “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!” Marco was behind her, penis erect and covered in a condom. He plunged into her. She threw her head back, eyes closed, mouth opened wide. Penny felt her pussy spasm again, not in a full orgasm but in sympathetic excitement.
With Marco’s second thrust, he began counting down again. Angel was still bucking from the last orgasm as he got to seven. By five she was calming. At three, she was near again to the peak. Marco’s grip on Angel’s hips was firm. He thrust into her steadily even as she struggled for the wilder tempo of her orgasm. From one he began at five again. Angel swore and yelled and came. Five. Four. Penny watched as Marco pushed Angel over one peak after another. Three. Two. Penny lost count. Angel collapsed onto the bed and rolled onto her back. Marco knelt over her, cock in his hand, beginning again. “No more,” Angel muttered, “No more.” One, said Marco, and with a sobbing cry, Angel arched her back again.
Marco lay down beside Angel. He rubbed her belly as she regained her breath. “Very good,” he said. “You’re a quick learner, Angel.” She smiled at him. Penny took in a breath, and realized she’d been gasping along with Angel. Marco and Angel murmured softly on the bed. Penny came back to herself. Her pussy felt painfully engorged. Her wrists and ankles felt raw where she’d pulled against her ropes. Her mouth was dry and foul tasting.
Marco’s voice was inaudible, but Penny could hear that he was talking into Angel’s ear. Angel nodded. He cupped her breast in his hand and captured her nipple between thumb and forefinger, pulling gently. Angel smiled, and nuzzled her head against him. For a moment, all Penny could feel was loneliness, a stronger and deeper ache than any of her physical complaints. The Marco lifted his head to look at her. The touch of his eyes was startling. She’d almost forgotten they could see her. For the first time since dinner, Marco addressed her directly. “Penny. This time, you count.”
It took a moment for her to understand what he was saying. She counted? She mattered? No, no, it fell into place. She was counting down for Angel. An almost giddy feeling came over her. Her voice came out higher than she’d meant. “Ten.”
Angel was very, very tired. That was obvious, from the loll of her head to the splay of her limbs. Penny watched with fascination as each number seemed to pull Angel’s body back towards alertness and tension. At eight, Angel smiled the chin lifting smile of a person feeling great pleasure. At six, Angel rolled towards her, eyes closed but attention focused. Penny hesitated at four. Was it to soon? Marco nodded at her, and she continued. Her body echoed Angel’s rising tension. Count slower, her arousal told her. But she continued on. “Three.” Her voice trembled. Angel had spread her legs wide. “Two.” Penny wished she could touch Angel. She wanted to be a man and thrust inside her. She wanted, deliriously, to feel Angel’s cunt contracting around her as she gave the final trigger: “One.”
Angel got dressed without any further reference to Penny. Penny watched exhaustedly as Marco escorted Angel from the room and shut the door. It seemed clear to Penny that her ordeal was over, but she was too drained to wonder when she would be released.
The wait was not long. Marco reentered and knelt to untie her. “Are you alright?” he asked, as he helped her to rise. She was unsteady.
“That was...” Penny trailed off, unable to think of the right word.
“I know,” said Marco. He touched a hand to her cheek, brushing back a stray hair. “Mr. Craness wants you to come to the living room and say goodnight.” He took her hand, and tugged her towards the door. She followed, her naked skin raising goose-bumps as the cooler air of the hallway touched her.
In two steps they were in the living room, and there was a crowd of people filling the sofa and chairs. It was blindingly bright after the dim bedroom. Penny tried to take a step back, but Marco was behind her. “Penny,” she heard Mr. Craness’s voice and squinted, trying to find him. There he was, across the room, Angel sitting on his lap. Everyone was well dressed. Mr. Craness motioned her to come.
It was almost physically painful to walk naked under the sharp lights and the inscrutable gazes of the guests. Mr. Craness put his free arm around her - the one that was not already holding Angel steady on his knee-- and raised his voice. “Everyone, this is my Penny.” There was a murmur of smiles and greetings. Angel got up, kissing first Mr. Craness and then Penny on the cheek. Mr. Craness rose, too. “Penny, you look like you need to go to bed. I’ll come and tuck you in in a moment.” He gave her a little push towards the doorway, and Penny gratefully hurried from the room.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Travelogue, Chapter 3, Part 1
See the sidebar for previous installments.
Penny heard the door shut and the jingle of keys. They’d gone out. She was alone. It was very quiet. She looked around the room, but there was little to see. A few unornamented pieces of furniture. A simple lamp, glowing yellow.
Practice her posture. Her lower back already ached a little from the strain of sitting up straight. She let her head hang forward, stretching tight muscles in her neck and down her spine. Mr. Craness and Marco would surely be out for an hour or two. Penny considered her next move. She could slump. She could undo herself and wander the apartment, even go out. It was possible, if she were careful, that she could slip back into her bonds before he returned, leaving him none the wiser.
Nonetheless, she sat. She pondered his reasoning. He had left her loosely bound for safety, surely. In case of a fire, she could easily escape. But safety could have been ensured another way. They didn’t have to go out for drinks. Was he testing her? Had they really gone out? No, she’d definitely heard their footsteps on the stairs. And Mr. Craness was not a man of pretense.
She thought about the history of their acquaintance. His method of teaching had always been gently Socratic. He had allowed her to lead herself to answers. Today was the first time he’d ever imposed a rule on her: Respect. Was that why he hadn’t tied her? He’d wanted her to have to choose to respect his wishes. Not just once, sitting down and allowing herself to be tied, but minute by minute as her discomfort grew.
Her legs hurt. The edge of the chair was gently curved downwards. The edge fell just at the top of her calves and it felt like it was cutting into her. She adjusted her ankles as much as she could. The air was cooling and she wished for a blanket. To distract herself, she tried to recall the progress of her friendship with Mr. Craness. How had she come to be here, naked, anxious, and alone?
--------
Penny had first known Mr. Craness through his blog. She couldn’t recall how she’d stumbled across it.
He’d started keeping it after the death of his wife. His brief biography explained he wanted to both mourn and celebrate their marriage. Writing, he’d said, recalled her vividly to his mind. As a reader, Penny found his stories equally vivid. Most of his recollections were erotic. It seemed he’d found his wife unendingly alluring, and their sexual exploits were recorded with a sensual precision that held Penny riveted.
It had been a time of transition for Penny. She’d had conflicts with her family. She had a terrible break up and moved into her own apartment for the first time. In her new isolation, she felt she was discovering herself for the first time. Her emails with Crane became increasingly essential to her days. Every question they discussed led to another. He encouraged her to use her independence to explore what she wanted, rather than rushing into new commitments. He reassured her after painful conversations with her ex that she was a worthwhile human being. He made her laugh when she felt at the end of her rope. Crane was steady in a way no man in her life had ever been.
Penny heard the door shut and the jingle of keys. They’d gone out. She was alone. It was very quiet. She looked around the room, but there was little to see. A few unornamented pieces of furniture. A simple lamp, glowing yellow.
Practice her posture. Her lower back already ached a little from the strain of sitting up straight. She let her head hang forward, stretching tight muscles in her neck and down her spine. Mr. Craness and Marco would surely be out for an hour or two. Penny considered her next move. She could slump. She could undo herself and wander the apartment, even go out. It was possible, if she were careful, that she could slip back into her bonds before he returned, leaving him none the wiser.
Nonetheless, she sat. She pondered his reasoning. He had left her loosely bound for safety, surely. In case of a fire, she could easily escape. But safety could have been ensured another way. They didn’t have to go out for drinks. Was he testing her? Had they really gone out? No, she’d definitely heard their footsteps on the stairs. And Mr. Craness was not a man of pretense.
She thought about the history of their acquaintance. His method of teaching had always been gently Socratic. He had allowed her to lead herself to answers. Today was the first time he’d ever imposed a rule on her: Respect. Was that why he hadn’t tied her? He’d wanted her to have to choose to respect his wishes. Not just once, sitting down and allowing herself to be tied, but minute by minute as her discomfort grew.
Her legs hurt. The edge of the chair was gently curved downwards. The edge fell just at the top of her calves and it felt like it was cutting into her. She adjusted her ankles as much as she could. The air was cooling and she wished for a blanket. To distract herself, she tried to recall the progress of her friendship with Mr. Craness. How had she come to be here, naked, anxious, and alone?
--------
Penny had first known Mr. Craness through his blog. She couldn’t recall how she’d stumbled across it.
He’d started keeping it after the death of his wife. His brief biography explained he wanted to both mourn and celebrate their marriage. Writing, he’d said, recalled her vividly to his mind. As a reader, Penny found his stories equally vivid. Most of his recollections were erotic. It seemed he’d found his wife unendingly alluring, and their sexual exploits were recorded with a sensual precision that held Penny riveted.
Sometimes Mr. Craness had mused on his youth, tracing how he’d come to be the man he was. Penny read these posts with interest. She’d come to greatly admire the man who wrote merely as “Crane”. It was illuminating to learn about his early mistakes and inadequacies. Eventually, she began to comment on these posts, noting similarities to her life. Crane had responded kindly, asking his characteristic leading questions. In one such comment, he’d appended his email, should she want to talk in more depth.
That had been at least a year and a half ago. Maybe more.
That had been at least a year and a half ago. Maybe more.
It had been a time of transition for Penny. She’d had conflicts with her family. She had a terrible break up and moved into her own apartment for the first time. In her new isolation, she felt she was discovering herself for the first time. Her emails with Crane became increasingly essential to her days. Every question they discussed led to another. He encouraged her to use her independence to explore what she wanted, rather than rushing into new commitments. He reassured her after painful conversations with her ex that she was a worthwhile human being. He made her laugh when she felt at the end of her rope. Crane was steady in a way no man in her life had ever been.
Meanwhile, she continued reading his blog. Sometimes he’d mention her obliquely. He wrote less about his wife, as the months passed. He instead told stories of observation: imagining the sex lives of people he saw in restaurants or on the train. His writing voice was different than the tone he used with her. He wrote forcefully. His wife had submitted to punishments and demands for obedience. The people he imagined were always engaged in exploring power dynamics. His imagination was often cruel.
To Penny, he’d always been gentle and kind. As the affection between them grew, she found herself wishing, sometimes, he’d be firmer with her. Shyly, she told him as much. “You’d like me to tell you what to do?” he answered. “We can see. Start by calling me Mr. Craness.”
“That will be hard,” Penny had written. “I’ve called you Crane for a long time.”
“It will be a good exercise for you, then. Work at it. Train your thoughts.”
The phrase made her shiver. Train your thoughts. Mr. Craness’s first, simple demand worked its way into her like a thorn. He’d given her a gift: his name. And he’d taken something away: a little bit of her freedom.
Remembering that day still aroused her. She learned, that day, how subtle a thing control could be. Her admiration of Mr. Craness deepened.
So much had happened since then... Penny smiled, reviewing scenes of lovers and adventures. Mr. Craness had been her rudder, but he steered gently, gently. He wanted her to explore where her desires led her. So when she’d come up with the idea of travel, she’d been surprised by his lack of enthusiasm.
In the face of her determination to go despite his warnings, he suggested she begin her trip with a sojourn under his tutelage. What had he propsed to teach her? “I think you confuse enthusiasm with confidence,” he’d told her. “You don’t know yourself well enough to be truly confident. You’re impulsive and it will lead you into danger.” His reasoning was unclear to her, but the prospect of an intimate visit with Mr. Craness had been irresistibly alluring. And now - here she was. Shivering, naked, and wondering if maybe he'd been all too right about her trusting nature.
To Penny, he’d always been gentle and kind. As the affection between them grew, she found herself wishing, sometimes, he’d be firmer with her. Shyly, she told him as much. “You’d like me to tell you what to do?” he answered. “We can see. Start by calling me Mr. Craness.”
“That will be hard,” Penny had written. “I’ve called you Crane for a long time.”
“It will be a good exercise for you, then. Work at it. Train your thoughts.”
The phrase made her shiver. Train your thoughts. Mr. Craness’s first, simple demand worked its way into her like a thorn. He’d given her a gift: his name. And he’d taken something away: a little bit of her freedom.
Remembering that day still aroused her. She learned, that day, how subtle a thing control could be. Her admiration of Mr. Craness deepened.
So much had happened since then... Penny smiled, reviewing scenes of lovers and adventures. Mr. Craness had been her rudder, but he steered gently, gently. He wanted her to explore where her desires led her. So when she’d come up with the idea of travel, she’d been surprised by his lack of enthusiasm.
In the face of her determination to go despite his warnings, he suggested she begin her trip with a sojourn under his tutelage. What had he propsed to teach her? “I think you confuse enthusiasm with confidence,” he’d told her. “You don’t know yourself well enough to be truly confident. You’re impulsive and it will lead you into danger.” His reasoning was unclear to her, but the prospect of an intimate visit with Mr. Craness had been irresistibly alluring. And now - here she was. Shivering, naked, and wondering if maybe he'd been all too right about her trusting nature.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Travelogue, Chapter 1: Penelope Sets Out
Leaving is easier than one imagines, Penelope found.
As soon as she’d made up her mind, it was simply a matter of following through. No one told her not to go. Instead, they were vicariously enthusiastic about her upcoming adventures. Everyone had a travel tip. In her email and on scraps of paper, she was presented with scores of contacts for “a friend of my sisters who lives in Amsterdam” and “my high school exchange parents - they don’t speak any English, but you would totally hit it off.” She discarded all these, along with her CD collection, mismatched kitchenware, and far too many pairs of shoes. This was not going to be the kind of adventure one writes home about. Adventures can only go so far when you stay with friends of friends of friends.
And so, without very much money and barely a plan, she gave up her apartment, quit her job, and kissed her lover goodbye. In a week from making her decision, she was boarding a flight to London with all the worldly possessions she cared to keep: a couple changes of underwear, a sexy dress or two, sweater, sandals, toothbrush, lipstick and a novel for those moments when adventure failed to materialize.
At least she didn’t have to buy a ticket. The first leg of her journey was to meet a man she’d met online. They had a tenuous connection, really. And yet she supposed he must have been as intrigued by her as she was by him. After all, she was flying business class at his expense. He told her he'd give her his flyer miles so she could travel in comfort. "Besides," he said, "In coach, you're likely to meet some interesting vagabond. I want you thinking about me when you're over the Atlantic." He didn't figure, she thought to herself as she waited in the endless line at customs, on Marco.
No one could have figured on Marco. Penny closed her eyes for a moment to remember him as she’d first glimpsed him. Handsome. Gentlemanly. And utterly seductive. Had it only been eight hours ago? It felt like a much longer journey. As the line wound on through cordoned walkways, she tried to relive the long flight to London. She wanted to fix it in her mind: her first adventure.
-------------------
Her flight left late - an 8 pm departure delayed until 9:30. She was a bit tired from the ordeal of the airport, but so excited about finally leaving on her adventure that she didn't care. It was a full flight. Mr. Craness had reserved a seat at the side of the plane in one of the two-person rows rather than the four-across middle row.
The passengers boarded mid-plane and Penelope found her seat was only a couple rows back, over the wing. She was eager to settle in and daydream, but when she saw her seat-mate, all thought of silent meditation left her. He was drop-dead handsome. And he was smiling at her.
He rose as Penelope approached and settled her bag on the empty seat next to him. "Would you prefer the window?" he asked, leaning forward solicitously.
"No, no, I'm fine on the aisle," she told him, trying and failing to meet his gorgeous dark eyes. What was his accent?
"Or may I switch seats so you and your husband can sit together?"
"I'm not married," Penelope returned thoughtlessly, tucking her skirt under her as she sat down. She glanced up at his eyes again and saw a faint twinkle. She realized her mistake instantly. Of course he’d been fishing for information. She gave him her best skeptical look.
"Ah. I'm transparent," he said. "Forgive me. I wanted an excuse to talk. I'm Marco," he said, extending his hand. She reached across awkwardly to shake it. "Penelope. But everyone calls me Penny."
"Penny? The smallest coin? Surely you are worth more than that?"
Penelope laughed nervously. Marco’s gaze was really too disarming. She rummaged through her purse as if for something important and carefully arranged it beneath her seat.
They were silent for a while as the airplane taxied and announcements were made. Penny got out a magazine but didn't open it. How could she start their conversation again? It was important to say something before he gave up on her and went to sleep for the whole flight. After all, one is not often trapped next to someone so attractive for eight hours at a stretch. As the flight lifted off, she at last found the courage to ask what he'd been doing in the US. "Visiting some old football friends," he told her. It seemed he'd been a professional soccer player some years past. (Was he really old enough to have a past?) They talked about the sport for a while, Penny embarrassedly admitting her complete ignorance. She asked general questions, like "What was life like on the road?"
"We didn't travel first class, I tell you that," he said. "And you - why are you going to England? I don't think it is business."
"No," she admitted, "I'm just going as a tourist."
"Just a tourist? I think it's more than that. You have the look of a woman who is going to meet her lover." He nudged her arm familiarly. She liked it. Still, she shook her head no. Their conversation rested. This time the silence felt comfortable. She read for a while.
The flight attendant came through offering beverages. “Just water,” said Penny, but Marco grabbed her hand as if they were a couple and asked for red wine for them both. He rapped their hands against the armrest emphatically as he declared, "We must celebrate the beginning of your journey!" Penny couldn't help laughing.
When the wine came, Marco raised his glass to her and she touched hers against it in toast. As she took her first sip, Marco pounced.
"And what is he called, this lover of yours you are traveling so far to see?" Marco asked. Penny nearly choked on her wine. It seemed she wasn’t much of a liar.
But why not answer him? It slipped out so easily. "Louis."
Marco's hand touched hers again, and he smiled wickedly. "I don't think 'Louis' is what you really call him." Penny tried to look puzzled. "I think, when you are alone... you call him something much more respectful."
Penny took another swallow of wine to hide her discomfiture. How did he know?
"I can read so much in a woman's eyes," Marco continued. He ran one fingers slowly down the inside of her arm. His voice was pitched low. "What do you call him - Sir? Master?"
"Mr. Craness," she choked out. It was horribly embarrassing to admit, and yet she felt she couldn’t help herself. It was like she was under a spell.
"Ah, yes, Mister Craness, very proper." Marco's voice massaged the words, making them sound lascivious. Penny felt herself flush.
"Don't worry, little Penny. Mister Louis Craness won't mind my enjoying your company. I know all about his kind."
The cabin lights dimmed as the flight attendant collected their glasses. Penny thought she might read a little while. She felt restless, even vaguely claustrophobic. Despite being in business class, there wasn’t quite enough room. Or maybe it was the tension of sitting next to a handsome man inside the intimate hum of jet engines. She reached to turn on the light, her arm brushing Marco’s shoulder. A searing pain struck her shoulder and she made an involuntary cry of pain.
“What’s the matter?” Marco asked, immediately attentive.
“It’s just a muscle spasm,” Penny said, but Marco was all concern and sympathy. "Let me," he said, inveigling his hand under hers where she gripped her shoulder.
"Ah," she protested, "No," but already his fingers had found their way to a spot that offered relief.
"Breathe out," he said, and her breath released. Why should she not let him help her, if he was willing? He took her shoulder in both hands and moved it, pulling the scapula towards him gently. It felt marvelous. She could feel the pain and tension draining out of her. At the same time, Marco’s nearness took on a new intensity. Handsome, handsome Marco was giving her his full attention, touching her with his warm, intelligent hands.
"You're good at that," Penny said, to break the silence as much as anything.
"It's what I do," he said. "Now that I'm retired from football, I do massage. Or, massage is part of what I do." He lifted her upper arm, rocking it back and forth as his fingers probed the base of her neck.
"What else?" she asked. She felt her neck and jaw relaxing.
"I specialize. I invented a new technique. I call it Hypno-Massage."
Hypno-Massage. How corny, Penny thought. She laughed and as quickly tried to stop herself. “That sounds very interesting,” she ventured.
"Would you like to try it?" he offered.
That sounded like a come-on. The whole idea sounded like a come on. But Marco was still working on her shoulder, and his touch was entirely sincere. "What do you do?" she asked him.
"It's hard to explain. I'd love for you to experience it." His voice was earnest. "I think it would be a wonderful way for you to start your journey. In the right frame of mind - relaxed, confident..." She could tell this was a seduction. Maybe she was a little hypnotized already, because she didn't feel the need to object.
"Alright," she said. "What do I need to do?"
"Nothing, cara. Just put your seat back so you can rest your head."
"Are you going to hypnotize me?"
"Yes, but, you know, it is perfectly safe. You won't go to sleep, you can stop anytime." His voice was soothing. She put her seat back and Marco turned out her light. She felt warm and at ease. "I think," he said, his voice getting lower, "You would like some pleasure. Something to prepare you for Mister Craness."
It was too much. I should stop him, she thought. His knowing tone when he mentioned Mr. Craness. The offer of pleasure. They were on an airplane -- practically public transportation. As her mind protested, Marco was massaging her upper arm, melding pain with kindness as he unwound her muscles. "Pleasure," she heard herself saying in a sleepy voice. "We're--there's no privacy."
"Don't worry. I won't undress you. If you would like, I will touch only your arm." He gazed at her sincerely, and she smiled. It had been a long day. Why not relax. Her eyelids were heavy.
"Wonderful," she said, and let her head fall back against the seat. Marco's thumb ran down her arm, erasing tension. Her whole body began to relax. Her eyes closed.
"Let yourself go," he said into her ear. She could feel his breath on her cheek. "Focus only on sensation." His thumb pressed a knot near her elbow. Pain flared and then faded. He continued kneading her arm.
"I'm going to make my touch lighter," Marco murmured. "But it won't tickle. You'll remain relaxed." His fingers began to run slowly up and down her arm. It felt incredibly sensual.
"Feel my fingers tracing lines of light on your arm," he told her. She could visualise it, glowing white behind his fingers. His thumb grazed the inside of her arm and she shivered with pleasure.
"That's right," he said. "Sink into the sensation. Feel your arm is your whole body." He traced a circle on her shoulder. "Here is your head." His fingers trailed down her deltoid and lingered at its base. "Here," he said, his voice getting lower, "Are your breasts." He pinched her there, very gently. She felt it in her clit. "Yes," he said, "Good. It is as if I am playing with your nipples." His fingers pressed and squeezed. Her chest felt tight. The pressure of her clothes against her breasts became noticeable, and her nipples hardening against her bra.
His fingers slid lower down her arm and for a moment she felt bereft. He was making small circles above her elbow crease, around and around. "Do you feel this in your tummy?" he asked. Speaking felt difficult, so she nodded minutely. "Yes, you do. Good girl. This is your tummy, and here--" he traced the fold of her elbow-- "we are lower still." Her pussy throbbed. Marco traced a triangle along the crease of her elbow, pointing downward. "It feels good, doesn't it? You know where this is." She did. Her body did. Her hips were rocking slowly beneath the airline blanket. His touch lightened. He might only have been stroking the fine, invisible hairs of her arm as he made tiny circles. She could feel the circles like fire around her clit. Moisture was seeping out of her, and her breath was short.
"Mmm," said Marco. "You like that. How beautiful you are when you are deeply aroused." His fingers didn't stop their subtle caresses. "Soon you will reach your peak," he continued. "Soon. Already you feel the energy building, don't you. You crave a finger inside you. A cock, filling you. You long to be fucked."
Every word became true as he said it. Her legs were parted lewdly underneath her blanket, and she longed for his hand to leave her arm and touch her pussy. Privacy be damned. She was past caring. "Shh, shh," he said, pressing a finger to her lips. "Soon you will cum for me, but quietly, quietly. Pay attention to my hands." She tuned back in to the inside of her arm. His fingers were brushing her skin rapidly now, from just above her elbow to halfway down her forearm. His strokes were rapid, as if he were brushing something off her skin, and she felt each one as an electric force, pulsing against her clit.
"Yes," he said, "You're ready. Relax. Let it unfold." She realized she'd tensed every muscle in her body. With a breath, she let go. Her orgasm bloomed in her like a peony, unfurling layer after layer of iridescent pleasure. Marco's hands steadied her, one firmly behind her neck, one still tracing circles on her arm. She gasped and arched silently, on and on, and finally subsided. Pleasure still lingered at her core, sending little spasms through her. She turned to look at Marco and saw his gorgeous smile. She smiled back, and their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss.
She would have gone on kissing him. She imagine she would have climbed on his lap and ridden him if he'd asked her -- but he drew away. "Do you feel wonderful?" he asked, holding her face in his hands.
"I do." She did.
"You are delightful company," he said. "But now--let me help you sleep. After all, you'll be meeting your Mister Craness in the morning. You need to rest." He tucked the blanket around her. His fingers brushed her arm and she moaned. "Mmmm," Marco hummed at her. "But it's time for rest now. Listen to me." He moved his palm over her face, closing her eyes. "Sleep, and wake rested."
She don't think he did anything else. There was no repeated suggestion. Maybe he still had her hypnotised or maybe, replete, she was just ready to drift off. Either way, she fell asleep, and woke surprised as her breakfast tray arrived.
As soon as she’d made up her mind, it was simply a matter of following through. No one told her not to go. Instead, they were vicariously enthusiastic about her upcoming adventures. Everyone had a travel tip. In her email and on scraps of paper, she was presented with scores of contacts for “a friend of my sisters who lives in Amsterdam” and “my high school exchange parents - they don’t speak any English, but you would totally hit it off.” She discarded all these, along with her CD collection, mismatched kitchenware, and far too many pairs of shoes. This was not going to be the kind of adventure one writes home about. Adventures can only go so far when you stay with friends of friends of friends.
And so, without very much money and barely a plan, she gave up her apartment, quit her job, and kissed her lover goodbye. In a week from making her decision, she was boarding a flight to London with all the worldly possessions she cared to keep: a couple changes of underwear, a sexy dress or two, sweater, sandals, toothbrush, lipstick and a novel for those moments when adventure failed to materialize.
At least she didn’t have to buy a ticket. The first leg of her journey was to meet a man she’d met online. They had a tenuous connection, really. And yet she supposed he must have been as intrigued by her as she was by him. After all, she was flying business class at his expense. He told her he'd give her his flyer miles so she could travel in comfort. "Besides," he said, "In coach, you're likely to meet some interesting vagabond. I want you thinking about me when you're over the Atlantic." He didn't figure, she thought to herself as she waited in the endless line at customs, on Marco.
No one could have figured on Marco. Penny closed her eyes for a moment to remember him as she’d first glimpsed him. Handsome. Gentlemanly. And utterly seductive. Had it only been eight hours ago? It felt like a much longer journey. As the line wound on through cordoned walkways, she tried to relive the long flight to London. She wanted to fix it in her mind: her first adventure.
-------------------
Her flight left late - an 8 pm departure delayed until 9:30. She was a bit tired from the ordeal of the airport, but so excited about finally leaving on her adventure that she didn't care. It was a full flight. Mr. Craness had reserved a seat at the side of the plane in one of the two-person rows rather than the four-across middle row.
The passengers boarded mid-plane and Penelope found her seat was only a couple rows back, over the wing. She was eager to settle in and daydream, but when she saw her seat-mate, all thought of silent meditation left her. He was drop-dead handsome. And he was smiling at her.
He rose as Penelope approached and settled her bag on the empty seat next to him. "Would you prefer the window?" he asked, leaning forward solicitously.
"No, no, I'm fine on the aisle," she told him, trying and failing to meet his gorgeous dark eyes. What was his accent?
"Or may I switch seats so you and your husband can sit together?"
"I'm not married," Penelope returned thoughtlessly, tucking her skirt under her as she sat down. She glanced up at his eyes again and saw a faint twinkle. She realized her mistake instantly. Of course he’d been fishing for information. She gave him her best skeptical look.
"Ah. I'm transparent," he said. "Forgive me. I wanted an excuse to talk. I'm Marco," he said, extending his hand. She reached across awkwardly to shake it. "Penelope. But everyone calls me Penny."
"Penny? The smallest coin? Surely you are worth more than that?"
Penelope laughed nervously. Marco’s gaze was really too disarming. She rummaged through her purse as if for something important and carefully arranged it beneath her seat.
They were silent for a while as the airplane taxied and announcements were made. Penny got out a magazine but didn't open it. How could she start their conversation again? It was important to say something before he gave up on her and went to sleep for the whole flight. After all, one is not often trapped next to someone so attractive for eight hours at a stretch. As the flight lifted off, she at last found the courage to ask what he'd been doing in the US. "Visiting some old football friends," he told her. It seemed he'd been a professional soccer player some years past. (Was he really old enough to have a past?) They talked about the sport for a while, Penny embarrassedly admitting her complete ignorance. She asked general questions, like "What was life like on the road?"
"We didn't travel first class, I tell you that," he said. "And you - why are you going to England? I don't think it is business."
"No," she admitted, "I'm just going as a tourist."
"Just a tourist? I think it's more than that. You have the look of a woman who is going to meet her lover." He nudged her arm familiarly. She liked it. Still, she shook her head no. Their conversation rested. This time the silence felt comfortable. She read for a while.
The flight attendant came through offering beverages. “Just water,” said Penny, but Marco grabbed her hand as if they were a couple and asked for red wine for them both. He rapped their hands against the armrest emphatically as he declared, "We must celebrate the beginning of your journey!" Penny couldn't help laughing.
When the wine came, Marco raised his glass to her and she touched hers against it in toast. As she took her first sip, Marco pounced.
"And what is he called, this lover of yours you are traveling so far to see?" Marco asked. Penny nearly choked on her wine. It seemed she wasn’t much of a liar.
But why not answer him? It slipped out so easily. "Louis."
Marco's hand touched hers again, and he smiled wickedly. "I don't think 'Louis' is what you really call him." Penny tried to look puzzled. "I think, when you are alone... you call him something much more respectful."
Penny took another swallow of wine to hide her discomfiture. How did he know?
"I can read so much in a woman's eyes," Marco continued. He ran one fingers slowly down the inside of her arm. His voice was pitched low. "What do you call him - Sir? Master?"
"Mr. Craness," she choked out. It was horribly embarrassing to admit, and yet she felt she couldn’t help herself. It was like she was under a spell.
"Ah, yes, Mister Craness, very proper." Marco's voice massaged the words, making them sound lascivious. Penny felt herself flush.
"Don't worry, little Penny. Mister Louis Craness won't mind my enjoying your company. I know all about his kind."
The cabin lights dimmed as the flight attendant collected their glasses. Penny thought she might read a little while. She felt restless, even vaguely claustrophobic. Despite being in business class, there wasn’t quite enough room. Or maybe it was the tension of sitting next to a handsome man inside the intimate hum of jet engines. She reached to turn on the light, her arm brushing Marco’s shoulder. A searing pain struck her shoulder and she made an involuntary cry of pain.
“What’s the matter?” Marco asked, immediately attentive.
“It’s just a muscle spasm,” Penny said, but Marco was all concern and sympathy. "Let me," he said, inveigling his hand under hers where she gripped her shoulder.
"Ah," she protested, "No," but already his fingers had found their way to a spot that offered relief.
"Breathe out," he said, and her breath released. Why should she not let him help her, if he was willing? He took her shoulder in both hands and moved it, pulling the scapula towards him gently. It felt marvelous. She could feel the pain and tension draining out of her. At the same time, Marco’s nearness took on a new intensity. Handsome, handsome Marco was giving her his full attention, touching her with his warm, intelligent hands.
"You're good at that," Penny said, to break the silence as much as anything.
"It's what I do," he said. "Now that I'm retired from football, I do massage. Or, massage is part of what I do." He lifted her upper arm, rocking it back and forth as his fingers probed the base of her neck.
"What else?" she asked. She felt her neck and jaw relaxing.
"I specialize. I invented a new technique. I call it Hypno-Massage."
Hypno-Massage. How corny, Penny thought. She laughed and as quickly tried to stop herself. “That sounds very interesting,” she ventured.
"Would you like to try it?" he offered.
That sounded like a come-on. The whole idea sounded like a come on. But Marco was still working on her shoulder, and his touch was entirely sincere. "What do you do?" she asked him.
"It's hard to explain. I'd love for you to experience it." His voice was earnest. "I think it would be a wonderful way for you to start your journey. In the right frame of mind - relaxed, confident..." She could tell this was a seduction. Maybe she was a little hypnotized already, because she didn't feel the need to object.
"Alright," she said. "What do I need to do?"
"Nothing, cara. Just put your seat back so you can rest your head."
"Are you going to hypnotize me?"
"Yes, but, you know, it is perfectly safe. You won't go to sleep, you can stop anytime." His voice was soothing. She put her seat back and Marco turned out her light. She felt warm and at ease. "I think," he said, his voice getting lower, "You would like some pleasure. Something to prepare you for Mister Craness."
It was too much. I should stop him, she thought. His knowing tone when he mentioned Mr. Craness. The offer of pleasure. They were on an airplane -- practically public transportation. As her mind protested, Marco was massaging her upper arm, melding pain with kindness as he unwound her muscles. "Pleasure," she heard herself saying in a sleepy voice. "We're--there's no privacy."
"Don't worry. I won't undress you. If you would like, I will touch only your arm." He gazed at her sincerely, and she smiled. It had been a long day. Why not relax. Her eyelids were heavy.
"Wonderful," she said, and let her head fall back against the seat. Marco's thumb ran down her arm, erasing tension. Her whole body began to relax. Her eyes closed.
"Let yourself go," he said into her ear. She could feel his breath on her cheek. "Focus only on sensation." His thumb pressed a knot near her elbow. Pain flared and then faded. He continued kneading her arm.
"I'm going to make my touch lighter," Marco murmured. "But it won't tickle. You'll remain relaxed." His fingers began to run slowly up and down her arm. It felt incredibly sensual.
"Feel my fingers tracing lines of light on your arm," he told her. She could visualise it, glowing white behind his fingers. His thumb grazed the inside of her arm and she shivered with pleasure.
"That's right," he said. "Sink into the sensation. Feel your arm is your whole body." He traced a circle on her shoulder. "Here is your head." His fingers trailed down her deltoid and lingered at its base. "Here," he said, his voice getting lower, "Are your breasts." He pinched her there, very gently. She felt it in her clit. "Yes," he said, "Good. It is as if I am playing with your nipples." His fingers pressed and squeezed. Her chest felt tight. The pressure of her clothes against her breasts became noticeable, and her nipples hardening against her bra.
His fingers slid lower down her arm and for a moment she felt bereft. He was making small circles above her elbow crease, around and around. "Do you feel this in your tummy?" he asked. Speaking felt difficult, so she nodded minutely. "Yes, you do. Good girl. This is your tummy, and here--" he traced the fold of her elbow-- "we are lower still." Her pussy throbbed. Marco traced a triangle along the crease of her elbow, pointing downward. "It feels good, doesn't it? You know where this is." She did. Her body did. Her hips were rocking slowly beneath the airline blanket. His touch lightened. He might only have been stroking the fine, invisible hairs of her arm as he made tiny circles. She could feel the circles like fire around her clit. Moisture was seeping out of her, and her breath was short.
"Mmm," said Marco. "You like that. How beautiful you are when you are deeply aroused." His fingers didn't stop their subtle caresses. "Soon you will reach your peak," he continued. "Soon. Already you feel the energy building, don't you. You crave a finger inside you. A cock, filling you. You long to be fucked."
Every word became true as he said it. Her legs were parted lewdly underneath her blanket, and she longed for his hand to leave her arm and touch her pussy. Privacy be damned. She was past caring. "Shh, shh," he said, pressing a finger to her lips. "Soon you will cum for me, but quietly, quietly. Pay attention to my hands." She tuned back in to the inside of her arm. His fingers were brushing her skin rapidly now, from just above her elbow to halfway down her forearm. His strokes were rapid, as if he were brushing something off her skin, and she felt each one as an electric force, pulsing against her clit.
"Yes," he said, "You're ready. Relax. Let it unfold." She realized she'd tensed every muscle in her body. With a breath, she let go. Her orgasm bloomed in her like a peony, unfurling layer after layer of iridescent pleasure. Marco's hands steadied her, one firmly behind her neck, one still tracing circles on her arm. She gasped and arched silently, on and on, and finally subsided. Pleasure still lingered at her core, sending little spasms through her. She turned to look at Marco and saw his gorgeous smile. She smiled back, and their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss.
She would have gone on kissing him. She imagine she would have climbed on his lap and ridden him if he'd asked her -- but he drew away. "Do you feel wonderful?" he asked, holding her face in his hands.
"I do." She did.
"You are delightful company," he said. "But now--let me help you sleep. After all, you'll be meeting your Mister Craness in the morning. You need to rest." He tucked the blanket around her. His fingers brushed her arm and she moaned. "Mmmm," Marco hummed at her. "But it's time for rest now. Listen to me." He moved his palm over her face, closing her eyes. "Sleep, and wake rested."
She don't think he did anything else. There was no repeated suggestion. Maybe he still had her hypnotised or maybe, replete, she was just ready to drift off. Either way, she fell asleep, and woke surprised as her breakfast tray arrived.
Read at BedPost Confessions, November 2010.
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