Turnabout by John Warren
At first, the doorman hesitated. All he saw was the black skin and the six-foot six-inch, 250-pound frame. Then, he took in the diamond Rolex Oyster, the custom-made shoes and the suit that had paid for the tailor’s vacation in the Hamptons. Carl nodded politely to him as he walked into the posh East Side watering hole.
The place was filled with a discreet hum of conversation punctuated by an occasional laugh. Elsewhere on Manhattan, people relaxed amid a bedlam of shouted greetings and general chaos. Here, there was pride in understated luxury and muted pleasures. At least, the pleasures are muted in public, Carl thought, planning his next move.
He liked this place. It was so different from the Bronx apartment where he had grown up. There, luxury had been a piece of meat or a place by the heater on a cold night. But, more important, was the effect he had on the people in the room. Rich people, powerful people, but weak and pasty in comparison with him. They might control millions. In this crowd, that was no imprimatur. His portfolio could match and surpass most of theirs, but their bellies were slack, and their arms, flabby. Some might even brag about exploits on the college football field to rival his, but he had maintained his body with a regimen of man-killing exercises. It was still as hard and responsive as it had been when he was a young man, before the hints of gray had appeared on his temples and the beginnings of a webwork of lines had formed next to his eyes.
He loved to see them look at him. The progression was unvarying. The first reaction would be shock, that a black man had penetrated into their citadel. Then, they would see his clothing, and a grudging acceptance would dawn. Finally, they would recognize the aura of maleness, and he would see the shame mute their gaze and they would look away uncomfortably, usually taking a nervous swallow of their drink. Without a word or a gesture, they would know that they had been judged and found weak and wanting.
The reactions of the men were enjoyable, but his real reason for coming was the reactions of the women. This place attracted only two kinds of women: beautiful ones seeking to find a rich, powerful man with whom to find favor and powerful ones mixing with company of their own kind. Sometimes, they were both, powerful and beautiful. These were his favorite. The pampered beauties were always hungry for new experiences, and he was an expert at using that hunger, that curiosity, to satisfy his particular needs.
He went over to the bar and ordered a glass of white wine. Accepting it from the bartender, he turned around and, resting his elbows on the bar behind him, surveyed the room. A flash of red caught his eye and he saw Isobel across the room. She was talking with a balding publisher, but her eyes were looking over the man’s shoulder at Carl. He thought for a moment and then shook his head imperceptibly. She was a sensual and compliant bed mate, but her demanding nature had quickly soured their relationship. He was here for fun tonight. Catching the dismissal, her eyes flared and she gulped her drink, defiantly caressing her surprised companion’s neck with her free hand.
He was still examining the human smorgasbord when a hand gently touched his wrist. He looked down and saw a amazingly lovely cafe’ au lait colored woman in a black velvet dress. The off-the-shoulder neckline plunged to show the tops of high firm breasts. Between them, a diamond and ruby pin held closed the zipper that ran down to the hem. He could see the outline of erect nipples in the soft velvet. Her brown hair was in the kind of disarray that costs three figures and takes most of the day to achieve, and her eyes were sparkling with interest.
Before he could speak, she said, “You’re Carl Parafango, aren’t you.” It was not a question. Her eyes brazenly traveled over his neatly pressed suit and paused quite insolently on the bulge that had appeared in his pants. “I’m Angel Wayne.” Carl nodded to himself as he placed the name. Angel Wayne was also known as the Ebony Bitch and Angle Wayne for her ability to find weaknesses in seemingly impervious corporations. Her specialty was “Greenmail,” a highly profitable technique where she would mount a takeover bid and then allow the beleaguered company to buy her off.
He took a sip of his wine. “Funny, you looked taller in Fortune, he said.
She conceded his point by stepping back and performing a slow turn that showed off her taut body to perfection. “Five feet even,” she said. “I don’t need any more than that.”
Her head was only a bit above the French-cut pockets of his suit. For a moment, he had a fantasy of unzipping his fly and forcing those crimson lips down over his cock. She would only have to bend her head a bit …”
“Ooh, you are glad to see me,” she said, giggling. Shifting her body to shield her hand from the rest of the room, she ran it lightly over the snug fabric.
Carl was used to aggressive women, but this Angel was in a whole new league. It would be interesting to see how aggressive she would be with a pair of handcuffs on her wrists and …
“A strong silent type, I like that,” she said, putting both hands on the bar behind her and lightly jumping up so she was seated on the mahogany surface. This brought her head level with Carl’s chin.
He ran his finger along the seam at the back of her nylons. She inhaled softly and the velvet nipples grew to greater prominence.
He tried to speak but found his throat surprisingly dry. He took sip of wine and tried again. “Do we know each other?”
“Biblically? No. At least, not yet,” she said, still giggling. “But you’ve got a reputation, both on the street and in the bedroom. It was enough to interest me.”
Damn, he thought, she keeps putting me off balance. Well, I can play her game, until we get naked, and then it’s my game, and she better like it.
With a try at casualness, he said, “Which reputation is the one that interests you?”
She looked up and her eyes caught and held him. They were deep brown with tiny swirling specks. “Both.”
Experimentally, he touched her dark breast with a manicured fingernail, drawing a line down the slope toward the line of fabric that offered them to his hands and eyes. She threw back her head and rolled her shoulders back, making her breasts leap to his hand. Whoever had designed the dress’ bodice was a genius; by some miracle, just enough of her breasts remained covered to protect her from immediate arrest. Behind Angel, the bartender looked at both of them with disapproval and then looked away, furiously polishing the already shining bar.
“Yes, they are real,” she said, her face flushed and her voice hoarse. “Do you want to see more of them?”
Without waiting for him to answer, she hopped down from the bar and started across the room. Carl turned and threw a $10 bill on the bar and moved across the crowded room after her. He was so engrossed in the memory of those matchless breasts, he didn’t notice how conversation softened and eyes followed the two of them as they moved across the floor.
He had expected to take the elevator down to the basement garage where his limo and driver were waiting. Instead, Angel used a key to unlock a small panel on the elevator’s wall and then pressed several buttons. He felt his weight increase as the elevator shot upward. Angel looked at him and licked her lips voluptuously. Then, she hiked up the hem of her dress around her waist and jumped. Carl staggered against the elevator’s wall as she wrapped her legs around his waist, put her arms around his neck and kissed him, he tongue exploring his mouth. His briefcase fell unnoticed from his hand as he put his hands under her to support her, discovering she wasn’t wearing underwear.
As the elevator slowed, she gave him a final kiss and then leaped backward to land with the grace of a gymnast. The door opened directly into the living room of the building’s penthouse. Floor to ceiling windows on three sides gave a spectacular view of lower Manhattan and the rivers. She strode right into the center of the room and turned to face him as he collected the briefcase and stepped from the elevator.
Removing the clasp at the base of her cleavage, she carelessly threw it to one side, and then, with a single motions, she pulled the zipper open and allowed the dress to fall from her body.
Carl was used to beautiful women. He enjoyed them with the same careless abandon that he would buy clothing or jewelry. Get the best and then discard it before it becomes tiresome was his motto. But he was transfixed, something in the casual revelation of nakedness, in the proud stance of her body, in the undeniable beauty of that body froze him where he stood for a long moment.
She was a pocket Venus. Her breasts were even larger than he had believed, almost out of proportion to her size, but they were well balanced by the narrow hips and the womanly swell of her hips. Even the pubic hair was perfect, a chubby vertical exclamation point rising from the clearly visible lips.
She struck a pose, hands behind her neck, her body offered to his lust. Neither of them moved for a long moment, and then, with a guttural cry, Carl charged forward, throwing his coat to one side. Her body was open and available; her lips drove him to a greater and greater excitement until what little rationality he retained was drowned under a tidal wave of lust. Four hands pulled and tugged at his clothing. They didn’t speak. The only sound were those of rasping gasps and ripping cloth. Finally, he was naked.
Nuances and perversions were forgotten. His only thought was to push her onto the sofa and thrust his cock into her until she screamed for mercy, but when he grabbed for her, she lightly danced away with a musical laugh. He lunged at her, and she sidestepped him like a matador. Then, she turned on her heel and ran for another room with him lumbering just behind her. Flinging open the doorway, she threw herself on the king-sized bed, rolling on her back and grabbing her ankles in her hands. Her skin seemed to glow on the white silk sheets. Carl was now almost incapable of thought. He flung himself on top of her and penetrated her to the hilt. She was already so wet that his substantial organ slid in without resistance, and he felt her thrust back, welcoming him. Wrapping her arms around his chest and her legs around his upper thighs, she urged him on to greater and greater efforts until the room spun about him and he exploded, filling her with his need.
As the world reassembled itself about him, Carl realized that his body was completely covering Angel and she was making a feeble attempt to move him to one side. Momentarily satiated, he rolled to one side, and she dexterously slid free.
Her face was transcendent with pleasure as she lifted herself on one elbow and looked at him. “You are one hell of a man,” she said breathlessly.
“Sure am, babe. Give me a few minutes and I got some toys in my little case that are gonna give you a fine time.” His immediate need met, Carl began to plan some of the “evening’s activities,” but Angel evidently wasn’t ready for even a moment’s rest. With insistent tugs, she got him to lay face up in the middle of the bed and began to lick his relaxed cock as if it were a ice cream cone. After a few seconds, she put one leg on either side of his left leg and started to rub herself against his upper thigh as she fellated him expertly.
Carl gloried in the evident submission, and as was his habit in the prone position, he reached up and grabbed the tubes that made up the bed’s headboard. The harder his cock became, the harder he clung to the tubes. Soon, his muscles were standing out as he twisted his hands over the brass piping. Angel paused in her licking and slid over his body, licking his muscle-ridged belly and lightly biting his nipples. She gave him a kiss, grinding her body against his. Then, she worked up each arm, kissing and nibbling it.
Carl was so distracted by the sensuality that he failed to feel the cuffs sliding in to place, nor did he hear the faint click of the integral locks. Only when Angel slid off him and stood by the side of the bed did he realize anything was wrong. He tried to sit up and found that his wide-spread arms were securely fastened to the corners of the bed with locked leather cuffs.
“You goddamn bitch; what the fuck to you think you’re doing. If you want to play, OK but you’re the one whose going to be cuffed.” Carl fought the restraining cuffs, tossing his body from side to side, but they were solidly attached. While he was concentrating on freeing his legs, Angel attached a similar cuff to his right leg.
Realizing what she intended to do, he lashed out at her with his sole remaining limb, but she just danced out of range. “Naughty, naughty. How are we going to have fun if you don’t let me tie you up?” she said circling to the left side of the bed. Carl kicked but she stayed just out of range and moved up to the head of the bed. Opening the nightstand drawer, she took out a small black box. For a moment, Carl thought it was a cigarette case and then she gently touched his shoulder with it.
White, screaming pain shot through his body. Again, the room spun, but there was no pleasure here. Carl felt himself lift off the bed supported only by the backs of his hands and his heels. When the room steadied down, he realized he was now chained in an exaggerated X. Looking around, Carl saw Angel sitting in one of the voluptuous bedroom chairs. Somehow, she had opened his briefcase. On the table in front of her, she had already laid out the handcuffs and the riding crop. As she played with the black nipple clamps, she looked up at him and smiled. “Oh, you naughty boy. Were you going to use all this on me?” She took one of the clamps and, with a practiced motion, fastened it to her ripe nipple. She threw her head back and hissed loudly through her teeth. Rising to her feet, she let the other clamp dangle on the end of the short silver chain that connected the two clamps.
Her eyes were glowing as she advanced on the bed. Carl could see that her pussy lips were slick and engorged, and she walked with the embellished hip movement that marked either a professional hooker or a woman in the grip of enormous sexual excitement.
She reached out and touched his foot. Then slowly caressed her way up his taut body until she could run her hand over his cheek. Carl tried to make his voice calm and rational. “Fun’s fun, Angel, but let me up, and we won’t mention this again.”
She looked at him in surprise, as if shocked that he could talk. Tugging on the silver chain, she pulled on her nipple, hissed again and said, “Fun? Darlin’ we haven’t had any fun yet. We’re goin’ have fun all night. It was so nice of you to bring these goodies. I’ve got my own, but it seems kinda fittin’ that you contribute to the party.”
Carl noticed that her voice had become softer with a hint of a Southern accent. She opened and closed the loose clamp a few times and then bent over and sucked on his nipple. He realized what she intended.
“No!” he screamed. “Please, shit, don’t. Arrrrrg.” His voice caught in his throat as the clamp closed on the hardening nipple. Angel’s face seemed to fill his universe as she leaned over and stared into his eyes. He screamed. He begged. He ordered. He pleaded. She just continued to bend over him, staring at him as if he was an experiment she was bringing to a conclusion. Finally, she straightened up. To Carl’s horror, he felt the chain between the two clamps tighten and then his clamp started to pull at the agonized nipple.
He looked at Angel in desperation, but her eyes were cloudy and far away as she continued to straighten up, making both clamps pull and stretch the nipples. Carl tried to shift his body upward to ease the strain, but the cuffs and chains made it impossible to move more than a few inches. Finally, he fell back on the bed. The jerk sent agony radiating outward from his nipple and pulled the clamp off Angel’s breast.
She gave a sharp scream and then fell back on the thick carpeting out of Carl’s sight. He could hear her limbs thrashing and then a second scream, louder with a diatonic edge. When she pulled herself up next to the bed. There was a satisfied, heavy lidded look to her eyes. “You’re a nice toy. You did that just right.”
Despite himself, Carl felt a thrill at these words, an unfamiliar thrill.
She leaned forward on the bed, her breasts crushed against the covers and her hands over her head sensually caressing his body. Angel crawled forward on the bed until Carl could feel her breath, light as a cat’s touch, on his chest. As he strained to watch her, she turned, looked at him, gave a gamine grin — and then pulled the clip from his nipple.
Carl gave a roar and then a louder one as the blood, rushing back into the liberated tissue redoubled the agony. Angel waited patiently until his head fell back against the pillow and then put her lips to the nipple and gently sucked on it. The agony was unbelievable from such a tiny action. Carl screamed and threw himself about like a gaffed fish
Despite, or perhaps, because of, the terror he was beginning to feel, his erection was harder than even when he had first charged into this room. What is happening to me? one small, rational part of his mind asked, but the majority of his soul was being sucked into a maelstrom of pain and sensuality.
Angel rose with controlled grace and took a pair of candle sticks from the dresser. Carl was too sophisticated to think that she was lighting them simply to provide a romantic atmosphere. Too many beautiful young women had experienced the kiss and bite of hot wax from his hands for him to have any illusions.
“Now don’t move. We don’t want to spill any of this nice wax,” Angel said, putting the candles on the bed next to him. The flickering flames held his attention so completely that he didn’t notice her climbing on the bed and kneeling between his outstretched legs. It was only when she pulled his cock vertical that the spell was broken. Even so, he couldn’t quite believe what she was doing until she had lowered her body, engulfing his organ with a single motion. He shook so violently that she had to make a abrupt grab for the candle sticks to prevent them from falling over.
Like a stage conjurer, she waved the candle sticks over his chest while her cunt massaged his cock until it felt as if it had been lowered into a furnace. Then, just as he tensed himself to explode, she upended the candles letting the accumulated pools of wax spill onto his nipple. Instantly, his approaching orgasm vanished like a feather dropped into molten steel. He screamed and bucked like a demented man, but Angel rode him, her eyes never leaving his face.
The tantalizing process was repeated. She squeezed and rubbed until he could feel the bubbling juices getting ready to erupt. Then, in the penultimate moment, she upended the candles on his stomach and buried the pleasure in pain.
It seemed like hours, days, eons that he rode the roller coaster of pain and pleasure. A few times, he watched in amazement as she allowed the hot wax to drip on her nipples or thighs and then moaned in pleasure as Venus’ portal seized him in yet a tighter grip, but before he could erupt she would turn the fiery wax on him and deny him his satisfaction.
Finally, she lifted herself slightly and put the candles on the side table. Carl, feeling her moving away from him, moaned in incoherent loss, but she reseated herself and, leaning forward, brushed her nipples across the crusting wax on his chest.
“Now,” she said softly, like a mother giving a boon to a child. “This time you can cum. Fill me up, toy. I want to feel you fill me up again with your cum.”
The words penetrated the cloud of frustrated sensuality that surrounded Carl and he thrust mightily upward, almost bucking Angel off and confounding his own needs, but she leaned forward and clung with her heels under his thighs. Only three thrusts were needed, and their two screams mingled as one, filling the penthouse.
Carl was too spent to care as he felt Angel disengaging his body from his. Rational thought was beyond him as he floated in a carnal daydream. He didn’t see her pick up one of the candles or feel her stand on the mattress astride his head. The first insinuation that all was not over was something blocking out the light and then a pungent odor filled his nose. Her voice was somewhat muffled, but perfectly clear as the words cut through the self absorption like arc lights through a fog.
“We’re not finished, toy. Angel likes to be nice and clean.” He felt a hand on his chest as she steadied herself. “You know what to do.”
Carl was horrified. He was no cunt licker. That was for the honky bastards who couldn’t satisfy a woman any other way. A bit of graffiti from the projects crossed his mind, “Real men don’t eat pussy.” A drop of something fell from the cunt lips an inch above his mouth. It was sweet and a bit salty. Then, he realized what he had just filled that bitch’s cunt with, filled it to the brim, filled it to overflowing…
“Nooooooo!” The scream was almost inhuman. The sound of a man suspended over a bottomless pit who feels the bitter end of the rope sliding through his hands.
“Yes!” The different between the words couldn’t have been greater. Angel’s voice didn’t contain anything except the firm conviction that her demands would be honored in full, without holding back.
Before the word was completely out of her mouth, she again upended the candle. The pause during which Carl had enjoyed his orgasm had allowed it to create a substantial pool of molten wax in its tip. Every bit of this fell through the air and instantly coated the tip of Carl’s wet and glistening cock. The resultant roar was deafening, and despite the restraining bonds, Carl managed to thrash about so much that Angel was almost thrown from the bed. In danger of dropping the candle, she quickly blew it out and threw it away so she could use both hands to hang on. The struggle was lengthy, but she retained her position by holding on to his kinky chest hair with both hands and gripping his head with her muscular thighs. Finally, the convulsions subsided, and she could feel his panting on her cunt lips.
“Eat me,” she said quietly.
“Please don’t make me. I can’t. I’ll do anything…”
With her left hand, she lifted the remaining candle from the bed stand. With her right, she caught and lifted Carl’s balls, pulling them toward her. “Of course, you’ll do anything. Right now, I want you to eat me. Drink all your nice cum out of my pussy and make me cum.” Angel could hear him begin to gag and she watched his stomach rise and fall convulsively. Before it came to a climax, she poured the wax, not on his balls, but under them, on the sensitive strip of flesh that separates a man’s balls from his asshole.
The scream that followed contained no evidence of humanity whatsoever. Again, Angel disposed of the candle and hung on while the storm of flesh raged. Finally, Carl lay quiet, and she felt the first tentative touch of a tongue on her pussy.
Carl’s head was spinning. He wasn’t really all that sure where he was or what he was doing. However, emblazoned on his soul in big letters was the command “Obey!” The Voice had told him to lick and nipple the pink flesh that pressed against his mouth, and he did — with enthusiasm. It tasted of a curious mixture of tart and sweet as he drove his tongue repeatedly into the heated depths. Abstractly, he noted the sound of gasps, and progressively more often, the object of his attention would shake, quiver and send down a fresh load of juices which he dutifully swallowed.
At first, Angel flicked loose scabs of wax off Carl’s chest as she felt his lips and tongue feed her passion. Then, as the waves of lust carried her higher and higher, she began to play with her own nipples, at first gently, then progressively rougher and rougher until she was pinching them and pulling them with a viciousness.
As she felt herself being carried inexorably toward the peak, she rolled her hips forward, moving her pussy away from Carl’s insistent lips and positioning her asshole in its place. There was a momentary pause, and she could see the muscles in his body tense. Then, they relaxed, and his tongue stabbed deep within her, and she was carried up and away, leaping the stars and flying in some other dimension.
When she returned to the mortal plane, she had fallen forward on Carl’s chest. Her hands were holding his semi-erect cock next to her cheek as a child will hold a favored doll during naptime. Shifting her weight, she rolled off him and into a seated position at the foot of the bed.
Carl’s eyes were unfocused, and his face was shiny with her pussy juices. His head rocked from side to side rhythmically, and he seemed to be humming some kind of simple tune.
After taking a moment to revive herself, Angel took a large plug-in vibrator from under the bed. Standing at the foot of the bed, she said commandingly, “Carl!” There was no response. She repeated herself. “Carl!” Carl’s head lifted slightly and his eyes focused on her. There was a confused wonder and confusion in them, similar to what a person might show on being presented with an expensive birthday present months prior to his birthday.
“You were a good toy. I’m going to reward you.”
She turned on the vibrator. It was so powerful that Carl could feel as well as hear the baritone hum as she held it in her hand like some kind of erotic power tool. She reached out and touched the ball of his foot. Pleasure spasmed through every part of his body. That tiny portion of his brain that remained rational noted the effect with surprise. He had occasionally used vibrators on the women from whom he took pleasure, but he had never thought of using one on a woman’s foot. She moved the vibrator to his arch and even that tiny flicker of lucidity vanished in a wave of pleasure.
For the next 10 minutes, Angel played Carl’s body as if she were a master musician and he, her instrument. Toward the end, he was struggling more mightily with the pleasure than he had, at any point, against the pain. She would touch the vibrator to a place and hold it there, moving it back and forth, until he was screaming and babbling. Then, she would shift it to another place and he would find the already unbearable pleasure redoubled.
For the third time, Carl’s cock became painfully engorged, but Angel ignored this most obvious target. Touching, instead, places that he had always considered insensitive, teaching him that he had been wrong, very wrong.
Carl had long since ceased to be the rational, powerful executive. By the time she put down the vibrator, he was nothing but a mass of primeval passion and cravings. She lay down between his legs and peeled away the skin of cooled wax that covered his cock. If she pulled loose a few hairs, Carl was beyond caring about such things. Then, she began to lick the massive pillar of purple flesh with long strokes, starting at the base near the balls and ending by poking gently at the urethra with her tongue. Balancing herself with one hand, she gently massaged his balls with the other. When she felt them begin to contract in preparation to spending, she put her lips over his cock and caught most of the discharge. Even though it was his third orgasm of the evening, there was more than enough to fill her mouth. A thick stream of come escaped from one corner and ran down her chin.
She lifted her head and caught Carl’s dazed eye. With a lewd wink, she opened her mouth so he could see the result of his pleasure, and then she swallowed without breaking eye contact. Sliding up his body, she sat straddling his chest. With one finger, she wiped the cum off her chin. Holding the white-coated finger up, Angel examined it as if it were a precious jewel. Then, she held the finger out a handspan from Carl’s mouth.
Without demur, he arched his neck and tried to capture the finger in his mouth, but she withdrew her hand. “You have to beg for it,” she said in a soft, friendly voice.
Confusion clouded Carl’s face, but he said, in a hoarse croak, “May I please?”
“May you please, what?”
“May I please suck your finger?”
“What are you going to suck off my finger?”
Something flashed in Carl’s eyes, but the fuel of resistance it might have ignited had been swept away. It vanished, and he said, haltingly, “May I suck my gism off your fingers?”
“You may,” Angel said and extended her hand. The sensation of his lips on her finger was so intense that, for a moment, her eyes unfocused and her body shook.
“You like pleasing me, don’t you, toy?” Angel said slipping off the bed and opening the chest of drawers.
“Yes…” Carl hesitated, something was missing. Then, he added, “Mistress.”
Angel turned around, a bright smile on her face. “You’re nice. Thank you.”
At those words, Carl felt a immoderate joy. He basked in the warmth of her approval while he watched her remove what looked like a leather G-string from the drawer and put it on. Only when she took out two dildos, did he realize the function of the garment. The smaller of the two went inside and slid easily into Angel’s well lubricated cunt. The other when provided her with that which nature had denied women. He watched passively as she slid a condom over the external dildo and then greased it with a thick lubricant.
He knew very well what she intended, and part of him was horrified. It capered and flung itself about its mental cage like a soul berserk, but most of him was placid and accepting, even welcoming the symbolism of the act.
When Angel released his bonds, rubbing his wrists and ankles with gentle hands, he obediently rolled over on his stomach without being asked. He felt her hand caress his ass and heard her say, “Very good, toy. Very good indeed.” A wild ecstasy filled his heart, and he mewed softly.
He felt her hands coax his hips upward until he was kneeling on the mattress, his head pillowed in his arms. Her touch caused him to tremble with an uncontrollable need. When he felt the cool damp plastic touch the crack of his ass, he pushed back, welcoming the possession.
Angel smiled as she saw him reaching with his ass for her cock. She ran a hand over the muscled back and said softly, “You are mine,” while thrusting forward with her hips.
Carl stiffened and moaned softly as he felt himself being torn, split open. With a bit of wonder, he realized he was crying and wondered if it was because of the pain — or the pleasure.
Angel’s lips peeled back from her perfect teeth as the dildo on her side of the harness pleasured her. She bent low and, putting her arms around Carl’s waist, began to fuck him vigorously.
Slowly, for Carl, the pain faded, replaced by a fierce joy. With each thrust, he thought, “Mistress, mine.”