CarnalDevices (4 page)

“Please, India.” Phineas’ voice trembles with suppressed
need. “Please do so.”

Beneath his trousers, I sense the impatient twitch of his
member against my thigh. I push his jacket off his shoulders and toss it on the
bed beside the whirring facilitator. The unexpected feel of hard muscle beneath
his shirt delights me. I unbutton it, sliding my fingers inside, tracing the
line of dark hair all the way to his navel.

And what treasures lie beneath? His member, fully erect,
pushes most insistently against my thigh. Remembering Phineas’ comment about
the importance of foreplay, I resist the urge to pull the throbbing member out
of his trousers, push him down on the bed, and mount him like a woman on
horseback.

“Since you value foreplay, I will take my time,” I tease.

“Very well.”

“This is how India of Rajasthan treats her partners,” I
explain. “She educates them in the art of lovemaking. She controls the pace.
She decides which acts are permissible and which are not.”

“Well spoken. Continue to shape your persona, India. Use
your new identity as a tool to discover who you truly are.”

To discover who I truly am. Before this, I thought of India
of Rajasthan as a disguise, a mantle to drape over my usual self. But no, she
is a means of setting free the woman trapped inside me, the dreamer and the
thinker, the woman who hungers for more than simple physical stimulation.

Phineas’ breathing becomes quick and shallow. He desires me.
Me, India of Rajasthan.

Eager, I whip off his shirt, sending it fluttering to the
bed. Ahhh, his pale skin, taut with muscle and sinew. Not the primitive brawn
of a pugilist, but the aesthetically pleasing definition that an artist seeks
in a model. A man whose body is as attractive as his mind.

He is intoxicating, riveting, and I trail my fingers down
his arms, aware of every muscle, every hair, every mole on his tantalizing
flesh. My nubbin awakens, moisture gathers in my warm folds, and my cunny longs
to be filled.

Slowly, while walking forward and forcing Phineas to walk
back until both his legs rest against the side of my bed, I pluck at the
buttons on his trousers. When the last one is undone, I push his trousers down
about his knees. I pull the string on his gray silk drawers and lower them as
well.

Jutting from a nest of curly hair, his member is proudly
erect, nourished by thick, blue veins. I tease the head of his cock with my
thumb. A smile spreads over my face as I realize that the fornication
facilitator has been modeled on his very own length and girth.

“A marvelous appendage, capable of sustained activity, I
presume?” I swirl my thumb against its head and then use both hands to cup his
bollocks.

“Hours upon hours,” Phineas says, flicking my nipples.

I stroke the full length of his cock, squeezing and
releasing over and over again until his eyes roll back in his head and veins
throb in his neck. Playfully I press both palms against his chest and push
quite hard until he loses his balance and falls on the mattress. Still on my
feet, I wedge myself between his thighs.

“Your clothing,” I say.

Phineas sits up and I remove his shoes, socks, trousers and
drawers. Holding my hips, he pulls me close, nuzzling the coarse hair over my
mound, inhaling my musk. Phineas lowers my skirt, undoes my garters, and
removes my black undergarments. After I step out of my underclothes, he fastens
the garters once more.

I stand before him in garters, sheer stockings and ankle
boots. Gone is the sensation of vulnerability, of nakedness, that I usually
feel in the presence of a client. A calm confidence takes possession of me. I
am ready to give myself to this man, since he is ready to give himself to me.

Phineas takes hold of the facilitator. “May I?” he asks. “I
wish to pleasure you with my carnal device.”

“Oh yes.” I lick my lips, imagining the beads swirling in my
cunny, and spread my feet apart.

He presses the tip of the facilitator into me and it slides
into my narrow passage, which is wet and slick and ready. I spread my legs
farther. However, the facilitator’s size is considerable. Whenever there is
resistance, Phineas pulls the device downward and then pushes upward again
until it is slick with my honey. Can I accommodate the cylinder’s full length?

Apparently so. It enters me fully and the muscles in my
thighs clench. The facilitator fills me, stretches me, and the skin at the
entrance to my cunny sings with delight.

“Tell me what pleases you most,” he says.

Phineas plays with the knobs and the beads suddenly swirl
inside me, providing me with a delectable erotic massage. Never have I been
stimulated in this manner before. With a flick of his finger, Phineas makes the
beads spin in a different motion, in quick circular strokes, pressing against
the walls of my cunny, making my nerve endings tingle in response. I gasp and
moan.

“What about this?”

Another flick of his knowledgeable finger and the beads seem
to align themselves, spinning in rows in strong, even movements that threaten
to drive me mad. Each bead seems to generate heat, and warmth seeps into me,
lighting up my very core. Every time the beads sweep the flesh at the nexus of
my cunny and nether lips, a cry breaks from my throat.

“That’s it,” I whisper, my throat so dry I can barely speak.
“Wonderful. Continue. Continue. Continue.”

When I begin to believe there is no sensation in existence
more powerful or more gratifying, Phineas activates the clitoral stimulator.
The moment the twin prongs make contact with my pearl, my body becomes rigid.
The stimulator whirrs and hums. Phineas plays with the switches and the speed
of the stimulator varies, becoming a steady pulse, followed by a rapid
hummingbird rhythm.

“Which do you prefer? Tell me.”

My mouth opens. No sound comes out. “The-the-steady, pulsing
rhythm. The first one.”

“Like this?”

Bursts of sensation shoot through my body, making me so
dizzy I don’t know how much longer I can remain standing. I place both hands on
Phineas’ shoulders to steady myself. Through half-open eyes, I watch him as he holds
his facilitator deep in my cunny. When he looks up at me, sheer joy lights up
his face. He is thrilled that his carnal device is sending me to seventh
heaven.

As am I.

He wants me to experience pleasure. How novel. Men normally
only care about their own needs, never about mine. Phineas is a different breed
of man entirely.

Burst after burst of carnal bliss jolts my nubbin. The
intensity of it blinds me to everything around me. Soon, as my climax
approaches, I close my eyes, shutting out Phineas. I focus only on the beads,
the stimulator, the strong steady rhythms that rack me with pleasure so intense
it is indescribable. Every nerve in my cunny and nubbin is alive. Climax is
approaching. Nearer. Nearer. So rapid. So unexpected and effortless. Such incredibly
overwhelming feelings. Swirling, massaging, rubbing, flicking. I am
lightheaded, woozy with sensation.

“Faster.” My breath escapes in a hiss. “Increase the speed
of the stimulator! Slightly more pressure, ever so slight!”

Phineas is skilled. No sooner do I utter the words than he
compensates. My climax comes quickly and so powerfully it catches me by
surprise. My fingers never produced this sensation, and for the clitoral
stimulation to be coupled with the delicious sweeping motion of the beads is beyond
description. Spasm after spasm racks my core. My hips rock forward as my pearl
seeks additional stimulation.

I throw back my head and call out, “Phineas! Phineas!” My
orgasm consumes me.

After the spasms calm, and the muscles in my thighs stop
shaking, I realize my fingernails have tightened around Phineas’ shoulders,
leaving vivid half-moons in his skin. I also realize every single person in
attendance downstairs must have heard my lusty screams.

“I believe the ladies at Carnal Pleasures are quite jealous
of you at the moment,” he says with a grin.

“Let them be jealous.” I grin back at him, lean over to kiss
his cheek and caress the graying hairs at his temple. “I’m keeping you to
myself.”

Phineas removes the facilitator from my cunny. It is shiny
and wet with my juices. While I am fully satisfied, his member is still swollen
and erect. I lean over and grasp it. “What about you? Do you not wish to
experience coitus?”

“Of course I do, my sweet. But my primary goal is to
initiate you to the pleasures of the flesh, and that has been accomplished. You
must learn to please yourself in order to please others. You are progressing
toward that goal. I refuse to hamper your progress by insisting that I bed down
with you. Too many men have used you in the past. You are not ready to have me
inside you, so I will wait. I can use the male facilitator on myself, if need
be.”

I am most interested in seeing the male version of the
fornication facilitator, but I am even more curious to know how it feels to
engage in carnal activity with Phineas. Skin to skin, without any mechanical
intervention. “What if I do not wish to wait? What if I want you inside me?”

“Are you certain?” Concern flashes over his features.

He does not wish to push me too hard. While I appreciate his
tenderness, I know what I want. The
Kama Sutra
’s reversal roles intrigue
me. The book mentions the woman playing the part of the man, climbing on top
while he lies supine. “Oh yes, Phineas, quite certain. Lie back.”

The old me, accustomed to the swine that populate Silverton
Square, must disappear forever. I must burn every last trace of the old India
and ensure that India of Rajasthan rises from the ashes. The new me knows what
she desires and ensures that she gets it.

He chuckles as I press on his shoulders until he is fully
reclined upon the bed. I place a pillow beneath his head. “I wish to mount
you.”

A smile plays on his lips, and his eyes light up with a
smoldering fire. “It is refreshing to be with a woman who does not expect the
man to make all the effort.”

After straddling him, I take hold of his member, so large,
so full of promise. Remembering the terms from the
Kama Sutra
, I
whisper, “I will take your
lingam
into my
yoni
and pleasure you
until you climax.”

I lower myself, and his tumescent member slides into my
nether regions. The sensation is delightful and my passions take flight. I have
seldom been on top, where I can control my own pleasure. I feel free without
the crushing weight of a man on me. In my experience, men only request this
position when they are drunk or fatigued. Otherwise, they fear it compromises
their masculinity. Phineas seems to have no such compunctions, and I am
thankful for it.

I ride him, briskly bobbing up and down on his shaft,
reveling in the pleasing sensations coming alive inside my cunny. Phineas gazes
adoringly at my breasts as they heave and bounce. His hands slide down my
waist, to my hips and come to rest on my thighs. The mattress yields under our
combined weight, and the bed creaks and groans.

After a while I need to catch my breath, so I lean forward,
brushing my breasts against his chest, letting my hair fall in a silky cascade
over his skin. Fingers massage my scalp, and I utter a soft moan. His palms
travel down my back all the way to my buttocks, clasping them tightly.

Sitting up, I squeeze his torso between my legs. What about
his member? Even if I am still, I can stimulate him. “Will you last for hours
if I do this?” As I speak, I squeeze the muscles of my cunny around his cock.
He gasps and his hips buck. “I plan to put your assertion to the test.” Again,
I squeeze him tight.

“Ahhhhhhhh!” Phineas’ eyes roll back in his head. “Few women
can do what you are doing, India!”

“Is that so?” My muscles clench and this time I squeeze so
hard my face contorts into a grimace.

“If you continue, I will not last.”

“You said you would,” I tease.

“You have unexpected talent.”

So do you.
But I do not wish to say it aloud. This
time I combine the squeezing with an up-and-down movement, bouncing gently like
an equestrian astride a fine stallion. As I rise, I release the pressure on his
cock.

“Tighter!” he wails, fingers digging into my thighs.

I give him what he craves, the ever-tighter clench of my
cunny. His features tell me he is almost there, almost at the point of climax.
His back arches, his hips buck and he holds on tight to my hips, preventing me
from rising. The spiraling ecstasy of his climax is etched on his face.

I watch his face as he ejaculates, his entire body
shuddering with his release. His eyes close. His lips press together and then
part widely as he groans. In the end he relaxes, turning his head to the side,
his fingers still pressed into my thighs. Instead of dismounting, I lower my
upper body against his and we remain joined, his
lingam
growing flaccid
in my
yoni
.

He whispers, “Thank you, India of Rajasthan.”

I shake my head. “Thank you, Phineas, for making me see what
I could not see before. There is pleasure to be had in sexual relations.”

He kisses the top of my head. For the longest time we lie in
each other’s arms and I listen to the comforting beat of his heart. I do not
wish this to end. Although I am not in love with Phineas, I am developing
feelings for him. He understands how my past influenced and molded me. Now he
is helping to sculpt me into a completely different woman.

“Since you and I had never met before today, how did you
know how to please me?” I ask.

“Rowena made it easy to anticipate your difficulties and
desires.” He strokes my hair. “She gave me your card.”

Madam Rowena keeps cards for the ladies as well! How
shocking and inappropriate. On second thought, I understand why she does so.
“Whatever does it say?”