Made For Sex (9 page)

“My…tits…. are hard for you.”

“That's a good girl,” he whispered. He walked down a step so that his mouth was level with her chest. “Hold your beautiful tits so I can suck them. Hold them for me.”

It was both scary and liberating for Carla. Bryce was making her do things she wouldn't do herself, and she felt both compelled and freed. She slid her hands beneath her heavy breasts and lifted them so that the swollen nipples were level with Bryce's lips.

“Good girl,” he purred. He flicked the tip of his tongue up and down over Carla's left nipple. Then he bit it, gently. “Is that good?”

“Mmmm, yes,” she murmured.

He moved from side to side, from nipple to nipple, licking and biting until both breasts were swollen and reaching for his mouth. He turned her, urged her up the stairs and into the large bedroom. He moved to the bedside and turned on a small lamp, bathing the bed with soft light. “Your skin glows,” he said.

Carla stood and dropped her blouse, watching Bryce watch her. Suddenly she realized how good it felt to have someone look at her naked body the way Bryce was looking at her. She was a sex object, and glad of it.

Bryce flipped the covers aside, sat on the edge of the bed, and leaned back on his elbows. “Strip for me, slowly.”

Carla smiled and slowly unzipped her skirt, a bit less embarrassed knowing how she was pleasing him. She stepped out of her shoes, pulled her skirt and slip down and let them fall around her feet. She stood, wearing only her garter belt and matching stockings and her sheer white panties.

“Take off the panties,” Bryce told her, “but leave on the rest. I want to see your pussy-fur surrounded by white lace.”

Words like pussy made her tremble as she removed her panties. She stood and watched Bryce's gaze wander slowly over her body. “Nice?” she asked.

“Lovely,” he said. “But you're a little too calm. You're getting too comfortable. Let's heat things up a bit. I want you to massage your breasts while I watch. Pinch your nipples.”

When she did as he asked without much hesitation, he said, “Exhibiting your body doesn't make you shiver the way I want you to. What seems to tantalize you is saying those words.” As he watched her blush he knew he'd found the way to make her hotter. “Say to me, ‘My pussy is wet for you.'” When she remained silent he laughed. “You'll need to learn to say those things so I'll have to train you. Walk over here.”

Bryce sat up as she walked to the side of the bed. When she started to sit down, he said, “Not yet. I want to make it difficult for you to stand up.” She sighed and stood between his knees. “Now,” he said, “when you're a good girl and do as I say you'll get your reward.” He slid his finger into her wet pussy, touching her erect clit, then pulled his hand back.

“And when I don't?” Carla asked.

“You'll have to just stand there and wait. Understood?”

Carla nodded.

He leaned forward and blew cool breath through her pubic hair. She shivered and he said, “Good. Now say, ‘Play with my pussy.'”

“Oh God,” she said, feeling her juices soak her crotch. “It's so good when you touch me.”

“Like this?” He caressed her clit again.

“Yes.”

He pulled his hand back. “Then ask for it.”

“Touch me.”

“No. Not good enough,” he said. “I told you what to say.”

“Play with my…pussy.”

“Good girl.” He slid one finger between her swollen lips. He could feel her muscles react to his touch. “Do you want more?”

Her hips were moving involuntarily. “Yes. I want more.”

“Then say, ‘Put your fingers into my pussy.'”

She was going crazy. She wanted everything. “Put your fingers in my pussy,” she said.

When Bryce saw that Carla was shaking so much that she was about to fall, he said, “Lay down and spread your legs so I can see your beautiful pussy.”

She stretched out across the bed and parted her legs. “Aren't you going to take your clothes off?” she asked.

“Not yet, angel, not yet. We're not finished with your lessons yet. We have to continue to increase your vocabulary. You've learned to say ‘pussy' too easily. Say ‘cunt.' Yes. Say ‘Finger-fuck my cunt.'”

Oh God, she thought. I can't say those words. She swallowed hard and shook her head.

“Such a bad girl,” Bryce said when she remained silent. He leaned over and roughly spread her legs wider. Then he blew a stream of air on to Carla's cunt and watched as her skin quivered. He flicked his practiced tongue over her exposed clit, then blew cool air again. “Say ‘Finger-fuck my cunt.'”

It was torture. The alternate warm and cool sensations were driving her wild. She reached toward her pussy but Bryce grabbed her hands and held them at her sides. “Oh no. You can't relieve yourself that easily. Only I can give you what you want and you're going to have to ask for it.”

She wanted his fingers inside her. Mindless with desire, she said, “Please. Finger-fuck me. Put your hand inside my cunt. Please.”

“Oh yes, baby.” He inserted first one then two fingers into her cunt and spread them to fill her. He pulled out, then rammed them inside. With his other hand he rubbed her clit until both of them felt the ripples of Carla's first orgasm.

“Don't stop,” she screamed. “Oh God, don't stop.”

“I won't, angel,” Bryce said, feeling the orgasm roll over her entire body. “Let go. Let it devour you.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” She spasmed for what seemed long minutes. When she calmed, he stood and pulled off his clothes. His large, fully erect cock stood straight out from his groin. Hungrily she watched his hand stroke the smooth, hard flesh.

“I love the way you watch my hands,” he said. “Do you want to touch me?”

“Yes. Let me touch you. Let me take you in my mouth.”

“Ahh,” he said. “You like sucking cock. Tell me.”

“Yes. I want to take you in my mouth.” She sat up, watching his cock.

His hand slid over his hard penis, to the tip, then pulling back to the root. “Say, ‘I want to suck your cock.'”

Those words again. Carla could feel her body tighten. “I want to…”

“Tell me.”

“I want to suck your cock.”

He leaned over and held his hard cock against her lips. “Open for me, angel,” he said. “Suck me into your mouth.”

When she pulled him into her mouth he let his head fall back. She was good, giving him exquisite pleasure. Her mouth was slippery and hungry and her tongue slid all over his smooth flesh. She pulled back until the tip of Bryce's cock rested against her lips. “Say ‘I want you to suck me',” she said, grinning.

He laughed, then said, “I want to fuck your cunt.” He pushed her backward on the bed, slipped on a condom, and drove his large penis into her steaming pussy. Her stocking-covered legs wrapped around his waist and her hips bucked. Over and over he drove hard into her body.

“Yes, angel. Oh yes,” he yelled.

“Hard inside me. Don't stop!” she cried.

They came, first Carla, then Bryce. Still entangled, they rested for a few minutes.

“That was unbelievable,” Bryce said later. “I'll tell you something you aren't going to believe. It's never been any better.”

“Ummm,” Carla said. “For me either.”

“You're a desirable woman. And from what Ronnie told me, you're going to get to channel your charms into a productive business.”

“Yes, I am. And I now know that it's going to be okay. I had almost forgotten how much I love fucking.” She laughed. “I can even say ‘fucking' now, thanks to you.”

“Next time we'll have to find something else to play.”

“Next time?”

“Certainly. I'm not letting something as good as you get away. And next time I'll happily pay for your attention.”

“You don't have to pay me. This is too much fun.”

“If you intend to go into business, your first lesson is not to give it away,” Bryce warned. “And I hope you'll enjoy it every time with every man you're with. Especially me.”

C
arla and Ronnie had lunch together the following afternoon in Ronnie's living room. “From your contented look,” Ronnie said, swallowing a bite of grilled mushroom, “I assume Bryce did right by you.”

“He sure did. It was wonderful.”

“I'd love to hear all the details,” Ronnie said, “But I don't want you to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

With a laugh, Carla said, “That's very funny coming from you and considering the business we have in mind.”

“You still have the right to be uncomfortable about things. You give up no rights here.”

“I know, and thanks.” Carla proceeded to tell Ronnie about the previous evening, chapter and verse.

“This tendency you have to be submissive could be a profitable addition to our business. You know that I tend to be the dominant one and I have many friends who enjoy playing with me. But lots of men like to be the master. Well,” Ronnie said, spearing a shrimp with her fork, “we'll figure that out as time goes on. First, I'd like you to think about changing your appearance. Making yourself look more sophisticated. I'd love to get you an appointment with Jean-Claude.”

“The Jean-Claude? The one who works with all the stars?”

“That's him. And he's done pretty well for himself since he and I first met,” Ronnie said. “He did a makeover for me a long time ago, when he was still a hairdresser named Jimmy and I was still relatively monogamous. He did my hair, taught me how to use makeup, how to select the most becoming clothes, the works. I recommended him to my friends. He'll do wonders for you.”

“Am I that bad?”

“You are perfect for the supermarket and the PTA but not quite right for men who want to take you out and show you off. Like last evening. In addition to how it will make you feel, it makes a man feel potent if the woman he's with makes others' heads turn.”

“I guess you're right.” Carla crossed the room and looked at herself in the antique mirror that hung over the maple desk. She lifted her long brown hair and turned left and right to study her face. As usual she wore only rouge, gray eyeshadow, and lipstick. Her earrings were simple gold hoops. “Do you think Jean-Claude could do something with me?”

“You bet.” Ronnie looked sheepish, then said, “As a matter of fact, you're due at his studio in about an hour.”

Carla's laughter was immediate. “You were so sure?”

“What woman could resist putting themselves in the hands of a talented, gorgeous Frenchman with the soul of a lover?”

“Does he know about you and this?” Carla said, waving her arm around the lavish room.

“Actually he's a good source of referrals,” Ronnie said. “He works around celebrities and he occasionally meets someone who wants discrete company.”

“You've entertained celebrities? Here?”

Ronnie sighed. “Russell Street was here just last month.”

“I'm impressed,” Carla said. “Russell Street.”

“Don't get starstruck. Eventually you may entertain someone famous, but what they want as much as anything else is a companion who'll enjoy cavorting without the trophy-collecting mentality that groupies are known for.”

“Well,” Carla said, “if I'm due at Jean-Claude's, I'd better take a quick shower and wash my hair. Are you coming too?”

“I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

Jean-Claude did wonders. He cut Carla's hair short so it formed a soft frame around her face and rinsed in a slight reddish highlight. He and Ronnie spent an hour showing Carla how to put on her makeup and select clothes that would best accentuate her lovely figure. Together they tried earrings and necklaces on Carla to see which complemented the shape of her face and her large brown eyes. Jean-Claude's manicurist redid her nails in a bright shade that Carla thought of as hemorrhage red.

Finally, when she studied herself in the mirror, Carla was thrilled. Her eyes appeared larger and her cheekbones seemed higher. Dangling gold earrings made her neck look longer and the teal scarf Jean-Claude had draped around the collar of her white blouse brought out the pink in her cheeks.

“Remember when we…uh…ran into each other that morning last summer?” Ronnie said with a wink. “You described yourself as medium brown and average, average, average?”

“I did, didn't I.”

“And now?”

Carla gazed at herself in the mirror. “Well, I have to admit that I'm not half bad.”

“Not half bad indeed.”

When Carla arrived home late that afternoon, her boys just stared. “Hey, Mom, what's with the new hair and stuff?” Tommy asked.

“I had a makeover. My friend Ronnie suggested it. Do you like?”

“Heck no,” Tommy said. “You look like a model or something, not like a mom.”

“Yeah,” her youngest chimed in.

“I think I'll take that as a compliment.”

“Cut it out you guys,” BJ said. “Mom's looking for a man. It'll be good for her, dating and all.” He patted her on the arm and Carla suddenly realized that her thirteen-year-old son was almost as tall as she was. “It's okay, Mom. If you find a nice man, I'll explain it to these guys.”

“Thanks, BJ,” she said, completely nonplussed, “but I'm not looking for a man. I just want to look nicer for my business meetings.”

“You know as well as I do,” BJ said, “that grown-ups need a partner. Hormones and all that.”

“Oprah again?”

“Yeah. And we learned about that in sex education.”

Carla tried not to laugh.

“Will you still cook and stuff?” Tommy asked, his eleven-year-old mind not yet taking it all in.

“Of course. If you'll let me get into the kitchen we'll do Barrett-burgers for everyone.”

Three days after Carla's session with Jean-Claude, Tim Sorenson maneuvered his station wagon into the parking space that appeared unexpectedly when a van pulled out from right in front of Ronnie's door. He sat for a moment, thinking about his assignment: to take photos of Ronnie's friend Carla for an album like Black Satin. Ronnie had told him a lot about the woman he was about to meet and he was confident that he could do a professional job.

Since his first evening with Ronnie, Tim had come a long way. He'd managed to tell his father that his working life wouldn't revolve exclusively around the oil business and, to his dad's credit TJ had taken the news just fine. Although he still worked at American Oil and Gas Products with his father, Tim now also viewed himself as a photographer. His work had appeared in several photography magazines and two of his views of the California coast were appearing more and more frequently in photo stores. Clients wanting Tim to do portraits had to book him three months in advance.

More important, thanks to Ronnie, Tim had discovered the joy of sex, to borrow a famous phrase. His new vibrancy showed in his work. Women seemed more beautiful, men more robust. His first serious photographic assignment had been the nearly two hundred pictures he'd taken of Ronnie for her album. During that photo session they'd made love in ways Tim hadn't dreamed of and they'd been together several times since. He now considered himself a sexual sophisticate. And he loved it.

He climbed out of the driver's seat and unloaded cases from the back of the wagon, stacking lenses, camera bodies, and video equipment. He also pulled out a nylon bag filled with goodies he'd gathered after his long conversation with Ronnie about Carla. He walked up the steps and rang the doorbell with his elbow.

When Carla answered the door she saw a wholesome, appealing looking young man standing on the stoop, his hands filled with black leather cases. Tim held the handle of a blue nylon gym bag with his teeth, which muffled his words. “Catch the top one,” he mumbled. “It's going to fall.”

The case toppled from the stack and Carla neatly caught it, tucked it under one arm, and snatched the bag from his teeth. “You certainly come prepared,” she said.

“Overprepared, one might say. May I come in? This stuff's heavy.”

“Sorry,” Carla said, stepping away from the door and holding it open with her foot. “Come on in.”

As if familiar with the house, Tim walked directly into the living room, dumped the cases on the leather sofa, and extended one hand. “Hi. I'm Tim, as you already know, and you're Carla.”

Carla shook his hand and was charmed by the warmth of both his grip and his open smile. As Tim sat on the sofa and unsnapped his cases, Carla settled next to him and curled her feet underneath her. “Nice to meet you, Tim.”

“Me too. I've talked about you with Ronnie and I've got some dynamite ideas about this shoot.”

“You and Ronnie talked about me?”

“Sure. She helped me get a handle on what kind of pictures you want. I hope you don't mind.”

“I don't. What did she tell you?”

“Just that this is your first venture into this…uh, business…and that you want shots for your album. I've got ideas about that but, if it's fine with you, I'd like to keep them to myself for the time being. Anyway, what do you think of Ronnie's album?”

“Impressive.” Carla thought about the erotic photos of Ronnie and wondered whether she'd be comfortable enough with this stranger to pose like that. She twisted her fingers in her lap. “Ronnie looks so great.”

“Yeah, they did turn out well. But I had a good subject.” Tim studied his new subject more closely and muttered aloud as he thought. “Great eyes, fabulous cheekbones, great skin so there'll be no problems with close-ups.”

Carla squirmed under Tim's scrutiny, glad of the job that Jean-Claude and Ronnie had done with her. She ran her fingers through the cap of soft waves and nervously licked her lips. Tim's smile was warm and understanding and since his manner was both professional and friendly, she began to relax.

“I'm sorry you're nervous,” Tim said. “I think you'll find the nervousness wears off quickly once we start.”

“I hadn't realized how anxious I was about this. I really don't know exactly what to do.”

“Don't worry about that. It's my job. Would you stand up?”

Carla stood, her hands hanging awkwardly at her sides.

“Relax,” Tim said. “You're going to be great.” Long legs he thought. A great body, magnificent breasts. He decided to take a risk. Either he was going to get terrific, sexual pictures or he was going to blow it before he even took one shot. “I can see your nipples through your shirt,” he said softly. “Any man would want to suck them.” He watched her body react and knew just how to get the attitude he wanted.

Carla was a bit surprised by the language coming from this stranger, but excited too. Although they shocked her, she realized his raw words also aroused her.

“Can I get you a drink or something?” she asked.

“Actually I'd like to get started, if that's okay. This light is wonderful and I'd like to get a few head shots right here before we do anything else.”

Carla used the mirror over the desk to touch up her makeup. “Where would you like to start?”

Tim shoved a chair toward the window, adjusted its position several times and said, “Sit here and let's see.” Carla settled into the chair but Tim shook his head and pulled her to her feet. He moved the chair slightly and sat her back down again. “Yeah. That's nice,” he said finally.

Heeding Jean-Claude's advice, Carla had selected a simple kelly green tank top and black palazzo pants. She added a gold chain with large open links and oversized gold earrings. As she settled in the chair, she fluffed her short hair and Tim watched the sunlight coming through the window catch the reddish highlights. She had used three shades of eyeshadow, liner, and mascara as Jean-Claude had shown her and, with the addition of rouge and lipstick, she had been pleased with the results.

“You look smashing,” Tim said. “Now turn your head this way and tip your head.” He spent several more minutes peering through the lens of his camera and adjusting the tilt of Carla's head and the angle of her shoulders. He also set up a video camera on a tripod, aimed at her chair.

“Video?”

“Sure. You'd be surprised how many men will enjoy watching you on tape, knowing that you're in the room with them, naked and willing.”

“I never considered that but I'm getting an education quickly. Does Ronnie have a video?”

“Several. I'll shut it down if you don't want it.”

Carla stared into the video camera's eye and found that being on display was exciting. Go the whole way? she asked herself. Who am I fooling? Damn straight I will. “Leave the camera running. It's fine.”

When Tim had her positioned to his satisfaction, he said, “Now close your eyes.” When she did, he said, “Picture yourself lying stretched out on your back on a blanket in a secluded clearing in a forest. The sun is beating down and heating your face. Can you feel it?” When she started to nod, he said, “Don't nod, just tell me. Is the bright sun hot on your skin?”