Never: an erotic retelling of Peter Pan (51 page)

And so would Dee, until the tension grew too great in her and she would begin, relating in a husky whisper the tale of her obedience, touching herself intimately as she lingered over every lurid detail; the taste of the man's skin, of his sex, the way they'd touched each other if she'd let herself be touched, how it had made her feel - shivering with expectation or hot and demanding - the words she'd used to bend him to her will, or the look in his eyes as she'd teased him mercilessly.

Armande never spoke at these times, and neither did he touch her.  It was only her words he wanted, the picture.  And so Dee painted it for him as vividly as she could, recalling each of the five senses.

Vividly enough, it seemed, as always before she reached her pleasure she would hear his, the sound of his grunt as the warm fluid spurted over her body.

This evidence of his pleasure was the signal for her to leave and she would do so wordlessly, never knowing whether he'd touched himself, or if her words alone had caressed his organ into its ecstatic eruption. 

Pausing only to shower again, she would return to her own room to sleep, oblivious to everything but the necessity of resting her tired body.  Armande's inventiveness exhilarated, but also exhausted her. 

The previous night he'd instructed her to tie a sailor to his bed and tease him for two hours which she'd done entirely with her fingernails, flicking lightly at times, while at others sinking them deep into the tender flesh - armpits, instep, groin.

She'd enjoyed that - the pain, more so than the pleasure she'd given him.  Pleasure, Dee had discovered, was easily conferred, but to inflict a pain the recipient would appreciate - there was an art she was only beginning to understand.

Pain, and restraint.  At the end of the two hours, she filled her hands with warm avocado and masturbated him, slowly.  The visual stimulus was increased.  His room-mates, who had been waiting impatiently, were now allowed to take her from behind, jabbing into her in rapid succession, jarring her hand as she continued to frustrate the sailor.  She remembered particularly the envy in his eyes as he'd watched them taking what he wanted.

The body-memory of it too, was still strong in her mind and she wondered if that was the reason she was feeling a tingle of arousal at the scene before her, when as yet, nothing of a sexual nature had occurred.  Was it anticipation?  She was sure something
would
happen.

"You see why I didn't send you to Lariat?" Armande asked, and Dee nodded, beginning to understand.  "You simply weren't pretty enough for him."

It wasn't an insult.  She could see exactly what Armande meant.  Lariat's surprisingly deft makeup application had smoothed away the masculine bone structure and enhanced Xavion's already-large blue eyes in such a way that Dee was sure no heterosexual male could resist them.  The full lips that had dominated hers so masterfully were now advertisements for a very feminine, kissable mouth. 

The cropped hair had grown into a cap of black ringlets which Lariat had threaded with strings of pearls and a pink satin cape concealed Xavion's muscular shoulders.  Underneath that cape, his arms were tied behind his back, and inside the room, out of her sight, stood a guard with a gun. 

Dee believed the captivity to be staged, as were her performances, but the props excited her all the same.  She wondered whether Lariat would 'discipline' Xavion if he resisted.  She hoped so.  The thought of watching those beautiful, coral-pink lips part in a moan made her shiver with excitement.

Avidly, she slid her gaze down past the loose cape to settle on Xavion's hips.  Wrapped in a pink leather skirt, those hips were slinky enough to distract her from the slight bulge at the front, and the skirt short enough to draw her attention lower to the smoothly shaven legs lovingly encased in pale pink stockings.  His large feet had been disguised by a pair of high-heeled boots and his ankles bound with matching pink nylon cord.

The overall effect should have looked like something out of
Le Girls
, but to Dee who was so open to sexual experience, Xavion had become more overtly sexual a woman than she could ever hope to be.  The transformation was startling, yet more shocking was her own reaction to Xavion's new femininity.  She found herself responding to him in a masculine way, wanting to master him, to thread her hands through those soft curls and push him down to his knees.  She longed to be a man with a throbbing, hard penis she could press into his mouth.  She wanted to see those coral lips work the tip and then slide wetly down to the base.

Her loins grew hotter as she imagined the sensations that would flow from that penis.  Involuntarily she squirmed on her seat. 

"Still," Armande commanded and she instantly obeyed, but between her thighs the flesh cried out to be touched.

"I've always wanted Xavion," Armande remarked a moment later as Lariat lay his brushes aside and stepped behind his victim to cup those leather clad buttocks in his pale octopus hands.  "His skills were wasted with Pietre."

Dee, so full of her own sexual needs, wasn't sure which skills Armande was talking about.  "I want Xavion too," she said simply.

To which Armande replied, "I know."

Lariat was fondling Xavion's buttocks now but his victim stared straight ahead, eyes unreadable.  Dee wished she knew whether Xavion was adverse to his fate.  His ambivalence towards Josh had made her believe he was bisexual, but this...  This was not something she would ever have imagined Xavion would willingly participate in.  He'd been so masculine a man, so innately dominant a sexual partner that the idea of watching him submit to another male made her stomach churn, whether in fear or excitement she wasn't sure.

Would he truly be made to do something he didn't want?  Was he really a captive?

Lariat was standing behind Xavion, his lean body a stick-insect caricature in the baggy tuxedo, yet he looked like
a man
next to Xavion.  It had to be the makeup, Dee thought, entranced by the delicate beauty Lariat had wrought, as though his brushes and tints had somehow drawn feminine cells from beneath Xavion's skin to replace the masculine.  Yet the body, beneath the candy-apple clothes, was still that of a man. 

The tight skirt moved then and she noticed one of Lariat's hands had insinuated itself between Xavion's legs.  It appeared to be fondling his scrotum.  Dee looked back up and thought she saw a flicker of emotion cross Xavion's face.

"See," Armande whispered.  Dee nodded.  The front of the skirt was bulging in an obvious way.

Lariat's hand rose higher under the skirt to fondle that bulge.  His other hand was stroking under the cape at Xavion's shaved chest, his groin rubbing against Xavion's bound hands.

Dee squirmed again but this time Armande didn't admonish her.  Emboldened, she parted her legs to allow access to her own moist crevice and began stroking and soothing the heated flesh, her fingers starting her down the path to an eagerly awaited orgasm.

Xavion continued staring at the mirror, at the reflection of himself being dominated by a man, yet on the other side of the glass Dee felt as though he was staring straight at her.

Her mind flashed back to the previous night.  The feel of those faceless sailor's hands on her hips, that first hard penis stabbing into her joyously, only to spurt and be replaced by another - other hands, another penis.  And all the time, the sailor lashed to his bunk, watching his room-mates while her agonisingly slow hands worked the creamy fruit around his engorged flesh.

He'd said nothing to her, she remembered.  Hadn't moved, hadn't begged, though his eyes, when he'd looked at her finally, had reflected the torture his body was enduring.  His companions had speculated loud and lurid on whether she might clean the churned fruit from his straining erection with her tongue.  Or whether she would release him to take his turn behind her.  But she'd done neither. 

Obeying her instructions, when each man save the one on the bed had finished their turn behind her, she'd left the room to return to Armande, unconcerned by what the incited sailors might do to their bound and desperately aroused companion.  It had been neither her responsibility, nor her concern. 

They might have turned him over and smeared the thick avocado cream over his ass, poking it inside with their eager 'periscopes', each taking a turn at this new slippery orifice, each humping his ass until the hot liquid gushed into him, pulling out limp to make way for another stiff intruder. 

He might have screamed and fought, wriggling that ass and unwittingly giving more pleasure to his assailants.  Or he might have moaned at the exquisitely tight pressure, at the rough hands that could have reached around to pull on his over-stimulated organ, an avocado smeared ham-fist giving him the release he'd so desperately craved. 

Did Xavion crave that release?  Or was he disgusted by what was being done to him?

Dee didn't know which thought excited her more.  She was panting erratically with pre-orgasmic excitement, her eyes locked on Xavion.

"Stop," Armande commanded, and with heroic control she withdrew her fingers, shuddering as she straightened on the chair.  So close.

She raised the hand to her lips and sucked the fingers, the taste her own warm juices heightening her arousal as she watched Lariat pushing Xavion down onto his knees, just the way she'd wanted to.

"Mmm," she murmured, slurping softly as her tongue worked its way up and down each slippery finger, sliding into the spaces between.

"Still."

Dee dropped the hand to her side and calmed her body, managing to keep the external still.  But inside she was an orgasm waiting to happen.

"Can you date the makeup style?" Armande asked, and she was thankful for the distraction.  Lariat had freed his thin penis and was rubbing it against the coy pink satin of Xavion's cape, the tip brushing curls at the nape of Xavion's neck.