"Chris…" Wendy said casually as she bent over her spent lover, her full round breasts pressing into his belly as she fondled his cock in her hand, "have you ever… have you ever fucked anybody from behind?"
"You mean, doggie fashion?" the relaxed youth asked.
"No… I mean…" she placed her lips over the head of his cock, savoring the taste of their commingled sex juices. She licked it tenderly, feeling the organ begin to harden again. Her desire for him still was not sated. She wanted more and more!
"No… I mean, where you had your finger?" She felt a little shy about asking him. Perhaps it was morally objectionable to him.
"Greek style, eh? Well, no, I haven't tried it… not yet. Is that what you want to do next?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she sucked harder at his cock, thrilling to the feel of its growing hardness in her mouth. She would like to suck him into orgasm in her mouth if she didn't have such an aching want in her loins, a want that demanded his long, thick rod of flesh.
Chris couldn't believe that Wendy actually wanted him to ass-fuck her. Hell, Jill would never let me do that, married or not! he mused inwardly. He had all those frustrating months of unfulfillment with Jill to work off, those days and nights of torments when she would break away whenever his penis hardened up against her skin. Now he could relish his naked erections, knowing that Wendy was only too happy to have him do whatever he wanted with her. The thought of fucking her up the anus appealed to his curiosity. He'd always wanted to try it, but never believed any girl who wasn't a whore would stand for it. And Wendy was suggesting it! Live and learn. Her uninhibited sensuousness appealed to him so much now that he would have fucked her nose or her ears or her navel, and with her massaging mouth and hand on his heated cock, he felt he was her's anytime she liked.
Wendy raised her head, noticing the sex-crazed expression in his eyes. "Well…?" she said seductively. He grinned at her, then reached for some loose pillows to place under her belly, elevating her beautifully rounded asscheeks in the air. The two sensuously curving mounds captured his gaze, and he reached out as if in a trance to run his coarse hands over them again and again. They were like warm marble. Wendy moaned in encouragement.
Finally, he used his fingers to spread the gently quaking cheeks as he darted his tongue into the puckered center, bringing a louder moan of pleasure to the girl whose long dark hair spread out over her shoulders and fanned out along her bare upper arms. She had her fingers in her pussy and was slowly but wantonly caressing the slick crevice, an erotic display that brought Chris' penis into a harder state of electric pulsation. He placed his bulbous cock-head against her wet pussy long enough to spread some of their coital wetness around the intruding hardness. They both instinctively knew that his heavily straining cock would need to be well lubricated to slide into the tight little walls of her asshole.
Holding her ass-cheeks wide apart, he began to push the head of his cock into her pinkly puckered anus, which yielded, amazing as it was, enough to take the thickness of the glans. (His own seeping seminal fluid helped.) Wendy gasped and bucked forward slightly.
But she came back hard against it, surprising Chris and causing him to lose his balance momentarily. Wendy stopped rubbing her clitoris with her finger and reached low to cup his balls in her hand, trusting him to move up into her anus slowly. He stopped thrusting, letting her move back onto him according to her own comfort level, gradually skewering herself deeper and deeper.
Chris was astounded that such a small opening would enlarge enough to take his thickly swollen cock and just as astounded that he liked the feel of it very much. It was tight and hot inside, and achingly exciting to his stiffened hardness. He was in a position which allowed him to reach over her back and cup her pert breasts in his hands and he could feel the softness of her legs against his – the farther in his cock went the closer he came to feeling her satin-smooth buttocks against his loins. Jeez – I sure didn't know about THIS! he marveled to himself.
He was far enough in now to be able to experimentally move his hot shaft back and forth a little in her slickly clutching anus. His balls felt wet from the oozing cuntal juices stimulated by Wendy's masturbating.
"You're in, lover!" she cried out excitedly. "It feels great. But easy does it, OK? I don't want to be disemboweled! How does it feel to you?" Little mewls of pleasure began to escape from her throat.
"Fantastic! I love it! And don't worry, sweets, I'm not going to tear you apart – I just might try to, though!" With that he pushed his obscenely impaling weapon hard forward as far as it could go. He couldn't stop himself. The tightness of her anus and the feeling of her finger-fucking herself on the other side of the thinly separating membrane drove him to a maddening desire to fuck as hard as he could go.
"Aarrrggghhh… owwwooo…" Wendy shrieked, crashing her loins forward to take the shock of his thrust, moving so suddenly the young mechanic had to throw his hand around her and grab her pussy to make sure his impaling rod stayed hard into her anus. The mound of cushions separated and got pushed to each side of the young girl's body, so that Wendy lay flat on her belly with Chris mounted on top of her. The sharp pain of his rough intrusion subsided and her moans of pain turned to mewls of pleasure as he started to pump his cock slowly up inside her. He replaced the throw pillows so that Wendy had some elevation and was able to get her middle finger between the inflamed lips of her pussy again.
He was certainly heavy – Chris was six foot three – nevertheless, she found the position immensely pleasurable and could tell by the way he was enthusiastically fucking away that he was enjoying it, too. Remarkably, his distended shaft was now sliding easily inside her, encouraging her, as she mewled endless incoherent whimpers, to rotate her moving rounded buttocks lewdly back at him in a brazen fury, grinding her hot, tightly clinging anal passage back over the throbbing length of his turgid cock.
Again she cried out hysterically, this time with a renewal of her orgasmic delirium brought on by the action of Chris' thrusting cock and her own manipulation of her clitoris.
"I'm cuuumm-iinng again, Chris! Oh, you fantastic lover! Oh, ooohh… it mustn't stop… don't let it stop eeevvverrr…" the befuddled girl begged, feeling the molten fire of her orgasm course through her body as Chris stepped up his relentless asshole fucking.
Fired up by her orgasm, Chris knelt up and pulled on her thighs, doubling her into a jackknife position to implant himself more deeply. He fucked furiously on, his balls slapping against her buttocks as the dribbling wetness trickled down the trembling softness of her inner thighs.
Again her cries of "Don't stop… don't ever stop!" filled his ears as he slammed hard against her white ass-cheeks in one frantic lunge, emptying his balls deep inside her quivering rectum, deep into her belly, the long, hard spurts triggering sensations of shattering satisfaction that caused her to gasp to the rhythm of his jerking spasms.
Wendy sighed contentedly, stretched out like a cat on the shag rug and murmured, "That was beautiful… just beautiful. You'll never get rid of me now, Chris… I'll do anything you like… I'll never leave you…"
Chris heard what she said, and he knew that Wendy meant it. It kind of shook him up. On the other hand, he thought as he looked down at her beautiful and well-satisfied form, maybe that's not such a bad idea…
"My, my, my. If you're not the prettiest girl in San Francisco!" Dawson gushed as she opened the door to greet him. He was practically watering at the mouth. He took her portfolio and quickly ushered her into the waiting taxi. As the cab pulled away from the curb, Jill glanced up to see Josephine peering from behind one of the dusty brocade draperies.
Dawson couldn't take his eyes off the young brunette, and no wonder – Jill had to concede that the red dress was a very flattering choice. Her luscious breasts stood up from the low decolletage, and the dress swung freely around her legs from the hips, where it hugged her figure perfectly, without being overtight. The sexy platform shoes made her long legs seem even longer and more shapely. She had even worn a red silk rose attached to a narrow velvet band around her neck, and the effect was charmingly provocative. Her dark tresses shone with touches of brilliantine, and she smelled subtly of exotic flowers. The total effect was devastating, and very Latin, though she hadn't consciously put things together to appear anything other than a totally American girl.
Dawson was obviously impressed, and it became apparent to Jill, from the man's nervous gestures and his confused babbling, that something was bothering him. Something was, all right – his cock! He could barely keep it in his pants, so turned on was he by the innocent art student. How would he ever be able to wait until after dinner?
Something was bothering Jill, too; several things, actually. Ever since she had drunk Josephine's tea, she had felt strange flutterings in her lower belly, and in her pussy. It seemed as though everything that touched her down there produced sexual arousal. She couldn't understand it, but rationalized that the feelings were a carry over from her fingerfucking in the bathtub.
Secondly, she hadn't been able to get a satisfactory answer from Dawson as to his wife's whereabouts. He evaded the question until she finally asked him again, point blank.
"Jack, I didn't get what you said about your wife. Is she still at the motel?"
"My wife? Oh, why, eh… to tell you the truth, little lady, Merle's having a short nap. She made me promise not to tell you… didn't want you thinkin' she was an old fogey. But the truth is she got wore out shoppin' today. She's not used to doin' all that walkin' – down where we live ever'body drives, you know." The big man chuckled a bit too heartily.
"But she will be joining us for dinner, won't she?" Jill asked somewhat anxiously.
"Well she'd better, or she's going to hear about it from me! Now don't you worry, Jill," he added, patting her hand solicitously, "we're going to take good care of you… very good care of you. Just think of Merle and me as foster parents…"
The taxi pulled up in front of the Fairmont and the liveried doorman stepped up to help them out of the vehicle. Jill got a very appreciative and curious look from the cab driver, which made her blush. He obviously thought she looked pretty good too.
"Might as well have Ernesto take a look at your portfolio right now, Jill, don'tcha think?" the printer said as they walked on the plush floral carpeting towards the tower elevators.
"I think that's a super idea," she bubbled. "I hope Mr. Garcia likes my work as much as you do, Jack."
"Honey, I know he's going to love every bit of it!"
The dashing Colombian was wearing another elegant suit, this one of charcoal gray silk. His shirt was the palest shade of pink, and he adorned his necktie with a small diamond stick pin – one which matched his cuff links. Jill got a whiff of his cologne as he ushered her into his luxurious suite. The effect was intoxicating. She thought Garcia even handsomer than she had remembered him. He looked like one of those society men who pose for Town and Country Magazine, and his courtly manners, his deep voice with its educated accent, and in particular, the way he looked at her, gave her strange feelings that she couldn't quite cope with. She was terribly impressed, and more than that, she found herself quite attracted to the smooth Latin. Suddenly her clothes and her look seemed all wrong. The dress, the ridiculous shoes and the seamed stockings and rose became a costume for some lifesize Barbi doll. At that moment, she would have been more comfortable in her jeans and tee shirt; at least that was honest. Garcia was in no way taken in, though he would be the last to show his amusement in front of her… he was too well bred for that.
"How beautiful you look, Jill," he said, taking her hand and pretending to kiss it as he looked into her eyes. An involuntary tremor caught her off guard, and she let it move her shoulders. This made her feel even more like a kid. "You've brought some samples of your work for me to see. Good. Let's have a look at them. Oh, may I offer you an aperitif first?" he said, with a gracious and assured smile.
His skin was smooth and deeply tanned. When he smiled, a few furrows around his eyes made him even more attractive. Jill guessed him to be in his late thirties, though he certainly didn't look "old" in any way. There were a few strands of gray in his dark, sleek hair. And he had beautiful hands, with long, elegant fingers. She would love to sketch his hands.
"Oh, why…" she stammered.
"I'll take care of the drinks, Ernesto," Dawson interrupted. Jill was terribly relieved… so that's what an aperitif was, a cocktail!
Jill arranged a few acrylics on the vast marble coffee table. Garcia, sitting next to her on one of the seven foot couches, studied the paintings critically, his well-manicured hand brushing his narrow upper lip in a slow, sweeping motion. This was a group of still lifes – not his favorite subject. One of the paintings was quite amateurish, although the color was good. But the brush work and the general composition reeked of "student cliche".
"Very interesting. Lovely highlights on this one, and I can see you have a well-developed sense of color, Jill."
"Thank you," she acknowledged breathlessly, and yet, in the presence of Ernesto Garcia, she was suddenly able to see flaws she had never noticed before. She realized the things were simply not that good, and she regretted bringing them.
The next grouping showed abstracts. Garcia's face reflected greater interest – he happened to be very knowledgeable about abstract art; Klee and Miro were two of his favorite painters, and he very much admired Alexander Calder. But he was also more critical. The abstracts were hopeless, though he didn't tell Jill that. He tactfully complimented her on the best aspects of each painting and asked to see the next drawings. He was very interested in those. The girl did have a feel for the human form that was not visible in her still lifes and abstracts.
"These nudes are promising, Jill. You've done the boy very well… is he a special friend of yours?" Garcia wanted to know.
The drawings were of Chris. He had a beautiful body. "Oh, oh no," she lied, "it's just a model they use a lot at school."
Dawson was leaning over their shoulders, a gesture which particularly irritated Garcia. "Sure is a ha… sure is a handsome fellow." (He had almost said "hung"!) Garcia did not turn around, but his icy vibrations were so powerful that the printer quickly stood upright and walked a few steps away. "I think she's a real find, don't you, Ernesto?" he added.
"Decidedly," came the level reply.
When the gallery owner had carefully studied the last of the figure drawings, he turned to the portraits. It was in these that Jill excelled – yes, the human face and figure were definitely her purview. An idea came to him.
"Jill, have you determined what it is you want to do with your art? That is, what do you hope to achieve with your studies?" he queried, looking intently into her eyes. Again, she felt an involuntary shiver course her spine, and she squirmed in the soft, deep cushion of the long couch. Delicious little sensations of pleasure reverberated through the walls of her pussy, and she couldn't understand why she felt so turned on. Was it Garcia, or something in that strange tea Josephine concocted? She had never been turned on like this without overt stimulation… Chris' tongue, or her own hot fingers…
"Well, actually, Mr. Garcia…" she began.
"Please… Jill," he answered smoothly, looking at her with dark eyes full of warmth and sincerity, "… please call me Ernesto. You make me feel like a very old man, and I am not yet a senior citizen!" A warmer smile, showing straight white teeth, melted the innocent ingenue. Jill flushed.
"I-I didn't mean it that way, Mr… I mean, Ernesto," she stammered. "You're very young."
"Not all that young, I hope. I have no desire to be a youth again," he said, making his point in a good-natured but nonetheless firm way. "The point is, I want you not to think of me as Mr. Garcia, the gallery owner, but as, Ernesto, your friend. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, I do. And I appreciate that very much… Ernesto. And as far as my art is concerned, I guess I really haven't thought enough about how I want to be great – but I need to be. Very much," she answered, looking up at him with wide eyes. She was beginning to feel the aperitif, too. It didn't taste strong, but it certainly had a powerful effect.
"You are an intelligent young woman, Jill. And you have talent, I can see that. What you lack is focus… if you'll permit me to be very frank. It is a common flaw in the young artist. Today is the day of specialization, and art is no exception. You cannot be a GP in the art world and make a name for yourself. In medicine there is the internist, the endocrinologist, the pediatrician, et cetera. So it is in the graphic realm. In my opinion, your best aptitude is for portraiture and figure drawing, the unclothed body…"
(When he said, "the unclothed body", Jill felt another tremor, and she became aware of a sticky wetness oozing from her pussy.)
Garcia went on intently, his eyes never leaving hers. His gaze was mesmerizing, and the young artist nodded her head in mute acceptance. "If you are willing to concentrate your energies on those, and forget still lifes and abstracts, which, I must say, do not generate the excitement necessary to promulgate instant success, I think you can do quite well and perhaps, even command a following. But of course, I do not know how interested you are, nor to what degree you are willing to dedicate yourself. Perhaps you intend to finish a year of schooling and find a nice young man and settle down to the cozy domestic life…"
Oh, he was clever! Garcia had an uncanny ability for honing in on a woman's vulnerabilities. He phrased it just right. Putting it the way he did, the "cozy, domestic life" seemed terribly stultifying compared to a glamorous 'career' as a renowned artist! Besides, there was little chance to enjoy a domestic life with Chris, based on that brief and disheartening phone call to Kansas City. Where did that leave her now?
"No!" Jill said resolutely, her big hazel eyes flashing sparks. She bounced on the couch for emphasis, feeling the sensations in her pussy increase. Garcia smiled ever so subtly, in his bemused fashion. From another part of the room, Dawson, who had been watching and listening avidly, felt his cock twitch to semi-hardness. Goddamn, he swore to himself, she's already gettin' hot! I can almost see the claws agrowin'! Stuff's workin'fast!
"How's about a little touch up before dinner, honey?" he put in, sweeping her unfinished drink from the table before she could protest. Hovering over the bar, he unobtrusively pulled a small paper packet from behind his belt, perforating it with the prong on his buckle, and emptied the white powder contents into her glass. It dissolved instantaneously into a colorless, odorless and powerful aphrodisiac as he refilled the glass with Pernod and water. Hell, Pernod was a turner-onner all by itself! The big man chuckled quietly as he noisily added cubes from a silver ice bucket.
"… And furthermore, I have no intention of giving up my art for any togetherness scene, not for a long, long time. I want to be a truly fine artist more than anything in the world!" Jill was insisting vehemently as Dawson put the refilled glass in her hand. Garcia was not deceived, though at that moment, Jill almost believed it herself. She was more angry than hurt now, and she wanted to get back at Chris – and Wendy. The gallery owner had turned her head, and she was convincing herself that her fantasy was nearly a foregone conclusion!
"In that case, Jill, I think I can be of help," the Latin offered.
"You can???" Jill asked incredulously, her eyes widening even more.
"Didn't I tellya, little lady? If anybody can help a struggling artist get to the top, it's this guy right here!" Dawson bellowed enthusiastically, slapping Garcia on the shoulder. Back-slapping was another vulgar gesture of familiarity the cultured Colombian did not enjoy. He edged forward on the couch, giving the printer a pained smile.
"Please, Jack, I am not a Sol Hurok of the art world," he said levelly. "I can merely give Jill the benefit of my experience… and provide her with a studio, materials, models, and the best instructions in Mexico. Oh, and there is an immediate job possibility that would be quite lucrative…"
"Oh! Ernesto, really? You would do all that… for meee?" she piped. "But how… when…? I mean, how can I…"
Garcia grinned broadly. He was charmed by her youthful enthusiasm, and the way she gesticulated as she sat squirming on the couch. "We can discuss it further over dinner. I never ask a lady to do anything on an empty stomach!"