Andrea Bentham slipped the strap of her guitar over her head and laid the instrument gently on a bearskin rug to the right of the couch. Without it she felt five times as naked as she had before. She let her ass drift gently down to rest on the antique blue brocade of the cushions and exhaled slowly, looking Sean Michaels up and down with an amused look of frank appraisal.
Sean had been knocked silly in the head for just about five seconds. His eyes hadn't crossed; he hadn't blubbered incoherently; he hadn't melted into a puddle of lukewarm semen on the floor. But she was giggling inside anyhow. Her instincts had been perfect. She'd sized him up after two brief and casual meetings as the kind of suave super-stud who'd have to keep his cool upstairs even though there was a biological conflagration in the basement… a guy who always approached girls like her with his Standard Seduction Plan greased up and ready to go into operation. Take a taxi cab to X restaurant, have Y number of Z drinks, put in W minutes of earnest personal conversation leavened with V minutes of abstract intellectual discussion, have U to eat, (YOU only later), polished off with T liqueur, and pop the question: "Like to come back to my place for a while?" I've got some (beautiful) (lovely) (excellent) (original) S's you might be interested in."
The trouble with the Standard Plan was that it left all the initiating to the man and put the woman on the spot like a golf ball on a tee. When the club took the backswing you decided whether or not you liked the look of the guy's stroke, and if you didn't you just rolled off and let him wrench his shaft with a clean miss. Of course, all the way along you had to make little decisions. Shall I Go To His Place? Shall I Act Aloof? Should I Let Him Put His Hand On My Tit? Shall I Let Him Finger Me? Is He Worthy Of The Priceless Prize Of My Puss? Will He Find, Feel, Fuck and Forget Me? Or (probably worse,) Will He Make A Potentially Honest Woman Out Of Me By Giving Me The Option Of Marrying Him?
Fuck that. The Standard Plan was as silly as an ice-pop dildo. It was time for a variation on the Women's Lib theme. Time to slap him in the face with a wet cunt, and say, "Hey there, stud, can you get it up without feeling that you've seduced me?"
Of course there was one small disadvantage. The wet-cunt-slap meant getting in pretty deep before you had any idea whether the guy was going to be worth a shit in bed. Well… if Sean was the type who fucked you like you were a hole in the ground, shot his wad after three quick pumps, and ran out the door (or went to sleep) before the come even started to dribble out again-tough shit for her. She could still have a good laugh, give him a swift boot in the buns, and retreat to her room to indulge in multiple orgasms after her own fashion. But actually vibrations were telling her that she and Sean were going to synch pretty well. He was sitting in the chair opposite her with his elbow on his knee and his chin in his palm-a lascivious image of The Thinker-gazing contemplatively from her face to her crotch.
She descended from her own brief flight of thoughtfulness to realize that a slight movement was in order. She drew one knee up and felt her outer cuntlips pulling apart. It felt like an envelope being steamed open. The curving, pouted ridges of flesh were held together by a thin, clear glue of glistening cunt-juice. As the juice started to run more freely, as the heat built up, as she spread her legs just a little more, a tiny slit appeared between them and shot upward and downward like a crack in a piece of glass.
Sean took a deep breath. As though he were watching her perform on stage he leaned back and made a move to cross his legs. Andrea could see he was trying to conceal a dark blotch growing at a strategic point on his blue double-knit bell-bottoms.
"You don't have to do that. Cross your legs and you might break it."
Sean's chuckle evidenced self-possession with overt tones of genial incredulity. He returned his legs to their open position and reflected on the strangeness of what was happening.
Ordinarily a woman's body was revealed to a man in a set pattern. First you saw the face… the head, really… and the arms and legs. The extremities.
So far so good. He'd heard Andrea sing at Folk City a couple of times. Since he was a writer and had been captivated by her he'd even given some thought to how he'd describe her. Except for the tenuously exaggerated curves of her hips he would have called her willowy. But really, if one wanted to compare her to a type of tree a white birch would have been more appropriate. She had that appearance of pristine rigidity that one associated with the birch. He was sure that the sharply articulated twigs, the brittle deep green of the shiny leaves, the northern crystal affinity with snow fitted in someplace. And why had he thought about trees? Because he'd felt from the beginning that opposite that impression of a stubborn far-sightedness reaching for the sky was a carefully concealed set of roots spreading hungrily into the rich loan of sensuality. Perhaps that was too flowery, but then Sean had felt a hint of romanticism about her too.
On the more specific side, Andrea had slender legs with slim ankles (there was something about thick ankles that turned him off every time), soft calves and thighs-very womanly although her ambiance was girlish-and, thank God, no knobby knees. Her arms? Well, Sean didn't notice arms much unless they didn't fit in, so they had to be ok. He'd spent more time on her fingers. In fact he'd spent quite a while assessing their delicate sureness as they'd fretted and plucked the strings of her guitar. Educated fingers. That was always an advantage.
And then her face. (Why was it that he always liked to work descriptions of women from the bottom up?) Deep-set, alert-looking green eyes under finely arched brows. High cheekbones. Pale complexion overlaid with a timid late-spring tan. The kind of girl who had to be careful how much sun she got. A hothouse flower. The image of the royal maiden for whose retiring favors the medieval knight would slay a thousand dragons. Somehow that romantic image had always appealed to him, but in twentieth century America he found himself having to say he liked girls with pure white skin that burned before it tanned. (But not when they got burned and started peeling! Yetch!)
And then her nose. Perfectly proportioned. Straight. Perhaps just slightly turned-up. With spirited nostrils that looked as if they'd flare when she felt wild.
And her cheeks: they showed the traces of vanishing childhood dimples.
And her jawbones: wide, strong, giving her a "healthy outdoors-girl" look to counteract any impression of frailty that the rest of her face might have given.
And her chin: smoothly rounded to soften what otherwise might have been a clash of angularities between her cheekbones and her jawbones.
An undeniably beautiful woman. The kind of woman about whose beauty there could be no argument. A classic beauty whose appearance could be compared to no standards because it set standards.
Was she ravishing?
No.
At least not until now. But now she was more ravishing than any dark-eyed big-bosomed witch.
Handsome?
No. That was not enough.
Striking?
That was on the way.
Superlatively striking. Electrifying. But with a muted look of intellectualism… rendered almost severe by the pervasive impression of untouchable purity.
That was what made it so overpoweringly erotic for her to be sitting casually across from him unaccountably nude… and brazenly shifting position.
Sean had certainly expected-by the fourth or fifth date, if he was lucky-to spend a long evening stripping away her clothing and revealing her body according to the usual pattern. He had looked forward to the luxury of tantalizing himself as he removed her blouse and revealed her bra-clad torso and wondered what her breasts and nipples would look like; and afterward to seeing her naked but for panties and wondering what her cunt and ass looked like. He'd expected that long before he got her spread-eagled with his tongue running up and down her slit the rest of her body would have been systematically digested and forgotten. But she'd hit him with it all at once. Naturally her crotch had drawn him like a vacuum, with only the wide aureoles and puffy nipples of her tits to serve as occasional distractions. Now he found himself in the weird position of having to move out from them and fill in what had been left behind. Andrea showed amused patience as he completed the task, his eyes flitting back and forth, up and down, gathering everything together beneath the wavy cascade of auburn hair that broke wantonly over her shoulders and flowed down her back.
When he was done he pursed his lips. He cocked his head and stroked his full blonde beard. His Irish eyes sparkled. It didn't much matter what he said, so he said, "What kind of sex do you like?"
The corners of her mouth turned down in another tight-lipped smirk. He couldn't tell what the hell she'd say next. She answered in the tone of a soda-jerk in a Baskin-Robbins store who's just been asked what flavors of ice cream she has. "All kands."
So he raised his eyebrows and decided to take the short inventory. "Sucking?"
"Yup."
"Being eaten out?"
"Naturally."
"Being fucked in the ass?"
"Takes preparation, but if I'm ready I'm wild about it."
"And of course fucking m every conceivable position?"
"I don't much care for hanging by my toes from monkey-bars."
"Hah."
"Or doing it hi bathtubs full of custard."
"Hahaha."
"And outdoors I have to stay miles away from poison ivy."
"I'll remember that." Then Sean had an obvious thought. "You must have some exhibitionist in you."
She glanced wryly at her open cunt and fluffed up its fur with the tips of her fingers. "Less than it seems. I told you tonight was a special occasion and I meant it I Just felt like doing something freaky. But now that I've got started I find it does sort of turn me on. So I'm willing to continue… if that's what you were hinting at. I take it you don't mind… uh… exhibitions?"
"You've checked out the erector-set, right?"
"I wouldn't deny it. Only it looks more like a gusher oil well to me."
"You've got to build the tower before you can get the gusher."
Andrea suppressed a guffaw. Sean was really all right. He was handsome as hell and witty too. Probably pretty smart, which was important to her. But now that they were playing twenty questions she wasn't going to let her turn go by without getting one in. "Ok, Mr. Inquisitor, I've got one for you."
"What?"
"A question."
"Shoot."
"No, that's your job."
"Ok, ask."
"It's about shooting."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Sort of relevant to the economy of the evening."
"No kidding."
"Yeah."
"So ask. Don't be so timid."
"Ok, I won't. How many times can you come in a given night?"
Sean chuckled quietly and gazed up at the crystal chandelier that glimmered overhead. "That depends." He paused to shift his organ suggestively in his pants and darted his eyes down to catch her peeking, "Seeing that it depends on you tonight I'd guess at three, maybe four." He hooked his fingers into his belt. "Hey, if you wanted to be sure beforehand I could have supplied lots of references… "
Andrea tried hard to blush but failed.
"I might add that after you've cashed in your three or four I'll undoubtedly be able to remain hard enough for your further pleasure."
"Jesus." Andrea stood up. "You could be quite a find." She put her hands on her hips. "We were talking about exhibitions, right?"
"Mmmmm. Glad you remembered."
"I'm at your service." She dropped her hands to her sides. "And by the way, one thing you didn't catch in your inventory was masturbation. I'm a big fan of that too, so if you feel like it don't be afraid to pull it out and go to work." For an instant she looked like a professional stripper as she whispered, "I'd be flattered to know you like what I'm doing." Then she began to turn slowly around.
Sean's gaze fastened on her midsection as her pussy revolved out of view and her luscious pear-shaped buttocks turned toward him.
He loved asses like Andrea's: full, soft, smooth as milkweed down, vaguely dimpled at the sides… shaped like a ski-slope with most of the weight toward the bottom of the run. They jiggled so irresistibly. And they gave you something to sink your fingers into when you fucked. A pair of heavy handles for a long ride. The idea of digging deep for her asshole was also appealing. The better it was buried in that deep, hot crack, the more exciting it would be to unearth it.
By this time Andrea had her back to him and he was looking across the cluttered coffee table at a few wisps of hair that trailed tantalizingly down beneath the almost perfectly horizontal crease of her buttocks against her thighs.
"How'd you like to bend over?"
As she turned to look over her shoulder at him the mischievous grin that had lingered on her face throughout the evening disappeared. Suddenly she was very serious… about pleasing him. "And spread my legs a little more?"
"Perfect."
Andrea moved her feet apart and bent her head toward the couch slowly.
Sean's breath came short and the pit of his stomach dropped out. He shifted to lounge more deeply in his chair and undid his belt and zipper. His cock jumped uncontrollably with the first touch of his fingers on it and he had to let go to keep from shooting three feet into the air. His underwear was already a gooey mess. He raised his hips and pulled the pants and underpants down together. Andrea stared upside-down from between her legs and beneath her gently jiggling tits as she rested on the couch with her elbows. He held his rod up and shook it at her. "Will this do?"
"Mmmmmm. Looks just my size."
Sean eyed himself reflectively. Andrea fell silent as Sean's gaze bored in between her legs.
In seconds Sean was stroking himself hard. Andrea's cunt bulged back at him like a pouchful of pleasure slowly splitting open down the middle. The outer lips fell away and hung suspended, two teardrops edged in golden reddish-brown fur, to reveal the thin ridges of her inner lips as they wavered tensely in a glistening wedge that pointed to her clit.
With every second she became more relaxed and more excited. Her clit broke up out of the slick flesh that buried it and swelled to a bloated pearl of high-tension sensitivity. Above it the inner lips threatened to part. She helped them by churning her hips in maddeningly slow revolutions that rubbed the lips against each other and then broke them apart and widened a gap between them. Higher up Sean could see, still compressed in the deep cleavage between her ass cheeks, the edges of her practically hairless tannish-pink asshole.
Suddenly Andrea swung her hands back and slapped her buttocks and tore them up and apart. Her cunt and her asshole sprang at him. They opened like flowers under time-lapse photography. The doe-colored ridge of flesh between them stretched and flattened as she dug her fingers into her ass cheeks and strained to spread herself still further.
Sean jerked hard on his cock and reached his free hand down to goose his balls. He leaned forward over the coffee table to get as close as he could. Andrea's eye caught the tiny bit of white froth that had collected at the tip of his rod and she smiled approvingly. She wet her lips and edged her hands in till she could curl her pinkies into her asshole and the rest of her fingers into her cunt. She shoved in and pulled out, shoved in and pulled out.
Her asshole grew from a dainty little puckered patch of creases the size of a nickel to a wide, smooth expanse of flesh. The pinpoint of shadow at its center darkened and lightened as she sucked in and out. The hole opened wider with each pulsation and light probed into it, showing depths of redder pink.
She made an excursion to wet a pinky in the well of her cunt and then returned with it to circle her asshole. Then, with one snap of her wrist, she plunged it in up to the second knuckle.
She gasped. She churned her hips-harder and shoved back on the pinky, flexing her knees, squatting, getting it in as far as it would go and wiggling it around.
She pulled it out and yanked her cheeks apart to show him how deep she'd got.
Sean stared three inches into a tunnel half an inch wide. Around its opening tiny tendrils of sparse, almost invisible hair dotted the landscape like microscopic reeds scattered at the edges of a desert oasis.
Sean was ready to leap across the table and ram his tongue up her ass. He barely held himself at the dizzy brink of a climax without going over. His hand was motionless on his cock but its slightest nervous tremor sent waves of impending orgasm through him. More than once he felt that hot tightening, that leaden paralysis in his inner thighs, that told him he'd gone too far and he was going to shoot. But each time he exhaled limply and felt a tiny dribble ooze out of him and waited for the wave to drain away so he could catch the next one.
Andrea started rubbing her clit with an index finger. Her cunt opened wide, pulled by the weight of her stomach as she bent over, and now Sean stared into a bigger, softer, wetter cavern. Around its ragged opening moisture welled and sparkled, lighting the way into a crystal grotto.
Andrea worked her finger faster and harder, pummeling her clit up and down, right and left, circling and jabbing, feeling Sean's eyes probing her, his excitement filling her up. Her breasts and buttocks jounced to the rhythm of her shallow, desperate breathing and the inside of her cunt undulated in waves, trying to draw something into it.
Suddenly she was as close to getting off as he was.
She slowed and stopped.
It was time to let themselves down a notch so they could get together and build up again. There was no use Sean wasting a good shot on the carpet. She had any number of better places for him to put it.
She collapsed onto the couch and rolled over to pant at him. "God I'm horny. If you want to eat or finger or fuck any part of me, I'm all yours."
Sean licked his lips and got up. His pants hobbled him around the ankles. He lurched forward and almost fell as he reached to shove the coffee table out from between them. Andrea laughed and Sean laughed and he moved toward her and stepped out of his pants. She darted a hand out to wrap her fingers around his rod. Educated fingers. Like feathers caressing him. His cock jerked spasmodically as he got rid of the rest of his clothes.
Motherfucker, did that feel good! The first time she laid a hand on him she damned near made him come. The only reason she didn't was because she knew exactly what she was doing. He knelt by the side of the couch and looked into her flitting green eyes. "How'd you like to sit on my face?"
She grinned as though she'd scored a big hit on a slot machine. "And rub my cunt all over it?"
"All over it."
Sean stretched out on his back on the thick-rug in front of the couch. Andrea stood over him and planted her feet on either side of his head. Then, as if she were about to piss or shit in the woods, she squatted. Her knees pointed out and her crotch loomed down toward his face. He felt like a camera lens buried in the ground: the camera was clicking off a few last delicious shots before the lights went out.
The furry slitted mound of her pussy gaped open between the white shafts of her thighs. Her ass cheeks split apart and the bull's-eye of her asshole winked in the crevice between two glowing half-moons.
Then the visuals were gone. Sean closed his eyes to concentrate on the feeling of the gently rough bulges of her cuntlips parting across his cheeks. He felt each tiny hair rubbing against him, merging with the hairs on his beard and moustache, until suddenly the hairs were gone and the squish of slippery private flesh met his lips.
That maddeningly erotic smell filled his nostrils.
Faces fitted so well with cunts. Tongues slipped into them so satisfyingly. Sean probed out with his hand and hit the ridge of Andrea's pelvic bone. His tongue bounced over her clit twice and drove deep into her.
Her body tightened and quivered and she began humping. Her asscheeks swung and bounced against his chin and chest. He stayed still, his tongue extended as far as it would go, jiggling and vibrating as he let her do it the way she wanted.
She sat down hard on him and impaled herself to the hilt. She lingered a bit while his tongue circled inside her and they both felt her swampy inner folds of flesh swirling ecstatically around it. Then she rocked up to draw his tongue out and flattened it against her clit. Like an aroused nipple the bloated pearl forced its way against him to lap up every tiny lick and tickle.
Andrea's rhythm quickened and now Sean rotated his tongue in tiny ovals. Deep in, back out, up to the clit, deep in again. He reached one hand down to stroke his cock and brought the other up to bury a finger in her asshole. She squirmed and shuddered.
She rammed down ferociously. She squashed her clit against his upper lip. Sean strained up into her as the noise of wet, struggling flesh filled his ears.
She grabbed her tits in her hands and mashed the nipples with her thumbs.
She ground herself down onto him hard and froze.
Sean held his breath as her thighs gripped the sides of his head and her pussy smothered him. Cunt-juice ran down his cheeks and into his beard. The shock-waves of her orgasm shot through his body. The currents of her satisfaction short-circuited at her clit and raced through him.
Sean's air was gone and his chest was heaving. He reached up to pull her cuntlips away from her clit so he could suck in air through his nostrils without moving her. She remained, dazed and transfixed, clinging to his head, until she was done.
She sighed and broke into a sudden, exuberant laugh. She rolled off him. "Jesus, I almost smothered you," she giggled, brushing away a few hairs that stuck to her forehead in a light haze of perspiration. She was completely relaxed. One good orgasm settled a lot. "Thanks. That was really fine."
She reached out and stroked Sean's stomach recovering for a second with her eyes closed, playing with the light triangle of hair that wandered up from his crotch. "I bet you've got a hell of a load of come ready to shoot."
He nodded.
"Where would you like to put it?"
"Anywhere you want it."
"Since sucking was first on your inventory, why don't we try my mouth for starters?" She sat up. Her tits jounced. She licked her lips and wiggled her tongue at him.
"You'd better get your mouth over it quick or I'll come just looking at you."
Andrea folded her hands on her lap and didn't move. "Oh, is that so? Just shoot off into the air like a roman candle?" Her teasing tone was shrouded in the sensuality of her rich, low voice. As long as teasing was also promising it just made things all the better. "Just like-what is it that crazy guru's supposed to have perfected-the No Touch Shot?"
"The what? That crazy who?"
"The crazy guru-what's his name? Don't tell me you haven't heard of him. Don't you read the papers?"
"Not the National Inquirer… " Sean was giving her a cockeyed look. She sure could be weird when she wanted to.
"No, no, this was in the Daily News. I think the Voice has done some stuff on him and even the Times… he's been on Johnny Carson… what the hell's his name? It sounded to me like it'd been concocted out of the name of some near-eastern god… Baal, that's it… and the French word for "born"… n-e-e. Pronounced "neigh," like a horse. Only there was more to it."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"I'm telling you… a guru… one of these Transcendental Fornication guys or something. Name sounds like Bail-of-Hay. They say he's perfected the No Touch Shot. He just crosses his arms and sits in the old lotus position and meditates himself up a hell of a hard-on. After a couple of seconds-Whooosh! "Look, Ma, no hands! No nothing. All in the mind." Andrea tapped her forehead. "I think he demonstrated it once on What's My Line."
"Aw, bullshit." Sean was laughing even though he kept his eyes on Andrea's body. "For a while you had me going… "
"No, it's true-I mean, they say it's true-the guy does it."
Sean shook his head in mock despair. "Sounds like what we used to call Thinking Off. Only we could never do it."
"Huh?"
"Thinking Off. When I was a sophomore at Cornell one of my frat brothers came up with the idea. He was the manager of the squash team and never had any dates. So he was all the time whacking off. Got so his pud was sore. Then some eastern religion course he was taking brought this idea into his head. He never could perfect it. Some of us tried it out-thought the least we could do was try to help him with his technique-but we couldn't do it either. Then a guy who was a junior-horn-rimmed glasses type-told us it was metaphysically impossible. He was a philosophy major so we believed him."
"So you can't do it."
"Nope."
"So there was really no danger you were going to shoot from just looking at me?"
"Son of a bitch-you knew where you were going all the time."
"Naturally. And I know where I'm going now, too. Lie down."