Paganini's Tale, Chapter 16

   He sat on the bed, blinded by the fabric he'd tied around his
eyes, wondering what was next. Her note had only stated where
to go, to ask for a room reserved in his name. No information
about what to do once he got there, besides wait. So wait he
did, considering taking off his clothes.
   Did she want him naked, or did she want to take his clothes
off him? He didn't know; either possibility seemed to fit what
little he knew about her preferences.
   His skin prickled in anticipation; the hairs in the wrinkles
of his ball-sack felt like they were trying to pull each other
out. Larry pushed with his thumb at his nuts, then clasped his
hands on his lap again.
   It was miserable, this waiting. Not being able to see, he
couldn't amuse himself by looking around. The bed became the
only environment that mattered. Unclasping his hands, he felt
the nubby texture of the bedspread.
   Did people ever really nap here? The leer on the mousy face
of the man behind the desk told a different story. He certainly
knew that something sexual would be going on here.
   Larry wondered if there were peep-holes. If so, then what an
embarassing position to be seen in: blindfolded, waiting,
passive. Somehow with "Sophia" it wasn't embarassing. As if
they had made an agreement without saying the words: there can
be no shyness here. Carnality is the goal; modesty has no place
between us.
   Larry heard something--perhaps a door opening? Was that a
footstep on the floor? His hand came up almost independently of
will to pull up the blindfold.
   "Now, now," her voice sounded. "Don't make me turn around and
leave."
   He smiled, his hand stopped in mid-gesture. "I was afraid you
were that man behind the counter."
   There was a short silence. "Maybe he's here too," she said.
"Maybe I brought other people with me. To watch. To watch your
jism shoot out onto the floor."
   "I'd have heard them," Larry said.
   He heard a clunk. Then a click, and lazy funk jazz began
playing. "Could you hear them now?"
   The mocking tone of voice was laced with a kind of glee, like
he remembered he'd felt once, years ago, when Alice had worn a
blindfold, and he'd gone to the freezer and carried back an ice
cube. As it had neared her nipple, he had felt that shivery
power. Now he felt it in himself, but from the other end.
Still, a shivery power, but the power of being the one
pleasured.
   "Why isn't my cock naked?" she demanded, almost in rhythm
with the funky music. Her hand caressed his bulging crotch,
then grasped at the roundness of his balls. "Take your clothes
off."
   Then she moved away. Larry envisioned her undressing herself,
snaking a hand down into her cunny, watching him as he did his
striptease. So he lingered as he undressed. He was a little
proud of how well his body had stood up to his thirty-five
years. No Adonis here, or Charles Atlas. But he was still good-
looking naked.
   "Oh, yeah," she said when his shirt was undone, his chest
stretched out of it. "Yeah, that's pretty, keep it going, now.
Make me hot. Come on, my stud, my cock, show me yourself slow."
   The music came in waves, based on a beat primal and pure. He
couldn't resist almost dancing as he undressed. Leaned over,
moving his ass, untying his shoes. Kicking them off on the
beat; socks off in syncopation.
   Then the zipper, slowly, in little zips, as if tantalizing.
"Come on now, show me that cock of mine, I want to see that
prick,  show it to me hard and oozing. Ohh, you wicked one--
you're making me wait," she said, when he pulled down his pants
inch by inch, leaving his underwear on.
   His cock strained against the thin cotton fabric. Thighs
bare, the hairs straightened, enhancing the tingling his nerves
were all feeling. His prick ached.
   "I can't help myself, you fucking hunk, my hand's in my
snatch, in my cooze, ah, god, two fingers inside. You'd love to
taste my snatch, wouldn't you, but I won't until that prick is
free, I want to see it bobbing in the cool air. Show me that
purple head, I want you aching for my touch. I want your cock
waiting, drooling, wanting into me."
   Her words washed over him like erotic waves. This was
carnality incarnate. No mincing words there, no innuendo. No
hesitation. She knew what she wanted, and said so: she wanted
him, and wanted him to want her just as badly.
   As he stepped out of his slacks, crumpled at his ankles, he
brought his hands up his ankles, his knees, his thighs, then
caressingly brought them around his thick fucktool tenting out
his shorts. "And what will you do to it if I let it out?"
   "I'll touch it with my fingernails, sharpened like razors:
I'll shave that cock with my nails. Then I'll rub my tits with
it, around and around like that cock was my dildo, and I'm at
home, imagining cocks all around, rubbing me over tits and arms
and ass and cunt and hands and feet, cocks all for me, just as
that cock is all for me. Take it out. Show me my cock, you
fucking bastard stud."
   Caught up, his hunger for her directing his hands, he pulled
the waistband out, and then down, exposing his mass of meat to
the air. The coolness made him even harder; with one hand he
grabbed it, with the other pulled down his shorts as fast as he
could. No longer was the stripping what he wanted. He wanted
contact, his cock yearned for touch.
   "There it is, aaahhhh, yesss," she said, moving closer, "yes,
that cock is a beauty, that cock is mine. Stroke my cock for
me. Move that fist of yours down on my cock."
   He began stroking his boner, beating himself off slowly,
feeling each callous on each finger rubbing past the head, down
the hard shaft. "Yesss," she continued, her voice coming from
below, as if she were kneeling in front of him.
   "Yesss. Oh, yes, I can feel your hand on my cock. It feels
good, squeeze harder, oh, oh, yes, keep beating that meat, beat
off, fuck yourself with your hand."
   Larry felt lewd, beating off in front of this woman. The
other time, he'd hardly had time to think about what was going
on; this time, he knew how it felt, and he liked it.
Delightfully decadent, a wickedly aberrant perversion. He
imagined her face, talking to his cock, her mouth in an "o" as
if it was a target for the arrow of his prick.
   Electricity jolted him. Her hand was on his pelvis, inches
from his cock and balls. Sexuality, like some powerful drug,
was seeping from her fingertips into him. He arched his pelvis
forward, trying to find her mouth with the tip of his prick.
His fingers clutched at the nubby fabric of the bedcover.
   But only air was stabbed by his pole. He clutched again at
his cock, leaning back onto the edge of the bed once more.
   "Suck me off," he said, "or fuck me, or do your tits,
something, my cock wants you." He listened to his words after
he'd spoken. He wasn't used to talking dirty, and the sounds
felt alien.
   "A mouth will be there, but not yet. First you must eat me.
Eat me now. Get on all fours. I'll put my cock under your
mouth. You will suck on my clit, lap down deep."
   He heard scratching sounds, as if she still had her shoes on.
Keeping one hand on the bed, he got down on the floor; his
knees hurt at first on the wood.
   Then the sultry aroma of cooze ooze wafted into his nostrils.
He pushed his face down, still blind, and bumped his nose on
her pubic bone. He quickly adjusted, delving into her moist
cleft, pushing the curly hairs aside with his nose, his lips.
Today, she tasted a bit different than the last time he had
tasted her, but still she was like ripe fruit.
   His tongue explored her slick folds of flesh, circling the
numb of her button, then capturing it between lip-covered
teeth. He mouthed her, chewing lightly on her thickening
clitoris. He could hear her muffled moans.
   "Oh, yes," she said when the moans stopped. "Keep that up, my
stud. Lick me, taste me, make my cunt want my cock. It's
getting hot, slushy, slippery waiting for you. I want that
cock, fuck the blowjob, I want that cock in my cunt <now.>
   Her hands pushed his head away and grabbed his prick, pulling
him toward her. His cock throbbed in her hands, and then he
felt his cock being twisted to the side; he shifted his body to
accommodate it, and lost his balance. He fell on his side, and
then was pushed to his back.
   "I want to do this," she ordered, "I know just where that
cock should go, and I'm going to put it there."
   He smiled, and put his hands behind his head, while thrusting
up his cock by tensing his buttmuscles. He wanted her hot cunt
so badly it hurt.
   Suddenly his prick was engulfed by molten lava, and with one
downward drop, she impaled herself on his fuckshaft. Both of
them groaned loudly in unison.
   She was motionless. Her cuntal walls undulated over the taut
flesh inside her, and it felt like butterflies were clustered
around his prick, doing their mating dance. He writhed, but her
weight kept his cock pinioned inside her, soaking. He pulsed
his lovemuscle in response to her snatch-squeezes.
   Then she raised up. His cock cooled, and it pulsed now of its
own accord. He moaned, tried to push up, and then she slammed
down on him again. "Yess, my stud, my cock, oh, yes, you're so
big, so hard, you're deep in my cunny, deep inside me."
   "Your cunt is grabbing me like a hand, what a cunt you have,
and you're fucking me with it. Keep fucking me. Ah, shit, yes,"
Larry cried, pushing up into her. The words felt natural now,
just as wicked as he felt. Fucking was all he wanted, to keep
moving up into her, thrusting deep into that hot cunt.
   "My cock is drooling for you, inside you, my jism is waiting
for you, I want to come inside you..."
   "Go ahead, then, you bastard stud, fuck me like I'm a bitch
thrusting up my ass at you. Come inside me, give me that
spume," she cried, jamming herself down on him over and over,
like an oilwell's counterweight, a determined grind downward,
as if squeezing the come out of him from above, sucking up from
below.
   Her cunt wrung his cock out, twisting, inexorably rising and
falling in spite of his nearly frenzied thrusts. His hands were
fists outstretched, beating at the floor.
   "Shit, yes, I'm going to come," he cried, "I'm going to
shoot, aahhg, shit, yes...."
   "Give it to me, shove it in, pour it in, give me that come,
come on, you stud, shoot it in, shoot it in..."
   And with a wrenching twisting implosion, Larry came, pushing
stream after stream of viscous come out into her liquid heat.
He gasped, bucked, and let out a tortured yell, followed by the
aftershock groans of his will-wilting orgasm. He reeled inside
his mind, lost in wave after wave of sensation.
   "Ah, shit, god damn, fuck, oh, shit, god..." he murmured, as
she pulled herself free of his cock, squeezing at each inch
with her cunt.
   He lay on the hard floor, feeling the coldness for the first
time on his back and butt. The music played on.
   Then her voice: "You may take off your blindfold now."
   Bringing his hands up to his eyes, he pulled the tie away.
Sitting on the bed was Sophia, fully dressed. He sat up, and
thought back: he never had felt her tits, or any part of her
body, really, except her cunt.
   But when he looked at her legs, they were encased in a
one-piece full-leg leotard, gleaming in the afternoon light.
Her crotch was darkened with cuntjuice, but he could see no
hole that he could have penetrated. <Was I out that long?> he
wondered.
   She got off the bed, and leaned over. She kissed him. her
tongue a thin moist dart invading his lips. He kissed back, and
then she pulled away. "Until next time," she said, smiling that
wicked smile.
   She walked away; he turned to watch her leave. Her ass
gleamed metallically in the leotard as she padded toward the
door. He thought about calling out to her, stopping her, asking
her how she'd managed to dress so quickly, but then thought
better of it. There was no need. However she had done it, it
had been one hell of a fuck.