Paganini's Tale, Chapter 6

The woman had led him up the sidewalk, hips undulating in
figure eights from her stiletto heels. The leather creased like
a second skin; Larry followed without really thinking, nearly
mesmerized by her movements, imagining those hips writhing as
she lowered herself onto his cock.
   Where she was leading him he didn't know, but she was walking
with purpose. Wordless, striding, she looked back not once,
certain that he was following, or as if she didn't much care
either way.
   Past the sidewalk salesmen, past the Rooms for Rent, past the
used furniture store, she led him swiftly. Larry was getting
hot from the sun, and the sweat was making his suit stick to
him.  The woman's erotic appeal would soon wane, he knew, if he
got miserable enough. She was still exciting at this point, and
he knew himself well enough to know that she'd better hurry and
find a destination.
   She passed up the "Rooms for Rent--Nap Rates."  It surprised
him, disappointed him. What was he following her for? he
wondered. For hot, illicit, nasty sex, he reminded himself, and
knew that if he had to remind himself, then the need for hurry
was even greater. His car was receding further and further, and
he was parked in a no-parking zone. What if he got a ticket?
What if he was towed? He could just imagine explaining it to
Alice....
   The woman stopped abruptly, and Larry almost careened into
her. Above them hung a hand-painted sign: "Books 8mm Vids Mags
All XXX."
   She smiled at him. "You may leave now or follow me in." Then
she turned toward the door and entered.
   For a brief moment he even considered it; but then he thought
better, and felt the cool air of the air-conditioned business
wisp out from the closing door, and strode in with scarcely a
thought at who might be seeing him enter.
   The cool air struck him first, sending chills from his cheeks
to his chest. He loosened his tie, surprised that he hadn't
done it before, while following the woman toward the booths.
   She seemed to nod hello to the proprietor; was that a smirk
the man had? Did she do this often?
   It didn't matter anymore; the charged sexual air of the place
was entering his skin. Racks of magazines lined the walls:
thick cocks deep-throated by big-titted women, pink cunts
enveloping pricks, tongues and asses and breasts all in living
color, all eyes looking right at him as he passed, inviting him
to stop, to look, to open, to buy.
   But he didn't need to buy; she was walking ahead of
him, all the steamy sultry sluttiness of cunt wanting cock
waited for him.
   "Get some quarters," she said over her shoulder.
   He stopped to get change from the man behind the counter.
   Then he walked to where she waited, in front of a booth whose
display he didn't see, for she pulled him in and shut the door.
   The coins still clinked in his hand, and she softly unbent
his fingers and pulled three free, dropping them in one, two,
three, and the film began to roll.
   A blonde with wide hips, big jugs, and white-blonde hair sat
naked in a director's chair, surrounded by plants and a table,
sipping white wine from a large goblet. Another woman entered,
dressed as a maid, white frills, black bodice, white apron,
black leather block-heeled shoes, and atop brunette hair, a white
cornice. She carried a tray with wine  and cheese upon it, and
entered hesitantly.
   Larry's cock was already out, pulled by the gentle fingers of
the woman in black. She sat him down in the little stool, then
crouched between his spread knees. The zipper snagged at the
base of his stiffening prick, so he pulled his pants down to
his ankles with her help.
   The big-titted woman instructed the maid to bring the cheese
to her and set it down beside her. The maid, almost cowering,
did, and as she lowered the tray, bending at the waist, the
sitting woman reached out a hand and patted the maid's ass
approvingly. "Join me in some wine," she said, "but first take
off the apron."
   "Yes, miss," the brunette whispered, and with the faintest
hint of a smile, untied the apron and let it drop to the floor,
then brazenly stared the woman in the eye. "Is there anything
else mistress would have me do?"
   Larry gasped as the woman took his cock in both hands and
squeezed hard. He could feel her hot breath on the head, and
ached for the feel of a tongue, lips, anything soft. But the
woman would have none of that; she backed away as he jutted his
hips out to make contact. Her breath was still hot, though, and
her hands held firm. It was as if she was letting her own
heartbeat in her hands be the stimulation; he was sure he could
feel it.
   "Bend over," the mistress said. "and pull down your panties.
Then put your hands behind your back." The brunette did, and
the camera did a close-up on the woman's white ass, the
cuntlips peeking through crisp brown hairs. Then a close-up of
her hands being bound by the strings of her apron. Crossed,
behind her back, her fingers grasping in motions precisely what
masturbation would look like without the cunt. The maid moaned
breathily. "Oh, mistress..."
   Larry, absorbed in the film, hadn't realized that his hands
were being tied by some strip of leather, even as they played
with the woman's tits. He was shocked, for he'd never in his
life been bound. For a moment he resisted, and when he did,
the woman took her hands away and stood back. "You must give
yourself without argument if you want to come," she said.
   The grunts and moans of lust pushed from the speaker, and the
maid's cunt was being invaded first by two, then by three
fingers, slick and juicier each stroke. Larry pulled his eyes
away and looked at his mystery woman. She stood, arms crossed,
weight on one hip, skirt already curled into its top, showing
off her bare cunt bordered by the white garters. Her entire
posture stated to him defiantly: "You want it. Work for it."
   He offered his wrists, still draped in loose coils of black
leather, to her to be tied. She smiled almost cynically and
resumed her tying. Larry's cock strained out at the empty
air.
   Now the blonde mistress was mashing her maid's mouth onto her
cunt, whispering her on with demands: "Yes, suck my cunt, stick
that tongue deep into my channel, ah, my little harlot, yes,
stick it in, my slut, you do just as I ask, and you love it,
don't you, my little wanton, yes, you love it, suck me harder,
pull on my clit, there, yes, suck it..."
   "Stand up," Larry's mistress commanded, and he did. She got
behind him. "Put your hands to your chest."
   She reached around and pulled the long loose ends around to
his back, cinched them tight, and tied him off. He couldn't
move his arms more than to flex his muscles, move his elbows a
bit.
   "Sit down," she commanded, and he sat. "On the
floor," she said, and he did. Then she moved toward him, cunt
first. His head was right at twat-level, and he knew what was
coming. He opened his mouth.
   Her legs covered his ears, and he could only mutedly hear the
sounds of the film; he couldn't tell what was the movie and
what was the woman's voice. But her cunt swung like a circular
pendulum upon his mouth, grinding down on his lips and teeth,
forcing his nose into her thick black pubic hair. She smelled
musky, with the faint hint of leather. Around and around she
ground, until with a thigh-tightening shudder, came with a
groan.
   Then down she dropped, unerringly aimed at his stiff cock,
but rubbing down his clenched fists, dragging her cunt along
the leather straps, pushing against his elbow, until his
erection was rewarded for its long wait by being swallowed
in the warm heat of her cunt.
   Above her head Larry could see the two women on the floor;
the maid's hands were still tied behind her, and the blonde
mistress had an immense double dong sliding back and forth in
between their spread legs, plunging into the maid's cunt while
sliding out of the blonde's, then sinking into the blonde's
cunt and out of the moaning maid.
   He let out his own moans, straining against the leather
bonds, tightening muscles just to feel the straps cut into his
arms. The woman slammed down on him like he was a piece of
erotic furniture, like his cock was a phallic pole that he had
heard the Pompeiians had: chairs for women guests which had a
prong of marble sticking out, aimed right at the guest's cunt.
Happy parties they must have had then.
   And his prick at that moment felt hard as marble, like a
thing apart from him, like a casing over his shaft. "I like my
prick," she whispered in his ear. "Your prick is mine, and I
like it very much. I fuck myself well with it. I'm fucking it
now, now, and..." and her speed increased, she bucked on top of
him and shook her tits within her blouse, throwing back her
head and wrenching out a gutteral cry.
   The sound resonated in his ear, and he felt the pressure
inside him finding a release, as if a force had found a
weakness in the body's defenses, and it wormed its way higher
and higher in his burning prick, building up pressure as it
snaked into his urethra like oil pushing up through that first
well's piping, which lets out a gusher of thick come deep into
the woman's clutching cunt.
   The door went black as the three quarters ran out, the last
image one of the maid sucking the double-dong as it still
filled the blonde's pussy. Larry's breath was ragged, and his
cock was on fire.
   The woman reached behind him and pulled the leather ends
free, untying a bow. She stood. "Carry that thong with you
always. I will use it next time. Until then," she said, and
kissed him briefly on the lips.
   Then she was out the door, and Larry sat still on the floor
of the booth, looking at his still-dribbling cock. He let out a
long, satisfied sigh, then proceeded to unravel the black thong
from his wrists.