“Did I take too much?” I was always in a panic after I fed—never before. The slightest loss of self-control could turn into a frenzy, and I’d drain you in a matter of minutes.
“No, it’s fine.” You twisted your head from side to side as if trying to regain some semblance of control. “You’ve just made a complete mess of me.”
Your loose, sweaty curls spilled haphazardly on the table, beads of cum still clung to your chest, my seed dripped on the tile floor where your buttocks still hung off the table, and your groin was smeared with blood. Yours was the sexiest, most beautifully ravished body I’d ever had the pleasure of defiling.
Fortunately, my second-favorite task—after ruining you—was to tidy you up.
29
Henri
Ispent most of my corporeal time that summer discovering the many ways in which a human body can contort during lovemaking. Not just any body, but yours, which was quite flexible, and contained the mind and soul I loved so dearly.
Xavier had a fabulous chaise that doubled as an instrument of bondage. The angle of the arm rests was such that, with a couple of leather belts, they were easily transformed into stirrups to restrain your calves and spread your thighs wide open.
And on another occasion, I was able to recline in this same chair while you gingerly lowered yourself onto my straining cock. I got to experience the pleasures of your “bumping and grinding” abilities while my hand squeezed your neck gently and your supple spine rippled and rolled like a serpent. Those provocative movements translated extremely well from the dance floor to my lap.
There was nothing you weren’t willing to try—nothing in my repertoire at least. No surface or piece of furniture was sacred, and there seemed to be no limit to your libido. I could bring you to climax three or four times in a day if I tended to you just right. You were so enthusiastic in our pursuits, I worried you might one day exhaust me.
And then one day you came to me with an idea of your own.
“I’ve been telling Bruno about the things we do,” you said coyly.
We were lying on the beach, and I was running an ice cube over your glistening chest, pausing to let it linger on one of your nipples. Your areola pebbled and flushed with color. How I longed to nip at the nub with my teeth. When the cube had mostly melted, I popped it into my mouth to taste the flavor of your sweat mixed with coconut oil.
“And?”
You smiled. “He, uh…” You shook your head, embarrassed.
“He what?” I propped myself up to get a better look at you.
“He said he wants to watch.”
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. You were an exhibitionist then. Perhaps not so surprising considering your chosen profession.
“And what do you want?” I asked, growing more curious by the second. You shrugged and bit down on your lower lip, giving me your bashful face. “Well?” I prompted. This was too intriguing a riddle to go unsolved.
“I don’t know. Bruno and I are, like, best friends. I mean, it wouldn’t be much different from watching porn together, would it?”
I considered your comparison. “Except, I suppose in this case, you’d be the porn that was being watched.”
“What about you?” you asked with a scowl.
“I doubt very much I would be the center of attention.”
“You’re the center ofmyattention,” you said with passion and leaned over for a kiss.
I laid back and let your warm mouth melt against mine like sweet cream. Our tongues tangled in a slow sensual rhythm we both knew by heart. It was one dance where you liked to lead, an indulgence I didn’t take for granted.
Having finished with my mouth, you rested your chin on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, “So, what do you think?”
“About your voyeuristic best friend?” I asked, trying to tease your desires out of you.
“Yes, Henri.”
“I suppose it would only be fair, after all of his sexual exploits I spied on.”
“Really?” you asked, not altogether pleased by my assent.
