Page 51 of Road Refugees

His hand now freed, he walked his fingers like Mister Rogers down my abdomen. He distracted me from this journey by clipping the other clothespin over the other nipple. The mixture of pain and pleasure shot straight down to my clit, seemingly the destination for his meandering fingers.

I didn’t protest. I was just sighing like a wind through the sails.

“You blow my mind, my angel,” he whispered. He right hand gathered up the hem of my skirt while his left toyed with the pin clamped over my nipple. Every time he diddled with it, a straight shot of lust and some new, weird sort of thrilling spasm arrowed down my inner channel. The walls of my gash fluttered with this strange sensation when his fingers slid inside my undies and stroked the slick knob of my clit. I was learning the correct, modern terms for things. I gasped, my hands jerking up so I could clench onto his powerful forearm, maybe slow down the torture of my breasts. Or maybe not. I was highly conflicted about how I should feel.

He continued, his words seeming to emanate from the ozone. “You’ve come through so much, and now you can open yourself up and trust me. I love you, my angel. I’ll protect you above all from now until the afterlife.”

“I love you,” I murmured, thrusting my hips to encourage his hand.

But he wasn’t falling for it. What sort of machinery had he used in the army that he knew how to simultaneously manipulate two such separate and distinct areas? He was lathering up my clit with a professional polish—or so I imagined, never having been given an orgasm by an actual man’s hand before. At the same time, his deft fingers jiggled the clothespin clamped on my nipple just so.

The ecstasy built rapidly until I was on the very lip of the crescendo.

And he pulled back.

Unsnapping the clip, the intense darts of bliss to my button slowed. I was left hovering on the cliff, gasping.

“Town!” I cried, banging my skull against his shoulder.

“That’s right,” he whispered warmly, as though this was the best situation ever—for him, maybe. “Take it down, angel. Take it down a notch.”

“Why?” I trilled, probably loud enough for the men back at the table to hear. Then that thought excited me. The sudden concept of orgasming in public made me grasp Town’s forearm and wring it like a chicken’s neck. “Finish me! Finish me off!”

He chuckled. He sure enjoyed being the one in control! “Not so fast, little angel.” He swiped the wooden tip of the pin against my stiff nipple but didn’t clamp it. And his fingers now meandered over my clit, which seemed to expand, reaching for his touch. I shuddered my hips, but nothing helped. Town was in control and would brook no nonsense! Once again, I was at the mercy of a man!

“Town! You’re driving me crazy, and not in a good way!”

He nibbled on my earlobe. That supplanted the nipple touch, sort of. I jumped and gasped. “Don’t be in such a rush. Good things take time.”

“No they don’t! Believe me! I’ve done this a thousand times!”

“I’ll bet you have.” Showing mercy, Town replaced the clothespin, snorting hot breath in my ear, sending a barrage of icy chills down my back and arms, raising a shimmering of little bumps on my butt.

I was so grateful I hissed, “Yes!” Then I realized this was what he wanted. Dominant men wanted you dependent on them. Oh, what the fuck. Who cares? I’m mush in his hands. Literally.

He brought it up a step. His fingers worried my clitoris, forcing me to gasp, dance, and jerk, while he jiggled the pin. I slid down the front of his torso, clinging to his forearm. I grinned like a grinch as he bowed his chest to accommodate me. I knew it must’ve hurt his back standing like that, but I didn’t give an inch, and soon we were slipping onto the ground in a heap, his fingers doing their best work yet.

The crisis was unexpected.

It always came on me like that, on a sudden. Post haste I turned into a stiff candy cane, fingernails boring cuts into Town’s arm. He must’ve known because I caught my breath and held it, shimmying like a live wire. Contractions rolled down my inner channel, clutching at my female organs. It wasn’t just my vagina that came. It was my uterus, bladder, ovaries. Blissful muscles gripped and released me over and over and over.

“Don’t stop,” I tried to say, but nothing came out.

Town filled in for me. “That’s it, my angel. Don’t stop. Keep going. That’s right. Cap’n Spiro’s going to give you a good climax. God, you’re one sexy woman. You just ooze sex. Your big titties are just begging to be sucked on.”

Oh no. And that’s just what he did!

Slipping my boob out of my sports bra, he bent and bit that nipple between his teeth!

Gosh, did I jump! I finally cried out. With a giant intake of breath, I yelled, “Stop!”

He mumbled something, but my tit was in his mouth and both his hands were occupied. My vise-like fingers were able to detach his grip on the clothespin, and I threw the thing far, far away. When I scrambled onto my knees I was face to face with my lover, having succeeded in severing his being from mine. I panted, still coming, uterus fluttering in the throes of my peak.

My eyeballs lolled in my skull as I shoved him flat onto the ground with the heel of my hand. “You . . . bastard.”

And he was laughing! He was grinning like an impish boy, laughing at my predicament! He threaded his fingers behind his skull and held himself up so he could laugh at me! To top it all off, he released one hand and sucked on the finger.

“Mm,” he said. “Delicious.”