“And it grabbed your girlfriend and ravished her?” he said drily.
“No,” I said. “It grabbed me and stripped my clothes off and ravished me.”
“Goodness,” he said. “Unexpected. Very kinky. Why was that arousing?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Something to do with idea of being taken by an unstoppable force, something impersonal, that didn’t care what I wanted.”
His hand reached around me and touched my cock.
“You find that arousing?” he said.
“Yes,” I said. And I gave a little gasp, as he took my cock in his hand and began to slowly but rhythmically pull on it.
“So that your girfriend would see you being held down and raped by this huge insect?”
“Y-yes,” I gasped as I began to get hard.
“She’d see you being forcibly aroused by this mindless creature, holding your naked body down and violating you. And you’d be aroused by it even while you were terrified and couldn’t do anything about it.”
“Yes,” I moaned, squirming gently.
“How would it end?” he said. He was opening his bathrobe, and I could feel his naked body behind mine, his cock lodged between my buttocks, his chest against my back.
“I . . . I didn’t really think about the ending,” I said breathlessly.
“I’m sure you did,” he said. “I’m sure there was at least one version with a rather nasty ending.”
“Yes,” I said, my throat tightening.
“I’m sure that you had one version in which the creature . . . did something else to you.”
His cock was between the tops of my thighs, lodged there, and his other hand came around my head and closed over my eyes. I gasped “Aaaahhh! Yes!”
“Tell me what it did,” he said, his hand pumping on my erect cock.
“It’s embarrassing,” I gasped.
“It’s truthful,” he said.
“Ohhh . . . ” I gasped, as he pumped me, his fist expertly pulling on me, his cock lodged so close to my most intimate place — he could even arouse me this much without having full sex with me — and his hand over my eyes forced me back into the humiliating memory of my fantasy. “Oooh god . . . it . . . ”
“Yes?” he said quietly but forcefully.
“It . . . first it raped me . . . ” I breathed, feeling my orgasm build.
“Yes?” he said.
“Then it . . . oooh god . . . it ate me,” I moaned, and I couldn’t hold on any longer and I felt myself starting to cum.
He quickly got out from behind me and directed my cock so that my cum spurted in an arc and landed on my chest, and then with a couple of quick strokes he had made himself cum too — right into my eyes. I blinked and gasped as his semen splashed over my face and I moaned with pleasure at how he had broken me once again, reduced me to just meat.
I lay there, cum dripping off my eyes, breathing heavily, remembering the dark pleasure of imagining the insect’s total use of me, astonished that he’d got me to tell him about it.
“While you’re with me,” he said, “I am responsible for your pleasure. You aren’t. The only thing you’re responsible for is my pleasure, and you look after that by letting me do anything I want to you.”
I nodded dumbly, my eyes shut. Then I felt him wiping my eyes with some kind of scented wipe, and I blinked and looked up at him.
“Anything you want?” I said softly.
“Short of harm, of course,” he said.
“Okay,” I said, nodding.
“How about a shower?” he said with a wry smile, and I got off the bed and we headed for the bathroom.
We showered together. I accepted my position as the submissive partner by washing him first. When he was clean, he looked me up and down and said with a wryly cocked eyebrow, “May I suggest something?”
“What?” I said.
“I think you’d get a lot more pleasure if you shaved yourself.”
“What,” I said, “my body hair?” I looked down my body. I’m not that hairy — just a little dark hair on my chest and legs, plus of course my pubic hair.
“Skin on skin is much more sensual,” he said. “I’d be happy to help.”
I thought for a moment. I was already involved with John, for better or for worse, and even if we broke up before the end of the holiday, I figured that my chances of getting together with anyone else could hardly be hurt by my having a smooth Hollywood chest.
“Okay then,” I said cheerfully. He took a can of shaving foam and lathered me all over from the neck down, except for my arms.
“Nobody minds arm fuzz,” he said, grinning, “except drag queens.”
Then we set to work, me shaving my own chest and belly and him shaving the sparse hairs on my back and buttocks, which made me giggle, and my legs. Then when those bits were done, he made me sit on the edge of the bath and he carefully shaved my genitals. When we were done, I felt incredibly cool and smooth as I stood before the mirror and shaved my own face; he sat naked on the edge of the bath watching me, in an intimate, domestic replay of the moment yesterday when he’d first approached me in the public shower.
“So you really liked the sex?” he said. I blushed and smiled.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I loved it. I don’t think I’ve ever been that aroused before. And when I came . . . oh god. I thought I was going to faint.”
“Interesting,” he said. “Most guys aren’t that crazy about being on the receiving end. I’ve known a few who are, but you seem to really take to it.”
“I adore it,” I said simply. I rinsed my razor and splashed water on my face to wash off the remaining traces of foam.
“Maybe you’d like to help me with something,” he said.
“Sure,” I said, “what?”
“I’ve been wondering, he said, and then gave a rather embarrassed laugh, “it’s a silly idea, maybe, but for a long time now I’ve been wondering if it’s possible to train someone to be the perfect . . . um . . . receiver, shall we say, of, of . . . cock. That is, I was wondering if it’s possible to take someone who likes it and train him to be supremely good at it. There are a lot of techniques I could show you that would afford the maximum pleasure both to you and to whoever’s fucking you.”
“To be honest,” I admitted, heading for the shower, “I seriously doubt that after this holiday, I’m ever going to allow another guy to do to me what you do. I love it when you do it. I don’t think I want anyone else to do it.”
“That’s a shame,” he said as I turned on the water and got beneath it, “because I could make it so that you loved it when everyone did it. And that anyone who did it to you loved doing it.”
I viewed him curiously, as I stood beneath the water streaming over my shaven, naked body, blinking it out of my eyes, washing myself off, wondering what exactly this man had in mind for me, wondering what exactly I was doing here, I who had always preferred going to bed with girls, preferred women’s bodies with their sweet softness and curves and crevices and succulent mysteries to men’s bodies with their force and angles and muscles.
I could make it so that you loved it when everyone did it, he’d said. And that anyone who did it to you loved doing it.
He was proposing to make into a completely different kind of sexual virtuoso to the one that I had always aspired to be. Instead of being a master of bringing a girl to orgasm at the exact moment that I myself was having one — which is something that I’d never been terribly good at, to be honest — he was suggesting that I become expert in controlling men’s orgasms and my own in particular.