by Linda Chorlton
Some time after my adventure with Tyrone had ended, it seemed playful to reconstruct the entire affair, to try to place it in its proper perspective. I was not at all certain that it could be done at all, even less sure that it could be done truthfully and objectively. However, I resolved to try.
After a number of false starts, one version emerged which on examination seems reasonably close to my recollection of that truth.
For what little it can teach you, you are welcome to read about it. Note that I describe it as an adventure rather than an affair. Affairs I have had before, but never anything resembling this in the slightest. No, adventure it is, or perhaps exploit or better yet, escapade. Pick the description that pleases you best. But whatever you decide it is, to my mind - a love affair it was not.
The incidents described here are actual, though they may appear romanticized somewhat, and perhaps they were. Details may vary slightly from fact. If so, the reason is obvious- memory is irregular and faulty, being in the conscious mind, not emotional related to the high emotive state.
None of the events, unfortunately, were recorded as they happened. No diary was kept. That is certainly regretable. It would make fascinating reading now, I am sure. Still, these incidents were shared almost on a daily basis with my friend Sara, who upon reading this tale, confirms that her recollection is essentially similar with the record (though she does say to leave her part out. Ha!).
Whether she agrees with my conclusion is another matter. But then, you don't know my conclusion, yet, do you? As an addenda to the preface above, written somewhat later, let me report that a diary WAS kept. Unbeknown to me, Sara had kept a personal diary in which she reported most of what I had told her, along with her own reactions to each event.
I was surprised to learn this, perhaps even a bit dismayed. On reflection, though, I concluded that it really made very little difference. It does not change the substance at all of what happened, and served later to reinforce my memory in looking back on events that are truly important to me but probably not to anyone else.
In reading the diary now, I find two interesting things - that my memory is essentially correct and Sara's written reaction to each thing that occurred is excited and exciting to me. So much for the addenda. Now back to the report.
For clarification, consider the background. June, 1984. Herbert is in Europe, attending a major conference and staying on for a while, ostensibly on other business. He will be there for six weeks, perhaps eight.
Helen has not been able to go. She plans to join him in the South of France later after his conference is over, in about two weeks or so. So for now, she is still at home, busy but not overwhelmed with her work. Helen fancies herself as royalty.
She is intelligent, attractive, with a marvelous voluptuous body, and she is fully aware of it and of the power that it gives. But she has a haughty, imperious, I-am-superior-to-thou attitude that annoys many people and absolutely infuriates others.
She is married to an older man who so obviously adores her, pampers her, caters to her every whim, but who cannot control her at all, and who has never satisfied her in bed. Her husband travels extensively.
The evening that this event began, a Friday, Helen had gone to the symphony, alone, and there encountered a man, Tyrone, whom she had known well at one time, and disliked intensely - a tall, spare man of curious temperament, a hedonist, a true male chauvinist, stubborn, opinionated, willful- the type that Helen and most women usually detested on sight.
That evening, after the concert, he offered her a drink, and thinking of avoiding a long cab ride home alone, she accepted. The thought of physical involvement with this man, though perhaps not repulsive, was certainly far from her mind.
After stopping for a drink and a late, light supper, he did drive her to her house, made the expected pass, and she responded by giving him a stinging slap in the face. He replied as no man had before. He twisted her arm, turned her away from him, and using a hard bare hand, slapped her fiercely across the rump.
She retaliated immediately, and when he slapped her behind hard again, she gasped aloud as if all thought of resistance was gone. Recognizing her reaction exactly for what it was, as complete submission, he sat, pulled her over his lap, bottom-up, pulled her skirt all the way up over her hips and slowly and with great ceremony, pulled her tights down so that her now-bare buttock was in his full view.
Firmly and with great authority, he took control, totally, spanking her bottom until it had turned bright pink, embarrassment causing her to bawl like a baby. Ignoring her cries as just so much nonsense (which both of them knew they were), his hand wandered over her rosy red bum, found a path between her tightly clenched thighs and when a finger tested her cunt, it discovered that she was sopping wet, that her clit had emerged and now stood upright like a miniature penis, indicating to him just how sincere her protests were.
He sensed total victory. In only another moment he had her tights off completely, and, with her totally obvious tacit approval, had unzipped her dress, pulled it over her head, tossed it on the floor as if it was just a rag rather than the very expensive Armani that it really was (Isn't this the ULTIMATE indignity?, she thought).
Deftly he had unhooked her bra so that she stood nude before him, her bare breasts in his face, her nipples now standing like peanut shells, offering themselves to his hard, sucking kisses, her arms around his neck.
One of his hands fondled her rump while the other hand was up between her widespread thighs, his finger inserted full depth in her sensuous feminine flower, teasing it and bringing her ever closer to orgasm. She had been totally conquered by a simple spanking and by a bit of foreplay.
He had won the prize and obviously it was now his for the taking. He knew this, and so did she. She was fully aware that she was excited beyond anything in her experience, that very soon he would want to use her, and however he chose to use her that there was simply no way that she could stop him or would stop him or would even want to stop him.
Now he led her to her bedroom, spanked her further and harder, to her very great dismay- or perhaps to her very considerable joy. He stripped. Soon he joined her nude in her bed. He was rigidly erect and she was obviously totally acquiescent, totally passionate, totally excited, totally and absolutely orgasmically responsive. He took her in strange positions and in strange ways, vanquishing her completely and certainly satisfying her better than she had ever been satisfied.
During it all, with Tyrone's cock buried to its full depth in her humid, squishy pussy, when she had already had orgasm twice and knew she was on the verge of a third, she thought that never, since the day at age 16 when she had lost her virginity until perhaps an hour ago, had she ever really known what sex was all about, what true carnal pleasure could be, what submission to a strong individual could do.
She had always liked sex. but really, certainly could have done without it, too- but from now on? Now it was hours later. He had gone, almost without a word and she had to deal mentally with the evening's almost incredible events.
Well, one thing of which she was certain- she would not be seeing him again. He had brutalised her- well, not exactly brutalised, but he certainly had spanked her. Not that it had hurt especially, but it had cost her her dignity. And he had done strange things, disgusting things.
Like putting his finger into her anus, and then, of all things, kissing her there, a wet, thrusting kiss, inserting his tongue as far as he could.
That was absolutely bestial. Animals behaved like that, not intelligent people. And worst of all, he had taken her, made her whimper in pleasure, brought her to orgasm several times, and before leaving, firmly pinched her nipples, made her call him Master, and made her suck his then semi-soft cock, brought him back erect and was quickly impaled again on it.
Now she lay resting in bed, thinking about all this, about the moment when he first took her, spanked her and then stripped her bare and spanked her again, brought her nude and excited into her own bedroom, stripped his own clothes off and paraded around the room showing off his very rigid erection, with the absolute indication of what he was going to do with that awful thing -- right here, she thought, in this very room, in my own bed. And she found herself getting overheated once more, her nipples again erect, and her juices flowing, rim of pink screaming for some action.
Crazy, she thought, absolutely crazy. She was going to cum again. She mulled over the spanking- actually several spankings that he had given her, all with his bare hand against her naked bottom, with her trying to twist away from the strokes, but at the same time, raising up her buns slightly, perhaps unconsciously, in order to be accessible, to offer a more tempting target. No man had ever spanked her before.
In fact, in her entire life the only spanking she received was as a schoolgirl of 16, when one evening coming home late and slightly tipsy from a high-school dance, she had found her mother waiting up, furious. Her jeans were taken down, then and there, and her bottom lambasted by a very angry parent.
That one, she reflected, hurt a great deal more than this one had tonight. Her strange thought was that she really wanted to share this experience. She would call Sara. Now that they were really close she would tell her everything. Sara would just love to hear about this adventure. She loved kinky things and kinky clothes and kinky adventures, and especially, intimate, kinky talk.
Sara would flip!!! Yes, she thought, Sara WILL flip if I call her at 3:30 AM even to tell her THIS story. Helen lay back in bed, nude, voluptuously excited, sleepless, thinking strange thoughts.
This WAS a strange adventure, a marvelous kinky adventure, one to be regretted, perhaps, but one to be savoured, to be reflected on, to be shared with a really close, loved and understanding friend, one to be discussed with her in a particularly private moment (perhaps while lying with her face between Sara's elegant breasts, while kissing and gently sucking a mouth-watering, responsive nipple).
This was an experience to be digested and analyzed and understood, but NOT one to be repeated. She chanced to look at her telephone, on the small cabinet next to her bed. She willed it to ring.
Let someone call me, she thought, anybody. Nobody did. She thought, what if it rings right now, and it is him- Tyrone, that bastard- and he orders me to get into my car and drive to his house, stark naked, right now!!! Would I? she wondered. She looked at her nightstand.
There, on a sheet of paper was his parting shot- his telephone number, written there just as he was leaving. His verbal order to her to call him tomorrow night, exactly at nine, or suffer the consequences-- whatever that might mean. Call him tomorrow?- well, he could just forget about that.
She meant to crumple up that piece of paper, right now, and to put it in the ashtray and light a match to it- as if burning it meant burning the relationship and burning that bastard Tyrone at the same time. But just then she did not have a match handy, so it would wait until tomorrow. Yes, she thought, I will burn it in the morning.
And speaking of burning, she thought, he certainly did burn my bottom with that awful spanking. And that thought was finally too much for her- with a hand rubbing across her nipples, caressing them, and the other hand teasing and rubbing her clit, her body began to heave and shake and away she went into wild, total orgasm again!!
Helen had before tonight, very limited extra-marital experience. In each of the three or four times that she had been bedded down, the man was of the same type- a mature, intellectual, professorial type, a man for whom she had profound respect, a man who respected her own intellectual strength and her breeding, who treated her like a great lady is treated, a man who in each case was almost a clone for her husband.
Every time so far the appeal had been mental. Heaven knows that Tyrone was none of these things that had interested her in the past. He was a totally different specimen- mature, yes, but not a great mind, not a scholar at all, not particularly physically attractive, not muscular, not strong, not especially talented in anything that she could identify.
She giggled, thinking that his penis wasn't all that huge either, big enough certainly to get the job done, but not huge either, like some of those that she had admired in porno flicks.
Well, if the appeal wasn't mental, and it wasn't completely physical either, then what was it? What DID this guy do that was so special? All he did was take charge, ignore what she wanted (or thought she wanted) take control of her, discipline her, and--- well, what else, she thought.
The next morning she could think of nothing else. But now she had better personal insight in to what had really happened. He had somehow peeled off the veneer layer from her, and got down to the core, to what she felt was the fundamental person inside.
He made her feel like a true love slave, ready, anxious to please his every whim. And the funny thing, the absolutely wierd point about this whole episode was that she did not love this man- she did not even especially like him and did not respect him. He did not have the deep bass voice that she sometimes found sensuously attractive.
He was not especially handsome nor tall. He had no great brain. What he did have was a certain presence, a command of the situation that she found just incredibly overpowering.
And he wanted her, obviously wanted her, physically wanted her, carnally wanted her, and could and would all but own her, body and soul, but mostly body.
She immediately began to share her experience with Sara, and found that Sara was, as expected, almost as delighted hearing the details as she was in telling them.
Helen found this part of the adventure just doubly delectable- lying nude with Sara, her lips nuzzling Sara's shell pink ear, perhaps her tongue probing, her hands running across that ravishing rump, a hand searching between Sara's widespread thighs, a finger finding exquisite cream in that scrumptious cunny.
As the adventure proceeded, Sara demanded to know, needed to know every detail- whom she had met, what they looked like, what they had done, for how long, how, when, where.
Sara seemed to want to participate, but vicariously, afraid really to cross the line and join directly in the adventure. And this Helen wanted to protect her from, not really knowing where it was going.
Sara was Helen's secret. So Sara knew everything that happened between Helen and Tyrone and his friends, but Tyrone never knew about Sara. Helen thought through this new situation--her husband will be gone for a month or more and for that month she has a master, one who owns her, will train her in the image that he finds desirable.
He will spank her when he pleases, perhaps in the privacy of her bedroom and perhaps elsewhere, with others watching. That much he has already told her. She knows that she should flee him, refuse to see him again or even speak to him. And she is entirely certain that she will not do that- that tomorrow she may be terrified of what can happen, but she knows that she WILL see him again. And she will be spanked by him- and she is, of course.
Now these subsequent spankings that she gets later are not at all severe beatings- only fairly gentle spankings applied with a bare hand or mildly with a leather strop to her naked bottom.
They do not even especially hurt. They perhaps more than anything else are symbolic, both to him and to her, of his sexual domination.
They paint her rear end a bright pink, leaving her heaving and gasping, and incredibly lascivious, looking only for ways to please him even more. And he promises her nothing more than regular, almost constant excitement, wild new adventures, exciting new friends, and orgasm, orgasm, orgasm!!!! And so she does not go to Europe that summer.
She decides that the pressures at work are too great, that she cannot get away, that Herbert will travel alone and enjoy himself, that his freedom will be good for him, invigorating. She tells all this to Sara, and Sara thinks it is hysterically funny.
Sara believes that women are mostly cunt anyway (expressed in exactly that phrase). She believes that all women occasionally have their brains in their vaginas but that Helen's brains now are totally confined to the clitoris, (and on stating that conclusion, Sara leans forward, finds that delightful appendage, and emphasizes her point by giving it a lovely kiss).
Sara thinks that Helen is currently involved in very private, intimate treatment, perhaps best called Mind Fuck, in Sara's judgment an effective and acceptable form of therapy. She approves of this adventure, conditionally. That is, the idea is good, the events so far have been fun and very, very different. This will all be OK so long as it can be kept in perspective and no long term damage is done.
She has not met Tyrone, but she certainly now knows all about him, and she thinks that Helen has never looked so good or been so interesting. Her only complaint is that Helen does not have as much private time for Sara, but the time they do have together is absolutely marvelous- more intimate and exciting than it had ever been before.
So Helen has a master, a strong man on whom all her feminine wiles of the past are useless, a man who has captured her, has used her thoroughly and often and made her love him for it, conquered her totally employed her sexually in every conceivable way, introduced her to threesomes and foursomes and orgies, photographed her nude body in unbelievable poses, kept her constantly aroused and is now putting her through her paces, a series of varied sexual adventures, all embarrassing to her but marvelously, voluptuously dangerous and exciting at the same time.
The queen has become a willing sex slave to a highly imaginative master, and never has she felt herself so much a woman as now. In one of their private moments, Helen had confided some of her unrealised fantasies to Tyrone. One of these related to having sex with a black man, something that she had thought about for years, but had obviously never done.
Tyrone was fascinated with the concept, but decided it needed expanding upon. He knew of a black couple, professionals, intelligent, and interested themselves in swinging. He arranged the meeting.
The two of them, Helen and Tyrone went to the apartment where the black couple, George and Grace, lived. Tyrone had told her that these two were middle aged -perhaps late 30s or early 40s, and quite attractive. He was a physician, she a clinical psychologist and, according to Tyrone, the least inhibited person that he knew.
The prearranged plan was simplicity indeed. The two women would play with each other while the men watched. And when all were ready, they would simply swap...that is, Helen with George and Grace with Tyrone.
The apartment was large, furnished well and with taste- obviously the home of a successful couple. Tyrone had instructed Helen to bring along baby-doll nightie and bikini panties.
Grace was already dressed that way, a short, extremely attractive, curvaceous lady, golden brown in shade, with an exotic figure, short, curly black hair, a large red mouth, a dashing pink tongue, huge dark flashing eyes, and an entirely winsome expression. She appeared to be sex personified. Helen liked her immediately.
After some preliminary conversation, Grace led Helen to the bedroom to dress, and of course, helped her to undress for her baby-doll. First though, Grace turned her face up for a kiss.
When Helen responded, Grace thrust her tongue out what seemed to be six inches, bathing the back of the roof of Helen's mouth- what seemingly was the most exotic first kiss that Helen had ever received. Of course, the fact that Grace was unzipping this and unhooking that all the while, delightful parts were coming uncovered and bare and could be touched, and stroked and stimulated.
This only fueled the flames that her tongue had lit. They continued this exchange of astonishingly appetising kisses, deep-tongue kisses, and almost forgot the two men waiting for them.
Helen had a good look at her delightful playmate, at her luscious golden, small but shapely titties with their spiffy chocolate covered nipples, and that curly, sable pubic triangle and the pink clit that seemed to be peeping out at her, at her scrumptious hips and thighs and that beautiful ass, and thought that she would have been just as glad to forget the men for the evening- that she was really taken with this Grace and that what she wanted from her was really more than a hors d'oeuvre.
Grace would have made a delectable main course. That was not to be, at least not this evening. A few moments later, the ladies emerged, arm in arm, obviously already well acquainted. Grace peeled Helen out of her baby- doll, to show her figure off to George, then took off her own, and nude, the girls began their enchanting love-play, with an almost delirious audience. Deep tongue kisses were exchanged, nipples were lovingly stroked and kissed, clits petted, kissed, sucked, vaginas were tasted, each girl doing the foreplay for the other to prepare her for the injection which would soon follow.
Along the way, the two men stripped. Helen looked up, first saw Tyrone nude and hard. Across the room, George was also nude, very large, very erect, obviously very ready for Helen. Helen was very ready for George, too.
The girls separated, each going to a man. George put his arm around Helen, captured the cheek of her bottom in his hand, and led her to a bedroom. Once through the door, he turned her towards him, delightfully squeezed both cheeks of her scrumptious ass, his rigid cock pressing against her belly. They exchanged a deep, wet kiss.
In only a moment, Helen was on the bed, on her back, her legs spread wide, George's eager face between her thighs, his tongue tasting her now squishy-wet pussy.
She turned around so that they were in a position of 69. She took his huge, thick, chocolate Cadbury's Roll in her hand, squeezed it, leaned towards it, kissed it, and took as much of it as she could into her mouth. For long moments, she sucked the rigid ebony bar, really enjoying the sensation as it throbbed in her mouth.
It was almost too much to contain and it hurt her jaw a bit, but it was that very well known pleasure-pain, that lovely combination of the best of both. It was her intention eventually to turn around and take him in her fully-ready vagina, but they waited an instant too long.
Now understand this moment. Before Tyrone, she had done oral sex only a relatively few times, practically never with her husband. She had done it with each of her previous lovers, but generally as a means of erecting an otherwise flaccid penis, perhaps after they had already had intercourse once. No man had ever cum in her mouth.
Even Tyrone, who had undeniably expanded her experiences in sucking a cock, and who certainly could have cum in her mouth if he chose to, did not do so. The thought of a man squirting his thick, oily jizm essence into her fully ready vagina was pleasant, even downright exciting.
And since she had recently been re-introduced into anal sex (and liked it, in typical masochistic fashion), having a man cumming into her anus was fine, even fun.
Still, the idea of a cock going off into her mouth, while not actually disgusting, was perhaps a little bit frightening- the ultimate invasion of her personal privacy. And now, right now, it obviously was going to happen. She just knew it was going to happen, that he was going to go off like a fire hose. She thought that she did not even know what to do.
She did not have to do anything. He grabbed her face with both his hands. pulled her closer so that most of his full depth was inserted in her mouth, the glans almost down her throat.
She could not help but think of a porno film that she and Sara had watched together in which the heroine has sucked down a huge prick, taking the whole thing, taking it all the way to her lover's orgasm.
Now she could feel George approaching orgasm- the head of his cock swelled even larger, receded, swelled again, and then suddenly a thick, hot, oily, salty squirt against the back of her palate. Her gave her a huge oral injection, and in the position she was, she could do nothing other than to swallow it down. And with his tongue furiously stroking her, the sheer masochistic sensation overpowering her, she had orgasm, too, a wild response on her part to an absolutely wild feeling.
So she had been treated to her first taste of cum, and a royal mouthful it was. And she had dutifully swallowed it down, and had cum herself while doing it. A marvelous experience!!! What in the world, she wondered, had she been afraid of? The taste? Well, yes, a bit strange, but certainly not unpleasant, perhaps similar in a sense to raw oysters, she thought. She felt disappointed, on the one hand, because she had really wanted George to measure her internal dimensions with that gorgeous monster, to probe her for depth and diameter. On the other hand, she did have the experience of servicing him orally, all the way, and had been rewarded for her efforts by his obvious pleasure and by the copious salty (and marvelously palatable, no question about that) squirt he had shot down her throat.
They rested together for a bit, and as he relaxed, she knelt on the bed before him. Now, absolutely unafraid, with a new feeling of confidence and control. she leaned forward, her lips brushed against his now semi-soft prick. She thrust out her tongue, licking its length, and marveled at it as it grew before her eyes. In only an instant, or so it seemed, he was erect again.
He pulled her on top of him. She spread a leg on either side, now perched above that again large, fairly hard, brown rod. His hands were on her hips, slowly pulling her down, impaling her squishy cunt until his full depth was buried. It felt absolutely marvelous. It stretched her beyond where she had ever before been expanded.
Now they rode, now his hands holding and squeezing her behind, which she just loved, and later holding each luscious breast, gently pinching her nipples, but all the while stroking upwards, deep, slow plunges, and with the front of his shaft gently massaging her clit on each stroke. For another ten minutes this went on. Helen perhaps had another orgasm then, perhaps not. She did not later remember.
George certainly did, inundating her with another lovely flood. A while later, they walked out, nude, hand in hand, to the other bedroom, to find Grace in the identical position, sitting astride Tyrone's cock.
As they walked in, they were behind the couple making love, and had an intimate view of Grace's elegant, shapely, full bottom, her thighs spread, Tyrone's prick inserted deeply in her pussy. As she stroked up and down they were treated to the sight of the muscular action in her rump, a totally erotic sight to Helen.
Grace bent forward to give Tyrone a long kiss, now lying parallel over him, rubbing her titties on his chest, and exposing as she did so, her winking brown rosette. It seemed to be begging for a kiss, so Helen did just that- knelt behind, bent her head forward, kissed it lovingly, and attempted to thrust her tongue through.
That seemed a totally appropriate gesture for the marvelous feelings that she had just now. She began to laugh, but nobody quite knew why. She thought, just at that instant, that she had become a graduate student again, this time in a PhD program in Advanced Fancy Fucking. And that Tyrone was her tutor.
She was currently doing research for her dissertation, that Grace's apartment was her laboratory. She giggled--yes, she would report that to Sara tomorrow, and they would be hysterical together.
One point to be considered. Helen had isolated Sara from her experience with Tyrone. But she did report everything to Sara, so she did tell her all about George and Grace.
Perhaps of the entire affair this was the portion that most excited Sara. There was nothing to be done about it then. However, perhaps a year later, when Tyrone was history, the topic came up between the girls for perhaps the hundredth time, and Helen agreed to introduce Sara to the black couple.
They all met for dinner, and retired to Helen's house for dessert (Herbert was away). Would George like to see all three girls naked and playing together? Oh wow!!! But yes. Would it be OK so far as Grace was concerned?
Well, certainly. And did they? Of course. In a marvelous kind of daisy chain, like a reverse Oreo Cookie, a mouth-watering chocolate layer sandwiched between two whites.
And was he given his choice of the three to try on for size, personally? Well, yes he was. And who was the choice? That question is ridiculous. You know the answer to that. And did Helen and Grace play their own private games while George reamed out Sara's scrumptious cunt? Don't even bother to ask.
But now back to the great Tyrone adventure.
For the two year period prior to Tyrone she and Sara had been taking belly dancing lessons- at first with a group of woman at the local YWCA- and at the end of that series, from an older, very experienced belly dancer, an elegant, exotic lady of Turkish extraction who had learned this dance in the old country as a girl.
This older woman, now about 60, is an incredible specimen. She is slim, lithe, with a marvelous body and more energetic than women half her age. She has continued the lessons with Sara and Helen and two other ladies as an advanced class, taught privately.
She has taught them things that the YWCA classes did not even contemplate- much more cosmopolitan things, and especially she has taught them about the sexuality of the dance. She believes that belly dancing is inherently erotic, that it is meant to excite both the dancer and the watchers, and that it is senseless and practically impossible for the dancer not to have sex after she is through dancing.
If she has no partner available, then masturbation is expected and understood.
She believes that belly dancing without orgasm following is absolute nonsense. Sara, of course, has a young, strong, very vigorous husband. When she comes home from a lesson, he is delighted to help relieve her of her excess energy and strong erotic feelings in the time honored, traditional way.
Helen's husband, on the other hand, is not always there and is not as sexually involved. For her, masturbation after a dance lesson has become almost a ritual.
Helen has been delighted with the lessons- they are real fun, marvelous exercise, and they give her the most erotic feelings imaginable. When she began her lessons, she thought that they might put some thrills in her otherwise hum-drum workaday existence. Well, she thought, they certainly have done that.
Consider the basic movement in the belly dance- the thrusting forward and backwards of the pelvis, an almost perfect parody of the female movements in sexual intercourse. Consider the source,too. Belly dancing was first done in the Harems of the Sultans in the Ottoman Empire, and the dancers were always harem slaves, selected for having the perfect, voluptuous figure that the dance demands- full breasts, firm, shapely legs and thighs, and a delicious, magnificent bottom.
Helen's figure matches this description exactly. And further, the Harem slave is a Houri, a nubile female whose whole purpose is pleasing her master, however he might wish to be pleased.
It is her responsibility to arouse him, almost beyond control, so that he will then take her, manfully, forcefully. During the early lessons at the YWCA, the students dress in sweatpants and shirts and tennis shoes, a ragbag looking group, not in the least pleasing in appearance.
After the YWCA phase, the teacher suggested that Helen and Sara and the ladies buy the appropriate costumes, the diaphanous, filmy materials, designed to show more than they hide, so that beautiful breasts are apparent, nipples are protuberant and obvious, and thighs and bottoms carnally displayed as much as they hide.
One Saturday afternoon, the girls made an excursion to Greek Town to an obscure shop, and bought the costumes.
Later in the week they met, each to see how the other looked dressed. Helen looked very attractive- but Sara was absolutely gorgeous. Her pitch black hair, intense brown eyes, full shapely mouth, and dark coloring gave her an Italian look, almost like Sophia Loren.
She was sex personified in this costume, her gorgeous body almost completely revealed and still hidden slightly. She looked the perfect Houri, the beautiful, nubile, voluptuous maiden that Moslems think await them in Paradise, trained first to tease and then to satisfy, to give perfect, exotic, never-ending sex in ways almost beyond the comprehension of mortal man. Helen put on a tape, and they danced- first together, and then, one for the other, obviously both very stimulated.
Sara approached the end of her dance, and in Harem manner, began to remove the few articles of clothing she wore. First the pantaloons came off so she was dancing in her vest and underpants.
Helen removed her own pantaloons. Sara unbuttoned the vest, showing Helen her gorgeous breasts for the first time, utterly delicious looking love apples, high and full and firm, with chocolate brown aureoles and nipples, fully erect, almost demanding to be kissed.
Helen stared, transfixed. Sara danced closer, took down her underpants, wiggled free of them and danced, her legs spread, her mound wiggling, her black pubic triangle in front of Helen's eyes.
She turned, her gorgeous bare bottom weaving, the cute rosette now and then visible as the cheeks parted, almost beckoning to Helen to come forward and kiss it. Helen stared, absolutely entranced, unable to take her glance away from the heavenly sight of Sara, now turned again towards her, her legs slightly spread, her unbelievable femininity clearly visible, juicy, lovable, as it moved forward and back, offering itself for her kisses.
Helen pulled off her few items of clothes and knelt before this dancing nymph and moved forward, her face now between the dancers legs. And for the first time, she kissed that glorious cunny. Her tongue found the erect clit. She massaged it wetly.
Now the two nude girls stood, the dancing stopped though the music went on. They kissed deeply and wildly. In an instant they were on the couch, in a position of 69, each feasting on the sopping, squishy. appetising cunt of the other.
Both have found the only logical, the only possible end, of a true Harem belly dance when no man is present. And now, much later, after Helen was captured, her new master has decided that Helen will do a public performance of the belly dance, before a small audience, in his own home.
An elegant buffet has been catered and served, with fine wines. The group is small, but intelligent. The conversation has been lively. The guests have finished dinner and are relaxed over coffee and dessert. They are ready for entertainment and Helen has gone to don her costume.
She will be wearing a semi-transparent vest, deeply cut to show her cleavage, and through which her nipples are easily visible. She is wearing the dancers pantaloons, again of a diaphanous material through which her panties can be seen, again almost transparent, and through which can be seen the shadow of her pubic triangle and the delightful cleavage of her behind. She is wearing a boxful of junk jewelry, assorted baubles and bangles of glass, in bright colors, in vivid reds and greens and yellows and blues.
She has on dazzling makeup, and a spray of perfume in strategic places. The perfume itself is a special type, with a very sweet, aromatic scent. It is potent when she is still, but later when her wild movements have caused her body to heat up, the perfume vaporizes further and the air takes on a carnal, erotic aroma, almost like incense.
This arouses her, and she knows that it excites the audience. There will not be a flaccid cock in the room, later on.
She hears the music begin- a tape of Turkish music, exotic and slow and rhythmic and intense, music one can almost taste as well as hear. She dances in, her body throbbing in time with the music, her sexuality obvious, her exhilaration clearly showing.
Those present applaud, enjoying the private show. Very soon, the tempo changes, the beat picks up and the pace of her movements change. Quickly her master signals her.
Her pantaloons are removed. She dances now, bare legged, her scrumptious bottom in constant motion, more excited now than before.
The master signals again. Her vest flutters down. She now stands bare breasted before the audience, her nipples rigidly erect, her almost orgasmic feeling growing. Will her panties come off, next? Of course they do. Now she is nude, continuing the motions, the parody. She knows what to expect next. She is wild with shameless carnality, with arousal. The sensual music is itself seductively hypnotic.
The aphrodisiac aromas, the mixture of her perfumes plus the wondrous scent of her permeate the room. In her mind she knows that never has she looked so exciting as at this instant, never has she felt so much like a true wanton, never so much like a woman. When the dance is done before a private audience in the Harem, it concludes with the nude dancer being given to one or more of the guests for the night .
Sometimes the person selected will take her, there and then, with the others watching, cheering him on. She will already be fully ready. No foreplay is necessary. The male selected may or may not need further stimulation. If so, the dancer is fully trained, and will use her body in any way to excite him, to prepare him to take her.
And when he takes her, he will take her however he pleases, in any orifice, in any way. Will he want to spank her naked bottom with a strop or a cane? Then he will do so, without opposition from the Sultan or any other person there. He is the chosen guest and has been given the use of the dancer, and use her he will, as he desires.
There is another historical custom from the days of the Sultan. In those days, a eunuch was present, usually carrying a bamboo cane. If the Sultan decided that the dancer's pace was too slow, or if there was a certain movement that he wanted emphasised, a sign to the eunuch would tell him to slash the dancer across her behind, a stroke guaranteed to bring results.
This might be repeated a few times, or many if the Sultan was cruel.
Tonight, of course, there is no eunuch and none would be needed. This night, the audience is composed of the master, three other men and a woman, her master's friends. She has not seen any of them before this evening. Helen dances on, now turning her back to the audience, bending far forward, and slightly spreading her legs.
Her marvelous buttocks are only a foot away from those watching, her squishy femininity fully in sight, her podex wiggling and wobbling, the rosebud of her anus almost winking at those watching.
As she is bent forward, her body so intimately exposed to those who watch, her own feelings are of gigantic stimulation.
She knows that soon her master will give her, for the night, to one or another of the guests- perhaps one of the men, or perhaps to the woman, and she knows that she will do her part to please this person.
She is playing out the part mentally of the harem slave, and it is as much as her life would be worth to displease the Sultan if she really was a slave. And in a sense she is. Since she has come under the control of this master, she has been getting regular punishment- which she loves and hates at the same time.
There is no question about it being truly painful to be turned over, rump-up and stropped thoroughly with that leather or her master's hand- it is not. The spankings are not at all that hard.
But at the same time, she adores the wild sexuality that she feels when spanked, knowing that her master will then use her in strange, exotic ways or give her body for use by his friends. Yes, in a sense he has converted her from lady to whore, but never has she felt as attached to or as involved with any man.
Yes, he totally is boss and she would not willingly have him any other way. And she absolutely revels in the joy she feels as her master shows off her beautiful body to strangers and willingly shares her most intimate charms with others. She dances on, her nude body writhing and turning.
At times her back is turned to the audience, and they then are treated to the sight of the muscles working in her beautiful thighs and ass, a particular delight in the eyes of her master and provocative absolutely to any man. Perhaps whomsoever gets her tonight will want her that way, she thinks, and gives a special wiggle and spread-legged bend forward that emphasizes that particular delight to the audience, signifying perhaps that there is orgasmic joy to be had right here for a strong man.
And who will the winner be, the one selected to conquer her, perhaps right there in full view of all, on that pile of cushions? Maybe it will be the woman this time. She is attractive enough, about 40, shapely, quite well dressed, with a good, slim figure.
Her name is Amy, an executive in the fashion industry, and during dinner her contributions to the conversation were lively and animated and interesting. Helen dances a little bit, just for her, and this is immediately obvious to all.
Yes, Helen thinks, that one might just spread her thighs and Helen would kneel between them cheerfully, gladly looking into and then kissing and worshipping her glorious femininity.
Perhaps it will be one of the men. One, seated in the centre, attracts her especially. He is an attorney named Paul, a man of refinement and power, very obviously successful, understated in dress. He is tall and sturdily built, perhaps 50, salt and pepper grey in his hair, and a strong, powerful look-- and obviously now very aroused. Now, she dances especially for him, facing him, her thighs parted, her curly dark blonde triangle in full view, and as she moves back and forth, her vulva opens and closes slightly, her pink clit now erect and peeping out at him.
The perfume is now at its fullest effect and the sight of her nude body, obviously totally passionate, fully ready to be conquered, has all of the audience incredibly excited.
They now want the dance to end and to see Helen take up another challenge- the total satisfaction of another person. The master designates an individual who wins tonight's prize.
As she had hoped, it is the stocky man with grey in his hair. He seizes her immediately, his hands rubbing across her back and down over her bottom, and as he grasps each cheek of her rump in a huge hand and squeezes, he kisses her, a long, wet kiss, his tongue plunging deep in her mouth. And of course she responds to his kiss, offering her hot tongue in a kind of duel, her nipples rubbing against his shirt.
They are in full view of the others, but she does not care at all who watches- in her mind she is a fully stimulated slave girl who will do her utmost, her absolute utmost to satisfy this man, the man designated as her lover for tonight by her master.
He bends slightly forward, taking a nipple between his lips and gives it a hard, sucking kiss- almost too hard for her comfort, but still tremendously stimulating. He stands and his trousers immediately drop to expose a monstrous erection, standing straight out, all but pointing at her. Helen drops to her knees as her master has taught her to do.
She greets this appendage with a large, wet kiss, massaging the head with her slippery tongue. The dance has done what it always does for her-left her feeling almost orgasmic.
Now she wants to pay homage to this lovely huge cock, to make it even more ready so that it will invade her body, give her spectacular pleasure and then squirt its full tribute into her.
And she will willingly do as she has been taught- she will relax totally, no matter where this monstrous cock is put, and then participate in the pleasure whole-heartedly, giving as much as she can, and cummmming with her new lover, cummmming for him again and again until he has had enough. He takes her to the pile of cushions, and removes the rest of his clothing so that he, like she, is nude.
She wonders if this new lover will want to spank her first- there is master's leather strop, hanging on a hook on the wall. Will he want to use this on her, to demonstrate his total control? He does not. She drops back on the cushions, thighs spread, ready to be pleasured by him. He kneels before her, first giving her enticing, wet pussy a deep tonguing kiss.
She responds wildly, raising her bottom up to meet him, throwing her legs up and back so they rest on his shoulders. He raises his head, thrusts a finger into her oily, juicy nest, withdraws that finger and searches for and finds another orifice for it, thrusting it deep into her bottom.
She gasps. She knows that he will very quickly make her cumm for the first time this evening- that she had practically but not quite been there a number of times during the dance, and this oral stimulation and anal stimulation she cannot resist.
But not yet. He moves his body forward so that his rigid cock is at her outer portals, the rim of pink. She will get, will need, no further foreplay. Slowly, deeply, thickly, forcefully his rigid rod enters until it's entire depth is planted in her. It feels simply marvelous- stretching her, filling her with true masochistic joy to be impaled on this huge log of a cock in the presence of this very, very interested audience.
He strokes back and then forward again- totally in control, setting the pace that pleases him best. She feels waves of pleasure, consistently increasing in amplitude, taking her with each slow stroke closer to some edge, to some cliff over which she must soon plunge. She feels more absolutely vanquished than ever before.
And suddenly, she locks her arms around his neck and says loudly for all to hear, ooooooh,oooooo I'mcummmmmmmmmmminnnng!!!!".
Her new lover beams, his macho self-esteem satisfied. He has conquered this tigerish bitch. He has caught her, fucked her, made her respond ecstatically and wildly, made her surrender totally her orgasm to him. He feels as if he is ten feet tall, a giant, a hero.
And he is by no means through with her- a man of his experience and stature and strength can do this for another hour, perhaps. He continues the slow pace.
Though she has just cum, her arousal has really not diminished at all. Her new lover is fucking her masterfully, slow, deep powerful strokes, his finger still imbedded in her anus, keeping time with the strokes of his cock.
Never has she enjoyed fucking so much as this instant, but at the moment she thinks how dreadful it is to do this with people watching, how embarrassing, how disgraceful, how utterly appalling, how dangerous, how absolutely sensualistically marvelous!!.
And her thought goes to her master, who has orchestrated this whole event, choreographed it, and she loves him for understanding her so well, for analyzing her needs for sensation and humiliation and having them satisfied. Her head turns, she sees the audience watching, transfixed. The woman is obviously aroused, her legs now spread, her crotch pointed towards Helen, though she has her tights on.
They make eye contact. The woman's lips purse, making the sign of a kiss to Helen, and Helen makes the response, her tongue emerging and making a licking motion. Helen knows, absolutely knows, that when the others leave, that lady will remain, those tights will come off, and Helen will be treated to a closer sight of those female delights and that Helen's master will give her to a second lover tonight, and at the thought, her body shakes and quivers as she goes through the throes of a second orgasm. Another hour passes. Two of the guests have left already.
Paul is now fully dressed, immaculate looking again. Helen knows that he would like to see her again, but the understanding that she has with her master prevents private contact. If he is to see her, Tyrone will arrange it. He leaves. Helen has showered, sipping a small glass of brandy, still nude but now relaxed.
Tyrone is not in sight, nor Amy. Helen has a reflective pause, thinking of the evening and its events. She has been, she thinks, spectacularly, forcefully fucked. In public, so to speak, before an audience who saw every facet of the engagement.
Never before had she been as well satisfied. Was it Paul- a man of obvious charm, potent physical attraction for her, undeniable virility, spectacular sexual technique. Or was it the circumstances, the erotic dance, the public nudity, the outrageous exhibitionism. She simply did not know which of these things, singly or in combination, had so done her in. Paul's massive dimensions were undoubtedly impressive- bigger than she had ever had before, and perhaps that alone would have satisfied her so well.
Ladies, talking vulgarly, often say that bigger is better, but that technique transcends everything. If so, he would have been rated super-superior on both scores. But she knew that his huge erection notwithstanding plus his outstanding technique, a massive component, for her, of this feeling of satisfaction was the awareness that all of this was forbidden and dangerous, and therefore doubly delightful.
And in that same context, she knew that Tyrone's rules or no, that she would be seeing this Paul again. He did not know where to find her? Well, perhaps, but she knew where to find him, and there certainly was nothing that prevented her from initiating the contact, if she chose to do so. Perhaps she would so choose.
A moment later, Amy appeared, with Tyrone. She was wearing a revealing Teddy top that showed her sweet, sexy figure. They joined Helen in a brandy. As it was designed, Amy was offered to Helen, or perhaps vice versa. Amy has had definite lesbian interests, so far unresolved.
Tyrone, moving people as another would move chess pieces, has put her in a situation offering the maximum of temptation along with the maximum of opportunity. Tyrone left the room, the ladies alone, sipping their respective brandies, obviously very interested in each other. Helen is bewildered. She has had sex, marvelous, successful sex tonight that transcended all her earlier experiences, and here she was, excited again, interested in seeing what made this Amy tick.
Their hands touched and in an instant, their lips- and then deeply, their tongues. In only a moment, Helen was on her knees before the enthralled Amy, taking a closer look at those feminine charms earlier hinted at, and now clearly displayed for her. She knew that Tyrone expected that she would bury her face between these lovely thighs.
She very strongly thought that Amy also wanted exactly that, though just now she does not know if Amy wanted to, was ready to reciprocate. Helen's lips worked their way down Amy's body- over little but very shapely breasts, offering sweet sucking kisses to each nipple.
Down across her tummy, paying a salutation in passing to her naval. And across her curly black triangle until, descending further, she found that sweet, creamy moisture that she knew she would find, that little clit protruding slightly and awaiting her nibbling kisses. And immediately, Amy's thighs clenched around Helen's face, locking her in a passionate grip.
In only seconds, Amy cumms, sweetly, quietly, but with great movement of her hips and bottom. Helen relaxed, lying back nude, comfortable, wondering if Amy will choose to return the compliment. And Amy, slowly, almost haltingly at first, overcame her own natural shyness and explored Helen's body with lips and tongue, every crevice, every lovely part until she brought Helen to yet another orgasm.
And, of course, Tyrone has returned- he stood in the doorway, silently, approvingly, watching the love play between the two ladies, his smile acknowledging the accomplishment of yet one more purpose of his. He had invited Amy to an event that he thought would stimulate her incredibly, and make her recognise her fantasies, and then later would provide her with the means of dealing with them, of accomplishing them.
This is Tyrone, a Mephistophilian personality, ready to probe your desires and fantasies, demanding that you satisfy them (more or less publically) in order better to satisfy his own desires and fantasies. And are people happier for having played Tyrone's little games? Just for the record, where was Herbert all this time? Well, he regarded it as a marvelous opportunity for a bachelor trip through Europe with an aged business colleague of his- a widower of 67.
This is something that they two had discussed frequently in the past, something they felt they would one day do, but for which they had never found the opportunity. This was the chance.
The gentlemen spent four delightful weeks carefully examining all the gothic cathedrals in France, dined variously at elegant and expensive restaurants and sometimes at simple local bistros, sampled interesting and exotic vintages, stayed at grand hotels, small inns and castles, looked at the Chateaux on the Loire, went to Chartres and studied the historical architecture plus a square mile or so of fabled stained glass windows, excursioned to Brittany and saw Le Mont St Michael, went to Notre Dame (and perhaps found the hunchback?) met two delightful elderly English school teachers and took them to dinner, and for all I know, even got lucky- I did not ask. When he returned, much refreshed and rested and bubbling with a thousand stories, Herbert said that of course me missed me while he was gone, but that there is much to be said for an occasional separate vacation. He thinks that it gives one a chance to study, to think. It cleans the mind and gives one a clearer perspective of what things are all about.
Tyrone, hearing this somewhat later, laughingly agreed absolutely. Sara says that the separate vacation idea is fine for the wife, but her husband is damn well never going to go without her. I believe her. It seems that she thinks that she had better keep an eye on him. So far as I am concerned, midnight came and the carriage turned back into a pumpkin, as it always seems to do. King Tyrone was deposed, relegated to the history books. He had been commanding.
He had been interesting and fascinating in his way. He had shown a new path to be explored that at the time seemed dangerous but like most strange new ground, could indeed be surmounted. Still, it might be, should be regarded as an adventure experienced, a lesson learned, a challenge successfully overcome.
Perhaps, at times, there had been, to some small degree, personal discomfort or even embarrassment. Indeed. But that was yesterday.
Today, it is clearly time to move on.
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