Lots more naughty fun this time around when Michael and Clarissa go downtown! Light bondage and threesome. You may want to read Parts One and Two; they set up the story and introduce the characters.
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Michael jumped off the couch, did up his pants, and strode into the kitchen. I sat up, slowly, wondering why he'd offered to wait on me. Odd behavior, given this evening's tone. Probably didn't want me to see how bad his kitchen really was.
"Hey," I called weakly, feeling self-consciously sticky all of a sudden. "Can I clean up?"
Michael sauntered around the corner, gulping Bud. He handed me the beer and a dampened dish towel and plopped down beside me. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes off of the coffee table, extracted one, lit up.
I sponged myself off, mildly abashed at having to do it while Michael watched. I like my bathroom privacy.
He turned to me and grinned wickedly. "Ever had a girl?"
I reddened instantly. "Certainly not!" I gasped, placing the towel on the coffee table with a suddenly less-than-steady hand.
Michael laughed. "Didn't think so. Wanna try it?"
I looked at him, speechless. Tact, I was quickly discovering, was not one of Doctor Michael Hanlon's greatest strengths.
The sudden warmth below my belly took me by surprise as well.
I mean, not that I hadn't wondered; I'm human. But a lifetime of small-town Pennsylvania upbringing has a way of keeping you from too much, er, experimentation. The only two females I'd ever kissed on the lips were my mother and my great Aunt Margaret, and it hadn't been sexy.
Michael reached over, brushing my hair to one side, and began to stroke my neck.
"Think how nice that'd be," Michael murmured. "A girl would know just how to do you. Just how to eat you. How to make you feel good."
Oh, my. I closed my eyes and moaned, leaning into Michael's caress. I imagined, too easily, too vividly, another girl's lips on mine. On my neck, my breasts---
"Girls are wicked soft, too," Michael continued. "And they smell nice, and they make you eggs in the morning. C'mon," he coaxed. "Bet you always wondered."
He turned to me and slid his hand up my neck to the back of my head, massaging steadily. His other hand found its way to my breasts, where it cupped each one in turn, lifting gently. I felt Michael rubbing his palm back and forth over my nipples. No pinching this time, just light stimulation. The tissue, already sore and sensitive, sprang erect. Shock of pure pleasure, radiating from my nipples, going directly to my crotch.
I felt Michael's lips at my ear. "I want to see you with another girl, Clarissa. Want to see you get off with her mouth on your pussy and my dick down your throat. Whaddaya say?"
The image flashed behind my closed eyelids.
Yes.
I arched my breast into Michael's hand and turned my head, pressing my mouth hard to his. I felt wicked and naughty and suspected I could get used to it. I felt Michael smile as I kissed him.
He broke the kiss and grinned, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger. "We'll find us a nice little piece," he promised, winking. "Soon."
I stared at him, feeling light in my head and heavy in my loins. I nodded, swallowing hard.
Michael put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me flat on my back. I went without resistance. Rolling over on his stomach, Michael inched down, positioning his face directly between my legs.
"In the meantime--- I'm hungry again," he murmured. "How about a snack?"
Michael bent his head and gently kissed my mons, sliding his hands underneath my buttocks to cup my ass in his palms. His lips caressed my pubic mound, skimming my inner thighs, feather-light, his breath warm on my skin. Pressing his mouth to my crotch, he slithered his tongue over my labia, pausing to bite gently every so often, pulling the skin between his teeth. He licked me lovingly, moving his lips and tongue up and down the length of my slit in long, slow strokes.
He was practiced, wicked. Warm... he made me so warm. I sighed, letting him work me, yielding to him. His, and only his. I spread my legs wider, thrusting my pussy into his face. His tongue danced over my cunt, dipping into my hole, mimicking the movement of his cock, stabbing me sweetly. He changed direction, slicking slowly upward, barely grazing my clitoris before moving back to my vaginal canal. Teasing.
Wanted more, needed more. Nownownow. I pushed my hands into Michael's hair, pulling his head down, harder, grinding his nose against my pelvis.
Michael ate me in earnest now, lapping at my throbbing lips, sucking my juices, moaning his obvious pleasure. Digging his fingers into the flesh of my ass, he nibbled his way to my clit and gave it his full attention, tickling it fiendishly, swirling the tip of his tongue over the swollen bud. I swiveled my hips, chest heaving. God, yes. Just like that. Lovely, sweet tingling. Soon.
I felt the wave rise, slowly, inside my belly. I twisted my head from side to side, uttering incomprehensible sentences. I flung out both arms, balling my hands into white-knuckled fists, hammering the cushions. Something tightened, coiling behind my navel, exploding suddenly, sending me spinning into space. A gutteral cry flew from my lips, torn from my core by the sheer force of the orgasm.
I surfaced, slowly, opening my eyes, waiting for my vision to clear. I lay prone, breathing hard, trembling. Michael lifted his head and grinned up at me.
"Gotcha."
Michael got up, wiping his mouth and chin, and reached for the beer. He sat back on the couch, draining the bottle in one long swallow. Looked at me, amused.
I sat up, slowly, leaning my back against the arm of the sofa, facing Michael. I felt warm, lightheaded---cleansed. Just the most amazing state of mind.
Michael laughed. "Bet nobody ever ate you like that."
I might have been glowing, but I wasn't catatonic. Michael's arrogance was big as life and truly astounding; he raised it to a fine art. He was right about what he'd just done, of course, but I'd resigned myself to finding it more amusing than annoying. I laughed. I couldn't help it.
Michael raised one eyebrow. "Glad to see you're happy. You'll no doubt be quite receptive to what I'm going to tell you."
I leaned forward, unconsciously, suddenly compelled by the tone of his voice to pay close attention.
"Okay," Michael said, evenly. "Listen up, Clarissa, because I'll only say this once. I don't have many rules; I don't feel like I'll need them with you. There are only two. First, as I told you, you belong to me. Just me. No boyfriends, no dating. I catch you with somebody else, I'll see that the words 'physician' and 'Clarissa Blackwood' are never uttered in the same sentence. Second, I fuck who I want, when I want. On those occasions, you might be included. You might not."
Other girls? I felt a sudden, wholly unexpected spark of---what? Jealousy? Unbelievable. Idiot, I thought, angrily. Of course he's got other girls. Probably has a Little Black Book the size of a Physician's Desk Reference. And he's been excruciatingly clear about what you are to him. What do you care, after what he's done to you?
But I did.
And it showed.
"Other girls?" I managed finally, my throat tight.
"Hey," Michael said, gently tweaking my big toe. "No pouting. You'll get used to it. You'll enjoy it, eventually. Just keep in mind how much you're pleasing me. And I know how much you like making me happy, Clarissa. How hot it makes you."
I digested that, knowing without a doubt that Michael Hanlon had rammed his fist into my chest and was holding my heart---and my psyche--- in a death-grip. I sighed shakily. I could refuse Michael nothing and we both knew it.
I leaned over and kissed Michael lightly on the lips, resigned to my fate, feeling delightfully helpless to do anything but acquiesce.
Michael smiled, patting my head. "Good girl. Look, I'm gonna go check my e-mail. Here," he said, tossing me a television remote control. "Watch TV or something. I got cable. HBO, Cinemax and Playboy, if you want." He got up, crossed the living room, and disappeared down a short hallway.
I sat for a few minutes, turning the remote over and over in my hands. I stifled the urge to laugh hysterically. Alice might have tumbled down the rabbit hole, but I was rocketing headlong through Willy Wonka's psychedelic fun-tunnel. What the hell, I thought, pushing the power button and settling in. I can't afford cable at my place.
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I awoke some time later, stiff and chilly. I was stretched out on the couch, my head resting on a squashed pillow which had done little to cushion my skull. My neck was killing me. I opened my eyes, rubbing the bleariness out of them, massaging my neck. The television was still on; an ancient black and white film flickered feebly. I looked at my watch. Four-twenty. Michael was nowhere to be seen. I grabbed the remote from the coffee table and switched off the television. I rose and stretched, not bothering to get dressed. Michael seemed to prefer me naked anyhow.
I padded across the living room and down the hall, stopping at the first room on the left. I peeked inside. Within, Michael slept soundly, slumped over his desk, head cradled in his arms. A single gooseneck lamp shone dimly. He obviously used this room as an office, and it was as bad or worse than the rest of the apartment. I found myself thinking of avalanches. His computer glowed serenely. I tiptoed in and came up behind him, looking at the screen, hoping for something that would give me some insight into Michael's Deeper Emotional Self.
No such luck. Looked like a bunch of financial gobbledygook: stock market stuff. Lots of it. Feeling nosy, I scanned columns and figures. AT&T. Pharmacia. Sprint. Wells Fargo. Bank of America. Hanlon Pharmaceuticals?! Thousands of shares. Big dividends. I wasn't a financial whiz, but I knew major moola when I saw it. I also knew what your average cardiologist pulled in, and it wasn't nearly enough to do this kind of Wall Street Shuffle.
I looked at the mess I was standing in, in an apartment that probably didn't cost more than six hundred dollars a month, in a neighborhood just shy of blue collar. Looked at Doctor Michael Hanlon, the original Poor Little Rich Boy. I shook my head slowly, picked up a tattered blanket I'd nearly tripped over on the way in, and draped it gently over Michael's shoulders. Maybe this was all a dream, and if I went to sleep I'd wake up in my own bed. I kissed Michael on the head, walked out of the room, and slipped down the hall to his bedroom.
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Michael woke slowly. Shit, he'd fallen asleep at his desk again. He sat up, wincing. His lumbar region was singing grand opera. And what the hell was stuck to his face? He put a hand to his cheek and peeled off a large paperclip, realizing as he moved his arm that he was wearing a blanket. Clarissa? Huh. He found himself smiling, feeling an odd little tug just above his stomach and to the left of his sternum. He sat, staring into space. It was a full ten seconds before he caught himself, and another twenty while he silently gave himself hell. Dangerous territory, he thought, shaking his head. Keep out, Doctor Hanlon. Michael sighed, shut down the computer, and hauled himself to his feet, closing the door as he left the room.
Michael walked slowly into the bedroom. Clarissa was asleep, smack in the middle of the mattress. She lay on her back, one arm outstretched, the other thrown across her stomach, head turned to one side. Her hair lay fanned over the pillow in a jumble of dark curls.
