Pussy-Licer: Testing of Pauline

To Pauline, sex and money were items of trade, but did her husband REALLY expect her to be doing THIS!?!?

The strange erotic dream drove Pauline awake. And someone is in her room.

The rich red velvet drapes are pulled aside to admit a silvery shaft of moonlight that turns the room into a blur of soft half-darkness. She sits up, the black silk sheets falling back, Scandi-blonde hair spilling in rich profusion over her shoulders and nightdress. She can see herself in the wall-mirrors. She's not beautiful, her lips too full with a tendency to pout. Her large eyes pleading an undeserved innocence. And her breasts, much too full for the demands of the Supermodel status she craves.

She cat-crawls as quietly as she can from between the sheets, to kneel on the rumpled coverlets. The savage arousal of the dream has left her giddy and breathless, in an air of erotic unreality, but there's real movement in the darkness. A car hisses down the Mews outside, its headlights slice momentarily through the room, and in the sudden inrush of light she briefly glimpses two men, before the light is gone. Reflections in the mirrors multiply the intruders into an army of lovers. She's out of bed, her bare feet sinking deep into carpet pile, seizing the phone-alarm. In a moment she can alert the entire household...

Then she pauses. Her mother always accused her of lacking guile - she hesitates. Sir Jasper had been boringly disappointing today. He'd shouted her out in front of staff and his business associates, and why? - just because she'd pranged the car on a shopping trip (and on her way to that long slow delicious dalliance with David!). True, she wasn't supposed to be driving his car today. But he's a meany old tightwad, she flounced petulantly. He thinks more of his (not inconsiderable) wealth than he does of me, his own wife!

Stay calm. There's movement in the darkness. Prickly with uncertainty. But stay cool, and THINK.

As Sir Jasper's wife you enjoy certain - financial advantages. As his widow, you'll continue to do so. But what if something changes - divorce? a rewritten will? Today - in front of everyone, he threatened to do just that, because of a lousy car! You've given him almost three years of your life, and he threatens to kick you out, leaving you and Mummy without a penny. Mummy, who schooled you for this role, and coached you so hard. All that, in retaliation for wrecking a car, and not even this year's model.

'Easy Pauline.' A voice from the darkness. A man standing in front of her. A strong masculine presence. The chauffeur - Sloane. He runs his hand down the side of her face, almost tenderly. His fingers trace their way down her neck, cool on her bare shoulder, outlining the curve of her breast through the thin material, revolving in relentless circles around the nipple's growing bud. Now he's cupping her breast, applying gentle pressure, the nipple swelling in appreciation. Her fingers grip the phone-alarm. WAIT. Stay cool. What had Jasper said? A test. He'd threatened her with a test. To fail the test implies... divorce. Not a penny. Her mother's scorn. Failure.

'Relax Pauline.' Another male voice from the half-darkness, anonymous and soothing. A figure, now sitting on the bed. Wilbur Hughes, her husband's business associate. He must have come in from the guest suite. In truth, she'd always found him attractive. Lean, dark, always well-dressed with his hair drawn back into a stylish pony-tail, but so cool and detached.

Her throat is dry, anticipation and confusion squirming at the back of her brain. Can this be the test? Can this be what the old bastard intends? Can she risk doubting it? Sloane's hand moves to the ribbon at her neck, deftly untying. He's smiling reassuringly. Should she resist? Should she press the phone-alarm? It would be so easy. But THINK - what would Mummy advise? The fastening slides loose. The nightdress gapes slightly apart, revealing a full glimpse of deep deep cleavage and stomach. She has a good body, she knows that. A male hand moves over the surface of her smoothly yielding skin, sliding inside the tactile warmth of her nightdress. Its skin-texture faintly rough on the underside of her breast, fingers sliding around to fondle the hard nipple, while shrugging the nightdress back. She moves her shoulder involuntarily so it falls back from her shoulder, her breasts trembling heavily with the motion. She's conscious of her exposed nakedness, now revealed, and it feels so exquisitely exciting.

Just like in the dream of lovers.

Would Jasper demand this of her? He's old. Too old for actual sex himself. But there were occasions when he'd seemed on the verge of attempting it. On their wedding night he'd sat up in bed and asked her to undress for him. And she'd done it so slowly and provocatively with all the skill she'd acquired and rehearsed. Mummy would have been so proud. At his urging she'd posed and postured nude around the Venice Hotel suite. She was sure she'd detected perspiration on his forehead. Her actions becoming more blatantly sexual, her vagina-lips dampening, pubic hair beaded with moisture, until her whole body raged for relief.

But when she'd slithered down into bed beside him - he was asleep. He'd not even touched her. On other occasions since then she'd tried to suck him to arousal - use your head, Mummy said! And good wives are supposed to do that sort of thing, aren't they? But she couldn't even raise an erection. Jasper had savoir-faire, but he's all yak and no action.

And her married life became limited to outrageous dreams, and the furtive stolen afternoons with David, her lover. But there were stories of when Jasper was younger, fighting his way up the corporate ladder, gossip of other men's wives seduced, of mistresses and expensive high-class whores. She imagined him young and virile bedding them all with the most lusty of appetites. A hunger now dimmed, but still glimmering in the back of his devious mind.

Perhaps this is his way...? A test for her...?

The nightdress is suddenly gone. Sloane draws it up over her head and throws it aside in one smooth movement. Her breasts shimmer. She's naked. Their eyes devouring her large tits, firm dark nipples.

'Come here, sit on the bed beside me, Pauline' purrs Wilbur. 'We mean you no harm. You heard Sir Jasper today, didn't you? - we all heard. And each one of us serves our interests in our own separate ways. So this is just an assault with friendly weapons for the benefit of us all.'

She looks at him through long flutter-up eyelashes. He's so persuasive, cool, but no longer detached. She feels her sex-heat burn. Can't take a chance. Must do what Jasper wants. Can't fail the test, and - as tests go, it could be a very pleasant one. She lets go of the phone-alarm and moves, as if in a dream, aware of cool air on her nudity, of the movement of her breasts, her pubic bush dark in the half-light.

She sits beside Wilbur and smiles, his hands gently easing her down, smothering her tits, feeling her greedily. A third hand is already between her legs. But I'll show the old bastard he can't win. Think of the money. Think of Mummy. Use your head she'd say. Black silk coverlets are chill on her bare bottom. Her legs raised and firmly parted by eagerly insistent hands. Fingers crawl on her stomach, fingers between her thighs, questing, prying.

Wilbur's kisses burn, his tongue insinuating between her lips, and she draws him down. A second mouth nuzzles between her legs, searching out the moist pussy-crease, and she surrenders to it, legs splayed as in an X-rated porn-special. A gasp of indrawn breath, then a long hiss of expelled air as wet tongue-tip assaults her clitoris. All atremble, she arches to meet the mouth. Her mind swims with the conflicting rhythms of two active tongues penetrating her, mouth and cunt. She reaches down over her stomach to the back of Sloane's head where it nestles between her thighs, and thrusts his face deeper in, grinding his mouth harder into her pubis, her long legs coming up to clamp around his back, locking him there.

With her free hand she unbuttons Wilbur's shirt and runs her sharp scarlet nails through the thick matting of hair within. Her hips squirm this way and that, the inside of her thighs already slick with sex-dew and saliva, rising and falling spasmodically. It seems her body is reducing down to one single erogenous zone. Then Sloane's head is gone, she can hear the sound of a zip being drawn, the rustle of clothes, and then the tongue is replaced, a moment later, by something thicker. It makes nudging contact and forces a slow inch-by-inch penetration. His unseen cock stretching the narrow but receptive glove-finger of her cunt, its urgent sensations stimulating a greater flow of juices, easing the slide more lushly. And it's all in her, from the formidable cock-head to the tight scrotum at its base. Pauline moans as the genital caress of her inner flesh stokes her lust.

Wilbur draws back to shrug his shirt off, and she can see Sloane penetrating her.

To pretend reluctance now is as futile as a ravenous lioness pretending she's not hungry. She edges her buttocks forward to the very edge of the bed to welcome his thrusts, her arse wriggling in an orgy of sensual pleasure as the shaft drives in and out of her cunt. He fucks slowly at first, driving his cock home to the hilt, pausing when he can push no further, straining his body hard up against her before withdrawing with agonising deliberation.

She writhes round, stacking the cushions beneath her head, so that as Wilbur's trousers descend and his erection quivers free, it's exactly aligned with her face. In a blur of charged sensations she pulls it eagerly to her pursed lips, daubing its blunt fat arrowhead with sloppy kisses before drawing it slowly and indulgently into her mouth. He rears back and lets her do all the work, with his glans socketed slurpy-deep in her throat. They're all naked now, their sweat-glistening bodies fused into a single sexual entity that, in the mirrors, becomes a riot of pornographic shapes. Wilbur allows her to suck him greedily, moving her blonde hair aside so he can watch her impaled face, which is screwed-up with delicious concentration. He fucks her lips back and forth as she groans contentedly, perspiration seeping down her forehead.

He tries to pull free but her suction increases as she seizes his waist, holding him tight to her. It's only when Sloane slops out of her cunt and climbs up to rub his glistening cock over her nipples that she opens her eyes and reluctantly relinquishes her oral hold on Wilbur. For a moment she's unsure what comes next. She moves, her tits shimmering pendulously as she squats demurely, watching herself in the mirrors as they change positions.

Sloane sits himself splay-legged directly in front of her. She picks up his intention, grabs for his cock and goes down obediently to suck him, her lips and tongue furiously busy as Wilbur shifts around to enter her from behind. He clumsily slides his spit-slimy erection down the valley of her bottom, fumbling between her legs... so she reaches back to grasp him and guide him in, her tits shuddering with each of his quick sharp jabs so that she's rocked rhythmically forward into Sloane's groin. Her hands open and clench in spasms at the silk. Glimpsing the mirrors is like watching a dirty movie, and starring in it simultaneously! A debauched erotic dream come shockingly real. All Pauline's long-suppressed libidinous longing unleashed as she's enveloped in warm pressing flesh, a compulsion so contagious there's only one inoculation for it - and that's orgasm.

Sloane grunts like an animal. His stomach heaves and his thick cock pulses hugely up against her teeth. She can't escape, even if she wants to. 'Oh shit, I'm cumming' he warns her, and she sucks ravenously, her mouth suddenly deluged with continuous spunky streams, She's making noises like a slurped straw makes at the bottom of an empty cola bottle. Her own climax comes in shockwaves as Wilbur slams deep into her from behind, jetting hot bursts of semen deep into her.

For a long moment the three lie together as juices cool. She kisses them carefully, lips and flaccid cocks. Then looks up appealingly, 'again, please...?'

In the morning the sun pours in like buttermilk through the parted drapes, where earlier only starlight had illuminated her gorgeously sensual nocturnal escapades. The stuff of dirty dreams - but this one worked on extenuating circumstances, didn't it? She'd used her head, and she'd used it so well she could still taste its residue. Mummy would be so proud.

As she pulls her robe around her shoulders she catches her reflection in the mirrors, and it's difficult not to smile.

Unhurriedly she goes down to the breakfast room. The rich aroma of fresh coffee and croissants staining the air. Jasper is already there, deep in conversation with Wilbur over the Financial Pages. They greet her absently as she breezes in, although she detects a secretive warmth in Wilbur's sudden shyness.

She pauses dramatically. 'Darling' she begins, 'about that test you said you'd put me through...?'

'Yes my dear Pauline. After some consideration I've decided what to do.' Jasper speaks slowly and deliberately. 'It's only fair that you should pay for your misdemeanour, but I'm not a vindictive man. So I'm just withdrawing your credit cards for a week. Let THAT be a lesson to you, my dear...!'

She nods meekly, and smiles at Wilbur.

BY TRISTAN TROTSKY