The Castle 5

The ceiling was impossibly high. Stones climbed into the heavens in a near perfect spiral. The sense of space was enough to give Sara vertigo. She gave in and let the grandeur of the castle's great hall sweep over her while the priest delivered his speech. The words sprang off his lips in resounding, booming tones of confidence and gratitude. She regarded his tall figure standing behind the lectern, as he reached with his hands as if trying to send his words farther than he could intone them.

Paul was fidgeting beside her, maybe bored or maybe anxious. He had planned this trip for them, a weekend in a medieval castle in rural France, a chance to relax, reconnect, and hear a speech by a respected international figure. It bothered her that she could not read his thoughts. He uncrossed his legs again and shifted in his seat. But he did look like he was attentive. She decided to ignore the issue.

Waiters were busy bringing after dinner drinks to the dozen or so circular dinner tables that dotted the floor of the stone chamber. Still, it bothered her. Was he as intoxicated with the lightness and spaciousness as she was? Was he thinking of fucking her? She reached under the tablecloth and put a hand between his legs. He glanced up and gave a surprised smile. He hadn't been thinking about this at least, but he was now.

The priest was telling stories that had everyone laughing and inspired at the same time. She wanted this priest. Did Paul know she had thoughts like this? She imagined herself behind the lectern with the young priest's pants unzipped. Fumbling to free his hardening cock and giving it a long slow trace with her tongue while he struggled to retain his concentration. He would be uncontrollably hard when she would stop, sit down and sweep her fingers over her soaking pussy, stroking her clitoris. The priest would have to look at her every time he glanced down at his notes. Mercifully as she drew close, she would reach up and stroke him - an impassioned few minutes of using her hands to pleasure both of them. Unexpectedly he would stop his speech for a moment, look down at his notes and orgasm with power enough to propel his semen across her body. This would be enough to send her over the edge, and she would orgasm still feeling the pulsing of his rod in her hand.

What was Paul thinking? She wondered again as she saw him stand up to applaud with the rest of the audience. His tall, lean form gushing honest appreciation. He could be so naively cute sometimes, she thought, with his touchable hair and smile of authentic joy. He looked at her and, with his eyes, told her he loved her. The hall was loud with the reverberation of enthusiastic applause.

The guests milled about mumbling to one another the collective judgment that they had witnessed a great man give a great speech. Sara glanced around the crowd, seeing the throngs around the priest. Paul was meeting his own colleagues and greeting some of Sara's as well. She decided to duck out to the bathroom, a feint to avoid the trivia.

The employees directed her down the corridor towards the bathroom. Lit by torches, the stone hallway led to a modern bathroom. Dimly lit but enough to see her own reflection in the irregular mirror hanging over the basin, she recognized the feeling of unreality, the sense of electric possibility in the air as in a desert landscape lit by moonlight. Whatever her usual doubts about her place in the world, this was a moment frozen in time, a break from her own mortality, when life was both vivid and unknown.

She slipped back into the corridor and caught sight of the robes of the priest going into the men's room. Without deliberation, she ducked back into the bathroom where she could just see enough of the corridor to pull it off. When the shadow of the priest reappeared, she stepped out, a leap of faith, bumping into him.

"Oh, I'm sorry - I just didn't see you there."

"Oh no, it's my fault really. I'm Sara, and I loved your speech." She searched for reaction even as she said the words.

He looked like he was genuinely glad to meet her. "I am afraid that I am very tired and would probably not even see a moving truck pass in front of me right now."

They wandered back down the corridor together. At his urging, Sara told him about her own work. Her dress brushed the stone floor as she stepped confidently, listening and talking. He began to bid her goodbye and head down the corridor that led to his room. As the guest of honor he was staying in the main bedroom. He is so naive, she thought. He has no idea. And he did not. He accepted her request for a tour; she seemed so interested in this medieval castle.

It looked like the corridor would dead-end; there was only an open doorway. She could see into the room before they arrived. Without doors, the tapestries on the far wall came into view first. Then vaguely the torchlight revealed ancient furniture, an armoire, a standing mirror, two spire-like bedposts. The bed was in the center of the room draped in silk and lace. Her heart pounded a little as he strode into the room in front of her. His back was to her, in a posture suggesting blissful unawareness of her lascivious thoughts. She walked into and across the room to the wine rack. Unceremoniously and recklessly she picked a bottle and opened it. Pouring into two glasses without so much as looking to see if he was even interested.

He smiled as he sat down across from her taking a drink from the glass she handed to him. As he proceeded to talk about the award and the night, she looked at his mouth, his lips, his wavy brown hair, the large hands he used gently to hold his glass. Taller than her husband, his form was even a little daunting. She was lost in admiration and in the mystery of him. He repeated - "Well, what do you think?"

"I'm sorry. I was distracted. It has been a long evening."

"No, no. It's my fault. You've exposed the undoing of the prideful - boredom. I have gone on long enough." But just then, he appeared instantly doubtful, then worried. "Oh no, I've forgotten something. I am sorry, but I must go make a phone call. I suppose I have to go back to the great hall." None of the rooms had electricity or telephones. "I am very sorry. Please feel free to finish your wine and maybe we can talk again tomorrow."

"Definitely," she said. "It has been a real pleasure."

And with a bow of his head he gathered his robe, got up and left her alone. Soon after, Sara stood and went to gaze out of the lone small portal onto the countryside below. A slit open to the outside world, it revealed a brilliant night sky. She searched in the narrow band visible past the thick stone for something special, some sign.

----

The priest walked a little anxiously back from the great hall, getting lost a couple of times in the winding corridors. Sara had been so beautiful that he felt guilt at failing to suppress even from his own mind his lust. Only the folds of his robes had hidden his cloistered sexuality from her sight. Every second had been an acute combination of pain, desire, and discipline. The firmness of his manhood was a constant reminder of the pleasure he had forsaken by a promise he made so long ago.

Wrong corridor again. He paused but pretended not to pause by a room where a woman with her back to him was on her knees, naked, mouth full of her husband's organ. The man was lost in ecstasy, eyes closed. He could see the woman's moist sex subtly appearing between her legs as she shifted her weight. He tried not to pause and continued down the corridor straining to hear the woman's moans, the sound of a woman's pleasure muffled by a cock in her mouth.

It was more than he could take. All of these images and feelings would become the fuel for masturbation tonight. He made up his mind not feel guilty about it. He made up his mind to sin. He finally got back to his room, seeing at once Sara's empty glass on the table. Why did he keep denying himself? He removed his robes and the rest of his clothing. Naked and hard, he went around to the side of the bed where the drapes were open and sat down, thinking for a moment. He turned to pull back the covers and stared, dumbfounded.

The pink of her naked body was set off against the brilliant white of the bed coverings. Her arms were stretched above her head and her legs slightly spread. The curves of her hips and breasts, the flow and curve of her legs, all were delicately and deliciously exposed against the white of the bed. He stared at her erect nipples, the slight moisture of her sex. Her subtly engorged clitoris begged him to forget himself.

She had watched him remove his clothing from behind the obscurity of the veil covering the bed. She had had to bite her lip when she saw his muscular shoulders and his broad, smooth back. Now the rippling muscles in his abdomen were in rapid motion as he struggled for breath. Without words, she reached down and began to stroke her clitoris. She smiled and closed her eyes, unable to remember when she had been so wet, when her sex had throbbed so heavily for attention. It felt as if she would come in moments.

He began to get up and dart away. He knew this could not happen. His whole life was built around another purpose, one that meant forgoing precisely this. But he could not. He could not remember seeing an image so beautiful and yet so profane as the one of this stunning, nude woman pleasuring herself. Seemingly without free will, he sat back down and turned to face her. He saw the gleam in her eye as she saw it.

It stood slightly shorter but thicker than her husband's, with a nice round head already glistening with moisture. Glancing down to his large scrotum, supporting what she fancied were impossibly heavy testicles, she reached out and held it. He gasped. He wouldn't last long. She rolled onto her stomach, reached up and popped the tip into her mouth. She felt it twitch on her tongue. Her husband's cock had never been this rigid. His fluid was even a little sweet.

She took him in down to his scrotum. She felt his hands in her hair, holding on as if for his life to her scalp. She tossed her head to one side and saw him gazing down at her, in disbelief at the site of his cock disappearing into the sweet, warm mouth of such an amazing woman.

Sara was determined to give him the best head she had ever given, to a man who had been denied for so long. She imagined his tension as he took the confessions of sinners, people fucking their way through life and supposedly sorry about it. He had to listen to their stories of abandon, pretending that he disapproved, maybe even believing that he disapproved. He would retire afterwards, she thought, and bring himself to orgasm imagining himself with his cock buried deep in a pussy, any pussy. Maybe he thought of fucking a woman as she had another cock in her mouth, maybe as another man was in her ass. He fantasized of utter invasion, she thought, of a woman totally sexualized.

That was what she knew as she saw the longing in his eyes. His cock jerked violently in her mouth. He was biting his lip and his eyes were closed. She sucked harder, tightened her mouth's grip and furiously pumped his cock as she felt his semen shoot into her mouth. Swallowing his seed was her gift tonight to this man who had never known this pleasure.

She felt the spasms subside and his shaft soften in her mouth. Playfully she moved her tongue a bit, petting him from the inside. Finally she let go, gave him a meaningful smile and lay back down. He hesitated but for moment before moving on top of her. He kissed her neck, her cheeks, then full on the mouth. She ran her hands over his chest, along the tight skin around his shoulders. The pulsing in her clitoris was too intense to ignore. Involuntarily she reached down, but his hand caught hers. With light swirls he kissed his way down her side, brushing her breasts, down to her thighs. She felt him pause, inhaling her sex.

Looking down she saw his wavy hair tossed to one side and caught sight of his tongue at the same time she felt the first jolt of electricity in her clitoris. She grabbed his head, forcing it down and his tongue began a rhythmic massage. She couldn't help but squeeze him with her thighs. His muscular back was exposed to her as brushed her feet along his side.

She bit her lip as the tension mounted. From playful darting movements, to firm and full licks with his whole tongue. She could feel her own wetness mixed with his saliva running down her labia to her ass and onto the sheets. Lost in her own fantasy of this reality she started to come. The first wave took her by surprise, her back arched and her whole pussy thrust into the priest's face. She could feel him as though he were consuming her entire sex. He continued his gentle sucking and licking as wave after wave of orgasm rocked her entire body. Her arms flailed to embrace his whole head. Finally it was too intense and she pushed his head away as she began to relax.

He was on top of her again at once. She wrapped her arms around his body as she felt the tip of his cock at her wet entrance. She pulled her legs up, feeling herself gradually penetrated. It filled her up sending renewed shockwaves of orgasm through her body.

"Just fuck me," she whispered.

She wrapped her legs around his body, reaching down to feel the muscles around his ass as he thrust in again and again. She was coming again. "Oh my god."

"You're beautiful," was all he could say in his abandon. She could feel his cock growing even more rigid as his balls slapped against her with each thrust. "Oh god," he whispered. He let out a single moan - loud, filled with relief. Just then her own sex tightened and she was over the edge again as she knew his semen was pouring into her body. It was then that she looked up to see, through the mist of the bed veil, the masked, but unmistakable figure of her husband in the doorway, watching as another man emptied his semen into her vagina. She regarded him with her toes curled in the ecstasy of orgasm, legs wrapped around the priest as his cock pulsed inside of her. With a free hand she pulled the veil aside. He gave a slight smile, turned and continued toward the dead-end. Two laughing women followed him.

Letting the veil go, she turned back to the priest, now breathing heavily with sweat covering his brow. His heavy breathing warmed her neck. They lay there for nearly an hour. She felt his member grow soft again inside of her. He finally rolled off of her. Lying side by side, they smiled at each other and did not speak again. She raised her naked body up from the bed, giving him a last look at the beautiful form he had just made his. Giving him one last, passionate kiss, she dressed and left the room - heading for the dead-end.

----

The torches cast a dim light on the stone walls. Sara could see nothing but stone but knew there must be some trick. She picked up the torches, replaced them, pushed on the walls with her hands. She got down on her knees and inspected the floor. But there were no handles, no buttons. She traced her way back to the great hall and then down the corridor back to her room. It was empty with its much more modest bed taking up much of the small room. She glanced at the table and was heartened to see a note.

"Find Corey." That was all it said. It was in Paul's handwriting, but it was not signed. She was still unsure about what had just happened. It was not exactly how she and Paul had planned it. Though she had not exactly violated his trust - and god had she enjoyed it - she found herself distressed. Her clitoris tingled slightly just thinking about the priest's naked body between her legs. But she needed her husband now.

She took the note and walked back to the great hall. It was late now and the front desk at the far end was closed. She walked toward it nonetheless, hoping to see someone who could at least tell her who Corey was. She passed the cafe, where a few couples were having drinks and some were having desserts. She found the hostess, who, while claiming not to know who Corey was, pointed Sara toward the kitchen.

Passing through the doors, she walked into a different world. The glare of stainless steel under bright lights replaced the gloom and mystery of the halls and chambers put on show for the guests. The first person who saw her pointed to another door, a small red door. And this door opened to a descending flight of stairs. More stone now. The smells of the kitchen following her though, she descended, rounded a corner, and descended again into darkness.

She glanced up awkwardly. They had pointed her this way. But it was late - what if the doors locked above her and there was no one below. She decided to head back up and ask someone directly. Just as she turned, a voice came out of the darkness. "Don't stop now. You're almost here."

She wanted to ask who it was. But of course she would not recognize his name even if he told it to her. She thought for a moment. "Come on, just grab the handrail." And so she did. After ten or so steps she was in utter darkness. Each foot down was a step of faith. She briefly imagined stepping into nothingness and falling forever. Maybe she had been damned for her corrupting influence on the now dozing priest.

A faint light appeared. She became aware of the muffled rumbling of machinery. The bass and striking metallic sounds of some now obsolete process seemed to be coming from somewhere above beyond the walls. The light was a small incandescent bulb hung nakedly over a wooden door. She knocked.

"Hi, I'm Corey," said the small man who emerged.

----

Paul was trying his best not to come too soon. The image of his naked wife wrapped around - dominated by - another male was burned into his brain, and it was nearly causing him to orgasm from the unintentional and only slight movements of the woman's hand around his cock. In front of him, another woman was bent over a table, while yet another woman lay draped over her, kissing her around the back of the neck. All three women were enjoying Paul's prolonged arousal. The hand around his cock was already slick with his fluids.

The woman on the table had long, black hair, with dark skin. Maybe she was Indian. He could not see her eyes behind her mask. Her relatively small breasts were pressed hard against the table. The light skin and blonde hair of the woman on top of her contrasted sharply. The blonde stepped away for a moment into the darkness. Coming back into the torchlight, she was holding a double-ended glass phallus with harness. The Indian woman tossed her black hair to one side as she turned to look, not wanting to move, with her legs slightly spread, feet flat on the floor and chest pressed against the smooth wood of the old table. She watched as the blonde smoothly inserted one end into her own sex. ----

"Is that Paul?" Sara asked in disbelief. She was staring at one of the video screens showing a man standing, partly in shadow, with a redheaded woman behind him grasping his erection. They were looking intently straight ahead. The very next monitor showed the blonde approaching the Indian woman with slow, deliberate steps. Sara's gaze tracked back and forth between monitors. The blonde put both hands on her partner's sides and stroked gently down to the hips. She then positioned the phallus in the moist opening, letting the tip grow wet as it pressed against the Indian woman's cunt. With a smooth, gradual motion, she buried the phallus to the hilt. The Indian woman opened her mouth slightly, moaning probably, and closed her eyes. The blonde with the phallus now buried, lay on the Indian woman's back, breasts pressed firmly against warm skin.

"I don't know their names," said Corey. "Only the business manager knows names. Don't you remember filling out all of our forms with your client number rather than name?"