[
As always, special thanks to Inkstaine, who so kindly edited this chapter for me despite her hectic schedule. Thanks Inkstaine!
Two chapters remain to the story. Look for the next installment soon.
As always, comments are welcome!
Obbity
]
Later that night...
While Charlotte slept soundly, her arms and legs wrapped in a tangle around her lover, Sara did not. The passion roused in her over the past two days, coming to a head on the leather couch in the other room, did not so quickly abate. Though she enjoyed Charlotte's embrace, the dull throbbing between her legs denied her rest. At first, she was frustrated with her partner, until she remembered how she had been with her first, how long it took her before she was ready to reciprocate the pleasure she had been voraciously receiving.
No, it wasn't Charlotte's fault that she was as horny as a teenager in a porn shop. She'd simply have to take care of this herself, if for no other reason than to get a good night's sleep. She disentangled Charlotte's limbs from her own, careful not to wake her as she did. Charlotte sighed and shifted, but didn't roll over no matter how Sara tried to nudge her.
Sara frowned. She didn't want to get out of bed to satisfy her craving, but she didn't want Charlotte wake up, either. So she turned on her side, facing Charlotte, and curled her legs up into a half-circle. She arched her back, sticking her butt out just a little bit, and moved her hand behind her, sliding down the open valley of her ass to part the moist lips of her labia with two fingers. She had to bite her lip to stifle the gasp. She began to slide her fingers back and forth, cautiously rocking her hips in an inverse motion. Soon Sara's short blond hair was a tangled mess, sticky with sweat, her brow furrowed in the desperate grimace of one trying to hurry an orgasm.
All of a sudden a kind of half squeal slipped from her lips. Sara's hazel eyes went wide and she froze as Charlotte groaned softly and shifted in a half-sleep daze. Sara frowned again. This just wouldn't do. She was not quiet when she came; it just wasn't possible. Even worse, she could smell her heavy scent under the sheets. If Charlotte woke, she would
know
, and that would just be embarrassing. She waited for a few minutes, until she was sure Charlotte was back in a deep sleep, and quietly slipped out of bed. She padded into the bathroom and searched for a good spot. No such luck.
Sara sighed and considered for a moment just getting back into bed and ignoring the throbbing between her legs, but she knew it was too late. The little beast had already gotten a foretaste, and now would be grumpy as hell if she didn't give it what it wanted. She quietly made her way across the room and into the hallway, careful to make sure the door made no noise as she closed it behind her. It was now well past 4 a.m. Michael had to sleep sometime, she figured. The couch would be the perfect place for some alone time.
She took the corner of the couch, farthest from the cameras, and practically buried herself in the cushions, bringing her knees up and together, and slid her fingers between the narrow gap of her thighs and began to rub that swollen, aching nub. Sara sighed a long, pleasurable sigh. Her entire body relaxed, luxuriating in the knowledge of what was about to happen. Slowly, tension began to build once again.
Sara wasn't sure at what point Michael entered the room. She never heard a door, and he made no noise as he crossed the distance between it and the couch. She only
felt
a presence, and there he was, standing over her. No words passed between them; there wasn't anything to say. He knew what she was doing there, and she knew exactly why he came. Her hand stopped, and her knees opened. Michael knelt down in front of her and took her hand, sucking the fingertips that had been so busy just seconds before. As his head sank down between her legs, Sara knew she was making a mistake. She should be pissed at him for what he had done, what he had made
her
do. But she remembered that night, bound upon the table, how gifted he was with his tongue. So she sank down into the cushions of the couch, content to let him guide her to that place she was so earnestly yearning to reach.
He was in the mood to tease again, much like that night, to draw her pleasure out as long as possible, building the tension until every muscle in her body was coiled like a spring. His tongue circled a slow and whimsical dance, peppering her with long caresses and quick, light flicks.
Suddenly her fingers caught on the neckline of his mask and started to lift it over his head. He pulled away from her. "What are you doing?" he whispered.
"Please," she begged. "It's dark and I won't look. I need to feel your face on my body, not some stupid mask." She caught his head between her fingers and pulled him back down to her and in a clean motion ripped the mask off his face and dropped it on the floor next to him. Her hands ran through his hair as his tongue once again started to work in that hot place between her legs.
Nestled deep in the cushions of the couch, Sara let Michael's fingers and tongue enrapture her. Waves of pleasure swept over her, cresting again and again into orgasm. She caught Michael's head between her thighs and in the desperate need of her pleasure forced his mouth against her thrusting sex. Sara could sense Michael's want, his greed, as he devoured her. And then she was spent.
Michael reached down and quickly slipped the mask back over his face while Sara sprawled out on the couch and stretched, like a big, contented cat. "Don't you ever sleep?" she asked, her voice still purring in post-orgasmic bliss.
Michael smiled at her. "I was asleep, but a silent alarm goes off if someone opens a door."
Sara's eyes narrowed, but the smile remained. "That's pretty sneaky of you. I shoulda known." She yawned, stretched again, and then stood.
Michael was still kneeling on the floor, but as he stood he took in the full measure of her grace. Silhouetted in the dark, she was statuesque. The fine sheen of sweat only highlighted the tightness of her frame. When his gaze finally reached her face, he found those green eyes upon him, assessing, calculating.
Sara watched her captor as he gathered himself from the floor and stood. Even in the dark, she could see the awkward bulge in his jeans. She paused. Michael was a bastard, there was no doubting that. Yet he had pleasured her, not just once, but over and over until she could take no more. She could hardly remember a time when someone could bring her to orgasm as effortlessly as he did. Twice now, he had done this. Most men, she well knew, would have expected something in return after the first time. Most wouldn't even wait for her to come down from her own orgasmic high before they pulled it out and stuck it in her face. But here he was, about to leave, and he hadn't given her the first hint of an expectation. He might be a bastard, but she just couldn't let that go.
She stepped up to him, so close they nearly touched, and put a hand on his chest.
"Sara?' he said with a pause.
Her other hand went to the cramped, swollen bulge in his pants. It quickened to her touch.
Michael started, "I don't thin-"
"Shut up," Sara replied, and shoved him down onto the couch.
Before Michael could offer up another protest, Sara's nimble fingers unzipped his fly and freed his throbbing manhood. Cold fingers wrapped around the base of his shaft and began to move up and down. "My, my," Sara quipped as she considered up close the purple, glistening head, "it's been a long time, hasn't it?" She turned her gaze and smiled up at him, white teeth gleaming in the dark. He nodded desperately.
Sara's tongue went to the base of his shaft, and she slid her tongue, heavy against him, from base to tip. Without pause she took the head into her mouth, and her head slowly sank down, take him in his entirety.
Michael squeezed the edge of the couch with both hands.
Sara's lips formed tightly around him, and she began to stroke him with her mouth. Her hands went to his guiding them to the back of her head where they discovered ready purchase in a thick mane of blonde hair. Her lips came up and conformed tightly to the swollen head of his penis. She took the wet shaft in one hand and with it resumed the steady pumping motion. The other hand slipped down and took a firm hold of the dangling sack between his legs. He flinched at that, the way any man does when a woman lays a hand on that most delicate part of the body.
"What's a matter, Michael," she said as her lips left him, "nervous?"
"Should I be?" he said with a shudder.
"That depends," she mused. "A man is never so focused as when a woman has his nuts in her hand. Not even when she's giving him head."
"This is true," Michael agreed. Despite, or perhaps because of, the uncertainty of his situation, the throbbing between his legs grew. His hands returned to the edge of the couch, but his eyes remained fixed on her. "It seems you have the advantage over me."
Sara smiled at that. "Relax," she purred. Her lips again wrapped around the head of his penis, sucking softly while her tongue ran wet circles around it. She watched while he slowly sank back down into the cushions of the couch, lost in his pleasure. Then she spoke. "I want answers." She gave him a gentle squeeze. His body shuddered in response and his head shot back up to focus on her.
"What do you want to know?" he asked with some effort.
"How many others, before me and Charlotte?"
He looked down at her, to where she knelt between his legs. In the dark, Sara couldn't quite make out his expression. Was it anger? Arousal? She wasn't sure. She gave his scrotum another squeeze. He groaned, his thighs closing around her narrow frame.
