Chapter 13
Laura came up through the thick, velvety darkness of sleep-or something very like sleep-and twisted her head from one side of the pillow to the other. Her eyelids fluttered open, her blood pulsed, and she was aware.
She was having her cunt sucked.
The room was large and dark, but she knew from the round window across the way that it was one of the cabins on the yacht. And she was there, snug in a bunk-like bed, naked as a whore, having her pussy eaten with slow, digging probes of a very talented tongue.
The pleasure was what had awakened her. Her cunt was literally blazing with the desire to be stimulated, and the tongue of her unknown admirer was doing a handsome job of it. Instead of raising her head and risking the possibility of disrupting the lusty work of her sucker, she lay quite still.
Her pussy was itching all the way to its core. The walls were thick and grainy, hotly oozing with juices. The muscles of her vagina were taut and alert, and each time the exploring tip of the lapping tongue got deep enough, the muscles contracted against it, as if sucking the head of a hard prick.
The little game gathered momentum now that Laura was awake. She couldn't stop the casual rotation of her thighs, the slow, upward pump of her loins. And her cunt-sucker knew she was waking. The circular sweeps of the tongue grew wider, more salacious, hungrier. Fingertips pulled the thickened, moist lips of her pussy wide so that even deeper plunges could be made, and so that the stiff fang of her clitoris could be teased and licked without hindrance.
The delicious cunnilingual act was driving Laura toward a violent orgasm. To hold it back as long as possible, she curled her toes inward and moved her legs-into a bent position. But nothing helped for long. The rapture was too deep, too constant, too whorishly pleasing.
With a half-dozen throaty moans, she began to climax. It was just a salty trickle of liquid at first. Then, as the stubborn tongue sucked and lapped in a monotonous, sluttish rhythm, Laura gave way to complete ecstasy.
She spasmed so harshly that she heard the splat of her juices against the chin and throat of the one who was eating her.
In order to enjoy the voracious tongue to the fullest, she locked her thighs around the shoulders and head between her legs, squeezing hard. The shivering tissues of her pussy rolled around the sauce of her own orgasm and played joyfully with the wildly moving tongue.
One spasm followed another through her heated cunt, pleasuring her until her breath was coming in ragged grunts through her teeth.
When the final convulsion of lust was over, she went limp as a crushed flower, but the tongue kept licking the sullied lips of her cunt until the last, sticky drop of her vaginal juice was gone.
Then the figure moved from between her legs and away from her.
Laura raised her head and stared into the grinning face above her. "By God, Bev-you"
Her sister nodded, and waggled her tongue briefly against the outside of her lips.
"Tasty, Laura. Just as tasty as I knew it would be. But you aren't a newcomer at having your slit eaten. You couldn't be-not the way your cunt sucked back at my tongue."
The disconcerting conversation with Claude came back . . .
"Bev-are you a-a Lesbian?"
"Laura, darling, you should forget those old-fashioned labels! Freud is dead, didn't you know that? He died with God. The world buried the two phonies together in a dung-heap. I don't like to eat cunts more than I like to be fucked by a man. I simply like sex-in all of its infinite and interesting variations. Sexual freedom is the best mind-expander in the world."
"I'm not shocked, Bev, but I'm certainly not as experienced as you."
"You will be, if you want to be. Now tell me how you lost that winsome maidenhead of yours. It was the boy next door, wasn't it? What was that little stud's name-?"
"Mike. Mike Barton."
"Oh, yes. Did you let him seduce you?"
"In a way."
"He fucked you, then?"
"Yes."
"Marvelous! As I recall, he had a rather enormous prick for just a boy, so you must have been stretched rather well by it. Tad certainly knew he wasn't the first to screw you."
"Tad?"
"Oh, I didn't mention that, did I? Well, dear, we took the liberty of initiating you in the regular PEACOCK way. That champagne you drank when you first came aboard-about four hours ago-was a drug. An aphrodisiac, actually, that the Hindus perfected centuries ago. It's called Nymphaea, and it's a compound of oil of hogweed, echitcs putescens, and sarina plant, yellow amaranth-all kinds of goodies. It put you to sleep while making your sexual needs grow to fever pitch."
Laura swallowed slowly. "And then what?"
"Then we stripped you, up on the deck, so that everybody could get a really good look at your body. It's much prettier than your face, you know. After that, the men fucked you, one by one. And Tad Henshaw was the first-an honor which came to him because his prick is the largest. Something like ten good inches on hard."
"And-you watched?"
"We all watched, even the crew. It's part of the game, the fun. It's why everybody came aboard today, dear. Claude belongs to a kind of club when he's ashore. A sex club. And when he told the group that my possibly virginal sister was coming for a visit ..."
"I enjoyed it, I suppose?" Laura asked flatly.
"With that aphrodisiac eating away at your precious cunt, how could you do anything else? My pet, you were absolutely rutty in your desire to be screwed. Tad loved the way you took his ten inches with the first thrust. I've never seen anybody in my life fucked with such vigor as you were. All the men thought you were a sweet piece of ass."
"And then you-"
"I had you carried down here so that I could sample you for myself. It was something really different for me-my own little sister's freshly fucked pussy, all hot and pliant, and still oozing all that male sperm. It was like a rare meat pie. I suppose I sucked and licked your spicy pussy for an hour before you finally woke up and joined the fun."
"I am shocked, Bev-shocked beyond words. I won't say that I didn't enjoy what you did to me, and I'm sure I enjoyed the sex earlier, even if I was unconscious, but I don't think I like very much being treated like a kind of slave for your friends . . . like a clown."
"Don't be silly, Laura. Nobody thought of you as anything but a nice new tidbit. I can assure you that every woman who was a guest today has had as much done to her."
"Was? Are they all gone?"
Bev smiled thinly. "You sound disappointed. I assume you mean that it seems unreasonable and impolite of the male guests to fuck-on-the-run like that. I daresay it is. But you'll see them all again in a couple of weeks. We'll be back from our cruise by then, and Claude always arranges return meetings of the Sex Club."
"Do you mean that we're no longer anchored in the bay?"
"Of course not. We're well on our way to Acapulco . . . but from the flushed look on your cheeks, I'd say you were thinking less about travel and more about weeding out that burning between your thighs. It's the Nymphaea, isn't it? Really treacherous stuff! And I suppose you might have overdone it just a bit. What exactly are you feeling at this moment?"
"An itch. Like a million little ants crawling inside-"
"Inside the lips of your cunt? I know what you mean."
Laura squirmed naked on the bed. She wanted desperately to put her own fingers into her cunt and scratch at the nibbling, gnawing itch, but she restrained herself. She didn't want Bev to see how utterly helpless she was against the vicious drug.
And then a thought occurred to Laura that seemed to make perfect sense. It even suggested a form of raw justice.
"Bev, would you eat me again?"
Her older sister stood for a moment, looking at her, and the haughty beauty of her face seemed to grow the tiniest bit remote.
"I'm sorry, dear, but I make it a habit not to repeat myself in such matters. You've felt my tongue for the last time. But I will send one of the crew down to service you. I can assure you that he will take care of your itch in the conventional way-by fucking you."
"I'd rather have you take care of me, Bev."
"That's out of the question. There's a whole boatload of men on this yacht-all of them virile as trojans."
"Including your Claude?"
Bev gave her a stinging glance. "You know about that, eh? I suppose he told you that all those things I said about him in the letters-"
"He told me. He put it elegantly, and all that, but I gather that your playboy friend is queer as queer can be."
"Don't use that vile word, Laura. At least not in Claude's hearing. He's very sensitive on the subject. And so what if he is a bit of an invert. Many great men have been."
Laura smiled bitchily. "Have you ever fucked the Mexican boy behind his back?"
"No. And I advise you to follow suit. That's one you can't have."
"I haven't even seen him. Maybe I won't want him."
"I hope for your sake that you don't. But as I was saying, the yacht has a full crew of males, and we are the only females on board, so that means any particular itch you might have can easily be satisfied."
"I have one right now. And if you won't help me-"
"I said that I would not."
"Then please send me somebody who will. I can't stand this wild itching much longer!"
The corners of Bev's mouth turned up slowly in a dull smile. "What size would you like, darling?"
"A big one. The biggest one, in fact. And one that will last me."
"May I suggest Stanos, then? He's a Greek, from the hill country around Athens. He's not too bright, and he doesn't speak a word of English, but he's one of the best honey-fuckers on earth."