Chapter 6
It was precisely as Dwight had predicted. Before a laggard dawn once more made its appearance, Sirri had been converted into a confirmed addict of sexual delights. Between the time they began and the birth of the new day, they had completed at least five separate events-speaking for himself, that is; there was no telling how many orgasms Sirri wrested for herself along the way-and neither of them would ever be the same again. Though understandably modest and at least superficially reticent as regards her desires, Sirri nevertheless managed to jettison enough of her conditioned inhibitions so that she unmistakably made her desires known. Desires there were. As was evidenced when they awoke shortly after 9:00 a.m. Saturday morning, and Dwight stealthily awoke to find an in tent-faced Sirri staring down at his residue-encrusted tumescent prick. Playing possum, he watched through slitted-lids as the adorable child raptly and carefully handled his cock, unfurled and weighed it.
It was a charmingly ingenue performance which he couldn't resist, and watching her amazement as his pecker stiffened before her very eyes, he had but to open his eyes, smirk at her, and rampant lust blazed in her eyes. The sweet nymph had but to fall back, smile pleadingly-not a single word necessary-and he was upon her, couched between her legs, glorying in her grimaces and whimpers as his rod plumbed her stiff, aching depths anew.
They had dozed again following this impromptu fuck. After which he had spirited Sirri to the bathroom. Where, in the opulent, sunken tub, they had gamboled for nearly an hour, with Dwight making a religious rite out of scrubbing her to within an inch of her life, something symbolic about the purification.
Again-as had transpired throughout that endless night-there were the enchanting, ingenue questions, the majority of them centering on nomenclature, anatomy and the "sin" connected with the variations employed. Dwight's predeliction with lingerie for instance? What did that mean? Why did he do it? Wasn't it perverted? The way he'd put his mouth between her legs, done the things he had to her there. Certainly that must be abnormal, a taboo deviation. And what about the way he'd fingered her bottom? Why had he done that? Granted, she'd enjoyed it; the liberty had triggered the most fantastic sensations within her-belly. And how could that be reason in itself? To merely enhance the ultimate gratification? It wasn't right for them to wallow as they'd done; she'd been taught that a man and a woman-correction; a husband and wife-should only make love in a prescribed manner, face-to-face, with no detours; they should take care of the barest necessities in the swiftest, most forthright manner possible. And yes, she'd enjoyed their "detours", but that didn't make it any the less "sinful", did it?
"You prig," Dwight had laughed often at her gamin questions and counter answers, "you adorable little prig. What a joy it will be for me to teach you about the endless varieties of love. And you have so much to learn."
How much Sirri had to learn-was fanatic about learning-became evident in the weeks following. Having formulated a code whereby they might call each other during the day, they were quickly enmeshed in as convoluted an intrigue as anyone might ever wish. And where Dwight had thought that it would be his place to constantly persuade Sirri to rendezvous, it turned out to be quite the other way around. She putting herself in his hands entirely, trusting him with an innocent love that made Dwight's heart melt at times, Sirri pestered him for assignation-either at the house, or at the downtown lovenest he'd introduced her to-constantly, no risk, seemingly, too great for her in order so that she might be with him, continue her lessons in love. Quite often Sirri was able to get away in the afternoon, and it was a special joy of theirs to meet at the apartment then, create a special, private and amoral world-microcosm-all their own within those luxurious perimeters.
Needless to say, Dwight was deliriously in love with the pixie; Sirri was in his thoughts morning, noon and night, the actuality of their liaison causing Dwight to founder in the most incredible of daydreams. Dreams in which there was no Noreen, no conventions, no establishment to frown on a man of 48 taking to wife a ravishingly beautiful woman of 19. Strange to say, Sirri felt an almost equally strong bond of affection for Dwight as well. Almost from the start each declared his love for the other, something heartbreakingly sincere in Sirri's tone when she said the words to Dwight. All mention of financial or material remuneration for the unstinting surrender of her holy body to him was forgotten now; it was as if such a bargain had never been made in the first place, and Sirri refused to speak of it whenever Dwight broached it. Which is not to say that there weren't constant gifts; it was one of life's greatest joys for him to shop for Sirri, to shower her with all the baubles, clothes, perfumes, shoes, and silks that the commercial world outside could provide. The apartment literally bulged with pretties of every description, and there weren't, seemingly, enough hours in their "days" for Sirri to even model her new clothes, jewels and shoes, let alone put them into service. For after all, when they gamboled in near-nakedness ninety-percent of the time Dwight came to implicitly believe in Sirri's love; there were times when it seemed he would die if that love, that innocent trust and dependency were ever taken from him. Granted, he accepted it for what it was-a father substitution-yet he eternally hoped for the time when it would become something different, when he would be loved for himself. In Sirri's eyes she had now acquired the patient, gentle, understanding patriarchal image, the man she'd always hungered after in her endlessly-absent father. Someone she could share her dreams with, question about those most fundamental philosophies regulating life itself. But still, with a miraculous, never-never land difference. For this father archetype was a paramour as well, forbidden incarnation of the most repressed, secret dreams any daughter can have. Under his all-seeing guidance she could flower into the ultimate female being, realize the potential she could achieve with no other man living. And while neither of them ever articulated these thoughts in so many words, both must have recognized the unearthly uniqueness of their relationship and treasured it zealously.
She was a child and I was a child, In this kingdom by the sea But, of course, all could not be perpetual moonlight and roses; there were bound to be thorns in their magic garden as well. Of particular distress to Dwight was the swiftness with which Sirri cast off the ingenue attributes which he prized so highly. Certainly there were moments when he wished her to be unregenerate pagan, to engage in top-of-the voice paen to lust. But otherwise he would have preferred the demure, reticent, goddess-upon-a-pedestal embodiment he had envisioned her to be from the outset. However, Sirri was not always so ready to fill her prescribed role. In the long run, he had only himself to blame, for he had thought her jejune innocence charming, and had extended himself to instruct her in the "earthy" nomenclatures of love. Thus, one night, Sirri very irritated with his fetishist overtures, anxious that he cut short his preliminaries:
"Oh, please, darling! Don't fool with me any more. I want you. I want you in me. Your thing; give it to me."
"My thing?" he'd teased lightly. "What thing are you talking about?"
"You know, Dwight; don't make me say it. Your thing. Your penis." And exasperatedly: "Your water-spout."
At which he'd laughed delightedly. "Come now, darling," he'd said, "There's nothing wrong with a little straight-forward language." He'd guided her hand to his swollen member, had wrapped her stripping fingers about it. "Let's get it straight. My thing, as you call it is a prick. A pecker. A cock. Never dick or whang or dong. Those words will suffice. Can you say that? Pecker?"
"I couldn't darling. I'd be ashamed."
"Say it, baby. Pecker?"
"Pecker."
"Prick."
"Prick."
"Cock."
"Cock."
"Now, Sirri. See if you can be more explicit."
"Oh, yes, baby," she'd said, a feral, dark light in her eyes. "I will." She grabbed his tool, ground it into the hot mush of her cunt. "Please, Dwight. Shove your prick into me. Now! I need you so bad. Your prick. Your pecker. Your cock. Inside me. Oh, I'm dying for him."
Dwight had sought to capitalize on his lesson. "Inside you?' he reproached. "You can do better than that. Inside of what?'
"My vagina?" she said lamely.
"Silly. No, not vagina. You sound like a doctor, instead of the adorable little whore you are." He shoved his finger inside her gash. "This is your cunt. Say it."
Like a child reciting by rote, Sirri had joyously joined in the game. "This is my cunt."
"This is my pussy."
"This is my pussy."
"This is my snatch."
"This is my snatch."
"This is my slimy snatch that wants Daddy's big fat cock stuck into him."
"This is my slimy snatch that wants Daddy's big, fat cock stuck into him." By that time Sirri was truly agitated, the vernacular inflaming her libido disproportionately, and her face flushed, her lovely legs flailing impatiently, she'd dug her nails into his phallus, literally forced him to immerse it in her gash, gave him as remorseless a fucking as he'd ever administered to any woman.
Another time he'd been hovering between her legs (Sirri in a maddeningly exotic scarlet and black ensemble, the brassiere's tips cut away, she in just garter-belt and black silk hose), sucking and licking her cunt, commencing his assault on her clitoris, when she'd forestalled him, inaugurated another of her ingenue question and answer periods. "Why do you do that, honey? Lick me there, I mean? What do you get out of doing that?"
Again he'd been moved by her childish frankness. "Why do you ask, Sirri? Don't you enjoy it?"
"Of course I do. It's heavenly; sometimes I can't get enough of it. But what do you get from it?"
"I don't really know. I'm just proving how much I love you, I guess. If I give you pleasure, then I'm happy too."
"Is that all? There should be something for you too."
"I can't quite explain it, angel. I just love to do it, that's all. Sometimes I feel like I love you so much that there aren't words expressive enough to show you how deeply I feel. Then I have to suck your cunt; it's ultimate demonstration of my adoration for you."
Sirri's voice broke. "Oh, lover, such a sweet thing to say."
"I suppose there's a selfish angle too. If I get you terribly excited, it can't help but be that much better when I finally get around to fucking you."
"Do my parts down there have names, too? I know about the vagina and vulva and clitoris. Labia majora, labia minora, urethra and all that. You know ... dirty names?"
"Not dirty names, precious. The ... the broader language." He wrapped his tongue around her clitoris, made Sirri yelp and writhe. "This is just called Clitoris. Sometimes clit. The French refer to it as le bouton electronique ... the electric button. I like fuck pearl. Or passion cherry. As for these other things ... we've covered them already. Some crude types refer to what I'm doing as gobbling the cabbage, or muff-diving. I don't care much for those."
Whereupon Sirri had lightly grazed her anus with a pearly finger. "And this? You play with me there sometimes."
He'd shrugged. "Anus, mostly, Asshole, shithole sometimes, depending on how horny you are. The homos call it the cornhole, plus other unsavory things. The old dirt road, when they're talking about sodomy."
"Sodomy? What's that?"
"Let's not get that far afield today, huh, Sirri? Now where was I before I was so rudely interrupted?"
"You were sucking my passion cherry," she mischievously announced. "Oh yes, baby, that's wonderful. I'll never get enough of it. Suck my hot clit, you fucker! Mmmmmmmm! Not so hard, Dwight. Run your tongue around it. Oooh! Like that! It's heavenly."
"What does it feel like?" Dwight had seized erotic initiative. "When I lick you? Can you describe it?"
"It's heard to say. Sometimes it's so peaceful; I feel like a safe, protected baby. Other times it hurts and I feel like my guts are being tied in knots. Just before I pop it's so intense I want to die; I want to stop you, but I can't. Like I'm torn between two desires; one to come, the other to claw your mouth away. But once I really get over the hump, there's no stopping me. After I come, it only takes a lick or two and I'm shooting all over again." She'd stopped talking then, had concentrated on total savorance of her hovering orgasm, assisting Dwight by moving her hips up and down, already skillful at jamming her clitoris to the minor penis of his tongue.
Afterwards, shivering like a contented puppy, she'd grown reflective. "Dwight, baby?"
"Yes, darling?"
"Would you like me to do that to you sometime too? Suck your prick, I mean?"
His heart had leaped. He'd been working up to that very thing, had prolonged his sessions of cunnilingus to inordinate lengths in the hope that she'd get carried away, would reciprocate of her own accord. But for her to offer same, in the relative calm of afterglow was more than he'd ever dared dream. "You know I would, Sirri. I'd feel like a giant among men if you would. But it's not important. Just so long as you let me do you. You have to want to; otherwise it's no good."
"Supposing I told you I wanted to. Right now?"
"You don't have to, Sirri."
"I know that. But I'm just curious about what it would be like. How you'd taste, what sort of feelings I'd get. If you enjoy doing me that way so much, there must be something to it. I'm not sure I can; I might get sick. But I'd like to try. You won't go shooting ... in my mouth, will you? I don't think I could stand that."
He'd laughed adoringly. "You angel. It's not as easy as that."
"How do you know? Have you ... has Noreen done it for you?"
"No," he lied, "I've never had a woman do that for me. I've just heard. Some men do talk...."
She'd puffed up at that. "Then this will be my gift to you. My thank you for being so good to me, for loving me. Because I love you, honey." She'd partially dropped her head, had paused in minor revulsion. "You won't laugh it I can't do it?"
"I won't laugh, angel." When her lips had paused inches from the drooling, red knob of his prick, he'd reassured her: "Just take a little taste. Lick it a little. If you don't like it, then stop."
Her voice still indecisive, she'd said, "Tell me, won't you? Tell me how it feels.'" Then she'd taken a gingerly lick of his prick. Then another. Another and another. In a moment the flat of her tongue rasped the underside of his glans; the point flirted with its weeping eye. "Well?" she prompted.
"It's heavenly, pet," he'd gasped, the idea of having Sirri reverence his sex thusly exalting, thrilling his beyond description. "It feels like a tiny bee. A bee that keeps stinging me. But a delicious sting. You angel; you sweet angel." He'd groaned thickly as her mouth had boldly ventured to consume the entire knob. Then her mouth had opened wide, had slithered down, down, down, until she had accommodated as much of him as she could. As she'd come up this time, had removed herself with a liquid pop; "How about you, Sirri? Is it as bad as you thought? The taste; is it repulsive?"
"No, it isn't. Not at all. I can't describe it. I thought it would be bitter, that it wouldn't ... smell good. But it's a nothing taste ... just nothing. I like doing it for you, though. You were right ... it is a good feeling to know you're giving someone pleasure ... like it's something only you can do. May I, Dwight? Suck you some more? I only wish he wasn't so big. I got wild there for a minute. I wanted so desperately to swallow every blessed inch."
"There'll be times," he chuckled softly. But then, anxious to have her succulent, hot mouth rewrapped around his throbbing penis, he urged, "Please, princess. More. I'm just dying to have your gorgeous, little mouth wrapped around my cock. Suck me, baby. And afterwards I'll fuck the goddamned wrinkles off the inside of your cunt."
"Naughty," she'd teased. "You know how hot it makes me when you talk dirty like that." Upon which she'd dropped her head again, had attached her mouth to him like some sort of vacuum cleaner attachment, had blown him like she'd been doing it all her life.
But that had been a long time ago, a week at least. And by now Sirri was an accomplished cocksucker; she thought absolutely nothing of sucking him to climax now, swallowing every blessed ounce of his muck, licking his prick shiny clean, hard enough to fuck her in the bargain. She also thought nothing of using the most scatological language non-stop; such seemingly enhancing-the sex act immeasurably for her.
Another highlight in their brief career in lechery-one of the happiest times in Dwight's life-was in process this night in early September, the session taking place at the Adair home. It was to be a red light night, with Sirri capitulating to his fetishist quirks by presenting him with a pair of panties, garter belt, and emerald green hosiery to match an ensemble he'd recently bought for her. Dressing him herself, making a great fuss over his appearance, rubbing her nylon-cocooned breasts, belly and thighs against him, a truce, a symbolic understanding was effected between them. And as they kissed, and caressed, as they built to exotic finale in the harsh glow of a white spotlight, both wild to indulge excesses unlimited, Sirri had queried him as to the reasons for his weird anomaly. "That's hard to say, Sirri," he'd replied, reluctant to go into the unsettling ramifications of his perversion. "I suppose it's all grounded in a person's past, a thing few people can put their finger on. It's there; I accept it, make the best of it. It does pay certain dividends in the long run. To both participants. Everyone, I suppose, has fetishist tendencies of one sort or another. Some men go for earrings, for fur, for women in boots. I happen to dig lingerie, silk and satin. Even women have fetishist traits. For instance: Think about some conditions ... a way I dress, a way I smell, a particular part of my body that turns you on. That's fetishism, whether you're willing to admit it or not. Can you think of such a situation, angel?"
Her eyes glittered. "Now that you mention it, I can. Crazy. I never thought about it that way before, though."
"Do you intend to tell me about it?"
"Not tonight, honey. Someday, but not now. It'd be far too embarrassing." She sought to change the subject.
"How about Noreeen? Does she know about this trait of yours?"
"Yes, she knows. She's been living with it, going along with it all her life."
"Well then, why weren't you satisfied? If you had a woman who indulged you?"
"I was, up to a point. At least until you came along. Suddenly Noreen was from nowhere. The first time that's ever happened." He passed off the grandiose lie without cracking a smile. "All of a sudden she didn't appeal any more. I had to have you or die."
Sirri's grin was snide. "Considering this was your first straying, you were certainly expert. You had me interested almost from the start."
"Necessity is the mother of invention," he glossed over expertly. Then doing some subject switching of his own: "Thank you for the lovely gift. You'll never know what it means to me. To have you understand what makes me tick...." He pushed her back onto the bed. "Just for that I'm going to lick your cunt until you scream for mercy."
At which Sirri pulled down his panties, allowed his monstrous, veined prick to spring forth. "Only if you let me suck a pint or so of jazz out of this sweet cock of yours as well."
Shortly the two figures, still clad in their bizarre undies, were joined in the soixante-neuf position, Sirri on top, milking Dwight's phallus as though her life depended upon it. "All of it," she snickered as she finally coaxed jetting floods of his semen from his tube. "Shoot it down my throat ... every blessed ounce."
Afterwards, Sirri's legs hooked over Dwight's shoulders, the heels of her pumps drumming his back as he dredged the furrowed channels of her cunt with a revitalized rod, she exacted still another sluicing from him. Later, made irresponsible by too much drink, there was time for still a more outre demand from Sirri. As harking back to sodomy, having heard somewhere that a twice-defeated phallus is diminished in rigidity, if not dimensions, she begged that her lover teach her this forbidden art as well. Stall though Dwight might, she was adamant, and not too much later, he stretching her with semen-lubricated fingers, he finally acceded to her corrupt request. And Sirri standing beside the bed, her palms on the mattress, her derriere charmingly offered, she had her depraved way. After much shrieking and puffing and pumping, his rod was eventually shoe-horned into her maddeningly tight ass. Not too much later, sensing impending orgasm as induced by Dwight's strumming finger, she shifted her buttocks into high, forthrightly exacted a watery tribute from him. A climax that coincided precisely with hers. "Gorgeous!" she shrieked hoydenly, "I can feel him shoot! Every single squirt! So hot; it's so hot! It burns something awful!"
Which was, all at once, entirely too much for Noreen to bear. And enduring as much of the voyeur bacchanal as she could, she suddenly found that masturbation wasn't enough; she had to have a more concrete expression of her sexual need or go stark raving mad. Thus-the first time she'd ever attempted such-she streaked for Ardyce's quarters. Where, breaking in on the drowsy, confused Negress, she flung herself into bed with her, immediately whipped up her nightgown, buried her lips in the maid's milky musky vagina. A thing which Ardyce, innured to sexual abnormalities of every description in this household by now, shrugged off, endured as best she could.
But then, Noreen flung her own clothes off, fell prone upon Ardyce's body, arranged her belly so that it touched hers, actually opening the Negress's pussy with her own fingers. Now, bringing her glistening, pink clitoris into prominence, she commenced sawing at it with her own engorged pearl. Ardyce shuddered, bitterly said: "Easy does it, Ma'am. You ain't going to no fire. The way you're abusing it, you'll scrape the varnish off before you even get close to what you're needing."
"Don't talk!" Noreen snapped. "I don't need any of your hp. Just move, damn you! Move, move...."
The dusky-skinned female stiffened momentarily at her mistress' officious tone. But then, a contemptuous smile forming on her lips, she did as she was commanded. She moved.