Chapter 2
Paul left two well-fucked girls early next morning feeling more pleased with himself than he had done for a very long time. He had arranged to screw them again on the week-end; he was to telephone Angelique on Saturday morning to find out whether her parents were away or not. If they were they hoped he would visit them in Knightsbridge. If not, and they could get away, they would come to his apartment in Hampstead.
But there was nearly a week to wait and Paul in his present mood could not wait without sex or some sort of hump indulgence that long.
It was in that frame of mind that he visited a discotheque in Soho and picked up a strikingly lovely blonde of about twenty-seven. She readily agreed to go back to his flat, though it was nearly two in the morning.
She had a beautiful, sensuous figure, slim with more than adequate meat in the right places, even a suggestion of plumpness in her ass. Certainly she wriggled her ass most effectively as she walked and showed off at the same time the most lovely hips he had seen for a long time. Her long, blonde hair reached to her waist, and her curvaceous breasts bobbed up and down under her blouse.
She was not long in coming to the point. On the way back in Paul's car she said she would like to stay with him all night as it was too late to get home to Surbiton. "And I'd like you to sock it to me!" she added.
Paul was delighted: two teenagers one week, a beautiful blonde of twenty-seven asking you to fuck her the next!
As soon as they reached his place they went to his bedroom.
"Please undress me," she said.
The strange thing about her, as Paul was to find out, was that she was entirely frigid. But she behaved like a nymphomaniac. "I like to be undressed by a man, it gives me a thrill," she added. Little did Paul know that that was the only thrill she got out of fucking at that time.
He went over to her and undid the buttons of her blouse, taking it back over her shoulders and throwing it on the bed. She wore a navy-blue bra with contrasting white edges, and, as he was to see shortly, she wore a matching girdle to assist a slightly protruding belly and keep up her stockings. When he unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor he looked at her figure with admiration, breasts sticking through the tight bra, lovely hips under a blue girdle, holding up stockings that encased her beautiful legs. But no panties! Her bush and naked cunt were completely exposed!
She must have guessed his thoughts. "No, I never wear them," she said. "There's absolutely no need really." It was certainly very convenient for a quick lay, thought Paul.
She jumped onto the bed and lay back, waiting for him to take off her underwear. But Paul liked the idea of making love to her in her bra and girdle — at least for a While. He recalled his love for girl's underclothing and the times when, at Oxford, he had dressed as a woman. He felt he would rather like a bra and girdle like these.
He took her in his arms and brought his lips to hers. They were cold and unresponsive, and he felt her go taut as he began to fondle her breasts and ass through her undies. As much as she wanted cock she always reacted, quite involuntarily, in this way, when a man actively began to screw her. Paul persevered but found that he had difficulty in opening her legs.
The girl, sensing Paul's disappointment, began to explain.
"I'm sorry. I've always wanted to have an orgasm, to have sex uninhibitedly, but I cannot. Every time I get to this stage I feel terrified. I have had fuck forced on me a few times but I never enjoyed it. Most men don't bother but give up when they see how I react to their cocks and find me too unresponsive. Don't leave me now," she added almost pleadingly.
Paul had an idea. He went over to his dressing-table and took out a vibro massager from one of the drawers. He had once heard of a girl who never got an orgasm until she had one for the first time with the use of a high-speed massager on her clitoris.
He plugged in the vibrator and fixed the small button-shaped head to the vibrating axis. At first he slowed down the speed to "slow". Then he sat at the side of the girl and, gently prying open the top of her slit, he parted her cuntlips and managed to find her clitoris.
He began talking to her soothingly as he applied the vibrator to her bud. "You never told me your name." And when she said it was Valerie, he went on: "Well, Valerie I've known plenty of frigid women and quite a few of them got over their frigidity. This massager might rouse your clitoris and once that happens you may be able to relax. Then your whole feeling about the fuck act would change. You would probably be able to make it after all." He knew that psychologically speaking what he was saying was unsound: a woman was frigid for psychological reasons, and that was that. But there was just a small percentage of cases, he thought, where shyness, inhibitness and actual lack of any success at stimulating the girl's clitoris all during fucking were the cause, and once such a woman achieved an orgasm there might be a release of tension, a sort of "break-through."
The vibrating head had little effect on the girl's cunt, but then he turned the small dial and speeded it up. At about half speed her heard a slight moan escape from her and he saw that her clitoris was enlarged, though it still remained relatively small. And then he turned the vibrator up to full speed. After five or ten seconds there was a perceptible change in the girl. She began to open her legs and press her cunt against the head of the massager, while she wriggled her ass and began to call out to him.
"Oh, go on, it's beginning to feel nice. It's quite exciting. Ooooh, ooooaah! Don't stop now, I think I'm coming. It's a wonderful feeling." And suddenly she was panting and moaning in ecstasy as a climax overcame her and Paul saw the tension go from her body as she lay panting for breath and writhing her spasming belly in her delight at the long-awaited orgasm she had sought.
He immediately put down the vibrator and getting on top of the girl forced his prick into her. Her vagina was warm and wet, perhaps not what he would have described as responsive, but manifestly in a condition she had probably never achieved before. He wasted no time and began to fuck her as he kissed her lips and fondled her breasts, ramming his stiff cock in and out of her hot twat enthusiastically. The girl lay still on the bed underneath him, but gradually he felt a responsive movement and she began to lift her asscheeks a little to his thrust. She also put her arms round his neck and pulled him closer, seeking his lips with hers.
He came and shot his wad inside her twat very quickly. Somehow he was more than usually excited by having used the massager on her, and at the fact that he had got some sort of response from a frigid woman. After all, he thought, a frigid woman has her uses when you know how to warm up her pussy ...
The following night he took her back again and this time she responded more readily. She opened her legs almost as soon as she lay back on the bed and he was able to enjoy her breasts and lips before he turned to her cunt. He pushed his face down between her legs and his tongue licked her cunt lips, gradually probing between them. And then his tongue found her clitoris and for some minutes, as his nose got the somewhat salty and fishy smell of her cunt, he licked and sucked at her vagina as it dribbled with her cunt-juice.
And then his mouth sought her cunt-hole and soon his tongue was probing three or four inches into her passage. He was surprised to find a slight taste of blood and he soon realized that she was beginning to menstruate.
"Is your period due?" he asked her.
"I suppose so, why, have I started. Oh, I'm sorry," she said genuinely upset.
"Yes I think you've just started. It may make you more horny and finally confirm you out of your frigidity. I don't mind." Not only did he not mind. He was excited and he got down between her legs again and sucked at the menstruating vagina. His face was soon covered in her ooze and he felt a strange new excitement. In his lust he thought back to a few days before when he had tasted the juice of a virgin's ruptured hymen, and now he was tasting menstrual secretion. He thought to himself that he was certainly indulging in some outlandish perversions, and wondered if they were known to Kraft-Ebbing, the famous psychologist of perverted sex.
The taste was becoming unpleasant and he got up and went over to his bathroom and washed his face and rinsed out his mouth. But he was now eager to put his prick into her pussy and soon he was between her legs and pushing it into her. As he brought it down for the first time he looked at the base of his prick and saw that it was streaked with her twat-juices. This excited his lust to frenzy point and in a few seconds he was fucking her as if his life depended on it. She was warm and responsive and clung to him as she gave her cunt to him wholly and without restraint. He could feel the red liquid in her vagina and hear the squelch of her cunt-juice as he rammed home his prick. Now his lust was beyond control and he dug his nails into her buttocks, and his teeth into her neck. In a few minutes, the two of them writhing in their lust, they came together and he was shooting his spunk into her to mix with her menstrual juice and her cunt secretions ...
It was a few days to the week-end when he would be phoning Angelique, so he arranged to see the girl again the following night. But for some reason — he was to find out later that she was really unwell — she did not turn up and he found himself at loose ends, and with a hardon that had no cunt to take care of it.
He telephoned a number of girls he had gotten to know during the previous few months, but he met with no success.
It was at that moment when he was contemplating a new visit to the discotheque when his door-bell rang. He went to open it and there on the step was his sister Ursula.
Ursula was a very attractive, fair-haired girl some two or three years younger than Paul. She worked as a air hostess for one of the Scandinavian lines and from time to time spent a night or two in London. In the past, when Lavinia had been alive, she had often spent the night with them, or even stayed for a week-end. She was unusually gifted, spoke three or four languages, and played the violin. Paul had frigged with her when he was at school, but no mention of their fuck experience had been made since that time. Paul was sure that Ursula would be shocked even to recall it to her.
"Oh, Paul I'm glad you're in. I'm sorry to drop in on you so unexpectedly but a plane I was to fly on tonight has been cancelled — or at least postponed — as there's a strike at the Stockholm airport. So I was suddenly left with nowhere to go and a free evening. I thought that as I hadn't seen you since La — since August," she corrected herself not to hurt his feelings, "that I'd come and visit you."
"Oh, I'm so glad you came. I'm at loose ends. We can have some food and wine, talk about old days, and so on. Agree?"
"Marvelous, my love. What's been happening to you. Are you very miserable?"
"I'm afraid so. I've been running after lots of odd women just to get my mind off Lavinia and I'm afraid you'd be shocked if you knew what I'd been up to. The truth is I'm terribly lonely."
"What about Mom and Dad? Have you been down there?"
"No, not for a few months. I don't know why. I will though. Anyway let me get you a drink and start some food. I've got a salad made already, and there's cold beef, horse-radish sauce. Will that do? You could have soup to begin."
"Not necessary. I'll just love the salad and beef. Let me get it ready."
"No, stay where you are and I'll bring it in here. We can have it on the side table. What'll you drink now? Sherry?"
"Yes, sherry is just what a girl like me needs; that fino I had when I was here before, yes?"
"Yes, that's just what I'm giving you." And with that Paul handed his sister a glass of dry sherry. He looked at her as she sat on the sofa sipping it slowly. My God, he thought, I could fuck her. She's so beautiful, Oh, for heaven's sake, he thought, I must put the idea out of my mind. Incest and fucking your own sister may be okay when you're sixteen but hardly at my age. Anyway she'd be shocked to death if I even suggested it. He went into the kitchen and began to bring in the cutlery, plates and napkins for the table. Then he came in with a large bowl of salad and two plates covered with pieces of cold beef. He pushed up a table to Ursula and pulled up a chair to the other side of it. Before he sat down he came in with a bottle of a Pomerol claret, the kind of wine that was suitable for such an occasion without being anything very special.
They ate and drank and talked. As the evening went on they both lost some of their inhibitions and Paul, now thinking more and more of the possibility of again frigging his sister, pushed as much wine her way as possible.
Ursula Snow had not married, though she had had plenty of opportunities. Despite a somewhat ethereal appearance she had a passionate nature, loved humping and it surprised Paul that she had not married when she was very young.
He had very little idea of her activities nowadays and often wondered whether she was promiscuous or not. He decided he would try to find out what she was up to.
"Well, any new boy friends?" he asked her smiling at her as he spoke.
"Oh, Paul, you're only preoccupied with hump." And then she looked at the floor and, becoming very serious for a moment, she told him that she had been jilted by a lover whom she had been fucking for and hoped to marry in Stockholm. When she looked at him again he could see tears in the corner of her eyes.
"Ursula darling," he said as he rushed to her side and put his arm round her, "I'm sorry, terribly sorry. But don't be upset. You'll always find as many men as you want. You are so lovely that you can take your choice of any prick-pusher."
"It's not nearly so simple," she said, a smile coming back to her face. "Men think like that. They imagine that if they were women they would fuck with everyone. But we aren't like that. No, truly Paul, I'm upset and I guess just about as lonely as you."
She spoke feelingly and Paul hesitated to take advantage of her at a moment like this. But his hand had moved slowly round to her side and his fingers could just feel the beginnings of the curve of her breast, like the lower reaches of a mountain. He wanted to cup her lovely tits — he remembered that they had those dark colored aureoles that excited him so much — but he dared not, But he kept his hand round her and after a few minutes he pulled her very slowly closer to him, talking to her as he did so.
He began to reminisce and eventually he was back at the time they frigged together. "Well, I can comfort you just as you comforted me in the old days. Do you remember that Christmas at home when all your friends came?" He waited, his heart beating faster, for her reply. Would she ignore the implication or would she say something about it?
"Oh yes, it was fun," Ursula was saying. "It's a pity those days have gone in a way," her voice was very low as she spoke these words, words probably full of meaning if Paul could interpret them.
"Oh, do you mean ..." he hesitated. "Do you mean you liked it when we ... when we fucked each other when we were youngsters?"
She did not answer for a while and then she turned to look at her brother.
"Yes," she said, her voice scarcely audible, "yes, I did."
"And, and do you think it would be possible again?" Paul could hardly believe he had said those words, but the die was cast and he could not take them back. "I mean, I mean," he added lamely and his voice trailed into silence.
"You mean we should fuck each other now — again?"
It was Paul's turn to lower his voice. Almost inaudibly he whispered the word, "Yes, yes, I do."
There was a long silence this time before she spoke. The room was as silent as a grave. He could hear his own heart beating, and then the sound of her breathing began to force itself on his ears.
Just when he felt that the silence was becoming unbearable, and when he was thinking of what he should say next, he heard her whisper the words, "All right."
He looked at her unable to believe his ears. "Do you really want to?" was all he could say.
"I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to. I suppose I'm as lonely as you are. I like you, you take away much of my loneliness. I'm a woman and you're a man. So let's make the most of it." She looked at him, smiled and took both his hands in hers.
"It's incest, that's all," said Paul.
"Well, what if it is? You're not telling me that you care for moral ideas of that sort; do you?"
"No, I was only making sure that you really knew what you were doing. You've made me very happy. Come let's get into bed."