Messalina: Devourer of Men (31 page)

My forefinger gently taps the head of his cock, as if testing the ripeness of a different kind of passion fruit, and I am rewarded with a little drop of juice. I use my finger to bring a sample to my mouth to suck and nod approvingly.

He has been holding his breath and releases a long, ragged sigh. Sensing he’s about to speak, I shoot him a disapproving glance and he sucks in a breath through his teeth. I stand up and begin to strip. His eyes follow as I undo my wrap around skirt and expose black bikini panties. Bending down, I undo my ankle-strap heels and then remove my blouse. I keep on my black push-up bra knowing he likes the presentation it makes.

“Turn over.” The sound of my voice startles both of us because it’s deeper and huskier than I’ve ever sounded before. Jared’s back presents as beautifully as his front—smooth skin, defined muscles—and a few faded scars where my fingernails have marked him in the past.

“Close your eyes and keep them closed until I say otherwise.” I bend over to see that he complies and whisper in his ear, “I’d hold on to the headboard, if I were you.”

I see a slight tremble in him as he grips the wood so tightly it makes a soft groan of complaint. His knuckles slowly turn white. I give his shoulders a quick massage.

“Relax. Don’t tense up on me now.”

Jared exhales again and relaxes into the mattress. I start massaging his body from his wrists, down his arms, then his back, finally arriving at the two perfect mounds of his buttocks where I linger for a while. I continue down his legs to his feet before coming back to his bottom. I give him a hard slap across the ass and he bucks up. I do it again, and then again. His ass is now a peach with a rosy blush.

I move away from the bed and go to the bathroom to turn on the faucet and dampen a few towels with warm water. I see him turn his head in my direction.

“Keep those eyes closed. I’m watching you, Jared. Don’t think for a moment you’re fooling me.” My tone is sharper than my emotions, but by his grimace, he doesn't know that. Nevertheless, I’m so eager, I want him inside me now, but this is an exercise in control for both of us.

Having returned to the bed, I give him a rubdown with the towels, relaxing him even more. I even run a towel in a playful, shoeshine fashion between his ass cheeks and finish by “polishing” each bun. I flick his rump with the wet towel, causing him to flinch and suck in his breath. I do it several more times until I see the nice, rosy glow return to his cheeks.

“Good. I think you’re ready now.” I walk to the foot of the bed and pick up the rest of my equipment. Placing a slim dildo inside a harness, I strap it around my waist. The toy is smaller than what I’m used to, but considering what I’m about to do, I’m going to be just as considerate as he was with me by going slow. I squirt a generous amount of lubricant into my hand and slather it onto the dildo.

Since he introduced me to anal sex, I’ve become more open and confident with exploring my sexual desires, and he’s been generous of every one, from bondage to nipple clamps. Finally, about a month ago, he acquiesced to my even touching his little rose-hole. Since then, he’s been more relaxed, letting me play and linger in this area.

Tonight, I will do more than linger. I will dwell. I am going to possess him until he knows who is Mistress. When I straddle his legs and squeeze a large dollop of lube between his ass cheeks, my intentions become clear and he raises his head.

“I hope you’re not planning to talk, Jared. In fact, you just moved without permission.” I start to get off the bed and he moans loudly as if in agony.

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

Even though his face is hidden, he nods.

“What do you want?”

He raises his head, looks at me, and my heart stops. He looks so sad. I wonder if this is how he looked when moving from home to home. I straighten my spine, hoping to appear more resolute than I really am, but after all, part of me is trying to come out of a sexual shell. Then I realize he’s waiting for my permission.

“Speak.”

When he does, his voice is soft, breathless.

“Please, don’t leave me, Eva . . . Messalina.”

He sees me in my regalia and his jaw tightens before he buries his face into the pillows and increases his grip on the headboard. I resume my position on my mount, allowing my toy phallus to slide up and down between his ass and up to the base of his back. I do this several times until his body shivers and I have to clench my thighs around him to restrain him.

“Whoa there, big fella.” I stretch myself on top of him and remove his hands from where they’re gripped, so I can place my head on his shoulder. “I need you to relax, babe.”

In a sure way to achieve this, I nibble his ear and reach under him to rub his nipples while slinking my body up and down. Jared’s heart thunders in his chest, his skin is very warm, and he’s starting to sweat. I kiss the side of his neck and then his shoulder, letting my lips caress and suck. I do this for several moments as I continue rubbing against him and the action causes the dildo to stimulate me as well.

When I hear him exhale and deflate into the mattress once again, I take advantage of the situation. The tip of the phallus slides forward with little resistance before he tenses and I have to brace myself, using my weight to keep him from squeezing me out. It’s a balancing act, but I don’t advance and I don’t withdraw.

“Now, now, lover,” I murmur and kiss his ear. “Don’t be shy.”

In reply, I get to advance another inch, and then another. Finally, I give a gentle nudge until completely lodged.

Jared releases his pent up breath again and starts trembling all over. His body turns gelatinous as his nervous system responds to the intruder inside him. I clamp my legs and arms around him, hugging him tightly, pressing my breasts hard against his back.

“Shh, Jared.” I kiss his shoulder. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Once the words are spoken, we realize that’s the exact same thing he said to me the first time. I kiss his neck and stroke the hair from his forehead, waiting for him to adjust to the sensation. But I’m aroused, too. I give a tentative thrust and he groans. I do it again and continue kissing the back of his neck and shoulders as I slowly, gently stroke into him. I reach under his waist and can’t help but gasp. He is diamond hard. Oh, fuck—the cock cage! I know Jared is stoic when it comes to pain, but Jesus Christ, he must be in agony!

“Jared, how are you feeling?” Although concerned, I keep my voice stern.

“I’m fine, Messalina,” he whispers and leans into the hand caressing his head. I pet him a little, but I swear his cock’s about to burst. But not yet. A little more won’t hurt. He can’t see me grin, but I can feel my orgasm as it trembles through me and the harness—and through the dildo inside him.

Now I’m satisfied. Riding victoriously astride my stallion, I signal my approval with one good, solid thrust. I loosen the cock cage and he cries out, his body going rigid as he comes in torrents across the sheets and collapses onto the bed. I slowly extract myself from him and stand up. My legs are weak and I stumble but quickly recover. We are both drenched in sweat. His skin is so red he looks sunburned with a full-body blush.

“Look at me, Jared.”

He turns to face me where I stand with my feet planted shoulder-width apart, emphasizing my artificial enhancements, and my fists on my hips. His eyes are dilated and his lips are set in a thin line.

My hair hangs limp in my eyes, so I pull out the hairpins and fluff my hair about my neck to cool myself a bit. One of my bra straps falls off my shoulder it’s so limp from sweat. I unclasp the harness and shimmy out of it. Jared, in response, flexes his muscles starting with his arms, then clenches his buttocks and legs, and finally flexes his feet.

I stoop to pick up one of the damp towels and find it cool instead of warm. He stares as I run the towel over my neck, chest, down my arms and belly, and then between my thighs.

“I’m done—for now.”

I toss the towel at him. It lands on his face.

“Your turn to sleep on the wet spot,” I say and walk around to my side of the bed and lie down with my back to him. I close my eyes but feel him move and turn over. The bed jostles as he lifts his large frame and I hear him walk to the bathroom.

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I know, my eyelids pop open when I’m grabbed, dragged to the center of the bed, and rolled onto my back. Jared moves between my legs. He has taken a shower and is still damp; his hair is slicked back, giving off a dark chestnut sheen and his expression pins me to the spot. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looks ready for battle. My eyes drift down and I see it.

Jared is now wearing the harness and totes an artificial rod that the catalog calls “The Punisher.” He’s slicked both himself and the dildo with lubricant.

I swallow hard. Usually, Jared would simply use a dildo to get me ready for him. Despite all our fun and experimenting in the bedroom, I have yet to be double penetrated, but the look in Jared’s eyes says that is about to change. He anchors my legs over his haunches, positions himself at each of my entrances, and cradles my bottom in his hands. Then he stops. Our gazes lock with a palpable intensity. He’s giving me a chance to protest. Instead, I tilt my hips up to give him better access and clutch the bed sheets.

He moves forward and you would have thought I had been electrocuted. A primal scream escapes my lips as my most private spaces are simultaneously filled and stretched, causing me to spasm with an immediate, bone-rattling orgasm. I release the sheets and wrap my arms and legs around him, pulling him onto me. His strong arms tighten around me while giving him traction to move deeper. My body reacts the same way his did when I took him, but I’m not stoical about it. Tears spill from my eyes and my chest constricts as he squeezes a sob out of me.

His kiss smothers my cries while creating a chain reaction, and we climax together. I shudder with yet another aftershock and it takes several minutes before we are able to look at each other.  When we do, it’s evident in our faces.

We are a perfect fit.

Chapter fifteen

“The life of lucrezia”

“Eva!”

I look up and see Harold Seigel, the 18
^th
century literature professor, heading my way. His usual happy countenance shows concern. “Are you OK? You look a little off color, if you don’t mind my saying.” He smiles knowing I’m not so touchy to be offended by his choice of words.

“I’m fine. Just a little sore and tired. What’s up?”

His gives me a questioning glance, then asks, “What time is your last class?”

“Two o’clock.”

“Great. Can you meet me in the lounge at three-thirty?”

“Sure. What’s going on?”

“You’ll see, but you’re gonna want to be in on this.” Harold’s medium-sized frame is quickly swallowed by the student body filling the hall to near capacity, leaving me feeling both curious and suspicious.

* * * *

My suspicions are well-founded. My colleagues want to hold an open debate about faculty/student “relations” since these lines, never clearly defined to begin with, got blurred even further during the tenure of the last Chancellor. However, with his retirement and the increase of more conservative colleagues, like my dean, J. Paul Mathis—plus the Hyde affair—we have a full-blown crisis on our hands, at least as far as public relations are concerned.

“It’ll be a panel discussion,” says Harold. “One side argues for stricter rules of conduct; the other side defends a person’s right to choose their nookie partner. The administration won’t be able to participate because of the lawsuit, though I’m sure a representative will be present. This is strictly to get the rank and file to discuss the issue in the open. After all, this is a college. The exchange of views and ideas should be encouraged.”

I sigh. Yeah, right. But my cynicism bothers me. I’m starting to sound like a pessimistic lifer.

Harold continues, “There will be a total of twelve participants, three faculty and three students on each side, all from different backgrounds. Professor Alicia Beecham, from Comparative Religions is going to head the pro-restriction side.”

            “We want you to head our side, Eva.” Kent Melbourne, a linguistics professor, blurts out. He’s another guy popular with the students. 

My eyes open wide. It’s nice to know your peers like you enough to ask you to take the lead, but this is different. I shake my head.

“I don’t see how. If we’re trying to get people on our side, first, I’m hardly the most popular or senior faculty member. In fact, I’m the youngest in our division. Second, I was Hyde’s protégé. And third, I may be called as a character witness.

            “But that’s what makes you perfect for the cause, Evadne,” Howard says. “Unless you are subpoenaed or under a gag order, you can still participate. Besides, we’re not discussing the case but talking in generalities.”

            Kent smiles. “We even came up with a name to call ourselves.”

            “Oh, good lord,  what?”

            “The Cunning Linguists.”