The Young Wife (15 page)

‘Did she do this, Leo?' asked Jessica, as she slid the candle into the oily tube of my bottom. ‘I bet she did – and I bet you liked it too, you naughty man.'

Absently, my mind pictured Leo blinking in excited affirmation of her questions, but the candle in my bottom was making me squirm with its delicious movement, and I couldn't concentrate for long.

Without warning, Jessica stood up and left me kneeling there alone. I heard the wheelchair being moved around me, and looked up through my fringe to see Leo being positioned in front of me. Jessica reached over his shoulder and fiddled with his flies. Then she looked into my eyes and said, ‘If you are so keen to please him, you can do something about this.'

Then she freed the lolling head of his penis from his fly, and it sprang redly upwards on its thick shaft.

I didn't know what to do, for this wasn't part of the plan. Over the back of Leo's head, Jessie smiled a challenge to me. She knew I had never had a man, and now she was inviting me to suck the penis of one I utterly detested. Even helpless, he was still a bastard, and I didn't have the faintest idea how to begin anyway. I shuffled up to him, with the candle pointing downwards from between my cheeks, and felt slightly ridiculous. My embarrassment was soon overcome by the feelings that went through me as I gazed at his naked, throbbing penis as it swayed mere inches from my face. I looked at Jessie as I reached out a slightly trembling hand to the hard, red cock, and heard the slight gasp from Leo when the cool tips of my fingers met the hot flesh of his meaty shaft. It pulsed, warm and glistening, under the slightest movement of my hand, and I pulled the overskin down until his glans rolled out to the air. It glowed a dull purple, like a odd-shaped grape, and I looked from it to Leo's face, as I debated with myself. Should I try it, or not? Would it taste nice? Would it throb in my mouth?

A look at Jessica's face decided me. I stuck out my tongue to a point, and kept my eyes fixed on hers, as I stretched my neck forward until my tongue touched his cock. After that first salty connection, it was easy. I licked the length of it, up and down, a few times, then popped the bulbous head into the hot cave of my mouth. Wet velvet in my mouth, and buzzing in my head, as I rolled the filthy bastard's thick cock over my tongue. Then I hollowed out my cheeks and sucked the throbbing tube of meat until it swelled to straining between my pursed lips. I looked up at Leo as I sucked, and saw the dangerous bulging of his eyes. This encouraged me to suck him harder, and try to get him further into my mouth. Jessica had moved behind me, and started to push the candle further up the narrow passage of my bottom. My inner thighs shook with the strain of keeping my position. I wanted to stick my arse out further to the indriving stem, but had to keep upright to keep the cock at the right angle in my mouth. I felt my cunt being opened – by Jessica's fingers, I assume – in time to the candle's inward rush, and had to groan over Leo's throbbing glans. I nipped it with my teeth, and it burst salty semen into my throat. I gagged and pulled my face away. Thick globules of semen splashed on to my chest, and I was so surprised that I swallowed the thick spill of come in my mouth. I was so disgusted that I came almost immediately from the rush of mingled shame and fulfilment. I had sucked the cock that had buggered Elizabeth's pretty little arse. The candle in mine only added to the gloriously dirty moment.

Jessica goaded me as she drove the candle into my tight hole. ‘Look at you,' she rasped into my ear. ‘You love the taste of his cock, don't you?'

I shook my head in wild denial, but still I worked my hips back to her and answered, ‘Yes!'

Long after I was spent, she let the candle withdraw from my bottom's little mouth, but I stayed as I was until it closed. Then, when I was ready, we tidied up the invalid, and were waiting demurely as the doorbell rang to announce the night nurse. I slept alone again that night, and dreamed of cocks being pushed into me from behind, as I sucked my master's thick stem until the flooding semen choked me into unconsciousness.

Six

There isn't a lot I wouldn't do for my cousin Anne, so when she asked me to lend a hand with a little problem that needed a man's touch, I agreed without really thinking about it. The way she explained it to me, I was supposed to do a bit of physiotherapy on some guy who had had a minor stroke: while, at the same time, my real job was to run some interference on some women relatives of his. Well, I knew from the moment I clapped eyes on her that the one called Antonia was going to be a hard nut to crack, just as I suspected that the other was going to be a pushover.

As it turned out, I was right. Vivian could hardly take her eyes off me at all, and even went so far as to offer to carry my bag. I have had a fair few women who were keen on me, but not to that extent. It wasn't even as if she was a desperate old bird, either, as she was very attractive in a gypsy sort of way, and can't have been more than a year or two older than me anyway. Antonia, on the other hand, was a hundred per cent bitch to her core. She tried to hide it, but I have an instinct for that kind of thing, and I knew she had no interest in me as soon as she thought I was gay. It wasn't that she was disappointed, though. More like she had dismissed me as soon as she thought I was no longer a rival. I knew she was a lesbian long before the others did. Like I said, I have an instinct for that kind of thing.

As for Vivian, I could hardly get rid of her. As soon as we got to the guest-house, Antonia peeled off to the entrance to their quarters, but Vivian insisted on showing me to the door of mine. Antonia threw her a disgusted look before she left, but it passed straight by Vivian or, if she noticed, she ignored it.

I thought she would go as soon as I opened the door, but she insisted on showing me round, and making me a hot drink while I unpacked. She brought me milky coffee, and waited in the kitchen until I surfaced. She was very persistent.

‘You are a physiotherapist, David?' she enquired pleasantly, over the stripped pine surface of the table. ‘Where did you study?'

I ran a brief outline of my training past her, and she gave the impression that she was hanging on my every word. The fact that I was a doctor seemed to her to be a wonderful achievement, and she stared at me with fascinated eyes all the time I spoke. I thought the conversation would dry up after that, but she seemed determined not to go without finding out all she could about me. She questioned me about absolutely everything, in that unashamed, interested way Continental people have. My home, my parents, my school. All were explained and exclaimed over. At each lull, she found another angle of attack, and I decided to go with the flow. It was part of what I was here for anyway. Talk about being dropped straight in it.

‘I have a stiff neck,' she announced, without warning, and continued before I had a chance to comment, ‘What do you know about that?'

‘Well . . . I . . . ah, I know quite a lot about that sort of thing really,' I explained, as modestly as I could. ‘It's my thing, you could say.'

She half-turned on the chair, and pulled the collar of her dress down to show me the back of her neck. She smiled coquettishly and said, ‘I know I'm safe in your hands, David, aren't I?'

‘So you've guessed that I am gay?' I said, hoping to confirm it, if she suspected at all, and thereby lower her defences to a surprise seduction. Terribly calculating, I know, but sometimes these little subterfuges are necessary.

She smiled at me, as if it was obvious, and I found myself wondering if I was too good at acting the part.

‘Don't twist it like that,' I ordered, and got up to walk around the table to her. ‘Sit up straight, and face the front, and I'll see what's wrong if I can.'

She obeyed, as women always do for professionals: not like men, who always think they know better. I stood behind her and probed the slim, corded column of her neck with gentle thumbs, until it gave a little click.

‘Oh!' she said, in surprise, so I reassured her.

‘Nothing serious. Everybody's neck has points like that as some time or other. You do seem to have a bit of tension down one side, though. Could be bodily misalignment.' I told her.

She craned her head round to look at me, with her big brown eyes as wide as a child's.

‘Misaligned, you say. Is it serious?' she asked.

I gave a comforting huff of amusement, before telling her, ‘No. Everyone has one side of the body that's slightly bigger than the other. It's most obvious in a woman's breasts.'

She nodded, as all women have noticed this phenomenon at some point in their lives, so I continued, ‘What most people don't realise is that one leg, and one arm, are always slightly longer as well. Where this is more marked is when women wear high heels, and the tensions of having the body in unnatural postures forces the muscles to act against each other. It normally shows up in lower back pain, though the neck is next in popularity.'

She was gazing at me in a mixture of schoolgirl adoration, and that automatic respect that people have for a doctor.

‘Stand up, and I'll see what your back is like,' I told her. She got up without a protest, and turned her back to me, without hesitation. I doubt if she would have done it had she known I wasn't homosexual at all, but then again, she might have.

I took the opportunity to study her form, and was delighted by what I saw. She was a lot shorter than me, probably five foot five, or thereabouts, and her head was about the level of my collar-bones. Her hair was a mass of tight, black Latin curls, that she kept in a big coif on the top of her head with the aid of a silk tie of some sort. Her neck was slim, though her shoulders were quite meaty, as were her hips and buttocks. The dress was nipped to emphasise the slimness of her waist, and she brought to mind a young Liz Taylor, though without the violet eyes. Her feet and ankles were small and finely formed, though her calves were rounded and taut with muscle. Her bottom was so firm and tense that you could have slipped a sheet of paper into the crack and it would have been held there by sheer muscular tension. A neat little piece, if ever I saw one, and a lot sweeter in temperament than the other princess.

‘I'm going to touch your spine, if you don't mind,' I said, and she murmured her agreement without turning her head. I wondered if she liked the thought of being examined by me, even though I was supposed to be immune to her femininity. That question was answered as soon as I put my hands on her lower back, for she quivered with suppressed tension, and I guessed its cause immediately. I spanned my fingers round her waist, and ran my thumbs up the hollow of her spine. She swayed a little forwards as I pressed the muscles beside her kidneys, and rolled her shoulders when I dug my thumbs into the tight knots of muscle round her scapulae. The fastenings at the back of her dress peeped open under the pressure of my gliding thumbs, showing hints of her underwear, and letting puffs of perfume escape through the gaps. She smelled delicious, and I held my lower body away from her so that she wouldn't accidentally sway back and bump her bottom on the steadily stiffening rod in my trousers.

I controlled my breathing and said, ‘It's a pity that we don't have a bench here. A light massage would sort this out in a moment.'

It was just a throwaway observation to break the tension I was feeling, but she pounced on it immediately.

‘What about the table?' she asked, unable to keep the nervous cough of excitement from preceding her words. ‘Couldn't we use that?'

‘I suppose we could, if you like,' I said, pretending to be dubious, ‘though it's a bit makeshift.'

She was, as I said earlier, determined to make the most of this. I think she had already made up her mind to ‘convert' me. The intended recipient of my seductions was fast turning out to be a rival.

‘We'll have to spread something over the table, or you'll be uncomfortable, Vivian,' I said, in my most detached voice, though the word associations of ‘spread' and ‘over the table' were sending little ripples through my libido, and I felt my cock twitching anxiously at those thoughts. Within an hour of meeting her, I was already getting my hands on her lush little body, yet there was no way I was going to be able to fuck her under the present circumstances. I could see I wasn't going to be a very good queer. I helped her clear the cups and sugar-bowl from the table, then I placed a few rolled tea-towels where I guessed her hip bones would be.

‘Face down, Vivian, if you please,' I suggested, and she moved carefully to comply. She had to bend over the table first, and sort of pull herself forwards on to it. I watched the cheeks of her bottom curve under the taut fabric of her dress, and caught a flash of her white underwear as her legs scissored open when she struggled into position.

‘Not very graceful, am I?' she asked apologetically, and I told her not to be silly.

‘Just get yourself comfortable, and let your chin rest on your hands,' I continued.

The table top was polished pine, and she slid easily forwards until her chin was on a level with the farthest edge from me. I tucked the towels in under the firm fronts of her hips, and she settled herself with slight wrigglings until she was satisfied. Her shins were resting on the near edge of the table, so she let them fall outwards to take the pressure off the sharp bones. Her inner thighs parted, and the hem of her dress fell into the gap they made. I admired the smooth, muscular backs of her brawny thighs, and the thick cords of sinew at her knees. Her heels were still on, so I gently slipped them off, and placed them away from us. She wriggled her pea-like toes, and said, ‘I feel better already, strange as it may seem, David.'

‘It's an odd sort of surgery, isn't it?' I replied.