Whispers of the Flesh (19 page)

The satyr himself wore nothing but snug, black leather trousers and heavy boots, both well broken in. The trousers, which he’d had specially tailored for him some years ago in Florence, featured a pouchlike fall front secured with three brass zippers, two on the sides and one connecting it to the waistband. The purpose of the fall was both to accommodate his outsized satyric genitalia and to provide maximum access to same while keeping his pants from falling down around his ankles. With his butch attire, hard-cut torso, ruby earring, and the faded
In Vino Veritas
tattoo on his left pec, he looked like every submissive’s fantasy dom.

Inigo clipped her leash to the Roman chair, fetched one of his fucking machines from what he called “the toy closet,” and clamped it to the barbell rack at one end of a sharply angled decline bench. The machine was a custom-made accessory for this particular bench, built to Inigo’s precise specifications. He’d dubbed it the “Personal Trainer.”

Chloe stared with eyes like silver dollars as he attached a steel dildo covered with little knobs to the machine’s piston rod, which he adjusted at an upward angle parallel to the bench and just slightly above it. He fine-tuned the length and angle of the rod, plugged in the machine, and thumbed a button on its remote control. The rod glided back and forth with smooth, even strokes, its well-oiled, precision-crafted motor almost noiseless. He pushed another button to make it speed up, another to make the dildo undulate in a circular motion, and another to make it vibrate.

“Get it?” he asked Chloe.

She nodded with gusto.

Chalk up another satisfied customer for the ever-accommodating Inigo.

A minute or two of watching this sort of thing could pass for idle curiosity; any more, and you were a Peeping Tom.

Darius flew off in search of wall lizards.

Inigo retracted the piston, unclipped Chloe’s leash, and had her lie faceup on the bench with her head at the higher end, where a bench presser’s knees would normally be, and her hips at the lower. He lifted her legs and taped them to opposite ends of the rack, so that they were forced wide apart. Her hands he pulled over her head and behind her, taping them to the bench’s foot braces, to which he also clipped her neck chain. He took a moment to admire what the position did to her exposed breasts, and then he dribbled lube onto the steel dildo, coating it thoroughly.

He lubricated two fingers and shoved them into her rectum, making her arch off the bench as she sucked in her breath through the gag.

“You’ve been wanting it up the ass,” he said in his best badass growl as he slid the fingers in and out. “Filthy little whores like you always want it up the ass. Look, your clit’s getting hard already.” He rubbed the little knot of flesh, making her hips jerk upward.

Man, this girl was as good as it got—as long as stimulating conversation wasn’t high on your list of priorities. She wasn’t the kind of girl you found yourself thinking about when you were away from her. Inigo didn’t want to impress her or make her laugh, or any of that shit. Put it this way: If Salma Hayek—with that body, that face, that brainy earthiness—were a great big three-flavor hot fudge sundae with nuts and sprinkles and whipped cream and a cherry on top, Chloe was a store-brand ice cream bar. You wouldn’t turn it down on a warm day, but all things considered, it lacked the luscious depth that distinguished a truly first-class dessert.

But Chloe had one thing going for her that a lot of women didn’t, and that was her attitude toward sex, which she viewed purely as a form of entertainment. If there was any way to amp up the experience, make it a little dirtier, a little crazier, she was down with it, and then some. With a chick like this, the wild thing was guaranteed to be
Wild
.

Wiping his hands off on a gym towel, Inigo used the remote to make the steel phallus advance very slowly toward its intended goal. She gasped when it nudged her body.

“It’s not gonna stop,” Inigo said, “so you better make sure it goes where it’s supposed to.”

She squirmed around a bit until the tip of the dildo breached her anus, pressing the little aperture open. It gradually plowed into her body, the little knobs making her tremble as they popped in.

Inigo halted its progress when about six inches were buried inside her. She made a little mewing sound and shook her head; she wanted more.

“Greedy little slut.” He smiled as he pressed another button. The dildo moved back and forth at a leisurely pace. “Faster?”

She nodded.

Of course.
Faster, harder.
It was practically her mantra.

He pushed a button. It speeded up, but evidently it still wasn’t enough for her. She looked at the remote with pleading eyes. He shrugged and made it go faster. She wanted yet more, but he said, “All in good time.”

She moaned and writhed like a chick in a porno, only in Chloe’s case, Inigo had no doubt whatsoever as to her sincerity. He straddled the bench over her shoulders and unzipped his trouser fall, freeing a cock that felt like a column of steel-reinforced concrete. Because of the bench’s incline, Chloe’s face was at the same level as said organ, at which she gazed hungrily.

He removed the ball gag. “Lick your lips,” he said, then he grabbed her head and pushed himself into her mouth.

Chloe fellated him like a woman who was literally starving for the taste of cock and balls, feasting on them with practiced zeal as he thrust faster, faster.

“Oh, yeah,” he whispered as it started, that pre-orgasmic thrill of tension that seemed to radiate between his cock and his tail—or what used to be his tail. The spot where it had been removed was still acutely sensitive, especially when he was aroused. During sex, it almost felt as if someone were pressing the tip of an electric vibrator right there, the pleasure buzzing up his spine, down his legs, all along his cock.

Inigo’s legs started quivering, his heart thumping like an Aerosmith bass vibe at a hundred-forty decibels.
Here it comes.
“You want it in your mouth or on your tits?”

“Tits,” she said, arching her back to thrust them out.

He stepped back, squeezing out spurt after spurt while she thanked him and begged for more.

He zipped up, cleaned her off, and went to turn off the Personal Trainer, but she said,“No, don’t! Please, sir, leave it on.”

“I thought you might be getting sore, but whatever.”

“Lick me.”

“What?”

“Lick my pussy. Please, sir. Suck my clit. Stick your tongue in my—”

Inigo jammed the ball gag back in her mouth. In keeping with character, he should have refused to do her bidding, but her bare-naked pussy, all desperately pink and swollen, was just too appetizing to resist.

Crouching next to her, he said, “For a sub, you sure like to get your way.”

“Hey, man, it’s me,” Inigo murmured into his cell phone as he stood at an open window of the gym, slugging back a rejuvenating dose of tequila while Chloe, still strapped to the bench, luxuriated in her subjugation. The other Follets generally spoke French with each other, but he preferred English, which had been the semi-official language of Grotte Cachée ever since the first British
administrateur,
Lord Henry Archer, started inviting certain of his countrymen and their American colonists as houseguests.

“Hey, what’s up?” Elic said.

“So, listen, bro,” Inigo whispered as he glanced over his shoulder at the subject of this covert phone call. “I’ve got Chloe up here in the gym, and I’ve been doing my damnedest to keep up, but man, I am telling you, she is inde-fuckin’-fatigable. Which is awesome, except the old heroic dimensions”—he gave his crotch a gingerly pat—“need a little power nap between workouts. Which is where you come in, my friend. Where art thou right now, brother?” Inigo took a healthy swallow from the bottle.

“At your place with Lili, watching a movie.” They usually watched their DVDs in Inigo’s apartment because of his sixty-inch TV.

“What movie?”

Elic sighed. “
Casino Royale.
”

“Wait, haven’t you seen that movie, like, three or four times already?”

“Lili can’t get enough of the blond James Bond. That scene where he walks out of the ocean is like porn to her. So, what’s up, man?”

“When’s the last time you got some? Coupla weeks ago when those Cirque du Soleil chicks were here, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Your balls must be throbbing like a motherfucker by now.” Another swig of tequila.

“You could say that.”

“Why don’t you come on over to the gym and help me out with the Energizer hottie? The tits are real, man, and she’s got the Dyson vacuum of pussies—never loses suction. And need I tell you she is premoistened for your convenience? I’m not talking sloppy seconds here. I’ve been money-shotting ever since I realized I was gonna have to call you in for backup.” With another glance over his shoulder, he grinned and dropped his voice down a notch, “I’ve got her wrapped up like a birthday present, bro, you gotta come check this out.”

“Hold on.” His voice so muffled it was almost inaudible, Elic said, in French, “Lili, you know that little redhead of Inigo’s? He wants to share her with me, and you know I can use it. You can finish the movie without me, right?” A brief pause, and then he said, “Sure, man, I’ll be right up.”

“Oh, but listen, bro, you gotta be a real prick with this one, or she’ll get all pouty and shit. Call her a dirty little slut. She loves that.”

“I’m on it.”
Click.

Elic
must
have been chafing at the bit, because he was there about two minutes later, with that locked-and-loaded glint in his eye that meant Chloe was really in for it.

Chloe, still strapped to the bench but with the steel dildo unmoving inside her, looked startled to see him. But then she took him in—six and a half feet of golden-haired, well-muscled male with a rock-solid bulge in his jeans—and despite the ball gag, she almost seemed to be smiling.

Elic whipped his black T-shirt off over his head and tossed it aside. “I hear you’re a dirty little whore who likes it rough,”he said in his deep, vaguely European-accented voice as he stalked toward her.

Chloe stared at him yearningly until he started unwrapping the tape from her hands, and then she shook her head frantically.

Inigo, leaning against the windowsill as he lit a cigarette, said, “Hey, don’t do that, bro. She likes that shit, I told you.”

“I’m with the program.” Pulling her arms down straight, Elic taped her wrists to the merry widow so that her hands rested on her upper thighs. He stepped over the foot of the bench, which was narrow enough and low enough to the ground that he could kneel between her splayed legs. “Open your cunt,” he said as he unzipped his fly.

She parted her labia.

He pushed into her, burying himself in one smooth thrust. His head fell back, the air rushing from his lungs. After more than a few days of abstinence, Elic was always on a hair trigger, and it had been two weeks.

“What did I tell you?” Inigo said as he lifted the tequila bottle to his mouth. “Like a vacuum cleaner, no?”

“Stop that,” Elic said, slapping Chloe’s hip as she started thrusting wildly. “Be still.”

“I’ve only let her come once since I strapped her to that thing,” Inigo said. “She’s a little tense.”

“How does this work again?” said Elic, indicating the Personal Trainer.

“I’ll do it,” Inigo said as he pulled the remote from his pocket. “She likes it fast.”

“It’s for me, not her. Make it do this,” he said, demonstrating a rotating motion with his finger. “Yes,” he breathed as the device started churning inside Chloe, massaging his cock in a steady rhythm as it did so.

“Don’t move,” he told Chloe, gripping her hips as she started squirming again.

Elic didn’t thrust, didn’t move a muscle, but within seconds, his breath was shuddering, his face flushing. A vein bulged on his forehead. His body grew rigid, except for his hips, which trembled as he let out a long, low groan. The climax went on for some time, as they generally did with him, and then he slumped over, panting. “Stop that thing.”

Inigo aimed the remote and pushed a button. “You laugh at me every time I have one of these built, but you’ve got to admit, they can add a certain
je ne sais quoi, non
?”

“
Oui.
You got any lube?”

“You kidding?” Inigo stubbed out his cigarette and brought the bottle over. Watching Elic take his turn had rousted the old rolling pin from its slumber; Inigo adjusted it through its leather pouch to give it some stretching room.

Elic took the lube and dripped a little onto Chloe’s vulva, making her squirm. “Don’t move,” he ordered. “Just your hands. Make yourself come.”

Inigo caught Elic’s eye and mouthed a prompt.

“You filthy slut,” Elic added.

She began eagerly masturbating with her taped-down hands, both orifices still stuffed full.

Inigo took back the lube, drizzled some onto Chloe’s breasts, and rubbed it all over them, squeezing, stroking, teasing the nipples . . . His cock felt like a length of steel pipe that had been forced into a too-small leather sack.

Chloe moaned helplessly.

“I said
don’t move.
” Elic held her hips down as they started moving.

She whined in frustration through the gag, but managed to hold still until the orgasm hit, and then she convulsed as if zapped by an electric prod, the gag muffling her groans. Elic closed his eyes, his ass contracted, clearly relishing the sensation.

He gave her a moment to catch her breath, then said, “Again,” as he set about fucking her with long, slow strokes.

“You mind a little company, bro?” Inigo asked as Chloe went back to fingering her greased-up pussy.

“Be my guest.”

Inigo straddled her, unzipped his pants, squeezed her slickened breasts together, and rammed his cock between them. “You like this?” he asked Chloe. “You like getting it from two guys at once with a dildo up your ass? You like getting your tits fucked? Course you do, ’cause you’re a dirty, nasty little slitch.”

“Slitch?” Elic said breathlessly.

“Slut and bitch,” Inigo rasped. “Slitch.”