"Oh God, oh God, yes."
Now, you might consider that watching a wildly beautiful woman wanking, would be a welcome way to waste half an hour. It was an exquisite torture, as both Ben, and I, had to stand, silently, legs apart, hands behind our backs, and just gawp. I had to stand on a towel, as love juice was cascading down the inside of both my thighs,then behind my knees, and down the back of my calves. I was at risk of dehydration. Ben's cock looked like an overstuffed black pudding, and he was at risk of fainting, as half his circulating blood volume was sitting in his turgid tool.
Izzie's head flew back and her back arched. Her great thigh muscles contracted and her pelvis lifted off the bed. Then, she gasped, and a jet of turbid liquid shot out of her vulva,in an arc, as she ejaculated; another one of her particular talents. Izzie withdrew her two fingers, and spread them, the mucus glistening; then put both fingers in her mouth.
I barely dared breathe.
Ben, was breathing hard. Izzie grabbed his cock, and made him sit on the bed. My cunt sap was simply flooding. Izzie knelt, and enveloped Ben's tumescent organ with her thin lips. Ben groaned as six inches slid in. Then Izzie stood up, her legs straight, her body bent severely at the hips, and her head bent back, at an impossible angle. The whole of Ben's penis disappeared into her mouth. This was beyond deep throat; the head of his cock was in her gullet. He groaned in pleasure. Izzie was strict. We were not allowed to touch her. She held a testicle, firmly in one hand, just in case Ben forgot. Then she slid up his shaft, and down again, breathing through her nose as she went. I stepped forward, and Izzie's left index finger penetrated my dripping cunt. I almost came. Quickly the digit was withdrawn, leaving me achingly empty, and thrust up Ben's arse. I knew that Izzie would be massaging his prostate gland; hard. Within a minute Ben sighed, and dumped his huge load of jism directly down Izzie's oesophagus.
As kids, Izzie had shown me how she could suppress her gag reflex. She joked that her family were sword swallowers. It was only when we were a bit older, that she revealed the terrible truth of how she had really learned to perform her "little tricks", which included being able to totally relax her pelvic floor muscles, and anal sphincter. And to convincingly fake an orgasm. I suspect that was why she joined the police. I think that I am the only one who knows the full story. That is just one of the reasons that I love her.
The whole BDSM scene was a form of catharsis for Izzie. Or maybe a form of self harm.
Ben was sent to make tea. Izzie laid flat on the bed, and I lowered my pussy on to her face. I was Penny Grey again, and my best friend, Isabel McMahon, thrust her tongue up my sodden vagina, and brought me, instantly, to a shuddering orgasm.
I dismounted, and she kissed me, letting me taste my cum, on her lips. It was a quick kiss; then Izzie was back in the shower. She emerged wrapped in a towel and trotted off, to the spare bedroom.
"See you downstairs. Toast and Marmite, please."
Izzie walked into the kitchen dressed in a baggy T shirt and tight red cycling shorts .She looked like an alien, off the original series of Star Trek; bright red skin, pale fuzz on her head, white feet, and white rings around her ankles and wrists. When she blinked, her pale eyelids flashed, like a baboon. I was going to have to work hard, to get her through immigration. Gone was the rampant sex slave, and back was the slightly prim, and proper, policewoman.
"Pen, Ben, you acted perfectly, as always."
Ben bowed, graciously. "You, dear Isabel, are a better actress than my dearest Penelope. Your talents are wasted fighting crime."
I was furious.
I knew the rules, which were:
Trust is everything.
The Puppeteer knows what she is doing.
Do as The Puppeteer says.
Do not deviate.
What happens in the game, stays in the game.
Izzie is, of course, The Puppeteer.
"You crazy, ginger bitch. We could have killed you. The car!"
"Jose is a stunt driver. We practiced. Fake blood. I think I have cracked a rib, though."
"The sunburn and sun stoke. You're probably going to get skin cancer"
"Mea culpa. As you know I never lie out in the sun. I miscalculated, a bit... well a lot. Thirty minutes would have been enough. I had to know if I could take the pain."
"How is it?"
"Awful; I've barely slept. I'm dying for some painkillers."
"The taser. Fake presumably?"
"No, that was real. I've been tasered, in training. Twice. It's over rated."
"And your hair Izzie. Shit, darling."
"It's growing back already."
"Yeah, but it won't be back to normal in time for your wedding."
Her face seemed to fall apart.
"Oh no, baby, what happened?"
I held Izzie tight, as she sobbed. Izzie never cried. She had found her fiancé, David, in bed with her own, pneumatic, sister. Izzie broke his jaw. To those readers who might consider Izzie's own sexual conduct dubious, I would say this. On the day Izzie got engaged, she declared herself monogamous for life, and I knew that she had remained so, unlike her fiancé. I really should have told her.
Even Ben chipped in. He always had a little trouble separating acting, from reality, and had slipped into the voice of God.
"Isabel," he boomed, "this game was extreme; even by your standards. You need to find a better way to fight your demons. Yes, my child, that means therapy. I will pay of course."
Izzie just nodded mutely.
Breakfast done, we sat on the verranda chatting idly, before it was time to go to the airport. I redressed Izzie, in a demure summer dress, and did a reasonable make up job. Our ride duly appeared; Jose no less. Minus the leggy Russian, who is in fact a Hungarian porn star.
Last week I made the fateful call. What is good for the gander, is surely good for the goose.
"Hi, Iz, it's me. What are you doing Thursday? Nothing? Good. We're going out for dinner. No. Just you and me. Yes, on a date. I don't give a shit what Ben wants. It's you that I want. I should have done this ages ago."
Maybe I will tell you what happens.