Descent Into Oral Servitude

renewed viciousness. She gave a muted scream and pushed herself down onto my face as hard as she could. She remained rigid for the half minute that it took to pass and then she got up as though nothing untoward had taken place.

I sat up and saw that Marcia was idly masturbating itself.

“Was he any good?”

Stasha sat back down next to her.

“It could have been better.”

She took hold of Marcia’s wrist and brought her wet fingers to her lips. She gently licked them clean and then leaned across to whisper in her ear. Marcia looked at me in amusement as Stasha continued to speak in hushed tones and then she pointed to the carpet in front of the sofa.

“Come over here.”

“Marcia, play fair, I’ve done as you asked.”

“So you have, but now you’ve got to do this one last thing.”

Things had gotten so bad that her request almost sounded reasonable. I tried to summon my anger again but somehow it just seemed easier to get through it and plan for the future.

“Kneel there.”

Stasha had moved herself forward opening her legs and Marcia was pointing to spot between them. I went to my knees and found myself confronting her sex once again. It was still red and puffy from her previous exertions and I ruefully moved my sore tongue around the inside of my mouth. How had I come to this? I was even beginning to loose track of the number of women who had used and abused me.

Once I was in place Marcia moved across the sofa. She half turned and then knelt so that she was facing Stasha and straddling her lap. She eased her backwards, leaning over her as she did so, and then looked back at me over her shoulder.

“Do us both.”

Once again, despite my disgust, my prick reared reigniting the earlier pains but how was it to resist? Their mounds were now one over the other like the sex of some giantess. Above me Marcia fed her nipple into Stasha’s waiting mouth and the effect was almost instant. Her sex swelled and a droplet of moisture broke free to take a lazy journey downwards heading unerring for the blonde fringed furrow beneath it. I did not know what to do. Was I to address them separately, alternating between them, or was I to take her literally and to try and please them both at once?

I opted for the latter. I licked upwards in long sweeps always aware of the marked contrast between Stasha’s almost ticklish fur and the adolescent smoothness of Marcia’s mound. In order to do it I had to move my whole upper body and within a few minutes the strain was beginning to tell. They were lost in one another, as Marcia continued to offer her nipples to be sucked, and I tried to let my mind float elsewhere but some more primal urge kept drawing me back to watch in rapt fascination.

I vaguely registered that they each had a distinct taste. Marcia’s was rich, peaty and Stasha’s was more tart but as they grew more aroused I was swallowing a pungent cocktail. With my neck complaining ever more loudly I had to get it over with. Fortunately, Marcia leaned forward to take hold of Stasha’s head and pull her more tightly to her. This meant that I could now see her clitoris as well as Stasha’s and I immediately began to lick at both.

They started to writhe over one another, each urging the other on, and each swearing at me exhorting me to greater efforts. I licked like a mad thing trying had to stay in contact as their body movements became more frantic.

I have no idea who came first. At some point I became superfluous as they rubbed themselves against one another and then there was a single exultant shout as they surrendered to the pleasure that threatened to overwhelm them.

As they recovered, entwined in one another’s arms, I took my clothes into the bathroom. I filled the basin and doused my face but I could not wash away the humiliation. Even as I dressed I could hear them laughing and I was in no doubt as to who was the butt of their joke. I left the flat without going back into the living room and it was only as I was getting into the car that I remembered that Marcia had not told me her decision.

Chapter Seven

It was another night of troubled sleep but the following morning brought salvation. I could not bring myself to go into work early and I was rewarded when the phone rang just after eight o’clock. The job was mine if I wanted it. The terms were even better than those that we discussed at lunch and they wanted me on board as soon as possible

I put down the phone and punched the air. I dressed quickly and for the first time in days I sang along with the car radio on the way into the office. Once there I walked straight past my own desk and headed for Marcia’s office. She looked surprised as I walked in but quickly regained her composure.

“We were disappointed. You didn’t say goodbye. Stasha thought you might have helped us with the cleaning up.”

She ran a finger up her leg as she said this just to make sure that the meaning was not lost on me.

“Enough, just give me the combination.”

“Aren’t you curious about my decision on Stasha?”

I think I already knew the answer but I let her continue.

“I offered her the post….”

“Should I be surprised?”

“But she turned it down. She thinks she needs another six months before she’s ready.”

I must admit that the modesty and sense of realism implicit in Stasha’s answer impressed me. I know, had it been me, I would have gone for it ready or not but there was a subtext.

“Stasha thinks that as she is not taking your job that there ought to be a little quid pro quo. She thinks that you ought to provide certain services…”

This was the last straw, my anger got the better of me.

“I’m not providing “services” for you, her or anyone else. I’m resigning, effective immediately.

I was pleased to see the shock register in her eyes. In spite of everything that had transpired she knew that, if I walked out on her, it would create huge problems for the bonds team. She took a moment to compose herself and then replied.

“You can’t just walk out. You have to give a months notice.”

“Dock my salary. I’m leaving today.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something? You still don’t know the combination and I would say that your news throws a whole new complexion on things.”

It had been a tactical error. I should have got the combination first but there was no way I was going to back down.

“Cut the bullshit. Are you going to tell me the sequence?”

“Under the circumstances I need a little time to consider.”

“Fine! You can reach me at home when you’ve made your mind up!”

I stormed out in high dudgeon. On the one hand I felt triumphant but on the other I was worried. It now seemed that I might have to throw myself on the mercy of Gillian Greaves after all.

In the following days my life became something of a maelstrom. Marcia phoned me later that same day and her tone was far more conciliatory. She offered the combination in return for me working my notice and organizing a smooth handover. However, she refused to give it to me up front and so I slammed the phone down on her. Fortunately, I had already been in touch with Gillian.Greaves. She confirmed that she had cracked the code and that her offer still stood.

I submitted to my first session with her that same day. I had never thought of myself as claustrophobic but, knowing what was to come, it took a supreme effort of will to allow myself to be enclosed inside the chair. As before, she used me as a seat whilst she sat and worked. What was worrying was the lack of pretence. She seemed to be genuinely studying and I was forced to bear her whole weight. Over time her panties grew more moist and, finally, she stood up to take them off. She quickly resumed her seat and, some time later, without any warning she melted into a climax. For her it was gentle, drawn out, experience but for me it was a suffocating nightmare. She released me shortly afterwards and my watch told me that I had been under for two hours.

She told me that she would phone when she wanted me again and I waited with mixed emotions for the phone to ring. On the one hand I wanted it over and done with but on the other I had come to dread the chair. To keep myself sane I threw myself heart and soul into my new job. The whole thing was a buzz; new colleagues, new offices but most of all the pressure to get my part of the new venture up and running as soon as possible.

The second and third sessions happened within ten days. They followed the pattern of the first but each lasted longer than the last. It was as though she was seeing just how far she could push it and each finished with a more intense orgasm. The odd thing was that we barely spoke; for her, I had literally become part of the furniture.

Before the fourth and final session I received a letter from a firm of Boston solicitors. Karen wanted a divorce and enclosed with the letter was an outline settlement proposal. I stared at the letter for a long time. I realized that, deep down, I still loved her but I knew, too, that the breach had opened too far. The settlement was scrupulously fair and I signed my agreement to it. None of it seemed real until the day I came home to the flat after all her belongings had been moved out.

I went to the museum for the last time exactly four weeks after tendering my resignation to Marcia. In that time the tube became a part of me. It was like a wedding ring, something you always wear but stop noticing. I still got caught out from time to time by more obvious stimuli but I could anticipate the pain and bear it. The worst time was at night. The longer I went without coming the more pornographic my dreams became. My unconscious mind forgot the tube and the inevitable pain would wake me with tears in my eyes.

When the chair was locked shut for the last time there was something different but it took a few seconds to register. It was a scent. The chair itself smelled much as it ever did, dry, ancient, musty and there was an ever present hinted overlay of stale sex but then it struck me. It was only just there but there nevertheless. It was the smell of an aftershave and it was not mine. Obviously she had found at least one other victim.

“This is your last session, and I intend to keep my promise to you, but I think it ought to be memorable.”

I was not sure how to interpret her remark but this time she did not bring the study table towards the chair. She stood over me, slipped off her panties, and then adopted the same position she had used on the first occasion. She spread her legs either side of the seat and then settled herself facing the back of the chair.

“Use your tongue.”

She sat just lightly enough to allow me to do as she asked and I licked as well as I could. I hoped that if I could bring her to orgasm she would be satisfied and would not want to use me as a seat. As the minutes passed it was noticeable that she was more forward than she had been before. She used her fingers to hold herself open and gave precise instructions directing my attention exactly where she wanted it. Once again, when she came, it was almost passive. Her enjoyment was clear, she gave a muted groan and her body shivered with pleasure but I was left wondering if older women experienced orgasms in a different way.

As she got to her feet I suffered the simple but desperate frustration of not being able to clean my face and she certainly showed no inclination to help. She took her time composing herself and then I heard her at the door.

“Where are you going!”

“I won’t be long.”

I guess it was about five minutes before I heard the door again.

“Oh God! I don’t believe it! That’s incredible!”

Suddenly, there were two faces above mine.

“Use him however you like. Let Sandy know when you’re finished.”

Greaves disappeared again leaving me to stare up at her secretary. She was a young blonde, barely out of her teens, and she looked down at me, from various angles, in rapt fascination. I flexed my trapped jaw and tried to reason with her.

“Look, I don’t know what she’s told you but I am not doing this willingly.”

“She told me that, silly, that’s what makes it fun.”

When meeting her in the real world she had come across as bright and efficient but now she sounded like an excited schoolgirl.

“I’m being serious. Leave now, for your own good.”

“No fear, it’s not every day you get to sit on a man’s face.”

“I’m warning you, leave now or face the consequences.”

I thought I caught a flash of hesitation in her eyes but the impish excitement was soon back.

“Gillian told me to ignore anything you might have to say.”

She turned around and flipped up her skirt to reveal a tight, rounded arse. She was wearing a deep red thong which disappeared between her unblemished cheeks and as she lowered herself she gave a playful wiggle.

“Ready?”

“Don’t do this.”

She was not to be denied but she was very tentative. She seemed reluctant to bear down with the whole weight of her small frame and she wriggled on my face as if trying to find a comfortable position on a rock. This went on for some time and, in a way, it was more irritating than if she had just got on with it. She was aroused from the start, that much was certain, but, notwithstanding her boss’ assurances, she seemed not to want to take things too far. Eventually, she grew more daring and she reached down to shyly pull the thong to one side. The curly blonde hair of her pubis was already damp and she used it to tickle my face.

I was almost tempted to tell her to get it over with but she suddenly got up altogether. I gave a silent sigh of relief but I was celebrating too soon. The next thing I knew she was kneeling on the seat above me and I could see that she had taken off her thong. Her light skirt was draped around me and I found myself in a pink twilight. Just as I began to wonder what she had in mind she brought her hand under her skirt and then, just inches above my face, she began to rub herself.

It did not take much. She worked her fingers inside herself and smeared moisture up over her clitoris. She knew exactly what she needed and the movements were practiced and precise. As her fingers moved more quickly she began to moan at first quietly but then more loudly no longer caring who might hear.

I wanted to close my eyes but found that I could not. I carried on watching as her movements became more vigorous and more demanding of herself. A drip of moisture fell on my face and slid slowly across my cheek and then, abruptly, she began to come and, as she did so her inhibitions fell away. She rubbed herself across my face using the friction to drive herself on. The movements of her slim hips were rapid, machine-like, and only began to slow once she was totally spent.

It was a while before she recovered enough to stand up but once on her feet she wasted no time. She cleaned herself with tissues, put her thong back on, and then she was gone. In the ensuing silence I listened intently but my ears were ringing after the punishment that I had taken and it came as a surprise when another face loomed into sight.

“Hi, I’m Sandy”

I almost laughed. Why, under the circumstances, she should think it necessary to introduce herself I could not fathom. Sandy was the museums receptionist, a heavy-set, coloured woman who looked to be in her early thirties.

“I heard all about you. I hope you kept something back for me, I ain’t had the pleasure of a white boy before.”

There was a marked contrast between the professional exterior she presented at the reception desk and the street argot that she now slipped into so easily. She carried on speaking as she slowly started to remove her clothes carefully folding each item in turn.

“Don’t you even think about trying to talk me out of this. In fact it’d be better if you didn’t say nothin at all.”

My unconscious mind was correcting her grammar as I tried to come to terms with her self-assurance. She could never been exposed to anything like the situation she now found herself in and yet she seemed so at ease.

As her clothes came off my limited vision afforded me teasing glances of her body which could politely be described as curvaceous. She had rounded shoulders and plump breasts on which black nipples stood out like bruises. She was carrying some weight on her hips and she had a pronounced belly. The description that came to mind was ‘earth-mother’ which seemed not entirely inappropriate given the artifacts of human evolution which surrounded us.

“You seem like a decent human being. Can’t you see that this is wrong?”

“Didn’t I make myself clear? I don’t wanna hear from you.”

“Oh God, No!”

She turned around and slowly started to sit down. Her buttocks appeared huge but they had a dark, shiny, firmness and they seemed to suck in the light even before she came to rest sealing me in blackness. Once down, she shifted her weight so that her buttocks spread over my mouth and my nose was pressed tightly to the tight wiry curls that covered her sex.

I could breathe through my nose, just, but every breath was impregnated with a scent that was now so frighteningly familiar to me. Once she was comfortable she seemed content to remain still only now and then moving slightly to adjust to my inevitable but futile struggles. As I continued to draw shallow draughts of unwholesome air I found myself wondering how this had come about.

I imagined a lunch with perhaps one glass of wine too many. Greaves invitation to her staff to come downstairs and see her acquisition. The giggles as she explained its purpose and then someone bold enough, maybe even Sandy, to ask if she had ever thought about using it. And now here I was, a victim for those that dared.

Eventually, Sandy lifted herself up and back and I did not need to be told what to do. I began to lick at her sex which was already ripe with anticipation. It might have been my imagination but the taste of her seemed rich, almost spicy. She took an age to reach a climax. She simmered slowly and she was only going to come to the boil when she wanted to. When she finally came it was with a deep-throated hum that resonated through her whole body.

As she dressed she smiled down at me.

“Now you’ve had a taste of black pussy you always know where to find me.”

I had to wait another ten minutes for Greaves to come back and when she did I could not help myself.

“You bitch.”

“You think so? There are another six women working here and, if I know my secretary, she’ll be spreading the story right now. Do you want me to go back and find out how many more of them have now plucked up the courage?”

After that I kept my mouth shut. She released me minutes later and then I found myself standing in front of her whilst she examined the tube.

“The fourth ring was a bit of a puzzle until I went back to the texts. It seems that Neylan divided her day into eight segments of three hours. Each division on the ring represents one segment.”

“So the combination was something simple then? Like the time and date the tube was locked on?”

“No, she didn’t make it that easy but I do think she gave them a sporting chance.”

“How?”

We have a chart in the archive which, until now, never quite made sense to me. The pornographic illustrations gave a partial clue but now I know. The chart represents a yearly cycle based on her birth chart. It shows, down to the segment of the day, when she could enjoy the best sex or perhaps, more accurately, the most intense orgasms. Whether there was any truth in it who can tell but I believe that the tubes combination represents the point in time when she would expect to experience the best orgasm of all.”

“And so those poor bastards had to decide whether or not they had helped her achieve it and then take their chances.”

“That’s my guess.”

I did the maths in my head quickly.