Swallowtail Ch. 06

She has edged my hand up her thigh and has sunk down a little on the bench. Her legs part and my fingers alight on the soft down at their apex.

I still have questions but feel that my time for them is growing short. "Were you in contact with him?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, we'd meet from time to time. We were close."

She squirms in the chair. I'm grateful that it's dark, grateful that everyone's attention is turned elsewhere.

The band launches into a slow version of "Love for Sale." The singer delivers the lyrics in a beguiling mix of world-weariness and seductiveness. She cradles the microphone and gazes out at the audience and I'm taken by the beguiling vulnerability she conveys.

My finger descends, digging a furrow within the wet folds of Dex's pussy. I can't believe we're doing this, here, in a room full of people. I'm unnerved, excited, and not about to stop. Dex was right—no one ever died hoping their lives were more mundane. This is anything but mundane. Her fingers rest lightly on my wrist, present but not directing. We're in our own little world in this dark corner of the bar. There's an arousing headiness in the secret pleasure that we're sharing and I've never felt so apart in a room full of people. Dex takes a sip of scotch and observes the singer through lowered lids. I raise my finger to where the labia meet. A low hum sounds from deep within Dex.

I draw some lubrication from within her and return to the clitoris and stroke it slowly. Dex's eyes are closed now and anyone looking might think that she's concentrating on the music. Loving it. Only I can sense the quickened breathing, the response to what is happening in the darkness beneath the table. Only I can feel my growing hardness and the secret pressure brought on by the plug that I presently bear down on. Her clit hardens and she takes in a lungful of air, allowing it to hiss out of slightly pursed lips. Her hips move in time with the music.

The band members have done their requisite solos and the song is winding down. Dex is winding up. She no longer moves in time with any music that she can hear. Her breath catches in her throat and she holds it, grabbing my hand and pressing against it. She is watching the band as she rocks her hips. A smile plays on her face.

At length I remove my hand. My mouth is dry. I reach for my glass and bring it to my mouth. I smell single malt and Dex.

***

I lock the door behind us. Dex surprises me by wrapping her arms around my neck and draping herself against me just as I turn around. Her tongue finds mine and they dance. There's a hunger to her kiss. There's starvation to mine. The low hum of suppressed desire has grown to a roar.

My hands roam Dex's body. They trace the curves and hollows. They feel the energy and the promise.

I am reminded of the plug and am surprised that I've managed to forget it as long as I have. The undertone of sensation that it generates has become a part of me, a low vibration, an erotic subtext.

Dex disentangles herself from me. She's flushed. "There's something I've wanted to do with someone for a while."

"What?" I'd agree to just about anything.

"Can I surprise you?"

"Can I stop you?"

"Any time. You know that."

"Okay."

Dex smiles. "Do this thing for me and you can have your way with me after."

The chance of doing the things that I've been fantasizing about for weeks overrides my caution. Dex could negotiate with the devil and come out on top.

Dex asks me to stay where I am and disappears into the bathroom. A moment later she returns, naked save for a pair of leather panties. The backlighting accentuates the sinuous, intoxicating poetry of her form. Her arms are behind her back and her breasts are thrust out in offering.

Her expression is hungry and hopeful as her hands come out from behind her back. "Pick one."

Dex is holding two dildos. One is short and stubby while the other is long and slender. Laurel and Hardy in silicon. I look from them to Dex to her leather thong, which I see now sports a strategically-placed hole. I make the connection. The plug had been a prelude, a warm-up, an initiation to make subsequent protest meaningless. She has had this planned from the very beginning. "You're kidding, right?"

"Tell me you haven't thought of doing me there."

"Sure, but..."

She tilts her head. She doesn't need to say anything. "Yeah, I know. Double standard." Besides which, I've been packing a musket ball in my butt all night. To complain now would be protesting too much.

"The thin one," I say. Part of me—the strong-headed alpha ape—is horrified at what is about to happen. The part of me that Dex has awakened thrills at the prospect of something new.

Dex maneuvers the dildo into place. It looks ridiculous, frightening, and arousing jutting out of her groin like this. "Tighten me up, will you?"

I fumble with the straps until Dex approves.

I shake my head. What has become of me? I wonder.

"Touch it," she says.

I hesitate.

"Come on. You can do it."

I'm reminded of the first girl, older than I had been, who had allowed me access to her body when I was still young and inexperienced. She'd said the same thing, daring me.

A tentative finger reaches out, now as then. "Huh."

"Stroke it."

I feel stupid and tell Dex so.

"Humor me," she says.

And so I stroke the length of silicon that Dex has offered me.

"Ever wonder what it's like to have a cock in your mouth?"

"No," I say, affronted. "Never."

"It's just you and me," whispers Dex. "I'll never tell."

"No."

"I'd like you to suck my dick." Dex is smiling and gives her package a little shake. "Please. Please suck my dick."

Her breast jiggles as she does so and I'm caught in a moment of cognitive dissonance. I'm sure I've said and done pretty much the same to similarly reluctant partners. The wheedling insistence sounds uncomfortably familiar. "Shit."

"It won't bite."

I hesitate. I find the prospect unsettling, possibly a little repugnant. At the same time, I'm curious. I've received more than my share of oral attention. I've had certain expectations of my partners without ever knowing how realistic they were. And this thing, after all, is an inanimate object. Symbolism aside, it means nothing.

With a face-saving show of long-suffering reluctance, I lower myself to my knees in front of Dex. The dildo looks larger now that it's pointing at my face like a homoerotic accusation. My hands find the backs of Dex's legs and I open my mouth slightly. Jesus. It's silicon, I remind myself, attached to a girl. A girl equipped with all the other things I like—legs, boobs, pussy—a girl who has fucked me in ways that I could only dream of. This thing, I think, is an anomaly, a one-off.

Dex has pressed the dildo between my lips and my mouth opens wider to accommodate it. It's bigger than expected. My lips close over it and Dex performs a few shallow thrusts.

"Ooh," she says jokingly. "Ah."

Now that it's slick with my saliva, it slides more easily past my lips. So this is what it's like, I think. The dildo presses against the roof of my mouth. Dex is being gentle. Certainly more gentle than I would have been. There seems to be quite a distance between my nose and Dex. How much have I managed? Three inches? Four? She has pressed herself to the point of discomfort. Four inches. That's it. I'm reminded of all the times, overheated and impatient, that I've forced myself upon a woman at this point. I pull at her Dex, trying to take more of her. There's an ominous tickle at the back of my throat and I release her.

Have I been an unfeeling asshole all these years?

"Had enough?" she asks.

I nod, chastened.

She turns me around and has me sit on the edge of the sofa. Dex tugs at the plug. After having spent hours there, it doesn't leave easily and I close my eyes and grit my teeth.

"Pull your legs to your chest."

I feel Dex positioning herself and something cold and insistent presses against my anus. Even after having worn the plug for hours, there's some resistance to this new intrusion.

"It's too bad I can't feel you," murmurs Dex.

"I can," I say tightly.

"Tell me."

I'm not sure what she's asking. Dex pushes gently and the tip breaches me slightly.

"Tell me what it feels like."

"Big," I say.

"And?"

She presses a little more and, with a gasp, I open to accommodate her. "You're stretching me."

With a sudden surrender, it's past the stubborn muscle and moves freely within me. It's a relief and I sigh and relax and pull my legs more tightly against my chest.

"I feel..." What do I feel? It's more than physical but the nature of it eludes me for a moment. "I feel occupied. You're hitting something... Right there... Oh God..."

I'm sounding like some of my lovers, those who were confident enough to articulate their desires, selfless enough to instruct me with gasps.

"Oh..."

The tip of the dildo moves beyond the site of sensitivity and I feel its progress, both within and without.

"I feel possessed," I say.

I wonder if this is how women feel—accommodating something foreign within themselves, surrendering and allowing themselves to be occupied. It's strangely more intimate, allowing oneself to be taken rather than doing the taking.

Dex establishes a slow, gentle rhythm. Her hands rest on the backs of my legs. I feel the head of the dildo against the inside of my sphincter. Then it descends again. Dex angles it so that it brushes the spot and I feel sensations at the root of my erection, more intimate and immediate than ever before.

She cups my balls with one hand and gently strokes my cock with the other.

I'm mesmerized by the motion of her hips as she thrusts into me. I'm taken also by the swaying of her breasts. Her eyes are closed, perhaps better to extract the faint sensations that might be available to her.

I grasp my cheeks and spread them. I can no longer distinguish between the inanimate thing that penetrates me and Dex. The dildo is an extension of her. I'm acutely aware of its texture as she lowers herself on me until there's no more. I move my hands to her hips and hold her in place.

She smiles and my conversion. "Had enough?"

"Stay there."

Dex does so while stroking me between lube-slick fingers. The two sensations are almost unbearable together, different sides of the same coin.

"Okay," I say.

Dex smiles and exits. The dildo feels longer exiting than it had earlier. And then I'm empty.

"I wish I could return the favor but you're not completely healed."

"What do you propose?"

Dex pauses for a moment. "You drive." She rolls onto her back and points her feet to the ceiling. "Don't overdo it."

I laugh as I position myself between her legs.

"Tell me what it feels like," I say, echoing her request.

She does. The words are different but express similar impressions. Surrender. Penetration. Occupation. Curiously, it is the diction of war.

I'm swept away by the play-by-play of sensations, whispered breathily, punctuated by gasps and low murmurs. The time I've spent aroused, coupled with her narrative, spoken with words, muscles, and fingernails at my back, spares me the risk of overdoing it.

***

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