You Are What You Eat

"Oh fuck! Yes! "

I pushed my tongue deep inside and she shifted forward slightly on her seat to meet me.

"She really knows what to do."

I curled my tongue upwards and massaged the area just behind her clitoris and her body was immediately put into an excited tension. With a perverse sense of pride I continued to lick very gently and held her there feeling her continue to tighten like a drawn bow.

Claire had managed to retain some composure and Cassandra tried to do the same but the novelty and the wickedness of the situation was too much for her.

"Oh you teasing little whore!...Lick me!"

With a jerk she ejected my tongue but immediately pushed herself back at me. Knowing exactly what she wanted I opened my mouth around her sex and applied my tongue to her clitoris. I put from my mind the image of swallowing a small furry animal and licked with stabbing thrusts.

Her body began to spasm and, at one point, her knee banged painfully against the underside of the table but she was too far gone to care. I could no longer latch on to her clitoris and I simply licked her sex as best I could but it was good enough.

"Oh Fuck!..."

Her legs straightened, and Claire had to move back a little to give her room, as she reached a wet and noisy climax.

"Excuse my language, but that was something of a new experience."

Cassandra laughed as she pushed me away. She was certainly not the prim young woman that I remembered from university.

There was a moment of silence whilst Cassandra composed herself and then I heard Claire speak.

"Okay Donna, your turn."

"I don't think I could, I'm not that way."

"Neither are we sweetie. Just go ahead and enjoy yourself. Pretend she's a man if you like."

Claire seemed intent on piling on the indignity. She was making it clear to me and the others just what my station was.

"Come on, treat yourself. No one outside this room will ever know and I promise you she's very talented."

For a fleeting second I felt a twinge of pride. Just a matter of weeks before I had had no experience with another woman and here I was being described as talented. The truth was that I was being damned by faint praise.

I was relieved when Donna got up from her chair, not just because I was to be spared any further ordeal but because I hoped that the others would feel shamed by her example.

I hoped that the others might see her to the door and give me a chance to dive into the bathroom but it was not to be.

Donna had been wearing an expensively tailored two-piece safari suit but when, suddenly, she sat down again she had removed her trousers; she had obviously not been fazed by undressing in front of the others.

From beneath the table the bottom of her jacket now looked like the hem of a micro mini skirt from which her long, dusky, legs extended and she made a point of positioning them to either side of my hunched body.

For a moment I fought, trying not to look, but the treacherous golem that I had become would not be denied. My gaze, anchored on her left ankle, drifted slowly upwards taking in her trim calf, her knee, with its neat, fading, sports scar, and then her muscled, but shapely, thigh before feasting on her pudenda.

She had shaved but was now showing a day or twos growth of tiny black bristles which stood out against her mocha coloured skin like the pelt of some exotic animal. Against this background her labia stood out like a frozen eruption. The ruffled edges were dark shading to a lighter hue which suddenly yielded to a vivid, glistening, pink.

I moved closer, catching her smell, no different to the others but, to my addled mind, in some way richer. So too her taste. She had obviously been turned on by the performances of Claire and Cassandra and, as I applied my tongue to her, almost reverentially, she began to leak a pungent syrup.

The only outward sign to the others that I had begun was a deep sigh and she retained her self control over the ensuing minutes as I used everything I knew to bring her to the brink. She particularly liked it when I licked over her whole mound, lapping up her seepage, but her fresh growth was painful to my tongue.

It became a battle of wills. Each time I got her close she would shift slightly bringing my tongue to bear elsewhere and allowing herself to go off the boil. As more time passed any perverted pleasure I took from it began to ebb and I became ever more aware of the soreness of my tongue and a growing cramp in my jaw.

I was lapping at her clitoris when she tried to shift again but this time I stayed with her, increasing the tempo, and sucking a little less gently. This sudden nudge towards the edge took her unawares and she swayed there trying to regain her equilibrium but it was too late. With a loud, uncontrolled, moan she started to come spraying my face in a manner of which Claire would have been proud.

Afterwards I just hunched there curled up in my own misery listening to their casual evaluation of what had transpired.

"Well this was the last thing I expected when you invited me to supper."

"It was my pleasure, or rather, our pleasure"

"Any chance of you making a regular event?"

"Donna! You're insatiable. Haven't you had enough?"

"Well now you come to mention it...."

Chapter 7

I took my trip to the Far East, pleased just to be away from everyone that I knew for a space of time. I spent two weeks at a Buddhist seminary in the north of Thailand and then a further two weeks taking in the sights of Cambodia and Vietnam where I was surprised to find, even now, such a stark contrast between the previously American influenced Ho Chi Minh City and the northern capital of Hanoi.

The people of the south still referred to Ho Chi Minh but its former colonial name of Saigon and saw themselves as in some way different to their northern cousins.

When I finally, and reluctantly, boarded the plane home I felt refreshed but I had not confronted my demons; all I had done was to push them to the back of my mind.

Once back in London I spent a hectic three days catching up and using some of what I had learnt to help calm my agent who was growing frantic about my growing list of obligations. I assured her that things were back to normal and she was heartened by the news that I was going to be living in the capital after all.

Amongst my correspondence were a number of letters from Mateus. He begged me to return and I found that I had missed him but things had gone too far.

The last letter, dated just two days before my return, made it clear that he read my silence as a refusal. He wrote that he still loved me and that his home would always be open to me. In none of the correspondence did he allude to any sort of improper relationship with Izabel but he did sign off by mentioning that she would not be pursuing her post-graduate studies in Portugal.

I was beginning to think that things were back on an even keel when Claire phoned.

"How was Thailand?"

"Very relaxing. How was the States?"

"Tiring. I don't want to see another hotel or bookshop for quite some time."

"Look, Claire, it was nice of you to call but I think it best if we don't contact one another for a while."

"I'm sorry to hear you say that. It got lonely in the States, just me and a representative from my publishers. Sure, there were a few dinners thrown in my honour but usually I would wind up back in my room with only my vibrator for company.

Do you know what I thought about while I was masturbating? You. You and your sweet little tongue. I'm touching myself right now thinking about it. Do you want to come over?"

I put the phone down without another word. In the kitchen I poured myself a glass of wine but my hand was trembling as I brought it to my mouth. I put it down in frustration and snatched my car keys off of the worktop.

I could not shake the idea that she had somehow scored a victory over me and it seemed important to confront her. I wanted her to be clear that I was not skulking away, I was ending our relationship on my own terms.

At her front door I took a deep breath and rang the bell. She took a long time to answer and I was at the point of turning away when she finally opened the door. She was dressed in a short towelling robe and holding a tall glass of gin and tonic.

When she saw me she beamed.

"I knew you'd come."

"Claire, I am here to say goodbye."

She turned back into hall.

"Come on in"

"Claire, I ..."

She was already turning into the living room and, not wanting to appear rude, I followed her closing the door behind me.

On entering the living room I could not help but look through to the dining area where the table sat innocently covered with a flawlessly pressed white cloth. Claire followed my train of thought and, behind me, she gaily admonished.

"You naughty girl."

I turned to find her seated in an armchair her robe now discarded. Once again I could not help but be impressed with her nakedness but she seemed heedless as she casually sipped at her drink. Then, as though unwrapping a gift, she opened her legs.

"Down on your knees baby."

I felt a now familiar wrench inside as the person I really wanted to be fought with the slut who, once again, began to emerge.

I could smell her from across the room and it was clear that she had not been kidding. Her sex looked raw and wet and she had obviously been warming herself up. It was almost like tunnel vision as everything drifted out of focus except for her font which triggered a thirst demanding to be quenched.

I closed the space between us in a numb daze and, like a penitent, I went slowly to my knees.

"A quick one, just to get started, then we can get comfortable in the bedroom."

True to her word it did not take long. In less than two minutes she reached the climax that she had teasingly denied herself.

"Clean me up babe"

I lovingly ran my tongue over her mound where her pubic hair was more unkempt than I remembered it.

"Do you like my new look? I'm dating a Frenchman at the moment and he likes things a little more natural."

This reminder that she enjoyed a normal sex life outside of our twisted arrangement was almost like a stab to the heart but I did not stop.

"The odd thing is that he's reluctant to go down on me but, now that I have you, that's hardly a problem is it?"

She spoke in such an offhand manner, confident that our new relationship was to be ongoing, and I did not have the inner strength to deny her.

"Come into the bedroom and get undressed."

I looked up at her. Was she prepared to reciprocate after all? I could not tell as she languidly rose from the chair leaving me to follow.

She sat up on the bed and watched me as I self-consciously took off my clothes and folded them onto the back of a chair.

"Come and lie here."

The room itself was predominantly white but in stark contrast to this was the bed itself. It was a large double with a matt black wrought iron headboard.

She moved over to give me room and I laid on my back waiting for her to make the next move. She leant up and, for a moment or two, she surveyed my body leaving me to fight the urge to cover myself. She seemed amused when my nervous excitement caused my nipples to harden.

Without another word she moved to lay on top of me and gently caressed my arm causing goose bumps to form. I closed my eyes and felt an electric thrill as her heavy breast slipped over mine bringing our nipples together.

I lifted my arms and brought my hands together behind my head in the hope that she would use her hands elsewhere on my body but she carried on gently stroking just inside my elbow. The sensation was almost ticklish and I stretched my arm wide. It was then I heard the click.

"What are you doing?"

"Shushh...stay still"

My wrist was secured in a shiny steel cuff and before I could come to terms with it she slid its twin from under the pillow and secured my other arm. A panicked jerk was enough to tell me that I was now firmly secured to the headboard.

"Claire, you don't need these, just make love to me ...please"

She got up from the bed and laughed.

"Don't you listen? You're here for my pleasure not me for yours."

I felt deflated and embarrassed that I had misread the situation but I could not rid myself of the conviction that she had teased me deliberately.

"Whilst I was in the States I had some time on my hands and so I did a bit of research on the net. You'd be surprised how many women like you there are out there, submissives getting their kicks from degradation. Well if that's what you want I can certainly accommodate you."

"It's not like that!"

She ignored me as she reached under the bed.

"Look, I've brought you a present"

She was holding up a black latex phallus, at least ten inches long, detailed with a retracted foreskin and bulbous head. It came with a set of straps and fear made my heart turn cold.

"Claire, I don't want this!"

The prospect of being penetrated by such a thing was anything but pleasant but I had badly misconstrued her intentions. Before I could react she pushed the thing into my mouth and by the time I had started to resist she had already slipped the strap behind my head and drawn it tight.

I lay there with the bottom two inches of the shaft filling my mouth with a horribly acrid taste whilst the remainder of it protruded proudly from my face. I shook my head as I frantically tried to force the thing out of my mouth with my tongue but the strap kept it firmly in place.

She watched my struggles with an amused expression as she took another sip of her drink. After a moment or two she picked up a tube of lubricant, which I had missed, and she squeezed a measure into the palm of her hand. She took hold of the shaft and, whilst I continued to resist, she used the movement to liberally smear it all over.

Once she was satisfied she went through to the en suite, presumably to wash her hands, leaving me to try and shout after her but all I could mange was a stifled gagging noise.

When she came back into the room my face was red with anger and frustration but she was completely unmoved. She slinked up onto the bed with feline grace and pinned my shoulders with her knees. I kicked my legs as I desperately tried to unseat her but she simply laughed as she sat tight and waited for me to tire.

In the end it was lack of breath that defeated me. The shaft made it difficult to breathe properly and I could no longer fuel my struggles.

"I think I'm going to enjoy this."

She clamped the sides of my face with her knees and lifted herself over the shaft. I watched with a mixture of fear and warped fascination as she teased herself over the tip and slowly but surely allowed it to penetrate her. She did it unhurriedly and it took at least a couple of minutes to accommodate the first inch.

Each tiny movement was transmitted as an uncomfortable pressure on my mouth and I was confronted with an unwanted close-up of her labia now stretched so tight around the shaft that her clitoris was clearly in view.

"Are you ready?"

I wanted to shake my head and say no but to do so would only have been painful and all I could do was watch as she slowly relaxed and allowed herself to sink down the length of the shaft.

My heart rate leapt as I feared I would be choked but the strap prevented the shaft from being driven right to the back of my throat; nevertheless, the pressure on the front of my face and particularly my mouth, was not welcome.

Having sunk all the way day Claire groaned with pleasure but then she began to jostle herself slightly to see just how much abuse I could take without inflicting any lasting damage.

Once she had my measure she closed her eyes and began a slow rise and fall. Each down stroke brought with it a dull pain and, in wishing it was over, I found myself counting along with her steady rhythm. By the time I reached fifty she showed no signs of slowing but now, each time she came down, her taut labia created a creamy bow wave which was slowly but surely filling my nostrils.

I breathed as best I could through my mouth but, every now and again, I inadvertently took a bubbling breath through my nose flooding my senses with her rich scent. In my mind it became associated with a slow asphyxiation but there was no escaping it.

"This is just so nice...you'd better get used to it."

Her body was glistening with perspiration and, between her breasts, the tiny beads came together to form a rivulet that made its way slowly down over the plane of her stomach, skirting her navel, until it ran into the wet mess of her pubic hair.

Slowly but surely she cranked up the tempo but, in doing so, she was becoming more heedless of the pain she was inflicting. As she got nearer to her climax she opened her knees a little so that she could drive the shaft deeper and, taking advantage of the relaxation of pressure, I tried to shake my head but she had other ideas.

She took hold of my head in both hands and, twining her fingers in my hair, she held me fast as she started the final countdown.

She was literally bouncing on my face until, finally, she drove the shaft as deep as she could and held it there. I could no longer breathe and I thought that my teeth would be broken as I endured every shuddering vibration transmitted by the repulsive intruder.

When she got off of me I tried to convey my fury but she did not even look back. She left me alone, still fastened to the bed, and when she returned quarter of an hour later she still looked flush with excitement.

To the extent that the shaft would allow I shouted myself hoarse but she remained unmoved.

"Patience, patience, I know you want to play but you'll tire me out."

This wilful misinterpretation set me off again but my shouts of anger turned to screams of anguish as she climbed onto the bed again and, this time, facing towards my feet, she impaled herself once more

Hours later, I sat at home and cried. On leaving her flat I wanted to hit out at her but, in every sense, I was cowed. I left meekly, without a word.

I heard nothing from her for some days and vowed that I would have nothing more to do with her. Once again my work gave me strength and an upcoming exhibition at the New London gallery ensured that I was kept particularly busy.

As I met and greeted people on the day I was reassured that, at least professionally, my star was indeed moving into the ascendancy and I felt better than I had for some time. As the guests circulated I even heard the Turner prize being mentioned .

I went into the washroom and, staring at myself in the mirror, I allowed myself a silent cheer.

"Congratulations."

I shifted my eyes from my own reflection to that of Claire who had just exited one of the cubicles. Overcoming my initial shock I turned to face her. It was my own fault. My agent had put together the guest list and had, as usual, invited my close friends as well as the great and good of the art world. I had not even bothered to check the names.

"I'm disappointed. You've been ignoring me."

"Claire, you and I are finished. I should be grateful if you would leave as soon as it is reasonably polite to do so."

"I don't think you mean that."

"I'm serious. I don't want you in my life"

"I think your problem is that you have no idea what you want. You see, for me, it's different. Ever since I arrived this afternoon I knew that at some point you would be down on knees with your head between my legs. I've been creaming just at the thought of it."

"Claire, I don't care what you thought, just go."

She smiled at me as though indulging a small child and then, looking me straight in the eye she reached under her skirt, and removed her panties. Without thinking I checked to make sure that no one else had seen but we had the spacious facilities to ourselves. Without breaking eye contact she backed away from me and sat down on the lavatory with her legs open.