Deja's Surprise Ch. 02

Eyes shut, effortless to let my body go limp feeling Lisa's pussy muscles slowly tighten, relax, pull up into her body as they tightened again and slid up my stiff member, then down as they relaxed. A new dance began; squeezes and strokes, pace quickening then slowing, never reaching Ravel's climax to let me come, as her hands began their chaconnes and boleros. A surfeit of sensations, electrified thrills from those dances and intoxicating delights of the unnamed, hidden, third one, teasingly staving off the inevitable crescendo. Arms and chest done, chaconnes and boleros moved on past my navel, thrills from them merging with exquisite delights of the third dance, sensual sensations searing through my whole being and body.

Her hands stilled. "All I can do for the mo," she said softly. "Which do you want, more teasing or fast release? Whichever, I want to look into your eyes, so open them, please."

I opened my eyes slowly and looked into deep, black, pools looking down at me and at reddened, thickened, lips parted in a sultry smile. "No words to describe what you just did, more than ecstasy and heaven. I assume it's still no touching and can't guarantee to hold out much longer but whichever will please and satisfy you most, women are slower to arouse."

"Sweet," Lisa murmured. "You assume right, no touching. My tells are showing, black eyes and red pouty lips, I'm as ready to come as you are, so fast release."

Lisa's pussy muscles began Ravel's Bolero, eased from adagio to moderato and filled my throbbing shaft and me with heavenly ecstasy, joyous anticipation of impending release as they tightened, released, pulled as she clenched them upward and pushed as she let them spring back. I looked up into her eyes and felt my being, soul, drowning in their black, deep, pools and her being, soul, searing into me, bodies and beings united in our sensual, slow, secret, hidden dance. Reddened, thickened, pouty lips curled into more smirk than smile were the only tell of her pleasure. Her hands left my thighs, rose slowly and she seemed unaware her fingers had begun another dance, brushing through the jet-black inward curls kissing her neck. A hand drifted from hair to cheek, slithered over soft, bronzed, skin to reddened lips, her index finger circled them, they kissed it softly, parted, slowly drew it into the moist, warm, cavern beyond, pushed it partly out and drew it in again. I knew that, like me, she was imagining her finger was my shaft pumping her pussy, not still as now. Her eyes narrowed slightly and dreaminess filled their black pools; inky oceans like the one I drifted on and sank into when I fell asleep. Electrified thrills surged through my body as I watched her seemingly unaware of her finger sliding between her lips, an erotic feast for my eyes and being. Her pussy muscles eased from moderato to allegretto and my racing heart missed beats as her hands slid down to her firm, malleable, supple pale gold breasts, palms and fingers circling and exploring before stilling as slender fingers toyed with pert, hard, nipples. Her eyes were fixed on me but not seeing; Lisa was in another world, one centred on the sensations beneath her fingers and in the loins. Her pussy muscles and hands leapt from allegretto to prestissimo, urging the crescendo, our climaxes.

"Ooh, yes," Lisa breathed huskily. Her fingers moved faster, brushed her nipples this way and that and her eyes closed. "Oh yes, yes, yes, s-o-h good, shooting your cream s-o-h hard and deep." Her lips curled into a blissful smile. "Mmm, oh yes, s-o-h hard, deep, squirting cream s-o-h hard and deep." Our muscles spasmed, her pussy pumping and my hips bucking as each jet of cream shot into hidden depths. Her voice rose, "Mmm, yes, squirt, mmm, yes, again, mmm, yes, blast it into me, mmm, s-o-h good," rose higher, "Oh, there's more, mmm, s-o-h much cream, mmm, yes," and fell to a disappointed, "Oh, last squirt, pussy drained all your cream."

Lisa opened her eyes, a feathery eyebrow half rose and a satisfied smile appeared and vanished. She collapsed onto me, cheek to cheek, her warm body pressed into mine.

I heard a faint sniffle and was sure I felt a tear on my cheek. "Can't hide it, I know you're crying, Lisa," I whispered. "What on earth is wrong?"

"A tear but not crying," Lisa whimpered. "Scared I fucked up twice; tweaking my nipples and yacking at the end. So turned on I couldn't stop myself, once I'd started on my nipples I thought it'd arouse you visually, yacking was what I felt, humungous orgasm, well, rapid series, when you came. Sorry if what I did and said were turn-offs not turn-ons."

"Humungous turn-ons," I said softly. "I'm naked and you're not, Lisa."

"In my birthday suit, what do you mean?"

"Naked in our post wardrobe incident chat, took off my cop's helmet then and I'm completely naked now but you didn't take off your analytical, critical, Virgo and lawyer's hats and are still wearing them." Restrained anger filled my tone. "You insisted 'Honest answers' at Deja's, I gave them and we agreed show or tell each other techniques when we made love last night. Honesty and telling each other means I'd have told you to stop as soon as you started if you were turning me off not on."

I paused, battled my anger and softened my voice. "Said earlier you believe you behaved like a whore last night, I said you didn't but you're scared I'll think you are one. Watching and hearing you and feeling your pussy muscles pulsating was mind-blowing heavenly ecstasy and your only fuck up is extinguishing my glorious afterglow with a bloody Virgo and lawyer's hats' post mortem. Said you couldn't resist, so it was the real Lisa, hold back, faking will drive you crazy, deceive me, I won't be making love to the real Lisa and she sure as hell won't be to me. I hope I'd suss you were holding back, if not, you're doomed to frustration, I am to deception and we've no future. Trust me to be honest and tell you, be yourself, the real, true, Lisa, take off your bloody Virgo and lawyer's hats and get truly naked."

"Sorry again," Lisa mumbled and sat up. "Triple fuck up, what you said is right." Her sombre mood rose through lips curled in an impish smirk. "Wore your DCI helmet to caution me, will you arrest and handcuff me if I don't pay heed to it? You're wearing another helmet and it's in my pussy at the mo."

I sighed loudly. "You're still wearing your hats. Caution was as me not as a cop, DCI, and the handcuff stuff was bait, so I'll take it especially given your smirk betrayed you'd be up for it."

"Occasional thing," I continued. "Prefer being tied so I can get free with a struggle, knowing I can, resisting temptation to and give and realising I'm only meant to receive all heighten my arousal and there's the safety factor; can get free if saying I'm at my limit isn't believed. Obviously didn't bring my handcuffs, bypassed the airport town but it's a reasonable size and I'll scour it for a fancy dress, joke or sex shop and buy four pairs of cuffs and some ribbon after we sort the cars. When you're in the loo or wherever tonight, I'll tie three sets of cuffs to the bed, clamp my ankles in two, lie back and slap my wrists in the third. It means my arms will be parallel above my head, need you to use the fourth set to be spread-eagled. Maybe my lying naked and helpless on the bed will drum into your beautiful head that I trust you and that you must take off your Virgo and lawyer's hats. If not, can't love without trust, call it a day and hope we can get our rooms back."

Lisa's eyes searched mine. "You mean it, you'd do it."

"Will not would, only way I can think off to make you take off the bloody hats."

"Horny bastard is into a tad of bondage, eh?" Lisa giggled.

"Operative word is 'Tad;' not as routine, the norm."

"Flaccid monster at last, it's about to slip out of me, better climb off and sunblock him, your scrotum and legs." Lisa glanced around. "Legs have had a longish unprotected dose of sun and are beginning to turn pink."

Sunblock applied, Lisa and I lay in the sun, relaxed and talked about nothing in particular while hands wandered over bodies seemingly absent-mindedly.

After about half an hour, Lisa leapt to her feet gasped, "Phew!" said it was too hot and she was going in for a shower. I waited a few moments, ambled indoors and found her in the wet room in the bathroom. She said we would routinely use the en suite one, hence trying the bathroom. She giggled as I stepped into the deluge from the four showerheads and asked if 'Observant DCI Harrison' had noticed anything. I said not, whereupon she produced a fifth on a hose.

"Another behind you," Lisa said. "They're for the use we talked about last night. Dead right a woman designed the suite, don't think a man would've thought of them." She giggled. "I wonder how many honeymoon couples don't suss their intended purpose."

Showered and dressed, we set off to return a car. At the rental depot, Lisa flashed a broad smile and greeted the man at the reception desk with a cheery, "Good morning, Sizwe." As with Thandiwe, no wait for a response, straight into the yarn she spun at the hotel. Finally able to speak, Sizwe said "Good morning," checked our details on the computer and offered a ten-day refund on her car. Lisa sprang into BVBW mode, pointed out it was one of our pair of Corollas, the most popular hire car in South Africa, none on the forecourt, just three high-priced BMWs, four Mercedes and two four-by-fours not taken by the weekend's incoming passengers. Seemingly as mere curiosity, she asked the cost of a BMW or Mercedes, waited for Sizwe's reply and said she would settle for a fifteen-day refund on her car. She rejected his counter offer of twelve days, said she was fair and would do the agency a favour; return both Corollas with guaranteed re-hiring popularity, take a BMW 320i and five hundred rand refund, leaving the agency with a guaranteed minimum profit of two and a half thousand if it did not re-hire our cars until Saturday. After deliberating and a phone call to the Cape Town office, Sizwe flashed a smile at Lisa, confirmed it was a deal and completed the paperwork.

Deal done, Sizwe said we could choose any of the BMWs, picked up the keys and led us outside. Lisa checked the cars and flashed Sizwe a smile. "White reflects heat and it's almost brand new, twelve hundred kilometres on the clock, so that one, please, Sizwe."

Lisa did the deal in her BVBW guise and I told her to take the wheel for our drive to the town. No sooner in the car than I burst into giggles. "You're unbelievable, first the honeymoon suite and now a sporty Beemer that's not even run in."

"Old-fashioned term," Lisa teased. "Just go easy nowadays, don't run in cars like the old days. Won't be able to give it the gun, low speed limits and I saw a load of speed cameras and cops hiding behind bushes with radar guns on our way here." She promptly gave it the gun. "We'll be in the UK before they know it, won't hound us there for the couple of hundred bucks or whatever per offence."

The town was colonial; a mix of late nineteenth to mid twentieth century architecture, small shops, no department stores or multi-storey buildings and it had an air of depression in contrast with the happiness on the faces thronging the streets. Lisa said she had been very surprised by the number and size shantytowns. "All the happy faces here go home to one. Back at the hotel, all our happy smiling restaurant staff almost certainly do to the huge one by the main road, Thandiwe too, and some probably walk the four or five kilometres to and from work every day," she said sadly.

I spotted a sleazy sex shop, a glorified shed, down a dingy alley and darted off to the sounds of Lisa's third-rate impression of John McEnroe yelling, "You cannot be serious," at tennis match umpires.

A white face in his shop clearly surprised Nkosana but not as much as my request for four pairs of handcuffs, two pairs larger than the others if he had them despite efforts to disguise it behind his smile and gleaming white teeth. "Yes, boss," he mumbled with a distinct air of subservience and produced the goods. Conscious of what Lisa had said, I paid and said he could keep the fifteen-rand change.

Nowhere to be seen when I got back to the street, Lisa emerged from a pharmacy, burst into giggles on sight of my handcuff-laden bag and teased I was winding her up, would not bind myself or let her do it. She said she had bought some K-Y, which left buying ribbon if I was serious, Thandiwe and Barry's presents and booze and candles for us.

Her mind set on a pendant for Thandiwe, Lisa darted into the first jeweller's we came across and set about choosing one. She spotted some cufflinks and bought a pair; logic was Barry had been wearing links and would wear our present if he liked it, otherwise it would gather dust. We stocked up on champagne, wine, lager, beer and candles and decided to head back to the hotel.

As a reward for buying handcuffs, Lisa told me to take the Beemer's wheel on our return journey. We stopped en route for a walk on a beach and arrived at the hotel in time for an early dinner.

Showered, changed and seated at our table in the restaurant Nontle, our waitress, noticed our key, said the manager, Mr Curran, had asked for dinner to be sent up to our suite if we wished and had not taken the hint from the menu strategically placed on the dining room table that room service was the suite's norm. She handed us menus, asked us to peruse them and let her know if we would dine there or in our suite when she returned to take our orders. We opted for room service when she did.

Al fresco dinner over, we sat drinking the last of our champagne and chatting for a while. I used a visit to the loo as an excuse and returned brandishing the handcuffs.

"Three or four pairs; bind myself or be bound?" I asked, turned and headed indoors. By the time Lisa arrived in the bedroom, I was naked and sporting a rock hard stiffy.

Lisa giggled. "Sure didn't waste time stripping or getting a raging hard-on." Her brow creased in a thoughtful frown. "Got the message, no bluff, you'd do it but it's about proving you trust me, right?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "It's also about you taking off your hats, letting go, doing whatever you want to bound and helpless me and being the real Lisa."

Lisa went over to her shoulder bag and returned carrying disposable razors, shaving cream, a pair of scissors, a packet of wax strips and two tubes of K-Y. "I'd rather keep the cuffs for another night. Trust issue is two-way traffic. You'll prove more if you're not helpless while I shave your scrotum and trim your pubes. I can tease, slow sexy strip, masturbate when I'm naked, spin out a hand or blowjob or muscle treatment until you're begging me to let you come and not much else if you're tied up; hurting you wouldn't be in my repertoire. I've taken the lead, been in control, and will prove more if freshly-shaven Greg takes control, tells me to do things or does whatever he wants to me and I obey or let him but am not helpless. As to my hats, I never fake orgasms, horny bitch has them at the drop of a hat and what I do and say increases with their intensity. So, both free, pube job and then you take control or tie you up?"

"Former," I replied. "What you said made sense, save the cuffs for later. What exactly do you mean by 'Tell' you what to do?"

Lisa giggled. "Your innate nature is ask politely, fine at the start, better as commands as if I'm your slave with no option when we've warmed up and you'll have to be white-hot before you add 'Bitch,' 'Slut,' 'Whore' or whatever to commands but it'll be okay if you do. You haven't taken control or really let go and know far more real Lisa than I do real Greg. I'll stay dressed for the pube job so your first control will be to undress me or tell me to undress normally or as a striptease."

"Already doing one of a sort," I mumbled. "See-through skimpy dress and another set of your miniscule high price undies leave little to imagination and to remove. Nontle's eyes almost popped out of her head when she delivered dinner; did a quick double-take to check if you had anything on under the diaphanous dress."

Lisa got a towel from the en suite, told me to lie on it to stop hair and shaving cream getting on the bedclothes, dashed off and returned with a bowl and the ice bucket from the dining room. "Bowl for water to rinse the razor, ice to combat sting if you brave wax," she explained. "Could try a dab of the depilatory I use on my pussy lips on your scrotum if you don't want to brave a razor."

"Try the cream next time," I said. "Build more trust using a razor now and I'll brave wax; let me know the pain you feel."

Bowl filled with warm water from the en suite, Lisa set to work with the razor, so gently I felt her hands far more than I did the blades. Satisfied with that part of her task, she shaped and shortened my pubes with the razor and scissors, using the latter to reduce a lip-wide strip around the base of my appropriately rock hard penis to bristles. She cut wax strips into smaller ones to aid forming an arc, pressed them into place and asked, "Ready?"

I nodded and screamed, "Hell's teeth!" as she ripped off the first strip. "Masochist if you do that to yourself every few days."

"I said men are babies," Lisa quipped and gently rubbed an ice cube over my soreness. "Get used to it, know what to expect and it's only a short, sharp, jab of pain."

Job done amidst more yelps from me, Lisa eyed her handiwork. "Looks fab, very sexy, just a 'V' at the lower end of the vertical strip; subtle, side triangles for a broad arrowhead would be too blatant. Best go look in a mirror and see if you approve and then take control; your words as slave Lisa's commands."

"Yeah," I said on my return from the mirror. "Looks fine and more than the 'V' would be over the top." I lowered my voice to a bass rumble, a tone of authority. "Go into the sitting room, put on a CD to dance and strip to, do it sexily, touch yourself up, and slowly so I'm impatient for you to slip down the top of your dress and so on and topless first if the dress will stay on your hips once its top is hanging there. When you're naked, make yourself come, then come and lie on the chaise longue, head on my lap to suck me off and hands making yourself come again."

Lisa's eyes widened briefly and a lone eyebrow rose characteristically, genuine surprise, she had expected I would just say, "Do a striptease." Her expression blanked, she said nothing, turned and strode off to the sitting room.

I waited until I heard music before setting off and arrived to find Lisa dancing suitably close to the chaise longue. No facial expression, just her eyes fixed on mine as I sat down and she began her performance. Slow build up to her dance becoming sexually suggestive, rhythmic circling of her hips, and eased into running her hands over her bust. Seeming unseeing dilated pupils and reddened, thickened, pouty lips betrayed losing herself and drifting into a world of her own. I drifted into mine; delight in her beauty and sexiness and in my arousal, racing pulse, deepened breathing matching hers and awareness of my hot, throbbing, hard-on. Her wandering hands explored the curves of her breasts, hips and topmost hint of moist cleft beneath her dress. Sensing my impatience, she slipped the shoelace straps from her shoulders and let the diaphanous cloth fall, a feather drifting downward as it wafted over her bra and fell to her waist. A faint sigh, relief, as her hands slid to firm mounds, fingers toying with hard nipples trapped beneath see-through mesh, and to flat bare skin below. Minutes passed before a hand reached back to untie her bra's bow, hands off, jiggle of her shoulders and her gossamer bra drifted slowly to the floor. A faint, "Mmm," as fingers and palms caressed and explored her breasts. Her fingers spread, brushed her nipples this way and that before they sprang back between brushes, their speed increased, nipples dancing a frenzied tarantella, her firm breasts were almost static and her pelvis circled faster.