Joanna and Her Lovers Ch. 04

The doorbell rang and, when Joanna went to answer it, Henry surprised me by coming over and slapping me heartily on the back. Hitherto there'd been no love lost between us and I saw no reason for reconciliation, but Henry seemed to have undergone an almost complete personality change. Where once he'd been aloof and openly hostile he was now friendly to a fault. He reminded me, in fact, of one of those little dogs that wags its tail so hard in greeting you, you think its bum will fall off. And Henry was certainly looking forward to this evening's entertainment.

"She's pulling out all the stops tonight, old boy!" he told me. "I hope you've been saving it up. Every man must do his duty to the utmost and so forth! Let's leave her sore in the morning, shall we?"

He carried on in that vein for some time, and I decided I'd preferred the earlier, supercilious Henry to this enthusiastic, chattering fool. Luckily, I was spared any more by the re-entry of Joanna with her seventh guest in tow — literally, as I had been.

This, it turned out, was Francis — the important but dull banker who'd performed a double penetration of Joanna with Hugo on that evening Hugo had described to me in such detail some months before. And with his arrival, Joanna informed us, we were now quorate. There were to be seven men only, then. I was a little relieved there wouldn't be any more, though I wondered how Joanna proposed to surpass Messalina's record with so few of us present. But she left me no time to consider the conundrum. She clapped her hands.

"I'm going to change the usual order of events tonight, chaps," she announced. "You're going to take your clothes off first for a change. I've got a bit of a surprise lined up, you see.

"Oh," she added, "If anybody's peckish, there's a buffet in the other room. That's where we're going. You can't have a Roman orgy without food, can you? It wouldn't be authentic!"

And with that she planted her feet firmly apart and put her hands on her hips.

"Come on now, boys. Strip off," she said.

And so we did.

*****

Unsurprisingly, nobody had any appetite for food when we all trooped, naked, into Joanna's now familiar back room. She'd pushed all the furniture to the sides, with a laden buffet table along one wall, but the objects that immediately drew the eye were the two single mattresses laid out in the middle, swathed tastefully in clean white sheets, each with a pile of pillows at one end.

Joanna waited until we'd all found seats, then said: "OK, gentlemen. Now here's my surprise."

She returned to the door, which she'd left open, and called up the stairs. "All right, dear, you can come down now."

We heard the sound of approaching feet, then a young woman walked in. She had longish, darkish hair and was wearing tight jeans and a ribbed sort of sweater that emphasized her trim waist and her breasts. In contrast to Joanna, her make-up was understated. Where Joanna looked whorish, the girl's face was almost virginal.

"This is my partner in crime for tonight," Joanna said. "I hope you like her."

And I think it's fair to say that you could have heard a pin drop in the ensuing silence.

You see, when a stranger walks into a gathering such as ours was that night, the new person in the room has a profound effect. It was true, of course, that not all the men there knew each other well — and three of the party were completely new to me — but we all had Joanna in common. There was, therefore, a communal tone. But when this new girl walked in so calmly — and it has to be said she seemed perfectly relaxed — everything was thrown out of kilter. And perhaps I should remind you that every one of the men there present was stark bollock naked. Only the women were clothed.

Joanna was clearly relishing the moment. She glanced round from face to face, taking us in one by one. The girl took up position next to her and smiled. She was certainly attractive, but I think our joint embarrassment negated any lust she may have stirred in us at that moment.

"Well, boys, what do you think?" Joanna asked at last. "You're all going to fuck her, you know. She's my little present to you."

As a lawyer, I am naturally suspicious. I tried to phrase my question as delicately as I could, but I felt obliged to pose it.

"How ... er ... old is this young lady?" I asked — and instantly felt like a pompous fool for saying it.

"We'll let her answer that herself, shall we?" said Joanna.

And the girl said: "I was born on the fourteenth of January, nineteen sixty-five. I'm twenty-one."

I suspect there was a collective sigh of relief around the room.

Then Hugo — who'd probably recovered from the shock more quickly than the rest of us — piped up with: "What's her name?"

"If I'm going to be Messalina," said Joanna, "we'll have to call her Scylla. You have done your homework, haven't you boys? You understand why that's got to be what she's called?"

The question was no more than academic and nobody answered. Given the circumstances, it didn't matter a damn if we understood the name or not. Joanna, who clearly appreciated the full irony of her own question, smiled at us sweetly for a moment longer, then turned towards the girl again.

"Since Scylla is a present, there's no sense in our waiting. She ought to be unwrapped, don't you think? What do you say, gentlemen — shall I open her now?"

And from several places in the room, dry voices croaked assent.

*****

Aside from the idle suggestion, made by an Oxford acquaintance in the High Street all those years ago, that Joanna might have 'gone lesbian' when she appeared to have given up men, I'd never seriously considered the possibility that she might feel any attraction to members of her own sex. But she now demonstrated a surprising versatility. She stepped round behind 'Scylla' and smoothed her hands along her thighs. Then she ran her hands up the girl's body until they reached her breasts. She 'weighed' them, then proceeded to knead them together gently, obviously feeling for the nipples with her thumbs through the sweater's thin material.

'Scylla' smiled and settled back into Joanna's embrace.

"I'm going to take this off now," Joanna murmured to her, kissing her neck as she spoke — then took the sweater by the hem and began to peel it up. As it came, it lifted the girl's breasts and they rose momentarily, then fell back suddenly — bouncing — when they finally came unsnagged. She was bra-less, of course, and her breasts were surprisingly heavy for such a slender woman. Joanna tossed the sweater onto a chair and turned her attention to the jeans, popping the top button open and pulling teasingly at the zip.

"Mmm," she said to the room at a large, "I'll bet you're looking forward to seeing what's under here, aren't you, chaps? I know I am!"

And, having opened the zip to its maximum extent, she began the laborious task of wriggling the jeans down Scylla's legs and off.

The girl's panties came down with the jeans. When she'd eventually stepped out of them and was fully naked, Joanna — who was perhaps a head taller than Scylla — twirled her around to allow us to inspect her backside. Then, with Scylla facing us again, she returned to cradling her from behind, peering at us and smiling from over the girl's shoulder. And I saw Joanna's hand — her right — snake down over the girl's tummy and venture into the curly thatch of hair between her upper thighs.

Scylla was obviously enjoying the attention. I saw Joanna's fingers move onwards, probing into the flesh beneath the fur. The girl closed her eyes as the fingers found the spot and her breath caught sharply. For some moments longer Joanna simply stood there, frigging happily at the other woman's cunt. Then she grinned out at us — her breathless admirers.

"She's ever so moist, you know," she told us, casually. "What do the French call it — mouillée? Well, she is. Very much so, in fact. She's extremely mouillée. I think I ought to have a little taste — don't you?"

And, with that, she conducted Scylla to a mattress and laid her on her back. Joanna slithered on top and the two of them kissed while their hands roved over each other, tracing each curve and hollow. And then, those preliminaries having been completed, Joanna slid slowly down the girl, applying little kisses as she went — to her throat, to her chest, to her nipples — to her midriff and even her belly-button. And finally, when this teasing journey had reached its terminus, and there was no other destination in sight, Joanna plunged in between the girls' legs and buried her face between her thighs.

Never having seen women have sex together before, I'd been expecting something soft and languorous. And perhaps that's normally the way of it — I couldn't say. But as soon as Joanna's tongue found Scylla's cunt, the girl was bucking and moaning under her and Joanna had to use main force to hold her down as she pressed the pleasure into her.

Scylla arched into orgasm and Joanna held on grimly. And then the two of them were laughing — gasping and laughing together. And later, as the laughter subsided, they lay for a while recovering, hugging each other on the narrow mattress. Then Joanna sat up.

"I expect you really, really want to have her," she said to us. "And I can assure you she wants to be had. Isn't that right, darling?"

She glanced towards Scylla and the girl gave a vigorous nod.

"So this is how it's going to be," said Joanna. "I'll be your fluffer, boys. Do you know what a fluffer is?"

But, unsurprisingly, given our lack of pornographic sophistication, not one us could answer yes. So she told us.

"In porno movies," she explained, "a fluffer is a woman who gets a man hard before he has to perform in a scene. The objective, as I'm sure you'll appreciate, is a fully functioning erection. And the most effective method of achieving that is good old oral sex. So here's what's going to happen, gentlemen. You'll come to me first and I'll suck your cock. Then, when you're hard enough, you'll move on to the mattress and fuck Scylla here. Is everything understood?"

We nodded. I nodded anyway. I expect the others did. Once more, Joanna had taken our collective breath away. There was nothing left to do but to do as we'd been told.

*****

She regimented us — and I was the first to be dragooned. Joanna simply crooked a finger at me and said: "Toby dear. You're first." So I stepped forward into the limelight, as it were, and she took my cock in her mouth.

Well, actually, she removed her short skirt first. There were no panties underneath. Then she knelt on the mattress in just her flimsy blouse, and sucked me for a while. And the so-called Scylla, I noticed, took considerable interest in this. Despite her recent orgasm, she fingered herself as she watched. Perhaps she was looking for pointers, or awarding Joanna private marks for style.

It didn't take long to get me hard. I'd been pretty-well there before Joanna started. In fact, there was a danger of premature conclusion — a fact I believe Joanna appreciated very well. So soon she let me go and shuffled across to the other mattress, leaving me with Scylla on my own.

"Go on, Toby. Fuck her!" urged Joanna, almost fiercely. "Be my guest!"

I don't know if you've ever been in a similar situation, or, if you have, how you responded to it, but for me it wasn't easy. As a result of Joanna's ministrations, I was decidedly erect — but there remained a certain inhibition nevertheless. After all, I'd never met this young woman before, and now I was expected to make love to her in front of six men and my former girlfriend. It made me feel awkward — as awkward, in fact, as the first time I'd ever made love to a girl.

And the experience was in no way romantic. The girl Scylla spread her legs and, as I knelt down between them with my cock in my hand, Joanna leaned across and handed me a condom, already unwrapped. It made sense of course, since none of us knew Scylla, and come to that, she knew none of us — but the condom emphasized the sleaziness of the occasion. And I was sure Joanna intended it to be sleazy. A low Roman brothel must have been like this, I thought, with one mean pallet on the floor and a girl lying ready, waiting, with the establishment's madam — the bawd — sitting beside her in close attendance. It reduced sex to its most basic, its most functional form. I had a sudden mental image of a butcher's shop, with all the bloody joints hung up on public display.

So it wasn't an auspicious beginning — and you may be wondering why I went ahead with it. As I do now. But I think the answer's simple. Lust merely recollected isn't lust at all. It dies in memory, and its power dies with it. I really can't recollect the urge — the imperative — that impelled me to slip the condom on and kneel between the girl's spread thighs, but I certainly was impelled. And, conscious of the gaze of six other men on my back, I stuck my prick into her — I can't put it less crudely than that. I stuck it in and I fucked her, and the brute urgency of my fucking was the only thing that conquered my inhibition. I went at her, in short, like an animal — and when I came I almost roared.

I didn't know if Scylla had come or not. To be truthful, I didn't care. She was there for use: I'd used her. That was all. And having done it, I stood up and stepped back quickly. And when Joanna put on an old crone's voice and asked: "Did you have a nice time then, dearie?" I nearly hit her. But I went to the buffet instead and poured a stiff drink.

Oh, and I dropped my used condom in the waste-bin that Joanna had so thoughtfully provided, in the farthest corner of the room.

*****

You'll have gathered I was angry at this travesty of sex that Joanna was having us enact — and you may well ask why I didn't just put my clothes on and get myself out of there. But by now I was determined to stay to the bitter end. It may be difficult to understand my motives. I'll try to explain.

I once met a man — an old convict I was defending — who claimed there were only three kinds of sex: the love fuck, the fun fuck and the grudge fuck. I hadn't given his philosophising much credence at the time, but the term 'grudge fuck' stuck in my mind. And now I had an application for the concept.

I intended to wait until all seven of us had had 'Scylla', and then — I assumed — we'd move on to Joanna herself. That, presumably, was what she claimed to be 'in training' for — to, in some sense, outdo the younger woman in feats of sexual excess. And I planned to help her with a vengeance. I wanted to fuck Joanna without mercy. I wanted to make her scream. I wanted, in short, to have a grudge fuck with her.

It wasn't a pretty thought, I know, but that was the way I felt. I was full of sexual anger — sexual rage. And I wanted to fuck it all out onto, or into, Joanna — who, I felt, had brought me to this point.

So in the meantime I sat and watched the charade unfold, as each of the remaining candidates stepped up — first to Joanna for the obligatory suck, and then on to Scylla to fuck her open hole.

It all seemed ludicrous to me — those spotty buttocks bouncing, the wheezing and heaving, as unfit, overweight men ploughed into the 'young flesh'. But I didn't blame them and I didn't blame myself — although, I realised, I must have looked equally unedifying when I'd taken my turn. I blamed, of course, Joanna, and I sat there simmering throughout the hour or so it took for everyone to grind towards an orgasm.

When the last man — Anthony — had spent inside her, Scylla sat up and Joanna slid across to cuddle. The girl looked happy enough, although exhausted. Joanna kissed her forehead. "You did very well," she told her.

And then she dropped her bombshell:

"Her name isn't really Scylla, of course," she told us. "But you knew that already. It's Amelia.

"And, Amelia," she said, turning back to the girl, "you ought to say hello to your father now. Because one of these gentlemen — though I don't know which one it is, I'm afraid — helped me to conceive you just over twenty-two years ago.

"I'm sorry I can't be more specific, but I'm sure it's one of them. So, darling Amelia, say a nice hello to Daddy!"

*

To be continued