Sebastian

Author's note: These stories are a bit of a departure for me. They're the adventures of Sebastian, but I've tried to tell them from both sides. Sebastian is a rather promiscuous young man who's exploring his sexuality. He doesn't have preferences; he likes everything, and everyone: men, women, those on the fringes of those narrow definitions, those completely outside them, those who just don't know and those who just like to explore certain avenues of entertainment that are a little, shall we say, outside the vanilla.

I'm saying this because I'm well aware that not everyone likes everything. So please, please check the category of the story before you read, it may well not be to your liking.

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He likes her. She looks a little severe, haughty even, but he can see a sparkle in her eyes that excites him and he's decided to persue it.

It's one of mother's business dinner parties and she's made it a three line whip so the whole family are there, including grandmother. Actually, grandmother wants to be there, the only one who does: she enjoys the company, the safe male company and the different conversation.

There are three guest couples. His mother has a business interest in one from each, two of the men and one of the women. She's wooing them into investing in some scheme she's involved in. It's a scheme Sebastian hasn't the slightest interest in beyond the fact that mother's business acumen is what pretty much pays for their life here.

Although, to be fair to the other members of the family, it was grandmother who'd provided the seed money for his mother's business ventures, and who'd paid for the house. His older sisters are all supporting themselves these days and he's well down the road of doing the same for himself.

But it's mother who's got them this far and they'd had a very good life getting here.

She'd held quite a few of these dinners over the years. The dining room, and the house, are perfect for these things and always impressed the type of people mother wanted to impress. And she always got the same, very good, caterers in to do the food, service and clearing up. Again, all to impress.

Anyway, as long as he was sitting next to someone interesting and the thing didn't drag on for too long he generally got into it. Tonight he was enjoying himself.

He was finding Celia Cantwell particularly interesting.

Mrs Cantwell is the woman his mother has the interest in, so she'd seated Sebastian next to her and told him 'to be nice to her'. So he's being nice. He's always 'nice'.

Mr Cantwell is seated on the other side of Sebastian and he'd chatted to them both for the early part of the dinner but Mr Cantwell is now turned towards his grandmother and giving her his full attention.

Leaving Sebastian to 'be nice' to Mrs Cantwell.

He did enjoy calling the women at these things Mrs 'Whatever', they were nearly always quite a bit older than he and it always gave him a bit of a tingle to talk to them like that, it made him feel like Benjamin to Mrs Robinson.

And Mrs Cantwell was well worth talking to. She had an interest in women's fashion, particularly the history of it. Sebastian loved fashion, especially women's, and had had a brief dabble at being a designer but had quickly realised that it was never going to work so he was now going down a very different route. But he still had the interest.

Tonight Mrs Cantwell is wearing a 50s inspired bright red, narrow waisted, A-line dress with a high collar and wide belt. It was even made from taffeta, he wondered if it was vintage.

She had the figure for it and it suited her.

He'd turned fully towards her, giving her his undivided attention.

She fascinated him: she's apparently an astute, successful and, occasionally, ruthless businesswoman but it's that sparkle in her eyes that's catching his breath.

He took a big chance on the sparkle.

And touched the crisp fabric of her dress under the table.

Celia didn't particularly want to be there tonight. She'd never really enjoyed these, small, more intimate dinners, there wasn't any way of escaping once you'd had enough, you just had to sit through it.

She did however, know that they were an essential part of business, especially her type of business.

She was a self made businesswoman who'd built her little empire through, amongst other things, attracting investment. These days she's the one doing the investing.

She'd spoken to Evangeline Kastelano a few times over the phone, had obviously studied her proposal and done quite a lot of research. She'd already decided that she was going to invest and how much, so hadn't intended on accepting the invitation but, after looking at Mrs Kastelano's house online, had had a twinge of curiosity and had come along anyway.

Then she'd arrived and wished she hadn't. She couldn't see anyone she wanted to sit next to. She knew the other two investors and their partners: they were as boring as bat-shit. She had two daughters of her own and really didn't want an evening of more girl on girl conversation. Sitting next to Evangeline would inevitably end in talking business, again not in the least bit desirable. That left the grandmother or the young son. The grandmother would probably start pitching for her daughter so that left the boy. But, on consideration, she didn't suppose she'd have much choice in the matter.

She really wished she hadn't come.

She was sitting next to Sebastian.

And he defied all her expectations. He was articulate, funny and interesting. She was actually having a good time.

He's also interesting to look at. With his neatly cut deep, black hair and honey-brown eyes that are being impossible to ignore. His olive skin is flawless, his voice light and mellow, instantly soothing and his teeth a pure white.

What she's finding rather intriguing is that, if she hadn't known he was Sebastian: the only son and youngest member of the family: if she hadn't known any different; if she'd just met him on the street, if she'd then been asked the question, she wouldn't have been able to say if he was a boy or a girl. Just looking at him she really couldn't pin it down.

Androgynous was probably the right word, but it certainly didn't suit him.

He was both handsome and beautiful.

And smelt wonderful. She was finding him a little intoxicating.

She wasn't generally attracted to men. She usually found them annoying. She glanced passed him at the back of her husband's head. Her marriage was a convenience, an arrangement. He'd needed an ornament, a plus one. She'd needed money. She'd tried and tried to get funding for her first business venture but men always seemed to want something in return, something she wasn't prepared to give.

Then she'd found Richard. He was a relatively successful businessman who regarded himself as a bit of a player but needed someone more permanent on his arm, someone who looked good but didn't want too much.

She wanted a big loan.

They both got what they wanted.

They'd had their daughters and now, happily, had seperate bedrooms.

But, even though her business interests had long ago far outstripped his, they each still accompanied the other to various business necessaries.

He still played the field, although far more discretely these days, and she still found men annoying and generally ignored them.

Then Sebastian's fingertips touched her leg and her eyes flicked back to his gorgeous face.

Her throat contracted and she felt a little dizzy.

She blinked and cleared her throat. "What are you doing with your hand Sebastian?"

He didn't say the obvious.

"In a second I'm going to put it under your dress."

"And you think you'll get away with that do you?"

He slid 'it' down and pushed under her hem, cupped her nylon covered knee.

Her lips parted, her eyes circled the table and she turned ever so slightly towards him. Whispered, "You do don't you." And put her own hands on the table in front of her, took hold of her wine glass.

He could barely breath as his fingers edged slowly up the sheer nylon. Until they reached the heavier band at the top to find the stud and catch of a suspender strap. He almost grinned. Stockings. He so loved stockings.

He toyed with the strap for a second then stroked the soft, creamy skin of her inner thigh.

A flush began to creep up her neck as her legs parted and his hand sank into the heat between her thighs.

A fraction more and his fingertip touched her knickers.

He breathed in. Without realising it he'd been holding his breath.

He teased around the rucked edges of the satin: Not really 1950s but, he thought, on this occasion he'll forgive her.

Slipped passed them.

He began talking. Saying anything that came to mind. Not expecting an answer, just wanting to cover any sounds they might make in front of the other guests: they were supposed to be having a conversation after all.

She couldn't focus on his words, couldn't even look at him, had to concentrate on her fingers as they clutched her glass, it was the only way to stop them from grasping the table cloth and dragging it towards her.

Her thoughts however, were firmly on his fingers.

Which had parted the lips of her pussy.

They were slick and sticky with her juices. He rubbed up and down her labia and across her clitoris: he couldn't reach any further but he felt her shiver at his touch.

He kept going. Just a gentle up and down with as many fingertips as he could manage. Still talking, still not receiving a response.

She sat still. As still as she could with his fingers doing what they were. She couldn't believe she was sitting there letting this happen. With her husband in touching distance, talking to the boy's grandmother for goodness sake, and his mother just across the table from her. But oh god she was turned on. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been this turned on. She so wanted to jamb his fingers all the way in. But she didn't dare move, couldn't move, then a horrifying thought, what would happen if she came? 'If!?' Oh god, there was no way she was not going to cum. She needed to stop him. But didn't want to stop him. Couldn't stop him. She squeezed her thighs against his fingers, couldn't help it. Please don't make me cum she silently begged. Her brain instantly flipped, please please make me cum.

Sebastian kept going. The gentle up and down, making sure he crossed her clit each time. Not daring to speed up or press harder. Just the gentle up and down.

No, no, no! Don't make me cum.

She was going to cum! Could feel it. Feel the tiny sun at the back of her pussy getting bigger and bigger, brighter and brighter, hotter and hotter, knowing it was going to burst, not wanting it to burst, not here, not now. But also desperately wanting it to, wishing him to keep going, wanting to tell him to keep going, wanting to push against his fingers but knowing she couldn't. And that restraint made it worse, made it better, made her little sun even brighter and hotter.

Yes, yes, yes! Make me cum. Please make me cum.

And the sun burst. In a bloom of light and heat that spread through her body in one single tsunami wave of pleasure that almost instantly dissipated.

He felt her cum.

Felt an imperceptible ripple pass through her. Felt a shimmer of heat against his fingers. Felt her fight her body. Worried that she was going to break the stem of her glass.

He slowly took his fingers away, settled his forearm on the table.

She took a slow, deep breath, her eyes dancing backwards and forwards across the other guests, wondering if they'd seen anything, suspected anything. Settled on Sebastian.

"Would you like to look around the house Mrs Cantwell?" He asked.

"How old are you Sebastian?" Her voice cracked.

He smiled. "I'm twenty."

She visibly swallowed, licked her lips and glanced around again. Then looked at his mother. "Evangeline, Sebastian tells me you have a grand piano. I play, do you mind if your son shows me?"

"Not at all Celia, maybe you can convince him to play, he used to be quite good."

"Thank you. I'll see what I can get out of him." She replied as she stood to follow Sebastian out of the room.

Taking her hand Sebastian walked down the long corridor, heading towards what had once been the housekeeper's room. They didn't have a housekeeper, had never had one, but it was what it had been introduced to them as so that was what they called it. It was actually a decent sized kitchen with a farmhouse table in the centre, but all they used it for was a bit of a wet and boot room: a waste really but they had no other use for it.

This evening Sebastian definitely had a use for it.

She followed him down the long corridor. Was he really going to fuck her? Of course he was. Was she really going to let him? Maybe. Probably.

She felt excited, apprehensive, guilty: all the things she hadn't felt in years.

She heard the door close behind her, the clunk of the big key. She closed her eyes as he stepped up against her back. Her bum tightened involuntarily as she felt the thick bulge of his groin.

Her breath shuddered.

Definitely.

Felt his breath through her hair, the warmth on her ear. Her heart was hammering.

He pressed against her, pushing her forward until her hips came up against the edge of the table. Kept pushing, tipping her over, pressing her down.

The presence against her back disappeared and she felt the back of her dress lift, her cami-knickers slowly, tantalisingly slid off her bum and down her stockinged legs, felt him carefully lift each foot and ease it through the satin.

The soft, gentle touch of fingers stroked up and down each leg. His breath was back, a puff of air on each buttock. Then between them, a soft blow of air, then his tongue.

Mmmmm, she liked that. Had always liked that. The few times she'd had men. In the days when she'd fucked. It was what she'd always wanted the most. And still, even now, when she touched herself, it was always imagining men licking her, never fucking her, always the thought of their lips and tongue on her that made her cum.

The smooth, outer lips perfectly frame the smallest glimpse of her inner lips. He licked up one side and down the other, she's clean shaven, completely and utterly bald, not the slightest catch of stubble under his tongue.

Celia closes her eyes and pictures his face behind her, his lips brushing across her flesh, willing him on, mentally guiding him to her most sensitive parts. A little gasp as the tip of his tongue floats up the crease of her inner lips then his mouth seems to press to her: right at the base, his nose briefly touching her anus.

He sucks, drawing her juices out. Slowly moves along the line of her inner lips.

Her imagination follows his mouth. She wishes he would use his teeth, maybe he will later, but she knows there can't be a later; there isn't time. She urges him on in her head 'get to my clit, get to my clit'. Begins to shake in anticipation.

He pushes his tongue into her: opens her up. Feels her quivering against his face. Pushes into her soft insides, sinks his tongue into her tunnel, laps more of her juices into his mouth.

He edges down, briefly rubs his chin over her clit then edges ever lower until he knows he's got her in his mouth, worms his tongue over her, sucking and licking at the same time.

Hears a deep groan and feels her cumming almost instantly, her legs and bum vibrating under his hands and face.

Ooooh, she hadn't expected that - the almost immediate climax as he'd taken her into his mouth. She'd known she was on the verge: the anticipation, the situation, her years without sex, even his youthful inexperience, had all conspired to tip her quickly into release. She was still shaking, couldn't stop it, even as she felt the absence of his face faint ripples spread through her bum and down her thighs.

He stood behind her, unfastened his trousers and let them drop, pushes his underwear down.

Takes hold of his rampant self. Watches as she begins to straighten up, touches himself to her.

She feels him. Not his face or a hand. Knows what it is. Stops, suddenly unsure. Waits.

He guides the head of his cock up and down her lips, gathers her juices until he's slick then finds her entrance and pushes.

She's surprised and gasps at the feeling, there's a flash of light behind her eyes as she suddenly realises how big he is.

The bulbous tip slowly parts her wet lips, her bum trembling at the pressure.

Sebastian is proud of his cock: a ridiculous thing to be he knew, but he is. Nearly eight inches in length and just over seven inches in circumference, he'd been measuring it for most of his puberty and still occasionally went looking for his grandmother's measuring tape, and, in his younger days, quite a few girls had baulked at the prospect.

Even now he can feel a resistance as he put a hand on her back and pressed harder.

Oh god he's big. Celia felt a rising panic as the pressure against her increased. She almost stopped him, then got a hold of herself: she's here, she wants this. She forced the panic down and, gripping the edges of the table, pushes until she feels her body give and then counted the long seconds as his thickness slowly fills her until he presses hard against her cervix and ground his hips against her arse.

She took long deep breaths and loosened her grip on the table, felt her body adjust.

Sebastian smiled, he'd sensed her panic, had watched as her hands had reached back as if to stop him. They'd hovered uncertainly as she'd gathered herself, then reached for the table edge and she'd pushed back against him until his cockhead finally slipped into her and he'd slowly sunk his full length into her depths. It's big, his cock, but not huge, he knew that, but it's far bigger than most women, or men, encountered. He's still proud of it.

She's tight, it had been touch and go at one point, he wasn't going to rush now, he had to let her become accustomed to his size before he started to fuck her.

She knows she's ready, if he waits any longer she'll start to panic again. She tries to squeeze around him, chuckles inside as she realises the insanity of it; she's stretched to capacity, she can't squeeze.

He feels the faintest of pressures around his shaft. Moves, just a little, trying to test her. She doesn't object. He slowly pulls back until he's halfway out then slides back in.

Oh my god! It feels amazing, but scary. She gets up on her elbows, tries to get the angle right as he pulls back again. He's so thick that, as he pushes in, he's rubbing across her clit at the same time. Her thighs are already trembling. She concentrates on her breathing again: in and out through pursed lips, her eyes wide as she tries to keep control. Oh god!

He keeps it slow, knows he can't rush it, knows that if he does he'll hurt her, knows that she won't thank him for that. Pulls most of the way out until the heavily swollen glans is all that's left inside. He can just see the beginnings of it between her lips, it's slightly thicker than the rest of him, stretching her each time he pulls back. It's also more sensitive and he knows it'll bring him closer to his own orgasm.

He doesn't want that, not yet. But he's lucky. He can get to the brink and keep it there. He hasn't learnt a trick, hasn't mastered anything: it's just how he is. He can get to the cliff edge, balance there, and then, when he's ready......

It's what he does now, gets to the edge, and then ignores it until he wants to step off.

He's doing it again, those little, short thrusts with just the head inside her. Celia cannot believe the feeling of being stretched. And then when he slides back in......she sees stars. Every millimeter of his shaft drags across her clit. Then back out, it seems such a long way but it gives her clit some relief, but then that stretch at the end, oh my god!