Teaching Paula to Sing

"Use your tongue, Paula," Sir said, and she lifted her chin, arched her neck, and let her tongue play softly, shyly between Celie's legs. There was a taste to the latex—something dark and vaguely chemical, mingled with heat and lust. Not a bad taste by any means, just unfamiliar, like so much of the rest of this evening. Paula let her gaze travel up Celie's body and saw that she was looking down, watching.

"Harder," Celie said. "Lick harder."

Paula pushed with her tongue. She could feel the resistance of the taut latex, its substance and strength, but beneath it she could feel the shape of Celie's labia and the liquidity that lay pooled between the latex and Celie's cunt. She wanted to taste it, but it was trapped, held away from her mouth's reach. She pushed with her tongue and Celie moaned hungrily, pushing her hips downward to press her cunt more firmly against Paula's mouth. Paula was suddenly overcome with the desire to consume Celie's cunt, to suck it into her mouth, but the tight, slippery latex made that impossible. It was both incredibly frustrating and incredibly erotic.

Sir saw what she was doing. He saw how wide her mouth was open and how determinedly she arched her body upward. If her hands had been free, she would have grabbed Celie's ass and forced her cunt violently against her mouth.

"Perhaps it's time to strip off those panties," Sir said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Celie complied. It wasn't a matter of just slipping them off. They were so snug, they clung so tightly to her body, that she had step down from the bed to peel them off, which took some effort, and when she had them off Paula saw that they had left red welts around Celie's waist and thighs. Paula wanted to soothe those welts with her tongue, but she would not get that chance. As Celie—now completely naked, her waxed cunt framed by the welts on her body, her thighs shining with the juices that had been trapped in the latex—as she stepped back onto the bed, Paula saw, for just an instant, a twinkle of blue from the shadowed cleft of her ass, and just as she saw it, Sir said "Celie" in the warmest and most approving voice (Paula yearned to hear his voice, with just that tone, directed at her), and then he said, "You wore it. Good girl. Show Paula."

Again Celie stood straddling Paula's body, but this time facing the foot of the bed. "Celie wore her favorite plug," Sir said, again in that proud, approving tone, and Paula looked up to see its faceted sapphire head shining in the muted light of the hotel suite.

"Let her see more closely," Sir said. Celie got down on all fours, so that her ass was about a foot from Paula's face. Sir knelt beside both of them, still fully dressed. He took the jeweled head of the plug between his fingers and began to move it slowly, pulling on it, revolving it, teasing Celie's asshole with it as she bit her lip and moaned. The air was rich with the scent of Celie's cunt. She flattened her chest against Paula's legs and pushed her ass high in the air for Sir. At one point Sir eased the plug completely free of Celie's body and ran its smooth, rounded metal tip along the crack of her ass, again and again, very slowly, as she shivered and moaned, until finally he took pity on her began to ease it back in. She whimpered. Paula watched, transfixed, as the plug went deeper until, at a certain point, it appeared to have been sucked back in to settle itself where it belonged. As if Celie's ass craved being filled and the tissues of her body were acting with intent.

"It makes her so wonderfully tight," Sir said, looking at Paula. "And she seems to cum harder when she's wearing it. And sometimes her orgasms just come in waves or chains, one after the other. I wonder if you'll have the same experience someday, Paula."

Paula's mouth felt dry, but it seemed she was expected to speak. "I—I hope so, Sir," she said huskily.

"Let's show Paula what we mean," Sir said.

Celie stood up once more and faced Paula. Her legs were spread wide, and she gripped the bed's headboard with her hands, leaning forward. Sir stood behind her. There was the unmistakable sound of a man's trousers being unzipped, which made Celie shiver—in fact, Paula could have sworn she could actually see Celie's cunt clench at the sound. Was that possible? She thought it must be. Her own cunt was clenching again and again. It would not surprise her if the vibrations of that clenching were clearly visible to anyone who might be watching.

"Celie likes to be fucked by a man in a suit," Sir said. "She loves to feel the teeth of the open zipper biting into her ass and cunt while the cock splits her open." As he spoke, Paula saw the head of his cock emerge between Celie's legs. He was rubbing the head on her slick, dripping lips. Teasing her mercilessly. "Fuck me," she begged. "Fuck me, James. Fill my cunt with your big cock." He smiled and kept up his teasing. He locked eyes with Paula as he did it. She felt like a co-conspirator in the blissful torture of Celie.

And then Sir must have decided that enough was enough, because very quickly and simply, with a shift of his hips, he entered Celie in one swift stroke. She cried out and a spasm ran through her body, the beginning of an orgasm, Paula thought, but by some miracle she contained it, because Sir had not given permission. And then they were into a rhythm, clearly the rhythm of two people who had fucked again and again, who knew how to fuck each other with perfect timing and grace and passion. Paula was positioned—correction, she told herself: Sir had positioned her, Sir had generously given her this perfect vantage point—so that she could see Sir's plunging cock, gleaming as it emerged again and again from Celie's beautiful cunt, she could see his heavy balls swinging and slapping against Celie's outer lips, she could hear the beautiful sounds of his cock moving in Celie's tight pussy hole, her cunt being spread and filled, spread and filled, her cunt and indeed her whole being being split apart by Sir's implacable cock but also healed by it. The splitting was urgent and violent, and the healing was instantaneous and complete. Paula had never thought of fucking this way before, which meant, she realized, that she hadn't understood the first thing about fucking until now, until this moment, when Sir was giving Celie his cock and she was receiving it with little gaspy cries of "Fuck me... fuck me... fuck me, James... fuck me oh God fuck me," and then a different note came into her voice and she just said, "Oh... oh... oh please... oh yes," and Paula knew that Celie was on the edge of cumming. Paula herself was writhing and bucking where she was tied on the bed, trying desperately to get some stray edge of a sheet or pillow to come in contact with her cunt, her wet swollen empty aching cunt, even a current of air across her clit, she thought, even that would be enough to make her cum. But nothing touched her. Nothing. Until Sir gave Celie permission and she began, at last, to indulge in her battery of climaxes. At that moment she said something that gave Paula what she needed. As Celie's body began to shake uncontrollably, as the waves of orgasm washed through her again and again, like surf pounding a beach, Paula came too, watching and listening and inhaling the scent of the fucking bodies that were so close to her, and it was because of what Celie said. Paula would never have dreamed it might happen that way. But when Celie said it—when she said, "I'm cumming I'm cumming I'm cumming I'm cumming I'm cumming oh fuck me oh Daddy I'm cumming"—it was those two syllables, Daddy, that acted upon Paula like a warm mouth fastened on her twitching clit, and she came and came and came, like Celie, with Celie, their voices mingling, their tears of joy streaming, their hearts leaping, their cunts and their souls filled to overflowing as they sang their submission to Daddy.

###

Some time later—a few hours, a few days, it's impossible to know—Paula wakes up in Sir's arms. He's carrying her down the hallway in the suite, taking her to the luxurious master bathroom, where he's already filled the tub. Paula's mind is a jumble. She's trying to sort out all that happened during the night. It's a bit of a blur, with certain intensely sharp-focus moments that stand out.

He steps into the tub, still holding her, and lowers her gently into the water. She wants to speak but isn't sure what to call him. The tub is like a Jacuzzi but the jets are very subtle. The waters move all around her, deliciously. Her body is sore, but in a good way. She remembers her wrists being bound, and her ankles. She remembers Sir's hands on her, and Celie's, and both of their tongues, and Sir's cock, in her mouth and in her cunt, but it's all like little snips of film.

"Would you like me to bathe you?" he says. She nods.

And so he bathes her. First, her hair. He sits her between his legs so that she's leaning against his chest, and he takes a very long time wetting and soaping her hair, massaging her scalp, her temples, her neck.

"You've been through a lot," he says quietly. "A night like that can be like running a marathon." She can hear the smile in his voice.

He takes a handheld sprayer and rinses her hair. He rinses it endlessly. She feels aroused but in a distanced way, as if she's observing herself. She can feel his cock against the small of her back as she leans on him. He's not hard. She wonders about that.

When he's finished with her hair, he tells her to stand. He soaps her body with his hands, using a soap that makes the most luxurious lather she's ever experienced. His hands are strong and purposeful, but they do not seem intent on arousing her. They seem intent on cleansing her. She notices again that he isn't hard.

He reads her mind. "I'm not hard because I'm caring for you now," he says. "And caring for myself by doing so. Do you understand?"

She nods, but she isn't quite sure.

Now he takes the hand sprayer and rinses her body, starting with her shoulders and moving downward. Warm delicate needles of water. An exquisite form of touch that hands and tongues can't manage. She wants him to linger on her nipples, but he doesn't. He lifts her right arm and rinses her armpit, which is far more erotic than she had expected it to be. The left arm, the same effect. The warm needle spray all down her back. She wants him to linger on her ass, but he doesn't.

He rinses her belly. He rinses her cunt. Please linger, she begs silently. He doesn't. Her thighs, and down the backs of her legs. Linger, linger. But no. And he is still not hard.

Finally her bath is done. He sits her down, and sits facing her. "You should sleep a lot today, if you can," he says. "And drink a lot of water."

"Yes, Sir," she says.

"Did you enjoy your evening?"

"Oh, yes!"

He smiles at her. "But?"

What does he mean, but? There isn't a but. It was the most astonishing night of her life...

Then she realizes that there is a but, and she hadn't been consciously aware of it, but he had known.

"Tell me," he says. "Something is troubling you, a bit."

Paula casts her mind back over the whole evening, the dinner, the elevator, the many, many ways they fucked, her orgasms, Celie's orgasms, Sir's orgasms (only two, that she could recall), and then it hits her, and Sir sees that it hits her.

"Tell me," he says, though she feels he already knows.

She feels herself blushing furiously.

"It's..." she says. "It's just... your orgasms, Sir."

"What about them?

"You came in Celie," she says. "Twice. Once in her mouth, once in her pussy. Her cunt." Her voice got very small. "You didn't cum in me."

He smiled at her across the warm, moving water. "My goodness," he says. "You are a greedy little whore, aren't you?" But he says it with such warmth, such kindness, and even a note of pride, that it affects her like a caress.

"Yes, Sir," she says. "I am."

And then he seems to change the subject. "Sometimes on mornings like this, when I'm all alone at last, I do something just for myself. I've never told anyone, Celie doesn't know. It's just a little ritual I have. Would you like to hear about it?"

Paula nods.

"I do it to make sure I've expended every bit of sexual tension from my body before I sleep," he says. "I take my handheld sprayer and I aim it at my cock. If I get hard, I continue spraying. But I have rules. I'm not allowed to touch myself with anything but the water. And I'm not allowed to move the spray. I just aim it at my shaft, just beneath the head, and close my eyes, and let it run. I'm also not allowed to move my hips, as if to fuck the water stream, or to intensify the effect in any way. Sometimes when I do this, eventually I cum. I call that the Zen orgasm, although I really know nothing about Zen." He smiled. "And very often I don't cum, and that means I've emptied myself temporarily of need, and I shut off the water and towel off and go to bed."

"Do you think me strange?" Sir says. Paula shakes her head slowly.

"So what I think we could do, if you're willing, is this, Paula: You hold the sprayer. And you are allowed, while you hold the sprayer, to take the head of my cock in your mouth. Just to hold it. Not to lick it or suck it or attempt to give it pleasure in any other way. Just to hold it, so that if I do have my Zen orgasm, the cum is yours. All yours. And if I don't have it, well, we tried." He pauses. She sees that he is, now, finally, hard. "The other thing, Paula, is this. You may not cum. I wouldn't expect you to in this situation, but just so you know: you may not." He holds out the sprayer for her. "Would you like to try?"

She moves close to him, kneeling, and lets him maneuver her hands until she has the spray exactly where he wants it. Then she parts her lips, takes the head of his cock into her mouth, seals her lips around it, and waits.

Silence, and the sounds of the water, and the memories of the night before. Now she understands how jealous she had been—not that she'd had any right—when Sir erupted in Celie's mouth. Yes, Celie had kissed Paula afterwards, her tongue slick with Sir's seed, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't the same at all.

She desperately wants to move her tongue over Sir's cockhead, ever so lightly and slowly, and she thinks she could do it, so very subtly and delicately that he wouldn't notice, or would think he was imagining it, just orbit him with her hungry tongue, just dip the tip of it in his tender, tender cum hole, but she doesn't. She fights off the impulse and keeps herself utterly still, conscious of how hard her nipples are and how wet her cunt is, conscious of the rim of his flesh against her soft, sealed lips, conscious of trying to hold the sprayer completely still. And time goes on and on, and she wonders what happened to Celie, where has she gone, and then that thought passes like all the others, and she keeps her mind on stillness and service and hope, and the lovely warmth and movement of the water, which moves endlessly over her cunt like a soft promise, and on and on it goes, beautiful, difficult, hers. Her experience. One no other girl has ever had.

She is in such a meditative state that when Sir cums it's a complete surprise. Suddenly her mouth is full of him, and she reflexively swallows, and swallows, without moving her head. His body doesn't move either; this is the Zen orgasm, she supposes. Only his cock moves as it spasms, as its miraculous hydraulics feed her.

The second surprise is that she cums too. There'ss no warning; it is completely unlike every other orgasm she's had. His warm cum fills her mouth, and just like that her cunt buzzes, and clenches, and sends electricity through her body and mind. And even so, she remains completely still, as Sir told her to.

But Sir knows. She can't hide it from him. Even as she reluctantly pulls her mouth from his cock, and sits back on her knees, she knows her skin is flushed and her nipples are hard, are filled with the beating of her heart, she understands that he can just look at her and know she's disobeyed him, know that the disobedience is inseparable from the ecstasy.

"Thank you, Paula," he says. "That was beautiful. I feel absolutely relaxed now."

"I'm sorry, Sir," she says quietly. "I'm sorry I came."

"You did disobey me," he says. "And there will be consequences for that. But let's not think about that in this moment." He motions to her that she should sit next to him, and she does, and rests her head on his shoulder. She sits there in peace, with the taste of him on her tongue and the warmth of him in her belly, his cum, his essence, hers. Hers.

###

Sir had brought their clothes into the bathroom. They got out of the tub and he toweled her off, then himself. They dressed silently. She was glowing. Her thoughts were racing.

They kissed. They walked back down the hall toward the bedroom, Paula in front and James right behind her. As she entered the room she stopped short.

Celie was there.

She was tied to a chair, naked, with a ball gag in her mouth. In front of her was a large television monitor. On the screen was the empty bathroom.

Paula understood in an instant. Celie had been watching the whole time, and no doubt listening, too. The look on her face was indescribable.

Her whole chest was wet with her saliva. James went to her, slipped the gag from her mouth, and kissed her long and deeply. He stroked her hair and whispered to her. Paula couldn't hear what he was saying.

"We'll call you soon," he said almost casually, over his shoulder. And then he went back to petting and comforting Celie. Loosening her ropes. Fully engaged in Celie.

Paula watched for a moment longer, then let herself out of the suite. She had no idea what would come next. If anything.

[the end]