You Are What You Eat

I knew immediately that, in order to comply, I was going to use all the strength of my tongue. There could be no fooling myself that what was happening was in any way accidental.

As if to encourage that effort I felt a finger teasing my clitoris and I groaned as pulses of arousal travelled to my extremities. Without thinking I sealed my mouth more tightly to her and with a single lunge I broke through the outer ring.

For a few seconds we remained motionless. I guess that she had been taken by surprise but then, slowly, she began to squeeze almost as if to test that it had really happened.

The pressure was almost painful and I worked my tongue to ease it but that only served to increase her excitement.

"I want to feel it deeper."

I was already at my limit but she was not to be denied. She cruelly ignored my sex and sat up over my face forcing my tongue a millimetre or two further inside.

It was clear that she had been planning this all along. I could taste the sour residue of soap but it could not disguise a more musty undertone. Even as I contemplated this I was aware of shadows falling over me as the others drew closer and looked on with something approaching awe.

I was horribly aware of myself, my ragged, noisy, breathing and the trail of spittle escaping from the corner of my open mouth. I wanted to withdraw but now that Izabel had the measure of the situation she clenched me firmly in place and I could fell the motion of her fingers as she began to masturbate.

To begin with she worked on her clitoris but then she pushed her fingers deep inside as though probing for my tongue across the divide. Encouraged by the others it did not take long for her to reach a climax but it brought tears to my eyes as she squeezed me even more tightly whilst caught up in the final, joy-bringing, contractions..

Once it was over I feared that she was going to turn herself round and demand more but she was strangely quiet as she got up from the bed and, as she finally joined in the others' laughter, it sounded just a little strained.

I almost sighed with relief as they left the room but no one had made a move to untie me.

I lay listening as the music started up once more and I could hear their excited voices punctuated now and again by the distinctive pop of a wine cork. At some point I dozed off and, when I became aware of my surroundings again, everything was silent. The room was bathed by the light of the full moon, so I knew it was sometime in the early hours, and I began to dread that they had gone leaving me to my fate.

I turned my head listening for any sound that might allay my fears and then I heard footsteps. I was at once relieved and disturbed as the door opened and someone slipped stealthily into the room.

I was surprised to see that it was Bernice standing by the bed now dressed in a short purple nightie.

"Bernice, I ache all over. Untie me."

She put her fingers to her lips conspiratorially and then whispered in her cut glass English accent.

"I want you to do it...what you did for her."

I was too shocked to reply but I finally found my voice and spoke in anger.

"Don't be insane. Untie me now!"

I had spoken quietly, albeit tersely, aware, even now, that I did not want to disturb the others. She simply ignored me and, with a grace that her body belied, she moved up onto the bed.

Following Izabel's example she straddled my head facing down my body and I immediately felt afraid. Her bulk, with its heavy promise, eclipsed the moonlight and she allowed her satin nightie to drape over my head.

I could not do it. I filled my lungs, ready to shout, but, as if in anticipation, she came down on my face stifling my cry at birth. In desperation I tried to shake my head but she sat very still her weight keeping me firmly in place. It must have been about thirty seconds but it felt like a lifetime before she relented and lifted herself a couple of inches.

"Bernice..please!"

"Do it!"

"I can't!"

She was not going to take no for an answer. She settled on my face again and the message was clear. This time I did not have time to fill my lungs and after just a few seconds I was fighting for air but she ignored the thrashing of my body and continued to sit in stately fashion.

Again, she lifted herself just clear but this time she reached back to part the soft cushions of flesh that loomed over me.

"Are you ready to do it?"

"Bernice, I....ummmmhhhh!"

She did not let me get any further she relaxed onto my head but this time my nose was pressed deep into her cleft and it felt as if my face was caught in a vice.

I had not learned my lesson and had not breathed in and this time she stayed in place even longer. When she finally allowed me to draw breath my lungs were burning.

There was nothing I could do. I was tempted to bite her, but I knew that she would make me face the consequences, and it might be hours before any of the others arose.

She remained poised over me with her parted cheeks revealing a deep set opening fringed with sparse red hair.

"Yes or no?"

"Yes"

I spoke the single word of surrender and felt tears pricking my eyes. This time she came down gently, inviting my tongue, and I unwillingly complied.

She had obviously not washed since her previous exertions but I tried to ignore the acrid taste of her earlier arousal as I endeavoured to get it over with as soon as possible. I speared my tongue and was surprised at how easily I was able to penetrate her. Her excitement was obvious; she too began to finger herself furiously, bringing herself to a climax as quickly as possible, as if she feared that I might fail her.

The truth was that my tongue was numb and when the inevitable pressure came at the peak of her excitement I was able to bear it. Fortunately, as soon as it was over she slumped forward allowing me to breath freely for the first time in minutes.

I was still working my tongue around inside my mouth, trying to restore some feeling, when she lifted herself upright and turned in a single movement. I opened my mouth to protest only to have it filled by her pulpy sex.

The wetness made it even more suffocating than before and I almost choked as I found myself breathing moisture. I waited for her to move, expecting her to rub herself over my face in a repeat of her earlier performance, but this time she wanted the slower, lazier, option. She wanted me to do all the work with my tongue.

She remained motionless for long seconds, starving me of air, until I had no choice. I pressed my sorely treated tongue deep inside.

The contrast between the vicious squeezing that I had just endured and the gentler warm embrace of her sex was marked but even this little was too much. My tongue hurt right down to the root and even my lips were beginning to protest from the constant chaffing.

The taste, as I took her to her second orgasm, seemed stronger and I had to endure it for much longer as she made it absolutely clear that she was in no hurry.

She was no longer the ingénue; she made me lick her puffy labia for what seemed an age before directing me to get my tongue deep inside where I was forced to swallow a fresh inundation.

Only at the very end, when the outcome was inevitable, did she allow me to give my attention to her clitoris, insisting that I suck it gently as she careened over the edge.

When it was over she contemptuously rubbed herself over my face, smearing me liberally with her sap, and then she left me with every breath I took a reminder of my humiliation.

Sometime later she came back and I feared the worst but in a surprising turn of events she loosened the ribbon around one of my wrists and left again without a word.

I quickly released myself and braced a chair under the door handle to keep it secure. I then washed, avoiding my own image in the mirror, before brushing my teeth for long mindless minutes.

I could not bring myself to lie down on the bed again and so, covering myself with a sheet, I made myself comfortable in the chair and drifted in unconsciousness.

Chapter 5

I was awakened by the sun blazing into the room and was surprised to find that it was almost midday.

I dressed and made my way downstairs, filled with trepidation, but the girls were gone; the only remaining signs were a few breakfast dishes on the drainer and a box full of empty wine bottles set neatly by the door.

I was still trying to get my thoughts straight when the phone rang. It was Mateus, back from Stuttgart, checking to see if I was okay and confirming that he would be arriving later that evening.

It was comforting to hear his voice and I was touched by his concern. For a short while I almost lulled myself into believing that everything would be alright but the reality of my tender tongue was a reminder of just how low I had fallen. I determined that I would go back to the house and then to gallery if needs be to have it out with Mateus immediately.

With this new determination I packed the car and set off. I found myself driving aggressively and had to make a conscious effort to calm myself down. Once back at the manor I strode into the vestibule and shouted for Catrina but there was no answer. I found this oddly frustrating and I guess this was because I wanted an outlet for my simmering rage.

As Mateus had not answered either I assumed he was at the gallery and so I went up to the bedroom to collect my passport before setting off to confront him.

In the event I confronted him a lot sooner than I anticipated and, in so doing, I came close to fainting. I found him naked on the bed his limbs bound to the corner posts with white ribbons.

I wanted to flee the room but I remained rooted to the spot, partly out of shock but also because he could not see me; his eyes were blindfolded with a white silk scarf.

I did not know what to think. It seemed fair to assume that Izabel was somehow involved in this depravity, as evidenced by the ribbons themselves, but if Mateus was an unwilling participant his raging erection suggested otherwise.

I concluded that he was in some way enjoying his predicament and I wanted to curse him. His past behaviour had never hinted at any such predilection and I felt that I had been duped but, worse still, I had been sucked in.

Gaining control of myself I decided to take the dignified route and leave without saying another word. The sooner he was out of my life the better. I turned to leave but, as I did so, he moved his head. I saw, then, that the scarf covered his ears as well and so, whilst he knew that there was someone in the room, he had no idea who.

It took me just seconds to make my decision. As he continued to cast his head around searching for a clue I quietly undressed myself. Once naked, I eased up on to the bed and straddled his head and, as I suspected, his docile manner told me that this was not unexpected.

"Izabel?"

Hearing him confirm my worst fears fired my anger but if he thought I was his step daughter what did I care?

I lowered myself, bringing my sex to his mouth, and, almost immediately, he began to lick like a cat lapping milk.

On the one hand I felt completely gutted, he had never shown this sort of enthusiasm when he had gone down on me in the past, but, on the other, I was quickly becoming aroused.

It had not been my intention. I had simply wanted to remove his blindfold at some stage and witness his humiliation when he found it was me and not Izabel but how much the sweeter if he brought me to a climax first.

I reached down and parted my labia and, like a well conditioned animal, he switched his attention to my clitoris, licking in a tight circular motion. It was incredibly arousing but I assumed that he would tire quickly. I was wrong. He had obviously had a lot of practise and this realization brought with it a dichotomy of emotions.

In a moment of uncertainty I lifted myself off of his face, leaving his tongue darting at the empty air, but I could feel my juices welling up inside of me.

As I continued to hesitate a single droplet teased its way down my labia, growing ever more pendulous, until it succumbed to gravity and plopped between his lips.

For a second he appeared startled but then, when he realized what had happened, he tried to turn his head away in disgust. Given his circumstances, and all that was suggested by them, I was surprised by this sudden display of fastidiousness but he was about to be taught a lesson.

I brought my legs together and pinned his head tightly with my knees. Now that he was fixed firmly in place I pushed two fingers deep inside myself and smiled as I heard a squelching rasp.

I worked my fingers in and out and it did not take much to set up a flow. In a matter of seconds I was gently moving my hips and dripping all over his face. It was a delicious case of cause and effect; he clamped his mouth closed and tried to shake his head free but his struggles only served to increase my arousal and make me wetter.

Over the next couple of minutes I got an inkling of just what motivated Izabel but, even though my conscience was telling me it was wrong, I did not stop. I needed to come and I knew exactly how it was going to happen. I lowered myself again and shifted forward smearing his face in the process.

He did not have to be told, he had been here before. I felt my heart trip as his tongue sought out my tight opening and then, with a strength born of experience, he pushed his way through the dark portal.

I hardly dare breath as his tongue seemed to work its way impossibly deep but my fingers found their way unthinkingly back to my clitoris where the merest touch was enough to break the dam.

I was brought back to reality by jerking of his body and found that, at the height of ecstasy I had relaxed heavily onto his face trapping his tongue and restricting his breathing.

I got up from him with a tinge of guilt but his breathing quickly returned to normal and he did not say a word.

The time had come to disabuse him but, even as I prepared to reach for the blindfold, I noticed that his erection was still standing proud. It was an easy decision to make, I would make use of him one last time.

I moved down his body and he gasped as I took hold of his manhood and guided it into me. I had never felt him harder and I found myself feeling slighted but I was still flying from my first orgasm and, as I closed my eyes and began a slow rise and fall, I lost myself in the pursuit of a second.

I kept up an easy rhythm but was disturbed as he jerked violently. My eyes flew open and there, right in front of me, was Izabel. She was gloriously naked as she sat imperiously on his face and I could only try to imagine his shock.

I opened my mouth to speak but she put a finger to her lips and cautioned me to silence. Beneath me he settled once more, no doubt caught up in the throes of a new, enhanced, fantasy, and, as I watched I saw his tongue disappear into the dark thicket covering Izabel's sex.

I should have shouted, questioned, raged, instead I began to move once more now driven by the image of Izabel as she teased her nipples to erection whilst she enjoyed his oral ministrations.

Our bodies quickly became sheened in perspiration and I knew that I could not hold out for much longer but, as though sensing that the moment was upon me, Izabel reached up and, putting her hand behind her head, she gently drew my mouth down onto her breast. I sucked ravenously even as I started to come aware that inside me Mateus was ejaculating with an unaccustomed violence.

It took me a long while to recover and, whilst I tried to regain my breath, Izabel slipped away from me.

Mateus gasped as she got up from his face but his reprieve was short lived. Izabel took my hand and encouraged me to move. I felt his limp manhood fall away as she eased me forward and then I understood.

I positioned myself over his face once more.

"Não!"

He only managed the single word of protest. Izabel reached under me and pinched his nostrils closed whilst at the same time pushing her fingers painfully into his cheeks so that he could not close his jaw.

I do not know which cruel demon was driving me as I opened myself but it felt so good as I allowed the commingled fluids to ooze out of me to fall into his open mouth in a viscous trickle. Izabel continued to hold him tightly so that nothing was spared and I fleetingly thought of bringing myself off for a third time but he finally managed to close his mouth and this signalled the end.

He began to rant in Portuguese. It was the most angry I had ever seen him, but Izabel silently handed me back my clothes and ushered me from the room. As we stood together, conspiratorially, in the hall it seemed a fitting end. He would forever agonize over the identity of the second woman in the room.

Izabel went to her own room without another word and afterwards I was left to wonder if she knew I was leaving or if, perhaps, it had always been her plan to drive me to it. I could not even be sure whether or not she had intended me to find Mateus revealed in his true light.

Later that same night I was back in London removing the dust sheets from the furniture in my flat. It was hard to believe that so much had happened in so short a time. It felt as if I had been away for weeks.

The next morning I set about putting my life back on track. I got back into the studio and made a start on the most urgent of my recent commissions and, within a few weeks, things seemed back to normal.

Mateus tried to contact me but I refused his calls and, after a while, the frequency dwindled. Perhaps, after all, he guessed that I had been the second woman with all that that portended. I returned from the studio one evening to find a letter telling me that there was a packing case awaiting my disposal instructions and I guessed that he had shipped back the remainder of my belongings.

My New York exhibition was a success but I found that my paintings were taking on darker tones and themes which were a reflection of my continuingly disturbed state of mind. Not a day went by without me thinking of the Mateus of old but, more hauntingly, I could not rid myself of thoughts of Izabel.

Perversely, the new, more sinister, paintings sold well and I found myself in even greater demand which gave me an excuse for avoiding old friends. I was acutely aware that I had been re-examining past relationships for clues to my recent aberrant behaviour.

One morning I received an invitation that I could not refuse. Claire was back in London and had been nominated for a literary prize. The ceremony was at the Savoy hotel and her publisher had taken a table at the white tie event. Clair invited me to be one of her supporters and I could not let her down.

In the event Claire lost out to a young poet who was awarded the prize posthumously. She understood the reasoning for the sympathy vote but she did not take it well. She quickly got fed up with people offering their commiserations and when we went to the loo together she asked me if I would like to help her drown her sorrows up in her room away from the crowds.

Her publisher had put her up in a suite overlooking the Thames and we sat together in front of the picture windows and opened a bottle of wine. We were well into it when she delicately broached the subject of my own misfortunes.

"I was sorry to hear about you and Mateus. You seemed so sure when we met up in Seville."

"Things just didn't work out."

"I didn't like to say anything but I had a feeling you couldn't settle down. You're too much a woman of the world."

"No. It wasn't like that. I think I really loved him."

"Then what's the problem?"

"A jealous step-daughter."

"I thought you got on okay with her."