LITMIR.BIZ

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immediately my cheeks tingled with a perverse desire to be filled with the hard baton imprisoned in my beloved’s trousers.

      ‘Yes, in my mouth,’ I lied, ‘but it was only once. I felt so ashamed and clumsy.’

      ‘There, there, we all improve with practice.’

      I took a deep breath. ‘May I practise with you, sir?’

      He laughed softly. ‘You have become shameless, haven’t you? Still, the French way is a useful method to please a man when you don’t want a child. Your beau was honourable to suggest it, so I in turn would be honoured to help you refine your skills for him.’

      Thus I found myself kneeling between the master’s naked thighs, in a most intimate congress with his male member. Half of me wanted to close my eyes in terror, the other half wanted to study it like a schoolbook: the ruddy, rigid pole rearing up from the cushion of hair, the purplish head that poked through the folds at the top. My belly was in a knot, excitement mixed with fear. Could he tell I’d told a fib?

      His unfailing gentlemanly courtesy soon calmed me.

      ‘Kiss it first. Gently. That’s right. Now take it in your mouth. Just the tip.’

      My lips stretched around his knob. Down between my legs, my other mouth contracted in sympathy.

      ‘That’s good. Now slowly, up and down. You remember well. Is this how he liked it?’ Gazing down at me with lust-veiled eyes, he rocked his hips up, pushing his cock deeper into my willing orifice. ‘You may feel like choking, but just relax your throat. Good girl. Very good.’

      Never had I done anything so bestial, so decadent. Never had anything brought such dark pleasure. My master was finally in my power.

      ‘Put your hand around the bottom and hold it fast. Now move up and down, hand and lips together. Oh, God, yes.’

      He arched back, his eyes squeezed shut.

      ‘Harder, suck it harder.’

      My jaw was sore, but I persevered, revelling in the way the fleshy tube responded to my attentions.

      ‘Harder, oh, Jesus Christ Almighty.’

      The shaft jerked between my lips. Hot, bitter liquid filled my mouth, and I fought the impulse to spit, forcing myself instead to swallow it down like a good girl takes medicine. The master groaned and pawed my hair, then went slack like a puppet.

      I furtively wiped the last drops of male essence from my chin.

      ‘Come here, you darling girl.’ He hugged me close as if he’d never release me. ‘Lips like heaven, that’s what you have. Only your second time and you’re better than the whores in Paris.’

      By and by, he asked if my betrothed had shown me the French way to please a woman.

      ‘He started to, but his mother came back from the market too soon.’ What else could I say? I was desperate to know that mysterious art.

      ‘Then I’ll carry on where he left off,’ he said, peeling away my drawers and putting his own heavenly lips to my secret female place. His tongue darted between my nether lips, probing the softness until I let out a cry of delight. Next he began to lick me there as you might a strawberry ice at a country fair, up and down, up and down, with unflagging ardour. A pressure was building in my belly, like a fire, crackling and wild. The fire blazed higher, then suddenly shattered in my womb into a thousand tiny flames. I writhed like a madwoman as an invisible fist closed and opened between my legs.

      When I came back to my senses, the master was smiling down at me.

      ‘You’re a natural, you know. I wonder if you’d be my accomplice in another naughty scheme to put my friends in their proper place. Would you like to hear it?’

      Still floating in carnal bliss, I nodded. After all, I could always refuse.

      * * *

      The room at the restaurant was undoubtedly furnished for after-dinner amour with its spacious daybed, a wingback chair and a washbowl for intimate ablutions. There I put the finishing touches to my second costume: a pretty nightgown and velvet wrapper, with my hair brushed down over my shoulders like a fine lady about to retire to her bed.

      But my duties for the evening had only begun. I realised I was trembling. I’d sung well enough, but I was still a novice at this kind of performance. I gave myself courage by remembering that this was my wedding gift to Charles, an offering he’d treasure more than the finest silver or French porcelain.

      There was a knock at the door.

      I hurried to open it.

      Standing before me was my master’s blond friend, Mr Sheldon Maxwell.

      ‘Oh, my, I am the lucky winner,’ he drawled, raising his eyebrows at my suggestive attire.

      ‘Come in, sir,’ I said, smiling bashfully. ‘Please take a seat.’

      ‘Did I win a private concert?’ He settled into the leather chair, his male excitement already evident to my discerning eye.

      ‘More than that, sir. You’ve won a trip to France.’ I knelt before him and smiled into his eyes. He looked confused, which made me brave. ‘May I take down your trousers?’

      ‘What’s this then?’

      ‘You said you wanted me to kiss you, sir.’

      ‘That I did.’ Chuckling, he lounged back in the chair and let me attend to him, the confusion now turned most thoroughly to lust.

      First I fondled his long, slim cock and bollocks, until he stood stiffly at attention. Then I kissed his mighty soldier, starting at the base and moving slowly toward the sensitive helmet. Mr Maxwell seemed to enjoy this very much, for he whimpered and grabbed the arms of the chair. Finally I took the knob in my mouth, swirling my tongue around it.

      ‘Good God, girl, he’s trained you well,’ he hissed.

      In reply, I slid my lips all the way down, sucking gently. Since I’d practised with the master over a dozen times in the past few days, my skills were far more assured.

      Mr Maxwell groaned and shifted in the chair.

      After that it didn’t take long. I bobbed over him just a few times before he spent helplessly down my throat.

      Well schooled as I was in the art, I didn’t spill a drop.

      My blood racing with my first taste of victory, I tidied myself up and waited for the next knock.

      I knew it would be Green Eyes, known to society as Mr. John Davis. This gentleman seemed more at ease in my presence. He smirked at my nightdress and fingered the pile of towels on the washstand with an appreciative grunt.

      ‘Stingy old Charles said I couldn’t have you below the waist, but everything above is mine to enjoy as I desire. There was also something about a trip to France?’

      ‘Paris, sir.’ I gave him a saucy look. If the master had primed this one for the game, so would I play it. ‘The boat departs when you take down your trousers.’

      ‘Indeed, but first I’d like you to take off that wrapper and open your nightgown for me. Only to the waist of course.’

      I blushed, but willed myself to untie the ribbons down the front of the nightgown with a steady hand.

      Green Eyes took the liberty of pulling the nightgown down over my shoulders to expose my bosom to his satisfaction.

      ‘Now let’s go to Paris, little Irene.’

      This gentleman’s manhood was shorter, but quite robust. While I pleasured him, he called out a series of commands – ‘slow now’, ‘use your tongue all around’, ‘take it deeper’–all the while kneading my bosom and flicking my nipples to points with his thumbs. Finally he barked, ‘Stop there, girl.’

      Timidly I obeyed. Had

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