Isabella floated through her summer. She worked in her garden and prepared new notes for her fall seminar. Two or three days a week she drove to the old house across town and knocked on the door, and when she was led inside she became Vanessa, and she made herself available to the men and women within, sometimes for hours, sometimes for a day or more. She had come to the house at the invitation of her student Tom, who drew her there with a series of mails that had hypnotized her, probing at and revealing her darker secrets.
It wasn’t until the end of summer that Tom actually took her. When they first met at the house he turned her over to the host, who fucked her from behind over his desk and then guided her to her knees to clean his cock with her mouth. She was then led away, her clothes removed and replaced by a Victorian garment that left access to her breasts and cunt and ass. She was taken to a parlor and told--most often courteously, sometimes brusquely, and on occasion with only a hand on her hip or around her arm--what was expected of her as a woman of the house. Over the weeks Vanessa came to know the men and women gathered by the host. She learned their preferences through observation and experience: this one liked to cum on her lips and chin; another preferred the use of her ass. The Swede liked her to kneel on the couch while he fucked her from behind, admiring the way his thick cock worked at her cunt, how her labia moved in and pulled out with each thrust. The host rarely touched her, and when he did, it was to bind her hands above her and leave her on display for an hour or two, sometimes in the main room, or in an upstairs hall, where she could look out a window and watch the shadows slide across the lawn, waiting for someone to come for her.
Late one afternoon Tom came up to the hall while Vanessa was tethered there. He reached between her legs to feel how wet she was (and she had become even wetter, hearing the footstep on the stairs, so that when he put his fingers to her cunt, a soft clicking noise rose, as well as her musk, a bitter honeysuckle). Vanessa looked down at Tom. From where he knelt she couldn’t see his eyes, but only the slope of his cheek, the tousle of his hair, and his hands, which slid down the insides of her thighs, cool against her hot skin. Tom reached for one of her feet, lifted it from the floor, and he leaned down and gave it a soft kiss. For a moment he held his lips to her, and then ran his finger under the arch. Vanessa shivered. Tom began to tickle her foot, his fingers skittering lightly along the sole and beneath the toes, and Vanessa danced, constrained by the ropes around her wrists. She twisted and turned and tried to get away from his hands, and she heard Tom laugh as she began to plead for him to stop. He released her foot, only to take up the soft attack on her thighs and belly and behind her knees and along her ribs. Vanessa laughed and begged and it went on and on until she began to shriek, and then he stopped, whispering, “Shh, shh.”
Slowly she calmed, her nerves subsiding to dull butterflies, her breath returning to normal. Tom began again, now concentrating on the hollows under her arms, and again Vanessa began to twist and cry out. Tom laughed, a low sound deep in his throat, his eyes shining, as Vanessa tried to dance away from his fingers. Her bare feet stamped the floor and she began a keening: “Please…” When tears broke from her eyes and slid down her cheeks, Tom released Vanessa from her bonds and pulled her close. He licked away her tears and kissed the corner of her mouth, and then led her across the narrow hall to the window, his hand on her hip.
Vanessa waited while Tom opened the window. The window was deep, with a cushioned seat. Tom lay Vanessa on her back, so that her shoulders rested against the sill. His eyes on hers, a half-smile crooking his mouth, he unbuttoned his trousers and released his cock. Vanessa lay still, waiting, and Tom parted her legs with his knee, and in a swift motion he thrust into her. She groaned and wrapped her legs around his waist and he began a slow fucking, one hand pulling her ass to him, the other cradling her head, his mouth on her neck, sucking and biting.
As their coupling became fiercer, the host walked onto the lawn. He lit a cigar and watched as the pair rose to their climax together, their bodies hot and sweat-slick. But he was too far away to hear Tom whisper, “Mine,” as the first spurt of cum left his cock, nor did he hear Vanessa whisper, “Yours,” as her orgasm began its slow ripple outward from her cunt to the far reaches of her body.
It wasn’t until the end of summer that Tom actually took her. When they first met at the house he turned her over to the host, who fucked her from behind over his desk and then guided her to her knees to clean his cock with her mouth. She was then led away, her clothes removed and replaced by a Victorian garment that left access to her breasts and cunt and ass. She was taken to a parlor and told--most often courteously, sometimes brusquely, and on occasion with only a hand on her hip or around her arm--what was expected of her as a woman of the house. Over the weeks Vanessa came to know the men and women gathered by the host. She learned their preferences through observation and experience: this one liked to cum on her lips and chin; another preferred the use of her ass. The Swede liked her to kneel on the couch while he fucked her from behind, admiring the way his thick cock worked at her cunt, how her labia moved in and pulled out with each thrust. The host rarely touched her, and when he did, it was to bind her hands above her and leave her on display for an hour or two, sometimes in the main room, or in an upstairs hall, where she could look out a window and watch the shadows slide across the lawn, waiting for someone to come for her.
Late one afternoon Tom came up to the hall while Vanessa was tethered there. He reached between her legs to feel how wet she was (and she had become even wetter, hearing the footstep on the stairs, so that when he put his fingers to her cunt, a soft clicking noise rose, as well as her musk, a bitter honeysuckle). Vanessa looked down at Tom. From where he knelt she couldn’t see his eyes, but only the slope of his cheek, the tousle of his hair, and his hands, which slid down the insides of her thighs, cool against her hot skin. Tom reached for one of her feet, lifted it from the floor, and he leaned down and gave it a soft kiss. For a moment he held his lips to her, and then ran his finger under the arch. Vanessa shivered. Tom began to tickle her foot, his fingers skittering lightly along the sole and beneath the toes, and Vanessa danced, constrained by the ropes around her wrists. She twisted and turned and tried to get away from his hands, and she heard Tom laugh as she began to plead for him to stop. He released her foot, only to take up the soft attack on her thighs and belly and behind her knees and along her ribs. Vanessa laughed and begged and it went on and on until she began to shriek, and then he stopped, whispering, “Shh, shh.”
Slowly she calmed, her nerves subsiding to dull butterflies, her breath returning to normal. Tom began again, now concentrating on the hollows under her arms, and again Vanessa began to twist and cry out. Tom laughed, a low sound deep in his throat, his eyes shining, as Vanessa tried to dance away from his fingers. Her bare feet stamped the floor and she began a keening: “Please…” When tears broke from her eyes and slid down her cheeks, Tom released Vanessa from her bonds and pulled her close. He licked away her tears and kissed the corner of her mouth, and then led her across the narrow hall to the window, his hand on her hip.
Vanessa waited while Tom opened the window. The window was deep, with a cushioned seat. Tom lay Vanessa on her back, so that her shoulders rested against the sill. His eyes on hers, a half-smile crooking his mouth, he unbuttoned his trousers and released his cock. Vanessa lay still, waiting, and Tom parted her legs with his knee, and in a swift motion he thrust into her. She groaned and wrapped her legs around his waist and he began a slow fucking, one hand pulling her ass to him, the other cradling her head, his mouth on her neck, sucking and biting.
As their coupling became fiercer, the host walked onto the lawn. He lit a cigar and watched as the pair rose to their climax together, their bodies hot and sweat-slick. But he was too far away to hear Tom whisper, “Mine,” as the first spurt of cum left his cock, nor did he hear Vanessa whisper, “Yours,” as her orgasm began its slow ripple outward from her cunt to the far reaches of her body.
