AUTHENTICITY MONTH: Diane, Chapter Seven by Bastard Keith 10.25.12

“Now, this is gonna be real simple if you just do what I tell you, okay?”  Rose held the boy’s face in her hands.  He gazed at her with a weak sort of ecstasy and nodded his head.  “These two women are my friends.  And you’re going to show them exactly how you behave with your superiors.  Is that clear?”  A pause.  She gave his face a tight slap.  “Is that clear?”

“Yes, Miss.  It’s perfectly clear.”

“Just say ‘Yes, Miss’ from now on.”

“Yes, Miss.”

Rose stood up from her crouching position and faced Heather and Diane.  She smiled.  “So who wants him first?”

“As host,” said Heather, “I think it only fair of me to offer the first dance to our beautiful guest.”

Diane looked at the boy.  He was so pale that in the dim light of the dungeon he looked almost bloodless.  His hair was a tousled mop of black, his eyes cast down in a very fetching humility, his lips thin and pursed.  He had a little bit of baby fat on him still, but only enough to make him seem faintly cherubic.  She found herself taking pity on him for a moment before catching sight of his penis.  It was awake, alive, stiff, dripping translucent fluid from the tip.  He was very obviously in heaven.

Diane had never simply looked at a penis before.  They were things to experience in the dark.  They weren’t to be looked at, considered, evaluated.  They were to be accepted and submitted to as a matter of course.  Only now, sizing up this sweetly deferential young man, Diane felt perfectly at liberty.  And she giggled.

Heather raised her eyebrows.  “Is our guest amused by this boy?  Is this a laugh of delight or a laugh of derision?”

Diane allowed herself to laugh more freely.  “I’ve just always been intimidated by…by those things.”  She pointed at the boy’s pulsing sex.

“You talking about his cock?” Rose asked.

“Oh, god, can I call it that?”  Diane felt herself loosening up.

“You can call it a goddamn Cadillac,” said Rose, and Heather sniggered.

Diane walked to the boy and knelt down, examining him closely and with total fascination.  “I’m looking at you.  I’m looking at your cock.  And I used to be intimidated by…by cocks.  But you’re so little.”  She giggled.  “You’re just an adorable, shy little thing and your cock isn’t scary at all.”  She began to run her fingers through his hair.  “You’re so shy and small and pretty.  And you’re acting like you’re scared of me.”

She ran her hands down his shoulders, gently dragging her nails over his stiff pink nipples.  He shuddered and his cock seemed to leap, the clear fluid now streaming.  She repeated the action to see if it happened again, and it did.  The boy’s breathing became sharper and shorter.

Rose and Heather, meanwhile, had taken seats on a long table padded with black leather.  Diane looked up at the two of them.  They were close, touching each other’s thighs, smiling, relaxing into each other.

“I can do whatever I want with him?”

Rose nodded and Heather squeezed her thigh.

“I can make him do whatever I want?”

Rose and Heather laughed, and Heather began to kiss Rose’s neck.  Rose spoke, huskily, “He’s my bitch.  And right now, I’m letting him be your bitch.”

Diane turned back to the boy.  She felt a sudden impulse to pinch his nipples.  She did, and the boy began to groan sweetly.  She twisted his nipples and he groaned more.  “You’re like a little puppet boy,” she said.

She kept her fingers holding his right nipple tight and moved her other hand down his abdomen.  Her nails left soft red lines in his flesh.  Finally, after passing through his wispy thatch of black pubic hair, those nails found their way to the base of his cock.  She began stroking it using only her nails, pulling up the length of it and then starting at the base again.  The boy was shaking, and he raised his eyes to meet hers.  He looked hypnotized.

Diane thought about it.  The puppet boy.  She kept the stroking going on his shaft and pinched his nipple harder, studying the intensity of his reaction.  Then she stopped stroking and watched his eyes thud back into some kind of consciousness, pleading with her to continue.  And she started again, and his eyes rolled back again.  She was, she realized, absolutely in control of his every sensation.  It seemed to make him very happy.

The significance of this hit Diane in a couple of ways: she was growing increasingly fond of the boy, she was a little bit frightened by how easily she had taken to manipulating him, and she was undeniably aroused by the prospect of making him dance to her every desire.   That lovely tickling feeling was happening again between her thighs, aching and growling like an unfed stomach.

“Boy,” she said.

“Y…yes, Miss?”

“You’ll do anything I tell you to do, won’t you?”

“Yes, Miss…”  He nodded urgently, breathlessly.

“I want you to do for me what you were doing for Miss Rose.  I want to know what that’s like.”

Diane stood up and looked at Rose and Heather, who were watching, transfixed, hands exploring each other freely.  She took a deep breath, pulled up her skirt and presented her ass to the boy.  She felt his nose and lips softly part her buttocks with little kisses and nuzzles.  Those kisses eventually made their way to her anus, which dilated and pulsed in surprise.  Diane bit her lip, waiting.  She felt the boy’s soft pink tongue trace circles around the hole, a hole she decided from now on would be called her rosebud.  He caressed her rosebud with his tongue, up and down, up and down.

She felt a wetness between her thighs that she’d never known.  And a scent made itself known to her.  She knew, somehow, that this was the smell of the wetness.  It hit her like a freshly remembered dream.

“Do it,” she breathed.

The boy very tenderly worked his tongue past her rosebud’s tight outer circle, sliding quite naturally up inside her.  Diane was hit with a sensation unfamiliar and wonderful, a feeling of being worshiped.  Pleasured.  It was so sweet and perfect that she immediately wanted him deeper.  So she pushed back onto his face, smothering him and forcing his tongue further up.  The itch between her legs was growing intolerable in concert with the boy’s doings.

Diane thought back to the bath.  To her hand, buried between her thighs, as if it were searching for something.  She reflexively repeated the gesture and she found exactly what she was searching for, that little fleshy nub just at the entrance to her pleasure, waiting to be touched.  She began to massage it, gently at first, then with greater pressure, as if some correct touch would make the ache go away.  The ache began to build again, as it had in the studio, flowering into overwhelming joy.  Learning as she went, Diane worked herself until it felt right, until the build to that explosive moment seemed inevitable.

And she felt it again.  The all-encompassing pulse that drove her to the brink of consciousness.  It was upon her.  But she delayed it, pulling away from the boy’s mouth.  There was something she wanted first.  She turned to face him, her entire body on fire with hunger.

“Lie down.  On your back.  Now.  NOW.”

The boy looked frightened by her intensity and hesitated for only a fraction of a second before complying.  He was flat as a board, his cock still standing up straight, eyes closed.  Diane stood over him and quickly lowered herself to her knees.  She rubbed her slit over him until she found his prick perfectly positioned to plunge inside her.  Using her hand, she guided him in and begin to work herself on him, her slippery walls sucking him inside and clenching.  She touched herself again, lost in delirium.

The boy’s hands crept, perhaps out of instinct, up Diane’s thighs.  But she grabbed his wrists and pinned them back on the floor, glaring in his face.

“No.  NO.”

The boy nodded frantically.  “I’m sorry, Miss!”

Diane touched herself again, celebrating her conquest.  At last, the act of sex wasn’t for anyone’s reasons but her own.  At last, no one was hectoring her about having a child.  At last, she controlled the pace and the force and the feeling.  She savored this for a moment, and then began to feel…relief.  This was the first time in her life that she had enjoyed sex.  And she smiled and her eyes filled with tears and she cried in happiness.  This did not stop her; rather, it drove her to chase that happiness with even more fervor.

The pulse reared its head again, starting to take over Diane’s mind and body.  She writhed and jerked on the boy, drawing power from his submission.  Her eyes traveled to Heather and Rose, who were now locked in an embrace, their hands between each other’s legs, kissing wildly.  Diane lifted out of her body for a brief moment, every sound silent, every object and being in the room bathed in light, and then crashed back into herself and a loud, tearful, joyful climax.

This time she rode it out, controlling its ebb and flow with her fingers, exploring what she could do to make this last as long as possible.  The pulse bucked her again.  And again.  And again.  Until she thought she could handle it no more.

Diane rolled off of the boy and onto her back next to him.  She stared at the ceiling, not even breathing.

The boy quietly begged, “May I…?”

She looked at him, at his still stiff member, deprived of release.  She felt no need to give him that release.

“PLEASE…” he whined.

“NO,” intoned Rose, breaking away from Heather.  “And for asking that, you don’t get to come for a week.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Rose…”

“Shut the hell up,” she said.  Her voice softened in an instant.  “Diane?  You okay?”

Diane sat up slowly, looking with wide, astonished eyes at the two women.  They sat forward, still in each other’s arms.

“I’m…I’m fine,” Diane said.  “I think I need to lie down somewhere.”

“I think,” Heather said, “that you need some place to stay for a while.  And I think that place is here.”

Diane suddenly felt a very familiar urge not to offend or impose.  “I…I don’t…is that all right with you?”

“You look pretty at home here to me.  And if you think I’m letting a prize beauty like you out of my sight for even a second, you’re out of your mind.”

“Hey,” pouted Rose.

Heather grinned at Diane.  “Gimme a minute.”  She pulled Rose in close and the two returned to their interrupted kiss.

Diane lay back down on the floor and looked up at the ceiling again.

“Okay,” she said.  Her eyes closed and she fell asleep right there, wondering if when she woke up it would reveal the evening as a dream.

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