‘No, but I’ve got nerve endings, like all women. Remember that.’
‘This is fucking fixed, man.’ My personal trainer slinks off, muttering.
I’m so sure that number three will be Lloyd that I almost call it out before Jerome says anything.
But then I think about it. Here I am, all taped up, wet and horny as hell, strapped in position. Do I really want to leave here without a fuck? I smile to myself, deciding to pretend not to recognise Lloyd until the final thrust hits home.
‘Well, you are on a roll, as they say,’ chuckles Jerome. ‘You obviously know these gentlemen well. They didn’t even need to get their cocks out. Let’s see if you guess our third contender as quickly.’
I can almost smell him before he approaches, the Lloyd-ness of him. To me he smells of pure sex, but somebody else might identify subtle aftershave, extra-strong mints masking the faint evidence of cigarettes and something else, something I’ve never been able to put my finger on but which must be pheromonal.
But the third man, when he finally hovers behind me, smells of very strong and unfamiliar cologne – reeks of it, in fact. My senses rebel, disappointed in the extreme. I clench my pussy tight, unconsciously repelling the unwanted cock.
Hang on, though. I still have enough working brain cells to figure out that this could be a deliberate ploy. It could still be Lloyd, in olfactory disguise.
Working on this theory, I relax my pelvic floor and hold my breath, the better to recognise further clues.
What would Lloyd do, confronted with me in this position?
Firstly, he would be riveted by my bum. He would grab handfuls of the reddened cheeks and squeeze them. Maybe he would kiss them – in fact, he certainly would. And he would give them an extra smack for luck while his tongue sought out the juices running below. Then he would take advantage of my helplessness to tease me, fingers almost hitting the spot but not quite, breathing over my clit but not allowing the all-important tongue tip to reach all the way. He would spread me wide and just look at me until I began to quiver and buck in my bonds.
I know he is trying to trick me now, because he does none of those things.
Instead, I feel knuckles graze the back of my thigh, the small exposed part at the top, very gently, tickling them. I try to wriggle away but he continues. I can’t gauge hand size or anything from this – it could still be someone else. He isn’t standing close enough for me to detect the underlying Lloyd-fragrance.
The knuckles move up and rest themselves in the crease between bottom and thigh. They sit there for a while, sinking in. I feel him shuffle forwards, closer.
I hear him take a breath.
It’s Lloyd. Definitely, beyond doubt. That’s the way he breathes.
He can’t see my face-splitting smile, which is good, because I don’t want him getting any ideas.
I think he deduces, maybe from the exhalation or the sudden relaxation of my shoulders, that I have figured out who he is, though, because from there on in he makes no attempt to hide his sexual identity.
His fingers uncurl and his Lloyd-sized hands flatten over the curve of my bum. There’s a squeeze and I picture his lustful expression in my mind’s eye. His thumbs reach between my cheeks and press into the tender inner flesh, making my sphincter jump in tense expectation.
Next I guess he has dropped to his haunches, because the sudden gusts of warmth on my clit suggest his breath in close proximity. I sigh with pleasure as his hands reach forwards to fondle my breasts. It’s the way he does it, that unerring knowledge of what it takes to make my nipples unbearably tight and send waves of buzzy desire from them to my crotch.
He keeps them in hand and then there is one broad lick between my pussy lips, scooping up the juices, then his tongue circles my vagina, round and round, moving further in with each rotation until he is fucking me with it, shallowly and tormentingly, while I strain against the straps.
I can’t take
too much of this, and it isn’t long before I start to protest, little whimpers that I hope convey the sentiment ‘get on with it and fuck me, soldier’.
He buries his face in me, releases my breasts and moves his tactile investigations to my cunt, concentrating on that area with intense focus.
If I come, if he makes me come, it seems important that he should know I know it’s him. But I don’t want to let that information slip before I get his cock in me.
I mustn’t come yet. I must get his cock in me.
‘Please,’ I mutter, hoping this will suffice.
But he doesn’t reply, just keeps the finger and tongue pressure right up.
‘Please,’ I shout this time. ‘Please. I need cock. Fuck me, please.’
He makes me wait a few seconds longer, but I know he won’t be able to resist this direct plea, and my gamble pays off.