Madame B - Seduction

This is when he takes his head away and opens his fly to reveal a quivering, smooth cock that bobs inches from my eyes. I gaze at the beautiful silken skin and the lone vein that throbs and pounds along the length of it.

"I don't know whether to fuck you in that beautiful red mouth or in that beautiful red cunt," he says idly. I open my mouth to beg him to fuck me in the pussy, but he sticks his cock between my lips and thrusts hard against the back of my throat, his dick silencing me. I am helpless before him, naked except for my boots, as he deep-throats me. I let my body turn to jelly; he can do whatever he likes. When I think I'm about to pass out, he pulls his dick out of me. A red lipstick ring decorates the base of his cock and the top of his balls. He pulls me by the hair so that I'm on my feet again, and, without letting go of my hair, he jabs his hard-on between my legs. Our bodies fit together perfectly, smoothly, and when he fills me up, I whimper with pleasure. I lean against him, pressing my body on his, my tits on his chest, my clit grinding into him. I've held off my orgasm for long enough, I think, as he spears into me again and again and again. Then I come, once, twice, three times, a tsunami of pleasure washing over my body. I want to feel his own juices spurt and warm up my insides, but he pulls out and shoots his spunk onto my chest.

Florian's dick is still oozing pearly liquid when he wrestles my boob tube back up over my body, stretching it over my tits so that his semen is trapped between my skin and the thin layer of latex. As I retrieve my shorts from around my knees, he kisses my stomach slowly, his gentle touch gradually bringing me back down to earth and soothing the scorch marks of his earlier touches. Finally he wipes the smeared lipstick from my face. Without a backward glance, he swishes through the curtain and goes back into the club, leaving me in a tingling heap on the stairs, his come cooling on my tits and inside my shorts.

When I step back into the club, Claudia looks up sharply. "Why are you back so quickly?" she admonishes me. "I said take a good fifteen minutes!" And then, looking me up and down again, "What happened to your armbands?"

I look at the clock in disbelief. I've been gone less than five minutes. Only the sticky spunk against my skin and the taste of his cock on my lips tells me I didn't imagine the whole thing. I scan the dark club. Happy, smiling people throng the room. He isn't one of them. But he'll be back. I know it.

Who hasn't dreamed of finding a world where anything goes, where you can voice your most extreme sexual desires without being judged, where a constant supply of new, willing lovers is always on hand? It sounds too good to be true, but these places do exist. You just have to know where to look for them. Charmaine had always dreamed of finding people like herself, people who wanted to swap sensual experiences, who would let her indulge her curiosity for other men and women. When her lover found a cruise ship that was strictly adults only, she found her own idea of heaven here on earth. Well, on the sea… A cruise?" I looked at Ben in disbelief. A He was supposed to be my sex slave, my partner in crime, my beautiful boy. And for our first holiday in years, he'd booked us on a cruise, which would be full of old women playing bingo and fat, ancient men sunbathing in banana hammocks. "You've booked us on a cruise? What next? A pipe and slippers?" I stormed off upstairs to the bedroom, regretting the decision to hand our vacation planning over to him. I'd wanted somewhere exotic, earthy, sexy; a bit of sensual luxury in the Maldives, maybe, or a vibrant city packed with sex clubs like Paris. But a goddamned cruise?

Ben took my outburst in good humor. "Trust me, Charmaine," he said. "I promise it'll be fun. Have I ever let you down before?"

He hadn't, of course. Usually Ben's surprises were very sexy and creative, but something as mundane as a cruise was totally out of character.

Ben followed me upstairs and slid a brochure in my direction.

"Trust me," he said. "Just look at where I'm taking you, and then tell me if you still think I'm ready for a pipe and slippers."

He pushed the slim, glossy brochure across the duvet to me. Instead of pictures of middle-aged men and women on its cover, there was a gang of glorious bodies, all entwined on the same lounge chair, looking bronzed and relaxed. And then I saw what it said. "The Swinging Ship," it read. "The cruise company where anything goes."

Intrigued, I flipped through the pages and discovered that this wasn't just any old cruise around the Mediterranean. This was a sex cruise, a couples-only floating paradise for those who wanted to experiment with their bodies-and other people's, too. Idle browsing turned to serious interest as I read about nightclub rooms where clothing was optional, a huge sauna complex, and luxurious cabins with beds large enough for six or seven people. Glossy pictures of young, attractive couples from all over Europe illustrated the brochure. I'd always loved the idea of going to an orgy, and now Ben had decided to make my fantasy a reality. I pictured Ben and me among their number and looked up to see him standing in the doorway, a smile of self-satisfaction on his face.

"You clever bastard," I said. "Now come here and let me say thank you." I hitched up my skirt, and we fucked on our bed there and then. Ben lay on top, his chunky body crushing the breath out of me as he whispered in my ear about how sexy it would be when we saw other couples fucking. He told me how he couldn't wait to show me off to all those other men. The more he talked, the more I lost myself in the fantasy. When I came, about thirty seconds after he penetrated me, it was the strongest, sweetest orgasm I'd had in years.

Before we left for our cruise, I visited my favorite lingerie boutique and picked up several exquisite designer bikinis, scraps of spandex in vibrant colors, barely held together with wisps of string and lace. They left nothing about my body to the imagination. If I was going to spend the next week wearing very little, then I wanted what little I did wear to be sensational. I read and reread the brochure, so excited that I didn't know what aspect of the ship I would enjoy exploring the most. I decided that I was going to try everything, from the sex swing in the ship's dungeon, to the naked sauna, to the nude sunbathing. Ben and I were going to have the holiday of our lives together! For the next day or so I was constantly wet just at the thought of it. I could have made love to Ben ten times a day, but I decided to abstain before the holiday to let the exquisite tension buildup. We didn't discuss it, but I knew Ben felt the same way; after five years we knew each other inside and out.

We flew to the south of France and boarded the ship in a private harbor near Nice. I'd never been up close to a cruise liner before, and it was a vast, floating hotel. Lights twinkled from windows and it was thrilling to think of all the adventures that lay in store for us on deck. Walking up the gangplank we noticed an extremely glamorous couple who had been on our flight. Both were tall and slender. He had olive skin and piercing blue eyes under jet-black eyebrows while she was as pale as he was tanned, with long red hair that wound down her back in flaming ropes.

"Well," Ben said, watching me devour their bodies with my eyes, "if all the clientele are this sexy, I think we're going to have a rather wonderful time."

Our cabin was, as promised, beautiful, with dark, dramatic, Gothic decor; deep red walls, arched mirrors, and black, wrought-iron candelabra hanging from the ceiling. The cabin was dominated by a vast iron bed. It was thrilling to be here, but as Ben and I dressed for dinner, we were suddenly nervous, too. This was something we'd always talked about, but now that we were here we felt like two kids on their first day of school. What if the other couples didn't want to play with us? What if we didn't want to play with them? We were after a fun, sexy, anything-goes atmosphere, but what if other people's idea of "swinging" was dark and sinister? Our arousal was masked by a shared sense of trepidation.