Slave To Six Worlds

CHAPTER TWO: At Last, the Impromptu Consummation of a High-Society Wedding-1

CHAPTER TWO: At Last, the Impromptu Consummation of a High-Society Wedding

When the beautiful exhibition of Cynthia’s helpless orgasm finally was completed, she lay panting upon the sweaty leather, only distantly aware that her husband had withdrawn himself from the snug cradle of her mouth. Her heartbeat gradually slowed, and her gloved fingertips fell to her stockinged thighs. Endless moments later she found the strength to open her flushed eyelids.

“Oh, Steven,” she murmured as she saw him kneel between her ankles with an indulgent smile, “thank you. Thank you.”

“You really needed that, darling,” he replied softly. Tenderly he leaned forward and kissed her upon the tip of her nose. Then he kissed her chastely upon her lips, those wild lips which but a moment before had gobbled whorishly at his naked c**k.

“But, Steven,” she said, frowning, “you didn’t…” She was not quite even sure how to say it.

“Oh, my dirty little angel-w***e,” he exclaimed happily, “you were exquisite! It was all I could do to keep myself from pumping my c*m down your sweet throat.” Suddenly he looked sly. “Is that you wanted…?”

Cynthia fidgeted. No, of course she did not want that! Why, how perverse and disgusting it would be for someone for ejaculate right into her poor mouth, thick clingy sperm splattering and gushing, filling her cheeks, glossing her tongue, writhing in clammy strings down her gagging throat! And yet… Well, if it would please her husband, then might not even this forbidden act be allowable, even right somehow? She blinked confusedly.

“Is it?” he wondered again. “Does my little c*m-slut want a mouthful of jism?” he taunted. His eyes gleamed excited and hard. “A nice great big bubbly load to smack and play with and taste…?”

Uncertainly she licked her lips. If she wanted that, then of course she was just a dirty w***e—there would be no denying it, surely. Yet if this unspeakable thing was not what she desired, then of course she was a bad wife, a girl who already spurned her husband’s needs bare minutes after the nuptials. Why, either alternative was unnatural and wrong! Oh, the shame of it!

“Is it…?” he pressed, watching her closely.

Cynthia swallowed, and at last found her voice. “Wh-whatever you l-like, dear,” she managed dutifully.

At this Steven chuckled to himself. “That’s right,” he nodded, half to himself. “That’s right…” Appraisingly he eyed her from the splayed thighs between which she had just rubbed herself like an animal, across her hipbones and fluttering belly, up between the soft mounds of her upstanding bare breasts, into her uncertain face, and back down again. He licked his lips at the sight of the slippery nest of flesh and hair and fluids gleaming puffy-lipped and fragrant so close before him, and then he looked unhurried back up into her wide-eyed face visage once more. “But no,” he reassured her, “it just wasn’t quite time for me yet. On her wedding day my blushing bride deserves more than merely one orgasm, don’t you think?”

Cynthia bit her lip as Steven reached out and began stroking his hands idly along the soft sides of her full breasts again. Her flaccid n*****s stood up again eagerly, making her blush. Smiling knowingly, he scratched his nails lightly across the crinkled areolas, then commenced fingering the stiff buds of erectile tissue that protruded straight up from their centers. It made her hungry again inside.

“You see?” he said, nodding indulgently at the evidence of her renewed excitement. “Cyn, sexually, a woman is just so much more versatile than a man. It’s the way you’re set up, the way your nervous system and blood vessels are laid down. I wouldn’t dream of having my fun until your lovely, naturally whorish body is more satisfied.”

“Steven, you’ll spoil me…” she began, not very convincingly. And silently she prayed he would continue, would force upon her helpless young flesh all the exquisitely perverse joys she suddenly knew it deserved—

“Yes,” he confirmed matter-of-factly, “maybe I will. I love you, Cynthia, and I’ll do anything—everything—for you.” The corner of his lips twitched. “And to you…”

The girl’s eyes flashed, but then, guiltily, she tried to keep from looking so expectant. It would not be proper to appear too eager, she told herself primly. That, after all, was not ladylike. Of course… Well, she could not help wondering crookedly, was it ladylike to masturbate yourself like an absolute nymphomaniac while a man, lawful husband though he may be, watched your every compulsive struggle? Inwardly she smiled at the pleasantly confusing contradiction. There were, she was discovering to her delight, certain situations for which neither the etiquette books nor Mother’s blushing little talks could quite prepare the girl…

“Yes, whatever you want, baby,” Steven continued as he cupped the resilient mounds of her breasts, gathering the tender pink-brown peaks of her n*****s between his expertly pinching fingers and thumbs. “Whatever you need.” Smilingly he watched her shiver in response. “Why, if you got the craving suddenly to wallow in your lusts, to f**k your way around the whole Solar System, you know I would arrange it for you. Anything to satisfy your curiosities, sweetie—your naughty mind and your curvy, big-titted blonde body.” He c****d an eyebrow questioningly at her, almost as if daring her to accept the challenge.

“You would?” she whispered, wide-eyed. Her pulse throbbed liquidly in her crotch. “Why, Steven!” she gasped reflexively. She knew she should be shocked… yet instead she found herself wickedly excited.

What if it really could be her turn, she wondered suddenly in frank curiosity, to experience all the unspeakable sensuality that Steven already had? What if she indeed could fulfill any dirty fantasy she chose, without hesitation or remorse, and all with her husband’s approval? Oh, she of course, could never accept such an offer—could she? Could she?—but as a mere laughable fancy, surely it could cause no harm.

Once upon a time a girl would have to hesitate for fear of pregnancy or at least disease. Dr. Weinstein just this morning, however, had turned off her ovulation, ready to reset the cycle whenever the new couple desired. That upright old friend of the family would not have done it even a single day before the wedding, naturally, but—well, she had heard whispered rumors now and then of less reputable physicians among the fast set with different scruples… And whereas old scare-words like gonorrhea and syphilis once had raged through the lower orders of society—and perhaps, now and then, even had touched the higher classes as well—science, of course, had conquered all such social diseases back in the Twentieth Century.

Now, therefore, a young lady was restrained not by mere biology but instead by conscience and propriety. She had always been told that these were the far stronger and more important things. Now, however… Well, now that her slyly smirking husband seemed to dangle before her all the forbidden delights of the flesh that she knew a good girl was not supposed to want, she was not quite so sure. Cynthia knew it was wrong even to think of such things, but for a moment the poor girl nevertheless could not help imagining what, if only given the opportunity, she actually might let herself do…

To her chagrin, Steven pursed his lips knowingly at the betraying expression that flickered across her face. “Oh, you needn’t be coy with me,” he said softly. “Remember, I’ve done it. Back when you were still a good girl, I was a very, very bad boy indeed. I know just the things that would make you happy…”

He leaned forward across her, his naked chest upon hers, and kissed her squarely on the mouth. His tongue slipped between her lips, cavorting in the silken hollow within her cheeks, making her squirm beneath him. Skillfully he stimulated her, and even as his hands fondled her bare breasts, she fancied she could discern the bobbing of his p***s against her thigh. Oh, if only he would simply climb up onto her and dig his thumbs in the thickened lips of her cunt and just grind himself into her—

Yet as she trembled at his touch, he slipped gradually back, his lips moving from her mouth, down her throat and her high young breasts, across her flat abdomen. Groaning, he tongued her sensitive navel. She shivered at his tantalizing attentions, but then she stiffened, uncertain, as he nuzzled about her fluttering belly, breathing deep of the musky aroma of the sweaty blonde curls which tickled his chin. To Cynthia that suddenly seemed too much.

“Steven…” she whispered indecisively.

“Yes, my darling,” answered his bland voice. His face slipped lower, and his nose brushed against wet fur as he rotated his head to begin nibbling at the naked skin of the thighs above her stocking tops.

“I— W-w-well…” Red-faced, she hardly knew what to say. And now his hands reached under her to cup distractingly at her supple buttocks. She wanted to hide from his frank, searching gaze and yet somehow at the same time to expose herself to it even further. She wished he would—would— Suddenly she didn’t know what she wanted, or even how to say it.

“You’ve never had your cunt licked, have you, darling?” he murmured.

She gasped at his words, speechless. She squirmed as he licked along the creamy flesh of her trembling thigh, ever inward, tantalizing her, suddenly making her crave something she had not even known existed. It seemed so embarrassing, so terrible… but silently she cried out for him to continue.

“But you’re a cocksucker now, aren’t you, Cyn?” he prodded smugly.

“Yes, dear,” she whispered, both embarrassed and yet secretly proud at once.

“Yes, you took to it like one of the skinny runaway camp followers who hang around the thorium mines outside of Venusberg.” His grin was superior and leering. “Oh, the swanky pleasure palaces of the human settlement have some truly elegant thousand-dollar courtesans who are worth every penny,” he assured her calmly, “refined young ladies trained in psychology at Vassar and anatomy at Bryn Mawr so that they know with scientific precision every possible way to tease, and please, a man…”

Cynthia could only blink down wide-eyed at the unheard-of notion. Why, the thought of some high-society debutante such as herself actually volunteering for treatment like that! Could it be true? Might some daughter of privilege who had all the opportunity in the world—in several worlds, really—choose not the sanctity of a snow-white marriage but instead some den of vice on one of the frontier planets? But why? she asked herself, trying to maintain the shock and disapproval she knew she should feel. And yet at the same time, rather secretly, she also could not help wondering, well… how?

“Whether it is the way to pose that sets off the curve of the hips to best advantage or the way to stretch and bend that allows the watcher just the right glimpse down silky-soft cleavage,” crooned Steven imperturbably, “the coy hesitation and the lowering of the eyelids just so, or even simply the subtlest way to use cosmetics, these supposed ladies begin from the soundest grounding of theoretical psychology, so that a man’s mind is a mere object upon which they work their craft, just as a sculptor shapes clay or wood to create exactly the form he desires.”

Licking her lips, the wide-eyed blonde could only marvel at the determination this type of learning must take, the forthrightness.

“But the study of anatomy,” nodded her husband sagely, “pays off in the understanding of the different male erogenous zones and the various means of their stimulation. Perhaps it is kissing along some poor fellow’s shivering neck or nibbling upon the blood-warmed earlobe. Perhaps it is scratching and pinching at the too-often neglected little points of the hairy n*****s, or clutching and pulling ever so delicately upon the scrunched-up skin of a sperm-heavy scrotum. Perhaps,” he shrugged crookedly, “it is even the technique of greasing up a pair of slim fingers, thrusting them right up the ass of some surprised customer and rubbing the confused man deep within, in a place he did not even know existed, so that in his grateful surrender he can only gasp and wallow and squeal as he squirts helplessly all over the inside of the smirking thing’s mouth…”

Cynthia’s jaw dropped. Her eyes went wide as she realized what Steven had said. Could a girl do that? she wondered in a peculiar sort of awe. Why would she? And yet what would it do to a man? Would he truly writhe and squeal? The unnatural thought should have revolted her, but somehow it was most compelling to imagine some big swaggering male made helpless like that, forced to grovel in the throes of passions he could not acknowledge yet could not deny. Oh, the things this husband of hers knew! she marveled once more.