Slave To Six Worlds

CHAPTER TWO: At Last, the Impromptu Consummation of a High-Society Wedding-2

Steven’s eyes flashed at the look in his wife’s rapt face. “These high-society young ladies will learn all of it,” he confirmed quietly. “All of it.” He nodded again. “And they will conclude, of course, with an internship on their backs under the close supervision of some of the most experienced and exacting madams in the Solar System, such that their lovemaking is nothing less than a true work of art.”

Cynthia’s breath was unsteady beneath her stiff-tipped bare bosoms. How strange to think of demure-seeming ladies of leisure posing perfumed and lovely in some well-appointed drawing room decorated in furniture of baroquely worked Venusian cypress and moss-velvet, ladies smilingly ready and available, elegantly clothed—if clothed truly was the word—in revealing silks whose drape flattered every curve, glowing hair coiffed just so, as some coarse laborer judiciously inspected them like lined-up cattle. And then at last the chosen siren would take her customer’s callused blunt hand in her cool, slim palm and lead the man up those soft-carpeted stairs and down a red-wallpapered hall, to a room just like all the rest they had passed, in each of which some fellow even then already was working at gratifying himself upon, and within, a gently smiling hostess who accepted his every grunting thrust with grace, tact, and composure. Perhaps if one paused, the listener could even hear the rhythmic struggles.

But onward they would go, hand in hand like newlyweds, and there at last, when the door closed behind them, she belonged to him—all to him. This genteel flower of femininity once had sparkled in the parties of the well-to-do of Earth’s fashionable cites, seemingly destined to a life of propriety on the arm of some high-society husband, but her secret needs had led her elsewhere, and now instead she would give herself to strangers for money. With playful coquetry such a girl would slide her sleek flesh from her lace-trimmed negligee, perhaps to stand coyly for a moment with one hand and forearm inadequately shielding her breasts and one palm as a fig leaf over the wide delta of her fragrant silken curls. She might tease him a little with her pretended sudden hesitance, watching the desire flame in his defenseless eyes.

Soon, though, this happily fallen maiden, sensing that her poor quarry could take no more, would recline gracefully in fresh clean sheets, and she would spread her soft pale thighs understandingly to show him what he needed. Yes, he could see it then—even smell it! At last the girl would hook one finger, eyes shining as she beckoned smirkingly for the grinning brute to climb up and do to her lily-white body anything and everything it took to make him feel he was truly a man—and, perhaps, to make her feel she was truly a woman… Despite herself, Cynthia shivered faintly.

“But for the true connoisseur of fellatio,” Steven reflected, pretending not to notice her reaction, “perhaps even better are the starving little ore-pile waifs who have to give a dozen blowjobs before noon even to get the price of a lunch.” He smiled again, crookedly. “Oh, their feet may be dirty—and their knees, too!—and the only clean part of their faces is where their own drool and the strings of the last man’s semen have run down her chin into the tatters of clothes that are stained with the grime and the dust of the mines, but if they want anything in their lean bellies except c*m, they’ll learn what to do with their mouths like no other woman could…” For a moment his dreamy eyes were distant as he remembered something that only he could see.

Uncomfortably, the sheltered Cynthia tried to imagine it, too. Before today she would have dismissed such a tale as mere rumor, but now she knew in her bones that it must be true. The evening star might gleam so bright and pure in the skies of Earth, but that tantalizing shimmer in actuality masked scenes of carnality scarcely even guessed-at upon Man’s home world. For there, beneath the hazy bloated sun of Venus that was screened only fitfully by the lazily waving foliage of the giant ferns and primitive palms of that inner planet, desperate young girls scampered among the heaps of ore and crushed rock to sell their bodies in an open-air illicit bazaar of the flesh that was tolerated—probably even frequented—by troopers of the Solar Police more than it ever was disrupted. And while the supposed upholders of the law merely looked away, and smirked, and waited their turn, nameless girls had to compete against dozens of others equally ready to degrade themselves for the lusts of the swaggering male beasts they hoped to please.

But those hard-eyed men who worked the veins of thorium so necessary for the blast tubes of atomic rocket motors knew that this was a buyer’s market. If ever some girl tried to scruple at some perversion, after all, there were a dozen more lost waifs who were eager for the chance to replace her, ready to be taken advantage of in any way the grinning laborers needed. Here there would be no mercy, no remorse, only ever more outrageous demands that the powerless little outcasts could only hurry to obey with nervously fixed smiles as they vied to outdo one another in the eagerness that would please their masters.

In the mind’s eye of the pampered blonde, lanky wenches with undernourished little china-doorknob breasts jiggling unrestrained in their torn clothing scrambled and dived whenever some rough miner threw a gleaming dime down into the filth with a coarsely knowing chuckle. The girl who reached it first would squat triumphant, barefoot and fawningly deferential, and heedless of whether the pair might be half hidden behind some tin shack or whether they might be right out in the roadway so that any of the other dirty lechers could stand there and watch and masturbate eagerly, she could only comply. Bereft of pride or self-respect, such a wench would just open up her sticky bee-stung lips and bob and swirl her head expertly, grateful simply for the chance to earn another meal. Perhaps, eager to prove she was worth an extra nickel for tip once she had swallowed, the cunning young w***e might even lift up her brief dirty singlet to expose herself, then reach into her tender-lipped little v****a to masturbate showily, all to further inflame the gasping man whom she eyed with such calculating intensity…

When Cynthia finally brought herself back to the present, she squirmed at the knowing way in which Steven gazed into the face of his wide-eyed young wife. “You,” he told her purposefully, “are already halfway as good as one of those barefoot blowjob urchins.”

Awkwardly she could only blink back at him. “Th-thank you,” came her automatic reply, before she had even thought of it.

Her husband, of course, pounced upon the unconscious slip. “So you do appreciate the comparison, eh?” he asked pointedly. “To be on the same level as these desperately promiscuous little cocksuckers would seem an improvement to you, a step up, something my darling little wifey might long for…?”

Red-faced, Cynthia swallowed. “Of course, Steven,” she agreed at last, feeling very pleasantly wicked.

“Good,” he replied, eyeing her closely, “good… Clearly, therefore,” he lectured her insinuatingly, “you already have some glimmerings of the joys of orality. Perhaps it stems from subconscious remembrances of the contentment of suckling as an infant. No matter why, it is as it should be.”

Poor Cynthia could only squirm, but her husband’s smile was boyishly roguish even as his words shocked and demeaned her.

“A man is oral, too, though,” he reminded her, wagging his eyebrows significantly. “You wrapped your mouth around me. It seems only fair that I do the same for you, doesn’t it?”

Her breath caught in her throat as he breathed deep of the wet salty odor of her womanhood, slowly, savoringly. Oh, the frankness of that long, ragged inhalation! How his own passions must have simmered! Yes, he was big and strutting and strong, and the demanding male beast was experienced in things such as the sheltered debutante had scarcely even imagined, but suddenly his almost grateful response to the very scent of her made her realize just how desperately much he desired her. Ah, how naughtily flattering it was!

“You just can’t imagine what it’s like, darling,” he said softly, his breath warm on the petals of her open quim. “You just can’t know how sweet it is to lick a girl’s p***y, not until you’ve finally done it. Once you’ve tried it, it’s forever irresistible. Whether you’re a man, a woman, it doesn’t really matter. Nothing beats the sight, the smell, the taste—and the very feel of it, your nose sunk in her slippery curls, breathing nothing but she scent of her arousal, as you just swirl your tongue around a pretty girl’s purpled little c******s, kissing her, gumming her, licking her till she screams…”

Did people really do this all the time? she thought, blushing. It seemed so wicked, and yet suddenly it seemed so right. Ah, the thought that this proud, powerful young man could not help simply breaking down, dropping to his knees, and burying his face in a place that she had always been taught, implicitly and without a word ever quite being said, was dirty and nasty and shameful! Is that how desirable she was? she asked herself in wonderment. It was powerfully flattering.

And what was that he said about women doing this? Did girls do this to each other, too? she wondered dizzily. What would another girl’s mouth feel like down there? she wondered, shocked. And, her mind continued unwillingly, what would it feel like—smell like, taste like—to do it to another girl…? She bit her lip at the wildly forbidden thought—

And then Steven leaned slowly forward and, shuddering almost gratefully, dropped his happy face into the squelching folds of her naked cunt. She gasped as he nuzzled into her damp blonde pubic thatch, his lips sucking impudently between hers, kissing at the hard little nubbin of joys that stood straight up with excitement. The sensation was glorious, and she lolled her head back contentedly.

She groaned aloud as he lapped at the open petals of her swollen labia majora, prizing his tongue knowingly into the folds of sensitive, hairless pink flesh between. He snaked his tongue right into her wet salty hole, drawing out slippery streamers of shining lubrication which he lovingly smeared all about her throbbing c******s. His nimble tongue tip played an exquisite tattoo upon the taut drumhead of the erect little purpled bundle of nerve endings that all at in an instant had become the very center of her entire being once more, a rhythm more shockingly erotic than any her own fingers had ever strummed. The wild, electric sensations ran straight from her spasming p***y to the glowing base of her brain. Her mind reeled.

“Oh, Steven!” she cried out ecstatically. “More!” she gasped. “More!”

Cynthia could scarcely believe how good it felt, or how quickly his talented mouth was making her come again. Just a moment more, she knew, just a moment more— His flushed face was sloppy in the glossy curls of her wet cunt, desperate and joyous. Helplessly she grasped at her own breasts, gloved fingertips fondling her n*****s. She wallowed in delirious sensation.

Yet through it all, even as she pressed her naked crotch down about her husband’s mouth, caressing herself languidly, she craved once more to favor him with her own lips. She had done it before, willingly, and if it made him feel even half as good as he made her feel now, she realized dreamily, then she should suck him again. If only she could reach the inventive dear… Frantically she began to thrash around in the red leather.

Steven must have understood, for though he still lapped so wildly at the hairy garden of musky pink between her sleek thighs, he gradually helped her down from the bench seat, cradling and kneading the white flesh of her buttocks while he lowered her to the floor. He gasped happily into her sweaty blonde muff as she struggled to slew herself around the wide floor of the limousine. Soon, with his acquiescence, she had reversed her body so that even as his tongue cavorted in the furrow of her parted p***y lips, her mouth was directly under the jiggling rod of his darkened organ. Smiling, she craned her neck to wrap her lips around the bulbous head, urging him down into her flushed, receptive face.