Chapter 8

Sitting at her vanity table, after hearing his prediction, she shivered again, whether from trepidation or a chill, he couldn’t tell.

“I’m cold,” she said, answering the question.

“Your boyfriend is here to keep you warm,” he said, bowing at the waist.

Twenty minutes later she lay on her back, her arms at her sides and her legs spread. To an observer it might have looked like she was having a prolonged seizure. Her body jerked. Her chest arched from time to time. Her hips lifted off the bed and her knees bent, only to straighten again. He had pulled a sheet over them, but it probably wasn’t needed. She was heated up juuust fine.

All this was the product of Bob, who leaned on an elbow beside her, alternating giving oral attention to her nipples, while three stiffened fingers on his right hand rubbed and massaged her labia and clit. She was beyond speaking intelligible words now, and all that issued from her throat were varying sounds one might imagine hearing in a zoo.

He spent twenty minutes pleasuring her because he was restricted to only external stimulation. Plus, he had not yet learned how to maximize the pleasure for her. He was pretty sure she’d never had an orgasm. Her restrictive upbringing and general behavior convinced him of that. He wasn’t even sure he should try to get her to that point now. She was being awfully vocal already, and the last thing he needed was for the US Marshal Service to break down the door and come in to save the protectee from the torture she was obviously enduring, based on her cries.

In the end, though, it was impossible to resist letting her feel yet another thing she’d been missing for years.

When he sensed she was almost there, he simply sealed his lips over hers, shoved his tongue into her open mouth, and changed the rhythm of his fingers into a rapid, whipping motion, from side to side. She froze, arched her whole body until, for just a second or two, the only parts of her that touched the bed were the back of her head and her heels. Then she collapsed back onto the bed as if every bone in her body had suddenly turned to jelly, only to tense up again and writhe, as one of her hands came to slam down on top of his, gripping it fiercely.

When he stopped, thinking she was too sensitive, her hand frantically urged him to get back to what he’d been doing.

Lacey would remember that night as feeling like she was Dorothy Gale, caught up in the tornado that carried her to Oz. Her fragmented thoughts, which drifted in and out of her consciousness, had many of the elements of the story. There was her innocence. There were all the new and amazing things she was experiencing. There was a moment where the wickedness of what they were doing made her feel like a wicked witch. And finally there was the explosion at the end, where her body felt like it was bursting into shards that could have been some precious stone, like emerald. Bob, of course, was the wizard whose skill and magic brought her to a completely new place in her life that had been unimaginable before this. Finally, she felt like the witch again, melting into a puddle. Except it was a puddle of ecstasy.

When her first orgasm raged through her, she wasn’t sure she could survive it. But, like a little girl who goes to the beach for the first time, and is enveloped by a surprise wave, once she finished tumbling around, and could breathe again, everything looked a lot brighter.

She spent the next five minutes just breathing, as Bob stroked all of her body he could reach with his lips, giving her little kisses everywhere. He stayed away from her nipples, and just let his hand rest on her belly.

Eventually her breathing slowed, and began to return to normal.

“What was that?” she asked.

“That, my little buttercup, was an orgasm.” He kissed the side of her breast. “Your first, I imagine.”

“I was afraid I might float off into space and never come back,” she sighed.

“Oh, that was just a little one,” he said.

“No!” she said, turning her head to look at him.

“I speak the truth. I will give you many more of those, and some of them will be much stronger.”

“I won’t survive anything stronger than that!” she gasped.

“Of course you will. Women all over the world survive them every day.”

“I can’t imagine that.”

“Well, one of these days you won’t have to, because you’ll be a veteran of surviving even better ones.”

“It’s not possible for anything to feel better than that,” she said, with conviction.

“We can argue about that later. I rubbed you. Would you like to rub me?”

She rolled to face him. Her weakness from before was gone. She felt relaxed, but also full of energy.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I am ... conflicted.”

“That’s not surprising,” he said. “You can just watch me do it, if you want to. Or I can go in the bathroom.”

“No,” she said, quickly. The thought of him getting up and leaving was not a happy one. “I should conquer my fear about this.”

“Only if you want to.”

“Bob, you have no idea what you just did to me. I’ve never felt like that any time in my life! How can I possibly deny pleasing you when you have done so much to please me?”

“How about you explore a little, and we’ll see how things go?” he suggested.

“Okay. How do I start?”

“Well, get comfortable beside me, so you can reach it with your hand, and just examine it a bit. I know you were taught to fear it, but it won’t hurt you. I promise that.”

He rolled onto his back, reaching for a pillow to prop under his head. His erection leaned to the left, and was almost parallel to the plane of his abdomen.

She moved until she was sitting Indian style beside his hips. That she would expose her sexual core in that manner astonished Bob, but he surmised it was a product of being accustomed to him seeing her naked. Perhaps she was distracted by what she was about to examine.

She just sat and looked at it for a while. She’d never put a finger inside her, of course, and had no frame of reference from which to evaluate whether something of those dimensions would fit inside her or not. She didn’t actually think about it going inside her at that point. The concept of sexual intercourse was still too foreign for her to entertain the thought of actually being involved in it. But even that was complicated, because she knew, on an academic level, what this thing was for. She knew it delivered sperm that would seek an egg to fertilize. His own admission that he was interested in impregnating her was now a part of her thoughts, whether they were conscious or subliminal.

But at this moment, she looked at his penis as merely something new and fascinating, a part of him that, should she manipulate it, might make him feel good like he had made her feel good by manipulating her with his fingers and lips.

She also knew that women took this thing into their mouths. That she had learned about in college. At first she thought the girls who talked about that were pulling her leg. Anyone in her study groups in law school eventually realized how provincial she was in her outlook on sex. She was so stiff and proper that it was impossible to miss. Of course the fact she never dated helped reveal her true feelings. But it was easy for her to believe people were teasing her with lies designed to make her uncomfortable, or blush.

Eventually she had to accept that this bizarre practice was real. It was incomprehensible, but it happened. Later, as a prosecutor, she heard some details about that, and other things she thought of as deviant sexual practices.

Sitting there, staring at Bob’s penis, though, caused more doubts to assail her mind. She had felt this thing against her body ... in her hand, even. It hadn’t felt disgusting, or even dangerous. It was hot. She remembered that. The one time she had gripped it, it had felt spongy, but also hard somehow. Touching it hadn’t burned her hand, or caused skin lesions. She hadn’t gone insane. She knew, now, that all that hyperbole, as Bob had called it, had been her mother’s attempts to scare her. And it had worked. She had been frightened of men, and the sexual equipment they carried with them everywhere.

But she wasn’t frightened of this one. It was right in front of her, and it wasn’t doing anything threatening at all.

She reached, but the first thing she explored with her fingertips was the fluffy brown hair that made a nest all around his groin. His testicles looked like eggs that had fallen partly out of that nest. She thought of a program she’d seen on the Nature channel about sea turtles. They laid eggs with a leathery covering a little like what she was seeing. She pulled gently at his hair. It felt just like her own.

That thought made her look at her own pubic hair, and she saw the lips he’d been rubbing exposed. They looked fat, and loose and dark. She looked at his face and saw his eyes were looking there too. She felt shame, which was instantly followed by anger, as she rejected the shame. All that had happened between them felt right ... honorable ... lovely. It couldn’t be sinful to feel this kind of pleasure with a man who actually liked her and was committed to her. A doubt niggled, reminding her that this wasn’t true commitment. True commitment was only achieved in holy matrimony. She frowned. She had no idea how to be a wife. She couldn’t even remember anything about her mother that was “wife-like”. Cooking and cleaning and shopping for groceries didn’t count, in her mind. She did all those things, and none of them required her to be married.

She didn’t want to think about that, and consciously returned her attention to the man in front of her. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t urged her on. She felt an upwelling of something in her chest that made her want to kiss him for being so patient with her. Instead, she pushed her finger onto the two eggs, to see what they felt like. The pouch they were in moved. She could see the eggs inside move too. With thumb and forefinger she grasped one of the little round objects and lifted it, inside the sack.

“Careful,” he said, softly. “They’re very tender ... fragile.”

She let it go and then pressed two fingertips between the eggs, moving them around, gently. That brought her fingertips to the base of his penis, where soft, pliable skin changed to something firm and unyielding.

The whole shaft dipped, and then sprang back as she removed pressure from the base.

Finally, she grasped the leaning column of flesh. She just held it for a bit, feeling the warmth it radiated, and that spongy/firm texture that was so fascinating. There was nothing on her body that felt like this.

An inadvertent flexing of muscles in her body caused her hand to move, slightly. It was only half an inch or so, but her hand slid effortlessly that distance, even though she was gripping him firmly. The sensation under her hand was fascinating, and it was only normal that she’d move her hand again, intentionally, this time. As it happened, her hand went toward the tip. Already loose looking skin there bunched even more, creating a crater of sorts, surrounded by wrinkled skin. Instinct caused her to move her hand in the other direction, and she watched all that bunched skin magically thin and flatten until it moved, revealing something underneath it.

She was astonished as the smooth, fat head of his penis was exposed. The little slit at the tip looked like a wound of some kind. It even bled a clear substance. Blood plasma came to mind. She had donated plasma in college.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, holding her hand where it was.

“Not at all. Quite the opposite,” he said. “That feels wonderful.”

“What about there?” she asked, pointing a fingertip of her free hand at the weeping slit.

“That’s the opening of my urethra,” he said. “Urine and sperm come out of there.”

“That doesn’t look like urine,” she said.

“It’s called precum. There’s an official name for it, but I don’t remember it. It’s a lubricant.”

“Lubricant?”

“It helps with sexual intercourse, in the beginning.”

“But it has sperm in it?”

“No, not usually. It’s made somewhere other than the testes. But what the testes make, and where precum is made, all end up in the same place, so I guess they could get mixed a little bit.”

She moved her hand back up, covering the shiny, plum-like knob, and created the crater again. This time it was filled with clear liquid.

“So, how do I do this?” she asked.

“You’ve already been doing it,” he said. “You’re just going very slowly.”

“So I do this?”

She moved her hand down and back up one time, rapidly. The changes that caused in the skin around the tip were fascinating.

“Yes,” he said. “Like that, except you don’t stop. Remember how I rubbed you? I kept going until you had an orgasm.”

“So like this,” she said.

She started moving her hand down and the backup, in a regular pattern.

“Oh, yeah,” he sighed. “That feels really good.”

She could tell almost immediately that the position of her body wasn’t as good as it could be. Bending her wrist, as she was required to do in this position, wasn’t comfortable. She stopped, to change her position and lie down beside him on her side. Now, when she reached, her wrist was straight. It was much better.

She started stroking him in a measured manner, watching the tip change over and over again.

“Go a little faster,” he said. She realized he was panting. His hips moved and the sudden realization that she really was making him feel good washed over her like warm water. It felt good to make him feel good.

As she moved faster, her hand began to go up enough that part of it went over the knob. Feeling the change in contour, some instinct told her rubbing that difference in contour might be good, so she shortened her stroke and began rubbing just the top third of his penis.