Erroll's Seduction

Another time, Erroll had rubbed stinging nettles and habaneras peppers over her two foot strap-on dildo, and she'd butt-fucked poor Lance until he'd nearly lost his mind, and then tied him down in the little room with the strap-on stuck in his rectum until he'd passed out. But indeed, it made him a better submissive!

Much of the time, though, Erroll was just pleased to see Lance focusing on her picture.

"That's right, honey, just look at me, and not think about all that crap your mind is always wandering in."

What had amazingly happened was, Lance was starting to become just as aroused in the hours of kneeling, chaste, as he had been sport-fucking super-models!

He almost looked forward to his time on his knees.

And he had a little room in all the holiday homes in four continents.

A stockbroker and beneficiary of a munificent trust, Lance had pied a terres in Easthampton, Switzerland, Biarritz, Tuscany and most of the cities in France and Belgium.

When he and Erroll travelled, he would unpack in each home and retreat to the little room, after having gotten Erroll and her boyfriends whatever theater tickets, passes to sporting events, or whatever else they would enjoy.

He missed it all, but was completely content, much of the time, in his sub space.

He didn't really miss the days of sailing, skiing and race car driving, not that much.

Lance had sold his helicopter, his biplane, and his art collection to give Erroll and her lovers trips on their own, to buy Erroll little tennis bracelets...and when they were gone, Princess Nirvana babysat Lance in such a painful way that he was so appreciative when Erroll returned.

On skiing trips, although Lance was no longer invited, sometimes Erroll and her boyfriend, in their winter clothes, would bring Lance out into the snowy front yard and throw snowballs at him until he screamed in frozen agony...and then Erroll would warm him up again with her evil split tailed flogger!

In Lance's Belgian house, there was a large cellar, and Erroll would awaken Lance at five a.m. in the darkened room with a fire hose of freezing water...and then she'd go back up to bed, expecting him to prepare her breakfast to be served at ten-thirty.

It was rough stuff!

Now and then, Erroll had mercy on Lance, he would get to leave the room and dress, and if her lover was not around, Erroll and Lance would take in a movie, like old times, or go out to dinner, but often Erroll would be concerned about Lance's weight.

So while she ordered herself surf-n-turf, she'd ask the waitress just for a bowl of hot water for the hungry Lance.

Then Erroll would have him mix a little instant oatmeal, which brought a lot of hilarity and some pity to his servers.

And yet, all Lance wanted at this point was for this remarkable girl to marry him!

Lance had met Erroll for the first time at Chad Tinshaw's post-regatta party.

Lance had forgotten his own comely date in a general gape at the statuesque maven in the corner, with the short, curly blonde hair.

"You certainly are ordering that poor little bastard around" was Lance's first comment to Erroll.

Lance observed that the girl's date, a plump, sixtyish man was keeping her drink filled and cigarettes lit-and she was butting them out in his bare hand.

The chubby dude was also carrying Erroll's dessert plate around so she could occasionally nibble from it. At one point, when she'd relaxed on the sofa, the goof had fallen to his knees and given her a foot massage as she'd flirted with the vapid preppies sitting next to her.

At one point, Erroll had actually instructed the poor motherfucker to give the guy she was talking to a foot massage as well.

But when Erroll had arisen again to walk around, Fatso after her, Lance had taken the opportunity to approach her, and tell her what a pathetic date she had.

"I mean, the guy's a shmuck to put up with this from you, you bitchy little thing."

The girl had laughed good naturedly, but her date had not been pleased.

Hearing Lance's insulting remarks, the fat little man frowned at him. "Now look here, young man-"

But Blondie had given her elderly escort an icy look and the fat man shut up, and spooned a bit of Creme Brule from the dish he was carrying and fed it to her, as if she were a hospital patient paralyzed from the neck down.

"Well, Trippy has his uses." she said carelessly as she smiled dazzlingly at Lance. Those teeth!

"You're Lance Vane-Clevenger aren't you?"

"Guilty as charged." Lance replied, smiling.

"You're always showing up in the 'New York Social Diary' website my mother reads, in your penguin suit with a bimbo on your arm."

She smiled mockingly at Lance. "I imagine when you do go to the opera or to one of those well-reported events Mom reads about, you smuggle in a Spongebob comic, so you won't have to translate "La Traviata".

Lance bit his lip.

"And your dates-Is that your latest conquest over there? Fake tits? She's snarling at us. I bet she wears support hose. Lotta work done on the forehead."

Lance really hadn't known what to say.

"Don't marry her, Vane-Clevenger, her body really won't survive a pregnancy that well."

The tubby escort chortled. "That's telling him, Erroll. She's got your number, young fella."

Erroll looked at the older man, annoyed.

"Trippy you are getting on my nerves. Go--Wait, I don't want you bothering the other guests. Go sit on the front porch, look at your shoes and don't talk to anyone."

Trippy's jowls moved indignantly. "Erroll these are my friends. I brought YOU to this party. My friends won't be irritated-"

Lance rolled his eyes at this. Trippy was about twenty years older than most of the other people. He was probably friends with their fathers.

Erroll set her lip. "On the porch, not another word."

"But it's chilly outside."

As Lance gaped in astonishment, Erroll slapped Trippy's fat jaw, and then reached down and grasped his crotch in his brown khakis and twisted, and Trippy turned purple. Finally the girl let go.

Everyone was looking at them, and Lance wondered if he should back away from these crazy-ass people. But Erroll was so damn hot!

"Take your blazer off, Trippy. I want you to go on the front porch and sit there and be very chilled. I'll be out in about an hour and a half.

Stay on the porch. I'll know from Larkin if you sneak into the sedan to get warm. Your chauffer's a tattletale."

"This-Erroll you can't treat me like this in public. My friends, my business associates are all here."

Lance's eyes widened. This was Tripman Sleath, whose group had absorbed Uncle Manders's company in Beijing. Not so tough here? Talk about a wimp.

Lance thought at the time that he would've thrown a drink in Erroll's face and dragged her out of the party by her hair if she'd behaved like this as his date.

Why is Trippy arguing with this bitch?

Lance read in "Time" Magazine that Trippy had cut three ex-wives off with very little alimony. The guy wasn't usually this pathetic.

Lance was gazing hungrily into Erroll's cleavage as she leaned over to Trippy and whispered with clenched teeth,

"If you don't give your jacket to Lance here to hold and go out on the front porch until I'm ready to leave, I'll be very angry.

Remember at the Tunstall's when I pulled your penis out of your trousers in front of everyone?

I whipped it with my metal ruler till it was bloody, and made you stand around at the party with your dick hanging out for half an hour until the host called the cops? They don't invite you around anymore, Trippy."

Erroll reached out and twisted Trippy's nipple through his Oxford shirt, and he began sobbing silently, tears rolling down his corpulent cheeks.

"I've got the metal ruler in my purse, and I'll get Lance here to lend me his belt to follow up with...your dick won't stand a chance. And then I won't let you use it for a month, your little peter, and you know what I mean."

Lance was now wondering if he'd gotten stoned this evening. This couldn't be happening.

Trippy had looked down from his five foot eleven height at the tiny blonde and then at Lance's contemptuous face, and then he slumped.

Trippy handed Lance his blazer and trudged through the now smirking guests and out the front door.

Binky Philpott, Chad's first mate at the regatta had said "Faggot" as Trippy had walked by, and the older man hadn't even turned.

Lance was usually a quick worker with women, but he'd been somewhat abashed by this chick. Erroll had full lips that she kept fire-engine red, and enjoyed waving her 36 C breasts at him, encased as they were in her cocktail frock.

From behind, Lance heard Chad say "Trip's crying on the front porch. I can't believe my uncle thinks he's such hot shit."

Erroll began chatting sunnily with another woman who'd approached them. They were talking about a Betsy Johnson store, or some such.

Then some guys came up, and Erroll began discussing the happy results of the recent Cubs win at the World Series.

Several old friends had approached Lance, trying to catch up on old times, and there was the usual flirtation from other women, but Lance was deaf to everyone but the marvelous Erroll.

Lance felt a little ridiculous at the time, holding Trippy's jacket but he just stood there as Erroll enchanted different people.

Erroll was a magnet for men, but kept reaching over abstractedly and touching Lance's arm just to keep him interested, he thoguht.

Lance noticed his own date, Cynthia, steaming.

Cyn had her own share of hopeful male attention but obviously she was enraged that Lance had wandered off. A "Mirabella" model, Cynthia was not used to that sort of thing.

Cynthia was counting on Lance taking her on his African safari next month, but sadly, she was fading out in the young man's mind.

As Lance passed Cynthia later that night, while fetching Erroll a Mojito, Cyn had looked imploringly at him.

But Lance barely noticed her, and was thrilled at the end of the evening, when Erroll asked if he would like to accompany her home.

Lance had tossed a horny friend the keys to his Maserati, and told the guy to take Cynthia home, and promptly forgot about her.

When Lance and Erroll got outside, Trippy was shivering on the front porch.

"Okay, you little shitbird" Erroll said to Trippy. "Go get in the trunk of the limo. I don't want to be distracted by you with my new cute acquisition here."

Erroll smiled at Lance, who almost passed out with joy.

"I can't get in the trunk, please Erroll-" Trippy raised his voice.

"It's my own car, why should I ride in the trunk, getting my clothes dusty."

Erroll smiled. "You're right. Most of the guests are gone. Go to the car, take off your clothes, give them to Larkin and then get into the trunk."

Incredibly, Lance watched as Trippy did this. The bloated executive bit his pudgy lip, and stripped off everything, including his undershorts.

Trippy tried to ignore the remaining, somewhat drunken guests, leering in the front yard.

One lout actually threw a beer can at Trippy, but it bounced off the back of his head, and Trippy just hung his head lower, as he proceeded to undress.

The beer tossing made Erroll snicker, and she flicked her lit cigarette at Trippy's cock and it stung him briefly, the sparks bouncing off his extended pot belly.

But, with some difficulty, Trippy piled up his clothes, handing them to Larkin, the chauffer, and then Trippy rolled into the trunk.

The lid was closed by the grinning chauffer, and Erroll winked at him.

Lance would have asked a lot of questions but as soon as they got into the back seat, Erroll jumped on him.

Clamping her full, polished lips on his, Erroll climbed nimbly on Lance's lap as the chauffer drove into the night.

Lance was quite overcome, no working towards first base with this girl, she's ready for a home run already!

Erroll began rubbing back and forth on Lance's knees, rivaling the lap dances he'd gotten from a thousand strippers.

Erroll's legs were open on Lance's lap and her dress, just covering the stockings, moved back and forth pushing the astonished young man down into the car seat.

Erroll rubbed her crotch against his, kissing Lance's ear, and then biting his neck, working her way back to his lips after she'd given his neck five or six hickeys.

Those full, glossy lips!

"Does my mouth taste good, baby?" Erroll asked Lance.

"That's strawberry gloss, you know. I have strawberry scent and flavor on my pussy as well, kind of a vaginal pop tart. You'll have to taste sometime."

Erroll took Lance's hand, which had been lying numbly on the car seat, and guided it over his lap, under her cocktail dress and yes indeedy, there were no panties.

Who goes to a party with no panties?

Lance realized that if Erroll was wearing stockings, she must be wearing a garter belt to hold them up, which drove him insane with desire, as he had always had a bit of a pin-up fetish.

"Uh, the chauffer may hear us, Erroll-"

"Don't worry, hon, Larkin knows I don't wear panties, and I've fucked a few boys back here. I gave Larkin his Christmas tip early, or rather he gave his tip to me."

A musical laugh.

Lance rubbed the very shaven lips of Erroll's vagina and gasped as he felt her reach under her right leg and undo his trousers, pulling out his stiffening cock, stroking it with her long, magenta nails.

"You're such a hot guy, Lance. Poor Trippy is in the trunk, probably pounding his pud right now."

She toyed with the swelling crown of Lance's penis.

"Trippy's thinking of the fun we're having. I'll have to punish him for that."

"Erroll, if the poor guy wants to jerk off, let him, he's really being kind of understanding, especially if this is his car."

Lance remembered his ex-wife and her fury at his wanting just a three-some...and what poor Trippy was putting up with!

"No, Trippy needs lots of discipline and correction. Leave that to me."

What the fuck does that mean?

Erroll pulled herself off Lance's lap and got down on her knees on the floor of the limo, and began sucking Lance's penis, full on.

The light went on in the back seat, as if the chauffer wanted Lance to get a better view of this fantastic experience.

And indeed, Lance had looked down, hypnotized

Up and down the little curly blonde head went, the red lips slurping Lance's steaming cock.

Lance felt Erroll's tongue swirling around his member as if it were a vanilla ice cream cone, tickling the underside as Lance had recommended to each other in articles in "Cosmo".

Lance had had many a blowjob in his life, starting with his first prep school mixer, and in mid adolescence had attended junior high "rainbow parties" where cut townie teen chicks had tried different color lipsticks on the penises of the select rich boys from the school up on hill.

And of course in the seven years it had taken Lance to graduate from Yale, he'd had his pole smoked by some of the best!

He'd known little about his major, but fellatio had been a past master experience he'd certainly enjoyed.

But Erroll had skills Lance had never experienced.

Lance wondered if this girl had any gag reflex at all, she was taking his dick so deeply down her throat.

Lance looked a bit startled as Erroll ceased her ministrations briefly to look up at him from her kneeling position on the car floor.

"I had a boyfriend, a big tough guy a few years ago. He kinda envied me, you know? Not only did he like my blowjobs, but he wished he could do them too. So we arranged for him to have an operation and get his teeth pulled, and now "she" can suck cock like no one's business."

Erroll mentioned an NFL football player who had suddenly retired some years back, and Lance had turned pale.

But then she returned her mouth to Lance's penis, and he forgot the disturbing story, going into heaven again. Who cares if some 49ers halfback wants to lick a penis, as long as it ain't mine, right?

Erroll sucked some more. Then she looked up again.

"If I can make you cum before we get home, will you give Trippy a flogging for me? Hit him real hard, make him cry?"

Lance gasped. This was too much. "Hell no, I'm going for my Series 7. Trippy could have me prosecuted for assault. I can't get in trouble like that. The Securities and Exchange Commission-"

All business suddenly, Erroll pulled away from Lance's wiener and got back up on the seat.

Lance looked dispiritedly down at his penis, now briefly flagging.

Erroll took her compact out and began adjusting her makeup.

"Where do you live, Lance? I'll have Larkin drop you off. It was nice meeting you."

"Wh-what? You were just-we were having a nice time, right?"

Erroll smiled ruefully. "Lance, I like adventurous men. I asked you to do me a favor, if you don't want to do it, go back to Silicone Cynthia and her support hose."

Erroll made an O of her mouth, and traced the fire-engine red gloss over it.

She closed the compact. "Fat girls like Cynthia need a dependable schlep like you, anyway."

"Cynthia's not fat! She's a model. She weighs one-oh-three. Look, I'll hit Trippy if you want. I just hope I don't go to jail."

Suddenly Erroll squealed and gave Lance a deep kiss. She called through the little transom to the chauffer.

"Larkie, do three times around the block before you take us into the garage. Lance has a little treat coming!"

And back on the floor she'd gone, and Lance had enjoyed a massive orgasm, and then a second one, as Erroll kept sucking.

Finally done, Erroll had jumped on Lance's lap and given him a huge, messy kiss, spitting what felt like the whole business of two sperm loads back down Lance's throat and laughing.

"In the movie 'Slacker' they call giving you back your spooge a 'snowball."

Lance had nearly vomited, but he swallowed gamely and the limo pulled into the underground garage of a building on West 62nd street, near Lincoln Center.

This is an expensive area, Lance had thought.

The chauffer opened the door for them.

"Erroll honey, don't worry about Trippy shouting or raising any hell. I put a clothespin on his tongue when we put him in the trunk, and tied his hands behind his back so he don't touch hisself!"

Erroll had smiled. "Larkin, bring Trippy upstairs. You can remove the clothespin from his tongue now. He must be drooling up a storm. We'll meet him in the library."

"Aren't you worried about running into other tenants in the library with Trippy naked?" Lance wondered

"No, Trippy owns the top four floors of the building, and we have a private elevator."

Upstairs, Lance and Erroll repaired to the kitchen where they had a little snack, and then went into the library, which indeed had walls of books, but also a comfortable couch and a liquor cabinet, where Larkin had mixed some Martinis before calling it a night.

Kneeling in the middle of the room was Trippy, still quite naked, and wrists still bound behind his back.

Lance noticed that Trippy's dick was small but stiff, and the fat man looked up and beamed when he saw his beloved Erroll.

But then Trippy noticed Lance and his pudgy visage got quite annoyed, and then recalling the fact that he was nude...began blushing.

Erroll had repaired her makeup and looked glamorous again, and she sat down on the couch, Lance sitting next to her.

The contrast between the sophisticated couple in their expensive party clothes, and the naked, panting chubbo was a vivid one.

"Did you have to bring him, Erroll?" Trippy was almost purple with rage and humiliation.

Still, his penis was straining against his stomach.

Erroll's shoe reached out, toying with Trippy's hard dick. She brought both the tips of her shoes around his penis, just under the head as she stretched her legs off the couch. The shoes rubbed the penile tip until it was clear Trippy's wee-wee was soaked in precum.