Morton's Island Ch. 01

"Yes, indeed. That would be best."

"When would be convenient?"

"Let's see," Jane said, thinking quickly. "How about tomorrow. 9am?"

"Certainly, Madam. I'll make sure I have that time slot free in my calendar."

"Thank you."

"Not at all, Madam. Until tomorrow, then."

The suit sighed. He'd have to re-schedule an important meeting. But a million pounds is not chump change. Best get this tied up well and truly. And fast. These days, a banker has to move swiftly.

When she left the bank, Jane discovered that the cab was gone. Damn the bastard! Never happens in the movies. Last time she'd tip a cabbie to wait. There was no shortage of cabs, though, and ten minutes later, the curses of the cabbie in her ears -- she'd paid the meter -- she entered her apartment complex, took the lift up to her floor, stumbled along the corridor and thankfully turned the key.

MiGod! What an adventure.

Hastily, she rid herself of the black dress, rolled off the stockings, threw them on the bed, and donned a housecoat. The remains of a bottle of Pino Grigio in her fridge were emptied into a tumbler, and began its rapid transport into her blood stream. Her heart still pounded, her head was every which where.

Gradually, back in a world that was familiar, her body ceased shaking, her heart calmed down and her head....?

It was 4pm. What a weirdo! Thank God it was over. Outa there and on with her life. One million pounds in her bank account, bank manager fawning all over her. She could not believe her good fortune. She had two appointments. A dinner date at 8pm, a private conversation with her bank manager at 9am the following morning. One of these, she intended to keep. It was not the dinner date.

At 5pm, half way down a fresh bottle of Pino, her brain began to function. A weirdo, certainly. A dope not.

'If you don't come back you're not the woman I'm looking for.'

Well he was right about that. However, checks could be stopped. How long did it take a bank to process a check? Was two hours enough? Jane decided it was not. Plenty of time for Morton to call his bank and have the check cancelled, if she did not show.

For reasons her brain refused to reveal to her, she did not think Morton would do this. But instead of giving her comfort, the thought complicated things. Of course, even minus the fortune, she'd done very nicely. Five thousand pounds for chatting with the guy and taking off her clothes? Any escort would kill for such a deal.

But as the clock ticked on, the thought that a man would willingly part with one million pounds, on trust that she would not take the money and run, gnawed at her. Of course, he'd cancel the check. No, he wouldn't. She could not get her head around it, could not come down either way.

This can't go on, she said to herself. She'd call the hotel, ask to speak to Morton and stall. She was not feeling well. Tummy upset. She'd be fine tomorrow. Her mother had suddenly taken ill .... She hadn't spoken with her mother for a year. They did not get on. But Morton would not know that. Somehow, though, even the thought of involving her cretin of a mother was unpalatable to Jane. Ohwell, she'd think of something. Main thing, stall, until the check cleared. Lunchtime tomorrow must be fine, she thought. Or maybe better wait until dinner. Postpone one day. What harm could that do?

"What name was that, Madam?"

"Mr ..er ..Morton."

"I'm afraid, Madam, that there is no-one with this name in residence," came the grave tone down the line.

"But I was just there, this afternoon. I spoke with him?" she said, trying to control her voice.

"I'm afraid, Madam that there is no-one with this name in residence."

"But.. but.. Look! Really. I visited him this afternoon. A few hours ago. In the Marlborough Suite."

"I'm afraid Madam must be mistaken. The Marlborough Suite is currently unoccupied."

"But, look. I was there myself. I met a gentleman there....." her voice tailed off.

"I'm sorry, Madam."

The line went dead.

OhShit! Discretion. Of course. What was it he'd said? 'No-one must know you are here, as no-one knows I am here, except of course for the staff, to whom I am, and you will be, without identity.' Without identity! Of course. What a bird-brain!

By 6.30pm Jane was going nuts. Her brain had not resolved the 'he'd cancel the check, no he wouldn't' issue. But it had managed to confuse her yet further with memories of her meeting with this strange man. There was something about him that had nothing to do with his wealth. It was not charisma. Not charm. Rather the absence of these qualities, notoriously present in all budding Casanovas. The man was utterly straightforward. He was unpretentious, undemanding, yet forthright, self-confident and, in a positive sense, innocent. Was it fair to cheat such a man?

Suppose she backed out and he did not cancel the check. How would she feel about herself? Was she the kind of woman who could cheat a man out of a million pounds and feel good about living off the spoils?

Suppose, her brain asked her, he had not written that check? Would she have kept the dinner appointment?

The answer was unequivocally in the affirmative. It was her own epiphany. But there was something else, too. As time went by, she realized that she was curiously drawn to this, the strangest man she had ever met. It was not a sexual attraction, not at least one that she recognized as such. Neither was it wholly asexual. She could not pin it down, but there was something .... there. If she backed out, how would she feel later, next week, next month, wondering what that 'something' was, how it might have been?

It was 7.15pm when Jane accepted the conclusion arrived at by her brain some while before. She made a simple decision --- a switch of the appointment she would keep and the one she would not.

Hastily, Jane placed a call to her best friend, Pat.

"A guy? On his yacht?" Pat said, her tone expressing incredulity. "Must be quite a guy for you to drop everything and just go."

"Yeah! But he's leaving tonight. It's now or never."

"Well, ok. If that's what you want. I hope you know what you're doing. How do I get in touch?"

"You can't. Sorry. Out of cell range. I'll contact you, somehow. Look, I'll leave some dough in the drawer by my bed. Use it however you like. Just keep the flat running 'til I get back. Kay? "

"You sure you know what you're into?" Pat's voice expressed extreme doubt.

"No! But I know that if I don't do it, I'll regret it forever. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

On the point of eight, she'd knocked again at the door of the Marlborough Suite, trying to erase traces of excessive haste from her persona.

"Ah Jane," Morton said. "Perfect timing. Everything is ready."

It was ..................

They'd rolled over again. Jane was so close it was almost painful. Almost, but not quite. Where pain and ecstasy join. Morton's tongue darted now more often to her clit hood, flicking across, then brushing her swollen clit on the way back down. He could get her off whenever he liked. This she knew. This he knew. Her body twitched uncontrollably. His twitched, too, every time her tongue found the tip of his cock.

It was time.

In stages, Jane eased herself around, breathing heavily. With difficulty, she raised herself and mounted him, trying to ease him into her, but failing and instead simply allowing her body to fall, impaling herself on him. Her groin began to move of its own volition, her head went back, her throat gave voice to utterance as her first orgasm broke:

"Ugh! Agh! Aggh! Arrghh! Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrgggggghhhhhhhhh!"

She fell forward on her hands, but her rump continued to move, up and down, driving her vagina over Morton's rigid cock. Her breathing remained heavy. She raised herself again, towering over the pale body on the bed, fully impaled on his erection, her groin grinding into him. Clit pressed on pelvis. Arms at her sides, she sat upright. Only her groin moved, back and forth, to and fro, round and round. A light scarlet stained her throat and breasts. Areolas were puffed out, round pink petals highlighting dark nipples thrust out by the curve of her back.

Hands were raised, fingers grasped those nipples, tweaking, squeezing .... Jane felt her second orgasm begin to build.

"Oh! Ugh! Argh!"

Her groin pressed harder, moved faster. Her head went back. Groans, expletives emanated from her throat,

"OhShit! Agh! Fuck!! Agh! Arggh! Arrrrrrgggghhhhh!"

And Morton was not yet done. Together they rolled over on the bed, Jane's thighs relaxed their grip, spread wide, as Morton's groin drove hers into the mattress.

"Don't stop!" she gasped.

He didn't. His body crushed her into the bed. The thrusts of his penis, in and out, full length, gained in intensity. Cries emanated from two throats simultaneously. Jane's legs came up, her heels drummed into Morton's buttocks, driving him deeper and deeper, harder and harder into her, fingernails clawed his back. Two bodies thrashed about on the bed as one, striving wildly for mutual release.

"AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

A mutual expression of mutually achieved ecstasy.

Motion slowed, bodies settled, Jane's splayed out, her legs and arms pointing to the four corners of the bed, Morton's in a line laid upon her, his head resting on the bed beside her shoulder. They remained thus for quite a while......................

"I really feel we're quite getting the hang of this," Morton said, over lunch. Well, brunch, actually.

He had not exaggerated as to the quality of the cuisine. In her former life as an 'escort', Jane had often dined with the 'client du nuit', and in the finest of establishments. But never could she recall a menu so gargantuan, a 'butler' -- or whatever Philippe called himself --- so attentive to her wants, how this or that should be prepared. Or the result. Exquisite!

"I do hope everything was to your taste," Philippe had said, superfluously, as he prepared to wheel the table out of the dining room and along the corridor.

On that first evening, she'd felt self-conscious, but Philippe was utterly unfazed by the presence at Morton's table of a young woman dressed only in a bathrobe. Morton introduced them without the faintest trace of pomposity or sense of superiority.

"Jane, this is Philippe, Philippe, Jane," he'd said, and she'd had to remind herself that Philippe was 'staff' for whom she and Morton had no 'identity'.

He and Morton chatted amicably about this or that item on the menu, and slowly she had felt able to join in. The choice of menu seemed ultimately to be a mutual three-way understanding. A very pleasant way of being.

And afterwards, that first evening, they'd sat next to each other, stark naked, enjoying the cognac, engaging in small talk. It seemed to Jane like the most natural thing in all the world. Eventually, Morton had said,

"What d'you think, Jane. Shall we start now, or wait until tomorrow."

She'd gone for 'start now', thinking 'let's get this over with'.

It turned out to be far easier than she'd supposed. Under her skillful tongue, Morton's penis gained connection with his brain almost instantly and she brought him to orgasm in less than half an hour.

"That was truly wonderful, Jane," Morton sighed, contentedly, as she wiped off with a warm cloth the pint or so of semen she'd coaxed out of him.

The second, however, took three-quarters of and hour, and that was after he'd spent a full hour bringing her off.

"MiGod," she'd said. "Where the hell d'you learn that?"

He'd just smiled, mysteriously.

As the second day progressed, 'Practicing the various possibilities', as Morton had put it, she was moved to take more seriously what Morton had said about 'blank pages' and 'her sexual development' as well as his. She came as often in that day as in any previous week. 'Sex' as an 'art form', as an end in itself? She'd never thought about it this way.

But at lunch on the third day, she was convinced. They were both early risers, and began concomitantly early. Four full hours of continuous stimulation, and what a climax! Never in her life had she experienced pleasure such as this. And what had he said, casually, as he tucked into an English breakfast of the kind you just can't get any more:

'I feel we're beginning to get the hang of it'!?

She'd managed to mutter something, through a mouthful of quiche.

"You know, I do need to do something about my condition," Morton had said, patting his midriff.

Morton's idea of 'exercise' was doggie, first with her standing, bent over the sofa, then, when her knees began to buckle, kneeling, him standing, pumping slowly but steadily in and out of her. She liked doggie, but rarely came that way.

"Ooph! I am out of condition," Morton said, though it seemed to Jane that for a man who'd lived a cerebral life, he'd acquitted himself more than respectfully.

"Perhaps, my dear?" he continued.

Somehow, she understood, turned on her back and opened her thighs.

"Let's see now. If I place my arms just .... here ... that should give them a bit of a workout. And I can look down and admire your gorgeous breasts."

His penis found her without aid, and he began to thrust, his arms on the back of the sofa, balancing on his toes. OhYes! Jane thought. This won't take long. She celebrated her first orgasm quietly, her second more noisily, and her third was accompanied by a string of epithets and exhortations which in other circumstances, Jane would have considered vulgar.

Morton kept up his thrusts until the aftershocks of her orgasm abated, then withdrew suddenly and collapsed beside her in a heap.

"Ooof!" he exclaimed, "I really must work on this. I'm done!"

A casual glance told Jane that one bit of him was not. She knelt between his knees and took his cock gently in one hand. Very deliberately, she drew the nails of her other hand up and down the taut skin.

"Oh! Oh!! You vixen!" Morton exclaimed.

It was not his only utterance as Jane teased him mercilessly, just getting her head out of the way as a spurt of semen shot out of him and a full meter into the air. Morton lay against the back of the sofa his arms and legs splayed out as Jane milked his member of every last drop.

She'd truly thought that was that. But after a while, following the consumption of considerable quantities of mineral water, Morton glanced at the clock.

"Couple of hours yet to dinner," he said, throwing cushions onto the carpet. "What d'you think? Me on you, or you on me?"

Of course, they shared, and Jane came thrice more, to Morton's once. The one, though was mutual, and a humdinger, Jane, panting, moaning and crying out, bouncing up and down on Morton's dick as he lay prone on the carpet, grunting, exhaling loudly, muttering the odd obscenity. They cried out in tandem as a fresh stream of semen shot up inside her. She collapsed forwards onto his body and lay still, twitching occasionally this way and that.

At dinner, as he eased a forkful of duck a l'orange into his mouth, Morton said,

"So how are we doing, d'you think?"

Jane hid her inability to come up with an immediate response behind a mouthful of filet mignon. Eventually, she said,

"You have to ask?

"Well, I don't really have a way of judging these things. It does seem to me we are making good progress. You're doing a magnificent job."

Jane thought to herself, 'Job! This is work?', but she kept her response muted, as she thought Morton would wish. He was not a man who issued gushing compliments, so he would hardly expect to receive them.

"I'm glad you think so," she said. "You're not doing so bad yourself."

"Ah! Now that is something I wanted to ask. I didn't like to because we've agreed not to refer to our past lives. However, I must confess I am curious and I'm sure you have experience with other men. I'm not asking about this, but would like to know whether I am, as it were, normal?"

The questions was so ludicrous, Jane had to laugh. Hastily, lest Morton misconstrue, she said,

"No, Morton, you're not normal. No man I've ever known gets close."

"You mean...?"

"I don't know what it is, whether you're 'catching up', or what. But your libido is way out there."

"Ha! So we are making progress."

"Oh Yes! I would say better than that. Hell, think of today. Four hours this morning, another four this afternoon....."

"Interesting. I'd not been counting. But you're right. And I have plans for tonight."

Jane almost groaned inside herself. How much of this could she take! But Morton's continuation,

"I think, perhaps, something really relaxing,"

gave her comfort.

"Well, we can talk about it later," he said, nonchalantly. "How is your steak?"

"Divine!" Jane replied.

"Excellent!"

"And your duck?"

"Also. It's one of my favorites, though of course, nothing on the menu is anything less than superb."

Later, on the big king-size, they began their relaxing evening with a leisurely 69 until Morton was rock hard. This then evolved into a slow fuck, first with Jane on top, then Morton, then Jane, then Morton....

"You know, sliding in and out of your vagina is so wonderful, I could happily do it forever," Morton said, dreamily.

After half an hour, Jane was into it, an hour and she was into it bigtime. A short while later her orgasms began, one after the other, none massive, but each adding to a sense of well-being that Jane had never before experienced. She felt Morton ejaculate in her, but this did not end proceedings. He just kept on sliding his cock in and out of her, slowly, regularly, full length. Her orgasms continued unabated. Slowly she felt herself drifting.....

Chapter 4

A full week had gone by and Jane could no longer say that 12 hours of sex per day was 'impossible' for a man -- at least not based on the past four days.

And she had learned something about herself. No nymphomaniac, that was for sure, she had kept up with this crazy guy, matched him in his 'art' and out-orgasmed him 4-1, regularly. Never in her whole life had she come so often or so readily. Nor could she ever remember having enjoyed sexual fulfillment to anything like this degree.

She found this difficult to understand because even though Morton's body was now considerably tauter than it had been at the beginning of the week, one could hardly say he was 'physically attractive'. Neither was he abnormally endowed -- not that this made any difference, of course. She'd had bigger dicks inside her, but never one that remained hard as long as Morton's did, or recovered more quickly after an orgasm. She put this down to his many years of abstinence. Whatever he may say, there was surely some element there of 'catching up'.

This notion was reinforced during 'doggie training' on day 10.

Morton's stamina had increased day by day and this had now become a serious workout for Jane. She had to adopt a series of positions, one of which involved her lying face down on a pile of cushions, supported primarily by her stomach. Morton just kept on going, managing even to coax the odd orgasm out of her, though he did not achieve one himself.

She had one on day 10, too, but shortly thereafter became conscious of an emptiness inside her, and realized with a sense of shock that Morton's penis had grown soft. That this was unusual bears witness to Morton's extraordinary stamina. She had no idea how long he'd been pumping into her, but it was surely several hours.

She'd moved immediately to 'bring him back up', but this Morton did not want.

"I think, my dear, maybe a short break would be in order. Would that be acceptable?"

"Absolutely," Jane said. "Is it too early for a Campari?"

Of course, it was not.

On day 11, training proceeded without a hitch, hours of doggie, followed by