The Education of Lisa Ch. 14

My affair with Autumn lasted several weeks, but it was doomed to failure. For one thing, she insisted that I keep our little trysts a secret. Will would have enjoyed hearing about our sweaty afternoon fuck-sessions; concealing them from him felt like cheating. For another thing, I soon grew tired of her games. Being dominated was at first kind of a kinky thrill, but eventually it started to feel like she was just an overbearing bitch. Lastly, and most fatally, she got seriously possessive. Autumn wanted me to call off my engagement to Will and to move in with her. When she started to really put on the pressure, I broke it off. I dropped out of her course and never saw her again.

Will and I were married in June. It was a small, but very beautiful ceremony. My whole family was there. Carrie and my sister Kim shared the Maid of Honor duties. It wasn't traditional to have two, and neither was it traditional for the bride to have had sex with both of them. (Interesting side note: Carrie and Kim hooked up at the reception, spent the night together in a motel, and actually dated for several months.)

I met Will's parents for the first time; they were both quite old and dour. They told me they hoped our marriage would last longer than Will's first, but that was the extent of their well wishes. They did cut us a check for $20,000, though. I guess there are many ways to offer blessings.

We honeymooned in Vegas. A cliché, I know, but Will had actually never been there. Just driving to our hotel down The Strip brought to mind my wild voyeur's weekend here, so I was quite worked up by the time Will got me back to our room. I didn't have the patience to get undressed. My first married sex was bent over the bed, skirt hiked up and panties pulled aside, Will's prick sticking out from his open fly. It was great. I got off before he did, so I turned around and got on my knees. He came in my mouth and then we kissed. I shared with my husband a mouthful of his semen and this somehow seemed like a completion of our wedding ceremony; the symbolism of sharing the wedding cake made literal.

After that we got undressed and lay in bed for the rest of the afternoon. The first fuck had been frantic and wild; this was relaxed and languishing, dipping in and out all afternoon, with no expectation of climax. Laughing and rolling about naked for the sheer joy of togetherness. We napped, sleeping off the flight and the drive and the exhaustion of the day, and then went out for a late dinner and too much wine. Will actually danced with me, shedding his usual self-consciousness. It was magical. Afterwards, I was ready to go back to our room and give myself to him again and again. Will, however, had quite a surprise in store for me.

Too sloshed to drive our rental car, Will hailed a cab and whispered an address to the Middle Eastern driver. This should have raised my suspicion, but I was too blissed-out to notice. I unzipped Will's fly and put my head in his lap to suck his cock while the cabbie, who had certainly seen wilder sights, watched with disinterested glances in the rear-view mirror.

We drove for a while and Will guided me drunkenly out of the cab into a nightclub. On the way in he flashed his driver's license at a huge brick wall of a bouncer, who searched a list and apparently found Will's name. (Again, I was too high and bubbly to find this odd.) Inside, the place was sparsely decorated, reminding me of the milk bar at the start of "A Clockwork Orange." I saw framed pictures on the walls; hard-core sex exquisitely photographed in stark black and white. Will led me past tables of scantily-clad men and women nodding their heads dreamily to the slow beat of the hypnotic music. There were odd smells in the air; smoke and musk and incense. A man dressed like a maitre-d' stood impassively behind a small podium at the back of the room. Will told the man we had a reservation, showed his ID again, and we were led down a dark hall into what looked like a hotel room.

The room was meagerly but tastefully decorated, like the rest of this strange place. A king-sized bed with a circular mattress and silky black sheets. An even larger whirlpool bath. What appeared to be a massage table. A strange device mounted to a table which looked like (but certainly couldn't be) a hookah.

I fell down on the bed and languidly stretched my limbs. The bed was luxuriously soft. The silk of the sheets rubbing against the material of my dress made an electrical music which made every square inch of my skin tingle. I was exquisitely aware of my stiffening nipples.

"This is so nice, Will," I said. "But why did you get us a second hotel room?"

"This isn't a hotel," Will said, looking away from me.

As if on cue, the door to the room opened and two people entered. A man and a woman. Both, it should be noted, were amazingly beautiful.

The man was tall and dark-complexioned; possibly Middle-Eastern. He wore a clean white tank-top which clung to his muscular and nearly hairless frame, and provided a pleasing contrast to his deep tan skin. His face was angular and delicate, his hair long and curled. He was so good-looking it was almost absurd; he looked like a model for the cover illustration of some romance novel I wouldn't be caught dead reading. "My Arabian Knight," or something cheesy like that. His black eyes looked me over and he smiled easily, revealing a spread of perfect white teeth.

The woman beside him had even darker skin than his. She was as petite and tiny as he was buff, with long straight hair and, like him, a model's smile on a pleasant, round face. Even more pleasant and round were her breasts, on casual display in the low-cut dress she wore.

"Hello, Lisa," the woman spoke. "Welcome to the Paradise Club. My name is Betty and this is Nigel. Your husband has paid for the Deluxe Package, so we are here to serve you."

"What?" I gasped.

Both Nigel and Betty looked to Will, who shrugged sheepishly. He looked over at me. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"We recommend against that," Nigel said, speaking with a slight British accent. "It is better if the client knows what to expect."

"Client?" I sputtered. I was a little slow on the uptake, to say the least. "Will, what's going on?"

"I can explain, if you like," Nigel said.

"I wish to hell you would," I said.

"The Paradise Club is a very exclusive and very unique combination spa and brothel, catering to women who deserve to be treated like a queen. You will receive the ultimate in relaxation. Betty will bathe you, give you a facial and a pedicure, and then she will perform cunnilingus upon you, a practice at which she is a certified expert."

Betty smiled at me and slowly licked her lips. "It will be my pleasure to pleasure you," she purred.

"I will give you a full-body massage and will then make passionate love to you," Nigel went on. "I assure you that we are both trained professionals, discrete and clean. As an employee of the Paradise Club, we both take weekly blood tests to ensure that we are free of sexually transmitted diseases. These records are on file in the office. Furthermore, I have had a vasectomy, so there is no concern of unwanted pregnancy. I will wear a condom if you so request, but most of our clients prefer that I don't."

My head was reeling. "Will, is this for both of us?"

"No," Nigel answered. "Only for you. We do not service male clients, though husbands and boyfriends are free to watch, as your husband has elected to do."

"I don't know, Will," I said. "This is our honeymoon, Will. I wanted it to be just us."

"If you don't want to do this, Lisa," Will said. "We'll go. But this service comes highly recommended. I wanted to do something truly special for you."

"I'm sorry, but you should have at least warned me."

"It is my duty to inform you that your deposit is non-refundable," Nigel said in the same cool, professional tone. "As we see a very limited number of clients by appointment only, we really must insist on payment even if the services are not rendered."

"How much did this cost, Will?" I asked.

He shrugged, as always modest about financial matters. "Let's say . . . low five digits."

"Low five digits?" I gasped. "You mean tens of thousands of dollars?"

"It doesn't matter," Will said. He looked up at Nigel. "I apologize for the inconvenience. Come on Lisa, let's go."

"Wait," I said.

I stood there, biting my lip as all three of them watched me expectantly. I was a little peeved, true, that Will had presumed to set this up without consulting me. I had fantasized about my honeymoon for my entire life, and had always imagined that it would be pure romance. This, somehow, did not qualify.

On the other hand, I was naturally a bit curious. Betty was looking me over like a cat sizing up a mouse and I couldn't but wonder how one became a certified expert at cunnilingus. Nigel and his muscles were standing still, smiling impassively. I glanced down at the rather intimidating bulge in his tight jeans and my pussy twitched, as if winking at him.

It was the money that decided me. Not so much that I wanted Will to get his money worth; more like I just had to know what a low-five-digits fuck would be like.

"Fine," I said. "But next time, let me know if you're planning something crazy like this."

"Great," Betty said, beaming at me. "I would have been so disappointed had you decided not to do this, Lisa. It's not very often we get a client as young and as beautiful as you."

"Thank you," I said.

Nigel pulled a plastic-wrapped black ball the size of a small marble from his pocket. "Would you care to start with a smoke?"

"What is that?" I asked.

Nigel crushed the ball and placed it in the bowl of what I had presumed, correctly it seems, to be a hookah.

"It's the house blend," Nigel said. "The finest Turkish opium and hashish imported from Amsterdam, along with a few special ingredients."

"That's illegal, isn't it?" I sounded like the straight kid in an after-school special.

"The greatest pleasures are those which are forbidden," Nigel said. He flipped a switch on the side of the machine, activating both a heating element and a vacuum pump. The hookah gurgled, scenting the room with pungent smoke. "You may of course elect not to partake in the smoke, but I highly recommend that you do. It allows for ecstasy which otherwise can only be experienced in dreams."

I shrugged. "What the hell. Why not?" In for a penny, in for a pound, as the old expression goes. Whatever that means. Nigel handed me one of the hoses. I placed the mouthpiece between my lips and drew in sweet, deceptively mild smoke. When I exhaled, a cloud roughly the size of New Jersey emerged from my lungs.

I coughed a little and Betty pressed a chilled glass of champagne in my hand. The cold bubbly liquid soothed my throat. I breathed in more smoke.

The effects of the first draw of smoke hit me about halfway through my second inhalation. At this point, I thought Hey, that's kind of nice, and, perhaps unwisely, inhaled for a third time. By then the second draw hit me hard, the effects increasing exponentially. When the third one entered my blood stream, I literally reeled backwards. I would have fallen to the floor had I not landed in Nigel's strong arms.

I laughed hard as the dusky man held me. I was floating on a cloud. The rest of the evening transpired in a dreamy haze. I will recount it to the best of my ability, but be forewarned that my memories are as disjointed as those of a dream.

Betty nimbly undressed me. She pulled my dress off over my head and removed my undergarments slowly and lovingly. Nigel helped her guide me over to the tub which had been filled at some point with hot, fragrant water, without me even noticing. (I told you I was out of it.) I slid into the water and gasped at the sudden heat. Every cell of my skin came alive at once.

Betty stripped down to a sheer bra and panties and this beautiful, nearly naked woman began to wash me. I had not been bathed by another person since I was a baby. She had an arsenal of sponges and brushes with varying degrees of abrasion. Betty started with a rough, scrubbing exfoliation of my face, after which my skin felt tingly and renewed. Then she shampooed and conditioned my hair, a surprisingly erotic experience. Rich, no doubt fantastically expensive hair products, applied with a stiff brush which left my scalp cool and tingling. A warm rinse, the suds squeezed from my hair with her smooth, loving hands.

Then she went to work on my body. I sat up so she could scrub my back and shoulders, then leaned back into the tub. Betty used a silky soft cloth to wash my breasts, granting them much more attention than they would have warranted if the purpose of this bath was merely to get clean. Not that I was complaining. She drank the dewy beads of moisture off my nipples, lapping them up like a cat having her milk.

The experience was overwhelmingly sensual. The beauty of my servants and the stark visual purity of the room itself. The light sound of tinkling wind-chimes piped in through the music system and the low purring, cooing sounds of pleasure which came from Betty's throat (and perhaps from my own.) The smells of the exotically perfumed water and the lingering spice of the smoke. The heat of the water and the gentle, but nearly overwhelming tactile pleasure of Betty's caresses. Even my sense of taste was appealed to, as Nigel kept pressing items between my lips. Bittersweet chocolates, sweet and cool fizzing champagne, slimy and salty things which I guessed were oysters and chunks of caviar. Plus the clean taste of his fingers and, at least a few times, the hose of the hookah pressed to my lips so I could partake again of the smoke.

Betty washed off my arms and my belly and, teasing me with one quick stroke where I most wanted it, lifted my legs out of the water one at a time and washed them too. Then, yes. Oh God, yes. With her silkiest cloth she reached down between my legs and rubbed and scrubbed and stroked and caressed. I arched my back and moaned and felt her soft fluttery lips kissing my throat. I turned my head and she kissed my lips, so softly and sweetly while her expert fingers made me clean.

I tried to make a joke, to say something stupid like "I think my pussy's clean by now," but my mind was too fuzzed to make the words and my breath was soon stolen from me as well, as the first orgasm took hold. It was less a release than the achievement of a plateau. I floated to some gravity-forsaken level of weightless pleasure and just hovered there. Every cell in my body was dizzily spinning. I cried out and Betty laughed, the two sounds meeting and tickling at our hungry kissing lips.

She released me and helped me stand. The water was drained and I was rinsed with cool water, bracing my skin after the heat of the bath. Nigel helped her guide me from the tub and they both dried me with towels so soft their thread count would have made Martha Stewart's pussy damp. Together they helped me over to the massage table, which I saw now had been folded up into a chair, the sort you would find at a beauty parlor.

As Nigel dried my hair, Betty applied an after-bath lotion all over my body, again paying particular attention to my breasts. She rubbed the stuff all over my legs, and then buffed the soles of my feet with some kind of pumice stone. As I was still recovering from this ticklish delight, she cranked a knob on the base of the chair. To my surprise, the legs separated. I was spread-eagled.

Betty kneeled between my legs and leaned forward, as if to pray. She kissed me. There. I closed my eyes and slid into her mouth and her tongue fell upon my most secret spot. Certified expert. Jesus. I wondered what sort of board had certified her and imagined a panel of women with their legs spread as mine were, Betty sucking them off one by one as they graded her performance. She definitely scored a 10 in my book. I've had my pussy eaten by some very skilled practitioners of the art, but there is definitely something to be said for professional cunnilingus. She precise and efficient, lapping my clitoris with a machine-like speed I would have said was impossible from a human tongue. All the while, her lower lip was giving my labial lips amazingly autonomous strokes. Then she started doing this weird thing where she was kissing, licking and sucking all at once. It felt like there were at least three people going down on me all at the same time.

Add the musky fragrance of my sopping wet pussy to the chorus of smells in the room. As always, smelling myself aroused me further. I squirmed on the table. I wanted to wrap my arms and legs around her head and pull her all the way into me, but my muscles were limp as overcooked spaghetti. Especially when I felt Nigel's strong hands begin to work my shoulders. Receiving stimulation at both ends was enough to send me to the edge of orgasm's cliff. Betty sensed the nearness of my climax as if by telepathy. She lapped me furiously to the very brink and then backed off, stilling the vibrations of my buzzing clitoris with firm tongue pressure. By doing this, she prolonged the penultimate moment for what felt like forever. When she finally allowed me to slip into the depths of my little death, the rush of endorphins was so overwhelming that I actually blacked out for a second.

I came to as Nigel and Betty were turning me over. They lay me on my belly on the table, which was converted again to facilitate the massage. A massage, Jesus. If I was any more relaxed, I'd be dead.

"I want to eat your pussy," I said to Betty. Though, with the fuzzed nature of both my thoughts and muscles, I'm sure this came out more like: "I wanneer pushy."

"Sorry," Betty replied. "That's against the rules. It's all about your pleasure."

"It would be my pleasure," I insisted. ("Itubby m'plesher.")

"I can do this much for you." Betty slid her hand into her panties and emerged with two slimy-slick fingers, which she put in my mouth. Of all the exotic flavors I'd had pressed to my tongue tonight, her juices were the sweetest and most tantalizing. I sucked her fingers clean and begged for more. Alas, it was not to be.

Nigel began his massage. He spread wonderful-smelling oil all over the back of my body and then went to work, methodically working his way down. I'd had massages before, but never before at the mercy of such strong, expert hands. Shoulders, back, buttocks, legs, feet, all worked into a state of relaxation so profound it could only be described as liquid. I was water, mutable and passive.

With Betty's help, Nigel turned me over. There was no way I could have accomplished this with my own volition. He gave a frontal massage, a bit gentler and more hurried than the one he had applied to my back. Scalp, face, arms, breasts, chest and belly. Then he slid his strong hands between my legs. My tired but still eager pussy yielded to his caress.

"Are you ready for me to make love to you now?" he asked.

Even nodding was beyond my power.

He lifted me up in his strong arms and carried me to the bed. After the firmness of the massage table, its softness was like being tossed into the ocean. As I was liquid myself, I simply dispersed into the tide.

Nigel undressed. His uncut cock was not the largest I'd ever seen, but it was still formidable. He crawled into me, penetrated me; filled me up. He was so strong. He held me tight and fucked me hard and I was lost. Lost in the waves.

It went on forever, with me drifting through various levels of lucidity. At times I was very much in the moment and at other times I'd floated away to some faraway place. I know I must have dozed off at least once because I remember dreaming that I was being fucked by a panther. I awoke from this shocking vision with a start to find Nigel growling like the big cat I'd dreamed him to be. I knew he was about to come inside me and I wanted it so badly that it brought on yet another climax, the last I had. As he bloomed inside me, I wilted. I was spent.