The Englishman (60 page)

The most incredible suspicion dawns on me. “Giles.” Very tenderly I tug at his cock, upward, downward, sideways. “How many women have done this to you?”

He lies very still. Stares up at the beamed ceiling of his cottage.

“Several,” he finally says. “But not the woman I was married to for eleven years.”

This is fascinating—and very welcome—information, but I will leave its discussion till later. Mentioning his ex-wife has made him go a little limp, but in no time at all I lick and suck, nibble, and squeeze him back into a rod-like state.

His eyes flit up to mine a fraction too quickly. “Look, I wouldn’t want to seem ungrateful, but…I’m really rather uncomfortable with this.”

“What, with this?” I kiss the hollow of his throat while I’m running my hands along his shoulders and his arms down to the cotton shackles at the small of his back. “Or this?” He winces when I tweak the skin of his stomach with my teeth. “You’re surely not uncomfortable with this?” I push his jeans and boxers over his knees and pull them off his long-muscled legs.

“Yes, actually, I feel extremely un—”

“Shhhh…” His embarrassment turns me on, and knowing that I will make him lose control in a very short while gives me a sense of power that is unfamiliar and extremely arousing. “I have not yet…seen you…”

“Seen me?” Again he glances up at me a little uncertainly.

“Yes, seen you. Touched you.” I feel myself slowing down, relaxing. The higher faculties of my brain shut down, and primeval, atavistic impulses take over. Bodies moving against each other, skin against skin. Giles watches me with slow bright eyes as I put another log on the fire and as I turn round to pull the t-shirt over my head. The blazing fire caresses my naked back and puckers the skin around my nipples. Slowly I unbutton my corduroys.

“The stockings are left to your imagination, I’m afraid.”

Going by the expression on his face and the response of his twitching cock, one would think this is a man watching a woman in black lace suspenders, a nipple-exposing corset, and six-inch heels.

“I really very urgently need to touch you,” he says.

“Maybe…but it’s my turn.”

Naked but for my sensible cotton panties and my knee socks, I squat on my haunches and run my hand up the inside of his long, hard thigh, brush past his balls, and explore the strands of muscle, the bones and ribs rising from smooth surfaces of flesh and skin. His blush has deepened, and his chest looks as if he had been out too much in the sun. This may be the only time I’ll get to touch him like this.

“I seem to end up naked all the time when we meet, while you hide inside that tweed armor of yours.” Careful not to squash any sensitive parts, I climb onto the sofa, my knees between his, stretch out along his naked length, adjust my hips, and close my thighs tightly around his erection.

“Am I too heavy like this—?”

His half scathing, half desperate grunt is answer enough. He stares at me, helpless in his arousal, and then his head sinks back and he closes his eyes.

“This is torture.”

Stretched out on top of Giles Cleveland I move my hips in slow, deliberate gyrations and clench the muscles in my thighs, using his rock-hard cock as an instrument of stimulation, which does nothing for my detachment but feels absolutely wonderful.

“Is that nice?”

“Nice! A nice Jewish girl shouldn’t even know what to do with a foreskin…certainly not…not know how to—oh, yesss!”

“
Shmuck
,” I whisper against his throat, keeping up my restrained but effective medium-dry humping.

“W-What?”

“That’s what
shmuck
means. It’s Yiddish for foreskin. Well, actually, what it means is jewelry.”

He has to laugh. “Well, I can’t tell you how ecstatically glad I am right now that I still have mine!”

“One can do strange and wonderful things with them. I’ll show you.”

I roll off him and with my fingertips deftly manipulate the creamy, silky skin around the hard shaft underneath. Now we are both looking down past his flat belly, and I adore the sight of his arched cock between my fingers. Giles catches his breath and releases it in a hiss.

“Sit on me…ride me. I need to feel you. There are some condoms in the bathroom cupboard. I think.”

I am tempted to do as he asks—but no. I want to remain in control. I want to turn the tables on him and make him come while I’m watching him.

I push my hands underneath his buttocks and cup the smooth, firm globes, lift his hips a few inches higher to arch the middle of his body. His fingers grope for mine, and we hold hands while I do what I can to give him the blowjob of his life. I’m so caught up in what I’m doing, so aroused myself now by the noises he makes in response to my manipulations, that I almost miss my cue. With my wrists supporting his balls, I can feel him tightening, ready to explode. I let him slide out of my mouth with a plop and wrap both hands around the hot, moist shaft.

“Why wouldn’t you let me touch you, earlier?”

“What? God!” he cries and rolls his hips to maintain some friction. “Don’t stop! D-Don’t stop now!”

“But I’m not stopping at all,” I object sweetly. “I’m just pausing!”

“I’m going to get you for this!” He thrashes around on the sofa, trying to loosen his shackles.

“Yes, Professor Cleveland, sir, but not yet.”

Very slowly I pump him inside the tube of my hand and fingers while I kiss and lick my way up from the tender, defenseless flesh above his hairline to his warm throat that smells more intensely of Giles than ever, and to his mouth.

“Tell me,” I whisper between slow, deep kisses that he receives almost passively; he is too far gone. I hadn’t been sure whether to expect that he would relax, after his initial discomfort at being tied up. But when he opens his eyes they are blank with sensation.

“Hmm?” His voice comes from somewhere deep in his throat, low and hoarse.

“Why you wouldn’t let me touch your cock when we were making out in your office.”

He closes his eyes again and swallows before he answers. My hand maintains a slow, steady rhythm of stimulation, and I can tell that he has about five percent of his consciousness available to answer my question.

“Because I thought I’d be able to keep my hands off you, if you…didn’t want me. But I was frightened of…this. That if you touched me, like this, I would want you again and again. Ludicrous, really, because I do…anyway.”

I gaze down at the flushed, defenseless face. I can’t allow myself to hope that this might be a beginning.

When I take him into my mouth again, I stop thinking. I make love to him with my lips and tongue and teeth and fingers, respond instinctively to the tensing of tissue, to his sighs and gasps. I’m no longer focused on egging him on; I no longer try to control his arousal. All I’m doing is reveling in his smell, his skin, his hardness, his softness. I’m reveling in the fact that for a few minutes I have made him forget any other woman who has ever touched him.

“Pleasedon’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstoppleasssse…Oh, no, don’t—”

I suck him deep into me until I feel a load of jizz hit the back of my throat. Mission accomplished. Milking him with both hands, firmly and slowly, I swallow and let him slide out of my mouth. This I want to see. He groans as if his entrails were on fire; his hips buck in spasms of release, and the next few milky white blobs land on my breasts and throat, run down my fingers onto his belly. I don’t think he was looking at me when he came, because it’s only when the spurts of cum subside to pearly drops that he raises his head and opens his eyes. I can’t suppress a grin—half of pride, half of tenderness.

“Why, Professor Cleveland…I always knew you had it in you.”

He is gasping for air, for the moment too weak even to laugh.

“You’re only so cocky because…I have my hands tied and…my spirits drained!”

“Not at all. I’m your willing handmaiden, sir. Here, let me clean you up.”

Very tenderly I take him between my lips and suck the wet, fragrant, softening shaft into my mouth again. He catches his breath as if I’d bitten into him.

“Not nice?”

“It blows all remaining fuses in my brain…but yeah, it’s lovely. But you have to be gentle with me.”

Satisfied, I settle my head against his thigh and very gently, with infinite tenderness, suckle his wilting cock. Inhale the smell of his sex in his hair, on his skin. Hold his drained balls in the hollow of my hand. Wait for the turn. Was this the climax that is followed by a falling action and imminent ending? Or is this a beginning? While I’m lying against his naked body, with his cock in my mouth, I almost don’t care.

“Why did you come?” he asks after a long while.

“Hmm? I didn’t.”

“No, I meant, here. When I was wandering through the snow feeling sorry for myself.”

I pull my knees underneath my body and squat between his legs.

“Will you thrash me if I untie you now?”

“I don’t think I’d have the strength,” he sighs. “You’ve shot yourself in the foot, my girl. Middle-aged men are completely incapacitated for hours by ejaculations like that.”

“That’s okay. Honor is satisfied.”

Cautiously, I push my hands under his buttocks again and feel for the cufflinks.

“So—you came here to make me come?” he insists.

I sit up and angle for my t-shirt and sweater while Giles very gingerly frees himself from his shackles and moves his arms about. Flexes his hands. Groans as the blood tingles in his fingers.

I’ve pulled on my clothes without wiping his cum off my chest. I want him on me. This is no time for niceties. “I had this terrible sense of…waste. And I knew for a fact that it wouldn’t get better at home, but worse. I just wanted to be outside, in the snow, and calm down. And then suddenly I was here. I don’t know, Giles.”

The beautiful naked man sitting next to me on the sofa smiles. It’s a wistful smile, as if he, too, thinks that this will be our only evening together. Then his expression changes and he flings himself on me, wrestles me down onto my back and kisses me with a vehemence that startles me.

“G-Giles!”

“Mhmm.” He raises his head and licks his lips. “I think the last time I tasted my spunk was when I lost a bet with Rupert Harding.”

“You shock me. And who is Rupert Harding?”

“Oh, he was my best friend at school.” He wriggles his torso between my thighs and slumps on top of me in all his naked glory.

“Ooofff…from what I heard about English boarding schools, I would have guessed that you tasted
his
.”

“Haha. No, I lost a bet—I can’t honestly say that I remember what it was all about. Something entirely puerile, no doubt. Something to do with the form master’s hairpiece, I think. Anyway, I lost, and I had to wank into my hand and taste the blob of cum on my finger. It was very exciting. I wouldn’t have had the courage to do that if I hadn’t been…you know, honor-bound.”

“What a fascinating life you have led!”

His eyebrows twitch in ironic acknowledgment, but his eyes and his mouth are serious.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Are you sad?” I ask, and even I can hear the anxious tone in my voice.

He smiles and scoots down the sofa so he can push his head underneath my t-shirt and sweater, like a small boy who hides from the world. His playfulness makes me laugh, but there is something strangely arousing in the childish—child-like—embrace of this broad-shouldered, gray-haired man.

Meanwhile his hands roam over my naked thighs and under my t-shirt in a way that is not in the least child-like. He reappears, cradling my hips in his hands, and trails an intoxicating line of kisses across my belly just above my panties and along the insides of my legs. His lips and nose caress my crotch through the hot, damp cotton. I feel him settling his lips over my clitoris, the tip of his tongue finds the tip of my clit, and for a crazy second I regret not having a cock that he could suck into his mouth.

“Will you stay until I’ve had a proper go at you?”

His tongue burns the hard little cotton-covered nub of flesh. Slowly he laps at it, teases it, and the sensation floods my pelvis like an epic deluge of lust and makes my heart pound almost painfully in my chest. His lips form an O over my clit, and he exhales slowly against it.

“Y-Yyy-aaah!”

“Is that a yes?”

“Giles!”

“Hmmm?”

“Giles, stop that. Or finish it, but don’t—”

He raises his head and looks at me with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

“Don’t
tease?”

“Yes…no.”

His eyes narrow, and I brace myself for the imminent assault.

“Oh, all right.” He shrugs his shoulders in a show of unconcern and clambers onto his feet. “The fire needs stoking anyway.”

For the second time this evening I watch him busying himself around the room, this time stark naked, which to my delight doesn’t seem to bother him at all. I curl up on the sofa in my socks and sweater and watch him. The long, well-defined strands of muscle in his legs and his back, his pale, tight buttocks gleaming in the dim light.