Bad. So fucking bad. She wasn’t an adulterer, not technically, because she and Charles weren’t yet married. But she had acted exactly like a fallen woman, or even some stupid, out-of-control slut. And the fact that the sex had been so incredible was no excuse. Each astounding orgasm with William had been a betrayal, every sublime shudder a hard stab at the heart of her relationship with Charles.

Why, then, did some part of her feel like a triumphal sex goddess? Why did she feel like filling a tall glass with champagne — or semen — to toast the awakening of her sexual abilities and appetites? And why did she feel as though she had just scratched the surface, that her potential for giving and experiencing pleasure was almost limitless, and so special?

Well, it was a huge improvement. Not in morality, of course, but the intensity… Fuck, who knew that sex could feel like that? It was completely… intoxicating. But like all intoxicating experiences, it was a vice, and filled with dangers. And repercussions.

So no more. Out-of-this-world orgasms were great, but… A shudder ran through her body at the memory of their intensity. No!, she admonished herself. Orgasms — even orgasms like that — were not great, not when they occurred in the wrong place, with the wrong person. This strange sexual awakening might end up being a blessing in time, but only if she channeled her desires in the proper direction, toward Charles.

She could never tell her fiancé about any of this — it could only cause harm, this horrible truth. She would carry the weight of her unforgivable behavior for the rest of her life, and if that became unbearable, she would enter therapy or exchange her Episcopalian faith for Catholicism, whatever it took to confess her sins to someone bound to secrecy. But one way or another she would move on. Correction: They would move on. She and Charles. Together.

Faith, she needed to have faith in herself, and faith in God’s grace. In fact, today was Ash Wednesday, she would go to the evening service at her church and pray for the strength to give up these bodily desires, the strange new stirrings that kept undermining her morals. But she could already hear her minister’s voice in her head, reminding the flock that grace was a partnership. She had to do her part by taking responsibility for her sins, and exercising some self-control.

Determination, then — she needed that, too. And she had it, or used to have it. She had always been so good at setting goals and sticking to them, and she could do it again. She would retrieve her things from Pierce’ studio and catch an early train down to Philadelphia. The big cocktail party, wedding arrangements, maybe even a night of satisfying sex with Charles — perhaps she could even assuage her guilt by giving him what he’d always wanted from her, a good and proper blowjob with her body all decked out in one of her naughty outfits. There, a simple goal, and one that she could achieve and even enjoy, because tasting semen, lo and behold, was like tasting heaven.

She smacked her lips, remembering. No more of that semen, the wrong semen. Back to her fiancé’s safe dick, the only dick she was supposed to taste. And she had already made progress, leaving William at daybreak with no promises of returning.

But was that real progress? She left his bedroom in the early morning with no words of commitment, no promises of a second night of sex games. But she had dressed in her crop top and shorts before awakening William, conducting a strip-tease above him as he lay there on the bed. After shimmying her firm ass out of her tiny shorts, she split her legs wide, so he could stare right up at her swollen cunt, seeing how wet and ready she was, even though they had already fucked so many times. Was it a victory, deliberately leaving that way, with William groaning beneath her? Was it right to burn new images of her spectacular body into his brain? Isn’t that what had eaten at her conscience in the first place? Now she would have to return, to make amends again. With her body. With her steaming hot pussy.

She got into and out of her apartment before Giuseppe’s shift, avoiding any temptation there. And she did make progress in one area, dressing today in black jeans and a bulky sweater with boots, rather than some ridiculous outfit and sexy heels unsuited to the weather. It wasn’t as cold today, but four inches of snow lay on the ground, already turning dark and dirty, as all pure things do on Manhattan’s gridded streets.

Catherine looked up at Pierce’ fourth floor windows. Drawing class didn’t start for another hour, he might not even be there. Did he make his own artwork in this studio? She’d never seen canvases or supplies, no evidence of any kind that the big room was used for anything other than teaching.

Don’t become curious. Get in and get out, she repeated to herself in the elevator. She would miss participating in the class, and especially miss Pierce’ voice, but she couldn’t stay, for so many reasons. In, find her coat and bags, and out, before the other students showed up. In, out, in, out… The image of William’s cunt-slickened cock flashed through her brain, followed by a vision of Joel’s hard-on. God, she’d better get out before Joel arrived, there was no telling what she would do if she saw him.

Stoppp thaaat, she reminded herself. No thoughts about sex or being sexy or how delicious semen was or how great she had turned out to be at giving head last night. No thoughts about having more orgasms in one night than she usually had in several months, and definitely no thoughts about how strong and electrifying her climaxes had been. And no thoughts about the way her pussy could almost feel a phantom in/out rhythm right now. It felt so good but it wasn’t real, it was probably no different than the way the body retains the sensation of a sailboat’s rocking for many hours after returning to land. It was a body echo, a thing of the past. Just like her whorish behavior.

The door to Pierce’ studio was ajar, but she knocked anyway.

“Hello? Pierce?”

She stepped inside, into silence. Maybe Pierce was elsewhere in the building. Or there in the adjoining room.

She almost jumped for joy when she spotted her bags right where she’d left them, at the back of the studio. Her coat had been placed right next to the bags, neatly folded and draped over the back of a chair.

In and out, just slip in and out… Ignore the way her pussy ached when peering into the bag, and seeing the naughty little treasures there. Yes, the lingerie and wrist restraints made her feel all itchy, but don’t think too much about them, or about the way her nipples were beginning to tingle under her sweater. And ignore the room’s heat, making it so easy to imagine taking everything off, and posing naked on the model stand, her classmates gawking at her body, every one of them getting excited because she was so fucking sexy.

“I wondered whether we’d see you again, Catherine.”

“Oh!” She turned around and there he was, Pierce.

“You’re feeling better? Joel said that you felt ill yesterday.”

“Um… yes. Ill. I was ill. But I’m fine now.”

“Glad to hear it. It’s a shame that you missed the opportunity to draw yesterday. Perhaps I could give you some special attention today to help you catch up.”

Pleasure chills ran all through her body at the thought. Special attention. God, how she would love that, because she was so beautiful and so special. But wait, she wasn’t going to stay for class. She was dripping… dropping out, so she could go to Charles and restore her sanity.

“Um, Pierce… I don’t think I can… come any more.”

“Oh?”

Get in and get out. But she hated the idea of missing out on hearing his voice, and she was dying for another of his little meditations. And leaving would keep her from moving forward with her drawings. True, but not leaving would keep her from moving forward with her simple goals, to get back to Charles. Dammit, she really wanted to move forward, but it was impossible to do that in every case, especially when she felt so fragmented. And horny.

“Catherine? You look a little flushed. Are you sure you’re okay?”

No, she wasn’t sure. She felt flushed, like he’d said, and her eyes kept roaming all over Pierce, as though assessing how their bodies might fit together. Like it or not, there was something about him that absolutely agreed with her. She almost felt like she’d strip out of her clothes and wrap her thighs around his face if he asked her to. Hell, the way his voice made her feel, she’d probably wrap her thighs around his face if he just read from a dictionary.

She could almost see and hear it in her mind, Pierce with a dictionary in his hands, the two of them lying naked on a bed. “Begin from the beginning,” she would say, her slippery slit hanging on every breath. “Aardvark, abacus…” he would begin. God, she’d probably be writhing and screaming by the time he got to “abandon”.

“Catherine? Are you okay?”

“I… I think so. I was just abandoning… I mean, coming… for these things…”

“You really do look flushed. Maybe you should lie down, until class begins.”

“Um… but I’m not…” What was it that she wasn’t doing? Coming, in her pants. No, no, that wasn’t right, she was quite close to coming in her pants; in fact her hands were wriggling past the waistband of her jeans right now, and just one word or… Wait, no, what was the matter with her? She wasn’t coming to class, that was what she needed to tell him. Her fingertips kept burrowing, and once they found her wetness it all became clear again. She needed to talk to Pierce about coming, and how she had come three times last night… No, wait, more than three times, because so many of the orgasms had been double or triple-headers, with reverberations even more potent than… Wait, fuck, three classes, she had come to three classes. She really should not come a fourth time, as much as she wanted to.

“I… I have to leave,” she whispered, not certain whether she really could.

“I understand. But you really do look dizzy or something. Let me get you some water, at least,” he offered. “Come with me.”

“Ohh! Oh, God…” she croaked, the aching pang between her thighs erupting with more force. Oh fuck, oh God… She opened her eyes, not having been aware that she’d ever closed them. Pierce was several steps away and she haltingly followed, barely able to walk with her jeans lowered halfway down her thighs like this. She didn’t remember pulling them down but thank God she had. The middle fingers of both hands were wiggling into her wet opening and it felt as though a series of aftershocks from all of last night’s orgasms were lurking deep in her interior, ready to surge forward at any moment.

Pierce went into the adjoining room and she followed as far as the door, leaning against the jamb for support. It was a smallish room, nicely appointed with a long couch and a compact kitchen area. Pierce opened a bottle of Evian and half-filled a glass for her, then turned and offered it.

“Ohhh Goddd!” she shuddered. “Ohhh, ohhh…”

“Catherine? Catherine?”

“I… I need to lie down!” she screamed, and he put the glass down, reaching out to guide her to the sofa.

“Why, your practically on fire!” he exclaimed, touching her, and it was true, she could feel the sweat on her forehead and pre-orgasmic chills rampaging throughout her body. She felt as though she might literally combust if Pierce didn’t stuff her cunt with his hardness, completely filling her.

“Relax right here,” he soothed, and she felt everything go soft inside, the cushions of the couch easing against her back.

She must be sick, or close to fainting, or so caught within the crest of the most intense slow-motion orgasm that her entire body was experiencing that little death that people sometimes spoke of. This wasn’t turning out right at all, being here and feeling all fiery and sexed-up and dizzy like this, but it was hard to worry about it when she was floating. Pierce said something and she could listen but not really hear, like she was far away from herself on the inside, like she was taking a little vacation.

Yes, her normal mind would take a peaceful little vacation, and she would follow, follow the breath and follow the voice, describing out-loud every detail of her recent life, recounting all of her fantasies and even her recent dreams. She would confess all of her shameful indiscretions, as well as the indiscretions that pulled at her will, the indiscretions she longed to commit. And yes, oh yes, she would follow, follow this voice, follow it anywhere, opening herself to it completely, letting it fill her, letting its intonations touch places inside that had never been touched before…

The river churned all around her, the canoe spinning around and around, totally out of control. She had to find some way to steer, some way to keep the bow to the front. But she had nothing, no paddle, and the trick of leaning her body to guide the small boat had no effect against the current in this raging whitewater. How had she ended up here, so ill equipped, in such a dangerous place? The river had become wrathful, the rapids so intense that she would have little chance to direct the canoe even if she were properly trained and had all of the right equipment.

“Watch out!” she heard a woman call, the voice right in her ear yet difficult to hear over the river’s roar.

The boat dropped through a violent chute and her heart jumped to her throat from the feeling of falling.

“We aren’t going to make it!” Catherine cried to her unseen companion. “The current is too strong!”

“Catherine!” she heard. “Catherine!”

She was falling, and going under, and there was no way to stop it.

“Catherine? Catherine, wake up.”

She opened her eyes.

“Back with us again?” The model with the huge tits stood beside the sofa, looking down at her sweetly. The model was dressed, which seemed surprising. And irritating.

“I, um… I must have fallen asleep. Has class started?”

“Started and ended,” the model smiled.

“You mean…”

“Yep. You were completely out of it when I arrived here a few hours ago.”

“Just watching you sleep makes me want to growl,” came a lighter female voice from behind.

Catherine tilted her head back and saw another young woman with long, straight blonde hair and some of the bluest eyes in the city.

“Hi, I’m Katia,” the girl beamed. “Holly and I modeled together today. You really missed out.”

Catherine’s cobwebs were parting, but not entirely gone. Holly must be the name of the model with the terrific tits, and this other girl, Katia… She was petite, adorably cute, and her body, especially, was fucking gorgeous. Pierce sure did know how to pick them. And speaking of her drawing teacher…

“Pierce asked us to stay with you,” Holly offered, as though reading her mind. “He was worried about you.”

“That’s… sweet,” Catherine whispered, trying to get a clear picture in her head about the chain of events right before falling asleep. She remembered her eyes almost eating Pierce up and feeling all super-itchy again. Then Pierce had offered her some water, but she got all dizzy before even drinking it. After that, everything was a blank.

She sat up, testing her balance. A little woozy, and the strange thing was that her clitoris somehow felt swollen and all tingly.

“So Pierce is… gone?” she asked.

“He had an appointment right after class,” Katia replied.

Catherine tried to keep a straight face, but hearing the news made her lips tighten and her pussy scream with disappointment.

“Listen,” Holly began. “Do you want us to call you a cab?”

Where was she going next? Church. No, home — where she could scream... no, dream about Pierce and masturbate like crazy — and then church. “Um… no. I can walk. I’m feeling… a little confused, but better, and it’s not too far.”

“Do you want us to walk you home?”

“No, that’s okay. I… Wait. Yes, I… I think I really would like it if you walked me home.”

Why had she said that? She didn’t need assistance, her body felt almost weirdly energized now that she was sitting up. Giuseppe, that must be the answer. If Holly and Katia went with her as far as her door, she wouldn’t have to deal with Giuseppe and his hard dick.

Of course, she had avoided Giuseppe’s hard dick yesterday, and look at what happened. It ended up being a phallic trade-off, not a victory. Her eyes went to Holly’s huge breasts, powering out under a white sweater. Fuck, those things looked like heaven. She felt a sharp pang of desire and blinked her eyes to chase it away. Then she drank in Katia, less busty but no less inspiring. Catherine’s heart skipped a beat as she surveyed Katia’s fine body, so well displayed in a dark leather skirt and boots. The top of a black leotard clung to her upper body, showcasing an elegantly formed torso, so tight and toned, just like her own. Only miniaturized, as though meant to be a play toy.

No. Stop. No play toys. She had to stop this crap, this tendency for her thoughts to meander towards sex. That was the trap in her sexual awakening, this relentless tendency towards thoughts about hot sex and big tits and delicious cum at the wrong times, in the wrong situations. She was better than that, and stronger than that. Sure, she could feel her clit buzzing like a bee inside of her jeans, and sure Holly and Katia were insanely sexy, but they were not objects of sex, not for her. They were just walking her to her apartment, where she would finger herself into as many orgasms as it took to relieve this fucking insane buzzing ache between her hot legs. And then she would dress like a lady, and go to church, and have ashes rubbed onto her forehead while she prayed like fucking hell for help.

They talked as they walked, and it became clear that Holly and Katia modeled for Pierce in a wider sense than she’d first assumed. Teaching was a sporadic event for Pierce, a labor of love, because there was so much demand for his paintings. His paintings of female nudes.

Catherine tried to coax out a description of Pierce’ artwork, but they deflected her questions, leaning upon that old cliché she’d heard before, that it was so hard to describe a visual medium in words. When she pressed, Holly would only say that Pierce had a current wait-list of over a hundred clients.

“His paintings must be… well, really good, to be in such demand.”

“They’re incredible,” Holly replied, her voice soft and dreamy. “And modeling for him is incredible.”

“We’re so lucky to be able to work with him,” Katia added. “Being beautiful is its own reward — well, I don’t have to tell you that. But being immortalized in paint… That’s indescribable.”

Catherine wondered whether Pierce’ paintings were anything like the pin-up art she’d recently become enamored with. And did he photograph Holly and Katia, or work exclusively from life? She would have to keep wondering, because she couldn’t get any more out of her companions on the subject. Where Pierce painted, or how often they modeled, or how he’d found them or how much he paid them — she was intensely curious, but received no answers.

They talked about other things, and she found that she really liked Holly and Katia. Holly was a second year journalism major at Columbia, and Katia was only two months from receiving her BA in industrial design from Pratt.

Youth, beauty and brains — it was hard to find anything more sexy. She enjoyed their company, but it drove her crazy that she didn’t know which of the two had the blonder pubic hairs. It was a strange question to be plaguing her mind, but the fact remained that their bushes would not be identical in hue, and one of them had to be more blonde than the other. Unless Katia shaved hers. Damn, why had she slept through class today? She had seen Holly’s vagina, had even studied and drawn that lovely glistening slit. But having missed their joint modeling session today, there was no way to tell whether Katia’s pussy had a similar pale crown. She’d bet anything it did.

She fell behind her companions every now and then when the sidewalk became narrow, and compared the tones in their blonde tresses. Some sexual attributes were immediately discernable when you met someone, like the size of a woman’s breasts, or sometimes even the size or sensitivity of her nipples. But most questions of this kind were meant to remain unanswered. She knew the size of William Lafort’s hardened cock now, but most of the time you could only guess. The comparative color of these models’ pubic hairs should be no different. But the other students in the class knew, and she should, too.

No, no she shouldn’t, and she had to stop thinking like that! This was how things went crazy, with her musing crazily and then getting caught up in it somehow. She needed to stop thinking about huge tits and slippery slits, and she needed to stop now. Only she couldn’t. Holly’s ass looked so fine in those tight jeans, and Catherine felt compelled to stare. What was it about those two lovely cheeks that seemed to proclaim the fullness of her breasts in front? Her lovely, imposing big-as-get-all breasts, the breasts she had studied, and drawn, and salivated over.

Switching her gaze to Katia’s backside was no relief, because Katia’s legs almost made her melt like the surrounding snow. All she could see were the backs of Katia’s knees and a portion of her full calves before they slipped so gracefully into the tops of her boots, but it was enough, enough to know that they were sisters in exquisite legdome.

Catherine tried desperately to gather herself, to be strong and determined inside. She needed to think straight, and think about straightness, because she wasn’t bi, even though these two women looked good enough to eat.

Two blonde beauties. Her mind skimmed through a series of multiplications: Three wet pussies, six firm thighs, six breasts and thirty fingertips. Three tongues. Six hard nipples. Three aching clitor…

“Oh,” she sighed, realizing that she had never needed to contemplate the plural form of the word “clitoris”. Clitorae? No, clitorides. Three clitorides. Three exciting clit rides.

Ohhh Goddd… She had to stop thinking about clit rides, because it was having a strange effect down there. Her clitoris… It couldn’t be true, but with every step on the sidewalk, it felt as though her clitoris was growing in size. Ridiculous, she thought, body parts don’t grow. But fuck, that throbbing… Not only was her clitoris buzzing like a bee, it felt for all the world like it had grown to the size of one.

She fell another step or two behind her companions, wiggling her hips in her tight jeans, trying to shake things back to normal. Every step was becoming torture, the stimulation sending shivers up her spine. Fuck, what was the matter with her? Was she becoming delusional? She hopped up and down a couple of steps, and still the feeling was there, and getting worse.

It must be them, Holly and Katia. They were too fucking sexy, and just being near them was having a terrible effect inside of her panties. If her sex organs felt like they were growing new pleasure cells every second, it was because she really, really wanted to rub her throbbing oversized clit on both of their chins. She had this feeling that both of them could do things to her pussy that most men couldn’t even dream of.

Fuck, she was slipping into girl-on-girl lustworld again. Think about men, think about tons of cocks and an almost inexhaustible supply of cum and… Wait, no, not just any men, nor just any hard cocks. That was another trap. She tried to picture sex with Charles, no one but Charles, but instead saw William’s bigger dick plunging in and out of her sopping wet cunt. She remembered the taste of his cum in her mouth, and how it ignited all of her pleasure buttons all at once.

Her throbbing giant clitoris applauded this train of thought, buzzing crazily. Ohhh God, how she loved to suck cocks. There, she had said it — she was an overnight cocksucking enthusiast, she felt like she could practically go on a cocksucking diet, writing reviews of the subtle differences in flavor and consistency. Therefore, she had no reason to eat pussies, because she wanted to spend the rest of her life sucking…

Ahh! Fuck fuck fuck! She was doing it again!

Her clitoris felt like it had to be the size of a marble by the time they made it to her building. Her breathing was ragged and she moaned out loud when seeing her reflection in the big glass doors, flanked by Holly and Katia. Three super-sexy women, and so obvious that all three could go on wet and wild clit rides together…

Inside, she caught Giuseppe’s eye and his dark pupils were filled with questions. Who were her great-looking friends, was she avoiding him, had she meant to touch him that way, and might there be a chance that she would touch him again? It was all there to be read, his hopes and his dreams and maybe even his wet dreams. She’d bet anything that he had replayed her touch in his mind, beating himself off at least once with the image of her fabulous legs there in front of him. Wait until he learned how great she was at giving head.

She held his gaze but gave nothing away, no sign of “yes”, no sign of “no”. If his dick ached at the sight of her, then let it ache. Why shouldn’t he feel like he was almost dying to have a woman’s tongue playing with his most sensitive spots? She certainly felt that way.

Wait, no, she was doing it yet again, thinking in ways that might lead to forbidden territory. She was not bringing these hot women here for fun and games. They entered the elevator together and she felt their clothing grazing her body to either side, but she could ignore the faint touch, ignore it because she didn’t swing that way. Why not just shoot Charles in the heart if she was willing to betray his trust by bedding two sexy models? She would never know which of these lovely girls had the blonder pubic hairs. And she would never know the taste of a woman, even though she knew it would be delicious, just as her own pussy must be so delicious.

A new thought surfaced: Could she eat herself? She was incredibly limber from her dance training, she could do almost anything with her body. But eating her own pussy? What a cure, she thought, for times like this, when her clit felt humongous and in such desperate need of attention. And she just might be able to do it if she lay on her back with her legs curled back over her head in a full split. With her long neck, she might be able to reach far enough forward with her tongue, or at least come close. And if she came close, she could practice, stretching her body every day with that single goal in mind, of reaching farther forward until she could…

Wait! Oh God, just listen to these thoughts! Okay, okay, no more beating around her bush — she needed a therapist! How much clearer could it be that her psyche was losing stability, becoming almost entirely sex-obsessed? Just listening to the train of her thoughts was like reading some kind of cum-driven porn novel. Maybe she would call Cheryl Whitestone for a recommendation, so she could find a therapist with pale blond pubic ha… fuck, so she could find a therapist she could confine… fuck!, confess, confess her sexual sins to, confessing the fact that she had begun to fantasize about tonguing her own clitoris or exploring the bodies of two blonde girls, stripping them out of their clothes and closely examining their model-worthy pussies.

The image of Holly and Katia’s pussies, side by side, filled her brain. She could study every fold, every glistening highlight in her mind’s eye, as though through a macro lens. But there was one detail missing, dammit! Which glorious hole was crowned with the blonder pubic hairs? The question needed to be answered, it had to be fucking answered!

“That porter has the hots for you,” Katia said, out of nowhere.

“What?”

“The Italian cutie in the lobby. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice. You practically promised him a blowjob, the way you were looking at him.”

“I… I don’t know what…”

“And he only had eyes for you,” Holly added. “Even when you were flanked by women like us, he had X-ray eyes for your cunny and your cunny alone.”

“Um… that’s…”

“I can’t blame him,” Katia said. “You’re a perfect ten in my book. Tall and sweet as a peach, and Holly has told me how over-the-top your legs are. I get the picture even through your jeans.”

Oh fuck! They were flirting with her! Her resolve was weak enough, she didn’t need this. She didn’t need this at all!

“We’re making you uncomfortable,” Holly sighed.

“I… yes…”

“I’m sorry. But don’t try to deny that you are attracted to us. I saw the way you stared at my body in class from the very beginning. Up on that model stand it’s easy to see the difference between a drawing stare and a sexual stare. And your eyes were absolutely filled with sex. They still are.”

“I… but… I don’t…”

“You’re obsessed with my tits. You’ve wanted to grab hold of them for days.”

“No! I…”

Holly’s hands, not large enough to cover her twin mounds even with her fingers spread, cupped and hefted them. Katia leaned sideways, resting her right cheek on Holly’s sweater-clad left breast, as though it was a familiar, favored pillow.

“Mmmmnnn,” she sighed. “We have a confession to make, Catherine.”

“We peeked,” Holly said.

“W… what?”

“We peeked in your bags.”

“Oh.”

“You’re one fun-loving girl, aren’t you?”

No. No, she wasn’t. She was no fun at all. She wasn’t fun and she couldn’t have any fun, even though her body was screaming that it wanted to go skipping along on a magic clit ride. She wasn’t fun and huge tits weren’t fun and she wasn’t bi and she did not have these feelings because she could not have these feelings, it just wasn’t possible.

The elevator slowed for her floor and she tightened her jaw, gathering every bit of determination at her disposal. She had to make a stand. She was Catherine Tunnel… Tinnell, dammit, not some anything-goes sex-fiend! She steeled herself as the doors opened, facing her beautiful companions. She needed to lick them… fuck, thank them, to thank them and get rid of them before she did something stupid and unforgivable and just plain juicy… er, crazy.

“Listen… Thank you for coming… I mean, for bringing me off… No, fuck, I mean for bringing me home. But I’m wetter now… fuck, better now…”

“I’ll bet you fuck better than better,” Holly teased.

“And wetter than wet,” Katia added, her hand reaching out. Her fingers brushed Catherine’s chin as she added, “I’ll bet you’re very… special.”

“Ohhh!” Catherine’s body went all tense and sort of limp at the same time, a fire flashing brightly in her depths. She felt her resolve shut down as Katia’s touch and words slipped into her crack, igniting something deep inside. A hunger. A thirst. Oh God, yes, she was special, and her special pussy felt like it was beginning to rage like a special flowing river, ready to fill the elevator with liquid heat.

“Come with us,” Katia spoke, and each woman took one of her hands, guiding her forward, forward towards her door. She tried to resist, tried to break free of their grip, but then she realized that they weren’t gripping her at all, they were barely touching her. How? How was she caught in an unbreakable grip when there was no grip?

“I get the first taste,” Holly proclaimed, and just hearing it nearly set Catherine off.

“Not so fast,” Katia replied. “I think she has to earn us, don’t you? We’re special, too.”

Oh please, please let them say they were going to overpower her, and force themselves upon her, giving her body the heat and the orgasms while absolving her of any responsibility or guilt. She didn’t understand what was happening or how it was happening, but she was resisting, she was fighting for her sanity and trying to keep it from happening. She was fighting for Charles, she was fighting! Wasn’t she?

Once inside her door, her eyes closed as though her lids had a will of their own. Was she shutting her eyes to help pretend that none of this was really happening, or to help bring the body sensations of their lightly roaming hands into even greater focus?

“My God, she really is a perfect ten,” Katia repeated, her voice trembling. “Pick out the outfit that makes you feel the sexiest, Catherine. Then let us get a good long look at you.”

She should open the door and throw them out, or run, or cry for help, but instead her hands felt blindly in the shopping bag, searching for the filaments that comprised the bodystocking. She tried to stop, tried to resist, yet she must want this too much, because her hands were now pulling off her boots. She felt the carpet against her bare feet, and shimmied her jeans down her hips, stepping out of them, standing firm and proud.

“God damn!” Katia exclaimed, and the wonder in her voice seemed to push straight into Catherine’s aching hole.

Hands cupping the backs of her thighs, a cheek brushing against her left knee, a tongue lightly dabbing along the lower rim of her panties. She felt her panties being slipped down, while other hands drew her sweater and underlying tank top over her head. Her bra being unclasped, and finally, finally, her body standing free, free of all obstructions, free to be done with as they pleased.

“Put it on,” came a whisper in her ear, and yes, she was dying to put it on, donning the dark strands that would highlight every curve, making her look more naked than naked. Their hands guided her in, the feeling of the fishnet material like a thousand caresses against her heated flesh.

Oh God, she didn’t need to see to know how sexy she looked, how perfect she looked. She stood there, fully aware of her beauty, feeling their eyes, listening to the silence filled with awe and lust. Footsteps, and then a hand on her left ankle, then her right, her feet being slipped into tall heels. Fingertips on her straining nipples and a tongue wiggling between fishnet strands, wetting her lower back just where the cheeks of her ass came together. Movement up her spine, the hot tongue loving every vertebra.

She felt it building, the pressure inside. Oh God, she was going to know it, finally, the intuitive touch of a woman’s tongue between her legs. Her clitoris, feeling bigger than ever, perceptibly quivered, as though waving to catch their attention. She braced herself, feeling that she might blast into outer space with the first swipe. Hurry, hurry…

But then no tongue, no tongue and no hands, on her desperate clit or anywhere. Instead, a whispered voice in her ear, setting the terms.

“No!” Catherine cried. “No, oh God, please… Pleeeaaase…”

How could this have happened? She didn’t want to want this, she had fought so hard against wanting any of this. And now they had her ready to beg for it. Not one thing that was happening should be happening, and yet they knew that she would do anything, anything they asked, to finally feel someone attend to her screaming giant clit. Oh God how she needed them to drink her in, and to be allowed to taste them in return!

Was it all the fault of her clitoris, or her faulty experience of her clitoris, which felt so huge and needy? What she was feeling couldn’t be real and she tried to find some sort of traction inside, some way to circumvent these impossible desires, to just say “no”. Even something as simple as covering her breasts or opening her eyes might help, but she couldn’t, she just couldn’t. How? Why? She needed to open her eyes, dammit! How else would she ever know the color of Katia’s pubic hairs?

The Catherine Tinnell she knew would never allow obstacles to stand in the way of what she wanted like this. And she would never allow events to spiral so far out of control — she would see that it was wrong, and she would fight. And she was fighting, she really was. She was trying so hard. But that was on the inside, and the inside was somehow unconnected to the outside. And outside, her body simply bowed its head, signaling her surrender.

Something soft was forced into her clenched fist, and then she heard the two women slip away. Only when all was quiet did she find the strength to open her eyes. She nearly came from glancing down at her own body, and seeing the bodystocking’s strands curving across her full breasts, her nipples straining through the fishnet pattern like prisoners reaching through iron bars for the taste of freedom. In her hand was a blindfold, and the view farther down revealed ruby red heels, their color reflected onto her ankles and calves. Oh no, too sexy, too sexy… In the red shoes, she looked like a fuck-happy Dorothy all grown up, carried on the winds of a cunt-tornado to blindfold and blow the Wonderful Wizard of Jizz.

She felt a trickle of heated excitement ease down her right thigh, wetting strands along the way. Moisture seemed to be wetting part of her mind, too, but she understood. Somehow there and yet not-there within herself, her hand picked up the phone, her mouth spoke, and then she waited, breathing in her own pungent scent, letting the vapors of her excitement recycle through her system, stoking the furnaces within. And when he tapped, almost shyly, saliva began to fill her mouth, her body eager to fulfill the commands.

Some shred of her knew that she couldn’t do this, but that Catherine was elsewhere, an interior distant witness, nothing more. Just as Holly and Katia were there, somewhere, fondling each other while they witnessed her every move.

She flung the door open and stood silent and still, watching the tremors of shock work their way through the muscles of Giuseppe’s face. His shoulders seemed to go limp, and one glance down confirmed the instantaneous transfer of energy from his upper body to his groin. She reached out a hand, pulling him inside, her tongue slipping under the collar of his shirt as her hands found the stiffness of his cock.

“Ms. Tinnell!” he exclaimed into her hair, and did it matter what soup of emotions were contained in his simple declaration of her name? She unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly, and when his pants and briefs were bunched at the ankles, she pulled him deep into the living room, pushing him hard so that his ass sank unceremoniously into the cushions of her sofa. She climbed aboard, knees bent and thighs spread wide, her tits molding themselves to the sides of his jaw.

“This will make things even better,” she breathed, wrapping the blindfold snugly around his head, tying it tight.

“But Jacques will wonder where I am!” he groaned, as if she or he could give a damn what his co-worker thought. Giuseppe’s hands clutched at her thighs, and she thought for an instant that he would try to resist. But his hands roamed hungrily, feeling her thighs, squeezing her calves, taking her measure as though he had played this scene in his mind dozens of times, and now wanted to affix the details precisely in his memory for future use.

She adjusted her position, spreading his legs as she slipped down between them. Kneeling on the carpet like a supplicant, she fondled his cock, treating it to the appetizer of her hot hands. Giuseppe groaned his soft Italian groans, never hearing Holly and Katia pad forward, their bodies as naked as their feet. A growl of lust escaped from Catherine’s throat — they were so beautiful, their bodies different from each other yet equally exquisite. She tried to see Katia’s pubic hairs, but the girl cruelly shielded them with one hand, as though she knew of Catherine’s interest. And in Katia’s other hand… Catherine’s growl became lower and more animal when she caught sight of it, the dark phallic object, held like a weapon of love.

Oh my God, no, no! Inconceivable, totally forbidden! It was huge, almost twice the size of Giuseppe’s dick, and just unthinkable! She knew that things like that existed, there were shops all over the Village with adult toys of all kinds — but here, for her? She should be running, or screaming, or feeling horribly perverse and disgusted. Why, then, was her too-big clitoris screaming for joy? Why was her pussy becoming drenched, feeling so empty, and opening, fully opening?

She lost sight of Katia. Holly remained in view, standing behind the sofa, right above Giuseppe’s head. She licked her fingers and tweaked her big nipples, and then Catherine saw what she had wanted to see for days, the sight of Holly’s extraordinary tits being hefted, and squeezed, and oh my God, she could lift her tits and suck on her own nipples!

Catherine was near the edge already, before feeling the sensation of the… the terrible thing, the hard thing, all lubricated and warm, dancing lightly at the back of her legs. The touch should terrify her, why didn’t it terrify her? Her body responded counter-intuitively, spreading out, opening, her strong calves working to raise her rear into the air. She felt as though her body was instantly tuning into the choreography of this perverse and unfamiliar sex scene. She was inventing a sexual ballet position, one that allowed her head to swallow one dance partner while completely opening her pussy for penetration from behind.

The change in her position brought her mouth right into Giuseppe’s lap, and yes, now was the time, and she opened wide, wrapping her lips around his hard cock. She licked, dribbled, puckered and twisted, feeling Giuseppe grow more in her mouth, her tongue and saliva conquering any silly fears he had about his job security. She lifted her eyes to watch Giuseppe’s grimacing mouth. Holly’s spectacular tit-show, unseen and probably unknown to him, was taking place right above his head.

And then, with a suddenness that propelled Guiseppe’s cock to the back of Catherine’s mouth, the huge hard thing that had been teasing at her thighs was thrust into her gaping hole.

“Uuuuoooommmm!” her stuffed mouth cried. Oh God, oh God, would it fill her, would she finally be completely filled? She felt Katia twisting the phallus, cork-screwing it deeper into her tunnel, and she couldn’t help twisting her head in response, giving her doorman some approximation of the searing pleasure she felt erupting inside. He started to groan, panting, and Catherine screamed, and screamed again, giving Giuseppe’s stunned cock a screamjob as she felt her tunnel so deliciously stretched, so blissfully filled.

Her doorman’s hips bucked, his gaspy groans running together. Behind him, Holly lowered her hands to her pussy and bent over, vibrating her massive boobs against Giuseppe’s neck and the back of his head. Did he even know that he was receiving the attentions of two women? Did he think that Catherine’s tits could be up there while she was blowing him down here? She didn’t know, but she sensed the change in his cock, a moment of telltale swelling, and she knew that he was ready to pop. Her throat opened eagerly to drink him down, and then he was spurting, shouting his release, the taste of his hot cum filling her mouth just as the phallus inside touched deep places in her interior that had never been touched before.

Catherine came. And came and came, the explosions inside shooting waves of energy everywhere. Her cunt and limbs and head roiled in a wild froth of liquid pleasure, and she heard herself screaming, the sounds still muted by Giuseppe’s meat, the shockwaves reverberating over and over. And then she was floating, feeling ghostly, churning currents of pleasure taking her downstream. Her body seemed to disappear for a few moments, but then it was there again, her form defined by the hands stroking her legs and squeezing her breasts. She was being carried feet-first, the river’s hot water tickling at her nipples. She felt like she should paddle or swim to stay afloat, but her arms wouldn’t work right, as though they were glued together at the wrists.

Her nipples were on fire, the hot liquid licking at them… She opened her eyes. She was lying on her bed, and there was Holly above her on all fours, sucking on her nipples. Holly’s grand breasts billowed down, her large, hard nipples lightly brushing Catherine’s taut belly. Oh God, the touch, the knowing touch of a woman… And further down, out of sight beyond Holly’s sturdy body, little kisses being applied to her thighs, hands stroking her calves… Katia. Lovely little Katia, of the mysteriously colored pubic hairs.

Catherine didn’t know what she wanted more — the taste of a pussy on her tongue? The touch of a tongue on her pussy? Or just knowing, finally, the exact color of Katia’s patch? She shouldn’t want any of it, and yet she was dying for it all. She was dying to taste their pussies, dying to feel Holly’s tits in her hands, dying to run her hands all over Katia’s trim body.

She tried to reach out to grasp Holly’s huge hangers… But her hands didn’t obey. Oh fuck! The wrist restraints! They had bound her wrists, she had no use of her hands!

“Uuooohhh!” she groaned. “I need to… I have to…”

“Not until we let you, “ Holly whispered, her lips taking turns with Catherine’s nipples, sucking on them, pulling them up and letting them go.

“Oh God!” Catherine cried, feeling her nipples growing with every pull, growing like her clitoris had grown, so impossibly large, so impossibly needy. Katia’s tongue closed in on her steaming box, the sensation of a tongue near her clit bringing that strange feeling back into sharp focus, that sensation of her pleasure nubbin being several times its normal size. She began to pant, her head thrashing back and forth… Oh God, touch it! Touch it! But Katia slipped her tongue around and around the area, dabbing briefly inside her tunnel, coming close, sooo close, oh God, so close, please, pleeeaaase…

She felt her big, super-sensitive clit stretch out, seeking the tongue that refused to meet it. How could this be happening, how could her clit be alive like this, almost sentient, elongating its shape to seek its pleasure, stretching out to capture Katia’s dodging tongue?

Holly’s lips left her nipples, and she dragged her bountiful breasts down Catherine’s torso. At the same time, Katia’s tongue left off its teasing licking. Oh God, they were switching places, going at her in a coordinated way, like tag team lovers. Catherine lost track of Katia, her body screaming at the sinuous movement of Holly’s heavenly boobs upon her lower belly. The soft heavy breasts moved down, brushing Catherine’s trim bush, molding their shape to her upper thighs, her knees. And then Holly folded her body forward, her huge boobs spreading across Catherine's thighs, her tongue moving in tight circles, painting the folds of Catherine's labia with warm saliva. The tongue-tip dabbed, stroked, sometimes soft and light, sometimes harder, with more pressure, artfully teasing. And then Holly’s tongue reached inside her tunnel to replenish itself with Catherine’s own juices before withdrawing, and moving up, and up more, and ohGod yes, finally brushing against her massive pounding clit!

Oh God, oh God, oh God…

“It’s your turn to give,” Katia’s voice came, And there she was, behind and above Catherine’s head, her legs spread wide, her pussy descending to be eaten. Oh yes, oh yes, tasting a woman, she would finally taste a woman…

But no… Oh no, no! Katia cruelly held the palm of one hand flat above her glistening slit, hiding her pubic hairs, keeping their color a mystery.

“Aaaahhhhhhh!” Catherine screamed. She had to know, she had to know!

Katia grinned above, upside down. “Why don’t you just move my hand, Catherine?”

“I… I can’t! My wrists… Untie me! Untie me!”

“But there’s nothing binding your wrists," came Holly’s voice from between her legs.

The bitch! Of course there was something binding her wrists! They had…

“You can move your hands, Catherine. We’ll let you do that now.”

She willed her hands to move… And there they were, in front of her face, with no marks or indentations on her flesh. What… How could this be? They had been bound, they had been bound!

But now they were free, free to grasp Katia’s protective, hiding hand, and pull it away, and… Aaaahhhh God, yes! Yes! Golden blonde pubic hairs! Blonder than Holly’s! Shining, glowing, calling…

The color seemed to reach inside of her and she felt it coming, a surge like an approaching tidal wave. Her tongue reached out above as her oversized clit reached out down below, and she tasted, and was tasted, as the surge crashed forward, always moving forward, the taste of freedom exploding everywhere, filling her, overwhelming her senses, her screams of freedom sounding, reverberating in Katia’s dark, wet tunnel…