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Casey, lying on the comfortable bed, had maintained a high state of arousal while waiting for Rob. Her lips about her sex remained well-lubricated with natural moisture—a honey coating, which she appeared to have no control in producing, and the quantity embarrassed her slightly. Upon his arrival, she was inspected by him, checked over, and assessed. They spoke little of the events in the dining room—she would ask her questions in the morning. Once again, she was his to enjoy, and he looked eager to have her; his erection was not hidden well by his clothing.
She had to watch him strip—slowly and painstakingly. He sorted his clothes: those to be laundered and then the dress suit returned to its location in the closet. His pedantic nature both infuriated and endeared him to her.
Ambling to the bed, Rob picked up the blindfold from the bedside table where she had left it. Swinging the soft velvet around, he dangled it over her body. She let out a sound—not quite a whimper but more of a feverish noise of desperation. Casey lifted her head off the pillow to allow Rob to bind it around her eyes. Cast into pitch-blackness, she could hear the springs of the bed shift beneath her. Her body tensed as she wondered where he would make contact. A nibble on her breasts, a lick of her navel, or a squeeze of the thighs?
She flinched. His hands, when they finally touched her, were not cold or clammy. Their warmth was both ticklish and soft. They were by her neck, one on each side of her throat. Then they began to trail down her body, gliding over her breasts, tweaking the nipples as they went. Thumbs led the way down over her flat belly, fingers looped around her waist to pinch her back slightly. Hips taken firmly for a few seconds, and she responded by spreading her knees wider apart. He was between her legs, barely perceivable to her ears, shuffling down as he moved backwards. The movement of the mattress provided her with the most clues to his activities.
Down his hands went, and using his fingers, he separated her labia, exposing her. Fingers had been the weapon downstairs earlier. Now his choice was the tongue. A flickering sweep, which scooped her clitoris up and down on his pointed tongue tip.
Casey shrieked in delight. All evening she had waited to be devoured by him. Now she had Rob’s full attention, and he used his mouth to great effect. Sucking, mauling, nibbling, and licking—all facets of his oral endeavours. Casey came not once, but a multitude of little orgasms were drawn out of her in quick succession. By the time Rob was ready to indulge his own sexual organ in her saturated hole, Casey was a wreck on the bed. Legs splayed wide, back arched and toes curled up, she invited him in her pussy to finish her. She was a delectable dish, and the most sustaining item on his evening’s menu.
Chapter Nine: Answering Texts
Standing side by side in the kitchen, they prepared the evening meal together. Rob chopped onions into thin slices, and Casey prepared the other ingredients. Much had been on her mind all day, and it was the first opportunity to speak to Rob. Taking a deep breath, she let her thoughts break out.
“Doesn’t it bother you, letting other men touch me?” she asked as she opened a cupboard door.
Rob stopped and put down his knife carefully. “Interesting perspective,” he said. “You didn’t ask what I got out of it. You think I should be bothered, which implies it is you that is bothered.”
Casey cursed under her breath. Somehow he always managed to twist her words back around.
“I’m only bothered,” she said the word with emphasis, “if you are. It was mutual pleasure, wasn’t it?”
They were facing each other, and she felt the weight of his hands resting on the smooth ledge of her hips. The diminishing sunlight beamed through the window, catching one side of his face while leaving the other cast in the shadows. His nose looked especially straight and narrow.
“Firstly, they only got to touch with their fingers and eyes. That was as far as it went. That was what we agreed. Secondly, you were as horny as hell throughout. Thirdly, when you get turned on, I do too. It’s a very simple equation. So the idea of being bothered by you squirming all over the table while other men get to tinker with you is far from the truth; it was delicious fun. You should feel proud that you were exhibited to others. I like showing you off.”
Casey pursed her lips and acknowledged his words did make her feel proud. “Good,” she said as matter-of-factly as possible and then returned to the cupboards. “I needed to know for sure.” Next to her, she heard the sound of onions sizzling in the frying pan.
They ate the evening meal promptly. Casey was going out and was keen to ready herself. Her friends were meeting Casey in a pub for a few drinks and a raucous exchange of gossip. The only thing Rob had stipulated to Casey was to keep her mouth shut about the things they did. She knew exactly what he meant by ‘things’. Plus she had one other matter to attend to for him.
The pub was not traditional in style. Though there was a bar, table and chairs, there were no workmen having a refreshing pint before heading home. The bar was not propping up a solitary drunk who regaled the landlord with his miserable day. The music was not subtle and in the background. It was the kind of pub Casey’s father would detest and she loved. Youthfulness hung about with loud shouting voices trying to compete with the latest chart hits. Speakers were hung about in all directions, blasting out the thump of a bass drum, and there was insufficient furniture for everyone, forcing many to stand for long periods. The summer heat had been beaten back at the door by the blast of air-conditioners.
Casey and her friends were squeezed about one table and were deep in conversation. Laughter and frivolity was written on their faces, along with thick lashings of make-up. It was unfortunate that the music was so loud because Casey failed to notice her mobile beeping messages. She did not keep track of the time, so when she dipped into the ladies for a freshening up and caught sight of the time on another’s wristwatch, she immediately realised she had been negligent in one specific task: respond to Rob’s text at ten o’clock. It was half past when she did send an apologetic text. The next one from him sent her into a quandary.
Sleep in the guest bed tonight.
Her heart sunk to the floor. Once last orders were shouted she quickly hailed her cab, said her farewells, and dashed back home. Creeping up the creaking wooden staircase, she hesitated by the master bedroom and then thought better. Opening the door to the guest bed, she found the room lit by the bedside light. Next to it was a glass of water, and the bed sheets had been turned back. Everything had been prepared for her by Rob, and it only made her feel even more guilty.
She knocked on his door and heard no reply. Opening the door a fraction, she found Rob sitting up in bed and reading. His naked chest reflected the glow of the light.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t hear the t
ext come in.”
Rob put his book down and tucked his hands behind his head. “You can’t tell the time either, I take it, since I gave you a specific time when I would text you.”
“I didn’t have a watch on,” she countered.
“So, nobody else can tell the time?” he parried.
She was losing the argument quickly. “I was fine…”
“Yes. Knowing your safety is one reason I texted you. The other?”
“That I’m thinking about you,” she said.
“When I let those men touch you, I didn’t take my eyes off you once. I watched you, made sure you were safe. When you go out on your own, I can’t do that. It’s hard for me, and I think of you constantly. Do you understand?”
