He leaned against the wall of the elevator, as he needed the support. I can do this, he thought, with this hands clinched in tight fists upon his thighs. But then she put her mouth to the head of his cock. In the safety of darkness, with a woman he was fond of, John tried to forget everything and force himself to feel.
Kelly softly curled one small hand over his shaft, and the other caressed his balls. John felt his cock jerk as she brought him to her mouth. John had never been circumcised, and he wondered if that fact made a difference to her. Kelly seemed to take this in her stride however, sliding his foreskin back and licking around the rim, her tongue dipping in delicately to taste him.
He was hard and dripping and this was no surprise. That detail seemed to be a product of his age, not his interest. In fact, John felt incredibly uncomfortable. Oh God! I can't do this, he thought desperately. No. That's an unproductive thought. Best to wonder, how can I do this?
The answer came to him, and it was so obvious that he began to relax. All he had to do was concentrate on Kelly, and on the pleasure she was taking from giving him a climax. "Your focus should be upon your sub, John. Your sub's pleasure is your primary concern," André had told him over and over, and it had been his golden rule ever since. John had given Kelly an orgasm, and she wanted to return the favor. John subdued an overwhelming impulse to laugh out loud.
Wouldn't Kelly be surprised to know how much he hated even the idea of it?
Kelly was humming. She was happy, and this made him happy – an abnormal circumstance in itself. But the woman was working too hard. Her need to please him was making him feel an emotion he rarely experienced: anxiety.
"Slow," he said, and her frantic movements ceased. Kelly's tongue caressed him languidly then, in a soothing manner.
"Yes. That's right," he said. Somehow, while relaxing into her movements, John's mind drifted and he thought of his mentor, André Chevalier.
The memory came back to him and he felt he was there.
9. Instincts
John remembered that day so clearly.
It had been a bad morning, a terrible morning. John had overstepped his bounds with his sub. The woman had been forced to call her safe word more than once. Somehow with an implement of pain in his hands John simply became mindless with the need to hurt someone, anyone. It was as if a lifetime of anguish could be exorcized by causing agony to another.
"It is not about pain, John," André continued to remind him. "It is all about pleasure." Depressed and defeated, John doubted if he would ever get it right.
"Come mon ami," André said with a cheerful smile. "We are going out."
John got into the elevator with his mentor, moving down into the basement where André kept his Bugatti Veyron. It was a beautiful red and black sports car. They had both jumped in, after André put something in the back.
At John's curious look, André explained. "We are going on a picnic, mon ami."
Of course, John thought, yet he admitted that the prospect cheered him.
They drove to Red Rock Canyon National Park. André had an annual pass, and after they arrived he had gotten out of the car and let John drive. John had never driven a high powered vehicle, much less a Bugatti, and he was flattered that André would let him. When he had asked about it, André had shrugged his shoulders in that French way of his.
"It is only a car, my friend. A very nice car, vous comprenez, but still a car. You are much more important to me right now, John. Crash it if you must, but do not kill us both if you do so, s'il vous plait."
The comment had surprised a laugh out of John, which he knew full well, had been André's intention.
They stopped at Willow Springs for their picnic, surrounded by cactus trees, sage bush and chattering ground squirrels. The view was awe-inspiring. It was an astonishing contrast to the bright lights and hype of the Las Vegas Strip. The desert had its own dry beauty, with towering red sandstone cliffs.
André's chef, who John was beginning to really appreciate, had packed everything. André shook out a large thick blanket for them to rest on, and they enjoyed fantastic French cuisine. In this open, natural environment John found that he had gotten his often temperamental appetite back, and had seconds, and then even thirds. André had laughed over his greed, but in such a way that John couldn't feel insulted.
"It is very pretty, n'est pas?" André asked looking out to the vista, while lounging languidly on his side with his head propped on one elbow.
"Yes," John replied.
André had laughed again, no doubt amused by how few words John used. André was forever telling him to stop his constant chattering. Such was his odd French humor, and John was only beginning to understand it and find it amusing. John found himself so attracted to the man that his mentor was. André was such a happy soul. How did he do it? John wanted to be just like him.
John found himself staring at André, and André lay back with his arms behind his head and shut his eyes. John knew that his mentor had done this intentionally. His friend had felt John's eyes on him, and wanted him to go ahead and uninhibitedly look his fill. André was considerate that way, and when he did little things like this, John did feel something. It was a little pang in his chest, possibly even his heart. For even though John doubted it, André had assured him that he did have a heart.
André was about ten years older, but a million years more experienced than he was. John wondered why the man tolerated him, although John knew that André genuinely liked him. Why he couldn't imagine. John didn’t like himself.
Unmoving, John studied his mentor. He was wearing blue jeans, but on him they looked like Armani. André loved to dress well. The man was very fit, with a flat stomach, broad shoulders, dark hair, cut short around his neck and ears. His skin was naturally tan and he had brown eyes, and was always clean shaven.
John frowned. Other than his fancy clothes, and fit body the man looked fairly ordinary. There were pock marks on his face, yet they didn't detract at all. When John looked at his mentor he didn't see those marks anymore. He only saw André, and he trusted the man completely.
It was when André talked, or the self-assured way he walked, he smiled, or he looked at you, John decided. André Chevalier oozed confidence and good-humor. John didn’t like anyone, but he liked André very much. How close had his mentor and his Aunt Brenda been? Was André looking after him for the money or for the love of his Aunt? But John was sure money would not be André's biggest motivation for anything.
After a while André sat up. John didn't flinch or look away, but just continued looking at André, absorbed in the man who had already made his life so much more endurable.
André laughed good naturedly. "Mon ami, you have been watching me for a very long while, oui?"
"Yes."
André chuckled. "Well then, tell me what you study so intently. What do you see?"
"I am curious about you, André. I wish I was more like you."
He laughed. "This is not a goal I would have had for you, John. I wish for you to find who you are, and be more like that."
John ignored André's comment. "When I look at you I see confidence, not arrogance. I've learned to trust you in a very short time, and that is something I never do with anyone."
"Trust?"
"Yes. I was trying to understand, what is it about you? Why do I trust you so completely?"
"Merci. You flatter me, John. And what have you decided?"
"You are comfortable in your own skin. Your actions come naturally, and you don’t second guess yourself all the time. It's integrity. I am not talking about strong moral principles, although I am sure you are a man with those. I mean by definition "the state of being whole and undivided." Honesty, probity. You are not divided, André, – you wage no war against yourself."
"And you mon ami?"
"I am divided in every way, and very uncomfortable in my own skin. It is not natural to me. My parents didn’t teach me…I never learned. I don’t know how to do it." John ran his
hand through his thick hair, aware that by such an action he was displaying his agitation. Yet John was becoming accustomed to being more relaxed around André. Despite his inbuilt inclination to hide behind an emotionless mask, he was able to expose himself to the man.
André gestured to John, pointing toward the red and green plaid picnic blanket. "Look at this fly, John. Do you see it there? It is enjoying a little crumb of our French bread, I think. Study it now for me, and then tell me what you see."
John watched the fly intensely for some time. When he finished he looked up at André.
"And so? What did you see?"
John, ever observant gave André a detailed account of how it had been sitting, ready to fly off, alert and prepared for danger. But when the tiny creature had decided that all was safe, it had stretched its long tongue out, and eaten bread. And after eating, the fly had cleaned its head and wings in a very exact and particular way, first one side, and then another.
"Have you seen a fly do these things before, John?"
"Yes. Every fly I have ever seen does exactly what I just saw this fly do."
"Exactement! So, do you think the mother and father fly taught this fly to do these things? Or do you think these actions came naturally?"
"It's instinct."
"Just so." André sat up. "Your parents had no need to teach you, John. You were born with natural instincts and inherent personality. Your parents harmed you. If they had not interfered, you would have become who you are meant to be. Because of them it will take longer to find yourself. But the person you truly are is there, mon jeun ami. There is integrity. Je vous assure, you will become whole, John. And I will help you to achieve this."
10. The Blind See
Kelly had her hands on him, and the queasy feeling John initially experienced exploded into full blown nausea, suddenly making him want to throw up.
No hand! No hands! No hands! he thought frantically.
"Stop," he commanded.
She did immediately, and John reached for the club tie he had in his jacket pocket. Then he found both of Kelly's wrists in the dark, and pulled them together behind her back, binding them there. His movements were quick and thorough, because he had to get her hands away from him. But after she was safely restrained, he instantly felt better.
John cupped her face, and gave her a brisk yet reassuring kiss, licking and wetting her soft lips. "You are pleasing me, Kelly. Thank you. Yet I prefer to have you bound. I only want your mouth on me, alright?"
"Of course, John" she said, "Whatever you want, whatever you need, I want to give it to you." Then she took him into her warm wet depths once more.
Kelly's simple honest words struck him more forcefully than a fist to the gut. They were profound. Whatever you need. I want to give it to you, she had said. The woman was a mirror again, reflecting his desires. Because more than anything, John wanted to do the same for her.
Instinct and integrity, John thought. My body wants to climax, and I really want to please Kelly. This is who I am. I can do this. It is the natural purpose of a man, to procreate, and to please the one he loves. With those few thoughts a wondrous sensation surprised him - an intense spike of pleasure radiated along his spine, buttocks and balls. John's mind and body reeled with the heady, overwhelming sensations which flowed on the heels of that truth.
I really do love Kelly Flynn, he realized in a blinding white light of certainty, and I always have.
Suddenly John connected with his cock and he jerked, his hips thrusting uncontrollably. At first it felt painful, that odd joining to something he hated - to something he had cut himself off from so many years before. But that was then. Everything felt completely different now. This is who I am. I need to please Kelly Flynn. I love her.
An amazing pleasure rolled through John Taylor's body, all the enjoyable, electric sensation coming from his lower belly and his cock. Oh! he thought with wonder and sudden understanding. This is what my male subs feel. John's flesh awakened as if after a long sleep. It was like bright light flashing on, illuminating the darkness, or opening one's eyes and seeing the world after a lifetime of blindness.
Awed, John understood for the first time the exquisite joy of a woman going down on him. The human need for skin to skin contact. Love, trust, and the sharing of an intimate moment with someone important that he cared for. Just then John felt he would do anything for Kelly Flynn. Anything to make her happy. Live for her, die for her – it didn't matter. Kelly was the most important thing in the whole world to him. Sensations, emotions and feelings woke up, bombarding him, firing his soul: hunger, intense yearning, excitement, insatiable ferocious bliss.
"Ahhhh, ohhh!" he gasped with astonishment and pulse pounding pleasure. "That feels good, Kelly." The words were inadequate, but John was surprised that he had been capable of uttering anything at all. Not with the barrage of sensation that was currently frying every synapse he had.
With his response she began to work his cock faster, and he didn't mind, in fact he welcomed her enthusiasm. Kelly wasn't anxious to please him now, for she instinctively knew she was pleasing him. Kelly was enjoying giving him actual pleasure, because she cared for him, too.
John felt his muscles bunch and flex, as a fierce and violent orgasm took him unexpectedly. With a guttural incoherent shout, John cried out and lost all control. Hips jerking ruthlessly forward, John drove hard into Kelly's wet, willing mouth.
John could not stand up to such ecstasy. The man who mastered others, and had complete mastery of himself, suddenly experienced helplessness – a sensation he had avoided since he was a child. Right now, Kelly was in command of him, because he was lost in pleasure - yet somehow that was okay. John felt safe with her, so he had trustingly jumped off that cliff. John let himself go – for he knew she was there. Kelly would catch him as he fell.
"Oh my God!" he shouted.
Soundless at all times when masturbating, this uninhibited expression of sexual gratification was far out of the norm for John Taylor. Usually he was disconnected from the entire process, quietly trying not to be a part of it. Yet here in the dark with Kelly, a woman he cared for, he suddenly found he could experience an orgasm. John's head flew backwards as he arched and thrust, spurting inside her in violent spasms. John's balls shot their load and his sperm erupted, jetting from his cock, in blinding pulses of release.
Nothing in his entire lifetime had ever felt so good.
Nothing. Ever.
Silent now, except for his ragged breathing, John continued to ejaculate into Kelly's mouth, marveling in the shear, uninhibited joy of it, and the fact it felt good and right and pure. With her mouth tight around his shaft, Kelly ravenously continued sucking and swallowing John's semen as he climaxed. As the last of his cum spewed from him, his happiness overflowed.
André! John thought. André my friend! I understand now! I understand!
It was the first time John could recall ever having an orgasm without feeling shame. And for once he wasn't at war with himself – for once he had simply been there and experienced it.
John went to his knees, embracing and kissing Kelly with all of the passion and unbridled joy he was feeling, tasting his own musk in her mouth, combined with the feminine scent and flavor that was uniquely hers. Arms bound behind her back, Kelly pushed up against him, making small sounds of what? Triumph? Happiness? Joy? She deserved it. John had never felt so happy in his life.
Framing her face in his hands he said with absolute sincerity, "Thank you, Kelly. Thank you."
John was surprised to find that his eyes stung. He never cried, and didn't think he could even now, but he wanted to - so vast and uncontained was his joy. John was totally overwhelmed and not a little confused from discovering how to let go and to feel. But now that the dam had burst he wasn't going to allow anything to push him back into the dark box he had lived in for so long.
A tendril of fear curled through him, because so much could go wrong. But right here, and at this moment, Kelly was hi
s. John was alive, and in love, and no matter what happened, at this exact moment he was happy.
John came twice more in that elevator, and each time he had Kelly suck him off. In-between times he fingered or licked her also to orgasm, but now that he had discovered the key to such natural completion, he wanted to ensure he really understood and didn’t forget how it had happened, so that it could happen again.
His need was great, for the more pleasure he received, the greedier he became, hungry for the physical act that represented trust and affection and all the finer emotions. At last he had a glimpse of the joyfulness in the union of love that poets wrote of. Until this night he had never understood.
John's ever erect cock was hard, tireless and insatiable. And for the first time in his life he was quite in harmony with the damn thing.
I've had three orgasms, John thought. And unlike what usually happened, all three felt good. No disgust, no shame – he had only enjoyed ecstasy. At twenty-six years old John was only just beginning to understand the pleasure and essential intimacy of the sexual act.
But would it last? What would happen after the firemen came and he and Kelly escaped their dark sexual haven? John clenched his jaw.
Somehow he had to make Kelly Flynn his, and in a way that he could keep her forever.
But he had not the slightest idea of how to go about it.
END OF FREED
STRIPPED
1. Rescue
"Parents are supposed to love their children. One could imagine this fact to be a genetic imperative. Your parents, je suis désolé, were quite mad, mon ami. You have seen how pain and pleasure can become confused, for your own body's natural gratification was turned to pain. Yet the opposite is also true. It is a strange paradox that if you love someone so hard that it hurts, your pain will disappear. You must find someone to love, John. For she will take your pain away."