Susan Hardwicke
Dominating Thrills
Chapter 1
The fantasies flashed through his brain in little lightning shocks. Lips caressing the backs of upper thighs, licking softly, a white leg rising up an inch or two with each wet kiss… the aroma of untapped moisture from a steaming body, a hot fragrance. His testicles filled to bursting… plunging for the blessed snarl and gulp of the sticky mouth bath… spreading and splitting those thighs apart, burying his face against the drenched and turgid cavity… his tongue wet-sliding, dipping into the naked throb itself, toying there with the fire-hot vulva heart, licking and encircling the clit in a feathery rage… the candy taste and the swallowing of the creamed pussy.
He blinked, and tried to bring his mind back to the business at hand, but for another thick second he went on with it, dwelling on frenzied convulsions of lovely, soft legs and white pelvis, still tongue sipping in a clinging whirlpool and half-suffocating in soaked pubic hair and the buttery trickles of girl juice, a flood in the back of his throat, and his tongue still locked and pledged to the pussy flavors.
Patience! You've taught yourself to have patience, you dumb asshole!
He rubbed the back of his hand across his brow. Put your shit together, dammit, you've got the floor. Act like you know what you're doing!
Romo could barely wait for the cunt lapping to begin. His eyes were on the lesbians, and his mind was conjuring up images of tongue against labia, teeth on cut. "I have the floor," he said, trying to return his attention to the business at hand. "If you people don't shut your fucking mouths the meeting is going to be postponed." He pounded on the bookcase next to him for emphasis. "Order, goddamn it, I have the fucking floor."
The group quieted down, their mutterings ceasing as they realized that their leader meant business. Romo, a wiry, tough-faced man of thirty, smiled grimly and scratched his balls through his jeans before going on.
"We were talking about the vaginal orgasm," he said, nodding toward an attractive, well-dressed blonde sitting in an easy chair at the far end of the living room. The girl unconsciously reached up to adjust her horn-rimmed sunglasses, which were oversized and had lavender lenses. Oversized, Romo thought, oversized like her cunt.
"Thank you," the girl said quietly. She cleared her throat, delicately covering her mouth as she did so, and she smiled without self-consciousness as her audience turned around and gave her their full attention.
"The vaginal orgasm is a myth," she said. "A product of male chauvinism. The vaginal orgasm was introduced by Freud and preached by a host of his disciples-all of them male disciples, I might add, except for a few women who accepted penis envy as an important factor in their own lives. A value judgment-indeed, a moral judgment-is implicit in the concept of the vaginal orgasm. Freud, in conceiving the vaginal climax, was saying in effect that any female orgasm that was not vaginally induced was inferior and perhaps immoral, The clitoral orgasm was an unsatisfactory by-product of self-abuse; the vaginal orgasm, on the other hand, was an artistic masterpiece created by a penile ‘brush,' with every nuance of pleasure being provided compliments of the male sexual ‘palette." The blonde gave a little nod to indicate that she was finished with her statement, and a hubbub ensued as the members of her audience tried to squeeze their two cents' worth in.
"Quiet," Romo said sternly. "Thank you, Jan. You, Felsen-" He pointed to a stocky, dark-haired fellow who sported a heavy moustache. "What was it that you were about to say?"