“What..” famed race car driver Rosalie Wren began, but whatever she was going to say was cut off by a savage mouth. Rumbles reverberating through the pits drowned her protest. Even if logic hadn’t told her who it was, that kiss would have. There was no taste to it, only wetness and strength, and a hungry, agile tongue that slid around hers like a snake. It was Juan Pablo, whom she had twice thrashed already and would defeat again today unless, of course, she allowed herself to be distracted just as the race was about to begin.
Heat flashed through her core, and when hands began to explore her body she could not help arching to meet them. Her lungs gulped air when the mouth finally relinquished hers and descended her neck. She knew she should have stopped him, but when fingers slipped between her thighs to play a syncopated melody on her clit, thinking became impossible.
His mouth was everywhere. He must have a dozen of them! Every time she moaned or cried out, he kissed her, swallowing the sound like wine. His face pressed into her hair; his breath light and quick in her ear. She reached up to embrace him but his fingers did something new and instead she was screaming, screaming at the top of her lungs, except that he had covered her mouth again and there was no sound, no light, no movement. He had swallowed it all. There was nothing but waves of pleasure consuming her body for eternity as the buzzing of fast-revving engines at the starting line filled her ears..
The buzzing drier impatiently announced the end of its cycle. Rosalie Wren slumped on the laundry room floor, her limbs weak and shaky. The washing machine thumped and vibrated in its spin cycle as she withdrew her hand from the waistband of her sweatpants and wiped it on the pile of dirty clothes waiting their turn to be washed. She was alone.
As much as she had hoped otherwise, the kitchen sink was still full of last night’s dishes. She sighed and swished a soapy rag around a tea glass as the hum of a mower came to life on the other side of the kitchen window. The lawn service had arrived.
She’d never known the youth’s name, though he’d been cutting their lawn for years now. In her mind he was just Lawn Boy, although hardly a boy anymore. Over the years Rosalie had watched him develop from a scrawny sixteen-year-old kid to a 6’3”, 175 pound mountain of athletic muscle. He was a blond, big-shouldered, bronzed Adonis with sky blue eyes, and an incandescent smile. Every week when he was done, he knocked on the Wren front door, a sheen of sweat glistening on chiseled abs, and Rosalie paid him in cash, always including a generous tip.
Twisty things were happening to her insides as Miss Rosalie sipped her Vieux Carré and gazed at the lusciously bare-chested lawn boy, calculating possibilities. Her husband was in Richmond for a fortnight, the servants had their usual Wednesday afternoon off, and she was alone in the brooding mansion. She watched the youth as he worked. His cut-offs were a bit too short with holes that offered tantalizing glimpses of his bare buttocks. Her hand found its way under her skirts as he effortlessly lifted the grass bag and dumped it in the compost pile, every muscle group defined through his taut skin. Her eyes traced the small patch of light hair that trailed from his navel and disappeared beneath the waistband, pointing the way to a mysterious bulge swelling his shorts.
She gently squeezed her swollen clit between her fingers and stroked it, imagining it was Lawn Boy touching her. She could feel him pushing aside her silky black thong to caress her bottom and dip his powerful fingers into her soaking wet furrow. Her breasts tingled and ached at the thought of exploring his body, his perfect mouth sucking hungrily at her nipples.
“Get me a drink,” Lawn Boy’s voice demanded boldly from right outside her window. Miss Rosalie shrieked and yanked down her skirts. “Get me a drink,” he repeated, “and then I will finish what you have so wickedly started.” When she obliged with a sweating glass and perspiring bosom, it was if she had handed him a knife. “Inside,” he gestured with the glass, “to that room off the porch, the one you watch me from.”
She sank to her knees in the mosaic-tiled sunroom, her face pressed to his groin, the salt taste of his fingers in her mouth. Frantically she fumbled with his buttons, freeing the mammoth rigid cock, unlocking its perilous hunger, then kissed the tip as she weighed in her palm his ponderous orbs. A moment only he allowed her to worship the scepter of his power and majesty, then picked her up like a rag doll, spun her and crowded her face against the window. He roughly flung her skirts over her waist, then paused to ogle her lewdly exposed bottom.
“Your husband is one lucky bastard,” Lawn Boy chuckled. “How often does he take this fine ass?”
“A few times a year,” Miss Rosalie whispered in shame.
Lawn Boy cackled and kicked her legs apart. “Stupid asshole! He doesn’t deserve you! I know how to treat a gorgeous lady! I know what you need!” And in one powerful motion he yanked her thong aside and thrust into her drooling cunt. Over and over he pounded into her, his breath quick in her ear, one hand twisting her naked nipples and the other plucking her clit. It was too much for her.. Too much.. her body gathered, tensed, hovered on the brink..
Rap! Rap! A knock at the front door. Rosalie gave a startled yelp and quickly rearranged her clothes before scurrying to the door with Lawn Boy’s money. He thanked her with his dazzling smile and left her breathless and blushing.
Oh, God! Was it already eleven o’clock? She had a doctor’s appointment right after lunch and she had not had her bath yet. Rosalie rushed to the bathroom and quickly jumped in the shower. The warm water drumming on her skin was so soothing, and she paused just for a moment, then another, to savor the sensation. Her thoughts snapped to the hated gynecologist exam she was scheduled for. She never felt more vulnerable than when she was draped on the table, her feet up in stirrups, legs spread wide, and the doctor’s bright light exposing all her hidden secrets. It embarrassed her that she found it arousing and spent the appointment in mortal fear that the doctor would see, that he would take advantage of her.
Her pussy twitched. What was wrong with her?
Clad only in a hospital gown, Rosalie was led down a brightly lit empty corridor by the disinterested, detached girl that had helped her apply makeup, arrange her hair, and undress. She opened a door into a large room with a brightly illuminated examination table raised on a sort of platform. The lights were so bright that the edges of the room receded into impenetrable darkness. When Rosalie stepped into the glare her skin seemed to glow and the furniture sparkled so that every detail was starkly visible. No shadows whatsoever could exist in such light. The girl helped her out of the gown and Rosalie climbed naked onto the table where she arranged her feet into stirrups. She was so mesmerized by the lights that she didn't even notice when the girl left the room.
It was quiet. Rosalie feel horribly exposed and blushed to think what the doctor would see when he came to examine her. Was a doctor going to examine her? Suddenly, she couldn’t remember. She couldn’t think. She knew she should remember why she was here, but it seemed to have escaped her.
So quiet and warm and bright.. Only the soft hum of innumerable klieg lights filled the emptiness.
Rosalie gave up trying to pry open her memory and just laid still. There was a cool breath of air on her moist private places, just enough to keep her aware of her nakedness. She could feel her body quickening, but her mind was so fogged that she didn't even care. Her nipples hardened and the moisture between her legs was dripping in rivulets down her thighs and puddling beneath her bottom. The desire to touch herself was irresistible.
Rosalie’s fingers traced the slickness of her furrow and found the swollen nub of her clit. When her finger touched the tip peeking from its concealing hood, electricity bolted through her body and she groaned. Her other hand kneaded her swollen breasts, pinching and pulling her nipples, sparking spasms of pleasure that only caused her to rub her sex harder. Her breath came in gasps and her body clenched as orgasm crept relentlessly closer.
There had been a rustling out in the darkness beyond the light for some time, so barely perceptible that at first Rosalie was unaware of it. She stopped on the brink of fulfillment, teetering perilously on the edge, to peer intently into the gloom, struggling to discover the source. Suddenly she realized that this wasn't a room at all. It was an amphitheater, and she was on a stage surrounded by tiered seats just outside the boundary of the light. And the seats were filled with people, young men and women dressed in white coats with stethoscopes around their necks eagerly leaning forward to stare intently at Rosalie’s hands caressing her nakedness. The look of pure lust in their eyes shocked her to her core. She struggled to close her legs, to cover herself, but somehow restraints immobilized her knees and arms and she lay utterly exposed to their merciless gaze.
She could not hide. She could not protect herself. The more Rosalie blushed and struggled the more intently they stared, and suddenly she realized that in moments their restraint would break, and they would come for her. They were coming!
And as God was her witness, she needed them to.
