Out of the Dark Wood Ch. 07

Scarpelli stood in a loose robe at the bedroom window, looking down slope to the paddock where the Senator's wife rode a cantering gelding over low wooden jumps. The room was perfectly appointed in the style he'd expect in a 17th century Virginia manor; lush fabrics, busy wallpaper, thick wood moldings, heavy brass knobs and stained oak doors. Outside, the golden late afternoon sun picked Cheryl out as she rode, casting long shadows across the ground. He understood that the next 24 hours could be the most important in his life, if he could grasp the moment. His dream of a career-making methodology and maybe a patron might be in his hands. He lusted after that as much as anything.
After the fucking in her office, he and Cheryl spoke no more of the purpose of his visit. Their cards were on the table, though, and the negotiation just begun. She'd told him that the Senator would be helicoptering in later and that he was welcome to stay the night, showed him to his room in the East wing and left him to ride. Scarpelli was impressed with her energy and recognized that the animal appeal that struck him on arrival was a foundational component of her persona, one he'd have to deal with, to direct to his ends. Clearly that would be difficult with a woman used to manipulating people. In the paddock below she bounced in the stirrups, strong and firm and determined, in control of the powerful animal between her thighs.
Scarpelli toyed with the idea of playing the role of gelded male, of allowing her to "ride" him, to carry her to where he wanted to go. He slipped his hand in the robe and stroked himself, pulling his cock to hardness, spreading his feet, remembering her open, wet cheeks when she presented herself and he pierced those swollen labia, her adroit spin and suck when he came so she could take him in her mouth. A challenging patient. He was more sure than when speaking to Annie that Cheryl was the prime mover in the dysfunctional family dynamic, the lynchpin. What element would the Senator add to the calculus? Scarpelli'd soon learn if he were indeed a milktoast, the beneficiary of his birth and her ambition, definitely a G. W. Bush sort who served as the useful idiot of the more intelligent and driven. He could work with that.
The Doctor observed a dark Lincoln Towncar, an unmarked police cruiser, crunch down the drive to stop by the paddock. A uniformed man got out. Must be the trooper that Coleman said dropped the girl at Crosswinds, he thought. The trooper and the woman talked across the fence. Cheryl made a sharp gesture, pointed to the house. The trooper spun and re-entered the car, backing up the drive out of sight.
Scarpelli returned to images of the afternoon fucking and of the scene conjured by Annie of the girl and her mother taking the black boy in the woods, the woods very near here, he realized. Just a few days before they'd been rutting in a tent under these trees, two pale naiads hanging on a dark satyr. He saw them competing for the boy's cock, licking each other beyond the bounds of taboo.
Then a knock came at the door. Scarpelli, disgruntled, pulled the robe closed and crossed the room.
He couldn't suppress a smirk when at the door he found a smiling woman dressed in an exquisitely tailored french maid outfit, who curtseyed and said, "I've been sent to serve you, sir." His smile was from amusement at the cliche, at the blatant appeal to his lizard brain, hers appeared to be well rehearsed.
"Come in, then, and let's talk," he replied.
She glided in, making sure to brush against him and he felt both the draw of her blatant sexuality and the smug knowledge that he was on to their game.
"How can I serve you, sir?" she repeated and clasped her hands behind her back. Scarpelli took her in, the tight-laced bodice over barely contained breasts, whose upper curves rose as she breathed, the slim waist, the flare of black satin over frilly, white skirts, the garters clipped to black lacy stockings, the long, strong legs, the shiny block-heeled pumps, her toes coquettishly turned in.
"I suppose the Clarkes entertain quite a few politicians and lobbyists here, don't they?"
"I couldn't say, sir," she said, dropping her eyes.
"You serve them, too, I imagine?"
"I'm Mrs. Clarke's executive assistant, sir." The girl rotated slowly, waving her tits in his face. So obvious.
"Mm-hmm, yes, I don't imagine you doing a lot of dusting." So Cheryl delegated some of bursa escort her seduction, he thought, she out-sourced her sexual bait. "What's your name?"
"Antoinette, sir." Not likely.
"What your job interview must have been like...," he mused, picturing her face eyebrow-deep in Cheryl's crotch.
"I'm...versatile. It wasn't an easy job to get. Sir." He noted her pride in that.
"Mrs. Clarke must be difficult to work for. Are there perks? Special dispensations? Advancement opportunities?"
The girl took a deep breath, looked him in the eye, remounted her attack. A hand rose to the lace at her bosom. "I've been sent to serve you, sir".
"I suppose it's good work if you can get it. Maybe you're hoping to level up to the office of a more powerful man, or woman, perhaps?"
"I'm here to serve," she pulled at the lacing and began to peel the satin from her breasts. A nipple eased in to view.
"I'm not that man. Just a hireling like you. I work for her, too." He touched his chest, "Doctor Scarpelli. I'm a psychologist."
The girl seemed puzzled, but persisted, her breasts now both out, hanging, heavy, full, firm and pink, hands fallen to her sides, offering herself to his gaze. Determined to follow orders, it seemed.
"I may be able to help you, though, Antoinette." He took full advantage of the view.
She bent to unbuckle her shoe, a bright red flash of pantied ass turned his way, the bare flesh of her thighs between the stockings and panties pale and smooth, heavy breasts swinging.
He felt his blood heat, his cock swell and dangle, became aware of the weight of his manhood. Why not let her do her job? She didn't seem open to conversation. On the other hand, perhaps he should keep his powder dry. He didn't know how much ammunition he might need in 'negotiations' with Cheryl.
Out of her shoes, the girl began unsnapping garters and rolling down her stockings. She turned her ass to him, showing the red panties stretched tight, outlining her vulva. Was there a dark patch there? A pro, she'd probably lubed herself before coming to his room. Still, his cock jumped. She looked expectantly back over her shoulder.
Scarpelli wavered. It certainly felt good to have two women offer themselves to him on one day. And he wanted to make an ally of 'Antoinette'. Any information he could get would help him diagnose and heal the family. Perhaps if he turned her away she'd be in trouble with the boss. Oh, fuck, he might as well explore the dynamic of the house and find out just how things worked here. He opened his robe and let it fall, stood there in his furry, hulking glory.
The girl looked relieved. She stood up and turned, reaching behind to unbutton her skimpy skirt, projecting her tight nipples at him. With a twist she was down to just the red panties and lipstick. A quick wiggle and the panties were gone. Two steps and she had his heavy cock in her hands, her breasts pressed to his ribs. She was a head shorter than Scarpelli. He could see she dyed her auburn hair from the quarter inch of darker roots. A small flaw in her very polished presentation.
She squeezed him tight and slid the foreskin back and forth over this cockhead, careful not to chafe. He noted her attention to detail.
The girl reached up to bring a hand to the back of his neck and turning up her mouth to his, kissed him softly, still squeezing his cock, pressing her body along his hairy belly.
"You're quite the bull, Dr. Scarpelli. What big balls you have." Her hand hefted them.
"I'm only accepting that ridiculous, blatant blandishment because it's true," he smiled. It was. His balls hung like a furry grapefruit. They scared some women. It was hard to find comfortable pants.
"Your neck is so tight, sir. Perhaps a massage to loosen you up?"
"Ah, perfect. I could use one. We're not in any hurry, are we?" His evening plans were wide open, assuming this was exactly what Mrs. Senator Clarke had in mind.
Antoinette released him and he inhaled deeply, heart racing. The naked girl turned to what appeared to be a closet door and opened it to reveal a folded table mounted in a shallow recess. Pulling it out, its springs and bars extended to create a massage table with the standard face pillow and cushioned bed. "Get yourself up here, sir. I'll heat the oil."
While she managed the oil, also in the alcove in its own warming appliance, he heaved his tight and road-weary bursa merkez escort body up onto the table. For a moment he was confused by the second hole in the middle of the bed, but as he lay down it became obvious that it was meant to allow his cock and balls to hang unfettered. It was certainly more comfortable than lying on his organ like in most massage rooms. He felt exposed, but he was still nearly erect and the weight of blood-filled cock and balls pulling down focused his attention on the organ. Hanging free in the air it felt huge.
He nested his face into the hole in the pillow and noticed the second surprising feature; a mirror mounted so that he could see the cock hanging down, a ripe, purple, fuzzy fruit. Oh, man, I know where this is going, he thought. He'd never been on a milking table, though he'd checked out the vids on XHamster. Antoinette moved to the head of the table and, rubbing a palm full of oil on his shoulders began the massage. Scarpelli enjoyed it for just what it was, a deep tissue, well-executed relaxing treatment and pitied those men who didn't shave their heads. A scalp massage on a bald head was heavenly.
He couldn't see the girl, but at certain points he felt her drag those full udders across him; as she leaned in to manipulate his spine; when she pulled each arm from the side and pressed his hands between them; when she climbed onto the bed and, straddling his thighs, worked up from his butt to his neck, nearly lying full length on his hairy back. He sensed her weight on his legs, the press of her thatch on him as she moved above him. She must have been getting quite oily herself. All the while his cock hung fat and eager. He watched it sway as she pushed his body around on the table, leaving nothing untouched, even pinching the webs between his toes and fingers. The urge to touch himself was powerful as her attentions to every other part of him condensed in his manhood; a hot itch he couldn't scratch.
Finally, she knelt and crawled under the table and he saw her at last, shiny and pink, her swaying breasts capped with tight-drawn nipples, a modest pubic patch shaved bare around swollen labia. Antoinette gave him a sultry look and knelt, her ass to his mirror, showing her vulva, moist and red, her round, tight buttocks and a hand, pressed between her thighs, running a wet finger between puffy pussy lips. He wanted to put his face there, smell her scent, lick the womanly ooze, bite her juicy labia. His cock, now so swollen he thought it could burst apart, dripped on the smooth downy skin of her back.
"Oooh, ready are we, sir?" she cooed. He noted her dedication to the role.
He only groaned, letting her do her job, surrendering to the service. He thought of the enthusiastic Yelp review he could leave, knowing no such thing was possible. The girl eased back onto her haunches and set herself crossways to the mirror so he could see as she grasped his thick organ and opened her mouth, head tilted back. His girth was a challenge for her, the sharp point parting her lips easily, but the fat shaft stretching them thin. She tested him once, taking the organ deep and holding it there. He saw her throat working, eyes closed as she stopped her breathing with his cock. Releasing him, she took a deep, gasping breath, a look of determined anticipation on her face. He dripped steadily now, a shiny trail down her cleavage.
Looking intently, cross-eyed, at the hanging organ, she cupped his great coconut of a ballsack and slowly stroked his shaft with her other hand, the massage oil like silk. The girl knew when to squeeze and when to glide, ever so slowly pulling down to the tip, then pressing back to sink the heel of her hand against his coarse nest of pubic hair. His tapered shaft pointed to that open, smiling mouth waiting for his eruption. For long minutes she stroked and pulled, teasing with her tongue, catching his drips, savoring them. Then she rose up and engulfed him in her mouth, swallowing to get him deeper, undulating her tongue along his length, just grazing his shaft with her teeth at the deepest penetration, both hands on his scrotum. A groan deep in her throat vibrated like an electric shock right through to his spine. Scarpelli sizzled.
She rocked up and back on her knees taking him as deep as she could, wetting him with her mouth, drooling over his cock. He relaxed into the treatment, aroused but tired from the long drive and confrontation bursa sınırsız escort with Cheryl. Lying on the table had him limp everywhere but the part that slid between the girl's lips. He could float on this exquisite plateau for quite a while and she seemed skilled and smart enough to prolong that.
Waves of pleasure emanated from the crown of his cock as it buried in her mouth, her tongue gently pressing it on each dive and he felt a faintness with each one. Something in her technique brought him to near sleep. He'd done it a couple of times himself when masturbating, but never with a woman. Floating, he drifted on a sea of pleasure, on the edge of consciousness. Mrs. Clarke had certainly hired a talented surrogate. He wondered if Antoinette knew the extent to which her favors advanced the Clarke agenda. Her skills were valuable.
"I want you to enjoy this, too, Antoinette." He was in a caring profession, after all.
"Your cock is so strong, sir, I love deepthroating it." And she rose to engulf him again.
"Really, I can't come if you aren't getting pleasure, too." As tired as he was the guilt of a one-sided fucking did cool his ardor. "You'll wear yourself out and still not please your boss."
"Right now you're the boss, doctor." Good answer.
"Use me for your pleasure, Antoinette. That's an order," he couldn't sound as stern as he wanted to. He sounded sleepy.
But that's what the girl responded to. She turned, shoulders down, ass in the air and reached to grasp his slick prong. Under him and parallel, he looked down her channelled back to her beautiful pear of an ass, upraised, split and aimed at his cock. The girl needed only push back to drive herself onto him. Briskly she impaled herself and rocked forward and back, up onto his angled hook, sliding nearly off of him then pushing back to sink him deep again. She panted, she whimpered, she rolled her head, the loose auburn hair a mess.
Scarpelli lay gripping the table, unable to reach her, just to absorb her self-pleasuring. Her tight, wet cunt put her talented mouth to shame. He roused, tensing. Every nerve in his body ended in his cock and her sliding on him, sinking him into her volcanic heat, the mounting speed of her humping, the suction of her grasping pussy sent a rising readiness to the rest of him. His awareness became only the flesh on flesh of their wet connection and the growing intensity of her slick friction.
To all appearances she indeed enjoyed it. The thrusts grew more rapid, the breathing more ragged, the cries louder. And his body responded, growing rigid on the table, toes curling, hands clutching the table edges, his eyes watching the fat cock dive between her ass cheeks and come out wet and shining, bigger and redder it seemed with each thrust.
Antoinette pressed him deep then kept him there, her legs trembling as she cried out, gasping. Her pussy clutched him and she shook, twitching, his dick a cattle prod. She grunted, blowing spit through clenched teeth, legs shaking, shoulders tight, fingers dug into the carpet. The girl's face flushed and her eyes rolled. She went far away, no longer playing the coquette, but carried by lust to abandonment of pretense, she became animal, sweat-streaked, hair tangled, knees wide as she groveled in release, cheeks wet with drool.
The clenching brought him to the edge of his control and she knew it. And she was ready to drive them both to the end, letting him slip nearly out, then forcing him back in deep. The girl climbed her second mountain rocking again and again, fast and reckless, sweat-drenched and wild. His hips thrust uncontrollably, cock reaching for her deepest places and he finally came in gouts of spunk, her clasping pussy sucking. Antoinette drove herself on his spike, grunting at his penetration, filling with cream. She pressed back and held his cock inside as it twitched and spurted, then released and slid down, then drove back and tensed to take another gush of spunk from him.
Scarpelli, his pleasure driven higher knowing she'd taken pleasure as she needed it, bellowed loud and long. And he hoped Mrs. Clarke heard it.
Antoinette slid to the floor and lay still, panting, gently moaning. She couldn't fake that degree of satiety. And neither could he; he drifted to sleep in a post-coital coma, his last vision of the girl curled around her own hand, fingers cupping and stroking her sticky labia, his semen oozing around them, spilling down across her leg, pooling in the carpet.
Later, he vaguely remembered her washing his parts and helping him to the bed naked. She curled up behind him, nipples pressed against his hairy back. Deep he dove into sleep and dreams of whale choruses. In the morning she was gone.