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The Gallery
is a spacious, airy place with glass ceilings over large parts of it, so we
felt the sunshine warm us as we explored the sculpture sections. It was a lovely place and an excellent day
for it.
Sarah
hadn’t known about the
The Group
of Seven area was full of brilliant colour, a lovely combination of natural and
man-made subjects. Sarah told me her
father had met a couple of the painters. I revealed my weakness for nearly
anything by Lawren Harris.
We chatted
happily, getting more personal, and she told me about where she worked, and that
she was an intern, and went to the same school as I did, and we chatted about
the sculptures and what they meant to us.
I didn’t
give her much detail about me beyond my first name, major, and university. I figured she’d be more attracted to a bit of
mystery.
I would
have told her if she’d pressed for more details, but she didn’t, so I guess I
was right about that. Or she didn’t plan
to need the information after this weekend.
We ate
lunch in the museum cafeteria, and had one of those long conversations that
didn’t seem to have a topic, but kept being fun anyway. I felt witty, she felt charming, and we both
enjoyed the company.
After lunch
we went to the sculpture exhibits. I had been considering turning her on (nice
turn of phrase I suppose) whenever she looked at certain art or sculpture, but
on reflection I didn’t see the point of that.
Instead, I
just turned her vibrator on low whenever she came closer to me, or touched
me. I figured a little Pavlovian
conditioning couldn’t hurt. Of course,
this kind of thing works just as well with thinking beings as with animals,
perhaps even better.
She quickly
figured out exactly what I was doing, and teased me by staying distant for some
time, letting me take in the Henry Moore sculptures, wandering over to touch me
occasionally and getting a pleasant jolt.
But she
liked it too much, and started dropping by more often, and leaving less. After
a while I had to be more demanding, turning the vibrator on only when she was
holding me, then only when she kissed me.
By 3
o’clock she couldn’t keep her hands or lips off me, and was occasionally
standing astride me as she came over to kiss me. Eventually she was all over me, her hands
wandering in a way that polite Canadians didn’t do in
“I’m so
horny I just want to get you home right now,” she whispered.
I squeezed
her butt and kissed her, turned her vibrator up to high, and told her firmly
she was not allowed to climax until I said so.
Then we left
the exhibits and went slowly over towards the main entrance and the toilets,
her hands possessively on my body as my right hand fondled her gorgeous behind,
discreetly, under her skirt.
She was
getting close, but I kept her walking fast so she couldn’t concentrate, and
whenever she seemed a bit too close to climax, I turned her vibrator back to
low for a little while.
She would
moan and hit me, and then I’d turn it back to high again, spank her butt once
or twice, and let her come gradually close again.
By the time
we got near the toilets, she was hyper-aroused.
I had considered letting her finish in the men’s room, but decided that
it wasn’t the sense memory I wanted to leave with her.
So I
dragged her quickly back down the main hallway and outside in the afternoon
sun, around behind the glass structure and in the lovely garden there. I found us a park bench, sat her down, still
buzzing on high (and high on buzzing), beside me.
She put one
leg up over mine, grabbed my head and started kissing me hungrily, chanting
“Now. Now. Now,” between shivers and moans.
I said
firmly “Not yet.”
I
unbuttoned two more buttons on her tight borrowed blouse, and she slapped my
hands away, buttoned one up, unwilling to expose herself in public.
I turned
the vibrator down to low, whispered firmly in her ear that she had taken my
collar for the weekend, and if I wanted to strip her entirely naked it was my
right to do so. And that she was not to
come until I gave permission.
She
hesitated, so I returned her vibrator to “high” and let her rub her body
against me until she again started chanting “Now,” and waited just a bit longer
until she was pleading, then again unbuttoned another blouse button, and a further one, the last being just below
her unfettered breasts.
This time
she was too single-minded to object to the exposure, and I slipped my hand
inside the opened blouse and played with one already-hard nipple as she gasped
and pleaded to come.
“Not yet,”
I said, but didn’t say when. I continued
playing with her breasts with one hand, exploring her fine ass with the other.
Sarah was
crafty, and proactive. She unzipped my
fly, right there on the park bench, and reached one hand in to grab me through
my briefs.
When some
spirited squeezing and rubbing didn’t convince me, she leaned over, put her
face in my lap, and took my cock in her mouth, sucked hard on the end, then bit
me playfully. I was actually nervous
about being exposed here in public, but she’d gotten over it, so I wasn’t going
to wimp out.
“You can do
better,” I teased. She was already
writhing and panting as she took most of me in her mouth and played rough.
I made up
my mind, said, “When I come, you can.”
After that,
I had never had such a fast, effective blowjob, alternating licks and sucks
with deep-throat face-humping, and ending again with a chomp as I came into her
mouth, and she bit down hard on me as she finally erupted into an uncontrolled
orgasm. Her gasp was so lovely I nearly
came again.
I thought
that the biting would hurt, but surprisingly it felt good, if a bit
painful. I was hard enough that I wasn’t
worried about damage.
She
swallowed all I gave her, and licked up what was left to keep my shorts relatively
dry. As we recovered, I buttoned up her blouse as she put my junk away, each of
us giving the other a final squeeze, both of us laughing. I glanced around and noted that we seemed to
have gathered a small audience.
As I looked
up, each person began walking and suddenly found themselves interested in
something fascinating in the other direction.
Not a real audience, then. We got up from the bench, and I checked that
she hadn’t visibly stained the back of the green skirt.
As we
walked back with my bags toward the bus stops, I suggested “Your place?” and
she squeezed my hand and said “I’d like that.”
Author's Note: This story has been completed (21
chapters) and published as "From Zealot to Harlot", available at the
bdsmbooks website.
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