Undulate: A Hot Age Gap, Single Dad Romance (Alchemy)
Undulate: Chapter 8

Before my eyes is a sight I can never un-see. I suspect Cal’s use of the word banquette was indeed a double entendre, because the construction is an enormous, plush, waist-high ottoman-type thing over which several women are draped in a row.

A quick count tells me there are six of them, all standing, all bent forward at the waist so their torsos lie along the leather surface, and all blindfolded, their wrists shackled to a line of what look like hooks.

They’re clothed, most of them in short dresses or skirts, their feet planted wide.

And over the slender thighs of the woman nearest to us cascade the same silky black tassels that had me so enthralled in the bar.

Maddy.

Her face is turned towards us, her cheek resting on the ottoman’s surface, her beautiful eyes hidden behind a black sleep mask and her lips, or what I can see of them behind her outstretched arm, slightly parted in an unmistakable expression of arousal and contentment.

That’s not all. There’s a man—a lot older than us—sauntering up and down the line of women. His swagger is arrogant, proprietary, and it gets my hackles up immediately. He stops behind a woman two down from Maddy and slides her dress up over her arse, revealing two perfect orbs of bare flesh intersected by a scrap of black lace.

I watch with a mess of emotions churning inside me as he pulls the lace and snaps it back against her pussy with force. She wiggles her bottom at him, wanting more, and he smiles and bends over, whispering something to her as his hand disappears between her legs, and she bucks against him.

Holy fucking Christ. I’m torn between watching this guy toying with his thong-clad plaything and being unable to take my gaze away from Maddy. She’s waiting patiently, but for what?

For him?

‘Who the fuck is he?’ I mutter to Cal.

‘Pascal,’ he replies. ‘Don’t know his surname. Bit of a prick, but the women fucking love him. He loves nothing more than to line them up like this and get them all worked up.’

‘Will he fuck them all?’ I wonder aloud, my internal filter having clearly broken the moment I laid eyes on this spectacle.

‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ I sense Cal shrug beside me. ‘He’ll get his friends involved. The banquette is a free-for-all situation too, you know. If you wanted to have a crack at anyone in particular, my lips are sealed. I never saw anything. In fact, duty calls.’

I watch in awe and horror as my mate passes Maddy and makes his way to the other end of the line, sinking to his knees and flipping up the little skirt of a blonde before burying his face between her legs.

Holy fuck.

I am in way over my head.

I need to get out of here. Now.

But I’m rooted to the spot, unable to leave, or move, or act.

This Pascal guy straightens up, runs his fingers over the thong of the woman he’s just been fingering, and moves towards me.

He’s got to stop at the woman next to Maddy. He’s got to.

He doesn’t.

He ignores her except for a cursory swipe at her arse and settles behind Maddy. He pushes her skirt up, and those tassels flutter and tangle and brush over her flawless skin as he does, revealing just her bare, heavenly bottom.

My cock, which has been throbbing, jerks so violently I swear it’ll have my zip imprinted on it.

She’s not wearing any fucking pants.

Has she just taken them off? Or was she bare all evening as she crossed and uncrossed her legs in front of me, Sharon Stone style, at the bar?

The guy rubs at her bottom appraisingly like she’s a fucking prize cow and slides one thick finger inside her as I watch in utter horror. Jealousy and arousal sear through me, rendering my poor, blood-deprived brain practically useless. There’s a tingling sensation all over my body, like I’m being set alight from inside, while one sole thought consumes me. The same thought I had as I left the bar.

What would she feel like?

Another thought replaces its way in. A wish, a mantra.

Walk the fuck away from her, you cunt.

I’m vaguely aware of other guys and a woman closing in, circling their prey like vultures, and who can blame them? Because one of them in particular is irresistible. Her allure is powerful in the office, and it’s powerful when we go out for team drinks and she’s all dolled up. But right now, bare and bent over with her pussy quivering around some dickwad’s intruding finger, she is every fucking thing I’ve ever wanted.

She is nirvana.

He rolls his finger around inside her. It would appear I’ve been edging closer. From my new vantage point, I have the dubious honour of being able to see his other hand clench hard against the flesh of her cheek, his thumb grazing the rim of that tight hole right above where his other hand is buried. He raises a casual, entitled hand and spanks her bare flesh. As he lifts it away, her skin blooms the prettiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen, and she pushes against his hands.

I’m dying. I’m dead. This is too much, too excruciating. It’s the worst temptation I’ve ever known. I’m not cut out for this—not for seeing Maddy being touched, used like this, by some random fucking guy. I won’t survive it.

And then, miracle of miracles, he’s backing away from her and laughing and jerking a thumb at me.

‘She’s all yours, mate,’ he says to me. ‘Go for it.’

I’m only barely conscious of closing the empty space behind her as quickly as he vacates it, and of sinking to my knees in awe and supplication and ecstasy, and of replaceing myself exactly at eye level with Maddy’s sweet pink cunt.

The sight of it leaves no room for any emotion other than need. No room for pain. If my pain is a fire, this desperation in me is an oxygen vacuum. It sweeps away everything else. The past few minutes have been arousing and tormenting in equal measure.

But this? This is full-wattage, fourteen-year-old boy-level desire where nothing else on earth matters. It does, indeed, feel in this moment like we’re only here on this planet for this.

To taste.

To fuck.

No wonder the church is so terrified of sex. No wonder it’s spent millennia using fear and hellfire to warn us away from it. It’s the most powerful, intoxicating force there is. Nothing else can compete.

Her cunt is the most beautiful sight I’ve seen. Rose pink and bare, except for a neat strip of dark hair disappearing around her front. Her lips are delicate. Her clit is already swollen from that guy’s ham-fisted efforts, protruding from its hood like a succulent berry. And her holes are on full display for me, the welcoming oval of her entrance wet and glistening and ready to be breached, the tight ring of muscle above it more closed up and darker in colour.

Without realising it, I’ve curled my fingers lightly around Maddy’s shapely ankles, and equally lightly I run them up her legs. Up over velvety skin and the muscles of her calves, taut as she stands in her high, sexy heels. My thumbs caress the delicate hollows behind her knees. They press in further to her toned hamstrings as my hands slide up her thighs.

Fuck, these thighs. They’ve teased me most days at work, given her penchant for short skirts and fuck-me heels or boots. They’ve taunted me tonight, and now they’re mine.

Mine to stroke.

Mine to grip.

And grip I do, my thumbs reaching further around so they’re dragging up her inner thighs. And all the while, my face is mere inches from her exposed pussy and I’m drowning in her delicate, musky scent, a scent so intoxicating that I’m already high. The aroused heat pumping off her is extraordinary.

I breathe in deeply, and exhale, and my breath must be warm on her flesh, because she wriggles her arse in my face and whimpers out a please that’s loud enough for me to hear it above the music.

Jesus Christ. That arse.

I don’t touch her where she wants it. Not yet. Instead, my hands continue their exploration, my palms sliding worshipfully north, my thumbs skating just shy of the place where her skin becomes needy, sensitive pads of flesh.

My palms hit the smooth skin of her bottom. The skin that turned so prettily pink under that arsehole’s smack. I’ve never had a twitchy palm, but I positively ache to spank these beautiful cheeks. To see a flush bloom across her skin, to enjoy the gratifying jerk her body makes as she begs for more.

Some of the fringing on her dress hangs over her bottom, rogue tassels dangling. Black against tanned skin and then, where those fucking bikini bottoms were, against white. I lazily brush them out of the way, pushing the hem of her dress higher so it’s clear of the area I want perfectly exposed for me.

I do slap her then, because the sight of her laid bare for me is too much, and because her flawless skin is a blank canvas I replace myself wanting to mark.

Needing to mark.

I raise a hand and bring it down, not too hard but firmly enough to sting, and she yelps in surprise before I smooth a palm over the reddening, smarting area and press a chaste kiss to the middle of one deliciously plump cheek.

But, because I’m a man who’s been to hell and back this past year and can handle a few more minutes of torture, as well as a man petty enough to relish tormenting the woman who’s caused him so much angst, I get to my feet and bend over her so my front lies over her back, pressing my suit-trouser-clad erection against her as I bring my face down to the back of her neck. Because in for a penny, in for a fucking pound, and I want my fill of this woman before this fleeting, carnal reprieve is dust.

I bury my nose between her shoulder blades, rubbing it against her silky hair as I shove my hands in the tight space between her tits and the surface they’re pressed against. Fuck, her hair smells amazing. Her skin smells amazing. I could collapse on top of her like this and drown in her. I could sheath my cock in her warm, tight channel and fuck my way to oblivion so easily.

With her arms outstretched, there’s no way I can get those pesky little straps down. Nor can I tug the top of her dress down. But I cup her tits hard, my hands full of soft flesh. Her pebbled nipples are hard against my palm, and she does her best to arch up beneath me, granting me a few millimetres of precious space so I can rub and stroke and tug and knead.

Fuck me. I knew her tits were perfection. That was pretty fucking clear when she had them barely controlled in that tiny bikini. But it’s the softness, the fullness of them that has my breath catching in my throat.

I forgot what breasts felt like. I forgot—

No. No. I won’t go there. Not now. I’m perfectly happy thinking with my dick in this moment. Neither my brain nor my heart can have any jurisdiction here.

As I’m massaging her tits and inhaling so hard into her hair that I’m practically snorting, she’s wriggling, writhing, beneath me, grinding that wet pussy against my erection. We’re so close I can hear her needy little gasps. Gasps that go straight to my cock.

‘Please make me come,’ she moans. ‘I need to come. I want you to fuck me.’

Jesus fuck.

‘We’ll see,’ I lie. I have no intention of going quite that far tonight, but I’m unwilling to say more in case she recognises my voice. I arch over her as I withdraw my hands from beneath her pillowy tits and and use them to take my weight. And I drag my mouth, my tongue, downwards.

Down the thin layer of skin covering the little bumps of her spinal column.

Down the back of her ridiculous, flimsy, sexy little dress. Over the tangle of tassels and over her coccyx as I squat slowly, slowly lower.

And I don’t fucking stop.

Finally, finally, I allow myself to lick a path between her cheeks, giving the first puckered entrance I encounter a few darting licks that have her shivering, before I keep going and reach nirvana.

I collapse to my knees.

I surrender.

My nose replaces her soaking entrance and nuzzles at it while my lips, my tongue, encounter flesh so soft and slippery and delicious that they lap, lick, drag over it like it’s a fucking ice cream. Jesus, she’s delicious. Delicious, and worked up, and quivering under my touch in the most gratifying way.

I pull back for a moment and make a V with the fingers of one hand to part her flesh. To expose her and inspect her and delight in her. Holding her open for me like that, I begin to lick her plump clit, flicking at it with a taut tongue before I suck deeply on it. With my other hand, I take two fingers and slide them in. She’s so wet she takes them easily, but her body jolts at the intrusion, and her internal muscles clench beautifully as she accommodates me.

Jesus, she’s perfection. A velvet glove. A velvet vice, even, because boy is she as tight and toned on the inside as that perfect body is on the outside.

‘Fuuuuck,’ she moans, low and deep, and I feel her pain, because I possibly now have the metallic teeth of my zip embedded in my shaft. I’d give anything to get my cock out and stroke it while I bring Maddy sensually, steadily, to orgasm.

Hang the fuck on.

This is a sex club.

I can do whatever the fuck I like.

I withdraw the hand holding her open so I can unzip myself. I replace the flap in my boxer briefs, and my cock jerks painfully out. As I close my fingers over my length and start pumping, the pleasure is so intense I practically levitate off the ground.

My ministrations have me growing dangerously close to orgasm. I want her to come at the same time. I focus on giving Maddy the maximum amount of sensation, which is a much more finessed job than my primal tugs on my cock.

Touching her, drowning in her, is just as pleasurable, if not more, than touching myself.

Adjusting the position of my tongue, tensing it against her fucking soaking clit before running it up and down her folds just to tease her? Crooking my fingers to hit that spot against her front wall to make the intensity as great as I possibly can for her?

That’s fine art.

Wanking myself off is child’s play.

My balls are so high and so fucking tight they may snap off. Pressure is building at the base of my spine, and my dick is harder than it’s been in a long time. I tug, and I drive my fingers in and and out of Maddy’s silken wetness, and I flick my tongue as hard and rhythmically as I can.

And then we’re both coming like fucking champs. She’s bucking against my fingers and tongue, rutting with everything she’s got, like the ottoman’s a bronco and she’s on the wildest ride of her life. From the muffled sounds of her shrieks, I’d say she’s got her face deep in the leather. I bury my nose in her delicate folds and stiffen as hot, angry spurts of cum erupt from my cock in wave after wave.

‘Fuck,’ I grunt out, my voice choked. ‘Fuck.’

I keep on licking her through our come-downs, as the haze of my exceptional pleasure begins to fade and the movements of the beautiful woman whose pussy I’ve just devoured become less frantic.

She’s almost still, but I can tell from the heaves of her arse that she’s trying to catch her breath. I give her one last, luxurious lick, my tongue lapping from her clit to her entrance.

She’s heavenly.

‘Fuck me now,’ she urges me, frantic need in her voice. ‘Please.’

But that is a bridge I cannot cross tonight.

A sin too far.

A temptation from which I’ll never recover.

‘Maybe next time, sweetheart,’ I tell her regretfully.

I stagger to my feet and stuff my still semi-hard cock in my trousers.

Her whimper of frustration, of disbelief, is audible as I stagger away.