Open Your Legs for Me Read online

  OPEN YOUR LEGS FOR ME

  By Aphrodite Hunt

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright 2011 by Aphrodite Hunt

  Cover art by Aphrodite Hunt

  Published by Aphrodite Hunt at Smashwords

  OPEN YOUR LEGS FOR ME

  I stand in front of the blond god, all six foot two inches of him.

  He sprawls in his deep brown leather couch, his muscular legs splayed wide open, displaying a firm bulge in between. The tight denim of his jeans encases this bulge like a wrapper around a rapidly expanding balloon.

  “So you’re Gia,” he drawls.

  “Gina,” I timidly correct him. “Gina Wesley.”

  “How long have you been at Gifford, Gia Wesley?”

  He unnerves me, this gorgeous Adonis in his straining Levis and white wife-beater. His eyes are a remarkable blue. His nose would have graced a CK ad. His lips . . . I don’t even want to think of his lips. And right now, he’s the only thing standing between me and my acceptance into Phi Kappa Omega.

  “Two months,” I softly say.

  “Two months!” He laughs heartily, flashing white teeth. “Two months, and you want to get in?”

  I cringe before him. Everyone told me it was futile, useless. They would never accept me – not at this stage.

  What’s my bug about getting into Phi Kappa Omega?

  Well, it’s the club of all clubs at Gifford. Enter, and it’s an instant passport to a lucrative career after college. Job offers flow your way like tap water from a burst pipe. Their network promises you extensive contacts from Minnesota to Peru. My sister, Karyn, was a senior before she finally got accepted, and here I am – a freshman – trying for the greatest club Gifford has ever known.

  A freshman!

  Imagine me trumping Karyn by a good three years. She’ll never live it down during Thanksgiving!

  “You are whatever I call you,” the god says, tipping his head back to gaze at me out of narrowed eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A slow grin spreads across his generous lips. “Nah. Not sir. I’ll teach you to call me master.”

  “Yes, master.” I swallow. Karyn did hint at a lengthy ‘initiation’ process. She wasn’t too specific about it, only that it was “something you’ll have to find out for yourself”, a phrase she often delivers with a ghost of an uneasy smile.

  The blond god’s name is Max Devlin, but I’m not allowed to call him Max.

  “How far are you willing to go to enter Phi Kappa Omega, Gia?”

  My hands are nervously wringing themselves in front of the pink baby doll dress I’m wearing.

  “Anything it takes, if it pleases you, master,” I whisper.

  I wonder if he can tell that I’ve put on fresh panties for this occasion. They’re white, lacy and wonderfully girly. But those were his instructions – conveyed to me before this fortuitous meeting. “Dress like a little party princess.”

  “Good,” he says, folding his hands behind his marvelous head. His blond hair is cropped short, the way I imagine Apollo’s, Greek god of the sun, would be. “Now slide off your panties. Real slow.”

  Gulping, I hasten to obey him. Part of me had expected this.

  My trembling fingers creep under the hem of my baby doll dress. The frilly skirt is so short that the tops of my thighs are almost showing. My thumbs dig into the thin fabric of my new panties. As my hem flutters up, I swear he can catch a glimpse of my crotch – which is now leaking like a creamy sundae fountain onto that little cotton scrap.

  I ease my panties off slowly, taking care not to let the hem of my skirt ride up again. They fall around my ankles in a miniscule string. My nether lips are throbbing around the little moist kernel of my clit, and copious juices are flooding my entire pussy in a warm, wet tide.

  “Very good. I can tell we’re going to get along here,” he says.

  I step out of my panties, teetering in my two-inch pink heels. Those were a requirement by Max Devlin as well. He stares at the area between my legs, hidden only by the fall of lacy pink chiffon.

  Gathering his magnificent long torso, he abruptly rises from the couch.

  He says but one word, “Come.”

  He strides off to the direction of the bathroom without looking at me.

  Flustered, I debate whether to gather the forlorn little heap of my wet panties, but hastily decide against it. Max Devlin is not a man who likes to be kept waiting, I’ve been told. I hurry after him in my heels, taking not to trip over them. A little breeze trails in from the open window and lifts my skirt to reveal the shoal of my buttocks. Bashfully, I hold my dress down.

  The bathroom is wide, with a porcelain bathtub, toilet and sink, and a most unusual feature to be found in a college house – a bidet.

  Max turns to me suddenly. I almost bundle into his rock hard body, but stop myself in time. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the sink – wild mahogany hair tumbling all over my shoulders, anxious green eyes, the tops of my breasts peeking out of the low frilly neckline of my baby doll dress.

  “In a rush, are we?” he teases.

  “No.” I gasp.

  His eyes harden into flints. “No, who?”

  “No, master.”

  He is standing very close to me, so close that if I take one step forward, I would slam against his chest. His arm muscles are magnificently contoured and his bronzed skin is silky smooth and tight. I wonder how he would look like oiled. I can smell the sweet scent of his aftershave, mingled with sweat. Goose bumps gather on the backs of my thighs.

  He seizes my right wrist and holds it up. “Would you do everything I tell you to?”

  “Yes, master.”

  His grasp on my flesh is tight. I feel tears springing to my eyes.

  “Good,” he says.

  My knees are starting to buckle. He jerks his sculptured chin to the direction of the bidet.

  “Now go over there and squat on the rim.”

  He lets go of me as abruptly as he has seized me. I almost fall backward, but regain my balance in time. My thumping heart is in my throat. It would not do to appear graceless in front of Max Devlin.

  I trot to the bidet, studying the bewildering array of taps and nozzles circling its perimeter and dotting the generous bowl. It is complex, I decide, more torture instrument than sanitary device. The rim is fairly wide with the seat down; through it would be precarious to balance upon it on my heels.

  Devlin rasps, “What are you waiting for, freshman?”

  Warmth floods my cheeks as I climb onto the bidet. It is easier to sit upon it first, my bare buttocks circling its oval aperture, and then to gingerly hoist my slipper-shod feet onto its broad seat. I’m terrified of appearing clumsy. Devlin never takes his eyes off my crotch, revealed now and then – I’m sure – by the betraying hem of my short, short dress. A flush suffuses my breasts and spreads all the way down to my belly.

  I finally face him – eyes downcast and cheeks aflame – in my squatting position. My legs are wide apart. My dress has ridden up my thighs to reveal the shaven area between them. My wet pussy lips are finally exposed to Devlin’s hot gaze. My slender nub throbs and quivers in cool air of the bathroom. The moist hole of my vulva gapes above the deep basin of the bidet, and just behind it, separated by only a thin sliver of flesh, my anus puckers wide open.

  I feel vulnerable and displayed.

  From the intensity of his blazing blue eyes, Devlin does not find me wanting.

  He scrutin
izes my very open and burning pussy lips. My juices are beginning to flow again in a never-ending stream, trickling from the trembling and oh-so-soft opening of my vagina down the fragile skin to the rim of my anus. I wonder if he can see how wet I am. How ready.

  Devlin removes off his wife-beater in a slow, languorous movement. Peeling it off his stomach, he rips it off his head and tosses it aside. It falls onto the bathroom tiles in a crumpled heap. His stomach is ripped in a classical six-pack and tapered to a ‘V’ before flaring out again to his slender hips. Devlin swims for Gifford, I am told.

  His hands begin to undo the bronze buttons on his Levis, pausing at the second one. He’s not wearing underwear. A tangle of damp blond curls plays peek-a-boo as the fly of his jeans is pushed apart by his bulging flesh. When he unfastens the third button, his straining cock – magnificent, pulsing and oh-so-tumescent – springs up immediately to raise its purple head above its denim prison.

  Oh! I almost gasp in dismay. His cock is huge! It’s over eight inches long, I swear, and thicker than it has a right to be. Thicker than fat salami hanging from a meat store. Thicker than what my mouth can comfortably take.

  How will my tight, tight pussy – penetrated only several times in fumbling backseat gropings, and that by the rather thin cock of Barry Mancini, my boyfriend back in high school – take Devlin’s supersized organ?

  Devlin lets his jeans slide off his well-muscled legs in a rush. He steps out of them, fully naked. If he’s aware of my frantic misgivings, he doesn’t let on. I suspect he doesn’t care.

  He moves towards me. Unhurried. His eyes take in the mounds of my breasts. He stands before me – a Greek god. In my uncomfortable tottering posture, his cock is at the level of my breasts. It points at my cleavage like a large, accusing finger.

  “Raise your arms,” Devlin commands.

  I do so slowly, fearful that I may fall from a sudden shift of balance. Devlin pinches the fabric of my baby doll dress and tugs it off my chest. The chiffon threatens to get caught at my jaw. I’m aware – in my cloud of pink cloth softness – that my breasts are now revealed to Devlin. I have always been rather proud of my firm, medium-sized breasts. “Virginal tits,” Karyn calls them.

  Devlin pauses, in no rush to slide the dress off my head. For a panicked moment, I wonder if he intends to leave me in my blinded, fragile position – my arms upraised, head trapped in a chiffon tangle. My nipples pucker in the sudden cold. My areolas have always been large in proportion to my breasts. I wonder if Devlin thinks they are oversized.

  I feel a warm hand on the under-curve of my right breast. It squeezes – not gently.

  “Nice,” Devlin murmurs.

  His hand moves to my left breast, cupping my turgid nipple. He pinches it roughly.

  I gasp.

  “Nice, huge nipples you have. Wait till you see what I have in store for you.”

  His palm grazes my buttocks, passes fleetingly over the wet, wet leaking tap that is the entrance of my vagina. I expect him to linger there, prize open my melting hot pussy lips. But he doesn’t. I feel a tug on my head and my entire dress comes off. Freedom! I can see again, breathe in the cool air of the damp bathroom. Watery, air freshener smells permeate my nostrils.

  Devlin is beside me, his hand casually placed on the small of my back, just above the cleavage of my white buttocks.

  “Stay here and don’t move.”

  “Yes, master.” The undersides of my thighs are beginning to ache.

  I watch as Devlin strides to the mirrored cabinet above the sink. He has nice, firm buttocks. No trace of a flab on them. Swimmer’s buttocks. His back is just as toned, as are the rippling muscles of his thighs. The back of his neck wears a light golden sheen.

  He opens the door of the cabinet and removes something from the inside. As his back is to me, I cannot see what they are. Surreptitiously, I shift my right leg so that the heel digs firmly into the slight depression of the bidet seat.

  “I said don’t move.”

  I freeze. Could he have heard me?

  “I’m sorry, master.”

  He turns. In his palms are several metallic objects that catch the sunlight from the bathroom window.

  My alarm rises as he walks back to me again, his swollen cock bouncing with every step.

  Devlin stands before me again, palms splayed.

  “Observe these,” he says.

  In wonder, I behold the shiny objects. They are metal clamps – eight of them, jostling against one another in the creased flesh of his cupped large hands. Two of them are seashell-like in design while the rest remind me of small paper clips – the kind used to hold reams of officious paper from the dean’s office.

  A shudder runs deep within me, commencing from my neck down to my groin. My tongue withers ever so slightly.

  “Please . . . master.” I blink away the sudden tears in my eyes.

  “Yes?” He observes my face. He is watchful, waiting.

  “Please . . . don’t hurt me.”

  “But discipline and humiliation are essential for your initiation.” His words are slow, carefully enunciated as though to make sure I understand every syllable. “I did ask you how far you are willing to go to enter Phi Kappa Omega. You said ‘anything’. If you want me to drop this right now, say but the word, and you’re free to go.”

  I lick my dry lips. Had Karyn gone through this? If he drops this right now, I’ll never get the chance to enter the elite of the college elite. All my dreams gone to dust. No. That is not an option. I must grind my teeth and bear it.

  “No, master,” I softly say, “I don’t want to go.”

  “Then stay still.”

  He kneels before my open legs. I can’t see my quivering vaginal lips but for the swell of my breasts. I have to struggle to keep my legs wide apart because every instinct warns me to close them. I can feel Devlin’s coarse thumb and finger peeling my right outer pussy lip from its sticky tether of my clitoris. The cold metal clamp seizes my skin, gathers the tender flesh of my labia and squeezes it firmly and intimately.

  There is no pain – only an intense pressure. It’s chilly and it floods me immediately, sends a wave of dizzying pleasure up my groin and belly.

  I gasp.

  Devlin takes no notice. He repeats this with my left pussy lip, nudging the hot nub of my clit ever so carelessly. A paroxysm of intense sensation once again assaults me. I can feel the juices from my pussy pooling into a large drop that is hanging precariously from the tip of my vulva.

  I am now clamped and spread apart – cold metal dividing hot flesh.

  But Devlin doesn’t stop. He places two more clamps on either pussy lip. The clamps are not superficially placed either – they bite deep, snaring a large portion of my pussy flesh so that their tips graze the soft sides of my clit. The sharp intake of my breath sucks in my abdomen and causes the clamps to rub against one another in a low, clicking sound.

  Devlin’s searing gaze meets mine.

  “Punishment,” he says, “is often necessary for the soul.”

  My lips part and my tongue dries as his finger runs up and down the tortured and wrinkled ribbon of flesh that is my clit. The pleasure begins to build again and I can’t stop a moan from escaping my throat. The moan turns into a cry as he suddenly plunges two fingers into the warm, wet tunnel of my vagina. Those two fingers probe and fill me, and attempt to stretch my walls.

  “You are very tight. That’s good.”

  He withdraws his fingers and lifts them to his nose to imbibe their lush, earthy smell. Then he raises those fingers to my lips.

  “Open your mouth.”

  I obey.

  “Suck them.”

  I take those two wet fingers into my mouth and curl my tongue around them. I suck, tasting my own womanly paste.

  Devlin pulls out his fingers.

  “Good girl.”

  He stands up, his stiff cock with its angry purple head once again coming level with my nipples. How I long to run my tongue over that bul
bous head with its prominent vein, but he ignores my hungry, grasping mouth.

  “Let’s see how you do with humiliation. Don’t move.”

  He seizes the tip of his huge cock and aims in at my open, vandalized pussy. Before I can cry out, a stream of warm urine sails out and hits my hot clit and imprisoned pussy lips. The clear liquid gushes down my folds and trickles into the porcelain bowl of the bidet. I whimper as the tide continues to spatter me. My cheeks are flushed and my entire body wants to cringe in shame.

  Finally, the river stems. Devlin shakes the tip of his cock. Two warm beads fall onto my breasts.

  Down there, I’m soaked in his humiliation.

  Devlin chuckles softly as he takes in my teary eyes and my parted, distressed mouth. “Be thankful I didn’t ask you to drink it. I have, you know, with some of the others.”

  He gently brushes my lips.

  “And now,” he bends down to turn on a tap, “the cleansing.”

  A cold spurt of water suddenly assails my throbbing pussy. It strikes my flesh with considerable force and I let out a sharp cry. Devlin grins as the fountain continues to hurtle against my bruised clit. Jets of water worm their way in between my labial folds, separated and snared in their icy metal devices. A slipstream forces its way into my vagina, washing away the whitish cream of my own wantonness.

  Devlin dips down to turn on another tap. His lips brush against my ear. “Like it, don’t you?”

  Another cold spray barrels into my anus this time – an even more forceful blow. Water parts the tighter walls of my rectum. On both sensitive sides, I am flooded with sensations too intense to bear. A red veil descends before my eyes as the brutal double penetration continues. Aquarius must be laughing at my expense.

  I feel the warm wave of an orgasm mounting. My pelvic muscles clench and unclench. I feel the crest peaking, and my fists clutch at the tops of my bent knees.

  I cry out again. I hear Devlin’s laugh.

  Devlin stems the back tide by inserting his finger into my anus – one of the large boned fingers that had been in my pussy. It’s very sudden and I suck in my breath. It’s a curious sensation, not altogether unpleasant, and as he begins to stroke the walls of my back passage, a different kind of pleasure spreads through me. I must admit to being an asshole virgin. Barry Mancini was only ever preoccupied with shoving his thin dick into my pussy and mouth.