part4 « Fetish Review Blog

part4

you served him. Do you understand Mrs. Belvoir ?” Jerome asked.

With trembling voice she softly muttered, “Yes….”

“Now that we understand each other fully I will give you your instructions for

the rest of the week. From this day forward I will be interviewing a group of

angry black men. I expect that from now on you will look like something more

than a middle age Lesbian. You will purchase and commence from this day forward

dress like a woman should. You will wear hose; garter; and no dress that is

longer than four inches above those hidden dimpled knees of yours. I want you to

start wearing those wonder bras that will lift and separate those delightful, if

small, little breasts that you want to hide. I want you to throw those flat

little shoes away and wear heels and knee high boots with at least three inch

heels. In short Mrs. Belvoir, I expect you to put stiffness in every black prick

that walks through my door. Is that understood ?”

Mrs. Anna Belvoir, her rage barely under control wanted to verbally castrate the

arrogant and pretensious black attorney giving her these lewd demands. But reason

raised it’s ugly head and she reluctantly decided to save her birth place.

Raising her pretty face she looked into the dark forbidding eyes of her

tormentor. “I understand your demands,” was her simple quiet statement.

“We start tomorrow at 9:00 AM. Be punctual…” Jerome closed the first meeting

between the two antagonists.

Anna slowly walked to the door. Just as her petite hand reached for the knob

Jerome spoke again, “Wait just a minute Mrs. Belvoir.”

Anna stood facing the door with dread in her face as she heard the muscular black

man walk to where she was standing. Putting his large black hands on her

shoulders he turned her around. Looking down at the trembling wife he spoke

again, “Who is your boss Mrs. Belvoir ?”

With her trembling lips she softly answered, “You are my boss Mr. Bettis.”

With a smile on his handsome black face he then gave he his next command. “Kiss

your boss good bye for the day Mrs. Belvoir.”

Her face became very pale. She had always loathed black people…..she had been

brought up to think of them as inferior; and now she was being ordered to kiss

her new black boss. The man who had turned her ordered and tranquil life upside

down in only thirty minutes. She started to shake her head from side to side and

then looking into the dark demanding eyes of her new boss merely dropped her eyes

and raised her lips to his thick lips. She let her small delicate tongue slide

between her lips and explore his wet mouth and thick tongue. As her tongue

entered his wet opening she felt his strong hands circle her thin waist and pull

her tight lean body against his muscular body. Putting her small hands on his

muscular chest she tried to resist……….until she felt the hard black pole

push against her lower abdomen and rub against her throbbing womanhood. The

unwanted sensation was very disturbing to Anna. She pushed harder against the

…End of the part4. To be continued..

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part4

fold between the thighs and the pudendum, tracks down each valley, rolls across

the bottom and up past the cleft to the top, where it rotates around the clit

like some tiny moon. My entire body undulates in response to its movements, my

moans becoming more and more frenetic. Finally, the enigma slides across my clit,

followed closely by his tongue and teeth as he stimulates me to close to the edge

— then stops again.

I cry out at the sudden loss of sensation, then lose my breath as my nipples are

touched, held, taken, pinched, and pulled. The change in intensity confuses me,

and my body arches in pain-and-pleasure and total overload. By my nipples I am

pulled upright, my head still tilted back and held immobile. He kisses me once,

brutally, tongue probing deeply, teeth clashing and lips bruising mine. I am

turned, his hands swapping to hold my nipples firmly as he seats himself then

lowers me down onto his lap. His hard-as-nails cock which fills me utterly, and I

almost come as I attempt to impale myself completely upon it. His adjustable

chair sinks under the combination of both our weights. With one arm across my

hips and left breast he forbids me to move, while his other hand creeps down and

starts gently rubbing and circling and inflaming my clitoris and driving the

tingles of orgasm through my body. I cannot contain myself — I scream with the

complete overload of my senses and the spasms of my body force me up and down a

little on his cock, the friction adding to the charges bouncing back and forwards

through my body.

As I come down, his fingers trace around my mouth and the taste of me on my lips

augments the endnote as my vagina spasms around his cock for one last thrill. He

is still hard, still ready, and still inside me, and he brushes his palms in

front of my breasts and teases their tips.

Then he leans over to the computer, still holding me on his lap. On the desk, I

see a mouse-ball — the enigma from before. He touches a few buttons, then leans

back and puts his hands in front of me again; the merest touch on my nipples a

twinge so intense I gasp.

I raise to follow the sensation, and the chair raises with the loss of weight –

but not far enough. I realise I am about to lose him from inside me, and stop –

but I’ve lost the touch on my breasts. My head is still held high, and in the

vexing seeing-and-not-seeing is another sense gone crazy. And in the background I

can hear another woman screaming. In a less-confused quarter of my mind, I

realise it’s me — he’s been recording me. Somehow the fact merely arouses me

more, and I am closer again to orgasm than I thought a body could be without

actually being there. The other screams stop, he presses a key, and I know he’s

recording me again. And instead of silencing me, the knowledge makes me helpless

to stop myself — my groans are more liberated (and louder) than they were

before.

Without him needing to do more than hold his palms just in front of my breasts, I

am driven into a rhythm of raising and lowering, seeking the animation of the

nerves at alternate ends as my nipples pursue the palms and my genitalia ride his

pistonning lap, courtesy of the pneumatic height-adjusting chair. In my

frustration, my groans rise rapidly to a succession of cries from the depths of

my soul, and faster than I thought possible, I am brought to another seismic

orgasm.

In sweaty fulfilment I lean back against him. “You haven’t come yet, have you?” I

ask.

“Not yet — you still have some work to do.” He lifts me up from his lap, the

chair rising one last time with an exhausted sigh. He loosens my hair, but keeps

my arms bound. I am pushed forwards, my front over the desk as he drives into me

from behind, pulling me back onto him in a rhythm both faster and harder than any

other used tonight. The change, and the pressure on my thighs, and the strength

of his need send me over the edge for one last, monstrous orgasm that coincides

with his own cries as we come together. He loosens my arms, and rests on top of

me, holding me. Gently, he bites my shoulder.

“Bravo” he says.

“Encore!” I whisper.

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part4

Steven sat down, staring again at the portrait. I went to the small bar and

poured myself a drink.

“One night, months after, I made love to Anna and in the very moment of ecstasy,

a realization struck me. There, in her eyes, as a giddy laugh passed over her

lips, I found the instant of beauty that is there, frozen into that infernal

painting. I left our bed almost as quickly as it is conceivably possible to

abandon a woman in the throes of love, and I rushed down here and gazed into the

eyes of the painting and I knew I was right. In the strokes of his brush,

Pandolf had broken my heart. Anna had shown him the ecstasy of her soul.”

Steven seethed with living rage and I looked again at the painting, almost

embarrassed to be privy to such an intimate view of the beautiful Anna. I knew

he spoke the truth, for while at first glance the piece seemed simply beautiful,

a glimmer of the delight I had, myself, witnessed in the climactic expressions of

lovely young women glowed in the face of the portrait’s subject. I shuddered to

imagine what Steven had felt, an outpouring of furious emotion that still burned

in him.

“I pulled the curtain closed and ran from the study,” Steven said. “Anna had

followed after me, curious to see where I had dashed off to, but I managed to

meet her in the hallway. Grabbing her, I kissed my wife with more passion than I

ever had before in all our years together. In the first moment, when I looked

into the glimmering black pupils of the painting, I had felt the anger and pain

that comes from the first blow of a poisoned dagger. Her lips seemed to mock me,

almost pursed in a hungry kiss. I wanted to tear the painting down from the wall

and destroy the canvas thread by thread. But just there, beneath the smooth skin

of her throat, I could almost feel the eager pulse of her heart. Her breasts, so

soft and warm, pressed against my chest. Her arms . . .” Steven stopped. I

looked away.

“I loved Anna more than I ever had. I couldn’t care if she had betrayed me

because it seemed inconsequential compared to the pain I would feel if I lost

her. I loved her madly, with every fiber of my being, for the rest of her life.”

Steven stood and approached the painting. “And I was right. The pain of losing

her was worst of all.”

I sat dumbfounded as I looked at the painting of Anna by Pandolf, and for the

first time, truly marvelled at the passion that could be contained within a

single square of canvas, covered over by globs of oily pigment. Steven sobbed

softly. I rose and put an arm around him, feeling the magnificent adoration for

this work of art he expressed with each convulsed breath. And with a glance, I

loved her, too.

“It was years before I showed anyone else the painting. He was an old friend and

a great admirer of Pandolf’s. He told me that this piece marked the transition

for the painter. In this painting, he said, Pandolf spoke a universal truth,

taking that final step beyond the personal truths that characterized his earlier

work. That Pandolf often spoke of a great piece he had sold and forever

regretted giving up. That my Anna’s was the one.”

I nodded. I had seen the face of beauty before. The painting held a

recognition.

“Anna told me on that first night that the painter had tried to refuse to give

the painting to her. She told him they had a contract and that her husband was a

lawyer and that if he didn’t give her the painting, there would be hell to pay.

Then she gave him two hundred extra because she felt sorry.”

“Amazing,” I said.

“She loved me,” he said. “You can see it in her eyes.”

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part4

knock at the door.

Straightening herself up and rushing to the door with a professional face, she

opened the door after unlocking it nervously. There stood the object of her

fancies grinning like a Cheshire cat in heat.

“Good morning, Doctor,” he said stepping into the small tasteful office of Dr.

Janine Sloane.

Not sure of what to say, feel or do, Janine extended her hand out to greet him.

In a pseudo-like gesture of sincerity, actually more of a mock romanticism, Mac

took her hand and kissed it like he would the delicate hand of a princess. She

noticed his eyes widen slightly with erotic intent. She thought at first he had

caught her in the act of solitary pleasure, and a second later it was obvious he

had, his sparkling eyes projecting that knowledge. She flushed as she realized

the evidence was right there under his nose, he could feel the slight dampness

and taste the remnants of her womanly secretions on her hand.

“Did I come at a bad time?”

“No, I was just getting some work done,” she replied, taking her hand away.

“I bet.”

“What do you want Mac?” she asked.

“I just wanted to say hello, that’s all,” he said stepping closer. She could feel

his magnetic personality pulling her towards him. Even the deep character lines

around his sinister smile were making her feel woozy.

“Well, hello. I am really sorry, but I must be going,” she said, picking up her

books to leave and to get as far away from him as possible.

“We will catch up later, perhaps?”

“Maybe.”

She walked briskly to her classroom, thinking about his stare of sexual innuendo.

He had degraded her again with just the look in his eyes. The knowledge that he

knew she had been touching herself made her want to go and hide forever, but it

also made her feel extremely randy. Mac always made her randy; in fact, it was

his specialty. He could make any situation erotic no matter what they were doing.

Once in the early days of their courtship, they had been sitting at a play. He

started letting his hands wander, holding her close, whispering tantalizing

thoughts in her ear – thoroughly letting his magnetic charm make her weak at the

knees. He exuded sex from every pore in his body like it was a hormonal

pheromone. They could have been at a funeral and she would have gotten excited.

Dragging herself back from the faculty meeting for the Science department, Janine

couldn’t believe her newfound situation. Part of her hated Mac for everything he

…End of the part4. To be continued..

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