The Business of Pleasure by Justine Elyot

supermarket, cooking the dinner, with Justus joined to me at the groin. I could live like that. If only I could get him to take off his suit and fuck me in the first place.
    ‘Let’s take it nice and easy.’ He took a mouthful of tit again, tonguing it and making low, vibrating sounds of ecstasy like a gourmet masticating a rare truffle. I plucked at his shirt buttons, and, even though he tried to bat me away, I managed to get a couple undone. My hand slid inside the gap, meeting warm solidity, perfect definition, curves and lines where they should be. His knees pressed into my hips, warning me that I had taken more than he had permitted. One hand fished me out of his shirt and moved my exploring fingers to the rocky bulge beneath his belt.
    ‘Wow!’ I sighed. ‘Please …’
    He finished his meal of my breasts and shook his head, tutting tormentingly.
    ‘All in good time, Naomi. I’m still hungry.’ He made a lunge for my knickers then dropped them on to the carpet. His lips were upon me, his tongue spreading me wider, feasting and salivating while I squealed my shocked approval.
    Even in the Gerry days, this was not something I had done a lot of. Somehow, it seemed too intimate, too revealing. I could not fake my response, or tone it down – the tongue worked its magic and I was enchanted.
    ‘Oh, Justus, no, stop!’ I pleaded.
    He lifted his head, eyes wide.
    ‘Really?’
    ‘No,’ I confessed. ‘Not really. Carry on.’
    ‘Yes, ma’am.’
    And his tongue tripped along every little crease, covered every bump and mound with its bounty, never letting up until I gave it up, bucking into his generous face with no idea how to stop myself, and no care about how I looked, or anything but the blissful climax he had brought me to.
    ‘You have to promise me, Naomi,’ said Justus mock-sternly, kneeling up from his oral workout, ‘that you will get that done to you a lot more often. I could feel that wave coming over you right from the moment I went down. You needed that.’
    ‘Oh. Oh,’ was all I could say. ‘Oh God.’
    ‘No, I’m a mere mortal,’ he said. ‘I know it’s hard to believe. I suppose I should let you get a breath back before I move on to the next part of my plan for you. Or … no, OK, we’ll do it this way. Turn over on to your front.’
    I obeyed, having no will whatsoever to do otherwise, and lay with my cheek against my arm, listening to the sounds of him undressing at last. I was not sure I would have the energy to do anything other than lie like a rag doll while he took his pleasure – but as it happened, that was not what he had in mind. Instead, he lay on his side beside me and gave me the gentlest of massages – not even a massage at all, really, more a sort of firmer, less irritating stroke. My shoulders, neck and back burned with the sweetness of his touch; I imagined his circular motions drawn on to me, like a map of his attentions, and my eyelids began to droop, my head to weigh ever heavier.
    ‘OK,’ he said, and he smacked my bottom so unexpectedly that my whole body leapt as if electrocuted. ‘I know I said it was good to wait … but I think I’ve waited long enough. Judging by the state of this …’
    He placed my hand around his cock. It was joyously fat and hard; my untensed body began to tauten again at the thought of its intentions.
    ‘Turn over. Look at me,’ he growled. I scrambled on to my back and drank in his powerful body and imperious face. I felt intimidated, but not by his physical stature – more from a kind of quasi-virginal nervousness. I knew what sex felt like, but I had forgotten, and it was like losing my cherry all over again. He reached for the condom pack out of his jacket pocket and began to snap the rubber on, never breaking eye contact with me. ‘Tell me you want this, Naomi.’
    ‘I … I’m a little afraid … but I want it.’
    ‘What are you afraid of?’
    ‘I’m afraid I’ll like it. And then I’ll have to …’
    ‘You’ll