hands toy with my breasts, circling my nipples with practised fingers. His hard cock eases up and down my thigh. I try to crouch on to it, but he holds me above it, keeping me in a state of suspended readiness.
Flashes of light behind my eyes remind me that there is photography going on, but I am away from that world now, deep inside my other self.
‘You’re gorgeous, Sophie, you’re so fucking gorgeous. You make me want you all the time. Oh God.’
He takes a long time licking one nipple then the other. I gyrate my pelvis, my mouth wide open, eyes glazed, loving the feel of his arms propping me up. One of his hands strays down my side, over the bump of my hip, then it flashes across a thigh and finds the target.
He releases my nipple from his mouth.
‘You’re wet,’ he says.
‘You’re Captain fucking Obvious,’ I hiss into his ear.
‘Any more of your lip and I won’t fuck you. How about that?’
‘Don’t you dare.’
‘I know you wouldn’t like that. Because you really are so … very … wet.’ He dabbles his fingers in the juices then pushes them into my mouth, making me taste myself. ‘There’s a lot more where that came from. Why are you so wet, Sophie?’
He removes his fingers, allowing me to speak.
‘Want it,’ I say, jerking my pelvis forwards, bending his cock to my will.
‘Want what?’
‘Your cock.’
‘Where?’
‘In here.’ I catch him in my slit. If only it could snap shut like a Venus flytrap, keep him there to devour at my leisure. I rock back and forth, rubbing his tip, preparing to push down on it.
‘How much do you want it?’
‘So much, so much.’
‘What would you do for it?’
‘Anything.’
‘I’ll get that in writing.’
‘Just put it in, for fuck’s sake. Just fuck me. Now.’
He kisses me, chuckling into my mouth, dark and low. ‘If you insist. Act of Love commencing in three … two … one …’
He cups the undermost innermost part of my buttocks and pulls them wide, opening me up to him, then slides in slowly. I try to pack him all in at once, greedy for his stretching, spreading girth, but he holds me in check, making sure I feel each maddening inch as it glides past my barriers.
The sex chair’s great advantage is the way it aligns Lloyd’s pelvic bone with my clitoris. All I have to do is circle my hips with minimal effort and I can have all the multiple orgasms I want. I narrow my eyes and grin at Lloyd, who seems to have clocked on to my evil plan.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ he murmurs, lifting my hips and urging me forwards, making me thrust. Better still, the two sensations combine, working my pussy into a fomentation of colliding pleasures.
‘Ohh,’ I sigh, almost overwhelmed. ‘This is good. Really good. Let’s get one.’
Lloyd has gone to a realm beyond speech, at last, and I work on the perfect rhythm, ending each forward thrust with a little circular rub of my clit against him, building myself up so sweetly.
Even better, I realise that a very slight adjustment of my feet so that they rise a little from the floor nudges Lloyd’s cock right up to my G-spot. I anchor myself to his shoulders and push, push, push, three fast strokes bringing me to an orgasm that starts in my toes and engulfs my whole body like wildfire.
‘Oh yes.’ He finds his voice to mutter into my hair. ‘That’s what you need, darling, lots of that, more of that, yeah.’
While I am still bathing in the radiant waves of my climax, he flips me over and takes control of the coupling, powering into me while my eyes try to focus on his face above, blinking and rolling back, never quite coming back down until he reaches his own fierce conclusion. I have to keep my eyes open because his face when he comes is something I can never get enough of. If I could get a picture of it … oh.
The camera flashes. He shakes his head, still in that heart-warming welter of post-orgasmic confusion, and stares at me. He looks so helpless, so stunned. What just happened? his eyes seem to ask. Where am I?
I reach up to cradle him, bringing his head down to my chest. I shut my eyes and hold him, stroking his slick damp hair, feeling my heart bump into his cheek.
A line from a song by Marc Almond slips into my head. Tenderness is a weakness … Is it?
I’m so comfortable, so at peace here on this strange piece of furniture that I could almost fall asleep.
But small scuffling movements from the corner remind me that we are not alone, and presumably this strikes Lloyd at the same time. He lifts his head, kisses me and looks over at Sasha. I look too, but she is obscured by the camera, discreetly ‘not here’.
He looks back down at me. ‘Amazing,’ he says.
‘As ever,’ I say.
‘Thanks.’
‘I think I had a hand in it too!’
‘More than a hand.’ He smiles and looks back at Sasha. ‘So was that OK?’
‘Oh, don’t ask me,’ she says with a self-conscious giggle. ‘I think that’s between the two of you. But the camera loved it.’
‘That’s great,’ he says.
‘Do you want to go through to the shower? I’ll put the kettle on.’ She scuttles off to the sink, turning her back on us.
Lloyd rears up and pulls out of me. He runs a hand through his hair, shutting his eyes for a moment, re-orientating. ‘Shower, then.’ He picks up his clothes, frowns at the terrible state of his jacket and gives me an encouraging nod. ‘Oh dear,’ he says, clicking his tongue. ‘Can’t you stand? Poor afflicted thing.’
‘Shut up. Of course I can stand.’ I swing my legs over the side and give a fair impression of Bambi’s first few upright seconds. Lloyd swoops forwards and helps me. ‘So gallant, proper Sir Walter Raleigh, aren’t you?’
From the kitchen corner, Sasha snorts. ‘Are you two always like this?’ she asks, without turning around.
I pick up my neatly folded clothes and hug them to my chest. ‘Always.’
In the shower, Lloyd directs the water over my breasts and my sticky thighs.
‘You didn’t fail then,’ he says, sounding disappointed.
‘Did you think I would?’
‘I need to up my game.’
The jets spray on to my breasts, tingling my nipples. Lloyd cups the underside of my breasts, holding them in place while he keeps the shower head no more than an inch above them.
‘What’s next?’ I ask, flexing my toes, splashing them in the lovely warm water. ‘Sex while parachuting from a plane? In a canoe going over a waterfall? In space?’
He puts the shower head back in its cradle, takes the bottle of gel cleanser, squirts it into his hand, lathers it up around my breasts and stomach and shoulders.
‘Yeah,’ he says, with an enigmatic look. ‘You keep thinking along those lines, Soph.’
‘What do you mean?’
He smothers me with bubbling foam and pulls me against him so our chests slip and slide together. Water rains into our mouths while we kiss, leaking into the cracks of lips, dripping off our noses, clogging up our eyelashes.
He turns me around and washes my back and bottom, very