Morocco. I devoted myself tomastering the kundalini energy. To understand the coefficient of friction between different types of skin, I consulted the world’s leading organic chemists.”
Penny let her eyes roam over his naked body. She knew from the
National Enquirer
that he was forty-nine years old. He was old enough to be her father, but his lean frame looked almost insectlike. Each limb was as defined and well proportioned as that of an ant or a hornet. His pale, hairless skin was as perfectly tailored as his clothing, without a wrinkle or sag visible. She searched his shoulders and hands for freckles or moles but found none. The way he talked about his sexual quest, she expected to find his nipples pierced. His torso busy with tattoos or the scars of consensual torture games. But there was no such evidence. This was a child’s pristine skin stretched to cover the musculature of a man’s body.
“My own secret recipe,” he said, offering the beaker for Penny to sniff. The wine, mixed with mysterious extras.
It bubbled less, but it still looked like pink champagne. It smelled sweetly delicious. Like strawberries. Penny peered doubtfully at the full beaker and said, “You want me to drink this?”
“Not exactly,” Maxwell said. From a drawer in the table he produced something that looked like a squeeze toy. It was an ovoid ball made of soft red rubber, roughly the size of a grapefruit. One end of the ball sprouted a long, white nozzle of some sort. “A vaginal syringe,” Maxwell said, holding it up for her inspection. He demonstrated how the nozzle unscrewed from the ball, revealing a threaded hole in the rubber. Into this hole he poured the pink champagne concoction. As he screwed the nozzle back into place, Penny realized what he had in mind.
“It’s a douche?” she asked nervously.
Max nodded.
Penny squirmed uneasily. “You don’t think I’m clean?”
Maxwell stretched his hands into latex gloves, saying, “You don’t want to get this stuff on your skin.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. Wasn’t he planning to squirt this pink stuff inside of her?
“Don’t worry.” He chuckled softly. “It’s just a very mild neural stimulant and euphoric. You’ll love it.” He rubbed the thin nozzle between her legs.
The nozzle slipped deep into her. “Enjoy yourself,” he said, and began to compress the rubber ball. The syringe.
Penny could feel the cold, effervescent bubbly filling her.
With his free hand, Maxwell held her in place, stroking her belly in slow circles. His entire body was as chilled and hard as his fingers.
When the bulb was empty Maxwell withdrew it. He used a soft, clean towel to wipe away the pink trickle that escaped her. “Good girl,” he told her. “Just hold it inside for a minute.” He was biting the plastic wrapper off a condom and rolling it down his erection. “You’re doing very well.”
Penny tried not to imagine dignified President Hind subjecting herself to a similar magic champagne cleansing.
Still kneeling between her spread knees, he said, “I love you because you’re so average.”
If that was a compliment, Penny had heard better.
“Please don’t be hurt,” he said softly. “Look at yourself. You have a textbook vagina. Your labia majora are exactly symmetrical. Your perianal ridge is magnificent. Your frenulum clitoridis and fourchette …” He seemed at a loss for words, pressing a hand to his heart and sighing deeply. “Biologically speaking, men treasure such uniformity. The proportions of your genitalia are ideal.”
Under his gaze, Penny felt less like a woman than like a science experiment. A guinea pig or laboratory rat.
It didn’t help that Maxwell added, “Women in your agegroup and economic stratum are the target consumers for most of the world’s manufactured goods.”
Something, perhaps the douche, made Penny’s teeth feel as if they were dissolving in her mouth. The bones in her legs were melting.
“This will
Penny let her eyes roam over his naked body. She knew from the
National Enquirer
that he was forty-nine years old. He was old enough to be her father, but his lean frame looked almost insectlike. Each limb was as defined and well proportioned as that of an ant or a hornet. His pale, hairless skin was as perfectly tailored as his clothing, without a wrinkle or sag visible. She searched his shoulders and hands for freckles or moles but found none. The way he talked about his sexual quest, she expected to find his nipples pierced. His torso busy with tattoos or the scars of consensual torture games. But there was no such evidence. This was a child’s pristine skin stretched to cover the musculature of a man’s body.
“My own secret recipe,” he said, offering the beaker for Penny to sniff. The wine, mixed with mysterious extras.
It bubbled less, but it still looked like pink champagne. It smelled sweetly delicious. Like strawberries. Penny peered doubtfully at the full beaker and said, “You want me to drink this?”
“Not exactly,” Maxwell said. From a drawer in the table he produced something that looked like a squeeze toy. It was an ovoid ball made of soft red rubber, roughly the size of a grapefruit. One end of the ball sprouted a long, white nozzle of some sort. “A vaginal syringe,” Maxwell said, holding it up for her inspection. He demonstrated how the nozzle unscrewed from the ball, revealing a threaded hole in the rubber. Into this hole he poured the pink champagne concoction. As he screwed the nozzle back into place, Penny realized what he had in mind.
“It’s a douche?” she asked nervously.
Max nodded.
Penny squirmed uneasily. “You don’t think I’m clean?”
Maxwell stretched his hands into latex gloves, saying, “You don’t want to get this stuff on your skin.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. Wasn’t he planning to squirt this pink stuff inside of her?
“Don’t worry.” He chuckled softly. “It’s just a very mild neural stimulant and euphoric. You’ll love it.” He rubbed the thin nozzle between her legs.
The nozzle slipped deep into her. “Enjoy yourself,” he said, and began to compress the rubber ball. The syringe.
Penny could feel the cold, effervescent bubbly filling her.
With his free hand, Maxwell held her in place, stroking her belly in slow circles. His entire body was as chilled and hard as his fingers.
When the bulb was empty Maxwell withdrew it. He used a soft, clean towel to wipe away the pink trickle that escaped her. “Good girl,” he told her. “Just hold it inside for a minute.” He was biting the plastic wrapper off a condom and rolling it down his erection. “You’re doing very well.”
Penny tried not to imagine dignified President Hind subjecting herself to a similar magic champagne cleansing.
Still kneeling between her spread knees, he said, “I love you because you’re so average.”
If that was a compliment, Penny had heard better.
“Please don’t be hurt,” he said softly. “Look at yourself. You have a textbook vagina. Your labia majora are exactly symmetrical. Your perianal ridge is magnificent. Your frenulum clitoridis and fourchette …” He seemed at a loss for words, pressing a hand to his heart and sighing deeply. “Biologically speaking, men treasure such uniformity. The proportions of your genitalia are ideal.”
Under his gaze, Penny felt less like a woman than like a science experiment. A guinea pig or laboratory rat.
It didn’t help that Maxwell added, “Women in your agegroup and economic stratum are the target consumers for most of the world’s manufactured goods.”
Something, perhaps the douche, made Penny’s teeth feel as if they were dissolving in her mouth. The bones in her legs were melting.
“This will
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