The Worm Turns: Chapter 4 Power Play By Richard Gross Constructive comments welcomed: rgross@juno.com Ah, the play's the thing. She plays with his thing 'til the feast's over. Update: 31/01/1998 to gross Copyright 1991 by Richard Gross The damp coolness of the mid night air played over her bare body. It flowed up and around the mounds, the peaks, wandered into the valleys and hollows, wafting away the sweat and heat of passion from the granite landscape and the secret places of softness within. She took another deep breath, let it out slowly through parted lips, tasting its clean freshness, her eyes closed. Calm now. Pulse down. Breathing easy... She had almost lost it. Even her unyielding control -- a discipline forged through the years by the demands of an athletic physique and a blighted psyche -- had nearly failed her. Only the urgent reminder of what was yet to come, the end toward which she had been working all night, had managed to quiet the beast inside. But just barely. It had been a very close thing. She had it under control again as he began to stir. Before he opened his eyes while other senses were orienting him to the time and place of current reality, he felt himself being moved, maneuvered gently, quietly embraced. Then he came to. "Glad you're back," she sighed up at him, her legs giving a little squeeze of welcome around his pinned arms. "You had me a bit worried you were gone so long." He looked down at her from the now familiar position of helpless non- negotiation, his eyes still working to focus. "You got to stop cutting out on me like that, Sweetie, wherever it is you go. Not nice to leave your date waiting while you go traipsing around...god knows where. "Besides, it's play time!" suddenly enthusiastic. "I don't think I'm up for anything right now. Not feeling too hot." "What did you say?" The sudden freeze in her voice matched by the look of warning she gave him. "Ok, ok..." he said feebly. "Just let go of me and we'll play all you want." "Not so fast! You're forgetting your submission?" "I already did it!" the memory urging him fully awake now. "Ah yes, I remember. Did you ever," she chuckled. "But not here, not in the 'conversation position.'" "So what? What's the difference?" "I need to hear it here, face to face so I can see it in your eyes, so I know you mean it. After all, the pressure is off...for now...maybe you've changed your mind." "I haven't changed my mind. You've hurt me enough." There was no mistaking his embarrassment. He took a breath. "What do you want me to say?" "The truth." "Ok, I give up." "Good. You give up to...?" "To you. I give up to you! That good enough?" "Not yet. You will...what me?" "I will...what you? What the fuck are you looking for?" "Oh come on. Do I have to do the whole thing for you? You will O-B- E...come on, come on, you know what I want. Or do I have to..." Her legs tensed slightly. "No, no! I will obey you." "Again." "I will obey you. I will ob..." "More slowly." "God damn it, give me a break, will you!" "Oh, he's upsetting himself. Poor dear." She pulled his head closer and kissed him long and sensuously with lips warmed with a desire for something he hadn't imagined yet. "Come on now, it's time to play, don't ruin it," she cajoled. He looked silly. She pushed the hair out of his eyes, looked at him imploringly. "Say it slowly...with feeling...so we both know you mean it." "Damn... I will obey O-B-E-Y you." A hint of moistness at his eyes. "I will, I will." "Good," she whispered. She had what she wanted. With a smile that was almost sad she loosened her grip on him, kissed him long and deep, eyes closed, off in a secret place of her own. Suddenly he was free. She was up and bounding with new energy. "Come on, come on!" He tried sitting, then standing and found himself weak and a little dizzy. She curled an arm around his neck and urged him upward; he found himself on his feet before he knew it. "You must be thirsty after all that sweating. And hungry. I'm starved." "Shit yeah!" as he became aware of the pangs in his stomach and the sticky dryness of his mouth. She headlocked him into the kitchen, the numbing strength of her arm obviating any resistance as much as her legs had. She released him in front of the refrigerator. He sank to the cool linoleum, still dizzy. "I can see you're gonna be a crock of fun tonight." "Can't help it. You fuckin' did a number on me. I'm beat." He was rubbing his eyes. "Oh great! It's finally time for fun -- for both of us -- and you're out of gas." She watched him a moment, inventing solutions, then grabbed his left foot, pulling it up to her face level, throwing him on his back. She spoke to the toes with mock seriousness. "Hey, you guys, I hope you have more to say than the other end down there; he's a bore! Yes? Oh really, you do. Well good, maybe I'll talk to you instead. Stick around." She pressed the heel against her chest, stepped over and around the leg with her right leg, and put her foot down by his butt directly behind the upstretched leg. She had only to straighten her leg, and it pushed against his knee...the wrong way. Immediately, he had a great deal to say, mostly about the excruciating pain. Not to mention inquiries concerning her intention to cripple him. She let up. "Well," she said to the toes, "that got some action, but I bet you've got just as much to say as that Clyde down there, no?" She waited. No answer. "A wiggle or two will do." No answer. She straightened her leg. Immediate wiggling from all toes accompanied by more vocalizing from the Clyde below. She giggled, delighted with her new power. "Good. I think I'll talk to you guys instead. You're more fun -- keep wiggling -- and I'll bet you have more intelligent things to say. I was all set to get some luscious goodies for Mr. Stick-in-the-Mud down there, but I think I'll feed you instead." She had his leg wedged so well against her that she found she could keep it there immobile without using her hands. "Now, let's see," she mused, opening the refrigerator and surveying the possibilities. "What would you guys like? Something with sugar for quick energy -- keep wiggling -- and some carbs to keep you going later. Oh yeah, you'll need that," she sniggered. "What do you mean later?" from the exiled end below. "Did you hear somebody say something?" she quizzed the five digits. Nothing. She straightened her leg. "Ah good, neither did I," she agreed with the wigglers. "Probably some blowhard who ought to shut up." Another wiggle. Satisfied the training was going well, she resumed her culinary search. "Oh, this will do nicely." She pulled out a jar of honey, grasping at once its full possibilities. "And, this will make it even better." She was appraising the longer term energy value of her favorite mixture of granola and rice bran. "Yes indeedy!" She opened the jars, kissed the tip of each toe, then dalloped a healthy portion of honey onto each one with her finger, making sure that each toe got more than it could accommodate, assuring the excess would find its way down the foot, along the leg, and into god knows what other places. "How's that, guys? What, I shouldn't forget the granola stuff? Oh, ok." She sprinkled on the mixture of flakes and crunchies. "Better? What, you have too much -- yes, I see that it's running down your chins -- and I should share it with you?" She paused expectantly. The toes wiggled obediently. "Ok." Shock, consternation, relief, and pure pleasure fought for and found their place on the face below as she sucked each toe in turn, slowly, with exaggerated pleasure and noisy sounds of feasting. Her tongue found its way between each toe, leaving no crease unattended to, scouring efficiently every bit of the sticky crunch 'til it was quite gone. She found it necessary to keep the leg under tight control as it squirmed in ticklish delight. Surveying her work, she noticed she had not finished the job. "Oh dear, I forgot the spillage," and flowed her tongue between her teeth thoughtfully. "Oh god, no!" giggled up from below. "I don't think I can stand it." He was laughing in spite of himself. "Hey, you're not enjoying yourself are you? I mean you were invited to before, and you declined. Too late now." "No, no, I'm not enjoying myself..." More laughter. "Oops, I mean..." followed by much wiggling of toes. "Good. I thought not. Then you won't enjoy this either," she said innocently and went to work on his feet. "Let me know if you do, and I'll stop at once." Ignoring the barely muffled guffaws and shrieks, she worked her way down over ankle and calf, reached inner thigh. His leg was now braced vertical against her shoulder. She continued to lick the sweet mess off his thigh, finding her way lazily toward his crotch. Again, opposing emotions battled their way across his face, each struggling to win a permanent place there and failing. But, the conflict left no such indecision on his body. "Oh look, guys, there's this funny thing growing up at me out of his crotch. Wonder what it is." His toes were well beyond any response, their energy having headed north. "My goodness, guys, I do believe you spilled your meal all the way down here. Imagine that!" Down here, he was imagining that with a sense of disbelief reserved for the cosmically impossible. "Can't be," he reasoned against all hope. It was. The first sensation that brought focus to his addled mind was that of the smoothness of her tongue. She had run it over the surface of his member tentatively but warmly, licking the honeyed surface, stopping only to crunch bits of hard bran between tight jaws. The pauses allowed for quick cooling, so it was a joyous relief when she brought that smooth warmth back to its job. He couldn't imagine ever having enough of this, and said so when she appeared to be finishing. "I think you missed a spot...or two," he dared. "It's Mr. Subtlety himself! Finally decided to grace us with your views, have you? And I thought I'd already given you the licking of your life. Haven't had enough after all, eh?" He looked at her blankly not knowing which licking she meant. Knowing the wrong answer could be disaster. She waited. Nothing. "Guess he's not back with us after all, eh, guys? Wonder who else I can talk to around here." He considered wiggling his candidate, but thought better of it. Besides, that candidacy was manifestly clear. "My goodness, I see you're volunteering," she quipped to the throbbing there before her. "Shall we have a heart-to-heart?" and took him whole into her mouth. The shock brought him upright. He sat there rigid, unbelieving, staring at the woman of his nightmares fulfilling the sweetest of dreams. She merely leaned forward against the back of his leg still draped over her shoulder, and down he went, the look of incredulity still owning his expression. Had she bothered to look at his face in the minutes following she would have seen more joy than she had ever meant to give him. This was supposed to be a tease, a warm up for the final act; she would see to it that he did not climax before she wished him to. He knew nothing of that and enjoyed the moment like nothing he had ever known. She took him in her mouth and surrounded him with succulent warmth. For awhile she held him there with the slightest suction, her tongue plastered motionless against the bottom side of the head and shaft. And, did nothing... And did nothing... Did nothing... He was experiencing a form of insanity that comes only to the very lucky. After a while, she gave her tongue the tiniest flick against his shaft, barely moving it from its place. He was beginning to understand how the people in the pictures on her walls could do those impossible things. The honey jar had sprouted wings, and he was certainly coming apart, his head levitating in an entirely different direction than the various other parts of his anatomy, which were going their separate ways. She flicked again, and he was in orbit. He had cleared the ceiling rafters and roof tiles, and was passing Mars handily when she slathered her tongue along the full length of his only claim to manhood. As he headed for the outer nebulae and she felt the throbbing verge on explosion, she moved him to the side of her mouth and bit down with her molars...just enough to reverse the spasms. Reentry was abrupt. "You must be thirsty after your trip?" she prompted. Speech was not something that had followed him back yet. She released him and scrounged through the fridge for that bottle of guava passion fruit juice she had sampled out of boredom the other night. "Maybe it'll do something for him, at least," she hoped. She held the bottle to his lips. He was lying flat on his back, couldn't manage the coordination to raise his head and drink. Did manage to slobber the would be aphrodisiac on his chin and chest. "Am I going to have to feed you too?" She was getting impatient; she had planned on beating his ass, not taking care of it. Seems she'd been too good -- or too bad -- for him. She was going to have to get him back in action again. The thought of a moment produced the answer. She sat herself on his pelvis facing him, raised his shoulders off the floor, curled her legs around in back of him, and crossed her ankles, propping him up somewhat before her. Gently, she pulled his face toward her as she bent herself far forward. Holding his head up with one hand, she put the bottle of juice to her lips with the other, and filled her mouth. She drew him closer, sealed her lips to his, and pushed a bit of the rich liquid into his mouth. He almost gagged with surprise, but quickly got the idea. She let him take his time, squeezing into his mouth only as much as he could take, waiting, then squeezing in more, like an indulgent mother bird disgorging to her chicks. In the cold light thrown upon them through the open refrigerator door, she held him to her, hugging him close with arms and legs, mouth pressed to his. It was night's stillest hour, and they clung together on her kitchen floor, the cold pouring out at them unable to penetrate their aura of warmth. With trance like movements, she turned to refill herself from the bottle at his side, put her lips to his again, and allowed him to draw from her what he needed. They sat motionless and, mesmerized, he gratefully sucked the gifts of her mouth. And so she fed him. Time passed. Presently, she became aware that play time was working much too well. He was hugging her with a childlike affection that made her breasts go firm. She began to feel something that bordered on the motherly. Something inside her that before had raged to get out now called on her to draw him into her, to enfold him, feed him, comfort him. Suddenly, she was cold. Noticed the open refrigerator door. Pushed it shut. "Getting late," she startled him back from sweet reverie. Had to get on with it before she lost her edge. Reminded herself of the Plan, and the thought of it turned things around once more. She imagined him inside her, and she became warm again. "Back to bed," she ordered. "Yeah, all of a sudden, the floor's really hard." She was ready, but was he? One way to find out. She got off him and moved toward the bedroom, leaving him unrestrained for the first time that night. He got up and fell into place behind her. "Yup, he's ready," and she gathered him to her in the luxuriant softness of her bed.