Invisible Girl - An Erotic Romance Pt. 07

'Mr. Bad Man' appeared to consider, then reached behind him with one hand, saying, "Well, let's see if you can earn that privilege." He held up the jar of mayonnaise and unscrewed the lid. "But first let me offer you a little appetizer." He dipped the first two fingers of his hand into the jar and came up with a large glob of mayonnaise—which he proceeded to lower between his legs and smear all over his sack. When he was done he extended his gooey fingers toward her.

"Open your mouth," he said.

She did so and, when he inserted his fingers there, licked them off.

The taste of mayonnaise was delicious but there was so little that when he withdrew his hand she found her mouth watering for more. So when he stepped forward and lowered himself carefully until his sack was nearly touching her mouth she wasted no time in extending her tongue.

As she began to lick she encountered an odd variety of tastes and textures. She didn't find the combination of the mayo and the many wiry hairs on his sack particularly appetizing, especially when combined with deep undertone of sweat-flavor there, but the way his two eggs slithered around inside the delicate skin as she jiggled them with the tip of her tongue was intriguing.

She was still famished, of course, but having only his sack to focus on was a new experience. She tried sucking one, then the other egg into her mouth to tickle with her tongue, then his entire sack.

'Mr. Bad Man' certainly seemed to enjoy what she was doing. His head was thrown back and his mouth was open, but the only sounds to come out of it were a short series of near-gasps: "Ah. Ohh. Ahh. Ah!" And so forth. But glancing to one side she noticed that his knees were trembling with the effort of remaining in a crouched position, despite having his hands on them for support, so she thought she had better help him to finish as soon as possible.

She swiftly released his sack from her mouth and extended her tongue as far behind his sack as she could reach, then licked his entire scrotum with one long wiggling stroke of her tongue, continuing over his sack and as far up his shaft as she could reach.

The effect was immediate and electric: 'Mr. Bad Man' jumped bolt upright with a loud cry—"Omigod!"—and grabbed his cock with one hand as it began to erupt. Jane watched him pumping it furiously with his fist and moaning out loud as his juice spurted into the air and rained down onto her face.

He left it there while he fed her. Occasionally after giving her a bite of sandwich or a sip of Coke he would scrape a little of his come off her face with the edge of a forefinger, which he would then insert into her mouth for her to lick off.

Oh god, he was so nasty!

When they were both done he put the lunch things back in the bag, then took out a napkin and wiped off her face. He took another napkin to clean his knife, and when he was done held it up so that the blade glistened in a nearby shaft of sunlight, turning it this way and that as if checking for any stains he might have missed.

Then he looked down at her, grinned evilly, and in one continuous motion slipped the blade under the elastic of her panties -a sudden flash of cold down her abdomen—and slit them open from the crotch up, the still-wet fabric tearing apart noisily.

Jane was shocked into crying out. She jerked her head up to see tattered flaps of cloth hanging limply on her hips and her curly thatch of hair plainly visible.

'Mr. Bad Man' gave her an amused-looking nod, as if to say, There, that's better—don't you think? Then he rose and, slipping the knife back into its holder, moved to the foot of the hay bale and resettled himself on the ground there. He reached up and, grabbing each of her legs just below the knee, yanked her towards him so that she slid across the tablecloth and wound up with her crotch almost in his face, her knees spread wide on either side of his shoulders.

He entertained himself for a while by running his fingers through the hair between her legs, occasionally wrapping a small tuft around his forefinger and tugging it gently. Then he pulled a strand of hay from the bale and began teasing her with it, running the tip up and down the inside of her thighs and over her stomach, occasionally stopping to press the point into her flesh just a little bit.

Jane thought she would have found this stimulating any time, but to have it done while she was tied up and helpless, her panties hanging in shreds, was unbelievably erotic. So when he dropped the straw and began doing the same things to her with the tip of his tongue, moving closer and closer to her center without ever quite touching it, she began to writhe in earnest.

"Oh, please don't!" she pretended to whine, knowing what his response would be.

"Don't...what?"

Right on cue, she thought.

"Please don't...lick my pussy!" she gasped, simultaneously arching her back to bring herself so close that he hardly had any choice.

None at all, really, and he made the most of it, nibbling and teasing her with his lips and tongue and making short, fast lapping attacks on that special spot that made her crazy. He took her slowly towards the brink of orgasm, gradually insinuating his thumb between her legs then sliding it in and out while using his middle finger to stroke between the cheeks of her behind in the same diabolical rhythm.

Jane played the victim, moaning, then demanding, then screaming things like, "No!" "Oh, please don't!" Oh no, stop that! Oh god—please, please stop!" She continued until he suddenly rose—his cock once more hugely erect—and practically threw himself on top of her, his mouth covering hers as he slid his hands beneath her shoulders and buried his shaft to its full length inside her, touching off an orgasm that reverberated through her the way her screams had reverberated throughout the barn. Then, minutes later, as she felt his thrusts building to a peak, it happened again, making her feel as though she were physically melting into a puddle. Combined with the heat and her exhaustion it was too intense, and she felt herself falling into darkness...

She felt something cool and damp on her forehead, and opened her eyes to find Peter—sunglasses gone—dabbing her there with a moistened corner of the tablecloth. He too was drenched in sweat, his hair plastered to his head, and his eyes were tired, but they sparkled as he smiled and said, "So...what do you want to do tonight?"

After untying her and helping her to her feet he slid her tattered underwear to the ground and helped her step out of it, then pulled off his sweat-soaked t-shirt so that they both were naked. He embraced her for a while, running his hands up and down her back and gently massaging her stiff neck and shoulders. Then, grabbing up the tablecloth and bunching it under his arm, he took her hand and led her outside.

The sunlight was blinding at first, but when Jane was able to see, there before her was a pond, blue and inviting.

They were both too tired to do much more than lie down in the water, submerged up to their faces. The muddy bottom was wonderfully cool and the water felt like warm silk against her skin.

Later when they came out they lay on the tablecloth to dry and rest some more. Neither said a word, but once Peter had turned and looked a question at her: Was it all right? Or maybe it was: Did you really like that? And she had replied by rolling over on top of him and kissing him tenderly before rolling off again and falling almost immediately into a deep sleep.

It was late afternoon when they finally struggled to their feet and made their way back into the barn to find their clothes. Peter had, of course, rescued the red shorts and the shoe Jane had thought she'd lost when he'd picked her up and put her in the trunk. And her t-shirt, though severely wrinkled, was fine. Her bra, though, was ruined, and as for her panties...!

They were soaked with sweat, stained and torn open to the crotch, and at first she was just going to throw them away, leave them there in the barn with her bra. But then when Peter wasn't looking she suddenly folded them up and tucked them into the pocket of her shorts. She'd suddenly had a vision of wearing them—washed, of course (or maybe just as they were!)--beneath her clothing while she worked at the store, knowing they were there, and how they'd gotten that way. If they'd stay up, and not suddenly fall around her ankles while she was waiting on someone.

Oops! Excuse me, Mrs. Desmond, but you know how it is... My boyfriend slit them open with a knife while he had me tied to a hay bale.

Or maybe she'd surprise Peter with them some time—get all made up and wear something pretty, with those underneath for him to find...and remember.

The ride home was quiet. Jane felt a little odd without any underwear but found she liked not having her breasts constricted by a bra.

As they rode along she noticed Peter taking little sidelong glances at her from time to time, and wondered about them. He seemed uncomfortable about something and for a while Jane couldn't figure out what it might be. Then she realized he was looking for reassurance and scooted over next to him. She took his right hand off the steering wheel and held it between her own.

She spoke softly, looking down at their entwined hands.

"Yes, Peter, I really liked it—all of it."

When he turned, surprised at having his thoughts read, to look at her she met his gaze, nodded emphatically and finished, "You...and Mr. Bad Man...can kidnap me anytime you want."

At which point Peter stopped the car in the middle of the road, grabbed her into a rough embrace and kissed her. When they broke apart she added, "But not for a couple of days, all right?"