Night of a Thousand Licks

{Author’s Note: This story is based very loosely on true events; several circumstances have been changed, and names have definitely been altered to keep a certain someone from being discovered by the rest of the feminine population...nyah, nyah, he’s all mine right now...}

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It all began with a conversation.

Five friends sat at a table in the food court at the local mall: Jerry, Amanda, Evie, Zane and Linda. They had all been friends since high school, and though it was almost eight years and several different experiences later, getting together once a month to go see movies was still something they made sure to schedule. Jerry and Amanda had married, Evie had gone through two divorces, the same as Zane (though each had married other people, not each other twice), and Linda was, well, still Linda.

So, sitting at one of the round tables in the cafeteria-like hall after seeing a Saturday matinee action movie, the five friends were talking about this and that, as always. And somehow, the topic wound up on sex. No one was quite sure how it happened; it was just one of those natural segues that occur around adults when they get together in a party atmosphere.

It was Evie who got them onto the topic of cunnilingus, though. She sucked on her soda, shook her black-dyed head at something Jerry had muttered, and stated, “—Now, that’s just typical male laziness!”

“I beg your pardon?” Jerry shot back, mock-offended. He squeezed Amanda’s hand, giving her a brief wink before adding, “Present company excluded, but try calling it the overtaxing demands of a female who doesn’t know what she wants! It isn’t always easy for us guys to satisfy our gals! I work damned hard to do so—and do you have any complaints about my laziness, hon?”

Amanda shook her curly blond head. “You’re not lazy in bed, honey. A little boring, sometimes, always wanting it doggy style—”

“Hey!” Jerry protested, and the others ribbed him for a few moments, before his wife winked and they shared a kiss. Both were blond, though his hair was more sandy-brown colored than his wife’s sunstreaked gold.

“Well, I *do* know what I want, and I want a guy who can lick me until I cum!” Evie stated firmly as the laughter died down, though not loudly enough to draw attention from the mall patrons at the other tables. She was brash sometimes, but she wasn’t obnoxious. “That’s all I ask! Just one oral orgasm—is that so difficult?”

“Only one?” Zane asked, arching a brown brow. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever heard you limit your personal ambitions, Evie.”

Evie actually blushed. “I get…kinda tender, after just one. Two’s my limit, but I like to save that for being fingered while I fuck. Then I have to wait a couple hours before it can be touched again. I can fuck all I like afterwards, but no fingering or licking. Cunnilingus is definitely better than being fingered, but no guy’s that limber, to lick me while he’s doin’ the nasty. The best I’ve ever gotten was a finger-fuck while I was being eaten out, and I think that was the closest I got to having a great time, orally. Still couldn’t have more than two orgasms that way, though.”

Linda, the chestnut-haired member of the group, arched her own brow. “Don’t you mean it was…finger-lickin’ good?”

The other four groaned, and Amanda pretended to pelt her plump friend with a crumpled paper napkin. The blond woman shook her head. “I’m with you on that one; twice is about all I can stand to be eaten out before it gets too intense.”

“I thought women *liked* being eaten out,” Jerry offered with a frown. “You insist on me doing it about as often as we do the doggy.”

“Yeah, but I don’t go past two orgasms,” his wife pointed out. “I’m just too tender for a third one, at least not for three in a row, so I usually encourage you to fuck me at that point.”

Her husband grimaced. “Gee, and here I thought you were begging for it because you wanted it, not because it was an alternative.”

“Don’t feel so bad, man,” Zane commisserated with him, sucking briefly on his milkshake straw. “Women just can’t handle being licked for long.”

Evie grinned. “I think we’ve just been complimented, on a non-sexual level. Of course we don’t like being licked for long; we’re naturally competetive!”

“Oh, that was so lame,” Linda shot back. “At least *my* pun was better. Besides, not all the blame can lie on the woman. I haven’t even met a man whose tongue and jaw can withstand more than three orgasms, myself.”

“So it only takes three licks to get to the center of your tootsie pop, is that it?” Evie quipped, and they all groaned and pelted her with straw wrappers and napkin wads.

Linda shook her head, unaware of Zane’s curious scrutiny. “Come on, I’m serious here. I haven’t found a lover who can push my limits that far. I don’t get raw from cunnilingus like the two of you say you do, but I don’t know if that’s only because the guys I’ve tried it with get tired before they can wear me down with number four, or if I’m capable of going all the way to a hundred and four.”

“That’s strange,” Zane murmured, still studying her. When she glanced at him, he gave her a speculative look. “I’ve never found a woman who *can* go past three orgasms, no matter how much I want to keep going.”

For a moment, their eyes locked, and exchanged a sudden, new awareness of each other sexually. Linda, self-conscious about her plump, overripe curves, ducked her head and sucked on her milkshake. She cleared her throat of the confection and shrugged. “Well, I doubt I’ll find a guy interested in spending that much time between my fat thighs. You can get any woman you want to experiment on with your good looks, but us fat chicks are outta luck, in the research department; I’ve given up looking. Do tell us, if you do find one that you can push past the limits. It’d be nice to know if it were possible.”

Before Zane or the others could say anything—or worse, give Zane the time to confirm his inevitable rejection of using her as his test subject, thus giving the others a chance to tease her—she immediately changed the subject, returning it firmly to the movie they had just seen. Zane stared at her a few minutes more, then shook his head and joined the fray as the quintet dissected their favorite special effects scenes from the movie.

****************

Almost one week later, the chiming of the doorbell interrupted Linda’s usual Friday-night movie fest. Frowning as she reached for the remote, she paused the movie and got up. A check of her cotton pajamas in the mirror hanging in the hallway of her condo showed that, though a little strange with its pastel print of cowboy angels, the outfit was decent enough. She wondered who’d be calling at nine o’clock at night, though. Stepping up to the door as the bell rang again, she peered out through the peephole.

To her shock, Zane stood there. Despite the wall-eyed bend to the view, he looked handsome as ever in his all-black clothes, his black jacket slung casually over his shoulder. Wondering why he was there, Linda unbolted the door and opened it far enough to poke her head out. “What are you doing here?”

He gave her an inscrutable look, then shrugged. “I came over to talk. Can I come in?”

“If you don’t mind the place is a mess,” she countered, opening the door wide enough for him to enter. She was a little self-conscious about her pajama set, but he merely gave her a head-to-toe glance before ambling inside, checking out the rest of her décor. “Tomorrow’s cleaning day, for me. Tonight’s my movie night,” she added, shutting and locking the door again before following him into the living room. “If I don’t have a date, I rent a movie.”

“I take it you’re not seeing anyone right now?” he asked casually, glancing back where she stood with her arms crossed defensively over her bra-less breasts.

“No. I haven’t been seeing anyone for a while now. I’ve been busy with work,” she added defensively.

“Uh-huh.” Slinging his jacket over a chair, he stooped and stroked one of her two cats, then picked up the feline and cuddled it a moment, eliciting happy purrs. Linda felt an irrational flash of jealousy for the cat. Zane dropped onto the sofa, murmured something to the cat as he stroked it again, then let it twist out of his arms and escape in fickle felinity.

Linda came over and sat on the padded arm of the armchair she’d been in before he knocked. “So…why’d you come over?”

Again, he glanced at her, then looked at the television screen, which held the frozen image of a car travelling across the screen. Sorting through the snack bags on the coffee table, he found the remote and shut off the movie and the television.

Linda frowned at him. “I was in the middle of watching that!”

“I’ve got something else in mind for you to do, tonight.”

“Like what?” she asked suspiciously.

Leaning back, he stretched his arm across the low back of the sofa. “Like testing a few boundaries.”

Linda frowned at him, lost. “—Come again?”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

Rolling her eyes, Linda let out a rough sigh. “God save me from old friends who’ve lost their minds. What the hell are you talking about, Zane?”

“I’m talking about our conversation last week,” he stated, a smile still quirking the corner of his mouth. “You got me thinking about it. That’s all I’ve done, all week long. Think about it.”

Blushing, Linda tightened the arms folded across her chest and tried to bluff her way out of this embarrassing conversation. “There’s nothing to think about.”

“Oh, come on; we both want the same thing. To test our limits,” he offered, still smiling at her. “You want to know if a guy can lick you past three orgasms, and I want to find a girl who’ll let me try.”

That made her mad. “I *don’t* want a pity-fuck from you!” she snapped. Then corrected herself impatiently, “—Or rather, a pity-lick!”

“But, Linda—”

“Oh, come on, Zane! If you haven’t asked me out in the ten years since we met in our sophomore year, what makes you think it’s anything *but* a pity-fuck—I mean, pity-lick, if you’re asking for one now?”

Zane lost his amused look, staring at her in dead seriousness. “Have you ever considered that your defensiveness about your weight is the *problem* behind my not asking you out? Linda, I’ve taken a good, hard look at all my relationships up ‘til now, this past week, and every last woman I’ve chosen to date has been plump, just like you!”

“Well, not Danielle, or…or Tamara!” Linda dredged up.

He winced at that. “I said any woman *I’ve* chosen to date, Lin-babe. Danny and Tamara were the ones who latched onto me, not the other way around.”

“That didn’t stop you from dating them,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, and that didn’t stop me from dumping them after about a dozen dates, either,” he shot back. “They’re boring.”

“They’ve got tits & ass, and tight little bodies; what more does a man look for in a date?” Linda argued defensively.

“Try an intelligent mind, a quick wit, and a body that won’t bruise a man if he pounds into her the way he wants to,” Zane retorted, leaning forward with the intensity of his words. “I’ve been attracted to you for some time now, but you’re so damned prickly, you don’t let anyone get close!”

“Well, maybe I don’t like being rejected, or told that I’ll be more likely to keep a man interested if I lose a hundred pounds!”

Zane shoved to his feet, glaring down at her. “If you lost even half a hundred pounds, *then* I’d reject you! Dammit, you don’t even see how attracted I am to you! I am sick and tired of getting the cold shoulder from you!”

“Well, then, you can leave! There’s the door!” she added, jerking her chin back over her shoulder, sunk in remembered misery and only hearing the parts about him rejecting and being disappointed in her.

“No!”

“—No?” Linda frowned up at him, then gaped as he stormed toward the hall that led to the bedrooms of her condo. “Where do you think you’re going? Hey! The front door is *that* way!”

Getting up, she followed him as he stalked to her bedroom, finding it by trial and error after first finding the door to the bathroom, then the guest room. Ignoring her protests, he stalked into her inner sanctum, over to her dresser, and started rifling through the trio of jewelry boxes she kept on the top.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded from right behind him, as he opened the second jewelry box after only a few moments of search through the first.

“Aha! I thought you said you kept them in here,” he muttered, and turned around. Catching her wrist, he snapped something cold and hard around it. Before she could figure out what he was up to, he scooped her up over his shoulder in a very indignified manner.

“Zane!” Linda shrieked. “Put me down!”

He did, by dumping her onto her bed. Before she could do more than try to sit up, he straddled her and pushed her back down. Oomphing at the sudden pressure of his weight, Linda found her hands dragged over her head. A moment of clanking as he did something to the brass headboard, and cold metal snicked around her other wrist. Craning her head, she stared at her arms in disbelief. The handcuffs she’d gotten from the group as a gag-gift on her twenty-first birthday several years before were now securely fastened around her wrists, with the chain interlaced around one of the solid brass spindles of the headboard. Tugging in disbelief, she felt the hard metal bite into her wrists, and heard the cold clanking of metal on metal.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded again, shifting her gaze to her longtime friend. “Zane, this isn’t funny. Let me go!”

“What the hell do I think I’m doing?” he asked rhetorically, loosening his charcoal-black tie and unbuttoning his black dress shirt with quick, methodical movements. For all that he was a respectable research associate at a law firm these days, he still had his ways of being a rebel. “I think I’m doing what I should’ve done years ago.”

“Dammit, Zane! I’m gonna scream the complex down, if you don’t let me go!” Linda warned him, jerking futilely at her arms again. This couldn’t be happening to her; trapped on her own bed by one of the sexiest guys she knew? Tied up in her pajamas by one of her oldest male friends? This was a nightmare, though she couldn’t decide whether the situation itself, or the threat of waking up and finding it nothing more than a crazy dream, made it a nightmare.

In answer to her threat, he bent down and kissed her, capturing her mouth before she could do more than draw in a breath. It was hot, it was hard, and it was invasive. It was also incredibly good. No, better than good. Good was a paltry word for the way he licked and nipped at her lips, coaxing her tongue into play by stroking it with his own. Her threatened shout came out as a half-muffled moan as he slid off of her hips and stretched out beside her, shirtless and sexy, and determined to drive her senseless.

Before she knew it, her pajama top had been unbuttoned; indeed, Linda only noticed because his hand captured her breast, massaged and plumped its generous curve, and held it in place as he finally abandoned her mouth. Suckling what he had captured, he roused her nipple, then flicked his tongue over the turgid peak. Linda moaned again and flexed her arms; the clink of metal and the tug on her wrists only reminded her that she was confined in place, at his mercy for whatever he wanted, or at least until she found some sort of release. By the determined way he devoured her breasts, first one, then the other, switching back and forth between them with little groans of pleasure, she was going to find some sort of release, alright.

The contrast of cool air and warm breath, of damp tongue and dry hands, laving and caressing her flesh, forced her eyes closed in pleasure. Within a remarkably short time, Linda couldn’t breathe normally. Each breath rushed in and out as a pant. When he abandoned her breasts as he had abandoned her mouth, she groaned in disappointment. Then whimpered as he caught the elasticised waist of her pajama bottoms and drew them down the generous curves of her hips, removing what little dignity the cowbow-dressed angels had given her flesh. Mortification, not just pleasure, heated her cheeks as her longtime friend finally had a long look at her most private parts, throwing her pajama bottoms somewhere aside. Since she hadn’t expected company, she hadn’t bothered with underwear of any kind under her pjs, and had nothing to shield herself from his scrutiny.

A groan that wasn’t her own pried her eyes open. She looked down her body just in time to catch the strain of desire on Zane’s face, and the sincerity in his gaze as he muttered, “You are so fucking perfect…”

“I’m what?” she managed, startled by his heartfelt words. He glanced up at her, and the heat in his eyes was tempered only by the smile curving his mouth.

“You’re a work of art. All these years, you’ve been wearing shapeless bags, and you’ve been hiding *this* from my sight,” he murmured, gliding his hand up from her knee, over her hip and the ticklish skin at the crease of her thigh, on up over her belly and along her breasts. “You should’ve been scuplted by the old masters, save they’d never have done boobs this big.”

Again, she blushed as his fingers and palm caressed the curves of her breasts, teasing her nipples with little tweaks and circular rubs. “Zane, please…”

“Oh, I’ll please you, alright,” he muttered. Tucking his hand under her thigh, he separated her legs with a gentle touch, making a place for himself. Linda lifted her knees, trying to protect herself from his gaze. Leaning in, he nipped her thigh, jerking it out wide before she could get it completely closed. Nipping at her other thigh, he nestled himself between them and gave her a firm look. “No protests, Lin-babe. You’re mine to do with as I please, tonight. The only words I want to hear out of you are, ‘Yes, Zane,’ ‘Thank you, Zane,’ ‘Please, Zane,’ and ‘Oh my God.’”

“But I can’t—”

Hands touched her feminine lips, prying them apart ruthlessly. “You’re mine, babe. Any protests will be met by a tongue-lashing.”

“I…” As he arched a brow in warning, Linda reconsidered her position. She *wanted* to be like this with him. If she were honest, she had always wondered what it would be like to make love with him…and since both of them were curious to see how far cunnilingus could be taken, she reevaluated her stance on this situation. So, instead of what she had been about to say, she instead smiled slowly and stated clearly, “Protest, protest, protest.”

The heat in his eyes warmed to an even higher degree. Gaze still locked with hers, he dipped his brown head between her thighs, and licked what his thumbs still held revealed. Instantly, a shiver of pleasure rippled through her, forcing her to suck in an unsteady breath. He did it again, a pointed sweep of his tongue from cunt to clit, and she let out her breath on an equally unstead moan.

Licking his lips, he grinned at her. “You’re wet. Protest all you like, but you’re wet, Lin-babe.”

“Don’t call me Lin-babe,” Linda protested. The old nickname had always made her feel cheap, like one of a hundred interchangeable females in his life. Even if she was tied up like a police patrol special, she was going to take control of this situation if it killed her.

“What would you rather I called you?” he offered, and swiped her cunt again. A sound of pleasure escaped him as he swallowed what he had tasted. “Sweetie? Tasty? All mine?”

“Talk’s cheap. You say you want a woman who can go for more than a couple measely licks, you’d better prove you can give ‘em to her,” Linda challenged him, lifting her head a little. “Otherwise you’re all talk and no tongue, Zane the Insane. Put your money where your mouth is, or get the hell outta Dodge.”