Free Paradise - Part Two (The Erotic Adventures of Sophia Durant) by O.L. Casper Page B

time.”
    As I take the box, he pulls me into him. Kissing my cheek, he gropes my breasts. I pull down my low-cut shirt. No bra, my large breasts loom before him. He kisses down my neck, handling one of my breasts. He grips the other and presses them together. A sense of ecstasy comes over me. I roll my head back and close my eyes. He lowers me slowly to the floor. My eyes still closed, he guides my hands down into his pants where I grip his bulging member. I curl my fingers around the skin at the base of the large penis and glide them upward, over his smoothness. I tickle the tip. He pushes up my skirt. I’m not wearing any underwear and I’m dripping wet. I want his cock inside me badly. I want it moving all around, jostling from side to side, my gyrating hips causing him to make a circular motion inside. I can feel my wetness flowing down my legs as I spread them for him. He fondles my tits, pressing them up against my chest. I remove his pants and grab his balls—smooth like a peach. He leans me back against the wall. Propping up my vagina with a pillow under my backside, which he gets from I know not where. The pillow must be silk, for it is extremely comfortable. I feel the vagina juices flowing in a stream onto the silk fabric. His legs interlock with mine and I feel the tip of his fully erect member teasing me, tickling the outside of my wet lower lips.
    Suddenly he stops. I open my eyes. His head is down now. I look down at his throbbing penis. Instinctively I grab it, stroking it lightly. He raises his head, looks into my eyes, and begins making out with me. His soft lips press against mine, our tongues intermingle. He moves his face next to my ear and whispers: “Tonight—we’ll finish this tonight,” before he stands up and puts his pants on. I get to my feet, pull my skirt down, put away my breasts and look at his smile.
    “Don’t forget the dress,” he says with that ineffable smile.
    Later—before the mirror in my room I tried on what he gave me. It was a Gorean camisk garment. A belted, sideless silk poncho in red to be worn without underwear. The attire of a kajira , a Gorean sex-slave from the novels of John Norman. The Gorean ideal had spawned its own subculture I had once come across on the internet while doing searches on ancient goddesses. If you go to Google images and type in Gorean sex-slave you will see many computer-generated images of female sex-slaves, wearing anything from silk, to nipple clamps, to outfits like Princess Leia wore while in the captivity of Jaba the Hut in Return of the Jedi . If Stafford thought he was making me his kajira he was sadly mistaken, but this was not the impression I got from him. I felt he could take a dominant role with some women, certain types of the lower cast of intellect, but with me he seemed to want to be dominated. Or at least he wanted the balance of mutual respect. I always felt with him I was treated as his equal. He probably makes most people he comes into contact with feel this way, which I’m sure is part of the source of his charm. I would wear the camisk for him, mostly out of sympathy for his grieving. I believed what he intended with me was part of his fucked up way of dealing with it.
    I stood before the mirror and pulled the camisk over my otherwise nude body and buckled the belt. The silk garment came down over my shoulders and met in a V-shape below the navel, trailing down in one piece to a point between the knees. I turned around and looked in the mirror over my shoulder. The shape of the back was exactly the same, the V came together at the top of my rear and draped down to a point between the knees. Of course it was see-through, nothing was hidden, but somehow I found it empowering and incredibly sexy. I put my hair up in a ponytail to see how it would look with the hair off the shoulders. I thought the hair looked better down with this particular outfit—hide some of the face to add mystery as not much of anything else was kept