Cleaned 25

By timos111@hotmail.com


Evidently Janelle was enjoying her evening art 
classes.  Twice a week she’d be away for two or three 
hours, arriving mid-evening after Doug had already 
been home and rattling around in the silent apartment 
for what seemed to him like ages.

Not that he could really grumble because he’d always 
been a bit of a loner, who liked having time to potter 
about in peace or watch obscure sports on TV without 
let or hindrance. 

But these days it wasn’t the same.  He preferred 
having her around, even if they were each doing their 
own thing at opposite ends of the house.  He wanted to 
be on hand.  Ready for any chance to prove himself, or 
improve himself, in ways measurable in terms of her 
own satisfaction.

The quality of her sketches was steadily rising.  He’d 
take time to leaf through the jumble of discards on 
her workspace.  She was getting technically quite 
proficient now that she knew about perspective and 
stuff like that, thought the subject matter was often 
weirdly fantasti-magorical.

Then she’d burst into the apartment again, a dark and 
petite dynamo with difficult-to-contain chest, wearing 
trendy gear and bearing a large brown-cardboard folio 
under one arm, ready to tell him all about her 
evening.  

Possessing as she did such deep and ill-concealed 
cleavage, he wondered about the amount of individual 
attention she might be getting from the instructor.  
He’d bet his bottom dollar she was a lot more popular 
with the men of the class than the other women!

“So, wotcher do tonight?” he greeted her.

“We’re onto the history of art right now.  It’s good.  
Some of it’s stuff I’ve come across before, but never 
really paid attention to.”

“Like what?”

“Like how the Egyptians always drew people from the 
side, but the eyes’d be, like, lookin’ right at you 
...”

“Yeah?  Why?”

“Fenton says it’s because they didn’t know any 
different.  They were still figuring out how to draw.”

Doug knew this already.  It just so happened he’d 
taken some art history in his college days.  He’d done 
so because of a girl in the class who he really 
liked.  As it turned out, this stratagem was a waste 
of time because she ignored him totally all semester.  
He’d completed the course feeling chastened, but 
culturally enriched.

Not one to spoil Janelle’s moment by showing off his 
own knowledge, he nevertheless got to his feet and 
went out to the bookcase - the one they’d relocated to 
the hallway.  Must still have the textbooks from that 
class here someplace.  He never threw out anything 
like that.

Sure enough, there was still an introductory art text 
reposing among the macro- and micro-economics.  He 
extracted it, and took it across to her.

“That’s it!” she exclaimed, the pages falling open at 
so-called “Primitive art” (Africa and Oceania) and 
flipping on to the Egyptians with their funny stilted 
poses.

“That’s what we were talkin’ about tonight” she 
enthused, her finger indicating some bas relief tomb 
friezes.

“Though Fenton has a problem with African art being 
described as “primitive”” she continued. “He says 
there were great civilizations in Africa when these 
white-boy authors’ ancestors were still living in 
caves and painting themselves blue!”  

“You go, girl!” he dead-panned, “You tell ‘em!”

“You gotta admit, Doug, this book is pretty Euro-
centric.  For another thing, it hardly covers Asia at 
all!”

“What’s a Euro-centric?  Sounds like a type of 
vibrator!”

“Don’t mock me, Doug.  Fenton and I reckon this kind 
of thing is pretty unbalanced, as histories go.”

“It’s the winners who get to write history,” he 
murmured, the libertarian in him coming to the fore.  

“Plus that book’s about twenty years old now.  Anyway, 
who in the hell is this Fenton?”

She hesitated slightly before answering.

“He’s in the class.  We get along okay, I guess.”

“I guess.”

From that time on, Fenton-isms cropped up quite 
frequently in Janelle’s conversation.  It emerged bit-
by-bit from her various remarks that he was black, 
radical in terms of politics, very talented as an 
amateur artist, and had an athletic, powerfully-
muscled physique.

Probably well-hung too, Doug reflected sourly.

She brought him home one evening after class, to show 
him her “studio” set-up.

Doug was watching a cable sport channel at the time. 
Brad was out, as usual.  He got to his feet in 
surprise at this unexpected visitor, though guessed 
straightaway who it was.

“Honey, can I introduce you to Fenton?” said Janelle.  
“I just want to show him what kind of materials I got 
here to work with.  Fenton, this is Doug.”

Janelle did not offer Fenton any words of explanation 
as to who Doug was.  Presumably this had already been 
covered long before now.

“Pleased to meet you, Doug” said Fenton, extending a 
hand.  Doug shook it, and winced at the powerful grip.

The rest of Fenton was equally powerful, and handsome 
too.  He was shorter than Doug but broader, with the 
barrel chest and sloping shoulders of a body-builder.  
He also had an irritating air of seeming to already 
know everything about Doug, which made Doug wonder 
what exactly Janelle had been saying to him.

The two of them spent twenty minutes or so in 
Janelle’s “studio” (actually, half of Doug’s study) 
before emerging again.

“Coffee?” Janelle asked, but mercifully Fenton was no 
dummy and declined on the basis that it was getting 
late.

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Doug” was his parting 
shot as he left.

“So, that’s the famous Fenton” Doug remarked.

Janelle put her hands on the hips of her cut-off 
shorts and regarded him in silence for a few moments.

“You got a problem with the “famous” Fenton?” she 
asked quietly.

“No” he lied.

“Don’t bullshit me, Doug.  It’s in your contract.  You 
gotta come clean to me on all your innermost 
feelings.”

Oh shit, here we go.  Coming clean on feelings had 
never come naturally.  The first hint of emotion from 
anybody was always guaranteed to make him withdraw 
into his shell.  It used to drive his ex-wife bananas.

He took a deep breath.

“Everything these days is Fenton this, Fenton that.”

He subsided into silence again.

“You don’t like him?”

“What’s not to like?  I only just met him.”

“But he bothers you?”

“I wonder what he is to you, that’s all.”
 
A hesitation on her part.  Then – 

“He’s a friend.”

“That’s all?  Just a friend?”

“Yeah.  Just a friend.”

“A close friend?”

“I … I been finding he’s someone I can open up to.  We 
got a lot in common.”

This was not making Doug feel any better.  

It’s not that he was a jealous type, unable to have 
anyone even glance at Janelle.  Quite the reverse - he 
got a real kick out of others ogling her, seeing them 
getting off on visual promises that she’d never fill.

But he felt it ought to be him she was close to.  The 
one she’d come home to.  The one she’d confide in.

How could he get this across to her, without sounding 
petulant and juvenile?

“Have you told him about us?  The kind of stuff we 
do?”

“Nah!”

“Are you attracted to him?”

“To be honest, Doug, I could fuck him in a New York 
minute.  What a body! If I were into straight sex, I’d 
drop my draws for him the instant he said the word.”

Finding it difficult to conceal his irritation at 
this, Doug snapped “So why don't you then?" 

"He hasn’t said the word.  Besides, you know me.  I 
could only do it if he were trussed up like a turkey, 
and I think he's too much of a bull to be into that".  

There she goes again.  Not at all the answer he was 
looking for.  She spoke as though the option of 
fucking Fenton were foreclosed only by circumstances 
beyond her control.  If not for that, it wouldn’t be 
ruled out.  She always stopped short of ruling this 
kind of thing out.

“Anyway, what gives you the right to say who my 
friends are gonna be?” she demanded defensively.

“Sounds like it’s gonna be a lot more than “friends”!” 
he shot back.

“And what of it?  What’s it to you anyway?”

Her anger was now beginning to build at being 
challenged like this.

He wanted to say “It’s everything to me!  You’re 
everything to me!”  But he couldn’t get out the words.

This void in the conversation left her focussing only 
upon her own anger.

“I been horny all day!  I wuz lookin’ forward to some 
action with you tonight, and now you’ve made me mad! 
Fuck you, Doug!”

“Fuck me?  Promises, promises …”

She paused to glare at him, dark face tight with fury, 
big eyes glinting.

“I can fuck you all right.  I can fuck you in ways 
you’ll never forget!  But I’m so mad right now, that 
first I’m gonna have to fight you!”

“Yeah?  How, exactly?”

He was smug about this.  Like, did she really think …

POW!

Her bunched fist drove out from her side, straight and 
sure and with the power of a coiled steel spring, 
right into his solar plexus.

If pugilism such as this was being featured on one of 
his sports channels, he’d have said it was beautiful 
to watch.

She was not at all a big person, but her stance was 
perfect.  In martial arts terms, rock-solid.  Low and 
squat, an excellent platform from which to focus every 
ounce of strength into that straight-driving fore-arm.  
Her hips whirled round in an arc, extending her 
follow-through to give it all she got.  Sure, she 
wasn’t very big, but she could hurt. 

He doubled over and went down onto the carpet like a 
rag-doll.  The urge to vomit was almost overwhelming.

Then she was upon him, grabbing, wrestling, 
manipulating him onto his back and getting astride.  
He tried to resist but she was too quick for him.  She 
scooted up onto his chest and next his arms were 
pinned back by her knees, her hands encircling his 
wrists and pressing them to the carpet above his head.  
He was panting from the exertion of trying to free 
himself, wriggling and rolling his shoulders against 
the floor in an effort to buck her off.

Her response was to slide further up, to keep those 
shoulders pinned but let the rest of him flail 
uselessly behind her, unable to get at her.

He tried to use his head to lever those dark smooth 
thighs apart, and became suddenly aware of the very 
close proximity of the crutch of her denim cut-offs.

In fact, it was chiefly her crutch that now kept him 
prisoner.  The point of his chin was digging in to her 
pubic mound as she used it to apply pressure, to keep 
his head still and force it backwards, upwards.  

Very stimulating!  To her, that is.  The feel of the 
crisp linen of his business shirt against her bare 
thighs.  The look of dawning helplessness on his face.  
The nudging and pressing of his chin against the 
furrow of her denim-clad sex, by now feeling 
all tingly inside as it gathered heat. The hunger that 
had been nagging at her all day was now reaching its 
height.

He gave up, and lay there limply.  A dull ache 
radiated out from his midriff.  He could strongly 
smell her pussy through the denim jammed up against 
his jaw. 

“Give up?” she demanded.

“I give up.”

“I’m not finished with you.  I wanna tie your hands.”

“Should you be using that stuff on me in anger?  I 
mean, is it advisable?”

“I ain’t so mad at you, now that we’re even.  Now that 
I got you right where I want you.”

“If I do allow you to tie me, I don’t wanna be hurt 
anymore.”

“I won’t hurt you.  Promise.”

She released him diffidently.  He remained passive, so 
she quickly took the opportunity to whisk her tank-top 
off and use it to bind his wrists.  

This left her black-enlaced bust bulging and wobbling 
in fairly close proximity to his hungry gaze.  God, 
she’s got fabulous tits!

“I want to get off you for a moment.  Can you promise 
not to move?”

“Okay.”

She stood and bent down to undo his belt and fly.  He 
watched her swinging, swaying bra-clad boobs in awe 
and fascination while she ooched off his trousers and 
briefs.  The sight of her deep dark cleavage was 
always instant hard-on material.

Quickly she slid out of her own cut-offs and panties, 
then got back astride his be-shirted chest to pin him 
down once more.

“Bad news, Doug.  I AM still a teeny bit mad at you.  
You’re gonna have to really suffer ‘til you beg before 
I’ll be satisfied this time.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me!”

“I ain’t gonna hurt you.  But you’ll come to find that 
it’d probably be the softer option.”

“Huh?”

“I’m gonna do a cock torture on you.”

He looked up past her luscious bust into the pretty, 
sweet, ever-so-slightly malicious face above him.

She reached back with one hand, and lightly with her 
nails she slowly scratched his dick.  From its base up 
to its tip, she traced and re-traced the same delicate 
path with the tips of her fingers.

He found it exquisite, yet wholly insufficient for 
his needs.  The pain in his middle was subsiding, and 
he was getting turned on.

Which was exactly what she intended.

“Want me to fuck you?”

He tried to act cool and nonchalant for a few seconds 
but his answer, when it came, was almost blurted out.

“Yeah!”

She kept up her teasing touch a while longer, until 
satisfied he had reached full stiffness.  Then she 
eased herself back down his torso, leaving a slight 
wet-spot in his shirtfront where her pussy had been. 
She held his dick up at an acute angle until their 
genitals made contact, then pressed herself down until 
impaled on about half its length.

It’d been a few weeks since he’d been allowed in 
there.  He was thus acutely sensitized to this warm 
salty contact with the velvety clinging walls of her.

Felt good to her, too.  She did so like cocks.  What a 
pity their owners’ attentiveness to one’s needs was 
so adversely affected, if such delightful and 
handy tools were put to too-frequent use!

She was slithering about on him a bit, adjusting her 
position, pinning his bound arms and entwining his 
legs with her own.  He thought she was being snuggly, 
or maybe showing concern for his sensual pleasure. 

Until he tried to thrust up into her.

He only had about two inches of himself inserted, and 
he wanted to get deeper.  A natural enough urge, under 
the circumstances.

But that didn’t seem to be in her game-plan.  Because 
she rode his thrust in a way that gave almost nil 
movement at the juncture of their genitals.

He tried again.  Repeatedly.  And each time with the 
same result.  It was a lot of work for very little 
friction.  His cock never got to move deeper in or out 
of her than just a few millimetres at each thrust, and 
was each time returned to its original position.

“Fuck me, Doug!” she urged.

His answer was a grunt of exertion as he applied 
sudden and Herculean effort to try and catch her off-
guard.  But the way she had him held by her hands and 
legs, and the way she angled her pelvis away each time 
he thrust at her, made the stimulation minimal and 
maddening.

“Fuck me!  Don’t-cha wanna fuck me?”

“Lemme go in deep.”

“Oh.  You mean like this?”

She suddenly sat up straight on him, shoulders back 
and big bra-clad tits out-thrust, to drive herself 
down on him until his cock was buried in her to the 
very hilt.  Christ!  That felt really good for both of 
them!

Then she was promptly back as before.  Only his tip 
was inside, twitching and hunting, dabbing and 
darting.

“Did-ja like that?”

“Fuck yeah!  Do it again.”

“Mmmmm … nah!”

“Whaddya mean – “nah”?”

“Not until you beg.”

“Huh?”

“Beg me to fuck you.”

Silence, while he chewed that one over.

Then, in a tiny voice, he said - “Fuck me!”

“Make it good!  That’s not very convincing!”

“Janelle, fuck me please!  I can’t stand it!”

“Why don’t YOU fuck ME?  Come on, give it your best 
shot!”

He did.  To no avail.  

He could feel her slick heat, her clingy passage 
enveloping his tip, and the urge to get himself really 
moving in her was becoming more unbearable the longer 
it was denied.  He raised his head to look yearningly 
downward, able to see his pale shaft greatly exposed, 
with only its very end hidden from sight by her fuzzy 
mound. 

“I can’t get it in deep enough.  Meanwhile my balls 
are boiling over!”

“You gotta beg for it.  And make it good!”

“Janelle, PLEEEEEEEAAAAAZZZZZEE!”

“Please - what?”

“Please hunny-bunches darlin’ sweetness-‘n-light with 
peaches and cream ‘n hundreds-and-thousands with 
cherries on top, fer chrissakes FUCK ME!!!”

“Like this?”

Another back-arching downward thrust, sinking herself 
on him up to his balls.  Beautiful!

Then back to tip-only insertion.

He couldn’t bear it.  He had to get in deeper.  He had 
to somehow trigger a release for the pressure building 
in his testicles.

“Please, Janelle. I gotta hump you.  Please let me 
fuck you.”

“You’re a sorry sight, Doug.  You are totally 
helpless.  Right now you can’t do a damn thing without 
my say-so!”

This statement seemed to make his body go even more 
limp, even more ineffectual as he tried desperately to 
get a fuck motion going.  Her body just rode up with 
it, her legs hooked over his and moving with him the 
way a ship rides each swell - with almost no net 
movement at the waterline.

“You’re turned on by this, aren’t you?  You really 
like the feeling of my cunt.”

She didn’t normally use the c-word, preferring mostly 
to use the term “pussy”.  Her saying “cunt” sounded 
deliciously dirty.

“Yeah, I wanna fuck it!  Let me fuck it!’’

“You wanna fuck my cunt?”

“Yes! Yes-yes-yes-yes-yes!”

“Like this?”

Again she drove down hard.  Fuckin’ hell!  He nearly 
lost it that time!

But she sprang straight back up again and he was no 
better off.

“How was that?”

“I wanna cummm!!!” he pleaded.

“Go on, then.”

“I can’t!”

“Poor Dougsie-wuggsie!  Isn’t able to cum!  You’re 
really helpless, alright!”

“You gotta help me out here!”

“I’ve really got you under control, haven’t I!  I can 
control you, just with my cunt.”

“Untie me!  I’ll jack off instead!”

“Really?  But I thought you don’t do that?  Least-
ways, not in front of somebody!”

“I’ll do it!  I’ll jack off!”

“No.  You asked for a fuck, and a fuck’s what you’ll 
get.”

“Then let me fuck you!”

“I AM letting you fuck me.  A magnanimous gesture on 
my part, I must say.”

“This is fuckin’ torture!”

In blurting this out, it escaped him how literally yet 
inadvertently accurate this statement was.

So Janelle decided to rub it in.

“Yep.  It’s torture by fucking.  I’m going to show you 
that you CAN have too much of a good thing!”

“TOO MUCH?!!?  I can’t get enough!  Please let me 
cum!”

Janelle was getting close herself by this time.  This 
was exquisite!  His reactions to her teasing were as 
good as she’d expected.  It always touched a chord in 
her psyche to see such desperate striving, such humble 
supplication, from the man in her life.  

The whole idea of it was getting her so hot, she 
reckoned she could probably reach orgasm soon enough 
without hardly moving a muscle. 

But this was no time to experiment.  She had a man on 
the verge of nervous collapse here.  The caring, 
nurturing side of her took over, and she decided to do 
what she could to ease this suffering.

But instantly replace it with another.

She sat down hard on him again, and this time she kept 
at it.  Repeatedly she bounced herself up and down on 
his dick, plunging it into her as deep as he could 
ever wish for.  Her boobs flung about vigorously, 
threatening to over-top the black-lace cups of her 
bra.

He came in short order, and boy it was a whopper.  His 
various ducts had accumulated a backlog of juice like 
you wouldn’t believe.  She felt the extra hotness gush 
into her insides and felt the change of friction, the 
sudden sloppiness in there.

This was the cue for Plan B to swing into action.  

She steeled her pelvic-floor to hold his prick inside 
her with an almost vice-like grip, and continued to 
hump him vigorously.  Long, arcing strokes, riding the 
full length of his prick and not letting it escape.  
She used a tempo to match the natural inclinations of 
any man approaching his vinegar stroke. 

Which was fine, so long as he was still cumming.

But now Doug was past cumming.  In fact, he’d reached 
the stage when normally one would roll over, lay back, 
and light a cigarette.   

Janelle didn’t allow any chance of that.  She kept it 
up - indeed, she kept him up.  Unrelenting in her 
thrusts, she maintaining the full suite of sensations, 
stimulating and squeezing his cockhead, not allowing 
it to deflate.  He stayed fully erect, the blood 
seemingly unable to subside, cum muscles still 
involuntarily pumping at his internal ducts.

But now those muscles had nothing to pump on.  He had 
jizzed well and truly.  Already it was seeping out of 
her, trickling into his pubic hair, getting matted and 
slick upon her own short crispy black foliage.

He badly wanted her to stop.  This was getting really 
uncomfortable now.  It was starting to hurt.

He hadn’t known that what she was doing to him was 
even possible.  Simply did not understand the 
physiology of it.  He’d never ever realized that the 
very thing he’d craved only minutes ago could now 
become such an anathema.

“Janelle!  Stop!”

“What?”

“Please, stop!”

“But … I’m fucking you!  You wanted me to fuck you, 
remember?

“But now I don’t!  It hurts!

“You were begging me!”

“Stop!!!”

He was close to tears, this was getting so intensely 
uncomfortable.

Janelle herself was panting hard from this exertion. 
Both from the hard humping, and from the internal 
muscular control she was employing on him.  

But she wasn’t about to stop.  

Because now she herself was cumming.  With his cock 
still hard in her and unable to subside, with the 
pained look on his face as she fucked him hard against 
his will, the fact that he was helpless to stop it, 
all this drove her over the edge.  Now, at last, it 
was her turn.

“Oh-oh-oh-ohhhhh! Fuck!  Oh, fuck! Ohhhnnnnggggghhhh!”

Gutteral groans continued to escape her throat as, 
oblivious to his continued pleading, she rode his 
captive cock until her last spasm had subsided.  Then 
she fell away, finally sated.  His cock flopped out, 
and at last the ring of pressure that had been damming 
up his blood flow was removed.  He quivered and 
twitched where he lay upon the carpet.

She rolled to his side and snuggled there, resting her 
head on the shirt-linen of his shoulder.

Almost five minutes passed while he regained his 
composure.  They both stared with unfocussed eyes at 
the ceiling, as if in a day-dream.

At last, he turned his head to look at her.

“What the hell was that?”

“Like I told you at the start.  Cock torture.”

“I’ve never experienced anything like that in all my 
born days!”

“Let it be a lesson to you.  One which it’ll be my 
particular pleasure to repeat, if ever you argue with 
me like that again!”

“Cock torture, huh?”

“Yep. When I do that, I have total power over you.”

“How so?”

“You’re a victim of your own inclinations.  First I 
can make you beg for me to fuck you.  And immediately 
afterward, I can make you beg for me to stop fucking 
you!”

“Point taken.  But it’s something you’ll only ever get 
the chance to do to me once.”

“I can do this to you as many times as I please.”

“But I’m on to it now!  You just revealed the secret!”

“Knowledge of how helpless you are in that situation 
will not prevent you from letting yourself get into 
that situation!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Explain!”

“The male urge to cum is very strong.  Even if you 
knew in advance that the price of cumming was going to 
be cock torture immediately afterwards, I’ll bet my 
bottom dollar you’d still want me to make you cum!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

He dwelt upon this dire prediction for a minute or so.

“How on earth did you get to figure this kind of stuff 
out?”

“Trial and error.”

“But … how did you even get the idea?”

“Very few women know about it.  When men cum, women 
think their job is done and all action stops.  Not 
many carry on, just to find out what would happen.  I 
did once, and my partner just about went up the 
fuckin’ wall!  It was incredible.”

“Does it take skill?”

“Yeah, it does.  It’s essential I hold you firmly 
inside me and keep your balls pumping.  If your dick 
slips out or the rhythm gets broken, you’ll be able to 
find relief.”

“Thanks for that information.”

“It won’t do you any good!”

He pondered this for a while longer.

“Well” he said at last, “if nothing else, tonight I’ve 
learned that it’s better not to argue with you!”

“Honey, that’s so sweet!”

She kissed him tenderly on the cheek.

Kissed him in a way she could never imagine herself 
doing with Fenton.