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at the light, tickle of something that was moving inch by tortuous inch up the soft, sensitive flesh of her
inner thigh, heading, she knew for the pulsating portal of her cuntal passage that gaped open to him,
because of her obscenely splayed thighs.
Her eyes flew open, widening, as she gaped down to where Jay was leaning over her, a gaily colored
blue and green peacock feather held in his fingers, lightly, as he twirled it, teasingly, on her vibrant,
sex-tingling flesh. Instantly, she clamped her legs together.
"What the hell ... do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
Jay grinned down at her, salaciously. "Getting you good and ready ... for some wild fucking!" he told
her, and went right on with his tantalizing torture of her, dragging it now up the valley of her close-held
thighs.
Instinctively, her hands flew to her pubic mound, protectively, knowing in a flash that if he were actually
to use the feather on her cunt there would be no end to her arousal ... and she didn't want that. She still
held the image, in her mind, of the expected pleasures she would have with the dark-haired Joan ...
when she arrived.
"My God, Jay ... don't do that ... to me!"
"Why not ...?" he grunted. "It feels good ... doesn't it?"
"Yes ... but it's torture!"
"Not really! This'll turn you on ... like nothing you've ever had before!" he grated, intent on what he was
doing. "So you might as well lie back and enjoy it ... for a while!"
Catching up her hands by the wrists, in a steel-fingered grasp, he pulled them away from the pulsating slit
of her pussy.
"Now ... open your legs!" he ordered.
"No! I-I won't let you do it!"
"I've paid you ... in advance ... you little whore!" he bellowed. "And, I'll do what the hell I please!
Understand?"
Carla understood. She slowly relaxed the muscles of her thighs, to allow them to spread apart for his
idea of fun. It could be worse! She told herself. At least ... he's not one of the weird ones with whips ...
and crazy clothes!
The detective's triumph over her gave him a definite edge, now. Damn!
It won't be long ... until she's begging for mercy! Then ... we'll see
...
Jay released her hands, then, and focusing his full attention on what he was doing, began to tantalize her
naked flesh with the peacock feather.
Groaning with helplessness, Carla felt the teasing lightness of the soft tip of the feather, as it tracked tiny
circles of fire on the smooth skin of her inner thighs, darting into the hollows on either side of her sparsely
hair fringed cuntal lips. She could have screamed with the excruciating torment, as it moved, relentlessly,
toward its obvious target, through a deviously tortuous route.
Inexorably, the feather in his hand moved closer and closer, until finally, it trailed into the coralline
moistness of her vaginal furrow, fringed, lightly, with the soft auburn curls of her pubic hair. Around and
around he twisted it, dipping into her cuntal opening, momentarily, only to drag it, between the inner,
petal-like lips that had begun to flower open with blood engorgement, and as he watched with lewd
satisfaction he saw them begin to turn to a darker shade of pink.
Never had Carla experienced such an ecstatically sexy, nerve-charged, exciting sensation. She writhed
on the bed, her hips undulating up to that torturing feather, and her breath came in uncontrolled, short,
sharp pantings, as she felt him thrust it, twirlingly, in and out of her moist cuntal passage, igniting searing
flames of desire that raced, unchecked in her nerve endings, like an all-consuming prairie fire, leaping
before a strong wind and destroying all in its path.
She was ready ... and already she had had enough of the feather, as she became aware of the slippery,
warm moisture that exuded from the inner walls of her vaginal tunnel to ooze in viscid droplets into her
cuntal portal. God! She was on fire with a desire she had never before felt.
"Oh, My God ... Jay! Stop it! I can't stand it!" she groaned. "Stop playing around with me ... and fuck
me ... damn it!"
"Later ... Baby!"
Jay wasn't about to stop ... yet; he wanted her completely helpless ... He twisted the feather farther into
the moist depths of her cent; then finally, after long moments it left her vagina and pirouetted upward to
dance through the sparse, auburn fringe to the pulsating bud of her erectile clitoris, hidden in the defile of
her womanly slit. He moved it, tormentingly, up and down the short length of the miniature phallus,
coming to rest with a twirling motion on the sensitive triangle of its blood-engorged, sensitive head. She
stifled a scream. Never, ever, had she experienced such exquisite agony ... and joy, at the same time.
She killed the building scream, in her throat, because she wouldn't allow him to know that he had
subjugated her with an insignificant feather.
The peacock feather, in Jay's hand, danced teasingly on her throbbing clitoris for only a few moments,
and just at the point when she was sure she could stand no more of it, the lust-inciting feather was
suddenly gone. Then, she felt it trailing up through the fleecy softness of her pubic hair, across her
abdomen and out over the flat, white plane of her smooth belly, dipping with a saucy twirl into the
shallow depression of her navel and moving out to her groin to tantalize the soft hollows there.
Suddenly, with a broad sweep, the teasing peacock feather was on her breasts, orbiting them in a figure
eight, which grew smaller with each evolution, moving upward on the full mounds of her trembling, white
breasts, until it circled the crowning, cameo-pink of her hard-coned nipples.
Soft, mewling whimpers began to come, unbidden, from her lips, as the torturing feather, still moist from
the dews of her cuntal opening, moved in ever smaller circles, until it proscribed only one of the
hardened, erectile nipples, playing on the crinkled flesh of the aureole, then on the pink column of the tiny
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