
Chance EncountersA Collection of Erotic Short Stories
By Mia Jae
Resplendence Publishing, LLChttp://www.resplendencepublishing.com
Resplendence Publishing, LLCP.O. Box 992Edgewater, Florida, 32132
Chance EncountersCopyright © 2010, Mia JaeEdited by Wendy WilliamsCover art by Les ByerlyElectronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-116-0
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic release: February 2010
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Each contact with a human being is so rare, so precious, one should preserve it.~Anais Nin
The bellman flagged the cab. I stepped forward as the vehicle drew closer to the curb. My latest issue of Cosmo was a poor excuse for an umbrella, but I thankfully held it over my hair anyway. Par for the course. The airline lost my luggage. I was running late for my dinner meeting. And it was raining and foggy.
Shit.
Only good thing to happen was that my hotel room was ready. Too bad I couldn't afford the Hamilton where my dinner meeting was scheduled to take place. Avoiding the plastered hair look would have been nice.
Snagging the cab was also a stroke of luck. The bellman nodded and opened the cab door, and I darted through the rain. Just as I tipped the kind man who was now dripping himself, the opposite door opened, and I watched as a man in a black suit slipped inside.
The bellman slammed my door and the cabby took off.
I stared hard at the intruder. "You have balls. This is my cab."
He shrugged. "I do have balls, and it looks like we're sharing."
Wonderful.
I leaned toward the cabby. "The Hamilton Hotel. Downtown. Take me there first. I don't care where this asshole is going."
"This asshole has a name. It's Mitch."
I sidled a glance to the man and childishly stuck out my tongue, then turned to look at the rain pelting the window. "I don't care if your name is George Freakin' Clooney. You're an asshole."
He spoke to the cab driver. "The Hamilton, please."
I didn't want to look at him, but I did. "That's absurd, you couldn't..."
"I could."
I went back to examining the pattern of raindrops on the window.
"Nice tongue."
I rolled my eyes. My reflection in the mirror confirmed it. Yet again, another childish moment. What was wrong with me? I glared beyond the pattern of raindrops and saw the man staring at me in the reflection. Sandy hair, businessman's cut. About my age. Drop-dead gorgeous body and wearing a suit that probably cost more than my month's paycheck.
I looked at him. "Some people think so."
"Care to put your money where your mouth is?" He patted himself.
I arched a penciled brow. At least I had managed to spruce up a bit, my makeup was in my carry-on, but I wasn't about to ruin my face by administering a blowjob here in the backseat of an uptown cab. Particularly when my pending dinner meeting meant a potential new job and a transfer to the city.
"Sorry. Just put on my lipstick."
"I don't mind. I'd like seeing your red lipstick on my..."
I put up my hand. "Stop. No more. You are so out of line." I rapped on the Plexiglas separating the cabby from the backseat and urged, "Can you hurry up?"
Mr. Asshole scooted closer. "Seems you are a little uptight. Hot date?"
I shook my head. "That is none of your business, but no, I'm meeting a...well, potential new employer and look!" I pushed away, "Back off. I'm stressed, okay? Let's just share this cab and be done with it."
He nuzzled closer, and I could smell the musk of his aftershave. Dammit, but that smell was drawing me in. "I could fix that, you know," he whispered, "the stress thing? I'm good."
He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. "I have great hands, or so I've been told, and long, caressing fingers..."
I jerked back. "I don't have time for this chitchat sexy banter. I don't know you."
"You could."
"I don't want to know you."
"Name's Mitch."
"You already said that."
"And yours?"
I smirked. "None of your business."
"Okay, so I'll call you...Gina. No. No, that's not it. Grace. I'll call you Grace."
I about bit my tongue. Grace. What the hell? Was it stamped on my forehead or something? Time to look back at the rain. The city sped by. He kept talking.
No way. Fluke. Lucky guess.
After a moment, I felt pressure on my thigh and looked down to see his hand gently laid there. Unfortunately, my skirt had ridden up past mid-thigh. He slipped a finger under a garter.
I whirled. "What are you doing?"
Laughing, he said, "You haven't pushed my hand away yet."
Glancing down, I realized that no, I hadn't. Then slowly, he began a light massage toward my inner thigh.
"We've got ten more minutes till the Hamilton, Grace," he whispered, leaning closer. "I certainly don't mind de-stressing you..."
My heart raced. He was an attractive man, and I'd had one helluva day. I needed to be on my game in about twenty minutes, and right now, I wasn't quite sure what my game was. My mind was always open to the possibilities when it came to sex, but at this moment? It had been a few weeks since I had been, um, de-stressed...
It was only fingers, right? He just wanted to feel me up. And in ten minutes, I'd never see him again. Not to mention feel energized.
Maybe I needed a short distraction.
"Don't tempt me," I whispered. I'm vulnerable, I wanted to say, but didn't.
"Giving in to temptation isn't always a bad thing, Grace."
I peered into his eyes and placed my Cosmo over my lap.
"That's it sweetheart..." he crooned and moved his hand further up under my skirt. I leaned back and scooted forward on the seat. My skirt inched up. With his other hand, he cradled my head into the crook of his neck. I took a deep whiff of aftershave and knew I was a goner. I spread my legs and was lost.
His fingers grazed my pussy, ever so lightly.
"No panties," he rasped.
I shook my head, "Lost luggage, just decided...to go commando."
"Um."
He slipped a finger inside and slowly, methodically, eased it in...and out. Slowly, too slowly.
"We only have ten minutes," I breathed.
"Eight."
"Hurry."
He did. For the briefest moment, he retracted his finger and licked it, then inserted it deep inside my pussy again, nearly lifting me up off the seat. I pushed into him and moaned. "Yes..."
He found my clit and flicked and pinched it, then began circling and rubbing as I felt myself grow wetter by the second; anticipation welled up in my pelvis and started to peak. He cupped me and stroked hard with his palm.
"You are so hot, baby," he crooned.
"Umm."
"If I could, I'd bury my cock inside you right now."
Oh, damn.
Sensation built inside me, and my pussy tingled, wanted more, filled his hand, wet and sloppy and...
He pushed my chin up, and my lips met his. Hungry, possessive, slipping his tongue inside my mouth. At once, I was lost with his plundering; his tantalizing my lips, below and above, as a heady, almost out-of-body experience warped over me, and an incredibly powerful orgasm shook me.
Shook me to the very core.
"Oh, sweet mother..." he hissed, holding me against his mouth while I panted against his lips. His fingers massaged and swirled over my wet pussy lips, dipping in and out, until he slowed and then simply cupped me, holding me close. Squeezed.
Then the unexpected happened.
He took me to bliss and back again with a kiss almost as erotic as the touch of his fingers to my wet pussy. Gentle passion stirred within my chest as his heated lips played over mine. Pulling me closer, he lingered and so did I, lips mingling and playing, tongues touching and exploring in soft caress.
Then we parted.
I allowed myself only a moment to savor the sensation. The warmth, the wickedness, before reality set in, and I knew I needed to get ready to bolt as soon as possible.
Am I insane?
I pushed back, away, and he withdrew his hand. His gaze never left my face as I fiddled with my skirt, clasped an errant garter, tucked in my blouse. I smoothed my hair, glanced out the window and saw the Hamilton sign just yards away.
I gathered my magazine and bag, straightened my jacket, then finally looked at him. He'd yet to take his eyes off me.
The cab stopped.
He nodded. "I'll pay the fair."
"No." I shook my head.
"Go."
I sighed and took one more look, not knowing whether I wanted to savor or forget the past ten minutes. I lifted the door handle.
Inside the Hamilton, I strode across the lobby. With a quick glance at my watch, I knew I had only a few minutes before the meeting started. I snagged the eye of the concierge and nodded his way. He rushed to my side as I dug in my purse.
"I have a meeting with a Michael Carson. I believe in the Brown room. Can you point me in the right direction?"
"Of course, ma'am. The Brown is our private dining area. This way."
I crossed his palm with a ten-dollar bill. He swept his hand to the right. "The elevator is just around this corner. On the second floor, turn left off the elevator."
"Is there a restroom?"
"Of course. A ladies room is just down the hall."
Excellent.
I smiled and hurried away. With luck, I'd step into that dining room loaded for bear. I just needed a quick spruce-up, and I would be set.
I had to land this job. It was a risk, but I had to give it a shot. My current position was going nowhere fast, and I'd likely be laid off in a few weeks. Non-profits that relied on soft money were hurting with this economy. The one I worked for was no different. A half-dozen team members were let go already, and rumor was that one of the project managers was set to go next.
I'm one of three project managers. Incredibly bad odds.
Pushing through the hard wooden door to the ladies room, I stalked to the bathroom mirror.
"Dammit!" One look confirmed my fears. Humidity does crazy things with my long hair. In Phoenix, it's straight as a stick. Here in this Midwest river city, I'm sporting ringlets.
"Shit."
Nothing to do but go with the look. Setting my things on the counter, I bent at the waist, combing my fingers through damp hair. Flipping my mane back as I righted, I continued to fluff. Okay, not too bad. At least I now had height and fullness.
After correcting some mascara smudges around my eyes and applying a new coat of lip-gloss, I headed into the stall for a brief adjustment of garters and a quick clean up. I was still wet.
God, I smell like fresh-fucked pussy.
Leaning into the wall, I closed my eyes. Damn. Had I just done that? What was I thinking? What kind of a woman allows a total stranger to finger her up in a dirty cab...likely with the cabbie watching in his rearview mirror?
"Desperate?" Yeah, I'd been pretty desperate in many ways lately. Just stressed about the job and so on. Still...
"All right." I stood straight, shoulders back, and pushed any feelings of embarrassment away. I headed out of the stall and back to the mirror. Looking straight into my eyes, I said to my reflection, "It's a new day. Forget it. He's long gone, and you'll never see him again. Priority now is to ace this interview and get the damn job. So buck up and go do it."
My chest lifted and fell with a long exhale as I watched. Then I reached for my bag and left.
The Brown dining room was set off in a little niche all by itself. A brass placard to the right of the door told of its dedication, named for a Louise Brown who had provided funds for a soup kitchen downtown for a couple of decades starting back in the thirties. She'd trained a cook who went on to be chef at the hotel, so the Hamilton set aside this fancy-schmancy private dining area in her honor. I had read all about it on the hotel Web site.
Squaring my shoulders, I lifted my chin and pushed open the door. After stepping inside the small low-lit room, I noticed a single table placed in the center. The tablecloth was gold, the china ivory, as were the flickering tapers, and the stemware sparkling.
Nice digs.
There were three place settings.
My heels clicked on the parquet floor as I entered. A man stepped away from the window where he had been looking out over the busy street. He glanced my way.
"Grace Wisdom, I presume?"
Walking forward, I smiled and put out my hand. "Yes. I'm Grace. Are you Mr. Carson?"
We shook. His handshake was firm and quick.
"Grant Harper. We spoke on the phone. Happy to meet you." Ah yes. The second in command. He swept his hand toward a chair and pulled it out for me. "Please, let's sit."
I did.
"Carson will be joining us momentarily. Let's get settled. Wine?"
He lifted a bottle and tipped it toward my glass, pausing for permission to pour. "Of course. Thank you."
Wine made me sleepy and flushed. Probably not a good move. I'd just sip, I decided.
He poured a half glass for me and one for him.
"I read over your résumé again this afternoon," he offered. "Impressive."
"Thank you."
"We are very interested, you know. This dinner? Just a technicality...to see if the chemistry we all experienced during the phone interviews plays out in real life. Carson is big on chemistry."
My gut did a little shimmy. Technicality. Don't screw this up now, Grace. It's practically in the bag.
I smiled. "I'm confident I am the right project manager for your team." Might as well put myself right out there. "My track record is excellent, and I produce results." Leaning forward, I continued, "I've been thinking about the project you presented during the last conference call. If we follow an instructional design process, gather a group of subject matter experts for a focus group, I think we can get a handle on the content. From there, we can dig into the meat and potatoes of the product and..."
"We're not wasting our time on focus groups and SMEs, Ms. Wisdom." The voice came from the doorway, not from Grant Harper. It continued, "If we hire you, we need to move fast, create the product and get it to market."
I gasped, sort of, as he stepped out of the shadows. Black suit. Without thought, I took a gulp of the wine. Immediately, heat hit my cheeks.
Mr. Asshole.
Maybe it wasn't the wine.
"You are a fast mover, aren't you...Grace?"
The innuendo more than hung in the air. It was palpable. I squirmed in my seat, then lifted my chin and squared my gaze straight into his. Damn, blue eyes. How had I missed that in the cab? "I have my moments, Mr. Carson."
He nodded to that. "Mitch."
"Of course." I cocked my head to the side. "I thought your name was Michael."
"I go by Mitch."
"Ah."
He sat directly across from me and perused my body as if I was the entrée. Was I? What the hell was he thinking?
Shit. What the hell was I thinking?
"So you need to move fast on this project." Let's keep it to business. "I can do that. I'm your woman."
Shit. Shit! Why the fuck did that come out of my mouth?
One corner of Mitch's mouth jerked up, then back down and straight-lined. "My company, Ms. Wisdom, is looking for a team player...a team leader, in fact, who can move our agenda forward without delay. We need someone who is sharp, intelligent, a quick thinker, and fast learner. We don't have time to pussy-foot around."
About that time, something brushed the inside of my leg. A sock-clad foot? I shifted in my seat.
"And we want dedicated, serious professionals only."
"I'm about as serious as a heart attack about my job. I go after what I want."
An eyebrow arched. "No doubt."
"As do you, I presume."
There was a pause and I contemplated whether the frozen expression on Mitch Carson's face would break. Grant Harper cleared this throat somewhere off to the side. He was so not in this conversation.
"I usually do get what I want, Grace. And I don't fuck around." Leaning into the table now, he said, "I need a product. We need action. How soon can you start?"
Whoa. What?
I narrowed my gaze. "Are you offering me the position?"
"If you play your cards right." The foot again. It inched up the inside of my knee.
Panic dropped with a thud deep in my gut. What cards would I play?
"In fact, I can think of a number of interesting positions I might like to offer you."
My stomach turned over. Twice. This is finished. No way am I getting hooked into a job where sex is the ace in the hole. Of course, what else would Mitch Carson think, given my behavior a few minutes earlier in the cab?
Stupid woman. Maybe I made one mistake tonight. Doesn't mean I make two.
I stood.
My fingers clenched and unclenched into fists at my hips. Glancing from Mitch Carson to Grant Harper and back again, I weighed my options. I'd already screwed up in the damn cab. Going forward would be screwing up further.
No matter how much I hated to, I knew it was time to step away.
Pushing my hand toward Grant, I said, "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Harper. Thank you for the opportunity." Finally, he stood and shook my hand. "I fear, however, this is not the job for me."
He didn't immediately let go. His gaze held mine. "Are you sure, Grace? The chemistry here appears to be quite potent."
Without a beat, I replied, "The chemistry, Grant, is all wrong. I'm very sorry."
I didn't look Mitch Carson in the face, but echoed something incoherent his way, offering him a brief thank-you for the chance but not my hand.
He didn't respond. I only noticed that he stood, hands perched on his hips, as I walked away. My heels clicked on the parquet floor as I left, as they had when I arrived.
Phoenix was hot as hell and it was only April. When I stepped off the plane at Sky Harbor the next day, I chuckled, listening to the pilot explain that the temp had gone down to ninety-eight degrees Fahrenheit.
At least it was a dry heat.
The plane ride home provided me with about four hours of uninterrupted think time. For that, I was grateful. By the time I had retrieved my car, I'd nearly forgiven myself for my act of stupidity in the cab.
Nearly.
I still had to face the old job tomorrow. Needless to say, I wasn't looking forward to it.
The one thing that was extremely difficult to erase from my mind, however, was the intense blueness of Mitch Carson's eyes, the depth of the orgasm he had given me in that cab, and the sweet and sensuous kiss that had followed.
It was a brainless act, of course, but an encounter I'd be hard-pressed to forget.
The next evening, after a miserable day at work, I lingered downtown for a while before heading out to my home in the burbs. My friend Kate and I shared a happy hour margarita each and a plate of appetizers, then lamented about our lack of sex lives.
And yeah, I confessed to her about giving in to my taxi temptation. She gasped and then gave me a high-five.
Kate was like that.
I didn't share anything more than that. Not that I was having a difficult time getting the taste of Mitch Carson off my tongue, or the fact that I ached between my legs to have him touch me there again.
And more.
Dusk was falling as I turned into the entrance to my subdivision. Another two blocks and I pulled in front of my adobe casita. Glancing toward the house, I noticed a shadow...no, a man...leaning against a thick wood porch post.
My heart crashed against my chest.
"No."
With shaking fingers, I pulled the keys from the ignition and tucked them into my fist. I slowly left the car, rounded it at the front, and strolled toward the house. Finally, I looked up into Mitch's face, hopefully hiding my panic.
My tummy, however, was all aflutter.
"What are you doing here?" I asked. "I made it clear I can't work for you."
He didn't bat an eye. "I'm not here about the job."
"I can't think of any other reason why you'd be here."
"Really?"
Suddenly, my throat parched. "No."
He pushed off the post and broadened his stance. I steered past him and went to the door. My hand was still shaking, so I didn't attempt to put the key in the lock yet.
"Perhaps I could provide a clue."
Standing way too close behind me, the heat of his breath tickled the fine hairs on the back of my neck. My hair was up because of the heat. Mitch touched the back of my neck and made a sensuous, lazy trail down my backbone. I shivered, my blood running cold even though his fingertip branded hot through my thin cotton blouse.
"I don't need clues." The statement was a lot raspier than I wanted.
"So you know what I want?"
Turning, I peered deep into his eyes. "I have a pretty good idea, Mitch. And guess what? It's a bad one. There will not be an encore performance."
His gaze played over my face as he studied me. "I seem to recall telling you that I usually get what I want, Grace. And I don't fuck around. Literally."
"What are you saying, Mitch."
"I'm saying just what I said."
"Quit talking in circles, okay?" What did he want? My brain and my pattering heart were growing confused.
"I want you. Blunt enough?"
All right. That was to the point. But this was ridiculous.
"Want me? I told you. Not into one night stands. What you got the other night was a fluke."
"I think we just got started the other night."
"It was a mistake."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not."
He fingered an escaped tendril of my hair, winding it in his fingers. I wanted to both jerk it out of his hand and let him pull me closer. Does hair really own a sense of touch? Because it felt like his fingers were sending sparks up their shaft and into my addled brain.
"I'm not into one night stands, either," he said. "I don't fuck around. Remember?"
I laughed. "Oh, so you're here for a relationship, huh? That's funny."
"That's right. Or, at least a stab at one."
Get out of town. No. This conversation was more insane than our sexual liaison in the cab.
"Mitch, you don't know enough about me to know if you want me. And whether you believe it or not, I don't get my kink on from random hook-ups like the other night. I'm embarrassed enough. We're not going there again."
"You already said that...and I already said that's not why I'm here."
Why do men always skirt everything? When you want them to dally, they get straight to the point. When you want a direct response, they walk all around it.
Or was this all in my own rattled perspective?
I went back to the door and successfully maneuvered the lock. "Look," I said, turning the knob. "It's been a long day, and I'm tired. I'm really not into trying to figure out why you are here. I'm going inside. I think you should head, well, wherever you're heading."
I crossed the threshold about the time I heard him say, "I can't get you out of my head, Grace."
"Give it another day. You'll recover," I whipped back, not looking at him.
"No, Grace. It's more than that. I want a chance to be part of your life. Can we just talk without...?"
I whirled. "You don't even know me! You know nothing about who I am, or what I like, or if we have one goddamned thing in common. How can you say you want a chance to be part of my life? The only thing you know about me is that sometimes I ditch the panties and I can come real fast under pressure." Tears stung my eyeballs.
Dammit!
Mitch stepped forward and grasped both of my elbows in his large palms. "Grace, I do know you. I've read everything about you I can get my hands on, including memorizing your résumé. You're all over the Internet. At first, it was about the job. In fact, it was about the job until the moment I locked eyes with you in that cab. At that point, something changed. It wasn't about the job anymore, and yes, it damn confused me."
"You Googled me?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Facebook, LinkedIn, Myspace...you got 'em all, Grace. Employers do that all the time. You know that. I wanted you for this job---I can't afford to hire mistakes---and I needed to find out as much about you up front. In fact, that's how I knew it was you coming out of the hotel toward the cab. Grace, I purposely got in that cab with you."
"You what?"
"I wanted to observe you in a stress situation, see how you would react."
"Damn you."
"I'm sorry. My intentions were all about the job. I didn't have it in mind for things to happen as they did. The rest was pure coincidence."
"So did I pass the test?"
"It wasn't a test."
"Sure it was. You were checking me out while I was at a disadvantage. Too bad I didn't have the same opportunity. Because I don't know one thing about you except that you are CEO of Carson Enterprises. This is finished. Good night, Mitch."
"Grace, please. I'm not ready to drop this yet."
Well, I am.
I pretended I didn't hear the pleading cadence of his voice, but of course, I did. Yeah, pleading. Men.
I closed and locked the door. Behind it, I leaned into the wood, my back flat against it, my chest heaving. After a moment, I turned and looked through the peephole. He was still there, had taken up residence on my porch wicker settee, it seemed, with his laptop open on his knees.
"Shit."
Even though I was tired from all the hoopla of the past couple of days, I stayed up way too late. Googling no less. That's right, I believe in turnabout being fair play. I'm not sure why I'd not thought of it before now. Of course, I had checked out the website for Carson Enterprises and searched to find out anything I could get my hands on about the company. I had not, however, dug into the life of its owner.
Never occurred to me to do so.
Mitch Carson, it appeared, was quite the philanthropist. He successfully managed Carson Enterprises, but his passion, it seemed, was books. In fact, he had formed a green company that worked to keep books out of landfills and put them in the hands of people who have limited access. He had projects located on the Navajo reservation in northern Arizona, one in South Africa and another in the West Virginia Appalachia.
Not a bad cause, I deduced. And since my current employer was with a non-profit educational organization, I could totally relate.
I perused through the usual social networking sites and found his Twitter account, which always focused on the books issue. Seemed to me that Mitch Carson was as heavily involved in the cause organization as much as he was in the for-profit company.
I liked that. To say the least, I was intrigued.
Still didn't give him cause to set me up like that in the cab.
Yawning, I reached to close the laptop when an email alert flashed in the bottom right hand corner of the screen.
An email, no less, from Mitch Carson.
The subject line intrigued me even more than his philanthropic efforts.
It read: Position applying for: Boyfriend.
I opened the email. The body simply said: Résumé attached.
I opened that, too, and skimmed. He'd provided every detail, including numbers of past relationships and the band award he won in eighth grade.
The grin that crossed my face was out of control. I couldn't help it. Who was this man? Really?
It didn't matter. What I'd seen and read already had my interest piqued. Truth be told, I liked everything I read.
Did he deserve a chance?
Did I?
After all, he'd come all the way out to Phoenix just to hang out on my porch.
I glanced that way. Was he still there?
"Hells bells. I'm giving in," I whispered while padding to the door in my very un-sexy cotton pajamas. I flipped on the light and opened the door. Yep. There he was, feet up on a table, head back, laptop still open.
"Are you piggy-backing on my wireless?"
Unfolding himself from his position, he stood. "It appears that I am."
I stared at the specimen that was Mitch Carson. Tall, sandy-haired, those damn blue eyes. "I got your email."
"And?"
"You go to some lengths, Carson."
"I told you, I go after what I want."
"And you want me?"
"I want a chance to get to know you. I think we have a helluva lot in common. I like you, Grace Wisdom. A lot."
Exhaling, I felt the tension ease out of my shoulders. "I don't want to work for you."
Shaking his head, he stepped forward and grasped my hands. "Grace, I need to say something. I'm not a scumbag. I was totally attracted to you in that cab, and I apologize for going a bit crazy there. That wasn't good."
"I let you," I whispered.
"I know. Let's just say we were both acting out of character."
I found myself leaning in to him. "All right."
"And one more thing about the interview. I purposely pushed the sexual innuendo because I wanted to see if you would take the bait. I prayed you wouldn't...didn't think that you were the kind of woman to sidle up to your potential boss sexually to get ahead. I wanted like hell for you to walk out that door, Grace, because I knew right then and there that hiring you for an employee was a bad idea."
"So, in a sense, that was the test."
"I want to see how you would react to the temptation, given the situation."
"I passed."
"Well, yes. Are you mad?"
Glancing off, I realized that I wasn't. "No."
"Because I wanted you for myself, Grace. Not for the company."
In the next instant, his arms closed around me, and I could feel the steady beat of his heart against my cheek. I have to say that the sensation of being held by him pretty much erased everything else that had happened up to that point.
"I could make love to you all night long, Grace, if you'd let me," he breathed into my hair.
"Don't tempt me," I whispered back.
Don't worry, it only seems kinky the first time. ~Author Unknown
Tom, Dick, and Harry
I'll admit, I was slightly drunk, tequila my liquor of choice. And true to its claim, tequila does make my clothes fall off---I just didn't think when they fell off that three sets of hungry eyes would be staring back at my naked body.
But there they were: three sets. One blue, one brown and one green.
What is that they say about variety being the spice of life?
I was about to sample variety, it looked like, in spades.
Or rather, in triplicate.
Their names? I couldn't tell you for certain, I simply called them Tom, Dick and Harry.
Tom was the blue-eyed one. He caught my eye early on in the evening, his snow-white Stetson perched over one of those sky-blue orbs as he tipped his head my way. I'd just jumped down from the bar from where I'd been dancing, the heels of my brand new, Chocolate Comanche cowgirl boots clicking on the floor as I'd landed in front of him. He peered deep into my sweaty cleavage, then pulled his twinkling gaze up to meet my eyes. Without a word, I knew as I settled myself again behind the bar, that that cowboy would be in my tight jean skirt before the night was over.
Dick sauntered up to the bar about an hour later and took up residence not too far from Tom, and directly opposite the place where I had to bend over to scoop ice. As I tended the bar, I'd occasionally have to head back to that place and refill my ice bucket, which I normally left on my workspace. Dick had a definite advantage, sitting in that spot, because when I leaned over to get the ice, he'd get a full Monty view of my breasts. And if he'd lift his green-eyed gaze a bit over my shoulder, he'd get a rearview gander of my ass in the mirror behind the bar. My ass, I was certain, that was hanging out from under my skimpy denim skirt---the one Tom was going to dive into later, remember?
Although, Dick showed promise. That was apparent when he'd pushed away from the bar and made his way to the end to give me a gentlemanly hand up when it was my turn to dance again. The bulge in his Wranglers was damned near pulsating. I accepted his help up to the bar---although I easily hopped up there every night of the week, except Sunday, with no help at all---and I peered down at him while he looked up my skirt. His bulge protruded mightily in anticipation. That's when I named him Dick.
And that's when I wondered if Tom wouldn't mind sharing.
I danced my dance then got busy serving up drinks behind the bar again, but not after I'd put back another shot of tequila with salt and lime.
Then came Harry.
Several shots of tequila now behind me and one too many shimmies up and down the bar, my pinky toes were tender in my boots, and I was feeling tired. The rowdy crowd was finally thinning, and I was feeling pretty good about my acquisition of tips for the night. The rent was due, and of course, I was behind. As usual.
It was nearing four in the morning, and Harry was just getting started, however. His black Resistol was just the thing to give him that bad boy edge. The tight Wranglers and his Tony Lama croc boots (Cognac Vintage Hornback Caiman, to be exact---I know my boots) made him damned near irresistible. After a round of gyrating in front of him with another of the girls to the song "But country girls do it better" I dropped to my knees in front of him because he'd been waving a twenty at me for about five minutes.
I leaned closer, so close I could smell his aftershave and see the five o'clock shadow of stubble on his beard. I wanted to lick the thick mustache across his upper lip and wondered how it would feel raked across my pussy.
Ah, Harry. How do you feel about sharing me with Tom and Dick?
He stuffed the twenty into my shirt, feeling up my left tit while he was there. Scooting closer to the edge, I hopped off the bar and then cried out, "last call!" I was dead tired, and yes, a little tipsy, and ready for bed. My own bed, alone, I had decided. It was fun thinking about doing each of them, but I had my pinkies to think about, so unfortunately, tonight would not be the night to experiment with a ménage a foursome...
I busied myself for a few minutes, along with the other girls, mixing up last drinks and pulling down a few drafts.
Finally, it was closing time, and I worked on cleaning up my station. But when I lifted my gaze a couple of minutes later, I saw those three sets of eyes staring back at me.
"Closing time, boys. And this girl is tired and needs to get home."
"We'll take you," Dick said.
My brow arched. "Yeah, I bet."
All three chuckled. "You a mind reader?" Harry offered.
I wondered if they'd been reading mine. "Just a tired working girl lookin' to get home. Now skedaddle. I need to clean up here."
But they were persistent.
"You've been giving all three of us the eye all evening, honey."
I didn't look up from wiping the bar down with a damp cloth. "Funny, I thought it was the other way around."
All three laughed.
"We have a proposition for you," Tom said. I glanced from him, to Dick, and then to Harry. Each one of them had a shit-eatin' grin on their face.
"Oh?"
"We think you are woman enough."
I dabbed at the counter. "Oh? Woman enough for what?"
"For all three of us."
At that moment, I knew that I'd had almost enough tequila in me to take them up on their offer. Almost.
"Just one second," I told them. Pinky toes be damned. I grabbed a shot glass off the counter, poured a hefty shot of the liquid, salted my hand and licked it away, threw back the tequila, and bit into a wedge of lime.
With a shaking hand, I swiped at my mouth.
"All right. I'm woman enough now," I said, exchanging a glance with each of them. Their shit-eatin' grins got bigger.
Before I rounded the bar, I grabbed the bottle of the tequila and took it with me.
I insisted on my place. The last thing I needed was to have to stumble and fumble my way home later this morning. Of course, it was a risk, bringing them to my apartment. Getting them to leave being that risk. But in the end, I had decided that it had to be my place, so when they did leave I could curl into myself, pull the covers up and sleep. They agreed in the truck cab during the ride. There I was, Tom on my left, driving, his hand on my knee, and me sitting on Dick's ever-bulging lap, with him holding me tight about the waist, one hand slipped inside my shirt, and Harry on my right, smoothing his big, rough hand up and down my leg.
I gave them directions, slipped Harry my key and leaned into them for a little shut-eye. The rotation of the tires on pavement in the big four-wheel drive of Tom's, not to mention the tequila, was lulling me into a pleasant state of I don't give a shit.
I barely remember being carried up the back stair to my over-the-storefront, downtown apartment. I don't even remember Harry unlocking my door. But I do remember Dick saying something like, "Honey, let's wake you up a bit. How about a nice shower?"
That's when my clothes fell off. And that's when I opened my eyes wide to see them all staring back at me. And that's when my gaze lowered to realize that the three of them were all buck naked and evidently more than primed for a few hours of fun and games.
Tom's shaft stood hugely erect, pointing straight up and nestled in a honey-brown nest of hair. He was long, that was his forte. I believe his head nearly touched his naval. Dick's cock was just---humongous. Of course, I knew that from the bulge. His balls rivaled the size of his dick, actually. Large, more than a handful for me. His cock was thick and stocky, sort of like his body. Solid. Harry stood off to the side, eyeing me like I was candy. His dark complexion and five o'clock shadow gave him an air of aloofness. Mystery. And he was hairy all over. His cock protruded straight out from wiry black pubic hairs, which were difficult to distinguish from the chest and belly full of hair he sported. Harry, for all his bad boyness, reminded me of a cuddly black teddy bear.
"Did one of you say shower?" I thought I could hear the water running. They didn't move, so I started walking toward the bathroom. Within seconds, they were following behind, panting like puppies.
I stepped in, Harry followed, then Dick, and finally Tom. I never knew my shower was so tiny. I tipped my head back to let the cool water run over my hair and closed my eyes. Soon, I felt lathered hands on my body. All six of them.
Tom had moved behind me and I was glad for his support. I leaned backward and could feel his hard cock pressed into my lower back. His hands covered both of my tits, massaging. Ah, shit. That felt so good. His lips were on my shoulder, giving me tiny nips.
The other two were skimming their hands along the lengths of my body, from tummy to toes and then back again. Their slick, soap-covered palms felt so damn good. Then one hand stopped at my pussy. I opened my eyes. It was Harry. His gaze hooked into mine and held while he slipped one thick finger up inside me.
I moaned and leaned into Tom, who held me tight.
Dick, not to be left out, sidled up next to me and grasped my chin in his fingers. His mouth clasped over mine with a deep, intense kiss, his tongue pushing its way past my lips and probing my mouth.
There I stood, in my shower, with Tom at my back playing with my tits, Dick's finger up my pussy, and Harry playing tonsil tickle in my mouth.
Harry broke away, and Tom said, "Lift her up on my cock."
Before I realized it, the boys had lifted me and sat me down square on the head of Tom's cock. He held onto me from behind as he impaled me. Harry and Dick both had my front. Tom was groaning from the rear.
"Goddamn you are tight," he said.
I couldn't argue that his long, hard cock didn't feel damn good inside me, either, but my attention was drawn to the two men standing in front of me. Dick sucking on my tit on the right, Harry on my left one. Thank God they were both there to hold me up.
They steadied me, an arm hooked under each of my thighs, and Tom thrust. I suppose him watching me longer than the others made him the horniest, I don't know, but he thrust so hard, I thought he might slip out of me. In no time, with a shout that echoed off the shower walls, and a violent shudder, he came.
I found myself sandwiched between all three men, until Tom finally relaxed and the boys let me down to the shower floor. We stood for a couple of minutes, breathing deep, and then Tom soaped up his hands and first washed his cum off me, from between my legs, and then washed himself.
We left the shower, dried off and headed for the bedroom. I had a feeling that was just an appetizer. I was ready for round, two.
My bed was not nearly large enough for three big cowboys, but we made do.
Still a bit fuzzy about the edges, I was entirely conscious of my actions. It wasn't the first time I'd brought a cowboy home from the office, but it definitely was the first time I'd brought three of 'em.
"C'mon over here, honey," Dick called from the bed. His broad body beckoned and his monster cock was more than inviting. I joined him on the bed, nuzzling up underneath his arm, one of my legs thrown over his. He cradled me in a nice, warm hug and pulled me closer to mate my lips with his. Harry came next, sidling up behind me, warming my backside. Tom sat on the foot of the bed, watching. I glanced his way.
"Coming, Tom?"
He snickered. "Name's Jerome."
"Naw," I countered. "You're my Tom."
He didn't argue and began playing with one of my feet. "I'll sit this one out, if y'all don't mind, and watch and play with these pretty little toes here."
Fine by me. I silently bet, though, that before thirty minutes was up, he'd be jerking at his cock, wishing he were back in on the action.
I turned my attention to Dick, then, and it was just about time.
Rolling over on top of him, I slid down his barrel chest until I was face-to-face with Monster Cock.
"My God, that thing could rip my pussy apart," I gasped, taking in its width close-up.
"Aw, honey," Dick said, "That's what many a girl has said, but before the night is through, their pretty little pussies are beggin' for more."
I didn't know about that, but I did know this. I wanted Monster Cock in my mouth.
"How about I suck this cock with my pretty little lips first?" Not waiting for a response, I grasped him with one hand, firmly sliding my fingers up and down, while I dragged my tongue over the slit in his head, then covered it with my lips and sucked.
"God-fuckin'-damn..."
Dick might have been a big tough cowboy, but right now, I had his entire world between my lips, and I had every intention of making him cry for his mommy before the night was through. So there I was, planted between his legs, Monster Cock firmly engaged in my mouth, my ass in the air---with Harry's hands on either of my ass cheeks, bringing up my rear. I knew he wouldn't stay out of the picture for long.
Harry rubbed his palms over my butt, saying over and over again how sweet my ass looked and how he was gonna fuck that ass while I was sucking Dick's cock. All talk and no action, I thought, and wondered when he was really going to do something about it.
I sensed him settle himself behind me, his fingers prodding and poking around back there. He'd tickle around my vagina and my asshole, as if he wasn't quite sure which one he wanted. He toyed a bit with my clit but he didn't linger for long.
I pulled Monster Cock out of my mouth for a sec. "Damn, Harry, are you gonna suck it, fuck it, or just tinker around with it? Do something, won't ya?"
Harry let out a loud guffaw. "Yes, ma'am!"
Next thing I knew, his face was in my pussy and he was tongue fucking me from behind. To borrow a phrase from Dick, God-fuckin'-damn.
I squirmed backward and Harry caught my legs and held me tight, while he sucked and plundered my pussy with his tongue. I was about to regret that tinkering comment when he found my clit and applied flicking pressure to my little bulging nub.
And the more Harry sucked and tongue-fucked, the more intense my cock sucking became. Dick's groans made it more than apparent that he was grateful for that fact.
Tension was building inside me as the three of us moved into a cohesive rhythm. A rocking rhythm that built until I literally exploded. Pants erupted from my mouth, around Dick's cock, and all I could do was experience the orgasm, leaning into him, dick in mouth, while Harry lapped up my juices from behind.
Dick didn't let me rest for long, though.
"Ride me, cowgirl," he ordered. And the thought of impaling myself on Monster Cock was no longer scary, but quite appealing. I needed to feel stretched and full. And now.
I moved up to ride his cock.
Dick helped guide the monster in. He stretched me. I opened. Success.
Ah.
I looked at Dick, and he was smiling profusely. "Good?"
"Good," he returned. I agreed.
Before I knew it, Harry was rimming my asshole and stretching that hole as well. "How about two cowboys inside you, honey. Can you take me, too?"
I didn't know. I wasn't sure if I could...
"Here." That was Tom's voice off to the left. He handed Harry a tube of lube, one that I conveniently kept on my nightstand. "Try this."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tom watch and supervise while Harry rimmed me again with a lubed finger and gently pushed inside my ass.
All the while, I'm getting used to riding Dick's big cock.
"Yehaw. Ride 'em, cowgirl."
My ass was stretching and I felt more pressure. I glanced up to see Tom handing me a shot glass. "Here honey."
Yesssss. I took the tequila and kicked it back. The warmth slid all the way through me to my belly. "Thanks."
God, Dick's cock felt good pushing up inside me. My head was spinning. And Harry was pushing and, "Oh, shit..." he was inside.
"Oh, damn."
"Okay, baby?" Harry's hot breath came from over my shoulder.
I nodded. "Fuck me, boys."
Tom couldn't stay out of the action any longer. He moved onto the bed, standing on his knees, and guess what? His cock was at exactly lip level. I latched onto it down to the hilt. Tom steadied himself (or maybe he was steadying me) with his hands on my shoulders.
Filled with cock in every hole imaginable, my body hummed with sensation and potential pleasure. My head spun with lack of comprehension. Was I really doing this?
Three men at once?
Yes. Oh, yessssss....
Stretched to the max with Dick's big cock and with Harry hunching over my ass from behind, I was beginning to wonder how disappointing sex with one man was going to be from now on.
But contemplate that I didn't, because the grunts and groans from underneath and behind me were signaling that explosive orgasms were in order, and from all three of my lovers. I braced myself for theirs, as well as my own orgasm, which was sparking heat deep in my core.
Tom came first, cum spurting out the sides of my mouth. I grabbed onto his cock for leverage as he came. Dick came next, and I swear, I could feel him surge and swell inside of me. And with that pulsation and upward thrust, he hit my G-spot and pressed, sending my own orgasm into a spin. I panted out my pleasure, my body shaking and reeling with my release. Not to be outdone by any of us, Harry grunted and thrust deep into my ass. By now, I was leaning fully onto Dick, and Harry collapsed over me, as well.
For a few seconds, a strange silence settled around us. Finally, Harry stirred and fell to the side. I eased myself off Dick and cradled myself between them. Tom wrangled his way in to place his head on my hip.
We dozed that way for a while. Then, one by one, we visited the bathroom and cleaned up, me first. Three times the cum was interesting, to say the least. While the boys were taking turns in the bathroom, and getting drinks of water in the kitchen, I decided to change the sheets. By now, I was longing for a lengthy, satisfied sleep.
I figured they'd be leaving soon.
With crisp linens on the bed, I was dying to be between them, so I slipped beneath the cool sheets. Before I realized it, I was fast asleep.
Sometime later, I woke, but not alone as I had suspected I would wake. The combination of being tired, all the sex and the tequila must have rendered me nearly unconscious, because I didn't remember any of the men joining me in my bed.
Harry was my pillow, it seemed. He lay in the middle of the bed and I was lying on my tummy on top of the big, cuddly bear. One of his hands cupped my cheek and he stroked a lock of my hair.
My eyes fluttered open to notice Tom on my left, a leg thrown over me, his hand on my butt, his fingertips dipping into the crack of my ass. That left Dick on my right, and I assumed it was his hand on my left breast, twiddling my nipple.
"I thought you boys would be gone by now," I whispered. "Don't you have some calves to rope or steers to brand or something?"
All three men chuckled.
"Not through branding you yet, woman. In fact, we were thinking about putting a big W right here on the cheek of your ass."
I lifted my head. "W?"
"For Winchester," Harry answered. "Our ranch."
Their ranch?
"You're related?"
"Cousins."
"Oh." Well, I'll be spanked. I'd landed me a trio of ranch owners.
"But we're not sure you are woman enough yet," Tom said. "We think we need to stick around a bit longer to see how well you fare."
"Um," I replied, snuggling deeper into Harry's chest. "Gonna make me earn that W, huh?"
"We're up for it, honey. And we think you are, too."
I got a mental image of them last night, standing before me, their cocks all primed and erect. "No doubt, cowboys. No doubt."
I smiled and drifted toward sleep, dreaming of a big, bad 'W' being branded on my ass.
"Think we could do a tattoo rather than a brand?" I mumbled, not sure if I was saying it out loud.
I could always blame it on the tequila.
I don't mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh God, as a woman I want to be dominated. I don't mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling, be all that I am capable of doing, but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding. ~Anais Nin
Shouldn't
I shouldn't be doing this.
My eyes closed and I leaned closer into his body, my face resting in the crook between his chin and shoulder. I inhaled, and the spicy musk of male hit my nostrils full force. Dammit. Luring me in. Inhaling deeper, I nuzzled closer, and the hard plane of his chest met the tips of my breasts sending a chilling sensation from my nipples to my belly.
Shouldn't. But was.
His fingers curled around each of my biceps, twin grips on my arms holding me steady. It was a welcome gesture. My legs were jelly.
Again, I breathed, and the heady scent of him urged me closer into his embrace. My hands snaked up to his hips, smoothed across his tummy. I lay them flat against his shirt, wanting it gone.
"It's okay," he whispered in my hair. Did he sense my reservation?
Probably.
"We'll take it slow," he added.
Slow. Sure.
I couldn't get past the sensation of being so close, how he smelled, and that he was here.
My hands still flat against his hard abdomen, I pushed him back against the wall. We still stood in the entryway, hadn't made it two feet past the door when I'd leaned into him and was lost.
Lost.
Had waited forever for this.
But now. Now what? Had I ever really expected it to get to this point?
Was this right? Had we taken things too far?
No turning back.
My lips fell to his neck, just inside his shirt collar, like they had a mind of their own. I raked them across the tender skin there and made a trail toward his collarbone. I wanted to open my mouth and suck every inch of his skin there deep inside my mouth but instead, thrust my tongue between my lips and licked along the trail my mouth had made earlier. Groaning, he leaned fully into the wall and grasped my arms tighter, hauling me up close.
My hands were caught between our bodies, and I worked them toward the buttons of his shirt.
Shouldn't be doing this.
We'd met a couple of years earlier. A brief face-to-face at a conference---I was the speaker, he was in the audience---followed by emails and a few phone calls. My card was in the conference packet. The attraction was strong from the beginning. The call of forbidden fruit likely a part of the appeal. Forbidden fruit.
That was him. Forbidden.
Married.
Shit.
I pushed back. "No."
"We've talked about this forever," he breathed into my ear.
"Alluded to it," I countered. We'd never really talked about it, just teased and flirted. Now, he was here. In my entryway. Standing real and strong and powerfully sensual in front of me.
His scent drew me in. While I should retreat, I leaned fully into him.
His hands went to my neck; his thumbs caressed my jaw line. Lifting my face, I looked deep into his eyes for the first time since he'd crossed my doorstep.
Dammit. I am crossing my personal threshold. I don't cheat with married men.
But his eyes. Blue. Piercing. Wanting.
"It's wrong, Rand." I licked my lips. "Why are you here?"
"I'm in town. Almost didn't come. Couldn't..."
Couldn't help yourself. I know.
Every inch of my skin tingled. Cupping my face in his big hands, he leaned closer and covered my mouth with his. His lips, moist and hot, seared over mine. I clung to the placket of his shirt to steady myself. With a gasp, I broke away and buried my face in his neck. He held me.
I'd been infatuated with him from the get-go.
He commanded a presence of authority and danger. Ex-military, now FBI.
Danger.
"I figured you were a big tease. All talk, no action. Looking for a quick thrill through email or phone."
We'd shared sex talk on more than one occasion.
"Would it help if I said I am as surprised as you that I am here?"
No. Doesn't help at all.
"I couldn't not come," he whispered.
My knees buckled. Thank God he still had hold of me. At once, he swept me up into his arms and headed down the hallway. I didn't say a word, just pointed toward my bedroom.
The whisper of Egyptian cotton was cool against my hot back. I wondered if a plume of steam went up as he laid me there and draped his body over mine.
Naked.
Both of us.
Dammit.
He lay over me with heat that radiated from deep in his hard-body center and bathed me with searing flesh.
Moments earlier, he had peeled my clothing off me, one agonizingly slow piece of fabric at a time; my pussy ached and throbbed with anticipation. When he covered me, I was lost in a dizzying gyration of warmth and powerlessness and desire.
I could not have moved if I had wanted.
He molded his lips over mine, and I tasted of him as wholly as I could. His lips were thick and wet and devouring mine.
Hurry. Do this. Before I back out.
His pelvis ground into me, and I could feel the length of his thick cock against my thigh. The thrill of being so intimate with that part of him took over, and my primal instincts of matching his thrusts against me took hold.
I wanted to spread for him. Oh, so badly did I want to open my body for him, let him inside, allow him to plunge over and over into the stuff that made me, me. Made me a woman.
Shouldn't.
But am.
Take the gift. Just for tonight. This night, no more, my brain cried out just before my libido took over, and all reasoning left my body.
Gift. No more.
"Goddamn, you are sweet and hot. I knew you would be," he whispered. "Knew it. All this time."
Not quite sure where he found the energy to speak, I returned simply by threading my fingers into the hair at his temples and urging my mouth upwards into his.
"Fuck me," I breathed against his teeth. "Fuck me now, Rand."
He didn't delay. The taking was fast and furious, starting out with me spreading wide for him while he took me mission style and pumped me full. Long and quick strokes, ramming me until I begged for more. Impaling me with his flesh while I raked my fingers over his back and shoulders, clung and dug in, scratched and clawed and waited for my body to explode in passion around him and for him to answer with his own pleasure.
He did. Very soon after I came. For a while, we lay there on my bed, spent. Wet and sticky. Breathing hard. Eyes closed, savoring.
After a moment he spoke. I looked at him, and his eyes were still closed, his face pointing toward the ceiling. "Now that we have that over with," he began, "you must know that this is the last time you will tell me to fuck you, Claire. Do you understand me?"
I watched his unmoving profile.
I did understand. It was exactly as I had told myself. This was one night. A gift. He understood that, too.
"Yes," I told him.
He turned onto his side, eyes open, looking at me now. "I am not sure that you do."
I must have shot a puzzled look his way because there was a slight twitch in his right eyebrow. Other than that, his face remained stoic.
"What?"
"You enjoyed that."
I nodded.
"As did I."
That pleased me to no end. Insane, I knew, but it pleased me that I pleased him.
He peered deeper into my eyes, leaning further into me. "The pleasure that I can give to you can be four times or more what you experienced tonight, my pet, if you want it." He reached to tease a nipple, lazily dragging his finger around the hard pebble.
If I wanted it?
"I... I don't understand. I thought you were going to say this was our only time. That there would be no more after tonight."
His head began a slow shake back and forth. My stomach clutched.
"I can provide you with pleasure untold," he said again, "and the only thing you have to do is accept."
Not understanding, I opened my mouth to speak.
Rand placed a forefinger over my lips.
"Do not speak." He leaned closer, and his hot breath steamed against my cheek. "Do not say a word until I say, until I allow it."
There was something strangely exhilarating and frightening about what was happening. The way he said those last words... I knew he had not said them casually, but with intent. I was not to speak until he said.
I was to...obey?
Stroking my face now, he traced from my temple to my chin, one side and then the other. His touch was light, sensuous, and the mere stroke of the pads of his fingertips against my skin turned me on.
"Lay still," he told me. "Close your eyes."
My eyes were already heavy-lidded, so that was no problem. His fingers took a dip lower to my chest and trailed the valley between my breasts. He moved lower as if he were painting with feathers on my belly, progressing to the vee between my legs.
That was when the feather light touches were no more.
"Spread."
I did. I was still sticky with his cum. He palmed my pussy and rubbed the sticky stuff all over me. He slipped his middle finger inside and pumped me some more, priming more of his cum out of me. Tucking my right thigh underneath his torso, I was now wide open to him. Not to mention immobile and vulnerable.
"Eyes closed." His words were sterner than before. An odd sensation raced up from my pussy to my breasts.
"Your pussy was bad." His voice was a pitch higher than before and a little ominous. "Wanting to be fucked so soon." And without delay, Rand slapped me right between the legs with the flat of his palm. "Bad pussy. Have to get this pussy under control."
I reacted by lurching forward at the sting with an "Oh!"
He responded with his left arm pushing me back against the pillows and his body leaning into me. "I said do not speak!"
Then he spanked my pussy again. Hard. And again!
The thrill that scrolled up through me with each swat of his hand against my now hot pussy flesh was foreign and pleasant and, dammit, I didn't want him to stop.
"Bad pussy! Bad. Bad. Bad!"
Over and over. My pussy flesh stung with the slap of his hand. My clit felt like it was as big as his thumb, almost ready to burst. The more he slapped me the higher the intensity of my growing orgasm. I huffed out breath after breath and relished in the feel of his hot and heavy body pinning me against the bed and the stinging of his hand against my pussy.
I balled up the sheets in my hands, and my body clenched. I was close. So close to a powerful orgasm, and for the briefest moment, his words flashed through my mind.
Pleasure untold.
Ah. Is this what he meant?
I was on the brink, just ready to go over the edge... Then he stopped.
All at once, he rose from the bed and suspended touching me. I writhed with frustration and words that wouldn't come. Wha---Wha---?
"Look at me."
I struggled to open my eyes. My body needed release.
"Look at me."
I did.
"Go take a shower," he said. "Clean up. And if you touch yourself, I will leave and never come back."
"Wha---?"
"Do not talk. Take your shower. Make a choice. Touch your pussy and give yourself pleasure for tonight, or refrain and submit, and the pleasure will be forever yours. Your choice."
He walked away.
I lay on the bed, my breathing coming faster than I realized, my brain devoid of thought. Couldn't...think. After a moment, I rose and went to the shower.
Submit.
Shouldn't.
I paused as I stepped into the shower and turned to take in my reflection in the mirror. My tits flushed, much like my cheeks, sporting a light pink glow. They were full and heavy, my small, dark areolas peaked and taut.
Hair disheveled, of course, and makeup smudged, I squared myself in front of the mirror to get a full look at myself, slowly perusing from the tips of my areolas to the small patch of hair at my pelvis. I felt the strange cross-sensation of orgasmless and stinging flesh. The area all around my pussy was red, and there were definite handprints where he'd slapped so hard against the juncture of thigh and pubic area.
My pussy lips were swollen and I knew if I investigated further, spreading my lips apart, I would likely find that swollen nub between them.
I touched myself then quickly drew away.
No.
Think, Claire. Think. Get in the shower and think.
The stream of water was hot and pelted against me like tiny punishing pellets. They rained against my skull and back, and slowly my pent-up body relaxed. My brain cleared as I stood and let the beating water erase the cacophony of thoughts and conversations going on inside my head---all conversations with myself.
Do not give up who you are, Claire, for an orgasm.
But I've been so lost the past few years.
Not lost enough to give up your freedom.
He's not asking for me body and soul, is he?
Who knows where it might go.
No, surely he's only looking for occasional diversion. Don't think about the wife. This would be different, wouldn't it?
How so?
It would not be a relationship. I would not be a threat. I would know the terms.
No, it would be a possession.
Possession.
Somehow, that does feel different. Different. Right?
It did feel different.
With urgency now, I lathered the soft soap into my hands and smoothed my palms over my skin, taking care to only slightly skim over my pussy enough to wash it and nothing else. Out of the shower, I dried and applied lotion to my legs and arms, pulled a comb through my wet hair, and stared a moment at myself in the mirror.
This will be okay.
Naked, I stepped into my bedroom. Rand was nowhere to be found. Uncertain, my body pulsed with anticipation. Had he left? Was he still somewhere in the house? What was I to do now? I stepped more fully into the room and glanced toward the door. Should I?
No. He'd told me to shower but had left no further instructions.
I should stay here. I returned to the bed and lay down.
Wait. I'll wait. Be patient.
Turning to my side, I closed my eyes, my mind playing over the past couple of hours. Somehow, the waiting felt like the right thing to do. Pressing my thighs tight together, I strained to ignore the growing sensation there as my body and mind stilled and my pussy hummed. Mind over matter. Easy to say yet the matter between my legs would argue.
I woke to an awareness of someone near. My eyes snapped open, and I was instantly awake.
Rand stood over me, staring down, his hands on my knees.
Leaning closer, he breathed, "Good girl, Claire. You waited."
I nodded.
He smiled, one corner turning up. I decided right then and there that I'd do just about anything to have that smile flashed back at me on a regular basis. I liked having his approval.
He rolled into the bed on top of me. "Do as I command, Claire, and the pleasure is all yours."
Somehow, I knew that wasn't quite the truth. He got a helluva lot of pleasure out of being the dominant male that he was.
I, well, after living an assertive and borderline control freak life for most of my years, was extremely happy to give up the control in this one area.
I lowered my gaze and didn't look him in the eye. It felt like the thing to do.
"We shall grow into this, Claire. Together."
I nodded.
"Close your eyes."
Within seconds my wrists were cuffed and bound overhead to my iron headboard, my ankles followed soon thereafter. I lay spread-eagle on the bed, open, exposed and ready to receive.
"I will never hurt you, Claire," came the hot, whispered breath at my ear.
Hurt was the furthest thing from my mind.
That's when Rand settled between my thighs, and he pleasured me with his tongue and fingers all night, continually bringing me to the edge and back again, playing my body like it was a finely tuned fiddle...stringing me out until my orgasm was on the edge of spilling over, then pulling away his pleasure for several agonizing minutes until he started again.
Finally, deep in the night, he allowed me to explode. My body broke into a trillion tiny pieces as it did so; the convulsions seemed to go on forever.
Forever.
It was the longest, most intense orgasm I'd ever experienced.
Once my body decided to calm, Rand undid the straps at my ankles and wrists and gathered me into his arms. He pulled the covers up over us and wrapped us into a tight cocoon. His big hands splayed over me, holding and caressing as he cooed into my ear.
"You're mine now, Claire. Mine," he said softly, over and over again.
Shouldn't. But am.
I am his. Yes.
"You will need to be trained."
"Yes. Yes, sir," I whispered, relishing in the feel of this warmth that radiated between us. I felt not only warm, but safe. Very safe.
"No turning back now."
"No. No turning back."
Nodding, he pulled back and looked at me with the same stoic expression as before. The intensity of his gaze drew me to him like nothing I'd ever experienced.
I was his, and I liked it. Welcomed it. Somehow, I felt strangely secure and protected because of it. Perhaps that's what I needed more than anything.
There were no more words. I slept in his arms until waking and lay there until he told me it was okay to rise.
I need someone physically stronger than me... I am always on top. It's really unfortunate. I am begging for the man that can put me on the bottom. Or the woman. Anybody that can take me down. ~Angelina Jolie
Pussy-Whipped
Cats fascinate me.
I believe that if one were to do a study on cat behavior, and then apply those principles to everyday living, the world would be a better place. Or better yet, perhaps as individuals, we would be much healthier beings.
For example, cats wake every morning with a wide yawn and a thorough stretch. They move slowly from their bed, wander to their dish, perhaps linger in their cat pan for a while, then mosey to another spot in the sun and lay down again. Morning nap.
Life as a cat.
As opposed, I jump out of bed, dash to the shower, (yes, sometimes I pee in the shower and brush my teeth there, too, to save time---I know, gross), then reheat yesterday's coffee in the microwave and rush with ten-thousand others toward the office.
Life in the rat race.
I long for a warm spot in the sun.
I've been watching my cats a lot of late. Perhaps, in a way, I have been doing my own study of sorts. They are kittens, actually, and the longer they are together, they more they appear to be one being. The vet told me when I brought the second one home from the shelter to rub one with a towel, then the other, and back and forth, so their scents would mingle. I did that. Once. They took it from there.
They often lay entwined, lazy, sated and content. Sometimes it is difficult to tell where one kitten begins and the other leaves off, their coloring so similar. Black, white, orange, tan. One is a calico, a beautiful cat with large splotches of color, sporting a striking white chest and a black freckle on her cheek---the other a tortoiseshell, with all the same colors but her markings make her look more like a lovely tweed coat. She does boast of one solid tan leg. When napping, their languid postures with paws and legs wrapped around each other, the kittens, both female, sleep together without regard to anything but comfort and pleasure.
Watching them, I begin to wonder if that is how it is with women lovers. Their scents mingled, their limbs entwined, lazy and languid, content and sated. Never a care to whether their laying together is right or wrong.
Just is.
And never a worry about whether their asses look too big or if their pussies were tight enough. Or if the guy was disappointed because you didn't swallow.
Maybe. What the hell do I know about it?
Having never been with a woman---or even considered it much, to be honest, until recently---this is a foreign, but intriguing thought. I'm a young woman still (I'm thirty-five, and I do consider that young) and experienced in the ways of the flesh. Male flesh. Or my own flesh. I know my own body quite well, and how to pleasure it. As well, I know how to please that of the opposite sex.
Oh, my girlfriends and I, on occasion, have chatted about what it would be like to be with a woman---sexually, you know. I'd always spout something off like, "I'd be continually looking for the penis!"
I do like a hard stiff cock. I wonder what it would be like making love with someone without a cock. I've tried to imagine. I love the sensation of being filled between my legs with another's rigid flesh.
Of course, I know there are many ways to pleasure.
The Lovers, I've now decided to call my kittens, are playing a game of chase. I watch and smile. The Torti, from the beginning the more submissive of the kittens, lies in wait at the edge of the sofa. Her hindquarters twitch and shiver. She anticipates the pounce.
The calico, I call her Callie, stalks along the top ridge of the couch. One paw in front of the other. Slowly. Without sound.
Torti waits, watching around the corner.
Callie leaps from above, and poor Torti jumps and runs. Callie tackles her and they roll across the carpet. Torti leaps and dashes again, this time for the kitchen table. Cat and mouse. Er, cat and cat. One huge leap. Callie follows. They sail across the table and land in the sunny love seat next to the window. They wrestle. Torti is down. Callie is on top.
They bat. Stop. Bat again.
Torti relaxes, and Callie wins.
They cuddle in the sun.
Hazelnut coffee sloshed over the side of my cup and onto the back of my hand. "Dammit." Another rush hour navigated, another day starting off like horses from the gate, another freakin' headache.
I set the cup on my desk, shook coffee off my hand, and heaving a sigh, reached for a tissue. With near simultaneous action, I opened my day planner and then tapped control-alt-delete on my keyboard. Wiping coffee from my hand, I reached for the phone. Voice mail was blinking.
Messages came through on both email and voice mail while I took notes in my planner, scanned today's to-dos, and tried to focus on my "daily positive," a quote for the day that my planner offered up. I chuckled remembering how excited I was when I bought that version of planner---the daily positives. Sheesh. I barely had time to read them.
Within the span of forty-five seconds, I had managed to get a handle on the immediate fires that needed putting out.
So begins the multi-tasking.
Staring at the planner, slightly overwhelmed at all that needed to be done today, I rubbed my temple.
"It is too early in the day to have a headache."
Glancing up, I watched Vanessa Brody take a step into my office. I wondered how long she had been standing there. Watching me? Damn, she was stealth. Kind of like Callie.
She strode quietly toward my desk, one black, high-heeled foot in front of the other, one slow but determined step at a time.
Her gaze never left mine. That is, until I let mine drop and play over her outfit.
Soft, filmy blouse with small ruffles lining the placket, buttoned down low enough to reveal a subtle hint of cleavage. The lavender blouse was tucked into a silver-gray pencil skirt. I imagined there was a jacket to match that skirt carefully hung on the hanger, dangling from the hook behind her office door. An opaque set of pearls circled her neck and flowed over the rise of her breasts.
"Vanessa." I nodded a hello. My throat was tight.
Vanessa came to us a month earlier, the first female CFO we'd had in the company. Although there was really nothing significant about females CFOs---they were a dime a dozen, generally---but for this company that consisted mostly of men, it was an anomaly.
I, in fact, was also an anomaly. Vanessa and I were two of five women employed by Danner & Cole Engineering, a small firm of about a hundred people (yeah, in our world that is small) that worked mostly with federal contracts. Being the sole, female mechanical engineer on staff, I led a team of a dozen younger men all bound to do my bidding, so they could take my place once I screw up.
Or so, I'd overheard once. Men talk, you know.
Screw them.
I reached for my coffee cup. "Not enough caffeine yet."
Vanessa laid a short stack of papers in front of me. Monthly financials, it looked like. Then she did an interesting thing---she stopped my hand from picking up the coffee. "You really should slow down on the caffeine, Lyric."
My brain was more than a little confused. Why she would stop me from taking a sip of coffee, or suggest that I slow down on my intake, I didn't know. But her soft hand resting on mine, her plum-colored, manicured fingers neatly curved into my palm, caused my thoughts to jumble.
I liked her hand there.
And I liked the way my name, Lyric, rolled off her Latin tongue.
Without hesitation, I pulled my hand away and laid it in my lap, unsure why it was shaking. "I'm fine, Vanessa. Thanks for the report. I'll take a look and get back with you later in the day."
She stood over me as I sat in my desk chair. Risking a glance up, my gaze caught hers. Or perhaps, hers caught mine. Eyes as green as the emerald wing chair behind her, they sparkled back. "I'll look forward to that," she said.
She left, and I collapsed back into my chair and breathed. My hand still shook.
Fuck.
Sometime later in the day, much later if I admit it, I rose from my desk and blinked my eyes. I'd been staring too long at diagrams and reports. The headache had not gone away. Glancing out my office window, I knew it was after five. I could tell by the way dusk was settling already and how the steady beam of traffic lights raced by on the interstate a few blocks away.
Snatching my coffee cup, I started for the kitchen, noting only a few lights left on in the offices down the hall. I'd been so engrossed in my work today I'd barely spoken to a soul. No wonder I feel like an outsider, I told myself. I treat them all the same way.
A half pot of coffee still sat on the Bunn coffeemaker. Good. With mostly men around, I could be about guaranteed that no one would clean it up until next morning, when the early morning pot had to be brewed. I poured myself a cup, tore the top off a little blue packet of sweetener and slid the cup into the microwave to reheat.
While standing there waiting, I grasped the back of my neck, trying to ease away some of the tension there.
"Here. Let me."
The voice came from behind. I didn't have to turn around to know it was Vanessa. My back twitched a little.
"What?" I semi-turned.
She brushed my hair over one shoulder, smoothing her palm over it. Her cool fingertips wandered and began a slow knead at the back of my neck.
"Relax, Lyric," she said softly. "I'm not going to bite."
Oh, please don't go there.
"I know that," I said. Still, I responded with a slight jerk to my right.
She angled herself closer and brought her other hand to my shoulder. "You didn't come out of that office all day."
"Sure I did. I came out for coffee and to pee, at least twice."
Vanessa laughed, and even though I was still looking straight ahead, I imagined her head tossed back with her long black mane billowing down her back, her face lit up with pleasure.
I relaxed a bit.
Vanessa's hands slipped from my neck to my shoulders and squeezed.
Now, normally I'm not a touchy-feeling kind of girl. In fact, I don't like people touching me much at all, but for some odd reason, once I got used to them being there, I didn't mind Vanessa's fingers running over my skin one bit. No, not one iota.
Submit.
"Oh, yes." That did feel good. I had no clue I was so tense.
"Finally," she whispered. "Your shoulders are like bricks. Goodness, Lyric, you need some down time."
I need something.
Later, Torti slept next to me in her favorite spot on the ottoman, snuggled up next to my calf. She'd curled herself into a ball and lay partially beneath a crocheted afghan covering my legs. Callie joined us and my eyes lifted from the book I was reading, watching. She quietly moved toward her feline friend and lay down next to her, laying one paw aside her neck as if in an embrace. Moving closer, she lifted her face to Torti and eased her nose closer to hers. She sniffed. So did Torti. They shared a moment, a brief tapping of noses together, like they were sharing a soft, intimate kiss.
Then Callie reached out with her tongue and began licking behind Torti's ear. Long, liquid licks, her pink tongue darting in and out.
Torti squirmed a little and lay on her back. Callie moved over her and continued giving Torti her bath, laving lick after lick on her soft, shiny fur. Soon both cats slowly repositioned, and Torti began licking Callie back, both animals now intent on their purpose, pawing gently and licking each other. Oblivious to anything going on around them, they were only engrossed in each other.
I thought of Vanessa.
There is a bar down the street from the office. I only visit it on days when I feel like my life is out of control. It's called Sam's Place, and guess what, you got it, the bartender's name is Sam. Or so, that's what he tells everyone. I have a feeling that the owner probably bought the establishment from some guy back in the nineties and his name was Sam. But who cares? I can get draft beer and on a really bad day, a nice, smooth bourbon-on-the-rocks.
This evening, my now empty glass rattles with cubes and reeks of Woodford Reserve. As do I, likely. I'd left my car in the office parking garage, since Sam's was just a few blocks away, and I knew that I would be calling myself a cab when the night was through.
In fact, I handed Sam the Bartender my keys. "Put those somewhere, okay?" I told him. Even though I didn't know for sure, or not, if his name was Sam, I trusted him and had left my keys with him on more than one occasion. I'd come back the next afternoon, right after he opened, and retrieve them so I could drive home. I had a spare house key hidden under a rock outside my front door.
I know, both stupid and very cliché.
Sam smiled and took the keys. He was handsome for an older guy, but I'd never been attracted, even though he'd come on to me a few times. Didn't know exactly what it was about him, maybe it was because he had a dick.
Lately, I didn't seem to be interested in dicks.
Sam replaced my bourbon and rocks with a new one, and I smiled back, tipped up my glass and took another smooth sip. Straightening, I glanced behind me to a crowd shoving into the door. Three cocky dicks, pushing in and laughing, and, ah...one sweet pussy made an entrance.
Vanessa.
Shit.
I was in no mood for Vanessa.
She'd never come on to me. Not really. It was just the subtle innuendo and the uncomfortable desire she stoked inside of me whenever she drew near. Uncomfortable only because it was foreign, I guess. I suppose I was battling a little inside myself, being attracted to a woman.
I didn't even know for certain if she was a lesbian, or not. Maybe she was bi-sexual. There were rumors, but I didn't care. She was always nice to me and never acted in an inappropriate manner. We'd always kept it professional. The thing was I couldn't explain to myself why I was drawn to her.
Because I was. Am.
And fighting it.
I glanced at Sam, who was busy serving up drinks. I should call a cab.
"Fancy meeting you here, Lyric. This seat taken?"
Yeah, fancy.
My gaze shifted to the mirror behind the bar. Vanessa looked me straight in the eyes. Shaking myself, I glanced her way. "No. No." Then I stood. "Never expected to see you in this kind of place," I muttered.
She smiled. "Must be fate."
Sure, a chance encounter. Right.
Why in the hell did she intimidate me? I am a woman unused to intimidation.
"I'm on my way out, Vanessa. Sorry. See you at the office." I yelled at Sam. "Call me a cab, Sambo?"
I avoided looking at her and backed up.
She caught my wrist. That's when I looked directly into her face.
"Lyric." She drug out the word, like a song from her mouth. Dammit.
"Vanessa, I was just leaving. Heading to the restroom now before the cab comes. I'm a little too drunk to..."
Didn't want to finish that sentence. To what? Face my attraction to you?
I darted away, snatching my hand from her grip. Resisting a glance behind me, I stumbled to the little girl's room (yeah, stumbling pretty much sums it up after four short glasses of bourbon) and found an empty stall.
Closing the door, I leaned into it. Safe in here, it felt like. My cheek rested against the cool metal door. I didn't need to pee. Or did I? Wasn't sure. Just needed to get away.
My breathing came awfully fast. So, I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled. Again. I counted my breaths, in and out, in and out, until they slowed and my heart stopped beating so erratically.
"I can't believe I practically ran from her."
Insane. This was insane. Likely, Vanessa had no interest in me whatsoever. It's all in my head.
Pushing back from the door, I stood for a second, eyes closed, and gathered myself about me. The cab should be here by now. I made my plan. Walk out of the restroom, straight through the bar, and into the cab. No eye contact. No conversation.
I let myself out of the stall and glanced toward the bathroom door. A wavy shadow blocked my way.
"Hello, Lyric."
The breath whooshed out of me. "Vanessa..."
I leaned against the sink, suddenly exhausted. Of what? The day? Too much bourbon? Fighting my infatuation?
Before I realize it, she was standing square in front of me, one of her soft palms lifting my face to hers.
"When are you going to stop running from me, huh?" She pawed at my face, massaging her fingers over my temples, smoothing back the fine hairs from my forehead. Her voice was low and breathy, and I could smell her sweet scent as she drew closer. "You've been under a lot of pressure lately, Lyric, and you get way too stressed...get way too drawn into your work. You take it all so seriously."
She's right. I do. "I have to, Vanessa." My voice rose a bit.
With a forefinger placed over my lips, she silenced me. "Shsh. Not now."
"Then what?"
She didn't hesitate. "This."
She didn't rush. Didn't push herself up against me too close. Didn't rake her hands over my body or slam me up against the wall. She simply grasped my chin between thumb and forefingers, leaned in, touched her nose against mine, hesitated and kissed me square on the lips.
For the briefest moment, my head spun. Kissing soft lips, a woman's lips, was quite different. They were moist and plump, and she dragged them over mine in a manner I could only discern was meant to claim. And when her lips stopped moving, her tongue slipped between them and she feathered the tip of it from one corner of my mouth to another, briefly mingling it with mine.
My hands were at the sink. Gripping.
The sensation that shot through me was foreign. Exciting. Desired.
Vanessa shifted and moaned, rubbing herself closer, stretching her body's length against every inch of mine, our breasts crowding each other. My nipples reacted, and I knew they were pebble hard. I had a mental image in my drunken mind of Vanessa's tits and mine, nipple to erect nipple, toying and playing...
"Let me ease the tension, Lyric," she breathed, hot against my neck. "Let me. You know there is something between us..."
Something. Yes.
Confused at the pleasure I felt and my warped sense of sensuality, coupled with a bourbon-induced haze, I couldn't figure out what I should or shouldn't be feeling. Part of me wanted to relax and go with the flow. The other part wanted to fight, push her away, be appalled.
Her hand snaked to my hip, moved to my thigh, started bunching my skirt up in her fist.
Attracted. I am. To Vanessa.
Something unleashed in me. Broke through the haze. I leaned forward and grasped a lock of her hair in each hand, threading the length through my fingers. Pulling her close, I deepened the kiss, urging her lips to respond to mine. Her hands grappled lower, pushing my skirt up around my thighs. A fingertip lazily dragged over my panties. I shivered from that small touch.
Vanessa grasped me harder with her other arm, holding me close. "I want to touch you," she hissed, and her fingers slipped beneath the sheer fabric. "I want to touch your hot, hot puss, slip my finger inside. Let me touch you, Lyric..."
I had to lean into her then. Weak, too weak, to stand. Caught between the vanity sink and Vanessa's on-fire body. Her finger scrolled its way into my panties and raked across the soft hairs of my mound. Gasping, I clutched her, our mouths still playing over one another. Then I felt her slender forefinger slip inside my pussy.
I thought I would die.
"Vanessa..." I breathed.
"Shsh," she cooed against my lips. "No talk. Not now. Let me. Lean on me."
I did. I lay my head against her shoulder, found myself nibbling at her ear and laving slow, lazy licks over her neck. Her finger probed and then found my clit. Hot and wet, I was sure, she tickled and toyed and within seconds, I exploded.
"Ah. Shit. Vanessa."
One hand was still entwined in her hair. I clutched and shuddered, pulled her to me. Leaned into her. Gave it over.
After a moment, Vanessa slipped her finger out, straightened my panties and my skirt and pulled back while angling my face toward hers. She looked at me, deep and square in the eyes, and held that stare for an uncomfortable length of time.
Unable to keep the connection, I broke away and pushed from the sink. Dodged her as she gasped, stepped back and called my name. I paused for only a moment, risking one last look at her. Then I left.
God, she was beautiful.
Sam nodded toward the door as I tripped around the bar toward the entrance. My cab was there. Thank God. Reaching in my purse, I shoved a wad of bills his way. "Hope this covers it. If not, I'll pay you the rest when I pick up my keys tomorrow."
"Sure thing, Lyric. Be careful. I called Stoker."
Good.
The crisp fall night bit at my face upon leaving the bar. I glanced left and saw the yellow cab waiting, stumbled toward it, opened the door and fell inside.
"Get me the hell out of here, Stoke." Brad Stoker was my regular cabbie. Enough said. "Home."
"Yes, ma'am."
I relaxed in the seat.
"She coming, too?"
"Wha---?" A quick glance out the window and I saw Vanessa moving toward the car. She stopped when our gazes connected. "No. No."
Stoke moved the cab forward. I watched Vanessa's eyes until I couldn't see them anymore.
My shower beckoned.
I let myself in with the key under the rock and waved at Stoke as he left. Was it a bad thing I had a friendly relationship with the cabbie who deposited me on my doorstep when I was too drunk to drive?
No. Definitely not.
The shower did wonders for my fuzzy head, and clarity set in pretty damned quick. I'd just gotten fingered up by a woman in a bar restroom. Whoa... Wrapping my Kimono style robe about me, I moved through the living room toward the kitchen, raking my fingers through my hair. Pushing the thought out of my head until I could wrap my brain around what had happened earlier.
A glass of water, an aspirin, and bed. All three were calling me.
Avoidance. I know. I'm good at it.
I flipped the knob on my stereo as I went by. Ah, good. Norah... Sweet, bluesy and sultry.
At the sink, Callie weaved in and out of my legs while I pulled down a glass. Torti jumped onto the counter---she loves watching the water run. I whisked her off to the floor, as is my usual habit. Of course, no matter how much I do not want the kittens on my kitchen counter, I know they sneak up there when I am gone.
Bad kitties.
For the moment, however, they both indulged me and stayed down, circling my ankles and rubbing up against my damp legs. Torti put her tongue on my lower calf and licked off a drop or two. She loved to do that.
I didn't like it. Not really.
"No, Torti." I'd read somewhere that you shouldn't let cats or dogs do that. That they liked the salts in the soap residue that was left on your skin, but that it wasn't good for their insides. "No, baby."
I scooped her up into my arms and gave her a hug. Torti was the huggy, snuggly one. She never resisted my cuddles. Unlike Callie who always backed off at my advances. Oh, she'd act like she wanted some affection. Like now, rubbing up against my legs, but at the last minute she'd get skittish, bat at me, and pull away.
Unsure still. Reserved. Even though I secretly know she wants me to cuddle her, just like I cuddle Torti.
I let Torti drop to the floor and stared into the sink. My stomach clutched.
Oh. Damn.
I'm like Callie. Backing off at Vanessa's advances. Even though deep inside I know that I want her affection.
I do.
Does she know that, too?
I ran some water in my glass and took a sip. My front doorbell rang.
The Lovers padded toward the sound.
"We need to talk, Lyric."
She stood framed in my doorway, a sight to behold. Her long hair was tossed over one shoulder. Her red lips were moist and inviting, and her eyes were speaking...no, almost pleading with me to let her in. Their sea green hue caught my gaze and held, and I knew I couldn't close the door.
Glancing behind Vanessa, I watched the tail end of a yellow cab leave my driveway. Fucking traitor, Stoker.
Sighing, I closed my eyes and motioned her inside.
Shit. Moment of truth?
What is the truth?
Damn if I know.
I closed the door and glanced Vanessa's way, our gazes skidding sideways as I passed. She followed me into the living room. "I was about to get some water. Can I get you anything?"
She didn't speak. A crawling sensation moved up my back.
"Lyric, turn around."
Closing my eyes, I stopped in my tracks and gave myself a second, breathing in and out. One cleansing breath.
I turned.
Vanessa stood just inches behind me. "What I would like, Lyric," she began softly, "is for you to slow down and stop running from me. I can chase for a while, but sooner or later, I'll get frustrated and find other prey."
Prey?
"I didn't know I was prey."
"Figure of speech."
"No. No. What do you mean by that, Vanessa?"
She drew closer. "Lyric. I've been providing you with subtle---and maybe not so subtle---hints for a couple of weeks now. I'm extremely attracted to you. I want..."
"I'm not gay."
Her chin lowered, and she gazed at me from beneath hooded, black-lined lids. One corner of her glossy red lips turned up in a sexy smirk. "I am."
"I assumed."
"And you are..."
"Confused." I tilted my chin.
"Because you are attracted to me."
"Yes."
"And you are curious?"
"I'm curious about making love without a penis."
A laugh escaped Vanessa's lips. Her hands went about my waist, and she tugged me closer. "My sweet Lyric," she whispered at my lips, her eyes searching mine, "you are a gem. I assure you, darling, that I can make up for the lack of a penis." She drew back a bit and stared into my face. "Lyric, I want you, but I also want you to know that I don't do this casually. I have feelings for you, in addition to the sexual attraction. I want you to know that."
"Vanessa, I..."
"Shsh, my sweet." Again, she placed a finger on my lips, just as she had done in the bar, "don't think too much. It causes your brain to send strange messages to your heart."
My heart. Right now, I wasn't thinking much about my heart. I was thinking more about how my pussy was tingling at her nearness.
"Come." She grasped my hand and led me toward the couch. "Come sit with me. Let's just..."
She sat and pulled me onto the sofa. We both sank into it, and as we did so, her arm went about me. I moved into her body as if I was meant to be there, and I laid my head on her shoulder. She cupped my face with her palm.
"You're a hard worker, Lyric. You rush to be better than the next guy. Nothing wrong with working hard, if you let yourself play some, too." She paused a moment, threading her fingers through my damp hair. "The stress will eat you up if you let it."
She was right. I knew that.
But this wasn't about stress. It was about something else entirely.
I didn't want to talk about it, really. I didn't want to talk at all. Talking would only screw things up. What I wanted, at that moment, was for her to continue playing with my hair. "Hold me," I said softly, while slipping my arms around her waist. That was all I wanted to say.
"You smell heavenly," came her soft voice a few moments later. I had drifted off, dozed, still under the influence of bourbon chased by a hot shower and calmed by her nearness and warmth. Her lips were close to my ear, and I remained still, waiting, savoring the sensation of her steady, moist breath against my skin, enjoying the nearness of her mouth.
Her breathing came in rhythm.
In. Out. In. Out.
Like a heartbeat.
Steady and certain. Steady and certain.
Shifting, I angled my face toward hers, and our mouths brushed. Vanessa's hand left the length of hair she'd been stroking and palmed my cheek. I sank further into the sofa and her embrace, and we kissed.
Velvet lips rubbed over mine, wet and warm and tasting of cinnamon. A ribbon of something foreign---something wild and free and sensual---began a slow uncoiling behind my breastbone. It sizzled and popped and sprang to life as she deepened the kiss, and I found myself responding with urgency. I wanted to open up my chest and take Vanessa inside of me. I loved how she was making me feel.
My body was like an unbridled electrical current...like it had been held at bay for way too long (perhaps a lifetime?) and was now being set free.
Free.
Tension dissolved in my chest. My body became languid, ready to be plied and molded, while Vanessa's lips moved to my neck, made a lazy, licking trail over my collarbone, and began a southerly route toward my breasts.
I found myself falling back against the sofa seat while she lay sprawled on top of me.
"Such a wicked little fox..." she breathed, pulling the sash of my Kimono away from my waist, the sides of the robe falling open and revealing my breasts. She took one of my heavy tits in each palm. Yes, I was endowed. "Lovely," she muttered, fondling.
She twiddled with both of my nipples, tugging and rolling until they were pebble hard. I closed my eyes against the sensation that pulled from those tips and made a beeline toward my pussy.
I heard moaning and realized it was coming from my own lips.
"Yes, my sweet..."
I felt a tug at my waist, which piqued my curiosity.
"Be still, Lyric," Vanessa said. "This may make things a bit easier."
The silk sash was zipped from beneath me. I opened my eyes long enough to realize that Vanessa was reaching to place the sash around my eyes.
The silk was cool, and it felt nice. Gently, but firmly, she tied the sash snug at the side of my head.
"Okay?"
I nodded. Yes. I was definitely okay.
Not seeing was nice. I didn't know what was happening next. I could simply wait and anticipate. I could just let it happen. Sort of like it was out of my control.
Sort of.
I could wonder. Imagine. Feel.
My mind's eye concentrated on her hands, palms flat against my skin, skimming down the sides of my waist to my hips, smoothing over my belly, sliding down my thighs. Vanessa moved lower and I was certain I could feel her breath against my pussy. I shivered and she sighed. I heard it quite clear. It was a sigh of contentment, of pleasure. Of desire.
She desired me. Yes.
And I her.
Fingers tucked between my thighs and spread them.
"Open for me, Lyric," Vanessa demanded. And for once, I didn't want to be in control. I didn't want to be the woman in charge. I wanted to lay back and let someone else be the boss.
"Take me, Vanessa..." I would plead if that was what she wanted me to do.
"When I take you, I just may tame you, darling. Is that okay with you? You may like being tamed, my little pussycat. You may like being won over by a cunt instead of a dick." Her breath was warm against my flesh. I was open and exposed and could sense and feel her lips so close to my pussy.
Vanessa's lips. A woman's.
"Tame me."
"Lyric... You are sure?"
My pussy throbbed at her nearness. "Touch me, Vanessa. Please. Do something... Don't make me wait. I..."
Her fingertips parted my pussy lips and the tip of something firm and wet and pointed laved over my clit. Then stopped.
"You've already come once tonight, Lyric, and it was way too fast. This time, I will take my time."
Time. We had time, right...?
Her mouth claimed me.
Her tongue won me over.
Long, liquid licks circled my cunt, tracing around my hole, and dipping inside my vagina. A hand slipped under my ass and she fiddled with my asshole while licking me. Her swipes against my flesh were determined and calculated. Practiced, perhaps. As if she knew exactly what I wanted, what would turn me to jelly.
Panting, with small breaths escaping my throat, I wanted to lurch forward and grasp her...but was hesitant. Passion roiled inside my belly, behind my pelvic bone, aching to be set free.
Free.
Aching to be set free.
"Vanessa," I breathed. Shit.
Shit.
Shuddering, I clutched at the silk Kimono at my sides, balling it up in my fists. I wanted to see her. Wanted to watch her tongue reach out and touch my clit. I wanted to tangle my fingers in her hair. I wanted...
"Oh, god..."
Ripples of orgasmic pleasure burst over my pussy. Vanessa plunged a finger into my vagina, my walls squeezing around the digit as she probed. The orgasm raced across my thighs, my lower body convulsed and quivered.
My toes curled.
She pulled away. A cool breeze wafted over my open body. The sensation felt surreal, distorted, disengaged...
Reaching to my forehead, I pulled the sash away and looked at her. She said straight up on the sofa, fully dressed. I leaned up, closed my legs and pushed to a sitting position myself.
"I'm leaving now, Lyric."
But...
But I wanted more.
She rose and took a step toward the door. "I am leaving you to think, to ponder. To be sure. Before we go any further, before I invest myself, I want you to be certain."
Shit.
"Vanessa..."
I joined her, and she stepped backward, shaking her head and putting her hands out in front of her. "No, Lyric. Good night. Sleep. And tomorrow, think. We'll talk soon."
"When?"
Lowering her chin, she peered into my eyes. "Soon."
She left and I found myself standing alone in the center of my living room, my chest heaving with laden breaths.
Dammit.
I'm pussy-whipped.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I knew, was not the best way to get rid of an approaching migraine. But pinch I did as I sat at my desk, hunched over specs and blueprints, squinting my eyes to read the tiny print.
I needed caffeine.
Hadn't left my desk all day though. Wouldn't.
I took a deep breath and exhaled, while closing my eyes against the late afternoon glare pouring in my office window.
Shit. I might be able to avoid the kitchen and the coffee maker and Vanessa, but I couldn't avoid the restroom. I did have to pee.
Avoidance. I was good at it. Remember?
I hadn't slept for two nights. Couldn't. All I could do was think of her and how she'd made me feel, coupled with the fact that I'd felt damned rejected as she left.
Fool. What a fool I am.
And hurt.
Before I invest myself, I want you to be certain.
Fuck.
Certain about what? That I like pussy better than cock? How in the hell would I really know that? I've not really had pussy yet. She'd just had mine.
Deeper.
Maybe it goes much deeper. I wonder. What the hell was she talking about?
Not pussy.
Emotion? Feelings? Caring for someone.
Well, that was just too damned bad. I didn't let feelings go too deep. Never have been able to go deep with relationships. Safer that way.
I'm still in control. I call the shots.
Funny, you're not calling the shots now, Lyric. One lick of her tongue across your clit and you were putty in her hands, er, lips. And now you're pining away and sulking about it at the same time.
Fuck. No.
I sidled toward the door, glanced into the hallway, and stepped hastily toward the office exit. The women's restroom was in the hall outside of the office. It was later than usual. Maybe no one was here.
I made my way to the bathroom unnoticed and unscathed. As I slipped into a stall, I heard the door open again and someone's heels click on the tile and enter the stall next to me.
The perfume smelled familiar.
No.
I waited. She did her business and left quickly. A sigh of relief escaped my lips.
Back in my office, I got back to work. Engrossed on my project, and intent on what I was studying, I didn't hear her enter and close the door behind her.
"Lyric."
My head jerked up. I didn't speak.
Vanessa sat across my desk, staring me straight on. "Well?"
Clearing my throat, I stared right back. "Well what, Vanessa?"
"How are you?"
How am I?
"Vanessa, what do you want?"
"Oh, you're angry and hurt." She crossed her legs, and my gaze was drawn to the movement. Long, shapely legs, sheathed in silk stockings, folding together like pages of a book.
I closed my eyes against the scene. Angry and hurt. "Not angry."
"Hurt."
"Confused."
I shot up from behind my desk and glared at her. "Vanessa, I'm not interested in playing games. What is it that you want from me? Because I'm not certain."
"I want you, Lyric," she said calmly. Her body had not moved from its relaxed position since she sat down.
Me? I was coiled tight like a snake in a basket. My stomach was twittering and my pulse racing.
"You want me."
"Yes."
"Helluva way to show it the other night, walking out on me."
She rose then and took two steps closer. Placing her manicured fingers precisely on the desktop, she leaned closer. Her perfume wafted against my nostrils, and her cleavage beckoned.
"I thought I made it perfectly clear why I left. And if you think that was an easy thing to do, rest assured, it wasn't."
Before I invest myself, I want you to be certain.
I chuckled. "Yeah, I want to be certain myself. Isn't that the way it is with relationships, Vanessa? We all want to be certain. Thing is, certainty is never a sure thing with couples, is it?"
"It can be."
"Not in my experience." I started shoving some things into my purse. Keys. Cell phone. The damned day planner.
"Then maybe you've not had the right experience."
Hmpht. The bag went over my shoulder and I moved toward the door. "And you're my right experience, Vanessa?"
I faced the door by now and paused with my hand on the knob. My back was to her. No response came from behind me. I stared at the door for several seconds before turning her way.
She stood tall and unmoving, her gaze now hooked into mine. "That depends on you, Lyric."
Me. Why in the fuck was it up to me?
Sleep was the one thing I needed and the last thing that was coming to me. I contemplated bourbon and decided against it. I had a lot of work to finish tomorrow, and a hangover would not be in my best interest.
Even a hot, steamy shower didn't help. It only provoked me wanting to touch myself and think of Vanessa and her body rubbing all over mine. Of washing each other's hair, sluicing shampoo bubbles over our bodies, of me fondling her breasts, feeling the weight of them in my hands. Of our hipbones touching in gentle persuasion and our hands exploring over flesh and into forbidden crevices.
Wrapping the Kimono around me after drying off, I released my hair from the clip holding it up. Glancing into the mirror, I fluffed the length and picked at a few damp, curly tendrils about my face. Pausing, I peered deep into my eyes, searching for something.
Truth?
Admittance? Wonder?
Acceptance?
That I, indeed, felt happier and more complete in the past few days after having the experiences with Vanessa than I'd ever felt in my life? Even though confusion wracked through me?
Time. Perhaps that's all I need. Time.
Would she wait for me?
Sooner or later, I'll get frustrated and find other prey.
No.
No.
Terror gripped at my chest. No. I didn't want her to find other prey. I wanted her.
Racing toward my purse, I grasped it and jerked out my cell, scrolling through the numbers. Even though I had never called her, I had all the office staff stored. Work purposes, you know. I found hers and punched the key.
Please.
Please.
Ringing. Ringing. Voice mail.
Dammit.
"Vanessa. Vanessa, it's Lyric. I... I need to talk to you. I need...you. Please call."
I held the phone in my hand, not entirely willing to turn the thing off, to break the one connection I had with her at the moment. Finally, I did. Then in anguish, and along with a deep-seated gnawing in the pit of my stomach, I tossed it on the sofa.
Too late?
What if I am too late?
I sat. Folded my arms around me. Held that gnawing inside. Felt the pain all too deep.
Too. Damned. Deep.
My body shook, and I rocked back and forth. I couldn't lose her. I couldn't. I...
The knock on my door came soft and low. I almost didn't hear it. Had it not been for Callie and Torti jerking toward the sound, I might not have.
"Not in the mood for guests." I almost didn't go to the door.
But something. Something...
I raced to my entryway and opened the door.
Vanessa.
Without words, she crossed the threshold. Moved closer. And took me in her arms.
She held me and caressed my hair and face for several minutes. I felt content, cared for, loved, maybe... It was then I made a firm decision. It was now or never. The prey was caught.
Pulling away from her warmth, I grasped her hand and led her into my bedroom.
My silk Kimono fell to the floor, landing in a fluid puddle.
I was hesitant, unsure. Shy. Unlike me when having sex. Of course, I suppose I could liken this to my first time. A virgin. Giddiness swept over me and I giggled.
Vanessa smiled. "Why are you laughing, Lyric?"
"My first time. A virgin again."
She slipped out of her heels. Her hands went to my shoulders and her lips to my ear. "Remember, Lyric, that things get better and better after the first time. Relax, my love."
My love.
Reaching for the placket of her shirt, I slowly began unbuttoning. Breath after breath escaped my lips, even and methodical. One button. Two. Lower.
Pulled the blouse out of her skirt. Let it fall off her shoulders.
Looked into her face.
She wore a slight grin.
I smoothed my hands over her soft shoulders. Nice.
Her lips caressed my cheek, whispering over my skin like a warm Gulf breeze. We nuzzled each other's cheeks and the soft spots between chin and neck. Our lips played a game of hit and miss, scraping feather-like touches over mouths and noses, dodging and teasing, until we fully embraced and locked into a heated, passionate kiss.
Peeling the clothing from her body, I was eager to feel her heated skin next to mine.
We fell into my bed and my body trilled with our closeness, legs intertwined, breasts hugging breasts. Vanessa's hands worked over my body, and mine hers. We played each other as if we'd played this tune before. Her kisses filling me with desire, blooming up inside of me, pushing forward with an explosion of petals and heated scent, like none I'd ever experienced.
We rolled and laughed, touched and explored with wonder.
I found myself smiling all too much.
Until the heat took over.
Until the passion filled us and claimed our souls and bodies. Until probing fingers and lapping tongues tasted of each other in all possible places. Until our pussies were soaked and slick, our bodies damp with the sheen of satisfied sex and wracked with writhing and wanton obsession.
We lay for quite a while, bodies engaged and limbs entwined, soaking up the ambiance and savoring the sweet, silent bliss.
Content. Sated.
Vanessa twisted in my embrace and took my face into her hands. Her eyes bore deep into my soul. "You are fantastic," she whispered.
I love her. I knew it right then. I love the way her lips move when she speaks. I love the way she makes me feel inside, and I love how she feels in the palms of my hands.
I am ready. "Where do we go from here, Vanessa?"
She raked her thumb over my lips, lowering her gaze to watch the action. I followed her eyes and for a split second and saw a hint of vulnerability there. "That, my little pussy cat, is entirely up to you," she said.
Smiling inwardly, I knew at that moment that she was as frightened as I was. It's scary to love someone so much when you don't know they love you back. No matter what your gender or that of your lover. For all of Vanessa's subtle assertiveness, she was as vulnerable as me in that respect.
"I love you, Vanessa," I breathed.
Her gaze jerked up and met mine. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
Pornography is about dominance. Erotica is about mutuality. ~Gloria Steinem
Plumb Me
The temperature hit a hundred degrees thirty minutes earlier, the air saturated with humidity. Jack Brogan had worked through the morning on a busted water line in front of a row of posh condos on Lake Front Drive. Sweat poured off him, and, finally, he stood and peeled away his sopping shirt, mopped his brow with a sleeve, and tossed it aside.
He was tan enough, wouldn't get a burn. Was used to working outside like this, but damn today was a scorcher. Bending, he picked up his shovel and slid the iron cover back over the small hole where he'd turned the water back on to the unit in front of him.
He had just reached down to give the cover a final shove when a scarlet-toed foot, bound in black leather straps and a four-inch spike for a heel, assertively placed itself square on the cover.
From his vantage point, Jack had a eyeful of toes, delicate ankle, thin calf, and on up to a smooth, tanned thigh and a black skirt that barely covered a crotch that he was pretty certain was...well, bare.
His perusal didn't go any further. The woman pushed a sweating glass of ice water toward him, and even though he was thirsty as hell, all he could think about was those long fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking like they caressed that slick glass of water.
Rising, he took the tumbler and looked the woman square in the eyes. Blue. Christ. He was a sucker for blue. Raven hair, too. A denim shirt was open at her chest, leaving very little to the imagination. Lifting the glass to his lips, he held her gaze and drank, draining it.
He handed it back. "Thanks."
"There is more in the house," she told him, then turned and walked back toward her condo, her hips hitching right and left with each step she took, the empty glass dangling from her fingertips. The skirt barely covered her ass.
Hell, it didn't cover it.
She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "The name's Janet, if you want to know."
He did. She strode on, hips swaying some sort of invitation. He was pretty sure he knew what.
On some level, he understood that outfit wasn't everyday wear for this woman. Not in this neighborhood. But oh, what thoughts it conjured in his head...
He watched, contemplated. She never looked back.
His gut tightened, and his heart raced. Hesitating for only a moment, he slowly strode toward the condo. As he approached, he noticed the door stood slightly ajar. As he took the last two steps onto the small porch, he moved forward, glanced behind him and then pushed in the door. Once in, he quietly twisted the deadbolt behind him.
At the click, she stepped out of the kitchen, two glasses in her hand this time. One definitely water. The other, a shorter glass, swirled with an amber liquid.
"The shower's in there." She cocked her head toward his left. "Better drink this first."
He did as she suggested.
"The water will get cold soon if you don't go now." She stared at him. "Plumbing's bad here."
He thought that strange and then realized she was talking about the shower. He looked that way again. Yes, there was steam coming from the room.
"I'll wait." She took a swallow of the amber liquid in her glass, and he found himself mesmerized by the movement in her throat as she did so.
He tore his gaze away and found the shower. In no time, he had stripped and left his dirty work clothes in a pile on her bathroom floor. The shower was full of her body lotions, washes and frilly puffs and such. Damn but he always felt strange in a woman's shower. He didn't plan to stay here long, however...
The door swung open and before he could protest (fuck, would he really protest?) the woman, now stripped down to her red toenails, stepped inside. She still held the tumbler of bourbon or scotch or whatever, some droplets of water peppering the glass. Finally, she tipped it to her lips and swallowed the remaining liquid. Again, he was mesmerized by her swallowing action.
She set the glass away on a shelf. All the while, her eyes never dropped contact with his.
She was all breasts up top. Obviously manufactured, but oh, did those mounds of flesh tempt him. Tits to die for, round globes with dark brown nipples, probably bought and paid for. Small nipples that were peaked and firm. Tan all over. Legs long like her fingers. Water sluiced over her, skimming and teasing. He wanted to be a droplet, clinging to her. Her waist nipped in sharply at her sides beneath her ample chest. Her hips flared with a sexy contour. His palms itched to smooth themselves over her ass.
He reached for her.
She batted his hand away.
Puzzled, he cocked his head and tried again. Higher, this time, aiming for a breast.
She slapped it away. Her gaze, still locked with his, never faltered.
For a moment, they stood and stared.
"My shower," she said. "I call the shots."
Interesting.
Then she reached out but not toward him. She found a tube of something among the bottles on the shelf. She squeezed out a palmful and moved toward him. He could sense it, see it out of the corner of his eye. And then her small hand with the long piano fingers folded around his engorged cock.
The lube, soap, or whatever it was, felt icy against the steam of the shower.
"Stand still."
Her caress was killing him, and suddenly, she put more pressure on his cock as she squeezed. His head fell back, and his eyes started to close. "Yeah, sweetheart."
"Don't talk," she spat out.
He opened one eye to look at her, but she now had her attention on his cock...with both hands. Shit. She fell to her knees and pushed him back against the shower wall. Water fell over him, rinsing away the liquid, and over her back and shoulders where the stream landed. Her hair hung wet around her face; rivulets streamed down the crack of her ass. Her hands splayed his hips against the shower wall.
She buried his cock in her face.
Jack grasped a shower bar. Her tongue circled him inside her mouth. She sucked, and her velvet cheeks massaged. She drove deeper until his cock (not small by any means) was tickling her tonsils, and she took him. All of him. And all he could do was grasp that raven hair and tangle it in his fingers and force her head closer.
She broke away, rage in her eyes and stood. His dick throbbed, needing her mouth again. Goddamn but he wanted to explode in her mouth, watch her swallow him, suck him until he spilled down her throat. He started to say something then thought better of it.
The woman leaned back then against the opposite side of the shower. "I told you not to talk. Now you have to watch."
She propped one leg up on a bench to her left. For the first time, he got a good look at her crotch. Shaved. She was that. Bare as a baby's ass. Her fingers went there, parted her lips. She tucked one in between and slowly slid it in and out.
Shit, he could watch. No fucking problem.
Her gaze was on his face, he could sense it. His was glued to her long middle finger dipping in and out of her pussy.
His hand went to his dick, started a slow stroke.
"Don't do that," she panted. His gaze jerked back up to hers. "I mean it," she continued. "Do not touch yourself."
Goddamn. What was she out to do? Drive him friggin' nuts?
He dropped his hand.
"Watch me. Look at my pussy."
He didn't have to be told twice.
She arched forward. The foot on the shelf rolled up to the ball of her foot, causing her legs to spread a little wider. Her manicured fingers, two of them now, circled over her clit. She shivered a bit and moaned.
"There. Get that." She dipped her head toward the shelf. "The knobby pink one with the bunny ears."
Her fingers kept working her clit, and her eyes were heavy-lidded. He found the vibrator. She leaned heavily into the wall.
"Do it," she told him.
Hell, he didn't want to make a mistake. What did she want?
"Now."
He hesitated.
"Inside you or on your clit."
She grasped his hand and twisted the vibrator to turn it on. "Do it."
Hell, he'd risk it. The device buzzed in his hand. He leaned closer, positioned the tip of the pink phallus over her clit then slid it downward between her lips.
She shuddered and grasped his bicep. "Shit. Shit... Inside."
He braced himself with a hand on the shower wall over her shoulder, and she arched toward him. With one hand, she spread herself open more and he slipped the vibrator up her cunt, then out, then in.
Her thigh trembled. He rubbed his engorged cock against her leg.
"Shit." She pushed the bunny vibrator out of her and his hand and tossed it on the shower floor. "On your knees. Now. Eat me."
He was only too happy to oblige but feared she might smack him upside...
"Ummm..." Her fingers were back on her clit, doing overtime as she flicked a now swollen bud and slipped occasionally in and out of her hole. "Do you not know how to follow an order?"
"No, ma'am. I mean, yes, ma'am."
"Dammit. Eat me."
Jack lowered to the shower floor.
She curled her fingers in his hair and pulled his face toward her pussy.
Fuck, wet and musky, he could smell her sweetness as he pushed her hand aside with his mouth, flicked his tongue over her clit and covered her cunt with his mouth. He slipped between her lips, tongued her hole and rubbed his upper lip over her rock hard bud.
She groaned and wrapped the propped leg around his head and he burrowed in, chin deep in her snatch, lukewarm water bouncing off his ass. She bucked and scratched his scalp and screamed as the water turned cold in the shower.
"Imbecile of a plumber," she wheezed out, collapsing against him. "Get me the hell out of here."
He did. Lifting her. Moving into the bedroom. Laying her wet and dripping on the bed. "Finish what you started."
Jack lunged toward her hot and wet pussy and lapped at her juices. In seconds, she jerked up off the bed with an explosive orgasm.
Then just as quick, she rolled over and put her ass in the air.
"Take it, plumber man. Fix my plumbing."
And oh, he did all right. Plumbed her right up to the rim of his cock and then some, ramming it home with some insane sense of need and aching release, until she was dripping inside as much as outside. Her denial had caused his pent up discharge to explode with excruciating gratification. It seemed he had only taken half a dozen long and deliberate strokes into her hot and sweet body before he'd lost it.
He collapsed over her and for a long, sweet moment, lay skin to skin with her, her searing curves against his hard planes.
One small, sweet moment.
"Go." She squirmed under him and turned while he lifted himself up on an elbow. Her gaze shot back and forth from the bedroom door to him.
"Excuse me?"
"Now," she whispered. "Go."
"When can we...?"
She jerked her head back and forth. "Don't talk. Just go. Now."
His gaze lingered, raked over her body. Damn, he hated to leave, but she was right. He didn't belong here. This was a onetime event. A chance quickie. And he was definitely out of his element on this side of town.
He rose, and her gaze followed him as he grabbed his work clothes off the adjoining bathroom floor. He dressed quickly while she pushed up off the bed and moved away without a backward glance. The last thing he saw was her ass hitching right and then left as she entered the bathroom.
He left, leaving the front door slightly ajar behind him.
It's all make believe, isn't it? ~Marilyn Monroe
Cyber-F\*cked
It was near the end of my twelve-year marriage to Charles, and I was close to reaching the end of my rope. I'd felt trapped inside a loveless marriage for way too long, and even though I wasn't looking, Lance came along and snatched me right out of a chat room. I was thirty-eight years old; he was twenty-six. Everything about it was wrong, but for months it felt so, so right. Everything good and sweet and innocent about me was just tossed blindly and determinedly to the devil. I knew what I was doing, and for some odd reason, I didn't care.
But let me back up a bit so you can get the full effect of my situation.
I'd married Charles on the rebound all those years earlier. My first husband David, my college boyfriend, decided while I was putting him through graduate school, that he liked blondes better than brunettes. Unfortunately, I was very much a brunette, so we divorced after two years. We had no children, thankfully, but I was left feeling pretty dejected and a bit depressed. All my college friends where having babies and buying houses, and here I was, getting a divorce and starting all over again.
Six months after David left, I met Charles. Two months after that we married. Ten months later, I realized I'd made a big mistake, but by then, I was pregnant with baby number one, my son. A year later, my daughter was born. And I decided it was best to make every attempt to give this marriage a go, like all good girls are supposed to do. I had children, and they needed a home. I knew it would be difficult to support them on my meager teaching salary alone, especially since Charles was prone to wander through life from job to job. At least he brought in an income of some sort.
Finally, after several years, he landed a good job working nights in a local warehouse. I rarely saw him because he worked twelve-hour shifts. My job was to teach all day and take care of the kids and their activities in the evenings, clean, cook, pay the bills, and so on. His was to work at the warehouse and sleep.
I was the proverbial soccer mom. I ran with them all week long, nights and weekends, with no help. Charles had moved us to the country, twenty miles from everything, and slowly all my friends disappeared. My life was filled with nothing but work and children and their activities. There wasn't anything just for me.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love my kids to death and had great fun taking them to Scouts and baseball games and gymnastics and so on. What would have been nice, however, would have been to have a husband to share all of that with, but he was either always working, or when he was off, too tired and wanted to sleep. When he was home, the children started to ignore him because he basically did the same to them. And when it was finally time for us to have alone time, the pattern was mostly the same. I yearned for a touch. A hug. To snuggle. For him to simply hold my hand. To have the passionate sex that we'd had initially in our dating and early year or so of our marriage.
We would go months with no sex. I once counted up that we went forty-eight days and Charles never even touched me. Not once. I don't mean sexually, I mean just an innocent touch.
In hindsight, I realize that he was most likely depressed. At the time, however, I felt rejected, sad and was probably depressed. I yearned for him to pay some attention to me. I didn't want attention from anyone else, I wanted it from him. But it never came, and then one day, Lance walked into my life and gave me what I'd been craving for way too long.
Perhaps if I'd not been so innocent, I wouldn't have fallen for him the way that I did, but inexperienced or not, I made some choices that some days I'm not so proud of. On other days, I sit back and consider how making those choices was probably a life-changing turning point---and even though they may have seemed so wrong then, my life moved forward for the better, in time.
I'd been dabbling in considering a home-based business to help make ends meet, so when Charles finally consented to buying a new computer, I was ecstatic. Because our money was tight, and because we lived in a rural area, we got an inexpensive dial-up connection. When he was working and the children were in bed, I began to play around with the computer and on the Internet. This was a number of years ago, so the Internet was pretty much a novelty to me at that time. I'd heard of chat rooms and such and with our new Internet account, began to explore. I found one where other people who were talking about home-based businesses gathered, and before long, I'd hooked up with Lance.
The chatting started as group chats, as people talked about their free-lance consulting businesses, Internet commerce sites, and so on. I'd been thinking about doing some educational training and writing on the side. Lance presented himself as a writer and copyeditor, doing mostly free-lance work. I'd listen to him chat with others in this one favorite chat room of mine where some of my new women online friends frequented. Lance liked to be in there with the women, and we'd all tease him. For once, I felt like I was getting a life back. Even though I didn't know these people face-to-face, I counted them as my friends. I had a social life again.
Finally, one day when the discussion turned to what everyone was doing for the weekend, Lance said something about not having had a date in a while, so I innocently teased back with something like, "Well, Lance, why do you need a date? You have all of us here."
Then something different happened. A white box appeared on my computer screen with a message just to me from Lance. An instant message. I'd never done that before, and I was fascinated. Now, rather than talk with the entire group, I was speaking only to him. And his message was, "What did you mean by that? I need to know."
"Just teasing," I answered, but he was persistent.
Over the course of a couple of days, he kept sending me instant messages and email.
"I really like talking with you," he said. "You have so much more personality than any of the other women in the chat group. You shine above the rest." And then he added, "I am attracted to you, Caroline, and I want to get to know you better."
I was stunned.
No one had told me I had personality in a long time. I'd been married for about twelve years by now to Charles, and he didn't seem to care about my cute personality or much about me at all. Not to mention that no one, not even Charles, had indicated any sort of attraction to me lately in any way, shape or fashion. But this Lance...what could this mean? I pondered it. He didn't even know me! How could he be attracted?
I decided to stop chatting. I'd heard of those women who met men on-line, left their children and ran away only to be sad in the end. I'd read about the women and young girls who had hooked up with some psycho who raped and mutilated them, or even killed them. Not for me. No. After all, I was the good girl. My sister was the hell-raising rebel. I always did what I was told and never crossed over to the dark side.
Until the dark side beckoned.
Lance was that dark side, and I couldn't resist.
At first, we kept our conversations to chatting and email, and we eventually exchanged pictures. Of course, this was all after the children were fast asleep. Charles never touched the computer, so I didn't worry about him getting online and catching me. Talking with Lance was fun and daring and decadent---like dessert at the end of a long day---and I never intended for it to go any further than just instant messages and email.
I was in control, I thought, and could turn it off on a dime. I threw caution to the wind and justified to myself that it was innocent fun. After all, we were just talking.
That's when I learned that Lance was only twenty-six years old and that he lived several states away in Wisconsin. When I learned all that, part of me was relieved. I was glad that he was about fifteen hours away because secretly, the temptation to actually see him was getting stronger for me. I was just curious, I guess, to see him in person and learn what he was like in real life. I think the fact that he was twelve years younger also contributed to my sense of relief. Once he learned that I was a thirty-eight-year-old, slightly pudgy housewife, I was sure he would go away.
He didn't.
In fact, he came on even stronger, and I, being both dumbfounded and flattered, found myself being sucked into Lance's web.
Slowly, he introduced me to cyber-sex, and I got so addicted to having it with him that even the sound of the computer turning on and the dial-up connection ringing through to the Internet gave me a sexual thrill. I mean, when I would hear that high-pitched screeching sound, it would almost bring me to orgasm in anticipation of what Lance and I would do in our private chats as the evening wore on. I couldn't wait to connect with him, and found that in fact, I didn't. I started sneaking into my home email from my classroom, started sending him sexy messages all day long and kept checking in constantly while my students were working to see if he'd sent anything back. I found myself fantasizing about being with him.
I had a favorite fantasy. A very naughty favorite fantasy. One in which, while the children and I were out of the room, Lance would slip into my classroom and hide under my big oak teacher desk. Once the children were settled into their work, I'd sit at my desk and spread my legs, while Lance pushed my skirt up around my thighs (oops! no panties!), scooted me to the end of the chair, and played with my pussy.
And oh, he would play. I'd have to keep my composure to the class, but I'd pretend I could feel his big fingers pushing inside me. I'd get hot, and wet, just holding the image in my head. I'd urge my pelvis closer to him, and after he'd had his fill of fingering me, he'd move closer and replace his fingers with tongue and lips, and eat my pussy until I could hardly stand it.
I wouldn't come, though. That was part of the fantasy. Because in my fantasy, Lance would always order me not to come.
"Not yet," he'd say. "Not until I'm ready for you to come."
By day's end, I would be so horny I couldn't wait to get home each evening, put the children to bed and talk dirty and sexy with him. I'd tell him about my fantasies, and we'd act them out over the computer. Lance soon became my purpose for getting up in the morning, and before I knew it, I'd lost about twenty pounds, was looking good, and my self-esteem was shooting sky-high.
I liked that high. I wanted more and more of it. And a bonus---I was very good at cyber-sex, and I knew that I pleased Lance a lot. He told me so, and knowing that I could really, really please a man in that way was another kind of sexual thrill.
Sex with Charles was what I would call average sex. We basically stuck with the missionary position and never did anything out of what he considered the norm. Once I'd tried to get him to fool around with me on the couch in our living room with the drapes open and he got extremely upset and stomped out of the house. Talk about frustration! With Lance, though, I could talk about having sex with the drapes open, in the back yard at night under the moon, or giving him a blowjob while he was driving down the interstate. It was fun making up all these scenarios, and it got us both excited. It was heady and addicting.
But soon, sexy emails and cyber-sex chats weren't enough. I needed more, and Lance was willing to give it to me. Phone sex.
I remember, after weeks of cyber-sex on the computer, the first time I consented to letting Lance call me was pure heaven. I loved his deep, sexy voice and the way he whispered to me over the phone. I let him call me late at night while Charles was at work and the kids were asleep. I'd lie in bed, he'd tell me all the things he was doing to me, and I swear I could feel it! I would moan and talk back to him, giving him what he wanted. And I would touch myself, masturbating while he would get me all hot and bothered and talk dirty to me. I remember the first time I came while he was whispering in my ear. I literally came up off the bed, jerking forward, as I'd experienced one of the most powerful orgasms I'd ever felt.
He would say things to me like no man had ever said before. He'd say, "Your pussy is mine. Mine. You understand that?" And then he'd make me say that back to him.
"Yes," I'd say. "My pussy belongs to you."
"Don't forget that."
"Never."
The brainwashing went on like that for quite some time. I was thoroughly convinced that Lance owned not only my pussy, but me, body and soul. When he emailed or called, it was his expectation that I drop everything and cater to his needs. Give him what he wanted. Sex talk that made him groan in the phone and made me titillate with delight that I could please this young man so damned much.
The phone sex became a very bad habit. So much so that I ran up both my cell phone and the land line bill to hundreds of dollars. Lance didn't have a lot of money, so I began to call him most of the time. I would race to get the mail before Charles, because I knew I would never be able to explain off all those long distance calls to Wisconsin. For once, I was thankful that Charles never lifted a finger to pay the bills. Like most everything, he left the day-to-day household responsibilities to me.
After Lance and I were engaged in cyber and phone sex for about four months, I finally got up the courage to tell Charles I wanted a divorce. I didn't know how I would be able to make it on my own, but decided that I had to do it. If I could let myself get hooked up with Lance, I certainly didn't love Charles, did I? I told him what I wanted. He went berserk.
He started drinking and getting physically rough with me. I was really surprised because it was the first bit of emotion Charles had shown toward me in years. He threatened suicide on more than one occasion and told me he'd burn the house down before I'd get one cent from him for child support. He was convinced there was another man, but of course, I denied that. I couldn't tell him about Lance, and with Lance being so far away, I knew there was no way that Charles could ever find out about him.
All of Charles' anger only stoked my fire for wanting to leave and be with Lance. When the going got too rough at home, I'd leave, go park my car somewhere, call Lance, and get my sex thrill. It was sad, but sometimes I'd provoke an argument just so I could get out of the house and call Lance. I sought the buzz of cyber-sex as my relief from the stress and even took that adventure further. I'd park in public places, with people walking by and cars moving up and down the street, and talk to Lance while I pleasured myself. Now that I look back on it, I was taking a lot of big risks, but I didn't care. I needed Lance, however I could get him.
I was living such a fantasy, but to me it was very real. Lance told me that he would take care of me and the kids. I actually was in a frame of mind that I would take the kids away from their home and their family and move to Wisconsin with Lance.
"Leave him and come to me," he'd say, breathless over the phone. "I'll take care of you and the kids. I can teach your son how to do Karate." I thought that would be exciting for my son. I never thought of the consequences. All I thought about was living out my fantasy life with Lance. I wanted it more than anything, and I wanted to be with him. I was sure he was the love of my life. I just needed to make the break from Charles and get on with things.
Still, I had never met Lance face to face. I know, that sounds very strange. How could I want to leave my husband, snatch my children up and move away with a man that I'd never met in person? A man twelve years my junior!
I think something changed in my brain. I really, really thought it would happen, and we'd all live happily-ever-after. Of course, that would never happen, but I had a lot more to go through before I realized that.
Work soon became my solace simply because I was away from home. Away from Charles. His life was a mess. He'd taken another job a few months earlier---one that had him traveling during the week, which was ideal. I could do my decadence once the kids were in bed without worry of interruption. Besides making the mad dash for the mail to snatch the phone bill each month, I was free.
That is, of course, until Charles went to the doctor claiming stress-induced illnesses, and he took a leave of absence from his job. That put him underfoot every day, which only forced me to get creative.
It was summer and the kids were home from school. I still wanted a divorce, and Charles was still balking. In the process, he was making my life miserable and turning the kids against me. I suppose in his small mind he was thinking that when we divorced, the kids would like him better if he made me look bad. Those summer weeks were hell, and I'd had just about all I could stand.
My best friend had recently moved out of state, and I missed her. She was the only one who knew about Lance. A few days earlier, I'd spoken with her on the phone. She wanted me to come to visit, but I balked because I knew she was trying to talk me out of the Lance relationship. She didn't think it was good for me, on one hand. But on another, she was living vicariously through me and wanted to know every detail.
Still, I considered getting away to visit her, until after a particularly ugly weekend.
Charles had been on a terror the entire weekend. He'd threatened to throw my computer out the window. He came home late Saturday night and had been drinking some. He was loaded for bear and wanted to talk about our marriage. The kids were asleep and we argued until the early morning. Finally, he fell asleep, and I was able to sleep some, too.
He was somber most of the next day, holing himself up in the den watching television. The kids had some other neighborhood kids over to play and spend the night. I decided to get online and check my email. Lance was online, too.
Within a second, an instant message popped up. "Come see me," he said.
He'd done this before, so his invites were nothing new. I'd always put him off, but today, being tired and vulnerable, I couldn't resist. The temptation was too strong.
"Come see me," he repeated. "I'll cook for you."
He'd cook for me? Men never cooked for me. I always did the cooking. Him saying that was almost like him saying, "I'll take care of you." I was so tired of seeing to my own needs, of Charles being so needy, and of always having to take care of everyone else that those simple words, "I'll cook for you," put me over the edge.
"Okay."
"Really?"
"Yes. I'll come. Give me an hour, and I will be packed and out of here. I'll call you when I am on the road."
Then I did the unthinkable. I lied the biggest lie I had ever lied to Charles in all of our married years. I told him that he had to take care of the kids for a few days because I was going to go visit my friend, Jennifer, who had moved out of state. The length of driving time would have been about the same to Jennifer's as it was to Lance's. So, in my mind it worked.
I packed, kissed the kids goodbye, told them all I would see them in a few days, and left.
Along with leaving them behind, I left the remainder of my inhibitions, and I gathered a warped sense of freedom about me. I felt carefree and wicked. For the next fifteen hours or so, I drove, and the closer I got to Lance, the more sexually aroused I became.
He talked me through with directions to his apartment. For the last hour, I fought through the heebie-jeebie notions of "What if he isn't who I think?" "What if he is an ax murderer?" "What if I am putting myself in danger?" "What if I am getting myself in over my head?"
I pushed through them about the time I pulled into his apartment parking lot and saw him watching and waiting for me out a third floor window. I parked the car, grabbed my bag, swallowed all the pride that was in me, and moved toward the building.
I was about to break my marriage vows. I was about to consummate an affair. In the flesh.
I was about to cheat on my husband in real time.
The hallway was dark when he opened the door to his apartment. The lighting inside was low, as well. The shadows hid some of the features of his face but it was, I knew, the Lance of my pictures. My fantasies. I slipped inside his apartment door and it closed, and locked, behind me.
I was tired, so tired, from all of the driving. It was about
"You're tired," he whispered in my ear. For the first time, I was hearing his voice live, rather than from a phone.
"Yes."
"Let's go to bed."
"Yes." The one word was about all I could muster. I was tired. So tired that I almost felt drugged and overpowered by his physical nearness. "Take me there," I whispered.
From that moment on, there was no thought, just body language. From the instant he lifted my t-shirt up over my head and skimmed his large hands over my waist, I was lost and under his power.
We landed in bed in a few short strides. We didn't speak, just kissed and writhed over one another, rubbing our bodies together, rolling on the bed, as the last pieces of clothing fell to the floor. I grasped Lance's cock in my hand and smoothed my fingers over him. He cried out in pleasure, and my body trilled with sexual desire. Oh, God. I was here. And Lance wanted me. I wanted him.
"Fuck me," I whispered. I was too tired to do much else but let him have his way with me.
And he did. He entered me with that lovely large cock I'd felt and pushed himself deep into my pussy. And again. He groaned in my ear, and I urged my body up to his. Wrapping my legs around him, I met his thrusts.
"Oh God...oh, God..." I heard myself say over and over again.
"My pussy. Mine."
"Yes."
And Lance kept saying it over and over again. "Mine. Mine."
"Yes. Yes..."
My body took over. I gave it over to him. He played me, and my flesh rippled with passion and delight. Complete. I felt so complete with Lance inside me. So damned complete. Filled. Taken. Owned.
Loved.
I exploded with a sharp convulsion and gripped him with my arms and legs. He cried out and plunged deep and hard into me. Once. Again. And one final time.
Lance pinned me to the bed. Nailed me there and I was unmoving, his prick buried deep inside my pussy, his large body draped soundly over mine.
Satisfied and sated, I fell asleep with Lance inside and on top of me.
I woke while lying on my side, with something hard poking at me from the rear. Batting my eyes, I opened them to look at the wall, saw the sunlight streaming in from behind the heavy drapes at the window, and remembered where I was. The poking grew more urgent. I closed my eyes again and scooted my ass back toward Lance.
His hands went to my hips, steadying me. I arched my back a little and his cock, already wet with pre-cum, I assumed, pushed inside my vagina.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Lance whispered in my ear, "Or perhaps I should say good afternoon."
"Afternoon delight," I mumbled.
He chuckled, and I thought he was probably too young to know that song. Didn't matter. I smiled to myself at the thought.
"I like your cock."
"That's a good thing because you're going to get plenty of it."
"Ummm..." I responded and Lanced pushed deeper. I loved being filled by him.
Needless to say, this was the beginning of a three-day fuck fest that changed my life forever.
I didn't leave the apartment for the duration. Mostly we stayed in bed, but when I was up and walking around the apartment, I chose to parade around in my bikini panties and no bra.
Never had I been so uninhibited, and I reveled in the feeling. The kids crossed my mind once in a while, and I did get a couple of calls in to them, but never did Charles, or the fact that I was cheating on him, enter my mind. I didn't care. I was with Lance, and it was heaven.
One afternoon after taking a shower, combing out my hair, and donning a skimpy pair of black, lacy bikini panties, I stepped back into the living room. I glanced at myself in the mirror. Not bad, I thought. The walking I had been doing the past few months had toned up my thighs and my tummy, and I was fortunate that my breasts were still somewhat perky---even after breastfeeding the two kids.
Feeling confident, I strode up to the couch where Lance was sitting watching television. His gaze rose as I neared, but it stopped mostly on my pelvis area.
He was sprawled, his legs spread, wearing a pair of long sports shorts, and no shirt. His complexion was naturally dark, and the tan he sported only accentuated the deep brown of his eyes. His chest was ripped with muscles, and his biceps were large and bulging.
So was the tent forming underneath the gym shorts.
Slowly stepping forward, I straddled him, took the remote out of his hand and tossed it to the other side of the couch. His gaze hooked into mine as I lowered myself to his lap.
"You're insatiable," he mumbled, and I grinned.
"You love it."
"Not complainin'."
His hands went to my breasts and squeezed. Lord, the feel of my tits in the palm of his big hands set me on fire. I wanted him.
Scooting my butt back closer to his knees, I tugged at the waistband of his shorts. "I want this," I told him.
"All yours, baby."
"Mine?"
"Absolutely. Take it."
I knew he was expecting me to ride him. He liked it that way, and yeah, I liked it as well. But I'd yet to feel the velvet length of him in my mouth, and at the moment, that was what I craved. My pussy had been fully sated the past day or so, my mouth was itching for cock.
Lance's cock.
My hands still on his waistband, I stood and then parted his knees. Kneeling down in front of him, I pulled the waistband down and unleashed that decadent cock into my hands.
"Caroline..." he groaned.
"Yes?"
"Are you sure you can handle...?"
I leaned closer and ran the tip of my tongue around the head of his cock, which jumped on cue. I didn't say anything. My job now was to please.
Lance sank back into the couch.
I'd mastered the art of sucking cock long ago, when Charles was horny and I wasn't in the mood. I'd learned that the best way to make him come fast and hard, so that he would then leave me alone, was to suck him dirty and pretend I was a hooker. You see, I guess I'd been into this fantasy sex stuff long before Lance. I'd used sex to get my way even with Charles.
Now, I was going to see if I could satisfy Lance in that same way. Only different. This time I was going to make it last. And I was perfectly happy sitting there between his knees, his cock in my mouth, with his fingers threaded through my damp hair.
"My job is to pleasure you, Sir," I told him.
Lance responded with an upward thrust, pushing his cock deeper into my mouth.
I lay my tongue flat on his organ, and stroked him from base to tip. First on one side, then the other. I made my way all around, licking him like a melting ice cream cone, fearful of letting one drop get away. His pre-cum rolled into little beads at the head of his cock and I'd lick them away and then take his crown into my mouth and suck at the end, urging more of his juices to come forward.
I loved his saltiness.
Rocking back on my heels, I'd level out his cock, pulling it straight away from his belly, while I'd ring the base with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, holding him tight, and then massage and tickle his balls with my other. I'd cup his jewels, particularly as they clenched and grew taut, and hold them in my palm while I rammed my entire mouth over his cock and pulled him as far into my throat as I possibly could.
Once he was positioned deep in my mouth, I'd hold him there. Stop all motion for several seconds, until he would tighten the grip on my hair and moan. "Shit..." he hissed between his teeth. "Goddamn, do something."
So I did. I began a slow massage of his dick with the insides of my mouth. I'd squeeze and ripple my lips over him...move my tongue in spirals, still inside my mouth, up and over his cock. I'd increase the pressure and suck, opening my mouth and throat and take him as deep as I possibly could. Then all at once, I would tighten my grip at his base, fisting my fingers about him, and hold him tight while I pulled my mouth away.
That's when I started the feather-light motions of the tip of my tongue over every inch of his engorged and highly sensitive head. I'd look at that cock and marvel at how aroused he was and how excited I had made him. While licking him, I'd glance into his face, his eyes rolled back in his head, lolled to one side.
"God, Caroline, suck my dick." He could barely get the words out.
"You're going to come all over my face." I watched his face grimace, and I inwardly grinned.
"God, no... Ride me."
"No?"
"Ride me instead. Now."
This gave me a second's pause. "I want to suck you dry. I want to taste your cum."
"No," he pushed out. "No one. No woman..."
What?
I took him fully into my mouth now and continued to watch his face. I still gripped him tight at the base with my right hand. I sucked, stroking up and down, up and down...
"Come for me, baby. I want your hot cum," I said.
"No. No woman ever..."
No woman ever?
"...made me come like this. In...mouth..."
Well, I'll be. He was young.
Then I would be the first. I about made that my mission before this weekend was finished. If not at this moment, then sometime.
"Ride me."
I shook my head. "No. I'm sucking your cock."
He gripped my head harder, forcing me onto his cock. His words said one thing, his actions another.
"You're coming in my mouth," I told him.
"Shit...fuck..."
My pussy ached. As much as I would have enjoyed riding him to scratch this growing ache in my pussy, I knew I could have that anytime. I wanted this today, this sucking until he gave it over---gave it over to me.
I wanted this control.
Over him.
And it felt very, very powerful and exciting. Titillating.
Up on my knees now, I bore into my work, his cock in my mouth, my tongue laving, my hand gripping and pumping him. I loved how he felt, stretching my mouth. I loved how he grew bigger and how he shuddered under me. I waited for the explosion, the spurt of his milky seed, filling my cheeks. The musky smell, the earthy taste. I sucked and squeezed, and with my left hand then, pushed my middle finger firmly into the slick, fleshy part of his ass behind his balls toward his rectum. I squeezed his balls and pushed hard, my mouth taking all of his engorged cock, and within seconds, Lance cried out and lurched forward, his hands forcing my head to stay in place over his dick.
He came with such force that I nearly choked.
Soon, he fell back almost as quickly as he'd doubled over. His body was still convulsing, and his face contorted with pleasure. I pulled his dick out of my mouth and his cum spilled out over my lips. Cum oozed out of his tip and I lapped at it, then took his organ and rubbed it all over my lips and cheeks, loving the soft supple feel of his dick as it slid over me.
I sucked him gently, lovingly, until he came down from his orgasmic high and his breathing evened. When I looked up into his face a minute later, I saw him staring down at me.
Scowling.
"Get up," he said. "Get off me."
I didn't like the look on his face, but I did what he asked.
I stood before him and he rose, towering over me. In one motion, he swept me up, lifted me over his shoulder and carried me out of the room. I wasn't sure if he was mad or aroused.
In the bedroom, he tossed me onto the bed and quickly covered my body with his. Before I realized it, he had both my hands pulled over my head, and first one, then the other, shackled to the bedposts. My ankles were next and there I lay, naked except for my bikini panties, spread eagle on his bed, going nowhere.
"I'll be back," he said. The next thing I heard was the shower. Several minutes later, the front door opened and then closed.
My face was sticky with dried cum. Dammit. Where in the hell was Lance? It had been a couple of hours, and I was getting tired of lying in one position. What was he thinking?
The time let me mull over the situation, though. Near the end of our sex play, the mood had shifted, and I tried hard to recall exactly when. I rolled the scene over and over in my head until finally, I realized...
Ride me.
No. I'm sucking your cock. You're coming in my mouth.
Shit...fuck...
Ah. That was it.
During that exchange, the power had shifted. No woman has ever made me come like this... That was it. All this time, he'd had the power over me. During cyber-sex, controlling my fantasies, in email, and even driving all this way to see him. He had commanded, and I obeyed.
Until a few minutes ago.
He told me to ride him.
I told him no, that I was sucking his cock. That he was going to come in my mouth.
I gained the power.
He lost control.
He lost control.
Oh yes, blowjobs are power. I'd learned that with Charles. But it seemed, with Lance, this transference of power to me, scared the shit out of him.
All right. So be it.
The door clicked at the front of the apartment, and I knew what I had to do.
As his footsteps came closer, I listened, my head turned slightly toward the wall, my gaze lowered. The steps paused. He went into the bathroom, ran some water, paused again and moved toward the bedroom. I felt the weight of the bed shift as he put a knee next to me and sat.
"Caroline." His voice was stern. His fingertips grasped my chin to lift my face. "Look at me."
Slowly, I raised my gaze and met his. His face was devoid of emotion. For a moment, I was fearful and for the first time, felt vulnerable.
He tilted my face up more and raised his other hand.
With a warm, damp washcloth, he began washing my face. The rubbing of the terry cloth over my skin was gentle, but firm. "Time to clean you up," he said. I kept my gaze lowered, but I knew he was staring into my face.
He continued to wash. And talk.
"I own your pussy," he began. I nodded. "And when I tell your pussy to ride my cock, that is what I want you to do."
"I..."
"Quiet."
Okay. I nodded again.
He stroked the cloth over my face with loving precision. I was pretty sure it was clean now, but he kept on going.
"I told you that no woman had ever made me come before in her mouth." He waited, I suppose to see if I would react. I didn't. "I told you to ride me. Yet, you said, no, that you were going to suck my cock. And you did. And you made me lose control and come in your mouth."
The stroking of the cloth stopped. He grasped my chin and lifted my face to meet his gaze. "You said no to me, Caroline. You took advantage of my vulnerability. You made me lose control. You shifted the control. And now, you have left me with no choice but to take it back."
Lance pushed back from the bed then and stood, tossing the washcloth aside. "Watch me," he ordered, and I did while he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, removed it, then unfastened his belt and fly, and dropped his jeans to the floor. He kicked those away along with underwear, shoes and socks, then stood beside the bed, his cock rigid and upright, while he fondled it.
"You like cock, don't you Caroline."
"I like your cock."
"It's yours, you know."
"I know."
"But tonight, I decide how you get it."
Something zinged through me. He always decided, mostly, except for the one time, but something about being bound to the bed made what was coming up slightly more titillating. He approached the bed again and straddled me, his knees at my armpits. Learning forward, he brushed his cock over my face, the velvet smoothness caressing my cheeks. He grasped his cock in his hand and methodically bounced it off my face, each slap of his flesh across my cheek heightening my arousal.
"You like cock, Caroline. You like it all ways, don't you."
He leveraged himself over my face then, pushing that cock of his through my lips. He thrust into my mouth, and I took him. This way was quite different, without me being in control of how I sucked him. It was all him and all I could do was open up and take him. He pushed deeper into my throat, and I had to adjust the angle of my head to keep from choking, gagging. He allowed me to shift, thank goodness, but he didn't let up in his thrusts. I looked up and could see him straining above me with every thrust.
"Different way," he said then, turning now to face the other way. His knees were at my shoulders, his elbows at my pelvis, and he bit at the lace of my panties, ripping them. Lowering, he first positioned his cock over my mouth.
"Suck me."
I angled up to take him inside and he thrust down, fully. Lance lay over my body, his dick fully impaled in my mouth and his face now in my pussy. I couldn't move; I could only react and take.
Lance's tongue snaked into my slit. He worked his way in, sliding that thick piece of flesh deep into and out of me, not quite reaching my hole, but allowing my pussy lips to relax and spread apart. With his tongue and mouth, he kept spreading me apart until he latched directly onto my clit and sucked.
For several minutes, he pulled and tugged, and I knew my clit was becoming swollen and engorged. All the while, Lance's cock remained firmly implanted in my mouth, and he squirmed and rotated his hips over my face.
But the sucking was soon becoming the focus of my attention. He kept pulling at me, twirling my pebble with his lips, and finally, raking his teeth over me and sending me nearly over the edge with a determined nip.
Hot pants of breath pushed out of my mouth around his cock. The growing expulsion of pleasure in my center begged for release.
Then Lance pulled away, slipped his cock out of my mouth. Stood.
The breeze from the ceiling fan above wafted over my hot breasts, leaving me cold.
I looked to him, questioning. My pussy cried out for satisfaction.
He smirked and walked out of the room.
"Bastard," I said under my breath.
It was like that most of the night. He'd come in, tease my clit until it was numb, then back away and leave me for an hour or so. He used his fingers, his tongue and a toy---a rabbit vibrator that he'd purchased hours earlier when he'd left the apartment. But he refused to give me his cock---in my pussy, that is---no matter how much I begged.
And he refused to let me come.
He did let me beg.
"Remember this day, Caroline, when you think you want to be in control of my pleasure. Remember how I took total control of yours."
Finally, somewhere between daybreak and insanity, he lay beside me, moving the rabbit in and out of me, letting its ears tease and tickle my clit on the inward stroke. My body had taken about all it could stand, and without warning, a powerful orgasm grabbed me and shook me to the core.
I cried out and pulled against all of my restraints. At once, Lance reached to both my ankles and my wrists, unshackled me, and flipped me over to my tummy. Grasping me at the hips, he held up my ass (I was too weak to do so) and he positioned me to where my butt was in the air. Still in the fringes of the orgasm, he plunged the vibrator into my pussy, revving up the battery power on the device to full speed ahead. The little rabbit ears, now, were perched at my asshole, however, rather than my clit.
The sensation sent me reeling. The rapid vibrations tickled over my anus, and I puckered with foreign sensation. My orgasm revved up again and ripped through me.
I knew the restraints were gone but I didn't want to go anywhere. I wanted to explore where Lance wanted to take me.
He rimmed my asshole with a lubed finger. The rabbit kept up its gyrations. I urged my ass backward, toward him. I felt the next wave of orgasm about to hit me.
Lance removed the vibrator from my pussy and pressed it against my anus. He pushed, gently, as the slick plastic slowly pushed inside. The vibrations relaxed me and I felt myself open, the tip of the thing slipped inside a little.
Kneeling behind me, Lance gently probed, telling me how he wanted my ass. That he'd waited for my ass, and that all he wanted me to do was stay right like I was, my ass pointed up in the air at him, waiting for him to push inside me.
And I swore that was what I would do. I had to prove to him that I could obey, that I could let him take control. That this was a give and take relationship.
That I could shift the power back to him.
"My ass is yours," I whispered.
He gave one cheek a slap and removed the vibrator. Within a second, however, he replaced it with the push of his cock against my hole.
"Goddamn, baby... I want your sweet ass."
"It's yours. Take it."
"I knew I would have it before you left. Knew I would take it."
I relaxed and opened, and he eased deeper inside of me.
"Ah, shit."
He pumped me, each thrust solid and deliberate, the length of his cock reaming me to the hilt. I longed for another release, still on the edge of coming. Finally, he reached around to my pussy and grabbed me there, squeezing my cunt, and it was just enough to jerk my orgasm into motion. My gasps and shouts, along with my convulsing lower body, must have been enough, as well, to send Lance over the edge. I felt his engorged cock bulge and throb in my ass. I took his final thrust, my ass still in the air, my thighs quivering.
He collapsed over me, and my body couldn't stay angled in that position any longer. I slumped forward on the bed, with Lance's cock still buried in my ass, and he followed, gathering me into his arms, both of us curling into a fetal position.
Several hours later, I showered and dressed. My bag was packed, and I was preparing to head home. I'd just had three incredible, sex-filled days and my feelings about leaving were mixed. I had to leave, I knew that. I had to figure out what my next steps in life were, and I couldn't do it there, with Lance. Luckily, I knew there would be fifteen hours ahead of me in the car to think.
We kissed goodbye and said we'd talk soon. I waited two hours down the road before I called him.
No answer.
I called again forty-five minutes later. This time I tried the house phone.
Disconnected.
I tried the cell again. Out of service.
It was then I knew that when I got home, his email would be non-existent, as well.
I smiled.
Thank you, Lance.
While driving, I'd come to a couple of conclusions. One, I needed to end my marriage. I clearly was not happy. I needed to move forward with the divorce, despite the consequences. And I could make it, I knew I could. Not that there wouldn't be hard times, I was sure there would be. But leave the marriage, I must.
Two, I was not going to mourn Lance. He'd served a purpose. However wrong it may have been, he gave me wings in so many ways---not to mention, sexually. He'd held power over me, I had taken it back and I'd chosen to give it up again---much to my pleasure.
And I knew the difference between the two.
I had no clue where my life was going, personally or sexually, but I did know this: Lance might have thought he'd cyber-fucked me over, that by disconnecting his phones and canceling his email accounts that he was taking the upper hand, being the one in control. Thing was, I was calling him to tell him that he'd been a nice time, but we were finished.
Time to move on.
I am the one with the power.
Too bad I didn't get to say the words. It didn't matter though. I knew when the power had shifted, even if he didn't.
One day he will call again, I know that, too, but I will be conveniently disinterested. Poor Lance. Go home and cry to your mama, boy, I thought. Caroline is moving on to the big boys.
Sex and beauty are inseparable, like life and consciousness. And the intelligence which goes with sex and beauty, and arises out of sex and beauty, is intuition.~D. H. Lawrence
Naughty Rose
The sensation brushed by my elbow again, raising the tiny hairs on the back of my arm. It was soft. Deliberate. And was the third time it had happened today.
At least, I think it all happened today.
I raked a hand through my short haircut, then glanced at a few stray hairs laced through my fingers. Gray? Studying the hairs in my hand, I thought about that for a moment. When had I turned gray? And when had I cut my hair?
Puzzled, I glanced about.
The light in the shop was dim; the time of day was somewhere between dusk and
I ambled through, one slow step at a time, heading toward the back of the antique store. I'd just locked the front door. It was Friday night, Main Street was deserted and for the twenty-seventh Friday night in a row, I was alone.
But not by choice.
Sam...
No. Not tonight. I pushed Sam out of my head.
Turning toward the cash register, I closed the drawer up tight, shoving it twice for good measure. It was an antique model---to go along with everything else in the store, including me---and the door never, ever would stay put unless you hit it twice.
I paused a moment and stared. All right. It was going to stay put. As I turned to head toward the back room, where I could take the old narrow stairwell to my apartment, it pinged out again.
Dammit.
I rotated back to give it another slam, leaning on the counter. The thing pushed out again. "Dammit!"
A cool breeze swept through the room from the rear. Had I left the back door open?
Slowly, I angled my gaze behind me. The black curtain hanging in the doorway to the storage room fluttered. The wayward drawer was forgotten, my attention focused on the glow behind the curtain.
Flashlight?
A sliver of panic rolled through me, landing in my chest. My loosely closed fist went to that point, as if to quell my suddenly racing heartbeat.
I lived alone. Laura and Bob had been urging me to move. "Come live with us, Aunt Rose," they'd say. Young hoodlums...juvenile delinquents roaming the back allies at night. Burglarizing the neighborhood, taking things to sell and buy drugs.
Not safe for me here any longer. Especially since Sam...
I told them to go to hell. I'd lived here forty-five years and had fared more trouble than they'd ever know. Hoodlums be damned.
Something rattled in the back room. My gaze fell to the cordless phone sitting on the other side of the cash register that Laura had made me buy. Just in case, she said. Call 911.
All right. I'll humor them. Turning, I took a faltering step toward the phone.
The pain at the back of my head, however, made everything go black.
My eyes fluttered open to find that the window had been raised sometime earlier that morning. Sun shone through, casting a triangle of sunny glow across my pink bedroom. Outside, the children were playing on the playground at the school across the street, their high-pitched voices calling out and teasing. My eyelet curtains, the one's I'd saved six weeks' worth of trading stamps for at the Five&Dime, billowed on the rose-scented spring breeze.
Sam. Bless him. He'd let me sleep this morning.
Must have been him, the sweetheart, who had opened the window earlier. He knew how I loved the smell of spring on the breeze, especially on waking. The trailing roses outside my window were growing higher every year, almost reaching our second story bedroom window. One day, they'd reach the sky, Sam told me.
"I'm never leaving here," I told him, "Until the roses reach the Heavens."
Stretching, I smiled, happy to start a new day, thinking about all that would happen in the coming hours.
A soft knock came to the door. I called out, and Sam slipped inside and locked it behind him with a turn of the old metal key.
"Sam..." I breathed. My beautiful Sam. Hardworking, muscled, and tender as a Teddy Bear. The love of my life.
"I let you sleep," he said, sauntering toward the bed, unbuttoning his shirt.
"I know." Deep inside my belly, things started tightening. I knew exactly what was on Sam's mind this morning.
"The roses are blooming."
"I love the smell of them."
"I know that."
He put a knee on the bed beside me while shrugging out of his shirt. My hands went to his belt and pulled to loosen the clasp.
"You are my naughty little Rose," he told me.
Grinning, I tipped my head in a demure fashion. "I know. I am your naughty Rose."
He reached for the hem of my cotton gown, and I shifted while he lifted it up. "Pretty dusky pink nipples," he said, while pinching and squeezing them. "Just like the roses."
Heat rose to my cheeks and fire zinged from my breasts to between my legs. I lay back and Sam went with me, his mouth now covering one of my nipples and his fingers still pinching the other.
He suckled my breast, like the babies I never had, and I reveled in the intimacy.
Breaking away with a sigh, he rolled back, and I slipped off the bed.
"Let me dance for you," I said. There was no music, of course, but that didn't matter to me. Or him.
"Dance for me."
The curtains blew softly about as I stood between the bed and the window. I tucked my head and lifted my gown with one hand, inching it up my thigh, while I swayed to a gentle hum coming from my mouth. He watched, lying on his side, his broad, hairy chest glistening with perspiration, his fly open, and his ankles crossed. His gaze never left my body, trailing from my face to my naughty little pussy.
I swayed some more and hummed, then twirled to show him my backside. I lifted one corner of my gown over my bottom, showing him my bare fleshy rear. I smoothed a hand over myself and looked back to see what he was doing. The long length of my brunette hair trailed over my shoulder.
Sam's hand was now moving into his fly. I smiled.
Turning back, I sashayed closer to the bed, keeping my eyes in direct contact with his. Bending over, I gave him a nice look at my full breasts, now spilling out of my gown. Humming faster now, I stood up straight and started gyrating before him, lifting my gown higher and higher until I had pulled it totally over my head, swung it around once or twice and tossed it on the bed.
Sam, after slipping out of his work boots and denims, was now reaching to glide his hand and fingers over his hard organ.
I watched him, touching himself, while I swayed and swiveled on my tippy-toes. Lifting my hands over my head, I swung back toward the open window and danced before the world. I didn't care. I had a beautiful body. Sam told me so. My humming increased, faster and faster, and I twirled and twirled in front of the window. I could see Sam jerking himself off with each dizzying pass I made by the bed.
"La, la, la, la, la, la, laaaaaa!"
I was free. Happy. It was spring.
The roses were in bloom. Almost touching the sky---
I grasped the eyelet curtains and twisted myself up in them. I danced and danced, winding me up in, and out of the curtains. I sped and spun, and my pussy grew hotter and wetter and tighter and aching...
Sam grabbed me from behind. The curtains came tumbling down. He tore and ripped them from my body.
In the next motion, he bent me over, my hands on the windowsill. His big hands were on my bottom, spreading me apart. And his cock, oh yes, that cock that I loved so much, was abruptly buried in my pussy from behind.
He was fucking me. Yes, I was naughty. I wasn't supposed to say words like fuck.
"FUCK ME!"
I yelled it out the window. Sam spanked me on my right butt cheek.
"Fuck me!" I shouted again. "Sam Robbins, fuck my naughty ass!"
He spanked me again. "Bad, naughty Rose!" he said. The sting only made me push back into him harder.
Sam's gyrations and thrusts made my dizzy head even dizzier. I watched out the window, saw the children in the distance, on the merry-go-round across the street.
Round and round.
Got lost in the spin.
Faster and faster.
Harder and harder.
Sam groaned, grabbed a length of my hair and wound it about his fist, and held onto me like he was riding a horse. I laughed. My breasts were pounding against the sill now. His cock felt so good in my pussy. And the roses smelled so sweet out my window.
"Oh. Oh!"
He grabbed a breast from behind, squeezing. "My naughty Rose," he called out. "My goddamned naughty Rose!"
I giggled with delight. I loved being his naughty Rose. And the naughtier I was, the harder he fucked me.
Sam pushed his hand between my legs then and slapped me there. The sting set me over. I huffed, and screamed out, as a ripping climax claimed my body. Sam shouted too, and his final thrust nearly pushed me up against the screen.
I loved the way, right after he came, that Sam would continue to slowly push in and out of me, as if he was easing us both down from Heaven. Finally, he pulled away, took me into his arms and lay me on the bed. For a while, he simply held me, raining soft kisses over my face and smoothing his big rough hands over my body.
"I love my naughty Rose," he'd say softly, over and over again.
I fell asleep in his arms. Later, when I woke, the eyelet curtains were back up on the window.
"Aunt Rose... Aunt Rose..."
The voices faded in and out.
Sam? Sam?
"This is ridiculous. We're not taking no for an answer this time. She's coming with us."
"Bob, we can't go against her wishes."
The eyelet curtains billowed on the breeze. Roses. I smell the roses.
"She could have died."
"But she didn't."
Did I? Die?
I love you, my naughty Rose.
Oh, Sam...
"Once we get her out of the hospital, it's a done deal."
The sunny triangle of light beckoned. Sam? Are you here?
I'm here, sweetheart. My lovely, Rose.
Sam? You are here?
He was, walking slowly toward me. Head full of sandy hair, broad chest sporting a flannel shirt, denims and work boots.
"La, la, la, la, la, la..."
"Is she singing?"
Came home for an early lunch, my naughty Rose. Will you dance for me? Then I'll take you home with me. A new home.
Oh, Sam. But the roses haven't reached the bedroom yet.
The light was bright, the sun pouring in the window. I felt a strong urge to walk into it.
"She's crashing!"
"Aunt Rose!"
It's okay, naughty Rose, the roses reach all the way to Heaven now. Come here. Hold my hand. I'll help you...
"Code Blue. Code Blue!"
Really, Sam? All the way to Heaven?
I danced forward, twirling across the room. Children were playing outside the window. The roses were as sweet as I'd ever smelled them. And my beloved Sam held out his hand and took me into his arms.
Together, we stepped through the eyelet curtains, into the bright sunshine.
All the way, my lovely, Rose. All the way. I've been waiting for you to join me.
The petals on the roses were soft against my face, and I giggled as we climbed the trellis higher and higher.
Sam. My Sam. I've missed you.
Look Rose, he said, the roses are the same color as your dusky pink nipples...
It is not enough to conquer; one must also know how to seduce. ~Voltaire
BONUS STORY!
On Bended KneeBy Tia Fanning and Mia Jae
If Renee Celeste didn't get a cigarette soon, she was going to have a panic attack. It wasn't going to be one of those small episodes either. No, this was going to be one of those full-blown attacks that usually had her passing out from lack of oxygen.
Thoughts of ending up at the hospital caused her chest to tighten more. Her sight blurred for a moment, then tipped the world cockeyed. She blinked until her vision cleared.
Her stress level was too high. She had to calm down.
Wandering the airport's concourse, Renee desperately searched the area around her. The 'you are here' map had clearly showed the smoking section located near the bookstore, and yet, she didn't see it. She spun around.
Where could it be?
Frustrated tears sprang to her eyes. She was tired, she was defeated and all she wanted was a damn cigarette. Why was God doing this to her?
Breathe, Renee, just breathe.
She shook her head, sending a quick apology to the good Lord. It wasn't God's fault. Everything that had happened this day, and during the ten years before this day, was her fault, and hers alone.
Wiping her cheeks, she took a labored breath. The smoking area was near here. Somewhere. And she'd locate it if she tried hard enough. Finding strength in her self-encouragement, she resumed her search.
The seconds ticked by. Just as she was about to explode, she exhaled in relief. The Lord had taken mercy on her and answered her prayer. Her salvation was right in front of her.
Not thinking, she rushed forward, only to find herself on a collision course with a scurrying flight attendant.
Renee veered left and scooted past the woman without bodily contact, but the abrupt direction change tipped her high stilettos. She stumbled and her carryall slipped off her shoulder. She flung her arms out and managed to capture the large purse before it hit the ground, but not in time to stop half of life from spilling out and clattering across the floor.
Damn it!
Renee started to bend, then immediately stilled. Her grey skirt was so tight it would surely rip in half if she proceeded any farther.
Adjusting her black off-one-shoulder sweater, she sighed audibly and stared at her scattered belongings, waiting to see if someone would come to her rescue. When a minute passed and no one stopped, she concluded there was no such thing as good Samaritans when there were connections to catch.
Rubbing her temples, she wondered why she ever let her sister talk her into wearing the outfit.
Because she'd said you looked sexy, yet professional in it, and you wanted to make your bastard ex-husband regret what he gave up so easily.
Whom was she fooling? She wasn't sexy. If she were, her husband wouldn't have left her for a twenty-year-old floozy in the first place. No, all the skirt did was restrained her movements and make her feel as stiff as an over-stuffed sausage. And the sweater showed more skin than she deemed necessary.
Well, she never was the racy type. Her ex-husband had commented many times about her lack of sex appeal. You have the looks, but no idea how to use them.
Keeping her spine straight, she bent her legs, bringing her body low until she was able to put one knee down on the floor, followed by the other. She gathered her stuff and threw it into her purse.
With a balance she had mastered from the years spent as a ballet dancer, she rose the same as she'd descended, somewhat proud of the small accomplishment.
Ha! Perhaps her mother had been right. Maybe something useful had come out of that dancing after all.
She cringed. Then again, maybe not. She'd met asshole husband at one of her performances.
She needed that cigarette. Right now.
Moving into the smoking area, she discovered it was nearly empty. Finding a deserted row of tacky orange chairs, she practically collapsed into one, dug through her purse and fetched out a silver cigarette case.
She knew she was tempting fate with every cigarette she indulged, but she loved smoking. Smoking kept her calm and helped her focus. It was by smoking that she handled her stress. She would never quit smoking, could never quit smoking, cancer be damned.
Sliding a menthol out of her case, she began searching for a light.
Shit! She didn't have one. She had forfeited her lighter to some bitchy female guard at the security checkpoint. The stupid x-ray machine had spotted the lighter even though she hid it in her make-up bag.
Damn new airport rules!
Panic began to set in again. She looked around, rose and stepped further into the smoking area. Except for two young men in desert fatigues who didn't even look old enough to smoke, the area was empty. They stood around the corner from the entrance, in a little cubbyhole away from the rest of the smoking area. She watched the soldiers smash their butts into the ashtray and moved toward them.
"Hi, gentlemen. You wouldn't happen to have a match, would you?"
They each hefted a large beige duffle bag onto their backs and gave her a sympathetic look. "Sorry, ma'am," one replied. "We caught a light from a lady that left just before you arrived."
"It's okay," Renee assured them. "Are you boys heading to Iraq?"
"Yes, ma'am," both replied in unison.
"Well, you two be careful over there. And thanks for serving our country."
Shy smiles formed on the soldier's faces as they nodded, walking toward the main hall. "Thanks, we'll be careful."
Renee sat on one of the chairs they had just vacated, a whoosh exiting her lips. Tucking her bag up next to her, she crossed her legs. The cigarette sat balanced between two fingers and her crossed leg started a little jerking action.
As they left, a man wearing jeans and a blazer over a white t-shirt entered the smoking area. He glanced about, spied her back in the hidey-hole, sauntered her way and sat down in the row across from her.
He slid his hand into his jacket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes and a brass lighter.
She watched him put a smoke in his mouth, then place the pack back into his coat pocket. Able fingers flicked back the Zippo's top with an audible click, simultaneously sparking the flint. The fire flared, and he slowly brought it up, kindling the cigarette's end.
Another click and the Zippo was shut, now resting in the palm of his closed hand.
Excitement rushed through her at the prospect of attaining the one thing she needed. But as she observed the stranger fully, dread replaced her delight. Tall, dark, a strong jaw to match a strong body, she shook her head. He was not the type of person she would usually approach for anything. The man before her looked harsh, callous and capable of rejecting her request without a moment of remorse for the impolite refusal, a refusal that would utterly embarrass her.
Why couldn't a nice, friendly person have walked in?
He inhaled deeply and relaxed back in his chair, crossing one leg over his knee, his shiny leather boot gleaming under the fluorescent light. He exhaled, the smoke twirling through the air, taunting her.
Renee sighed softly, and the stranger looked up as if he heard the frustration on her breath. A sliver of hope emerged. Maybe he'd solve her dilemma on his own merit. She smiled expectantly, cigarette in hand, and patiently waited for him to offer a light.
His gaze roamed over her. His face was expressionless, framing hard grey eyes akin to steel. A moment of tense silence passed between them, but he said nothing, showed nothing.
They made eye contact. Possessive and commanding, his intense stare overwhelmed. She wanted to look away, but those silver orbs entranced her, held her in place, and demanded nothing less than her total attention. Her cheeks heated, and blood surged through her body as his gaze ignited her, stroked her, then consumed her. Her breath caught in her throat. It was as if she fell into a pool of mercury and was suddenly drowning.
Would he rescue her?
Her insides melted, and she wondered if this was what is was to be hypnotized. Not that she'd care, she'd readily do his bidding.
He raised his eyebrows as if he'd read her mind.
Her heart jumped, and her stomach did summersaults. Too much! Too much! She broke their eye contact, now uncomfortable with the intrusion. Though she stared at the floor, she could feel his gaze searing her skin.
Renee bit her bottom lip, hoping the pain would allow her some control of her rushing senses. It did very little to help.
What was wrong with her? Why would she let another man, one she hadn't even met, get her all worked up?
She glanced at the entrance to the smoking area, waiting, praying that someone else would come in. Of course, true to the shitty day she'd been having, no one did.
With no other options left, she rolled her unlit cigarette between her fingers and let desperation fuel her courage. She glanced up at the mysterious stranger.
"I see you managed to smuggle a lighter in." She nervously giggled. "May I have a light?"
Uncrossing his legs, he leaned forward and rested his arm on his thigh. He cocked his head and let the lighter weave between his fingers, mimicking the way she fiddled with her cigarette.
Her heart stopped. Was he going to say 'no'?
"Sure," he purred and opened his hand, displaying the lighter on his large palm.
Relieved at the simplicity of his affirmative, she rose from her seat, approaching him much like a child would if he was offering a piece of candy.
She waited for him to give her the Zippo, but he didn't. The small brass rectangle remained laying in his hand, sitting on his thigh, beckoning like a golden treasure and promising to grant her greatest desire.
Maybe he wanted her to pick it up.
She reached forward.
In a blur of movement, his fingers shifted and ignited the lighter. The wick flared and Renee pulled back. With his hand secured around the Zippo, there was no way for her to take it from him without burning herself.
Holding her breath, she waited for him to raise the flame to a reasonable level between them. However, his arm remained steady upon his leg.
Why, she'd practically have to crouch between his knees to...
She didn't know what to do. He couldn't really be expecting her to bend over, could he? She looked at his face, hoping to read there some form of guidance or a hint on how he wanted her to proceed.
Nothing tinged his handsome features. No expectations, no annoyance, no resentment, just nothing. He simply waited.
Shit.
She would curse her sister from this day until the Apocalypse for talking her into wearing this damn tight skirt and the sweater that showed way too much cleavage.
Damn. It.
But she needed a drag of nicotine. Real bad.
She glanced at the lighter, still flickering, then up to the gentleman's face. His gaze hooked into hers and held. Steel grey. Unmoving.
All right.
She kicked off one of her heels, then the other, which lowered her about three inches.
"Keep the heels on." The lighter flicked off.
She glanced from it, back to his face again, in disbelief. "What?"
"You want a light? Put the heels back on."
Renee narrowed her gaze. Bastard. He was going to make her work for a simple fucking light? If she didn't need a cigarette so damn bad, she'd tell him to go to hell.
But she didn't.
Okay. I'll play. Her ex might not think she knew how to use her looks and body, but today, she was going to prove him wrong.
She slipped first one set of toes, then another, into her black patent leather stiletto pumps. Leaning slightly forward, she put the cigarette between her lips, placed a palm on each of the man's knees and squeezed.
Using his legs for leverage, she slowly lowered herself toward the floor. All the while, her gaze never left his stoic face. Her head willed her body to move into a crouch, but her body, and the damn skirt, had other ideas. She must look a little like a stuffed cannoli trying to bend at will.
Her knees pressed together, she found if she spread her feet out at an angle, she could get closer.
The lighter flicked on again. Renee glanced to the man's face, then lower to her target. Come to mama, sweet flickering flame...
She bent lower, snug between his knees. Had he squeezed them closer together? Leaning, she knew her sweater was gaping, her breasts spilling over. She didn't dare look to her chest. That would appear, um, insecure? Last thing she wanted to appear was insecure.
Even if that's how she felt.
Gaining ground, she slowly moved closer to the lighter. So close, she pursed her lips together now so she could angle the cigarette toward it. The flame licked higher. She could feel the heat.
Steady. Steady.
Her ankles wobbled. The cigarette quivered between her lips.
Her right heel slid out. A rip sounded to her left. Her knee hit the hard floor. An elbow jabbed into the guy's thigh.
He jerked the lighter back just in the nick of time and her face landed square in his lap.
Square.
In his lap.
Like, on his crotch.
Like, so far into his crotch she got a face full of erection.
For a second or two, Renee lay frozen, her arms flung over his thighs, her pencil-skirted ass perched up in the air, her legs all a-splay.
Where was her cigarette?
She pushed back, still on her knees, and looked up at him.
He sat unmoving, except for leaning back in his seat now, legs sprawled, hands resting outside his thighs, looking down at her.
He flicked the lighter off. On. Off again. On. Off.
"Just how I like my women," he finally said. "On their knees, between my thighs, and looking up at me."
Renee gulped. Something twittered through her chest and snaked to her gut, and lower. She could be a child right now, a little girl, and run away. Or, she could be a woman---a sexy, sassy, sophisticated woman and come back with something snappy and sultry. Instead, she said, "You'd have a cow if I slipped your zipper down and sucked your cock right here and now."
It was a stupid, stupid thing to say, because he answered with, "Moo...."
"Ha ha." She wanted to lick her lips. Tried like hell not to.
"Try me."
"People would see."
"They'd probably enjoy it."
"As would you."
"People watching turns me on."
"You're sick."
"How bad do you want a light?"
She was shaking. How bad did she want a light? Pretty fucking bad. But could she... She glanced about. A couple of TSA agents in blue shirts walked by the entrance. "We'll get arrested."
"Maybe. Maybe not."
You have the looks, but no idea how to use them.
Okay, Renee. But maybe you should use your brains rather than your looks.
Where is my cigarette?
Her gaze darted about. Please let it not be on the floor. She couldn't bend over any further....
Ah. There. She spotted it.
"I want that light pretty damn bad." She dipped her head a bit and batted an eye. The guy brushed his thumb over the flint; fire flashed back on, and off, again. For the first time, his face broke into a come-hither grin.
Renee scooted forward, both palms slid up his thighs. Looking through her lashes, she eased forward. Slowly. Slowly.
She was so close now, her breasts were crowded up against his inner thighs. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the flicker of the lighter. Damn, if he keeps doing that, there won't be any fluid left by the time I get there.
Leaning forward, she spied the cigarette again, tucked in between the folds of his jeans, angled horizontally across his growing bulge. A few more inches, and her mouth was snaking up his fly. With her teeth, she grasped the slide of his zipper and tugged.
A slight groan escaped from deep in his throat.
What I was waiting for. Catch him off guard.
Working quickly, Renee snatched the cigarette off his bulge with her lips, steadied it with two fingers, leaned over the lighter flame, and sucked air.
The end of her cigarette flared.
She pushed off the man and stood, a lot quicker than she had descended. Taking two steps backward, she stood in front of him, one arm crossed over her chest, one toe tapping nervously on the floor, and took a long, deep drag off the cig.
And exhaled.
Long.
Took another deep drag. Blew it out. Again.
Thank, God.
The nicotine spread like warm honey throughout her system. Her foot gradually stopped tapping. She met his gaze.
He chuckled and flipped off the lighter.
"Thanks," she said, and reached to the orange chair where she'd dropped her purse a few moments earlier. "Gotta get to my gate." As she stepped away, she realized there was a little rip in the seam over her left hip. Damn it.
"Hey!"
Renee glanced over her shoulder, the one that was bare. "Yeah?"
A business card spun from the man's fingertips and landed at her feet. She glanced at it, then back to his expectant face.
No. Way.
She flashed a smile back, turned on a stilettoed heel, and left the card right there on the floor.
The End
About the Author
Mia is a Midwest girl who always had a thing for travel. Growing up in the middle of the country was one thing, but for some reason, she always longed to be "on the edge." Living on the edge meant leaving home for sand and surf on both coasts (she's partial to North Carolina and San Diego beaches) and a stint living in New Orleans, pre-Katrina. Living on the fringes of the country seems to nicely parallel how she's lived her life. No regrets. Always looking forward. Take a risk or two. Just like the characters in her books. Bold, sassy, sexy, sophisticated, and erotic...and experiencing life to the fringes.
Website: http://www.miajae.com
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Additional Titles byErotic Romance AuthorMia Jae
Nice and Naughty
Cassie Franklin has to prove herself. After all, she's the first female head of the English department at the university. But that doesn't mean she has to prove herself sexually to Eric Marsh, a fellow professor in the English department, does it?
Then there is Ryan. Strong and sexy, with hands that can ease away the tension of most any job, he almost makes her forget her risky escapades with Eric.
Until Cassie realizes that Ryan and Eric have a closer connection than she ever could have imagined, and they have very specific plans for her...
Lust, Lies and Tinsel Ties
Bree Connor thinks she's volunteered to be a cocktail waitress at a benefit party for the homeless, donating her tips to the shelter---until the end of the night when she gets auctioned off to the highest bidder. The buyer? A man who has been giving her eyes all evening. He also happens to be the partner of the man Bree had an extremely unforgettable sexual encounter with a few months earlier, and has been avoiding all evening.
Oh, what a tinseled web we weave...
With 24 hours to do her buyer's bidding, she finds herself draped in tinsel and bound to a humongous antique bed, awaiting her Christmas Eve fate, only to find that she's been purchased as a gift for the man she's been trying to avoid. Unfortunately, her buyer orders them to 'get each other out of their systems' so they can go on with their lives... or not. Thing is, while blindfolded and securely bound, Bree is pretty sure she feels two sets of hands on her body instead of just one...
Are you hot for teacher?Check out the Hot for Teacher Series atResplendence Publishing
Two Plus One by Brynn Paulin
College math teacher, Briony Swift, lives life on the straight and narrow. After all, one plus one always equals two. But when two of her adult male students visit her office one afternoon, she soon discovers that one plus two might be a new and better equation to explore...
Body of Art by Bronwyn Green
Art professor Seth Granger has two problems---an absentee life drawing models and a case of unrequited lust. Luckily his troubles have the same answer---his colleague, Dr. Callie Sullivan.
The trick will be getting her out of her clothes and into his studio...and hopefully into his bed. However, she's intent on keeping her mind on her art and ignoring him. Now he just needs to convince her she should be his body of art.
Sense and Sensuality by Cara Hart
Eleanor McLaren leads a subdued life. She hates parties, avoids social interactions, and she cannot talk to men. But within the shell of her timidity lies the heart of a siren. Afraid of her own boldness, she hides her desires. Especially from the man who stars in her dreams of passionate encounters and works in her department.
Eddie Harrington has never lacked for partners in his pleasure games. But for some reason, Eleanor is the one woman he can't get out of his head. She is definitely not the type he usually pursues. Then he sees her at a bar, looking like his wildest fantasy. And one night with her is not going to be enough. The man who never commits just might have met his match-until a mistake from his past forces her to choose between trusting him or walking away.
Sex Ed by Mia Watts
Mina Lasky has a pesky crush on Biology professor, Derek Link. They've worked in tandem in the same University facility long enough that even the sound of his voice makes her hot. It's time to put the fantasy to an end. Mina signs up to be his guinea pig in a female sexuality lab for those on the doctorate track. She hopes to work Derek out of her system while enjoying some much needed sexual stimulation.
Dr. Derek Link has been itching to get his hands on the quiet, sexy Chemistry professor. He can't believe his luck when she signs up to be his lab. But one night isn't enough and Mina won't admit they can have something a lot more long term.
And when one of the students recognizes Mina, her heart isn't the only thing on the line. With her career in the hands of a blackmailer, and her heart begging to trust Derek, she's beginning to think the lab was a very bad idea.
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