Return on Integrity

“New media continues to change the way companies approach the consumer,” Josh went on, walking across the room.

It’s 8:00AM and I’m slouching through the second strategy meeting of the week. Social media is the new it thing, even though it’s not really that new. You can’t have a decent conversation nowadays without slamming into things like “viral,” “tribe,” “transparency,” “return on integrity,” “influencer”–it’s incredibly annoying.

“The trend is shifting from the importance of branding to creating conversation, putting faces and names to companies, working with and through influencers…”

Of course, it’s also made it perfectly acceptable to be glued to your iPhone during strategy meetings–you have to keep up with the conversation, after all.

Even if the conversation has nothing to do with the industry.

“What would you do if you were here?” Alistair asked me.

We’d been messaging back and forth all morning. Alistair lives in New York, which essentially means he’s texting me by 3:00AM Honolulu time, and possibly explains my improved timeliness, as well as my dire need for caffeine all day long.

I met him while he was here on business, as part of a think tank to embrace web 2.0.

I looked up at Josh, still speaking, and panned the room. Half of the team was looking down at their mobile devices. I launched PocketTweets and tweeted something about the importance of social media in terms of awareness and conversion. You know, to make sure they knew I was paying attention.

Then I replied to Alistair: “I’d fuck you somewhere public.”

His response was immediate: “I like that. The park. A restaurant. Against the lamppost, your skirt pulled up.”

ME: A street corner.

HIM: I want them to see your face while I fuck you, your pussy spread open on my cock. I will have to spank you for a bit.

ME: As cars slow down to stop for a light, my tits exposed and my hands tied to the post, over my head. You gonna spank me mercilessly? I hope so. And alternate between slapping me and kissing me while you fuck me.

“You know that’s what I will do,” he responded a few minutes later. “And I am going to spit into your pretty face when I drive into you.”

Oh, spit. I’d forgotten about that. I knew I would fuck him from the moment I saw him. It’s true what they say about women. We do know if we’re going to fuck someone within seconds of meeting them.

With Alistair, it was instantaneous. Almost minutes after the handshake and the boring meeting that followed, we were at his hotel, making out violently against the wall. He picked me up and threw me on the bed, crawled over me and before kissing me again, he spit into my face.

“You want to be my whore?” he asked me. “You know you do. Tell me you do.”

“I want to be your whore,” I said. “Make me your whore.”

He did.

I thought about him doing that again, uncrossed my legs and responded to his message: “My cunt is pulsating thinking about it.”

HIM: When I am all the way inside you, I am going to choke you.

ME: I am so, so wet thinking about you chocking me as you fuck me, my face stained with tears and your spit.

HIM: I want you wet and dripping. That’s how I want you. Messy and crying. Remember: this is after you’ve been gagging on my cock for a full hour. Taking it deep in your throat, yes? How far?

“All the fucking way. I am going to impale my face on your…” I paused and looked up at Josh, who was presenting some data from a study by RazorFish.

“Impale my face on your ridiculous cock.” I finished.

If you were with him, you wouldn’t think Alistair had ridiculous cock. He has a cock that’s quite decent, actually. Unless you love giant cocks, as I do.

“The growing focus on social media will continue in 2009 as companies generate quantifiable results through engagement, open communication, responsiveness and crowd-sourcing,” Josh kept speaking in the background. “We’re currently working to improve our existing social media measurement tools, including comparability to other marketing media and tracking trending…”

“Wait, what do you mean ridiculous?” Alistair asked.

ME: Not a monster cock.

HIM: It won’t even be a challenge for you, will it?

ME: I hope you ask me in person and slap me hard across the face when I pull your dick out of my mouth and tell you no. Not even a challenge.

HIM: You love monster cocks, don’t you? What are we going to do about that?

ME: Give me them. But first you. Then hunting.

HIM: First me. Always me first. I am greedy for you.

ME: Yes, that’s how I want you.

HIM: When you take my cock out of your mouth, you will be laughing. And I will ask you why.

ME: And I will say it’s your cock, your ridiculous little cock. One of the smallest dicks I’ve ever seen.

HIM: And then I will slap your face, stinging. And if you don’t stop, I will slap it harder. I am even going to slap it while my cock is in your mouth.

Josh asked someone a question. I stopped to pay attention, I had to inform those present about some expansion we were working on with the microblogging platform Twitter.

When I didn’t respond for a few minutes, Alistair messaged me again, “Is that true about my cock?”

ME: Mmm, yes, it’s true. Slap me, slap me hard, baby, until I cry and then I will laugh again.

HIM: You little slut, I will slap you hard, over and over until you admit it’s your favorite cock ever. That you need it every day.

ME: I dare you. I dare you to slap me until I admit that yours is my favorite cock ever.

“Alice,” Josh motioned to me, letting me know it was my turn to start.

I rose slowly, walked to the front and began discussing the revolution in communication that had been brought on by Twitter.

“The power and speed of the microblogging platform is impossible to deny,” I heard myself saying. “Example: when the earthquake of July 29th shook Los Angeles, the news broke on Twitter in seconds. The AP took a full ten minutes.”

I went on to discuss the speed of information, the community on Twitter, the manner that these could be harnessed to convert and bring awareness to a product. The slides moved fluidly with examples like Zappos, Dell, Starbucks, brands that were using Twitter to build loyal followings.

When I returned to my seat some time later, I had a message from Alistair waiting: “Do you like my ass?”

“I love your tight little pink pucker, I can’t wait to put my giant cock in it,” I responded.

HIM: Don’t promise something you can’t deliver. I doubt a girl like you would have a big cock.

ME: I will show you after you have your way with me. Once you know what it’s like to have a monster cock inside you, you’ll never go back.

HIM: Oh my… do you think you can make me your little bitch?

ME: You are my little bitch. I’m gonna make you beg for my cock, squirm those little ass cheeks around it and squeal like a piglet.

HIM: When you saw my cock did you decide you should be the one fucking me?

ME: Look at you, my little bitch, such prompt replies. I knew I would be fucking you—remember how fast I got on you after I realized how easy you were, you dirty little cockslut? You love being my little cockslut, don’t you?

HIM: Yes, I love worshiping your cock, Alice. I love being used by you. I love kneeling down before you, trying to please you.

ME: Now leave me a message telling me how much you love my cock and kneel while you do it.

HIM: On your voicemail? But you haven’t let me touch your cock yet.

ME: Yes, right now. Beg for my cock and I might let you have it.

My phone lit up with a phone call call a few minutes later. I let it go to voicemail. It was shortly followed by another message from Alistair.

“My ass is twitching for you…” he said. “Alice, I want to unzip your pants…”

ME: I may let you have it, see what you can do with it. You’ve done it before, yes? Worship cock? Don’t lie to me, you little cockslut.

HIM: I don’t know, have I? I just want yours. Will I like it?

ME: I’m sitting back, pants unzipped, half-hard cock in my hand… tell me about the cocks you’ve had. Tell me how you worshiped them.

HIM: That’s difficult to type. Better for conversation. But there haven’t been that many.

ME: Don’t lie to me, cockslut. I know you love the cock, sucking them, being fucked by them. Yes, you do.

HIM: I’ve tried to be good, licking them all the way up and down… I don’t know. Yours I might love. I want you to sit back while I suck the head of your cock. While I spit on it to get you hard.

ME: Oh, yes, my dirty little cockslut, suck the head and lick the cumslit and apply pressure on the prepuce with your tongue.

HIM: My hand will be jerking you at the base. I will try not to let my teeth get you. Pull my hair.

ME: I will use your hair to guide you, pulling on that gorgeous cockslut mane of yours when I see fit.

HIM: I like my throat fucked. Can you do that? A lot of girls don’t know how.

ME: My dick will thrill you. I will fuck your throat. I know how.

HIM: Can we talk?

ME: I’m busy, sweet pet. What can’t you type about these marvelous cocks?

HIM: Just that I want yours. The others were nice, I try to go as deep as I can on them–it can be very wet–but I want to see your huge cock on your amazing body, that will be a memorable sight.

ME: You like that, don’t you? The perfect shape of a woman and the force of a mighty prick.

HIM: I think you’d like that, too, wouldn’t you?

ME: I’m asking the questions now. Tell me how you love it, cockslut.

HIM: Oh, please, everyone thinks they have a huge dick, but only a lucky few like me really do.

ME: My dick owns your dick.

HIM: What do you mean owns my dick?

ME: I mean my dick owns your dick.

The meeting was over, there was a general sense of purpose about everyone. People were invigorated by the data, ready to get to work, to change the world.

Alistair messaged me as I was walking back to my office.

HIM: I like someone with a monster cock who will tell me how to take it and make me beg for it and whisper to me as she fucks me.

ME: Humor me, baby, tell me the kinds of things you like to hear when you have a cock inside you.

As I walked, I could feel how wet I was. I stopped in the hall and veered into a supply closet, closing the door behind me. Then, I texted him: “We have to do this on the phone. Call me.”

I answered the call as soon as the call came.

“You’re eager for my cock, aren’t you?” I asked him as soon as I heard his voice. “You want me to fuck you hard, don’t you? Tell me you do.”

“I want you to fuck me, Alice.”

“Oh, my little cockslut,” I said, leaning against an inactive copier, spreading my legs and reaching under my skirt to feel my hot, wet cunt.

“Tell me about the other dicks you’ve had. Tell me your first.”

“It was in sixth grade,” he said. “A boy who lived down the street.”

“Did you suck it?”

“No, I was too innocent.”

I slipped a finger inside me. “Did you want to?”

“Yes.”

“Did he fuck you?”

“No, but he put it against my ass.”

“How did it feel, you dirty cockslut?” I slid another finger inside me and rubbed my clit with my thumb.

“It felt good.”

I moaned. “Tell me about the first time you had some dick.”

“I was older. In high school. A girl invited me over. I knew she had a dick.”

“She had a dick?” I asked, in a considerably quieter tone, followed by another moan. “How?”

“You know how,” he responded. I didn’t exactly, but I could imagine.

“She invited me over and fucked me.”

“Did you know she would?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you went?”

“Yes.”

The door opened and suddenly, Josh was standing before me, with only a shelf of supplies between us. I knew he could see me and what I was doing. I didn’t stop. He didn’t move for a moment.

“Tell me what she did to you,” I said, making eye contact with Josh.

He closed the door behind him and walked slowly toward me. I looked at him and then reached out, taking hold of his belt and pulling him to me.

As Alistair told me his story, I kissed Josh, feeling his dick hardening in his pants. I unbuttoned and unzipped them, taking his cock in my hands. Another ridiculous cock, though perhaps less ridiculous. I couldn’t quite recall Alistair’s.

I turned around and bent over the copier, still listening to Alistair. Josh lifted my skirt. His cock was hot when it made contact with my slit, wet and throbbing, ready to take him. I resumed playing with myself with my other hand.

Suddenly, without any warm-up, Josh was fucking me, his hands on my hips, giving me his cock in long, hard strokes as I listened to Alistair’s voice weave his story.

“Are you playing with yourself?” I asked him, moaning.

“Yes, and I’m thinking about your lovely face looking up at me while you swallow my cock.”

“Tears streaking down my cheeks?”

“Yes. And your spit dripping off my balls,” he responded. “Take just the head in. Cup my balls in your hand. I want you to slowly inch down my cock with your throat.”

Josh plunged into me and I moaned again into the phone before asking Alistair, “Can you feel my hot mouth on your cock?”

“Yes… look up at me. I want to see your eyes. How deep can you go, darling? I want you to slowly take me to the base, Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

Josh thrust harder and deeper. I was slamming into the copier. One of his hands found and unbuttoned my blouse, pulling one of my tits out of my bra as he continued to pound me.

“I will be slapping your face while you do it. Not so hard,” Alistair went on. “Do you take all the men deep like that?”

“No,” I whispered. “My cunt is too greedy.”

Josh slammed into me.

Can you take all your men deep like that?”

“Of course not,” I choked out.

“What do you mean of course not?”

“They’re too big for my mouth.”

“But I know you love that,” Alistair said. “Don’t you?”

Josh was fucking me faster and faster, his face close to my ear, near the phone, and his moans stilled by his desire to hear what we were saying.

“I have a rather small mouth,” I said.

“But you saw my cock and you know you can take it all the way down, yes? I demand that. Your mouth is sexy and small. I am guessing most guys are too big for it. Am I right?”

“Yes,” I responded, turning my head a little so Josh could see my mouth, imagine what it would be like to stick his cock, covered in my cunt juice, into it.

“I will be the first guy you’ve been able to go deep on?” Alistair asked.

“No.”

“What percentage of your men have bigger dicks than mine? Tell me the truth, you little slut.”

“I hate math,” I lied. Then after a fast tabulation, I added, “85.”

“I love the irony,” Alistair said. “My little size queen is going to be worshiping my cock for some time. And practicing her deep throat skills on it. Tell me, Alice, do you go looking for bigger cocks?”

“They find me. And I can just tell how big a guy is going to be, looking at him.”

“You knew I wasn’t to be as hung as you like but you let me take you home anyway. Is that true?”

“Yes,” I responded. “Because you said you get what you want in that quiet way of a man who always does.”

Josh slowed down for a moment, and I knew he was close.

“The most important question remains,” Alistair went on. “Is your dick bigger than mine, I wonder?”

“Of course it is, baby.”

Josh plunged inside me again.

“Much bigger?”

“Don’t be scared, darling. I will be gentle.”

“Please be gentle. Go slow.” Then he asked, “Are you longer than me or thicker than me?”

“Both,” I responded. “I will make you crave every inch of me deep inside you.”

Josh sped up, fucking me hard again.

“Are you going to show me what a monster cock feels like?”

“I am going to show you how to love a monster cock.” I said, as Josh began biting my neck. “I am going to fill you with so much cock, you will cum harder than you ever have in your life.”

“Oh my god,” Alistair responded, moaning. “Be sweet to me when you fuck me. At first.”

I moaned, feeling my orgasm begin to creep up. Alistair added, “I want you to slap your cock against mine.”

“You will. After you suck me off.”

“How do you like it?”

“Fast, with pressure around the head and along the frenulum.”

“Are you going to say sweet things to me while I do it?”

“If you please me.”

“I want to rub my cock against yours but I’m afraid yours will be stronger.”

“It is stronger. But you love it.”

“And I’m afraid mine will look small in comparison,” Alistair said, and moaned, too. He was getting close as well.

“Say you love it. Say you love my cock.”

“I do love it…” he said with a grunt.

“Say, Alice, I love your cock. Your big monster cock.”

“Alice,” he said breathing hard. “I love your beautiful cock. Your big monster cock.”

His moans in my ear sent me over the edge.

“Alice, I want it. Give me your cock, Alice.”

I came. I came hard. Josh pulled out quickly; shortly, I heard a grunt behind me. I wondered whether he’d cum into his hand or a stray pencil-holder, but didn’t turn around.

“I have to go now, my darling,” I said sweetly to Alistair. “I’ll talk to you later.”

I ended the call and turned around. Josh was standing breathlessly behind me.

“Coffee?” I asked, buttoning my blouse and straightening my skirt.

“Yes,” he said buttoning his pants. “With cream.”

“Is that the cream?” I asked, pointing to the box of paper clips in his hand.

He laughed and threw it into a garbage can before we left the room.

The Parking Lot

The elevator doors opened and revealed Cheyenne standing in the hall outside Dr. F______ office.

“Ms. B______,” she said. “Welcome back. The doctor will see you now. Allow me.”

She stepped into the elevator, inserted a key and pressed one of the basement buttons. Once it lit up, she straightened herself and looked up at the progression of floors.

She was wearing a heather gray wool jacket and straight skirt. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun. She did not look at me or address me beyond her initial instruction.

The elevator arrived at the specified floor after what felt like hours and when the doors opened, I turned to Cheyenne, who did not step forward. She motioned simply into the darkened parking lot with a hand.

I rolled my eyes and stepped out. As predicted, Cheyenne keyed the doors shut and disappeared in the silver tube, leaving me alone in the creepy basement place. I looked at my mobile phone. No reception. Of course not. I lit a cigarette and began to walk across.

There were few cars. Most of them were covered, but all of them were good looking cars. I know nothing about cars, but I do know about aesthetics and these cars were very visually appealing. I touched one with my fingers: dust. An old man’s abandoned toys–as depressing as a teddy bear lying on the side of the road.

I lifted one of the covers and looked at a gorgeous machine, the sort of thing in which a treacherous, villainous woman would have herself chauffeured, which I would later discover was a Bucciali TAV 12, of which only two are known to exist in the world, one in France and one in the United States. Right here. Somewhere under Los Angeles.

I took a long drag of my cigarette before crushing it under my heel and began to pull the cover off the car. Its body was black and square. I ran a hand over the red line that ran across its side and my eyes focused on the peculiar image of a silver bird with gold wings on the side near the grille.

A sudden burst of force suddenly knocked me into the car, the impact of which caused a series of alarms to go off around me. In a motion, my hands were behind my back and I was motionless, pressed against the long hood of the car, my face staring into the empty windshield of the Bucciali. My focus on the reflection of my assailant in the vague reflection of the dusty car prevented me from going into a panic.

I was so focused on it that I didn’t realize he’d tied my hands until I felt him working the rope around my fore-arms. I pressed my pelvis against the car, trying to manipulate myself out of his grasp.

Dr. F______ put one hand on my back and flattened me into the car again.

“Do you feel trapped?” he asked.

“No.” I responded.

He put a hand under my belly and flipped me over so I was looking up at him. He pushed up my skirt a bit and began to bind my thighs with a rope with such dexterity, I was unable to react in a way to prevent it.

“Do you feel trapped?” he asked.

“No!” I said, obstinately, though I could not move my limbs from the knees up.

He took me by the front of my coat and threw me to the ground.

“Do you feel trapped?” he asked once again, the alarms still echoing around us.

“You can tie me up all you like, Doctor,” I said with a smile. “But you can’t keep me.”

He knelt beside me. His face came close to mine.

“I can’t keep you,” he repeated. “And why is that?”

“Someone would notice. Your office is the last place on my planner. They would know it was you.”

“And who is they?”

“The police.”

“What if I don’t mean to keep you?” he asked me.

What is he going to do? I wondered, feeling my impertinence shrink and fear begin to take hold. What good was the police after the first forty eight hours? If he doesn’t mean to keep me–would he dispose of me?

In the dim light, Dr. F______ looked like the perfect serial killer. Well-kept, in black lambswool sweater rolled up almost to the elbow, showing impressively shaped forearms. The stuff of Bret Easton Ellis’s twisted mind.

F_____ looked down at me and smiled, it was almost a kind smile. Except, well, you know, he’d tackled me, tied me up and thrown me on the ground. F_______ nodded and then he placed a blindfold over my eyes.

Darkness. I don’t know how long I lay there. With the sound of alarms fading fast, the cold pavement smelled like the silence of the forgotten.

A movement suddenly pulled at my shirt and I felt the cold harden my nipples. I tried to sit up, but was met with the force of his sole.

Oh, my god.

In time, the weight of his foot disappeared, but I didn’t dare move and invite it back. I wondered whether rolling would give me enough time to get up. Just then, I felt something cold, I thought it was a hand but it rolled between my exposed tits and down my side and I realized it was water. No, not water, water doesn’t move up a breast and circle a nipple. Ice.

I hate cold. I wasn’t joking when I told him Russia’s winter sent me running. It’s one of my least favorite sensations. My teeth clattered from my shivering.

“Do you feel trapped?” F______ asked.

“Yes!” I screamed. “Yes, I’m trapped! I’m trapped.”

“Do you think saying that will compel me to untie you?”

“No, but can you at least cover me?”

“Why would you like to be covered?”

“Because I’m cold,” I said. “Please.”

“You need to be cold right now.”

“Why?” I demanded.

“Because that’s what I want,” he responded. “From now on, we’re going to do what I want.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“What I want is for you to be cold and be still. Do not move until I give you express permission to do so.”

There was a pause, then the sound of footsteps fading away and finally the ding of an elevator and the swoosh of doors opening and closing.

Silence. Cold. I lay still for a long time. My lower back, which was resting on my bound elbows, screamed with pain. I couldn’t feel my elbows or arms. Every once in a while, a fit of shivers would send pain shooting up and down my arms.

Finally, when the silence convinced me no one else was there, I rolled on my side. Immediately, all the pain in my arms that had been numbed by the lack of circulation made itself felt. I winced and bit my lip, afraid to make any sound.

I shimmied, my face to the ground, trying to loosen the fabric around my face. Finally, it began to slip until it was around my nose. I looked around for him. He wasn’t there. He’d literally left me in the middle of the parking garage. Still on my side, I pulled my knees up and began to gnaw on the knot F______ had made. If I could free my thighs, I would better able to move, perhaps find an object against which to loosen the ropes holding my arms.

It’s amazing. The instinct that propels flight in creatures shoots such incredible quantities of adrenaline into the body that suddenly, every physical concern fades. No pain, no fear, no system of analysis. All I could think about was escaping.

I was at that rope forever, finally, it began to loosen. I wasn’t able to fully untie it, but with it loose, I managed somehow to slip a leg out of it. Getting up, I shook the rope off the other leg. I looked around. Not a sign of him. Not a sign of anything to help me remove the rope holding my arms. And certainly not any kind of fire escape.

Is that even legal? Shouldn’t every building have one?

I knew it was pointless, but I still ran to the elevator and tried to call it down. At first I thought I wasn’t pushing hard enough–hard to do with my hands tied, and certainly when I can’t quite tell after having turned around where the button is. Then I noticed the card slot. Of course. You need an access key.

So I’m stuck in a basement, tied up, by myself either with a psycho or a brilliant therapist.

Is it naive that I want to believe this is some brilliant form of therapy, of illustrating what it means to have no control?

The elevator made a ding and I jumped, my heart pounding like a chariot without a charioteer against my ribs. I quickly turned around and flattened myself against the wall.

I felt the swoosh zip through my body as the elevator doors opened. F______ stepped out and took a couple of large steps forward before he paused to pan the room.

I quietly inched along the wall and began to back into the elevator.

One of my coat buttons hit the mirror when I pressed against the inside of the elevator. I held my breath, but after a couple of quick steps, a hand landed heavily on the doors, causing them to open completely.

F______ peered in. He had a look of mild amusement on his face.

“I was hoping you would be a good girl and do as you were told,” he said to me. “But I was also hoping you would misbehave so I could show you what happens when you don’t do what I tell you.”

The doctor reached into the elevator, took me by the hair and dragged me back to the parking lot, where he threw me face-down on the dusty hood of a Bentley.

Holding me in place with his own body, he pulled up my skirt until it was around my waist. When he pulled a way, a hand remained tangled in my hair, holding my face down. What was he going to do?

Slap! A palm landed evenly on my ass. I couldn’t believe it. Was he spanking me? Slap! came the answer. Yes. Slap! He hit me hard, each sting searing through my body. He hit one cheek, then the other, then alternated again. I began to feel raw.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked me.

I didn’t know what to say. If I said yes, would he stop?

He slapped me again.

“When I speak to you, you will respond. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I responded.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” I said.

He paused.

“You want me to keep going?”

“Yes.”

“Spread your legs.”

“What?”

“Do it.”

I spread my legs slowly.

SLAP! His hand landed square on my pussy.

“OW!” I screamed, closing my legs.

F______ pressed down on me again, crushing my arms into my back. I could feel his hot breath against my neck as his free hand battled with my legs to push them apart. I fought him. I fought him with my hips. I fought him with the strength of my ass cheeks and thighs. But he got through.

And when he did, he found I was soaking wet.

There was a pause in his movements. Finally, a breath escaped his lips and rushed against my neck.

“Do you like this?” he asked me, in a different tone.

“I–I don’t know,” I confessed.

He said nothing, then rose. My arms were pulled this way and that as he untied the rope. When he was done, he turned me around so I was on my back. We looked at each other in uncomfortable silence.

I’m not really embarrassed by anything but this, somehow, was a bit mortifying. The man had been abusing me, teaching me what it was like to have no control and instead of understanding my situation and giving in to terror and impending death, I’d become aroused.

I’d ruined my therapy. Again. Fine. Whatever. It had its benefits.

“Fuck me,” I said looking directly into Dr. F______’s green eyes.

He simply stared.

Taking his sweater with a hand and pulling myself up so my face was inches from his, I looked at his lips before looking into his eyes and repeated, “Fuck. Me.”

He brought a hand to mine and I released my hold on his sweater. I could smell myself on his fingers. I brought his hand to my mouth.

I sucked his fingers, one by one and he watched, with no expression. Finally, when I had finished, I released his hand and he bent to pick up my purse from where it had slid during the first struggle and handed it to me.

“Cheyenne will contact you in regard to a next appointment once I review the conclusions reached today,” he said simply.

I dropped my purse on the ground and looked at him.

“What, that’s it?” I asked. “You assault me, you tie me up, you spank me, you feel my cunt and then you send me home?”

“It is enough for today.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “It is not enough. It is not even close to enough.”

I pulled him to me by his belt. He took both of my hands in one of his and looking at me with a small smile, asked, “do I need to tie you up to take you out of here?”

I sighed and pushed my skirt down. Three of my buttons were missing, so it was impossible to button up my blouse. I removed the blindfold, which was now around my neck, and buttoned my coat over my torn blouse. I pulled a clip from my purse and pinned my hair up.

If I had been a little mortified before, now, I wanted to die. As I followed him into the elevator, I began to freak out. Who the hell asks her therapist to fuck her? What’s wrong with me?

He said he’s going to “review the conclusions reached today”–what does that even mean? Is he going to have me committed? I hope at least he medicates me something decent.

We don’t exchange a word on the way up. In the lobby, he gives me a nod as I exit and that’s that.

When I look at my phone, I realize I’ve been “in therapy” for four and a half hours.

The Bathroom Stall

I hear the bathroom door open; the music shoots into the room and then becomes muffled again when the door shuts. I hear the clap of stilettos on the marble floor in front of the stalls and then the sound of one opening and closing.

I examine my toe-nails. The French pedicure is starting to peel. Who gets a French pedicure? It looks so tacky.

“That wasn’t very nice, Joan,” a voice says and I look up and through the crack between the stall and its door.

“Up here.”

I look up and see Miriam looking down at me.

“Jesus!” I scream, “Miriam, what are you doing?”

“Finishing our conversation.”

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

I realize she’s not going to get down, so I finish, wipe off, pull up my thong quickly, without looking at her.

“Cute ass,” she says with a giggle. I hear a Zippo open and flash on before it snaps shut. I look up. Miriam has a cigarette hanging from her mouth. “Want one?” she asks.

“No.” I reply, straightening my dress. “How did you know I was here?”

“Brad told me. He heard you and that guy talking. Is he your boyfriend or husband or…? He’s older than you.”

I said nothing.

“Right,” she giggles, “does he know about me?”

“That I was looking for a whore? No, it was a surprise, but it didn’t work out.”

“Why did you run away like that?”

I turned to face her, “because you weren’t what I had in mind.”

Miriam jumps down and I hear the stall door open and close again, and then the sound of hip hop come pounding in before the door closes and the music’s reduced to a series of thumps.

I open the stall door and it stops midway. Miriam throws it open all the way and pushes me into the stall, closing the door behind her.

“Hi, Joan,” she says. “Did you think I’d left?”

“You’re fucking insane, aren’t you?”

“I want you to write about me,” she says.

“Is this what this is about?” I ask her indignantly. “Miriam, I’m not a writer. I just drink coffee and smoke cigarettes.”

“And fuck,” she adds, pushing me against the cool stall wall and bringing her lips to my ear, “don’t forget you fuck.”

She licks my ear lobe and traces my jaw line with her lips.

“You never answered me, Joan,” she whispers, “how would you fuck me?”

Her hand slides up the inside of my thigh, under the gray jersey dress and then higher, until her finger is grazing the space between my thong and leg.

I push her away from me and she pushes hard against me, “what, Joan?” she asks, “why do you run away?”

“I’m busy now,” I whisper.

Miriam kisses me. Her lips are hot; she pushes mine apart with her tongue. I feel it over mine, moving slowly. Her right hand has slipped around me, pulling me closer, pinning me between her and the wall. Her other hand has reached into the low cut of the dress and pulled it to the side, so my tit is exposed. I feel her cold fingers and hot palm cup it; she pulls away from my lips and brings her mouth to it. Her hand is now pushing away the other side of my dress so both my tits are out. She’s moving from one to the other, still holding me to her.

I let my head rest against the wall and finally bring my hands up to touch her. Her back is warm. My hand slips under her little black tube top and I pull it up to see her tits, those little nipples I’d seen earlier.

She brings her mouth to mine again and presses against me so our tits are sandwiched together between us. I put my arm around her, reach under her skirt; her ass is soft and full. I hadn’t noticed before when she had that skirt on.

Her fingers have found my thong again and she’s playing lightly over it with her fingernails. I moan as she begins to kiss my neck.

The door opens and the music fills the room. There’s the sound of stilettos on the floor, but I’m not listening. Miriam is sucking on my earlobe and I can hear her moans distinctly; her fingers are under my thong, playing my clit and I’m playing with her asshole.

Someone pushes the stall door open: “oops, sorry,” she says when she sees us and closes it again.
I pull my hand out from Miriam’s skirt, “Miriam…”

“You want to fuck me, don’t you?” she whispers in my ear, her finger now inside my wet cunt.

“Yes,” I say, “yes, but not here. Come to my hotel.”

“And your boyfriend or whatever?”

“He can watch.”

Scheherazade on IM

She’d been chatting with him on and off for a few weeks–or was it months? I suppose it doesn’t mean anything in internet time, where Einstein’s relativity rules (after lolcats, of course).

HIM: which i’d love to hear a story now before i go fuck my lover in her hallway.

HER: Against the wall or on the floor?

HIM: you can pick if you get me off.

HER: You should torture yourself and hold off until you get there.

HIM: i’m a baby, remember? i’m only happy when i come four times a day.

HER: If you insist.

HIM: i do, hottie

HER: The bar is packed, everyone is bumping into everything. The place is a mass of bodies, pulsing against a smoky background and already stale hits off last year’s Top 40 charts…

And so the story began, melting the 437 miles between them.

I’m trying to get the bartender’s attention. It’s open bar before midnight, but the fuckers charge for non-alcoholic drinks and I’m driving.

Before I can get my $15 Red Bull, I feel a hand go up my skirt.

I don’t move. I can see him barely out the corner of my eye, but I don’t turn to look. Imagine he was hideous?

Suddenly, I can’t decide if I want him to be hideous or not. There’s something delightful about the notion of being touched by an ugly man without your permission.

“Ha!” her friend interrupted the story on chat. “Is there?”

She ignored him and went on:

A hideous man. A bulging mass of sweaty, aging flesh. Oh, yes, it’s delightful, especially when you’re a beautiful woman.

I feel another hand on the small of my back. It slides around, gripping me around the waist, then runs up my chest and pulls me so I’m standing straight, just as the bartender hands me my drink.

I hear a voice in my ear, but I can’t make out what’s being said. The stranger pulls me against him–his torso doesn’t feel large or round against my back. Before I can feel disappointed, I feel his fingers hovering over my slit.

I’m wet. A man beside me elbows me. He’s talking animatedly with two other men, all of them with that boring emokid haircut that covers one of their eyes. Or both. Might as well. Sheep. Bahhh, say the sheep, bahh, walking blindly behind Brendon Urie.

A finger slides inside me. He pulls it out and and begins drawing circles in cunt juice around it. I sip my Red Bull and pull out a cigarette. I’m about to light it, when I feel his hand on my back again. He pushes me forward on the bar and leans close to me, “Order me a mojito,” he says and I can hear him clearly now.

A mojito. What a faggy drink. I am thoroughly appalled by the man, I can’t believe a Mojito-sucking pussy is fingering me at my bar.

I thrust my hips against his hands–I bet they’re manicured, too, that little bitch, and that he likes girls to finger his ass while they blow him. Or better yet, likes to borrow their dildos. Little fag, oh my god, yes, I thrust back against him.

He takes my hair in a hand and pulls me to him, “did you hear me? Get me a mojito.”

The fact that I man has me by the hair at the bar gets the bartender’s attention. (Mental note: employ technique later). I order the mojito.

I put it on my tab, what the hell.

Suddenly, the grip on me is released. I sip my drink and wait a few moments. Nothing happens. I’m still holding the unlit cigarette. The bartender slides an ashtray toward me. I keep waiting. Did the stranger leave? The mojito slides before me.

Did the stranger leave me with the fucking mojito?

I’m going to turn around, but I suddenly feel his breath on my neck.

“What would you do if I fucked you, right here?”

I feel something hot and hard against my thigh.

“At the bar?”

“At the bar,” he responds, pushing up my skirt. His cock is hot, pressing against my hole.

I pick up my lighter and light the cigarette I’d dropped on the bar. Inch by inch, his cock slides into me.

Someone bumps into me on the right. I don’t even bother to look. Everyone is so packed together, they don’t notice anything, not who they bump into, and certainly not who’s fucking at the bar.

I exhale. I can’t believe I’m getting fucked at a bar and no one can tell.

I suck on my cigarette, feeling kind of like a goddess even though I haven’t done a damn thing.

Just then, my eyes meet the bartender’s. He can tell. I can just tell that he can tell. Fuck. What’s he going to do?

He comes over, ignoring people trying to get his attention.

“How’s that mojito?” he asks.

The drink is still sitting in front of me, untouched.

“Great.”

“Need another one?”

I look at him. He’s older, worn, un-manicured hands. The sort of guy you see in dives around this part of town. Interesting.

We don’t verbalize anything more. When you serve people at decibels like these, you learn to guide yourself by other signs. He knows what I’ve in mind as well as he knew I was getting fucked right here.

I reach back and grab Mojito’s cock. I straighten up against his back and, turning so my lips are near his face, say, “we’re going outside.”

He pulls out. I give him a moment, then motion for Bartender to meet me in the alley. I don’t know if Mojito is following me. I don’t give a fuck. I notice the expression on the face of the woman manning the other side of the bar. The place is too full to take breaks. Oops.

I’m out the door. When he steps out, I push him against the garbage–

“Oh, darling,” she paused, making her friend fall out of the story and land back at his computer. “What’s it called?”

“What?” he asked.

“Oh, the dumpster,” she said.

“Mm-hm.”

I shove him against the dumpster and unbutton his pants. Inside there’s this big, fat cock. Not very big, but fatter than anything I have ever seen. It’s so fat, I get down on my knees and kiss it. I was gonna suck it, but I can only lick it because it’s so fat.

I’m on my knees licking him and he’s looking down and laughing, watching me lick his cock like that. He picks me up and pushes me against the dumpster, facing it so I can smell the sweet scent of rusting metal mingling with the rotting garbage inside. He rolls up my skirt so my ass is exposed to the cold, wet night.

Finally, I feel his fat cock slide inside me.

As his dick goes in and out, he brings his a hand on my hip, pulling me into him as he pounds me, and places another on my head, flattening the side of my face to the dumpster. From this view, I see the door open again. A shortish guy steps out, probably 5’10”, with reddish brown hair, clean cut, an all-American face. I assume it’s Mojito…

HIM: god gonna comw

The story stopped again and both were spun back into the reality of the pathetic glow of their laptop screens.

HER: Oh! Are you finished?

HIM: yes. wow. head, as always, spinning

HER: I was just about to get fucked in both holes, what a shame!

HIM: apparently this will be a two-volume story

HER: Have fun fucking your girl-thing.

HIM: i will. and i’ll be picturing you.

HER: Getting fucked in both holes by strangers?

HIM: mm, possibly.

He logged off, but you can’t stop a story once you’ve started it. When another IM opened on her screen, she picked up right where she’d left off.

I’m pressed up against a dumpster in the back of a bar, getting fucked by the bartender when the back opens and another man steps out. He walks decisively toward us and instead of stopping, the bartender begins to pound faster.

HIM: the typical thing would be for the other guy to like tag in for the bartender. but that’s boring. i think instead he would come up behind the bartender and put his hands on his hips and nuzzle his neck.

HER: Come on please me, don’t get all homo.

HIM: maybe he has a camera then–not some bullshit amateur camera. this guy is either a serious hobbyist or a pro.

The only light in the alley is a flickering neon 7-Up sign over the bodega on the corner, so the man with the camera moves in a disconnected sequence, as under a strobe. While he films, he unfastens his belt with the other hand.

He removes his belt, a thin leather one, and slips it into a noose around my neck. The bartender lets go of my head as Mojito begins to pull on the belt, directing my body toward him. I bend at the waist and reach for his dick in his unfastened pants.

When I pull it out, I see it’s smaller than the bartender’s. A perfect dick to suck off. I take hold of Mojito’s hips and begin to fuck his dick with my mouth.

Mojito hands the bartender the belt and I feel the direction of the pull change. Suddenly, I begin to feel light-headed as the oxygen supply diminishes. All I can feel are two cocks pounding into my mouth and cunt as the world starts to fade.

As with all stupid erotic asphyxiation n00bs, the bartender doesn’t know how to properly regulate the pull and I faint and fall to the wet asphalt. The cold wetness brings me to in seconds before the bartender is on me, his dick back inside me after half-slipping out during the fall.

My shirt with the plunging cleavage has opened, leaving my breasts exposed to the dirty, wet asphalt. Every time the bartender thrusts into me, I can feel the dirt grind against my nipples.

Mojito has the belt again, he’s slipped it around my mouth now and is pulling on it while pushing down on my neck with his foot.

The bartender’s cock is throbbing inside me, I can tell he’s about to cum. Sure enough, withing a few seconds, he’s pulled out and, having pushed Mojito away, he rolls me over with his boot and cums all over my face.

“Suck it clean,” he says, his gorgeous cock standing at attention, still dripping cum. I rise slowly and get on my knees to lick him clean. As I do, Mojito comes behind me and pulls me up, pushing me down so I’m bent at the waist again, with my ass in the air.

As I lick the bartender’s dick and balls, I feel the Mojito’s less impressive cock on my slit again, rubbing around it, spreading the juices all over. When he plunges, he doesn’t go into my pussy, he goes right into my ass. My sphincter tightens immediately, but it can’t hold against the power of the thrust.

Meanwhile, the bartender has taken the belt and removed it from around my neck. With Mojito deep inside me, the bartender pushes me so I’m standing up straight. Mojito holds me by the arms as he fucks me, and the bartender runs the leather against my exposed tits, dirty from being on the ground.

He doubles the belt and makes it snap, then brings it down on my left breast. Mojito plunges deeper.

Snap!

The belt lands on the right nipple. The pain flashes through my body, shooting down my spine and causing my ass muscles to tighten around Mojito’s cock.

Snap! Under my ribcage. Snap! My left nipple. The bartender comes close and reaches for my pussy. I’m dripping again. He brings his hand up and lifts my chin. I can smell my cunt on his fingers. He kisses me.

Mojito pulls out slowly then fills me with his cock again. I moan into the bartender’s mouth.

The bartender is getting hard again. I can feel his big cock pressing against me. And now that I’m upright, I can also feel the blood running out of my nose from where it was bloodied when my face hit the pavement in the fall earlier. In fact, the whole side of my face is throbbing. Oh, fuck, I can just tell it’s gonna be black and blue in the morning. Jesus, everyone is going to think my boyfriend beats the shit out of me. Random women are going to come up to me on the street and give me the phone numbers to battered women’s shelters.

The bartender hands the belt to Mojito, who uses it to tie my elbows together behind my back. Mojito then takes his free hand and grabs my throat and pulls me against him as he pushes his cock up into my ass. I realize that he’s leaning back over the dumpster in order to give the bartender a good angle on my cunt.

The bartender pulls my shirt and the top tie becomes undone, exposing my body completely. Her steps forward and grinds the head of his cock against my pussy, he’s working it against my clit, trying to get it hard enough to put it in again.

He’s stroking himself, just outside my cunt, all the while looking at me. I see him reach into his pocket with his free hand. At first I can’t see what it is–a condom? A little late for that, I’d imagine, I think feeling a sliver of guilt.

The bartender brings his hand to my face and I see the straight razor. He runs the edge of it over my lips and I can taste how sharp it is. He drags it down over my chin and down my frame, pressing it here and there just hard enough to make a little nick.

When I don’t struggle to get away, he gains some confidence and draws a long, shallow cut across my clavicle and abruptly thrusts his cock into me and so I’m suddenly completely filled up, ass and pussy, the two cocks almost touching inside me with just a thin layer of flesh between them.

The bartender puts the blade up against my throat where I can feel it, pushing just hard enough to break the skin a little.

“Cum for me, slut,” he says as he and Mojito pound into me.

A drop of bloody sweat lands on my lip, it stings. My whole face is throbbing. The bartender kisses me as he thrusts again, and my lips become alive with pain.

I can feel both their cocks now, moving out of sync, pummeling in their own way, one fast, the other slow, one hard, the other in gentle strokes. Then as they become aware of one another, it’s like they’re racing. I can’t take it. I realize I’m screaming and my knees buckling. They give, but their two cocks hold me up. With Mojito breathing into my neck and the bartender biting my lip, I cum.

The strength of my sexual response cycle makes my ass tighten around Mojito in a powerful sequence and he shoots into my ass, filling me with his searing cum. He’s followed by the bartender shortly after, who shoots his load into my cunt.

After a moment, the bartender pulls out and buttons up is pants. I step off Mojito and I feel the belt loosen around my elbows.

The familiar noise of zippers and buckles and a lighter as I light a cigarette, wondering how the fuck I’m gonna get my coat from the bar looking like I do.

“I’ll get your coat,” the bartender says. I hand him my ticket and he disappears inside the bar.

A few minutes later, I’m in a cab home, with a cab driver asking me if I want to call the police. People are so nice.

As for the video the guy shot? It got 1,276,430 views on Youtube before they took it down.

Not too bad for a typical Thursday night.

The Stranger

It was one of those nights. Those hot nights. The kind where one can barely wear a pair of panties. I pressed my naked breasts against the cold concrete wall, and arched my back. I looked in the full-length mirror. Long blonde hair, the back of a swimmer, waist thin compared to the hips below, full milky thighs, and if an ass could kill…

Wondering around the apartment. Humid. I sweat. And I’m naked. Wandering around this concrete, tiled apartment, naked and worn, restless and feverish. What to do on this night of endless fire? And then I heard a knock.

“Yes?”

“It’s me.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

I cracked the door to see a beautiful stranger. A woman. Her dark hair pulled up in a bun, in a pair of shorts, a white t-shirt against dark skin. I could see her swollen nipples protruding through it. She was sweating, worried perhaps. She looked young. Maybe 20.

“Do you need help?”

“Excuse me? Come on, Anica. Don’t be silly.”

“I’m sorry, please forgive me but, I don’t know you.”

She wrinkled her brow. Stared at me with her huge brown eyes. Long eyelashes curled up to compliment natural arched eyebrows. A gorgeous creation.

Suddenly, before I had a chance to blink, she flung open the door. I moved to the side to avoid the collision. She grabbed my waist.

“Don’t you remember me? How can you forget? We were here. The other night. You told me you had a boyfriend. You told me you thought I was the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. I want you to tell me that again. I need you to tell me.”

I was silent. Who was this woman?

She pulled me close and kissed my pink lips. Her brown lips, so thick, so soft. They tasted like coconut oil and salt. She kissed me again.

“Don’t you like that?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, staring at her.

I licked my lips tasting the coconut and salt again. She kissed my neck.

“I need you, Anica. I need you now,” she said.

Her tongue trailed down my chest and onto my nipples. I felt the vibrations of sensation run down my body and reach my clit. It ignited. Her tongue licked it, she sucked it, bit it. I spread my legs a little wider as her hand glided down my voluptuous frame to reach my cunt. She opened it to find it glossed, wet, smooth.

I tilted my head back as I felt her brown hands and lips moving down to my belly button, my pelvis, my pussy. She spread the lips with her fingers and her tongue licked my red, pulsating clit.

“Oh my God,” I moaned.

I couldn’t resist her. For some reason, this stranger had suddenly transformed my apprehension into total submission. Her energy ran through me, entering my chakras, protruding into my viscera. And I felt alive.

She licked my clit faster while her three fingers slowly pushed their way into my dripping cunt.

“Ohhh, that feels so good,” I said as my chest rose and fell with large deep breaths.

She stopped looked up at me. Her other hand on her pussy. “I want to do this together. Will you lick my pussy too?”

“Yes.”

We entered the tiny bedroom. She stripped naked. She was shorter than me, with more meat on her body. She had strong legs, strong arms, yet her stomach was soft, her breasts huge. Her nipples large and round like shells, dark and full. Swollen. I stared at her curvaceous body.

“Girl, you are so fucking hot,” I said throwing myself onto the stripped bed.

“Do you have a vibrator?” she asked smiling.

“Yes. I have two.”

“Perfect. Get them both.”

I got up and went to my closet. I pulled out two sparkling toys and placed them in her hands. She licked them.

“Here, you suck on this one. I want to watch you,” she said.

I started sucking on the red phallic toy as the girl laid on the bed opening her legs. I could see her pussy was dark until she moved the vibrator into her inner lips. It was pink inside. Like a present. A line of black hair led to this gorgeous opening. She watched my sucking and slowly entered the silicone cock into her body.

“Mmmmm,” she moaned. “Come and let’s do this to each other.”

I got on top of her curvy figure and entered the turquoise cock into her juicy twat. As my tongue touched her solid clit I heard her breaths begin to shorten. Her thighs became tense. And then released. Tense and release; hips moving up and down as I fucked her. And suddenly, I felt it too. Her filling me up, licking my clit, insatiably fucking my swollen pussy, rubbing against my G-spot. Over and over. Push. Pull. In, out. Vibrations over and over.

My saliva covered her cunt. It glistened. Brown to pink to wet to warm. Over and over. Pulsating, breathing, feeling, tightening, releasing.

“OH MY GOD!” she screamed, “YES!”

My breaths, hips undulating, I’m shaking. I could smell her sweet pussy, her sun tan oil covering her thighs, the scent of hot breeze flowing through the curtains, carrying itself over these two mounds of flesh. Tangled in a mass of tits, hips, thighs, blonde and brunette, light and dark. My tits glided along her pelvis as she shook. Release. Tighten. Release.

“I’m going to cum. Fuck me harder! Lick it!” She screamed.

I can feel her fucking me, feeling me, I tighten. Release. Tighten. Release. Fuck me. Oh yeah. Fuck me. Squeeze. Release. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck me. Fuck. FUCK! OH MY GOD! FUCK ME! YES! YES! I squeeze my nipples. Tighten. She licks like fluttering wings. Tighten. Hits it. Tighten. Hits it. Tighten.

“I’m cumming! Fuck it!” she screams. I fuck her harder, lick faster. Faster. Harder. And. AND. AND RELEASE. She cums. I feel liquid squirt onto my neck. She continued to fuck me, lick me.

“Turn over!” she demanded. I did.

She entered me again. Licking like a demon. Relentless, fervent. Lick, lick, lick. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“OHHHH FUCKkkkk!” I let out a long groan as I am suddenly transformed into a new dimension. ORGASM. A new dimension of ecstasy. Of life. Of this goddess, this stranger. This perfect, voluptuous, brown stranger.

Artist Management

It seemed liked he was always behind her. Looking over her shoulder, talking to someone else, reading something. He’d come into the office and always be in Juliet’s periphery. When he was in plain sight, though, she swooned.

Those hands, those eyes, that voice. His beautiful Italian suits and his dark hair brushed just so, occasionally a strand falling into his eyes. Then there was his accent. Spanish, she knew, but there was a way he paused when he didn’t know an English word and he would drag out the word before and she would hang on that syllable like it was a finger going up her thigh.

His name was Xavier. Juliet had seen him play, once. First violin, of course. Every note was so strong, so distinct, so intentional. It was like he was playing a completely different instrument than the violin she’d picked up.

He was a client of the agency she worked for. He’d stop by whenever he was in New York and the other girls in the office would fawn over him. He’d even went out with one of them once, though nothing came of it. Juliet has been jealous, she admitted as much to herself. She didn’t even know him, but she found herself thinking about him, his olive skin, his honey brown eyes, wondering what his chest looked like under his expensive shirt.

When he came in that Wednesday she was happy she’d worn a pretty summer dress. A little low cut, not that she wanted to show off that much, but she did have something to show off under her dress.

He made small talk with one of the agents, he was going to have a big tour and they were putting together a press release. He was picky, he wanted to make sure it was perfect. The agent led him right to Juliet’s desk and she looked down hoping she wasn’t blushing as he took her hand and and kissed her cheek.

“Nice to see you again, Julietta? No… Juliet, si? I remember now, like the play.”

She nodded. She almost wished it was Julietta, on his lips it sounded better, more poetic, more worldly. He stood behind her as she pulled up the press release file on the computer. It was already late in the day and they had to finish it so it could be printed in the morning. He went over all the information and suggested a few changes. As they worked the others in the office left one by one. It was already six thirty and Juliet realized soon they would be the only ones in the office.

As she worked she felt the warmth of him standing over her, behind her. Juliet looked up just in time to catch him looking down at her, his eyes hungry on her cleavage. Her dress wasn’t that low cut, but she was very buxom and from his angle he was getting a view of the top of her tits, the lace of the fringe of her bra. Her face flushed immediately, but she didn’t move, in fact she just looked back at the computer, not wanting his eyes off of her.

He moved closer to her, pointing at the screen. His cologne was strong, usually she didn’t like that much cologne, but somehow the richness and exotic smell of it suited him. He was close; as he pointed to one of the pictures, his arm brushed her shoulder.

“Can you… how do you say? Make this one bigger and make the other smaller?” when he put his arm down it stayed pressed against her shoulder. She tried to fix the file with him in contact, but she was getting more and more turned on. When she finished the change and looked up his eyes were on her again.

There were times when it would have made her mad, she didn’t like men staring, but this was different. She straightened her back, pretending to stretch a little. She was showing off, but when she stretched her elbow brushed against him, he pressed into her a little more.

“It looks better this way. Can you move the phone numbers and make them bigger?” he asked, his other arm coming up and his hand resting on her shoulder, his thumb on the naked skin of her nape.

His hand was almost shockingly hot against her. His dark olive skin on her pale skin made her almost unable to move the mouse. His hot bloodedness was making her wet. His proximity, his hand, his eyes. It was like he was on top of her.

He leaned down, his mouth near her ear. “It looks good, don’t you think?”

Juliet nodded, breathing harder, wanting him so much it ached.

Then his lips were brushing against her ear out of nowhere. “I’m sorry Juliet, I can’t leave tonight without touching you at least once. Should I not?”

She didn’t say anything. She sat still and waited, her mouth half open. His hand came up and cupped her breast, his touch was strong, his fingers long and precise. His mouth was still next to her ear just barely brushing the lobe when he spoke. His voice was like a liqueur, potent and intoxicating.

“Your body is amazing, I’ve wanted to touch you since the first time I saw you.”

Her head turned and her mouth strained for his lips but he only kissed her cheek. Then he was kissing down her jaw to her neck. His hands now pulling at her dress. His lips and teeth on her neck making her dizzy, making her crazy. Then suddenly he was pulling her dress up and off, her arms in the air and then she was sitting there, in her office in only her shoes, bra and panties.

The cold of the air conditioning tickled her skin and her thighs felt wet. She felt absurdly naked with him in his suit next her and the fact that they were in the office. His hands were on her again, so hot on her cool body. He was obsessed with her breasts, kneading and and cradling them, tracing the hardening nipples through the fabric of her bra.

She turned her head again and finally caught his mouth with hers. His lips were soft, but his kiss was aggressive, hungry. His fingers were in her hair, pressing her to him and pulling her hair. Then his hands we moving down her spine, opening her bra.

“I need to see you. So fucking beautiful,” he growled as his hands went back to her body.

Her arm brushed against his hardness as he moved and she paused, moved back, felt it through his pants. He pushed against her hand. Then, as his fingers circled her sensitive nipple she started opening his pants. Past a zipper and buttons and silk boxers she found his cock. She held it as she slipped off the chair and got on her knees in front of him.

Looking over to her right she saw their reflection in a window. She was suddenly aware of how someone could walk in now and they would see her almost naked on her knees pulling out this client’s cock. She looked like a call girl, sucking the dick of a wealthy European. She looked like a slut.

His cock was long and smooth, like his body. Not as thick as she imagined, but hard and wet tipped. She licked it and he groaned. She sucked the tip into her mouth and his knees almost gave. She was good at it, she knew it. She had him. She sucked him, wet and hard, hand working him as she pressed her tongue against the bottom of his cock. He was loud, she liked that. He couldn’t control the sounds. Little pleading grunts and murmurs. Sucking cock made her wet.

She looked up at him and his eyes were dark and wide. She liked how he watched her, how he watched his cock disappear into her pretty mouth. She was putting on a show for him, stroking it and licking the tip.

Then his hands were roughly on her shoulder, then her arms, he pulled her up and turned her around and bent her over her desk. He pulled at her panties, pulling them to the side, too eager to even take them off. He was wet with her saliva, but that was nothing compared to the wetness he slid against as he pushed forward. They both gasped.

“Fuck that pussy.” she said through gritted teeth, the words making her face even redder as she said them.

His fingers on her hips, he fucked her, her fingers spread out on the table as she took every thrust.

“You like that tight pussy. Fuck me. Come on.” she goaded and he grunted a “Yes, fuck!” followed by a string of harsh Spanish whispers.

One of her hands flew back and she pulled her panties further to the side, rubbing herself in rhythm with him. He felt the movement on his balls as they slapped against her and the sensation made him wince. He was pounding into her in slow hard thrusts, nearly picking her up each time. The friction was excruciatingly good.

She rubbed faster and faster and as she felt her orgasm rushing in, she yelled, “Fuck me! Fuck me fast! Come on!”

She tightened around him and grew wetter as he started pounding her fast and hard until he felt every inch of him in her and the hot familiar rush build inside of him. He let out loud groans and she quickly pulled away from him and turned around, letting him cum all over the tits he was so obsessed with. Shot after shot as she held them up for him to rub against. The head of his cock hard against her pink nipples.

Then he was standing there gasping, pants around his ankles and hair sticking to his face. Juliet got off her knees and kissed him once on the lips. Then she walked on shaky legs to the bathroom to clean herself up, knowing he would be gone when she got back.

Originally published in Jack Wites Dirty. Used with permission.

Spank Me!

Photo used with permission.