Archive for breasts

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.

The Orange Grove

“Good morning, Zita,” came Cheyenne’s voice over the phone. “Today you are to meet Dr. F______ on the corner of South Doheny and Whilshire at 3:00PM.”

I thought for some reason we would have a late lunch at Kate Mantilini’s until I noticed the waiting smoke beige Saab sedan. I walked to it and without waiting for whoever was inside to open the door for me, let myself into the passenger seat.

F______ was behind the driver’s seat, alone.

“Hello, Zita,” he said, pulling a kerchief from his pocket and waving it. “Face the window so I can blindfold you.”

He smoothed my hair and stretched the silk kerchief around my face, ensuring that the area around my face was covered. I felt the pressure on my face as he tightened it and opened my eyes. I could only see specks of light through the dark fabric, like millions of distant stars on an ink black sky.

The car began to move. It slowed and sped up as its made its way through light early afternoon traffic. Eventually we hit a constant speed and I realized we were on a freeway, but by then, I had lost track of the streets and had no idea what direction we were going.

I was already aroused.

“Can I smoke?” I asked.

I heard my window roll down partially.

I reached into my clutch and felt for my cigarettes and lighter and sat back.

As I lit it, I heard a click and a voice–not F______’s–took over the speakers.

“Our models of the universe,” the man said, “our glosses or gambles have at least the following limitations and constraints upon them: one, Genetics. Our DNA happens to have evolved out of standard primate DNA and still has 98 percent similarity to chimpanzee DNA and 85 percent similarity to the DNA of the South American spider monkey. We basically have the same gross anatomy as other primates, the same nervous systems, basically the same sense organs, etc. Our more highly developed cortexes allow us to perform certain higher or more complex mental functions than other primates but our perceptions remain largely within he primate norm. The DNA and the sensory neural apparatus produced by the DNA creates what ethologists call the unwelt, world-field–perceived by an animal…”

I took a long drag. It sounded like some kind of a lecture on sense perception. It was a logical follow-up to the discussion on perception as illustrated by the notion of an assemblage point. I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. I didn’t want to walk about my unwelt, I wanted F______.

Without my eyes, there was no way to perceive F______ beside me–not without reaching out. I wasn’t about to do that.

“Two, imprints. It appears that animals have brief periods of imprint vulnerability in which their nervous systems can suddenly create a personalized reality-tunnel unique to itself. These imprints permanently bond neurons into reflex networks which seemingly remain for life. The basic research on imprinting, for instance, for which Lorentz and Tinbergen shared a Nobel Prize in 1973, demonstrated hat the statistically normal snow-goose imprints its mother, as distinct from any other goose, shortly after birth. This imprint creates a bond and the gosling attaches itself to the mother every way possible. These brief points of imprint vulnerability can literally imprint anything. Lorentz, for instance, recorded a case in which a gosling, in the temporary absence of the mother, imprinted a ping-pong ball. It followed the ping-pong ball about, nestled with it, and on reaching adulthood, attempted to mount the ball sexually…”

I laughed and took another drag.

“How and when our pubertal sexuality gets imprinted, similarly, seems to determine lifelong programs of heterosexuality or homosexuality, brash promiscuity or monogamy, etc. In both common sexual imprints like these and in more eccentric imprints–celibacy, foot fetishism, sadmasochism, etc.–are bonded brain circuitry seem quite as mechanical as the imprint which bonded the gosling to the ping-pong ball…”

My ears perked at the sound of sadomasochism, but the discussion on the topic shifted once more to umwelt and went into other aspects that programs one’s perceived universe, including conditioning and learning.

I lit another cigarette and began to zone out, thinking of how hard his dick had been during our last session. It looked like it could have burst through his pants. I wanted to see it. I wanted to see his cock and put it in my mouth and…

What’s stopping me? What’s stopping me from flicking this cigarette out the window, pulling off the blindfold and diving into his lap? What would F______ do? What could he do while he was driving?

But I didn’t do anything. I didn’t dare.

A couple of minutes later, I felt the car slow to a stop. F______ killed the engine. He pulled off the blindfold and I saw we had parked on a forgotten road among orange groves. Orange groves in California. It could be anywhere.

Dr. F______ stepped out of the car, walked around and opened my door. I stepped out, thinking we were about to go on a hike, but he opened the backseat door.

Confused, I got in. F______ came around and got in through the other side.

“Turn around.” he said.

I did and he pulled up my top and unclasped my bra.

“Take off your shirt.”

I took it off.

“Take off your pants.”

“May I remove my boots?” I asked.

“You may.”

“May I remove my socks?”

“No,” he said. “Keep them on. It’s embarrassing.”

I looked at him in surprise. It really is embarrassing.

“Turn around again,” he said.

I turned.

He slapped my right tit, hard. He smacked the left one. He smacked the right one. Smack, smack, smack! One, then the other. Smack, smack, smack!

Then he pulled me to him, bent me over his knee and spanked my ass and pussy until I was raw.

It was brutal, intense. He hit me like no one has hit me before. I cannot tell you what other atrocities he did to me because I don’t recall very well. I floated into a trance. At one point he asked me something and I, crying and moaning at once, whispered, “where am I?”

As I write this, I try to understand my kink. Is it that I’m a masochist? Do I just want to be spanked? Or is there something else?

I think about Eric again and the reason things didn’t work out between us. There was plenty of pain in our interaction–and sex, too. No one has fucked me like Eric fucked me. I doubt anyone ever could. But Eric was lacking. Why?

I think about the scene in that car bent over F______’s knee again as his hand lands on my ass and cunt again and again and again. I think about the way I floated away at his violence, enraptured. I transcended.

There was no transcendence with Eric, I realize. There was nothing holy. This here is holy. When I am writhing in pain under F______’s hand, I am with the martyrs, living the ecstasies of devotion.

F______ made me a penitent worshiping before him.

“You are going to perform a duty for your Master,” F______ said that afternoon in the car after he had spanked me raw.

So I knelt before him in the cramped space of the car, waiting, unquestioningly as he unzipped his pants.

“Suck my dick,” he said.

“Teach me how,” I said, in supplication, opening my mouth over his cock.

F______ took my hair and guided me. I sucked his dick, his perfect dick, his solid, pulsing dick. He liked it when I gagged, asked me to thank him for gagging me, so I made myself gag on him and thanked him over and over as I sucked him off.

Then he picked me up and threw me on my back next to him in the seat. He came over me, took my nipple in his mouth, sucked on it, bit on it with his hand in my pussy.

He descended on me, sucking on my clit and labia, fingers still deep inside me until I was writhing and creaming. I could feel my thigh muscles tightening against the flexing muscles in his neck. I began to float away into pleasure, again, began shaking uncontrollably, like I was freezing, but it was just the power of the release as I came.

F______ looked up when I stopped shaking. I lay in place and watched him arrange himself.

“We’re done for today,” he said. “Dress so I can blindfold you again.”