THE REALEST THING:
Stories of Love, Hunger and Obsession
by Amanda Fox
SMASHWORDS EDITION
*****
PUBLISHED BY
Amanda Fox on Smashwords
The Realest Thing: Stories of Love, Hunger and Obsession
Copyright © 2012 by Amanda Fox
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and have been used fictitiously.
This book contains adult reading material
Other books published on Smashwords by Amanda Fox
*****
Like many of my female cohorts, the first “sex” book that I ever read was Judy Blume’s “Forever”. I was fifteen. After that, most of my preferred reading material had that little extra “spice” to it, if you know what I mean. From the classic Susan Johnson to the raunchier Thea Divine, I couldn’t get enough. When I got married, I started looking for stuff that mirrored my own relationship as well – I am white, my husband is black – only to find that there wasn’t much out there.
While living in another city for a year because of my husband’s job, and with some extra time to fill, I decided to do a little writing of my own. Turns out, I loved it so much that I kept going.
In this anthology, you will find stories about love, lust, monogamy, infidelity, infatuation, fantasy, desire, guilt, seduction and obsession – issues to which I think almost every person can relate. Be forewarned however: while some of these tales are romantic and sweet, others are undoubtedly lewd.
For me, writing is meditative, cathartic and liberating. More importantly, it is educational. By putting fingertip to keypad, I’ve learned a lot about myself. For example, I’ve learned that words excite me – that much, I think is obvious. I’ve learned that a single caress can mean more than a thousand touches. I’ve learned that happenstance is amazing and circumstance is everything. I’ve also learned that love knows no bounds and that lust can make a person do almost anything.
To my wonderful readers: I hope that you will take as much pleasure from reading this book as I did from writing it. Enjoy!
*****
THE REALEST THING
*****
Trouble No Set Like Rain
It was out of necessity that Marcus became my stalker. For me, it had nothing to do with attraction; I burned for him incessantly, like an old fire spitting embers late into the night. My pussy called to him of her own free will: “I am heated and ready for you, my lord.”
I wanted him more than anything, and it was obvious that he wanted me too, though he tried hard not to let it show. Whenever we were together however, his gaze was hungry and alert, a wolf staring down a plump, unsuspecting chicken. I could almost see the look of terror in his eyes, the whites showing just a little too much. His nostrils flared, taking in unnecessary amounts of oxygen, and occasionally a flash of pink would poke out through his pursed lips, his tongue a sucker for anticipation. Sometimes, he would let a low and ominous growl escape from his throat.
In reality, our lives could not include each other – at least not in the regular way. Both of us already had families, and it would have been smart to leave well enough alone. My heart, however, was a fool – a grinning clown who could only see the length of his limbs. I had no fear, no rationality, when it came to needing this man. I wasn’t strong enough to let him go, so I created space for him in my imagination. He was always there in some alternate reality, loving me.
Marcus, on the other hand, was a man who prided himself on self-control, and I knew that it was torture for him to want me. It was wearing him down and he partially blamed me for his falling. “You know say mermaid dem real, een?” he asked me one day, his gaze riveted to my lips. “Dem real fi true.” It was his Caribbean upbringing coming out.
He thought himself a helpless sailor perishing at the hands of a beguiling siren. True or not, his dissolution was apparent – when he spoke to me, he rattled, his words broken and jumbled. The more we were together; the more he fell apart. So, as any good man would, he tried to stay away. He rationed me out, like the last scraps of food on a starving man’s plate. He would only call every so often, all courteous and cool; he visited even less, a man of steel who was melting inside.
But in his own secret world, Marcus stayed close. Anonymous phone calls, mysterious cars parked outside my house late at night, strangers lingering in places that I frequented. He watched; he listened; he kept track of where I was going and with whom.
Oh, I knew what he was doing, but I wasn’t about to stop him. I liked it. I counted on it. I even found myself encouraging him, allowing him to learn things that he couldn’t rightfully ask. And so a relationship developed, however dysfunctional, when it shouldn’t have – in the “in betweens” of our lives, in his inability to follow his own rules, and in my impotence in dissuading him. In our hearts – beyond a casual friendship – the rumpled and stained sheets of a lover’s bed pilled from bodies rubbing against them night after night. I accepted the stalking as a main part of it.
It was six months before we realized that our boiling pot would eventually erupt. There needed to be some kind of release for all the tension and anticipation, and it happened when the weather took a turn for the worse, when the heavens rocked the earth with frustration and need. It was as if a storm created a portal – an open door to freedom where we could actually taste the corporeal other, not the ghosts that we had grown so accustomed to seeing.
After our first encounter, when I knew what was coming on those days of heavy rain, I prayed that I wasn’t about to be struck down by lightning for my sin. At the same time, I thanked God for the tumultuousness that brought him to me.
***
So that morning, when I looked out, I focused on only one thing – the sky. It hung in the distance, a heavy blanket of what seemed like smoke waiting to settle down and smother the city. “When it rain so, people dem get tyard,” he would always say. I was never quite sure what he meant by this. Did he mean that on those days he was tired of pretending not to want me? Or was he just tired of stalking me? Either way, I knew he would come; he always did.
The early part of the day slithered past, taking its own sweet time, taunting me with the expectation of pleasure that I could hardly wait to receive, and after what seemed like an eternity, the afternoon, with its heavy noon-hour heat, pushed out the morning. The storm was finally rolling in, a lumbering grizzly bear scavenging for food on the outskirts of town, thrust from its habitat, swinging its giant head from side to side, growling warnings to onlookers: “Take shelter humans. Don’t come close, and don’t take me for granted.”
One thing I never did, was take those days for granted. I held onto them like I had plucked the most precious pearl from the shallows of a warm sea. Those were the days I lived for and tried to bank to memory, even the parts before we were actually together. I savoured the anticipation even as it drove me insane.
After labouring through a morning of work, I headed out onto the street and noticed that moisture had swathed the necks of the people milling around me, their opened collars dark with sweat. It was a day when it seemed like the population of a town tripled, the closeness of the air piling bodies on top of one another.
I thought about my hands stroking Marcus’s bare chest, about how he too would be tacky and warm. I imagined dipping my fingertips into the waist of his jeans, looking for the premature encouragement that he seemed to spill so easily for me. Cruising through the crowd – my brain on autopilot – I thought about how his tongue would taste, of how many times he would make me come. Trudging up the steep rise to my bus stop, I methodically counted each step to my erotic destiny.
Once I’d reached the shiny silver pole of the stop, I placed my bags by my feet and looked out over the town. A river divided it in half, a crooked vein through its centre. From the hill, I could see the other side rising up, an unfolding of many lives – rooftops and chimneys, high-flying apartments, blocks of strip malls.
Daydreaming, I wondered how many people would make passionate love that day and I stood, my face glistening like a wet, cherry lollipop. Waiting for the number seventeen to take me home, I watched as the other buses rolled past, spitting out pebbles as they whipped by. One stopped; its doors whooshed open, welcoming a man in a worn out trench coat, a woman with a shiny black wig, and a kid with a jingle of change in his pocket. I saw them all as lovers – some smelly, some deviant, and some untouched.
At last, my bus arrived and slid into the curb. As it did, the wind suddenly turned savage, whipping up my skirt and twisting the fabric around my waist. My white cotton panties peeked out at the woman next to me and my mind shot six months back in time. I remembered the gift I had made for Marcus to mark our third year together as lovers.
It had been a cold afternoon in December when I had prepared it, fantasizing that day with a singular purpose. I had spent hours in bed, lazily stroking myself, glazing my torso and limbs with the juice that flowed endlessly from my vagina at just the thought of him. When I couldn’t take anymore, I rubbed hard around my clitoris, visualizing Marcus’ penis shoving at me – chipping away at the walls of my “goldmine” as he called it – and my body convulsed, my pussy weeping profusely onto my fingers.
Carefully transferring the product of our spectral love from my hands to the neck of the man-sized, white cotton t-shirt that I’d bought specifically for the occasion, I knew it was a gift I could never just give to him. So saying, I left it on the floor of the laundromat where I did my washing; I left it lying between the machines, a little lost dolly waiting for its rightful owner to reclaim it. I knew that Marcus would get it, and I knew that he would smell me. He always went in there after I left, undoubtedly looking for stuff just like that. He never did say anything about it, but then, he never would.
Finally boarding the bus, I sat near the back and immediately stuck to the burgundy vinyl seat, smelling the tangy hope that rose up from between my legs. A cat’s eye crack in the cushion gave birth to some dirty, moth-hewn fluff that bothered the inside of my thigh, and as the bus bumped its way through town, I could hear his voice calling out to me, “Me a wait long time fi touch you. You ready fi me?” That twenty-minute ride felt like an hour as I repeatedly peeled my sweaty limbs off of the seat, anticipating our sweet sojourn.
A block from my house, I dinged the bell and the bus chugged to a halt. Stumbling toward the opened doors, I thanked the driver and stepped out, my foot hitting the pavement just as a violent crack of thunder jolted the sky. Startled, I tripped and fell, spilling my bag onto the sidewalk, the bus pulling angrily away. Gathering myself together, I then stood stunned, trying to will my heart back to a regular rhythm.
The clouds of deep purple that had hovered in the distance only an hour before now loomed directly overhead, a bruised heaven – a sign (to me) of a long and constant battering of the soul. I could hear its rumbling closing in. Rain was imminent, the swelling belly of Mother Nature ready to deliver a torrent onto her children, and my chest contracted painfully. Usually, I had things under control – I knew that what I wanted was unattainable – but now, my need was getting the best of me. Whenever my utopian world became reality, I was a mess.
As I turned up the walkway to my house, big plops of water began spotting the grey pavement. I sped up, hoping to avoid getting drenched, but it was no use. The rain came down harder as the virulent sky opened up. It meant that he was close and my months of waiting would be over within hours, yet I almost didn’t want it to happen because then the waiting would have to start all over again. Just as I wiped wet strands of hair out of my eyes to unlock the front door, my cell phone rang. My hands began to shake and I fumbled for a moment to answer. “Hello?”
“Is me...where you deh?” It had been two months since I had spoken to him directly.
“Just getting home. And you?” I knew what was coming next.
“You wan’ meet now?”
Within five minutes, he was parked in front of my house. “Come nuh baby, get in quick. Me cyan let the storm swallow you. That is fi me only to do.”
The trip to the motel was silent. It always was. He drove like a man on a mission while I sat in the passenger seat, a hostage trying not to notice the hard muscles of his thighs flexing as he pumped the clutch in and out.
Upon arrival, we went straight to our room, and there – safe from the weather and safe to be together in the way we needed to be – all the hurrying stopped. Marcus tossed his keys onto the bed and I let my bag drop. We stood facing each other and our hands casually mingled until we couldn’t stand it any longer.
Once our fingers linked, our torsos followed and our lips met. We breathed into each other, cautiously at first; then our mouths picked up speed– runaways downhill, tasting and teasing, wicked tongues twining like snakes coiling together to find warmth.
As our bodies warmed – my nipples punching through my blouse to get to his chest and as his cock jumping up and down inside his pants, thrumming against my thigh – things went from lustful to violent. Ripping at each other’s clothes, he would strip me of my bottoms and I’d unzip his fly to release his penis. Inevitably, he would turn me around and push me down onto the best available surface.
That day, it was a desk. He wanted me lying flat, legs straight and squeezed together, as if he was trying to prevent himself from entering. As if.
Climbing on top – a cowboy on his horse, one foot balancing on the upholstered chair next to us – he declared my pussy open for business by prying my cheeks apart with his hands and dipping his thick post down. “Me love de way you oil mek you wet fi me.” He spread my juice around, his fingers struggling to hold on.
Driving in, he maneuvered his cock in and out of my heated pool; drowning himself, sending himself to hell for a sin that he couldn’t help but commit.
Continuing in this position for another minute or two, he fucked me. Then in an instant, he pulled my hips up, lining his rod up with my tunnel for easier access. At some point he always gave up trying to make things difficult, the time he waited depending on how guilty he felt that day, I guess. But guilt be damned, he eventually surrendered, ready to tear at my body, leaving me a used carcass. My soul, he was going to take. He did it every time.
Funny thing was, he never admitted to actually fucking me. According to him, we only ever made love, but this first time was always fucking. The savagery was inevitable after our long wait.
“You wan’ me fi keep it up all day?” he groaned, his cock pulsing more rapidly than even the furious count of his thrusts. “You mek me buddy a ‘hop gyal.” He uttered a laugh so feral that I wondered if the devil himself was ramming me.
Closing my eyes, I took the assault, visualizing the storm outside thrashing and shaking, whipping loose garbage into mini-cyclones, mimicking our bodies. Did the storm bring on our loving or was it the other way around?
When the desk proved too much of a challenge, Marcus picked me up by the hips, careful to keep his body notched inside mine, and he transferred me to the bed where he could continue more comfortably. Starting at the foot of the mattress, we fucked our way to the top. “You need...dis straight...punny bruckin’...eh gyal.” His broken words punctuated each heavy lunge, until suddenly, I slammed into the headboard. My pussy blazing, he stretched me to the limit with his concrete cock, pausing only momentarily to penetrate the puckered chamber of my bottom with his finger.
There he worked a dark sorcery, twisting and churning at my insides. With a fire in both holes and my head cracking the frame, I needed some control. I needed to focus for that first orgasm, as I was afraid that my head might pop off or that I might throw up if I didn’t.
Straight-arming the creaking bed with one hand, I reached under for the base of his penis with the other. I wanted to touch the slickness that foamed up between us. “Stop!” he growled, grabbing my wrist to fling my hand away. I was impeding his progress.
“Marcus, I… I can’t…” Hooking my feet around his strong legs, I tried to gain some control over the momentum, the tremors building in my groin. Slapping my ass cheek hard, Marcus answered by digging deeper into my jellied flesh with his nails.
I whimpered, begging reprieve.
“Quiet now, baby! Be a good girl, tek it ‘arder.”
While that seemed impossible, I really had no choice. He came at me like a freight train and I helplessly slammed back to meet him, my pussy clamping onto his steel pipe. In the end, when I came, I was amazed – as always – for as he rode me into oblivion, he was again a man in control. Perhaps I was lost in my own bliss, but he seemed so quiet – his euphoric song so soft – that I barely heard him. His thrusts had slowed and he wound into me with a sobbing rhythm, replenishing me with his seed, plunging over and over, filling me until his warmth trickled down the inside of my leg. Finally empty, he collapsed in a heap on my back, relaxing for the first time in months.
***
Late that night, when I stood in my kitchen doing the dishes, watching the leftover rain drizzle down the windowpane, I saw a car parked diagonally across the street. It idled for what must have been ten minutes, never picking anyone up or dropping anyone off. I knew that Marcus would be touching his fingers to his mustache, smelling what was left of me and preparing himself to endure the next few months.
*****
Controlling Bill
When I first saw Bill, I knew exactly what I wanted to do to him. From the press of his shirt to the cinch of his belt, his comportment reeked of vulnerability and it was clear that I’d be able to toy with this man for a good long time.
“Can I get you something, Nadine? I’m making a lunch run.”
“Sure, Bill. I’ll have a chicken Caesar wrap and a mango smoothie. Thanks.” I didn’t even look up.
I could almost feel the twinkle in his eye burning through my skirt. “White or whole wheat?”
“Whole wheat.” My first week on the job and I was already in business.
Fifteen minutes later, Bill was back. “Here you go Nadine, exactly as ordered.” He passed me the food. “So how are you liking our fair city?” Standing there, I think he was hoping to watch me eat.
I unwrapped the sandwich. “I like it here, though it’s a bit warm.” I pulled at my blouse, pretending to catch a breeze.
“Phoenix may be hot at times, but at least we have the largest collection of fire fighting equipment on the planet.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, swaying awkwardly from side to side.
“Wow. I didn’t know that.” I’d just transferred in from Boston.
“It’s true. We have lots of interesting things here in Phoenix. I could show you the sites if you’d like.” Bill’s eyes were glued to my chest. “I’ve lived here my whole life.”
“I might take you up on that Bill, but right now I have a ton of work to do.”
“Yes, of course. I guess I’ll talk to you later.”
“Later, Bill.” I shooed at him as if he were a fly.
As expected, the weeks progressed with Bill constantly hovering around my desk, and doting on my every want and need. His attraction to me was painfully obvious, the poor sot practically salivating whenever I entered the room.
One Thursday afternoon, while bent over the water cooler, Bill swept in behind me. With his pitiful form uncomfortably close, I could smell the stench of his aftershave. “Hi Bill.” Practically gagging, I turned around.
“H-hi Nadine,” he stuttered, staring longingly at my lips. “I’ve just come to get a drink.”
“Right.” Stepping past him, I purposely bumped his groin with my hip. “Are you having a good day?”
Snatching a cup, he overfilled it, spilling water onto the floor. “Oops.”
His hands shaking, I grabbed his wrists. “Is your penis hard, Bill?” There were no outward signs, but I couldn’t resist asking.
“Ummmm… yes.”
“Do I make you hard?” I had him trapped between the garbage and the photocopy machine.
“Yes,” he acquiesced.
“What is it about me Bill that makes you hard? Is it my ass? Or my tits?” I stared deep into his eyes and licked my lips.
“Both.”
“Interesting.”
“You’re a very beautiful woman, Nadine.”
I moved in even closer, our noses almost touching. “Would you like to fuck me, Bill?”
“Yes.” His breath smelled of stale coffee.
“You say ‘yes’ a lot.”
“Yes.”
I laughed and released my grasp. “Don’t worry, Bill. I won’t tell anyone what you want to do to me.” Placing a finger seductively at the edge of my mouth, I added, “By-the-way, how do you want to fuck me? Missionary? Doggy style? Or are you one of those anal freaks? You wanna stuff that big cock of yours into my tight little butt hole?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?” I snapped, feigning annoyance.
“A-a-all of it,” Bill sputtered.
“You think about it and let me know. Next time, I want you to be more specific.”
As I turned to leave, I heard a clunk. Bill had walked into the wall.
The following Friday, with another workweek successfully under my belt, and with a jam-packed weekend of fun and frivolity planned, I was eager to get home. Armed with a load of paperwork, I headed toward the elevator. When I stepped inside, I heard a voice. “Hold the door.” It was Bill. “Hey, Nadine. Need some help? I can carry that stuff to your car if you want. I think I parked beside you in the lot.”
“I’m fine.” When he followed me anyway, I knew it was time. “So Bill. What we were talking about last week, were you serious?”
“What were we talking about?” Like he didn’t remember.
“You know, at the water cooler.”
He scratched his head nervously. “You mean that stuff about us having sex.” A flush rose up his neck.
“Mmmm, yes,” I purred. “You still wanna fuck me, Bill?”
“You have no idea.” His forehead was shiny with sweat.
“Oh, I think I do. But what will your wife say? Won’t she be upset?”
“My wife?” It was as if he’d forgotten he had one. “Oh, my wife, she won’t mind. We have a what-do-you-call-it? An ‘open’ relationship.”
“You do, huh?”
“Yes. I am virtually a free man.”
“So going to a hotel with me won’t be a problem then?”
“Not at all.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now. You drive.”
“OK. Give me a second.” Unlocking his car, he then covertly pulled out his cell. “Get in.” And as I settled into the passenger seat of his Pontiac Sunfire, Bill pretended not to be texting his wife. A minute later, taking his place as captain of his ship– as master of his own destiny– Bill started the ignition. “Ready?”
“You have no idea,” I chuckled sarcastically.
“There’s a Ramada Inn just down the street.” He dutifully fastened his seatbelt and checked his blind spots.
“No. Take me to the Crowne Plaza.” I had no intention of going to a second rate establishment.
“Sure, Nadine. You’re the boss.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” I whispered. And with that, we were off.
After Bill checked us in - the particulars of which ran about as smoothly as you can imagine - we arrived at our room where he placed his keys gently on the dresser and took off his suit coat. “Would you like a drink?”
“I’ll have water.” I sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Bill opened the mini bar, grabbing a Perrier and some Red Bull.
“Gotta get all revved up, eh?” I chided. This was almost too good to be true.
“I’m feeling a little tired. It’s been a long day. A long week.” Within seconds, Bill had knocked back the whole can. “I’d better go to the washroom now.”
“Good idea.” While he peed and washed his hands, I calmly sipped my cool beverage.
“So…” He came out, smoothing his pants.
“So what?”
“So what do you want to do first?”
“First?” Did he assume this to be some kind of all-night affair? “You can start by showing me your cock. I want to make sure that you’re worth my time.”
“OK.” He began unbuckling his pants.
“Just undo your fly, Bill. I don’t want to see your legs.”
“Oh.” My cruelty caused him to fumble and his zipper got stuck.
“Relax Bill and just show it to me. Show me that ‘super schlong’ of yours.”
It took some doing, but eventually Bill managed to expose himself. “There. How’s that?”
“Good. You aren’t as small as I thought you’d be.” In fact, he was rather large. And thick. And purple. “Come and stand in front of me. I need to examine it.” He shuffled over, his swollen appendage leading the way. “Good boy.” Staring, I marveled at its rigidity. “Are you always like this?”
“For you, yes.” His penis jumped.
“I’m honored. Now go over to the window and touch yourself. Pump it until you almost cum and then stop.”
“Aren’t you going to touch it?”
“I want to watch you, Bill. I want to watch you playing with yourself. That would excite me more.”
“Your wish is my command,” he said, trotting over to the huge expanse of glass.
“Point it out the window toward all the people in this great city. Let them see your magnificent cock. Show them how you wield it. Show them what they’ve been missing.”
Proudly, Bill endured. “You sure know how to make a man crazy, don’t you Nadine?”
“Well, yes. I’ve had practice.”
“You do this a lot then?” He paused, sounding somewhat disappointed.
“I do this enough. Now come back over here. I want to see if you’re leaking yet.”
He practically galloped. “There’s a little bit of cum.” He squeezed the head, a bead of cream pooling at the tip. “You wanna taste it?”
“Pump it some more, Bill. Show it to me up close like this. Show me how you work your shaft. Show me how you can make it change color.” I bent down to within inches of his weeping member. “Let me smell your musk Bill. Let me smell your manly, godly musk.”
As I spoke, I knew I had Bill hooked. His face contorted as he demonstrated his skills. His breathing was ragged. “I can’t do this much longer,” he cried. “I just need to…” He leaned in for a kiss.
“No, Bill.” I pushed him away, my fingers to his lips. “We’re done for now.”
“What?” No doubt, he was in pain. “You’re gonna leave me like this?”
“Oh, poor baby. I think you’ll manage.” I stood, fixed my skirt and prepared to leave.
“Actually, Nadine. I don’t think I will.” Strangely, his voice had changed. So had his demeanor.
“Oh? And what are you going to do about it?” I turned, coolly applying some lip balm.
“You’ll see…” he growled. And in three long strides, Bill had me shoved up against the door, his forearm barring the back of my neck.
Panicking, I tried to get away. “Bill, please don’t…”
“I didn’t come all this way and pay all that money for nothing, Nadine.” He strengthened his hold. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to see you naked? How long I’ve ached to touch you? To kiss you?”
“A long time?” I trembled, suddenly afraid.
He ran his clammy hand up the inside of my thigh. “You’re warm. And here I thought you’d be cold.”
“Bill…”
He was no longer listening. “Tell me, Nadine, do you know hard I get every time you walk past me at the office? Or how many times I’ve had to jack off in the washroom on break? Or how many times I’ve fucked my wife the minute I got home because I just couldn’t stand the aching in my balls any longer? “ Bunching my skirt up around my waist, he yanked my panties to one side. “Jesus Christ, Nadine. I need to fuck you so bad.”
“Do it then Bill, if that’s what you need.” I prepared myself for the worst.
“I wasn’t asking permission,” he said curtly. Then, traversing my furrows, Bill caressed my sex from the arch of my vulva to the tip of my tailbone, back and forth, back and forth, fondling me, stroking me as if he were an emperor and I, his royal pet.
To my surprise, it felt good. Next to mine, Bill’s body actually felt right. “Bill…”
“You like that, don’t you, Nadine?”
“Bill…” He was handling me with increasing expertise and confidence, and I found it impossible to form a complete sentence.
“You say my name a lot,” he chuckled.
“Mmmmm…” I could barely stay standing.
“I can smell your pussy from here and it smells good.” He was nibbling on my earlobe. “Even better than I thought.” When it was evident that my passion’s nectar was flowing in abundance, Bill took his hand and penetrated me with an almost embarrassing ease. Plunging and prodding, he simultaneously pressed into my neck and inhaled deeply. “You know Nadine, you haven’t been very nice to me. But I forgive you. Besides…” Withdrawing his digits from my tunnel, he twirled me around, setting us face to face. “You have the best tits I’ve ever seen.” Slowly unbuttoning my blouse and brushing the fabric off my shoulders, he then proceeded to lift each breast from the confines of my brassiere. “Definitely the best tits I’ve ever seen.” Lunging at my nipples, he consumed me with the reverence of a holy man, savoring and sucking until I slid onto the floor.
Luxuriating in Bill’s attentions, I allowed him to strip me naked as I writhed fervidly beneath him. At one point, gazing up to see him gripping the soles of my feet to spread my legs wide, I noticed his tie, with its fierce pattern of diagonal violet and slate stripes. “You really are a handsome man, Bill.” I was beginning to see that.
“Ready, Nadine?” He grinned and took a condom from his back pocket, unrolling it deftly onto his penis. Then, like a man at the top of his game, he drove into my vagina in one bold thrust. Fucking me, it was as if he were rowing a boat or milking a cow, his moves so methodical, so fluid, so accomplished, that I fell into a trance - a miraculous, mind-blowing trance.
“Oh… my… god… Bill…” I wailed, bucking and heaving as he plied me with his meat, my head banging against the door. “You are amazing!” And in that moment, I came like I’d never come before, my whole body feeling the power of this man’s ability.
Once I’d quieted, Bill commanded, “Now flip over, Nadine. It’s my turn.”
“Yes.” I sprung onto my hands and knees. And immediately venturing forth, Bill rammed me hard, adamantly controlling each down stroke. As he approached orgasm however, his efforts turned into a flurry of jolts and stabs, his grip on my hips working in time with the stuttering of his groin like he was firing some kind of giant machine gun. Releasing a month’s worth of worship, Bill flew into a tailspin. “Fucking fuck me!” he exclaimed.
Finally, when he’d discharged every ounce of his devoted seed, he pulled out. Smoothing over my ass cheeks, he murmured, “Next time, I want to stick my cock into that tight little butt hole of yours.” Poignantly, he gave my passage a little poke. “Is that specific enough for you, Nadine?” Naked and utterly spent, I watched as Bill stuffed his penis back into his pants, straightened his shirt and tie, and put on his suit coat. “See you at the office,” he said. “It’s been a blast.” And with a flippant toss of his car keys, he was gone.
*****
The Sweet Spoils of Depravity
I’d seen him once before, sitting on a park bench in the obscurity of evening, flagrantly violating a woman’s earlobe and playing under her skirt with his head tilted sideways as if ready to confront offended passersby. Yes, not so long ago he had been with her, but then somehow he wound up alone and following me, and I could tell by the brash way his feet hit the sidewalk that it was the same guy. How he knew I wouldn’t scream, I wasn’t sure, but to be honest, I didn’t care. Something had come over me, and all I wanted in that moment was to be fucked like crazy – right then and there.
All I wanted was to be pushed into a dark alley and defiled by someone random – someone who wasn’t my husband, someone so far removed from my zone of familiarity that the world would turn upside down if it ever found out. All I wanted was to be taken from behind with my tired, polyester skirt shoved up around my armpits and my bra straps twisted around my neck. And guess what? I got my wish and it was great.
After he’d shot his load almost to my eyeballs – metaphorically speaking of course since I’d made him wear a condom – he said something completely unexpected. “Maybe we should go somewhere private.”
“Why?” Wasn’t fucking in public enough?
“So I can eat out your pussy the right way,” he replied.
“Oh, and how is that?”
“You know, with your bottoms off and your legs spread wide. I want to see your tits too – in the light.”
“Well, I don’t know. I gotta go.” I kicked my ripped underwear off into a pile of garbage and turned to pat him graciously on the chest, getting a close look at his face for the very first time. “Oh...” He was surprisingly attractive – soft, brown eyes and a magnetic smile.
“What? Don’t like what you see?”
Were all libertines so insecure? “Actually, I do.”
Removing a lock of hair that was stuck to my lip, he concurred, “That’s good because I like what I see too. I like it a real lot.”
Hurrying out onto the street, when I looked back, he was just standing there, carefully folding his dick into his pants. “Bye.” I waved tentatively.
“Will we hook up again?” he called.
“Maybe.” I hoisted my bag over my shoulder, straightened my shirt and left.
“Bye...” he echoed, his form fading into the shadows like a specter from an alternate universe.
***
At home, Nick was asleep on the couch. “Hey, wake up.” I shook his shoulder.
He stretched his legs and farted. “Oh, you’re back.”
“Yeah, finally. It was a busy night. We had a bus come in about an hour before closing, and in the rush, Joanne flipped a full tray of drinks onto the floor. It was such a mess.”
“Poor dear. Do you want something to eat?’
“No. I had a piece of chicken before I left.”
“OK. Well, the kids are in bed, so why don’t you go have a shower, and then I’ll rub your feet...” It was his way of asking for sex, as if I hadn’t had my fill for one night already.
“Let me get washed and then we’ll see.”
“Come on, Molly,” he whined. “It’s been over a week.”
“I’m tired. But I said we’ll see.” Admittedly, sex with Nick had become stale, almost to the point of being bothersome, and after fifteen years together I was in desperate need of something different – hence the preceding hour’s transaction. Sure, I’d been contemplating my options for months, but when I finally got up the courage to buy the condoms, it was game on.
Now, it’s not that Nick was such a bad guy. It’s just that the sex I wanted was the kind of sex that someone like him could never understand. It was also the kind of sex that could put me six feet under if I wasn’t careful. Despite the danger, I was willing to do whatever it took to keep my soul alive, and just as expected, as I conversed with my husband that evening at home, the experience from the alley warmed my loins like a twelve ounce steak sits in one’s belly – a bit much to digest, but damn good nonetheless.
I hadn’t really intended on seeing the guy again either. I’d figured that one act of depraved fornication would do the trick, for a while at least. Besides, it’s not as if we’d exchanged phone numbers or anything. As luck would have it however, a week later, I saw him at an appliance store discussing the benefits of stackable washer/dryer combinations with an elderly woman. Obviously, I’d stumbled upon his place of employment.
When I walked past, he recognized me instantly. “Hey...” He turned to his customer. “Will you excuse me for a moment?” And in one fluid swoop, he had his arm around my waist. “See, it’s fate.”
“Hi.” I wasn’t sure what to do.
“You busy?” he asked.
“Just buying a toaster.”
“Can you wait ten minutes?” By the look in his eye, I knew he was on the prowl again.
“I suppose.”
“I’ll meet you at the checkouts.”
“OK.”
“I have half an hour for lunch.”
Soon after, I was in the backseat of his truck, leaning against the door, my pants down and my heart pounding.
“You gonna show me that juicy cunt of yours?” He unbuckled his belt and stuffed his hand into his khakis, pulling out his cock all purple and glistening. “Come on. Show me.”
“You don’t waste time, do you?” I laughed, sliding my underwear over to one side. “Is this what you want?”
“That’s nice.” He gave his shaft a squeeze. “Looks like you could use a good fuck.”
Knees splayed, I slid a finger deep into my core. “Perhaps,” I moaned.
“Why don’t you climb on top then?” He waggled himself back and forth, hoping to coax me in closer.
“Not yet.” I lodged one foot against the headrest and put the other behind his neck, repeatedly jamming my digit in hard.
Practically salivating, he flitted his wanton tongue over his lips like a fox mounted over his kill. “You like it rough, eh?”
“Yeah, rough – really rough. Think you can handle it?”
“You know I can,” he growled, his eyes glowing expectantly. Promptly letting go of his weeping member, he then grabbed my legs and wrestled me onto his lap, forcing me down onto the wicked folds of his pants while capturing my mouth with his.
The provocation from his zipper alone set me off almost immediately and I ground onto him, my vagina exultantly anointing his clothing. At this, he smiled fiendishly. “That’s it, baby. I want to smell your cunt on me all day long.”
Reveling in the contractions as they radiated outwardly from my core, I pushed and pressed against my lover’s crotch until the spasms subsided.
Looking up, I was embarrassed to see a man and a woman getting into a car a few spots away, and I held my breath, doing my best to remain completely still. Mr. “Fucksinpublic” didn’t seem to care though. Hell, his boss could’ve been peering in the window and it wouldn’t have mattered. “Put it in.”
Waiting until the couple had driven away and we were fairly secluded in the lot, I then took a condom out of my purse. “You need this first,” I said, slipping it out of its wrapper and unrolling it down the length of his pole.
As I did, he lifted his hips like he was pushing into an actual body, discharging an emphatic, “Fuck yeah...”
“Feels good, huh?” I smiled.
“You bet. Now put it in.” Larger that I remembered, his penis filled me to bursting, and in that position, the friction against my clitoris was divine. Trying to consume him fully, I rocked my hips back and forth, thrusting and bucking like I was bent on teaching him some kind of lesson. Resolute, he asked, “Is this how you want it? Huh?” He shoved at me hard. “Yeah, that’s it. Take it all, baby.”
I nearly laughed at his boorishness, but strangely, as things continued, it set the stage for an utterly riotous exchange. I even attempted a little dirty talk myself – something I’d never done with Nick. “You know how I like it. Fuck me with that magnificent cock of yours,” I spewed, egging him on.
Gripping my buttocks, he spread my cheeks, shoving one finger from either side into my asshole. “You like that too, don’t you? I’ll bet you do. Yeah, that’s a good girl. Open for me.”
Truth be told, I was nobody’s “good girl”. I’d become an extremely naughty girl who enjoyed fucking strangers I met on the street. I was like a whore only worse because I wasn’t asking for money in exchange. So maybe I’d turned bad or maybe I had always been that way but just didn’t know it until then. Whatever the case, the “bad” felt necessary, and as I glanced down to watch the coalescing of our private parts, I let my delinquent behavior lift me to heights unknown. “This is so fucking amazing,” I howled audaciously, the pounding proving effective as we both succumbed in consecutive upheavals. Fantastically, I came first in a caterwauling, spurting display of emancipation. My accomplice came next, his trip so intense that I was left with bruises on my bottom for days. When it was all over, I left shaking, barely able to believe that I’d done it again.
***
That night, I avoided Nick altogether, going to bed early with a terrible “headache”. For the rest of the week as well, I kept my distance, but when I got home from work on the Friday, I’d just walked through the door and hung up my coat when Nick popped out from around a corner. “Molly.” His voice was gravelly and painfully somber.
Startled, I jumped. “Nick?”
“Molly.” His cheeks looked sunburned and his eyes feral, his pupils ink‐like and dilated.
“Are you drunk?” He appeared the same as he had the night of his bachelor party so long ago – after the stripper but before we’d fucked.
“We need to talk.” There was no smell of alcohol on his breath.
“Can’t it wait?” I asked, picking up some things off the floor. “I have to get changed. I smell like food.”
“No, it can’t.”
Clearly unable to avoid a confrontation, I stood my ground. “What’s on your mind?”
“Molly, I’m not going to put up with your games anymore.”
Jesus, I’d been caught. “Where are the kids?” I didn’t want them around when the shit hit the fan.
“They’re at your mother’s.”
“OK...” I said, anticipating the worst. “But I still don’t know what you’re talking about. What games?” I was hoping that playing the innocent would delay the inevitable.
“Don’t be stupid. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Now take off your pants.”
“What? Why?” Had he lost his mind? What was he going to do? I pictured the broom from the hall closet stuck up my ass.
“Take off your fucking pants Molly or I will.” By then, he was yelling loud enough for the neighbors to hear and I was scared to death. I’d never seen him so upset.
“Nick. Stop. I didn’t mean it.”
“Oh, you meant it all right. And now you are going to pay.”
“I am sorry. I am soooo sorry. I’ll never do it again.” Tears were streaming down my face, mascara stinging my eyes.
“Damn right, you won’t. You are my wife!” He slammed his hand into the powder room door. “I love you and I think you love me, so we need to fuck more than once every two weeks. And I’m telling you Molly, I’m not going to stand for your ‘I’m tired’ routine either. I am just going to take what I want, when I want it. Understood?”
“Yes, Nick.” Had he said what I thought he’d said? That we needed to fuck? Not that he was going to kill me for sleeping with another man?
“Take off your pants.” His bullish demeanor brought me back to my experience outside the appliance store, and the same unmistakable enthusiasm began irrigating the furrows of my vagina.
“Yes, Nick,” I answered, quickly undressing.
“And your underwear.”
That too, I did as fast as I could. “There. Happy now?” Unquestionably, I was shocked by his change in disposition, but I was also eager to see what he was going to do next.
“Not yet, but I will be. Now bend over.” Willingly, I leaned up against the wall and spread my legs.
Pushing in close, he gnawed voraciously at my neck, fumbling with his pants to free himself. “I don’t know who you think you are Molly.” He pressed the tip of his penis to my derriere, smearing his prefatory cream around in circles. “But you can’t toy with a man’s libido this way.”
Convinced that he was going to penetrate me directly, I enthusiastically wiggled back. “Come on, Nick.” Instead, he jolted me with an unheralded swat on the ass. “That’s what you get for not taking care of business.”
“I said I was sorry, Nick.”
He landed two more. “And that’s what you get for making me wait all the time.”
Reveling in a marital ardor I’d only dreamt about, I turned my head for a kiss. Nick responded by probing his tongue deep into my mouth, concurrently forging three fingers into my womanly opening. Twisting and turning, prying and prodding, he explored the delicate landscape of my vagina until I slid down the wall and collapsed onto my knees. “Oh, Nick...” I gasped, shaking uncontrollably from a loving long overdue.
“Hold still, Molly,” he said, easing out his hand to reposition us both, his dick now in line with my mouth. Like an arm out the car window, it bounced around as if trying to find its way blindly to my pie hole. “See this cock. This is your cock and I want you to suck it.”
Pulling his pants down further, I took in his raging member while yanking fervidly on his scrotum. Impassioned, Nick heaved forward, almost choking me in the process, his juices and my saliva combining to glaze my face. “For being such a bad girl Molly, I’m going to fuck you any way I want and you’re going to like it. Do you hear me? I might even fuck you up the ass.”
Naturally, I couldn’t speak, but just as I presumed he was about to erupt, Nick withdrew and hefted me up onto our console table – on top of his keys, the mail, and my sunhat – plunging inside so adamantly, so frantically, that all I could do was hold on.
Eventually, I surrendered, rejoicing in the full brunt of his momentum and the full potency of his mirth. The house shook like never before as we renewed (and advanced) the hunger between us, and after that, I only had feelings of contentment and happiness where Nick was concerned. You know, good communication can do wonders for a relationship and now, I’m not afraid to ask or tell him anything, exploration being our greatest arbiter of pleasure. Curiously, I’ve learned that no man is without his secrets. Perhaps I’m not so bad after all.
*****
Twenty Questions
Sonny and I have been together for two months, fucking like rabbits virtually from the day we met. Now, sitting beside him on his couch, I languidly swirl my fingers over his muscular chest, stopping every minute or so to tweak his nipples through his shirt. “I like you,” I murmur. “I like you a lot.”
“We are friends then?” he asks dubiously.
I sigh. “You know we are.”
“Is that all?”
With Sonny, no matter what I say, it’s never enough. “What do you mean – is that all? What else is there?” Of course, I can sense what he’s driving at, but it feels too soon to declare it. Seemingly crestfallen, he resorts to staring at my chin. “Oh Sonny, you know that I’d give you anything,” I add quietly. “Probably everything.”
Finally, he speaks. “So you’re hooked?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Jesus, there are so many reasons why I am rabidly attracted to this man, but when he gets like this – when he starts in on me with the questions – I always go back to the beginning of our coupling, detailing in sequence my most precious and memorable moments with him.
“Well, when I first saw you leaning against the counter in that little book shop, you appeared so relaxed, so confident, so inviting, that I just wanted to walk over and climb inside your clothing. I wanted to know if you’d jump at my touch or if you’d simply carry on, like I wasn’t even there, perhaps like I’d always been there.”
Plucking at the hairs of his goatee, he listens intently. “After watching you for a good ten minutes – turning deftly through the pages of W.E.B. Du Bois’ ‘The Negro’ and shifting on your feet only occasionally – I was ready to make my move. When I got in close enough to absorb your intoxicating scent, I wondered directly how many women had touched your smooth brown skin or kissed your tantalizingly full lips, and I was immediately jealous of each and every one of them. In fact, when I first saw you, I knew that I needed to be your one and only woman. I also knew that I would soon need to have your naked body writhing against mine.”
“Really?” It is his standard type of reply.
“Yes Sonny, really. Don’t you know that you drive me crazy?” I nibble on his earlobe. “And when we first kissed,” I purr, “it was like heaven.”
Inhaling deeply, he slips one hand inside my blouse. “You liked the kiss?” he growls, squeezing my milky white flesh so hard that I wince.
“When you kissed me that first time Sonny, after dragging me like a randy teenager over to your car, it was magical, your lips so gentle compared to the strength of your grip on my waist. Honestly, I’d never felt so desired or so beautiful in my entire life.”
“What else?” He nuzzles my neck, his breath hotter than a furnace.
“Well, every time I touch your penis, I like that it’s already wet. It tells me how much I excite you. And when I suck on it, and you settle back – closing your eyes in ecstasy – I feel so powerful, so appreciated, that I want to shout to the whole world that you are mine, all mine.”
As I further extol his virtues, Sonny simultaneously watches my mouth while circling his palm over my womanly mound. “Yes, and when you enter me – when you give me your thick meat – I can’t help but think that we are the perfect match.” Certainly, we’ve been through all of this before, but he likes to hear it. It makes his dick extraordinarily hard. “Will you show it to me, Sonny?” I beg.
Coolly, he unzips his fly and scoops his bulging erection out over the top of his jockeys. “What do you want?” he asks, thumbing the mahogany-colored head.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” I laugh, pressing his shaft lovingly to my cheek. “You’re the one with your genitals exposed.”
His crotch smells a bit musky because we’ve just come in from a long walk, and his comfort with my exploration there makes me hornier still. “You’re so good Sonny, so satisfyingly delicious,” I say, manipulating his cock and inching lower to capture both of his testicles roughly in my mouth.
After slurping and yanking furiously at his nether regions for quite a while, I pause for a short reprieve. Within seconds, Sonny pushes out from under me, climbs on top, and starts fucking my face. “Do you like this too?” he booms, thrusting like a hound in heat.
See, the thing about Sonny is, when he gets going, he really gets going. This time however, I can tell that there is something else spurring him on, something that makes this assault particularly savage. “I...can’t...breathe...” I choke out between stabs.
Instantly, he withdraws. “Oh my god. Are you all right?” he asks, rubbing at the back of his head, slightly embarrassed.
“How about in my pussy?” I spread my legs and smile.
He’s worried. “Should I go slow?”
“I’m fine, Sonny.” I say reassuringly.
That’s all it takes and he plunges inside, quickly ushering us into a pungently sweet oblivion. But just before he is about to come, he retreats once again, holding his dick out poignantly for my inspection. “Is this all you want?” he demands, his eyes aglow with both passion and distress.
Tenderly, I trail my finger down his penis to take a taste of the slickness that together we’ve created. When he groans emphatically at this, I can no longer contain my words. “I love you Sonny,” I cry. “Do you love me too?”
Re-entering my throbbing passage, he drives himself to the very end and whispers, “Do you have to ask?”
*****
Hired Help
Gerard has been a part of my family now for over twenty years, tending the gardens for my aunt and uncle as a young man, and serving after that as a butler to my parents. Much to my delight, on the day of my wedding, Gerard was handed over to me, to act as what one might respectfully call, my “private assistant”.
Now I’ll admit, it may seem a bit odd to find a white person working for black folks, but in our case, Gerard fits right in. Certainly, he does what he’s told, but if I’m not mistaken, he actually takes pride in his obligations. For example, if I ask him to oversee the duties of the house, he judiciously oversees the duties of the house. If I ask him to take care of the children, he takes care of the children as if they were his own. If I ask him to pleasure my husband, well, he pleasures my husband. Oops, I guess I forgot to mention that Gerard’s duties go above and beyond those of the regular hired help.
And not that it should be of any great concern, I will point out that Gerard is an extremely handsome man, albeit in a rugged kind of way. To be honest, it is the reason that Jefferson and I started asking him to participate in the more private aspects of our relationship in the first place.
Of German/Scandinavian descent, Gerard has the chest and limbs of an ox, and eyes the color of a deep ocean. Usually, his face is expressionless, as he tends to keep his emotions to himself, but his cheekbones are high, his jaw is strong and his mouth is exquisitely formed.
It should also be no secret that I’ve harbored affection for him since I was a young girl, reveling in moments of innocent intimacy like the time when, at the age of eight, he carried me up to the porch after I’d fallen and twisted my ankle. When he wrapped his strong arms around my body, I happily held onto his neck, inhaling his manly scent and pressing in close to his face, the roughness of which left me with scratches that lasted the better part of a week.
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