by Ella Hilton
Ann groaned and sat. I turned the TV on, well aware of her hand on my thigh, rubbing in circles. If I were in the mood, I might have been turned on. Unfortunately for her, I was already agitated by her immediacy in the situation, and her attempts to avoid all other contact other than corporeal. She was actually more or less tickling me. "Ann, stop."
She tsked loudly and turned her head, crossing her arms. I looked over at her and smiled. "We could always talk. That might push me over the edge."
"Forget it," she wasn't getting her way.
Getting up, she grabbed her coat from off the table in the kitchen. One good thing about apartments was that most of the living area could be seen if properly seated. I followed her, and then walked ahead. I leaned against the door, and she staunchly stayed there before me, a look of disgust on her face. "Let me leave, Mike. I don't want to fucking talk."
The floor creaked as I shifted weight from one foot to the other, standing rigid. "I do remember a text message that said, and I quote, 'You know why your last girlfriend left you? Because you're unable to face your problems and interact with them. You prefer to push them off to the side until they solve themselves.' What does this fall under for you?"
A flush crept onto her face and she reached for the door handle. I grabbed her arm. "Look. I just want to go home, Mike. I don't want to deal with this."
"You're going to. You wanna fuck? Lets."
I reached over, and did not pay attention to my throbbing back as I heaved her over my shoulder. She was getting her way now, so, fortunately for my aging back, she didn't wriggle too much. Every spring in the couch could be heard as her body collided with it tempestuously. Her eyes were no longer empty, but filled with beautiful emotion, even if that emotion was fury. I kissed her heatedly, pressing into her hard, loving the feel of her soft curves.
Why don't you see it, Ann? Why don't you see that I'm just a mortal that worships you?
Unfastening every button tenderly, her flesh began to appear. I lifted her slightly, and unhooked her bra, then undid her pants. Ann looked skeptical, and it was good that she did. This was the only way I could keep her here, and I had to remember to keep a level head tonight. Her black fires would not consume me. I slid her pants and underwear down her long legs. Kissing each thigh, I tested one by biting it.
Ann cried out, sitting up, but I quickly pushed her back down to the cushions. "Lay down."
It was an order, and she reluctantly agreed as I disrobed. When my pants pooled around my ankles, I kicked them off and joined her on the comfortable couch. Her legs were already spread, waiting for me, but I sat down as I would normally, and motioned for her to sit in my lap, which she did. She sat with her legs open, with her legs each on the outer side of mine. By opening my legs, I forced her to spread hers further. My left hand rested dutifully on her inner thigh, and my right tugged at her breast roughly. I was rock hard under her, my erection coming up between her legs visibly.
My left hand began to slide up and down her pussy lips, savoring their soft wetness. My ring and middle finger dipped in to her, and met a rainstorm inside her body. She was hot and drenched. As my rough fingers drove into her, she threw her head back, her hands firmly on the sides of the couch on each side of my hips. A feral moan rumbled from her, and she turned her head so that she could place kisses on the line of my jaw. I quickly possessed her mouth, and concentrated on her core. I refused to stimulate her clit, knowing eventually she would get frustrated with her inability to release.
After a few minutes, her eyes opened and her breathing changed. I saw her hand go down to help mine out. I smiled and bit her neck, hard. She gasped, and my legs widened, splaying hers farther apart than before. I grabbed that one hand with my right, and drug it across her so I could hold both of her wrists as I tortured her. Beginning to buck, I bit her again, on the other side of her neck. She whimpered, "Mike..."
"Yes?"
"Stop doing this to me. I want more."
"I'm not above blackmail, Ann."
"I won't talk to you."
"Mm, not exactly what I was thinking," I pulled out from her, a helpless strangulated 'no' slipped from her, and then slapped her sensitive clit quickly. Her body jolted forward from shock. "What, Mike?"
She sounded annoyed. Good. I threw her from me, onto the couch, and walked down the hall into my room. She followed deftly, probably curious as to what I had planned out. When she walked into the room, I pushed her onto the bed. "Let me use handcuffs."
Her eyes glittered in the darkness, and she laid down as I got them from the bottom of a drawer. I handcuffed one wrist, laced the metal behind a bar of the headboard, and then cuffed the other. I made sure a pillow was firmly between her and the board. Her body looked delicious, edible. It was a shame it was all she would allow me to know. How I would love to truly know her mind, even if her logic is so calculating it precludes sanity.
Bending down, I firmly placed her thighs on my shoulders, and breathed on her sopping sex. I softly licked her clit, and felt her squirm under me. With a smile, I began lapping at it like a dog. My tongue savored the tightness of her nubile cunt. I growled into it, sending shivers along her spine. Setting her back down and lying on the bed, I began I finger her again, while sucking and twisting her clitoris in my mouth.
Her breathing became hoarse once more, and she moaned in exasperation, desperately needing release. I increased the tempo of my fingers, and sucked harder. Her body tensed as she came, and her pussy jerked up into my face. Moving down again, I drank her salty orgasm deeply. My tongue reached into her for the last few drops of her arousal. Now it was my turn.
I wanted to make her scream my name and more this time.
I knew she liked it rough, and started my pace there. Every time I would spear her cervix she screamed in pleasure, our pelvises meeting like adversaries. As she neared her second orgasm, I regained a level head. Which was a fucking Christmas Day miracle for a man to find composure after losing himself to screwing a beautiful, young woman with a tight pussy. I stopped, and relaxed my pace considerably, eventually just staying stationary in her. She whimpered to me, "Mike..."
"I have a little game for us. If you play it as I've already played your games, you'll get what you want and I'll get what I want. If you refuse, or try to cheat, I'll just leave you handcuffed to this bed, and gag you so that my roommate doesn't hear. Will you play?"
Her face contorted. She knew she had let me corner her. The upper hand she once had was lost now. The nodding she was reduced to wasn't enough for me. "Say yes or no."
"Yes, Mike."
"You will verbally answer every question I have. If you're telling the truth and I believe you, I will thrust into you. When I'm done, you will get what might be your last fuck from me."
Her eyes closed with pain, "Fine."
"You're 18, Ann?"
"Yes." Thrust.
"Until when?"
"Next July." Thrust.
"I'm the only lover you've had?"
"Yes." Thrust.
"The only man you've kissed?"
"Yes." Thrust.
"Are you sexually attracted to me?"
"God yes." Thrust.
"Are you romantically attracted to me?"
She stopped.
"I don't want to be." Thrust.
"Why?"
Ann paused from the questioning, and then screamed in frustration. "Just fuck me, Michael. Please!"
Sternly, I repeated myself. "WHY?"
"You're nice, smart, responsible, patient, down to earth. You're a good guy." Thrust.
"Please just fuck me, Michael."
"Why don't you want to be attracted to me?"
With a tear streaming down her face from the cascade of emotions being unexpressed, she answered. "I'm scared of commitment. I don't want to be alone, but I don't want to be tied down." Thrust.
I smiled, looking at her handcuffs. Don't want to be tied down? "Do you see yourself
getting married?"
"No." Thrust.
"Why not?"
"I'm a bitch." Thrust.
"Do you see yourself having children?"
"No." Thrust.
"Do you want to be married and have children?"
"Yes." Thrust.
"Could you see us together, Ann?"
"Yes." Thrust.
"But if you have your way, you would be alone forever?"
"Yesss." Thrust.
The lust was driving her crazy.
"If I fuck you till you explode, will you consider me?"
"God, Michael, don't do this to me. It hurts. Please, finish me."
"Will you consider me, Ann?"
"Yes, if you just hurry." Thrust.
"Promise me, first."
"God, I fucking PROMISE, Mike."
I began to fuck her, tearing into her. I kept talking now though, punctuating every word with a hard stroke into her pussy. "I fucking. Want. You. Every. Waking. Moment. I. Dream. About. You. I. Can't. Imagine. My. Life. Without. You. Any. More. I. Love. You. Ann..."
She began to scream my name amidst 'oh god's and 'yes'es. We both were nearing that point of no return, the edge of reckoning. Ann came first, gasping my name while I continued to ram into her mercilessly. A few more strokes, and I came as well, coming so much that I'm surprised she didn't conceive even while being on the pill. After a few minutes, her body stirred beneath mine. "Mike. The handcuffs."
I jumped up and grabbed the keys off the dresser, and undid her wrists. She sat up and got off the bed, walking into the living room naked in search of her clothes. This was it. She was going to walk out, and never come back into my life again. After what I did, it wasn't as if I didn't deserve it. "Pulling her shirt over her head, she looked up.
"Do you wanna get something to eat, Mike?"
Sad Eyed Lady of the Low Life
Ilona sighed, blowing moist air through olive lips that were perched in the pout she had sat for hours in front of the mirror perfecting. The slender index finger of her right hand stroked the soft plane of her cheek, her pink nail polish lurid against her pale skin. When the finger reached her jaw-line, she curled it elegantly back into the arch of her hand and pushed a thick weight of brown hair back from her face and over her shoulder. All her gestures, one suspected, were like this – exquisite, effortless and utterly artificial.
She watched the man sprawled in one of the armchairs in her waiting room. He was handsome, she supposed, but not her type. His suit was rumpled, and poorly cut. His trousers were too short and rode high on his legs, revealing socks that featured crudely stitched images of Santa and Mrs. Claus. The cartoons were on the inside, so that when he jiggled his ankles it looked to Ilona as if the characters were dancing together. Each time he did this, he glanced up at Ilona, his muddy eyes looking to see, she thought, some sign of approval. When she sensed him about to look at her, she would always look away, busy herself with paper on her heavy wooden desk or tap away at the computer.
The suit jacket was too narrow for the man's shoulders, and the pockets were distended from the thick bulge of his wallet in the right and the book in the left. Catch-22, she noted. They had read a translation in school; she had though it a stupid and empty book, utterly frivolous. Not a patch on John Grisham, she had smugly told her teacher, who had just sighed, then nodded slowly. The pages were yellowed, and even from her perch she could see they were worn – not carelessly, but from frequent use.
The man's face was well constructed, but here too, he exhibited a lack of care. His short black hair was unkempt, his strong cheeks and jaw were dusted with stubble, and his blue eyes swam in dark pools. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Ilona sniffed. Maybe some women were attracted to scruffy guys, but not her.
The phone rang. She waited two rings, then picked it up and said the name of the office, her name, and then asked if she could help.
"Perhaps you could," said the familiar voice at the far end of the line. "I have this strange sensation and my penis has gone all hard. I've tried rubbing it, but that just seems to make things worse. Do you think I should speak to the doctor?"
Ilona laughed, but underneath the laughter, she felt a potent twitch of desire. Her boyfriend had been away for two weeks now and had only been able to call her during her office hours, due to the time difference. She hadn't had to use her fingers so much since she was 18, and her friend Caterina had shown her how to masturbate. Now she could feel the blood swelling her labia, feel her vagina moisten, feel her face and breasts flush.
"Can you speak?" her boyfriend asked.
Before when he had called, the office reception had been filled with waiting people, now there was just this one guy. He was from England, she recalled. Hungarian, they call us, she thought.
"I think I can," she said. "Let me find out."
"Do you speak Hungarian?" she said, in Magyar. He looked up, a quizzical expression on his face. "Hey scruffy," she tried again quickly, "would you like to see my breasts?"
He raised one eyebrow and smiled politely. Clearly he didn't understand. In English, she said, "Sorry – do you want coffee, or tea?"
He smiled, widely. "No thanks," he replied. Very cultured voice, she thought, for a man who can't buy clothes that fit. He went back to reading his book, and she told her boyfriend that they could, finally, talk.
"Oh, god I miss your pussy," he said. "I miss the way it holds my cock so firmly. I miss its heat and wetness."
"I miss your big dick," Ilona said, keeping her voice as casual as she could. "Its taste. Its soft, soft skin."
His dick was so soft, she recalled. On their first date she had jerked him off, marvelling all the while at the baby soft skin under her hands. He later told her that he never needed to use lubricant when he masturbated. He had fingered her that same night, stroking his thick middle finger in and out of her cunt, curling it to try and hit her g, diddling her clit with the tip of his index finger. "I like your bush," he had whispered, many nights later, when touching had led to actual sex.
Ilona had never shaved her pussy, as so many of her friends did. In part, this was because she did not particularly enjoy receiving oral sex; mainly, it was that she had long loved the natural lines of her pubic hair. She had spent, cumulatively, hours at the mirror, gazing and touching, tracing the neat, sparse curls from just below her taut little stomach, around and down between her legs and past her lips until the black hair met her anus, where, she had decided with jejune certainty, no-one would ever touch her. Shaving would only spoil its perfect lines, and her boyfriend loved it too, calling it the pelt he had won. His trophy.
"It's been so long since I came," Ilona said.
"Really," Tomas said. "That guy, in your office, is he... handsome?"
She laughed, affecting her deep, sexy laugh. This was a game they had played before, in bed.
Ilona purred, but quietly. Still, the guy looked over, then shrugged and went back to his book. "Very," she said.
"Big bulge at his crotch?"
"Very big," said Ilona. "Much bigger than yours."
"Take off your panties," Tomas said.
Ilona tilted her head to the side and wedged the phone between her ear and her shoulder. She slipped her hands inside her short skirt, then lifted herself off her chair and tugged her panties down, making it look like she was just adjusting her skirt. She wiggled her long legs and felt a shiver along her spine as her thin, silk panties slipped down to her shoes. The man coughed, then laughed once at something in his book. Thank goodness for the modesty panel, she thought as she picked up her wet panties and dropped them casually in her handbag.
"They're off," she said into the phone. "I can feel the air-conditioning chilly on my wet cunt."
Tomas moaned. "I'm stroking my cock, baby, wishing it was your fingers slowly running over my shaft."
Ilona's hand crept back up her skirt, and with two fingers she teased through the curls of her
hair and parted her lips. She began to stroke herself, slowly and carefully.
"I'm touching myself," she said. "I'm fingering my little pussy and thinking about fucking you."
"Is the guy joining in?" Tomas asked.
"Oh, yes," Ilona whispered. "He's walked over to my desk, and tugged down the fly of his trousers, and pulled out his big fat cock. I'm stroking it, and it's getting bigger and bigger. I can't close my hand around it, it's so thick."
Tomas gasped, and even over the phone she could hear him frantically masturbating, hear the almost glottal sound of his foreskin slapping against the thick, purplish head of his beautiful cock. The sound, and the little fantasy she had spun for Tomas, aroused her further, and her own fingers sped to pulse more rapidly in their delving.
