by Pratt, Lulu
“Shit,” she whispered under her breath, so quiet as to almost be inaudible. Louder, she said, “So where’s the tattoo?”
“We’re getting there.”
Cupping a hand briefly over my dick to maneuver it completely out of the jeans, I tugged the pants the rest of the way down. Cybil was so distracted by my hand placement that I don’t think she registered for several seconds that her name was inked across my thigh in large lettering.
I cleared my throat. “You like it?”
She was still transfixed on my cock, and said absently, “Very much.”
I snickered a little. “The tattoo.”
Cybil snapped back to reality, shaking her head as if emerging from a dream. “Where is it?” she asked.
Wasn’t sure how she could miss it, but granted, my dick is distracting. So, I carefully pointed to the tattoo on my right thigh, stuck in between a line drawing of a deer and a sugar skull.
She screamed.
“What is that?!”
Did I have to spell it out? “Your name. Maybe you recognize it.”
Her hands flew to her mouth. “You tattooed my name? On yourself?!”
I nodded. “Yuuuup,” I replied, dragging out the word. “Fair is fair. You got my name so… I got yours.”
“Oh my God. Oh… my God. Ohmygod.”
I waited patiently, trou still dropped, while she absorbed the shock. Her mouth kept opening and closing, each time her face assembling into a different expression of a different emotion. It was like watching a flip book. The whole book had one general mood, but each page was wildly varied.
She stood up from the couch and began to pace the room, her steps muffled by the antique carpets. I stayed in my place, pants-less and perfectly at ease. It felt good to get all that off my chest. To tell the entire truth about our meeting, her tattoo and mine. I had washed myself clean of some sins that had been gnawing at my very soul. Now, I found a surprising sense of relaxation and contentment. Though, of course, I did worry Cybil would give herself a small heart attack with all the frantic moving to and fro.
“Is there anything else you wanna tell me?” she squeaked. “Did we adopt a puppy? Buy a house? Go to Vegas, find an Elvis impersonator, get married and return before sunrise? Just spit it out, I’d rather know now.’”
I shook my head. “Nope, that was pretty much it.”
She whirled on me. “‘Pretty much’? What else was there?”
I held my hands up in self-defense and said, “No, I meant that was it. Period.” I paused, and waited for her to collect herself. She flopped into a different chair, burying her head in the arm and groaning. Unsure what to make of this reaction, I waited.
“You good?”
She muttered, “I’m fine. You tattooed my name on your leg. And your name on my ass.”
My eyebrows shifted upward. “I thought we’d covered that already.”
“Just let me briefly die from mortification!” she cried. “Don’t overanalyze it, God! I’m going through something over here!”
Something about the earnestness of her plea just struck my funny bone, and before I knew it, I was doubled over with laughter, holding my stomach and trying hard not to pee my — well, pants were already out of the question, so I guess my underwear. Her sharp chin shot up.
“What’s so funny?”
I shrugged, helpless. “You.”
“It’s not funny!” she shouted.
“Well, it is a little bit.”
“Is not!” She slapped the back of the chair for emphasis.
And then, suddenly, like a dam breaking, she began to scream with laughter. There was no more anger, only sheer hilarity at the situation. She laughed so hard tears streamed down her face. It was the second time I’d seen Cybil cry in a matter of days, but these were the good variety of tears.
She gulped back hiccups, managing to say, “Oh my God. This is fucking hilarious.”
I grinned. “Took you long enough.”
She relaxed back into the armchair, wiping tears from her cheeks with her palm and letting out a large exhale, either of relief or surrender.
“All right, all right,” she replied, her earlier anger dissipating like dust in the wind. “So what happened next?”
This part was straightforward. “Your friends—”
She interrupted with, “Do you want to put your pants back on?”
“Do you want me to?”
There was a long pause before she replied, “Okay, what were you saying about my friends?”
I couldn’t help but smile at the silent acknowledgment that she liked looking at my mostly naked body. That was satisfying. My cock jumped again at the thought of Cybil’s stare upon my form. Down boy, I thought loudly at my prick. Keep it together. Focus on the story.
With that in mind, I continued, “Just as I was bandaging you up, your friends called to say that they were leaving, and you had to go with them. Which I respected, safety and all that. I couldn’t have slept with you anyways, you were at least a little drunk. I offered to escort you back to the club, but you just, uh, picked up your shoes and ran out.”
She nodded with understanding. “So that’s why I never got your number.”
“Well, yeah, that and I didn’t think to offer it. But yeah, mostly that — the running out bit. Which is kind of a staple, it seems, in your routine.”
Cybil gave me a jokingly harsh look at that last comment. “Very funny,” she said, then seemed to reflect back on something, her eyes going glossy with distance. “My friends said I just ran back to the club and refused to tell them where I’d been.”
I pursed my lips. “That sounds about right, I guess.”
“The mystery’s solved,” she murmured. Then, she looked up to me — well, more specifically, to my cock. “What do we do now?”
“Now that you’ve forgiven me, you mean?”
She looked askance. “Who said I had?”
With an exaggerated sigh, I replied, “Cybil, do you forgive me for transgressing, for tattooing you, for not telling you my name, etc.?”
She made me wait several seconds before she diplomatically announced, “You’re forgiven.” Then, with less formality, and a dirtier grin, she continued, “So now what?”
I pretended to consider this. We were dispensing with formality, right? I mean, we already had each other’s names on our bodies. To hell with formality.
So I returned, “Now we could, I dunno, fuck each other until we both come several times over?”
She licked her lips. “That sounds like a very good plan, Cash.”
And then she hurdled out of the chair and into my arms.
Chapter 14
Cybil
I LUNGED FOR Cash, making no attempt to conceal my hunger. I’d been craving him like an addict craves their hit since the moment I’d orgasmed under the touch of his firm fingers.
He caught me just before I tripped over one of the many carpets, laughing as he held me up.
“Klutz,” he joked.
“Shut up,” I replied, and grabbed his face in my hands, pressing his mouth to mine.
Immediately, his laughter dissipated and he concentrated all his energy into his lips, which intertwined around my own. Sparks of pure electricity threatened to burn my mouth altogether, but I didn’t leave off. No, I leaned in, tugging him ever closer.
He wrapped his arms around my back, and in between kisses, panted, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you, not since the moment we met.”
“Really?”
He growled, “Of course. Do you know how special you are?”
My lips fell on his once more, but he inched away enough to repeat, “Do you know? Because Cybil, you’re the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met.”
“Just kiss me,” I managed to reply before entangling my hands in his curls.
“I plan to do a lot more than that,” he breathed before suddenly grabbing my ass and slapping it. His other hand joined, and before I knew it, I was being lifted
up by the butt, my legs curling around his waist as he supported my weight.
With me in his grasp, Cash turned and slammed me up against a wall. If there was any pain in that, I didn’t register it. I was too lost in the pleasure of his body, flush against my own, his cock pressing into me with desperation. My nipples were hard, my pussy wet. The desperation was mutual.
“I want you naked,” he said.
My back still pressed against the wall, I ripped off my crop top, revealing my naked breasts. What? I’m not a bra girl. Cash surged beneath me, forcing the wall to dig further beneath my spine as his lips left mine and descended on my breasts.
As much as I loved the feeling of his mouth on my hard nipples, the way he rolled them back and forth like his personal playthings, I needed his cock inside me. I had been patient, much too patient. The desire had built until now it was so overwhelming it consumed my waking and sleeping thoughts.
“Hold on,” Cash whispered, and yanked his chin upwards, indicating an overhead bar in the ceiling, some kind of wooden beam.
“Is it safe?” I asked. Then I realized I didn’t care. “Fuck it.” I grabbed onto the bar and Cash quickly got his fingers into the band of my pants and pulled them off, leaving me dangling mostly naked in mid-air. His arms curled around my body again and I let go, letting myself drop into his grip. His fingernails dug into my ass, leaving sweet traces of pain.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he groaned.
My breasts were pressed against his bare chest and heat surged between us. Our mouths found each other again, and passion overtook us. We consumed each other like food in the desert, as though we were the last two people on earth. That might as well have been true, for in that moment, nothing existed for me beside Cash and the tangibility of his form touching my own.
Still holding me, Cash lowered us to the floor, on top of one of the carpets. Before my head touched the ground, he grabbed a nearby pillow from a sofa and thrust it under my head. I was about to say ‘thanks’ when I felt his fingers greedily ensnaring themselves in the top of my panties and yanking them off. I was naked beneath him, at his complete mercy.
He looked on at me as though I were the Venus de Milo.
“What?” I asked self-consciously.
Cash shook his head. “Just amazed at my own dumb luck.”
I blushed, then replied, “Take your damn pants off.”
In one swift, streamlined motion, he’d kicked his jeans away.
“Your underwear too,” I instructed.
He grabbed my hand and placed it over his cock, as he’d done at the concert the other night. Then, it had felt exciting but scary, almost daunting. Now, it felt like a promise of things to come.
I wrapped my hand around his immense, hard dick and began to stroke it just a little. His face colored with pleasure above me. I resolved, in that moment, to make him orgasm like no woman had before.
“I want to feel your skin,” he murmured, and I understood the order.
Slowly, I pulled his cock out of his underwear, and for the first time, in the light of the room, I got a good look at his cock.
Cash was at least eight inches, his dick so comically thick it almost looked like a store-bought dildo. It was a fantasy play toy, not something you ever encountered outside of porn. I was anxious to take it all inside me, to prove to him that I could accept the challenge of his huge cock.
“Unnf,” he groaned. “Don’t be gentle with me.”
He didn’t need to say anything else. I rolled him over, putting myself on top, and squirmed over his dick so that my wetness could lube him up. I teased him with my lips, letting him hunger to be inside me.
“Cybil, you dirty girl,” he gasped.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
His dick now wet from my own juices, I wrapped my hand around his cock and began to stroke. I hadn’t thought he could get any harder than he was, but beneath my touch, the muscles in his member jumped, stiffening him beyond belief. I felt both dominated and in control. The duality was scintillating, a completely new feeling.
My strokes increased in rapidity, and his face clouded with pleasure, as though he were leaving this dimension and entering another.
I saw the moment his face shifted from abstract delight to carnal need, and a half-beat later, he was flipping me over on my stomach, my breasts pressed against the ground and my face deep within the throw pillow. I heard the sound of a condom wrapper tearing and Cash’s jagged breaths. He was going to fuck me. I almost cried with happiness.
“Nice tattoo,” he joked, and I felt his weight shift over me again, his breath closer to my ear.
“Thanks, I like it so much I think I’ll fuck the guy who gave it to me.”
“Wow, that’s pretty cool of you,” he laughed. “I think he’ll like that.” His hand slapped my tatted ass in a move that had quickly become our little joke. But this time, instead of removing his hand, Cash left it there, then wrapped his fingers around my hip and pulled me up into a kneeling position.
His voice, deadly serious, came out lower, “He’ll like it very much.”
His cock rounded the edges of my center, and with his free hand, he grabbed my hair and tugged my head back.
“Do you want it rough?” he growled.
To my own surprise, I replied, “I want you to split me open.”
He breathed heavily in through his nose, and then before I knew it, his dick had plunged into the folds of my private place and I was groaning with ecstasy.
Cash filled me up exactly as I’d known he would. The ridges of his cock rubbed against my cervix, each little detail of the terrain making me want to double over from the sheer extent of the sensation. I had never known a cock like his. Long, thick and ready to do my bidding.
I was embodying the spirit of getting an impulse tattoo — I was living life without fear.
“Fuck me,” I begged. “Fuck me hard, Cash.”
He laughed. “Okay, wow. You’re something else, Cybil.”
His dick thrust further inside me, and I felt the movement travel up my spine. He reached around and grabbed my breast, squeezing it so hard I knew it would leave marks. With a spare foot, he kicked open my knees so that they were splayed out, presenting my pussy to him like a feast served on a silver platter.
My eyes were spangled with stars like an animated cartoon. My entire being came to center around Cash moving in and out, in and out, touching parts of me I didn’t even know existed. I squeezed my center tight around his cock, aiming to maximize both of our experience. He groaned behind me, and doubled over my back, fondling my breasts, his sweat dribbling onto my back.
As he continued his thrusting, he surreptitiously brought a finger down to my clit, which he began to pick like a guitar string. I wasn’t sure I could physically handle all these good feelings at once. It was an embarrassment of riches. The nerves in my pussy aligned into one giant, quivering bundle of sensation. Cash was cracking me wide open, splitting me in half — just as he’d promised.
He slowed his thrusts for just a second, forcing me to yell, “Don’t stop! I’m so close!”
He grunted, “Me too,” and resumed his pounding. I imagined, from his point of view, my ass cheeks spread for his affection, my supplication to his masterful ability. For once, I was as turned on by myself as I was by the man. This felt like some kind of dick-induced personal growth.
Our bodies moved in perfect synchronicity as he brought me closer and closer to orgasm. Before long, I could feel the edge of my climax.
“Fuck me harder!” I begged, and Cash obliged, pushing in even deeper than before.
And that was all I needed. I came again and again and again, for what must have been a lifetime. It was glorious, and beyond the realm of human experience.
“I’m coming too,” Cash groaned. “Wait for me.”
I continued to quiver with pleasure as he pulled out. I heard the ripping off of a condom, and felt him roll me over onto my stomach before exploding his load
all on my tits, creaming me with his seed. My pussy clenched, and another wave of ecstasy rolled over me. He milked the last of his semen from his dick and onto my chest, his mouth wide open, his muscles all too relaxed to even maneuver his jaw shut.
“Wow,” he said through an inhale, his cream dripping over me. “Just… wow.”
I sat up and cradled his face between my palms.
“I know what you mean,” I whispered.
Chapter 15
Cash
DAMN.
The sex with Cybil was… well, I’m not a man of many words, but I guess if I were, I might say that my earth shifted on its axis for the millionth time in recent memory, each subtle movement spurred by Cybil.
The raunchier side of me wants to add that I’d never come so hard in my life. I’d exploded ropes onto her chest, covering her like splatter art. She’d welcomed it eagerly, sticking her pert tits up to receive every last drop.
Afterwards, we lay on the floor in one another’s arms. I stroked her hair, and gently tickled her breast.
“Cut it out,” she whimpered. “Or you’ll make me have to fuck you again.”
I laughed, but that reminded me — I couldn’t do this all day. My parents would start to get worried.
With a sigh, I said, “Cybil, I’m sorry about this but I don’t think, um, how to do I put this—”
Her eyes shot down to the floor, as if anticipating what I’d say next. “I know,” she murmured. “You don’t want a relationship, this is just a one-night thing. Yada yada.”
“No! No, that’s not it at all. I was going to say — my hesitation was that this is a bit embarrassing, but I can’t let you stay here for that long because my parents will need to be coming back.”
Her eyebrows raised, and the clouds disappeared. “Oh,” she replied. “Of course, right, you work here, duh, you can’t just like close down shop so we can have sex, that would be nuts.”
I grinned, happy that she’d drawn her own conclusions… even if they weren’t necessarily the right ones.
Because, listen, we did have to open the shop back up, sure, but there was little to no chance a client would randomly drop in. It was a partial truth, at best. The reality was that I wasn’t going to be able to spend the night with Cybil, no matter where we were. Since I’d come home from war, I stayed in my parents’ house. They helped me when the night terrors got too bad. I didn’t want Cybil to see me like that. Screaming, crying out for help, unable to breathe because the memories were too terrifying. Nobody should have to see me like that.
