I wanted to scream.
He looked at it, and upon accepting it as edible, nibbled on it endlessly.
Frustrated beyond belief, I counted the remaining pieces of asparagus.
Six.
I wished I had given him three.
My eyes went to the chicken. It appeared untouched short of the one nibble he had taken.
“Are you full?” I asked, the tone of my voice filled with hope.
“Just taking my time. It’s so good. I can’t believe you’re not going to have any more. You normally eat like a man.”
I shrugged. “I’m just full.”
Becoming increasingly irritated with each passing second, I ran through the few possibilities I could come up with to ruin his meal.
I could have talked about gross stuff and tried to ruin his appetite, but decided it might curb my sexual desire. My small dining table didn’t have a cloth on it, so tugging against the table cloth and causing a spill wasn’t an option, and starting a fire was out of the question. While he chewed on another small piece of chicken, I gnawed on my lower lip and continued my line of thought.
Being in his presence as a friend was becoming annoying. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy his company, because I did, but I was far too attracted to him to continue without at least trying to get in his pants.
The wine.
The table was small enough that I just might be able to make it work. I reached for the glass at the exact instant he began to strike up a new conversation.
“So what about you?” he asked. “When was your last relationship?”
I smacked the back of my hand against the glass, toppling it over. The wine spilled with perfection, all over his plate.
And his cute little shirt.
And lap.
Fuck.
I felt like a complete fool.
“Shit!” I shouted.
“Shit,” he shouted.
“It was an accident,” I said as I jumped from my seat.
He chuckled as he tried to absorb the wine with his napkin. “I didn’t think it was intentional.”
If you only knew.
I ran to the kitchen, dampened a few towels, and returned to my dining disaster. “Here, I’ll get it. I feel like such a klutz.”
After cleaning up the mess and taking his plate to the kitchen, I took a close look at his shirt. It had a six-inch wide swath of wine down the center of the bottom half of it.
My accelerated blowjob plan had gone to fuck, and I felt like an absolute fool. I motioned toward the rapidly drying stain on his shirt. “You should probably take it off so I can wash it.”
Without hesitation, he tugged against each side of the shirt, popping the snaps from the bottom to the top. With a quick shrug of his shoulders he dropped the shirt down his arms and handed it to me.
Now standing in front of me wearing only his jeans and boots, I realized several things. One, it was the first time I had seen him shirtless. Two, I was halfway to having him completely naked. And, three, there was no way he was getting out of my home without me at least sucking his cock.
His wide chest tapered down to a perfectly chiseled mid-section. Where most men hoped to have a six-pack, he had an eight-pack. How lower stomach formed into the shape of a ‘V’, which pointed directly to the prize housed in the jeans that hung low on his waist.
Every time I had seen him in the gym, he was dressed in shorts or sweats, but he always wore a tee shirt or hoodie. I tore my eyes from his massive chest and swollen biceps. “At least it was a Chardonnay.”
He seemed slightly self-conscious.
“I’d give you a shirt, but there’s no way--”
“I’m okay with it if you are,” he interrupted.
Now that he had his shirt off, I never wanted to see him with it on again.
I raised his wadded shirt, shrugged, and turned away. “Considering the circumstances...”
Three steps toward the laundry room I had a revelation. I turned around. “You didn’t get anything on your jeans did you?”
He looked down. I looked down. I had a reason to stare, and I used it. A dark spot on the hip of the jeans gave me a little hope. I stepped closer. Sure enough, a spot the size of my fist darkened the hip of his jeans.
My bumbling the glass of wine was a complete success!
I pointed to the spot. The longer I looked at it, the less it looked like a wine stain. I declared the spot a product of my disaster nonetheless. “There’s a spot right there.”
“I can wash them when I get home,” he said.
You’re taking those jeans off, mister.
I shrugged. “I guess you can, but it’ll stain for sure. I think you’ve only got like thirty minutes, and then Chardonnay stains for good.”
His eyes went wide. “Really?”
Fuck I don’t know, but it sounds good.
“It’s a well-known wine fact. Just uhhm. I’ll grab you some shorts. I’ve got a few large pair of swishy shorts I wear around the house. You can wear one of them until they’re clean.”
“Okay,” he said.
I did a mental fist pump and ran to my room. A moment later I had returned with the shorts.
I handed them to him. “Here.”
“Where do you want me to change?”
You can take them off right there.
“In the bathroom?”
“Okay.”
He came out of the bathroom in a matter of seconds, the shorts clinging to his muscular thighs and shapely ass like a thick layer of shiny blue paint. In the front, a prominent bulge reminded me of why I’d spilled the wine in the first place.
I guess they’re not big enough. Oh darn.
“They’re kind of…” He tugged down on the front of the shorts. “Small.”
“They’re as big as I’ve got.” They weren’t, but it sounded good.
I walked in his direction, my eyes shifting between his abs and his bulge as I approached. I held my hand out. “It should just be an hour or so to wash and dry them.”
An hour with him wearing my tiny silk shorts was going to be nothing short of heaven. I carried the clothes to the laundry, sprayed them with stain remover, and placed them in the wash. I rushed back into the living room, eager to see my tiny shorts wearing soon-to-be sexual partner.
Sitting on the loveseat with his legs crossed, he looked like he belonged in a Saturday Night Live skit. I fought against the urge to laugh and sat down at his side. “Sorry I ruined your dinner.”
He smiled a little, but it wasn’t very convincing. “I was getting full anyway.”
I studied his long muscular legs and quickly realized they were hairless. Surprised that I had never noticed before, but intrigued that he appeared to shave his legs, I stared for a moment just to be sure.
Yep. Sans hair.
“Do you shave your legs?”
“Yeah. I really don’t like hair – other than on my head. Does it bother you?”
It did everything but bother me. It explained his hairless torso. I gazed at his legs. I wanted to caress them, squeezing his bulging thigh muscles in my dainty little hands as I worked my way up to his stiff cock.
“No. Uhhm. Not at all. I uhhm. I think it’s sexy.”
“Really?”
My eyes moved to his shorts.
Shit!
The surprise blowjob wasn’t going to be so easy after all. With him wearing the skin-tight shorts, my plan of unzipping his pants and easily removing his cock was thwarted. Now, the only way to get to his cock was to get him to remove the shorts – and there was no doubt in my mind that getting him to take them off would require lengthy negotiations.
That wasn’t part of the plan.
I decided to take a chance. I reached for his leg and rested my hand on the smooth skin of his tanned thigh. Much to my surprise, he didn’t object. My heartbeat increased tenfold. My face went hot. I slid my hand a little further. My heart rose into my throat.
I sighed. “Yeah, really.”
The rush of sexual emotions made me feel like I was a horny adolescent again, and I liked it.
A lot.
I slid my hand closer to the prize.
Silence.
Maybe Rachel was right. Maybe all guys loved blowjobs just like she said, and Ethan would stand as no exception. Maybe if I could figure out a way to fit my fingers between the fabric of the shorts and his muscular thigh, I could just reach up there and get started by stroking it.
Maybe if I took it a few inches of thigh at a time he wouldn’t even notice. At least not until it was too late.
I stared at the wall in front of me and slid my hand up his thigh a few more inches. Then, a few more. I didn’t dare look in his direction, fear of rejection prevented it. He had to realize I was working my way up his thigh, and so far, he hadn’t complained. Convinced he was satisfied with my plan to fondle his cock, I blindly slid my hand further. And then, the unmistakably smooth skin of a cock’s head was against my hand.
What the fuck?
I glanced at his lap. Half of his hard cock stuck out the bottom of the leg opening of his tiny shorts.
And my hand was on it.
I quickly made eye contact.
He grinned.
There was no turning back.
“Take them off?” The words escaped my lips in the form of a dry whisper.
Apparently, it was enough for him to understand my desire.
He stood up, and after a slight struggle, pushed the shorts past his cock and down his legs. During the grueling process of him removing his undersized shorts, I took all of his completely naked body into view. Every inch of him was hairless, tan, smooth, and…
Oversized.
I realized I had many options as far as positioning myself to suck his cock. Instead of complicating matters, I settled into the couch cushion, extended my arm, and curled my index finger into my palm repeatedly.
Come here, you big sexy fucker.
Unwilling to wait any longer than I had to, I scooted to the outermost edge of the couch and wet my lips with my tongue. He and his throbbing third leg stepped in front of me, and without his expressed permission or taking time to explain my desires, I grabbed his cock and began sucking my way into his heart.
In the desolate area where I grew up, most girls had some form of talent. Some were good at cooking. Others grew up on farms and were quite talented at riding horses or driving tractors. As fate would have it, my talents were limited to boxing, sucking cocks, and fucking.
And I was good all of them.
I flattened the back of my tongue and forced as much of his swollen shaft into my throat as I could. It wasn’t easy, but the look on Ethan’s face made it rewarding. If I learned nothing more from all of my sexual experiences, I learned to watch the expression on the man’s face who I was attempting to please.
And Ethan was pleased.
I knew if he was pleased with what I had done so far, he’d really be pleased once I got my rhythm.
With him standing directly in front of the couch and me sitting at the edge of the cushion, I gripped his muscular ass in my hands and began to suck his cock like it was going to solve all the world’s problems.
I massaged his balls carefully in my hand while I slid my mouth up and down the thick shaft with precision. The fleshy tip banged deep into my throat with each stroke of my lips. Satisfied that I was well on my way to etching a permanent mark deep in Ethan’s mind, I continued to suck vigorously, hoping my talent would satisfy him so greatly that he made me a permanent part of his leisurely evening schedule.
Measuring my success in boxing came easy. I simply compared the wins to the losses. As there weren’t any losses, I was easily able to identify myself as a success.
Determining my success at sucking a man’s dick was equally as easy. It wasn’t indicated by moans, groans, or an appreciative post-blowjob comment. At least in my mind, it was measured in the amount of time it took me to get a man to reach climax. If I was somehow able to coerce a man to reach orgasm – simply by using my mouth – in a matter of a few minutes, he was undoubtedly satisfied with my performance.
If I had to suck and stroke endlessly until my jaw, hands, arms, and mouth were exhausted, something was either wrong with me – or him. Based on the available information and my willingness to fully accept it, I didn’t require praise in boxing or in my head game. Everything I needed was in front of me.
I massaged his smooth ball sack and moved my wet mouth along the shaft, studying his facial expression as I did so.
I buried him deep into my throat and gazed up and into his eyes.
He lifted his chin and tilted his head back. His entire body tensed and he began to moan. I recalled what Rachel said about not sucking him to completion, but at that moment, while caught up in the excitement of it all, I wasn’t about to stop.
I was ninety seconds into my performance and he was going to unleash.
I wanted to see it.
I needed to see it.
Something about watching a man ejaculate was exciting to me. Seeing the cum spurt from the tip of his cock made me feel like I had truly accomplished something.
And it was fucking hot.
As his cock twitched and began to swell, his moaning deepened, and I slid his cock from my throat in response.
Holding it directly in front of my mouth, I jacked my hands along the slippery shaft, pointing the tip into my waiting and willing mouth.
In two more strokes, I was well on my way to success. His chest tensed, his bicep muscles flared, and he groaned out in pleasure. Cum blasted from the tip of his cock and shot into my mouth over and over, the long thick bursts seeming to last forever.
I’d sucked enough cocks in my younger years to develop a taste for a man’s cum. It wasn’t something I would describe as tasty, but it was somehow satisfying in its own way. I found the salty and slightly bitter essence to be rather sensual. A reminder of the sensuous act that extracted it from deep within.
As his cum filled my mouth, however, my tongue tried to reject it. My stomach heaved. My nostrils flared.
And I remembered.
Asparagus.
Fuck.
Nothing on this earth made a person’s piss stink – or a man’s cum taste – worse than asparagus.
He gazed into my eyes.
I met his gaze. With my mouth agape, his cock still in my hand, and my tongue covered in his rotten cum, I tried my hardest to look content.
I fought against the putrid stench, closed my mouth, and swallowed.
My stomach fought to reject it.
I struggled to keep it down.
And I remembered Rachel’s advice.
Whatever you do, don’t swallow.
Truer words had never been spoken.
NINE
Jaz
Day twenty-nine.
It had been three days since the blowjob incident, and it appeared sucking Ethan’s cock was the best decision I could have ever made. We now communicated several times daily, and he seemed to be far more interested in me sexually and personally.
While in my cooldown mode of my training, I was explaining my next scheduled fight.
“Next week?” he asked. “Really?”
“He said she was like begging for a chance. After she heard what I did to that Linda Lopez chick, she’s been trying to get at me. Ripp didn’t even have to ask. Her trainer or manager or whatever called him.”
“You don’t think it’s too soon?”
“Too soon?” I smacked the speedbag again. “No.”
“I just…”
I smacked the bag again. “You just what?”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I hit it again and turned toward him. The bag bounced back and forth on the rebound platform. “Hurt?” I coughed out a laugh. “Don’t worry about that. I won’t get hurt.”
“You can never be sure. If it’s too soon, would you tell him?”
I rolled my eyes. �
�Sure. But it’s not. I don’t know what that even means. I went one round with that chick, and it’s been almost a week. If I had ten back-to-back fights like that it’d be equal to only one real fight.”
“It’s just. I don’t know.” He dropped his gaze to my feet, held it for a second, and then lifted his eyes to meet mine. “I care about you, and I don’t want anything to happen.”
Awwe.
Apparently the blowjob thing worked.
“Thank you. But it’ll be fine.”
He twisted his mouth to the side and shrugged.
I hit the bag again, once with each hand, then sighed. “No girl is going to hurt me. She might beat me but she won’t hurt me.”
“I don’t know how you can say that.”
I looked at his gloved hands. I glanced around the gym. It was early evening, and several of the rings were empty, including the one closest to us.
I motioned toward the ring. “Come on.”
“What?”
“Get in the ring.”
“No. I can’t get in there with you.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to…”
“What? Hurt me? That’s my point. You won’t. Come on.”
“Jaz, seriously.”
I walked to the ring, ducked under the ropes, and climbed inside. He remained standing beside the speed bag.
“Pussy,” I taunted.
He puffed his chest. “Excuse me?”
“You said the other day that you’d like fighting with me.”
He glanced over each shoulder. “Yeah, maybe at home.”
“Scared of what people are going to say?”
“No.”
I tapped my gloves together. “Come on, pussy.”
The thought of Ethan getting in the ring with me made my pussy throb. I hadn’t shared my sexual preferences with him yet, but I was pretty sure when I did, he’d be shocked. I liked my sex no differently than my fights.
Fast and rough.
He glanced over each of his shoulders again.
“Quit worrying about who’s going to see you or what someone’s going to think,” I complained.
He appeared to be considering it.
“There’s only one way to live life. Like nobody’s watching.”
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