by Mimi Strong
He tipped some water onto a white bar cloth and knelt at my feet. My legs shook a little, and then he touched my ankle, and his touch was comforting, friendly. The chilled water on the towel practically sizzled when it touched my skin.
“Your face is so familiar,” he said.
I gazed down at him, at those dark green eyes. He must have gotten laser eye correction. We were close enough that I would have seen the thin lines of his contact lenses. I'm a little weird in that it's something I always look for when I'm talking to a person. I look for the contact lenses in movies, as well, but actors usually remove them for close-ups.
“Maybe we know each other,” I said, playing coy.
He moved the damp cloth up and down my leg, wiping at the splashed champagne, most of which was evaporated by that point. Frankly, I was so hot, so burning up with lust, I would have been surprised if I had any moisture on my legs at all.
He glanced up at me through thick, dark eyebrows. “Does that feel good?”
“Yes. Don't stop.”
My head felt muddy, like I was under a spell, and I suppose I was. By the look of his eyes, the handsome man was also under a spell, though I didn't know if it had been cast by a fairy, or by me.
He wore a suit, an expensive-looking one, and there was nothing off-the-rack about him. His dark hair was neither too long nor too short. In high school, Robert Lyle had looked like his mother cut his hair to save the family money.
His hands moved further up my right leg, up to my knee. “Did the champagne get up here?”
No, it had not. “Yes.”
He slipped his hands up higher, under the hem of my pink dress, and dropped the white cloth, dropped the pretense, switching over to squeezing and stroking alone. I leaned back against a sturdy shelf full of linens and trays, the only furniture in the room, then lifted my left foot just enough to slide it to the side, parting my legs.
After I parted my legs, inviting him further up, he took the invitation.
As he touched my panties, between my legs, I expected another zap, a shock, like what had happened when I'd tried to touch myself to relieve the pressure. But I didn't get zapped, not in the same way.
Instead, I felt a rush of pleasure, of lust. That perpetual state of being aroused I'd been in for the last few hours broke wide open, like a dam breaking, and I thrust my hips at him. I grabbed his hand in mine and pushed his fingers into my pussy, hard. “Do it,” I said.
Still kneeling, his fingers scrambled to pull down my g-string panties. He couldn't get them off me fast enough, and I found myself moaning, begging him to hurry.
He got my panties down past my knees and I moved my leg to step out, just one side.
Then, he didn't take off my dress, but flipped up the hem and tucked it into the belt of my dress, exposing my pussy.
Oh, please eat me, I thought. Eat me up. Consume me. Lick me with your wet tongue and put out my fire.
He glanced up at me and then began to kiss my inner thighs, working his way up.
I wanted to grab the back of his head and guide him to where I wanted it, but I bit my lower lip and waited.
When he finally pressed the tip of his tongue to my clit, I almost lost my mind. My heart pounded, my pulse so loud in my ears I worried he'd hear my heart hammering and stop, and I didn't want him to stop. I didn't want him to ever stop. He licked up and down my swollen lips, his tongue darting at my opening as a detour, then returning to licking my clit. He moved his lips as well, gently sucking at my skin, his more forceful licks sending trembling waves of desire through me.
Desire?
How could I still be wanting, when I was getting it?
Ah, I wanted him, his cock, inside me.
I moaned again, and he was fingering me now, and licking like crazy.
“Hey,” I said, panting. “Hey.”
“Mm?”
“Do you want to fuck me?”
He didn't answer, just kept licking and pulled his hand off me to undo his belt and trousers.
I closed my eyes and enjoyed the licking as he ran the tip of his tongue back and forth across my nub, then up and down. Soon, I'd have his cock inside me, and then I'd be able to orgasm. And I needed to orgasm. I thought I might die from the pent-up energy.
My fire was building, growing so tall and mighty that I began to fear the orgasm that was coming. I opened my eyes and glanced down, bending to the side so I could see past his beautiful hair, covering the head that was licking me. Below, he'd opened his pants and let his erection out. He was touching it with one hand, stroking it in rhythm to the licks he was giving me.
I repeated the question. “Do you want to fuck me? If you don't want to, that's fine. But I want to touch it. Can I touch it?”
“Yeah,” he said into my pussy. “Just a minute.”
He tickled my clit with just the tip of his tongue, sending waves of juicy build-up through me. “I'm going to come,” I said. “I want you inside me, I want to feel you inside me.”
He pulled his head back and looked up at me.
“Anything,” he said. “I am yours.”
“I want you to get up and give me that cock of yours.” I spread my legs, opening myself to him.
He dove in, licking some more. I howled in frustration.
He chuckled into my pussy, gave it three hard licks, three soft licks, and then twirled his tongue around my aching, throbbing clit. Just as I was about to spill over the edge, to shudder and begin to orgasm, he pulled back.
He stood, and I expected him to plunge into me, but he didn't.
He grabbed me by the hips, turning me around forcefully so my back was to him. He grabbed my skirt and tucked it up at the back, as he had at the front. The man didn't mess around.
“Do it,” I said, arching my back so he could access me easily. Deeply.
I wanted to see his cock, but he shoved the head of it between my ass cheeks, then slid it under my pussy, nudging back and forth, getting the shaft slick from my moisture. The head of his penis rubbed deliciously against the underside of my clit.
It felt like a really nice cock, not too big or too small.
“Do it,” I repeated.
With a low grunt from him, he was inside me. It had been six months since I'd felt a man inside me, and I was surprised by the fullness. The goodness. I'd been missing out, but now I was going to make up for lost time.
The head of his cock blazed into me, searing my flesh with hot energy.
I cried out in ecstasy, and then again, as he rammed into my pussy, his hips slapping against my ass.
He put one hand across my mouth and begged me to be quiet. “There's no door on this room,” he said.
I bit his thumb, just a little friendly bite, then said, “Better hurry, then. Fuck me. Fuck me harder.”
“Like this?” He let go of my mouth so he could get a better grip on my hips, forcing me back and forth on him. I leaned forward with my upper body, resting upon a stack of towels, my body partly in the sturdy shelving unit. My clit was fully sensitized, and I was so close. So close. I just needed a bit more.
I gripped the vertical supports at the back with my hands and said, “Let me have it. Give it to me. I want you so bad.”
His already-hard cock got even more rigid, and he moved one hand onto the front of my pussy, giving me a merciful reach-around. I gasped and panted and begged for more.
As he pounded away from behind, his skilled fingertips circled my hot, throbbing nub, dredging up more pleasure.
The feeling inside me rose and rose, getting more urgent.
He clutched at me, pressing hard on my clit, and I felt my walls constrict and then release in a shudder, waves of hot pleasure riding through me. He let out an urgent sound and slammed hard into me one last time, shaking the entire shelving unit, and he pulled out, rubbing his cock between my lips. I eased back from the shelf, still shaking from my orgasm, and looked down as the head of his cock appeared below my pussy, moving back and forth and spurting its
hot, creamy load.
I shifted my legs and squeezed them together to give him more to thrust against. He wrapped his arms around my torso and squeezed me back appreciatively.
In that instant, I felt something. Calm. Peace.
The sexual desire that had been aching in my pelvis for hours was at last sated. The clouds in my brain cleared, and I could think. I could actually think.
I glanced down at the mess on the floor below us and felt a small wave of absolute joy. I stood up on my tiptoes, letting him slip away, and I grabbed a towel from under my arms and began wiping away at myself.
He stepped back and did up his pants and belt.
Without turning around, I reached down for my panties, still wrapped around one foot, and pulled them on and up.
I dropped the towel on the concrete floor and kicked it around with my foot to tidy up the mess.
Finally, I turned around to face him.
He gave me a sheepish grin, his handsome face glistening with perspiration. “I swear I know you,” he said.
“You do.” I smiled sweetly. “I think we were in a few classes together. I'm Becca Hodge.”
He scratched his head. “You mean in high school? You'd think I'd remember someone as sexy as you.”
“It was a long time ago,” I said. “Almost ten years. The reunion's next summer, you know.”
His face clouded, confused. “You must be mistaken. I went to my ten-year reunion last year.” He glanced around, as though looking for an excuse to exit. His body language was suddenly tense, stressed.
I said, “So you're not Robert Lyle?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, no.”
“But I know Mr. Lyle. I actually work with him.” He took a step toward the hallway we'd come in through. “He's here tonight. I can introduce you. I won't say anything about what happened in here, of course.”
“Of course,” I said, and then I noticed the wedding band on his finger.
“It's not what you think,” he said, looking down at his left hand. “Actually, I guess it is.” He shook his head. “I don't know what came over me. I'm not like this, I swear.”
“It's okay,” I said. “There's something in the air. Some strange alignment of the stars. Didn't you read your horoscope today?”
“I guess not,” he said. “You won't tell anyone?”
The poor guy looked frightened, and I felt like absolute crap for seducing him. I had seduced him, hadn't I? Or had he seduced me? I'd sent all my magic energy at him, had practically begged him to fuck me. And it had been fantastic.
Without a doubt, it had absolutely been the fuck of my life. Quick, dirty, and hot.
But wrong.
It was all the fairy's fault. I blamed her.
I squeezed the man's hand and said, “Everyone gets to have one of these nights in their life. You just had yours. Now, go.” A power other than me seemed to be guiding my words, helping me say the right thing. “Go out to that party, smile, and enjoy yourself. I won't breathe a word of any of this to anyone. I don't know what came over me.”
“I know!” he said. “From the moment you looked at me, I felt like I was under a spell or something.”
I leaned in and gave him a kiss on his very handsome cheek. “It was nice to meet you,” I said.
As I smelled the skin of his cheek, a little rush of lust pooled again in my vagina. We'd never even kissed, I realized. We'd just gone straight to the sex.
As he walked away, I absent-mindedly put a hand down there and was treated with a zap of painful electricity. So, the mission, or whatever it was, was still happening?
“Rass!” I said. “Rass, show your damn self.”
“Ahem,” she said, in her tinkly little voice.
I turned and found her sitting on the shelving unit, her arms crossed.
“You fucked me over,” I said.
“Actually, you fucked him over,” she said. “Tsk, tsk.”
I lunged for her without thinking, but she was fast, and she disappeared in a puff of powder. Even though I couldn't see her, I sensed she was still in the room.
I said, “Now what? You wanted me to seduce Robert Lyle, and I fucked some business colleague of his. Not my finest hour.”
The room shimmered around me, the lights overhead flickering.
She said, near my ear, “You try, try again.”
The lights went out, all was black, and then, I was in my bed.
I was in my bed, at home.
Was it really just a dream?
I rolled over to check the time on my alarm clock.
Rass was sitting on the clock, looking chipper, a big grin on her face. “Hi sleepyhead!”
I sat up. “What the fuck?”
“More like who,” she said. “It's Saturday. Again. And we're going to try again.”
“We? Try again?”
She nodded. “Try to get a first name before you have sex with the next guy, okay?”
“Wait. What do you mean it's Saturday again?”
She swirled her wand and rolled her teeny, tiny eyes. I did want to flick the smug expression off her tiny face. “I rewound you,” she said.
“Oh, of course,” I said as I kicked the sheets off myself, sweaty and frustrated.
She flicked her wand again, and my piles of dirty laundry, in baskets on the floor, magically picked up, shook themselves clean, and put themselves into the closet.
“A bonus for you,” she said.
“But I failed.”
“Becca, you didn't get the job done the first time, but you made the effort, and I appreciate that. We all do.”
“We? Who? Why am I doing this?”
But I was asking myself, because she'd already disappeared.
I grabbed my phone off the chair beside my bed, so I could check the date.
It was Saturday.
Again.
THE END of NIGHT #1
Night 2, Part 1: I'm Not Too Good for Laundry Room Sex
As many of you know, I'm a huge slut who may or may not also be insane. Either that, or I have a fairy mother, a seven-inch tall magical fucking fairy, who visited me in my laundry room. She put a spell on me, so that I repeated the same Saturday, over and over, until I successfully seduced a man named Robert Lyle.
Before the fairy, I'd had sex with exactly three guys, four if you count oral. Then that little minx did something to me, and I became more horny than I've ever been in my life. I was even more horny than a fifteen-year-old boy attempting to screw a Ziploc bag full of hand lotion between his mattresses. (I know a guy named Gordie who actually did that.)
Let's be clear about one thing: my random hook-up sex was fantastic.
I went to a boring art opening event, and instead of standing around making dull small talk and trying not to pig out on the little snacks, I took this hot guy in a business suit into a back room and had him fuck my brains out. Seriously. Brains out. I felt noticeably less intelligent afterward.
Which is probably why, when I woke up the next morning, saw the little fairy, and found out it was Saturday all over again, I was completely game to do it all again.
No sooner had she blinked back off to fairy mother land (yes, that's fairy mother, not fairy godmother, not a typo), than the lusty feeling returned. I wasn't thinking and plunged my hands under my bed covers to get some relief, only to get an electrical shock. One of the fairy's methods of motivation was to give me the hot-to-trotties without any way to relieve it except by sex.
The funny thing was, apparently I could have sex with people who were not my target, people who were not Robert Lyle.
And that gave me an idea.
I checked the time and did a quick calculation. I could have a quick shower and if I got down to the laundry room by 10:15am, that would allow me to bump into my neighbor, Cute Calvin. Calvin and I didn't know each other very well, but that was all about to change.
And so, I was wearing a short dress and leaning into a washing machine, pretending to be looking fo
r something, when Calvin entered the basement laundry room of the apartment building we both lived in.
I stayed bent over, giving him a good look at my red thong under the hem of my deliberately-too-short dress. His gaze on me felt good, and my juices were flowing when I imagined those hands all over my body. Of course, due to the nature of the fairy's spell I was already turned on, basically post-foreplay and ready to go, but Calvin would have to be warmed up.
Finally, I popped up out of the washing machine, knowing my cheeks would be flushed from leaning forward, not to mention the blush I applied before coming down. I turned round, shiny mailbox key in hand, and said, “Oh, hi Calvin! I didn't hear you come in.”
I got a little wave of deja vu, because Cute Calvin wore the same clothes he'd been in yesterday: a threadbare blue shirt that showed off his surfing muscles. It went with his tousled blond hair and ocean-blue eyes. He was sexy as fuck and he was twice as wholesome. So wholesome. I wanted to feed him a donut and rip his shirt off and bite his nipples and feed him some more donuts.
He said, “Becca, right?”
“That's right. From down the hall.” I flashed him a smile and turned my head to the side in a way that always felt flirty.
His gaze traveled from my eyes to my chin, then down, through my cleavage, and further.
I said to him, “Calvin, do you want to fuck me on this washing machine?”
He swallowed hard and laughed nervously. “You're funny.”
I took five steps toward him, closing the distance, and I looped one finger into the waistband of his jeans. “Calvin, do you have a girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Can you think of any reason why you shouldn't fuck me on this washing machine?” I jumped up on the machine in front of him, my knees together primly.
The fairy spell had not only made me horny like crazy, but it had made me bold. The things I was saying. I felt like I was playing a video game or something, pushing my avatar to say things just to see what would happen. Sure, maybe this day would keep looping over and over and none of what I did mattered, but reality and regular time could kick in. I'd seen Groundhog Day. If I completed my mission, then the next day could be Sunday, and I'd have to deal with the aftermath of… what? Propositioning my incredibly adorable neighbor? So what? Who wouldn't?
