Chance Encounters

by Mia Jae

  “You like cock, Caroline. You like it all ways, don’t you.”

  He leveraged himself over my face then, pushing that cock of his through my lips. He thrust into my mouth, and I took him. This way was quite different, without me being in control of how I sucked him. It was all him and all I could do was open up and take him. He pushed deeper into my throat, and I had to adjust the angle of my head to keep from choking, gagging. He allowed me to shift, thank goodness, but he didn’t let up in his thrusts. I looked up and could see him straining above me with every thrust.

  “Different way,” he said then, turning now to face the other way. His knees were at my shoulders, his elbows at my pelvis, and he bit at the lace of my panties, ripping them. Lowering, he first positioned his cock over my mouth.

  “Suck me.”

  I angled up to take him inside and he thrust down, fully. Lance lay over my body, his dick fully impaled in my mouth and his face now in my pussy. I couldn’t move; I could only react and take.

  Lance’s tongue snaked into my slit. He worked his way in, sliding that thick piece of flesh deep into and out of me, not quite reaching my hole, but allowing my pussy lips to relax and spread apart. With his tongue and mouth, he kept spreading me apart until he latched directly onto my clit and sucked.

  For several minutes, he pulled and tugged, and I knew my clit was becoming swollen and engorged. All the while, Lance’s cock remained firmly implanted in my mouth, and he squirmed and rotated his hips over my face.

  But the sucking was soon becoming the focus of my attention. He kept pulling at me, twirling my pebble with his lips, and finally, raking his teeth over me and sending me nearly over the edge with a determined nip.

  Hot pants of breath pushed out of my mouth around his cock. The growing expulsion of pleasure in my center begged for release.

  Then Lance pulled away, slipped his cock out of my mouth. Stood.

  The breeze from the ceiling fan above wafted over my hot breasts, leaving me cold.

  I looked to him, questioning. My pussy cried out for satisfaction.

  He smirked and walked out of the room.

  “Bastard,” I said under my breath.

  * * * *

  It was like that most of the night. He’d come in, tease my clit until it was numb, then back away and leave me for an hour or so. He used his fingers, his tongue and a toy—a rabbit vibrator that he’d purchased hours earlier when he’d left the apartment. But he refused to give me his cock—in my pussy, that is—no matter how much I begged.

  And he refused to let me come.

  He did let me beg.

  “Remember this day, Caroline, when you think you want to be in control of my pleasure. Remember how I took total control of yours.”

  Finally, somewhere between daybreak and insanity, he lay beside me, moving the rabbit in and out of me, letting its ears tease and tickle my clit on the inward stroke. My body had taken about all it could stand, and without warning, a powerful orgasm grabbed me and shook me to the core.

  I cried out and pulled against all of my restraints. At once, Lance reached to both my ankles and my wrists, unshackled me, and flipped me over to my tummy. Grasping me at the hips, he held up my ass (I was too weak to do so) and he positioned me to where my butt was in the air. Still in the fringes of the orgasm, he plunged the vibrator into my pussy, revving up the battery power on the device to full speed ahead. The little rabbit ears, now, were perched at my asshole, however, rather than my clit.

  The sensation sent me reeling. The rapid vibrations tickled over my anus, and I puckered with foreign sensation. My orgasm revved up again and ripped through me.

  I knew the restraints were gone but I didn’t want to go anywhere. I wanted to explore where Lance wanted to take me.

  He rimmed my asshole with a lubed finger. The rabbit kept up its gyrations. I urged my ass backward, toward him. I felt the next wave of orgasm about to hit me.

  Lance removed the vibrator from my pussy and pressed it against my anus. He pushed, gently, as the slick plastic slowly pushed inside. The vibrations relaxed me and I felt myself open, the tip of the thing slipped inside a little.

  Kneeling behind me, Lance gently probed, telling me how he wanted my ass. That he’d waited for my ass, and that all he wanted me to do was stay right like I was, my ass pointed up in the air at him, waiting for him to push inside me.

  And I swore that was what I would do. I had to prove to him that I could obey, that I could let him take control. That this was a give and take relationship.

  That I could shift the power back to him.

  “My ass is yours,” I whispered.

  He gave one cheek a slap and removed the vibrator. Within a second, however, he replaced it with the push of his cock against my hole.

  “Goddamn, baby… I want your sweet ass.”

  “It’s yours. Take it.”

  “I knew I would have it before you left. Knew I would take it.”

  I relaxed and opened, and he eased deeper inside of me.

  “Ah, shit.”

  He pumped me, each thrust solid and deliberate, the length of his cock reaming me to the hilt. I longed for another release, still on the edge of coming. Finally, he reached around to my pussy and grabbed me there, squeezing my cunt, and it was just enough to jerk my orgasm into motion. My gasps and shouts, along with my convulsing lower body, must have been enough, as well, to send Lance over the edge. I felt his engorged cock bulge and throb in my ass. I took his final thrust, my ass still in the air, my thighs quivering.

  He collapsed over me, and my body couldn’t stay angled in that position any longer. I slumped forward on the bed, with Lance’s cock still buried in my ass, and he followed, gathering me into his arms, both of us curling into a fetal position.

  * * * *

  Several hours later, I showered and dressed. My bag was packed, and I was preparing to head home. I’d just had three incredible, sex-filled days and my feelings about leaving were mixed. I had to leave, I knew that. I had to figure out what my next steps in life were, and I couldn’t do it there, with Lance. Luckily, I knew there would be fifteen hours ahead of me in the car to think.

  We kissed goodbye and said we’d talk soon. I waited two hours down the road before I called him.

  No answer.

  I called again forty-five minutes later. This time I tried the house phone.

  Disconnected.

  I tried the cell again. Out of service.

  It was then I knew that when I got home, his email would be non-existent, as well.

  I smiled.

  Thank you, Lance.

  While driving, I’d come to a couple of conclusions. One, I needed to end my marriage. I clearly was not happy. I needed to move forward with the divorce, despite the consequences. And I could make it, I knew I could. Not that there wouldn’t be hard times, I was sure there would be. But leave the marriage, I must.

  Two, I was not going to mourn Lance. He’d served a purpose. However wrong it may have been, he gave me wings in so many ways—not to mention, sexually. He’d held power over me, I had taken it back and I’d chosen to give it up again—much to my pleasure.

  And I knew the difference between the two.

  I had no clue where my life was going, personally or sexually, but I did know this: Lance might have thought he’d cyber-fucked me over, that by disconnecting his phones and canceling his email accounts that he was taking the upper hand, being the one in control. Thing was, I was calling him to tell him that he’d been a nice time, but we were finished.

  Time to move on.

  I am the one with the power.

  Too bad I didn’t get to say the words. It didn’t matter though. I knew when the power had shifted, even if he didn’t.

  One day he will call again, I know that, too, but I will be conveniently disinterested. Poor Lance. Go home and cry to your mama, boy, I thought. Caroline is moving on to the big boys.

  Sex and beauty are inseparable, like life and consciousn
ess. And the intelligence which goes with sex and beauty, and arises out of sex and beauty, is intuition.

  ~D. H. Lawrence

  Naughty Rose

  The sensation brushed by my elbow again, raising the tiny hairs on the back of my arm. It was soft. Deliberate. And was the third time it had happened today.

  At least, I think it all happened today.

  I raked a hand through my short haircut, then glanced at a few stray hairs laced through my fingers. Gray? Studying the hairs in my hand, I thought about that for a moment. When had I turned gray? And when had I cut my hair?

  Puzzled, I glanced about.

  The light in the shop was dim; the time of day was somewhere between dusk and midnight. I guess I’d lost track of time. One low light shone out from beneath a grimy, reproduction Tiffany lamp, colors of rose and gold and emerald making a hazy rainbow over the shade.

  I ambled through, one slow step at a time, heading toward the back of the antique store. I’d just locked the front door. It was Friday night, Main Street

  was deserted and for the twenty-seventh Friday night in a row, I was alone.

  But not by choice.

  Sam…

  No. Not tonight. I pushed Sam out of my head.

  Turning toward the cash register, I closed the drawer up tight, shoving it twice for good measure. It was an antique model—to go along with everything else in the store, including me—and the door never, ever would stay put unless you hit it twice.

  I paused a moment and stared. All right. It was going to stay put. As I turned to head toward the back room, where I could take the old narrow stairwell to my apartment, it pinged out again.

  Dammit.

  I rotated back to give it another slam, leaning on the counter. The thing pushed out again. “Dammit!”

  A cool breeze swept through the room from the rear. Had I left the back door open?

  Slowly, I angled my gaze behind me. The black curtain hanging in the doorway to the storage room fluttered. The wayward drawer was forgotten, my attention focused on the glow behind the curtain.

  Flashlight?

  A sliver of panic rolled through me, landing in my chest. My loosely closed fist went to that point, as if to quell my suddenly racing heartbeat.

  I lived alone. Laura and Bob had been urging me to move. “Come live with us, Aunt Rose,” they’d say. Young hoodlums…juvenile delinquents roaming the back allies at night. Burglarizing the neighborhood, taking things to sell and buy drugs.

  Not safe for me here any longer. Especially since Sam...

  I told them to go to hell. I’d lived here forty-five years and had fared more trouble than they’d ever know. Hoodlums be damned.

  Something rattled in the back room. My gaze fell to the cordless phone sitting on the other side of the cash register that Laura had made me buy. Just in case, she said. Call 911.

  All right. I’ll humor them. Turning, I took a faltering step toward the phone.

  The pain at the back of my head, however, made everything go black.

  * * * *

  My eyes fluttered open to find that the window had been raised sometime earlier that morning. Sun shone through, casting a triangle of sunny glow across my pink bedroom. Outside, the children were playing on the playground at the school across the street, their high-pitched voices calling out and teasing. My eyelet curtains, the one’s I’d saved six weeks’ worth of trading stamps for at the Five&Dime, billowed on the rose-scented spring breeze.

  Sam. Bless him. He’d let me sleep this morning.

  Must have been him, the sweetheart, who had opened the window earlier. He knew how I loved the smell of spring on the breeze, especially on waking. The trailing roses outside my window were growing higher every year, almost reaching our second story bedroom window. One day, they’d reach the sky, Sam told me.

  “I’m never leaving here,” I told him, “Until the roses reach the Heavens.”

  Stretching, I smiled, happy to start a new day, thinking about all that would happen in the coming hours.

  A soft knock came to the door. I called out, and Sam slipped inside and locked it behind him with a turn of the old metal key.

  “Sam…” I breathed. My beautiful Sam. Hardworking, muscled, and tender as a Teddy Bear. The love of my life.

  “I let you sleep,” he said, sauntering toward the bed, unbuttoning his shirt.

  “I know.” Deep inside my belly, things started tightening. I knew exactly what was on Sam’s mind this morning.

  “The roses are blooming.”

  “I love the smell of them.”

  “I know that.”

  He put a knee on the bed beside me while shrugging out of his shirt. My hands went to his belt and pulled to loosen the clasp.

  “You are my naughty little Rose,” he told me.

  Grinning, I tipped my head in a demure fashion. “I know. I am your naughty Rose.”

  He reached for the hem of my cotton gown, and I shifted while he lifted it up. “Pretty dusky pink nipples,” he said, while pinching and squeezing them. “Just like the roses.”

  Heat rose to my cheeks and fire zinged from my breasts to between my legs. I lay back and Sam went with me, his mouth now covering one of my nipples and his fingers still pinching the other.

  He suckled my breast, like the babies I never had, and I reveled in the intimacy.

  Breaking away with a sigh, he rolled back, and I slipped off the bed.

  “Let me dance for you,” I said. There was no music, of course, but that didn’t matter to me. Or him.

  “Dance for me.”

  The curtains blew softly about as I stood between the bed and the window. I tucked my head and lifted my gown with one hand, inching it up my thigh, while I swayed to a gentle hum coming from my mouth. He watched, lying on his side, his broad, hairy chest glistening with perspiration, his fly open, and his ankles crossed. His gaze never left my body, trailing from my face to my naughty little pussy.

  I swayed some more and hummed, then twirled to show him my backside. I lifted one corner of my gown over my bottom, showing him my bare fleshy rear. I smoothed a hand over myself and looked back to see what he was doing. The long length of my brunette hair trailed over my shoulder.

  Sam’s hand was now moving into his fly. I smiled.

  Turning back, I sashayed closer to the bed, keeping my eyes in direct contact with his. Bending over, I gave him a nice look at my full breasts, now spilling out of my gown. Humming faster now, I stood up straight and started gyrating before him, lifting my gown higher and higher until I had pulled it totally over my head, swung it around once or twice and tossed it on the bed.

  Sam, after slipping out of his work boots and denims, was now reaching to glide his hand and fingers over his hard organ.

  I watched him, touching himself, while I swayed and swiveled on my tippy-toes. Lifting my hands over my head, I swung back toward the open window and danced before the world. I didn’t care. I had a beautiful body. Sam told me so. My humming increased, faster and faster, and I twirled and twirled in front of the window. I could see Sam jerking himself off with each dizzying pass I made by the bed.

  “La, la, la, la, la, la, laaaaaa!”

  I was free. Happy. It was spring.

  The roses were in bloom. Almost touching the sky—

  I grasped the eyelet curtains and twisted myself up in them. I danced and danced, winding me up in, and out of the curtains. I sped and spun, and my pussy grew hotter and wetter and tighter and aching…

  Sam grabbed me from behind. The curtains came tumbling down. He tore and ripped them from my body.

  In the next motion, he bent me over, my hands on the windowsill. His big hands were on my bottom, spreading me apart. And his cock, oh yes, that cock that I loved so much, was abruptly buried in my pussy from behind.

  He was fucking me. Yes, I was naughty. I wasn’t supposed to say words like fuck.

  “FUCK ME!”

  I yelled it out the window. Sam spanked me on my
right butt cheek.

  “Fuck me!” I shouted again. “Sam Robbins, fuck my naughty ass!”

  He spanked me again. “Bad, naughty Rose!” he said. The sting only made me push back into him harder.

  Sam’s gyrations and thrusts made my dizzy head even dizzier. I watched out the window, saw the children in the distance, on the merry-go-round across the street.

  Round and round.

  Got lost in the spin.

  Faster and faster.

  Harder and harder.

  Sam groaned, grabbed a length of my hair and wound it about his fist, and held onto me like he was riding a horse. I laughed. My breasts were pounding against the sill now. His cock felt so good in my pussy. And the roses smelled so sweet out my window.

  “Oh. Oh!”

  He grabbed a breast from behind, squeezing. “My naughty Rose,” he called out. “My goddamned naughty Rose!”

  I giggled with delight. I loved being his naughty Rose. And the naughtier I was, the harder he fucked me.

  Sam pushed his hand between my legs then and slapped me there. The sting set me over. I huffed, and screamed out, as a ripping climax claimed my body. Sam shouted too, and his final thrust nearly pushed me up against the screen.

  I loved the way, right after he came, that Sam would continue to slowly push in and out of me, as if he was easing us both down from Heaven. Finally, he pulled away, took me into his arms and lay me on the bed. For a while, he simply held me, raining soft kisses over my face and smoothing his big rough hands over my body.

  “I love my naughty Rose,” he’d say softly, over and over again.

  I fell asleep in his arms. Later, when I woke, the eyelet curtains were back up on the window.

  * * * *

  “Aunt Rose… Aunt Rose…”

  The voices faded in and out.