by KC Falls
"That's right. That's the way…" he encouraged me to abandon myself to him.
I spread my legs farther apart, propping the outer one against a crate beside the wooden bed.
I whimpered and tried to give some attention to the hot cock I was holding in my hand."Later, sweet Raina. I'll still be here. Just let go."
I was crying out little grunts of pleasure every time he stroked inside me. My clit began to demand more. Tristan could feel me rolling against him, helping him touch me in exactly the right way.
"Beautiful. So intense, so fine. Give to me, Raina, give me everything in you."
Gasps, growls and groans were the only sounds I could offer. Words were lost to me.
"Let me have it, Raina. Lose yourself." Tristan coaxed me, cheered me, urged me to cross the line to utter and selfish need.
I felt a sudden gush of fluid between my legs. I knew what it was, but it took me by surprise anyway. This was the first time for us. I had a moment of doubt and embarrassment that Tristan crushed with his hand and his words.
"Do it for me. Oh yeah, oh just come hard for me, baby."
The rare and pure sensation demanded that I give myself over to it. The last niggling bit of inhibition vanished when I closed my eyes tight and let my body react in a way it had only done once or twice in the privacy of masturbation. The orgasm rolled over me like surf and washed away all doubt. My intense contractions coupled with great bursts of warm fluid and spasms that went all the way to my womb. I curled over myself in coiled rapture and sobbed out a cry of sheer of utter ecstasy. I collapsed against his chest and gulped for air as the final aftershocks subsided.
I still held his erection in my hand. I pushed the band of his shorts further down to expose him fully. The gods of physical blessings had not overlooked this part of his anatomy either. He was long and thick and his shaft sprouted from a neat nest of golden brown curls. I arranged myself closer to his groin and nuzzled my face there. The man-scent of his arousal filled my nostrils when I pressed my nose deep into his hair. He moaned my name and grasped my hair in one of his hands.
I worked the swollen head of his cock with my tongue while I held the base of his shaft with one hand. My lips felt his erection swell even further as I wrapped them around his glans. Although it seemed impossible, he pulsed to an even harder state. I swirled around the crown and explored the slit on the head with the tip of my tongue. With the head just inside my mouth I sucked, moving it in and out of my mouth with an audible pop.
Tristan growled with pleasure. He laced his hands through my hair and pulled it away from my face so he could see me work on him. I lubricated the length of him, licking up and down until I had saturated it entirely. Then I looked up at him and let him watch me lick my palm.
"Good God, Raina, you're going to make me come hard."
"Just as you did to me…"
I went back to work on him, my hand slick against his hard, hot flesh. I couldn't possibly fit his considerable length inside my mouth. I had never learned the art of 'deep throating'. This was the first time I'd ever wished I had.
I worked my hand in tandem with my mouth, trying to give him the maximum sensation I could. My fingers curled around his shaft and I moved it with a twisting motion. As I drew back on him I twirled my tongue around the ridge of the head and pursed my lips tightly as I moved toward the end.
My own body was responding to the lust in the guttural sounds of pleasure that he made in rhythm with my strokes. I put my other hand between his legs and rolled his balls inside the furry sack that was drawn tight against his body waiting for its role in the drama of his passion.
He watched me. He watched with eyes that burned. For me. I felt my pussy tighten and my nipples stiffen. I began to add my noises to his. I tasted the first salty sweet drop at his opening and quickened my pace.
"Harder…squeeze harder," Tristan rasped roughly.
It was a command I gladly obeyed. I tightened my grip on him. He put his hands on both sides of my face and began to thrust into my mouth, his fingers splayed through my hair and gripping tight. I let him take control even as he was losing it.
He was fucking my face at his pace now, furiously moving my mouth against him with his hips raised and his head thrown against the hard board of the make believe bed.
He warned me he was about to come and made a move to take himself out of my mouth. I took him as deeply as I could and gave him permission with the same kind of noises he had made when his own mouth was on me. It was unmistakable. I wanted to taste him. I wanted that intimacy and he knew it.
That knowledge pushed him over the edge. He stilled a moment and then, with a huge grunt of ecstasy he thrust once, twice, three times into the back of my throat. I felt the semen spurt into me and swallowed as he emptied himself. Each time he pulsed a jet out, he made the same noise. It was the unmistakable sound of rapture.
It gave me great joy to know that I had pleased him as completely as he had pleased me. The response of his body to my touch-- my worship of his most intimate part-- was pure and real. Every move and every sound he made was an echo of his desire.
My head rested against his abdomen as his breathing returned to something close to normal. I petted his wet cock and watched it slowly, very slowly, begin to relax and looked up at him. He lifted my chin with one finger, drew me up to his mouth and gave me a deep and grateful kiss.
I tucked my body into the side of his, cramped on the little platform. My head was on his shoulder and his chin half rested on the top of my head. We stayed that way for a while. I felt him twitch, first in his leg and then the arm he had around me. I knew he had fallen asleep. Looking at him on that silly pretend bed made him seem vulnerable. The bed was all painted up in garish colors from some long ago children's play and he was scrunched up in it like some gangly boy.
I was amazed he could sleep like that until I realized that he had been in Hong Kong less than 48 hours ago. He was running on almost no sleep and his body clock had to be completely confused. Plus, I'd just drained him dry.
"Tristan, you should wake up." I gently moved my hand against his chest. "We need to get you home, and into a real bed."
Tristan tucked his now utterly relaxed cock back into his shorts and zipped his fly. "Sorry to fall asleep on you." He kissed my lightly before he swung his legs over the other side of the bed and stretched out with a couple of groans. "You pulled the last of my energy out of me, I'm afraid."
"You've had a long couple of days."
"You can't even imagine. I do need a solid night's sleep, though--it's been a while."
"Let me drive you home." I was concerned about him falling asleep at the wheel. "You can fetch your car tomorrow."
"No, I'll be fine, really."
When we got to the parking lot, I offered once again to take him home, but he firmly refused.
"Can you give me a ring when you get home…just so I know you're home safe?"
Tristan gave me a very strange look when I asked him that. "Raina, I said I'll be fine. Can we just leave it at that?"
"Uh…sure. Well, good night then." I turned to go to my car, but he stopped me.
"Thank you for tonight. It was wonderful." He kissed me gently on the forehead like a child, which seemed yet another odd thing considering what we had just been up to in the wings. Still, it was far better than the last parting and I decided to accept it for what it was--a spent man with nothing on his mind but a good night's rest.
Five
Sleep didn't come easily for me that night. It took a while for the glow of what our bodies had done to one another to wear off. When it did, I was left with quite a bit of confusion.
I kept running the week through my head and not much of it made sense. Okay, I could accept that a crisis of epic proportions halfway around the world could cause a temporary lapse in manners--what Tristan called "not being good at some things". And I could chalk up the gruffness on stage to an ego that hated to be corrected.
And, I
suppose there could be legitimate reasons for a man with a great deal of money to have a personal bodyguard to travel with.
There were still two things I couldn't reconcile. First, why did that Roger character have such a chilling effect on not just Tristan, but the entire cast? Second, what the hell did Tristan King see in me?
Only Tristan could answer the last question, but I was sure that any one of the other cast members could shed some light on the first.
When I woke up Saturday morning, I was surprised to see that it was nearly ten a.m. I had slept poorly, waking several times from various disturbing dreams featuring painted stage beds, Chinese bodyguards and pretty men with sad faces.
The apartment was empty because Jenn had to man the virtual Tanglewood box office and the phones on Saturdays. Sunday was the only off day we shared and as the summer drew closer to its conclusion, she and I tried to make the most of each day we had left together.
She'd left a note on the kitchen table:
Hey sleepyhead, how about a drive and a picnic tomorrow? Jenn.
That sounded like a plan to me and it gave me something to focus on other than the strange and overwhelming way Tristan had insinuated himself into my thoughts. He wasn't doing it on purpose. That much I freely admitted to myself.
Even as a child, I had a tendency to over involve myself in people and situations. My sisters used to tease me about being 'sensitive' and taking things too seriously. Those qualities had also given more than one guy all the reason needed to walk away from a relationship with me.
I've never been very good at casual. Even my friendships tended to be deeply intimate. What excuse could I come up with for allowing myself to get even mildly involved with Tristan? He wasn't just out of my league; we weren't even playing the same game.
One spring break, my second year at Bennington, Jenn and I and two other girlfriends went to Panama City beach for spring break. Jenn and the two others threw themselves into the 'scene' with abandon. Even Jenn, normally not a girl you would describe as 'wild' by any stretch, had sex with at least three different guys that I know of in the course of our ten day stay. All I managed to do was piss off a couple of dudes, one of whom called me a prick teaser in front of a bar full of drunken strangers.
So, what was it about Tristan that would make me want to do something I'd never wanted to do before? Casual liaisons had never appealed to me. Why now? Why involve myself with a man with whom there could never really be any involvement? What was there about him?
Maybe I was growing up. Maybe I had matured sufficiently to do what the rest of the world seemed so fond of doing--see someone attractive and go for it if you can. God knows I found Tristan attractive. At first, it was simply an animal reaction to a man who seemed to have been constructed to my personal standard of perfection. But, even in the short time I had known him, I had found other things about him compelling, appealing and so fascinating.
His talent as an actor was superb. From the first moment I watched him on stage, I was amazed at his ability to transform himself into another character. Every single thing he did on that set reflected the coach--his voice, his posture, even the movement of his hands. The fact that this was only a hobby for him impressed me even more.
I liked the fact that he didn't seem to take himself too seriously, at least not all the time. And while he seemed to appreciate the fine things he surrounded himself with, they apparently didn't define him.
About the time I started to hope that I'd get a call from him over the weekend, I realized that he had never gotten my phone number. I had his, of course, on the cast roster. It was tempting to call him, maybe just to 'check' that he made it home okay. That was a temptation best resisted, I told myself.
Sunday's picnic helped me stop over thinking the whole 'non-relationship' with Tristan. Jenn had taken care of last Sunday's Mexican day and it was my turn to treat. A cold platter and a nice bottle of wine would be great for our picnic. I thought of the cheese, olives and great bread that I had eaten at Tristan's and wondered where he got those treasures. I could casually call him and ask. I mentally slapped myself across the face for that thought.
Our local gourmet grocer had quite a selection to choose from. I didn't see the particular cheese that Tristan had served--the one wrapped in brandy soaked leaves--but I found several I liked. The cheese monger gave me samples and guided me in selecting three types that would complement each other. I also bought dry Italian salami, some mixed olives and a loaf of artisanal bread with herbs baked in. It would be a scrumptious picnic.
I stopped at the wine shop and bought a cheap, but respectable bottle for us to share and went home to put it all away.
I was at loose ends after that. Jenn is a neat and clean freak and I'm not far behind. There's rarely anything to be done to the duplex on Saturday except a little laundry and she had taken care of that before she went to work. I folded the few towels in the dryer and decided I'd take a ride over to the theater and see how the set was progressing. We had the basic walls up which made a big difference in rehearsal. It's so much easier to have an actual wall than a piece of tape on the floor. Even the appearance of a sofa on Thursday had change the dynamic of the 'room'. Each little detail added a new element that made each performance become successively more nuanced; progressively more real.
I laughed when I opened the theater doors to find the stage crew painting the interior of 'coach's' house Pepto-Bismol pink. Tom had mentioned that he wanted the feeling to be one of a little old lady's living room complete with doilies over the backs of chairs. Coach had lived with his mother, never married and stayed in her house after she died. There was an implication in the storyline that the coach had some 'tendencies' but it was probably too subtle for most people to pick up.
Tom was on stage with Suze watching the painters. Suze was obviously acting strictly as a supervisor. Her beautiful slacks, shell top and ballet flats weren't going to get anywhere near that pink paint, that's for sure.
Tom saw me and waved me up on stage.
"Looks like things are really shaping up, Tom. I didn't see the pink coming." I turned to Suze. "The set looks great, Suze."
"Oh, thanks…uh…um."
"Raina, the name is Raina."
"So sorry. I'm so bad with names." I wasn't the least bit surprised she was 'bad' with mine. Suze ran over to a couple of high school kids who were bringing in the bar on the opposite side of the stage. "Boys…do be careful with that piece. It was my grandmother's."
Tom laughed. "There's one of the phoniest women who ever wore Chanel No. 5."
"Not fond of our little Suze?"
"Good god, she's one of the reasons I chose an all male play. I don't think I could make it through another production with her kind."
"Her kind?"
"Oh c'mon, Raina. You're young but you don't strike me as stupid. Have you ever met people as ridiculous as the women here?"
"Why just the women?"
"The men can be obnoxious, too. But they have a real life. For the majority of the women, this is their life." He shrugged as if to say it didn't matter much to him. "Let's go look at the set from the audience."
We sat about midway up the center section and looked at the stage as if we were an audience seeing it for the first time.
"That's the most bilious shade of pink I've ever seen. Are you sure you aren't risking wide spread nausea in our audience?"
"I wanted it to be a real contrast. The rough language, the big jocks, the drinking--all within the context of a little old lady's living room."
"You've certainly achieved that with this décor. I can't wait to see how the cast reacts to it."
"Rehearsals will take on a new dimension with the set nearly done. I think it's been going very well so far."
I agreed with him…and saw my chance. "It's a wonderful ensemble cast you've put together, Tom. But…I noticed something very strange in the air Friday night. Care to shed some light on it for me?"
"I'm not sure I know w
hat you mean," Tom responded in a guarded voice.
"C'mon, that Roger dude. The whole cast went all somber and Tristan was a positive bear the whole night." Well, maybe not the whole night, but I didn't need to share those details with Tom.
"It's not important. There's just a past."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I hate to gossip. There are already too many noses poked in everyone else's business in this theater group."
"Well, it sucks when everyone knows an open secret but me." I was pissed off that Tom wouldn't tell me something that was obviously public knowledge.
"Okay, okay. Tristan was engaged to Roger's sister years ago. It ended badly."
I hadn't seen that coming and it hit me right in the gut. "But Roger and Tristan are still friends?"
"As much as they can be under the circumstances."
"Was the break up that ugly?"
"Oh, there wasn't any break up."
"Are you being deliberately vague? What do you mean there wasn't a break up? They aren't together anymore…are they?"
"Hardly. Elsa was…Elsa's dead."
I had to let that sink in for a moment. Tristan, man about town, was once going to get married and his fiancé died.
"How did she die?"
"Look, Raina, it was years ago and I wasn't around here then. I've heard several versions of how she was killed and the truth is, no one really knows except Tristan. So if you want the whole story, you'll just have to ask him."
Suze called from the stage. "Tom, I need you up here for a few, sweetie." Everyone was a 'honey' or a 'sweetie' to Suze. Tom seemed eager enough to finish our conversation and leapt up to do her bidding.
"She was killed…no one really knows except Tristan." I was stuck with more mystery than before and now there was a sinister edge to my speculation.
I went back to the duplex with the intent of digging up all that I could about Tristan King and his fiancé. It took me a few moments of intense concentration to come up with Roger's last name. I hadn't been paying all that much attention when Tom had introduced him. Fortunately, unlike Suze, I have a pretty good recall of names.
