by R. Greco
I did also think, as I very much did when thinking about Jon, that his avoidance of anything kinky, the doing or saying of it, was deliberate. The guy was crafty to a fault. He could simply be teasing me.
Coddling my doubts I didn’t even hear him sidle up to me until I felt his breath on my neck and his hand tickle cross my ass.
“Got a really good Brain Salad in near mint,” he said as I instantly got wet and pushed my ass back into his hand. Had the ELP album or me got him going, I suddenly wondered.
I also suddenly didn’t care.
“You feel like you want to get out of here,” he said rubbing his hand harder across my warming ass.
Standing as he was the only thing the pierced patrons or spirited, yet still slightly indifferent sale’s help could see was some long haired guy standing close behind some wide hipped girl. Sure you could tell there was a little groping going on, but who cared really ... especially in Berkley of all fucking places.
“I wonder if we can...”
The breath caught in my throat as much from Jon pulling at the loose black skirt I was wearing as from his unfinished inquiry. I instinctively moved to a deeper corner of the big basement room and let him press up against my ass even harder. We more or less rolled to near the beginning of the Bossa nova section and I looked behind me as Jon pointed his chin in my shoulder. I stretched mine round to kiss him as he began to lift the folds of my skirt up my thighs.
I could feel Jon’s erection poke into me despite his thick jeans and the fact I had a bunch of skirt bunched up on my ass between us.
“This is new, something public?” I sighed as he rubbed.
“I just saw your ass and thought...”
He had moved to kiss the back of my neck and I nearly lost my footing. Jon had yet to kiss the back of my neck and the very last thing he would suggest when we had our phone sex sessions was something so deeply romantic and yet so God-awful hot. Finding something new this man had yet to do to me and him doing it right then, I began to feel my pussy thump and my clit tingle.
“How much of this could we expose, ya think?”
I wasn’t about to guess seeing as he had the back of me exposed about up to the center of the back of my thighs!
Bent as she was with the handsome man behind her, her hands splayed across the papery brittle tops of ancient used album covers, some cloying music she knew she should recognize but had no care she didn’t, the short beauty undulated ever so slightly as the man lifted her skirt as high as he could manage, just exposing the bottom of her white bottom to his crotch. Feeling the dew tickle of a thick milky line of juice flooding her cunt, she pressed her ass back even harder and began to climax right there as her man stayed where he was, never once adjusted his footing, simply kissing her over and over again across a tiny rectangle of space on her neck.
That she was bare under her skirt suited them both, that she had known to be, hoped he would not only notice but take advantage of her being so she had expected, that she now felt almost a slight disappointment to have gone sans panties so he could make such an easy time of his molesting her shocked her slightly. Even then as she began to climax in her mist stunted pissing of ways, even as she lie back into and away from his caress and the tip of his middle finger tracing tentatively between the crack of her ass, she wondered why she was giving in and what would have happened if she spun, ripped down the back of her skirt and left him to the musty basement and his unbidden erection.
And she wondered where his nescient idea of fight was coming from.
2
We had left Rasputin with Jon literally holding me close as he paid for his record and we lighted out past the modern-day hippies and students who’d never have a clue that they would never have a clue. We had the Red Style address plugged into the GPS and there wasn’t much to say except the obvious so neither of us talked as Jon drove us over the nearly unbearable length and curve of the Bay Bridge and into the twilight of the city proper.
He could never have suspected the fever of rainbow thoughts running through my head right then. Sure he would tell I was horny, as I could tell he was; stealing quite a few looks to his crotch I could see how thick he still was. Sure he had to assume I wanted him to finger me deep now that we were alone and driving, and he might have even been surprised to have found I hadn’t worn panties, but Jon could never know how much I had wanted to disobey his touch in the store.
It wasn’t simply embarrassment of his exposing me. Hell, I had done a lot worse in public in my day, and I liked pretty much all of what I had done. I could remember well being walked in on as I was on my knees eating the pussy of some incredibly cute little punk girl in a club’s bathroom, her bare ass making ‘firt saquirt’ noises on the pitted bathroom sink top as I got her off. And I had loved Jon’s attention, even more so that I could hip him to my no panties in public like that.
It wasn’t that I wanted to save his touches for the quiet confines of the car or the hotel we were speeding to, it wasn’t me playing hard-to-get as the time for that was gone, if it even ever existed, and it wasn’t me angling for a spanking wanting to act the bad girl. There was just something about how easy this man had taken me, or assumed he could, that both unnerved me and excited me, but in a wholly different form than usual.
His ticking my leg, the radio, the sight of the water and that interminable long-ass bridge, it lulled me deep into myself. For the very first time I felt a strange need to retaliate. I felt an ache to let Jon know, in no uncertain terms, that I was aware of him taking liberties. Sure, he knew I’d never resist him nor did I want to – even then I was doing all I could not to bellow my legs to the heat flooding my gummy insides – but somehow I wanted to.
And why I wanted to I had no idea.
As it has seemed to me a few times before in my life sometimes the most monumental moments, some of my biggest epiphanies happen in the most mundane circumstances. The Grace Paley book title always comes to me in these instances: Enormous Changes At The Last Minute and though I’d have to admit to only having read a few of the stories in ole’ Grace’s book back in college the title had stayed with me through the years and seemed to be finding resonance in my head then.
I wasn’t morphing, I wasn’t suddenly changing my view about Jon and what we were getting up to here and I certainly wanted a hell of a lot more public groping and anything else we could get into, but I was experiencing a slight altering of my perceptions, of how I thought about the consequences of the man’s actions and my reactions to them and it all was building a seed in me I wasn’t so sure about.
It was a seed, dare I consider it then though I was, of dominance.
Not so unknown to me as I have admitted before, this idea of dominating or at least leading the comeuppance of another, and other then what I had managed with Terri a week ago it really had been years since I was in that role ... and surely never had I been with a man that I was sexual with. Fred and Joel were different in my mind, men surely, but bisexual and so far off my sexual radar as far as me ever considering either sexual partners. I put them alongside the women I had domed, for the most part. Really, I had never domed a man, certainly not one who had begun our sex life by doming me and so expertly. And even then as I began to warm to the idea of doing things to Jon, I still ached for him to dom me back, maybe even take me in hand for having these thoughts.
In guess what it came down to for me, Grace P. notwithstanding, was that this wasn’t so much a change in my outlook as much as it was another pedal of the flower opening. Now, whether I would act on these thoughts I had no real idea and truly I couldn’t actually form any clear thoughts of taking control over Jon, in fact as I said those words in my head ‘taking control over Jon’ I began to get slightly scared. It was as if another person’s voice was speaking in my head and I turned in my seat, reached my hand over and brushed his right thigh.
“You really got me going back there, I’m gonna need a lot more of that when we get to the hotel.”
“Count on it,” he said and smiled as we descended into the city proper.
“I like the no panties, by the way.”
“Figured you would, I just had no idea you’d get to notice it that fast.”
“Mmmm,” he said and as we stopped at a light Jon reached across and tickled his hand spider-like up my spread left thigh, up under my skirt and touched my open wet lips.
“Fu ... Jon.”
“Keep it nice and warm for me sweetie, according to the GPS we’re five minutes away.”
He ran the tip of his index fingered between my cunt lips, up and down; the full expansive two times then removed it. I began to hump the air and he patted my inner thigh, leaving a little thin snail-like residue from his finger. I cracked the window as the car was starting to smell of me.
No more thoughts of dominance. Jon’s little manure had brought me back to myself right quick. I was no longer scared, no longer feeling a rumbling tectonic shift. All I wanted was his hands back on me but quick and to surrender every last living drop of myself to him in any way he wanted.
Into the late afternoon sun we drove, me about sliding off my seat, Jon staring straight ahead with that look of mute satisfaction on his lips.
The Red is in the North beach section of the city, probably my most favorite, though overrun now like most of San DamFransisco is by tourists. The food is pretty top notch – it really is the only place in the city you can get decent Italian – and with the cafés, tight crowds and neon of Broadway pretty much close by, it’s a lovely little area unlike the Warf where everybody but anybody goes if they are visiting this hilly place.
I had gone to college with Billy Bane, a performance-artist-cum-organic-market-owner-mini-hotel-magnate. If I began to think of how all five foot five Billy managed to get his hands into all the pies he did and come out successful every time my head would start swimming, so I didn’t much question when I’d get another email missive announcing something new Billy was into. I’d simply try and show at the opening, or get tickets to the event he might be sponsoring and even though the red haired sprite-of-a-guy and I weren’t the best-est of buds Billy could always be counted on to do me a solid. I had called his cousin Gloria who ran the Red for Billy and was assured I’d get the very best room in the seven room walk-up a block off Broadway for the day I was planning to be in.
Parking the little blue truck in a lot right around the corner of the hotel, the man and woman made their way down the hilly descent, him carrying their shared duffle, her a big purse. The cold slightly dewy sunshine biting their faces, she led the way across the busy street that was presently seeing more pedestrians then cars – and there were a lot of cars – up the curb, past a pastry shop and to a single red door almost exactly at the midway spot on that side of the street. Pushing a discreet nipple in the shaded concrete a bell trilled once, the door unlatched and the couple entered.
“Hmmf,” he mocked sighed, facing the ten tiny steps ascending from his line of site and gladly following the wide round rump that climbed before him the man and woman giggled as they turned at the eight step, managed two more and came to stand in a lobby longer then it was wide.
The walls, carpet and even the lady who sat behind the cheery wood desk were all some sort of shade ginger.
“Hey lady,” the plump pretty girl behind the desk exclaimed, shot up to waddle round to the couple who faced her.
“How you doin’ girl?” the woman who faced her asked.
The ladies embraced as the man plopped down the duffle.
“Jon, Gloria, Gloria Jon,” the taller girl said turning to her man and hands were offered, shook, smiles smiled and the preliminaries of check-in and girly catch-up were started and finished in five minutes time.
I hadn’t yet been in a hotel in my hood with Jon, so I’d forgive myself my third person reverie ... yet again. Although New Jersey via New York had been an adventure to be sure, Jon and I at the Red was certainly a fantasy made real for me. The last time I had been here was with my ex and though a good time to be sure I was sure what Jon and I got up to in the big one room and the comfy four poster would be wholly different than anything I had managed in this hotel previously.
“Cool place,” Jon said, setting our duffle down and turning to me. He stepped to the bed and sat down slowly as I closed the room’s door behind me.
“Yeah, I kinda thought you’d like it.”
Taking in the plush room as I did, I marveled at how much of this place I remembered and how it hadn’t changed. Billy had outfitted every room in a faux Victorian style, deep thick tapestries, long undulant curtain folds, the intimidating four-poster in the center of the room, a quaint but fully stocked bathroom off to our right, deep gold colored carpet. Skirting the high end of bordello-dom, this little hotel really was the best place to stay if one was coming in for a night or two and wanted to breathe deep that unique San Francisco style.
It was also sexy as all get out.
“You wanna...” I said, moving to and rolling atop the man “...or you wanna nap for a bit?”
Jon didn’t answer, vocally. He simply positioned himself under me so his crotch met up with mine and we began dry humping there on the bed. Kissing down on him hard, I squiggled this way and that to get my skirt bunched up enough so that I was bared up on him. All but straddling the guy I pressed the heat of my cunt down hard to the thickening speed bump that was the front of his jeans and we literally ate one another’s mouths as we went at it best we could with him still dressed.
It was maddening for me not to get all of the guy right then, all Jon had to do was slip his dick free and we’d be home, but it was fun with me basically bottomless and him still with his pants on. I scritch-scritched myself across him, angling to find purchase with my slit but with his hand on my ass, Jon positioned me away from any real good rubbing, obviously aware that’s what I was moving towards.
“Fuck, Jon, let me,” I moaned as he gave my right cheek a swat, bit my lip slightly and held me where I was.
“Not yet,” he sithed through his parted lips and we began Frenching harder.
I humped, he swatted me again and there we stayed how many minutes I don’t know until I couldn’t stand it any longer, sat up, rolled and went for his belt, snap and zipper.
“These got to come off,” I demanded, sliding this thin belt free and to my side.
“Come on,” I fake growled and Jon just lie there deeper, if that was possible, looking down at me trying to peel his open jeans and undies down over his popping erection and thick upper thighs.
“You want it, you work for it,” he said and I looked up and smiled with him.
I was more than a bit steamy, half undressed and slightly out of breath in all the pulling. Jon’s short hairs were just peaking out up over the rise of his tight underwear, his sausage – like roll under the cotton facing me, the tops of his thick thighs coming into view and a little bit of his right cheek I could see then as I studied him. The tickle of my dream, the title of Grace Paley’s book, the deep smell of the room, the red on gold on green hint on red again, Jon’s what-are-you-gonna-do-for-me-pose, the thrumming of my pussy and the idea, the kernel, the drip, seedling, spot, it all coalesced for me right then and there and I sat up, set my lips and spun Jon on the bed. Not even surprised, Jon lie still, set his face to the side and waited for whatever as I regarded the top of the man’s ass crack and reached for his belt.
I could have probably offered any number of suggestions or scoldings, fit the tip of my finger up his dry anus, rolled my pussy adopt his cute popping buns, but neither Jon nor I needed a reason for me to beat his ass ... not that he could have imagined I might. I looped the belt in my hand, grabbed the little buckle deep in my palm, snapped a sufficient end of it free and lifted my arm.
SLAP the thing said to the upper portion of Jon’s cheeks that were bared.
“Kay,” he said into the bedspread.
Not a complaint, not even a surprise, simply my name.
&nbs
p; SLAP A’SLAP I landed two more center then across his skin and undies, horizontally.
Jon began to fuck the bed.
Reaching down I pulled his underwear down, hammock-ing it with his pants mid-thigh. Jon wiggled, opening his thighs a bit and I reached between and under to cup his palls as I once again lifted my hand and a little clumsily swat at his right cheek then his left in a downward motion.
Snit Snit.
I sat up, retreated my hand and somehow the sight of my bare knee made me unhinged.
“Now,” I sighed and began to flail away at the pretty slightly dark buns below me.
The snapping and bounce of my wrist and knees; the huffing, squishy-squish of my pussy and the aching poke of my nipples; the blush rising on Jon’s cheeks and him humping the deep mauve bedspread ever harder, it all lasted maybe three minutes if that. Somewhere along the line, in our silence and set, Jon began to shake violently, reached out his arms, grabbed a handle full of bedspread in each of his clutching fingers. I stood off the edge of the bed and swiped him the hardest I could in the cold air, the deep rich color and between what neither of us could ever articulate but knew had to happen just then. I went to work on the ass under me and Jon accepted and he came – as I surmised and later saw proof of – as I walloped him good.
Naturally feeling an end to the proceeding as he seemed to settle, I threw the belt to my side and rolled off Jon, stepped to the bathroom and closed the door.
In seconds I had the shower on and was washing my dominance away with a shiver.
Though I did start to tickle my hand down my tummy and start to masturbate.
Though I was dying to run right out into the room and see if my man was nursing his ass or playing with this dick (I had yet to know Jon had come and was even then attempting to clean the mess off the bedspread).
