by Jayce, Aven
He lets out a soft moan then pops the top on his can and drinks, relaxed and completely composed as if a woman sucking his nipple is a daily occurrence.
“Let me ask you something,” he says. “How many times have you thought about this... touching me, placing your hand on my dick and sucking it?” He stands with his feet apart, chest out, and head back, deep breaths entering and exiting his body as I run one finger along his waistline. “You must’ve fantasized about us fucking by now. Maybe even masturbated a few times while thinking of me. You up to having a little fun tonight?”
“I want more than a little.”
He looks down with one eye open and grins. “It could get messy. That okay?”
“It depends on who has to clean it up.”
He laughs and leads me over to a chair. I take a seat and put my drink on a side table, waiting for him to sit across from me, but instead he goes back to the closet and pulls out two shoeboxes, one black and one white, matching the fleece blankets. Okay, how long has he been planning this?
“Physically, I’m not ready to be inside of you, but I’ve thought of some other ways we can play,” he says.
He places the shoeboxes side-by-side on the coffee table, turns off all the lights except for a small lamp on one of the bookshelves, and then takes a seat, positioning the black blanket from his waist down. He sets his ginger ale on the floor and his feet on the table then leans back with his eyes glued on mine. I rest in same position, white blanket in hand.
We stare.
I’m calm. Isn’t that fucked up? I’m in this man’s house, my clit pounding, wanting him to fuck me, and for all I know he could kill me. It’s possible. I may have just walked right into the trap of a serial killer, and yet, I’m calm. It must mean something.
Yeah, that you have nothing to live for and your life’s stale and pointless. You’ve accepted death. Good work, Div.
“Hello Divine,” he whispers.
I tilt my head to the side and smile back.
“Tell me something you’ve never told another person. I want to know a secret.”
Mmm, he kills me when he uses that gentle voice. It’s so seductive, like waving a piece of dark chocolate in front of my face. And of course, idiot that I am, I whisper back the first thing that comes to mind. “I tried to pee standing up once. I think I was about nine.” God, did that just kill the mood, or what?
He shakes his head. “Not good enough; take off your hoodie and shirt, slowly, I want to see your tits. Then lean back and leave ‘em out. No need to conceal them under the blanket. You lost with that answer, now make it up to me.”
Gladly. Must be his version of strip poker, and I agree totally that I lost that first round. I toss the clothes to the floor and lean back, watching his eyes lower and his finger trace his lips, back and forth, until he whispers, bra off too, and I obey. He fiddles with his pants under the blanket and I’d say it’s because he’s fully erect by now.
“36c?” he questions.
“Good guess,” I nod.
“One of my specialties. I’m a tit man and yours are spectacular. Do they enjoy a good slide now and again?”
“If you’re talking about a dick tug between them, then yes. Now... my question, my turn, tell me one of your deepest darkest secrets, something sexual,” I request.
He jumps in with no hesitation; the answer just flying out of his mouth. “I filmed a guy fucking a pig once.”
My nose wrinkles and I shake my head. “What the fuck, Dan? That’s not only nasty, it’s illegal. I can’t believe you just admitted such a thing. You were there, right next to someone who was fucking a pig? How? I mean, why? It’s animal cruelty. Why did you... eww. I don’t like this game.”
Buck up Div, I’m having fun for once. Maybe this guy’s got something special to offer after all.
“It was at one of the frat parties in town, years ago when I was a sophomore. I heard it was going to happen so a few of my friends and me went over and...”
“Okay, I get it. I get it.” I put my hand up to halt the story. “Do you still have the video? Did you keep it? Is it here?”
“That’s a whole bunch of questions,” he says while rubbing the back of his neck. “And it’s my turn anyway. But to ease your mind, it was a taxidermy pig someone had turned into a sex toy... the thing wasn’t alive. I was young and drunk at the time, and felt terrible about the situation. It really freaked me out.”
“Good,” I pause. “Wait, you have to take something off.”
“No I don’t, I won.”
I think for a moment, gazing at his chest, then down to his dick. I want those pants off. “No, you lost, buck-o. That’s not one of your sexual secrets; you weren’t the one fucking the stuffed pig. It doesn’t count and it’s a wretched answer, disgusting, and not close enough to being about yourself, now strip.” There we go, very forward of me. “I need some control here too.”
“No,” he says.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I let you pick your seat and you chose the chair with the white blanket. Darkness overpowers light and that means I’m the one in control.”
I give him my best fuck off look with lowered eyelids and a twitch of my lip. “That’s bullshit.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I know. It was just a joke.” He unzips his jeans, his eyes never leaving mine and slides them to the floor, then kicks them out from under the blanket. “Better?” he asks.
“Getting there. Your turn, by the way.” I place my feet on the coffee table and his foot sneaks in next to mine, trailing his toe along my arch, down to my heel and back. My body twitches from his touch and I imagine his toes inching up my leg, eventually finding their way to my spot. First caressing my clit, then parting my lips, and wiggling their way into my hole. I bet I could get off pretty easily from his toes, quicker than the other night behind the door.
“I love the smile on your face, which brings me to my next question. What’s on your mind, Div? I want to know what put that sweet expression on your face.”
“You,” I whisper.
“Not enough. Keep going.”
In my softest voice, I continue. “Your feet leisurely feeling their way up my legs,” I pause, allowing him time to visualize my soft shaven skin. “Your toes nudging their way past my lips, then circling my clit and disappearing inside. Sliding in, getting wet and sticky, and then finding their way to my mouth so I can taste myself.” That last part was a good addition. I know because his erection pokes at the blanket. It wants to play.
“Nice,” he whispers. “You win that one.”
I slide my leggings and underwear off and toss them on the floor beside his chair. He smiles and does the same with his boxers. We sit under our blankets, naked, staring at one another’s exposed flesh.
“We both won,” I say.
“Definitely,” he grins. “You know, this thing we’re doing right now, it’s something I’ve only thought about, planned it out, but...” A long pause, He looks at me and traces his lips again. He knows full well how fucking hot that is. “I’ve never taken it this slow with anyone and for some reason that makes me feel pretty damn lucky right now. It seems far-fetched that a beautiful woman came out of nowhere and into my life, and now she’s sitting across from me, completely nude, and if I were to guess, ready and willing to fuck. As a matter a fact, if you were like all the others, you’d be panting and calling out my name with my dick beating into you, not sitting four feet away with a blanket covering your sweet pussy. Sorry, wrong word. Hole? Vag? Whatever you want me to call it.” He sips his soda then places the can against his nipple for another quick titty arousal. “But you’re not in my bed. So tell me, what makes you so special?”
I don’t believe he truly wants an answer. It’s a rhetorical question, one he’s trying to figure out for himself.
“The obvious reasons are there. Your willowy body, gorgeous tits, those green eyes that remind me of spring grass, and that fiery reddish brown hair. Fuck, you’re like
a model in my eyes... but you offer more than just a stunning face. What it is that you have, I just don’t know. You have a lot of secrets hidden away, a mystery girl, and at the same time, I’m comfortable around you like I’ve known you for years.”
He studies my face, my chest, and then takes another drink and waits. We’re silent for the longest time, staring at one another, smiling, trying to get inside the head of the other. I sigh, wondering if I should answer his question from earlier, the one about my parents. It’s not what he’s waiting for, not specifically, but he definitely wants something more, some form of untold information to develop a deeper connection, to bond with me. And hey, it’s not like I’m so fucked up that I can’t say the words, tell the story, at least about my mother. My father’s situation was more difficult, far more devastating, and we won’t go there.
“My mother never came home,” I say, taking a drink and clearing my throat before continuing on.
“You don’t have to...” he starts to say, before I cut him off.
“I was sixteen, and she didn’t return from work. No phone message, no note, nothing. My dad and I knew something was wrong. At six we started to panic, at eight we called every hospital within a sixty-mile radius, and then at ten the police showed up at our door. My father fell to his knees and grabbed one of the officer’s pant legs, sobbing at his feet and crying out the word ‘no,’ over and over.” I choke up thinking about my dad, that pain he felt, a pain that never subsided. “I tried my best to hold it together so I could understand their description of the accident over his cries, but I heard only words and not complete sentences. ‘Deer’ and ‘tree’ stuck with me. ‘No seatbelt’ and ‘head injury’ were others. My dad didn’t need to hear any of it; it was too much for him.”
I’ve told this story to a handful of people, including my closest friends in high school after it happened, my boyfriends and best friends in college, but never this early in a relationship. I feel like I can’t hide from him, I have to be myself since he’s so damn perceptive and open about everything. I mean, look at his parents and their relationship with their kids. No secrets. But is Dan too good to be true? I need to figure out what’s wrong with him before I get hurt. Most men wouldn’t give two shits about my parents, they wouldn’t ask, or even care to listen. And that’s what scares me right now. Everyone’s hiding something. I’m okay with him having some weird sex fantasies, since the more extreme things are in bed, the more I get turned on. But, if he kills and eats garden snakes for dinner, or breaks into people’s homes and steals their books (besides my own), then we may have a problem.
My mind’s wandering and he’s waiting patiently for me to finish.
“They said she died at the scene. We were devastated and left with nothing. She shouldn’t have swerved, you know? She should’ve just hit the damn deer.”
Silence again. He shakes his head and exhales then whispers how sorry he is for my loss. A sincere apology, not the ones people say just to get it out and then move on to a new conversation. He embraces my words and sits quietly until I’m finished revealing a part of my past.
“You make it so easy for a guy to fall for you.” he says. “Thank you.”
He leaves the room with the blanket wrapped around his waist and the empty cans in hand, returning with two shots that he sets on the coffee table.
“Your stomach up for this? It’s vodka.”
I nod and reach for the shot. “Luckily, my food related stomach problems come and go rather quickly. A shot sounds perfect after talking about my mother.”
“I thought that’d be the case.” We raise and clink our glasses then throw them back, both of us coughing afterward and laughing at our similar reactions.
He leans back and runs his hand across his face from cheek to cheek then down to his chin, where he rubs his skin and grins. I feel the warmth on my cheeks as I blush.
“People tend to seek pleasure to ease pain. Sexual pleasure. I can tell you’re a lot like me in that regard. Reading erotica to distract your mind, looking at lewd images, or just touching yourself. You enjoy that hedonistic affection that can only come from your own hand, your own fantasies and your own little sexual world inside your head. Some people are obsessed with it because it frees them from the real world. We all masturbate or fuck for the same reasons, to feel good... to enjoy something that only exists in that moment. You can’t find the same sensation anywhere else. Not through food, or a hot bath, a jog, or purchasing an expensive item, only through some form of sexual indulgence is it there. Let me give that to you now. I want to replace your pain with some form of erotic pleasure. You willing to go there?”
I nod.
“Then pick a box, Div. White or black, your choice.”
I stare at the two shoeboxes on the coffee table, identical in size and shape, but as I lift each one, they’re different in weight.
“No shaking,” he says. “Just choose.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
White.
I slide the white box closer and watch as Dan grins. I must’ve made the right choice.
“Don’t worry about the furniture, or the blankets, they’re washable.”
I smile when I see a small jar of honey inside. The guy can really read my mind. I was thinking caramel would be fun, but honey is just as good.
“Taste it,” he whispers.
I open the jar and dip my finger inside, but decide to play around before I put it in my mouth. He inhales deeply as my finger swirls around the sweet and sticky nectar. I pull it out then sink it back in, closing my eyes as if it’s his finger sliding inside me.
His eyes are slits, trying to stay open, yet he’s in a daze, enjoying some unspoken fantasy in his head.
“Stay with me,” I whisper, lowering the blanket to the floor. His eyes widen at the sight of my nude body. Head to toe, I’m cleanly shaven and aroused, with engorged breasts and protruding nipples that I smear the honey onto. He releases a quiet moan and reaches under his blanket; a slow movement begins as he pleasures himself. His eyes are glued on my face as he jerks off, breathing heavily.
I place my feet back on the coffee table, spreading my legs so he has a clear view. His breathing changes to short pants as I pour honey over my clit. It slides down to my lips where I spread it around and then join him in pleasuring myself. This is fucking sexy, one of my biggest turn-ons to date and he’s not even touching me. The sight of him jerking off is better than the visuals of porn. He’s so close, feet away, where I can smell and almost taste him. We’re sharing the same air, both wanting the same thing. And under his blanket I imagine his hand gripped around his length, the crown turning red and his shaft engorged.
I hold my finger in the air, the honey dripping down, and then slide it into my mouth and twist my tongue to lick it clean. My eyes close in delight, as I taste myself.
“Yum,” I whisper.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he moans.
I dip into the jar again and spread more over my nipples, ending with the finger back inside my mouth.
“No, not yet,” he exhales, releasing himself and clutching the arms of the chair with both hands. “Fuck, if I don’t stop for a moment, I’m gonna cum. I wasn’t expecting this to turn me on like an eleven year old who just saw his first porn mag.” His dick twitches under the blanket, searching for the return of his firm grip.
His eyes move from my face down my body to my toes then land on the black shoebox. I forgot about it for a second; too caught up in my honey indulgences.
“Div,” he whispers. “Are any sexual fetishes offensive to you?”
Oh, now I’m curious. “What’s in the box, Dan?” I ask in my calmest voice, like Hal from 2001: A Space Odyssey. I reach for it but he catches my hand on route.
“Answer my question first.”
“If the box has anything to do with putting on a diaper or drinking blood, I’m gone. That’s too extreme for me. Plushies kind of creep me out as well. I wouldn’t say they offend me, but they defin
itely make me uneasy. I understand fetishes are about comfort and arousal, but I can’t imagine wearing a fuzzy animal costume or sleeping with a giant teddy would do much for me. So if your box is free of baby items, vampire tools, and furry friends, it’s okay.”
“You sure about that?”
He doesn’t know I’m a voyeur. That’s my sexual fetish. I love watching people, hidden cams, videos of being caught in the act, and, ahem... looking in people’s windows. It’s a big turn on, so whatever it is, I can handle it. I don’t need Violet popping into my head calling me that spotted, whited, spectator, spectacular, whatever it is again. And I can’t criticize Dan if I’m part of the club.
“I think I scared you,” he says. “I’ll put it away and maybe we can play another time.”
“No,” I say, pulling the box toward me. “I’m game, I promise I won’t run away screaming. Fetishes can be fun.”
“Only when both parties are on board.”
“Trust me, I’ve got my own oddities that will probably make yours seem like child’s play.”
He grins and shakes his head. “Take another lick of the honey for me.” I follow his instructions and tilt the jar until a few drops fall onto my tongue, leaving it out as a request for him to come over for a taste.
He puts his hands on the table and leans in. Our tongues meet in the air, and he eats the sweet honey from my mouth. With kisses so sexual and tender, how could this man have anything scary in this box?
“Go ahead and open it,” he says in a soft voice, standing before me with the blanket around his waist.
I open the lid and... and... what the... whoa.
A foot.
Run, Div! Run! He collects body parts. He IS a serial killer! Run! Get the fuck out of this house!
It’s silicone, Violet. Chill.
You sure? There’s no blood or bones?
It’s fake.
Oh, a foot fetish. That’s rather common and might be sort of kinky. He’s a keeper.
I smile at Dan and then poke the foot. It’s soft, hollow, and feels like real flesh. I think it can slide onto a real foot, like a slipper. A little peculiar, but like Violet said, one of the more common fetishes, and those who don’t know about it have lived a pretty sheltered life.
