The Culmination (The Club Series Book 4)

by Lauren Rowe

  I look up at her from between her legs, my chest heaving, my hand working up and down my shaft.

  I’m fucking losing my mind. I don’t feel human. I’m a beast in the wild. A shark. A lion. Jesus God, I’m a sick fuck. And I like it. Everything about this moment turns me the fuck on, and I don’t give a fuck if it’s normal or not.

  I get out of the bed and scoop her up into my arms, adrenaline flooding me. I’m free. I’m not tethered anymore. Blood on the sheets. Blood on the tile. Blood on the floor. It doesn’t matter anymore. Fuck you, Blood. Blood in my mouth and on my lips. Fuck yeah.

  In the bathroom, I flip on the light, still holding her in my arms, and turn to face the mirror. We’re both completely smeared with her blood, from the tips of our noses all the way down to our thighs—as if some mad painter has used our skin as his living canvas.

  “Holy... ,” she says, staring at our ghastly reflections.

  I don’t respond. I just stare at us, my cock throbbing.

  Blood on the sheets.

  Blood on my lips.

  Blood on my tongue.

  Sarah touches my bare chest and bites my shoulder. “You’re a sexy fucking beast, Jonas Faraday. Holy shit.”

  I can’t take my eyes off the vision in the mirror.

  Blood on my chin.

  Blood on my nose.

  Fuck you, Blood.

  She’s right. I’m a beast. A savage beast. An animal. My cock is a weapon of mass destruction. My lips are covered in her blood and milk and her delicious juices. My chest is marked with my religion and smeared with the blood of my righteous battle.

  I bare my teeth at myself in the mirror and my cock twitches at the sight of myself. I’ve never been so turned on in my life. I’m a fucking shark. No, I’m a megalodon. I’m prehistorically wired to eat and fuck and nothing else. Fuck yeah, I am. Fuck yeah.

  My whole life, the Blood has come after me and rendered me powerless. Since age seven, the Blood has turned me into a cowering pussy. But now I’ve come after the Blood. I’ve made the Blood my bitch. Fuck yeah, I have. Fuck yeah.

  After a moment, I grab her hand and press it against my bare chest, right over the spray of stars adorning my flesh—right over the sticky blood smeared across my flesh. “Do you understand now?” I say, my voice straining, my cock throbbing. I track her fingertips through a large streak of blood above my left nipple. “I crave every inch of you, Sarah—every fucking drop—no matter what it is. No matter what.”

  She nods, her eyes blazing.

  “There’s nothing between us anymore. No dark spaces. No secrets. No room for doubt. We’re one and the same. Your body is mine. Your pain is mine. Your pleasure is mine. Your blood is mine.”

  She nods.

  “‘Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies,’” I say, quoting Aristotle.

  She nods again, this time with eyes like hot coals.

  Oh my God, I want to fuck this woman. To within an inch of her fucking life. Holy fuck. And yet, irony of ironies, I can’t do it tonight. Or any time soon. All I can do is lather her in the shower gently, tuck her safely into bed, and then wack myself off under the hot water, again, for the twentieth time since we’ve been home from the hospital.

  I carry her into the shower, turn on the hot water, and reach for the shower gel—but Sarah has another idea. Of course, she does. Because she’s Sarah Fucking Cruz. Orgasma the All-Powerful. OAP Cruz. Wordlessly, she slides out of my arms, kneels down in front of me, and voraciously takes the full length of my hard cock into her mouth.

  Halle-fucking-lujah. She’s back.

  Immediately, I’m a ravenous beast, gripping her hair and gyrating my entire pelvis into her hungry mouth. Oh man, I’ve never fucked her mouth quite like this before, but based on her throat’s reception to me, she can handle it.

  I look down and every goddamned thing I see makes me want to come into her voracious mouth. My cock thrusting in and out of her hungry lips. That bright red stream of blood trailing out of her kneeling body and swirling across the marble tiles and down the drain. Her olive skin glistening under the hot water. Her engorged breasts and erect nipples, bouncing softly with the movement of her bobbing head. Oh yeah. I push myself into her harder, fucking her mouth with urgent zeal. It’s been a long fucking time since I’ve enjoyed this sensation. Oh my God. This is good.

  I pull on her hair roughly and bear down on her harder than I should, plowing my cock deeper into her throat than I’ve ever gone.

  But she’s up to the task, groaning with pleasure as my cock slams into the farthest reaches of her throat. When I finally erupt into her mouth like a fucking volcano, roaring loudly as I do, Sarah guzzles me down like she’s a sorority girl doing a beer bong—and when I’m all done convulsing, she keeps sucking on me like she’s trying to coax the last drops of a milkshake through a straw.

  When she’s finally done sucking me dry, I lean my back against the shower wall, gathering myself. “Holy fuck,” I say, my chest rising and falling. “Fucking amazing, baby.”

  I look down at her below me, too overcome to say anything more.

  She smiles up at me but doesn’t speak.

  We stare at each other for a long moment, the hot water battering us, blood continuing to streak across the shower floor from between her legs.

  Blood on the sheets.

  Blood on the floor.

  Blood on the tiles.

  Blood in my mouth.

  Blood on my tongue.

  Blood on my chin.

  Blood smeared across my body—across the sun and the moon and the stars that mark my eternal devotion to Sarah and our new family.

  Fuck you, Blood.

  Fuck you.

  I’m suddenly overcome with an overpowering sensation of relief. I feel completely free. All this time, I thought Sarah was the only one holding back, but it was me, too. And now I’m not.

  I lick my lips at her.

  She blinks slowly at me, her eyes burning into me. She stands. “Hoy en adelante, renaces,” she whispers.

  I grip the back of her neck and pull her into me. “Hoy en adelante, renazco,” I reply, kissing her. “And so are you, pretty baby.”

  “Hoy en adelante, renacemos,” she says, her chest heaving. From today forward, we’re reborn.

  I nod. “Yes.” I grab her face. “I like it messy, baby. I like it fucked up. Nothing’s ever gonna scare me again. Nothing’s ever gonna keep me from getting what I want, ever again.” Without waiting for her reply, I lean down and suck a long swig of her tit, making her knees buckle, and then I kneel before her at my favorite altar, yet again.

  Blood is visibly dripping out of her crotch and down her olive thighs, mixing with the hot water streaming out of the showerhead. And in this moment, I’ve never seen anything so sexy in all my life. I reach around and grab her gorgeous ass firmly in both palms, lean into the pussy that owns me, the pussy that’s brought me the greatest happiness I’ve ever known, and help myself to a heaping second helping of my all-time favorite meat.

  Chapter 30

  Jonas

  Five Weeks Without Sex

  aka Lord, Hear My Prayer

  “Hello?”

  “Yeah, hi. Is this Sam?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “My name’s Jonas. I saw your squirting video on YouTube. I was wondering if you’d be willing to answer a couple questions for me.”

  He pauses. “Um. Yeah, sure. For a hundred bucks.”

  I resist the urge to call him a douchebag and hang up. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “You want payment before or after we speak?”

  “Before.” He gives me his Paypal address and says he’ll wait on the line while I pay. What a dick. “Okay, you got that?” I ask after pressing the payment button.

  “Yup. Okay, what do you want to know?”

  “You seriously make women squirt, every single time?”

  “Well, every single time I want to do it, yeah. Some
times, I don’t want to do it.”

  “When wouldn’t you want to do it?”

  “If we’re on a friend’s couch. Or in a public bathroom. Or some other place where it wouldn’t be great to have to clean up a gallon of cum.”

  I process that for a minute. I never thought about that.

  “Or if the girl’s just not that into doing it. It’s pretty intense, especially for a girl who’s not used to it. Some girls do it for the first time and get addicted. Other girls do it and kinda freak out. It depends. If they’re not down with it, I don’t force them.”

  “What do you mean they freak out?”

  “I don’t know. Some just have, like, a weird hang-up about it. It grosses them out, I guess.”

  “But every single girl can do it?”

  “Without a doubt. Most pretty easily.”

  “Ever have a really tough nut to crack?”

  “Sure.”

  “But you cracked her?”

  “Of course. Every time.”

  “How?”

  “Persistence. And getting her out of her head. And then, bam. I flip the switch.”

  I pause. Interesting. “How many girls are tough nuts to crack, would you say?”

  “Like, percentage-wise?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hmm. Take ten girls. One will be easy-peasy squirting material, like the women in the video. Just squirting cum at the drop of a hat. One will be really, really hard—those ones are kind of fun, actually. I like a good challenge. And then the rest will fall in line and be fairly simple. One, two, three, squirt.”

  “What’s the one, two, three, though?”

  “Exactly what I demonstrated in the video.”

  “Explain it again.”

  He does, explicitly.

  I ask several pinpoint questions and he answers them.

  “But how does that differ from culling a woman into a vaginal orgasm through G-spot stimulation? I know exactly what it feels like to get an orgasm through fingering the G-spot. What should I be doing differently if I want the squirt?”

  “Well, dude, if you already know how to get an orgasm through her G-spot, then getting the squirt’s gonna be like child’s play to you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Most guys I talk to don’t even know how to find the G-spot.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Bunch of rank amateurs.”

  We laugh together.

  “So when I feel the G-spot enlarging, you know how it starts filling up like a water balloon—” I begin.

  “Yeah, I love that.”

  “Incredible, right?”

  “The best.”

  “Okay, so when it fills up, what do I do to get the squirt that’s different from going for a vaginal orgasm?” I ask.

  He explains the subtle difference in what I’m feeling for deep inside a woman—the “magic trip-chord,” he calls it, for squirting—plus, oddly enough, a sound I’m listening for—that tells me the woman’s about to blow. “So you feel that gland, that kind of band, right between your middle and ring fingers, and then you just... I dunno... milk her,” he says.

  “Milk her?”

  “It sounds gross, but... yeah. That’s the movement you’re going for right at that moment, right on the Skene’s gland. Down, then inside and up. Grab ahold of it between those two fingers, and when you feel that gland fill up with fluid and hear the sound, yank down again. Milk her.”

  I can’t believe I’m supposed to be... milking Sarah. What a trip. “Okay,” I say, “let’s talk about the one in ten who’s really, really hard to conquer. The ones that take more than one, two, three, milk.”

  “Okay.”

  “What exactly do you have to do for those women?”

  “It’s complicated. So much is getting them out of their heads. It’s really not even physical with those women. It might mean doing the exact same one, two, three, only a whole lot longer than usual.”

  “But is there a four, five, six?”

  “It depends on the woman.”

  “What are the variables?”

  “Fuck, man. The variables?”

  “What else can you throw into the pot if one, two, and three don’t seem to be bearing fruit?”

  “You just gotta get her completely out of her head, like I said. A woman like that is just hung up on something. Insecure. Scared. I dunno. You gotta get her over it, whatever it is.”

  “How do you do that? What’s been your strategy?”

  “You gotta wear her down. Surprise her. Kill her with foreplay. Mess with her head a little bit. Surprise her.”

  “Shock and awe?”

  “Shock and awe. And tease her. That’s good, too. Oh, here’s something good: don’t let her have multiple orgasms, man. Let it build for so long and hard she literally can’t control herself when she finally gets off. If you do that, she’ll have no choice but to squirt all over you.”

  “Why do you know how to do this?”

  “I’ve been doing it a long time, man.”

  “How long?”

  “It happened by accident when I was nineteen. And I was like, holy shit. So I kinda figured out what I did, retraced my steps, and then I tried it again. And it worked again. And then on the next girl I fucked, I tried it again, the exact same way, and it worked again. But on the next girl, the fourth girl, it suddenly didn’t work. So it took me a half-dozen tries on her to figure it out—it turned out that spot inside her was in a slightly different place—back a little. But then, boom. I figured it out. Squirt. So it kind of clicked for me. I was like, ‘Oh, it’s a magic button.’ Then I went on this epic rampage and just started doing it to every girl I met—trial and error for about a year, and got it down to a science. After that, it was off to the races, every fucking time I wanted.”

  “How many women have you done this to?”

  “Hmm. A couple hundred I guess.”

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “No. I’ve been doing it since I was nineteen, man. I’m forty now.”

  “And you’ve seriously made a couple hundred women squirt?”

  “Yep.”

  “All on command?”

  “No, some of them went off without me doing it to them. That’s just how they were wired. But, mostly, yeah.”

  I’m speechless for a minute. The guy’s not particularly good-looking. How the fuck has a guy like him gotten that much pussy in his lifetime?

  “Are you there?” Sam asks. “Are we done, man? I wanna go smoke a bowl.”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Hang on. I’m not done.”

  “You ask a lot of questions, man. I think that’s all I’ve got for a hundred bucks.”

  I suppress the urge to say “fuck you.” “Another hundred?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hang on.” I make the payment.

  “Got it.”

  “How have you managed to convince so many women to sleep with you?” I ask. “I mean, you’re not exactly a Fitness Magazine cover model.”

  “Oh, and I’m sure you are, man.” He snorts.

  I smirk to myself.

  “It’s easy. You don’t have to be some meathead-muscle guy to get chicks. You just have to know how to fuck ’em right. Word of mouth can get a guy a ton of pussy.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. If you’re not the best looking guy, don’t give up hope.”

  “Thanks, man. I appreciate that.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Is that what happened for you? Word of mouth?”

  “Yeah. Word got around about what I can do and women started lining up. No exaggeration. Over the years, a girlfriend of mine would say, ‘I was telling my friend Ashley about what you can do to me and she wants you to show her. Will you do it?’ And I’d be like, ‘I guess so. Sure. Tell Ashley I’ll do it if she really wants me to.’ Or I’d be on a date and the girl would say, ‘I’m just not that into you, Sam, sorry.’ So I’d say, ‘Fair enough, baby. But just FYI, befo
re you walk away, you should know I can make any woman squirt on command.’ And a good half the time, no matter who she was, no matter how hot, she’d say, ‘Oh yeah? Prove it, asshole.’ And boom. Squirt. It’s a handy talent to have, I gotta say. A pretty neat parlor trick.”

  “But that’s the main thing I want to ask you about, Sam. Is it a parlor trick for you—like you push this particular button on a woman-computer and cum squirts out the chute? Or is a squirting orgasm the culmination of sexual pleasure for these women—the absolute pinnacle of the female sexual experience?”

  “Huh?”

  I pause, trying to figure out how to make myself clear. “Are you tapping into their deepest desires and releasing the ultimate pleasure for them, or just eliciting an involuntary, knee-jerk reaction?”

  There’s a long pause. “What’s the difference?”

  What’s the difference? Holy fuck, is he mentally deficient? I don’t know how I can make myself any clearer. “I mean when you make a woman squirt, is she doing it because she’s having an involuntary but unavoidable physical response to you stroking her Skene’s gland in a specific way—like how your knee reflexively kicks up when the doctor bangs below your kneecap? In other words, you’re quite literally milking her? Or, in the alternative, are you catapulting these women into the greatest ecstasy they’ve ever known, by far, which therefore makes their body release in a whole new way and literally explode with cum?”

  “I’m not sure I follow the difference.”

  I exhale with exasperation. “Sam, are you giving these women the best orgasm of their entire life or are you just pushing a button that makes liquid reflexively shoot out of them?”

  There’s another long pause that tells me everything I need to know. The dude is literally just milking these women, plain and simple. It has nothing to do with excellence or aspiration or delivering them unto ecstasy. It has nothing to do with experiencing the culmination of human experience. It’s not his art.

  What a fucking crock.

  And what a fucking dick.

  “Well, kind of... both, I guess,” he says. But I don’t believe he’s capable of truly understanding the difference.

  “Have you ever made a woman squirt during intercourse—through pounding her G-spot with your cock at exactly the right angle? Or while going down on her for twenty minutes? Or is it always just fingering them for three minutes up front and that’s it?”