“And?”
“We don’t need this sort of relationship. We have plenty of other things to talk about. We don’t have to continue in this way. Unless you want to.”
“What do you want?”
He laughed again. “Whatever you’re willing to give. Darling, it was plenty of fun for me but I love to talk to you. It’s up to you how we proceed now. By the way, you looked ravishing at the symphony tonight.”
My voice shot up an octave. “Oh, my God. Please don’t tell me you’re that creepy Realtor. Or that you even know him. No, of course you’re not. Your voice is different…sorry, I’m rambling. You were there?”
“I have my sources.” He paused. “What I’m saying, Jo, is that you should be in a real relationship. I’d be jealous, of course. But I don’t want you to feel…obligated to me in any way.”
“You’re trying to drop me, aren’t you?”
“In a way, yes. I don’t want to lose you. I hope I won’t. That we’ll be friends. I accept that you don’t want to meet. This is entirely on your terms.”
I dropped my head into my free hand and groaned. “I don’t know that we can go back. I’m not really clear what we’re arguing about.”
“I’m not sure we’re even arguing. I don’t want you to get hurt by our…affair.”
“Affair. You’re so old school.”
“Yes, I am. How would you define our relationship?”
“I don’t know. Does it matter? It is what it is, whatever that might be.” I paused. “If I did fuck someone, what then?”
“You mean, should you tell me?”
“Yes.”
“If you wanted to.”
“Tell you or…describe it to you?”
“Whatever you feel like doing.”
He kept throwing the ball back into my court, giving me the control—or pretending to give me the control.
“I might ask you to do the same. Tell me about an encounter you had. Would you do that?”
“If you asked, yes. Gladly.”
I stood, pushing my feet into my shoes and reaching for my shawl. “Let me think about it. I should go home. I’m glad you called.” I was a bit scared. We seemed to have moved very fast into kink territory and what alarmed me most was how it excited me. Kimberly had once said that even ordinary people have the most bizarre sex lives, that a huge amount of kinky stuff goes on in nice normal neighborhoods between nice normal people. I’d asked her what her preferences were, not really believing her, challenging her.
She had leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Woof. Woof.”
Then we’d both collapsed in giggles. But ever since then, my mind had opened up to the possibilities. I’d wondered. I’d been curious.
And now here was my chance to go on my own voyage of discovery and storytelling and while it was exhilarating I was scared by it. Would I regret not going on the kink voyage when I was old and gray (although Kimberly assured me the old hippies were the best—or the worst—depending on how you looked at it)? Would Sinbad have regretted never taking the voyage?
“Before you go…” He cleared his throat. “Very high heels and stockings with seams, my source said. Real stockings?”
“No. Thigh-highs.”
“Ah. No garter belt, then. A pity.”
I smiled at the regret in his voice. “But with no panties,” I lied, and pushed my ordinary white cotton pair down. Not quite a lie.
“No panties at the symphony?” He laughed.
“I’m sure I wasn’t the only one. The orchestra was pretty good tonight. I don’t know if your source actually listened to the music. Maybe he spent the whole night looking at my legs.”
“My source also mentioned your nipples.”
“Your source needs a cold shower.”
“Jo?”
“Hmm?” The air had shifted, or so it felt, although the studio was perfectly warm and comfortable. My nipples were erect.
“Show me.”
“Show you what?”
“Take off your top.”
I turned on the speaker to the phone and untied the halter top. It slithered down my torso in a caress of satin.
“That rustling sound…”
“My skirt.”
“Ah. And your nipples…”
“Erect. Very hard. Dark pink like raspberries. I’m pinching them.”
“Good. Are you standing or sitting?”
“Standing.”
“Spread your legs. Can you feel the air on your cunt?”
It was the first time he’d ever used the word, the first time I’d ever liked a man to say it to me. The contrast between his cultured voice and the crudeness of the word made me shiver.
“Now lift your skirt. Tuck it up, if you can, so you can keep your hands on your breasts. I want to see you exposed, the contrast of the black stockings against your skin. That rustling is supremely erotic, by the way.”
“Say it again,” I whispered, my skirt tucked up.
“What?”
“Talk about my cunt. Please.”
“Your cunt.” I could hear the smile in his voice. That’s what we say in the business, when you want to convey an upbeat attitude on mic. Put a bit of smile in it.
“Your cunt,” he repeated. “I’m imagining your hair looks very dark against the white of your legs. Quite a lot of hair. You’re not the sort of woman who’d shave or wax it into submission. Is your cunt wet, Jo?”
“Yes. I want to touch myself.”
“Not yet. Can you come from touching your breasts?”
I moaned and rocked my pelvis forward. I thought of the pinkness and wetness between my legs, my clit a hard splinter of nerve endings. I pressed my middle finger hard against my nipple as though it was my clit, rotating.
“That’s right, darling. Get yourself off.”
“Talk to me,” I gasped. “I’ll come if you talk to me.”
The studio door banged open, and I blinked as the room flooded with light.
Jason stood there, his mouth hanging open at the sight of me.
I stood there for a moment, horrified, my fingers stilled, before I lunged forward and disconnected the call. I fumbled to pull my top up, my skirt down.
“I’m sorry—” Jason mumbled. He had an erection; I could see it distending his jeans.
“No, I’m sorry. Oh, fuck.” I could get fired for this.
“I was…uh, I didn’t think you were here.”
“I didn’t know anyone else was here.” My fingers shook as I tied the halter top. “I’m leaving now.”
I grabbed my shawl and purse, mortified, further embarrassed by having to scoop my panties from the floor. I’d find another phone and call a cab. I’d wait for it outside, braving the freezing temperature, rather than having to face Jason after what he’d seen.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. I walked toward the door, toward him, discovering it was almost impossible not to walk with a sexy sway in the shoes.
“Uh. It’s okay. It was hot.” Jason blushed. He backed away from me. “You’re hot.”
I stopped. I needed a real man, a flesh-and-blood man. Just for tonight.
And then I can tell Mr. D. about it.
I guess I was ready for this journey, after all.
“Jason, I need a ride home.”
4
HE STUTTERED AN ANSWER—SURE, YES, YEAH—and jingled his keys in the fidgety sort of way men do, particularly young, hyper guys, and led the way outside. We both fumbled around with the lock and the alarm, jerking our hands away when we made contact with each other.
I hoped Jason was as nervous as I was.
Once outside the fresh air hit my exposed and overstimulated pussy with a cold burn and I clamped my legs together. Another icy caress as I climbed into the front seat of Jason’s pickup and then I squealed as the cold vinyl of the seats hit my thighs.
“You okay?” Jason looked at me with concern.
“Yeah, I’m cold.”
“I’ll turn the h
eater on when the engine’s warm.”
“Thanks.”
We set off, me very conscious of every bump and ridge in the road, which seemed to address my clitoris with a blatant reminder of what I was about to do. As we neared the all-night drugstore in town, Jason slowed.
“Do you, ah, have, ah, you know, should I…” He looked uncertain. After all, from his point of view I hadn’t exactly spelled out what I wanted him to do. Maybe he thought he was giving the radio station’s eccentric squealing masturbator a ride home after which we’d say good-night to each other and he’d drive off with a merry toot of his horn.
I’d be tooting his horn for sure.
“No, it’s fine, I have, uh, you know,” I replied fluently. Unless he wanted to buy himself a toothbrush? I think I had a spare somewhere. “Thanks for asking,” I added.
We arrived at my house before the truck had reached anywhere near normal temperature, and I eased myself from the seat, relieved that my skin did not separate from the vinyl with a loud, rude sound. Once again the shock of frigid air hit my crotch and I scuttled for the front door, with Jason behind me.
He stood very close to me as I inserted the key into the lock, not touching me, but close, and it would have been damned sexy if he hadn’t been wearing a down jacket. There might actually have been some contact. But I got the door open and lunged for the lights and the thermostat.
Brady appeared, mewed and collapsed on his side in front of Jason.
“Is your cat okay? He just fell over.”
“Yes, he does that to people he likes.”
“Cool.” Jason bent down to pet him.
“Let me take your jacket,” I said, the perfect hostess, and relieved Jason of his jacket—he put his gloves carefully in the pockets, which I thought was rather sweet. He hung his messenger bag on the rack next to his jacket, removing his cell phone.
“I have to…”
“Oh, sure.” I left him to make his call, wondering who it was to. Not a girlfriend, I hoped. Or his mother, which would be even worse. I went into the kitchen to feed Brady, who transferred his affection from our guest to me, weaving around my legs as I tipped kibble into his bowl.
Jason came into the kitchen. He didn’t offer an explanation for his call, which was none of my business anyway, and looked around. “Nice place.”
“Thanks.” The perfect asexual inner hostess kicked in at this point and I asked him if he’d like something to eat—I swear the words just popped out of my mouth—while in the back of my head the slutty hostess shouted, Get him upstairs! Remind him you’re not wearing panties! Unzip him!
“Uh, no, I’m fine.”
I found myself gazing at the banana in my fruit bowl on the kitchen table—Freud would have had a field day with me—and reminded myself sternly to think about the matter at hand. While I attempted to figure out my next move, I picked up the container of cat food to replace it in the cabinet.
And then, proving that one of us had some sense, he came up close behind me—I could feel his warmth, and the nudge of his erection against my butt. His hands slid up my sides. “You are so hot,” he whispered.
I grabbed the edge of the counter, weak-kneed as his mouth moved over my neck, warm and tickling. I turned my head to kiss him, whimpering a little as his hands cupped my breasts. His mouth was nice, gentle and sweet.
I turned in his arms. “Let’s go upstairs.” The slutty hostess had won the fight.
I led him upstairs, enjoying the swish of the taffeta skirt and the assertive clip of the high-heeled shoes on the wooden stairs, and into my room.
He was right behind me, breathing fast. I wondered if he could see up the skirt and decided that as soon as I could I’d bend over in front of him, or part my legs accidentally.
“Okay, Jason.” I turned and he almost bumped into me. “You may undress.”
He gave a huge grin, which made me think that maybe I hadn’t sounded like as much of a dominant bitch as I’d intended. “Sure.” He took off his shirt. Nice chest, a scatter of hair; not superdefined, but pleasant to look at.
I reclined on the bed, one leg outstretched, the other bent, with my wrist resting on the knee. I wanted to see whether he’d angle himself to look up my skirt.
He did, taking a couple of steps towards the end of the bed, ostensibly to put his shirt on the wooden chest at the foot of the bed. The bulge in his jeans, which seemed to be more or less permanent—or had at least been there in the twenty minutes or so since our first encounter at the radio station—seemed even more prominent. He bent to unlace his boots and kick off his socks, then put a hand to his belt buckle.
Show-off. Delicious show-off.
He snapped the button of his Levi’s and unzipped, sliding the jeans down his legs and kicking them away. He wore gray knit boxers that clung to every contour and ridge. Very impressive.
He hooked a thumb into the waistband and looked at me. Then he looked up my skirt again and swallowed.
I slid off the bed and unzipped the skirt, leaving me in my heels and stockings and the silk halter-neck top. I reached into the bedside cabinet drawer for a condom and walked over to him, conscious again of the sexy sway the shoes gave me. I ran my finger down the underside of his cock, through the cotton knit.
He moaned.
I pulled his underwear down his thighs and he stepped out of them, his cock bouncing slightly as it was freed. It was gorgeous, rigid and curving, a drop of pre-come welling at the tip.
He smiled, but his breath came fast. “Can we…”
“Sure.” I pushed him onto the chest at the end of the bed. It had a padded top, kind to the knees. I knew. This was how I wanted him. I stood astride his thighs and kissed him, not the gentle way he’d kissed me, but deep and carnal and wet, while his hands roamed over my breasts and thighs and butt. One hand slipped between my legs and his breath hitched when he found how wet I was and it was my turn to moan as he took a finger to my clit.
I sheathed him in the condom and placed one knee beside him, easing him into me. He gripped my hips hard. “Go slow,” he said, then looked embarrassed. “I mean, I don’t want it to be over too soon. I want it to be good for you.”
“’S okay.” I was very close to coming, as though I was a pot that had been about to boil when Jason had interrupted me at the radio station and now had full heat beneath it. My body had forgotten about the intervening embarrassment and awkwardness and now wanted to go back to where we’d left off. But Jason inside me, that unexpected, delightful presence curving inside me, jerking a little as I moved—I wanted to hold the moment, concentrate on the gorgeous slide and retreat as we fucked.
He untied the halter-neck top and let it fall, lifting a breast to his mouth to suck the nipple. The sensation shot to my clitoris. “Keep doing that. Harder.”
I ground myself on him and came so hard it hurt.
“Christ! I felt that.” And he thrust up as I gripped him, his eyes dark and wide, and shuddered as he came.
I collapsed on his shoulder, coming back into the present and becoming aware of my breathing, his breathing, the rapid thud of his pulse, the scent of our sweat and bodies. He sighed and nudged me. “Jo, I’d better…”
The condom. Of course. He reached to kiss me on the lips—a friendly sort of gesture, for which I was glad—as I untangled myself from him. I crawled onto the bed, leaving the shoes behind, and slid the stockings off. I resisted the temptation to ask him what he’d like to do next, in case he suggested we watch MTV or say he wanted to sleep. I was pretty much wide-awake and I wanted him again.
“Was that okay?” he asked, settling onto the bed next to me.
“Better than okay.” I wondered how experienced he was.
“Cool.” He grinned. “I’ve wanted to do that since I met you.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No. No, I’m not.” He touched my breast, making small circles around the nipple, and gave a small sound of satisfaction as it stiffened and darkened. “You’re g
orgeous. Sexy. I can’t believe I’m here with you.”
His cock stirred. I reached down and took him in my hand, squeezing gently. I sat up and ran my hands over him, exploring his planes and surfaces. He twitched away as I kissed his nipple, then settled back, sighing. I kissed his belly and thighs, deliberately ignoring his erection, while he stroked my breasts and shoulders.
“Tell me what you want,” he said after we’d kissed awhile.
I reached for another condom.
“Don’t you want more foreplay?” he said earnestly, as though I wasn’t conforming to some textbook of female erotic behavior.
“Sometimes I like hours of it. Right now I want to be fucked.”
“Okay!” He took the condom and rolled it onto himself, then pushed me onto my back, eager to show me what he could do. And for an exercise in stamina, it wasn’t bad, lots of nice sweaty thrusting and flexing and groaning from both of us.
“Have you come yet?” he asked after a while.
“I don’t come like this.” I rubbed my foot up and down his back.
“Shit. Why didn’t you say?”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t enjoying it. I am.”
“What should I do?”
“Keep doing what you’re doing.”
“But I…” His hips were moving again. “I want you to…”
“Jason, just shut up and fuck me, okay?”
He stopped, shocked, and then grinned. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Cool.”
I was a bit worried about his lack of vocabulary for a couple of seconds before he started fucking me in earnest, and hurtled to a climax before collapsing on top of me.
“That was…that was great,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows. “What would you like me to do now?”
My mind wandered off onto some stuff I’d read somewhere about dominatrices who made their submissives do the laundry or clean the bathroom, but it seemed like a waste of good manpower. I had this gorgeous, unstoppable young male in my bed, all puppy eyes and eagerness, willing to do whatever I wanted, and—
“Jason, I hope you don’t feel I’m using you.”
He looked up from my nipples—very enterprising, while I was thinking of a reply, he had taken the initiative to start kissing his way down my body. “No. I like you. I think you’re…”
Tell Me More Page 4
