Screwing With Perfect

by Louisa Trent

  And the two fingers inside her continued to move.

  "Drew," she said hoarsely, the friction inside her now sensitized vagina making her squirm.

  "Lie still," he barked.

  A click, then a small yellow flame, as Drew held a cigarette lighter high above her head. "Look down at yourself," he demanded.

  She did quickly, just as quickly turning her eyes away from the sight of her naked body splayed on the box, her legs open wide, her nipples red and pointing, her belly rising and falling like an animal in heat.

  "I told you to look," he said on a harsh croak.

  "Drew, no ... I ... I can't." Her eyes closed tight.

  His voice went from harsh to brutal. "Do it."

  Understanding he had the capacity to end the evening right there and then, her averted head jerked back to the sexually explicit positioning of her body. At his command, her lids came up and she saw him--or rather, she saw the top of his blond head, which she reached out and clutched as his beard rasped against her pubic hair. The stroke of his tongue at the cleft then, the bite on the inside fold, a tug of teeth on the clit, a surge deep within her.

  She didn't fight the climax, but she did clamp down on the urge to scream.

  He looked up at her, his hand still between her separated legs, all but disappeared inside the tufts of light brown pubic hair.

  "Your pelt is glistening with arousal," he said. "The lips of your cunt are plump and juicy, swollen with excitement. So is your clit. And your tits--they must hurt, they're so engorged. Pinch one while I watch."

  Transfixed--no, hypnotized by the tenor of his voice--she balanced herself on one bent arm and took her nipple between index finger and thumb.

  Her head fell back, her mouth open, but, too aroused to speak, she pinched the distended tip of her breast.

  "Push your ass down towards me some more," he whispered.

  Unable to help herself, totally in his spell, her bottom lifted from the box and slid forward, the heels of her feet hovering at the very edge of the box.

  "That's right," he coaxed, as her buttocks were slowly invaded by his smallest finger, while the two in her vagina were joined by a third, the thumb pressed to her clit. Writhing, sobbing, she came again on a bloodcurdling scream.

  Wrung-out and panting, vaginal moisture dripping down her open thighs, her hand fell limply off her breast to hang down the side. No longer able to support her weight, she collapsed backwards on the box, her other arm toppling over the edge of the box too.

  "Please fuck me," she begged.

  The fingers were withdrawn from her openings, and she heard the blessed metal scrape of a zipper, heard the lighter snap closed, felt two hands on the interiors of her upper thighs prying her further apart until her knees very nearly touched cardboard, leaving her as open and vulnerable as a woman can get.

  The blunt head of his penis circled her; her vaginal folds wept for him.

  "Do it hard," she said ruthlessly. "And once you start, don't stop."

  "I won't," he promised.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Kesley's face was turned to the side, the slant of her jaw pressed to cardboard. This was his second time in, and they had yet to make it out of the kitchen.

  Next time, the bed.

  And the next time he would have to come.

  Drew swept the perspiration-soaked bangs away from Kesley's eyes. She wanted it hard and that's how she was getting it. From the rear this time, feet on the floor, belly and breasts flattened to the top of the box, head pillowed on her arms.

  He gave her another solid stroke.

  "Harder," she panted, coming up on her arms.

  Straining, she pushed back against his aching balls, forcing his cock in deeper, her luscious wet cunt milking him, head to base.

  Head thrown back, he growled into the darkness. Hurting, knowing she was hurting too, and knowing he wasn't stopping until she told him to.

  What the hell had gotten into her ... other than him?

  With a grunt, he hammered up and in again.

  This wasn't the gentle lovemaking he had planned. Not even close. And as his pelvis rocked, his cock driving with a force he had never before used with any woman, his long-held image of perfect was smashed to smithereens. For ten years he'd thought that what they'd had was perfect, and it was perfect.

  Perfectly sweet.

  And perfectly unreal. This, what they were doing in this dark kitchen, though far from sweet, left perfect in the dust.

  "Un-un-un," he grunted as he invaded her honey-wet cunt and she sobbed on the threshold of climax, the guttural noises of fucking, as real as real could get.

  "It's happening," she wailed.

  Didn't he know it, and didn't it make him proud. How had he settled for ten years of perfect when he could have had this?

  Both hands on her waist, he rammed home, her fierce wail of pleasure so pure, so beautiful, so imperfect that he rushed the wall with her, both of them coming together on the same breathless scream.

  * * * *

  Kesley didn't know what time it was, didn't really care to know. In the dark bedroom, lost to everything but sensual sensation, time had stopped for her.

  "Where are you going?" she asked lazily when the mattress shifted, signifying Drew had left the bed where they'd both been dozing off and on between increasingly wild bouts of carnality.

  "To light a few candles," he apprised her.

  Men were such visual creatures! She wished she were something to look at and knew she was not.

  But Drew was. By candlelight, she watched the tall, blond, incredibly handsome man return to her, a little brown mouse. No wonder he wasn't smiling, no wonder he looked so intense.

  "The other way," he said.

  Languid after her nap, replete on sex, she flopped over onto her belly. Her smallish freckled nose buried in the rumpled sheets, breathing in the scent of carnality, she had no vanity about a body that would never be beautiful. Serviceable was as much as she could ever hope for and she didn't mind for herself; she only minded for Drew. He was used to better.

  "I'm not using a condom," he said from behind her. "Don't worry. I'm no health risk to you."

  Her reply was an ennui-laced shrug; she trusted Drew with her life.

  His warm hands massaged her bottom. "And there's no chance you'll get pregnant," he said, voice deeper than usual.

  Of course not, she thought complacently; she had already seen to birth control.

  She realized birth control was a moot point when he spread her open in back and fingered her anus.

  "Any objections?" he asked.

  "None," she drolly replied. "I need all the experience I can cram in a night."

  "Speaking of cramming, it will be a tight fit. You've got a delicate little hole back here, sweetheart." The finger pressed and entered.

  She sighed.

  "Feel good?"

  "Mmm..."

  "I want it with you," he said, sounding bemused. "I usually don't."

  "Oh, no?" she said, curious about his revelation and curious too how they could so openly discuss anal intercourse and yet could not discuss his past or their lack of a future. "Why not? Too labor intensive, Mr. Slip-On Loafers?"

  He chuckled. "Something like that."

  She heard him swallow. "Come up some more."

  "Like this?" she asked raising her bottom.

  "More. Do you mind? I'd like to see it go in."

  The visual again.

  And here she was such a mess! Her hair had to be sticking up in every direction, and though she wasn't semen-coated, she had yet to shower. She was sweaty and lust-scented, and plain ... even on a good day.

  "No, I don't mind." Straightening her arms, she came up on all fours.

  "Christ, Kes," he rasped, and moved in closer, his finger jerking erratically in and out of her anus. "What you do to me."

  At what he was doing to her, her breasts, elongated because of the positioning, started to swing.

  Noticing
, he growled and batted one. Not playfully. Not like a man with a toy; like a man unable to help himself.

  She smiled. She wasn't pretty, but she did enjoy sex, at least she did with Drew, and she purred in appreciation when he said, "Gotta have your clit too."

  She widened her legs for him. "Can you get at it?"

  "Go down a little more."

  More was something she understood.

  For him, she went down all the way. Her face in the pillow, her bottom raised, her lover's heavy breathing praise in and of itself. As a diligent finger was applied to the top of her sex, she felt sensual, powerful within herself, a woman strength, a female's confidence in her own sexuality. At that moment, she felt more than pretty; she felt beautiful.

  "Oh, yes," she said and licked her lips, loving the tension building inside her but not nearly as much as she loved the man providing that tension. When he ministered to her with fragrant oils, ecstasy loomed on the horizon, and she rolled her hips in earthy delight.

  "Kes, Kes, Kes!"

  At that moment, when Drew rasped her name, she championed all plain women everywhere, and she smiled with pride. Her gorgeous lover may have bedded a bushel of beauties in his past, but he was here with serviceable her now!

  The finger inside the crevice was removed, replaced with something much wider, much thicker, something that rubbed insistently.

  "You feel so good, so good," he moaned, and made the penetration.

  She shuddered as her body drew him in, shuddered and quaked, and loved it, sobbing just how much she loved it, her ass filled with him, his hands all over her, his mouth open on her nape, his teeth bared against her skin, their bodies moving in perfect rhythm right up to the moment they screamed.

  * * * *

  It was still dark outside when Kes turned to him and said, "I should go, give you time to get ready to leave."

  "I don't have to leave yet, sweetheart." He tugged her closer, her bottom glued to his groin. "It's only just dawn. We still have a couple of hours. There's time."

  She didn't ask how that time would be spent. They both knew what he wanted.

  Kes was on her side. He raised her leg, folded her knee back against her belly, palmed her opening, all five digits delving deep into her swollen folds

  Arching her spine, she stayed quiet while he coated his fingers with her secretions, showing no shock whatsoever when afterwards he brought those same five digits to his mouth and licked her honey. "You taste so good."

  "Such compliments! I swear, you'll turn my head." She chuckled. Then Kesley, the seriously goal-oriented woman he loved, said: "Just tell me how you want it."

  How to tell her, without sounding crass, that he wanted to make her sticky. How to explain, without dirtying up something pure, that he wanted his pubic hair melded to her, meshed to her, like during anal. He loved her sticky, her buttocks and inner thighs coated with his semen. How to let her know she was never more beautiful to him than when she wore his cum. After anal, she had showered. He deeply regretted letting her wash his cum down the drain.

  Drew took Kesley's mouth, her honey on his lips. She moaned into the kiss, her hand reaching for his cock.

  Breaking contact, he rolled her to her back, then kneeled between her open thighs. She polished his knob for a while, and when he was all nice and shiny, gave him a yank.

  "Come inside," she ordered.

  The well-being of his woman had to come before his own wants. "Your pussy's sore."

  She didn't deny it.

  "My mouth?" she suggested, so sexy, so earnestly sexy, he almost exploded, the fierceness of his possessiveness nearly undoing him. On his knees, he sent up a reverent thank you to whatever God or Karma or magic that had sent this woman into his life.

  His hot eyes turned to slits. "Keep doing what you're doing, sweetheart," he croaked, letting her masturbate him, letting her see him weak and hungry, letting her take charge.

  "Yeah, oh yeah." His balls were cradled in her palm while her other palm milked him good and hard, picking up speed as his own hands hung limply at his sides, as helpless as a babe, as turned-on as a man, so owned by her that he might just as well hang a "Sold" sign around his neck. He was off the meat market, never to return. Why fuck around when he had already found perfect?

  When pain gave way to pleasure, he pulled back, took himself in hand, and pumped his cock once. He exploded, the semen a hot shot sprayed between her legs where she was too swollen for him to go.

  Afterwards--that is, while he was still trying to catch his breath, his chest heaving like a sick bull--she jumped off the bed and into her clothes.

  "Well, now I really do need to go. I have a date with Ted tonight after our singles meeting and I can't do a thing with my hair. A trim at the hair salon, and I'll be all set to try out my new skills on him."

  What? Wait--she sounded like she was cutting him out of her life the same way she was cutting her hair. They'd just spent the night making love. Didn't it mean the same thing to her as it meant to him?

  "Thanks Drew. For everything. Ted can show me the rest. Don't bother seeing me to the door."

  Making love couldn't have meant anything to her. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to dismiss them--him--like he was nothing but garbage, worthless trash that got chucked like a used condom. Is that all he was to her? A cock with no man attached?

  It all came down on him then. Everything bad that had ever been done to him as a little boy, all the stuff he'd had to do on the streets as a kid to get by, all the shitty crap he experienced as a young man, the degradation he tried not to think about, hit him all at once. As Kesley breezed out the door, exiting easily from his life, Drew crumbled facedown on the bed.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Cosmopolitan storefronts dotted Centre Street, Jamaica Plain. The grocery shops--some expensive and gourmet, some cheap and funky--represented every ethnic taste. The same eclectic diversity held true for the bars and cafes and restaurants. Once Drew had tried to count the different languages he heard on the sidewalk or saw in print at the corner newsstand, only to decide every dialect under the sun could be had on the busy street. Barbershops and beauty parlors made a bundle catering to the wants of their hodgepodge clientele, straightening kinky hair, kinking up straight hair, dying and cutting every length and texture of hair. Jamaica Plain lived and breathed and celebrated its multi-cultural citizenry, joyfully thumbing its collective nose at suburban homogeny. This part of Boston was a mixed bag of skin pigments and incomes and social strata and sexual orientation and age groups. This one, long, alive street, was walked by the well-heeled and the down-trodden. Textbook toting college students waited for the same streetcar with old folks pushing two-wheeled metal shopping carts. An occasional homeless person shuffled along with a bagful of worldly possessions. As Drew waited outside the world's best ice cream parlor, he acknowledged he wouldn't live anywhere else.

  Unless it was with Kesley.

  He'd live anywhere on the planet then. Who cared where the welcome mat sat as long as the door he walked through brought him to her?

  Drew checked his watch.

  Kes must be running late. 'Course, he'd arrived extra early. He hoped she got his message about meeting him here.

  He'd gotten in sometime after midnight, too late for a visit, but not for a call. Just as he'd done several times a day for the past week, he'd picked up the phone and had a nice one-way chat with Kesley's answering machine. And once again, she didn't return his call. Would she meet him or would she blow him off?

  He was pacing the sidewalk in a caged-animal circle when he caught a glimpse of Kes walking towards him. With a purple silk scarf wound around her lovely throat and a skinny straight black skirt and tall high heels, she looked sophisticated, stylish, Parisian even. Apart from the love angle, he'd always been able to tell Kesley's emotional state about other things. So, regardless of how beautiful she looked, even at a distance, he knew in his gut something was wrong.

  Worried for her, happy to see
her, so much in love with her he felt high on an adrenaline rush, he raced to meet her.

  Rather than the warm kiss on the lips they'd always exchanged, she dodged his mouth and raised her cheek.

  "I missed you," he blurted despite the lip rejection. "You look different."

  "I lightened my hair and did some shopping on Newbury Street," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She spun in place. "You like?"

  This was all Ted's doing. She'd done this for the hemorrhoidal asshole. "Why wouldn't I like it? I always like how you look. You're beautiful, Kesley."

  "Thank you. That's so sweet. Ted likes the new me too."

  Ted. The bogus shit. What did Drew care what that little fuck liked?

  The diamond ring lump in Drew's pocket matched the lump in his throat. Had Kes and Ted become lovers while he was gone?

  "Your hair and stuff look nice, Kes." Anger boiled over. "But there was nothing fuckin' wrong with the way you looked before."

  "Sorry. I shouldn't have blown up like that." Drew looked down, blotting out the image of Kesley with the smarmy jerk Ted.

  "How's about an ice cream?" he asked the sidewalk. "Double scoop chocolate mocha cone, my treat. I'll try not to get any jimmies stuck to my chin like usual."

  "No, I'm afraid I can't. Ted and I have a date tonight and I need to clear out my desk at work before he comes over to the apartment."

  "Clear out your desk? What the hell are you talking about?"

  "I'm taking a leave of absence. The job just drained me, you know?"

  "What the frig? I know you've been down in the dumps lately, but you love your work."

  "I'm re-assessing my career path. I'm thinking law school come the fall."

  "You hate lawyers!"

  "There's money in law."

  "Since when have you cared about money?"

  "I have to grow up. Ted has child support payments."

  Drew rammed his hands in his pockets, felt the ring box. "Does Ted make you happy?"