Gisele Vs. Guitar Hero

by Mona Cox

  "Death by Gisele's ass is the best fucking way to go," Stone says, his lips kissing my forehead.

  It's so tender, and every sensation I'm already feeling has me on overload, I almost feel like I'm going to cry. I take a deep breath and push away that feeling. "You feel so amazing," I manage to say instead.

  Stone's thumb strokes my cheek. "You do," he says. His voice is low. "I'm going to fill your gorgeous ass up with my cum. You're going walk out of here loaded up with everything my cock has to offer. Only you and I will know what a hot secret that'll be," he says, and he sucks in his lower lip and captures it with his teeth. I'm stilling rolling through fields of the endless orgasmic sensations that his cock in my ass seems to put on repeat, but watching him come undone is making me shake harder. I thought him singing my name was sensual? I feel his balls load up against my ass and his cock go from rock hard, to steel hard, to hot titanium, and I'm stunned. Hot, thick loads of his cum shoot deep inside me. The raw, primal sensation of him coming in my ass is so erotic. But his face is the most sensual, beautiful, incredible thing I've ever seen. Stone is practically etched with visual poetry, the way his face contorts in pleasure at the massive orgasm he unloads in my ass.

  Stone's eyes capture mine, and hands dig into my back. He growls, loud, a roaring sound for a thundering orgasm that he's pounding into me. I'm falling apart around him and he's nearly emptied his balls into me. Without his death grip holding me up, I'd flop onto the floor like a pile of limbs.

  When he's finally coming down from his own intense orgasm, he pulls his cock out. I gasp loudly when I'm empty ... well, his cock is gone but my ass is so full of his cum, I guess I couldn't exactly call me empty. Stone yanks my dress down and pulls me against him, holding me. "You okay, Gisele?" he asks me.

  I'm trembling in the aftershocks of our incredible adventure here. Holy fucking hell, I can't believe what we just did. I can't believe how hard I came. I can't believe how much he came inside my ass. I can't believe how goddamn sexy he looked unloading in my ass. Or how hot the way he held onto me before and is holding onto me now is.

  "You okay?" Stone repeats.

  I snap back to reality. He asked me that already. Guess I should respond instead of dozing off into la la land thinking about his magic cock and the never-ending orgasms.

  "Oh, yeah," I say. My eyes go wide. "That was incredible," I say with a small laugh.

  "Yeah, I've never fucked like this in my life. You do something to me, Gisele. Something you are welcome to do any time." Stone flashes that wide grin that makes me feel like I have legs made of jelly all over again. I straighten out my dress as best as I can. My thighs are sticky, my pussy is aching so good from use, and my ass is so full of Stone's cum I may weigh an extra pound with it inside of me.

  11

  Stone

  I’m laying on something cold. I feel around, opening my eyes slowly as I do so. Cold tile. Tiny little squares of cold tile. Why am I laying on a cold tile floor?

  I roll over, realizing that I’m in a public bathroom just as …

  “Gisele?” I say, jackknifing up into a sitting position. “Why are you…?” She’s pulling down her dress, like we’d just had sex. I look down at my crotch, and yeah, my cock seems like he was recently very, very, very happy. “Did we just have sex?” I ask.

  “Do you remember having sex?” she asks with a naughty grin.

  “No?” I say, questioningly. Because I don’t.

  “Well then, who can say?” She shrugs nonchalantly.

  I stare at her for a minute, trying to decide if she’s being serious or not. She just sends me a Cheshire cat grin as she pats her hair back into place in the bathroom mirror. I look up and down her smokin’ hot body, willing my brain to remember. Why can't I remember? I feel like I'm slowly going insane. I want to remember running my tongue up and down her body, over her clit, watch her as she arches her back in orgasm…

  My eyebrows shoot up as she hitches up her skirt and shimmies off her thong underwear. They’re positively dripping with pussy juice, so either we just fucked or she had a real good jerkoff session. One or the other…

  Pulling red lipstick out of her purse, she bends the frilly white thong with pink hearts over the bathroom sink and scrawls something on them. “Here you go, rock star,” she says, tossing the panties to me. “Give me a call sometime … when you want to have a damn good time that you’ll remember.”

  I catch the white and pink concoction automatically, staring after her as she sashays out of the bathroom, letting the door swing shut behind her. My eyes drop to her undies, balled up in my hands, and I smooth them out over my knee carefully, not wanting to smudge the lipstick.

  There, in bold but small numbers, is a phone number.

  I pull out my cell and quickly enter the number, before it can accidentally get smudged, and then carefully fold the damp panties up into a ball, shoving it into my pocket.

  This isn’t the first time a woman has thrown underwear at me (although usually I get bras, not panties), but I'll admit—this is the first time that I’ve wanted to keep the underwear in question. I’m already planning on getting myself off to them tomorrow. I may not be able to remember fucking Ms. Gisele Taylor, but I'll remember jacking off to her thong.

  And for now, that cold second is what I have to settle for.

  12

  Gisele

  It’s Friday night, and I’m binge watching “Orange is the New Black” on Netflix, but let’s be honest, I’m really just throwing a one-woman pity party for myself.

  #1 – I slept with Stone Slayer again, and he doesn’t remember it again (am I really that forgettable?);

  #2 – Work sucks even more than normal right now;

  #3 – Despite literally throwing my panties at Stone, he hasn’t called me. Or texted me. Or even, you know, sent me flowers. Or something. Something to let me know that he’s thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about him.

  Which, I’ll admit, is ridiculous. I really shouldn’t be thinking about him at all. Here is a man who quite literally cannot keep his cock in his pants, who's probably under criminal investigation—I make a mental note to look that up for my article—and, when he's awake, doesn’t seem to find me even slightly attractive. That, or he’s so used to having women throwing themselves at him that me tossing my panties at him, number scribbled in a brilliant red, doesn’t even register on his radar.

  To be perfectly honest, I don’t know which of those realities is the most depressing to me. I’m not exactly used to being forgettable.

  I run through my list of friends, trying to come up with someone who I a) want to hang out with enough to get off the couch and get dressed in order to go hang out with them, and b) isn’t snuggled up to some hot guy already. Even Kathy, one of my few remaining single friends—it really isn’t fair how many of my friends have been hooking up with some new guys recently—already has a date for tonight. Of course she has a date. She’s hot and she’s fun to be around, and all the guys drool whenever they get within five feet of her.

  I guess I could’ve gone on a date tonight. Greg from the legal department has been asking me out for ages, but I just can’t fathom wanting to go on a date with him enough to get my sorry ass off the couch and out of this tub of ice cream that I’ve practically emerged myself in.

  Hmmmm … bathing in ice cream …

  To be honest, it sounds super cold and sticky and one hell of a mess, but … on the other hand, oh-so-delicious.

  I stare down into the tub in my hands, ignoring Piper and Alex’s argument playing out on TV. How many tubs would I have to buy in order to fill my bath—

  My phone starts vibrating next to me on the couch. I jump three inches into the air. When I come back down with an ooof, I grab the phone, staring at the screen. It’s an unknown number, which probably means—okay, maybe means—Stone Slayer?

  “Hello?” My voice sounds confident. I’m so good at faking it, I almost believe it myself.

  “Hey
.” His silky smooth voice comes through the speaker clearly. “Is this the hot chick who signed her underwear with lipstick and then tossed them at me?”

  I stare at the far wall for a minute. Stone thinks he’s being funny, but I decide to be even funnier.

  “Yeah…?” I say, as if hesitating. “Sorry, which one is this?”

  “What?” he yelps, all suaveness gone.

  Yup, I definitely broke his shell of confidence. I grin to myself and start drawing on the arm of the couch lazily. Really, this is what he gets for waiting a week to call me.

  “Well, it’s kinda hard to keep track,” I say innocently. “Now, if you could just describe to me what your cock looks like, that’s how I would best remember which one you are.”

  “You want to know what my cock looks like, huh?” he says, and his rumbly deep voice is back. Despite my best intentions, a shiver runs down my spine at his words. “Long—really long, actually.”

  “Really long?” I repeat, my voice as breathy as his. I hate myself for that, but I close my eyes, shutting out “Orange is the New Black” and imagine his giant cock in my hands—in my mouth.

  Really long is actually an understatement, if we’re being truthful.

  “I think some women have even called it massive.” Now we’re getting closer to the truth. “A thick vein runs up the side of it and when I’m really turned on, the head turns this dark purple color, just begging to get inside of your pussy.”

  Well, my plan to tease the hell out of him has totally and utterly failed. In just minutes, I’ve gone from having the upper hand, to being this close to begging him to fuck me, and fuck me hard.

  This is not how this conversation was supposed to go.

  “You really liked running your tongue up the bottom side of my cock, and then playing with the crown of it, if I remember right,” he continues. “You—”

  “Hold on, you can’t remember us fucking!” I burst out, and then I hear him laughing. Dammit, he won. I cracked first and admitted I knew who he was.

  Dammit, dammit, dammit. I’m not used to losing.

  “So Gisele,” he says in a normal tone of voice again, “wanna go out with me tonight?”

  “I don’t know,” I say in a pouty tone of voice that grates even on my own ears. “What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking that I should surprise you. What is your street address?”

  Oh fuck!

  I get over my prissiness real quick as I realize what his words mean. If he’s going to come over here tonight, I cannot open the door in my PJs, a carton of ice cream in my hand. How pathetic would that be?

  As I vault off the couch and begin sprinting through the house, I do my best to keep my voice even as I give him my address. It wouldn’t do to huff and puff in his ear as I run. I begin yanking off my socks, hopping madly toward the bedroom as I go, because dammit it all, I was in the middle of my own pity party and dressed just how I like to attend them. OMG, can you even imagine me opening up the front door wearing Hello Kitty PJs and my warm fuzzy purple socks? I would die. Just die.

  “Cool. I’ll see you in fifteen, then,” he says. The phone goes dead and I toss it on my bed while simultaneously tearing through the clothes in my closet. It's time to wow Stone Slayer.

  It's time to make him wish I threw my panties at him every night.

  13

  Stone

  My driver pulls up in front of Gisele's apartment building and I tell him it’ll only be a moment as I step out of the stretch limo. Her apartment's … nice. Understated. Not the most glamorous address in the Manhattan phone book, but I’ve certainly seen worse. She's a reporter, not a rock star. It just means that when she does see my apartment, it’ll make an even bigger splash. I cannot wait for her to see the floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking the City …

  I hit the buzzer and I hear, “Hello?”

  “It’s Stone,” I say close to the speaker. I feel a little ridiculous; I’m not used to having to ask for entrance like this. Normally I have people who just make doors open for me. It’s their job. But tonight, I want to be just me. Well, me and my driver. Let’s not get crazy.

  “Oh, hey!” I hear a buzzing sound. “Come on up.”

  I climb the stairs—really, no elevator? She’s going to think my apartment is the epitome of luxury at this rate—and knock on her door. She pulls the door open with a wide, if flustered grin.

  “Almost ready!” she says, rushing off to the bathroom, the door slamming closed behind her. I try to hide my laughter until she closes the door behind her, and then I let it all out. She’d just hobbled through the living room with one knee-high boot on … and one foot bare. Likewise, her hair seemed a little more … untamed than normal. Apparently my 15 minutes wasn’t quite long enough for her grooming needs.

  But, it was fun to see Gisele rattled. I have to admit, I like having the upper hand.

  I wander around the living room, picking up and then putting down picture frames of her and two guys who look enough like her to make me believe that they are siblings. I can hear the water running, then shutting off, some mumbled words that sound suspiciously like a nice long string of swear words, and then a blow dryer turning on.

  I know I should probably just sit quietly and wait for her to return, but I can’t. I’m thrumming with excitement and nerves. Just being in Gisele's vicinity makes me feel like I’ve stuck a finger in a light socket. I know I used to do drugs in order to capture this feeling of excitement and thrill whenever I wanted it, but now, having been around Gisele, I realized how fake the drug rush was. Being around Gisele is a thousand times better than that first snort of coke, and a million times better than every snort after that.

  There’s a saying that drug addicts are always chasing that first high, because after that, it never feels as good as that first time.

  Well, they’ve never met Gisele Taylor. Nothing feels as good as standing next to her.

  The bathroom door finally opens, and out spills a cloud of sex and eroticism I never thought I’d encounter. The smell hits me first—sexy and mysterious, with just a hint of roses. I don’t know what perfume that is, but it’s intoxicating.

  And while my nose is taking in that amazing smell, my eyes are feasting on her body. Oh God, I’m instantly worried about embarrassing myself in front of her. I can feel myself get hard just from one glance. She has on this amazing dress that I’d only been able to catch a glance of earlier, but now that I can see it …

  It’s long, almost to the ground, but there is a slit up the thigh, showing off her fuck-sexy legs that ended in fuck-me black leather boots. The top of her dress, though, is what would win her the Miss USA crown if she were to enter. A halter neckline that plunges down to show off her ample tits, she is no doubt showing off more than most women possess.

  I suddenly am not so sure about taking her out on the town. I don’t want any other men to see her body; I want it all for myself. I wonder, again, what it was like to fuck her. I know I’ve done it at least twice now, but the not knowing what it was actually like is slowly starting to make me insane.

  I want her lips wrapped around my cock, sucking me down her throat …

  I realize that she’s saying something and I’ve missed it all.

  “Sorry, what?” I say, tearing my eyes away from her tits, where I’d been busy imagining titty-fucking her. She has the boobs for it, and I can't help but wonder if she’d allow me to. To spray my cum all over her face as I fucked her tits…

  “What?” I say again, this time forcing my eyes to stay on her face. I have the sinking realization that I'm not going to make much of a conversationalist out of Gisele tonight, if I can’t stay focused for more than three seconds at a time.

  “Do you want to go?” she says slowly, enunciating every word as if I'm a small child with a hearing impairment.

  Okay, I deserved that.

  “Yes. Let’s,” I say, holding my arm out for her. She slides her hand into the crook of my elbow, and I escor
t her outside to the waiting stretch limo. I realize that we're parked illegally and no doubt I got a parking ticket or two while waiting for Gisele upstairs, but quite frankly, it was worth every penny, and a whole lot more. My driver, Fred, opens the door for us, helping Gisele in and then shutting the door behind us quietly.

  Gisele runs her hands over the leather seats admiringly. “Wow, you travel in style,” she says, a little bit of wonder in her voice.

  I strain to keep my eyes on her face, and not just continue to admire her rack. As hard as it is, it’s only polite not to spend the entire evening drooling over my date’s tits.

  “Yeah, I don’t always ride in it, of course, but for a night out on the town, it’s a lot of fun.”

  Well, I almost sounded normal there. I mentally pat myself on the back for that one, and reward myself by allowing myself to sweep my eyes over her whole body. Reclining against the seat, her legs crossed, her dress showing off her legs to perfection, I have sudden visions of fucking her in the backseat of the limo.

  Isn’t that what a limo is for, after all?

  “Where are we going?” she asks, breaking into my fantasy.

  “I thought I’d surprise you,” I say with a quirk of my lips. “It’s more fun that way.”