Gorgeous Rotten Scoundrel

by Nina G. Jones

"I want your pussy so fucking bad." He was shaking with pent-up desire, gripping my ass like he wanted to tear me to shreds. He bit at my neck, sucked on it until it was painful. It was perfect.

  "I want your cock. Give me your cock you fucking bastard." He had been such an insufferable dick these past couple of weeks and it pissed me off how badly I wanted him.

  It was so hard, and thick, and engorged. "I'm going to tear your pussy up. You fucking drive me crazy. You make me feel like I am losing my mind." He stopped and gripped my hair. “Suck it first." He pushed my head down and I dropped to my knees. It was so thick with weeks of sexual frustration, I was sure it would hurt my jaw to take him in my mouth. But I gobbled that shit up. I wrapped my lips around it, gripping his taut ass as he fucked my face, charcoal-colored tears stained my cheeks as he choked me with his dick.

  "Oh god Sadie, oh fuck!" He slammed his hand against the door. "...fucking bitch." I cupped his balls, ignoring the ache in my jaw just so I could enjoy the sight of him tilting his chin up to the ceiling with his eyes closed as I made him my bitch.

  "Get the fuck up," he said, lifting me up so forcefully my feet left the ground for a second.

  "Now you," I said, pushing his head down. He smirked devilishly as he dropped to his knees and lifted one of my legs over his shoulder. Oh my sweetness, he ate me like he literally wanted to consume me, sucking on my clit, then tongue fucking me as he rubbed it with the pad of his thumb. He knew exactly when to stop before I got too carried away.

  Heath rose, and again, he pushed me into the door, and gripped underneath my knee, hoisting up my leg.

  He grabbed his cock, I loved when he did that, and rubbed the smooth head along the juicy entrance of my pussy. I couldn't hold out any longer.

  "Oh god. Oh god," he said in breathy anticipation.

  "Just fuck me already. Don't make me wait." I was already so close, he had the power to take me there without even entering me.

  "I don't...I don't want it to stop," he said. I wasn't sure if he meant the feeling of this moment or the non-thing we had going on.

  "Please," I begged into the safe crook of his neck, biting and gripping him as close to me as my physical strength would allow. "Fuck me. Hard."

  He slid into me and we both let out a groan from deep inside. It carried up through our stomachs, chests and escaped out of our bodies at the same moment. I felt the vibration as it roared through us.

  "Ah!Ah!Ah!" As I cried out with each thrust that slammed me back into the door, he buried his forehead into my neck.

  "Sadie...Sadie," Heath begged, he sounded intoxicated by our sex.

  "Heath!" I can't get enough. "Harder. Fuck me harder! Deeper!"

  He grunted, sweat dripping down his temple, his teeth exposed like an angry wolf. He stayed inside of me, never fully pulling out, each thrust attempting to get that much deeper. The constant friction of his dick was so filling, and rich, and brutal. It was everything.

  "I'm coming! I'm coming!"

  He drove so hard into me, the force of his hips lifted me off the ground. One shoe dangled off of my toe and the heel of the other had broken off, resting sideways on the foot that was still planted on the ground.

  One of my hands reached for something, anything to grip. I tried to palm the door behind me scratching at it, thinking in my Heath-induced hysteria that I could grab the smooth, flat surface. I howled. I howled like a wounded animal. Whenever he fucked me hard and dirty, I felt like a sex-beast, filled with so much primal energy that I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

  Heath gripped me so tight, I could barely get in a breath as he released into me, his pumps slowing with each thrust, his warm groans echoed from my neck, spreading throughout my body. Heath kept his face buried in my neck, and then he slid down to his knees, gripping my waist. He rested his forehead at the lowest part of my tummy.

  "Sadie..."

  I ran my fingers though his hair tenderly and then it hit me.

  "Fuckfuckfuckfuck!" I snapped us into the reality of the present. Mark was out there waiting for me and I looked like I had just completed a triathlon while being shot at with rubber bullets. "Oh no..." I said, in a daze, picking up my devastated thong from the floor and dangling it in front of me. "Oh no!" I said picking up the shoe that had its heel hanging on by a small sliver of glue. "I need to get back out there." I straightened my hair, pulled my dress down, feeling the silver-dollar sized hole in the seam on my right hip. "Oh no..." I said in mourning. I really liked these items he just destroyed.

  It was then I noticed Heath watching me with an amused look on his face as he zipped and buttoned up his pants.

  "This isn't funny!" I shouted at him as I waved my broken shoe in his face, but it was. It was hilarious.

  "Here, give me that," he said taking the now useless panties from my grip. "We'll leave something for the janitor to talk about tomorrow," and he tossed it atop one of the standing mops.

  I was still out of breath and began taking measured ones to slow my heart rate. "Okay, I think I'm ready," I said. Heath looked right at me and laughed.

  "No you're not." He walked up to me slowly and I grew stiff, I could never trust what this clown was up to. "Here," he said, reaching for the utility sink and dabbing a bit of water on a paper towel. He gently wiped my cheeks as my eyes wandered down to his tanned and ripped torso. "Your makeup is all over the place."

  "How bad is it?"

  "Oh...it's not so bad..." he said almost drunkenly. The sex had taken his edge off, thank god. I knew from the way his lips curved at one end he was lying.

  "It's bad."

  "Well, your red lipstick is all over the lower third of your face and your mascara...it looks like you were just at a funeral."

  "Shit."

  "Don't worry. I've got you." Deep in my stomach, I ached, remembering the last time he said those words to me. He gently wiped my face, as I made puppy eyes and pouted my lips, feeling like something awesomely terrible had just happened. The face made him laugh, and then I laughed, and he pressed his forehead against mine as we smiled wistfully.

  But there was no time to talk or figure things out, I had to get back out there.

  I did a quick feminine clean up at the sink, shook my head to get my game-face on and then headed for the door.

  "You might want to wipe your pretty face too. It looks like you've been sucking face with a rouge-wearing hussy."

  Just as he smirked that fucking smirk, my panties fell off of the mop. That smirk can make my panties drop from anything. "You go out first, I'll give you a couple of minutes while I freshen up in here. I don't know about you, but I am over this party. Want to head back home soon?"

  I nodded. I was over this shit the second I walked through the entrance.

  I did one last smoothing of my hair, puffed up my chest and whipped the door open.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Heath was right about something for once: I was hobbling. That typically happens when one foot is five inches higher off the ground than the other. And wow, were the people who had been waiting for the restroom staring at me. I could only imagine what it looked like from the outside: The violent and rhythmic thudding off the door that could only mean one thing, the high-pitched moaning that likely carried over the music, the woman who appeared to have been beaten by a gang of bandits exiting from a closet. I tried to hold strong and keep my chin up, but the knowing smirks and whispers wore that out very quickly. I sped up my Quasimodo hobble through the hallway, eventually whipping off the other shoe and dealing with the sticky floors.

  Mark was sitting alone at the bar, looking none-too-pleased. I noticed 3 empty glasses had accumulated around him, one of them was mine.

  "Hey," I said, acting like I had only been gone for a minute.

  "That boss of yours--" he said, turning to face me. His facial expression quickly changed when he saw mine and gave me the once over.

  "Can we go outside for a sec to talk?" I had to tell him I was going home, and I had to tell him th
is wasn't going to happen. This had nothing to do with any future with Heath, but that closet encounter just reminded me I was definitely lying to myself about Mark. Mark and I were not happening no matter how many dates we went on.

  "Yeah," he said with a sigh. I could tell he was even more agitated now. We stepped out to the sidewalk to the side of the entrance. People buzzed around us as they entered and exited the party.

  "What the hell is going on?" He asked.

  "Mark, I don't think...I'm going to go home."

  His eyes narrowed, his lips pursed tightly as he got a better look at me. "What the hell happened to you? Is that a hickey on your neck? Where the hell are your shoes?" I looked down, and felt for my collarbone. Busted. "Were you just back there fucking your boss?" He shouted angrily.

  "Mark, calm down and let me explain."

  "Explain what? That you're a fucking cock tease? That you've been stringing me along with this little innocent act, waving your tits and ass in my face, when really you're a fucking slut?" And then that's what I realized what was off: his perfectly polished hair, his over-the-top chivalry, his "understanding," his perfect veneers. It was all a facade. I had been so focused on trying to see through Heath's that I missed the manufactured Nantucket-Ken doll in front of me.

  "Excuse me? I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but you don't know a damn thing about me! I was very honest about the pace I wanted to take."

  "Except with that asshole. You just spread your legs in an instant for a paycheck! Then you have the nerve to bitch to me about how he doesn't respect women!"

  "Don't you dare talk to me like that. You have no idea what has been going on between us."

  "You think you can just waste my time like this? I've been turning down skanks like you all week to take you out on nice dates, all for a fucking hug?" He said grabbing my elbow forcefully, his dark brow furrowing. No this mofo didn't.

  "Let go of my arm." I squeezed my stiletto in my left hand, preparing myself to use it if he didn't release me.

  "Get your fucking hands off of her."

  Both Mark and I turned our heads at the same time to see Heath standing there, a look of intensity I had seen only reserved for our conflicted sex romps. Mark's grip tightened.

  "I have had just about enough of your bullshit tonight," Mark said to Heath.

  "I said let go of her arm right now."

  "Heath, I've got this covered," I wanted to diffuse the situation. People were starting to gawk, photogs were eagerly snapping away at us.

  "Whatcha gonna do, pretty boy?"

  "Guys, that's enough!" I called out, but they were both testosterone and alcohol fueled and they were guarding what they each felt was theirs. Did I ever mention Heath hates being called a pretty boy? Switching schools often as a kid, that was the thing people picked on him about the most. I know, poor Heathy, too pretty. That's what I told him when he first told me.

  Heath shoved Mark, which served to get him to let go of my arm. I dove in front of Heath to push him back, and that's when Mark pushed me hard to get to Heath, so hard I fell to the sidewalk with a thud.

  "You son of a bitch!" Heath said, lunging at Mark and planting a punch squarely on his well-defined jaw, that I now believed was crafted that way solely to be the perfect target for a haymaker. The crowd gasped audibly and the sound of cameras erupted to a crescendo. Mark stumbled back a few steps, clutching his jaw, then fell on his ass. Heath vigorously shook his punching hand.

  "Your arm!" That asshole just got out of a cast.

  "It's fine," he said, massaging his palm. "Don't you fucking get up!" Heath screamed, pointing down at Mark who was visibly stunned.

  It happened all so fast, I was still on the ground watching in disbelief. "Come here," he said, helping me up. "Let's get the fuck out of here before the cops come." We slid into the limo and sped away.

  A number of thoughts ran through my head: I was a little angry with Heath for escalating things because I hated violence. Mark was a jerk, but seeing him on the floor like that with his lip bleeding disturbed me. I was surging with adrenaline. I was embarrassed: how could I have gotten Mark so wrong? But most of all, I was hot, because goddam that was hot.

  "What the hell was that?" I asked, panting. "I could've handled him."

  "Sadie, don't start with that women's lib shit right now." He was clearly still on fire from the entire thing. "A man never fucking lays his hands on a woman like that. He did that in the middle of the street. What do you think he would have done behind closed doors? He's never touched you before, has he?"

  "No...never. That was the first time I had ever seen him like that. I can't believe it."

  "I knew he was a douche the second I saw him. Prep school piece of shit."

  "I just think we could have maybe ended things more diplomatically."

  "Fuck diplomacy. Do you think guys like him learn from diplomacy?" It seems Heath was working from the same playbook I had been using on him.

  "Oh my god!" I said, having a sudden moment of contemplation about the wild turns this night had taken. I buried my face in my hands and stifled a laugh.

  "Let me see," he said, grabbing my arm.

  "It's fine," I said, looking up at him. Oops, our eyes just locked.

  This time it was me who jumped. Have you ever watched those NatGeo videos? The ones from the African bush, where the camera man sits in silence waiting for the lioness to pounce on the antelope? Yeah, that's basically what happened. He fell off the seat and landed on the floor of the limo, with me on top of him. I think for a moment he wondered if I was trying to fuck him or fuck him up.

  Here we were for the second time in one night, each of us viciously trying to consume the other. I felt my dress rip AGAIN as he manhandled it over my hips and pulled down the cups of the bustier top so that my breasts were propped up, waiting to be sucked. I spun over to his dick, angrily ripping it out of his pants, swallowing it as he sucked on my lips, tugging on them and letting them bounce back. Then he started using his tongue. I squeezed his thighs as I took him all the way to the back of my throat.

  I heard him let out a long sigh. Then I thrust my hips on his face to encourage him to keep going.

  "Eager beaver," he said under his breath. My hips instinctively wound on his face as all hands were on deck with his cock, gripping it, licking it, massaging his balls. I couldn't hold out for long as I violently face fucked him. I came, stopping my oral endeavors to dig my nails into his hips and rock back and forth on that pretty face of his to an explosive climax, arching my back and tilting my head up, my hair tickling the small of my back as I called out all kinds of obscenities.

  "My fucking turn you tease," he said, turning Mark's words against me. I rolled off of him, my hands and legs quivering as he sat up.

  "I'm gonna fuck you doggie style. I have been dying to do that. Your ass is so perfect it makes me angry."

  He pushed me in front of him so I rested my hands on the ledge where the window met the limo door. Then he slid inside of me, and I felt his warm sweaty skin stick to mine as he thrusted jaggedly, each pump going in with maximal force.

  "Harder you bastard..." I reached around to grab his hip and pull him in harder towards me.

  "Fuck you," he said, plunging in so deep that I involuntarily clenched every muscle in my body. "How do you like that, smartass?"

  "Harder. More. You asshole...you cretin!" I was running out of things to call him, but I wanted to use every name in the book at him as he assaulted me with his dick.

  He wrapped my hair around his hand and pulled back sharply so that my neck was fully extended. Another thrust. I wailed. "What was that?" He asked like a smartass, pressing his cheek against mine, his warm breath blowing on my cheek.

  "More. You stupid son of a bitch."

  Another painfully amazing thrust. "I'm going to drive so far into you, my cock's gonna choke you from behind."

  "You fucking animal...you pretty animal."

  His intensity broke with laught
er as his pelvis slapped against my ass again. He readjusted my head with another yank, biting my neck hard enough that I thought he might break the skin. I cried out. Then he pushed my face against the cold glass of the limo window, and his thrusts grew more frequent. The glass fogged and cleared with each of my inhales and exhales. He kept my cheek pressed there, pounding and pounding. My hands flailed, looking for anything to take a hold of as he rammed his long cock deep into me.

  Amidst our NatGeo sounds, I heard a click.

  "Close the fucking door!" Heath shouted. Oh shit, the limo driver. Was he deaf or just incompetent? Or maybe he wanted in on the action.

  I didn't care, I had used up all my embarrassment walking out of the janitor's closet not an hour ago.

  "Oh god...I'm going to spill my cum inside of you. You're fucking mine, Sadie."

  "Come inside of me. I want your cum in me..." I wanted all of him in that moment and I know he wanted to give it all to me.

  He reached over and pulled me up close to him, cupping one of my breasts, thrusting up, and this new angle was fresh and caused me to call out even louder. And he did exactly what he promised, burying his face into my hair, his warm breath penetrating the thick locks and tingling my scalp.

  We both collapsed on the floor of the limo, a tangled, broken, messy, filthy, sweaty pile of limbs.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I woke up to the aromatic smell of coffee. I always found that the most pleasant way to wake up. I'm not going to lie, I felt a bit like I had been plowed over by a truck, but in the most incredible way. Everything was sore, including my little lady friend (she had really taken a pounding the night before), but it was all a welcome physical reminder of the night before. I looked around to get my bearings, then I remembered everything: the angst of seeing him with the girl, the closet, the fight, the limo. The way we laughed about how the clueless driver opened the door, fearing that we were continuing the altercation from the club. How we ran into the house, collapsing on the big comfy sofa in his living room, and fell asleep in each other's arms.