Shades Of Obsession

by JR King

  “The scenery is both impressive and illegal, isn’t it, Alex?”

  “It’s fucking hard not to stare. I think I could stand here and look at her for the rest of my life.”

  “And be content with just…staring?”

  I gave him an innocent smile, a sly shrug, and promptly declared, “I don’t think so.” You do realize that men have unexpectedly shallow inclinations and are visually oriented, right? Show most of us a hot eighteen-something and our brains go yabba dabba doo! I think it’s partly undercurrents of biological wiring, partly youth-obsessed societal norms, and partly pathologically patriarchal entanglements. My nature, in particular, was to control. To come in and lay down the law, this was my first and last instinct, age be damned. “I can’t wait to fuck her, Aidan.”

  I held my glass up to my lips and blinked in confusion when I found it empty. We sauntered toward the bar, and a short time later, Tony appeared at the top of the grand staircase that centered the back. His Jackal Anubis mask was black and had shiny detailing similar to mine.

  He addressed the crowd, lifted his flute, and we all cheered courteously like golf spectators.

  Men started inviting the pretty girls to dance.

  My target seemed easily distracted or uninterested. Exuding immutable elegance, Elena was encased in a backless Valentino gown, her body played up by the slinky material. It did full justice to her back, plunging so deep that the dimples at the bottom of her spine were showing. Whenever she moved, the dress moved with the inward curve of her spine. Even the thick strips of lace detail that adorned the sides of her back didn’t distract. Fucking Jesus, I thought, her look was at odds with her age. Seeing the sweep of her spine was a call for bestial, toe-pointing lovemaking! A sixteen-year-old shouldn’t be allowed to wear this kind of dress.

  Lighting was conspicuously dimmed. I smoothed my lapels and fingered the shirt buttons before I hurried toward Elena. Saw her blush as other guests turned to look at her. She looked at potpourri-cologned boys disinterestedly, and I asked her to dance with me. The moment of confrontation brought about a strange chemistry into my bloodstream. It left a sweet, souring taste of what was adrenaline in my mouth, making my lips twitch.

  Her childish and blasé behavior was annoying, and inexplicably, I caught her interest with, “Rewards, baby. Misbehavior will earn you punishment. You don’t want to suffer the consequences of misbehavior, do you now?”

  “Lemme think.” Her eyelashes, which really were questionably thick and long, blinked flirtatiously. “I could sue you for molestation.”

  I didn’t use sex as a bargaining tool, I used it as a weapon. “Crafty, aren’t we? Is that a courtroom fantasy? A gavel fetish?”

  “How old are you? Twenty-six?”

  At the blunt assessment, it was my turn to blink. “Older. Does it bother you?”

  “Doesn’t my inexperience bother you?” she continued hesitantly. “Surely there are more interesting girls you can find. Prettier. Experienced. Older. Smarter.”

  “Self-deprecation? Now you’re just pissing me off.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Does it bother you?” she persisted.

  “Fuck no.” I wore a slow, secretive smile. “The age difference doesn’t bother me. Though, it doesn’t mean we can be free with each other. That would be wrong. You can’t even fathom what adult-themed games entail.”

  “I know about sex,” she snapped, annoyance tightening her voice so much that her words splintered all over me.

  “Sex isn’t an all-embracing term. Fucking is a complex thing.”

  “Fucking?” When she smiled, the shape of her mask emphasized her full lips. They were a lot pouty without being overbearing like silicone-injected lips. “You are a perv.” She dropped her head to me, giggling and shaking it. A curtain of raven hair brushed against my jacket. She looked up at me. “You might even be dangerous. FBI’s most wanted kind.”

  I leaned down so that our masked faces were at the same level. “Run, Forrest. Run.”

  “Adorably cute. Now you’re doing it on purpose.” She rested her hand on my wrist. “What happens if you catch me?” Surprised by her boldness, I nearly jumped out of my skin. The gesture struck me as oddly seductive; I could have sworn she was feeling my pulse.

  “Go to lounge area and you’ll find out.”

  Both giggling and snorting all at once, she scuttled away, dashing to the private lounge with arms pinwheeling. I couldn’t help my eyes dropping down to check the ass hiding under her gown. Not just an ass man, I also caught a glimpse of her thousand dollar jeweled strappy sandals.

  Slowly I began stalking toward her, my predatory beam now overshadowing the youthful one. I became the sort of relentless person who could coax a girl into doing anything for him.

  “Catch me if you can, Mister!” Just as I’d anticipated, she stood behind the chesterfield sofa close to the fireplace, gripping the backrest. She flicked her tongue at me. To put it poetically, she looked as sweet as peaches and cream.

  I shook my head in mock self-pity. “Seriously? You think you’re safe there?” I demanded haughtily, standing in the entrance with hands on my hips. The sharp edge of my tone momentarily tricked her into a mental handstand. Looking to her left she saw a closed door, looking to her right she found the corridor that led to another room.

  I feigned a quick dash in her direction, causing a delighted squeal to escape her lips. Realizing I was about to catch her, she took courage and bounded toward the corridor. I caught her by the arm just as she was about to leap across the threshold.

  I spun her around. “Gotcha, sweetheart. That was fast.”

  Instead of trying to marshal a meek apology, she cocked her head and rebelliously demurred. “Let go of me.”

  A burst of adrenaline flushed away my diffidence. “No.” She winced when I reached for the back of her head. I twisted my fingers in her loose hair and she followed meekly as I pulled her to my face. “You need to learn how to ask politely. Ergo, apologize.”

  “And you need to learn how to chase girls your own age. Let go, you pervert!” She tugged away, becoming increasingly breathless.

  As if she could stop me. I tightened my grip and moved a little closer. “You’re the one flirting with me, and I’m the pervert? Apologize, now.”

  She shook her head stubbornly and thrashed about as hard as possible, trying to wriggle her head out of my grasp. It was hopeless: she was a girl and I was a man.

  At that instant, being as sharp as I was, I should have cold-shouldered her and done the right thing. I just couldn’t work up the energy to give a shit about righteousness. While she struggled, my other hand moved to her waist. Without warning, I pushed her backward a few steps, until her body was pressed up against the wall. I quickly raised her arms above her head and pinned them above her. The position forced her lithe frame to be stretched out before me, her back slightly arching as she was raised up on tiptoes.

  With two dilated pupils on mine, she voiced a simple plea: “Please.”

  In truth, I was acutely aware I’d gone too far. Her body, pressed up against the wall like this, made me painfully horny. She was completely at my mercy, and I was trying desperately to calm my own body down. “Stop shivering, sweetheart.”

  I was trembling, too, a skin bag of emotions and lust. I could feel the blood flushing my cheeks and neck, and watched as the same happened to her. I noticed beads of sweat formed between her small breasts, the mounds rising and falling with an increasing speed.

  I began to swirl my thumb in slow circled on her wrist above her head, and brought my other hand to her face. When my thumb brushed her lower lip, her breath hitched, anxious blue eyes—hazy with desire—staring straight into my eyes. I held her lustful gaze for a moment, but eventually my attention was drawn to her gorgeous mouth. I yearned to kiss it while running my fingers through her long hair and watch her eyes become liquid.

  “S-sir?” Her cheeks hollowed as she bit their insides—a nervous tic I was unawa
re of, temporarily staggering me. “Okay.”

  I coaxed her with my warm breath on her ear and neck. “Breathe, little one, breathe evenly. I won’t do anything.” Registering the distinct outline of her hardened nipples, I could scarcely breathe myself. I wanted to tug the pointy tips. I wanted to be inside her, full well knowing she’d be too tight for rough fucking.

  She whispered, “It’s okay. You may kiss me. I won’t tell.” An erotic tangle had found its way into her voice, sweet to my ears.

  With enticing slowness, and against my better judgment, my hand craned behind her shoulders. She stared at me and smiled playfully. I swallowed. I wanted to slip the white silk free from each shoulder. Felt as if my blood was on fire, if that’s even possible. Her age wasn’t the ultimate deciding factor. One kiss could blow my legendary control to hell. And then what? I was massive in both length and width, and she was too small to be used brutally. Any struggle to get my whole length inside her would be painful—mostly for her.

  I gave her a small headshake, took a deep breath. “Shit.” I gently released her. “Be a dear and go back to the ballroom,” I advised her.

  Her eyes lowered with a fleeting glimpse of disappointment. “Why?” She was biting her lip now and a tear trickled down from under her mask.

  It’d be easy to drink the Kool-Aid, quench that desert-dry thirst. Deal with the hollowness later. Yet I didn’t. “Now! Get the hell out of here before I do something I’ll regret, little girl.” The tone I took was designed to close off further negotiation.

  Thank God she listened. I watched her hips sway as she departed. I cracked a smile, yelled after her with binding conviction, “One day, I’m gonna fuck you hard, baby.”

  I waited, softened, dawdled toward her again. No harm, no foul. She wasn’t a dancer, thus I had no doubt her performance was going to be stilted and awkward. To my own amazement, I didn’t have to compensate for her movements as we swayed to ballroom music. Each shift and sweeping step was graceful and fluid, and undulating slow-quick-quick motions ran the full length of her body. She even—like a fucking Hail Mary pass—caught on the few occasions she had to rock her hips or swing to and fro.

  I asked, “Do you like to dance?”

  “I enjoy music. I can’t sing, but I like participating. Grandpa says that we all give away a part of ourselves if we submit to music. Without it there’s no dance at all, just two humans shedding staidness and moving funny.”

  Her chest held my attention for several minutes, the grip of her hands burning me. Behind her, my right hand moved lower. Briefly, my fingers traced over the two dimples at her lower back. Her skin was warm and firm against my palm, making me wonder how she’d feel when I unveiled her nakedness and held it against my own. Reconnaissance proved her panties were bits of beaded string that hugged her hips and disappeared between the cheeks of her ass. I found myself unsure where to look as her body moved in concert with the beat. Focusing on her chest—even as she was looking at mine—felt oddly rude. I decided to keep my eyes on her face. I was certain it was a goofy one, but I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. Despite the inappropriateness, there was no hue and cry, courtesy of the pagan ambiance of the room. Uninterrupted eye contact seemed to create a sexual connection between the two of us.

  Playful mood in check, a wicked notion popped into my head. I pulled her in to reveal my arousal. Her smile gained a touch of warmth and her movements became more enthusiastic. With each move of the head, her hair tossed back and forth, I was sure she was losing herself in a fantasy of her own. Talk about a hypnotic effect, she moved in closer, tighter, to rest her head on my shoulder.

  The moment Paul Cabot came between us, I stitched monotony across my face and drowned myself in liquor. I don’t remember much else about the masquerade ball, except that I fell asleep beside Lana, our limbs intertwined.

  *

  I didn’t even realize it, but at present, I had shoved a hand down my fly and was slowly jerking myself to her image. I didn’t stop once I grasped my cock. Instead, I unbuckled my trousers and splayed the front wide open, giving myself better access. I clenched my eyes shut and shook my head in disbelief. I could send you a set of worn panties, Mr. Turner. Sit in your tower and mansion and suite and sniff them? This was precisely what that hot little tease wanted. Elena. ELENA. A red-blooded male fantasizing over her was what she enjoyed. And with that thought, the atoms in my brain ignited and exploded as I came. All over the Waterworks bathroom sink. My entire body tingled, and when I finally came down from my high, my eyes unwillingly fluttered open. The dry air of the bathroom chilled the fluids on my flesh, reminding me that orgasms can and should be controlled. Face yourself. Sweet Jesus, this was pitiable, and I don’t use the term lightly. I felt a mess of emotions: shame, disappointment, disgust, anger. Mostly a great deal of personal shame. I was only ashamed because Elena had managed to tear down sacred walls. Now I was no longer able to control my urge to seek release. Thank God you couldn’t see my pathetic deed. I wasn’t usually like this, I possessed enough strength of character to resist sudden urges. Just like I didn’t hump anything that moves, I didn’t masturbate during bathroom breaks, it’s not like there’s fuckall to do in my world.

  I reached for the Molton Brown handsoap and scooped up a towel to clean up. In the aftermath of self-servicing, I decided it was time to take action. Realistically, I couldn’t just capture Elena. It had to be some sort of a punishment, a loophole. Up until now she hadn’t given me enough reasons to implement a harsh penalty. Breaking her spirit was my goal, and by God I would succeed.

  Alexander Turner

  The Dominatrix

  Just before sunrise, I surfaced to consciousness, hard as a rock. My skin, all the way to the base of my cock, sizzled and crackled as it came in contact with cold air when I pulled the covers back. Slipping into reality, I sluggishly stretched. My thighs clenched at the sudden movement. I pushed past it, adjusting my erection. Different feel, not even a long shower could bring this type of hard-on down. This usually happened when my craving for physical contact hit an all time high. I also had a little crick in the neck. Blinking away a half-remembered dream, I stretched my neck from side to side, holding it in position for seconds with each stretch. Two things I needed to realize; a good fuck and full control over Elena’s career.

  The pounding hiss of falling water beckoned me. By design, it was blessedly hot and streamed so hard that it felt like cleansing needles of heat were attempting to bore into my skin. Locks of my sodden hair resolved into unmanageable water shapes on my forehead, the heat of the sting pricking over my skin like salt over a welt, the mugginess permeating my every pore. Through the rivers of mist and water shapes on the droplet spattered shower door, I perceived a somewhat uncouth plan of action.

  To turn the tables, not Plan B, I opted for Plan C, and sex with a married woman.

  Having lunch at a fashionable hotel had clear advantages, i.e. getting laid in a luxurious setting.

  I walked over to the highboy table, noticing that the tall woman staring at me could be the next Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. Fully aware she had her eyes on me, I gave my lips a slow, sly lick, taking my time as I repeated the tease. While waiting for her to make a move, I grew tired of the clientele. Lightning fast fingers kept skittering over the screens of slick, shiny mobile phones, making me wonder if people could live without 3G.

  “May I sit here?” she finally intoned, removing her purl stitch scarf.

  “The chair isn’t mine,” I replied in a low mutter, my face inscrutable.

  “Sure looks like it.” I tasted a tang of audacity.

  Before she stepped in and ordered our drinks, she stared at me as if I were a problem, searching my darkened soul for a solution. I let her and looked sheepish when she directed the bartender to put it all on her tab. We chatted and flirted. I couldn’t help but notice her body positions and movements in relation to mine. She was in slow orbit, moving, but attached to an invisible tether. At some point I gho
sted my hand down her leg and caressed her tanned calf, lazily running my fingers up and down its silky muscles. With no emotion etched across her face, I wondered if my touch elicited tremors throughout her body.

  I asked, “My place or yours?”

  “Cocky, aren’t we?” Her eyes were devoid of any semblance of emotion.

  Her snobbish tone caused a smirk around my lips. I took a moment and debated how to bring her taming to bear. “Most of the time, I’m all cock, ma’am.”

  “Not just a shiny needle in a haystack. I’ve seen you on TV. All that publicity. Is it to compensate for your small dick?” It wasn’t just that the irony in her voice was obvious, the words had been hurled out with such venom that I flinched for a split second before the moment of epiphany manifested itself.

  Feeling a little flustered, I opened and closed my mouth several times, furiously searching for the perfect retort to her matter-of-fact statement. “Wanna measure me?”

  Her head shot up. “You sure, boy?” I heard intrigue tinged with a hint of excitement as she ordered an energy drink. “You gonna soldier on?”

  I nodded timidly.

  “You’re brave, I’ll give you that much.”

  Aside from the Red Bull can, she also used her iPhone. It was bold, yet utterly charming. I smiled with the pleasure of the moment. I can almost hear you scoffing…size, Alex? Think of it this way; some people like apples and others like oranges.

  “Apologies are in order. My boy here has a record.”

  That’s when the teasing ended. She knew the art of how to please a man. As a woman, never fucking tell a man how big he is during sex, how long he is, and all that bullshit. It’s a goddamn turn-off. Pay us a simple compliment. Tell me my hair looks good, and it’ll make me smile. Beg me to fuck you, and it’ll make me hard.

  She did both these things. Considering that never before lips so luscious had begged off most likely, I wanted to burst out in guttural laughter. My submissive composure ended up chasing away the growing grimace on my face. I yanked the covers to the foot of the bed, peeled away my clothes and ensconced myself against the headboard. Delicate fingertips trekked the columns of my muscles, testing their overt firmness. She went lower to grab me, possessively curling her hand around my cock.