by JR King
I would love that. To let go completely. Absolutely love it.
Me: Do you think you might like that?
Alexander: Mmh. My hardening dick tells me I totally would.
Me: What happens then?
Alexander: I’ll commence with a light smack on each butt cheek, make them jiggle, slowly alternating back and forth, the slaps becoming a little harder each time. That’s how I’ll warm your skin, and watch your cheeks redden and glow. What do you think would happen next?
I’d get wet. Very wet.
Alexander: Hey, babe? Still with me?
Me: Yes.
Alexander: I’m so turned on now. Have you ever had phone sex?
Me: I am too. And no, I’m admittedly uneducated about phone sex.
Alexander: Good. Me neither. I’ll be your first and you’ll be my first. Sounds good?
Me: There’s something both deeply sad and dreadful in that suggestion. How do we even do this?
Alexander: Close your eyes. Put your hands between your legs. What do you feel?
Me: Warmth. Cool fabric of my panties.
Alexander: If I were there, I’d trace the edges of the flimsy fabric. You’d feel a warm rush of air as I moved the gusset to one side, unveiling you. Elena?
Me: Yeah?
Alexander: Push your hand inside your underwear. I’m taking out my cock. It’s a pity you’re not here.
Me: How do we start?
Alexander: I want you to touch yourself. I want you to slip your hand inside the front of your panties and tell me how wet you feel. Tell me how hot you are. Imagine if I was there with you now, standing in front of you with my hand on my cock, looking into your eyes and telling you what I want to do to you.
Me: I wouldn’t listen to you.
Alexander: You haven’t answered my previous question. What do you think would happen if I spanked you on my lap?
Me: I’d wriggle a lot in between spanks, trying to free myself from your hold.
Alexander: Yes, exactly. You’d push your ass up, arch your back, and maybe open your legs a little. That’s when I would slip my hand between your thighs and stroke the outlines of your sex with my fingertips. How long do you think it would take me to make you hopelessly wet?
Me: You wouldn’t be able to do that. I’m not into spanking.
Alexander: What makes you say that? Liar. You know full well that you’re into kinky practices. I think that just being across my lap, just the mere fact of being helpless over my thighs would make you ever so wet. Just like now.
Me: I’m so not wet.
Alexander: I think so, yes. I can tell you’re incredibly aroused. Your rushed breathing gives it away.
Me: Are you?
Alexander: I sure am. I feel hot. There’s pre-come dribbling along the tip of my penis. I wish you were here.
Me too.
Alexander: If I were to cup your pussy with my hand, would it feel hot against my palm?
Me: It might.
Alexander: C’mon, cease being mild-mannered. Play with me, baby girl. Don’t I deserve a Christmas gift? I’ve been awfully good this week.
Me: My nipples are very hard. I can feel them beneath my clothes. I’ve pinched each one twice already.
Alexander: You’ve no idea how badly I want to pinch them in person. I want to cup your breasts through your clothes and feel your tits becoming harder. Feel them nestling in the centers of my palms.
Me: I think you’ll have to undress me fast, in that case.
Alexander: I’m growing harder at the thought of pinching the crowns of your nipples. I’ll tease them through the lace cups. Once you begin to beg for mercy, I’ll draw the edges of the cups down, revealing those magnificent breasts I’ve fantasized about for all these…for so long. I’ll press my lips against them in turn, gently suckling on them, flickering my tongue against their peaks and painting damp circles.
Me: Are you undressed?
Alexander: Sort of. I’ve got no recollection of how it happened. My trousers appear to have loosened themselves all on their own.
Me: Amazing how this only happens to perverts, right?
Alexander: Right.
Me: Does your hand suddenly have a mind of its own too?
Alexander: It kinda does, so to speak. What’s your delicate hand doing?
Me: You mean you don’t know? You’re disappointing me. Hugely so.
Alexander: No, I mean I want you to tell me.
Me: It’s playing with my wetness. Quite frankly, my mind seems intent on discovering why I’m even aroused.
Alexander: Have you formed a fitting theory as to why this may be? Found the taproot of the problem? Reached a sound, logical conclusion?
Me: At the risk of oversimplifying the problem, I’ll say it’s because the sound of your voice and the thought of your hand stroking your hard cock have made me incredibly wet. That sexy rasp of your voice always turns my bones to jelly.
Alexander: And what does the thought of me touching your pussy do to you?
Me: If you would touch…my sex, I think I wouldn’t be able to help myself. I would press myself into your hand, wanting more.
Alexander: What if I smacked my palm against those little lips? What if I took pleasure from feeling my hand smacking your moist pussy?
I’d moan.
Alexander: Say it.
Me: I would adore it. I would feel very aroused. I’d press and grind against you. I think it would make me come rather quickly.
Alexander: Tell me how much lovely pleasure thinking about me using you is giving you.
Me: It’s making me squirm a lot under the covers. I have this achy feeling between my legs. I’ve been thinking about what you told me, about how you want to spank me. I’ve been imagining what that would be like. I might enjoy it.
Alexander: Oh, yes. I know. I’d love to be there and smell the scent of your arousal right now. I’d love to be able to look at you as you teased yourself with little fingertips, opening your labia, showing me just how wet you are for me.
Me: I love the thought of you looking at me like that, telling me how wet I am.
Alexander: Would you let me run my fingertips all over you? Would you allow me to wet a finger inside you, and then trace the edge of your mouth so you can see how wet you are for yourself? So you can taste your own desire?
Me: Yes. Sucking your finger, I would look into your eyes as you feed me my own taste.
Alexander: Oh, fuck. That’s frigging hot. That’s exactly what I want to do. I want to see you abandon yourself to the pleasure you’re experiencing, to surrender yourself to me. How does it taste?
Me: A little salty and a lot sweet.
Alexander: My cock-head is leaking so much right now. You’ve no idea how much I want to make you come with my mouth.
Me: I know from experience how easily you could do it. If you were here right now, would you take me? I’d want you to, you know.
Alexander: Fuck, yes. I’d certainly take you. I’d have to; I don’t think I could control myself and bear to wait any longer. Are your eyes still closed?
Me: Yes, of course. And yours?
Alexander: They are now. Ease two fingers deep inside you, curling them up so you can caress your G-spot. And keep your thumb against that tiny clit. Imagine I’m doing this to you.
Me: I think I might come.
Alexander: Then why don’t you do just that? Rub that pussy while thinking about me. Unleash the little slut inside you. Be free. I want you to come for me.
Me: Now?
Alexander: Yes, now.
Me: Wait. What are you doing?
Alexander: I’m rubbing my cock with hard pumps of my fist. Wishing you were milking me with your both hands. Wishing I could feel your tongue fluttering over the sensitive skin of my tip. You know, wanting you and not being able to have you is rather unbearable.
Me: Tell me more. Please.
Alexander: To begin with, I wish you were here, right beside me. I wish I could lift
your legs and rest your calves on my shoulders, holding your waist as I slide my cock inside you for the very first time. I’d appreciate the view of your breasts bouncing slightly each time I enter you, and the sight of my cock exiting your sex then disappearing inside it again and again. When my eyes would have had their fill, I’d slip my hands beneath your sore behind, lift you a little, and begin to thrust in earnest. I’d squeeze your hips lightly at first, then more firmly as my sadistic side starts to take over. For the spectacular end, I’d hold you about your waist and pull you up, raise your legs high, keep both your calves to one side of my head, your ankles now resting on one shoulder, and fuck you as deep as possible. My teeth would drag across your collarbone, the sensation setting your nerve endings on fire. I’d hold still at the deepest point, shoved so deep I’ll be touching your cervix. I’d urge you to grind your hips, working them in tight circles against my pelvis. I’d also reach for your hand right before I came, and press your fingers against the base of my cock so you can feel it pulsing as it pumps my come inside you. You’d feel my balls drawing up at your touch, literally feel them emptying themselves. Draining me. All of this because of you…Elena…ah…fuck!
I gasped loudly. The realization that I had this effect on him—that a powerful, dangerous man was just as consumed by me as I was by him—made my heart pound erratically. I imagined myself admiring his chest and abdomen sheened with sweat as he fucked me. Clenching his jaw, he cursed with the first wrenching spurt, then threw his head back and climaxed violently. I felt every jerk of his hips. Felt every throb of his cock and scorching pulse of semen. Feels fucking good. I cried out and I thought I heard him curse as my orgasm caught the tail of his, ripping violently through me. Then we lay on our respective beds, listening to each other breathe through some device.
Alexander: Elena? Are you there?
Me: I’m still here.
Alexander: Are you okay?
Me: I am.
Alexander: Thank you.
Me: For what?
Alexander: Just this. Thank you. This is the best Christmas gift I’ve received in a long time. How did it feel?
Me: Incredible. Amazing.
Alexander: The real thing will be much better. Merry Christmas.
Me: Merry Christmas to you too.
Elena Anderson
The Perfect Christmas
Grandpa’s admin staff organized, and he cooked, the grandest Christmas dinner I’d ever seen. It’d ballooned into fifteen courses. I bought Santoni bags and shoes for the women, and Martin Dingman alligator billfolds and Rudyard shotgun cases for the men. One bad thing happened during it; Sara and I disputed about—surprisingly, not Alexander—Michael.
I’d been short with Michael since he lured me backstage, so he, while sporting a wolfish, predatory smile, proposed we get even. “Punch me, get it out, kiddo. Don’t break the nose, okay?” He got up, groaning as he stretched.
Feeling mush and mellow, I laughed happily and hugged him. Michael had a hard-to-ignore face that any male model would kill for, and incredibly sexy hair. He smelled really good, his fern-like scent reminding me of Alexander. He and I became friends the moment he gave the bully who’d snatched my Kinder surprise egg a painful wedgie on the playground, for all to see. There was a five-year age difference between us.
This Cold War was over, but another one began. Sara wanted me to punch him. The more I told her to let it go, that he and I had made up, the more she insisted. “Give him a good whack, El! He tricked you!”
Michael’s lips tightened, his eyebrow lifting as if to say he thought Sara was stupid. My reticence made her angry, she kept glaring and yelling. I couldn’t have gotten a word in edgeways, even if I tried. Within five minutes of opening presents, she told me I had changed too much. Sara, in fact, had little patience when it came to not getting her way. She stormed off to make another special batch of Tahitian vanilla scented eggnog, and Michael and I decided to get some fresh winter air.
My boots sank into the snow as we passed the gate. It was a comfortable night to count gifts—yes, we opened our presents on Christmas Eve, not Christmas Morning. It was achingly cold and mostly calm, save for the occasional breeze that filtered its way from the Charles River. Scents were that of burning embers in the air, of cider donuts, and of ice creams topped off with liquors. Just looking at the ornaments, I was in better spirits. There were your snowmen, your illuminated sleighs, your lighted reindeers, your jingle bells and candy canes, your chants mounting and fading. All the screened-in outdoor patios in front of the houses we passed were full of rowdy crowds, colorful decorations, piles of blushing boxes, and holiday cheer.
Michael and I rolled our eyes as young boys skated on the ice in the middle of the streets, laughing boisterously. We used to do the same thing.
“She’s right, you know.” There was a hint of a bite to Michael’s voice.
“About?”
A smile flittered across his lips. “You’ve changed.”
“How so?”
“You’re softer, sweeter, and you carry the scent of a heart-warming girl. Unforgettable. You were always so angsty, loud, irritable, and you smelled like a frigid girl.”
That ticked me off. I blurted, “Just like Sara is angsty, loud, and irritable?”
“Yeah, you’re acting exactly like her now. See, don’t do that. Ask me gently, softly, and you’ll have my attention. Scream at me and you fucking lose me.”
I could hear the electric motor of a garage door humming as it uncoiled. Somewhere in the distance kids sang and shrieked, and a dog barked along with them. Wind scattered leftover snow from the trees. Follow me home headlights of a sporty Mercedes dimmed. It felt as if I could hear lingering insects dying and freezing and getting crushed beneath the soles of my Frye boots. “Michael, are you cheating on her?”
He looked at me blankly, an expression of befuddlement on his face. “Is that what she told you?”
I didn’t have the stomach to go through with it. Michael was never one to voice his emotions, to say exactly what was on his mind, to show sentiments. I could tell he wanted to ask more, but I wasn’t sure if I would answer. Eventually he cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the dying trees in backyards as we walked.
I paused in front of a glass enclosure, watched four girls play hopscotch in front of a Christmas tree. “You should talk to her.”
“I love her, but the sex is crap.” His eyes softened, the urgency in his tone gone. “She must’ve told you. Girl talk.”
I laughed a long, lazy laugh. “Girl talk?”
He waggled his eyebrows. “You know, when girls discuss clothes, makeup, diets, penis sizes, six-packs, periods, PMS, make whoopee, Oprah.”
“Is this a guy talk topic?
“We have a guy-code. Can’t say,” he murmured.
A soft flurry swirled through the air and felt softly on our cheeks. Michael surprised me by pulling me in for another hug. I gave a good as I got, and noticed a man talking on his phone a few yards away. He was startlingly tall, way over six feet, bigheaded and wide-chested. I would have categorized him as a basketball player turned bodybuilder, but his expensive looking designer coat and suit trousers jarred with that picture. I thought I’d seen him before. I was only half-sure, because I couldn’t put my finger on where.
“There’s a spying john behind you, Michael. Tell me if you’ve seen him before.”
“Keep looking at me, baby girl.” He turned his head tactfully. “First time. Why?”
“Alexander is having me followed.”
“He really digs you. Can you blame him? Just looking at you, one could pop a chubby.”
“Fiend!”
“I like him, El. Working for him was supposed to be a means to an end. I was tired of being a pinch hitter—big doors would open. I don’t think there’s a smarter, fairer, no-nonsense boss in the world. He’s a loyal beast, doesn’t shirk his responsibilities, and his employees mean the world to him.”
Michael’s design
er name and aristocratic air made him more of an insider than outsider when it came to elite circles. I chanted, “Mike’s in love with Alex, Mike’s in love with Alex, Mike’s in love with Alex!”
“We should go back.” The corners of his mouth creased into a neat smile. “Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold. My boss would skin me alive.”
Very softly, I said, “Make things right with Sara.”
He put a hand on my cheek and planted a kiss on my forehead. “Anything for my baby girl.”
Straightening our backs, we walked along the pavement toward the house. It was when we were almost at the imposing gated entrance of my grandparents’ residence that I noticed an Audi four-wheel drive idling on the side of the road, facing the opposite way. Automatically, my eyes flew to its tail, checking the number plate. Unrecognizing it. The windows were tinted as well.
Stop being paranoid. I told myself it was someone waiting for a neighbor, and decided to search if there was a rise in criminality within the vicinity. Back in the living room, we were relieved to see that Sara wasn’t holding a grudge against us. My not telling her why I didn’t punch Michael seemed to have been forgotten. It may have had something to do with the fact that we had many plans this holiday weekend, RSVP’s we’d returned. Though when you got right down to it, I knew all too well that we wouldn’t go to the parties without making nice because neither of us liked drama. Seated in front of the Christmas tree, the three of us attacked holiday hampers, sampling Süss Sweets caramels and Concord Teacakes shortbreads and many more I can’t remember.
One bad thing happened after my body had nothing left. I gagged hopelessly a few more times, my stomach not ready to convey how tired it was. Disgusted with myself and heartbroken, I slipped under the covers and cried silently until I fell asleep.
It started with a dream. Doesn’t chaos always?
“Alexander…,”
“Taking my name in vain?” The smug bastard had worked his way into my dreams. “I believe that’s my cue.”
