by Seth King
“I want you, too.”
“Good,” she said, a smile in her voice, as she sucked on my neck. “You seem to be hard,” she breathed into my ear as she reached down and jacked off my dick. “Very hard. I like that. Hmm, what should I do with this?”
The question hung in the air as she kissed her way back down my chest. She sucked on my bellybutton, which felt so unexpectedly, ridiculously hot, I felt a little wetness dribble out the tip of me.
“Should I do…this?” she asked, as she bent down and took one of my balls in her mouth. It was an indescribable feeling between a tickle and something else, and I gasped.
“Or should I do…this?” she asked as she ran her tongue in circles around the tip of my dick. I arched my lower back and pushed my dick towards her mouth.
“Nope, nope, nope. I’m in control now. But you had a good idea.”
She thrust my dick so deep into her throat, I could hear her muffled gag.
“Oh, fuck,” I sighed, as my body went all tingly. “Ugh. Yes.”
“You like?” she asked in between thrusts.
“Yes. Fuck me.”
“Beg. Men aren’t the only ones who can control things.”
“Okay. Fuck me.”
“Beg harder.”
I felt my legs straining against her. Every cell in my body was overcome with insane desire for this woman. In this moment she was all I wanted, all I needed, the only thing that could banish the shadow of Nicole. “I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you. Please.”
“Okay, fine.” She grabbed my legs and pushed them up over her shoulders.
“What are you doing?” I asked, and just then she buried her face between my legs.
“Ahhhhhh,” I moaned as I rocked back against the seat. Her tongue went everywhere, and I mean everywhere. Deeply. What was happening? And why did it feel so good? It was alien, unlike anything else I’d ever experienced. I felt totally out of control, stripped of power, and I absolutely loved it.
“You try to enter me, so I enter you,” she said as I took a deep breath and held it. “That’s the rule. And what – are you too manly for a tongue inside you?”
“Apparently not,” I breathed.
“Good.”
She stuck out her tongue and inserted it into me, jacking me off with her hand as she licked me. It was the single best feeling I’d ever experienced, and as she explored me I had a fleeting thought – was this what I’d been missing all this time by being heterosexual?
I wanted her to stop, but I also didn’t. I was so confused. All I knew was that I was in an Earthly heaven. Thank God I took a shower today…
“Fuck me,” I heard myself say. “Fuck me with that tongue. I love it.”
Because karma was a cruel bitch with a crueler sense of humor, I Kissed A Girl by Katy Perry came on shuffle. I got eaten out by a girl and I liked it, I thought to myself, and if I hadn’t been so lost in ecstasy I would’ve laughed. This was definitely not what good boys did – but then again, when had I ever been a good boy?
But just as I neared climax, she climbed on top of me and sank herself into me, just like that. I couldn’t deny it – she was tight.
“Oh, fuck yes,” I moaned. “Yesss. Ugh.”
I reached up to squeeze her nipples, but she swatted me away. “Nope,” she said again, trying not to moan. “No touching. I’m in control now. And I’m not taking orders.”
“But my dick’s in you,” I moaned as we hit a speed bump and she slid down on me even further. I was now balls-deep, and she reached around to stroke them as she moved up and down. I could feel her contracting, and I knew she was starting to get close. Already.
“I meant besides that little detail,” she panted. “Now hold on.”
She started sliding up and down faster, and I cracked my eyes open and peered at her perfect body. Oh my God. She was perfect. I could do this forever, I suddenly thought to myself, which was terrifying. I could sit here and have this beautiful woman ride me into the apocalypse. I’d never felt so close, so connected, to anyone. But I didn’t have too much time to dwell on it, as she reached around and cupped my balls again as she rode me, nearly sending me over the edge.
“Don’t come yet,” she said. “Madame isn’t ready.”
I noticed that with her aggressive behavior, my body language was changing, too – I was submitting to her unconsciously. She moved up and down faster and faster until she seemed to be nearing climax again, and before long I realized she was right – there was something more to this. Instead of a volcano explosion, we were a lit match in a dark room. Still hot, but smaller and more personable somehow. It elevated things to have her in control, appreciating my body like this, using me for her own pleasure. I was the paint and she was the artist, and all of the colors were here. When her body tensed and she started contracting around me, I leaned forward and swallowed her nipple into my mouth.
“Come, baby,” I whispered, and her whole body clenched as I pressed down on her slit. Then she stilled, letting out a silent cry. Finally she fell against me, her body a blotchy, sweaty mess. I thrust once more and came into my condom, then placed a kiss on her neck.
“I’ve never come in such a short amount of time before,” I said in disbelief.
“Is that right?” she asked, still out of breath. “Well then, let me taste the spoils of my victory, good sir.”
She reached down, pulled the condom off me, and dripped all of me into her mouth. She smiled before she spit into a cup. I tried to look away, but she wouldn’t let me. Holy shit.
“See how you taste,” she said, and then she leaned in and kissed me. It was such a bizarre sequence of events that I just went with it, and I moaned as she pushed my saltiness into my own mouth, moving it around between my mouth and hers with her tongue. “What, you think males have a monopoly on kink?”
I shivered.
“How does that taste?” she asked, her hand on my leg, sending shivers all over my body.
“Good.”
“How good?”
“Very good.”
“Call me ma’am.”
“Okay, very good, ma’am.” What was happening to me?
She slid off me and returned to her seat, where she started slipping back into her clothes and patting at her rat’s nest hair, her body language softening with every second. It was like she’d become a dominatrix in two seconds and then snapped out of it just as quickly.
“Well,” I said.
“Well,” she laughed.
I looked out the window as the ramifications of tonight swirled in my dazed brain. Jesus – that was odd. What did this mean? And where did we go from here? And did I even want it to go anywhere from here? I just let this girl fuck my brains out. She’d done things no one had ever done to me…things I’d never even considered letting someone do to me before tonight…
And I’d loved every second of it.
I reached up and brushed some hair out of her face. “What have you done to me, Hannah? You’re so beautiful.”
She looked away.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, it’s just…”
She looked back, her eyes sad. “No man has ever called me beautiful. Ever. They call me funny, sassy, brassy, whatever – never beautiful. Not even my father.”
“Well I’m sorry you’ve been keeping company with such idiots.”
She smiled a little, but so much regret was there, it made me want to wrap her up and hold her.
“We’re on your block,” I said as I looked out the window. “What now?”
“Suddenly I don’t know.”
I couldn’t help myself: I leaned in and kissed her again. Instead of another TNT kiss, it was soft, tender, exploratory. Watercolor instead of Jackson Pollack.
But she pulled away.
“Wait,” she said, patting herself like she was waking up from surgery. “You kissed me. Twice. On the mouth.”
“And?”
“And I don’t do that.”
> “Chill, sweetie. I kissed you, I didn’t propose marriage.”
But she didn’t care. “Wait – you just called me sweetie.”
“Is there a problem?”
She started looking around, flustered and confused. “Yeah. I was wrong. We’re not a match after all. I’m sorry. And are we here? Is this my building? Good, I’ll just – I’ll see you some other time.”
“Wait, Hannah, don’t-”
She opened the door into traffic, and just like that she ditched me. As she jumped out into the dark road, stumbling and mumbling, I couldn’t help but wonder, for the second time in one night:
What the fuck was that?
Hannah Goncalves
“Oh, it was awful,” I told Rachel that next evening as we sat on the couch watching Bravo and drinking cheap wine. She’d been shopping all day and I hadn’t had a chance to tell her about the drama date, but now I was going full-bore. “I actually kissed him. On the mouth.”
“Oh no!” she said with feigned horror. “What’s next, the dreaded handhold? A trip to the countryside? If he tries to rest a hand on your leg, call the cops! This man is sick.”
“I’m serious! It was bad, Rach. So I freaked out and left.”
She frowned. “Did you do your usual weird dominatrix stuff?”
I looked away. We obviously never talked about my…unusual sexual tastes, but she’d happened upon enough strange objects in my drawers while looking for makeup and such that she knew I was a little freaky, to say the least.
“You did!” she said after I didn’t respond.
“I couldn’t help it, okay? He was so fucking hot. I just sort of…lost control, I guess. And don’t go there, with your weird, shame-y stuff about sex.”
“I didn’t!”
“Come on, I can taste your condescension from here. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a female who enjoys sex. Ugh, don’t even get me started. Who woke up one day and decided that women either had to be Betty Crocker, or the town whore? Why does sex make us stupid or trashy or unintellectual, and why isn’t it considered classy to talk about it? I can have a brain and crave a good orgasm, thank you. My-”
“Okay, I get it,” she interrupted. “You like sex. Nothing wrong with that, just don’t talk about it around me, because you’re my twin and that’s weird. And wow. You say he’s really that Spark guy? What are the odds?”
“Yep. It was so random. I searched him, and it was really him. He’s all over the Internet from going on dates with Kate Hudson and that girl from Modern Family.”
“God,” she said dreamily. “He must be worth-”
“$960 million, give or take,” I interrupted before I could stop myself. “He’s, like, rich. Rich enough to have two last names.”
“Two last names?”
“Like, you know how rich people always have two last names? Think of that kid from school whose dad had a helicopter, Forester Pennington III. Rich people always have two last names.”
“Gotcha. Jeez, he’s almost a billionaire. I thought young billionaires only existed in bad romance movies.”
“Not anymore. All you have to do now is make an app in your dorm room, and then a few years later, cha-ching.”
She smirked at me.
“What?”
“You’ve clearly been Google stalking. Maybe you do like him.”
“I was not stalking, I was simply researching. And you know of all people that I don’t give a shit about money.”
“True. But why would such a baller be on a dating app? Like, even if he owned it. Maybe it was market research. And his market is vagina.”
“I don’t know…I get the sense he’s not good at small talk and that sort of thing. He’s very…intense. Almost too intense. Awkwardly intense.”
“Okay, then why have you been talking about him for twenty minutes straight?”
“I haven’t! I don’t even care about him. He’s nothing to me. Let’s watch this stupid show.”
I tried to focus on the dumb show Rachel was into, where a random couple went on a blind date, and you could text in your reactions to be shown live onscreen. The results were pretty much what you’d expect. “GREAT ASS!” said Twitter user NascarFan425. “SHOW US YOUR BOOBS!” said an incredibly charming Facebook user named Randall. How did men get away with being men for so long?
I tried, but soon it became clear I would not be thinking about anything but Penn. Aside from his brusqueness, and his assholery, there was something about him that was just…cute. Boyish. Lost. He was on top of Manhattan, and he looked like he hated his own life.
“And, like, little things he kept doing were pissing me off,” I said suddenly, making Rachel roll her eyes. “Like, he was acting like such a dick, I could tell he was just hiding something. But he didn’t seem like he was genuinely a bad person. You know how guys with small dicks always drive huge monster trucks? His personality felt like the emotional version of a monster truck. It just…didn’t fit. There’s more, I know it.”
“I don’t know. And who cares, anyway?” she asked, yawning. “So you had a bad date with a rich dude. Move on.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’ve already moved on, actually. I’ve gotta start work tomorrow, anyway, I need to forget about this.” I paused. “There. Did you hear that? That was the sound of me forgetting Penn Sparks ever existed. Stupid douche bag.” And then: “Wait, did I tell you he called me ‘toots?’ I mentioned that, right? It was so weird. He was-”
“Elizabeth Hannah Goncalves,” she said, making me cringe, as I hated my first name and changed it when I was four because I decided it was too common and formal. “I do believe you have found a guy you hate so much, you actually like him.”
“Shut up. You’re crazy.”
Rachel was nuts, I told myself as she threw a pillow at me. I didn’t like Penn. He was a feminist’s nightmare. The superior attitude, the constant sexist comments, the condescending little smirks. He was like a walking billboard of why we needed more women leaders. My role models, Susan B. Anthony and Lorde, would’ve killed me for even getting into that car with him. Sure, he was sexy…and sure, this morning I’d woken up and taken the shower head off the hook and gone to town on myself as I imagined his dark eyes, his exploratory fingers, his moans when I was playing with him…letting him take control instead of me…
One thing was sure: his whole persona shattered the second I challenged him and took power over him. It was all a ruse, a silly distraction to keep people from getting to know the real Penn. But just who was the real Penn? Was there enough good down there to redeem the rest of him, which sucked immensely? And did I even want to find out any of this? I didn’t even have his phone number. I wasn’t some dumb girl who chased broken men and tried to change them, but at the same time, something in him seemed redeemable.
The viewers decided the girl on the show was too ugly for her date, as if the only thing females brought to the table were breasts and blowjobs, and the show ended. As the credits rolled I realized I was still thinking about Penn, and I was hit by the most terrifying realization of all: what if Rachel was right?
What if I actually liked this stupid jackass?
Penn Sparks
The next day was restless and horrible. I wasn’t even that interested in sex, which was an absolute first for me. Get this, though: when I finally did get horny, I asked my maid, Beatrice, to watch me jack off after her shift ended. (Sometimes I wasn’t in the mood to be touched and simply wanted to be watched.) And after I came all over myself, I immediately got up and fetched a towel so she wouldn’t have to clean it. A towel! Could you believe it? I was turning into a regular softie!
But as soon as Beatrice left, the loneliness came again. Before, my sleek apartment had seemed modern and airy and cool. Now it just seemed sepulchral, the clean lines and grey tones coming together to trap me in a cold little tomb of my own creation. I was questioning everything now – I couldn’t believe I’d met a girl like Hannah. A girl who apparently wasn’t inte
rested in marriage or babies or even reaching that next step with a billionaire. A girl who had dominated me just as hard as I’d tried to dominate her. I didn’t even know those existed in the world. One thing was for sure: I’d met my match, and then she’d eaten my ass. I couldn’t have been more powerless in that SUV if my hands had been tied behind my back.
Sunday night’s sleep was just as tossy-turny as I expected. I kept seeing those dark eyes, and I kept getting the strange feeling I’d missed out on something. Why couldn’t I stop thinking about her? Why was she suddenly becoming a ghost I just couldn’t banish?
At dawn I was left with the loneliest realization of all: for the man who had supposedly connected a generation, all this connectivity had done was make me feel like the last man on Earth.
By the time seven-thirty finally arrived and I had to get ready for work, I felt like I’d been lying awake for fifty thousand hours, watching the clock tick away. (I really did still keep an actual grandfather clock in my room, as it was my favorite uncle’s and always reminded me of him.) I jacked off in the shower for stress relief, put on my favorite dark brown Zegna suit with an oxblood bowtie, and headed to work. When I stumbled into the office at eight fifteen, my office manager Alexis was already waiting for me, a coffee in one hand and an iPad in the other. I barely paid attention as she adjusted my bowtie and caught me up on the day’s schedule.
“…Meredith Vieira’s assistant is on line one, she wants to set up an interview for a segment about the Millennial generation. And don’t forget you’ve got a phone conference at nine thirty with Richard Branson, he wants you to be one of the first celebrity astronauts on that spaceship service. Oh, and most exciting, a new executive assistant is here! She comes very well recommended, and she just moved to the city.”
I looked up at Alexis as all my worst fears bloomed before my eyes.
No…fuck no, this cannot be happening…
“Mr. Sparks, meet Hannah.”
I turned to where Alexis was pointing, and all I needed to see was dark blonde hair and a pair of intelligent brown-black eyes before I turned for the elevator and got the hell out of there. The last time I’d seen that face, it’d been buried between my legs.
