The Wild Side

by R. K. Lilley

  It was all for show. I was spent, but I still enjoyed the feel of her, the novelty of touching another human just for the contact.

  She moved against me, and it was like we were doing an obscene dance in the shower. I went with it, pushing her hands up on the tile. This lasted for a while before my perverted mind took it a step further.

  I spread her cheeks and pushed my cock into her ass, not with any real pressure. I was just feeling bold and wanted to gauge her reaction.

  She arched her back and let me do it. My mind went fuzzy, because I could tell just from that brief contact that she was going to let me fuck her there. It wouldn’t happen today, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that this beautiful woman would let me take her every way I could think of, and I relished that.

  Loved it. Needed it.

  She made me feel so desirable, when I’d felt so unwanted for so long.

  But back to my cock in her ass. I rubbed it there, soaped it up and pushed it in while she braced herself, and spread her legs wide. I bit her shoulder and worked in just my tip with excruciating care.

  Her entire body shuddered, and I bit harder, then pulled out and away.

  I soaped my hand again, cleaning us both, stroking myself, curious if it was even possible for me to ejaculate again. But I stopped quickly.

  I needed to have a little more faith that there was more to come tomorrow, and at this rate, I was going to work myself into a coma.

  She turned her head and shot me a questioning look. “You don’t have to stop,” she said softly.

  I bent and kissed her shoulder. “You are the sweetest girl, but I can’t possibly go another round today.”

  She just nodded and turned back to the wall, letting her head fall forward as the water ran over her. I got her off with my fingers, smiling into her neck as she gasped and shook in my arms.

  It was glorious. She was glorious.

  We got into bed naked and still slightly damp. I was wrapping myself around her when she said softly, “It’s time for me to go. I have to work a cigarette girl gig tonight.”

  I squeezed her. “Don’t. Stay with me.”

  She just shook her head. “I can’t. Not tonight. I can come back when I’m done, if you want me to, but it will be very late.”

  “That’s fine. Come back whenever you can.”

  She just nodded and went into my closet.

  I followed, even so tired and spent that I felt weak, because I didn’t want her to slip away again while I was sleeping. That was a pattern I was very keen to break.

  Her duffle bag was in there, and she began digging through it.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. While you were sleeping, the locksmith came by and changed your locks. He said you’d given him prior instruction, and that he could bill you later, so I didn’t bother to wake you up. He left your new keys on the butler’s pantry.”

  “Did he leave spares?”

  “Yes.”

  I threw on some shorts. “I need your cell number,” I told her as I strode out of the closet, on a hunt for keys.

  “I don’t have one,” she called back.

  That stopped me short. “You don’t have a cell number?” I asked dumbly.

  “I don’t have a cell.”

  I was flabbergasted. Even I, the most reclusive person I knew, had a cell. She was in her twenties and obviously highly social. It made no sense at all. In fact, there were a lot of things about her that weren’t adding up.

  “I don’t like them,” she said, going back to digging through her bag. “I don’t like the idea that they act as a tracking device.”

  “What about a pre-paid one? I don’t think you even have to use your real name for those.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I don’t like them.”

  I walked away, stewing about that. Was she in some kind of trouble with the law? Why was she so paranoid about being tracked? Who the hell didn’t have a cell phone?

  I found the new keys, but left mine where they were, carrying the second set up to her.

  She took them without protest and an assurance that she’d be back later.

  I tried again to talk her into taking one of my cars, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She was just as vehemently against me giving her a ride.

  It didn’t help when I got a load of what she was wearing out. She’d disappeared into my bathroom for maybe fifteen minutes, blasting that drunk in the kitchen song on my bathroom radio, but came out looking like a million bucks, wearing more makeup than I’d ever seen on her, her hair smoothed out and loose down her back.

  But it was her outfit that really got me. Tiny black shorts and a tight, white halter neck top. And her shoes, God, I hadn’t realized I was a shoe guy until I saw her sexy legs in strappy white Gladiator style heels that went up to her knees. They were killer, and I couldn’t stand that she was going out alone like this, whatever the reason.

  I tried again to talk her into taking a car.

  I was agitated when she just walked out my front door, clearly on foot.

  I took my most nondescript car, a black Prius, less than five minutes later.

  The neighborhood guard knew what I was looking for before I asked.

  “I just called her a cab, sir. She’s waiting on the other side of the gate,” he said quietly, pointing in that direction.

  I was pulling past the gate just in time to catch her getting into a taxi.

  At least she wasn’t on foot, or God forbid, hitchhiking. That had been my fear, the reason I’d followed her, to allay my fears.

  But even so, as though all impulse control had left me, I found myself following the cab as it pulled away. I wanted to see what she was doing, where she was going. She’d said something about being a cigarette girl, which, truth be told, I didn’t like at all. I wanted to see what all that entailed, though I didn’t intend for her to see me. The last thing I wanted to do was scare her off.

  It was the first time I’d ever tailed anybody, and I stayed far back as I followed the car across town, to the strip. I almost lost them twice, as I tried to stay inconspicuous, but with a little luck, and a few red lights ran, I managed to catch sight of her exiting the vehicle at the entrance to one of the smaller casinos on the strip.

  I dropped my car off at the valet, and entered the building in time to see her moving into the dense line of slot machines, and then to the tables. I hung back when she sat down at a blackjack table, and calmly handed in some cash for chips.

  I took up residence at a slot machine that blocked her from view, and vice versa, except when I craned my head slightly to see her, which I did about once a minute, to be sure she didn’t move.

  And she didn’t. Not for hours. Two, at least, that I was sure of, because I sat there and watched her for that long.

  Men came and sat beside her, one after another, young and old, but they always left after a few rounds. She didn’t seem to be turning on the charm for them. In fact, I never saw her head so much as turn in their direction, which did very good things for my very tight chest.

  And all the while, her stack of chips grew. By a lot.

  I didn’t hang around long after two hours. I lost my nerve. I didn’t want to be caught following her.

  I couldn’t imagine she’d be coming back around if she realized I’d invaded her privacy like this.

  I was home for an hour and thirty-six minutes, wide awake in my dark bedroom, when she opened the door and slipped inside.

  I had a dozen questions for her, things I was dying to know about what she’d been doing, and what she’d told me she was doing, but I managed to hold my tongue.

  So she had a gambling problem, and decent luck at the tables, at least on this night.

  I thought to myself that I could afford a vice like that. At least she hadn’t been out walking the streets, or humping a stripper pole, as I’d had myself half convinced she would.

  She went into my closet quietly, only turning on the light of it after she’d shut the door. She was being
thoughtful not to wake me. She was only in there for a minute before she turned off the light again and opened the door back up.

  I was lying on my side, stripped down to my boxers, and she slipped into bed on the empty side, at my back.

  The minute her completely naked body made contact with my bare back, I gasped loudly, tensing.

  “Shh,” she uttered quietly, her soft hand sliding along my side to my abs, and then down to my rigid cock. Then it was her turn to gasp, her soft touch switching to a hard grip.

  I turned and started kissing her.

  I pushed her onto her back, my hands running over her hungrily, like I hadn’t had her in days. Weeks.

  I fucked her, quick and rough, and drifted straight to sleep right on top of her, still buried to the hilt.

  I never did work up the nerve to ask her even one of my dozen questions.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Waking up, the bright morning sun streaming over us, with her still wrapped in my arms, was an experience I’d not soon forget.

  And, as though my body had profoundly forgotten that I wasn’t twenty, I found my spent cock stiffening between one contented breath and the next.

  Sometime in the night, I’d rolled off her, or she’d pushed me off so I wasn’t crushing her, and now I was on my back, her silky head with one soft cheek down on my chest, one thin arm curled over my side, her heavy breasts crushed, warm and delicious, against my ribs.

  If I had an ounce self-control, I would have lain there and savored the moment, but I was chock out of it, had used up my lifetime’s worth before I met this gorgeous creature.

  So I had her on her back in a flash, sucking at her still soft nipples, my hard-on jerking into the satin of her inner thigh, ready to take her, sleeping or not.

  When she still wasn’t waking, but I was more than ready, I moved down her body and started eating her out like a man starved.

  That was when she woke, but not how I expected. She started, and then gently pushed my head away. I loomed over her, using one elbow to balance, the other moving to her pussy, my eyes curious on her face.

  I had my hand buried two fingers deep in her when she pushed that away, too.

  Her expression was still soft with sleep, but just a touch troubled. “Could you just…hold me?” she asked in the most vulnerable tone I’d ever heard from her.

  I was putty, brought completely low with a few quiet words. I felt like a bastard, only thinking of one thing since the moment she’d approached me. What kind of a jerk didn’t know just to hold a girl, instead of going for a quick fuck, when she was sleeping so softly, so trustingly, against him?

  Me, apparently.

  “Of course,” I told her stiffly, when what I wanted to portray was my utter repentance. I didn’t only want to use her for that, though she couldn’t have seen it that way.

  I lay rigidly on my back, and pulled her over me, just how we’d been when she’d been sleeping so peacefully.

  One awkward arm went over her. Is this what she meant by holding? I was suddenly out of my depth.

  I was not quite sure how to be casually affectionate. I was not a demonstrative man.

  I considered how I’d gotten that way, how it had gotten to the point where a very beautiful woman just wanted me to hold her, to touch me, and have me touch her, not necessarily sexually, but often, and how I had no clue what to do with that. My first and last instinct (unless we were talking about sex) was to keep my hands to myself.

  I thought of my childhood, and how I could count on one hand the times I’d been hugged. My parents had been scholarly and wise and perhaps even good, but never anything approaching affectionate.

  And of course, I thought of my ex-wife, and what she would have done if I’d just wanted to have her sit in my lap, or say, put my arm around her. The only picture that came up in my mind was one of her being annoyed. What was wrong with me that I’d stayed with a woman like that for so long? Why had that been so normal for me?

  For whatever reason, I’d just never had the option, the simple pleasure of keeping company with someone that enjoyed being touched, and doing the touching.

  Iris snuggled into my chest, one of her velvet hands tracing gentle patterns on my collarbone, touching just to touch.

  I found that I quite enjoyed it, but also, had a hard time adjusting to it or reciprocating. I patted her back, unsure what to do, what she wanted, or even what I wanted. My mind was still half on the sex that we weren’t currently having, but the other half wanted to explore this other thing, this new intimacy, if I could only get past my own awkward self and figure out how.

  I put on sweats and a T-shirt, she put on boxers and a tight tank top without a bra, and we took our strange touching session into the kitchen, where she made us lunch.

  Somehow, we’d managed to sleep in until almost noon. I couldn’t remember a time I’d done that, even during one of my sleep deprived deadline trances.

  She made us subs while I perched a hip against the counter and watched, not helping, too lost in my own musings, and just generally dazed at her presence.

  She kept me off kilter like that, moving to kiss me on the shoulder or nuzzling sweetly into my chest.

  “I love this spot…right here,” she murmured into my sternum, nestling her lovely face there, her lush doting lips placing five quick kisses that moved up to my collarbone, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

  Put a fork in me, I’m done, I thought, my mind feeling a bit mushy.

  I hugged her to me stiffly, wanting to do more, wishing I knew how to respond in a way that made her feel how she was making me feel, which was wonderful.

  She didn’t seem to mind my inept response to her smooth affections. Thankfully, she was unfailingly patient with me, as though she knew why I hesitated.

  We ate together, and then she talked me into an afternoon of watching television.

  It worked out well (though it was the last thing I’d wanted to do) because it let me work past some of my touching restraints, when I felt she was adequately distracted.

  She was laughing at some god-awful reality show when she casually asked me to rub her neck.

  Affection with a purpose I could do, I found. It was a good way to break me in. I put my efforts into rubbing her neck and shoulders until she was a limp puddle on my aching lap.

  Finally she pulled my hands away with a laugh, tugging them over her shoulders so she could slowly kiss each of my knuckles. “You don’t do anything half-assed, do you?” she asked fondly.

  That I did not. She’d hit that one square on the head.

  I nuzzled my face into her hair and kissed my way to her temple. I was getting the hang of it, though, this affection dance. It was already starting to feel more natural.

  “I’ve got to tell you, I’m kind of hoping this isn’t really the only kind of show you like,” I told her, hours into our marathon of horrible reality television.

  She turned and smiled at me. “Of course it isn’t, but I don’t want to turn on anything too fascinating. I have to confess, I’m a bit of an attention whore, where you’re concerned, and I want your focus all on me.”

  My eyes tried to bug out of my head. “I don’t know what show on the planet you think could distract me from you. I can’t even wrap my mind around that idea.”

  She shrugged, wiggling deeper into my lap.

  Into my very obvious erection.

  “So we’re only watching this crap so I’ll pay attention to you?” I asked, feeling skeptical. She couldn’t really think she needed a ploy like that to get my focus on her…could she? I had her pegged as way more observant than that.

  “It can’t hurt.”

  I bit her neck and fondled her. I’d show her focus.

  I’d reached my non-sexual touching breaking point.

  As though she knew it, without me even having to speak, she switched the music on, some sultry song with a heavy beat, with the female singer belting out some of the most obscene lyrics I’
d ever heard.

  “Did she just say he Monica Lewinskey’d all over her gown?” I asked, feeling old and a touch slow.

  She giggled. “Yes. And he didn’t even bring a towel.”

  That surprised a laugh out of me, but she shifted, arched her back, and it was cut off short.

  I kept her firmly on my lap, facing away, and peeled her tight shirt up over her breasts, her loose boxers down to her feet.

  I yanked my sweatpants to my knees, and lifted her by the hips, my cock seeking her slick entrance. I pushed into her, my hands dragging her down by the hips until she let me in.

  The music played on while I took her like that, as leisurely as I could manage, stopping occasionally, seated to the hilt, to play with her soft, round breasts, and suck at her silky soft nape. When I couldn’t hold back anymore, my hands went to her hips and I started thrusting in earnest again, my eyes closing in pleasure, jaw clenching with every one of her needy moans.

  I gave full credit to all of my ejaculations the day before as I made her come again, and again, stopping to fondle her for every one of her delicious orgasms, still hard and throbbing inside of her. My stamina, thank God, seemed to be well in hand again, at least for the moment.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned, as she came down from another cock-clenching orgasm, her arms thrown up and back around my neck, pushing her lush breasts into my busy hands. “That was amazing. You’re amazing. I’ve never…where did you, how do you manage to…do it like this?”

  I didn’t have any kind of an answer for that, except to feel a glowing pleasure. I clasped her hips and bounced her some more on my abused cock, gritting my teeth to keep from coming. Above all else, I wanted to give her pleasure. The more the better.

  I was a writer, but I’d never been any good at romantic phrases, not on paper or in life. To make up for that, I wanted to make her feel with my body, the way she made me feel with her sweet, flattering words.

  Somewhere along the way, her boxers had been kicked off, and she was spread wide, knees on the couch on either side of me. I was slouched, hips on the edge of the sofa for a better angle.