by JR King
At first I couldn’t meet his eyes. “You like to play like this. I don’t.”
“You don’t?” he sneered. “I see a slut handcuffed to her own bed. I can tell you’re loving it.”
I looked up at him. “Punish me.” This was so out of character for me, and yet I’d never felt freer.
Upright, he began unbuckling the leather cuffs. Holding my head, he dragged my body so I was lying in the middle of the bed. Strong hands ran up and down my arms, rubbing and soothing to let the blood circulation return to normal.
“This doesn’t feel like punishment.”
He kissed the side of my neck. “You’ve pleased me so much.” My body sang with the knowledge and I pressed my neck into him. “How should I reward you?” he asked seductively, all the while kissing up and down my neck. “Tell me. How do you want me to pleasure you? With my mouth?” He lowered his mouth to a nipple, taking it between his teeth and tugging. “With my hand?” Long fingers traced down my abdomen and then moved below to dip into my wetness. A long, desperate moan erupted from me as I writhed and struggled, aching for more. “Or with my cock?” Just the thought of him manipulating my body like this was enough to cause me to spasm around his fingers. “There. Last one. That’s what you want isn’t it? Beg me. Tell me you want my cock inside you.”
“Come on, Alex.” My hands clawed and clung to his hair, my body desperately moving against his. I felt him smile against my neck. He even laughed when he pulled his mouth away for a second and I let out a needful, whiney little noise.
“Say the magic words.”
It all made me feel humiliated and filthy, but I needed to come. I needed him inside me more than I could recall needing anything else before this moment.
“I want your cock inside me.”
“What would you do to have it inside you?”
“Come what may, I’ll do anything.” I’d never felt so consumed by barefaced lust. I wanted him to claim my body, to calm this insatiable need I had.
Withdrawing his fingers, he climbed over me and settled between my thighs. The slightly cool, damp sensation of his cock-head nudging at me made my body jerk. “Taste yourself.” Salty wetness touched my lips as he drew a finger back and forth. “Do you see how much you like this? Lick all of it.”
As if on queue, my tongue flicked out and I tasted myself. I wasn’t surprised to find out I enjoyed it. Alexander woke a desire in me to try things I’d never dreamed I might enjoy, banishing all my blinkered, preconceived notions about sex. The tip of his penis prodded at my clit, causing delicious sensations to run up my body.
“Mine,” he breathed as he forcefully thrust inside me. My eyes rolled back into my head at the sensation of him stretching me. I cried out when he pulled almost completely out before driving back in. As his pace increased, he pinched my nipples and bit my neck. The sweet mixture of pleasure and pain, the animalistic way he slid into me, the dirty words he whispered against my skin, it all overwhelmed me.
To deepen his thrusts, he lifted me up, filling me so much that I became unashamed and careless with the volume of my cries. “Shush.” The hand at my hips dug its fingers into my flesh to hold me still. “Keep it down.”
I let out a bitter giggle. “Your fault if they hear us.”
Pace ever increasing, he pounded me so hard we slid across the bed. One of his hands grasped my hair while the other clutched my ass to bring me up. For a good while there were only the loud sounds of ragged breathing and flesh meeting flesh, and the soft hiss of the sheets as the mattress shook.
“Come around my cock.” His head dipped down to take my nipple in his mouth, nipping it before sucking hard. Then he took his mouth off my breast and pressed it against my ear. “Come, Elena. Come for me.”
I didn’t have to be told again. I came on an impulse of erotic nature, and just then Alexander stiffened, his face contorting in pleasure. I tightened more around him, pulling him further inside. He punched the mattress and moved into me one last time, shaking as he released inside me in rhythmic bursts. We held onto each other until our breathing slowed.
Sated, I realized the gravity of the situation.
What if they’d heard us?
“I’ll get rid of the room,” he interrupted my thoughts. His hand was in my hair again, stroking it, his lips grazing my forehead. “Move in with me.”
“Keep it. I’ll move in.” It was a thin whisper.
Sprawled in post-orgasmic bliss, I listened to him invoking sweet, smart, sick whispers of reverence and possession before he caught my mouth with his in a savage, eating kiss.
Everything comes at a price. I was going to cohabit with one of the hottest bachelors, and my insecurities were back.
Late in the night the tip of my middle finger pushed at the back of my palate, and slowly I felt the familiar sensation of an imminent retch rising from the bottom of my core. Forgetting to breathe through my nose, I struggled. Panic cinched my chest when I gagged, and squeezing my eyes shut only made it worse. I’d forgotten how to noiselessly purge myself.
I heard a sound as if someone broke into a run.
“Elena, are you okay?” The muscle in Alexander’s jaw was taut, his shout teeth-rattling. Although it looked like he was ready to give me the hiding of my life, his eyes were shadowed with concern. “Shit. I’m pushing you too hard.”
To capitalize on his guilt, I paused, a cold look slamming down across my face like a dark mask. “What’s done is done. I just need to brush my teeth.”
Moments later, he was pouring me a glass of lime-flavored seltzer, whispering endearing little things.
He pulled me toward him during recuperation. His hand curved up my forearm, over my elbow, and rested on my upper arm. It shoved my body closer to him, cocooning me into his side. I nudged my face into his neck and let out a contented breath against the delicious smelling skin.
“Feeling better, Elena?”
“I want to kiss you.”
He tangled and captured my hair in his fist while I feverishly kissed him, surrendering to my lust. His free hand locked my wrists on my back. It was close to the edge of pain, but somehow that only made my heart beat faster. I devoured the sweetness of his tongue, my greedy lips trying to match his urgent rhythm. My tongue plunged deeper and deeper into his mouth, swirling inside him, taking as much of him as I could. Then he was inside of me for the millionth time and everything else slipped away.
Alexander Turner
The Customary Turbulence
How I got the girl to shack up with me? This one’s markedly straightforward, nothing like HIMYM.
On Thursday evening, my hand flew—as usual—to pretty girl’s throat a number of times, and the conversation went something like this:
Elena: I’ll only move in with you if you change your sadistic ways, bastard.
Me: Sure, bitch, any fucking thing for you. I’ll be the coolest dude.
Elena: Listen to me, you asswipe! The darn playroom has me upset. All I ever imagine is you with twenty ninnies in there!
Me: How am I supposed to fuck twenty whores at once? You went in it several times, you stayed, you slept on my red leather sheet and totally crinkled it, you slut.
Elena: I hate you and your butt ugly face!
Me: I ain’t a lifestyler. Want me to get rid of the playroom?
Elena: There’s that. Not…just yet. I want you to chain me to the cross someday soon. Then we be burnin’ that shit down.
Me: Bonnie and Clyde, forever, babe.
God, I loved her passion. I didn’t quite understand what it was about my face that captivated her so much, only that she couldn’t seem to tear herself away from it. I blindfolded her. We kissed and fucked and cursed, crinkling the bedclothes beyond repair. She might recall the conversation otherwise, though, a little more eloquently.
Disputes never negated my enjoyment of sex; they rather flavored it spicily. Elena was one of these girls who didn’t pull crying and other bullshit during a fight. Let’s be real here
, no guy will put up with drama-infested puke-fests, there’s a limit to a grown woman’s weeping. Instead of signing up for those, men will smile and go search for a piece of ass outside the house of horror. Elena rocked, that’s why I didn’t mind sleeping over at her grandparents’ once a week. Jerry also gave Elena a press kit, and the rules of public engagement.
Living together changes a relationship. With my money, it was easy for us. For those itching to judge me, go ahead. Perhaps if your grandparents had invested wisely, or you’d finished your studies and learned the simple matter of not accumulating credit, you’d be able to understand me. Unable to pay for a degree? I don’t have all the answers, but, ask your parents why they chose to sire so many children, or children at all if they weren’t able to fully provide, is the best one I can think of. Ever notice that the richer people are, the less children they have? Ah, not all of us are phenomenally stingy like Diane, but we do tend to use our brains—think ahead—before knocking up a girl. You’d think, wouldn’t you, that people like Donald Trump didn’t raise soccer teams because they were tightfisted. I bet you’re wishing you could smash my skull with that hidden baseball bat. Oh yeah, dear reader, under the right circumstances, we can all cry murder. To get back to the story, you must be getting impatient and I seem to have forgotten that we’re in a specific category.
While waiting for the melodic ping to announce the elevator’s arrival, I noted that my usual scowl was absent. I could see parts of my reflection move in the metallic doors with little motions. A ping, a swish, and in I went. The doors closed swiftly behind me, and I rode in contemplative silence until the elevator stopped at my floor. When the doors slid open on the 60th floor, I spun on my heel to walk out the carriage, and found a peppy bombshell blonde staring at me. She had huge gold hoop earrings that she was playing with.
“Mr. Turner, my name is Mandy. I’ll be assisting you today,” she told me, all sweetness and light while hogging the exit.
The smile dropped off my face. I nodded, inwardly cursing at Meredith for leaving my—sexy, taut, shapely—ass blowing in the wind. It could even be chalked up to left hanging elephant. Am telecommuting, hubby and I are in SF, she texted me when I asked her to meet me in my office, but I’ll call the desk and assign you a girlie girl.
So, let’s assess Ms. Girlie Girl. Temperate smile, long platinum blonde locks curled and worn loose, no wedding band, earrings jittering. Juvederm lips, silicone boobs, slender hips, jutted ass, and all the other female paraphernalia weren’t just present for flag-waving; played up, enlarged, and otherwise accentuated to entice, I guessed they were present for patriotic duty. Her heart neckline was cut particularly low, offering me a good eyeful of cleavage. Large and well-supported breasts tucked in a push-up bra, making me wonder how far her tits could sag down.
“Good morning, Mandy. Temp?”
She pulled herself together, closing her mouth and shaking her head briefly, as if to clear it. “I am, sir.” My eyes wandered to her behind. Not missing a beat, her hips swiveled vulgarly. I can tell you I tired quickly of watching the hen’s wagging rear. Her tone was clipped and polite when we entered my office, but I caught the hint of excitement in it. “Please let me know if I can assist further,” she offered, her arms neatly folded behind her back. A flush of pink crept up her neck and onto her cheeks, her glorious cleavage winking at me. Walking past her, my briefcase brushed lightly over her hips by accident. She shivered in response. The sight of this woman, her parted lips, her dilated pupils, and the increasing rhythm of her breathing irritated me. Like fingernails scraping on a chalkboard.
Ponderous footfalls could be heard marching efficiently toward my office.
“Nothing else.” I redirected my attention to the cup of coffee and pastries steaming on my desk.
“Extension 200.” Mandy lowered her voice to a husky purr, tucking hairs behind her ears. “I’ve programmed it.” Before flitting away, she made sure I saw her licking her lips twice over. If I had my druthers, I would love to fire her.
“My oh my, Alexander, don’t you look dashing in black,” Michael teased as Mandy strutted away.
I was grateful for the momentary distraction, so I smiled. “Wait, whut, black? This is eclipse charcoal mohair, silk and wool sport herringbone with side adjusters by Tom Ford.”
“Holyfuckingshit, if that ain’t meticulous. Closeted gay boss.”
“Nuthin’ you didn’t know. Don’t you remember sucking my dick to get the job, dahhhling?” My Zsa Zsa interpretation was better than Tony’s, just trust me on this.
“Cumming with me, then?”
We laughed, and we did it way too empathically.
“I need five minutes to write…,”
“Great,” Michael sighed, stopping me in my tracks. “I remember the days when you were here before seven. You’re slacking off, man.”
“I sleep like a baby these days. Do you think a young girl is capable of curing insomnia?”
“Fuck me. She never went to LA?”
“Call the little one. She’s back at work.”
A foreseeable corollary after a quotidian fix of coffee was that I wrote an email to the HR Director, and CC’d all the HR managers, saying that a temp seemed open to nonclerical activities. I postulated that she was conscientious, but if she were open to blowjobs, or other loutish behavior, she should never be asked to fill in for one of my employees again. In any case, a permanent TH contract with her name on it would never see the light of day.
There was nothing that couldn’t wait until Monday, so shortly after Michael and I were off to the races at the Boston Convention Center to attend a leadership conference to discuss emerging trends in disaster management, and collaborations with the public and the private sector to be better prepared for the next disaster. Apple, Microsoft, Verizon, Viacom, Elliot & Co, and many more were among the attendees.
“Ladies and gentlemen! What do you have when you cross a groundhog with a peanut?” a booming voice addressed the crowd, asseverating with a quick, “an animal that predicts spring and acts like a nut.”
In February, jocular folklore always got decent chuckles and murmurs. Although the keynote speaker was a potbellied, short-legged, balding guy, he did have the charisma and the flair to enchant the listeners in the room. His speech wasn’t dull or filled with hackneyed verbiage, nor did he lose himself in practical banter, simpering like an idiot. Knowing his outcome, he relaxed and told a personal story to illustrate the cause. The apparent jokes at regular intervals coupled with a wiggle of his paunchy middle put me in the mood to titter as well. This may or may not surprise you, but to work on my stance, voice, and charisma, I’d taken public speaking courses.
I was somewhat inelegantly on edge with tensile stress during the luncheon, waiting for the hour to elapse. Over a light dish of roasted vegetables and grilled farm-raised tuna, Tony, Michael, and I networked at the fifteen-seat table. As tablemates spat out complicated statements designed to impress me, I responded in my ever-calm tone. None of them could discern the hint of worry in my tone. Was Elena happy? Should I lock up the sadist in me? Okay, transgression was off limits. Suchlike thinking obtruded my frame of mind throughout the conversations, the intensity surpassing the discordant sounds.
Determined to leave early, I kept glancing at my watch. Before leaving, a bathroom pit stop was in order. Afire with excitement as I marched toward the exit, I failed to register the man loitering in a corner.
“I’m going to get her back, Turner.”
My smile slipped some, then a lot when I saw Mitchell, and then I felt it die in my eyes. He’d changed his haircut. It was clipped so short it looked almost shaved, covering his head like a dark cap.
“Why do you think she’ll take you back?”
He shrugged. “A hunch. Over the years, I’ve learned to trust them.”
“Why now?”
Directness, which was actually very valuable to me, seemed to be his strong suit. “Long overdue. Anna miscarried. I felt for the
thing growing in her, not for her.”
Feeling blindsided, I wanted to pummel the life out of him because he’d hit a raw nerve inside me. “I don’t want to lock horns with you, dickface. Let’s not thrust and parry over what’s mine.” To give him the upper hand to strike, I stepped forward.
“You schmuck,” he barked, foaming at the mouth. He was just like a stray dog, hesitating in following its path, to bite, or not to bite, that was the question.
“What shall it be? I’ve got bigger fish to fry.” Mitchell was passive aggressive at best. Contrary to mine, his spectrum of mind wasn’t broad enough. Wasn’t dark enough. Despite the fury in my eyes, he stepped forward, balled his fists and charged. It was a good game-opener, but before he could tackle me, my right fist hit him straight in the face with a small, devastating jab. I followed up with an unsuspecting straight-punch, which debased him in a forward retreat.
He stumbled back from the short impact, lost his balance, and with his head down, he lurched in retreat. Panting heavily, he touched his face, then all of a sudden he lunged at my legs, wanting to push, but much to his demise, he hit rock. The dithering fucker hadn’t attended gym sessions lately.
“Stay away from her!” The saying goes that it’s not the size of the person in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the person, and so me being a bit taller was no excuse. Not having moved for an inch after his risible attempt to knock me down, I grabbed him by the upper back and thrust my knee upward into his chest. I hit his gut, hard.
He recoiled from the blow. A real issue former first team jocks like him had is that they confused their Ivy League physical abilities to bench-press a lot of weight with hand-to-hand street combat.
