by JR King
“You’d rather I be indifferent?” he chided, softly though.
“I love it,” I realized myself. I would crawl into a dark corner and weep if he were indifferent.
He undressed me. Flipping me over to lie beneath him, his lips roamed over my midsection, his fingers rubbing my sex. “You’re so creamy, baby. Only for me, right?” He was actually smirking as he said this.
“Only for you,” I answered, breath held in my throat. Risking it all, I banded my arms around his waist, and brushed my teeth against his throat, running the tip of my tongue from the base of his neck to the tender spot below his ear. “Don’t be angry with me, please?”
He pulled my face to his and kissed me deeply, his tongue slicing eagerly against mine. I knew I was in for a treat and sighed contentedly. I kissed him with everything I had, the rapid flutters of my tongue competing fiercely against the masterful strokes the warm velvet of his tongue performed. Ending the kiss, his hand slid down and he curled his forefinger over the neckline of my dress.
I felt him move over me in the middle of the night, obviously wanting what he always wanted during the night. His cool hand touched my forehead with much tenderness, most likely looking for a fever. Sure enough he didn’t find one, my feet had scratches, not deep cuts. I wondered if now I was hallucinating when I felt his warm lips kiss my feet reverently. Having indulged his foot fetish, I felt him poking around my bandages. I wasn’t sure how he could make anything out in the darkness that blanketed the room. Was he waiting for me to scream? He seemed satisfied, however, because he rolled to his side afterward, not taking me.
My body was thrumming for more appeasement. I wanted him inside me, his pelvis crushing mine. This isn’t the right time for playing games. I dragged myself up his body so I could climb on top of him. Our noses met and our breaths mingled within seconds. I kissed him fiercely, biting his lower lip. My lips quivered with tension as I covered the bruise, tasting the citrusy smack of blood on its softness. His hand held me firmly in place while his tongue explored the inside of my mouth. I could taste the whiskey he’d consumed, but it was mixed with a raw, masculine taste of him as well.
“Are you sure?” he asked huskily.
“Take me, Alex. Do it now.” It was a stuttered, hungry groan.
Alexander Turner
The Things that Happen
A fleeting warmth of summer fondled the city as its weakening rays tried to penetrate the thick, vivid canopy of changing leaves overhead, transforming the old red sunset maples into a fiery vermillion. Looked almost like Japanese camellia blossoms.
For those of you who care about me, thank you a thousand times for the support. Don’t you worry, it all panned out. Jax was the sorest ex-boyfriend one can imagine. He only got close to Elena because she thought I had a mistress. Me, a mistress? I mean, fuck, what a funky mess. It didn’t suit the narrative. I was a great many things, a straight up guy was one of those things. Only cowards cheat and lie about it. Sure as shooting, a mistress was the last thing on my mind. Ever been in that position where you just want to marry the girl, have babies, and grow old drinking bourbon and one day show your gun collection to your daughter’s date?
That’s where I was at.
So imagine the shock. I had to tell Elena about my estranged father. Perfect, because he wanted to meet her, to taunt her father in turn. He didn’t live in some rambling shingle-and-stone house perched on a promontory above a jagged coastline in the middle of nowhere; my father lived in a palatial estate on a private island. Amy Lidell was his mistress, a tease of a woman who’d kissed me many times. He hadn’t done a complete wipe and restart to reboot his love life after my mother’s and his mistress’s death, never looking back. He’d sought out ways to deal with the pain, Amy was one of them.
“Alex,” Elena was holding the knife I carried in my briefcase, “you were never going to do anything with this?” Her pretty blue eyes glanced at me with scorn.
I forced myself to breathe slowly and calm down, trying to halt the directions my thoughts were taking. “I’m quite partial to you, kitten. I believe it’s called being crazy in love. Beyoncé wrote a song about it.”
She seemed to process my answer for a moment, her sapphire gaze searching mine. Yeah, I’m fucking trying to describe her stare because you might have forgotten she had blue eyes. Only, hers were prettier than that Jax fucker. “You were so angry,” she giggled, her nose scrunching.
Feeling the little twitches tugging at the corners of my mouth, I realized I was miraculously smiling again. “It was an act. An analgesic type of illusion to protect myself.”
Discarding the knife, her hands settled on her hips. “You lied to me to scare me?”
I snorted. It was soft. “You think me capable of non-consensual mutilation? You don’t know me in the slightest. Even landfill sites like Literotica don’t bear that category. I’m a good guy who tells white lies, not a bad guy who pretends to tell white lies. Which is worse?” I got up from my office chair and wrapped my arms around her middle. The dress she wore was silky and light; I couldn’t resist balling the hem a bit in my fist to feel the warmth of her thighs below.
Elena leaned back into my chest. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve missed this, sweetheart.” I nuzzled my cheek into her shoulder. My jacket hung carelessly over the backrest of a chair shoved askew, and her pumps were haphazardly discarded on the floor. “You’re the best thing in my life.”
“Says the one who tongues daddy’s GF. Does he know?” She was panting and attempting to find some sort of a grinding angle. Her frantic movements made me hard as rock.
“Doesn’t matter,” I lowered my voice until it came out in a warm, seductive tone, “that he controls every aspect of her life. Money ain’t a thang.” My voice was very low, almost a whisper, buttery soft. “I’m hotter, she says.”
“She your hollaback gurl?” She was gyrating all over my shaft, her aggressive grinding bordering on bucking.
It went fast. My tongue plunged into her mouth at the same time I sank into her, relentlessly. I twisted my hand between us, fingers pressed against her soaked clit. My thumb rubbed her in slow circles that made her shake. “Slow down, I’ve got you. Just relax,” I instructed. I grasped her hips and helped her find the right placement and pace, holding her up but not fucking her. She moved against me, left to right, and sometimes in a circular motion. She was using me and I loved it.
I wrapped my arms around her back and held her chest in place, allowing her to work me with her hips. She was almost thrusting. When she started making short, quick movements, I knew she was close. “Christ, Elena. You’re so fucking sweet and soft.” Her pace increased and then she froze, her muscles tightening.
She asked me to come on her. I slid out. My balls immediately drew up and come raced out of me, and ropes of it shot between our bodies.
“Alexander, I’m so sorry I kissed him,” she whispered bitterly. The stress of it all seemed to have taken its toll, because she began to cry.
I scooped her up into my arms, cradling her against my chest and stroking her hair as she sobbed.
I asked, “Did you enjoy the kiss?”
“At first…but then I only want…my body only want…and I couldn’t stop thinking about you…,”
“Shh. You can barely articulate.”
She snuffled wetly into my bare chest. “Don’t hate me.”
“Elena, Elena, Elena,” I sighed, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “What am I going to do with you, my pet?” I smoothed her hair back from her face, and she shuddered. “You’re mine, forever and always. Do you understand? Say that you do, I need to hear it.”
Lips curved in a tight smile, she whispered, “I’m yours, master.”
What did I tell you about boiling a frog, dear reader? Long process, but worth it, isn’t it?
I wiped the tears from her eyes with my thumb. “And I’m yours too, pet.” She closed her eyes as I tenderly kissed her cheeks.
I loved this time of the year: autumn and All Hallows’ Eve. The air outside was cooler than inside, and had a fresh, clean feel to it. Leaves were changing color, heralding the arrival of old man winter. People, in general, seemed to be in a better mood, maybe because the heat of summer had passed, or maybe they were looking forward to the holiday season.
I cut into a pumpkin. Bette Midler was singing I Put A Spell On You.
I do have fond childhood memories of Halloween, bittersweet ones, however. This was my mother’s favorite holiday. Costumes, decorations, candies; mom fabricated it all, elaborate and fancy. I was her little slave helper. On Halloween day, she always put on some cheesy song while doing prep work. Deftly carving jack-o’-lanterns, creating one crooked grin after the other. I loved watching her as she sang along and stepped back to survey her handiwork. Waddling like a duck from table to table, I helped sticking decals of spiny insects and googly-eyed ghost faces on glasses, and hanging two-toned baubles on centerpieces. Limoges porcelain vases had black roses sticking out of them, and crocheted jack-o’-lantern goodie bags had homemade candy-corn, spider pops, candy cane witches boots, Frankenstein cookies, and giant trinkets—of bats, skulls, cats, owls, and mummies—that were edible.
Now that my mother’s gone, I watched Elena laugh and twirl as the witches from Hocus Pocus sang at full pelt. I loved the crescendo of her laugh.
“You’re irresistible,” I told her.
She cackled wildly, a bit like a bar-wench. “I am? I know you’re not. I can resist you.”
With hands on hips, “I’d like to see you try,” I taunted, the jokey mannerism showing how unlikely it was.
She got crowned as a liar within a few instants. Her nostrils flared as I trailed my fingertips over the slope of her breast, pinching her hardened nipple. Penetrating her felt like a heated knife passing through soft butter. My glans disappeared into her with the tiniest wet sound, then I pushed my cock all the way in and tarried, keeping her head in a steady grip. A lingering drop of my sweat fell on her butt cheek.
When she came, my balls bathed in her come. I witnessed the underside of my shaft burying deeper inside her, watched my underside pulse harder and stronger with each jet of come. I impaled her hard and held her there as I shot the last waves of semen into her, puffs of respiration emerging above the sound of blood in my ears. When every droplet had rivered inside her, my bearings regained focus.
I clutched her tightly against my chest and moved us up onto the sofa. Cradling her, I nursed her with blossom soft kisses on the bare of her back, and gradually slipped out of her.
She was resting in supine position. I stooped and whispered words of worship and, in the middle of it all I heard my voice, not as I’d intended it, but as it was flowing out. Beseeching, worried, and unsure. I was no longer asserting my ownership; I was nearly begging Elena to think about marrying me. She giggled, telling me that nuns never marry. Since you’re so damn curious, she was disguised as a nun and I a priest later that night.
*
November set in, the leaves were beginning to fade, and people started decorating for Christmas. I felt a bit lost in the beginning of winter. Boston felt like a giant glass dome that was climate controlled. The wind blew with less urgency, the thunder and lighting lacked vividness, and the sunlight left the skin a whiter shade of pale. Most girls gained weight, and underneath the thick layers of clothing that hid their figures, unwaxed legs and paleness reigned supreme…
Feel like handcuffing and beating me yet?
Oh, you wish.
Elena and I had survived the vacations. We’d even survived Zürich. A good many failed marriage proposals behind me, but this was a testament to the fact that he who starts a lot of things, finishes but few. I’d seen our potential. Relationships are rarely perfect, and when you call your girlfriend a bitch and she still says she loves you a moment later while riding your heavyweight dick, you know you have something special going.
Out of the blue, Elena’s name flashed up on my iPhone’s tall screen. I smiled. “Elena?”
“Alex, have you had dinner?”
“Not yet, sweetheart.” I had a couple of other things I needed to attend to almost as urgently as seeing my girl. She’d traveled to New York to attend a seminar.
When I hung up the phone, I walked straight to the shower, my mind full of sexy ideas. Emerging wetly, naked, I toweled dry, then stood in the middle of my dressing room, eyeing the built-in drawers, shelves, shoe racks, and hanging racks. Eventually, I settled on a charcoal stripe Ermenegildo Zegna suit with a matching light blue shirt and belt, which I wore open at the neck, complemented by Louis Vuitton’s Manhattan Richelieu. The paisley Brioni tie could be knotted on my way down; double Windsor of course. I completed the ensemble with a pair of Cartier cufflinks and a Hublot wristwatch.
It took me less than a minute to get downstairs. Another five minutes went by before Hamilton pulled up. Elena swung her coltish legs gracefully out of the car, and waited for him to retrieve her wheeled suitcase from the trunk before thanking him. A cinched-front halter dress billowed around her slender figure. As she walked toward me, a ghost of a smile played around my lips.
“Hi, Mr. Turner.”
“Hi?” A small laugh bubbled out of my chest.
“Hola?” A smile passed over her lips before she shook her head. “Good evening, sir.” Tiptoeing, her tongue flirted across my bottom lip. It was subtle but I could sense the question: is this okay?
Taking a deep breath, I gave her an abrupt nod.
Fucking marry me, I wanted to say.
We’re going to L’Espalier, came out instead.
“First-class,” she acknowledged, a playful smirk etched across her face.
Dinner was all smiles and smirks and teasing. By the time she was kneeling in the playroom, her skin gleamed with frustration and her eyes brimmed with tears.
I briefly rubbed my cock-head against her perineum, and then the penetrating began. At times, I inched my cock out of her, glistening proud and dripping with female compliance. I was unforgiving. Put simply, I wanted her to feel slitting pain, the wave of pain I was feeling.
She censored her hatchet cries and almost hyperventilated when she came. Drawing back, I didn’t need to stroke my cock, I just held the base as the semi-transparence of semen spurted across the small of her back.
I multitasked better than most. I could afford to leave work early the following day. I changed gears with the steering wheel mounted paddle shifters, instinctively engaging Sport mode before I pressed the accelerator. Driving back home, I was thinking of new ways to propose. When my phone rang, I clicked the button and Bluetooth performed its magic.
“What’s up, Robert,” I began as I came up to a red light. Dual-clutch transmission automatically shifted gears, smoothening the standstill out. I kept a close watch through the corner of my eye.
There was nothing but silence for a long moment. Then, “Alex? I hate to be the bearer of bad news.”
He sounded emotionless and that’s how I felt. I took a deep breath. Dappled sunlight filtered through the tall maple trees that lined the street. “Go on. I’m listening.”
“Elena has been in a car accident. She was placed in an ICU in a hospital near the bay area.”
My life was like a tightened bow, and it snapped. Happiness faded like the sun disappearing behind a clot of dark clouds, ruining the otherwise bright day. My knuckles turned white on the steering wheel, my eyes bulged. I swiped at my left eye before violently gripping the steering wheel again, glaring at the road ahead. The light turned green. I felt like crashing my car into the closest wall.
“Alex?”
There was only a shell of a human being in the passenger seat of the steel grey Bugatti Veyron. Bracing myself, I pressed the gas pedal to the floor, and the tachometer sprinted to the right.
Elena Anderson
The Things that Will Not Happen
I was on my way to Neptune Oyster. Came to a corner with a Don’t Walk s
ign. I stood there waiting, glancing at some graffiti covered benches in front of an office building. I could see my breath turn to mist as it evaporated in the cold, dense air. I was tired of my defeatist bullshit. I was tired of being negative and down on myself all the time. I’d found someone I really loved, and I wanted to marry him. Sara could help me plan a marriage proposal, that’s why we were meeting for lunch.
I remember glancing at my Louis Moinet watch before the traffic slowed down to a crawl. A city bus squealed to a halt somewhere behind me. I flinched at the high-pitched noise.
“Watch out!” a man yelled.
Then something hit me like a freight train, and everything else fell away. If I didn’t know any better, I would think I’d lost my hearing. The world around me became so quiet that I couldn’t even hear my heart beat. The daylight, the colors, everything around me seemed so frightfully grey.
Did it matter what kind of car it was once it’d hit you? Not really, I concluded, I just happened to notice the one that hit me. It was a fancy four-wheel drive type of car, its bumper pressing at my stomach, pushing me so fast that it broke my ribs faster than I could blink my eye. In fact, if the stranger behind me hadn’t pulled me backward, I’d be lying on or beneath the car by now, ribs crushed to mush.
Someone laid me down on the rough but cool sidewalk. The accident hadn’t happened like the way they show it in films and serials. It was a quick succession of images, more like a dream. Unable to move, I looked up at the blue sky. Several intersecting lines of contrail marred it. A burning pain bore down on my chest and something bubbled in my throat as I tried to breathe. It hurt badly.
Onlookers gawked at me. “They’re on their way, hon, stay with me,” a man’s voice announced. “Everything will be all right. Don’t you worry.” His voice was so fierce I almost believed him. For a second, I even thought he sounded like Robert. There were many panicked voices around me, and though I could hear them assuring me, cradling me as I was dying, they were all so bland that I didn’t care.
