It was what most guys would call heaven. Complete freedom, a near permanent buzz, and sex on a regular enough basis that I couldn’t complain. But after a few months, heaven became purgatory. It was a sort of waiting, regardless of whether it was in the mob of drunken faces, music blaring, intoxication--or the kind of waiting that is mindless sex, the booze just making it take longer to rut out the hour of empty pleasure. Only to do it all again. Rinse and repeat. And with enough repetition, it can even become your own little slice of hell.
Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t longing to become some kind of straight ace, like the rest of the guys gibbering at women over a candle-lit table, pretending to ignore the wine and food in front of them, hoping to make it back to the warmth of her bed to slow fuck the old-fashioned way, with passion. Because that, too, ground down to the same thing. A rinse and repeat life that washed away all desire like a perverted stain.
You could see it in the faces of almost everyone, that pallid distant stare, like their own lives were well out of reach and nearly out of sight.
It became my mission to look for something else, to find someone who wasn’t infected will the same drollery that everyone else seemed to be, that same false sense of ecstasy. I wasn’t in search of love. Fuck that. I was in search of lust. Pure, raw, lucid lust for life.
At parties, I circled the periphery, trying to scope out a flicker of it, beneath the masks of inebriation, the belly and boob flashing teases, the empty grinding hips. It was always the same, though. Nothing.
Until I saw her. I had found myself at the bar of some half-swanked restaurant that was near my place after leaving a club that was playing music, the sole purpose of which, I could have sworn, was thumping all the sense out of my head. I was nursing a beer and staring at the television, when I turned to survey the room and saw her. She was at a table with a group of what looked like college professors or administrators--an amoebic bunch that was half-suited, part-tweed, with a smattering of corduroy. I would have passed her over as a part of the crowd of couples, another victim of the frigidity of marriage, but she wasn’t lost in that trancelike stupor that screamed lifeless boredom. In fact, she was staring at me. And more than that, before I looked away, she shot me a predatory grin thatsnatched at me like teeth.
That wanton look, lusty and rapacious, was it. The thin curving line was the first of many that night that would cleave my world in two.
I downed the rest of the beer I had in a long guzzling pull, probably coming off like some frat idiot trying to impress, but really just aiming to dull the rising spike of nerves inside me. I ordered another, and looked around the room, then back to her, making sure Ihadn’t misread her. She was waiting forme to look back, had me in that stare again. No mistaking it.
When she excused herself from the table, no one in her party seemed to notice. She made her way to the restroom, the curve of ass and the sway of her hips waking my cock.
The beer that I ordered arrived, and I swept it from the bar, leaned back and tried to look cool for her return. When she reemerged, she looked back to the table, as if weighing something out, and then she made her way to me. Before she made it to the bar, I’d drained half of the beer.
“Keep that up and you’ll be useless,” she said.
She was at least twice my age and stunning. Not a stick thing, like so many of the girls that I’d been with the past few months, she had curves in all the right places. She wore a blouse and skirt combo that another woman might wear like a uniform, something to be worn proper and hung next to like-outfits in a closet. Maybe it was the way her flesh pressed at the seams just right, accenting her curves without seeming too small. Maybe it was the way the third button was undone, inviting prying lusty eyes.Or maybe it was the way her legs met the pressed cloth of her skirt, disappeared in lascivious curves, inviting thoughts of the hot wet space beneath. Whatever it was had my cock throbbing savagely.
“I doubt that,” I said, trying to sound confident.
“We’ll see.” She took the seat next to mine, thrummed her fingers on the table impatiently. The diamond on her hand was large but a bit dulled by the dim light. “Buy me a drink.”
I did. Clinked my bottle to her wine glass when it arrived. Then I nodded in the direction of the group at the table.
“One of them your husband?” I asked.
“Let’s not talk about any of them,” she demurred, sounding a little wounded. Then she shifted her look something a little more cunning. Her fingers touched my knee, lingered there while she held my stare. Then she looked down, watched her own hand slide up my leg and just barely touch the bulge in my pants. “You have something I want.”
“You get right to the point, don’t you?”
“I think you’ve already gotten to a point.” She smiled. She had me full in her grip now, squeezed and massaged my cock playfully. She knew what she was doing, knew just how to handle it, didn’t yank at it like it was some unwieldy tool.
We sat a moment in silence. Shesipped at her wine while her hand played in secret. When I put my beer to my lips, she said, “finish that. I’m ready.”
I paused. Pictured her the next morning, padding around my loft, silent. Thought about going back to class.Then back to the parties. Rinse and repeat. “Shouldn’t we introduce ourselves or something?’
“Oh, please,” she rolled hereyes. “No names. That just ruins things. It doesn’t matter who I am.”Then she leaned toward me, crept close to my ear and whispered, “I’ll be who you want tonight. Your little slut. And you’ll be my toy.”
The words ignited a carnal timber in me. I wanted to take her right there, to spread her open and feel her under me. Instead, all I managed was,“right.”
It was as if she could sense my apprehension,and a moment of nerves took her. “I’ve never snuck off like this,” she whispered before we stood up. Then she looked back at the group she’d left, sudden despair creeping across her face. “I need it, you know?”
“Yeah,” I said.
It was cold in my loft, but we dispensed with all the typical adjustments with the thermostat, pouring drinks, getting comfy on the couch, talking. She spotted the bed, pulled me through the dark, and when we reached its edge she leaned close, beckoning me to her lips. I took her by both shoulders, leaned in and kissed her, working my way down toher neck, biting at her ear and pulling her close to me as I did.
Her hand was already on my cock, first testing its stiffness against her small palm and then pulling at my belt. I started on the buttons of her shirt, top first. Before I got to the second, she had my belt off and she had me in her hand, stroking. Then she was on her knees, first working her tongue over the head and stroking with her hand, then taking it slowly into her mouth, letting me savor the hot wet feeling. I could have exploded right then, but she seemed to sense it, taking me deep in her mouth, then relenting, and gripping me firm against my welling load.
“Not yet,” she told me, kissing along my shaft and down to my balls, playfully taking one in her mouth. Thenshe looked up at me, her wet lips pressed in a kiss, her expression cutely thoughtful, and asked, “now me?”
I helped her onto the bed, worked her skirt off, and started at her thighs, leaving her panties on. The smell ofher sex on them was divine, and I kissed and bit against it, making sure that the panties were thoroughly drenched before pulling them against her playfully, then moving them to the side and working my tongue against her hot pussy. When her legs shivered and tensed, I worked my way back down her thigh, biting playfully. Then I removed her panties and spread her legs wide, admiring the trimmed and perfect center of her now-writhing core.
I worked my hand along her leg, felt her wetness with my fingers and tasted it, then offered my fingers to her, which she took hungrily into her mouth and sucked.
There was a wrestling moment of buttons and shirts and straps, and then she was naked beneath me. Her nipples stood erect from the cold of the room and the hot lust between us. Her breasts hadn’t surrendered to gravity completely, but weren’t shaped to faked symmetry under a scalpel, either. I admired their perfection taking them into my hands, and pressing my hips into hers, all her under me bringing me to the edge once more.
“Not yet,” she said again. “We’re almost there.” Then she had my hand in hers, guided it to my cock and pulled me close, wiggling and moaning against me. She spread her lips, and I teased her with the head of my cock, probing the wet hot slit, pressing inside a little, while her thin fingers danced along the shaft, then found my balls.
“Let me show you how to make a woman really desire,” she said. “I want you to make me hunger for your load.”
She had my free hand and took it into her mouth again. Unable to bear it any longer, I pressed into her. She moaned, and her back arched in pleasure. I lifted one of her legs to my shoulder and took one of her toes into my mouth as I stroked in and out of her. Her hips worked into each thrust, first gentle and slow, but then shifting into aheaving whole-body motion.
“That’s right,” she purred, “yes, like that, baby.”
We crept along the edge of bliss together, slaves to one another’s desire. I abandoned my freedom to her, was hers completely, shackled for an ecstatic moment to whatever it was that she was giving, that thing that she begged me to destroy, coming back together to the lustful present. We reached the trembling climax together, and then collapsed into each other’s arms.
I awoke alone in bed, my head somehow beneath one of the pillows and the sheets snaked around me like a constricted toga. From under the pillow I could make out her legs. She turned and bent over, that round ass momentarily calling to me, but then she stood up again, had something in her hand. Then she moved to the corner of the bed and bent again.
“Shit,” I said, sitting up. “You going?”
She stopped, half stooped to the ground, her back still facing me. It looked like she was considering something, deciding. Then she turned around. She had her panties in one hand and my belt in the other, like she was weighing one against the other.
“Maybe, I was,” she said. “That makes me a bad.”
Then she let the panties slip from her hand and gave me a cute shrug of surrender. She climbed back into bed, showed me the belt, and said, “now I’m going to show you how to treat a naughty girl.”