“Sure, you do,” he says with a wink. “You think I’m sexy.” He examines my foot. “Tell me, would it hurt if I sucked on your toe?”
12
Taylor
I got her now. She’s mine. Mine to play with. Mine to suck face and make out with. And tonight as I head to her apartment, I’m beaming, knowing I’m finally going to be able to fuck with Ree because we agreed.
I might get her to suck on me first before I chow down on her pussy because, of course, it took some time for us to get to this point.
Two. Whole. Fucking. Weeks!
My balls are damn blue and I cannot wait to get some relief!
Naturally, she’s still not ready to have sex yet, but she has agreed to try oral.
Every day, I’ve been picking her up and taking her home so she wouldn’t have to ride the bus. Every day, I’ve gotten her to open up a little bit more. I’ve figured out the way into Ree’s heart is not with trash talk or flirty advances (which works for most chicks). Ree genuinely loves to watch me dance. I do one stupid pirouette and she gets dizzy. I don’t even have to take my shirt off. Hell, I can just pose, like a tree, and she’s on me.
But all we mostly ever do is kiss, which is fine. I’ve told her repeatedly that I’m not in any rush to get increasingly physical, because I don’t really care anyway.
Last night, however, we discussed the tour, which I signed that stupid contract for. I’m leaving in six weeks for four months. Diamond and I have been rehearsing. It was awkward at first—dancing with Diamond after the blowout in my apartment. Our Russian choreographer (apparently one of the best in the world whom I’d never met before) nearly gave up on us until I faked an apology to my dance partner.
The apology was Ree’s idea. In truth, I want to ditch the whole contract thing. I’m not interested in going on tour or rehearsing. In fact, I’m not even interested in dancing at all, but if I don’t follow through, not only will I, the school, owe a few hundred thousand to the other ballet company, but Ree will also likely lose her job.
And she loves her job.
Her entire apartment is designed around her job. Around me.
It’s crazy how technically savvy Rerun is. She doesn’t have just one or two computers but four. She has them all sitting next to each other in a row in the corner of her studio apartment, which she’s painted pink.
Pink, pink, pink. From the pink refrigerator to the pink pots and pink toaster, it’s a little ridiculous how obsessed she is with the color she also wears nearly every day.
Sometimes, I think I’m in over my head. Ree does have issues and I’m not just talking about the fact she named her foot Tucker, although she never refers to her foot by that name. Whenever she trips, bumps into something, or feels pain, it’s always “Mother Fucker.”
Pink apparently was her social worker’s favorite color. It’s interesting. I guess I should mention, that her social worker passed away not long ago of breast cancer. I figure Ree is obsessed with honoring the one person who ever showed her any form of love.
But those aren’t the things that worry me about Ree. Not the foot. Not her losses. Not the fact she was named by her social worker after the doctor who delivered her, forgetting to add an “a” at the end of Robert on her birth certificate.
That’s right. Rerun’s real name is Robert, which I can’t stand because it was supposed to be Roberta. Who gives a little girl a man’s name? Although, she should be named after something more feminine. Like a flower.
And I love how Ree smells like flowers. She makes her own soap using natural oils. I figure its the closest she gets to cooking, sitting at table to mix. And it’s why she always smells so good. There isn’t a minute that goes by that I don’t think about lathering her up in all that bubbly perfumed slickness. I’ll be in heaven if I can get her to that point.
But what worries me is how good Ree is at her designs. As a child, she never went out to play. She says she stayed indoors most of her life without any friends, provided with what she considered her great essentials: television and crayons. It’s how she got her nickname—Rerun. Because that’s all she did all day. In every foster home she’d ever lived in, she’d watch reruns of old TV shows and draw.
We are so different, Ree and I. I don’t do social media or even the Internet but Rerun thrives and even excels at virtual marketing. Her life, both in cyberspace and in reality, is filled with so much color and brightness, whereas I prefer to live plainly and in the dark, which is a requirement when you want to be the best at anything.
Which bring me to our most obvious difference. My feet are my livelihood while Ree’s feet can barely keep her upright.
But she is a good kisser. I’ll give her that. She might even be a better kisser than me.
She’s so hot, the way she whimpers into my mouth when I tease her with my tongue. And I love the way her eyelids get heavy as her lips part, opening for me, if I so much as just breathe on her. I’m like a drug to her and she’s been resisting the urge to go further with me because we both know she’ll be completely hooked afterward—addicted—should we ever go all the way.
Which will happen.
I knock on her door. I’m taking her out tonight. She hates going out, but after her sob story with always being in front of the television, I figure she needs to get out there.
I’m taking her to Club Max where her best friend works. It was the only place she agreed to go, which is fine. She needs to have fun, get tipsy, and let go of her inhibitions so we can both enjoy ourselves and each other later tonight, except...
Why is she taking so long to answer? I knock again.
“You’re early,” she says, peeping one eye through the small crack she’s opened.
“Am I?” I look at my watch. I’ve never been early for anything and I’m rarely late. When it’s showtime, I’m always on point. “Only by twenty minutes. Are you going to let me in?”
“I’m not dressed yet.”
“Well, then you better let me in.”
I can practically hear her smile stifling at the corners of her mouth. “Just give me a minute,” she says, shutting the door on my face.
Lowering my chin, I check myself. I tuck my shirt in tighter to my black slacks and lift the collar to my pink dress shirt which I wore because I know its her favorite color.
“I’m ready!” Ree sings, popping out of the door.
In sparkling red?
Goddamn! She’s stunning. Her skin is glowing—showing everywhere. In truth, there’s hardly any fabric to her ensemble at all. I can see every peak and curve of her body. She’s also wearing two knee-high black boots. They’re not completely identical at the sole but they show off both her long legs and taut thighs. I figure she must’ve had them made but no one’s going to notice the difference between those boots...
...paired with a super slinky, overly tight sparkling red dress...
...which barely covers her ass...
...and which I don’t believe she’s wearing a bra or any other lingerie under...
Fuck.
I take it back.
She doesn’t look stunning.
She looks like a slut.
A super sexy slut that everyone is going to be drooling over and I’m not having it.
“You need to change.” I grab her cane and lift under her armpit to help her back inside.
“What? Why?” She struggles to walk, so I pick her up at the waist and toss her on her bed before she falls.
“Do I look bad? It’s the foot, isn’t it? Can you tell my shoes don’t match exactly at the heel?”
“It’s not the foot,” I say, heading over to her closet to flip through her clothes hanging.
“I told you this was a bad idea.” She sighs. “Taylor, you look great. Really handsome. If you still want to go on without me, I understand.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere without you,” I mutter, finding a nice long pair of jeans—the only pair of pants I see. And... yes! A sweater. “You need
to wear this.” I shove the clothes in her face.
She pushes my hand aside. “I don’t wear pants, Taylor. I don’t even know why I have those. It’s very difficult to get dressed with pants. It’s painful.”
“Errr.” I turn around to head back into her closet and sift.
“What’s the matter with what I have on? I’m getting the feeling you don’t like my dress.”
“I don’t.”
I hear her lips flap as she puffs some air. “Why? I see a lot of women wearing this type of thing to the club.”
“You’re not a lot of women.”
“Right,” she resigns. “Will that dress on the far right side work for you? The dark brown one?’
I see the dark brown dress and this one looks like it’ll cover her up a lot better. “Yeah. That’ll work,” I say excitedly, pulling the dress from the hanger and turn around to see her standing, noticing...
Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Rerun did have underwear on.
A tiny black G-string is tapered over her hips and little black cups without straps cup only under her breasts, barely covering her nipple. It’s not a bra exactly. I have no fucking clue what is stuck to her tits but paired with those knee-high black boots...
Fuuuuuuugh.
I drop the dress I have in my hand.
“Taylor, what’s wrong?” she asks like she doesn’t know. Like she hasn’t noticed the big stiffy that has sprung forward, ready to tear out of my pants and rip into her.
“We’re not going out tonight,” I tell her, moving in.
She’s so fucking gorgeous. Long. Soft. Delicate. With that intoxicating scent of roses and wearing nothing but a few minor strings attached that will be easy to snip off.
And those boots! I’m imagining them in the air... or maybe out to the sides when she’s spread before me as I go in and out of her.
“Taylor, you’ve been saying for two weeks you wanted to go out. We can still go, unless you’re embarrassed, of course. I understand.”
She hops a little, hugging her own arms. The tone in her voice says exactly what she’s feeling. My poor little weak Rosie is about to get crushed—maybe deflowered—and she knows it. She can’t run away. This wolf is done playing with its prey. I’m ready to guzzle her down.
I grip her hips pulling her groin against mine. “Look at what you do to me. Do you think I can go out like this?”
Her eyes meet mine and she shakes her head, speaking innocently. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
I turn her around, pulling her ass against my crotch, making her gasp as I rub my stiff cock up and down between her ass crack. “The fuck you didn’t.”
I push her forward, lifting her weak leg to fold it over the bed and fuck me! Her ass is fucking beautiful.
I lick and kiss. I rub my nose across and between both globes and I even take a bite, which makes her screech.
I take another bite and she yelps.
“Taylor!” she screams.
I love hearing her cry my name. I wonder how loud she’ll be screaming when she comes on my face… Or better yet, on my cock.
“You want me to stop? Because I don’t think you do, Ree.”
I lick up her already wet slit, striking the elastic of her G-string a few times like I’m strumming an instrument and she hums.
“Hmm, Taylor,” she moans with her face in the mattress. “What are we doing?”
“What we should’ve been doing every day, all day for the last two weeks.”
I reach for the buckle of my belt and I see Ree turn her head to spy on me.
I smile to myself. She loves to look at me. “You want to see, baby? You want to watch me get undressed?”
She nods, shamefully, but so cute. I help her roll over to her back so she can see.
I remove my belt and unbutton my shirt. “Are you going to watch me when I first go inside you?”
Her breath hitches and she puts her finger in her mouth to clamp down with a bashful grin, nodding.
“Yeah?” I remove my shirt and reach for my zipper. “Would you like me to go in slow?”
She nods again so I pull her G-string to the side with my pinky and slip my middle finger in her pussy—slow—as I zip down my fly and let my pants fall to my feet.
“Like that?” I ask, threading my finger, then two fingers in and out of her hole.
“Hnnn,” she hums again, her eyelids coming heavy.
“Baby, open your eyes. You said you wanted to watch. Look up. Look at me,” I say as I drop my briefs.
She leans up on her elbows, picking her head up to look down at the head of my hard cock, which I plant my tip at her center, aiming to go in.
I feel her get tense. “Taylor, don’t hurt me,” she says. She’s breathing so heavy. “This is going to hurt, isn’t it?”
I pause.
I’m not exactly sure to what she’s referring. She’s afraid to get hurt? By what? I don’t think it’s my cock. I think she wants me as bad as I want her, even if I do pain her physically her first time. Seriously, look at her! She’s so wet she’s dripping.
I rub the tip of my prick up and down her slick slit.
The ache I feel right now to get inside her is overwhelming. I’m throbbing with greedy need.
Spreading her shaved lips open with my fingers, I rub my firm tip across her clit. Her head falls back and she moans, which is driving me crazy! What I thought was a dampened flower ready to be plucked has ripened into oozing swollen fruit and, “Fuck,” I groan. I want to eat her.
I lick my lips. I have no idea why the fuck I don’t just plow my way through and get off in her, but for whatever reason, I think I’d like to give Rerun something different, a different kind of show. The kind that doesn’t involve pain or anyone having to get hurt or die for.
I want to give her pleasure, so much so she’ll be begging for an encore.
13
Rerun
I’ve never felt anything like this in all my life. I had no idea the slipping of a tongue—from soft to firm, slippery and rolling—could feel so good.
I’m in utter ecstasy. Lightly, Taylor dances his tongue up and down, up towards to the apex of my sex, and when he finds my…
Oh God!
My ass trembles against the sensation of alternating circles and an occasional plunge into my cavern. Whenever he pokes his tongue in me, I feel I want to get more out of him. I want the part of him that makes him a man.
“Taylor, I want you.” I pull at his hair, but it only makes him jerk his head more wildly.
He breaks for just a second. “No, just come. Come for me, Ree,” he says and goes back to licking and lapping away.
“I can—”
Can’t is the word I want to say, but really, it’s because I don’t want to climax just yet.
I don’t want this to end. I’m so turned on, but I’m not ready. I want Taylor on top of me. I want him inside me. I want him to make love to me. I want him to...
Fuck me, I’m coming.
“Mmm,” he groans into my pussy. Eating. Licking. Lapping away at everything that is pouring out from my convulsing body—my orgasm, my juice.
I cave. I’m twitching. I’ve never come so hard, not even when I’ve tried to do this for myself.
“Taylor!” I cry out, squirming, unable to contain the elation.
He stands up, scrolling his palm down his lower face as he rubs his fingers at the apex of my junction to wiggle the last bit of physical bliss I have left in me.
“Did you like that?” he asks.
“Yes, that was amazing.” I cup my heated cheeks, trying to hide how much I thoroughly enjoyed it.
“Yeah, I can tell. Just look at you.” He smiles darkly. “Aren’t you just rosy?”
My cheeks are still flushed red. I can feel it. The last time I went to check in the club’s restroom, my face was more crimson than my hair.
“You okay?” asks Ben. He slips me a virgin margarita across the bar.
Oh boy, I’m living on the wi
ld side tonight.
“I’m fine.”
He raises a brow. “You don’t look fine. Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?” Ben’s eyes get beady, scrutinizing Taylor, who is talking with a group of men, mostly other dancers and his friends in a corner of the club.
“I kinda wish he did hurt me. A little.” I sigh and slurp the limey juice. “Taylor took care of me earlier, but I get the feeling he’s not interested in having intercourse with me.”
Ben raises a brow. “Is that what you want? To have sex?”
I spin my head to size up Taylor. “I’ve never wanted something so bad in my life.”
The gentleman sitting next to me clears his throat and I smooth my hair to cover that side of my face.
“Maybe he’s just taking it slow.” Ben tries to reassure me.
“No,” I disagree. “I think I’m just another one of his toys.”
Ben leans over the counter to whisper in my ear. “Well, if that’s the case, Ree, then I really should be kicking Mr. Rose out of this place right now because you’re nobody’s toy.”
Taylor takes notice of me and Ben exchanging whispers, and the smile Taylor is wearing disappears as he swiftly struts towards us, smoothing his hair and rolling up his sleeves. “Hey, man. What’s going on?” he asks Ben.
“Not much. Just workin’.” Ben widens his stance, crossing his arms. “How about you?”
“Just taking my girl out. I see you’ve been keeping an eye on her for me, but you don’t need to do that anymore.” Taylor wraps his hand around my neck.
Ben chuckles to himself and I am in disbelief.
Did Taylor just call me his girl?
“Bro, you don’t have to get possessive,” says Ben.
Taylor loosens his grip. “I’m not being possessive.”
“Uh, yes, you are. Ree told me you wouldn’t let her wear the red dress tonight. You forced her to wear...” Ben grimaces, “that.”
Taylor swivels his head in my direction. He’s not happy. “Is that what you told Ben? That I forced you to wear that.”
I push my hair behind my ear. I’m not sure what to say. Taylor didn’t exactly force me to wear this dress made for a grandmother, which I was given by my neighbor. But Taylor most certainly flaunted it in my face and made it clear he did not want me wearing what I originally had on.
The Kisser Page 12