THE
BOYFRIEND EXPERIENCE
By
Michaela Wright
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Stephen knew the lighting of these halls well. He’d come to recognize the quality of a place by just the corridors – the stark walls, the simple gray carpet, the porcelain wall sconces casting geometric light. Every floor was the same. He stood outside the elevator of the seventh floor and straightened himself. He was nervous.
The client was in room 7114. He walked past silent doors, his black leather shoes, freshly shined, silent on the pristine carpet. He’d pulled his best suit out for this evening, grey and perfectly tailored. He’d padded his pocket with a kerchief to match the silk tie, both a dark purple – the client’s favorite color, if he remembered correctly.
He read the next door as he passed – 7110. He was getting close. He tried to ignore the knot in his stomach. Just a few more steps and he was standing outside her door. He raised his hand to knock, and stopped to arrange himself one more time, for good measure – buttons set, kerchief square, tie straight. He ran his hands over the back of his hair, freshly shorn for the occasion. For this woman he would arrive in peak condition. This client expected no less.
He rapped his knuckle against the door and listened. After a moment there was a soft shuffle inside. He swallowed.
The door opened to an empty room, wide enough for him to enter, but she was nowhere to be seen. He stepped inside to find her hiding behind the door and met her eyes as she shut it behind him. There she was. Just as he remembered her.
Martina’s hair hung in ringlets over her shoulders, darker now, and time had settled gracefully at the corners of her eyes. Yet her face was soft, her smile warm. She stood a few inches shorter than him, her figure hugged at every inch by a sleeveless purple cocktail dress. She’d taken as much care as he had, the dress pressing her breasts to a soft mound at the edge of the fabric. He’d remembered the color exactly.
He scooped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him to kiss her cheek.
“Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”
She beamed at him. He ran his hands down her back, trying to hide his nerves with steady hands.
“You remembered!”
“Of course. You’re my favorite…”
He stopped himself before the word ‘client’ could pass his lips. Though she’d never minded the term, he’d come to consider it in poor taste when working with her. She wasn’t like other clients. Most women who sought The Boyfriend Experience wanted a man to stifle loneliness with, followed by mindless sex. This woman wasn’t lonely, nor was she mindless. She was passionate, she was fun, and he had been a birthday present to herself for five years now. When he told her she was his favorite, it was the truth.
“When I find a man who can do what you do for free, I’ll marry him. Until then, I’ll pay the toll, thank you very much,” she’d said after their second encounter. Perhaps that’s why he enjoyed her as much as he did, and why his stomach was in knots.
She pressed her hand to the lapel of his jacket and sighed. “Dear god you look good.”
He drew close to her lips, ready to break the barrier that existed between them, between any two people who have similar intentions. She laughed and pulled out of his grasp, shyly. A smile burned his cheeks.
She walked across the suite in her bare feet to a white counter, and retrieved a drink she’d been nursing. She mimed to him that he was free to partake as she sipped clumsily. Unlike him, she wasn’t concerned with hiding her nerves.
“So what would you like to do tonight, beautiful?”
She grinned and set her drink back down.
“I could happily spend the evening listening to you call me that. Repeatedly.”
“It’s your birthday, whatever you like,” he said before adding with a smirk, “beautiful.”
She fidgeted for a moment, visibly searching for the courage to say something. Finally, she found it, and planted her hands on her hips.
“It seems like such a fucking waste not to take you out and show you off – god you look fucking good - but I think I really just want you to - uh...”
Her tone was confident, but she faltered. He knew once she was comfortable she’d have no problem saying exactly what she wanted.
“Want me to what?”
She glanced at the clock. “It’s seven now. When do I have you til?”
“Whenever you like.”
“Oh, cut the Boyfriend crap. What time?”
“Ten’o’clock.”
She pursed her lips. “Yeah, I think I want to stay in. I have a year’s worth to catch up on, if you know what I mean.”
He smiled despite the butterflies in his stomach. The year before she’d made him go to a show, and the year before that she’d made him take her dancing, and just about every year he’d taken her to a birthday dinner. Despite looking forward to their bedroom activities all night, he now longed for those hours of preparation, of flirtation to quell the nerves that a man like him shouldn’t have. She truly was his favorite, and he looked forward to her every year.
He swallowed and stepped toward her. “Well, what kind of night is it, then?
She raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Are you in a ‘slut’ kind of mood, or a ‘sweet girl’ kind of mood?”
She visibly shivered before she spoke. “Can it be both?”
She gave a mischievous smile and covered her mouth.
He nodded. “Of course.”
He took another step.
“Stop,” she said, her hand out before her. He did as she asked. She cocked one hip to the side and took a breath. “Tell me what you want to do to me.”
His mouth fell open and he stared. This was new.
“You wouldn’t rather I show you?”
“Oh, believe me, you’ll show me. I want to hear you say it first.”
He could hear the confidence building in her voice and he liked it.
“I want to tear that dress off of you and -”
“Don’t you dare tear this dress, it’s my favorite color.”
He laughed. “I know it is and it’s beautiful, but I’d much rather see it on the floor -”
“I would kill you if you tore this dress.”
“That’s good to know -”
“In the street. Murder you.”
“Do you want to know what I want to do to you or would you rather just kill me now?”
She smiled and came to him, surprising him as she took hold of the buttons of his jacket, gently unbuttoning him and running her hands across his stomach to his sides. He leaned in to embrace her. She stopped him.
“No, you keep your hands to yourself,” she said, pressing her cheek to his jaw. Her hands played across his chest, her fingers slipping under the fabric of the shirt. She ran the tip of her nose along his jaw, inhaling deeply. He groaned.
“Not sure if I can.”
She pulled away just enough to meet his gaze and gave him a flirtatiously stern look. “You better. Keep your hands to yourself and tell me exactly what you want to do to me.”
She took hold of his tie and loosened it before sliding his jacket down off his shoulders. Before he could find words, she pressed herself to his neck and began kissing him as she unbuttoned his shirt.
“I want to get you out of that dress – in a manner that is respectful to the dress’ feelings obviously -” he felt her teeth graze his shoulder, a playful bite as punishment for his wiseass comment. He let his hands fall at her hips and
held them steady despite the rising need to explore her. “- then I want to put my mouth all over those gorgeous breasts of yours.”
She unbuttoned his shirt, pulling the shirt tails free of his trousers and was now pulling it down his bare arms with a hint more desperation. When the shirt was halfway down his arms, she pulled it taut, pinning his elbows to his sides.
“How gorgeous, exactly?”
“The most gorgeous and perfect pair I’ve ever encountered.”
“Correct answer.”
He smiled. “I thought it might be.”
She let the shirt fall to the floor before pulling his undershirt up. Her movements grew more forceful, more intent with each passing second. He felt the satin of her dress graze over his stomach as she kissed his chest. He wanted to feel her tongue on him, wanted to kiss her, but he would let her have her way. The anticipation had long drawn a reaction. He felt almost shy at the thought of her discovering how hard he was. He felt the heat of her mouth as she let her tongue travel across his chest to his nipple. His breath caught in his throat and he let himself grab hold of her hair. She rose to her full height and met his gaze, letting her open mouth draw close to his. Yet she didn’t kiss him. Her lips grazed his, and she flicked her tongue against his upper lip, but still she did not kiss him. His grip tightened in her hair and he wrapped his arm around her waist, running his hand up to find the zipper. A moment later, her dress fell open and he ran his hand across the clasp of her bra and the bare skin of her back.
“Then what?” She barely breathed her words into his mouth and smiled.
He groaned. “I’m going to punish you for teasing me.”
She giggled and squirmed against him. “I’m not teasing you. I’m totally going to put out.”
He smirked, took her by the hair and slid his tongue into her open mouth. Her whole body responded to him as she kissed him back, a soft whimper sounding in her throat. He walked her backward toward the bed and let her fall onto it, smiling up at him. His cock pressed hard against the fabric of his trousers, he felt relief to be free of them. She slid out of the straps of her dress and pushed it down over her hips, kicking it away from the bed. He looked down at the dress, frowning.
“I think you may have offended it, love.”
“Shut up and fuck me.”
Those words drew a wicked chuckle and he lowered himself down onto her, letting her feel how hard she made him. He held himself there, moving against her as her legs fell apart. Again she whimpered and he stifled her cries with his lips.
She clutched him, dragging her nails down his back. He knew if he moved in the right rhythm there, she would succumb. Still he knew other ways that were far more enticing. He stripped her of her bra, but she pulled him onto her before he could properly appreciate her breasts. He let her tongue play at his open lips until pressing his mouth to hers and driving his tongue inside. She convulsed at the sensation, her hands reaching for his backside where she grabbed him and pulled him against her firmly. He groaned. She snapped the waistband of his boxers, startling him.
“Take them off.” He met her eyes and smiled before slipping down to her breasts, clamping his mouth over her nipple. She ran her fingers through his hair and stifled a cry with her other hand. He flicked his tongue against the hardening flesh before sucking gently. She loved this. He languidly shifted to her other breast, letting her squirm under him, her ankle running up the length of his thigh. She hooked her feet behind him and gave a tug, letting him know exactly what she wanted. He lifted himself up to stand at the foot of the bed, looking down at her as he pulled his boxers down and let them fall to the floor. She growled appreciatively. He rose to his full height and was startled by her sudden movement as she pushed herself to the edge of the bed and in one graceful movement, took him in her mouth.
His breath caught as he watched his flesh disappear beyond those soft pink lips. Her eyes were closed to him, as though the act itself were causing her ecstasy. He was too big to disappear completely, but the warmth of her mouth sent shudders through him. He took hold of her hair, wanting to get lost in the sensation, but knowing better than to do so.
“Sweetheart,” he started, but the words broke off as she slid her tongue over him to the sensitive skin of his balls, lapping at them as she took hold of him with a firm yet gentle hand, running her fingers over the ridge at the head of his cock. She groaned softly as she sucked at him, finally meeting his gaze. She took a breath and blew gently against his wet skin. He gave a broken exhale and smiled. He felt the sense that he should stop her – it was her birthday after all, it was her time. He was supposed to be pleasing her, not the other way around. Yet as these thoughts drifted through, she closed her lips around the head of his cock and sucked gently. He sighed and let his head fall back. He felt her tongue flitting against him inside her mouth as she moved to take him deeper. He gently pulled her, shuddering as he felt his cock nudge the back of her throat. Martina released, taking a deep breath. Stephen lowered himself onto her before she could return to her work. He wasted no time, hooking his fingers under the waistband of her underwear and tugging at them, his intention clear. She shifted on the bed and laughed nervously, her hands covering the dark patch of hair as he pulled the panties free from her ankles. She touched his bare chest and sought his lips, kissing him as he positioned himself over her. She lifted herself to keep his lips to hers as though breaking from him would be painful. He kissed her firmly enough to press her down into the pillow, letting her hold him there a moment. He knew what she was doing, and when he slid his hand down across her stomach, her hands shot down to cover herself. Every year, the same shy response. Every time. He smiled.
He pulled away from her, looking down at her bare breasts, the pale skin of her stomach. She covered her mouth with one hand as she giggled up at him, her other hand still shielding her from view.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked, running his hand over hers and drawing a shiver.
She covered her mouth, but she beamed at him. “Nothing.”
With one purposeful movement, he grabbed her by the ankles, lifted her legs upward and pulled them apart. She shrieked and pressed her hands to his stomach as he quickly lowered himself onto her. She could cover herself all she wanted now, he’d made it quite clear that he would do as he pleased.
“There, isn’t that better?”
He kissed her throat, languishing in the sensation of her smooth legs as she wrapped them around him. She loved the way his mouth felt on her breasts and he could use that to draw her hands away from more intimate places. He let his hand wander down her side, over her hip to her stomach, just inches above the dark hair she’d been hiding from him. His hand moved lower and she squealed, quickly entwining her fingers with his to keep them at bay. He left her breasts, the nipples now hardened peaks, and slipped down across her stomach, kissing her. She fought, desperate to keep him from doing exactly what he intended. She hooked her hands under his arms and pulled, whimpering in protest, but he moved lower, pressing his lips to the skin just below her navel. Her hands were between him and his prize, so rather than fight, he kissed them. First at the wrist, then the back of her hand, then her first knuckle. With each kiss he drew lower, toward places she couldn’t cover. She pleaded until her final attempt to fight him; she tried to lift her legs above him and close them. He caught them as they rose up and planted them back down onto the mattress.
He gave her a stern look. “Tsk-tsk.”
She inhaled as he took hold of her hands and pulled them aside, leaving her warmth exposed to him. She covered her face, her breath shallow and urgent.
He took his time, first kissing her leg mid-thigh, then higher. He kissed the soft tuft of hair just above his mark and watched her body move in response. He let her feel his breath as he drew close, and as she held hers.
He ran his tongue over her clitoris for the first time and she gasped. She was so wet, and he relished the taste of her. He quickly did it again, watching her resp
onse. She gave a tortured sigh and he moved to attack, pressing his open mouth firmly against her, letting his tongue move over her. She moaned, curling up to watch him. He moved his lips, lapped at her firmly, then sucked at her, turning his head from side to side to make her shriek. He groaned as he pressed his mouth to her again. He knew she liked to hear him, liked to hear when he was pleased, and he knew that hearing his pleasure now would send her reeling. And it did - she lifted her legs up off the bed and her fingers found his hair, scratching across his scalp as he devoured her. He felt her moving beneath him, her hips shifting upward in rhythm. He moved with her as it grew more intense, until she began grinding against him. Her moans were constant now with garbled strings of “yes,” and “please,” and “don’t stop, right there,” drawing more heightened with each passing moment. He took hold of her hips and pressed himself harder against her. She growled, lifting her backside from the mattress. He moved swiftly to take advantage of her arousal, ran his tongue down before she could realize and slid it into her wet pussy. She screamed, grabbed him by the hair so roughly he thought she might tear it loose, and pulled him into her. He gripped her and slid his tongue in and out as she cried over and over.
“Oh god, you mother fucker!”
Though she couldn’t see, he smiled. He felt her legs shaking as she dropped back down to the mattress. Her muscles had gone weak. She was getting close. He pressed his hands to her thighs and lifted her legs higher before running his fingers along her wet lips. She looked down at him with pleading eyes and he slid his fingers inside. She moaned gratefully, her fingers clasped firmly in his hair. Her movements grew swifter, more desperate and he let his fingers explore deeply. He played his fingers expertly, pushing them into her over and over with such speed that her moans bled together into one long desperate cry. He let his knuckles slam against her roughly as he moved his tongue against her. She gasped and held her breath and he knew. He shifted himself upward so he could finish her, her hands clamped onto the back of his head, holding him to her as her whole body tensed. He felt the muscles in her thighs move and suddenly he felt her tighten around his fingers. In waves it came, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his hard cock in that warmth, and feel her come again. He groaned at the sensation, but did not slow. He knew she would give him a sign when it was time to stop. She gasped again and shook under him. Then he felt her grip in his hair loosen, her legs went slack and she fell back onto the pillow with a breathless cry. That was his sign.
The Boyfriend Experience Page 1