Brando 2

by J. D. Hawkins

  “Thanks for the advice,” she says, shoving her friends away, “I’ll let my boyfriend know he’s not good enough for me.”

  “Oh he knows,” I say, as she walks away.

  She turns, about to say something, but instead just looks at me, gives me a funny sideways smile, and walks off with her friends. Game Over. For now.

  I watch her ass slink away and it gets me so hard that I’m about ready to ravage the first woman I see on the dancefloor.

  I turn around, and lock eyes with the blonde bombshell. She’s still dancing, arms in the air, curving her body like a snake, but her eyes are on me. I watch her a while, and she continues to move, spinning her body around so I can get a good look at the curves every other guy in the club has been salivating over for the past hour.

  I start to move towards the door – the side exit – and she moves along with me. We’re on opposite sides of the room, but it’s like we’re connected. She can see what’s in my eyes, and I can see what’s in hers. Desire. Power. Sex. We move through the club like predator sharks after the same prey, still looking at each other, until we draw close at the exit.

  She’s nearly as tall as me – and I’m no shrimp in any department. She’s wearing a little black dress that sets off her long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes perfectly. It also allows her to show off a pair of long, slim, powerful legs that I wanna get between.

  The exit leads to a side alley that I happen to know well at this hour: it’ll be dark, discreet, and more than safe. I open the door for her, and it’s the last gentlemanly thing I do. As soon as it shuts behind us we’re grabbing each other and grinding our bodies together like we hate each other as much as we want to fuck each other.

  She puts her hands on the back of my head and pulls me towards her, thrusting her tongue down my throat, tongue-fucking me as I bite and suck at her cherry-flavored mouth. I run my hands aggressively down her back, tracing the curve that leads to her ass, and grab it hungrily, pulling her leg up against my hip, and running my other hand down her thigh, then back up inside her skirt.

  Ms. Long Legs can’t even catch her breath quick enough to moan properly. Shaking her ass on the dancefloor was foreplay enough, now she’s wet and ready. I press her up against the wall, and slip my hand under her thigh to find a sweet wetness below. She just shudders a little and pulls me closer aggressively.

  I roll my fingers around her barely-there underwear, feeling the inviting softness of her pussy. She pulls her head back, looks up at the sky, and exhales deeply, her chest sinking beautifully.

  I get a good grip on her panties and tear them off her in a single, powerful stroke.

  It turns her on even more.

  She lets out a little panting growl and wraps the toned elegance of her long legs around my waist. “Give it to me.”

  She didn’t need to say a word; I already know she wants me inside her. I can smell it on her, the delicious scent of a ripe pussy enticing me like some sweet confection.

  This woman is strong, and if I didn’t spend hours in the gym sculpting abs that you could drink champagne out of, she’d be crushing my bones with her ferocious sex-grip. I undo my pants and roll on a condom in a swift gesture, practiced many times, and release my rock-hardness against her. “Is this what you were asking for?”

  “Hell yes.”

  She gyrates like a pro, angling me just inside her. Squeezing those thighs against the fabric of my pants, heaving her chest up and down as her body begs me to enter it fully.

  I push myself inside her, and the modelesque bone structure of her face turns into an expression of uncontrolled pleasure. It’s like I’m filling more than her pussy, like I’m filling every inch of her body with hot-blooded passion; reaching corners she never knew she had, so deep that it’s almost spiritual, if she’s into that kind of thing.

  She’s still pulling me inside her, deeper and deeper, pleasantly surprised to find out how much I’ve still got to give. And I’m only just getting started. Her hands are on her own head now, clutching and pulling at her hair like she’s scared her head is about to explode.

  I roll off the strap of her dress and pull it down to reveal a firm, round breast, a hard, girlishly-pink nipple inviting me to put my lips on it. I kiss it softly and she groans— the combination of my hard dick invading her deeply and the tender touch of my wet mouth on her nipples is almost too much for her to handle.

  I’m ready to come. I’ve been ready since she put those amazing legs around me, but that’s my first rule – ladies come first. No matter how long it takes them– although with me, that’s never long at all.

  I nibble at her cleavage, then move my lips up to her slender neck, tracing the soft muscles with my tongue, and bringing my hand to her breast, where I roll her nipple between my fingers.

  “Oh God,” she groans, drawing out the last word. I’ve been called worse.

  Then the pulse of her body changes from the rhythmic push and pull of my cock thrusts into erratic spasms of pleasure. She squeals, gritting perfect teeth between wide lips. I feel her juice gush over my cock, slamming out of her. Her pussy tightening so sweetly against the base of my dick that it takes every muscle in my body to hold back.

  Her legs drop from my waist and back onto the ground. Now it’s my turn. I grip her hair in my fist and push her head down towards my cock, and she willingly obliges. She rips off the condom and starts using her mouth. If I thought her pussy was sweet, her lips are even sweeter. She wraps them around the head of my dick, taking my balls in her hand, kneading them like she’s conjuring me to come inside her mouth. Her tongue presses up against the curves of my cock like she’s sculpting it.

  “Suck it,” I say. And she does.

  I have my hand on her head, but she doesn’t need any direction, she knows exactly what she needs to do. She’s moaning and stroking herself with her free hand as she sucks, and pretty soon I’m so hot that the second she opens those blue eyes and looks up at me from beneath the strands of her straight blonde hair, I come between the erotic redness of her lips. She licks my cum from around her mouth, her eyes half-closing with sweet pleasure, smiling as she rolls it around in her mouth before swallowing like it’s a vintage wine getting her drunk.

  She stands up and pulls the strap of her dress back over her shoulder while I button my fly. Once we’ve adjusted our clothes and set ourselves right we look at each other through now sober eyes, acknowledging a job well done.

  I nod towards her torn panties, lying in the center of the alley.

  “Sorry about that.”

  Her eyes narrow into cat-like slits of the brightest blue.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about.” And then she slinks away, before I can even ask for her number as a courtesy. Not that I do second dates— if that is, in fact, what we just had.

  “My kind of girl,” I think, “if I had a kind.”

  Continue reading Insatiable by JD Hawkins

  Available now!

  BOOTYCALL

  Chapter 1

  Dylan

  Movie reviews are bullshit, but I like to think the one that said I have the 'eyes of a man before the kill and the smile of one who enjoys it' got it right.

  At least tonight, anyway.

  I’ve spent almost the entire day working out, and though there’s a dull ache flowing through my body, there’s also that tingle of electricity I get whenever I stand still for too long. A twinge in my muscles that makes me want to move, to find some action. Luckily I know all the right places to find it.

  I step out of the shower and towel myself off as I walk into the bedroom, grabbing the beer I left on the desk and downing all of it. It’ll take a lot more than beer to cool off the energy that’s gathering momentum inside of me though. There’s a song with a slow beat and a growling guitar playing, and the dusty light of a dying LA sun highlighting parts of my room through the blinds. I grab my phone as I settle on the edge of the bed and spin through the contacts.

  I pause before hi
tting dial on a friend. I could dress sharp and head out to the bars of Los Angeles, get plenty drunk, and see where my instincts lead me – most likely my place or hers – but that’s not what I want tonight. I love the thrill of the chase, but I’m ready for action right now.

  Then there’s ‘Hot Ass,’ ‘Kinky Blonde,’ ‘Finger Sucker,’ ‘Leggy Redhead,’ and all the other girls with talents memorable enough to give them a special place in my contacts, but even that won’t cut it.

  Tonight I want something dirty. Something new. Something a little dangerous. My body’s thirsting for a new taste.

  I walk through the long hallway and down the staircase that runs to the gigantic den of the mansion, big and empty but for the expensive toys and random beer bottles lying around. I open the BootyCall app on my phone and it presents me with a big green button, the word ‘chat’ written across it like a big understatement. I swipe it with my thumb and hold the phone to my ear.

  “Hey,” comes a dark, husky voice on the other end. Now this is more like it. I pour myself some of the whiskey I keep on the coffee table and stretch out on the couch.

  “Hello there.”

  “So. What you looking for?” she says, making it clear what she’s looking for herself.

  “I’m not sure. But I’ll know when I find it.”

  She laughs, and it sounds like she’s making love to the phone.

  “I like your accent,” she says. “Where you from?”

  “I’m Irish.”

  “Ooh,” she coos appreciatively. “You got money?”

  It’s not my favorite question, but hey, this is Hollywood after all. If I didn’t fuck girls who said stuff like this I’d be a monk here.

  “Yeah,” I say, smiling, “I’m fucking loaded. You got a nice rack? Since we’re asking personal questions and all.”

  “Thirty-four double-dees. As good as money can buy.”

  Again, it’s a weird turn of phrase, but I’ve heard worse.

  “So what are you offering?” I ask.

  She laughs a little, and I can hear her tongue rolling around her lips as she does so. The combination of a husky voice and my imagination is pretty cock-pulling, and I’m pressing the cold whiskey glass against my boxers to keep my dick from bursting out like something in a monster movie.

  “I’m offering a whole night of the dirtiest, nastiest stuff you could ever imagine,” she says, breathing into each word like her body’s so hot even she can’t handle it. My imagination is running wild. “We can do it slow…or we can do it fast…I’ll be like hot chocolate in your mouth…”

  “How can I refuse…”

  “…for only three grand.”

  A cold shower could not have crippled my hard-on more. “What?! Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Her voice is all innocence now. “What’s the matter, honey?”

  “I thought this was a hook-up app, not a hooker app.” That’s one thing I don’t do.

  She giggles. “It’s worth it, sugar. If I like you, I’ll even give you a discount.”

  “Yeah, thanks, but no thanks. Paying for sex kinda kills it for me, you know? Good luck.”

  I cancel the call and let it show me the big ‘chat’ button again. I take a healthy swig of the whiskey in my glass and decide to give it one more go.

  I push the big button, bringing the phone to my ear. Someone picks up on the other end, but for a few moments all I hear is silence.

  “Hello?” I say. Another quiet beat. I’m about to hang up when—

  “Um…hello?”

  The voice sounds quiet, feminine, definitely over the age of consent, and too nervous to be a hooker. So far so good.

  “Well hello there.” It’s not my best line, but her hesitation tells me she’s new at using the app, which means I’ll have to take it slow so she doesn’t hang up before the fun even gets started.

  “Hi,” she finally replies back. There’s an awkward silence.

  Wow, we’re off to a great start.

  “So…” I say, trying to sound friendly. “What’s your sign?”

  She laughs, and it sounds nice. Genuine, soft, real – the kind of laugh that you don’t get in Hollywood too often. I laugh a bit too.

  “Truthfully?” she says. “I’m…a Scorpio.”

  “Oh really,” I reply, drawing out the word, insinuating this actually means something.

  “Why does everyone always say it like that? I don’t even know what it means! It’s the sign of revenge, right? And jealousy? But that’s not me at all.”

  “It’s also the sign of sex, death, and reinvention,” I tell her. “You know, like rising from the ashes. Big emphasis on the sex part, as it were.”

  “Oh.” She giggles nervously, and I can practically hear her blushing over the phone. “That explains a lot, I guess.”

  “Does it, now?” I’m intrigued. “Explain it to me. I’m all ears.”

  She huffs out a breath, exasperated. “That’s not what I meant! I meant, it explains why people assume things about me, not that I’m some kind of nympho or something. I mean, it’s garbage, right? Nobody really believes in this stuff.” She laughs again, and I can feel the warmth in it. Or maybe it’s the drink, because at this point I’ve lost track of how many in I am.

  “How very sensible of you,” I say.

  “I don’t know if I’m sensible. I mean, I’m talking to a stranger on a booty-call app.”

  “Booty-call app? I thought this was for ordering pizza.”

  She giggles again, letting her nerves out, and something about it makes me smile.

  “Sorry, this is my first time using this. Have you done this before?” she asks.

  “What? Spoken to a woman with an incredibly cute laugh? Sure. Not that often, though.”

  “Haha! Very charming. But I meant used this app.”

  “A couple of times,” I say, figuring the white lie will help increase her comfort level. “You? Any internet dating, or—?”

  “Never. It’s not really my…thing. I guess you’d say. This is pretty out of character for me.”

  “Oh yeah?” There’s just something so undeniably appealing about breaking in an uninitiated new booty-caller, I’m happy to listen to her talk about her lack of experience.

  “Yeah. I just saw something about it on TV and figured I’d give it a shot.”

  “People still watch TV?” I tease.

  “Haha! Yeah…I dunno. It was kinda like…fate. The timing was just a little too…perfect.” She sighs. There’s clearly something upsetting her, and although normally I’d do a 180 at the first sign of baggage in a woman, right now it’s nice to know I’m not the only one having a rough time.

  “So signs are garbage, but fate is a thing?”

  “Haha, I know. I’m a mess.” She tries to laugh again, but I hear a tremor in her voice.

  “Maybe. Aren’t we all?”

  “I don’t know. You sound like you’ve got it all figured out.”

  “Believe me, I really don’t.” For some reason, being honest with her is coming to me easily. Partly it’s the whiskey, but she’s just shown me her vulnerability, too. Normally I’d put on my game face and flirt my way past anything heavy, but with the anonymity of this app I can actually just be…myself.

  “Oh yeah?” Her voice is genuinely curious, coaxing more out of me. And I realize: I want to tell her more. Some part of me needs this.

  “Yeah. Right now I’m all alone in a house that’s bigger than the neighborhood I grew up in, I’ve drunk an entire bottle of whiskey since I got up this morning, and if this booty-call app thing doesn’t work out, all that’s left for me to do is hit the gym for the sixth time today.”

  “You still sound better off than me,” she says. “My roommate just kicked me out and I had to move into a studio apartment that’s about the size of my parents’ bathroom, I’m drinking something that’s supposed to be alcohol but which I’m sure is some kind of tractor fuel, and I don’t even know if I’ll have a job to go in to tom
orrow. So…yeah.” Her voice catches on this last line, and then I hear her sniffle and take a sip of something.

  “Sounds rough,” I say, meaning it. “But things could be worse.”

  “How?”

  “You could have been connected with somebody else, for one. Rather than this charming drunk Irishman with an absolutely out-of-this-world six pack that you’ll just have to take my word about, unless you’d care to see it for yourself.”

  She laughs, and I can hear a rustling as she adjusts herself. The nerves are gone.

  “Confident, aren’t you?” she says, a little sultriness entering her voice.

  “You’ve got to be, in my line of work.”

  “And what is that?” she asks.

  Shit. If I blow my cover, the fun is over. Sure, being a celebrity has its perks, but I want to keep my anonymity intact. I just want to be a regular guy talking to a regular girl – a girl who’s turned on by the person I am, not the person she thinks I’m supposed to be.

  “Um…animated chicken?” I blurt.

  “Ha! Right. Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

  I relax and don’t speak, letting the silence gather some weight. I listen to her breathing, until she breaks it.

  “So you’re Irish, you said?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought this app was supposed to connect with local people?”

  “Well, I’m in LA. They haven’t banned us from America. Not yet, anyway.”

  She laughs again. “Sorry.”

  “I can do an American accent, if it makes you more comfortable.”

  “Ok. Sure.”

  I put on my worst Southern impression.

  “Gurns. Jayzus. Cowbuwoys.”

  “Enough!” she says, laughing. “Now I’m the one who’s offended.”

  “Welcome to my world.”

  This time she’s the one who leaves the silence, and the tension that rises in it is starting to get me going. I’ve been trying to have a proper conversation with people all day and ended up feeling like a chump for it, but this girl has me feeling like I could spend the whole night just listening to her laugh. My mind races trying to put a face to that voice.