“I guess he wants me to show you around…so, let’s go.” Lance said, smiling like a Cheshire cat. I’m still somewhat afraid to be alone with Lance. I don’t know why. He’s already served me more times than my swollen space can take. I still feel the ghost-strokes of the night before. I sighed audibly with fearful trust and take his extended arm.
“I suppose this will make Mr. Cavanaugh happy…” Lance’s deep bass toned chuckle rumbled through me…our arms being a bridge for the echoing vibration. I shivered. I also released a little excitement into my panties.
He walked me through the upstairs first. I’d seen the first floor already, except for the kitchen and den. Lance pointed out all of the work they’d done as I listened intently. My dad being a carpenter of sorts, I knew a lot of the architectural terminology and followed along well. All was contently simple until we reached the balconied bedroom that served as a guest room. We’d stood over the downstairs crowd, no one really noticing we were there. I stood, looking down at the party-goers and figured it was time to get back. Lance was standing in back of me, so closely that when I turned to speak he was right there. I averted eye contact looking straight into his chest. Without thought, I leaned in and inhaled him. He smelled like leather, heat, lemons and hickory. I moaned lightly. “Mmmmm…” I smoothed my hands around his waist and up his back and down again, sliding my hands down the back of his jeans.
“Whoa…someone might see us, Elle…” he worried.
I was feeling powerful in that moment. I’d finally gotten back that sense of control I was used to. Not wasting a minute I made sure to go full throttle. I brought my hands back to the front of his pants and began unbuckling his belt. He stepped away.
“Out of respect for Beau and Eldora…I just don’t think this is a good idea. Can we do this back at my house?” Lance asked. The corners of my mouth curled impishly and I backed him into the room.
“No…it’s now. This is where I want to say goodbye to you. Let me…let me taste you…” Lance freed himself from my grips and closed the doors to the balcony.
He then brushed past me and said, “Let’s leave this room.”
I stood planted where I was. I felt the air change and I needed to know why all of a sudden, my hand on his dick was no longer turning him on. “No. I’m going to stand here until you let me suck your dick!” He stopped in the doorway and said, “NO, Elle…I won’t. You can stay up here if you like. I’m sure you know how to get back to the party.” Lance began walking away.
I said, “It’s Noelle, isn’t it? You stayed here…in this room with her. At least once, you did. If that’s the truth, that’s all you had to say. Sentiment aside, I don’t like being turned down. Consider this goodbye right here.” I felt like this was “lover shit” and I didn’t DO “lover shit”. I was free from the possessive binds of feelings and I didn’t need this.
“Yes. Noelle and I stayed here…for a year actually. It’s the room furthest from Beau and Eldora’s, so it was private. We were here when we were renovating the house I live in now. It’s just not right to fuck in this room…this bed, where Noelle and I were happiest before she’d left me and then returned to me sick. Sorry that this is too much emotion for you…but, I’m not some hapless cynic who’s medicating my bitter heart with sex!”
I felt a surge of fever come over my face and my hands shook. I felt that dig like he was excavating my heart from a burial place somewhere in my past. I wanted to pick up the fancy statue of a French cherub and clock him with it. I knew I couldn’t react or he’d feel justified. He’d feel right about me. He didn’t fucking know me…not really. I laughed to shrug off his bullshit assessment. “Please…you think that I fuck because I’m a damaged or hurt person?” I asked rhetorically.
“Yea…I do…” he replied quicker than necessary.
“Lance…I could be in love right now. I could be in Tahiti with the man who touched my heart in a way I didn’t expect. I could be with my childhood friend right now…I could…but, I’m not. It’s got nothing to do with being a broken person…and everything to do with the fact that I simply enjoy my life. I’m free…”
“So you say…” he interjected. “…but, you’re a liar. You’re lying to yourself. You’ve been here for almost a week and that empowered, free-wheeling, unabashed woman you say you are hasn’t showed up until now. Less than 24hrs before you’re slated to leave does your ‘strong woman’ emerge. Control is what you seek…and that is the tool of the weak.”
I stood there…paralyzed. I felt my feet turn to stone and the frozen effect travel up my body to my throat. I didn’t even realize that I’d let a tear fall until Lance rushed over to wipe my face and apologize. “I’m sorry, Elle…that was unfair. I don’t know you well enough to say such things.” I unbound my feet from the Persian rug, removed his hand from my face and walked around him. He grabbed my arm and said, “Please, Elle…say something. I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know you…”
And that’s when I snapped. “NO…you DON’T! You know my PUSSY. You know my CLIT. You know my MOUTH and quite possibly…you know my G-SPOT! That’s IT! Who I am…yes, even the control freak…is not about fear of love. It’s about the joy of pleasure. You have NO clue who I am, other than the fact that I’m your sister’s best friend. This…” I said, waving my hand back and forth between the two of us, “…is merely and animal attraction. I’m not supposed to give two fucks if this room brings memories back to you. On paper…I’m sorry that your wife is sick and that you’re getting flashbacks of your time together as we stand here, but when I say I don’t do this emotional shit…what I’m saying is that, getting to know you isn’t an option. The moment I become endeared to you is the moment the freeness ends and I have a sick puppy on my hands. I don’t require fucking cuddling. I don’t require fucking conversation! I require to be fucked within an inch of my pussy’s aching and that...is…IT! Save your FUCKED up analyzing for someone whose heart you’re trying to infiltrate! As for me…I’m past that kind of disingenuous shit that people do to sneak their way up to sex. I’d MUCH rather take what I want and refuse what I don’t. I’m done here!”
Walking out of the room, down the stairs and OUT of the front door was something I couldn’t even control. I stood by his car, deciding that I’d move only when he and Collette came out and we’d left for his home. I wanted to pack my shit and board the next thing smoking. I was done with this Mardi Gras party, New Orleans…and Lance Rice.
You’d think the ride home would be quiet with brooding tensions and suppressed sexual desire…but, no. Lance decided to be bold…well at least a little.
“Collette…would you say that someone who does nothing but have sex and avoid emotional attachment is running from something?” Unfortunately for HIM…Collette and are more alike than he probably wanted to know.
“No. Actually, a lot of men AND women just enjoy the freedom. I know I do. Why do you ask?”
Lance took a quick glance at her. “What? What do you mean you do?”
Collette laughed and said, “Lance…I’m not a child. I’m 31 years old and honestly, I have no desires to be cuffed to any one person right now. I have WAY too much fun, traveling and doing what I want without the consequences of a monogamous relationship!” Lance’s face was visibly screwed up. I could see him in the rearview mirror and he at that moment looked at me and quickly away, not wanting me to see how this not-so-subtle attack on me was going wrong.
“I can’t believe that you’re whoring around, Lette!!” He fucked up BIG time, because NO one knows except me how much Collette hates being called a whore…probably MORE than she hates being called, “LETTE!”
“FUCK YOU! I am GROWN. I work, I pay my own bills, I am careful about my body’s health and I actually DO discriminate who I choose to lay with. I just am not ashamed of the numbers. Don’t EVER refer to me as a fucking whore…especially when your wife left you for someone else!” she spit.
We were clearly closer to Lance’s home than the dis
sension had allowed for us to see because just as she’d finished her rant, Lance pulled into his own driveway and Collette jumped out of the car. Lance turned off the car and got out, too.
“HEY! HEY! Don’t do that! DON’T fucking go THERE! She’s dying; she’s got NOTHING to do with this! That was a low blow, Lette!” It looked like he wanted to cry. Collette didn’t seem to care.
“Be careful with what you say, Lancelot Jean Rice. I know for certain that no one standing here can judge another. The hypocrisy is always around waiting for the chance to feed your words to you. You can stand here and judge me…and indirectly, ELLE…but, look at you. As a victim of abandonment and recent perpetuator of adultery…you have NO room to speak to me about whorish ways. Whores have no values and have no boundaries. I don’t fuck people in relationships. I am honest and I am careful. THAT is MY business…that is ELLE’S business!!!” she said heaving mad, her Creole temperament on her sleeve.
“At least, with us…we’re not kidding ourselves. We know that people lie and cheat, but we’re honest and we take what we want. The question is...do you? If you were honest, even a little bit, you’d admit that you have feelings for my friend over there,” she said pointing at me.
She walked into the house and I could tell Lance was regretting this trip. He definitely seemed regretful for having brought up this conversation. He stood there in a daze. I just wanted to go upstairs and sleep until it was time to go to the airport. I just walked past him with my eyes to the ground.
“Wait…” he said grabbing my elbow.
I said, “Lance, I’m sorry about earlier. I just think it’s best to let bygones be bygones, forget this happened and let this night end.”
Lance shook his head no and said, “I can’t. She’s right. I like you a lot. A WHOLE lot. I need to say this.”
I said, “Okay…go ahead.”
He led me onto the porch and sat me on the wooden bench; the pretty canvas pillows in a floral print. I never really noticed how nice the porch was. “I’m sorry, Elle. I was wrong for what I said back at my friend’s house. I was wrong for broaching the subject the way I did in the car. I guess I was just a little sore about your ability to be detached from this experience we’ve had. I may not be in love with you, but I do have feelings. I’m moved by you. Your style, your demeanor…you’re so graceful, delicate, and soft. You smell like a woman is supposed to smell and smile like better days…” I smiled involuntarily. He laughed and said, “Yes. That is the smile.”
I didn’t know what was happening. I’ve felt attracted to men emotionally, but life just knows how to be set up just right for me to move along. HOW was I going to just forget Lance Rice? He was Collette’s brother! She was like a sister. He’d always know where to find me...not like everyone else who I could avoid easily. “Lance…please. This isn’t good for either of us. I don’t want anything happening that might jeopardize my friendship with Collette…and I don’t want to do anything to hurt you.”
He lunged into my mouth with his, kissing me hard and soft at the same time. His hands through my loose curls, making electricity flow to every part of me. I wanted to stop him and say no, but his touch silenced me into barely there moans. I jumped from his arms to my feet, hoping at least I could move…even if my mouth failed me. He pulled me onto his lap and held me strongly to him. His hands were up the back of my shirt, playing xylophone on my spine. He was tugging at the waist of my leggings, but I knew that wouldn’t be easy because they were skin-tight. My chance to break free, I thought.
“Ahem…um…I’m gonna go upstairs,” I said, standing above him ready to turn on my heels and leave.
Lance said, “No baby, don’t…” He caressed his hands up and down both sides of my thighs and slowly pulled my leggings down, rolling them as he leaned forward, inhaling between my legs. He didn’t roll them all the way down, just beneath my knees. Then he did the same with my panties. I was frozen. My pussy was melting. He leaned back, unbuckled his pants and pulled out his dick. He turned me around and pulled me down gently.
“Uhhhhh…Laaaance…ooooh shit, oh…um…uh…”
He whimpered as he felt my warm, wet, snug spot envelope as much of him as it could. I knew the drill. Slow at first and then that back-breaking, spine-numbing thrust that opened me up for his will. When he did stroke upward and land at the bottom of me…everything perked up and tingled. I slowly grinded on him and he’d chime in every other stirring. Lance freed my breast from my strapless bra from behind and kneaded them. I was so weak. My body felt limp. I felt hypnotized like he’d placed some juju on me and I was nothing more than his to fuck this way.
The bench’s wood was creaking and our breathing was hastening. I felt myself on the way to coming and he must’ve been ready too, because he took one hand off of my breast and placed it around my waist to brace him. No moans, no words, nothing but a unanimous pounding is what brought us to climax. The crickets could be heard and the air became lush with our fragrance. We sat there, him in me…me on him…breathing hard. Do you know that we were in that position for an hour? He’d fondle my nipples, kiss my neck and back, get me excited and then fuck me some more. We did that until we couldn’t anymore. Eventually, we went to his bedroom and finished the night there. I fit as much of him in my mouth as possible and we ate each other up.
The next morning, Collette and I packed and were taken to the airport. I hugged him longer than she did at the gate. We said goodbye, and went home. No mask, no beads, no parade beat the party Lance and I had. My “Dirty Rice,” as I like to refer to him, was celebration enough.
{Lance in New Orleans. 35 years old. 12” dick. No rating can describe him}
In Gods’ Hands
Jessa Callaver
Cassie dug her finger into the horn, waving the startled couple out of her path. The scooter flew past their scurrying bodies, the comically high pitch echoing off the surrounding buildings.
“Pazza prostituta!” a voice yelled from behind. A heavy lump hit her arm and Cassie peered over her shoulder. Some glittery specks trickled down the back of her coat and onto the pavement.
Confetti. Really...?
Fucking Carnival.
She threw back another belt and the lukewarm drops dribbled into her cleavage, sending chills up her spine.
“Thrills and spills.” Cassie wiped under her chin and brought her finger to her mouth, licking it clean.
In two years in Tuscany, she'd hardly come across a tastier grape. Smooth, rich, and damn expensive. The pitch-black wine bottle had been on the floor when she returned home and Cassie had known what it was the minute she laid eyes on it: a precious gem from Tommaso's collection. His show bottles. The same he kept hidden in a locked safe in his closet. The ones she'd hardly been allowed to even mention, moreover go near, without raising his hackles.
His solution to her curiosity? 'Blowjobs for half-glasses.' The closest she ever came to the cache, and the only Italian he'd worked hard to make sure she perfected.
Cassie chugged back another gulp, then shoved the wine back inside her coat. As she zipped up, the smell caught her nose, her lip immediately curling in disgust.
Cloying.
The crap just wouldn't come off. Cassie had been rubbing the handlebars with the sleeves of her coat for the past ten minutes just to work it off the rubber.
A woman of such discerning tastes in wine might have opted for more than the drugstore l'eau de toilette, one would think.
But trashy blondes were his preference. The past two years had made that fact glaringly clear; and forced her to realize that, despite being the 'appointed' live-in, she'd functioned as little more.
Cassandra Tracy. Unwanted daughter of small town drunks, designated cop for any horny boy offering free beer and a nice smile. College drop-out who'd come to Italy...just to become yet another man's broad of the moment.
And so, here she sat.
Right where she'd begun.
Alone. At two a.m. on Carnival—the rest of Viareggi
o celebrating life, while hers raced frantically toward nowhere.
Cassie sniffled, wiping her eyes. A shadow shifted on her right and she swerved around the huddled mass, a dark arm swiping at her foot with a grunt.
The fireworks signaling the festival's closing had ended hours ago. She'd purposefully stayed to the outskirts, steering clear of the well-lit promenades and piazzas. Preferring the company of the stumbling drunks and stragglers who allowed her reckless passage through the narrow stradas. Where she belonged. Where her unmarked tears and the alcohol would numb both mind and body.
A cold gust whistled across her from one of the far side streets, and Cassie tensed, her fingers tightening around the accelerator. The wind had picked up right around midnight. By the time Cassie reached the front stoop of her apartment, her face and hands were frozen from the cold.
Light streaming through a crack in the door, music blaring, the smell of hot penne, she'd propelled her numb legs up the winding staircase, the swells of hungry tourists and unmasked glances down her blouse dissolving as she climbed.
She'd stayed just long enough to change and fix the wind-swept bun in her hair before slipping back out into the night—entirely unnoticed by the two prostrate lovers splayed across her bed. The Chateau Margaux and the bitch's hot pink red bottoms she'd toted along as trade; payment owed for her pain and suffering.
Cassie took a deep breath and shook her head, momentarily freeing herself of the hateful image. On her left beneath a tattered white awning, a group of arm-linked men belted out “Santa Lucia.”
Tourists.
Via Centanni lay ahead, several missing bricks creating a gapped silhouette just below the street sign. She could cut across the narrow strada onto one of the other side streets from there, and then onto...who the hell really cared?
Naughty Gras: Tales of Fat Tuesday Page 3