by Xavier Neal
Chance chuckles and shakes his head. “Makes no fucking sense. When I ball with my bros I dominate.”
“They must suck, too.”
He gives me the finger, which is when I join him in laughing. “Let’s see you do it twice in a row. This time with a can.”
Following his request, I grab one of the few that remain, make sure I am still a significant distance away, and confidently toss the object. Just like the previous execution, it lands in the bin without hitting the edge, provoking me to cockily state, “Point.”
“Why the hell are you so good at that?”
“Amazing hand and eye coordination.”
“I’ll say,” Chance mischievously agrees at the same time he makes a jerk off motion.
My gasp receives more laughter, and we return to throwing the last of the garbage away. After cleaning the mirrors together, he moves onto the next studio while I sweep the floors. By the time I arrive in the room, he’s finished cleaning the mirrors and is ready to play a bit of hockey with the trash. Determined to beat me at something sports related has him busting out fancy footwork to try to score just one point. Refusing to take pity on him, I successfully block all of his shots, until he’s yet again giving up.
Our conversation stays fun and flirty as we begin working on the next to last studio. He decides to sweep up, to practice his hockey moves while I scrub the mirrors.
My hand moves in swift circles. “So, have you ever done this before?”
“Swept a floor?” He cheerfully counters. “Quite a few times. Who do you think keeps my apartment clean?”
I roll my eyes but keep my smile. “I meant help a girlfriend do her job before.”
“No.” Chance momentarily halts his movements. “You’re the first girlfriend I’ve ever had.”
His announcement ceases my actions. “Ever?”
“Ever.”
This can’t be good….
“Any um…any particular reason?” I quietly question.
“Monogamy’s never really been my thing.”
“Oh.”
He swallows what appears to be discomfort. “Wasn’t exactly raised in a traditional household.”
“You were raised a nudist.”
“Well. Yeah. And my parents are also swingers, so we had more of a free love view on relationships.”
I try to hide the trepidation building on my face.
“You know, monogamy is more a societal restraint the same way clothing is in most cases. Monogamy isn’t for everyone. Being attached to one person doesn’t have to be how you live your life.”
My hand returns to wiping. “Totally get it. There is no one way to live life in any aspect.”
“Right.” All of a sudden, Chance crosses over and drops down beside me. He places a hand on my leg and meets my eyes in the mirror. “But I’m learning that maybe monogamy is my thing. You’re the only chick I wanna be with, babe. You’re the only chick in my whole life I’ve never been bored with after this long or even felt a strong connection to.” His thumb caresses my thigh. “You make my inner wolf growl and howl, and I’ve always been taught to listen to your Universe guide. So I am. No more denying it.”
A bashful smile graces my lips. “You make my inner wolf growl and howl, too.”
His eyes light up in excitement. “No shit? You’re spirit guide is a wolf?”
I slowly nod. “I’m told it has to do with my need to protect others, especially those I subconsciously find weaker than myself.”
“Makes absolute sense.”
You think so, too?
“What about your parents?” Chance sweetly asks. “They raise you to be one way or another?”
The question prompts my movements to return. “Not exactly.”
“Meaning?”
I scoot away to cover more territory. “Meaning they had this adorably romantic relationship that I naturally grew into wanting. It was better than the shit in fairy tales, not only because I could see it every day, but because it was real. Because it was two people whose whole lives revolved around this deeply rooted bond. A bond that became the foundation for their children to grow up on. My parents were endlessly supportive of one another. They rarely fought. They had this constant understanding that as long as they had each other, everything else would work out. And it did. They were the yin to one another’s yang. It was beautiful and made it impossible to want anything else.”
“What happened to your father?”
My reluctance to answer is poorly masked by me focusing on a smudge.
“Syd,” he softly starts, “you never talk about him for longer than thirty seconds.”
Thirty second intervals are usually all I can handle.
“I just wanna know a little more about the man who gave me the chick I’m crazy about.”
The warmth in his tone tempts me to reply.
“Will you at least tell me how he died?”
Finishing the area, I stand on my feet, and answer, “Car crash.”
Chance stays still and silent, patiently waiting for more information.
“He was coming home late the night before my sixteenth birthday. He’d been working extra hours all week, so he could buy me something really special, or at least that’s what my grandparents said. He ended up falling asleep at the wheel and crashing into a telephone pole.”
His blue eyes glaze in sadness.
“That’s also why I hate celebrating my birthday.” I swiftly grab the glass cleaner. “Ready to hit the last room?”
Chance forces a short smile onto his face. “Yeah. Let me just dump the dust pan.”
Avoiding further eye contact, I hastily exit and leave my boyfriend as well as the agony of missing my father behind me.
He may be with me all the time in so many ways, but reliving his death, reliving the moment he was taken in his physical form and forced to watch over me in his spiritual one is still difficult. On a logical level, I know his death wasn’t my fault even though it feels like it was. I swear I didn’t want anything extravagant. I didn’t whine or beg or demand it like my sisters had. I would’ve been happy with another new pair of shoes. They’d become a traditional gift that I appreciated. Instead? Instead, I’ve learned to momentarily loathe the day that should be a celebration of life because it took his.
Thankfully, the heated studio has had time to cool off. Unlike the others, I actively make sure my students toss their garbage leaving me to merely have to wipe down the mirrors and mop the floor.
“Babe,” Chance’s voice calls out from where he’s entering the room. When I glance over my shoulder, he offers me an unexpected comforting look. “You shouldn’t hate celebrating the day the world was blessed with you. You should appreciate it.”
His words turn my body away, but he continues to approach.
“If not for any other reason than to honor the man who helped create you.” Chance’s body stops directly behind mine. “Death is one of the hardest things we endure as human beings, but life is one of the most magnificent things we’re given to celebrate, yet most of humanity only celebrates it on the day light touched our faces. Appreciate your life…his life that he gave to you because otherwise his death, his departure from this existence to the next, is held in vain rather than in beauty.”
The tension strangling my vocal chords finally snaps. “Thank you for that.”
His body braces against mine, chin resting comfortably on my shoulder. Our faces gently nuzzle, which is when he whispers, “Your energy level is shifting back to normal.”
I helplessly smile. “You can feel the change?”
Chance quietly confesses, “When it comes to you, babe, I can feel everything.”
A sweet sigh leaves my lips and his angle to catch it. Our mouths open wider and tongues feverishly crash together. His hold around me tightens, and the powerful act of protection causes a pang to ignite between my thighs.
Chance immediately senses the change and nips at my bottom lip. “How about we make this
room really dirty before we clean it?”
I teasingly sway my ass against his hardening cock as my nonverbal agreement.
On a deep growl, he pushes my body closer to the mirror. I plant my hands firmly on it and watch his movements over my shoulder. His hands glide themselves slowly down my spine stealing several small shudders from me. He toys with the waistband of my yoga shorts. Cups my ass. Slides his hands along the inside and outside of my thighs. Each time my eyes threaten to close, he gives my ponytail a tug, silently demanding I watch him take possession of my body. The banishment of my purple sports bra is swift, but the removal of my shorts is agonizingly sluggish. He uses a combination of his teeth and hands to pull them towards the floor, aggressively biting and sucking a path downward. My pussy aches in desperation at every salacious touch while my heaving chest struggles to remember the breathing techniques I’ve spent years implementing.
This is the thing about Chance. He has this incredible way of just…erasing what I know and replacing it with something that feels even better.
Once I’m naked, Chance follows suit, ditching his shirt and shorts, though he remembers to grab the condom from his wallet. He positions himself on the floor between my spread legs. As soon as he’s wrapped, his legs relocate so they’re vertical against the glass, and I lower myself down to a squat. The penetration is deep though it feels perfect. My slick pussy stretches to accommodate his size, the pain a welcomed sensation. It’s no different than what I experience during hot yoga. Your body is melted to be remolded into something stronger. Something better.
His fingertips dig into the cusp of my ass cheeks to help lift me to the tip of his dick and back down again. This time the tearing has me panting and praying my orgasm stays at bay longer than two thrusts.
Chance increases the speed, encouraging me to begin a tender bouncing. I capture my bottom lip between my teeth to stop from coming at the constant knocking of my g-spot. He groans loudly over the constricting of my muscles and escalates the pace once more. Our previously fluid flow swiftly turns brutal and boisterous. My hands pound the glass in between shouts of his name. His fingertips bruise my cheeks while he howls mine. The air in the room grows thicker and thicker with each hard thrust, leaving the two of us suffocating on our satisfaction. On a loud mewl, my head hits the glass and my eyes squeeze shut as I hopelessly attempt to stop myself from shattering.
“That’s it, babe,” Chance gruffly grumbles. “Come for me.”
His command is met without further objection. Wetness swarms his cock, commending it for the creativity of the position, the commitment to having me fall apart first, and consistency in always providing pleasure. He continues thrusting through my orgasm, etching his essence onto every fiber of my being, rewriting more than just the tales of my sexual serenity. It isn’t too long after that Chance joins me. There’s one lengthy animalistic groan proceeded with a quiver hard enough to make the glass shake. Together, the two of us moan in tandem and declare our delight in our relationship reaching a new level.
Maybe Chance is proof The Goddesses of Fate are finally tipping the scales in my favor. Maybe…just maybe…this is my reward for always giving to others. Maybe it’s my turn to finally receive something extra amazing.
9
Chance
“Tell us you’re a better fucking cook than Chance is,” Arik chuckles.
“She’s gotta fuckin’ be,” Brock grunts, leaning back in his seat.
“There are Play-Doh meals that taste better than the shit he cooks,” Zane, another one of my best friends and fellow strippers, adds.
Chicks love him on stage. From the way you can’t stop drooling over his brown skin I’d say you might love him, too….Need a napkin?
“Whoa. Where is the love?” I huff in good spirits. “Free food every other week and this is the thanks I get?”
“Sending us home fucking starving is a dick move,” Arik quickly argues.
“You’re not starving, bro.”
“Maybe you can eat kale garbage for life, but some of us need somethin’ more sustainable,” Hunter, who is also a best friend and like Arik now an ex-dancer, throws his two cents in. “Like more than just the milk from the cow to make cheese.”
“We should do steaks.” Arik picks up his beer. “Why don’t we ever do steaks?”
Brock lets the corner of his lip turn up. “Chance is cheap.”
“I am not cheap!”
“Then why do you only like to serve us grass and shit?” Zane starts to laugh.
This never gets old. Not the way they drag on what I feed them, but the bonding. The family energy that passes between us. At one point, we were all the longest stripping members of The Castle, and I would insist we hung out to keep a strong link. I wanted them to know I had their backs like brothers and hoped they would have mine as well. They do. Despite all the shit they give me for using hemp oil, which is good for the face and balls, eating lighter, and meditating the last thirty seconds before my set to find my center, they’re still on my team. They’re still the first assholes to defend me or my ways to someone who isn’t familiar. Help me back to the apartment after too many tequila shots. Even though Arik, Brock, and Hunter are no longer Princes they’re still brothers. And you guessed it. Hunter quit for the same reason the others did. See the danger with falling in love and being monogamous? Makes you give up other shit you love. Though, Syd hasn’t mentioned that yet, and I’m grateful. Think she will?
Finally, Syd saunters into the room with a bowl in each hand. “Trust me, Chance isn’t cheap regardless of what his shoes tell you.”
The guys chuckle at my expense, and I give her a small swat on her yoga shorts covered ass.
She winks and places down the objects in the middle of the table. “Now, before you start complain-”
“Why the fuck is it green?” Brock growls.
Arik shrugs. “Better than brown, right? Hate that humming bird shit.”
“Hummus, bro. Hummus.”
“Hum your mouth closed,” Zane instructs.
“Is that guac?” Hunter curiously peers into the bowl. “I like guac, but usually, it’s got um…more stuff in it.”
You guessed it. Women loved the southern cowboy shit he used to sell. It wasn’t exactly a lie. He is southern, and he technically comes from like a cowboy empire or something. I don’t know. He doesn’t really talk about it.
“It’s not guac,” Syd sweetly answers. “But will you guys just try it?”
They all peer up at her with skeptical expressions.
Between you and me? I like that they’ve extended the fam vibe to her. Makes my heart swell. You know, I thank The Goddesses of Fate, every day, at how easy she fits into my life, even when it’s difficult for me to fit into hers.
“Be big boys and try at least one bite. You hate it then I’ll grab the backup chips and salsa and bean dip.”
“At least she has a backup plan,” Arik appreciates. “She’s definitely beating Chance so far.”
“With the way you all just bitched about his cooking, I’m catching on that isn’t exactly hard.”
My boys laugh at her comment, which is when I flirtatiously pop her on the ass again.
This time she doesn’t look at me. She simply tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, one of my favorite signs she’s getting turned on.
That and the way her breathing changes. There’s apparently this whole other side of breathing that’s really fucking hot. I’m still learning shit about it, but let’s just say hearing her fucking breath hitch is creating a Pavlovian response with my cock. Pretty much have to stop myself from instantly coming. Tantric sex shit is not for the weak willed.
“Why are these chips burnt?” Zane cautiously questions as he picks one up. “Forget the oven was on?”
“They’re blue corn,” Hunter retorts. “They pretty much taste like regular tortilla chips.”
Arik sarcastically mumbles, “Yeah, ‘cause pretty much is what I look for with my food.”
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His snark gets a grunt from Brock. “Fucking eat it.”
All four of them grab a chip and a scoop of the green dip. There’s a general consensus of enjoyment as they each reach for an additional bite.
“Not bad,” Zane says between chews.
“Definitely better than Chance’s fuck us dip,” Arik announces.
“Hum-mus,” I grumble.
Brock merely nods his agreement and grabs another chip for more dip.
“What is this?” Hunter politely asks.
“Monster dip,” Syd giggles and folds her arms across her neon yellow sports bra.
Bought her that along with a few other workout clothes. She didn’t want to accept them, but most of hers had holes, obviously in desperate need of being replaced. The majority of the shit I bought I told her to just keep it here, pretending it would be easier than her toting around a bag back and forth. Honestly? I just wanted her to have it, and she’s a little stubborn when it comes to accepting help. No problem giving it out to everyone and anyone but is move a mountain difficult when it comes to taking an offer. Even just the simple suggestion of letting me handle dinner when we go out. Isn’t that what boyfriends are supposed to do? Help their girlfriends whether it be with emotional support like reviewing her resume for a job or providing her with better attire for said job?
“Monster…dip….” Arik drags the term out between licks of his finger.
“Don’t you fucking put those fingers back in the bowl,” Zane scolds him.
“It’s just avocado, sour cream, and a bit of garlic salt. My mom used to make it for us when we were kids, and my dad would always put all ten fingers in the dip then roar at us like a scary creature and chase us around the room with it on his hands. Drove my mother nuts, but we loved it.”
Hearing her openly recall fondly of her father and siblings shifts a wide smile to my face.
She’s still pretty closed off about him and from the select stories I’ve heard her sisters may be minions of the anti-Christ, but I love moments when she lets the beautiful memories shine through. No. Haven’t seen pictures of them or verbally searched for more information. It shifts her energy levels in a displeasing fashion. I prefer to lift her spirits not bring them down.