Will to Live

by M. Christine

  With the accessories clasped in both hands, Yuri put one arm around the chosen girl and led her toward the doorless play space.

  “Tell me your name again,” Yuri said.

  “Davida.”

  “Davida, how about some safe ass-eating?” Yuri said as they aimed toward the hall of sex rooms.

  The blond left behind followed them, whining, “Can I suck your dick?”

  Will and Vincent chuckled at Yuri’s scenario, both somewhat removed from the porn party atmosphere. A gaggle of industry females semi-circled around them. They posed, batted their lashes, and blew kisses to Will, who was not aware of this adulation until Vincent spoke.

  “They’re admiring you, bro,” he said, slightly gesturing with his shaved head. “If you indulge, use a condom.” Vincent jokingly fluttered his eyelids and ventured off.

  Will sighed, waving bye to his work buddy. He looked round, amazed to discover in front of him the casting call of sex performers. He ran his hand through his dark curls, causing a few eyes to flash. Most of the women were blond, like they were cloned. Will felt obliged to at least talk to one or more party-goers, and he did feel horny.

  Through the bevy of straw-colored heads, he spotted a willowy brunette with a high, regal bun on the top of her head and dark cat eyes among perfect facial features. Her minimal makeup was flawless and in great contrast to the garish masks the others wore. Set back a bit in the crowd, her alluring eyes met Will’s, her head nodding slightly and lips parting to exhibit a sexy overbite, delicate tooth gap included. Everyone else pixelated out of Will’s vision as his body maneuvered into mating mode: assured and confident in his move, graceful as a jaguar. He stepped through the yapping girls to reach the sensual individual. Will took her hand, noticing that she was quite tastefully attired in a snug gold dress with a small skirt billowing about her high hips. A zipper from midriff to bottom was the only hint of her working-girl lifestyle.

  “Let me give you a tour,” Will said.

  She did not say a word, only slipped her elegant arm into Will’s muscly one. It was a link that compelled them to stroll to the private rooms like a flirtatious couple in a park promenade.

  As Will checked the rooms for vacancy, he saw Yuri in the exposed room, utilizing the open-bottomed lounge chair with cushion underneath for comfy anilingus. Davida was happily utilizing the dental dam, her shaved crotch hanging over Yuri’s forehead. His nose and tongue made moves onto her butt that had her wiggling and teasing her own clit through the plastic. She blurted out throaty sounds every few seconds, creating an echoed symphony off the walls. The other girl who tried so hard to get at Yuri’s boner succeeded: she was furiously blowing his cock while the other two carried on.

  Beyond Yuri’s playroom was an available sex unit, which Will was glad to see had some symbolic—almost softcore—restraints. After closing the door, he glided the fox to a leather bench, but asked her first if she wanted to remove her dress.

  “Partly,” she said finally, with an exotic inflection.

  The brunette unzipped her tight garment open and a pair of grapefruit-size tits spilled out, with molasses-tone nipples. Her sweaty stomach was flat but a little fleshy, which pleased Will, as did her pussy: a handful of neatly trimmed black pubes that gave way to a lovely caramel clit.

  She wanted Will to maul her body, which was obvious as she stood there shamelessly exposed. He had another idea.

  “First, what is your name?” he asked.

  “Medici.”

  “Medici? Well, Medici, if you sit down on this throne, can I restrain your arms on the racks?” Will pointed to the well-constructed steel sides that had various leather wrist ties laced through at different heights.

  Medici sat and held her wrists a little higher than her shoulders. Will strapped her graceful hands, and did the same to her ankles. He moved her feet to be adhered to the bench’s lower structure, legs spread and pussy already making a wet shine on the surface. Her face was level with his pelvis.

  Will, in full sex-director mode, made strides to a cabinet that contained all sorts of useful toys and accessories. There he found a bowl of condoms and chose a flavored one.

  “Chocolate for Medici,” he said, not bothering to look at her, even though the comment made her nearly fellate the air. Will hadn’t even undone his fly yet. He was checking out the slappers and riding crops dangling on the cabinet doors, but his eye went to what resembled a feather duster. It wasn’t a feather duster though—it was a long black stick with a neat plume of purple feathers at one end. The feather attachment was disposable, presumably for safety and hygiene, and a basket full of replacements at the bottom of the cabinet had a note tacked on that read, Please discard used tickler head and replace with new one. Will glanced back at his strapped partner’s heaving chest and decided he’d like to tease and tickle her vulnerable parts.

  Will tucked the rubber—still-wrapped in a decorative packet that showed a drawing of a chocolate-syrup cock titty-fucking an ice-cream-sundae pair of breasts—into his shirt pocket, and returned to Medici’s bare body to dish out some tickle torture.

  Even though it was a kind of BDSM torture, Medici did not shed tears. Will teased the tips of her amazingly engorged breasts and she just moaned and moaned, thrashing somewhat in her straps. Will did not yet grab those tits: he was busy watching Medici writhe and slowly drip pussy juice over the edge of the bench and onto the floor. With her horny rocking, he could see clit poking out from her slit.

  He stopped teasing her to rip his fly open and pull his pants down to his mid-thigh. Will kind of liked remaining partly clothed; he felt cavalier and commanding knowing that he could whip his rigid cock out for receiving pleasurable worship. Medici’s eyes widened as his sizable flesh sprung out. She leaned forward as much as the restraints would allow, tongue reaching for a lick.

  “Not yet,” he said.

  Will sank two salute fingers into his shirt pocket, in a manner cool guys would use to grab a book of matches, but he pulled out the fancy condom. He held it still for Medici to approve, which she did via an enthusiastic nod.

  Rip went the packet; the chocolate scent mixed with their arousal. Will held off on jamming his dick through her bee-stung lips—they seemed just as natural as the jiggly tits—but after he rolled on the sheath he resumed the feather dusting of her nips, because he just loved seeing her bound, tormented with pleasure so much that she wiggled uncontrollably. He really liked controlling things in the sex space. He was hard, so hard, pointing high in the air like a missile. Will was thankful the rubbers were good quality and comfortably stretched with the engorgement.

  “Please, please!” Medici breathed. “Put it in!”

  “Use nouns,” Will instructed. “It sounds more direct, more slutty.”

  “Cock,” she enunciated, “en mi boca!”

  Will hung the toy on the rack. He then handled his big dick, massaging the balls with the other hand, but eased closer and pushed the sac up against her lips. Those lips responded lustily, kissing and nuzzling their swell, her verbal output muffled considerably. She sucked one ball in with seasoned expertise, relinquishing it to gobble the other. As if playing for the benefit of a boom operator on a film shoot, Medici smacked her lips loudly, making slurping sounds on his scrotum.

  Despite her limitations, she managed to suck both balls into her cheeks, juggling them deliriously. Medici popped them out to get some air, an opportunity Will took to stuff his phallus into her spit-slick lips.

  “How’s the flavor?” he said playfully, holding her head firmly but lovingly, not letting her speak her reply.

  Medici looked up at him, cock in mouth, and batted her lashes. He held her skull in place with enough room for her to undulate her warm tongue and cheeks around his pulsing power. She didn’t even want to come up for air; her nostrils flared while she sucked with remarkable focus. When Will’s tip went deep, filling her throat, she groaned and hung there, helpless but with bliss, his nuts smashed on her chin.


  Will was excited to see Medici, this tall, elegant, exotic drink of luscious elixir, submerged into a subspace, enraptured to have his penis snug in her oral cavity.

  “I’m going to come in your mouth,” Will said, “with the condom on. Okay, you sexy beast?”

  He tweaked her nose affectionately, and she managed to emit a sweet sigh even with his magnificent tool obstructing her airway. For a little break in sensation, Will moved his hands, dick still in her mouth, to pinch and fondle Medici’s nipples. He didn’t ponder them too long because he could sense her body was near to a delicious collapse. Will wanted to tackle her pussy and watch it happen then.

  So, he gently held the sides of her head again, her once-sleekly coiffed hair now tousled from the sexual contact. With care, Will backed his penis away from her tonsils and proceeded to fuck her face, directing her to look at him as he controlled the speed and friction around his dick. Medici’s overbite felt marvelous, and he shifted here and there to feel it scrape gently through the latex. Will worked her, revisiting her throat, poking the insides of both cheeks. On the outside of her cheek he dropped his pinky down to feel the contour of his thick intrusion stretch the surface of her skin.

  Medici began to caw softly, which compelled Will to hunker down and pump her fast. He watched the full length of his thrust pass in and out of her puffy lips. Saliva flooded onto her cheeks and chin, dripping down to her boobs and thighs, mixing with her drenched crotch. Will’s balls tightened and shot the load. He rubbed his penis in a relaxed manner atop her tongue, then gently extracted it.

  Medici was still in her zone, limp but not finished off. Will retreated to the utility cabinet to deprive her of touch for a few minutes. He tore off his rubber, and disposed of it in the metal canister. The foot-activated container opened and closed noisily like in a medical examination room. Returning to Medici, he pulled up a stool, retrieved the tickler, and gazed with interest at her swollen slit.

  The clit and its hood were huge and straining for relief, yet Medici wallowed in her predicament, flush with euphoria. Without touching, Will studied her bulging crotch. He noticed the curve of her blood-rushed labia, admired the floral layers, which were slick and shiny with her juice. He wondered something out loud: “How many strokes of the feathers would make it all burst.”

  Medici moaned at her pussy being objectified. She swung her torso slightly, eyes half-mast, her skin burning and ready. Will carefully touched the feathers to her slit. A guttural howl rose from Medici: a noise of approval. But Will waited a few beats before the repeat. The next stroke was a slower upward sweep, causing the bound slut’s legs to tense and lift up involuntarily, pulling at the restraints. Some of the feathers clumped together after brushing against her sopping genitalia. Will shook them out a bit, turned the dry side toward Medici’s pussy, and made an even slower drag over her clit, like a tai chi move. The cluster of feathers caressed every angle of her pussy in slow motion. This did it for Medici. Her legs helplessly jerked and twitched up to angle her clit to be lost in the tickler’s forest as she exhaled a quivery, high-pitched sigh full of joy and intoxication. Because of profuse vaginal excretions, her pelvic wiggling caused her behind to slip off the bench. Once Will finished his sweep of her clit he left her post-climax, dangling from her straps with sprawled limbs and relieved twat spread wide.

  He walked to the cabinet, detached the soiled feathers, and disposed of them responsibly. Will reached for a disinfectant wipe, cleaning the long handle before hanging it up. A squirt of hand sanitizer was the only sound in the now-quiet sex room. He rubbed the solution over his hands before affixing a fresh tickler accessory for the next club member. All the while, Will ignored the spent porn starlet. He knew quite well that she could easily remove herself from the ersatz restraints but sensed that she got off on playing a bound, sex-used flesh heap. He gave her those moments of solitude.

  Will refastened his trousers and straightened up the equipment until he felt Medici had enough time in her situation. With baby wipes in hand, Will approached her with his sincere, nice-guy smile and kissed her lolling head.

  “Let’s get going,” he said, lifting her by the armpits to get her on her feet.

  Back to earth, she removed her hands from the straps and bent down to untie her ankles. Will considerately held the wipe package, which was opened with one ready to be plucked. Medici grabbed two and dabbed away on most wet body areas, though leaving her twat in its moist, wanton state. She zipped up her dress over it. The sex partners said not a word, only looking into each others’ twinkling, mischievous eyes, happy about the exchange they just experienced together.

  Will gave the bench and surrounding floor a courtesy pass with the disinfectant cloths while Medici helped a bit with her feet. When they finished this, Will gestured to the door. Medici slipped her lithe arm into his and together they sauntered out to the party, passing by couples fucking against the corridor wall, weaving in and out of group gropings and tipsy revelers yucking it up.

  Chapter 13

  Oh Give Me a Home

  School began for Will without a hitch—a new sensation for him given his former burdened family life—and it was awesome. The Polytechnic’s teachers were well-connected art and Tinseltown professionals who divided time between their jobs and instruction. Will was immersed in computer graphics projects from the get-go, happily working among worthy peers and getting constructive feedback from the faculty. A few months into the year, personnel from big companies were making frequent studio visits, scouting for new talent.

  In between classes and Memorabilia weekend nights he paid a couple of visits to his mom, more so during the holidays. Normally he would see Ginger once a month as long as Paul was not in the house, but he felt pangs of guilt that December and spent more time—and money—with her.

  Ginger knew Will was not her little boy anymore, though she had no inkling what his new life was like and never asked. She hugged him, kissed him, and spoke to Will in her soft but wrecked voice of a ghost. He stocked her house with things she needed, like paper products, nonperishable food, toiletries, new linens—crucial things that would not be worth enough for Paul to steal and sell. Will tried to keep her comfortable. With the guidance of Frances he managed her bills and finances, getting Ginger to put his name on the deed to the house, the document of which he held onto, before Paul got desperate enough to hoodwink her out of the home.

  Will did not see her on Christmas because Paul was allegedly holed up in his closet, sleeping off a binge and letting his heartbeat stabilize. As soon as Paul was rested, the next day, he took off. Both Ginger and Will knew his patterns of disappearing for days at a time, and this was one of those instances. Will brought over a nice holiday-style meal to share with his mother.

  Will stayed quiet as he dished out the food, listening to Ginger worry. “I’m taking a break from distributing products,” she said, as if she was selling Avon. “Thanks to your help I can do that. Will, it’s so good to see you. But I’m so concerned about Paul. There’s nothing for him to pawn, no loose cash around here. I don’t know how or where he’s getting…”

  She let it dangle there, since she never truly addressed Paul’s drug use or criminal doings. When it came to her pot and pill dealing Ginger was blasé yet no-nonsense, as if it wasn’t illegal, not acknowledging that her actions were permissive influences on her children’s lives. Paul’s life. Will turned on the TV, which numbed Ginger into a more at-ease state. They ate their dinner, turkey for Ginger and a pie warming in the oven. They listened to Rachel Ray. During a commercial, Ginger spoke again: “Your father came around on Christmas Eve. Paul was here, but passed out,” she said anxiously. “He asked about you, can you believe it? There was some money he left. It’s gone…”

  She went wordless once more and wept over her apple pie. Will held her hand, then got up to hold her shoulders, hugging her, kissing the top of her head. He was crying too, about the bleakness that was his fucked-up family.

  “I’ll take car
e of you, Ginger,” he told her, smoothing her once-lustrous raven hair.

  Their sadness subsided a bit, and Will proceeded to clean up and put leftovers into containers. Although Will did not want to see his brother, he did want to leave him some of the meal, even if Paul did not eat it. Ginger settled on the sofa and was dozing off when Will was done in the kitchen.

  Will walked down the hallway. His old room’s door was open, showing vacant space. He continued to Paul’s room, opened the door. The desk was there, still with nothing on it. Will wondered why Paul didn’t try to sell it. It had two big side drawers, which Will pulled and found them empty. He tried the drawer that would most likely hold writing utensils, but instead it contained a couple of very used glass pipes, a tablespoon, a few lighters and pieces of foil. There was a rectangular box with hinges. Will carefully peeked inside and spied disposable needles that could have been new, could have been used. He shut the box quickly and tossed it back in the drawer.

  The usual pile of clothes was missing. Will figured Ginger had probably not yet folded the clean stuff, which she laundered with the detergent he supplied. The closet mattress was covered with one of the new sheets he brought to Ginger recently. It was crisp and untouched, indicating that she put it on after Paul traipsed out on another murky time warp.

  Will made sure the windows were locked in the place before he kissed and hugged his depressed mother goodbye, then bolted the door on his way out.

  On New Year’s Day, Will saw Ginger again. The two of them enjoyed a small party platter and sparkling cider, though she eventually cracked open a beer. They watched the big parade on television, which made Ginger reminisce about her glory days as a Spirit Dancer.