Untamed : An Erotic Romance Story

by Scott, Lucy

  Your Papi,

  Rafael

  ———

  He survived his first tour, but never returned to Chicago. He would send me an email every so often, but without the passion of the letters we once shared and I answered him with idle chatter that wasn't about anything more than weather, time, and place. He was killed in Fallujah, my sweet papi, no longer there for any altruistic thoughts of freedom, but to save his friends with whom he had formed an eternal bond, and for whom he so tragically died, and Rafael and I will never sweat with each other again.

  "Don't you want the key?" Caleb dangled the Jetta key in my face, waking me from a moment of lost love and lust.

  "You're such a dear," I said, not knowing when I had acquired such a hackneyed phrase, dear, really? I gave him another kiss to the forehead, took the key from his hand, and gently pushed him out the door.

  I went to bed, to sleep perchance to dream of someone hot and sexy, instead of dead and buried. I spread my legs and began to slowly massage my clit, sorting through memories for a little orgasmic trip, arriving at Waclaw, my first uncircumcised cock, and the salacious moment of its discovery.

  I sometimes visit manufacturers to see the world of machining first hand. Our weblogs and magazines aren't financed by subscribers, but are promotional copy for distributors and manufacturers who pay EJE to tout their products. Greenly Tap and Die can't put a 3" NPT Titanium Coated Pipe Tap on the front of a cereal box, or buy a full page spread in Vogue, or run a thirty second spot on The Walking Dead. EJE and a couple of other publishing houses are the only advertising outlets that a dwindling core of tooling companies and distributors use to get the word out.

  My fingers started to circle my clit.

  Waclaw was, and, most likely still is, the floor supervisor for CMW Tools in Munroe Falls, Ohio. He had the look and body of a soccer player, and I wanted to play on his team. You might think that these places are dark, greasy sweat shops, like the Cicero factory where my grandfather forged cast iron boilers, but CMW had twenty CNC machines in a well-lit, super clean facility where you could literally eat off the floor. Each machine was one third the size of a brown line car, spraying a gallon of fluid per minute behind Plexiglas windows as metal cut metal in rhythmic computer-guided precision.

  My clit was becoming engorged.

  The memory of all that energy, the sweet smell of cutting fluid, and Waclaw's sexy, Polish accent explaining speeds, feeds, and how one massive pump connected fluid to all the machines began to moisten me. I watched men making physical things that would cut and shape hundreds of thousands of other things and it gave me a bit of hope, that maybe we wouldn't be stuck forever in the economic gloom that continued to hang over the country like polluted air, when Waclaw gently touched my shoulder and hope turned into this amazing lust.

  My pussy now moist and ready.

  I had read somewhere, that in the midst of the worst bombing during WWII, some London women became highly aroused and remained above ground in their vulnerable bedrooms with their lovers, sucking cock, and fucking as if there were no tomorrow. I stood there on the CMW floor with the whir of machinery and gurgle of fluid, grieving for Rafael, feeling the weight of a moribund economy, and the pressure of Waclaw's hand made me want to fuck, as if there would be no tomorrow.

  The pressure of my fingers increasing.

  I took Waclaw back to my motel room, a room being paid for by CMW, pushed him down on my bed, stood, and slowly stripped off my dress to show him my body. He didn't move, and it didn't matter to me if he were married or not, condom or not, convention or not, because this was my fucking as if there were no tomorrow. I took off my bra, fondled my full breasts, turned and bent to stick out my ass, slowly removing my thong, so he could see my shaved pussy, glistening and pert. I strutted and moved like a stripper named Desire, fingering my pussy in front of his face and Waclaw laid there so calmly, Waclaw, my rock, my savior.

  Fingering more voraciously now.

  I took off his shoes, his socks, undid his belt, pulled down his pants and there was his flesh-covered cock head, as if it had been some sign from God, a covenant in reverse, a foreskin for me to suck, pulling back the curtain of skin to reveal my purple-headed prize. His cock tasted like baked salmon in lemon sauce and I sucked as he moaned with that accent of his, because sucking cock and fucking like there is no tomorrow is universal, and he rewarded me with his angry purple mushroom emerging, glistening with a drop of pre-come, like morning dew on a rosebud in bloom.

  Massaging my clit so surely now.

  This was hope, not sex, so I maneuvered my body until my hopeful pussy hovered over his expectant lips. Waclaw readily spread my thighs, drew my lips to his, and lapped and nibbled and sucked and tongued me so completely, my stud's cock exposed, the two of us shining our sex over a desultory world. At that moment I understood those women who remained above ground in their vulnerable bedrooms, seriously fucking as the bombs fell all around, grinding my pussy evermore against Waclaw's lips, sucking his salmon lemon cock, me coming into his mouth, but wanting more and he knew it. It was a wordless fuck of whispered moans as he spun me around to his standing, straight cock and fit my pussy so gently atop and pushed my hips down to slowly impale me. I clutched his breasts as he deftly clutched mine and we twisted each other's nipples as we fucked. I rode and he bucked up and into me. We twisted each other's nipples because we needed a bit of pain in our exercise of hope. His cock stayed hard and filled me and, no, we never paused for a condom, insane I know, but not when you remember, for us there was no tomorrow, we saving the world with our fuck, it was a holy fuck, a desperate fuck, a fuck in the face of all the anxiety that stagnant salaries, upside down mortgages, dwindling 401ks, and grim, debt-ridden futures could hold. I fucked him and he fucked me. We both understood, this had nothing to do with the laws of attraction, or any law at all.

  Oh my god, I am so ready to come.

  It was a timeless fuck, light when we began and curtained dark at the end, we never paused to switch anything on, but became luminescent in the shadows, me astride Waclaw until I felt his cock tense and I reached back to place my hand on his balls and pump. I swear I felt his sperm travelling through his shaft and the jolt of it deep inside of me and I came so hard into his come, as if a winter storm were whipping savage waves against Oak Street beach, water, surf, sand, and come from a lemon-salmon cock. Waclaw returning hope to me and I to him, reviving the entire population of Munroe Falls with our final come-shattering moan.

  Yes, yes, oh god yes.

  Every woman should have a Waclaw, that moment when sheer desperation can become something whole and good. That's what a pussy is for, and I came almost as hard again, reliving the moment in my Northside bed, the perfect way for an English major and Catholic girl to go to sleep, perchance to dream.

  The next morning Caleb's Jetta started as soon as I turned the key, so much for acting weird, and I was off to a day of team building when I could have been sleeping in and then taking in a movie with Monica in the afternoon, because there is nothing like a film-filled afternoon, not some transparent modern, Hollywood thing, but a genuine use of the art form, like Metropolis, Manhattan, or My Night at Maud's. Instead I was going to be trapped inside, breathing stale hotel air tinged with a hint of burnt coffee, listening to clanking tableware being set behind pale room dividers, trying not to fall asleep.

  And, while all of that was true, I forgot it the instant Mick strode into the room as if he were making his stage entrance in a vintage pork pie hat, leather jacket, silk shirt with bolo string tie featuring a turquoise stone set in silver, blue jeans, and motorcycle boots. I had never believed in love at first sight, but had actually put my hand over my heart, which began to bound and leap. He had the typical hipster three-day-old beard, with a nose that looked like it had been punched slightly off center. Out of the ten of us from EJE, six were women and four were men, with one being gay, which made for a total of seven of us who wanted to be fucked by him. Of course Edward Ja
mes Edwards II didn't have a clue, thinking that we were all just so eager to build a fucking team.

  "Okay people, this is Mick and he is going to run the show."

  "Thanks, E J, today we're going to learn the basics of Improvisation in two, three-hour sessions, my partner Deana and I..."

  Deana? Like I totally missed seeing the woman who had so obviously walked in with him, a woman who bore a somewhat resemblance to a more diminutive Lynda Carter of Wonder Woman fame, not nearly as old, though easily 15 years older than me, with a diamond stud piercing in her nose, and layers of hipster affect down to black horn- rimmed glasses that looked like they came from an old episode of The Lucy Show.

  "So we will be splitting you into two teams of five, I'll take one group and Deana the other..."

  Which meant that my odds were one out of two of being on his team and I started sending "pick me" vibes by catching his eyes and his finger pointed to me and I thought how much I wanted to start building a team, even if he did wear a hat indoors, which I knew my dad would hate, and the more I thought about my dad hating him, the more I wanted to know who this man was and, fuck, I could see he was talking and I wasn't paying attention..

  "Molly, once again the number one rule is?"

  "Me, um, er, sorry, I don't remember." Because I was too busy wondering if we would fuck.

  "Which is why I am giving each of you a printed copy of the rules." He smiled as he put the sheet in my hand and I could see from his hands that he was maybe 45 or 50, doing the math to put so many years between him and me, which normally would have turned me off, but I looked down at his motorcycle boots and actually shivered a bit, my god, I was already aching for him.

  "Rule number one, always say yes and." He remained in front of me as he repeated rule number one. He looked directly into my eyes, took my hands as if we were doing a scene, and spoke. "I'm taking you home with me tonight, Molly, there's no way around it."

  "Yes and, and, uh, um, we'll build another team," I spit it out like a real dork.

  "A team that will save the world from Zombie annihilation." He added it so adroitly and fluidly, all the while holding my hands, looking into my eyes with those actor eyes of his and everyone laughed, even EJE II, who piped in, "Way to go, Moll," which normally would have bothered the shit out of me, but not with Mick holding my hands, maybe he had some secret lycanthropic power, I wasn't sure, my head was swimming.

  "Molly performed beautifully because she followed through with rule number two, agree and add new information. Her information: we will build another team, allowing me to add on to her information, resulting in the rest of you finding it amusing. And this is how your office can become a better working environment, everyone coming to a consensus and then creating new information, which, in the information age, is pretty valuable stuff."

  "Brilliant," said EJE II, "absolutely brilliant."

  Mick continued through the top ten rules, don't block ideas, avoid asking questions, stay in the moment, and I tried to picture how sex could be the culmination of following all of his rules, and I began paying special attention to see if he and Deana were a couple or just co-workers, which was hard because they did a lot of acting and touching to demonstrate a rule or technique and by the end of the day I was thoroughly infused with the creative possibilities and thought that it might even apply to writing something more than trade magazines and weblogs and I was hoping I could think of some way to connect with Mick again without embarrassing myself, when I got the idea to manipulate EJE II into promoting another team building session with one of our clients.

  "I'll think about it, Moll," was his pithy response and I was back to hating him again for his monosyllabic cruelty. Mick and Deana were gone and I had a Saturday night of stroking Caleb's cock to look forward to and all of a sudden it didn't seem so cute anymore and to top it off, when I tried starting the Silver Diva, the engine refused to turn, and I was thinking about how fucked everything was when someone rapped on my window.

  "Having trouble?" It was Mick, standing there in his black leather jacket, Deana, looking a bit rushed, to his side.

  "That's a question, breaking rule number four," I said, beginning the game I so wanted to play, improvisational sex with Mick.

  "Well, we should give you a gold star, but that won't get you home."

  "It's the fuel-injector, acting weird, and now Caleb is going to be pissed."

  "Boyfriend?"

  "Question again," I said. Even though I was upset, I just couldn't help playing him, hoping to keep him next to me.

  "Touché, what a good little student you've been."

  "Who wants to go home," I sighed.

  "Now you're blocking and we can't carry on the scene."

  "One who lives on the Northside, probably not far from you and would love a ride." And thinking of pulling his cock out and sitting on it in the back seat while Deana drove.

  "Not only a ride, but I am adding a party too."

  "Mick, really?" Deana said, now a bit more perturbed and I knew that they were more than co-workers.

  "Don't you see, she's ready to play, aren't you, Molly?"

  "Yes, ready to play naked," I said it so inappropriately, that it could have only come from the gods of improv. Deana actually smiled for a second and Mick looked absolutely delighted.

  "Now that's adding information, elevating the possibilities, and heightening the emotional power of the scene."

  They had an old black Camry, I think, I don't know cars that well, I had expected something a little cooler, but the Camry started and the Jetta hadn't so it was more than cool enough for me, especially since it reeked of patchouli oil. I hopped into the back seat, called Caleb, relieved that he didn't answer, left a message that his fuel-injector was indeed acting weird, and how could he have let me go all the way to Lincolnshire? I know, cruel, but effective, this way he wouldn't get all pissy about how much the tow was going to cost, blah, blah. blah.

  Deana got behind the wheel, Mick lit up a blunt, hit it hard, and passed it back to me. I took a hit and passed it back, a little unnerved by the fact that Deana took a hit too, but hoped that it might relieve some of her earlier piqué.

  "So, Molly from EJE & Sons, how's life in the land of the squares."

  "Mick!" Deana chastised him with her inflection and I was feeling better about our future as women who wanted to fuck Mick.

  "Maybe not as bad as you think."

  "Well, since you're such an agreeable lass, you are about to enter another dimension. A dimension not only of flesh and sensuality, but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land of pleasure. Next stop, the Swinger Zone."

  I tried to absorb the totality of the moment, the joint still being passed.

  "Stop being so dramatic," said Deana.

  "It's who I am."

  "It's just a bunch of people getting together for sex, if you want to go home that's fine. It's up to you." Deana spoke as if it were going to be as simple as a 4th of July barbeque, something that happens with great regularity and expected consequences.

  "But it's up to me, isn't it, I mean I don't have to do anything if the guy is gross and fat."

  They both laughed.

  "No, Molly, the men mostly wait for the women to choose them. They are very well behaved," Mick said.

  "Sounds like a date, then," I said.

  We smoked another joint and I was higher than I had ever been before. There was a discussion on the history of fellatio, swinging etiquette, as in the guy should never come in your mouth, unless you want him to, swinging vernacular, like DP meant double penetration simultaneously by two cocks, either oral/vaginal, or vaginal/anal, bukkake was multiple men hovering close, masturbating until they ejaculated all over you, that most of the women would be, at minimum, bi-curious, but not the men, that men never touched other men, unless it was inadvertent, which I thought might be hard were a woman to want a vaginal/anal DP, but they said that was a rare event in a house party setting.

  "I like feeling the cu
rves of another woman and playing with her breasts most of all. I especially love sucking her nipples as she does the same to me, it's just so soft and sensual. Mick likes to fuck me in that position, he gets behind my dripping, wet, pussy, me waiting to be filled by his cock as I'm having the breast of times, my orgasm out of this world."

  I could see Mick's arm reach across the seat and his hand disappear beneath Deana's skirt as she spoke. I unzipped my jeans and pulled my thong aside to play with myself, knowing I was making the back seat of the Camry wet, too fucking high to care.

  "You see, Deana is my slut, she loves being fingered like this in front of others, hoping that someone will notice that her skirt is hiked up, her cunt is exposed, and my fingers are rubbing her clit, perhaps a trucker looking down or some square in an SUV, may possibly see her shaved pussy grinding away. And later she is going to suck and fuck other cocks for me, as if we were fucking each other. It makes her come so hard, and then we relive it time and again, every detail of every cock, tit, and come, my sweet, sexy slut. Come baby, come so Molly can hear and smell the squish of your sex, I know you're so close to the edge. And look, little Molly is back there fingering herself, as I finger you."