River Walk: Ten Kinky Collaborations

by Anthology

  My phone buzzed, and he was waiting for me downstairs. I grabbed my purse and made my way down the elevator. He’d probably be waiting in his SUV out in the front of my building. Stepping off the elevator, I was looking down at my cute new patterned flats, and walked right into...

  I almost fell; I was walking fast, with my head down. Damn! Second time I bumped into him. What the hell? Someone must have let him into the lobby.

  Marc steadied me with his hands on my arms and said, “Whoa, I’ve got ya”.

  My face went red; I did not think he would be in my lobby waiting for me here.

  I said too loudly, “Oh, you surprised me. I thought you would be outside in your car. But this is nice. Yeah, it’s nice. Thanks for coming into my lobby.” Ok, shut up now Vivian.

  We stood there and for a minute just looked at each other, smiling. It was if we were just meeting for the first time. It felt awkward and comfortable at the same time. He really had the most beautiful eyes.

  Marc continued to look at me and finally broke our silence with, “Your hair looks nice like that.”

  All I could do was smile back. Just like being back in school, I was happy just be being close to him. He placed his hand on the small of my back and motioned me toward the front door. His hand felt so right being placed there, guiding and protecting me. I wondered at that moment if he could feel my heart pounding.

  He opened the passenger door, but it wasn’t his SUV. Instead, I found myself sitting in this nice Lexus coupe. I wasn’t a car person, but I knew that most people treat their cars like their pets: they like it when you pay them a compliment.

  He got into the driver seat, and turned to look at me. “You have a nice car,” I said, a little awkwardly. Insightful comment Vivian.

  “Thanks, I usually drive my SUV, you know with the kids.” He started to pull away, turned briefly to look at me, winked and said; “Besides I save this car for taking pretty women on Sunday afternoon joy rides”. Yes, buddy, I would love to joy ride you.

  With that I put my sunglasses on. This way, he couldn’t see where my eyes were focused. Whenever I could, I would sneak a glance at his hands on the wheel or his thick man knees pressed against the fabric of his pants or the way his bicep moved when he made a turn. I enjoyed seeing his hands handle the steering wheel. I could tell by the nicely fitted shirt he was wearing, that he too belonged to a gym. His driving skills were impeccable, and soon I relaxed beside him, as he played tour guide.

  We spent the next hour sightseeing. Between work and family, I’d spent very little time enjoying San Antonio. Essentially, I was seeing things I hadn’t seen in years and some new things too. Marc was giving me a welcome home tour. We never stopped talking the entire way. We even talked about Belinda’s party. Thankfully, we spared one another an embarrassing moment by not bringing up the memory of our little love session. He told me that he was the one who asked her to invite me; because he liked me back then. So, the mystery was solved. I remember wondering why she’d invited me.

  “I took the liberty of packing us a picnic that I think you’ll like. You hungry?” He asked, looking like a young boy.

  “Umm, sure am,” I wouldn’t want to disappoint him after he went ahead and made the effort, but the truth be told, my tummy had those butterflies that were taking up residency whenever he was near.

  “Good then, here we are,” he whispered as he leaned over. For a minute I thought he was going to kiss me, but he backed off. I was sure that would be crossing the line. We arrived at the Landa Library Gardens. A library? He explained that this was a quaint charming little park attached to a library that he often brought his children to.

  It was quaint with: arches and pillars, sculptures, fountains, small plaques and book shaped tablets located in the perfectly manicured gardens.

  “I’ve never been here before. It is enchanting,” declaring my appreciation for him showing me this lovely place. He looked over at me and told me he had only ever brought his family here, and it was a special place.

  We walked until we found the perfect place to sit for our picnic. True to his word, he had packed my favorite type of lunch. He thought of everything, even a blanket to sit on. A French baquette, with different cheeses, some fruit and freshly baked chewy raisin oatmeal cookies. The tastiest cookies ever. He brought plastic wine glasses along with a smaller bottle of Merlot. Our conversation flowed.

  “I remembered that you like raisin oatmeal cookies. Once, in class, we had to do a poem about our favorite cookie,” he smiled and leaned in and said, “you were the only girl in the class with a poem about raisin oatmeal cookies. Everyone else had chocolate chip, surprise, surprise.” Then he looked upward and rolled his eyes.

  I watched as he took a sip of wine. An insect decided to invade our picnic. He swiftly swatted it away. Instantly, the memory of my previous night’s dream came flooding back into my mind. Him slapping my breasts. I felt a tightening in my pelvis, and my nipples pressed against my bra. My face flamed to the colour of the wine.

  “Are you alright?” Marc asked gently.

  “Oh yes, just a little flushed from the wine,” I whispered. If only he knew. Maybe he likes that sort of thing. Apparently, I do too.

  “Can I ask you a question?” he said.

  “Ask away,” I replied.

  “What happened to you in school? Why did you disappear like that?” He asked.

  I wasn’t expecting him to ask about that. “Oh, umm. Well, I got quite sick Marc. A childhood disease that I was immunized for but for some reason, didn’t take. So, yeah. I was in the hospital for a long time, and then my mom kept me home. Same hospital that I work at now. Funny coincidence,” I said in a quiet voice. It was something that I didn’t talk about often.

  He leaned over and focused on my face as I continued.

  “That’s why I’m not really with anyone. I’m...I’m unable to have children because of that illness.” My eyes started to tear, so I put my sunglasses back over my eyes. No one would see me cry over that, not even Mark Tullford.

  “Vivian, I am really sorry. Truly, I am. Any man would be lucky to be with you. With or without children. I’m sorry you feel like that.”

  I shrugged, “I am sure it is different for those couples that find that out after they fall in love. But I know now. I’m alone for a reason. So, that is how it has to be. It’s better like that. It’s my coping mechanism, or so I’ve been told, if I don’t get close then I don’t have to deal with the loss. The loss of not being able to conceive,” I paused and whispered, “for some women they make the decision and are happy with it, but for me, it was made for me. And besides, I don’t want to ruin that or take that away for anyone.”

  Marc reached for my hand and just held it, looking at my face. I almost burst into tears, but instead, stiffened my back and said, “I’ve never told anyone this, especially not my family. You know, I don’t want them to feel sorry for me, or worry about me. I wanted to have children and a family of my own.” I shook my head, choking back tears and said, “Hey, let’s not let this ruin our delicious picnic. Change of topic, please Sir?”

  With that, we enjoyed the food, the rest of the wine and the fine Sunday afternoon weather. Marc lightened the atmosphere by telling me silly kid jokes. It was easy being with him. There is no agenda or expectations, we just enjoy one another.

  In the late afternoon, he took me home and insisted on walking me to my front door. I thanked him for a perfect Sunday afternoon. I told him that I would be seeing my family for dinner, and he said that he would be doing the same.

  We spent the next month, meeting for lunch and taking the occasional walk. He was very respectful and didn’t push the boundaries in any way. But I felt this electricity between us. Every time I was with him, he made me melt. I wanted him. I imagined him. I wanted another woman’s husband and it was so wrong. I knew my heart would be broken one day. He spoke openly about his children and seemed to be a real hands-on father. I started to feel guilt about our growi
ng relationship. He never spoke about his wife and I dared not ask.

  I was so confused. My vagina was in competition with my head.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  About three weeks later, he had to go out of town on business. Europe he said. We kept in contact through texting. One night I drove by his house, just to look at it and secretly wondered if he was really out of town or that was his way of getting rid of me. We were just friends, but I knew we were starting to cross the line because the relationship was becoming more and more intimate. After work, I took the long way home. Driving by I spotted his SUV in the driveway, I could see his beautiful wife in the living room. She was dancing with his little Jennifer. Frozen in my seat, I watched until I couldn’t take it any longer. I sped away.

  That’s when I knew, feeling sick to my stomach. I just knew. I had to cut him free. No more lunches, no more fun messages, no more mid-day phone calls, no more walks along the River Walk. I crossed the line. How could I do that? I was in love with this man.

  Somehow I drove home that night, walked straight to my bed, kicked my shoes off, and with my clothes still on, cried myself to sleep. I did this, and I only had myself to blame.

  The next week, I deleted his text messages without reading them, along with any emails. Call display showed his work number. I ignored those calls too. Call your wife Marc, not me. I was really missing him. My heart was crushed. I couldn’t continue with this kind of relationship or do this to his children or wife. Right from the start I was asking for trouble. And so was he.

  One night I arrived at my condo after my walk along the River Walk, and he was waiting at my front door. My heart flipped.

  “Vivian, why have you been ignoring me?” He seemed concerned.

  “You’re married Marc. I can’t do this anymore. This dance we have going on. Please just leave me alone.” I raised my voice, straightened my back and said, “go home to your family Marc.”

  With that, I turned on my heel and escaped into my condo, the security door closing behind me. I left him standing out there. I did not look back, even when I heard him knocking on the glass.

  The next week I continued to ignore his calls; I listened to one just to hear his voice and he said we needed to talk. Not with me Marc, not this time.

  One night, I decided to go back to the park where we had our picnic. I could walk and cry it out. Self-induced therapy. I pulled out of my condo and drove. Another car ride conversation with myself as I confessed. “You knew this would happen Vivian. Congrats, you are the other women. Yup, guess what happens to the other woman? She ends up heartbroken and alone. You’re a fuck head Marc.”

  I pulled into a parking spot, relieved there were few cars in the parking lot and ready to walk it off. It was a beautiful June night; I had some time before the sunset to enjoy the gardens. I walked by the pavilion and I heard, “Vivian. Vivian, stop...please, just give me a minute.”

  I whipped around and there he stood. Beautiful, but married.

  “How did you find me here?” I demanded.

  He shrugged and said, “I followed you here, sorry. You wouldn’t answer my calls, so I waited outside your building. You drove out, so I followed you here. Guess it makes me a bit of a stalker.”

  “Well, I guess we’re even,” I flippantly stated.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  I was ready to explode. I was so angry with him and myself and how we got to this point. Raising my voice I blurted out, “I moved back to San Antonio, and I looked you up on Google and found all this information about you. I even drove by your house, before we bumped into each other at my work. That’s right, I actually stalked you too. So yeah, I guess that makes us even.”

  I continued as my voice softened, “I am sorry Marc. I’m not going to date a married man. Because you know, that is what we are doing. We are dating. It’s not right and not fair to me. And it certainly isn’t fair to your wife or children. I can’t do this anymore. Go home to your family. Please, just leave me alone.”

  Marc took one step toward me, looked right into my eyes and softly said, “Well, you obviously didn’t go far enough when you were stalking me. You’d have found the obituary on page three. My wife passed away three years ago. ”

  I shook my head. I was so confused.

  He held up his left hand. “Vivian, my wedding band is gone now. I always wore it for the kids. It was a symbol for them, you know. Something of their mother was always visible. I told myself I would only remove if I ever fell in love again.”

  With that, my heart pounded out of my chest. My tears started to flow. We just stood looking into each other. In grade school, I had a notion of what love would be like. I just didn’t know it would be with that boy who sat two rows over in math class.

  Love’s notion was far better than hot dogs and a root beer float.

  Two Years Later....

  “Shhhhh, are you crazy?” I tried in vain to whisper.

  Marc smirked as he pulled out a belt from his bottom drawer. “No, I really want to use this on you.”

  We started to giggle; of course he wants to use that on me. Could you pick anything louder?

  “The kids are still up. They’ll hear us. That’s way too loud.” I pleaded, knowing I was facing a losing battle.

  He looked so adorable, standing there shirtless in his blue jeans. Marc rolled his eyes in frustration, placed the belt back into the drawer and picked out a crop.

  “They’re two floors away watching that movie you bought them. They won’t hear us. Come on Viv. I’m the Dom here. No back-talk.” Oh boy, the last few words he lowered his voice and purposely slowed his speech.

  He stood before me, all manly, expertly holding his weapon of choice. How could I refuse? Yes, the kids would be occupied for at least the next hour. Or so we hoped! I quickly glanced over at the door. It was locked.

  Marc slowly walked over to the chair in the corner and sat down. Looking into my eyes, he gently ran his fingers along the edge of the crop.

  “Take your clothes off. Slowly. Do it three feet in front of me.” I moved over to him, positioning myself as instructed. Unbuttoning my blouse, I let it drop suggestively to the floor. I unzipped my jeans and did my best to shimmy out of them. They pooled at my feet and then I kicked them aside. So there I stood, in my favorite bra and tiny blue lace panties.

  Marc’s eyes were making a meal out of my nipples that were obviously aroused and visual through the transparent fabric. I knew what he wanted. Moving my hands I reached around and undid the clasp. The bra fell to the ground. I knew what to do next; he loved to see me tease myself. And I loved to please him; first running both hands down and over the tips of my nipples. Very lightly. Barely touching them was torture.

  I could feel both nipples point and harden, as I taunted them, until they were aching to be twisted, slapped, and sucked by him. He knows this; these breasts are his playing field.

  He moved his eyes down to my panties. He wanted those removed too.

  I slipped the now sodden panties off and tossed them aside.

  “Legs further apart.” Marc ordered, as he shifted forward in his seat.

  I spread my legs slightly farther apart. He was in charge. In here, I would do anything for him.

  “Open the folds of your pussy. Show me your clit.” With strict instructions, he focused his eyes on my vagina.

  Immediately, I placed my hands on my slender waist and felt the smooth skin as my fingers continued their journey downward. I gently opened my lips and pulled on the little flesh that cupped my clit. My clit is yours, and here it is for you. A pool of wet was waiting to be spread up and around. I couldn’t wait any longer. My right fingers brought up the beautiful moisture to bathe my clit, while my left hand held open the folds of my pussy. Pressing and circling the tiny hardening button of pure pleasure. It wanted more, so I gave it.

  Marc shifted in his seat as he watched. His cock was bulging in his jeans.

  “Stop, I didn’t tell you to touch your
clit,” Marc scolded and shook his head.

  Oh shit. I immediately, but reluctantly, dropped my hands.

  Marc stood up, walked over to the front of the bench that is placed at the foot of our bed. He placed the crop on the bench. What was he going to do?

  “Stand here,” he pointed.

  I walked over a few steps and stood in the exact spot, facing him. He forced his knee between my thighs to spread my legs further apart. I reached up, grabbing onto his strong forearms to steady myself. Reaching toward me, his hand glided into my hungry pussy, and he elicited pleasure from every inch, paying a special visit to my clit. Wetness was practically dripping. Marc loved my pussy puffy and wet.

  He removed his fingers, brought it to my mouth and spread moisture first along my top lip, and then bottom. I could smell myself. Oh, please finger me again.

  He ordered with a word, “Taste.”

  I ran my tongue along the top and then the bottom. His eyes were focused on my mouth.

  “Suck,” he said firmly. Me, bathing each finger clean.

  “Good girl.” He held my face in his hands and kissed me as if he was drinking my arousal. His tongue knowingly explored my mouth. I felt a rush all the way down to my groin. My man could kiss.

  “Don’t move,” he said, firmly grasping my waist with one hand as he slapped my ass. Hard. Ouch, it stung.

  I dared not move. He went back into the drawer and took a blindfold in hand snapping it. Oh how I love to be blindfolded.

  Gently, Marc tied and fixed the blindfold ensuring my hair was off of my face. So adorable, he knows how I hate to have hair tangled. He tapped my shoulder to signal that I should sit down on the bench.

  He placed a pillow behind my back.

  Quietly and yet firmly he said, “Lay back, arms above your head, spread your legs.”

  Arching my back, laying back against the pillows my breasts arched up wanting, willing for attention. Legs slightly spread.

  “Wider,” he said, with a quick flick of the crop on my thigh. Yes, Sir!