Beautiful Losers (Modern Erotic Classics)

by Remittance Girl

  A smile curled Jean’s lips. ‘Is it good?’

  I arched my back and groaned. ‘Fuck, yes, it’s good!’

  He chuckled. ‘How good, sweetheart?’

  Sebastian’s tongue did wicked things, nudging my clit over and over.

  ‘Too fucking good. He’s going to . . .’ My hips couldn’t hold still any longer; I bucked, grinding myself down on his fingers. As I did, he took my clit between his lips and sucked without mercy.

  Jean moaned and brought his lips down to mine. ‘He’s going to what?’ he prompted.

  ‘Kill me,’ I panted.

  The orgasm that rode up my body was more like fear than pleasure. I could feel it cocooning me, tripping my muscles, igniting my nerves all the way from my hips to my head, forcing a scream from my throat. I writhed, jerking helplessly, clawing at Jean’s arms.

  Even before I’d finished coming, Sebastian raised my hips onto his thighs, spreading me wide with his torso. He pushed into my spasming cunt and growled, sticky, brutal fingers grabbed and slipped on my hips as he tried to hold me.

  ‘There,’ he sighed. If it weren’t for the hitch in his voice, I would have sworn he was choosing a place to go to dinner. Holding himself buried in me, he let me ride out the last contractions impaled on his cock. The muscles in his thighs quivered subtly beneath my ass. ‘Nice cunt, Shira.’

  Jean straightened up and released me. Still twitching from the aftershocks, I glanced up at Sebastian who was looking absolutely triumphant, chocolate streaked across his face.

  ‘Do you want me to fuck you now?’ he asked, licking a smear from the side of his mouth. He grinned. ‘Or shall I stop?’

  My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

  He rolled his hips once, letting me feel him shift inside. ‘Come on, Shirakins. Tell me, or I’m going to stop. Do you want my cock or not?’

  The game. Always Sebastian’s game. Was it power he needed? The power to make me beg for it? Or was it something else?

  For a split second, a ghost of a doubt flitted across his face, and I knew. Behind the facade, I knew how raw he was: raw and waiting for me to tell him that I wanted him. But what an amazing facade it was, and what a cage it must have been to live behind.

  ‘I want it,’ I whispered, squeezing his waist with my thighs.

  The smile transformed his face, lit up his eyes. ‘What do you want, Shirakins?’ As if he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

  I’m going to tell you, I thought, because now I know just how desperately you need to hear it. ‘You already know. I want your cock.’

  He trailed his hands over my thighs, over my hips, sliding one splayed hand through the chocolate that had pooled on my tummy. The other settled on my mound, letting a thumb casually graze my clit.

  I shook my head and growled. ‘Don’t tease me, Sebastian. Fuck me. I need you to.’

  His eyelids slid closed. His smile faded, and he began to move. Clutching my waist, pulling me to him as his hips rose, he entered me. The thumb at my clit wasn’t artful, not like the cool, possessed Sebastian. It ground against me, making every thrust a knifelike pleasure.

  When the chocolate made it impossible to keep a grip on me, he moaned and repositioned himself, covering me. I felt his chest slide against the gooey mess on my body.

  ‘Shira,’ he panted, thrusted. ‘Come for me.’

  And suddenly, I knew I wasn’t going to, despite the pleasure, because I was seeing Sebastian for the very first time without all the armour. And it was more . . . more than coming.

  ‘You come for me,’ I said.

  He moaned and furrowed his brow. ‘I’m not going to last much longer, Shira.’

  ‘I know. I can feel you.’

  His whole body shuddered once, hard. The cock inside me jerked. ‘Good,’ he gasped. ‘I want you to.’

  And then he came, gasping, pounding his hips against me, pushing me into the floor as if he’d never get deep enough. I was a little sad about the condom. I would have liked to feel him flood me.

  He lay on top of me, quivering, smearing his face against mine, his fingers digging into my shoulders, twitching now and then.

  After a long sigh, he kissed me sweetly. ‘Can I say it now?’

  I glanced up at him. His eyes were still closed, like he was scared to look at me. ‘Sure.’

  He rested his forehead against mine and cleared his throat. ‘I do,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sorry, but I do . . .’

  ‘So do I.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

  EVERYTHING TO EVERYONE

  Getting up and going to work felt surreal. I crept out of Jean’s apartment early, leaving them sleeping in a puppy-huddle, because I had to go home and get clothes.

  It was still dark when I let myself into the house. Lizzie had fallen asleep on the couch with the TV on. An artful and precarious pyramid of beer cans stood on the floor by one limp, dangling hand.

  In the shower, I waited for the water to flush away my sense of unreality. Last week seemed like a year ago. I was sore and still stank of sex and chocolate. If I closed my eyes, I could still feel Jean’s tongue in my mouth and Sebastian moving inside me. Doing my very best to ignore it, to push it out of my mind, I got dressed, chugged instant coffee and made my way to work.

  My day job was officially office manager at a company that supplied sound systems to live music venues and other public events. What that meant was that I occasionally typed a letter, filled out the booking orders (since I was the only employee with legible handwriting), and sometimes made coffee. But more than any of those tasks, my main duty was to unscrew the grills off microphones, pop out the foam, and clean them in a bucket of soapy water. If that sounds like a disgusting job, you’re underestimating it. For one thing, vocalists with lipstick made my life hell. Then there was all the stale spit. On a good day, I got to solder broken jack connections and wrap cable.

  It seemed that everyone had tied one on the night before, because I was the first one to arrive. I put the coffee machine on, played the messages on the answering machine and settled down to test and sort through broken cables.

  I interacted, I responded, I drifted through the day like a ghost. Lunchtime made my stomach squirm and by the afternoon, as I sorted through the equipment orders, all I could think about was the memory of my skin burning as the chocolate hit it. Just before five, the phone rang, and I picked it up, assuming it was a customer.

  ‘Sweetwater Sound,’ I droned.

  ‘Why aren’t you riding my cock?’

  My co-workers milled around, walking past the desk, eyeing me. Impossible as I knew it to be, I could have sworn they could hear the other side of the call. I flushed.

  ‘Sebastian?’

  ‘Well, I fucking hope you’re not riding anyone else’s cock. Unless it’s Jean’s, of course.’

  ‘I’m at work,’ I whispered, as if that would make anything better. ‘Can I call you back later?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m in a cab outside your run-down, shithouse of an office at this very moment. You get off at five, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, get your very sweet ass out here then. The meter’s running.’

  ‘Where’s Jean?’ I asked, grabbing my coat off the back of my office chair and putting it on.

  ‘He’s got some gastronomy award ceremony to attend. It started at four and goes till whenever. It’s so brutally inconvenient that you’re both such wage slaves,’ he drawled. ‘So? Where are you?’

  ‘Coming.’ I slammed down the phone, said goodbye to the boys in the warehouse, and ran out onto the street. Even as I did it, I thought: Why am I running? Only Sebastian could make the relief of his own boredom sound like an emergency.

  When I climbed in the back of the cab, the driver turned around, scowling. He’d obviously been privy to Sebastian’s side of the telephone conversation. It didn’t help that as I slid onto the seat, Sebastian launched himself at me, kissing m
e about as lewdly as you can get away with in public.

  ‘Fuck, I missed you.’ There was earnestness to his words. It was another glimpse at a side of Sebastian I didn’t recognize. Perhaps, I thought, he just doesn’t like being on his own.

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Where to now?’ shouted the driver, as if volume would stop us from stripping off and fucking in the back of his taxi. Sebastian gave him his address.

  There was an odd elation bubbling up in my chest as we looked at each other in silence for the rest of the journey. Sebastian’s hand clasped mine in a death grip. Just before we pulled up in front of his place, he said, ‘Thank God you’re wearing a skirt.’

  ‘Why?’

  He paid the driver and dragged me out of the car. ‘Because I don’t have to use some stupid line like “I can’t wait to get into your pants.”’

  The take-it-or-leave-it Sebastian was obviously on holiday. This one fumbled with his door keys, pushed me across the threshold unceremoniously, and tackled me onto the hallway carpet.

  He wrenched up my t-shirt, laid a wet mouth over one breast and moaned. The other hand dragged up my skirt, forced its way into my panties and cupped my mound like it was claiming territory. Fingers wriggled between the folds of my pussy.

  ‘You’re wet. You’re so wet.’

  ‘I’m always like this,’ I said defensively, squirming a little at the onslaught of his attentions.

  He switched tits and sucked, pushing digits into me. ‘You said that the other night but I didn’t believe you,’ he mumbled.

  Lying half atop me, he ground his hips against mine with such force that the hallway carpet shifted beneath us. Usually, it took me a while to come with manual stimulation but, whether it was just the passion of the moment, or Sebastian’s very skilled manipulation, I was teetering on the verge in minutes.

  He looked up from my breast. ‘Do you like to be treated like a whore?’ he panted. ‘Or do you want me to carry you upstairs à la Gone with the Wind?’

  That kind of stopped the steep uphill climb. ‘What?’

  ‘What do you prefer?’ he asked, rolling his hips against me, fucking me slowly with his fingers. ‘What gets you off?’

  ‘I . . .’ I thought for a moment and then reached down and pushed his hand away from my crotch. ‘Is that a serious question? Because I can’t think properly with your fingers doing that.’

  He laughed. It was a genuine, unguarded chuckle. He kissed my chest and looked up. ‘It’s a serious question.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been treated like a whore, actually.’

  ‘Really?’ He stopped dry-humping my hip, rolled off me and got to his feet, pulling me up by the hand.

  I blushed, blinked, and pulled my t-shirt down. ‘Yup,’ I said, somewhat embarrassed. Was this another one of those things that people with adventurous sex lives knew about? It hadn’t occurred to me that being treated like a whore might be a good thing. I’d met a few working girls and got the impression that they weren’t all that thrilled about the way they were treated by their clients, most of the time.

  Sebastian pulled off his leather jacket and then helped me out of mine, and hung them both on the hallstand. ‘Some people get off on it. They don’t like to admit it, but it makes them extremely hot.’

  ‘Oh.’ I was still thinking about this as he grabbed my hand and pulled me into the living room. My cunt was twitching, the crotch of my panties was wet and uncomfortable, and he had a huge bulge in his jeans. Why were we having this conversation?

  As if he hadn’t just ravaged me in the vestibule, Sebastian poured a couple of vodkas into glasses on what looked like a very expensive antique sideboard, and handed me one. It was the first time I noticed that although all the furniture in the house looked grand and impressive, most of it was battered and in need of repair. Someone wasn’t doing a lot of upkeep. I pushed the thought from my mind and focused on the vodka.

  This was another Sebastian game, I thought, my heart plunging a little as I sat down on one of the sofas. He came over and sat on the floor beside my legs, casually undoing the laces on one of my boots. He didn’t say much as he sipped his drink, working his fingers between the lacing and easing it open.

  ‘I want you to like it, Shirakins,’ he murmured. He didn’t look at me. ‘I want to make it good for you.’

  Oh, Christ, I thought. This wasn’t a game at all. ‘I like it already. Why does there have to be some kind of mode?’ Then it occurred to me that maybe this question wasn’t about what I liked. Maybe it was about what he liked. ‘Do you want to treat me like a whore?’ I ventured.

  He glanced up at me sideways. ‘I just want whatever is going to get you off the most.’

  ‘Uh . . . you get me off fine, Sebastian. Haven’t you noticed?’

  Shrugging, he went to work on my other boot. ‘Sometimes you seem shy about it. Like you just go along with whatever is happening. I can read Jean. I know what he wants, but you – you’re hard to read.’

  I giggled. The vodka went down the wrong way and I coughed. ‘Maybe that’s because there’s nothing to read. And what about you? It’s not like you’re all that transparent yourself.’

  He eased my Docs off, putting them aside, and leaned back against the sofa. ‘You don’t have to read me, Shira. I get what I want. Jean gets what he wants. I just want to make sure that you do, too.’

  I thought back to the last time we were over at Sebastian’s house, and the way he treated Jean when he was upset. ‘What does Jean want?’

  ‘Sometimes Jean wants to be loved. Sometimes he wants to be treated like what he fears he is.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A slutty, hysterical queen.’

  Wow – that was brutal. ‘But he’s not! Not at all. That’s just a stupid stereotype.’

  ‘No, he’s not. But you have to figure: there aren’t all that many role models for effeminate gay men. And the ones almost everyone settles on are the most obvious.’

  This was turning into a scary conversation, but it intrigued me. Because wasn’t that what I was frightened of with Jean? That he’d suddenly decide that rules were rules? Gay men don’t fuck women? ‘Why does he need to be like anyone else? Why can’t he just be Jean?’

  Sebastian turned and balanced his chin on my knee. ‘You’re straight, you’re female. There are thousands of examples out there of how to be those two things. Jean has fewer models to choose from.’

  I nodded. I’m sure this was like gay culture 101, but I’d never thought about it very deeply. I was learning something I never knew, never considered before. And it was about someone I loved very much.

  ‘So, when he suggested that we should, you know, invite you to watch us, I thought, wow, that’s definitely not conventional. That’s not like Jean trying to walk a tightrope between closet case and queen, so I was up for it. I thought it would help him see that his world and how he could be in it was – I don’t know – not so choiceless after all.’

  Mulling this over, I thought of another question. ‘Why do you think Jean never slept with any girls in high school? Most gay men have tried it, at least once.’

  It was Sebastian’s turn to ponder. ‘Well, I think he was shy.’

  ‘Shy?’ I giggled. ‘Jean? Shy?’

  ‘I think he was. But you know, he’s so pretty. He didn’t have to approach anyone, of either sex. And I guess the boys got to him first. It kind of sets a pattern for life.’

  With a big breath, I asked, ‘Why won’t he let you fuck him?’

  Sebastian emptied the glass in his hand. He was silent.

  ‘Because,’ I ventured, trying to pick my steps through what I suspected was a minefield, ‘I think he wants to. Part of him wants to let you.’

  ‘He’s never let anyone fuck him. Not with a cock.’

  I was stunned. I just assumed, assumed that . . . Fuck it! That was my problem. I assumed a lot of stuff. ‘Why?’

  ‘Why haven’t you?’

  ‘In the . .
.’

  ‘Ass, yes. Why haven’t you let someone fuck your ass?’

  ‘No one’s ever asked.’

  ‘Well, stupid them.’ He grinned at me and slid his hand up my thigh, under my skirt. It wasn’t aggressive, just affectionate. Then his gaze slid away, as if he was remembering something. ‘It doesn’t feel like anything else. It feels . . . you feel very taken. Very possessed. Very vulnerable.’

  ‘But you like it?’ I smirked at him.

  ‘Yeah. Occasionally I do. Not all the time, but yeah, sometimes I do.’

  ‘So why doesn’t Jean?’

  A shrug lifted Sebastian’s shoulders and I thought I saw a glimpse of pain in his face. ‘I think it scares him. Not physically, but emotionally. That kind of possession – it frightens him witless.’

  I nodded. It would scare me too. Sometimes just straight penetration felt frightening, like you were losing control. ‘But you want him to let you, don’t you?’ I reached down and stroked his cheek with my fingertips. ‘You do.’

  ‘I love him. I want to take him, to have him in that way. To be inside him, the way I can with you.’

  Fingers or not, I was never going to understand what it felt like to penetrate someone with my body. It wasn’t the first time I’d wished for a penis – just to know what it was like. ‘Then we have to make him feel safe.’

  ‘Do you feel safe? With me, now?’

  ‘Yes.’ I wasn’t lying, but I wasn’t being completely truthful either. I was getting there.

  Sebastian rose to his knees and wriggled his way between mine. He took my face in his hands and kissed me – not passionately – but with great gentleness. ‘Prove it then, Shirakins. Let me fuck your ass,’ he said with a grin. ‘I promise I won’t hurt you. You’ll like it.’

  ‘Uh. I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway.’