by Lux Zakari
Guilt suddenly struck him. What was he doing here, partying? In just a few years, he would be thirty—a grownup. He was a father. Lives literally depended on him, and while his family fell apart back home, he was grinding on a girl at a party of sycophants and hedonists. Not for the first time, he was sickened by himself.
He didn’t know if it had been hours or minutes later by the time Bijou returned, wielding another glass. “I’m so sorry, I just couldn’t get away.” She sat beside him and passed him the drink. “Another Red Bull on the rocks?”
James accepted it, and again it tasted weird. He shook the glass, the ice cubes shifting with a clink. Was she actually ordering him Red Bull? What else would she get him?
“You know,” Bijou murmured with a leonine stretch and a sloe-eyed gaze, “it’s getting pretty noisy down here. What do you say we take a break some place quieter?”
A reason to leave by himself was on his tongue, but his mouth wouldn’t work. Bijou took his silence as agreement, grabbing his hand and pulling him to his feet. She led the way out of the club and into the hotel elevator, this time not pausing to say hello or goodbye to anyone. They rode up the seven floors to where her suite was, saying nothing. His nerves were frazzled, and he couldn’t decide what he wanted to happen next, but he knew what Bijou did. She’d certainly made it plain enough. He could hear her breathing, labored and heavy with anticipation.
They left the elevator and he followed her down the hallway, where she unlocked a door with her key card and they entered a dark room. Bijou clapped her hands and the lights rose just enough to reveal the lush scarlet carpet and the king-size canopy bed. All the furniture was black, angular, and slightly nightmarish, like something out of Beetlejuice. The chandelier held pinpricks of gold, glittering light.
Bijou glanced at him. “Cushy, right?”
“Yeah, nice.” He looked around, biding time in hopes he might figure out what to do within the next ten seconds.
She snatched up a small black medicine bag from one of the night tables and sat at the circular table. “So, James,” she said, “how goes the divorce?”
He tensed. “The same it’s been going since you last asked me a half hour ago.”
“Just making sure.” She unzipped the bag and proceeded to extract an endless array of prescription pill containers, lining them up on the tabletop. “I want to make sure we have the maximum amount of fun tonight, and I don’t want you thinking of that hatchet face who was stupid enough to leave you.”
He wasn’t sure what was more unsettling: the horrible things she was saying about Greer or how she was playing pharmacy across the room.
Bijou turned to him with a winning smile, like she was posing for another magazine cover instead of insulting him to his face. “I hope that doesn’t offend you. But it’s true. I think you can do better, and I want you to be happy.” She reached for a bottle of Perrier, unscrewed the cap, and dumped a handful of pills in her palm. Then she tossed them in her mouth and washed them down with a wink. “I want to make you happy.”
Was this seriously happening? This was a farce. He could only stare at her while she twisted open another container and took a few more pills, flirting with him in between pops. Then she shook a container in his direction. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a hog. Wanna join the party?”
“No.” He couldn’t keep the disgust from his tone. “Thanks.”
“Oh, James.” She pouted. “You’re so grumpy and uptight. I was hoping you’d start to relax and have some fun for once when I spiked your drink, but—”
“You what?” His body jolted at the confession. “You did what to my drink?”
“Only made it a little interesting with a little vodka.”
That sick, sinking feeling he’d become so accustomed to returned with a magnified intensity. He was a public figure. He had a family. He touted a drug-and-alcohol-free life, for God’s sake, and now this? Bijou Light fucked him over and she hadn’t even touched him yet.
He studied her face, the face that everyone fell in love with because it was both so sweet and so rock and roll. Didn’t she have feelings or remorse? Didn’t she have a soul? His money was on no. No matter how much she insisted she adored him, it was obvious that she adored no one but Bijou, and it was an ugly thing to witness. She was so fake in her desperation to be fascinating and loved. If they were so alike, as E.Y. insisted, then was the same true of him? Did Earth orbit around James Venora? Is that what Greer thought, and was it as unattractive as he found it?
Bijou used the chair’s arms to help herself to her feet and strutted, indolent and arrogant, toward where James stood. Then she wrapped her arms around her neck, leaning heavy against him. “James, James, James,” she murmured. “I’ve wanted you since day one. I’ve thought about this night thousands of times. Did you know that?”
He wished he didn’t. Her intensity for him was no longer flattering; it was disturbing, especially coupled with her unapologetic behavior. In truth, he couldn’t understand why she’d be so into him, and suddenly, he wondered the same about Greer, how she could desire him. The wondering was painful.
Bijou trailed kisses down his throat, and in a flash of cognizance, he realized that being with Bijou wasn’t anything like “punching his weight.” It was still just as pathetic as it had admittedly been with the other women, the star fuckers. He was just “James fucking Venora” to them, because that’s what he’d set out to be. He knew if he gave them half the chance, half a chance existed that maybe a relationship would develop, but in truth, he didn’t want to give it half a chance. He didn’t like any of them. None of them interested him in the slightest. They could be astronauts, Nobel prize winners, or mythological beings, and after he was done fucking them, he’d go home and wonder if Greer was curled up on the couch, snoozing with her drawing pad over her face.
Greer. Heartless Greer, shacking up with another guy. She’d clearly moved on, probably never thought of him at all, except when he called to disrupt her perfect life with his classic James Venora bullshit. He gritted his teeth. Here he was, missing her like fucking crazy, and he wasn’t anything more than an irritation to her.
The desire to fuck Bijou returned. It would be his punishment to sleep with someone destructive, careless, and self-seeking. He also wanted to treat her as terrible as he felt, because he could, because she deserved it, because they both did.
He stepped out of her embrace and crossed his arms. “You said you wanted to make me happy.” He kept his voice flat. “How?”
“I’m so glad you asked.” She reached behind herself and he heard the sound of a zipper’s descent. Then she peeled her dress down to the floor, leaving her in only her heels, black strapless bra, and G-string. “I’m going to let you do whatever you want with me.”
“What makes you think that’ll make me happy?”
“Won’t it?” She attempted airiness, but her words trembled.
“We’ll see.” He traced a path down her throat to the swell of her breasts. In spite of it all, she felt incredible—but probably not half as incredible as her touching him would feel. “On your knees.”
It was heady sight, watching half-naked Bijou Light lower herself to the floor while he loomed over her. She undid his pants with nimble fingers and he heard her quick, heavy inhale as she tugged his cock free. She stared at it for a moment, stroking it from base to tip as if unable to believe this was happening, but he lost patience with her awe, her teasing, her altogether as he nudged himself between her lips.
She quickly got the message and took him deeper in her mouth, bobbing her head as she cupped his balls. He bit his lip hard in an effort not to groan. He didn’t want her to have any power over him, even though his saliva-slick cock plunging into her greedy mouth was one of the hottest things he’d ever seen. And the feeling… Maybe it was the result of the vodka, but he’d never been blown like this. Her mouth was so warm and wet, and her tongue was questing, exploratory. It was so wrong and degrading, and he felt l
ike he really could do whatever he wanted to her and she’d like it. She’d invited him to, and she’d played a dirty, mean game. So he’d fuck her senseless, however he wanted to, and then never speak to her again. Was that what she wanted? What the hell did he want?
He guided himself in further, his hand on the back of her head. She gagged around him and he saw her eyes water, but he soon felt her throat relax. Just knowing how deep he resided between her lips was a high unlike he’d ever known.
James felt so close to coming but couldn’t bring himself over to the final stretch, no matter how good it felt. Frustrated, he withdrew from Bijou’s mouth and yanked her to her feet. She watched him, slightly dazed and her mouth swollen and pouting from sucking his cock. He all but growled. “I want you naked.”
She stepped back and unhooked her bra with fumbling fingers, her perky breasts springing free. She eyed his clothes. “I want you naked.”
“I don’t care what you want. Panties off, too.”
Bijou’s eyes widened at his tone, but her G-string dropped to the floor anyway. For a moment, James felt a pang of regret for talking to her like that—until he remembered what she’d done to him and he saw her weeping pussy, obvious even in the dim lighting. Unable to resist, his hand quested to the smooth, shaved area between her legs. She let out a high-pitched moan of approval as he used her juices to trace a wet circle over her clit.
“Get on the bed, face down,” he said.
“I thought you wanted me naked.” She leaned into his touch, rolling her pelvis. “My shoes are still on.”
It was a fact that hadn’t gone unnoticed by James. “Just do what I say.”
He removed his hand from her and she hopped on the bed with a frustrated whine. Once on her hands and knees, she looked over her shoulder. “Is this how you want me?”
He grabbed a few pillows from the head of the bed and stuffed them under her hips, then had her lean forward, her chest to the mattress and her ass in the air. He made her wait, tracing her slick entrance with a fingertip as she whimpered and pushed back at him, but he ignored her impatience. Finally, he sheathed his cock in one of the condoms from his wallet and tormented them both, again teasing her opening but this time with the head of his cock.
“James, oh God, I don’t think I can wait anymore,” she gasped, and he watched her reach beneath her body to stoke her clit. “Fuck me. Fuck me harder than you ever fucked anybody.”
Now that he could do. James pushed his pants down to meet his ankles, grabbed her hips, and slammed into her, and she let out a howl of both pain and pleasure. He took a handful of her hair and tugged her head back, her wet pussy gripping every inch of his length.
Bijou screamed his name and pushed against him, and so he withdrew and thrust into her again. She clenched and unclenched the sheet beneath her with one hand, her other still playing with her clit.
“Oh my God, James,” she said between gasps. “I’m gonna… You’re gonna make… Oh, God.” She shuddered, collapsing face-first on the mattress.
James closed his eyes and tried to lose himself in the feeling but to no avail. Fucking her seemed to last for hours. He flirted with climaxing, but nothing would do the trick, not even Bijou milked his cock with her second orgasm, pulling him even deeper. The drugs had made her pliable, so he flipped her over like a ragdoll and pinned her wrists to the mattress, pounding into her cunt with abandon while she screamed his name toward the ceiling, but nothing. In fact, her being so limp from passion and pills caused his release to slip further away.
As he thrust into Bijou, his thoughts turned unbidden to Greer. He pictured her watching them from a chair in the corner, her legs spread, her fingers rubbing her clit. Then suddenly, in his mind, it was Greer he was inside, not Bijou. He could imagine the noises she’d make, her fingernails nicking his shoulders, how her naked, damp body fit against his, her breath hot on his skin…
And just like that, he was that much closer to the edge. It was effortless as much as it was depressing.
He removed his cock from Bijou and slid up her body, peeling off the condom along the way. She continued to lie on her back, looking delirious and half-asleep. He kicked a foot free from his pant leg, straddled her torso, and slipped his cock between her breasts, plucking at her nipples. Bijou raised her head and gave the head of his cock a lick, and he felt that spark, that nearing of the end. He molded her breasts with his hands as she sucked the tip of his cock until finally his body shook with a climax so powerful he nearly toppled over. Bijou greedily swallowed his come, a few drops escaping and spattering her collarbone.
“Fuck,” he said with an enormous sigh, addressing about five hundred things at once with that simple word. He rarely used profanity, but doing so now seemed appropriate and, as he could’ve assumed it would, it only served to make him feel worse. He rolled away from her and slid off the bed, leaning heavy against the mattress as he pulled his pants up.
“That was… I don’t even know.” Bijou stared at the canopy overhead and rubbed her thighs together with a satisfied moan. She turned to him. “It’s never been like that for me. What about you?”
“Nope.”
She looked pleased. “So I’m your first real fuck.”
He knew what she was getting at—that she somehow counted more than Greer. And why wouldn’t she think that? She was here, and Greer wasn’t. His head throbbed as a pain unlike anything he’d ever known ripped through his body, and in that moment he truly hated himself more than anyone else. Second on the list was Bijou Light for making him recognize that.
He finished dressing and turned to leave, but Bijou’s voice halted him. “Hey. Where are you going?”
“Away. That’s all you need to know.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
He turned around and saw her staring at him, her mouth a tight, bloodless pucker as she trembled with anger. In that moment, looking at her became the equivalent of looking at himself, and the loss and shame he felt inside was evident on her face.
“You know?” she said, her voice quivering with shrill nastiness. “You never even bothered to kiss me.”
“You said I could do anything I wanted with you. That wasn’t one of the things I wanted to do.”
Then he left. He was done with this.
Blame James (blame_james) wrote,
@ 2012-07-30 17:28:53
James Venora Can Do This, and By “This” We Mean “E.Y.”
E.Y.: Have you seen James these days? Good God, every time some new photo of him from the Heartlines tour is leaked, I turn into a lustful, sputtering mess. And so, I’ve started a list of all the sexy things I’d like to see James do, like:
• Wearing aviator shades and leaving against the side of his car, waiting for his barely legal girlfriend to skip from the high school, ready to cut the rest of the day and go make out in a field somewhere
• Sink the final eight-ball in a game of pool while giving a cocky smirk
• Scope out a chick over an aisle of vinyls at the record store
• Slide out of bed and pull on his jeans and nothing else
CLAUDIA: You’re out of your bird. That list proves it.
E.Y.: That list makes me out of my bird.
CLAUDIA: And now, the reality: James Venora is a scrawny dork who wears too tight jeans and has a soon-to-be ex-wife and two little kids.
E.Y.: See, that’s the problem with James. Real-life James keeps sneaking in and ruining the fantasy. Why couldn’t I have programmed his life? Still, now I’m so horny I’ve lost the ability to think straight. If he were to ever actually do any of the things on my list, I think my uterus would fall out or something equally gross happen, I’d be so turned on.
CLAUDIA: I’ll help bring you back around with a list of James Venora Can’ts:
• Decorate his office cubicle
• Squirt cheese on his nachos at the skating rink
• Mow the lawn
• Hump a Real Doll
• Trim his
pubes
E.Y.: God! Okay, okay, I’m back to normal. You fucker. And for the record, I actually can picture him trimming his pubes, his pants around his knees as he stands before the bathroom mirror, carefully snipping around his balls with a pair of scissors.
CLAUDIA: Now who’s the fucker?
E.Y.: Speaking of the bathroom, I bet James jerking off in the shower would be hot.
CLAUDIA: You can’t see it, but I’m pretty much reacting to this conversation like Ace Ventura did when he found out Lois Einhorn and Ray Finkle were the same person.
E.Y.: I need to think of more activities that aren’t generally hot, but James is able to make hot, like:
• Being the last to show up at a diner with all his friends on a Sunday morning as if he’s been out all night and he just got in
• Driving a beat-up 1970s car
• Play piano in a blues bar late at night to two patrons and the bartender
• Set a lucky gal atop that piano later, like in Pretty Woman
CLAUDIA: Before I resort to hanging myself, I’m gonna list some reasons why James Venora would never want you:
• Your concept of romance doesn’t involve procreation.
• You’ve written incestuous Venora fan fiction.
• He’d get jealous of you secretly dying to fuck Wade.
• You’re an admin for the Blame James blog.
E.Y.: Ugh, you’re right. Only adding to the list and doing myself a great disservice are the facts that I’m just too, too good at giving head, and James would never again be able to make music because I’d be groping him 24/7.
CLAUDIA: Don’t beat yourself up about it. Keep the focus on James, only start picturing him doing the most revolting things ever. Picture him doing any or all of the following and reassess:
• Holding your family hostage
• Cutting you off in traffic without using his blinker
• Punching you in the vagina while spitting in your face and screaming, “I’ll never love you!”
E.Y.: But if he punched me in the vag, I could at least say James Venora touched my privates.