Dark Tales Diaries: Volume One

by London Saint James

  I placed the left boot on, zipping it, too. I was at least six inches taller, wearing red leather, thigh-high, stiletto boots. I was butt-ass naked with my long blonde hair wet and dripping down my spine. I walked toward the lounger, and stopped.

  “Don’t make me tell you again,” Marcus said. “Lie back, and spread.”

  I sat, laid back, and spread my legs, wide. I knew my pink center was more than likely glistening with arousal. Perhaps he was right, and I was lying to myself when it came to him, because just as always before, I wanted to submit to him.

  Marcus shed his jeans, heeled off his signature rendition of biker boots, and ripped the shirt from over his head. His spiky dark hair took on the unkempt look of being disturbed by the removal of his black T. His body hadn’t changed since I last saw it. He was cut and sculptured. And his dick, already hard. As I looked at him, I realized I’d actually missed him. I hadn’t entertained a lover of my own since leaving him.

  Marcus kneeled at my feet and rubbed my boot. When he lifted it up to his chest, I was surprised.

  “Do it,” he said. I pressed the sharp heel of my boot into his chest. He groaned. Something inside of me sparked hotter. “Again.” I pressed a bit harder, feeling the steely give of his pectoral muscle beneath my foot. “Harder, Guinevere.” I dug in. He placed my other booted heel to his thigh. I pressed.

  He reached up with one hand and touched my hard nipples. With his free hand he began stroking his dick. The rougher he touched himself, the more I heeled him.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said. Then without warning he took both ankles and tugged me until my ass was at the end of the lounger, threw my legs over his powerful shoulders, and went to town.

  I’d also forgotten his expertise in eating me out. It was almost ravenous. Feral. He growled, licked, and lapped at me. Bit my clit, and tugged. And when I could no longer hold still he fingered me. No prep. No playing. Just what I like. Three fingers deep, hard, and working my cunt until he had me where he knew I wanted to go.

  “Fuck my fingers, Guinn,” he demanded.

  I did, letting go and fucking him as he hit my sweet spot with every thrust. “More,” I moaned.

  “That’s my little, Guinn.”

  When he gave me more, I took it. When he slowed, I knew he wanted to tease me.

  “Marcus, come on,” I said.

  “This is my hungry pussy, Guinn. It always has been, and it always will be.”

  I dug in and scraped the edge of my heels up his bare back hard enough to make marks, I was sure.

  He howled, and pummeled my wet cunt with his fingers, not slowing any longer. He licked my clit and finger fucked me until I gave my will over to him. “Tell me what you want, Guinn,” he said in a gravelly voice.

  “I want you to make me come.”

  “Do you want my dick?”

  “Yes!”

  Marcus yanked me up and stood. I wrapped my long legs around his waist and my arms around his sturdy neck. He entered me with his rock hard member, pumping. I came, hard and fast while he fucked me like the beast I wanted. He kissed me during my climax, taking my tongue with his.

  Our heated breath intermingled as our tongues tangled, and as my climax calmed, he pulled me off his cock in a slow manner. When my clinching pussy kissed the tip of his dick goodbye, he placed me on my feet and told me to suck him.

  I went to my knees, and did, tasting my own juices upon him.

  “Harder,” he demanded.

  I took him all the way, relaxing my throat.

  He grumbled his approval, fisting my hair, and pumping into my mouth as I sucked. When he was close, Marcus lifted me up, bent me over the arm of the lounger, and took me from behind.

  I pressed my ass back, letting his dick reach so deep that my pussy ached in pleasured/pain. When he pressed a finger into my ass while working my pussy with his mastery, I came, feeling him pull out, followed by the warmth of his cum across my ass.

  He spanked my clinching pussy with two stinging slaps to my clit, his skillful blows teasing the last bits of pleasure to the surface.

  My legs quivered. My sex burned. “I’ve missed you, too,” I told him in a breathless pant. “I want you to stay on for a while.”

  “But I’m a dom, and you’re a dom. Can it work?” he asked.

  “You have always been right.”

  “I’m glad you finally admit it,” he said. “Think of all the time we’ve wasted when we should have been honest with each other years ago. Perhaps we can give and take?”

  “With you, I don’t mind the switch. So, stay.”

  “I’ll stay on one condition,” he said.

  I turned around to look at him.

  His onyx eyes flickered in the light. His muscles were bulging, and his smooth chest heaved.

  “And what’s your condition?”

  He mouthed my collarbone, licked my throat, kissed my chin, and held my face between his strong palms. “Look at me. I want to see your eyes.”

  I met his gaze, this time not looking to gain the power, but allowing him to see me.

  “You, and your red stilettos, belong to me.” Marcus kissed me long and hard, outlining the terms of our relationship with every swipe of his tongue.

  I took his stipulations under consideration, and when our kissed ended I said one word. “Deal.”

  Part Two

  Dear Dark Tales,

  I’m probably not your usual suspect when it comes to the forbidden. In fact, I’ve only had one sexual partner, whom I married at a very young age and had children with. After going through a divorce and watching the twins leave for college, I found myself more restless than ever, and when it came to taking a long, hard look at my life, that was painful. It seemed my mirror had two faces. The version of my youth, and the one as I got older.

  I’m not sure if you can understand what it is I’m speaking of, but one day you either wake up or you’re forced to, and you wonder where the time has gone. Those fine lines and wrinkles appear overnight and haunt you. And it’s even more distressing to see your once perky breasts begin their downward decent into middle age. But I guess what has been the worst to come to grips with is turning forty-three and admitting, I’ve never experienced an orgasm. That’s right. You read correctly.

  I can only imagine you are saying to yourself, “How is that possible?” I can’t blame you for questioning me, because I’ve questioned myself. How is it possible that at my age and after giving birth to twins I have not?

  My husband did the usual things I suppose, making love in one or two positions. And he tried giving me oral sex, but it was never his thing. I bought a vibrator once, but the act seemed too sterile and cold, so I never really pursued using them. I tried masturbating, but again, the act seemed to be perfunctory, nothing to really stimulate my mind, so I stopped. I’ve even tried to fantasize during the moment of copulation, but to no avail.

  With the thought that I was perhaps without real imagination or even worse, I’m frigid, I decided to test the waters of the barely skimmed surface to my own sexuality. I went on a quest to find the one thing that had always eluded me. Come hell or high water, I would finally cum.

  Sincerely,

  Sherri Reagan

  The Leather’s Edge

  “Sherri, are you really going through with this blind date thing?” Tessa, my friend of eighteen years asked.

  I took a sip of my six dollar cup of coffee and nodded.

  “But you don’t know anything about this man. You answered an ad in the singles column. He could be a serial killer, or a rapist.”

  “I suppose he could,” I said.

  “Seriously? Doesn’t the fact you know nothing about him bother you?”

  “Nope. I thought I knew everything about my husband whom I’ve known since I was sixteen, and look where that got me. I really didn’t know him at all. I was blindsided by his confession he’s been cheating on me for years, and was leaving me and the twins for his busty, brunette, and twenty-somethin
g secretary. So, I guess you never know who anybody truly is.”

  “Okay, yes, Ron was a huge asshole who hid it well, but—”

  “You’re not going to talk me out of this.”

  “Jesus, Sherri. Find a better way to get off than sex with some random stranger.”

  “I think a random stranger is just what the doctor ordered,” I said. “I’ll call you tomorrow, so you know I’m still alive and kicking, and not in some shallow grave on the side of a road.”

  Tessa rolled her big blue eyes. “That’s not funny! But I am expecting a call to know you are okay.”

  I did the cross my heart gesture with my fingers. “I promise to call you first thing in the morning, Tessa.”

  “You better.”

  “I will,” I said, exasperated.

  Tessa and I got up from the table, threw our empty coffee cups into the trash, and hugged before we went our separate ways. I had a lot on my plate today. Take the minivan to get serviced. Stop by the post office and mail off a birthday gift to my ex-sister-in-law. Get my hair cut. Find something new to wear on my blind date… I glanced at my watch. 10:45 a.m. I needed to hustle. Especially if I wanted to clear my to-dos and still have time to get ready for Sadly Single. That’s what he called himself in the personal ad.

  Middle aged man, in good physical shape, seeks a single woman as a sexual companion. No strings attached. Please call, 555-679-5545. Sadly Single.

  I liked the straightforward aspect of the ad. No flowery words or hiding the fact of what he’s really looking for. There it was. In black and white. Sex, with no strings attached. So I called and made a date to meet him for drinks and dinner at six p.m. I suppose I would see what happened from there. I wasn’t looking for anything serious; I just wanted to explore my sexuality, confirm I could enjoy sex, that I wasn’t frigid, and that I was capable of having an orgasm.

  On my way to the bank, I called the twins from my cell phone. No matter how old Katie and Kylie get, I was still their mother and I needed to know how they were doing. Since they left home for college, I worried about them a lot more. Maybe the excessive worry came from the fact it’s too quite at home. I was use to loud music, laughter, and a cluster of eighteen year old girls at my house. But what I have to look forward to hearing now was the incessant ticking of the grandfather clock, reminding me that with every tick, Sherri Reagan was getting older.

  It took much longer to get the van serviced than I thought, but after rushing through some fairly mediocre selections for something new and exciting to wear, I finally made it home in time to take a quick shower, put on the somewhat slinky blue dress I purchased, re-do my make up, and head out the door for what I hoped would be a good time.

  On my way to the van, I saw my neighbor, Thomas Walker, dressed in a dark, navy blue suit. He cut a handsome figure, as my grandmother would say. Thomas was tall with broad shoulders, slender hips, and a slight bit of gray around the edges of his toffee colored hair. Ron, my ex, first introduced me to Thomas about three years ago, during our subdivisions Fourth of July block party. I remember thinking Thomas reminded me of somebody, and by the end of the night I knew who it was he resembled. Thomas reminded me of a middle aged version of the actor, James Brolin.

  I waved at him before I entered the minivan, and he waved back right before he entered his fancy Cadillac. I was pretty sure he worked as a finance officer for a bank, somewhere downtown. I supposed since Ron left, I knew much less about our neighbors and their lives than I use to. Ron was sort of a social butterfly within the neighborhood and liked to keep everyone up to date regarding everyone else’s business. I’d often wondered how many of our neighbors knew about our personal business or that Ron was cheating on me with his secretary.

  I glanced up at my reflection in the rearview mirror, brushed some dishwater blonde hair away from my face, and then started the ignition. My destination was Delaluna’s, where I would meet Sadly Single for drinks, dinner, and…

  In all my running around earlier, I’d neglected to get gas in the minivan, so I took a quick detour, filled up, used their ladies room at the Gas-N-Go to wash my hands, and stared at the condom machine hanging on the wall. I wondered if I should get some. This was my first, possible, casual sex encounter, and I imagined it prudent to be prepared. I rummaged around for some change in my purse, plopped the coins into the machine, turned the knob, and out came two condoms. As funny as this sounds, I almost felt euphoric. Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed I’d be buying condoms out of the restroom of a quick stop gas station for a promising sex-capade with someone I didn’t know.

  The thought almost made me giddy. Less than eight months ago I was Mrs. Ron Reagan. No kin to the ex-president, I assure you. I was everything that was to be expected of the title. The doting wife. Check. The soccer mom. Check. The cheerleading sponsor. Check. And the all-around Marry Poppins of household tranquility. Check, check, and double check. I got up in the morning and made breakfast, packed lunches, did laundry, caught up on a book or two while a roast was in the oven for dinner, and maintained what I thought was our domestic bliss.

  “Yeah, who would of thought?”

  I grinned at myself in the small square mirror hanging askew on the restroom wall, placed the little square packages of protection in my purse, and headed to my van.

  When I arrived at Delaluna’s, my stomach began to do this strange thumping, but it wasn’t my stomach. It was my heart. Anxiety was kicking in. Nonetheless, I wasn’t going to back out of this blind date.

  As soon as I walked in the door of the restaurant, a young lady greeted me with a huge smile plastered across her rosy cheeked face. “Welcome to Delaluna’s!”

  I smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Just one tonight?”

  “I’m meeting someone.”

  She walked over to her list of reservations. “Your party’s name?”

  “Okay, this is going to sound really strange, but I’m here under an assumed name. Blind date,” I whispered.

  The young girl looked as though she were intrigued. “Cool,” she said. “So what’s your pen name?”

  “Nancy Drew.” It sounded crazy even to me now.

  “Sherri?” I heard from behind me. “You’re Nancy Drew?”

  I turned around to see… “Thomas? You are Sadly Single?”

  We both started laughing.

  “Follow me,” said our hostess.

  Thomas and I looked at each other for a moment.

  “I’m still game if you are,” he said.

  “Absolutely,” I said. And we followed the leader until our hostess stopped.

  “Here you go.” She handed us a drink menu. “Your server will be right with you. Enjoy.”

  Thomas took my hand and helped me with my seat.

  “Who would have thought,” he mused. “My beautiful neighbor Sherri Reagan is really Nancy Drew.” Another laugh passed between us. “Not that I’m complaining, but why would you answer such an ad?”

  “Why did you write it?”

  Thomas smiled and shook his head. God, he really was a handsome man.

  “I decided it’s been four years since Molly, my wife, passed.” I nodded. “Since her death, I’ve been totally alone, coming home to stare at the same four walls. That’s no way to live, and Molly wouldn’t want me to be so unhappy. I believe it’s important to have connections to each other, sexual outlets, so I wrote the ad on a spur of the moment decision.”

  “It was straightforward, and I like that. No hiding behind ulterior motives. Sex, with no strings. That’s why I answered your ad,” I confessed.

  He stared at me. His eyes were a cool shade of walnut. “How long has Ron been gone?”

  “Eight months. The divorce was final a few weeks ago.”

  “And that’s not too soon for you?”

  “No. He was the cheater, not me. I’m free now.”

  He smiled. “Oh, I didn’t mean to insinuate you as a cheater.”

  “I know,” I said. I stare
d at the wood grains in the table. “If I confess something else, you won’t laugh, will you?”

  “I promise. I won’t laugh,” he said.

  “I’ve never had an orgasm.”

  “Really,” he said, and he didn’t seem shocked.

  “I know that’s crazy. A woman my age, and to never—”

  “Nope,” he said. “It’s not crazy.”

  “I’m worried I’m frigid, or that something’s wrong with me.”

  “Sherri,” he said and took my hand. “There’s nothing wrong with you. And you’re not a frigid woman.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What if I promise to give you more than one orgasm?”

  I chuckled. “So confident, Thomas.”

  “I am,” he said.

  “Then I say let’s forget drinks and dinner.”

  “All right.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “So—”

  “Follow me home,” he said.

  *****

  I walked in the front door to my neighbor’s house, not sure of what to expect, but he took me by the hand and led me down a hallway.

  “Now comes my confession,” he said. “I use to be a practitioner.”

  I was confused. “A doctor?”

  “No. Molly and I were into bondage.”

  “Bondage?”

  “Yes. Does that bother you?”

  “I don’t really know much about it,” I said.

  Thomas opened the door to a room with a huge bed. On the wall behind the bed were hooks, and on the wall opposite of the bed was a, well, for lack of a better description, a gynecological table that swung like a teeter-totter.

  “Are you still game?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Don’t be frightened. I give you my word, I will not harm you. We will only go as far as you wish to go.”

  “I’m not frightened, Thomas.” And I wasn’t. I was telling him the truth.

  “Good,” he said.

  “I’m not trying to be hugely personal, but tell me, did you and your husband ever experiment with each other?”