The Fall of Troy

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  “Ça va, Léo?” she turned and murmured to me. I met her light stare, realizing that I’d been looking right through her to the nymph at the bar.

  “Oui,” I rasped. “Fine.”

  “I know this look. This look isn’t fine.” She turned to Jack. “Is it the coffee here?” she asked teasingly, winking at my old friend before those playful eyes settled back on me as she added with a completely different tone, “What can I do for you, mon cher?”

  While she spoke, her elbows slid to rest on the edge of the table, shoving her trop full tits together, her shirt low-enough to make it easy for me to pop them out, yet modest enough that she would still wear it to work. That was Giselle—professional, but always ready for a fuck.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, my eyes squeezing shut for a moment. Normally, I’d be debating whether or not it was a good idea—or at least not a horrible one—to take my assistant home, shove my dick between her tits and fuck them until they were covered with my cum. Normally.

  Tonight, behind my eyes, it was her breasts that taunted me. La petite. Hers that were less than half the size of Giselle’s. Hers, that might be a handful for ce connard who was still talking to her, but that would be lost in my palms. It was her tits and the way they stared at me with a needy smugness through her shirt like, given everything, they wanted me but didn’t think that I’d be able to please them.

  “Oh, can you excuse me for a second? Katie’s calling.” Jack held up his phone before he disappeared as though the leash were physically pulling him toward the door.

  “You look stressed, Léo,” she murmured throatily, coming to stand just between my knees. I felt her hand on my thigh—high enough to hint at what I already knew she was willing to give. “Let me help you.” Her breath fanned the side of my face. I didn’t see her lean in. My eyes were still staring beyond her.

  La petite still ignored me. Smiling. Laughing. Infuriating.

  Regardez-moi.

  Look. At. Me.

  Her eyes flicked over and stuck on mine. Good girl. The smugness on her face faltered when she saw Giselle between my legs, her head buried in my neck. It was the crack—the momentary weakness that made my dick swell. I downed the second glass of vodka the waiter left on the table. And then, still holding her eyes, I let my hand slide onto Giselle’s ass, reaching for the edge of her just-short-enough skirt.

  Anger sparked even as her tits hardened again for me.

  Good.

  Maybe seeing me with a woman would show this little girl that she was playing with a fire that she didn’t understand. Go back to your flirting, petite; fucking is for adults.

  Without warning or explanation, I spun Giselle and pushed her toward the semi-hidden door I saw two employees come out of earlier. She giggled with barely a hint of protest.

  I hadn’t fucked her in months; I’d been doing well. Until the nymph with the razor-sharp attitude and breasts that I was still thinking about fell into my life. Now, I needed release.

  The door led into a small break room with some shelves for cleaning products along the sides. I was expecting a storage closet, but I could work with this.

  “You looked like you could use this, mon cher,” she whispered as her hand cupped over my dick. Honestly, it was so hard from earlier that the endearment that would normally turn me off, had no effect.

  When she tipped her face up to mine, I growled, moving in on her neck. Biting into her skin, my hands reached up and yanked down her shirt to cup her bare breasts. She didn’t do bras—whether for me or as a general rule, I didn’t give a fuck. I pulled hard on her large, tan nipples until she gasped. Hard, soft, fast, slow—she never cared as long as it was with me.

  My teeth released her skin, my entire body freezing. I heard something. Looking up, the room still looked the same. The door was still locked. And Giselle was still flushed and panting like nothing had happened.

  Had I imagined it?

  Filling my palms with her generous tits, I kneaded and squeezed them. I squeezed them hard because I wanted them to be smaller—like I could turn them into the ones that taunted me.

  “I’ve missed you, Léo,” Giselle moaned, arching her back to the point of contortion.

  The hair on the back of my neck prickled. One of the rolls of paper towels moved on the shelf to my right. Mon Dieu. I didn’t know how. I didn’t know why but someone was watching. There was too much stuff in my way to be able to see anything, but I knew someone was fucking watching. I wasn’t into that sort of thing. Normally. But tonight, I was. Tonight, because I knew it was her.

  Ma voyeuse.

  My dick dropped even heavier against Giselle’s hand.

  “Léo, I want you inside me.” She leaned in and whispered against my neck.

  Grunting, I shoved myself against her grabby fingers. I didn’t care what she wanted. Don’t mistake me—she always came, but it was on my terms. My head tilted and she took it to mean I wanted her mouth on me. I didn’t. All I cared about was getting a better line of sight at the shelf. I let her slobber on my neck as her hand undid my pants, searching for my cock.

  “It’s been too long, mon cher.” She smiled against my shoulder as she wrapped her fingers around my length. “And you looked so lonely tonight. I got here just in time.” Annoyed, I pulled hard on her nipples, causing her body to shake with pain. She didn’t get to make those kind of statements—especially when ma voyeuse was watching… listening.

  Rage pumped through me. And the need to fuck it out.

  Roughly spinning her around, her hands crashed on the table and I just barely caught a stifled gasp of surprise coming from the other side of the wall. My teeth dug into my cheek as I yanked up Giselle’s skirt—no panties in sight. Her cunt looked so needy it was almost a turn-off. But I was past the point of most anything being a turn-off.

  I’d planned on shoving my face in her tits for a few minutes, suffocating myself in their size, and then shoving my dick in her mouth to finish the job. But she was watching. And I wanted her hatred. Almost as much as I wanted her need.

  My eyes darted back to the wall as though I could find her eyes. Keeping them there, my hand smacked Giselle’s wet pussy, her whimper echoing the wet slap. It didn’t make my balls ache. What made my balls ache was the hitch in the breath from beyond the wall.

  I wrapped my now-wet fingers around my cock, pulling myself from my pants. She couldn’t see it. With Giselle bent over, ass up in the air, I knew my arousal was just as hidden from her sight as she was from mine.

  Reaching into Giselle’s purse, I pulled out the condom I knew she’d come prepared with. She had some sort of implanted birth control; she’d even shown me the proof from her doctor. I didn’t care. It was too intimate. I didn’t want intimate. Intimate had died long before Amélie. What I wanted was release.

  Tearing it open with my teeth, I shoved three fingers into Giselle’s waiting cunt, mostly to bring her whines down to muffled gasps so that I could focus on the heavier, quickening pants from beyond the wall. Maybe I was imagining them. Maybe I was that drunk.

  Rolling the condom down my length, I made sure to take my time, finishing with a long hard stroke.

  This was the first time I’d fucked a woman and not been looking at her. Instead, I stared at paper towels and bath tissue as I positioned myself at Giselle’s dripping entrance. I stared because I was thinking about those mossy brown eyes and that smart mouth. I was thinking about her tiny tits and the way the tight pussy of ma voyeuse would be so much sweeter to tear apart.

  I rammed into Giselle before I came outside of a perfectly suitable waiting pussy.

  This time there was no mistaking the moan I heard. I wasn’t imagining her. I wasn’t that drunk. My eyes narrowed angrily, hearing how she was turned on by this. I wanted to hear her. I wanted to see her as desire strangled her body. I slammed into the woman my body was fucking without my mind, my balls smacking against her as she took all of me with greedy grunts.

  Ma petite didn’t rea
lize the noises she was making. The soft moans and whimpers as she watched me fuck another woman. I wondered if she was touching herself, the way her panting became more ragged. Fuck.

  My cock swelled. I was going to come. Reaching around, I roughly grabbed one bouncing tit as my other hand went searching for her clit. Without my hands supporting her hips, Giselle collapsed onto the table, her ass angled up in a way that seemed almost inhuman as she begged for more. The table shifted as I thrust into her. Each time rewarded with a heavy pant from ma petite.

  My fingers slipped through the slick folds that were spread wide to swallow my dick and found her swollen bud. I didn’t have time to be slow or gentle about it—I never really was, but she kept coming back for more so I assumed she liked it this way, too. Straight up pleasure, hold the romance. Flicking over her clit, I pulled it between my fingers and squeezed.

  Giselle cried out as I forced her orgasm through her. Her cunt gripping my cock, I stared at the wall, making it a point to thrust two more times so there was no mistake about who had control over my orgasm. And then, with a strangled groan, my eyes squeezed shut as I let myself find the orgasm I never should have fucking needed in the first place.

  As soon as the pulsing in my cock was manageable, I pulled out, quickly tearing off the filled plastic and tucking my dick back in my pants. When I looked up again, ma voyeuse was gone. I couldn’t see anything different, but I felt it the way a hunter feels when he loses sight of his prey.

  Giselle moaned as she stood, sore from the position I’d shoved her into. She turned to me with a stupored smile on her lips and her eye makeup smeared with tears from either the pleasure or the pain.

  “Let’s not wait so long again, oui?” She put her palm on my chest. “I hate seeing you like this.”

  My mouth thinned. I wasn’t going to answer that.

  “Les toilettes are next door. Go clean up,” I said gruffly. “Jack is probably wondering where we went.”

  Tugging her skirt down, she unlocked the door and scooted from the room to do my bidding.

  The second she was gone, I locked the door again and walked over to the shelf. Moving rolls of paper towels and papier toilette, I saw it. A cut-out in the wall. Probably from an old medicine cabinet behind a mirror. Now it was turned into a short cut to restocking the bathroom. My fingers pressed against it—testing it. There must be some sort of lock on the other side.

  But even though it was closed, I could still hear. Mon Dieu, could I still hear.

  She thought we were gone. She thought I didn’t know. And she thought no one could hear.

  If she hadn’t been touching herself before, I knew she was now the way she whimpered and moaned.

  That’s it, ma petite. Touch yourself and think of me fucking another woman.

  She was almost there. I heard every little catch of her breath as she tripped, chasing her orgasm. My fingers dug into the metal shelf.

  Come, ma voyeuse.

  I heard her strangled cry and I imagined how she must be biting that fuller lower lip. I imagined how wet she must be. What I didn’t have to imagine was how I’d just fucked someone to get this need for her out of my system only to have my dick act like I’d done nothing.

  Merde.

  More muffled curses followed me as I threw open the door and stalked out, winning me a few strange stares from some of the patrons. I saw Giselle still standing outside the door, waiting to use the restroom, looking in her compact and trying to clean up the mess on her face.

  I gave her a tight nod and walked back to the table where Jack was waiting, Katie now by his side. Parfaite.

  “Léo!” she exclaimed when I appeared in front of them. “So good to see you! It’s been too long.” Her face fell at the last part, remembering exactly the last time she’d seen me.

  “Madame Katie, so good to see you.” I forced a smile to my face and then asked the waiter for a glass of water.

  “Katie was just telling me the latest news about her charter school.” Jack beamed at his wife. It was nauseating. “I did tell you that she opened up another one right here in Providence?”

  I shook my head, honestly not remembering whether he had or not. Jack’s wife was some big-wig in education here. It was the reason that they moved to Providence from Boston. I used to enjoy hearing about the education system here, especially from her perspective, but tonight my focus was frayed. Especially when the opening of the bathroom door caught my eye.

  It was almost laughable the way la petite voyeuse stumbled out and right into Giselle—the woman she’d just gotten off on watching me fuck. The pink in her face deepened, drawing more blood to my cock. Giselle was oblivious—rushing inside to fix her face and transform herself back into the professional persona that I also needed tonight.

  Moss-green eyes dragged across the room to mine and I wondered if her whole body was as red as her face. I could have done a lot of things—laughed, winked, smirked. But I didn’t. I stared at her like I didn’t even know her—and like I had no idea she’d been watching me fuck. Boringly blank.

  “Léo?”

  My eyes slid away slowly, like I’d been in a daze and just looking right through her.

  “Désolé,” I apologized. “I was worried Giselle might be lost but I see her. Please, continue.” Even my half-assed attempt at a full smile could still make another man’s wife blush.

  You are a child, ma petite. Don’t goad me again. I don’t fight fairly.

  My first day of college. A semester late, a degree changed, a parent lost… but whatever.

  Most girls would have had an outfit picked out weeks ago. Lilith would have had her and my outfits picked out weeks ago, knowing I’d be right where I am now—staring blankly into my closet like it was a bottomless pit. My mom even offered to get me something new but I declined.

  Mondays I had College Math in the morning and then the David elective in the afternoon. Same as Wednesdays and Fridays.

  Snow from over the weekend blanketed the scenery outside my window like fresh coat of white paint. Even with the dropping degrees, it did absolutely nothing to cool the fever in my blood from the other night. Like a funhouse mirror, the sights repeated over and over again, distorting reality and my mind until all I saw was him.

  I never should have followed them.

  They’d walked into our break room and when Gertie didn’t notice, I felt it was my job to kick them out. I also used it as a good excuse to get away from Wes who’d been talking my ear off—about himself. Mostly though, I was just livid that my attempt to brush him off had backfired. I’d flirted with Wes and in return, he went and fucked a blonde Jessica Rabbit.

  My hand poised to knock when I realized that was what he wanted—to know I’d been watching and that I’d followed him here. It was a trap—an ambush. The bar had been a distraction and this was him upping the ante.

  I wouldn’t give him that victory.

  So, I left the locked door alone, determined to let someone else find and reprimand them. But instead of turning back to my post, my feet that wouldn’t turn away from a fight and instead angled my desperately curious body into the women’s room.

  The poetry club was in an old colonial house. I didn’t know what the floorplan was before, but the mirror in the women’s room used to have a cabinet behind it. When the cabinet was removed, it left a gaping hole into the storage room that we then used as a shortcut to restock and put a lock on it when we were open.

  I should’ve knocked. I should’ve just walked away and left them alone. Instead, I went into the single women’s room, locked the door, and unlatched the mirror. Rolls of paper products blocked most of the opening, but on my tiptoes, I saw them.

  And like a car crash about to happen, I couldn’t look away. He couldn’t see me, but his eyes kept returning to where I was watching, like he knew all along I was there.

  My cocktail of anger was spiked with jealousy as he touched her—even more as she touched him. Him. The man who wouldn’t even take the ch
ance of having his fingers brush over mine to take his glass of vodka.

  But as much as I despised him for doing this (and for mesmerizing me with the sight) my blood mostly boiled with desire. The ache between my legs screamed when he spun her around and slammed into her.

  Forcing my eyes back to the grayscale inside my closet, I huffed and absentmindedly kicked against the closet door as moisture rushed between my legs again. Dammit.

  I reached for my dark blue jeans—instantly seeing his eyes as he rolled on the condom and began fucking that woman.

  My tongue flicked over my cheek where it was still swollen from the way I’d chewed on it to keep my frustration quiet.

  Even though it couldn’t have been anything more than a casual screw for him, the way his body performed was anything but unintentional. The way his hips moved like the ocean—powerfully undulating and unable to be controlled. The way his chest remained hard and unmoving like breathing was one more waste of his time.

  It was like a piece of art—or something that should be a piece of art, the emotion was so intense. I wanted to capture it, unfortunately, I’d been too captured by it.

  And that was the moment I think I might have given my presence away.

  There had been no going back to the bar like that. No way. I was like a ticking time bomb. Panting, I’d unzipped my pants and began to touch myself, lighting the fuse that would let me explode.

  And all the while imagining it was me on that table.

  And when I came, I couldn’t tell if it was a victory or a loss—victory in release or loss because

  I put my palm on my forehead with a long groan, feeling how my face was flushed once again from the memory.

  Please just don’t let me have to see him ever again.

  Please.

  I pulled out a black tee that had pale pink flowers on the front. It probably looked like something an old lady would wear, but I’d bought it because the flowers reminded me of the cover of my copy of Baudelaire.

  Ten minutes later with my rain boots on and my bag along with my large, plastic art bag that held the excessive number of sketchpads I’d been forced to get for this stupid elective, I yelled goodbye to my mom and ran out the front door before she could offer to give me a ride.