Strangers: Bedtime Stories Vol. I

by Chambers, Gretchen

  “You’re fucking amazing,” he said, running his hands down my shoulders to my hips and waist, where he held me tightly, possessively.

  “Shut up,” I answered, pressing my nose into his shoulder. Emboldened, I slipped my hands under his worn t-shirt and explored his skin. He was warm, as though he had just come in from a day at the beach, and his hips were narrow, his muscles taut and defined. I ran my hands up and down his back, pleasingly ridged with muscle, and he shivered. Our eyes met, and I held his gaze as I used the lightest scrape of my fingernails to trace the contours of his spine.

  “That feels good,” he whispered, before crushing my mouth in a kiss. With our hands running all over each other, our mouths met sloppily, warmly, his kiss leaving me breathless, excited. His tongue was deep in my mouth, and I sucked on it gently, before tangling it with mine. Every time I tried to pull away, to devote time and energy to the unexplored terrain of his ears, his neck, his chest, he would anchor me, framing my face with his hands and twining his fingers in the hair at my nape, so that I was glued to his mouth, our tongues dueling and dancing as my fingers ran up and down his spine.

  I didn’t know how we ended up on the bed -- he must have pushed me down right after I tugged at the hem of his shirt, imploring him to pull it off -- but suddenly there was a warm shock of skin on skin, and he was lying on top of me, his chest sculpted and broad. For a moment, our lips let go, and his face was above mine, taking me in: my breasts spilling out of my black bra, one of my long legs hooked around his. Teasingly, he ran his hand down my bare skin, caressing my stomach, my thighs, lightly grazing my mound before running his hands back up to my breasts. I could hear myself panting, every breath making my chest heave. I saw his eyes dart to my cleavage, which shook with my breathing, and I smiled at him, sending my hand from his chest down to the front of his pants, where I could feel his hardness against my thigh. Teasingly, I ran my fingers up and down his length, before bringing it back to rest on the soft skin of his hips, loving the way his breath hitched and stuttered with wanting.

  “Damn,” he breathed, kissing my neck gently. My hips bucked of their own accord, and he brought his hand to my ass and squeezed gently, pushing my hips harder against his. I rolled over onto my side, my legs entwined with his, giving him free rein to caress and grasp my back, my hips, my waist, my ass. As he stroked me, I captured the skin of his neck in my mouth, sucking gently and pulling his hair. He moaned quietly, and I moved my mouth from his neck to his shoulder, grazing him with soft kisses that nevertheless stoked my desire, made it blaze hot and consuming.

  “This was not what I was expecting when I sat down next to you today,” he said into the skin between my shoulder and my neck, as his hands traced the sensitive skin of my back.

  “What were you expecting?” I asked teasingly, reaching up to squeeze his nipple. I was rewarded with a gasp, and a tiny spank on the ass.

  “Oh, I don’t know. A super hot girl with zero patience for frat guys.”

  “Maybe you’re special,” I said, running my hands over his flat, muscled stomach, down below the waistband of his jeans. He gasped, and I dipped my hand lower, skimming the top of his boxers, where his skin was smooth and warm.

  In response, he began kissing my neck, his hands growing needier, more intent on my body as his tongue laved the sensitive skin between my neck and my shoulder. I shivered, my nipples hard and aching under my plain black bra.

  “You are very good at this,” I choked out, my breath ragged.

  “Glad you think so.” His hands skimmed my body lightly, tracing my clavicle, my breasts, my hips, before coming back up to unhook my bra. He paused, his fingers hovering above the clasp, and looked at me with a question in his green eyes. I kissed him, running my fingers through his hair, pulling it slightly to get him to come closer.

  In an instant, I was topless, his hands warm, flush with the skin on my back. Slowly, he kissed his way down to my breasts. His eyes were worshipful as he took me in, and quickly, he claimed me in his hands, stroking my skin lightly with practiced fingers. I lost my breath, reveling in the sensation of his hands on my body.

  He ran his thumbs over my nipples, which were taut and ready for him, and I arched my body with pleasure. “You like that?” he whispered, kissing my neck. I wrapped my legs around him and bucked my hips, loving the way his eyes widened as I rubbed against his cock.

  “Don’t be so pleased with yourself,” I said, though my tone was less imperious than I would have liked.

  “Do you like when I do this?” he asked, pulling at my nipples gently, the sensation sending a lightning bolt of arousal straight to my cunt. I nodded mutely, slick with wanting.

  “How about this?” he continued, kissing a slow trail down from my neck to my chest, licking the very tops of my breasts as his fingers hovered over my erect nipples, tugging and rolling them gently in his big hands.

  “It doesn’t suck,” I answered flippantly, though my ragged voice gave me away. I was soaked, my body crying out with need. I ripped open his jeans without decorum, past caring about teasing him, about driving him wild with a slow burn. I yearned for it hot and hard and messy and fast. Everything else -- the tasting, the teasing, the gentle touching -- would come later. Right now, I needed him inside me.

  As his cock sprang free, I reached inside his navy blue boxer briefs, luxuriating in the sensation of his cock in my hand. His skin radiated heat and arousal, and he smelled like sex, like wanting and taking and having and the long push-and-pull of two bodies meeting as one. Running my fingers speculatively over his cock, I smiled at him wickedly, exploring the heat and length of him as he groaned. His grip on my breasts tightened, almost punishing, and I gasped, fisting the length of him greedily in one hand.

  “Fuck,” he whispered as I ran my hand up and down his cock. He lapped at my nipples with his soft tongue. I pressed his head to my tits with one hand as I stroked his cock with the other, loving the way he seemed to grow harder and harder with each caress. His mouth on my nipples became more aggressive, and he slid one hand down to cradle my hips, running his thumbs along the insides of my hipbones and underneath the waistband of my black boyshorts.

  I moaned, needing to feel his fingers on my cunt. I took my hand off his cock, and he raised his eyebrows at me, though the effect was somewhat dampened by the look of sheer desire on his face. His skin was flushed, mouth hanging open, and his pupils looked dilated. With my heart beating furiously, I knew my expression must mirror his, but I liked seeing him so undone. So completely as my mercy.

  Without bothering to tease him, I sat up and stripped his jeans off completely, leaving him naked on his back, his proud cock at attention. I examined him, pretending to consider my next move. Placing one hand on his inner thigh and the other on his flat, muscled stomach, I stroked him -- long, slow caresses that led towards his cock. I took it in both hands, savoring his hardness, the way his eyes glazed as he reached for me, the tiny moan he made as I explored his length with my fingers.

  “Do you like that?” I teased, my voice husky with arousal.

  “I do,” he said. “But I think I would like it more like this…”

  Pulling me towards him so that I lay on top of him, my hands still pressed to his cock, he shucked off my boyshorts with one hand, his fingers lingering on my ass and squeezing lightly.

  “Mm.” His hands felt good on my skin, and I kissed his neck as I continued to play with his cock. Without realizing it, I began to grind my hips against his leg, drenching him with my arousal. He gasped, kneading my ass with both hands as I writhed.

  “Do you like this?” he whispered into my ear, kissing my face, my neck, my shoulders as his hands squeezed my ass.

  I looked up at him, trying to think of a wicked response. But none came. As we looked into each other’s eyes, I felt a stream of silent communication pass between us, as though we didn’t need words to express what we felt, or thought, or wanted. I didn’t know how long we held that gaze, untold emotions and de
sires passing between us, but my heart was pounding, my cunt pulsing, and I knew I would disintegrate on this tiny standard-issue dorm bed if I couldn’t feel his cock inside me in the next thirty seconds. Without missing a beat, I reached past his head to my night table, my eyes still locked on his. Pulling out a condom at random -- I had been filching them from the health center, boggled by the sheer variety on offer -- I looked at him searchingly. I handed him the condom and he began to laugh.

  “Glow-in-the-dark?”

  “They’re from the health center,” I said. “I think they’re trying to lure us with the novelty to make sure we all have safe sex.”

  “Let’s get another one,” he said, discarding the offending condom. “I’d feel more comfortable without a fluorescent penis.”

  “I am only interested in men with fluorescent genitals,” I deadpanned.

  Unfazed, he reached behind his head and pulled another condom out. “What about strawberry flavored genitals?”

  “Ohh, yeah,” I said, affecting a pornographic pout. “Give me that tasty strawberry scented cock.” I took the condom and ripped it open, unrolling it gently down his length. Bending over, I finished the job with my mouth. The condom tasted disgusting -- medicinal and rubbery -- but I was rewarded with his groan as I flicked the base of his cock with my tongue on the way down, and sheathed him in my wet, warm mouth on the way back up.

  “Okay,” he said, flipping me over so that I was on my back. “I have to fuck you immediately.”

  “Good.” I looked up at him, twining my fingers in his hair as he hovered above me, balanced on one brawny arm, running an exploratory hand down my body, to my soaked pussy.

  “You want me,” he said, sounding surprised and pleased and aroused all at once. Slowly, he slid the tip of his cock inside me, and I arched my back and smiled at him, wanting more.

  “You know,” I said conversationally as he slid another hot, hard inch inside me, eliciting a gasp of pleasure, “I don’t… oh my god… do this…. ah… very often.” As he filled me, slowly and deftly, it became hard to talk, to think, to form coherent thoughts. I was too lost in the pleasure of his cock inside me, thick and hard and satisfying. His eyes were closed, and he looked blissful.

  “I... don’t… either,” he said finally, fighting to get out each word as he thrust into my slickness. “Not… like… this.” He kissed my forehead, and I closed my eyes, hooking my legs around his waist to let him in deeper, stronger, harder.

  After that, there were no words. Just the long, slow process of his cock, bringing me to dizzying heights of pleasure. Wordlessly, I kissed him long and slow and deep, our tongues tangling as he fucked me, one hand straying to my face, my neck, my shoulders, my breasts, as the other anchored itself in my hair.

  “Mm.” I kissed him, stilling his hips with my hands. “Let’s try something else.”

  “Anything you want.” He slid out of me, and I pushed him into a sitting position, then turned around, giving him a perfect view of my back and ass. Lowering myself onto his cock, I heard his gasp of pleasure, and his hands quickly claimed my hips as I rode him backwards. Bringing one of his hands to my clit, I showed him how to draw slow, aching circles that would drive me wild, and as his fingers brought me to new heights of pleasure and desire, I dragged my fingernails over his thighs and was rewarded with his moan.

  “Fuck.” He was breathless as I continued to ride him, my hips rocking faster and faster as he continued his endless assault on my clit, his hands drenched from my arousal. There was nothing between us but slick wet heat and the thinnest barrier of latex, and I could feel the pressure building inside me, the edges of my vision beginning to blur as the combination of his fingers and cock began to drive me past the point of no return.

  “I’m going to…” I gasped, my vision dimming as endless pleasure broke over me in waves. My sex contracted, squeezing Heath’s cock mercilessly, and my skin was tingling, electric and alive with the little aftershocks of my orgasm. As I rolled my head back in pleasure, my senses kicked into overdrive, and every move, every gesture, every touch felt magnified by the millions. His fingers, still drawing slow circles around my clit, made me almost dizzy with pleasure; his cock still hard inside me, deep and satisfying…

  I was still riding a post-orgasm high when he suddenly began pulling my hair, hard, his fingers digging into my hip.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he said from behind me, his voice ragged and loud at the same time, his thighs clenched. I rocked my hips back and forth, slowly, and felt his orgasm crash over him. Quietly, I stroked his thighs until his breathing returned to normal, his cock retracting.

  “That was amazing,” he said, breathless, reaching for me as I climbed off. Suddenly shy, I reached for the blanket and hoisted it around my chest.

  “Mm,” I agreed, kissing him gently.

  “I mean it,” he said, his hands in my hair. “I have to see you again.”

  I laughed, snuggling my head into his shoulder. “We have class together. You’ll definitely be seeing me again.”

  “Good.”

  “Good.”

  ***

  A year later, we were still together. Thinking about it always made me smile. Somehow, despite our inherent contradiction -- the frat boy and the goth -- we made sense. We anchored each other. He held me back from getting too deep into myself, too depressed, too caught up in my complicated family situation and my abandoned faith. He got me to have fun.

  And I was good for him too. I helped him study for his liberal arts classes and even got him to take an art class, and whenever the frat needed my help designing posters or flyers, I was there. Even though I disapproved of some of the brothers for their binge drinking and their attitude towards women, I was careful to be respectful, for Heath’s sake. After all, he didn’t share their views or their obnoxious values, and I was careful never to punish him or his friends simply because they chose to hang out with douchebags.

  “So I’ll take this to the printer’s now,” Heath was saying, shutting down his computer and giving me another lingering kiss. “Are you coming over later?”

  “I have a couple of last-minute costume changes to make before your party tomorrow,” I replied. I had been teasing Heath for almost a month now, telling him that I had the perfect costume, but that it was a surprise.

  “Why am I not allowed to see it?” he asked for the eightieth time.

  “I think you are still unclear on the meaning of the word ‘surprise,’” I answered, swatting his ass gently. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow night. I’m spending tonight preparing.”

  “You’re crazy,” he said, kissing my head.

  “Crazy for you.”

  “Well, duh.”

  ***

  My costume really was labor intensive. I had bought the supplies earlier in the week, but I wasn’t looking forward to getting started. For one, I had to return my hair -- smothered in shiny black dye -- back to its natural color, a chestnut brown. And then, unfortunately, I had to dye it again.

  Because I was going as something that Heath would never expect -- a stereotypical California girl. More Kate Hudson than Katy Perry, but still: very different from my usual style. I was curious to see how Heath would react to my transformation. Though I knew he loved the way I looked, I wanted to blow his mind with a radical transformation -- a Sandy Olsson makeover in reverse.

  I had decided to get my hair stripped by a professional colorist, anxious about ruining it with bleach and other harsh chemicals. The appointment took almost all afternoon, and by the time I was done, my hair stuffed into a stocking cap so that no one would see it, it was already evening. I cut across campus, past hordes of students gearing up for the evening’s festivities. Girls were tottering around campus in sky-high heels, their costumes leaving little to the imagination -- sexy cat, sexy historical figure, sexy zombie. No way a zombie would wear heels, I thought meanly, surveying a blood-streaked girl in a torn party dress, green makeup smeared across her face. Good luck getting
those brains, sweetheart.

  I made my way to my off-campus apartment, a one-bedroom only slightly bigger than last year’s dorm. Though I had made a few close friends from my art program, I had still elected to live alone, loving the privacy it afforded me.

  My place, as always, was a mess, with art supplies everywhere and several unfinished paintings stacked by the door. Lately, I had been branching out, trying different media, and though painting was kind of intimidating, much more large-scale than anything I had done before, I loved the way my brushstrokes marked the page, as personal as a signature.

  I paused, looking into the mirror in my room. Slowly I pulled off the stocking cap and looked at a girl I barely recognized anymore.

  With my light-brown hair, I looked like the girl I had been when my parents shipped me off to church camp in the eleventh grade: docile on the outside, with quiet rebellion in my heart. Already, I had decided to break with the faith as soon as I left home, and my journal was full of drawings, plans, and tattoo designs to celebrate the freedom that was so close I could taste it. My parents were good people, loving and kind, but there was no room for doubt, in their rigid belief system. Either you were a good person, by which they meant a good Christian, or you were not. There wasn’t much wiggle room in this absolutist doctrine, and I chafed against their rules until I finally broke free. But looking at myself now, my long light brown hair mousy against my pale face, I was reminded of the girl I had been. The one who had wanted nothing but to please them for so long. I bit my lip, refusing to let myself give in to tears. If they couldn’t deal with who I was -- and they couldn’t -- then they didn’t deserve to know me at all.

  Pushing away thoughts of my troubled past, I reached into the bag of supplies I had bought. Wincingly, I cleaned the area around my eyebrow piercing and gently unscrewed the top ball. I had never done this before, and it was less than pleasant. Finally, I managed to wiggle it out, and to slip a clear piercing in. I didn’t want to give myself away with my characteristic facial hardware.