by JR King
I construed her head-twitch as a yes.
We resumed poking at our plates, pretending to be interested in the greasy lunch. It wasn’t great because conversation was nearly impossible over the increasing volume of other patrons.
I had my own reasons for agreeing to patio-sex.
I needed to buy myself some time.
At night, stars were speckled across the turquoise-gray sky. The moon came out to watch us. It glowed the color of goldenrod and, the opaque shade of the sky reminded me of the sea. Boston had no bright twilights like these; nothing could compare to the beauty of a clear Mediterranean night, where the sky was like a magical curtain embroidered with innumerable dots of gold thread, cloaking the entire stratosphere.
“Alex?” Elena slid her arms around my waist, over my lower back, palms flattening over the top of my shoulders. “Ebersol kiss?” Her tone was neutral, her smile bedeviling my sanity.
Shrouded by blankets, we kissed each other with torrid passion. I hurriedly removed my bathrobe and dropped it on the pile of discarded clothing.
“Elena, I’ve been thinking. Why not go to Asia, and on our way back to Boston, we stopover in Zürich?”
“Do you like this? Do you like trying new things with me? Being out here?” She was touching my cock, jacking it off slowly. Fantasy became reality.
“Elena, I don’t think…I won’t be long.”
I saw her smile in the darkness, the light from a quarter moon illuminating our shenanigans.
“That’s okay.” She pulled me closer by the shoulders, and picked up her pace. She was moaning in my ear, making the littlest squeaks. The sounds made me harder.
“I wasn’t kidding when I said I wouldn’t be long.”
She sucked on my neck and let out a sexy moan. “Want to come?”
“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m holding off for you.” I delivered the words with a pair of brutal hip thrusts. “I need to be inside you.” I hiked the blanket up higher as I lifted her legs so she could wrap them around me. The position was perfect for her to start banging on me. Panting, lovers in an illicit situation, we moved against one another, harder and faster until Elena’s nails dug into my arms. Her tight, greedy squeezes were too much; I had no plans—or will—to prolong the round with edging. I slowed my pace and fed her long, deep thrusts. My one hand on her hip impaled her as I shot waves of come into her spasming flesh, waiting for every drop to nozzle inside her.
The city was an out-of-focus blur. I felt my flesh beginning to dwindle within her and wondered, not for the first time, if someone was spying us.
“Okay, Alex. Asia first.” A hushed moan escaped her mouth as she kissed my neck, and only after that was she able to doze off.
I wasn’t done with her, not by a long shot. The sadist inside me wanted his due. Wanted to punish Elena. Wanted to hurt her. Because of a secretive business meeting, Elena had shut me out of her world, unfairly painting me as a dumb ogre. I didn’t desire Claudia. It was time to smash pretty girl’s barriers to dust with my ogre strength, tear down her defenses and demonstrate that I owned her.
Drinks, tools, sadistic mindset; it took me thirty minutes to transmogrify the ambiance. So apt a term, considering my pet played WoW.
“Wake up,” I began.
She sat up in seconds, like a husky puppy that was ordered into position by its owner. Her eyes widened as she took in the two objects I’d laid out. I grinned, enjoying the startled puppy dog expression on her face.
“Alex?” It was a small bark.
I picked up the meanest object. “I want you on your stomach, bottom in the air. Now, pet.” She hesitated, so I pressed the advantage with, “I haven’t played with a blade for a while…,”
“Am in position, sir.” She shuffled in place, propping up a pillow beneath her ass. Her arms were folded under her head, her fingers entwined, gripping the sheet tightly.
From where I stood, I extended a hand to trail my fingertips along her spine, and the burnished round globes of her ass. She shivered under my touch, a reaction that sent darkness surging through me. I wanted to witness her fear, and her pain. I wanted to hear her unlimited screams and watch her helpless struggles.
She asked, “Why the dildo?”
“Quiet, beautiful pet,” I murmured, stroking the soft skin of her buttocks. Before marking her skin, I liked enjoying its vibrant tan and smoothness while anticipation was building. “Such beautiful skin. So precious.”
I straightened my spine, took a step back, and swung the belt. I hadn’t used a lot of force, but she still cried bloody murder. I swung harder the second time, then once again, my movements taking on a trance-like tempo. With each stroke of the belt, I sank into the blackness, and my world narrowed until all that existed was Elena’s pain that soothed the animal in me. When I finally stopped, she was lying limp, unmoving, and crying.
My heart hammered in my chest, my mind reeling from the incredible head-rush she’d just given me. With my free hand, I managed to grip her hair and pull it toward me, forcing her tear-wet face to meet mine. “Stop crying and look at me,” I told her.
“S-sorry, sir.” I’d say there was an almost blissful, full-hearted expression on her face.
Dropping the belt, I picked her up and sat down on the bed, cradling her in my lap as I waited for us to come down from the endorphin-induced high.
Rapidly, my sadistic hunger returned. Reaching for the final toy, I brushed her hair off her shoulder and tenderly kissed her neck, appreciating the way her breathing hitched in response.
She asked, “What are you going to do with it?” The hint of fear in her voice gave me blue balls.
“What do you think I’m going to do with it?”
“Make me masturbate?” she husked.
“No, Elena. It’s for double penetration.”
She drew in a stuttered breath, her chest heaving. “No. No. Oh no. Oh no. Alex, I don’t want that.”
“Have I asked you for your opinion?” I knew the idea wasn’t exactly repellent to her. She fantasized about MFM threesomes—a lot. Some loser named Harvey had almost talked her into having one! The toy rivaled the size of my cock, the cyberskin material designed to imitate the feel of human flesh. I drew it to her sex, positioned the broad head at the small opening, and spread the dripping wetness around. “Will you do this for me, Elena?” I asked, pushing the object in.
“Okay. Okay,” she moaned, squirming as the large toy invaded her.
Painfully erotic to watch, the dildo looked too big for her delicate sex, and the sight of her silky sheath engulfing it seemed unreal. “You like?”
“Yes, sir.”
By now the toy was all the way inside her, with only the squared plug sticking out. “Relax and let me in.” I grabbed the flask of lube and dripped some directly on her small, puckered sphincter, enjoying the view of the dildo protruding from her stretched pussy. “Do you understand?” I prompted in a rough, hoarse voice.
“Do…do it.” Bedclothes muffled her words.
“There,” I murmured, pushing past the resistance of the ringed muscles. With her pussy already filled, her ass was so tight around my cock that I started shuddering from the effort it took to control myself.
“More,” she gasped.
Now I was all the way in, and I could feel my dick rubbing against the dildo as only a gossamer-thin wall sheathed it from the toy. I miss threesomes, I thought. And as I contemplated my sexual poverty, Elena said something incoherent, and her muscles tightened around my dick. At my faster pace, a mixture of noncommittal noises and gasping pleas escaped her throat. I could feel the toy shifting and moving as I fucked her, and just as I was about to erupt, her ass clamped down on me. I came so hard, my vision blurred from the force of my release. Panting, I collapsed onto my side, pulling her with me. Hearts racing, our skin was damp with sweat, gluing us together. When my heart no longer felt like bursting, I withdrew the toy and myself from her body. I kissed her, told her I loved her, and wondered some more about t
hreesomes.
Alexander Turner
The Man’s Birthday
I wiped my wet mouth on Elena’s inner thigh then rose high enough to shove my trousers down. Aiming my cock, I thrust hard, putting my weight on it until her pussy lips were wrapped around the root of my cock. Levered over her, I fucked her slowly and for a very long time.
What was different during the missionary-style fucking is my left hand’s position. Lips grazing her sweat-dampened cheek, “Whom do you belong to, little pet?” I demanded again.
When her heartbeat declined, my grip on her throat eased. “Yours,” she choked out a whisper, convulsing like an epileptic candidate as vital and much-needed oxygen rushed into her lungs.
We arrived at the crack of dawn. If you’ve seen the iconoclastic movie Lost in Translation, you know that Japan had avant-garde tall buildings that were excessively decorated with lights and incandescent advertisements. The architecture is such that it projected a compendious futuristic outlook, which contrasted incongruously with the fine culture. If it weren’t for the private suites and old-school bar at the Imperial Hotel, I would have already bought a penthouse in Tokyo. The service here was excellent, and the Kaiseki cuisine was one of the best I’d come across so far. The décor was quaint and charmingly modest, the lack of bling refreshing. Beige walls, rich woods, heavy drapery, marble tiled floor; excessive add-ons weren’t tolerated.
Presently, I was on my third espresso, observing the busy streets of Marunouchi—Tokyo’s financial district. Japan had recovered from the Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami. To tell you the truth, the politeness and inherent know-how and insight Japanese people posses sometimes pissed me off. People here—mostly—knew their purpose. Their lovely philosophy, after all, was that everything has an intended purpose.
Like me, the Japanese were consumers, high-quality craftsmanship and service were de rigueur almost everywhere, and they were very obsessive. They obsessed not only over quality and origin; they obsessed over whatever foreign trend was ascending at the moment. 2010 was all about Social Networking, 2011 was about socialization of everything online. Cheap deals on the World Wide Web. I can tell you that if your goods aren’t selling in Japan, they have no future. There’s no successful future for products that can’t be sold in this place of all places. Face it, this was a society devoted to luxury, where the low bar was set incredibly high and people made agencied choices. I suspected that’s why I’d fallen in love with the country. What baffled me is that Japan had some of the most explicit, violent, weird—read: tentacle—erotica, easily accessible pornography and commercial eroticism, rape culture in textual porn wasn’t uncommon, yet the country had the world’s lowest rape and sexual abuse statics. Smart, you say? Definitely. Only the ten most illiterate countries in the world had highest rape incidences. I’m fucking too far off, I know.
Let’s go back. The scene unraveling below me was fantastic. Ants go marching one by one. The flirtatious rain pouring over the city tapered off and on, and the bohemian display of umbrellas was quite an out of ordinary sight.
“Let’s get this show on the road. Shake a leg,” Meredith told me.
Takahashi’s son and I exchanged the Japanese Meishi, and then I reached for my Mont Blanc pen and signed contracts printed on monogrammed Crane & Co. stationery.
Picture time. Our photographer was the typical epicene character, sporting an unreconstructed punk rock style of the brainwashed generation, with dyed hair and jumbo sunglasses. I couldn’t glance at my watch while all eyes were on me. Estimating five finite minutes in numerals, I solemnly turned away from the camera. The session wasn’t smooth sailing; the photographer was all over the place, staring at me like a cute kitten while overfilling his camera with profile shots.
I gave him another five minutes, and this time I cast a quick, wary glance at my Zenith wristwatch. With my hands in pockets and floor-inspection pose, the portrait shoot was over.
Drawing profits from this real estate development deal suited my company down to the ground, or else I wouldn’t have done it. Back in the suite, I kicked off my shoes and the last of my clothes, and reached between Elena’s legs to cup her. The thin fabric covering her mound was soaked wet. I slid my hand down the front of her panties, pushing two fingers into her wet sex. “Good girl, you’re ready,” I panted, sliding my arms under her. One across her back and the other at the base of her spine, feeling her hips shift as I pressed inside her. “I’m sorry, I had to work a little. I’m here now.”
Her eyes snapped open, and she gave me a low moan in return.
To make it up to my girl, we went sightseeing.
During summer time, Japan was unbearably hot and humid. Everything was going in slow motion, tourists passing in the lanes, insects buzzing in my ear, modest intonations tinkling here and there as we strolled through the Meiji-Jingū shrine, a place dedicated to the deified Emperor Meiji and Empress Shōken—his wife. The sun had gone down an hour ago but the heat was still cloying, little droplets of sweat decorating my forehead. Just as I wiped them away, my eyes caught the beautiful spectacle. A group of well kempt tonsured monks sat abreast the vermillion pavilion of the Sensō-ji Buddhist temple. I soaked in the flawless sight: curls of backs dressed in ermine robes against the silver-blue glimpses of the sky beyond, murmured conversations pulsing in time to the birds.
“Fujin and Raijin, that explains it!” quipped Elena, staring at two statues throned atop sandstone plinths that flanked the entrance. Her skirt flapped and rustled like a bird, the wind whipping dust around her bare legs. Her nose cringed slightly, as if she smelled the fluctuating cloudscape.
A head-scratcher, what do you think? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Explains what?” I tried.
“Final Fantasy, dummy.”
Remaining casual, I circled the wagons, muttering, “Fuck you, sweetheart.”
We went inside. Thin mauve sticks of incense were sending up thread-like tendrils of vanilla-fragranced smoke. I inhaled greedily, trying to drink in the sweet, incense-loaded air in long, heavy breaths. Problem is, the grounds were so choked with tourists that it was hard to enjoy any of it. Horny bastard that I was, I ended up staring at a nice pair of tits.
“Should we go—Alex?” I’d gotten sloppy. I let my gaze linger on Elena’s breasts for a fraction of a second too long. “If you’re not interested in visiting, I can do it on my own.”
“We’ll come back to Tokyo. There’s something I’d like to do before we go to Zürich. Trust me?”
“I trust you, sir.”
After an Omakase dinner and a quick trip to a historic ochaya, we departed for the tail of the Andaman Sea in Thailand, arriving safely on the day of my…birthday!
“Happy birthday, sir,” was the first thing Elena said when she woke. The Roger Dubuis watch she gave me brought about my contented-little-boy smile.
Setting foot on the private tarmac of the Suvarnabhumi airport, Elena asked, “We’re not taking the car?”
“Cars are so pedestrian. Why drive when we can fly, don’t you think?”
Not far away, arid wind blew a gold dust devil. A helicopter safely transported us to the waiting yacht. Scuba diving at Richelieu Rock was next on the list.
Years ago, Elena had received a PADI certificate through a scuba diving center in East Boston. Diving in a swimming pool or familiar territory is ideal to manage novices, but the real challenge is diving in the density and current of uncontrollable waters. We were going to dive with a full-face diving mask, which obviates disaster because it couldn’t get knocked off a face. I wanted to bring Elena near big fish, and in case she got unwell, she’d continue breathing while resurfacing. Assisted breathing caused too much life-affirming confusion and shock; risks I refused to take. Clearing the mask to prevent it from flooding was to be her main focus. The orinasal breathing contingency inside it reduced the amount of dead space, and in any case of emergency, she could switch to a mouthpiece.
Oceanic sun lapped warmly at the top of my che
eks as we drifted away from the yacht in a speedboat. The blue of the sky and the sea matched boldly. I tasted the gamy flavor and saltiness in the air, watching Elena’s hair gust across her delicate features, the sun leaving spider-legged shadows under her eyelashes.
Because she was very light, I added extra weights to her belt and to the insides of her pockets to facilitate buoyancy. “Easy does it, sink slowly and be cautious when you switch between atmospheres with the valve. We need your head up, clear?”
“I’ve good sea legs, Alex,” she yelled. “I’m a great student, aren’t I?”
“Student of the year, babe.”
“Practicing and preaching don’t matter,” Ray told her. “When we hit the reef, do as we say and not as we do. Don’t touch, don’t grab, and don’t pursue, no matter how cute and little the critters are.”
She crinkled her nose. “Do you guys get to touch? That’s not fair, I want in,” she screamed into the rising breeze.
“Settle down, debutante. We will tell you when you can touch. Don’t fight us on this, we can’t piggyback to the surface,” I replied.
Brandishing her fins, “You guys don’t get to have the last word. If you touch it, I touch it, oh yes, yes, yes,” she yapped her wickedness.
Ray gave me a firm poke. “Top-shelf, Alex. She sure knows how to remonstrate, and you sure know how to pick them.”
I grabbed the fins to ease her feet inside them. “You and me both. I was fucked the moment I saw this girl.”
Ray made her repeat the hand-signals. Those were only in case of emergency, since with a full-face system we could communicate freely underwater.
Because the gear weighed her down too much, her attempt to splash in the air failed. “I suck at this.” The overhead of her curly eyelashes struck against her cheeks and cast a lacy shadow over them, fanning the humor in her eyes.
“You can do this,” I wheedled.
“Hear, hear,” Ray inserted.
Ray assisted her with the mask, then I strapped on her tank. The small group rappelled down from the deck like a bunch of kids, ready for the big adventure. The coolness of the sea was a shock. Elena needed several minutes to adjust to the water resistance and temperature before we began making our descent.