by JR King
That threw her off balance. Rich patches of pink appeared on her cheeks, and she turned away to deposit a tissue into a bin at her perfectly pedicured feet. “Don’t overstate, I’d say it’s rigorous, not anal. How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough. For my welfare, come to bed. I’m cold.” I stood in the doorway, clad only in a pair of black silk pajama pants, low enough for her to discern the lack of underwear. It also ballooned at the crotch.
Her blush was short-lived. “I’m not sleepy,” she affirmed, faffing about with a pot of Chanel skincare.
“I assumed as much. I can work with that. Champagne, wine, or a nightcap?”
“What do you recommend?” She asked this with a hint of excitement.
“You’ll have to pay me for that recommendation, baby. And I don’t accept pecuniary compensation, only harlot favors.”
Her eyes smiled, her lips would have smiled too, but they were squished together as she rubbed in this wonder of a cream. “I agree to be your plaything if you do something for me.”
“You’re already my plaything. Tell me what you want.”
And she did. Elena accompanying me on a business trip translated into a remarkably unique experience. Instead of Capri, she wanted to go back to Monaco. There was my chance to propose to her one last time.
Landing in Monaco was like going through the Stargate. Emotions swirled, the internal cyclone within you screaming something about a dystopian world. To your own surprise, you stepped into an alternate, utopian universe where everything bad and useless had been eradicated. Luxury and smart people remained. It was one of the cleanest cities in the world, the roads were in excellent condition to drive an untamed sportscar, and the crime rate and the infant-mortality rate were among the lowest of the planet’s first-world countries. Forget Singapore and Las Vegas: the seediness common to gambling and sex tourism in such places was nowhere to be found in Monaco. Also, being overtaken on the road here by a fast, raucous supercar coming up fast from behind, sliding out and swiftly going past, was a fucking awesome experience. You see, to me, luxury wasn’t found in the plushness of rich settings. Without an all-around consistency, luxury was a platitude at best, something deployed to distract the lazy eye. Luxury and thoughtfulness meant just that in Monaco. It was one of those places where you had to let go and experience without worry or want.
Late in the afternoon, we went for a walk on the beach.
Elena broke into a run, her steps crackling the plumage of a flock of seagulls skulking about. She removed her flat sandals to frolic barefoot in the dirt. Letting out shrieks of excitement as she spun around with her arms stretched out, she made little carpets of coral sand fly up in the air.
I removed my sneakers, reclining as I tilted my head to catch some sunrays. I ended up reveling in the lush sight of rippling water, the sound of the surf, and the squawky cries of the gulls. The sand was cool against my soles as I carved pits into it, slightly damp in spite of the sun. Splashing around the tide, Elena tumbled onto her back, letting droplets of moisture soak her sundress. I closed my eyes. Balled up both feet and clenched at a wayward sod with my toes, and digging my fingers beyond soil, I grasped the oneness with nature.
I’ll propose tonight. As I drifted off, I was met with a kiss on the cheek. “Did I wake up my little marmot?”
My frame of mind reset. I blinked away my semi-daze, heavy-lidded eyes gazing up at the silhouette of the beautiful head and small shoulders blocking out the sun.
“I’ll draw us a bath.” I squinted against the afternoon halo to make out Elena’s expression. “I’m taking you out.”
“We’ll need gallons of body scrub to scour the crust of grime off your body,” she teased with a stare of mock horror.
“Don’t mangle the fantasy. Think foaming, emollient shower gels, spuming woody lather, massaging soapsuds, and rubbing hypoallergenic moisturizers.” I worked away the strands of hair plastered to my forehead by the perspiration. I rose on the balls of my feet, my toes curling in the damp mat of sand one last time.
“I like this beach,” said Elena, blowing errant strands of hair off her face.
A small, dreamy sigh escaped me. Her nipples were hard due to the ocean breeze. I straightened out the tassels of hair that had unraveled from her ponytail, then swished off the dirt from my feet and slipped back into my sneakers. Giving her a bear hug, I picked her up. “We’ll come back.”
With a sun-wrinkled squint at the corners of her eyes, she sighed, “Don’t leave me.” She slung her legs around my waist, and draped her arms around my shoulders. “Don’t leave me,” she repeated, pressing her nose against mine, trying to bury me under an avalanche of Eskimo kisses.
“Stop talking nonsense,” I cajoled, nuzzling her matted hair.
Detangling her locks, I shushed her, and then we walked back to our suite.
Alexander Turner
The Claudia Interruption
As we drove through the plaza, Elena edged the hem of her dress upward, gradually exposing her satin-clad calves, then her thighs and the suspenders that held her stockings in place. I could feel myself growing hard.
“See something you like, Mr. Turner?”
I contemplated her game with a frown. “What’s that?”
“This little thing? It’s Stella McCartney lingerie, I believe.”
“Little things please little minds.”
“So they say,” she breathed as my hands caught her by the hips.
“I can’t go to dinner like this,” I bit out. “Can’t go with a fucking erection.”
“Maybe I can help.” Her face was pressed to the side of mine, her breathing harsh against my ear. “Maybe I can make it go away.”
“No doubt you can.” One hand cupped the back of her thigh, kneading with what might have been painful squeezes as I moved up and under the hem of her dress. I palmed her bare cheeks before sliding between them, growling when I found the wet satin covering her pussy. A half-minute later, her panties were nothing but a mess of lace on the carpet floor. Her dress joined them. Grabbing her hips roughly, I lifted her and held the base of my dick with the free hand and pulled her down onto me. I pressed my mouth to the curve of her throat, lips pulling at flesh, teeth scraping as I thrust deeper. My hand dropped down so I could flick her clit. I wanted to watch her have a devastating orgasm before we arrived at the destination where I was going to propose, this was the quickest way to make it happen. Technique, once again, didn’t fail me. The tremendous surge of ecstasy she shook through seemed to go on forever. I lifted my hips higher and hammered into her to prolong it, and she begged me to slow down but I didn’t.
She was beaming and glowing when the orgasm subsided, and then became dedicated to driving me nuts. Her pace was fast and rough, I knew I was going to come way too soon. I hissed this at her but she acted as if she didn’t hear me, fucking me like a madwoman. Her dark hair flew around and her sex grew wetter by the second. She leaned back and rested her hands by my knees so I could have a better view of me sinking into her. I was grunting, practically cursing at her as I started to erupt. When the first gush of come erupted, she wrenched herself off, sitting against my dick and jerking it off so I splattered her thighs. It was a shit-hot sight and I came even harder because of it. She smiled as I came down, and then reached for the Kleenex wipes on the limousine bar.
“You’re using me, Elena. What’s going on with you? What’s on your mind?”
“You’ve…you proposed to Claudia. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I winced internally at her forwardness, at the anti-climax. Felt the nasty twist of the knife. The fade into anger happened slowly, like the boiling of water for the frog. Unbeknownst to me, Elena had dug up stuff about my past…
*
Why I’d proposed to Claudia? A great blowjob, and the promise of an open relationship threaded through it all. You don’t believe me? Think I’m inventing a shitty excuse? It is what it is, when you’re young and you’re dumb, this
is what happens.
Hear me out.
There was a time when—yes—rich girls paid for me, showering me with attention, slathering and saddling my ego with a thick coat of luxury. I wasn’t just baking bread anymore, I’d been promoted to pastry chef assistant.
To keep the paparazzi at bay, a perimeter wall ringed the property. Security guards were paid top dollar and carried ubiquitous accessories: bulges of shoulder-holstered pistols distorted their otherwise well-tailored vestments, and earbuds connected to coiled white cables disappeared underneath their collars.
For this Bel Air bash, no expense had been spared. God bless America. To deliver grandiosely to the eclectic gathering of celebrants, the rarest wines had been selected by an internationally recognized and knighted sommelier, and chefs holding Michelin stars had been flown in to prepare a lavish meal. A harem of worldwide starlets, rappers, and models cloned after Heidi Klum were lounging around the pool. There were many food stations to choose from, some less impressive than others. By far, the healthiest was the Bagna Càuda station with its cellar vegetables, but my favorite was the six-foot-tall sculpture of a rugged Poseidon with a painstakingly elaborate display of every imaginable seafood delicacy hugging it. A caramel-complexioned man stood rigidly by it in a formal polar-white chef’s hat and coat, occasionally wiping his hand on a half-pocketed hand towel as he served sushiphile guests. Another Latino, who had a cleft chin and a scrunched-up face that seemed to convey continual happiness, flanked him.
I reached for another rye crisp. The girl in front of me had hardly touched any food, yet she drank like a fish. Surely coke, and since I didn’t fancy fucking someone who was high, I ditched her. I carried on graciously for the rest of the evening, shook sweaty hands and went through greetings and goodbyes from bad-breathed people, all the while smiling at Claudia.
Claudia wore a sexy red wrap dress and it had come undone at the vee of her chest. Having smoked a blunt, in her limo, I watched her face as I caught her nipple between my forefinger and thumb, squeezing it. “Like this?” The whimper she emitted was a satisfying combination of pain and want. I could smell her desire suffusing the air.
“You need to pinch it, Alex.”
“You and your smart mouth. I’ll have to do something about that.”
“Use me.”
Several moments of silence stretched on. Car horns blared, an ambulance siren sounded somewhere in the distance. I could smell the thick, cloying scent of Claudia’s pussy and hear how wet she was as I fingered her. She was exceptional, this girl, so much so that it made my cock ache.
I’d loved Valerie in a different way. Claudia was special because no girl had ever understood me the way she did. She wasn’t one of these short shelf life girls who looked for billionaires, stuffing their swag bags while they could. She was beautiful and kind, but what hit the right spot is that she possessed exceptional sexual intelligence. Blue Velvet, Belle de Jour, Catherine Breillat’s Romance and David Cronenberg’s Crash were the kind of movies that appealed to her. No matter whom I brought into my bed, she’d never once objected or doubted my love for her. Sex is sex, Alexandre, love has nothing to do with it. Truly discovering my dominant nature, she’d allowed me to understand myself better. We were the ultimate open couple, I craved innocence and variety, and on days her ascendancy couldn’t seduce me, she sought it out for me in others. She had no affinity for fat or ugly women, the choices she made fiercely reflected mine, and my choice of men for her was equally spectacular.
I stretched my arm along the back of the car seat and wound my fingers through her hair. Trapping the strands, I pulled her head up. Her eyes were closed, her lips were parted, and she was breathing in sharp bursts of air.
I put my mouth close to her ear and whispered, “Suck my cock, slut.” She moaned, her hips arching in response to my attentions. I allowed myself to close my eyes and smile before pushing her head down.
Removing my hand from her breast, I unbuttoned my trousers, pulling the French fly down with deliberate slowness. I freed my cock into the cool darkness of the air-conditioned car, stroking its length idly before pulling Claudia’s head into my lap. I caressed her brow and ran my fingers through her hair, enmeshing her locks with a strong grip. “Suck me. All the way down.”
Her plump lips locked deliciously around my shaft and I groaned, feeling the familiar warmth of her mouth. The sensation of sliding into a woman’s mouth was almost indescribable. It was a visual thing, a sensory thing, so putting it into words is hard. Within the car’s dark interior, I couldn’t see her, but the sound of my fingers plunging into her wet flesh blended with the hiss of the outside world as the car raced down the unoccupied highway. Her desire to suck, I surmised, was primal and automatic, born out of the intense pleasure she was experiencing between her legs.
I opened my eyes and looked down at her. Claudia had slipped her legs onto the car floor, settling comfortably before me. When retching spurts of spit made an appearance, I pulled out of her mouth. With the back of my hand, I wiped the transparent rivulet of saliva leaking out the corner of her mouth. “A little deeper, love. Can you?”
Hearing the term of endearment, her out-and-out actions faltered, but only for a few seconds. Her hum vibrated down my shaft, the stroke of her tongue against the underside making me twitch. She wasn’t just expert at this, she was fucking talented. I raised my hips, even as I pushed her mouth further down, until my cock-head touched the back of her palate. “Breathe, Claudia. Trust me and breathe through your nose.” I nudged hard, and she gasped once then gagged as I pushed the head all the way into her throat. Sliding my cock past her gag reflex was the most unique aspect of a blowjob. It became an entirely new experience.
“That’s it,” I hissed, holding her head with one hand and working her pussy with the other. If it weren’t for her body relaxing under my hand’s onslaught, I guessed, she would have fought and withdrawn. I felt her throat constrict over and over again as I breached it. This was transgression at its best, manipulative violations to train her body to serve me the way I wanted.
As she began to orgasm, I could feel it in her mouth. Suddenly, the warmth that enveloped me wrapped tightly around me and I felt the sharp edge of her teeth around the base of his cock. When her heart skipped a beat, she groaned and her throat opened, allowing me unfettered access. This moment, when a girl turned to nothing less than a toy made of yielding, spasming muscles, I loved it. Claudia was pliant, boneless, and smiled sleepily as she sucked me, so willingly, taking me to the root of her own volition. Wet, noisy sucking sounds filled the car, presaging my climax. I grunted as I erupted, bathing myself in hot semen. Claudia moaned and gagged as the second shot flooded her mouth. I felt her fight, but I held her head down and savored as the spurts raced up my cock and discharged into her.
Even in the midst of my pleasure, I knew she’d be angry with me for the brutality of my treatment, for using her mouth the way I had. No matter, she’d forgive me. I felt the warm wetness of my come trickle around the base of my shaft. I thought of ordering her to clean me up, but reconsidered. Perhaps this brutality was enough for the night. Out of nowhere, Claudia began to suck around my softening cock. Her tongue swirled, gathering the trickles that pooled at the base before sucking. I sighed as she cleaned me, a delightful and unexpected act of submission. I was on cloud nine. Most girls never went past their gag reflex or swallowed. Some learned, mostly submissives through dominant males who demanded a little something extra in the cock-sucking department. It wasn’t until I opened my eyes again that I realized I loved this: Claudia’s surrender and my reign.
“Marry me, Claudia.”
The back of the limousine had grown darker. “Are you serious?” I felt the cushion shift when she began fixing her clothes.
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”
She scratched her jaw, not answering my implied question.
I probably should have elaborated, but I was struggling with what else to say. I’d surprised myself
and now my mind had turned blank.
“Easy for you to say. If you’re going to call it off when things get serious…I don’t know. I’m crazy about you. Wearing something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue isn’t a joke. My family takes this very seriously,” she made clear.
I hadn’t really thought that part through, but I nodded to wing it. “I won’t call it off. Claudia, I’ll never find a girl like you. What we have is special. I’ll never be able to feel better with any other girl. No one understands my nature the way you do. We complete each other. I know I’m broke but I’ll make money—,”
“My father has enough money for us.”
I grabbed her chin and held her gaze. “So?”
“YES!” Claudia was grinning like a little girl, a few rebellious tears dripping down her cheek.
One month later, I broke it off. It was a few weeks after I’d seen Elena. I’d boxed up suicidal thoughts for good, among other things, like raping Elena and throwing her back in the street. It was then that I started wondering about falling in love and exclusive relationships.
You get that I know how fucked up I am, right?
Oh, and this is why I didn’t like wrap dresses anymore.
*
I felt the curse coming even before Elena had uttered it when I kicked her out of the limousine at the hotel. I turned my face to the window, staring into the nothingness my life had been reduced to. I walked around for a long while, giving myself a pep talk. Somehow, I found myself standing in a luxurious jewelry store. Running my fingers along a display case near the front of the store, I expected some sales assistant to give me a talking to, or ask me to leave. From my vantage point, I could see I’d already garnered all the attention of the sales staff.
A tall brunette walked toward me. “Welcome to Chopard,” she murmured, flashing a smile. She looked me up and down like a lion eyeing juicy red meat. Quickly, dollar signs flashed in her eyes. As a saleswoman in the luxury business, she knew how many G’s I’d spent on my dinner jacket, and that my cufflinks were rare diamonds. “Glass of champagne, Monsieur?”