“Oh, fuck me!” she cried out.
Her breasts were pressed up towards the heavens, and her taught nipples were begging for my touch, but these damned cuffs had me locked in a sexual purgatory. My tongue was therefore my only vehicle to delver pleasure, and I used it with all my might to bring necessary stimulation to Viola’s clitoris. It wasn’t long before her hips were shaking, and she was calling out and grinding on my face. Her hands went to her breasts, and, as she caressed her nipples, she abruptly climaxed, and her entire body shook violently until she finally came to rest and moved back down so that my penis was resting firmly against the opening of her vagina.
“OK, Bartholomew, you were right. That was officially an excellent idea.”
“Does that mean you’re going to un-cuff me now?”
“No, because, now, more than ever, I don’t want you leaving my sight until I’ve fucked the living shit out of you.”
“Fine, then I guess I’ll just have to continue enduring this abominable torture.”
She lifted her hips, and, with precipitous amount of lubrication already in abundance, she took in my entire length in one fell swoop. She felt hot, warm, and wonderful, and a lustful euphoria clouded the entirety of my awareness as she started to rock up and down. Her breasts were moving about before my eyes, and I wanted desperately to reach up and hold them, but I was thwarted by the damn handcuffs.
“Oh, did you want something?” she asked.
“I did.”
“Would it be this?” she said, as she leaned forward until her nipple was only a tongue length away from my mouth.
I reached for it hungrily and tickled it’s tip with my tongue before sucking on it and making Viola utter a moan of pleasure. She then pulled back and steered her other nipple into my mouth, and she again moaned. Viola apparently had very sensitive nipples, and the additional stimulation inspired her to begin grinding against me with a harried urgency. Soon, loud cries of passion began to erupt from her lips, and suddenly she leaned back and took hold of her breasts and began caressing her nipples until she went headlong into a great and violent climax. Her entire body shook, and she writhed in ecstasy until she could endure no more and finally came to rest with her chest still heaving.
“Sorry about that. I feel a little selfish,” she said, once she had recovered enough to speak.
“It’s OK. Normally I would have been right there with you, but I’ve had a lot of alcohol tonight.”
“I think I know how to deal with that,” she said, as she pulled free and dropped her mouth down onto Tag Junior yet again.
“Um—you really don’t have to…”
“Shhh,” she said, placing a finger to my lips.
Again, I was lost to her presence of tongue, and the pleasure was almost maddening, for I desperately wanted to take her in my arms. Instead, I lay there bound and helpless as she continued to perform tortuous oral action with her mouth, and I was starting to wonder if she might play a musical instrument—perhaps the flute considering her unique ability to correlate the movements of her mouth and fingers. It was therefore only a matter of minutes before I was rapidly approaching sweet release, and the great numbing effect of the alcohol was now utterly defenseless against Viola’s oral onslaught.
“Um, you might want to be careful. I’m really, really, really close and…”
That only seemed to spur her on, and her efforts became even more persistent until I at last crossed the great orgasmic divide, and my seed exploded from my manhood. Viola never wavered, however, and instead continued to deliver the pleasure of a lifetime, all the while drawing out every last drop of my seed before stopping and gazing down at me with a satisfied smile.
“Shit, sorry, I tried to warn you.”
“It’s fine, I found it exciting, though you really did have a lot of…”
“Pent up energy?” I suggested.
“Semen,” she corrected.
“Yeah, it’s been awhile.”
“I can tell.”
“I can’t say that I wasn’t a little surprised when you um…”
“Swallowed?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t do it too often, but I was having too much fun watching you writhe in ecstasy, and I didn’t want to interrupt your flow—so to speak.”
I laughed.
“Good one, and, for the record, I definitely appreciated it.”
She smiled.
“Yeah, but tonight is also kind of a special occasion,” she said, as she reached up and un-cuffed my left hand, but forgot the right.
“Well it was certainly special for me, but why was it special for you?”
“Tonight would have been the three year anniversary of my ex and I if we hadn’t had an extremely painful break up four months ago.”
“That sucks, and I pretty much know exactly how you feel, as I’m about two and a half months out of my last relationship, so if you’d like to talk about it, I’m a good listener.”
She looked at me a moment, then reached over and finished the remainder of her vodka.
“We worked together,” she said.
“He’s a stripper?”
“No, I’m talking about at my main job, obviously.”
“Oh, so he had a problem with you stripping on the side?”
“No, and, while he wasn’t too happy about it, our problem was related to our shared profession. It’s a fairly high stress atmosphere, so it finally got too hard to do both, and it basically came down to one of two options.”
“Let me guess. One of you quits, or you break up.”
“Yep, and neither of us were quitters—except when it came to our relationship, apparently.”
“Yeah, unfortunately work was ultimately the reason for my breakup as well.”
“Oh, did you work together?”
“No, but she ended up working far away, so the end result was the same.”
“That sucks.”
“It does, but at least the two of us are here together right now. That’s a pretty excellent consolation prize.”
“I’d have to agree.“
I walked over to the bar, grabbed the vodka bottle, and poured a splash in each of our glasses, before holding mine up to toast.
“To relationships. The one thing in the world capable of making a person equally happy or miserable,” I said.
We toasted then threw back the final drink of the night, and I turned off the light and lay beside Viola. She pulled my arm over her body then placed my hand on her breast, and we spooned like two people in love, in spite of the fact we were practically strangers. Sweet Lord, it had been a hell of a day followed by a hell of a night, and I was ready to take refuge in sleep. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the calming sound of the ocean in my ears and the quiet comfort of a beautiful woman in my arms.
CHAPTER FIVE
Wedding Blues
I AWOKE AT nine thirty-five feeling hungover as fuck as I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom feeling unsure if I needed to puke, piss, or shit. My head was throbbing as I looked down at my porcelain mistress, and I was curious what substance I would put down her elegant throat. I did some quick calculations and realized that I wouldn’t be able to reach the sink if I were sitting on the toilet and therefore decided to put off a number two in favor of pissing—the idea being that I could easily transition into vomiting if the need arose. Pulling out Mr. Happy, I realized that I had a pair of handcuffs hanging from my right wrist, and I couldn’t remember where in the hell they had originated. Then, it came to me, and I smiled to myself as I recalled the wild events of the previous night. It wasn’t often that I ended up handcuffed to a bed by a beautiful woman—at least not since my ex Fiona left for Malkarta.
Careful not to pee on the dangling cuff, I let loose a nice long, deeply yellow piss, which was yet another sign that I was grossly dehydrated. I finished and suddenly felt the urge to vomit but only managed a terribly acidic belch. I went to the sink, brushed my teeth, then looked
in the mirror and took a moment to gaze at my haphazard appearance. All things considered, I didn’t look that bad when you took into account that I had survived John’s epic bachelor party the night before, though God only knew how he and the others were feeling. I grabbed a washcloth, soaked it in cold water, and retreated to the bed, where I laid it over my face and closed my eyes. I felt a stirring and lifted the corner of the washcloth just enough so that I could look over at Viola, and I saw that she was awake though cringing as she shaded her eyes from the bright Hawaiian sunlight that was flooding into the room.
“Morning, Sunshine,” I said.
“Morning,” she said, the sound of sleep still in her voice.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like shit. I really have to pee, but I’m afraid to stand up.”
“I know the feeling. Do you think you could call the front desk and tell them to send someone up here to stop the room from spinning?” I asked.
“Yeah, if I could only open my eyes.”
“Still, you have to admit that was pretty fun last night.”
“It was.”
We both lay there unmoving for another half an hour, before Viola finally got up and headed to the bathroom to take an equally long piss, during which she let out a long, dry, and distinctly girly sounding fart.
“Nice fart,” I yelled from the bed.
“Oops—sorry. I’m so hungover, I kind of forgot you were here and just kind of let it slip out.”
“I would say that was a lot more than kind of let it slip out. Sweet Lord! Isn’t it a little too early in our relationship to cross the fart barrier?” I asked.
“Apparently not.”
“Oh, well in that case, how’s it smell?”
“Why don’t you come in here and find out. It’ll give you a really good sense of what I ate last night.”
“My semen?”
“Yeah, if your semen smells like barbecued pork.”
“I’ve been told it generally smells of fresh flowers and tastes like sunshine.”
“At the moment, it’s neither flowery nor sunny.”
“Then it’s a good thing I don’t need to use the bathroom.”
It had only been about fourteen hours, yet she had accidentally broken the fart barrier, which was something I would have never done with less than a month of relationship time under my belt. I suppose it shouldn’t have been a surprise, however, as our relationship had thus far been mostly impulsive and completely spur of the moment. Viola returned from the bathroom and saw the little washcloth on my head and asked if she could borrow it. I said no, but she took it anyway and let out a long sigh as she lay back on the bed and placed it over her eyes.
“I’m never drinking again,” she said.
“Agreed—well—not until the wedding reception tonight, anyway.”
“I think I’m ready for coffee, but I can’t face actually getting up to make any.”
“Me neither, I’ll call room service.”
I reached over, grabbed the handset, then pressed zero and waited until someone picked up at the front desk. A woman answered, and I asked to be transferred to room service, and, after two painful minutes of talking, finally had coffee on the way. Ten minutes after that, there was a knock on the door, and I threw on my hotel robe and went to let in our liquid breakfast. The room service person turned out to be a slightly nerdish young man in his middle to late twenties, and he was wearing the obligatory khaki dress shorts and Hawaiian shirt common to all the hotel staff in the islands.
“Good morning. How are you folks today?”
“So fucking hungover,” I said, as I tried to read his name tag.
His name started with a J, but the rest was unintelligible in my hungover state, so I gave up and just patiently waited for coffee.
“I’ve got just what you need here,” he said.
He smiled and wheeled in the cart, but abruptly paused when his gaze fell on Viola. She was now buck naked and sprawled out on top of the bed in the next room, and her only feature hidden from view was her face, as it was still under the washcloth. The Poor guy was utterly speechless, with his mouth agape and his eyes the size of billiard balls.
“Um, Viola, we have company,” I said.
She pulled the washcloth off of her face and smiled.
“Sorry, too hungover to care. I hope you don’t mind,” she said, to him.
“Not at all,” he responded.
“Hey, you don’t happen to have any toast or pastries on that tray do you?” I asked.
He was still gazing at Viola but momentarily turned his attention back to me.
“You’re in luck, I’ve got croissants right here. It’s standard with any morning coffee orders.”
“Well sweet fucking titties. I’m gonna kiss you all over,” I said.
He laughed a little uncomfortably as he lifted the lid off of a silver tray and set the plate of croissants on the dining table. Next, he poured two cups of coffee.
“Cream?”
“Yes please, you sweet angel of mercy,” I said.
“Me too, please,” Viola mumbled from the bed.
He added cream to each cup then looked up at me.
“Will you be needing anything else?” he asked.
“No thanks, we’ll be fine now,” I said.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, anything you need—just give me a call.”
“I will.”
I signed the bill, and the guy smiled as he noticed the handcuffs hanging off my right wrist.
“I take you had an interesting night,” he said.
“Yeah, though I’m not sure I can even remember it all at the moment,” I said.
“I’ll take your word for it, though I imagine it at least had a happy ending.”
“Oh yeah, and then some,” Violet mumbled.
I gave him a substantial tip then said goodbye to our soon to be stalker, so that I could now focus on coffee. I grabbed both cups and brought them over to the bed, and Viola sat up and looked eager for her first cup.
“You just made someone’s day,” I said.
“It’s kind of sad that my naked body could affect someone like that.”
“We men are simple creatures, and I can tell you that right now, he’s telling every dude he works with what he just saw.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, either that or he’s jacking off, and will tell all his friends after he’s done.”
“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or disgusted.”
“Flattered. Trust me.”
I took a seat beside her and sipped my coffee, though I took it slow to make sure that my stomach was actually capable of holding it down. On too many occasions, I had underestimated a hangover and ended up running into the bathroom five minutes later to puke up a half a cup of java. Not today, however. The god’s of alcohol had been merciful, and, soon, my headache was dissipating and order was slowly being restored to my personal universe. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and I imagined that our waiter had probably returned in the hope of getting another look at Viola. I closed the doors to the bedroom, then walked over to my suite’s entrance.
“Who is it?” I called out.
“Finn, it’s Sandra. I need to talk to you.”
Sandra was the head of Vice President John Matheson’s Secret Service contingent, and I had absolutely no comprehension what in the hell she might be doing at my door the night after his Bachelor Party—except to perhaps relay that his majesty had died of alcohol poisoning. I opened the door to see a very unhappy looking Sandra.
“Is he dead?” I asked.
“Not exactly, but someone else is.”
“Jessica?” I asked, starting to worry.
“No, but you’ll hear the rest when you come to Sasquatch’s room.”
“Fifteen minutes to shit, shower, and shave?” I asked.
“No problem. I can wait.”
“Here?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, is that a problem? It’s not like I’m going to come in there with you. I remember how sensitive you are when you go potty.”
“Fine—feel free to wait. There’s more coffee on the table, and if you see a woman come out of the bedroom, her name is Viola.”
I refilled my cup and noticed Sandra staring at the handcuffs dangling off my wrist.
“I imagine there’s quite a story there,” she said.
“Not really—it’s just another night in the life of an underpaid private investigator. Oh, hey—you wouldn’t happen to have a handcuff key would you?” I asked.
“Right here,” she said, pulling it out of her pocket and unlocking the cuff for me.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
I grabbed some fresh clothes and my iPhone then headed into the bathroom and, most important of all, locked the door behind me. I dropped onto the seat, adjusted until I found that perfect amount of anal opening, then took a sip of coffee, grabbed my phone, and set about berthing my calf. With the waste migrating gently from my body, I opened my internet browser, and pulled up the local news, curious to see if I could find out anything about recent deaths on Oahu. Finding nothing, I instead clicked on a story summing up several studies done on the health benefits of coffee, and I learned something I already believed whole heartedly—namely that coffee was beneficial to your health. The article summarized numerous studies conducted over many years, and it found that coffee improved mood, reduced depression, and even healed the liver and reduced the chances for developing cirrhosis. As if that weren’t enough, coffee also lowered the possibility of skin cancer, type II Diabetes, Alzheimer’s, and Parkinson’s. Combine all that with the fact that it improves cognitive functioning and you have the world’s cheapest and most affordable super drug. I finished the article then immediately reached over and finished my cup of coffee and instantly felt the healing. Just as I set down my cup and pulled off a swath of toilet paper, there was a knock on the outer door to my room, and I heard Sandra’s voice.
The Poi Predicament Page 4