Toni
I knew there was a reason I waited to throw out my line – the shark hadn’t arrived yet.
Now there’s no mistaking him. Hulking bodybuilder chest, tattoo-sleeved arms, smirk like he knows already – that’s him. That’s my escape for tonight.
His white hair and ice blue eyes look strangely familiar – I think he’s even an albino, but I’m probably just wasted.
I throw him the look and he takes the bait, strides right on up to me.
“Some dress,” he says, gesturing to my tits.
“It’s convenient,” I shoot back, my gaze on his crotch.
“What do you drink?” he asks.
“Why don’t you try it?” I ask, putting his hand on the zipper.
Our eyes meet in understanding. I don’t need anything else to drink. I need him. Now.
I let a slow smile slide over my face. I love teasing men like this. Daring them to do what we both know they won’t.
His fingers close over the zipper. His gaze goes from the hint of my cleavage to my full red-lipped smirk.
I raise my eyebrows. Go on, I dare you.
His hand pulls down, and I gasp.
My bare breasts exposed, I rip myself back and zip the gaping sides of my dress back up. He chuckles and tilts his head at me, as if examining a strange bird specimen.
“Shouldn’t make offers you don’t mean.”
He smirks, and I step forward, get all up in his face, put my hand on his cheek.
Game on.
I slide it down, from his cheek to his lips, my hand pulling his lower lip down a bit as it moves on, over his stubbled chin to his thick neck, his muscled chest, his rock-hard abs, his belly, the top of his jeans, onto his crotch.
I grasp his package, and saunter off to the bathroom, tossing a “see ya” over my shoulder.
Every man in the room’s eyes follow me as I strut to the hard-wooden door at the end. The one with the little lady figurine sign that, if my expectations are correct, will be disregarded in no time at all.
I barely have time to glance in the mirror before he’s here – the albino – slamming me to the wall, pressing his lips over mine, running his hands over my velvety sides. He shoves his pelvis into me so I can feel the outline of his dick, hard already. His hand plays with the zipper of my dress, zipping down a bit, then up again. A bit down, then up again, teasing me.
I shove him back.
I command, “Unzip me.”
He shoves me back.
“Shut up.”
And, in one swift motion, he unzips my entire dress. The sides flop down and his gaze and hands go where they were, grasp my body’s every curve, every fold, envelop my breasts, one on each, while I suck on his neck, moan my pleasure in licks and tugs of his ear and earlobe.
“No bra, you slut,” he says, removing his hands so he can get a good look at my chest.
“You haven’t even seen my thong yet,” I shoot back.
I twist around so I can rub my ass on his dick, and he can enjoy the red satin ruffles twisting between my ass cheeks.
“Jesus,” he groans, rubbing himself back into me.
He shoves me back to the wall, presses his thick rod to my ass.
“Who said you could do that?” he demands.
I whirl around and throw my mouth on his, my tongue dancing with his, my fingers unzipping his jeans and burrowing into his pants.
I’m wet already. I want him – now.
“Fuck me,” I say.
“Shut up,” he says.
His chest pressing me into the cool tiles of the wall, he growls, “You haven’t earned it yet.”
Heated want coils through me.
I try to struggle, but it’s no use. Fuck, he is so strong.
I kneel down, direct my plea to the hard pillar in his pants, “How do I earn it?”
The door opens partway, hits his back.
“Shit,” he says, slamming the door closed.
“Hey man-” a male voice behind the door says.
“One minute,” the albino says, his back against the door. He leans over to pick up my dress, and hands it to me.
I throw it on and zip it up hurriedly.
His eyes snake up and down me, then he asks, “You ready?”
As his paw of a hand locks around my wrist, I almost feel like asking “For what?” But instead I let him pull me out of the bathroom without a word.
Waiting outside the door is the goldfish from before, his yellow mustache a scratchy sneer.
I smile back. Am I supposed to be ashamed or something?
The albino leads me out of the bar without looking at anything, oblivious that every man in the place’s stares are locked on me. Eyes on the door, the albino doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause, not even when we step outside.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we step out into the cool night.
“My bike,” he says, not pausing.
Now I stop.
“And then?”
Ahead of me, his hand still locked around my arm, he stops, speaks to the dark empty parking lot, where, at the edge, the moonlight is glinting off a motorcycle, “I know a place.”
He takes a step forward, and I don’t move.
“And what if I don’t want to go to a place?”
With his palm to my shoulder, he shoves me to the wall. Then, taking a leaf out of my book, he runs his head over my entire body, from the top of my head to my face to my neck, chest, belly, crotch.
“Don’t pretend that she doesn’t want this,” he says, grabbing my pussy, reverberations of want trembling through me.
I shove him back, though he barely moves.
I say, “Fuck you.”
He smirks, grabs my arm again and, yanking me along, says, “Not yet.”
As we near the motorcycle, I see that the Harley Davidson is as much of a hulking beast as its owner – huge front wheel, flames on the side and a roar like it’s on fire.
“Get on,” he says, and I do, my gaze never leaving his.
As he walks to the front, I slide myself around, lay back so my head is resting on the front seat.
“Sorry, this seat’s taken,” I purr, arching my back.
The albino looks down on me, his eyes running over the length of me.
“You’re not one for taking orders, are you?”
I lick my lips, lock my gaze on his. “I’m better at giving them. Come here.”
He leans over me, presses his mouth to mine. My hand slides for the bulge in his pants, and his hand slides mine away, holding it back. When my other hand reaches for his crotch, his other hand holds that one back, too. Then, with one hand, he grips both my struggling arms, while the other presses the side of my head into the motorcycle seat. His warm breath rasping in my ear mockingly, he says, “Guess you’ll have to learn.”
He lets me go, and I heave upright.
“Fuck you,” I say, throwing myself on him into something between a blow and a kiss.
He shoves me back, and, holding me at an arm’s length while I struggle, cautions me, “Careful.” Then he steps back, says, “I'll fuck you when I want and not a second before, got it?”
I glare at him, then turn back to the bar. Where there’s at least five other guys waiting there, who can give me just what I want, when I want.
I look back at the albino, and my glare sags.
And yet – not quite.
This fire raging between my legs isn’t just to get fucked. I want to get fucked – by him. I hate his domineering aggression – and yet it’s exactly what’s making me so wet.
“You ready?” he asks.
I turn back and he’s on the bike, gaze on my crotch. As if he knows. That she’s the one making the decision.
I get on the back without another word, and we barrel off.
The entire ride is foreplay. Even through my panties, my wet pussy claws at the soft leather angrily. I clasp my hands around his chest, running them up and down when it gets slow enough that I don’t have to hold on tight.
At every red light, his hand goes back, feels for my head, which he pats, absently, infuriatingly. Like I’ve been a good dog or something.
After a few of these annoying head pats, on the next one, I sweep his hand down under my dress. To my bare breast, the soft nub of my nipple.
His hand freezes.
The light goes green. We don’t move.
Horns blare behind us, and he rips his hand away. The bike careens sideways, onto the sidewalk, then, a few seconds later, down an alleyway, then shrieks to a halt.
He jumps off the bike. “You little slut,” he growls.
He twists me around, grabs my dress and yanks me to the edge of the bike, spreads my legs, and presses himself against me, his angry hard cock digging into me.
His mouth envelops the top part of my ear, nibbles on it, growls into it, “I’m just trying to get you to a motel so I can fuck you good and proper, is that too much to ask?”
I shove my pelvis back onto him, throw my lips around his ear, hiss into it, “Yes. I want you. Now.”
He rips himself away, and, white-blue gaze meeting mine, freezes. We stand there for a minute, breathing in time, then I rip open his jeans and tear down his zipper.
Jesus. He is so hard, so thick.
My hands grasp his dick eagerly, part the flaps of his pants further.
I kneel to the ground while my hand slides up and down his shaft, his silky black briefs as good as Vaseline.
He pats my head again, and a pleasurable spasm of anger flares through me.
I pull down his briefs and his cock rises to meet me.
He slaps me in the cheek with it, grabs me by the hair and yanks my head back so I’m looking up into his cruel smile.
“Who said you could do that?”
I twist myself out of his grasp and, throwing my lips on and off the tip of his cock with a loud smacking sound, say, “I did.”
Just as I’m going in for another taste, he grabs my dress and yanks me up, shoves me into a wall.
“Looks like you still haven’t learned how to listen.”
Cock burrowing into my dress right where my pussy is, hand pinning me to the wall, he growls, “Guess I’ll have to teach you myself.”
I grab his cock and start pumping it. “Fuck you.”
He shoves me back to the ground, to my knees. He rips my hands off him. “I don’t need your hands, slut.” He presses his cock into my cheek. “I just need that pretty little face of yours.”
Red-hot desire runs out from my pussy in all directions.
God, even his voice, those gravelly commands, are enough to make me wet.
He sweeps his rod across my face to the other cheek.
“I’m going to teach you how to listen.”
I give his dick a sweeping lick. Grab it, then give it another. Cover its entirety with slow, sweeping flicks, as if it's an ice cream that’s melting. The dribble of precum on the tip is my lip gloss, my face cream, my little snack.
He pulls back, then grabs my hair again.
I look at him, lips parted, waiting for it. There’s lust in his eyes too. He’s not going to be able to keep his dick out of my mouth for long.
“Nice try, but we’re not moving at your pace, slut.” He shoves his dick all the way into my mouth. “We’re moving at mine.”
I respond by opening my mouth further so he can go in deeper. He does, takes the extra space gladly, rams his way into my mouth further, down my throat.
He repeats the motion again, this time faster, harder.
“There, that’s better now, slut, isn’t it? It’s not up to you, see.”
And then he throws his cock into me so hard my head is thrown back into the wall. He grabs onto my hair for support and starts pumping, each time going a bit further.
Finally, I pull back for a heaving gasp of air.
He pats me, asks, “You good?”
I nod and open my mouth further.
Next thing I know his hands are grabbing both my wrists and holding them above my head, while his cock is slamming back into my mouth, picking up where it left off. Now his thrusts are merciless, insistent, carving a path further down my throat. A current of pleasure courses through us with every slam of his cock.
As he paws at my head and his thrusts grow more frantic and urgent, I can barely hold myself together. My own desire writhes up my legs as I splutter and gag and angle myself just right to take him all the way down to the base.
God, the feeling. The thump of the head of his swollen cock against the back of my throat. Not doing something, but having it ruthlessly and relentlessly done to me.
On his most violent thrust yet, I grasp his buttocks and pull on them as hard as I can, forcing his shaft completely down my throat. I hold him there while he twitches with pleasure, and my whole body shudders with warmth and breathlessness. And then, finally, his hands squash my wrists into the wall then drop them, while his cock pulses spastically and his cum pours into me, filling my already-suffocating throat. By the time he pulls out of me, I’m wheezing for air. I cough and, sputtering cum down my front, collapse back against the pavement.
After, he pulls himself out slowly, pats my head again. He zips himself up, then sits beside me. I lean into his chest, and he strokes my hair.
“What do you think?” he whispers.
I lean in further so my head is in his lap. I direct my answer to his crotch, “Think I may need another lesson.”
In one swift motion, he flips around and spanks me. Then he lifts me onto the back of the bike so I’m in a sitting position, gets on the front and, turning it on, over the roar of the motor, says, “My thoughts exactly.”
As we ride, the city lights pass in a blur, a surreal accompaniment to my hazy thoughts.
What am I doing? Who is this guy? How is it that he knows just what to say to me, just what to do? And, more importantly, where is he taking me and should I be scared?
After we pull in front of a motel, he turns to me and, as if hearing my thoughts, says, “Don’t think too much. We’re teaching you how to listen, remember?”
Then, getting off the bike, he strides over to me, kisses me on the lips and, gaze boring into mine, says, “Be right back. Stay here.”
As his footsteps fade away into the night, the quiet becomes loud. The moon is a remote sliver, as if it isn’t here at all.
Now will be my last chance to escape. After this, there will be no saying “no” to this man, whoever he is.
A rabbit hops along by, on the sidewalk. God, how drunk am I?
And yet, instead of the thought of no escape frightening me, it invigorates me. This is just what I need to take my mind off the business.
My stomach swirls.
I can hardly bear even the thought of it – what my family does to those girls…
Cold metal slides along my back, and I turn around into a kiss.
His hand locks onto mine, while the other runs the room key along my back.
“Come on, I got us a place,” he says, pulling me up the stairs then along the row of rooms, past 27, 28, stopping at 29.
As he unlocks the door, his hand slides to my ass.
Then he pushes me in.
Behind us the door clicks closed, shutting out my worries with it.
Tonight, there is only him and me, and nothing more.