Baby Girl by Hildreth, Scott (2)

“Uhhm, we’re going to the movie? Really? Is this a joke?”

“No, Kelli, it isn’t a joke. I thought it would give us time and the ability to relax before went to some of the clubs in Old Town. Is it going to become a problem?” I responded softly, but sternly.

“No sir. It is not a problem, I am sorry,” she said quietly and apologetically.

I parked the car at the rear of the lot, and got out to walk around to her side of the car. As I was walking to her side of the car, she began to open the door. I finished opening it for her, and stood at the rear of the car, waiting. She got out of the car, and started slowly walking toward the theatre. I turned to face the theatre, placed my hand on my belt, extended my elbow to the side, and spoke in a sharp tone.

“Kelli, who are you going in the theatre with?”

As soon as she heard the tone of my voice, she stopped walking. She turned and looked back at me, maybe five or six steps beyond me. As soon as she made eyes contact with me, she ran toward me and responded as she ran.

“You, Erik.”

“Act like it, Kelli. Act like it. On my left, each time, understand?”

“Yes sir,” she said as she extended her arm through mine.

As we walked toward the theatre, she inched closer and closer to me, brushing against me each time we walked between the cars in the lot.

“Why did you park so far away from the door?” she turned and asked.

“Well, Kelli, I take care of my things. Be it a car, my motorcycle, my body mind, my body, or you. Things that are important to me, I take precautions to preserve them. I parked far away so no one will park beside me and open their door into my car, leaving a dent. When I get rid of that car in a year or so, it will look like it did the day I bought it.”

I see, that’s good to know,” she said in a supportive tone.

We walked up the steps into the theatre, and I opened the door for her. Her hair looked almost blue in the fluorescent lighting from the parking lot. Long, black, and straight, I smelled her hair products as she entered the building. Passing through the entrance, I smiled as she gripped my arm tightly. We walked to the ticket counter and chose an open line.

“Two for White House Down,” I said to the young man at the counter.

“Twenty one dollars,” he responded.

After handing him the money, we turned to walk toward the concession and restroom area.

“Do you want anything,” I asked, motioning to the counter?

“No,” she said as she shook her head and smiled.

We walked to the counter, arm in arm, and I ordered two bottles of water and I paid the concession clerk. I handed her a bottle of water, and we walked toward the front of the theatre.

“White House Down, theatre number nineteen, second on the left,” the kid said as he tore the tickets in two, handing me half of the tickets back. I started folding the movie tickets in my hands as we walked the second theatre on the left.

“Can I have those?” Kelli asked.

“Have what?”

“The tickets, I collect movie tickets,” she said.

Puzzled, I handed her the tickets. She placed them in her purse, and walked beside me into the theatre. The theatre was dimly lit, and it was about ten minutes before the movie was to begin. We walked to the left side of the theatre and stopped at an aisle that was empty.

“You go first, Kelli, I prefer that you sit on my left,” I said as I motioned to the aisle.

Smiling and without speaking, she slid into her seat in the middle of the aisle. I sat beside her and placed my water in the cup holder in the armrest on my right. I glanced at Kelli, who was looking around the theatre, as if she were doing an inventory of all the patrons. The shadows on her face in the dimly lit theatre presented her face in a different beauty. She was a gorgeous but very simple woman.

The women in the past that I had been exposed to provided me with useful real-world data regarding personalities, preferences, character traits, and character defects. Typically, the women that were more outspoken, personality rich and vibrant were submissive to a degree, but a much lesser degree than a reserved, quiet woman. An intelligent woman that was reserved, slow to ask questions, but quick to answer them, was typically a much more naturally submissive woman.

Submissive women fell into two categories, submissive by choice and submissive by nature. Naturally submissive women were my preference. They were, however, more difficult to find. Women that were submissive by choice were the most common, and preferred to be in sexually submissive roles. A naturally submissive woman actually needed to be in a submissive role to feel as if she were living a useful life.

The availability of a naturally submissive woman was nil for women my age, and almost non-existent at any age. The naturally submissive woman was recognized by a dominant male early in life, and typically would end up in a committed relationship while young. A relationship, regardless of the quality, that would last forever.

Statistically speaking, women who were naturally submissive were in relationships, and the relationships were abusive. The abusive male in the relationship was not only dominant, but controlling, and abusive. The women in these types of relationships were mentally beaten down to a point that they lacked any level of self-esteem, and were reliant upon the dominant abusive male to feel as if they were capable of surviving. Regardless of the level of abuse, the female would stay in the relationship, convinced that they would never be able to find anyone else that would love them. Over time, the pattern of behavior from the abusive male would be far more abusive, and far less loving.

The typical female in this type of abusive relationship would stay, convinced that she would never be able to find anyone else that would even accept her as a partner. Convinced that the alternative was living a life alone, they stayed with their abusive male partner. Physical abuse was common in these types of relationships.

The public perception of the dominant male in a D/s relationship was that he was abusive. Abuse and dominance, in the public eye, were hand-in-hand. In an actual D/s relationship, nothing could be further from the truth. Mental or physical abuse was something that I didn’t tolerate. I often wondered if my non-committal position regarding relationships was in some respect…abusive.

“Channing Tatum is cute, he reminds me of you, Erik,” Kelli said as the lights dimmed.

“How so?” I responded.

“Well, you’re built the same, you have the same features, and your hair is about the same length. You’re just a little more serious than he is, but you could almost be his double,” she answered as she offered me a smile.

“Well, thank you, I suppose.”

She smiled, and placed her water bottle in the arm rest between us.

“Put that in the arm rest on your left, Kelli. I am going to eventually fold this arm rest up,” I said as I pointed to Kelli’s left.

“Oh, I didn’t know they moved,” she said as she moved her bottle of water to the arm rest on her left.

I immediately pushed the arm rest up between the two seats. The previews were beginning, and Kelli was looking at the screen intently. I placed my left hand on top of her right hand, which was resting on her right knee. Her hand curled slightly as I cupped her hand in mine. Rubbing her hand and wrist, I moved her hand to my left thigh and pressed it into my leg slightly.

She began to rub my thigh as the previews played. The rubbing became more energetic, and her hand began to slide closer toward my rapidly growing erection. Typically, I had tremendous control over my level of arousal, and in turn, my erections. I could mentally regulate if and when I obtained an erection, regardless of the involvement or actions of my female partner. This did not seem to be the case with Kelli. For my sense of satisfaction, I focused and attempted to make my now full erection flaccid again.

No success.

Focus, Erik, focus.

Rigid.

Margaret Thatcher naked in a snowstorm. Anchovy pizza. My obese third grade teacher, Miss Kratz. Children playing. Fingernails on a chalkboard. Trigonometry. Clowns. Midget porn.

No success.

Her hand slid up my thigh and encompassed my erection. She squeezed lightly. Her head turned from the screen toward me. I looked in her direction slightly. She smiled as she lightly squeezed my erection. Her hand began to slowly slide up and down my inner thigh, to my knee, and back up to my pelvic region.

I reached toward her with my left hand, and grasped her neck slightly. Slowly, but with a firm light grip, I positioned her face closer to mine. With our eyes focused on each other, our lips met. Passionately, aggressively, we kissed. Our moist lips pressed against each other, my tongue searched for hers. As our tongues met, I held the back of her neck tighter, pressing her lips against mine. As our lips parted, I lightly licked her upper lip with the tip of my tongue.

Immediately, we embraced in another kiss. Her hand stroking my erection, we continued to kiss. I slid my right hand to her left breast. With my thumb and forefinger, I massaged her nipple between my fingers. As she began to moan, the kiss became more passionate. I slid my hands up to her face, holding her face lightly in both hands. With her face firmly in my hands, I looked into her eyes. She gazed at me as if in a trance.

“I really like kissing you, Erik. I don’t like kissing, and I really, fucking really like kissing you,” she said, her full lips moist and swollen from the kissing.

Her head in my hands, I looked into her eyes and spoke, “Kelli, put my cock in your mouth, now. Get my cock out and suck it.”

Looking intently into my eyes, her hand fumbled for my belt. She unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my jeans, and lifted my tee shirt slightly. Slowly, she unzipped my pants, and reached down in between my thigh and the jeans. With a soft but firm grip, she pulled my full erection from my pants, and began to stroke it.

Turning away from my gaze, she scanned the theatre quickly. After determining that the movie had started, and that the majority of the people were actually focused on the movie, she lowered her head into my lap.

Her moist mouth encompassed the shaft, and her tongue circled around the tip. Her hair in my lap, and her hands fumbling to remove my jeans further, she began to slide her mouth up and down the shaft. Quickly, she was taking two-thirds of my length into her mouth.

Her hands slid from my lap toward my outer thigh, and she began to force them between the seat and my ass. Pushing with my feet, I raised the pressure from my thighs, giving her some room to move her hands. Gripping my ass in her hands, she began to force herself onto my cock, swallowing the entire shaft, pressing her lips against lower stomach. The feeling of my cock sliding into her throat was more than I was able or willing to take.

As I started to reach down and pull her up, she lifted her head from my lap, and looked up into my eyes.

“Hold my hair, Erik. Hold it back in your hand, please.”

Placing my hand lightly under her chin, I raised her face to meet mine, and kissed her passionately. Our lips pressed firmly into each other, my hand slid to the back of her neck, at the base of her skull. Massaging her neck with my hand, we continued to kiss. As our lips parted, I positioned her face beside mine, and whispered into her ear.

“I will hold your hair from behind you, Kelli. Get on top of me and fuck me. Fuck me now, do you understand me?”

She didn’t say a word. Moving across the seat toward me, she slid up onto my lap. Then, she stood in the aisle in front of me with her legs bent and lifted her dress above her waist. The muscles in her legs were well defined by the shadows cast in the theatre. Slowly, with her dress held above the waist, she lowered herself onto my lap. As she lifted her weight from my lap, she grabbed my full erection and began to lower herself onto me. As I felt her wetness surround me, she moaned. Placing her hands on the seat in front of her, she began to raise and lower herself onto me completely, her muscular butt hitting against my hips and thighs as she took my entire length inside of her wet pussy. She was extremely tight and wet, and the feeling of her contracting indicated that she was going to come to an orgasm quickly. As she moved slowly and steadily, she turned to me and smiled.

“Grab my hair…and don’t….hold it….pull…it. Pull it. Pull my hair, Erik,” she said as she gasped for breath.

She shook her head side-to-side and tilted it back, allowing her hair to fall onto my chest. I grasped her hair in my hand, and got a firm grip. As she continued to slide up and down slowly, she began to moan a little louder. I looked around the theatre, confirming that people were focused on the screen. Her breathing began to become shorter, and I could feel that she was contracting around the circumference of my swollen shaft. I pulled her hair toward me, forcing her to arch her back, and lean into me. As she did, I positioned my mouth to her right ear.

“Stay there, Kelli. Lean back. Lean back and fuck me. Keep fucking me. Cum all over my cock, Kelli. Cum all over me. Now, fuck me like a good little girl. Fuck me, Kelli…..Fuck me Kelli…….Fuck…..me….Kelli.”

She continued to bounce up and down steadily, her butt slapping against my thighs, taking every inch of me inside of her. I pressed my hand on her lower abdomen as she began to climax.

“Oh, my God. I……am….going…to…cum. Oh….I…Erik…I am…,” she got louder with each word spoken.

I slid my hand to her mouth, covered it, muffling her voice, and whispered into her ear, “Shhhhh, cum for me, Kelli, keep cumming.”

Her pace slowed as she reached full climax. She lowered herself onto my lap, my erection still inside of her. She leaned back, twisted at the waist, and grabbed my face in both of her hands.

“Your cock feels amazing, just saying….”

She kissed me lightly, lifted herself from my lap, and slid to the seat beside me. As she did, I noticed that there were two younger males in the seat two aisles directly in front of her. I had not noticed them before. One of the two was turned in our direction, looking at us, and not watching the movie. As she moved, and exposed me, he turned to his friend and spoke. The friend turned and looked our direction, and then they both turned to the screen.

“I didn’t realize there were two kids in front of you,” I said, apologetically.

“I didn’t either until it was too late. When they started watching, it was too late to stop,” she said, smiling.

“Watching?” I asked.

“Yes, they were watching the entire time. It was hot,” she began repositioning her dress.

I pulled my pants up, smiling. I zipped and buttoned them, then quietly buckled my belt. As I lifted my hands from my belt, Kelli looked at me, surprised. She leaned toward me and with a puzzled look on her face, whispered.

“What are you doing? I’m not done. Not even close.”

She reached down, grabbed my belt, and unbuckled it. Taking both hands, she unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans. As she looked into my eyes, she reached down and pulled my still somewhat erect shaft from my pants. Lowered herself into the seat, she turned and looked at me.

“Hold my hair this time, Erik,” she said. Then she turned and swallowed my complete erection.

As her head bobbed up and down, I gathered her hair in my hands. Getting ahold of it, and attempting to collect it in my hand, I lost mental control of what was going on for a moment. That loss of control combined with her capacity to perform orally proved to be more than I was prepared for.

As I began to cum, she forced herself onto me fully. As I climaxed, my feet pressed hard against the floor. Naturally, my legs rose as I balanced on my toes. Raising my thighs forced me deeper into her mouth, and as I did, she forced herself further into my lap, and growled. The feeling of her lips quivering on my sensitive shaft as I climaxed was a new experience for me. Interestingly, it was as pleasurable as the oral performance. After my final ejaculation, my muscles became lose, and I collapsed into the seat.

She continued to lick the tip and suck on the shaft until she was convinced it was free of any cum. After she was satisfied that she had completed her task, she sat up and smiled. Without a spoken word, she placed my now flaccid member into my jeans, zipped them and buttoned them. After buckling my belt, she leaned back into her seat.

“Satisfying you satisfies me,” she said.

“You’re a good girl, Kelli. You make me happy. I’m proud of you. Of who you are,” I responded.

“You can’t say that enough. I love hearing it. I just love it,” her eyes sparkled in dim lighting of the theatre as she spoke.

“I’ve never came so hard in my life. Your cock is huge. It felt so good,” she whispered.

“Mostly from the excitement of being in the theatre, I suppose,” I responded.

“No, it’s weird, there’s something about you. It’s well, weird. With you, I actually… well…I feel. I feel an odd connection. Don’t freak out and run. I’m not falling in love. It’s just. Well, it’s just that sexually, you fit me. You fill a void I have had my entire life. You make me actually feel when you fuck me. Everything about you,” she took a drink of her water and continued.

“When we were fucking, I felt full. Not just full of your cock, I felt full. Full emotionally. Safe, protected, I wasn’t worried. I never felt that way before. I have felt that way since we talked at the coffee shop and you told me to go to the bathroom. I like it. It’s different. It’s different and it’s a great kind of difference. Don’t ever stop fucking me, Erik. Ever.”

I looked into her eyes and started to speak. As I did, a lump rose in my throat. I tried to speak, but words wouldn’t come out. My mouth open, and incapable of speech, I reached for my bottle of water. Hoping the water would bring comfort; I raised the bottle and took a long drink.

“Nothing, you have nothing to say?” she asked.

I lowered the bottle back into the arm rest, and responded, “Kelli, you’re making me happy, extremely happy.”

“Don’t ever stop, Erik…..”

“Fucking me,” she continued.

I’m going to have to. I’m afraid I’m going to have to….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ERIK. Looking beyond life’s imperfections allows one to be able to find happiness. Life is not perfect, ever. For me, remembering that life is flawed, people are flawed, and therefore relationships are flawed, allows me to look at the flaws and imperfections as part of life itself. A perfect life includes all of the flaws associated with what and who you surround yourself with. My life and my means of living it are no exception. I was, as all people are, flawed. I accepted myself as being flawed no differently than I accepted others as being so.

This way of living and thinking has allowed me to maintain a level head and a peaceful mind regardless of my surroundings. The types of things that tend to cause other people to develop feelings of disappointment don’t typically faze me. They’re part of living life, and what make life interesting to live. Realization of the fact that people and life are imperfect; and minimizing my exposure to these imperfections was something that I did on a daily basis.

For me, being single is smarter than being in the wrong relationship. I had always told myself that if I could find the perfect woman, the one that could convince me, by merely being herself--by simply existing--that she was perfect, she could make me stop. Otherwise, being in a relationship would be settling, and I refused to settle.

Being single, for me, never meant that I was lonely. It meant that I was waiting for the closest thing to perfection that I could find. The person that was perfect for me. My requirements, however, were difficult for most to understand, and certainly more difficult to meet.  At times, I would look at what I had done or was doing in a relationship, and realize that my target, or my partner’s goal, was a moving target; something that they could never obtain. As soon as I felt that they were getting close to meeting the requirements that I had set, I would change them.

Unaware of what the goal was in the first place, the women would never know how close they came to meeting the almost impossible standard that I had set for them. The relationship would inevitably end, and they would believe all along that I was a person that they were incapable of pleasing. The fault, in their eyes, was always them, and never me.

The death of my father when I was young never really became a conscious issue with me. My mother did a fabulous job of raising me, and of instilling her beliefs in me. She was a strong woman, and she always maintained a predictable nature about what her expectations were of me. I had rules and regulations that I was required to follow, and I followed them. I never dreamt of failing my mother or of failing my mother’s expectations of me.

In school, everything I did was perfect. I always figured if I was provided with the answer, I could remember it, find it, or apply it. My grades, for the majority of my education, were perfect. My mother would have accepted something fractionally less of me, but I would never accept it of myself.

Although I was smarter than the rest of the children in school, I never separated myself from them. I never talked down to them, nor was I ever perceived as being different than anyone else in class. I realized early that I was a kid that all of the other kids liked, and that I was a kid that the other kids migrated to for answers. I was the neighborhood psychiatrist for all of the girls that went to school with me, regardless of their age. They came to me to talk, and I always enjoyed listening.

Although I was not amazed at the time, as I grew older and looked back upon it, I was amazed at the amount of girls that were sexually active at such a young age. These girls, at that time, were sexually active, and easily convinced to do things, sexual things, with me. My perception of my ability to convince them to do things, during that period of time, was not one of manipulation. I always looked at myself as being more able, more intelligent, and maybe fractionally better looking than the rest of the boys. There characteristics, not my manipulative tactics, afforded me these opportunities.

As I grew older, it was easy to see that I was manipulating these girls all along. This was my first exposure to codependency, submissive behavior, and lack of self-esteem. A girl that lacked self-esteem, to me, was the perfect friend. I could explain to her how beautiful she was, how beautiful she acted, and almost immediately she would be willing to do anything for me, sexually speaking. This, for me, was the beginning of what would become a lifestyle of dominant behavior.

The loss of my father, the early loss of my mother, and the fact that I was an only child caused me to suffer greatly from fear of abandonment. As I got older and was aware of this fear, my never having been in a meaningful relationship began to make more and more sense. Although I did not suffer from all of the characteristics of someone with Borderline Personality Disorder, I did have many.

Dealing with the normal peaks and valleys of a romantic relationship was something that I was incapable of doing, and doing well. Realization of this shortcoming allowed me to go into my adult relationships with an understanding that the relationship would eventually fail, and that I was in control of this failure. No one would ever leave me in a relationship, because I would always leave them first.

After the death of my mother, I anticipated my feeling of need to be in a relationship would grow, and I would eventually succumb to the desires of one of the women that I encountered. Ultimately, I would fill the void my mother left with that of another woman. Not only had this not happened, but I had not felt the desire to make this happen with anyone. I continued to enjoy my single life, without commitment, more so now than I had in my early adult life.

My desire or feeling of necessity to be in a dominant role in a relationship was separate from my lack of commitment to a relationship. The dominant role, sexually, for me, was one that I found extremely satisfying. I had learned that it was even difficult for me to find mild satisfaction in a relationship in the absence of me being dominant. Dominance, once experienced in a relationship, ruined any chance of my being satisfied in a non-dominant role.

This required sexual dominance, this need to be in charge in a relationship, limited the women that I could expose myself to. To try to be in any form of a dominant role with a woman that was not submissive was a recipe for disaster for both parties. There is nothing more disappointing to a dominant male than to have to try to convince or to argue with a woman about fulfilling his sexual desires. Having that sexual met when requested was the portion of the sexual relationship that was just as satisfying as an orgasm. It wasn’t the performance of the act as much as it was the performance of the request itself. The request could be a simple one. The performance of it was the satisfaction, regardless of the depth or degree of the request.

I always told myself if I found a woman that was satisfactory in appearance and personality, and was willing to do whatever I asked of her, as I requested it, I would commit to her. Eventually, I always raised the requests to a level that the submissive woman found to be beyond her willingness or capabilities. This lack of desire to fulfill my request was one of my many potential reasons for dismissal of a partner from my life.

Finding a woman capable of or willing to do anything was every bit of impossible. It was a matter of asking the right question, the question that they were incapable or unwilling to answer, “Yes sir” to.

As I cleaned my pistol, I wondered what Kelli’s true threshold would be. What her true willingness to satisfy me would be. I would test her, and would determine her limitations. I had every intent of raising the bar, allowing her to truly realize what her limits were. This would make her a great submissive for the next man that came along. Eventually, I would have to determine what she was unwilling or incapable of, and use that as a means of dismissing her. For the time being, however, she was going to satisfy me greatly.

This dismissal of my partner was, in my mind, part of the control. Part of the satisfaction that I received in dismissing a woman from my life was the same satisfaction of being Dominant. It was the control, the ultimate control of ending the relationship, and ending it on my terms, at a time that was in accordance with my mental, emotional, and physical needs.

The adoption of a law allowing concealed carry of a hand gun in my state of residence was something that pleased me. I carried a pistol with me at all times regardless of the allowance in accordance with the law. Now, however, I could carry it legally. Since the adoption of the law allowing it, I have carried a Glock 9 millimeter with me at all times. My means of carrying it concealed it well, and made it difficult to detect.

I assembled the pistol, placed it in the holster, and returned it to the gun safe. After I completed my exercise, I planned on trying to spend the rest of the day relaxing, and reading the book that Kelli had recommended, Broken People. She had stated at the coffee shop that she had read it multiple times. As intelligent as she was, if she had read it that many times, there must be something of value in it. Either way, it would make for good conversational material.

Adding weight onto the machine and preparing to complete my session of chest exercises, I wondered…

Broken People.

Sounds about right.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

KELLI. “No. Listen, whore, we were in the theatre. And the movie was playing,” I explained as I tool a drink of my vodka and water.

“Stop calling me a whore, you bitch. I just can’t believe that this guy convinced you to do those things in a movie theatre. Oh, and I love your shoes, where did you get them?”

“I got them a year or so ago, I never wear them. I love these things. Todd’s, everyone is wearing them now. They’re like being barefoot,” I paused, holding my foot up, so she could inspect the shoes.

“And, Heather you know I’m kidding, I’ve always called you a whore. And he didn’t convince me to do anything. He suggested it, he asked me to. I wanted to. There’s something about him. Something that’s different. I want so desperately to please him. I can’t imagine making him upset with me,” I said as I tried to imagine how I would feel if Erik was upset with me, The thought of upsetting him made me feel sick.

“I have never felt this was about a guy, and it’s only been a few weeks. I’ve seen him five or six times. I feel like he has some strange control over me. Not like I am brainwashed or anything weird, it’s just…” I tried to think of a way to explain it, but I was having a difficult time putting it into words.

“I feel a want, a desire; well…it is actually more of a need to make him happy. It’s a combination of the way he talks to me, what he asks me to do, and how he asks me to do it. I haven’t ever really been in a relationship or in a position like this before with a man. It’s actually where I think I belong,” I explained.

“It just seems weird to me to have a guy tell you what to do sexually, and that you have to do what he says,” Heather said, shaking her head at me.

“I don’t have to do anything, Heather. It’s not like that. I want to make him happy with me. The way he talks to me, the way he treats me, it makes me happier than ever been. I’m just not sure if it is him, or if it is the D/s lifestyle that makes me happy,” I stopped talking, and thought about how I felt when Erik told me that I made him proud. 

“I suppose it’s a combination of all of those things. His looks, his body, the tattoos, his demeanor, and the fact that he’s dominant and intelligent,” I continued, trying to make sense of it in my head.

“Well, I know if a guy told me to suck his dick in a movie theatre, I would tell him to fuck off,” Heather said as she put her empty beer bottle on the table.

“Whatever. And where did you get that shirt you’re wearing? It’s like the first three buttons are missing. You’re tits are all but hanging out for the entire bar to see. Act like you’re not just trying to find a dick to suck, Heather. You need to add some buttons to the shirt.”

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t. I’m just saying I wouldn’t in the movie theatre. I don’t think. I don’t know. It seems weird. The more I am thinking about it though, the hotter it seems to be. And I got this at Dillard’s. I like it,” Heather said as she pushed her boobs up, jokingly.

One of her boobs almost fell out of her bra, and escaped her non-existent shirt. She reached between her bra, laughing, and repositioned her boobs into her bra, looking around the bar as she did to make sure no one was watching. I chuckled as she got her all of her flesh stuffed back into the shirt.

“You should really consider wearing more clothes, if one of those things would have fallen out on the table, the entire bar would have been over here to help you.”

I know, right? Okay, back to what we were talking about…” Heather hesitated, looked around the bar, and started speaking again.

“Well, I guess as long as you’re really happy. I am just glad to see you happy for once, and not acting like you’re just using a guy for sex. It’s a nice change. So, what did he say about you going to New York at the end of the summer?”

“Well, I don’t think I have said anything about that yet,” I responded, not really wanting to talk or think about going to Columbia.

“You don’t think you have? What the fuck? What do you mean?

Either you have mentioned it, or you have not. You’re saying you don’t know?” Heather batted her eyelashes at me as she spoke, her chin in her hands.

“I don’t think I have. I might have earlier, maybe when we first met, but I don’t think so. I really don’t want to think about that right now,” I said as I finished my drink. I waved my hand at our waiter, getting his attention.

“I love this place, the service is so good. And we can solve all of our problems here,” Heather said as the waiter approached.

“Another one for both of us,” Heather said, looking in my direction for conformation.

I nodded.

“Hey, did I see you talking to that Timmy Jonas guy the other day?” Heather asked the waiter.

“Yeah, we’re friends. We live across the street, in the building of lofts over there,” he said, pointing to the back of the bar.

“Is he single?” Heather asked.

“Nope,” he responded, smiling.

“Are you single,” Heather asked.

“Heather!” I said, realizing that she had probably had enough to drink.

“It’s okay,” the waiter paused, and then continued, “I’m not single. I have a girlfriend.”

He wore a baseball cap backward on his head most of the time, was a little taller than Heather, probably 6’- 4”, and had a well-trimmed beard. He was very nice looking, and had an exceptional demeanor. He was somewhat of a fixture at the bar, and worked almost every time we were here.

“Well, let me get your drinks, I will be back in a minute.”

“I should have dropped my napkin, and accidentally sucked that guy’s dick,” Heather said, laughing.

“Heather, I can’t believe you sometimes. You have no filter between your brain and your mouth when you drink,” I said, shaking my head.

“Well, he’s cute,” she said, pointing at the waiter.

“And I saw that Timmy Jonas guy playing here again the other night, and he’s just fucking hot. I want a boyfriend, Kelli. I am tired of being single. I want a guy that makes me feel like he can support me, love me, and care for me, whether he can or not,” she said, her voice rising a little bit as she spoke.

I felt sorry for Heather. She was a great looking girl, and she had a great personality. She was one of those girls that had a bad track record, and because of that track record, had a bad following of men that approached her. Guys looked at her as an easy lay, and truth be told, she was. She wasn’t an easy lay because she didn’t value sex, she was an easy lay because she felt that she had nothing more valuable to give, and if she gave sex, it would be enough. She would give a guy sex on the first night, in hopes of having him fall in love with her. She had so much to offer a guy, but no one took the time to find out. After they had sex with her, there was no reason for them to stick around, and they didn’t. It was a vicious circle that fed itself. The more men she had sex with, the more the word spread. Heather is an easy lay.

“If you guys want to come, Timmy is playing here again on Saturday,” the waiter said as he handed us our drinks.

“Thank you,” I said. As he started to walk away, I silently mouthed the word “sorry” to him. He smiled and shook his head.

“You want to come watch that guy sing? Single or not, he’s really got a great voice, and the band has a good time playing together,” Heather asked.

“Well, Erik and I are supposed to do something, I will ask him if he wants to stop by. I will let you know. It does sound fun.”

“Well, I’d also like to see this guy in person. Who you say he is, and what I have heard from everyone else is two totally different things,” Heather said as she looked into her beer bottle with one eye.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“It tastes like water,” she said, still looking inside for some form of an answer.

“You’re freaking drunk, that’s probably part of the problem.”

“Maybe I am drunk, but I am not stupid. I know things. I know a lot of things. I know that I want a guy to treat me right. I know that I want someone to love me. I am not a bad person. I am so tired of guys using me. What have I ever done to deserve to be treated the way I am always treated, over and over and over? I just want a guy to fuck me and keep me for once. And I know that you need to tell Mr. Suck my dick in the movie theatre that you are going to Columbia at the end of the summer. Or you’re no better to him than the assholes are to me, Kelli,” Heather said as she finished her bottle of beer-water.

I thought about what she had said. Drunk or not, she had a point. I truly couldn’t remember if I had mentioned it to Erik or not. I realized, listening to her talk about it that I did need to tell Erik, but I didn’t really want to. Maybe I was afraid of what he may say, or that he may tell me he was done with me. I didn’t want this to end. This feeling that he gave me, this feeling of finding a home, finding someone that finally fit me. Erik and Erik’s ways of treating me made me feel that I was finally where I needed to be. I felt, for once in my life, as if I could stay somewhere forever. I liked this feeling.

When he called me baby girl, it made my heart feel like it was in my throat. When he told me he was proud of me, I felt full. I felt like I had actually accomplished something, something big. And when he told me that he was happy with something I had said or done, I felt complete. I felt like I had solved part of the mystery of life, the part that no one ever solves, and everyone wonders. The simple statements, you make me happy baby girl, or I’m so proud of you, baby girl, those were enough to make me melt.

And Erik didn’t say these things just to say them; he said them because he meant them. He convinced me by saying them that whatever it was that I had done or accomplished was something that he hoped that I would do, but that he wasn’t sure that I was able to do. I waited for the next time he would say them, and tried my hardest to make him happy, hoping for the next time to come. Making Erik proud of me was enough to make me conscious of everything I said or did, even if he was not in my presence. The thought of disappointing him, even a little bit, made me sick.

“Let’s drink these and go, Heather. I will talk to Erik, maybe we can meet here Saturday. I will find out and let you know.”

“I’m done. Mine was weird. It was like a bottle of water,” Heather reminded me, as she held her bottle up by the neck, rocking it back and forth like a pendulum on a Grandfather clock.

As I watched her belch, covering her mouth with the back her hand, I wondered. How many of Heather’s problems with men, how many of Heather’s one night stands could be attributed to alcohol consumption? I was not perfect by any means, but I had a one drink an hour limit, three drink maximum for a day. One day a week, I allowed myself to drink. Heather, on the other hand, drank almost daily.

“Let me get this, no arguments,” I said as I reached into my purse.

With her hand still covering her mouth, she nodded. I reached into my purse and got two twenty dollar bills and placed them on the table. We stood and began walking out together. As we walked across the floor of the bar, the waiter waved. I waved back, and pointed to the table. Heather hiccupped as we walked out the door into the parking lot.

“You alright to drive?” I asked with mild concern.

“Bitch, I’m fine to drive. Find me a boyfriend and let me know about Saturday.”

“I will,” I said as I hugged her.

Walking to the car, I checked my phone for messages. Disappointed that I had one from Erik, and had not realized it, I opened it.

ERIK EAD: Baby girl, I have a question. Who owns you?

I read it, and then read it again. Answering these questions was not only easy, for some reason it was extremely satisfying. As I typed my response I realized that I wasn’t simply answering a question. I smiled as I pressed the send button.

You do, sir. Every ounce of my being.

 

 

KELLI. Men had always provided me with sexual satisfaction. I have had a man in my life to fulfill a sexual satisfaction, and that was it. I had no need, desire, or feeling of necessity to have a man actually be in my life. The thought of having a man be a part of my life, prior to meeting Erik, made me want to abandon any male that tried to attach himself to me.

As I painted my nails, I wondered what Erik would say about them. He noticed things like this. He noticed everything. He not only noticed, but he commented. He commented on how I smelled, and if it was different. He commented on my skin tone, my nails, my clothes, shoes, watches, hair, hair color, attitude, the tone of my voice.

Everything that I did, I thought of him. He had consumed me. He has crawled inside of me and become part of me, part of my day-to-day life. Even when he is not in my presence, he is part of everything that I do. He is in my mind. He has infected me.

I paint my nails and I hope. I hope that he praises me. I hope that he smiles. I hope that when he says what he says, whatever it may be, that he ends it with those two words. Baby girl.

I am ruined.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ERIK. Broken People. I had completed the book, and immediately read it again. The parts about codependency and today’s youth were spot-on. I had never, however, looked at people as broken, only different. We are all different. Looking at humanity as broken was a different approach, and the attraction of broken people to broken people of a similar likeness was ingenious.

Something in me clicked when I read it, like the flip of a switch. All my education, intelligence, people skills, training, understanding, experience, and knowledge were tossed aside. I sat, with an empty mind, and absorbed what I had read. One other part of the book made me think. It was a more difficult part to come to terms with, but an easy part to comprehend and understand.

“Marc, you don’t give someone your love. They take it. Love is taken. And, when someone takes your love, you will know it. Do you understand?” she asked. I did not understand. I nodded. She smiled. We had this discussion often. The taking of love. Last year, she placed her hand on my shoulder. She said nothing. I looked in her eyes. I was seventeen. “Yes,” I said. “Yes what, Marc,” she responded. “Yes, I understand,” I smiled. We embraced. She smiled. It was summer. My mother. My best friend. “Yes, mother, I understand,” I said again. She smiled. Again.

The taking of love. It made sense. We have little, if any, control over what we feel. And, according to the book, there is no wrong way to feel. I believe that. I have always believed that. How do we know when someone takes our love? I thought. I wondered. I tried to recall every woman I had ever encountered and spent any time with. I tried to decide if I had ever actually loved one of them. I decided, quickly, that I had not.

Someone cannot take, easily, what is protected from their grasp. The taking of love--or the taking of one’s heart--could be easy, I supposed, from someone that had minimal effort in place to protect it. Someone that had erected walls to protect their heart from being taken would be less subject to the theft.

Theft.

The act or an instance of stealing; larceny.

I decided as I sat and thought, after the first time I read the book, that I had erected walls to protect what I felt was in need of protection; my heart. Not because I was afraid of theft, afraid of it being taken, or afraid of love - protected because I don’t like feeling pain. Pain from the loss of what it is that we love.

If we don’t love, we don’t feel pain. If we don’t have expectations, we never have disappointment if the expectations aren’t met. My heart was protected to protect me. Like a gladiator’s armor protecting his heart from the lance of his opponent.

It would take a gladiator with a cunning nature, keen skills, considerable strength, ability, diversity, and endurance to have an opportunity to take my heart. To take my love. After I read the book a second time, I felt vulnerable. I felt unprotected. I felt changed. And that change, for me, was uncomfortable in many ways. My armor set aside, I was exposed to the threat of my opponent’s advances.

To believe that, after 36 years of living, a simple book, written by a simple man, could change me. The thought was unnerving. Time passes and things change, yet another quote from the book. Change is as inevitable as the tide. I sat on the edge of my weight bench and thought.

I contemplated lifting weights, as if the strength gained from the workout would provide protection. I felt like a soldier in combat, standing before the opposition, weaponless. I felt weak. I wondered if, for all of these years, I had actually been the person that I was becoming, and it had taken a book of unconventional wisdom to get me to realize it.

My mother, unlike Marc’s mother in the book, was not a woman to discuss things like love and compassion. I suspect, in retrospect, that my mother was hurt from the loss of my father more than she ever let me know. She too was an only child, as was my father.  Growing up, I always had her, and I never really took the time to think of what she did or did not have as a support system.

I sat on my weight bench, without protection from harm, and cried. I cried for my mother. I cried because I had lost my father. I cried because I had no siblings. I never got an opportunity to run to a pomegranate tree, rub fruit on my siblings, and get yelled at when I got home. I would, in a sense, now trade anything to have had a father scream at me and call me a dumb fuck. 

Wiping a lifetime of tears from my eyes, I stood. I stretched. Although I knew that I would always be dominant in a sexual relationship, somewhat manipulative, and very slow to accept others into my life, I stood…open to the thought of loving someone. I stood sensitive to the thought of that person being Kelli.

Kelli had proven to me that she was everything that I had ever wanted a woman to be. She was willing, able, and so far, had been open-minded enough to consider all that I had exposed her to. I certainly had not exposed her to all that I had intended to, but if her past performance was indicative of what the future held, she would do extremely well.

Excited for what the future may hold, I went to the shower. I stood in the shower like when I was a teen, letting the water run over me until there was no more hot water left. Just standing and letting the water pelt me into a trance.

I got out of the shower and dressed, sitting back on the edge of the weight bench. I compared my feelings to the same type of feeling I received after watching a feel-good movie, or a love story like The Notebook. You leave the theatre full of inspiration, and that feeling, in a few days, fades.

I knew the degree of what I felt would eventually lessen. But how I felt about life, about love, and about the potential of being able to love was real. I have lived a life with walls erected around me and armor protecting my heart. These things, as I read that book, were broken. After reading the book a second time, they had truly crumbled.

The helpless emotional child on the corner of the weight bench was proof of this. Conscious of my vulnerability, I made a decision to tell Kelli nothing. I would proceed with this relationship and see what she felt, and what she made me feel. If she, in fact, captured my heart, or stole my love, I would allow it. In the interim, we would continue a Dominant/submissive relationship of friendship and sex, she being none the wiser of my epiphany.

The thought of any form of progress in this relationship excited and scared me both. We fear what we aren’t certain of, and I had no experience with loving, actual relationships, or commitment. The lack of experience gave me no certainty, and that lack of certainty fed my fear.

My fire of fear fueled with thoughts of Kelli, and her willingness to provide me with whatever I wished of her, I stood from the bench. I had every intent of eventually leaving Kelli when we met. My thoughts, now, of her being in my life caused me discomfort.

We fear the uncertain. That, if nothing else is, is certain.

KELLI. Trying to make sense of what my mind went through on a typical weekend would probably make the best of psychologists go insane. I think all girls are probably the same. We get up on Saturday, and even if we have nothing planned for the day, we struggle with what to wear, what to do with our hair, and what to do for shoes. After trying on everything that I had in the closet for about five seconds, tossing it on the bed, trying something else, and tossing it, and continuing that for a half hour, I would finally settle on something. I did this for years. Only recently had I set limits for myself. If I couldn’t decide in about five minutes, I would default. My default had become shorts, a tee shirt, and Chucks. In the last two years, it had become somewhat of a staple, and my trademark weekend attire.

What I was going to do, and where I was going to go was always a struggle. I felt, for most of my life, as if I needed someone to make decisions for me. Having someone tell me to be at a certain place at a certain time, and to be dressed a certain way was comforting. Some girls looked at it as control, but I looked at it as relief. Relief from making decisions that I normally struggle with. I’m like a duck on the pond; what you see above the water is still and calm, but what is hidden are his little feet that are paddling a hundred miles an hour. On the outside, I appeared to be a calm, intelligent, collected woman. On the inside, my entire life was a huge compressed pile of worry. Worrying what I was doing, if it was what was acceptable, and what people, primarily men, would think.

Until I met Erik, I really did not care, long term, what a man thought about what I wore, and where I was or what I was doing, but I did. I cared about the opinion, and their feelings to a certain extent, by nature. I didn’t so much care about them. There was a part of me that I always wondered about, and never really cared to talk about - the part of me that felt that I had to do whatever I had to do within my power to make a man happy. If the man was disappointed with me, I felt that it was my fault. It literally had the ability to crush me. If a man was satisfied with me, and expressed it, it was like Christmas morning. I would be so happy that he was happy that the feeling would often carry over for weeks.

From time-to-time I would wonder if this was one of the underlying reasons that I had never been in a relationship. If I allowed myself to care for a man, I would feel as if I had to please him, if I had to please him, I couldn’t tell him “no”, and if I couldn’t tell him no, I would be fulfilling his wants, needs, and desires. Making certain that he was always pleased would consume me, and that would allow me to have no life other than to please him. Pleasing him would be my life. I knew enough about myself to know if I cared about a man just a little bit, I would eventually be consumed by my own shortcomings.

To think of it all made my head spin. 

Until I met Erik, I never really thought about it. The thoughts, generally speaking, entered my mind. On weekends, when I had idle time, I would think. When I got sick of my mind beating my soul to death, I would consume my day with activities. When I became still, or without tasks to deplete me, back to thinking I would go. The thoughts were always just general thoughts. What if this happens, Kelli? What about that, Kelli. Kelli, you’re fucking up, you need to drop that guy, and he’s getting attached. Kelli, Kelli, Kelli…

Ohmyfcukinggodmyheadisgoingtoexplode.

So, my idle time would be consumed by general thoughts about my desire to please men. With Erik, I was consciously thinking about these things. I was thinking about the fact that I wanted to please him. I was planning what I was going to do to please him. Ultimately, I was slowly becoming what I had feared for my entire life, a woman that is stuck and reliant upon a man.

And in my short time on this earth, I have learned that men can’t keep a woman. Erik, by his own admittance to me, wouldn’t keep me. We weren’t, according to him, even in a relationship. It was a relationship, but it wasn’t. As soon as I fucked up, or as soon as he felt I needed him to survive, I would be tossed aside. He would spend a month, year, or decade recovering, and on to the next woman he would go.

Even knowing these things about him didn’t stop me from wanting him. I wanted him more than I have ever wanted anything in my life. I want to please him, provide for him, make him happy, make him proud, and make him want me as much as I wanted him. The odds of that happening were slim, but I continued to feel that way.

When we first started seeing each other, I felt like it was going to be nothing more than a few good weeks of fucking; just some really good sex. After a week, I started wondering what my friends may think about him being fifteen years older than me. I decided I wouldn’t tell them how old he was, and if they asked, I would say that I didn’t know his age. After a few weeks, I didn’t care about what anyone might think. I only thought of Erik, and what his desires with me were. Fulfilling those desires were all that really mattered to me after spending a few weeks of time with Erik.

I am beginning to understand what it feels like to actually experience having loving thoughts for someone other than a family member. The irony in the entire situation was that Erik would eventually want to stop seeing me, and at some point in time, the summer would end, and I was to go to New York to school.

The question, I suppose, is which one would come first. For fear of Erik reacting with immediate rejection, I decided not to tell him of my commitment to my father or about school. I did not want this to end, at least not by my making.

Driving to meet Erik for lunch, I yearned for him to touch me, to tell me to do something. To hear him call me baby girl. To place his hands on my neck and squeeze it lightly as he spoke to me. To press me against the wall and have his way with me. Every time we met, he became a little bit more in control of me. Partially because I became more willing to try to make him want me, and partially because he was beginning to include more challenging sexual tasks in our time together.

Thinking of Erik and lunch, I began to tingle. We were to meet at Il Vicino again. A simple thought of that place made me wet. As I exited the highway onto Rock road, I crossed my legs. His hands. His posture. His voice. His smell. His presence. Erik. Fucking. Ead.

Ohmyfcukinggodmyheadisgoingtoexplode.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ERIK. It was cool for the middle of the month. Typically, in July, the weather would be in excess of 100 degrees. It was 80 degrees and 10:30 a.m., but the forecast called for a high of 85. It had been fabulous summer for riding motorcycles. We had received more rain than normal, and the lakes and rivers were full of water for once, after about ten consecutive years of some form of a drought. The rain that we had received was mostly at night, and had not hindered riding, as most days had been sunny after the previous night’s rain.

She smiled as she stepped over the small stone wall into the patio area. As soon as I saw her approach, I stood. Walking her direction, I opened my arms to welcome her. Greetings and departures for me had always included a hug. Male or female companions received the same thing from me. If someone wouldn’t hug me, I was never comfortable that they were genuine.

“How’s my baby girl?” I asked as we embraced.

“I love it when you call me that,” she responded.

“I know you do, Kelli. I know you do.”

“I’m great, now,” she said, stepping back and scrutinizing my attire.

“You dress so simple, but you always look so good,” she said, chuckling as she said good.

“Thank you, Kelli. I appreciate the compliments.”

As always, I had worn a dark tee shirt and dark jeans. The tee shirt fit tight to my body, but was not a tight tee shirt. One of my pet peeves was to see a guy that wore what we always had jokingly called a shmedium shirt, a cross between a small and a medium. Clearly, most who wore a shmedium shirt needed a large. My shirts fit tight because of my body structure, and not because I bought them smaller than they should be.

“I love the way you smell. You always smell the same. The other day at work, a guy walked past me, and he was wearing that cologne, Yves Saint Laurent. The L’Homme. I actually got mad, because he smelled like you. I didn’t change how I felt when I smelled it.”

“How was that, Kelli?”

“You know,” she responded.

“No, I want you to tell me. Tell me, Kelli.”

“Oh, God. Well, I…I started thinking of you. Just, I suppose, in general. But my thoughts about you are always thoughts that end up in the gutter,” she said, smiling.

She was wearing shorts, a tee shirt, and Chucks. Girls in canvas sneakers, especially Converse Chucks made me weak. I always found the canvas sneakers to be a tremendous turn-on; probably to the same degree that most men perceived girls in high heels. Chucks, to me, were an 8” come fuck me pump. As I admired her outfit, I realized we were still standing by the wall.

“Let’s sit, Kelli. I have already ordered for us both,” I said as I took a step in the direction of the table.

I walked toward the table to sit down, and pulled out a chair for her. I walked to the other side of the table and sat, crossing my legs. As we began to talk, I watched her mouth move, her lips form words, and her hands move as she spoke - making gestures to compliment the verbal communication she offered.

“I love listening to you speak, Kelli. The silence between your words annoys me. I prefer that you speak constantly, and never stop. Something about hearing you talk comforts me or turns me on. Or both.”

“I’m glad you like to hear me talk. It makes me feel good that you say that, whether or not you mean it,” she responded.

“Kelli, let me tell you something. If I say something to you, I mean it. Always. I have no reason to tell you something that isn’t true. Do you understand me?” I asked. 

“Yes,” she said, looking down at her feet as she responded.

“Come here, Kelli,” I said in a sharp tone, pointing to the area beside my chair.

She promptly stood from the chair, and walked to where I had pointed.  Standing on my right side, and looking at me with disappointment, she tried to speak. When she opened her mouth, words didn’t immediately form. She coughed and began to try again to speak.

“I’m sorry,” she offered, looking down at me as I sat in my chair.

“Bend down here, Kelli,” I said in a soft yet demanding tone.

As she bent at the waist, lowering her head to my level, I turned toward her. I reached up, placing my right hand on the back of her neck, and slid it to her hair line. Grasping her neck slightly, I pulled her head close to my mouth and turned it to my left, exposing her left side to my face. With my left hand, I reached across her face and moved her hair over the top of her ear. I began to speak into her ear, breathing in an exaggerated form, forcing my breath into her ear as I spoke.

“Kelli, who owns you?” I asked.
“You do, Erik. You do, sir,” she responded, exhausting herself of breath as she spoke.

“That’s right, I do. Now, Kelli, what are you going to do when I ask you to do something?” I asked, my lips lightly touching her ear as I spoke. I reached around her with my left hand, and placed my hand on her upper thigh, directly under her shorts. I cupped her thigh with my left hand, squeezing lightly.

“Do it,” she said as her knees bent.

“You certainly will, Kelli. You certainly will,” I whispered into her ear.

She straightened her legs, locking her knees, but remained bent over. I slid my left hand under her shorts, and between her legs. She was well beyond moist. With my index finger, I began slide up and down the length of her wetness. She began to moan lightly as my finger slid up and down, lightly touching her wet lips.

“Kelli,” I whispered into her ear as she moaned, “slowly rotate to your left, and place your hands on the table. Both palms, flat on the table, and do not move. Do you understand?”

“Uh huh,” she nodded her head as she spoke.

I removed my right hand from her neck, and kept my left hand in her shorts. She began to rotate to the right, and quickly realized - as my hand slid away - that she was going the wrong direction.

“The other left, Kelli,” I said quietly.

She nodded, as if in a trance, and turned the other direction. As she rotated, I pressed a little more with the palm of my hand against the gap between her thighs. As she began to place her hands on the table, I pressed my palm hard against her, keeping my index finger on the outside of her wet lips.

“Bend, Kelli, bend over. Put your fucking hands down on the table, and bend over. Do not move, just bend over,” I directed.

As her body bent at the waist, her knees went from bent to locked, and back to bent; over and over. Like a child, nervously in a rocking chair, she continued to bend her knees, rocking her muscular butt up and down.  I shoved my index finger inside of her up to the web of the finger. As if I were pointing my finger, I slid in and out of her wet pussy, purposely causing my lower knuckles to bump against her clit as I slid into her deeply. I counted, quietly out loud, as I slid my finger in and out.

Reaching to the middle of her back, I collected her hair in my hand. I grasped it firmly, and slowly pulled it tight. Gradually pulling additional pressure, I stopped as her back began to arch. She had a faultless body. In this position, she defined perfection. He perfectly rounded ass was pointing upward, as her knees were bent significantly. Her lower back was arched, and her upper back was raised, her palms flat on the table, her arms locked at the elbows. With my right elbow in the center of her lower back, and her hair in my hand, I pressed against her lower back with my elbow, and pulled her hair to the left. As her head turned slightly to the left, I straightened my posture to speak into her ear.

“Kelli, I am going to count to twelve. Each time I count, I am going to slide my finger deep inside of you, and then pull it out. And when I slide it in, I am going to bang my knuckles against your little swollen clit. Do you hear me?” I asked, scanning the patio to confirm that we were still alone.

“Uh,” she squeaked in an almost inaudible tone.

“I will take that as a yes. You will, Kelli, cum on the twelfth stroke, do you understand me?” I asked in a low demanding tone.

“I, uh, I…don’t know if I…ok. Ok, Twelve. Oh God. Ok,” she said in short quick breaths.

Immediately, I slid my finger inside of her as deeply as I could, making certain that my lower knuckles bumped against her clit. As soon as my knuckle touched her clit, I pulled her hair taught.  I slowly slid it out completely, clearing her lips with the tip of my finger.

“One,” I whispered sharply into her ear.

Repeating the process, I began to tease her.

“All the way in…all the way out. Two.”

“All the way in, oh my God, Kelli, you’re so wet. You feel that?”

“Yes. Yes…,” she pressed her ass toward me, pushing her clit harder against my knuckles.

“All the way out. Three,” I said as the tip of my finger cleared her wet lips.

“In. Out. Four. In, and out. Five. In, and out. Six. Half way there, baby girl. We’re half way there,” I said, pressing my elbow against her back, pulling her hair slightly tighter.

“In…who owns you, baby girl?” I asked, pressing my finger inside of her, and holding there.

“Who? Who owns you?” I repeated, whispering in her ear.

“You, sir. Oh God, you do,” she answered, getting louder as she answered.

“That’s right, you…are…mine. Seven,” I said as I slid my finger out.

As I pressed my finger inside of her again, I released her hair, and slid my hand to her neck, cupping my palm around her clavicles, and began squeezing her lower neck with my thumb and fingers. As I slid my finger out, I squeezed her neck a little more.

“Eight, Kelli. I want you to cum, cum now,”

“Oh God. Oh God, Erik. Ok,” she said in short choppy breaths.

As I squeezed her neck steadily, I began to quickly slide my finger in and out, as fast as I could. She was wet enough that her inner thighs were covered in her wetness. My finger slid in and out with ease.

“Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Cum, Kelli, cum for me. Fourteen. Cum. Fifteen. Cum, you sexy little bitch, cum. Sixteen. Cum. For. Me,”

She began to contract and her knees locked. As they did, I began to slide my finger in and out as quickly as I could, being careful not to allow it to slide all the way out. As she began to moan, I buried my finger deeply into her, and pressed my knuckles into her clit. Rotating my hand back and forth, massaging her clit, her body shuddered.

“Oh fuck, Erik. Oh. My. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck,” she said loudly as pulled herself away from my hand.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” she asked, turning to face me.

Grasping the inner portion of her shorts, she tried to reposition them, as if she felt exposed. Her entire body shook in an exaggerated fashion, and she bent her knees.

“What the fuck,” she said again, still standing directly in front of me, looking down at me admiringly. She smiled lightly, her lips pursed.

“Is there a problem, Kelli?” I asked.

“I’m weak for you.” she answered, and then continued, “You make me cum so hard, so easily. It’s like you have some way to crawl into my mind. I both love you and hate you for it.”

“Oh really,” I responded.

“Oh, God. I didn’t mean that. The love part. You know what I meant,” she apologized.

“You’re fine, Kelli. I know what you mean,” I responded, nodding my head.

She went back to her seat and sat down. As she reached for her purse, her hands were clearly shaking. I debated whether or not to mention it. I decided there was nothing to lose in doing so, and I brought it up.

“Your hands, they’re shaking,” I stated, pointing to her outstretched arm.

“Yours would be shaking, too. If I was you, and you were me, you’d shake. I guarantee it. You do something to me, Erik. Something no one else has ever done, and probably never will do. You told me you were going to ruin me. Well, congratulations, I am officially ruined. Smelling you makes me wet. Seeing you makes my heart race. Having you touch me, touch me anywhere…makes me shiver. Having you bring me to orgasm makes me shake. The aftermath of an orgasm with you, the post-coital state…is beyond any other orgasm I have ever had. Ever. Just the aftershock,” she tossed her purse in the center of the table and held her hand out, palm down, arm outstretched.

Her hand was clearly shaking. She attempted for a few seconds to hold it still as it continued to shake. Laughing, she pulled her hand back and placed in in her lap. I admired the color of her hair, and almost blue-black. The color of her hair suited her so well. Straight and black, very healthy looking. The color complimented her skin tone, and her skin complimented her hair; a perfect match. Lost in admiration of her gorgeous natural features, I realized she was speaking.

“…and then I want you to pull it out and bend me over. So, what do you think?” she said

“Excuse me?” I asked, only hearing a portion of what she had said.

“You want me to repeat it?” she asked, looking puzzled.

“I’m sorry, baby girl, I didn’t hear you,” I offered as I crossed my legs, and leaned forward.

Smiling, she began to speak again. “I love it when you call me that. How could anyone ever get sick of you? Ok. What I said was this. I want to suck your cock. I want you to put your hands on my throat, and squeeze it. I want you to fuck my mouth until my eyes water. And then I want you to pull your cock out of my mouth, and bend me over and fuck me. Ragged. Fuck me ragged Erik,” she said, leaning closer to me as she spoke.

“You said all of that?”

“No, I added to it. I want you to let me suck your cock, we’ll start there. That’s a good beginning. I want your big cock in my mouth, Erik; let me suck it.”

“Damn, Kelli. You’re wound up, aren’t you?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? You just finger fucked me into a coma while I was bent over a table in a public outdoor restaurant -- while people walked by on the sidewalk. I felt like that orgasm was extracted from my chest, through my soul, and exited out my pussy, Erik. Have you ever had an orgasm like that? I fucking doubt it. I like fucking you, and I fucking like you. Make note of that. Put it in your Outlook in that outdated Blackberry you carry. Make a permanent note of it, Kelli likes fucking me.”

“You’re a mouthy little fucker, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry, I was just kidding, don’t get mad at me,” she said apologetically.

“Not at all, actually, I like it. That’s different, and a turn on, Kelli. Good work,” I said, waving my hand toward her, palm up.

As she started to speak, the waiter approached with our food.

“Two Cobb salads?” he asked, holding a salad in each hand.

“Yes, can we get those boxed to go, please? We have had an emergency come up,” I said, as I winked at Kelli.

“I’m sorry for the delay, sir. Normally we’re quicker. It’s just, well…we just opened, it’s early,” the waiter apologized.

“No concerns, just box them to go, and bring the check please. We have just had an emergency,” I said in a friendly tone.

As the waiter walked away, Kelli looked at me, smiling. There were so many things about her that separated her from the other women that I had ever exposed myself to - her naturally gorgeous looks, for one. She was stunningly beautiful just being herself. No make-up, no special presentation. Just being her natural self, she was breathtaking. Her naturally submissive attitude, personality, and demeanor certainly were a breath of fresh air to me. Not having to train someone to be or act as I preferred them was quite a comfort. There was no worry about her reverting back to who she was by nature. Naturally, this was Kelli. Take her or leave her.

“Where are we going?” Kelli asked as the waiter walked away.

“To the mall, Kelli, we’re going to the mall,” I responded, smiling.

 

 

KELLI. I can’ really say for sure when I became sexually active. I know in the summer of my eighth grade year, I began to figure out how to perform orally on a guy. My first was Billy Benton, in the summer before freshman year. Having him show immediate pleasure from what I was doing, watching his eyes roll back into his head while he was in my mouth…it was pure heaven. For the first time in my life, I knew, for certain, that something I was doing, that I was in charge of, was making someone so happy that they reached climax. It had absolutely nothing to do with them, and it had everything to do with me. I was one hundred percent in charge of making that person happy. And happy I made them. Billy came in my mouth after about a minute. Starting that summer, I sucked every guy off that I could.

The next summer was a revelation. A few weeks before my sophomore year, I met a man at the convenience store. He never told me his age. I was fifteen. I lied, and told him I was eighteen. I really doubt that he believed me, but we left together. I was driving on a restricted license at the time, and was supposed to be traveling to and from school only. My father had provided me, through high school, with a fairly new BMW from the dealership to drive. My early development of boobs, dyed hair, tan skin from the summer, and the car may have convinced the guy that I was eighteen.

I followed him home, and we went into his apartment. He demanded sex, but neither of us had protection. At the time, I had never had sex with anyone, just oral. I acted like I had been active with sex, and he believed me. I told him if he let me suck him off, I would come back later for sex. I remember feeling if I could make him cum by sucking him off that it would be some form of confirmation that I was truly good at what I was doing with all of the other guys my age.

He stood in front of me in the apartment, and I got down on my knees. He unzipped his pants, and pulled out his dick. It was huge. When he first lulled it out, it wasn’t hard, but when I reached for it, I realized it was the size of my wrist. I started sucking it, and it immediately got hard in my mouth.

He had a tattoo on his wrist, “Kate”.

The carpet smelled like the basement in Heather’s house, where it always flooded. I tried not to smell the carpet, and closed my eyes. As he got hard, I pulled my mouth away from his dick, and looked at it. I was kind of looking at it to admire it. I had never seen anything like it before. When I did, he grabbed my head and forced it into my mouth, shoving it all the way into my throat.

He started talking loud and screaming, calling me a little whore. He pressed himself against me, trying to force me to gag. It was at this time that I realized that I had no gag reflex. I thought he wanted me to gag, so I would cough a little bit, but I did not need to. When I coughed, he would say, “That’s it, choke you little whore”. The choking appeared to turn him on, so I continued to do it. Within a few minutes, he came. After he did, he walked to the bathroom. I got up and looked at my knees. They were covered in blood. I looked at the bathroom, and saw that the door was closed. I could hear the fan running.

I grabbed my purse, and let myself out quietly. I got into my car and drove home, excited, scared, and bloody. The scabs on my knees lasted for a month, primarily because I couldn’t stay off of them. When I found out that I had no gag reflex, and that I could please a grown man, all I wanted to do was be an oral companion to anyone that wanted me to.

Pleasing men pleased me. It was simple. Pleasing the boys in my class was easy; it took no effort, and no skill to speak of. Pleasing a man was a different story. If I could please a man, it was an accomplishment. To have someone with experience be pleased with my performance made me happier than Christmas morning. Happier than my birthday. Happier than winning at track or basketball. Pleasing a man made me happy, especially if he was married and disappointed with his wife. When he came in my mouth, I felt like I had truly accomplished something.

I never told anyone about the men that I pleased through my high school years. All of the boys in school shared stories about me, but I didn’t really care. No one could argue that I was having sex with them, because I was not. I was just sucking them off. The more practice I got, the better I became. I watched porn, and got different techniques, and tried them on guys, seeing which one worked best. By my junior year, and through my senior year, I would secretly look at my watch, and see how long it took for the guy to come. If I could make him cum quickly, it was as if I were receiving an added prize. 

There was nothing, to me, that was more satisfying than knowing that I alone could make a guy cum in a matter of a few minutes. Just my mouth, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

It was never all I wanted to do, and I did, later, yearn for sex, but I always had to know. I always had to know that I could make each guy cum, and that I could do it quickly. It made me feel like I went from wondering if they were happy to knowing they were. That confirmation, to me, was extremely important.

Now a college graduate and an adult, I felt like my oral skills were my best asset.  Too bad there wasn’t a spot on a Driver’s License for our assets.

 

Height: 70”

Weight: 121

Eye color: Hazel

Birthdate: 1/13/1990

Best asset: No gag reflex

 

I would never make it into the bar, if that were the case. The person checking ID at the door would always want to take me into the parking lot and test me out. My talent was something that I now held in reserve. I didn’t brag about it to everyone that came along, like I did in high school. Now, I just preferred to let a guy be surprised by it, and see if they brought it up – after they experienced it, gasped when I did it, or just kept quiet and acted like it was normal.

We had left Erik’s motorcycle at the parking lot for the Italian place, and were driving my car to the mall, which should be open by the time we get there. He wanted to get me a pair of jeans to wear on the motorcycle, and was uncomfortable with me wearing shorts. I have seen plenty of girls on the back of motorcycles in shorts, but he said I would burn my leg on the exhaust for sure.

I parked the car by the Dillard’s entrance to the mall. I always liked to go in through Dillard’s, regardless of what I was shopping for, even if I was just going to get yogurt, a drink, or eat. Walking through the store made me feel luxurious, and important. Erik got out, and I walked to his side, and slid my arm through his left arm. It was nice, kind of like holding hands, but we were holding arms.

“You didn’t even have to say anything,” I said as we were walking.

“About?” he said as he turned and looked at me.

“I remembered to get ahold of your left arm,” I answered, disappointed that he didn’t realize what I was talking about.

“I know, baby girl. You make me happy. You really do,” he smiled as he said it. When he was done, he winked at me.

When he talked to me like that, it just gave me goose bumps. I felt them rising on my arms and legs, and hoped that he didn’t notice. As we walked, I studied his feet, and tried to mimic his walking pattern, so we would be at the same pace. I always felt, even though I was tall, that I was falling behind. I decided as we walked that he took considerably longer steps. His stride was one and a half of mine. As we got to the entrance, I gave up.

“What the fuck were you doing?” he asked, as he held the door open for me.

“When?”

“While we were walking up here. I felt like I was dragging you,” he responded.

I walked through the first door and into foyer of the store. As I did, I turned around, smiling, and answered Erik.

“I was trying to keep up, and I got to watching you walk, and I think I may have got wrapped up in watching your feet, and your stride. I think I forgot what was going on, I don’t know,” I stood and looked into his eyes, feeling stupid.

I don’t really know for sure how it happened, but it did. I will never forget how it ended, though. All of a sudden, I was pressed into the corner of the foyer, my back against the wall. His chest was pressed against mine, and both his hands held the backs of my thighs, under the cheeks of my butt. I was completely off the floor, being held up by his strong arms. His chest and arm muscles bulged as he lifted me higher, getting my head several inches above his.

“Look at me, baby girl,” he said as he held me above him, my back pressed hard to the wall.

I looked down into his eyes, and although he wasn’t smiling, his eyes were. They looked different. They looked happy. His lips met mine, and we began to kiss. I closed my eyes. One hand slid to the back of my neck, holding my head as he kissed me. He suspended me against the wall with his other arm and the pressure of his body against mine. We kissed for a long while, and as we did, I could feel the pressure in the vestibule change as people came in and out. I do now know if we kissed for three minutes or thirty, but I knew this; it was the kind of kiss that romance novels are written about. A kiss to define kisses. If I were standing, I would have collapsed. As our lips parted, we both caught our breath. His tongue lightly licked my upper lip as we separated. Immediately, we started again, his hips pressing me against the wall. My legs wrapped around his waist, I pressed harder against him, bucking my hips against his torso as we kissed. Pulling his lips from mine, and lowering me to the floor slowly, he looked into my eyes.

“You are fucking adorable, Kelli. Just fucking adorable.”

Catching my breath and composure, I tried to hold myself up as he let me down onto the floor. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else. I pushed myself against the wall, and tried to stand on my own.

“Oh my fuck. Knees,” I said. I realized right after I said it that it made zero sense.

As he held the second door open into the store, he looked at me and smiled.

“Precisely,” he said.

I had no idea what exactly I did to make myself adorable in his eyes at that moment. I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want to seem girlish or immature. I decided to keep to myself and just assume that I was adorable all the time, and that he was just overwhelmed. My father once gave me some good advice; never miss a good opportunity to keep your fucking mouth shut. This was one of those times. Walking through the door, I felt lighter. I felt like I was floating above the tile floor, like I was still suspended above the floor by his strong arms.

Ruined. Yeah, I suppose so.

I realized something in that vestibule during the kiss. I was weak for this man, and weak beyond what I have ever known to exist. My degree of being powerless for him left me open, exposed, and able to be harmed. With Erik, it wasn’t whether or not he was going to eventually leave me; it was a matter of when. At some point in time, he would leave. I walked beside him in somewhat of a trance, thinking. I knew that I could live without him, no doubt about it. But after having had him in my life, I would look at everyone else that I would ever meet as some form of substandard human being. No one, regardless of whoever I encountered in life, could measure up to the standard that he had set.

Life is interesting in many respects. I’ve spent my life trying not to become attached to anyone that I have had sex with. My initial expectations with Erik were the same. I suppose a person never knows how they are going to feel until the time comes, but I had no anticipation of this happening. Now that it had happened, I had to deal with it.  Live a life without Erik, disappointed and knowing what it was like to feel whatever it is that I feel with him, or be with Erik.

Being with Erik was impossible. He made it clear that he wasn’t interested in being in a relationship, ever. My school was to start in September, which was about six weeks away. Why, I wonder, does God remove the things from our lives that may make us live a happy, fruitful, joyous life? I never felt like it mattered so much before, but I never felt like this about someone, either. I didn’t really feel this way about him, as if it were a decision I had made. I felt this way in his presence. Hell, I felt this way all the time.

Time decides who we have in our lives, our hearts decide how we feel about them, and our actions and attitude toward them determine how long they stay. I thought as we walked, I will do my best to make Erik happy, and whatever is meant to be will happen. In that book I read, it said that you don’t give someone your love, they take it. If that, in fact, is true, Erik took it. I damned sure didn’t give it to him, he took it.

Here I was going again with the thinking too much. My mind racing because I wasn’t busy doing something. We were walking, and no one was talking. I needed to get a conversation going with Erik to get my mind off of him. Talking with him made me forget everything. When I talked to him, I just wanted him to be happy with me for that moment. I focused on the moment, and the topic of discussion.

“So, where are we going to go on the motorcycle?” I asked.

“We’re going east of here about twenty miles, to a small airport,” he said, turning to the left as he spoke, “it’s a small airport with a patio that you can sit and drink, eat, and just relax at. The planes fly in and out just a few feet from where you sit. There are old bi-wing planes there. It’s really quite nice and relaxing. We will have fun.”

“Sounds fun,” I said.

“Here we are, The Buckle,” he said, stopping in front of the store.

I looked at the front of the store as if I was lost. I didn’t realize we had walked this far, from one end of the mall to the other. I looked up at him as if to get permission to enter. He nodded and motioned toward the store entrance.

We walked into the store together, arm in arm. Something about having my arm around his, his claiming me in public, making it known we were together – made me feel special. It made me feel warm inside. There was no gift on this earth that this man could give me that would be greater than the way he made me feel. As we walked back to the display of women’s jeans, I smiled.

“What’s funny, baby girl,” he asked as he turned toward me, smiling.

Never. I would never get sick of him saying that. Baby girl. I felt rubber legged when he said it. Don’t. Stop. Calling. Me. That. Ever.

“I was just thinking. I am happy today, that’s all, no reason.”

“I am happy as well, Kelli,” he said, “It’s a gorgeous day, and I am having a great time.”

I wondered what he meant. Was he happy because of me? Because of what I did at the restaurant? Because I had an orgasm for him like a good girl? Or was it some other reason? I wanted to know but didn’t want to ruin anything by asking. I decided to take my father’s advice and keep my mouth shut.  Being quiet was the smart move.

“Here they are,” I said as I picked up the jeans.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Yes, I only wear one style from here, this is them. Do you like them?” I asked, holding them up for him to see.

“Try them on, baby girl,” Erik said. I felt as if I had no choice. His tone of voice often changed, and although it was not loud, or disrespectful, he had a ‘direct’ tone. This was it.

“Yes, sir,” I responded, walking toward the cashier.

“Excuse me; can you unlock a dressing room?” I asked the girl behind the counter.

“Five and six are unlocked,” she said as she twisted her hair in one finger, pointing to the rear of the store with the other.

“Okay, thank you,” I responded in a smart-ass tone.

I hated teens. I know that five years ago, I was a senior in high school, but it seemed so far away now. Now that I had completed college, the thought of being in high school seemed so distant

“Do you know her?” Erik asked.

“No, I just hate high school girls,” I said, now wondering how Erik might respond.

“So do I, baby girl, so do I.”

We walked through the aisles to the dressing rooms in the rear. As we walked past the various displays, Erik was very attentive to the clothes that they had out. He turned and looked at several, feeling the fabric or making a remark about something, and how it would look on me. When we got to the rear of the store, I looked at our reflection in the mirror. Erik looked great; tall, muscular, with very good posture. I looked like I had bird legs. After I confirmed the door handle was unlocked, I told Erik I would be right back out.

I pulled off my shoes and removed my shorts, placing them on the bench. I unfolded the jeans, and struggled to get into them. After I had them on they felt like they fit well, but getting into them was difficult. I looked for a mirror, and there wasn’t one in the room. I opened the door, and stepped out to look at them, and to show Erik.

“Do you like them?” I asked, rotating in a circle so he could see all angles of my physique.

“Love them. Where are your shoes, baby girl?”

“Oh, I left hem in the dressing room,” I said pointing in the room.

Erik walked past me, and into the dressing room. He motioned to me with his hand to come into the dressing room. I looked through the store, which was almost empty, and walked into the room.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

He held his index finger to his lips, giving me the symbol to be quiet, and leaned toward my face. With his finger still crossing his lips, he brushed my hair behind my ear with his other hand. I could feel his lips touching the lobe of my ear, and feel his breath on my ear and neck. His mouth moved from my ear along my neck to my shoulder, and I felt his breath on my skin as he moved. It was as if he smelled me with his mouth.

His mouth opened and wet, he began kissing along my neck to my ear, licking my skin with the tip of his tongue as his mouth moved up and down my neck. His tongue darting out and randomly licking me made goose bumps begin to rise on my arms and legs again.  He positioned his head directly in front of mine, and held his finger tightly to his lips. He raised his eyebrows as if to confirm that I understood. I nodded my head and smiled.

“Don’t say one fucking word, baby girl. Not one fucking word,” he whispered in my ear.

I nodded again.

Using his index finger, he moved the neck of my shirt aside, and kissed and bit my clavicle. Chills ran down my spine all the way to my toes. His lips moved up my neck to my ear. His mouth opened and lightly encompassed my lower ear lobe, kissing it with his lips. He grasped my face lightly with his right hand, and turned it to meet his.

Pressing me against the corner of the dressing room, he began to kiss me. I could feel my heart beating in my throat. His hand slid from my face to my lower neck. With his palm resting on my lower neck, his thumb and fingers stretched to my collarbones. The tips of his finger began squeezing my neck. His grip alternated between lightly squeezing and a more firm grip, we continued to kiss.

I focused on his hand squeezing my neck more than I focused on the kiss, and it was making me want him to fuck me. I wanted him inside of me, right there in the dressing room. Slowly sliding his big cock inside of me - gently, quietly, deeply…as he held his hand over my mouth. I felt as if I were fading in and out of consciousness.

As we kissed, with his right hand on my throat, he reached around the lower part of my back with his left hand, grabbing my hip bone. Pulling with his left hand, he began to spin me around, my back facing him. He held my face and continued to kiss me as he turned me around. With his left hand he unbuttoned and unzipped the jeans.

As the jeans fell to the floor, my heart raced. I could feel every beat of it against his palm, which still rested on my throat. I felt his hand on my butt, struggling with my panties. I reached for my panties, and when I did, I realized my hand had been stroking him through his jeans. I have no idea how long it had been there, but one hand was against the wall, attempting to hold myself steady, while the other was reaching behind me stroking him to rock-like hardness.

I pulled the front of my panties down with my thumb, and he pulled on the rear. After they slid down my thighs, they fell to the floor. I kicked my jeans and panties to the side, and pressed my butt against him.

“Put both your hands against the wall, baby girl, and don’t say a word, understand?” he whispered in my ear.

I nodded.

I heard his belt unbuckle, and the sound of his zipper. With both palms on the wall of the booth, I stood - naked. All I had on was my shirt. I began to shake. A chill went through my body. I wanted him inside of me desperately. I wanted to feel him become part of me. I looked between my legs, and saw his pants fall to the tops of his boots. As I was focusing on his pants, I felt the head of his hard cock press against my wetness.

His right hand grasped my neck, and I felt his mouth by my right ear.

“Not a word,” he whispered.

I looked up at the wall, and braced myself, pressing hard against the wall.

As he began to slide inside of me, I bent my knees, and pressed my butt against his hips as hard as I could, forcing him inside of me as deeply as possible. I felt his left arm on my ribs, as his hand slid slowly down to my crotch. His finger found my clit, and he began to massage it with the tip of his finger as he squeezed my neck lightly with his other hand.

He had found a rhythm of slow, long strokes. His hips lightly slapped against my butt as he attempted to go as deep as possible. His thick long cock working its way in and out of my wetness…this was not love making, we were fucking - and I loved it. He continued to rub my clit, sending miniature electric shocks throughout my body. His breath against my ear felt like steam. As I began to tingle, I bit my lower lip with my teeth, knowing I was going to have an immediate orgasm.

“Listen to me, baby girl. Listen. Cum on me. Cum all over my cock. Cum for me, baby girl. I want you to cum. Cum for me,” he whispered into my ear as he continued to push himself deeper inside of me.

My legs began to shake. I removed one of my hands from the wall, and grabbed his hand, trying to hold it still. His finger on my clit was sending waves through my soul as I began to climax. I couldn’t remove his hand, and his finger continued to massage my clit as his swollen shaft slid in and out slowly. His chest pressed against my back, and his hips pressed against my butt, my eyes rolled back and my eyelids closed. Lost in the moment, I came, and I came, and I came. I heard him whispering in my ear, and felt his breath, but I could not comprehend what he was saying. As I continued to have orgasm after orgasm, I felt his cock swell, growing inside of me. I could feel his heart beating through it as he held it deep, pressing against me. I wanted to capture this moment, this feeling, and keep it. There was nothing I could ever do to resurrect this feeling, to make it recur. 

His chest released pressure from my back, and he began to groan. As he continued to groan, he erupted inside of me. My entire body shook, tingled, and felt warm at the same time. An orgasm like experience that I had never witnessed went through my entire body as he came. I couldn’t breathe. I opened my eyes. I heard nothing but ringing in my ears.

As he pulled himself from inside of me, I reached down and cupped my hand over my crotch. His orgasm felt massive, and I knew it would eventually be everywhere. Standing there with one hand between my legs, I turned to face him. With his hand still on my neck, he slowly slid it up to my chin, and gripped my jaw with his fingers.  He looked me in the eye, and his lips slowly and softly met mine. Two soft, wet kisses later, he pulled his face back.

“You’re perfect for me. You’re human, and you’re flawed, we all are. But for me, you are perfect,” he whispered.

I felt like my heart was in my throat. I could feel it beating in my mouth. I stood, one hand on my crotch, and stared at him. With my free hand, I reached around him and hugged him, pressing my cheek against his chest. Listening to his heartbeat, and feeling it against my face, I wondered just what he meant. Just how perfect was I, and what would that afford me? With one of his hands in my hair, and one against my back, we hugged.

“You guys need help in there?” the irritating high school teen asked from outside the door.

“No, just trying on jeans,” I responded.

“Okay, well…one person to a room, please. It’s store policy,” she responded in a sharp tone.

“I will be right out,” Erik said in a deep voice.

As he pulled his jeans up, I admired his body structure. His back muscles through his tee shirt as he bent down. His calf and thigh muscles as he pulled his pants up. His forearm, covered with tattoos and muscle as he zipped his jeans. Talk about perfect.

He opened the door just enough to exit, and slipped through, closing it behind him. After he stepped out, I stood, one hand on my crotch, and one free. I looked around the room. I grabbed the jeans from the corner of the room, and used the inner leg of the pants to wipe myself clean. Covered in his cum as well as mine, I wiped several times. I then neatly folded the jeans, placed them on the bench, and got dressed. With the jeans in one hand, and my purse in the other, I walked out of the booth.

“I need to go back to the jeans,” I said, motioning to the display.

Erik followed me as I walked quickly to the jean display. I dug through them, and found a similar pair in the wash and color of the jeans I was carrying I checked the size, and handed the new jeans to Erik.

“Hold those please?”

Looking puzzled, he reached out and took the jeans. As we walked to the counter, the teen was checking someone out, and popping her gum as she did. What an irritating little bitch. We stepped in line behind the boy who was paying for his clothes. As she handed him his purchases, she popped her gum again, and tilted her head to the side.

“Thanks for shopping at The Buckle.”

“These fit funny,” I said, handing her the dirty jeans I was holding in my hand. “So, you may want to check them for correct sizing.”

“These are the correct size, and we’ll take these,” I said, taking the jeans from Erik and handing them to her.

She placed the first pair of jeans on the counter.

“I will check them later,” she assured me, popping her gum as she spoke.

As she rang up the jeans, Erik nudged me aside and pulled money from his front pocket.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Taking care of you,” he responded.

He handed her a 100 dollar bill, and received the change. She placed the jeans in the bag, and handed it to him, smiling.

“Thanks for shopping at The Buckle. And, uhhm, you guys make a cute couple,” she said as we were turning to walk away.

Wow. She was a perceptive dumb bitch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

KELLI. “Say Penelope, I want to watch you say Penelope,” he asked, his hand resting on his chin, his elbows on the table.

“Penelope,” I said slowly, focusing on the “p”s.

“Two more,” he requested.

“Watermelon.”

“Watermelon,” I responded, feeling my lips come together on the “m”.

‘Perpendicular.”

“Where do you come up with this stuff?” I asked.

“Say it,” he demanded, smiling.

“Perpen. Dick. I want your dick. I want you to fuck me. That motorcycle ride has me horny as fuck. I never really knew that they did that. Made you horny,” I said, writhing in my seat.

“Perpendicular.” he said again. “Say it, Kelli, don’t disappoint me.”

I hated the thought of disappointing Erik. The notion of it crushed me, and made me feel ill. Whether or not he was joking when he made reference to me disappointing him, I had no idea. All I knew was that if I ever did anything to disappoint him, I wanted to know. I really wanted to know, and to never allow it to happen again.

“Per…pen…dic…u…lar,” I drew the word out as slow as I could, syllable by syllable, and then repeated it slowly.

“Perpendicular.”

I felt like I was in a spelling bee, but just saying the word, and not being required to actually spell it. I thought of how to spell perpendicular. I remembered that the pen part of the word was spelled with an “e” just like writing the word with a pen, and not an “i”.

“I like watching your lips form words. Watching your mouth move, and hearing the words flowing from your lips and tongue. You amaze me, baby girl. You amaze me,” he said from across the table.

“Your lips are perfectly sculpted. Your mouth is perfectly proportioned. It aligns with your eyes perfectly, as if you were an art project. It’s easy to get lost in admiring you, Kelli, really easy.”

I felt warm inside. I felt so good when he was pleased with me. My best and worst feelings were a result of Erik’s pleasure or disappointment. When he tells me that he is pleased with me, I am a greater degree of happy than I have ever known. When he is disappointed with me, I feel as if I wasn’t given an opportunity to correct it, life would not be worth living. To think…two months ago, I did not even know this man. I didn’t like thinking about life before him, nor did I like thinking about September.

“I want to find out more about you. I want to know everything about you, Kelli. I want to know what you do when you’re startled. How you react. I want to see you shoot a basket. I want to watch you walk in the warm rain. Smell a flower,” he took a drink of his water, and continued.

“I want to watch you count on your fingers. Choose food from a menu you’re uncertain of, but afraid to ask about. Use chopsticks,” as soon as he said chopsticks, I smiled, thinking of the day at Espresso A Go-Go.

“Fry an egg, wash your car by hand, tear up a sheet of paper, attend a wedding, ride a rollercoaster,” he paused, looking at his glass of water for a long moment.

“Just everything, Kelli, I want you to be yourself in front of me,” he said, continuing to look down at his water.

“I am myself for you, Erik.”

“Oh, I am aware that you are. I mean that I want to witness you being you. Watch you grow, live life, exist. Kelli, I want to see you doing all of the things that you do, and be all of the things that you are able to be,” he said, looking up from his water.

This all sounded good to me. It sure didn’t sound as if he intended to drop me like a hot rock at the first opportunity he had to do so. Eager, uncertain, and scared, I responded.

“Making you happy makes me happy. I just want to make you happy,” I said, with my palms on each cheek, resting my chin on the heel of my palms.

I thought about it, and I took a chance. I wanted to try to find out what he was thinking, what he intended for us, and how long this may last. I felt like I was riding an emotional roller coaster against a clock, not knowing when the time would run out.

“I like what we have together. Being with you makes me happy. I like the adventurous sex, and how you’re spontaneous with it. I enjoy it, and I could do this forever, and be happy,” I said as I brushed my hair behind my ears.

Erik had said he really liked my hair behind my ears, and I had been trying to remember to do this as often as possible.