The Big Bad Wolff

…continued…

He found himself breathing hard, not from exertion but from the wet musk rising out of her pores. It wasn’t just pussy he smelled. Her whole body exuded hunger. When he leaned past her to close the door he caught the scent of her neck, could almost taste her pulse, and his loins surged with a ferocity barely contained. She was begging for him while feigning fear.

“I think the little girl lies,” he hissed against her red hair.

She shook her head.

He stepped back and pushed her forward. She caught herself instinctively with her hands out stretched as she hit the mattress. Then his big paw was on the nape of her neck, pushing her into the ticking. It was not a soft bed. It was not meant for the luxury of sleep. He thrilled at her gasp.

“You humor me by feigning fear,” he ground. “You aren’t afraid.”

Her voice was muffled and he let off enough that she could speak. “I am,” she whispered.

“Not yet. Because you don’t yet feel truly helpless.” He worked quickly then, buckling the leather restraints around her wrists. She fought, jerking her feet away in vain, making him work to capture them and complete her spread eagle binding.

Then he smelled it. The first hint of true fear. Acrid and sharp.

And when she felt cold steel beneath the collar of her shirt, and all the way down her back as the fabric fell away and exposed her to this world she couldn’t not see, she trembled and cried out. When his hungry tongue trailed her bare skin and dripped over her thighs and buttocks, her bladder let go. He lifted his face to the low ceiling and laughed. A thready howl that cut the air, and he said, “Now. Now my little Red knows fear.”

…to be continued

The Big Bad Wolff

…continued…

She kept her eyes ahead. The smell coming from him was not quite human, though it had human components… mothballs, sandalwood, bourbon. But also muskier scents, like dog and … almost a metallic odor, like copper. But warm. She wondered why she didn’t feel fear. She did, but it wasn’t the overriding emotion.

When her steps slowed, something prodded her gently in the small of her back. She found herself slowing intentionally just to feel it. If she didn’t pick up her pace immediately, it was a harder and sharper prod, sometimes accompanied by that guttural growl. The forest deepened and the smells from the trees and floor became darker and older, fecund, and she wondered how long since light had touched here? The canopy was like a ceiling, letting nothing in and nothing out.

All she heard was her own footfalls and breathing. She would slow or stumble to make certain he was still there.

Then he blindfolded her. Told her to stop, and something soft and black covered her sight and tightened around her head. It was almost reassuring. From that point, he took her arm and guided her. Did she feel claws? Or was that her overactive imagination? Was this whole thing a fantasy, and she still stood on that sunny hilltop with her face tilted into the yellow rays?

A squeak. And his breath close to her ear for just a second. Gooseflesh rose and raced down her back and arms. A bare acidic whiff of… coffee? Then a click. Her feet were on hard smooth ground now. And it was warm. He moved her forward.

“Do you know where you are, Red?” he asked softly.

She shook her head and felt a wave of vertigo. And when he answered, she heard the smile stretching his words.

“You are where no one will hear you scream.”

 

…to be continued

The Big Bad Wolff

…continued…

Every time she entered this high meadow he could smell her. It wasn’t perfume or soap. It was far more subtle. Like citrus and honey and earth. Like blood and flesh. She was carried on the wind into his cerebral cortex, and once there she was in him.

He always watched from his safe place. She felt him, but she wasn’t animal enough to know it. The musk of her adrenaline each time she started only added to the cocktail sweetening his own blood. As soon as he caught that whiff, nose to the sky, he was hard. Hungry. He was Hunter.

She made it easy.

The noises she alerted to in the leaves were not him. His padded feet made no noise. The wind was always in his favor. And when he finally made his move he was ready to subdue, even while uncertain it would be necessary. He was hungry, but he would not harm her. Hurt her, perhaps. But his hunger demanded she not only be intact, but ideally,  willing. The line every predator walked with his prey. Would she understand her part?

He suspected so. She didn’t fight as he’d anticipated. Instead, at his embrace he tasted arousal in the air. A touch of fear, but a mighty release of invitation from her, and he wanted to take her there, then.

He didn’t.  He whispered, “Are you frightened, Red?”

She nodded, small and unconvincing movements of her head.

“I’m not sure you are,” he growled. He wouldn’t let her know he liked that. He let her feel his fangs against her neck, and he thrilled at the reactive shudder that quaked her. Now that, that odor was fear. If he pushed her, urine would be the next scent on the wind. Then the animal might take over… He pulled back and licked the spot again. While he did, he disarmed her without her realizing, and stepped back.

She started to turn.

“No!” he barked. “Walk. Take the path, this one leading into the woods. Do not turn around. You won’t like the last thing you see, my Dear.”

…to be continued

Sunday with Daddy

It had been a long weekend. A lot of silence between them. She wasn’t sure what was going on. He’d fucked her that morning then left the house, said he was going to check out a gun show and maybe stop by the music store… she’d wanted to ask if she could come along, but for some reason today it felt best to let him go.

It was quiet when he wasn’t around. Not that he was noisy. But he moved a lot. He kept busy. And even when he slowed down, napped on the couch or in the wicker chair in the front room, he snored. She took comfort in his presence. Even the snoring made her smile. Sometimes she watched him sleep, watched the lines fall away, the years melt, imagined the curious little boy he’d been before worry and responsibility laid their loads on him.

She heard the door off the kitchen squeak on the one hinge. He kept oiling it, and it kept squeaking. He came in from the garage. She finished folding the towels and stuffed them into the linen closet, and went down the carpeted stairs on bare feet. She was in her cleaning clothes; blue jean shorts and an oversized T-shirt with no bra. She didn’t wear make up. And fingers passed for a comb in her preening vernacular. As she stepped off the landing she heard the TV. She stuck her head around the door and he looked up and smiled. “Hi baby girl.”

“Hi Daddy. Did you have fun?”

“I did. Found my strings.” He motioned at a paper sack on the coffee table.

“Would you like me to bring the guitar up for you?”

He patted the cushion beside him. “No, sweetie. Come here and sit with me.”

That made her happy. She sat next to him and settled under his arm. She smelled his warmth and deodorant and felt the prickle of his whiskers as he pressed a firm kiss into her hairline. “I missed you,” he said.

She smiled and looked at the TV. “Who’s playing today?”

He turned her face toward him with his index finger. “I’m sorry.” His eyes were dark and warm, familiar.

“For?”

He kissed her nose, and his fingers trailed absently along her jaw and down her neck. Her entire body knew their path, their destination, and her heart sped and her nipples peaked in invitation. “I haven’t been very nice this weekend.”

She tried to shake her head. His hand came back up swiftly to firmly clasp her chin, his other arm tight around her.

“Don’t do that.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Don’t excuse me. Just forgive me for being a dick.”

His hand left again, and before she could say anything his mouth was on hers and his hand covered and kneaded her breast. He growled in his throat. She knew it was because of the absence of a bra. He preferred her this way.

Her hands went to his neck and she shifted to straddle his thighs, sitting on his lap, kissing him with the fire he always lit in her. When they broke, he looked up at her. She felt him throbbing between them through his khakis, through her denim.

“I want you for supper.”

“I need to shower,” she said with a grin. “And actual supper is in the oven.”

His grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging her flesh. He kept looking at her, holding her blue eyes, holding her hips, and he’d begun a gentle but insistent rhythmic push with his pelvis. Her own answered. It was instinctual. It was the need they ignited in one another.

He took her mouth again, his tongue brushing hers, probing deep, tasting. He fucked her mouth with his. Invading and retreating, breaths mingling, and those gentle thrusts became urgent.

He pulled back as his hands went to his belt. “Get them off,” he said casting a look at her clothing. His voice had a rough edge and her excitement flared. The sounds of football faded into the background. She stood and stripped in front of him. Quickly, without fanfare. His cock was in his hand and he pulled and stroked it. She fixated on the shining dew leaking and running. He looked hungry. Everything about him looked hungry and masculine. She felt the trickle of her own juices.

A groan from him as he looked at her. Always for her that moment of discomfort, shyness, vulnerability with all her flaws on display for him. But he would growl, take his hand away just so she could see the independent twitch and wave of his cock. He knew she thrived on his arousal. He knew exactly what to give her to make her need to please him.

She didn’t ask. She dropped to her knees on the soft carpet between his. He said, “Yes, little girl,” as he reached to touch her face. She caught his hand, and sucked his thumb into her mouth, their eyes still locked. She licked over the ball and let her tongue slide over the nail before taking it all the way, rolling her tongue to cup it like a taco. She held him there, tasting his flesh, teasing.

She sucked as he took it back, and there was something intensely erotic in the exchange. The anticipation. Her other hand was wrapped around his shaft. She hesitated, knowing well what would happen when she did. His hand on her head, pulling her face into his groin. There was no teasing, no denial today. There was only Daddy needing his cock sucked. Needing his perfect whore’s hungry mouth.

Needing her.

She loved this feeling. Of kneeling naked before him. Of his strong thighs surrounding her body and the stiff fabric against her bare skin. Of his eyes watching her and the sight fueling his arousal. His hand in her hair, sometimes resting lightly but possessively, others guiding her movements, her speed, her depth. It was a dance they performed well together, for maximum satisfaction. Never the same twice, but always perfect.

He filled her mouth, her throat. His flesh was rubbery and pillowy over the tip, swollen and hot… it was her favorite. Those textures, like a ripe plum. She scraped her teeth over him as though to leave an indentation but no mark, careful not to rupture or bruise. She sucked, gently then harder, and the tip of her tongue swirled and danced over him until she found his slit… gingerly playing there, tracing; such intimacy… to suck and taste, hoping he would feed her, her hands always working along his shaft, around his balls, a finger straying to stroke lightly over his asshole now and then. Her eyes always finding his again.

She paused briefly to give her jaw a rest. She bumped him playfully against her chin and lower lip, darted her tongue out to flick his frenulum. Smiled up at him. “You taste good, Daddy,” she whispered. “I love sucking your cock. I want to swallow you. I want your hot cum, what you made for me,” she whispered as she gently squeezed his full balls.

His reaction was an intense darkening, a deeply growled “Fuck!” and he stood and pulled her up. He pushed her onto the couch where he’d been sitting, his pants around his ankles, and he held her head with one hand wound in her short hair while the other guided his cock to her lips. “You’re going to make Daddy feel so good, baby girl. Open.”

She did, but not all the way. Only enough that he could push through her lips. Carefully wetting and wrapping them over her teeth, she braced against him and felt him push, felt the throb, heard the groan as she provided friction on his shaft while her tongue worked over him. He paused, reveling in the onslaught of sensations before beginning to thrust with some rhythm. Pushing deeper and deeper… faster. Her hands on his ass feeling his muscles contract. She had the vague passing thought that she was probably leaving a spot on the sofa cushion. Then he was blocking her airway.

She relaxed. Closed her eyes. She thought of the intense pleasure she was giving him, the things he would tell her he’d felt later, when they lay close together and he sheltered her with the same body that was taking from her; all those things only he told her because only he knew how she needed to hear them. When he pulled back she inhaled deeply and looked at him through watery eyes. He thrust again. Both hands on her head now. His pubic hair tickled her nose. She loved the heat from his body, his scent. She heard him saying words, words like take it like the little bitch you are, take Daddy’s fat cock, Daddy’s good whore swallowing his cock… And every word excited her on a level she’d never quite understood.

She knew when he came, when she tasted the salt and bitter of him, her cunt would throb and ache and long for her own release.

He pumped a few more times, giving her time to catch her breath before the last one that shot a hot stream of seed against the back of her throat. She cupped his balls to feel the contraction. She loved that moment. His release. His body climaxing, the throb of his cock and the grunt as he spasmed. Tears ran as she struggled to swallow, and he pulled back, but not out. He knew she wanted all of it. She needed him like a drug. She felt him over her tongue, one spurt after another, each hot and thick. A little ran out the side of her mouth over her chin. As his contractions eased, she sucked him gently, again touched her tongue to his opening and felt the drops pushing out. She moaned around him. She needed him now, needed him to get hard again and fuck her.

He knew.

“Suck, baby. Make me hard again so I can fuck your beautiful sloppy cunt.” He lifted her breasts, thumbing over nipples so sensitive that she moaned again. And she suckled and teased and pulled at him. She dipped her two middle fingers into her cunt, then looking at him, offered them. He took them and sucked them clean. “Again.”

Again she fed him her juices. Each taste, each firm suck had him hardening.

He finally pulled away and in a swift movement pulled her up and spun her, made her kneel on the couch, hands braced on the back. And he filled her in a single brutal thrust, all the way to her cervix, his hips pressed hard and forcefully against her ass. A firm smack with his open hand. Then his body against hers, his hands crushing her breasts, and he was fucking her like an animal. Hard, fast. And she was screaming with every thrust, begging him for more, calling his name.

He fucked her until she orgasmed over his cock, her juices flooding over him, and he came again. He kept fucking her till he softened and as his cock left her she felt his arms catch her as she sank down.

He laid down next to her on the narrow couch, his body half hanging off, and he held her close, tasted her sweat and tears and his cum on her lips. Kissed her and touched her while her shaking stopped and pulse slowed. His spent cock pressed intimately against her soft belly.

The referee’s whistle sounded over the hum of the audience, and the sun was falling in the autumn sky, and the smells of roasted chicken and baked apples mingled with the musky odors of sex and skin.

Just another perfect Sunday with Daddy.

Immune

Just one word, one heartbeat, one misstep or right step away from disaster… never immune. Immunity is for immortals.

You trace my scars with your fingers. Paths of destruction leading down blind alleys into waiting jaws. I hear the drip drip drip, and a soft pant of breath. Is it yours? Mine?

You told me not to hope with too much abandon while you looked into my soul and saw the fallacy of your own words. Abandon is all I know. Abandonment. They entwine with one another as we do, skin wrapped in skin, wet and velvet and the slow steady thud of your heart, so reassuring. I tell you I don’t care about immortality, as long as my time is well-spent.

No one sees them but you. What you trace on my skin is an invisible mark, left by an invisible heart. If I could wrap you in parchment and put you under glass for safekeeping, I would. Holding you is like holding a whisper. Yet your teeth in my neck say different. Your fingers bruise. You claim with your sex, with your mind, with the forcible strength of your character.

I wonder who follows whom down these dark halls.

A Note to my fellow WordPressers…

Let me start by saying we’ve gained a lot of new followers over the past week; it seems ‘Hope’ is a big hit. I’m so grateful to each of you for taking the time to read and follow, and I welcome you to my corner of the web.

I want to tell you all that I don’t do a ‘follow for a follow’ when it comes to choosing those blogs I read. That said, when I see I have a new follower I will follow back. The purpose of that is to put you in my reader so I am sure to not miss your content the next time I have a chance to catch up. If I’m engaged by your content, the follow stays; I will usually leave a like, explore a little more, though I rarely comment. Please don’t take that personally. It’s all a matter of time management with me. Though if something hits me really hard, I will most certainly leave a comment and let you know.

However, not everything appeals to everyone, so if I’m not moved by your content, I’ll remove my follow. Again, this is nothing personal. It doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate your presence, and the effort you put into your blog. I appreciate all my readers, and keep up as best I can. It’s tough though, with over 2300 followers and only one me!

Thanks to each of you for your continued support.

The Drive

He is a man of simple tastes. He likes white lace and black silk, but most of all, he wants my skin. My sighs. My ecstasy. He wants what I’ll give no other man.

Traffic was heavy. At a standstill. Her voice over the Bluetooth screwed into his ear sent fingers of pure sensation from his cortex to his cock, hitting every nerve ending in between. It wasn’t the filthy words she said that strummed the tautest chords; it was who she was, what she gave.

She gave everything. She left nothing on the table.

“Is your cock out?” she purred.

“I’m driving, baby girl.”

Her smile curved her words, making them more seductive. “You’re sitting in traffic.”

She made him want to take chances, to excite her further, to please himself. She made him want to fuck with a desperation he hadn’t felt since youth. He always wanted to fuck. But she made him want to fuck. Her.

“Take it out, Daddy. No one can see. Feel how hard it is, how much you want to see it disappearing into my mouth.”

He couldn’t believe he was doing it. The tail of his dark tie acting as a curtain, aware of the proximity of humanity on all sides, each in their own steel bubble. He let his fingers caress gently for a moment, the sensuality of his own flesh, rising blood, and her voice racing over and through him. “I need to see you, baby.”

The picture came through immediately, and made his heart hammer. You want to fuck me, Daddy? It was captioned.

“You are my little whore, aren’t you?” he said. He was concentrating on keeping his face neutral, eyes ahead. But he was stroking and squeezing now, more turned on by the precum leaking and getting on his tie, his trousers. He thought he should stop before he made a mess he wouldn’t be able to hide, but she was still talking. Not only that, she was touching, too, and he heard every sensation in the subtle catches of breath and pauses in speech.

“Yes, I am. Don’t make a mess, Daddy. No one can know.”

He stroked faster. A horn pierced his brain, and he inched forward without pausing.

“Do you have a hanky?”

“Yes.”
“Put it over your cock, cum into it. You will cum for me, won’t you?”

He couldn’t stop it if he wanted to. His balls were drawn up almost painfully while he listened to her pant, listened to the wet sounds and buzz of her vibrator. “I will.”

“Are you looking ahead, looking like you’re not feeling my wet pussy around your cock right now? Not hearing your hips smack against my ass, not feeling me drip over you? Daddy, I need you to fuck me, harder, faster, please please plea-” her words faded into jibberish and drawn out moans. He clenched his jaw and held the white handkerchief around his shaft, images of her tongue white with his seed, with it dripping out of her cunt, running over her tits all pushing their way through his mind and out the end of his throbbing cock.

“Fuck, baby girl,” he ground.

“Yes Daddy?” she whispered. Her voice had that slow, thick, luxurious sound it got when she was coming down.

“That turned my little whore on, didn’t it?”

She laughed, a throaty sound that if he dwelt on would have him hardening again. “Feel better?”

“You make Daddy feel so good, sweetie. So good.”

“Did anyone see?” she teased.

He laughed. “I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Only in theory. Now hurry home. I’m staying right here. Waiting for you.”

The line went dead, and he felt himself swelling again. He tucked himself back into his zipper before it got too difficult to do so, and thought of his homecoming.

Bar-stool Confessions

He wanted to watch her.

“Watch me what?” A soft smile curved her lips. She enjoyed teasing him, seeing just how far he’d let her go before his face darkened and his lips formed a tight line. She would push just a little further than that, because she liked making it up to him, liked when his gruffness turned back to tenderness; usually after she was bound to the four-poster with his cock softening in her ass.

He didn’t play along this time. “In the shower.”

“Okay.” He had watched her in the shower before. She wasn’t sure why the sudden interest.

His fingers toyed absently with the base of his glass. It was sweating on the scarred and polished walnut.

“Anything specific you’re hoping to see?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I want to watch you pee. See how you enjoy it.”

She wished she’d chosen the high-collar over the scoop. It might have concealed the hot flush. “Daddy-”

“You don’t want to show me? Tell me why not.”

He was a handsome man. An intelligent man. He always wanted to know why. She’d often thought over all else that was what attracted her to him. He was in all things insatiable.

She played with her drinking straw. She had no good reason, other than it was a private thing. “It’s a private thing.”

He smiled then. “There’s to be nothing private between you and me.” He motioned the bartender and touched the rim of his glass.

“No.”

“It makes you uncomfortable. It shouldn’t. Why do you think it does?”

She squirmed. But the arousal awakening in the pit of her stomach was undeniable. “Because it’s new?”

He shook his head and sipped from his glass.

“It’s… dirty.”

He smiled his approval. “Do you think I think it’s dirty?”

She kept her eyes down. The crystal bubbles in her vodka and soda chased and raced one another to the surface.

He reached across the space and tilted her face up. “Well, baby girl?”

“No. You don’t.”

He let his thumb pass over her lips before he took his hand away, and his pupils dilated at the sharp intake of her breath. “No, I don’t.”

“Is it…”

He waited. Then, “Go on. Ask me.”

“Would it excite you? Sexually?”

His face relaxed and his eyes crinkled. “Yes, baby. Anything you find exciting excites me.”

The internal flush spread, encompassing her limbs and cheeks. She felt it manifest as a tingle into her toes and fingertips. He could have her, right here, right now. They both knew it. “It’s not just the peeing that is exciting.”

He propped his chin on his hand, as though settling in. “Tell me.”

“I mean… it feels good, right? It’s nice. A relief, and the warmth.”

“Yes. But there’s more.”

She drank from her glass, and he motioned the bartender again. The heat in her cheeks felt unbearably obvious. She kept her eyes down. “Yeah. It’s about what I see, when I do it.”

He made a humming, growling sound that was one decibel above inaudible in the noisy bar. “Tell me what you see, baby.”

She smiled at her glass, allowing those thoughts in. “I see you.”

“Always just me?”

He was so territorial. “Now, yes. Not always.”

“Hm. So you see your lover.”

“Yes.” She glanced at him. He was unreadable, intent but hooded.

“What am I doing?”

It took her a moment. It required getting lost in the fantasy, required drawing on her arousal in that moment to make voicing it okay. “You’re standing close, naked and wet, and watching.”

He leaned closer, began stroking her forearm with his fingertips. For all his severity, his touch was light, soft. The fine hairs stood up in anticipation of the next one. “Am I touching you?”

She nodded. Her fingers on her right hand played and twisted the tendrils behind her ear.

“Tell me how I’m touching you. Where.” This he whispered directly into her ear.

He leaned his own ear close to her mouth and waited.

“You start by touching my shoulders, playing in the suds.” She could smell his hair, his shaving cream, and let her lips barely brush against the rim of his ear as she spoke. “Your hands run down my sides, avoiding my breasts, and one caresses the low part of my stomach, above my mound, and the other traces the small of my back, just above my ass.”

He murmured an unintelligible sound of approval.

“Your touch is light, almost a tickle.”

“Because that makes you have to go.”

“Yes.”

“Mm. Go on, little girl. Then what?”

“You’re saying things to me, but it’s not the words I hear. It’s your tone. Encouraging and relaxing and assuring.”

He rested his hand on the nape of her neck, his fingers brushing hers. The contact added to her overall feeling of being heated. Or in heat. They were indistinguishable.

“You feel the shiver when I start to let go. It peaks my nipples. Then…” A pause.

“Don’t stop. Tell me. What does Daddy do then?”

Her heart did a somersault and her breath caught. The neurons were rapid-firing like an automatic, and electricity coursed over her skin. She wondered if he felt it. “You put your fingers in it.”

“In the urine?”

She nodded. He growled again. His lips brushed her jaw in front of her ear when he whispered, “I’m so hard right now. Hard for my girl.”

Something exploded in her brain. Something small that crumbled the wall standing between right and wrong, acceptable and not. Adrenal fluid flooded her bloodstream. Her juices flowed.

“Is that all?”

“No. You find my clit, while I’m still peeing, and you start to rub. You rub hard. I stop and start, but it isn’t intentional, just happens.”

“When you’re done, do you come?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she whispered.

“Do I put my fingers inside your hot little cunt?”

“Yes!” It came out as a hiss.

“What if I did that first? When you first started, so you filled my palm? So that rubbing your g-spot made it feel so good to release?”

Her words left her. She was going to come on the bar stool, in front of everyone. Her hand was in his now, and she gripped. Hard.

He pulled her head against his mouth. “Breathe through it, sweetie.”

He shielded her there for a few moments, until her breath leveled and her shoulders relaxed. He pushed the vodka tonic closer and she took a sip. Then another. He did the same. He watched her face intently. She smiled a wistful, almost apologetic smile.

“Stop that.”

“What?” she covered her cheeks with her hands for a moment.

“You were about to apologize.”

She couldn’t argue.

“Never apologize to me. This is what we do.”

“Who we are.”

“Yes.”

She smiled a real smile.

“Is that all you see when you’re there, in the shower?”

She met his gaze with a boldness so rare it caught him off guard. “Nope.”

“You’re going to make me come right here,” he teased lightly. But there was an unplumbed depth beneath his words.

“I see a lot. Imagine a lot. And have a feeling I’ll imagine much more now.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because it’s okay.”

He smiled and leaned in and kissed her. “It is. It’s more than okay.”

Within

His absence screamed. Screeched, yelled, clamored, clawed. It raked its teeth against metal bars and drew blood from the air. It was never still. It throbbed with a life that was nothing. Invisible.

You are Lucifer, she whispered. It was her own face staring back. Eyes faded to gray with worry, hair flown about a paler face in a gnarl of mats and frizz. She’d been pretty once. He’d said she was pretty, and she believed him. He made her a fool. She hated him more for that than for his desertion.

In his absence she heard his reply. Not because he was present, but because she knew him. She had crawled inside his thoughts and turned the pages she found, and learned to read him. “I never promised you anything more. There are no angels here. No fairies. No pretty things. You are the only pretty thing I have.”

How many nights had they lain, wrapped in blankets smelling of age and dust but knowing only the skin of the other, and confided the secrets of their truths? In that lost attic apartment, the gilt winking back candlelight from the lines of worn leather spines. Colors deep and dark, browns tending to wines, fading to shadow. Burlap and water-stained oak dulled by time. The bedsprings screeching as he flipped her, and mounted her, and gave her what was left of himself; his cock.

She begged for it. Without fear or shame. His eyes always blackened right before he came, and the muscle in his jaw knotted. Sometimes he yelled. Sometimes he smiled. When he smiled, she came hardest.

You are Lucifer, she said again. But her lips curled around the name this time, and it heated her loins.

“Yes. And you will always bleed for me.”

I know.

The Coffee House

Finally, he was coming through. Our first face to face meeting after months of conversation, of emails and chats and video calls. We’d agreed on a little coffee house in a little town off the Interstate; not too far off his path and far enough off mine. I was grateful I didn’t have to go farther this time. It helped my nerves not to be faced with such a leap out of my comfort zone. I knew in my heart I’d drive any distance for that first look, first embrace… that first kiss.

I arrived far too early. I was afraid of missing him; he said we wouldn’t have long. Amazing how closely euphoria and sorrow can live.

It was a nice day; a bit windy and still needed a fleece, but sunny. I dressed simply in a black knit top and straight dark denim skirt, finished with stockings and black leather boots. I leaned back against the fender of my Jeep.

My heart was doing a series of gymnastics. I took deep breaths as the cars streamed in and out of the lot. I’d parked at the back where I could see the entrance but was out of the way, unnoticed. Would he like what he saw? I was painfully and deliriously aware of every detail of my person; from my freshly exfoliated skin to my shaved and wet pussy and my choices of underwear and body spray. I’d taken the juices from inside and dabbed them on the pressure points of my temples, throat and behind my earlobes. I wasn’t convinced I’d be good enough, but I needed to believe I was. If I didn’t I’d run. I’d call and give a bogus story about car trouble.

I knew it was him the second he pulled in. I hugged my arms under my breasts and tried to look casual and confident. I couldn’t see his expression for the distance and the glass, but he came right for me, pulling into the space adjacent. Killed the engine. I didn’t know what to do with myself, or how to calm my errant heartbeat. I stood where I was at the rear of the car looking at the ground and the sky and smiling a smile I hoped didn’t show as many nerves as I felt.

I heard the door open and close. The clamor of traffic and geese and voices muffled and far off. The heavy conflicting odors of diesel and donuts. The sound of his approaching footfalls, and his voice saying, “Well, hello there, sexy girl.”

I was tongue tied but I smiled, then his arms were around me. I wrapped mine around his neck and held on like I might never let go. I felt his heartbeat, his heat, heard his breath; I held on to the reality, the physicality of him. He was hot and solid and unmoving. I thought maybe I was holding on too tight, or for too long, but he wasn’t letting go either. We stayed and swayed and embraced, and he whispered against my ear in that deep familiar voice, “Cat got your tongue?” He made me laugh. Everything was okay.

He finally pulled back. Not far, only enough to look into my face, his eyes and lips so close; his hand moved to the back of my neck. He said, “I can’t believe it,” and his face was leaning closer. His tongue brushed the outline of my lips before becoming more insistent until he was kissing me in a way I’d never been kissed. I tasted his hunger. His white whiskers scratched and tickled. I heard both our pulses. His clothes were moving over his skin under my touch and his hands slid lower until he pulled me firmly into his body, against his hard cock. My insides turned molten, the heat bubbling through me.

When we needed to breathe, I put my hands on either side of his neck, kept my hips pressed against his, and leaned our foreheads together. “Wow,” was all I managed.

“I want to make you mine. Right here,” he growled. There was a glint in his dark eyes, and I smiled and flushed. I pulled him in closer, adjusted his big coat to shield what I was doing from prying eyes. I caught his gaze once again with a wanton boldness that surprised me as I slid my hand down the front of my skirt, into my lace panties, deeper and deeper, my breath catching. He braced his hands on the car on either side, creating a sanctuary. I couldn’t believe I had my fingers in my cunt while a man I’d just met watched, in a public parking lot on a bright sunny day… I flushed deeper, and he stared with something that may have been wonder on his face. Or naked lust. I was too caught in the moment to differentiate.

I brought my hand back up and out, taking it to his lips. It was shining, dripping. “Taste?” I whispered.

He never let my eyes go as he took what I offered. I thought I could come just feeling his heat and saliva, his teeth, his tongue, the insistent twitch of that cock I so badly wanted to suck… he carefully, hungrily cleaned every trace from my fingers. I knew he approved; I could feel it, see it. “You are a little vixen, aren’t you?” he smiled then.

“We could get in the car, I could-”

His grin grew, and he pulled me into another hug, kissing my cheek and my hair. “No. No, not like this. Let’s go inside, I’ll buy you a coffee. Let’s talk.”

“You sure?” But he had my hand and we were walking to the building.

“Yes. But that desire of yours, baby girl, that’s going to get you into trouble.”

We sat in the farthest corner where it was quiet, coffee steaming between us. “I wish we had more time,” he said.

“Seems we’re always wishing for that unicorn.”

“Yes, it does. How are you? Besides wet and very tasty.”

I flushed again, hotter still. His gaze was unrelenting, and left me feeling stripped bare. He didn’t stop at the surface. He kept looking, digging, peeling. What I had known of him in that regard over distance didn’t hold a candle to his intensity in person. “I am those things,” I laughed. “I’m just really glad to be here. Been a long time coming.”

“It’s just the beginning, Julia.”

I searched him.

He reached across the table and I put my hand in his. He squeezed it, caressed my skin with his thumb. “You have no idea what I’m thinking of doing to you right now, Sweetie.”

“I bet I do,” I challenged.

His eyes sparked. The smile didn’t quite reach his mouth. “Given more time, I’d drag you to the nearest hotel.”

“Like Fred Flintstone?”

That got a soft laugh. “Well, no. In that case, I’d drag you to my car and paddle us there.” He sipped his coffee. “You’re uncomfortable.”

I met his gaze. “No. No, I’m a lot of things. Uncertain. Excited. Dreading saying goodbye to you. But not uncomfortable.”

“Why are you uncertain?”

I looked out the window and squeezed his hand back. “This meeting is so brief, Daniel. But it changes everything.”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if you’re still sure.”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation.

“Yeah?”

He squeezed harder until I looked at him. “Yes.”

“It just makes me want more of you.” It was a confession I felt to the bottom of my soul, but had difficulty saying aloud. It left me feeling vulnerable. I cast my eyes down, needing to hide from him the truth of how deeply I was feeling everything.

He suddenly let go of my hand, got up and slid into the booth beside me. He turned my head toward him and kissed me. It went beyond the first kiss… it was slow, sensuous, probing. I had the sensation of being savored. His hand trailed along my jaw and down my throat, down between my breasts. He brushed to the side, let his fingers sweep the undercurve then find the hard nipple, and he gave a gentle pinch, a tweak, before dropping it to my knee.

“Don’t let your coffee get cold,” he teased softly. But his hand was sliding higher, and it was his fingers on my bare skin. “You’re so soft. I want to put my tongue right here,” and his fingers pinched the delicate skin of my inner thigh, barely a hand’s breadth from my throbbing pussy.

I stifled a whimper.”You’re such a tease,” I croaked.

“Me?” he scoffed mildly. “Touch me.”

My eyes glanced around and my pulse jumped.

“No one can see. Touch me. Feel what you do to me.”

More intense eye contact as I let my hand slide down his crisp shirtfront to his belt buckle, where I paused. His breath caught. His fingers inched higher. I physically restrained myself from scooting to meet them.

“Do it.”

I did. No more hesitation. And that first brand on my palm, feeling him throb and listening to the growl in his chest. “I want you,” I whispered against his neck as my fingers closed around him through his jeans. “I want to swallow you. Lick you. Suck you till you can’t help but fuck my mouth-”

“Can I top you guys up?” a cheerful voice asked.

I held still, ducked my head and heard and felt him turn slightly, say no thank you, and felt his hand leave and his arm go around my shoulders. I still had hold of his cock beneath the table, and he was even harder than before.

“You like that?” he whispered against my hair when she was gone. “It’s all yours, Sweetie.”

I stroked slowly. Firmly.

“Careful,” he warned.

“Why?”

I felt his tongue dip into my ear sending a shower of goosebumps down my back and arms. “You’ll make me come.”

“What if I want to?” I did. I wanted to feel him spasm, to watch his eyes while he released, to hold him in my hand and kiss his mouth and know I was responsible for the pleasure he felt. I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything.

He growled again.The tension strummed through every part of his body, like a guitar string wound too tightly just before it frays and snaps, and I realized how tense my own was. I eased back, ran my hand along his thigh and looked at him. He kissed me again. Harder, a nip of my lower lip that sent an arrow of sensation through my nipples and clit and a fresh flood of desire from my cunt.

“When I can walk again, we’ll go outside. It’s getting close.”

I thought I might cry. Not gentle tears of longing, but a sorrowful wail that was filling my chest and making my head ache. I bit it back.

He rested his hand on my thigh, on top of my denim skirt, while we sipped our coffee in silence. The familiarity and weight of it was both titillating and comforting. I would feel it there long after this day had passed, and it would continue to awaken arousal each time I did.

He took out his wallet, tossed down a bill, and took my hand. “Come on.”

I wanted to dig in like a fractious young horse. Wanted to physically keep him here. But I resisted.

He held my hand firmly in both of his, my arm clasped against his body. It was gentle but unyielding, possessive. I wondered who this woman was that I loved it so.

“Listen to me,” he said as we walked. “Are you listening?”

“Yes.”

“You’re everything you claimed to be, and then some. You are amazing, beautiful, funny, intelligent… you challenge me on many levels. We start here. I need you to understand that.”

His words registered and I tried to believe them. “Okay.”

“I don’t want you leaving here today wondering what I’m thinking.”

I laughed. “You know me well.”

“I think so. What I’m thinking is, I want you. All of you, everything you’ll give me. And it will take work and patience, for both of us. But it will be worth it. You’re worth it.”

“Thank you. We are. And I can be patient.Sorry, I’m being ridiculous.” I was crying and cursing myself for it while trying to hide it from him. He stopped us again and pulled me close.

“None of that. This is a happy day, Julia. It could have gone either way. Sometimes you can click over distance but not be able to tolerate someone up close.”

“You feel it?”

He hugged tighter. “Oh yeah. I feel it.”

We kept walking and he let me dry my eyes. I looked at him and smiled. “I can live on these feelings for awhile, Daniel. As long as it takes.”

“Not too long. I intend to give you more feelings than we’ve had time for today.” We were back to the cars. “I’m leaving here far hungrier than when I arrived.” I loved his gentle teasing, his dry humor; they put me at ease.

I looked at him boldly. “I want to taste you. Give me five minutes.” I grinned.

He laughed. “Tempting. Very tempting.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he stepped close and took my face between his hands. They were strong and textured by callous. I wanted to feel them on the most intimate parts of me, parts that no one got to touch except him. “I get to go first.” He kissed my lips, then my mouth. We stood in the lengthening sunshine and feasted on one another like eager teenagers. Our bodies pressed together, our tongues dancing and exploring… I sank into it as though into a hot bath. My hands explored his hair, his smooth cheeks, neck and broad shoulders, one finally coming to rest over his heart.

He broke it with a soft groan. “It’s time.”

I nodded. He opened my car door, and I turned and hugged him again, ferociously. He made a happy sound and returned it with a firm, scratchy kiss against my neck. “In you go.”

He closed the door and I turned the ignition and lowered the window. “You be careful,” I told him.

“Yes, mom.”

I laughed.

“I will see you soon. And we’ll talk sooner. Goodbye, Lover.” He thumped the door with his hand and stepped back. Throwing it into reverse was one of the most physically difficult things I’d ever done. As I pulled away, he raised his hand, and I memorized the sight of him standing there; I felt sadness, but also awe at this rare thing we’d found, this friendship. And I felt a quietness I didn’t remember ever feeling with anyone. A certainty.

It was just the beginning.