Brando (17 page)
She didn’t need to say a word; I already know she wants me
inside her. I can smell it on her, the delicious scent of a ripe
pussy enticing me like some sweet confection.
This woman is strong, and if I didn’t spend hours in the gym
sculpting abs that you could drink champagne out of, she’d be
crushing my bones with her ferocious sex-grip. I undo my pants and
roll on a condom in a swift gesture, practiced many times, and
release my rock-hardness against her. “Is this what you were
asking for?”
“Hell yes.”
She gyrates like a pro, angling me just inside her. Squeezing those
thighs against the fabric of my pants, heaving her chest up and down
as her body begs me to enter it fully.
I push myself inside her, and the modelesque bone structure of her
face turns into an expression of uncontrolled pleasure. It’s
like I’m filling more than her pussy, like I’m filling
every inch of her body with hot-blooded passion; reaching corners she
never knew she had, so deep that it’s almost spiritual, if
she’s into that kind of thing.
She’s still pulling me inside her, deeper and deeper,
pleasantly surprised to find out how much I’ve still got to
give. And I’m only just getting started. Her hands are on her
own head now, clutching and pulling at her hair like she’s
scared her head is about to explode.
I roll off the strap of her dress and pull it down to reveal a firm,
round breast, a hard, girlishly-pink nipple inviting me to put my
lips on it. I kiss it softly and she groans— the combination of
my hard dick invading her deeply and the tender touch of my wet mouth
on her nipples is almost too much for her to handle.
I’m ready to come. I’ve been ready since she put those
amazing legs around me, but that’s my first rule – ladies
come first. No matter how long it takes them– although with me,
that’s never long at all.
I nibble at her cleavage, then move my lips up to her slender neck,
tracing the soft muscles with my tongue, and bringing my hand to her
breast, where I roll her nipple between my fingers.
“Oh God,” she groans, drawing out the last word. I’ve
been called worse.
Then the pulse of her body changes from the rhythmic push and pull of
my cock thrusts into erratic spasms of pleasure. She squeals,
gritting perfect teeth between wide lips. I feel her juice gush over
my cock, slamming out of her. Her pussy tightening so sweetly against
the base of my dick that it takes every muscle in my body to hold
back.
Her legs drop from my waist and back onto the ground. Now it’s
my turn. I grip her hair in my fist and push her head down towards my cock,
and she willingly obliges. She rips off the condom and starts using her mouth.
If I thought her pussy was sweet, her lips are even sweeter. She wraps them
around the head of my dick, taking my balls in her hand, kneading them like she’s conjuring
me to come inside her mouth. Her tongue presses up against the curves
of my cock like she’s sculpting it.
“Suck it,” I say. And she does.
I have my hand on her head, but she doesn’t need any direction,
she knows exactly what she needs to do. She’s moaning and
stroking herself with her free hand as she sucks, and pretty soon I’m
so hot that the second she opens those blue eyes and looks up at me
from beneath the strands of her straight blonde hair, I come between
the erotic redness of her lips. She licks my cum from around her
mouth, her eyes half-closing with sweet pleasure, smiling as she
rolls it around in her mouth before swallowing like it’s a
vintage wine getting her drunk.
She stands up and pulls the strap of her dress back over her shoulder
while I button my fly. Once we’ve adjusted our clothes and set
ourselves right we look at each other through now sober eyes,
acknowledging a job well done.
I nod towards her torn panties, lying in the center of the alley.
“Sorry about that.”
Her eyes narrow into cat-like slits of the brightest blue.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” And then she slinks
away, before I can even ask for her number as a courtesy. Not that I
do second dates— if that is, in fact, what we just had.
“My kind of girl,” I think, “if I had a kind.”
Continue reading
Insatiable
by JD Hawkins
Dylan
Movie reviews are bullshit, but I like to think the one that said I
have the 'eyes of a man before the kill and the smile of one who
enjoys it' got it right.
At least tonight, anyway.
I’ve spent almost the entire day working out, and though
there’s a dull ache flowing through my body, there’s also
that tingle of electricity I get whenever I stand still for too long.
A twinge in my muscles that makes me want to move, to find some
action. Luckily I know all the right places to find it.
I step out of the shower and towel myself off as I walk into the
bedroom, grabbing the beer I left on the desk and downing all of it.
It’ll take a lot more than beer to cool off the energy that’s
gathering momentum inside of me though. There’s a song with a
slow beat and a growling guitar playing, and the dusty light of a
dying LA sun highlighting parts of my room through the blinds. I grab
my phone as I settle on the edge of the bed and spin through the
contacts.
I pause before hitting dial on a friend. I could dress sharp and head
out to the bars of Los Angeles, get plenty drunk, and see where my
instincts lead me – most likely my place or hers – but
that’s not what I want tonight. I love the thrill of the chase,
but I’m ready for action right now.
Then there’s ‘Hot Ass,’ ‘Kinky Blonde,’
‘Finger Sucker,’ ‘Leggy Redhead,’ and all the
other girls with talents memorable enough to give them a special
place in my contacts, but even that won’t cut it.
Tonight I want something dirty. Something new. Something a little
dangerous. My body’s thirsting for a new taste.
I walk through the long hallway and down the staircase that runs to
the gigantic den of the mansion, big and empty but for the expensive
toys and random beer bottles lying around. I open the BootyCall app
on my phone and it presents me with a big green button, the word
‘chat’ written across it like a big understatement. I
swipe it with my thumb and hold the phone to my ear.
“Hey,” comes a dark, husky voice on the other end. Now
this is more like it. I pour myself some of the whiskey I keep on the
coffee table and stretch out on the couch.
“Hello there.”
“So. What you looking for?” she says, making it clear
what she’s looking for herself.
“I’m not sure. But I’ll know when I find it.”
She laughs, and it sounds like she’s making love to the phone.
“I like your accent,” she says. “Where you from?”
“I’m Irish.”
“Ooh,” she coos appreciatively. “You got money?”
It’s not my favorite question, but hey, this is Hollywood after
all. If I didn’t fuck girls who said stuff like this I’d
be a monk here.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling, “I’m fucking loaded.
You got a nice rack? Since we’re asking personal questions and
all.”
“Thirty-four double-dees. As good as money can buy.”
Again, it’s a weird turn of phrase, but I’ve heard worse.
“So what are you offering?” I ask.
She laughs a little, and I can hear her tongue rolling around her
lips as she does so. The combination of a husky voice and my
imagination is pretty cock-pulling, and I’m pressing the cold
whiskey glass against my boxers to keep my dick from bursting out
like something in a monster movie.
“I’m offering a whole night of the dirtiest, nastiest
stuff you could ever imagine,” she says, breathing into each
word like her body’s so hot even she can’t handle it. My
imagination is running wild. “We can do it slow…or we
can do it fast…I’ll be like hot chocolate in your
mouth…”
“How can I refuse…”
“…for only three grand.”
A cold shower could not have crippled my hard-on more. “What?!
Are you fucking kidding me?”
Her voice is all innocence now. “What’s the matter,
honey?”
“I thought this was a hook-up app, not a hooker app.”
That’s one thing I don’t do.
She giggles. “It’s worth it, sugar. If I like you, I’ll
even give you a discount.”
“Yeah, thanks, but no thanks. Paying for sex kinda kills it for
me, you know? Good luck.”
I cancel the call and let it show me the big ‘chat’
button again. I take a healthy swig of the whiskey in my glass and
decide to give it one more go.
I push the big button, bringing the phone to my ear. Someone picks up
on the other end, but for a few moments all I hear is silence.
“Hello?” I say. Another quiet beat. I’m about to
hang up when—
“Um…hello?”
The voice sounds quiet, feminine, definitely over the age of consent,
and too nervous to be a hooker. So far so good.
“Well hello there.” It’s not my best line, but her
hesitation tells me she’s new at using the app, which means
I’ll have to take it slow so she doesn’t hang up before
the fun even gets started.
“Hi,” she finally replies back. There’s an awkward
silence.
Wow, we’re off to a great start.
“So…” I say, trying to sound friendly. “What’s
your sign?”
She laughs, and it sounds nice. Genuine, soft, real – the kind
of laugh that you don’t get in Hollywood too often. I laugh a
bit too.
“Truthfully?” she says. “I’m…a
Scorpio.”
“Oh
really
,” I reply, drawing out the word,
insinuating this actually means something.
“Why does everyone always say it like that? I don’t even
know what it means! It’s the sign of revenge, right? And
jealousy? But that’s not me at all.”
“It’s also the sign of sex, death, and reinvention,”
I tell her. “You know, like rising from the ashes. Big emphasis
on the sex part, as it were.”
“Oh.” She giggles nervously, and I can practically hear
her blushing over the phone. “That explains a lot, I guess.”
“Does it, now?” I’m intrigued. “Explain it to
me. I’m all ears.”
She huffs out a breath, exasperated. “That’s not what I
meant! I meant, it explains why people assume things about me, not
that I’m some kind of nympho or something. I mean, it’s
garbage, right? Nobody really believes in this stuff.” She
laughs again, and I can feel the warmth in it. Or maybe it’s
the drink, because at this point I’ve lost track of how many in
I am.
“How very sensible of you,”
I say.
“I don’t know if I’m sensible. I mean, I’m
talking to a stranger on a booty-call app.”
“Booty-call app? I thought this was for ordering pizza.”
She giggles again, letting her nerves out, and something about it
makes me smile.
“Sorry, this is my first time using this. Have you done this
before?” she asks.
“What? Spoken to a woman with an incredibly cute laugh? Sure.
Not that often, though.”
“Haha! Very charming. But I meant used this app.”
“A couple of times,” I say, figuring the white lie will
help increase her comfort level. “You? Any internet dating,
or—?”
“Never. It’s not really my…thing. I guess you’d
say. This is pretty out of character for me.”
“Oh yeah?” There’s just something so undeniably
appealing about breaking in an uninitiated new booty-caller, I’m
happy to listen to her talk about her lack of experience.
“Yeah. I just saw something about it on TV and figured I’d
give it a shot.”
“People still watch TV?” I tease.
“Haha! Yeah…I dunno. It was kinda like…fate. The
timing was just a little too…perfect.” She sighs.
There’s clearly something upsetting her, and although normally
I’d do a 180 at the first sign of baggage in a woman, right now
it’s nice to know I’m not the only one having a rough
time.
“So signs are garbage, but fate is a thing?”
“Haha, I know. I’m a mess.” She tries to laugh
again, but I hear a tremor in her voice.
“Maybe. Aren’t we all?”
“I don’t know. You sound like you’ve got it all
figured out.”
“Believe me, I really don’t.” For some reason,
being honest with her is coming to me easily. Partly it’s the
whiskey, but she’s just shown me her vulnerability, too.
Normally I’d put on my game face and flirt my way past anything
heavy, but with the anonymity of this app I can actually just
be…myself.
“Oh yeah?” Her voice is genuinely curious, coaxing more
out of me. And I realize: I want to tell her more. Some part of me
needs this.
“Yeah. Right now I’m all alone in a house that’s
bigger than the neighborhood I grew up in, I’ve drunk an entire
bottle of whiskey since I got up this morning, and if this booty-call
app thing doesn’t work out, all that’s left for me to do
is hit the gym for the sixth time today.”
“You still sound better off than me,” she says.
“My roommate just kicked me out and I had to move into a studio
apartment that’s about the size of my parents’ bathroom,
I’m drinking something that’s supposed to be alcohol but
which I’m sure is some kind of tractor fuel, and I don’t
even know if I’ll have a job to go in to tomorrow. So…yeah.”
Her voice catches on this last line, and then I hear her sniffle and
take a sip of something.
“Sounds rough,” I say, meaning it. “But things
could be worse.”
“How?”
“You could have been connected with somebody else, for one.
Rather than this charming drunk Irishman with an absolutely
out-of-this-world six pack that you’ll just have to take my
word about, unless you’d care to see it for yourself.”
She laughs, and I can hear a rustling as she adjusts herself. The
nerves are gone.
“Confident, aren’t you?” she says, a little
sultriness entering her voice.
“You’ve got to be,
in my line of work.”
“And what is that?” she asks.
