Debonair

Cushion cut crystal rubbed beneath my fingers as I nursed the scotch inside. Anything aged twenty-five years incurred only delightful flavor. Surprisingly light on the initial taste, with dense flavors of fig, gingerbread, and chocolate, with wood tannins so spicy I wouldn’t mind a hot sauce spinoff. Macallan never failed to deliver a good batch, and yet, scotch remained an underappreciated, acquired taste. The flavors developed long before washing across my tongue, and I sat already drunk on high class and the scents of a night on the town, endorphins and perfumes alike.

Vanilla, rose, cedar, citrus, and musk all wafted through the expectant air like ordered olfactory chaos. Enclosed in glass, the fireplace behind me provided more light than warmth, just a soft, orange glow to an otherwise dark penthouse. A soundtrack fit for a swanky piano bar, curated specifically for occasions like these, played through surround sound speakers. Lana Del Rey sang of love and longing with such elegance that her heartbreak seemed almost beautiful, yet noir and debonair. She sang of fucking on the floor of a hotel room. The sidechick for some older, powerful man who, utterly helpless to her, hid in the bathroom with the shower on each time he called.

A devious smirk crept across my face. My pointer finger traced the stem of the cocktail glass resting on a coaster to my right. Though a few inches south of condensation, I felt it nonetheless. A chill, but tantalizing energy slithered up my torso in slithering, meandering circles, anticipating the coming channels for expression. Mind, body, and soul. Psychedelic, sensory figure.

The clicking of stilettos on my wood floors heightened the drama. My eyes flashed to the hallway as Brianna emerged, sending that chill from glass to spine like a rocket, colliding with slithering energy in titanic fashion. I shifted in my seat and the tingling beneath my slacks elicited subsequent jolts, aroused by the black lingerie and the attitude in her walk.

She’d donned a three-piece set of delicate lace: a push up bra that seemed to add two cup sizes, a thong that covered barely enough to allow imagination, and a garter-belt attached to silken pantyhose so smooth they gave off a slight sheen every time they caught light. A true femme fatale at heart, blood red lipstick and opulent south sea pearls — necklace and earrings — were added to the facade. All black Louboutins with red soles had their toes pointed right at me. Each step thudded in my chest like a drum.

With the stut of a sexually frustrated honeypot, she affected grace to mask a haughty, entitled belief that the world was hers by birthright, everything at her beck-and-call, through order and demand rather than action. Like a true spoiled princess.

The nature of our relationship had only served to heighten such struggles. Jetting off around the world, my freedom not yet bound by exclusivity, it had been more than a week since we’d even touched. An eternity in Brianna time. Meanwhile I was off in the Caribbean touring ports and warehouses, enjoying a carefully curated menu of companions as she masturbated herself into a hot mess, spamming my messages at all hours of the day with pictures and videos. At some point during that trip, she’d elaborated on this upcoming fantasy: of making me suffer like I’d done to her. And all day after I landed, I continued receiving texts describing the tease she’d put on.

Now, she stood in front of me, having refreshed her lipstick and perfume, and ditched the sexy black dress I had purchased for her to wear over the lingerie.

Her arm extended towards me, where I’d already put the martini glass within reach, watching intently as her French tips wrapped around the stem. A heavy weight fell to my lap, and I looked down to see a dildo. Eight inches in length, slightly curved, almost unbearable girth, with protruding veins snaking across the shaft. It was her favorite among her collection because it most closely resembled me. I wondered what exactly this tease was supposed to accomplish, besides replacing me for a proxy.

Thank you, she mouthed.

Gazing up at her in wonderment, my smirk was the only response she received.

We took a sip of our respective drinks, watching each other over the rims, eyes speaking volumes. One set showed amusement, the other: annoyance.

She plucked the skewer from the glass and handed it back to me. One of the olives was seductively pulled off with her teeth while I returned the glass to the coaster, admiring the perfect lipstick mark she left behind. I pivoted back around just as a heel sent me to the back of the chair. Hands planted firmly on my chest to hold me. On a breathy exhale, I traced up the back of those pantyhose to find out exactly how little the thong covered. It wasn’t much.

An enormous amount of trust was put into my self-control as she settled into my lap. Icy eyes stared into me, a perfect match for her smoldering lips. She flipped the skewer to offer me the last olive. I grabbed it with my teeth just as she had, and slid it off the plastic spear and into my mouth.

“Are you ready for your show?” she purred, carelessly tossing the skewer off to the side and fishing the dildo out from its place between our stomachs.

“I’ve been ready since you sent those first texts,” I whispered, painting an imaginary line down her cleavage with a single finger. “Ready to see how long it takes for you to break character.”

The comment wasn’t received well. Cool silicone slapped against my cheek, where Brianna seemed to compare its size to my head. “I think he might be bigger than you.”

“Doubt it.”

“Mmm. I guess I’ll have to fuck him and see.”

My expression became playfully non-committal. “I look forward to the show.”

Doubling down, Brianna worked up a large amount of slobber and licked the dildo from base to glans, spitting at the top so her saliva trickled down across the shaft and my cheek alike. Lipstick smeared across us both as she kissed it and added more. Her other hand dug up beneath my shirt, sending nails into my skin which I pretended had no effect. Wishing to shame me further, the dildo was pressed against the front of my face instead. She continued slobbering and kissing, drenching me from forehead to chin as she worked the make-believe cock.

I turned my head to take another sip of my whisky as the blowjob became more intense, but Brianna would not abide indifference. French tips gripped my cheek and forced me back. The passion in her performance was genuinely breathtaking. Eyes closed, holding my face, she sucked away like she was angling for an Oscar, slurping, gagging, leaving a puddle in my lap.

A minute later, she gave us all a reprieve. Staring at me from behind the shaft, messy red lips pulled into a cheshire grin.

“Be jealous,” she whispered, then pushed herself upright, backing away with little, almost hesitant steps.

“No. Don’t. Come back,” I begged, voice flat.

“Shut up.”

She paused barely two feet away, dildo held between her cleavage, smearing creamy skin crimson. Though she tried her best to remain so serious, a giggle almost escaped as we stared each other down. Like a ballerina she swiveled on a single heel, then bent over, thong disappearing into the shadow between her buttocks as she pressed the dildo’s suction cup into the floor.

For a few rather strange minutes she stayed like that, carefully stroking with a hand in her panties, muttering ‘fuck’ under her breath several times. I was genuinely impressed with the move that brought her back standing. Clearly, it was something she’d been practicing. Those raven locks whipped back, and ass out, one hand swept up her thigh as she side-eyed me with lust.

At the top, she played with the wetness on her fingers before sucking them clean.

Then, as if already growing apathetic, her arms lowered to her sides.

“Why are you still wearing clothes?” she droned.

“What happened to the show?” My arms went wide, head cocked in feigned disappointment. “I thought you were about to cuckold me with Stretch Armstrong?”

Her face scrunched, eyes narrowed. “Take them off.”

“I was weirdly looking forward to it….”

“Now.”

I emptied my glass, then settled back. “Make me.”

Rose red lips in a snarl, an air of hesitation just preceded her advance. Heels clacked once more until she grabbed the back of my head and shoved my face into her tits. Lest I be suffocated by tender cleavage I kissed and licked and bit and slobbered everything spilling out of that push up bra. But I was left wanting, tossed back without regard. She pounced instantly, fingers making remarkably quick work of the buttons on my shirt. A seam was ripped as it was pulled off and cast aside.

There was little time to mourn good linen, though, when my cock was begging to the point of insanity for its freedom, antagonized by sloppy, hungry kisses down my torso.

Brianna stopped just short, hands firmly clutching my belt. Wildness beset her eyes as she gazed up at me.

Hoping I would break, she spared one hand to caress the unmistakable bulge. My wince begat a mischievous smirk.

“Did it miss me?”

Air hissed through my teeth. Otherwise, I held to silence.

She began stroking, kissing it through the fabric. Instead of me, however, she addressed the follow up to my cock itself. “I asked you a question.”

The lack of answer elicited a groan, such that my belt and pants were removed ever so slowly. Once liberated, it stood rigid as a pole and leaking. With the tip of her tongue, Brianna cleaned the tip, and sucked lightly, before kissing down the shaft in a damn near straight line.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she delighted in an unsettling tone.

Her teeth very gently took one of my balls between them, but not gentle enough for me to seize and cry. Brianna giggled.

“You fucking bitch.”

She slithered back up, nuzzling against my cheek so she could whisper, “you’re gonna fucking say it, Hunter.”

I wasn’t quite sure what the show was at this point, but she spun around and quickly found a seat across the bottom of my shaft, pinning it up against my abdomen. A thin stretch of silk flanked by porcelain smooth skin created little friction.

One at a time, my hands were guided to her hips as they slowly wriggled about atop my surging erection, making sure I felt the separation fabric caused between flesh. Then, also one at a time, my hands departed from lace and met skin, feeling every inch on their way up her smooth, toned midsection. She groaned and leaned back, hands running up my neck to rifle through my hair. She sighed as my lips kissed everything within reach. Shivers abounded in her body as my hands traveled higher, eventually squeezing the cups of her bra. Leaning further, her teeth unexpectedly clamped down on my ear lobe. I seized momentarily from the chill that blew down my spine. As much as I tried, I couldn’t hide it. I sputtered, and Brianna cackled.

“If you’re gonna play with my tits, then do it right,” she chastised me, pressing up on my thighs to stand and turn back around.

The bra came unclasped. The breasts she unveiled were perfectly proportioned, just like the rest of her, ski-sloped and perked at the base. Her pale complexion glimmered faintly in the orange hues of the fireplace, and on her breasts, ghost nipples flashed a muted pink.

She wrapped the bra around the back of my neck, holding tight to either side, and came in for a kiss. It was messy, greedy, but wholly unrushed. Every second, every touchpoint of tongue and lips savored. There was a sense of persuasion, luring me into her web to relieve herself of the waiting. She was so fucking tired of waiting. So much so, she was on the verge of canceling her performance entirely. Whatever it was originally supposed to be.

Brianna nibbled at my lower lip. Nails sank into the back and side of my neck, beckoning me closer, demanding I venture deeper.

And I did. Deeper and deeper. Pulling her closer and closer. Tongues intertwining further and further.

Until the kiss was finally broken.

My neck and hairless chest were each subsequently stained with faint imprints of surviving lipstick.

Then, in enchanting fashion, Brianna dropped to her knees, lips opened. With perfect eye contact, she reminded me how easily, how skillfully she serviced me. My cock disappeared behind that precariously confident facade, until those lips rested on pelvis and scrotum. She held there, without gagging, the relief in her eyes always attaching her self-esteem to these acts.

My cock always made her so happy. She was in love with it…as they all eventually were. Thoughts of it consumed her day and night. Here, the joy was written all over her face. Since her lips were occupied, it was her eyes that smiled. Her muscles relaxed and I felt her sinking deeper, legs and hips opening…just like her heart.

She came back up, letting streams of slobber drip from her mouth to be sensually spread across my shaft by an admittedly skillful hand. A wad of spit dangled down to join.

“Mmmm, fuck,” I moaned, my fingers tangled up in her hair as I forced her back down.

Waves of tingling energy rode up and down my body as I remembered all the messages she sent me while I was gone. Numerous poses: naked in front of her bedroom mirror, masturbating furiously on her bed, my doppelgänger shoved all the way inside with each stroke. A short story of what she’d do if she could have free reign over me for a day. Drunk, dirty voicemails, proclaiming her rapid arc towards insanity of I didn’t come back and fuck her soon.

The reveries were broken by gurgling as Brianna attempted to swallow whatever more she could. I pushed my hips upwards, reeling from the sudden shift in sensation against my head. After a few seconds or so, she returned to air, exhaling heavily as another thick stream of saliva fell from her mouth.

She stroked it with both hands between her tits as I continued nursing my drink.

“You look so cute like that,” I taunted her, hiding the jolts of electricity that were firing haphazardly through my nervous system.

“I’m not cute.”

She released my cock and stood back up. The thong slid down her legs, which she stepped out of rather than letting it drop to the floor. Once it was in her hands, she wrapped it around my cock and stretched a leg up next to my shoulder. The stiletto heel dug into the back of the chair, nearly ruining the Italian leather as she showed off the benefits of yoga.

She tugged at the bra that was still around my neck, using it like a lasso to corral me to her pussy so that my lips were just barely touching it. Brianna looked down at me. I gazed back at her, beads of precum trickling onto the already damp thong.

“I’m iconic,” she announced proudly.

“Mmm…hard to argue with that,” I moaned, flicking my tongue out to lap up some of the wetness I saw leaking from her pussy lips.

Brianna knew where she had me, though. In those seven days, I had been with six other girls. The unstated, but understood part of our agreement. Now, the nymphomaniac had the pussy addict within spitting distance of his next fix. She wanted me to feel the deprivation, too—the teasing. Just not really. Or not for long.

She whipped her hips back half an inch when she saw my tongue extend. Just enough to put it out of reach. A sadistic giggle erupted from behind that red lipstick as I looked up at her. With each new attempted taste came another jolt back, and an increase in volume.

“You want my pussy?” she asked with icy blue eyes filled with a brief moment of empowerment.

I nodded in response. Her hips moved closer.

“Did you miss it?”

The empowerment began fading, replaced by a mildly heartbreaking optimism. She wanted to know that she was missed, that I was back here fucking her not out of habit and obligation to our arrangement, but because I actually wanted to.

I nodded again. Her hips faked a move, but stayed in place.

“Say it,” she muttered after some noticeable hesitation. Dominance wasn’t her modus operandi. She was more of a throw a fit or bat her eyelids to get what she wanted kind of girl.

Though that was essentially happening now, the sudden flash of dominatrix aroused me, however timid of a form it was.

So I leaned into it.

I slogged down the rest of my whisky and set the glass on the table. Gently, lovingly, I slid one of my hands around her ass and admired her pussy. It was a reflection of her: prim and proper—but with a nasty attitude. The neat, symmetrical lips were an illusion. Between them was a wonderland. Not the utopian kind, but something out of a Lewis Carroll novel: down the rabbit hole and through looking glass, where everything is nonsense, and the roses are painted red.

It was an addictive, petulant, spoiled little pussy, and my cock was growing even harder the longer I looked at it.

My eyes migrated upwards, adoring the graceful contours of her toned stomach, the cute little mole under her left breast, the eyes which wore her emotions like two little circular billboards.

My other hand migrated downwards, feeling the slick, delicate fabric of the thong she had wrapped around it. I used its texture in lieu of saliva and stroked myself, returning my eyes to her deceptively perfect labia.

“I missed your pussy, Brianna,” I confessed, truthfully. For she was a fix. An addiction. Just as I was for her.

It was enough for Brianna to sense authenticity, and those labia smashed into my face. I worshiped that topsy turvy pussy at the same pace I stroked myself: slow, passionate, and with longing.

The hand around her ass found its way to the middle. It pushed her into a slight rotation, angling her pussy so that I could target her clit better. She got extra pleasure from the finger that massaged her asshole, too, reminding her of the creampie I left in there the morning before I left.

Her pussy gushed instantly. I eagerly lapped up the rushing juices, savoring every drop of the sweetened almond milk flavor it was known for.

“Oh fuck, Hunter,” Brianna gasped, repeating her usual mantra. “I fucking missed that tongue.”

Having closed my eyes for a bit, I opened them and positioned them up at her. The wetness increased again, this time what felt like tenfold. I let out a moan of my own as I continued stroking myself. It was me grabbing her hand on the way down the rabbit hole, pulling her further with me.

Little splashes of chilled vodka and dry vermouth added to the mess as Brianna attempted to sip on her martini. Instead, she opted to chug the whole thing and carefully set it on the side table. She failed. The table scooted, bumped away by her sloppiness. The glass fell back and shattered.

But we didn’t care.

When she returned upright, my index and middle finger entered her, with my pinkie extending back to continue paying attention to her equally needy asshole. Both her hands clamped behind my head, smushing her plump lips on either side of my cheeks. Her hips were loose, fully opened, but spastic in movement. They became more frantic with each stroke of my fingers, with each swirl of my tongue. Her voice was incoherent, just a slur of mismatched syllables and tones which became shriller with every passing second until it was a high pitched wine.

In the background, the ballad reached a crescendo. The tempo dropped. The tones went low. The woman cried out with her.

And her pussy squirted all over me.

I consumed every drop of it like I was drinking from a fire hose. My mouth opened wide as it gushed out. I licked it off her thighs and my hands. Off her labia. And for a second, I had half a mind to drop to the floor and debase myself for the rest.

Instead, opted for seconds. But she pushed me away and backpedaled towards the dildo that was still stuck to the floor. She wanted more, too. I could see it in her eyes—but she had promised me a show.

And by god, I was going to get my show.

With my hand still firmly around my leaking cock, I watched as Brianna lowered herself onto the dildo with a Cheshire grin. I started to feel the pangs of jealousy as I watched it disappear into her pussy. I wanted to be that dildo. I wanted to get lost in that wonderland and leave a little piece of myself inside. To feel its psychotropic power. To share her insanity for a time. To know what it was like in that chaotic little head.

Brianna knew it, too. She cackled as she rode it, playing with her clit as she showed off her slutty hips. I stayed cool, calm, and collected in my masturbation. Or attempted to, at least.

The ache proved too much, though. Two minutes in and I was out of the chair, stomping towards her. I removed the panties from my cock and tossed them to the side after a quick sniff. Her mouth opened for me in anticipation, and I was once again graced with its warm, cushioned confines.

Her riding wasn’t affected for a second. I wasn’t the least bit shocked, and not just because I knew for a fact she had done this before—with two cocks instead of one. Sex wasn’t just a love language to Brianna. It was an art, an outlet for catharsis and self-expression just as it was for me. That’s why I fucked those six girls in Mexico, and it’s why she let the two guys that did her homework and got her test answers back at Wesleyan double team her more than once.

It didn’t diminish her blowjob skills, either. I gathered her obsidian locks behind her head and she swallowed me to the point where she flicked her tongue out at my balls. Her smart, wily tongue and possessive, luscious lips made a playground of my cock in between rounds of deepthroating. Her tongue swirled around my head and back down. She French kissed my balls as her hands stroked me. Her lips sucked at the tip. She moved with the haste of deep seeded desire, with the intensity of addiction.

Even as she neared another climax, she didn’t stop. I felt the tremors, though. They rippled through her hands and mouth and into my cock, causing me to twitch with excitement as I marveled at the beauty and depth and infinite expanse of the female orgasm yet again. I dropped a hand from her hair and pinched one of her nipples. The wince came with a puff of air out of her nose, unable to escape from her mouth as it was filled entirely with my cock. I used the hand behind her head to slowly thrust further, feeling the constriction increase. She swallowed me down to the base again and licked my balls as she orgasmed, muffling moans into the makeshift gag.

We stayed in place for a solid thirty seconds as she convulsed and rebooted, rubbing her clit relentlessly while I pinched harder and thrust my hips forward slowly.

A gasp and a grunt rang out through the living room. My cock emerged from her mouth, dripping, with strings of saliva dangling down, coating her breasts and falling to the floor. I cupped her chin in my hand and bent down, swallowing loads of it as we got raptured into a messy make out.

It tasted like a mixture of lustful insanity and my cock, a combination that got her up from the dildo and stumbling backwards with me towards the chair. Her hands ravaged every part of me, sweeping up my chest, grasping my neck like a vice grip, running through my hair, squeezing my ass and touching my abs like they were precious treasure soon to be forever in the hands of another. The mad pussy enveloped me within a second of my bare ass hitting the Italian leather.

Our lips stayed together. Our tongues remained inseparable. The saliva smeared all around our cheeks and dripped down our chins.

Brianna rode me like it was the last thing she’d ever do. She bounced on my cock with urgency, sending me deep into the dimensions of insanity her pussy held. Beads of her wetness trickled down my perineum and pooled around my asshole. I squeezed and spanked her ass as she lost herself and took me with her, meditating silently to keep my cum from spilling out too soon.

It wasn’t the wetness alone that got me, but the wetness combined with the texture. Her pussy always seemed to morph to the shape of my cock, hugging it with little bumps and bristles and waves that stimulated me into oblivion. With her experience and helpless need to please, it was a perfect storm.

And with storms, comes the rain.

Brianna’s bouncing became a broken, bumpy grind. Her pussy tightened and pulsated as her nails sunk into my skin. Her ecstatic scream echoed between my teeth. She pushed herself up and drenched us both, rubbing her clit until I grabbed her by the hips and forced her back down.

“Fuck! Ah!” she panted, holding on for dear life as I stood up and carried her down the hall to the bedroom.

I hugged her close and lowered us down to the mattress.

My hands went under her tailbone, angling her hips towards the sky and I thrust into her with slow, forceful movements that rocked the bed. They were deep and passionate, touching every part of her.

“Oh, fuck…” I groaned into her ear, which sent her hips rocking once again in an effort to milk me for all I was worth.

Her nails etched red streaks down my lats, and pierced little staple marks into my shoulders and biceps. My head and body became like an animal in heat. I couldn’t stop even if I tried. Her pussy possessed me like an acid trip into the furthest, unexplored depths of ecstasy. I thrust deeper, pushing with my mind as much as my hips. The force of it met her body with repetitive, deafening smacks. The only things overpowering that sound were her screaming and my roars.

“Fuck, Hunter!” she cried out, locking her ankles around my lower back. “Yes! Yes! Cum inside me, Hunter. Cum inside me.”

She repeated those last three words like a broken record, whispering into my ear like it was a disguise for some subliminal message or spell designed to make me fall in love with her. There were no objections from me on the first count. I came inside her often—and tonight was no exception.

Her pussy overwhelmed me in the final seconds—sloshing and silky, manipulative and dangerous. I kept driving until I passed the point of no return. Both of us became geysers, with my cock exploding into her as she exploded outwards like a fire hydrant. The tingling became overstimulation and I gradually slowed to a halt, her pussy pushing my cock out so that the final drops splattered all over those puffy, squishy lips.

I hovered around the opening for a while, teasing her slit with my head as we looked into each other’s eyes and caught our breath.

There was no more reality at that point. I even forgot we were on my bed. All that existed was sex. Not the wholesome, loving kind. The insatiable, sinful type. The kind that leaves you wanting more because all it is is fleeting physical pleasure.

We knew that’s all it was—and that’s why we couldn’t stop.

I slipped back in, using her fluids and my cum as lubricant and rocked about slowly. We made out in slow motion, sucking at each other’s tongues and biting lips for as long as we both would last.

I honestly don’t even know how much time passed. All I remember was my eyes closed into blackness, abandoning reason for wonderland, relishing the softness that covered her inside and out—until we came again.

The orgasms were mellow this time. They were gentle, warm ocean waves that started at our core and radiated outwards.

Until I collapsed onto her and let my erection fade.

Until I sank into the wetness of the tide.

Until I regained my senses and realized I had a hankering for a smoke.

I left her there, breathless and leaking fluids all over my bedding and walked to my closet.

Between the rows of shelves that housed my collection of toys and my cigar humidor sat several glass jars of bud. I grabbed the jar labeled “Northern Lights”, along with the necessary supplies and brought it out to the bed. The book on my nightstand—A Storm of Swords—served as the flat surface upon which I rolled us a blunt.

As I brought the paper up to lick and seal it, I caught a glimpse of Brianna’s pussy still oozing cum and got a clever idea. I slipped a single finger through her folds and used it instead of my saliva.

The light flicked and the blunt lit. I drew in deep and blew the smoke out into the dark room.

Brianna still lay there, silent, her lungs rising and falling at a leisurely pace.

“You good?”

She blew out a big puff of air.

“Yeah. Did you just use our cum to seal a blunt?” she giggled.

I laughed and took another draw. Brianna sat up and shook her head in disbelief.

“Give me that,” she demanded, snatching it from my fingers as I finished my inhale and took a draw of her own.

Even after a thorough fucking, she still looked debonair. The elegance never left her. She held the blunt between her fingers like a French woman from the twenties smoking a cigarette.

I smiled at the sight, humored by the charades she spent her free time putting on and aroused by the inhibitions she disregarded in my presence.

She was anything but a good girl.

She was anything but wife material.

But by god was she fun.

A wonderful trip.

A rabbit hole.

A looking glass.

A fix.