Round 6 of the Smut Marathon has arrived! That sound you hear is the sound of me popping champagne. Well, maybe I'm popping the champagne in my head. It is only 6:07, after all. How about a big cheer and a huge cup of java to celebrate these stories. The theme this time was "Fortune." Why? Because I like fortune fish, and fortune cookies, and I feel very fortunate to have so many fabulous writers playing along on this very very long competition!
Here is what I pitched to the writers: You've all had the good fortune (and the raw talent) to last this long. I am uber impressed! Now, I have a brand-new challenge to throw your way. Use the concept of "fortune" in a 750-word story. (That's 750 words max. You don't need to use every last word, but don't go over the limit.) Let the fortune be with you!
The writers have all presented their pieces. The poll will be up until October 4th at midnight. Please read these carefully and choose your favorite. Our guest judge this round is Sophia Valenti, one of those writers who I can depend on to turn my switch to high every time. She will give me her choice for the top story and the poll will determine the readers' choice, as well as which writers will continue to Challenge 7! (I just wrote "Challenge 5." I guess I want to go back in time. Or bed.)
Entry #1: Meant to Be
The maitre d’ had stuck her in a corner of the restaurant, but Rachel didn’t mind. It gave her some extra time to compose herself before her date turned up. Her Internet date. What had she been thinking? God, she groaned inwardly. Why had she listened to her friends telling her she needed to go out more? Sure, she’d love a man in her life, but online matching never worked! Knowing her luck, he’d look like a leprechaun but without the pot of gold.
Shoot. She was massaging her forehead when a smooth voice interrupted her wandering thoughts.
She looked up, and nearly swallowed her tongue. This was her match? “There must be a mistake.”
His blonde-streaked hair glistened in the muted lights as he took a step back. “You’re not Rachel? Oh, I’m sorry.”
She shook her head then finally found her voice. “No. I mean, yes. I’m Rachel.”
“Oh. Good.” A wide smile curved his lips as he stretched his hand toward her to shake. “Hi. I’m Nick, nice to meet you.”
“You too,” she squeaked out. “You’re my match?” She thought she’d said that quietly. Apparently not. His grin widened even more, showing sparkling white teeth.
“I am, yes. Can I…” He pointed towards the chair nearest her and she gulped but nodded. He scraped the chair back, his thigh brushing hers as he sat down. Far too damn close to her. “Is this your first time too?”
“Yes, but… Nick, is it?” He nodded. “Are you sure you’re supposed to be my match?” He couldn’t have asked for someone like her. He just couldn’t have. There’d been a mistake somewhere, she was sure of it.
“Oh, most definitely.” He leaned in, his breath brushing her mouth. “You’re exactly my type after all. I was actually congratulating myself that the site had gotten all my preferences right.”
“Preferences?” She couldn’t help but lick her lips.
His eyes followed the movement of her tongue before he answered, “Let’s get to know each other better, and then I’ll tell you.
What do you say?”
* * * *
“Still think there’s been a mistake?” he asked, his voice husky as he looked up from between her thighs.
Her head shaking wildly from side to side, she gasped, “Don’t stop!”
But he did. “You haven’t answered my question.”
His thumb played with her clit, one small caress that she felt so deep inside her she wondered for a second whether she wasn’t going to come. Just like that. “I don’t know. I don’t know!”
“Mmm.” He frowned. “Guess I’m going to have to convince you further.”
* * * *
“What about now? Still think it was a mistake?” Nick’s question was a breathy whisper across her lips as he started sliding inside her, her walls stretching to take him all in.
She grabbed his biceps and held on. “No!” she managed to utter.
“Good.” He took her mouth into a hard kiss and only broke away when his thrusts turned erratic. “Because it was you I wanted.”
One more push and they were both shouting.
* * * *
“Stop it!” she said through gritted teeth. She caught the hand that had been climbing steadily up her thigh. “Nick! Not here.
“Why not? Think it’s a mistake?”
She shook her head, half exasperated he still used that question, half smiling because he was so damn cute. “What do you think?” she shot back, wanting to know what he’d do next.
He didn’t disappoint.
In a darkened theater, with their coats thrown over their laps, they caressed each other to a frenzy. When his ring finger slipped inside her, she widened her stance and fought the urge to thrust her hips out.
When her hand curled around the base of his cock and tightened inexorably, he grasped the armrest at his right and held on tight.
* * * *
The pastor’s clear voice rang over Rachel’s head, “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
She turned towards Nick and caught his grin. Oh no, she thought, but nothing could have prepared her for her soon-to-be husband asking in front of all their families and friends, “No mistake?”
She bit back a laugh, conscious of the people surrounding them, but her eyes told him there’d be payback. He winked back at her just before she opened her mouth and replied, “I do.”
Entry #2: In Bed
I never gave much thought to the people who wrote fortunes cookies, until I graduated from college and desperate for a job. I registered with a temp agency, and within 48 hours I was reporting for a two-week gig writing fortunes.
I thought it would be a simple job, but once I was sitting in that cubicle in front of a blank document and blinking cursor, I found myself with a case of writer’s block. After an hour I finally eked out: “Your principles will lead to great wealth.” By the time my lunch hour rolled around, I had only written three more fortunes, each one as dull as the last. In the break room I picked at my food, fearing the consequences of my mental block. Then I remembered the “In Bed” game I’d played with my friends, in which we added the phrase to the end of our fortunes. I felt inspired at the thought of playing the game as I wrote.
Within 20 minutes of sitting back down, I had written: “You are talented in many ways.” I grimaced, not entirely please with my effort. But at least I’d written something in under an hour.
My productivity increased, and so did my imagination. “Treasure awaits you at the end of the day”; “Tomorrow you will get your way”; “Your hands bring pleasure to everyone they touch.” I paused, highlighted my text, and hovered my index finger over the “delete” key. Erase that one, I thought. You’re going too far. Yet I couldn’t help but chuckle. Anyone who played the game - and who didn’t play the game? - would certainly appreciate the anonymous cookie writer with a sense of humor.
I spent the rest of the week flying through the work. I committed to writing ten clean fortunes a day, and once I struggled through those, I could write all the dirty fortunes I wanted. “Tonight, you will have two women”; “Your tongue is your greatest asset”; “Try entering through the back door.” It seemed that nobody looked at what I’d written, because I never heard a word from any of my superiors about the material I’d saved to the hard drive.
A few weeks later, frustrated by my new gig at a call center, I decided to treat myself to some Chinese food. As I enjoyed egg rolls and shrimp lo mein, I watched a beautiful woman eat fried rice and potstickers. I admired her manicure, her full lips, the hang of her tailored clothes on her body. Breaking open my fortune cookie, I was shocked to come across my own handiwork: “A sexy stranger will soon become familiar.” I laughed, not expecting to have seen one of my fortunes, not expecting they actually would have been printed. Keeping my eye on the woman in the back of the restaurant, I surmised by the raise of her eyebrows that she was reading my words as well.
I walked over and sat down at her table. “Like what you got?"
She eyed me cautiously. “Perhaps.”
“I wrote that.”
“You write fortune cookies for a living?”
“It was a temp gig.”
“Still. You can’t be the only fortune writer in the world. How do you know I got one of yours?"
I handed her my fortune. “Because I got some of my own work, too.”
She blushed and handed me her slip of paper. I saw one of my favorites: “Don’t be afraid to get naked.”
“Clearly, I’m a visionary.”
She reached out to stroke my arm, and I could feel my nipples harden. “So, Ms. Fortune Writer, what do we do now?"
I slipped a finger up under her skirt, pushed aside her panties, watched her eyelids flutter as she attempted to maintain her composure. I felt her her clit swell against my skin and started to rub, her knees twitching as I worked her faster and faster.
“We have no choice but to follow the path that fate revealed to me as I was writing fortunes.” I kissed her, slipping my tongue between her teeth, feeling every fiber of her body tremble.
She slipped her fingers around my breast, and when the orgasm hit, she gasped and pinched the nipple.
“We’ll meet our fate at my place,” she whispered. “In bed.”
Entry #3: Fortune Cookies
You will get head.
Laura stared at the little slip of paper in her fingers. Tiny crumbs from the cookie obscured the last letter. Hoping there was a missing "a" in "head", she brushed off the crumbs but the naked words remained. She glanced up to John, then back down at the paper. Gulping, she felt sweat trickling down the back of her neck.
He spoke in his deep, husky voice, "What does it say?"
Stalling, Laura balled the paper into her palm. She gave her best smile before answering, "You first."
John cleared his throat and unrolled the paper.
"It says: you learn more with silence than with words."
His eyes twinkled and he looked up at her through half-closed eyes. "In between the sheets, right?"
"John, are you sure the second date is right for those type of games?"
John flinched and looked at her sheepishly. "Going to fast? This isn't exactly our second date either."
"No, just," she struggled for a word, "trying not to make another mistake."
"It wasn't a mistake. We were never a mistake."
John reached over to caress her. She smiled at the rough fingers, a carpenter's hands, exploring the knuckles of her hand. Thankfully, they were already sitting and when Laura felt weak in the knees, only her legs trembled. She rested her thumb on his hand and took a deep breath.
"John, we are both unlucky, you know that-"
You will get head.
"-and I," she felt flushed, "just want to make sure we really mean it this time."
John stared into her eyes and her flush grew hotter.
"I never stopped loving you, Laura."
Sniffing, she nodded, "And I never stopped either."
She stared into his warm brown eyes and lost herself. Smiling, Laura squeezed John's hand.
"So, what did it say?"
"What?" asked Laura.
"The fortune cookie. You never said what it said. I bet it was really naughty between the sheets."
Laura rolled her eyes, but didn't even reach for the paper balled in her hand. "It wasn't that good."
"Everything is good," he licked his lips, "between the sheets."
"Come on. I told you mine."
She considered throwing it away, getting up to the go the bathroom, or even calling for the bill.
You will get head.
She bit her lip. "It says..."
"It says you are going to go down on me."
John stared, his mouth opening in surprise. She enjoyed how his trimmed beard followed the line of his jaw. He used to leave it shaggy in college. "Seriously?"
Blushing, she handed it over. Her eyes watched with anticipation as he unrolled the paper. He read it, his eyes moving back and forth.
"I'll be damned," was all he said.
"Do you think it is a typo?"
"Yeah, that's it. It must be." He folded the strip of paper in half. "They probably meant 'ahead' or something."
She laughed with him, but it didn't match the images playing in her head.
"That must be it."
You will get head.
She stared at his face and remembered his strong body. She ached for him as much as she wanted to run away from the restaurant. She fought her urges and slid her fingers around his palm, caressing his rough skin. So much changed since she ran away last time, leaving him at the altar.
He broke the silence.
"I never went down on you, did I?"
Her pussy grew moist.
"No, not even when I begged."
"I didn't appreciate you enough, Laura."
"We were young, stupid, and unlucky."
"Want to change your luck?"
"What?" she asked, feeling her aching anticipation growing.
John's hands caressed hers. "I remember how many times you sucked me off. Now, years later, I realized I've been wanting to do the same for you. Return the favor as it were."
Her body tensed, remembering how much she begged... and how many times he refused.
"In fact, all I can think is how much I want to pull those jeans off right now. You still go commando?"
Blushing, she stammered, "It's a," she gulped, "a thong."
"Oh," he licked his lips, "that will have to go."
"I would like that."
"Good, because I've been thinking about this for a long time."
You will get head.
"Yes, because I bet you taste sweet." His voice lowered, almost a growl, "And I want dessert."
"Of course not-"
She waited for his excuse.
"-I have to pay the bill first."
Entry #4: 'The Fuck Cookies
"Keep it random." he suggested, "Spontaneous. Out of the blue."
"How?" She was a creature of habit. Comfortable routines. Regular schedules. Always on time at the right place. Meeting him had been one of those rare distracted occasions that caused her to get lost. For him to come to her aid. And for love to blossom from instant attraction.
"Make a decision."
"But I always do. Sure, I'm successful but guys weren't exactly queuing."
"That's because you always need to control. You'd make a good dominatrix."
She responded with an 'as if' snort.
"So try the other way. Submit. Let go. Lose yourself. After all, that's how we met."
She had a problem with that. It's how she was.
That's when he gave her the fortune cookies. Only he had stuck a label on, changing the title to 'Fucking Cookies'.
"You get to choose but have no idea of the outcome."
"I've got a fair inkling." She replied, eyeing the sticker.
"But not how we get there. Or what we do during, or after. Assuming we stop, that is..."
She laughed and opened the box. Pulled out the first cookie and snapped it apart. Read the slip as she munched thoughtfully on the small cake.
"What does it say?" He asked.
*Simplicity should be your theme in dress.*
Crumpling the fortune in her palm, she decisively, without fuss, stripped naked in the kitchen. Right there and then.
"It couldn't be any simpler, could it?" She responded, enigmatically. Usually she let him undress her, entice her, seduce her and make love slowly than passionately. They hadn't indulged in a quickie yet. Being completely nude, at her unchosen bidding, made her heart pound fast, and the butterflies in her stomach melted into damp arousal. A mix of trepidation and excitement. A need to have him impromptu. Shooting from the hips.
He raised an eyebrow. "Try another."
*You have remarkable power which you are not using.*
Quite probably, she considered. The energy of not knowing. Past fuckings had been so engineered by her... meticulous in execution that he couldn't fail to climax, giving her great satisfaction in pleasing him. But so lacking in the possibility of failing, at the expense of innovation and creativity. Unlike him. So animal, so untamed, when she aroused him so much that he would fuck her intensely and sweetly. She thought that was her doing but perhaps it was always his way.
Her breath came in urgent, quick pants. Her almost photographic recall of techniques blurred in a haze of lust, of drumming pulse, trembling bare skin and selfish need. She could see his trousers getting tighter, the growing bulge stretching. She had to have him, have his cock, inside her quivering, trigger-tender twat... Right. Fucking. Now.
She lunged at him. Stuck her tongue in his mouth and groped his thick cock, tearing at the zip so she could feel its heat first-hand. He responded by palming her muff, lifting her on tip-toe on three penetrating fingers as they both tried to undress him. Then they sprawled over the breakfast bar.
"Cookie?" he gasped.
"No, I meant..."
It lay on its side, individually wrapped possibilities scattered by his head.
One hand busy stroking his tight-skinned, dribbling dick vigorously, she grabbed one. Tore the wrapper off with her teeth, munched the cookie and spat out the fortune.
*You will reach the height of success in whatever you do.*
He was bigger than she had ever seen, his cock the height of her unconsidered success. Inspired, she straddled his chest with her thighs and rubbed her now wet cunt onto his surprised open mouth. Let him eat her out as animally as he desired, while she stuffed his cock between her lips and sucked him, blindly, instinctively, until his hips surged and he pump-fucked her face.
His tongue was licking her out savagely when he thumped her back and flicked another cookie past her head to land between his knees. Her mouth on auto, she let go briefly from jerking his shaft and gripping his balls, to tear it open.
*Everything will now come your way.*
Her hands just had time to return to massaging and twisting his dick when he came, with everything he had. Her taste buds savoured the sticky treat of cum on her tongue before she swallowed it deep.
Then his tongue gave one last satisfying, fast flicking over her clit, as his hand slapped her arse loudly, and she came too...
Entry #5: Lightning
It was lightning.
Long blades of fire tore down from the sky. They hacked into the ersatz bubble we’d put our home in. Rude fingers of electricity curled around the house, searching for any available space to thrust into. Like smack-addled burglars they invaded with fixated efficiency. They cut into our bodies and left us tingling, filled our nostrils with the sharp scent of life, wiped our minds of all thoughts except one: I am still alive.
A slivered second later, furious fists of noise pounded the roof like debt collectors. My mother squealed, my brother jumped, my father froze. I simply waited, wondering what might be next.
In any home invasion, material losses are inconsequential. What hurts is the slow burn, the virus of vulnerability that an act of assault awakens. The house had been built from the earth it sat on. Strong and stout, it showed no ill effects from the storm.
But that home had been our asylum. It was what separated us from the bewildering world. We were a force, an army united against whatever was thrown at us. In a single flash we were cauterized, and the truth became clear: that we were four spent rifles, stacked against each other. The friction of our co-existence was all there was to stop us falling.
The effect was different on each of us. As the youngest, when those charged tentacles whipped through our house, all I felt was alive. For the first time. As if the lightning had jolted me from the coma I’d lived in for 18 years.
I felt the swelling of energy inside me and knew it had to come out. I was pulled away without knowing where I was headed.
I found study in a distant town. I made a place to stay and I was flushed with the potency of sudden adulthood. My knowledge was topsoil, rich and shallow, too focussed to admit doubts.
Any hesitance I had was burned away in the slivered second between when she first appeared and when I first truly saw her.
It was lightning.
We circled each other for weeks, the air around us becoming charged whenever we made contact. She made me ache, first in the guts, then in the balls, then back up in the guts again. She jabbed at the energy inside me and made me stand up all over.
My body, my hair...my cock.
It was inevitable that we would become fused. The attraction was almost polar. As if every bump of mine was designed to fill a curve of hers. When she stood before me, naked for the first time, my heart held still. The touch of her breasts against my lips thudded through to my heels in a sensation that seemed familiar.
It was lightning.
We sought out all the different ways each other’s body could taste until we blended like clouds. She filled my nostrils with the sharp scent of life as the curious softness of her slit washed against my tongue.
The inexorable pull of nature called me higher until I was hovering over her. Our mouths were drawn together as my heat drove into her. In that slivered second, our bodies arced together.
It was lightning.
Our hips jolted outside of our control. Every place we touched burned with need. She squealed. I jumped. We froze. We waited, wondering what might be next.
It was lightning.
It began in my guts, where she’d first made me ache. It pooled, it drove and finally a bolt of pure white heat shot out from me and into her.
She left me tingling, wiped my mind of all thoughts except one: I am now alive. I knew her, before we’d even met. She was elemental, and truly it was she who pulled me from that fetid coma.
She is lightning.
Entry #6: Turning the Wheel
She had carried the card with her for years. From purse to purse, apartment to apartment, a consistent reminder of a life yet to come. The card was a little worse for wear, though it had hardly been new when the fortune teller gave it to her.
“You must keep this.” The seer had been adamant. “It is your key, the Wheel of Fortune. Someday, it will turn for you in way you will not expect.”
Years later, she wondered again about that prophecy. Nothing had turned out the way she'd planned. She sighed, leaned against the bar where it joined the wall, and waited for the bartender to deliver her drink.
“I'm sorry.” a deep, mellifluous voice intruded far more than the jostle her elbow received.
“No problem.” She dismissed the intrusion, until she saw the arm stretched out beside her on the bar. Dark leather to just above the wrist, where her card, THE card, lay tattooed on his skin. She turned swiftly, and found herself inches away from ice-blue eyes that seemed to stare right through her.
“Your tattoo.” She was unbalanced, leaning toward him on her stool. “The Wheel. It's... beautiful.”
He smiled, shifted a little to accommodate her change in position, his body blocking her off from the rest of the club. “Thanks. It's my reminder - a karmic wheel brings just desserts, you know?”
“Oh yes, exactly.” It was little more than a sigh. “Not quite what tarot readers would tell you, but I agree.”
So lame! She winced, what was she trying to prove to this guy?
His eyes travelled down her torso and back up to meet her stare. His smile changed slightly, a little more feral.
“What?” She was stunned. Who the hell did he think he was?
“I don't even know you...” It was a plea, not outrage as she'd intended.
“I knew you before you were born. Kiss me.” His eyes bore into hers, compelling and stern.
His lips were soft and hungry. She registered that before she realized that she was kissing him. His mouth drew her in, a slow slide of his tongue across her lips drew her nipples to pebble-hardness. Slowly, carefully, he he grasped them and twisted, left her moaning against his lips with the burn radiating into her cunt. He drew away, licking his lips.
“Mmm – nice. Whiskey sour.” One hand remained on her thigh, tracing the hem of her skirt with his thumb, working under the material slowly. “Another? Or shall I just take you home?” Another smirk as she gaped.
“Home? That's pretty damn...” Presumptuous! Her brain screamed as her breath failed. His fingers slid up the inside of her thigh and traced her slit through the silky fabric of her panties as she spoke. Just enough pressure to make her clit twitch, and steal her breath for a moment.
“Far?” He was intent on her face, reading the emotions he was wresting from her. “You're right.” His finger pressed down on her clit, shooting sparks into her brain. His eyes challenged her to do something, anything. She moaned and parted her legs further, stunned by his boldness and her acceptance of it.
“I'm going to make you come. You will be very quiet, or the bartender will know what a slut you are. Can you do that for me?” He whispered in her ear, while his finger drew mandalas on her clit.
Nodding, she buried her head in his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, was reassured that he was not totally unaffected either. He increased the pressure, the speed of his fingers and she melted. Never in her life had she been so wanton, so out of control. It felt so damned good. He was so damned good.
Her orgasm bore down on her like a a freight train. Fireworks shot across her closed lids and she strained against him with the effort of near-silence, her pussy grasping for solace under his palm. A soft mewl escaped her and she felt his cock twitch against her thigh in response.
He cradled her against his chest for a minute then leaned back, catching her eye and grinning.
“Isn't it about time for my just desserts?”
She looked at the Wheel once more, slipped off the stool and took his extended hand. Unexpected indeed.
Entry #7: Museum Piece
He stood gazing in lust at the radiant figure standing on the pedestal at the front of the museum. She stood perfectly still, her dark hair shining under the lights, her skin warmed by the glow of the fortune in jewels she had displayed over her body.
Everybody admired her dedication, not moving for blocks of minutes at a time. And when she did move, it was a fluid gesture, bringing the jewels around to another angle to display them better; a living advertisement for the exhibit inside. Most patrons only watched for a minute or two.
Not Daniel. He had stood watching her for hours, his jacket held in front of him disguising a rather obvious bulge in his pants. For what he’d discovered, what others would if they’d only take the time to, was that this goddess before him was naked, save for the shiny baubles worth millions that adorned her skin.
Layer upon layer of necklaces hung around her graceful neck. The hammered gold looked ancient, the stones colours not found in today’s palettes. The chain fell so that bronze links circled her nipples, little erect pebbles of flesh that quivered when she moved.
Rings of all shapes and sizes rested on long tapered fingers. Daniel tried to discreetly adjust his hard on as he imagined how those fingers would feel encircling his cock. How soft they would be as they ran up and down his shaft.
She shifted again, the floodlights catching the multi-layered belt hugging her hips, drawing attention to the gorgeous diamond embedded in her navel. Hanging from the very centre were three sun medallions in descending sizes. They swung from side to side, revealing a smooth bikini line.
He moved closer, trying hard to catch a glimpse of what it covered. As he stood there, his eyes captivated, he caught a slight giggle and looked up to find amusement in her eyes. She still stared straight ahead, but he knew that she was laughing at him.
Her plump, scarlett lips curled minutely, and she ever so slightly shook her hips. The suns continued swaying and Daniel got what he wanted - a glimpse of a freshly shaven, smooth, perfect pussy.
“Oh you’re so bad you know that aren’t you princess?” Daniel murmured, his tone so low she had to strain to hear him above the background noises. His eyes stroked her from head to toe, hungrily examining long tanned legs, and toned abs.
He walked around her, examining the pure gold chainmaille apron that barely covered her ass cheeks. Glancing around, noticing the security guards attention was elsewhere, he slid a finger up her crack, tickling her puckered hole. Her cheeks clenched together, and he felt her tremble. Smirking, he ran his finger down the back of her knee.
He moved back around to the front of her. “You’re getting off on this aren’t you? Knowing that you’re naked under those jewels, that anyone can tell if they take the time to look? Showing off that pretty, pretty body of yours?”
His voice grew huskier. “You enjoy knowing that guys are walking around with hard-ons for hours because of you. Maybe you think about them going into the men’s room stall and beating off until they come on themselves.”
He got closer to her cunt, sniffing. “I can smell you. You are dying for one of those hard cocks right now.” He licked his lips, observing a thin line of moisture drip down the inside of her thigh.
“I can see your clit sweetheart. It’s sitting there, begging to be licked. I’d take the tip of my tongue, flick it gently, run my tongue between those lips and lick at your sweet juices until you beg me to stop. “ Her thighs trembled and he chuckled.
“Or maybe I’d just step up behind you, pull out my stiff prick and run that up and down your slit instead. Tease you a little before fucking you slowly, all those pretty jewels bouncing off your tits. I’d reach around, play with your clit, see how long it takes before that stoic smile on your mouth melts into a panting, hot hole of desire. I wonder how long it would take you to beg me to let you come. “
He lightly flicked her clit with his finger before hopping down and noticed that she shuddered more visibly.
“Enjoy the rest of your shift honey. See you at home.”
Entry #8: Of All the Gin Joints
He'd shown up asking for me and now I was leaning against the back wall of the store watching him kick at the sidewalk like some kind of overgrown teenager. I wasn't sure why I was here, but I didn't mind. It was nice to get outside into the warm evening. Everything looked flat and featureless in the orange light of the streetlamps.
He seemed to want to say something, but stayed silent. He ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up like he'd just gotten out of bed. Which made me think about taking him to bed, which prompted my inner schoolmarm to squawk, "He's married!" I knew it, but no matter how much I tried, I couldn't help but want him. The littlest things made my pulse quicken: his lopsided smile; the sound of his voice; the muscles of his back when he'd come in shirtless and sweaty during a run. When my fingers brushed his as I handed over his change I had to restrain myself from leaping over the counter and devouring him. I'd never gotten wet just *looking* at a man before. Until him. (What are the chances, right? That I'd meet the one person who does this to me? I wasn't sure whether to thank the stars for my good fortune or to swear off the mystical, to refute what seemed like fate in favor of more rational explanations.)
Finally he spoke. "Listen. I can't--" He stammered, swallowed. "I can't stop thinking about you." And then he looked at me. Pleadingly, as if I could do something about it.
Strangely, my body reacted as if it perceived a threat. I suddenly understood what "fight or flight" meant: every muscle tensed, every sense sharpened. I was aware of tiny details--distant traffic sounds, bugs floating in the air--my heart pumping blood and adrenaline, focus and energy, in equal measure.
Then my eyes locked onto his and I knew we were in trouble. He was still begging me wordlessly, but for what I was no longer sure. I was too selfish to shoot him down, although my conscience gave it one last try. "But you're married," I blurted.
He winced like it was an insult, but took a step toward me, and another, before stopping as if he couldn't go on. The stillness lasted only a second before I began moving. I had to be closer to him; therefore, if he'd stopped, I had to start. It didn't feel volitional. It felt necessary for survival.
If, when were finally standing within arm's length, he'd taken my face in his hands and kissed me, I would've fallen, hard and fast, into the kind of love that either saves or ruins you, and I would have gone willingly.
But he didn't.
Without warning he grabbed me, pulled my skirt and panties aside, pushed a finger inside me, then another. It might have hurt if I hadn't wanted it so badly, but I was embarrassingly ready without even the simplest foreplay. I lifted one leg so he could get deeper and he caught it over his elbow as if we'd rehearsed it, tugged upward so I was on tiptoe, off-balance, dizzy with desire. I needed more than his fingers in me, but I couldn't speak. "Please?" was all that came out. He fumbled with his zipper and then I felt him hard against me.
The moment he entered me felt like it would go on forever. It hung there, suspended, shimmering and spinning -- I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, blindsided by pleasure. A twinge of panic seized me (what if nothing feels this good again, ever?) before he put his hands on me, his mouth on me, restarting the world. He groaned as he took my nipple between his lips, sucked and bit along with his thrusts, propelling me up and up until I fell over the top and came with a crash, gasping, shuddering. He slid his thumb into my mouth, getting it slick with spit and then reaching down to my clit while his other hand continued to press me into the wall. But I couldn't stay still for long, tried desperately to match his movements with my own. He was stronger than me, though, pushed me down to my knees and shoved his cock into my mouth. Only a few strokes later he came almost as loudly as I had, his fingers tangled in my hair.
Meant to be? Well, we'll see.
So there you have it! Make your choice before the 4th! And tell your friends!