“Do you consider yourself a good man?” I asked, with a titillating cadence. “Good or bad, what does it matter?” he says as he lights his cigar like a mafia boss, staring into nothingness with smoke blazing a cloud. “The world needs bad men, too,” he merely states, almost like his own words mean nothing to him. Enthralled yet distraught, like the pause between lightning and thunder, I gazed up at him, “How so?” puckering my triangle of sadness. He turns and looks into me, long and deep into my naked helpless soul, with a bland expression which stoically metamorphoses into a mercenary smirk, he finally jabs, “Look, here, I got you something.”
As a beguiling and young pulchritude in her mid-20s, I’ve had scores of men come my way, though I’ve only been sexually involved with a few. This I have grown accustomed to – men drooling at my feet, boys embellishing me with gifts – Oh, I’m almost sick of it! Kind, cruel, meek, crazy… you name it, I’ve experienced them all, or so I thought, until I met Max, a man of undecodable persona – mysterious yet empathic, giving a fuck isn’t, particularly his forte.
We had met a couple of nights ago on my way back from my job; a confluence that left my panties soaked and my thighs quivering. God paid special attention while creating certain men, and Max was one of them. At first sight, I knew I’d bless him with the novelty of my gracious tender cunt and coming from a woman like me, that’s something.
Earphones plugged into my ears, I ingest a dose of Taylor Swift as I trudge down my way home after a long hectic day at work where I’m interning as an assistant doctor. Dealing with gory scenes at the ER due to the sky-high crime rate in this damned city, infuriating patients and their families at the reception, a horny married boss who wants his way into my pudendum by any means necessary. Coupled with the eight months of accidental celibacy slowly eating away at my soul, I was already losing my shit. Then BLAM! Two grim-looking maniacs bopped out of the thick night snapping my earphones out of my ears. I’ve heard stories and reports about scenarios like this so I knew what was about to go down. I screamed at the top of my voice, yelling for help. Tears rolled down my face; I couldn’t stand the thought these two fuckers were gonna have their way with me. Not happening!
Just then, “Leave her alone,” a gritty voice levelly ordered from the thick eigengrau. “Leave her alone and we can all forget this happened,” it reiterates. The confidence this voice commands sent chills down my spine. The way he stepped out of the dark and snapped the wrist of the knife-wielding maniac from my throat, the way he punched the accomplice into an instant coma, not to mention the way he handled a stab at the back of his torso like a G, Oh my God… Oh my fucking God! I gasped, startled at the sight of him; my knight in shining armor. “You’re bleeding!” I yelled. “Oh yeah?” He asked, as if he was oblivious to the fact he’d just been stabbed, bending down to pick up my bag which was strewn across the interlock. “Here,” he handed back to me.
***
We are in my apartment – my bathroom, crimson red cotton wool strewn over the hand-wash basin. Max leans on it, staring into himself through the oval adhesive mirror above the basin, shirtless and sheathed only in his bloodied jeans while I was busy behind him, sewing him up, something I’ve done a million times with patients but this one just quite feels different, it’s somehow congenial except of course I’d have preferred him sewing up my quivering slit with his warm cum instead. I felt so dirty, struggling to concentrate as his sturdy sculpted muscles occasionally distracted me. Tracking upward on his back, I spotted more scars. “What is this guy?” I asked myself. This is an example of the demographic of men my mum had warned me about, “but he is a gentleman, though” I thought to myself. And although I have a very strict and specific taste in men, or so I thought, I struggle to conclude if he ticks my boxes or not but either way, I wanna fuck him, that much I’m very certain of. But here is a guy who I can’t tell is even into me, he’s barely said a word ever since we stepped into the house, stoic as fuck and bland faced, not even a wince from the pain of being stabbed. I’m not used to this, not at my job nor in my previous relationships. His disinterest is so oozing, I could almost taste it. “Perhaps he’s just good at hiding his emotions,” a rollercoaster of thoughts storms my mind.
A daunting dilemma plagued my helpless mind; the thought of grappling him from behind while I dawdle my soft palms across the surface of his sinewy frame, then planting hickeys along his back up to the back of his neck till I’m finally dallying the tip of my tongue around his earlobe until I’m in his ears whispering “fuck me” crossed my mind. Yet, I didn’t want to come across as cheap, even though that sounded exciting. Gosh, this is so exhausting. All I wanted was to be devoured by him, right on this spot! Is that too much to ask?
“Seriously?!” I snapped at myself. I couldn’t believe myself drooling over a total stranger this bad, especially not after I had just been through a traumatic episode an hour earlier. Max flinched. My fingers had slipped and accidentally pinched the needle into the slit of his wound. “I-I’m so sorry” I stammered. A drip of blood tripped down his back, down into his already bloodied jeans. He stared at me through the mirror, probably just noticing me for the first time, yeah, I could tell by his soft smile and what came out of his mouth next. “You’re so beautiful,” he confessed with a baritone voice; a resonance that sent tendrils of chills down my spine, my pussy quaked, and I clenched my thighs tight as if holding a hot imminent pee. “Are you okay?” he asked, decrying my struggle with myself. He’s either overtly sensitive or I’ve been doing too much back here. Either way, I’m sinking in the drench of my wetness of his making and he doesn’t even know it. “Of course,” I nudged edgily, as I nicked the thread from his flesh and concealed the wound in a crepe bandage.
“You should take those off,” I cunningly suggested, referring to his blood-soaked pants. Though my voice almost betrayed me, I cleared my throat. “And walk home in my briefs? No, thanks,” he replied, turning around, ready to leave. “No, I mean I can quickly have them dry cleaned for you. It’s only going to take about 15 minutes, give or take.” “Y-You got blood on them because of me. It’s the least I could do,” I subtly protested.
There was a brief hiatus. I could tell he almost bought the idea, but he replied, “Nah, thanks. I have to skedaddle.” He picked up his blood-soaked shirt and made his way for the bathroom exit. “At least let me give you a shirt then. I’ve got some unisex ones,” I leapt after him, and so did my areolas, tingling after him, yearning for the bliss of his touch, the tip of his tongue, and every inch of his tongue. I could feel my shameless nipples erecting against the insides of my bralette like Pinocchio’s nose every time he told a lie. “You can’t be walking around covered in blood, can you?” He shrugged, “OK.”
I rummaged through my closet to find something perfect for him, something with my smell on it, something to cast my spell on him; a souvenir for our spontaneous confluence. And alas, there hung a brown cashmere jacket, a gift from my last birthday. My ex had given it to me, and I had worn it a couple of times. “This will do,” I thought. I flung it off the hanger and as I shut the door to my closet, I caught myself in the mirror plastered to the door, still in my scrubs. “This doesn’t look sexy,” I thought. “I wouldn’t fuck me in this either.” I pulled it all off, leaving me in my bralette to match my white lace panties. I opened my drawer and hastily threw on a biker short, enough to reveal my callipygian curves in its glory. I’m not letting him go, not without a fight.
I hopped back into the living room, and there he was, my divine wonder, pacing to and fro the extent of my living space. “Here,” I offered. “Hmm, nice,” he softly groaned in his husky voice. I’d give anything to hear him moan them into my ears. Jeez.
Grabbing the jacket from my limbs, he opened his arms into the sleeves. Then my eyes caught it; his black punctured tattoos, which read: “HE WHO DWELLS IN THE SECRET PLACE OF THE MOST HIGH,” perfectly lined beneath his collarbone with massive wings drawn on both sides of his sculpted chest muscles, extending as far as over his shoulder blades, down to his rippling abs. “Damn, Michelangelo’s piece in the human body,” I ruminated.
To be honest? I’m only hanging on by a thread right now. My cooze throbbed, pulsating to the rhythm of my heart thuds, drenching out my biker shorts. It’s a miracle he hasn’t yet noticed. Or maybe he did, maybe not. Anyway, I’m over here spiraling out of control, leaning onto the backrest of my couch, my inner thighs tremble with desire. I’m not used to this. My previous men had always come either nerdy or churchy and sometimes even both. Men like Max I’ve only seen in magazines, on billboards, or on social media. You really can’t blame my hopeless wantonness. Evading locking eyes with him out of chagrin, I tracked down on him, down through the seam of his jeans. My eyes caught a protuberance. I gazed back up; a huge nub in his jeans! My eyes lit up, “Damn!” I moaned in my head. “Is that a hard-on?” I asked myself. “Is he also feeling the same way I’m feeling right now?” I quizzed further. I can’t take any more of this! One more surprise from this dude and I’m gonna lose my shit and every bit of shame left in me. “Nice,” he said as he patted down on the jacket, ”I just might end up keeping it,” with a smile so divine, I wanna adore him in my glorious holies. He adjusted the hem of the jacket to cover his bloodied jeans. His voice jolted me back to reality, from my erotic reverie. “Thanks, I have to go now,” he turned around and headed for the door, gaiting majestically like Gandy on the runway of paradise. “Take care of yourself, please,” he finally bid as he yanked out my door and left.
Heaving a huge sigh of both relief and regret, I retired to the velvet top of my couch, ruminating on what could have been and how better I could have made the night for myself. An idea spontaneously sprung into my head. I instantaneously act on it. I picked up my phone, plugged in my earphones with the buds in my ears, I scrolled down my playlist and hit play on “Sex With Me” by Rihanna.
The luxurious melody, the erotic lyrics, and even the vocal delivery concurrently sent me into a realm of erotic bliss, my eyelids weakly shut. I’m barely a minute into the song, a heightened strike of libidinous lightning sparked through my body, from the scalp of my head down to the tip of my clit. I could feel Max grappling my breast from within my bralette, squeezing and clutching hard on them rhythmically like the rubber pump of a sphygmomanometer, pinching and teasing the tip of my nipples between his fingers, I nubbed my chest back and forth, yearning a moan for more. The tip of his fingers softly trails down the surface of my sweat-moist skin from between my cleavage down to my navel, I groaned in pleasurable bliss, pushing my pelvis back and forth like a possessed nun.
Incessantly circling and circling my navel, I feel a storm build up within my core, hard to tell where exactly but I want it knobbed higher. I tripped my fingers down into my panties; slippery on all fronts. My biker shorts had become a burden to the desires of my dripping wet cunt, I groan in utmost bliss as I flung them off, yanking my leg above the backrest of the couch and prising my laps open as wide as they could go, welcoming Max into the tempest of my holies. I trailed a finger along the edges of my slit, picturing him tongue-typing on them, my thighs quiver and my hips swivel from side to side, uniformly to the rhythm of Riri in my ears and the pouncing thuds of my heartbeat.
One digit soon turns into two as I try to simulate Max’s touch inside of me, yearning for his penetration while I mewl like a newborn. I want him inside me, every inch of him in the moistened warmth of my pudendum. Tentatively, I slide my fingers to the opening of my soaked wetness but quickly retreat to my clit. The storm inside of me swells even more colossal; a blissful disaster is imminent! Struggling to keep my legs open, I pant with desire. I envisage his moans in my ears, underneath the melody of the music, peaceful yet gravelly, just like the sound of him. I am spurred on.
The steady rub on my gracious camel toe has now become anxiously rapid, and my soft moans are getting louder and louder, hopelessly lost in lust. I grasped the velvet skin of my couch with my other hand, which I couldn’t keep on my breasts for much longer. The storm within me propagates from the lobes of my brain to the tender flesh of my clit; I scream in excitement and – – BLAM! “OH MY GOD” I hear Max roar. It almost feels real… except it is. I open my eyes, and alas! There he is, IN MY DOORWAY! With me half-naked! I yell even louder, “What are you doing back here?!”
I spring off the top of my couch, covering my waist with a throw pillow. I have never felt so ashamed.
“I-I brought you food! Then I heard you screaming, I thought you were being attacked or something, I thought perhaps more of those guys traced you home! Then your door was slightly ajar, I-I’m sorry I didn’t knock…” He hammers innocently, dropping the nylon bags in his hands on the table as he walks up to me, his once-bland face screaming “SORRY”, gosh, he’s so cute.
Inches away from me, he lays his hand on my shoulder, drawing me into the refuge of his arms. I’m ambivalent and sweaty all over. I can smell him, I can smell myself on him, yeah – he’s still got my jacket on. He pats me on the back, his palm on my skin, sending hypnotic chills down my spine, as far down as the cleft of my slit.
There’s something about this dude, something I can’t yet fully unravel. He’s so sexual without even trying to be. The scent of him, the touch of him, his voice, good lord… his voice… they create an alluring aura that I can’t seem to withstand. I succumb to the tenderness of his arms. My lips are virtually on his chest; I finally let my intrusive thought win: I hesitantly plant a kiss on his chest. I notice his breath subtly intensifying, then another kiss and he softly sighs, leaning his head against mine, and then another kiss and he mildly groans.
Right there and then, I know I have him where I want him, and hesitation would be a sin at that point. I move up his neck with another kiss and then another one on his jawline. And finally, I knock him out with yet another kiss on his lips, he gives in, opening up his lips into mine, our tongues locked in a tango. He groans with a smug. His lips are as soft as the skin of a peach, velvety and fuzzy, although they look otherwise at first glance. He trails his hand, which is still around my back, across my skin right to the surface of my bralette; I let out a soft moan as if that were the ‘go-ahead’ he needed, he tussles on my breasts, groping and fondling them hard, I groan into his mouth, lip-locked and drunk in his tongue, I find myself laid back on the couch, how I got there, I can’t say. I move to his ears tongue-first, and he groans hard like a baby, I laugh and he smiles. I take his face in my hands and get back into his ears; he can’t handle it. It’s funny how he seems so thuggish yet babyish here with me, I love it, I love this.
Moving down on me, he stops at my chest, my breathing becoming heavier. He lifts my bralette, tongue-first on my areolas, circling on them like a wild cat. Biting on my nipples, I feel them grow in his mouth. Scribbling the tip of his fingers down my abdomen, like a painter’s brush on his palette, I feel a tingle in my core, involuntarily scooping my hips back and forth; a pool of desire rushes down my slit. He doesn’t stop; he moves further down on me, pulling off my soaked lace panties as he whispers, “It’s a flood down here.” I smile. My throaty moans soon become mouthy screams as I feel his tongue linger at the far end of my pussy. He’s good, he’s so damn good; a master connoisseur.
As he delves deeper into the folds of my cunt with the tip of his tongue, I groan even louder, yearning for a saviour, except I don’t wanna be saved. Not right now, not ever. He runs his tongue from over my dampened clit back to my navel and finally retires in between my cleavage. I gaze down at him, sighing with bliss, seeing my essence all over his face like he had just been reborn out of my cunt. I grab his face in my hands and kiss him, licking my wetness off his face. Never have I thought I’d meet a man who could make me feel so dirty, but well, here we are. Kissing me deliciously, he pries me open, yanking my leg to the top of the couch’s backrest.
I wince as his giant member invades my tender slit, his warmth sending electrical tendrils across my body and soul.
He pulls back out, gently rubbing the tip of his oh-so-massive cock on my quim. I am thrown into a frenzy, enjoying how crazy he’s driving me. He thrusts back into me, tentatively, observing how deep I can take it. But I want it all, I want every inch of it; I hold tight onto him, clenching my fists into his back. I want him to stay there, forever! I throw and lock my legs beneath his waist, but somehow, he manages to move back and forth still. “This feels so good,” he moans, right into my ears. “Yes-yes,” I yearn, the sound of him making my nuclei collide. “Oh my god, I’m about to cum,” I scream as sparks of pleasure rush down my spine and SPLASH! I explode on him. What a delightful end to my sexual woes.
“Truly, good things come to those who wait,” I say, as I retreat into a gratifying oblivion.
THE END
