After Midnight (23 page)

Cleo and I have talked ever since. We have kissed every time we have met or left each other. Her red hair has become blonde, and I have become curvier with fuller breasts. Over the years we became like-minded souls, laughing at the world. We've cried together on my bed when one or both of our hearts has been shattered. We've done anything we could over the years to understand each other and the lives we live.

Sometimes we lose each other for a few months. Maybe even for several seasons. And then I'll find an eloquent postcard in my box. I'll call. We'll meet, and any time lost will be regained. Cleo and I remember the days of dancing and drink and passionate people. We have gone through life's struggles together and are pleased to find we still are the same passionate people.

 

 

 

 

 

D
arla was the only person who caught my eye at the sex party that night. I was on vacation on the West Coast, and while I had some friends there, I didn't know the kinky scene in and out like I did back home. In a way, that freed me, and I talked to people who might not have given me the time of day in our well-worn, cliquish New York environment. Armed with the freedom of only a week's stay, I could peruse, cruise, and flirt.

I zeroed in on Darla right away. While most people had on minimal—if any—attire, much of it typical fetish gear, she was wearing what could've been underwear, or a bikini, black with bright orange flames that traced her breasts and ass, and matching platform heels, the fire shooting upward. Fire was perfect for her fiery personality—she seemed to be the kind of girl who lives her outrageousness every second, her loud laugh booming around us as we talked. She tossed her long, straight blonde hair over her shoulder, and I glimpsed the tongue ring hidden in her
mouth. I leaned forward, hoping to show off my cleavage within my skin-tight red latex dress.

My eyes remained glued to her the rest of the night. I desperately wanted to play with her but had no idea if she was a top or bottom or what, and I was too much of a newbie to ask. Whenever we talked, I wiped my sweaty palms on the latex clinging to my skin and soaked in her every word. When I finally left, Mara, the friend I'd come to the party with, told me all about Darla. “She's known for being a bottom, but I've heard that sometimes, with especially pretty girls, she can be a top. I bet she'd be a wicked one, too.” I pictured Darla with a whip, swinging it easily through the air with her big, muscular arms, and me lying down, taking her abuse and wanting more.

Darla and I had exchanged email addresses, but I had no great hopes for what would come of it. After all, she was an experienced local scenester, and I was a visiting wannabe. But, just my luck, Darla wrote to me the next day and said that out of all the people at the party, I was the only one she'd remotely wanted to play with. I gulped, peering closer at my laptop screen, ready to lick it in happiness. I beckoned Mara over and showed her the email—and she whistled.

I wrote back, agonizing over what to say: play it cool or show her my true feelings? I settled on,
The feeling's mutual. I'd love to play with you, especially if you're in charge. You name the time and place.
I hit SEND, shutting my eyes for luck. I'd included my number, and not an hour later, my cell phone rang. When I picked up, Darla purred, “Hey, gorgeous. How's that sweet ass of yours doing?”

A drawl I hadn't heard earlier lurked along the edges of her voice, and I shuddered at the sound. “Me and my ass are doing just fine,” I replied.

“That's good to hear,” she said, her words followed by a
long pause. “I'd like you to come over today,” she continued. “I'd like to make your ass even finer.” Her voice held all the sultry promise it had the night before. My pussy ached as she spoke, and clenched my asscheeks at the thought of submitting to her whims. I knew without a doubt that she wanted to top me, and that she'd be good at it.

“What should I wear?” I asked, deferring to her already.

“Any skirt you want, as long as there's no panties underneath.” She gave me her address, and when we hung up I kicked up my heels like an extreme dork, but I didn't care.

I ran in to tell Mara, but she'd been eavesdropping in the hallway and had already figured it out. She reached over and gave my ass a squeeze. “Girl, you're in for it. You know that, right? Feel free to raid my closet if that'll help.” I didn't really have time to ponder the first half of what she'd said, because I was panicking about what to wear. A short skirt or something more modest? Bra or no bra? Hair down or up? I looked at myself in the mirror to get a clue. My long brown hair was all over the place, as usual, some of it falling down my back, some spread over my shoulders. I smoothed it out, running my fingers through the soft tresses, and let the ends fall over my breasts. I was wearing a typically low-cut black top, my ample cleavage hovering in the
V.
I slipped out of my jeans, then turned to look at the lacy thong bisecting my ass. I was happy with what I saw, the result of solid hours at the gym, climbing my way on the Stairmaster to backdoor paradise, as much as one can at the gym.

I scoured the filled-to-the-brim racks of Mara's closet, until the perfect skirt appeared. It was soft and purple, and when I put it on, it fell over my ass perfectly, accentuating my tight curves but leaving just enough to the imagination. I paired it with a tight black tank top for contrast and a pair of tall heels. I
kept the shirt, brushing my hair till it shone and skipping jewelry that might get caught on anything.

In what felt like no time at all, I was ready. After I passed Mara's quickie inspection, I was off, walking the five blocks to Darla's and growing increasingly nervous. I wasn't afraid she'd hurt me, at least not in any way I didn't want, but still, playing with a new partner, especially one as beautiful and intense as Darla, was intimidating. She had to know she had me wrapped around her little finger.

As I walked, I thought about her hands, tiny but powerful, and just what they could do to me, my pussy clenching beneath my flowing skirt the whole time. I always wear underwear, not just because I'm naturally juicy, but because I feel safer wrapped in those private sheer layers that only I know about until I choose to reveal them. I'm the kind of girl who always has a well-stocked panty drawer, even when it feels like I have nothing else to wear. At least I know my pussy's protected.

But, following Darla's instructions, I wasn't wearing panties, and from the way the skirt clung so perfectly to my ass, anyone walking behind me could tell exactly what was going on. Not that I minded, exactly. It was just a new sensation.

By the time I stood on Darla's porch ringing the doorbell, it wasn't the brisk walk that had gotten me panting. When she answered the door wearing just a red camisole and panties, I caught my breath. “Hi,” I managed. The word almost caught in my throat as she took my hand and led me inside. I realized it really hadn't mattered what either of us wore; the electricity charging from her palm into mine spoke volumes more than any lacy finery. I felt the power of her attraction working its way into my body, and in the minute it took to reach her bedroom, I became even more willing to give myself over to her. She led me to her bed, which was adorned with black satin sheets.

Darla sat me down and turned toward me, her face unexpectedly serious. She took both my hands in hers, and looking deep into my eyes, said, “Hi, yourself.”

“I want you,” I told her, my hands warm in hers.

“You look very nice, Amber,” she said. “But I want all of you, not just a small part, or even a large one. If we're going to play together, you have to give yourself to me. That means you'll trust me to know what's best for you, what your body wants, and you believe I will provide that for you as best I can. You're always in control of your actions, but I can't be my best if I feel you're truly afraid of what I'm doing. Do you understand?”

Her eyes bore into mine. I wasn't totally sure I did understand, but I nodded anyway, because the tone of her voice sent shivers all along my spine. I wanted to be the best sub she'd ever had, the girl with the prettiest and most obedient behind she'd ever seen. I knew already it wasn't going to be a long-term thing between us. This was probably par for the course for her, but I was a visitor in all senses of the word. Nevertheless, I felt at home with her soft hands and kind eyes; her sensual, muscular body that made me want to bury my face in her cleavage.

Once she had my agreement, her tone softened. “I want you to crawl across my lap,” she said, beckoning me forward. I did as she urged, and when she lifted up my skirt, even though I'd been following her orders in going commando, the way she
tisked,
her tongue against the roof of her mouth, made me feel like the naughtiest girl alive.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” she said, running one finger along the crack of my ass. She kept it there, pressing against my puckered hole while I willed myself to stay still. Her other hand reached forward and grabbed one of my asscheeks, pinching my skin as she thoroughly took over my behind. She moved, and all of a sudden one hand was fisted in my hair, the
other massaging the small of my back. She pushed up my shirt so it bared more of my backside to her, my stomach now brushing against the softness of her silky attire. As she slid a pillow under my cheek, the sensual overload was complete. Soft curves beneath, and the start of harsh smacks above, as she brought one strong palm crashing down against my ass. I moaned into the pillow, drooling a little as she tugged my hair by its roots while spanking my other cheek.

Darla's smacks held all the power I'd seen in her strong arms, but also something more. They told me she knew I got off on being so open, so vulnerable, so needy. She knew each whack didn't just sting the outer layer of my ass but made me melt deep inside, made my pussy ache for contact while yearning for even harsher smacks. She kept right on going, her blows landing all around my curved behind and farther down, along my sensitive upper thighs. I felt my cheeks turning red.

She stopped periodically to trace a line along my ass, probably a welt, the lightness of these strokes in strong contrast to the pounding force of her smacks. I'd thought she'd been giving it her all, but I quickly learned that was nothing when it came to Darla's smacks. She lifted her arm again, then brought her hand down along my sweet spot, that special gooey quadrant of my ass that, when smacked, makes me feel I've died and gone to the kinkiest heaven possible.

Darla landed a blow solidly on my right cheek, and when her hand connected with my fleshy globe, she grabbed it, balling her hand into my fiery skin and digging in, hard. The impact was magnified by my surprise, and I bit into the pillow, grateful I hadn't screamed from the sweet pain she was giving me. Soon I got lost in the heated torment, the blows and grabs and pinches and digs blurring into one orgasmic whirlwind as Darla smacked my ass silly. By the time she was done, my legs were
spread as wide as could be, my skirt up around my stomach; my hard nipples poking against my bra, mashing against her thighs as I took every last one of her fiercest whacks. My eyes burned with tears of pleasure when she finally took something soft and rubbed it against my ass.

She didn't make me look at her yet, just stroked my stinging, scorched skin, bruised and blistered to perfection, before rubbing in some cream. She'd put me in such a trance I was tempted to suck my thumb and curl into a ball, but even more than that I wanted her comfort, I wanted her touch, her talent, her trigger going off inside me. I was sure that was more than clear from the way my pussy glistened with need, clenching tightly as she caressed my ass. But Darla was going to make me say it out loud, make me tell her what I wanted.

“You sure do have a gorgeous ass, Amber, and you can take a lot. I'm proud of you.” Her voice was calm and gentle as she rubbed and stroked and soothed. I moaned, half into the pillow, half into the air, as her fingers wandered lower, dancing around my lips as she traced along my bikini line, her nails lightly scraping my tender inner thighs, my palest parts. She was so near, yet for all the attention she paid my pussy, she couldn't have been farther away.

She made a move to push me aside and stand up. “I'm going to slip into something more comfortable,” she said, the cliché rolling drolly off her lips. I was too limp to protest and let my eyes close. When I opened them again, it was to look behind me at the hard object probing my slick opening.

I almost laughed, because Darla's idea of “comfortable” was clearly her own invention. Gone was her sexy loungewear, and in its place she wore a sparkly red harness and a bulging black cock standing proudly in front of her, a red-lipsticked smile of triumph blaring across her face. She held her new dick in front
of her, poised to enter me, and without saying another word, she did just that, her lubed-up member pressing its way into my molten center. Immediately I spasmed around her sleek invasion, putting my head back on the pillow and spreading my legs as wide as possible, so they were practically perpendicular to the rest of me. She pushed deeper, until I felt the head of the dildo nudge my inner wall. My butt burned with the very recent memory of her hands, but I couldn't think about that at all because her cock rocked in and out of me, slowly but surely building me up to the point of no return.

Darla continued to have her way with me, while I could only muster enough energy to lie there and take what she offered, my body hers through and through. I was grateful we were alone, without the umpteen prying eyes of her fellow city playmates watching as I gave it up to this kinky goddess. I wasn't embarrassed, exactly, but I knew how I must have looked, my clothes shoved up but still on, my face tear-streaked, my ass bright red. Darla lived up to every promise her ravishing eyes had telegraphed at the party and more; she was a technically expert spanker with her own patented technique, exuding a personal power that let me know this meant something to her too, even if we were just onetime lovers. When she was finally done, I thought I was too, my body floundering as I recovered from her precious assault.