Elliot Mabeuse (11 page)

I frigged her, slapped her, spanked her clit, fucked her ruthlessly as she clung to the dresser and whined and snarled like an animal, and then I just pressed my hand

against her cunt and shook it, frantically, shamelessly making her cunt vibrate around my straining cock like she was nothing but a goddamned vibrator built for me and me only. I beat myself off using her pussy as my machine, frantic with lust.

That was too much. That was just too much for her, and through the red haze of my own incandescent climax I heard her gasping wail—"Yes! Yes! Coming! Oh God!

Conner! Conner! Coming! Coming!"

"Oh fuck yes! Coming too! Here, baby! Here it is! Take it, Emma! Take it!"

She clung to the dresser and lifted her ass like a bitch in heat as I threw my head back and felt that scalding release start deep in my balls, the soles of my feet, roaring up for her like a torrent of magma. My body was at her command now and I think she must have known it, she must have felt that too. I had no more control then than she did and had no choice but to give it to her, my dumb stupid cock sunk deep in her pussy, my body clenched as I spewed my cum into her in agonized, paralyzing pleasure, one jolt after another.

For a moment I was totally free, far beyond thought, pure sensation and energy, with Emma coming and hunching beneath me with sighs of luxuriant and breathless pleasure, her ass rolling as she sucked my seed inside her. I could feel the heat coming off her body, my sweat seeming to sizzle as it fell on her skin just as my cum seemed to sizzle as it splattered inside of her, like water on red-hot steel.

I fell forward onto the dresser, cock still sunk inside of her, catching myself on my hands as I continued to come, growling and moaning as I poured that cream into her in one flawless, gushing stream.

There was a satisfaction in the way she took it. She lay flat on the dresser with her ass in the air, the slightest smile on her face, almost a smugness, as if she had some secret arrangement with my body that I'd never understand, something dark and feminine and private and it excited me to think that she might know some part of me so well, so instinctively. My orgasm left me weak, almost a child, and yet it seemed to give her some strange strength and sense of fulfillment. She was terribly beautiful, even down to the recumbent, feminine line of her back, her satisfied lips, her eyelids now heavy and filled with peace.

I was reluctant to leave her, but really, she was lying on the dresser and I was on top of her, so I lifted myself up.

"Oh Conner, don’t move…"

I managed to kneel and unclip her ankles from the bar, then pulled her over to the bed where I collapsed onto the duvet, pulling her down with me, both of us covered in sweat. Instantly, she nestled into the crook of my arm and formed herself against me, her thigh over mine, breasts against my ribs, her body like a salve against my raw nerves. I held her and ran my hands over her skin, and when I felt the welts on her bottom I winced. Emma didn't say anything. She just rubbed her cheek against me, proud of her marks. Strangely, I felt proud, too, and held her tighter, my heart filled with her. She'd earned everything I could give her. I felt in her debt.

She lifted her hand to stroke my chest but then hesitated. She lifted her head.

"May I touch?" She was only half teasing.

I smiled. "Of course. We're just people again. No rules. People touch."

She laid her head back on my shoulder and played with my chest and I dropped into a feeling of deep peace. I felt as if I were lying on a beach and Emma was the sun and the sea and her fingers were the waves breaking over me. I thought how I'd never felt so fulfilled from an act of sex, drained not only of tension but of a kind of fury I hadn't even been aware of, something I carried around with me as a constant companion, this hunger for a woman's softness and comfort.

I felt a terribly deep and perverse pride knowing Emma was filled with my cum, that I could feel the warm stickiness oozing from her pussy as she ground herself contentedly against my leg. I closed my eyes and thought of how she was still being fucked as my sperm still beat their way inside her, looking for that target. I knew she was on the pill, but I liked to think of them finding her egg, entering her again in another cellular fuck, fusing with her—my essence and hers, genes and strands of delicate nucleic acids unwrapping and wrapping around each other like lovers' limbs with blind chemical passion.

The idea was getting me aroused—the simple, basic biology of it, like a force of nature, like gravity or heat or light—and though Emma couldn't possibly know what I was thinking, she must have been able to feel me stir and she instinctively responded, pressing against me, already offering herself to my reviving need, ready for whatever I might want.

There was a sudden burst of melody from her bag—her cell phone, some classical rondo played too fast, annoying and absurd and clamoring for attention, and my first reaction was to swear at her and tell her to turn the damned thing off, but then I remembered how scrupulous she was about answering her boyfriend's calls, and how

I'd promised her never to interfere in her outside life. That applied even here in this motel where I'd just tied her and whipped her and fucked her and come inside her.

"Go ahead and answer it." I started to rise. "Let me get my pants on and I'll go outside and leave you alone. I'll grab a cigarette." I didn’t want to embarrass her.

"No," she said. "No, not now. I don't want to talk to him tonight."

"I thought he gets all suspicious if you don't answer."

She raised her head and looked at me. "Do you think I can talk to him right now?

Do you really think I'm that good a liar?"

The phone rang six times and then stopped. Emma put her head back down on my chest and I felt like an asshole.

"He calls every night?" I asked.

"Usually, yes. Unless he goes out with his friends."

"He's jealous?"

Her voice was flat and regretful. "More like possessive."

"Can I ask…?" It was awkward, but I wanted to know. "Are you like this with him?

Sexually? Does he know about all this?"

She didn't seem upset. She spoke calmly, her face against my chest. "No. But then, I don’t think I knew about 'all this' myself—before you. This is all new to me, you know that, don't you, Conner? You don’t think I'm like this normally?"

She lifted her head and looked at me and I felt embarrassed yet shamefully proud. I kept my face passive, but inside I burned with terrible male ego.

This was what I'd wanted from her all along, wasn't it? Not just sex, not just physical sensation, but conquest, ownership, a place in her heart—something I might think of as love. I wanted to be the first. I wanted to be the one she'd always remember.

I was ashamed to admit it to myself after I'd sworn to keep it physical, but I wanted her love.

"I never thought about it," I lied.

She rolled over onto her stomach and looked at me. "What am I to you, Conner?

Do you have a lot of girls you do this with? Am I just one more? I want to know. I think it's fair you tell me. You owe me that much."

I was slow in answering. I'd been waiting for this but I still wasn't sure what to say. "I thought we had an agreement. We keep our private lives out of this."

"No," she said. "It's too late for that. I want to know. Look at me, Conner. Look at me."

She raised herself up on her elbows, gathered her long hair and swept it back behind her head, then arched her back so her breasts stood out. They were criss-crossed with lines and marks from the whip, some no more than faint pink lines, some of them raised and angry-looking welts against her smooth, innocent flesh.

"Look at me. Do you think I'd let just anyone do this to me? Do you really think I've done this before? That I just give this to anyone?"

Guilt welled up inside me, guilt and a sickly pride, a dirty kind of lust and self-satisfaction, and I knew she felt the same thing, showing off her wounds, shaming me with what she'd suffered at my hand. I did owe her, and not just for the whipping.

"His name's David," she said, sinking back down. "Naveed, actually. He Americanized it to David. His family's Lebanese and he has no idea I'm this way. He'd die if he found out and I don’t know what I'm going to do. I never suspected either, never thought I'd get off on this so much. At first I thought it would just be fun, like a fantasy.

I've always had these fantasies—being kidnapped and tied up, made to do things—but I thought they were just fantasies, that the reality wouldn't live up to the dream. It does though, doesn't it?"

Her eyes searched my face, looking for an honest answer, for confirmation.

"Yes." It was what I'd discovered too. It was even better than I'd thought it would be.

She nodded. "Yes. And now I don't know. I don’t know what to think. Now it's like I don’t even know who I am. Conner, no one's ever done these kinds of things to me. No one's ever made me feel this way. Can I tell you something? Can I trust you?"

"Yes."

"I'm scared."

She was beautiful, heart-breakingly beautiful—her eyes and her lips, the stripes on her naked breasts, her vulnerability.

I was scared too. I was unsure about what I'd gotten into and I didn't want her to see, so I reached up for her and pulled her down against my chest and held her close, felt her press against me. I'd never had a woman make me feel so much.

"There is no one else, Emma" I whispered. "There are no other girls, and I haven't done this kind of thing or felt this way with anyone for a very long time. A very long time. Believe me, Emma. This is something special, and I'm kind of scared too."

My words brought her relief, brought her comfort, and we huddled there together, protecting each other from our fear, soothing each other—then feeling it, wallowing in it.

Is that what love is at the start? Being able to scare yourself, being willing to let someone else scare you with what they make you feel? Being afraid excited me and it excited Emma too. It made her rub against me like you might rub against a shark even though you knew it was dangerous—sheer madness, playing with the danger and loving the fear. She teased me, provoked me, kissing me soft and hot and deep and stretching and writhing against me like a cat. Her arousal was sharp and urgent and in her excitement, she reversed our roles, grabbing my wrist in her slim fingers and making as if to hold me down as she kissed me. She lifted her leg and rubbed her smooth thigh over mine, ground her sticky cunt against my hip as if to remind me what she was there for. She moaned as my sweat stung the welts on her tits.

A jet roared overhead and Emma raised her mouth from mine, her hair spilling over her dark face, her eyes glowing. She touched her nail to my lower lip, looking at me in wonder.

"I feel like two people," she said. "One of me's the good girl David knows in Atlanta. The other one's your whore right here in this motel. How did you do this to me?"

I grabbed her head and kissed her, biting at her ripe lips. My hand slid down to her whipped ass and squeezed possessively. I parted her cheeks and my finger played at her anus. She groaned.

I let go of her lip. "Which one do you want to be?"

"What do you think?"

We melted together in a kiss, her nostrils flaring, her breath hot on my cheek as her hips pumped against my leg with slow, steady force. She was going to get herself off with or without me and was already well on her way. I could tell by that little shudder in her rhythm. Her finger circled my nipple, teasing it to erection, daring me to do something, and then she raised her thigh still higher ‘til she was sliding the soft inside against my turgid cock.

I didn't need any more arousing. Without a word, I slid out from under her and got behind her as Emma laid down on her stomach, spread her legs and raised her ass. I got between her thighs behind her and got myself in position, then bridged over her and grabbed her wrists and held against them against the mattress.

She was on her chest now, ass cocked up, legs spread. I was on my knees and hands, holding her wrists, my prick waving around over the wet cleft of her pussy like some grotesque boom swinging in the wind, looking for her.

I lowered myself and found her easily, like sliding into a funnel.

"Ohh…"

Another jet flew overhead, shaking the lamps. They seemed to be coming hot and heavy now as I slid my cock into her and she parted her legs even farther, her knees sliding against the bedcover, her ass pressing eagerly up into my belly. I levered myself up over her so I could watch her fingers tighten into fists as my prick sunk home into that tight meaty channel and I started fucking her. Her long hair obscured her face

like a thousand strands of silk and she writhed on my cock like a butterfly on a pin, delirious with pleasure.

She was so good, so fucking good, and crazy with the feel of her and her tight grip on me, my thoughts suddenly turned inexplicably to all the people in the jets overhead—people with plans, with briefcases full of papers and contracts, money and photographs, people coming and going with lonely and hungry eyes or eagerly running back to families and lovers and dying relatives and newborn nieces and nephews. And I thought of all these people out in the dark and looked at Emma beneath me grunting and snarling as she took my prick and my flesh and she worked herself off on me and squeezed me with her body and I started fucking her hard, hard, squeezing her wrists and rocking the bed, my loins slapping against her ass. I fucked her and I gave myself to her and I melted into her and fused with her—this beautiful girl and gorgeous whore, this woman and cunt and source of life and joy and pleasure. I fucked her and I fucked her and I never wanted to stop, my ecstasy all the more intense because of the filth it grew out of, like a diamond found in the muck, a pearl plucked from the slimy ooze.

"God I love to fuck you!" I gasped. "I fucking love it! And I love you, Emma! I fucking love you, you know that? I don’t care what you think. I love you, you bitch! I fucking love you!"

They were words. They weren't promises, they weren't agreements or negotiations. They were explosions of breath—ejaculations of the soul—but they said how I felt. They were true. They were truer than most things I'd ever said in my life.

I was close. I was close. It was all I could say. Her name, holding her wrists and fucking her, gasping, almost sobbing—"Emma! Emma! Oh God, Emma!"

"Oh yes, Conner! I love you too! Give it to me! Give it all to me! I love you too, baby! Fuck me! Fuck me hard! I'm going to come! Take me, Conner! I love you too!

God, I love you!"