I wake up early
Slip quietly out of bed
Find the shoes that drive him crazy
Then with the morning sunlight streaming through the windows,
He fucks me senseless.
I always hated New Year’s Eve. For many it’s a way to celebrate the triumphs of the year and to look forward to what the following year will bring. For me it’s a night to sit and reflect on what I did not accomplish in my life.
No promotion at work.
Still a size twelve.
Visa cards still accumulating interest.
And so while my commitment phobic boyfriend mingled with his work people at his company’s yearly over-the-top New Years party, I sat at a table alone, nursing my holiday martini, furling and unfurling the black linen napkin in my lap.
I looked towards the bar to see if Harrison had moved from the station he had taken up once dinner ended, but no, he was still there, surrounded by a small crowd of men and women who were laughing at something he said. A blonde near his side reached out and touched his arm to steady herself, as if Harrison’s hilarity was going to knock her off her fuck-me heels. Bitch, please. He is not that funny.
What Harrison is, however, is egotistical, and he knows exactly what to say and do to get people to feed it. He’s very good looking and that’s what draws people in. Then he learns what makes you tick and uses it to schmooze the shit out of you and honestly, you can’t help but just fall all over yourself when you have his attention, which sadly, always ends up being for a short period of time. I held his for about six months, I think. After that, we stayed together mostly out of habit, but I think the sex is what keeps us linked. As much as I have come to despise Harrison at this point, he is the best fuck of my life thus far, and I know I am the best of his.
I watched him give the tipsy blonde a look that said, “I could totally fuck you if I wanted to,” and scoffed. I didn’t care really, but honestly, what kind of asshole openly flirts with other women in plain sight of his girlfriend? This is nothing new, of course, this has happened on multiple occasions, but whenever I confronted him about it he would play it off as his friendly nature and accuse me of being jealous. I wasn’t jealous. I knew Harrison wasn’t fucking other women, he didn’t have time for that, it was just another way for him to feed his ego. But it was a little nauseating, and more than a little insulting to watch it happen. What a gas lighting son of a bitch he was.
That was it, great sex or not, I had just made New Year’s resolution number one: break up with Harrison. I downed the rest of my martini and was about to bail on my boyfriend and the party when someone tapped my shoulder.
“Patrick! Oh my god, how are you?”
My old friend from grad school hugged me and said he was doing well and asked what I was doing there.
“I’m here with…someone,” I told him
“Eh. Let’s just leave it at that. What about you, what are you doing here?”
He sat with me at the table I had been occupying alone all night and I was happy to catch up with a friend I hadn’t seen in more than ten years. A friend is all Patrick had ever been but we did have a history of serious flirting and playful banter. I’m not sure why we never took the plunge.
He was also there with a date who seemed more interested in mingling with company folk than keeping him entertained, which didn’t seem to bother him in the least. As we talked, I studied Patrick and realized he had certainly aged well. When I knew him back when I always found him to be cute but now he was quite handsome.
As if he could read my mind, he said, “I have to say, Liz, you look fantastic. You aren’t wearing that dress, that dress is wearing you.”
Without shame, Patrick’s eyes lingered on the ample cleavage the plunging neckline of my champagne colored gown offered.
“Well look who’s flirting game has improved in his thirties!”
“I’ve learned a thing or two,” he said with a wink. “Hey, before I forget, let me get your number.”
We programmed each others cell numbers in our phones and then Patrick offered to get us a few more drinks.
A minute later my phone chimed. A text from Patrick.
I can see your panties from here.
In my slightly inebriated state I had gone lax in my chair and sure enough, I was not maintaining modesty. With a snort, I sat up pulled the hem of my skirt down and crossed my legs.
My phone chimed again.
No, go back to how you were sitting.
My eyes found Patrick at the bar, opposite from Harrison who was still the center of attention. Patrick was leaning, sipping his drink, and staring at me. He nodded.
No one was around. Most of the party had gravitated towards the bar or the dance floor, and my table was off to the side enough that anyone still lingering was not paying me any attention. I uncrossed my legs and spread them a little wider than before.
I groaned. How did Patrick know those two little words would excite me?
Touch yourself, Liz.
Patrick also seemed to know about my exhibitionist fantasy. I was tipsy enough to play along.
I slid the hem of my dress up a little more and caressed the inside of my thigh, letting my fingers play with the soft skin there before reaching up and sliding one finger over my panties. Excitement and fear mixed adrenaline made my body hum.
Slip a finger inside your panties.
I did as he told me.
Are you wet?
Circling my clit with one finger, I kept my eyes locked on Patrick at the bar and nodded.
God damn. I’m known to always go the extra mile in anything I do, and so before following his order, I made a show of pushing not one, but two fingers inside my cunt before seductively sucking them between my lips. For good measure, I slid them in and out of my mouth a few times.
I about to reach inside my panties once again to bring some relief to the throbbing that had begun when my phone chimed again.
I watched Patrick set his drink down and enter the hall that led to the restrooms. Tripping over my own feet as I got up, I hurried after him.
As soon as I was through the doorway, I was pulled into the ladies’ room and pressed against a wall, Patrick’s body firm against mine. I heard him turn the lock as we kissed like possessed beings ravaging each other. His hands slid beneath my dress to firmly grip my ass and I spread my legs so he could press his hardening cock against me.
“You’re so fucking sexy, Liz,” he growled into my ear. “I’ve wanted you since I was twenty-three years old.”
A brief thought of why we didn’t do this ten years earlier flitted through my brain, but then Patrick’s fingers ripped off my panties and found their way through my slit.
“Fuck, you’re so wet.”
And then he was on his knees, lifting my right heel and placing it on his broad shoulder. His hands held my hips firmly against the wall and I watched his tongue snake out and glide slowly between the lips of my pussy. We both moaned and shuddered.
One of his hands moved so that he could spread my lips apart and we locked eyes while his tongue worked my clit, flicking back and forth, back and forth, slowly like the pendulum of a clock. Each flick sent tremors through me.
As frenzied as we had begun, Patrick was now taking his time, continuing his work methodically until I was squirming with want. Finally, he drew my clit between his lips and pressed two fingers deep inside, easily finding my spot and coaxing an orgasm so intense, I almost tried to pull away. He held me in place though, and all I could do was scream out and coil my fingers in his hair.
Panting and weak, I let him scoop me up in his arms and place me on the marble countertop of a nearby vanity. Still unhurried, Patrick gently massaged my thigh with one hand while he opened his trousers with the other. My eyes widened when he exposed his cock. Hard, thick, and long, the man had a package to be proud of.
Much bigger than Harrison, I thought spitefully.
His arms wrapped around me and he pulled me close, kissing me, tenderly this time, as he pushed inside. The sweet stretch and the taste of myself on his tongue had me groaning into his mouth immediately. His hips never stopped moving but he fucked me so achingly slowly, I felt every inch of his cock sliding all the way in, and then all the way out.
I reclined to rest my head against the mirror behind me and Patrick gripped my knees and lifted my legs just enough so that his cock penetrated deeper, hitting that spot just so. I watched his face, furrowed brow covered in a thin sheen of sweat, eyes light but intense, mouth slightly agape while he quietly moaned with each deliberate thrust. Fuck, he really was hot.
I pulled the neckline of my dress down and exposed my bare breasts. He watched while I used both hands to press them together and pull them apart, my fingers pinching and twisting my tight nipples, sucking air between my teeth when I brought myself pain. I liked it rough and I wanted him to know for the next time.
We suddenly heard the crowd chanting from behind our locked door. The countdown to midnight had begun. We didn’t stop.
Patrick’s hand went back to my clit and pressed hard, making small circles with his finger.
Happy New Year!
We both cried out and orgasmed together, my cunt spasming around his pulsing cock. He stilled, filling me until I felt his hot come drip down my thighs, and then we both went slack, me against the mirror, and he on top of me. As noisemakers and cheers rang out from the world outside, we breathed together until our pulses steadied.
Patrick kissed me sweetly on the lips and whispered, “Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year,” I returned.
We emerged from the ladies’ room hand in hand and walked directly into Harrison. He looked angry.
A quick assessment of the situation and his look turned furious.
“What the fuck, Liz?”
Releasing Patrick’s hand, I smiled and kissed Harrison’s cheek.
“Happy New Year,” I said, and then took Patrick’s hand again and walked away from 2015.
For the first time in a long while, I was looking forward to what the new year would bring.
A few hours later, Adrianna emerged from the restroom, refreshed and refueled. It was still a half hour until official closing time but the place was empty and Jack had sent the rest of the staff home. They were the only two left in the bar.
While Jack counted out the register till, Adrianna took her first good look at Loki’s. She hadn’t been bothered to notice it before, but the place was really eclectic in a funky looking way. None of the tables, chairs, or bar stools matched. In one corner there was a table that looked like it was from a diner from the fifties, with chrome sides and a glittery red top. On the other side, there was a round table with a mosaic design in the shape of a tiger. All the tables in between were different and the chairs were just as diverse. He had everything from high-back winged chairs to wooden stools. Around the bar were padded seats with all different types of patterned fabric, solid black to pink with white polka dots.
Jack came out from behind the bar to find Adrianna standing in the middle of the floor looking around her.
“Quite a varied taste you have, huh?” she asked him.
He shrugged, pulling her into his arms. “Makes it more interesting this way, I think. At least there’s something for everyone in here.”
“There certainly is. You’re set to serve Queen Elizabeth or Larry the Cable Guy in this place.”
Jack chuckled and then leaned down to kiss her. He wasn’t interested in talking anymore. He had waited all night to be alone with her and he didn’t want to waste it. Adrianna had other ideas though.
She kissed him back for a beat and then pulled away to ask, “Where did you get all of this stuff?”
Jack shrugged, “All different places. I started planning Loki’s almost two years ago and while I was saving the money to open it I started collecting this stuff. I’d hit flea markets, swap meets, antique stores all over the Midwest just building up my collection and putting it in storage. Anyhow, here it is.”
He leaned down again for another kiss and this time Adrianna didn’t pull away. She melted against him, running her hands up and down his arms while his hands caressed the backs of her thighs.
“I love this skirt,” he murmured against her lips, bringing his hands up higher to cup the cheeks of her backside. He could feel she was wearing some kind of skimpy, lacy underwear and he groaned.
“You know what this place doesn’t have?” he asked against the skin of her throat.
“Hmm?” Adrianna was too wrapped up in what his hands and mouth were doing to really pay attention to what Jack was saying but when he whispered hotly in her ear she was brought right back down to planet earth.
“A christened bar.”
Adrianna couldn’t think of how to respond to that but she didn’t need to. Jack’s mouth was back on hers and then he was carrying her across the room.
Jack was more than excited about what he had planned. He had dreamed of having Adrianna’s legs wrapped around his shoulders and here was the perfect place to do it. He sat her on the bar, right at the edge, and then took a step back to look at her. Her eyes were bright with lust and anticipation and those fucking lips of hers were even more plump from their kissing. He reached his thumb out to touch them and Adrianna took it in her mouth and sucked on it.
He spread her legs to stand between them and kissed her passionately before gently easing her onto her back. Running his hands down her entire body, he stopped at her legs to push her skirt up around her waist. He got a look at her panties and almost came at the sight of them. Black. Lace. Barely there.
He pulled them smoothly down her long stems and tossed them aside. Grabbing Adrianna’s left heel he kissed up from her ankle to her thigh and then repeated the action to her right leg. By the time he hooked her knees over his shoulders she was quivering with desire.
Jack looked down at the slick apex of her thighs and licked his lips. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.
Adrianna cried out loudly when his tongue licked the length of her. She had said the most talented part of Jack’s body was his tongue and she was correct. He skillfully worked her over, flicking that amazing muscle over her clit right until she was about to lose it and then he would switch to circling it lazily, bringing her slowly back down. He kept at it for what seemed like hours until she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Oh, please, Jack,” she mewled, fisting her hands in his hair.
He flicked his tongue over her a few more times and then sucked on the hypersensitive nub. When he felt her muscles tighten with the beginning of her orgasm, Jack pushed two of his fingers into her opening, curling them to stroke her from the inside.
Adrianna had never experienced multiple orgasms before and it was something she didn’t think she could ever properly put into words. It was the exact precipice of agony and ecstasy, and she wanted more though she couldn’t stand it any longer. By the time the third one ripped through her she felt as if her limbs had detached themselves from her body and were off floating somewhere in outer space. The electricity running through her was too much and yet not enough and she screamed out Jack’s names in successive sobs.
Jack held his mouth and fingers against Adrianna’s body until she stilled, going limp on the bar. He tenderly withdrew from her and yet she still winced at the slight movement. He stared down at her, pretty damn pleased with himself while she kept her eyes closed and struggled to catch her breath.
“Christ,” she panted, finally opening her eyes to look at him. “That was unbelievable.”
Want more? Falling From Disgrace is available for download on Amazon. Go ahead and click… I know you want to.
I should be writing.
Well, I am writing, but this is not what I should be writing.
I should be writing a sexy story that I can post for Wicked Wednesday or Frisky Friday, and not what is essentially going to be a diary entry, but here I am.
I am currently suffering from a creative block and it’s driving me crazy.
Sex should be easy to write about.
Two (or more, hey, orgy!) people get together and fuck. Describe in as much detail as possible, use a variety of words for the involved body parts, and there you go, a good, smutty story.
Except there I don’t go.
I am not inspired to write about sex right now.
I don’t know why.
Yes I do.
But I’m not telling.
No, it’s not that I am not having sex.
I’m getting it. Getting it good, too.
One of my stories, Imagine, was featured on thoughtcatalog.com, recently. The publisher of the feature contacted me afterward to say that my story had gotten much positive feedback, and that the quality of my writing was pretty decent.
For an erotic writer, he meant, I am sure.
I was floored. I think I am an okay writer. I’ve read worse, but I have read better. Much better.
I want my next story to be great. I’m not sure how to do that right now.
What do I write about?
Yes, sex, duh, but what? A chance encounter? A threesome? Public sex? Deep-throating your boss at the office Christmas party?
Hey, that’s not a bad idea.
But that’s just it. I have ideas. Just no urge to flesh them out.
I start, and then…. nada.
Usually when I get an idea my fingers can’t keep up with my brain.
Now? My fingers rest limply on the keys and I am about as excited as I would be at Crocs and Uggs convention.
It’s very frustrating.
It makes me sad.
I should be writing, and I’m not.